Do Not Pass Go

The scion of the Murdoch Media Empire announced his departure as News International chairman. Both the corporation and James Murdoch have been plagued by accusations of criminal hacking by reporters and the payment of bribes to British policemen for assistance in squashing any investigations into wrongdoings. His 81 year-old father has resumed total control of the media giant. At this time neither Murdoch is wanted for questioning by the police. It's only a question of time.

Call It A Day, Greece

Greece joined the EEU with hopes of modernizing its economy and reaping the benefits of one currency, however the banks loaned money to both the public and private sectors of the Greek economy like they were financing a crack binge. Since 2008 the EEU has struggled to lessening the Euro's risk from the Greek debt. Last week the parliament in Athens voted to accept another austerity plan in order to write of 107 billion Euros on the books, effectively halving the nation's exposure to the banks and financial funds owning Greek bonds and debts. At present Greece is banned by the European Central Bank from monetarizing its debt through new loans and the ultra-conservative 'Standard & Poor's has downgraded Greece below junk to pariah status. The banks are eager to accept this deal, since Greece's nuclear option is a 100% default and a return to the drachma. Bankruptcy is not the end of the world as Argentina discovered during its debt crisis at the turn of the century. The state was saddled with an impossible debt from the military dictatorship. Unemployment was close to 20%. Inflation ran 10-20% per month. Incomes were halved by the devaluation of the austral and the new government fixed the currency to the dollar with disastrous results. Stagnation decreased the GDP by 4% in 1999 and the IMF imposed strict controls on the economy. Government came and went in rapid succession, until the IMF refused to provide any loans to the stricken country. Fearful of losing their money Argentines pulled their money from the banks. The government froze accounts to prevent chaos, but soon violent demonstrations vented their anger at the banks and multi-nationals. A bas con Coca Cola. December 2001 Argentine defaulted on its responsibility to loans of $132 billion. Chaos came to town to stay, however the cheap peso created a good atmosphere for renewed investment and the government of Nestor Kitchener strived to rectify the income disparity plaguing Argentina. Workers' co-cops and self-management increased productivity. Wages relieved the pressure on poverty and the gap between the rich and poor shrank with improved conditions, earning the Kitchener government the loyalty of its people. The IMF got all its money back in the end with interest. Greece is fucked no matter what they do, but better to be the master of your own fuckedess rather than being fucked eternally by the the fucking banks. Crap out, Greece. It's cool with me and everyone else with the International Write-Off Day movement.

Angry Naked Broad

I'm really glad I don't have a car.

50 Yard Dash With A Potential Mercenary

One month ago I was standing on Hempstead Heath with a Action Man from Greenpeace. We admired the Henry Moore sculpture at the top of a meadow. His wife was playing with the dog. Their son was meandering with his teenage cousin. The sky was gray. It was good to be in London with friends. In June Frank had been arrested in Greenland for trespassing on an oil platform to protest the exploitation of the Arctic Sea. The police had thrown Frank in Nuuk jail. "The coppers are Danish and the other prisoners were Inuits. They treated us alright, although the food was wretched and it was the time of 24-hours days, so the cells were never dark. When they transported us to stand trial in Denmark, the coppers put us in chains, but sat us in 1st Class and upon arrival in Copenhagen we were the first people off the plane. That really got on the nerve of the 1st Classers." Frank has been arrested in many countries. His name is listed under eco-terrorists by US Homeland Security. He is the father of my friend's two children. The shed in their backyard serves as the HQ for the local Ping-Pong club. According to the UK Guardian 'Greenland has condemned as illegal a protest by Greenpeace activists who scaled an oil rig in a bid to prevent a British company from drilling in Arctic waters off the North Atlantic island.' To me Frank is a hero. I praise his actions on every occasion and while I am a Greenpeace donor I also recognized that the man has altered the planet to the tipping point and in Hampstead Heath I said to Frank, "The Earth is doomed." I told him about the rising seas in Thailand. "We've passed the threshold." I'm almost 60. I lived during the 50s and 60s. The world had half the population that it does today, but as The Grassroots sang, "Sha na na na na live for today and don't worry about tomorrow.", so I challenge Frank to a footrace. 50 yards on the wet grass. He's 48 and lean. "On the count of three," shouted his wife Nina. "Go." We ran our hardest. I had a lead for most of the distance, but Frank pulled into the lead and beat me by a half-stride. It was good fun and I told him that Greenpeace could count on a $50 donation. This gift was long overdue. Once I got back to the USA I googled Frank's name and discovered that he had been offered a job by the notorious security firm, Blackwater, with a starting salary of $150,000 plus health benefits. Frank told the Guardian, "When I opened their email I didn't know whether to feel flattered or offended. Even if I was interested, the CIA would probably have taken one look at my CV and thrown me into an Iraqi prison. We flew over Fairford dropping anti-war leaflets on the US military just hours before the B-52s took off to bomb Bagdhad. I never imagined the Americans would be contacting me a year later to see if I would help defend them in Iraq." If only I could be Frank. Good money and a chance to strike the beast from within.

How Wicked It Is

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The nuns at Our Lady of the Foothills daily instructed our class on the dangers of Satan. Our souls were under constant threat from the seduction of Lucifer. The 60s were no time to be young for the pure of heart and GOP candidate Rick Santorum has introduced the suppression of the Devil as a major plank in his political platform thanks to the release of a 2008 speech by Drudge Report in which he stated, "Satan is attacking the great institutions of America, using those great vices of pride, vanity, and sensuality as the root to attack all of the strong plants that has so deeply rooted in the American tradition." Many politicians would have retreated from such rhetoric, however the ex-senator from Pennsylvania responded to the attack with renewed vigor at a Phoenix rally. "I‘m a person of faith. I believe in good and evil. I think if somehow or another because you’re a person of faith you believe in good and evil is a disqualifier for president, we’re going to have a very small pool of candidates who can run for president." One-time Republican favorite Sarah Palin was quick to defend the Tea Party favorite on Fox News. "The lame-stream media will attack any conservatives who boldly proclaims their faith and talks about there is good in the world and there's evil in the world and that's what Rick Santorum was talking about," she said. "And this was a speech that he gave back in 2008, where he named evil as Satan. And for these lame-stream media characters to get all wee-weed up about that, first you have to ask yourself, 'Have they ever attended a Sunday school class even? Have they never heard of this terminology before?' And that's why they got so, you know, just whacked out about the speech." Whacked out on Satan. And the ex-governor from Alaska was right about her assessment of the Media. Satanism sells, maybe not as well as sex and blood, but it is a wicked world out there and knowing how wicked happifies the people of faith. 666 ps photo is constructed ala Chuck Close of miniscule images of gay porno. No one is more wicked than 'them'. s

The Brains Behind A Man

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"I denounce the power of the economy over people, a system that turns individuals into elements in an economic equation, does not respect the poor and excludes everyone that does not live up to the principle of profitability." ‎"I denounce the power of the economy over people, a system that turns individuals into elements in an economic equation, does not respect the poor and excludes everyone that does not live up to the principle of profitability." Danielle Mitterand

