Alaska
is big. Alaska is unique. Alaska is a far away place, especially from the
mainstream political scene of Pennsylvania Avenue, some 4000 air miles away. Alaska’s
own capital is closer to Seattle then it is to most of the 572 thousand square
miles of wilderness that is home to bears, moose, enormous caribou herds,
horrendous flocks of mosquitoes and about a half-million residents scattered
here and there and everywhere. But Alaska is the richest of states under the
red, white and blue. We have oil. And Alaska gets the biggest bang from the
buck, through yours and mine income taxation appropriations. So basically,
Alaska is the oil welfare state! Such a sweet and sour quagmire was made
possible through the generosity of three ultimate power U.S. representatives.
This state really receives only a pittance from the oil giants who explore to
exploit. I think that word pittance in reality means “pity”, and probably of
British origin. Our law shaking lawmakers respectfully earned a name, the
“Three Stooges”. But one opted to retire and gave the cushion senate seat to
his daughter. He then became the governor! Not only does this state win the
coveted “Pork King” award time after time, we usually win the “Hog” trophy. We
have bridges to nowhere, thanks to Uncle Sam. We have hi-tech rocket launch
facilities, with no rockets to launch, thanks to Uncle Sam. We have Cray
super-computers, whose main use seems to be that of maintaining brewing
recipes, for the local brew-masters club, once again courtesy of Uncle Sam.
Boston has the “Big Dig”, we have the “Big TED”. Such attributes indeed makes
for lively discussion about the 49th state. And with the long
Alaskan winters, lasting at least into the middle of May at the mildest of
climates, the coffee shops get their fair share of gossipers. The SHORT STACK,
a collection of 49 short stories from the Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee,
brings to light the uniqueness’ of Alaska, the “Last Frontier” state!
(Mouse Click Choice)
Fiddo
gets high on carpet glue.
Some
bastard stole a soldier’s beans!
3)
Thanksgiving
A
time of year to diversify.
4)
Where Have All the Young Soldiers Gone
Gone
to war. What war?
I am
afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.
7)
American
CEO
Another
take and run bandit story, Alaskan style.
8)
Real
Estate
Give
me your tired, poor and huddled masses.
10)
Best Buy In Town
11)
Hey George…1500 DEAD SOLDIERS!
A sad day for America.
12)
Cereal Economics
Understanding today’s economic outlook.
13)
The DEFICIT of 2005, and Beyond
Rich get richer, middle class gets shafted.
Man’s best friend.
17)
Bumper Sticker Says It All
18)
Work Rap Song
Have words, can’t sing. Rapper wanted.
19)
Reces Pieces
Where
did that fresh air come from?
20)
Freedom: A WARNING to the Citizens of Iraq
Los Angeles, a failed democracy.
21)
Black Gold
Three strikes your out made the tail wagers
rich men.
No more Kenmore.
Political
OINK!
24)
The Real MaCoy
26)
Raiders of the Last Estate
Shameful inheritance.
27)
A Prayer for all Denominations
28)
Alaska’s Young Republicans
30)
Say, We Need a Revolution!
Chinese Stamps.
32)
The Secret Hydrogen Project
33)
The Secret Light Experiment
34)
Pill-ferage
Buddy,
can you spare a pill.
36)
Alice’s Restaurant Revisited
Lawyers suck…
Politicians suck…
41)
We Asked for a
Stimulator and got a Simulator
42)
How Owen Got A “Slope” Job
43)
Octane
Number
I
love BETX!
Ellis
Island or Riker’s Island?
45)
Green Connection
Alternative
transportation testing.
46)
Minimum Wage, the New Age Rage
To
hell with your nest egg.
47)
Please Donate
To a
good cause, I thought.
48) Alaska’s Big Industry Supports Child-Sex Trafficking
49)
War
Hero
One
too many tears…
I was hanging out in the International Terminal at Ted
Stevens Airport, located in Anchorage, Alaska. What possessed me to waste time
at a place somewhat crowded with people nervously contemplating their upcoming
screening process before departure somewhere else, was waiting out the arrival
of my daughter coming home from college for the Thanksgiving holiday. Things
were pretty normal around the terminal, missing smiles, tired travelers, that
familiar airport type hype. And as usual, caution and pedestrian detour signs
strategically placed, as there are always remodeling projects going on around
these federally subsidized facilities, remembering that Alaska has the “Pork
King” as a senator. This day was no different, even if it were the beginning of
the holiday season. New carpet placement was keeping several exhausted workers
busy, all the time, trying to hold back their true feelings of annoyance and
frustration with the passing disgruntled. Then came excitement to rupture the
boredom. Shouting was heard, arms waved in the air, and whatever was going
down, it grabbed everybody’s attention - even with those trying to take a
snooze. It was the homeland security gang, now in a free-for-all race up and
down the isles. Maybe it was a rehearsed response, but chaos indeed ruled.
Heading the drive was a young lady, in tow behind Fiddo, a healthy German
Shepard. Now this dog was special, groomed and trained to sniff out traces of
explosives. He had homed in on one not too suspicious looking a character, a
typical Alaskan, beer gut held up by red suspenders, flannel shirt - not the
terrorist looking type at all. But this guy was no doubt not the drooling
aggressor’s victim, as the dog was off once again in a crazy and bizarre
fashion, pulling the security guard along. Her fragility was no match for the
ripping muscular canine frame, just like a good lead sled dog. Soon it was on
to victim #2, a little old lady. Didn’t look the terrorist type either. Wrong
again! On to yet another choice amongst the crowd, still wrong, and at this
point in time completely puzzling the security team, which by now seemed to
equal the number of travelers. They came out of the woodwork! The homeland
security team did not know what to do. Was it a breach? Was there some trace
explosive being detected in and around the passenger terminal? Was it time to
evacuate all to the outside cold? Then a young man, well respected in his dress
code, caught the attention of one of the security team’s top brass - the guy
with the big badge and big radio. A conversation pursued, and then came smiles
and laughs. Evidently, the glue that was being used to adhere the new carpet to
the floor was getting Fiddo high, with that, it was throwing off his keen sense
of smell. Maybe the young man was a scientist or maybe an animal veterinarian,
he knew something of value. Soon things returned to normal, as poor Fiddo was
relieved of duty. Seems like everybody was a little light-headed after that.
And strange enough, people were actually laughing and smiling. Hopefully from
holiday cheer! Thought I heard a snort.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
~ The JELLY-BELLY Caper ~
From the Chinook Journal of S.
Pam MaGee
My daughter is in a relationship
with a nice young man who is now overseas. After completing his degree at the
University of Utah as a member of ROTC, he is now fulfilling his military duty.
As a logistics specialist, he may not get involved on-site with the Iraq war,
but most likely his assignments will be in efforts to assist the troops that
are directly involved. It could mean an assignment with tough memories. As a
going away present, my wife thought it would be a good idea to buy him
something to take along the journey. Food was the winner, as MRE’s just don’t
seem to appease the appetite. Since he liked Jelly-Bellys, a 5-pound bag would
do. Now a bag this size is pretty impressive. I had the detail to package it up
so it could make a trip from Alaska down to Salt Lake City, where my daughter
was attending college and was about to see Jake off to his indoctrination
assignment in Italy. Living up north, one gets pretty good at the packaging
detail, as lots of miles and many conveyors separate the 49th state
from the lower 48 states. Anyway, an appropriate box was found. Now stuffed
away along with the Jelly Bellys, a big bag of quarters for the dorm room
washing facilities, a few music CD’s and some T-shirts. All total, the
non-destructive over taped box weighed in at exactly 7 pounds. I personally
delivered it to the post office, opting to ship it priority for $25 dollars.
Three days later, a panic call from my daughter warned of a serious problem.
She knew the beans were coming, but upon arrival, everything was accounted for
except the 5-pound bag of Jelly-Bellys. There were no apparent damage signs on
the box, except suspicion that the box had been tampered with and re-tapped. My
daughter ran down to the local post office and complained about the missing things,
but to no avail, as all inquires to missing mail had to begin at the point of
origin. So I was quickly involved, some miles away. Numerous calls proved
nothing, except that everybody said it was awful, that something like this
would happen. I insisted that the postal defenders from here to there start
checking the Nixie stations, where confiscated or abandoned mail articles are
placed, as two-thousand multi-colored beans cannot just disappear. And even if
the box had been damaged on a conveyor belt, and the beans spread about in all
directions, there should and would have been some notice directing the
receiver’s attention to this matter. But there was nothing. The Nixie stations
turned up nothing. I held a belief that it was not the Postal Service’s fault,
as authorities informed me that most of their affiliation to the mail routing
routine was automated. Now in between there existed the possibility of a
breach, this according to the postal experts themselves. First of all, a
majority of the transfer duties that once belonged to the mail people have been
outsourced. Secondly, I was informed by an authoritive and anonymous source
that Tom Ridge’s Homeland security does have jurisdiction over anything and
everything airborne and that suspicion from X-ray screening may have prompted a
search. That is OK, as the big bag may have been suspect and it was going on an
airplane that would also ferry passengers, that is how it works up here in
Alaska. But what happened to the beans? This is as un-American as it can get.
It is hard times for our young men and women in uniform, they are doing a
heroic job in the battlefield. And I bet after a long and dangerous day, a
handful of Jelly-Bellys may be a godsend. Not this time, thanks to some
thoughtless terrorist who stole Jake’s surprise! Mr. Ridge, please in the name
of the White, Red and the Blue, find Jake’s Jelly-Bellys!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
From the Chinook Journal of S.
Pam MaGee
I work at a military base power plant, as a rough neck. I
am well respected by the younger un-seasoned crewmembers, because of my years
of experience in starting big generators and firing off mighty steam boilers.
It is a hot and tough job. There was another gentlemen named Ira, of my age
group, that was also held in high esteem. But he was a a very quiet guy, never
making any waves, for any reason whatsoever. Some held the belief that he was
somehow or another affiliated with a past military record. From his appearance,
I held the same belief. I thought his past may have been more in line with the
CIA, he had the demeanor. Anyway, our relationship with these guys was almost
like a “Dad”. The Commander of the base always held a Thanksgiving Dinner,
catered to the workers who cannot be home with their families, as plants like
this can’t take a break in the action. It is very important to keep the runway
lights on for returning F-16 fighter jets protecting the Pacific Rim. Now
during the dinner festivities this year, as was not unusual, politics entered
the picture just about the time the pumpkin pie was being divvied up. The
election fallout was still fresh in everybody’s mind, so winners and losers had
enough to gripe about. And up here in interior Alaska, the “reddest” of the red
states, one must be very careful not to tread on the GOP agenda, especially in
the presence of the younger guys. So the political chat turned to one of the
hot issues still being talked about, that of gay marriage. After a few minutes
of gay bashing by many of the crewmembers, as if it were appropriate to get
your cents worth at somebody else’s expense, Ira spoke up and entertained the
audience that he supported the gay initiative, going on to inform “his” friends
that his own son was gay. Things went quiet real quick. It seemed to end the
festivities and soon workers began vacating the break room to get back to their
duties. As I was about to begin my hourly rounds of the turbine generators, I
noticed that one of the younger guys was following Ira. I thought maybe he was
interested in learning something, but this time it wasn’t about generating
electricity. I invited myself to partake of the discussion which included
Brian, another individual that also seemed quiet during the gay bashing bout.
When we finally arrived at a place where ear protection wasn’t necessary, he
asked Ira how he had coped with the initial shock that his son was gay. Ira
told him that a lot of thought provoking time insisted the writing of a book.
Titled “My Journey to Landes House”, this writing captures an experience that
allowed Ira to accept his son’s choice. Ira went on to tell us that a good
friend of his had a Down Syndrome child, and that over the years he had seen
what acceptance was all about. He had challenged himself to write a book, about
acceptance, because he found it difficult to express his feelings about
alternative life styles, from just an off the cuff expression of a few words,
where most likely no one was really listening. According to Ira, a book on the
subject of acceptance can focus one’s attention to express true feelings. Brian
asked Ira for a copy, to which he readily agreed, as Ira always carried a few
extra copies in his truck. Well come to find out, Brian’s dad, who was the plant
safety director, he was still harboring hostilities over the fact that his own
daughter was gay. Now this kid loved his dad, and loved his sister, but when he
tried to be the peacekeeper by getting in between, he was ridiculed, from both
sides. He seemed pretty down about it. Maybe it had to do with the holiday
seasons upon us, when families are supposed to unite. Ira just happened to run
into the safety engineer about a week after talking with his son about his own
experiences, he said thanks to Ira, with a smile. I guess the book changed his
mind, and according to his son Brian, dad and daughter had dinner together,
first time in many years. Ira may not have been successful in changing the
mindset of an entire crew, by coming out that he supported his son’s choice in
life, but it was indeed a win to get the point across to one or two
individuals. Like baby steps, it takes time. Some of us have been on a mission
to support our loved ones, regardless of one’s choice, that it is important.
Just like Dick Cheney has done in public, with support for his own daughter who
is gay. You can tell when the subject comes up, his response is that from a
loving father, to that I have a great respect. He is a true statesman for that
support and goes down in my book as a true hero. So is his daughter. So is Ira’s son! And all the others!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
~
Where Have All the Young Soldiers Gone ~
From the Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
I work in close proximity to the
main railroad trunk line that meanders through the city of Anchorage, Alaska.
Just the other day, I was temporarily spellbound when what seemed like a
never-ending procession of flat bed rail cars slowly made its way towards the
downtown docks. It is always rewarding to take the time out to watch the rails,
to focus in on the things that are being carried along by the mighty
locomotives, a nostalgic thing - Casey Jones on my mind. This time it was a
little different, as the normal cargo of fuel and coal cars now consisted of
something that isn’t seen all that often around here, especially in such
quantity. It wasn’t hard to figure out that it meant military mobilization.
Piggybacked on the slow moving rail cars, all kinds of war machines, all
bearing the insignia of the Striker Brigade from Ft. Richardson. It was a
little airy, as all the vehicles held empty compartments, no drivers, no
soldiers. But I knew that somewhere not too far away, a bunch of young men and
women were most likely climbing aboard a military transport plane, their
destination the same as the trains goods. And it was not hard to guess where,
as the news had hit the stands that the Iraq war support was being ramped up.
Up to this point in time, Alaska had been pretty much out of the Baghdad
picture, as the bases up here still held a priority mission of protecting the
Pacific Rim. And even though these vehicles showed very little battlefield
abuse, the sad fact of the matter that may soon be a thing of the past.
Casualties in the Iraq theatre were mounting each and every day. It was hard
not to think that one of the many passing and yet unmanned military convoy
vehicles would prove to be the death trap of a worrier. With that thought, I
gave a salute, and bravely shed a tear for their bravery. But when the train
finally made its way out of sight, my thought process turned to one of a refute
over this war that our country is now so engaged. Like many, I didn’t
understand it. Why was it really happening? It gave way to flashbacks of
Vietnam. Back at the office break room where a TV blasted out one of the many
news channels, I just happened to arrive when the White House was broadcasting
a press briefing about the UN Iraq oil for food program scandal. U.S. President
George W. Bush made comment that he was looking forward to a full disclosure of
the scandal. Well George, many Americans have been waiting for a long, long
time to get you to provide a full disclosure along with an honest appraisal of
why you went to war with Iraq. You haven’t delivered. Then the news pundits
were interviewing fraternal Bush supporters who were selfishly adamant that
Kofi Annan must step down, because the U.N. leader’s own son was somehow
possibly tied to the scandal. Well Mr. Bush, maybe it is time for you to step
down, as your entire agenda is scandalous. I do not salute you or your agenda.
Kofi Annan is a recipient of the Nobel Peace prize. And for yourself Mr. Bush,
what qualifies you to hold judgment against a peacemaker? To this I knew there
was not a reasonable answer.
At the same time, and along side the troop deployment
increase news story, the scary fact that the FBI was engaging in activities
that warranted an investigation by the ACLU, something about activities
targeting peace activist and groups opposed to the war. Seems like déjà vu.
Another flashback to Vietnam. I thought about this for the rest of the workday.
On the way home that evening, a bumper sticker on the car in front of me summed
it all up. No words were needed, as this picture was worth a thousand words. It
was a colorful head bust of a smiling Richard Nixon followed by the arithmetic
“+” sign and a bust of J. Edgar Hoover with an “=” sign that showed a smiling
Texas tanned George W. Bush. I found the answer to our American dilemma. It is
sad!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
From the Chinook
Journal of S. Pam MaGee
First and foremost, the free use of marijuana was allowed
in the state of Alaska until 1990. During that time, believe it or not, some of
the highest quality cannabis was grown here, up this far north. The long summer
days produced a class of its own, called Matanuska Thunder F…[explicit] by the
locals. The citizens cherished the right, because it was by the people’s vote
that made it legal. And let us face the facts, the Trans-Alaska-Pipeline -
which supplies 20% of the nations energy woes - it could not have been built
ahead of schedule without booze, marijuana, cocaine and hookers! But even
though the weed was legal, it was not an all out and open indulgence following
the pipeline construction era - more behind the scenes then anything else. That
all changed when the legislative branch, behind closed doors and when the citizens
were blindfolded, decided it was time to take the choice away from the voters’
1975 decision. It had something to do with following the Federal mandate to
criminalize the activity. Basically your typical “big brother” hijacking,
either follow Washington’s agenda or regurgitated taxpayer funds to sustain the
local government may be sidetracked - to another state. It is amazing how a
state like Alaska, far removed and away from the lower 48 states, with so much
true spirit independence, really has none! We can thank our D.C. senators for
that. Could also blame our one and only congressman, but he never shows up for
anything worthwhile, unless he can attach his wife’s name to some
appropriations bill. It basically all comes down to that jobs or no jobs realization.
“Follow us or we will destroy your economy”, is the phrase read between the
lines of our cherished Star-Spangle banner.
So in that respect, I am all for the legalization of
marijuana, for any purpose in Alaska, as it was a right that the citizens were
stripped of against their own free will. Secondly, there are probably more
studies that support the true effect of this indulgence upon society, be it for
enjoyment or for medicinal purposes. I am talking about the 60’s! Take a poll
if you don’t believe me. Of course the exit polls may be skewed, maybe screwed
is a better word. I, admittedly, was part of that test group. I could sum up
the hours spent “high”, and to this day harbor no adverse effects, or
carryover, except fond memories. It is a peace potion. Maybe that is what
everybody is really afraid of, PEACE! Along with my experiences with
experimenting, I would have to say that one out of every three persons who went
to college in Boston indulged on a regular basis. The stuff was all around! You
could not walk through the Boston Commons without getting a buzz. So from the
standpoint of how it affects participants, the trial period did commence, and
the data is complete. But maybe that is not good. Just ask the big pill people.
The trial and error period for this stuff is history! Now the trial period is
all important to the money makers. It is the “gray” area that provides a
cushion for greed seekers. Big corporations need the trial periods to rally up
the price of their goods. It is a gray area because neither you or I nor Uncle
Sam can break into that area, as it is secretive and legally regarded as
confidential. So with Mary Jane already time tested, there is no “gray” area.
This stuff, no matter how beneficial tests deem it to be, it will never find a
place in the medicine cabinet. It’s all based on profits. Now even though
marijuana is no longer legal in Alaska due to elected legislators afraid of
Uncle Sam - afraid to anger treasury officials that is - who is really behind
the government mandate? Not a hard guess, it is the pharmaceutical interests.
Cannabis has a proven tract record of what it can do to relieve human aliments.
With that, the pill distributors see it as a threat to their bottom-line, to
the stockholders, who may get a little upset if the stock falls due to
competition. If the weed was just again discovered and the time trials had not
begun - the love and dope years - believe me the special interests would be
interested! They could control the trial periods in efforts to boost their
bottom line once they insist the FDA’s stamp of approval. But it is the gray
area that has beat them at their own game of greed. I will elaborate on why I
believe this is so, and again use Alaska as an example. “Black gold” crude oil
has been flowing from the North Slope oil fields for well over thirty years
now. And during those lucrative years, where big oil has and continues to
garnish billions upon billions of dollars in profits and continues to stick it
to the state with a rotten banana, the sister project to transport natural gas
has remained just cheap talk with no action. And considering that there are
trillions, yes trillions of reserves, the reason for not moving forward goes
like this. Black crude oil, when it comes out of the ground is un-marketable.
There is nothing you or I can do to make use of this commodity. It must go
through a refining process. The fact that it is un-marketable opens the door to
apply unrestricted profit margins. It means adding a few pennies here and a few
pennies there. By the time it gets to your gas tank, low and behold! And since
the law allows unabated confidentiality to oil companies, sighting sensitive
exploration data, nobody, not even the president can get the books open. So we
pay for a whole lot of different things. Why do you think big oil corporations
are so generous with donations, it is somehow and somewhere calculated into the
profit margin equation, they don’t give away anything for free! On the other
hand, natural gas doesn’t really have a “gray” area to play with. Oil companies
despise natural gas. Why? No easily hidden costs. One could hook up a Coleman
stove right at the well and boil water. It is in itself an already marketable
commodity, there exists no room for hidden profits. Now up on the slope, the
oil companies invent new ways to play the game. I don’t yet see a natural gas
line going through Alaska. I doubt if this state will ever see an intrastate
gas pipeline. See, over the years - 30 years as of this writing - the natural
gas has been purposely contaminated. The gas comes out of the ground with the
crude oil. Once separated, the natural gas liquids are drawn off and mixed with
the crude oil to enhance the API gravity. The higher the API, the more money
per barrel. Left over gas is sent back down into the formation to keep a
squeeze on the oil rim, forcing the oil to keep on coming. So over this time
span, the BTU - simply put, the energy content - it has decreased. So the
natural gas is not as valuable as it once was. The value lost has been secretly
gained by the crude oil. It is part of the plan to keep the much needed gas
“un-marketable”. It continues to be poisoned, willfully. The contaminated
natural gas will have to be conditioned, like refining crude oil to gasoline,
allowing the “gray” area to once again disrupt the equation of “cheap” energy.
If continued efforts can get the stuff at a lower enough BTU content, it could
be declassified as “waste” gas instead of natural gas. What could also help
with the declassifying aspect is the carbon dioxide content, used as a sweeping
agent. It also contaminates the natural gas. And it is a bugger to remove.
Nobody wants this byproduct of tertiary crude oil recovery in the natural gas.
So trying to score contracts with natural gas that has a low BTU content and a
high carbon dioxide ratio is like a peanut butter sandwich without grape jelly.
Just not good enough! So this is a sleazy way to invent a “gray” area. Now the
best way to keep the regulators out of the “gray” area, is to send the natural
gas through Canada, using the McKenzie River route. With a pipeline going
through Canada, where there is and will continue to be horrendous extraction
efforts of natural gas heading to U.S. markets, the bad Alaskan stuff would be
mixed with the good Canadian stuff. And guess who has gas leases in Canada? The
same guys who own Alaskan gas. Now it becomes marketable with all the
advantages of the “gray” area profit bandit and a foreign government in between
for protection. But it is all based on the bottom line. So if the oil companies
can bust through the state’s bottom line tax base, there may come a gas line
through Alaska instead of through our neighbor country. Time will tell. Lets
get high again on the lost subject of this writing - Mary Jane! So even though
we have proven medicinal use benefits of natural remedies like marijuana and
proven natural gas reserves, it is not what the greed seekers want. It is not
rocket science, the fact that it is beneficial. The racket science comes about
in manipulating the supply and demand equation of the earths resources so a few
can profit, at everybody else’s expense. So like most things, the special
interests groups backing the pharmaceuticals industry are most likely the ones
against the legalization of marijuana, as they stand to lose. The stockholders
stand to lose, your 401K stands to lose, so why even bother. To bad if it could
sooth the pain of a few! And it seems that there cannot and will not be any
“gray” area supporting the economics of the weed. Without it, this stuff is
forever doomed as a remedy readily and legally available. So for that matter, I
would support the Alaska initiative to once again legalize the use of
marijuana. But the “new” Alaskans will vote it down, because the issues
surrounding the yeh or ney will be clouded in campaign corruption manipulated
by those that think they know what is best. The issue before the voters will be
tied to criminal malfeasance when in reality it all boils down to criminal
corporate greed. Did Newt Gingrich really try the weed?
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
From the Chinook
Journal of S. Pam MaGee
Capital!
What’s with this new buzzword that the president select and wartime upon us
re-elect is throwing around like an excited kid at Christmas time. Just look at
that Mr. Hyde smile when the buzz is once again delivered during an important
Dr. Jekyll crony speech. I am one AMERICAN who is not afraid to call this guy a
liar! Capital? Seems like it may be an asset that can be used like that “Get
out of Jail” card we all hope to own while traversing the monopolistic
boardwalk. Capital! He insists it is his to gamble with. It is his with
prejudice because the voters’ voice has been heard. Bush is again the president
because this time around he had the party vote. That population outnumbered the
free thinkers. One thing about being a Republican, you just vote. No need to
spend time or worry or debate over issues, that job is reserved for somebody
else. Maybe the Capitol should be called George’s Capital, all inclusive. Just
where did this new buzzword originate? It is new to me. It could mean a zillion
things. So I resorted to the World Wide Web to find out just what these modern
day search engines could produce, with regards to “Capital”. Damn, Mr. Geepers
- or whatever his name is - right on! Your stealth like maneuvering sure
targeted the rightwing thing. Remember Mr. Phineas Whoopee? The mad scientist
that helped Tennessee Tuxedo, the guy with 3x5 magical board. Phineas Whoopee,
sounds more like the name of a porno producer. Anyway, at the top of the
results list was a link to an organization called PNAC, short for the “Project
for the New American Century”. Sounded pretty interesting. And sure enough,
this “Capital” thing stems from a letter that defines this organization’s
“mission statement”. Now when I hear this “mission statement” bullshit, I know
I am in for some “misinforming statement”. PNAC’s “mission statement” is endorsed by some really big time players.
And it is right there in the open on the WEB. As if this is all cool and the
righteous thing to do. No need to hide anything. The statement basically calls on
the U.S. to take over the world. We have “Capital”. This is dissected down to
the fact that our economy is strong, at the pinnacle of success. It enlists the
fact that our military is strong, at the pinnacle of power and cannot and will
not get any stronger. Our people are strong, everything is strong and now is
the time to act - in efforts at becoming the “Global Leader”. And the
signatories behind this Totalitarian plot is pretty mind-boggling to say the
least. It includes players who now play an important role in the “puppet”
government headed by George. Yes, “PUPPET” government! If you read into the
PNAC notes, letters, statements, you’ll find that if George doesn’t want to
play their game, then they have the means to organize a government within a government.
Case in point. George, going on the druthers of his dad’s experience and
expertise after many successful years in the CIA, this son did not want to
invade Iraq following the 911 attacks. Not that he didn’t have an interest in
toppling crazy Hussein, but it wasn’t the time to pick on an enemy that may not
be involved in the insanity that knocked down two of New York’s towering
landmarks - the pride and joy of capitalism. But this incident allowed the
puppet government to engage and unveil their selfish plan of democracy for the
world. The puppet club elite includes Donald Rumsfeld(is Secretary of Defense:
was CEO of Bechtel, Searle Pharmaceuticals and Gilead Pharmaceuticals). Paul
Wolfowitz(is World Bank President: was Undersecretary of Defense). A note on
Paul. This guy was very upset at H. W. Bush when the acting president did not
want to invade Iraq following the announcement that the Desert Storm mission
was accomplished. H. W. said that an invasion was not part of the mission, that
the troops were tired and there was no plan of attack or an exit plan. The 41st
president believed in the Powell doctrine that insisted on an exit strategy as
the most important element of war. The troops came home! Now I could go on with
the list, as it is pretty mind-boggling. So all we really have is George and
Condy. That is what makes up the present administration. These two are trying
to do as much as they possibly can without running interference to the PNAC
administration, which is really running the country, or ruining this once great
emancipator of freedom and liberty. Oh, I can’t help not mentioning one other
PNAC advancer. Mr. Dan “Potato Head” Quayle. Did you know that the producer of
the Mr. Potato Head toy was designing a plastic figure head that resembled the
vice, but was told it was illegal so production was stopped. I thought it was a
good way to preserve history. Sorry, have to mention another individual that is
sure to help re-write the history books while embedded in the puppet
government. Elliot Abrams - remember Iran Contra - has replaced William Bennett
at the National Security Council. This guy Abrams, was caught lying to
Congress! Is being a liar part of the credentials nowadays? It is pretty ugly
when deciphered as to what is really going on. Anyway, this “capital” thing is
like a battery. During the peacetime reign of William J. Clinton, the U.S. was
able to bring its military to the highest level of power ever possible. The
PNAC cabal realized back then that it was the time to exercise that military
might and take over the world. In the mission statement it emphasizes world
dominance. Now remember, this was
written in 1997 and included things like, (1) we need to increase defense
spending significantly and (2) we need to strengthen our ties to democratic
allies and challenge regimes hostile to our interests and values and (3) we
need to promote the cause of political and economic freedom abroad and (4) we
need to accept responsibility for America’s unique role in preserving and
extending an international order friendly to our security, our prosperity, and
our principles. The statement ends with, “Such a Reganite policy of military
strength and mortal clarity may not be fashionable today. But it is necessary
if the United States is to build on the successes of this past century and to
ensure our security and our greatness in the next.” But Bill wouldn’t
budge. H. W. wouldn’t budge, as these two guys, even though holding differing
views, were also statesmen. They knew what battles to pick, going back to the
saying that one can win the battle but the war? So with the mission statement
bold and getting old, the PNAC gang would do anything and everything to get an
idiot in office. They succeeded, and within minutes, the plans to take over the
world - with Dick at the helm - that plan was enacted. So if you question what
is happening today on the world scene, get on the WEB and visit the PNAC site.
It will be a visit to the Capitol of Capital arrogance! And remember one thing,
batteries wear down! And working Americans will pay for the re-charge.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
So once again we hear of yet another CEO or COO playing thief.
I prefer the latter, COO is so close to “coup” in its sounding. That is all
these so-called “gifted” guys really do, set things up so when things go wrong
it is an easy bailout. They take over the goods and run for cover. I don’t know
about you, but this thievery sure gives my blood pressure a check out. It is
getting to the point I may have to check in! But like before, this type of
incredible and unbelievable behavior - stealing I am talking about here - it
has no fallout and literally falls by the wayside. So why make a fuss over it,
as there will no doubt come another scandal, it is guaranteed. In fact, it
seems just about every week there is another robbery in progress. It is no
different up here in Alaska. We have our “coups”. And there is one COO in
particular worth mentioning, as it is one sad situation wherein the thief got
away with money from you, the taxpayer! In Alaska, things work a little
differently with respect to just about everything imaginable, especially
anything that is a concern to the “Untouchables”. That is what some of us call
our representatives in D.C. Even though Alaska is by far the biggest state land
wise, we are afforded only two senators and one congressman. But they have a
lot of power and power means “pork”. Now this “primitive” state has been and
remains today a “poster child” state, and big brother is always there to help
out. It has to do with things like “toilets” but lack of water to flush so
subsidize toil paper that burns! Alaska was a territory for a long, long time.
