Tag Archives: lifestyle

Bonfire of the vanities

Hi Readers:

I’ve got this box of US Archives microfilm of all the US Army Civil War correspondence for the Department of New Mexico and Arizona staring at me.  Wasted a phone call to the  Arizona State Archives, talked to a clerk who’d have her boss get back to me if they wanted them.

Microfilm of Yankee Army Civil War correspondence

No joy.  I suppose I might yet find a university, or the NM or Texans might want them for their State Archives.  It’s got the California Volunteers activities, and the Union perspectives on what all those Texas troops were doing raising hell up the Rio Grande.  Nice description of how, when the last Texans had retreated to Fort Davis, left their wounded in the hospital there for the Union to treat when they arrived.

Apache got there between the exit of the Texans and the arrival of the Union troops.  Slaughtered them all in their beds, mutilated the corpses.

We’re talking good stuff here.  Somebody sure as hell ought to want it.

Maybe I can swing up by Ruidoso and blackmail the Mescalero with it.

Or maybe it’s time for all that stuff to go into the burn pile.

Old Jules

Getting back to the basics

Hi readers. Nice calm little world we’ve got here this morning. Nothing much happening anywhere now that the US government’s gone back to work.

Yesterday I was working on the Communist trailer door trying to get it to close despite having bolt-heads obstructing closure.  They were ramming up against a bumper-like surface between the hole the door fits into and the rest of the Universe. 

Dug out the angle grinder and plugged it in, thought about how an angle grinder could solve so many problems of the world.  Not much 20,000 rpms of abrasive wheel won’t fix when it starts making a nuisance of itself.

In fact, if you readers are like me you’re probably always looking for ways to rid yourself of some of those extra appendages on your body your DNA provided you with.  I’d suggest you look into getting yourself an angle grinder, take the guard off, and put an oversized wheel on it, then go to work on losing some of those ugly pounds you’re carrying around.

Nothing much on the human body that thing won’t go through quicker than the human mind can catch up to events.  And absolutely painless, briefly.  During the space of time between it happening and the mind registering the event there’s no sensation at all.

But I’ve digressed.  I was going to tell you about some ideas I had yesterday about how to get regular people back producing things in this country by reinstating the Homesteading laws of the late 1800s.  People who can’t find jobs, who’d consider subsistence farms an improvement over drawing government food stamps and out-of-work benefits.

But I’m going to have to save that for another time.

Old Jules

Love affair with demons

Hi readers.

I spent a lot of time on the phone with a guy I barely know last night.  He called me to talk about the chronic determination he has to kill this body he lives in.  Old guy, mutual friends with some friends of mine who are concerned about him, suggested we talk.

The guy lives in California, seems to occupy a situation so similar to my own it’s unsettling to me, hearing how unhappy he is with it, how much he thinks he hasn’t got that he wishes he had.  Me listening as he describes it, thinking, wow, that sounds cool.  Sheeze, I could stand some of THAT.

But I was lucky enough to have been where he is long enough ago so’s when he tells me about the abyss he’s looking into I know what he’s speaking of.  Even though it’s foreign country to me.

I know how I climbed out of it, probably even understand why I managed it.  And telling him doesn’t help him a bit so far as I can discern.  The only help I can be is listening to him, same as the friends who arranged for us to talk listen to him and can’t actually help.

I am what I’d call an expert on me being happy, damned good at the job.  But I do recall having a nest of demons living in my head, a self-sustaining fluctuating feed-on-itself hell that seemed to leave self-destruction as the only alternative that made sense.

Listening to the echo of that so long ago in my past from an old guy who lives so nearly to the way I live today skates along the edge of bizarre.  And as nearly as I can tell there’s not one thing I can tell him that will provide a means for him to escape.

Because I came away with the feeling he’s in love with that nest of demons or gives them more room to talk with him listening than he gives anyone else who’s talking to him, cares about him.  And they’re telling him the only escape is killing the body he lives in.

After we finished talking I was lying there scratching a cat behind the ears awed how he and I managed to get to opposite ends of the spectrum, how the Universe can manage having room for both of us.

Old Jules

Cargo trailers, self-imposed deadlines and season changes

cargo trailer2

Good morning readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

That cargo trailer’s being a Communist.  Not a Joseph Stalin, more on the order of, say, Fidel Castro.  But enough to force me to think up all the ways I’m grateful for having it, repeating them to myself.

