Saturday morn here. I was up at 4am. Had to drop my Pet-Teen off at the airport. Here in QLD, this time of year, it’s easy to get up early. It’s light outside by 5am.
Got a lot to do but am sitting wrapped up. A chilled southerly wind blows. it is dry and crisp. No moisture in the air.
I am thinking about the word-use I am hearing, have been hearing for a long time. And I am thinking that definitions are important.
Of course, in recent times, the cry of “RACIST”, has been loud and constant. Here in Aus you shall be called “racist” if you voted “NO” in the recent referendum. In the USofA, the moniker of “racist” is used to silence, frighten, end any discussion on almost any topic… You support The Donald, and you’ll be called racist. You disagree with open boarders, you’ll be called racist.
The word I am hearing this morning, THE WORD that was on the radio as I drove, and as I read an listen to “de-newz” is “Genocide.
The genocide taking place in Israel/ Palestine…
So, as I was driving this morn, ruminating on it all, I think about the use of the word and the effects of the word being used…
First: Genocide noun: genocide; plural noun: genocides the deliberate killing of a large number of people from a particular nation or ethnic group with the aim of destroying that nation or group. “a campaign of genocide”
OK, in this context, the word “genocide means Israel has been carrying out a plan of deliberate killing of a large number of Palestinian Arabs.
So, by 1947 there were 630,000 Jews, 143,000 Christians, and 1,181,000 Muslims in Israel/ Palestine.
Modern era demographics of Israel, Israelis, and Palestinian territories show us that: As of 2014, Israeli and Palestinian statistics for the overall numbers of Jews and Arabs in the area west of the Jordan, inclusive of Israel and the Palestinian territories, are similar and suggest a rough parity in the two populations. Palestinian statistics estimate 6.1 million Palestinians for that area, while Israel’s Central Bureau of Statistics estimates 6.2 million Jews living in sovereign Israel. Gaza is estimated by the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) to have 1.7 million, and the West Bank 2.8 million Palestinians, while Israel proper has 1.7 million Arab citizens. According to Israel’s Central Bureau of Statistics, as of May 2006, of Israel’s 7 million people, 77% were Jews, 18.5% Arabs, and 4.3% “others”. Among Jews, 68% were Sabras (Israeli-born), mostly second- or third-generation Israelis, and the rest are olim – 22% from Europe and the Americas, and 10% from Asia and Africa, including the Arab countries.
According to these Israeli and Palestinian estimates, the population in Israel and the Palestinian territories stands at from 6.1 to 6.2 million Palestinians and 6.1 million Jews.
OK, so by 1947 there were 630,000 Jews, 143,000 Christians, and 1,181,000 Muslims in Israel/ Palestine.
By 2014 there were 6,100,000 Jews, and 6,100,000 Muslims in Israel/ Palestine.
Of course, numbers are numbers are numbers. But I do not, DO NOT, see genocide taking place.
The Ottoman Empire, historically and colloquially known as the Turkish Empire, was an empire that controlled much of Southeast Europe, West Asia, and North Africa between the 14th and early 20th centuries. The empire also controlled an eastern region of Central Europe from the 16th to the late 17th century.
I like this map because it shows us the dissolution of the Ottomans through the 1800s. As the empire dissolved, lands that had been ruled by the Ottomans for centuries were claimed, divided, held, bartered and sold to the victors of various wars. Confusion and strife accompanied the changes. The peoples in those lands, say Greece, had no say, no democratic vote as per who or what would rules their lives after the Ottomans.
I use Greece because I have some knowledge here… My mother’s people are Greek. My maternal grandmother, Vera, came from Samos. Her people were refugees from the progroms against Greek speaking people in what is now Turkey. Their’s is a sad story of loss, death, survival. I am glad Vera did survive. I have named a granddaughter Vera.
My maternal Grandfather fought in the Greco-Turkish wars…
The Greek campaign was launched primarily because the western Allies, particularly British Prime Minister David Lloyd George, had promised Greece territorial gains at the expense of the Ottoman Empire, recently defeated in World War I. Greek claims stemmed from the fact that Anatolia had been part of Ancient Greece and the Byzantine Empire before the Turks conquered the area in the 12th-15th centuries. The armed conflict started when the Greek forces landed in Smyrna (now İzmir), on 15 May 1919. They advanced inland and took control of the western and northwestern part of Anatolia, including the cities of Manisa, Balıkesir, Aydın, Kütahya, Bursa, and Eskişehir. Their advance was checked by Turkish forces at the Battle of the Sakarya in 1921. The Greek front collapsed with the Turkish counter-attack in August 1922, and the war effectively ended with the recapture of Smyrna by Turkish forces and the great fire of Smyrna.
So, this tells me is that, after WW1, the Greeks were encouraged to wage war against the dead/ dying empire that had subjugate them for centuries. As were other peoples in other places. The Masters of War had unleashed hounds to ravage and harass what was left of the Ottomans.
Basically, the dead empire was being divided up by the victors. Often with force. Like hounds fighting over scraps the Masters of War did not want.
The “winners” of the war got first pick of the flesh still hanging off the bones of the Ottoman Empire. Some places are/ were more desirable than others.
The Suez Canal was/ is terribly important. It was claimed very early on in the proceedings as an asset belonging to the Masters… I note the subsequent fighting/ waring that has taken place in dispute of the Suez Canal.
I note that Iraq, Lebanon, Syria, Syria, and Palestine were big bones on the Ottoman carcass.
All but Palestine appear to be coveted, wanted, desired. Jerusalem was important but Palestine, rich in history, had few resources. No oil, no water, occupied by nomadic, Arabic speaking tribes. Much less coveted than, say Bagdad or Damascus.
The masters of war had made many promises to many people… keeping the promises proved impossible.
During World War I the great powers made a number of decisions concerning the future of Palestine without much regard to the wishes of the indigenous inhabitants. Palestinian Arabs, however, believed that Great Britain had promised them independence in the Ḥusayn-McMahon correspondence, an exchange of letters from July 1915 to March 1916 between Sir Henry McMahon, British high commissioner in Egypt, and Ḥusayn ibn ʿAlī, then emir of Mecca, in which the British made certain commitments to the Arabs in return for their support against the Ottomans during the war. Yet by May 1916 Great Britain, France, and Russia had reached an agreement (the Sykes-Picot Agreement) according to which, inter alia, the bulk of Palestine was to be internationalized. Further complicating the situation, in November 1917 Arthur Balfour, the British secretary of state for foreign affairs, addressed a letter to Lord Lionel Walter Rothschild (the Balfour Declaration) expressing sympathy for the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people on the understanding that “nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine.” This declaration did not come about through an act of generosity or stirrings of conscience over the bitter fate of the Jewish people. It was meant, in part, to prompt American Jews to exercise their influence in moving the United States to support British postwar policies as well as to encourage Russian Jews to keep their nation fighting.