Donut Break by Ellen Von Werth

Photo by Ellen Von Werth / Styling by Sascha Lilic

666 In His Sights

On January 20, 2009 President Barack Obama acknowledged a new faith to America in his inaugural speech. “For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus – and non-believers.” Hearing 'non-believers' took away my breath. Until 1961 Maryland banned atheists from holding public office. The Boy Scouts forbad membership to non-believers into the 90s. I had rejected God at age 8. My Scout Master was ignorant of my apostasy. I served as an altar boy to hide the godlessness in my heart. Atheism was considering a sect of Satanism by the nuns and priests of my schools and churches. We were doomed to an eternity of suffering in the minds of Fundamentalists. Given the chance the Bible Thumpers would burn me and my kind at the stake, but eradication of the unfaithful would not be a wham-bam-thank-you m'am feat. Conservative estimates calculated atheists to number approximately five million, the BBC put us at 9 million, while an ARIS report zoomed to 34 million. Vermont has the highest concentration on atheists and Mississippi wins the church-going gold medal with 63% of registered citizens attending Sunday services. I do my damnedest to convert more to humanism, but missionary work amongst the believers strains the imagination. Over 80% of Americans claim Christianity as their faith. 70% believe in the devil. The Fundamentalist accused Satanists murdering up to 50,000 people in the USA, even though only 50,000 citizens admit to Satanism. Most of the men are only in devil worship for the sex. That lust-filled rationale is unacceptable to GOP presidential hopeful Rick Santorum and today he warned America of a clear and present danger. "Satan is attacking the great institutions of America, using those great vices of pride, vanity, and sensuality as the root to attack all of the strong plants that has so deeply rooted in the American tradition." Satan has a face for Rick Santorum and his following, for over 14% of Americans think Obama is the Anti-Christ. 22% consider Mormonism a cult. His call to the Jesus Freaks has catapulted the ex-senator into the national limelight. Polls forecast a major victory in Michigan. Feeling the Lord Rick Santorum has declared jihad on the devil. "Satan has his sights on the United States of America!" These words echo the sentiment from a previous speech in 2008. "This is a spiritual war. And the Father of Lies has his sights on what you would think the Father of Lies would have his sights on: a good, decent, powerful, influential country - the United States of America. If you were Satan, who would you attack in this day and age? He attacks all of us and he attacks all of our institutions." Bat shit crazy and let's not get him started on homosexuality.

Thai Police Dthok Jai

Last week the Thai internet was flooded by photos of naked women rolling dice in what appeared to be a Thai casino. No one knows where this paradise of earth is, but the Thai police are searching for the guilty with their usual diligence. In the meanwhile Bangkok Deputy PC doubted in the photos were real, since there are no gambling dens in Thailand. Yes, he was shocked. The word in Thai is dta leung ngan or dtok jai We all know the feeling.

We Are All Irish

Obama proved that he isn't a Muslim by drinking Guinness. If he really wanted to win hearts and minds, he'd add a hyphen to his last name. O'Bama. There are two kinds of people in this world; the Irish and those that drink to be Irish. Guinness. It's good for you

Malcolm X Birthday

He would have been 87.

Munch's SCREAM For Sale

Sothebys will auction off a version of Edvard Munch's The Scream on sale in New York to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the artist's birth. Experts say the iconic pastel could reap over $80 million. The painting will be exhibited in London and New York before its sale. Of course if you want The Sctream as a lamp, I saw one in Luxembourg. It cost 200 Euros. It's one of a kind. If you want two, I'm sure the owner will give a better price.

Pane Gamisou

Europe's economic powers have issued the Greek cabinet a last bail-out plan. The indebted birthplace of democracy will receive 130 billion Euros in loans and 107 billion Euros in write-downs, but only if the government agrees to slashing more services and jobs from the public sector. A similar pact in 2010 was met by riots. EEU officials are betting that Greeks will accept this bitter bullet as the only way to avoid bankruptcy. The BBC reported "Greece is a resilient nation, well-versed in surmounting obstacles through their history. But that resilience is being sorely tested. The country has been living with punishing austerity for much of the past two years: unemployment has reached record heights at over 21%, the economy contracted by 7% in the last quarter of 2011. And now, with the bailout deal approved in Brussels, the cuts are set to get deeper still." Greece is a nation of 10,000,000 people. The nation debt amounts to $30,000 per capita. That money will come out from taxes and out of pensions The EEU banks want Greece to reduce is debt ratio to GDP from the present 160% to 120% in 2020. Loan holders will lose half the face value of their bonds. In other words they are fucked, but the other option is to go belly-up. Elections are in April. Anyone who had the balls to tell the banks 'pane gamisou' or go fuck yourself would win the hearts and minds of their nation. Iceland went bust and they didn't sink into the sea. "Vadd rassgat." is go fuck yourself in Icelandic. We all know what it is in English.

God Is Dog

Back in the last century condensation formed on a window at my hometown's hospital. A devout Christian spotted the face of Jesus in the opaque dew and the faithful gathered to pray beneath the mirage. The miracle vanished with the sun breaking through the clouds and a local fundamentalist preacher claimed the Son of God had ascended to heaven. The believers are constantly on the watch for proof of the Messiah. They have seen the face of Jesus in toast, on a sock, and in the Shroud of Turin. As Oscar Wilde said, "Religion is like a blind man looking in a black closet for a black cat, that isn't there, and finding it." The other day a female friend posted the above image of Darwin on facebook and the Christians were quick to criticize her on several levels. Here's the stream with the names changed to protect the foolish. Tom - Darwinism is a religion that is accepted by faith. Since Darwin's theorys remain largely unprovable, it remains in the realm of theory. Some evidence, yes; but not nearly enough to be scientific fact. Same as belief in God! So both Christianity and Darwinism are faith-based religions. Personally, I think Jesus is much more handsome than Charles! Sally - Money and Wealth is the "Official Religion" of the New World Order... Tom..... where have you been . All the rest is smoke.... (maybe from burning toast) Why Don't you Demand Jimmy Carter Back in the White house, He is a God fearin' Church Going Born Again Christian ???? Peter Nolan Smith I do not believe we all evolve from apes, take a look at a beach in the summer, those lizard skinned tan-o-philes and the wallowing walruses are proof that man's evolution came from many species Sally - Evolution happens every day...... if some people would actually PAY ATTENTION !!!! Prime example .....Drug resistant bacterium, Viruses, ......Duh VRE MRSA ,HIV has mutated in the last couple years.... Hello , I am annoyed that SOME people think God is too stupid to have had a more complicated plan ..... Humans are just too damn stupid to have been able to begin to comprehend even the first simple chemical compound or molecule . The Bible doesn't explain photosynthesis or that DNA is NOT static or it exists at all....... but its there ..... LOOK under a freaking Microscope ... Tom - Of course species mutate/evolve... people were much shorter not too long ago. But if you read Darwin's book, he leaves absolutely no room for God at all. It is assumed he does not exist. So all of life just happens by chance out of some warm goo at the bottom of the sea. Peter Nolan Smith - sorry tom, but if a fairy tale god exists only in fairy tales Sally - Tom, see you said it "EVOLVE" ..... now, keep going, you can utter it ....say it " e-v-o-l-u-t-i-o-n " !!!!!!! halfway there Timmy, I'm proud of you !!! the "Warm goo " , you mean like SANTORUM? Saturday at 2:15pm · Like Tom - You showed a picture of Darwin on toast. I am talking about DARWINISM- much harder to believe in than God, Peter... even if you think he is a fairy tale... you'd rather believe you are the descendant of primates Peter Nolan Smith - no, I come from an alien infestation, other people genetic experimentations from apes, dogs, insects, and seals. There is no trouble believing in anything and that belief makes it true to the beholder. Of course I decided to ratchet up the discussion by posting the following photo. It is not photo-shopped.