In efforts to kick-start the infrastructure, Uncle Sam built a railroad system
that extended from Anchorage to the interior city of Fairbanks. The rail was
built by the military, with the construction of barracks setting the scene of a
tent city that started what is today the big city of Anchorage. It was your
typical western drama scene. Tents meant workers. Workers meant money. Money
meant opportunities. So the entrepreneurs went to work, it meant time to import
alcohol and hookers. Now with prostitutes come transmittable and transmutable
diseases. With alcohol, fights. The combination? Seed for growth. So it meant
hospitals had to be built, and on and on and on. A typical history lesson that
sets the stage for the growth of a modern day city. After awhile, the people of
Alaska got tired of being called territorialist and wanted to pay more taxes,
so they started a move to become a state. Now during statehood attempts, it was
realized that the rail system was built for military purposes and still did not
support a sustainable clientele. So for many years following placement of the
49th star on the flag, the rail system continued to be funded by the
taxpayers, the U.S. taxpayers! This rail could not make a profit. It even fell
short of making enough money just to cover general operating expenses. There
was no COO at the time, just a general manager who worked his butt off. But the
bureaucrats were convinced that it would work. One of the conditions required
with statehood was the eventual privatization of the entire railroad
infrastructure to another entity. So it was basically being leased by the state
and paid for by Uncle Sam. But when the lease was up and it was time to sell,
there came very few buyers. Again, it was a system that really didn’t have a
necessity, more like a convenience for low cost shipping, supplemented by
continued taxpayer bailout measures, called appropriation bill “riders”. Now
another thing of concern that sent maybe two or three potential buyers away
laughing was the fact that the most polluted piece of property in this pristine
state was that owned by the rail, over 600 miles of oil soaked terrain, from
fragile tundra to ancient boreal forests. So it wasn’t even a good land
investment consideration. Since liability was grand-fathered to the next owner,
it meant a financial death wish to whoever held the title. And the state was
adamant about the pollution effects, so the sale was a flop. Remember, this
transport system wasn’t making a profit. Why buy something that is going to cost
you more money out then taken in? Like clean-up costs. Unfortunately, it had to
be sold or shutdown. So the only buyer was the state! Hey, all the pollution
inspectors work for the governor! What pollution? But in order to keep this
narrow gauge useless monster going, it was decided to keep the rail subsidized
by generous donations from Uncle Ted, “Untouchable Extraordinaire”. Remember,
Alaska was officially a state and citizens paid taxes! Now subsidizing is one
of those weird and confusing things. So nowadays, as the Alaska rail system is
still using training wheels, it is not unusual to see empty coal cars going
back and forth, as the miles have to be justified in efforts to fill out all
those Federal forms. And according to one engineer, it doesn’t matter if the
cars are empty or full as long as they’re movin’. So it is a welfare railroad
system. Now once the state got its hands on the beast, it formed a corporation
to run the business. And we all know what that means, the hiring of upper
management to run the risky business. Following statehood, Alaska became the
“big oil” state. And since Alaska had lots of money to blow, the railroad’s
operations budget was also supplemented through oil exploitation revenues. The
COO received a salary that was in line to COO’s of similarly situated
positions, probably in the six-figure area. Not bad, considering it was just a
big Wally World train to ferry tourists between Mount Denali - the mountain you
can never see - and back to Anchorage. Maybe the rail should employee fake
robbers to stop the train along the way and thrill the passengers. That may
work in the summer, but if that ever happened in the off season when passengers
are true Alaskans, it wouldn’t be a good scene as we like to uphold the 14th
amendment. I mean the 2nd, to keep and bear arms. The 14th
had something to do with being naturalized. I guess that works here in Alaska!
Anyway, one particular COO was having fun at the reigns of the most expensive
rail, operating budget wise that is. Why worry, as Uncle Sam was still there to
lend a helping hand. Like the time the moose population along the tracks was
getting the attention of groups concerned about cruelty to animals. A gift, in
the form of a grant - courtesy of “Untouchable Ted” - allowed scientist to find
some way of protecting the moose, basically designing some type of “moose”
gooser, like the old steam locomotives used to have, the cattle poker. In one
design, scientist played with the idea of flinging snowballs at the stubborn
track trespassers. So a contraption was built that allowed the train engineer
to fire away. It worked, except they knew it would never fly, that cruelty
thing once again. The rail system still kills a lot of moose. Anyway, with the
“Untouchables” still around to help out, there came all sorts of ways to get
money, like a free for all it was. And so much for mandatory privatization! Now
there came one particular COO who was a self-made millionaire and was ready to
retire. The COO for the railroad was an appointee, most likely a payback
position, so it was basically a meaningless position that paid well. I mean
there was nothing one could do to make the railroad more profitable, not when
it was still being funded by gifts from D.C. So like most COOs, the top
priority upon getting to the top is to figure out that golden parachute
retirement package! But with no profits, which is how most retirement bonuses
are calculated - do good and we will reward you - there wasn’t much out there
that indicated a promising package. Not to worry! It was a bad winter in
Alaska, freezing followed by unusual thawing, which caused the track system to
fall apart in a few sections. Keeping the track in shape was also one of the
reasons none of the big transportation companies held an interest in buying
this business, just too costly a maintenance item. Now even though the rail
system right-of-way is pretty ugly with respect to the surrounding natural
beauty, it is stable ground. So there isn’t much run-off into salmon streams or
any known adverse effects associated with the oil-saturated ground, just a time
bomb that hasn’t made its debut. Anyway, with the track settling, it caused
several derailment mishaps. With one out of control locomotive, one that was
hauling a load of jet fuel from Fairbanks to Anchorage, it meant spilled fuel.
Now everybody knows that the best time and place to have a spill, as it will
happen, is in places like Alaska. First, the cold weather has a tendency to
jell the fuel products, thereby slowing any progress to get away. And with
rivers and lakes frozen over, it also makes for a convenient clean-up plan.
Anyway, with a couple of fuel cars overturned, the governor was quick to take
the advice of the railroad brass and request Uncle Sam’s help. Remember, with
the “Untouchables”, help was just a phone call away. So help arrived. Not in
the form of clean-up crews, but through FEMA assistance. Everybody knows about FEMA. The blank check
cometh! So to make a long story short, the Alaskan railroad, which for year
after year showed no profits, well this one particular year the accounting
guru’s used the creative accounting method to show a profit. It was millions of
dollars in revenues. It is interesting to look at the railroads portfolio
revenue trends, looks like a Richter scale gone mad during this one particular
year that it showed a profit. Here is how it came about. See the state held
insurance. So the clean-up costs were paid for by the insurance policy. Along
with that, since the state owned the railroad, money from other departments
could also be funneled to help in the clean-up efforts, all through insurance
reimbursement. And the derailment and loss of fuel wasn’t that bad after
everything was cleared up. Up to this point in time, due to paperwork, the
state hadn’t received the FEMA money it so requested. We all know that FEMA
money handouts follow some lucrative illusionary extrapolation, unless you live
in a trailer park in Florida! So after the insurance had paid for the
derailment and everything was back to normal, now comes the FEMA check. And one
thing you never do is send money back to D.C. They wouldn’t know what to do
with it because there is nothing in the Code of Federal Regulations that
explains what to do with retuned funds. It has a no return policy! So there was
only one thing that could be done with the taxpayer doomed millions, place it
in the railroads budget coffers. Not a bad deal, as it would come in handy
somewhere else down the line. It did alright! In this case, a retirement letter
came real quick. As with most CEOs and COOs, the going away bonus was tied to
the revenues for that year. So a rail system that in the past didn’t really
have anything lucrative in the “golden parachute” department to see off the
head-cheeses, now it showed a promising reward. It was all at taxpayers
expense, now being robbed to fund the retirement package. Due to the fact that
the railroad was incorporated in a state that disallows closed records under
the umbrella of an open records statute, details of the actual payout remain confidential.
Just exactly how much Mr. Scrooge stole away from the taxpayers was anybodies
guess. But as is with everything in this great state, it was lucrative to say
the least. So much for statehood! I could say something about ethics, but
funding from D.C. has made it go missing. Can we name that “black hole” hiding
place after one of the senators?
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
The value of real estate has always been of interest to
city tax collectors and homeowners alike. In Anchorage, Alaska’s big city, the
assessed value for property continues to increase. I think the auditors use an
extrapolation formula, looking way into the future - past infinity. Regardless,
it is a good thing all around. And depending on location, raw prices for a
house lot varies quite drastically, even for such a pretty small city setting.
People are taken back when the quotes of Hillside lots are discussed - must be
for the wealthy! So needless to say, with a growing community, the supply and
demand thing seems to rule. But I must take issue about a different demand, a
different kind of real estate that is growing in popularity. Street corners
have become an interest for the homeless. In fact, individuals or groups that
roam from shelter to shelter and soup kitchen to liquor locker for MD20/20
fixes, some have established ownership rights. A hierarchy of control exists
that allows for corner occupants to lease out preferred territory. The best of
all corners are the busy intersections, especially the ones with the long red
lights. I understand that the corner beggars have from time to time complained
to the municipality about too short a crossing light, in efforts to get the
authorities to change the times, to stall the traffic. Why? The coin scroungers
have found that people get intimidated at the traffic lights, maybe from
feeling sorry, and without argument share their loot. Figure this, in an eight
hour stint at a busy corner where thousands of cars pass by, well even a nickel
or a dime can add up to a pretty good take. And who carries change these days?
So sending a dollar bill out the window towards some poor looking soul is
probably more the norm. Hey, and this income is tax free. Now the ultimate is
the homeless guy who had occupancy rights to the intersections at the local
Fred’s. In close proximity, the store allowed a place to warm up, worth also
mentioning, a John with toilet paper. For a homeless person, such a vacation
away from the polluted, belch filled latrine smelling alleyways is a dream come
true. And the dumpsters will always contain some trash of interest. And right
up the street, land that can be squandered upon. With a little cardboard
ingenuity, now the money maker has a home. What a beginning to the American
dream. I am not intimidated by the beggars, I always produce something of
monetary value that can get them through “their” day. Think about it, begging
to survive in America!
I was enjoying a cup of
coffee one day at the local caffeine brewery. That enjoyment was soon
relinquished to one of those irritating scenes. There are two things I cannot
stand that seems to be a common occurrence at the coffee shop that I frequent.
I believe it is an infraction against my constitutional rights, that pursuit of
happiness thing, that separation thing. First on the annoyance list, the groups
that show up after church service, they smell holy. And then there is the
Petroleum Wives Club. Now this group represents the uppity up can’t work board
housewives of rich oil company executives. One day, I overheard one of the
ladies talk about how she gave the street vagabond a $100.00 bill. Wow, I
thought, she was really generous. Maybe these old gals were not so bad after
all. I still couldn’t stand the British accent. But when criticized by her
companions about being so generous, she went on to provide a good reason behind
her un-selfishness. She bragged how that kind of money can buy the good stuff.
The 100 proof stuff, and a lot of it. Then with a smirk, adding that maybe they
will drink themselves drunk to death, then they will be gone and not bother
anybody. These people go to church? The
vagabond begging had become so lucrative around town that the city officials
said it had to stop. Now it wasn’t really hurting anybody. In fact, one guy
would wash your windows as you waited for the jam to clear. Anyway, it was put
up for a vote by the people. Now people felt it was unfair to deny these people
with nothing else the chance to earn some semblance of an income. It didn’t sit
right with the voters. So it was a “ney” vote defeat. But that didn’t sit well
with the legislatures in Juneau, as they thought the scene was a detriment to a
“clean” looking city. And the popularity of street people could hurt the
tourism industry. So the lawmakers passed a law that made it illegal to give a
hand out. But that didn’t go over to well, either - but it became the law of
the land. Hey I remember when I was a Little Leaguer. Every season we would
have to rumble over street corners to collect donations. So every Saturday
morning - as blue laws forbade this kind of begging on Sundays - we would dress
in our uniforms, absent the cup, and beg for money. We looked so cute! Now there
was a wild rumor out and about that the bag of loot from our efforts was used
to by beer for the umpires! Anyway,
here in Anchorage, it came down to the homeless versus the tourism industry.
Tourism is a big special interest. But even with the law in effect, it would
not be enough to limit this kind of “brotherly love” activity. And remember the
days, weeks and months following 911, it seemed every street corner had fireman
collecting donations - filling giant boots with loot. I believe the street people
are just being free-spirited self-employed entrepreneurs. They can’t get a job.
Nowadays you have to have a residence for a job. P.O. Box “parts unknown” just
doesn’t cut it. I have even heard that one must possess a credit card also, in
efforts to get a job - a credit rating! And lets face it, do you really think
that a policeman is going to cite or arrest an individual for giving a handout
to the needy. Can you imagine the court trial. It would be a waste of
resources. It would be a waste of time. And try to imagine getting the homeless
person to show up as a witness. It would be a joke, maybe. There are judges
that would say that the law is the law. Hey judge, what about the lady giving
out the $100.00 dollar bills? Would this be pre-meditated murder or bored
housewife madness. How about an accomplish? But our legislators waste time
making things like this happen, then it becomes the burden upon everybody, just
because of interference from special interests. Maybe the city officials will
try to find some way to tax the beggars. How about a beggars license? A permit
- specific in area allowed to beg in - would be issued after a class on begging
etiquette. Maybe that would fit in with the snotty ladies club! Have you heard
of that TV show called “Desperate Housewives”? Well we have something very
similar up here in Alaska, its called the “Petroleum Wife’s Club”. You should
hear what goes on with this group when their husbands are some 800-miles away
at work!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
I was engrossed in writing my journal at one of the local
coffee shops. Usually the clientele can come and go, unnoticed, as I am not the
eavesdropping or eye-dropping type. Mind my own business kind of guy. I can’t
see much without my glasses, and when involved with pen in hand, it takes
something out of the ordinary to derail my attention away from the tablet. It
happens, and when it does, whatever it is that gains the privilege to stray, it
is something worth taking note of. On this particular rainy day where the
weather had displaced good moods, it was the noise of groceries escaping out of
the plastic bags onto the ceramic tiled floor that secured the moment and
attention of others - including myself. These plastic bags are ridiculous, as
they take the shape of nothing but chaos space. Anyway, there stood an irate
shopper, hoping to end her shopping day enjoying a cup of coffee. Once she
realized that she was the main attraction and center of attention, she started
cussing out the bag boy, something about a “brain dead bag boy”. Wow, very
powerful words. Then another lady came to her aid, word-wise, and that it was
indeed all the bag boy’s fault. Like, “where do they get the help”. First and
foremost, credit to the guy who designs these bags. They are ridiculous. Your
bags make life a continuing challenge. No matter how hard one tries, these
things leak groceries all over the place. I found the missing cheese the other
day, under the passenger seat, it wasn’t supposed to be blue! Now not all
stores have bag helpers. Some stores have a casher that is also the bag person.
It takes away more of your time, but it helps the bottom line. I guess you
could call it multi-tasking. Checking out the goods and bagging the goods, all
in one swoop, that is a challenge. But all-in-one workers - like All-In-One oil
that can do everything and anything - they utilize these fancy frames that hold
the goods in place. It works until you and take ownership of your merchandise.
Better hold on to the receipt, as by the time you get home, something will have
been “black” holed. Who needs bag boys anyway? The stores that don’t have bag
helpers in and around Anchorage, well these stores are most likely “at-will”
employers. Who ever thought of this definition, “at-will” employment? It is
sickening to think that workers have no protection. Had to be some lawyer with
a degree in slavery. On the other side of the coin, the stores that employ bag
helpers are most likely unionized. Union contracts have language that defines
all positions. In the case of the grocery stores, look around next time you are
at Fred’s. Don’t see any handicapped around these mega type stores do you? And
most likely the costs associated to employ bag help, it increases the cost of
doing business. So what that the loaf of bread costs 2 cents more. Society can
afford it. You can afford it. But without unions, where would the bag help find
work. Most likely not, and be down at the un-employment office. But their
skills are limited, so without a protective bargaining agreement that employs
those with handicaps, it could mean nothing. The fact of the matter is, they
get to spend time helping out, this is really important, it is what they live
for. So lets blame this atrocity of chaotic bagging on the poor kid who may
have some brain malfunction. Or maybe it is a coordination miscalculation. Hey,
that kid didn’t make the plastic bags. He didn’t ask to be handicapped either. So
for those of you who continue to question the reasons for having unions, that
is what a union does in this day and age. It costs you a little more, but it
strengthens society. But that is slowly being eroded away. When George was
asked what he thought about 16 percent of Americans being unionized, his
comeback was, “that’s 16 percent too
much.” He laughed. The move is on to “black” hole unions. So to the lady in
waiting that somebody will rescue her groceries, take a break. Sit down and
enjoy a cup. Realize that your efforts to shop at a store that employs the
handicap is your kind of store. Here’s another thing. These workers are always
pleasant, like they are immune from being down and out. They always have a
smile to share. They are always willing to strike up a conversation. And maybe
that smile and conversation is what we all need, when the weather has displaced
the mood, to see that our handicapped brothers and sisters are gainfully
employed at something that makes then feel wanted in society. A job that is not
a welfare recipient qualifier. But without unions, the chance of business
leaders going the extra mile, it will diminish. It will be back to welfare for
those that have no choice in how they came upon this earth. So lady, enjoy the
coffee, and don’t worry about annoying patrons with your simplistic
catastrophes. And about that language? Where’s the soap!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
Went to one of the local electronic retail stores just
the other day, had an experience that makes for a great story. This is one of
those chain type stores that carries all the modern hi-tech gizmos that you
just have to claim worship and ownership too. To not buy this stuff would mean
a derelict in your duties to maintain a healthy economy. Not to get off on a
tangent, but are you people out there like me? What I am talking about here is
all the damn remotes that seem to claim ownership of our independence, it is
totally confusing. And if you get mixed up and don’t follow the sequence for
proper equipment shut-down, then it takes a cast of technicians to bail you
out. And these guys all work for different companies, and whose language
barrier in technical terms is foreign. This group of gurus may be successful in
getting your system back in order. Most of the time, they tell you your stuff
is outdated! And most of the time it means abandoning the equipment and going
to the best buy in town to get the credit card limited out, for the newest
stuff, all with new remotes including inch thick instruction manuals. Anyway, a
trip to the best buy for something that wasn’t really technical became a
ridiculously laughing matter. Accompanying me to a store that I usually stay
away from was my college age daughter. It was for her sake only that we were
entering this palace of chaos. She had received an I-Pod for Christmas. Now
when Santa - this guy - made the purchase way back in October in efforts to not
have to face angry crowds on a shopping bin the day after Thanksgiving - when
the testosterone level was peaked due to an overindulgence in polyunsaturated
fats from turkey day - well back then the clerk convinced me that a service agreement
was a good idea. Because he knew that I would get “postal” mad at the
instructions explaining how to turn the device on and destroy everything in the
path from my quiet home back to this place of ridiculous best buys. There is no
such thing as an on/off button! So I spent the extra money just in case. Well
with this most recent visit to purchase a protective carrying case for the
music box, I didn’t expect to get accosted into buying another “service”
agreement. Seems when we won our turn at one of the fifty check out counters,
the guy behind the counter and controlling the bar code zap gun found it
difficult to register our purchase correctly. You know what that means in this
day and age. So he had to vacate his position and chase down the correct information
for purpose of checking out. Now these guys never leave the security of the
check-out counter, to do so means getting commingled in a crowd of shoppers
constantly asking stupid questions. This hi-tech generation thinks the
turn-table generation is stupid. And shutting down a register for security
purposes is an act akin to securing Fort Knox! Anyway, first try back, which
wasted about 10-minutes of my precious time, was without avail. Still the wrong
number. Second time seemed to work. The register’s digital display now showed a
price that was different, by an increase of five dollars, over what the tag at
the display counter advertised. This discrepancy I argued with the clerk. It
meant three strikes your out of here again, and after about what seemed like
eternity, he came back all smiles, as he won the battle and the price was
indeed right. Now this was just a plastic case with a Velcro like strap. So I
plucked down the $25 dollars, as my daughter really wanted the case to protect
her new gift. Anyway, before I could get my receipt and get out of Dodge, the
clerk offered me the opportunity to buy a service agreement! I looked at my
daughter, she was laughing. A service agreement for a piece of plastic and a
Velcro strap? I second guessed the clerk, but he was sure that a service
agreement was available, as that is what the computer monitor was telling him.
Which made me think that he still hadn’t tamed the mischievous bar code. But
this was getting too good to be true, so I went along as the dumb customer. A
service agreement for a carrying case! He didn’t seem to acknowledge the fact
that it was just a carrying case. So I asked him what a service agreement would
cost and what it would cover, and if acts of God were exempt. The acts of God
he wasn’t sure about. Then came the canned speech. For another $25 dollars, I
would get Parts and Labor coverage. No deductibles and a No Lemon policy. Oh
yes, Remote Control Coverage. How about this, In Home Coverage. And what sold
me was the Power Surge Protection. Some of the other things, like Food
Spoilage, were also entertaining. And it was a 24-7-365 policy. The lawyer who
dreamt this up is good. One would have to be stupid to deny investing in such a
good buy. In fact this was the best buy of them all. And even though it was
just a carrying case, I was sure there was a remote hidden somewhere that
controlled the case’s behavior. Then I think an act of God entered the scene,
as the clerk realized what he was trying to sell. But in efforts to not
embarrass himself in the presence of my daughter, he went on to explain how
service agreements are of the utmost importance in this day and age. To deny
the offer was like driving a car without insurance, but in this case with the
case, it wasn’t really necessary. Then it was on to the subject of rebates! But
that is where these outfits excel, service agreements and rebates that take
remotes to deliver that secret code of authenticity. Without it, no rebate.
Something else on remotes! When will somebody think up a remote that is
designed to do the important things. Like food take-out ordering. Think about
it. It could be tied in with all the other remotes. It could order food for the
occasion. If one’s remotes were armed for football, maybe the order would be
hot-wings. A movie, pizza. All pre-programmed to rob your bank account. All on
automatic pilot. And if you had a service agreement with the FART(Food
Authorized Remote Take-out), remember, food spoilage is covered!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
March
3 Headlines: American Soldier Iraq Death Toll Hits 1500. Did you catch that George? Or were you too busy
smooging with the redheads! 1500 dead American kids! Now most Americans think
that number is small, as we seem to think that it is OK to use the comparison
scenario - from previous wars. Just like we are into comparing name brands from
everything like condoms to Converse. There are cheap condoms and full-proof
condoms. There are good quality sneakers and better quality sneakers. Guess who
gets the higher grade stuff. Not the kids in uniform, or families of the
“Honorably” deceased! “Horribly” is more accurate. And even though the Bush
Men, including Rice Candy, make it known that the Iraq conflict is in no way
shape or form comparable to the Vietnam War, the death toll comparison has
become a tool. The administration welcomes the fact that the numbers game works
in their favor. And that new found tool could provide a safety net to
strengthen the presidents rating, as now the dissection of what it all means in
the political arena has begun. To date, 1500 young American kids lost to a war
that a handful of pranksters deemed necessary for the furtherance of democracy.
It wasn’t for democracy, it was for their own selfish agenda. They wanted a
history book they could call their own. And some of the signatories of this
modern day atrocity and continuing tragedy have already started to bail out.
Now since the war started, it has taken over a year’s time to hit the 1500
mark. I was concerned back when the toll hit 1000. In fact, I voiced a request
to the state of Alaska governor’s office about placing the flags at half mast,
in honor of our fallen soldiers. Now in Alaska, it requires Frankenstein’s
signature of approval to place the flags at half mast. I was told by the
governor’s spokesperson that it was a good idea but the flags were already at
half mast because the elephant at the zoo had died. I believe people are more
concerned about things like that then over the Iraqi conflict, Iraqi dilemma,
Iraqi “whatever” it really should be classified as. The Vietnam conflict
tallied up that number much quicker, so it is clear that we have given the
administration breathing room when it comes to the casualties and how that
affects the “ratings” game.
But let us look at the real repercussions, of a single
casualty. One son, the first casualty. Leaving behind a grieving father and
mother. And based on family size, a grieving brother or sister. Now for those
of you out there that have not had the unfortunate opportunity to grieve the
loss of a brother or sister, it is devastating, more so to the siblings then
the parents. I’ve been there! So now, one gone leaves three mourning. Then we
have the aunts and uncles, the cousins. Now let us not forget the neighborhood.
So all in all, the real toll from 1500 dead American soldiers, well it is
magnified by the factor of many, and my calculations estimate that to every
death, the lingering result is that it affects many, many more! So Mr. Bush,
when the death toll gets higher, so will the living casualties of your war -
Americans! And don’t worry, as I will not have to buy another dictionary and have
my family living room defecated upon with your picture and reign of evil.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
I don’t know if it is the rule-of-thumb policy for
trusted government to intimidate its citizens through name games, but there has
to be something of malicious intent behind this one particular scenario.
Remember the Name Game, by Shirley Ellis. Come on, you know the tune. And the
words went something like, “Shirley. Shirley, Shirley bo Birley. Bonana fanna
fo Firley. Fee fy mo Mirley, Shirley.” Hope you hum it all day, now that I have
jogged the cobwebs and that simple tune is free flowing. Ha. Ha! Now consider
what I am trying to get at, with another name game. One that doesn’t have a
simple tune. In fact it doesn’t seem to fit any tunes, as if is probably off
key throughout its entirety. And remember, Shirley’s was for fun. The name game
I am talking about here is the one used to describe just how healthy the
economy of scale is doing. You have heard the buzzword abbreviations time and
time over again. And some idiot keeps adding new ones! Some of the familiar
ones, like GDP, CPI, PPI, PIR, are supposedly in effect advertised to define or
offer an advanced telltale signal as to just how good or bad our economy is
doing. I guess when we hear SOS, look out Wall Street. Hey, remember SBD?
Anyway, it is important for all of us to have an understanding of the economy.
Why? Well, I am convinced that it is the common working people who have been
keeping the economy from crashing. Not all of us had a stock interest in the
hi-tech when it sank. Had we, it would be a different situation today, we might
be under water still. Originally, in the scope of things, our economic input
was not considered serious. Big business was the saving grace. But now, the
working class heroes, we are living pay-check to pay-check. All of our income,
if not garnished through taxation, it is consumed by the basic essentials to
live. It’s called survival! We are no longer a minority with regards to what we
have to offer, in efforts to keep the economy buoyant. We have strong
competition with the EU - the European Union. The word “union” is pretty
powerful. That economy is coming on strong because of its common working class,
and like most of us, getting up each morning and heading off to work. Now back
to the three letter name game. Just how many indexes does one need to digest in
efforts to understand just how the U.S. economy is doing? Can’t some Harvard
graduate take all those indexes and using algebra, which turns numbers into the
alphabet soup, come up with some algorithm that in the end gives “good” or
“bad” as the answer? And besides all the fuss from confusion, what about that
alien guy, Greenspan? If he ain’t some creature from outer space or an
experiment gone wrong, I don’t know what to make of him. In fact, when he
testifies in front of congress, as is required every quarter, the reps have to
have his speech analyzed, as they themselves have no idea what language he is
using. Then that stuff is dissected by government workers, and behold, the
three letter name game becomes the report card we are all supposed to
understand!
Anyway, the easiest way to look at the economic forecast
is best grasped by an understanding of a very fundamental concept, the Cereal
Factor. What good old American thing do most of us start our days off with?
Can’t include coffee here, as that is an import. We are talking true home grown
economics. The farmer gets up before you do, he retires later then you do. It
is basically a one man operation, even to this day. He grows the grain. He
picks the grain. And we help him eat the grain. But from there to here, there
is a multitude of involvement. It follows a roadmap, an economic roadmap. It is
a basic thing, just like bread used to be. My research has proven the Cereal
Factor is the best and most accurate indicator of were we are at and what is to
come. Think about it, CEREAL! It is a basic staple. It is something that takes
very little processing. It comes very close to the ready to eat state right
from Farmer Greenjeans. Greenspan, Greenjeans? No other commodity says it so
well. Lets review. So cereal involves the farmer, that grass roots guy who gets
up really early in the morning. Then we add transportation costs, directly
tagged to the price of oil. It involves minimal processing, but also tagged to
the price of oil. It involves some inexpensive packaging. You guessed it,
tagged to the price of oil. Then once again, transportation costs, tagged to
the price of oil. Now over the past year, I have found that the price of cereal
has increased. For some three years, it was a very stable commodity. So what
has happened over the last year that would destabilize the price of cereal? The
war and deficits. The combination has sent the price of oil skyrocketing, but
nothing to be alarmed about says Uncle Sam. So the cost of cereal has risen
some 20%. Everything else we consume will eventually get here, as the
complexity of everything else allows a delay buffer before it gets to “oh shit”
were loosing money. So if you are not a Yale graduate, like George, who most
likely understands SBD, take the Cereal Index as your indicator. It works. You
can’t go by the price of oil, as that commodity just has to many hidden
agendas. It takes about a year for the price of oil to make any sense to the
actual price paid for that stuff, in reality, we never know what the price is.
I eat cereal, I know how much it costs! So, the price of cereal has increased
by 20% in the last year. With that in mind, it means that the price of
gasoline, stabilized, has also risen 20%. For some of us, maybe an extra 33
cents per gallon. So pretty soon, you’ll find that the cost of living has
increased 20% within the last year. That is what a war will do for us! That is
what a deficit will do for us. Maybe we should thank the froot-loops for the
CEREAL INDEX increase. Oh, I just remembered, Congress gave themselves a 20%
raise this year! So, you and I buy burger, they feast on steak.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
“This
land is your land, this land is my land.”
One line from a true grit American tune, the words from one of America’s
greatest freedom talkers and freedom stalkers, namely Woody Guthrie. In the
simplest of analyses, it speaks of equality. And with the great American way -
“to have a dream” - I guess that singular powerful word “land” could be
replaced with many other subjects that we as Americans cherish, and still hold
true with great expectations to equality for all. Except for one word that I
can think of right off the bat and want to write about. So lets replace “land”
with “deficit”! “This deficit is your deficit, this deficit is my deficit”.
Sounds equitable, but I must revise this one liner and an explanation follows
my reasoning. So now we have, “This deficit is my deficit, this deficit is
not the rich bastards deficit!” Why mine and not theirs? Did you ever
wonder why the rich people of this once great nation believe a deficit is not a
problem? From my selfish point of view,
I prefer to hear the word “surplus”. Well, here it is in black on white. Now I
am not talking the rich versus the poor here. This country still has its tired,
its poor, and its huddled masses yearning to be free. But the comparison to
wealth is now a duel between the hourly worker and those individuals and
families who never ever have to worry about “right now” and the arrival of the
next paycheck. I don’t know about you, but all of my disposable income goes
right back into the economy. With two kids in college and neither one of them
equipped with a “full ride” - should be called a “free ride” - I will admit
that the time between paychecks seems forever. It gets down to hamburger helper
at times! But I can be proud of one thing. All of my hard earned money goes
right back into the economy, it supports today’s economy. Rich people can only
buy so much, after that, their money gets hidden away. It does not support the
economy. In fact, their wealth squandering hinders the health of this economy.
It suffocates this once great nation, said once, said twice, you’ll probably
hear it again - once great nation. Unless you’re a rich stuck-up egomaniac, you
are probably still with me here. Go ahead, run away little rich bastards. For
the rest of you, stay tuned in and the facts will turn you on. It is not your
federal taxes, stolen by greedy senators, then regurgitated as “pork” to create
jobs that is the cure all. It helps, but it doesn’t have the direct effect that
my cash flow into the everyday economics has. Everyday I spend money! Hey, if senators
don’t bring home the bacon for the Davis-Bacon jobs, do you think the people
will re-elect them? Remember what Mark Twain quoted, “Senator: A person who
makes laws in Washington when not doing time(penitentiary).”
