MyMyMichl

Iran Learns From America

2009-06-13T11:26:00.000-07:00

In one of their closed door meetings, I'm seeing Ahmadinejad asking bush, "Come on George, tell me how did you get away with two stolen elections?" A long pause precedes his reply. "Truth is they had no way to do a thing about it. We have the courts, congress, the army, and the national guard." The twirp sits quietly reflecting to himself. "I can do that too. There would be no way for anyone to reverse it."

"It doesn't matter who votes, or how many vote.
It's who counts the votes that matters."
- Joseph Stalin

China: Are they serious?

2008-08-23T10:48:00.000-07:00

I mean, who do they think they're kidding? Like some school boy who scrubs his face and puts on his best behavior, actually believing his thin charade will convince adults he really isn't that enfant terrible he's been all along.

There was an article in the Washington Post today that featured the brave group of volunteers who sneaked in to Beijing, and posted a large "Free Tibet" banner before the thugs hauled them down. There were four comments all of which decried the students as anti-Chinese. The syntax of the comments convinced me they were written by Chinese speaking people. Were they for real, or were they propaganda, it doesn't matter. What matters to me is the people of China have been brought up believing the west is against them, they are good, and we are the bad guys. Smacks of the way the holy believers in the Middle East think. So many years of swallowing lies, you are what you believe.

This mess is gonna take a damn long time to fix.

THE SPOILS OF OIL

2008-06-03T10:23:00.001-07:00

It occurs to me to wonder of the Arabs are using the oil prices to hurt us, or to lower the CO2 in Earth's atmosphere. I think they're out to screw us all, and to gain control of the world. They end up benefiting their swollen coffers, and those of the Bush cronies, including our VP, the one with no sense of humor.

The carrot W once held out to the gullible was we'd somehow get access to Iraq's oil is just a lie, a myth. We're screwed.

So then where does it go? I'm wondering what these oil pumpers are planning next. I see a tragic turn in US policy to drill for oil wherever we can, the wilderness be damned. I also see a few congressmen thinking of how we can take away that control from OPEC, even by force if need be. Nasty business, that.

Meanwhile, I see the cabbies finally rising up and taking a stand against the city's unreasonable gouging of the weakest, charging for credit card fees, gas, with no help at the meter. No less than six drivers last month told me they were thinking of giving up the cabs. Two owned their cabs, and were stuck paying off a huge loan on their medallions. So what is Mayor Bloomberg thinking? How can he screw the little guy again?

If they end up making a monumental move to block traffic, I'd be glad.

Feel like Chinese?

2008-04-09T15:54:00.000-07:00

I feel deeply for the athletes who spent so much time, sweat and blood to hone their Olympic skills. I hate to see their dreams and goals trashed. But there is a higher ethic to be addressed. The Olympic Committee wants to build a trophy on dead bodies created by a host who will whitewash his dastardly deeds by hosting the Olympics. Is it right to let Beijing gain favor by doing so at the expense of the Olympians, the Tibetans et al, who are regularly crushed by Chinese policy? Do not the Olympics stand for more than gymnastics and throwing javelins?

Make no mistake. The Chinese are clever, and skilful, wily, and wise; they are also dangerous, and understand how to sway public opinion. They ruthlessly tore up homes, displaced people, set families homeless on the streets to make room for their P-R party. I lost my apetite, and I don't feel like watching the games this year.

As to why George won’t snub their party, well he can’t. We owe them so much money they will take their revenge by simply slowing their purchases of our bonds, thus plunging our country into financial disaster. He knows this, which is why he’s been so nice to them. Oops, George, you've got a little smudge on your nose.

Cheyenne Diner - gone

2008-04-09T14:55:00.000-07:00

The bad news is the Cheyenne Diner has closed. On Ninth Avenue, open 24 hours, and THE perfect inexpensive spot to go for breakfast after a late night at the bars. Bring your date there first, chat over nourishing food, and thus restored, go on to whatever pleasures await you.

This is one New York City landmark I will genuinely miss. I have been going there for decades, usually in the wee hours when nothing would satisfy my hunger pangs but a sit me down with a plate of their eggs, home fries, sausage, honest coffee and a milk shake. That was food. Real food.

If the building were for sale, I'd buy it and move it somewhere where it would live again. It's a museum worthy piece of American history. Sad that NYC doesn't respect its treasures.

Another excellent late spot in the meat market is Hectors, on Washington Street, down the block from Forent, which is going to close because the landlord has a voracious, ugly appetite for money. You could het great mussels, excellent steak frites, and a decent cotes du thone at any hour.

Hectors has an excellent eggs, etc. menu too. It used to be the best place to go, and was packed in the pre dawn hours with butchers who used to work in the MMA. Is it me, or is this world coming to something that no one wants. I miss those guys in the white coats and hard hats.

Socialista: There goes the neighborhood

2008-02-18T08:11:00.000-08:00

I'm quoting from another blog, but here goes:

"Socialista is quite possibly the most annoying and underwhelming establishment I've ever been to....a complete loss. It's the kind of place where patrons are made to wait outside in the cold while a doorman with the most severe case of tiny-penis complex I've ever witnesses does his best job of seeming relevant and important. ... The disapointment really came when I finally stepped in from the cold only to find that the interior is 30 degrees colder in terms of character and soul. Save yourself the hassle. If it's the AMAZING band you seek (Grupo Irek), they have a myspace page and perform at various locations throughout the city. They are a MUST see! If it's just another fabulous New York City night that floats your boat... stick to B8!

The Crushing Heel of the Fed

2007-12-11T06:49:00.000-08:00

The big announcement from the Fed today is the poor guy now has no chance of getting out from under. Real relief is not forthcoming. Homes will not be built, the construction industry hurts, the people who want a home are denied one. And all because another Bush proclamation that would be borrowers are "recklessly speculating". He is talking about people--human beings, voters and American citizens: people who only wanted to come in out of the rain. The real speculators are the developers and banks who are permitted to construct these usurious traps for innocents to fall into, and mortgage brokers who encourage them.

Instead of ruling that banks can no longer create ARM mortgages, it instead makes lending impossible. Morons. Utter shameless bastards.

Japan is Killing Again

2007-11-18T11:59:00.000-08:00

This time they are butchering whales--the big ones, and they claim it's their "tradition", that they do it for "research". What a stinking pile of transparent crap. Their national tradition is slaughtering the innocent. Whom do they imagine they are kidding? Clearly they see us as a nation of imbeciles, just like the way they saw us before they did the sneak attack on Pearl.

I am going on record: no Japanese anything. No more sushi, or anything they still export. And by the way, I'm off China too.

This is Southern Justice

2007-10-26T14:38:00.000-07:00

The state of Georgia sent a teenager to the strictest, cruel jail for over a decade because he and his girlfriend had ORAL SEX in the back seat of a car--something any healthy teen with a pretty girl, a libido and a place to snuggle would do.

Oh yeah, sure he was black, and we remember not that long ago a man was lynched for looking too long at a white girl. This is the kind of people who are even today misjudging others.

I don't know what these judges and jurors have in their twisted minds, but I wonder of any of them might ask if somehow their heinous acts may have some connection with their water drying up.

This has got to be Karma catching up with them.

HALLOWEEN

2007-10-26T14:28:00.001-07:00

I was a kid in the dull gray postwar mill town of New Bedford, Massachusetts, best known for whaling, Moby Dick, and Portuguese people. I always wanted it to mean more than that, and long after we moved away, some assholes raped Jody Foster on a pool table in a bar, so there you go, my home town pride gone to hell.

Around our house were plenty of empty lots to play in, a Rexall a few blocks away, and Buttonwood Park, where you could find horse chestnuts on the ground in the fall. There was even a smelly zoo with two ancient elephants and a sorry looking buffalo. I pitied those poor animals in captivity, it was the first time I realized I had more than a normal connection with animals.

Halloween was a fun holiday because we’d get to go out trick or treating, knock on neighbor’s doors, and get treats, which usually amounted to unexciting apples or candy.

Close by lived an elderly couple: Philly and Mary Kane, and their wonderful Irish Setter Gordon, who seemed to spend his entire life snoring on a rag rug. It was a chilly Halloween under a full moon, which dad told me was unsafe for children to be out in. My brother and I were out begging along with the rest of the neighborhood urchins, but our treats as usual, amounted to nothing. We decided to try the Kanes’ house. We timidly walked up the front steps to the door with a lace curtain covered window. Mary invited us in to their cozy living room where Gordon lay warming himself on his usual rug by the fireplace. The room smelled of old things but somehow felt good.

Mary asked us if we liked hot chocolate, which we only had on very special occasions. Without waiting for an answer, she went into the kitchen and brought back two small mugs of the richest chocolate I never knew existed, covered with tiny marshmallows. There was a plate heaped with generous squares of fragrant gingerbread, all spicy and flavorful. This was before cake mixes. I remember it was the first time she ever spoke to either of us like we were adults, asking how we liked school, who our friends were, conversation that relaxed me and drew me out of my shyness. I don’t remember how long we were there, probably not long at all, but this afternoon, as I was thinking of Halloween, that cold New England evening came back to me. I know the Kane’s and Gordon must be long gone by now, but I send them my warmest thoughts of gratitude.

J Michael told me his Halloween plan was to dress as a scarecrow, lie on the lawn in front of his house, and wait for the local brats to show up. Then he would stand up and frighten the crap out of them. I laughed my ass off just visualizing it. He loves kids, so how he does it will be memorable. He asked me what my plans are, and I imagined I’d crash a party knowing my friends are lovers of parties especially Halloween. But then again I was going to be at the island to close up the house, and I’d probably end up skipping the bar and opt for a quiet night of TV and a walk on the beach with Blondie.

One Halloween I had to work at the restaurant, but my boyfriend who is as gorgeous as a woman as he is with a man, went and got all dolled up. When he showed up in FULL drag, I literally freaked. The MAN I loved was now a WOMAN. The transformation was so good, it was too much for me.

Now I want to tell you about my own special spiritual experience, of course at the island. Saturday night I napped, awoke, switched off the TV; they were showing The Omen for the thirty-ninth time. I got up, woke a very sleepy LULU, grabbed a wig--an ugly fright thing someone left at the house years ago, and hiked off to the only place open: the Island Club Bar. It was 1 a.m., the last night of the season and the official celebration of Halloween on the Island. I wasn't going to miss it.

Now, this is special; even though my home is on the water, it’s still surrounded by woods, very dark on a moonless night, especially in late season when the houses are all empty, dark, with no landmark lights anywhere. As we walked toward town, the trees opened up to expose the previously invisible sky, and what all was pitch dark, burst into view. Brilliant stars against a black velvet sky, sparkling clear, unreal. It was also freezing.

You may know I have poor vision. That's an understatement; I'm Mister McGoo. I can't recognize people I know on the street at night, but this night, the stars, so very clear, both my eyes seemed to be working perfectly, damaged retina, notwithstanding.

