Sunday evening

So, I actually did it - I got the laundry room closet completely cleaned out and organized. I put ALL of the nails, screws, fasteners, clips and nonsense into the little drawer unit that I bought - put all of the tools away, threw away nearly a trash can of empty bags, containers and boxes. Now, the breakfast room is empty again. And, I have to get some work done that needs to be mailed out tomorrow morning.

I've been avoiding Twitch's calls today.

Had a dream last night about tromping through a frosty field next to a car dealer, to look at a Phaeton. It was quite vivid - I could feel the hard, uneven ground under my feet, the briskness of the air, I could see the sun coming up, the first rays of dawn coming through the trees. The car looked funky. It was what I wanted, though. Interesting stuff.

My BG has been sky high for days, and this weekend, it's been outrageous.

I came home from church today, measured around 300, then took a nap. It's been around 210 since. Bleh. I'm really working to avoid food that will kick it up, but what I really need is more exercise, less stress, less weight and different meds.

Have to pick Bram up at IAH in the morning. Then, I guess I'm working from home.

Bram's on his way to St. Louis, and John's been gone since two hanging out with friends. He's not answering his messages, so he's likely got his pants on the floor somewhere.

I'm fixing to go to bed, I think. I'm not really tired now, but the kitchen is cleaned and I don't want to start on work related projects at this point in the evening.

Just wrote a note to SAM, who's been hiding out again.

Been just worn out listening to people call and carry on about their "stuff." Not that I mind, but .. I need some SPACE. Today, when the phone was ringing, I was feeling like heaving it into the pool. I'm feeling very angry lately, I guess. I wonder what that's about. Maybe I'll work on that tomorrow.

Not that I haven't been doing good, helping people out listening to them. I have. But, aside from John's looking over my shoulder at my food consumption, I hardly feel like I'm involved in all of this - just putting out..

Blah, blah.

I'm starting to get used to the Imperial.

After church today, I was thinking. Thinking, thinking. I was talking about the difference between how one WANTS to feel and how we perceive something will make us feel. I was thinking about the Phaeton thing, and thinking about how much MORE secure I'd feel if Ruby were all trimmed up and running well, and I could drive it for another three years for FREE.

Better. Much better.

It's almost tax season, and you know? I'm just not into it.

I have a bunch of accounting/book keeping to get caught up on this week.

(sigh) I'm tired.

Okay, enough whining. I can assert that the new gas dryer is a miracle. It dries the clothes in no time flat, without overheating them. This should be saving me about $70 in electricity by itself a month.

Sunday - pre-church linkarama

This article on Daily Kos points out that the democrats were savaged by union voters in previous elections after supporting NAFTA and other programs that seem clearly anti-labor in the US.

This next one discusses the ridiculous nature of tort reform arguments. A short and good read.

This one is a discussion of how honest the administration is in its pursuit of known or suspected terrorists. Feel safe, everyone! They only care about spin, not interdiction.

And here is a partial answer to my friend Jimmy's question of yesterday - what's up with the US Dollar? Not much, it's all DOWN. Requires basic understanding of economic theory, and some ability to process and connect the dots. A new paper bank to step in just in case JPMorgan Chase and/or the Bank of New York cannot settle transactions? Okay, why doesn't that strike one as a warning that a giant economic meteor is headed toward our country?

That last just gave me a headache. I have to run to church now.

To tree or not to tree, that is the question

Black Friday… sitting in the living room, enjoying the new stereo rack, the sunlight, the peacefulness, and watching Will & Grace. In a moment, I plan to pull EVERYTHING out of the mud room closet (laundry room, for your Texicans and southerners) and then reorganize everything.

Then, have to run by Costco to pick up meds, and go visit Chuck. Then, come back here and more relaxing.

Who am I kidding? I have a grant proposal to review and grade/respond to, letters to write, more office stuff to pack up and get ready for taking to the office.

And Ruby needs to be cleaned. Deep cleaned. Dry cleaned, actually.

Went for a walk this morning – which I’m two weeks late on executing. Went around the neighborhood, and as I was walking, I noticed the SAME HOUSE just a few blocks away. It was reversed, but the same floor plan. Beautifully groomed. Painted, clean, smashing. That’s only a hint of how gorgeous this house could be.

Only ten days to go before the foreclosure on this house. Will they accept my offer before, or am I going into the high-intensity uncertainty of post-foreclosure negotiating? Mitch has pulled his headboard out of here, which was the next to last bit of his stuff that he had here. His motorcycle is now outside under a tarp, so it’s no longer annoying me.

However, I wake up every morning at 4:00 or so, and have to quiet the finance committee meeting in my head.

18:40 – same day

Home alone. Alone. ALONE! John’s off visiting some girl, and Bram’s in Illinois. I’m watching Star Trek Insurrection. I visited Chuck this afternoon at P&J’s. I left 90 minutes ago; they’ve already taken him back to TMH.

Holy shrikes, Batman.

The pool guy cleaned today, the pool looks good again. Cleaned out the under-stair closet today; pulled EVERYTHING out of the mud room closet. Pitched out a bunch of stuff, have to organize and sort the rest. Pulled the books out of the under-stair cabinet that never got unpacked, pulled out the Christmas lights.

So, the question is – do I put up outdoor Christmas lights? Do I just forget it? I have a bunch of white mini-lights for the backyard that we recovered from the attic, and my parents’ old big colored lights for the front. I guess tomorrow that I’ll pack up the Marvin the Martian stuff, and put out Christmas in the morning.

I’ll wait on the tree thing until NEXT weekend. I guess.

Tuesday before Turkey

Holy schmoly, Batman!

Where to start? What to leave out (in the interest of future reviews by people who's current shenanigans could embarass them?)

How about how fabulous my new stereo rack is? It's kind of like this, but it's nicer, and the color is perfect. Black glass tempered shelves, and nearly 5' 5" tall. I got everything placed, and then Matticia hooked everything up for me last night. It's FABULOUS. I keep looking at how glam it looks, and how much better it is than the perenially str8, crappy stand that Mitch had loaned me.

John's extra refrigerator is already serving well in the mud room, taking the overflow of Bram's exuberent food purchases. His gas dryer is saving me money on a day to day basis. YAY!

Bram leaves for the weekend tomorrow evening. John's in town all weekend. I have a list of "honey do-s" that's as long as my leg. Plus, I have a ton of accounting work, computer cabling and such to do. And, the Imperial to clean.

The garage is such a huge improvement EXCEPT for Mitch's gigantic California King sized headboard, that is always in the way.

Greg the incredible yard stud is doing the backyard tomorrow, and he's coming to weed/feed next week, as the clover is overwhelming the backyard. Matt the pool cleaner is coming tomorrow to sanitize the pool after the big winds and Barney's pool deposits from a week ago.

Tomorrow afternoon, I have to re-organize the mud room closet to take out some things that are no longer needed and to make things easier to find. And clean up the kitchen to make way for the Thanksgiving day feastifying.

Ruby needs cleaning in the WORST way.

I'm moving cubes on Monday. I have to plan my assault on the new cube tomorrow. I want to see how I can get my metal desk in there along with the existing cube furniture. I think that there's room. I know that I also want to bring up my rolly-cart file cabinet.

And hang up all of my myriad diplomae, and wall art.

Maybe a measuring tape.

By Monday, I have a bunch of documents, reports, spreadsheets, accounting and tax amendments that need to be done, cooked and ready to mail out.

A working weekend. Again.

It's nearly time for me to skedaddle, so I can jet home, take stock of what's happened since I left this morning, and make a grocery list. Maybe something good is waiting for me at the UPS store.

Chuck's almost cooked, and should be sprung loose from the medical penetentiary tomorrow.

Been thinking about the law of attraction, the law of cause and affect, and things that have always felt they didn't work for me. Hm. Pondering, pondering.

Okay, off to plan my next moves.

Someone bought him a clue as an early Christmas present

From this morning's Houston Chronicle

Judge calls for easing of drug penalty
Citing felony docket loads, he asks Perry to cut sentences for minor possession

By BILL MURPHY
Copyright 2006 Houston Chronicle
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UNDER A GRAM

Two long-serving local officials disagree about jailing people for possession of small amounts of illegal drugs.

The debate
State District Judge Michael McSpadden
•The cases clog court dockets and further crowd jails without addressing the underlying causes of drug abuse. Prosecutors and police use such cases to pad their statistics.

County Commissioner El Franco Lee
•Residents in some neighborhoods complain that they are under siege by street criminals. Zero tolerance, including arrests for drug possession and even jaywalking, helps reduce the perception and the reality of criminal activity.

Common ground
•Lee and McSpadden agree the drug problem is complex and that long-term solutions will include better use of specialized drug courts that can offer drug treatment as an alternative to jail.

But after more than two decades hearing felony cases in Harris County, the former prosecutor is calling on the governor and Legislature to reduce sentences for low-level drug possession.

"These minor offenses are now overwhelming every felony docket, and the courts necessarily spend less time on the more important, violent crimes," he recently wrote to Gov. Rick Perry.

Nearly twice as many defendants in Harris County were sent to state jails last year for possessing less than 1 gram of a drug than in Dallas, Tarrant and Bexar counties combined.

McSpadden recommended making delivering or possessing a small amount of drugs a Class A misdemeanor carrying no more than a year in county jail.

Gov. Rick Perry is aware that bills may be submitted in the upcoming legislative session that call for reducing penalties for possessing small amounts of drugs or drug residue, said Kathy Walt, the governor's spokeswoman.

"He is willing to look at anything that the Legislature presents him, and he wants to hear the debate in the Legislature about the pros and cons of the issue," she said.

The judge said the Houston Police Department and District Attorney's Office are clogging court dockets and causing crowding in the county jail and state jails by bringing so many drug-possession cases against those found with pipe residue or a sugar packet's worth of cocaine.

