Mendocino County Today: Thursday, Feb. 8, 2024

Colder | FFA Ribbons | Gorman v Norvell | Seed Swap | Ambulance Ride | Cheer Squad | Elder Cottage | Playground Event | Health Advocate | Dinner Dance | Relaunching Offspring | Palace Decay | Ed Notes | Bishoff Fund | NYT Story | Achievements | Supercakes | Hoop Houses | Ballerinas | Lindypetersville | PV Golf | First Visit | Yesterday's Catch | Bad Cheese | Niners 1982 | My Foot | Basketball Dream | Doing Nothing | Owns Home | Chemtrails | Subway Scene | Being Abused | New View | Young Sam | Working Stiff | Cool Trucks | Old Man | Pearly Gates | Global Discord | Bombing Rafah | Ice Cream | Indian Dog | Shoulda Been | Prairie Sky | Big Brother | Captain Truman

COOLER CONDITIONS expected through the end of the week. A few weak fronts will clip northern California Friday and Saturday, but minimal accumulations are expected. Drying and warming expected the latter half of the weekend, with potential for more impactful precip next week. (NWS)

STEPHEN DUNLAP (Fort Bragg): A bbrrr 39F with clear skies on the coast this Thursday morning, I have .57" more rainfall also. Clear & cold into the weekend then warmer & clear for most of next week. I see rain in long range forecast, we'll see?

MENDO-LAKE FFA SPEAKING RESULTS

Great news from Ms. Swehla and Mr. Bautista of the AV High Ag Program.

Anderson Vally FFA had a great day at the Mendo-Lake FFA Section Speaking Contests at Mendocino College.

Both Emilia and Zoe will be moving on to the North Coast Regional Contests in early March!

Congratulations everyone! 

MENDOCINO COUNTY’S FOURTH DISTRICT SUPERVISOR CANDIDATES Go Head-to-Head in League of Women Voters Forum

As ballots arrive, candidates for the Board of Supervisors and the Second District Assembly seats are hitting the forums hard. On Friday, Fourth District Supervisor candidates Georgina Avila Gorman and Fort Bragg Mayor Bernie Norvell faced off at a League of Women Voters forum in city hall. Avila Gorman was unfamiliar with many of the issues, while Norvell repeatedly invoked his experience and the relationships he has established as mayor.…

mendofever.com/2024/02/08/mendocino-countys-fourth-district-supervisor-candidates-go-head-to-head-in-league-of-women-voters-forum/

JEFF GOLL HAS BEEN ILL

Hey AVA, you mentioned a second opinion on my medical condition and that was foisted upon me via ambulance ride to Willits Advocate for sustained severe pain in the hip and butt sciatica region. I was unable to sustain weight on my right leg though there's seemingly nothing else wrong going on physically and I believe good massages to relieve muscle tension will really help. The staff here are great and I am sure this issue will be mitigated soon. I started this email hours ago and the bustle has subsided. Thank you for your concern Bruce, Mark and the AVA and another good issue today, Jeff

TO MY INCREDIBLE CHEER TEAM,

As the season comes to an end, I want to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude for each and every one of you. Your dedication, hard work, and unwavering support have truly made this season unforgettable. I am so proud of all that we have accomplished together.

Your passion and commitment are truly inspiring, and I feel grateful to have had the opportunity to coach such a talented group of individuals. Thank you for showing up with enthusiasm and energy at every practice and performance. Your teamwork and positive attitude have not gone unnoticed.

Remember, cheerleading is not just about the stunts and routines – it's about supporting each other, building friendships, and pushing ourselves to be the best we can be. You have shown me what true strength and resilience look like, and I am honored to be your coach.

As we reflect on the memories we've created this season, let's cherish those moments and carry them with us as we continue to grow and improve. I have no doubt that you will achieve great things in the future, both on and off the mat.

Thank you for being the heart and soul of this school! You have made a lasting impact on me, and I will always be here to support you in your cheer journey. Keep shining bright! 

With love and appreciation,

Coach Peña

FOR RENT at the AV Elder Home in Boonville: The yellow independent-living cottage on Hwy 128 is available now for seniors 62+. ADA compliant, 2 BR, 1 bath, many amenities. $1300/month + deposits. Utilities not included. Contact: info@avelderhome.netor text/call 707 489-5826.

LOCAL GIRL MAKES GOOD.

Healthy Mendocino, a program of North Coast Opportunities (NCO), is pleased to announce the hiring of local community advocate for health, Mary Anne Cox a Program Manager. 

Mary Anne has deep roots in Mendocino County. She has spent the past twenty years in Ukiah and grew up in Anderson Valley and on the Mendocino coast. 

Mary Anne said she is excited to hit the ground running in her new role with Healthy Mendocino, a program with a deep and impactful history of its own, in Mendocino County. 

“I am honored to be a change agent alongside our Healthy Mendocino partners to identify a more unified community voice by bringing people together across Mendocino County to fortify inclusion and equity for the people who live here.” Mary Anne said. 

Mary Anne brings with her a diverse background working in spaces to create health equity and said she is committed to building thriving communities across Mendocino County with Healthy Mendocino and NCO. 

In her most recent role as the Substance Use Navigator Supervisor for Adventist Health hospitals CA Bridge program in Mendocino County, Mary Anne partnered with healthcare providers, health plans, community agencies and Tribal communities to expand access to addiction treatment in Mendocino County. 