It all led to this: I had an imaginary conversation with God, I recalled the 23rd psalm, and I knew then that the path, while dark at times would get better, as it had just done, and so would I. I felt really good then, confident.

The bar had been busy, now emptying out but the dance floor was still filled with guys in drag, sweating out the very loud music, their make-up starting to run, dresses and wigs askew. Drag gets tired looking when you are dancing in it, so I felt really comfortable in just the wig. I left the flamboyant dress at home, preferring my checkered red flannel shirt, jeans, and clunker Timberland boots. Lulu showed discomfort with the noise, and I knew it was too loud for her ears, so we split and headed back towards the house.

On the walk, I kept stopping, looking UP at that sky - that unreal, clear sky, Orion was there, and bright Pleades, even one stray meteor, and then, on the eastern sky, creeping over the top of a tree, the slender crescent of the moon appeared. You know, when most people see a shooting star, they make a wish, - I don’t. I say, "Thanks for the ones which have been granted". I think that's where the conversation started.

We continued heading home, stopped, turned round to the south towards the beach, and stared: I had to see this from the beach! "Let's go, Lulu" and in seconds we were there, awestruck, me, anyway, maybe her too, who knows?

This night I also sensed from beloved old Nihiz, my first dog (yes, she speaks to me) that LULU would soon be able to communicate with me - nothing as yet, except to feed her or scratch her, but real communication means I have to learn how to LISTEN as well. It was a learning moment, that.

The view at the beach was perfect! I knew it would be. I said aloud to no one in particular, but I knew: "Thank you - you are beautiful"

My mind spoke back to me in that soft voice I knew well:
"YOU are beautiful, Mike.” (Me, standing there on a beach in the middle of the night in a stupid fright-wig!) I began to feel ridiculous speaking to GOD looking like that. I replied that it was HE who loved me and made me able to SEE the beauty HE created - and I wondered if HE, like me, enjoyed it when HIS better works were admired. I felt a spiritual closeness and companionship right then, and can't describe it. I wasn't alone. No matter where I was. No matter what I looked like.

I didn't feel the cold right then, but as beautiful as it was, you don't stand out there all night in late October. So it was head home to a warm fire, and then bed. I prepared some sticky-buns earlier, and put them in the fridge to rise overnight, Rob and Thurber were expected to enjoy them with morning coffee.

Support our Troops?

2007-10-22T15:40:00.000-07:00

Okay let me get this straight. He sends the kids to a war where their very lives are in danger, and then guilts us and Congress to support them.

Wha?

Maybe he could stop sending them into danger, and then we wouldn't need to support them?

Congress Looks at Hip-Hop Language

2007-09-25T16:35:00.000-07:00

Do these people have nothing better to do? I can't spend another minute to express my disgust at these moron lawmakers.

http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/us/AP-Congress-Hip-Hop.html?ex=1348372800&en=b714ce9b3f7c9c93&ei=5088&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss

The 5,000 Year Old Man

2007-09-15T12:25:00.000-07:00

The 5,000 year old man was murdered by a jealous man. The proof is his skull was smashed, there was an arrow head in his shoulder, and yet none of his valuables such as his copper knife, flint and quiver of perfectly formed arrows were stolen. Now I ask you, who in those days would do that unless the killer had a motive other than robbery?

I hope now his ghost can rest knowing the dastardly crime was exposed, even though it took fifty centuries.

I'm sure the ghost will haunt the nerds who gave him the stupid name of "Otzi". Oh yes, and then there's the curse of the mummy. Well, not really a mummy, but a deep frozen body.

So far, seven people connected with Otzi's body have died, some from mysterious causes, and a few more from accidents. Only one had a pre-existing condition: ALS.

The Invisible Condom - Which Ain't

2007-09-11T21:53:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry. I know I keep meaning to write about food, but today's Times has an article on a corn recipe that I personally created. So this person gets her name splashed all over the paper as if she had anything to do with it. She roasts corn on the cob, cuts off the kernels, butters them salt and pepper - Pepper's a HUGE mistake, and serves with a sprig of thyme. She obviously couldn't leave the corn that Nature created alone. She just had to mess around with it. One day she'll learn to do corn right, and not steal my recipes.

Mine was printed weeks ago in The Fire Island News. Crooks.

So anyway, this condom article appeared, and I submit it to you verily.

September 6, 2007
Invisible Proof for Invisible Condom

The Federal Court of Australia declared yesterday that Citrofresh International (an organic antibacterial product company) and one of their former employees, Ravi Narain, misled investors about the efficacy of their products. Citrofresh and Narain reportedly made misleading statements to the Australian Stock Exchange, namely, that Citrofresh “offers a global solution to reduce and eventually stop the spread of HIV.” The “solution” in question is a post-coital spray that would “act as an invisible condom,” protecting the user by having a “significant impact on reducing the transmission of HIV and [other] sexually transmitted diseases.”
Narain, former managing editor of the company, faces fines of up to $400,000 for two statements made “without reasonable grounds” in 2005, according to the Australian Securities and Investments Commission.

Some bastards will do anything for a lousy buck. They should toss him in the slammer with a supply of his phoney invisibles, and when he becomes someone's bitch, he can always use the spray for protection. That ought to fix his ass.

Still no Sign of Steve

2007-09-06T13:32:00.000-07:00

I'm guessing they will end up spending more money looking for him than they did trying to dig out the Utah coal miners.

Steve Fossett -- Nut Case

2007-09-04T13:18:00.000-07:00

Steve, you flew around the world, you're a billionaire. You take off telling no one where you're headed, and don't bring a GPS device with you.

Steve - honey, are you trying to be Amelia Earhart?
Forget it, she did it beter than you can.

Act your age.

Leave Larry Craig Alone

2007-08-30T09:26:00.000-07:00

Hasn't the man endured enough shit already? The morals are now making it plain the word of a cop who spends his time entrapping men in a tea room is worth more than the word of a US Senator.

Smiling in a men's room is now a sin, disgraceful, and all the rest of the crap they are heaping on the poor man in order to make their lousy party look clean. It won't work guys, no matter how many of your own you throw to the wolves. You've lost it, so go back and examine your own lives.

McCain just lost my vote. Well in fact, he never had it.

WHAT GIVES WITH CNN?

2007-08-10T20:06:00.000-07:00

These guys amaze me. It seems they broadcast all day on one and only one event. What ever happened to Congress grilling slimy Alberto? And why isn't anyone talking about our crooked White House? The bridge collapse was eclipsed by the mine cave in. No one there mentions Iraq at all.

Lou Dobbs as usual has declared war on "illegal" aliens (see their fangs, scales and horns?). CNN has taken up the cause. I'm only asking for my daily newspaper or broadcaster to maintain some objectivity. Is that too much to ask?

Hey, who can you trust when CNN starts to smell like fish?

Bloomberg's Stadium

2007-08-01T18:27:00.000-07:00

It's interesting that Mayor Bloomberg fought so hard for a basketball stadium in midtown that would have snarled traffic horribly, and yet right after that he tried to implement a tarriff for driving into Manhattan.

Funny, that.

Friendly Fire?

2007-08-01T18:25:00.000-07:00

A man is dead.

Will somebody please tell me;

how the fuck can they get away with calling it "friendly"?

Wall Street Journal: R.I.P.

2007-08-01T00:33:00.000-07:00

It hurts to see one more paper with the quality and integrity of the Journal go by the wayside, falling into the hands of what will certainly be a bias toward the sensational right.

There is nothing new about those who want to hold on to power doing so by controlling what the public is allowed to know, and the less independent papers left standing means the public knows only what the media barons want us to know.

Just count the number of independent papers in the world today, compared to fifty years ago when there were ten times more. They were bought up, consolidated, and given one voice which you and I are supposed to believe.

It's crap.

Another North Carolina Injustice

2007-06-21T15:38:00.001-07:00

As North Carolina emerges from the pain and injustice perpetrated on the Duke Lacrosse players by a liar, another innocent and noble North Carolinian is also being crushed beneath the heel of an ignorant, indifferent system. He is a dedicated, highly motivated dramatics teacher in Wakefield High School, Wake Forest, NC.

This time, he did not have the advantage of the media to focus on this wretched event.

On a recent trip to London, where he chaperoned several students, he found liquor in the room of one of them: a 14 year old girl. This same student managed to be “caught” in a conversation with another student, which was then brought by the parent to the school authorities. The conversation mentioned, “hand holding” and “kissing”, none of which ever happened. After the police questioned her, the student told the police she made it all up.

It appears the girl planned for her conversation to be "discovered' in order to get revenge on her teacher.

Nothing is as heinous as a child molester, except when a teacher does it. The board acted swiftly, and rightly so. The teacher was relieved of his job, ordered off the school premises, and told to speak with no one. He was shattered, fearing the worst, and with no way to prove his innocence.

His union did nothing to back him up, since he, under duress, was ordered to resign, which he obediently did, not realizing, and not told that signing his resignation would shut the door to and negate his claim for reinstatement.

He was forced to hire a lawyer to defend himself at great expense to him and his family.

There it is; a vengeful student, who maliciously lied, a teacher, beloved by his students so much they posted an online petition to restore him to work, and a school board that won’t rehire him for reasons having nothing to do with the case.

Then, why? He once was asked, in front of a class, if he was married. He answered that he was. In fact, he is gay, but he didn’t feel it was proper for a role model to tell that to a class of high school students, so he fibbed. That protection of his civil right to privacy is the reason he was told he was not eligible for reinstatement. He lied to his class.

It’s a mess. He has a home, a mortgage, car payments, all the usual expenses, and saddled with the near poverty a school teacher must endure. His savings are gone, and his prospects with any other North Carolina regional school board, given this case, are nil. Justice took a holiday where he was concerned.

I am disturbed at the kind of minds that allowed this honorable man to drown by turning their backs on him. His principal told him he was on his side, but when the decision had to be made, that same principal, hands tied, refused to reinstate him. Investigation yielded that the principal had no choice in the matter, and was handed a statement to read when asked about the case.

Someone upstairs on that school board is acting behind the scenes, and allowing J Michael Beech to go down, most likely because he is gay.

The media would certainly have a field day with this, and yet, Beech refuses to allow anyone to bring this affair into the public eye. He believes justice will triumph, and he will be exonerated as he so well deserves to be.

There is a dangerous precedent here, that a vicious student can lie and a teacher loses his job.

Some of his students got together and placed a petition on the Internet. Here is the link to the petition. I beg you to go there and read what they say about him.

http://www.petitionspot.com/petitions/JMichealBeech

Macy's isn't the only store that sucks

2007-06-20T15:32:00.000-07:00

My friend Ron Knoth writes about an experience he had shopping for shorts. Turns out the same exact thing happened to me just a month ago when I went shopping for a simple pair of khakis. I'm not a home boy, didn't want to wear nylon with red white and blue stripes, and only wanted to replace my old, battle worn ones I got at the Gap years ago. That pair replaced the few I got at Brooks Brothers when they cared about such things.

