EE - The Estrella Eguino Weblog

First, save the words!

2011-09-05T17:36:00.000-07:00

It's curious that we have learning institutions and scientific research and development facilities of the highest caliber dedicated to finding out the answer to the only question we all have in common, whether you are a tomato picker or an aeronautical engineer: ‘Why are we here?’ In other words, what is the purpose of mankind? Everything else is inconsequential. We have lost less essential data over the course of the last ten years alone. For example, correct language. English, Spanish, French, German, Mandarin. If language deterioration is true of the language we know, I’d volunteer that all languages across the world are experiencing the same tragedy. As illogical as it sounds, there are those who think being anti-correct makes them different. Some street rappers and local fans subscribe to this belief. And yes, it does make them different- glaringly, obviously so. If I were to say to a group of philosophers that Socrates was not wise, to stand apart as unique within the group I’m sure I would have no problem distinguishing myself as one rotund idiot.

‘What is correct?’ someone will be bound to ask – and the answer is of course, subjective. In communication, correct, at least to me, would be to use the necessary vocabulary that most closely resembles the expression to be conveyed. What? Nobody remembers taking association tests? Grunts and one-syllable words do convey an image, but lets be honest, there’s a lot more to be expressed in the world than basic banality. Language is communication. This is why there are so many tragic, misunderstood miseries in the world. Language, as important as it is, and which decline we have witnessed over the course of our own generation, is one of those minor losses compared to the crucial knowledge of what our individual and communal purposes in life are? What are we here for?

The most advanced courses, the most advanced information, the most advanced teachings are available to those searching the origins of man. And the only practical reason of possessing this knowledge is to know what our purpose is. The purpose of bees (well, some of them anyway) is to pollinate. Without it, the food chain would be fatally flawed.

Did we at some point in our ancient past, know why we are here and what we are supposed to be doing here? Perhaps. We at least knew how to cut giant stones with such precise accuracy that hundreds of thousand years later they fit so tightly together that a razor blade can’t be pushed through any of the sides! Where is that knowledge today? Extinct. Our entire economy is built around distractions created to allay the paranoia of our internal center because despite all the comforts we’ve created for our lives, we don’t know what our lives are for.

What is our purpose? What are we here to do? And most importantly, are we doing it? Considering the amount of money invested in searching for the origins of man, I believe this question has become not only important to answer but imperative. The financial support that sustains highly advanced scientific experiments suggest we must find an answer quickly. But in an effort to find this answer, science has developed tools of destruction. There’s no question that unless there is conscientious and considerable effort placed on turning things around, we are working toward our own destruction, when our mission perhaps is to populate Earth, and other planets and galaxies as well. I certainly don’t believe our purpose is to go from one Marshall store to another buying sconces during Labor Day sales.

We have come so far away from knowing our purpose in life that there are some who now suggest there is no life. Only illusion. To this school of thought I say, sorry buddies, I think. Therefore, I am. And if the simplicity and beauty of this statement doesn’t resonate with the truth that lives within all, then maybe there are some illusions walking among those of us who do exist.

What if our purpose is to look after the planet? Its animals, forests, its fawn and flora? We are failing miserably at this task. We have killed animals into extinction in order to adorn our clothing, burned and grazed forests to ashes in order to print useless papers, polluted the oceans and its creatures with waste and chemicals. We don’t know what our purpose is, but what if it is to take care of the planet? What then? How do we rate as individuals performing this task when even our verbal expressions of communication have dwindled to primitive, made-up words that have no root or foundation? How can we save the world, when we can’t save the words?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWnmCu3U09w

The Elephant Can Be Pushed!

2011-05-27T10:20:00.000-07:00

I enjoy lampooning certain spiritual movements. Doesn’t everybody? No? Cast ye then the first stone straight at my left temple so as not to undo the do cascading on the right! It’s a hard habit to break especially for hardened cynics. This is not to say I don’t recognize the unequivocal force that acts upon us through principles and patterns not yet simplified beyond John- 9:5. There is more than a thread of truth to the belief that despite gargantuan forces of opposition, when the Lord means to use somebody for the greater good, it will do so even through great evil. Take the United Nations for instance. Often accused of being manipulated by bully member countries that shall not be named, the UN is viewed by a good many as a greedy, power-hungry organization that was primarily set up to allow its high ranks to snoop into the inner-workings of all nations. Let’s call this evil.

In the late nineties when ethnic violence engulfed the Democratic Republic of Congo (as you read on you may conclude the term "democracy" must lose something in Congolese translation) over one million people were killed for no reason other than being born of a different tribe. Rose Mapendo, a then seemingly insignificant woman of the Tutsi tribe, had no idea one day she would spearhead a persistent movement that would bring worldwide awareness to the plight of women, mothers and wives in war-torn countries. Such are the mysterious ways of the unseen Law.

Targeted for death for being Banyamulenge Tutsis, a minority ethnic group, Rose Mapendo, her husband Moise and their seven children were arrested and sent to a Congolese death camp in 1998. They were shoved in a crowded room with no doors and no running water where Rose and the children would spend sixteen months of their lives. Moise did not survive the ordeal. He was soon taken by prison guards to be tortured and executed as Rose listened to his final moments through the prison’s wall. Her life and that of four other women, along with their children were spared because according to the guards, their bullets were not to be “wasted on cockroaches.” And so the unseen Law saved the lives of these human beings through the frugality of evil doers.

Prisoners were randomly and routinely executed and Rose lived each day with the constant fear that she, or worse yet, one of her children would be next. With every new dawn came the ever-looming threat of death. Unbeknownst to Rose at the time of her husband’s murder, she was pregnant. After months of the most terrifying existence during which she had to negotiate with corrupt, degenerate senior guards for the life of her eldest son in exchange for her first born daughter’s virginity, Rose gave birth to twins. She gave birth in silence so as not to frighten the children in the small, cramped cell; in the dark, with nothing standing between them and deadly infection than a destiny that somehow now appears preordained. With a splintered piece of old wood she cut the umbilical cord and tearing strands of hair from her head, tied them so the babies wouldn’t bleed to death.

In a humble act of forgiveness toward the men who murdered her husband and subjected her and her children to a subhuman existence, Rose named the twins after two prison commanders to show them she was not their enemy. In her culture, naming a child after a friend is a great honor. Rose has admitted to suicidal thoughts that did not materialize only because she found it impossible to leave her children unprotected regardless how attractive oblivion appeared. Her skin raw from lying in hard, coarse, cement, Rose was near death when the area's Mayor placed a call to the local chapter of the Red Cross, and it to the United Nations. It is not known what prompted the Mayor to make this call. It can be speculated that it was his fear of standing trial for war crimes, or perhaps he was truly moved by this remarkable woman’s capacity for forgiveness. Whatever it was, Red Cross personnel soon appeared at the death camp requesting to see Rose Mapendo. Full of lice, and their bodies ravaged from hunger, malnutrition and bloodied diarrhea caused by the consumption of green mangos- the only food within her reach, Rose and the children were transferred out of the death camp by the Red Cross. Since the President of the Democratic Republic of Congo had ordered the killing of Tutsis, the family was in danger for as long as it remained in the country. While the children and Rose were receiving first aid, the Red Cross took the next steps to secure their protection and contacted the United Nations. Soon after, under the auspices of this global entity, Rose and the children were rescued and eventually relocated to Phoenix, Arizona, and while it is commendable that this family was deservedly saved from death, there remains an unsettling thought as to why others in the same predicament are not? Ah, but only the Law knows what dwells in the heart of men. Such are the mysteries of the Lord.

Rose Mapendo did not forget the gruesome time she spent in the death camp, and unlike others who would have quickly sealed the memories never to be recalled again, she has instead become the voice of women victims of war. She has spoken in the White House invited by none other than the Prince of Darkness himself George W. Bush; in elite universities, in church groups, and yes, in the United Nations. She has returned to the Congo and despite the danger, her presence has lifted the spirit of those who look to her as a beacon of survival. Her message is simple: forgiveness. Whether Rose tapped one of these elusive, unseen laws through forgiveness, or her story is one of random survival, one indisputable fact stands out: she would have been dead, and her children would have faced a cruel, psychotic, short existence if the UN, much critisized as a tool of greed, would not have stepped in. Granted, one family saved is a meager contribution by an organization formed to protect the world, but in this life of seemingly random chances this woman is changing the world through her testimony wherever she goes.

Rose Mapendo’s life and ordeal are documented in the film ‘Pushing the Elephant’ which aired in April on PBS’ Independent Lens simultaneously with its premier at the Women’s International Film Festival in Florida, and while those familiar with her story rejoice in her physical salvation, they also question the fate of others who do not receive the mercy of their captors, and whom the UN, be it for whatever reasons, fails to protect and thereby cast doubt upon its fundamental principle of existence.

What a "Bad Hair Day" really means!

2011-04-20T08:12:00.000-07:00

Respected beauty industry expert David Pollock recently published an insightful and interesting post about what women are feeling when we say we're having a bad hair day. I appraoched David for his permission to reprint. In addition, he has made a very kind offer available for my readers! Enjoy and welcome to a healthier life, and a fresh appearance!

Think you’re having a “bad hair day?” A “bad hair day” is the kind of day when you just feel needy, clingy, weepy, and insecure. A “bad hair day” is not about your hair; it is however, about negative thinking that influences those feelings. Negativity drains your energy. It produces negative self-talk which reinforces the insecure feelings creating a hopeless cycle. This cycle produces behavior based on insecurity, complaining, controlling, manipulating, addictions, envy, gossip, and jealousy.

Day dream about a “good hair day” instead! A day when you feel great, on top of the world and totally confident. Positive thinking produces positive feelings creating a positive cycle. This cycle produces behavior such as self-control, kindness, patience, and love. Positive thinking restores and gives you energy.

These simple steps will teach you how to guide your thoughts in a positive direction:
1. Talk about your expectations instead of experiences.
• Choose to focus on your future instead of the past.
• Nurture the possibilities within your heart

2. Visualize Your Desired Future.
• What visual is in your mind’s eye for your success? Repeatedly remember and replay this visual.
• Write your goals/dreams + add pictures to this dream

3. Find Faith Food.
• What you feed your brain affects what you believe.
• Read motivational/inspirational books and stories.

4. Replay Successes in Your Mind.
• Let go of past battles and struggles.
• Start to replay victories and talents.

5. Make Today a Major Event In Your Life.
• Celebrate yourself! Smile bigger and more often. Laugh aloud. Focus on all the little things that make life pleasurable, then celebrate them!

All you have to do to have a “good hair day” is talk about your desired expectations, visualize success, read motivational material, replay your success dream instead of dwelling on mistakes, and make today a celebration of you. It also wouldn’t hurt to call your stylist!

Excerpt from The Bungalow Documents

2011-04-19T09:08:00.000-07:00

Many times I tried to leave. Return to a little bungalow in Washington State. Eventually it was a hand that put a stop to the seesaw of Libra indecisions and I had no choice but to stay. Plans were changed and every day forward became an uncharted expedition into the Twilight Zone. I would have handled it much better with servants to carry my bags. As it was, I was blessed with the care and friendship of many who in fact did carry my bags as I moved from The Entrance of the Pit of Hell, to Opa-locka, to Coconut Grove, to the Actual Pit of Hell, and finally, Ft. Lauderdale. While at it, I attempted to correct the deplorable conditions of Dade County Transit.

When I arrived in Miami last year I came prepared to stay as long as necessary. Didn’t know where or how, but heck, never known that before either and here I am. I helped Doug structure his notes and research for his book. We talked every day. Overall the day by day came and went without much hoopla. I went to promising, sporadic job interviews. In Washington this is considered quite favorable. In Miami, it seems reason for self-mutilation. In the end, each twisted knot of destiny wickedly spun away as the fickle finger of fate came around to flick me. Again. It happens from time to time.

Organized by super-human powers, because they certainly weren’t by mine, the living arrangements materialized effortlessly. The locations were as good as if picked by Lotto. Granted, my mother couldn’t wait to have me out of The Entrance of the Pit of Hell. Enthralled over my newly discovered commonalities with the Churches of everything Jesus, it was evident that along with redemption, I had summoned nasty spiritual contenders bent on destroying any chance of a worry-free existence. It was clear I'd be tangoing with spiritual demons, goblins and other monsters. It was to be expected. I was after all, at the entrance! Even my father, blind from a stroke in 2008 warned me over the Resident Evil deep in the vortex of Lejeune Road and 3^rd street NW. I'll leave the lack of emotional connection with my parents for another post. Well, uhm, I guess the battle’s been on since I reported my crazy mother to Children’s and Family. Somebody had to do it. Like I said, another post. I went straight from the Entrance of the Pit of Hell, to a metaphor for the steps of heaven, but not quite. There, in Opa-locka I got to befriend likeminded souls. I was still spending my time in the Grove. This meant sometimes having to ride Route 27. Brawls, Racism and cockroaches! Nothing but the best for Dade County taxpayers.

Then suddenly a dream project landed on my lap and in September, I accepted to edit the content of a romantic story that had a Caribbean heroine, and elements of white magic. I did most of it between Olaf’s and Starbuck’s and late night chats with Facebook friends. Moved back into the Grove. Got things done. Especially the real tough ones like taking action to help my daughter out of alcohol and drug addiction. We’re getting there. With patience, understanding, and love. I’ve met with other parents who have gone through the same. While the success rate of rehab programs may not be something the average, in-the red, populace of Miami-Dade county can believe in, its numbers don’t lie and neither do the families. This is working and it got done when it was supposed to get done even if Route 54 doesn’t follow a real schedule.

Doug came down from Washington in November. Our Christmas in the Miami Gardens house could have easily been made into a Tim Burton feature- darkly realistic if not for the charm of the protagonists. It was our Hell. It looked nice and spacious enough but it was alive. Strange noises, sounds in the night, disembodied voices, and worse, no Internet connection. We spent New Year’s weekend in South Beach cat watching Cory and Ronald’s babies. Within minutes I had devoured an entire bag of ginger candy that had been left on the table. Maureen and Tobin from the Mad Hat Tea House in Tacoma know of my addiction to ginger candies. It’s out of my hands and God hasn’t done anything about it nor have I asked for riddance of this all-consuming and vice-like pleasure. Yummy Ginger candy! I want more!

By January I had become fully involved with the Women’s International Film Festival. It started innocently enough by acknowledging receipt of the screener copies on the festival’s online registry website. We received close to three hundred entries. Mid-month we finally moved to Ft. Lauderdale to be within a few steps from the festival’s office and we left the oppressive environment of the Pit of Hell. Sure Ft. Lauderdale isn’t Seattle, but it isn’t Miami either. The walks are nice and entertaining. The ocean is much closer – albeit with radiation contamination. Broward County Transit you ask?

Ignorance is not Bliss...

2010-10-29T09:05:00.000-07:00

Being thirty-minutes late is a big deal in God’s plan, when God has one. I tried my best to sneak in quietly, but the door chime clanked sweetly, and before I knew it I had already forked over one of my friend Q’s five-dollar bill and I was looking for a place on the floor to sit. The visit of Ngawang Sungrab Phagyab Rinpoche had a low-profile advertisement. Those are my favorites!

I joined the mesmerized group of Grovites scattered around the spacious Windisch-Hunt gallery and trained my ear to the high ranking lama’s speech. I couldn’t quite place the language. I think because it was English. Still listening to our disheartening state of current awareness, I went around the gallery snapping what I believed to be great photos.

I spoke with Kellie from What The Flower and now I want to meet the life-changing artist Joseph Lawrence Vasile.

After photographing the room and the lama from every conceivable angle, the lecture hadn't moved one iota and the esteemed Rimpochet lama was still stubbornly pointing out our ignorance; I acquiesced and rushed to get free sangria at Lulu’s in the hope of diminishing mine.

Ignorant and all, I thoroughly enjoyed the time at the restaurant and continued meditating to the tune of two Dos Equix.

Then right about the time when my friend Q was writing on Lulu's suggestion card that they ought to bring back Christophe, the best chef in the world, Stereo MC came on just in case God did have something to tell me after all:

“…get yourself connected, writing's on the wall, but if your mind's neglected, stumble you might fall.”

Halloween? You don't know the Half of It!

2010-10-25T18:59:00.000-07:00

There’s no neighborhood like Coconut Grove. Without a doubt the most laid-back, chilled hidden nook in the city of Miami. Even the newly transplanted soon realize how easy it is to fall in step by simply appreciating the creative spontaneity of this quaint, and cool little community.

Yesterday was just like any other Saturday in the Grove. I got going at the crack of Noon and started the day with a slow, clumsy walk to Lulu’s for an invigorating giant bowl of fruits followed by a thorough inspection of the hip consignment/thrift/treasure/awesome new and secondhand shop Evaar! The Sale Rack! Where I eventually dropped the savings from Lulu’s but oh, so worth it.

While browsing Commodore Street I decided to snap a few photos. I wanted to post them on Facebook so my boyfriend and my kids could see them because I know it will make them smile! Got a nice shot of the old Laundromat by the Post Office, and Coconut Grove Elementary School right across.

The day was bright and breezy. I made my way to CocoWalk and turned on Virginia towards the still mesmerizing Mayfair Hotel. This hotel doesn’t cease to amaze me. Its design is so classically timeless. Passed ‘Olaf’s’, which is really ‘The Grove Spot’ but affectionately I suppose we acknowledge it belongs to Olaf. The Grove Spot is the place to watch an important football match. Not a boxing match on Showtime though. Olaf if just not splurgey like that. For a boxing match you might get lucky at the Three Stogies, but if you want to watch Dexter you’re out of luck.

Next in sight are the Fire Station and the Grove Villas. Coconut Grove can boast to be the only fire station whose firemen will go on a call for an animal, but the Grove doesn’t roll like that. The Grove prefers to keep under wraps the subtle pleasantries reserved only for its inhabitants.

Then came the apartment building where I lived. I took photos from different angles. I was tempted to knock on the door and get some inside photos too. I couldn’t stop by the building and not walk across to the Krishna Temple for a visit. One Monday morning in late December of 2004 I hastily introduced myself formally to them and I had always meant to come back out of gratitude. It is the Christian thing to do.

Walking back to Main Street along Virginia I snapped a few shots of the Ritz in the distance and made my way to the Mayfair Promenade Shoppes. My intention was to go to the WIFF offices and enter the latest submissions we’ve received.

The films I've watched so far have been jolting one way or another. I look forward to March 30 through April 3rd! Save the date ladies and gentlemen lovers of film, because the 2011 Festival is filled with treasures of the raw richness of film! The ones I have viewed at least, kick A.

Suddenly the music was sounding pretty funky and the motorcycles were revving. What is going on? The bikes were all over the place and they looked nice. Click, click, photos. Harley Davidson had a stand, of course, but the guy manning it was on his cell phone and I didn't look like I'd be buying a new dog collar anytime soon. Maybe he has seen the South Park ‘biker’ episode. In which case I don’t blame him for cowering in the shade.

I approached an unsuspecting man who had his back to me. He obliged for a photo. Victor. He said they are all a group of bikers who text each other about events and show up to support it. Pretty neat. It's nice to see something different. In this case friendly, well-spoken (or at least texter) bikers. I like the style. No RSVP required. Victor has been riding for seven years and prefers the highways of Wisconsin and not the insanity of Miami roads. Duh. "Tell me about it, stud". I trade this sunny day for a Tacoma harsh winter, fog-engulfed one anytime!

What’s going on is a special event indeed. The Down’s syndrome Association of Miami was having a domino tournament to benefit the association. The place was favorably attended at least while I was there and that was pretty late in the day.

The domino players all looked pretty serious about their pieces and I’m sure as tempting as a “forro” might have been, nobody cheated and no shouts were heard. The word on the street is that Calle Ocho and Grand Ave domino parks have nothing on these players.

There were several national sponsors but the local one was The Three Stogie’s (Agh! They’d be so great if they’d only show Dexter!). The jamming music was provided by DJ Jammin’ Joel Capo whom I’m going to befriend on Facebook because he is just that cool.

Viva le Coconut Grove, man. Thank you Down’s syndrome Association for a memorable day!

October 9, 1940 seventy years ago...

2010-10-09T10:40:00.000-07:00

... a man was born who touched the world,

and made it think

made it sing

made it wish

and made it Imagine

John Lennon, you are not forgotten.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fx2gQeXurKc

One of Those Things on Life's 'To Do' List

2010-07-19T10:09:00.000-07:00

They say to truly experience life one must spend at least one night in jail. I have a series of unpaid parking tickets in 2004 to thank for that experience. The unpaid tickets resulted in a suspended driver’s license. I really couldn’t say I didn’t know about the suspension but that’s exactly what I told the cop who stopped me, according to him, for running a red light the morning after Hurricane Wilma struck. I wrote a letter to the Chief of Police and demanded the ticket be annulled. I didn’t hear back from the Chief, moved to another town and never drove again. Earlier this month I found myself being handcuffed and told I had a bench warrant issued in 2005. I cried like a baby and an Officer threatened to taze me if I didn’t stop. I was thrown in a van that had no windows and made to sweat for about twenty minutes before being driven to jail where I was finger printed, hand printed, photographed, given a cavity search, and thrown in a tiny cold cell with a pet health certificate forger, a self-medicating gun trafficker, a drunken prostitute, an elderly boyfriend beater, and an illegal alien. Getting to know my cellmates was the only way to keep from peeling the paint off the walls like a mad woman.

Four women, two each sitting on small wooden benches were talking. They stopped when I came in, and asked me the time. “One”, I said, and the youngest girl in the group started to cry. “This is outrageous”, a blonde, middle-aged woman said. “I’ve been here four hours already and need my meds”. The only place to sit was the floor, or the rusted, stainless steel toilet. I saw a roach the size of a toaster oven make its way unperturbed clear across the tiny cell. I decided to sit on the toilet. The blonde woman asked me my name and my crime and then seemed disappointed in both. She introduced herself as Jeannie and went on to tell me she had turned herself in voluntarily after her pet shop business was shut down. She had been in the news, Jeannie announced rather proudly. A client had turned her in for having sold him a puppy with a health certificate Jeannie herself had forged. Jeannie had come prepared for a thirty-day stint. She had gotten a manicure and a pedicure, her husband had deposited $500 in commissary money, and she was looking for another long-termer who would do her bunk bed and wash her things. Jeannie wouldn’t stop talking. She was wearing dark-rimmed glasses that shifted back and forth along the length of her nose as she spoke. Within minutes I learned her husband suffered a stroke after the business shut down, her kids were living abroad, and she was having an affair with her Realtor. She was wearing warm socks and tennis shoes with Velcro straps, comfortable jeans, a long sleeve tee shirt and a grey sweatshirt with a hoody. Jeannie said she had researched the jail experience online and she had come prepared. I figured her meds were just for panic attacks and relaxed a bit.

Suddenly a body rolled from underneath one of the benches and a woman wearing jeans and what looked like a long-sleeved tee shirt with multi-colored designs. She had short, cropped hair under a tight net. “Have they brought lunch yet?” she asked as casually as if she were in the lobby of the Ritz requesting scones for her tea. Jeannie told me this was Lorna, and I nodded and said hello. I could have had horns and a tail for all Lorna cared. She came out fully from under the bench where she had been sleeping and sat cross-legged in front of Jeannie. It was then I noticed the multi-colors were tattoos that covered her arms, neck, and probably her entire body. I felt myself cringe in horror. Lorna yelled and asked for food and a guard came to the door to warn her if she didn’t shut up nobody in the cell was going to get any food. Lorna had been arrested in the early morning while driving under the influence of her own medicine, she said. Then the cops searched her car and found illegal guns- fourteen all together between handguns, shotguns, and two A-K’s. Apparently it’s her business. She runs guns. “For whom?” I asked and Lorna laughed. “Whatcha mean fo who? Fo mysef. Whatcha in here fo anyway? Impersonating a Barbie doll?” I laughed trying to sound as natural as possible but failed miserably. I’m sure Lorna noticed. I told her what I was in for but she had already rolled back under the bench.

