WHAT IS A DUMBASS?

For years I've wondered what it is exactly that make a person a dumbass. I admit that I don't know what small bit of DNA contributes to it. I don't even need to know. But I know one when I see one. To wit:

A. The woman who used to be my demonic neighbor

B. The kid who drives slowly waiting for me to pass, then does anything to prevent my passing, or even getting back into the right lane (two times, weeks apart)

C. The stopped driver who waits and waits for me so he can pull out, then pulls out in front of me just before I get to him

D. The high-school teenager who does what driver C. does as she coaxes her little 4-cylinder up the hill that I'd already sped up for, then flips me off because I only had choices to pass her or take the ditch

E. Drivers who roll through a 4-way stop....because I'm already stopped

F. Slow, inattentive drivers who wake up when I pass, then are hell bent to stay on my back bumper

G. The driver who's in such a hurry to pull out in front of me to do 35 in a 55

H. The ignorant driver suicidally pulling into 60 mph traffic and thinking they can get to 60 in 2 seconds, but it takes them a minute and a half

I. The cell phoner who knows they have to stop at the light - but it's green

J. The so very cautious driver who waits and waits and waits for the oncoming car to pass by, the oncoming car that is 3/4 of a mile away and obviously doing 30

K. The "look at me" driver who just installed illegal bright-as-the-sun, purple HD headlights......aimmed higher than everyone else's, then gets road raged because you flashed him

L. The "pet lover" who lets her cute Fifi drive while she's on her cell phone

M. The "empathetic" driver who wants to let someone out of the parking lot, but it's just us two in line

N. The person who puts out garbage on Monday for it to blow into my yard before Friday pickup

O. The rocker down the street who wants to entertain the entire neighborhood with his new stereo

P. The payables clerk who relies too much on her out of date 'database' that didn't post my payment

Q. The banker who want ME to pay for doing my banking with him

R. The grocery sacker who put my chips in the bottom of the bag, under the gallon of milk

S. The chump who panhandles for chump change, then drives home in his new Caddie (maybe this one's not a dumbass)

T. The cop who assumes everyone's got a bale of cannabis in their trunk

U. The Democratic Party

V. The Nobel prize panel that chose the Democrat's 'change' president

W. The University of Colorado's Ward Churchill

X. The "global warming" chickens

Y. Anyone who characterizes a person attending a "tea party" as a communist

Z. Anyone who voted for 'change'

I'm out of letters, but I'm not out of dumbasses. Please Comment with your own list.

High Fructose Corn Syrup: Getting the Black Eye it Deserves

This is neither my first post about High Fructose Corn Syrup (HFCS), nor is it likely to be the last. I have been lay researching anecdotal stories and information about HFCS for the past few years, especially since I discovered that I am the first in my non-diabetic family to be diagnosed with the disease. THIS IS NOT ABOUT THE BOTTLED CORN SYRUP YOU BOUGHT AT THE STORE TO MAKE YOUR PECAN PIE.

Something besides fast food is making people the planet over gain weight in great numbers, along with an unimaginable rise in diabetes. I'm not a food scientist or chemist, but many of those who are have been telling us that HFCS is the primary culprit, although the makers of HFCS disagree. Personally, I don't believe the latter group.

A recent article in the U.K.'s The Sunday Times even said that a study found that Fructose syrup (HFCS), a sweetener derived from corn, can cause dangerous growths of fat cells around vital organs and is able to trigger the early stages of diabetes and heart disease. It has increasingly been used as a substitute for more expensive types of sugar in sodas, yogurts, cakes, salad dressings, cereals, and, well, just about any food that was once sweetened with sugar. Even some fruit drinks that should be healthy contain fructose. Experts now believe that the sweetener HFCS — which is found naturally in small, benign amounts in fruits — could be a factor in the emergence of diabetes among children. HFCS is increasingly being used as a substitute for more expensive types of sugar - the real sugars like cane, beet, and maple sugar. The article went on to claim that volunteers on a strictly controlled diet, including high levels of fructose, produced new fat cells around their heart, liver and other digestive organs. They also showed signs of food-processing abnormalities linked to diabetes and heart disease. Another group of volunteers on the same diet, but with glucose sugar - table sugar - replacing fructose, did not have these problems. I don't think it takes a PhD to make the connection. The study said that people in both groups put on a similar amount of weight. However, researchers said the levels of weight gain among the fructose consumers would be greater over the long haul because of what HFCS does to the body. Look, the body recognizes and knows what to do with sugar. It is a simple metabolic process to convert sugar to energy and fat. Conversely, the body doesn't know what HFCS even is and doesn't know how to metabolize it, so it just beats up on the body. And the companies that make it know it. They've always known it. Don't think for one minute that food chemists are smart enough to bastardize our food, but not smart enough to know the effects of doing so. And the FDA just let 'em pollute our foods. Fructose bypasses the digestive process that breaks down other forms of sugar, the study said. It arrives intact in the liver where it causes a variety of abnormal reactions, including the disruption of mechanisms that instruct the body whether to burn or store fat. And HFCS manufacturers were allowed to assault the consuming public all for money. Asshats.

