- Lake County
- Homeless Dopeheads
- Losak Resigns
- Pinoleville Bust
- Under God
- Creekside Picnic
- FB Planning
- Bear Hunt
- Destructive Impulse
- Yesterday's Catch
- U.S. Militarism
- U.S. Socialism
- Turquoise Chicken
- Museum Events
- Jazz Club
- Midnight Rambler
CALFIRE MAKES IT OFFICIAL: Valley Fire “among the top three most destructive fires in California history.” Now at about 76,000 acres, 79% containment. 3300 firefighters, 288 engines, 10 choppers, 25 dozers, 47 water tenders. “Firefighters continued to improve and hold existing lines while mopping up hot spots across the fire area. Plans to rehabilitate damage to the landscape are underway; in an effort to return control lines to a state, as near as possible, to before the incident. The Valley Fire now ranks among the top three most destructive wildfires in California history.”
JAMES MARMON WRITES FROM CLEARLAKE:
RE Valley Fire.
The amount of donations coming into the area for the fire victims is just unbelievable. They are coming in from all over, even southern California. Last night I went by the Moose Lodge in Clearlake Oaks and they were unloading a large semi-truck load of donations in the dark. They were using a forklift that had lights, but it still looked pretty tricky as it was on uneven ground.
These shelters have become distribution centers for fire victims only, and there appears to be plenty to go around.
Unfortunately, just few short miles away is the poorest town in California and the 5th poorest town in America. Our children go without food, clothing, and adequate shelter on a daily basis. A lot of times the only good meal our children get is at school. Their clothes are dirty and torn, and many of the homes they live in are dangerous.
I know this as a fact because I live here, and my niece is a code enforcement officer for Clearlake, what a job she has.
It saddens me to see so much love being offered to the fire victims while my neighbors go without. We have nothing for our poor, there is nothing in Clearlake, no jobs and no future for our children, no dreams or hope.
I’m happy that the fire victims are being helped, but please don’t ignore the city of Clearlake. The State and Federal government has done so for so many years. It is such a travesty to do so.
Please open your hearts up for Clearlake too. I don’t see how anyone can feel good about what they are doing and not include Clearlake in their efforts. Sorry if I brought anyone down with my negativity.
* * *
- Town median household income: $25,061
- State median household income: $61,094 (8th highest)
- Town poverty rate: 30.2 percent
- Town population: 15,127
“Clearlake is the poorest town in California, with a poverty rate of 30.2 percent of residents, compared with a state rate of 15.9 percent. The typical Clearlake household earned $182,161 less than the average household in the wealthiest town in the state. While lower income often correlates with lower educational attainment, 80.6 percent of adults in Clearlake had at least a high school diploma, roughly in line with the statewide rate.”
We do get our kids to school, it is their only way out.
* * *
I hope that the rebuilding of Lake County doesn’t get outsourced to out of county contractors. We need to put our own people to work and keep as much money in Lake County as possible. Maybe many of our young men and women can become trained and/or skilled laborers, equipment operators or carpenters.
If it wasn’t for a social worker 40 some years ago I don’t know what I would have done. I was in trouble with the law and sentenced to his diversion program. One of the first things he wanted to know from me, was what I thought I wanted to do with my future. After I thought about it awhile I told him I wanted to be a carpenter.
A few weeks later, I was enrolled in a carpenter’s apprentice program and was taught a skill. That skill kept me alive for the next 25 years or so. I was always able to find work wherever I went. All the way to New York and back, Wyoming, Texas, Colorado, Nevada, it didn’t matter, as long as I had my skills I could find some work anywhere, even if it was only day labor.
I worked as an carpenter and/or laborer until I was 37 years old and became disabled. I then became a client of the California Department of Rehabilitation and with the help from another social worker I went to night school and got my GED which allowed me to eventually go on an obtain my Master’s degree in social work.
I tell my stories to give others hope and a general idea of how we can evolve if given the opportunity. There’s a lot of work that needs to be done, so let’s “get er done.” Lake County, lets turn this tragedy into a success story.
* * *
NO MORE DONATIONS NEEDED AT THIS TIME
All evacuation centers are heavily saturated with donations.
Officials ask at this time that all donations be routed simply to your local charity or hospice so that they may continue the organization of those donations.
Evacuation centers will now go in to full Distribution mode and there is huge calling for volunteers!
