So the raft was in the water, the rods were all strung up, and the gear was almost stowed. The sun reflecting off the diamond chop riffles made it seem like we were giant rock stars with tiny camera flashes bursting around us. The day was starting off well.
Me, Hippie Dave, and John the Baptist (my buddy, not the guy from the Bible) were eager to get fishing. Lugging the ice chest from the truck, I was the last one to the boat. As I walked through the knee-high grass, a swarm of grasshoppers parted before me like President Obama parting the Gulf of Mexico.
I took the first turn on the oars, which I didn’t mind because the fishing’s been slow first thing in the morning. Settling into a comfortable rhythm, I noticed there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
From the seat behind me, Dave said, “Dude, the weatherman’s predicting that it’s gonna be a great day, and I’m predicting that we’re gonna boat 50 fish…at least 3 over 20 inches.”
We were wearing shades ‘cause our future was most definitely bright.
By the time we got to O’Brian’s Bar and Grill and ordered drinks, we’d caught 4 fish, none over 10 inches. The weather turned sour when a thunderstorm came in, bringing lightning and dangerous winds. A powerful gust sheared off the top a tall cottonwood, which nearly landed right on top of us.
After a shot of Jagermeister, I said, “Dave, I gotta say, you and the weatherman are terrible at forecasting. I wish there was some way to really predict the future so we wouldn’t have to spend another day on the river like that.”
“Actually,” said John, “there is.”
He went on to tell us about this company called Recorded Future that uses its Temporal Analytics Engine (sounds like something Spock might come up with in a “Star Trek” episode to explain how Kirk miraculously appears in time to save Scotty from the brain-eating weevils) to sort through real-time data on the internet to predict the future. They comb through tens of thousands of websites and find the hidden links to people, places and events to determine the momentum of each item in their index.
For a small monthly fee, you can use their tools to predict the future of anything you want. Their website says their clients include investment firms, marketing and public relations firms, and national defense and security agencies.
When I told John he was full of it, he said, “No, really. Google Ventures just made a big investment in the company, and In-Q-Tel, which invests money for the CIA in companies to develop new technology, is also a major backer. They must believe it works”
That got me to thinking.
You know who could use some help predicting the future…Vice President Joe Biden. His ability to forecast the economy and employment sucks.
According to TheNewAmerican.com, back on April 28 at a fundraiser in Pittsburgh, Biden gave a speech where he said, “All in all, we’re going to be creating somewhere between 100,000 and 200,000 jobs next month.” And he continued with, “I’m here to tell you some time in the next couple of months we’re going to be creating between 250,000 jobs a month and 500,000 jobs a month.”
That was over 3 months ago, and Joe’s jobs are nowhere to be found. In July, employment decreased by 131,000. Private sector jobs increased by only 71,000, which the New York Times reported as being about half the number needed just to accommodate population growth. Last week, initial jobless claims totaled 500,000, and the trend is going up.
On February 25, 2009, the First Recovery Plan Implementation Meeting was held at the White House – the transcript is posted at whitehouse.gov. Talking about the $787 billion stimulus package, Biden said, “This is about getting this out and spent in 18 months to create 3.5 million jobs.” He went on to say that the spending “literally drop-kicks us out of this recession.”
The 18 months is over, and according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, 3.3 million jobs have been lost and unemployment has gone from 7.7% to 9.5%. Department of Commerce statistics show that consumer spending is barely creeping along and personal income is flat. Someone should literally drop-kick some sense into the Vice President.
It doesn’t take a weatherman, a voodoo priestess or a CIA backed analytics firm to know that the economy is in the outhouse, folks need jobs, and companies aren’t rushing out to hire right now. Maybe Joe could improve his predictions by adding Dionne Warwick and her Psychic Friends Network to his economic advisory staff. It couldn’t hurt.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
A Whack in the Crotch
So there I was, sitting in the shade by the river, eating a roast beef sandwich. I’d found a nice fallen log to act as both table and chair, and it felt good to be out of the sun taking a break from fishing.
Just as I was finishing up, my pal Cap’n Billy floated by with a couple of his buddies and his dog Streamer. I waved, and they rowed over to see if I wanted any company for lunch. They were more than welcome.
While they unloaded their cooler, I said hello to Streamer. She’s an energetic 2-year old black lab whose passion is playing fetch. I figured I’d give the boys a break and keep her busy while they ate. Otherwise, she’d be bringing them sticks to throw the whole time.
I picked up a sturdy piece of wood, and Streamer began to bounce around like a punk-rocker in a mosh pit. I told her to sit, which she did, and I tossed the stick down the bank. She took off and snatched it up the second it hit the ground, gnawing and shaking it like House Democrat mauling a budget proposal.
As she trotted back to me with her prize, she suddenly stopped, dove into a bush, and rooted around. After some thrashing and snarling, she emerged with a branch about 4 feet long and 2 and a half inches thick. When Streamer plays fetch, she prefers the heavy stuff.
Using both hands, I tossed the massive limb as far as I could, which wasn’t very far. She eagerly brought it back without any strain.
After a couple of minutes, I got tired and was ready to call it quits. I turned and began to walk away, but Streamer rushed in front of me, blocking my way with the enormous stick.
Cap’n Billy saw what was happening and called out, “Streamer! Come here, and leave Dusty alone.”
The dog whipped her head around to look at her master, and the end of the branch buried itself in the sensitive part of my groin area. I let out a “whuff” and fell to the ground, clutching my personal business. Through the searing man-pain, I could hear distant laughter, and I knew that if Bob Sagat were here, he’d be writing me a check for $10,000.
One thing’s for sure…if Streamer ever wants me to throw a stick again, I’m going to do it. I don’t need to take another beating like that.
That got me to thinking.
Some folks, just like Streamer, get so single-mindedly obsessed on an issue that they’re oblivious to the people around them. Take fer instance, Marty Essen, self-described “Multi-award-winning author and college speaker.”
Never heard of him? Well, neither had I until our local newspaper, the Ravalli Republic, ran a front-page article on him. He’s got a web site called turnofffoxnews.com where he asks “airports, hotels, bars, restaurants, and other public locations to Turn Off Fox News.” Essen believes that in these places where there’s a “captive audience” the network is being forced upon people who “aren’t politically aware enough to realize they’re watching the broadcast news equivalent of professional wrestling.”
As proof of the evils of Fox News, the most watched cable news channel in America, he directs folks to mediamatters.org, a 501(c)(3) dedicated to “correcting conservative misinformation in the U.S. media.” Now there’s a group that sounds fair and balanced.
Essen states that Fox’s actions “undermine elections, belittle the environment, embolden the paranoid, enrich the rich, and in general, divide our country.” Wow, that’s one powerful TV station. It must be run by aliens trying to take over the planet – or am I just being paranoid.
Essen doesn’t have similar complaints about MSNBC or CNN, which I find are aired in plenty of public places. And I reckon he’s never heard of Ezra Klein of The Washington Post and his group, JournoList.
In case you aren’t aware, the JList was a secret group started by Klein made up of left-wing journalists, about 400 of them, who conspired to influence the nation’s media coverage to promote liberal ideas and candidates. They even worked actively with Obama and other candidates to help them develop talking points that they could cover favorably. They disbanded in June after being exposed, but many have already formed a new secret group called Cabalist.
What gets to me is that Essen and all the other single-minded whiners of any political persuasion complain about being subjected to one-sided media coverage, while subjecting the rest of us to their one-sided bias of the media. They’d prefer to whack us in the crotch with a stick until we conform to their beliefs rather than do the simple thing – don’t watch the TV.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Just as I was finishing up, my pal Cap’n Billy floated by with a couple of his buddies and his dog Streamer. I waved, and they rowed over to see if I wanted any company for lunch. They were more than welcome.
While they unloaded their cooler, I said hello to Streamer. She’s an energetic 2-year old black lab whose passion is playing fetch. I figured I’d give the boys a break and keep her busy while they ate. Otherwise, she’d be bringing them sticks to throw the whole time.
I picked up a sturdy piece of wood, and Streamer began to bounce around like a punk-rocker in a mosh pit. I told her to sit, which she did, and I tossed the stick down the bank. She took off and snatched it up the second it hit the ground, gnawing and shaking it like House Democrat mauling a budget proposal.
As she trotted back to me with her prize, she suddenly stopped, dove into a bush, and rooted around. After some thrashing and snarling, she emerged with a branch about 4 feet long and 2 and a half inches thick. When Streamer plays fetch, she prefers the heavy stuff.
Using both hands, I tossed the massive limb as far as I could, which wasn’t very far. She eagerly brought it back without any strain.
After a couple of minutes, I got tired and was ready to call it quits. I turned and began to walk away, but Streamer rushed in front of me, blocking my way with the enormous stick.
Cap’n Billy saw what was happening and called out, “Streamer! Come here, and leave Dusty alone.”
The dog whipped her head around to look at her master, and the end of the branch buried itself in the sensitive part of my groin area. I let out a “whuff” and fell to the ground, clutching my personal business. Through the searing man-pain, I could hear distant laughter, and I knew that if Bob Sagat were here, he’d be writing me a check for $10,000.
One thing’s for sure…if Streamer ever wants me to throw a stick again, I’m going to do it. I don’t need to take another beating like that.
That got me to thinking.
Some folks, just like Streamer, get so single-mindedly obsessed on an issue that they’re oblivious to the people around them. Take fer instance, Marty Essen, self-described “Multi-award-winning author and college speaker.”
Never heard of him? Well, neither had I until our local newspaper, the Ravalli Republic, ran a front-page article on him. He’s got a web site called turnofffoxnews.com where he asks “airports, hotels, bars, restaurants, and other public locations to Turn Off Fox News.” Essen believes that in these places where there’s a “captive audience” the network is being forced upon people who “aren’t politically aware enough to realize they’re watching the broadcast news equivalent of professional wrestling.”
As proof of the evils of Fox News, the most watched cable news channel in America, he directs folks to mediamatters.org, a 501(c)(3) dedicated to “correcting conservative misinformation in the U.S. media.” Now there’s a group that sounds fair and balanced.
Essen states that Fox’s actions “undermine elections, belittle the environment, embolden the paranoid, enrich the rich, and in general, divide our country.” Wow, that’s one powerful TV station. It must be run by aliens trying to take over the planet – or am I just being paranoid.
Essen doesn’t have similar complaints about MSNBC or CNN, which I find are aired in plenty of public places. And I reckon he’s never heard of Ezra Klein of The Washington Post and his group, JournoList.
In case you aren’t aware, the JList was a secret group started by Klein made up of left-wing journalists, about 400 of them, who conspired to influence the nation’s media coverage to promote liberal ideas and candidates. They even worked actively with Obama and other candidates to help them develop talking points that they could cover favorably. They disbanded in June after being exposed, but many have already formed a new secret group called Cabalist.
What gets to me is that Essen and all the other single-minded whiners of any political persuasion complain about being subjected to one-sided media coverage, while subjecting the rest of us to their one-sided bias of the media. They’d prefer to whack us in the crotch with a stick until we conform to their beliefs rather than do the simple thing – don’t watch the TV.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Hail to the Beauty Queen
So after a full day of fishing, I stopped off at O’Brian’s Bar and Grill for a cold one. Stinky Pete came in with one of his clients, and they sat down next to me at the bar.
Dressed in his pressed slacks and Orvis shirt, the banker/lawyer told me about what a big cheese he was back in New York. Then, after surveying the room, Mr. Wall Street zeroed in on a family having dinner at a table in the corner.
“Look at that guy,” he says to me. “With that long ponytail, scraggly teeth and Bud Light t-shirt. Don’t people around here believe in dentists? I bet he doesn’t even know what a mortgage-backed security is.”
“Now wait a minute, Hot Shot,” I tell him, trying to hide my anger. “I know that guy. Sure he’s got a ponytail, but it’s neat and combed. His t-shirt is clean, and he probably can’t afford a lot of dental work.
“He’s a trucker, and he provides for his family. Look at how well-behaved his children are. That’s because he spends time with them.
“You think you’re better than him because you’ve got a bunch of money, but he works a lot harder at both his job and his family than you ever will. And besides, he’d never say anything bad about a stranger he’s never met just because of the way they look.”
I got up and left before I lost my temper.
That got me to thinking.
What the hell is wrong with people these days?
Take fer instance Mike Hart, a professional bass fisherman, who was recently caught cheating at the US Open fishing tournament. He stuffed 2-ounce lead weights down the throats of the fish he presented for weigh-in.
Normally, the bass are weighed and released, but if they die, they’re filleted, and the meat is sent to a charity. Hart attached treble hooks to the lead sinkers so they would catch in the throat of the bass, hoping that they wouldn’t be found if the fish were cut open.
That’s exactly the reason why fishing should be about fun, family and getting together with your pals, not about competition, cash prizes or corporate sponsors. Hart was banned for life from professional tournaments, but the only fitting punishment would’ve been to shove lead weights on hooks down his throat.
And how about Bristol Palin, who got pregnant while her mother was running for Vice President, got engaged to the baby-daddy, called off the wedding, and then announced her re-engagement in Us Weekly. Well, she and Levi Johnston broke up again. In fact, they broke up on the day the magazine hit the stands, but we had to wait for the latest issue of People to find out.
According to Bristol, Levi only wanted media attention (said the girl who’s telling her life story each month in celebrity gossip magazines). She may have a point, though, because Levi’s publicist said that he’s hired a trainer to get his body in shape for his upcoming Playgirl spread, which should be on the shelves in time for the holidays. Take that as free gift advice for all you fellers looking for something for the hard-to-please lady in your life.
Speaking of media whores with no shame, President Obama skipped the Boy Scouts’ Jamboree, celebrating the organization’s 100th anniversary, to appear on “The View.” The Scouts could’ve taught the President a few things about what it means to be a man, but instead he chose to face the hard-hitting questions about Snooki, the girl on the realty show “Jersey Shore.”
Why would the President blow off such a traditional event to appear on a daytime TV talk show? Because Boy Scouts are too young to vote. Women who sit on the couch eating bon bons, watching Whoopi and Joy, and living off government programs that are paid for by working peoples’ taxes (like Hillary Clinton) are Barack’s key constituency.
When is Obama going to start acting like the President of the United States instead of some beauty pageant contestant? While he was running for the title of Miss Everybody-in-the-Universe-Loves-Me, he talked about Hope, Change, and of course, World Peace. Now that he’s won the crown (with Joe Biden as first runner-up), all he still cares about is how much folks like him. So he smiles, looks good in his swimsuit, blames everyone else, and avoids making the decisions that will reduce government spending, create jobs, lower taxes, and put our economy back on track. In the meantime, he panders to the bon bon eaters, and makes sure that it’s business as usual in Washington.
You know, whether you’re a long-haired trucker raising a family or the President of the United States, it’s how you act that defines who you really are.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Dressed in his pressed slacks and Orvis shirt, the banker/lawyer told me about what a big cheese he was back in New York. Then, after surveying the room, Mr. Wall Street zeroed in on a family having dinner at a table in the corner.
“Look at that guy,” he says to me. “With that long ponytail, scraggly teeth and Bud Light t-shirt. Don’t people around here believe in dentists? I bet he doesn’t even know what a mortgage-backed security is.”
“Now wait a minute, Hot Shot,” I tell him, trying to hide my anger. “I know that guy. Sure he’s got a ponytail, but it’s neat and combed. His t-shirt is clean, and he probably can’t afford a lot of dental work.
“He’s a trucker, and he provides for his family. Look at how well-behaved his children are. That’s because he spends time with them.
“You think you’re better than him because you’ve got a bunch of money, but he works a lot harder at both his job and his family than you ever will. And besides, he’d never say anything bad about a stranger he’s never met just because of the way they look.”
I got up and left before I lost my temper.
That got me to thinking.
What the hell is wrong with people these days?
Take fer instance Mike Hart, a professional bass fisherman, who was recently caught cheating at the US Open fishing tournament. He stuffed 2-ounce lead weights down the throats of the fish he presented for weigh-in.
Normally, the bass are weighed and released, but if they die, they’re filleted, and the meat is sent to a charity. Hart attached treble hooks to the lead sinkers so they would catch in the throat of the bass, hoping that they wouldn’t be found if the fish were cut open.
That’s exactly the reason why fishing should be about fun, family and getting together with your pals, not about competition, cash prizes or corporate sponsors. Hart was banned for life from professional tournaments, but the only fitting punishment would’ve been to shove lead weights on hooks down his throat.
And how about Bristol Palin, who got pregnant while her mother was running for Vice President, got engaged to the baby-daddy, called off the wedding, and then announced her re-engagement in Us Weekly. Well, she and Levi Johnston broke up again. In fact, they broke up on the day the magazine hit the stands, but we had to wait for the latest issue of People to find out.
According to Bristol, Levi only wanted media attention (said the girl who’s telling her life story each month in celebrity gossip magazines). She may have a point, though, because Levi’s publicist said that he’s hired a trainer to get his body in shape for his upcoming Playgirl spread, which should be on the shelves in time for the holidays. Take that as free gift advice for all you fellers looking for something for the hard-to-please lady in your life.
Speaking of media whores with no shame, President Obama skipped the Boy Scouts’ Jamboree, celebrating the organization’s 100th anniversary, to appear on “The View.” The Scouts could’ve taught the President a few things about what it means to be a man, but instead he chose to face the hard-hitting questions about Snooki, the girl on the realty show “Jersey Shore.”
Why would the President blow off such a traditional event to appear on a daytime TV talk show? Because Boy Scouts are too young to vote. Women who sit on the couch eating bon bons, watching Whoopi and Joy, and living off government programs that are paid for by working peoples’ taxes (like Hillary Clinton) are Barack’s key constituency.