Here's Ron:
It was Memorial Day. I spent a good portion of the day at Macy’s, H&M, Daffy’s, The Gap, the Men’s Warehouse, Loehmann’s, Morris Brothers and Filene’s Basement trying to find a pair of shorts for my companion. Given the dearth of stores, items on sale, and depth of stock, one would presume that there would be many options, styles and colors. They would be most assuredly wrong. If there is a major underlying complaint about retail it is “sameness.” Retailers, for the most part, are all copycats, simply following the pack. We were looking for a pair of dress shorts, formerly known as tennis shorts, not the Holy Grail. I guess tennis is passé. If you are in the market for short pants that come down to below your knees, look more like the culottes or peddle pushers your sister wore in 1978, with cuffs/hems that are nearly as wide as the waist, in khaki and olive, with 18 Velcro pockets (12 of which are too tiny to hold more than a matchbox truck), all the stores we visited have plenty on hand. In fact, it’s all they had on hand. If you are under age 22, like the urban, sloppy boy look, or are a gangsta rapper into B ball, you should have no problem. The marketplace is beckoning.
You know you are in trouble when the extra 15 percent off coupon you cut out from the Sunday New York Times insert the day before goes unused at Macy’s; as the message directed towards you is crystal clear: we have nothing for you. I mean but nothing. Unfortunately, Macy’s purchasing sentiments places them in good company. I will risk sounding like an old curmudgeon, but the world is filled with adults too. Adults, who shop, eat, go to the movies and engage in all the same activities that “young people do.” We have money and disposable income too. We don’t want to dress like a high schooler. We are adults.
--Ron Knoth, Guest Blogger

PS: Just about to give up, I ended up at Old Navy in the basement, and found a few pairs. They were affordable, and the staff was helpful, friendly even. - ms

Why I Love Maureen Dowd

2007-06-20T07:32:00.000-07:00

June 10, 2007
Outing The Out Of Touch
By MAUREEN DOWD

Be honest. Who would you rather share a foxhole with: a gay soldier or Mitt Romney?
A gay soldier, of course. In a dicey situation like that, you need someone steadfast who knows who he is and what he believes, even if he's not allowed to say it out loud.
Hypocrisy is the homage vice pays to virtue, as the gloriously gay Oscar Wilde said. And gays are the sacrifice that hypocritical Republican candidates offer to placate ''values'' voters -- even though some candidates are not so finicky about morals regarding their own affairs and divorces.
They may coo over the photo of Dick Cheney, whose re-election campaign demonized gays, proudly smiling with his new grandson, the first baby of his lesbian daughter, Mary.
But they'll hold the line, by jiminy, against gay Americans who are willing to die or be horribly disfigured in the cursed Bush/Cheney war in Iraq.
Peter Pace, whose job as chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff became a casualty of Iraq on Friday, asserted in March that homosexual acts ''are immoral.'' Yet in May, he wrote a letter to the judge in the Scooter Libby case, pleading for leniency for the Cheney aide. Scooter always looked for ''the right way to proceed -- both legally and morally,'' General Pace wrote of the man who lied to a grand jury about the outing of a spy, after he pumped up the fake case for the war that has claimed the lives of 3,500 young men and women serving under the general.
At the G.O.P. debate in New Hampshire last week, the contenders were more homophobic than the mobsters on ''The Sopranos,'' unanimously supporting the inane ''don't ask, don't tell'' policy. Even Rudy Giuliani, who loves to cross-dress and who stayed with old friends, a gay couple, to avoid Gracie Mansion when his second marriage was disintegrating, had an antediluvian answer.
Wolf Blitzer asked him about the Arabic linguists trained by the government who have been ousted from the military after being outed.
Mr. Giuliani, who procured three deferments to avoid Vietnam, replied that, with the war in Iraq raging, ''This is not the time to deal with disruptive issues like this.''
If he's so concerned with disruptive issues, maybe he should start worrying about this one: Two straight guys who slithered out of going to Vietnam are devising a losing strategy in Iraq year after year. W. and Dick Cheney have fouled things up so badly that Robert Gates and Tony Snow are now pointing to South Korea -- where American troops have stayed for over half a century -- as a model.

Mitt Romney agreed with Rudy on the issue. Instead of going to Vietnam, Mr. Romney spent two and a half years doing Mormon missionary work in France. Isn't that like doing Peace Corps work in Monte Carlo?

At the memorial for Mark Bingham, the gay 6-foot-5 rugby player who was on Flight 93 on 9/11, John McCain said he might owe his life to the young man who helped fight the hijackers, bringing down the plane aiming to crash into the Capitol.

But Senator McCain wants gay troops to stay closeted. The policy, he said, is ''working.'' But it's not. The Army in Iraq is like that exhausted nag Scarlett O'Hara whipped on to Tara. Yet Republicans surge on, even as they expel gays.

In a Times Op-Ed piece Friday, Stephen Benjamin, a gay Arabic translator eager to go to Iraq, told how he was dismissed when the Navy learned his status. ''Consider,'' he wrote. ''More than 58 Arabic linguists have been kicked out since 'don't ask, don't tell' was instituted. How much valuable intelligence could those men and women be providing today to troops in harm's way?''
He noted that 11,000 other service members have been shoved out since 1993 and speculated that if the Army had not been so short of Arabic translators, the cables that went untranslated on Sept. 10, 2001, might have been translated, preventing 9/11.

In 2000, the British military began letting anyone who served say if they were ''a poof,'' as one squadron leader put it. Sarah Lyall wrote in The Times that the military reports that none of its fears ''about harassment, discord, blackmail, bullying or an erosion of unit cohesion or military effectiveness have come to pass.''

America has been Will-and-Graced since Bill Clinton had his kerfuffle on the issue in 1993. Tolerance has blossomed, especially among younger Americans. According to a Pew poll, 4-in-10 Americans say they have close friends or relatives who are gay.

The Republican field seems stale and out of sync. They should have listened to the inimitable Barry Goldwater, who told it true: You don't have to be straight to shoot straight.

Copyright 2007 The New York Times Company

Peter and Love 001

2007-06-14T18:34:00.000-07:00

Peter from Love 001
What if you were about to meet your perfect lover?

What if you knew this lover better than anyone else in the world, and this lover knew you better than anyone else?

What if you liked the same food, loved the same movies, listened to the same music, rooted for the same teams, enjoyed the same friends, were fascinated by the same books, had the same spiritual beliefs, cared about the same causes, and shared the same goals?

What if you absolutely knew you two could live together comfortably?

What if this lover always had your best interests at heart?

What if you were brought before a large door and told that, behind the door, was the love of your life?

You straighten your hair, pop a Certs, take a deep breath, open the door . . .

. . . and find yourself face-to-face . . .

...with a mirror.
end

Remembering Peter McWilliams

2007-06-14T12:14:00.000-07:00

On this day, June 14, 2000, Peter McWilliams died at his home; a victim of a misguided, fucked up judge who sought to bring down drugs by bringing down one helpless victim of AIDS Lymphoma, whose survival depended on pot to keep him alive. Peter was my friend, teacher, inspiration, and he was murdered.

Years later, the courts of our nation are considering the use of Cannabis as medicine, but too late for him.

Peter McWilliams' Personal Page
http://www.mcwilliams.com//

A Conservative Point of View
by William Buckley

PETER MCWILLIAMS, R.I.P. Peter McWilliams is dead. Age? Fifty. Profession? Author, poet, publisher.

Particular focus of interest? The federal judge in California (George King) would decide in a few weeks how long a sentence to hand down, and whether to send McWilliams to prison or let him serve his sentence at home.

What was his offense? He collaborated in growing marijuana plants.

What was his defense? Well, the judge wouldn't allow him to plead his defense to the jury. If given a chance, the defense would have argued that under Proposition 215, passed into California constitutional law in 1996, infirm Californians who got medical relief from marijuana were permitted to use it. The judge also forbade any mention that McWilliams suffered from AIDS and cancer, and got relief from the marijuana.

What was he doing when he died? Vomiting. The vomiting hit him while in his bathtub, and he choked to death.

Was there nothing he might have done to still the impulse to vomit? Yes, he could have taken marijuana; but the judge's bail terms forbade him to do so, and he submitted to weekly urine tests to confirm that he was living up to the terms of his bail.

Did anybody take note of the risk he was undergoing? He took Marinol - -- a proffered, legal substitute, but reported after using it that it worked for him only about one-third of the time. When it didn't work, he vomited.

Was there no public protest against the judge's ruling? Yes. On June 9, the television program "20/20" devoted a segment to the McWilliams plight. Commentator John Stossel summarized:

"McWilliams is out of prison on the condition that he not smoke marijuana, but it was the marijuana that kept him from vomiting up his medication. I can understand that the federal drug police don't agree with what some states have decided to do about medical marijuana, but does that give them the right to just end-run those laws and lock people up?"

Shortly after the trial last year, Charles Levendosky, writing in the Ventura County (Calif.) Star, summarized: "The cancer treatment resulted in complete remission." But only the marijuana gave him sustained relief from the vomiting that proved mortal.

Is it being said, in plain language, that the judge's obstinacy resulted in killing McWilliams? Yes. The Libertarian Party press release has made exactly that charge. "McWilliams was prohibited from using medical marijuana -- and being denied access to the drug's anti-nausea properties almost certainly caused his death."

Reflecting on the judge's refusal to let the jury know that there was understandable reason for McWilliams to believe he was acting legally, I ended a column in this space in November by writing, "So, the fate of Peter McWilliams is in the hands of Judge King. Perhaps the cool thing for him to do is delay a ruling for a few months, and just let Peter McWilliams die." Well, that happened last week, on June 14.

The struggle against a fanatical imposition of federal laws on marijuana will continue, as also on the question whether federal laws can stifle state initiatives. Those who believe the marijuana laws are insanely misdirected have a martyr.

Peter was a wry, mythogenic guy, humorous, affectionate, articulate, shrewd, sassy. He courted anarchy at the moral level. His most recent book (his final book) was called "Ain't Nobody's Business If You Do." We were old friends, and I owe my early conversion to word processing to his guidebook on how to do it. Over the years we corresponded, and he would amiably twit my conservative opinions. When I judged him to have gone rampant on his own individualistic views in his book, I wrote him to that effect. I cherish his reply -- nice acerbic deference, the supreme put-down.

"Please remember the Law of Relativity as applied to politics: In order for you to be right, at least someone else must be wrong. Your rightness is only shown in relation to the other's wrongness. Conversely, your rightness is necessary for people like me to look truly wrong. Before Bach, people said of bad organ music, 'That's not quite right.' After Bach, people said flatly, 'That's wrong.' This allowed dedicated composers to grow, and cast the neophytes back to writing how-to-be-happy music. So, thank me for my wrongness, as so many reviews of my book will doubtless say, 'People should read more of a truly great political commentator: William F. Buckley Jr.'"

