John McCain’s chart-topping single

Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb-bomb Iran. Psst…do something. Without a war, what would this guy do in the White House? Take naps? Stock up on the Metamucil? Have milk and cookies before bedtime? This is scary…

No, not that George.

This George.

By the way, a poltroon is a spiritless coward. Surely fighting words; surely words that in ages past would have brought out the dueling pistols.

The whole sordid saga is here, a very long nostalgic piece I wrote in September of last year. I’ve modified the original post to include Ewegen’s comments.

Oh well… So goes this blogging stuff. You win some, you lose some. I’m really not sure where I’ve come out on this one. Probably lost some points on memory loss (I am getting up there, you know), but, still I believe the point of the post survives Ewegen’s ire.

Again, it’s a very long piece.

BILL MOYERS JOURNAL | Clinton, Obama, King and Johnson | PBS

Let’s not revise history to suit the ends of those whose demagoguery these days conveniently leaves the truth at the back of the bus. Bill Moyers was there in 1964. Please respect this history.

(Mayor Robert W. Speer opening the “floodgates” of vice upon Denver. Denver Post, circa 1916.)

A while back, Daniel Chacon provided a piece in the Rocky Mountain News titled, “DNC boost for sex biz.” The piece noted that: “The sex and adult entertainment industries are expecting a boom in business when and estimated 35,000 visitors descend on the Mile High City for the presidential nominating bash.”

Well, one supposes, nothing is so good as the availability of flesh when the bash is out-of-town and away from the prying eyes and suspicious minds of the old lady (old man?) left behind in Des Moines or Detroit, Tulsa or Tallahassee. A kind of what happens in Vegas is left in Vegas mentality that is one of the perks of the traveling salesman or corporate potentate or, indeed, a credentialed Democrat who, naturally, dulls the edge of the tedious meetings, workshops and showings of vendors wares (what else is a political conventions but merchandising and packaging, selling your wares?), by engaging in a little hanky-panky with an opposite or same sex paramour.

Curiously, Chacon reports, “Too bad…Denver didn’t land the GOP convention instead.” He cites a San Francisco prostitute’s conclusion that, “‘It would be a lot better for the sex workers if it was the Republican convention. …We get a lot more business [at a Republican Convention]. I don’t know if they’re just frustrated because of the family values agenda.’”

Ah, methinks Chacon included that revelation with a wee smile on his face.

Had a thought. You know the glass exhibit hall Hickenlooper wants to construct in Civic Center Park? Well, here’s a suggestion. Let’s just get that thing built. And, by the dog days of August when the donkeys arrive, the Hick and his minions could provide space therein for–as Chacon says–the “…sex and adult entertainment industries…” to coordinate their efforts, provide transparency for the underbelly, albeit absolutely necessary sensual perk of the convention. I mean if Gene the Horny Drilling Machine happens to be on the phone, Sissy the Kissy Missie could just lend a hand and answer Gene’s other line for him. Yes, right there in the glass house just to keep the whole thing corralled in one place and easily accessible to the revelers. Indeed, the donkeys could just take a peek through the glass and if they see something they like, well, they could just head right in, make an appointment, pay their money and, in between identifying and electing a presidential nominee, they could, well… You know. Hell, the Hick could even station his revenue folks there and make sure sales, entertainment and, um, the lap, um, seat tax was duly paid.

Denver’s first Democratic Convention occurred in 1908. William Jennings Bryan who would become a three-time loser for the Presidency, became the candidate of the Democracy in 1908. Bryan was a Populist, feeding on his Nebraska agrarian roots (personifying “Prairie Populism), his unequaled speechifying abilities and his reliance upon the Word of God (evangelicalism) to carry the vote of his core: Midwestern Protestants. Bryan held only one elective office; a Congressman from Nebraska elected in 1890. Probably most of us connect with the name, William Jennings Bryan, by recalling his “Cross of Gold Speech,” delivered in 1896, and his involvement in the prosecution of a teacher in Dayton, Tennessee in 1925, who had had some crazy notion that his students should be aware of Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. Bryan participated in what has come to be known as the “Scopes Trial,” (excellent scene from “Inherit the Wind,” here, that loosely recounted the Scopes Trial) at the end of his life…dying a few days after the completion of the trial where his opponent was Clarence Darrow.

