Election judge is dumbfounded her ballot was rejected

I swear, not from the Onion, the Minneapolis Star-Tribune.

Shirley Graham was astonished to learn that a lawyer from Norm Coleman's campaign on Tuesday blocked her absentee ballot from being added to the U.S. Senate recount.

"I'm an election judge," said Graham, of Duluth. "I expected to be the last person whose ballot wouldn't be counted."

Stay Classy, Israel

Israel "accidentally" rams three times, and almost sinks, a boatfull of doctors and relief supplies sailing to Gaza.

I see your Kennedy and raise you a gay man.

Perhaps Gov. Patterson will make an end-run around Caroline Kennedy and appoint an openly gay man, Danny O'Donnell (plus, bonus celebrity tie -- Rosie O'Donnell's brother), as Senator. Read about it here.

Geitner - Summers = Obama Economy FAIL

Oh, and Happy New Year!

The New York Times has an article, so useful, which shows precicely when Larry Summers, with his co-conspirators Alan Greenspan and Robert Rubin tanked our economy.

In 1997, the Commodity Futures Trading Commission, a federal agency that regulates options and futures trading, began exploring derivatives regulation. The commission, then led by a lawyer named Brooksley E. Born, invited comments about how best to oversee certain derivatives. Ms. Born was concerned that unfettered, opaque trading could “threaten our regulated markets or, indeed, our economy without any federal agency knowing about it,” she said in Congressional testimony. She called for greater disclosure of trades and reserves to cushion against losses. ... In early 1998, Mr. Rubin’s deputy, Lawrence H. Summers, called Ms. Born and chastised her for taking steps he said would lead to a financial crisis, according to Mr. Greenberger. Mr. Summers said he could not recall the conversation but agreed with Mr. Greenspan and Mr. Rubin that Ms. Born’s proposal was “highly problematic.”

And then, in 2008, due pretty much entirely to unfettered derivitive proliferation, our economy tanked. The same article, mentions, delicately, that

The Wall Street debacle that swallowed firms like Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers, and imperiled the insurance giant American International Group, has been driven by the fact that they and their customers were linked to one another by derivatives.

As to Tim Geithner, he just handed over somewhere around $320 billion to a friends' company.

Tim Geithner, former President of the Federal Reserve, has been appointed Secretary of the Treasury. He's a protégé of Robert Rubin, who is now director and senior advisor of Citigroup. Luckily for Rubin, the government has-completely coincidentally-agreed to insure Citigroup against losses of upwards $300 billion. This is in addition to an allocation of $20 billion from the $700 billion bailout package, which followed an earlier $25 billion injection. Quite an expensive coincidence.

From Laney Tower.

Perfect historical summation of the current Israel-Gaza mess

Zbigniew Brzezinski, who brokered the historic Camp David accords, arguably the most important treaty between Israel and its Arab neighbors, discusses the historic framework of the US, Israel, and Gaza; and gives a roadmap for the future, all in 9 minutes. Plus, this short clip shows pretty much everything wrong with the mainstream media. Watch Joe Scarborough make the case that because he has read the New York Times and the Washington Post he knows as much as Zbig, who, you know, WAS THERE.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

As to his analysis, don't forget that Zbig is a hawk. If he says Israel overreacted, we should maybe pay attention.

Pattern matching, less useful than you'd think

I've been suffering from Vertigo. When dizzy (which is pretty much most of the time) I feel dizzy, but no less intelligent than normal. This, however, is an illusion. When my ear/eyes/brain malfunctions, all the normal balance functions taken care of by the hindbrain move right up to the cerebrum, displacing things like, uh, speaking, rationality, etc. Disturbing, esp., as I can't feel it. I never feel dumber, just more miserable.

I just read an interesting article(please read) describing how people who feel less in control of their lives find more spurious patterns than those with more control. Looking at my own pattern, I feel free to suppose that those with less brainpower find more nonexistent patterns than the smarter among us. Yes, I think we're hardwired to find patterns, even when none exist. It is actual difficult work for us to determine which patterns are real and which are figments of our inborn overactive imaginations.

