PANAMA GETS BACK TO YOU

PANAMA GETS BACK TO YOU

A few days back I sent out a bold-face all-caps forward about how the Congress has passed laws that benefit Congress but nobody else. Laws that have created special healthcare provisions for itself, special retirement funds, I don't need to go on and on; you've all received these things in your email. This thing was supposedly engendered by remarks made by Warren Buffett, though whether that's true or not is also irrelevant.

Basically, here's the problem, once again: The guys who “created” the country, these farmers, printers, surveyors, slave-holding plantation owners, all being heavily influenced by the Enlightenment, never had it dawn on them that in setting out the rules of government they were setting up what amounts to a Racket. A Yakuza. A Mafia.

They did not envision that they were creating a new class of employment, that of the career politician. So that by the time Andrew Jackson was clearing the area east of the Mississippi of pesky redskins, there were guys who had already served multiple terms in Congress, and had no plans to go back to their crummy little law practice in Paducah or wherever, and because Congress is the origin of all laws, no laws in regard to term limits ever got passed.

Except when FDR got so damn popular, then Congress got right to work on that term limits thing, because it only applies to the Presidency.

So, hero that I am, a few days back I said “I'll get back to you with how we can fix this situation” because I'm so damned smart and have the ability to read and own a computer, etc.

Here are the results of my research: WE'RE SCREWED.

We're screwed because the only way a Constitutional convention can be called(and this has never happened) is if the legislatures of three-quarters of the several States agree that we need to have one. Notice I didn't say the populations of three-quarters of the several States, but the Legislatures of three-quarters of the several States. So who occupies those seats in the Legislatures of the several States but career politicians, only they're career state politicians. Just like the same three guys who always run for road commissioner in your county are career politicians. Or at least that's what they're shooting for.

So read it and weep, friends and neighbors. Congress should pass just one more law, changing Emma Lazarus' “I lift my lamp beside the Golden Door” to “Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here”.

That's what I think.

DON'T INVITE ME

DON'T INVITE ME

Because a few years back I was a tireless worker and contributor to Barack Obama's campaign, I guess, lately I've been receiving letters from Michelle suggesting that I send in five bucks so that I might, just possibly, there's an infinitesimally small chance to, perhaps be invited to have dinner with Barack and Michelle. Along with countless “real” donors, I suppose.

Don't get me wrong. This not going to be one of those letters where I complain about how disappointed I am in Mr. Obama's presidency. Although I am. A lot. Starting with when he didn't just leave the State of the Union podium and deck Joe Wilson from South Carolina for calling him a liar.

I think this would have sent a message to the Republicans that they've been needing to hear for some time, and that things would have gone much more smoothly legislation-wise, had that occurred. But that's just me.

Nope. This is not going to be one of those letters, although it almost turned into one in the paragraph above. This letter is about how I feel being asked to participate in a lottery, the prize of which is being invited to have my picture taken shaking Barack's hand and to have a meal at the same time he does, only about twenty tables away. “We'll even pay your airfare!” Michelle says.

I'd rather they use the airfare they've set aside for this pony show and use it to get re-elected. 
For that matter, I'd rather have a bass boat.  Obviously, they already know they've got my vote.

Whose chowder-headed Ivy League idea was this, anyway, Michelle? Have you and Barack gotten so out of touch with your base and with where you come from that you can't see what a slap in the face this offer is to me? You should have used that left hook on Joe Wilson. Hey, there may not be many left in the proletariat, but here's one over here. A very non-worshipful one. One of the public you rich people like to call “folks”. I mean, you're offering me a prize that I don't want, and I'd be ashamed of any Democrat who did want it.  Dinner with the President, indeed.

Like you won't forget my name by next day. “Who was that funny little man who won the Lottery, Darling? You know, the one from Tennessee? I'm sure somebody on the staff will send him the robo-signed photo of you shaking hands with him.”

Here's my five dollars. No, Thank You on the Dinner.

A DOG NAMED PETER

We once had a dog named Peter...we don't need to go into the derivation of the dog's name. It had something to do with his hygienic maintenance habits, okay?

Anyway, right after we got the dog, and he was a cute little dog, the road department came along and blacktopped the dirt road out in front of our house. Whereas before Peter was happy performing his ablutions just about any old where, as soon as that road got put in, and as soon as it was cool enough to touch, Peter began to hang out in the middle of the road, doing his thing.

Well, we tried. We said, “Pete, get out of the road. Somebody's gonna come around that curve and hit you and kill you. “ But no matter what we did, up to and including going out and picking him up and depositing him back in the yard, he'd still find a way to be back in the middle of the road, luxuriating in the sun and soaking up the warmth of the blacktop. His own private San Trop.

And of course it wasn't long until a car, a little pea-green Chevy coupe, did come around the curve and before Peter, being all self-involved and all, could leap up and escape he got knocked ass over teakettle over to the side of the road, where he lay still. We thought he was dead. We all went to bawling and crying and just carrying on something awful, saying “Aw, poor Peter. He was such a good dog. But he just wouldn't listen. Poor little guy.”

But miracles do happen, and after a little while Peter woke up. And we were joyous. The only thing was that after he had come fully to his senses and for some time later he walked with a limp. And of course, everybody who came to the house said stuff like, “Aw, poor little Petey. What a sweet little, good little dog,” and comments of that nature.

More time went by. He didn't go in the road any more. And after a while, Peter regained the normal use of his right hind leg that had been hurt, praise be, and for all intents and purposes you couldn't tell that anything had ever happened to the little guy. I mean, he would run and jump and chase the balls we threw, he could even jump rope! You never in your life saw such a little engine of happiness.

