HinesSight

Sarah Palin is hot! (and wrong)

It's too bad that Republican V.P. candidate Sarah Palin is wrong for America on so many issues.

Creationism: favors teaching it.
Global climate change: denies humans are a cause.
Abortion: rejects it even in cases of rape or incest.
Polar bears: who cares?

Because…she's hot! (To my 59 year old eyes, she's a youthful 44 year old babe.) And she's been right on a few things -- like her admitted use of marijuana, including inhaling, when pot was legal in Alaska.

If Joe Biden's brain could be put in her body, that'd make for a much more attractive Obama administration. Unfortunately, this isn't going to happen.

So I spent some Google time today researching the many "Palin is hot" web sites, figuring that I'd better feast my eyes on her now – because after November she's going to fade back into Alaskan obscurity.

Here's a sampling of what I found.

Nice heels. And the rest of her.

First VP candidate to be on the cover of Vogue, I bet.(Via Photoshop, which is fitting, since Plain is a fake qualified V.P. candidate.)

Beauty pageant era, vs. today.

Biker babe.

Foxy unveiling (could be first scene of "Hot Governor" porn movie).

Second scene?

Guess PETA won't be supporting her.

Even looks good in fatigues.

If that's not enough Palin for you, here's a You Tube video tribute to her hotness.

Remembering separate drinking fountains

Once you contribute to the Obama campaign, you've got a daily email friend. Sometimes I find the requests for additional donations off-putting.

Not today.

They wanted me to max out our pre-nomination giving (deadline is midnight tonight). At first I wasn't sure whether we could afford it.

But then I thought of watching Obama's historic nomination by acclamation yesterday. Many black delegates to the convention were moved to tears. How far this country has come, they told a CNN reporter.

Oh, yes. For sure.

Laurel and I were talking last night about the civil rights movement in the '60s, which, being of a certain age, we can remember with teen-aged clarity.

She said, "That wasn't so long ago – when blacks had to use separate drinking fountains in the South. And now a black man is the Democratic nominee for president of the United States."

I did a little math in my head. "Over forty years; that's quite a while. We're pretty old. To lots of Americans this is ancient history, the Jim Crow era."

It's amazing, really. And disgustingly shameful. That well past the midpoint of the 20^th century a large portion of the United States was still blatantly treating blacks as second class humans.

So when I pushed a "Support the Ticket" button on an Obama web site contribution page, sending my donation off into cyberspace, I felt that I was doing a lot more than helping a presidential campaign.

With those dollars, I was saying I'm sorry.

Not that I was personally responsible for the discrimination that minorities have had to struggle against. Though in a way I am.

Watching Clinton make the motion to have Obama nominated by acclamation, I thought back to my high school days in central California.

How us white kids who lived in Three Rivers, up in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains, would sit on the bus that took us to Woodlake Union High School, down in the San Joaquin valley, and make fun of the Hispanic neighborhoods that we'd pass.

Except we didn't call them "Hispanics."

They were spics, taco-benders, other names I can't recall. I wasn't one of the leading name-callers, but I didn't speak back to those who did. No one did. We all were passive, if not active, accomplices in looking down on a Mexican culture that we couldn't care less about understanding.

We weren't as bad as white Southerners. Bad enough, though.

I can't undo the past. I can't apologize to the Hispanic classmates who we made fun of. (It was a two-way street though; most of the Spanish I learned in high school consisted of swear words directed at us Anglos in the locker room.)

However, I can support Obama. It's something. Not enough.

But something. Because as I heard black delegates say yesterday, this is more than an election; it's a movement. A movement toward genuine equality.

Anti-Obama Clinton supporters are crazy

Waiting for Hillary Clinton's big moment at the Democratic convention tonight, I'm trying to get my head around this question: how could any of her supporters be for McCain (or not vote) rather than be for Obama?

It's crazy, just the thought that someone who is for a woman's right to choose and universal health care (to name a few of Clinton's progressive positions) would cast their lot with a pro-Bush Republican who vows to stack the Supreme Court with justices who will undo Roe v. Wade and pursue a half-assed market-based health policy.

Yet today the New York Times says that "Some Clinton fund-raisers are still simmering," and CNN reports that "Angry Clinton supporters toast McCain, roast Obama."