Jeannie meanwhile had not stopped talking. There was a young girl sitting next to her. The girl kept burying her face in her hands and crying. I felt like joining her but the fear of waking Lorna stopped me. The girl said her name was Margarita and she didn’t speak English. Margarita is a nineteen year-old petite girl with short brown hair. She wore a thin, yellow tank top, jean shorts, and flat sandals. I found out she had slapped her cousin’s girlfriend during an argument. The other girl called the police. Margarita had never been in trouble with the law before so I told her not to worry, but she burst into tears again. “She doesn’t have papers”, Jeannie explained and Margarita cried harder. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. She looked frail, and vulnerable and I tried to console her. I told her I was sure her mother was moving heaven and earth on the outside to take care of her problem. This seemed to calm her. Knowing that an immigration hold could keep her locked-up for forty days, or get her deported, I told Margarita she would have to be strong to hold herself through, and rely on the same spunk and courage that made her slap that mean-spirited girl. Margarita stopped crying and nodded. She crossed her arms over her chest to keep warm. I looked at Jeannie with her long sleeved t-shirt and sweatshirt and silently marveled at the lack of compassion of jail life.

On the other bench were Darlene and Connie. Darlene was easily in her seventies and the tight facial muscles from plastic surgery made her look like something out of a freak show. Her skin was parched from too much sun and she wore her long, blonde hair in a ponytail. Darlene was wearing an orange jump suit normally given to long termers because she had been arrested in a flimsy see-through nightgown. She had gotten into an argument with her boyfriend, a forty-five year old pool cleaner, because he had been popping sleeping pills all month instead of looking for work. The argument got heated and Darlene hit him over the head with a high-heeled shoe and he wailed in pain so loudly that a neighbor called the police. According to Darlene, the police arrested her because they said she had come between the cop and the boyfriend, obstructing justice. “Can you believe that? Why would I come between them? I wanted the cop to haul him off!” Darlene was mortified about facing her sister and brother-in-law, both whom had been warning Darlene to be more discerning in choosing an adequate partner. Her brother-in-law is an attorney, and had posted her bond. Darlene kept saying she needed a smoke. I noticed she kept crossing one leg and then the other, over and over. She was worried over her wardrobe too; not knowing which was worse, a sexy nightgown or an orange jumpsuit? She admitted she was lonely and that’s why she had hooked up with the loser boyfriend. She was afraid of dying alone she said, and then on the same breath said she needed a smoke, apparently not worried about dropping from a heart attack in a nasty jail cell in the midst of complete strangers.

Connie was sitting next to Darlene. She was a statuesque woman in her thirties, wearing a low-cut neckline dress with bell sleeves and hemmed to show her thighs. Her make-up, except for a false eyelash that had come undone at the outer end of the eye, looked as if she had just applied it. Like me, Connie was wearing the rubber sandals given to prisoners arrested wearing heeled shoes. Connie was talking but her words were slurred. The smell of alcohol permeated the air each time she opened her mouth. She kept asking everyone’s name every ten minutes or so. She kept cursing the undercover cop she had solicited. Said he called her ‘baby’ and ‘fweehard’ and that she knew him from before. “He ain’t no lawman; he a trick”. Connie told me, and asked if I knew what she was saying? She kept on talking so I assumed it was just a rhetorical question. Connie went on complaining about the cop, and only Darlene paid any attention to her. After about an hour or so a guard came in announcing lunch. Lorna rolled out from underneath the bench again and stood up by the door. Connie, Darlene and Jeannie behind her. The latter making comments about the genetically modified foods served to inmates. Margarita and I waited until the women sat back down with their lunch- a sandwich in a plastic wrap. Margarita walked to the door to get her sandwich. I didn’t need a closer inspection of the bologna and the yellow thing that passed for cheese to decline. The women ate hungrily and were quiet afterward, except for Connie who burped and informed everyone she was about to get sick. Great! I thought, that’s all we needed. The stench of vomit in a room where the air already felt toxic. I was bending my head down to keep from fainting when another guard called my name! I had been bonded out! The women all said goodbye and wished me luck. Margarita cried and hugged me. I couldn’t wait to get out but haven’t been able to forget the hours I shared with these women. All from different walks of life but together in the same predicament.

Roll Out the Red Carpet! Here Come the Coconut Grove Peacocks!

2010-06-09T13:51:00.000-07:00

Inspired by the popular novelty of the Chicago Cows, the Cincinnati Pig Gig, and the Flamingos of Miami Beach, Coconut Grove is letting loose a flock of larger than life beautiful fiberglass Peacocks, painted by award winning Coconut Grove artists. The Coconut Grove Peacock Tour 2010 is a unique free public art exhibit launched on May 29^th with the unveiling of the first group of these beautifully illustrated Peacocks that will strut their grace throughout landmarks of this historical community known worldwide for its arts.

During a casually festive stroll through the Shoppes of Mayfair Promenade, a fascinated audience of Grovites, artists, tourists, and neighboring visitors celebrated Memorial Day weekend at the launch party where they caught the first sighting of these inspired works of art. Sipping their favorite ice-cold libation, mingling under the shade of shop awnings and inside the Peacock Promenade Gallery, families, friends, and newcomers alike gathered with enthusiasm to show the love that is so unconditionally shared for this community known for its whimsical philosophy toward life.

The special event also included recognition to legendary Grove pioneer businessman Monty Trainer, whose famed restaurant on Bayshore Drive became an integral part of local and weekend boaters ending up on the docks of “Monty's” for food and refreshments after a day of fishing and sun. Monty was presented with an original oil on canvas painting of Coconut Grove’s local spots by Erika King.

Potions in Motion catering and Fresh Market provided the exquisite food, wine and desert samplings and even into the late evening the fabulous Fire Brigade played magnetic rock and pop tunes that had the crowd singing, dancing and unwilling to walk away.

The undertone of Coconut Grove art is linked with the beauty seen through the eyes of its artists, many whose work grace the homes of locals and tourists worldwide. Proudly contributing to this public art exhibition, the Coconut Grove Peacocks are illustrated in blissful colors and designs by local artists like Fred Hunt, Eileen Seitz, Andrea Ruggeri, Pablo Cano, Ed King, Erika King, Romero Britto, Lebo, Dan Bondroff, Nancy Martini, Cara Nusinov, Meme Ferre, St. Stephen’s, Sauma Sylvia Modica, Gina Hubler and George Rodez.

Gifted author and painter, Cara Nusinov is donating her talent to the Polka-dot Poetry Peacock and describes her calling toward this innovative effort as the “perfect palette for poetry.” Showcasing works by various poets such as Shirley Brewer, P. Scott Cunningham, Elisa Albo, Jinita Wright, Rosalind Brenner, Joanie Leeds and other published poets, Cara’s Polka-dot Poetry Peacock hopes to find an inspiring and befitting home location at the Coconut Grove Elementary School.

The Peacocks will be at the Mayfair Promenade Gallery for a limited time before making their way to the streets of the Grove where they are being permanently adopted by local businesses. For more information regarding some other permanent locations visit www.coconutgrovepeacocktour.com. Find out how you can sponsor a peacock, volunteer, be a non-profit partner, or just come see the event! At the end of the tour 100% of the auction proceeds go to sponsor chosen non-profit partners.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2010-03-17T20:46:00.000-07:00

I love the Google logo for today! Big love and respect to all that is Irish.

Sad news - Corey Haim died

2010-03-13T00:54:00.000-08:00

Corey Haim, may he rest in peace. Hollywood eats its young! Heather Graham survived it! and the "other Corey" is I'm sure, missing his friend. I loved him in License to Drive, and Corey Feldman in The Burbs.

Co~no! Ballard, Washington February 28, 2010

2010-03-06T09:39:00.001-08:00

Arrived from Miami Thursday night and still recuperating. Emotions. Emotions. Emotions. Thankfully Seattle is a sort of grounding. Where best to unwind from the constant highs, ups and downs, of the emotional child-parent-grandparent relationships? Ballard. Where if you are what Carol calls an independent thinker, this is how you might find yourself here:

I woke up at 9am from a Michael Jackson induced sleep to contemplate my “To Do” list and determine our first mission today would be to check our emails and Facebook; an example of utalitarianism at its best. We headed out to the Northgate Mall transit center to encounter our first decision. University District, Downtown, or Ballard? The first bus to come along for any of these would be it. And so was conquered that one. We did however, forget the camera.

Cherry blossoms were blooming! Doug had told me when we talked while I was in Miami. Sure enough once we got to Market Street on Route 75, I saw mother nature’s confusion first hand. Winter in the Northwest was officially over in February!

First stop was Sonic Boom. If we don’t go into Sonic Boom first it means someone is seriously ill and needs to go back home. We start by going through all their free stuff. Some of our most envied posters hadn't cost us a cent at Sonic Boom. It’s a rare gesture these days to be generous. Doug went through the box of music and posters quickly. I was still hypnotized by the local music scene promotions when he unscrolled a small poster and asked me, “What do you think? Should we get it?”

Of course we had to get it and I still have to photograph it. Once in a while we lend Sonic Boom our presence long enough to attract people who actually buy something. But not this time. We were hungry, and after rolling up our poster into Chairman Mao’s bag we were ready to find an interesting, reliable and cheap restaurant that was open for breakfast. We started to make our way to the seven-eleven. Future generations are going to think seven-elevens were the “cathedrals” of our day because they are the landmark of our civilization. They are everywhere and, they will have a blunt wrap.

Walking down Market Street we went into the Pet Shop to say hi to a kitty in a cage we had seen from the window. It was a biter-sweet moment. One when you know the right thing to do is leave the kitty in its cage no matter how much it wants to get out. Unless you can take it, walk out of the Pet Shop with it and give the kitty love and protection yourself. We didn’t do it. The door to the cage had unhinged and was not locking. We couldn’t let her go free because it would have been worse in the streets. A sweet, friendly, little cat spotted like a white chocolate Heath bar will certainly attract someone else who can take it home and give it love. Doug held the cage door while I got the woman at the cash register to secure the door back on to the cage. We didn’t stay to see it.

We found a smoke shop. Probably the only one in that part of Ballard. Quietly nestled after ‘Sip n’ Ship’ and ‘The Old Pequliar’ and before the Seven-Eleven on Market Street, the small ethnic shop carried better quality, flavored brands. Still on the lookout for the right breakfast location and access to the Internet, we walked back in the direction we had come. This time passing the once ‘Carnegie Public Library’ on the same side. The building had a restaurant menu and sign but the doors were locked and didn’t look like there was a restaurant in there. There was a For Rent sign on one of the top rooms. Agh! I should have brought the camera!

We walked the side streets and took in the calmness and coolness of Ballard on a day that lifted from a cloudy morning to a bright, sun-in-your-eyes kind of day, even without the camera. Then we saw ‘Vera’s’ around the corner from Sonic Boom on 22^nd Av and knew this is where we wanted to eat. I can’t describe it properly without offending both the Greek and the Mexicans but the service was decent, the French toast hit the spot and the bathrooms were clean. We carry real money so we were served. Not so if you want to earn extra mileage points on your American Airlines Visa. Vera doesn’t give a crap.

After our breakfast we walked aimlessly towards the docks. The old red brick buildings reminded me of parts of West New York in 1968. Many of the buildings have plaques that describe their historical role. The memorial in the park honoring the town’s own bum seemed to have the right energy to hang out for a few minutes and have a smoke. Strolling back on our way to Market Street we stopped at ‘Bad Albert’s Tap and Grill’ for a coke. Bad Al is gone but there’s a really cute picture of him right over the bar. No way he could have been bad! The man behind the bar seemed to have known Bad Al because he stressed that indeed Al was a nice looking cat, but he was bad.

Super hydrated we reached Tully’s and found a window seat, plugged in the computer and checked and answered emails, Facebook, Alex Jones, Infowars, and Yahoo Answers- at all times struggling for control of the keypad from Doug. Tully’s was too busy for us. Coffee is just not one of those things I’m willing to stand in a line of more than six people. The usual transient crowd. After an hour or so we made our way to the Metaphysical Library for signs of life.

A small group was gathered in a discussion. We introduced ourselves and said we would be going through the library for books. The group carried on. Have you ever wondered why so much of Carl Jung’s work is in the metaphysical field? The most intense works by the psychologist regarded by many scholars as the most brilliant of his time, and ours, can be found in a Metaphysical Library. We were literally tripping over books regarding dream interpretations, the relationship with Astrology, time – space continuums, and infinite possibilities of much more. My pile of books was so high I was dropping them. I felt we were disruptive and it would have been impolite to stay any longer. Doug agreed. We could return after two, when Margaret Bartley would be there. Margaret is the woman responsible for keeping the Metaphysical Library available during the times when Public Libraries are shutting down. Wise and enthusiastic and always keen to interesting ideas and points of view, Margaret makes this information possible for seekers who dig beyond a school text book and Wikepedia, and who don't let a spooky entrance stand in their way.

In search of a cold drink again, we set out to Bad Albert’s and stop in at Bop Street Records on Ballard Avenue. We went in and were rummaging without any particular direction when the song playing caught my attention. It was a woman’s voice singing Cole Porter’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” I couldn’t place her. I asked Doug and he couldn’t place her either. We asked “the guy”, who turns out to be owner Dave Voorhees, and he isn’t sure either but he grabbed the sleeve and read to our surprise, it was Dinah Washington. Very nice. One thing lead to another and we were walking through this immense collection of music, back and forth looking for one record or another. Pawn Stars have called this place “the best record store in the country.” Among countless pieces of musical history trivia and treasures Dave owns an autographed photo of Sam Cooke, a recording of James Dean playing the bongos, and a tagged door with personal graffiti by ?love! The legendary drummer for “The Roots” the band on the Jimmy Fallon show. A true hip-hop icon, Questlove is respected because of his positive influences and out of this world connection with the creativity of sound. Agh@! The camera.

With a promise to return to meet Alex who was spinning somewhere within this museum maze, we parted as if we had known each other all our lives and went on to make a second attempt to catch up with Margaret at the Metaphysical Library. The library is a room located underneath the buildings on Market Street. It sits quietly with all its brilliance below the surface. Underground. Through hallways and mirrors like Alice falling through the rabbit hole. The door was open and Margaret was in! I walked immediately to her and told her about Miami. As I did this, the lady who had been leading the study group earlier, Carol Laird, pointed out that my imagination was really out there! She said she could tell by my pinky finger and its position in relation to the hand. She said she couldn't help noticing it; I was waving my hand in front of her face. Oh my God, it's the cuban thing. It cannot be helped. Carol could also tell, by the position of my thumb that I am a doormat when it comes to helping others. Particularly, according to Carol, when it comes to my children. My hands tell it? You mean it’s not written in anguish all over my face? Sir Titus! Come here and have your pinky measured by the knowledgeable woman! I nearly fainted when I saw Doug’s pinky finger. Doug’s deformed separation between his pinky and the rest of his hand is proof that he is completely detached from reality. Tell it to Sir Titus of Avalon, Warrior in World of Warcraft. In the midst of our hurried conversation some people showed up to consult with Carol and we said good bye. The library looked beautiful, I’d have to come back again with the camera.

A major sweets craving lead us to Cupcake Royale and Verite café on Market Street, where again we took off the remnants of the winter garb we hadn’t yet donated to Buffalo Exchange, and set up our writing gear. We wrote and feasted on a dark, chocolate frosted, chocolate cupcake and mochas and yes; we unite with Cucake Royale in their fight to legalize frostitution! Time was as relative as it usually is and we noticed our background was changing from the brightness of day to a soothing, cool, afternoon. We googled our names to see what was up and found Muzilla.net had reviewed one of Doug’s albums and had chosen ‘Lady of Abyss’ as the free download album of the week November 30, 2009.

We were home before six and just as we walked in the room, exhausted with new thoughts and experiences, Doug noticed he had left his Glenmorangie scarf at the café. Which meant only one thing. We had no choice but to return for pictures. Voi-la.

Ron is a shy man who has a knack for interesting experiences. He normally doesn't photograph well he told me. I took several, even ones of Ron engrossed in conversation, but I thought this one was rather interesting. I was standing behind the computer to the right. There was no light, nor anything to throw a shadow or cover the lense. This light is an outline of what seems to be a head and shoulder.

For you, with Love

2010-02-14T11:13:00.001-08:00

It’s Valentine’s Day. How beautifully organized,

This moment in the grand design

The day of Love signifies

Nothing keeps us apart

For you are always in my heart.

-Dedicated to my Aunt Ines Eguino, who left this world to reunite with Love Eternal this morning. She left this world much better than she found it. I will miss her greatly.

Dolphins and Saints game 10-25

2009-10-25T17:09:00.000-07:00

Was that the 'Blue Steel' I caught on the face of the Saint's head coach during the last quarter? I noticed his lips were pursed in a way I've only seen on June Cleaver to show she's really, really, really mad. Wow! those were tense moments for me too. I had forsaken the emotional impulse to go for my home team in this week's football pool. I called my sister and assured her she did not have the power to jinx the Dolphins by watching the game. She had stopped watching at half time. We hung up and I laughed as I turned my attention again to the screen. I pondered what it would come down to...

It's a game. Only a game, as people say. So what determines the outcome? Hmmm. I think I puckered my lips too. It was going to come down to action. That's what put the fate of the game in motion. Not thought. Action. When the physical obeys the soul. Yeah baby, they aren't called the Saints for nothin'.

My Elegant Universe

2009-04-21T23:41:00.000-07:00

Physics and the laws of the universe came together for me not in a flash of revelation, but rather as a logical conclusion. Let me start at the beginning. I know little to nothing about Physics. Yet I recall the day ten years ago when I grabbed a new book titled The Elegant Universe to leaf through while I had a coffee break. I wondered what it may be like to stand on the threshold of magnificent, blissful, infinite space, and, what kind of form we would need in order to do it? In this physical world however I was in a somewhat slouchy human form at the Border’s in Coconut Grove, Florida with a Peppermint-mocha near at hand. I remember writing down the name of the author, Brian Greene- I would have to look him up, I thought.

I like to approach Physics the way I approach French- at my own pace and with my own books. I am interested in the subject but at a distance and only from time to time falling fully under its spell through the poetry of mathematicians and the humor of Richard Feynman.

Today, after several years of seeking my own answers through books, mediums, astrologers, gurus, psychology, theosophy, metaphysics and religion, I arrived at what I consider to be a philosophical example of cosmic proportion of how closely knit indeed the fabric of the universe is.

The poster was pinned behind the glass of the dry cleaners near North First and Tacoma Blvd. Dr. Brian Greene was going to give a lecture at Pierce College in Puyallup, Washington, on April 16, 2009 at 7pm. I could not believe it. Ten years after the day at Border's when I first saw The Elegant Universe, I now knew exactly who the author was. I had come to admire him as a true scientist- someone capable of concentrating for hours and perhaps days at a time. I was certain Brian Greene had contemplated the presence of something much larger behind the beautiful patterns of the universe.

It happened that over the last ten years I developed a nagging sense of logical acceptance of reality; of certain ancient philosophical thoughts with regard to the nature of God and matter. When I wrote down the date I felt there would be something extraordinary about this experience. What would I ask Brian Greene if I had the chance to talk to him?

As everything Libra, things don’t get done until the last minute and then, specifically, in a flurried state of panic. The day of the event we left home planning to buy the tickets on site. Sure. I cannot imagine what made me think the event would not be sold out a month in advance. I wrote my name on a waiting list and went to scope the place from the high cocktail tables and stools off to the side of the Lecture Room. I was in a strange daze of denial. How could there be no tickets?

A woman came up to us and said she too was on the waiting list. She told us she had risked the drive knowing there would be no tickets. I told her how I had come knowing I knew of no way to get back. She laughed and asked where we lived and offered us a ride to Tacoma. The woman then pointed to the corner and said, “That’s him standing over there. The conference is about to start.” She pointed to a man, dressed in black, standing near the lecture room door. Next to him was a young man who appeared to be his guide.

“That’s Brian Greene?” I asked.

“That’s him.”

I marched straight up to the man I now recognized from the pictures. His presence was vibrant- the black adding immense distinction and freshness.

“Dr. Greene?” I extended my hand smiling.

“Yes.” The famed Physicist said as he shook my hand. I did not hesitate. This was my only chance. It was already 7pm.

“What a pleasure it is to meet you. I had wanted to hear the lecture but it may not be possible. Dr. Greene, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“Have you… found God out there?”

“That’s a very good question. It depends what you mean by God?”

“I mean eternal space, with all these laws …”

“…and patterns. Yes, that is exactly what it is.”

“Do you find similarities in Physics and Philosophy?”

“Yes, most definitely. We happen to be working with a group of philosophers right now.”

“When you were a child, what made you go into Physics?”

“I suppose it was the question what is life?”

Thank you, Dr. Greene, may the force be with you, always.

The encounter with Dr. Brian Greene convinced me if you serve the great law of God you are saved by the great law of God. The patterns in the universe are complex and beautiful, just like the agencies that bring things about, such as that perfect Peppermint Mocha for which I had to grab a book to enjoy. Physics provides the exactness of this great pattern of laws, as proof is beyond our capabilities.

E - Boog AKA Earl "The Pearl" "The Duke" Eugene Ratliff

2008-12-05T20:01:00.000-08:00

September 29, 1968 - December 1, 2008

I would have walked into the lunch room and you would have been preparing your food, second to Sam waiting for the microwave. "Hey Estrella, how are you today?" you would have said in that cool way of yours.

"Hi Earl. You look nice. Monday sucked. Not just for me either, but for all who knew you during the time you were here. First there was shock, disbelief and tears and this weird feeling. Then the tears stopped and the disbelief dissipated but that other feeling was still there. We missed you already. Kelsy is still bawling. Anna remembered the time you called in and told her you had a case of anal blindness- you couldn't see your ass coming into work. Bessi, Leah and Kelly cried. The guys took it hard. Tuesday and Wednesday were super quiet except for remembering you, your kindness, your talent, your sense of humor, and of course your fly style. Tonight Tiffy gathered us all to remember and honor you properly and even though life goes on and laughter returns, that other weird feeling we couldn't quite place remains. That feeling is love. We all loved you Earl and in a world that has little of it you were a rich man my friend. Yours will be a beautiful memory we will carry with us until our own end. We are grateful to the force in this strangeness which is life, for putting you in our path and making our own lives richer and better for it.

Rossi vs Gregoire Debate - September 20, 2008

2008-09-23T14:18:00.000-07:00

Was that really Governor Gregoire on the radio or just a radio bed of pre-recorded comments? Her statements were outright lies. Dino's responses straightened her out and took her to task! Her rebuttal? To talk about something else. Go figure.

Maybe she didn't know it was a debate. Maybe she didn't know people who speak English were listening. She had the audacity to claim Dino Rossi was supportive of the needless highway contracts and land development SHE HERSELF has signed!

It all leads me to believe Gregoire was not there at all. Nobody can be that blatant of a liar! Not even a Democrat.

One of my favorite parts of the ... pre-recorded comments was when Gregoire actually said she wants me and you "out of their cars and into the buses"! - Meanwhile Gregoire, her family and friends never have a first-hand glimpse into the disastrous situation that is the public transit system in Washington. Why don't you get out of your gas guzzler Mrs. Gregoire and into the bus? Why don't you carry your i.d. with you while you're at it?

Gregoire is a disgrace to the State of Washington and should be ousted. Her plan to counteract the economic crisis? It is not to cap the abusive and rising costs of rent. It is not to enact regulatory laws that will bring down city and county inflated property taxes. It is not to place caps on insurance, or on unregulated banking fees, or taxes from the war of 1812. Gregoire's plan is to cut aid to the people that need it most. Gregoire's plan is to block state and city hiring. Sure, she is a great Governor - of hell!

Dino Rossi for Governor of Washington State

http://www.dinorossi.com/

Elect Decent People to Congress!!!!

2008-09-21T12:46:00.000-07:00

I appeal to all my friends, my colleagues and my family and supporters of Ron Paul to read the letter below from Pete Chamberlain, one of the most dedicated and staunch supporters of liberty and freedom I know and someone who works relentlessly for a brighter future for the entire human race.

I am sure if you are up with the headlines you are recognizing the gig is up for our corrupt government system yet they continue to threaten our liberty and freedom even more now that they are starting to feel the pressure of the people.

Please help elect decent people to Congress and change the course of history.

Dear Ron Paul supporter:

Ron Paul needs allies in the US Congress. Doug Cloud is running for Congress in the 6th congressional district and needs your help to get elected.

Doug Cloud will work to get the federal government off of our backs, fight the Federal Reserve and drastically reduce the federal income tax.

