Oh, yeah, I 'm ready to dance and unleash the dogs of hell!!!
Oh, yeah! Tomorrow starts birthday week, and fun with my girlie-girls, and probably a beer or with Mike's boss and friends... a foray into biker, but they are mine & good peep!
It’s a debate and it’s an hour long. Got it from the folks at WarIsACrime and there is a short, first person report on it at their site as well, in case you want the “cliff note”s on it. From the Youtube description of the debate:
A luncheon debate at the October 22, 2011, conference on “National Security and Civil Liberties,” sponsored by SMU’s John Goodwin Tower Center for Political Studies and the Cary M. Maguire Center for Ethics & Public Responsibility. The debate was moderated by Seyom Brown, the John Goodwin Tower Distinguished Chair for International Politics & National Security; participants were John Yoo, Professor of Law, UC Berkeley School of Law, and Joe “Chip” Pitts, Lecturer, Stanford Law. The day-long conference stimulated dialogue, scholarship, andreflection in the academy and wider community about the need to effectively and ethically pursue U.S. national security imperatives without undermining the country’s historic commitment to civil liberties.
The topic was the CIA’s “enhanced interrogation techniques” and detainee treatment, when John Yoo, former Department of Justice official and author of the “Torture Memos” debated Chip Pitts, Stanford University law professor and former Chairman of Amnesty International, at the Meadows Museum at Southern Methodist University in Dallas.
It was not widely publicized ~ at least, we didn’t get the complete info until less than 24 hours beforehand. It was free, but required registration. When we called to register, we were told it was full. So, we planned to just go protest outside…but then at the last minute decided to see if we could get in anyway, without registration. There were some no-shows, so, to our surprise, they let us in after all…and we sat at the table right next to Yoo in a very fancy room lined with gilt-framed oil paintings and had a very lovely lunch. We decided not to disrupt because we didn’t want to distract from Chip, and we knew Chip would blow Yoo away. (He did.) It was filmed, so I’m hoping it will be made public soon, because it was terrific ~ Chip is always terrific.
To judge who won the debate, different exit doors were assigned to each debater. The audience was asked to leave through the door assigned to the person they thought won the debate. After it was over and we’d been counted exiting Chip’s door, we felt like we couldn’t leave without confronting the war criminal…so Carol & I went back in and got in the line of people “meeting and greeting” Yoo.
I so hate John Yoo, and I try very hard not to hate. I do despise, oh yes..I do..but I really try not to hate. Yoo was quick to add that Obama has supported many of Bush43′s policies on all this fuckery and sadly..he isn’t lying on that count.
But I do hate John Yoo, with every fiber of my being. So, the big question… who won? How many went out Yoo’s door vs Chip’s door?
Word is, the final “score” of the debate was: Pitts 55, Yoo 18.
Yes! I love it..I overwhelming love it. Video of the entire debate below the fold....
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A blond housewife and a black lawyer walk into a bar on belated date... who knows what will happen? Truth and laughter served up faster than a speed-of-light beer, thats for sure! Tachy, on!!!!
David Peery is brilliant, funny and spot-on Politically. As the silly-season erupts into full fetid bloom, with the foremost players ringing bigoted bells for the Pavlovian Knuckledraggers; we are going to try and counter the insanity with a fresh dose of realism and rationale.
We have Arizona banning Ethnic Studies, we have man-on-dog Santorum, we have Paul wanting to revoke Civil Rights Legislation and we have a Nation turning on its own People in fear and loathing rather than face the obvious: The Problem is Endemic Class War.
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My rule of thumb is not to bring the cops into anyone's life unless absolutely necessary. But being stalked and threatened is really unsettling.
Its funny, in talking to a cop who is my friend out here (a former neighbor), and fairly sane, his advice was drop-first, call-second if I had trouble; me being a woman and all. He knew Mike, his kids go to school with mine.
Big dogs and guns are a perk, but they asked me if I had any large friends who could stay with me. When I answered my husband had worked for a couple bad-ass biker gangs, they laughed and said, "Now there's a deterrent to crime if I ever heard one. Use them if you need to."
I really wanted to discuss Occupy with him. Its not really an issue out here - but I wanted to get their thoughts on it. But I figured I needed the good rapport with them, and didn't want to lose it. He knows I'm a lefty.
