because I like to have one now and then...
verbal conniptions about politics, religion, people, things
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
A local story from the Saturday Sept 5, 2009 Fort Worth Star-Telegram. The paper had a picture not shown in the link. From the cutline: Hundreds of statues of Pak, the monk who brought Buddhism to southeast Asia from India, melted in the fire...
Little statues of the monk sitting in the lotus position, hands folded, all charred and melted. Very sad. I hope they restore the temple quickly.
FORT WORTH — Wat Lao Thepnimith looks like a postcard from Southeast Asia planted in a suburban patch of houses nestled in northwest Fort Worth.
The Buddhist campus is the heart of a Lao-American Buddhist community that began resettling in North Texas in the mid-1970s. Many of the estimated 11,000 members are refugees of Communism who fled after the Vietnam War — a conflict in which many Lao were allies of the United States.
On Aug. 24, a fire destroyed the campus temple, the Sim Building. Rebuilding is the only option for a structure described as a labor of love. "We are really so, so sad," monk Kommana Vongphakdy said. [more...]
They started out like so many faith communities as a house church, in a trailer. I feel a kinship for this, as it mirrors the origins of Quakerism. Small groups worshiping anywhere they could. Today Buddhists and Quakers both turn inward to listen to the "still small voice" speaking to us, in our worship, in their meditation.
Outwardly quite different, as we have no temples or rituals (in my form of Quakerism), and temple and symbols are quite important to these Buddhists--gold tiles and mirrors of Lao architecture. And the little statues, thank-you gifts "given to people who donate to or volunteer with their Buddhist community."
Ten years ago there was a rash of church fires nationally, and here in Texas. Quaker workcamps were organized to help some of them rebuild. Perhaps they can help again.
1. El estúpido. This belongs in the dictionary to illustrate "racial profiling", starring los pendejos del Servicio Forestal.
Ya know how the Forest Service wants us to be their eyes and ears and nose out in the forest? It's the Smokey Bear* thing, "Only you can prevent forest fires." Good deal. My family has a house in a national forest, and I always appreciate watchfulness. But not this kind.
DENVER (AP) — A federal warning to beware of campers in national forests who eat tortillas, drink Tecate beer and play Spanish music because they could be armed marijuana growers is racial profiling, an advocate for Hispanic rights said Friday. . . .
. . . The U.S. Forest Service quickly retracted the warning. . .
. . . Michael Skinner, a law enforcement officer with the U.S. Forest Service in Colorado, said warning signs of possible drug trafficking include "tortilla packaging, beer cans, Spam, Tuna, Tecate beer cans," and campers who play Spanish music. He said the warning includes people speaking Spanish. . . . [and] this may or may not represent criminal activity, but are indicators, and he urged any campers who encounter long-term campers meeting the profile to "hike out quickly" and call police.
OK. So now Smokey says, "Only you can become a brownshirt." And indulge yourself in racist paranoia and rat out your brown brothers (can I get an 'amen' for the brown-brown irony there?), the ones that you find in the forest.
You know, the ones saying, "Guey, más espam, por favor." Gimme a break! Sure, the megazillion-dollar-deadly-serious-way-too-successful drug cartels are going to stash a couple campesinos on a Colorado mountain. With a case of Spam, some cervezas and a copy of Jerry Garcia's wife's book.
Oh yeah, and a boom box to play their reggaeton music. Real loud.
(note: click on the book, then click 'Quick American Archives', see a big list of books of related topics. Far out, man.)
Excuse me, but I think you can probably grow pot anywhere from Vail to Veracruz, most of which is mountains in Mexico, and the Forest Service wants us to stake out Colorado mountains for them? Huh?
Nope, those drug cartels are way way too organized and industrial for that stuff. They are fatally serious agribusiness with a real lucrative crop.
To catch the people hiding in the forest growing dope, they should be profiling guys named Mountainsong Peace Herb, 50-something, long long grey beard, silly grin, white skin, red eyes. Listening to "Strawberry Fields" on the boombox. Hey, you could follow him back from Burning Man! Whoa. It's happening tonight!!! Y'all should follow everyone home from Burning Man.
2. El horrible. This one from yesterday, on the border where I grew up. This is how the drug cartels work, on a massive scale. Right out in the open, in your face, gun you down. Import weed by the ton. Et cetera.
The brutality of a massacre at Juárez drug rehabilitation center in which 18 people were killed shocked a city already plagued with record-breaking violence.
A motive for the attack was under investigation, but it appeared to be linked to feuding drug trafficking groups.
The sad part:
Chihuahua state public safety secretary Victor Valencia said such drug centers are sometimes fronts for criminal gangs and one narcotics expert said the slayings are unlikely [to] make much of a difference in the overall balance of power in the drug war. [emphasis added]
They lined up 19 "men ranging in age from 17 to 51" against a wall and shot them with AK-47s. It's cartel-on-cartel violence. La Linea vs La Familia. Juarez vs Sinaloa. Some victims may have been Aztecas gang members. They coincidentally run drug-treatment centers. (Did you know we have gang members in the Army? Oh, that's another story.)
Go ahead, read this story of violence in Juarez. Learn that Sinaloa Familia bring religion into their drug gang cult. Click here. Look at the raw video footage from the carnage. No audio, only the street sounds of Juarez at night as gurneys load slowly into ambulances.