Now that HFCS is getting the black eye it deserves, how are HFCS makers going to get theirs?

Is It a Hat or a Cap?

I have been fascinated by headwear since childhood. Recollections of my dad seem to always have him wearing a brown or gray Fedora. That was during a time that most men, and women, wore hats. Although now most men wear caps. Another early memory is of the traditional headgear worn by firemen, and what little boy doesn't want to be a fireman with a cool head covering like this one?

Unless you really have been living in a cave you know that a hat or cap is a garment worn on the head. They, the hats, caps and heads, come in all shapes and sizes. Headwear is worn for protection against the elements, for religious reasons, for safety, or as a fashion accessory or statement. In the forces of the world's militaries they may denote the rank or position of the wearer. Headwear is seen in various cultures and is as varied as are cultures themselves.

Hat or Cap?

A hat consists of a CROWN; the portion of a hat that actually covers the top of the head. The VISOR; also called the bill, the visor is the stiff projection at the front to protect the eyes from the sun or rain. The BRIM; an important distinction from a cap, the brim is the projection of stiff material around the circumference of the hat; and the SWEATBAND inside the hat that touches the skin.

A cap also has a CROWN which usually fits very close to the head. A cap has no brim and may have a visor. Typically, the best style of cap in our country is the ubiquitous baseball cap. There are literally hundreds and hundreds of styles of caps and hats around the world.

One of my favorite styles is the newsboy cap or flat cap. The newsboy cap has a bit more fabric and could be described by some as being slouchy. My granddaughter, Kaydence, says that it looks silly. In this genre, a FLAT cap is also a favorite and it being worn more and more often by men and women of all ages.

Regardless of whether you call it a hat or a cap, it helps to have an outspoken granddaughter, who has probably only seen baseball caps, put in all in the proper perspective. Grandpa, one looks silly and the other looks funny.

Bronchitis: It Came, It Conquered, It Left

This time I didn't think I was dying like I have felt before. But I didn't feel good at all, and had to burn up vacation time resting at home.

I knew the day before the bronchitis really made its presence known that something was up. I generally felt a bit weak, feverish, and I had a metallic taste in my mouth - not a good sign when you don't have anything metallic in your mouth. It got worse from there.

I didn't go to my doctor right away because the medical community says about all one can do is, well, not a whole lot. And since it's viral, antibiotics won't help...they say. Mine turned into an infection which meant YOO-HOO, I was prescribed a Z-Pak antibiotic.

By the next morning I felt much better and by the time I finished off the other four pills I was almost my regular self.

And so I grabbed my smokes, which started the whole thing, and decided that it was time to quit 'em. I have not been able to quit completely just yet, but I smoke from NONE to maybe one or two a day vs. a pack or more a day at $5.00 each. Fifty years is long enough.

Maybe bronchitis will no longer come to conquer me.

SUNSHINE: Necessary, or a Necessary Evil?

Woody Allen squints into the bright sunshine that is bathing London in a rare, warm glow and shakes his head in irritation. “I hate sunshine,” he mutters. “It should be raining.”

The 73-year-old film maker is currently making his fourth film in London and rather than the grey skies and rain that he loves, and that have roles in the movie, he has endured days of sunshine and blue skies. “The sun is a very, very big problem,” he says gloomily.

I agree with you, Mr. Allen, and I don't make movies. I simply like cloudy days.

On any given clear summer day at the beach, just look around at all of the sun worshipers; there are many. They're also getting a tan in the backyard, and at the pool. I know more people who enjoy the sun than ones who enjoy cloudy days, as I do.

I didn't always feel this way. Maybe the moderation that has come with age has been a contributing factor, but for me, it's really more pharmacological and physiological than philosophical. And while enjoying cloudy days is a conscious decision, my body has also had a heavy hand in my decision; it doesn't tolerate the sun very well.

In all fairness, though, my body had help in its decision. For more than half of my adult life I have been prescribed long-term medications that have rendered my body highly susceptible to the sun's effects, such as getting a memorable sunburn in about 10 minutes, an inflamatory response in my skin known as dyshydrotic seborrhea with results that last about 2 weeks, burning itching eyes, headache, and more. This is in addition to an instance of either near heat stroke or heat exhaustion a few years ago that seems to have made me even more susceptible since then to heat problems.

