Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Getting It A Bit Harder Than Expected

When Punk is outlawed, only outlaws will be punks.
Three members of the Russian punk rock band Pussy Riot pleaded not guilty Monday to charges of hooliganism after performing a song criticizing President Vladimir Putin in a Moscow church, Russia's state news agency reported.

The charge, which carries a potential seven-year sentence, stems from an unusual performance they gave in February.

"Mother Mary please drive Putin away," the band screamed, their faces covered in neon masks, inside Moscow's Christ Savior Cathedral.

The anonymous, feminist protest band called it a punk prayer.
Putin is letting all of Russia know that he don't play games while creating political martyrs out of a few crazy chicks who don't appear to be all that threatening.

Seven years is a long time to spend in prison for a song criticizing the president of a supposedly democratic state while pissing on Russian society's most enduring institution.

In their favor: World-wide artistic cred. Nothing says 'talking back to the man' quite like risking prison over it.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Anaheim, What's Going On

Anaheim has been in the national news this past week. I'm sure you are all aware of it.

In short, Anaheim cops shot a man to death last Saturday, and capped another one on Sunday.
This has the Mexicans all pissed off...

The first shooting is a tad more suspect than the second, with 'witnesses' claiming an execution style slaying of an innocent non-gang member.
I find it hard to believe that a cop would be stupid enough to try to pull off a shooting of that nature in a public street, where witnesses abound, but... if it did, then the cop needs to be taken down.
No doubt about that to me.
But, to clarify, if the cops have him on record as a gang member, he probably was in act, if not in fact.

Anahiem authorities cast a wide net, so to speak, in terms of who is a gang member and who is not.
Harassment of gangs members, gang-looking kids, and gang infested neighborhoods is part of the strategy of policing... keep them off-balance if possible, make arrests when you can. (from personal experience, I know this)
Almost always, the subjects are Mexicans, half-Mexicans, and/or wannabe Mexicans.
Why is this?
Why do you think?

It works like this:
Brown skin, shaved head, goatee, wearing a wife beater shirt with khaki pants... the cops will harass you, every time, on sight,... no matter what yer doing.
Brown skin, normal haircut, wearing a surfing-logo t-shirt, shorts and flip flops... the cops will never even see you.
Yet, the cops are charged with picking on anybody with brown skin.
No, just the ones who 'Act Brown'.
(Acting/being Brown is a thing here in SoCal among a certain underclass, akin to Acting Black among another American under class. You know it:  unless you are a loser, you are not legit...)

On the street: unless you have been 'jumped in' (look it up), you are not a member of the gang.
In real life policing: if you hang out with the homies, dress like the homies, do what the homies do, and all yer bestest buddies are homies....
you are...
 for the purposes of policing,...
a gang member.
This makes total sense to any thinking member of the law abiding community that is fed up with having their cars broken into, streets trashed, walls spray painted, their shit stolen.
Unfortunately for Anaheim, 'thinking' and 'Mexican' do not always go together within a certain ethnic subculture...

Anaheim used to be a predominately white, middle-working class town. A culturally diverse place that was not without it's issues, but was able to avoid some of the trashier and corrupt elements of nearby crime-ridden *Santa Ana.
It was a nice place to live and grow up in. All this started changing in the late 80's, early 90's.
When I moved to Anaheim in 1998, I was shocked to see my mailbox full of Spanish language advertising and junk mail.
I was still under the impression of five years previous that Anaheim was a cool, all-American place to live and raise a family.
A co-worker, born and raise in Anaheim, just laughed at me. (Where you been the last few years? LOLOLOLOL)

My kids went to a grade school where fully 1/2 of their assigned class was non-English proficient... and that was the bestest, most English-proficient class room available for them. No exaggeration... no bullshit.

