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11 Mar

Double Nickel

Double nickel, 55, today, a wonderful number on many counts. And spring rains tattooing the roof. One thing that happens when snow recedes and temps go up is that the town’s homeless folk wander further afield day to day and recently they’ve been working the walking trail and leaving their calling cards. Yesterday the hawks were making whoopie with great enthusiasm in the trees and afterwards one of them winged over to the nest for a look-see.  Friend of mine had to testify at a trial where a dog was shot, but lived. The accused claimed the animal charged him, forcing him to stab it with an arrow. The dog also got a subpoena, and no,  I’m not making this up. Having seen all the peppermint schnaaps bottles discarded along the trail it got me to wondering where the homeless of this community go when it is deep winter? We don’t have a real downtown, but more like a string of malls and strip malls.

It also happens that I started reading a new Rostnikov mystery by Stuart M. Kaminsky and learned only then that author Kaminsky passed away last fall after a long illness. Kaminsky, 75, had a PhD in communications from Northwestern where he majored in film and theater. He taught film and film history at Northwestern for 16 years, then Florida State for six years. He was the author of too many books to even begin a list. He said he wanted his epitaph to be “he was consistently good, whatever he wrote.” From your lips to god’s ears, Howard. I will miss Rostnikov and Lieberman and all your other unforgettable characters. Over.

Mass Elegy

Stuart Kaminsky died last fall

a sad fact learned today as

spring thunder dragooned above

with peckish mendacity,

god’s tears dripping in the air

over the loss of Rostnikov

and Chicago Cop, Lieberman.

It struck me only now how death

for authors is a mass event,

passeth not just a pen-pusher,

but all those pushed through the nib.

Warm Weather Discards

08 Mar

Yo Cannabiss…uh… Toke Canada…uh…Oh Canada… Oh NeVERmind!

Whew! Spring approacheth. We could have temps in the upper fifties by mid-week and goodbye snow! End of winter is one thing, the end of the world yet another. With earthquakes in Haiti, Chile and Turkey (today), some folks are saying we are in the so-called Biblical End Times. Hey they could be right! (NOT) This weekend I stumbled onto to Jack Van Impe on TV and he was ranting to his wife Rexella about end times, new world orders, the antichrist and Obama. No mention however of unmarked black helicopters.  I never knew Van Impe was located in Troy, Michigan. Now I wish I didn’t know. This is the guy who predicted the end of the world with Y2000. Now he’s pushed that event  back a dozen years to 2012. I don’t want to pick on what anyone believes, but for crying out loud. See who is preaching and listen to what they say and how they say it, and how often they ask for money, and how much merchandise they have to sell, and what their personal lifestyles are. If the end of the world is upon us, why would someone continue to sell stuff and build stuff? Huh?

We are looking for sure at end of winter looming, and the signs seem clear. Redtail hawks are pairing up. Yesterday the redbelly woodpeckers got real yackety over  in the oaks and as the snow recedes we see myriads of empty discarded schnaaps bottles where folks apparently have been sashaying at night and tossing aside the empties.  Best of all in the afterglow of the winter Olympics I found a discarded joint, wrapped in Canadian paper. Too funny. High school skateboarders last week were prancing about in T-shirts when the temps were 37 and chill factors around 20.Eventually they’ll learn.

Force of Blood reached 87,000 words over the weekend and has somehow led me to the Sleeper Lake Fire of 2007 and a fair amount of 350-year-old Upper Peninsula history. Now what could that possibly have to do with conservation officers?  Stay tuned… If you’re out walking and driving around, there remain all sorts of interesting images to see and entertain you. I share a few.  Just over a week until St. Paddy’s Day. Eirinn go brach! Over.

Sidewalk Bear Shadow. This would be true endomorphic ursine.

Beakus Heywoodus, a genetic thing spread throughout the clan worldwide.

The wolf over the writing desk.

Wrong Way. The redtail hawk, 12 o'clock over the sign. Saw the sign and veered to a landing in the tree, apparently to revisit route choices.

Last ice

Ice Cave at sidewalk level. Lean over and look and you will see all sorts of interesting ice forms.

Rabbit on the Ice Mountain

Toke CA-NA-DA!

