Believe it or not, my tardiness in getting my work done could result in a John Mac Inane presidency. A John Mac Inane presidency could result in the destruction of civilization.

This may seem incredible unless you realized how much destruction the Bush administration has already done and how far along the road toward a collapse of civilization the Bush administration has already caused us to travel. If you have been awake so far this century, if you are already too intelligent to have believed the mad media muck makers, then you know the crimes against humanity and the crimes against nature sufficiently that I do not have to devote space and times here to explain it all to you.

If you have witnessed the disorganized, dishonest, management of the Mac Inane Mac Cainpaign, if you have witnessed the mad rabble that has accompanied the Mac Inane Canepaign, if you have observed that according to the polls, then you know it is possible we have enough insanity or at best misguided behavior to comprise a society unstable enough to seriously perturb the national election.

Assume Mac Inane were to get 40% of the vote. Assume those capable of harassing and discomfiting and miscounting 11% of the vote. Voila, you have a president Mac Inane.

So it is important that you understand and help me with the plan. It is not much. Time may not permit its being carried through. But it is all I have to give you.

The plan is, I would create on this website a guide to the logical fallacies employed by the media muck makers to enthrall their audiences and lead them to believe the muck enough to consider it their duty to vote the way that the media muck makers would have them vote.

I

• Identifying the tricks
• Illustrate the tricks with examples from the muck makers’s own books and from their own TV and radio talk show thrones
• You and I use the guide to
1. educate those misled voters,
2. lead them to understand how their have been deceived
3. in time for the misled and freshly educated to persuade themselves before election day to go out and vote correctly.

Wear your technology out with emails, phone calls, messaging, textingdirecting people to the

So at the top of any ourSLO page you will see a link to logical fallacies. This page present 13 categories of logical fallacies. Each category names, describes, and provides and example of the logical fallacy taken from the output of one of the media muck makers.

Yes, that list of logical fallacies totals approximately 64. By coincidence, 64 on the octal radix scale, base 8, equals an octal 100, the number of cardinal elements in the I Ching or what I call in my upcoming book on the subject My Tao Jones.

The media muck makers have contributed so much to confusing the populace. The damage that has been done is incalculable. So much evil, so much dumbing down of the populace. So much contribution to the concept that lies and distortions are OK as long as you convince people to believe it. So much contribution to what has resulted in so much bad and criminal government.

more on this in the next post,
jack luna MOTH

]]> http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/oreally-oreilly-ratings/feed/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/talk-walk-swagger/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/talk-walk-swagger/#comments Wed, 15 Oct 2008 23:54:22 +0000 admin http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/?p=34 mp3 version of this post by the author - Issues, Tissues, and Tushes

OK, as in poetry readings I must define my terms. Here is one I have not heard before and one I have not used before but I know one should exist just to save keyboard width. The word, the acronym, the term is tsh.

You can put the ‘u’ in there if you want. When I say it, I give myself a choice of vowels and the ‘u’ just pops right up. You try it. I know the preacher’s wife is sitting there. Come on let yourself go. In fact try each vowel aloud and let the preacher’s wife judge. Share the fun. Say a e i o u but with the acronym wrapped around it each time. OK, here we go. Say with me: tash tesh tish tosh tush. See what I mean? Tush works. Tish came real close. The others are way too dysfunctional.

OH, the definition — talk show host!

All Talk and No Walk — Just a Swagger. Those who swagger most work for TV channels I do not watch. Hey, keep this in mind as we talk. I am not big on TV anyway. I did not have one except for my old German one on which I watch old tapes like the funeral of Wille Brandt. Never mind.

I did not watch TV from shortly after 911 until the 2008 vying for pole position started. Immediately after 911 I was busy getting my mate home to Florida from her erstwhile secure homeland of New York City. Once she was home I had enough of TV (except for occasional glimpses of Moira (Maura) Tierney on ER). But, I quit watching TV. Not that I was addicted anyway.