Imagine such a spirit ending its life at 50, just because they wouldn't let him have a toke. We have to console ourselves with the comment of the two prosecutors. They said they were "saddened" by Peter McWilliams' death. Many of us are -- by his death and the causes of it.

Soprano Farewell

2007-06-11T13:41:00.000-07:00

Get a life, you guys; Tony is a fictional character. For those of you don't understand three syllable words: he does not exist. He was made up, a fairy tale, and just as meaningless.

So why did we all get so wrapped up in his life?

For one thing, the creator is brilliant, and for another--and this might hurt a bit--we do not have lives of our own, or the lives we do have are so awful that we'd rather get our undies in a bunch over some piece of fakery and fiction. I remember I cried when Spock died, so I'm right there with you.

James Gandolfino, you are one major actor. You created a character who is not only a slime ball, but a real human being too. Thanks for a wonderful ride.

WATER, WATER EVERYWHERE

2007-05-31T03:13:00.000-07:00

Nice note in today's Times about bottled water. Too bad it took a dilettante like Alice Waters to make the valid point that the water vendors have an entire generation of us convinced we cannot safely drink tap water. When I travel, I drink the wines and the water of the region. SOP in NYC restaurants is to offer you a bottle of water, because you are convinced that tap is toxic. Au contraire, mes amis; our city water is better tasting and at least as healthy for you as the crap they loaded onto a freighter in Europe six months ago, and spent tons of fuel (and CO2) to get it to you.

They brilliantly created the myth that (their) bottled is more pure, better for your kidneys and digestion, and that we New Yorkers drink from toilets unless we pay for their costly glass bottles.

I'd sell my stock in the water companies; their days are numbered, or maybe not. We Americans will swallow anything.

Chuck Lorre, We Love You

2007-05-02T18:36:00.000-07:00

After every episode of "Two And a Half Men", a screen lasting only a half second appears containing some of writer / creator Chuck's own comments. To us, these are as refreshing as cold water on a hot, dry day. Here is one he posted a few weeks ago about the gay related episode:

CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #178 There are no gay people on the writing staff of Two and a Half Men. Nevertheless, we wrote and produced tonight's episode in the hopes that we would be nominated for a GLAAD Award. Our reason for this was simple. We all wanted to go to a big party where we could, for just one night, pretend we were marvelous. But in order to get to that party, we knew we'd have to write a penetrating exploration of a delicate, often inflamed area. At every step of the way we reminded ourselves that if our attempts at comedy made anyone wince, we needed to immediately withdraw and come at it from a different angle. After all, there was no reason to add to the swelling piles of asinine homophobic comedy. We chose, instead, to write a show that reaches around the obvious in order to swallow the truth. And what is that truth? Well, in a politically correct world, the truth is not an easy thing to spit out. But we think, in the end, it finally comes down to this: healthy human sexuality cannot be compartmentalized. It is a liquid thing, ever-expanding, contracting and flowing, and certainly not something that one can simply put in a box.

That being said, we hope the folks at GLAAD will judge this episode as being worthy of honor and that we get to meet Elton John.

WRONG TO GAG IMUS

2007-04-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

The same cowards who turned chicken when the silly wardrobe malfunction happened are again trying to gag Imus. He's a character, we know him, and our tradition of free speech demands that we leave him alone.

There are far more ugly mouths operating on the airwaves, and no one squelches them, because they are entitled to have their say, and it's up to listeners to decide whether or not to tune in.

Leave it alone, leave Imus be, leave those sorry women alone, and most of all, tune OUT leave that bandwagon jumping loud mouth who whipped this to a froth, the biggest hypopcrite of them all, ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Right Revend Al Sharpton.

When he jumps into a fight, walk away, 'cause things are going to start to smell bad.

Linguine, Mushrooms, Cream: Heaven

2007-04-08T17:49:00.000-07:00

This is too damn good to be so easy. Linguine, with dried porcini mushrooms, white wine, garlic, and cream. That’s all there was. Pasta is at its best when the ingredients are simple, and kept to a minimum. The dried Italian porcini have an intense flavor I never get with fresh. Pay extra; you’re worth it.

Pour some boiling water over the dried mushers, just enough to cover, let them sit ‘til they soften, then very gently wring out some of the water, and save it. Slice them into large pieces. Carefully pour off the mushroom liquid into a skillet, bring to a boil, add two cloves chopped crushed garlic, salt, ground pepper, red chili flakes, white wine, heavy cream. Cook the linguine al dente in salted water. Add the mushrooms to the skillet, immediately drain the pasta and add it to the skillet. Toss, and continue to cook until the pasta absorbs the sauce. Grate some cheese over it. I used Wisconsin Asiago (I had no idea it was domestic when I bought it) , but I should have used Parmesan.

Burrito Omelette? or Whatchamacallit

2007-03-25T20:11:00.000-07:00

I have no idea what to call the darn thing. I was having too much fun making them, and my friends were wolfing them down and loving them. Here is a great breakfast dish: not quite an omelet but not a fritata either. Just forget what you call it; it’s delicious, unusual, and easy to make.

Cut half of a large flour burrito skin into strips. Beat an egg with a few TB water, season with S&P, Frank’s Red Hot sauce, Mexican seasoning, garlic powder. oregano , or any fresh or dried herb you like. Add the burrito strips, some coarsely cut up broccoli, grated Asiago cheese. Slice a few scallions into long angled pieces; set aside. Use any cheeses which suit your taste. Hard cheese with a tang is best.

In a non stick skillet, heat some olive oil until the surface shimmers. Slide in the egg mixture, spreading out the ingredients to cover the bottom of the pan. Let the omelet cook at medium fire. When it no longer sticks to the pan, and the bottom has color, sprinkle the scallion slices on top, and flip the whole thing over. Let the other side fry for a minute or so longer. Tip it onto a warm dish. If you aren’t good at the rolling technique, you can always use a dry towel to shape it.

Here is another version, showing the omelet ready to be flipped over.
Start again with the eggs, beaten with herbs or seasonings, and the slices of burrito. Salt and pepper are basics, but you can use Goya “Adobo” seasoning, Mexican seasoning, and always a dash of hot sauce. This time, use grated parmesan cheese, and just before you turn it onto a warm plate, a handful of sliced salami, sopressatta, slices of Provolone, salami, chopped flat parsley or fresh basil. Turn the omelet onto a warm plate, spoon some hot tomato sauce along the side. What I like to do is slice an opening along the top of the omelet, and pour the sauce into it.

Syrian Pasta Adventure with my Cuisinart Dough Blade

2007-03-24T20:04:00.000-07:00

I was nostalgic for some of my boyhood food this afternoon, thinking of the faves my mom used to make for me when she’d ask me what I wanted for my birthday. She made the most delicious squash pie. I always asked for it, as she well knew I would. After she passed away, I found her recipe in one of her old cook books. The page with the recipe was stained from use and spills. That’s how I knew.
The other dish I perpetually craved was a Syrian pasta: dough filled with cheese, called “kelsonnes”. Boiled, bathed in butter and some of the cooking liquid and baked, they were the best. They were just like raviolis but the dough was not like Italian pasta; it was more tender, thicker and had a nicer ‘chew’ than the Italian. It was also served with egg noodles, which generally were the shreds and cut parts of the dough that wasn’t made into dumplings. What most differentiated them is they were hand made; no two were alike.

My cousin Connie told me she used her Cuisinart dough blade to make the dough. The plastic do hickey which came with the processor, and which I never used. All of my pastas were always made with the steel blade, but today I was determined to test the dough blade. My results were better than the ones I got with the stainless blade. The dough blade does more kneading than cutting, and thus gives an elastic dough.
Arming myself with the ingredients: flour, an egg, water, salt, and a block of Muenster cheese; I started with the dough. There is always some idiot cookbook guru giving you measurements for dough in terms of water, flour, etc, but no matter what you do, you end up having to adjust for texture and dryness yourself. The ‘feel’ of the dough, the texture, firmness, and ability to both be elastic and also roll out obediently are key to understanding any pasta dough.
Two cups of flour, a big pinch of salt, an egg, and a bit less than a cup of water, and my dough ball began to form, but it was sticky. Adding a tablespoon of flour and running the machine another half minute made it perfect. After removing it, I had to knead it by hand, but that’s the best part; in fact, it’s a great feeling to get my hands into it, to work up the gluten, and know that the process isn’t all mechanical.
It turned out to be soft, pliable; I wrapped it in plastic and made the filling. I deep chilled a half pound of Muenster cheese: the better to shred it, added an egg, half a tsp of baking powder, being sure the mixture was very dry. Rolling the pasta began with my pasta machine, but I found it just as easy to do the job by rolling small walnut size balls of dough and making disks with my small rolling pin. The soft dough sealed easily, and after they were all set, they went into a deep pot of boiling, salted water. I had a problem keeping the little devils submerged. I think they floated because of trapped air, and the baking powder releasing CO2. I should have made my filling more finely chopped.
After they came out of the water, a baking pan with butter on the bottom was waiting for them. Some of the cooking water went on top, and I mixed them to coat them with the butter. Bottom line: they were everything I hoped they would be. As I just now read what I wrote up above, there is nothing that conveys the emotional link, the soul, the mood food that satisfies beyond mere ingredients.
One touch I did that isn’t on any of our family’s recipes: I sprinkled some dried oregano leaves on top. The herb was an excellent addition. I assume there must have been herbs back in Syria, but when my ancestors got to America, New York’s lower east side, fresh herbs were unavailable, or were eschewed because of the cost. But I think they would have used them if they had them available.

The Queer Manifesto

2007-03-22T13:25:00.000-07:00

I posted it on my site, so here is a link to a document which was written, not by one individual, but by many,and which voices the anger and frustration of millions of gays around the world.

http://www.blacksheep-ny.com/queernation.htm

Ridiculously Easy Gyoza Dumplings

2007-03-22T13:01:00.000-07:00

These are sometimes called "Pot stickers"

The really hard part was in the Korean market, trying to decipher what was inside the dumplings in the bag, since not one single one of them had any English translation of the contents. I thought, "Screw it", and went ahead and took home some of the mystery dumplings. After all, how bad off could I be for six bucks or less?

They are pretty easy to cook. Here is my method, which does not include boiling. Into a hot preferably non stick skillet, pour around a tablespoon of canola or peanut oil, and place as many of the frozen dumplings as you want, spreading them around. Cook medium fire until they brown a bit on several sides. Now, carefully pour off the oil, and add a few TB of water, covering the pan so the steam does not escape. Careful that the pan is not too hot or you will spatter oil. Let the dumplings cook until they are done.