That rear door, the first time I fixed it, decided to show me why it had a problem in the first place.  Explained to me that the bottom frame member and the bottoms of the two vertical side frame members were rotted badly.  Not rotted enough to make them easy to remove once the bottom piece fell off when I opened the door after the first fix.  Just rotten enough to justify another fix.

Been working on that, trying to do it without pulling the door off to make it easier because I figure getting it back on will be a bear if I do.  Lots of hours and needs to remind myself how grateful I am to have that trailer.

Meanwhile the earth reached the place on its circuit around Old Sol, started throwing rain at me.  I’m not one to ever complain about rain, but I do enjoy avoiding working with extension cords and power tools when I’m likely to fry myself.

I’m still thinking I’ll make my self-imposed deadline to get out of here before October takes a bow to the audience, but time’s squeezing up on me, conspiring to make it more a challenge than I figured on.

Old Jules

Reckon where we’d be today if they’d put this on the ballot in 1992

1992,the NBC News/WSJ poll asked whether voters would be willing to check a box on the ballot that would defeat everyone in Congress, including their own representatives. Sixty percent of those surveyed were willing to play 52-card pickup and start all over again with 535 new members of Congress.

Imagining a vibrant third party is a political fantasy that ranks right up there with a deadlocked national convention going to a ninth ballot. But two decades ago, there was the out-of-nowhere emergence of Ross Perot. Before Perot became known for his paranoid claims and his bizarre (and temporary) withdrawal during the 1992 Democratic Convention, he touched off an outsider populist movement with a centrist cut-the-national-debt ideology.

http://news.yahoo.com/why-republicans-should-be-very–very-afraid-192943188.html

Lessee, there’s all the banana wars, the series of gawdawful presidents and the families running US Congress probably wouldn’t have happened they way they did.  Then there’s NAFTA, millions of trainloads of Chinese toasters we’d have to do without, maybe.  Bank bailouts, auto industry bailouts, where does it all stop once you begin trying to digest it all?

Luckily it never made it onto the ballot. 

Might have, though, if anyone found a way past the people who control what goes on ballots.

All I can be certain of is that if it had been on the ballot I’d have voted.  Might even have kept voting in some of the others between then and now.  Saved me one hell of a lot of trouble, them not putting it on the ballot.

Old Jules

Post Ammunition Entrepreneurial Opportunities

Best for weddings, family reunions, picnics and hanging around ATMs.

Best for weddings, family reunions, picnics and hanging around ATMs.

So long as nobody else can get ammo get’em while they’re hot.

knives billboard

Ask about our brass knuckles, Ninja throw stars and billy clubs of all sizes.

Redesigning the flintlock pistol to take bic lighter flints and burn starter-fluid might be the way to get rich fast.  Something that fires steak knives at 500 feet per second, that sort of thing.

Get some American ingenuity and cottage industry going.  Trying to recall how the hell a man makes salt peter without having to boil chickenshit.  I seem to recall it’s a byproduct of evaporated seawater.  The last thing to come out after the sodium chloride is harvested off.

Open up a little Charcoal, Sulphur and Saltpeter-to-go joint out on the Interstate.  Maybe carry a sideline of water pistols loaded up with seawater from the Japanese coast.  Hell, that stuff will go right through bulletproof vests and cancel out several generations of offspring.

Old Jules

Greenpeace, Sierra Club et al discovering world-shaking environmental crises as far as possible from Japan

 

Sign the petition.

Sign the petition.

Had you noticed that?  The dead silence until they could figure out something badbadbad happening they could yell about and pretend to investigate where the Japanese radiation wouldn’t fry their grandkids?

I’d wondered where they were on all this north Pacific stuff, them not uttering a word.  But it turned out they were following their Geiger counters to the point of diminishing returns, finding something threatening the environment where it’s safe to find it.

Old Jules

Much ado about much ado

Fresh crisis ideas welcome.  No return on empties.

Fresh crisis ideas welcome. No return on empties.

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

I see over on Yahoo News I was made a monkey of by my own severely gullible nature, fretting about what the politicoists were pretending they were doing.  Suckered again.  Allowed myself to take them seriously.  Another Gulf of Tonkin, Cuban Missile, Berlin crisis with different stage props and settings.  Veterans in wheel chairs, war monuments, chunky beef-fed cops bullying, threats of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse riding in spreading plague and famine.

But oh gracious gollygee, deep sighs of relief.  Seems they got sudden new ability to come to the kind of agreement allowing them to play the same tune after the short attention spans of the public wander elsewhere.