Tiffany Gibson, Healthy Mendocino Director, shares, “Mary Anne brings rich experience as a community collaborator to Healthy Mendocino. Her strong relationships with community partners enhance our work reducing barriers to well-being for people across Mendocino County.” 

Mary Anne earned her BA at Sonoma State University in Women and Ethnic Studies, is a certified Health and Wellness Coach with Institute of Integrative Nutrition, Birth Doula and Childbirth Educator with DONA International, Yoga and fitness instructor, and a Mentor for CA Bridge Substance Use Navigator program. 

When not working to change the world (or at least Mendocino County) for the better, Mary Anne said she loves to spend time with her family, practicing yoga, dancing, swimming, traveling, creating healthy recipes, and finding time for solitude in nature. 

To reach out to Mary Anne in her new position please email her at mcox@ncoinc.org or give her a call at (707) 888-5707. 

(NCO is the Community Action Agency that serves Lake and Mendocino Counties, as well as parts of Humboldt, Sonoma, Del Norte, and Solano Counties. NCO reacts and adjusts to community needs, including disaster response and recovery. For more information visit http://www.ncoinc.org or call (707) 467-3200.)

JOHNNY SCHMITT: 

We finally jumped the hoops!

Been meaning to reach out to you and let you know what we are up to. After almost two years of fighting with the County, the fire chief, the insurance companies, ABC, ADA and the health department, we are officially re-launching Offspring at Farrer as a full service restaurant with beer and wine and a full Italian inspired menu. Someday I will recap for you the ridiculous journey it took to get here, but only after we revel in the joy of the moment. In that spirit, we invite you to experience our latest creation. Roger Scommegna and I have fantasized about this for years, ever since we bought the property and now we are finally realizing the dream. We will be open for dinner Tuesday through Saturday, with lunch also on Saturday. Super excited to share this with the community.

Johnny and the crew at the Boonville hotel. 

THE PALACE HOTEL: A DECAYING STRUCTURE IN PICTURES with captions reminiscent of its heydey. Photos/captions by Karen Rifkin (click to enlarge)

ED NOTES

STEPHEN CRANE put it perfectly, “it” being all of us sharing the great mystery: “A man said to the Universe, ‘Sir, I exist!’ ‘However,’ replied the universe, ‘The fact has not created in me A sense of obligation’.”

RECEIVED this intriguing note, a heads up that's just about forty years too late: “Every year the legal community has a party on private property north of Ukiah. Judges, lawyers and legal secretaries. It is a closely guarded secret. Grass, coke and booze, lap dancing and all manner of deviltry. If you can find it you could shut down the legal system in Mendoland. The biggest telephoto lens is necessary.”

I THINK, though, that the annual legal debauch was at Emmendel east of Willits, a more private site. The horror! A grislier scene couldn't be imagined than this county’s legal establishment at play. Older old timers will recall that the legal eagles used to shake out their feathers at Lake Mendocino, but so many appalled citizens witnessed their depraved hijinks, and so many of the depraved officers of the court got nailed for drunk driving and other crimes against nature, that the annual party was moved out of sight to Emmendel. 

I WALK A LOT, so I go through a lot of shoes. I recently paid $120 for a pair, a record footwear expenditure for me. The kid who sold them to me swore I could get them resoled. I liked ‘em. Liked ‘em a lot. No knee pain even after 6 or 7 miles into a walk. But when I took them to be resoled, the cobbler, last of the local breed, said, “Can’t be done, son. Sorry. These are disposables. You got ripped off.” 

FOR YEARS I bought shoes at WalMart which, of course, lasted about a month given the miles I put on them. I haven’t had durably comfortable foot wear since the Marine Corps gave me a pair of boots back in 19 and 57. I loved those things. Had ‘em resoled many times. I could do anything in them except think, which is the way the Corps designed them. But I’ve never since been able to find re-sole-able, dress-shoe-looking footwear that I could afford. I can’t stand those multi-hued, zippety zoo-zah, Nike-like things a lot of serious hikers and walkers wear, and I don’t want some hush puppy knock-off the rest of the old coots seem to prefer for their perambulations. I want a shoe I can wear every day, all day, a shoe I can walk around The City in, depositing it efficiently into the crotch of random assailants or tiresome AVA readers, if need be. Not a boot. A shoe. 

 THE LATE MICHAEL TOMS, still annoying all the way from the Other Side: “I liken it to piles of puppies. When they are asleep they are all so peaceful and sweet. But have one puppy wake up and start to move around, pushing on another and soon you have a whole bunch of active critters romping and playing and doing their thing. This is what happened in New Dimensions, people are coming up with new ideas, colleagues are speaking up from a new sense of creativity and there is a new environment for it to grow. Yes, things do change and it can be messy, we have more meetings and we listen to each other and that takes more time. But there is more excitement in the air and new ideas are being implemented.”

OMAR FIGUEROA is running for a judge slot in Sonoma County. Good lawyer, nice guy. Smart. He always reminded me of the late, great Karl Shapiro in that Figueroa habitually took cases nobody else would touch, including our former star contributor Will Parrish when Caltrans charged him with a $1 million trespassing charge for protesting the Willits bypass. I remember when he defended a character called Kevin Keating, an ava regular back in the day, who bombarded us under various pseudonyms. Keating got his 15 minutes of fame when he took on Frisco gentrification as the one-man “Yuppie Eradication Project.” Couldn't fault the guy for not thinking big. Anyway, the great yuppie eradicator made all the local media when he was busted flying first class from Paris to San Francisco when he got drunk on Air France wine, subsequently claiming that the booze was so inferior it caused him to flip out 35,000 feet above the Atlantic. Frisco’s arch foe of the bourgeoisie had to be subdued by the plane’s crew. When he landed at SFO, Keating was arrested on charges of drunk in public. Keating’s lawyer, Omar Figueroa, told the media, “I do not think his conduct was a violation of the law. I think there are serious crimes out there that should be investigated. This is not one of them.” Maybe, judge. But how about the crime of an anarchist flying first class? The price of a first class ticket from Paris to SFO? About $4,000 one-way, probably more now.