Make the sauce: Into the pan with a fresh glug of oil, add three quarter-sized slices of crushed fresh ginger, two or three smashed up cloves of garlic, a teaspoon of sugar, some chili flakes or hot sauce (I prefer "Franks"), a glug of Asian seasoned rice vinegar, a few grinds of black pepper, and one or two teaspoons of soy sauce, depending on your taste and the concentration of the sauce. Toss the dumplings in the sauce as it reduces, and add a few sliced scallions leaving them to cook in the pan for around half a minute.

Slide them, with the sauce onto a serving dish.

Sometimes when fresh basil is handy, I'll tear up a few leaves and drop them into the pan just before plating. I learned is there is no mystery to doing these inexpensive dough purses, and each time I cook a batch, I can vary the seasonings to my own taste. Keep experimenting, and keep cooking.

Foie Gras: An Evil?

2007-03-20T15:13:00.000-07:00

The often heard argument against goose liver again rages; this time it’s the NY City Council contemplating banning the stuff. If they want to be humane, they ought to start with the welfare “hotels”, take a hard look at the subway, or the way they house the homeless. Oh sorry, we weren’t talking about humane treatment of people, but geese and ducks; Duh.

I had my very first taste of foie gras on my first visit to Paris in 1979. Our octogenarian hostess stretched her tiny budget, went to great expense to make us happy, including Champagne, foie gras, and toasted slices of bread she browned on a small iron stove in her kitchen. The warm toast arrived at the table and we were to spread some of the butter-like stuff on the bread. I was young, idealistic, not very gracious: I protested on behalf of the poor tortured animals.

Our hostess Sylvie told me she grew up on a Perigord farm where they raised geese for their livers, and made confit with the rest. "They come to you when they see you cherie, they are hungry, and they are happy to eat". Half drunk, and easily convinced, I went for it. I won't ever regret it, but I'm still not sure those geese are any better treated than any other food animals we devour. When I can afford it, I'll go for some, but not any where nearly as often as before. I really don’t know where to draw the line.

Call me a hypocrite. Like the French, I always have a small glass of a country red wine, just to help the fat digest. Did you know they live longer in South West France, than anywhere else in Europe?

Doing Our Part

2007-03-20T12:41:00.000-07:00

The last snow storm left dozens of dangerous ice stalagtites dangling from bridges and overpasses. Some of them fell down onto cars badly injuring people. Faced with these complaints, the DOT spokesman said: "We are making plans to do all we can, but in the meantime, we ask the public to do its part..."

Motherfucker. Making plans? That piece of dog shit is laying the responsibility on us??? He never said what the fuck our part was supposed to be. I've been driving cars all of my adult life, even before. And I still have no idea what I can do to avoid being impaled by a falling spear of ice.

Salmon in Basil Cream

2007-02-23T06:40:00.000-08:00

No matter what the season, I find good salmon is available. This from the food market in K-town on 32nd Street at under four dollars for a thick, intensely colored fillet. You get the best fish at Asian markets; you can't pass junk off onto these people the same way the big chains do. I brought home some salmon from D'Ag's once, and had to throw it into the trash, it smelled so bad. Never be shy about tearing open that plastic to give it a sniff test.

After seasoning with coarse salt, ground coriander and pepper, I sauteed it in a tablespoon of olive oil--EV of course--and let it rest while I did the sauce. Understand the fish must be very rare when you take it from the pan. It continues to cook to perfection. Then I poured off the oil, added a few ounces of white wine, some pesto, and a smidge of hot sweet mustard. Reduce that, swirl in some rich sour cream, off the heat lest it break the cream. A few fresh basil leaves added some poignancy to the flavors, and a few grinds of pepper. There was some sour cream left in the container, which I combined with a little more of the mustard, adding it to the plate. I like the two sauces on the plate. The mustard cream went surprisingly well.

THE DEVIL IN STREEP

2007-02-11T19:54:00.000-08:00

She is fabulous, always the best of anyone around her. I watched the film a few times. And no, dear, I wasn't bored; but each viewing revealed another layer of her flawless talent in that mask of a face. She's an entity you need to study closely to appreciate how great she is, and how she can do it with such extraordinary subtlety.

Is Ugly Betty better? Nah, but I love the idea of a fashion magazine instead of the crap that reality TV dropped on our lives for the past few years. We've had enough doctors, and God knows: too many cops who can solve a crime with their imaginary microscopic process.

I think anyone with half of a brain will find the remote buried in the couch cushions and click away from "Gay, Straight, or Taken".

Tortilla Omelet

2007-02-09T21:52:00.000-08:00

It began as a desperate way to use up too many flour burrito skins I had last summer at the island. Once at The Black Sheep - it was May 5, Cinco de Mayo, Victor suggested we make chilaquiles as a family snack. Tortilla skins were fried crisp and then cooked in spicy tomato chili sauce and covered with Mexican cheese, and served hot. This is food that is BAD for you, and tastes delicious; in other words: perfect.

The burrito skins can be sliced into noodle shaped strips, soaked in beaten, seasoned eggs; fried with greens, herbs, or scallions; slices of salami, ham or sausage, and cheese of course, and plated with some tomato sauce. Sounds complicated, sure, but one taste and you'll be begging for the recipe.

There isn't one; you have to wing it, fake it, make it come out by doing it your own way.

Another Opening, Another Show...

2007-02-03T16:24:00.000-08:00

It's a few minutes after 6pm, and I just left my friends in their kitchen at the local three star restaurant just as they were about to open for the evening. Even though the house was starting to fill up with hungry, critical diners expecting culinary fireworks, the atmosphere in that clean, stainless and tile kitchen was relaxed, confident, happy. The chef, his cooks all joking, having just finished their "family meal"--standing up of course--of perfectly cooked tomato spaghetti made by one of the cooks from an Italian family. This is one of the rare restaurants where the entire staff genuinely LIKE each other, and eat very well.

Of course there will always be the whiney wait staff complaints about the food, but you can't please them all, and this is really good food they get every day. Pork never appears on the menu because some of the staff are Muslims, but veal, excellent beef and always painstaking art are applied even to the family meals. Last week there was a hand made lasagna with Bolognese Ragu sauce. They saved me a big piece because they borrrowed my pasta roller. As I was leaving I saw half a tray of the good stuff about to go into the trash since it hadn't been all eaten.

Mind you, I don't work there, and have no authority, but I demanded the stuff be packed up and I'd take it home and give it to Nick, the homeless guy who lives around the corner and sleeps on the sidewalk next to the wall of the garage. Such waste: shocking! They started to smirk and giggle when they heard my ravings. ("I can't believe you guys could let good food get dumped!").

Many of the kids are from Mexico or somewhere that would never let food be thrown away, and yet they allow this to happen. By the way they looked at me, I knew each of them understood where I was coming from, and agreed. Still, the sad thing is there really is no way to recycle the food, and the house is making so much money that food can afford to be thrown away to assure that only the finest cuts end up on the plate.

I freak when I watch them trim beef or veal, thinking of the wonderful veal stews I could do with the trimmings, and when ducks are dressed, the innards get 86'd. Christian, who was prepping the ducks told me how he fills the cavity with quarters of apple, onion and blood orange and herbs before he roasts the critters. As he slid the guts from duck number one into la poubelle, I begged him to stop. Now, I have a dog and a cat, so I got a baggie from my jeans and filled it with duck livers and gizzards. Most of it disappeared into the dog and my young cat who grows a few centimeters every day. Just a few days ago I sliced the duck livers into thin scallops and sauteed them in green olive oil and Sauterne wine: Chateau d'Yquem, 1967 actually. Can I blow my own horn? I got lucky; it was awesome. But no one, not anyone I know of would deglaze a pan with a wine of that caliber. So I ran next door with a plate full and proudly offered my still warm creation to my grateful buddies. I reduced the wine with the oil to a glaze: a perfect tart-honey foil to the richness of the meat. I burst with pride when they like what I do. It's my drug, my way of still getting praise from my peers. I loved it then, and I always will.

The flip side is they're more than generous with their hard earned know how. We all share - it's what we do. I always walk away with more than I've managed to bring. This morning Dan offered me one of his first experimental mortadellas. It was delicious, rich with authentic, heady, Italian country flavors, but the color hadn't turned bright pink, which made it unuseable in this first class restaurant. He may have used fewer nitrites than he should have. Who cares.

In that quiet, fluorescent, pre-opening moment, everyone in spotless whites, the pastry chef is quietly showing the gardemanger how to arrange the desserts for the evening, the chef is making his final adjustments to the sauces, the plate layouts, portions, and the house count, I feel that same tingle of excitement I used to when I had my own restaurant, about to open the doors for the evening. You never know what's going to happen; there's that old man Murphy and his law always lurking somewhere, and that's what makes the business wonderful: the feeling at the end of the evening that somehow, as a team, again we got away with something, thank heaven. I've watched these guys work during service: a rare privilege, and one I cherish. This space once was my own kitchen, one I created in 1978, and to see what it has become: light years beyond anything I could ever dream it would be.

Each man in the kitchen knows his job, and does it with the precision of a military maneuver. Varioius elements arrive in front of the chef at the exact moment they are needed, and when the plates are picked up by black garbed servers, they look, well even I'm amazed at their beauty.

HOW DUMB DOES AOL THINK WE ARE?

2007-02-01T06:08:00.000-08:00

Miss America admits she used coke, and my reaction is big effing deal. I sign onto AOL to check mail, and they have these little newsy spurts and the one they are asking for votes and comments is: should she be fired, or quit, and Playboy wants to photograph her so should she? Let's consider this for a moment; sooner or later some one's gonna out her for the powder, and she realizes her experience might even help someone, so she heads disaster off at the pass by letting the cat out of the bag. All in all, I say it's a noble thing.

Guess what the judgemental AOL voting Moral Morons on these idiot polls said?
They'd have burned her at the stake if they'd had a match and the brains to light one. Serves me right for letting myself get caught up in this crap. I'll learn some day, I hope.

TOP CHEF--- I KNEW IT !

2007-01-24T20:34:00.000-08:00

Here's to the underdog. Marcel is obnoxious, but he's young and will learn as we all did, that people are the most important component of a kitchen. Still, I'm happy he made it to the finals. Maybe I saw myself in him, but oh God; I hope not! What irked me the most is he acts like a flaming queen, and I was certain there's an element of homohating in this. Most chefs I know are tolerant of other people's sexual preferences, but they tend to be out off by anyone who's woussy or weak.

This afternoon, I had an MRI after waiting an hour for my appointment. The previous patient kept moving to the music they stuck in his earphones, and they couldn't get a decent image. Who needs music in a place like that? They stuck these massive phones on my ears, supposedly to shut out the noise of the machine (didn't work), made me sweat bullets in that sci-fi shaft, and they didn't but could have stuck an air conditioner or blower in the billion dollar thing. I left the place, and walked west on 32nd street. I found myself in Little Korea, surrounded by lots of cute, slender trendily attired asians. There was not one storefront in sight that had all English signing.