Why, you say? Uh, well, one totally non-scientific data anecdote. I've noticed that when I feel especially vertiginous, I assume the actions of my beloved fiancee (take a bow, Geebee), my family, and assorted souls with walk-on parts, have rather more significance (mostly negative) than warranted. That is, I see nonexistent patterns in their behavior. More specifically, I am much more difficult, more touchy, seeing slights where none were intended. Matching nonexistent patterns willy-nilly, and, as it seems to me, oh-so-cleverly. When my vertigo clears, the patterns, the significance, the pattern disappears. The actions are just people doing stuff. No global significance attached. That is all.

Love your mother, eat breakfast, have sex later. For reals.

Some things that look difficult (at least in Japan) may be simple. Daughters who like their mothers and who eat breakfast start sexual activity 3 years later (19) than those that have antagonistic relationships with their mothers and don't eat breakfast (16). Love you, Calla Lilly, Apricot Blossom, and Snapdragon.

Look, it's in an article, all sciency and everything! So, all, be loving, accepting, and stock up on instant oatmeal.

Here's the cite. See? All together now. "Love you, sweetheart; of course I trust you to be home by midnight."

One of my favorite poems by Jack Gilbert.

(Just think, I could have posted a poem I wrote. All together now, deep cleansing breath.)

Bring In the Gods - Jack Gilbert

Bring in the gods I say, and he goes out. When he comes
back and I know they are with him, I say, Put tables in front
of them so they be may be seated, and food upon the tables
so they may eat. When they have eaten, I ask which of them
will question me. Let him hold up his hand, I say.
The one on the left raises his hand and I tell him to ask.
Where are you now, he says. I stand on top of myself, I hear
myself answer. I stand on myself like a hilltop and my life
is spread before me. Does it surprise you, he asks. I explain
that in our youth and for a long time after our youth we cannot
see our lives. Because we are inside of that. Because we can
see no shape to it since we have nothing to compare it to.
We have not seen it grow and change because we are too close.
We don't know the names of things that would bind them to us,
so we cannot feed on them. One near the middle asks why not.
Because we don't have the knack for eating what we are living.
Why is that? she asks. Because we are too much in a hurry.
Where are you now? the one on the left says. With the ghosts.
I am with Gianna those two years in Perugia. Meeting secretly
in the thirteenth-century alleys of stone. Walking in the fields
through the spring light, she well dressed and walking in heels
over the plowed land. We are just outside the city walls
hidden under the thorny blackberry bushes and her breasts naked.
I am with her those many twilights in the olive orchards,
holding the heart of her as she whimpers. Now where are you?
he says. I am with Linda those years and years. In American
cities, in København, on Greek islands season after season.
Lindos and Monolithos and the other places. I am with Michiko
for eleven years, East and West, holding her clear in my mind
the way a native can hold all of his village at one moment.
Where are you now? he says. I am standing on myself the way
a bird sits in her nest, with the babies half asleep underneath
and the world all leaves and morning air. What do you want?
a blonde one asks. To keep what I already have, I say. You ask
too much, he says sternly. Then you are at peace, she says.
I am not at peace, I tell her. I want to fail. I am hungry
for what I am becoming. What will you do? she asks. I will
continue north, carrying the past in my arms, flying into winter.

--Jack Gilbert.

This is my touchstone. I will continue north, carrying the past in my arms, flying into winter.

A slightly different take on Christmas

Leonard Cohen, live, 1967, "The Stranger."

Merry Christmas, in all its different forms.

For my friends and family in Utah .... and beyond (Hint hint CA, NY, and MA)

I'll have Bbbb---lll----ueeee Christmas without you.

It's a Blues Christmas.