Visit dougcloud.com for more information.You worked hard for Ron Paul. Now I'm excited to tell you there is another opportunity for you to help protect our freedoms and restore the United States Constitution. We need volunteers and donations to battle one of the most entrenched socialist Democrats in the Federal government.

Doug Cloud has been a long-time fan of Ron Paul's. He is an advocate of Austrian economics. Doug Cloud believes that the government is attacking too many of our personal and economic freedoms.

Ron Paul needs more allies in the US Congress, so let's do what we can to send Doug Cloud to represent the 6th congressional district in Washington D.C. You can help by volunteering for the campaign to help out in your area.

Freedom certainly isn't free, and neither is fighting for it, so I also ask that you make the most generous donation you can so we can spread the message with radio and TV ads. We need help passing out literature, making phone calls in your county and telling your neighbors why they should vote for Cloud. I am asking for your help as someone who volunteered and then worked for the Ron Paul for President PCC, was on the coordination team for the WSRP state convention and represented my district as a delegate, and represented my congressional district at the Campaign for Liberty Leadership Summit in Minneapolis.

Please visit dougcloud.com and fill out the volunteer page. You can respond to this email or write to pete@dougcloud.com. You will receive a second letter with a more in-depth explanation of Doug Cloud, his opponent and what this race means for you.

Thank you again for joining the fight to defend Liberty!

Sincerely,

Pete Chamberlain 253-232-3602 pete@dougcloud.com

PS - We need your continued help in our fight to restore the republic. Please go to dougcloud.com today and sign up to volunteer.

Ron Paul's Statement to the National Press Club

2008-09-10T12:19:00.000-07:00

This excerpt is especially for all my friends who truly think there will be a "REAL CHANGE" in these elections. Ron Paul is, and continues to be the most followed candidate in these elections regardless of how the media has made sure YOU do not see how huge he has become. This is what Dr. Ron Paul told the National Press Club today, September 10, 2008.

I urge you to read it, become aware and even inspired to do something real to change the status quo. If all of us voted to REJECT McCain and Obama, which offer nothing different in Foreign Policy, nothing different in Economic growth, nothing different in a bigger welfare state the result of the upcoming election would finally put the power back in the people's hands where it belongs.

The American Majority
The argument that the two parties should represent opposed ideals and policies, one, perhaps of the Right and the other of the Left, is a foolish idea acceptable only to the doctrinaire and academic thinkers. Instead the two parties should be almost identical, so that the American people can ‘throw the rascals out’ at any election without leading to any profound or extensive shifts in policy. Carroll Quigley – Author of Tragedy & Hope

The coverage of the presidential election is designed to be a grand distraction. This is not new, but this year, it’s more so than ever.

Pretending that a true difference exists between the two major candidates is a charade of great proportion. Many who help to perpetuate this myth are frequently unaware of what they are doing and believe that significant differences actually do exist. Indeed, on small points there is the appearance of a difference. The real issues, however, are buried in a barrage of miscellaneous nonsense and endless pontifications by robotic pundits hired to perpetuate the myth of a campaign of substance.

The truth is that our two-party system offers no real choice. The real goal of the campaign is to distract people from considering the real issues.

Influential forces, the media, the government, the privileged corporations and moneyed interests see to it that both party’s candidates are acceptable, regardless of the outcome, since they will still be in charge. It’s been that way for a long time. George Wallace was not the first to recognize that there’s “not a dime’s worth of difference” between the two parties. There is, though, a difference between the two major candidates and the candidates on third-party tickets and those running as independents.

The two parties and their candidates have no real disagreements on foreign policy, monetary policy, privacy issues, or the welfare state. They both are willing to abuse the Rule of Law and ignore constitutional restraint on Executive Powers. Neither major party champions free markets and private-property ownership.

Those candidates who represent actual change or disagreement with the status quo are held in check by the two major parties in power, making it very difficult to compete in the pretend democratic process. This is done by making it difficult for third-party candidates to get on the ballots, enter into the debates, raise money, avoid being marginalized, or get fair or actual coverage. A rare celebrity or a wealthy individual can, to a degree, overcome these difficulties.
The system we have today allows a President to be elected by as little as 32% of the American people, with half of those merely voting for the “lesser of two evils”. Therefore, as little as 16% actually vote for a president. No wonder when things go wrong, anger explodes. A recent poll shows that 60% of the American people are not happy with the two major candidates this year.
This system is driven by the conviction that only a major party candidate can win. Voters become convinced that any other vote is a “wasted” vote. It’s time for that conclusion to be challenged and to recognize that the only way not to waste one’s vote is to reject the two establishment candidates and join the majority, once called silent, and allow the voices of the people to be heard.

We cannot expect withdrawal of troops from Iraq or the Middle East with either of the two major candidates. Expect continued involvement in Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and Georgia. Neither hints of a non-interventionist foreign policy. Do not expect to hear the rejection of the policy of supporting the American world empire. There will be no emphasis in protecting privacy and civil liberties and the constant surveillance of the American people. Do not expect any serious attempt to curtail the rapidly expanding national debt. And certainly, there will be no hint of addressing the Federal Reserve System and its cozy relationship with big banks and international corporations and the politicians.

There is only one way that these issues can get the attention they deserve: the silent majority must become the vocal majority.

This message can be sent to our leaders by not participating in the Great Distraction—the quadrennial campaign and election of an American President without a choice. Just think of how much of an edge a Vice President has in this process, and he or she is picked by a single person—the party’s nominee. This was never intended by the Constitution.

Since a principled non-voter sends a message, we must count them and recognize the message they are sending as well. The non-voters need to hold their own “election” by starting a “League of Non-voters” and explain their principled reasons for opting out of this charade of the presidential elective process. They just might get a bigger membership than anyone would guess.

Write-in votes should not be discouraged, but the electoral officials must be held accountable and make sure the votes are counted. But one must not be naïve and believe that under today’s circumstances one has a chance of accomplishing much by a write-in campaign.

The strongest message can be sent by rejecting the two-party system, which in reality is a one-party system with no possible chance for the changes to occur which are necessary to solve our economic and foreign policy problems. This can be accomplished by voting for one of the non-establishment principled candidates—Baldwin, Barr, McKinney, Nader, and possibly others. (listed alphabetically)

Yes, these individuals do have strong philosophic disagreements on various issues, but they all stand for challenging the status quo—those special interest who control our federal government. And because of this, on the big issues of war, civil liberties, deficits, and the Federal Reserve they have much in common. People will waste their vote in voting for the lesser of two evils. That can’t be stopped overnight, but for us to have an impact we must maximize the total votes of those rejecting the two major candidates.

For me, though, my advice—for what it’s worth—is to vote! Reject the two candidates who demand perpetuation of the status quo and pick one of the alternatives that you have the greatest affinity to, based on the other issues.

A huge vote for those running on principle will be a lot more valuable by sending a message that we’ve had enough and want real change than wasting one’s vote on a supposed lesser of two evils.

The Return of the Pear

2008-08-08T12:32:00.000-07:00

What do I have against apples? Marcy, the fruits and produce clerk at Thriftway asked me as she watched me fill my cart with strawberries, cherries, grapes, bananas, plums, peaches and half a dozen Bosco pears.

Nothing. I just don't like them as much as other fruits. I can eat an apple but I would rather eat a good mango, a ripe peach, or even a nice piece of sugar cane - which is not a fruit mind you. All of these are a rarity in Washington.

I did not like pears either, or so I thought. What I did not like were poorly grown pears shipped from a place10,000 miles away. Locally grown pears now top my list. The juicy, sweet tasting nectar is an orgasm to the palate; especially when combined with a creamy tasting imported cheese from Ireland.

So please, indulge me Marcy, and stop asking me why there are no apples in my cart.

Will Obama be assassinated?

2008-07-31T21:37:00.000-07:00

I believe Obama is in a sort of stay of execution. In 2007 he was the safe opponent to the pre-chosen Democratic candidate Hillary Clinton, who in 2004 used Kerry’s platform to campaign for herself. I saw her in Coconut Grove’s Peacock Park. I would have voted for her right then and there. The promotion was excellent. It was not until I heard the sincerity with which Ron Paul pronounced to an astounding number of supporters in Seattle the fateful words “We need to take this country back!” that I saw through Hillary’s deception. She made the same remark in 2004 but blessed baby Jesus! The eeriness of the meaning behind her words made me cringe. Hillary has made promises to people who can make her President. Hillary’s promises will reshape the nation. Probably right into a new style of government hereto unknown to non-Isaac Asimov’s readers. She cannot be elected…. Ever.

Bush, the leader of the Republican Party practically endorsed Hillary. Haven’t you heard the new Republican sound bite? “I would rather vote for Hillary than McCain. After all if the country is going to the toilet let it be under a Democrat.” But despite Republican endorsement Hillary will not be the nominee. So what about this Obama guy? Who is he, really? Do we take him seriously? Is he a Politician or does he have some morals? Is it a bad or a good experience to have been exposed to an outspoken preacher? And better yet…. Who are we to judge? We, who have disregarded the ethically required civic duty to be involved in government in order to drink beer, and watch American Idol and a crappy new version of Battlestar Galactica instead.

Will Obama be assassinated? If he is putting up a front to the famed guests that meet at Bohemian Grove, we can count on it. Eliminating a threat by means of murder is by far the most successful share practice for those who will never let go of power. I site Robin Hood as proof since I am not in the mood to list all the Roman Emperors, Pharaohs, Patrice Lumumba, and their respective government killers

The daunting task wouldn’t be the logistic of the plot but what group to blame it on. The would-be assassin must lead a life that can authentically profile him as a candidate. In an effort to get some preliminaries of an investigation out of the way… should Obama truly be assassinated, I conducted an independent study at the corner of Pike Street and 4^th in Seattle, an open bar in a family gathering in Miami, at the Lunch room at work, a séance, and while riding the Pierce County transit system in Tacoma.

“Do you believe Obama could be assassinated if he became President, and why do you think whatever your answer is?” Following is the basic breakdown of the answers by gender, status, and demographics:

“Oh, no, I hope not.”(waves pale, waiflike hand in the air) He is the best thing to happen to America and he is soooooo hot!” [Suzie, 24 year old Oriental student. Employed. Watches Rock of Love, The Billionaire, The Batchelor, The Butler, The Princess and the Geek, Flavor Flav, American Idol and Sabado Gigante]

“I want Hillary, so I don’t know.” [Luisa, 23-year-old Hispanic housewife and single-mother of three children. On government assistance. Happy about her 18-month-old’s level of lead poisoning in his body. According to Luisa, his range is between “normal” and low]

“He should be assassinated! He is a Muslim! He will force his Islamic ideas upon us. Did you know his middle name is ‘Hussein’? Do you know what those people are like?” [Blanca, 85 year old Hispanic-American. Widow. Blanca attends Christian slash Unitarian service regularly. No computer at home. McCain supporter]

“No. We have great security these days. If it happens it would mean it was done from inside.” [Seth, 21. Student. Undecided about career. Lives at home because he hates to do laundry and cannot cook for himself]

“It does not matter if he is good or bad. He will be assassinated. There will never be a black President. This country would never allow it.” [Manolo, 75-year-old Hispanic-American. Retired. Life experience advice track record bizarre but so far impeccable. Claims to be Catholic but hasn’t attended regular service since his sons Holy Communions in 1976. Kicks it in peace with his third wife in Hialeah]

“I would not be surprised. I would be very afraid if he becomes President. I would rather see Hillary win the nomination.” [Julia, Retired 65-year-old American of Hispanic descent. Originally endorsed Mitt Romney and now backs McCain. Moving to Europe if the Democrats win]

“I like Obama, he’s cool. I am sure the government will kill him if he becomes President.” [Melinda, 26-year-old American of Hispanic descent. Grasps the Sanskrit meaning of cool. Partakes in parties and imbibes. Employed]

“He is exactly the same as the other two. Are you not listening to what these people are saying? It is the same thing. If he is killed it is just to throw everyone off the all three of them are part of the same Agenda. He is a member of the Council of Foreign Affairs.” [Albert, 22-year-old American of Hispanic descent. Ron Paul supporter. Student. Employed]

“I hope he wins just because he is Black.” [Michael, 23-year-old American of Hispanic descent. Raised in the suburbs. Admits his vote is for sale to the highest bidder]

“Obama? Assassinated? Nah. Well, maybe.” [Pete, 43-year-old White American Male. UW graduate. Unemployed. Statement made during a political discussion at 10am with a fellow bus rider who had a drooping lip from a heavy-duty-anti-depressant medication that had probably been just administered]

“Obama’s my man. He better put up his own watch if his ass gets close to the nomination.” [Tessa, 28-year-old African-American. Student. Employed and proud of her tips]

“Just like JFK.” [Ron, 52-year-old African-Native-American. Homeless drunk Savant who rides Route 1 and speaks to invisible people even when sober]

“I hope not. I would hate to throw my vote away like that.” [Ken, 31, African-American. Employed. Doesn’t discuss his private life with strangers]

“Ah, yeah. Sure. Why? Because he is black. He would be the first Black President of the United States.” [Bill, 22-year-old White Male. Employed. On his own since 18. Not in the military]

“Yes. I think he could be assassinated.” [Bill, Native-American. Animation and Design devotee. Was interrupted by the previous Bill and never got to tell me his age, nor the reason for his answer]

“Maybe.” [Jonas, 33. Died of cigarette induced lung cancer. Contacted through Ouija. Occasionally visits City Lights nightclub in spirit form]

Young people support Obama. But young people do not know the incalculable power of 90-year-old County Party Committee Chairmen and worse yet, Precinct Officers.

Obama’s chances of becoming President are far greater than anyone imagines. However, based on the input received during my recent inquest I have concluded there seems to be no chance of survival for him. He should be on the lookout for ageing Hispanic-American, Christian females or, Hillary Clinton- whom under no circumstances should he consider as a member of his cabinet, let alone his running mate. After all, when asked why she did not get out of the race on two occasions earlier, Hillary mentioned the race was far from over, and as an example of an unforeseen outcome, referred to Robert Kennedy’s assassination… twice. I wonder what was on her mind? Many will pooh-pooh the idea of a threat of assassination coming from, of all places, the internal workings of government (yeah imagine that!) and will attempt to dump the idea under “Conspiracy”. Duh. The closer to the truth the better the lie.

Who Is Your District Congress Representative?

2008-02-15T21:45:00.000-08:00

Dear Congressman Dicks,

I have spent a good portion of my day reviewing funny enough, your projects. You know, the ones we all have at our jobs. It started with Thomas Ferraro's and Jeremy Pelosky's article of today on Reuters. Since we all agree on how screwed the media is I thought to check the House of Representatives website. After jumping a suspicious number of time consuming hurdles, I finally was able to reach you, my Representative. I get the impression Congress doesn't want to hear from the people and seem determined to do... I don't know? Something you haven't been asked by us to do, I guess.

My wishes are you represent me in Congress on the issue of spying as follows:

"I don't give a flying ding-dong about my security if I don't have privacy and freedom. No spying on U.S. citizens."

Is this direct enough? I don't speak bull shit. In my home I am free to call a Spade a Spade and not have it construed as a racial slur. I'm sick of the weakening of America through fear, lies and corruption.

Thanks to my search for you today, I have discovered downright illegal laws being passed stealthily under everyone's nose. Unconstitutional laws such as IMBRA with more than a little help from those in Wash, DC who believe spying on citizens somehow keeps us "safer" (while allowing Big Brother to monitor and control the populance into compliance and obedience.) I have had enough!

I hope this is clear. It will spare you a neutralizing form letter. It would be a waste of precious resources. Remember Global Warming.

When you return to Congress on February 19 I want you to represent me and all others who have been screaming in your District to be heard. What's Bush going to do to you? What's he going to do if you all do your jobs and speak up for us? What does he have on you guys you think it's worth your integrity? Get it through your heads, WE WANT FREEDOM AND PRIVACY. Any weirdoes, terrorists, child molesters - WHICH SEEM TO BE MOSTLY IN WASHINGTON - You deal with some other way that does not involve negating the citizens of this country rights granted not just by the Constitution, but by the mere fact we are human beings.

Sincerely,
Estella Eguino

PS - Oh! And by the way, my computer is still stuck on the Adobe Reader form of the HR's website where the Bill in question is supposed to appear. I did get a warning step that cautioned the Bill might not be up yet - after all, the secretary had only so much time to produce the nonsensical motions report.

Why Ron Paul?

2008-01-19T16:09:00.000-08:00

The military is exceptionally visible in Washington, home of the historical Fort Lewis. The famous Fort named after Meriwether Lewis, Secretary to President Thomas Jefferson. A pioneer whose experiences on the presidential mission to explore the great expanse of the United States west of the Missouri looking for commercial river routes within the country, ended many years later in suicide. People say Karma is a byatch.

In Seattle or Tacoma it is impossible to walk a mile and not run into military personnel. Many serving in Iraq and Afghanistan are from this area. It is a tradition in the area. Those who serve because their father served and their grandfather served and so on. I have been fortunate to meet soldiers during short breaks home, parents of soldiers not coming home for a while, and sadly the mother of one soldier who will not be returning at all. War is hell, is it not? I have yet to see the successful integration of anything by use of brute force. I witnessed the crumbling of the Soviet Union, the worldwide uprising against Apartheid legislation that legalized the white-ruled government to racially segregate South Africa, and the jaw-dropping decline in viewership of American Idol – proving once more that what is founded on destructive principles will itself destruct.

Why Ron Paul? Perhaps it has to do with the awakening of some bizarre sort of latent responsibility for individual sound economics. You cannot ignore the bottom line for ever and God knows I have tried!

The United States is much more powerful in its diversity than in its unifying forces. The ‘unificators’ are wimps. Expounding the diversity amongst the States is where strength truly lies. Ron Paul can see this.

Is the economy headed into a deep black hole? If only we would be so lucky! Ron Paul stands for everything I as a human being believe in. It will not get any simpler than that for me. Despite the outright silencing of his message by the establishment due to his lack of “electability” – a discriminative issue if there ever was one! When in fact the motive is to elect someone to “beat Hillary”.

Hillary is not going anywhere folks. Not even with the costly wild advertising and public relations campaigns. Where does this woman get 24 million dollars to spend in New Hampshire alone? Everyone not connected with a union will vote against her. Obama and Edwards are much more likely to win the nomination than Hillary. Yet, who does the GOP think can beat Hillary? It seems the formidable ladies of the Grand Ole’ Party think the "Hilltermittnator" is Mitt Romney. Granted he is good looking but so was Ted Bundy. If we could pose to the party elders the individual dilemas of much younger generations, and the former apply their wisdom and experience the result would be magnificent. It would be miraculous. This is a wonderful opportunity to work together and do something important, something that counts for future generations.

Why Ron Paul? Because he embodies whatever may be good in Romney, McCain, Huckabee, Obama, Edwards and even Hillary. There isn't a parent in this country that would not vote for Ron Paul after going to his website and learning exactly what this man has been doing while we were sleeping.

Ron Paul leads all other candidates in donations received to his campaign from serving military personnel and Vietnam veterans.

http://thespinfactor.com/thetruth/2007/07/16/military-support-for-the-republican-candidates

http://www.ronpaul2008.com/veterans

For the sake of your children and grandchildren, and that of a great America. Don't go blindly into this one. Vote Ron Paul.

And while you're at it... tell me what you think of my first nation-wide commercial ever?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N69CKQ4Fw_c

The Importance of Being Editor

2008-01-05T11:56:00.000-08:00

The Film Industry is a small and difficult field to crack into, and then to find exceptional talent is even nearly impossible. For this reason I am particularly proud of the accomplishments of my friends in the film industry and want to share this with everybody.
Below is a link to ICOM, the film and video production and post production magazine where Ronald Garcia (husband of Cory Zacharia) and his production company, RNGM were profiled. Ronald has a long list of credits to his name and continues to make himself known in the South-Florida film and television scene.

One of the advantages of living in Seattle are the constant opportunities for filming in this area. A fast rising name in the L.A./Seattle scene is Adam Berman, Director of Photography and Cinematography with a distinguished list of film credits including 'The Hand that Rocks The Cradle' filmed in Tacoma and Seattle.

Both Ronald and Adam are known for their almost obsessive attention to the details of the lens to ensure the quality of vision and perspective for audiences. It is their job to make you 'feel' by 'seeing'. The work of the cinematographers and editors is a delicate and subtle one, and at times imperceptible. We, the audience, are not supposed to notice. The smooth transition of the message, the progressive development of scenes, and the overall feel of a film rests in their hands. Congratulations to Ronald Garcia and Adam Berman - I am extremely proud to be associated with these talented people.

http://www.icommag.com/january-page-1.html

http://www.bermanfilms.com/other.html

Women's and Gender Studies and their debilitating effect on the future of our Society

2008-01-03T22:53:00.000-08:00

Major corporations waste a lot of money hiring advertising agencies to confirm things they should already know. I worked for one. But Allied-Domecq was one of the largest liquor companies in the world and its profits were generated by the sale of its own products. I thought of the company during a focus group I went to about a month or so ago sponsored by a Women’s something Abuse, something or other group. I’ve forgotten. That’s how useless this association was. I guarantee that if we contact the other participants they won’t remember either. Unlike a major corporation, this association depends 100% on private donations, and as I found out during discussions in the focus group, it and local political organizations had been involved in a fraud scandal that made news in 2005.

I had been looking forward to the study group with anticipation because I’d get to be on the other side this time. It was going to be so much fun! I thought. Well it was, but at the same time it frightened the beejeezez out of me. Honestly. I walked away from the meeting worried to death over the future of civilization. Enough so that it moved me to action for the cause of simple common sense. The real simple one. The one that even I can understand.

I may not be cut out to spearhead anti-Women’s studies movements. Nobody knows that better. My only previous experience in activism was in Kindergarten on a sunny, Caribbean early afternoon when I attempted to lead my classmates in a line to my house across the street from the school during an unattended moment. But what the heck, if the spot is vacant….

Someone needs to speak up or society is going to spin out of control way before the dreaded end of the Mayan calendar. Every single deviance rooted in weakness will become acceptable behavior. Granted we must be tolerant of all our brothers and sisters but frankly I don’t have the time for certain concepts involved in the field of Women’s and Gender studies – as I learned it is officially called. Especially when the term ‘Abuse’ is discussed.

The setting of the study was the posh office of the advertising agency. They’re so chic and neighborly the owners take their dog to the office. A girl dog. I met her once during a beer day the agency threw for the neighborhood businesses. Anyway, my first perception of the women's group, which name I've since forgotten, was to wonder what business this group had using the money donated to them for something so frivolous as a focus group to determine their advertising campaign strategy when they should be employing it on a hands-on capacity to help those who are being abused. The campaign is to include billboards, TV, popular magazines- the entire media spectrum. There was a lot of money involved here and I was curious as to why this Association would go through such expense to get in everyone’s face. I picked a Twizzler from the candy jar and sat back listening to the response of 8 local women, most of them working women or moms in the mid twenties to early thirties age range, as well as one student majoring in Women’s and Gender studies, to the question: “How prevalent do you think abuse is in your neighborhood?”

The first woman said it was “all over the place” and immediately associated ‘abuse’ with a man beating his wife. Needless to say the six ninnies after her followed suit. There are too many alcoholics who beat their wives, etc., on and on it went around the table. I simply replied that I find public transportation to be extremely abusive. The bus drivers are nasty to everybody; they treat everyone like criminals and don’t hesitate to make threats using vulgar language to decent women and children. I asked if this constituted abuse. Yes, I was told it most certainly did, but this “is not the abuse we are referring to” Oohhh… I see. Next question. (The abuse of the public by government service employees is not of concern to anybody)

“How prevalent do you think abuse is in your workplace?”

Well, all I can say is that if peaceful representatives from the planet Krypton would have been sitting there they would have walked out convinced that every woman on Earth is belittled and raped in the back offices of businesses all over the planet after listening to these women. Again, they followed the lead of the first respondent and the note taker was busy scribbling one thing after another. I said I had no reason to think anybody in my workplace was being abused. How do I know that? Next question.