Today is Tuesday, 17th of October. On the 14th a referendum was held here in Aus. A referendum to “enshrine” an Aboriginal Voice in Parliament.
What is a referendum?
In Australia, referendums are public votes held on important issues where the electorate may approve or reject a certain proposal. The term is commonly used in reference to a constitutional referendum which is legally required to make a change to the Constitution of Australia. (Wikipedia)
A single question: “A Proposed Law: to alter the Constitution to recognise the First Peoples of Australia by establishing an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice.Do you approve this proposed alteration?”
I shall not carry on about how or why the vote ended up as it did. I shall, though, discuss my thoughts and emotions…
Since the beginning of the “Voice” initiative, the facts per who, what, how, where, when, how much have been sparse to nonexistent.
Though, initially, seen as a fine and noble idea; constitutional recognition of the aboriginal peoples, no one was able to explain the details. The lack of detail is what made the idea questionable.
As well, there was a fair bit of mud-slinging. By both sides. By activist-minded supporters who said to vote against was to prove you were racist. To vote against was to prove you were stupid… to vote in favour was to prove you were racist. To vote in favour was to prove you were stupid.
Golly, it’s 2nd week October, and I am way behind.
Way behind on numerous fronts…
I am thinking that this is a by-product of being very busy and getting heaps, and heaps done, competed, accomplished. And, also, being bone tired, leg-weary each day, And sleeping like a log .
It is all good.
Today, this morn, is a wrap in the blanket and watch blood-sport Sunday. I am cooking a big pot of beans and a couple nice racks of ribs. Son, Don, has been visiting; pet-teen, Mendoza is around (somewhere), Big G will stop by later.
The coffee is good, the house is open, the air is crisp, the sky is overcast with a scent of rain, a promise of some moisture.
And, as I sit, ruminate, watch, study the goings-on around me, I scratch my head. I find that, as I age, I spend more and more time just simply scratching my head in wonderment…
We have “The Voice to Parliament” vote, here in the land of Aus. This is a move to change the constitution and “enshrine” an “indigenous” voice in Parliament. What it will be, how it will work, who it will include is confused. No answers have been given, just vague, feel-good ideas of how a VOICE will end early child mortality, increase longevity, and solve all the social problems of the class of folks here down-under, that suffer the most – but have the most spent on them.
I won’t chase the numbers but, a quick look and we find:
On a per person basis, government welfare expenditure was $13,968 per Indigenous Australian, compared with $6,019 per non-Indigenous Australian in 2012–13—this equates to expenditure of $2.32 per Indigenous person for every $1.00 spent per non-Indigenous person.15 Aug 2023
So, this referendum is aiming to solve all the problems, SOCIAL, FINANCIAL, PERSONAL, MEDICAL, EDUCATIONAL… all the problems…
Yea, right… I see shams like this as nothing more than wealth distribution programmes designed to buy votes.
In the US I watch as the might, the weight, the strength and resources of the central government are used to silence, stall, stop, censor a political foe… The Donald is simply too loud, too wealthy, too autonomous for the powers that be, I am not speaking of blue v red. It is the weight and power of both main political structures that is being levied against The Donald. He threatens all and everyone.
And I must say, I agree when DT says he is fighting this battle for the people, to ensure the powers of the central government are not gratuitously used against the common-man.
I am incessantly confused and amazed when smart folks I know think it’s fine for DT to be roasted by the corrupt powers that control. They think DT deserves it, should rot forever in a dark, dank cell. That the wrongs and transgressions of the likes of the Biden-Crime-Family, or the Uber-corrupt-Clinton gang, or the sins of the Obama-masqueraders are minimal in regards to DT’s failings.
And, as those who applaud the use of the system against a private citizen, I caution that such actions, once sanctioned, may well become the norm.
I dig the idea that the US Congress kicked K.McCarthy out of the speaker’s seat, then took a break form business.
The Speaker is the 3rd highest position in the US system. When there is no Speaker, Congress must do no business until a new Speaker is elected. So everything stops.
Sure, makes sense to me.
Let’s see what I have been doing…
Making a stick for my old buddy DB…. was out cleaning up rusty, tangled barbed wire and found this:
So I took it home…
and cut it up… the wood is dense. It throws sparks when I cut it…
And, after a couple years and many miles, I have my bike-shed sorted, setup electrified and happening… it is good.
Have a 47Ariel on the lift. Mendoza is going to learn-how-to on this project…
September 2023 has shown itself to be quite a month. A month on steroids even… have gotten soooo muchhh done in the past couple weeks.
And its all good, except, that is, the bone tired weariness that comes from long days, lots of miles, a lot getting completed… well, maybe not completed, 100%… completion is an on going, never ending sorta gig…
I am very glad I have extensive experience surviving off of tank-water. Of course, the Solomons taught well how to live with limited water, how to ration and get things done on limited water, how to wash, launder, clean, scrub, hydrate and maintain life under limited water. Its not that easy. Flushing toilets, showers, doing dishes and laundry all change as one runs short of water.
For over the last 18-20 months water has not been a problem, unless its been too much water… below are picts from 18-20 months ago… as the little stream became a rushing river. As we saw over 3meters of rain in less than 6months…
The cleanup in aisle 3 has taken a long, long time. No where near even started cleaning up all the tangled and twisted and rusted barbwire and steel posts that are strewn about, in the back. I may have about 10% of the mess cleaned up. And that is all out front, around the house and outbuildings, along the 1/2km long drive. The back 100acres are still neglected, waiting, pending.
Its been a big job. It remains a big job.
As I gain in wisdom, knowledge and AGE, I begin to have insights into the entire gig of “getting old”… 1) stay fit and healthy. The more physicality I can put into my projects the more I can accomplish, complete, get done. Noting my strength and stamina is not what it once was. 2) Avoid injuries at all costs! Be smart, work smart, lift and tote smart. Knee braces, ankle supports, a tight belt are all important for keeping upright, mobil, and uninjured. 3) Use what ever tech possible to get a job done. Meaning that lifting. moving, shifting, relocating anything, ANYTHING, is easier and healthier with mechanical assistance. I use a big tractor and a small tractor (each with a bucket) to move most things. I use the 8ton excavator to dig, shift, lift. My back may be sore but its not injured, inflamed.