Sally - JC ??? Peter Nolan Smith - in the fur as opposed to the flesh Saturday at 10:04pm · Like Ted - Thanks for posting this for everyone. Very thoughtful. Peter Nolan Smith - their lord moves in strange ways Ted - Actually, I was trying to be sarcastic. I think this was not very nice- if you want to poke fun at religion, I would try to keep it private, not out here where many people will see it and be offended. I guess Sharon is the one that posted it and I know others were offended. Peter Nolan Smith No I posted it, sally had nothing to do with it. 19 hours ago · Like Sally - I would suggest not poking that furry jesus like face ..... Peter Nolan - Smith arf arf 19 hours ago · Like Tom - Sally, now you are saying that Jesus looks like a dog's butt? What would Pastor Craig think of how Peter Nolan Smith - with such a rich heritage of jewish humor it's surprising that there are no jokes in the bible Peter Nolan Smith - we need to hear from a different smith I can think of no greater disaster to this country than to have the voters of it divide upon religious lines. - Al Smith No relation to me. God is Dog backwards.

Beer Versus Jesus

Top Ten Reasons That Beer Is Better Than Jesus:- a) No one will kill you for not drinking beer. b) Beer doesn't tell you how to have sex. c) They don't force beer on minors who cannot think for themselves. d) Beer has never caused a major war. e) When you have a beer you don't knock on people's doors trying to give it away. f) Nobody has ever been burned at the stake, hanged or tortured over a beer. g) You don't have to wait 2000 years for a second beer. h) There are laws saying beer labels cannot lie to you. I) You can prove you have a beer. j) If you are devoted to beer then there are groups who can help you stop.

66 Days

Khader Adnan has terminated his hunger strike after 66 days without any solid foods. The 33 year-old baker from the West bank has spent most of his current imprisonment shackled to his hospital bed to prevent his escape from custody. Israel authorities will end his 'administrative detention' April 17, unless new evidence emerged that link their prisoner to criminal activities. Al-Jazeera English reported that an unnamed source within the Israeli Supreme Court said that a deal reached between Adnan's lawyers and the Israeli justice ministry, he would end his fast in return for the court's decision to "erase" his file and release him on April 17, ending The Jenin native's "administrative detention". Adnan's 66 days of self-starvation beats the last attempt by a Palestinian hunger striker by 21 days. Home is still two months away and I wonder what the father of three will want for his first meal outside the prison walls of Safed. Mahashi, Maqluba with lamb or siniyyeh of Mansaf? Bon appetite or allah yihanneek. Live 2 B Free

64 Days

Khader Adnan has entered the 64th day of his hunger strike. The 33 year-old has lost a third of his body weight and remains chained to his hospital bed. Israeli authorities insist that the Palestinian spokesman for the Islamic Jihad posed a clear and present threat to their nation. The Israeli courts have yet to charge him with a crime and the judges have refused to end his 'administrative detention'. Islamic Jihad has conducted dozens of attacks in Israel, the West Bank, and Egypt, although Hamas has successfully repressed the organization since 2009. This hunger strike is not about Islamic Jihad. It is a struggle of one man against the oppressors of his people. Khader Adnan. Dying 2 Live. There is no backing down from the truth.

Mike Davis Bass For MC5 RIP

Rock on Brothers and Sisters. To see him rock please go to the following URL for LOOKING AT YOU by the MC5 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FsvG1wWHIc&feature=related They rock.

Ebony And Ivory

Last evening Stan Waits and Ralf Tupay were drinking at the local German beer hall on Fulton Street. The Cuban waitress had long black hair and her divine back was revealed through the horizontal tears in her shirt. We clinked glasses and Ralf said, "I'll never have a girl like that again."

"Maybe not in this city." Younger women mated with their own kind in New York. Men my age were doomed to sleep with old turtles, but this was a big world and I said, "You could have two women like her in Thailand and a different one every evening."

"That's prostitution." Ralf was one of those men who thought that they had never paid for sex. Earlier the 54 year-old had confessed that he had never done drugs. Ralf was a pure soul.

"I like to think of it as young people having fun with older people." I was quoting a top police officer from Bangkok.

"How much would it cost?" Ralf asked with interest.

"$1400 for the flight and then $2000 for a memorable week of wickedness." Worth every baht too.

"You owe it to yourself." Stan Waits had been to Thailand in the 80s. Back then wicked was really wicked, now wicked was only wicked to those who had never been wicked in the past.

"You said you wanted to do drugs and the best thing is to go on a crystal meth binge to two ladyboys. Of course you'll need Cialis to wake up your cock, because meth like coke tends to give you softies."

"I couldn't do that." Ralf was horrified by my suggestion.

"It wouldn't be you doing it. It would be your wicked twin." I sold the idea like a travel agent to Hell.

"And is crystal meth good?"

"No, it's pure evil, but it's the ritual that makes it so interesting." I stayed away from most drugs these days. The chemists constructed them from toxic waste. "This afternoon I read about a white racist who teamed up with a black gang-banger in St. Louis. East St. Louis is almost as evil as North Phillie. some wit called them Ebony and Ivory after that stupid Michael Jackson / Paul McCartney hit from the 70s.

"Nazis meth dealers united with crackheads. Only in St. Louis." Stan had been to the Gateway to the West earlier this year to meet with a window maker. He had stayed in the hotel at night. I couldn't blame him. St. Louis was a ghost town filled with drug zombies.

"They sent out their associates to buy Sudafed in bulk."

"Sudafed?" Ralf knew nothing.

"Over the counter decongestants are the main source for meth in America. Salt and Peppa had about 150 buyers traveling all over Illinois and Missouri buying up cough medicine. 20 to thirty boxes at a time according to the Press. The governor tried to pass a prescription-only status for pseudoephedrine. The drug companies paid their supporters in the state senate to quash the bill."

"So you want me to go to Thailand to do what I could do in St. Louis." Ralf was thinking cheap and heaven on earth didn't come cheap.

"There are no ladyboys in St. Louis. Just Ebony and Ivory and they ain't too good-looking."

The Cuban waitress asked if we wanted another round.

It was my round.

"Yes, please."

She was no ladyboy, but I didn't hold that against her.

She was merely doing her job. Just like two ladyboys in Bangkok.

The Hunger That Speaks Its Name

Bobby Sands' hunger strike lasted 66 days. Mrs. Thatcher refused to accede to his demands, saying, "Mr. Sands was a convicted criminal. He chose to take his own life. It was a choice that his organisation did not allow to many of its victims." The MP from South Tyrone died at the age of 27. His death was followed by nine others in H-block of the Maze. Kevin Lynch lasted 71 days and Kieran Doherty succumbed to starvation 73 days into his strike. Their sacrifice stirred fire into the IRA's supporters and stiffened resistance to the British occupation of Ulster as well as granted an improvement in the treatment of political prisoners at the Maze and other prisons around the lost provinces of Ireland. Another prisoner has resorted to the same tactic in Palestine, where Khader Adnan has foregone food for 61 days in protest of Israel's , which is used by the occupation forces to detain West Bank Palestinians for six months without charges or trial. Khader Adnan has been receiving glucose, but his doctors have warned that his body is endangered by possible heart failure. He now weighs 40 kilograms according to a report from Al-Jazeera. An appeal for his release has been denied by Israeli authorities, who announced, "Khader Adnan was arrested with an administrative arrest warrant for activities that threaten regional security. This warrant was authorised by a judicial review." A letter smuggled from prison showed Khader's resolve. "The Israeli occupation has gone to extremes against our people, especially prisoners. I have been humiliated, beaten, and harassed by interrogators for no reason, and thus I swore to God I would fight the policy of administrative detention to which I and hundreds of my fellow prisoners fell prey. Here I am in a hospital bed surrounded with prison wardens, handcuffed, and my foot tied to the bed. The only thing I can do is offer my soul to God, as I believe righteousness and justice will eventually triumph over tyranny and oppression." Thousands of Palestinians in the West Bank are demonstrating for his release and the Israeli newspaper had demanded that the West Bank spokesman for Islamic Jihad be charged or released for humanitarian reasons. Zionist settlers on the West Bank have beseeched the government to let Mr. Adnan see out his end chained to a bed. His fate will be decided by destiny, but he will not be forgotten, as the crowds on the streets of Palestine cried out, "We are all Khader Adnan." Dying so others can live in freedom.