I guess you could call that a “wry” smile. Note Sisyphus pushing his stone on the desk. Thus, my acceptance of, a healthy accommodation made to my trudge through the United States Army.

What follows is, perhaps, prophetic. Maybe not.

Dug up something from 1973 that was printed in the Army Times. I was then stationed at Little Creek, Virginia, a Navy base near Norfolk which–if I remember correctly–was a training station for Navy Seals and other amphibious-related training endeavors. My “commentary” in the Army Times did, of course, raise the hackles of more than a few…including the Command Sergeant Major of the Army for whom I worked.

In a short story I would write later, I remembered Norfolk at that time:

Norfolk, Virginia in 1973 was, as I recall it, the home to over 200,000 American military personnel. I was one of them. I was twenty-four then, there, in that Tidewater enclave of starched khaki, brass bumpkins and bugled ballyhoo; a place so thoroughly, blindly patriotic that even the high crimes and misdemeanors committed by the dark prince of the Republican party, their party, Richard Milhouse Nixon, were considered acceptably petty. Nixon was, after all, the Commander in Chief of their black and white world where God remained in His heaven; where queers had never worn a uniform or fought or died for their country. This, then, was Norfolk, Virginia.

The Army Times (December 12, 1973)

COMMENTARY - Presidential Priority: Detente or Defense?
By ME

In response to “An Assessment: Nixon as Commander-In-Chief,” written by Lt. Gen. Ira C. Eaker (November 21 issue) this writer cannot help but suggest that General Eaker’s reasoning is, at least, archaic.

Eaker makes an off-had assumption that “…the conduct of foreign affairs and command of the armed forces must be the most decisive roles…” the President plays.

This writer recalls that when he was younger many Americans were extremely excited about the “nuclear threat” that was precipitated by the Cold War.

Indeed, many Americans, in their ignorance or naivete, believed that their existence depended necessarily upon how quickly they could construct bomb shelters dug ten feet deep into their front lawns. There is a suspicion here that this same kind of fear that prevailed during the Cold War period concerning the inevitability of nuclear holocaust is the same attitude that spurs Eaker to believe that the President’s most vital functions are in the area of foreign affairs and command of the armed forces.

Simply, it appears that Eaker is scared of what he believes to be the war-mongering tendencies of the Soviet Union. I believe that such an attitude is reminiscent of what caused the plethora of distrust which characterized the Cold War era at its inception which, incidentally, was presided over, in large part, by another military man, Dwight Eisenhower. [Methinks, today, we can read "McCain."]

Those of us who are young enough not to have been affected by the grandfatherly austerity of Eisenhower and who remember with a special fondness the youthful dynamism and idealism of the 1000 short days of the Kennedy Administration can only suggest that Eaker’s apparent skepticism of detente–(if he is not skeptical then he would not believe the marriage of foreign affairs and command of the armed forces to be the most important function of the American presidency)–is the product of the archaic notion that “might makes right.” [Read "Obama?"]

He also demonstrates that he believes that one negotiates with his adversary while holding a spiked club to the other’s head.

There is a new generation of Americans who profoundly believe that the primary responsibility of the American presidency is to provide for the democratic essentials that the people of this great country are entitled to enjoy.

These essentials are “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” And, in this era of detente, it is extremely difficult to believe that these essentials can only be realized by a presidency whose most important function is the concomitant activity of conducting foreign affairs and commanding the armed forces.

Okay. For what is was worth then (and now) may I just observe–as I have so often in the past–the more things change, the more they stay the same.