“What are the signs of abuse in the workplace?” T his is what the women responded:

- Personal phone calls
- Tardiness
- Too many visits to the bathroom
- Withdrawn
- Not wanting to socialize after work

Personally, I have not yet been trained in behavioral profiling by the FBI so I could have never deduced all the above were signs of abuse. I fit the profile to a tee and I was not an abused woman. I get personal phone calls at work. They are usually from my boyfriend wanting to know where his socks are, his keys, his gloves, and until what time I’ll be in the office? In addition, I have a bit of a reputation for tardiness. I’ve had it since I overshot my birth due date by a week and a half. I have been on a water kick the last six months and I make at least one visit to the bathroom every hour. I am absorbed in my work to the point of rudeness and I could have easily been labeled by my co-workers as withdrawn. I don't like conversations around the water cooler or during kitchen gatherings. I find most topics discussed at the work place boring, petty or trivial. I enjoy spending time with my family a lot more than spending time with people from work and choose not to socialize with them. Point taken.

“As Estrella points out, these signs are not always indicative of abuse in the workplace.” Said the moderator for the women’s group, and then looking like the dove of peace stroking the rattled confidence of the women who had pointed out the misguided symptoms, she continued “But they can be, and we must all be alert to this type of behavior.” I was expecting her to get up and pat each one of them softly on the back for their effort, regardless how weak it was. Why are we so afraid to point out stupidity? Many stupid people might snap out of it.

“Wait a minute? What about the obvious ones? What about bruises? What about a black eye? What about if they actually come up to you crying and tell you they’ve been abused? Wouldn’t those be considered signs too?” I asked.
“Yes, they would be.” Said the moderator and the next question was:

“What do you do if you see someone with bruises? Someone with a black eye?”

Are you ready? This is what these alert women, who can astutely conclude that personal phone calls at work are symptoms of spousal abuse, would do in this case- Nothing. Why? Well, because apparently any person exhibiting these signs can be volatile and dangerous. They can be explosive. They can carry guns. They may have psychological disorders or be involved in a personal crisis that they would be ashamed to discuss. It could be harmful.

Well, dang! I grabbed a Snickers bar from the candy jar as I waited for my turn.

“As I sit here and listen to all of you I ask you please, if you see me with a bruise on my face, call the police. Please. Put all your fears aside and intervene. I’m probably being beaten and threatened.”

The discussion continued and now we had one half of the table saying something different than the other side of the table. The study was getting nowhere. The moderator discussed a few things and tried to set us in the right track again by asking “What is ‘abuse’?”

According to these women abuse is:

“When your boyfriend or your husband tells you that you are worthless or fat.”
“It can be malicious gossip being spread about you at work.”
“Some women have cheating husbands that drink and then come home and insult them, and scream at them, calling them names.”
“When the man uses money to get the woman to do things he wants.”
“When mothers yell or hit their kids and say mean things to them.”
“When a man threatens a woman.” (Percy Sledge would have thrown up)
“When a child or a woman is embarrassed or humiliated in front of others.”

My turn to respond. I didn’t know where to begin, I said. I couldn’t consider myself the victim of abuse in the situations they had just described. My boyfriend or husband can try verbal abuse. He just better be ready for my reply and the end of our relationship. Malicious gossip at work? I would be the last to find out because of my general disinterest. Some husbands have angry, drinking wives that come home and they are the ones that start a fight. I yelled at my kids all the time when they did something wrong and once I totally humiliated my 9 year old son in front of his friends for lying to me. Now they’re grown up and have had the courage to deal with situations that would have made most adults buckle under the extreme pressure. Name calling is vulgar and low-class. If I know someone in a relationship with somebody else who uses name calling, I wouldn’t think that person was the victim of abuse. I would think they were stupid for putting up with it. And I will confess, I sometimes get money from my boyfriend when I want to go shopping and he wants me to go Downtown. I suppose to me, abuse is when someone is physically violent toward me and I cannot defend myself.

The Women’s and Gender Studies major must have thought I was the most ignorant woman in the Universe. How can I not be aware of other types of abuse? How could I sit there and say that abuse is when somebody hits somebody else?

Time to clarify. I didn’t say that’s what abuse is. That’s what abuse is to me. I can take care of myself against emotional abuse from men because I just wouldn’t put up with it.

“What about children that are being abused?”

“On that, you guys have clearly stated that unlike me, you would do absolutely nothing for fear of repercussion if you saw a violent situation developing in front of you.”

“What would you do?” asked the moderator.

“If I saw someone beating a child or a woman, or a man with rage, I’d call the police. That’s what they’re there for. However if I saw a mother giving her 7 year old the spanking of his life because he was throwing a tantrum over a toy he wanted, I’d applaud her.” The gasps were audible. Again the Women’s and Gender Study participant was aghast at my explanation.

“I’m confused,” I said. “If you saw someone violently beating somebody else, you would do nothing because you feel it’s not your place yet you would call the 1-800 abuse hotline to report a mother disciplining her own child? How were you all raised that this twisted logic has been put in your head?”

Again the moderator had to direct the discussion in the right direction for the final question:

“How ‘Aware’ do you think people are about abuse?”

Apparently abuse is rampant and right under our very noses. It is also consistently perpetrated by men, and specifically more by wealthy men. We, all of us, need to be aware of abuse and do something about it- as long as it doesn’t involve actual, physical intervention to save anybody’s life. The implied suggestion is to report suspicion of abuse when a person spends too much time in the bathroom.

“How about you Estrella? How aware do you think you and others are about abuse?”

Me, I am as aware as I need to be and I don’t presume to think my fellow citizens are any different. Your discussions imply that we’re surrounded by ignorant people that must be told what to do. My next door neighbors are a retired Air Force captain and his wife. They are two of the most caring and intelligent people I’ve ever met. They know what abuse is and I would find it offensive and insulting, as I’m sure they would, if your organization barraged them with surveys, telemarketing phone calls, flyers, booklets, and all sorts of materials to get in their face, when they don’t have any use for this stuff. Nor do I. I don’t need to be aware of abuse and your campaign shouldn’t be concerned with making me aware of anything. Your campaign should be solely targeted to the ‘Abused’ and the ‘Abuser’ and judging from your definition of these you have a lot of work ahead of you.

I don’t like people who presume to tell me they know better than I do what I should or shouldn’t be aware of. That smacks too much of Communism for me and I grew up in a communist country. This is somewhat of a disease in this part of the United States. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the leftist Democrats elected to office. Maybe it was the widespread use of hallucinogen drugs and flower power during the seventies. Whatever is responsible for this attitude needs to be stopped. Listening to these women I was afraid for our future. Afraid for the children. Afraid for how we are indoctrinating our youth to report on people.

I am afraid the women behind these organizations are the product of unhealthy early childhood situations. They are aggressive and negative in their attempt to win over support and feel validated by ridiculous subjects that have been accepted as Academia. These women act with contempt and even hatred toward men in general, and particularly toward women who disagree with them. They are, by their own definition, Abusers and I for one will not sit idly by.

People don’t need to be told what abuse is. People need to be taught since Kindergarten how to defend themselves and their property from abuse, wherever it comes from. I consider abuse when a day care administrator who majored in Women’s and Gender Studies removes from a child the opportunity to create a replica of the Star Treck Enterprise with Lego’s because the other ten children in the room couldn’t put together a flag pole. That, my friend is the worst abuse of all. It is an attack on the imagination.

The Stages of Woman

2008-01-01T17:24:00.000-08:00

At birth: Hope you weren't dropped in a toilet

As a toddler: Don’t stick your head in the toilet

As a child: Explore every toilet

As a teen: Don’t throw pads in the toilet

As a college student: Don’t let your hair touch the toilet

As a young woman: Obsess over the seat on the toilet

As a mother: Don't sit on any toilet

As a grandmother: You look in the toilet

As a great-grandmother: You don’t need a toilet

As a great-great-great grandmother: You can’t remember the toilet

Drinking and Halloween

2007-11-02T09:23:00.000-07:00

Zen Sarcasm

2007-10-05T10:44:00.000-07:00

Contributed by Denise Latham for a good Friday laugh!

1. Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, or I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just pretty much leave me the hell alone.

2. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and leaky tire.

3. It is always darkest before dawn. So if you're going to steal your neighbor' s newspaper, that's the time to do it.

4. Don't be irreplaceable. If you can't be replaced, you can't be promoted.

5. Always remember that you're unique. Just like everyone else.

6. Never test the depth of the water with both feet.

7. If you think nobody cares if you're alive, try missing a couple of car payments.

8. Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.

9. If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you.

10. Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day.

11. If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.

12. If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.

13. Some days you're the bug; some days you're the windshield.

14. Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.

15. The quickest way to double your money is to fold it in half and put It back in your pocket.

16. A closed mouth gathers no foot.

17. Duct tape is like 'The Force'. It has a light side and a dark side, and it binds the universe together.

18. There are two theories to arguing with women. Neither one works.

19. Generally speaking, you aren't learning much when your lips are moving.

20. Experience is some thing you don't get until just after you need it.

21. Never miss a good chance to shut up.

22. Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and laxative on the same night.

Dear Abby

2007-09-20T09:27:00.000-07:00

Dear Abby,

My husband is a liar and a cheat. He has cheated on me from the beginning, and, when I confront him, he denies everything. What's worse, everyone knows that he cheats on me. It is so humiliating. Also, since he lost his job six years ago, he hasn't even looked for a new one. All he does all day is smoke cigars, cruise around and hang out with his buddies while I have to work to pay the bills. Since our daughter went away to college he doesn't even pretend to like me and hints that I may be a lesbian. What should I do

Signed: Clueless

Dear Clueless, Grow up and dump him. Good grief, woman. You don't need him anymore!You're a United States Senator from New York running for President of the United States. Act like one!

And the Headline Scare for Today is……!

2007-07-25T12:59:00.000-07:00

With Paris Hilton out of jail Reuters, who is hard pressed for sensationalism, picked up on a routine report that the Transportation Security Administration provided to “Washington” in which TSA described an unclassified warning about cheese with wiring as being a "dry-run bomb test" by terrorists.

Nowhere in the Reuters article is it mentioned whether TSA has actually spotted one of these culinary horrors. The report, according to Reuters, is one of 90 released this year and said it had no specific information of a pending attack.

Basically, this is like saying that if the Queen had balls, she could be King.

If you have not run into the TSA at the airport, these guys are dressed in black trousers and white shirts with all kinds of royal-type color insignia on their shirt pockets similar to Bahamian policemen. Their job is to sit near or by a gate and help with passenger screening by looking at your passport, your ticket, and you…to see if it all matches.

On a recent trip to Miami, I inadvertently handed the TSA agent an old e-ticket and my passport and the agent waved me through to the metal detectors. When there’s a line of some two hundred people waiting to be checked at the gate, TSA’s ability to spot discrepancies diminishes from that of a low wage earning bumb to one of a sniveling toddler- and this is when they’re busy. During their downtime, the TSA can’t even direct you to the nearest toilet! They are referred to by airport personnel as the “Totally Sitting Around”. Nice.

Apparently the Totally Sitting Around reported on a July 20 memo that they know of four incidents over the past year where security screeners found a block of cheese taped to electrical components, that resembled homemade bombs. There is no mention by Reuters however, about how the Totally Sitting Around handled the passenger that took such measures with their carry-on cheese.

"Past terrorist attacks and plots show that such testing generally indicates attacks will soon follow," said the internal memo, which was posted on the Internet by NBC News on Tuesday.

Or, it can indicate that people just want to retaliate the pat-downs, frisks, and unnecessary attitude ot the Totally Sitting Arounds. Why not? Somebody has to keep these people on their toes and we know we can’t count on the system. The system that on one hand criminalizes law enforcement agents for preventing illegal immigrants to come into the US by force, while other law enforcement agencies relax passport requirements. The same system that on one hand halted the closure of the immigration debate, yet does not arrest the mayor of New Haven, Connecticut for issuing identification cards to illegal immigrants, basically a federal offense. The irrationality of our law enforcement can easily prompt an airline passenger to want to irritate the system. As far as I can tell, putting electrical cord around your cheese may not do much for hygene but is not a crime. Even the Totally Sitting Around goes on to disclaim their own statement by saying in the memo (and using poor grammar at that) “none of the passengers in question has been linked with criminal or terrorist organizations so far.”

The incidents of cheese and wire wrapping therefore, by the Totally Sitting Around’s own admission, does not indicate "attacks will soon follow”.

"We constantly feed intelligence and training information to our officers and the law enforcement community and this is one example of such information sharing," the Totally Sitting Around said in a meaningless statement late on Tuesday. Feed intelligence? You’ve got to be kidding!

If you go to the Totally Sitting Around website, you will find this group of security officers describe themselves as…

We are your neighbors, friends and relatives. We are 43,000 security officers, inspectors, directors, air marshals and managers who protect the nation's transportation systems so you and your family can travel safely. We look for bombs at checkpoints in airports, we inspect rail cars, we patrol subways with our law enforcement partners, and we work to make all modes of transportation safe.

When Kip Hawley became Assistant Secretary of TSA, he declined to have an official portrait taken to hang in TSA offices. Instead, he has sent mirrors to hang next to portraits of President Bush and Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff. "When our airport screeners look in the mirror, they will see who is important, who can make a difference, the person without whom we can't succeed," Hawley said. With that, the I am TSA campaign was born:

I am the face of TSA.

I use innovation, my experience, and state-of-the-art technology to protect the traveling public.
I respect the individual needs of each traveler, carrying out my duties with dignity, courtesy and integrity.

I am intensely committed to ensuring fair treatment in the screening process.

I am the frontline of defense, drawing on my imagination to creatively protect America from harm.
I am a Transportation Security Officer.

In the case of the TSA “I” is much more important than “We”.

I don’t know about the rest of the people, but I for one don’t want my neighbor, Carlos Villanocturna, to be employing his “imagination to creatively protect America from harm” when he has yet to pass his GED.

Making People Happy!

2007-07-12T08:54:00.000-07:00

President Bush, First Lady Laura and Dick Cheney were flying on Air Force One. George looked at Laura, chuckled and said, "You know, I could throw a $1,000 bill out of the window right now and make somebody very happy.."

Laura shrugged her shoulders and replied, "I could throw ten $100 bills out the window and make ten people very happy."

Cheney added, "That being the case, I could throw one hundred $10 bills out of the window and make a hundred people very happy"

Hearing their exchange, the pilot rolled his eyes and said to his co-pilot "Such big-shots back there. $hit I could throw all of them out of the window and make 56 million people very happy."

AFL-CIO Represents Illegal Day Laborers

2007-07-09T09:29:00.001-07:00

Yup. Apparently, this is the politically correct term..."illegal-day-laborers"

Below is the article that appeared on 'Corruption Chronicles':

AFL-CIO Represents Illegal Day Laborers

While the U.S. Senate defeated the controversial immigration bill this week the nation’s largest federation of unions announced its unprecedented affiliation with a day laborer center that represents illegal immigrants.

The American Federation of Labor and Congress of Industrial Organizations (AFL-CIO), which represents about 10 million workers, first announced its nationwide plan to help illegal immigrant workers last year.

Billed as a historic partnership, the AFL-CIO promised to help the country’s estimated 12 million illegal immigrants come out of the shadows by helping day laborers learn about their workplace rights. The powerful and politically connected union giant vowed to serve as an advocate for illegal aliens by working with 140 day laborer centers in 80 cities and towns.

This week a northern California day laborer center became the first to capitalize on the plan and become officially affiliated with the AFL-CIO. The union has committed to help improve working conditions for the immigrant workers at Centro Legal de la Raza, an organization that claims to protect and advance the rights of immigrants and all low-income Latinos in the state’s Bay Area.
The AFL-CIO is stepping in because the day laborers, who solicit jobs by standing on corners or loitering in parking lots, have little recourse when an employer refuses to pay or expects them to work under dangerous conditions. An enthusiastic director of Centro Legal de la Raza predicts this could be the first step to fully unionizing illegal immigrants in the United States.