So back to why the poor working bastards - like you and
me - get poorer as the deficit grows. And at the same time, rich bastards get
richer. An example serves this debate justice. Hourly working family man George
Nobody, along with his wife, have assets valued at $1,000,000.00 dollars. But
this accomplishment only after many years of hard work. A figure typical of a
two-income still together husband and wife team after raising a family and
close to retirement. Now rich man George Somebody, who has inherited the
fortunes of estates or ripped off the government, and by the way about the only
useful thing he can do by himself is wipe his own ass, well his asset portfolio
hovers around $10,000,000.00 dollars. Now rich man George Somebody runs a
business, so he enjoys all of the loopholes, enough holes that could sink the
Titanic even if it had a double-hull. So the ratio is 1 to 10 on the economic
“what are you worth” scale. The government runs up a deficit, through
irresponsible spending, like building bridges to nowhere, when a war is going on!
That actually happened here in Alaska. A bridge in the middle of nowhere,
called the “Bridge to Nowhere” was leftover fallout from a construction project
started back in the 60’s. When the 1964 Good Friday earthquake hit Alaska, it
knocked one of the three completed trestle bridge segments off of its concrete
pedestal. Now the project was never finished, as the engineers in charge found
there was no need to build this bridge, because the road exiting the bridge
went to nowhere! There was no road and there would be no road. So for some 40
years, one section of the bridge sat submerged in mud. Now there is nothing out
there, as it is wilderness. Well in time, through legislation, Alaska gains
access and responsibility to all waters considered navigable. So if it can be a
blue line placed on a map, it is considered navigable. With that in mind, pork
is sent our way to fix the bridge, as it was now considered a navigational
hazard! By the way, the bridge was unofficially renamed Ti Lue, for Congressman
Don Young’s wife. Oh boy, and the road was named Don’s “dead-end” Way! So the deficit we are talking about, lingers
for a few years - as irresponsible spending doesn’t stop. Now it gets to the
point where it begins to crush our economy, as the EU knows that it is a weak
link and targets that weakness for its own financial and economic desires. So
Uncle Sam, in desperation, decides to place ownership of the deficit upon its
citizens, wherein every able-bodied American will take ownership of a piece
from the debt pie. Now this wouldn’t be bad if they did the same with a
surplus, as the country ran a surplus for many, many years under William L.
Clinton. Maybe it was J. I don’t care about middle names. So this nuisance,
with more zeros then an Excel spread sheet can comprehend, it is divvied up,
with every American taking ownership and a piece of the action. So the Fed.’s
send George Nobody a scary card that explains his portion, which amounts to
$1,000,000.00 dollars. So George’s portfolio has now become awash and his assets
amount to nothing, basically “leaned” against by the strong-arm tactics of D.C.
Now the other George, well advised by his expansive cast of expensive lawyers,
tax accountants, portfolio managers, well he has placed most of his assets into
some kind of “blind” account, one that isn’t considered an asset. Blind means
the government can’t see it! So in the end, George Somebody has reduced his
portion of the growing deficit down to a big fat zero. In reality, with a
deficit facing us and the fact that we are responsible for it, George Nobody
has assets of zero, but has paid his dues. So on a comparison, George
Somebody’s bottom line is still $10,000,000.00 and working George Nobody’s is
zero. This is how it would work in the real world. Some will pay for the
deficit, others will lunge for the loopholes. So in effect, George Somebody’s
net worth has increased, as everybody else in the George Nobody bracket, their
assets have decreased. It is all based on the familiar supply and be damned
theory. So it goes to show, rich people are better off when the country runs
red. Hum, “red”, almost sounds like communism doesn’t it. Is that what we are
headed for, all because of the greed factor. Think about it!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
True
story. It is well known that Alaska has for many years been awash in federal
“pork”, thanks to some super powerful senior senators who know how to bring
home the bacon! Now when the money gets here, it is used for many beneficial
things. And for some reason, we Alaskans are sensationalized by “shit”. Yes
“SHIT”! Millions upon millions of “pork” dollars have been spent to research
ways to get rid of the “honey buckets”. Many areas of Alaska are without
running water. Underground waste water systems don’t work too well in the minus
50 degree temperatures common for most of the northern climate. So human waste
is collected in so called “honey buckets” and when full, carried to a
depository, basically a lagoon that keeps from freezing and becomes the world’s
leading mosquito generator. Don’t have to worry about those pesky bugs going
extinct, at least not until regurgitated income taxes finds a solution to the
“honey bucket” problem. And believe me, there have been put forward all sorts
of ideas to deny the “bucket” its role in the present history of the Last
Frontier state. One particular project, funded by your taxes, was the “shit
cannon”. The solution was simple. Store the human waste in specially designed
receptacles that would solidify the yellow and brown goop in a ball like mass.
Fabricate low cost steel pipe cannons and using acetylene as a projectile fuel,
launch the frozen balls up and away. But this project, even though it was
demonstrated to state officials, it didn’t go to far. First, environmental
permits for shitting all over the tundra would never be provided for and
approved. And can you imagine a Hatfield and MaCoy situation. Instead of “food”
fight, “shit” fight. This is for real, but here I want to shed light on another
interesting “shit” subject research project. Remember, were talking good old
taxpayer money made me do it projects. For the academic system here in Alaska,
TED “pork” can mean money to perform studies or research on just about
anything. So there was this one particular year when taxpayer money was pouring
in like it was coming from a perpetual motion money tree and being spent,
amongst many other interesting projects, to study the testicle size and penis
length of the male Musk Ox. But there came a more interesting project on the
books. It was called, “DS”, an abbreviation for Dog Shit. Most outrageous
studies that waste money are somehow or another true title camouflaged. But
maybe this study did have merit. What it involved was to study the habits of
dog owners, to see if rudimentary behavior could determine political party
affiliation. The municipality had rules and regulations governing pet owner
responsibility. Allowing a dog to deposit #2 along the trail system was against
the city ordinance and could fetch a fine. But some senior students thought
that there was a way to determine party affiliation by observing just how an
individual dealt with “shit” from their own dogs along the trail systems. Now
each trail-head has a receptacle that provides a free dog “shit” scoop. And a
depository at that! Courtesy of the U.S. taxpayers! Yes, we get agricultural
funding from D.C. and we don’t grow anything up here except potatoes. So we
spend the money on other things. With that in mind, there was no excuse for a
pet owner to not have the means to pick up a deposit. Well anyway, this project
was funded and designed to interrogate the people who used the trails to
exercise their dogs. When dogs exercise their legs, they are also prone to
exercise their bowel and bladder, it’s a given. The study lasted about three
months. Now dogs are smart. They like to shit and piss where other dogs had
earlier established a domain. This meant that the trail-heads were the most
used and abused sections of the trails. You want to see something gross, visit
a trail-head come break-up! So week-end observation posts were set up at
several of the favorite trails. If a dog shit, it was logged. Also logged in
the research report was whether or not the owner abided by the local
ordinances, by picking up the pile. Then on the way out, the pet owner was
asked a simple question, political party affiliation and a few other questions
with regards to local pet laws. Those interviewed had no idea what the project
was all about. In the end, after the information was digested by the statistics
department, I guess as a continuation of the federally funded “DOG SHIT”
project, a very interesting conclusion was presented. First, those that thought
it was above themselves to pick up even their own pet’s droppings turned out to
be “Republican”. And through the follow-up interview, also part of the project,
most of those that didn’t pick up their own pet’s shit thought the city ordinances
and laws were for others to follow, not them, and arrogant enough to make it
known that their shit didn’t stink. These people seemed to be very close to
their dogs. Then there were the independents. These people didn’t use the trail
systems, opting to go off the beaten path. The study didn’t have enough data to
determine whether or not the laws were abided by off the trails. This is where
the school’s law department became involved in the study. The legal scholars
couldn’t determine if the ordinances were applicable when not on the improved
trail systems. And lastly, the study found that the most law abiding citizens
were indeed the Democrats. In fact, it was found that some even went as far as
picking up other’s dog shit left behind to tarnish the environment, republican
shit. Now with this new found research, that did indeed provide a link between
dog shit and party affiliation, well come election year and more funding, it
was time to put the research to the true test. I guess once a study is funded
the only thing the administration is concerned about is getting more! So come
election day, the researchers were out once again, as the trails also get a lot
of winter use. And from the way pet owners policed their dogs actions, well it
was a shoe-in for the republicans once again. And the turnout was in-line with
what the local polling places later reported. So before even the east coast
news hounds announced who won the presidency, as more Republican were out that
day, “DS” gave some the news. Now the only other thing of interest that came
from this study, and who knows how much was spent already, was a public
broadcast message, about “dog shit”. Hey, don’t think about leaving the
humanities out of the lucrative spending free-for-all made available by your
hard earned wages. Here in Alaska, one of the local public broadcast stations
makes available a way in which locals can show off the Alaskan wilderness. So
people send in their Kodak slides and the pictures are presented nightly as a
tribute to this great land and its natural resources. It is pretty nice
display. A serenade plays in the background, appropriate music for the
pictures. So the project now has its own advertisement. The music, Pachelbel’s
Canon in D Major, and to the viewer, colorful still slides depicting piles of
rotting, disintegrating, ugly republican dog shit left behind by those that
think their shit doesn’t stink!
Copyright 2005 MSK Media
“Was”,
past tense of be! But here it is used as a present tense pacifier, as this good
man I am about to brag about is still
with us. “Was” is used now in efforts to make sure that this one of a kind humanly
unique and humanely compassionate individual is remembered comes the time that
the good Lord requests his presence somewhere else. No doubt about it, this
good man already has a sacred and reserved place in the heavens above. Maybe
next to St. Francis of Assisi, as my best of friends holds a bold fondness for
nature – especially the free flowing streams that inundate the vast wilderness
between the beautiful Chugach Mountains and Cook Inlet. Just how many of us can
pass “go” and collect that ticket through the pearly gates without first having
to right our wrongs? This good man has not a sin on his soul. To try, would
only mean failure. And I have not seen him fail at many things. If ever, after
my time on earth, should it become possible to once again spend time on this
earth, I request that I have his character. But just what is a Good Man? There
are probably a zillion answers to this question. I will focus on one and only
one attribute. A Good Man in my book is an individual that in time of need will
help you cry – yes cry! Hey, men don’t cry. We are not supposed to cry. We are
conditioned to ward it off as if it were a weakness reserved for the ladies. We
do everything in our power to hold back the tears when tears should be free
flowing. I had a life situation that needed a good cry to release me of the
burden and allow moving forward in life. Stagnant tears had stagnated my faith.
It shorted out that favorite saying, “that there is nothing that can happen
today that myself and the Lord can not handle”. But crying was something of
utmost importance and necessity that I just couldn’t do on my own accord. This
good man, whose name is Dave, did the dirty work for me. He shed the first
tears when I told him about my feelings concerning a particular member of my
family. Oh what a relief, when I saw those tears from my dearest of friends. Oh
what a relief, when I myself felt the pain and agony start to flow from within
and find freedom in the ether – diluting what had been a crippling grip on my
mindset. Oh what a look, to see this grown man cry, when a nearby mirror
allowed me to see my own reflection, another manly cry. It may have looked
funny, two grown men sitting at a local coffee shop, falling teardrops causing
ripples in the brew. It wasn’t funny. Then again, maybe it was funny, as behind
the tears I could see smiles, big smiles, almost to the laughing stage. It felt
so good! So now, besides being indebted to this good man for sharing his secret
methods to catch and release the biggest of Kenai River rainbow trout, of
higher regard comes his compassion sharing, to his family, to others, to
mankind in general. I wish I could be like this Good Man. But only a few “Good
Men” are equipped with such unmatched qualities. This Good Man, he must be a
modern day saint. Such a character must be a gift from the Good Lord. Thank you
Good Lord, for Good Men. Thank you Dave!
Copyright 2005 MSK Media
From the
Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
Cell
Hell is what it is! Have you noticed all those low elevation triangular towers
popping up just about everywhere. Here in Alaska, one can find these steel
erections going up in the middle of the cities and along the wilderness
highways. Just what the hell is with this madness? Really nothing, explains a
DOD spokesperson. The Department of Defense, also known as Rumsfeld’s Raiders,
has decided that cell phones are the preferred method of communications for
military correspondence. Why? Well it is a technology that doesn’t rely on
outer space or wires. Our hi-tech specialist have come to the realization that
space is vulnerable, as is the wiring nightmare that strangles almost every
underground city utility corridor from the prairies to the mountains to the
oceans… Hey, we now have technology that allows one of our unmanned space
probes to approach another satellite in a stealth like and undetected maneuver.
Once in the path of the radio antennae, reflectors re-route the information to
the aliens, so there is lost communications. And ground control cannot find out
why major Tom isn’t responding. And like anything else, some retired
administration punk will join a corporation that will sell this technology to
the enemy. It happens all the time. We think we have an up on the enemy then we
sell out. I say “we”, because when Monica gets caught in the act, the
presidency seems to offer up something called “executive privilege immunity”,
maybe it should be called “executive privilege insanity”. Do you have any idea
how many Americans have been provided tax amnesty through this “executive
privilege” thing? I hate going off on a tangent! So cell phone technology, not
only because of its inherent and secure platform, it is the way to go. And the
encryption that can be incorporated into this modern day miniaturized
electronics is unsurpassed. Now a little into the devilish side of this
technology. First, Uncle Sam is footing the bill to erect these cell sights up
and down and all around the country. Cell phone technology relies on repeater
sites, as a means to relay the communication protocol and subsequent
information, whether it be data or voice. Look up, your credit card information
is probably “roaming” from site to site! The repeat function of the cell sites
allows low power devices to be glued to the ear of users. I swear, every kid
has one of these things attached to the ear lobe. I saw one teenage looking
girl of mega Neanderthal height walking around with what looked like a dead
beetle bug clipped to a lobe. At first I thought maybe it was an ear ring. No,
it was a cell phone. It was a scene from outer space! Now Sam is a business
man. He has room to spare at these cell sites, its called un-used bandwidth. So
transmit and receive vacancy is divvied up so the general public can use it.
Corporations pay for it and we pay more for it, a profit is made in return.
Normally, it is at a lower and less secure link, but still above average for
the most part. But strange things are going on behind the scenes. I have a
friend that had a recent scare with respect to invasion of privacy, or maybe it
is an attempt at invasion of piracy! He
is a signal guy, and that ego thing finds him paying about $700.00 dollars a
month for a Hummer! Now he doesn’t go out of town much, opting to stay around
Anchorage, the big city scene. One day, he decided to drive south to a small
ski village called Girdwood, about a whooping 35-miles down the road. He wasn’t
5-miles out of town when a voice from space interrupted the enjoyment. Now the
instruction booklet that comes with the Hummer is about 3 inches thick. This
guy had already placed it in the round file. Anyway, this voice calls out his
name. At first he thought it was the radio. When the voice and name calling
came a second time around, he proceeded to turn off the radio, as it was
annoying. But that didn’t stop the voice from outer space, finally he insulted
the ghost with some profanity. This guy does a lot of transcendental thinking,
so he thought he had somehow broken the barrier of time travel. Little did he
realize that the Hummer was equipped with a cell phone, one of those expensive
hands off type set-ups. Finally he asked just who the hell it was. It was that
On-Star thing. They were concerned that somebody had stolen his vehicle,
Remember, he had always stayed around town. So this outfit thought they were
doing him a favor by checking in. This guy was pissed, as he realized then that
he was being stalked by an unknown race. He told the guy on the other end of
the phone to disconnect the service. Now this they couldn’t do, as they had a
contract with the Dodge dealer to keep it going, as a means of monitoring this
and that - it was your ultimate invasion by piracy! And you may be interested
to know just what else is going on behind the scenes of this invasion from
space. With cell phone technology, it is both voice and data that is
transmitted. Now every vehicle manufactured today is equipped with two things.
An antennae and an embedded controller. The latter is a fancy name for a
dedicated micro-processor. It can monitor anything and everything. Now what is
also inherent in these types of devices is a PID controller. This is what is
used to control things, sort of like an automatic pilot. So at a secret test
facility down in Nevada, a race course is being inundated with vehicles being
tested for total control - by the space invaders. It allows someone somewhere
to eavesdrop on your driving skills. Things like speed can be checked. Go over
the speed limit and whammy, the PID can take control of the throttle, which has
migrated from a strictly mechanical device to an electronic servo device. And
since cell sites use the geometry of triangulation as a means of picking the
most expensive site for your phone bill, your whereabouts past and present can
also be monitored. This is scary. The enforcers see a time when speeding
tickets are a thing of the past, as total control will be not yours but theirs!
Dad’s soon will be able to pull up a computer generated map showing their
daughters gallivanting, along with driving habits. It can also model the
driving habits of an individual, so dad can now know if daughter lets boyfriend
drive the car. Modeling will allow insurance companies to determine rates. Come
an accident, the agents will just download information and the outcome will be
based on some alien hypothesis. This is micro-enhanced technology. It is small
and because it is all digital, it can be programmed to do everything and
anything imaginable. And that is where society will get in trouble. Here is
another scary thing. In the old analog technology days, a speaker was a speaker
and a microphone was a microphone. Not true today, as a speaker is a microphone
– all based on solid-state technology. These piezo-electric gizmos the size of a
penny can be embedded on circuit boards. With a little manipulation in computer
programming code, your conversations can be monitored. So your right to privacy
has become someone else’s right to piracy. And it is all based on cell phone
technology. A technology promoted by people who think they know what is best
for America – the land of the free(roaming) and the home of the
brave(controlled)!
Copyright 2005 MSK Media
~ Bumper Sticker Says It
All ~
From the
Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
If you thought education was
expensive,
Try ignorance,
Become a Republican!
Baa, baa black sheep,
Have you any fools?
Yes sir, yes sir,
A whole White House full!
We all work for the same GOD!
Another bridge to nowhere?
How about a bridge to somewhere!
The only politically correct
statement with regards to the 109th Congress is that of politically
corrupt.
God must have been a Republican,
He made us all different!
We don’t judge a book by its
cover,
So don’t judge a man by his
lawn!
Four dead in Ohio – How many
more?
Fourteen dead from Ohio – How
many more?
Great Obituary(from great wife):
“He
loved drinking and Tattoos”.
Copyright 2005 MSK Media
From the
Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
(Rapper #1, lead with emphasis on bold)
(Rapper #2, emphasis on underlined italic)
My name is Smith.
I work in a
SHIT HOLE.
That’s right,
Nothing but a SHIT HOLE.
It’s hot all day,
It’s hot all night,
I work in a SHIT HOLE.
Not right,
Nothing but a SHIT HOLE.
Stairs go up,
Stairs go down,
So on the HOUR every HOUR,
I make my merry go
rounds at the SHIT HOLE.
Nothing but a SHIT HOLE.
Working on a fix with my bag of tricks.
Didn’t say my stools stuck
SHIT, I think my tools stuck.
My name is Smith.
I work with
the SHIT at the SHIT HOLE.
Sticks and stones,
break my bones,
When neighborhood hoods yell SHIT HOLE SMITH
The guy from the SHIT HOLE.
That’s right,
The guy from the SHIT HOLE.
Who SHIT? You SHIT!
Bull SHIT.
For the
owners of the SHIT HOLE.
Head honcho Macho,
He’s the boss of the SHIT CREW,
He’s worked forever at the SHIT HOLE.
His SHIT don’t stink
That’s what he thinks.
He’s number two at the SHIT HOLE
He reams, she screams, we all scream for I scream.
Wish I had some ice cream.
Ain’t no sugar shack.
Just a SHIT HOLE
Nothing but a SHIT HOLE
Working at the SHIT HOLE
It stinks!
My life at the SHIT HOLE
Ain’t
sweet!
Can’t quit the SHIT HOLE
To deep!
I’m SHIT HOLE SMITH
I work at the SHIT HOLE
I make my wage at the SHIT HOLE.
Oh yea.
I bring my pay check to the check pay.
Can’t stay.
I cop some green backs.
Holy
Shit.
Gona buy some ice cream.
Chocolate
fudge.
Gona get the blow down,
At the
whore-down.
I’m SHIT HOLE SMITH.
Copyright 2005 MSK Media
From the
Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
It is
mid-March. Breakup has begun. T’is the season which Anchorage city dwellers
cherish a love and hate relationship. It is the time of year when age old
nuisances finds the liberty to debut once again, after a long winter’s rest!
Now people will complain forever about the potholes. I swear, the same damn
battle scars appear every year in the same damn places, like it was planned
that way. I think we should name these reoccurring menaces after our
congressional whiners, or their wives, kids, even after their dogs. They like
having things named after themselves, usually christening the landmarks by a
shattering of Dom Perignon, the bottle conveniently emptied before the
occasion. How about that “Te Lu” bill! The largest of record transportation
bill ever passed through congress, and named after the wife of Alaska’s lone
ranger congressman, who was the appropriations committee chairman. And up here
in Alaska, we are running out of things to name in their honor, so maybe
potholes would do. Can’t use the thousands upon thousands of mountain peaks, as
they all have a name according to the Indians. In Alaska, most of the true
Alaskan’s call the tallest mountain Mt. Denali, the native name, and not Mt.
McKinley. And yes, congress has tried more then once to officially rename it
Mt. McKinley. Guess what happened? Threats were received in chambers that if it
passed it would go to the Supreme Court! So if someone tries to rename a
mountain peak, it ends up in the courts. Now pothole development means pothole
repair crew deployment. Those guys that make a bunch of overtime money, the
patch crew, which is under the Parks & Recreation department. I always
thought that was rather strange. Some administrative aid - once called
secretaries when 8-track tapes were fashionable - tried to explain why the
tennis court guys also have the responsibility to fix the road holes, had
something to do with diversity. Now somebody out there must have some kind of
secret road deteriorating seeds, that come alive when the temperatures get a
little warm. Maybe from an experiment gone haywire. It wouldn’t surprise me, as
Federal “TED pork” funds a whole lot of “fun” things up here in the 49th
state. TED is our senior citizen senator. Mark Twain was right about senators.
Besides the potholes, we suffer through the overflows. It brings out more
trucks that advertise the “Muni” hard at work. It seems a lot of hibernation
goes on in the winter months, very seldom do we see a city worker getting cold.
But somebody keeps my driveway blocked with packed down road snow! Where’s the
dynamite? Along with the potholes and overflows, we get to spend handfuls of
money on specially formulated environmental friendly glass cleaner, for the
mud-splattered windshields. But man, that stuff is hard to clean off, sure its mud?
It seems they sell the cleaning stuff just about everywhere. At the markets,
gas stations, convenient stores. Had a girl scout try to sell me some, going
door to door through the neighborhood. She said the cookies didn’t get sold
until after breakup. And what about that homeless guy at the intersection? For
a donation of a few cents, he would zip clean your windshield while you waited
for the traffic jam, as it was stalled due to “road” maintenance! But what the
hell is that almost springtime smell? I have a hunch. And maybe it isn’t mud on
my windshield! Here in Alaska, we are infatuated with “dogs”, our canine
companions. I mean how can we not be so in touch with man’s best of
friends? Two weeks ago, the main roads
around town were barricaded off and filled with regurgitated snow left over
from the snow removal crews. This was in efforts to facilitate the sled dog
races for the Fur Rendezvous. Originally, “rendezvous” was a time when trappers
would come to town, to sell their furs in exchange for booze and women. Now its
just an eating and drinking binge to celebrate the end of winter. Then just
last week, it was the same thing all over again, this time for the “Ceremonial
Start” of the 1000 mile long Iditarod dog sled race. During this two week time
period, it was estimated that the population of dogs - including Anchorage’s
own population - outnumbered the people! One big dog convention. Now we all
know what dogs do. DO DO! So all that snow, it gets trucked away to “snow
recovery” zones. Basically a corner piece of undeveloped land, where some
fortunate owner reaps in a huge profit for storing snow that has been
accumulated over the winter. Not only from the dog sled races, but from normal
everyday snow removal. We don’t let it accumulate on the sidewalks around here.
And we really don’t get that much snow. “TED pork” brings in money for snow
removal under DOT appropriation bills earmarked for Alaska. Spend it or hide
it, but don’t send it back insists the fine print. Now when breakup summons the
frozen stuff to melt, along with everything else, that surrender reveals all
kinds of contraband, including thousands of pounds of dog shit. Over in Valdez,
about 100 air miles and 300 road miles away from Anchorage - we can’t make
straight roads around here, has something to do with diversity - there was one
year when the city fathers decided to make something with the 38-feet of snow
that blankets the city proper. There is not a movie theater, so why not build a
snow screen. Its white, and reflects light. So sure enough, the city road
maintenance crews were handed a bottle, I meant a boodle of overtime, to plow
snow from here to up there to erect a giant outdoors movie screen. It worked,
and now Mr. Blockbuster is thinking of a seasonal franchise! But when breakup
came, and somewhere around mid July when the pile finally melted, low and
behold, there was a pile of who knows what. But it was quickly cordoned off
with that yellow caution crime scene tape, and designated a hazardous waste
zone! Now back to the dog doing do thing. This stuff accumulates everywhere.
When it is mixed with snow and ice, its melts into a chocolate mouse. Over time
it commingles with the surface dirt, and come breakup, it flows with the
runoff. Now being denser then most matter, it has a tendency of moving slower,
such action allows it to stay behind and it dries up when the running water has
retreated out to the tide zones. Now it has become a candidate for dust.
Warming air temperatures cause the winds to come alive, swirling this dust and
lifting it into the atmosphere. Sometime we have to drive with our fog lights
on, during a blow. Ah, clean fresh air, take a good long breath! Hold off on that. Just pulled up the city
air quality alert page. Seems testing is complete on what’s blowing around out
there. In fact, a warning has advised those with respiratory weaknesses and the
elderly to stay indoors. This happens several times a year. The analysis talks
about fine particulate matter over the EPA clean air standards - of
undetermined origin! Particulate what I ask? Then again, maybe it would have
been better not to ask. The administrative aid used the word “shit”, claiming
it was dog shit. And in order for that constituent to be measurable in the
massive volumes of air surrounding the city, we are talking tons and tons of
dried up dog shit becoming airborne and becoming part of our breathing air. But
with over 25 thousand dogs, each shedding a
pound each day in the waste category, and nowhere for this stuff to
dissipate too during the frozen season which lasts easily 6-months in duration,
well it is not hard to imagine a portion of this stuff ending up in the air.
Here’s the math: 25,000 pounds of shit per day x 180 days of winter = 4 million
pounds of this particulate “with no particular place to go”. What’s that smell?
Sure isn’t a forest fire! Dogs, city men’s best friend.
Copyright 2005 MSK Media
~ Freedom: A WARNING to the Citizens of Iraq ~
From the Chinook
Journal of S. Pam MaGee
Shameful. Blasphemy. Now I
know the latter is reserved for religious contempt, but with no separation
between the zillions of different denominations and one government, I am
jumping into my Webster’s to see if I can find a better word to describe my
outrage. Having just listened to an early AM conversation broadcast over public
radio has boiled my blood. It was an interview with a female recruiter. Now
there is only one person to blame for recruitment problems. With enlistment
numbers down to record lows, seems that the recruiters must resort to tactical
enlistment warfare. I wonder if this type of salesmanship is taught at military
academies? If it is, our representatives have failed the mission statement
behind the red, white and blue. Whatever happened to statesmanship? I guess
that was sold for pennies on the dollar. Now I can’t blame any young kid for
not wanting to become a hero in uniform, not in this day and age. It would be
one thing if such bravery was in efforts to support democracy, but it is more
like supporting the Commander of Thieves. So I was aggravated when I heard this
one recruiter going about her business of capturing guinea pigs. She was
canvassing a section of L.A. that was taken over by gangs. During this live
broadcast that was capturing how recruiters work the scene these days, she did
succeed in getting the undivided attention of three young high school kids. She
proceeded to take advantage of their situation
- with the gangs that is. Going on and on and on that there was nothing
here in this destitute part of the city. Nothing now, and the future would hold
no future. Now one kid made a comment that guns were an acceptable means of
protecting the future. With that, the young female recruiter in uniform then
went on to ask them what good is a gun when they are not fighting for anything
except protection. Then came the sales pitch. Why not go to Iraq, as there they
would have almost the same situation except for one reassuring thing. In Iraq
she said, they would be fighting for freedom and democracy. Now am I missing
something with this picture? Have we given up on the mother land. Has the
homeland become the “badland”, to dangerous? And is that why we must find other
areas of the world in which to promote our way. Her between the lines speech
insisted that it was safer in Iraq. SAFER in IRAQ. I hope there are some Iraqis
who can read this and see what democracy is all about. It doesn’t include
everybody. There is no such thing as equity. It is a constant battle to keep up
with the Jones’. She ended her live interview by instilling the fact in these
free thinking youths that it was better to enlist then to stay around, as they
would be fighting for all Americans and emphzized freedom, as if freedom was lost
in the ghettoes. Maybe it has gone by the wayside. Maybe the war at home - in
the homeland - has been lost. It has for some! It has shifted away from the
poor and now it is a burden upon the middle class. But beware, as the middle
class will not be silenced. The middle class embraces the heartland class,
everybody included. There is no segregation. And as selective democracy leaves
behind the poor, the middle class will value their commitment and arm them for
the right. Enlist now, not in wayward advances in unfamiliar and unfriendly
territory, but right here, right at home. It is time for the working class
heroes to once again become heroes. The world is watching!
Copyright 2005 MSK Media
From the
Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
With
the present day state of affairs with criminals and justice - maybe un-justice
- things seem to be on the yellow brick road to constitutional destruction. Did
you hear the story about Junior Allen. He was a guy convicted of stealing a
black & white television set. He spent 35-years in jail. He was black. For
all those years he had no representation. He had nothing. Accept a home in a
prison system that since the time of his incarceration for a petty crime had
changed hands from the public domain to the private sector. That is where the
system broke down according to authoritive sources. So a computer glitch may
have been the reason that he remained behind bars. Pretty convenient excuse,
blame it on a computer. He had known prison life longer then some of the
convicted hard core criminals. Up here in Alaska, the convicts have it pretty
bad. Actually, I think they have it made. They are smart. They have freedoms beyond
what one would expect behind bars. What bars? Out in Palmer, the inmates were
responsible for running a hog farm. It was a facility that had the farm along
with a modern day no frills barred meat cutting and packing plant. Now the
intent was to make the inmates as self-sufficient as possible. It meant
caretaker responsibilities. It meant a trade could be learned. Meat is
expensive in the 49th state, as most of it is imported. So the hog
farm was supposed to be the panacea for cost cutting measures instituted by oil
industry. The price of oil was getting pretty low so the oil bosses cried on
the governor’s lap and received yet another tax break. I think it is in the
negative by now. Does that mean we have to pay them to extract the “black”
gold? So it meant cost cutting measures targeting programs that had the least
amount of effect of the state of the state, like education and incarceration.
Teachers will work for peanut shells! Hogs will eat anything. The farm project
was funded by grants from the U.S. Agricultural Department. Taxpayer’s money
that is. You see, up here in Alaska the agricultural industry is pretty bleak.