We will need people to help package up boxes organizing sizes, and items for each family.
*Volunteers Are Needed Right Now At The Following Sites:
The Moose Lodge in Clearlake Oaks where HWY 20 meets HWY 53.
Contact Rhiannon Garcia.
The Brick Hall on Main Street in Lower Lake. Contact Sarah Fuchs
The Clearlake Youth Center 4750 Golf Avenue in Clearlake. You must first register here and will be sent where needed between two locations. Contact Joyce Overton.
Seventh Day Adventist Church, 1111 Park Way, Lakeport, CA. Contact Danilla Sands
The big evacuation center in Calistoga plans to close Thursday morning, this story in the Napa Valley Register says: The center had been feeding 1,000 people a day, but with people able to return "home", they were down to 280 dinners on Sunday night:
PEOPLE DON'T SEEM TO REALIZE that the passage of Prop 47 has released so-called low-level dopeheads from state prison or they don't go to prison in the first place, many of them repeat offenders who live to get high. Add these guys, who are tougher and more criminally inclined than the average bum out there now, mix in all the people sent home from the state pen to their County jails of origin, who are soon released under bogus local supervision, and the ranks of the "homeless" are greater than ever everywhere in the state.
* * *
CIRCUMSTANCES: On September 21, 2015 at approximately 8:54pm, officers of the Fort Bragg Police Department were dispatched to 124 N. Franklin Street (La Bamba Imports) for a report of robbery in progress. Officers responded to the location to find the owner of the store in a physical altercation with the suspect. Officers quickly took the suspect, Daniel Van Brunt, 44, of Roseville, CA, into custody.
Van Brunt, homeless and out of the Roseville area, entered La Bamba Imports and asked the employee for alcohol. The employee advised Van Burnt the store did not sell alcohol. Van Brunt became angry with the employee and then left. Approximately ten minutes later Van Brunt returned to the store wearing a bandana over his face and a hood covering his head. Van Brunt announced, “This is a robbery” and then demanded the money from the cash register and the owner’s wallet. An altercation ensued while two witnesses called 911. Van Brunt was taken into custody and was transported to the Mendocino County Jail without further incident.
(Fort Bragg Police Press Release)
EXPECT MENDO COUNTY COUNSEL Doug Losak to leave his position when his contract is up at the end of the month. We understand that Losak will go to work for former Mendo DA, Duncan James whose offices are in Ukiah. The the lib bastion on the West Side of Ukiah, reinforced by the Hamburg Cult and County CEO Carmel Angelo, are pushing for Deputy County Counsel Kit Elliott to succeed Losak. Ms. Elliot is a long-time supporter of Supervisor Hamburg. Losak ran free legal errands for the Supervisor.
THE HAPLESS LOSAK was controversial even before he became County Counsel when he was stopped one night for a traffic violation in Redwood Valley by Sheriff's deputy, Orell Massey, and found to be in possession of a loaded gun and a personal use amount of marijuana. Aha! said the Supervisors. This is the guy we want for the County's chief legal advisor. When he took over the County Counsel job Losak quickly became synonymous with faulty advice.
WE THOUGHT that deputy County Counsel Terry Gross should have gotten the County Counsel job over Losak, but intelligence and competence are often regarded by County officials as liabilities. They much prefer the stooge personality type in the power slots. Ms. Gross presently functions as counsel for Lilliput, er, Point Arena.
JUST IN! Losak resigned at Tuesday’s meeting of the Supervisors.
BIG DOPE BUST out at the Pinoleville rez this morning. 350 plants, and a honey oil operation going in the Old Fowler Auto building where there's also a basketball court and batting cages! Pinoleville was recently in the news when the tribe began a large-scale gro visible from Highway 101. That one was abandoned when the DA and the Sheriff threatened to take it off. Pinoleville is located just north of Ukiah.
(With apologies to Kosma, Prevert and Mercer)
When autumn needles begin to fall
Let’s pray our redwoods will still stand tall
Beside a river whose dying wish
Is just to harbor and breed more fish
A flowing river, once so vast,
Now struggles to run with a final gasp
Its protective giants were cut and milled
To leave a wasteland of mud and silt
When tourists come to hike and paddle
They’ll only see a slow-running little
Stream, if there’s anything at all—
When autumn needles begin to fall.