The street reminded me of Chinatown, but I am familiar with Chinese food, and Korean is alien to me. After passing several 24 hour Korean buffets and food shops I turned into the one I was in front of, and found the buffet. I was stunned what I saw: everything appealed to the eye; there were intense colors: yellow, green, red, white, black, and all of it was begging me to taste. Hell, why not; my whole life of eating has been about beating a new path, and here was an opportunity.

Rows on rows of packaged delicacies, brightly lit, clean and fresh looking. Something for everyone. Glistening rolls of pork stuffed braised cabbage, seaweed rolls, chicken wings Korean Style, Korean sausages (awful to my taste), dozens of different dumplings, kimchee, fiery eggplant, deep red chicken grilled on skewers. There was so much, I had to try, but a cute looking guy explained the reddish ones were the "spicy" dishes. To a Korean, "little spicy is still too hot for my palate, so watch out.

Locating the styrofoam containers, I passed carefuilly along each one, and a gentle young man told me the "spicy"--meaning your mouth is on fire, were the ones with the red colors: chilis. Thus warned, I avoided being the virgin in the volcano on my first try.

Do Chefs Really Have to Be FAT??

2007-01-19T21:31:00.000-08:00

In the years I've been watching the Food Channel, I've seen Emeril grow from a lean young man to a portly one. It's about life style, but he's not the only one. Tyler: his not tucked in shirt still shows a belly, Bobby Flay, Mario, Paula Dean, Alton, The Barefoot Contessa all have grown spare chins and become nearly obese; to see them go like that, totally out of shape, gone to pot, it's sad.

Sure their food looks great on the screen, but they need to focus more on eating well, eating healthy, instead of eating whatever it is that will certainly kill you at an early age, no matter how buttery good it is.

As chefs, we have a responsibily to lead our patrons to new experiences with food, but also to guide diners to safer, more healthy haits. The era of James Beard and gluttony are gone. I have friends working every day in kitchens all over New York, and they're lean because they work hard and don't overindulge themselves on what their customers demand of them: their own cooking.

The "Top Chef", for example, easily wins points by feeding the judges quarts of cream, butter and costly ingredients. Where is the challenge in that?

My Very Last Subway Sandwich

2007-01-18T21:22:00.000-08:00

Never again.

I am a romantic optimist, so when I see a purty picture, in color y'know, of a juicy steak sandwich, I believe it's for real. It began to snow on 14th Street, my stomach was growling. I'd foolishly passed up some tasty smelling Cubano and Latino foods, but like the dumb-ass I am ('cause I never learn, that's why), I went in to Subway, believing the best would happen: maybe the boneless rib, or the one filled with lots of juicy pastrami, but instead I picked the grilled pepper steak, which looked better than any of the others. The surly she-bitch behind the counter flipped a paper container of something--looked like maybe it was meat at one time, slammed it over the roll of "special cheese and garlic bread" (turned out to be made of dust, crumbled the instant I picked it up), then into the oven it went, as though heat would ever resurrect that dead stuff into food. Hell, if you're known for being a sandwich joint, the very least thing you can do is be sure the bread is decent. This was the pitts; I ended up wearing more crumbs of that crap than I ate. I have to admit the meat, or what passed for, was tender.

My point is we have to stand up and reject out the rotten food we get when we pay for something entirely different than what they give us. I'm guessing this has been going on for so long we take it for granted, but if we continue to do so, we're only digging our own hole deeper.

Am I the only one who cares?

Is he gay, or...?

2007-01-10T09:29:00.000-08:00

Whitney’s fabulous dresses are being sold off to pay the storage fees. Makes me so sad; and such fabulous drag they are, too. Poor thing, I feel for her, and more, I wish some of those things would fit me. All I've got is one tired old floor length gold sequin laden thing that makes me sweat bullets when I wear it in July.

Malibu tragically lost a dozen houses to a questionable fire, and while the ruins were still smoking, the neighbors were walking the beach looking at the damage with glasses of wine in their hands. The media didn’t like the sight of that, but, what does the media know of how such things are done? That’s how we do it on Fire Island too. You simply can not mourn the loss of a neighbor’s home without a decent Merlot in your hand. I was shocked to see those La-La’s with white wine; how typically gauche.

The only show this season with the word “gay” in its name is a piece of total crap called “Gay, Straight or Taken” and someone should TAKE it and dump it in the trash bin. The bit is that some total bimbo tries to decide which stereotype determines which of three men is a fag. It’s just plain lousy television, and since it’s a reality show, it adds to dung heap they call ‘entertainment’. Miss it of you haven't already realized the hoax.

Hey does anyone ever listen to the bullshit promises made by the smooth talking old fart on the E-Harmony ads? He makes love by computer so nice, I called and asked if they also matched up men. I was told that E-Harmony believes only men and women should date, Nasty bitch she was, too, and I thought how neat it would be if thousands of gays applied to their FREE service, and clogged up their system with our data.

Does that seem a little too much like ACT-UP! for you?

DARWIN AWARDS TO OUTDOORS GUYS

2007-01-05T16:15:00.000-08:00

Why does the media makes these morons into heroes? Obviously, they have very little else to talk about.

Go hiking without enough suplies or a way to save your ass in case you run into trouble, go hiking in bad weather, sail around the globe alone and get lost; it irks me that so much money is spent on saving these mental midgets. Wouldn't the race be better off if minds like this were left alone to expire? It seems to me it's what they really want.

Okay says I, go find them, but send them the bill, and penalize them for drawing so many resources by being stupid. Putting your ass on a chopping block doesn't merit a reward.

IS THERE NOTHING BETTER TO DO ABOUT SADDAM?

2007-01-03T18:57:00.000-08:00

I thought it was going to be over with, but a few hooligans let off some steam which they richly deserved to do, causing that monster some additional grief before he left this life, thankfully for good.

Did anyone ever hear of closure? Did a few name callers cause such an international crisis? Was there a hope in hell Saddam was going to live longer? These poor bastards needed - and deserved that one last crack at him. And so what if someone made a video? The guy deserves a medal, and I'm certain CNN wishes they'd found a way to get at it first.

Take a look at the absurd finger pointing and the Bush gang distancing themselves from his death. Duhhh, who started the war anyway?

Thanksgiving in North Carolina

2006-11-20T20:56:00.000-08:00

I'm near Raleigh in Wake Forest; J Michael's home. Things here have been quiet with him still working hard at school until Wednesday. He was performing in a musical, called "Petite Rouge" – A Cajun version of "Little Red Riding Hood"; he played the lead role as Claude, the hungry alligator cum Big Bad Wolf. He was hilarious; of course he stole the show. I always knew he could, but this was the first time I watched him do it. He's wonderful; brilliant, beautiful.

The play was written for children, and he played to the kids in the audience as they howled with delight at his antics. His costume included a huge alligator head with big white eyes that seemed to follow you as he moved around the stage. He knew exactly how to milk the comic effects of it, and of his movable kitchen. As I watched him wring so much energy out of his tired body, I realized I was the only one in the audience who understood the stress and fatigue he was enduring: The consummate performer.

His grandmother in Ohio took a bad fall today and she's in hospital with a broken hip, and surgery is scheduled. His folks took off to Cleveland to be with her. So much for the big family dinner; it got downsized, and we're on our own. We'll be fine, but that pudding I brought with me--oh, I never told you about that, did i? Well…

Dan K. at Wallse is one of the greatest pastry chefs in town and also a friend. Last week I gave him an old tin German steamed pudding mold. He returned the mold filled with an English Treacle pudding: "This is for you to bring to your family". The thing is, one does not in these days, pack a fat, round metal container into one's baggage without some kind of explanation, or one's baggage will very likely be opened up and maybe even confiscated. Soo, I opted to hand carry the thing. You place the entire mold in simmering water for twenty minutes, unmold and serve with crème fraiche: simple enough.

But a certain tight assed lesbonic ATA security person stops me and refuses to let me bring it on board. I had already abandoned a bottle of Chateau Petrus '75 wine in my car, because they don't allow wine to be carried on board, but I thought I could get away with the pudding. Better to hand carry than have all my shit confiscated by some boob with no culinary instincts whatever. Well, you can't blame them; as I said, this thing is inside of an x-ray proof metal container, what would you have done? I am determined to not give up my pudding.

Right; so first she's scrutinizing my papers, Blondie's service dog ID, then she gets to the pudding. "I'm a chef!", pleading with her, "it is only a pudding". She shakes it, exclaiming, "It's a gel"; or, in other words, it might even blow up the whole plane? My world is starting to cave in around me; panic is settling in. This is when the fun starts. I told her I made it, so at least she knew the source. Then I started to beg: please have a heart, it's only food, a cake I baked myself. "A cake; well why didn't you say so?" Why, because dumb-ass me had to be specific, which is what any foodie would have done. "Open it up, check it out, you'll see. Please!" So she does, poking with her latex gloved hand, realizes it's edible.

"Wrap this up, you're okay, and keep your dog out of the way of the others on the line. Thus began my experience as an airport acrobat. A look at my watch told me I had around 2 minutes to get to my flight. Holding on to Blondie, my shoes still on the examining table, as was everything I had, gathering it all up. and stumbling with the pudding to get it wrapped up again.

Thank God the plane was delayed in its arrival by half an hour. As she moved on to her next victim, I yelled, "Thank you so much! Happy Thanksgiving, May Allah bless you". She wheeled around, eyes popping, mouth agape, lips moving, but no sound, while we hurried on to the gate. That look on her face was worth all the crap we had to go through.

Punkin' Soup in April's Kitchen

2006-11-13T18:49:00.000-08:00

One reason I never managed to make a decent pumpkin soup is because I was so blocked up by the boring, traditional New England cliché of nutmeg, ginger, cinnamon and clove, more apropos for pie than soup.

The other day I dropped in to say hi to my friend, Chef April Bloomfield in her kitchen at Spotted Pig. You know you're in heaven; you can smell it. Our conversation often goes something like: "D'you feel like something to eat?"
That’s her, all the time; so gracious, and me shy. I just dropped in to share a hug, but she's such an amazing cook; passing up anything she offers is insane. Besides, I love to eat.

"Not really hungry, um but well, what have you got?"
"Soup"
"Soup? Interesting; what kind?"
"Just Pumpkin".

My pumpkin soups were always losers, so I just had to see what she did. Well, it was thick, almost porridge like, chunks of pumpkin of varying sizes from almost a puree to coarse pieces. There was additional body from farro – the ancient grain of Rome; marjoram; rich, hearty chicken stock; sweated onions with pancetta, just allowed to color. Two soup spoons landed into a warm bowl as I stood there in her about to be slammed kitchen. The dinner action was beginning to swirl around her, but April is not fazed in the least. Before she let me taste it: “Would you like some olive oil?”
“DUH, OF COURSE! “ She pours on a healthy stream of spicy. rich, green Tuscan olive oil. One sniff and I knew I was in the presence of a master (again). One taste and I wished I hadn’t insisted on a tiny portion, but she wisely offered me more without my asking. I was having a body high. It had the taste of the squash, but with nothing to hide or augment it. It’s a quiet flavor, so pure you need to be careful to not overwhelm it. Pumpkin is not a flavor you want to mask; not if you know how to show it to its best.