72 Virgins Versus The Fish Bowl in Pattaya

72 Houris versus an equal number of Thai masseurs in a Fish Bowl. I know what my choice would be. Then again I am an infidel non-believer

Starving Snowman

The Swedes have an expression; In spring no one thinks of the snow that fell last year. One Swede might argue that point, for AP reported that police in thenorthern town of Umeaa have rescued a motorist stranded deep snow since December. No one reported the man in his mid-40s as missing and he was in no condition to explain how he came to be stuck in the woods for over two months without food. Police conjectured that the man survived on snow and nothing else. A sleeping bag protected him from the sub-zero temperatures. AP has announced that his current condition is unknown. The New Testament claimed that Jesus went thirty days and thirty nights without substanance. He rejected the offers of Satan and remained true to his calling to be the Messiah. This Swede beat The Son by a month. An Indian swami supposedly lasted years in a state of starvation, but more tragically IRA hunger protestor Bobby Sands went the limit at the Maze Prison in 1981. 66 days on water alone. He died in his cell. A member of Parliament in opposition to Margaret Thatcher. Her heart of stone made him pay the price. Thankfully the Swede was only facing winter and not the Iron Lady.

Terror Scampi

This afternoon the FBI announced that they had arrested a Moroccan man for attempting to attack the Capitol Building with a fake suicide bomb vest presented to the illegal immigrant by undercover G-Men. The FBI associated with his sting operation had presented themselves to the 29 year-old as members of Al-Quada. He had arrived in the USA at age 16 well prior to 9/11. The FBI reported to their media that the public was never in danger. They probably thought the same thing about the hijackers on 9/11. Opps. Police and FBI searched the suspect's house for WMD. They found nothing. The suspect had been married to a Bulgarian woman who denounced him to the authorities after he threatened her with violence. I imagine that her first entreaties to the local police were met with deaf ears. She is now in a hotel room under protective custody. "Room service please."

LiTTLE GTO

I dream of 1969.
The GTO is red.
A blonde is behind the wheel.
Her skin white.
Untouched by summer.
Spring on a highway heading south
Florida in the distance.
Her hand shifts to fourth.
Her foot presses on the accelerator.
Faster faster. 
Go GTO go.
Her name is Dee Dee.
She has too much speed for me
Even in my dreams at the age of 59. Go GTO go.

Tough Israeli Backpackers

Israeli backpackers were the scourge of the Lonely Planet paths around the world. They argued with shopkeepers in Bali, crammed ten people into a room designed for two, chiseled prices for the cheapest bowl of rice, smoked hash with abandon, and denied any wrongdoing in Palestine. Other travelers avoided them in droves, but they were fearless to a fault having survived extended tours in the Occupied territories and back in the 90s one group of Israelis decided to trek through the mountains of the Karakorum. Within a day tribesmen kidnapped the trekkers at gunpoint and marched them into the terra incognita of the Himalayas. One night a gunman started abusing one of the women. An male Israeli grabbed the AK47 from the tribesman and shot their captors, killing them all along with two of his fellow backpackers. Israeli backpackers were dirty, noisy, and cheap, however in a fight they had hairline triggers. And that is not always a bad thing beyond the land of law and order.

Oh You Roue

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"The only horrible thing in the world is ennui, Dorian. That is the one sin for which there is no forgiveness." Lord Henry Wotton says to a young Dorian Gray in Oscar Wilde's PORTRAIT OF DORIAN GRAY

Funny Terrorists

And what if the terrorists got to our cats?

And they should have used this on Bin Laden years ago.

Bombs In Bangkok

Back in the spring of 1991 I was sitting at the Mae Sai Guest House on the river between Thailand and Burma. Coulds of butterflies floated from flower to flower in the garden and on the opposite bank of the brown stream workers washed red mud from an ancient truck. I was freshly showered after a long day of motorcycling through the rugged mountains straddling the border. The cute waitress served a cold Singha with a smile, then turned her head to the sound of an approaching van. The dusty vehicle stopped in the parking area and seven filthy backpackers exited from the interior. They must have been trekking in the hills. The owner greeted them with a friendly grin, but his mood shifted with what seemed to be a contentious attempt to haggle a better price for the lodgings. The owner shook his finger and said that the guest house was full. The backpackers got back into the van and drove off to another guesthouse down the road. I said nothing, but the owner explained, "Israeli. Want cheap price. Here already cheap. They want four people in one bed. I say no. Israeli always trouble." I shrugged and sucked on my beer. I had seen hundreds of young Israelis on my travels throughout Asia. Most of them had just left the army. Within two weeks their beards and hair grew to biblical lengths and they smoke ganga to achieve a senseless nirvana. Two years of enforcing the occupation in Palestine had broken their minds and they tended to treat people in foreign countries, as if they were Arabs. It wasn't an attractive sight. The next morning I noticed a new sign at the desk of the guest house. NO ISRAELIS. Thailand wasn't my country and I was merely a guest at the small inn. I ordered breakfast and watched the river flow toward the Golden Triangle. That task took up most of the morning. Throughout my travels I have had a few encounters with Israelis. They are happy to be away from their country, but were quick to support the actions of their government in ruling the West Bank and Gaza. They considered all Arabs to be potential terrorists. Their opinion has been backed by bombings of innocent civilians in revenge for Israeli oppression. I only know one way to avoid terrorism. Avoid Israelis and there are none in Sri Racha, where my wife lives with my son, Fenway, but this January the US Embassy warned its citizens about a potential bombing attack on Israeli targets in Thailand such as Koh Samui and Khao Saen Road based on the arrest of an Iranian national after the discovery of explosive devices in a warehouse in Bangkok. The man protested his innocence and Thai tourist authorities questioned the validity of the Shin Bet Intelligence. Tuesday morning several bombs blew up a house off Sukhumvit 71. Four men tried to escape from the ruined house. One woman had already flown to Iran. The above photo shows three of the men and I noticed their footwear. Two of them were wearing sandals. Sneakers are much better for evading pursuit. One man attempted to stop a taxi. The driver refused to give him a ride and the man supposedly threw a grenade at the vehicle. One dropped at his feet and blew off his legs. The police captured his companion at the scene and immigration officials at a Malaysian airport pulled a third man out of the queues. Thai government officials announced on TV that this incident was not the work of internal dark forces, but related to the mounting tensions between Israel and Iran over the development of Teheran's nuclear capabilities. Two other attacks on Israeli diplomats had occurred in Georgia and India earlier in the week, whose modus operandi mirrored the rash of assassination bombings of Key Iranian scientists over the past years. My beautiful friend in Palm Beach wrote to warn me of the danger to US citizens. "What do the Iranians have against the Thai?" I responded in a knee-jerk anti-Zionist fashion. "This is bullshit. A bombing campaign promoted by Shin Bet to instill terror so they get a green light to nuke Iran. My beautiful friend in Palm Beach is a little less quick to condemnation. "This sounds like Iranians teaming up with Hezbollah. Can't see any Iranian working with or for Shen Bet or any other Israeli group. But, I agree that Israel is the worst kind of aggressor and has been antagonizing the world's Muslims with no thought to the consequences nor are they interested in peaceful accords. There will be more bloodshed and possibly a new war in the region in the near future. This time nukes will be used. Very scary thought." Nuclear war. Just what the Neo-Con Zionists were after in their invasion of Iraq and I called my wife in Sri Racha. Mam said that the bombings had nothing to do with the Thais. "Stupid farangs." And the emails to the Bangkok Post showed how panic stricken the western chickens are in Thailand. "All iranians, not just them but all people from arab countries diplomats also. They should have their own passport control area at the airport customs checks also. every bag should go through scanners. People through body scanners. Any refusal then arrested and deported. All checks should be made on these people 24 hrs afetr arriving in the country also to see what they say is true, eg hotel staying at etc. A 5th person they are hunting? I would say much more are involved, there is a network here, they should start in Pattaya. As this is where they started from. I am sure they will find many there with no visa's etc." Another added, "I agree, however all Iranian entry into Thailand should be singled out for greater scrutiny. Iranians are large exporters of Drugs and terrorism throughout the world. Now it seems they are importing bombs and terror to Thailand. Possibly they advise the Muslim insurgents of Thailand’s deep south. Thailand should bring the Iranian Ambassador to the carpet and and inform him of Thailand’s anger and also ask for compensation for Thai property damage and injuries sustained by these Iranian Terrorists." The only Iranians who, I have met in Thailand have been clones of their Israeli counterparts. They want to party far from the ever-watchful eyes of their governments. That's not to say that some people don't know how to have fun. AL JAZEERA reported that a Thai police chief saying that, "The target was specific and aimed at Israeli diplomatic staff." Israel's PM warned the world that Iran's offensive would spread worldwide, if not punished for their transgressions. Iran said it wasn't involved in the bombings and blamed the incident on Shin Bet's counter-terrorist squads. "The main goal of the Zionist regime is to conceal its real essence in carrying out terrorist acts particularly assassinating Iran's scientists. We are not accepting, we are denying this and I don't know how they [the Israelis] can assume within a short time of one hour that to say who has done this." I know nothing, but to quote Lao-tzu, the founder of Taoism, "Those that know don't say and those that say don't know." Like I said, "I know nothing."