Death, big and bloody. It's what's happening on the supply side of our demand for drugs. Think about it, particularly if you use the kind we can't grow domestically. The high-dollar kind that people in Mexico are fighting a war to supply you with. Check into the Betty Ford Center. You probably won't get gunned down there. ------------------------------------------------- *footnote re Smokey: He was a real bear cub found after a fire in the national forest where my family has a home. Marketing made him a legend and made babyboomers aware of fire safety in the wilderness. Smokey is buried at his museum 165 miles north of Juarez in Capitan NM.
Ex-guvvie, bless her, she keeps harping on that death thingy. Lord, the stuff they keep making up about health-care reform!
Here's our death panel in Huntsville. Lie down on it, and we will make you dead. I don't think we should do this. Everybody we put down on this panel is a child of god. Seems wrong for humans to get in the way of god working in a person to redeem her, to redeem him. No matter what he did or she did. When we kill people here, we interrupt god's work in them.
Death is real. It will happen to you. Me. All of us. Be prepared for it, make plans for your death. Seems like a good idea to discuss it with your family, your god, your faith community, your doctor, friends, neighbors, anybody who will listen to you. As you make your choices. Some of us don't get a choice. I watched my 55-year-old husband die of sudden cardiac arrest six days short of getting health-care coverage at his new job. I want EVERYBODY to have HEALTH CARE. No exceptions. Just do it.
From left, head robber-baron henchman Barry T. Smitherman, Chairman Public Utility Commission of Texas (PUC), with commissioners Donna L. Nelson and Kenneth W. Anderson, Jr. Lawyer, lawyer, lawyer. Governor crony? Token woman? Mars inhabitant?
Go ahead, click the links, read their bios.
At left, the more likeable Stooges, although Donna up there seems like a nice woman, from her bio.
Our three Texas stooges are turning our electricity provider Oncor into thugs by rewarding bad behavior. Nutshell situation:
Electric meters mandated for updating. Good idea.
Oncor rushes out and buys some meters. Wrong move.
PUC sets standards for new "smart" meters. Big ooops.
Oncor whines about bad business decision. Suck it up, y'all.
PUC says poor baby wasted money on meters, you need a rate boost. Huh?
When every every thing is trending down, like oh... natural gas prices, consumption of goods, consumption of services, employment, natural gas prices, did I mention those? I meant the natural gas they use to generate electricity. That natural gas. It's cheaper now.
Me, too. When you are a giga-mega-million-dollar utility company you do not get to have buyer's remorse. You do get to fire the buyer, maybe even the whole procurement department. And you do get to suck it up and go on. Take your lumps. Forgo obscene outrageous profits for a few quarters. A few years.
PS. Dear Oncor, If I have a new, wrong meter that needs replacement, let me have it when you remove it. I bet I can sell it somewhere like China or Arkansas and get some of my money back. Do ya think y'all could do the same?
That year, 1969, was my last summer in college, a couple months after I met my future husband. He joined a rock-and-roll band, and they had a house-band gig that summer in Fort Worth. I remember seeing a guy in the parking lot at my apartment complex in Austin shouting up at me, "Hey I'm going to Woodstock!" I wasn't; I was headed to Fort Worth.
We were 20, the perfect age for that Woodstock moment. Fairly innocent, still children, technically. Yes, boys and girls, the voting age was 21 then.
Both of us loved the 1930s era. The fashions, the cars, travel by ship, movies from then. He read Fitzgerald. I enjoyed Hemingway outside of class. That bygone era was so romantic.
Who could imagine feeling that way about our era? Not us at the time. And now it's happened.
So here's a link to a cheesy icon of the era. Tie-dye. A cheesy how-to video that's not really tie-dying. I never wore tie-dye t-shirts back then. Too cheesy. I wear one now for nostalgia, because my son made it at Yearly Meeting 15 years ago.
Lord have mercy! Amazon has a 3-tape set of VHS videos, "Learn How to Tie Dye". At least it's not done by Martha.
Here's a how-to video a girl put up online, 17 minutes. Hope it's good. I'll see it next week when it finishes downloading on dial-up. Waiting for a part for my DSL. Being patient, like Job.
...leads to Baconhenge. You'll see in a minute. I was all ready for some serious blogging today about universal healthcare (we need it, just do it), maybe short congrats to Justice Sotomayor (yay!! she's #111 of the Supremes). But no, instead I'm compelled to share this bit of fluff. Heavy fluff.
Today, first time we got to Ikea early enough for breakfast! Good, cheap, 2 bucks. Scoop of scrambled eggs, fried potato cubes, bacon, French toast sticks. When I got home I went straight to a search engine. Looked up: "french toast sticks" calories
Bad? Sure. Over 100 cal per stick; three sticks on the plate. Ate 'em all. Fat calories? Mostly. Go for amazing nutritional details here and here. If you dare.
Then I looked for "french toast sticks" images. Here's the prize pic.
Baconhenge.
It came from a user on sports blog compendium SB*NATION who goes by mcboomofdoom and has a passion for bacon, Click his link above, scroll down for pic and caption. Plus more bacon stuff. I guessed right. That glop the bacon-wrapped toast-stick pillars arise from is a fritatta. Whatta guy, whatta thing, whatta guy-thing.
A Quaker, politically active. Semiretired now that I got old enough to get survivor's benefits. So now I don't "do", I'm semiretired.
Recently I said this to a friend, "That's so American, to identify our self--our very selves--as the answer to 'what do you do?' Me? I dream, I create, I love, I survive. And I don't worry. blah blah"
A local story from the Saturday Sept 5, 2009 Fort Worth Star-Telegram.