When is Obama going to start acting like the President of the United States instead of some beauty pageant contestant? While he was running for the title of Miss Everybody-in-the-Universe-Loves-Me, he talked about Hope, Change, and of course, World Peace. Now that he’s won the crown (with Joe Biden as first runner-up), all he still cares about is how much folks like him. So he smiles, looks good in his swimsuit, blames everyone else, and avoids making the decisions that will reduce government spending, create jobs, lower taxes, and put our economy back on track. In the meantime, he panders to the bon bon eaters, and makes sure that it’s business as usual in Washington.
You know, whether you’re a long-haired trucker raising a family or the President of the United States, it’s how you act that defines who you really are.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, August 2, 2010
No Clue
So my pal Stinky Pete didn’t have any clients booked, and he wanted to know if I’d like to go fishing. Of course I would.
We decided not to get on the river too early, because the morning water temperatures are still pretty chilly. The fish need time to wake up, read the paper, and have a cup of coffee before they’re ready to start the day. We put in around 10:00 or 10:30, and we were an hour behind the major surge of boats.
That didn’t mean we had the river to ourselves, though. There were still plenty of wade-fishermen, and we ran into a few other boats as we worked our way down a fairly long stretch.
Whooping and hollering as they passed us, a group of young college kids were piled on a raft with about 42 coolers of beer. A golden haired girl in the back, who was nearly bursting out of her little pink bikini top, looked like she’d rather be somewhere else. The dude with his arm around her, waving a whiskey bottle in the other hand had no idea that she wasn’t having a good time.
The fishing was fairly consistent with small trout hitting our stonefly imitations throughout the day. But nothing bigger than 14 inches was interested in feeding despite all the bugs hatching.
In all my years on the Bitterroot, I’d never caught a brook trout. For some reason they’ve eluded me like I’m the CIA and they’re Osama Bin Laden. They must be getting help from the Pakistani ISI. But on this day, I caught 3.
Near the end of the day, a raft floated by with 2 guys using spinning gear. I’m used to seeing spin-fishermen wading, but this year there are a couple of guides who’ve decided to be carriers of this infection.
When I ask a first-time fly-fisher how was their day on the river, I almost always get a positive response. If I ask a spin-fisher the same question, I get a hate-filled glare and some mumbled excuse about how the fish weren’t biting that day. I think guides on the Bitterroot should make their clients fly-fish; they tend to have more fun and catch more fish.
The 2 fellers in the boat were chucking big gold and silver spoons towards the bank. I asked how they were doing and got the answer I expected. The guy in the front said, “Haven’t caught anything all day.”
As he was saying this, he raised his rod, and there was a 5-inch rainbow dangling from his shiny metal lure. “You have now,” I told him, and he was completely amazed to see proof that fish actually do live in this river.
After they got out of earshot, Stinky chuckled, and said, “Man, those pecker-heads don’t have a clue.”
That got me to thinking.
Some folks are so far out of touch that, in order for their brains to deal with it, they create their own reality and expect the rest of us to believe it. Like Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner with his views on the economy.
Recently, he told ABC’s This Week, “Now, we’ve seen six months of positive job growth by the private sector. That’s pretty good.”
If you look at the numbers, in June there was an overall loss of 125,000 jobs due to census workers being laid off. Private sector jobs created this year total a little over 500,000, but unemployment is at 9.5%, and there are 14.6 million Americans out of work, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. Doesn’t sound pretty good to me.
He’s also in favor of letting the Bush tax cuts expire for families making over $250,000. He said that it’s the responsible thing to do because we need to show the world that we’re willing to “make some progress bringing down our long-term deficits.” Here’s a hint: stop spending trillions of dollars on new programs that we can’t afford.
Geithner went on to say that letting the tax cuts expire would not have a negative effect on our economic growth. However, Federal Reserve Board Chairman Ben Bernanke told Congress that extending the tax cuts would strengthen our economy and provide stimulus for growth.
Geithner works for a federal agency that prints money and issues debt and whose job it is to implement the President’s economic policy. Bernanke works for our nation’s central bank which directly influences our country’s economy through its actions, and while it’s ultimately regulated by Congress, it operates independently of the government.
In my opinion, one of these guys probably fly-fishes and the other one is a pecker-head who doesn’t have a clue.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
We decided not to get on the river too early, because the morning water temperatures are still pretty chilly. The fish need time to wake up, read the paper, and have a cup of coffee before they’re ready to start the day. We put in around 10:00 or 10:30, and we were an hour behind the major surge of boats.
That didn’t mean we had the river to ourselves, though. There were still plenty of wade-fishermen, and we ran into a few other boats as we worked our way down a fairly long stretch.
Whooping and hollering as they passed us, a group of young college kids were piled on a raft with about 42 coolers of beer. A golden haired girl in the back, who was nearly bursting out of her little pink bikini top, looked like she’d rather be somewhere else. The dude with his arm around her, waving a whiskey bottle in the other hand had no idea that she wasn’t having a good time.
The fishing was fairly consistent with small trout hitting our stonefly imitations throughout the day. But nothing bigger than 14 inches was interested in feeding despite all the bugs hatching.
In all my years on the Bitterroot, I’d never caught a brook trout. For some reason they’ve eluded me like I’m the CIA and they’re Osama Bin Laden. They must be getting help from the Pakistani ISI. But on this day, I caught 3.
Near the end of the day, a raft floated by with 2 guys using spinning gear. I’m used to seeing spin-fishermen wading, but this year there are a couple of guides who’ve decided to be carriers of this infection.
When I ask a first-time fly-fisher how was their day on the river, I almost always get a positive response. If I ask a spin-fisher the same question, I get a hate-filled glare and some mumbled excuse about how the fish weren’t biting that day. I think guides on the Bitterroot should make their clients fly-fish; they tend to have more fun and catch more fish.
The 2 fellers in the boat were chucking big gold and silver spoons towards the bank. I asked how they were doing and got the answer I expected. The guy in the front said, “Haven’t caught anything all day.”
As he was saying this, he raised his rod, and there was a 5-inch rainbow dangling from his shiny metal lure. “You have now,” I told him, and he was completely amazed to see proof that fish actually do live in this river.
After they got out of earshot, Stinky chuckled, and said, “Man, those pecker-heads don’t have a clue.”
That got me to thinking.
Some folks are so far out of touch that, in order for their brains to deal with it, they create their own reality and expect the rest of us to believe it. Like Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner with his views on the economy.
Recently, he told ABC’s This Week, “Now, we’ve seen six months of positive job growth by the private sector. That’s pretty good.”
If you look at the numbers, in June there was an overall loss of 125,000 jobs due to census workers being laid off. Private sector jobs created this year total a little over 500,000, but unemployment is at 9.5%, and there are 14.6 million Americans out of work, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. Doesn’t sound pretty good to me.
He’s also in favor of letting the Bush tax cuts expire for families making over $250,000. He said that it’s the responsible thing to do because we need to show the world that we’re willing to “make some progress bringing down our long-term deficits.” Here’s a hint: stop spending trillions of dollars on new programs that we can’t afford.
Geithner went on to say that letting the tax cuts expire would not have a negative effect on our economic growth. However, Federal Reserve Board Chairman Ben Bernanke told Congress that extending the tax cuts would strengthen our economy and provide stimulus for growth.
Geithner works for a federal agency that prints money and issues debt and whose job it is to implement the President’s economic policy. Bernanke works for our nation’s central bank which directly influences our country’s economy through its actions, and while it’s ultimately regulated by Congress, it operates independently of the government.
In my opinion, one of these guys probably fly-fishes and the other one is a pecker-head who doesn’t have a clue.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Sharing Stinks
So there’s this deer – a young buck in velvet – that’s been hanging around the house. He’s small and skinny, but he seems to be in good health. His fuzzy antlers only have one fork apiece, but that’s pretty common for a yearling.
The days have been warm, and he likes to lie down in the shadow of the roof overhang. There’s a spot near the kitchen window where he’s scratched out a bed and curls up. That’s why Joan named him Curly. His bed gets a nice breeze, but when it dies down, the flies bother him, and he swats them away with his big, muley ears.
He’s gotten used to me and Joan walking by the window while we’re cooking or doing the dishes, and he ignores us for the most part. We can go outdoors as long as we stay on the other side of the building. When we stick our head around the corner, he takes off. But he doesn’t go far, and if we leave him alone, he comes back in a couple of minutes.
The other day we had a few folks up for supper, and right on cue, Curly walked up for everyone to see. Posing for a few pictures, he regarded the crowd of faces in the window with curiosity, and then he wandered off to eat.
While everyone was staring at the little guy, I noticed a big buck walking across the hilltop. He was a 3 or 4 year old with a beautiful set of antlers, and his thick, muscular body showed the weight of this spring’s plentiful grass. He loped easily over the hill, out of sight from the guests who were gawking at Curly.
The other day I took a picture of him and posted it on my facebook page. (That’s right…I’ve been sucked in. If you want, you can follow me or be my friend or whatever the hell it is.) After I put the picture online, I regretted it, because that’s exactly the sort of thing that makes more folks want to move to this area.
That got me to thinking.
I admit that I’m a selfish man. I want to keep the rugged beauty of the Bitterroot National Forest all to myself. I was hoping that after I got to Montana, they’d shut the doors behind me and not let anybody else in.
It’s not that I’d deny folks the right to enjoy the natural splendor of the area that I call home; it’s that I want them to do it somewhere else and leave me alone. It’d be fine with me if I never saw another human being while I hike and fish and hunt in the 3 million acres of public land that I call “the backyard.”
If Sesame Street taught me anything, it’s that sharing is a good thing…like Bert and Ernie sharing a bed. But when they were teaching me how to count pineapple upside-down cakes, we never got to numbers big enough for me to count all the loud, obnoxious circus freaks who tear through my forest on 500cc’s of smoke-belching, solitude-shattering, four-wheeled fury.
Sometimes, having enough for everybody to share can get you into trouble. Like rock star and realty show hero Bret Michaels. Through 3 seasons of the show Rock of Love, he shared his quest for the perfect mate. Although the producers selected the finest group of sluts, skanks, and drunken strippers for him to choose from, Bret was unable to make a lasting love connection.
If you ever get a chance to watch that show, you should definitely check it out. It’s seriously funny, not like The Bachelor at all. But that wasn’t the point I was trying to make.
Last week, police in DeKalb County, Indiana pulled over Bret’s tour buses because one of the trailers that they were pulling had a light out. K-9 units alerted officers to the possible presence of drugs.
According to the Fort Wayne News-Sentinel, “Officers searched both buses and found marijuana on each, as well as unidentified controlled substances. It was unclear how much was found on the buses.” No one was arrested, but charges have been forwarded to the DeKalb County Prosecutor’s Office.
Back in school, if you got caught chewing gum, the teacher would ask if you brought enough for everybody. That may be a good policy with gum but not with drugs. When the police pull you over and you’ve got enough drugs to share with 2 busloads of rock musicians, that’s going to wind up costing you.
So you see…sharing can cause all kinds of problems. Whether you’re talking about your forest or your stash, it’s best to keep things to yourself.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
The days have been warm, and he likes to lie down in the shadow of the roof overhang. There’s a spot near the kitchen window where he’s scratched out a bed and curls up. That’s why Joan named him Curly. His bed gets a nice breeze, but when it dies down, the flies bother him, and he swats them away with his big, muley ears.
He’s gotten used to me and Joan walking by the window while we’re cooking or doing the dishes, and he ignores us for the most part. We can go outdoors as long as we stay on the other side of the building. When we stick our head around the corner, he takes off. But he doesn’t go far, and if we leave him alone, he comes back in a couple of minutes.
The other day we had a few folks up for supper, and right on cue, Curly walked up for everyone to see. Posing for a few pictures, he regarded the crowd of faces in the window with curiosity, and then he wandered off to eat.
While everyone was staring at the little guy, I noticed a big buck walking across the hilltop. He was a 3 or 4 year old with a beautiful set of antlers, and his thick, muscular body showed the weight of this spring’s plentiful grass. He loped easily over the hill, out of sight from the guests who were gawking at Curly.
The other day I took a picture of him and posted it on my facebook page. (That’s right…I’ve been sucked in. If you want, you can follow me or be my friend or whatever the hell it is.) After I put the picture online, I regretted it, because that’s exactly the sort of thing that makes more folks want to move to this area.
That got me to thinking.
I admit that I’m a selfish man. I want to keep the rugged beauty of the Bitterroot National Forest all to myself. I was hoping that after I got to Montana, they’d shut the doors behind me and not let anybody else in.
It’s not that I’d deny folks the right to enjoy the natural splendor of the area that I call home; it’s that I want them to do it somewhere else and leave me alone. It’d be fine with me if I never saw another human being while I hike and fish and hunt in the 3 million acres of public land that I call “the backyard.”
If Sesame Street taught me anything, it’s that sharing is a good thing…like Bert and Ernie sharing a bed. But when they were teaching me how to count pineapple upside-down cakes, we never got to numbers big enough for me to count all the loud, obnoxious circus freaks who tear through my forest on 500cc’s of smoke-belching, solitude-shattering, four-wheeled fury.
Sometimes, having enough for everybody to share can get you into trouble. Like rock star and realty show hero Bret Michaels. Through 3 seasons of the show Rock of Love, he shared his quest for the perfect mate. Although the producers selected the finest group of sluts, skanks, and drunken strippers for him to choose from, Bret was unable to make a lasting love connection.
If you ever get a chance to watch that show, you should definitely check it out. It’s seriously funny, not like The Bachelor at all. But that wasn’t the point I was trying to make.
Last week, police in DeKalb County, Indiana pulled over Bret’s tour buses because one of the trailers that they were pulling had a light out. K-9 units alerted officers to the possible presence of drugs.
According to the Fort Wayne News-Sentinel, “Officers searched both buses and found marijuana on each, as well as unidentified controlled substances. It was unclear how much was found on the buses.” No one was arrested, but charges have been forwarded to the DeKalb County Prosecutor’s Office.
Back in school, if you got caught chewing gum, the teacher would ask if you brought enough for everybody. That may be a good policy with gum but not with drugs. When the police pull you over and you’ve got enough drugs to share with 2 busloads of rock musicians, that’s going to wind up costing you.
So you see…sharing can cause all kinds of problems. Whether you’re talking about your forest or your stash, it’s best to keep things to yourself.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Office Politics
So there were plenty of folks on the river, and the boats were lined up like the “it’s a small world” ride at Disneyland. But when you’re trying to imagine that you’re fishing alone in the back-country wilderness, you’re looking for solitude not a feeling of togetherness and harmony with all the people on the planet.
Me and Hippie Dave knew there wouldn’t be any solitude that afternoon. We were just trying to sneak in a few hours of fishing before heading over to Logger Days in Darby.
Floating up to one of my favorite holes, we ran into 2 rafts that were pulled over to the side. The 2 guides were out of their boats yelling at each other, and both sets of clients had scared looks on their faces, like an old elk who’d fallen behind the herd as the wolves closed in.
Dave rowed over to shore, and we waited to see where this was headed. The last thing we wanted to do was get involved, but it was clear that this situation was about as friendly as a phone call between Mel Gibson and Oksana Grigorieva.
“I know those dudes,” said Hippie Dave, “Rudy Heberding and ‘Fish Finder’ Clapton. They work for the same outfitter in Missoula.”
“Looks like they missed the corporate teambuilding retreat,” I replied.
Dave laughed, “It’s just office politics on the Bitterroot River.”
That was when Fish Finder gave Rudy a shove and started back to his boat. But he shouldn’t have turned his back, because Rudy grabbed an oar and whacked him in the back of the head. Fish Finder fell face first into the shallow water.
Me and Dave jumped up, and went running over to help. Dave grabbed Rudy and dragged him off to his boat. Fish Finder was coughing and choking as I helped him to his feet. We got them calmed down and sent Rudy and his clients on their way.
As we made sure Fish Finder was OK, he told us, “Rudy came after me because he felt like I’d been cutting him off all day. Our clients had said they wanted to fish together, so I was just staying close.”
Money is tight, and it can get downright competitive on the river. But I doubt either one of them got a decent tip that day, and they certainly didn’t do much to help promote Montana tourism.
That got me to thinking.
When times are tough, even folks who want to achieve the same things can start fighting amongst themselves. Like the Democrats in Washington.
The other day, White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs told Meet the Press that the Democrats could lose control of the House of Representatives. He said, “But I think there’s no doubt there are enough seats in play that could cause Republicans to gain control.”
Well, that got Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi’s waders in a bunch. She feels that showing any possibility that the Democrats are vulnerable might have Republican voters smelling blood in the water and get them out to the polls. Plus, it’s a sound bite that’ll be used in campaign ads throughout the country.
House Democrats are concerned that lobbyists might sense a potential change in leadership and start funneling more money to Republicans. Gibbs responded that he was only stating “the obvious.”
There’s also speculation that President Obama actually wants to see the Republicans gain control this fall. That way, when he runs for re-election in 2012, he can say, “I had things running great. We passed health care reform and finance reform, but then the Republicans took charge and everything went to Hell. Don’t blame me that there aren’t any jobs and the economy hasn’t recovered. Blame them.”
Pelosi and other top Democrats went to the White House to meet with the President, who told them that he was backing them 100%. According to foxnews.com, he handed out a memo that said, “The President, Vice President, First Lady, Cabinet officers and senior staff have participated in 187 political events in the last 18 months, all with the intention of directly supporting candidates on the ballot in 2010 or building up the infrastructure of party committees. Forty more events are currently or tentatively scheduled and dozens more will be organized in the next few months.”