03 Mar

The Mcraile of Rdanieg

Bullshido Lars Hjalmquist [Ironwood and Florida] sent the following to me. It came out of Cambridge University  in the UK. Don’t know when. But it is very interesting and I think it probably the basis of  how people learn to speed-read. We’re beginning to finalize some appearances and signings for spring and Shadow of the Wolf Tree, so keep an eye on the events section of the blog. And, I’ll be out with the DNR in the not-too-distant future, so please behave.

Enjoy the reading bit.  It raises a whole slew of questions  about how our brains work (when they work) and ironically looks and sounds a bit like the phonetic spellings of Shakespeare’s time; perhaps more germane,    it reminds me of mish-mashy computer speak, the sort of shorthanded lingua computerica of txet mssegres. Oevr.

Olny srmat poelpe can raed tihs.

I cdnuolt blveiee taht i cluod aulaclty uesdnatrrd waht I was rdanieg

The phaonmneal pweor of the jmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch sutdy

at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn’t mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a

wrod are, the olny ipromoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in

the ghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can still raed it

wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed

ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig, huh? Yaeh and

I wlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! If you can raed tihs psas it on!!

If you cluod raed the lsat msasgse tanhk an Eiglnsh Theecar!!



02 Mar

Gear Up, Wings Out, Talons Set

Be an eagle today! Over.

Get some!

01 Mar

Lions and Lambs of the Five-Foot Kind, Wot!

Great hockey game yesterday, both teams played well and with heart. Congrats to Nortuvuscanuckiacs for the OT victory.

Today is the first day of the month and some folks celebrate this by saying rabbit-rabbit to each other, I have no idea where this practice comes from, but I like the sense of it, so rabbit-rabbit to each and to all. The air today is soft, our first real hint of spring, and brought forth a little verse for smiles.

Lions &  Lambs Spoke in Iambs, Foot by Foot

The gods say Marches will come in like lambs

Exit like lions and who is to say

The powers know not what they tell us of

Arrive like eagles, fly away like doves.

Today the air rides soft like fluff of lamb

If you will, beats hell of icy white stuff.

My own view it can away with bleating

Or bleed us like prides of hungry lions,

As long as the white crap removes itself

To parts unknown staying another year,

To snow be gone I raise my drinking glass,

Chug adult beverages, cheer hear-hear.

Grady Service No. 8 is close to finished and then I will set it aside for a few weeks to allow it to cure and ferment.

Our overcast February put me back at the easel with some intensity. Some pictures of the latest effort.

Contact with one of my CO friends this morning. His wife dreads March, says it makes the old man antsy, waiting for ice to melt, runoff all the stuff to follow. When I first started working with COs ten years ago some of them called March “The Dead Month” and I always thought that would make a terrific book title. Though the month may be a fairly dead one, most COs manage to find plenty of jerk-wads out and about, so all violators beware: The game wardens will show when you least expect them, in places they can’t possibly know about. Take this to the bank, dudes.

Over.

Sometimes something unexpected "just calls your name." As a college kid that hat definitely would have defined an important part of my life.

I always wanted to be a rock-and-roller (with no musical ability at all, but great enthusiasm -- and this was long before the era of air bands) Maybe this outfit would earn me a gig with the Yoopers? The sunglasses are way cool!

Who THINKS of this stuff?

Spring and the opener approach and my mind turns to water and brightly colored denizens. Painting on foam board requires drawing with magic marker (pencil won't affix). So this is how a painting on foam begins.

Approaching finito -- a little detail work to do and then it will be finished and it will be on to something else.

26 Feb

Weekendings

Out all day today on various errands, and returned to find the animal control officer parked in our driveway, looking for my daughter’s dog, Cooper (aka Rocket Dog). The animal control people now have a state-of-the-art computer complete with automatic vehicle locator, and they are following up on licenses. She moved to Windy City three years ago. This visit suggests how hard up the county is for $$ eh? It also suggest a day when mobile computers might track every thing we do, Big Brother style.

Our most recent walk and snowfall combined to  produce interesting photos.

And my blog entry on the Gliding Brick Flight (e.g.,the flight profile of a KC-135 without fuel) brought a few comments from former K.I. Sawyer, USAF guys.

The U.S. lost the gold medal game to Canada 2-0 yesterday in women’s hockey, but the men whacked the Finns today 6-1 and will play for the gold tomorrow. I won’t be surprised in the opponent is Slovakia rather than the favored Canada, eh?

Over.

Cooper the Rocket Dog

One of the last snowmen of the season, and one of the most creative. Looks like he should be hanging with Akroyd and Belushi in the Blue Bros, eh.