So, am I sell-out for not trying to bring them on board? Am I a hypocrite for saying "fuck the pigs" then considering using them? I mean I did vote for their millage, and pay my taxes so I guess its owed me.
For the moment, I have not formally employed them. But I did have a nice long talk with them and got good advice. We are logging every time I am followed, every lie, every attempt to follow my cyber trail.
The open thread is open, and the Question of the Day is:
"How many times have you actually called the cops, and how did it work out for you?"
Last year there was a fierce Winter. Huge, frequent snowfalls. Extraordinary, aching, persistent cold. And this year, as if finding mercy, Winter has so far been quite mild. A deep snow at the end of October melted quickly. There has been no extended, sub zero cold. And there has been little snow. Yesterday's foul weather warning was unjustified: the feared storm turned into copious rain. Streams and ponds and lakes are not fully frozen. In short, mud season has arrived early and it may persist.
Mud season turns the world monochromatic. The sun is weak. The sky is overcast and gray. There is no snow cover. Fields and forests and dirt roads are all brown. And so we wait. We make it a practice not to complain. Not to jinx whatever clemency we've received. We wonder. Is the future a plunge into growling arctic blizzards, or is it a slow but muddy slog toward the Equinox?
Robert Frost:
Looking For a Sunset Bird in Winter
The west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died of cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.
In summer when I passed the place
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic gift
Was singing in it sweet and swift.
No bird was singing in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
And that was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree.
From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a crystal chill
Was only adding frost to snow
As gilt to gold that wouldn't show.
A brush had left a crooked stroke
Of what was either cloud or smoke
From north to south across the blue;
A piercing little star was through.
This Week In The Dream Antilles is usually a weekly digest. Usually, it appears on Friday. Sometimes, like now and for several of the past weeks, it isn't actually a digest of essays posted at The Dream Antilles. For the essays you have to visit The Dream Antilles
That Jules Vernesy thing below is a telescope made by my great-grandpa back in 1936. He was a machinist back in the olden days when people made stuff (aside from the usual wars of aggression, financial collapses, snarky blog comments). Cool stuff that worked and lasted and made you go, "Huh." I didn't know the man, but I knew his son, a dashing man enough in a tux (Cary Grant-ish) but when Granny was at his side "fuggeddaboutit" they were drop-dead handsome; also capable with his hands on boats, paintings (a very decent draughtsman), and according to the large nasty dagger he also left behind, apparently, Nazis; he seriously questioned, yelled from shore, who gave my brother and I "permission to go onboard" when we were shark-scared kids (pre-Jaws!) swimming out at Monomoy Island about thirty yards out. Sharks! dude. The friggin' sharks gave us permission!
I rather like to think, that people can survive just fine without me shitting my pearls of dubious wisdom hither and yon in their worlds. And me theirs.
Still, its always awesome to connect with those who bring lightness to your world when they are able.
Man is a pathetic creature; a brute trying to be god but traveling in the wrong direction.
For many years, I have been troubled by what I saw as the results of what passes for education in America and perhaps elsewhere too. Why is it, do you suppose, that one generation does not seem to get any smarter than the previous one? Oh, it may know more of this or that, but what it "knows" does not translate into smarts. In other words, why don't people ever seem to get wiser? Why do they repeat the same mistakes over and over?
For centuries, an education was thought to be comprised of considerably more than one providing the skills and requirements needed to carry on a trade or profession. For instance, consider this passage:
"Education is not the same as training. Plato made the distinction between techne (skill) and episteme (knowledge). Becoming an educated person goes beyond the acquisition of a technical skill. It requires an understanding of one's place in the world-cultural as well as natural-in pursuit of a productive and meaningful life. And it requires historical perspective so that one does not just live, as Edmund Burke said, like 'the flies of a summer,' born one day and gone the next, but as part of that 'social contract' that binds our generation to those who have come before and to those who are yet to be born.
An education that achieves those goals must include the study of what Matthew Arnold called 'the best that has been known and said.' It must comprehend the whole-the human world and its history, our own culture and those very different from ours. . . ."