3Is and a Genie

An Israeli, an Iranian, and an Irishman are walking in the desert. They discover a brass lantern in the sand. The Israeli rubs it and frees a grateful genie, who explains that he will grant a wish to each of them. The Israeli goes first and demands a wall 100 feet high around all of Biblical Israel with no Muslims. The genji claps his hand and the deed is done. "What about you?" the genie asked the iranian, so says, "I want a wall 200 feet high around the lands of the Muslims and no infidels. The genji claps his hands and the deed is done. The genie turns to the irishman, who says, "Can you fill those walls with whiskey?" We are a sensible people, although an old friend asked after the joke, "Jameson or Bushmills? It matters." Jamesons of course with its pure pot still taste, even though Bushmills is older.

AFTERNOON by Tom Poulton

Now this is a drawing from the 1960s by a great English illustrator. How daring. How very very naughty. Tom Poulton. Now more than ever.

Valentine Day ala Thai

Valentine’s Day has been globalized around the world, although few people know the exact origins of why we send hearts to loved ones. The tradition is mainly attributed to a roman priest Valentine who preform marriages against the wishes of the Roman Emperor. His punishment was execution but not before supposedly addressing a farewell note to his beloved ‘From your Valentine’. Back then priests were not celibate. The Holy Catholic Church makes no mention of this in their treatment of Valentine’s Day. Not that their priests are celibate either. Still the holiday is celebrated around the world and in Thailand it has become the day when young people vow to have sex with their lovers. Thai authorities disapprove of this adaptation of the Valentine rites and officials are posting police near honeymoon hotels to prevent teens from acting on their desires. Contradicting this moral conservatism the Culture Minister has ordered his officers to distribute 10,000 condoms to teens in preparation for their civil disobedience. In truth the boys are praying to be lucky and I know that when I was a teenager girls were thinking in the opposite direction. Most teens will go to eat with their friends and the boys dream about getting the green light as they pay for the meal. Only a few will be so lucky and that’s only because they were lucky before. So Happy Valentine Day youth of the world. I’m celebrating mine with my favorite lover. A bottle of wine. I only wish I was halfway around the world with Fenway's mom. Mam is my real valentine.

BAD INFLUENCE by Peter Nolan Smith

Last February the president of a private jet charter service invited me to dinner at the Oyster Bar. We’re old friends, even though his family forced him to quit drugs and drink. Overweight and overdose. Death was knocking on his heart. 2 weeks of cold turkey rehab and Enos was clean for eternity.

“You don’t mind if I bring my girlfriend and her daughter?” Enos liked to compartmentalize his world. I had met his lover once. She was older.

“Why would it bother me?” I was dying for a good plate of oyster followed by a pan-friend lobster stew.

“Just I don’t want to hear anything about a diamond ring.” My boss constantly bugged Enos about not making his girlfriend his wife. Richie Boy was fixated about selling diamonds. He had a lot of expenses.

“You and I go back before I was diamonds.” My cousin Ty Spaulding had introduced us in Hawaii. “The Oyster Bar is about eating fish, oyster, and lobster.”

“Exactly.” Enos was more interested in pussy. He said his girlfriend was great in bed. That was good enough for me. “I’ll see you there a little after 6.”

“I won’t be late.” The Oyster Bar had the best shellfish in New York. The vaulted tile ceiling offered the illusion of timelessness permanence and at 5:50 I descended from the main floor of Grand Central Terminal with an appetite bolstered by memory. I spotted Enos at the entrance.

“Good to see you.” The big man greeted me with toothy exuberance. He was wearing a tailored suit. Business these days was good as long as you dealt the rich.

“It’s been a while.” Maybe two years and Enos didn’t look any heavier than the last time I saw him in Far Rockaway. “How’s your dad?”

“Holding on? What about yours?”

“Passed last November. Don’t say sorry. He had a good life.” My father loved oysters. “He used to eat fried clams from Wollaston Beach and wash them down with a chocolate milk shake. Not even a belch afterwards.”

“I wish I had that stomach.” Enos tapped his bass drum girth.

“Where’s your girls?” Enos had been dating the same woman for over ten years. She had a daughter. I couldn’t remember how old.

“They’ll be coming later.” Enos led me inside the restaurant and we sat at the counter. Tables were for out-of-towners. “Cheryll’s daughter is a vegan. She doesn’t eat fish.”

“No oysters?”

“None.” Enos came from a good Jewish family, but nothing was too tref or unclean for his palate. The ancient waitress approached us with menus. Enos waved them off. “Mind if I order for us?”

“Not at all.” It was his call.

“Clams casino and a glass of Reisling for my friend. I’ll have water.” Enos had stopped drinking and drugs three years ago. It was either cold turkey or a cold grave. He looked better for it.

“I have a question.” The Bangladeshi waiter brought an Austrian Riesling. It tasted of the Danube.

“What?” Enos asked, as if I needed a loan.