Enough is enough — let your voice be heard
About the proposed THP on the Gualala
--Irene Leidner, Gualala
“‘IF WE EVER FORGET that we are one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under.’ — Ronald Reagan. When is the last time you have heard your president speak like this? President Reagan, along with many of our earlier presidents, understood the importance God holds in upholding our nation and our world. May we all humble ourselves in prayer and seek God that he might once again show mercy and favor towards our country.”
MY POROUS SPAM FILTER never prevents a Georgia-based fellow named Matt Barber from getting through with his Jesus-As-Trump Republican messages. This week he began with the above paragraph followed by an ad for discounted One Nation Under God t-shirts.
DEAR MR. BARBER: We have a much better illustration for your t-shirts, a real eye-catcher and a certain conversation-starter we know will be popular in Georgia, especially in the rural areas. My late friend Frank Cieciorka would be delighted to know you have adopted his art for your t-shirts. You are exactly the kind of stand-up guy he had in mind when he drew it. Yours in Christ, Bruce Anderson, Boonville, California.
DEPARTMENT OF UNINTENTIONAL HILARITY
This paragraph in a UDJ story by Justine Frederickson describing a clean-up of Ukiah's Gibson Creek: "In about three hours, 500 pounds of trash was removed, which included: 256 pieces of glass; 170 paper bags; 142 plastic bottles, 135 plastic grocery bags, 124 plastic bottle caps, 120 pieces of clothing, 121 pieces of foam, 101 cans, 89 glass bottles, 81 paper cups and plates, 70 plastic cups and plates, 60 metal bottle caps, 60 straws and stirrers, 47 cigar tips, 44 plastic lids, 37 take-out plastic containers, 32 utensils, 14 foam cups and plates, 13 six-pack holders, 11 cigarette lighters, eight syringes, eight condoms, seven tires, six blankets, four coat hangers, four diapers, three tampons/tampon applicators, two dead rats, two dead birds, a balloon, a firework, a toy, a battery, a satellite dish holder, a sanitary napkin, a golf ball, a tennis ball, a toothbrush, a pot, a blue tarp, a deodorant container and a bottle of A-1 steak sauce." (Bon appétit!)
FORT BRAGG ON THE MARCH (off the fiscal bluffs)
Community Development Department
2015 June – September
(Item 4A on the September 23 Planning Commission Agenda)
Wayfinding Plan Encroachment Permit
Economic Development Strategy implementation
Funded OTC grant of $721,000 for Sport Chrysler Dodge
Fort Bragg Promotion Committee
Project management for Fort Bragg Coastal Trail.
Complete South Trail
Prepare $1.2 million grant for Middle section of the trail
Subcontract and coordinate subcontracts for benches, murals, interpretive panels, fencing, etc.
Ensure project remains under budget and in compliance with EIR and permit approvals
Noyo Center –Chalet (Visitor Center) will be moved in October
City Surrounded by a Park – Kick off meeting, Public Workshop in October
Sports field improvements and Conceptual Design for CV Starr Gymnasium – Public Workshop October 7 at 6:00pm at Senior Center
Long Range Planning Projects:
Mobile Vending Ordinance
Vacation Home Ordinance
Current Planning (June – September 18):
Large Projects underway: Avalon Project, Hare Creek, Geo Aggregates Hot Plant
65 Code enforcement cases
8 Planning Permits
11 Limited Term Permits
54 Building Permits
10 Sign Permits
2014 CDBG activities
Old Coast Hotel Reuse for Mendocino Coast Hospitality Center
HELP Plus Program
HELP H2O Program
HOME owner-occupied rehab – four projects underway
2012 CDBG activities
HMHIP (Homeless Mental Health Intervention Program)
Customer satisfaction survey
Complete all website updates for the City’s website
Future CDD Activities (2015-2018):
Long Range Planning Projects:
Update Coastal Land Use and Development Code and Coastal General Plan
City Surrounded by a Park project
School district sports field improvements & CV Starr Gymnasium design
Mill Site Specific Plan & CEQA review
Coastal Trail (Phase II)
Implementation of Economic Development Strategy
Implementation of Climate Action Plan
Chestnut Street pedestrian and bicycle improvements
Noyo Center – move chalet
South Main Street Access and Beautification Plan implementation
Industrial Arts Center
Danco affordable housing project
I hunted bear with my crazy Oregon uncle
by James Faulk
Most families have a code these days, to protect the sanctity of shared holiday meals and allow the normally inane conversations at these events to proceed according to expectation.