One teacher, a hard-working woman who I got to know well, had a class split into three parts: About 1/2 she could speak to/teach in English... another say... slightly less than a 1/3... was about 50-50. The rest, about 20%, were full on, Spanish only speakers.
This was one classroom, of about 30 kids.
It was also the most "English" classroom available for my kids... in the whole school.
You've got to believe me on this one.
I am NOT pulling bullshit on you.
These are the schools that I was required to enroll my children in.
No lie, here.

To make it worse: every kid enrolling in an Anaheim school had to have a fresh/current TB test. My kids were already subjected to TB testing, (it involves injections...) (standard with original... i.e. kindergarten, enrollment in any California school) but why did they need it again?
Because there are so many illegals crossing the border, and so many of these kids are infected with TB...
We need to check and have them treated before they infect the rest of us...
This was explained, mind you, by a young clerk at the school who spoke with a Spanish accent.
Alright? I am not making this shit up.
Even the Mexicans understood that there was a Mexican problem...
that the federal government (Clinton and Bush, now Obama, and soon maybe Romney) did nothing about.

You wanna pour out your love on the illegals for whatever political reason you have, just know that there are real Americans who struggle daily with their presence, for no fault of their own.

Anaheim has had a Mexican problem, for years now, and it's only getting worse...
And I specifically call out Mexicans and not 'Latinos' here because these problems are not being generated by an excess population of Argentines and Costa Ricans.

Were it not for Mexicans, the crime rate of Anaheim would be cut by 90%. I say this, openly and honestly.
It is what it is.
And I'm being generous with this number...
Mexicans, in large concentrations, bring problems.
I accept this despite the fact that...
Throughout my life, my best friends have always been Mexicans (exception being that one Black guy facebook followers may be aware of...) who lived lives no different in style or substance from any ordinary, day to day American.
Most Mexicans are this way.
Yet, there is a lower-class sub-culture that comes from the other side of the border that cannot be filtered out with an open border, avert your eyes, see-no-evil immigration policy.
90%, and it's all brown.
Facts are what they are.

As is stands now, Anaheim is under real assault from some ethnic grievance groups (guess what nationality they are???).
I've seen this pattern of lawsuits before...
It's not about good governance at all.
It's about ethnic power brokers building a fiefdom.

These past several days of riots were the result of outside forces attempting a political maneuver... trying to build a case (and a situation) to bring before the court that Anaheim's Mexicans (who are largely illegal to begin with) are not being properly represented... spurring a left-wing judge to justify carving the city up into districts to ensure that the proper amount of the 'right kind' of Mexicans are elected to office.

Where ethnic politics thrives, there has always been corruption to the highest levels (thank you, Irish, for introducing this concept and corruption to America... FuckYouAll.)

If not stopped, Anaheim will become the next Santa Ana.
That will suck.

*Santa Ana is something like 90% Mexican, and getting more so by the day as the respectable people continue to flee... ridden with crime and corruption... often referred to as 'Stabba Ana' due it murder rate... has the lowest property values in Orange County... very few kids graduate from it's high schools (because the chicas get pregnant at 15, and the chicos are in jail by 16)... ethnic politics plays a large part in it's governance... it is seen as a province of Mexico by outsiders, and acts accordingly waaay too often.... Nothing that I've said here is an exaggeration. The place sucks. Santa Ana, for all purposes, is the 'South Central' of Orange County... and not because too many White people live there.

Saturday, July 28, 2012

OK, I all but promised you all a post concerning the troubles of Anaheim... and it's in the works...
Bear with...
within 24 hours it will be here in all of it's politically incorrect, racially insensitive glory...
because I love that town...
my home town...
and only honesty will save it.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

OK, it's almost Friday...

...and I'll have a post concerning Anaheim real soon.
I love that place.

Monday, July 23, 2012

Better Than A Party Bounce

<<< This is the world's tallest water slide. 135 feet, nearly straight down.
It's in Brazil, and called 'Insano' for a reason...

I was thinking maybe we could have something like this at the very first annual Grumpy Old Men meet up.