ANDERSON VALLEY IS NONCHALANT about the inordinate attention paid to it by the outside media because there’s been so much of it, literal reams written about this place over the past 50 years, making it probably the most written-up community its size in the country. And we won’t even mention the number of television segments on The Valley featuring everything from cult murders to grapes, pretty much the same thing, come to think of it. The TV coverage of local events used to begin with Dueling Banjos, the theme music from the grisly movie, Deliverance. The visual media seemed to think ambush by sodomy-intent rednecks was routine north of Cloverdale. But when that hackneyed fantasy about our beautiful valley two hours north of San Francisco ended, wine, dope, and food stories began, and continue to this day.

ANYWAY, there were several stories in the New York Times like this one, “Illicit Weed May Find a Legal Home.” What struck me about the article was this paragraph: “Ukiah and Boonville (the most politically progressive town in Mendocino) and other small, quaint towns in the county look like typical sleepy communities, with a deli here, a cafe there, an animal hospital or two along the road. The vegetarian, ex-hippie crowd is outnumbered by the lumberjacks and plain folk. There are no pot paraphernalia shops in the county, and the only sign that displays any marijuana culture is a sign on Route 128, entering Boonville, that reads ‘Yes on G,’ with a marijuana leaf.”

THOSE WERE THE DAYS. The writer couldn't have known that Philo is home to more progressives than Boonville, seeing as how Philo has lately gone more for vaguely pwog candidates and causes than Boonville has. But the notion that Boonville is a hotbed of forward thinking is, well, errant, to put it as gently as I’m able. Furthermore, most of those “lumberjacks” and “plain folk” you thought you saw around town, well, most of them either smoke the stuff or grow it, not that I’ll argue with you about the deception inherent in the handsome appearances of the fine folk who inhabit this little piece of paradise.

IF SOMEONE had said to me at the time, “Mr. Anderson, by the year 2000 you will see a great big picture of a marijuana leaf a-settin’ right there in the northwest corner of Eva Johnson’s pasture,” I’d a said, “Son, you been smokin’ way too much yerself.” But there it was and, frankly, I still haven’t quite assimilated the sight of it.

A READER sent along a column from the Sacramento Bee called, “And top 10 reasons to like California are…” Reason number 8 is “The Anderson Valley. Handsdown the most beautiful and tranquil spot on Earth.” Beautiful? Yes. Tranquil? No. Tranquilized? Pretty much. Doomed? Three-quarters of the way there.

SOMETIMES changes to the Kelley House Museum aren’t visible to the naked eye, but they affect our quality of life immensely. Thanks to a generous grant from the Jack T. and Chatter C. Bishoff Fund, administered by the Community Foundation of Mendocino County, we have made some long overdue improvements to the office and museum, including brand new electrical panels and outlets, a smart thermostat, better phone service, a new sink, and new computers and office chairs.

Chatter moved to Mendocino in 1972 where she met Jack Bishoff; they both became deeply involved in the Kelley House Museum, as well as in many other local organizations. They established a legacy fund with the Community Foundation of Mendocino County to help these organizations. The Bishoff Fund provided much needed operational support during the worst of the COVID years and has allowed us to make critical capital and technical improvements over the years. We are so grateful for this investment in our community!

— Anne Semans, Director, Kelley House Museum

JENNIFER POOLE:

The New York Times published their story about Edie Ceccarelli and her 116th birthday parade on Wednesday. I'm a subscriber (mostly for the puzzles and recipes I'm afraid, no time to read much of it), so it lets me share “gift articles” so here's one for you. I think they did a nice job, out of the San Francisco bureau of the Times, good to know that still exists. 

nytimes.com/2024/02/07/us/edith-ceccarelli-116-years-willits-california.html

THE FIRST ITEM in a press release from Senator Mike McGuire’s office listing some of his “achievements”:

“Last year, Senator McGuire authored legislation that ensures that aviation fuel used by firefighting aircraft can be transported beyond standard hours during a declared state of emergency…”

DAVID KING:

How about a reasonable hoop house permit fee for local produce producers and personal food production gardens. They are essential in extending the growing season, so we do not have to ship produce an average of 1500 miles and waste valuable resources storing it in climate-controlled storage. Mendocino is a right to farm county, for the rich. Across the country regenerative farm workers make more money that cannabis farm workers. Not only did the county miss the boat pre prop 64 for cannabis dollars they now are hindering the regenerative farm movement. While the state is full steam ahead with the Govenor's 30/30 executive order, Mendocino wants to dig its heels in and stifle good paying jobs and opportunities. People need to eat, even in inflationary times. We all learned about inflation in school in the context of WW2 and the Germans needing to use a pile of cash to buy a loaf of bread. We don't talk about how the German farmers made money hand over fist during that time. Since Mendocino County cannot support local industry, I am grateful that they can work to bring us social services and I am grateful other people in the state are able to work so they can pay the taxes for these social services.