Also in all fairness, the sun has its benefits. Researchers have started recognizing the importance of sunlight for a healthy lifestyle, recent studies reveal that sunlight renders many health benefits. Apart from sunlight maintaining temperature and humidity, sunlight plays a significant role in nourishing and energizing the human body. It is also vital in order to get the full nutritional value from food that we consume and it has been proven that getting sufficient sunlight aids in preventing chronic ailments such as seasonal affective disorder (SAD), osteoporosis, mental depression, type 2 diabetes, and cancers affecting the bladder, breasts, cervix, colon, ovaries, prostate, and the stomach. To put it more succinctly, sunlight serves as the perfect medicinal pill in promoting a healthy lifestyle. One of the prime benefits of sunlight is that it supplies the body with Vitamin D, which not only promotes the absorption of calcium in the gut but also transfers calcium across the cell membranes. Yeah. This in turn provides strength to the bones as well as contributes for a healthy nervous system by increasing the production of endorphins (Mmm, endorphins) in the brain. Usually, deposits of cholesterol-like substances known as ergosterol can be found beneath the skin, which gets converted into Vitamin D hormones when the sunlight penetrates the skin. However, an average of only 10 minutes of sunlight per day all year round will make sure that we reap the benefits of sunlight and make enough vitamin D. A lack of Vitamin D is associated with a host of autoimmune ailments such as Crohn’s disease, multiple sclerosis, rheumatoid arthritis, and thyroditis, I've read.

Sunlight can also harm the human body. Excessive exposure of the unprotected skin results in erythema (sunburn). As I mentioned certain medications, including tetracyclines, estrogens, antidepressants, and many others increase the skin's susceptibility to sunburn. The body has ways to protect itself from skin damage from sunlight. However, after only 2-3 minutes of exposure to the sun, skin damage begins. Two main structural proteins of the skin, collagen and elastin, begin to break down, ultimately resulting in wrinkles. The skin has the ability to repair itself, but repeated and prolonged exposure to the sun damages the skin permanently. Prolonged exposure to the hot sun or any other heat source may cause heat exhaustion or the more serious heatstroke or sunstroke. By far the most serious ill effect of the sun is skin cancer. It's been said that even one or two blistering sunburns as a child have been associated with an increase in skin cancers.

So, I still enjoy cloudy days most. And if it is also raining I like it even more.

So does Woody Allen, as he had to bring out the artificial rain during filming of his movie. "Ah, that's better," said Mr. Allen with a very rare smile.

Something Happened on the Way to Success

I have been working steadily for more than 45 years. During my working life I've neither been a spendthrift nor an extravagant spender. As entertainer extraordinaire Joe Walsh sings, I'm just an ordinary, average guy. But unlike him, I've had a modestly average income, like many Americans who just try to buy a home, rear the kids, put the best food I can afford on the dinner table, save for

retirement, and have a little fun on the way. But lately it seems that something has gone horribly wrong. Well, maybe not horribly, but just not as I had planned a long time ago. Unexpected expenses, the occasional high medical bill, helping a family member who needs a boost...it all just adds up, and takes away. This isn't a complaint post, just my observation about my life road map that has had hidden financial pitfalls.

I don't have a lot of 'manly' toys, no second home on the beach, no third home in the English countryside, no boats and RVs, no vintage autos and wines, no around-the-world cruises, no vacations in Germany where I once lived and promised myself to return and see even more sights. Even though I've never had these things and I don't feel deprived and all crunked up, I still consider myself fortunate and am thankful for what I do have, including my family.

Many acquaintances and friends my age have already retired somehow. My strange-behaviourist brother, who is just a couple of years older than I, has been retired for years. I'm still slogging away. It's not that I don't enjoy what I do and the contributions I make for the good of the company and myself. My employer has been good to me and I never have to dread going to work. I've done that and it's not fun. It's just that, well, working everyday just gets in the way of my valuable leisure time. Naps have to be weekend things and I love a good nap about mid-morning, or mid-afternoon, or both.

No, what I cannot figure out is how so many middle-class slobs have so much more money and stuff and have been able to retire. Money's not everything, of course, but it's how we all keep our own teeth in good order, take good medical care of ourselves, wear decent and clean clothes, drive a dependable vehicle, enjoy the occasional fine dinner, and more.

I've saved and invested like a good little American, while watching idiot murfs on Wall Street sit around picking their teeth and picking the next big thing to make their paydays even more inflated (but not as inflated as their egos). Their winds of investment change have raped and pillaged two generations of investors and I don't expect my portfolio to ever recover from the adjustments the markets have made in the past ten years, putting retirees back in the workforce. Good morning, welcome to Biggie-Mart. If you need help finding something or a store employee...good luck. This is the part of my road map that really, really, and really pisses me off. Bernie Madoff-like murfs fooling around with the economy and effing us all in the short and long runs. If Madoff had made billions with legitimate investments I would simply be envious. He didn't. Drawing and quartering is what that asshat should have to suffer. But only after some other devious punishment. Ahem.

Guys my age with hefty pensions and retirement accounts who just worked in a factory all their lives, or operated a backhoe, or simply worked for someone else. Rich. Wealthy. Taking around-the-world cruises. Good for them. I just cannot figure out what happend. I mean, I'm at Biggie-Mart buying band-aids, bread, milk, coffee's on sale, lunch for work next week, and there are regular joes with their car in the shop--getting the gold plating on their Porche shined up all spiffy. Of course they need it shined up before storing it while they're on the cruise. This is good for them. I don't begrudge them in the least; except for overpaid pro sports and rap thugs. I just can't figure out where I took a wrong turn. After working for so long I feel as if my wife and I are just treading water. Maybe shallow water, but treading just the same. I had envisioned something like this toward retirement time. Yeah, there we are!