Judicial Watch is a non-partisan, educational foundation dedicated to fighting government and judicial corruption and promoting a return to ethics and morality in our nation's public life. To view the Judicial Watch Internet site click here (www.judicialwatch.org).

~~~ // ~~~

In my opinion, the AFL-CIO is a terrorist organization and I for one, can't understand why they haven't been dismantled already.Unions are the main reason why we have an apalling government school system, a pathetic transit system, a disgusting postal service, corrupt policemen and lazy workers. They are the biggest MAFIA affecting this country. It makes perfect sense that they would collaborate with other corrupt entities. And by the way... those twelve million immigrants that noisily demanded rights that don't belong to them a month ago...didn't look like they were "in the shadows" to me! Stop trying to make criminals that break the law into victims, please. We will have plenty of victims soon in this country when the kidnapping industry established in Colombia, Venezuela, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Mexico starts up business in the United States. Now that's Real Terror! Aren't we at war against terror? Aren't Americans dying for it? Why then are organizations like these not dismantled because of their anti-American beliefs? The AFL-CIO is a terrorist organization.

For more or "my opinion" below is a link to an article accepted and printed in Corruption Chronicles:

http://72.14.253.104/search?q=cache:JPFXomx6I8QJ:www.corruptionchronicles.com/2007/06/aflcio_represents_illegal
_day.html+Estrella+Eguino&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=15&gl=us

Please note that my article is the one that appears directly above my name. Not to be confused with the article by Peter Lubrano.

Floridians Beware - Read the Writing on the Hurricane Center!

2007-07-06T11:04:00.000-07:00

... you might as well do your own forecasting this Hurricane Season!

On June 12, the Director of the National Hurricane Center in Miami, Bill Proenza spoke about the frailty of a satellite used to forecast the strength and size of hurricanes in order for the Center to issue proper warnings. The satellite is so old that it has already begun to have problems and last hurricane season there were more than a handful of storms that perhaps should have been labeled Category 1 hurricanes. In 2005, Hurricane Rita supposedly came through as a Category 2 hurricane but the people remember it was much stronger than that. This image is of the eye of Hurricane Ivan, the strongest hurricane on record, taken from the International Space Station from an altitude of 230 miles on Saturday, September 11, 2004.

Director Bill Proenza though, is in trouble with Washington. He may be foiling some plans for Big Brother, albeit unintentionally. In these days, you can't be good at what you do if you work for the government.

Apparently after the June 12 statement by Bill Proenza, which was publicized in an article by Yahoo that no longer appears available but to which I kept the link and quickly sent to my family so that they know the danger they're in, the so called "forecasters" were upset over how this might have frightened the population. Well for crying out loud! If the satellite has been up since the 1960's and is already starting to show signs of failure...wouldn't you want the people to take extra precautions when warnings are issued? or should we just cross our fingers and hope that the fate of the decayed New Orleans levys doesn't repeat itself?

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070612/ap_on_re_us/hurricane_satellite

I'm guessing that phone calls from concerned citizens might have cut into the totally sitting around time of these supposed "forecasters" and the lazy group turned to "Washington" for help. How do we stop these phone calls? What do we do about the old satellite? Please tell this guy to shut up about the danger the people are in! The lost little sheep asked "Washington". From the article below, I would gather that the forecasters were instructed by Washington to stay in their glass cubicles and draw the shades down the next time Director Bill Proenza addressed the issue, thereby showing their mutinous disagreement. There! that takes care of the problem of the failing satellite! Shut up about it.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070706/ap_on_re_us/hurricane_center

Folks, take a look at the size of Hurricane Ivan here. The largest and strongest hurricane ever recorded and ask yourself if you want to be misinformed about storms like this one? Do you want a man at the helm of the Hurricane Center that doesn't hesitate to speak out about the possible repercussions of an antique satellite breaking down? or do you want the "Washington" attitude to keep all of you in the dark and dumbed down?

This is a picture taken by NASA of Hurricane Ivan entering the Gulf of Mexico at about 5:40pm on Monday, September 13, 2004.

My advice to Floridians: When the Hurricane Center issues a warning from this point on until the old, failing satellite is repaired (which most likely will be after the catastrophe), act as if you're taking your temperature using the "under the arm" method and add at least two more categories to whatever they tell you! Take care and God bless.

The Golfer

2007-07-02T13:33:00.000-07:00

Nuncio, the golfer, had hit 12 balls into the water on a short water hole. Suddenly, something snapped, he pulled his clubs out of the bag, broke each one and threw them one by one into the water. Then he threw the bag into the water and then the golf cart. Then he turned and ran all the way to the club house. He pulled open his locker, ripped up his golf clothes and set fire to them. Grabbing a razor, he slashed his wrists. An ambulance came and as he was being carried to it on a stretcher, he noticed in the crowd of shocked, hushed spectators, one of the members of his foursome.

"Sam," he whispered, "what time do we tee off tomorrow?"

Part II - The Stranger From the Eleventh Floor

2007-07-01T00:24:00.000-07:00

Never mind the Stranger from the Eleventh Floor!

How about the Horror Story from 615 S.Grant Avenue?

Thursday, June 21st 2007 – The longest day of the year. The Summer Solstice. The first day of Summer. The day when I had a quasi-date with the good-looking stranger from the Eleventh floor so we could go to Wrights Park and watch the Sun hide behind Tacoma General Hospital as it went down sometime at around eleven o’clock at night.

As the appointed time neared, I became less interested. Finding an excellent reason to remain sprawled on the big, over-sized and over-stuffed chair I use for reading, the Summer Solstice came and went without the suggested excitement of the previous week. I have a perfectly terrific view of the sun going down behind the Olympic Mountains. Why bother with the view from Wrights Park? Instead, I enjoyed a full scale re-enactment of a typical B Horror Flick where the woman is showering in an old, dilapidated house. Who needs Romance when you can have Horror?

Sir Titus of Avalon, or at least that's what he goes by in his World of Warcraft universe, has a new address. He calls it the ‘artist loft’. It is the ground floor of an old Victorian house on the outskirts of the Stadium District. It’s a stone’s throw away from Sprague and Sixth Avenue. The door that opens from the front foyer into the main floor of the house is a beauty. Old frosted and beveled glass in two single, long panels framed in mahogany. The glass doors are the only beautiful things in this house, built in 1903. The place is rotten everywhere else. The wood floors are old and have been covered with a rough textured carpet. The fireplace is completely sealed off and the three-panel bay window has a lovely view into the next door neighbor’s own bay window with only skimpy bushes of trees separating the two decaying properties.

The house was purchased in 1997 for $60,000.00 and the current owner has somehow managed to apparise this dump at $215,000.00. The place is right off the town’s derelicts main path of transit! There’s a restaurant less than a block away called ‘Southern Kitchen’ and we’re in Washington.

If there’s one thing the South is known for- and I don't mean this in an offensive way, but I've heard this all my life, it's for its downright ghetto, marry-your-sister-lifestyle and we’ve got it’s kitchen around the block! Who knows what lurks around here.

It was the big screen tv that enticed me to spend the weekend. We were going to watch ‘Tristan and Isolde’. I wanted to see James Franco in this film. He had become one of my favorite young stars since I saw him in the James Dean story. ‘Tristan and Isolde’ was filmed in Western Ireland. That too had my interest. I had grabbed a change of clothes and upon our return from‘Southern Kitchen’ where I skipped the catfish but had grits- like a good, ol’ Cuban-American immigrant that grew up in Miami - (with lots of sugar and butter) I sat at the computer desk and began to write a new post for the blog. The computer is propped right in the midst of two electronic keyboards on the same table as two loud speakers. I wrote and surfed the net for hours as ‘Tristan and Isolde’ played in the background and the gallant Sir Titus of Avalon kept me abreast of the crucial developments in the movie by announcing from the sofa such key turning points as “uh…he’s getting some of that…”

The movie over, I too was done for a while. It was four-thirty in the afternoon. Lunch had been a tasty chicken breast in some kind of white sauce and fresh mushroom wild rice. What a lucky woman I am! With lunch we had two bottles of Soos Creek 2004 Meritage Artist Series #4 that we got because we liked the label and one of us reasoned that the purchase was in fact an investment, since the label could be reproduced on a mural inside the decaying Victorian house thereby increasing the assessed value of the place from $215,000 to at least half a mil.

It was time for a shower and yes, the bathroom of this place could possibly put any CIA secret prison’s torture chambers to shame. The trauma is psychological as well since all the surfaces are germ-free clean. Only that after more then one hundred years, they are stained to high heaven! The old linoleum beige floor with a thin blue line pattern is warmly reminiscent of ‘Psycho’.

On the ceiling I noticed a hole from where the lamp hung a few inches down, on two electric wires.

“Sir Titus? What’s upstairs?”
“Nothing. Why? Another guy lives upstairs.”
“Come and look at this hole in the ceiling. Somebody could be watching from upstairs.”

Sir Titus of Avalon came into the bathroom and pooh-poohed the whole thing. “That’s nothing. That doesn’t open up to the next floor! You can’t even see anything through there. Beside, maybe he doesn’t look at women. Maybe he’s gay and looks at guys.”
“Oh, that’s comforting! Anybody that looks through a hole in the floor is a freakin’ weirdo in my book.”
“Will you stop it? The guy’s not even here.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know! We don’t talk much except to say ‘hi’ when we run into him coming in or out in the foyer.”
“So you don’t know who this guy is.”
“What are you getting at? Why don’t you just finish with your shower so I can go next? I have to be at work at six.”

One of the things I like about red wines is their effect on me. It’s this mellowness. Like a state of Nirvana. Now that the issue with the creep upstairs had been settled, I relaxed and let the steaming hot water wash away the soapiness of the Wildflower Bath and Shower gel that I poured over and over again as my thoughts drifted to other realms. Dreamily, I was considering how I would invest a modest sum of money that’s coming to me, when a thump startled me back to the reality of this old, spooky house.

“Sir Titus?” No answer.

Oh my God, I thought. It’s happening. This is exactly like a B-Horror flick. Here I am, naked in the shower. How many times have I chastised the showering victims in movies for being so stupid? Why would anybody take a shower in a scary old house? Maybe Sir Titus went upstairs to check if there really was somebody looking through the hole in the ceiling and the killer cut his throat and hung him on a meat hook inside a closet for me to find the body later.

“Siiiirr Tiiiiiituuuus?” Silence.

I grabbed a towel and without turning off the shower, got out and made my way through the kitchen toward the next room, the spacious living room area that Sir Titus of Avalon and Comrade Andrew call a ‘loft’. I was poised to strike the killer when I saw Sir Titus crouched over his collection of albums. He looked up at me.
“Are you done? You’re all wet?”
“You’re not going to believe what I just imagined?”
“I’m not? How come?”
“Never mind. Let’s just say it was a better plot than Henry’s movie ‘Midnight Crossing’. I thought you’d gone upstairs to check on the killer and he whacked you…”
“What killer? Did you like Randy Newman?”
“Forget it.”

Tonight was a night much more haunting than the Summer Solstice. The full Moon looks enormously close and its color is like a pale champagne. I went back to writing after Sir Titus of Avalon left to slay dragons and monsters.

At exactly midnight I faced my fears and showered in the old bathroom again. This time knowing full well that the man that lives upstairs was in because I’d heard the front door and watched his silhouette through the frosted glass as he walked up the creaky wooden stairs to the second floor. Not!

Photo is a time-lapse sequence of the moon rising over Seattle. Credit and Coyyright: Shay Stephens.

I was still writing when Sir Titus of Avalon returned and insisted I step outside on the sidewalk and look at the glorious moon!

"Clean the White House" - Hillary says.

2007-06-30T12:24:00.000-07:00

I thought we started the huge undertaking back in 2000! - we're just now getting to the basement.

The link below is to the Associated Press article, which frankly, is not about cleaning the White House at all. The headline is merely a simple marketing tactic to attract a particular target and then get the real message across. Why utilize the media this way? Because Hillary wants back. Perhaps I'm wrong but putting Bill Clinton back in the White House is like putting on dirty underwear to go to a party. Yuk! The frillier the more disgusting!

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070630/ap_on_el_pr/democrats_hispanics

The article itself is a conundrum for the Clintons. "We are the President" believe the meaning of the word 'is'...is a variable. According to Bill, whether this is a blog or not, "depends on what the word 'is' is."

With this in mind, approach the statement made by Fred Thompson about "cuban immigrants posing a terror threat". Hillary has been portrayed by the media as being absolutely dismayed at the thought! She made this sound like a preposterous statement. This, I imagine in an attempt to win over hundreds of thousands of emotional people that actually think prime time channel-23 telenovelas are what life's all about. At the same time Hillary is stretching out a helping hand to Castro, who after learning of all those plots to kill him back in the late 60's might have just been scheming to send a top-notch killing crew on those rafts he drops off five miles from the coast of Key West. Conceivably, Castro could destroy the hope for America! If I were Fred Thompson I'd be rightfully concerned it could be him!

Sounds like she killed two birds with one stone? Not close. This was a triple-play. The woman is a genius of evil cunning because Hillary is not so stupid not to know these things.

Her clinging to Fred's comment is a low jab at the many Americans of Cuban descent like me whose parents waited up to three years after being kicked out of their jobs for submitting immigration Visas to the U.S. to enter legally into the country because like I do, they despised communism and its intricate system of lies and deceit. My family, like thousands of Cubans of that time, were not involved in payment deals for human lives. I was raised in the US government school system and I learned English by watching 'Password' with Alan Luden, The Patty Duke Show and The Munsters.

Here's the thing; I know exactly what Fred Thompson is talking about and so do other Ian Fleming buffs. Yes, other, more grand schemes have been pulled off in the past; why wouldn't Castro, who loves every time free America has a casualty, partake in an attempt against this government? Castro would aid anybody that wanted to hurt our way of life. Anybody. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Should we be weary of Cuban immigrants that may take advantage of a ridiculous claim that if they set at least one dry foot on US land - they don't go back? I don't know. You figure it out. I'm sure this is what Fred Thompson is talking about. I am for stopping this practice. It's not right simply because it's not fair; nevermind that the rule itself is a version of a popular childrens game in Cuba called "La Candelita".

On the other hand; Fred might be talking about me. After all, I did write Hillary an email prior to the Immigration debate suggesting she was a communist and a traitor. Under the Patriot Act, this makes me a terrorist.

Has anybody been to Sevilla? Unlike the Moors, this current invasion strictly because of its sheer size and breadth brings more squalor than it does advancement, a fact that to a semi-reasonable person would seem detrimental, for a number of reasons, to the survival of our way of life. The one we're fighting to defend in Iraq, remember? If you're not sure what our way of life is, let me give you an example. It's being able to brush your teeth with any of a number of gadgets from easy-grip dental floss continual-hydrating electric platinum-coated thread, to an advanced whitening accelerator which combines with the gel to remove deep stains for a healthy white smile.

Hillary's comment is an underhanded attempt to instill fear in a relatively gullible, yet noisy group. Divide and conquer the volatile, fact-ignorant "Cuban-American" community of Florida. Where Hillary fails is that she doesn't understand the heart that thrives among my people, the South Floridians. We're inclined to spend more time watching Nip'&Tuck and worshipping the glorious South Beach sun, sipping a super dry and chilled Beefeater and Stoli Silver Bullet behind the Lowe's Hotel. We rely on neighborhood gossip for the news, and are apt to want to know more about 'Rebelde' the teen soap opera that rocked Latin America youth, than the real life Springer material of Hillary, Bill, Monica, Bacarat, Giulliani, McCain, Mel, et. al.

As for the 'White House needing a clean sweep', Hillary love...we started the major task back in 2000 when you were sent packing!

*Note- Interesting that only a few minutes after the initial AP Headline hit Yahoo, it was quickly yanked and replaced with the much more politically beneficial one referring to Hillary's "slamming" capabilities.

Remember this Guy?

2007-06-28T14:34:00.000-07:00

Ex-Domecq Importers Exec Pleads Guilty Source: The Associated Press June 26thNEW YORK -

The former president of Domecq Importers Inc. pleaded guilty Tuesday to conspiracy in connection with a tax fraud and a scheme to defraud the one-time U.S. unit of Allied Domecq PLC out of more than $14 million, prosecutors said.In a press release Tuesday, the U.S. Department of Justice said Michael L. Domecq, 59 years old, pleaded guilty to two counts of conspiracy and agreed not to seek a sentence less than the statutory maximum of 10 years in prison on the charges.

Sentencing is set for Aug. 15."Michael Domecq has fully accepted responsibility for his conduct and looks forward to moving on with his life," said Majorie J. Peerce, his lawyer. Prosecutors had alleged that Michael Domecq engaged in a scheme with other executives to divert more than $14.6 million from the liquor importer and distributor between 1989 and 1995 using phony invoices from outside vendors for goods never produced and services never performed. Michael Domecq and others approved the phony invoices and then the vendors issued checks to shell corporations controlled by Michael Domecq and his co-conspirators, the government said.

They also failed to pay income taxes on most, if not all, of the money, prosecutors said. Three former top executives of Domecq Importers previously pleaded guilty to criminal charges in the matter. Two outside vendors also pleaded guilty to related charges. Michael Domecq, formerly of Greenwich, Conn., moved to Spain in 1997 while the investigation was pending, prosecutors said. He was initially indicted on criminal charges in the matter in 2000. He was arrested in Britain and convicted in 2006 of possessing a false Spanish passport and illegally obtaining a British driver's license and extradited to the U.S. in March, prosecutors said. He remains in federal custody at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Manhattan.Domecq Importers, which was privately held, was sold in 1994 to Allied-Lyons PLC - later Allied Domecq. France's Pernod Ricard SA acquired Allied Domecq in 2005 and subsequently sold several of its liquor brands to Fortune Brands Inc.

Bloomberg could have a shot, Nader believes

2007-06-21T19:11:00.000-07:00

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/19355342/

Since when does the media listen to Ralph Nader? The media all but decapitated the man during his attempts to run for president!

Bloomberg has not even announced that he's running!

There's something rotten in the United States.

Subject: MATH from 1950 - 2007

2007-06-20T13:14:00.000-07:00

Subject: Math 1950-2007

Last week I purchased a burger at Burger King for $1.58. The counter girl took my $2 and I was digging for my change when I pulled 8 cents from my pocket and gave it to her. She stood there, holding the nickel and 3 pennies, while looking at the screen on her register. I sensed her discomfort and tried to tell her to just give me two quarters, but she hailed the manager for help . While he tried to explain the transaction to her, she stood there and cried. Why do I tell you this? Answer: Because of the evolution in teaching math since the 1950's

1. Teaching Math In 1950: A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price. What is his profit?

2. Teaching Math In 1960: A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price, or $80. What is his profit?

3. Teaching Math In 1970: A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is $80. Did he make a profit?

4. Teaching Math In 1980: A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is $80 and his profit is $20. Your assignment: Underline the number 20.

5. Teaching Math In 1990: A logger cuts down a beautiful forest because he is selfish and inconsiderate and cares nothing for the habitat of animals or the preservation of our woodlands. He does this so he can make a profit of $20. What do you think of this way of making a living? Topic for class participation after answering the question: How did the birds and squirrels feel as the logger cut down their homes? (There are no wrong answers. )

6. Teaching Math In 2007: Un hachero vende una carretada de madera por $100. El costo de la produccion es $80. Cuanto dinero ha hecho?

Seek and You Shall Find! - The Iowans for Tax Relief Bandits!

2007-06-20T10:29:00.000-07:00

Of course there's a good reason why Dr. Ron Paul is being excluded from the Republican Presidential Forum hosted by the 'Iowans for Tax Relief'! and the sad thing is... the members of this organization probably don't even know that the President of same is working against them!

Letters have been sent to Iowa newspapers, magazines, and university papers requesting that this be investigated since it now connects John McCain directly with a possible bribe! What follows is the main body of text of this letter.

As mentioned in an earlier post, an organization called "Iowans for Tax Relief" is joining with the Iowa Christian Alliance* to host a forum for Republican presidential candidates on June30. All of the first and second tier Republican candidates were invited to attend, with one notable exception. Today it came to light that Representative Ron Paul, a Republican congressman from Texas, was not invitedto attend.

This seemed very odd, considering the fact that Dr. Paul has received the "Taxpayer's Friend Award" from the National Taxpayers Union, holds very strong positions on the constitutionality of the IRS, and has never voted to raise taxes during his ten terms in Congress. One would think that this kind of candidate would be ideal at a forum sponsored by the so-called Iowans for TaxRelief.

When a columnist from LewRockwell.com contacted Mr.Ed Failor, Jr., the organization's executive vicepresident and the man in charge of the event, to ask why Dr. Paul had been excluded, Mr. Failor simply said that Ron Paul was not invited and would not be allowed to participate because he was not a"credible" candidate.

Again, this didn't make sense. What made Mr. Failor decide that Dr. Paul is not a "credible" candidate, even as he invited such also-rans as Tommy Thompson and Duncan Hunter"? This merited a little mor investigation.

Some deeper digging has revealed the truth. It turns out that Mr. Failor has clear and selfish motives for excluding Dr. Paul from the forum. Mr Failor, you see, is a Senior Campaign Advisor for none other than John McCain.

Perhaps he knows that Dr. Paul's clear-cut record on issues of taxation, accompanied by his persuasive oratory, would trump his own candidate's views on the issue. Mr Failor obviously views Dr. Paul as a threat to his own candidate's success, and so has opted to underhandedly exclude him from the forum.

I believe that the people of Iowa, and particularly the members of Iowans for Tax Relief, need to be made aware that the executive vice president of this organization is clearly not acting in the best interests of the organization's members. If he truly cared about tax relief, and if he truly had the members' best interests at heart, he would allow them to hear from the candidate who has the strongest record, out of all the Republican hopefuls, of being on the taxpayers' side .

For a picture of the "Iowan for Tax Relief Bandits" go here...

http://www.taxrelief.org/news_releases/05-15-06.htm

Iowans for Tax Relief is an organization creacted in 1978 with only 12 members and today has 50,000 members that are unaware of the unscrupulous maneuvers of the man in charge!

It is clear, however, that Mr. Failor is more concerned about his political cronyism and supporting JohnMcCain's presidential bid than he is with workingfor true tax relief for the Iowan taxpayers he claims to support. Please expose Mr. Failor's machiavellian scheming for what it is -- an underhanded attempt, at the expense of the members of his own organization, to marginalize a candidate who presents a clear threat to his own boss's presidential bid. Thank you in advance for publicizing this important matter.

Sincerely,

*As Christians, the Iowa Christian Alliance should be aware that Christ instructed his followers to love their enemies, bless those that curse them, and do good to those that despitefully use them. He also told Peter to put up his sword and then healed the ear that Peter had cut off of the high priest's servant in the Garden of Gethsemane. Dr. Paul is very clear on when and how this country goes to war under the Constituion.

Stop pussy-footing around!

Why are the Republicans determined to elect Hillary Clinton?

2007-06-19T14:26:00.000-07:00

It's a theoretical question, but I will be searching as of today.

In the meantime the Iowans for tax relief are holding a forum, are inviting GOP candidates but will not invite Ron Paul.

It's so disgusting it's pathetic. I only wish the twenty million illegal criminals that we'll be given amnesty to real soon would know english so that they can at least read the sign in front of the slaughterhouse.

What is "Iowans for tax relief" anyway? Are they a non-profit organization? Does their support come from private sources, state sources or federal sources? The answer to that can explain it all.

Ron Paul Excluded in Iowa

Iowans for Tax Relief and Iowa Christian Alliance will host a presidential candidates forum on Saturday, June 30th in Des Moines. Republican presidential candidates Mitt Romney, Sam Brownback, Jim Gilmore, Mike Huckabee, Tommy Thompson, and Tom Tancredo will participate. Ron Paul, however, will not participate. Why? Because he wasn’t invited.
We heard about this forum from numerous supporters in Iowa who asked why Dr. Paul was not going to participate. Those supporters assumed that Dr. Paul was invited and would participate.

The campaign office had not received an invitation so we called this morning; thinking we might have misplaced the invitation or simply overlooked it. Lew Moore, our campaign manager, called Mr. Edward Failor, an officer of Iowans for Tax Relief, to ask about it. To our shock, Mr. Failor told us this morning that Dr. Paul was not invited; he was not going to be invited; and he would not be allowed to participate. And when asked why, Mr. Failor refused to explain. The call ended.

Lew then called Mr. Steve Sheffler, president of the Iowa Christian Alliance, to talk with him. Mr. Sheffler did not answer so Lew left a message. He has yet to respond.

Why are the Iowans for Tax Relief and the Iowa Christian Alliance excluding the one Republican candidate who scored at the top of every online poll taken after the MSNBC, Fox News, and CNN debates? Why are they denying Iowans the opportunity to hear from the Republican presidential candidate whose popularity is growing by the day?

We couldn’t get answers to these questions from Messrs. Failor and Sheffler. Maybe you’ll have better luck. Their contact information is below.

It's ironic that on the same day we learned the Iowans for Tax Relief and the Iowa Christian Alliance excluded Dr. Paul from their candidates forum, we received a call from ABC News confirming Dr. Paul’s participation in its nationally broadcast August 5th debate to be held in Des Moines.Kent Snyder, ChairmanRon Paul 2008

Contact Information
Edward Failor
Iowans for Tax Relief
2610 Park Avenue
Muscatine, Iowa 52761
Phone: 563-288-3600 or 877-913-3600
Fax: 563-264-2413
E-mail: itr@taxrelief.org

Steve Sheffler,
PresidentIowa Christian Alliance
939 Office Park Road, Suite 115
West Des Moines, Iowa 50265
Phone: 515-225-1515
Fax: 515-225-1826
E-mail: http://us.f344.mail.yahoo.com/ym/Compose?To=slscheffler@iowachristian.com

The Stranger from the Eleventh Floor

2007-06-19T12:16:00.001-07:00

A mini-romance mystery in two parts.

We got in the elevator together and I thought he talked to me only out of sheer frustration with his car. The brakes were shot and he had just wedged it to a stop down the hill from the park. I sympathetically agreed with him although my modus operandi when car trouble is concerned is to just leave the darn thing wherever it lays until a real man comes along; one like him.

A few days later we bumped into eachother again as he was bringing in groceries and said hello. I didn’t recognize him at first because I was wearing my sunglasses and he had shaved. Not that the visible five-o-clock shadow I'd seen on him the time before had been the least bit distasteful. He got out on the eleventh floor.

Then on Sunday we met again. I was returning from a useless trip to Tim’s market at five in the morning. Walking into the lobby I ran into him.

“You’re up early for a Sunday.” He said.

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t sleep. It’s light out until ten o’clock at night so I feel I should be outside doing something, but then there’s nothing open except the coffee shop. Then after just a couple of hours of sleep, it’s light again and there's still nothing open. This is driving me nuts.”

“It hasn’t even peaked yet. Summer Solstice is this week. The longest day of the year.”

Wow, the Summer Solstice in a place where I can actually experience it! And better yet, a guy that knows something about it! I looked at the stranger from the eleventh floor with a new perspective. I was suddenly interested the way I used to be interested in a new kid in every new grade when I was in school. Hmmm…tall, slim and not dark looking at all. The possibilities began to unravel in my mind even as I spoke…

“The twenty first, right? That’s this Thursday. Great. I probably won’t sleep at all.”