But District Attorney Chuck Rosenthal said state law makes no distinction between residue and up to a gram of a drug. Under state law, a person caught with either should be charged with possession of less than 1 gram, he said.

"That's what the law says we should do," he said. "We don't get to make the facts. We don't get to change the law."

Police officials and County Commissioner El Franco Lee said McSpadden is oversimplifying a complex problem. HPD goes after low-level dealers and buyers when neighbors complain that they cannot go outside because there is an open-air drug market or a parade of addicts buying drugs from a store or home.

"I guarantee you there are more of my constituents who want their property protected and want more police on the streets than there are people complaining about the nature of the charges brought against those arrested in their neighborhoods," Lee said.

Fears retaliation
In the dozens of apartment complexes that dot the Fondren area in southwest Houston, many law-abiding residents know nothing of the policy debate over whether low-level drug offenders should be charged with drug possession or a lesser crime. But they know fear firsthand.

"There are gunshots going all night. The security guard would sit in his car all night. He was afraid to get out," said a part-owner of an apartment complex on West Airport. She requested anonymity because she fears retaliation.

The owners took steps to make the complex secure, installing lights at the rear of the property and repairing a fence. Drug dealers shot out the lights and made new holes in the fence to make sales, she said.

As for her investment, "I can't sell it because it's 30 percent empty," she said. "The good people are moving out."

Crack-residue cases are a way of addressing a neighborhood's needs, said HPD officer Jason Streety.

"Even little frivolous charges are a good way to get those causing problems off the street," he said. "In a high-crime area, you gotta take what you can get."

HPD Executive Assistant Chief Mike Thaler said narcotics or other special units may target a park or a basketball court if neighbors have complained that drug sales are occurring there. Police will try to arrest dealers and users, who sometimes are charged with drug possession for having a pipe with crack residue.

Incarcerating thousands of drug offenders convicted of possessing less than 1 gram of a drug is expensive. It cost more than $59 million to hold more than 4,800 such prisoners in state jails last year, based on Texas Department of Criminal Justice figures.

Commissioners Court is mulling over building two jails for at least $267 million because current jails are overcrowded.

On some days, as many as 800 people are in county jail awaiting trial or serving time for low-level drug charges, said sheriff's department Chief Deputy Mike Smith.

Last year, 1,869 of 4,418 offenders serving time in state jail for committing offenses in Harris County were convicted of possession of less than 1 gram of a drug.

Not included in these statistics are hundreds of low-level drug offenders who were in Harris County jail awaiting trial or who cut deals, pleaded guilty and served county jail time.

Little deterrence
McSpadden, a Republican not known for being anti-police or anti-prosecution, estimated that more than half the cases for possession of less than a gram of a drug in his court are crack-residue cases. The county and state do not keep records on whether a drug case stems from possession of residue.

Those caught with crack pipes should be charged with possession of drug paraphernalia, a Class A misdemeanor — not drug possession, McSpadden said. People convicted of carrying crack pipes can be fined $500 and put on probation.

Possession of less than 1 gram of a drug is a felony that often lands people in state jail for six months to two years.

McSpadden said prison and jail sentences aren't good deterrents. "Unfortunately, it is obvious that the demand for drugs will not diminish, no matter what the consequences are," he wrote Perry. "I changed my mind a few years ago when it was obvious the 'war on drugs' was a complete failure and should be considered as symbolic at best."

McSpadden asked Perry to work with state lawmakers in reducing the sentences for low-level drug-possession offenses.

Perry spokeswoman Walt said the governor supports creating drug courts, believing that they have a better record of preventing future drug use among addicts. But those who violated drug laws should be prosecuted, she said.

Continued prosecution
McSpadden says the HPD is trying to pad drug-arrest statistics and make itself look good in the eyes of the City Council.

Rosenthal said prosecutors have debated whether residue cases should be handled as paraphernalia cases. At the end of these discussions, Rosenthal decided they would continue to be prosecuted as possession cases.

He said some prosecutors argued that HPD officers working extra hours to tackle drug problems in a neighborhood "pick the lowest hanging fruit" and arrest low-level drug offenders to justify overtime.

Thaler denied his officers had that motivation.

"The real objective is to make people feel safer. There are areas that feel under siege," he said. "People feel uncomfortable, and they can't go to the park because dealers are selling drugs. We are trying to maintain order."

McSpadden said HPD could get addicts off the street by charging them with possession of paraphernalia.

The judge and the district attorney do agree that drug courts appear to be more successful than prison sentences in helping addicts stay off drugs.

Three state district courts in Harris County serve as drug courts. Judges in any of the state district courts can refer addicts to these courts if the addict makes a case he or she wants to beat the habit.

In the drug courts, addicts can plead guilty and get treatment and intensive social services while under supervision.

McSpadden and Rosenthal said more money should go to creating additional drug courts.

bill.murphy@chron.com


How much is a gram?
•A gram of a powdered substance is about the amount that a sugar packet holds, but even smaller amounts, such as residue in a pipe, can result in conviction.

Inmates in state jails in 2005
•Inmates serving time for possession of less than a gram in Harris County: 1,869

•Such defendants in Bexar, Dallas and Tarrant counties combined: 969

•Total such prisoners in Texas: 4,846

•Annual cost of incarceration: More than $12,000 per inmate — $59 million a year

Sources: Texas Department of Criminal Justice; Judge McSpadden; Commissioner Lee
State District Judge Michael McSpadden once believed that long sentences would deter drug sales and drug use.

Cheers and Jeers: Rum and Coke FRIDAY!

From the GREAT STATE OF MAINE...

Today is Howard Dean's birthday. I can think of no better way to celebrate what he's done for our team than to cede this space to some of his words from March 15, 2003, when he addressed the California State Convention in Sacramento. I believe it belongs in the pantheon of great and influential political speeches. At a time when many leaders in our party were spending more time with their noses in the "Triangulation For Dummies" handbook and less time opposing President Bush's reckless agenda, Dean's plain-spoken words and line-in-the-sand fervor broke the spell of complacency. His opening line shook the room:

"WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS...what in the world so many Democrats are doing supporting the President's unilateral intervention in Iraq!

What I want to know is why the Democrats in Congress aren't standing up for us, joining every other industrialized country on the face of the Earth in providing health insurance for every man, woman and child in America.

What I want to know is why so many folks in Congress are voting for the President's Education Bill---The "No School Board Left Standing Bill"---the largest unfunded mandate in the history of our educational system!

As Paul Wellstone said---as Sheila Kuehl said when she endorsed me---I am Howard Dean, and I'm here to represent the Democratic wing of the Democratic Party! ...

I want a Democratic Party that will balance the budget. Bill Clinton balanced the budget and, starting in 1993, without a single Republican vote, kicked off the greatest 10 years of economic growth in this nation's history. No Republican president has balanced the budget in this country in 34 years. If you want to trust somebody with your taxpayer dollars, you'd better elect a Democrat because the Republicans can't manage money.

I want a government which will give us a foreign policy so when we walk down the streets of the capitals of our friends we don't have to worry about watching our backs wherever we go as Americans. ...

In our state, everybody under the age of 18 has health insurance. We have made Medicaid into a middle-class entitlement. If you make $52,000 a year or less in Vermont, everybody under 18 in your family is entitled to Medicaid. We charge if you are at the upper-end of that: We charge $50 a month, that insures everybody in your family under the age of 18. Now, if we can do that in a small rural state which is 26th in income in the entire country, surely the most wealthy and powerful society on the face of the earth can grant all of its citizens health care. I am a Governor, and I am a doctor, and I have done it. ...

We are not going to beat George Bush by voting with the President 85 percent of the time. The only way that we're going to beat George Bush is to say what we mean, to stand up for who we are, [and] to lift up a Democratic agenda against the Republican agenda. Because if you do that, the Democratic agenda wins every time.

You can read the whole thing here. And don't forget to sign the DKos Guest Book.

Happy Birthday, Governor...and many blessings on your camels.

Late Night Snark...with real marshmallow bits!

New Rule: There's just something about a crew cut that says, "You can trust me." This is Montana's new senator, John Tester. I don't know much about him. And I don't need to. His hair says it all. "I'm friendly, I'm dependable, I'm literally level-headed." If hair could smile, it would look like this. And most importantly, it's hair that says, "You will never ever, ever, ever find me snorting meth with a gay hooker."
---Bill Maher
-

"Donald Rumsfeld has resigned and the new Secretary of Defense is a guy named Robert Gates. He's a close friend of the Bush family...yeah, that always works out pretty well. Rumsfeld took it pretty well. He said he's eager now to move on to try and legalize torture in the private sector."
---David Letterman
-

"It has not been a good week for the Republicans. Actually, this election was like a divorce: they got rejected, insulted and lost the House."
---Jay Leno
-

"On Tuesday night, in an ironic turnaround, Iraq brought regime change to the U.S."
---Amy Poehler
-

"Today is Veteran's Day, so that won't affect anyone in the White House."
---Seth Meyers
-

"As a result of this week's election, the new Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi, is now the most powerful woman in the country. After hearing this, Oprah Winfrey said, 'Yeah, right'."
---Conan O'Brien
-

Tuesday blogarific

Another fragmented day.

I have been working on finding a new car (I said six years ago that I would drive the wheels off of Ruby, and I have done so) and working on getting my house purchase contract in place. Got the latest foreclosure postings in the mail yesterday, so the clock is ticking on “buy or pack.”

Going home early today to make a blizzard of copies that I have to deliver tomorrow, and to help clear more out of the den. And maybe have a nap.

So, yesterday I was at the doctor’s office. I was down eight pounds in three weeks. Yesterday morning, my BG was 147 (yay!!) this morning, after eating (mostly) appropriately all day, and having nothing but some lean red meat after 3:00 in the afternoon, my BG was 246. There’s just no rhyme nor reason to it.