I nominate the brave and fearless King David to take the first fall, as sort of a Crash Test Dummy for the rest of us.
I'm sure he'd do it if we place a tray of bacon-wrapped kielbasa at the bottom.

Sunday, July 22, 2012


Ben (a botanist) and Chon (former Special Forces/Mercenary), played by Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Taylor Kitsch,  are two best friends from high school who start their own marijuana growing/marketing business in 90s-era Laguna Beach, California.
They are making millions through their grow and distribution network until a Mexican cartel arrives with offer they cannot refuse...
Which they do.
This does not go over well.

So... we got this flower-sniffing hippie teamed up with a professional warrior taking on the most brutal of Mexican cartels for the  privalege of being independent and real...
While the two share the same girlfriend in every sense you can imagine.
This girlfriend (Blake Lively) narrates/voice overs the movie.

The girlfriend, "O" as she is known, sums up the two this way:
"Ben's philosophy is 'Don't fuck with anyone.'...  Chon's philosophy is 'Don't fuck with Ben'..."
Ben is idealistic,  Chon is the muscle,.. and they are dedicated to each other...
And to O.
Yes, this does get interesting...

Oliver Stone directs this one, starring a few names that matter though they should not: Benicio Del Toro and that chica from Desparado....  um... yeah, Salma Hayak.  Or is it Selma? Whatever... That's her. I was less than impressed with both stars, as well as the third name, John Travolta.
The problem is that their performances are not believable:
Instead of seeing see the Cartel Boss, the Enforcer, or the DEA Agent, the viewer gets to see Benicio, Salma and John overly dressed for these parts.
Give me a break. You're supposed to be 'the stars'. If all you're gonna do is mail it in, at least use sufficient postage.

It's the story that saves this endeavor. Lot's of action, violence, brutality, some sex... it's fairly intense. I liked it.
Go ahead and see it.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Debit Card Hell

It'll get us all in the end.

Like most of you(I'm assuming), I've come to rely upon the simplicity and ease of the bank debit card.
I use it all the time, and haven't ordered a box of checks in nearly four years... and I still have 1/2 of those left over.
Never thought I'd see the day when a box of 200 checks would last longer than the new home I had just bought... but whatever...

With online banking (and I was slow to adapt to it) and debit cards, access to money is just too easy anymore.
So easy, one can take it for granted.

Last week, on the way home from work with a gas tank nearly near 'E', I pulled off at my usual for a fill up.
Debit card declined.
OK, probably got a glitch in their system. It happens pretty regular...

The next stop, same thing: Debit card declined.
OK, try it as a credit card.
Still... Declined.
What the hell?
I know there is money in there...

By this time I had managed to make it home with not enough gas in the tank to go anywhere else.

I called the bank.
WTF????? I asked...

It appears, according to them, that my debit card had been 'compromised'. She did not elaborate, and could not when queried...

But they sent me a new, replacement card two weeks ago.

I never received it.

"Well, your card expired yesterday. We sent you a new card two weeks ago. We allow fifteen days on the old card to give you time to receive your new card."

OK, so by design... you allow a compromised card two weeks of further compromising by the compromisors... yet, you have failed to notify the card holder of the situation?
How does that make sense?

"Sir, we mailed you a new card."

No, you did not.

"Yes, Sir. Our records show that it was mailed on July 1st."

Do you have records showing that I had received said card, or even a phone call pertaining to it? You have my number? Why didn't you use it?

"I do not know if we called you...."

Straight up, NO YOU DID NOT.

"Well, sir... I am sending you out a new card right away."

Right now, I need gas in my car to get to work in the morning. I can't wait two weeks.

"Sir, you can go to your local branch..."

It's 15 miles away, and I have no gas, remember?

"Sir, you should receive your new card in 3-5 business days."

Yeah, sure... Just like the last one, right?

Damn Bastards.

Amazing how I allowed a little sheet of plastic to cripple my life...

Oh, Canada!