Potatoes and cabbages are about the only crop worth cultivating for sale. But
we have senators that believe in over-sharing the wealth, so the state of
Alaska gets “pork” for pork. It was an experiment within an experiment. What I
mean by this was the fact that the hogs were fed byproduct wastes from the
fishing industry, basically salmon guts. Then the plan called for turning the
rendered pork into sausages. Unfortunately the sausages tasted like rotten
fish, had something to do with the Omega-3 upsetting the animal’s metabolism.
So that project failed and the hogs went back to eating good stuff, like
potatoes and cabbage. Now this stuff makes for healthy hogs. The butchered meat
never made it into the freezers of the prison, in efforts to feed the
population that relied on their own hard work for some decent groceries.
Instead it was sold on the market, most of it exported because hogs were in
demand in the lower 48 states. It fetched a good price, especially when the
buyers were paying all the transportation costs. The money from sales was then
used to buy food for the prison. The prison population made out the menu. Not
only were these guys learning to be farmers and butchers, but accountants and
cooks. So they had the run of the mill when it came to ordering groceries. Now
it wasn’t spam that found its way onto the prison’s cupboards. With the money
and no accountability outside the prison walls, these guys brokered for the
good stuff, like King crab, shrimp, salmon and halibut. These guys had it made
until it was discovered. I thought it was a great deal, entrepreneurship behind
bars at its best. Anyway, I guess they are back to eating spam as the free ride
is over and the hog farm is defunct. Now down in Seward, that inmate population
filed a lawsuit against the state. It had to do with the fact that the
incarcerated population at this facility that included stainless steel
bathrooms was made up mostly of natives. For the incarcerated Inupiat,
Athabaskan, Tlingit, the food didn’t meet their ethnic desires. Also missing
was a place of worship, in their case, a sweat lodge made from materials native
to their place of birth. So each year now, the state puts out a bid for things
like whale meat, moose, caribou and anything else that was required. And the
sweat lodge is rebuilt each season with materials from different areas - diversity worshiping. It provides a cottage
industry for some natives. But as far as Junior Allen, he had it way beyond
bad. All that time for stealing a black & white TV. But his incarceration
had nothing to do with the crime. It boils down to business and the
stockholder. We will all become stockholders when George disrupts the social
security and makes it the un-secure your on your own pension plan. With the
prison system, the real crooks have taken over. In the lower 48 states, special
interest bombarded the politicians with threats and re-election money in
efforts to pass the “three strikes your out” legislation. That was good for the
prison business. Lets face it, a business could not survive unless it some how
or another could predict the future with respect to the inmate population. That
could not be accomplished under current law abiding, so they needed a crutch.
That crutch came in the form of a law that would put men and women away for
many, many years. The three-strike law gave the prison industry a breath of
relief that their investment would pay for itself and provide the stockholder a
return. And to see just how bad it was getting - with the private sector in
control of other peoples lives - take the plan to build a prison in another
country. Yes indeed, one corrupt corporation cajoled an interest in one of the border
states to build a prison in Mexico, south of the border. It would provide jobs
and real cheap labor. So immigrants would be sent back home, but to a prison
that would be paid for by the Americans. It meant convictions in this country
would stick, even if the defendants were deported. And the taxpayer would once
again be footing the bill, and profits would be made. Hey, we have exported
jobs to foreign soils, why not export our laws? And a lot of things were
exported away in efforts to get a better buy from investors’ bucks, like not
having to worry about environmental laws. Remember Bohpal! Exporting our
prisons is foolish. Before you know it, we will find a way to export Americans
to cheaper prisons abroad. Where human rights means no rights at all. It will
mean more Junior Allen lost causes. So Junior Allen’s incarceration subsidized
a corporation’s bottom line which in turn subsidized a stockholders demands.
Money buys freedom. Junior made money for someone so someone else could
exercise their own selfish freedom. One lived the American dream. One dreamed
of the American dream. We are all stockholders. Unfortunately, few of us
understand what we are really into with respect to investments. Some are good,
some are bad. But if the bad made one’s portfolio buoyant when the good was
treading water, how many would argue ethic responsibility? When it hits the
bottom line, most of us will turn and look the other direction. So just
remember that when you see Junior Allen, trying to catch up on freedom lost, freedom
lost, but now freedom at last, he had a dream - a bad dream. And we helped him
live that bad dream!
Copyright 2005 MSK Media
From the
Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
I just read an interesting
fact sheet. It was from one of the departments that gets funding from Uncle
Sam. One of our own, that employs research professionals who could find a
zillion and one reasons to research a farting mosquito and its effects towards
global warming. This one particular and most recently published fact sheet had
to do with the transmittal of colds and flues, amongst co-workers. Seems the
workplace computer “keyboard” is the culprit that keeps the cold medicine
industry profitable. And it makes me take warning to the warning that is
steering me right in the face as I navigate this can’t do without device. “WARNING:
Some experts believe that the use of any keyboard may cause serious injury. For
additional information concerning keyboard inflicted diseases, consult your
attorney.” I cannot think of even one business entity that doesn’t rely on
a keyboard as a viable and productive device. We use this modern day typewriter
as we would a toaster, for convenience. We order supplies with it. We fill out
our time sheets with it. On and on and on we go. But this patriotic device -
one in every home - it is the germ bearing menace of modern day society,
especially in the workplace. It works like this. Freddie shows up for work. He
has a cold. And that cold came from germs his fingers hijacked from a keyboard
attached to his home computer, which was infected by the kids from using
keyboards at school. His first order of business is a cup of coffee. Now, the
coffee machine has a keyboard on it. About the only thing that doesn’t have a
keyboard or keypad is the restroom door. Wait a minute, I hear the sound of
remodeling going on! Well where there wasn’t one of these electronic
communicating devices, now there is, and every time you enter the restroom
another electronic gizmo takes note of your relieving time. Don’t forget your
PIN. I think there is a false ceiling above, we can fool the damn computers
cant we? Now Freddie contemplates what to drink, and while deciding picks his
nose. He decides on coffee. So his booger and germ coated finger hits the
appropriate button. Germs warfare begins. He changes his mind and goes for the
hot chocolate. Once again, germs migrate to new territory. Now Betty comes
along. She doesn’t have a cold, yet! Now before morning meeting time, everybody
is engaged in checking E-mail. That seems to be the priority of the day.
Keyboard hacking can be heard from every office, in a sense, indicative that
everybody is gainfully employed. Soon the keyboard hacking is reported to produce
another type of hacking, as the germs are by now having a free-for-all. It
starts as an innocent finger licking good behavior and by the end of the day
multiplies by hijacking everybody’s health. Now everybody is feeling sickly. It
happens time and time again at my place of employment. But for some reason I
have not had a cold or flue for about five years now! I don’t take any flue
shots and if I needed medicine, it would most likely be way beyond the shelf
life. I did that once, it was so old that it was like taking LSD! I exercise
moderately. Pretty good diet, and I like my beer. Now I didn’t know why I was
so fortunate to not have to be part of the statistics, included in the
population that yields to the yearly suffering and providing support to the
medicine man. I contemplated on what
may have occurred five years ago that discriminated against me to not allow a
sick day. Hey, I like taking a day off at the company’s expense. But I am an
honest guy, and if not sick, I just couldn’t call in sick. Then it came to
reason just what may have made the difference, then, and continues to this day.
It was the dishwasher. About five years ago, the already fifteen year old
dilapidated washer went “bang”. When I tried to get replacement parts for it, I
heard laughing and then a dial tone. Hey, the dishwasher is that avocado green
color. It is still in the kitchen. In fact it is so old, that color is now
becoming popular all over again! To bad for outdated replacement parts. Anyway,
no automatic dishwasher meant manual cleaning. So, to make a long story short,
I have to wash dishes everyday. I actually enjoy it. A little background music,
a glass of wine, and clean hands. In fact, I very seldom have to clean under my
nails, and I work as a mechanic at a power plant. So maybe I have come across
the miracle cure for the common cold. Sure it is convenient to throw the dishes
in the hold and press a button then retreat to the couch as the TV is calling.
But maybe such luxuries are costing us on another battle ground. Mom’s, get rid
of the dishwasher. Get your kids to wash the nightly dishes, just like we used
to have to do growing up. And remember back then, very rarely did we get sick
enough to be absent from anything. Then again, maybe it was the cod liver oil
that scared away any and all deceases. So the culprit it stands to reason are
dirty hands, fingers and whatever is growing under those nails. So besides providing a means to relax, with
music over TV, hand washing of dishes may be a cure all for transmittal of colds
and flues. It makes sense. It also cuts down on wasted energy. Wow, I wonder
what our congressmen would say about this. Killing two birds with one stone.
Saving energy and eliminating colds. This should be of special interest!
Copyright 2005 MSK Media
From the
Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
From
the three stooges to the three little pigs. Maybe that should be rephrased as the
three “big” pigs. From stooges to pigs! That is what best describes the
political clout the state of Alaska gets from seniority haunting the Halls of
Congress. During the stooge stage and before the pig stage, Stooge #1, an
appointee to the senate, has by now been re-elected to a lifetime term! Stooge
#2 filled the other seat but has really nothing to show after several terms of
endangerment. He finally gave up and ran back to the state to become the
governor. Stooge #3 was also appointed, to the House. Now when the stooges
became the pigs, Stooge #2’s replacement was also an appointee. Appointees
don’t really represent the will of the citizens. It is the only state of the
union that at one time did not have a senator or congressman that was actually
elected to a first term on his or her own merits. Like campaigning, using one’s
own assets, using one’s own credibility, things of that nature. Now first terms
are rather important, as it can mean a change, possibly a party affiliation
change. What we find here in the 49th state, once in, hard to kick
out. So those of influence and power - who don’t like to see change as it might
affect their ratfink link to the Whitehouse - well they see to it that their
guy gets seated, at any cost! Paybacks in store were usually the winning
ticket. Paybacks run government. The saddest thing about America, you sure can
“buy” a politician. Our current representatives are “slaves”, not to the common
working class heroes, but to special interest criminals. Ethics started disappearing
after the Vietnam War and the 60’s and 70’s crusade to show the world that some
of us are truly American - by not being afraid to exercise our rights. I
believe that a prerequisite to occupying a state or Federal governing position,
first one must show proof that he or she has some time or another exercised
each and every constitutional right, all nineteen. One extra you say? It’s a
secret right, for the pigs. Something about amendments, they have it their way!
The red, white and blue used to shine, now I see a dullness in this crusader of
liberty. As far as getting a cushion seat in D.C., it gets down to “Who you
know”. Pigs, always squealing! In the “Last Frontier” state, it used to be an
all guys club. Wilderness survival is a manly thing, so we needed a rough guy
to represent us. It went that way for many, many years. But one of the pigs was
selected while “her” dad, one of the original three stooges, bailed out. Now
with time in office, it gave her an edge up come re-election. It has to do with
seniority. Even two years will help one with a solid victory. And since time in
this office means “pork”, it is very difficult for people to make a conscious
decision to elect the best all around candidate. It seems we base our choice on
one and only one qualifier. The “pork” barrel. Seated politicians use all the
fanfare and tricks of the trade come re-election. But one advantage the
incumbent has over more qualified and realistic American statesmen is using the
seniority ticket. In Alaska, one senator actually threatens the economy, by
stating that if his office is vacated, no jobs. And Alaska needs jobs! The law
says that entrapment is illegal, a crime. But I guess with congressional
immunity, trapping is the best way to secure votes for re-election. And as pigs
squeal, babies cry. I heard somebody crying! Sounds like somebody who couldn’t
get his own way. It meant an Alaskan style bail out, more like a coup
d’screw-you. Once upon a time, Alaska had a representative who failed miserably
at his goals to secure more wealth for his oil buddies, so he threw in the
towel and ran for governor. His campaign lambasted the opponent’s agenda,
saying it would hurt the state’s economy. The opponent was a “lady”. A good way
to ruin that image is to join the Hilary club! Things were tough at the time.
Alaskan oil companies were only raking in $20 dollars on every barrel of $10
dollar oil. You say the math doesn’t work? You don’t know Alaskan
oil-economics. So by saying this and saying that, by advertising that the great
society was still great but with far fewer players, by incorporating help from
“outside” interests funded by taxpayer money, the campaign of Frankenstein was
a success. Now he held no worthwhile agenda. So right after election, guess
what? His agenda now sounded like his opponents agenda, the one ridiculed
during the campaign. It was the only fiscal responsible way to strengthen the
economy that relies on oil revenues and Uncle Sam well fare, so we can fare
well. For instance. We once had a governor that decided to build a trail system
around Anchorage. Now the trail system followed the coastline, and fortunate
for many, it provided a scenic path of enjoyment. Unfortunate for the wealthy
land barons, it cut their privacy off. To this we never heard an end. Now during
the campaign, outside interests used the existing trails and future trails as a
way to sidetrack votes away from those not in the know. Even one of the
remaining three stooges was heard and seen testifying that there were more
important things to do with regurgitated federal money garnished away from hard
working people. But right after the election, and right after another sinful
appropriations bill was passed, low and behold, “pork” money designated for
trail improvements came to the well fare state, again for the citizens fare
well status. Now nobody laid claim to this “pork”, as it was never requested.
It was a campaign smear issue. One would have to be nuts to even think of
asking for it. But it was a gift from Ted - boss Hog. Now what does it all
really mean? What is going on in Alaska is really no different then anywhere
else around the states. It’s called pigsty dynasty building. Watch out! It
starts with George Senior and infects son George Bubba. Confederate officer Jeb
- he reminds me of Jed who knows all about pigs - may make it a threesome
disease! If not bigger brother, maybe Hilary. Regardless, they think of nothing
else except to keep the family name going. The sad fact of the matter, they
don’t realize what this greed is really doing to this once great country. I am
a working man. My wife is part of that working class. All of our disposable
income goes towards raising a family. My wages have gone down, so there will
never be that nest egg that allows entertaining the fact that maybe I would
like my family name to rise and shine. Hey all fathers would love to have their
sons, and now daughters, to run for office. But that will never happen, as the
bigots have it all tied up. And this dynasty thing, it is already positioned to
be the future way in which our lives are governed. When I worked on the
Trans-Alaskan-Pipeline, which was the engineering marvel of the century, I had
the opportunity to work with some of the brightest engineers and mathematicians
in the world. They liked to use this thing called interpolate to extrapolate. I
heard someone whisper hokis pokis. Basically, if enough data from the past to
present were input into some thing called a model algorithm, then it could
predict the future, with some very good precision. Now, several prominent
theorists in the study of political science have done the same thing, with
historical data. Extrapolation indicates that the U.S. is moving very rapidly
towards a dynasty. Why do you think our only foreign friend is Tony Blair! We
are on a road to destruction, through separation. But then again, many
historians made it clear long ago that our present day capitalistic society
cannot and will not continue to exist if communism lost out. In a nutshell, one
supports the other. That has happened, and Russia has become a more powerful
country. It has become more democratic, not by force, but through some natural
free-for-all phenomenon. The arms race has been replaced by the energy race. We
have the nukes, but we are running on empty and on thin ice in the energy
sufficiency category. Rather gory for old glory. Maybe the dynasty factor is
for a reason. Maybe when things topple, these greedy bastards may try to buy
their way out. So what do we do? It is time for the likes of the Green Mountain
Boys to once again surface to face off against detrimental politics and selfish
deterioration of the American value system. The GMB was indeed a radical
vigilante group that came together to protect the interests of state’s rights.
Basically, protectionism for the people against pigsty politics awash in you
know what. Now even though radical, not once did they ever have to kill an
enemy. They had strengths, as their enemies were still considered Americans -
ones that needed a little tender loving tweaking! They just used their
homegrown heroics to drive the rich away, and some out of business. So it is
time once again to drive the rich people, this time around out of office. They
can keep their businesses. It is time for the citizens of this weakened country
to abandon the pork barrel and just say no to being held hostage by dynasty
builders. We don’t need leaders that are offspring of the swine. We don’t need
special interest to infect righteousness. They need us. We really still have
control. We are all GMB worriers. And if they don’t want to be part of the real
American dream team, they can have their dynasty, in the pigsty. But remember,
who feeds them? And remember what they get fed!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
From the Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
I
guess this is a story where justice is served, Alaskan style. Following the
1867 purchase date from Russia up until 1958, Alaska remained a territory. Now that
status allowed this state of approximately 375 million acres to suffer
economically. There was good reason to keep it a territory, as any other status
would just be too damn expensive for Uncle Sam, until oil was discovered. The
1957 black gold strike meant self-sufficiency and the following year it meant
statehood. But as a territory, there were certain advantages and disadvantages.
Like taxation without representation. And one thing of interest that worked a
little differently before state statues were executed upon, was law and order.
Like a colony, a territory was basically a lawless but law abiding society.
Vigilante groups could be brewed up overnight, for just about any cause that
riled the citizens to action. Now this one particular story tells of a
vigilante, a one man vigilante. Mac MaCoy was a territorial sheriff. Now a
sheriff working under the auspices of a territorial governor wore more then one
badge. It came with the Territory! Mac had been tasked to fly an incarcerated
rapist from Juneau to Anchorage, to stand trial. Now besides a bonafide
sheriff, Mac was also a bush pilot. And lets not forget a medic, a wildlife
officer, a grandfather, and on and on and on. Ferrying prisoners from remote
places like Juneau to Anchorage was not uncommon, as every body gets their day
in court. Well he set out one morning from Juneau with this prisoner, destiny
Anchorage. Half way into the journey, which was probably this thugs last trip
before sentencing to time in prison, he complained that he had to go to the
bathroom. Now Mac knew the area pretty well, so he set the plane down on a
glacier, as it was equipped with both gravel runway tires and skies. Some of
the true Alaskan bush pilots will tell you that skies are preferred over tires
when mud inundates the runways, which happened pretty often back in those days.
Glaciers were pretty common in the mountains that run from Juneau north to
Anchorage. Mac knew a glacier was a safe place to land, as it allowed no room
for a successful escape if that what was really on the prisoner’s mind. There
was just nowhere to go. Anyway, as Mac tells the story, he sets the plane down
and cordially removes the leg and arm cuffs from the prisoner - so he can
relieve himself. The prisoner quickly takes advantage of the liberty and moves
away from the plane. Then sure enough, makes a blast for freedom. Mac knew that
he wouldn’t get too far, as the snow was deep and without snowshoes, his escape
efforts were futile. This wasn’t the first time a prisoner had tried to escape.
I guess the relieving excuse was these guys last ditch effort to get set free
and a routine ritual. Mac let the guy run for awhile, but then the guy
disappeared. Mac thought the guy had
just fallen down in the snow, but when nothing ahead indicated such, Mac thought
he better investigate. Sure enough, the prisoner had fallen into a crevasse.
Topside, Mac could see the guy dangling on an ice shelf about 20 feet below the
surface. It didn’t look so good down below this saving rest place, as the
crevasse was a real deep one. Mac told
the guy he was lucky, that he was inches away from falling into “hell”. It was
time for a rescue. Mac went back towards the plane to retrieve a rope. Now Mac
was about to put himself in harms way, so finding out just what kind of prisoner
this thug was meant a whole lot. To Mac, usually a law breaker was just a law
breaker. Now he could hear the guy yelling, like this guy was really scared.
But that didn’t bother Mac, as he sifted through the paperwork to see why his
prisoner was bound for Anchorage. Disgusting Mac thought to himself! The guy
was being tried for raping a 9 year old girl. It was his third offense. Mac
looked out onto the sunset, thought about his own daughter when she was that
young of age. He thought of his grandchildren. It was getting late and a bad
storm was moving in fast. He had to make a decision, and it was a pretty easy
one at that. This guy was going down. Mac said to himself, he’s already down!
As he took off from the glacier, for a solo flight back to Anchorage, time
tested flying skills allowed him to hug the glacier then bank towards the
crevasse. Mac waved, and can still remember the horrid look on this guy’s face
– that of doom. There would be no rescue, not today. And with overnight
temperatures dropping easily down into the minus 30 range, this guy was “hell”
bound – with frostbite. When Mac arrived in Anchorage a few hours later, the
fact that he did not arrive with the rapist was not a big deal – business as
usual. He explained that the prisoner had attempted to escape, and fell into a
crevasse. Mac was not bound to put himself in harms way. There would be no
trial for the rapist. There would be no attempt to locate a body, as crevasses
disappear. There was no threat that some civil liberties lawyer would take the
sheriff’s department to task over losing a prisoner. Being a territory, the
only “bar” association that existed was the local watering hole, so lawyers
were few and far behind. And as he enjoyed a shot with his compatriots, Mac
assured himself one thing, this guy would never ever rape another human!
Justice was served, the old fashion way. May Jessica Marie Lunsford rest in
heavenly peace and that rotten bastard John Evander Couey find a crevasse to
hell!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
Remember the song Cross Town
Traffic? If Jimmy didn’t dedicate that tune to traffic stalled victims, maybe
it was to those individuals that try to ease this time wasting ritual. I would
have to say that the most frustrating of careers may be that of a city traffic
engineer. A city infrastructure of roads and buildings to more of the same can
be summarized in time by a popular opinion, “two pounds of shit in a one pound
bag”! For the most part, a traffic engineer’s main job responsibility is to
satisfy the road rage worriers driving “super-size me” SUV’s more rugged then
battle tanks, the bike riding community that now sports special alloy frames on
thumb sized wheels that can spin a zillion revolutions per minute, pedestrians
including those little old ladies yielding aluminum bats as a means of securing
the cross-walks, and handicapped individuals equipped with the latest transport
gadgets that can do “broddies” with the push of a button. The engineers that
enter this specialized field seem to do a pretty good job all around. I guess
if one can claim success in this field, it would make a great stepping-stone
into the political arena - satisfying everyone that is. But up here in
Anchorage - Alaska’s big cosmopolitan city - there exists an outside interest
that begs to derail any good traffic flow pattern studies and recommendations.
Here’s the scoop. With one road into the city and one road out of the city, it
means bottle-necking. It occurs with the rush hour coming to work and the same
thing when weary workers head towards home. It is especially bad on summertime
Fridays, when everybody and their brother is heading south to the fishing battle-grounds.
Besides road rage, up here in Alaska we have salmon stream rage. Yes indeed,
grownups will resort to fist fighting over a good fishing spot claimed along a
river. We call it combat fishing. It means elbow to elbow chaos. With
approximately 1.1 acres of land per resident, you wouldn’t think crowd control
was a problem. And when the salmon are running, if somebody yells “fish on”,
one had better heed the warning and reel in or else the “Shore Line Natzi” will
come after you, and take a pair of scissors to your line. You see, if somebody
hooks a big salmon and it tries to escape by propelling itself up and down the
river, the heavy-duty fishing line has a tendency to snag every other line.
Talk turns to yelling turns to war when fishing lines get tangled. And this is
the time when tempers can flare out of control. People have been shot over this
fishing stuff! I make my yearly trip down to the popular areas, but not to
fish, just to get some laughs. So the traffic engineers have their work cut out
for themselves. To ease the traffic chaos through this northern big city - as
there exists no room for a bypass due the surrounding mountains - the state and
city planners have been steadily increasing the traffic capacity of “C” street.
This is a straight-line corridor that runs across the city proper. It is an
ideal link whose design will act just like another main cross-town artery. So
enthused over this plan of attack and after many hours of careful planning and
convincing for approval in efforts to extend the three lane “mini” highway
across the town, the engineers even went above and beyond to earmark special
appropriations funding so construction could continue all through the winter -
something that had not been tried before. Actually it had been tested, but far
to costly. But if the money is available, it can be done. Now building roads in
Alaska is pretty expensive even during the main construction season, which is
short in duration. The summer building season lasts about three months, in a
good year. Building roads during the winter can increase the completion costs
by 400%. But this time around, the designers were convinced to get the job
done. This multi-million dollar project has been going on for about four years
now and the final southern leg was due for completion this summer. Now one of
the pre-requisites to smooth un-abated traffic control is minimizing anything
that could slow the flow, like un-necessary traffic lights. That was the main
criteria of this extension, to place only a few of the traffic snarling menaces
at strategic locations. Now Anchorage is a city in a state coveted by many
controlling interests. The oil companies control the state legislators - sorry
we don’t pay taxes is that industries motto. But being a welfare state, it means
the Fed.’s are required to enter the picture. And it seems they have the right
intentions, but they must be using a cuckoo clock for timing. So those of us
that live in the city, we have been waiting patiently for the construction of
“C” street to be completed, as it will mean a time saving for all concerned.
Well, it was supposed to be! Even before the ribbon cutting ceremony, the
design plan has been sabotaged. Thanks to our representatives! I guess they
feel that if they have to fight traffic in D.C., then we have to also put up
with the bother. I wish they thought the same with wages. They set and vote the
minimum wage for the workers - you and I - and vote themselves a whopper of a
wage increase. Do you have any idea how much your state’s representatives make?
Well anyway, traffic lights are appearing up and down “C” street faster then
blooming dandelions of spring. That’s a good one, dandelions! Do you realize
that some authorities are afraid that this weed is heading too far north.
Anchorage’s turf turns yellow from this plant species intrusion. And when the
yellow flower disappears and the spherical seedpod appears, a good blow makes
it appear as if it is snowing! The winds push the plant further and further to
the north year after year. Paranoia has set in! Do you realize that Alaska gets
Uncle Sam money to hire people to “Go North”, in an effort to exterminate this
lovely flowering species? Is it truly a weed? And that’s right, the fight is on
with taxpayer money - your wages - regurgitated as another man’s wage to pick
dandelions! Talk about stupidity. In fact I may charter a plane and go north
with a bag full of seeds. But I don’t have to do any such thing, nature evolves
all on its own. Who in their right mind would think of such a stupid idea, the new
traffic lights I am now talking about. The placement of such will prove nothing
accept disrupt what was supposed to be a smooth flow of traffic along the new
“C” street traffic easing highway. It just doesn’t make sense. Well yes it
does! The reason is politically motivated. The first un-planned traffic light
to appear is on 40th Avenue. Now when I say un-planned, remember the
streets in and around Anchorage fall under a hodge-podge of ownership and
responsibility. 40th Avenue runs crisscross to the new “C” street,
but it falls under the DOT - the Fed.’s jurisdiction. And there is a reason for
this new light, again political motivation “made me do it”. One of Alaska’s
richest developers just recently finished building an office complex off of “C”
street, on 40th Avenue. In that complex, we find a business called
CenterPoint. Our senior representative in D.C. is a partner in this business!
Now I guess with the new business complex, it was necessary to re-furbish 40th
Avenue in efforts to allow employee access. I mean what is a business complex
with no roads leading to it? But for years, that same exit to “C” street was an
over-used pot-holed laced one-lane road, for the trailer park! It was the main
entrance and used 24/7 by those unfortunate to have no say and under the
influence of poverty. The demolition derby scared them away. So when there
should have been road improvements, there came none. But things are different
now. The office complex employs a lot fewer people then the number of residents
that had lived at the trailer park, so the traffic flow is less. And this new
1/8-mile road access is no ordinary road. It is six lanes wide. Wider then the
road it hooks into, the new “C” street traffic easing lateral! It is landscaped
like money was no object. It has architectural appeal, with these cute little
fences and antique looking light posts. It has traffic lights that interferes
with the new “C” street highway traffic! From the looks of this
over-indulgence, it has Uncle Sam written all over. It was a gift from D.C.! To
bad Mountain View wasn’t treated the same. I guess that is where all the
“trailer trash” was to be relocated. I wonder if D.C. helped with the
relocation? Maybe that is what the money to improve 40th Avenue was
really supposed to be used for. But I really doubt it, as that would be
personal welfare. Had these poor individuals started a business, maybe business
welfare would have been readily available. This new traffic light is a waste.
So my wages are once again taxed and used to waste my precious time. There was
no need in hell for a traffic light of this magnitude to be placed here. So why
stop now. Just down the road, another new traffic light at 32nd
Avenue is about to get powered up. Every new light diminishes the intent of the
newly constructed “C” street extension. This is another, “What the hell for?”
Well this road at 32nd leads to paradise. It leads to the Wall-Mart.
The Wall-Mart location has created a mid-town bottleneck. It doesn’t bother me,
I don’t shop there. But would the Fed.’s provide a helping hand to a
corporation that supports communism? Lets face it, everything - except the
workers - is made in China. Sure
enough, help from the Fed.’s is available. Especially here in Alaska as we have
the DOT czar, namely Don Young, as one of our representatives. Don thinks he’s
an Alaskan. He named the 2005 DOT appropriations bill after his wife, something
called the Tea Lu bill. It was the largest appropriations bill ever passed by
the House. I prefer to call it the wee-wee bill, as it is basically a piss on
the taxpayer money laundering scheme. Do you realize how many millionaires your
tax money has created? There are creeps out there that get a helping hand from
Uncle Sam. They get big contracts. They cry foul and are allowed extraordinary
cost over-runs. They pay the workers peanut shells. They wine and dine
themselves with the best. They basically steel the money! They retire rich at
your expense. Why is it that all of our representatives like to name things
after themselves, or their spouses? I think it is bad luck. I am contemplating
naming my toilet after one of them, but there are just so many to choose from
for such an honor. Maybe the deposits could each take on a name! Anyway, not to
long ago a southern state asked the Fed.’s for 5-million dollars to build a
three-mile road extension to the local Wall-Mart. They didn’t get what they
asked for. When the request found its way across Don’s desk, it earmarked
27-million dollars towards the Wall-Mart road. The local officials were aroused.
Not only would they get the three mile extension, that kind of money would
allow the re-construction of two new highway exits, to the mart. Why the
magnification from 5 to 27 has something to do with special interests. So if
Don could help the Wall-Mart down south, he better help his constituent
retailer up in Alaska! Lets face it, Don is the only congressman this huge
state gets. To bad representation didn’t go by land size instead of population.
And if Don didn’t help the local Wall-Mart, we may loose some lousy paying
jobs! Wall? China? Maybe it is another “Great Wall”. So we received another
traffic light, courtesy of Uncle Sam. Anyway, there continues to be an abuse of
money, especially here in Alaska. But it has nothing to do with ethic responsibility.
It is all based on job creation. Alaska doesn’t have the infrastructure to
sustain many jobs. That is why Alaska remains the biggest “welfare” state. We
should have weaned ourselves a long time ago of such a burden, by developing an
infrastructure that could indeed sustain itself, just like Kuwait has done. We
should have shown the boys in D.C. - and now the girls - that we don’t need
their hand-me-downs. But if that were the case, what do we need their services
for? They have held this state hostage for a long, long time. Believe me, when
the senior representatives leave office, Alaska will become an un-funded
welfare state once again. Maybe going back to territorial status will suit most
of us just fine. I believe that if we gave Uncle Sam back all the garbage that
has come this way since Alaska gained state status over territorialism, it
would be a wonderful land to live in. I guess Alaska has been blessed by the
curse of Uncle Sam. Make that the curse of Uncle Ted and Uncle Don! Now people
will argue over and over again that this state cannot sustain all on its own.
Those that think this way are stool stuck cowards! Here it is in a nutshell.