So, an old fart in a little valley with a couple big machines…. I’m like a kid in a sandbox…
Sunday here down-under. Very pleasant morning. Betsy and G.G. and Nova spent the night. we’ll head outside to raise hell on wheelz and bbq soon.
Spent the past week shape shifting an old, hard, dense piece of wood… started with this:
An old fence rail dug out of the mud n muck after the recent floods. An ancient piece of wood, trimmed and shaped ages, decades ago by unknown hands.
We rather quickly end up with something recognisable as a walking stick…
Finished product… Im pretty happy with the outcome.
This past week we were doing some more digging and came across a couple pieces of old wood. These are roots from an ancient tree, long gone and sunk and decayed. These will be cool to shape and change and see what is inside…
And finally, a word from our sponsor…
So, my old buddy, RW, your stick will be in the mail soon.
Good news and bad news… Good news always first… You’re still alive. Bad news… You just turned 66.
Unless you’re from a culture that counts ” 1 ” at birth. Then I’d be 67.
Gee, only 33/34 more years until I get to be 100.
I’m unusually sad today because I know, for the first time in my life, my mom wont say “Happy Birthday”.
I shan’t be receiving a birthday card from my Mom.
One of Mom’s big “things” was sending birthday cards. Ive always cherished and saved my cards. I always told my kids and grandkids that Granny’s cards were precious. Keep them, hide them away. Enjoy them often.
Mom was prolific in her birthday greetings by card. Each and every member of of our very extensive family got a birthday greeting, an acknowledgment, personalised in her own hand.
So I could never feel “special”, everyoen got one, I was one of many, (story of my life) but for that instant, when the card is received, the world had a big smile.
Some of her cards arrived months late. But they were always a big “make your day” sorta thing.
As she got older it became a game to try to decipher what she wrote. It was always a team effort. We’d manage eventually, read it all after a bit of effort.
And the beat goes on. Hapi Bday to me. Many more to come.
I am a bike-guy. I really dig motorcycles. I started young, young, young… influenced by my elder siblings and their cohorts. Bikes and riding are a huge part of my life.
And once in your life, maybe, if you are lucky, you get to have exactly what you want.
Meet the “B.B. 750″…
I designed and helped create this amazing machine. Master maniac and mechanic, Steve “Carpy” Carpenter, made this all possible.
I very much enjoy resurrecting bikes out of old rusty hunks. Turning what would be lost forever, into something coveted and cared for.
B.B. is no exception. It was a non-running, one owner, truly amazing “barn-find”. I am sooo glad I got to resurrect this Classic 1974 Honda CB750K.
As below, it had an old seat and a beat-up old exhaust.
But being a Cali-Bike, is still had a lot of life in it.
Climate and time does take a toll on any machine that has been parked up too long. But, if lucky, if found in time, a machine can be brought back to life. Repaired. Refurbished. All it takes is a lot of time and a fair amount of $$$.
This was the start of the B.B. project…
It was a solid machine but had been on hard times. It is now over the 50 years old. It was neglected, stored out of the way, almost forgotten… A perfect opportunity to turn the old girl into a thoroughbred, once more.
It was in 2010 I first walked into Steve “Carpy” Carpenter’s workshop in Orange County, CA.
My nephew went in to pick up a custom seat for his CB750 project. I immediately “GOT” what Carpy was doing. Liked what he was doing.
The collaboration that created The B.B. started then.
B.B. stands for “Black Beauty”. It turned into an amazing, one-of-a-kind machine. A true beauty dressed in black.
It has fantastic lines, great sound, and rides and handles like a modern machine.
Plenty to look at.
Innumerable man hours when into this. We started the project in 2012, finished it 2015. I kept it in California for years, riding it around the LA/ Pasadena area. By 2018 I decided to bring it to Australia.
Some interesting points about this bike… *1 owner. I have original paper work, plus, very cool indeed, the original licence plate. *So much of this build involved “hand-made” parts and pieces. Hundreds of hours, working ol-skool to get that vintage, custom, coool result. *Modern components are under the “skirt”. You don’t see them but the brakes, the suspension, the electrical system have all been modernised.
The headlight with the built in LED turn signals is a great addition. It also has a Halogen bulb to help you at night. Seeing into the dark when you are cranking on a ton is very important.
We painted the bucket, tanks, side covers, seat, fork, ears a high gloss black. Also painted the head light bucket, the rims, and parts of the wheel hubs.
One-off additions like custom made, screw on badge embelishers gives a soft but classy and vintage touch.
No expense spared on this build.
The frame was stripped, cleaned and coated with high gloss powder coating.
Note all the billet-work. I like the stainless steel allen-bolts. Gives a nice contrast to the black.
The motor was pulled apart and rebuilt. It remains stock with new guides and internal cam chain. Spare parts, if ever required, still readily available at any Honda dealership.
The engine in painted in a custom mix of high temp engine paint. Gives the bike a very stealthy, modern look.
B.B. is different from most custom machines that are all polished and chromed to the max.
Billeted “extras” make this machine shine. Above shows the “finned” cap for the oil dip stick. I think it sets the bike off.
Keeping with the classic era, brand new gauges added with a hand-made alloy mount. For fun we added a neutral light in the middle of the steering stem nut . Also fitted polished aluminium bar clamps to hold a custom set of clubman handlebars, with new cables, adjuster and master cylinder.
A lot of attention to detail went into the build. We fitted Tarozzi rear sets. We fitted a custom oil pressure gauge. Now you can see if you are getting good oil pressure all the time.
Finned covers and of course, a custom 4 into 1 Exhaust system. The rear brake was rebuilt using non asbestos EBC brake shoes. New springs with a polished outer hub looks great as an offset to the black rims.
Rebuilt front forks and painted lowers. New tires and front mudguard, gives that classic look of cafe-bikes back in the day.
Totally rebuilt and tuned the carburetors. These are fully detailed to match the motorcycle. We used Steel Dragons for the air-box.
All runs great and smooth, even after being in storage since 2019.
The kick starter was drilled and chromed. The rear sets prevent you from a full kick, but B.B. has an electric starter. A truly modern machine.