I have to re-cast client’s financial data into something that makes sense, as it’s all jumbled and when I asked them to re-work it, they replied “here’s the original data again.”

Gotta love that.

Living life is better than living a lie

From today's Houston Chronicle.

Today's topic: flaunting homosexuality. Exhibit A: Doogie.

Meaning Neil Patrick Harris who, in another life, was the title character in Doogie Howser, M.D., the tale of a boy genius who becomes a doctor. Recently, Harris was outed on a gossip Web site. His response in a statement to people.com said in part:

"I am happy to dispel any rumors or misconceptions and am quite proud to say that I am a very content gay man living my life to the fullest."

That was it. The world continued spinning and the seas did not boil.

Still, one suspects the news was greeted less than warmly in those bastions of social conservatism where, as one gentleman indicates in the new movie Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, they hope to make it legal to string homosexuals up by the soft parts. Indeed, one suspects the most — pardon my language — liberal response in those parts would be something along the lines of, "Fine, he's gay. Why couldn't he keep that to himself? Why do they have to flaunt it? I don't go around announcing that I'm straight!"

Put aside that Harris was forced into his announcement by an individual who called him out online. Put aside, too, the fact that one "flaunts" one's heterosexuality whenever one publicly canoodles with a sweetie of the opposite gender.

Concentrate, instead, on this notion many social conservatives have that homosexuality is best dealt with by being ignored, denied, kept from public view. Why, they ask, in letters to editors and Web sites done up in red, white and blue, must homo-sexuals "flaunt" their "deviant behavior"? "Flaunt," meaning to acknowledge in any way their sexual orientation.

Which brings us to Ted Haggard. Until earlier this month, he was senior pastor of New Life Church in Colorado Springs and president of the National Association of Evangelicals, an influential preacher who had George Bush's ear. Neither the church nor the NAE has been known for its friendliness toward gay people. So there was quite an uproar when Mike Jones, a gay prostitute, dropped the bombshell allegation that he'd had a three-year sexual relationship with the preacher. Haggard initially denied even knowing Jones but then recanted, admitting that, on at least one occasion, he sought a massage and bought meth from the gay hooker.

On Nov. 2, Haggard stepped down from the NAE presi-dency. Two days later, his church fired him. He has confessed to "sexual immor-ality" and will spend the next three to five years in "restor-ation," a process that report-edly involves confrontation, counsel and rebuke from "godly men."

This all raises two questions. One: between this guy, the late gay-bashing former Spokane mayor, James West, Pat Robertson biographer Mel White and Michael Bussee and Gary Cooper, leaders in the "curing homosexuality" move-ment until they fell in love with one another, can't we now safely assume any conservative who rants about the homosex-ual agenda is a lying hypocrite gayer than a Castro Street bar?

And, two: Wouldn't you much rather be Neil Patrick Harris than Ted Haggard just now? In other words, wouldn't you rather be a content gay man living life to the fullest, than a closeted gay hypocrite living lies to the fullest? Especially since lies are so frequently found out.

That's the fallacy social conservatives miss. In a culture that allows gay people room to be gay people, there is no need of lies. In a culture that does not — i.e., theirs — lies are rampant. And that's unfortunate, not simply for the person in question, but for all the people in his or her life.

And here, I'm thinking of Gayle Alcorn. She and Haggard have five children. They've been married 28 years. That's a long time to sleep next to a lie.

Mellowed out from meditation class

No reflections of the sun. As it turns out, the Phaeton isn’t Papillon Silver Heliochrome – it’s just plain silver. It’s still an awesome car, and it’s just the one I would want – low miles, loaded to the hilt, cheap .. but, it’s not Papillon Silver Heliochrome.

(sigh)

Teaching class today on prayer and meditation. It’s a good class. We’re also settling into our new space (with POWER!) I’m working on arranging the stereo equipment and such on breaks.

It just occurred to me that, when I silence my mind (we just did that exercise,) I fall asleep. Quiet the noise in head = immediate snoozing.

Maybe that suggests that I’m over doing things.

We’re about to do the forgiveness meditation. It’s cool stuff.

I spent some quality time with the Frontgate catalog yesterday – there are SUCH COOL Christmas-y things in there. I should run through a Garden Ridge to see if some of those things can be found there instead of paying through the FG Design nose. There is a hanging swag wreath thing that would be perfect on the front under the porch light.

Today, I have to find myself a new mailbox to replace the one that was nuked over the weekend following Hallowe’en. I want a Rubbermaid mailbox that’s indestructible. Do you think I can find one that also has a self-closing door? Our mail lady can’t seem to get that door closed.

Last night, I was so excited to find that I had finally received my VHS copy of “The Boys in the Band.” I was ready to sit down and watch it and .. it’s a bootleg copy of Eddie Murphy’s stand up routine (the one where he’s wearing a red leather outfit and talks endlessly about how he’s not gay?) Bastards. So, I protested the PayPal payment, and blah, blah. Back to Amazon, I guess to get a real one.

That’s what I get for trying to find a bargain.

So, again I take up the question “Is Barney too old?” John II (new, from work) thinks that Barney’s extremely uncomfortable from arthritis and so on. He’s willing to tote Barney to the SPCA for me, but I need to at least spend some time with him (Barney) before we do this. Which I can’t possibly do until Sunday evening, at the earliest.

I got home from teaching class, closed the garage door, pulled out all the stuff in the Buick, came into the patio and .. there’s Barney – stuck in the hot tub. He’d clearly been there a while, since the hot tub was all murky and dirty from his fur (he likes to get into the flower beds and roll around.) I pulled him out, and he was shivering from the cold (the water’s only about 78 degrees now.) He looked pathetic but now, he just smells like a landfill. You’d have thought that all that bleach water would have helped, but it was just the opposite.

I had a phone call today from an unfamiliar, Orange County telephone number – I was trying to bring things in from the car to the church, and when I answered, a woman’s voice began speaking to me “Do you know who this is?”

My last girlfriend – from 1980. Yikes!

Tell me this wasn't a broad rejection of the conservatives

Dead woman wins election in US

WASHINGTON (AFP) - Marie Steichen died two months ago but she won a battle to become a county commissioner for a small South Dakota town in the US elections, an official said.

Jerauld county auditor Cindy Peterson said that the election list closed on August 1, and while Steichen died from cancer in September her name was kept on the list for Tuesday's election.

Steichen beat a Republican rival by 100 votes to 64 and Peterson said she believed that voters knew the woman was dead but wanted to make their political point.

Dallas turns blue

Dallas turning Indigo Blue

By kos
on 2006

It may take a while to turn Texas Blue, but at least Dallas is headed in the right direction.

The home of glitzy restaurants, million-dollar condos and six-figure Neiman Marcus holiday baubles has a new distinction that has nothing to do with its oversupply of Hummers and BMWs.

Dallas County still calls its historic courthouse Old Red, but on Tuesday it went "blue."

A national wave of Democratic voting and changing demographics swept Republicans out of power in the county as the GOP surrendered 42 judgeships, the district's attorney office and the county judge's seat.

Twenty-six years after a Ronald Reagan landslide put Republicans in control, Democrats retook the courthouse in a similar, surprising sweep.

"We didn't expect it, but it's fun," Democratic Party Chair Darlene Ewing said Wednesday. As late as 10 p.m. Election Night, she had been predicting Democrats would win, at best, 10 or 15 judicial contests.

"This is what happened in 1980, except this time they did it to us," said Michael Walz, executive director of the Dallas County Republican Party.

The county elected its first black district attorney, defense attorney Craig Watkins, who was outspent by more than 15-to-one by Republican Toby Shook, a 22-year veteran prosecutor who held a management post under District Attorney Bill Hill, who is retiring.

Let me stress what happened -- there were 42 contested judge races (12 Republicans ran unopposed). Republicans won just one of them, and in that race, she was holding on to a 6-vote lead out of 375,000 votes cast with votes still left to be counted. That is epic.

Elsewhere in Texas, Dems did pretty well. They abandoned gubernatorial candidate Chris Bell early, focusing instead on state legislative seats and the judgeships. And if you wonder why judgeships are important, note that (as documented in Crashing the Gate), Karl Rove helped build the rise of the Texas GOP by winning judgeships. You see, the party that holds the judgeships controls the flow of corporate contributions. (Probably the best argument against partisan elected judges).

In the state legislature, Democrats picked up four House seats (and maybe a 5th) while losing none. This outgoing session is 87 R 63 D. A down note for the evening, Republicans picked up an open Senate seat, making that body 20-11 in the GOP's favor.

Heliochrome

How much time can one dweeb spend researching a Phaeton?

Main Entry: He·li·os
Pronunciation: 'hE-lE-&s, -(")Os
Function: noun
Etymology: Greek HElios
: the god of the sun in Greek mythology -- compare SOL

Main Entry: chrome
Pronunciation: 'krOm
Function: noun
Etymology: French, from Greek chrOma
1 a : CHROMIUM b : a chromium pigment
2 : something plated with an alloy of chromium

Main Entry: chro·mi·um
Pronunciation: 'krO-mE-&m
Function: noun
Etymology: New Latin, from French chrome
: a blue-white metallic element found naturally only in combination and used especially in alloys and in electroplating --

Heliochrome - blue white pigment of the sun.

Sounds shiny.

Katherine Harris lost badly in the US Senate race in Florida. One of my aunts voted for her.

Rick Santorum is losing his Senate seat in Pennsylvania 83% to 17%. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

Right now, TPM is calling four Senate seats for the Demos. Polls in the west aren't yet closed. Only two house seats for the Demos so far.

It's smelling to me like a rout.

I'm feeling like tonight will be a late one for me, just as the election in 2004 was.

Talked to Mark about the Phaeton again today. He's a nice man. Talked about the build sticker. He's faxing it to me tomorrow, he said. Since it's an late 2003 build of the 2004 model, it's possible that some standard equipment isn't installed. Mark insisted that it has options not otherwise installed on the car. He also said that they're replacing the batteries (there are TWO) today under warranty.