Now here’s my big problem with all this, and it applies to both parties, equally. As the leader of the free world, shouldn’t the President be focused on employment, the economy, world peace and stuff, instead of local fundraising campaigns?
We pay him good money to do a job, and attending hundreds of events to support his party’s candidates isn’t that job.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Me and Hippie Dave knew there wouldn’t be any solitude that afternoon. We were just trying to sneak in a few hours of fishing before heading over to Logger Days in Darby.
Floating up to one of my favorite holes, we ran into 2 rafts that were pulled over to the side. The 2 guides were out of their boats yelling at each other, and both sets of clients had scared looks on their faces, like an old elk who’d fallen behind the herd as the wolves closed in.
Dave rowed over to shore, and we waited to see where this was headed. The last thing we wanted to do was get involved, but it was clear that this situation was about as friendly as a phone call between Mel Gibson and Oksana Grigorieva.
“I know those dudes,” said Hippie Dave, “Rudy Heberding and ‘Fish Finder’ Clapton. They work for the same outfitter in Missoula.”
“Looks like they missed the corporate teambuilding retreat,” I replied.
Dave laughed, “It’s just office politics on the Bitterroot River.”
That was when Fish Finder gave Rudy a shove and started back to his boat. But he shouldn’t have turned his back, because Rudy grabbed an oar and whacked him in the back of the head. Fish Finder fell face first into the shallow water.
Me and Dave jumped up, and went running over to help. Dave grabbed Rudy and dragged him off to his boat. Fish Finder was coughing and choking as I helped him to his feet. We got them calmed down and sent Rudy and his clients on their way.
As we made sure Fish Finder was OK, he told us, “Rudy came after me because he felt like I’d been cutting him off all day. Our clients had said they wanted to fish together, so I was just staying close.”
Money is tight, and it can get downright competitive on the river. But I doubt either one of them got a decent tip that day, and they certainly didn’t do much to help promote Montana tourism.
That got me to thinking.
When times are tough, even folks who want to achieve the same things can start fighting amongst themselves. Like the Democrats in Washington.
The other day, White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs told Meet the Press that the Democrats could lose control of the House of Representatives. He said, “But I think there’s no doubt there are enough seats in play that could cause Republicans to gain control.”
Well, that got Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi’s waders in a bunch. She feels that showing any possibility that the Democrats are vulnerable might have Republican voters smelling blood in the water and get them out to the polls. Plus, it’s a sound bite that’ll be used in campaign ads throughout the country.
House Democrats are concerned that lobbyists might sense a potential change in leadership and start funneling more money to Republicans. Gibbs responded that he was only stating “the obvious.”
There’s also speculation that President Obama actually wants to see the Republicans gain control this fall. That way, when he runs for re-election in 2012, he can say, “I had things running great. We passed health care reform and finance reform, but then the Republicans took charge and everything went to Hell. Don’t blame me that there aren’t any jobs and the economy hasn’t recovered. Blame them.”
Pelosi and other top Democrats went to the White House to meet with the President, who told them that he was backing them 100%. According to foxnews.com, he handed out a memo that said, “The President, Vice President, First Lady, Cabinet officers and senior staff have participated in 187 political events in the last 18 months, all with the intention of directly supporting candidates on the ballot in 2010 or building up the infrastructure of party committees. Forty more events are currently or tentatively scheduled and dozens more will be organized in the next few months.”
Now here’s my big problem with all this, and it applies to both parties, equally. As the leader of the free world, shouldn’t the President be focused on employment, the economy, world peace and stuff, instead of local fundraising campaigns?
We pay him good money to do a job, and attending hundreds of events to support his party’s candidates isn’t that job.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Rocket Science
So who would’ve thought that beer could sidetrack such a simple project? All we had to do was stain a deck…no problem.
My buddy John the Baptist asked me, Hippie Dave and Stinky Pete if we’d help him treat his deck in exchange for some cold brews. That sounded like a fair trade, so we all showed up at his place on Saturday ready to work.
After we sat around talking about fishing for an hour, John convinced us to pick up our brushes and get started. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun was nearly at its peak. I was thirsty, and even though it wasn’t quite noon, I opened a beer.
“Those are for when we’re done,” John hollered from the far end of the deck.
Stinky and Dave joined me. We drank a couple, and then went back to the task at hand. It wasn’t long before our thirst got the better of us and we were back at the cooler.
We quenched and refreshed while John painted like Thomas Kinkade on amphetamines and No-Doze. The subject of fishing came up again, and Stinky started telling me about a new fly pattern he was working on – an articulated leech. I couldn’t picture how he was tying it, so he volunteered to get his vice from the truck and show me.
John was yelling something about getting back to work, and Dave wandered over and accidentally knocked over a can of stain. John gave up, grabbed a beer, and joined in Stinky’s tying lesson.
That got me to thinking.
Sometimes it’s easy to get distracted and lose sight of your mission. Take fer instance, NASA. On their website it clearly states, “NASA’s mission is to pioneer the future in space exploration, scientific discovery and aeronautics research.”
Somewhere along the line that mission got confused. The National Space Policy of the United States of America dated June 28, 2010 is a 14 page document published by the White House. Other than in a quote by Dwight D. Eisenhower at the beginning of the report, the words “explore” or “exploration” appear 7 times.
The word “commercial”, meaning private enterprise, is in there 39 times. In fact, the policy is so heavily weighted to the private sector that it states that the government won’t develop any of its own space technology unless “there is no suitable, cost-effective U.S. commercial or, as appropriate, foreign commercial service or system that is or will be available.”
Reading the report, it seems like NASA’s new role as the pioneer in the future of space exploration is to administer contracts from private companies and to make sure that all those TV satellites orbiting around up there don’t bump into each other, blacking out this week’s shocking episode of The Bachelorette. So much for boldly going where no one has gone before.
Interestingly, the phrase “international cooperation” is in the policy 4 times. This might help explain some of the recent things said by NASA Administrator Charles Bolden.
Last month, in an interview with the TV network Al Jazeera, he had this to say about President Obama’s goals for the space program, “When I became the NASA administrator – or before I became the NASA administrator – he charged me with three things. One was he wanted me to help re-inspire children to want to get into science and math, he wanted me to expand our international relationships, and third, and perhaps foremost, he wanted me to find a way to reach out to the Muslim world and engage much more with dominantly Muslim nations to help them feel good about their historic contribution to science…and math and engineering.”
NASA used to be about scientific discovery, bold innovation and the daring conquest of the unknown. Now its foremost purpose is to raise everybody’s self-esteem like a motivational speaker giving lectures at the Holiday Inn banquet room for $50 a ticket.
First of all, I think it’s insulting to Muslims for us to say, “Don’t feel bad. You’ve had plenty of really great scientists, and with our help and encouragement, maybe you could have a few more.”
Secondly, this isn’t pee-wee soccer where everybody’s a winner. It’s not a situation where everybody gets to play even though they have asthma, can’t take two steps without tripping over themselves, and have to wear a helmet to bed.
It’s rocket science.
Whatever happened to the idea of our country’s best and brightest achieving impossible goals with enough time left over to help Hasbro design a better Nerf Glider?
Oh, look. There’s something shiny – looks like a beer can. Wait…what was I talking about?
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
My buddy John the Baptist asked me, Hippie Dave and Stinky Pete if we’d help him treat his deck in exchange for some cold brews. That sounded like a fair trade, so we all showed up at his place on Saturday ready to work.
After we sat around talking about fishing for an hour, John convinced us to pick up our brushes and get started. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun was nearly at its peak. I was thirsty, and even though it wasn’t quite noon, I opened a beer.
“Those are for when we’re done,” John hollered from the far end of the deck.
Stinky and Dave joined me. We drank a couple, and then went back to the task at hand. It wasn’t long before our thirst got the better of us and we were back at the cooler.
We quenched and refreshed while John painted like Thomas Kinkade on amphetamines and No-Doze. The subject of fishing came up again, and Stinky started telling me about a new fly pattern he was working on – an articulated leech. I couldn’t picture how he was tying it, so he volunteered to get his vice from the truck and show me.
John was yelling something about getting back to work, and Dave wandered over and accidentally knocked over a can of stain. John gave up, grabbed a beer, and joined in Stinky’s tying lesson.
That got me to thinking.
Sometimes it’s easy to get distracted and lose sight of your mission. Take fer instance, NASA. On their website it clearly states, “NASA’s mission is to pioneer the future in space exploration, scientific discovery and aeronautics research.”
Somewhere along the line that mission got confused. The National Space Policy of the United States of America dated June 28, 2010 is a 14 page document published by the White House. Other than in a quote by Dwight D. Eisenhower at the beginning of the report, the words “explore” or “exploration” appear 7 times.
The word “commercial”, meaning private enterprise, is in there 39 times. In fact, the policy is so heavily weighted to the private sector that it states that the government won’t develop any of its own space technology unless “there is no suitable, cost-effective U.S. commercial or, as appropriate, foreign commercial service or system that is or will be available.”
Reading the report, it seems like NASA’s new role as the pioneer in the future of space exploration is to administer contracts from private companies and to make sure that all those TV satellites orbiting around up there don’t bump into each other, blacking out this week’s shocking episode of The Bachelorette. So much for boldly going where no one has gone before.
Interestingly, the phrase “international cooperation” is in the policy 4 times. This might help explain some of the recent things said by NASA Administrator Charles Bolden.
Last month, in an interview with the TV network Al Jazeera, he had this to say about President Obama’s goals for the space program, “When I became the NASA administrator – or before I became the NASA administrator – he charged me with three things. One was he wanted me to help re-inspire children to want to get into science and math, he wanted me to expand our international relationships, and third, and perhaps foremost, he wanted me to find a way to reach out to the Muslim world and engage much more with dominantly Muslim nations to help them feel good about their historic contribution to science…and math and engineering.”
NASA used to be about scientific discovery, bold innovation and the daring conquest of the unknown. Now its foremost purpose is to raise everybody’s self-esteem like a motivational speaker giving lectures at the Holiday Inn banquet room for $50 a ticket.
First of all, I think it’s insulting to Muslims for us to say, “Don’t feel bad. You’ve had plenty of really great scientists, and with our help and encouragement, maybe you could have a few more.”
Secondly, this isn’t pee-wee soccer where everybody’s a winner. It’s not a situation where everybody gets to play even though they have asthma, can’t take two steps without tripping over themselves, and have to wear a helmet to bed.
It’s rocket science.
Whatever happened to the idea of our country’s best and brightest achieving impossible goals with enough time left over to help Hasbro design a better Nerf Glider?
Oh, look. There’s something shiny – looks like a beer can. Wait…what was I talking about?
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Cleaning Up
So the sound of hail bouncing off the steel roof woke me up. I looked at the clock – 10:30. I’d been asleep for 30 minutes.
The hail was replaced by a driving rain. At 10:45 the power went out, but because of the constant lightning, it was brighter than most of the afternoons we had this spring.
The wind roared, and the trees whipped around wildly, contorting like acrobats performing in a Cirque du Soleil tribute to nuclear fission. I worried that one of the big lodgepole pines might snap and come crashing down on the house.
After a while the storm calmed, and I went back to sleep. There were 2 more gales that blew through during the night like herds of stampeding buffalos. At one point, the rain poured down in sheets so heavy that I couldn’t see the trees beyond about 50 feet.
When I got up, it’d turned into a beautiful morning. The sun was shining and the birds were chirping. And there were limbs and debris everywhere.
I made some coffee, had breakfast, and read my e-mail. It was obvious that I didn’t want to go outside and survey the damage.
Eventually, I ran out of excuses, so I got up to check on the condition of the property. Maybe because I’d braced myself for the worst, it didn’t seem so bad. Don’t get me wrong, there were a couple of trees down, the porch furniture was halfway to Dillon, and the whole place looked like a mess. It was time to start cleaning things up.
That got me to thinking.
There are a lot of messes in this country that need to be cleaned up. Take fer instance, the oil spill in the Gulf. President Obama should be all over that like Al Gore on a Portland massage therapist. Instead, he’s purposely letting it get worse to put pressure on Republicans to vote for his cap-and-trade and energy bills.
Since the day he got in office, the President promised that he would focus on creating new jobs. So far, he’s hired a bunch of census workers who get paid for not showing up and thrown billions of dollars at temporary road construction jobs. Now we have out-of-control spending, massive debt, 14.6 million folks unemployed, and the President wants to shut down drilling in the Gulf, putting millions more out of work.
The economy’s in the toilet, and Obama wants to pass a finance reform bill that will limit the ability of banks to provide lower rate loans to home buyers and business. Illegal immigration is rampant, and the President refuses to do anything to secure our borders until he gets his immigration reform passed, creating an easy path to citizenship for 11 million potential new Democrat voters.
The other day, Vice President Joe Biden walked into a Wisconsin custard shop, with cameras in tow, to show everybody that he’s a man of the people. He received a cone of frozen custard with what looked like some kind of chocolate topping. When he asked the store owner how much he owed, he was told it was on the house. Then the owner joked that if Biden lowered taxes, he’d “call it even.”
Biden replied angrily, “Why don’t you say something nice instead of being a smartass all the time?”
First of all, they’d never met before, so how does Joe know if the guy’s a smartass “all the time.” Secondly, the VP just got a free frozen custard. He should appreciate it, rather than chewing the feller out for making a legitimate request, especially since it was made jokingly.
But that’s the attitude of this government. They want us to give and then give some more. And we’d better not complain or make any noise, because if we do, they’ll smack us down.
They forget that they work for us. There’re a lot of messes that we want cleaned up, and we don’t see the government doing anything about them. The politicians don’t care about fixing problems. They see those problems as opportunities to increase their political power.
It’s no wonder that Larry King called it quits and decided to return to his home planet.
As far as the mess in my backyard goes, I’m going to take the chainsaw and deal with it one branch at a time. Before you know it, I’ll have a nice stack of firewood.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
The hail was replaced by a driving rain. At 10:45 the power went out, but because of the constant lightning, it was brighter than most of the afternoons we had this spring.
The wind roared, and the trees whipped around wildly, contorting like acrobats performing in a Cirque du Soleil tribute to nuclear fission. I worried that one of the big lodgepole pines might snap and come crashing down on the house.
After a while the storm calmed, and I went back to sleep. There were 2 more gales that blew through during the night like herds of stampeding buffalos. At one point, the rain poured down in sheets so heavy that I couldn’t see the trees beyond about 50 feet.
When I got up, it’d turned into a beautiful morning. The sun was shining and the birds were chirping. And there were limbs and debris everywhere.
I made some coffee, had breakfast, and read my e-mail. It was obvious that I didn’t want to go outside and survey the damage.
Eventually, I ran out of excuses, so I got up to check on the condition of the property. Maybe because I’d braced myself for the worst, it didn’t seem so bad. Don’t get me wrong, there were a couple of trees down, the porch furniture was halfway to Dillon, and the whole place looked like a mess. It was time to start cleaning things up.
That got me to thinking.
There are a lot of messes in this country that need to be cleaned up. Take fer instance, the oil spill in the Gulf. President Obama should be all over that like Al Gore on a Portland massage therapist. Instead, he’s purposely letting it get worse to put pressure on Republicans to vote for his cap-and-trade and energy bills.
Since the day he got in office, the President promised that he would focus on creating new jobs. So far, he’s hired a bunch of census workers who get paid for not showing up and thrown billions of dollars at temporary road construction jobs. Now we have out-of-control spending, massive debt, 14.6 million folks unemployed, and the President wants to shut down drilling in the Gulf, putting millions more out of work.
The economy’s in the toilet, and Obama wants to pass a finance reform bill that will limit the ability of banks to provide lower rate loans to home buyers and business. Illegal immigration is rampant, and the President refuses to do anything to secure our borders until he gets his immigration reform passed, creating an easy path to citizenship for 11 million potential new Democrat voters.
The other day, Vice President Joe Biden walked into a Wisconsin custard shop, with cameras in tow, to show everybody that he’s a man of the people. He received a cone of frozen custard with what looked like some kind of chocolate topping. When he asked the store owner how much he owed, he was told it was on the house. Then the owner joked that if Biden lowered taxes, he’d “call it even.”
Biden replied angrily, “Why don’t you say something nice instead of being a smartass all the time?”
First of all, they’d never met before, so how does Joe know if the guy’s a smartass “all the time.” Secondly, the VP just got a free frozen custard. He should appreciate it, rather than chewing the feller out for making a legitimate request, especially since it was made jokingly.
But that’s the attitude of this government. They want us to give and then give some more. And we’d better not complain or make any noise, because if we do, they’ll smack us down.
They forget that they work for us. There’re a lot of messes that we want cleaned up, and we don’t see the government doing anything about them. The politicians don’t care about fixing problems. They see those problems as opportunities to increase their political power.
It’s no wonder that Larry King called it quits and decided to return to his home planet.
As far as the mess in my backyard goes, I’m going to take the chainsaw and deal with it one branch at a time. Before you know it, I’ll have a nice stack of firewood.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Playing by the Rules
So there were bugs everywhere. Salmonflies…golden stones…little yellow sallies, and the fish were going nuts.
Me and Stinky Pete were up the West Fork below the dam. It was the warmest day that we’d seen since last September, and we had decided to leave our waders behind. The water was fine until you reached that critical depth that, if you went beyond, you’d flash-freeze any hope of fathering a child afterwards. Think of it as a cheap vasectomy.
Occasional cotton ball clouds provided puddles of shade that kept us from getting overheated. A bald eagle sat on top of a dead tree, letting us know whose fishing hole this really was.