“The sun will set around eleven. Lots of people go to the park to watch it go down.”

“Do they bring coffee?” I asked and the stranger laughed.

“Do you want to go? I mean, if you can’t sleep. We can meet at the lobby right before.”

With you? I’ll go the Artic Circle itself and watch it there.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“If you bring an egg I’ll show you a trick.” Saying this the elevator door opened on the eleventh floor. Like a blundering idiot I asked before he would disappear from my life until Thursday… “An egg? What for?”

“Never mind. I’ll bring the egg. Meet me in the lobby at around ten thirty if I don’t see you before, Ok?”

“Ok.”

http://scienceworld.wolfram.com/astronomy/Egg.html

There is a superstition that it is possible to stand an egg upright on its end on the date of the equinoxes (and/or solstices). While this is true, it is also possible to stand an egg on its end at any other time of the year. Although this feat is not trivial, a persistent person can usually succeed with enough practice and skill.

Stay tuned for Part II - The Stranger from the Eleventh Floor, coming soon after the Summer Solstice.

What did Harry Reid Really say?

2007-06-14T17:30:00.000-07:00

Wow! It gets weirder by the minute... Sounds like the Administration needs dumbed-down Generals too. But of course!

Kudos to Harry Reid. I normally blast Democrats but I'm going to write him a thank you email now!

http://www.salon.com/politics/war_room/2007/06/14/reid2/index.html?source=rss

Discovering Martin Luther King

2007-06-14T15:07:00.000-07:00

"Cowardice asks the question: is it safe? Expediency asks the question: is it political? Vanity asks the question: is it popular? But conscience asks the question: is it right? And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor political, nor popular - but one must take it simply because it is right." Martin Luther King, Jr.

I'm just discovering the depth of this man. I feel ignorant and dumb that I never stopped to think that Martin Luther King, Jr. was not a political figure at all. He was a preacher; an honorable human being and probably the last thing he wanted was to become the flagship of Civil Rights. However, his stand for this cause would eventually help people of all races.

Who is Sherry Peel Jackson? and why the Federal Government wants your continued ignorance by staying tuned to Britney, Paris, and American Idol!

2007-06-11T11:07:00.000-07:00

It's amazing the amount of silly stuff that gets circulated on the internet yet the things that we should be aware of, and informing others about gets buried until the subject becomes a popular thing, at which time every empty-headed idiot in town joins the trend.

The one thing I learned after eighteen years in the field of marketing in the corporate world is that people are easily manipulated because they respond psychologically to everything. It's all a matter of putting things in the right perspective for the desired action or result. I love it, and haven't been able to completely extricate myself from the field despite my new start in fiction writing.

It's impossible to pick up a magazine, or open Yahoo without being bombarded with stories about people that the nation truly cares nothing about. It gives everyone the impression that Americans only care about Paris Hilton and her latest toy dog!
Hello Rupert and The Associated Press! - We Don't Care About Paris Hilton! we have debts, bills and payments we are much more concerned about. Many people don't have the luxury to even know who she is - they don't buy magazines and they can't afford internet...

Whenever you see front page news about stuff you don't care about dig deeper to find out what is being buried. There's always something. The Income Tax went on trial in 2002 and We Didn't Hear Anything About it because we were hypnotized by junk news. It's time to wake up, or the brief time you spend on this planet will amount to complete obliteration of your passing through it by the time your children die, hopefully of old age but most certainly as slaves to a false monetary system.

Sherry Peel Jackson was an ex IRS agent that is now blowing the whistle and informing the public of the treasonous acts of the Federal Government. Read her story and learn that this is happening to many true American patriots who are bringing to the public the reality of what our government is all about and how the government feeds itself.

http://www.bostonteapartyii.org/index.html

Every person should be aware of this, so instead of circulating silly pictures and useless Amber alerts, try doing something different and educate yourself on who you are working for, what have you accomplished with the money you earn, and what you can do to truly live a fulfilling life?
History repeats itself because there's always someone who wants to run the world. Based on web surfing I used to think it was the 'Penis enlargement industry' but now I realize that this industry has never attempted to run the world before so they have no blueplans to refer to...like governments do.

Must see video on the current structure of our monetary system, and where we are heading!<;http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=8450558837192717138&hl=en>

Does Rupert Murdoch support Hillary or will he bid out to Barry (whatshisname?)

2007-06-06T12:41:00.000-07:00

Rupert Murdoch owns the media. So what else is new? He controls what people see and hear. Right, that's what owning and controlling the media is all about.

The International Herald Tribune is a Murdoch child. And the same paper that linked me categorally with that moron Elizabeth Hasselbeck by calling her of all things..."conservative" when in reality she should have been called what everyone else in the industry calls her, "annoying".

There was an article on The International Herald Tribune about Rosie O'Donnell's departure from "The View" but there has been nothing...nothing at all, on the tremendous impact that Republican Congressman Ron Paul had on the nation following a two minute appearance on Lou Dobb's CNN -- and which probably got Lou into plenty of trouble with the leftist network.

The media has not reported a single thing about Ron Paul! They're not missing the boat, they're just trying to control what people see and learn.

During the presidential debate last night it was clear that Ron Paul was the most educated, knowledgable, and the only candidate that truly represents what the Republican Party stands for.

Giuliani can yell "nine-eleven" 'til the cows come home but you know what I remember about him on that fateful day? I remember watching a disheveled man, confused, and not knowing which way to turn, with his thinning hair blowing all over the place and taking an accommodating stance (not a leadership one) when it came to allowing the FBI, CIA and every Tom, Dick and Harry to steamroll over New York City.

McCain is insane. That should be his campaign slogan. Has everyone forgotten what happened in 2000 after losing to George W. Bush in the South Carolina primary? The man challenged the power of Christian conservative leaders in the Republican Party and singled out Jerry Falwell and the Rev. Pat Robertson by name, ultimately destroying his own campaign. In the debate last night it sounded like insane McCain may be sucking up to the religious right.

Yet McCain and Giuliani are featured in the news? Why is the media deliberately keeping Ron Paul away from the public's intellect?

Well, it could be that by backing communists like Hillary Clinton and Barry Obama, the media needs to make sure we see the stupidity of their opposing party. In the immortal words of Will Farrell...ergo the need to show up Giuliani, McCain and the rest of the GOP clowns(Ron Paul exempted). The game plan seems to be:

1. Keep Ron Paul away from media attention (unless something dirty can be dug up on him upon which event his face, his address, and anything linked to him would be splattered all over the papers a-la-tabloid style the way Rupert likes)

2. Keep the limelight on obvious idiots opposing Hillary that way she will look better.

3. Keep tabs on Hillary's and Barry Obama's polls to see which one Murdoch backs in the end (similar to the UK's Thatcher/Blair support)

But Mr. Murdoch forgets the unknown element, the hand of God, the Holy Spirit... or what we call THE INTERNET! Sure, MySpace is really HisSpace and we're just lurking in it, that's the beauty of it all!

And despite the orchestrated truncation of messages and posts that were flying all over MySpace, Youtube, CNN, Fox and Ron Paul's own website yesterday after the Republican Presidential debate...the pool that supports Ron Paul is getting bigger by the day.

Will a Hollywood upstart hotshot take on the task to spoof the media giant the way Orson Welles took on Hearst? I hope so!

Illegal Immigration and How to Benefit from It

2007-06-05T16:36:00.000-07:00

For all of you who keep crying that "there are more poor people than rich people in the U.S.".... let me say that maybe if we stopped importing twenty million poor, illegal criminals into this country we'd have a much healthier economy.

If you think this is a difficult issue for your country to legislate on, let me remind you that liberty was much more important once and it was dealt with swiftly.

How do you stop illegal migration? The same way you stop any other criminal activity, you punish those who break the law.

A friend of mine gave me a simple solution today. Give illegals 90-days to return home. (That is much more ample time than the time they took to get here.) After the term is up, start rounding up and throwing people in jail. Pick up those who keep hiring illegals (my-ex for example); those that rent to illegals; and remove -- not add -- financial supplement for government schools that accept illegal students.

Sounds harsh? inhumane? It isn't. Harsh and inhumane is what the illegal's own country provide for these people and Washington, D.C. welcomes the leaders of these countries with open arms, so our treatment of them as such cannot seem unacceptable.

The United States is not a Democracy. It never was intended to be, and on the contrary, the founding fathers of this nation took every possible precaution in the drafting of the Constitution to ensure that we are and remain, a Representative, Constitutional, Republic. God help us the day that mob rules! and it may be at the next Presidential Election.

Social Security benefits will not be around by the time I'm entitled to them, so I say fine, but STOP THE BENEFITS RIGHT NOW. It is because of the draining of this pool by illegal means that law abiding citizens will not receive what corresponds them. U.S. Seniors complain that they do not get enough social security benefits to live on. Why? Because the pot is being shared with others who jumped ahead of the line by entering this country illegally. What incentive is there then, to be a legal citizen?

Here are a couple of letters that I found on the web that hit the issue right on the head. I too want to know how I can renounce my US Citizenship and join the twenty million illegal immigrants that don't have the IRS on their backs, receive all sorts of benefits and credits, and will vote Democrat so that the Democrats can institute more programs that will give them free hand to dictate how we run our lives.

If you want a good laugh and at the same time learn what are the benefits that illegals enjoy while you have to wheel and deal to make a living and pay the IRS at the end of the year, take a look at what these:

http://www.rense.com/general76/should.htm

http://www.wnd.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=55855

The Lake House

2007-05-31T10:21:00.000-07:00

I watched the movie last night. It’s been almost a year since it was released but I got a note from Sandra Bullock that said I should wait this long.

Either I am way too stupid, which is extremely possible, to conceive the plain truth about this movie, or perhaps the title is misleading. It makes more sense to me if it would have been called The Mailbox instead, since the entire plot hinges on the exchange of correspondence between a man and a woman who are two years apart in time but who can receive each other’s handwritten notes immediately upon being placed in the same mailbox.

Before I give my opinion of the movie I find it necessary that everyone consider the cast. Truly, since one thing apparently has nothing to do with the other. The cast is one thing. The movie is the other.

This cast starred the vulnerably lonely and seemingly permanently manic depressive gorgeously luscious specimen of a man, Keanu Reeves. I don’t care what he does. I’ll watch it. He looks like the man I’ve always fantasized about; tall, mysterious, slim, nice hair, looks dumb but acts trustworthy, dressed in black, wears a long trench coat and dodges bullets. I’m sure Keanu, probably much against his own better judgment, was corralled in a sinister Hollywood plot to lend his name to this piece of crap. Sure, every woman on earth will eventually watch it but this is sordid ambition!

During his lifetime Christopher Plummer never quite convinced me that he was all that great of an actor and in this movie, he proves that he wasn’t. He swings from heavy overacting and aristocratic grace to senility at least twice. He threw off the plot when it was learned that the old man is the architect of the inter-dimensional lake house. At least for me since I then expected that the architect had loaned his home to, I don’t know, family of Nikolai Tesla who knew the secrets to time travel or something that would offer some explanation as to how and why two people could live the same reality, but a couple of years apart. Each time Christopher Plummer appeared on the screen I was left wondering what his character said. And, did it make any sense? Eventually I would leave these questions behind as other more pressing ones would surface, such as what was happening with Sandra Bullock and Ryan O’Neal? (Well, not really Ryan O’Neal but he was cloned from Ryan O’Neal. He’s the guy that plays the “other” doctor in Nip/Tuck. The one that was married, and whose wife had an affair and a son by Dr. Troy. Anyway, him.)

Sandra Bullock looked annoyed the whole time. I couldn’t figure out why at first? Why so negative?

Then it occurred to me what a great actress she is. Here she is, playing a doctor with a witty sense of humor, pursued by a romantic hero, living in Chicago, and Sandra managed to make it look convincingly boring. I can’t wait to see her play a fifty-year old recovered drug addict; ex-Police Chief, mother of five, who is brought back to the force to lock intellect and wit with a lonesome cowboy who turns out to be a reincarnation of Jesse James.

And then finally the dog, Jack who we learn from the start is actually a female. No clue or explanation given as to why the dog that was living in the present with Sandra Bullock, shows up at the Lake house two years in the past to live with Keanu Reeves. If it’s possible for the dog to do this, then why doesn’t Sandra Bullock do it too?

I have never seen, heard, nor read any time travel romance story that ignores the most basic rules of time travel, and also the high fines carried by fraudulent use of the postal system. Especially for such things as finding out what the future is like. Sure, leave it to the post office.

What is this? I kept asking myself the last two thirds of the movie. Fifteen minutes later, having given up thinking that the secret of the movie had anything to do with Christopher Plummer, I began to scrutinize each extra’s face of this politically correct ensemble wondering if any of them were now going to come up with the explanation. Nothing. And then the sudden build up in the end as we find out that the guy that got hit by the bus at the beginning of the movie and that all of us thought “hmmm… this looks like it might be important right here”, was Keanu Reeves who had found Sandra Bullock a bit further in her past since the movie started, and he had gone further into his future from where the movie started. Clearly, catastrophic consequences since the movie started! But then, as if pulled out of the writer’s ass comes a happy ending based on a highly improbable possibility. I was now saying the word bull shit out loud.

And still, I waited to see Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock together at the very end of this ridiculous film. I was waiting to hear something out of Keanu Reeves, but he was speechless. He must have been as shocked as we all were that he was allowed to do his own voice over, and it wasn’t too bad.

(Left) Scene of Keanu's voice over.

This movie is so deliciously bad that I will watch it again.

Rosie O'Donnell and Media Control

2007-05-25T13:42:00.001-07:00

Rosie O'Donnell has been on "The View", a daily tv show, for eight months. In all that time I only watched the show once and it was because of all the buzz about the famous airing when Rosie called upon physicists to discuss what is, and what isn't possible in the crumbling of high rise buildings that are each hit by an airplane at a particular height, etc... The ratings went through the roof. I watched the much talked about segment and frankly, was not impressed. Rosie did nothing other than openly voice a question. "The View's" audience are women who are at home, not in the work force or in the tennis courts. I would venture to guess that most of them don't have a high school diploma. Rosie was voicing a question for the benefit of the poop-laborers that watch the show. Are we not told since grade school that if you don't know something you should ask? Why then in this day and age, do we see media sanctioned direct contradictions to valuable basic essentials for the development of the human mind?

I don't rely on people like Rosie or anyone else to help me "perceive" the truth. It's a job onto itself since the best lies are between two good truths. The attainment of reasoning is extremely rare and hardly common to all, therefore the attainment of perception of truth is even less so.

It was no surprise therefore that I read today that Rosie was not returning to "The View" after an incident with all people...Elizabeth Hasselbeck, one of the other women co-host. The bimbo of the show. Greg Hernandez, who has covered the entertainment industry news for the Daily News since 2001 referred to her as "the annoying Elizabeth Hasselbeck", and I having only watched her one time, concurr. Yet when I read the article on The International Herald Tribune, this is how politically-correct liars put it:

"It ended a colorful eight-month tenure for O'Donnell that lifted the show's ratings but no doubt caused heartburn for show creator Barbara Walters. O'Donnell feuded with Donald Trump and frequently had tense exchanges with the more conservative Hasselbeck."

I wonder if maybe I should go for the vacancy. After all, if an empty-headed ding-a-ling like Hasselbeck, who actually said on the show that Saddam Hussein was responsible for the 9-11 attack - a comment that was immediately hushed for its sheer stupidity since not even President Bush could find anything to pin the attack on Iraq and had to resort to other reasons for invading, I might fare much better and despite her glam look, I believe I have a particular skill that can trump her.

Hasselbeck clearly doesn't do much research and may even be a willing and easy target for brainwashing, but...was she doing her nails during the months and months when the buzz words were "Weapons of Mass Destruction?" I can't therefore find it easy to accept that The International Herald Tribune would refer to Hasselbeck in the above statement issued today as "conservative".

Since when are air-heads called conservatives? Whose opinion is that on the statement and why are they trying to tell me, and all others that may stumble upon the article, that Elizabeth Hasselbeck is "conservative" when in fact, she's a moron. What is being implied here? What ground is being laid out? This, is media control. When labels and names are indiscriminately tagged on to people without truth or consent nor the ability for other voices to be heard on the matter. Propaganda. Who wrote the press release? The Associated Press. Readers, please refer to my blog on Ron Paul for more information on propaganda and media control.

I am a conservative. I take great offense and am presently contemplating the chances of a successful lawsuit against the International Herald Tribune for defamation of character by linking me categorically with a woman who displays the classical traits of an ambitious dumb, blond, cutie-pie that can be counted on to say something silly (but many times backfires with stupidity) who had to perform fellatio to get her job.

"The View", an uninteresting show for women like me, who have better and much more substantial topics when we sit around with our girlfriends at the neighborhood Pub, will not be missed.

Rosie: look me up girl!

Why They Won't Assimilate

2007-05-21T15:10:00.000-07:00

Great Article by Selwyn Duke

http://www.americanthinker.com/2007/05/why_they_wont_assimilate.html

Gobbly-Goo! Back by Popular Demand!

2007-05-16T12:30:00.000-07:00

Nobody likes big, complicated tasks so how about just a little chore
and let's take a look how the signs handle

Cleaning the House

Capricorn: Will wait until the house also needs painting to clean it.

Aquarius: Will attempt to clean the house after public health warnings have been issued. They’ll shove everything into hiding places and will injure themselves while vacuuming.

Pisces: Will clean the house and redecorate it each time while complaining that they should live in the palace that they're accustomed to.

Aries: Will hire someone to clean the house and they won’t show up. Aries will then try to clean the house themselves while learning a new musical instrument. They’ll use every gadget ever designed with cleaning in mind and will need to go to the hardware store to replace parts. The house is by now a hundred times dirtier than it was to begin with.

Taurus: Will have three friends come over to help clean the house. They’ll dirty the house more and end up cleaning it the next day with a hang over.

Gemini: Will bring in a maid to clean the house and will take up the maid’s time instructing them how they want the house cleaned. They’ll also have the maid cook, do the laundry and the lawn but will underpay the maid anyway and think they could have had a better deal if they wouldn’t have acted so rashly in hiring a maid to begin with.

Cancer: Will tidy up and have ambiance music on before the maid arrives. They'll instruct someone else, preferably a Gemini to wait for the maid and give them instructions.

Leo: Will throw away everything and the house will be clean.

Virgo: Will clean the living room meticulously and become bored. They’ll stop and prepare something healthy to snack on and then return and finish the other rooms by switching furniture and books around.

Libra: Will wait until a crucial event to decide that the house needs to be cleaned at which time they panic, experience anxiety attacks and need to leave the house. To prevent the outing from turning into a total psychotic episode they go spend six hours buying cleaning products. They’re late for the event.

Scorpio: Will walk around the house naked while the maid cleans the house.

Sagittarius: Will go help someone else clean their house.

And now, for the importance of "Libra" in the Judicial system. Take a look at what this national, technical proposal will mean in the lives of UK citizens and possibly our future....

http://www.cjit.gov.uk/how-it-all-works/case-management/libra/

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 1882)

2007-05-15T13:39:00.000-07:00

Success

"To laugh often and much;
to win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children;
to earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others;
to leave the world a bit better,
whether by a healthy child,
a garden patch
or a redeemed social condition;
to know even one life has breathed easier
because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded."

How Did Leo Buscaglia Get So Smart?

2007-05-09T10:05:00.000-07:00

"Only the weak are cruel. Gentleness can only be expected from the strong." - Leo Buscaglia

How to Choose Your Presidential Candidate

2007-05-08T13:19:00.000-07:00

To start with, grab a copy of the Constitution of the United States.

It's shorter and much more concise than you remember from Fifth grade. You will need to know the core values of what this country was founded on to make the right choice. There's just no other way about it but when you compare the benefits to your children and the legacy that will invariably follow, taking time to read this document is a very small price to pay. You can read it online if you like:

http://www.archives.gov/national-archives-experience/charters/print_friendly.html?page=constitution_transcript_content.html&title=NARA%20%7C%20The%20Constitution%20of%20the%20United%20States%3A%20A%20Transcription

We cannot trust politicians anymore. Our congressmen and congresswomen, elected by us to represent us and Protect us, have over the years shamelessly joined the grand illusion and have turned their back on the constituents they are supposed to be representing. I personally wrote to Lincoln Diaz Balart and to Ileana Ros-Lehtinen requesting information as to how it was possible for American Airlines and United Airlines to have a presentation for Congress on Thursday of the same week following the 9-11 attack, asking for solvency (read: money)? It takes a well-oiled operating company up to 3 months to prepare an annual budget? How was this done so quickly by these two airlines? I simply wanted to know. I received letters from both of these representatives in what I've come to term as the "whatIdid" form letters- without a single mention or acknowledgment of my question.

This is not surprising. I once wrote a letter to Senator Bob Graham asking why the Florida education bill was besieged with attachments that had nothing to do with education? Why are interest groups being tacked on to legitimate bills? Who approves this? The Senator sent me a list of all the things he had done. Among them, voting for a state butterfly. Sweet.

Current senators Bill Nelson and Mel Martinez have their head so far up their ass that they're starting to see light. I write to them too. For shits and giggles. You should too...for the same.

Once you have read the Constitution and have figured out what the value of the document represents, then listen to the choices you have:

The media has already chosen for you. They report only on the candidates needed to manipulate the budgeted outcome. The choices handed down to you by the media, which is completely monopolized and controlled through pre-issued releases to all networks by the Associated Press and Reuters. (How do I know this? How can You, not know this? If you're not in the mood to research it, then at least ask yourself why else do all the news stories sound exactly alike whether delivered by ABC, NBC, CNN, FOX, Time, Newsweek, U.S. News & World Report, The Wall Street Journal, MSN? et. al.) Media choices are Hillary Clinton and Obama portrayed in similar tabloid fashion as the Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey drama, a woman and a black man - big deal! As a country, we should be ashamed that we have had neither in the past. These are not the Academy Awards, people! Acknowledgment is given when due. Martin Luther King should have been president and instead he was shot. Geraldine Ferraro should have been president and instead she was ridiculed. Hillary and Obama are both seeking the same thing: A spot in what will soon become a legend...the list of Presidents of the United States; John McCain, since the nation might have either forgotten or never known of his long list of past absurdities; Rudy Giulliani, who is perhaps seeking immortality or at the very least a statue next to Grand Central Station via limelight propaganda; and last and least, Al Bore. Sorry, Gore. Sorry. Who never did anything worthwhile to begin with even when he had the chance as Vice President. Al sure doesn't seem to mind the smog from private jets harming the eco-system!

What the media is not reporting to you: On April 23rd, Ron Paul appeared for two minutes on the socialist guided CNN. The two minute appearance had such an impact that it almost got Lou Dobbs fired from the bleeding-heart network. Ron Paul was the first candidate to take advantage of the invitation. He told the nation what he stood for, and probably set panic phone calls to CNN. What was that about? A wake-up call!

Ron Paul is a Republican candidate. He's not a Ralph Nader nor a Ross Perot who ran under independent party labels.

Ron Paul's appearances and interviews are the most downloaded and viewed over any other candidate BY A LONG SHOT on Youtube and MySpace. What does this mean? That despite the orchestrated and planned lack of media attention to the best hope America has for a future...the people are speaking! After all, who isn't on MySpace? even Maria Conchita Alonso is on MySpace!

Choices brought to you by The Estrella Eguino Weblog: Republican Congressman from Texas, Ron Paul.

http://www.ronpaul2008.com/
Check him out! He has a super cool American name. He is the most outspoken, clear and straight to the point candidate. His actions speak for themselves. An educated man who served his country and whose service record is not conflicting or obscure. He voted against the war in Iraq from the start. He voted against the high treason document called the Patriot Act and that now is finally being exposed as obviously not so patriotic at all....So why is the mainstream media ignoring the most popular candidate on the internet? Obviously because the Agenda has been set in motion. It would be a great inconvenience to consider what's best for America at this late stage in the game when a united Mexico, United States and Canada is just 'round the bend.

Learn about Ron Paul and what he stands for, and if you agree with his views...do something about it. We're coming to a downright battle for America, our sovereignty and our rights. Otherwise these will perish right before our eyes and we will leave our descendants defenseless. Think of this in very personal terms. Our children, and our children's children...ours. We are the most important generation that has ever existed. The Constitution was written FOR US! We are that future generation that the creators of this document had in mind when they wrote these words. We are the ones that the Constitution was meant for. READ IT!

Nobody is happy. We're not happy with the tax situation, with the insurance scams, with the development, with the immigration.... DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

Stop the Amero before it's too late!

Don't miss the next debate: Fox News, May 15 9:00pm EST

The Libertine

2007-04-30T12:36:00.000-07:00

John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester

John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester (1647-80), was a leading member of the group of "court wits" surrounding Charles II and one of the wittiest and most sexually explicit poets in English. He lived a life unsurpassed by his contemporaries and his talent for the many uses of the spoken word helped the monarchy of Charles II to the very end, in a sweeping and rational dissertation delivered to the Courts of Commons before dying of syphillis at an early age. As a man whose achievements despite his libertine lifestyle were highly envied by those who didn't possess even a small fraction of his talent, wit or zest for life, John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester had this to say about dealing with the calumnies and slanders of others:

"The people that don't like me are either stupid or envious. The stupid ones eventually like me after a couple of months. The envious ones will never like me."

To the stories that grandfathers tell...in spanish

2007-02-24T12:49:00.000-08:00

"En el tronco de un árbol una niña
Grabó su nombre henchida de placer
Y el árbol conmovido allá en su seno
A la niña una flor dejó caer.
Yo soy el árbol conmovido y triste
Tu eres la niña que mi tronco hirió
Yo guardo siempre tu querido nombre
¿y tú, qué has hecho de mi pobre flor?"