I wanted Obama to pick Clinton as his V.P. candidate, in large part because I was worried that this would happen – irritated he passed her over Clintonites refusing to act in the country's best interest.

Now that I'm seeing this come to pass, I'm glad that Clinton wasn't chosen. She hasn't done enough to get her supporters firmly behind Obama. With a great speech tonight she can partially redeem herself, but the damage already has been done.

At the risk of irritating some Clinton feministas, here's one reason I think her female backers are having such a tough time accepting that she lost fair and square to a better presidential candidate: they haven't been exposed to the rough and tumble of sports.

Men are more likely to be into sports, both team and individual. Early on, a man learns how to play well with others. You compete as hard as you can, but if you lose, you shake hands with the winner and say "good game."

Maybe you don't mean it. Maybe you're pissed-off beyond belief. Maybe you feel you were cheated out of a win.

Regardless, you move on. You don't take it personally. You train and practice harder. You don't sit around and pout like a girl. Which is just what a lot of Clinton supporters are doing.

Pouting.

Most of all, if you're not a starter on a team, you sit on the bench and cheer like crazy for the guys who are better players than you are. You don't quit and go sit on the other side of the gym, clapping for the opponent.

Like the Rolling Stones told us, you don't always get what you want in life, but "if you try sometimes you might find you get what you need."

Disgruntled Clinton supporters need to ponder this. They didn't get the Democratic presidential candidate that they wanted, but they have the person this country needs.

Support Obama, Hillary lovers. Put your nation first and your hurt feelings second.

“Fill the boot” should take a hike

I'm all for raising money to fight muscular dystrophy. I just donated to the Muscular Dystrophy Association online.

But not through the "Fill the Boot" program, which recently slowed down traffic in Salem (Oregon) at rush hour once again, as firefighters walked up to cars stopped at red lights, asking that donations be put into a firefighter's boot.

I find this irritating and intrusive. I'm not alone, judging from some comments to a Texas newspaper story and what some friends said today when I asked them how they liked being asked to fill the boot.

Last Friday I encountered the firefighters at the Market Street and Lancaster Drive intersection, one of the busiest in town. Escaping the boot the first drive-through, after doing an errand I drove out of my way on a different return route to avoid the hassle.

How come panhandlers can't come up to your car window, nor fundraisers for any other worthy cause, but firefighters can on Fill the Boot days?

Last year the Medford City Council put its foot down and refused to allow an exception for firefighters. Good for them. Common sense ruled the day.

When it comes to enforcing the law, Medford police Chief Randy Schoen doesn't play favorites… Schoen said the City Council does not have the authority to grant an exemption that would supersede state law and allow firefighters to conduct their fund drive in the road on Highway 62.

… At the council meeting, Schoen encouraged the firefighters to find alternative methods to conduct their fund-raiser. He suggested using an area where cars can move out of the flow of traffic or in front of a business in a private parking lot, similar to the Salvation Army's red kettles at Christmas.

The Medford Police Department sets up phones to help take pledges for Jerry's Kids and its second annual "Tip a Cop" campaign is scheduled to take place at Red Robin on Sept. 29. The charity event raises money for Special Olympics with police officers filling water glasses and clearing tables in exchange for an additional tip from customers. Schoen said last year's drive was the most successful to date.

"What we did was legal and safe," Schoen said. "Cops do it for free and do it for a great cause."

Further discussion and legislation is possible, including laws that would make panhandling illegal at lighted intersections, Schoen said.

Just as they would when citizens complain about a homeless person impeding traffic to solicit, police would enforce the law if firefighters chose to act out their charity drive in the road.

Giving shouldn't be coerced. And having someone come up to your car window while you're stopped in traffic smacks of coercion to me.

With a little creative thinking, I'm sure firefighters could come up with ideas to raise money for muscular dystrophy that would be a whole lot less irritating to motorists, and even more productive for this charitable cause.

My wife and I give a lot to charities. But we almost never make a donation after getting a phone call. I tell the person, "Mail me something, and I'll take a look at it. We just don't believe in donating over the phone."

Donating through a car window when I'm at a red light is even less acceptable to me. Like the Medford police chief said, why not have firefighters hold out their boots in a highly visible parking lot next to a busy road?

That way those who want to give can, and those who don't won't be bothered or held up in traffic.