* * *

Food insecurity shouldn’t be on our kids and seniors minds. Calfresh provides grocery money to families and individuals that need extra help. If you are an organization that wants to reach more people about healthy food options and what’s available to them please check out this RFP.

WHATEVERVILLE

Teach-in to change the name of Fort Bragg

Eleanor Cooney: If the name must be changed, let's use whatever name Ft. Bragg, NC decides to call itself, so we don't lose the fun of potential cross-continental car rental confusion!

* * *

Marco here, Elly. I've been counting. It's still neck-and-neck between Lindy Petersville and The Palms. Because when you ask people who they think of when you say Mr. Fort Bragg it's always Lindy Peters. Several times mayor, several times city councilman, decades of radio work, including expertly, sincerely, non-ironically calling hundreds of live high school sportsball games from courtside or field-side, a few personal scandals but colorful funny Norman Rockwell well-rounded small-town ones, nothing evil. He's not a caricature of a Boy Scout or a two-dimensional cardboard cutout, nor a villain of any kind. A case can easily be made for Lindy Petersville. 

Or The Palms, for the line of palm trees on Main, which would be changed to Palm (not Palm Street or Palm Boulevard, but simply Palm), to be the only north-south tree named street in town, and line it with hardy palm trees lit from within the crowns, spectacular on foggy summer nights and thrilling in the wind. And a new dock for giant electric passenger seaplanes to be met by hula girls with leis of rhodie blooms (the planes would charge from wind- and wave- generated electricity coming from north of town). Imagine the saturated-color postcards. Something like this: (Click on the image to fill the screen with it.) https://www.alamy.com/huge-seaplane-image184319983.html

And monorail terminals up and down the coast, also powered by free electricity. It's going to be 2050 in just 26 years no matter what we do or don't do. Why not aim for something wonderful?

Marco McClean, memo@mcn.org

MY FIRST TRIP TO BLACK BEAR

by Don Monkerud

(Warning: This is a Great Place but Don’t Come Here to Live.)

The first trip into Black Bear Ranch required a nine-hour drive into deep mountains and increasingly wild country. Little did I know that life would get even more wild. Simply getting there became dangerous. My first encounter with a logging truck came in a cloud of dust and screeching breaks, a roaring river 200 feet below on one side and a solid wall of granite on the other. Both drivers skidded in 4 inches of dust, stopping within several feet of each other. Back then, the road was unpaved, had no safety rails, and no sign warning that only those experienced in dangerous mountain driving should attempt it.

My faulty memory recalls my girlfriend and me on the way to visit her college roommate from Bennington, a small liberal arts college in Vermont. Carol and Alan showed up on our doorstep on Bernal Hill in San Francisco with her pregnant and the two of them homeless. Although I had long hair, smoked weed, and was an ardent supporter of the counterculture, I’d never met anyone like Alan. A New Yorker, Alan came from a family of rabbis, was tall and thin with long black hair hanging past his shoulders and a bushy beard covering his face. He wore a scruffy army fatigue jacket, blue jeans, army surplus boots, and carried a bag filled with a notebook for his poetry, nunchakus, and a loaded 45-caliber pistol.

His girlfriend Carol looked like a gypsy world traveler from another era, short with flowing hair, a long skirt, a ready smile, and several layers of clothing, the innermost a see-through blouse. The two of them crashed on our living room floor for several weeks, while my girlfriend and I went off to the telephone company to work, me as an apprentice lineman and she as an operator. After closing a Students for a Democratic Society office in Terence Hallinan’s basement near San Francisco City Hall and organizing a Bay-wide protest against an International Bankers Conference at the Fairmont Hotel, we had just gotten jobs. As a Bay Area Revolutionary Union member on the Central Committee with Marv Trager, Bruce Franklin, and Bob Avakian, my politics were devoted to convincing working people to join a new Communist Party.

Alan was radically opposed to my politics, and we spent hours arguing with each other. He introduced me to the New York Motherfuckers, anarchists who gained my admiration for dumping garbage at Lincoln Center to show the wealthy how poor people lived when the mayor refused to settle a garbage strike. He espoused the teachings of Murray Bookchin, his friend, and mentor, on breaking the country into democratic, autonomous regions rather than artificial lines on a map. His emphasis on ecology was my first warning of how important global warming would become in our lives.

After I got off work, I came home to sit around the kitchen table, smoke weed, and argue with Alan about changing society. Both Carol and Alan were fascinating company with quick wits and thoughtful conversation. Handsome and unusual, they stood out in any crowd. For Alan, the revolution was occurring here and now in the streets. Leaders spontaneously arose from Black and Brown communities and the dregs of society; drug users, street people, the unemployed, and young people. We had to create a new lifestyle and build a self-sustaining counterculture to survive. Alan introduced me to many new ideas, but fate cut his visit short.

Coming home from work one day, I found Alan sitting on the toilet fully clothed while my naked girlfriend took a bath, the two of them deep in conversation. I was furious. I was already protecting our relationship from the guy in the couple we lived with, who wanted us to drop acid and have sex together. Here I was going to work every day while Alan and Carol lounged around the house, ate my food, and now he was making moves on my girlfriend. “Time for you to leave,” I said.

They moved to Hannah Street, an Oakland communal house rented by Kenoli and shared by those who worked at Jelly Roll Press that printed radical posters, and the Oakland Free Bakery that baked bread and handed it out for free on the streets. Alan understood my feelings, and we visited them at the house before they left for a remote wilderness commune in Northern California. A few weeks later, a letter arrived from Carol, who was about to have her baby; we should come and visit. When the weather warmed in the spring, we loaded the car and left.