This is an old song. I don't know who wrote it, but I remember my grandfather in Cuba tuning it out on the low side as we sat for an afternoon break in the "columpio" while my grandmother served us a thick, mamey shake. That was the life! To be seven again when a fantasy story came alive in your imagination and then there began the quest. What did the little girl do with the knowledge the old man gave her in exchange for her carving her name on his soul, where he would forever carry it?

That's the beauty of Pan's Labyrinth. The fairy tale story of a little girl that truly believed she was a Princess. The reality of her imagination took over the reality of her life, set in Spain during the Spanish Civil War when her mother re-marries a psychopath military criminal who has risen to the rank of Captain and assigned to stop insurgent rebels against the tyrannical military domination instituted by Franco. The outcome of this beautiful film is what faith is all about, and after all, we may not know exactly how it works, but we all have the basic same understanding. With a satirical point of view Frederick Nietzsche said it the funniest:

- "A casual stroll through a lunatic asylum shows that Faith proves nothing." But thank God, there are no Nietzsche influences in this film.

The Signs of the Zodiac

2007-02-02T10:31:00.000-08:00

Truth or Gobbly-goo?

If their characteristics were to be summed up on the whole through an every day activity this is how each sign would handle the situation…

Crossing the Street

Capricorn: They will first draw up a list of all the members of their family who have crossed the street before. They will also locate any street signs named after their family members and will discuss it with uninterested passers-by.

Aquarius: They might decide to let their hair grow long before crossing. Maybe cross the street in summer when school’s out and there’s not so much traffic.

Pisces: Will cross the street but in an organized way. They will make a list of all the things they have prior to crossing the street and read to others once they’re on the other side. They’ll look back to see if they’ve dropped anything.

Aries: Would already have crossed the street before anyone. They returned via the bridge and they brought rocks from the other side to use when they build their own golf course.

Taurus: Will start to cross the street while chatting on a cell phone, get hit by a car and dent it. They’ll then get the driver’s license number and date them.

Gemini: Will go get their hair done in preparation. They’ll tell everyone on their block that they’re crossing the street three months before they actually do it. Half the people on the block would have crossed the street already and won’t give a shit. Gemini will then become confused and wonder if maybe they should fly over the street instead of walking.

Cancer: Will find some issue to cry over before crossing the street. They’ll want you to take pictures of them crossing the street as they cross it back and forth several times and pick up stray animals that are also crossing the street.

Leo: Doesn’t need to cross the street. What for? They can cross the street whenever they want and can cross it better than anyone else. Instead they’ll do something different. They’ll open a fruit stand next to the street.

Virgo: Will have an internal battle whether crossing the street will be the right thing to do, or not? Will it make them a better person? What does it mean really…to cross the street? What are they really saying when they say that?

Libra: Will distractedly take a bus in a different direction. Once they realize they’re not crossing the street they’ll get out and talk to the first bum on the side of the road to ask what it feels like to cross the street. They’ll then start to cross the street but will stop midway for something stupid. It’ll take them a year and a half to cross the street.

Scorpio: Will cross the street if the street turns them on. If it does, they’ll cross it blindfolded with their hands tied behind their back during rush hour traffic.

Sagittarius: Will sit on the sidewalk for a few weeks and ponder if crossing the street will make them more popular when they get to the other side. They’ll wonder if there are any casinos or shops on the street after the one they’re supposed to be crossing.

Copywright2005©Estrella Eguino

Equality is a Sin

2007-01-30T11:35:00.000-08:00

I am Estrella Eguino.
I will see myself safely through this world
And teach others to do the same.

This is my mantra.

I want to know in my own flesh what happens in the pursuit of happiness. I would like to be true to my human legacy to be free. This can land me in jail, in the hospital, in the cemetery or worse yet…in the news. Not because I’ll infringe on the supposed rights of others but because more and more I want the government, through government officials elected by the support of private agendas under the guise of causes, liberty, freedom and equality, to stop taking away mine.

You are not my equal nor am I yours. We are different individuals who have specific talents, dreams, and destinies in life so that the romantic idea of a human being can continue to exist eons after we’ve all disappeared from the Earth and it from the solar system. This is our life as we know it and there’s not one good shred of evidence that supports the notion that there is another; this may be the only such experience.

Sadly, a demographic majority of the most important generation that has ever existed has been duped to believe that money is good, more money is better and a lot of money must be the true purpose of life. With money, everything can be bought and if you don’t have money it’s ok to take it from others who have it by lying, cheating or, by force.

In the process of this misguided goal we give ourselves to the rule of others. Instead of seeking our purpose in life with the liberty of enjoyment, dedication, and mastery, the masses of people in the world are being re-programmed since Day-Care to believe that we are all equal. That we are all the same. I don’t understand what screwed up psychology can have so many contradictory rules?

If we’re all the same then why is it that boys are bad if they hit girls, yet there are no repercussions for women who drag a man to court under false claims of abuse? Why are we taught that if somebody has something that others don’t have it has to be shared, yet free music sharing on the Internet makes you a criminal? Catechism and Bible school market the Ten Commandments like a Johnson & Johnson commercial, yet we kill in order to aid tyrants take possession of things that don’t belong to them. Why can we be convinced so easily to hate our fellow men…if we are all equal?

I believe the premier members of the community are gravely responsible for the conditions of today. Many teachers, many church leaders, many local officials are the first not only to tell you we are all equal, but claim to function on the basis of equality. Not all educators believe this but all who want their lifetime guaranteed job (unless they get suspended for indecent exposure, child molesting or something like that- in which case the Union will quickly suspend the accused whether guilty or not), and their AAA Club membership with Disneyworld discounts that the labor unions give in exchange for our voice, and our very freedoms, will have no choice but to support and spread the sentiment. We are no better than the communist tyrants we are so quick to point a finger at; or the barbaric dictators we use as a viable excuse to exterminate in order to fatten the wallets of powerful private enterprises.

Does not the Bible mention the terrible woe that will come to those that mislead or lie to the innocents? Words are powerful tools the metaphysicians will tell you and all known ancient religions will agree. A lie can change the course of destiny. It is as much a sin as envy and greed. Those who don’t know better to know that they are outright lying are of course ignorant. The reason for ignorance is laziness. The government employs as many of these people as possible on an equal basis and still has waiting lists for entrance exams.

We are not equal. We each have different paths and important varied missions to accomplish. Our lessons are not the same. If we don’t pursue our destinies we will come to the end of our lives with nothing fruitful; nothing fulfilling. The new senior citizen generation that has just stepped out of the earning class doesn’t understand the rewards they have reaped. Many feel their lives were wasted away working. Now they blame the government; they blame immigrants or they blame personal set-backs. They feel cheated. They don’t appreciate what they have, but they should. They have exactly what they set out to get, which was to end their days in borderline poverty. Something they never aspired to when they were little, sharing coloring pencils with the rest of the class. How does it happen? How do all these uniquely different individuals end up living equally from a monthly social security check? Maybe it was ignorance, or laziness. It wasn’t freedom or liberty. It wasn’t taking direct responsibility for their lives.

I am familiar with the U.S. Postal Workers Union. I was privileged to have been a member for a brief time during my first real job in 1979. Privileged because it seemed at the time a hilarious situation for someone right out of High School, yet it served to show me what’s on the other side of that promised land. I worked in the “Mark Up” department and everyone belonged to the Union. The other employees would just come around and tell you to join and you’d do it- what the heck? Here was this nice lady that put stuff on a scale and then wrote something down on a paper. She did this eight hours a day because this was her job; to weigh packages and write something down. She came to talk to me and told me to join the Union, it would be good for me, she said. Well okay, I’ll join. I only went to the meetings held in-house and that because I just happened to be at work. On voting occasions they literally had to hunt me down. But there were a lot of other people who socialized in the Union. They were popular and dated each other and had affairs and a whole lot of drama that eventually would be aired in the cafeteria or right on the postal office floor. The environment naturally fosters twisted, and violent emotional responses. Exposure to how one labor Union works will give you the general blueprint of all. Unions are the biggest disease in this country. They don’t serve the individual but rather the individual is used to fund not just the Union’s survival but also the candidates that will keep devising ways to take more money from the individuals. The second biggest disease after the Unions is apathy.
Not everyone cares to take control of their life. They’re too lazy. Not everyone knows how. They’re ignorant and lazy. Others plainly don’t want the responsibility. They’re too busy. So we allow others to dictate how we live and tell us how high our flagpole must be.

It all really is our choice. Are we masters of our destinies or are we slaves? Masters are far from equal to each other. They each are one of a kind and have in their own way attained a unique expertise unlike anyone else. Slaves are all equal and replaceable. It is not in our human legacy to be slaves and any action that enslaves us, is a sin.

Don't be fooled by the Trade Shows! Chinese products SUCK!

2007-01-10T16:14:00.000-08:00

It doesn’t make sense that ‘idle hands’ would be the Devil’s tools...unless the Devil is a Communist. It was while my hands were busy weighing and stamping some two hundred 10 X 13 envelopes that I wondered why it is that American vendors who supply American businesses purchase their goods from China? Chinese mass produced goods barely have the minimum quality to be called products. A pen? I don’t think so. Not if the bottom part is not attached to the top part. A radio? Uh-uh. Not if the volume knob turns indefinitely to the right.

How bad does the quality of everything we buy from China have to be, before something is done about it? Or rather, how much money do businesses have to lose?

At work today we launched an incentive promotional program that took time and effort to prepare. The program was specifically designed to entice and properly reward note brokers to send their business to our company. The content was top quality and the expected return on the investment can have us celebrating Christmas of 2007 in Rio! Of course this is contingent upon the materials remaining in the envelopes long enough to actually reach the recipients. It will prove rather tricky as I quickly found out while handling each package for weighing and stamping.

The first thing I noticed was that the self-sealing-rip-strip envelopes, as glorified as they were by Office Max in their catalogue, were opening at the flap just from picking them up. The manufacturer is Quality Park products. Now, why would anyone call themselves that, and still purchase from China? It’s misleading. The quality of the paper seemed good- it was the lack of “stickability” that didn’t live up to expectations. This made me wonder dreamily as my hands busily obliterated any chance of the devil assigning them any tasks, 'Why doesn’t Quality Park concentrate on making the envelopes they make best and leave the self-adhesive stuff to those companies that have original ‘know-how’? Like 3M maybe? Or alternately, change their name? Chinese Quality Park would certainly put everything in better perspective for the average catalogue browser'.

Buying office supplies from a book is confusing for American businesses. We look at the product's name and the word “quality” makes us feel snug and secure. We read the description and further discover that the so-called "quality" product is available with convenient features, such as our envelope example with a self-adhesive strip. Well, dang! Who wants to lick 200 large gummed envelopes? Not me, but what is there left to do when the self-adhesive is coming apart and you now have paper cuts on your tongue? Chinese tape it! (It would be an insult to other things Scottish to call it Scotch).

Each envelope was weighed and the self-sealing flap secured with tape despite the fact that at no point did the Marketing department wished nor visualized the fancy envelope with its fancy shipping label sporting a vulgar piece of tape. It works against the psychological principal of promotional incentives. Oh well, I suppose we can all live with that but wait, what’s this? The fancy labels are peeling off at the edge too! Oh, no! More tape? Not for the fancy label!

So all the envelopes were handled one more time. The non-adhesive sealer now a thing of the past as I began to wrestle with a new obstacle- the single piece of tape that had been pressed neatly over the center of the flap was popping up on all the envelopes. As if for a space-station shuttle mission, one by one, each envelope’s fancy shipping label was carefully flattened with extra glue on the side, and a second piece of scotch tape used on the back flap. Hours after toiling and taping the materials for this marketing program were finally ready for the postman. Walking eagerly away from the mail room and finally feeling accomplished, I allowed myself one final glance at the pile of envelopes that revealed as if touched by the Devil himself, that the Pitney Bowes metered postage tape was coming unglued from the center out. Why? What’s wrong with the Chinese?

Businesses of the World, Unite! We have no use for Communism! Communists don’t have enough glue!

This is not a beach! It's a Sea Whip breeding ground!

2006-12-27T04:43:00.000-08:00

Let me get something out in the open right away for all South Floridians reading my posts. We don’t have an influx of Indonesian and Japanese tourists descending upon Washington’s beaches during winter- or summer for that matter. The beaches are rugged; driftwood is as common as seaweed and clam and crab shells are the closest to seashells to be found. And then there’s the sand…well, that’s what Washingtonians call it. Miamians would call it mud. Not just mud, but “shifty” mud.

No bikini-clad “chonguitas” walking in packs up and down the shore uttering made up words and inserting “fuck”, “bro” and “for real” every other word or so. No dropped shorts hip-hoppers and wannabe ghetto boys following them around either. If there are people on these beaches in winter they’re either walking their dogs or looking for treasures washed ashore by the onslaught of storms.

But this is ok. Truly, it’s breathtaking. So these beaches are cold and you wear Timberland’s if possible. The mud sinks and shifts sideways as the currents converge and you can watch the formation of pavement-like pathways along the shore by the white, foamy pacific north-west waters. These formations will disappear when the tide shifts and the tide can shift within twenty minutes. The gray waters in the horizon are undistinguishable from the sunless sky as a flock of Killdeers giddily hop away from the sea foam that steadily extends into the shore. The birds in white and varying shades of charcoal blend into the infinite waves and their white crests.

What treasures did the storm wash in? A sandal and a rubber glove. Would I trade the seclusion of the restless Pacific coast for warm Atlantic waters? Maybe in February, and only if I can take a few particularly long sea whips along to cast at the uncouth youth.

'tis the season to be tra, la, la, la, la-la...

2006-12-23T21:24:00.000-08:00

It's Christmas because there are little twinkly lights everywhere I look. Each department in the company put up a Christmas tree. We had a Christmas party. I've gotten some gifts and many emails. Thanks. To my dear friend Cory, thank you. Phil, you duuummy. You are clearly a genious! Just the fact alone that we've been friends for so many years proves it. Thanks and love to the girl-power gang. Lucy, Charly and all the new moms, truly, you have no clue what you've gotten yourselves into, but what a blessing! Enjoy these, the first holidays. Q, I have to call you my friend, I've been engrossed in stupidity. You know the kind. When I tell you, you'll forgive me. Well you guys said I could shout, so here goes, out to the staff of the Ginger Grove, to my friends Carrie, Penny, Doyle, Q, Buster and the rest of the unfortunate intellectuals that cross paths with us! Viva Stupidvideo.com! Marcia, I know I'll be in trouble with the rest of the gang. And always in my heart, the three little angels. To all the children, the rock keeper, the dancer and the future Queen of the Universe. Ray, Little Ray, Tony and the huge number of family members on that side! Love...Everyone else and you know who you are, Merry Christmas. Be Merry and if you know your limits drink and, if not, just drink two Maker's Mark Manhattans (with a dash of cherry juice).

Parmesan Confetti Dip

2006-12-19T00:03:00.000-08:00

Is it your turn to bring something for the office Holiday potluck? Too many Mexican tortillas and nachos at dinner parties lately? How about something different? For starters everyone will be surprised you actually made something- that’ll be different. Next, when they taste this delicious and creative recipe that gives your taste buds a kick and a jolt you will have them eating out of the palm of your hand but…give them water crackers…

It’s got sour cream, mayo, grated parmesan cheese, exquisitely fine chopped garlic, fine chopped red and green peppers and the Master’s touch. The Master blender, that is. Yes siree, it takes real blending talent to mix all these ingredients! Just remember 'Like Water for Chocolate'. Refrigerate until ready to eat and garnish with chopped red and green peppers. Great with English water crackers, toasted sesame, and wheat crackers; awful with Dell, Canon, or anything that has intel inside.

The office Christmas Party was fun. It was that rare elusive accomplishment that results from mixing good food and talented, goofy people with red wine. The night view of the Port of Tacoma is disturbingly, considered to be quite posh and I’m sure the Tacoma Club charged accordingly. I'd written the script for many of the presenters and thoroughly enjoyed the evening.

I suppose it’s time for the pagan rituals to begin. I don’t know any which is just as well at this stage but I'm sure there's something kinky behind all the kissing that goes on under the mistle-toe. There's a beautiful holly tree by the park. It's so straight and regal that it seems to be calling to our new age from the depth of antiquity...beckoning the Druid priests on the sixth night of the moon... bring the party dip! bring the party dip!

The Missing Wallet

2006-12-10T19:50:00.000-08:00

Every other Friday is Direct Deposit Day and I always celebrate by going to the bank and withdrawing all my money. Last Friday however, I only wanted to withdraw the amount I’d be taking to Money Tree on Saturday to pay for an advance I’d taken out. A quick fifteen minute break from work and I was done with the bank and with lunch. I had time to spare and decided to stop by The Second Closet, a small clothing store on the first floor of the office building. Alexander, one of the store attendants lives in my apartment building. He’s a kind, humorous man I met almost as soon as I started working. We seemed to be running into each other at the corner Starbuck’s or at the ‘Vault’ all the time. I was in the store one day working out a ‘hold’ arrangement with another sales associates and Alexander was nearby, “Don’t worry if she doesn’t come back for it I’ll just find her at Starbuck’s.”

The second time I talked with Alexander was on the rainy day that Douglas and I broke up a month ago. It has been an ok break up I guess; everything has been rather better since, but the day of the break up I was suffering. I was lonely and sad and stopped in the store to get something. Regardless of what people say shopping is still the best anti-depressant therapy. I’m of the opinion that it’s easier to part with money at Nordstrom than to give it to Dr. Mentor. Alexander shared his wisdom as we talked for a little while and by the time I walked out of the store I was feeling strong again. This was good because I was walking out with bags. Later that evening back in my apartment building, Number 2 answered my call for a ride to the Laundry Room and quite out of character it buckled and stopped on the floor right below mine. The doors opened to let in none other than Alexander, who was headed to the lobby to bring up the rest of his furniture. He was moving in that day! Let me tell you, an imaginative person can go in many directions with these coincidences.

Last Friday afternoon I had bought a turtleneck I couldn’t live without from the Second Closet before heading back to the office. I had paid with a twenty from my wallet and had put the change in the bag’s side pocket. It was one thirty in the afternoon and the rest of the day at the office was busy and entertaining.

When I got to Park Tower after work I noticed immediately that Number 1 was starting to have a bad day. It was the way the doors opened. “Hi, how’re you doing? Sounds like you’re getting all worked up again? Can’t say I blame you. I’ve noticed lately that you’ve definitely been up there many more times than Number 2 because I’ve been up and down with you constantly this week; between Paul’s place and Michelle’s place and my place, the lobby, the laundry room, the front entrance, you name it. Just give me a ride up there will you? I told Madelin we’d order in and she liked the idea. She wants to watch a movie. I just hope she’s upstairs already. I’d like to do something civilized before she returns to Miami next Thursday. She’s so bull-headed.”

It was a long and painful haul up to our floor. I thought Number 1 was about to give up. It started to shake a good fifteen seconds before stopping. The door opened just slightly about two inches higher than the floor. It let me out and I stood there and listened. This is what Number 1 had to say: “Let me tell you something, I sure thought you had a lot more brains than this when I first saw you come in here. You ever heard of tough love? Ah, you have? Well it works. I was about to take a rest and shut down for a bit even with you in the midst of the typical catholic- Cuban, guilt-ridden drama going on in your head. Serve you right. ‘ Cuz you know…you got to learn your lesson too sweetie. You got to let go. Between you an’ me, she’s a drama queen. Just like her mom! What did you expect? Miss Park Tower has been making me go up and down all day today with all her boredom and cigarette breaks! Oh, no. I ain’t keeping you in here, not this ride. She should be in the apartment. Go do your thing.”

Inside the apartment Madelin was laying on the floor watching tv. “Ok, let’s get pizza, a liter of coke and stay in, right?” I asked just to make sure. She changes her mind constantly about everything. Those are my settings on her reality video game. Those are the buttons she knows that make me function.

“Yeah, let’s watch Elf. I’ve never seen it from the beginning. Is it really that funny? I heard you laughing at it the other day.”

I was pleased. This was good but I wasn’t fooled; it’s the ultimate act of non-conformism. Jung would have understood.

“Let’s order from a Philly style pizzeria we found on Sixth Av. You’ll like it, they have great white pizza.”

Saying this, I put my bag on the kitchen counter and rummaged inside for my wallet. After looking casually for it, I began to look formally for it, and then hysterically for it. And for the next three hours I went back and forth from the apartment to the lobby, to Paul’s apartment, back to my apartment, and out around town retracing my steps. Basically the same things I do during a category four hurricane in Miami.

The last time I’d seen the wallet was when I paid for the turtleneck. The change was in my bag’s pocket. The possibility that I had dropped it at the store was the most reasonable one. The problem was who found it? Was it the lady behind the counter? The man that was looking at the jacket rack near the counter? Or the woman that was admiring every piece of kitchen linen? Would they have turned it in? Oh my God! This was a lot of money to lose.

I had to find Alexander. I knew he lived on the floor below mine. I remembered the day we bumped into eachother when he moved in but, which apartment? He had said he had a view of Mt. Rainier. That must be in the corner apartment. I’d left a message in the answering machine of the store. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. It just didn’t make sense. How could I not have heard it drop? Could it have fallen behind the register? Could I have dropped it when I pulled the camera out of my bag to take those night pictures of the Afro-Cuban event at the Pantages? Aaaaahhhh!

Madelin had long since gone to Paul’s apartment to watch a scary movie. As if. I would stop in every once in a while to give them an update. Number 1 had been taking me up and down without even as much as a side glance. It moved so stealthily that it felt like a magic carpet. I knocked on the door of the corner apartment. I would simply see who opens it. If it’s not Alexander or his roommate, then I’ll excuse myself. That’s what I thought. The first time I went knocking, there was no one at home.

The word patience managed to run the show for about fifteen seconds but it dissolved quickly. I could wait until tomorrow it tried to say. I had enough money to get something at Thriftway (The closest but most expensive market in this area. Comparable to Milam’s in prices) and go to the Second Closet tomorrow. After all, am I not the one who recommends to everyone not to open their Friday mail until Monday? There’s nothing to be done outside of eight to five and I live three hours behind the trend. But no, I must know now. As a sort of plan B I got the shop’s number from information and left them a desperate message in their answering machine and having hung up I figured it was time to check again on that corner apartment. Empty silence. Back upstairs I considered calling information again just to talk to somebody, but called my son instead. He made me laugh. I needed that.

Thirty minutes later, back down on 1 again I knocked on the corner apartment for the third time. There was noise inside. Great! “Who are You?” asked the unfriendly voice behind the door. I was pretty sure this person I explained my predicament to wasn’t Alexander. “No he doesn’t live here and he doesn’t live upstairs either.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Finally, beaten and exhausted and accepting that I should consider the possibility that I may not recuperate my wallet, or if I did maybe not my money, I stopped at Paul’s to share my defeat. The apartment reminded me of the Camel Club in full swing. Paul is kind and understanding and fun to be with. He’s an expert film noir connoisseur although he had never seeing 'Cannibal the Musical' the classic masterpiece by Trey Parker and Matt Stone until I introduced him to it.

“Paul, do the corner apartments on the opposite side have a view of Mt. Rainier?”

“No.” Paul said after turning in a few directions. “All the apartments on that side have a view of Mt. Rainier. I know because I’ve lived on that side. It was in the middle but if you looked toward the right you would see the mountain. Oh, sure.”

“That means I’m going to have to knock on all doors.” I said and Madelin looked at me quizzically. It wouldn’t have mattered if I explained.

“I know that sucks about your wallet. That’s happened to me before and I know how frustrating and upsetting it can be.” Paul offered in the way of consolation as I started for the door. "What are you going to do?"

I didn’t know, but I did. I was going to knock on every door starting with the one next to Dr. Jekyll. This time someone was home. The door opened and I recognized the face! Tongue-tied and twisted like an earthbound misfit I tried to speak and didn’t have to…

“I think Alexander has your wallet.”

“Oh, thank God!”

Number 1 and Number 2

2006-12-10T15:34:00.000-08:00

The Elevator(s)

The one in the office building can be used as a prop in the next Grudge movie. It belongs in a Haunted House. It creeps and churns silently and ever so slowly. I hate it. The thought of it taking so long only increases my chances to be trapped in it during an earthquake, a volcanic eruption or a super volcanic eruption. I haven’t applied the math yet, it could be that the average span between either or all these will better my chances of survival. It doesn’t matter. Overall, nothing lessens my apprehension when I step on to this waiting death-trap, so…why do I do it? It’s not like I can feel two stories anymore. The hills took care of that. I can climb up two flights of heavily carpeted stairs. I stand in front of the reflective metal doors and ask myself…why? Is it “fake” fear? And if it is, do I have the power to stop it? Ha, ha, ha… door’s open!

I told you so.

Park Tower has two elevators. They’re equally temperamental which makes them behave like an old married couple. For days they work great, no sudden stops, no doors that refuse to open. Its perfect balance and harmony and then one day Number 1 won’t want to leave the ground. It’ll open its doors, but that’s it. “Ok if you want to hang out down here stepping in and out but this is it for me. Not leaving the floor for a while. Got to rest”. Number 1 has scared a few pictures off the wall. Just like a woman can. It’s the elevator that people naturally flow toward when they enter the building. It directly faces the Entrance doors. Number 1 is busy all day taking people up and down while Elevator Number 2 is doing guess what? Nothing; it might as well be watching football and eating a sub. Whatever it does, because nobody really knows for sure, it takes breaks between 9:45am and 11:45am and again between 1:15pm and 3:40pm and from 9:45pm until 6:30am the following day.

Eventually, Number 1 gets fed up as it can be expected and goes on strike because it doesn’t really break, it just stops. Number 2 is then forced to pick up the pace and does a piss poor job if I may say and finally the weakling breaks down and collapses as soon as it notices Number 1 has been coaxed into working order by Steve, the clever maintenance superintendent.