But when he was bad and got scolded for sucking eggs or doing any of the other things that country dogs are capable of, his ears would droop, he'd look up at you sadly and accusingly and whimper and walk away. Limping.

PANAMA TOUCHES ON A  VERY TOUCHY SUBJECT

“Joystick”. Nobody knows quite where the term comes form, or if they do, they certainly aren't revealing it.

Not Google. Not Wiki.

Here's what Wikipedia says:

Joysticks originated as controls for aircraft ailerons and elevators, and is first known to have been used as such on Louis Bleriot's Bleriot VIII aircraft of 1908, in combination with a foot-operated rudder bar for the yaw control surface on the tail.

Then it goes on to say that the term may have originated with some gent named George Somethingorother, who referred to it as the “Georgestick”, and over time this became “joystick”.

I don't think so.

I speculate that given the advent of the airplane and therefore the joystick having occurred at the turn of the century, and the positioning of the joystick being between the pilot's legs, that the origin is quite obvious. Probably everybody at Wiki knows this, too, as you don't have to be an etiologist to figure it out.

So am I saying that in the early airplanes the term “joystick” was a not-so-oblique reference to the erect human penis? Yes. I am. You bet your sweet bippy I am.

I mean I can imagine Monsieur Bleriot discussing what to call the control mechanism for aircraft control. “I know!” says Monsieur Bleriot. “Let's call it a joystick.” Except he says it in French. And he chortles endlessly. Also in French.

That's what I think.

MEDI-SCARE

My sister pretty much relies on me to chase down internet rumors for her.  Usually I go to Snopes, like most everybody else.  Pretty easy work and I'm happy to be of service, since I owe her so much in payment for the love she has lavished on me over the years in complete contravention of what I deserve.
In my family, we are all Democrats, Obama fans all., excepting one incredibly dense niece and a brother who seems to be just plain hateful.
So today, she got one of these screeds, generated either by a rabid, slavering well-meaning but ignorant right-winger or by a toadie or perhaps even a paid operative of the likes of Karl Rove or the Koch brothers, to wit that by 2014, after a not-so gradual per-year increase in the monthly cost, we're going to be paying $247.00 for our Medicare.  Currently we seniors pay a little less than $100 a month for Medicare.  Although I go to VA for my medical care, I prefer to keep my Medicare active for a couple of reasons, one being that I believe in contributing my portion to my fellow seniors' fund for altruistic reasons, and the other being that if I ever need the Mayo Clinic or Sloan-Kettering, I want to be able to go in and drop my Medicare card on the desk and get admitted, diagnosed, sliced and diced, radiated, packaged and frozen, or whatever.
So I was a little disturbed to learn that Obama, whom I'd always thought to be a man of the people in public anyway, could possibly be running this horrendous scam on us unsuspecting seniors.

Go here:  http://www.snopes.com/politics/medical/medicare.asp

So of course this email my sis got is obvious horseshit.    I do not know where these rumors come from,  whether somebody mis-hears what they thought they heard on Fox News, or whether they are the result of vicious and total LIES by The Enemy, who hate America so much that they don't care what the Supreme Court says when it says something they don't like.  I give you Rand Paul.

I suspect, since most of the hateful, bigoted, and just plain wrong emails that come from the ignorati out there tend to be not speld very gud or  writ very gud either and this email was written by somebody who has none of those faults, that is a plant written and shotgunned out there back in January by someone who got paid or expects to get paid for doing it when their mendacious seed comes to fruition in November.  Good luck on that one, butthole.
Vote Democratic.  We may not fight as dirty and therefore be as effective as our opponents, but is Honor and Sense of Fairness a bad thing?

“Snacks”

Lately I've been ending my letters with the word Snacks instead of Thanks. Why?, you may or may not wonder.

I got tired of writing Thanks. Apparently I'm a needy little person, and I write emails asking folks for stuff: do this for me, do that for me, please help me to...the list is practically endless.

And then people write me back and say “Okay”, or “Sorry, I can't do it”, and I have to acknowledge that they at least understood my message, or that they got it anyway.

But “Thanks” has lost its power, at least with me.  Doesn't express the gratitude I feel toward folks who grant me a little part of their attention.

The other day the little woman and I were waiting for a seemingly interminable length of time at some Bureaucracy. And we couldn't see what was going on, as the door was closed, and Patty says, well, it's about 11 a.m., so they're probably having cookies and milk and now they're gonna unroll their little towels and lie down on the floor for naptime. So that should only take another fifteen minutes.

Something about that image appealed to me: the idea of harassed government workers having a scheduled little break, just like in daycare.  So they wouldn't get cranky. A good idea, I thought, reminding myself to always have a towel with me in case I need to lie down somewhere.

So then I decided to end my letters more pleasantly, and the daycare image having taken hold, I choose now to end my letters more sweetly . More childlike. A word that is more warm and friendly, more evocative of the gratitude I feel toward those who have written me back, a word that in and of itself suggests the goodness of childhood.

Snacks

Panama

 FED up.

Why do we have a system where the Fed lends money to the Banks so that the Banks can buy Government Bonds, which the Government then has to repay at interest?
Why doesn't the Fed lend money to the Government, charging the same interest rate that it now charges the Banks? Then the Government can pay the Fed back, and the deficit will drop by trillions.
Where does the money go? Where does the money come from? Whose money is it anyway, when you get down to it? Why is the Government lending money to the Banks so that the Government can borrow money from the Banks?