After the first near-miss with the logging truck, I drove cautiously. The scenery into the Ranch was magnificent, a wild river rushing against boulders the size of small houses, high mountains with their tops covered in snow, and trees up to 4-feet in diameter swathed in green. The air smelled crisp and clean, but without air conditioning, we sweated profusely and tried to breathe through the thick dust.

At the top of a mountain pass, we found a small sign to Black Bear and took a narrow road consisting of sharp S-curves ending at a house straight out of the Gold Rush. A two-story barn of the same vintage stood beside a small rushing creek, a garden stretched beside the house, and several vehicles in various stages of repair littered the road. Inhabitants who hadn’t seen a barber or clean clothes in years sauntered out to welcome us and help unload the boxes of fresh fruit and produce we brought.

Later, Alan proudly showed off a pole-framed, plywood-covered sleeping platform where Carol would give birth. A campfire in the middle of an ample bare space served as their living room, while a few wooden boxes served as a kitchen. Alan said the structure would decay into the earth when he was gone, reinforcing the laws of nature: decay and rebirth. A clothesline held clean white sheets that the sun would sterilize for the upcoming birth.

In the next few days, I helped Willie and Carol clear a spot to erect a circular hut, worked in the garden beside naked women, chopped firewood, and washed dishes after overhearing someone say, “If you don’t like dirty dishes, wash them.” There were no leaders, and no one told me what to do. As a visitor, I quickly realized my role was to help with maintenance. I still had time for long solitary walks in the woods, daily plunges in the ice-cold creek, and long conversations as everyone was willing to stop whatever they were doing and sit down to talk. I met Anthony, a guy from Sweden who was building a log cabin next to the garden; Gail, a young mother who worked in the garden; Glenn, a young grad student who was building an A-frame in the upper meadow; and Creek, a blond Adonis from New York who shared a fantasy of moving across the mountains and living off the land.

Evening meals were a highlight, with thirty to forty people crowding into the main house to fill bowls with rice and beans, wild greens, and the produce we brought. A gaggle of joyous children ran underfoot in their own world. Several guys played guitars while others created a rhythm on drums, and a dark-complected guy in a black slouch hat played the piano. Chatter rose in a cloud, and when I stepped out into the yard, the glow of kerosene lamps cast a romantic glaze over the scene.

I felt part of the group, accepted, and picked up conversations left off from the day before without a break. Everyone was open and accepting and talked of various projects—for a methane digester, new buildings, organic gardens, and travel to sister communes across California in a far-flung network of support. In a banquet of conversation, I moved from one person to the next, each requiring my full attention, and emotional commitment, and a willingness to reveal my innermost hopes and dreams. Sleeping outside in the fresh air, bathing in the mountain stream, eating healthy food, and sharing ideas with articulate people fed my ideal that people could live together in harmony. The future stretched in front of us to form an unlimited horizon of possibility.

I became friendly with Johnny Teepee, a black-haired chap who played the drums and talked of roaming the country in a camper. Because he had high hopes of attracting Star, one of the single women, I gave him my last joint to share with her. All too soon, our vacation from work neared an end, and he enthusiastically urged me to move to the Ranch. He wasn’t the only one. Several others also insisted my girlfriend and I move here; we shared many interests and fit in so well.

The day before leaving, I met with a delegation of several guys in the main house. After 50 years, it’s difficult for me to recall who spoke to me, but I do remember that Redwood and Martin, possibly Efrem and Malcolm, were in the group. They knew I was favorably impressed with the Ranch and told me, “Everyone who comes here wants to live here. Resist the urge. Gather a group of friends, find some land, and build your own commune.”

The words stung—you can’t move here, there are already too many people. Go someplace else. I listened, thoroughly confused. So many people invited me, and now I’m told I’m not welcome. I didn’t argue. As they hovered around me, I felt small, ganged up on, intimidated. Then I looked at each of them in turn. In the background, the living room was hot, a few flies buzzed around, and as they pressed in on me, I looked closer.

Each of these guys was wearing worn-out blue jeans. The first place jeans wear out is in the knees. The second is the crotch. As I mulled over what to say, I realized that each man’s cock and balls were hanging out of his jeans. Here we were engaged in a serious discussion, and I suddenly wanted to laugh. “Hey dudes, your balls are hanging out!”

Shortly after the talk, my girlfriend and I packed up and drove back to the city, talking excitingly about the people we met and our plans. Going back to work proved less exciting. My work as a telephone lineman involved knocking on doors around the city to retrieve disconnected phones. The solid blue-collar guys I worked with talked of baseball and vacations and warned me to slow down and take it easy when I returned with more phones than anyone else. I dared not bring up politics, let alone civil rights or the war in Vietnam. My girlfriend’s supervisor warned her against talking too much, and our lives crept slowly across the loud, noisy city, going nowhere.

As summer approached, we decided to take the invitation, ignore the warning, and move to the Ranch. Too many people had asked us both to move in for us to take the notice seriously. We decided to get rid of our possessions and move, but what would we need to survive in the wilderness? I roamed the downtown area with a credit card in hand to stock up on survival supplies but found few useful items. Finally, we loaded the car with produce and our meager possessions and began the long drive back to Black Bear Ranch.

CATCH OF THE DAY, Wednesday, February 7, 2024

ADRIAN AGUILAR-LOPEZ, Ukiah. DUI.