I suspect that support for Fill the Boot is connected with the public's high regard for firefighters. Which is well deserved. However, quite a few other occupations deserve an equal amount of respect.

Teachers. Nurses. Mail deliverers. Welfare workers. To name a few.

If firefighters get to walk up to stopped cars to solicit donations for a worthy cause, so should other groups. Special exemptions for Fill the Boot, as California legislation allowed, are politically correct but don't make sense.

Biden looking better to me

OK, go ahead and call me a flip-flopper. I call it "changing my mind." Joe Biden looks good to me now as a V.P. pick, after I trashed him in a one-liner a few days ago.

That smile will take down the ticket. Talks too much. Yawn.

Wrong, wrong, and wrong. At least, based on what I saw of Biden at his big introduction in Illinois today. I liked what he said; I liked how he said it; I liked the energy he brought to the Obama campaign.

Regarding his smile and loquaciousness, I read in a David Brooks column:

Biden's most notorious feature is his mouth. But in his youth, he had a stutter. As a freshman in high school he was exempted from public speaking because of his disability, and was ridiculed by teachers and peers. His nickname was Dash, because of his inability to finish a sentence.

He developed an odd smile as a way to relax his facial muscles (it still shows up while he's speaking today) and he's spent his adulthood making up for any comments that may have gone unmade during his youth.

This explains Biden's habit of smiling at odd moments, much as McCain does (but McCain doesn't have a good excuse). In Senate hearings, I've seen Biden say something angrily and intensely, but with a big smile.

Disconcerting. Leaves you with a feeling that he's not really sincere, or is playing some sort of game. However, today I didn't see any sign of that habit.

It wouldn't surprise me if Biden has been practicing in front of a mirror this week, working on controlling his smile in anticipation of all the focus that'll be on him as Obama's vice-president candidate.

Biden is going to be a great asset to the campaign. Now I'm happy that Clinton wasn't picked, notwithstanding my previous advice to Obama.

Another reason for liking Biden: he's a gray-haired, 60-something guy who is tall and in pretty good shape. From my utterly biased personal perspective (and by looking in a mirror), what's not to like?

I’ve got Obama’s VP selection covered

Figured I need to put up my pithy reactions now to whoever Obama picks for his vice-president candidate, since I don't function early in the morning very well, and I suspect the announcement will come in the a.m. tomorrow or Friday.

Instant emotional reaction counts more than considered reason. So here's what my snap feelings will be under each V.P. scenario.

Joe Biden: That smile will take down the ticket. Talks too much. Yawn.

Evan Bayh: Super-yawn. Wake me up after Obama wins.

Tim Kaine: Wow, a governor with little experience to go with a senator with little experience. Yuck.

Hillary Clinton: Yes! Barack listened to me! West Wing office, here I come!

Chris Dodd: Please wake me from this nightmare.

Bill Richardson: Looked good in a beard. Otherwise, blah.

Kathleen Sibelius: Oh, no, not a woman! Hillary supporters are going to freak.

Chuck Hagel: Cool, a Republican. I like. Nice thinking outside the box.

Sam Nunn: He's still alive?

Wesley Clark: Geez, my wife guessed right.

Chet Edwards or Jack Reed: Who?

Any other white guy: Too cautious, Barack. You should have gone with a Wow! factor.

Colin Powell: Wow! Let the lefties stew about his WMD testimony.

Any other non-predicted person: Creative choice. Way to go.

Land use planning isn’t a United Nations plot

Many of the right-wing land use zealots who brought Oregon the mess that was Measure 37 have some very strange fantasies.

One is that the United Nations somehow is behind land use planning in the United States – fitting in with the notion that the Secretary General of the U.N. is the antichrist and black helicopters are positioned to take over this country once the liberals have succeeded in handing over the keys to the Constitution.

Gee. Who knew? Guess I was crazy to think that zoning was a good idea. Apparently it's all-American to have gravel pits in residential neighborhoods and chemical plants next to elementary schools.

Today, a letter to the editor in the Salem Statesman Journal spewed out some untruths that led me to fire up Google and uncover some reality. Arlie W. Freauf wrote about a decision by the City Council to stop a helicopter flying school from (noisily) using the Salem airport:

I've lived for many years where I suspect the Leading Edge Aviation helicopters may fly.

