These colors STOP in the middle of grocery aisles to talk on the cell phone.
These colors use the REMOTE to change channels.
These colors WALK to the refrigerator.
Hi readers. I saw a fresh new bumper sticker in the grocery store parking lot lately. Seemed to me it was okay, as far as it went. But a person needs more bumper stickers to cover the subject, or a bigger one.
Old Jules
Posted in 2013
Tagged culture, Education, environment, Human Behavior, lifestyle, miscellaneous, musings, politics, Reflections
Human brain Fido
Inside his chainlink fence
Joins full moon sky concert
With Rufus and Poochie
Down the block
On their chains;
Cock their ears
And wonder, wonder
Why the faint coyote calls
Why a whiff of rotten elk meat
In the garbage
Drives them wild
Old Jules
I wrote this after a weekend spent with a once-lady-friend who spent her career as a high school librarian on the Navajo and Zuni Reservations.
Cataclysmic Doggerel
A schoolmarmish lady in Zuni
Had canines subversive and loony;
Her Communist felines
Made neighborhood beelines
With doctrines both outworn and puny.
The KGB cat was a lean
And speckled-nosed beauty serene
In appearance alone
For her countenance shown
Multi-faceted plots as she preened.
Her Weathercat history was tops:
She sprayed on dozens of cops
With a Commie aroma
But joined Sertoma
Cavorting with phonies and fops.
The ringleader hound was a red
And curly haired rascal it’s said
Whose Trotskyish leanings
And Maoish gleanings
Were pondered curled up on the bed.
Princess Redfeather, they tells
Of this curly red bitch of the cells,
Forsook her fine lineage
To sip of the vintage
of Lenin, and Gulags and hells.
The worst of the felines, Bearboy:
Striped and cross-eyed and coy;
Politically weak,
Had claws that could tweak
Bourgeois carpet, and bedspread, with joy.
The Uncle-Tom dog of the hut
Was Ernie, the gray-bearded mutt;
Dog-tired, and dogmatic,
He thought,”Problematic:
dog-eared dialectic and glut.”
The Uncle-Tom dog she called Ernie
Began as a dog-pound attorney
Commuted from gassing
He pondered in passing
Discretion’s demand for a journey.
A calico hound lying dormant,
Most likely a police informant:
A capitalist clown
Took his food lying down
Resisting the commie allurement.
The Stalinish kittenish spies
Spread foment and torment and lies
To Indian curs
And mutts that were hers
And War-Gods high up on the rise.
Princess and Ernie and, Spot,
And Chester, the narc-dog; the lot:
For half a piaster
Would bring a disaster
To Zuni, once called Camelot
Old Jules
Posted in 2000's, Native American, Native Americans, New Mexico, NM, Poetry, Politics
Tagged animals, canines, cats, Communism, doggerel, dogs, felines, humor, native american, poems, poetry, politics, Zuni
Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
Back before 9/11 the airline flights over the US almost always had a few terrorists aboard. You’d see them hanging around DFW or Atlanta, or LAX wandering around the boarding areas looking hopefully at the other passengers. A couple of typical Turks, or Iranians, or Arabs, or Israelis, or Northern Irishmen. Just wandering around watching people in hopes some of their fellow passengers would be worth killing, or even getting themselves into trouble, wasting a bomb on.
Aside from an occasional hijacking they mostly never did anything. Fact was, the people sharing their flights were just a bunch of bureaucrats, bleating women, corporate zombies, and people going somewhere to meet people of the opposite sex they’d become acquainted with on the Internet. Just typical Americans. Worthless as hell, and certainly not worth the life of a highly trained terrorist.
But when 9/11 came along it made all those non-terrorist passengers feel a lot better about themselves. Nothing changed with the terrorists, but the typical Americans were generally elevated by the whole thing. Suddenly it seemed to them that someone thought they were worth killing.
Turned out it was such an uplifting experience for them the government decided they liked having all the spinoff benefits …. trotted out a lot of airport security, Homeland Security, 87 new layers of cops and surveillance, and legions of new guys wearing berets carrying machine guns to go off places terrorists came from and blow away anyone who might think Americans were worth killing.
Worked out fairly well, all in all. Win-win-win. Only downside is that so many of the Americans who use to be not be worth killing decided it might be better not to get on airplanes if they could avoid it. Those people over there where terrorists come from might begin to be pissed off, eventually. Might start killing some people who aren’t over in those countries they come from and aren’t just wearing berets, battle dress uniforms, and dropping grenades into the market places full of women and kids.
Going back to not being worth killing might be nice. But you can’t get there from here, I reckons.
Old Jules
Posted in 2013, America, Current Issues, Government, Human Behavior, Military, Police, Politics, US Army
Tagged culture, Events, government, History, Human Behavior, humor, Life, lifestyle, politics, psychology, society, sociology, terrorism, terrorists
Hi readers. Thanks for coming by.