Spent a considerable time today working on the church development. Bringing in more pracs, starting a children's program, trying to get the electricity turned on, ordering supplies, have to hook up the electronics, ordering a podium ... oof.

Also had good progress today on commercial deals - lots more work to do there, but it's attractive.

Monday, Monday ..

Been trying to get my digital document signature program to work for me tonight; I have to re-upload all the pdf forms. Couldn't connect to the server at work to get the files I needed. But, tomorrow morning, I can.

Tomorrow - the END of the election nonsense. Thank GOD.

Have some very good things going on; the church is being upgraded to a higher status, have some good loans working, starting to be well accepted at work, making an offer on the house, getting some more stuff organized and cleared up here at home.

I have to start setting aside time to just sit and be quiet. Tonight is very pleasant, just sitting here on the sofa fooling around on the computer and watching HBO. I'm tired in advance thinking about the schedule after tomorrow.

We had some BIG rain tonight. It was slamming into the windows.

I'm thinking of going to bed early tonight.

The lyrics to Freedom 90

Freedom 90
------George Michael

I won't let you down
I will not give you up
Gotta have some faith in the sound
It's the one good thing that I've got
I won't let you down
So please don't give me up
cause I would really, really love to stick around, oh yeah

Heaven knows I was just a young boy
Didn't know what I wanted to be
I was every little hungry schoolgirl's pride and joy
And I guess it was enough for me
To win the race? A prettier face!
Brand new clothes and a big fat place
On your rock and roll TV
But today the way I play the game is not the same
No way
Think I'm gonna get myself happy

I think there's something you should know
I think it's time I told you so
There's something deep inside of me
There's someone else I've got to be
Take back your picture in a frame
Take back your singing in the rain
I just hope you understand
Sometimes the clothes do not make the man

All we have to do now
Is take these lies and make them true somehow
All we have to see
Is that I don't belong to you
And you don't belong to me yea yea
Freedom,
Freedom,
Freedom
You've gotta give for what you take
Freedom,
Freedom,
Freedom
You've gotta give for what you take

Heaven knows we sure had some fun boy
What a kick just a buddy and me
We had every big shot good-time band on the run boy
We were living in a fantasy
We won the race
Got out of the place
I went back home got a brand new face
For the boys on MTV
But today the way I play the game has got to change
Oh yeah
Now I'm gonna get myself happy

I think there's something you should know
I think it's time I stopped the show
There's something deep inside of me
There's someone I forgot to be
Take back your picture in a frame
Don't think that I'll be back again
I just hope you understand
Sometimes the clothes do not make the man

All we have to do now
Is take these lies and make them true somehow
All we have to see
Is that I don't belong to you
And you don't belong to me, yea yea
Freedom,
Freedom,
Freedom
You've gotta give for what you take
Freedom,
Freedom,
Freedom
You've gotta give for what you take

Well it looks like the road to heaven
But it feels like the road to hell
When I knew which side my bread was buttered
I took the knife as well
Posing for another picture
Everybody's got to sell
But when you shake your ass
They notice fast
And some mistakes were built to last

That's what you get,
That's what you get,
That's what you get,
I say that's what you get
That's what you get for changing your mind
That's what you get for changing your mind

That's what you get,
That's what you get,
And after all this time
I just hope you understand
Sometimes the clothes
Do not make the man

All we have to do now is take these lies
And make them true somehow
All we have to see is that i don't belong to you
And you don't belong to me yea yea
Freedom,
Freedom,
Freedom
You've got to give for what you take
Freedom,
Freedom,
Freedom
You've got to give for what you take
Yea you've got to give for what you, give for what you give

May not be what you want from me
Just the way it's got to be
Lose the face now
I've got to live I've got to live

Freedom

I have to say, this incredible montage made me cry this morning....

Draft of my first SOM article...

So, I've been intending to write some articles and submit them to the SOM magazine- this one is my first (actually third draft of the first one.) Here we go!

What you need to know about me is that I’m fat. In my head, I’m fat. Circus lady fat.

I’ve always been fat.

In my family, growing up, fat was the worst thing you could be named. It conveyed laziness, stupidity, incompetence, and gluttony. When I was just an infant, I remember being appended with the fat label when I was in a bassinet.

As a child, looking at pictures of myself now, I can see that I was never fat. To be sure, I wasn’t some skinny kid – but, I was never FAT. Maybe a little plump every now and again. But never fat. I wasn’t, however, athletic or active. I was more like my mother; a reader, a reflector, a thinker. I did engage in family chores; mowing the lawn, washing cars, cleaning the house – but you could never find me outside playing ball, running after other kids, or climbing trees.

For that, I was repeatedly named “fat.” And, I accepted and owned that name. I owned it like The Donald owns “Trump.”

As I grew into myself in high school, I became active in dance and drama; I was a cheerleader and a stage performer. I was a multiple disco dance contest winner. I had a 32” waist line, and wore the skin tight polyester dress slacks of the era. I felt like I looked good.

Except in my head. I was still fat. And, I had the external voice of my father’s family telling me “you’re getting a little chunky, aren’t you?” “Those pants look awfully tight.” “Gaining a little weight lately?”

And I owned it. Every word of it. I had a mental image of being fat, and when they told me I was packing on the pounds, I felt every ounce of the additional weight that I saw myself as having. I felt ashamed and uncomfortable.

I went to graduate school, and was still quite active doing things I loved to do – singing and performing, going out and dancing. I spent several years vacillating between feeling like I was fat and unattractive and feeling bulletproof and handsome.

In 1985, I finished grad school, and stopped doing nearly all of the things that I loved doing in life. I stopped being active. I gained ten pounds. I bought new, bigger clothes and started really owning my nature. I gained ten more pounds.

Over the next ten years, I gained ten pounds each year. With each additional stone, I didn’t feel fatter, I felt just the same. I was outwardly manifesting my mental picture of myself.

I refused to look at myself in the mirror. I stopped buying attractive clothing. I started dressing in duller colors and frumpier shapes. My body size got uncomfortable. Airline seats became more challenging. Ease of movement was a memory. I grew depressed. I now wouldn’t allow myself to be photographed.

I was MISERABLE. I felt like a whale. All of my friends, and there were many, kept telling me I was handsome, albeit heavy. It meant nothing, because – in my head – I was HUGE. I felt repugnant, and unable to date or participate in social events.

Even though I was working with a practitioner, and had started attending SOM classes, I always carried the burden of my size around in my head. I went straight through four years of SOM classes. Now that I look back at the homework from those classes, I do not see any suggestion that I felt that I could make a difference in my planetary dimensions. I never constructed a treatment to correct either my size or the pain, embarrassment or resentment that I felt. The fat was permanent.

However, my ongoing training as a SOM practitioner began to come into play. Explaining to classes and to my study group about creation of powerful mental and emotional equivalents caused me to closely review my own thinking and my long held belief in my body consciousness.

First, I was able to recognize that my long held body beliefs were not what I wanted. Next, I was able to see that my manifestation was only the outward expression of how I always FELT inside. Then, I was making choices that reinforced the emotional state that supported the mental belief that I was fat – guilt at eating, guilt at not exercising, guilt at my food choices, frumpy clothing choices, withdrawing from attending parties and social events, sheltering myself at home to hide from presenting my fat self to the world.

In August, I attended a family reunion. They’re obsessed with body size, food intake and the fit of their clothing. Having done my mental work in advance, I was clearly able to see the origins of my own self identity and found the humor in the family plague.

I shared my experience with my study group, and used it as an example of how we have subtle, but powerful, mental equivalents going out into Law, and how it is inevitable that we get what we believe. Brother, that was proven beyond a doubt by my experience. I saw, and explained that we had to examine each of our automatic actions and ask “do I want to feel the same way, or do I want to do something different?” Do I pick up the ice cream, and feel guilt and fatter before I even dish it up, or do I make a different choice to support a different belief? We have to work in Universal mind, in our individual mind, and in the Body, which I like to call the tactile world to roll back these beliefs that we have owned so deeply.

So, my size hasn’t changed. I’m the same that I have been for the last five or so years. But, I’ve been set free. I don’t hear that internal voice screaming at me “you’re FAT.” When I put on my clothes, I’m still not pleased, but the internal torture isn’t there.

And, dare I say it? My trousers seem to be looser lately.

Copyright 2006

Hump day

I'm sitting in my living room, listening to NPR's "All Things Considered," and watching the contrails in the sky float past a full moon. It's very quiet and peaceful, and I have the house to myself for at least a few hours.

Cleaning is the order of the evening. I would really like to have the time to re-plant a bunch of plants on the patio, but it's not to be tonight.

The moon is so beautiful through these windows.

I'm cleaning up around here - vacuuming has occured (I so need a new vacuum, sheesh) and now the trash is magically going out to the bin. I guess it must seem like magic to other people, but regularly on Mondays and Thursdays, the little centro american crew shows up and hauls off the trash from the bin. So, it stands to reason that putting said trash IN said bin is a smart idea.

I called Mark about the MinniePhateon today. Led a lunchtime training that went over very well. Moving to a new (!) and bigger (!!) cube on Monday, as the current occupant is leaving for warmer climes (meaning, another shop.) I'll have a window, and about double the space.

I also talked to Rich about the QM2 cruise in May that I am intent on going on. I got the price (and didn't flinch) and have asked some questions.

This last weekend, I came to see just how bad my clothing is. I need to overhaul the entire lot of it. (sigh) Can I go to the mall in the MinniePhaeton?

One week left

And then, it will either be nonsense continued, or nonsense abated. Ish.

I've been working away since 6:15 this morning - cleaned up, put away, did laundry, folded clothes, fixed the halloween display, put out the mail, etc., etc. Got to the office at 9:15 and have been working on tomorrow's presentation. Later, I'm working on some other stuff, and going home around 4 to meet Kurtis, whom I haven't seen in ages. We'll have fun airline gossip stuff.