Or these

I think somebody's been fooling around with my road map.

Sugar, Baby

I cannot keep my weight at a constant due to my lifelong love affair with Sugar. Yummy, but no, not this Sugar, Finnish Ice Skater Kiira Korpi... Not Actress Brooke Adams, either.

When I found out I have diabetes I weighed 166. I stayed at that weight for about a year or more. During that period I was more vigilant about what I ate. Then I began to date Sugar again. I love her, but she’s no good for me – I’ve been stepped on, lied to, cheated on, and treated like dirt……..and go back for more. Damn you, Sugar.

During many weekends Sugar comes by and upsets everything. It's even worse when MarshaBelle's gone for the weekend and I am alone. On Tuesday this week I weighed 188. Today I’m at 184, the heaviest I’ve been in 4-5 years.

Soon, Sugar will come sashaying around dressed in white, looking all innocent and virginal, with Halloween treats, then Holiday pumpkin and pecan pies, cheesecakes and chocolates, cinnamon rolls and sinfully delicious layer cakes. Not to mention breads and rolls, potatoes and corn, gravy and ganache.

Oh, God, how I hate Sugar. My God how I love Sugar. My cheating with Sugar? It’s probably not going to end…until I do.

Man With Death Wish Slaps Child in Georgia Wal-Mart

On Monday, August 31, 2009, a woman walked through a Walmart in Georgia with her screaming 2-year-old. While it's not pleasant hearing a screaming child anywhere, if the child is not yours be thankful. If the child is yours, be patient. IT'S A CHILD. Infants and small children have been screaming and crying since the beginning of, well, time. And a two year old child who is screaming for any reason is not going to be easily pacified. A two year old's coping skills are extremely limited to non-existant.

But 61 year old Roger Stephens was also having a screaming-fit kind of day. It's obvious that this asshat's coping skills were also non-existant. According to news stories, Stephens allegedly approached the child's mother and said, "If you don't shut that baby up, I will shut her up for you."

At just about the moment that Asshat ended his threat is about the time my handgun would've been pressed up against his forehead. Apparently the mother did not shut her up, because a few minutes later, in another aisle, the man approached them, grabbed the child, and slapped the little girl "4 or 5 times", saying, "See, I told you I would shut her up." Yep, it landed him in jail. This kind of dangerous, life threatening behavior should have landed Stephens in a morgue.

Another customer stopped him, security was called, police came, and Asshat was arrested and charged with cruelty with children in the first degree, which is a felony. His defense? "I apologized to the mother".

ISLAMIC INFAMY

God Rest Their Souls and Unburden the Hearts of Mourners

Today, August 20, 2008, is another day, but an infamous example of Islamic radicalism taking its toll on the lives of so-called infidels - those of us who do not believe in Islam.

Kenny MacAskill, Scottish Justice Secretary, made the decision to release way-early the only person convicted in the December 1988 downing of Pan Am flight 103, which killed 270 people, many of whom were Americans. The convicted bomber's name is not important. The Scotsman defied all cries to keep him locked up, but agreed to a "compassionate" early release of a life sentence, allegedly because the prisoner has terminal prostate cancer. He served 8 years.

And they continue to kill us...from a thousand cuts.

The Holy Bible encourages Justice.

Itchy and Scratchy

I hate woven labels on shirt necks. They itch and scratch and just bug the crap outta me. Kinda like someone poking me with a stick all day. Not a lot of comfort in that.

If I was bothered enough I could always cut out the sewn-in labels and just try to remember which size that favorite shirt was, or which child-labor shirt maker made it so that I could buy the same brand and size the next time if it was a good fit. But once I cut out the label, the scratch was gone.

The apparel industry recently began printing the labels and I thought my karma was rewarding me for, oh, I don’t know, maybe for not stuffing a dead rat in the dryer vent of the assholes who used to live next door, but their karma took perfect care of them. They’re now both dead. Ahem...

The printed size-care-use labels are called Tagless Labels. This fast growing trend began with cheap t-shirts and is now finding its way into many other garments. Garment labeling is a big business. Really, it’s a huge business with more nuances than a thirsty teen with a pacifier at a rave party. There’s the federal regulations to worry about, clothing counterfeiters, label marketing, brand imaging and protection, holographic labeling, and other factors that I had never even thought about. But the industry has, believe me. Just the U.S. government's apparel labeling rules and regulations are enough to wipe out an entire forest of trees for the paper to print them on. Fascinating and troublesome at the same time, but that's for someone else to blog about. I'm mostly just bothered by the torture-like feel of a label on my neck, or at the back of my underwear's waistband. "Chinese water torture" has nothing on the misery of a scratchy label.

Federal regulations require a label to be legible and durable enough that it lasts for the life of the garment, so it's going to be with me for a while. The trouble with tagless is that the ink is sometimes so thick, or made to be so durable that even it scratches me.

But, I don’t see me cutting a hole in the shirt where the printed label is.