Hand lettering and pin stripping on the tank. B.B. is a play on the original C.B., which stands for “city bike”. Of course, B.B. stands for Black Beauty. And it is!
The tank is the original for this machine. It was hammered and bashed and bent and smoothed before adding the gloss black enamel paint. Custom, stainless steel aircraft style gas cap used because it looks so, so good.
Custom rear shocks that are raised 2 inches. Finned piggy backs help the bumps. Hand made seat assembly sits upon the frame and hides the battery etc. Snaps on the tuck n roll cover offers easy access to the battery.
Hand formed tank, new wire harness, new handlebar controls, new cables throughout make sure this bike is as-new, or better than as-new..
Drilled front brake rotor, rebuilt and polished front calliper, custom parts all over the bike makes B.B. a great head turner, and a great, reliable, daily ride.
B.B. turned out really well and runs true and strong.
I have not had B.B. on the road since 2019. Covid and life and lockdowns saw this great machine stuck in my shed, on charge, under a cover. I pulled it out recently. It started easily.
A bike like this needs a good home, needs to be used, needs to be shown off, admired, appreciated.
I have said before that August is my favourite month. So many good things about August… get a Blue Moon this month, the planet is in its preps to reverse it’s tilt, the night sky in August is always and all ways great… https://www.space.com/16149-night-sky.html
It is an overcast, drizzly morning. Had a good but short shower right on dawn. Things are drying up, for the first time in over 18months. After the once-inahundredyear floods of a year ago.
For the first time in 2years we’re running low on tank water.
I have a big tank down at the stock yards that is full, but is not connected to anything. A couple years ago I rigged a pump and over 200meters/ 600feet of poly pipe to move the water to the house tank. It was quite a chore noting the 200 meter run was covered by no less than half-a-dozen lengths of pipe coupled together. We spent most of that day turning the pump off and reconnecting blown fittings. It was a bear of a day.
This time I think I’ll use a 1000litre ICB to move the water as per need. One load at a a time.
Cant live without water, and I am very spoilt… I could buy a few thousand litersx10, but the water won’t be the nice, soft, clean rain water I am used to. Call me fussy, but the water in my tanks is very good, very clean, uncontaminated, and I’ll keep it that way as long as possible,
Funny thing about the valley I live in… even tho we’re in a bit of a dry-ish spell, there are places here on the property where I cant put my machines or they will get stuck. Ive been trying to clean up from the flood, remove the torn and strewn-about fence lines. Slash and mow the thick, tangled growths of grasses and weeds. The higher ground was dry enough for me to start this work this time last year. Through the past 12 months or so I have done what I think is a huge amount of work, but only gotten about 10acres out of 120 done, cleaned, tamed, under control…
10 acres of clearing per annum = I’ll be done in another 100years.
My topic of rumination this past week has been racism.
Racism is a simple concept. I believe all people of all walks of life have an idea, if not an experience, of what racism means to them.
I have no doubt in my entire being that at birth, a child has no concept of racism. Thus I deduce that racism is a learned trait. As opposed to an innate, or inherent trait, such as the need for comfort, warmth, security, love.
I firmly believe the development of the human, the “baby”, begins the instant the spark-of-life is ignited. At the moment of inception, the spark of life is ignited, and the being, the child, begins to emote. It responds to comforts, strife, stress, happiness, et al.
I shan’t go into it here, as I wrote about it all rather ponderously in the above link, but I still can hear the woosh of the womb. Feel the comfort and warmth of my life, before my life.
I have no recollection of having any idea about race or racism for most of my youthful years. I distinctly recall my mother being viciously angered by anything that smelt or dealt of racist concepts. She was very strict in these regards. I recall her once stating that she’d seen enough “racist bullshit” in her life. She told me once that she and her family had grown up being the “greasy Greeks”, the lowest rung on their social ladder, AND she would not allow her family to be part “of that”.
I was often confused and maybe even a little frightened when I heard someone say something that was a racial slur. The old Western Movie idea that “there is no good Indian except a dead Indian” always confused and bothered me. As I grew and traveled I heard it more and realised that it was not the norm to be raised in a family like mine. A family that was raised to not really see the difference of race.
Noting well that my mother and father represented what was then an interracial marriage. A marriage opposed by all their families.
I recall an evening when I was maybe 3-4… My father was bringing a colleague home for supper. My mother explained to me that this guy “looked different”, and that I was NOT suppose to say a thing about any difference I perceived.
The guy arrived, we were in the living room and I, as a little kid can do, climbed up on his lap and made friends with him. He was a big man (in my memory’s vision) with fantastic white hair. I looked and studied and examined as I climbed on and around him. I deduced that it was the long white hair growing out of his ears my mother was warning me about. I could not mention or say anything about the hair growing out of his ears.
Of course, the gentleman I reference was coloured. I can still find an image of him in my memory. He was very handsome.
As a Peace Corps Volunteer, in 1982 at Choisuel Bay PSS, I had a form1 student who was shit scared of me. It took me time to understand that I was the first white man she had ever seen. The reason she was frightened by me is simple… mothers in the islands often use “the white boogey man” to frighten children. Behave or I’ll give you to the “bosevaka” (white man). Stop screaming or the bosevaka will come take you… here comes the bosevaka… And then this poor 11 or 12 yearold girl was faced with an ugly white guy that was loud and big and hairy… her mother had been right!!!
So, with Racism on my mind, I went looking for a definition…
1) The International Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICERD), adopted by the UN General Assembly in 1965, and entering into force in 1969. Article 1 defines racial discrimi- nation as:
“… any distinction, exclusion, restriction or preference based on race, colour, descent, or national or ethnic origin which has the purpose or effect of nullifying or impairing the recognition, enjoyment or exercise, on an equal footing, of human rights and fundamental freedoms in the political, economic, social, cultural or any other field of public life.”
2) prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism by an individual, community, or institution against a person or people on the basis of their membership of a particular racial or ethnic group, typically one that is a minority or marginalized.”
3) the belief that different races possess distinct characteristics, abilities, or qualities, especially so as to distinguish them as inferior or superior to one another.”theories of racism”
Tho very wordy, this alone is important… “… any distinction, exclusion, restriction or preference based on race, colour, descent, or national or ethnic origin which has the purpose or effect of nullifying or impairing the recognition, enjoyment or exercise, on an equal footing, of human rights and fundamental freedoms in the political, economic, social, cultural or any other field of public life.”
So… Reparations, as discussed in the US, is by definition racist. It indeed is a distinction, exclusion, restriction or preference based on race.