I was a chef years ago, designated ‘Master Chef’ at that time, but chefs like April and her colleagues are doing things now that I never dreamed of. Like I came from a past era to a time when things happened while I was sleeping. Rip van Foodie.

If I get my own TV show, I would take my stomach and raid the great kitchens of the world. Yum.

CENTURIES OLD AFRICAN TEXTS FOUND

2006-11-11T18:16:00.000-08:00

They found some ancient texts which prove that culture, mathematics, astronomy and science existed there long before our own North America was settled by the cowboys and pilgrims. Big Surprise--not.

So AOL, as usual, posts the news and then opens up the Idiot door so people can comment. Check it out sometime if you ever want to see how truly asinine people can be yet still write and own a computer. One guy, or I think it's a guy, writes asking what Africa has contributed:

"Nothing I can think of. How about anniliating your fellow tribesmen?"

The poor bloke can't spell, but forget that, we already know he's no genius. I wrote the following to him:

Nothing you can think of, eh?
Maybe you ought to do some more thinking, my friend. Africa has been more civilized for more centuries than you could ever dream.

Sit in on an African Village meeting and see how they use wisdom, integrity and fair play to deal with their local matters. I did. It blew my mind. I wondered who were the primitive ones: them or us?

Our pilgrims landed here and at once began hostile acts against the friendly natives. Murder, grave robbing, you name it; the Pilgrims did it.

We burned 'witches', we imprisoned 'suspects' with no hope of a trial, we jailed American citizens who happened to be of Japanese or German extraction, and kept out the Chinese because we simply did not like them, but we let them build our railroads, and then threw them the hell out. And now, we focus our frustrations on innocent Mexicans, allowing George Bush to confuse them with real terrorists and make border security an issue - It's a fake issue; bogus, political.

Obviously, you are not a New Yorker; because in this city, we are all here together. We work, rub elbows and shoulders, eat each other’s cuisines, suffer together, learn each another’s languages, and generally recognize we are not all alone in this world. We get along. We like it this way, too.

NOW, THINK. No, really – THINK!!

If more Americans used our brains instead of our bigotry, we'd really be the best nation on Earth, instead of just saying that we are.

We have committed atrocities and buried the evidence so history won't remember - unless someone with a brain goes looking. And yet we sit here, smug, critical of others, conveniently forgetting our own weaknesses -- just plain racists. Sure, I’m sickened, just as you are, by the killing, the genocide. But don’t blame all of Africa for that.

What makes Africa look low down and primitive is the Earth climate changes which reduced them to a bunch of starving, broken down cultures scrambling for their very existence. Blame their sick, demented warlords, blame AIDS, starvation, blame the same kind of twisted mind that created a Hitler, or a Senator Joe McCarthy, or Jesse Helms, Stalin, Milosevic, and then take a look at us 'average Joes' - we fool only ourselves by saying we bring "democracy" to others, when we don't even know how to hold onto it for ourselves.

Our leaders send soldiers to Iraq to bring them DEMOCRACY, and yet they mess around with our voting machines and steal our elections. It’s bad; I’m not even sure who really won the last presidential election, but now I have more doubts than ever.

Look at our own leaders have created so much doubt and lack of faith in who we are, we have no right to point any fingers at other peoples. Just take a look to see what has already happened to democracy in our own country. Only the recent elections have pulled my outlook for our nation's future from the depths.

So please, do think again - and don't lower your mind to the level of the bigots who love to spew their ignorance here on these AOL boards.

Have a happy Thanksgiving, but remember the Pilgrims were not at all nice to the “Indians”. > <BR>

Yet Another Haloween

2006-11-01T13:01:00.000-08:00

My boyfriend then was John, a tall, lean superbly muscled beauty who outstripped most other guys in every way you can measure a man. He was a dancer, and ended up with the Martha Graham Company after an unhappy stint with the Lido in Paris. He hated Paris; we both hated his being away, so when he called one night in a miserable mood, I begged him to come home, and he did. I was beyond thrilled. His best friend was Cholsu, his partner in partying, disco, you know--sisters. They were incredible at dolling themselves up in drag. It was Halloween in Greenwich Village; I was hard at work at the restaurant, packed to the rafters with celebrants and miserably short of waiters, all of whom decided this was their national holiday and pulled a dissappearing act. And John shows up in full drag. I mean, everything. You had to look more than twice to know there was a guy underneath all that femininity. I had a physical reaction, I began to hyperventilate. I mean, there was my MAN, looking like the sexiest female--it was too much for me. I remember his cupping my chin in his hands, and kissing me, “Michael, I’m still me, your John, and always will be”. That helped—a little.

Scary Halloween Stories

2006-10-31T21:58:00.000-08:00

This is a memory of Marvin Tate, a man who worked with me at my restaurant

A BLACK WIG
Want to hear something silly? Years ago on Halloween night at the Black Sheep Marvin shows up in a lacy black dress and an ugly black fright wig. He used black Gothic make up. Sleazy Morticia, and just adorable! He was small, skinny, made quick, sharp movements, and the black on black emphasized his scary appearance. He was a screech. You had to love him.

So in that full drag, he began to wait on his tables. He had the customers pissing. We were all encouraging one another that night, antics were the order of the day. There were signs of a brief but intense pasta fight in the kitchen. He loved to entertain his customers. He wanted so much to be loved. He'd go way out of his way to make everyone in his world happy. Sometimes, in my role as owner-chef, I would misunderstand him. I was an asshole by not being more encouraging, but my growth as a human came slowly. I wish I had been supportive. Everybody loved him. He had a heart of gold. He was one in a million.

Later that night the kids all went out to a party, and he came over to my house to change into street garb; I lived next door - so he left the costume here and vanished into the night. Years later it ended up at Fire Island, where one Halloween it got worn to the Island Club in his honor. It was as though I brought him with me that night. The wig has been lying around the house here, moved from one place to another.

The restaurant closed, Marvin moved to North Carolina, and was diagnosed with advanced AIDS. He lived with his sister, the only member of his large family who would not reject him. The social security people made him wait two years for his money; he didn't have any to buy those costly medicines. His case is but one of so many who sliped between the cracks of beaurocracy and died that year. He left his body last August.

The US and North Carolina governments had a hand in his death by negligence. They killed him and never even knew who he was.

Now, I'm on a binge of clearing out lawn bags of debris, things I never could let go of --both physical and emotional--Hacking away at relationships that clutter my life. I reached for the wig with an eye toward getting rid of it, and my heart melted. I simply could not bear to pitch it. Instead, I sat down to write this to you.

Okay so here's the silly part: that throwing it away would be like losing another part of him. I know that's ridiculous; he probably never gave that thing a second thought. Left it behind and moved on. It's still sitting there, and I'm finding a few very good reasons why a fag in New York City and Fire Island would need a horrible black wig. There are so many images of Marvin Tate I might retain, and yet that one of him in that outfit lingers, and even as I write this, brings tears to my eyes.

He was family. I loved him.

Michael

Cinco de Mayo

2006-10-25T06:57:00.000-07:00

I used to cook special treats for my restaurant's staff at times when we needed to relax and just enjoy one another. Sometimes we needed to remember why we were all there, and it wasn't all about money. I mean, we genuinely cared for each another. In all the years I had The Black Sheep, or it had me, the best part of it all was the people I worked side by side with -- my teammates. We were a troupe, an ensemble. I miss them terribly, and think of them often.

My Sunday morning cheese grits were a hit with our little family as were my calorie loaded sausages and biscuits, but one early May afternoon, Victor Gonzalez, a sweet wonderful soul, when I asked what everybody wanted, said, "Chilaquiles"

"What's that and why do you want it? I mean, you could have anything."

"Cinco de Mayo is this weekend, and my family moved from Mexico to LA where we celebrate it, and for nostalgia I want 'Chilaquiles', a dish my grandmother made for us kids on holidays."

Well, this curious, knowledge-hungry chef would never pass up an opportunity to learn a new dish, so I agreed, as long as Victor would acquire the ingredients. Victor, I should add, was excellent at 'acquisitions' -- a very useful quality. Once, when I wanted a Mexican mortar and pestle, the kind made of gray volcanic stone in the shape of a bull, called a 'Molcajete', Victor found one in Jackson Heights. He didn't quit 'till he got what he was after. I use it all the time to grind spices. There were other instances I won't mention here. I knew his background had once been shady, but he loved The Black Sheep and we all loved him. I certainly did.

When I became ill in '94 with a deadly brain virus and was bedridden for months, virtually demented, it was Victor who negotiated the catered events with corporate clients and kept the restaurant's party catering business going. Victor stood by me when some others of my staff jumped ship anticipating my impending death. The reports were premature, it seems. He even zipped me thru the Metropolitan Museum one afternoon in a wheelchair, so we could view their Monet collection, which, for a New York City museum, wasn't very special. But the experience was.

When I was able to walk again, I took him to the Brooklyn Museum to see their special Monet Mediterranean show, and he fell in love with three paintings of one olive grove. I think when I see him in Heaven, he'll be walking around that grove.

Back to Chilaquiles; Victor told me the recipe "more or less" as his grandma made it. She never used a recipe, but that lady was not available for questions. Take a good Marinara sauce, you can use a jar, it wont matter after you finish seasoning it, and add lots of garlic and a generous amount of Chili spice, also some hot pepper sauce, (to your taste, of course) and set it aside. Tear up flour or corn tortillas into 1x3 inch strips and in a large frying pan, fry them in oil till they start to color. Keep them moving so they don't burn. Then add the sauce, and fry some more. You will want the sauce to be somewhat absorbed by the tortilla strips.

Cover the skillet with handfuls of grated sharp cheddar, of course if you had that sharp white Mexican cheese (we didn't) it would have been more authentic. If you have a broiler, let the cheese melt all over the mess, and serve it. Sprinkle with some thin slivers of jalapeno chilies. Not one scrap was left over, and I had to make three enormous batches.

Victor eventually succumbed to the plague, he was afraid to take meds and decided too late to begin them. By then, his frail body was unable to recover itself.

I celebrate his life, and his joy of living, whenever I walk naked in the rain, which is any time I can.

love,
Michael

Robber Barons Ride Again

2006-10-23T22:30:00.000-07:00

Congress takes time off but no one busts chops because Congress looks the other way at the stealing taking place at the treasury. There are real trucks backed up at fort Knox, and the money is pouring out faster than any James Bond villain ever dreamed possible. Everybody gets a piece of American Pie, everyone shares the spoils. Sure we’ll kick them out of the White House, but by then there’ll be nothing left but a pile of old furniture.