Fairly weird. I was websearching for Mike Czosnek, a guy I used to do some Lost Adams Diggings searching with, and came across something that rocked me back on my heels.
New Mexico Floodplain Managers Association http://www.nmfma.org/content.aspx?page_id=0&club_id=920799
An egg I laid, nurtured, hatched, and promptly forgot as soon as my career ended in 1999.
When I assumed the job of State Floodplain Manager for the State of New Mexico in 1992 the state had a law on the books to allow localities to adopt ordinances regulating building in designated floodplain areas, and for the residents of those to buy federally sponsored flood insurance to cover their damages when the creek did what it would inevitably do.
Someone had screwed up when the law was passed and left in language that could be construed [by me] requiring that the locally designated floodplain managers be trained and registered or licensed by the State Floodplain Manager or Administrator. All that happened 15 years before my arrival, and had lain dormant and unnoticed. Nobody in New Mexico had a clue what they’d agreed to, what they were supposed to be doing.
The reason I was hired for the job was that FEMA was losing patience. I was mandated by my grant to audit the local programs, report to FEMA what they weren’t doing according to their federal agreement, and hassle them to death until they did it.
Lousy, lousy, lousy job I had for a while travelling around the state being ignored and tolerated barely. Then I happened to study the statute and came up with the idea. Started hassling the hell out of local governments about not having registered or licensed [by me] floodplain managers whom I could lay some heavy crap on if they didn’t do their jobs.
“How do they become licensed?”
“They have to go through training. Take a test. I do the training at the [non-existent Floodplain Managers Association meetings. Your people will have to join.”
The cage took a lot of rattling, but 1993, 1994, I put together an organizational meeting in Las Vegas, New Mexico. Almost every participating community in New Mexico was represented. Did some rudimentary training, had them adopt a constitution and by-laws, create officers [of which I refused to be one].
NM Floodplain Managers Association made my life a lot easier, reduced the amount of heckling and hassling I had to take from FEMA. And became my primary training tool for the local communities. Gradually got them training one another.
And my old buddy Mike Czosnek is still out there, treasurer of the damned thing. Might have to stop in and see him when I get out that way.
Old Jules
Posted in 1990's, America, Emergency Preparedness, Government, New Mexico, NM
Tagged culture, Education, FEMA, floodplain management, government, History, Human Behavior, Life, New Mexico, NM floodplain managers, philosophy, politics, psychology, society, sociology
Hi readers. Thanks for coming by.
I’ve noticed a few scattered concerns on the WEB by people who think the 21st Century militarization of civilian police forces is a bad thing. Seems to me those complainers aren’t looking at the bigger picture.
Time was when a person with a mean streak, or just a desire to kill someone didn’t have many options. He could sneak around and do it and maybe get by with it a while, or he could get drunk and do it, and go to the slammer. Or he could unhealthily suppress it and go around frustrated and unhappy.
But nowadays there are plenty of outlets for a person with those needs. Sure, he might spend years becoming a SEAL, a Marine Sniper, or a Green Beret. But those are really too large and too institutionalized for the local badass who just wants to blow the face off someone without being criticized for doing it. Municipal, County, or State Police SWAT teams offer a lot easier outlet. Plus, they’re clubs where all the members have the same goals and can be depended upon to protect one another by keeping their mouths shut if it’s needed.
For instance, there used to be a cop in Socorro, New Mexico, who was involved in a couple of extremely questionable shootings. Residents and city officials had all witnessed, or heard about his blusterings, his posturings, his suspected desire to use that firearm as frequently as possible. After the second shooting incident he was quietly encouraged to find greener pastures elsewhere.
So he applied for, and was accepted to the Albuquerque Police. Trained for the SWAT team. Wasn’t long before he got to put a bullet into a suspect and got a lot of praise for doing it. Short while later they were raiding a drug house and an 80 year old neighbor saw what was going on, thought it was a gang. Ran out of his house with a flashlight, yelling, and the Ex-Socorro cop stopped him in his tracks. Turned out the raid was conducted at the wrong address, but the 80 year old was found ex post facto to should have minded his own business.
A year or two later someone was holding a baby over a freeway overpass threatening to drop it into the traffic below. Ex-Socorro cop plugged him so’s the baby only dropped on the overpass. Hero again.
I heard over the years he got to kill a number of other people who got downrange of the Albuquerque SWAT team, as well. Managed to make what would otherwise probably just been a lifetime spent in prison, or sneaking around murdering people, into a healthy, productive life.
People who criticize militarized police forces aren’t considering the needs of the SWAT teamers and the healthy way they’ve dovetailed themselves into the greater good of society.