As well… The “VOICE” as discussed here in Australia is racist for the same reasons.
I find myself rather lost. Devoid of rudder or compass. These modern waters are very strange and confusing… I was a young, green, keen liberal that supported this simple idea: “I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” MLK 1963.
I was 6yearsold when MLK first articulated this thought. I heard these words repeated over the next years, until his assassination, it was an important theme in the “movement” for civil rights.
1963 to 2023… Im 66 years old, have a multiracial (a very multiracial) family. My 18year old grandson claims, Greek, German, English, Irish, Chinese, Choisuel, and Shortland Island blood lines.
1963 to 2023… Much has changed, progressed. In 1963 my wife and I could not legally walk together in public. In my youth, interracial marriage was illegal, noting well that interracial marriage was not legalized in all U.S. states until Loving v. Virginia in 1967!!!
1963 to 2023… And much has digressed, fragmented, been lost… Black Lives Matter… Apologise for your white privilege… The oppressed become the oppressors?
I am confused… The liberal mindset of my youthful vigorous liberalism was a positive. We are all the same. I am colour blind. I see you as a person not a person of colour.
Not any more… safe spaces that exclude “whites”. Preferences in education, employment, advancement based on quotas of race, gender, religion… All of which are negatives.
Ive spent my life fighting against the idea that because you look different you are treated different.
Ive always looked different… long hair, beards, earring, tattoos, a not white family.
Ive encountered a lot of racism in my life. As a kid. And as I aged…I was a white guy in a black man’s country. Tho Solomon Islands is not terribly racist, it does exist. (mostly between rival tribal groups.)
Here in the land of Aus we are facing what I think is an epochal moment… divide that nation by race, or not.
There is a lot within this link so I copy a small portion herein that which impressed me a lot.
More later
Peter Baldwin The Progressive Case Against the Voice
Is the proposal for a constitutionally entrenched Voice to parliament and the executive government “progressive”? If so, in what sense?
This will seem to most people a no-brainer. After all, nowadays, in one of the great acts of linguistic appropriation of our time, “progressive” has come to be seen as virtually synonymous with left-wing. And what could be more left-wing than the Voice, endorsed as it is by just about all the left- of-centre forces in Australian politics, including all factions in the Labor Party, right through to the most wild-eyed Trotskyist sect. After all, so goes the argument, it is just a modest step towards securing recognition, justice and recompense to the most oppressed part of the Australian population. Only a racist, or a member of the far Right could be against it, surely? We hear this claim repeatedly by people who call for a calm, civil “conversation”, sometimes as a precursor to launching into a vicious ad hominem attack on Voice opponents.
This near-unanimity is surprising, given that the Voice involves inserting a permanent, racially discriminatory provision in the Australian Constitution, that confers on one racially defined section of the community an additional means to influence legislation and decisions that affect every- body, not just Aboriginal people.
A long weekend coming to an end. Had the Hillbilly club up for camping and vroom n bbq n fires n fun…
The Campbells, the Wickhams, P&B, Lance, Sara, Franklin, DaveNAnnabelle, AdriamNJulieNRayden all had a very vrooomy afternoon yesterday. The stalwarts camped out. We old folks went to bed early. I actually got a good night’s sleep.
So a vroomy fun few days winding down… No one got hurt. We killed the ancient 250cc Quad. The vroom-beast is blowing smoke – will have to check that out. And 3yrold XMann decided he liked vrooming fast. He is still afraid of 2wheels, but likes it when Mendoza ride the quad up on 2wheels. Go figure…
After over 10years of use, some of these machines are getting tired. Noting well we do beat the shit outta things. Might have to turn the dead 250 into a kiddy toy of some kind??? Strip it down and make so a small kid and play on it without getting too hurt???
The sun is out. It was a wonderfully foggy morning. The intrepid campers are whooping up a big breakfast. The fire has been built-up. The kids are being kids. No one has started any machines up, yet.
Im sitting waiting for some good BloodSport.
I am tired from the past few days… the preparations and the execution of a fine, fulfilled vroomy weekend. So I shall sit wrapped in my blanket and watch the fights, drink tea, maybe dose a bit.
Sunday in the valley. 1115am, weak sun shining through grey clouds. Very little warmth to be had inside or out. Im alone here so have the house wide open. I like the open air flowing through this hallow big old house. I am wrapped in my granny-blanket, blood sports on the tube.
Blood sports Sundays are good…
Thinking of a couple things this fine, chilly morn…
First is fine and filial thoughts for my ol compadre and partner in crime, Ken Holmes. Ken passed through the great void into the mystery of the unknown 10months ago. A memorial is being organised for him this month. I’d like to go, see his family, tell some good-ol Ken stories. But I shan’t. My life and responsibilities here on my little farm dont allow.
Life’s magnificent and glorious pageant, wouldn’t miss it for quids…
Second is a story, an untold Ken Holmes story…
When we met, traveled to the Solomons as green-horn PCVs, there was a posse of like minded trouble makers. There was Billy B, Tim A, Ken B, and Ken Holmes. Of course, very quickly, Kenny Holmes became “Kenny The-Wad Holmes”. Most folks will remember famous porn star, Johnny The Wad Holmes, who was murdered by a pool in Hollywood. Bludgeoned to death with a “blunt object” was the cause of death. The nick name for Ken stuck, stayed, and to this day I think of him by his handle, “The Wadd”.
So its June 1981. Most of us were remote-school teachers and had come to the Big Mango (Honiara) for school break. Tim lived in Honiara and had at house we all crashed at. Our main hangout was the Point Cruz Yacht Club. We all had business and work to do and would normally meet at the end of the day at the PCYC, have a few beers, find a simple meal, and end up back at Tim’s place for the night. We did not have a lot of money. Only got paid 90bucks a month, which was ok because beers were 50cents, smokes were a buck or so. An egg burger was 90cents. Fridays we’d go to the Mendana and pay 11bucks for an all-you-can-eat salad, steak n desert Bbq.
It’s a lovely eve, we’re all gathered at the Yacht Club. Dusk is coming. We watch as a newly cleared-in yacht tacks into the little basin, drops its pick, prepares to come ashore. We watch intensely because the yacht is crewed entirely by females. Long legged, tanned, healthy females. The yacht flies the Stars n Stripes.