But sheeze!  Gasoline prices are dropping, and we have a surplus of natural gas.  Price dropping on that, too.  They’ll need to devote their attentions to getting that out onto a marketplace where the prices can be jacked back up.  Buy some new fleets of government vehicles that burn more fuel.  The DEA, Homeland Security, Department of Agriculture, Department of Environment, you name it, employees need stretch limosines and a lot of travel to handle this crisis.

Lalalalalalalalala.  And the beat goes on.

Still nobody talking about invading Mexico, though.  And extending the Promised Land to the Panama Canal.  Making all those people Chosen People instead of [those that come north] illegal aliens.

Likely they’ll get around to it when something’s good on television or India and China get into a world-threatening argument about Tibet.  Or they manage to sell some nuclear weapons to Iran and claim it was North Korea done it.

They use Hollywood playwrites and celebrity promoters to figure this stuff out, I figures.

Old Jules

Buffalo soldiers, banana wars and budget fights

Buffalo soldeirs

We white people have had a fairly rough time of it.  Black buffalo soldiers running around all over the west whupping our Indians and taking their land away from them.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buffalo_soldier

No sooner finished beating the last of the tribes onto their own land on reservations than those buffalo soldiers were off getting us into the Banana Wars.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banana_Wars

Hell, a century ago they were down in Honduras and Nicaragua rampaging around protecting the interests of the American Fruit Company.  Yeah, no oil, no heroine.  Bananas.  Fruit.

General Smedley Butler was in command, and here’s what he had to say about those buffalo soldiers and what they did:

Perhaps the single most active military officer in the Banana Wars was U.S. Marine CorpsMajor General, Smedley Butler, who saw action in Honduras in 1903, served in Nicaragua enforcing American policy from 1909–1912, was awarded the Medal of Honor for his role in Veracruz in 1914, and a second Medal of Honor for bravery while “crush(ing) the Caco resistance” in Haiti in 1915. In 1935, Butler wrote in his famous book War Is a Racket:

“I spent 33 years and four months in active military service and during that period I spent most of my time as a high class muscle man for Big Business, for Wall Street and the bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism. I helped make Mexico and especially Tampico safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefit of Wall Street. I helped purify Nicaragua for the International Banking House of Brown Brothers in 1902-1912. I brought light to the Dominican Republic for the American sugar interests in 1916. I helped make Honduras right for the American fruit companies in 1903. In China in 1927 I helped see to it that Standard Oil went on its way unmolested. Looking back on it, I might have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banana_Wars

Like General Smedley Butler, most of us white people feel pretty badly about what those Buffalo Soldiers did to our Indians and those Mexicans in Mexico, Honduras and Nicaragua.  But now even though it’s Iraq and Afghanistan, it’s still going on a century later.

Doesn’t be anything we white people can do to stop it.  They’re taking over.  Can’t even get a budget passed in Congress because of what the Banana wars are costing.

About all that’s left for us white people to say is, “Thank you for your service.

Old Jules

Pore old Columbus

goat2

Think about it. The guy got laughed all over Europe trying to sell an idea.  Didn’t mean any harm, just wanted to find a short way to Asia.  Finally got old Isabella to take him seriously enough to finance a looksee, found what he wasn’t looking for.

So what does he get for a reward?  Hell.  They name WASHINGTON freaking DC after him.  Sheeze.  Everyone in town snorting COLUMBIAN.  Not enough?  Columbia, South Carolina.  Home of Fort Jackson, armpit of the world [where I went through basic training in 1961].

Columbus, Texas, Columbus, Ohio, Columbus, Georgia, sheeze, haven’t we done enough to the guy?

Gets the blame for what all those black buffalo soldiers in the US Army did to the poor Comanche and Apache. 

Think about it.  Poor stupid dork went home and got criticized something awful for the place not being Asia.  As though he put the damned place there. 

Then all that stuff you wouldn’t think even his admirers would wish on their worst enemies.  Naming pestholes and rat nests after him.

Then along comes the late 20th and early 21st Century and all the forces of political correctness and ancestral blame focus on him once a year.  Throw rotten eggs at him.  Dis him.  Call him ugly names and say he was responsible for genocide.  [Well, maybe he was, a little, during that last trip.  But by the standards of the time it was okay.  Hell, even today it’s okay if done by the right people to the right people.]

He just wasn’t that bad a guy.  Just wrong place at the right time.  Couldn’t be helped, more or less.  And he did bring syphilis back to Europe.  That ought to count for something.

Why not cut him some slack.  Roll up a $100 bill and snort a line of  Columbian.  Then whisper, “Thanks Chris.”

Old Jules

http://youtu.be/yhx6lXm_jy0