Don’t rock the boat. Don’t talk politics. Don’t discuss the fact that Uncle Wayne is a closet fascist, that Grandma Sally hates black people, and that your own mother still thinks gay is curable with the right kind of aversion therapy.
As a passionate youth, and despite the warnings, I’d often wade out into the deep undersea canyons of political discourse during these family fetes and raise hackles all around the table.
Flush with youthful bravado, I was fearless in my pursuit of political debate: A defender of liberty, warrior for what was right, a truth-teller.
Yet to my brothers and sister, and most of all to my mother, I was a hothead, know-it-all, sanctimonious jackass. After one memorable night, when I’d ripped into Grandma for assuming all Spanish speakers were Mexican, I realized that maybe it’s better to pick your battles than wage war against well-intentioned octogenarians that barely remember their grandson’s name.
Then one weekend my older brother and I were invited to visit our great-uncle Sam Faulk of Oregon, a retired lieutenant colonel of the U.S Marine Corps and the last living link to my dead grandfather, James Boyd Faulk, his brother.
Sam was large and in charge. Broad of chest, and still heavily muscled despite having entered his eighth decade, he brooked no disagreement with his rather occluded world view, rife as it was with conspiracies of class and power.
Our weekend, Jerry warned me, would be brief and uncomfortable if I were to challenge the old man on some of his quaint ideas. We’re here to run his bear dogs, Jerry said, and visit, not review 20th-century power politics and call a stubborn old man out on his prejudices.
So, take out your earring, ditch the chip on your shoulder, and show some respect for your elders, Jerry told me.
Already anxious about spending a weekend with a retired Marine, one who rode in the lead chariot behind his slavering team of well-trained hunting hounds, I readily agreed and set about practicing meek facial expressions in the mirror under his truck visor.
We arrived at his compound after dark, a two-story house set back on several wooded acres, a haven almost invisible from the road by design. He greeted us at the door in his cotton briefs and a camouflage shirt, then barked at his lovely wife to make us some coffee and fetch us cookies, though we told him we weren’t hungry and planned on heading to bed.
She smiled at him with Stepfordian serenity, then set about following his orders. I learned over the next couple of days that doing so was something we were all expected to do. Double quick.
The coffee was served just in time for us to pour it down the sink and disappear into the guest bedroom Jerry and I would share for the weekend. We’d barely fallen asleep when we felt Sam’s well-worn combat boots kicking us awake.
“Rise and shine, dipshits,” the old man barked. “Let’s load up the dogs and find us some bear.”
The dogs were an impressive collection of well-bred Bluetick hounds who were meticulously trained, harshly disciplined and entirely professional. I made the mistake of petting one as we started loading them in the truck.
“Don’t touch the goddamn dogs,” Sam shouted. “Don’t talk to them, don’t pet them, don’t even so much as smile in their general direction. Kindness fucks things up. They’ve been training since they left the bitch’s tit, and chasing game is all they know, all they want.
“They ain’t no goddamn cocker spaniels.”
As the animals fought for space in the custom-made camper shell on Sam’s Ford truck, he showed us the automated system by which he kept the dogs quiet at night. Sensors were strategically deployed around the dogs’ pen. When these microphones picked up the sound of errant barking, they tripped a spate of high-energy sprinklers just outside the chicken wire that then soaked the animals for a full 30 seconds.
As the last of the dogs mounted the tailgate and dove into the small round hole that fronted the shell, I realized that the only barking I’d heard since arriving had come from the emaciated chihuahua that never seemed to leave the shadow of Sam’s devout wife.
But once we’d hit the road and wormed our way back into the deep country on old logging roads that had seen little love these past 20 years, the dogs found their voices.
As we drove along, often negotiating precarious terrain, the dogs kept their snouts pressed to the wire windows on either side of the camper shell. When they hit a scent, they erupted in sound.
Sam tilted his head, read their barks, and shook his head.
“Not yet, boys,” he said.
I learned over the next two hours that these dogs were trained to speak a spartan language of predation. Coming upon bear scent elicited one kind of bark, a fresh scent another.