(There are none so brave as the women of this nation.... - promoted by Diane Gee)
I read this diary yesterday about Trust Women Week and the 1 in 3 Campaign. I was hoping it would get more traction than it did, because it spoke to me, and because the synchronicity was too much for me to ignore.
Hi, my name is puzzled and I had an abortion.
I had never typed those words, never thought I would, with or without my real name until last night. However, I have recently been on a very strange journey toward openness and self-examination which has pushed me well out of my comfort zone. (though not so far I'm ready to give up the relative anonymity of my nom de blog) :-)
I have shared many details of my life with the friend I've referenced in the above links, but had told him I needed to hold back a few parts of myself--that certain things were off-limits. This is one of those things I thought I'd never tell him. I couldn't imagine why I would, because it's a secret I've kept for decades. (insert wry laughter here)
I am finding that in direct contrast to the closed-off person I've always been, by opening up and trusting I am happier, calmer and less fearful. It makes no logical sense-giving someone information which could later be used to hurt me should make me feel less safe, not more, but life is complicated, and the journey, as well as my evolution, continues.
So I decided to take another giant step and tell him this story on January 22, the 39th anniversary of Roe v. Wade. Circumstances intervened, and Sunday passed without an opportunity to share it. Last night, the time was right, but I was afraid-my heart was pounding as I blurted out (can one actually blurt while typing?) a short version of what I am about to tell you. Though he is kind and non-judgmental, I worried that he would not understand. His politics are much more conservative than mine in some ways, he is a churchgoer, and he is adopted. All reasons I should just have STFU and kept my secret buried where it has been since I was fifteen. But I seem compelled to share (or perhaps over-share), so off I went.
Bernie Sanders gave the best synopsis of the SOTU(Text) last night and he didn’t leave me feeling warm and fuzzy in spite of President Obamas gift of speechifying.
As most figured, Obama’s SOTU was a ‘blueprint’ for his campaign and he did not disappoint in that regard. Yes, he laid out grand plans, the vast majority of which, can not be done without a congress that cooperates, and he at least mentioned that inalienable fact on several occasions. So, he didn’t give us a completely bullshit-laden 60 minutes of speechifying, because he will not get anything he spoke about, unless he again, gives into the GOP and the rightwing assholes ensconced there now, or as his is usual… listens to the idiots in his inner circle who all seem to be right of the center on everything.
Reprinted from The Greanville Post with the kind permission of Patrice Greanville, my amazing friend and mentor. How low can our political discourse go?
Time to recognize that "conservative" and "reactionary" are four-letter words.
By Roger Shuler
Our public discourse has sunk to such depths that a cat has been murdered in Arkansas, apparently for political reasons. The perpetrator, it seems, supports a Republican who is known for his strong "pro life" stands.
The campaign manager for a Democratic Congressional candidate returned to his Russellville, Arkansas home, to find that the family cat had been killed. The word "liberal" had been scribbled across the cat's body in paint.
Associated Press reports that a complaint has been filed with the Russellville Police Department, and officials have no suspects at this time.
I was looking so forward to being with Chris, Marty, Stu and a few other of Chris' friends for a small jam and visit. I needed it. Shortly before I left I got the apologetic call from Chris, whose home hosted the get-together. "Cousin Joe is all worked up because this is supposed to be Stu's 'try-out' for the 'band' and he hopes that Chris wasn't planning on bringing a bunch of people to think they are gonna jam."
Really, fucking really? This is not the 1st time in the last 30 yrs we heard this line. I finally SAID something when I arrived, sans guitar. "You know, Joe, I've been hearing about this "band practice" for 25 years or so, and I don't see your name in lights anywhere yet. You need to loosen the fuck up, man. I mean, Mike and I sat out how many times, and you've yet to have a paid gig."
Joe blushed and laughed and said, "No shit."
Still. Chris, Marty and I sat out, and listened to the 4 of them jam, Joe all up and in control. The ego-fest continued as they turned their amps up, then the vocals to the point of painful. You would think after 25 years of band practice he would remember the words. I got my money, made plans to have Stu over, and Marty, Jake and I left and went to dinner.
Content is an unlimited resource. People can now make perfect copies of digital content for free. That's why they expect content to be free - because it is in fact free. That is GOOD.
Think of "content" - culture - as water. Where water flows, life flourishes.