Cops Are In Control in Cambridge, and Everywhere Else

The highly educated and respected Harvard professor, Henry Louis Gates Jr., just learned something that he apparently didn't already know...when the cops show up on scene, they are boss and the ones in control, or will quickly attempt to gain control. It works that way in Cambridge Massachusetts and everywhere else I've ever been.

I was not at the scene, the President of the U.S. was not at the scene, and you were not there, either. We can form any kind of opinion we want, but it won't be based on what we saw. Gates' neighbor, the woman who called the police, could barely see the scene herself, and didn't mention race in her call, according to the 911 tapes' transcript, which I have not seen.

What do we know? Only what we have been told. So we don't know much. Gates said that he and his driver had difficulty with the house key and had to force the door. We know the cops showed up, and we know Gates was arrested and taken to the pokey. He was later released and disorderly-type conduct charges were dropped.

On Monday, July 27, 2009, eleven days after the incident, Cambridge city officials released the tapes of the 911 call. The caller on the July 16 tape repeatedly told the 911 center that she could not see what the two men trying to get in the home looked like. "I just saw it from a distance" she said. She wasn't even sure whether she had seen a crime, or just the resident trying to get in. The caller's attorney has said, and this is a salient point, that the tape shows her client's call was not racially motivated. "The truth is she couldn't see their race, therefore she didn't know their race and she didn't call police because of their race, which is the most important point of all," the caller's attorney said. "She called because of behavior."

This is what I call a "BINGO" moment...the point where the sum is more important than one element. It says to me that Gates had a huge, stinking, and racially-motivated chip on his shoulder. A chip that had grown ever larger for years and had never been knocked off. Cambridge Police Sgt. James Crowley, the arresting officer, not only knocked it off, he kicked the stinking thing all the way to The White House where it landed in the office of another guy with the same kind of chip on his shoulder. So that guy, a buddy of Gates, said that the officers acted "stupidly". Of course cops certainly have that capacity - we all do, but for the Prez to say so for all the world to hear is stupid. He wasn't there, which makes his buttinski remark stupid.

Respected journalist Juan Williams said on a FOXNews program that he had a simple way of dealing with police, even to the point of teaching his children his method, a method that most of us would be wise to employ: when a police officer asks you a question, answer it respectfully, then be quiet. If an officer directs you to do something, do it, then be quiet. The police are not Gods, but they certainly have the means to really mess up your day if you prefer it that way.

Comply and then be quiet is exactly what Gates should have done. The man was seen forcing the door, and then the police showed up. Gates should have done what a reasonable person would have done. As soon as the police got there Gates should have had his smile and I.D. ready. He did neither, apparently. His pride and ethnic baggage wouldn't allow it.

And that's how Harvard Professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr. learned a lesson.

The Turd That is Ward Churchill - FAIL!

07-07-2009

A Denver, CO District Court judge has refused to re-instate Ward Churchill into any classroom at the University of Colorado. This is a good thing.

It seems that the State of Colorado has a law that allowed the judge to determine whether Churchill got back his old job of filling young, impressionable students' minds with hate, lies, deceit, and poison, along with unhealthy servings of plain old bullshit.

In my previous post about him, I mention that a jury of like-minded peers decided that he was wronged, but only with a ONE-DOLLAR judgement.

It could not have happened to a more deserving piece of shit.

Siberia, Russia: A Myth of Mystery

Siberia isn't much different than any other part of the planet, I have come to learn. It's just in Russia, which generates an aura of mystery to most Westerners. Because of its latitude, its climate is a bit more extreme in winter than many locales, except for the polar regions. I am not a scholar and this is not a history lesson. It's my musing and it's primarily concerning Novosibirsk, Siberia, Russia.

The enormous Russian region known as Siberia occupies Eurasia's northeastern quadrant. It covers an area of 13,488,400 square kilometers (5,207,900 square miles) and makes up more than three quarters of Russia. It is a fourth bigger than Canada, the world's second largest country. It extends from the Ural Mountains on the west, to the Pacific Ocean on the east. From south to north it spans an empty realm from Kazakhstan, Mongolia, and China to the Arctic Ocean. It is empty because, although Siberia includes 23 percent of Eurasian territory, it claims less than 1 percent of the continent's population.

To many Westerners the name evokes a popular misconception that Siberian settlers are exiles or forced laborers. It is true that Siberia became a place of exile during the early 1700s and remained that for long after, but most Siberian settlers have been free migrants. Between 1885 and 1914, 4 million Slavic peasants sought refuge in Siberia. Almost all of them—and the majority of those afterward—settled in the southern tier along the main transportation routes. The rest of Siberia had a population density of less than one person per square mile (0.5 person per square kilometer), a condition that remains true.

The people have long called Siberia the "future" or "cupboard" of the nation, and the cupboard teems with raw materials. Despite long winters with subzero temperatures, about a tenth of Siberia's mineral and forest wealth has been tapped and is under development by prospectors. Some 200 industrial cities and towns, more than 30 with populations of more than 100,000 cropped up throughout the region during the 20th century. Largest industrial centers such as Novosibirsk and Krasnoyarsk each have population of well over a million.