“This is a dietary question of religion.” I had sold a big diamond the week before. I had enough money to quit work for a year. April 1 was scheduled to be my last day at the diamond exchange, although Richie Boy thought that I was kidding.

“Meaning a Jewish question.” The waitress placed the clams casino between us.

“Yes.” I had been the sabbath goy for two decades and considered myself a scholar of judaica. “It’s a simple query. Bacon is tref and clams are tref, right?”

“Right.” Enos lipped the delicacy with pleasure.

“So in physics and mathematics two negatives make a positive, right?” I picked up one and popped it in my mouth. The combination was a sin in delight.

“Right.” The first plate of malbecs arrived at the counter.

“So if bacon and shellfish are both tref if you eat them together, does that make them non-tref?”

“According to my calculations, yes. My father would say no.” Enos popped two oysters into his mouth. He might have stopped blow, but he regained an unhealthy appetite for a man approaching 250 at 50 and for good reason. “They’re a mitzvah as long as we eat them before my girlfriend’s daughter arrives. She’s a vegan Nazi.”

“Vegans hate us.” We were omnivores and finished the clams casino, a dozen Malpecs, and a lobster stew before his dates entered the restaurant. I liked Enos’ girlfriend. She was older, but smart and funny. Cheryll also liked Enos, which in many ways was better than loving him.

“This is Naomi.” She introduced her twelve year-old daughter. “She’s an actress in training.”

“Hello.” Acting is the world surrounded by nos. Her skinny daughter might have been small, but her eyes exuded a toughness carved by a thousand refusals. She pointed a finger at my plate “Did you eat dead food?”

“We had a bi-valval feast.” The Malpecs had tasted of a cold Atlantic ocean.

“You’re a bad man.” Her neo-ingenue eyes were trained to seduce casting directors. Her scrawny beauty would blossom into stardom with the right training. At this point her Lolita power could overwhelm the weak. Her succubus eyes disregarded my age. I was simply another old geezer to wrap around her accusing finger.

“You couldn’t believe how bad.” Enos and Cheryll were deep in conversation, happy that I was diverting the little monster. “I was brought up along the coast of Maine. Every summer a whale would get confused in the shoals and end up beached on the sands as the sea retreated on the tide. The fishermen fought off the sharks and cut off the best pieces of whale meat for their families.”

“You ate whale?” Her eyes widened in horror. She was no longer acting.

“And it tasted good. No, actually it was the best thing I’ve eaten in my life.” The story was bullshit, based on a A Whale for the Killing by Farley Mowat, but I had tasted whale meat in Boston’s Haymarket back in 1970 with a hippie friend. We both agreed it was better than beef, but once was enough for a lifetime. I didn’t tell this to the little precious actress.

“You’re worst than bad.”

“Evil?”

“Fucking evil.” Those two words got her mother’s attention off Enos’ cock. Her daughter and I smiled without explanation and I lifted a finger. “I like your conviction. You want me to give your headshot to a casting director?”

I mentioned a name. The woman was the biggest casting director in the city. The skinny waif flip-flopped with delight. Her mother dreamed of Naomi in the movies. Enos would be happy with her asleep in the next room while he was on top of her mother.

“Could you?”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

After all it wasn’t every day you got called evil by a twelve year-old girl.

This is what dreams are made of.

Sugar and spice and everything nice and certainly neither oysters nor whale.

The Cliffs of Moher

Last Tuesday I boarded a plane at JFK for Orlando, Florida. My two travel companions, AP and his financier Jerry Mumbels, were attending a builders' convention. I was just along for the ride. My seat had been reserved as an after-thought and I was seated by the window in the rear of the plane. The man next to me was about my age. We nodded a weary hello. This flight had been held for a half-hour, so travelers from the UK could make their connection. "Where you coming from?" "Ireland," he explained how it was cheaper to fly from Dublin to London to JFK than Shannon-JFK direct. "If my wife had been with me, then I would have taken the Shannon flight. Women don't like connections." "I flew from Luxembourg via Paris to JFK. The Heathrow-JFK leg of the flight was $300 more than my roundtrip ticket." I had been planning on flying one-way from Dusseldorf, until Jerry Mumbels offered to purchase my ticket. Sometimes the wealthy have good hearts. "Are you retired in Ireland?" I'm one of the few men my age and class needing to work. "No, I'm working at a help center in Cork." He shook his head. "I thought it was going to be an easy job, but we've been dealing with an explosion of suicides." "I read the same in the Guardian." The collapse of the Irish economy had driven a nail of despair into the heart of the nation. "Mostly young men." "Between 16 and 40. We get about twenty calls a day and at least ten suicides a week in Cork and the government refuses to publish the real figures. They are predicting 1000 for this year. A 50% increase over the previous year, but the figures from my office and those around the country paint a very dire picture." "Because they have no hope." Ireland had been on a credit binge. The national debt had led the government to cut aid to all sectors of society except the banks. "None at all. Many of the boys I speak with haven't ever had a job and there is no light on the horizon. Russia, Greece, and Spain are suffering similar spikes in suicide and all I hear from the government is more cuts and more cuts." "Damn." I had been in the West of Ireland. The oldest son inherits the farm and the rest of the boys hit the road to Galway or other cities in Ireland or beyond. That safety valve is gone. "I wish you luck over there." "We need luck and not the luck of the Irish." We bad good-bye at the airport in Orlando. The fat Americans seemed untouched by the economic crisis strangling the world economy. Maybe they were better at putting on a brave face. I didn't mention my conversation to AP and Jerry Mumbels. They had their own problems, but once I got to the hotel I went on line to check on the facts as presented by the Irish press. irishcentral.com reported that a suicide prevention group had 'received over 33,000 pleas for help in the past 12 months as the suicide rate rises dramatically.' and that 'police are watching known suicide spots like the quays in Dublin, Cork, Limerick and Waterford.' 'Corkman Pat Buckley, founder of the charity Let’s Get Together, told the Independent, "The problem with the suicide statistics is that they take about two years to compile and even then they are relatively inaccurate and under-report the true scale of the problem. The problem is now so serious it is terrifying. We’ve battled to raise $7,000 in funds and it was spent on counselling in just a few weeks over November and December.” Minister of State for Health Kathleen Lynch revealed in the Dáil, “The increase is mainly in men in the middle-age group, however, we are also seeing a rise in the number of women dying by suicide, although the numbers are still significantly lower than in men." The State recognizes the seriousness of the problem. The IMF and banks do not care about these people. They think that they are weak links in the mesh of society. Until they too find themselves on the Cliffs of Mohar. The drop tells the truth.

BEAT BY THE OLD AGE TRUCK by Peter Nolan Smith




Two years ago New York’s newspapers reported that January had been the warmest January on record and I couldn’t recall a single day since early December with the temperature in the 30s. Late in the month the thermometer hit 45 on a Sunday Morning and I picked up the telephone to call Shannon.

We had been playing basketball together for over twenty-five years. Our first game had been when he was in his teens. The tall photographer lived on the other side of Fort Greene Park. He was always up for a game. Shannon was a native new Yorker.

“You want to shot some ball at deKalb.” The playground was three blocks away from my apartment.

“Sure.” Shannon was willing to meet at 3.

“I’ll warm up before you.”

“You’ll need it, old man.”

“Well, see.” I pulled on my black sneakers and shorts. I thought they made me look thinner. My basketball needed air. I wasn’t putting any in the ball. The depressurized rock stole a better player’s dribble. As I was leaving my landlord’s wife shook her head.

“You have coverage?” She has asked the same question when I had gone sledding with her husband and two kids in Ft. Greene Park.