When I read that the FAA is threatening to withhold airport money for Salem if the city council doesn't approve the helicopter school, I was reminded about then-Gov. Tom McCall's visit to Washington, D.C., on Feb. 7, 1973, to testify before the Interior and Insular Affairs committee on U.S. Senate S. 268 regarding U.N. land-use planning, which he was promoting.

Environmentalist Tom wanted the federal government to become more intrusive into state land issues. While admitting it was a "cop-out," he recognized local officials could blame the feds because grass-root opposition made it difficult to do certain things.

"So we need the strong sword of Damocles that the federal government can provide," he said. He also advocated putting sanctions on the states that "wouldn't break them" but that they should "sting like the devil."

Socialism requires a powerful central government. People do not easily or naturally adapt themselves to socialism, so it must rest upon force.

Force? Oh, Freauf must mean democracy.

Last time I looked the Salem City Council was elected. So were the state legislators who passed Oregon's pioneering land use legislation, SB 100. And Oregon citizens overwhelmingly voted to roll back the excesses of Measure 37 when they passed Measure 49 last November.

My Googling revealed that another Freauf, Betty, had expressed some remarkably similar sentiments to Arlie's in "Socialism Must Rest Upon Force." Methinks these Freauf's are related.

And equally mistaken.  Because when I did some research on Senate Bill 268, which supposedly was about "U.N. land-use planning" that Oregon Governor Tom McCall was promoting in 1973, the truth turned out to be quite different.

Forking out $3.95 to get an article from the New York Times archive (a small price to pay to demolish right-wing falsehoods), I learned that S. 268 was a bipartisan proposal backed by the Nixon administration. Click on the image to read the beginning of the story. Full PDF file is here:
Download s. 268 article.pdf

Later in the story, there was a summary of S. 268. Nothing to do with the United Nations – just an effort to get states to set up land use planning programs of their own choosing.

Well, I'm sure Arlie Freauf would have some explanation. Maybe Tricky Dick was in cahoots with the United Nations. After all, he proposed the Environmental Protection Agency, didn't he? That shows how low he'd go to take away our freedoms.

Bottom line: don't believe what you read in letters to the editor. Especially if they mention "U.N." and "land use" in the same sentence.

My Vice-President advice for Obama

Being a blogger prone to grandiosity (is there any other kind?) I'm assuming that Barack Obama is checking out the Internet at the moment, looking for some last minute advice on his vice-president selection.

Glad to oblige.

I'm a big Obama supporter. I must be, because I get almost-daily emails from the campaign thanking me for my contributions and asking for more.

Until recently I felt really good about Obama's chances in the general election. Now, not so much. McCain has been skillfully portraying him as an out-of-touch celebrity snob who doesn't want to drill for more oil and wouldn't mind losing in Iraq, while Obama's response to these attacks has been ineffectual.

Over at FiveThirtyEight, a great poll analysis site, the electoral college projection has been getting tighter. Now it's at 288 for Obama and 250 for McCain. Too close for comfort.

So here's the deal, Barack. You've got to hit a home run with your V-P choice. It can't be safe, like Bayh or Biden. It has to grab the country's attention. A big chunk of voters has to scream Oh yeah! when they hear the news.

Not Oh my…

This is why you've got to grit your teeth, do something unexpected, and pick Hillary Clinton. Now, I know you don't want to. And hardly anyone expects you to. That's why Clinton would be a great choice.

Her supporter's expectations are minimal. They're happy she's going to get a floor vote at the convention and will be a speaker. To have her picked as V.P. would be ecstatic for them. A whole lot of energy, enthusiasm, and money would flow into your campaign.

Clinton could be one of the attack dogs that you badly need right now. You're continuing to play the nice guy who will bring the county together while McCain brands you as the Anti-Christ.

Clinton has the balls (or rather, the ovaries) to bare her teeth and do some chomping. And she'd help you with the working class heartland types you've had trouble reaching. They like a candidate with some rough edges. You're too smooth for them. Clinton isn't.

If you don't pick her, then you've got to go with someone equally dramatic. Aim for the fences. No laying down a bunt and hoping that will lead to a win in November.

Video of dogs playing: what the world needs now

There's a lot going on in the world at the moment. Russia and Georgia are going at it. Afghanistan and Pakistan are their usually messy selves. Economic indicators are looking worse.