My sister flew through IAH yesterday, which she NEVER does, since she's not a Continental girl. She had a three hour layover, and invited me to come visit with her, so I messaged Buhz, who was indeed working at the airport. Went up there, met with him, hung out with my sister for two and a half hours, hung out with him another hour, came home.

Three trips to IAH in 14 hours. Yurg. I filled up with gas Sunday afternoon around 5 and I'm already down a half tank. Probably more, actually, since my fuel gauge is optimistic.

Bram tells me that he's leaving Friday for a week. And two days. It will be like living alone again, except for having his car in the garage.

Four trips to Clear Lake this week. Another tank of gas and forty bucks in tolls.

This weekend is going to be spent working on the house. More cleaning/organizing/sorting. Heck, if I have to move in a few weeks, I may as well be ready to just shove things into boxes. Actually, things are in very good shape, except that I need to clean up the office, including the last of someone else's files, and get rid of the extraneous office equipment.

Went to KFC for lunch - two piece meal with smashed potatos and a biscuit for $2.15 with tax included. Note to file - lunch on Tuesdays at KFC.

Okay, so Kurtis forgot that I had moved. That means I got home early and have allllll this stuff I could be working on. I think I'll work on an outline of the web-based mortgage support business that I've conceived of that I now have the human assets to make happen.

Finally got BG test strips today; I think it's been nearly a month without them. They have gone up in price SO much lately; I finally found some on the internet that were much cheaper (like 60% of the price at Walgreen's.) I bought a bunch..

Finally, an entry

I don't feel badly about taking a week to enter into my blog, as most everyone whose blog I read (or would read, if they'd just write something) writes about once ever never.

Besides, I already voted, and so the shrill clangor of the political blogs have less insistence for me. So, not as much that I need to cross post. Besides, it's not like anyone was paying attention.

We got the church all moved in; it's fabulous. That's about all I've accomplished this weekend, save for going to two halloween parties. Oh, and we decorated the front of the house. It's FUN.

Bram's been in Fort Myers all weekend. He's been delayed, re-routed, his bag lost, injured his eye, broken his phone, and been unable to communicate except by occasional email.

He should have flown Continental.

Three tanks of gas in the last week. Again. 1200 miles. Four more trips to Clear Lake this week, no less.

Have a bunch of stuff that needs to be filed, mailed, cleaned up .. won't get that done tonight, either. Bleh.

Bret's been visitng this weekend - he hates the house and the Buick. We went yesterday and looked at the Acura RL again. I liked it a lot, but it just doesn't make me as excited as does the Phaeton.

The work thing has been going well enough - I am developing seminars, presentations, marketing plans, etc., and coaching the willing. I'm working on some commercial deals for myself, and anticipating some problem solving overrides. I have a ton of things to do this week, and have a board meeting, a class to teach this week and something else going on.

Bret made dinner tonight, and he's now making a cake. German Chocolate.

Tuesday grumblings

A very interesting day, contemplatively.

This working full time thing needs to both kick into higher gear for me, and needs to work for me that I can finish up the consulting work I had agreed to do before it came to pass.

I like my space, the people who work there are all angry, unhappy people (except my marketing partner, who's fabulous,) and the owner is fabulous (big F and lots of exclamation points.) I'm not concerned about the energy of the unhappy minions. I'm just wondering what the heck's wrong with me. Still and again, I know.

Volkswagen Phaeton

Chuck calls this "Divo porn."

The 2004 Phaeton, in the correct color, in a VW promotional video.

FEMA Detention Camps : Are YOU an "Enemy Combatant"?

Cross posted from Daily Kos

by Rogue Scoop
Wed Oct 18, 2006 at 10:59:30 PM PDT

This is not a new story. In several comments I've read here over the last few weeks some folks have revealed their knowledge of the FEMA DENTENTION CAMPS. Up to now I have not written about this subject, but the combination of being hit with the striking down of habeas corpus in The Military Commissions Act of 2006 and just having read the diary by Major Danby about legislation to give Bush control of the National Guard, I decided I had to write about this issue.

Some of you may already be familiar with the issue, but my suspicion is that many Americans, even those who are somewhat informed on political issues still do not know. So here it is:

* Rogue Scoop's diary :: ::
*

Yesterday was a dark day in American history.

The signing by Bush of The Military Commissions Act of 2006 is just another brick in the wall, another step towards the establishment of the fascist police state that he, Cheney and Rumsfeld have beem working for. In this act Bush has essentially struck a serious blow to our Constitution.

On yesterday's Countdown Keith Olbermann interviewed Jonathan Turley, Professor of Constitutional Law at George Washington University. Among other things Turley said this:

"People have no idea how significant this is... What, really a time of shame this is for the American system...What congress did and what the President signed today essentially revokes over 200 years of American principles and values."

Later Turley added that "the Cogress just gave the President despotic powers."

Although most of the language in the Military Commissions Act is directed towards non-citizens, Turley made it clear that even innocent American citizens could be detained if they are labelled as "unlawful enemy combatants." An article in today's L.A. Times explains that the new law "defines the term broadly, and includes not just terrorists and fighters, but also people who have "materially supported hostilities against the United States."

In our current climate of Orange and Red Alerts, paranoia, "You're either with Us or with the terrorists" rhetoric, and the indictments of journalists and lawyers for so-called treasonous behavior, it is not too far a stretch to imagine
that American citizens who dare to speak out against the Bush regime could be labelled as "enemy combatants." If habeas corpus can be tossed aside, can free speech be far behind? These are questions we need to start asking ourselves.

The same Jonathan Turley whom Olbermann interviewed yesterday had a piece ("Camps for Citizens:Ashcrofts's Hellish Vision")originally in the L.A. Times that is available online through truthout : http://www.truthout.org/...

In this article Turley reports that former Attn. General Ashcroft desired camps for U.S. citizens whom he deemed as "enemy combatants." Interesting that this term was used back then. One wonders if all this stuff has been brewing for some time.

In the piece it is stated that Ashcroft's plan for camps "would allow him to order the indefinte incarceration of U.S. citizens and summarily strip them of their constitutional rights and access to the courts by declaring them enemy combatants."

What may have seemed fantasy four years ago now looks to be a distinct possibility. In fact, in 2006 KBR, a subsidiary of Halliburton, was awarded a $385 million contract to build these detention camps. There are now reportedly over 800 of these facilities across the United States. Some have apparently been converted from being conventinal military bases. This link lists many of the sites across the country: http://www.apfn.org/...

The frighteninig mosaic of the Bush administration's unilateral internatinal aggression and systematic destruction of our constitutional at home could lead some to believe that we have not seen the worst yet. It is crucial that people be made aware of the existence of these camps.

A government that has shown such a blatant disregard for the rule of law and a wanton wasting of human life would surely not hesitate to label you or I as an "enemy combatant."

I believe America is beginning to wake up. This can't be allowed to continue. If we don't stand up together against this criminal and murderous regime the horrors could be just beginning.

Saturday relaxation

Spelled "c-l-e-a-n t-h-e h-o-u-s-e." I moved the dining table out and .. there's a DINING ROOM again for the first time in seven months. I brought the black quarter round book case into my bedroom to hold pictures; now I have a bunch of books that I need to find a home for.

Laundering towels now - they're in the dryer for the second go-round. I guess that it's the .. cheapest electric dryer one can buy? It is now taking two cycles of drying to get anything cotton dry. Stupid. I was checking out the LG front load sets yesterday at homo depot; they're pretty darned cool.

In a moment, I have to pull out the vacuum cleaned and see if it's feeling like picking anything up off the floor today. It just needs help (spelled replacement.) I still need a breakfast set, and have to figure out what to do with the bedroom that's been organized as an office all of this time. I'm not really working out of there anymore, although this weekend I have a ton of things that need to be done. I think I'm going to just get it sorted out, everything put away, and then use it as a storage room, etc.

A friend has asked if he could move in; if that comes to pass, I'll put him there. If not, then I'll have room for Bram's furniture if he decides to move it from Atlanta. He hates Houston, and wants to move back to Atlanta, so moving his furniture feels to him like a concession. So, I don't know what's going to happen with that room just yet.

I've been watching the light in the sky as it's changed from dark to bright, from cloudy to overcast today. I've been enjoying just sitting here in the living room; this is my only break for another week.

Barney is just getting SO feeble. Mikey's going to tell me I should take him to the SPCA and leave him there permanently, but .. he's not ready for that just yet.

After vacuuming, I think my next trick is going to be mopping the floors.

I'm sitting here really enjoying knowing that my air conditioner isn't running. That means that I'm not spending $20 today on electricity.

20 Sound Bites To Describe Conservative Republicans

Reposted - meaning, that I'm promoting someone else's work =)

1. Republicans cut and run on Osama Bin Laden and increased terrorism around the world.
2. Republicans believe in helping defense contractors not national defense.
3. Class warfare Republicans believe in raising middle class taxes to cut taxes for corporations and the ultra rich.
4. Republicans put the fear of terrorism over the prevention of terrorism.
5. Republicans believe in illegal wiretapping and illegal surveillance of individuals not court approved warrants.
6. Republicans believe govt owns your womb, not women.
7. Republicans believe in protecting polluters, not people.
8. Republicans believe that HMO bureaucrats and insurance companies should be making health care decisions, not patients and doctors.
9. Republicans invaded Iraq for profit and ignored Al Qaeda.
10. Republicans believe in increasing college tuition costs and decreasing the quality of education.
11. Republicans believe in forced prayer upon people not respecting the individual right to pray.
12. Republicans believe in corporate welfare, not small businesses.
13. Republicans believe that elitists are free to do as they please and that laws don't apply to them.
14. Republicans believe that they should decide what TV shows you watch, not parents.
15. Republicans oppose a meritocracy and believe in the good ole boys network.
16. Republicans support affirmative action for lesser able, lesser qualified inheritors of wealth, and oppose equal opportunity for everyone else.
17. Republicans believe they should regulate your bedroom activities, not individual adults.
18. Republicans believe in increasing deficits and stealing from the treasury.
19. Republicans believe in fiction not science.
20. Republicans oppose individual religious freedom but seek to impose their talibanish views on others through government.