P.S. Nah, nothing I had to say more than thirty years ago can be encapsulated in the word “prophetic.” What can be wrapped in that particular word is a portion of Dwight Eisenhower’s Farewell Address to the nation:

This conjunction of an immense military establishment and a large arms industry is new in the American experience. The total influence – economic, political, even spiritual – is felt in every city, every Statehouse, every office of the Federal government. We recognize the imperative need for this development. Yet we must not fail to comprehend its grave implications. Our toil, resources and livelihood are all involved; so is the very structure of our society.

In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.

We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes. We should take nothing for granted. Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the proper meshing of the huge industrial and military machinery of defense with our peaceful methods and goals, so that security and liberty may prosper together.

John McCain is Dr. Strangelove

Okay. He’s 71 and he’s–oh, what’s a politically correct phrase, here–yes, he’s age challenged. So, this “straight-talking” consummate politician (I know, some of you think he’s the genuine article; a “maverick” amongst men), appears to be about as slippery as any other demagogue who has slip-slid into their inevitable calling–politics. Here’s the video. War hero? Maybe. Heard the other day that he found Jesus in the guise of Ronald Reagan while he was a prisoner of war. Okay. That’s a little weird. But, hell, politics is politics and whatever works…

I see the resemblance.

Since I rely less and less on Denver’s daily newspapers for news, this piece by Mike McPhee in the December 13th edition of the Denver Post slipped past me:

City Councilman Charlie Brown wants to know if a city agency leaked a personnel file to the media after an employee complained about a training video that has since been yanked.

Dennis Supple, a city maintenance worker, complained to Brown last month that a diversity training video portrayed a white man as a racist and sexist goof. Brown passed along the complaint, and the questionable video produced by Career Service Authority, the city’s human resource agency, was ordered removed by the mayor’s office on Nov. 27.

Three days later, KDVR-TV (Channel 31) reported that Supple had been fired by the city in 1999 for allegedly putting a knife to the throat of a Latino co-worker. The city rehired him in 2006.

Now Brown wants to know how the Fox station learned about Supple’s past. He filed an open-records request on Nov. 30 and last week received a sheaf of incomplete documents.

The documents do not include a formal request from the reporter for Supple’s personnel file under the Colorado Open Records Act, or CORA, although CSA records supervisor Peter Garritt said reporter Leland Vittert made a formal request.

The Denver Post also received a copy of Supple’s personnel file after filing a formal request.

The records given to Brown show 14 telephone calls were made between Vittert and CSA communications director Kathy Maloney during Nov. 26-30. The two also sent five e-mails to each other, including one from Maloney at 10:18 p.m. Dec. 1, the day Brown’s records request was received by the city.

On Nov. 27, Vittert e-mailed Maloney: “Does Dennis Supple still work for the city? Would it be possible to see his personnel file? I believe he worked in the HVAC group.”

The next day, Vittert sent Maloney an e-mail. “Are we going to be able to get mr supple’s records today. I am off the next two days and the story is kinda dead after the weekend. It would be great to do it today.”

Brown said Maloney’s supervisor, Garritt, told him that Maloney delivered the files to Vittert.

“Isn’t that a little cozy?” Brown asked. “And isn’t that pretty quick? Normally we have to wait 72 hours for them to respond (to records requests). And why did Maloney e-mail Vittert late Saturday night with the subject line reading ‘New Records Request’? That’s the day she received my records request.”

Okay. First of all, let me say that during my tenure with the city I was exposed to the best efforts of good people from the Career Service Authority to make sure I, as well as those with whom I worked, understood the mandates of politically correct dogma with regard to behavior in the workplace. Yes, I watched the videos; I participated in the workshops. But, hell, I’m a hugger. Always have been. And, in spite of all that video and all those workshops, not a day passed during my workday when I didn’t hug someone or pat someone on the shoulder. Hugging and patting were verboten in the workplace. Or, so said the human resources folks. But, I did it anyway. As did others. See, reasonably intelligent, well-meaning, dedicated public servants (in the private sector, as well) just simply intuitively know the bounds within which workplace behavior is acceptable…regardless of PC dogma. I guess it’d be correct to note that I took the human resources videos and workshops with a grain of salt…well-meant but not really relevant to the reality of interaction amongst workers who spent, most likely, more time with each other than they did with their families.