JARED EAGLESMITH, Willits. Vandalism.

DAVID HAYDEN II, Covelo. Suspended license, probation revocation.

FRANK ONETO JR., Dos Rios. Paraphernalia, parole violation.

JESSE SLOTTE, Ukiah. Ammo possession by prohibited person, controlled substance while armed with loaded firearm, felon-addict with firearm, resisting.

LESLIE TROUP, Selma/Fort Bragg. Burglary, taking vehicle without owner’s consent, leaving scene of accident with property damage, false imprisonment, criminal threats, controlled substance, paraphernalia, evasion, getting credit with someone else’s ID.

A READER CALLS OUT ATTENTION TO:

A California cheese and dairy company is the source of a decade long outbreak of listeria food poisoning that killed two people and sickened more than two dozen, federal health officials said Tuesday.…

pressdemocrat.com/article/news/deadly-decade-long-listeria-outbreak-linked-to-cojita-and-queso-fresco-from/

MITCH CLOGG:

A Fort Bragg friend asked about my condition. I rock in pain as I consider: my foot hurts.

You learn a peculiar kind of timing, with chronic pain. If you wait to take the pain meds until you feel pain, you've waited too long. You must take the meds when you're not hurting, and if you don't you're in for it.

I keep forgetting, so I sit and rock. It is infected, and my plugged-up arteries supply too little of the fresh, oxygenated blood that healing requires. My infected foot can turn black and nasty except Ellie won't let it. She dresses it with such care, everyday, the infection's progress is actually backward. The various bad places on my foot are healing faster than they're worsening.

Meanwhile, the whole damn medical apparatus, hospitals, other hospitals, most clinics and surgeries, veterans' and civilians' stands ready for me to see the light and let them SAW OFF MY FOOT! They strive to normalize the idea so I can accept and approve it.

My progress there is poor. To a slo-o-wly moved program, I make the hurt foot do foot stuff--stand, walk, bend. Hurts, but it's necessary.

With the agony I got from my four ruinous angioplasties, I sure don't want to see what convalescence from amputation feels like. It's howling pain, hours on end of it, and it gives me a taste, a generous taste of torture.

Aside from my damn foot, I feel excellent, my age notwithtanding, and seemingly unfazed by that. Looking out the window, I long to get on all that untended work, but having an afflicted foot makes me an invalid.

CHRIS SKYHAWK

OK it’s a little early for TBT so I’ll call this post Wacky Wednesday-When I was a young man and played LOTS of basketball, I had a recurring dream Michael Jordan was in his prime at the time; racking up scoring titles and championships with the Bulls

Many consider him the G.O. A. T. Anyway, in my dream I would be playing him one on one

Although I Never beat him, sometimes I would find something deep inside me, some source of will, and I would play him close; I always felt SO good the following day: yeah I lost but; I took the greatest player on earth to the very edge, and put a little fear into him! I just told my GF about the dream and she had an interesting thought; Maybe MJ was wondering just who TF was this white boy who kept showing up in HIS dreams!!

IF NOT US, WHO?

Emergency Message to Postmodern America

Good afternoon postmodern America, Just sitting here on computer #5 at the Ukiah Public Library, enjoying Swami Sarvapriyananda's lecture on the subject of what is ultimately real and what is otherwise, from the Advaita Vedanta perspective. This is non-dualism! This is enlightenment! This is being identified with that which supports all mental and physical phenomena. Here is the crucial link on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwcft4auszA

I am doing nothing of any particular importance in Mendocino County, going on year #2 at the Building Bridges Homeless Resource Center. The federal housing voucher timed out in error; a housing navigator is trying to do something about that. Otherwise, am awaiting a dental appointment on March 5th to get work done on an upper left molar; probably needs a stainless steel crown, with the insurance paying for it of course. Also have a routine check-up with the head of the cardiovascular department at Adventist Health-Ukiah Valley earlier that day.

I am available for spiritually sourced direct action on the planet earth, in response to the demonic hell which this world has fallen into. You understand me: the insanity of the current American presidential election, the chaos of worldwide weather patterns due to global climate destabilization, the decline of mental health and its association with drug abuse and alcoholism, the lack of love and sharing in society in favor of the cannibalism of materialism. And so on.

I'm just walking around the City of Ukiah between rain storms, identified with that which is the source of and contains all physical and mental phenomena. [It is likened to being in a movie theater and identifying with the movie screen, as opposed to that which is projected upon it.] I could actually be doing something of radical environmental and peace & justice relevance. I've got a couple of thousand dollars in the checking account. Am basically at my baseline healthwise, and okay at 74 years of age. Am well insured, regardless. Does anybody have a suitable living base, and also want to work with the most incredible people doing the most amazing things? If not us, then who? If not now, then when? All replies kept confidential.

Craig Louis Stehr, craiglouisstehr@gmail.com

BRUCE BRODERICK: While people who suggest that chem trails and the like are real, those individuals are considered by many to be conspiracy theorists who are just imagining things. I would like you to closely examine this image I took yesterday just north of Pudding Creek Rd. 

The first thing to consider when looking at the image is that passenger flights don't normally fly in regular circles and they don't repeat themselves in a consistent pattern. 

Secondly they don't produce what is obvious from the image, an expanding cloud cover. 

While I don't profess that such things are real or unreal, I would suggest that you just look up.