The big stonefly that was crawling up my shirt reached my neck, so I plucked him off and tossed him in the river. He struggled to reach the shore, and you could almost hear his tiny screams for help as a hungry rainbow sucked him down.
The mass quantities of food that were floating on and flying over the water, had stirred up the fish like Oprah at a 200-foot Vegas buffet table. It was a frenzy of slurping and gulping, and no scrap went to waste.
Almost every cast produced a trout, and the ones that didn’t were because the fish were eating the live bugs floating around my fly. I hooked onto a fat rainbow that took off down river. He was only 17 inches long, but it was a good thing that I was using 2x tippet because in the heavy current he felt like he weighed 15 pounds.
As I horsed him into the shallow water, I worried that the hook was going to unbend from all the pressure. But I managed to bring him to the net and release him.
After a couple of hours, the hatch slowed, and the fishing tapered off along with the bugs. Me and Stinky headed back to the truck.
When we reached the access where we’d parked, the game warden was waiting. He checked our licenses and asked how the fishing was. Before he left, I thanked him for the job he was doing and told him how I thought that the penalties for breaking hunting and fishing laws should be harsher. Because those resources belong to all of us.
He said, “Did you hear about the guy who lost almost $1 million because he was fishing without a license?”
I told him that I hadn’t, so he showed me an article from the Washington Post that he’d found online. It turns out there’s an annual event in North Carolina called the Big Rock Blue Marlin Tournament. Peter Wann reeled in an 883 pounder, a tournament record by 50 puonds.
But Peter had forgotten to buy a $15 fishing license. After thinking about it for a few days, tournament officials disqualified his catch and awarded the $912,825 grand prize to the guy who caught the next biggest marlin – a 528 pounder.
“For the integrity of the Tournament, Big Rock has no choice but to enforce the rules and disqualify the fish,” they said in a statement.
I said to the game warden, “That’s a pretty steep fine for fishing without a license.”
“That’s why you gotta play by the rules,” he replied.
That got me to thinking.
A feller can get in a lot of trouble for not doing the right thing. That’s something that General Stanley McChrystal should’ve considered before he trashed President Obama and most of his top advisors in Rolling Stone.
He was already on thin ice for pissing off our allies and publicly disagreeing with the White House. He may be a great general but he forgot one of the most basic rules of employment – don’t talk bad about your boss. Even if you are “disappointed” with him.
In Afghanistan, men and women are risking their lives to achieve the President’s goals to defeat the Taliban and disable Al-Qaeda. When their boss bad-mouths Obama, it puts into question their reason for being there.
It’s kind of like being on the show The Apprentice and saying on camera that you think Donald Trump’s wig looks like the rear end of a sheltie that’s been rolling around in cow pies and vomit. You know you’re going to hear the words, “You’re fired!”
The President had to replace McChrystal for the morale of our soldiers and for the good of the continuing war effort. And maybe the general learned that if you’re going to go fishing without a license, it could wind up costing a lot more than you imagined.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Me and Stinky Pete were up the West Fork below the dam. It was the warmest day that we’d seen since last September, and we had decided to leave our waders behind. The water was fine until you reached that critical depth that, if you went beyond, you’d flash-freeze any hope of fathering a child afterwards. Think of it as a cheap vasectomy.
Occasional cotton ball clouds provided puddles of shade that kept us from getting overheated. A bald eagle sat on top of a dead tree, letting us know whose fishing hole this really was.
The big stonefly that was crawling up my shirt reached my neck, so I plucked him off and tossed him in the river. He struggled to reach the shore, and you could almost hear his tiny screams for help as a hungry rainbow sucked him down.
The mass quantities of food that were floating on and flying over the water, had stirred up the fish like Oprah at a 200-foot Vegas buffet table. It was a frenzy of slurping and gulping, and no scrap went to waste.
Almost every cast produced a trout, and the ones that didn’t were because the fish were eating the live bugs floating around my fly. I hooked onto a fat rainbow that took off down river. He was only 17 inches long, but it was a good thing that I was using 2x tippet because in the heavy current he felt like he weighed 15 pounds.
As I horsed him into the shallow water, I worried that the hook was going to unbend from all the pressure. But I managed to bring him to the net and release him.
After a couple of hours, the hatch slowed, and the fishing tapered off along with the bugs. Me and Stinky headed back to the truck.
When we reached the access where we’d parked, the game warden was waiting. He checked our licenses and asked how the fishing was. Before he left, I thanked him for the job he was doing and told him how I thought that the penalties for breaking hunting and fishing laws should be harsher. Because those resources belong to all of us.
He said, “Did you hear about the guy who lost almost $1 million because he was fishing without a license?”
I told him that I hadn’t, so he showed me an article from the Washington Post that he’d found online. It turns out there’s an annual event in North Carolina called the Big Rock Blue Marlin Tournament. Peter Wann reeled in an 883 pounder, a tournament record by 50 puonds.
But Peter had forgotten to buy a $15 fishing license. After thinking about it for a few days, tournament officials disqualified his catch and awarded the $912,825 grand prize to the guy who caught the next biggest marlin – a 528 pounder.
“For the integrity of the Tournament, Big Rock has no choice but to enforce the rules and disqualify the fish,” they said in a statement.
I said to the game warden, “That’s a pretty steep fine for fishing without a license.”
“That’s why you gotta play by the rules,” he replied.
That got me to thinking.
A feller can get in a lot of trouble for not doing the right thing. That’s something that General Stanley McChrystal should’ve considered before he trashed President Obama and most of his top advisors in Rolling Stone.
He was already on thin ice for pissing off our allies and publicly disagreeing with the White House. He may be a great general but he forgot one of the most basic rules of employment – don’t talk bad about your boss. Even if you are “disappointed” with him.
In Afghanistan, men and women are risking their lives to achieve the President’s goals to defeat the Taliban and disable Al-Qaeda. When their boss bad-mouths Obama, it puts into question their reason for being there.
It’s kind of like being on the show The Apprentice and saying on camera that you think Donald Trump’s wig looks like the rear end of a sheltie that’s been rolling around in cow pies and vomit. You know you’re going to hear the words, “You’re fired!”
The President had to replace McChrystal for the morale of our soldiers and for the good of the continuing war effort. And maybe the general learned that if you’re going to go fishing without a license, it could wind up costing a lot more than you imagined.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Border Wars
So the sound of gunfire kept getting closer, and Joan said to me, “Do you think they’ll stop before they reach the house?”
“It’s hard to say,” I replied.
You see, my property borders the Bitterroot National Forest, and it’s near an area where lots of folks like to recreate. There’s relatively easy access from the highway and plenty of camping spaces. Trail riders, ATV riders, campers, rock climbers, hunters and fishermen all like to come up here. It’s a big forest, but this particular part gets its fair share of use.
Every once in a while, somebody will have a little bit to drink, and break out their guns. It’s more likely to happen on a holiday weekend (Fourth of July is a busy time), but it seems that trees are in season year round.
Now I’ve never understood the pleasure that a man gets from stumbling around the forest in a drunken stupor, pumping the pines full of lead. But it’s a popular activity among some.
Occasionally, these fearless lumber hunters will wander close enough to my house that I get concerned for my safety. I’ve never had a bullet strike the house, or even come close, as far as I can tell. But it’s hard to ignore the approaching thunder.
On this particular Saturday afternoon, the guns were getting too close for comfort. I told Joan, “I’ve got to go out there and let them know that there are people over here.”
“You can’t go outside,” she said. “You could get killed.”
But I could get killed sitting inside the house, too. When I peeked out the window, I saw that they’d crossed over onto my property. That was too much.
I grabbed my .30-30 Winchester, stepped out onto the porch and fired a shot into the air to get their attention. It worked because they stopped and looked at me like I had 4 heads and 2 of them looked like Nancy Pelosi. I think it was the first time they noticed that there was a house a few yards away.
I explained that they’d walked onto private property, and seeing as how I wasn’t in the mood to take a stray bullet from a drunken idiot, I asked them to kindly remove themselves from the premises. They apologized and staggered back into the National Forest, winging a Douglas fir on the way out.
When I went back inside, Joan said, “That was foolish…and excessive. But it was effective.”
That got me to thinking.
What’s the proper response for removing armed invaders from your land? If you’re the United States government, the answer is to ignore them.
There’s a section of this country where law enforcement agencies can no longer protect the lives of American citizens. Even though the land is owned by the taxpayers, it’s closed to the public because the government can’t provide for the common defense of its people there.
The Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge consists of 118,000 acres of land in southern Arizona. Approximately 3,500 acres of the refuge located along the Mexican border have been closed to public use since 2006 due to safety concerns.
The notice posted by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service on their website states, “The international border with Mexico has also become increasingly violent. Assaults on law enforcement officers and violence against migrants have escalated. Violence on the Refuge associated with smugglers and border bandits has been well documented.”
In a recent statement they said, “At this time there are no plans to reopen this southernmost ¾-mile wide portion of the Refuge.” They went on to say, “The Refuge will reopen the area at such time that it is determined to be safe for visitors.”
The Fish and Wildlife Service has tried to downplay the significance of this by noting that the area is only 3% of the total refuge. That may be true, but it’s still part of the United States, and it’s under the control of coyotes and drug smugglers.
Rather than make the area unsafe for the criminals entering from Mexico, we have chosen instead to say that it’s unsafe for Americans. As far as I can tell, armed foreigners have invaded a small portion of our country and driven our citizens out. Our law enforcement agencies have been unable to regain control of the region for the past 4 years, and our federal government is doing nothing about the problem.
Are we going to quietly give up control of little pieces of our country? Are we going to let them creep north bit by bit?
If so, when they reach my doorstep here in Montana, they’re going to be greeted by my .30-30.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
“It’s hard to say,” I replied.
You see, my property borders the Bitterroot National Forest, and it’s near an area where lots of folks like to recreate. There’s relatively easy access from the highway and plenty of camping spaces. Trail riders, ATV riders, campers, rock climbers, hunters and fishermen all like to come up here. It’s a big forest, but this particular part gets its fair share of use.
Every once in a while, somebody will have a little bit to drink, and break out their guns. It’s more likely to happen on a holiday weekend (Fourth of July is a busy time), but it seems that trees are in season year round.
Now I’ve never understood the pleasure that a man gets from stumbling around the forest in a drunken stupor, pumping the pines full of lead. But it’s a popular activity among some.
Occasionally, these fearless lumber hunters will wander close enough to my house that I get concerned for my safety. I’ve never had a bullet strike the house, or even come close, as far as I can tell. But it’s hard to ignore the approaching thunder.
On this particular Saturday afternoon, the guns were getting too close for comfort. I told Joan, “I’ve got to go out there and let them know that there are people over here.”
“You can’t go outside,” she said. “You could get killed.”
But I could get killed sitting inside the house, too. When I peeked out the window, I saw that they’d crossed over onto my property. That was too much.
I grabbed my .30-30 Winchester, stepped out onto the porch and fired a shot into the air to get their attention. It worked because they stopped and looked at me like I had 4 heads and 2 of them looked like Nancy Pelosi. I think it was the first time they noticed that there was a house a few yards away.
I explained that they’d walked onto private property, and seeing as how I wasn’t in the mood to take a stray bullet from a drunken idiot, I asked them to kindly remove themselves from the premises. They apologized and staggered back into the National Forest, winging a Douglas fir on the way out.
When I went back inside, Joan said, “That was foolish…and excessive. But it was effective.”
That got me to thinking.
What’s the proper response for removing armed invaders from your land? If you’re the United States government, the answer is to ignore them.
There’s a section of this country where law enforcement agencies can no longer protect the lives of American citizens. Even though the land is owned by the taxpayers, it’s closed to the public because the government can’t provide for the common defense of its people there.
The Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge consists of 118,000 acres of land in southern Arizona. Approximately 3,500 acres of the refuge located along the Mexican border have been closed to public use since 2006 due to safety concerns.
The notice posted by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service on their website states, “The international border with Mexico has also become increasingly violent. Assaults on law enforcement officers and violence against migrants have escalated. Violence on the Refuge associated with smugglers and border bandits has been well documented.”
In a recent statement they said, “At this time there are no plans to reopen this southernmost ¾-mile wide portion of the Refuge.” They went on to say, “The Refuge will reopen the area at such time that it is determined to be safe for visitors.”
The Fish and Wildlife Service has tried to downplay the significance of this by noting that the area is only 3% of the total refuge. That may be true, but it’s still part of the United States, and it’s under the control of coyotes and drug smugglers.
Rather than make the area unsafe for the criminals entering from Mexico, we have chosen instead to say that it’s unsafe for Americans. As far as I can tell, armed foreigners have invaded a small portion of our country and driven our citizens out. Our law enforcement agencies have been unable to regain control of the region for the past 4 years, and our federal government is doing nothing about the problem.
Are we going to quietly give up control of little pieces of our country? Are we going to let them creep north bit by bit?
If so, when they reach my doorstep here in Montana, they’re going to be greeted by my .30-30.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
You Want to Kick What?
So me and Big Al and Stinky Pete were down at O’Brian’s Bar and Grill watching the NBA finals. And trying to figure out why. You see, none of us really likes basketball, and we’re all tired of watching the Lakers and the Celtics compete for the title. I reckon it was because the NHL playoffs were over.
There’s something about guys gathered around a TV in a bar watching sports – any sports – that makes us feel like we’re part of a community. It gives us a sense of camaraderie…like men in combat or in a prison gang.
While I was feeling the warmth of knowing that my homies got my back, I watched with glazed-over eyes as Kobe Bryant did something that had the announcers screaming like teenage girls at a Justin Bieber concert. I didn’t care. I just wasn’t excited about the game.
I picked up a copy of the Missoulian that someone had left at the bar and started reading. I came across an interesting article, and I said, “Hey, did you guys hear about this Hopkins feller working in a wild animal park near Glacier who got mauled by a grizzly? It says here that a judge ruled that he deserves workers’ comp even though he got stoned before coming to work.”
“No way,” replied Big Al. “If I had a job, I think I’d wait until after work to get high.”
“There’s a great quote from the judge. He said, ‘It is not as if this attack occurred when Hopkins inexplicably wandered into the grizzly pen while searching for the nearest White Castle.’”
Stinky Pete chimed in, “It shouldn’t matter. He was stoned at work.”
“The judge felt that being under the influence of marijuana was not a contributing factor,” I explained. “He said that the only major cause of the attack was the grizzly bear. So the guy got hurt on the job from circumstances that were beyond his control.”
“You know, I’d have to agree with that,” said Stinky. “A grizzly bear is definitely one of those things beyond our control.”
That got me to thinking.
There’re a lot of things that folks have no control over but somehow believe that they do.
Take fer instance President Obama saying that he’s in charge when it comes to the BP oil spill. He doesn’t know anything about drilling oil wells, so how does he know what’s best? I wonder what exactly he expects to do – put on a wetsuit, grab a giant wad of bubble gum, dive down there and just plug the hole up.
I can image the President telling BP, “So I see you guys are working hard to stop all this oil from washing up on my clean white beaches.”
“Yes sir, Mr. President.”
“Could you work any harder?”
“We’ll do our best, Mr. President.”
“Yes! That’s how a man in charge takes care of things.”
The President likes to pretend that there’s something that he can do to end this disaster, and the American people like to let him pretend. That way we can blame him.
While there’s not much Obama can do to stop the leak, there’s plenty of other stuff he could be doing. First, he could’ve come right out at the start and recognized the loss suffered by the families of the 11 men killed on the rig like he did for the West Virginia coal miners.
Second, he could order National Guard troops to the area to begin sponging up all the oil that’s on the beaches and in the marshes right now. But they’ve got to wait on an environmental assessment before they can start any clean-up effort.
The truth is that the government doesn’t want to get involved. Because if they do, BP can turn around and tell folks who’re filing claims, “It’s not our fault. We were doing great until the US government came in and messed everything up. Go talk to them.”
Last week in an interview with Matt Lauer on the Today show, Obama said that he’d been meeting with experts so he’d know “whose ass to kick.” I would’ve thought that by day 50, he’d have figured that out. Isn’t it obvious? BP is responsible; who else’s ass do you need to kick.
The President needs to be careful though. The media keeps interviewing commercial fisherman who are angry that they’re losing money, but folks need to remember that the oil industry is a much bigger part of the Gulf Coast economy than shrimp.
You kick a grizzly bear in the ass, and you may not like the results.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
There’s something about guys gathered around a TV in a bar watching sports – any sports – that makes us feel like we’re part of a community. It gives us a sense of camaraderie…like men in combat or in a prison gang.
While I was feeling the warmth of knowing that my homies got my back, I watched with glazed-over eyes as Kobe Bryant did something that had the announcers screaming like teenage girls at a Justin Bieber concert. I didn’t care. I just wasn’t excited about the game.
I picked up a copy of the Missoulian that someone had left at the bar and started reading. I came across an interesting article, and I said, “Hey, did you guys hear about this Hopkins feller working in a wild animal park near Glacier who got mauled by a grizzly? It says here that a judge ruled that he deserves workers’ comp even though he got stoned before coming to work.”
“No way,” replied Big Al. “If I had a job, I think I’d wait until after work to get high.”
“There’s a great quote from the judge. He said, ‘It is not as if this attack occurred when Hopkins inexplicably wandered into the grizzly pen while searching for the nearest White Castle.’”
Stinky Pete chimed in, “It shouldn’t matter. He was stoned at work.”
“The judge felt that being under the influence of marijuana was not a contributing factor,” I explained. “He said that the only major cause of the attack was the grizzly bear. So the guy got hurt on the job from circumstances that were beyond his control.”