Once we hit upon the recent passage of a black bear, Sam leapt out of the cab and flung the back doors open. Six dogs, moving in a darting line of hunger and anticipation, poured forth and tore off the road and into the trees. They yowled as they ran, a high-pitched tone that could be heard for miles despite the choking forest that seemed to leer over them from all directions.
We drove along the old road, listening to the dogs, creeping through a dense layer of brush and fallen trees, waiting. Once they dogs took chase, their bark shifted to a lower, guttural tone that signaled Sam to lace up his boots and move his ass.
Before I knew what was happening, we were all tripping over each other to clamber out of the truck, grab our gear and plunge deep into the raw heart of a thick forest of pine and fir. We followed the dogs as best we could on a harried and desperate journey up steep hillsides, along ridges thin as backbone, balancing on the loose gravel of a collapsing hillside while always listening for the dog’s final, happy signal that they’d put the bear high up a tree.
Finally, their victory call came. Quickly, we honed in on their signal, and emerged from an impenetrable mass of brambles and vines soon after to stand, gasping and upright, beneath a massive tree where the dogs had their quarry surrounded.
The old man, apparently on his best behavior up until now, unleashed a storm of obscenities in my direction as he told me to pull the dogs off the tree.
“Get in there, goddamn slowpoke,” he snarled. “You got to grab them by their collars and haul them back, or that bear might do something stupid.”
I tried my best to corral the rapturous dogs, but every time I caught hold of one, two others slipped out of my grasp. By this time, sweat soaked all my clothing, my left hand was sliced across the palm, and dog spit stung the wound and kept me one-handed even as Sam continued his tirade.
Then, just as predicted, the bear did a stupid thing. Tired of the cacophony that blared below, the animal suddenly decided to beat feet. Using his hind legs, he pushed off his tree with terrific force and landed no more than four feet behind me on the needle-strewn hillside.
Now on all fours, he looked back at me over his shoulder and raised his upper lip to expose a wicked set of canines that dripped enthusiastically as its mouth watered.
Panic engulfed me. I fell back as fast as I could toward the tree, running over several dogs as I did so. One shoe fell off. Despite the pounding in my ears, I could hear Sam vaguely chewing me a new asshole as he and Jerry dove after the dogs that even now were giving renewed chase to the fleeing bear.
Eventually, the dogs were brought under control and attached to the leashes Sam had worn like a belt around his waist. Once they were restrained, we began the torturous walk back to the truck while Sam greedily critiqued every move I made, his voice booming off the trees like an old Greek chorus hell bent on beating me down.
Hours later, once his wife had again served us all dinner then disappeared back into the bowels of the house to do our dishes, Sam himself decided to wade out into the treacherous seas of talking politics.
I learned, over the several action-packed minutes of his introductory monologue, about the Trilateral Commission’s efforts to rule the world; that President Clinton was smuggling cocaine into an Arkansas airfield with the help of Queen Elizabeth and her elite death squad troops; that the United Nations was the instrument with which the Antichrist would brand us with bar codes bearing the much-belabored number of the beast; and that Hillary Rodham Clinton was really a man, which of course made Bill as gay as Rock Hudson.
Then, like the bear, Sam did a stupid thing. He asked my opinion.
After what had turned out to be one of the worst days in my young life at the time, my fear of offending a harmless old fart over his quaint ideas and old-timey values was suddenly, irrevocably, gone.
I told him. My opinion, that is. I addressed every point he’d made, every last one of his ideas, until finally Sam’s wife interrupted me to tell us that she was headed off to bed.
The spell broken, I looked sheepishly about the room to find both Jerry and Sam drunk and sleeping in their respective chairs. Jerry, ever my brother, snored slightly, while Sam — even in repose strung tighter than Jerry Fallwell’s windsor knot — read the riot act to some clumsy asshole who’d invaded his dreams.
I stood up, dug the gold hoop earring out of my pocket, worked the narrow end through my lobe, then stumbled off to our bedroom down the hall.
(James Faulk is a writer living in Eureka. He can be reached at faulk.james @yahoo.com.)
A READER WRITES: The rain was beautiful. The new fires that broke out last week in Lake County were somewhat slowed by it, but, oh, what a disaster. We heard reports of the initial flames running 5 miles in 3 minutes due to 70 mile an hour winds. Beyond scary. One of our deer hunters was in the fire zone helping to successfully fight back the flames on a relative's property. He has some terrifying descriptions of what happened.