Containers - objects like books, DVDs, hard drives, apparel, action figures, and prints - are not free. They are a limited resource. No one expects these objects to be free, and people voluntarily pay good money for them.
Think of "containers" - books, discs, hard drives - as jugs and vessels. These containers add utility to and increase the value of the water. If you can get water for free in the public river, great - that doesn't reduce the value of vessels. Quite the contrary: when rivers flow, the utility and value of water vessels increases.
The sparkles on the window pane through my barely open eyes made me think, "I didn't turn on the Christmas lights on the trees last night." You see I went to bed in Winter, and awoke in Spring. Overnight it shot up into the high 40's and rained. My RCA-dog head tilt moment was simply the prism of the sole neighborhood streetlight shining through raindrops on the glass.
China says its a Lunar New Year today. I know nothing of that, really. The Mayans say we've got until December. The Lions made a round of the Play-offs. Liberals think its still Liberal to rally behind the Obombster or Paulista. Cruise ship Captains are playing "Look Ma, no hands," with people's lives. Indefinite detention w/o trial is the law of the land in the home of the free. The plebes are awakening, against all odds. And? A thunderstorm in January in Michigan.
But hey, when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro, and all this warm weather has me way ahead of the curve on Spring cleaning.
In my epic seven hour writing experiment looking to refocus on humanity's greatest common denominator, I forgot to post Sunday Music. Despite the all of the above, perhaps because of all of the above, I am feeling fairly energized about "what comes next."
So, I neither feel like walking, nor do I have the blues, but I do love a little toe-tapping Bonnie in the morning.
A fusillade of gunshots shatters the evening stillness, silence a brief backdrop again before a cacophony of police radios and loud voices erupts in its place.
No longer cognizant of his surroundings, the young man who is the focus of the radio calls and shouted instructions attempts to rise and resume his journey home.
Miles away, a mother dozes fitfully. She never truly sleeps until her son has returned home.
Damn buses never come by when you need 'em. Shit, why'd I smoke that damn weed. Promised my mama I wouldn't do it no more, but things just happen.
What the hell is going on? Where am I? It's hella cold. Think!
OK, I was walking home, wishing I didn't smoke that damn weed. She's gonna know. Looking back every couple minutes for a bus. Then the cops, and I panicked. Shit. Then....then what? I got to get going. Get up, get up. Already late.
Bright light all of a sudden. Who's that? A lady? Mama ?
Yeye emo eja ? Yeye emo eja!
The mother awakens, heart racing, bathed in sweat. She'd dreamed of her son, face down in an alley, awash in blood. As he struggled to look up, a cowled woman appeared, kneeling in front of him.
The phone rings, stops, then a minute later begins to ring again. She doesn't answer. She knows what has happened.
Yeye emo eja!
"Beloved. Yes it is I, the mother of all. No matter how far from home, my children know me". The cowled woman gazes with infinite love into the young man's eyes. "I am here to guide you to Orun". She extends her hand. "Come, your ancestral spirits await.You are going home".
At her urging, the last of the mother's family has finally left. Their love has carried her along, but she needs to be alone now. Making a cup of tea, she crosses the room to her favorite chair.
The tea sits untouched, grows cold. The room gradually grows dark. Still she sits, gazing into an eternity without her son. At some point her eyes close, and the sleep of exhaustion overcomes her. She dreams again.
Her son lies in an alley, awash in blood. He struggles to look up, and a cowled woman appears, kneeling in front of him. After a few moments the woman's head turns. Her eyes are dark pools of infinite love, and something more. She gazes directly into the mothers eyes, smiling gently.
Yemoja's hands softly caress the mother's face. " Beloved. You have taken him to manhood. I will take him the rest of the way, to complete his journey. He shall live again. He will have much to tell you, when you meet once more".
The cowled woman extends her hand. The young man grasps it, and both rise to their feet. He smiles shyly at Yemoja, who returns the smile.
A single tear makes its way down the mother's cheek. There is a chill in the air, and a blanket with a pattern popular centuries earlier among Yoruba tribesmen appears, arranging itself around her. Pulling the blanket more snugly against herself, the mother whispers her son's name.
This story was inspired by the beautiful painting featured above. You may view or purchase it at the Omiiroo Galeria, 400 14th st in Oakland, Ca.
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