“You know, I’d have to agree with that,” said Stinky. “A grizzly bear is definitely one of those things beyond our control.”
That got me to thinking.
There’re a lot of things that folks have no control over but somehow believe that they do.
Take fer instance President Obama saying that he’s in charge when it comes to the BP oil spill. He doesn’t know anything about drilling oil wells, so how does he know what’s best? I wonder what exactly he expects to do – put on a wetsuit, grab a giant wad of bubble gum, dive down there and just plug the hole up.
I can image the President telling BP, “So I see you guys are working hard to stop all this oil from washing up on my clean white beaches.”
“Yes sir, Mr. President.”
“Could you work any harder?”
“We’ll do our best, Mr. President.”
“Yes! That’s how a man in charge takes care of things.”
The President likes to pretend that there’s something that he can do to end this disaster, and the American people like to let him pretend. That way we can blame him.
While there’s not much Obama can do to stop the leak, there’s plenty of other stuff he could be doing. First, he could’ve come right out at the start and recognized the loss suffered by the families of the 11 men killed on the rig like he did for the West Virginia coal miners.
Second, he could order National Guard troops to the area to begin sponging up all the oil that’s on the beaches and in the marshes right now. But they’ve got to wait on an environmental assessment before they can start any clean-up effort.
The truth is that the government doesn’t want to get involved. Because if they do, BP can turn around and tell folks who’re filing claims, “It’s not our fault. We were doing great until the US government came in and messed everything up. Go talk to them.”
Last week in an interview with Matt Lauer on the Today show, Obama said that he’d been meeting with experts so he’d know “whose ass to kick.” I would’ve thought that by day 50, he’d have figured that out. Isn’t it obvious? BP is responsible; who else’s ass do you need to kick.
The President needs to be careful though. The media keeps interviewing commercial fisherman who are angry that they’re losing money, but folks need to remember that the oil industry is a much bigger part of the Gulf Coast economy than shrimp.
You kick a grizzly bear in the ass, and you may not like the results.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Symbol of America
So when the whitetail doe jumped up without any warning, it scared the deer pellets right out of me. She must’ve thought that by laying low in the grass she could stay hidden. But when I was about to walk right into her, she panicked and leaped up, nearly running me over. Now that’s a way to start your day that a cup of coffee can’t match.
I’d gone down to the river for a morning walk and to check on the water clarity. With the river rising from the runoff, it’d gotten murky. It’s going to be a while before the fishing is good again.
After flushing the deer like a grouse, I headed upstream along the bank. There was no place in particular that I was going to. I thought that maybe the rushing of the river would drown out the voices in my head for a while.
It’s always relaxing to walk along, take in the smells of the forest, and let your mind wander. I thought about the fish and the fishermen who are dealing with all the oil in the Gulf of Mexico, about how there will never be another Dennis Hopper, and about how the salmonflies will start to hatch soon.
An osprey called out, and I looked up in time to see him swoop down and pluck a fish from the river. It wriggled in his talons as he flew away.
Then, a bald eagle came streaking out of the sky toward the osprey. The smaller bird swerved at the last minute and took off in the other direction. The eagle was right back on him, and the two of them swirled around each other.
The eagle was bigger and faster; the osprey was quicker and more maneuverable but was hampered by the weight of the still struggling fish. After successfully defending his catch for a few minutes, the osprey eventually got tired and let the trout slip from his grasp.
The harassing eagle dove after it and snatched it out of the air. The osprey knew that he wouldn’t be able to overpower the bigger bird and flew away with his beak hung low. Confident in his air superiority, the eagle went off to eat the spoils of victory.
That got me to thinking.
Is America being unfairly criticized by the international community for using deadly force to protect our citizens in places like Afghanistan?
I know what you’re thinking, How in the world did he make that connection?
No, I haven’t lost it…yet. It’s the whole thing with the bald eagle as a symbol of America, and he’s attacking a smaller bird to get what he wants.
Anyway, a recent report to the UN Human Rights Council by Philip Alston, their Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial, Summary, or Arbitrary Executions, calls into question the legality of certain “targeted killings,” especially those by clandestine agents using unmanned drones.
The report, dated May 28, 2010, talks a whole lot about the legal framework of when it’s OK for a country to kill a specific individual, and the methods they can use to do it. If you’re in an “armed conflict” (meaning you’re at war), then it’s usually OK
If not, there are a whole set of rules you’re supposed to follow. If you’re in an intelligence agency, like the CIA, and you don’t provide all kinds of justification to the international community, then you’re an assassin and could be charged with war crimes.
The report says that the use of drones is most likely illegal because there is too much risk of civilian casualties and because it doesn’t give troops on the ground the opportunity to get the target with non-lethal force. It also states that because the operators are in a remote location looking at a computer screen “there is a risk of developing a Playstation mentality to killing.”
Basically, what Alston is trying to say is that the use of drones by the CIA to kill Al-Qaeda terrorists in Afghanistan is pre-meditated murder. Because of the secrecy, there’s no accountability. And our claim that we are acting in self-defense isn’t justified because we haven’t proved to the rest of the world that the guys we’re targeting pose an imminent risk to our country.
Like most UN reports that I’ve read, there’s a whole bunch of opinion and speculation sprinkled in amongst the facts.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the name Special Rapporteur Philip Alston accidentally popped up on a list of targets on a Langley computer. All I can tell you is Mustafa Abu al-Yazid, the number 3 man in Al-Qaeda, is dead because of a drone attack, and I feel better because of it.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
I’d gone down to the river for a morning walk and to check on the water clarity. With the river rising from the runoff, it’d gotten murky. It’s going to be a while before the fishing is good again.
After flushing the deer like a grouse, I headed upstream along the bank. There was no place in particular that I was going to. I thought that maybe the rushing of the river would drown out the voices in my head for a while.
It’s always relaxing to walk along, take in the smells of the forest, and let your mind wander. I thought about the fish and the fishermen who are dealing with all the oil in the Gulf of Mexico, about how there will never be another Dennis Hopper, and about how the salmonflies will start to hatch soon.
An osprey called out, and I looked up in time to see him swoop down and pluck a fish from the river. It wriggled in his talons as he flew away.
Then, a bald eagle came streaking out of the sky toward the osprey. The smaller bird swerved at the last minute and took off in the other direction. The eagle was right back on him, and the two of them swirled around each other.
The eagle was bigger and faster; the osprey was quicker and more maneuverable but was hampered by the weight of the still struggling fish. After successfully defending his catch for a few minutes, the osprey eventually got tired and let the trout slip from his grasp.
The harassing eagle dove after it and snatched it out of the air. The osprey knew that he wouldn’t be able to overpower the bigger bird and flew away with his beak hung low. Confident in his air superiority, the eagle went off to eat the spoils of victory.
That got me to thinking.
Is America being unfairly criticized by the international community for using deadly force to protect our citizens in places like Afghanistan?
I know what you’re thinking, How in the world did he make that connection?
No, I haven’t lost it…yet. It’s the whole thing with the bald eagle as a symbol of America, and he’s attacking a smaller bird to get what he wants.
Anyway, a recent report to the UN Human Rights Council by Philip Alston, their Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial, Summary, or Arbitrary Executions, calls into question the legality of certain “targeted killings,” especially those by clandestine agents using unmanned drones.
The report, dated May 28, 2010, talks a whole lot about the legal framework of when it’s OK for a country to kill a specific individual, and the methods they can use to do it. If you’re in an “armed conflict” (meaning you’re at war), then it’s usually OK
If not, there are a whole set of rules you’re supposed to follow. If you’re in an intelligence agency, like the CIA, and you don’t provide all kinds of justification to the international community, then you’re an assassin and could be charged with war crimes.
The report says that the use of drones is most likely illegal because there is too much risk of civilian casualties and because it doesn’t give troops on the ground the opportunity to get the target with non-lethal force. It also states that because the operators are in a remote location looking at a computer screen “there is a risk of developing a Playstation mentality to killing.”
Basically, what Alston is trying to say is that the use of drones by the CIA to kill Al-Qaeda terrorists in Afghanistan is pre-meditated murder. Because of the secrecy, there’s no accountability. And our claim that we are acting in self-defense isn’t justified because we haven’t proved to the rest of the world that the guys we’re targeting pose an imminent risk to our country.
Like most UN reports that I’ve read, there’s a whole bunch of opinion and speculation sprinkled in amongst the facts.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the name Special Rapporteur Philip Alston accidentally popped up on a list of targets on a Langley computer. All I can tell you is Mustafa Abu al-Yazid, the number 3 man in Al-Qaeda, is dead because of a drone attack, and I feel better because of it.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Grilling
So Joan decided she was going to grill some steaks all on her own. I was allowed to watch, but I was told to keep my comments to a minimum, and by no means was I supposed to touch anything.
This is the sort of thing that drives men crazy and makes them load up their guns and take out a room full of innocent bystanders. The grill is ours. We control outdoor cooking, and we can’t watch someone else do it without interfering.
I could be standing around watching Bobby Flay flipping burgers, and I’d still offer my opinion. He wouldn’t have a problem – he’d expect it. Every man has their own way of doing things when it comes to charring flesh over flames, and discussing the differences is part of the male bonding experience.
If I were to say, “Bobby, I think those burgers are looking good. Maybe they’re ready to be flipped,” nobody’s feelings would be hurt. He wouldn’t think that I was criticizing his cooking abilities, or that I was calling him fat. He wouldn’t burst into tears, run inside, and lock himself in the bathroom until I apologized and agreed to take him to the mall in Missoula for a little shopping spree.
So when Joan left the steaks on too long, I didn’t say a word. I knew they were going to be as juicy and delicious as a bowl full of sand, but I kept my mouth shut. I felt as helpless as a calf who’d been roped and bulldogged and who was about to be made into a steer.
I could fix this. I could make it better if only somebody would let me. I had to turn away to hide my frustration.
That got me to thinking.
Now I know how the National Guard troops that are assigned to the Mexican border feel.
President Obama announced last weeks that 1,200 National Guard are being sent to our southern border. At first folks thought, “Great, the federal government is finally doing something to stem the flow of illegal immigrants pouring into this country like vodka down Lindsay Lohan’s throat.”
But then the administration explained that while the Guard will be providing support, they won’t be helping the Border Patrol arrest illegal immigrants. They’ll be watching the border from remote surveillance points, analyzing intelligence coming in from other entities, and passing that information on to agents in the field.
By doing this the President said, “They can relieve border guards so that the border guards then can be in charge of law enforcement in those areas.”
US Ambassador to Mexico Carlos Pascual assured Mexican journalists that the National Guard will not be on the front lines and won’t interacting with people crossing the border. State Department spokesman Philip Crowley was quick to point out, “It’s not about immigration. It’s about the flow of certain things coming in this direction.”
I reckon by “things” he means drugs.
But according to T.J. Bonner, president of the National Border Patrol Council, a union that represents 17,000 agents, folks shouldn’t be surprised if the extra help doesn’t have much of an impact. He said, "They shouldn't expect that the announcement of up to 1,200 National Guard members will send a shock wave of fear in the cartels and that they will start playing nice."
All of this is going on at the same time that the Department of Homeland Security is telling Texas law enforcement authorities to be on the lookout for a suspected Somali man that they believe is trying to enter the country from Mexico. He’s said to be a member of the Al-Shabaab terrorist group.
Apparently, a whole bunch of these Al Shabaab guys have been coming into the country lately. Court documents that were recently unsealed accuse a Texas man of smuggling hundreds of Somalis through Brazil, South America and Mexico into the United States. Many of these illegal immigrants are suspected of having ties with Al-Shabaab, a terrorist organization in Somalia that’s aligned with Al-Qaeda.
Foxnews.com reports that according to law enforcement officials, Mexican smugglers are coaching Middle Easterners in how to look more Hispanic. In villages throughout northern Mexico, they’re being taught how to dress, how to act, and how to speak Spanish.
Despite this, Obama’s being very careful not to do anything to upset his good buddy President Calderon of Mexico. He knows that if we were to actually secure our borders, enforce our immigration laws, and stop illegal immigrants from crossing the border, then Mexican citizens couldn’t get their US taxpayer funded health care and education.
And if that happened, Calderon would stop coming to the White House barbeques.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
This is the sort of thing that drives men crazy and makes them load up their guns and take out a room full of innocent bystanders. The grill is ours. We control outdoor cooking, and we can’t watch someone else do it without interfering.
I could be standing around watching Bobby Flay flipping burgers, and I’d still offer my opinion. He wouldn’t have a problem – he’d expect it. Every man has their own way of doing things when it comes to charring flesh over flames, and discussing the differences is part of the male bonding experience.
If I were to say, “Bobby, I think those burgers are looking good. Maybe they’re ready to be flipped,” nobody’s feelings would be hurt. He wouldn’t think that I was criticizing his cooking abilities, or that I was calling him fat. He wouldn’t burst into tears, run inside, and lock himself in the bathroom until I apologized and agreed to take him to the mall in Missoula for a little shopping spree.
So when Joan left the steaks on too long, I didn’t say a word. I knew they were going to be as juicy and delicious as a bowl full of sand, but I kept my mouth shut. I felt as helpless as a calf who’d been roped and bulldogged and who was about to be made into a steer.
I could fix this. I could make it better if only somebody would let me. I had to turn away to hide my frustration.
That got me to thinking.
Now I know how the National Guard troops that are assigned to the Mexican border feel.
President Obama announced last weeks that 1,200 National Guard are being sent to our southern border. At first folks thought, “Great, the federal government is finally doing something to stem the flow of illegal immigrants pouring into this country like vodka down Lindsay Lohan’s throat.”
But then the administration explained that while the Guard will be providing support, they won’t be helping the Border Patrol arrest illegal immigrants. They’ll be watching the border from remote surveillance points, analyzing intelligence coming in from other entities, and passing that information on to agents in the field.
By doing this the President said, “They can relieve border guards so that the border guards then can be in charge of law enforcement in those areas.”
US Ambassador to Mexico Carlos Pascual assured Mexican journalists that the National Guard will not be on the front lines and won’t interacting with people crossing the border. State Department spokesman Philip Crowley was quick to point out, “It’s not about immigration. It’s about the flow of certain things coming in this direction.”
I reckon by “things” he means drugs.
But according to T.J. Bonner, president of the National Border Patrol Council, a union that represents 17,000 agents, folks shouldn’t be surprised if the extra help doesn’t have much of an impact. He said, "They shouldn't expect that the announcement of up to 1,200 National Guard members will send a shock wave of fear in the cartels and that they will start playing nice."
All of this is going on at the same time that the Department of Homeland Security is telling Texas law enforcement authorities to be on the lookout for a suspected Somali man that they believe is trying to enter the country from Mexico. He’s said to be a member of the Al-Shabaab terrorist group.
Apparently, a whole bunch of these Al Shabaab guys have been coming into the country lately. Court documents that were recently unsealed accuse a Texas man of smuggling hundreds of Somalis through Brazil, South America and Mexico into the United States. Many of these illegal immigrants are suspected of having ties with Al-Shabaab, a terrorist organization in Somalia that’s aligned with Al-Qaeda.
Foxnews.com reports that according to law enforcement officials, Mexican smugglers are coaching Middle Easterners in how to look more Hispanic. In villages throughout northern Mexico, they’re being taught how to dress, how to act, and how to speak Spanish.
Despite this, Obama’s being very careful not to do anything to upset his good buddy President Calderon of Mexico. He knows that if we were to actually secure our borders, enforce our immigration laws, and stop illegal immigrants from crossing the border, then Mexican citizens couldn’t get their US taxpayer funded health care and education.
And if that happened, Calderon would stop coming to the White House barbeques.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Opportunism Knocking
So me and Joan headed down the winding dirt road until we came across a group of cars parked on either side. I pulled off as far as I could, and we got out. I grabbed the cooler, and Joan got the chips and dip.
We walked a short way, crossed over a bridge with only a few missing planks, and arrived at a group of picnic tables. It was time for Cap’n Billy’s annual spring cookout and drunk-fest.
Each year my pal Cap’n Billy throws a party to celebrate the sun, good friends, and bad behavior. He told me that last year on the morning of the third day, he went out to his front porch and told the stragglers that they needed to find someplace else to pass out for a while.
There were hamburgers and hotdogs straight off the grill, every kind of side dish and dessert you could imagine, and plenty of cold beer. A pack of dogs patrolled around the tables, scooping up any morsels that found their way to the ground. When I set my beer down for a minute, a chocolate lab puppy rushed over and lapped it up.
As the sun dipped below the mountaintops, a campfire was lit. A late arriver walked up and shook Cap’n Billy’s hand. He grabbed a beer and started introducing himself to folks. When he got to me, he must’ve figured that he’d met most of the people there, because he stopped to have a conversation.
“I’m one of Cap’n Billy’s neighbors,” he told me. “I was drinking in a bar in Darby, and they told me I’d better go home ‘cause I can’t afford another DUI.”
“That sounds like good advice,” I said.
“But then I saw all these cars parked on the side of the road, and it looked like a party. I thought that I should check it out. It’s OK if I drink up here ‘cause the Darby Marshal don’t ever come up this way.”
“I guess the cops don’t come up here unless somebody gets shot,” I suggested.
He said, “Only if somebody calls them.”
That got me to thinking.
Folks in Western Montana don’t take kindly to the government getting involved in their affairs. They’re an independent lot, and they take care of their own business. It seems to me that maybe people in other parts of the country are starting to feel that way too.