We took a day off - the plan was two days but we stayed only one - to a local State Park for some R&R in a nearby "outback". Usal campground is on the beach from the main road 30 miles north of Fort Bragg. The way in is six miles of very steep, rutted and narrow logging "road" and thankfully we were warned to take a high clearance 4 wheel drive vehicle which we borrowed from my son and as a result, had no problem driving in. The campground is part of the Sinkyone Lost Coast King Range which is comprised of nearly vertical, heavily wooded mountains jutting straight up from the ocean to as high as 4,000 ft. At Usal Camp, the cliffs curve inward enough to have created a cove with a 2 mile long black sand beach and a flat wooded area behind it in which the camp sites are situated. It's a gorgeous spot...trees, birds, elk, beautiful black sand beach, mountains, sky...and horrible. It quickly became clear that it is the gathering place for feral guys (mostly) to hang out and do reckless illegal things like shoot off guns and fireworks (M-80's, bottle rockets, etc, all illegal in CA) that echoed off the canyon walls sounding like we were in a war zone, play "music" at any volume, drink and drug, and drive recklessly onto the beach or up the vertical mountains. The fireworks and the music happened during our one night stay, but most disturbing to us was the wanton destruction of the natural beauty of the place. Since no one polices the campground there were campsites everywhere in the woods, not just at picnic table or firepit spots, and on the beach. Everywhere the woods were trashed, slashed and hacked. Most disgusting of all (the outhouses are ancient and unusable) there was toilet paper and what goes with it, everywhere along with all other forms of garbage.
We have written a letter to the State Park Director suggesting that something be done...either close the site or fix it up and hire a park attendant to keep order...since the parks and we, the taxpayers, are liable for anything that goes wrong there. And more importantly, it's a wilderness area, not a playground, and its wonders should be protected from the depredations of ignorant humans. It's certainly sad that in some humans the impulse to destroy is stronger than the impulse to create.
CATCH OF THE DAY, September 22, 2015
RAYMOND ELLIS, Ukiah. Bicycle riding under the influence.
KINDRA GLANDERS, Laytonville. DUI.
ALEXANDER JACKSON, Ukiah. Possession of controlled substance.
WILLIAM KING, Fort Bragg. Drunk in public. (Frequent flyer.)
VICTOR LOPEZ, Ukiah. Assault with deadly weapon not a gun, ex-felon with firearm, felon with body armor, evading, resisting, parole violation.
BEAU NUNEZ, Fort Bragg. Assault with deadly weapon, criminal threats.
BILLY RICKMAN, Ukiah. County parole violation.
LANCE TREPPA, Ukiah. Community supervision violation.
JASON TUCKER, Fort Bragg. Drunk in public, trespassing, shoplifting.
DANIEL VANBRUNT, Fort Bragg. Robbery.
GILDARDO VARGAS, Madera/Hopland. Domestic battery.
ON LINE COMMENT OF THE DAY
It might have helped the situation in the Middle East just a tad had the United States not gone into Iraq illegally and created the failed and hopelessly divided state it now is. ISIS is a cancer bred from the U.S.’s invasion and occupation.
Same for Libya.
And the fingerprints of revolt against Assad can be found in the U.S. State Department’s and CIA files.
Ditto Yemen where there is now the distinct possibility Saudi Arabia and the United States will be held responsible for MILLIONS of deaths due to starvation. More war crimes? Check.
This all goes back to the interview Gen. Wesley Clark had with Amy Goodman when he declared he visited The Pentagon’s Joint Chiefs office a few weeks after 9/11 and was handed a classified memo by another general that said “the U.S. will be invading and occupying seven countries in five years: Iraq, Somalia, Sudan, Lebanon, Libya, Syria and ending with Iran.”
Vast war crimes were planned at The Pentagon probably twenty years ago and now the world is paying the price for the U.S. plan of “Full Spectrum Dominance”.
All this goes without the mention of our coup in Ukraine right on Russia’s border.
Maybe Rand Paul is right when he says the world would be better off without U.S. militarism world-wide.
200,000 Middle East refugees coming to America? Karma can be a bitch.
SOCIALISM? LET'S CUT TO THE CHASE
by Marc Ash
“This country has socialism for the rich, rugged individualism for the poor.” The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
“A basic principal of modern state capitalism is that costs and risks are socialized to the extent possible, while profit is privatized.” Noam Chomsky
You are going to be hearing a lot about “Bernie Sanders, the Radical Socialist” in the coming months. So before that bandwagon rolls off down the great American highway let's pin a little truth to its tail.