ED NOTE: No evidence whatsoever that ‘chemtrails’ are anything more than persistent contrails that occur in certain atmospheric conditions. These contrails are claimed to be ‘chemtrails’ because they ‘look different.' You don't think our own government could be aerially bombarding us with harmful chemicals with Joe Biden looking out for us? I'll take my answer off the air.

JADE TIPPETT: There's that quote, "Grief is love with nowhere to go." Letting go of a toxic person leaves us with the double bind that love, in our experience, brings us abuse as a return. Makes being willing to risk loving again much harder. For men, especially, we are cast as abusers, not as abused, which means there is little cultural space for us to work through and heal from our abuse. Our abusers use that to their advantage. We are expected to get over it by "being strong". It doesn't work that way. Loving, real loving, is vulnerability. We need to learn how to be vulnerable again, which takes a safe space to lose our emotional armor and feel the pain and confusion we stuffed down to get through the abuse in the moment. Speaking from experience.

BILL KIMBERLIN: 

There is a fairly new addition to our access to viewing the San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. It is called, "Presidio Tunnel Tops". This will soon be a landmark area of San Francisco due to how well it is done and how well it presents views of the Bay that could really only be had previously, in glimpses from various points. Just drive into the Presidio near the Lucas Digital Center and work your way to the big old parade field next to the Disney Family Museum. Park your car, pay the parking meter and walk toward the Bay. Once there take a red chair (some are rockers) and get a coffee and goodie at the local shop. There is also an amphitheater and stuff for kids to climb on and swing from.

IF ONE READ the local newspaper in Palmyra between 1848 and 1851 you were reading a paper typeset and printed by young Sam Clemens. The image shows Sam at age 15.

Joseph P. Ament began working as an apprentice on Marion County's first newspaper, the Missouri Courier in Palmyra, MO in 1840 at age 15. He became the owner and Master Printer when he was 18, moved the printing operation to Hannibal in 1848, and sold the business in 1852.

Sam was apprenticed to Joseph Ament at age 14 late in 1848. He lived in the Ament home and received no wages during his apprenticeship, however, he learned the duties of a journeyman printer. He left his apprenticeship and joined his older brother Orion who had purchased a newspaper business in Hannibal. Orion was unable to pay him a wage but quickly promoted Sam to Assistant Editor. Sam printed this newspaper in Orion’s absence when Sam was only 16.

Sam left Hannibal at age 18 in June 1853 to work as a printer in St. Louis and earn a wage. He did not return to Hannibal to live there again.

Sources; Autobiography of Mark Twain vol. 1 & 2, The Mark Twain Book by Oliver and Goldena Howard, Joseph P. Ament - Master Printer to Sam Clemens by Ralph Gregory, and History of Marion County Missouri 1884.

I ALWAYS RESENTED all the years, the hours, the minutes I gave them as a working stiff, it actually hurt my head, my insides, it made me dizzy and a bit crazy — I couldn’t understand the murdering of my years yet my fellow workers gave no signs of agony, many of them even seemed satisfied, and seeing them that way drove me almost as crazy as the dull and senseless work. 

— Charles Bukowski

DON’T LET THE OLD MAN IN

[Verse 1]

Don't let the old man in, I wanna leave this alone

Can't leave it up to him, he's knocking on my door

And I knew all of my life, that someday it would end

Get up and go outside, don't let the old man in

.

[Chorus]

Many moons I have lived

My body's weathered and worn

Ask yourself how would you be

If you didn't know the day you were born

.

[Verse 2]

Try to love on your wife

And stay close to your friends

Toast each sundown with wine

Don't let the old man in

.

[Chorus]

Many moons I have lived

My body's weathered and worn

Ask yourself how would you be

If you didn't know the day you were born

.

[Verse 3]

When he rides up on his horse

And you feel that cold bitter wind

Look out your window and smile

Don't let the old man in

— Toby Keith

MORE CATASTROPHIC BY THE DAY

Editor: 

News from Palestine/Israel is getting more catastrophic every day. The suffering and pain of 2.3 million Gazans is beyond humanly bearable. As of Feb. 1, over 27,000 innocents are dead, 12,000 of whom are children. The West Bank too is boiling over with Israeli army and settler deadly violence against Palestinians. Israeli families hope against hope their loved ones will be released alive from the quagmire. This conflict is causing global discord, to say nothing of divisions in our community. Why is it that most political and religious leaders, even in this county, seem unwilling or paralyzed by fear and will not speak out for a cease-fire in Gaza?

How to navigate all this chaos and pain? Our humanity requires that we not lose ourselves in anger and grief but hold to what we know. What I know is that every human being deserves life and freedom. And every one of us lucky enough to live in privilege has a responsibility for the others who are being victimized because they are different, with a different flag, religion, ideology or skin color. No one is more deserving of life and privilege than another because of who they are. Not here, and not in Israel/Palestine.

Therese Mughannam-Walrath

Santa Rosa

ON LINE COMMENT OF THE DAY

Today we sat beside the pool, eating our ice cream cones and watching people walk by. Mon dieu! I’d say 40% were obese, 40% were overweight or chunky, 15% in decent shape and 5% looked good. Personally, I’m sick of watching thunder thighs. Also saw a lot of elderly shifting side to side while walking forward, an obvious sign of failing hips.

Our ice cream serving was huge, too big to fit in the cone, so they put it in a cup and squished the cone in upside down with the ice cream. They no longer have single scoops. The weight of the ice cream was so heavy that we couldn’t straighten up the cone with any ice cream on it. Yech! I’m just going into detail here to show how ridiculous and gluttonous it is.