Last week there were three Senate primary races that continued the trend of voters being fed up with incumbents in Washington. Senator Bennett of Utah and Representative Mollohan of West Virginia had failed the week before to secure a spot on the November ballot.
Usually, keeping a Senate seat is a sure thing unless the press has uncovered your extramarital affair. But things are different this year, and voters are saying they’ve had enough of the same old crap.
Democratic Senator Blanche Lincoln of Arkansas was forced into a runoff, although polls show that neither she nor her rival will win the general election against the Republican candidate. The funny thing is if you saw any of her campaign ads, you’d swear she was an Obama-hating, anti-stimulus Republican.
In the Kentucky Republican primary, Trey Grayson, who was backed by Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, was whupped by Rand Paul who was backed by the Tea Party. Of course he’ll never win the general election as long as he keeps saying that the Civil Rights Act of 1964 went too far. By the way, Paul is the son of the ever-entertaining (former) Presidential candidate Ron Paul.
And in Pennsylvania, one of the country’s most prominent opportunists Democrat/Republican/Democrat Arlen Specter, a five term Senator, lost his primary race even though he had the “full support” of both President Obama and Vice President Biden. You might recall that Specter switched parties last year because he didn’t think he could win the Republican primary. Guess what…voters saw right through that piece of insincere baloney and decided to boot him out.
What happened last week was a good start, and hopefully more of the filth, both Republican and Democrat, will be washed from the streets of Washington this fall. The only problem is that the guys who are being elected as replacements are still politicians. They’re just younger, fresher versions of the ones we’re all sick of. Once they get to the Capitol, they’re going to open their deep pockets to the same lobbyists and special interests.
Until we, as responsible citizens, take the time to get involved and get educated, we’ll be faced with the same opportunism that we’ve grown accustomed to. In elementary school, when they teach the Pledge of Allegiance, they should also teach the words to The Who song Won’t Get Fooled Again.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
We walked a short way, crossed over a bridge with only a few missing planks, and arrived at a group of picnic tables. It was time for Cap’n Billy’s annual spring cookout and drunk-fest.
Each year my pal Cap’n Billy throws a party to celebrate the sun, good friends, and bad behavior. He told me that last year on the morning of the third day, he went out to his front porch and told the stragglers that they needed to find someplace else to pass out for a while.
There were hamburgers and hotdogs straight off the grill, every kind of side dish and dessert you could imagine, and plenty of cold beer. A pack of dogs patrolled around the tables, scooping up any morsels that found their way to the ground. When I set my beer down for a minute, a chocolate lab puppy rushed over and lapped it up.
As the sun dipped below the mountaintops, a campfire was lit. A late arriver walked up and shook Cap’n Billy’s hand. He grabbed a beer and started introducing himself to folks. When he got to me, he must’ve figured that he’d met most of the people there, because he stopped to have a conversation.
“I’m one of Cap’n Billy’s neighbors,” he told me. “I was drinking in a bar in Darby, and they told me I’d better go home ‘cause I can’t afford another DUI.”
“That sounds like good advice,” I said.
“But then I saw all these cars parked on the side of the road, and it looked like a party. I thought that I should check it out. It’s OK if I drink up here ‘cause the Darby Marshal don’t ever come up this way.”
“I guess the cops don’t come up here unless somebody gets shot,” I suggested.
He said, “Only if somebody calls them.”
That got me to thinking.
Folks in Western Montana don’t take kindly to the government getting involved in their affairs. They’re an independent lot, and they take care of their own business. It seems to me that maybe people in other parts of the country are starting to feel that way too.
Last week there were three Senate primary races that continued the trend of voters being fed up with incumbents in Washington. Senator Bennett of Utah and Representative Mollohan of West Virginia had failed the week before to secure a spot on the November ballot.
Usually, keeping a Senate seat is a sure thing unless the press has uncovered your extramarital affair. But things are different this year, and voters are saying they’ve had enough of the same old crap.
Democratic Senator Blanche Lincoln of Arkansas was forced into a runoff, although polls show that neither she nor her rival will win the general election against the Republican candidate. The funny thing is if you saw any of her campaign ads, you’d swear she was an Obama-hating, anti-stimulus Republican.
In the Kentucky Republican primary, Trey Grayson, who was backed by Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, was whupped by Rand Paul who was backed by the Tea Party. Of course he’ll never win the general election as long as he keeps saying that the Civil Rights Act of 1964 went too far. By the way, Paul is the son of the ever-entertaining (former) Presidential candidate Ron Paul.
And in Pennsylvania, one of the country’s most prominent opportunists Democrat/Republican/Democrat Arlen Specter, a five term Senator, lost his primary race even though he had the “full support” of both President Obama and Vice President Biden. You might recall that Specter switched parties last year because he didn’t think he could win the Republican primary. Guess what…voters saw right through that piece of insincere baloney and decided to boot him out.
What happened last week was a good start, and hopefully more of the filth, both Republican and Democrat, will be washed from the streets of Washington this fall. The only problem is that the guys who are being elected as replacements are still politicians. They’re just younger, fresher versions of the ones we’re all sick of. Once they get to the Capitol, they’re going to open their deep pockets to the same lobbyists and special interests.
Until we, as responsible citizens, take the time to get involved and get educated, we’ll be faced with the same opportunism that we’ve grown accustomed to. In elementary school, when they teach the Pledge of Allegiance, they should also teach the words to The Who song Won’t Get Fooled Again.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, May 17, 2010
A Little TLC
So it was a beautiful morning for a hike. The temperature was in the mid 40’s, and it was bright and sunny. The forest was green from the recent rains.
I went up the canyon along an old logging road, heading to an overlook that I knew would have a gorgeous view of the canyon and the valley beyond. The trail I was following gets a lot of traffic from hunters in the fall and horseback riders on the weekends, but at this time of year, I’m usually the only one on it during the middle of the week.
As I neared the overlook, I could hear low voices and occasional laughter. Somebody else was enjoying my spot on this fine morning. No problem; there’s plenty of room to share.
To get to the view, you’ve got to leave the logging road and take a short trail over a ridge. As I topped the ridge, a familiar odor wafted around my head. In my younger days I was frequently surrounded by the smell of marijuana smoke, and I can still recognize it when I come across it.
There was a young couple sitting on a boulder, admiring the scenery, and toking on a joint. I thought it was a little early for potheads to be out and about, but I figured they were on vacation, in love, and looking for a place to get away. They were startled to see me but didn’t make an effort to conceal their actions.
My first thought was, that’s illegal. But then I remembered that President Obama has changed our country’s stance on the use of illicit substances. We no longer look at the drug trade as a criminal problem so much as it’s a public health issue.
That got me to thinking.
Here in Montana the use of marijuana for medical purposes was legalized by the state legislature. As a patient you are allowed to grow up to six plants for personal consumption, or you can have a caregiver provide it for you.
Certain caregivers have so many patients that they’ve had to open stores to accommodate all of their business. Judging by the number of stores, there’s a significant portion of the population suffering from debilitating medical conditions.
The state does little to regulate this budding industry. There’re no standards for quality, purity, or potency. They’re leaving it up to local governments to figure out how to treat the stores for zoning purposes. And when it comes to the source of all this pot, their policy is don’t ask, don’t tell.
I know folks who rely on medical marijuana to get through the day. They tell me it’s the only thing, short of heavy doses of opiates, that alleviates the pain enough so that they can live normal lives. I’m happy for them that they’re no longer criminals for trying to ease their chronic condition.
On the other hand, I think the current system is too easy to abuse. It seems to me that the supply of medical marijuana that’s currently available far exceeds what I would’ve guessed to be the demand for legal uses. I’m not saying that anybody’s breaking the law because I don’t know. The trouble is I don’t think anybody knows because there’s not enough regulation.
Here in Ravalli County, five men were recently arrested on charges relating to the theft of drugs and other items from the John Stone Foundation, a marijuana dispensary in Stevensville. One of the guys, Beau Miller, allegedly stole the stuff. The other 4 guys, one of which was the owner of the store, allegedly beat Miller with baseball bats, a flashlight, and an axe handle.
At some point during the fight, Miller pulled out a pistol. Shots were fired, but nobody got hit, and the gun was wrestled away.
Miller managed to get away and run to a nearby house. The homeowner called 911, and sheriff’s deputies arrived on the scene. Miller was bleeding heavily from two large lacerations in his head.
Now I can understand that Miller would appreciate the public health aspects of the situation, especially when he got 15 staples in his head to close one of his wounds, but it sounds to me like this was mainly criminal behavior. Who would’ve thought that trouble could come from allowing folks to sell dope from a store in a strip center along the highway?
In keeping with Obama’s new policies, perhaps all that these gentlemen need is some counseling, medication, and time for rehab. A little TLC (or is it THC) goes a long way.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
I went up the canyon along an old logging road, heading to an overlook that I knew would have a gorgeous view of the canyon and the valley beyond. The trail I was following gets a lot of traffic from hunters in the fall and horseback riders on the weekends, but at this time of year, I’m usually the only one on it during the middle of the week.
As I neared the overlook, I could hear low voices and occasional laughter. Somebody else was enjoying my spot on this fine morning. No problem; there’s plenty of room to share.
To get to the view, you’ve got to leave the logging road and take a short trail over a ridge. As I topped the ridge, a familiar odor wafted around my head. In my younger days I was frequently surrounded by the smell of marijuana smoke, and I can still recognize it when I come across it.
There was a young couple sitting on a boulder, admiring the scenery, and toking on a joint. I thought it was a little early for potheads to be out and about, but I figured they were on vacation, in love, and looking for a place to get away. They were startled to see me but didn’t make an effort to conceal their actions.
My first thought was, that’s illegal. But then I remembered that President Obama has changed our country’s stance on the use of illicit substances. We no longer look at the drug trade as a criminal problem so much as it’s a public health issue.
That got me to thinking.
Here in Montana the use of marijuana for medical purposes was legalized by the state legislature. As a patient you are allowed to grow up to six plants for personal consumption, or you can have a caregiver provide it for you.
Certain caregivers have so many patients that they’ve had to open stores to accommodate all of their business. Judging by the number of stores, there’s a significant portion of the population suffering from debilitating medical conditions.
The state does little to regulate this budding industry. There’re no standards for quality, purity, or potency. They’re leaving it up to local governments to figure out how to treat the stores for zoning purposes. And when it comes to the source of all this pot, their policy is don’t ask, don’t tell.
I know folks who rely on medical marijuana to get through the day. They tell me it’s the only thing, short of heavy doses of opiates, that alleviates the pain enough so that they can live normal lives. I’m happy for them that they’re no longer criminals for trying to ease their chronic condition.
On the other hand, I think the current system is too easy to abuse. It seems to me that the supply of medical marijuana that’s currently available far exceeds what I would’ve guessed to be the demand for legal uses. I’m not saying that anybody’s breaking the law because I don’t know. The trouble is I don’t think anybody knows because there’s not enough regulation.
Here in Ravalli County, five men were recently arrested on charges relating to the theft of drugs and other items from the John Stone Foundation, a marijuana dispensary in Stevensville. One of the guys, Beau Miller, allegedly stole the stuff. The other 4 guys, one of which was the owner of the store, allegedly beat Miller with baseball bats, a flashlight, and an axe handle.
At some point during the fight, Miller pulled out a pistol. Shots were fired, but nobody got hit, and the gun was wrestled away.
Miller managed to get away and run to a nearby house. The homeowner called 911, and sheriff’s deputies arrived on the scene. Miller was bleeding heavily from two large lacerations in his head.
Now I can understand that Miller would appreciate the public health aspects of the situation, especially when he got 15 staples in his head to close one of his wounds, but it sounds to me like this was mainly criminal behavior. Who would’ve thought that trouble could come from allowing folks to sell dope from a store in a strip center along the highway?
In keeping with Obama’s new policies, perhaps all that these gentlemen need is some counseling, medication, and time for rehab. A little TLC (or is it THC) goes a long way.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Unfriended
So just when I thought I was going to land the 17-inch cutthroat, my line went slack, and the newly liberated trout disappeared under a nearby brush pile. It was enough to ruin a guy’s day.
My pal Stinky Pete had called me up that morning and said, “Let’s go fishing.”
He didn’t need to say anything more than that. I grabbed my gear and met him at the Wally Crawford access. He brought his raft, and we went up and put in at the Darby Bridge.
The weather’s been typical for springtime in the northern Rockies. In other words – completely unpredictable. With a series of weather systems moving through the area, the fishing’s been pretty spotty, but if you hit it right, you can get into some good fish.
Me and Stinky didn’t hit it right.
We were fishing with big, black-butt skwala patterns that were Stinky’s own design. According to him, most folks don’t get the body color right, but he’d found the perfect match. Behind those we were dropping March browns.
“Your arms are going to get pulled right out of their sockets from all the fish tugging on your line,” he told me.
We spent most of the day commenting on the scenery and how nice it was to be out on the river. We told ourselves, “The fishing may not be great, but it beats the heck out of being in the office.”
That’s true, but it sucks compared to catching fish.
We had a few little ones come up and bite at our flies, but most of them were so small that they got scared by the size of our bugs and turned away.
Around 2 in the afternoon, I finally got a nice fish to bite. He had plenty of fight in him, and we wrestled for a bit. I thought I had him tired out, and I was trying to lead him into the net that Stinky was holding.
Suddenly, the trout jerked his head downstream. There was too much pressure on my line to absorb the shock and my leader snapped. That’s when my line went slack, and my day was ruined.
Stinky laughed, and using the latest social networking lingo, he said, “You’ve just been unfriended.”
That got me to thinking.
As a so-called “blogger” of sorts, I’m supposed to know all about social networking stuff, but I don’t know squat. I guess that sort of thing could be helpful for attracting more readers. But I’m not sure how useful it’d be, or if it’d be worth all the trouble.
I’ve been thinking about getting a Facebook page, and I keep asking myself, do I really need more friends?
I know a lot of folks use sites like Facebook and MySpace to stay in touch with buddies, share pictures and stories, and some even use it to talk with clients. But it seems to me that these sites cause a lot of problems too.
There are plenty of stories of cyber-bullying, pedophiles finding targets, and inappropriate photos of young girls getting posted. Just ask John Stossel. Teenagers social lives’ have been ruined, folks have lost their jobs, and people have committed suicide because of things posted on these innocent websites.
Now there’s a new danger from social networking…divorce. According to The Sunday Mail, a newspaper in Queensland Australia, “Marriage counselors claim sites like Facebook are contributing to separations and divorce as bored 40 and 50-somethings try to reconnect with childhood sweethearts.”
Websites can’t cause folks to cheat. If a person is going to have an affair, they’ll find a way to do it. But talking through the internet might be easier to hide than using the phone or meeting in person.
The Sunday Mail went on to say, “British divorce firm Divorce-Online said Facebook was cited in one-fifth of the divorce petitions it processed last year.”
There’s no shortage of divorce websites. They make it fast, easy and inexpensive to kick your spouse to the curb. Facebook may be causing marital strife, but maybe online divorce services contribute to the problem, as well.
Nowadays you can have an affair, get a divorce, and get married again without leaving the comfort of your La-Z-Boy recliner. That’s not the sort of social networking that I need to get involved with.
Getting rejected by a trout is a painful experience, but when you get an e-mail from your spouse telling you it’s over, that’s the ultimate form of being unfriended.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
My pal Stinky Pete had called me up that morning and said, “Let’s go fishing.”
He didn’t need to say anything more than that. I grabbed my gear and met him at the Wally Crawford access. He brought his raft, and we went up and put in at the Darby Bridge.
The weather’s been typical for springtime in the northern Rockies. In other words – completely unpredictable. With a series of weather systems moving through the area, the fishing’s been pretty spotty, but if you hit it right, you can get into some good fish.
Me and Stinky didn’t hit it right.
We were fishing with big, black-butt skwala patterns that were Stinky’s own design. According to him, most folks don’t get the body color right, but he’d found the perfect match. Behind those we were dropping March browns.
“Your arms are going to get pulled right out of their sockets from all the fish tugging on your line,” he told me.
We spent most of the day commenting on the scenery and how nice it was to be out on the river. We told ourselves, “The fishing may not be great, but it beats the heck out of being in the office.”
That’s true, but it sucks compared to catching fish.
We had a few little ones come up and bite at our flies, but most of them were so small that they got scared by the size of our bugs and turned away.
Around 2 in the afternoon, I finally got a nice fish to bite. He had plenty of fight in him, and we wrestled for a bit. I thought I had him tired out, and I was trying to lead him into the net that Stinky was holding.
Suddenly, the trout jerked his head downstream. There was too much pressure on my line to absorb the shock and my leader snapped. That’s when my line went slack, and my day was ruined.
Stinky laughed, and using the latest social networking lingo, he said, “You’ve just been unfriended.”
That got me to thinking.
As a so-called “blogger” of sorts, I’m supposed to know all about social networking stuff, but I don’t know squat. I guess that sort of thing could be helpful for attracting more readers. But I’m not sure how useful it’d be, or if it’d be worth all the trouble.
I’ve been thinking about getting a Facebook page, and I keep asking myself, do I really need more friends?
I know a lot of folks use sites like Facebook and MySpace to stay in touch with buddies, share pictures and stories, and some even use it to talk with clients. But it seems to me that these sites cause a lot of problems too.
There are plenty of stories of cyber-bullying, pedophiles finding targets, and inappropriate photos of young girls getting posted. Just ask John Stossel. Teenagers social lives’ have been ruined, folks have lost their jobs, and people have committed suicide because of things posted on these innocent websites.