The mineral resources of Siberia are enormous; particularly notable are its deposits of coal, petroleum, natural gas, diamonds, iron ore, and gold. Both mining and manufacturing underwent rapid development in Siberia in the second half of the 20th century, and steel, aluminum, and machinery are now among the chief products. Agriculture is confined to the more southerly portions of Siberia and produces wheat, rye, oats, and sunflowers.

Today's Siberia is one of the most dynamically developing regions of the Russian Federation. With the fall of the USSR, Siberia became more open to foreign travel and trade, while local Siberians sought to distance themselves from the Russian government in Moscow. Being developed for so long time as a functional appendage of the center, Siberia is now endeavoring to establish its own systems of foreign trade and international economic relations aimed at compensating regional economic disparities.

I have never been to Siberia, so some of the facts will have been personally communicated to me by a friend who is a native of Novosibirsk, Siberia. Other facts will come from the public domain, common knowledge, as it were. I will be composing the post on-the-fly. I will already have some facts at hand while composing, as well as composing from memory - which I will then verify and may correct.

Siberia, Russia is a vast region, and Novosibirsk is its largest city, with 1.6 million souls. Novosibirsk, the largest city in Siberia and the third in the country after Moscow and St. Petersburg, houses the State Academy Opera and Ballet Theater, a large scientific research center, and a large variety of casinos, world-class universities, institutes, and theaters.

My friend lives in Novosibirsk, which is quite a metropolitan city by Russian standards. Yes, Russia has standards. Now, however, Siberia's standards are more lofty than Russia's as a whole. Siberia is a melting pot of peoples and cultures, all combining to give Siberia a fresh, wholesome face. It is also a wealth of higher education opportunities, including world-class universities and research institutes. Western-style capitalism is flourishing, with high fashion stores and boutiques, auto dealerships, and other for-profit businesses opening most every day. But even as progressive as it is, Siberia is still, in many ways, like taking a step, well, not exactly back in time, just definitely somewhere else. Nomads still roam the Russian Steppe, but their yurt probably has some modern conveniences inside, and the car is parked outside, along with the reindeer and horses. Although life in a Siberian city like Novosibirsk is certainly comfortable for most, much of the land beyond the city's limits is still wild. The climate is harsh for most of the year, and the weather can change very quickly, usually for the worse.

Most Westerners, including myself, always thought of Siberia as a very cold place. And it is, in winter. The summers are quite mild, however. June and July temperatures in Arkansas are 97F to 100F. June and July temps in Novosibirsk are milder than Arkansas, with lows from 40F to highs of 75F. There is a Siberian joke that explains that there is a difference in winter and summer. In summer, Siberians wear their fur coats unbuttoned.

WHAT'S YOUR FANTASY?

Recently a very dear friend (don't ask) and I were talking and the subject of fantasies (again, don't ask) came up. Like most people, I guess, I have one occasionally. Like winning the big lottery and living financially happily everafter. Now, my friend may have this one, too. But the lottery was not the subject of the friend's fantasy. I liked it better than mine. What's your fantasy?

WHO IS THE AGGREIVED, HERE?

Just what on Earth is going on in this country?

In just one generation many of us have experienced a virtual turnover of values, mores, and fingerpointing. Fingerpointing?

Perpetrators have become victims and victims have become perpetrators. My God in Heaven Above, just what on Earth is going on? Social scientists (yeah, those people) can explain it much better than I can; or claim they can. But UP is now DOWN and DOWN is, well, you know.

The poor, misguided murderer kills because he (or she) is a victim of, well who cares what. The actual victim no longer matters much. All the attention, aid, and resources are now lavished on what was once the perp. Alice in Wonderland all over again.

To wit: This past week I was headed home from work on a two-lane county road, my daily route. I am driving the road's speed limit, 55 MPH, when a young female twit (I really want to use a different spelling) runs a stop sign, turns in the same direction I'm traveling, and gently urges her four-cylinder car up the steep hill just beginning ahead of us. Remember, I'm at road speed - 55 - and just beginning the double-yellow-line uphill climb. My car has good brakes and I could have locked them up, but who knows whether the driver behind me observed the instant change of events, and whether I could have avoided the young, ah, twit's car's rearend that was just a headlight away.

I consider myself a good, defensive driver (as everyone thinks of themselves) and had already observed that there was no oncoming, downhill traffic. Rather than braking, I whipped into the left lane to pass her quickly. Speed was my ally since her little four-cylinder, high-yellow wanna-be 'sportscar' was struggling to gain uphill speed. "Good manuever", I thought as I whizzed past her, about to give her the evil eye, when I INSTANTLY BECAME THE PERPETRATOR RATHER THAN A NEAR-MISS VICTIM. The young twit (it's taking all I can muster to not change one letter here) has dispensed with her evil eye and is flipping me off. Ahhhhhhh, I see now! SHE HAS INTERPRETED IN HER LITTLE BLONDE HEAD THAT SHE IS THE VICTIM of my overzealous and bully-like passing! Well bull-ull-ull shit! She's wasn't even old enough to change her own crap-filled panties that day, much less old enough to interpret anything of driving value (no offense meant to you, Granddaughters. Just don't be like this twit).