It is obvious they have been making a passage. It turns out they had sailed in from Fiji. But you can tell when a yacht has been busy, used, worked for a while. And the first thing all these females did, after squaring away the vessel, was come into the yacht club for a shower. They all showed up, there were four of them, happy and loud (they were Americans) carrying their towels and shampoo bottles.
After a week or more at sea, a shower is worth getting excited about.
The Yacht Club of today bears little resemblance to the PCYC of 1981.
Then it was nothing more than a small lock up pantry that was the bar, a few tables out by the sea, and very basic bathroom/ shower facilities.
The toilet/ shower area was a concrete block house, small window with wooden louvers, a shower (cold water only) and a toilet. One basic simple wooden door, complete with bicycle tyre auto-door closer, each for males and females.
Where we sit we can hear the girls in the shower. Sound like they are having fun. Tim is first to suggest that he should have a peek… it’s getting dark, the place is not busy, Tim reckons he can sneak up to the wood louvres, have a look at what sounds so fun.
Tim is a big tall dude. Yet he stealthily places himself flat against the wall and peeks through the louvres. He smiles and motions to us. It must be a good show.
Ken B and The Wadd slide silently up next to Tim. They take turns peaking through the wood slats, head up n peek, back down, snigger, another head peeks in… The girls are obviously enjoying the shower. It’s a small area but the shower is on and the girls are making happy sounds, the boys are being voyeurs.
I saw an opportunity for some fun… Rather than slide up and take my turn being a pervert, I decided to be a jerk… I walked behind the guys, towards the gate. I was behind them, the shower window was right in front of me, the guys were leaning on each other, squatting down, each ready for their next surreptitious view.
I pick up a nice sized rock, tossed it over the guys’ heads, and hit the wooden louvre square and hard. “BANG”!!! The guys all looked like cartoon characters trying to gain traction and run away…
I laughed so hard they couldn’t beat me up. All three were both angered, frightened and frustrated. They didn’t see the humour.
Years later The Wadd could still get grumpy at me for what he considered a huge familial failing… just as they were getting as good eyeful, I tossed my rock and ended the party.
It still makes me laugh.
Smiles all around, especially to Jennifer and Roycie.
Saturday, July 1, 2023, 9am. It’s quite chilly here. overcast. The valley is quiet this morning. Not a lot of bird life making a noisy nuisance. The dogs are quiet, hunkered down in their thick beds of straw.
Have been discussing life, aging, family and more with an old buddy. We’ve known each other for many decades. Disagree on most everything in life except their fact that the world is upside down and families are the foundation of all and everything.
I fear a liberalistic no-family-required attitude is flooding our society. I have watched for years as the traditional family structure has been weakened, deconstructed, removed from what is “the norm”. As the world gets faster and families spread out we are less and less “in touch” with our families.
I very much disagree with the modern conveniences of life that lead to murder… Old folks all alone and unwanted so we promote euthanasia. Young folks have an unwanted pregnancy so we promote abortion.
I have stated before that it is not the thumb that made mankind dominant. Not his “almost as large as a dolphin’s” brain. Nope, not his memory or his tool making ability or his smarts when it comes to warfare.
Mankind is dominant simple because of grandparents. Tribal elders. The Family. Aunties and Uncles and cousins and brothers and sisters that care for the infants as the “in their prime” parents go about feeding, housing, protecting the tribe at large.
So, in the Valley of Green, on a chilly, calm, dull morning; I, the law-giver of The Valley; declare July Tribal Elder Awareness Month.
I can still think back over eons and decades and smell the fresh bread on my Grandmother’s hand as she caresses my face.
I can hear my Mother’s voice bellowing up the stairs yelling at us to get ready for school.
I can feel the sting of my Father’s belt across my backside after being caught, again, in a major transgression of life rules.
I grew up in a multigenerational household. My Parents were stressed and their time and patience was forever stretched, their touch was often very heavy. My Grandmother had less energy to expend, her touch was much gentler.
Some of us never knew all of our grandparents. The ones I grew under loom large in my upbringing.
I have made a distinct point to be involved with my many grandchildren. There are a few I have never met, considering time and distances, and there are a few I have pretty much raised. I am currently discussing with my son about him sending his family over here for education. Another son lives near us with his young family.
Old age would be pretty sad without family, grandkids…. and dawgs.
Here is a picture of 8yr old Gigi being a cool bad-assed biker…
I must say that I like QLD. As good as a climate I have ever found. It’s winter and it’s not deadly cold. Gotta luv QLD.
Thinking about trade and politics and deals and wars and such… I have first hand knowledge that proves “war is good for business”.
Twice; when Bouganville fell in 1990, then during the Solomon’s ethnic tension, 1998 – 2003, I made heaps.
All legally. I just managed to have a good supply of fuel and sold it for fair prices. No gouging. No price rises of the opportunistic kind. Both times my competitors could not keep up or manage their affairs, or they ran away from the sound of guns. I stayed and made $$.
Mind you, dodging bullets is a young man’s game.
I would suggest that “WAR” is the world’s biggest business.
Which leads to the “trade” involved with WAR.
I think of the Atlantic “gauntlet” in WWII.
It shows how much $$ is involved when you can lose over 25% of your stock and still be profitable.
How much shipping was sunk in ww2?
By May 1945, in the Atlantic alone, over 2,200 British and Allied merchant ships had been sunk, totalling well over 13 million tons, as well as 100 Allied naval vessels and 600 RAF Coastal Command aircraft. Of these ships, no less than 2003 had been sunk by U-boats.
And there in lies the modern discussion…
Asia to NAmerica, Asia to the sub continent, Europe, Russia, SAmerica…
Who are the world’s industrial/ export nations…
A simple graphic says a lot… You can see who has the most to lose.
Been a while. Ruminations are constant and legion. Always something to ruminate upon…
I am both confused and sad about the state of affairs in Nowhereamerica… My brother lives now in Oregon. He has lived for a long time in Germany. Took a job in Oregon with a Fed-agency. Im sure it appeared to be a good idea at the time but he is hating it. He claims it’s all one big shitty strip mall. And thats Oregon. I wonder what places like Pasadena and Santa Monica are like. Where it’s warmer there has to be more homeless.
My bro is looking to complete his contract and head back to Europe.
Sad, when Europe with its decay and liberalistic nonsense wins over Oregon. Where I guess the decay and liberalistic BS lives and thrives as well.
I spoke to a friend recently. He and his wife retired from the Philippines, moved to an Island off the Wash-coast. When he told me where he was going I said, “… thats were all the liberal loonies alive…”. His reply was, “ I am liberal loony”.