Sometimes all this snow puts trees in a lousy mood.

Did you guess sumac? You should have.

More sumac.

When first seen this fellow was trying to ride his bike and wobbling and flopping like an eel on ice.

Our last snowfall was only 8-10 inches, but heavy and even pretty in the ways it piled on.

25 Feb

Night of the Gliding Pig

Back in 1969 I was  saving leave in preparation for getting out of the USAF the following year, and my own crew was on leave, and I was called in to substitute for the navigator of another crew one  afternoon; this story reports the bare basics of the event.  Some day I will write more in depth about the events, but for now this should suffice. Our 46 Air Refueling Squadron Reunion is coming up next September in Marquette and this will undoubtedly be one of the stories that gets chewed over. It always does. It is hilarious now. It was not so funny during or immediately after the events herein described.

I just read something this morning  on the squadron site about the great KC-135 glider flight of August 1969, it was written after the fact  by someone who was not involved,  and I decided I’d better put the story right. As previously stated, I was the substitute navigator on the crew that day; we started off with several hours of transition,  which means touch-and-goes, various approaches, etc, up-down, up-down; the crew’s copilot needed a recheck on an Instrument Landing System [ILS] approach. After several hours of up and down, the IP came out and climbed aboard and wanted to get the ILS done, but was informed the KI Sawyer ILS was broken and not in service, so we had to go to Kincheloe. Why he didn’t already know this has always puzzled me. We knew before we flew by checking Notams, etc. He asked for clearance going east at 10 or 12  K feet. When asked if he was sure about the requested altitude, he said, “You’re right, get 6 K or 5 K.’ whichever was the appropriate level for east bound. As a crew we expected to quickly pop up above 20,000 ft. to save fuel on the  run east, then drop back down. We were all dumbfounded by the altitude request which would keep us down at a level where consumption rates would be high.

All the way to Kincheloe, the pilot and copilot debated the need to stop and refuel. The IP would hear none of it. The copilot on final at Kincheloe said he was going to land to top off our fuel. The IP said, “You will make a missed approach and that is an order. Our fuel is all right.” We thus dutifully made the missed approach and headed back to KI Sawyer, this time only a thousand difference in altitude than on the trip over. You could almost hear the engines slurping JP-4. The copilot looked back at me and raised his eyebrows. We began to experience fuel starvation around Munising. At that point the IP told the AC to get out of the left seat, and in sliding down into position, he pulled back two throttles, not to idle, but to off. Once in his seat, he restarted the engines, another waste of fuel.

Thus we lumbered west and somewhere between Munising and Skandia the AC and copilot made it clear we had serious fuel problems. Thus, the IP now shut down two engines (the same two he had shut down and restarted once before). Then things began to become frantic as the copilot and IP played with fuel tanks, trying, I assume, to get a handle on what we actually had and to move fuel from tank to tank to get the best possible balance, etc. At one point between Skandia and the runway, the copilot suggested we declare a Mayday and the IP vehemently rebuked him . “We do not have an emergency.” But now engines were beginning to starve out and go silent and reluctantly the IP said on the interphone: “Prepare to bailout.” By then we were all strapped into our chutes and the boomer stepped up and pulled the bar and blew the escape hatch. I stood by my nav seat, looking down, watching trees pass below. The IP was silent through all of this, and the boomer, seeing that we had no engines and were in flying brick mode, said, “I’m out of here, sir,” grabbed the bar, pulled up his knees, let go and away he went. I stepped forward and looked at the fuel panel. The IP was fiddling with everything. The AC, sitting in the jump-seat, was silent.  The panel read all zeros. I said, “Okay, we’re gliding and I’m out of here.” I then did what the boomer did and my chute popped, I had time to check that it was deployed and full, and then I was sliding down the side of a white pine. Beyond my chute I could see two other chutes, the boom operator and I was not sure who else. When I stepped out, I could look down at the trees and all I could hear was the soft whistle of wind coming up through the hatch. All four engines were dead and windmilling.

On the ground, I popped my riser releases and reeled in my beeper and turned it off. Then I heard a voice yelling for help. I spread my chute on a tree so I could mark my place and went and found the AC hanging in a small tree, and helped him to get down. We then build a fire in a small clearing and waited for the cavalry, which finally arrived about 0130 and was lost The copilot did not get out until 0430. He  had landed on an island in creek, after one swing in his chute; there he  built a fire only to have had a bobcat or lynx scream at him and the fire from 20-30 yards away until almost dawn.