I guess I was expecting her to just shrug an "I'm Sorry", but I didn't realize I'd become a perp by avoiding a potential mess - and passing on that double-yellow (not a really good idea, anyway). All I could do was shake my head as I drove on home, with her behind me, variously from 3 car lengths to half-mile back.

While I was doing a bit of figurative Fingerpointing toward her, Ms Twit was doing it literally toward me. Just what on Earth is going on in this country?

What's On Your Menu?

When I was a young boy growing up in the 1950s, the times were tough economically. The weekday evening meal almost always included pinto beans as the protein. They were cheap and easy to prepare, and most always were seasoned with salt pork. Frankly, however, I don't actually remember the other dishes that were on the table. Probably homegrown vegetables and, of course, cornbread. Sunday dinners were either breaded and fried flounder (it was cheap, too), fried chicken, or a beef roast in a dish Dad called "family pan". The family pan was simply a roast with any other ingredients that the "family" wanted to include. The most exotic addition that I remember was apple slices. The family pan was rather straight forward, but we all felt we had a hand in it.

The entire family ate the popular cuts of meat: pork, beef, chicken, and fish. But almost none of the meals consisted of organ cuts. Sure, we had fried chicken livers and I enjoyed them into adulthood, but seldom had pork or beef liver, somewhat less enjoyable. All the meals were delicious and nutritious for the time. However, we never had more exotic meats like sweetbreads, pigs feet (Dad did like pickeled pigs feet), or brains. Kids don't like the idea of eating this stuff unless they have always been served it. Dad ate souse and tried to get us kids to. We wouldn't. I do actually remember a dish of brains and gravy once. We wouldn't eat that either.

But now, since the world is a much smaller place, all kinds of exotic (weird) things are available for human consumption. People with various ethnic backgrounds and cultures have brought their eating habits, and favorites, with them to our shores. Sushi, chicken feet, and many more weird things are here, and being served in homes and upscale restaurants. Just take a look at what's being eaten these days by visiting http://www.divinecaroline.com/22145/76526-forgotten-meats-making-comeback--it-s/

I am now older and wiser. I'm not about to embark on a culinary journey now. Especially if it includes anything from the divinecaroline website's story on so-called forgotten meats. They have never come to my dinner table, so they certainly willl not be making a comeback. I don't eat chicken livers any more, either.

Nature at its Best

I am a casual observer of nature. I especially enjoy seeing and learning about birds. I do not belong to a bird watching group. Neither will I travel to the ends of the Earth to see them. But I like them. EXCEPT for blackbirds and Starlings. These two seem to enjoy making a mess of things, congregating around humans and crapping all over everything. Of course, birds will "drop" wherever they are, but blackbirds and Starlings are especially egregious about it.

I do admire the Starlings' opportunistic behavior of developing nesting sites, such as pulling home siding apart at a seam, entering attics by tearing out vent screens, or setting up housekeeping in high-pressure sodium street lamps. But I don't like anything else about them.

Enter the Red Bellied Woodpecker. Here's a Bird I Like.

As long as it doesn't begin attacking the house.

In about mid-April, 2009, a Red Bellied Woodpecker constructed a nest in a dead limb of a Willow Oak tree in my backyard. This gave me the opportunity to observe its behavior on a daily basis, as well as learn its call. I now realize that I had heard a red-bellied woodpecker's call before, but did not know what it was. Initially I thought the bird was a Red-headed Woodpecker because "mine" does have red on its head - its red is actually called the cap, not the head. But it is not a Red-head. Even though it is called Red-bellied, one has to look hard to see the color on its breast. I call mine Rosie. Yeah, Rosie.

I have enjoyed seeing Rosie up close. Her nest is about 20 feet from our deck, and about 30 feet from the ground. Since April she has been faithfully incubating the eggs. They are apparently now hatched as yesterday I saw her make trip after trip to forage for food for her clutch. Red-bellied woodpeckers don't typically "peck" for food. They forage on the ground for insects, even catching mice, as well as catching insects on-the-fly. I have read that Rosie could even catch a live grasshopper, and then tightly tuck it - live - into a crevice in a tree for later dining. Cool!

I hope I get to see the juveniles, perhaps preening and stretching their wings before they abandon the nest - as all offspring should do!

Woodpecker UPDATE - June 27, 2009, Bird Today, Gone Tomorrow

Well, I had the simple pleasure of seeing only one juvenile Red Belly for a week or so. At least, I think it was just one. It would appear at the nest hole, looking about for its next meal to be delivered. This was during some of the hottest weather we have had and the fledgling had to be hot. I never saw it outside the nest, though. Since it has been about a week since I've seen it or its parents, I suppose it's vacated the premises - ahem, as all offspring should do.