There's 15 inches of snow on the ground in Portland, I missed my first vertigo appointment due to the ENTIRE CITY BEING SHUT DOWN, we've been inside for 8 days or so, but yet it's a beautiful Christmas morning. I feel better than I have in weeks. Posting has been light to nonexistent due to dizziness--real, not metaphorical. However, in this brief burst of verticality, I'll try to post a thing or two.

I hate hate hate MOST christmas music. "Most christmas music" is a handful of warhorse canonical songs that have been sung unto death. By Sting. For this post, I'll try to acquaint you with some christmas songs that you never heard playing in Wal-Mart.

First, Lightnin' Hopkins singing a song variously named "Santa," or "Santa Claus." Quite the red suit and white beard.


Here's Freddy King, having a less-than-optimal Christmas "Everybody's singing Merry Christmas, as they watch the sky fill with reindeers. I'm smiling on the outside, but inside, I'm crying Christmas tears."


And, an actual Christmas Chestnut, except it's sung by Nat King Cole, and is about chestnuts during Christmas. I, at various times in my life, have been forced to listen to to that genre terribly terribly misnamed "easy listening." Easy for some, one can only assume. Anyhoo.... every once in awhile a song would come on that I thought was not only beautiful, but all the way to sublime. They were always sung by Nat King Cole. Here's his Christmas song, probably the only standard Christmas song (I keep repeating that phrase, would an abbreviation help?) that might, perhaps, move me to tears.


Finally, Leadbelly, the man who was released from Parchmen Farm TWICE for murder, because the warden liked his singing. A lovely, sweet Christmas song. My fave. (Of the Blues.) "Children all be so happy on a Christmas day."
There's a wealth of stunning Christmas blues not available on Youtube. Assuming the world does not yet again begin to spin to fast for comfort, I'll see if I can post some of the old great Bluesmen's songs.

And, now for something completely different: Bach - Christmas Oratorio: Cantata #1 BWV248 - Mov. 1/9. I love his choir music. Actually, I love all his music, but the choir music has a special place in my heart, and this one is even seasonal!

Merry Christmas! My Christmas wish, listen to more Pogues and skip church, for the children.

First, the most beautiful Christmas song of modern times--The Pogues, live, inexplicably, on St. Patrick's day, singing "Fairytale of New York." Shane Mcgowan is a world treasure.


Second, looks like churchgoing may make you less honest. So, once a year, month, week, skip church and have fun with your kids instead!

Here is an enjoyably impudent piece of research from Innsbruck University. People were observed buying newspapers, using an honesty box to pay. They were interviewed later - so the person with the clipboard seemed unconnected with the newspaper purchase - and asked about age, occupation and attitudes. Men cheated more than women; people over 50 cheated more than the young; higher education made no difference; and by a long chalk churchgoers cheated most. This may be a statistical anomaly. But we all know one thing: religion no more makes people good than lack of it makes the rest of us bad.

From The Guardian.

And to get everyone even more in the spirit: "Christmas 1979" by Billy Childish and the Musicians of the British Empire. Not to give the plot away, but "Merry F****** Christmas to you all."



And as a final Christmas present, yet another Pogues song, live, "If I should fall from grace from God." My youngest, Snapdragon, listening to the Pogues when she was all of, what, five? Said "Irish Punk is just like normal Irish music, only faster."

Poor Bernie Madoff, he's punished by, uh, being sent to his room/$7,000,000 home.

Bernard Madoff, accused of the largest fraud in U.S. history, will be allowed to remain in his $7 million Park Avenue apartment instead of being sent to jail, under terms of an agreement announced today by federal prosecutors. Found Here.

Words fail.

So, what's happening to those rich people that lost everything?

A view from the front lines.

More Shoe-Throwing

Bush invades Iraq for no discernable reason and causes the death of upwards of a million Iraqis.

Muntazer Al-Zaidi throws two shoes at Bush and causes no damage.

Guess which one is getting "interrogated".