Socialism is nothing new in American politics or economics. Of course it's not called “Socialism,” that would screw up the corporate 1% media's branding. They call it good economic policy or bailouts or quantitative easing or free trade -- but it's Socialism.
You will also hear a great deal about “wealth redistribution.” You will be encouraged to fear that. You should. Yes, wealth redistribution is a reality and an American tradition, but it never goes from the top to the bottom, it goes from the bottom to the top. At this point the pace is rapacious. When Donald Trump talks about making America great again, he's talking about the traditional bottom-to-top form of wealth redistribution. Yes that would make America great -- for him, and those precious few who share his tax bracket.
Recent painful examples of the nation's wealth being redistributed from working class Americans to the wealthiest include the Iraq war and the so-called housing bubble collapse.
The Iraq War transferred, by all accounts, trillions of US taxpayer dollars into the coffers of arms manufacturers and contractors. It was in all likelihood the largest and most rapid such transference in history.
The housing boom-to-bust “Recession of 2008,” arguably continuing today, turned American homes into Wall Street commodities. The result was that millions of Americans lost their homes. Wall Street investors got rich betting on the bust, and those who lost money recovered it from investment insurers, who were then bailed out by the American taxpayer. Wealth redistributed, big time.
The conflict isn't over Socialism, it's over who should be allowed to enjoy its benefits. The nation's wealthiest 1% of individuals and corporations do. Everyone else does not, but certainly should.
What makes Sanders' ideas radical is that he wants all Americans to enjoy the benefits of Socialism, not just the top 1%. So he will be labeled a “radical,” and the average American who would benefit most from his policies will be pressed to fear him. The most fertile breeding ground for that fear will be ignorance, ignorance of course being the anvil of oppression.
Wall Street cares nothing for “the economy.” Wall street is absolutely, categorically dedicated to profit, 1% profit foremost. Whoever gets hurt, gets hurt. In case you haven't noticed, Wall Street is running the country. Sanders' radical policies are very unpopular there.
So while your television or other corporate media outlet conjours up visions of Joseph Stalin when describing Sanders' “Socialist agenda,” remember, America has always had Socialism, working people have always paid for it, and the wealthiest Americans have always enjoyed it.
Socialism for working people, maybe not so radical. Want to really make America great again? Do it the way FDR did it in the 1930s. That is where Sanders is leading the 99%.
(Marc Ash was formerly the founder and Executive Director of Truthout, and is now founder and Editor of Reader Supported News.)
A PLAGUE OF TURQUOISE
Turquoise is now an omnipresent color cliche embraced by architects and designers---and even by PBS with the Newshour's annoyingly "airy look" of its new set:
What turquoise means:
The color turquoise helps opening lines of communication between the heart and the spoken word. It is a friendly and happy color that is enjoying life. In color psychology, it controls and heals the emotions, creating emotional balance and stability. In this process, it can feel like an emotional rollercoaster that goes up and down, until it balances itself.
On the other hand, too much turquoise can be a problem:
Too much turquoise in your life can overstimulate your mind and create emotional imbalance, which makes you either oversensitive or just the opposite. Too little turquoise in your life can make you hide your feelings, which will result in secrets and confusion about your direction in life. From a negative perspective, too much of the color turquoise can lead to emotional stress, lack of communication skills, unreliability and deception.
Maybe designers and architects are blocked at that pesky fifth chakra:
They need to get their goddam chakras aligned or cleaned or whatever and give us a break from the toxic level of turquoise in our environment.
* * *
Oakland Coliseum: "slow-mo game of chicken"
From Field of Schemes:
…The underlying problem here, as it is in most stadium deals, is that Raiders owner Mark Davis wants a new building but doesn’t want to be the one to pay for it, and there’s no way for a city to agree to that without taking a several hundred million dollar loss. So we get a years-long stalemate until somebody blinks and agrees to get out their wallets, and it’s never the team owner, because where’s the upside for him in that?
Anyway, the Raiders aren’t any closer to getting a new stadium today, but then they weren’t very close last week either. Also, they’re no closer to moving to L.A. than they were last week. This is officially becoming the most slow-moving game of chicken ever.