“No.” My only health plan was wine combined with aspirins. It was a miracle combo, although no protection against a twisted ankle or a popped knee. “I’m just shooting the ball. No games.”

“Right.” Katie’s dismissive comment was for the good of my kids.

“I’ll be careful.” I had to stay healthy at least until I’m 77 when Angie will be 26 and Fenway 21.

Outside the air was cool, not cold. I ran on the sidewalk. My knees creaked with pain. I’ll never be fast again.

Young passers-by checked out my dribbling. That skill was not my forte. Defense was my game. Stopping the scorer was my specialty.

I entered the park and surveyed the courts. The nearest baskets were occupied by young teenagers working a five-on-five. The ones against the fence were dominated by kids, except for the last one, where a lanky 6-4 black teenager practiced set shoots. His release was smooth as Michael Jordan’s bald head and I asked, “Mind if I shoot with you?”

“You want to play one-on-one?” His eyes shined with a competitive urge.

“Let me loose up a little.” Shannon would show up soon and I took a bunch of shots. My aim was off and his ball felt funny in my hands. It was punched to the bursting point. I watched him shoot and tried to hold the ball same as him. My shooting didn’t improve, so I said, “Hit or miss for ball.”

“You want to shoot first?” He bounce-passed the ball to me.

“Thanks.” At my age every advantage was a plus.

My shot from the foul line clanged off the rim.

He buried his shot.

All net.

The next possession he glided to the hoop for a lay-up.

I was already sucking wind. Score 2-0. The following play was a grinding attack in the paint. His shot went off the backboard and in. 3-0. Shannon came into the park and stretched watching us. I scored 3 points in a game to 11.

This kid was good.

He beat Shannon 11-4.

“My name’s Shea like the old Mets baseball park.”

There was nothing old about Shea and I couldn't remember ever being that young.

Our second game repeated the score of the first game.

11-3.

Shea beat me up inside and I fell over twice, blown out of my socks by his move to the hole. If I hadn’t been 57, this would been have a humiliating loss, instead of simply an embarrassing defeat.

Shannon went down 11-6 with a struggle.

Shea was getting tired.

I got a 3-0 lead in the next game. It was all an illusion.

Shea sucked it up and I didn’t score another point. My lungs were red-lining for oxygen and Shea hadn’t even broken a sweat.

The successive games had had a toll on Shea and Shannon had him 9-8.

Two more baskets and he could say in the future that he beat this teenage phenom. Shea didn’t let him get any.

We spoke to Shea. He was a 16 year-old sophomore starting center for the local high school. His team had lost in the play-offs this weekend. He wasn’t happy about his play.

“Truthfully I haven’t played against anyone better than you in all my years.”

“Thanks.” No one ever wanted to tell Shea that. He was that good.

Shannon and I teamed up for a 2-on-2. We lost 15-6. I scored no points. My hang-over was not a factor. My legs were too old for this game. I didn’t deserve to be on the court with Shea or Shannon, but I wasn’t sitting out this season. All I needed to do was practice my outside shot.

I returned to the brownstone with a hobble. Katie looked at me with disgust.

“Some men know when to call it quits.”

“Not me.” Old age is only in my head.

Age is only a number.

My heart is still 15 and my head is much younger.

I wish my body understood that.

Maybe later this summer.

If I’m lucky to last that long.

Whitney Houston RIP

Whitney Houston burst onto the music scene in 1986, scoring # 1 hits with "Saving All My Love for You", "Thinking About You" and "Greatest Love of All," and WHITNEY HOUSTON was that year's top-selling LP. The next year she scored a mega-hit with her single I WANNA LOVE DANCE WITH SOMEBODY. Success after success propelled Whitney into the stratosphere of fame, but the angel fell to earth with her marriage to singer Bobbie Brown. Drugs ravaged her voice throughout the 00s and she fought hard to regain her voice over the past few years. A return to her previous form appeared on the horizon and she traveled to LA to take part in the Grammy Awards. Yesterday she was found dead in her Beverly Hills Hilton hotel room. The cause of her death unknown. Fans and fellow musicians are shocked by her passing. Clive Davis her svengali told a celebrity audience at his Grammy party, "I do have a heavy heart, and I am personally devastated by someone so close to me for so many years." She will be missed by billions. Here's a video of her appearing on the French TV with Serge Gainsbourg in 1986. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMdXi6f5KRg She was so beautiful in so many ways and that beauty will live in her music.

Attica In Trang Prison

In August 1971 over half the inmates at New York's Attica State Prison took control of the correction facilities in response to a prisoner being subjected to torture in his cell. 33 officers held hostage by the rioters and state officials agreed to most of the demands, however Governor Rockefeller refused to grant amnesty and the removal of the prison warden. State police assaulted the cellblocks with a hail of bullets killing ten hostages and twenty-nine inmates. The main complaints from the prisoners was overcrowding and this problem affects prison everywhere and last week Thai prisoners at the Trang Prison seized control of their dormitories to protest all manners of abuse such as lack of medical treatment, scarcity of clean drinking water, restrictions of mail and contract with families as well as vicious mistreatment of prisoners. The warden retook the prison with attack squads of over 300 wardens, police and volunteers. Riot leaders were sent to other correctional institutions throughout the nation, where conditions are equally grim. The police played down the validity of the complaints by declaring that the ringleaders were drug dealers and that in the future drug traffickers will be exiled to Thailand's Khao Bin max-security prison. Over 70% of Thai prisoners are convicted on drug charges. In the past three years the population has increased from 180,000 to 250,000 in a penal system built to hold a little over a 100,000. I have had Thai friends sentenced to prison and they emerged from their incarceration broken men and women. They were guilty of a crime, but deserving of such a punishment. Only one word comes to mind. ATTICA

Wagging Tails

"In the whole history of the world there is but one thing that money can not buy... to wit the wag of a dog's tail" Josh Billings 19th century American humorist

Photo by Stefania Fumo

Oipho IMF

Western culture hails ancient Greece as the birthplace of its civilization. Throughout the 5th through 4th centuries BC Greece formed the basis of politics, architecture, art scientific thought, literature, and philosophy, but the nation has fallen on hard times due to its inescapable debt crisis for not following the classical advice Mēdèn ágan or nothing in excess. The Euro Economic Zone has offered to save Greece from default with demands of draconian cuts in income and services only to have demonstrators riot in the Athens and trade union strike for 48 hours. Sunday the national parliament will vote on the economic measures. Agreement to the pact will free up 130 billion Euros and enslave the Greek nation to the Eurozone for decades to come. There is another course and that is to tell the IMF, World Bank, and the Germans 'oipho' which in ancient Greek means 'fuck off' and go the way of Iceland. For those bankers without any classical education than the Greeks can tell them 'pidaksu'. Throw in the bird and they'll get the idea, for Tí eúkolon? Tò állōi hypotíthesthai. In other words; "What is easy? To advise another." — Thales To walk in their shoes is another story.