However, almost as interesting as seeing the fledgling appear in the 'doorway' was seeing both parents foraging, and feeding the chick. I had thought I was seeing a very efficient mother quickly catching, and then feeding insects to her baby. Then, while observing through a pair of still-excellent 40 year old Yashica, 10x50 binoculars, I discovered that both mom and dad were sharing the burden. As soon as one brought in a meal and few back out to nature's deli, the other flew in with more bounty. As one of my daughters-in-law said, "Aw, that's sweet". She was right.

DIABETES KICKS MY BUTT. AGAIN.

Once again, my Type-2 diabetes sneaked up on me and kicked my butt. I can usually keep my condition under control with meds, eating somewhat responsibly, and exercising often-to-daily, if my feet and ankles will allow.

Several times since being diagnosed and beginning Glyburide-Micro I have had episodes of hypoglycemia - low blood sugar; even with the same breakfast and mid-morning snack routine. I say mid-morning because that's when they always happen. The episodes are as if someone flipped a switch. I have very little recognizable bodily warning; the hypoglycemia is on me in a few heartbeats. My blood-sugar level then is at about 90, which, for me, is too low. I can quickly get it back up, but the damage is already done. The results are confusion, headache, bodyache, extreme tiredness, hunger, et al. The rest of the day is shot, as well as the next day. I'm not good for anything except sleeping and eating a bit more. The episodes are lots of emotions all rolled into one hell of a bad day. Scary sums it up.

The most recent episode began INSTANTLY! just as I was about to eat a tasty, charcoal-grilled burger. Just moments before I was chatting with the friend doing the grilling. I did get the burger eaten, though.

DIABETES. IT'S NOT A GOOD THING.

Do You Like to Chat?

I was recently introduced to the new chat web site, Omegle. The site started up in March '09 and has already made some waves. Omegle is a totally anonymous chat venue. Everybody is "Stranger". I don't usually chat. Well, I don't ever chat, but I thought I'd give it a spin.

I clicked "chat" texted "Hello" and within a few seconds another disembodied person said hello and claimed to be in Finland, then I chatted with someone in India who immediately wanted my ASL - age, sex & location. I hit "disconnect". The third chat was with someone who claimed to be a female in university in Guangdong Province, China. She was brushing up on her English.

If you decide to go to http://www.omegle.com/ be prepared. There are lots of assholes, idiots, and lunatics who just want to yank your chain. And then, of course, the trolls.

THE TURD THAT IS WARD CHURCHILL

So, former fire and explosive bomb maker Ward Churchill sticks around to see just how much more damage his ugly ass can do. Of course, U.S. colleges and universities are filled with radicalized socialists like Churchill, William Ayers, a 1969 co-founder of the radical bombing group the Weather Underground, and Ayers girlfriend (not the girlfriend who blew herself up making his bombs) and current spouse, Bernardine Dohrn. And like those other radical "teachers", they have deluded themselves into thinking that they are important and have something relative and enriching to impart to their students. They don't.

Churchill has spent a lifetime stealing the work of others, and then claiming it to be his own, from literary pieces to at least one painting. It's his gig. His persona. It's all he can do because he cannot do anything else; unemployable otherwise. He has also lied about being from American Indian bloodlines. Native American Indian groups have said, 'bullshit'. Ward Churchill masquerades as an Indigenous American in a hate campaign to destroy the U.S.A. He has drawn criticism from real American Indians for exploiting his fraudulent claims of Indian ancestry. This letter (below) posted on the American Indian Movement website sums it up.

“Ward Churchill has been masquerading as an Indian for years behind his dark glasses and beaded headband. He waves around an honorary membership card that at one time was issued to anyone by the Keetoowah Tribe of Oklahoma. Former President Bill Clinton and many others received these cards, but these cards do not qualify the holder a member of any tribe. He has deceitfully and treacherously fooled innocent and naïve Indian community members in Denver, Colorado, as well as many other people worldwide.” Nee Gon Nway Wee Dung, aka, Clyde H. Bellecourt, Ojibwa NationNational Executive DirectorAmerican Indian Movement Dennis J. Banks, Ojibwa NationChairman of the BoardAmerican Indian Movement

But, as he said, he's not claiming to be "Goddamned Sitting Bull", at least not yet. Maybe. Lying piece. Churchill couldn't hold down a productive real job if his life depended on it, which it does not because he has a so-called teaching job. Do you want this murf teaching your grandkids. If he got anywhere near mine I'd wrench that AK-47 from his filthy hands and show him how it's used.

Learn more about the turd that is Ward Churchill here:

http://www.lookingattheleft.com/2009/03/ward-churchill-trial-in-denver/

I usually include a photo or graphic representation of the subject of my posts, but I don't want to sully my blog with scatological photos. However, I will say this: A jury of his like minded peers has now confirmed it.

You can dig up a coprolite, put sunglasses, an ugly gray wig, and clothes on it, give it a job, even paint it. But it’s still a rigid, unyielding, unsightly, and worthless piece of coprolite, aka Ward Churchill.

Hey, Churchill! You know where you can stick your dollar bill.