Canadians Now Richer Than Americans

And the huntin and fishin is better up there, too...

Thursday, July 12, 2012

A family member had to put down a beloved pet today.
This occurred within the usual circumstances for our society-at-large: irreparably sick and suffering animal is brought to the vet, who agrees/diagnoses said pet's irreparablness and obvious suffering... and informs/confirms to the pet owner that "It's the best thing to do."
For a large fee, of course.

I dealt with a pet hospice situation a little over three years ago while saying 'The Long Goodbye' to my beloved Scooter.
I knew that our days would eventually end, and I had sworn in my heart that I was going to protect and defend her from all unnecessary discomfort.
"Unnecessary Discomfort": I took these words literally. They included, among the final needle prick... a sense of fright.

Fright: It's different for prey animals, such as cats, or any other animal really...
Cats (or those suckie, lower beings... much, much lower, that we call 'Dogs'...) live a life that is fear based. (Dogs also live a life that is 'suck-ass' based: just wanting to please... like the suck asses they are.)
Survival is their drive, before all else.

So yeah... Scooter would never see a vet, or a needle, that was not contributive to her overall health, happiness and well being.
I'm loyal like that.

In her final days I had already set in my mind that her end would come, if necessary, at my own hand.
There would not be the final morning of fear and trepidation that would accompany a trip to the vet:
When she would be placed into a scarrier...
The ride in the car...
Arrival at a strange place where all the comfort smells were absent...
To be set upon a cold, stainless steel table...
Prodded and poked by a hand she knew not...
The final prick of the needle...
Into her fearfully scared little body...

NO! Fucking way...

My girl would know only love, My love, in her final moments.
She earned it, was entitled to it, and I was duty-bound to deliver it.

As it came... her end was peacefully 'in my arms' so to speak.
She felt my hands as I stroked her fur...
I whispered to her...
Comforted her as she took her final breaths...

Sure, were she in any obvious pain, I was prepared for that, too, and like I said, felt duty-bound to 'do her right' should it be.
I had a loaded .22... at the ready.
In a moments notice, she'd have gotten the shot.
I was prepared for it, if need be, should she start to show any obvious pain or discomfort.

People ask: you would have killed your own cat? Where is the love in that?
They just don't understand.

To them I ask:
Where is the love in the alternative?
In that alternative, I do see not love, but weakness.
A weakness that causes pain to those who deserve better.
Where is the love in that?

Sunday, July 8, 2012

That'll Leave A Mark

OK, so I've been hard at work (when I'm not at work ) playing this game of Beat The Clock... er... Calender... with the 'old' house.
Still trying to get the place cleared out, being as I've been almost there for over a month.
It's hard to get it done when things at the mill pick up, finding myself working 13hr shifts, 6 days a week...

Wrapping it up last night, the last heavy item was a washer/dryer combo. This was in the upstairs laundry room. Word to the wise: Avoid upstairs laundries.

Preparing to descend the staircase, I paused for a second to make sure everything was lined up, thinking I had gravity on my end... I let go of the dolly for just a split second.
Gravity does what it will, regardless of one's intentions...

This was about two hours after the buyers did their final inspection.

Needless to say, I'll be patching it up before the close of escrow.

Shout Out

Nothing serious, just a lot of much needed nonsense.

Welcome back to the real world, my friend.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Out Of Touch Aint Always A Bad Thing

Mexican activists are setting their sights on Anaheim
Community leaders and the American Civil Liberties Union on Thursday filed a lawsuit against Anaheim, saying the city in effect silences Latinos by shutting them out of the electoral process.

In Anaheim, the city's mayor and four council members are elected "at-large," meaning they can come from any part of the city. No Latino is currently on the council and four of the five council members live in Anaheim Hills.
Anaheim Hills ("The Hills") contains about 1/6 of the population of Anaheim. It is largely/entirely upper-income, and serves as home-turf to many pro-athletes, famous musicians, successful businessmen, etc... Not exactly the 1% Wall Street types, but you'd be hard pressed to find a box maker living there.