Without Uncle Sam bailing the state out, the state representatives would be
forced to tax the oil companies! The biggest company with the biggest revenues
sports a foreign flag. Tear down that wall I say! Could that be bad? If they
complain, I will be there to help them pack their bags. Eminent domain would
allow the state to take back what is in reality ours to begin with, the
resources. Hey Wally, do you really thing you can fool the people once again
with your full page add that promotes the fact that the state owns the
resources. We owned the oil didn’t we? But somebody in their infinite wisdom
decided to give the oil companies a break. The state’s welfare was jeopardized
beyond self-sustaining belief and relief. Remember, we only capture about 12%
of what comes out of the ground. The remaining 88% goes into the pockets of the
big oil companies operating up north. If that is not corporate welfare, I don’t
know what is. Didn’t you have something to do with this monetary atrocity as a
lawmaker and governor back in the 70’s? I didn’t hear an answer back. But
maybe, just maybe age has changed his ways and means. Or maybe it’s the
medication. If so, send that prescription along to Ted and Don! Why not, the
taxpayer will pay for it! One other thing. All roads lead to Rome and none lead
to Nome! Maybe so once upon a time. Not so today. All roads lead to Wall-Mart!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
~ Raiders
of the Last Estate ~
From the
Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
I
relay this sad story to my readers. It may be a best-left-alone reminder to many
who have found themselves in a similar situation. Then again, maybe it will
suffice as an ugly insight to what may be in store for others. It goes to show
that our elected representatives are more concerned about their own well being
then that of their constituents. Of course, they don’t have to worry about
health care costs and coverage like most working people do. They don’t have to
worry about pay raises, extra income that could help those in dire straits when
it comes to a loved one in need of special attention. It is easy street for
these bandits. They elect to give themselves a raise. How convenient! They
design their own health and welfare benefits. How convenient! It is just not
fair! How is it that they can be so insensitive to the everyday needs of the
people they are elected to protect. I forgot! Once in office it is time to
abandon the people for personal goals, most likely siding with an agenda
belonging to special interests. What a shame. What a scam. I have a
sister-in-law whose father was diagnosed with the dreaded Alzheimer’s disease.
This little understood culprit, well it robs one of a healthy mind. At the same
time, allowing the functioning of a perfectly active body. But without a brain,
the body goes to wa-wa wasteland. Most likely, it means a life corralled in the
custody of another individual. The burden is usually bestowed to a loved one.
It seems to be hitting males at an earlier and earlier age, so spouses please
take note. Anyway, the mom was left with the care-taking duties, which was not
really a problem because she was in good health and in good spirits. There is
always hope in the beginning. Early on, things seemed to work out pretty well.
And in the beginning, nobody was thinking about the medical costs, as
priorities were not a pocketbook concern but a humanities concern. And
fortunate for the family, the dad and mom had assets in real property - a paid
for farm - which was a good place to facilitate the trials and tribulations of
this new course in life, a peaceful country setting. I guess you could call it
an all-American estate. Now I will take back all the rotten things I said about
our elected representatives. Why? They are changing the estate tax laws so
things of value can be passed on to the sons and daughters, or girlfriends!
Once healthy and somewhat wealthy Gabe, had already proclaimed future ownership
of the family farm in his will, come the time the good Lord called for his
presence in the heavens above. It would be divided equally amongst the mom and
five children. And since bedroom communities were encroaching on the once rural
areas of southern John Denver territory, it would be a handsome prize if placed
on the real estate market. For awhile, things went pretty well at the farm
estate, and Gabe seemed to not get any worse, but at the same time not any
better - his aliment was still an incurable disease. But as time went on, Gabe
started to lose it. He slowly lost recognizing abilities. He no longer knew his
own daughters, he no longer knew his own sons, and barely acknowledged who the
mom was - his everyday caretaker. Then came the loss of motor skills, the body
had become stagnated for all but the most rudimentary functions. It came to the
point of exhaustion for the mom, so the family did what they thought was best
for all concerned. A live in health care facility would do. Now down in
Colorado, things - dictated by state statutes - are designed to work for the
betterment of mankind. In the case of private health care, the law mandates
what is called BAM, for “Best Available Methods”. Isn’t that Emeril’s line?
BAM! BAM! Of course, the BAM also requires money, and lots of it. Again, the
priorities with the family were focused towards the father’s well-being and not
towards the $4500.00 per month health care needs. Now Gabe was a WWII military
veteran, from the NAVY. But Alzheimer’s disease is not a war related condition.
There would be no help from Uncle Sam. He was still too young for Medicare
coverage or whatever it is called. So the health care needs came first from the
mom and dad’s savings. Gabe was not getting any better. The mom was getting
more and more frustrated, as she had barley enough money to sustain her own
well-being. Which amounted to nothing but getting up in the morning and driving
40 miles to visit Gabe, who by this time didn’t recognize anybody but his
roommate Bob, who also suffered from the same devastating disease. Anyway over
time, Gabe’s savings account dwindled to almost nothing, because the law still
required the mom to have zero assets before any help in the form of money could
assist their dilemma. Then the worst nightmare tested her sanity. The mom had
to sell the farm, that was a legal requirement. Not only that, she had to pay a
handsome state tax and who knows what that would mean come the 15th
of April! Within five years of Gabe being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, the
family - the mom and dad that is - was almost broke. Now I don’t know if this
is a good thing or a bad thing! Gabe’s condition was not getting any worse. The
medical professionals thought that he could live another ten to fifteen years.
And at $4500.00 dollars a month, it was a gold mine to the special interest
health care business. BAM ya! But by this stage in the game, the entire state
of affairs had taken its toll on the mom, both physically and mentally.
Finally, she called the sons and daughters together on a spring weekend. Now
the sons and daughters lived in many different parts of the U.S. One son worked
in another country. A daughter lived way up here in Alaska, up around Cantwell.
Only the oldest son lived nearby. It required careful planning and timing to
get everybody to agree on the same date for the get-together. The weekend
get-together was supposed to be a re-union, even if dad was out of the picture.
By this stage in the game, he didn’t recognize anybody of kinship. The planned
re-union was to commence with a daylong hike in the tranquil Colorado
mountains, a time when the wild flowers were painting the terrain in an
unforgettable kaleidoscope. The mom loved to go camping, she loved the
outdoors, but it had been several years since that enjoyment was hers to
cherish without anger. So when all the children were assembled, they set out to
gather equipment and provisions for a long overdue journey - for mom. That night
at diner, the mom told the sad story of how she had to sell the farm, their
inheritance. It made the children angry, it made the children - now all adults
- sad. But the no assets thing ruled before help could arrive. It was almost
down to that, as everything had been sold and then the cash doled out to cover
the medical needs of the terminal ill father. The next morning, the mom didn’t
wake up. Not known to the children was the realization that the mom had been
diagnosed with incurable cancer. She had actually gone a little beyond the six
month “maybe” period. Her timing to get all the children together was nothing
short of a miracle. But instead of a family hike, it was a funeral for mom.
Gabe didn’t attend the burial, he had no idea who Irene was. So mom was put to
rest. The farm was now in the hands of the developers, and all the proceeds
from dad’s fifty years of hard work was history. Gone was his retirement, gone
was his savings, gone was his loving wife. But now things were looking up. With
no assets, it meant that aid was available. What a relief. Accept there was one
catch. The facility that Gabe was incarcerated at didn’t fit the hand-out
criteria! So if the remaining family wanted help, it meant moving the patient
with no assets to another health care facility some 150 miles away. One brother
was the only close relative that regularly visited the dad and helped out the
now deceased mother. So the son made the decision to keep the dad close by. He
wasn’t about to let dad be all by himself in unfamiliar territory. Now with
that decision, there could still be monetary help, but at a reduced rate
because it wasn’t a preferred facility. It was a good call all around and the
remaining family members felt that it was the right thing to do - it was something
that was affordable. Then came the insurance money that was collected upon the
mother’s death, guess what, it was considered an asset! The help from the state
and the Fed.’s vanished as soon as some auditor discovered that there existed
another asset that could be legally garnished. Enough was enough. The family
decided help from outside was not worth the headaches and bother. In fact all
the children are now dipping into their own savings to help out with the costs.
Another estate going down the drain? Maybe several, along with that educational
money put aside for the nephews’ college needs. It happened to these true
Americans. It can happen to you. Beware! BAM!!!!!!
Copyright 2005 MSK Media
~ A Prayer for All Denominations ~
From the
Chinook Journal of S. Pam MaGee
Oh
Great Spirit One,
The
Creator, My Creator.
Who
reigns on high for all eternity.
You
send your love,
As
our daily bread,
You bless
our Mother Earth,
So
thou will can be.
Our
sins are many,
So
forgiven is that weakness,
To
trespass against my brothers and sisters.
We
strive to be more like you,
And
forgive when trespassed against.
With
your love,
Our
temptations are only good.
And
where evil reigns,
It
will be overcome by good.
Forever
and ever.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
Party
affiliation campaigning and advertising comes in all kinds of shapes, forms and
attacks. We find it here, there and every where, just like an uncontrollable
virus. In fact, there exists special interest groups that obtain tax exempt
status and have salaried employees whose main job is to support agenda that
facilitates the furtherance of party selfishness. We find it in the daily news’
advertisements, on bumper stickers that promotes road rage, it pollutes the
air-waves, on and on and on. Now this one particular advertising method sizes
it all up, especially the selfishness issue and laziness extraordinaire. It
goes to show that the “Young Republicans” have found that ethics exists for the
“other” guys. In fact, this sub-party belonging to the grand old pathetic party
has helped that party’s success in gutting anything that comes close to ethics.
In Anchorage, Alaska’s cosmopolitan city, the residents take pride in keeping
their city clean. That is important because it is a major tourist attraction.
Anyway, we don’t let the city clean-up crews take the brunt of salvaging
leftover trash following a spring break-up, we take matters into our own hands
- literally. As soon as the snow is almost gone, you will see individuals out
and about with big florescent trash bags picking up everything and anything
that litters the side of roads, highways, sidewalks, bike-paths and streams.
Businesses, corporations, various non-profit groups, even individuals, take
responsibility for a section of a road and maintain litter patrol over the
course of the summer. Signs are posted that signifies the party in charge. It
is basically free advertisement for some. Usually it is spelled out like, “This
section of the road maintained by Dick Me & Friends”. Now some spots
offer prime advertising - for free. Probably the most favored patrols are along
the highway. And the best highway spots are the few where the highway traffic
comes to a crawl, at busy intersections where the one and only city highway
meanders through town. So right there at the primmest of locations, a sign that
advertises the, “Young Republicans”. It is a stretch of sidewalk that fronts
the Fred Myers mega-store and one of those fast food size me out of a long life
burger joints. And with fast food, the sidewalk would normally be a constant
loitering place for discarded cardboard. Maybe it’s leftover burger, not board
like refuge! So one would think that the “Young Republicans” are pretty busy in
upholding volunteer duties to maintain “their” adopted section, as the sidewalk
is immaculately tidy. Their advertising sign is still there, a driver-by can’t
miss it. Wrong! It started getting out of control. The Young Republicans were
nowhere to be found, it was an election year. Now since Fred likes maintaining
an image, the sidewalk was and still is patrolled by clean-up crews every 24
hours, with those industrial type sweepers. That is why it is immaculate,
almost sterile. One could eat off that particular sidewalk. But nobody knows
that an un-advertised entity has taken over the duties gone derelict by the
youngsters, as the maintenance usually takes place in the early am hours. So as
summer progresses along and other groups respond in efforts to keep Anchorage
beautiful, giving up their weekends, guess who gets the credit for doing
nothing? Senators and Congressmen in the making I do believe. I can hear Mark
Twain laughing. Doing nothing and getting credit. That is what our
representatives do with our taxes - disguised as gifts. They steel it then send
it back, for projects, and we are supposed to get down on our knees and thank
them for work and a wage. And if they did nothing, somebody would come along to
do what they were supposed to have done, and they would still be in line to
receive the credit - like it was deserved. Damn, a bunch of trash just left the
confines of a giant pick-up truck traveling at least 20 mph over the 65-mph
speed limit. Citizen’s arrest time! Can’t see the license plate, only the
bumper sticker. Bush/Cheney – 04.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
Boston
has its “Big Dig”. Up in Alaska, it’s the “Big Ugly”. A first time visitor to
this wilderness state gets to enjoy the world renowned natural beauty first off
from elevated reaches. To get to Alaska, for the majority it means a jet plane
ride. So from high above the landmass that straddles the Pacific coast up
through the Alaskan Panhandle then along Cook’s Inlet - named after Captain
Cook - it is a continuous roller-coaster ride along mountain ridge tops,
postcard picture perfect. And the pilots are encouraged to tout their knowledge
of local geography, pointing out significant attributes that can easily be seen
from 30000 feet up, as the mountain peaks reach up almost half that height. But
finally, jet-lagged visitors arrive at the Ted Stevens International Airport.
Ted is our senior U.S. Senator, sometimes referred to as the “pork” king.
Alaska is the state that gets more kickbacks from regurgitated income taxation
garnishment then any other state in the Union. Ted has power. He is forth
inline to the Presidency should something happen to “Bicycle Accident” prone
George, “Pacer Battery Low” Dick, or “House Loud Mouth” Hasters. But recently,
Ted has announced that he is clinically depressed. Just don’t give him that
“red” phone! Now upon arrival, the first landmark where visitors and traveling
residents get to stretch their wary air legs is a modern erection of a building
that just recently opened. This monolith rivals many other structures used as a
passenger terminal, worldwide I am talking about. We try to do things big up
here in Alaska, big pipelines, big oil spills, big military bases, turning
humungous fish processing plants into big houses of worship! Originally, when
Ted’s Terminal was still just a design on paper, it was talked about within the
engineering and architectural community. So after 5 long years and behind
schedule with cost overruns well over 100% of the original 230 million dollar
price tag, we have the “Big Ugly”. Even the “Big Dig” didn’t approach 100% overruns! And I must admit, this is one
“ugly duckling” of a structure. Maybe not so much the structure itself, but the
interior decorator must have had onion eyes. First off, the interior and
exterior walls are covered with fieldstone. Now Alaska is earthquake country.
Some of the cost overruns came about because the engineers forgot that this was
the site of the biggest and most devastating earthquake to hit the North
American continent, just 40 years ago! I wonder what engineering school these
guys went to? Now as far as using fieldstone, you will not find even one of
those quaint little fieldstone houses out and about Anchorage, like is seen in
the English or Scottish countryside, Richter doesn’t allow it. Secondly, I
worked as a stone mason in my earlier youth, trained by some of the best in the
business, Portuguese stone masons from Fall River! Emeril came from the
“river”. This finished job at Ted’s Terminal looks like it was a training
mission for inexperienced anybodies. Angles and curves do not allow for a
smooth flow. Some call it that Fen Chi thing! And some demarcation joints are
just plain “ugly”. Tear it down and start over is what should have happened. Maybe
an earthquake could help! Now intermingled with the fieldstone, is background
flat stone. This is a no-no in the world of stone masons. It’s like mixing
apples and oranges, linear to non-linear. Again, so ugly it should have been
demolished. Then we move on to the polished marble floors! Again a no-no. It is
another contrast that interferes and contributes to this “Big Ugly” of an
eyesore. It could not have been a realistic design, as the entire interior
violates the code of natural flow. And the grout between the 12x12 squares
changes color and shade, like they couldn’t even get that right! This must have
been a project for first time stone masons! No, they were not masons! But it
doesn’t end there. What about those multi-sided columns, maybe a hexagon,
linear with yet another type of rough type stone. The effect makes me puke, it
nauseates me. But then I reminded myself that this tax payer built
architectural failure was not designed for esthetics. No, there was another
agenda. Who cares what it looks like. The authorities will tell you that this
facility is state owned but self-funded, meaning the users will pay their fare
share for the “Big Ugly”. Which means it will get passed on to those who have
to travel in and out of the 49th state, which is just about
everybody! But believe me, somewhere there is a tax money treasure chest. I
mean with the cost overruns, nobody wants to pay for it. Not the airlines, not
the passengers, not the Juneau legislators, not the bond market, nobody! But like one official said, it was a make
work deal. It was for jobs, good paying long term jobs. So it didn’t matter if
the stonemason was a welder, a carpetbagger, a carpenter or whatever. Through
outsourcing, we have become multi-talented. We can do anything as long as it
pays the big wage. Don’t worry about the “Big Ugly”. Go out and enjoy the real
natural beauty of this Last Frontier state. Oh by the way, on the way out of
Ted’s Terminal have a look at the “new” Alaska Railroad terminal that nobody
uses, courtesy of Uncle Sam. Another
boondoggle in a series of boondoggles for the boondoggle state. But then again,
if we can waste taxpayer money studying the penis size of a Musk ox, then I
guess nobody really cares about esthetics. Believe me, there is no Fen Chi down
there!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
Getting
in and out of Alaska is somewhat easy, but at the same time somewhat costly.
Now if an individual has an untiring bank account and freedom to come and go
without restrictions, then hopping a commercial passenger plane at a whim is a
bothersome task. Bothersome because it bothers me. I for one do not have that
luxury. Most of us have both time constraints and money worries. A friend of
mine works at a military base power plant just outside of Anchorage - Alaska’s
big city. Now due the fact that an undeclared war is going on - for some two
years now - getting time off from that job at the base has been about a
two-year waiting game. Power plants keep the runways lit up, so with this base
becoming a major supply point for the middle east, it is basically a scene of
around the clock departures and arrivals of C-130 cargo and troop transport
planes. So finally, with enough money saved up - from overtime work - and
vacation time approved, Owen was off to visit his widowed mom down Oregon way,
to a place called Cottage Grove. She had been waiting his visit just as long,
as this son had volunteered to clean up the garage. It was going to be one of
those mom and son reunions that was textbook classic. Now Owen had not traveled
on an airline since before the 911 attacks. Things had really changed since
then, especially with the check-in procedures and now under control by the men
and women of the TSA! Owen had heard all kinds of horror stories about
traveling difficulties from both news articles and other resources, like fellow
workers who had recently traveled in and out of Alaska. It seems every traveler
nowadays has something nice to say about our TSA. We even had our one and only
U.S. Congressman stopped by the TSA here in Alaska, seems some unaccounted for
terrorist was using his identity. This representative’s name appeared on the
“watchtower” list. In fact, it was later revealed that all the congressional
leaders and many senators’ names were on that same “watch” list. I wonder why?
So with all this fanfare in mind, my friend had prepared himself on what to
expect. Anyway, the trip down, including the security screening went without
any nasty disruptions. He joked about the wand pat down and the fact that he
had to take off his shoes. You don’t want to be around when Owen takes off his
work-shoes! But all-in-all, it was uneventful. Which was good for this guy, as
he didn’t like traveling on planes to begin with. In fact, military service for
him during his youth was by sea and not by air, a Navy man. Before the big
trip, Owen had been warned by many that the best way to not arouse suspicion
with checked baggage was to not have a lock on any compartments. It had been so
long since Owen had air traveled, he didn’t realize that most people opted for
carry-ons. Regardless of what others had told him, Owen insisted on checked
baggage, the way it used to be. He thought it was all part of the traveling
scene. The baggage carousel was a good place to chitchat. Now we all know that
if Fiddo - the smartest one of the entire TSA cast - if the canine sees a lock,
out comes the “whacker”. Then when you finally get to your destination and open
your baggage, a TSA advertisement is found neatly placed on top of the bags
contents, which once held some semblance of order and now in shambles! And you
know someone has been playing with your thong! First off, you are upset and
ragging that your rights have been violated. Oh yes, especially your God given
right to privacy. Think again. If you didn’t know it by now, a legal right to
privacy doesn’t exist - not in this democratic republic we call the United
States of America. Just ask Mr. Ted Olson, once the Solicitor General for the
U.S. Department of Justice. Ted was a Bush appointee and the lawyer who won
George his presidential selection during the 2000 Supreme Court coup. Well
following the 911 attacks when anybody that was disliked by Ashcroft or Cheney
was being arrested without due cause, Ted was tasked by the Bush administration
to argue in front of the Supreme Court this so-called constitutional “right”.
Now if you thought Jim Baker was a shrewd layer, Ted tops them all. Anyway, the
Supreme Court could not find anything in the U.S. Constitution that said you
and I have a right to privacy. It doesn’t exist and that is the way Uncle Sam
likes it and looks at it so they can legally look at us here, there and
everywhere! Remember this, George Bush did not want you to have a “right” to
privacy. Now luckily for Alaskan’s, we have written in out State Constitution a
definite right to privacy. Many states do, many don’t. Those that do should
make it known to the Fed.’s that in no way shape or form should that privilege
be denied. But the state bureaucrats are afraid of the Fed.’s. Why? Because the
D.C.’s have recently relied on a new way to garnish more and more control, even
though most will tell you they are against more government control. They
control the states - that’s you and I - by threats. Yes threats. Take the no
child left behind deal. By this stage in the game, everybody knows that it was
the same piece of paper that warned against Hussein’s WMD that said how successful
this “educational” program had been under Bush when he was governor of Texas.
The paper never existed. To this day we have not found even a trace of WMD and
it is well known that the Texas “no child left behind” was not even close to
successful. But lovely Laura, who was nothing more then a school librarian, she
goes around the country as the poster board teacher, she thinks she knows what
teaching is all about. So in order to get the Federal money to continue just
basic routine educational needs, its either their way or no way. Nothing
nowadays works without federal money. From schools to roads to airports to
re-election, if we don’t do or like what they want or vote them back in, the
threats to cut off the money spigot exists. And it is our own money to begin
with! We are stupid! Anyway, back to Owen and his travels. On the way down to
visit his mom, no lock meant everything he had packed did indeed arrive at its
destination. Owen had a great time with mom. Did a little garage cleaning,
played a little golf. A good rest before heading back to the Last Frontier
state and back to work - yuk! Power plant work is brutal on the mind and body.
People should remember that, every time they flick a switch. And with the
saying that all good things come to an end, Owen was soon preparing for the
trip back to Alaska. It was springtime in Oregon, flowers were blooming and
golf courses were groomed. Anchorage had just received about two feet of snow.
Owen drives a little white Suzuki, two feet of snow will make this thing
disappear he thought! But while he prepared for his trip back, he was
confronted with a concern. No way this time was he going to check an unlocked
bag. As the returning contents was just too valuable. Hidden inside rolled up
shirts, wonder-ware underwear and pants, bubble wrap and tape, were three very
special gifts from mom. One was a bell jar of homemade chicken soup. The other,
a jam jar of homemade blackberry preserves. To boot, a small loaf of homemade
bread that was still wafting away fumes to die for. This was good old home made
stuff. The kind of stuff that made this country great - when colonies made it
through the winter on such provisions. These glass jars that reveal the sacred
contents within are testament to hard work. For Owen, it meant reminders of his childhood, reminders of his
now deceased father, another Navy hero. I re-iterate, it was stuff to die for!
It is something Owen had waited a long, long time for. This was serious
business, it meant a Master Lock. Again, passing through security went without
a hassle and with that in mind, while sitting in the passenger compartment and
enjoying a beer, Owen felt assured that the Master lock would not be tampered
with. It was a big lock, and just its size said beware. When he arrived back to
Anchorage at his home via blue cab, he had to search for his snowed over
vehicle. That work made him hungry. Now being a single guy, most likely the
cupboards were bare. And what refrigerator? But not to worry. What would be
more enjoyable then a bowl of mom’s chicken soup. Some homemade bread, and some
jam. Owen’s mouth was watering, and snow removal sweat aroused his forehead.
Soon though, it was time to indulge. As he threw the bag over his shoulders, he
noticed something different. The lock? Where was the huge Master hulk that was
cause for black and blue marks when it hit any part of his aging body. There
was no lock to be found. He fumbled for his house keys, as it was dusk. He knew
for sure that the contents was safe! Then the bag was opened and Owen knew
right off that the contents had been tampered with. It all had been unwrapped,
and haphazardly re-wrapped. The glass jars had collided. His shirts now
contained a mixture of chicken soup and blackberry jam. And the concoction was
littered with broken glass particles. The bread, a soggy mass. Owen was pissed.
But what to do? There was really nothing to do. There is no accountability.
Nobody really cares anymore. Ethics? The Mafia has more! Bottom line, it is
your TSA at work to protect you! It is your government at work to harass you.
It is your hard earned money backfiring against you. It is a derailment of your
freedoms. We are less free today then ever. Maybe it is time for a revolution!
The Chicken Soup Revolution!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
We have googols and boodles of
information in every shape and form thrown our way in efforts to inform us how
our nation’s hierarchy is faring. We have the good old radio waves. We have
2000 channels of TV over a beat up cable that runs through our back yards, on
something that is called a Right-of-Way. Did you know that authorities can do
anything they want too on that piece of property that you paid good money for?
And that definition of “authorities” seems to be getting bigger and uglier each
time the King’s Court convenes – Supreme Court that is. We also have computers
linked to the World Wide Web. It is definitely an information explosion
revolution. But how does one really know how our nation is really doing. I am
talking here on a comparison to other cultures, other nations, other countries
around the rest of the world. Remember, we like to be the biggest and best of
all - highest on the hierarchy. Almost said “oligarchy”! The other day I had to
waste time at the local post-office. It is amazing how efficient these postal
workers have become. When I arrived there existed a waiting line, five open
attendance booths, but only one worker to be seen and actively helping out
customers. But this one individual was capable of calming the masses and
sending off the mail. Amazing! Of course the other postal attendees were
available but on limited duty, so they couldn’t pick up anything that weighed
more then a postal stamp. Did this ever happen to you? You arrive at the post
office that is open 24/7. You have big stuff to mail, just like everybody else
that has ventured to a place like this at some ungodly hour. Three attendees on
duty, but two are on limited duty. The one guy that is capable of taking on the
world, he decides to go on a lunch break. This happened to myself and about a
dozen other customers one day a few days before a holiday. The two workers on
“limited” duty just sat there. One cleaned her fingernails while the other one
advertised that she could only assist customers with small parcels whose weight
defied gravity. With no takers in the wimp category, as everybody was mailing
off Christmas gifts, she commenced to pay her bills. Finally, irateness won out
and the supervisor came out to help. But about twenty minutes went by when the
postal service could not live up to its motto of supremacy and superiority, “Neither
snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stay these carriers from the swift
completion of their appointed rounds”, limited duty rules! Anyway, with
this visit, as I waited in line watching the frustration of faces and listening
to others bash the government workers, I noticed something that caught my
attention. The post offices have almost become convenience type stores. They
sell a lot of things. I bet a fast food joint would be a hit in the post
offices. First off, these places are always busy. And a fast food joint could
advertise faster food service then mail service or your meal is free. Man, I
think I’m on to something big! Now here in Anchorage at the “Big TED” post
office next to the “Big UGLY” airport, situated between the attendee’s booths
there was a glass-enclosed display. The first one to gain my undivided
attention was one that contained black and white photo prints of Mr. True Grit
himself, John Wayne. In the center of this display, a page of stamps. Yes,
stamps in remembrance of this true American hero. When this guy was around,
America was strong. John was everybody’s hero. As kids, we worshipped his
courageousness and cowboy roughness. We all wanted to be like John - even true
for some of the girls I grew up with. When Alaskan kids became oil workers,
John was worshipped for a different type of courageousness and roughneck
roughness. At the one and only convenience store in Prudhoe Bay - a store that
sells record numbers of blow-up dolls - a poster of John in Hellfire greets
those exiting, it is a signed poster. But what derailed that sentiment of a
Great America was the content of the next glass covered advertisement booth. It
meant a different class of heroes. Breast cancer stamps. Why can’t our
researchers find a cure for such a horrible taker of natural beauty? We have
liver cancer, culprit in many cases too much alcohol. Who do you blame for
that? We have lung cancer, the culprit in many cases, tobacco. Who do you blame
for that? We have colon cancer, the culprit, most likely to much fast food. Who
do you blame for that? But breast cancer victims seem to have no crutch that
places the blame on them. All females are innocent victims of this atrocity -
waiting in the wings. Then I ventured on to the next display, I couldn’t
understand just what it was supposed to instill. And why was it at a U.S. post
office? I for one was not able to understand the significance behind the
display, as it was in Chinese. Chinese stamps! Economically speaking, China is
our competitor. The price of crude oil, now over the economic boiling point is
there because of competition from this country. So from John Wayne stamps to
Chinese stamps. If it is any indication of the road we are traveling, beware
John Wayne fans. I decided to buy some of these stamps. Would they actually
work to send mail across the U.S. I wondered? I didn’t ask. But what really got
my goat, on the back of the page of stamps, “Printed in China”! We have been
hijacked. Back to the breast cancer. Call your representatives and demand a
moratorium on the pork - including the beans and brown bread handouts. While
you are at it, demand a 1-year moratorium on the Iraq war. Take the money for
the pork and the money to support the war and put it towards a cure for breast
cancer. If nothing else, this country will top the hierarchy in efforts to
finding a cure for the most dreaded of diseases. With luck, maybe stamps
supporting this atrocity can be a thing of the past and maybe then there will
be room for the Chinese stamps!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
Did
you ever hear about the missing carbon theory? The scientific community has
been baffled for years and years about a phenomenon that challenges all theories.
We are and have been a society that relies on hydrocarbons for our everyday
existence. Everything around us - man made that is - some how or another relies
on either natural gas or crude oil to make this modern day machine tick. No two
things in the world are more thoroughly understood then methane and the “black
gold”. Chemist can take something as simple as CH4 - the DaHoochi
Code for methane -and turn it into other things with scary names like
cyclohexafamine. Spelling error? Maybe, but you get the point. Try this one.
Dichloromonofluoromethane. This beast contains almost the entire alphabet! The
same can be said for the liquid stuff - a seed for a bunch of inorganic stuff
making. It can be broken down, cracked and then reformulated to make just about
anything that fits the bonding criteria - then some. Bonding means glue. The
stuff can be re-arranged to make beneficial things, including medicine. Then
again, it can be manipulated to make nasty stuff, like phosgene gas. Did you
know that esters, the additive that makes things smell good to bad, are now
made from a hydrocarbon manipulation process? And one of the neatest things
that came from the long chain polymer series was DRA. This acronym stands for
Drag Reducing Agent and has been used up here in Alaska for many years on the
Trans-Alaska-Pipeline. It allows expensive pumps to be moth-balled in efforts
to pump millions of barrels of oil over mountain peaks. In essence, it acts to
decrease the friction associated with the pipeline’s inner wall surfaces. The
funny thing, it was discovered when some engineers were trying to secretly get
rid of out-dated Napalm. This stuff was used during the Vietnam war, as a
defoliant agent. It was banned in 1980 by the UN and we didn’t sign the treaty.
So these guys decided to send it into a pipeline that was transporting crude
oil. Who would know the difference they thought. The engineers became baffled
when the flow meters on the pipeline acted strangely. Further investigation
revealed a revolution. This stuff saves millions of dollars in operating costs.
It has also made millions of dollars for the outfit that holds the patent. You
guessed it, one of the big oil companies. Anyway, the reason so much time and
effort has been put into the seemingly simple stuff, like methane and crude
oil, is the fact that it is abundant under the earth’s surface and with that in
mind, it means money. Profiteers garnishing humungous profits through
exploration and exploitation attempts. A 48-gallon barrel of crude oil thins
out to about 70-gallons under the manipulation microscope. With respect to
methane, it is already pretty well stretched out, so it is ready to manipulate.