So it wasn't hard for me to decide on my blog post subject tonight:

Dogs playing!

A few days ago the family pet, Serena, had an unexpected play date. A Golden Retriver'ish dog came to visit while we were at our cabin in Camp Sherman, Oregon.

I grabbed my Flip Video camera when I saw that Serena and her new friend hit it off instantly. Sometimes it takes a while for dogs to get into play mode. Not this time.

A tail-wagging, pouncing, chasing, wrestling frenzy ensued right after the first sniffs. Here they are in their You Tube'd play dog majesty.

It's too bad that people – and nations – can't get along so well. Serena and her companion were strangers just before they embraced the joy of dog play.

Sure would be nice if everybody could simply say to their neighbor "let's have fun together!" And mean it.

Chipmunk stalking, Kentucky TV, and Benzedrine

Ah, now that's a terrific blog post title.

I'm sure it will generate lots of hits on Google searches as the masses interested in these (obviously) closely related subjects will be led to this bloggish musing on the nature of focused concentration.

Such was greatly in evidence today. Not from a Homo sapiens, but from a Canis familiaris – our resident house dog, Serena.

It's often said that life should be lived to its fullest.

I thought of that adage frequently from about 12:10 to 1:30 pm this afternoon, as I spent well over an hour of my steadily shrinking remaining lifetime looking out the window of a central Oregon cabin as Serena stalked a chipmunk with astoundingly measured steps.

I started to make a video of the scene, but soon realized that with a ten minute limit my You Tube upload would basically look like a single still: a chipmunk perched on a Ponderosa stump linked eyeball to eyeball with a mixed breed dog (half Lab, half Shepherd) whose patience and ever-so-slow stalking movements would put the most advanced Tai Chi practitioner to shame.

The motions of this You Tube dog are similar, but Serena beat the canine paws down on exquisitely refined inch-by-inch sneaking toward a prey.

Which seemed to be engaging in some sort of chipmunk'y reverse stalking – not dashing for its hole when Serena got almost within leaping distance, but continuing to sit on its stump with a relaxed disdainful attitude of "Dog, what dog? Oh, that creature over there that thinks it's moving so slowly I don't notice it, ha, ha, ha!"

On the other side of the window from the stalking scene were four human beings mesmerized by the super slow motion show being put on by the two animals.

It taught me how interesting an 80 minute display of dramatic tension – with hardly anything happening – can be. The climax hardly matters, compared to what came before, but I'll share it anyway.

Apparently another chipmunk uttered an alarm call, and the being-stalked chipmunk dashed into a hole at the base of the stump (where surely it had been planning to head the whole time, just waiting for the right moment).

There's no television at our cabin. So at one point, as we stood before the large kitchen windows,  I said "This is what passes for Camp Sherman TV."

As with Camp Sherman, Oregon, so with a rural area outside of Lexington, Kentucky. In a different sense.

There I was told by my wife's relatives that watching an outdoor fire is called "Kentucky TV." This being exactly what we were doing at the moment, I understood the appeal of that absolutely free programming (aside from the cost of a few chunks of wood, newspaper, and a match).

A couple of nights ago we enjoyed the same show in Camp Sherman. As with the dog stalking, not a whole lot went on for the hour or so while the wood burned down. But it was endlessly entertaining – watching the flickering flames doing not a whole lot.

Focus. Concentration. Being in the moment, no matter how much or how little is happening.

Why is this so easy for dogs and chipmunks? And for people in altered states of consciousness, like when they're sitting around a fire on a warm summer night? Or hosing cannery pulp into drains under the influence of a post-midnight Benzedrine?

Those little white amphetamine-filled pills were what got me through an otherwise shitty job at a San Jose cannery during one of my college summers.

My night shift was cleanly divided into two halves: unhappy and happy, the demarcation being when, after a "lunch" break at 3 am or so, I'd pop a bennie into my mouth.

Ah, what a difference some amphetamine would make! Sometimes my job would be to put on a rain suit, stand under the conveyor belts on which fruit pulp was dripping, and use a high pressure hose to direct the pulp into drains.