When TSHTF, people are going to freak out.

On the nice side, all the kids – and there are a lot of them – seemed to be having a ball, yelling and giggling. There’s nothing like watching kids happily playing.

AMERICAN INDIAN DOG

It’s not a wolf, and it’s not a coyote; it’s an American Indian dog. known for its long, pointy ears, thick coat, intense stare, and impressive build.

These working companion animals were almost lost to history after our American Indians were segregated onto reservations, and often left without the resources necessary to maintain the ancient breed.

According to the experts at Animal Corner, the Native American Indian Dog is believed to be up to 30,000 years old. Yes, it's possible that the breed shared parts of North America with some of the earliest Native Americans to inhabit the land. Some specialists have theorized that the Native American Indian Dog breed could even be the missing link between wolves and the modern dog as we know it today.

SHOULDA BEEN A COWBOY

by Toby Keith

I bet you've never heard ol' Marshal Dillon say

Miss Kitty, have you ever thought of runnin' away?

Settlin' down, would you marry me

If I asked you twice and begged you, pretty please?

She'd have said, "Yes", in a New York minute

They never tied the knot, his heart wasn't in it

He just stole a kiss as he rode away

He never hung his hat up at Kitty's place

I should've been a cowboy

I should've learned to rope and ride

Wearin' my six-shooter, ridin' my pony on a cattle drive

Stealin' the young girls' hearts

Just like Gene and Roy

Singin' those campfire songs

Woah, I should've been a cowboy

I might of had a sidekick with a funny name

Runnin' wild through the hills chasin' Jesse James

Ending up on the brink of danger

Ridin' shotgun for the Texas Rangers

Go west young man, haven't you been told?

California's full of whiskey, women and gold

Sleepin' out all night beneath the desert stars

With a dream in my eye and a prayer in my heart

I should've been a cowboy

I should've learned to rope and ride

Wearin' my six-shooter, ridin' my pony on a cattle drive

Stealin' the young girls' hearts

Just like Gene and Roy

Singin' those campfire songs

Woah, I should've been a cowboy

I should've been a cowboy

I should've learned to rope and ride

I'd be wearin' my six-shooter, ridin' my pony on a cattle drive

Stealin' the young girls' hearts

Just like Gene and Roy

Singin' those campfire songs

Woah, I should've been a cowboy

Yeah, I should've been a cowboy

I should've been a cowboy

FINANCIAL BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU

by Matt Taibbi

A few weeks ago, Ohio congressman and Judiciary Committee chairman Jim Jordan’s office released a letter to Noah Bishoff, the former director of the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network, or FinCEN, an arm of the Treasury Department. Jordan’s team was asking Bishoff for answers about why FinCEN had “distributed slides, prepared by a financial institution,” detailing how other private companies might use MCC transaction codes to “detect customers whose transactions may reflect ‘potential active shooters’.” The slide suggested the “financial company” was sorting for terms like “Trump” and “MAGA,” and watching for purchases of small arms and sporting goods, or purchases in places like pawn shops or Cabela’s, to identify financial threats.

Jordan’s letter to Bishoff went on:

According to this analysis, FinCEN warned financial institutions of “extremism” indicators that include “transportation charges, such as bus tickets, rental cars, or plane tickets, for travel to areas with no apparent purpose,” or “the purchase of books (including religious texts) and subscriptions to other media containing extremist views.” During the Twitter Files, we searched for snapshots of the company’s denylist algorithms, i.e. whatever rules the platform was using to deamplify or remove users. We knew they had them, because they were alluded to often in documents (a report on the denylist is_Russian, which included Jill Stein and Julian Assange, was one example).

However, we never found anything like the snapshot Jordan’s team just published:

The highlighted portion shows how algorithmic analysis works in financial surveillance. First compile a list of naughty behaviors, in the form of MCC codes for guns, sporting goods, and pawn shops. Then, create rules: $2,500 worth of transactions in the forbidden codes, or a number showing that more than 50% of the customer’s transactions are the wrong kind, might trigger a response. The Committee wasn’t able to specify what the responses were in this instance, but from previous experience covering anti-money-laundering (AML) techniques at banks like HSBC, a good guess would be generation of something like Suspcious Activity Reports, which can lead to a customer being debanked.

If Facebook, Twitter, and Google have already shown a tendency toward wide-scale monitoring of speech and the use of subtle levers to apply pressure on attitudes, financial companies can use records of transactions to penetrate individual behaviors far more deeply. Especially if enhanced by AI, a financial history can give almost any institution an immediate, unpleasantly accurate outline of anyone’s life, habits, and secrets. Worse, they can couple that picture with a powerful disciplinary lever, in the form of the threat of closed accounts or reduced access to payment services or credit. Jordan’s slide is a picture of the birth of the political credit score.

There’s more coming on this, and other articles forthcoming (readers who’ve noticed it’s been quiet around here will soon find out why). While the world falls to pieces over Tucker, Putin, and Ukraine, don’t overlook this horror movie. If banks and the Treasury are playing the same domestic spy game that Twitter and Facebook have been playing with the FBI, tales like the frozen finances of protesting Canadian truckers won’t be novelties for long. As is the case with speech, where huge populations have learned to internalize censorship rules almost overnight, we may soon have to learn the hard way that even though some behaviors aren’t illegal, they can still be punished with great effectiveness, in a Terminator-like world where computers won’t miss anything that moves. What a crazy time we live in! See you from the Nevada caucus, and watch this space for other news soon.