Now there’s a new danger from social networking…divorce. According to The Sunday Mail, a newspaper in Queensland Australia, “Marriage counselors claim sites like Facebook are contributing to separations and divorce as bored 40 and 50-somethings try to reconnect with childhood sweethearts.”
Websites can’t cause folks to cheat. If a person is going to have an affair, they’ll find a way to do it. But talking through the internet might be easier to hide than using the phone or meeting in person.
The Sunday Mail went on to say, “British divorce firm Divorce-Online said Facebook was cited in one-fifth of the divorce petitions it processed last year.”
There’s no shortage of divorce websites. They make it fast, easy and inexpensive to kick your spouse to the curb. Facebook may be causing marital strife, but maybe online divorce services contribute to the problem, as well.
Nowadays you can have an affair, get a divorce, and get married again without leaving the comfort of your La-Z-Boy recliner. That’s not the sort of social networking that I need to get involved with.
Getting rejected by a trout is a painful experience, but when you get an e-mail from your spouse telling you it’s over, that’s the ultimate form of being unfriended.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Species Profiling
So even though it was raining, snowing, windy and nasty, it’s springtime and I was going to have a barbeque. I smoked a few racks of ribs and grilled some flank steak and corn, and Joan made salad and potatoes.
The whole gang showed up, and we pretended not to notice the cold weather while we huddled around the fire, drinking beer and swapping fish stories.
After the required amount of fermented grain goodness had been consumed, the conversation focused on the qualities associated with the different species of trout. Everyone had a favorite, and they wanted the rest of us to know exactly why their choice was the best.
John the Baptist, whose name is John but who isn’t Baptist, started the whole mess by saying, “You know…I like to catch brook trout. There’s so few of them in the Bitterroot that when you catch one, you get a real sense of accomplishment. Plus, they look so different from all the others. I think they’re cool.”
Big Al said, “If you think rare is cool, then bull trout are the best fish to catch. Now that’s an accomplishment, and they grow to be humongous.”
“Bull trout aren’t even trout,” Stinky Pete replied. “They’re misnamed. And if you’re going to go after bulls or brookies, you might as well try catching lake trout, or barracuda for that matter. You’ll have just as much luck finding those in the Bitterroot.
“Brown trout are your best chance to catch a big fish in this river. There are plenty of them, but they’re smart. You’ve got to know what you’re doing if you’re going to land a big brownie on a dry fly.”
Nick Dixon said, “Cutthroat trout are the true indigenous fish to this area. As such, there’s a certain nobility to catching a wild cutt in its native waters. There’s a connection to history and to your natural surroundings that you can’t get with other species.”
“Dude, cutthroats are idiots,” replied Hippie Dave. “They’ll bite anything, and they don’t put up much of a fight. Pound for pound the best type of trout is a rainbow. They get big, and they’re the strongest swimmers. None of the others jump like a rainbow either. There’s no question that they’re the best…end of story, man.”
“All of those are stereotypes,” I said. “Each species has certain tendencies, but an individual trout is going to act based on instinct and its natural abilities. I’ve seen brownies jump, cutts fight like heck, and rainbows dive for the bottom. The best trout is the one on the end of my line. Y’all are engaging in species profiling.”
That got me to thinking.
Racial profiling has become a hot topic lately. In case you’ve been in a drunken stupor for the past couple of weeks and just sobered up, the state of Arizona passed a law that says police are required to make a reasonable attempt to determine the immigration status of a person that they reasonably suspect is in this country illegally.
Why do we have to pass laws making it illegal to commit crimes that are already on the books? They’re called illegal aliens because they’re here unlawfully. The new Arizona law doesn’t do much more than give state and local law enforcement officials the same rights and responsibilities as federal officials when it comes to immigration issues.
Critics say that this will lead to cops harassing folks because of their appearance and skin color. They say it will be like Nazi Germany. They describe scenes like in the movies where SS officers are searching a trainload of passengers saying, “Let me see your papers. Your papers appear to be out of order. You will come with us.”
I imagine that Arizona law enforcement officials would need more than the way somebody looks to be reasonably suspicious of their citizenship status. If a cop stops a truck that’s crossing the desert in 115 degree heat with 40 scared, dehydrated people who don’t speak English in the un-air conditioned trailer, then he might want to find out a little bit about their immigration status.
President Obama called the legislation “misguided.” Liberal pundits have declared it unconstitutional. I’m sure the courts will determine that it unfairly targets a particular segment of the population.
I understand that illegal aliens provide much needed cheap labor. In exchange they get paid, they get tax-payer funded indigent medical care, and their children get educated in our public schools. They don’t pay taxes.
The point is illegal immigrants are breaking the law, which makes them criminals. I don’t believe that it’s misguided or unconstitutional to want our federal laws enforced. And if the feds won’t do it, then I guess it’s up to local governments to pick up the slack.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
The whole gang showed up, and we pretended not to notice the cold weather while we huddled around the fire, drinking beer and swapping fish stories.
After the required amount of fermented grain goodness had been consumed, the conversation focused on the qualities associated with the different species of trout. Everyone had a favorite, and they wanted the rest of us to know exactly why their choice was the best.
John the Baptist, whose name is John but who isn’t Baptist, started the whole mess by saying, “You know…I like to catch brook trout. There’s so few of them in the Bitterroot that when you catch one, you get a real sense of accomplishment. Plus, they look so different from all the others. I think they’re cool.”
Big Al said, “If you think rare is cool, then bull trout are the best fish to catch. Now that’s an accomplishment, and they grow to be humongous.”
“Bull trout aren’t even trout,” Stinky Pete replied. “They’re misnamed. And if you’re going to go after bulls or brookies, you might as well try catching lake trout, or barracuda for that matter. You’ll have just as much luck finding those in the Bitterroot.
“Brown trout are your best chance to catch a big fish in this river. There are plenty of them, but they’re smart. You’ve got to know what you’re doing if you’re going to land a big brownie on a dry fly.”
Nick Dixon said, “Cutthroat trout are the true indigenous fish to this area. As such, there’s a certain nobility to catching a wild cutt in its native waters. There’s a connection to history and to your natural surroundings that you can’t get with other species.”
“Dude, cutthroats are idiots,” replied Hippie Dave. “They’ll bite anything, and they don’t put up much of a fight. Pound for pound the best type of trout is a rainbow. They get big, and they’re the strongest swimmers. None of the others jump like a rainbow either. There’s no question that they’re the best…end of story, man.”
“All of those are stereotypes,” I said. “Each species has certain tendencies, but an individual trout is going to act based on instinct and its natural abilities. I’ve seen brownies jump, cutts fight like heck, and rainbows dive for the bottom. The best trout is the one on the end of my line. Y’all are engaging in species profiling.”
That got me to thinking.
Racial profiling has become a hot topic lately. In case you’ve been in a drunken stupor for the past couple of weeks and just sobered up, the state of Arizona passed a law that says police are required to make a reasonable attempt to determine the immigration status of a person that they reasonably suspect is in this country illegally.
Why do we have to pass laws making it illegal to commit crimes that are already on the books? They’re called illegal aliens because they’re here unlawfully. The new Arizona law doesn’t do much more than give state and local law enforcement officials the same rights and responsibilities as federal officials when it comes to immigration issues.
Critics say that this will lead to cops harassing folks because of their appearance and skin color. They say it will be like Nazi Germany. They describe scenes like in the movies where SS officers are searching a trainload of passengers saying, “Let me see your papers. Your papers appear to be out of order. You will come with us.”
I imagine that Arizona law enforcement officials would need more than the way somebody looks to be reasonably suspicious of their citizenship status. If a cop stops a truck that’s crossing the desert in 115 degree heat with 40 scared, dehydrated people who don’t speak English in the un-air conditioned trailer, then he might want to find out a little bit about their immigration status.
President Obama called the legislation “misguided.” Liberal pundits have declared it unconstitutional. I’m sure the courts will determine that it unfairly targets a particular segment of the population.
I understand that illegal aliens provide much needed cheap labor. In exchange they get paid, they get tax-payer funded indigent medical care, and their children get educated in our public schools. They don’t pay taxes.
The point is illegal immigrants are breaking the law, which makes them criminals. I don’t believe that it’s misguided or unconstitutional to want our federal laws enforced. And if the feds won’t do it, then I guess it’s up to local governments to pick up the slack.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sparkle of Hope
So I was working out on the treadmill the other morning listening to my computer-music-download-player-thingy when a Dire Straits tune called The Man’s Too Strong came on. I hadn’t heard it in a while, and some of the words caused me to stop and think.
The particular lyrics that caught my attention go like this: Father please hear my confession/I have legalized robbery/Called it a belief/I have run with the money/And hid like a thief/I have re-written history/With my armies and my crooks/Invented memories/I did burn all the books.
It hit me that anytime folks are upset about the government overstepping its bounds, lyrics like these are especially appropriate. With deficits out of control and taxes skyrocketing to fund health care reform and financial regulation reform, that part about legalizing robbery fits in pretty well with what’s happening today.
Speaking of reform, why is it that we have so much of it all of a sudden? Besides the two I just mentioned, there’s credit card reform, housing finance reform, immigration reform, education reform, energy reform, and environmental reform. And I’m sure there are plenty more.
When you look up reform in the dictionary, you’ll find definitions that include words like faulty, defective, abuse, corrupt, and depraved. Was our country really in that bad of shape before Obama became President? I didn’t know it, but every time I went to the doctor, put money in the bank, or drove my car, I was part of some giant evil plot.
And the plot is getting worse according to Bertha Lewis, CEO of ACORN. In her speech to a group called the Young Democratic Socialists, this is what she had to say, “…you guys know right now we are living in a time which is going to dwarf the McCarthy era. It is going to dwarf the internment during World War II. We are right now in a time that is going to dwarf the era of Jim Crow and segregation.”
She went on to say, “This is not rhetoric or hyperbole – this is real. The rise of this Tea Party so-called movement – bowel movement in my estimation – and this blatant uncovering and ripping off the mask of racism.”
Apparently, thinking that it’s wrong to give advice to pimps and prostitutes on how to get around federal tax laws is racism. And Ms. Lewis wonders why the government wants to stop funding her organization.
After I finished going nowhere for an hour on the treadmill, I went to find Joan to tell her about this strange string of thoughts that had wandered through my head. I found her at the computer, laughing hysterically.
She was reading an article on FoxNews.com about the latest fashion trend. It’s called Vajazzling.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a cross between bedazzling and vajayjay,” she said. “Is that self-explanatory enough, or do you want to hear the details?”
When I told her I had no idea what she was talking about, she described the process to me. A woman goes into a salon and gets a waxing. Then she picks out a design, like a tattoo but more like geometric shapes. Tiny crystals are glued to the freshly cleared area in the chosen pattern.
The design can be as complicated and as far down as a woman is willing to go with her deforestation. Some are simple star shapes that may peek up above a pair of low-rise jeans, or they may be like what Jennifer Love Hewitt recently described on several talk shows. She said hers made things down there look like a “pink disco ball.”
One salon in New York City called Completely Bare offers designs using Swarovski crystals in prices ranging from $115 to $750, including wax. As Joan put it, “It’s all the rage in the sophisticated, fashion-conscience, urban centers of the world.”
That got me to thinking.
Smart folks who write books talk about how when a society switches from net producer to net consumer, it can no longer sustain itself. From that point, its decline is inevitable.
When consumerism reaches a point where little fake gems to stick on your private parts become a sign of social status and one of the most prized items to purchase, the end can’t be far away.
Food, clothing, and shelter are considered the essential items necessary for survival. I don’t think Vajazzling qualifies as a top survival need. As a society moves further away from producing and consuming the basics, its purpose becomes less vital.
But there I go rambling again. I don’t really believe that Vajazzling will be the downfall of our culture. I reckon the point is that during these times of economic hardship, reform and racism, we could all use a tiny sparkle of hope in our lives. We’re going to need it.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
The particular lyrics that caught my attention go like this: Father please hear my confession/I have legalized robbery/Called it a belief/I have run with the money/And hid like a thief/I have re-written history/With my armies and my crooks/Invented memories/I did burn all the books.
It hit me that anytime folks are upset about the government overstepping its bounds, lyrics like these are especially appropriate. With deficits out of control and taxes skyrocketing to fund health care reform and financial regulation reform, that part about legalizing robbery fits in pretty well with what’s happening today.
Speaking of reform, why is it that we have so much of it all of a sudden? Besides the two I just mentioned, there’s credit card reform, housing finance reform, immigration reform, education reform, energy reform, and environmental reform. And I’m sure there are plenty more.
When you look up reform in the dictionary, you’ll find definitions that include words like faulty, defective, abuse, corrupt, and depraved. Was our country really in that bad of shape before Obama became President? I didn’t know it, but every time I went to the doctor, put money in the bank, or drove my car, I was part of some giant evil plot.
And the plot is getting worse according to Bertha Lewis, CEO of ACORN. In her speech to a group called the Young Democratic Socialists, this is what she had to say, “…you guys know right now we are living in a time which is going to dwarf the McCarthy era. It is going to dwarf the internment during World War II. We are right now in a time that is going to dwarf the era of Jim Crow and segregation.”
She went on to say, “This is not rhetoric or hyperbole – this is real. The rise of this Tea Party so-called movement – bowel movement in my estimation – and this blatant uncovering and ripping off the mask of racism.”
Apparently, thinking that it’s wrong to give advice to pimps and prostitutes on how to get around federal tax laws is racism. And Ms. Lewis wonders why the government wants to stop funding her organization.
After I finished going nowhere for an hour on the treadmill, I went to find Joan to tell her about this strange string of thoughts that had wandered through my head. I found her at the computer, laughing hysterically.
She was reading an article on FoxNews.com about the latest fashion trend. It’s called Vajazzling.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a cross between bedazzling and vajayjay,” she said. “Is that self-explanatory enough, or do you want to hear the details?”
When I told her I had no idea what she was talking about, she described the process to me. A woman goes into a salon and gets a waxing. Then she picks out a design, like a tattoo but more like geometric shapes. Tiny crystals are glued to the freshly cleared area in the chosen pattern.
The design can be as complicated and as far down as a woman is willing to go with her deforestation. Some are simple star shapes that may peek up above a pair of low-rise jeans, or they may be like what Jennifer Love Hewitt recently described on several talk shows. She said hers made things down there look like a “pink disco ball.”
One salon in New York City called Completely Bare offers designs using Swarovski crystals in prices ranging from $115 to $750, including wax. As Joan put it, “It’s all the rage in the sophisticated, fashion-conscience, urban centers of the world.”
That got me to thinking.
Smart folks who write books talk about how when a society switches from net producer to net consumer, it can no longer sustain itself. From that point, its decline is inevitable.
When consumerism reaches a point where little fake gems to stick on your private parts become a sign of social status and one of the most prized items to purchase, the end can’t be far away.
Food, clothing, and shelter are considered the essential items necessary for survival. I don’t think Vajazzling qualifies as a top survival need. As a society moves further away from producing and consuming the basics, its purpose becomes less vital.
But there I go rambling again. I don’t really believe that Vajazzling will be the downfall of our culture. I reckon the point is that during these times of economic hardship, reform and racism, we could all use a tiny sparkle of hope in our lives. We’re going to need it.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Copyright 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
We Like It
So me and Joan met my pal Hippie Dave and his girlfriend Nancy down at O’Brian’s Bar and Grill for an early supper. We sat at a 4-top and ordered drinks and burgers.
We were enjoying our refreshing cold beverages and anticipating our hot, juicy beef on a bun, when the front door swung open and in walked Stinky Pete. He was soaking wet and had that wild look in his eyes like somebody who’d been zapped with a joy buzzer one too many times. Whatever was bothering him, he no longer thought that it was funny.
He ordered a Jagermeister and a beer and, without waiting for an invitation, pulled a chair up to our table. Joan and Nancy slid over to make room. He threw back his shot, took a swig of beer, and sat there glaring, a puddle of water forming at his feet.
Since nobody else was going to do it, I asked, “What’s up, Stinky?”
He’d been out guiding, and the weather hadn’t cooperated. It rained, it snowed, the wind blew, the sun came out, and then it really rained.
He complained about how his clients couldn’t cast, they couldn’t set the hook, and they didn’t know how to fight a fish if they hooked one. I quietly suggested that those were probably the reasons why they hired a guide, but when Stinky gave me his death stare, I didn’t push the issue.
Then, when he was putting his raft on the trailer, one of the clients got enthusiastic about helping him and wound up dropping an oar in the river. As he was hurrying downstream after it, Stinky slipped and fell in the water, getting even wetter than he already was.
“All in all, I’d have to say that it was a pretty crappy day fishing,” Stinky said as he finished up his tale of misery and woe.
Dave said, “Dude, you’re missing the point. You get paid to fish.”
That got me to thinking.
There are some folks who take for granted the blessings that have been bestowed upon them. Take fer instance the Commander-in-Chief of our armed forces, Barak Obama.
At the end of the 2-day nuclear security summit in Washington, DC last week, he was asked about how the summit would affect the efforts to bring peace to the Middle East. In his response, the President said, “It is a vital national security interest of the United States to reduce these conflicts because, whether we like it or not, we remain a dominant military superpower, and when conflicts break out, one way or another, we get pulled into them.”
Whether we like it or not? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I’ve got news for you pal…we like it. Obviously, Obama has no regard for the determined American spirit and the sacrifice that made us a dominant military superpower. It also seems like he’d rather not remain in that position.
Many brave men and women fought and died so that the President could represent our interests and the interests of freedom around the globe. He would do well to honor their memory.