Monday, monday ver. unknown

I'm at the OFFICE. Who would have thought? In a short time, I have to go up to Lake Conroe to visit a client. It's day three of dark and rainy, but today we add steamy.

Moved some of my personal office stuff up here to the office yesterday; tomorrow, I'm bringing more. My monitor stand, a surge protector, etc. I've ordered another Treo cradle and charger, and a new battery, since mine's DEAD. That's D-E-D dead.

This little cube thing is kind of cute, actually. It's private enough. I can hear nearly everything.

I've got the docking station thing working here, with the full sized keyboard and monitor, which is kind of cool. I'd love to have a much bigger monitor.

I was just thinking how unusual it was to be up and out; it feels so much more connected to be driving into work, getting cleaned up at the beginning of the day, having some (limited) interaction with those people around me ..

I should call up to the client and see if they're able to get in and out with the rain today.

Friday the 13th

Friday the 13th -

So, I'm spending my Friday the 13th creating new opportunity for myself. After six years nearly to the day, I'm going back to work for John on Monday. I'm really very excited about being in a productive environment again. I can already see financial benefit from this arrangement.

The other day, one of my friends was decrying the life of the self-employed consultant. I’m there. It’s insane. I’m going back to a job that will have insurance, 401(k), withholdings, opportunities to bring in business I wouldn’t normally have access to, responsibilities that suit my strengths, and fancy coffee.

Sondra’s been grilling me about this move, but I really don’t have any reservations. When I made the deal with MJV five years ago, every bones in my body (and every hyper-string connection with the infinite) was shrieking that it was a horrible idea. When I agreed to work with CP two years ago, I had the same experience. Hopefully, this time I’m actually paying attention.

Donna sent me a really cool horoscopic reading today that suggests that it’s time for me to get a handle on money, the issue that most people never get under control. The article had some fascinating points to make – that one’s facility with money is in direct relationship to how one sees oneself in the world, and how powerful one feels personally – powerful as in able to make something happen.

So, I’m thinking about all of that.

Taught class last night; the module I taught last night is a very good one. Only three students were there in class; it worked out, though. We talked about how so much of the tactile world is set up for us to focus on separateness, and on the reason that things happen that are difficult, like the Amish girls being murdered two weeks ago.

I have to continue to clean up outstanding client work – mostly just cleaning up my files of their stuff, so that it’s truly clean and organized.

After nearly six years of being mostly alone, it will be really good to be working with a team of people again.

I have been, however, unwilling to discuss this with the family, and so on. I’ll let them know .. maybe. Later. After much success has been realized. Maybe.

My client has finally arrived (30 minutes late, not bad.) I wonder if the 3:00 client is going to be on time (if he is, he’ll have to wait.) I wonder, I wonder.

It will be fun to work with Jeffrey.

I’m at Pappasito’s, and they’re about to celebrate someone’s birthday. How annoying. Can’t they just contain those people in a sound proof bubble or something? They’re so loud, and unmusical. The table was already noisy enough to hear at the front of the restaurant.

The Worlds Shortest Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, a girl asked a guy, "Will you marry me?" The guy said "No" and the girl lived happily ever after and went shopping, drank martinis, always had a clean house, never had to cook, stayed skinny, and was never farted on.

The End.

you KNOW I love airplanes

Yesterday, I had to meet two clients up at the Sheraton Intercontinental to drop off some documents and get signatures. As we stood in the parking lot, the daily Lufthansa A340-300 took off over our heads, followed a few seconds later by the daily KLM 74M flight 662 to Amsterdam. I was just all twitterpated by it, and one of the couple I was meeting asked me "Are you four years old when an airplane goes over?"

Well, duh.

I got this article from one of my newsgroups today, it's copyrighted with rights to re-publish - I offer it as an example of people doing the impossible in the face of no certainty. And airplanes.

The Round The World Saga of the "Pacific Clipper"
John A. Marshall

Engines: Four (4) 1,600 hp (1,192 kW) Wright R-2600 Twin Cyclone (1,192 kw), 14 cylinder, air-cooled, radial engines.
Wing Span: 152 ft. (46.33 m.)
Length: 106 ft (32.31 m.)
Max T.O. Weight: 84,000 lb. (38,102 kg.)
Max level speed: 199 mph (320 km/h)
Cruising speed: 184 mph (296 km/h)
Range: 5,200 miles (8369 km)
First flight: June 7, 1938
Ceiling: 19,600 feet
Accommodation: 10 crew, 74 passengers

December 7, 1941 The first blush of dawn tinged the eastern sky and sent its rosy fingers creeping onto the flight deck of the huge triple-tailed flying boat as she cruised high above the South Pacific. Six days out of her home port of San Francisco, the Boeing 314 was part of Pan American Airways' growing new service that linked the far corners of the Pacific Ocean. With veteran captain Robert Ford in command, the Pacific Clipper, carrying 12 passengers and a crew of ten was just a few hours from landing in the harbor at Auckland, New Zealand.

The calm serenity of the flight deck early on this spring morning was suddenly shattered by the crackling of the radio. Radio Operator John Poindexter clamped the headset to his ears as he deciphered the coded message. His eyes widened as he quickly wrote the characters on the pad in front of him. Pearl Harbor had been attacked by Japanese war planes and had suffered heavy losses; the United States was at war. The stunned crew looked at each other as the implications of the message began to dawn. They realized that their route back to California was irrevocably cut, and there was no going back. Ford ordered radio silence, and then posted lookouts in the navigator's blister; two hours later, the Pacific Clipper touched don smoothly on the waters of Auckland harbor. Their odyssey was just beginning.

The crew haunted the overwhelmed communications room at the US Embassy in Auckland every day for a week waiting for a message from Pan Am headquarters in New York. Finally they received word -- they were to try and make it back to the United States the long way: around the world westbound. For Ford and his crew, it was a daunting assignment. Facing a journey of over 30,000 miles, over oceans and lands that none of them had ever seen, they would have to do all their own planning and servicing, scrounging whatever supplies and equipment they needed; all this in the face of an erupting World War in which political alliances and loyalties in may parts of the world were uncertain at best. Their first assignment was to return to Noumea, back the way they had come over a week earlier. They were to pick up the Pan American station personnel there, and then deliver them to safety in Australia. Late on the evening of December 16th, the blacked out flying boat lifted off from Auckland harbor and headed northwest through the night toward Noumea. They maintained radio silence, landing in the harbor just as the sun was coming up. Ford went! a shore and sought out the Pan Am Station Manager. "Round up all your people," he said. "I want them all at the dock in an hour. They can have one small bag apiece."

The crew set to work fueling the airplane, and exactly two hours later, fully fueled and carrying a barrel of engine oil, the Clipper took off and pointed her nose south for Australia.

It was late in the afternoon when the dark green smudge of the Queensland coast appeared in the windscreen, and Ford began a gentle descent for landing in the harbor at Gladstone. After offloading their bewildered passengers, the crew set about seeing to their primary responsibility, the Pacific Clipper. Captain Ford recounted, "I was wondering how we were going to pay for everything we were going to need on this trip. We had money enough for a trip to Auckland and back to San Francisco, but this was a different story. In Gladstone a young man who was a banker came up to me and out of the blue said, 'How are you fixed for money?' 'Well, we're broke!' I said. He said, 'I'll probably be shot for this,' but he went down to his bank on a Saturday morning, opened the vault and handed me five hundred American dollars. Since Rod Brown, our navigator, was the only one with a lock box and a key we put him in charge of the money. That $500 financed the rest of the trip all the way to New York."

Ford planned to take off and head straight northwest, across the Queensland desert for Darwin, and then fly across the Timor Sea to the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia), hoping that Java and Sumatra remained in friendly hands. The next day, as they droned into the tropical morning the coastal jungle gradually gave way to great arid stretches of grassland and sand dunes. Spinnifex and gum trees covered the landscape to the horizon. During the entire flight to Darwin the crew didn't see a river big enough to set down the big flying boat should anything go wrong. Any emergency would force them to belly land the airplane onto the desert, and their flight would be over.

They approached the harbor at Darwin late in the afternoon. Massive thunderheads stretched across the horizon, and continuous flashes of lightning lit up the cockpit. The northernmost city in Australia, Darwin was closest to the conflict that was spreading southward like a brushfire. A rough frontier town in the most remote and primitive of the Australian territories, it was like something out of a wild west movie. After they had landed, the Pacific Clipper crew was offered a place to shower and change; much to their amusement their "locker room" turned out to be an Australian Army brothel.

Ford and his crew set about fueling the airplane. It was a lengthy, tiresome job. The fuel was stored in five gallon jerry cans, each one had to be hauled up over the wing and emptied into the tanks; it was past midnight before they were finished. They managed a few hours of fitful sleep before takeoff, but Ford was anxious to be under way. News of the progress of the Japanese forces was sketchy at best. They were fairly certain that most of the Dutch East Indies was still in friendly hands, but they could not dally.

Early the next morning they took off for Surabaya, fourteen hundred miles to the west across the Timor Sea. The sun rose as they droned on across the flat turquoise sea, soon they raised the eastern islands of the great archipelago of east Java. Rude thatch-roofed huts dotted the beaches; the islands were carpeted with the lush green jungle of the tropics.