The night before the flight evaluation board [F.E.B] I got inappropriate phone calls from someone with Stanboard  “suggesting”  If I knew what was good for my career, I would testify a certain way, which made it obvious someone wanted to blame the boom operator for all that had happened. I told him I was going to testify the way it happened. Period.

At the F.E.B, Colonel Bert Brunner (our former 46 ARS CO) said, “You guys didn’t have the order to bailout.”

I said, “Yes sir, that’s true because the pilot was out of his seat and silent and the tanks were empty, the four engines were out, and as far as we were concerned the IP was dead. We had been given the order to prepare to bailout, which we had. And altitude was falling fast and we knew it was time to get out.” I told the board if they were going to try to pin everything on the boomer, I knew ways to make the whole thing quickly nationally public and very, very messy. After the boomer, myself and the AC had bailed out, the copilot asked the IP if he could go to and only then somewhere between Skandia and the runway did the IP agree that a Mayday should be declared. Which it then was, and then the copilot jumped from his seat to the bar, took one second to stabilized and dropped out the escape hatch. The first thing I did when I landed in my chute was disconnect my O2 mask and listen for the thump of an explosion, which I never heard. As the crow flies it is about 6 miles from Skandia to the north end of the runway at the base. The terrain between is some of the nastiest in the U.P.

There were lots of funny events during the course of this goat rodeo, but the funniest concerned my wife, Sandy. The CO and a chaplain showed up at our house and she talked them through the screen door and the CO sort of mumbled and hemmed and hawed and finally said, without looking her in the eye, “We think your husband’s crew has had a little problem.”

“What kind of little problem?” she shot back.

“They bailed out – but we think they’re okay.” By now the two are trying to push their way inside to take care of the little lady of the house.

She stared at them and said, “Did they bail out over land or over water?”

“Land.”

Sandy said, “Okay, my husband will be fine, you guys can go, and closed the door in their faces.

I had parachuted before and I had always told her that if I got out over land not to worry, that the only worry should be an over-water bailout. She had taken what I had said as gospel.

When we applied to the Caterpillar Club for membership we were turned down because our aircraft had “never been disabled” and thus there had been no need for a bailout. Despite the board finding that the deployment of the weighted hatch plus the loss of  600-800 pounds of human meat was adjudged the critical factor that allowed the IP to dead-stick the pig to the ground short of the runway. In other words, our getting out prevented a crash. Talk about ironic.

The story of that night’s emergency  got released to the media before we were found and we were all listed publicly as “missing.”  The headlines the next day read, “Engines on Fire, Pilot Orders Crew to Bail Out.” Where to you supposed that fantasy came from?

Ah, them were the days. We were the 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th people to ever parachute safely from a KC-135.

Over.

22 Feb

Snow Day

All schools in the area are closed  today, at all levels. Rained last night, followed by heavy wet snow. Streets are ice rinks. And the U-ESS-Eh dey beat dose Kanadas  fi-t’ree (5-3) you betcha, thanks mainly to a former Michigan State goalie. Good thing the YankCanuck had cleared town or he might have been homicidal, or something.  Photos today from the Bullshido Half Dinner of Saturday. Enjoy your week. Over.

Patychkys are labor-intensive. You marinate pork and beef over night, then put them on skewers, roll skewers alternately in Panko crumbs and eggs, brown lightly in the pan, as depicted here, then throw them into the oven. We used them as a first, but they would have made a meal all on their own.

Meat sticks all done, lukovey vzhar cooking in pan (honey-onion sauce). The house she smell purt good all day!

Special wines. These were made with juice for Barolo in 2009. Reg and Marcia scanned book covers for wine labels. Their homemade Barolo is fantastico, as is their white called Luna Blanco!

Snacks in the Studio

His Majesty, snug on the couch.

Snowcayman -- ready to ice you to death if you're not prepared outside.