Old Jules
Posted in 2000's, America, Government, Human Behavior, New Mexico, NM, Police
Tagged culture, Events, Human Behavior, humor, law and order, Law Enforcement, Life, lifestyle, New Mexico, Police, psychology, society, sociology, SWAT teams, tactical squads
Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.
The last post about creeping cowardice was going to have some of this as a part of it, but became too lengthy so I saved it with the thought I’ve got a while to live yet and might still work it in somewhere.
I believe one of the ways a person might attain valid perspectives about himself and his life events is through hindsight. Might be the only way. If a person can look back and seriously say to himself, “I should have done it,” probably he should have done it.
I can’t say that about those two mine shafts because I know even now I’d have done them if I could, and I recognize for whatever reason, I couldn’t. No ‘should have done it’ hidden in there.
But around 2002, 2003, there’s a should have done it I still occasionally experience a flash of regret about. Just until my insistence about not to regret anything in my life kicks in to trump it.
There’s an airstrip, or was an airstrip parallel to the old highway running between Belen, Los Lunas, and Isleta Pueblo I used to always swing into when I was in the area. A number of old airplanes to walk around and look at, wonder about, kick the tires of. The airstrip was gradually becoming inactive.
But at one end there was an old Cessna 140 tied down. I’d always go over and walk around, check it out. Sometimes sit inside it. Watch the tires gradually lose their air and grass get taller around it.
I asked the guys running a motorcycle shop that used to be an airplane related business about it. The 140 belonged to a man who lived in the neighborhood adjacent to the air park. He’d been experiencing advancing dementia … quit flying the plane a couple of years back. One of them heard he was in a nursing home, and that his wife had died. The house and plane were in an ambiguous ownership state as a result of complicated family matters.
When I heard that I began to realize that old plane needed to be taken around the patch a few times before it rotted to the ground. Or before it found its way into Trade-A-Plane and got sold to someone in Alabama to fly off or be hauled off.
I did a lot of planning about that plane. The battery was going to be dead, and maybe the fuel would have gone bad, but probably not. Avgas tends to last a long time in a tied down airplane. But there’s probably water condensed inside the tank if it wasn’t left full. Water under the gas that would be drained off before the engine started.
I borrowed an air bottle and brought the tire pressure up on one of the trips, checked the oil, got inside and tested the controls. Everything hunky dory. Just needed to draw the water off the fuel tanks. Fuel guages showed one full, one 3/4 tank. The 3/4 tank would be the one most likely to have water in the fuel tank.
I never made a conscious decision not to take that old bird around the patch, do a few touch and goes. My bud in Belen, Deano, died and other matters kept me from going into that area without a special trip. I suppose it just slipped my mind.
Which didn’t keep it from creeping back into my consciousness for years afterward, including now. I can tell you today, I should have done it. The way I know I should have is that I can’t think of a single reason why I shouldn’t have.
I’d be remembering that as my last pilot in command this lifetime, if I’d done it. And instead of a sense of loss when it sneaks into my head, I’d be remembering those touch and goes in a Cessna 140.
Old Jules
Posted in 2000's, Adventure, New Mexico, NM, Senior Citizens, Transportation
Tagged airplanes, aviation, Cessna 140, culture, History, Human Behavior, humor, Life, lifestyle, musings, New Mexico, personal, philosophy, senior citizens, society, sociology
Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.
I’ve been noticing something in myself over the years that I suspect is fairly widespread, but doesn’t get discussed much. I have an idea it’s a sensitive subject with older men. I first noticed it in myself with an unexpected, irrational difficulty breathing and something akin to panic in situations I wouldn’t have been bothered by in the past.
I’ve done a little spelunking, gone into more abandoned mines than I could count and always got a thrill, a surge of enjoyment doing it. But late in the 1990s Mel and I were looking over a couple of mine shafts from the 1800s, one at the ruins of Golden, New Mexico and another near Magdalena. The first was the vertical shaft at Golden.
We carried all the right equipment up there, went prepared to go down the shaft 100 feet without any particular risk. Mel was troubled by claustrophobia he’d acquired going into some tunnels in Vietnam, so I was elected to go down that shaft to collect some samples.
But as I lowered myself down that shaft I hadn’t descended thirty feet before all I wanted was to get the hell out of there. I couldn’t breathe. The prospect of going deeper into that hole quickly became a non-option. I stayed on a ledge of rock trying to calm myself and get control enough to go deeper, but after a while it was obvious this was no longer a pleasure trip.
Mel taunted and heckled me about it the entire remainder of the jaunt, and I thought about it constantly, trying to understand what had happened. Completely unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
There’s another vertical shaft near Magdalena we’d both fallen in love with and I definitely was determined to go down it. I was sure I’d be able to if I worked and thought about what had happened at Golden enough. But a couple of months later the attempt resulted in an identical failure.