I hated the job pre-Benzedrine. Afterwards, I loved it. It was endlessly fascinating to train the water just so, artfully directing the spray to maximum pulp-washing effect. (Others, like W.H. Auden, have applied Benzedrine toward more creative pursuits.)

I'd also use Benzedrine as a study aid for sleep-inducing classes like Statistics. I remember preparing for a test where I could have read about T-tests all night, the normal curve and levels of significance being so astoundingly interesting.

Just like inching your way toward a chipmunk for almost an hour and a half can be, if you're a prey-obsessed canine. Or like watching an outdoor fire can be, if you're with pleasant company (which can be only yourself), the air is warm, and the stars are bright.

Simple pleasures, drug aided or not, often are the most satisfying. Frequently we forget this in our quest for the next exciting thing, as we're multi-entertaining our way through the day and night.

I'm sorry I didn't get a video of Serena stalking a chipmunk. Next time.

It could easily be the basis for a mini-book: "Everything I Need to Know About Life I Learned From My Dog Stalking a Chipmunk."

OK, the title could use some work. But it's probably more marketable than: "Everything I Need to Know About Life I Learned by Popping Benzedrine in a San Jose Cannery."

Poking fun (gently) at Harley riders

I'm putting this post in my blog's "humor" category because Harley Davidson motorcycle riders take their bikes pretty damn seriously, and I don't want to tick off any of the brothers or sisters.

Anyway, I used to have a motorcycle myself – a Yamaha Seca II – until my old lady (what I called my wife during the period I owned a bike, which helps to explain why I no longer have it) told me so many times that I was going to kill myself on it, I got afraid that I really would have a serious accident, become paralyzed, and have to spend the rest of my life listening to a tape player she'd put next to my ear that said, in an endless loop, "I kept saying that you were going to kill yourself and you almost did, you fucking idiot."

So I have a fondness for two-wheeled motorized transportation. I've even (shush…don't tell my wife!) been eyeing on the Internet a Suzuki Burgman 650 scooter set up as a trike. Pretty cool.

Now, a Japanese scooter isn't a Harley. You can tell, because a Suzuki Burgman 650 is (1) a lot quieter, (2) less expensive, (3) more reliable, (4) safer, and (5) more practical.

That said, there's nothing like a Harley. I say that without ever having ridden a Harley. I have, however, seen lots of Harley riders – and not all of them have been sipping lattes while their bikes are parked outside the downtown Salem Starbucks on a weekend.

Today, for example, there was an influx of Harley Davidsons in the ever-so-charming central Oregon town of Sisters. The Sisters Bead Stampede was this weekend; maybe that drew them.

I doubt it, though, given the look favored by most of the Harley riders. I didn't see a single delicate bead necklace – mainly lots of leather, studs, chains, and similar macho paraphernalia.

Which, I hasten to add, looked just fine on them.

My "hasten to add" comes in part from memories of going to college in the San Jose area in the late '60s and early '70s when the Gypsy Joker motorcycle gang ("club," if any Gypsy Jokers read this post) was highly visible. Since I drove a '57 VW bug with peace symbols plastered all over it, one of my goals – still extant – was to stay on good terms with tough-looking dudes on Harleys.

That said, there's something about the Harley Davidson culture that is, when you think about it, something to think about.

How's that for a bold criticism!

Actually I'm not critical of Harleys, though I do find them obnoxiously noisy at times. But, hey, each to his own. While I'm more attracted to a high-powered Japanese scooter, I can understand the appeal of the Harley mystique.

This guy, however, doesn't think much of it. His "Why a Harley Davidson Isn't a Real American Motorcycle" is a no holds barred critique of both the bike and those who ride them.

One Harley rider looks like another, pretty much, yet they all claim that they are 'individuals'.  Seeing a group of Harleys go past is like watching a cut scene from the movie "The Stepford Wives".   They're all identical, they look alike, and they all ride the same thing; junk.

Very few Harleys are truly fast or powerful. Most are just loud rattletraps, over priced dealer wannabes or pieced together hope it works tomorrow wonders. They are paper tigers, all show and no go. You can get a hundred pounds of chrome on one of those motorcycles straight from the factory. Matching leather everything as well, even down to the little official HD logo which is oh so important to this flock behavior mindset. Studded, braided, polished, painted, chromed, but ... it's all flash.   It's all custom parts and paint, all jury rigged and low tech. In anything else but a Harley, the extremes that most Harley owners go to would be considered tacky and tasteless, and probably laughable.