Yeah, I’ve strayed. Back to point.

Dennis Supple, a city employee, complained to Brown that a diversity video–apparently produced by the Career Service Authority–singled out a white guy as an ignorant oaf who perpetrated ghastly insensitivity upon his fellow workers…Latino or African-American or Gay or whatever. Well, the Hick and his minions apparently convinced (ordered?) the Career Service Authority to pull the video in response to Charlie Brown’s, um, outrage and the whole imbroglio caught the eye of a couple of reporters. Well, as is the want of good reporters, the question became: Who is this Supple guy? Ergo, a couple reporters asked to review Supple’s personnel file which, included in the excerpt above, revealed he had had some personnel difficulties himself in 1999.

So, ol’ Charlie Brown immediately sees a retaliatory conspiracy emanating at the Career Service Authority to soil Supple’s good name by providing the media with the “open record” of Supple’s personnel file.

Now, there is a State Statute (24-72-201) that deals with “open records.” I won’t bore you with the details, but, basically, any governmental entity in Colorado that is presented with an “open records” request–under the provisions of the statute–has 72 hours to either comply or state a reason (as enumerated in the statute) why compliance will not be forthcoming. Suffice it to say, the statute provides essential transparency to the workings of government for those who have a need to know, or are just nosy. The statute also provides a definition for the “custodian” of records.

So, through the Career Service Authority’s communications director, Supple’s personnel data was communicated to a reporter. One supposes the CSA’s communications director obtained the data she passed on to the reporter from the “custodian” of those records who, in this case, would appear to be the records supervisor, Peter Garritt.

This is getting boring, isn’t it. Well, just a wee bit to go…

Charlie Brown’s frenzied outrage with CSA’s release of records to the media appears to center on two things: He claims no “formal” request came from the first reporter and, secondly, that the information was forthcoming prior to the 72 hour statutory time limit.

Methinks, so what!

I had an unofficial policy when I was with the city that everything we did was an “open record;” that if someone wanted to see a record for which I was the “custodian,” then there wasn’t any need for an official request; there wasn’t any need for a 72 hour waiting period. Come on down, the requester would be told. Take a look. We’ve got nothing to hide. Bear in mind, however, that I was conversant with the state statute on open records and understood the necessity that caution was required when the subject-matter concerned, for example, attorney-client privilege (which, as I understand it, must eventually be revealed–most likely by subpoena), or some categories of so-called “work product” that is specifically excluded as “open record” by the statute. But, 99.9% of the time, if somebody wanted to look over our shoulder they were invited to do just that. Again, no formal request. No 72 hour waiting period.

I do believe that when it comes to personnel file data, it is prudent to require an “official” request–per the statute–from inquiring parties. Personnel file data is, well, personal kind of stuff and any requests to view the same should be carefully handled…by someone who is fully versed on the provisions of the statute. If I fault the Career Service Authority for anything, it would be the appearance that no “official” open records request was forthcoming from the initial reporter.

But, listen, Charlie: You got your shorts all bunched up in what appears to me to be an effort to look like some kinda hero; some kind of Don Quixote, windmill battling, man-of-the-people kinda conspiracy theory Peter Boyles lookalike, who, in this case, appears to be grandstanding just for the sake of grandstanding. Sure, you may not be that happy with the Career Service Authority and may be looking for any little opportunity to bare your claws and take a swipe at that agency, but, listen, aren’t there more pressing issues you could spend you day on? Does the weal of the people strike a chord? I mean, well, is this crusade you’ve embarked on really worth the effort? Do you really believe CSA employees were motivated by retribution against Mister Supple simply because he questioned the apparently ill-conceived video produced by CSA?