It was easy not to think about it during the years afterward, and I didn’t. But a while back I found I experienced something too similar to be much different when I was working on the Toyota RV, crawling around under it. Same thing, near panic, difficulty breathing, an irrational need just to get the hell out from under there.
I’ve talked about this with some other old guys lately and have been surprised by their admissions they’ve experienced exactly the same thing, mainly in tight spaces. When I described it they knew exactly what I was talking about, and they’d also never experienced anything akin to it when they were younger.
I don’t know what’s going on with all this, but seems to me if anyone has any guts anymore it ought to be old men. This doesn’t bode well at all.
Old Jules
Posted in Adventure
Tagged environment, Human Behavior, humor, Life, lifestyle, Nature, philosophy, psychology, senior citizens, survival
Thanks for coming by for a read, readers.
I was talking to an old guy in town the other day about how lucky the US is to have good, strong allies in this dangerous world.
Him: Not many countries have been that lucky. A lot of them hardly have any allies at all.
Me: Good point. Korea’s a good example. If we didn’t have Korea for an ally there’s no telling what would have happened to Japan. North Korea always threatening to nuke Japan, and all.
Him: That’s right. We have to keep a lot of troops over there to keep the North Koreans from invading our ally, South Korea, and nuking Japan. Old Dugout Doug MacArthur had it right when he said, “Korea’s a dagger pointed at the heart of Japan.”
Me: Yeah. Costs a lot, but it’s worth it to protect a good ally. Too bad Japan and Korea don’t have more friends and allies, though. They’re rich as hell and if some other country could help protect them we could bring some of our troops home.
Him: No way we can do that though. We’d no sooner pull our troops out than someone would be going after Japan.
Me: Well, I suppose it might not be so tempting before too long. A nuke from North Korea won’t add much to what’s already there the way things are going. And invading a country wouldn’t be much fun if the invading troops have to wear radiation suits to keep from being poisoned by radiation.
Him: They are good allies though. Korea and Japan, both. I’d hate to see us have to get by without having them for allies. They’ve done a lot for us. Korea and Japan both.
Me: I’m glad too. It’s a scary world out there. Without good allies like Korea and Japan things would be a lot scarier. But we’re lucky we don’t have more. I don’t think we could afford it.
Old Jules
Tagged allies, culture, Defense, economy, History, Human Behavior, Japan, Korea, military, national defense, politics, psychology, society, sociology
Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.
This pre-dawn Old Sol laid it on fairly thickly.
Old Sol: With this procedure I’ll be going through I need some quiet time. I don’t need any unexpected emotional upheavals nor any drama to add to the stress. I’m depending on my Chosen People to keep things settled down. You don’t have anything in the works to rattle things do you?
Me: I don’t think so. The Japanese seem to have the Pacific Ocean fairly well taken care of so you won’t have to concern yourself with it much longer. I suppose Israel might nuke someone and get itself wiped off the map, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise. They’ve been working on that fifty years.
Old Sol: I swear! Things were calm in the Middle East for almost a thousand years. Then you people and the British had to play God. Moved those people back there and I haven’t heard about anything but trouble there for half a century.
Me: Just trying to do what was right.
Old Sol: What was right? If I wanted those people living there making trouble I’d never have allowed the Romans to run them off. If you wanted to give them a homeland why there, where they were sure to make trouble? Why not Puerto Rico? You OWNED that. Water on all sides. Nobody to piss off except the people already there.
Me: They didn’t want Puerto Rico. They thought you wanted them where they used to be.
Old Sol: Why would they think that? I haven’t even hinted they’re Chosen People since a long time before the Romans ran them out. If they want to be Chosen People they need to be in the US or a US territory. Give them Puerto Rico. They’ll be part of the Chosen People again. Part of the United States. And the only borders they can violate will be salt water. End of problem.
Me: But what about the Puerto Ricans? They think they already own the place.
Old Sol: Send them to Texas. Put them to work in all those new oil fields I just gave you. No trouble. Those Zionists will have a homeland and get to be part of the Chosen People again, and the Puerto Ricans will have jobs. Besides, I always intended Texas to be mostly for Mexicans. Puerto Ricans are mostly Mexicans.
Me: I’ll pass this on, but nobody’s going to like it.
Old Jules
Posted in 2013, America, Astronomy, Current Issues, History
Tagged chosen people, culture, Education, History, Human Behavior, humor, Israel, Life, lifestyle, politics, society, sociology, Spirituality
74 years old, a resident of Leavenworth, KS, in an apartment located on the VA campus. Partnered with a black shorthaired cat named Mister Midnight. (1943-2020)
Since April, 2020, this blog is maintained by Jeanne Kasten (See "About" page for further information).
https://sofarfromheaven.com/2020/04/21/au-revoir-old-jules-jack-purcell/
So Far From Heaven 