Surabaya lay at the closed end of a large bay in the Bali Sea. The second largest city on the island of Java, it was guarded by a British garrison and a squadron of Bristol Beaufort fighters. As the Pacific Clipper approached the city, a single fighter rose to meet them; moments later it was joined by several more. The recognition signals that Ford had received in Australia proved to be inaccurate, and the big Boeing was a sight unfamiliar to the British pilots. The crew tensed as the fighters drew closer. Because of a quirk in the radio systems, they could hear the British pilots, but the pilots could not hear the Clipper. There was much discussion among them as to whether the flying boat should be shot down or allowed to land. At last the crew heard the British controller grant permission for them to land, and then add, "If they do anything suspicious, shoot them ot of the sky!" With great relief, Ford began a very careful approach.

As they neared the harbor, Ford could see that it was filled with warships, so he set the Clipper down in the smooth water just outside the harbor entrance. "We turned around to head back," Ford said. "There was a launch that had come out to meet us, but instead of giving us a tow or a line, they stayed off about a mile and kept waving us on. Finally when we got further into the harbor they came closer. It turned out that we had landed right in the middle of a minefield, and they weren't about to come near us until they saw that we were through it!"

When they disembarked the crew of the Pacific Clipper received an unpleasant surprise; they were told that they would be unable to refuel with 100 octane aviation gas. What little there was severely rationed, and was reserved for the military. There was automobile gas in abundance however, and Ford was welcome to whatever he needed. He had no choice. The next leg of their journey would be many hours over the Indian Ocean, and there was no hope of refueling elsewhere. The flight engineers, Swede Roth and Jocko Parish, formulated a plan that they hoped would work. They transferred all their remaining aviation fuel to the two fuselage tanks, and filled the remaining tanks to the limit with the lower octane automobile gas.

"We took off from Surabaya on the 100 octane, climbed a couple of thousand feet, and pulled back the power to cool off the engines," said Ford. "Then we switched to the automobile gas and held our breaths. The engines almost jumped out of their mounts, but they ran. We figured it was either that or leave the airplane to the Japs."

They flew northwesterly across the Sunda Straits, paralleling the coast of Sumatra. Chasing the setting sun, they started across the vast expanse of ocean. They had no aviation charts or maps for this part of the world; the only navigational information available to the crew was the latitude and longitude of their destination at Trincomalee, on the island of Ceylon (now Sri Lanka). Using this data, and drawing from memory, Rod Brown was creating his own Mercator maps of South Asia. Ford was not only worried about finding the harbor, he was very concerned about missing Ceylon altogether. He envisioned the Clipper droning on over India, lost and low on fuel, unable to find a body of water on which to land.

As they neared the island they could see a cloud bank ahead. Ford said, "There was some low scud, so we descended. We wanted the maximum available visibility to permit picking up landfall at the earliest moment -- we didn't want to miss the island. All of a sudden there it was, right in front of us, a Jap submarine! We could see the crew running for the deck gun. Let me tell you we were pretty busy getting back into the scud again!"

Ford jammed the throttles of the Clipper forward to climb power, the engines complaining bitterly. Their 150 mph speed soon had them well out of range of the sub's guns, and the crew heaved a sigh of relief. It would be difficult to determine who was the more surprised; the Japanese submarine commander or the crew of the Clipper, startled out of their reverie after the long flight.

It was another hour until they reached the island, and the Boeing finally touched water in the harbor at Trincomalee. The British Forces stationed there were anxious to hear what Ford and his crew had to report from the war zone to the east, and the crew was duly summoned to a military meeting. Presiding was a pompous Royal Navy Commodore who informed Ford in no uncertain terms that he doubted Ford would know a submarine if it ran over him. Ford felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. He realized that he could not afford to make an enemy of the British military, the fate of the Pacific Clipper rested too heavily in their hands. He swallowed hard and said nothing.

It was Christmas Eve when they began the takeoff from Ceylon and turned the ship again to the northwest. The heavily loaded Boeing struggled for altitude, laboring through the leaden humid air. Suddenly there was a frightening bang as the number three engine let go. It shuddered in its mount, and as they peered through the windscreen the crew could see gushes of black oil pouring back over the wing. Ford quickly shut the engine down, and wheeled the Clipper over into a 180 degree turn, heading back to Trincomalee. Less than an hour after takeoff the Pacific Clipper was back on the waters of Trincomalee harbor. The repairs to the engine took the rest of Christmas Eve and all of Christmas Day. One of the engine's eighteen cylinders had failed, wrenching itself loose from its mount, and while the repair was not particularly complex, it was tedious and time-consuming. Finally early in the morning of December 26th, they took off from Ceylon for the second time. All day they droned across the lush carpet of the Indian sub continent, and then cut across the northeastern corner of the Arabian Sea to their landing in Karachi, touching down in mid-afternoon.

The following day, bathed and refreshed, they took off and flew westward! across the Gulf of Oman toward Arabia. After just a bit over eight routine hours of flying, they landed in Bahrain, where there was a British garrison.

Another frustration presented itself the following morning as they were planning the next leg of their journey. They had planned to fly straight west across the Arabian peninsula and the Red Sea into Africa, a flight that would not have been much longer than the leg they had just completed from Karachi.

"When we were preparing to leave Bahrain we were warned by the British authorities not to fly across Arabia," said Ford. "The Saudis had apparently already caught some British fliers who had been forced down there. The natives had dug a hole, buried them in it up to their necks, and just left them."

They took off into the grey morning and climbed through a solid overcast. They broke out of the clouds into the dazzling sunshine, and the carpet of clouds below stretched westward to the horizon. "We flew north for about twenty minutes," Ford said, "then we turned west and headed straight across Saudi Arabia. We flew for several hours before there was a break in the clouds below us, and damned if we weren't smack over the Mosque at Mecca! I could see the people pouring out of it, it was just like kicking an anthill. They were probably firing at us, but at least they didn't have any anti-aircraft."

The Pacific Clipper crossed the Red Sea and the coast of Africa in the early afternoon with the Saharan sun streaming in the cockpit windows. The land below was a dingy yellowish brown, with nothing but rolling sand dunes and stark rocky outcroppings. The only sign of human habitation was an occasional hut; every so often they flew over small clusters of men tending livestock who stopped and shielded their eyes from the sun, staring up at the strange bird that made such a noise. The crew's prayers for the continued good health of the four Wright Cyclones became more and more fervent. Should they have to make an emergency landing here they would be in dire straits indeed.

Later in the afternoon they raised the Nile River, and Ford turned the ship to follow it to the confluence of the White and Blue Niles, just below Khartoum. They landed in the river, and after they were moored the crew went ashore to be greeted by the now familiar hospitality of the Royal Air Force. Ford's plan was to continue southwest to Leopoldville in the Belgian Congo and begin their South Atlantic crossing there. He had no desire to set out across the Sahara; a forced landing in that vast trackless wasteland would not only render the aircraft forever immobile, but the crew would surely perish in the harshness of the desert.

Early the next morning they took off from the Nile for Leopoldville. This was to be a particularly long overland flight, and they wanted to leave plenty of daylight for the arrival. They would land on the Congo River at Leopoldville, and from there would strike out across the South Atlantic for South America.

The endless brown of the Sudan gave way to rolling green hills, and then rocky crests that stretched across their path. They flew over native villages, and great gatherings of wildlife. Herds of wildebeest, hundreds of thousands strong, stampeded in panic as the Clipper roared overhead. The grassland soon turned to jungle, and they crossed several small rivers, which they tried to match to their maps. Suddenly ahead they saw a large river, much bigger and wider than others they had crossed, and off to their right was a good-sized town. The river had to be the mighty Congo, and the town was Bumba, the largest settlement on the river at that point. From their maps they saw that they could turn and follow the river downstream to Leopoldville. They had five hundred miles to fly

Late in the afternoon they raised the Congolese capital of Leopoldville. Ford set the Boeing down gently onto the river, and immediately realized the strength of the current. He powered the ship into the mooring, and the crew finally stepped ashore. It was like stepping into a sauna. The heat was the most oppressive they had yet encountered; it descended on them like a cloak, sapping what energy they had left.

A pleasant surprise awaited them however, when two familiar faces greeted them at the dock. A Pan American Airport Manager and a Radio Officer had been dispatched to meet them, and Ford was handed a cold beer. "That was one of the high points of the whole trip," he said.

After a night ashore they went to the airplane the next morning prepared for the long over-water leg that would take them back to the western hemisphere. The terrible heat and humidity had not abated a bit when the hatches were finally secured and they swung the Clipper into the river channel for the takeoff. The airplane was loaded to the gunnels with fuel, plus the drum of oil that had come aboard at Noumea. It was, to put it mildly, just a bit overloaded. They headed downstream into the wind, going with the six-knot current. Just beyond the limits of the town the river changed from a placid downstream current into a cataract of rushing rapids; pillars of rocks broke the water into a tumbling maelstrom. Ford held the engines at takeoff power, and the crew held their breath while the airplane gathered speed on the glassy river. The heat and humidity, and their tremendous gross weight were all factors working against them as they struggled to get the machine off the water before the cataracts. Ford rocked the hull with the elevators, trying to get the Boeing up on the step. Just before they would enter the rapids and face certain destruction, the hull lifted free. The Pacific Clipper was flying, but just barely. Their troubles were far from over, however. Just beyond the cataracts they entered the steep gorges; it was as though they were flying into a canyon. With her wings bowed, the Clipper staggered, clawing for every inch of altitude.

The engines had been at take-off power for nearly five minutes and the their temperatures were rapidly climbing above the red line; how much more abuse could they take? With agonizing slowness the big Boeing began to climb, foot by perilous foot. At last they were clear of the walls of the gorge, and Ford felt he could pull the throttles back to climb power. He turned the airplane toward the west and the Atlantic. The crew, silent, listened intently to the beat of the engines. They roared on without a miss, and as the airplane finally settled down at their cruising altitude Ford decided they could safely head for Brazil, over three thousand miles to the west.