When you hear the price of oil, realize that it fetches twice that when
commoditized. Did you ever wonder why a barrel of oil is only 48-gallons as
opposed to the normal 55-gallon drum? Well back when oil was delivered from the
oil fields to the refineries on horse drawn carriages, the filled 55-gallon
barrels would end up loosing a few gallons along the way – called
slop-over. So barrels were short
filled, thus 48-gallons! Anyway, when we use hydrocarbons to fuel our vehicles
or heat our houses, the hydrogen is what gives us the bang and the carbon is
let loose in the atmosphere. So over time, scientists have been able to monitor
pollution effects by measuring the amount of carbon that is floating around up
there. But that has posed a problem. In a nutshell, we know how much stuff is
used, so the increases in the atmosphere should follow known laws of balance. But
something is wrong with the simple equation of this minus this equals this. So
for years, scientists were puzzled by the fact that the equation fell short by
a factor of three. The missing carbon phenomenon was born. Scientists have
realized that capturing the carbon solves half the puzzle for future energy
requirements. Add a little hydrogen, and voila, hydrocarbons all over again.
This carbon stuff is valuable, as it contains the building block for modern day
fuels. Yes, gasoline can be made, if one has the right ingredients. Like a
treasure hunt, the scientists went looking and have been successful in finding
out where the carbon has disappeared to. It is hidden away in what is now
called a Bucky ball, named after the geodesic dome inventor. Now all they need
is hydrogen. And we all know that water contains hydrogen. So all this fuss
about alternative energy sources, forget it. The supply and demand thing will
warrant when it is time to resort to the Bucky balls. And the fact that
extracting the carbon from the balls is a patentable action, once again the oil
companies - now called energy companies - they will be at the forefront of
supplying this manufactured fuel. The interesting thing about this is the fact
that the companies that produced the original carbon stand in line to re-make
profits from the same damn stuff. So it will one day become a classic case of
double dipping. Over time, triple dipping. You get the drift. It is the
ultimate renewable half energy source. But the other main ingredient, hydrogen,
this constituent is produced from water and is still quite expensive, as it
relies on electricity - which is controlled by the oil companies. But like the
carbon caper, the mad scientists down in Texas at NOXXE’s mad scientist lab,
they will think up a better idea. As long as it is patent protected. Without
patents, profits suffer. So a guy up here in Alaska, from Fairbanks, comes up
with a novel solution with respect to the hydrogen lack dilemma. And hydrogen
can be used alone as a fuel - in fuel cells. It basically was about to throw a
wrench into the profit mongers future plans of world energy dominance. The fuel
gulpers weren’t ready for this. It wasn’t really a discovery. So it may not be
patentable, which means a truly cheap energy source. This scares the big
players! Supposedly he was experimenting with some kind of fungi that grew out
on the tundra. One day, as he observed ice forming on the tundra pools,
something caught his attention. He was just an amateur scientist. Now it is
well known that water - good old H2O - when it turns to ice, it
violates the natural laws of physics, violates the natural laws of mechanics,
violates all natural laws that we think we have an understanding of. In
actuality, it violates what we understand as humans, which is not very much
when compared to nature. Anyway, water and most other liquids decrease in
volume as the temperature changes downward towards absolute zero. This is due
in part to less energetic electrons. The spacing decreases so the density
increases. On a mass per volume basis, nothing really changes. Now as the
temperature continues to decrease, the relationship follows the normal pattern
of decreasing volume. This we understand. But when pure water reaches the
freezing point, which we really don’t know exactly what that temperature is
except it is somewhere around 32 degrees Fahrenheit, instead of continuing to
shrink in volume, it gets to a point where a reversal takes place and the water
to ice has a rapid expansion. Wow, that was a long-winded explanation! Now the
exact temperature at which this takes place is interesting. Well this Fairbanks
guy became interested in this phenomenon. He was a little miffed that the
scientific community had not yet figured out something as simple as ice
freezing. Now ice is one of the strongest things known to man. Another one of
those structure re-alignment processes that doesn’t follow normal Newtonian
theory. Remember the apple man? Anyway, this guy realized that the pressure
that was exerted when the water turns to ice was phenomenal. Look what happens
when water filled pipes freeze and the expansion splits the pipe like it was a
piece of cardboard tubing? There are enormous forces at work, for free. So if
this process could be harnessed, he came to the conclusion that maybe hydrogen
atoms could be liberated - as hydrogen atoms have a smaller atomic radius then
do its neighboring oxygen atoms. Maybe a controlled separation could be easily
achieved. He devised a molecular sieve, one that could pass atoms of specified
radius, which meant that the hydrogen atoms could find freedom outside the
water’s molecular structure. So at some temperature close to freezing, when the
water turned to ice and expanded, hydrogen flowed. It was basically a powerful
hydrogen press. Just like squeezing juice out of apples. Now he envisioned
Alaska as a viable candidate for making a hydrogen processing plant. It would
take a lot of free and open area. First off, up north, the temperature for even
most of the summer remains below the freezing point. And the water up in that
area is pretty clean. And lots of open space! So a little energy to control the
temperature to liberate hydrogen was all that was needed. Here now we had a
drawing board process that could render hydrogen from a very simple process and
create depleted water that was of no harm to the environment. He talked to
people. People became excited. Bank rollers envisioned blimps carrying the
hydrogen to markets all over the world. Here’s a bit on history. When oil was
discovered in Prudhoe Bay, a pipeline was the least viable means to get the
crude oil to markets. It finally won out, but it had stiff competition from
ice-breaking tankers, under-ice submarines to modified 747 cargo transporters.
They said it was impossible to build a pipeline across Alaska - we did. Nobody
ever said squeezing hydrogen out of water was impossible! But nothing ever came
of the hydrogen extraction experiment. Why? It wasn’t a patentable thing. It
offered nobody any protection with respect to the bottom line - returns on
investments. On a comparison, it was basically free energy. And in the world of
capitalistic economics, nothing is free! It is not part of the balance
equation. The equation of control, or the equation of supply and be damned.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
Light! This eye-awakening hangover
bothering phenomenon has intrigued mankind forever. The natural light from the
sun sustains our existence. Light from manmade sources supplements that
sustainability. We use light for just about everything. Maybe the sun is the
“great” teacher of life. Without it? Now the speed of light has fascinated the
scientific community ever since it was discovered that it was a measurable
quantity. For the longest time, due to lack of experimental luster, light was
thought to be a continuum and not restricted by time. But someone’s curiosity -
maybe it was Einstein while walking sockless in the park - decided it was
measurable. It had something to do with the belief that if it were indeed a
measurable quantity and that quantity could be approached and exceeded, all
kinds of possibilities existed. Like time machines and visions of perpetual
motion. It seems that curiosity continues to beg for attention. Since that
first time light demonstrated a weakness to the time continuum and up through
the present, to this second of time - which is old by now - the measurement of
the speed of light attains perfection with each and every passing day. New
experiments, re-tweaked experiments, faster computers, and on and on and on.
The last time I looked at the official number, it was at least to 8-decimal
places in length. Accuracy has always been an interest in my field of work. I
am not a scientist. For many years I worked as a technician on the
Trans-Alaskan-Pipeline. I worked in the capacity as an oil measurement specialist.
Believe it or not, because of the fragmented ownership of the 800-mile long
steel beast that runs from Prudhoe Bay south to Valdez, we were tasked to
accurately measure every drop of oil that entered the northernmost pumping
station. Pump station #1 was the official measurement station. Now there are
many inputs required in efforts to not short change an oil producer. Like the
Wagenbreth water density, which was entered into Xerox computers as an 18-digit
number! Can you imagine having to figure that quantity out? Wagenbreth, pretty
strange name at that. But no different then Mr. Googol. Really, this guy was a
mathematician that coined his namesake, the “googol”. It means the number 1
followed by a 100 zeroes. And that can be extended to the googolplex, the
number 1 to the 10th power to the 100th power. My home PC
cannot even fathom that number. Anyway, in the end and back to the subject of
accuracy, we were successful in measuring each and every barrel of oil to
within a thousands’ of a gallon! That’s why the authorities laughed when we
reported oil spills by the tablespoon, we could actually do it. Anyway,
accuracy and decimal places, they kind of work hand and hand. Now there was
this one particular “secret light” experiment set out to prove the theory of
the almighty “C”. See, C is what some refer to as the speed of light. It was
something that still baffled scientist. Many modern day quarks were questioning
Einstein’s “Theory of Relativity”. Senators don’t believe in this theory
either, they like the “Theory of Resistivity” instead. The drawing board
experiment set out to determine if something with mass could be made to exceed
the speed of light. If it were possible, what would happen to the mass? I mean
it was a well accepted fact that to go faster then the speed of light meant a
reversal of time - a time warp! It meant man’s dream of a time machine had
come. Now maybe the scientist involved were doped up on something, as the
experiment was dubbed the Mskaline. The place of origin for the experiment was
of interest also. It was a secret experiment because the head scientists
realized that the results could and would change the world! Now remember, we are still on the drawing
board. The earth has an equatorial radius of something. It is a “goo” number – big,
but not quite a “googol”. And since surface dwellers - like you and me - are
away from the center, we are basically hitching a ride as the planet spins. It
means we are speeding along. Remember “As the World Turns”. That was the weird
TV show all the grandmothers used to watch when puffing on Lucky Strikes! Now
as one travels away from the earth, if a reference point could be made stable,
it would be like hitching a ride on a light post. And the speed, or more
precisely the velocity, would not be the same, allowing the light post guy to
have traveled further then you or I with respect to the same time frame. Speed,
acceleration, velocity? Definitely a “googol twister”. To best test this
phenomena, sweep an arm in front of you. Since it has a defined reference
point, it moves in an arc like fashion. So if a munchkin were hitching a ride
at the bicep, his distance traveled would be less then the munchkin that was
hanging out at your wrist. But it all happens in the same time frame. So
scientist surmised that if a light post were erected to the critical distance
on the order of a googolplex, then as the world turned, the distance traversed
by some “nut” hanging out on the far distant light post - maybe Evil Knevel -
this guy would violate the speed of light. First off, the scientist needed a
place with two all important attributes. The experiment required restricted air
space and a population density not so dense as to arouse suspicion that
something out of the ordinary was going on. Now this wasn’t an experiment that
was to take place overnight. It was to take “googol” years! Space is a vacuum,
so there is no drag on the light post. Everything was realistic with the
relativics. The project would be launched into space by a rocket that, like a
teather, would extend the post to some imaginary rendezvous point called
“googol” outpost. So the design called for a robotic fabricating facility that
would work around the clock to turn out the light pole from some reference
place on earth all the long way to the googolplex point, assisted by the Major
Mike rocket pulling it into space. The light post was of peculiar design. It
was more like a rigid piece of pipe. The hollow center would act as a conduit
to supply liquid fuel to the assist rocket. So the only other thing that the
earth based processing plant needed to keep on putting out were ingots of
special liquid fuel so it could be pumped to the rocket. Now space is a weird
thing. To get anywhere in space, we are talking light years, and with respect
to humans, generations beyond. This experiment is still in the making. Its
location still remains secretive. In fact, it was designed so very few people
knew about it or its intent. The only telltale sign of its existence may be a
warning of “restricted” air space - put off limits for no apparent reason. Like
in the middle of nowhere. Like in the middle of Alaska. And in the “Last
Frontier” state, that kind of space violated can find one in deep “googol”. So
those few amateur conspiracy chasers that are on the prowl to find out more
about this experiment, most believe the base operation is located in Alaska.
And to add credulance to that theory, BP has an office in Alaska. That’s
British Petroleum. Hey, nobody wants a perpetual motion non-polluting source of
energy. I am sure that the 22-story office building located in Anchorage is
equipped with a roof mounted laser beam prepared to chop down the light post
when it is discovered. And once the pole is detached from the base, it is space
junk and the experiment is worthless. Maybe that has already happened? What
else would allow oil’s climb to $60 dollars a barrel? But getting back to
restricted air space and violation upon, look out! It happened not to many
years ago. And maybe that is why the experiment has been scrubbed - it was
discovered! A guy decided to investigate an area that was restricted and in the
middle of nowhere in interior Alaska. And it was out of curiosity that made him
seek answers to some mysterious occurrences. Now remember Alaska’s motto, “more
idiots per square mile”. From all accounts, he questioned why a nearby mountain
top was bald of snow in the middle of the winter? Only heat could allow
something like that to occur, especially when the outdoor temperature was
hovering around 50 degrees, blow zero that is - normal Alaskan temperatures.
And it meant a lot of energy waste. Well he got cranky one day after one too
many informative responses from local authorities, so piloted his private plan
towards the point of interest. He was suffering from crapulence. Didn’t think
that was a real word did you? Has something to do with a hangover! Soon into
the trespassing, F-type jets from an Air Force base were scrambled. He did not
heed their warning to back off. Remember, if this guy was on to something, he
wasn’t about to let anybody spoil the fun. And what were the hi-tech birds
going to do? Shoot to shut him down? Well sure enough, a rocket was unloaded.
There was no way the single engine plane could maneuver away from the bomb
containing rocket that in a few seconds was to vaporize his heap. Again, “more
idiots per square mile” aroused the commander of the 2nd jet to put
himself in harms way. He maneuvered his jet to intercept the rocket. He did
this faster then the speed of light. The rocket, with all its smarts, decided
the jet was a better target. So from this unknown place in interior Alaska all
the way back to Anchorage, this pilot continued to out-maneuver the pissed off
rocket, until he had to abandoned the escape. It was a close call. The rocket
was successful in nipping off the tail wings of the jet. But being an
experienced pilot, a landing at the nearby base strip was a success. I guess
the guy in the small plane learned his lesson. Now this incident called for a
lot of commotion with the secret police, as something was out there. Something
maybe top government officials were not aware of! Hey, those in the know
realized that it topped top secret. So it was written off as a “UFO” sighting.
And by this time in the game, scientists in the know were convinced that the
experiment was like a rainbow and that pot of gold exists! So maybe someday, if
all goes well, man will understand what happens when a nut travels faster then
the speed of light. Isn’t that what makes peanuts into peanut butter? The
non-separating kind! On the subject of UFO sightings. Did you hear about the
Alaskan science guys who broke an alien S.O.S. code? We get back to that “idiot
per square mile” thing along with more crapulence. One night these guys get
drunk and decided to send the signal back into space. So somewhere out there in
space is this signal saying, “help me”. Did you ever wonder why the tops of the
trees along the highway going north once looked like a giant brush cutter got
loose, in the winter? Maybe that is what caused the bald headed mountain to
stick out like a sore thumb. Was it an unplanned landing? Hey, if New Mexico
can have Roswell, why can’t Alaska have Cantwell? Well well! Read all about it
in the upcoming book, “S.O.S. from Byers Lake”.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
I
guess I have been lucky. I guess my family finds the same luck. Maybe it is the
Irish in us. I have not had to waste time at the mile long line at the pharmacy
counter, not until just recently. Cholesterol has made its debut, that
confusing stuff that includes the good, the bad and the ugly. I added the
“ugly”, even though it is not part of any artery-hardening test results. Ugly,
that’s all I have to say about the present day corruption that the
pharmaceutical industry indulges upon. We are the victims. Our hard earned
money is what they are after. Remember, if your employer offers health
benefits, the rising costs of such whittles away your wage. It is sad when
there are as many people buying prescription drugs as there are people buying
alcohol. Where I shop, the pharmaceutical counter and the same store’s liquor
sales counter are right next to each other. Now buying liquor is easy. Not the
same for prescription drugs. Is there really any difference? First off, there
are numerous informational signs that confront the druggies. Signs that offer
hints about filling out this form and that form. Fill a form out wrong and a
$1.00 pill becomes a $10.00 pill. Then there are the signs that tell you to
have several pieces of identification ready. It makes buying drugs just as
confusing as getting through the DMV, the motor vehicle place. Now being a
first time purchaser at the local pharmacy that advertises convenience, I
really didn’t know what to do. I was indeed confused. Right off, the seasoned
person behind the counter was irate because I hadn’t read the sign that said
stay back “500 feet”, just like you see on a snow grader working the roads in
wintertime. This had something to do with patient confidentiality. Now unless
someone uses sign language, the distance from the person being waited on to the
next in line, it doesn’t disallow eavesdropping. And with most shoppers getting
aroused by the tabloids, you know they are listening to just about everything
that goes on between the counter assistants and the patients. I was at this
place on a Saturday. There must have been at least a half dozen workers, a few
waited on customers while the others were gainfully employed filling
prescriptions. Mind my manners for calling them workers! They are licensed and
certificated “Pharmacy Technicians”. Right behind the counter and in close
view, all the required licenses are neatly framed and lined up in some
hierarchy of order. Down towards the bottom, I could not help from not reading
one licensee’s claim to fame. Nosy I guess you could say. It listed two
specialties. Certified Pharmacy Technician and Piping Technician. Maybe it’s
the same guy that helped me find a toilet plunger the other day. I forgot, we
are all monkey-tasked individuals nowadays. Now being a Saturday with more
important things to do, I decided to drop off the prescription and pick it up
on the following day. A 30-minute wait was unacceptable. Now payment for the
medicine was not to be a problem due the fact that both my wife and I earn an
income and held jobs that still offered medical insurance. So before leaving
the counter, which had a line that did not diminish with time, I made sure all
the billing information was correct. Now my name isn’t Jane. The scribbled
prescription was for my wife. Not me. I am a guy. Do I have any allergies? What
is my date of birth? I explained that this prescription was not for me. It
didn’t matter, as the Certified Pharmacy Technician said she was establishing a
new patient database. I guess she thought my presence would become routine,
maybe it was my age. Anyway, when I arrived the next morning to pick up the
prescription, I thought it was going to be a quick ordeal. There was a line,
but fairly short. It was Sunday. First off, the pharmacist in charge for this
day wanted to collect $250 dollars for a 90 day supply of some pill that was to
cause diarrhea, stomach pain, muscle pain headaches and it warned against
something called “ezetimibe” – must be an African disease! I forgot what the
prescription was supposed to be for, or what it was supposed to cure. Then when
I informed them that the prescription was supposed to be free, they then
understood that there was indeed a problem. Somebody goofed up. I wonder what
“certified” means. Cal Worthington says all of his cars are “state” certified!
But not to worry. I just had to show the benefit card again and the information
was once again entered into the computer. I wonder what happened to the
original data, you know it wasn’t erased, who knows were it ended up. Soon I
was told that the information went through. I thought that I would be on my way
home. Not yet! I was then informed that the prescription would have to be
re-filled. What? Sitting right in my hand was the prescription bottle with a
90-day supply of something that sounded like a zit! Re-filled, what for?
According to this counter person, because it was a different provider footing
the bill, the drug would have to be filled by that provider’s recommended
supplier. It was going to take only 10 minutes to refill, as it was their
mistake to begin with. I hit the liquor store. Soon I was back to pick up the
drugs. When I finally made it through the line, I asked what they do with the
old prescription, she told me it is thrown away. Egad fly! Now she tried to
collect $60 dollars. I explained to her that I had 100% coverage. And with dual
coverage, it was more like 200% coverage and I wasn’t going to pay one damn
cent. She called an 800 number to find out what the policy was. The next thing
you know I am on the phone with a real live person. It must be a lucrative
business to have customer service available on weekends. Can’t even get that
from the White House. I was informed that the plan did indeed pay for the full
cost of the medicine. What I was being charged for was a “usage” fee. This is a
fine that you pay up front as a means to make sure you take the medicine as
scheduled. And since this is out of the ordinary, but ordinary, it is not
covered by the provider. That is how it was explained to me by a “Certified
Pharmaceuticals Accountant” somewhere way far away, most likely offshore. So
the parasitic pharmaceutical industry has been successful at raiding your
paycheck, diminishing your wages, and now they feel obligated to fine you. It
is kindergarten madness at it best! Hey this prescription wasn’t for me. But
now I have a headache, my stomach aches, maybe it’s that “ezetimibe” thing. I
need a beer!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
I can
say that those living nowadays have one up on Mark Twain. I am talking
political corruption here. Twain thought he lived during the manic depressive
or maniac depressive days of political uncleanly and unethical behavior. He
thought, how could it get any worse off then during the political terminally
ill days of the 1870’s? No way Mr. Twain. Today is the time to be alive and
affiliated with the worst-case scenario consistent with political atrocities.
Case in point. Just before the guy who thinks he is fit to be king - presidents
have a duty to the citizens, kings a duty only to their cronies - was about to
give a speech calling on Americans to support a war against some guy with
initials WMD, a guy that seems to be an imposter, well our leaders held a
special emergency session to pass an appropriations bills. Hey war-time is a
time to sacrifice. I learned that from my dad, a Korean War veteran. But our
present day leaders bow down to special interests. Special interests are far
more corrupt then the Mafia. But they operate under the umbrella of Tom Delay,
where dishonesty buys time in office and most likely time with the devil. If
Tom is in heaven when I get there, I asking for my money back! A majority of
present day political scoundrels think they are religious when they are just
rebellious against morality. And case in point royal, how come young kids are
roaming around in Iraq on patrol duties in amphibious transports, vehicles not
designed or equipped for combat? And the day that Anchorage lost its first
honorable marine, a casualty in one of these ill-equipped targets of doom, well
Don Young raved about his Ti Lu DOT bill, the biggest and juiciest ever and
forever, one that was to build bridges to nowhere in Alaska - it is a bill of
sins when young Americans are dying daily on the battlefield envisioned by
fools. Every member of the house or senate who benefited from the “Ti Lu you’re
just a fool” bill should be ashamed of themselves. Remember, there is a war
going on. Never has this country won a war without sacrificing. This war is no
different. Then again, maybe those supposedly representing the red, white and
blue don’t see it as a war - the denial syndrome. Yeh, these kids had nothing
better to do. Dom “Godfearer” Rumsfeld, I hope one day the newspaper headlines
covers you being called to the hall of justice, that belonging to the war
crimes tribunal. It will be your judgment day, it will be America’s judgment
day. Time for a hanging! Time for a changing!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
So we
have the minutemen gathering forces and ready to patrol the porous U.S. Mexican
border. This vigilante group - with some bearing sidearms more powerful then
what our troops in Baghdad are equipped with - has caused a stir amongst local
law officials. But what is all the fuss over. Vigilante groups made this
country great. Ah Ah. Maybe Congress needs to have an emergency convening over
this one. Just like the food tube dilemma. Except this time around Patrick McHenry
- some bafone from somewhere down south - can have those of us that don’t join
in held in contempt. This guy is a lot of hot air. His name sounds American,
but I think it is a made up name. If you did not have the opportunity for some
adult entertainment where this jerk was the main character amongst a cast of
monkeys, well every time this guy could get a special interest camera to show
off his ignorance, he warned how this judge and that judge would be held in
contempt of Congress. For not taking his or his colleges stand demanding that
Terry Shirvo’s feeding tube be continued and thus allowing the so-called brain
dead girl to maintain living in some animated state of displeasure. Against her
own wishes according to her once husband. I wish I would get held in contempt
of Congress. Then I could plead the 5th and make a million dollars
writing a book about it. When one attacks the justice system of judges, this
country is truly divided. Somebody has to have the last word, and surely it
should never be the word of a politician. Hey judges are not perfect, and they
do fall under some semblance of a check and balance system, unless one’s name
is Rehnquist. Anyway, back to the subject of vigilante. I wonder what the
failure rate for history was for our present day 14th amendment
representatives – our elected officials. Maybe they should be considered
rejected officials! So with this in mind, I am starting my very own vigilante
movement. I am tired of the garbage that comes from D.C. So it is time to fight
back, with garbage. Everybody should make plans for a trip back east. Take
along a bag of garbage, as it is considered an acceptable carryon by the TSA.
When you arrive in D.C., visit either the House of Cheney or the Castle of
George, deposit your garbage at the barricades that keeps on keeping Americans
out of the once public now private domain. So what if there is a fine for
littering, just plead “mission accomplished”! And think about this, with enough
garbage acting as an impossible moat of stench, it may cause George to stay at
his job a little longer. Hey, if a moat can keep the enemy out, it can surely
keep the enemy in. By this writing, he is about to break the all time record
for an AWOL president. With a war, with a deficit, with high oil prices, with
grieving moms of young soldiers, but he still maintains that smile, I mean
smirk! He really looks a lot like Mad! Maybe he is MAD. In fact I will buy a
new Webster’s, and where George’s picture reigns, it will be replaced with a
colorful picture of Mad magazine’s hero extraordinaire, Mr. Alfred E. Neuman.
Now there’s a truly American name.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
There
came a situation in my life in which I was compelled to stick up for my rights.
It had to do with an investigation being conducted by the Bureau of Land
Management. Now in Alaska, the BLM has some pretty extensive and powerful
oversight. Alaska is a mixed bag ownership state. The Fed.’s own their fare
share of valuable land. A good portion of that land includes property that
forms the Right-of-Way for the Trans-Alaska-Pipeline. Now most of the BLM
oversight with regards to the land traversed by the 800-mile long 48-inch
diameter crude oil pipeline from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez deals with environmental
concerns. During an inspection mandated by congress, it was leaked that
pipeline workers were falsifying documents that were part of the inspection
check list. I happened to work at the facility engaged in this outrageous and
fraudulent activity. I was the individual who spoke up about it, through a
confidential “HotLine” set-up by the U.S. government. It was a very interesting
morning when the BLM Special Agents showed up, banishing sidearms and arresting
several managers responsible for the fiasco. The lawmen also secured the
contents of a file cabinet. Now before the attempt to pull this falsifying
prank on the G-men, the file cabinet was not packed full of safety documents,
but salsa packets for the workers morning ritual of fast food burritos. So this
caper took on the name of, “The Salsa Files”. Anyway, to make a long story
short, following the raid, many hours of testimony secured the government’s
case. It was all confidential information. When the report was finished, it was
made available to a select couple. The state and federal head honchos with the
Joint Pipeline Office. This is the organization that couples up and provides
both state and federal oversight on the pipeline. As far as the report,
signature authority required receipt. And in big black bold letters warning
jail time for violation of the privacy to information statutes, “This Document
contains sensitive and confidential information. This document is not to be
copied…” and on and on and on! Most of the report was in the form of
transcribed oral testimony, under oath. Anyway, about one month after the
report was selectively published, I received a call from a guy who I used to
work with and who spent his time surfing the internet - back when surfing was
in its infancy. Parts of my own testimony were out in public! There was a leak!
Somebody was in deep trouble, this was criminal trespass against the United
States of America! The leak was chased back to a guy who worked for the state.
This crook was also involved as a board member of a local environmental group
and had aligned himself with a guy named Chuck Hamel. Now for the newshounds,
Hamel is considered the “gadfly” of protectionism for workers concerned about
safety along the 800-mile long pipeline. But to those that don’t know his true
identity, he was on the “oil companies” payroll during the time he was supposed
to be helping out pipeline workers. Workers who had a concern and were not
afraid to say something needed somebody to protect their positions. Retaliation
through “black” listing was rampart. In Alaska, which cradles a small business
community, one can be without a job in no time! And when raising a family,
unemployment means deployment to the nearest soup kitchen. When I accessed the
web site, sure enough, there was my confidential testimony, and it was traced
back to a government site - the GAO. It stands for Government Accountability
Office. This is the office that is supposed to look after other government
offices and officials to see that they themselves are following the rules and
regulations. I decided to take action against the individual and the
environmental group that some how or another was successful in scoring a copy
of a confidential and sensitive report. Every other Tom, Dick and Harry denied
that their office had leaked the confidential information. And here is how that
leak occurred. The state worker thief walked into the office that contained the
report. Being a state worker involved in pipeline business gave him unabated
access. The state head honcho allowed him to “view” the report. But it was
lunch time and “lard-ass” was hungry. So the thief was left on his own, right
next to a copy machine! This was admitted to me by the thief himself during an
entrapment attempt. But it was hard to find a lawyer that would carry the case.
First off, filing a law suit against an environmental group is not the
cleverest thing to do. I was told that right up front. Secondly, there was no
money involved. The environmental group was a chintzy non-profit entity with
basically zero assets. But it was a violation, so I hit the books and the trail
of trial courts. I had a definite case. I had the evidence. But soon into the
motion filing, sure enough, the judge dismissed the case in favor of the
defendant - the other guy not me! The thief. So much for justice. Now the
lawyer that represented the environmental group asked the court for legal fees
to be assessed and allowed under some obscure rule of court. But I had worked
with this lawyer once before on a whistleblower case, there was basically no
hard feelings. And in conversation he told me that it was basically a
misunderstanding, that the guy who stole the report thought he was doing me some
good. He told me he had to file a motion for legal fees because of possible
future malpractice suits and judges like the professional lawyers to cover all
aspects of the case. Basically, no stones remain unturned. Anyway, the $4000.00
dollar bill was basically allowed to be collected but I was told not to sweat
the green. Now little did I know then that judgments, which is what the legal
fees are called in the mumble jumble world of legalese, never disappear. There
is no statute of limitations. And the real kicker, it continues to accrue
interest at some astronomical rate. Now there are real criminals out there,
some in the disguise of the robe. The lawyer that represented the original case
passed away at an early age. His business was sold. Said again, there are
lawyers out there that are real predators. These guys are worse then the
ambulance chasers. Anyway, there exists unscrupulous outfits organized to seek
and destroy. So the deceased lawyer’s records were gone over with a fine tooth
comb and some asshole found my uncollected court fee debt - the one I was told
not to worry about. This was about 5 years later! Now in Alaska, lawyers have
all sorts of ways to get even. Hey, they make the laws! So the uncollected
original debt had now been assessed at twice that amount, close to 8k. And to
make matters worse, they don’t have to try to re-collect the debt, they just
strangle your financial worth. I come home one day and there is a message from
my bank. I called them back, to find out that my bank account has been zeroed
out. You see in Alaska, the bastards have made a law that stipulates that
“cash” is not exempt from collection efforts. And the law goes on to stipulate
that bank accounts are “cash”. So right then and there my “joint” account was
“0”. Now I never knew this was happening and there was not one damn thing I
could do about it right then and there. And a percentage of the money in the
account belonged to my wife, and she was not party to my situation. Now the
court system takes the money from the bank and holds on to it for some
specified amount of time. Time wherein I can contest the savagery of such a
means which allows stealing another man’s wealth. Now I had to file a form
along with evidence that some of the money belonged to my wife. All my hard
earned money was gone, and in efforts to stay economically buoyant for awhile,
we needed her money. And to get things rolling, it required a court date. Court
calendars are overbooked and the other lawyer used his power of trickery to
stall the proceedings, hoping maybe that I would get frustrated and vacate the
challenge. Finally, about two months later, a court date was approved. The
sleazebag lawyer still didn’t show up and filed a motion for a remote hearing.
Now all the time, this asinine lawyer was on the phone, somewhere in Hawaii.
And the judge had a vibrant conversation with this hoodlum. They were good
friends. This went on for several hours. I had to take time off of work for
this. Finally, the judge made the decision to place $1000.00 dollars back into
the joint account because I had proved that not all the garnished money
belonged to me. Great I thought. It was going to be another 7 days before I
received another paycheck and I had mouths to feed. Not only that, there came a
slough of NSF checks bouncing back to me. Checks that added another $25 for
reprocessing. I was “bankrupt”. And the court system is in no hurry or worry in
efforts to return your money. It was about another month before a court check
found its way to my mail box. It was an experience that makes one wonder about
our system of justice. Why we hate lawyers! Why we hate judges! Hate is an ugly
word reserved for special occasions. But these so-called legal experts have
created a game understood and controlled by a select fraternity. And guys like
myself, who want to be part of that constitutional declaration that allows
unabated justice, we are banned. It is “my” court system of justice. It should
not be so damned stool stuck. And to that state worker who started this whole
mess, thanks for trying to help me out. You bastard! Enjoy your date with hate.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
I
live and play in Anchorage, Alaska’s big city. Now this northern most city of
the 49th “Last Frontier” state is bordered in one direction by the
waters of Turnagain Pass, by Cook Inlet in another direction, by Knik River
runoff in yet another direction and finally by the beautiful Chugach Mountains.