But then, living in a gated community, on an island, allows one to be liberal and loony and not have to get your shoes dirty.
I fear the social-mission to erase the middle class may be going well. Iowa is a good example… Iowa has low unemployment, A reasonable indicator of how the society fares. But the work-place landscape has changed. The decent union$ jobs are no longer plethora. The packing plants, the manufacturing, the season labouring… all has changed. Wages now are not “as good” as they once were, I am told. Everyone is “doing it hard”, they say.
But I still see kids with iPhones, everyone does a couple “vacations” each year. I get the feeling that everyone is living maxed-out on their credit. Nothing new there.
And the retired grandparents kick-in a lot; baby sitting, travel to family gigs, etc. Grand parents rule.
Average Iowa income is about 55k pa. In the Solomon’s avg wage is about USD2k.
The world is an amazing place…
Farewell Tina Turner… what an amazing woman. Amazing, I say.
Blustery, weather dominated day. The sky is slate, the green pastures like gems glowing with a layer of dew. Birds changing with the season. Our permanent residents are indeed permanent, and the transients fill the waterways and trees with foreign voices. Heard a call that I did not know. I’ll wait for it to come again. But it was cool to hear something “new”.
Of course I am not from “around here”. As an immigrant I find I am still learning things about the local, regional area I now find myself. As in life, I find I am always learning something “new”.
I raise dogs. I call them “Dawgs”. Capitalised. Dawgs.
My Dawgs are big, intelligent, ill mannered, and very, very important to me.
Much like my children.
And grandchildren.
I currently have three pregnant bitches. A few weeks ago I wrote about having Big Red down for a couple weeks of unabated “mating”. He did a good job.
I have never “done this” before. By “done this” I mean have three pregnant hounds, totalling over 100kgs/220lbs, all being terrible bitches at the same time. It’s a bit of a risky chore. The smallest thing can make the bitches fight. Who ever is on bottom gets beat up.
I have been badly bit, by getting between two of my bitches. Friendly fire, eh?
I am now keeping each Dawg separately kennelled. Most of the time. I’m getting them comfortable and secure in their kennels, in prep for whelping.
My two Mastiff bitches were bred for defence. For training. For their size, intelligence and trainability. They are in many ways “dangerous”. Their instincts are to be bad-ass. I raise them to be family oriented, normally calm, normally pretty easy to get along with. Pregnancy changes things.
Below is my buddy, Roger, enjoying Nia.
This picture is cool in that it shows you that the Dawg is as big as the kid, and has bigger teeth. The fact that Nia will basically sit on Roger’s lap, and trade hugs, shows us she is well socialised.
One of my favourite picts..
We are all getting along, I call it Dawg Zen. And I note for the public that all these dawgs are complete. Neutered dogs are calmer, less violent. Dumber?
I could spend time and train my dawgs to be defence/ attack dogs. They are well suited for it. The females are bred for it.
The two males represent my sperm bank. Big Red is a Doggo Bordeaux. Mojo is a Mastini. I have a few years of breeding organised. And a hell of a lot of $$ invested.
My reason and long term aim herein is to ensure I HAVE GOOD DAWGS around me for the rest of my life. AND, I want all my grandkids to have a Good Dawg that is their friend, companion, protector.
I like dawgs.
So we shall have a number of puppies soon. By the end of May/ early June.
It’s going to be fun, exciting, risky, and hard work.
Here’s last week with me and Tellie hanging with my Hounds…
A slow Sunday here. The dogs are all in varied states of repose. They go from sound asleep to up and barking in an instant. When something, something unknown and inexplicable, penetrates their slumber.
Fourth month almost gone. Weather changing where I am. Noticeably shorter days, much cooler nights. Had to get the big, heavy feather-comforter out. It’s nice and heavy. Either makes you warm and happy or makes you sweat. Very little middle ground, but it is nice.
I feel things drying out. FINALLY! After more than a year of wet. Slowly the wet areas are coming good. I still get stuck when I mow and slash. Always some spot, in a drain or an area I have not gotten to yet, that hides a mud hole. It’ll look dry, it’ll appear to be ok, but when the wheels on the machine hit the wet-spot, when the wheels lose traction and start to spin, its best to simply shut down. It’s rare when I can drive out of a wet spot. I normally have to go get the buggy and chain the stuck machine out of the mud. a very common occurrence.
This past month has seen much accomplished here in my little valley.
I probably have 10 acres or more well under control, maybe 3+ hectares. As the ground dries I will extend what I am or have tamed. The problem with this is that once I have slashed the big, thick, heavy grassed areas, I need to stay ahead of the growth curve… It takes at least 2 big slashing before I can really start mowing. The grass here is hard to tame.
Slashing requires the big 50hp tractor and the big 72inch PTO slasher. A lot of machine that does a big job but is slow, messy. I have a small PTO ride on slasher that works well, once the first couple slashes are complete. Tho uncomfortable its is a great machine to bring the wild grasslands into the realm of domesticity. But the driver sits only a foot or so off the ground. It’s like a little go-cart with a PTO slasher. Very cool, Very useful.
But the MACHINE is the 40hp Zturn John Deere. It runs at a good speed, is quite comfortable, and can cover a lot of area. Once I get the JD on an area I can gain control of it very quickly.
With the season changing the grass is growing less, is easier to manage. As it dries I will get ahead of it all.
I sound like an old fart, talking about the ancient and fine art of cutting grass.
After living here on the farm for 24 months, full time, I have set up my workshop. Finally. Which is very, very good.
For the past many years my workshop has been in the suburbs, at the house/shed in Palmwoods. Over the past couple years I have shifted some, maybe most of my tools to the farm, but not everything. And I never got my shop set up properly. Set up the way I like it.
And I do like it.
Some Picts to end with:
This is what the place looks like once tamed…
This is before its been slashed a couple times, beaten into submission, tamed…
Last thing I did to make my workshop complete was get my old Bose radio plugged in…
Sunday morn here. It is becoming autumn. It is getting chillier. It’s 10am and Im sitting with one of granny’s hand tied afghans wrapped around me. The house is open. The sky is blue. Down to 14c/ 60f over night. Single digit temps soon to come.
This is a good time of the year to be here on the farm. The cooler weather allows the old, big house to be open and stay breezy. Last night I had to put a sweater on, with a stocking cap. Im sure that by the time November rolls around I’ll be waiting for summer to heat my bones up. Tho, of course, winters here aint nothings far as WINTERS go.