‘Course, Charlie probably thinks his cause is noble. Gives you an insight into Charlie’s psyche. Ah, Charlie, you’re such a clown…in a Stetson.

Piney Lake - The wrangler’s magnificent horse.

With one particular horse, called Nugget, he embraces. The animal digs its sweaty brow into his cheek, and they stand in the dark for an hour - like a necking couple. And of all nonsensical things - I keep thinking about the horse! Not the boy: the horse, and what it may be trying to do. I keep seeing that huge head kissing him with its chained mouth. Nudging through the metal some desire absolutely irrelevant to filling its belly or propagating its own kind. What desire could that be? Not to stay a horse any longer? Not to remain reined up for ever in those particular genetic strings? Is it possible, at certain moments we cannot imagine, a horse can add its sufferings together - the non-stop jerks and jabs that are its daily life - and turn them into grief? What use is grief to a horse?

Peter Shaffer, “Equus”

Methinks grief to a horse mirrors what grief is to humans–evidence of a soul.

Again, playing off an entry over at DenverDirect, the narrative and video here is a tough read for anyone who values the worth of critters; for anyone who understands the essential truth that critters exist within a realm that transcends mere human perceptions of the world; a realm where critters live closer, more intimately, more ably, more wisely amongst the simple gifts of the earth, understanding the mysteries and the lessons of those simple gifts with an intelligence mere humans will never achieve or have long lost once the higher brain kicked in.

Talking, here, about rodeos and the bucking horse events. I’ve always known that most horses won’t buck to the satisfaction of rodeo throngs unless a buck or flank strap is wrapped loosely around the horse’s flank (the area behind the ribs, and fronting the genitals) and then, just before the gate is opened, the strap is tightened causing severe discomfort to the horse which responds, yes, with a crowd-pleasing bucking frenzy…not because the horse is a “wild one,” or “high-spirited,” no, the horse bucks because it is in pain.

Then comes the specter of the horses being electrically shocked–certainly along with the tightening of the buck strap–and, Whoopee, By Gum, By Gosh, y’all got yourself a RO-DAY-YO!

More disturbing narrative and video on this disgusting practice is provided on the SHARK (SHowing Animals Respect and Kindness. DenverDirect also provides this link). Be sure to drill down and watch the quick videos.

Something written long ago:

There were horses at Camp Chief Ouray.

Spook was solid black and as feisty as a puppy with a new bone. And, the counselors would not let just anyone ride Spook. Spook was a problem horse. He was aptly named because he was extremely high-strung and had a mind of his own. The wranglers called Spook uppity. The pale-skinned boys from Chicago or Manhattan or Boston were afraid of Spook. But, there were only so many horses to go around, and the counselors would pick someone to ride Spook who they believed could control the animal; who could keep the animal in line as the slow caravan of boys on horseback followed the same old trail through the same old hills that all the other boys, through all the years the camp had been operating, had followed. That summer, I – and I alone – was allowed to ride Spook.

Mounting Spook was like climbing upon the back of a caged tiger. You could actually feel beneath you Spook’s yearn to run and to be free. Through your legs; as a vibration in the reins; through the leather saddle you could actually feel the magnificent creature’s urge to fly across paths untrodden; across those hills and through those virgin valleys where generations of pale-skinned boys dared not explore. No, the pale-skinned boys–even along the slow trod of the caravan–effused the sour-scented aroma of their nearly manic fear of horses.

The last time I rode Spook, that summer of my fifteenth year, I acceded to Spook’s desire. I let him break from the slow and timid line of pale-skinned boys atop the gentlest of steeds. I let him run and run and run. I let him run until he himself chose to stop. And, he stopped in a valley so hidden, so enclosed by the jagged, huge rise of the Rocky Mountains which surrounded it, that it appeared to be a secret place where only those creatures of the earth with ties to a more fundamental, more primordial reality could find. Spook stopped, there, in the valley, lowered his head and drank from the clear and cold waters of a spring which bisected the valley floor. I dared not dismount. I dared not rein him elsewhere. I sat stone-dead still atop him, both of us breathing hard against the frantic, free race to this secret place. He then tore some sweet grass from the valley floor and, flipping his head up, tossed the grass into the air where it fanned out and floated back down. He stood for some time looking, just looking at the valley, the spring, the trees, the sky, the mountains. And then, as I felt an ease of the tension that normally coursed through his magnificent body, Spook turned, lowered his head slightly, and began a slow walk back from where we had come; back to the stables where the nightfall was almost complete.