It is a serene like setting. And one way to enjoy nature’s work of art at work
is to get out doors. Take a walk. Ride a bike. And the best place to venture in
efforts to award oneself such pleasures is out and about the numerous trails
that meander through town. These are friendly manicured trails. In its
entirety, it is respectfully named the Tony Knowles coastal trail. Tony was
once the mayor, the governor and has by this writing made one attempt at
unseating Lisa, the daughter of the now governor and x-U.S. senator who
promoted this daughter to his vacancy in the Halls of Congress. Tony’s claim to
fame is his successful restaurant in downtown Anchorage. Lisa’s claim to fame
is her husbands pasta business - food for thought! During the campaign wherein
the democrats tried to dethrone the daughter, at the same time the republicans
played a tough game. It was a pretty tight race all the way down to the wire. A
lot of voters still didn’t accept the nepotism thing. With pollsters stirring
the pot, it was time for the big guns - loaded with sleazebags filled with
disgust. One of our senior and almighty powerful senators used the coastal
trail as a bargaining tool, to garnish votes away from Tony. Hey, trails can be
considered one of those Green Peace things. Spending money to provide a place
to exercise just doesn’t go over to well with the macho hunting mentality “must
have a paved highway first to get my dead animals home”. So an attack was on.
It warned - through expensive prime time advertisements and full page adds -
how Tony would waste taxpayer money on building trails from here to there. This
barrage of garbage was paid for by the “Hulk”, our senile senator. He tells
news hounds that he is depressed. Then his aids tell the same news hounds that
the senator - who is 4th inline to take over the presidency should
something happen that requires such a takeover - that everything is OK, no
depression. With the trail smearing, in reality it was all some voters needed
to hear. This is what people key into. They have no idea what is really going
on, so tease them with simplicity and it arouses their conscious. So the trail
building thing caused Tony to miss the votes needed to gain control of a senate
seat. It was rotten to the core politics. Lisa won her seat in the senate. Now
Alaska receives a lot of “Hulk” pork, in the form of appropriations with titles
so long that the word processor produces unknown error codes trying to
manipulate or translate the data bits. That is how representatives hide things.
Anyway, right after the election, the same senator that used the trail thing to
his parties advantage, well he sent money to Alaska. Guess what for? More
trails. And it was money that wasn’t even asked for. I don’t know if this was
done out of spite or idiosyncrasy. Maybe it was out of Idiocy. So Tony’s trail
will grow, and the next time he runs for office, some idiot will once again
tell the idiot voters that Tony once again wasted the taxpayer’s money. Because
he was a good statesman and we named a trail in his honor, he is branded by
those that think trail systems are for sissies. Remember, this is Alaska. So
more trails are on the drawing board. Mark Twain is quoted as saying that it is
better to not have honor and deserve it then to have honor and not deserve it.
Besides more trails, how about bridges to nowhere named after some guy named
Don Young - undeserved honor. Maybe someday Tony’s trail will connect the
bridge to nowhere to somewhere!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
One day back in the mid-90’s I
found myself sitting in the fifth floor office waiting area of the most powerful
company in existence. It was the headquarters’ of the Alyeska Pipeline Service
Company, located in Anchorage, Alaska. This outfit is the operating agent for
the Trans-Alaska-Pipeline. The company, which has operations only in Alaska, is
listed as a not-for-profit and incorporated in Delaware. Incorporating in the
“We Have No Anti-Trust Laws” state has its advantages. I don’t think anybody
actually lives in Delaware! Unless you are a business, and a business can now
be a person, legally. Alyeska is an all powerful entity from the fact that the
biggest American oil companies have a stake in the 800-mile piece of steel that
brings millions of barrels of the “black gold” south from the rich oil fields
of Prudhoe Bay, some 600-miles north of Anchorage. Names like EXXON,
SOHIO(history), ARCO(history), UNOCAL, MARATHON, AMEREDA HESS - the lions,
tigers and bears of the energy industry! The office that now corralled my
attention was pretty plush. Cherry wood décor, low light, very comfortable.
Classical music played in the background. One would think that it was a place
reserved for the big wigs, the command hierarchy, like presidents and CEO’s, or
“owner company” representatives - the mentality workers are scared of! But why
was I, a low-life hourly employee doing here instead of being at the work site?
My job was actually many miles away. And I can’t remember the last time I had
to down a suit. Usually my work day’s apparel consisted of blue Nomex coveralls
or fire fighting gear. That’s life at a pumping station. The Nomex are
fire-proof and double as a body-bag! And there comes many a time when the
un-volunteer fire crew is responding to something out of the normal. Hey things
can get out of control pretty quick when 140 degree crude oil at 1000 pounds
pressure is going where it is not supposed to be going, like out of a ruptured
piece of pipe and on to the tundra. So just what was I doing here? First off,
this waiting area with comfortable recliners was the lobby of the company’s
legal department. In fact, it was an office that had quite a history. Back in
the mid 80’s, a covert operation was instigated to spy on individuals, it
started one night right from were I sat. The office held that aura that could
drive people to madness, just like Watergate. Alyeska would incorporate the
help from the Wackies, a security outfit out of Florida. A fake environmental
entity called Ecosnot was set up to find out which employees were providing the
U.S. Congress with hurtful information regarding environmental sensitive issues.
This spy operation even targeted members of Congress! But the culprits got
caught in the act and the whole thing caused an uproar. It was bad enough that
the U.S. government’s Committee on Insular Affairs held hearings. From those
hearings a report about the activities was published. It was titled, “Alyeska
Pipeline Service Company Covert Operations”. This is a congressional printing.
It reads just like a spy novel. Part of the scheme was to employ a guy named
Hannibal who was supposed to be the environmentalist “gadfly”. He stunk of
snake-oil, “tell me everything I’m on your side”. This guy was once an oil
broker and was a common partner on some of the EXXON oil leases up north. He
befriended the local environmental groups and had an open door policy wherein
Alyeska employees could vent frustrations over illegal activities along the
800-mile long wilderness pipeline corridor. But this guy was on the oil
companies’ payroll! It was misrepresentation, malfeasance, misfeasance,
malpractice, mis-mal everything. People were going to jail! But oil companies
have time to kill. They have money to burn. They most likely have the law on
their side. These outfits court judges. If they break a law, they change the
law and appeal the conviction. They knew they were caught red-handed, so they
had to some how destroy the evidence. That was easier said then done as
everything harmful had been under a subpoena and a private law firm was on-site
to police the evidence - in efforts to prevent tampering. There existed strong evidence
that supposedly accounted for the “gadfly’s” payments. It was called a case of
entrapment. It was against the law. Some very powerful and influential players
were sweating. Now the night before the receipts and other evidence were
supposed to be turned over to the Fed.’s, it disappeared! And the goods were
locked in a vault. Well according to the company lawyers, and they did get away
with this, the “goods” had been thrown away by a disgruntled janitor. This guy
was supposedly being terminated, but he had to finish the job first.
Cleanliness is next to Godliness! His cleaning route allowed unabated access to
the vault! Now several months later, the Anchorage police pull over a car that
had no license plates. In the trunk, the documents were found. The driver fled
and evaded the police. The car’s owner was never found, and the documents were
lost once again! Something about a mishap when the documents under control of
the locals were turned over to someone with false credentials. Anyway, it was
the spy operation that found me here today. I didn’t like being spied upon. I
didn’t like my phone conversation being bugged. I had become a whistleblower against the company. It occurred
when some “owner company” engineers tried to fool the Fed.’s by falsifying
project safety documents. I became upset when I found some of my projects with
my Hancock, wherein the safety check-off list had not been completed, now
changed to appear as if the project, including the safety signoff was complete.
A few phone calls got me in trouble. Hey, no matter what Uncle Sam tells you in
all those fancy and colorful brochures and now with the Internet how they will
protect you if you blow the whistle, it is all bullshit! Believe me, there is
no protection when an individual takes on big business. Anyway, the company and
I - through the law department - we were trying to make amends to some past
conflicts. The legal guys call it “closure”. I thought that happened in heaven.
So here I sat waiting for the company’s head attorney. A magazine caught my
attention. It was some quarterly review by some outfit that was affiliated with
the nation’s “bar” association. It had a special section for and about young
lawyers. There was one particular article that was amusing but at the same time
bothersome. It had to do with students who had just completed time getting
their law degrees. This big name New York outfit went on to explain that it
enjoyed bringing on new blood, inexperienced future moneymakers. There was a
catch! And this outfit used a test that many other big time law offices relied
upon. It is called Bankruptcy. Now the Congress is just about to make this
forgive and forget legislation not so forgiving. Anyway, if an individual was
hired by this law firm, a pre-requisite was a hefty outstanding student loan.
This outfit didn’t want rich kids. It wanted hard workers who were in debt! So
what do you think was the new recruits first task? They were required to file
bankruptcy, on themselves! This is how it worked. Say a student had some 5-years
of student loans and living expenses. This is money owed to both the Fed.’s and
most likely to state student loans. Well they were placed on the books as an
intern, work with no pay. That helped in the bankruptcy ruling. And since
bankruptcy utilized all legal aspects, both state and Federal rules of court,
it is by far the hardest kind of suit to file. It was a would be lawyer’s most
difficult exercise. It required many hours of hard work to get it right. It
becomes a success if no stones are let unturned. To the successful candidates,
who have coaching from some of the guys who make up the laws, well it meant
zero debt in no time. And awaiting them upon arrival of that sealed envelope
from the courthouse claiming success? A brand new Mercedes sports coupe,
courtesy of the law office. So these kids go to law school. They rack up in
excess of $200,000.00 in loans, bar tabs and whatnots. They join one of these
sleazebag law firms. They get coached on how to fill out the required
bankruptcy form and file all the required motions in efforts to fool the
Federal judges. They win. Their debt gets excused. And who cares if it stays on
their personal record for several years, as they are almost a partner in the
law firm! This was sickening, and the article went on to rave how successful
the debt-erasing program was and how beneficial it was to the law firms that
pick up inexperienced recruits. Soon the head lawyer appeared. He saw me
reading the article. He made a comment about how good an article it was. I knew
then and there that my situation was a lost cause. I was dealing with crooks.
And the first thing that happened, this guy buys me lunch. And over lunch, he
went on to tell me how valued an employee I was. Maybe it’s time to file!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
Alaskan’s
love their canine companions. The four-legged beast is as much a part of history
in this neck of the woods as are the many other beasts that call the “Last
Frontier” home. We have grizzly bears and polar bears. We have moose and
caribou. We have the Musk Ox and a few frozen Woolly Mammoths. Wow! And Alaska
has beasts that have been kept under silence. Have to keep something of
interest for the future, to satisfy the tourism industry. And that includes the
Hulk. Hey Lochaber has the Loch Ness. Well, Alaska has the purple monster. But
appearance here in the state is a rarity, as presence is forever mandatory
where the monster’s real reign of terror is beneficial to the constituents - in
the Halls of Congress. That seems to be the Hulk’s hang out. He dresses in the
disguise of a human. The trademark “Hulk” tie is the giveaway. And he is well
known for his “postal” outbursts. Did you know that following 911 an escape
route was built to evacuate our leaders in the event of an attack on government
hill? It consisted of a maze of ladders going up and down and over and under. I
guess it hasn’t been too successful in meeting the time constraints for an
orderly evacuation, but that word orderly may be the reason. Did you ever see
any kind of order in the chambers? And I understand the escape route gets
tested quite frequently with unplanned emergency drills, when Ted has a
tantrum. It scares the Homeland security into initiating code “purple”, the
“Hulk” alarm. Damn, didn’t mean to give up the Hulk’s cover! But I guess an
evacuation attempt is the only way to restore some semblance of order when
things get loud and out of control. Back to dogs. Dogs have no concept of time,
like some senators when in chambers and can’t get their own way about
something, usually money. When you leave your dog at home, and depart to places
unknown, it has no idea where you are going or doing. Hey, the commonality is
striking. Senators have no idea about what the common working folks are doing.
A dog has no idea what you mean when you say, “going to work”. It doesn’t know
what work is, just like a senator. Dogs are curious, but that behavior has
limited benefit, again just like a senator. Just the other day, I observed my
dog as the wife drove off. The dog tried to watch forever and ever, but
comprehending what happened past its range of vision, there was a definite
disconnect. Soon it became more interested in gas blowing out its rear end.
Curious also at that, as if puzzled, but that operation was still within its
range of vision and sense of smell - something a dog can deal with. Just like
licking their own you know what. Now we all know a senator can kiss others you
know what, as far as the licking? Anyway, the dog vacated the concern of being
abandoned by the wife and moved on to something more exciting. Dogs know how to
prioritize things. Something a senator cannot do, unless it is a special
interest thing. Who’s on first? So the dog figured out that the gas had
something to do with what was going on, the wife driving off! It was all within
the same time frame, so it had to have association. Senators do the same with
appropriation bill “riders”. I am not the only one convinced without a doubt
that some added pork has nothing to do with the original bills, like riding a
defense appropriation bill with money for an experimental ferry - not for
military use. But what do we know? To be honest, I would rather see a “rider”
that supports increasing a soldier’s salary. Hey, my dog is wagging its tail!
And when I mentioned the word senator, it dug into its toy box and pulled out a
chewable figurine of George. This dog is getting smarter and smarter which each
congressional session. You know, I can be gone for a few minutes or a few days,
the reception back home is of the same magnitude, all so powerful. A senator’s
reception depends on what kind of pork it brings back home. Dogs love pork!
Dogs love their masters. Senators think they are our masters. Deduced to
theory: So a dog hears you tell it something that doesn’t make sense and then
you vacate its presence for parts unknown. The last time that happened, it
remembered that blowing gas had something to do with it. And it knows that
eating stuff makes gas. And shoes are always available. So it chews until
leather is refined into gas, now the dog believes it has done its part. It
knows it means trouble, but you returned. So what’s the fuss? A dog doesn’t
really know any better. As far as a senator, I guess they don’t know better
either. They take my taxes and blow it. Hey did you ever notice when a dog
takes a dump how alert it becomes to its surroundings? I mean when I take a
good one, I enjoy catching up on the beltway boys and girls - including the
Hulkster. Just the other day, I was relieving myself at one of the local
uppity-up eateries in downtown Anchorage. The stall had some pretty interesting
graffiti. Now like I said before, bathroom time is a time to catch up on
politics. That is usually page three in the daily. Seems the headline page is
reserved for gang related advertisements - like a rundown of the amount of
spent shells found in a school’s parking lot following the PTA meeting. And
page two overwhelms the reader with celebrity related bullshit. Isn’t that what
the tabloids are for? Anyway, it takes me a cup of coffee to get through page
uno and a bowl of cereal to get past der other page. Der is French for two isn’t
it? So by the time duty calls, it is page three. Now I didn’t have the paper
with me this time around, but not to worry. The east side of the stall had the
gang related news. The south side had celebrity phone numbers and something
about a good time. And low and behold, the west side had the political scene.
The highlight of interest went like this. “Flush twice, it is a long way to
Laura’s handbag”. There were several other names in a column, at least a dozen
or so. Now what made this interesting beyond ridiculous, a purple magnet
place-holder that could be moved to the different names. You know, dogs get
more respect then politicians. So after I enjoyed my meal, and enjoyed catching
up on the mind of man, I thought about my dog. I realized that it was at home,
guarding my nest. What more could I ask for. It was time to go home and see my
best of friends. Damn, I did hit the toilet flusher twice - just couldn’t
resist the temptation. Just like a dog chewing shoes!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
Alaska
should be called the “Cry Baby” state instead of the “Last Frontier” state. The
latter speaks of individualism, survivalist, that Daniel Boone spirit.
Unfortunately, due the seniority and clout afforded our representatives in
D.C., Alaska has become a welfare state. We start with Ted. And if Ted doesn’t
get his way with things, especially pork, he tantrums then tells everybody
about how Alaska is still stuck in the third world - the martyr syndrome. If he
still doesn’t get his way, he complains that he is clinically depressed. Now
that word depressed is dangerous, it scares most of his colleagues. See Ted is
and could have access to the “red” phone, right now as you read this
fascinating deployment of free speech. You’ll never see Ted at a state of the
union address, as he is the man in reserve that can “depress” the button. Ted
has an airport named after him, one that by this writing is approaching 150%
cost over-runs. Then there is Don. Don thinks he is Daniel Boone. He likes
conquering new territory. He prefers to go by bridge, so he likes building
bridges to nowhere. He has a bridge named after his namesake, and something
named after his wife, how romantic! We used to have Frank, but he bailed out of
the senile senators club. He wasted a hundred years and a 100 million dollars
trying to open up one acre of land to oil exploration in a place called ANWR. When
he vacated the senate seat, he arranged things so his daughter could sail in to
the easiest job in the world. Hey, I am serious, I would have no problem living
in a milder climate making 170 thousand dollars a year, when the main focus of
the job is handing out somebody else’s money - yours and mine. And wouldn’t it
be nice to have a job where you give yourself a raise, year after year when the
rest of the country is living on credit. And did you know that at one time,
they had their own bank. They borrowed money, from the treasury! Hey some sons
and daughters have gone to college, interest free at your expense. I will say
that I am one individual that believes I have lived through the most corrupt of
political times. We would be better off having the Mafia bosses at the helm. At
least they would get some handsome ransom from corporations, as protection!
Alaska is a big state, so it takes a big wad of cash to get the state up to
standards. We have been working on it since about 1958, when Alaska went from territory
to state. Now when the oil futures start to crumble, it means job loss time.
The price of oil goes to low, the drilling derricks are lowered to half-mast.
People cry! So economic stimulators are always a top priority, just incase. But
for some reason, maybe one of the D.C. beltway clerks thought we asked for
“simulators”. We ended up with a 747-flight simulator, to test pilots. We ended
up with a NASA space shuttle simulator, for kids, so they could play star wars
and act like Major Mud - that’s Mike Dukakis in disguise. Mike was the guy who
ran for president against old man Bush in 88. Was doing pretty well until he
started driving around town in a tank! We ended up with a missile defense
simulator, but that’s hidden away on an island as big as the state of Rhode
Island. For some reason, someone wanted a hi-tech missile launch facility built
on this island. But the down-range area was in conflict with the best fishing
grounds off the coast of Alaska. This was top-secret stuff we are talking
about. So the fishermen that were inconvenienced by the busy launch schedule
that included one rocket launch every five years, and restricted fishing due to
constant preparation work, well they would have to be compensated - for lost
fishing time. Up here in Alaska, we get fishing subsidies. It works just like
farm subsidies that lower 48 farmers invented. I mean once farmers that are now
senators, who enjoy the fruits of their non-labor. It is that same program were
you get paid to grow nothing! The program in Alaska is a little different. It
is a subspecies that falls under the auspices of the U.S. Department of
Agriculture. Up here, instead of Uncle Sam paying you not to fish, this program
buys the fishing boats! Big bucks loaded in the back-fire cannon. Say for example
the Kodiak King Crab fisheries are declining, maybe due to rocket fallout -
actual rockets falling out of the sky. But most of the time the rockets
blasting off remain in the silo. Somebody forgot to disconnect the balancing
arms - this actually happened! So Uncle Sam offers you market value for your
$1,000,000.00 appraised boat that is really worth 1/10 that amount, along with
generous lost wages. Now Sam doesn’t like keeping boats stockpiled, so the
crafts are auctioned off. Now if you think everybody and their brother is
rushing to these remote fishing villages to pick up a boat, you are crazy. So
the boats are sold for pennies on the dollar. Most of the time, the previous
owner picks up his old boat. The boat is retrofitted to be utilized for another
fisheries, say this time around for black cod. Now the black cod live in the
same area as the crab and spend time avoiding out of control rockets. Now over
time, because everybody and their brothers are going after the same thing in
efforts to deplete it, the same thing happens over and over again. One guy told
me that Sam had re-purchased his boat 5 times in the last eight years. At a
whopping price of almost 5 million dollars! That was an interesting
conversation. Anyway, I feel it is time for my simulator. I propose a TED
simulator. The design would consist of a full-blown version of our senior
senator, in disguise as the Hulk. Joysticks could test the skills of future
politicians. The theater of terror would be the Halls of Congress, during
appropriation bill hearings. There would be special buttons for temper tantrums
and manic-depressive mood swings. Just think of the fun! Anyway, there has been
a few successful rocket launches from the Kodiak Launch Facility. Up here the
projectile is the enemy rocket and it is supposed to be annihilated in-flight
as part of the star wars missile defense initiative, or what ever it is
supposed to be called. Anyway, the directors of this facility keep bragging
that they are winning, as not once has the California based interceptor been
successful in destroying the incoming enemy rocket - grinding away towards an
American target. Pretty ironic, rooting that the enemy has one up on our
security! Be glad it’s just a “simulation”.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
The
“Help Wanted Ad” was from the Human Resource department of a big oil company
operating in Alaska. Getting a job in the Alaskan oil fields was the envy of
the working class. Jobs way up north in Prudhoe Bay fetched an easy $100,000.00
dollars a year. With a week on then a week off work schedule, it was like
working for only half of the year. And when you were away from home at your
second home, they fed you. A menu that included prime rib and lobster was not
unusual. The residential camps have “chefs”, not cooks. Even for breakfast,
where the chow line opens at 5am, a guy with a goony like white hat welcomes
your order. They cook your eggs the way you want them, no Royal Fork affair
here - it is all hot and fresh. “Her Majesty’s” camp - foreign oil giants are
taking over - is called the Hilton. Besides a dining room that features round
tables with white linens for dinner, it provides a convenient store type
setting called the “spike line”. This place is open 24/7 and is a smacking
snacker’s delight. All for free. Chowhounding down around these camps is
nothing short of sinful! Oh and about that dining room. There is a grand piano
that sits on a little stage. During special times, like holidays, the company
hires a classical pianist to serenade the workers. And this place has a
volleyball court along with a gym equipped with more gear then a local workout
facility and a swimming poll to boot! The pool acts as a holding tank for
water, just in case there was a fire. Pretty innovated design. Of course, this
place was designed by the Americans. It used to be owned by SOHIO. And another
fringe benefit for the workers? Someone also made up your bed! Want another?
With this type of work schedule, come vacation - which meant a week off for
every year employed - well after a few years it amounted to a vacation break
that could last in excess of 5 weeks off.
Job openings in this field did not come available all that often. The
turnover rate was non-existent. An opening usually meant a retirement! Most of
the guys - and a few gals as part of a growing population - those still working
the “slope” oil fields started when the 800-mile pipeline began pumping oil
back in the mid 70’s. So it was an aging work force with a majority of the
workers close to the retirement age. Now the job is pretty easy, as oil
companies don’t skimp when it come to automating everything and anything. There
is very little to do accept monitor the operation, eat and sleep. Most workers
opt to stay on board and continue to increase their retirement “nest egg”,
which is most likely pretty golden by this point in the game. So when an ad
does appear in the local newspaper, it gets a lot of attention. I was told that
a single opening can bring in over a thousand potential recruits. The competition is tough. The ad for the
most recent opening was for a roustabout. This is a job that gets you in the
door. It is a job that does everything nobody else wants to do. It’s the job
somebody has to do. It may mean mopping the floors or cleaning the “shit” bags.
Now mopping floors is not so bad. Good exercise so you can eat and eat and eat.
One guy I knew who started out as a roustabout had a theory that a mopped floor
was worth a big gooey donut. And with six floors at one of the facilities, that
meant he could afford to down at least a half dozen! Exercise is required
around here. When fresh made pies are sitting around all the time, it is hard
not to give in. Because there is no underground water and waste-water piping
systems - due the extreme cold where a summertime temperature above 35 degrees
sets a record - human waste is collected in specially designed contraptions.
The solid waste is separated and the liquid waste is directed to the chimney
exhaust of the combustion turbine pipeline pumps. It is supposed to be
destroyed by the high temperatures in the stacks. It is. Accept a yellow like
haze haunts the horizon! I remember once when the yellow like stuff was raining
down upon the outdoor piping. They kept telling us it was safe. We were not
convinced. The town people, those that work in Anchorage are really out of
touch with the real world of oil exploration and exploitation some 600-mile
away. Anyway, during this one particular time when the “yellow rain” was
causing a concern, they decided to send up a specialist to sooth the chaos. Now
we had heard that the specialist was a new hire, some young female out of
college. The day before her arrival, we spread some fresh mustard on a piece of
pipe, once dried, it looked just like the real stuff that was re-painting the
scene. They said it was safe! When she arrived and was being escorted around,
one of the technicians swiped a finger lickin’ good portion of the dried up
mustard as if it were indeed just “safe” fallout and shoved it in his mouth.
Then did it again and asked the young scientist if she would like to try some.
Never did see her again! Anyway, collecting the dried human waste is not a very
fun job. In fact, this is the yuckiest of jobs. But like one new-hire was
quoted as saying, “I’ll eat shit for this kind of pay”. Regardless of the job,
the benefits are the same. Owen is a co-worker of mine stuck here in the city.
It is a meager paying job at 40 hours a week. Now Owen was contemplating
finding another job. A slope job had been his vision since he returned back to
Alaska several years ago. He had worked odds and end type jobs from the
northeast coast back to his home. And education beyond high school meant going
to sea with the U.S. Navy. I guess they taught him some unique survival skills.
He wanted to apply for the most recent “slope” job opening but lacked the time
and experience requirements, even the minimums. So if accountants can use
creative accounting to juggle the books, Owen thought he could use some
creative “bullshit” for his resume.
First came the “High School Diploma or GED” requirement.
Not a problem with the diploma, but what was this GED thing? Next on the list, “A
minimum of three years hands-on experience in an oilfield or refinery facility.
Specifically with pumps, distribution, automated controls and safety systems”.
Now that could have been a problem, but thanks to creativity, that concern was
no longer. It meant resorting to the scrap paper, pen and calculator. Owen
insisted that he had the experience. His consensus was based on the fact that
he goes to the gas station every few days, to pump gas. Now that robotic
looking thing at your local fueling station has a pump. It is distributed
through the hose and nozzle. Since he uses a debit card to pay for fill-ups, it
is an automatic operation, one that is started by his decision. And with new
laws, the person pumping the gas is responsible for doing it right, this is the
safety aspect of the job! With over twenty years at the wheel, a time consuming
calculation rested in the fact that Owen had well over the three years under
his belt as a refinery worker. In fact, he put down 5-years on the application.
With that out of the way, it was on to “Offshore style living experience
required”. Isn’t living on a NAVY frigate offshore? It was then on to
the last requirement. “Willing to travel to worksite by helicopter or
boat”. Hey, Owen was a NAVY man! Now with modern hi-tech communication,
Owen’s application with all the presumed true facts and figures was headed
towards its destination. A few weeks later, Owen got the job. He was a good
worker. So getting his foot in the door could open up all kinds of future
possibilities. I ran into Owen a few months after he was living the “slope”
life. I guess the background check - which was completed after he had been
hired - well it questioned some of his application entries. Owen was called
into the HR department, as falsification can be a direct firing offense. As he
explained how he had come up with the facts and figures on his application, all
went quiet, until the head honcho let out a startling laugh, then everybody
else in the room felt at liberty to laugh along. Owen kept the job, even though
his experiences to meet the minimum requirements of the job were questionable.
I guess they were very amused at his creative methods and since he had nothing
but good reviews thus far from his boss and co-workers, he wasn’t getting fired.
And the best he who laughs last laughs best came from Owen’s answer to “other”
under the ethnic origin question. Owen said that was the best choice since he
considered himself a minority by not abandoning real beer for the “lite” stuff!
Way to go. And even though 99% of the answers were awash in a “white” lie, the
one that was answered truthfully speaks for itself - “veteran” under military
service. Again, way to go. So if you are disgruntled at your present job, take
the time to dig into your past experiences. You may be surprised at what you
are experienced to do. Your next career choice may be entirely different then
what you are presently doing. Try something new and exciting for a change, you
may like it. You may be good at it. And remember one important thing, George
told us how experienced of a leader he was, look how that is turning out!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
One
thing great about the hi-tech revolution - besides sending the analog world to
oblivion - is the way this micro-stuff has made life easier. For those of you
who weren’t around to enjoy the analog world, that is when POT and phonographs
were the pride and joy of design engineers. POT - not the kind you used to be
allowed to smoke here in Alaska - it means Plain Old Telephone. Technicians
still prefer to refer to this label with communications problems even for the
modern stuff, so don’t get excited or aroused if you here them talking about
POT. Anyway, back then, this technology was represented by a bulky handset that
at one time came only in black, cherished by old ladies as a burglar assaulter.
It did nothing but receive and transmit a conversation with all kinds of
background noise. And it didn’t incorporate any of those annoying modern day
gimmicks, like call waiting. Also missing the action, beneficial must have
things like instant callback, a way to spam that telemarketer jerk. The best
way to beat a telemarketer is to have him repeat the message over and over
again! It leads to lock jaw. A phonograph was used to blast out recorded music.
It worked by riding a pick-up needle on the revolving surface of a black
colored plastic disk, called a record! Since it was analog, it picked up
everything on the surface as music or noise, even spilled food, drinks and cat
hair. The digital world, which replaced the old outdated stuff, it is powerful.
The new revolution of today - which is based upon computers which are digital
by nature - brings information to us at the speed of light. Case in point is
the super-sized digital gasoline price signs that can be understood miles away.
So when you are driving along a road at warp speed, the signs steer you in the
right direction for the cheapest gas. And with crude oil going at an all time
high, the cheapest price of gas per gallon is something that is hunted for.
Back when POT and phonographs were in style, gas station attendants had to
manually place the price placards on the roadside signs. Not a good job if the
weather was windy or rainy. That would not be tolerated today. Since crude oil
changes like the stock market, so does the price of gas. It’s the same gas in
the 5000-gallon storage tanks, right underneath the ground. The price may
change, but that stuff in the tank doesn’t! The price is dependent on the
supply and be damned, I mean demand, scenario. Now when you get to the pump,
there are all kinds of things that the common consumer doesn’t understand about
that robot that is about to dispense the goods! This robot talks, and accepts
money in any shape or form. It isn’t stingy at all. There are colorful decals
that indicate the accuracy of that gallon dispensed down to 3 decimal places,
checked by some guy who works for the state’s weights and measures department.
I believe it is the same guy who checks out the stomach buoyancy of donuts!
Then there are signs warning not to use the cheap stuff in airplanes. Next
there are informative decals about additives, with names even a reasonable
person couldn’t decipher. There are hidden proclamations, about gasoline taxes,
both state and Federal. There are advertisements, like a good buy on a
super-super-super-super-super sized drink called the “Big Gulp”, a drowning for
a downing! And how about those colossal sized corn dogs? No going broke for
this choke! But what about that “Octane” thing? I bet if you asked a hundred
different people, they would have all kinds of weird ideas about this number.