Keith Olberman's eloquent speech got right to what I've been thinking ever since Ronald Regan took office. When Bush senior pardoned the crooks who pulled off - and got away with - the rape of the credit unions and their depositors. Certainly ever since Bush stole the election, and after that, he and his cronies declared war on the wrong country, raped the treasury, and broke the bank of this nation for at least the next thirty years, while dividing the spoils of war just like the Robber Barons of the last century, and who are now, most pathetically, considered our national role models.

Click to listen live: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15321167/

"We have lived as if in a trance.We have lived as people in fear.And now—our rights and our freedoms in peril—we slowly awaken to learn that we have been afraid of the wrong thing.

Therefore, tonight have we truly become the inheritors of our American legacy.For, on this first full day that the Military Commissions Act is in force, we now face what our ancestors faced, at other times of exaggerated crisis and melodramatic fear-mongering:A government more dangerous to our liberty, than is the enemy it claims to protect us from.

We have been here before—and we have been here before, led here by men better and wiser and nobler than George W. Bush. We have been here when President John Adams insisted that the Alien and Sedition Acts were necessary to save American lives, only to watch him use those acts to jail newspaper editors. American newspaper editors, in American jails, for things they wrote about America.

We have been here when President Woodrow Wilson insisted that the Espionage Act was necessary to save American lives, only to watch him use that Act to prosecute 2,000 Americans, especially those he disparaged as “Hyphenated Americans,” most of whom were guilty only of advocating peace in a time of war.American public speakers, in American jails, for things they said about America.

And we have been here when President Franklin D. Roosevelt insisted that Executive Order 9066 was necessary to save American lives, only to watch him use that order to imprison and pauperize 110,000 Americans while his man in charge, General DeWitt, told Congress: “It makes no difference whether he is an American citizen—he is still a Japanese.”American citizens, in American camps, for something they neither wrote nor said nor did, but for the choices they or their ancestors had made about coming to America.

Each of these actions was undertaken for the most vital, the most urgent, the most inescapable of reasons.And each was a betrayal of that for which the president who advocated them claimed to be fighting.

Adams and his party were swept from office, and the Alien and Sedition Acts erased. Many of the very people Wilson silenced survived him, and one of them even ran to succeed him, and got 900,000 votes, though his presidential campaign was conducted entirely from his jail cell.

And Roosevelt’s internment of the Japanese was not merely the worst blight on his record, but it would necessitate a formal apology from the government of the United States to the citizens of the United States whose lives it ruined.

The most vital, the most urgent, the most inescapable of reasons.

In times of fright, we have been only human.We have let Roosevelt’s “fear of fear itself” overtake us.We have listened to the little voice inside that has said, “the wolf is at the door; this will be temporary; this will be precise; this too shall pass.”

We have accepted that the only way to stop the terrorists is to let the government become just a little bit like the terrorists. Just the way we once accepted that the only way to stop the Soviets was to let the government become just a little bit like the Soviets.

Or substitute the Japanese.
Or the Germans.
Or the Socialists.
Or the Anarchists.
Or the Immigrants.
Or the British.
Or the Aliens.

The most vital, the most urgent, the most inescapable of reasons.
And, always, always wrong.
“With the distance of history, the questions will be narrowed and few: Did this generation of Americans take the threat seriously, and did we do what it takes to defeat that threat?”

Wise words.And ironic ones, Mr. Bush.Your own, of course, yesterday, in signing the Military Commissions Act. You spoke so much more than you know, Sir.Sadly—of course—the distance of history will recognize that the threat this generation of Americans needed to take seriously was you.

We have a long and painful history of ignoring the prophecy attributed to Benjamin Franklin that “those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.”

But even within this history we have not before codified the poisoning of habeas corpus, that wellspring of protection from which all essential liberties flow.
You, sir, have now befouled that spring.
You, sir, have now given us chaos and called it order.
You, sir, have now imposed subjugation and called it freedom.
For the most vital, the most urgent, the most inescapable of reasons.And — again, Mr. Bush — all of them, wrong.

We have handed a blank check drawn against our freedom to a man who has said it is unacceptable to compare anything this country has ever done to anything the terrorists have ever done.
We have handed a blank check drawn against our freedom to a man who has insisted again that “the United States does not torture. It’s against our laws and it’s against our values” and who has said it with a straight face while the pictures from Abu Ghraib Prison and the stories of Waterboarding figuratively fade in and out, around him.
We have handed a blank check drawn against our freedom to a man who may now, if he so decides, declare not merely any non-American citizens “unlawful enemy combatants” and ship them somewhere—anywhere -- but may now, if he so decides, declare you an “unlawful enemy combatant” and ship you somewhere - anywhere.
And if you think this hyperbole or hysteria, ask the newspaper editors when John Adams was president or the pacifists when Woodrow Wilson was president or the Japanese at Manzanar when Franklin Roosevelt was president.And if you somehow think habeas corpus has not been suspended for American citizens but only for everybody else, ask yourself this: If you are pulled off the street tomorrow, and they call you an alien or an undocumented immigrant or an “unlawful enemy combatant”—exactly how are you going to convince them to give you a court hearing to prove you are not? Do you think this attorney general is going to help you? This President now has his blank check.
He lied to get it.
He lied as he received it.
Is there any reason to even hope he has not lied about how he intends to use it nor who he intends to use it against?
“These military commissions will provide a fair trial,” you told us yesterday, Mr. Bush, “in which the accused are presumed innocent, have access to an attorney and can hear all the evidence against them.”"Presumed innocent," Mr. Bush?

The very piece of paper you signed as you said that, allows for the detainees to be abused up to the point just before they sustain “serious mental and physical trauma” in the hope of getting them to incriminate themselves, and may no longer even invoke The Geneva Conventions in their own defense.
"Access to an attorney," Mr. Bush?Lieutenant Commander Charles Swift said on this program, Sir, and to the Supreme Court, that he was only granted access to his detainee defendant on the promise that the detainee would plead guilty.
"Hearing all the evidence," Mr. Bush?The Military Commissions Act specifically permits the introduction of classified evidence not made available to the defense.

Your words are lies, Sir. They are lies that imperil us all.“One of the terrorists believed to have planned the 9/11 attacks,” you told us yesterday, “said he hoped the attacks would be the beginning of the end of America.”That terrorist, sir, could only hope. Not his actions, nor the actions of a ceaseless line of terrorists (real or imagined), could measure up to what you have wrought.
Habeas corpus? Gone.
The Geneva Conventions? Optional.
The moral force we shined outwards to the world as an eternal beacon, and inwards at ourselves as an eternal protection? Snuffed out.
These things you have done, Mr. Bush, they would be “the beginning of the end of America.”

And did it even occur to you once, sir — somewhere in amidst those eight separate, gruesome, intentional, terroristic invocations of the horrors of 9/11 -- that with only a little further shift in this world we now know—just a touch more repudiation of all of that for which our patriots died --- did it ever occur to you once that in just 27 months and two days from now when you leave office, some irresponsible future president and a “competent tribunal” of lackeys would be entitled, by the actions of your own hand, to declare the status of “unlawful enemy combatant” for -- and convene a Military Commission to try -- not John Walker Lindh, but George Walker Bush?For the most vital, the most urgent, the most inescapable of reasons.And doubtless, Sir, all of them—as always—wrong.
© 2006 MSNBC Interactive

Why Repubs Love Foley

2006-10-19T14:58:00.000-07:00

The Foley affair did exactly what the Bush camp wanted it to: distract the entire nation’s attention from its most heinous deeds and focus on one queer scapegoat congressman. Karl Rove probably figures the good Christian people won’t decide the country’s future based on such an inconsequential thing, and they’ll end up voting on the Republican brand of terror scare tactics. If that’s what Rove is thinking, he’s dead wrong in estimating the American voter as having as low an IQ as he hopes it does.

What bothers me is that the gay press has given so much attention to this dirty not so old man, who actually never touched any of the pages. Don't we have bigger fish to fry? We seem to be buying into the same old smoke screen. Let’s instead get out the vote, go to the phones, make tons of calls, and shame our lazy-ass friends into voting this time. We really can make a difference.

Gibson -- Not Yet Toast

2006-10-12T16:35:00.000-07:00

Diane did her best to keep an even tempered interview, and Melvin did his best to blame it all on alcohol. I think it's just awful that a wonderful thing like booze should have to take the brunt of criticism for what is in fact low life racial hatred.

What will all of this accomplish? Gibson will never change who or what he is. He will still have made millions at the expense of ready made deep seated anti-semitism, and very few moviegoers who have seen "The Passion" will walk away from Gibsongate feeling any differently about it than they did right after they saw it. It was hate propaganda, as surely as the passion plays were in the middle Ages. The damage is done, and nothing Melvin can say will change that.

Tune in tomorrow and watch how he squirms out of this mess in classic Hollywood style. I think he's going to do it, or why would he ever go there in the first place. I might tape it, and only listen to it; I just can't stand to look at him.

Dianne Sawyer Does Mel Gibson

2006-10-10T20:47:00.000-07:00

She's going to do him this Thursday morning on "Good Morning America". I think I will pass. He's only going to be there to make nice nice, and try to convince the whole world he really isn't a monster. That's what monsters do. If he even had the slightest inkling he'd come out looking like the rotten to the core SOB he really is, he'd never appear, so you already know the outcome, and why, pray God, give a show like that an audience?

What I would love to see is Oprah sitting him down and tearing him a new a-hole. Now that would be worth getting up early to see. And she's the lady who could do it--and would if he ever had the balls to show up for it. She'd never let him get away with that fake trip to "treatment" he made after his outburst of honesty. Have you noticed how often that ploy is used lately?

Who's kidding who? -- er- whom

Fire Island October Morning

2006-10-09T07:40:00.000-07:00

I've been busily attending to a lot of undone things. This morning I sliced up a bunch of apples and slid them into a frozen pie shell, instead of tossing out both the apples and the pie shell. I'm going to close the house next week, or maybe the week after. I tend to procrastinate this, this leaving here.

This morning Blondie urged me to take her to the beach. She loves to swim, and it's been too long since she's been there, which means a whole four days. We walked past a few tiny white tail fawns, obviously born late this summer -- she never chases them - not any more. She used to go after them when she was a puppy. She stopped when she learned she never cold catch them, and that they weren't dogs.

The moon, still in the cloudless western sky, was growing fainter. The surf was very calm, and of course since the moon was tugging it -- the tide was high. She found a shell and a long piece of bamboo, dropped them at my feet, asking me to throw them. She's a retriever, and that's what they love to do -- that and swim. So this morning she - we - were in heaven.

TV Cooks Who Can"t

2006-10-08T17:32:00.000-07:00

Every time i watch some famous TV cook doing a recipe, filling the skillet, but only using a tiny part of what he cooked, I just burn up. Is this the lesson they want us to learn? Julia used every drop; never wasted a thing. That's because she grew up in an age when food was more precious than air time.