Im watching WrestleMania. All the signs of a misspent youth, I know. But I dig the physicality and the risk-taking entertainment. I grew up on this stuff and I guess Im kinda bent and twisted by it. Which makes me smile.
This is a spectacle…
Analysis: Wrestlemania 38 had about 57,000 paid attendees each night, generating an estimated $18 million total. Based on our analysis of WWE’s second-quarter reporting, the two-day Wrestlemania on April 2 and 3 generated between $17 million and $19 million in ticket revenue for the company
It is a spectacle!
So, as I watch the spectacle, which is very good, I contemplate, ruminate, travel the back roads of my memory…
Talking recently with my oldest, longest serving friend, Rick.
Rick and I met in 5th grade at St. Johns school in Independence, Iowa. Tho the primary school remains open, the high school consolidated with the public school decades ago.
In “my day” high school classes between both the catholic school and the public school were open for all students. I’d take some classes at the public school, French, Shop, Science. Of course the govt school had the resources for such. But the English and Math were much better when taught by frustrated old Nuns.
Rick and I were friends through it all.
He had a 1970 Plymouth GTX when he was 17… imagine giving such a weapon to a couple testosterone poisoned kids…
The GTX was positioned as a “gentleman’s muscle car”. Standard was Plymouth’s 440 cu in (7.2 L) V8 engine called the “Super Commando 440” rated at 375 hp (280 kW).
Funny thing about Horse Power… I have a 5litre V10 that puts out 600hp from a naturally aspirated engine. This old monster was 7litres and produced less HP than my 2.5litre inline turbo 5cyl.
Rick was/ is a genius. We got up to amazing things together. He was raised by his grandmother. After he was about 10, he lived in her basement. There he dismantled anything electrical and rebuilt/ invented/ reconstructed apparatus that started fires, tripped breakers, caused problems…. He was the smart one, I was the observer… We both got into trouble equally… as he took carbon rods out of old distributors, hooked them up to household current and created a carbon arch, then proceeded to cut everything made of metal in that basement. Until, of course, we fried our eyes (took a couple hours)… so we used plastic Folgers coffee can lids granny had saved, opaque plastic as protection against a carbon arch. Sure, makes sense, eh? One, two didn’t work, so we stacked the lids together and tied them on our faces… didn’t work. Took us a while to figure that one out.
He is a great musician. Pretty much capable of playing anything with strings. He was the first guyI knew working with computers
Always and all ways good to have Old Friends. Nice ruminations.
I have three bitches on heat. I brought my 2yr French Mastiff, Big Red, out to have a couple weeks of unabated sex. He has been here a week, is getting very skinny.
You can see the slobber streaks on the window. He is a slobber-puss.
So my two 2yr mastiffs and the 3yr maremma are all on heat. Makes life interesting to have so much furry frenzy happening at once. Luckily I have a good kennel set up, so I can manage them, a bit.
So I went out and fed them, let them out from their night long penning. I put the male by himself last night. As soon as I opened the kennels he was on the maremma. And the mastiffs were on him. Fur flying, snarling, penetration and fangs all at once.
Took me a bit to sort them out. Ive now got the male and maremma together. The mastiffs separate. Should do a for most of the day.
I am shocked. Shocked I say. I thought Minnesota had more common sense. They elected Jesse the Body as Governor.
Is the USAofA so fucked up that it dont see what is happening, what they are doing? Or is it just a continuum of the gutting of the traditional family? I dont get it.
Half a million abortions a year is not getting the job done. Let’s mutilate and damage our kids before they can think for themselves. Gut the traditional family more, and more…
Here in the Land of Oz, the latest iteration of elected geniuses decided that alcohol bands in certain areas were racist. Which may well be true. Also, they stopped making govt entitlement (welfare) payments in the form of grog-less debit cards. Which was racist too. So they pay in cash and the families are terrorised by the toxic males and certain communities have fallen into chaos and confusion. https://www.sbs.com.au/news/article/a-crime-wave-has-sparked-emergency-measures-in-alice-springs-heres-whats-going-on/3qcqvrkip
I am watching as the Loony-Liberals running San Francisco decide giving all in their constituency deserving, a half-mil payment and a free house and a life long income will heal all pains and evils of the past, and make the future rosy and perfect. No one knows where the money will come from, but the hugg-fests and rhetoric feels as good a a nice pee in your pants. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/san-francisco-black-reparations-plan-5-million-per-person/
Somewhere in my rambling readings I came across a conversation discussing human development. Noting there were many forms of bipedal beasts moving and grooving, in the prehistoric past. The Human-Beast was not the biggest, the strongest, the smartest, but they were very tribal/ family oriented. They worked together. Their young were raised by the tribe, food was shared, fire was shared, members lived within the circle of the tribe/ family all their lives. The older, weaker members, the grandparents, could tend the fire and the children and the younger and stronger members, moms and dads, could be productive. It is GrandParents that have made the human species great.
Grandparents rule….
By the way, Connie and her 2yr old are here. First time I have met this one…
A Thursday here. The day is overcast. More rain coming.
The world is a funny place, I’m sure you have not noticed… As we speak, after a couple years of BS, lies, more BS, threats and bullying, I can say, again that The Kung Flu (COVID) came from Wuhan.
A couple years ago I got in some trouble for calling COVID “The Kung Flu”, which I thought was clever.
Its worth ruminating upon, instigating, researching… The Link between the CDC, Anthony Fauci, large sums of tax-payers’ money and the Wuhan Virology Lab was / is important. The US, through the CDC and Fauci, are /were complicit in whatever errors, mishaps and mistakes that transpired.
And we are just now hearing about it as a fact. Not a possibility but a probability.
I like it when those with blood on their hands’ simply say, “we should just move on.”.
Damn! Are those who are complicit going to agree with us that dear old Prez Trump was right?
I like the newz that Ms Lori LeadFoot, of Chicago fame, shall not be Mayor for another term. We know Chicago is renowned for its colourful and corrupt Mayors, but Ms LeadFoot sure as shit takes the cake.
And, of course, the reason she shall not attain a second term is because the electorate is racist and sexist and homophobic.
What a joke! Only thing is that this joke aint very funny. Too much damage done in Chicago. Way too many deaths, too much to cry over, in Chicago, to say much to Ms LeadFoot other than “good riddance”.
Grass growing. Too much rain and sun. Grass loves rain and sun.
The Native Iowan 
thoughts and opinions