Especially guys, as this number is tied to an inherent macho ego inflator. Just
like when the word testosterone is flung around. But I will let you in on a
little secret. If you hadn’t noticed, the “Octane” number has increased since
the price of oil has increased. I guess the refinery guys are OK. Maybe they
are giving us some better stuff since the price to fill up the tank has
increased exponentially and expeditiously. A higher number must mean something
of a benefit. Well indeed it does. A higher number means less knock. Knock,
knock, who’s there? It supposedly means better fuel, which possibly could give
us more miles to the gallon. What a relief and much appreciated in this day and
age of out of control price control. But there is something of a warning with
regards to a higher “Octane” number. The “Octane” number is a really weird
number to comprehend. Why it is included on the robot is a mystery, it must be
part of the confusion factor. We all think that it means something of good.
Basically, it is an average of several methods used to measure the knocking
qualities of the gasoline. Even the experts can’t agree on the best methods to
calculate this number, they are at odds with each other. So what you see in big
yellow numbers is the average of what John says is right and Paul says is wrong
and what George says is wrong and what Ringo says is right! Knocking, besides
ruining an engine, it can affect the combustion process. It can affect the gas
mileage. But what is it with this rather obscure number increasing with the
price of crude oil, that in itself doubling over the past few months? Well,
refineries are required to produce fuel at rock bottom prices. The cheaper it
is to make something useable out of crude oil, the more profit. So when crude
oil prices go higher then the Richter scale, refineries fear for the worst. One
concern is that Uncle Sam may start an investigation with regards to pricing.
It is well known that the pricing index from raw crude oil stocks to useable
gasoline is a “mystery”. So they do their best to lower the price. It is like
holding the “red” flag down. So one way
to keep the regulators at bay is to increase the “Octane” number, the “good”
Samaritan thing - that oilmen are doing their best to give the consumer the
biggest bang for the buck. To low an octane can cause engines to buck like an
out of control bronco. Now there are several ways to get a higher “Octane”
number. Refiners will race to buy the cheapest crude oil available. Not by the
costs alone, but by the makeup of the crude. There exists over 500 slated crude
oils, because of the different fields from where this “black gold” originates
from. And each formation is a little different. Some good, some not so good. I
am sure that most of you have heard of Texas “sweet” crude. Well up here in
Alaska, we pump what is called “sour” crude. It is just that, sour in
comparison. So getting rid of the sour stuff is a priority, especially when oil
prices are off the “scale of norm” and on the crazy blitz. But how does a
refinery make that number higher or lower. First, not all crude oil costs the
same. Crude oil is slated for a reason - for leverage. Its true value is
determined by numerous factors. With so many different grades available, a
refinery tries to buy the cheapest oil. You or I nor anybody else has any idea
from where a refinery gets its crude oil stock for making gasoline. But in the
process, some of the nasty stuff is sidetracked into the blending stream. As an
exercise in stretchonomics. Now good crude has less of the nasty stuff. The
nasty stuff I am talking about is called BETX. So as the price of crude oil
escalates, the refineries are justified in buying the cheapest oil possible,
which means more BETX, which means a higher “Octane” number. So you may be
getting better gas mileage. But one thing for sure, you are sucking in more
benzene, ethylene, toluene and xzylene, all cancer causing derivatives of the
crude oil to motor fuel refining process. BETX is the weird smelling stuff that
strangles your nostrils when you are filling your tank and trying to decipher
the robot dispenser instructions - even when the volatile fuel is already
flowing. But who cares, as we are gluttons for punishment and will take the
increased risk of cancer over higher gas prices that give a lower “Octane”
number. Vroom, vroom!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
“Good
morning America how are ya”, I thought I heard a new friend singing. It was more
like humming. His English was corrupt, making it difficult to be for certain,
but the tune rang a bell. Santiago had just arrived from somewhere way far
south. I didn’t have a historical account of his journey. He already had
citizenship or something that tried to explain his legal status in this
country. He mentioned something that sounded like Riker’s Island as his origin.
I believe he meant Ellis Island. Why he picked Alaska as his new home was still
a mystery. It gets cold up here! The job market remains stagnated. His
vocabulary meant immediate rejection to any high paying oil field job.
Regardless, right off one could tell that this individual was proud to be an
American. He had several articles of clothing that advertised the red, white
and blue. His cap said it all, even with its sideways alignment. It was from
Sesame Street, with Big Bird and Ernie. He seemed a simple man. Said he didn’t
have time for a girlfriend. At least not until two all important dreams came
true. First on the list was to get a TV, so he could spend his free time
watching his homeland hero, Sammy Sousa. The second thing on the list? Santiago
wanted his own car. These two things made up his “American Dream”. It didn’t
matter if he lived with a sister, in cramped living conditions. A closet was
fine by his demands, as long as it had an electrical outlet to power up his
first wish, that TV. In all my years, I had not witnessed such a hard worker.
Santiago was a janitor. I was a natural gas pipeline controller, with a strong
union to back my working conditions. Santiago, he was just happy to have a job.
I was afraid to ask him about his conditions of employment, like wages and
medical benefits. I was making about $35.00 per hour. I had a great medical and
dental plan. I had a great pension plan. I had an easy job! It wasn’t hard to
see that he worked his you know what off for a paycheck. One day he came to
greet me early on with an overwhelming excitement. Missing were his tools of
the trade - broom and duster. If he were married, his actions were like a
father to be. But Santiago was excited because dream number two had come true.
He was now the proud owner of a beat up vehicle that looked like it was
prepared for the dump rather then to ferry passengers around anywhere in a safe
manner. But he was so proud. It was a rust bucket of a heap. In fact, the rear
windows were nothing more then duct tape and plastic. For the next week, he
acted like it was a long overdue Christmas present. Each day, his conversation
consisted of filling me in on Sammy’s home run count and how his own driving
was getting braver and better. Over the weekend, he had ventured out to Eagle
River, about a 20-mile drive - by highway. I doubt if his car could reach the
posted 65 MPH speed limit. But his American dream was getting fulfilled, as
driving that distance sounded in freedom. In fact, he was excited because he
was going to drive his sister’s family out to another friends house in that
same direction for Thanksgiving, which was just around the corner. Hey a TV, a
car, and celebrating the greatest American holiday. What else could one ask
for? About three days before the holidays, which I was scheduled to work at
triple time wages, Santiago came to me with a sad look on his face. He handed
me a piece of paper. It was a transmission repair bill. Along with the bill, a
paycheck stub. He was trying to figure out what the bill meant and if he had
enough money to get his prized possession out of hock. He couldn’t read all
that well - English that is. He had made the mistake, or maybe the repair guy
had due to the interpretation challenges, as the repairs had already been done
on the car’s transmission. The fixit bill was close to $1000.00. His paycheck
was $240.00 take-home! That was two weeks wages. Because he didn’t have wheels,
his boss charged him a transportation fee of $10 per day. Now I never knew
anybody who made this minimum wage thing. I knew very little about the minimum
wage. His meager wage could no way pay for the repair job. How could somebody
live on this skimpy wage. When I tried to explain to him what it all meant, the
facial expression seemed to indicate that his American dream was heading down
the drain. I mean he was supposed to chauffeur the family to the great American
Thanksgiving feast! He left to do his job, totally distraught. I had a little
spare cash. Working the holiday schedule would bring me an extra $1500.00, so I
decided to give Santiago a helping hand. Now if the car had not already been
fixed, it may have meant a different story. And he didn’t need some bill
collector chasing after him. I went to find Santiago, to give him a check so he
could claim back his American dream. On my way down to the area he was busily
cleaning, I stopped at a bulletin board that had been around but lacked anything
of interest in the past to gain my attention. It was the board that contained
government information that was required to be posted in every workplace. We
had a union bulletin board, that was the one that the pipeline workers relied
upon for protection. That was the only one the workers paid attention to. On
the government required board, a big red, white and blue poster talked about
the “Minimum Wage” thing. I had never taken the time to read up on this
subject. I wasn’t part of the class it was designed to assist. It had to be a
typo error. It said that $5.15 per hour was the minimum wage. But it was not an
error. I asked myself, do we really have representatives that would vote on
such a wage of atrocity? I guess we do. This poster design was intended to
advertise a proud achievement, that the wage had increased by authority of the
102 Congress. Now my calculations of what a U.S. senator makes is about $80.00
per hour! And do you American readers
realize the fringe benefits of that non-vacating job? Don’t allow yourself to
venture that direction, as it will shock your socks off. Are not our elected
representatives responsible to look after life, liberty and the pursuit of
happiness - for all? I guess they think that goal is for themselves, special interests
and nobody else. It is a crime. So I guess they get to eat filet mignon. The
middle class, a sadder cut and Santiago gets to fill-up on hamburger helper!
Except omit the burger and substitute Spam! Mark Twain was right about our
representatives. If these lawmakers are proud of this minimum wage thing,
America is doomed. Give me your tired, poor and huddled masses. Yes, send them
here, we need minimum wage earning slaves! About a week after the holidays, I
saw Santiago. He had his wheels back and talked about the Thanksgiving
festivities. I guess it was a day to remember and be proud of. It was their
first, just like the pilgrims. I could picture Santiago driving up with a
carload of relatives. That proud to be an American smile radiating to eternity.
Over the following months, Santiago paid me back - a little at a time. When he
had paid me about a quarter of the debt, I told him it was OK. I thought he was
going to kiss me! The next day he delivered to me a cake, baked by his sister.
It was a specialty cake from the Dominican Republic. How he could be so happy
with so little was so hard to understand. But I guess his American dream was
working. He had his TV, he had a minimum wage job, he had wheels. He lived with
his sister along with a handful of relatives, in a cubbyhole of an apartment.
Come winter, I would see him drive up to work as if he were getting ready to go
out on an arctic expedition. His pride and joy vehicle had a new rebuilt
transmission but no heat. It meant earmuffs and a burdensome overcoat while
driving, with his head out the window as interior frost continued to invade the
windshield. He didn’t speak much of Sammy. Except that the off-season meant his
hero was vacationing in Florida. Sammy had the American dream. Santiago dreamed
of such. The odds were grim. Maybe Santiago did say his origin was Riker’s!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
The
price of motor gasoline, which is linked to the price refiners pay for crude
oil, is settling out at about two dollars and “change” per gallon. What I mean
by the “change” thing is just that, the double digits following the greenback
change from day to day. Right now, Alaska can boast the cheapest petro prices
in the nation. That would be expected as the 49’r produces more crude oil then
any of the other oil producing states located down in the lower 48. That is how
we refer to us versus them up here in the north - by the number game! First
honors for the cheapest on record reconstituted dinosaur flesh comes as a
relief. For years, it was just the opposite. It was pretty criminally ironic.
As the price of crude dropped to the rock bottom during the 90’s, so did fuel
prices, except up here in Alaska. We had a big pipeline that transported crude
oil from the rich oil fields found on the North Slope in Prudhoe Bay south to
one million barrel capacity tankers ready to take the “black gold” south. The
pipeline was right in our own backyards and ran all across the state. But we
paid high prices at the pump while everybody else enjoyed cheap energy. Nobody
up here could ever understand the theory behind the pricing, or gorging.
Research projects by loyal economists have time and time again proven that the
Alaskan oil added a comfort factor into the U.S. inventories. Thus, lower
gasoline prices. That was good for the rest of the country, but what about us?
Of course that comfort factor was dismantled when the Brits moved into Alaska
and swallowed up the assets of the once mighty and great SOHIO Oil Company. For
some 20 years, oil from Alaska was for America only. That was the law mandated
by Congress back in the early 70’s. It was the only way drilling was allowed
and oil production OK’d in Alaska. It was the only way a pipeline was so
granted permission to operate in the fragile environment of once pristine
wilderness. It was really Tricky Dick Nixon who was behind the export ban. As
president, he wasn’t about to sign a bill that allowed for development of
Alaskan oil if the stuff was then going to be sold to Japan. So what happened?
Well, since our representatives can make laws, they feel ill at ease to break
laws. Re-making of laws is like breaking laws isn’t it? British Petroleum - the
Brits - wanted the ban on exports lifted. They got their way. They own enough
American political clout to change just about anything to the Queen’s
advantage, especially influential clout over the hoodlums that control the
Alaskan scene. This foreign outfit continues to use their ace in the hole here
in Alaska. That ace relies on the threat that they will discontinue producing
Alaskan oil. Alaska would suffocate in debt if the spigot were closed. Up here,
we rely exclusively on oil revenues to fuel the operation of state government.
As far as lifting the export ban, it was a crazy move. The Brits own many of
the Alaskan oil leases, which means they produce about 50% of the 2-million
barrels a day that roars down the pipeline. With exporting allowed, the oil
could be hijacked away, by these foreigners for foreigners! Now there was then
and is today very little crude oil actually exported. But the threat remains.
Isn’t it really our oil to begin with? How can this madness hold us hostage?
But the successful efforts to change the export ban law wasn’t for initiating
the actual export of oil, it was the generation of the fear factor. With the
possibility that oil once destined to the west coast was about to be headed
elsewhere, this in turn allowed gasoline prices to rally. Now the actual
increase was miniscule, like two cents on the gallon. It wasn’t enough to
warrant scrutiny from the regulators. Oil companies are smart. They do their
homework upfront. They are not about to do something that sails the “red” flag.
To promote new ideas, they pay young graduates handsomely to come up with these
surprise attacks against humanity. In the end, these attacks attack the same
people who dream them up. Now when you have a company that is supplying enough
crude oil to regurgitate approximately 70 million gallons of gasoline a day,
the fear factor increase can bring increased profits. For this example where
the export ban came only as a threat, it amounted to an increase in profits of
well over one million dollars a day, 365 days a year! What is happening today
with the price of crude oil is anybodies guess. I once heard a respectable
economist insist that if this commodity went above forty-five dollars a barrel,
it would be just a matter of time before it strangled our economy. He insisted
on stringent cutbacks in usage should the price remain above this strangle
point. Look at the price of crude oil today, its disastrous. It is well beyond
the strangle point. So what can I do to remedy the situation? How about an
experiment into energy conservation! I work approximately ten miles from my
home. Now oil bucks have paved the way for many worthwhile projects here in
Alaska. Remember, it was a welfare state before oil and it is still a welfare
state with oil. Thanks to our representatives! As far as what oil bucks have
done for the welfare state of the north - we used to be called the “Last
Frontier” state - it has made inroads into the transportation infrastructure. One
particular and useful fork out of money dollars went to modernize the bike
paths that wind through almost the entire city boundary. In the winter, these
paved lanes are used for cross-country skiing. So in the summer - three months
out of the year - it is easy to get just about anywhere around town with pedal
power. Of course, this is an experiment with seasonal limitations. Even though
some die-hards outfit their bike tires with studs, braving the winterized
trails aboard an unsheltered cold metal frame is ludicrous. Anyway, with the
price of gas digging into my latte allowance - I have kids in college - I
decided to hit the bike trails as an experiment in thrifty economics. The trip
back and forth from work, a twenty-mile journey, cost about $2.00 with the
present day gasoline prices. Now discounting the time element, the bike ride
cost zero with respect to energy costs. So the experiment seemed successful in
pointing out that a bike could save resources. Wrong! Riding a bike that many
miles a day takes its toll. Now I am in pretty good shape. Running was my fancy
before the pedals. Even in the winter. That’s the best time, as nobody gets in
your way. Anyway, my metabolism had increased with the biking so I needed extra
intake. My caloric intake had actually tripled with the twenty mile per day
trip. Now energy prices affect just about everything, from bread to ice cream.
The results of the experiment went like this. City driving costs actually
amounted to $2.48 per day. Bike riding costs amounted to $2.00 for bread, $2.38
for cooling off drinks, $1.10 for fruit, and at least the basic cost of another
meal. So being green cost me. Sure I gained with respect to physical and mental
stamina. But if it costs more to conserve by using alternative energy, so it seems
that we are really held hostage by the Jurassic Park dinosaurs manipulated for
profit by Wally World wisemen. So Kermit, so much for being green!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
I
don’t know why anybody would get upset or out-raged over the minimum wage.
That’s the official hourly earnings our representatives believe they could
raise a family on, at the same time enjoying life, liberty and the pursuit of
happiness. In the past, maybe the complaining was justified. The Fed.’s have
set that wage at a whopping $5.15 per hour. Now if you are fortunate to be from
the Dole state, man you are living the life of O’Reilly at $2.65 per hour. Some
states don’t like Uncle Sam telling them how to mind their business. That would
mean about a hundred dollars a week take home. Now with the cost of a cell
phone plan at $49 dollars per month and the must have 2000 channel cable TV
box, another $49 dollars per month, that allows for a few dollars deficit for
at least one week in the month! But one can always find a day old peanut butter
sandwich at the local shelter. And oatmeal fills the tummy. But this wage
number that is foreign to most of us, it is a number that is about to take on a
meaning like it never had before. Soon it may be steering you right in the
face. Especially now that our puppet president is in a full court press to sock
it to us by stealing what we have already placed into social security. That
action is in efforts to pay for his war. Congress doesn’t want to pay for it.
That would mean trouble. It would curtail their spending habits for more
important things then securing democracy around the world. If kickback money in
the form of appropriations for job entitlements were slowed down, these guys
and gals would be unemployed. It is the only reason they get re-elected term
after term. They have created a seniority system that makes damn sure they keep
their seat. They prejudice the system, which is very un-constitutional. Do you
believe that your own son or daughter has a chance at securing a political
future? Think twice unless you know somebody. By the way, which party is really
the welfare party? Anyway, we should all get used to watching as our wages
approach the minimum wage. That decrease started about six years ago. It is all
part of the plan. Remember, while most of us are busy working to keep the
American spirit up, these guys are sitting around dreaming up catastrophic
atrocities that insight special interests. The pitch is to privatize social
security. In essence, instead of relying on Uncle Sam to provide for our needs
when our working hands are crippled and we on the way to the grave, we will
take care of ourselves. In order to do that, the time has come for us to
invest. Instead of a portion of my hard earned money going somewhere unknown, I
direct where it goes. Sounds good to me. So I start putting a portion of my
wages into some kind of market. Now at the beginning of this new age revival
towards retirement independence, my wages are well above the minimum wage. I
have a good job and feel comfortable that I am in control of my destiny, with
regards to the “nest egg”. After a year, my portfolio hasn’t really changed all
that much. I haven’t lost anything. But I must realize a gain! Extrapolation
into the future indicates that if it keeps up this way, it will mean peanut
butter sandwiches at the shelter. So I attend a board meeting of the outfit
responsible for managing my portfolio. The entire cast of clientele are upset
because our stocks show stagnated growth. From little old white haired grannies
to obese loud mouths, we demand action. Now considering that anywhere from 50
to 70% of business revenues are swallowed up by employee wages and benefits, we
demand that the companies that we have invested in trim back. Bottom line, it
means cutting somebody else’s wages and benefits. So what, I have a nest to
build. Our demands must have been met, as within six months, my portfolio is
blooming. We want more, so we demand more action from the board of directors.
After a few years, it catches up. All industries are some how or another tied
together. So the next thing you know, my wages are on the cutting block.
Management tells us that it is due to some off the wall reasoning. For all I
know, it is a different group of disgruntled investors, who invest in the
company that employs my skills. With that in mind, it is time to rethink my
strategy, as the portion that went into my retirement fund is also decreased
along with a decrease in my wage. Once again, retirement starts going down the
wrong track. It is a full time job keeping track of my own social security.
With the portfolio loosing its grip, we again demand the board of directors to
take action. Benefits are cut once again. I am beginning to not care about the
other guy whose benefits are hindering my growth. The portfolio gains momentum.
Then we are asked to take another pay cut. Of course by this stage in the game,
unions have been disbanded and we are not really asked to take a pay cut, it is
demanded upon us. We have no other option. We are all in it together! It is a
self-inflicted strangulation. It is lunacy. The greed factor will not allow
this thing to be equitable by any means or fashion that is American. Oh by the
way, all the time that millions of hard working middle class Americans are
battling this new age retirement scam, Congress will indeed give themselves
another raise. So as the minimum wage sits at some sad figure of five dollars
and change, a figure that most of us will be making in the near future if the
puppet’s strings don’t break, Congress will be pushing some eighty dollars per
hour. And they decided to keep social security for themselves, paid for by all
of us minimum wage puppets.
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
Everywhere
one looks somebody for some group is looking for a donation. What happened with
the handout scene anyway? When I was growing up, you could name - on one hand -
the reputable non-profits that solicited for the needy. There was the Salvation
Army, the Red Cross and a few other respectable assisting associations. And it
was a bother only during the holidays. Now though, there exists a mega-load of
these outfits that work for “their” selfish cause 365 days a year. It has
become a job as it has become a business. Are they really non-profit? Or is it
really a scam? Anyway, everybody likes to donate. But what is the true reason
behind donating? Is it really to help your fellow man in need? Or is it for
some other underlying factor, namely greed! Lets face it, individuals donate to
get rid of junk. Hey, if you no longer need it, it has to be junk. And
according to Webster, junk is defined as secondhand or worn articles. And then
we get to claim the junk’s magic value against our earned income. If it were
not for that standard deductions form that allows softening individual income
tax burden, donations would cease to exist and that junk would commence for a
trip curbside - to the dump. Rich people donate for the same reason, to loop
hole their worth. Big corporations are no different. Now here in Alaska, the
oil industry is always out and up front when it comes to the donating scene. It
is great publicity. It is cheap publicity. Hey, if someone held a nose-picking
contest for charity, big oil would be there to help. Why? Believe me, it is not
because they are generous with the stockholders booty. These big profit outfits
don’t do anything for free, not here in Alaska. You may think they do, but the
sad fact of the matter is they do it because they get back what they put out.
It follows the boomerang theory. In Alaska, the tax structure for oil revenues
allows about $500,000.00 to be deducted from the revenue gains. That’s a lot of
money. That kind of loot can support a lot of different programs and
benefactors. So when you hear big oil ringing the charity bell, realize that
they will never see their donations hurt the bottom line. On the subject of
individuals donating, the used clothes up for adoption scene is a world-wide
money making scam. There exists vigilante “for-profit” groups that camp out at
2nd hand-me-down stores to pick up massive amounts of used clothing
for pennies on the dollar, only to ship the goods to countries like Morocco. So
the next time you feel kind and drop off a bunch of worn but useable clothes so
you can run down to your local Gap to fill the closet gap, thinking all the
time that your donations are for a good cause, it is for a cause, but the
middle man will be inflating the true costs of charity. Somebody is making a
profit on your good deeds! I don’t know if this is democracy, maybe
capitalistic hypocrisy. Just heard there is a watermelon eating contest in Tok,
for charity! Again? A few years ago, a scam artist down in the lower 48 sold
some truck drivers on a too good to be true deal. It had to do with melons
garbled down for charity, at the annual Tok watermelon festival. These guys
ended up with a few truckloads of melons and directed their tractor-trailers
North to Alaska! Now if you ever had the opportunity to visit Tok, well just
what the hell does one do with hundreds of ripe getting ready to over-ripen
watermelons? This place is in the middle of the middle of nowhere. Needless to
say, some local kids enjoyed the charity. Free watermelons that is. The town
enjoyed the attention, which lasted about a millisecond. Don’t come back now,
ya hear! Capitalistic hypocrisy? Maybe grand larceny lunacy! Thieves thriving
on charity’s name - here, there and everywhere. Wanted for hire: A real Robin
Hood!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
I am
beginning to believe that oil development ruined the “Last Frontier” state. No
doubt everybody is in agreement that the construction of an 800-mile long
pipeline across wilderness did indeed change this place. There have been many
positive aspects of this adventure to explore and exploit. It kind of made the
state a little more mature. So are we now starting to see the whiplash? While
most of the nation indulges in the tabloid world of Michael Jackson’s trial -
especially with Giggling Greta on FOX - up here in Alaska, we have our own
ruined children atrocity. I don’t know if Michael received lessons from this guy
or vice versa! The complaints have some similarities. Michael Jackson is
wealthy. He has hired a team of crack defense lawyers. Good lawyers cost money.
Michael has lots of the green stuff. According to testimony, he attempted to
quiet folks by offering handsome amounts of cash and putting the victims and
their families in protective custody outside the U.S. When I say protective
custody, that is what the FBI is fond on using to protect informants, so the
Mafia can’t retaliate on snitches. It was basically an out of sight out of mind
mentality. It worked. These hoodlums, like Jackson, realize that. So they mimic
this successful “out of here” plan – along with the gold card. But I bet it was
his lawyers that thought up this kind of shenanigans. I used to like Michael’s
rhythm and blues. And remember, this is not a lawsuit that summons seven figure
punitive damages, this is criminal! It is us against them. Up here in Alaska,
there is a similar criminal trial going on. But up here, it is us verses them
and big industry. The case is against a guy and his girlfriend. This guy made
his claim to fame during the pipeline construction days. He started what turned
out to be one of the success stories behind entrepreneurship. During pipeline
construction days, hardware was in demand, so along came this guy. He started a
hardware store that quickly established a good clientele. Big oil came to him.
Big construction bosses came to him. Big everything came to him. He made
business friends and money real fast. But what did he do with his money? Well,
he made other types of friends. The party scene became his way of life. It
meant alcohol, drugs and bad drugs. He started taking advantage of little
girls, through the use of befriending tactics and drugs, bad drugs and more drugs.
His home became party central. I guess some say a flop-house for the unknowing.
He started using drugs himself. He is 61 years old now. His mate, who goes by
the name Bambi or Bimbo, she is 24 years old. So when this atrocity took place,
he claimed that it was manipulation - the innocent victim pleading. To date,
they have both admitted guilt to drug and child-sex trafficking. Considering
that they are guilty, the jerk-off’s lawyers are trying to disgrace the Bimbo
and make it look like she was behind it all and that the “kingpin” hardcore man
- I mean hardware man - was naively vulnerable due to his addiction to drugs
and little girls underwear. Bimbo doesn’t have a lot of money. So that is what
these $250.00 dollar an hour guys are up against. Preying on the weak. I
believe some attorneys are not human. How could somebody defend somebody that
has admitted guilt, especially in a child sex scandal case? But not to worry
for the old pervert. He still has a lucrative hardware business. With summer
upon us, I see all kinds of activity at his store’s colossal sized parking lot.
I stopped in the other day, to see what the mood was as the trial was coming to
an end. One counter guy talked to a customer and made mention that the “boss”
would be back. Now I am sure he wasn’t talking about Bruce Springstein here!
No, to the people who rely on this guy, he is probably like a king. I guess the
innocent little girls thought so to! And with a visit to the store, you see who
is clientele is - trucks advertise the hell out of their business! Big oil, big
construction companies. Contractors “porked” up with lucrative government
contracts. But why punish the fools that still work for this idiot. Gossip runs
rampart nowadays, I am sure many knew about his lifestyle, he got caught, he
wasn’t that good at hiding the truth. Hey, at least sell the business and
change the name. I get nauseated every time I go by this place. So as the music
industry money tries to set Michael Jackson free, I guess up here in roughed
Alaska, the hardware man’s business will work to set him free - the store has
plenty of files! But I hope not in this case, the evidence is just too
convincing - guilt admitted. And to the lawyers defending him, keep defending
him until he is broke and the business is bankrupt. Then spend some of that
money taking a class on ethics, maybe then you’ll get an understanding of
humanity and feel the pain of his victims - the ones you defended against in
efforts to set this bastard free. Even if you loose!
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
I was sitting down at an
outside table of one long established caffeine cafe in Anchorage. It was a
beautiful day, as had been the summer thus far in Alaska. The historic weather
pattern norm in Anchorage is for the most part dismal and overcast. But this
year saw record sunny days. Everybody was in a rejoicing mood. Then things
started happening to change that mood, as if the weather had failed at that
task. Events surfaced that insisted on casting a shadow over the horizon. First
off, Alaskan’s were still digesting the bad news about the local scout leaders,
four adults, who were electrocuted at a Boy Scout jamboree somewhere down in
the lower 48. They were giving a helping hand to a contractor erecting a giant
tent when an aluminum center pole hit a high voltage overhead line. Alaska may
be a big state, but loosing that many troop leaders can be devastating. As I
sipped away at my coffee, or tried too with some semblance of satisfaction, the
news of another loss had already hit the stands. Jay Hammond, the “Bush Rat”
governor had passed away in his sleep. He was a true American. He was a fighter
of the state’s constitutional rights - our rights! His surprise passage meant a
time extension for the flags at the half-mast declaration, already mourning the
loss of the Alaska scout leaders. The last time I saw the “Bush Rat”, he looked
aged. But he had most likely fulfilled his dreams of life. That may not be so
true with the scout leaders, they were still pretty young. As I sat thinking
about life, a shadow of a walking man temporarily postponed the sunshine, as if
in efforts to get my attention. I didn’t know the man personally, but had seen
him around this coffee joint for eons. He also looked aged, prematurely, as if
something was bothering his spirit to enjoy and extend life. What was also
headlining the morning news was the fact that the Iraqi conflict, or whatever
it is called today, was still hitting close to home. Some fourteen young
American marines had lost their lives while traveling along on patrol in an
amphibious craft. Little did I know that morning over coffee and sunshine was
the fact that the man in the shadow was mourning the loss of his own son, a
U.S. Marine - in that bad news story. It was hometown Anchorage’s first
casualty. And I didn’t know this until the next morning when the paper arrived.
The name of the soldier didn’t ring a bell. And without my glasses readily
available to aid my aging eyesight, I didn’t right off recognize the face of
the fallen soldier. But then there was an accompanying picture of a lady who
looked familiar. It was the soldier’s mom. I recognized her, from the coffee
shop. Then I zoomed in on the picture. Oh my God! Tears rescued the moment.
Then it clicked. This young Anchorage kid, her son and the son of the man in
the shadow, used to work at the coffee shop. I remember having many
conversations with him as he learned the economic responsibilities of a coffee
barista along with worksite teamwork. He seemed to be a leader rather then a
follower. He made my latte the way I liked, each and every time. Good tips were
deserving. He seemed a real good kid. He was always smiling and energetic enough
to strike up a conversation. In fact, one dreary early Saturday morning, we
just happened to meet up on the road, both riding bikes. I was off to work and
so was he, to the coffee shop. He opened the shop up early, fired up the
brewer, so I could get a warm-up before heading on to my destination. He didn’t
have to, but he was just that kind of individual - caring for his fellow man.
In a nutshell, he showed a respect because I respected his youth. And he always
seemed to help out behind the counter, as if he already had mastered the
teamwork challenge in life. I always thought that he was a candidate for
college, as he seemed the kind of kid that was a guaranteed success at any
endeavor. Come to find out, his dad was a doctor. His mom? Well her vehicle sports
a license plate that says it all, “ADVOK8”. This kid! Life gone but memories
forever as another tragedy of war. And now he is mourned. It has been a bad
summer! I had a dream. The sky was a Jimi Hendrix “hell fire red”. There was
confusion about the cabin of a now disabled amphibious craft. One brave soldier
knew it was the end but engaged the attention of his comrades. Instead of
fright, he showed his might. No one heard the blast, as the stage was his along
with an audience allowing undivided attention, all intent at learning the facts
of life. Everybody surrendered love of life with a smile. They had a commander
that day. A young guy from Anchorage. And with the radio blasting, I heard CSNY
yell out four dead in Ohio – how many more! Well today, it was 14 dead from
Ohio - how many more?
Copyright 2004/2005 MSK Media
THE END, for
now!