The crew felt revived with new energy, and in spite of their fatigue, they were excitedly optimistic. Against all odds they had crossed southern Asia and breasted the African continent. Their airplane was performing better than they had any right to expect, and after their next long ocean leg they would be back in the hemisphere from which they had begun their journey nearly a month before. The interior of the airplane that had been home to them for so many days was beginning to wear rather thin. They were sick of the endless hours spent droning westward, tired of the apprehension of the unknown and frustrated by the lack of any real meaningful news about what was happening in a world besieged by war. They just wanted to get home.

After being airborne over twenty hours, they landed in the harbor at Natal just before noon. While they were waiting for the necessary immigration formalities to be completed, the Brazilian authorities insisted that the crew disembark while the interior of the airplane was sprayed for yellow fever. Two men in rubber suits and masks boarded and fumigated the airplane.

Late that same afternoon they took off for Trinidad, following the Brazilian coast as it curved around to the northwest. It wasn't until after they had departed that the crew made an unpleasant discovery. Most of their personal papers and money were missing, along with a military chart that had been entrusted to Navigator Rod Brown by the US military attaché in Leopoldville, obviously stolen by the Brazilian "fumigators."

The sun set as they crossed the mouth of the Amazon, nearly a hundred miles wide where it joins the sea. Across the Guineas in the dark they droned, and finally at 3 AM the following morning they landed at Trinidad. There was a Pan Am station at Port of Spain, and they happily delivered themselves and their weary charge into friendly hands.

The final leg to New York was almost anti-climactic. Just before six on the bitter morning of January 6th, the control officer in the Marine Terminal at La Guardia was startled to hear his radio crackle into life with the message, "Pacific Clipper, inbound from Auckland, New Zealand, Captain Ford reporting. Overhead in five minutes."

In a final bit of irony, after over thirty thousand miles and two hundred hours of flying on their epic journey, the Pacific Clipper had to circle for nearly an hour, because no landings were permitted in the harbor until official sunrise. They finally touched down just before seven, the spray from their landing freezing as it hit the hull. No matter -- the Pacific Clipper had made it home.

The significance of the flight is best illustrated by the records that were set by Ford and his crew. It was the first round-the-world flight by a commercial airliner, as well as the longest continuous flight by a commercial plane, and was the first circumnavigation following a route near the Equator (they crossed the Equator four times.) They touched all but two of the world's seven continents, flew 31,500 miles in 209 hours and made 18 stops under the flags of 12 different nations. They also made the longest non-stop flight in Pan American's history, a 3,583 mile crossing of the South Atlantic from Africa to Brazil.

As the war progressed, it became clear that neither the Army nor the Navy was equipped or experienced enough to undertake the tremendous amount of long distance air transport work required. Pan American Airways was one of the few airlines in the country with the personnel and expertise to supplement the military air forces. Captain Bob Ford and most of his crew spent the war flying contract missions for the US Armed Forces. After the war Ford continued flying for Pan American, which was actively expanding its routes across the Pacific and around the world. He left the airline in 1952 to pursue other aviation interests.

The Crew of Pacific Clipper: Captain Robert Ford First Officer John H. Mack Second Officer/Navigator Roderick N. Brown Third Officer James G. Henriksen Fourth Officer John D. Steers First Engineer Homans K. "Swede" Roth Second Engineer John B. "Jocko" Parish First Radio Officer John Poindexter* Second Radio Officer Oscar Hendrickson Purser Barney Sawicki Asst Purser Verne C. Edwards

* Poindexter was originally scheduled to accompany the Pacific Clipper as far as Los Angeles, and then return to San Francisco; he had even asked his wife to hold dinner that evening. In Los Angeles, however, the regularly scheduled Radio Officer suddenly became ill, and Poindexter had to make the trip himself. His one shirt was washed in every port that the Pacific Clipper visited.

This article originally appeared in the August 1999 Issue of "Air and Space Magazine" and is reprinted by permission of the author

Monday, Monday ver. 831.01 (but written on Tuesday)

First of all, let's yap about the North Korean nuclear "fizzle" from Sunday - they shot off their wad, it didn't work (just as their ballistic missile didn't work months back) and now .. we're going to continue to pursue the "tough" policies that we were using before they went ahead and developed a psuedo-nuke? Okay ..

Links!

The North Korean nuke test was a dud. The Chinese don't have much of a nuclear arsenal, regardless of how much sabre rattling our own paleocons do.

And, for some expert review and analysis of how well our last five years of North Korean foreign policy has worked, click here.

Back to our own home front, an article on what one goes through with health care in these United States when one has no insurance. Don't I know this one well.

And, being arrested just for being there - a homeless man details the glee of the police cleaning out the nicer parts of town to make things pretty for the wealthier in our society.

You know I like snark, so here's a juicy bit on airline security developments from our own TSA.

On Sunday next, I'm speaking on "The Importance of Keeping Your Word," except when it applies to politics, apparently. The author relates the shameful state of politics in this country, that the biggest liars win.

And, then the last - a letter from Baghdad, telling us what it's really like over there. As distinct from the political lies we've been fed the last four years.

Today is going to be thundershower-y, they say, and mine starts with Twitch freaking out over an administrative response he has to submit by today. I've already done it, but he's all twitch-y. Just wait until he finds out that I put a padlock on the back gate so that he has to come up to the front door and be admitted like a normal person, instead of letting himself in without permission and bellowing for me from the kitchen.

I get to see Susan today, get my hair did, and pick up the mail. And some more checks, one hopes. My little spiritual program for the month is kicking my white behind.

Cross-posting Garrison Keillor

Congress's Shameful Retreat From American Values
By Garrison Keillor
The Chicago Tribune

Wednesday 04 October 2006

I would not send my college kid off for a semester abroad if I were you. Last week, we suspended human rights in America, and what goes around comes around. Ixnay habeas corpus.

The U.S. Senate, in all its splendor and majesty, decided that an "enemy combatant" is any non-citizen whom the president says is an enemy combatant, including your Korean greengrocer or your Swedish grandmother or your Czech au pair, and can be arrested and held for as long as authorities wish without any right of appeal to a court of law to examine the matter. If your college kid were to be arrested in Bangkok or Cairo, suspected of "crimes against the state" and held in prison, you'd assume that an American foreign service officer would be able to speak to your kid and arrange for a lawyer, but this may not be true anymore. Be forewarned.

The Senate also decided it's up to the president to decide whether it's OK to make these enemies stand naked in cold rooms for a couple of days in blinding light and be beaten by interrogators. This is now purely a bureaucratic matter: The plenipotentiary stamps the file "enemy combatants" and throws the poor schnooks into prison and at his leisure he tries them by any sort of kangaroo court he wishes to assemble and they have no right to see the evidence against them, and there is no appeal. This was passed by 65 senators and will now be signed by President Bush, put into effect, and in due course be thrown out by the courts.

It's good that Barry Goldwater is dead because this would have killed him. Go back to the Senate of 1964 - Goldwater, Dirksen, Russell, McCarthy, Javits, Morse, Fulbright - and you won't find more than 10 votes for it.

None of the men and women who voted for this bill has any right to speak in public about the rule of law anymore, or to take a high moral view of the Third Reich, or to wax poetic about the American Ideal. Mark their names. Any institution of higher learning that grants honorary degrees to these people forfeits its honor. Alexander, Allard, Allen, Bennett, Bond, Brownback, Bunning, Burns, Burr, Carper, Chambliss, Coburn, Cochran, Coleman, Collins, Cornyn, Craig, Cra! po, DeMint, DeWine, Dole, Domenici, Ensign, Enzi, Frist, Graham, Grassley, Gregg, Hagel, Hatch, Hutchison, Inhofe, Isakson, Johnson, Kyl, Landrieu, Lautenberg, Lieberman, Lott, Lugar, Martinez, McCain, McConnell, Menendez, Murkowski, Nelson of Florida, Nelson of Nebraska, Pryor, Roberts, Rockefeller, Salazar, Santorum, Sessions, Shelby, Smith, Specter, Stabenow, Stevens, Sununu, Talent, Thomas, Thune, Vitter, Voinovich, Warner.

To paraphrase Sir Walter Scott: Mark their names and mark them well. For them, no minstrel raptures swell. High though their titles, proud their name, boundless their wealth as wish can claim, these wretched figures shall go down to the vile dust from whence they sprung, unwept, unhonored and unsung.

Three Republican senators made a show of opposing the bill and after they'd collected all the praise they could get, they quickly folded. Why be a hero when you can be fairly sure that the court will dispose of this piece of garbage.

If, however, the court does not, then our country has taken a step toward totalitarianism. If the government can round up someone and never be required to explain why, then it's no longer the United States as you and I always understood it. Our enemies have succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. They have made us become like them.

I got some insight last week into who supports torture when I went down to Dallas to speak at Highland Park Methodist Church. It was spooky. I walked in, was met by two burly security men with walkie-talkies, and within 10 minutes was told by three people that this was the Bushes' church and that it would be better if I didn't talk about politics. I was there on a book tour for "Homegrown Democrat," but they thought it better if I didn't mention it. So I tried to make light of it: I told the audience, "I don't need to talk politics. I have no need even to be interested in politics - I'm a citizen, I have plenty of money and my grandsons are at least 12 years away from being eligible for military service." And the audience applauded! Those were their sentiments exactly. We've got ours, and who cares?

The Methodists of Dallas can be fairly sure that none of them will be snatched off the streets, flown to Guantanamo Bay, stripped naked, forced to stand for 48 hours in a freezing room with deafening noise. So why should they worry? It's only the Jews who are in danger, and the homosexuals and gypsies. The Christians are doing fine. If you can't trust a Methodist with absolute power to arrest people and not have to say why, then whom can you trust?

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Garrison Keillor is a syndicated columnist and host of "A Prairie Home Companion."