21 Feb

Time Moves, Life Happens, Memories are Made

Friends Mike and Sue from Arizona took a four-wheeler ride along the Mexican border, in the Sonoma Desert area on Friday, February 19. At one point they encountered a uniformed group of men on the other side of the border, with a Hummer. They were packing AK-47s. Some had their faces covered with ski masks. Because of dust, the four-wheeler crew is usually spread out over hundreds of yards and Mike happened to arrive as first of eight machines total and he got the impression that the army guys were trying to intimidate him with various gestures but as other riders joined him the uniforms drifted south and out of sight. Over five years of riding the same area, and dozens of trips, Mike had never before seen uniformed men. But he has heard all sorts of stories about corruption being endemic in the Mexican army. Later that day Mike talked to the Border Patrol about the incident and they informed him there was a 50-50 chance the uniforms were up to no good. Mike says, “One thing is for sure. They did NOT want their pictures taken.” Naturally he had one, which is shared herein.

Today is the 30th anniversary of the Soviet US Olympic hockey game at Lake Placid. The kind of upset that took place that day can never happen again because back then we had college kids playing on a team formed only 6 months before and many of the Soviet players had dominated the world as teammates for eightteen years. Ironically Ted Swaboda sent me a wonderful photo of an eagle taken over in the Saugatuck area, and I include that as well.

The bullshido bash last night was fun. Will post a coupla pix tomorrow. Needless to say, way too many libations and calories. We have a winter weather warning for tonight and tomorrow. It is moving up from Indiana, shadowing the YankCanuck, which strikes me as making perfect sense in an imperfect world. The US plays Canada today in Olympic hockey. Go U.S. But not the same panache as three decades ago. And by the way, from the department of little known facts, Captain Mike Erruzione before making the US team was playing for the Toledo Blades in the old IHL. Had he not made the US team, he would have played for the Kalamazoo Wings in the Eye. I’m glad he never showed up here.

Over.

Encounter on the border

Swoboda's Eagle

20 Feb

Musings of a Technoflop

This isn’t exactly a rant, but earlier tonight a TV ad bade me download a song: To where, I thought, to my brain? I have no cable TV beyond local stations, or PIN numbers, no satellite dish, no debit card, have never used an ATM, watched Blu- Ray, or used an I-phone, I-pod, Blackberry, or MP-3. Hell I don’t know what most of that stuff even is.   I have a basic computer, with free software downloaded by someone else. My software does not include Power Point or a publishing program. I have word processing, just like when I had a typewriter, but this is a lot better. Still, I don’t use spell check because it is often wrong at the wrong times.  I don’t own a laptop and I prefer a mouse, not a touch-pad. I’ve never seen one of them work worth a damn. Back in my corporate days an computer dude announced to me that our computer could do 100,000 calculations a second. I replied, “I can type 40 words a minute. Why should I care? Because it’s better, he said.  For whom, not for me. He had no answer.

I don’t use GPS as a hand-unit, or in my truck, and I never owned a fuzz buster when they were in vogue.  I didn’t grow up digital and I haven’t gone postal. My generation didn’t label itself the greatest. We lost the only war we fought — not out where it was actually contested in blood, but back here by those same folks who lost morale and now “support our troops,” which is pretty much abject bullshit. As long as they are not involved, or one of their kids, most people flat don’t care what happens to war-fighters. They just don’t.

We still had a draft and most men registered and went when called, or volunteered. Some ran to Canada. They weren’t missed. They were later given amnesty, were not welcomed back, and as far as I know, haven’t contributed much to anyone or anything since. I’d like to see the draft brought back, and all men and women called. I’d like to see two years of national service be mandatory for all citizens. I know it will never happen.

The Internet is connected at my house by a high-speed line, but it’s like taking an express train to the epicenter of all bullshit and misinformation, with nobody bothering to check facts, or veracity.  I have call-waiting on my phone but have no idea how to use it. I consider its use rude at best.

Newspapers, which in our time played societal watchdogs and referees , are now dying. Free media are worth exactly what we pay for them, which is nothing. I blog, you blog, everybody blogs: Who cares? It’s all blather, just like this entry.

I’ve never owned flip-flops, much less worn them. It never occurred to me to duck military service for college. We didn’t get medals or blue ribbons simply for participation and our peers didn’t call themselves peers or walk around giving “man-hugs” and declaring “I love you” to every wanker that mouth-breathed and took up space on planet earth.

The Y generation allegedly prides itself in speaking its mind, and so far they don’t seem to have much to say collectively. We multi-tasked and didn’t make a thing out of it.  We didn’t play computer games and we engaged in actual problem solving rather than the virtual form; texting was done on paper, not secretly over a telephone by some snot-nose in the back row of class when the teacher isn’t looking.  Students who habitually disrupted class and school got their butts kicked and were expelled from school and not invited back. They weren’t missed.