The remainder of Anaheim (The Flatland) is decidely blue-collar, working class and heavily of Mexican descent. The Flatland has been there since the mid 1800's, while the The Hills didn't begin to exist til the 1970's.

If you live in The Hills, you would rarely, if ever, visit/pass through/shop/ do business in the Flatlands. It's not just the cultural differences that divide. There is also topography. Such things as highways, canyons, thoroughfares, and closer proximity to other (and generally upper scale)business districts... are the real divide.

In short: Anaheim Hills has no credible reason to consider itself a part of Anaheim.
The Hills and The Flatland. Never the two shall meet... and they don't in any real-world sense.

In The Hills: 'Jesus' and 'Maria' do your yard and watch the kids.
In the Flatland: They live next door, and sell tamales in the Wal*Mart parking lot from the trunk of their car.

In The Hills: 'Mohamed' is the enemy on Fox News.
The Flatland: He's the smiling face behind the counter, ringing up cigarettes and Slurpees.

The Hills have El Pollo Loco.
The Flatlands already know that Zankou and Pollo Norteno both kick Loco ass.

The Hills have spoiled rich girls who send naked pics to their boyfriends with the iPhone Daddy pays for...
The Flatland has strip clubs and hookers.

The Hills has Disneyland Passports...
Yer typical Flatlander hasn't been there in 10yrs... maybe longer...
But they drive past it daily.

The Hills: Pho?
Flatlands: Pho!

It seems a little bit kinda not-right that a city council member is not likely to ever be stuck in traffic with those who elected him, that they can be so far removed from the people of the city.
Yet, in Anaheim, it is very much that way.

I kinda like it, though.
I don't need to have somebody 'in charge' who knows my issues and wants to step in with more bullshit programs, or micro-managing every little less-than-savory element of community life, or telling the smoke shop guy his signage is not pretty enough.
Just collect the trash, pave the streets, and keep the place orderly without harassing the indigenous, and the city will work just fine.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Buffalo Trace White Dog

Moving this blog on to more important things once again...

It's been nearly thirty years (1983) since I last played with the white liquor and I do remember some of it: the main memory is my buddy's mother throwing us out of the kitchen, and then told to exit the premises entirely... after somebody struck a lighter to some spillage... creating a three-foot trail of flame along her kitchen counter...
She was not amused.
That time, the magic potion was a bottle of Everclear that we had purchased after crossing the Mexican border and brought back. 192 proof, or something like that...
wicked stuff...
and tasted accordingly.

We tried shots (which didn't go down very well) before we decided to mix it into beer. After three of those it was like having a piano dropped on my head from three floors up...
Yeah, I was over and done for the night.

I've avoided the white liquor ever since, til now...

'White Dog' is the name given to un-aged, straight-from-the-still American whiskey before it goes into the oak barrels where it is aged into that beautiful substance we call Bourbon.

There are a few varieties to choose from at my local liquor store. My curiosity was on high this time around and reached for the bottle of un-aged Buffalo Trace distillate.

I chose the Buffalo Trace variety for two reasons:
--First: Buffalo Trace is a reputably solid offering of bourbon.
--Second: It was at a proof (125) that I thought I could handle.

Not much at all to look at with this stuff being clearer than water.
I was expecting an aroma similar to rubbing alcohol, but instead I got a faint combination of alcohol and sugar.

The real test is the taste, which is kinda yucky and pungent to the pallet; a lingering kind of yuck that stays a while, several minutes, and then some.
Due to the surgical event of 2008, I don't always feel much back there, but damn... I was feeling this like it was 2007.
Slight corn sweetness up front, but nothing to get all 'whoo-hoo' about.

Most impressive are the effects: akin to the subtle massage of a ball ping hammer  to the forehead.

Unless you feel the need to truly appreciate what oak barrels over time will do to distillate, avoid the White Dog.