Tabula Rasa Abracadabra

The BBC reported today that Greece will have to accept new conditions for their bailout of 130 Billion Euros and one of which will be austere reductions to the public budget as well as salary reductions in the private sector. The Greek government has been backed into a corner by a debt greater than its annual GDP and a violent reaction by its populace to a long series of cuts to income and services. CBS NEWS recounted on its website that the leaders of Greece have kicked their addiction to debt, but CBS NEWS only wants to paint a pretty picture of a very ugly dog. There is no way for the Greeks to ever pay back this debt. Playing off 160% of your GDP is a Mission Impossible. I know because I was in the same situation with my credit card debt in 2007. I asked for relief. The bank said no. I could them that there was no way I could pay off the debt as long as the interest was so high. The banks did not care about me. They only cared about their profits, so I cut up my credit cards and mailed them back to the banks. "I am dead." Banks will not accept this behavior from sovereign nations, but writing off the debt of Greece isn't so easy, because the major economic players in Europe do not want to print the money to pay off the deficit to keep the value of the Euro up to buy oil, cheap goods from China, and pay for the lifestyles of the rich and Greece is only one of many nations on the edge of default. Unemployment in the ailing European countries has risen to 20%. Ireland is experiencing a wave of suicides. People in Portugal are talking about revolution. And the technocrats simply say cut cut cut. But there is another more radical solution. Greece should attack the USA and say that they did it, because they are backing Iran. Nobody in America can find Greece on a world map and the Pentagon will be happy to have another war on its hands with Iraq over and Afghanistan on the wane. A nice tidy $250 billion war would cover Greece's debt to the last drachma. So they lose Athens and the Acropolis. It's not too much to ask to wipe the slate clean. Tabula Rasa came from Aristole in his thesis De Anima or On the Soul, although the great philosopher was more concerned with the human intellect than owing your soul to the devil. I tried to translate this Latin phrase into Greek. It came out tabula rasa. I have one and it feels good, but then I never went to war and the Greek government doesn't have to either. They just have to tell the banks. Fuck off. Iceland went belly up and they haven't sunk into the Atlantic. Of course they don't have MacDonald's anymore, but that's a blessing. Tabula rasa abracadabra. As magic as clicking your heels and finding yourself back in Kansas. ps Tabula Rasa is a hoot 'em up video game for eternally pubescent cyber mass-murderers.

Panic At 39,000 Feet

Millions of passengers fly on commercial airplanes every day. Before take-off stewards and stewardesses stand in the aisles to give safety instructions. They point out emergency exits and show how to put on life vests accompanied by a video. Most people ignore these demonstrations, but two days ago on a flight from JFK to Orlando I noticed that during the segment about air masks that the actors pretending to be passengers calmly slipping the plastic breathing apparatuses over their faces and thought that if and when the air masks dropped from the ceiling of a 757 I am going into a EXORCIST level panic. There will be no calming me down, for if you keep your head while everyone around you is losing theirs, then you don't understand the seriousness of the situation. FREAK OUT

Technicolor Web Of Sound RIP

Sadly my favorite internet radio station, Technicolor Web Of Sound has been pulled from the web without an explanation. See this youtube entry http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAWTK1UEZr0 Paul is gone. Hopefully he will return from the netherworld to transport us back in time to the era of errors. The Summer of Love. In the meanwhile go to psychedelicjukebox, which I found thanks to fans of the ever-acid TWOS. Old hippies never die, we just move to the country.

Mud Superman

Back in 1990 I traveled around the world on a circumnavigational ticket from New York to LA to Biak to Bali to Jakarta to Sumatra to Penang. From that old port I rode a train north to Surathani and then continued onto Bangkok and farther north to Chiang Mai. I stayed at the Top North Guest House within the walled city. The month was April and the temperature scorched my breath. The hotel had a swimming pool shaded by trees. I spent most of day wallowing in the shallow end, but once the sun dropped behind Doi Suthep I wandered along narrow sois to ancient temples and beer bars. A farang bookshop at the Eastern Gate rented dirt bikes. 125 cc MTXs and 250cc ATXs. $10 OR $12 a day. The owner was wizened Australian yellowed by malaria. His wife glowered in the kitchen. She clearly didn't trust westerners. "He's an American. Not an Israeli." Jerry wagged his finger at his diminutive wife. It was tinted by nicotine. He wasn't planning on leaving a good-looking corpse. "All farangs, all men, kee." She wrapped herself in a wraith of wrath. "Kee?" My Thai consisted of 'sawatdee kap' and 'eek nung kuat beer' plus 'unai hong nam'. Hello and more beer were almost as important as 'where's the bathroom'. My stomach was having a hard time adjusting to real Thai food. "Kee means shit. The Thais are the French of the Orient. They think they are better than anyone else and in some ways they aren't wrong. This country was never conquered by the west." He smiled at his wife. He was also proud of Thailand and whipped out a map of the tribal hills on the Burma border. "Mai Hong Son was one of the last market towns on the Silk Route." The broken nail of his index finger tapped a location to the west of Chiang Mai. "You could fly there for $15, but the road there can take up to ten hours. Every corner is a turn into the 15th century. The Thais are trying to pave it, but the steep hills eat up the road like land sharks." "I'll take the 250." I had a Triumph Tiger 650cc back in New York. Power was good for speed in getting someplace and getting out of it too. I gave him my passport as a guarantee and motored around town like Marlon Brando in THE WILD ONES. The bike had short pipes. They glowed red from the exhaust. The backfires spat a blue flames. I returned to the hotel and went to sleep early. Ten hours could become fifteen easy. The next morning I woke at dawn and ate a quick breakfast. After checking my bag with the hotel, I strapped a small daypack to the bike and pointed the front wheel north. The Trans-Asia Highway was unpocked by potholes and I turned off the smooth road at the turn-off for Mai Hong Song. Construction crews and their heavy trucks were grinding up the two-lander without mercy. I weaved through the swatches of destructed pavement in 2nd gear, climbing into the mountains scarred by the slash and burn agriculture of the hill tribes. I felt the centuries disappearing with every mile. The unpaved section of the road were ankle deep in a red dust. I wore a scarf over my mouth and nose. Sunglasses protected my eyes, but my denim jacket and jeans were caked with powdery dirt. Opium trucks rolled past police barriers without inspection and I promised myself a taste in Mae Hong Song. It would go good with beer. A little after noon I topped a crest of a pass. The sun was burning the slopes to a cinder and the temperature was roiling a touch under 100F. I spotted three buses stopped at the bottom of the valley and slowed down to a stop. Their passengers were sheltering under the shades of withered trees. The drivers stood at the edge of a 25 meter stretch of dried mud in the middle of which was a 10 meter bog. The Thais looked at me and I looked at them. One of the drivers waved his hands, as if to say getting across this mire was impossible. He hadn't seen Evel Knevel leap Caesar's fountains in Las Vegas and I u-turned the bike spraying a rat tail of parched earth. 200 meters back up the road I reversed direction and braked the 250cc ATX to a stop. The Thai men at the side of the road rose to their feet. The women stopped eating and stared at the farang on the bike. Their children ran closer to the edge of the soggy road. They knew that there was going to be a show. In their minds all farangs were crazy. The drivers stood in the way. I waved them away and revved the motor. As long as front tire stayed up and the rear wheel spun at top speed, then I could hydroplane across the fetid mud. I torgued out the bike at 7000 rpms and dropped it to 1000. I was ready and tore down the pitted road, hitting the dried goop at 90 kph. My only protection was my courage. I wasn't wearing a helmet. I made it halfway across before the front tire gave way to gravity and the bike stops on a coin. I was thrusted off the seat like Superman and landed in the goo face first. I rose from the muck and Thais laughed like maddened hyenas. I was covered from head to foot like a troglydite. The men helped me hauled the stalled bike from the bog and I promised to buy them beer in Mai Hong Sing. It was only another five hours away and the mud saved me from the sun. The bus rolled into Mae Hong Song around midnight. I had beer waiting. And my clothes were clean. Those were the days.