… I think I've finally figured out just *WHY* Harley Davidson motorcycles are so popular...   Harley Davidson isn't a motorcycle company, it is a cult religion.  You don't ride a Harley Davidson so much as you worship it.  You and every other little acolyte.  A Harley Davidson is a rolling altar to mediocrity, you bend your knees and you pray to a pagan idol of chrome and leather for the pitiful life that you glean from it.  That is the only way that I can see why so many people are so clueless when it comes to motorcycles.   They can't stand on their own, they aren't tough enough to be individuals, so they have to reinforce their own self image with artificial constructs.  Joseph Campbell would have a field day with the average Harley owner, I think that Harley Davidson is another of the 'masks of God' that Campbell once talked about so richly, or one of the supposed nine thousand names for God.

Harley Davidson.  It's not a motorcycle company.  It is a pagan cult religion for brain dead trend humping fashion lemmings.

Ouch. But remember, Harley owners, those aren't my words. And keep in mind: this is a "humor" post.

Tai Chi – about to be Olympics trendy?

With the Olympics opening ceremony being shown on American TV tonight, I'm enthused about the possibility of Tai Chi becoming trendy in this country.

I've been learning Tai Chi for almost four years and do a modified version of the Cheng Man-ch'ing "short form" several times a week on the wood floor of a weights room at our athletic club.

So far I've been asked what I'm doing exactly once – by a couple who took Tai Chi at the club until classes ended, and hoped that I could lobby the manager to get them reinstated (or, teach them myself).

Most people, I expect, just see a gray-haired guy waving his arms around and doing something strange. Hopefully after tonight they'll recognize it as Tai Chi, assuming that my form somewhat resembles what's going to be displayed at the opening ceremony.

I couldn't find any video of the ceremony, which has already happened. But some descriptions of it make me eager to see the Tai Chi.

[Update: Check out this video of the main Tai Chi section of the opening ceremony. Amazing!]

A liveblog: The dancers fan out again, and it's time for the next section of the ceremony, which will demonstrate the unity of man and nature. And I know what this first bit is too - it's a group of people performing Tai Chi. The dancing squad are holding up reflective screens, which are making ribbons of light flash across the arena. Then the huge plasma screens at the top of the stadium kick in, giving the impression of very specifically focused torrential rain.

Another blog: Some other exhibitions follows but what I like best is the Tai Chi part of the program. A massive group of Chinese people formed a circle around a grand piano while doing their Tai Chi steps. It's so amazing on how did they manage to keep their line straight while jumping and hopping to different places. I am so impressed!

CBS sports blog: Hundreds of guys in white outfits perform a finely choreographed tai chi routine. Wow, that was much more impressive then the solo tai chi routine performed every afternoon at the park near my apartment by that shady unemployed guy.

And: Sydney may have had an army of Hills Hoists and lawn mowers, but the Chinese came wielding drums, light sticks and for their martial arts display, nothing but themselves. Tai chi, or kung fu, or it may have been a mixture of both featured as several hundred performers moved magically as one through a series of moves and spiral kicks. Even their battle cries came as if from one person.

If you live near Salem, Oregon and are drawn to try Tai Chi, you're in luck. My instructor, Warren Allen of the Pacific Martial Arts Academy on Court Street downtown, is top notch.

Don't be thrown off by the "martial arts" mention. Tai Chi indeed is a martial art – the foundation of all martial arts, in Warren's informed opinion – and it can be practiced as such.

But most people in my classes aren't focused on Tai Chi as self-defense. They enjoy it as a movement art, for the physical, mental, and spiritual benefits. It helps keep you flowing and flexible, a benefit at any age.

My tire gauge says, “Obama’s right”

I've always had a tire gauge in my car, way before Barack Obama made it a symbol of how we can reduce our dependence on foreign oil.

We're so close – the tire gauge and me – I've been able to channel its thoughts about the recent attempt by John McCain and his Republican know-nothings to belittle the importance of keeping tires properly inflated.

"Obama's right!" My tire gauge has a high squeaky voice befitting its slim stature. But I can make out these words just fine.

It's a fact: proper tire pressure on the nation's cars would have much more of an impact than offshore oil drilling. McCain surely knows this. He's just playing political games, per usual.