— Rob Anderson (Courtesy, District5Diary)
PATCHWORK AND PEOPLE: Quilt exhibit and book signing highlights First Friday
by Roberta Werdinger
An opening of a quilt art exhibit as well as a book signing by Ukiah historian Darline Bergere will both be featured at the First Friday evening on Oct. 2nd, from 5 to 8 pm at the Grace Hudson Museum.
Darline Bergere, a former Bay Area newspaper columnist who now volunteers as a family law advisor, says she has lived in Ukiah "only" 20 years. The reception from her first book, "Ukiah (Images of America)," published in 2009 by Arcadia Press, was so positive she was invited to write another one, focusing on the contemporary scene. The result, "Legendary Locals of Ukiah," highlights 100 "local heroes" -- actors, athletes, entrepreneurs, musicians and ministers -— who knit together the fabric of the Ukiah Valley community. As well as background information and anecdotes gleaned from research and personal meetings, the book features 147 black and white photographs, some from collections held at the Held-Poage Historical Museum, the Mendocino County Museum, and Grace Hudson Museum itself. What was hardest part of putting together the book for Bergere? Narrowing down the selection of Ukiah Valley's personable and productive "legendary locals" to only 100 people.
This evening will also be the opening for "Mendocino Quilt Artists: A Fiber Perspective," featuring contemporary quilt work by the 12 members of the Mendocino Quilt Artists group: Deanna Apfel, Holly Brackmann, Laura Fogg, Renee Gannon, Vicky Groom, Ann Horton, Leila Kazimi, Betty Lacy, Dede Ledford, Mary Ann Michelsen, Joyce Patterson and Marilyn Simpson. The award-winning members of this group take the traditional quilt of old into new and unexpected directions, uniting a solid grounding in craft with designs that reflect on contemporary themes, incorporate new material, and celebrate the beauty of the local landscape. The exhibit is part a county-wide celebration of American Craft Week and will be on display through Nov. 1st.
As on every First Friday, this event is free to all and is a wonderful opportunity to get to know one of Ukiah Valley's local gems, the Grace Hudson Museum, which has a permanent exhibit of Pomo Indian baskets and other cultural artifacts as well as paintings by and information about the Museum's namesake, artist Grace Hudson (1865-1937).
The Grace Hudson Museum is at 431 S. Main St. in Ukiah and is open Wednesday through Saturday from 10 am to 4:30 pm, and Sunday from noon to 4:30 pm. For more information please call 467-2836 or go to www.gracehudsonmuseum.org.
THE JAZZ CLUB
at Cloverdale Arts Alliance
Thursday, October 1
204 N. Cloverdale Blvd., Cloverdale, CA
Doors open at 7:00 PM, music from 8 PM to 10 PM.
Did you hear about the midnight rambler
Everybody got to go
Did you hear about the midnight rambler
The one that shut the kitchen door
He don't give a hoot of warning
Wrapped up in a black cat cloak
He don't go in the light of the morning
He split the time the cockerel crows
Talkin' 'bout the midnight gambler
The one you never seen before
Talkin' 'bout the midnight gambler
Did you see him jump the garden wall
Sighin' down the wind so sadly
Listen and you'll hear him moan
Talkin' 'bout the midnight gambler
Everybody got to go
Did you hear about the midnight rambler
Well, honey, it's no rock 'n' roll show
Well, I'm talkin' about the midnight gambler
The one you never seen before
Well you heard about the Boston...
It's not one of those
Well, talkin' 'bout the midnight...sh...
The one that closed the bedroom door
I'm called the hit-and-run raper in anger
The knife-sharpened tippie-toe...
Or just the shoot 'em dead, brainbell jangler
You know, the one you've never seen before
So if you ever meet the midnight rambler
Coming down your marble hall
Well he's pouncing like proud black panther
Well, you can say I, I told you so
Well, don't you listen for the midnight rambler
You all play it easy as you go
I'm gonna smash down all your plate glass windows
Put a fist, put a fist through your steel-plated door
Did you hear about the midnight rambler
He'll leave his footprints up and down your hall
And did you hear about the midnight gambler
And did you see me make my midnight call
And if you ever catch the midnight rambler
I'll steal your mistress from under your nose
I'll go easy with your cold fanged anger
I'll stick my knife right down your throat, baby
And it hurts!
--Mick Jagger, Keith Richards