The legal system in this country used to trumpet rehabilitation, which was never more than rhetoric . Our legal system has always been punitive, is now, and ever shall be. Those who get ensnared in the system have one hell of  time getting out and most never make it. They never have.

Music has rarely moved me and I find music and those who play it less and less interesting more and more. The Cronicles of Narnia bored me, and so too did Harry Potter.  I’m glad Harry Potter encouraged a lot of young people to read. What are we going to do for older people who need the same boost?

I went to a public school, graduated in a class of 58 and have done just fine. Why public schools can’t do that anymore, I don’t know and I don’t believe they can’t and aren’t. Just a guess, but I’m thinking the same school systems which were in trouble and under-performing when I was a kid are the same ones still having troubles, only those problems are deeper now.

The only thing globalization helps is the shareholders community.

I haven’t seen Avatar and have no interest in doing so. I enjoy Blue Man Group. That’s enough blue for me unless it’s a sky color.  I’ve never enjoyed animated films. 3D started out when I was a kid. It was silly thing then and continues to be so.

Want to see computer reality? Watch the avionics in  US Navy fighter flying a synch (sink) rate and ball onto a carrier deck at night. A computer tried to manage our first lunar landing, but Neil Armstrong had to disconnect it and land manually because the computer was about to put us into the rocks. That’s a good lesson to remember. For people like Armstrong and carrier pilots, nothing’s pretend, and there are no daily awards other than the satisfaction of knowing you get to keep living if you do your job right.

We had lots of small hot wars and One Big Honking Cold One. As school kids, we practiced sitting under our desks or along the walls in hallways awaiting nuclear attack by the Soviets. Nobody thought it was a game and nobody was laughing while the practices went on.

We had a selective service, military draft, and the vast majority of us registered as the law required, and went when we were called. A lot of us even volunteered. We had the GI Bill after Vietnam. It had not changed since World War II, twenty years before, and was marginal at best. There were no bonuses for signing up for military service. Nobody looked at you like you were a Martian if you volunteered. Most of our dads and uncles had served the country: Why not us?  It took forever to get paid by the government, and when there were glitches, nobody in government gave a shit. Just like now. The emotionally and physically wounded were sort of patched up, then dumped, and mostly ignored forever after. Apparently that hasn’t changed all that much, though today’s prostheses seem a whole lot better. They surely do.

We wore baseball hats that fit, with the bills pointed forward and the logos on the crest reflected teams, not social statements. We didn’t have Columbine. We had Manson, Richard Speck, Son of Sam, and Kent State.  I admit it: I’m  a technoflop.  But I am not a Luddite. Change is fine and natural, part of evolution, but change for the sake of change and the resulting chaos are not.

I do not expect the government to provide 100 percent safety from terrorists. They haven’t in the past, why would they be able to do it now? An American got to us in Oklahoma City, the Japanese  got us in Honolulu.  All the money we’re spending now is bankrupting the country and it is not working. A guy yesterday flew  his single-engine plane into an Austin building that housed an IRS office, an organization with whom he has some sort of problem. The first question in the wake of the event: We should look at the rules for licensing private pilots. Hello! How about we ask what the IRS did to drive the wad over the edge? Shouldn’t that be in the first tier of questions, you know, in case there are others out there like that one homicidal cretin? Okay, so Reagan defeated the Soviets by outspending them, or more accurately by forcing them to keep spending what the didn’t have and their economy couldn’t support. Guess what: Bin Laden’s put us in the same boat as we put  the Soviets into back then.  But OBL spent a little, a few times, and now we keep spending lots and lots and lots, trillions upon trillions. We keep spending to achieve a level of unachievable safety, and look at our economy and social system, all of which is in shambles.

We have individuals spending million$ of their own money to win political offices that pay salaries of less than $250,000 a year. Why would they do that unless there are fiscal rewards the rest of us suspect but can’t see and we’ll never have access to?

Maybe Generation Y knows the answer and will give us the benefit of their deep wisdom — if they can step away from their electronic gizmo-handcuffs or get off their mountain bikes/skateboards/snowboards/roller blades long enough to weigh in. Don’t hold your breath.

Bullshido half-dinner today (three of the six). Spring she ain’t that far off. More snow coming Sunday night and Monday, but hey, it’s February. It’s supposed to snow, even in a time of climate change. I need sleep. Over

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