Well, McCain needs to watch out. Proper tire pressure is a NASCAR thing, and no Republican wants to be on the wrong side of NASCAR voters.

Snakes in a pond (and pump)

Snakes creep me out. Big time. Even little garden snakes. To my mind, this is proof of evolution, because I've got an inbred distaste for creatures that used to kill my distant ancestors.

Also, I grew up in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains (California), where rattlesnakes abounded. So hearing their unmistakable sound as a kid while crawling over some rocks also serves to explain my current Yikes! whenever I see a slithery form with no legs.

Yesterday one of those forms also had almost no body – just a few inches of what obviously once was a much lengthier snake sticking out of the intake on our pond pump.

That elicited a Yuck! when I pulled the pump up, wondering why it had stopped working. I refused to touch it, making Laurel get some gloves and extract the hunk of snake from the pump.

Unfortunately, that wasn't all of the snake, since the pump still wouldn't work. There was no evident way to take it apart, so we called DeSantis Landscaping, who installed the pump, and Ben came over this morning to have a look.

Making us feel very special, he said that he'd never seen a snake in a pump. Lots of frogs, but no snakes.

He managed to extract it in bits and pieces, using his Leatherman tool. Guess I could have done that myself, but I was glad to watch Ben doing his own Yuck'ing (real men like Ben and me can be scared of snakes).

Being as fond of Google as I'm repelled by snakes, I was curious how many hits "pond pump snake" would turn up on the search engine.

I couldn't see a single reference to a snake being sucked into a pump (quite a few about snakes in a pond) so we indeed experienced a pretty unusual situation.

Somehow the snake made it through a mesh screen and another filter before ending up in the pump enclosure. Easier to understand, though, is it's motivation: fish eating.

Currently there's eight small koi and goldfish in the pond. Laurel has caught several snakes in the act.

Once she was standing by the pond and noticed a snake darting around in the water like it was hunting. Then it grabbed a fish and jumped out of the pond, right at her feet. Laurel put her foot on it and yelled "Let go!"

It did. The goldfish survived after being thrown back into the pond, with a marvelous Jonah-like tale to tell the grandkids.

Laurel hasn't killed any snakes. (We leave that to the pump.) When she finds them sneaking around the pond, she transports them a good distance away. The people who advised "don't kill" to a Yahoo Answers question on this subject will be pleased with us.

This guy went so far as to install an electric fence sort of apparatus around his koi/goldfish pond. Not a bad idea, but it wouldn't work for our more natural in-ground water feature.

Hopefully the word will spread around the snake community about poor old Joe, who met a nasty end after swimming around looking for a tasty fish meal.

I can definitely testify that the end I saw sticking out of the pump looked way nasty.

Victoria Taft is wrong again

It's hardly news when right-wing talk radio spews forth erroneous information.

But since I'm on a mini-roll on this subject, having pointed out the murderous insanity of Michael Savage, et. al. recently, there's a special delight in catching Victoria Taft (a local Portland, Oregon talk show host) in one of her frequent blab first and check facts later moments.

Yesterday Taft was going on and on about how a CBS News report said that Al Qaida's #2, Ayman al-Zawahiri, had been killed or severely injured by a recent United States missile strike.

Taft praised American special forces, talked about what a blow this was to Al Qaida, and generally made a mountain out of a single unverified report molehill.

Now, whenever I, a humble blogger sitting in my shorts (no pajamas; it's early evening) put up a post, I always do some Google research to make sure that what I'm saying is more or less accurate. More or less, because I don't claim to be the New York Times.

You'd think that a talk show host would be able to come up to my standards.

But, no. Victoria Taft – like most of her comrades (some left-wingers included, unfortunately) – just starts blabbing about whatever rolls across her computer monitor, truthful or not.

It turns out that there's no evidence of al-Zawahiri's illness or death, according to U.S. counter-terrorism officials. Al Qaida also denies it, along with the Taliban and Pakistan.

Yet Taft's blog still has a mention of the unfounded report. No correction yet, or an apology for misleading her listeners. One commenter even takes the Oregonian to task for not printing a story about an untruth.

Well, I bet no correction or apology will be forthcoming. This is right-wing talk radio. Where facts don't matter.