The counselors would not believe that it was I who had let Spook run. They spoke amongst themselves and reiterated amongst themselves that they had always thought Spook should be gotten rid of, sold, banished from the safe and structured haven of the pale-skinned boys. I objected and was not believed when I said it was my fault, not Spook’s. I had let him run. I should be banished. But, they would not listen.

And, that was my last day of summer camp when I was fifteen.

There’s that word again: Fear. The curious thing, though, is that the overwhelmingly Democratic, left-wing, entitlement espousing, Let Freedom Ring, all men are brothers, politically correct and, at times, sickeningly syrupy egalitarianistic (yeah, I know, you won’t find that one in Merriam-Webster) blatherings of Denver’s City Council (you’re in there, too, Hick) have now taken on the ignoble task of attempting to restrict First Amendment (um, invoking the Constitution of the United States, here!) protections/rights of The People because, well, the Democratic National Convention is coming to Denver in August. And, by golly, by gee, all y’all wild-eyed cretins (The People) ain’t gonna muck-up the tidy picture, the Norman Rockwell visage that Hick, the Denver City Council and the Democratic National Convention want to display to the world come those dog days of summer.

Okay. I’ve already provided an entry about hiding the homeless during the Dems confab. (Apparently, Hick has yet to accomplish the lofty goals of “Denver’s Road Home,” or whatever the hell he calls it.) But, now, we have the specter of Denver’s politicians wringing their hands in anticipation that The People may want to be heard and seen during the Democratic folderol that will take place at Stan Kroenke’s palace, the Pepsi Center, in August.

Maybe it’s instructive to note that ol’ Kroenke is married to Anne Walton (do the name “Wal-Mart” come to mind?), and the happy couple will probably provide freebies to the DNC…say, oh, maybe the red, white and blue balloons and shiny confetti (all of it, of course–as is the Wal-Mart way–coming from China) that will descend on all those happy revelers once a candidate is anointed. Instructive also is the question: Is the staff at the Pepsi Center still a non-union shop?

Be that as it may, the Hick and the Denver City Council are in the process of restructuring those sections of the Denver Revised Municipal Code that deal with parade and park permits because, well–as I already noted–fear prevails amongst the politicos that The People just might attempt to exert their First Amendment rights when the ol’ donkey comes to town.

I had a WTF moment the other day when I read in one of the dailies that North High School (less than a mile from our home), was within the “Security Perimeter” for the DNC whoop-de-do and there was a proposal on the table to start North’s school year on September 2nd (the DNC will be here August 25-29), rather than the normal start date of August 18th. Head scratcher, that one.

Firstly, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me that the “Security Perimeter” extends all the way to North High. What’s to fear? Al Queda firing off a ground-to-air missile from the top of the school? The North Speer corridor– that, yes, skirts North High from the Highlands and eventually drops down to the Platte Valley where the Pepsi Center squats–becoming a staging area for IED attacks?

I know, I know. Those who have bought the Fear card perpetuated by the ignoble machinations of Dubya and crew, surely believe such things are possible…no, not possible, inevitable because, well, FDR just simply got it wrong with the “Nothing to fear but fear itself,” thing. Indeed, a curious observation from School Board member Arturo Jimenez who represents the district up this way, including North High; yes, Arturo argued that the late start of the school year was not advisable because, “Our students will be safer in the schools rather than out on the streets,” during the convention. Hmmm… The streets will not be safe during the convention?

Let’s get to the point.