The role that the United States has played in the world by virtue of its dominant status is that of defender of the defenseless, liberator of the oppressed, and enemy of tyrants. Throughout our country’s brief history we have confronted evil and righted injustice. These are not things to apologize for or to be ashamed of.
What would Obama prefer? That we were a second rate country who’s opinion carried no weight with other leaders. Well, that would certainly make his job easier now wouldn’t it? But that’s not the job he was elected to do.
I didn’t vote for him, but I still require that he act like the leader of the free world. Not like some American Idol contestant who can’t sing but still grovels at Simon Cowell’s feet while desperately begging for some sign of approval.
To quote the movie Spider-Man, “With great power comes great responsibility.” The President of the United States can act as a force of good because the office and the country command respect.
While the President’s approval rating here in America has dropped to a new low, he still remains very popular in Europe. I figure he’d have been better off as president of France.
Obama may feel that groveling and apologizing will get him what he wants on the international stage, but I say, “Dude, you’re missing the point. You get paid to lead and, thanks to those who’ve gone before you, you’ve got the tools to do it.”
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
We were enjoying our refreshing cold beverages and anticipating our hot, juicy beef on a bun, when the front door swung open and in walked Stinky Pete. He was soaking wet and had that wild look in his eyes like somebody who’d been zapped with a joy buzzer one too many times. Whatever was bothering him, he no longer thought that it was funny.
He ordered a Jagermeister and a beer and, without waiting for an invitation, pulled a chair up to our table. Joan and Nancy slid over to make room. He threw back his shot, took a swig of beer, and sat there glaring, a puddle of water forming at his feet.
Since nobody else was going to do it, I asked, “What’s up, Stinky?”
He’d been out guiding, and the weather hadn’t cooperated. It rained, it snowed, the wind blew, the sun came out, and then it really rained.
He complained about how his clients couldn’t cast, they couldn’t set the hook, and they didn’t know how to fight a fish if they hooked one. I quietly suggested that those were probably the reasons why they hired a guide, but when Stinky gave me his death stare, I didn’t push the issue.
Then, when he was putting his raft on the trailer, one of the clients got enthusiastic about helping him and wound up dropping an oar in the river. As he was hurrying downstream after it, Stinky slipped and fell in the water, getting even wetter than he already was.
“All in all, I’d have to say that it was a pretty crappy day fishing,” Stinky said as he finished up his tale of misery and woe.
Dave said, “Dude, you’re missing the point. You get paid to fish.”
That got me to thinking.
There are some folks who take for granted the blessings that have been bestowed upon them. Take fer instance the Commander-in-Chief of our armed forces, Barak Obama.
At the end of the 2-day nuclear security summit in Washington, DC last week, he was asked about how the summit would affect the efforts to bring peace to the Middle East. In his response, the President said, “It is a vital national security interest of the United States to reduce these conflicts because, whether we like it or not, we remain a dominant military superpower, and when conflicts break out, one way or another, we get pulled into them.”
Whether we like it or not? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I’ve got news for you pal…we like it. Obviously, Obama has no regard for the determined American spirit and the sacrifice that made us a dominant military superpower. It also seems like he’d rather not remain in that position.
Many brave men and women fought and died so that the President could represent our interests and the interests of freedom around the globe. He would do well to honor their memory.
The role that the United States has played in the world by virtue of its dominant status is that of defender of the defenseless, liberator of the oppressed, and enemy of tyrants. Throughout our country’s brief history we have confronted evil and righted injustice. These are not things to apologize for or to be ashamed of.
What would Obama prefer? That we were a second rate country who’s opinion carried no weight with other leaders. Well, that would certainly make his job easier now wouldn’t it? But that’s not the job he was elected to do.
I didn’t vote for him, but I still require that he act like the leader of the free world. Not like some American Idol contestant who can’t sing but still grovels at Simon Cowell’s feet while desperately begging for some sign of approval.
To quote the movie Spider-Man, “With great power comes great responsibility.” The President of the United States can act as a force of good because the office and the country command respect.
While the President’s approval rating here in America has dropped to a new low, he still remains very popular in Europe. I figure he’d have been better off as president of France.
Obama may feel that groveling and apologizing will get him what he wants on the international stage, but I say, “Dude, you’re missing the point. You get paid to lead and, thanks to those who’ve gone before you, you’ve got the tools to do it.”
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Sporting Life
So let’s talk about sports. Last week the Butler Bulldogs came close to pulling off one of the biggest upsets in NCAA basketball history.
The crowd was definitely pulling for the underdogs, who hadn’t been given much credit when the playoff brackets were announced. Several analysts had said that Butler was overrated and that they would be the number 5 seed that would be upset in the first round by a 12 seed.
With time running out Gordon Hayward put up the potentially championship-winning shot only to have it bounce off the rim and fall to the floor. Most basketball fans couldn’t believe the miracle run was over. In the end, it proved one thing – Duke is the best team in the country.
The NCAA women’s tournament came down to unbeaten Connecticut vs. once-beaten Stanford. The last time UConn lost a game was in the 2008 Final Four to Stanford. The only loss the Cardinal had this season was to the Huskies. After a sloppy first half, UConn came from behind to win, extending their unbeaten streak to 78 games.
Major League Baseball began their 2010 season, and fans of our national pastime headed out to the ballpark to root, root, root for the home team. With no major sex scandals or steroid controversies, baseball got off to a quiet start. In fact, if you aren’t a fantasy fanatic, you might’ve missed it.
Of course, the NBA and the NHL are getting geared up for the playoffs. You know there’s at least one young hockey player out there who can’t wait to use Lord Stanley’s Cup as a big shiny beer mug.
Finally, Tiger Woods returned to competition in the Masters Golf Tournament. He lost, but that’s not really important. What is important is that he and his sponsors are making money again.
On Tuesday, the video game company Electronic Arts launched Tiger Woods PGA Tour Online. The New York Times quoted Peter Moore, president of EA Sports, as saying, “We think this will be a productivity killer.” He’s betting on the fact that middle-aged, male, golf/video game fans don’t care about Tiger’s extra-curricular activities. And he’ll probably win that bet.
I haven’t played it, but from their website you can get a feel for what the game entails. It’s free, and you can play virtual golf with folks all over the world, but if you want to get to the point where you can compete at the highest levels, you’re going to have to shell out a few bucks to upgrade your gear. And if they add an after-the-match party mode in a future release, the private rooms at the strip clubs won’t come cheap either.
Maybe one of the upgrades you can buy will be a virtual house call from Dr. Anthony Galea who’s being investigated for providing performance enhancing drugs to NFL and Major League Baseball players. According to The Huffington Post, he was seen at Tiger’s house at least four times during February and March.
Nike got back into the game with new ads featuring Tiger staring at the camera with his dead dad’s voice saying, “I want to find out what your thinking was. I want to find out what your feelings are. Did you learn anything?”
That got me to thinking.
Tiger’s dad, Earl, also cheated on his wife. He could have been a contributing factor in Tiger’s unfaithful behavior…he’s gone, and we’ll never know. Maybe what he was asking was, “Did you learn how to not get caught next time?”
There were other folks cashing in on Tiger’s appearance at the Masters. Former mistress Joslyn James teamed up with the Pink Pony, an Atlanta strip club, to perform on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday Atlanta is only about 150 miles from Augusta, where the tournament is played.
The club’s website posed the question, “Will Tiger come to see her at the Pony?”
At a recent press conference, Joslyn, who’s appeared in 16 adult films, was asked if she would attend the golf tournament. Her lawyer, Gloria Allred, replied that she wouldn’t because Augusta National “still excludes women from membership in the same way that they used to exclude African-Americans.”
Way to make a stand for women’s rights. I’m sure she’ll work that into her act at the Pony.
Anyway, it was a big week in sports.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
For more go to http://www.dustwinslow.com/.
© Copyright 2010
The crowd was definitely pulling for the underdogs, who hadn’t been given much credit when the playoff brackets were announced. Several analysts had said that Butler was overrated and that they would be the number 5 seed that would be upset in the first round by a 12 seed.
With time running out Gordon Hayward put up the potentially championship-winning shot only to have it bounce off the rim and fall to the floor. Most basketball fans couldn’t believe the miracle run was over. In the end, it proved one thing – Duke is the best team in the country.
The NCAA women’s tournament came down to unbeaten Connecticut vs. once-beaten Stanford. The last time UConn lost a game was in the 2008 Final Four to Stanford. The only loss the Cardinal had this season was to the Huskies. After a sloppy first half, UConn came from behind to win, extending their unbeaten streak to 78 games.
Major League Baseball began their 2010 season, and fans of our national pastime headed out to the ballpark to root, root, root for the home team. With no major sex scandals or steroid controversies, baseball got off to a quiet start. In fact, if you aren’t a fantasy fanatic, you might’ve missed it.
Of course, the NBA and the NHL are getting geared up for the playoffs. You know there’s at least one young hockey player out there who can’t wait to use Lord Stanley’s Cup as a big shiny beer mug.
Finally, Tiger Woods returned to competition in the Masters Golf Tournament. He lost, but that’s not really important. What is important is that he and his sponsors are making money again.
On Tuesday, the video game company Electronic Arts launched Tiger Woods PGA Tour Online. The New York Times quoted Peter Moore, president of EA Sports, as saying, “We think this will be a productivity killer.” He’s betting on the fact that middle-aged, male, golf/video game fans don’t care about Tiger’s extra-curricular activities. And he’ll probably win that bet.
I haven’t played it, but from their website you can get a feel for what the game entails. It’s free, and you can play virtual golf with folks all over the world, but if you want to get to the point where you can compete at the highest levels, you’re going to have to shell out a few bucks to upgrade your gear. And if they add an after-the-match party mode in a future release, the private rooms at the strip clubs won’t come cheap either.
Maybe one of the upgrades you can buy will be a virtual house call from Dr. Anthony Galea who’s being investigated for providing performance enhancing drugs to NFL and Major League Baseball players. According to The Huffington Post, he was seen at Tiger’s house at least four times during February and March.
Nike got back into the game with new ads featuring Tiger staring at the camera with his dead dad’s voice saying, “I want to find out what your thinking was. I want to find out what your feelings are. Did you learn anything?”
That got me to thinking.
Tiger’s dad, Earl, also cheated on his wife. He could have been a contributing factor in Tiger’s unfaithful behavior…he’s gone, and we’ll never know. Maybe what he was asking was, “Did you learn how to not get caught next time?”
There were other folks cashing in on Tiger’s appearance at the Masters. Former mistress Joslyn James teamed up with the Pink Pony, an Atlanta strip club, to perform on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday Atlanta is only about 150 miles from Augusta, where the tournament is played.
The club’s website posed the question, “Will Tiger come to see her at the Pony?”
At a recent press conference, Joslyn, who’s appeared in 16 adult films, was asked if she would attend the golf tournament. Her lawyer, Gloria Allred, replied that she wouldn’t because Augusta National “still excludes women from membership in the same way that they used to exclude African-Americans.”
Way to make a stand for women’s rights. I’m sure she’ll work that into her act at the Pony.
Anyway, it was a big week in sports.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
For more go to http://www.dustwinslow.com/.
© Copyright 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Training Program
So my girlfriend Joan wanted another female friend to fish with because I go with the guys too many times without taking her with me. Her friend Kelly grew up in Darby, moved away, and moved back again. She never learned to fly fish, but after hearing Joan talk about how fun it was, she wanted to give it a try.
Joan asked me if I would teach Kelly how to cast, which I was more than glad to do because there ought to be more women on the river. Among other things they improve the scenery.
I gave her the basics – you cast the line not the fly. Strength isn’t required; timing is. With the proper motion, the rod will bend, and when it unbends it does all the work for you. You have to wait for the line to straighten out and bend the rod before you can make it unbend. Moving the rod forward doesn’t make the line go forward; stopping the rod does.
You can’t pile too much technical stuff on a beginner because they can only take in a certain amount in one session. If you let them play around and feel happy about it, they’re more likely to want to do it again.
Once I got her comfortable with how the rod worked and what she was trying to achieve with the casting motion, I told her to practice for 15 minutes a day, 4 days a week. I told her how a repetitive training program was important to help build muscle memory, which would make it so she would develop a consistent motion and not have to think about the mechanics every time she cast.
To thank me for the lesson, Kelly took me and Joan out to supper at a fancy steakhouse. We ate big juicy rib eyes and drank a bottles of Cabernet. I felt like a real VIP.
That got me to thinking.
Different folks have different ideas on what it means to be treated like a VIP. Take fer instance the feller who went to Voyeur, a club in West Hollywood, and got the Republican National Committee to pick up the tab.
He was part of the RNC Young Eagles program, which means that he’s under 45 and he gives way too much money to the GOP. I guess he figured that they owed him a relaxing night on the town after all the backbreaking donating he’d been doing.
On Voyeur’s website, the place is described as “an intimate lounge that will draw guests into a provocative enclave where art, festivities, and entertainment converge in a sophisticated setting unlike any other.” Sounds very elegant and mature, refined and classy…the perfect spot to discuss politics over a glass of brandy.
It turns out that the type of art, festivities and entertainment that’s converging here is women in masks and leather undies with whips, dancing around topless on stage. Folks who’ve reviewed the club online have described the half-naked women hanging in nets suspended from the ceiling who occasionally whip anybody who isn’t keeping a sharp eye out.
Couples in bondage gear simulate S&M activities inside of glass boxes, and one gal wrote about two women pretending to have oral sex inside a see-through case in the middle of the ladies’ room. I wonder what a girl has to have on her resume to get a job like that.
There’s a line out front, but you can get around that if you’re a good looking woman or a man who’s willing to sit at a table that’s got a drink minimum. But it isn’t a one drink minimum; it’s a one bottle minimum for every two people. Some folks said that they spent $800 to $1,100 dollars per bottle.
Of course the RNC fired the leader of the Young Eagles program who approved the $1,946 tab. They made it clear that they don’t approve of using committee money at places like that. They assured us that everyone was sufficiently outraged. The Republican Party stands for morals and family values.
Now if you want to spend your own money at that sort of establishment, well that’s a different story. After all, the GOP hasn’t exactly been without scandal – with Republican elected officials being accused of soliciting gay sex in airport bathrooms or taking state funds to fly to Brazil to meet with a mistress (to name a couple of recent examples).
If you think about it, the whole Voyeur incident isn’t uncommon behavior at all for Republican leaders. In fact, you could look at the whole thing as a training program for aspiring young eagles.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
For more go to http://www.dustywinslow.com/
© Copyright 2010
Joan asked me if I would teach Kelly how to cast, which I was more than glad to do because there ought to be more women on the river. Among other things they improve the scenery.
I gave her the basics – you cast the line not the fly. Strength isn’t required; timing is. With the proper motion, the rod will bend, and when it unbends it does all the work for you. You have to wait for the line to straighten out and bend the rod before you can make it unbend. Moving the rod forward doesn’t make the line go forward; stopping the rod does.
You can’t pile too much technical stuff on a beginner because they can only take in a certain amount in one session. If you let them play around and feel happy about it, they’re more likely to want to do it again.
Once I got her comfortable with how the rod worked and what she was trying to achieve with the casting motion, I told her to practice for 15 minutes a day, 4 days a week. I told her how a repetitive training program was important to help build muscle memory, which would make it so she would develop a consistent motion and not have to think about the mechanics every time she cast.
To thank me for the lesson, Kelly took me and Joan out to supper at a fancy steakhouse. We ate big juicy rib eyes and drank a bottles of Cabernet. I felt like a real VIP.
That got me to thinking.
Different folks have different ideas on what it means to be treated like a VIP. Take fer instance the feller who went to Voyeur, a club in West Hollywood, and got the Republican National Committee to pick up the tab.
He was part of the RNC Young Eagles program, which means that he’s under 45 and he gives way too much money to the GOP. I guess he figured that they owed him a relaxing night on the town after all the backbreaking donating he’d been doing.
On Voyeur’s website, the place is described as “an intimate lounge that will draw guests into a provocative enclave where art, festivities, and entertainment converge in a sophisticated setting unlike any other.” Sounds very elegant and mature, refined and classy…the perfect spot to discuss politics over a glass of brandy.
It turns out that the type of art, festivities and entertainment that’s converging here is women in masks and leather undies with whips, dancing around topless on stage. Folks who’ve reviewed the club online have described the half-naked women hanging in nets suspended from the ceiling who occasionally whip anybody who isn’t keeping a sharp eye out.
Couples in bondage gear simulate S&M activities inside of glass boxes, and one gal wrote about two women pretending to have oral sex inside a see-through case in the middle of the ladies’ room. I wonder what a girl has to have on her resume to get a job like that.
There’s a line out front, but you can get around that if you’re a good looking woman or a man who’s willing to sit at a table that’s got a drink minimum. But it isn’t a one drink minimum; it’s a one bottle minimum for every two people. Some folks said that they spent $800 to $1,100 dollars per bottle.
Of course the RNC fired the leader of the Young Eagles program who approved the $1,946 tab. They made it clear that they don’t approve of using committee money at places like that. They assured us that everyone was sufficiently outraged. The Republican Party stands for morals and family values.
Now if you want to spend your own money at that sort of establishment, well that’s a different story. After all, the GOP hasn’t exactly been without scandal – with Republican elected officials being accused of soliciting gay sex in airport bathrooms or taking state funds to fly to Brazil to meet with a mistress (to name a couple of recent examples).
If you think about it, the whole Voyeur incident isn’t uncommon behavior at all for Republican leaders. In fact, you could look at the whole thing as a training program for aspiring young eagles.
I don’t know, I guess I think too hard about these things.
For more go to http://www.dustywinslow.com/
© Copyright 2010
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