It’s hard to say when Number 1 is reaching its limit but it’s super easy to tell when it’s on its last ride. It lets you know in the way it arrives to pick you up at your floor. “Hey, make it snappy because this is it. I’m in no mood to be stopping anymore. I’m going to the first and that’s it. Take it or leave it. You’re lucky I even came up here to get you. What the hell is wrong with the stairs? What’s it gonna be? Oh, I see…you want a ride? Ok, I’ll give you a ride. Watch this.” By the time you reach the first floor you would have recited the Lord’s Prayer sixty consecutive times very quickly, throwing in a few in Spanish for good measure and reaffirmation of your acceptance of Jesus Christ as your personal savior. On the ground now, Number 1 won’t open the door until you’ve pressed the door open button desperately twelve times; made another series of prayers this time to Buddha and Gannesh and then press again slowly one more time.

The Arrival of Winter in Tacoma

2006-12-10T15:26:00.000-08:00

Looking for Money Tree

The fog is thick, it’s cold, the sky is gray and the only people out and about at eleven this morning are the same bums that were out and about all night. I had been distraught and exhausted the night before after agonizing for three hours over missing my wallet. By the time I recuperated it I was ready for a sound, knocked out sleep. I woke up the next day Saturday, at the crack of nine ready for my run to Money Tree.

Madelin hasn’t left the apartment since the temperature dropped. Having experienced life in Tacoma for two months she was returning to Miami on Thursday. I didn’t expect her to jump out from under the covers until it was time to flat iron her hair before the flight, let alone accompany me on errands Saturday morning.

Like a good, blue-state citizen, I dumped my one neat little bag of trash in the containers behind the apartment complex and took notice for the first time of the length of the old alley. Every block up these hills has an alley. The alleys are mostly used for the garbage cans and as a hangout for the deranged, crack-meth-heads and heroine addicts or drunks that will just slump down anywhere when they pass out.

I thought I’d take a picture and as I was doing so, I noticed a man with a hooded dark jacket and dark pants walking in the alley. He seemed to have emerged from behind an easement in another building. I turned toward the parking lot of one of the office buildings that would lead me back to Tacoma Avenue and noticed the dark figure stop and walk back to the hole it had crawled out of. If there was anything I remembered from Safety Week in Junior High was the presenting officer telling us to always follow our first instinct.

I continued my walk on Tacoma Avenue and later Fawcett and St. Helens toward 9th. I saw more, dark, slow figures vacillating in their walks here and there on the side streets and alleys. Many looked like dance cast members from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. It is said that our sense of awareness is heightened when we are in danger, or it’s pretty much constant if you’re a championship belt holding paranoid- which could be my case. However, it’s important to remember that just because one is paranoid, doesn’t mean one is wrong. I walked carefully among the Thriller cast members until I reached 9th. I was about to continue to Tully’s by Broadway Street for a peppermint mocha when I saw an immensely obese person wrapped up in a dusty rose pink blanket walking down the sidewalk ahead of me. I’ve seen this person around before waddling eternally at the same amoeba pace all over Tacoma. I didn’t feel like going to Tully’s anymore. What I wanted to do was take a picture of the blob.

As I pulled out my camera and began to set up the shot I noticed that Market Street and 9th, the small street right before Tully’s, was the scene of a small homeless convention. Right there on Market and 9th! By the Pantages! This is ridiculous. It’s no wonder the city is having such trouble trying to sell new construction at prices that for this day and age are dirt cheap. Who would want to live within walking distance of this scenario?

I put away my camera. I was scared that the more gangster looking individuals of the congregation had turned to look at me perhaps wondering if I was an undercover policewoman. Suddenly, a man appeared behind me and startled me. He was tall and dark-skinned and spoke with what to me sounded like a Pakistani accent. He was wearing a dark windbreaker with the words “SECURITY” fading away above the front pocket of the jacket, and on the black beanie hat. Obviously a bum. I hadn’t understood what he said so I must have looked blankly at him. He repeated his jargon and I shook my head “no”.

“This road to I-5 yes, or not?” Asked the hobo. “You see I see sign there? It say I-5. That’s why I ask?”

Oh, yeah. You’re security alright. I thought, but said nothing and the bum walked away. He disappeared almost immediately around the corner and just to verify that he wasn’t a time traveler or a ghost or something really freaky like that I walked to the corner and looked for him. There he was with the big white letters “SECURITY” printed on his dark jacket walking toward the good part of town. Wonderful.

I decided to stay right where I was and wait for the bus there. I wasn’t interested in Tully’s coffee anymore. I just wanted to live.

There was a couple walking uphill on the sidewalk toward the bus stop. In the distance they seemed normal to me probably just because they were white. This goes to show you how dangerous preconceived notions can be. The woman was pregnant and kept leaning over the railing on her right side to throw up. As they got closer I noticed her face was old. She was talking to the guy. Her voice was raspy like that of hard core alcoholics that soothe their hunger pangs with unfiltered cigarettes. She was struggling to stay at the man’s pace. “Are you sure he’s home?” She asked him, almost out of breath. Immediately a vision of “Lance” from Pulp Fiction popped up in my head as the “he” who was home. The man walking next to the woman looked at me briefly as a Tacoma police patrol car drove slowly down the street. The officer was looking at the newly lit Christmas tree in front of the Tacoma Symphony Hall but his proximity was enough to light a rocket in the guy’s bum. “I’ll be right back” the man said to the pregnant woman and continued up the hill like a trained Navy Seal. The pregnant old woman tried to follow but lagged and right when I worried she might keel over and I’d be forced to go to her aid, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Well here was one person who certainly didn’t need my help. She kept walking up hill but I’d lost sight of the man. The bus came a couple of minutes later and as it climbed up the hill to Tacoma Avenue I looked out the window and saw the woman on the west corner of the intersection, looking around in every direction for the man who was, quite as expected no-where in sight. Right back.

Involved in this little drama I hadn’t taken a look at the bus passengers in my immediate vicinity. There was a man talking to a woman. His tone was a bit too loud for a Saturday morning, but he sounded coherent. I couldn’t make out what he was saying because he might have been slurring a bit. The woman looked like she wanted him to leave her alone. The man was sitting on the seat next to mine. His voice was intriguing. It was almost familiar. “Dear God don’t let him speak to me.” I thought to myself. The sound of his rough voice evoked drunken mayhem. He finally realized that the woman plainly didn’t want to speak to him and so he excused himself politely and moved to the back to talk to another man who seemed happy to speak to him. They rang for their stop and as they exited the bus from the back door I looked out to see the imposing tall figure of James Gammon! –a familiar face with fans of the movies Major League I and II where he plays the coach. His rough voice and redneck demeanor have graced the big screen in movies like I Love You to Death (filmed in Seattle); Natural Born Killers, and The Cell to name a few. Oh, God, don’t let the man talk to me. That’s good.

I got to 38th Street and Pine safe and sound. I was there to visit Money Tree and as I stood in line I thanked God for my wallet and the money in it.

The Looking Glass

2006-10-02T22:57:00.000-07:00

July 9th

Finally! After nearly thirteen thousand tries today, I won at solitaire. There’s nothing like the blankness of your brain after mindless hours staring at a computer screen looking for the right number, the right color… and wondering ‘what if?’ the other card had been turned instead? What then? And so the games continued and suits turned from frogs to spacemen, to palm trees to a purplish nebula, in an endless succession as I contemplated the other alternative; Vegas style!

We’ve been on a budget for two and a half weeks. I was scared at first. I’ve forgotten what it was like when I was twenty-nine and on a budget. Budget doesn’t mean that you can’t have Peppermint Mochas. It means that you can have one, instead of three; which is probably healthier anyway. I haven’t had a café con leche in so long that I don’t think I’ll ever need it again. The highlight of the week consisted of a trip to Seattle on Saturday and an attempt to prepare “Picadillo” with improper ingredients.

July 12th

Today was the first time I left the house by myself. I wandered off on my own in search of hair dye. In Miami even if you live in Bent Tree, you are at the very least a half hour’s walking distance in the sweltering, unrelenting sun from the nearest CVS Pharmacy or Walgreen’s and at least one from an actual hair salon. Not here. People should be able to walk fifteen minutes in any direction and run into a pharmacy. Right? Well, no. It puzzled me from a marketing perspective because then when you do find one, there are seven more all around it.

In Miami, people can stand on their front door, look in any direction and see where the nearest Denny’s is. In Tacoma the hills prevent this- and let me tell you…granted I’m not talking about mountains, but hills….the ones here in Tacoma are steeeep! Edinburgh Castle has nothing on Tacoma. Here a building can have two floors on one side of the street and seventy eight on the other.

I don’t think anyone has ever actually performed the physical research for chain stores in Tacoma. The hills would kill them. Especially if they were Easterners. They’d be dead in an hour. That’s why there’s no rhyme or reason to chain store locations. I found Bartlett Drugs instead. I took Bus 28 across the street from our apartment building. I wasn’t in the mood to walk, not even downhill. In Downtown I would take the Number 1 that would take me to Sixth Avenue and the shops there.

Sitting contently for the short ride downtown, I looked around. My! How can there be so many people in this state? And I don’t mean Washington. Why are there so many derelicts? Yes, I know they’re homeless but for the ones I’m talking about being homeless is the least of their problems. This place makes Coconut Grove look like Austria. What happened to these people? How can they live such hopeless, quasi-comic-tragic existences? I suddenly didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter. God blessed them all. I turned to look out the window at the passing coffee shops, Lutheran churches, and punks, and wondered what color I should get? I want my hair color to be Auburn. It never was, but I can make it Auburn.

I had a job interview this morning for a telemarketing company that moved uptown to the Hill Top, two blocks away. They sell debt consolidation. The company is thriving. The space they just leased is cheap and huge. There were paper files strewn all over the place. The disorganization was astonishing, yet refreshing. They have four Account Executive positions to fill and are interviewing every bum in town. They offered me the job if I want to start next Thursday. Doug thinks I’m out of my mind. Maybe so, but I can’t be forever on a budget this size.

July 18th

An astonishing thing in Tacoma, for me at least, is that people here discuss the trend in gang violence as Miamians would discuss mosquito season: “Well, yep, and it’s summer now too, so you know the gang violence’s gonna start up.” My eyes almost popped out of their sockets. “What do you mean?” “Oh, yeah, we got them there kids; it’s always the same around summer.”

Luckily, gang violence has been cleaned out from the Hill Top. Probably the most patrolled area in all of Tacoma. Developers are hovering and nothing can clean up an area faster than real big bucks.

I can imagine why many trumpet this as a depressing section of the country with a high suicide rate. Every morning Washingtonians are assaulted with some form of tragedy: A family dies in a fire; a scaffold worker plummets to his death; the Sonics are sold to Oklahoma.

Downtown Tacoma is compact and thriving. Starbuck’s alone can carry the small city’s economy so anything else is just gravy.

Another day and people were out en-masse; Activists were handing out flyers at Commerce and 10th, a key bus terminal area, to get people to commit to changing the community. At the bus station for Chrissakes! Who’s going to change the community? The bums? This community does need change, though. It has too much of that one thing that is the cancer of every society: Apathy. I am not getting involved in any movements unless it’s an easy classical piano score.

This morning as I waited for the bus to a job interview, there were around me men and women of all colors, shapes and sizes; wearing uniforms, office attire, and casual clothes. Most of the men had small, trendy headphones, thinning hair, a beer gut, and thick glasses. Most of the women looked like the men but without the headphones. They were all standing motionless, maybe one would look down or something like that, but these people were not moving for shit. They weren’t even smoking. The only activity around came from two kids about twelve and thirteen. They were horsing around and being a general pain in the ass like all kids that age can be when they’re not under adult supervision. One thing lead to another and the kids began to spit at each other. Then, in order to avoid being spat upon, they ran around and in between the people, using them as shields! I thought one of the adults right next to them would straighten them out. Nobody said anything. In fact, they looked like perfectly still blow up dolls.

After a couple of rounds of spitting I’d had enough and walked toward the kids warning them that if their saliva somehow got into contact with any part of me, they would be extremely unhappy. One of the boys immediately apologized and blamed his friend. With a serious look behind my Jackie O. glasses, I took a step back and folded my arms. It was then that I noticed that the blow up dolls had in fact some sort of life in them. It was coming from their eyes, as they looked at me…disapprovingly!

There is nothing to do for a community whose individuals have lost their sense of responsibility except sell them debt consolidation schemes or subscriptions to Popular Mechanics over, and over again.

July 20th

“Darling, come look at the glorious moonlight!”
- Errol Flynn

Another extraordinarily beautiful day in Tacoma, with warm temperatures, cool sea air, and a colossal snowed-covered volcano dominating the horizon. Pacific Avenue is a quaint and important arterial in this area and it still has the feel of the old, wild, west except there are cars instead of horses and carriages. You can walk along Pacific and not realize distances because you’re so absorbed in its colorful details.

I went to another job interview today instead of showing up at the debt consolidation telemarketing job, and so now next week I have two, second interviews. My staffing agent wanted to know which one “did I want?” It struck me how positive she was as opposed to my usual jittery sack of nerves when it comes to jobs, choices and decisions. “Why don’t we wait until after the second interviews?” I replied. Which one was I leaning toward? “I’d rather wait until after the second interview.” Don’t you have any idea right now? None. I haven’t given it a thought. I’ll think about it…tenaciously, probably for longer than psychiatrists care to research for fear of having to deal with a new form of psychosis, after the second interview. It’s Thursday, stop it! I’ll not mortify myself over something I have no control over! “I have, of course, but I want to approach this with an open mind. There are things about each of these companies that seem fabulous at the moment, for instance, one of them offers a better benefit package; however, the other has opportunity for travel. I would rather wait until after the second interview to weigh everything out and determine which one I’d rather work for, and that is hoping they feel the same way about me.” That was the end of that, thank God!

I’ve been home since two. Doug may possibly expect me to have dinner ready when he comes home. There’s a frozen trout trying to defrost in the fridge. I didn’t put it there so I’ll assume this is what he’d like to eat. I’m cooking for him today because it will make him happy that he doesn’t have to do it, plus, I just got a new cookie sheet to replace the one with the spatula that welded on to it.

July 21st

It’s a quarter to eight and it is now, at this hour that the heat is at its worse. What is this place?

I can’t believe it’s only been twelve hours since I laughed at the Weathermen of all the local stations as they prepared the citizenry for “oooh-record-breaking-temperatures” and an “oooh-scorching-ninety-degrees”. Locals are going to be terrified. People in numbers will decide to call in sick, stay indoors with sun tan lotion on, drinking one hundred thousand and fifty gallons of water from Friday until Monday morning. How can these weathermen instill such fear? Who are they, Rich Sanchezes? Douglas laughed after I told him what was so funny. But when we thought a walk down the Hill would be ok in the Northwestern Eternal One O’clock Summer Sunshine, it got ugly fast.

Things began to go wrong immediately. Doug had no sunglasses, and a cut on the back of one ankle, and I, well I felt that my kneecaps were going to burst down the hill and reach Downtown way ahead of the rest of me. And this was just as we tossed the trash; later, when we actually got Downtown, I became delirious. I must have. We got into an argument because I didn’t want to walk two additional blocks to catch a bus that would be stopping first, at the main stop where we were sitting. I admit the one Doug suggested had no bums around, but the bums don’t bother me. I resisted exercise in this wild heat. Seattle? Had I wanted to go to Seattle when we left the house? It seemed so long ago.

We decided the heat was unbearable. We hadn’t even been out twenty minutes. We’ll go to Seattle tomorrow when the temperature will probably be ninety-nine. We stopped by the local grocery store, got an oven Pizza, drinks and sweets and headed back home. I’ve since been playing solitaire and only just now started to ramble. It’s only eight fifteen! How will I make it to Monday when the temperatures are supposed to drop again to the eighties? At one point today I imagined the headlines of the weekend edition of the Post Intelligencer: “Miami Woman Dies of Heat Stroke in Washington”.

I started writing a new story. I started it a month ago and have been picking at it in between the Blog Diary and solitaire. It hasn’t grabbed me yet, or as it may be, I haven’t grabbed it. It might take a while. A couple of drafts in different directions and maybe it’ll go somewhere. I’m not going anywhere except to Seattle where I’ll walk maybe all of five minutes on Fifth Ave before collapsing from the heat.

July 24th

I find myself comparing this area of the North West with South Florida. I can’t help it. Some things just jump at you. For example here in Tacoma, drivers allow j-walkers to cross the street out of turn without running them over. In Miami even law abiding pedestrians get run over. Here, while you cross the street, the drivers just look at you with expressionless eyes and they nod their heads like spring-necked toys as if mentally saying “go ahead, you go and cross now, and I’ll follow you, and see where you live, and at night I’ll climb in through your basement window and chop you into exactly twenty nine pieces. But right now, you just go on right ahead and cross the street.” I wouldn’t dare j-walk in Tacoma. I wait for the little birdie sounds that they have for blind people so they know when to cross the streets.

We went to Seattle in the midst of the heat wave. We were there long enough for me to spend our budget on seven Maker’s Mark Manhattans. I had to, the temperature was suffocating. Horrible. Much more horrible than Miami. In this heat, Miamians go to the Malls. The Malls here are strictly for gang-related violence. Chic shopping is done Downtown. Walking Downtown Seattle you forget how hot it is. Nordstrom, Macy’s, Ross, The Gap, and Starbucks were all within walking distance of a nice hotel lobby lounge where they make superb Maker’s Mark Manhattans. Such was the case with the Fairmont Olympic historical hotel, the Grand Hyatt, and the top floor dining room of the Hilton. That was mid-day. In the heat of the late afternoon we went further down the hill to the water’s edge and the shops and hotels there, where at my favorite, The Edgewater, I had lucky number sleven.

When we got home I was sleepy, drunk, and tired but couldn’t fall asleep. All the Peppermint Mochas had gathered for a coffee discussion. My body ached from the top of my head to the sole of my feet and everything in between. Doug was even worse; he was hungry, and upset that the fan was blowing hot air. I considered our life together at that moment, but the heat distracted me from taking any real measures. I’ve never known anything like this. This heat is not of this world. I can see why Alex Jones has so very many fans in this part of the world.

Sunday I spent the day taking cold showers and playing solitaire. In the afternoon we went to the movies. It felt so good to be in an air-conditioned theater! When will this heat end? I cannot think, and doubt I’ll have the strength to turn the computer on again. This may be my last entry. Farewell. I’m anxious to tell you about the movie, but alas, my eyes are closing from heat exhaustion.

July 26th

Oh Thank God it’s sixty eight degrees! It feels like Heaven. I can do anything today. I haven’t had so much water in my entire life. The only thing I regret is not getting sunscreen lotion.

This morning I had an anxiety attack about going to second interviews, and still not getting a job. I’d been thinking about it all week in between the heat wave and the cooking expeditions. I called my agent and told her I was accepting a debt consolidation telemarketing job that paid $9.00 an hour and where I could start any Thursday of the week I wanted. She almost had a heart attack. “But…you have a second interview tomorrow? We talked about it last Thursday?” “Yeah, well so what? I need an actual job. So maybe I can work and go to interviews.” She convinced me to wait. Apparently she’s certain I’ll have a “career job” by August 1st.

July 28th

Why, at this stage in our human development, do we still have to “put some elbow to it” when it comes to cleaning anything? The most promulgated phrase that has described our times over the last fifteen years has been one with a constant update on our ultra-super-duper-high-technology. “There has been more scientific and technological advancement in the last fifty years, than in the past two thousand years.”

In an obscure lab-archive-dungeon of stored data and files, tucked away in a small glass slide, there is a substance sample of a heavenly mixture. The small sample is compacted so that if mixed with a cup of water and dumped in the sewage system of a small township, its walls, the water, and anything else that encounters the potent mixture will be left brand, spanking, new clean. Eventually, the chemists that have worked in the lab will all leave or be promoted or fired, or something similar and the mixture will end up in a really scary situation, like next to a crude oil dig or something like that. But there, in an obscure archive it remains today. Wasting itself away for nothing instead of being commercialized from pole to pole. What’s wrong with us? If we’re all going down in the fiery hell of an unavoidable Armageddon, why can’t we at least do it comfortably, without having to “put our elbow” to anything?

August 5th

I love my new job. Everything else has just been an illusion. The best part of it is that what I have to do is either totally old with spelled out, simple, easy to follow instructions or totally new for the entire company in which case my steps will dictate if it will move forward at the pace of a lynx or a squirrel. The people are fabulous and fun and the work is ample.

The Northwest Trek was nice but it wasn’t the adventure I thought it would be. Yeah, there were bears and what not, but the entire area was smaller than DisneyWorld. The Moose is quite a character! Now I see the humor in Bullwinkle. Mountain goats, Reindeers and Bison Bulls were everywhere. These wonderful creatures that would be extinct if not for the vision of preservationists have never experienced vast, open spaces or irregular feeding schedules. Sure, the Bison’s got killed by Indians for their pelt, but that was just equilibrium in the environment.

I’m experiencing …decision dilemma. It’s one of the most difficult dilemmas for me. Right up there with the other one, what’s it called? Oh yeah, indecision dilemma.

Oh, but joy of joys, I’m happy at work.

August 8th

Today is Danny’s birthday. The day made me realize how I want to see them all soon. I miss them. One thing I don’t miss is Hurricane season, and I’m not talking about the football team, although I don’t miss them at all either. I fretted through Frances, paced through Katrina, worried through Rita and wallowed through Wilma. Tension doesn’t begin to cover the moments during the initial gusts that announce two hundred miles in advance the impending visit of one of these monsters of nature. I do not miss Hurricane season one bit. Yet here I am, suffering tenfold because if a hurricane does reach South Florida this season my loved ones will have to pace, fret, worry and wallow…without me.

Settling in Seattle

2006-10-02T22:55:00.000-07:00

Unlike the by-gone days when journeying from the East Coast to the gold-laden Pacific North West meant months of uncertainty and lack of news, today we have not just the internet, which we use to contact our friends and select family members...we also have “THE PHONE” which we use to “inquire” (parent language) or “harass” (children language) our closest family circle by communicating with them every other hour or so. Thank God Almighty I wasn't born in the friggin' eighteen hundreds (or the fourteen hundreds, for that matter!).

So here I am. It's quite an experience. The area is so utterly alien to what I've known before, at least on a daily basis, and yet this unknown quality has an inexplicable grandeur that makes it almost magnetically compelling; attractive, in a magical way, as if I’m supposed to be here. I’ll think of it as destiny. Where else on earth could I have easily attained at this point in my life a temporary worldly location where every once in a while, sometimes in between a good long while, you get a peek at the strangeness of a snowed-peaked monster volcano that sits forty miles from you? Science Fiction?

This area is perfect. I get to experience an amazingly insightful stage that will be good for my writing, without having to go to Tibet, (yet), where I often wished I could be miraculously whisked off to when the kids were in their teens. People laughed when I told them, but let me tell you, I meant it. Yet it got me thinking...what if I do go to Tibet?

It's difficult enough dealing with airports alone. Before you even get to leave Dade County, you're already getting in and out of your shoes, your belt, and explaining your carry-on luggage selection of eight pounds of piano music sheets (that had to be removed from the bigger, checked bag at the original weigh-in to avoid a $25.00 additional charge); a Baccarat whisky decanter (you'd be absolutely damn if you could not exert some sort of control, even over a small, easy-to fit and somewhat worthwhile item that's been next to you, perhaps as a meaningful memento, over many, many years) that can of course, be technically considered carry-on, right? A collection of lady's handkerchiefs from 1890 - 1905...ok, so perhaps these are not your typical carry-ons, but why should you have to explain to some dimwit what these things are? Obviously, remote controlled, electronic explosive devices ARE NOT embedded in old, lace handkerchiefs. The whole thing made me laugh. I've been having a great time since I set foot at the airport in Miami, even if Airport Security is being trained by using James Bond films.

Can you imagine being stuck in the Himalayas? Tibet truly is in the middle of no-where. It’s like being dead to the world for the next, probably seven years of your life. That’s roughly how long it takes to go in and out of their airports. I would have gone nuts! Probably just as I set foot in the main temple, I’d find some crazy spin on the cosmic significance of life that would translate into “if the kids don’t answer their cell phone right now, before my last pack of batteries is consumed…it means they need me, and I’m trekking all twenty-seven days back to the nearest road, that would take me to the nearest airport, and back to Katmandu…and from there… who knows… but I have to get back to Miami.” Granted, it took all of eight seconds to land my paranoid ass back on the ground this time when the kids didn’t pick up their cell phones!

As usual, I want to recommend a movie: “The Weatherman” with Nicholas Cage. Two thumbs up. You will like it. It’s a good movie.

The notion that I can reach Miami in seven hours, and vice-versa has allowed me to be respectful of the fortune that has been sent my way, by the forces that… really be. So I’ve eased up, and have given present time to present day and have accepted that tomorrow arrives at its usual time.

The job hunting, according to area natives, is going exceptionally well. Doug’s relatives and friends seem to be greatly impressed by it all. I, think it’s going extremely slow. I’ve interviewed for a couple of places and am now waiting until after the July 4th holiday for news. I also had an interview at Sea-Tac Airport for a Horizon Air Registration Agent. I’m contemplating it, but Doug’s afraid that a job like that might tempt me into flying to Miami on a spurt of the moment lunch break if the kids don’t answer their cell phones.

And finally Doug, a Master, in some very silly form; has shown both brawn and brain, just as he professed many times to possess. It’s difficult to allow someone else to lead, especially for a Libra. But as he is one too, I understand it’s asking for the end, to deny them. What’s keeping us still bound to each other after six years? Well, it’s more than the sex…there’s intimacy and love, yes, that too; but most importantly, the one single fact that seems to ensure that this relationship continues on a good, steady, course is perhaps due to his closet being nowhere near mine. No tee-shirts to pick up from around the hamper, and best of all, no need to share my shoe space with a computer bag, a back-pack, or a portable CD player.

I made a killer breakfast this morning. My grandmother would have been proud; scrambled eggs with ham and melted cheese, French fries, a slice of buttered whole wheat toast, and hot cocoa with mint. Lunch was not as successful an undertaking. The Healthy Meal TV-dinner survived unscathed, but the vegetables paid a hefty price with the steaming. The burnt pot remains discretely hidden under a plate in the sink with the pretext of waiting for a cooling period. A couple thousand of years will do the trick. I know, I know…you too might be asking, “How can anyone possibly F^@&-up steaming vegetables?” I’ll tell you…it happens when you’re doing something much more interesting at the same time. Like composing an email message to the friends you care for, and miss. After all, I have to take advantage of the fact that I’m in Seattle, not in the Himalayas! Stay in touch: estrellaeguino@yahoo.com