And I must insert this. [sorry I don't focus well, does it show?] Another thing I did not do was wait around for a direct object when somebody would start a sentence with “Oh, President Bush wouldn’t do thaaaaattttt.” Actually, I did not wait for the direct object. As soon as they put the word ‘president’ in front of the undesirable foliage, I was deserting ship and looking for another nautical notion. Any politician, like any other human, in fact more like any other human, will like any other human DO ANYTHING. The politican is just quicker on the uptake. E.g. the politician already has a lobbyist or five on the line arranging payment for the action. May as well be paid twice or more. That is what McCain means when he says Obama does NOT have experience.

By the way, let’s clear this one other thing up on the way to the subject of this blog. 9-1-1 was not a type OH back there. I meant it. It was not nine eleven until the first person thought and mentioned that it would be cool if they did the nine one one thing on nine eleven.

Imagine. And imagining is how you get to Second Level Opinion. Imagine Rove, Rumsfeld, Wolfowitz, Cheney, Bush and Nixon. Well, OK, don’t imagine Nixon except in ghost form. Imagine a Nixon mood or ambiance. But while we’re talking about Nixon, did you ever notice that no one ever described Nixon as nondescript?

Anyway, OK, imagine they are all sitting there planning nine eleven. Hey, I hear you grumbling. Quit being so verklempt. Trust me. Right now you could not possibly imagine those guys doing nine eleven to their own country. But by the time you spend a few paragraphs with me imagining it:

• it will sound perfectly reasonable
• you will be complimenting me on my role casting prowess
• you will be doing side imaginations sotto voce imagining Osama Bin Laden sitting at the table with the others luxuriating in having spent a sizable part of his CIA salary on Cuban cigars.
• you will already feel yourself becoming a more regular person in your movements
• you will be babbling gobbledegook like Sarah Palin at a glossolalia service
• you will have forgotten to ask me what ‘verklempt’ means

OK, so they are all sitting there and for the umpteenth time Wolfy brings up the thing about how something as big as nine eleven would be the only thing that would get the USians to start yelling “death to them all, love it or leave it and other tough stuff” while they go mix another drink.

And they take their drink back to WATCH Bill O’Reilly exercise yet more logical fallacies as they put their drink down to applaud O’Reilly. Not applauding him because of an original turn of a logical fallacy no one has plied the air waves with before. Not that astute. No, impressed by Bill’s unflinching courage in hounding whoever the non-GOP fool crazy enough to come on TV and let Bill rip him apart with ever such an abundant passion.

Essentially the viewer is watch the tush swagger. Flying by the seat of his/her pants. That is required behavior for a tush. The swagger. The overconfident swagger that reveals the tush is assured the viewer knows squat about logical fallacies.

With one part time exception. The exception is the TV channel you see advertised on this web site. With that exception, the important issues about the candidates for election for the highest office in the land do not get discussed. They have been running for almost two years and the talk show hosts (tshes for short, you can put the letter ‘u’ in if you want. The candidates and the tushes must be tired but they cannot bring themselves to discuss a real issue.

Here are a few:

• who is for nuclear energy, to what extent, and don’t they know that choosing that energy path reveals their ignorance about the efficacy of others.
• does any candidate have a goody list of new energy things they are willing to put their money and their power into? for example the new wallpaper like photovoltaic strips that are almost as cheap as anything currently in use.
• why do all the politicians (both [yuk] “sides of the aisle” talk about what a great man John McInane is” in obvious revelation they have never read anything biographically truthfully about the man?
• why do the tush imitate the politicians in this regard?
• why does no one really discuss the character of McInane? the hot temper? the really bad voting record blow by blow? the acquiescence of McCain to Bush’s requirement that he be given full torture power or be marked as a McCANE
• did the stupidity of McInane place him 790 out of 795 in his class at Annapolis or was his placement due to his [arghhh] “maverick” irresponsibility? either way, doesn’t either one of those disqualify a candidate in anybody’s mind or AT LEAST PROVOKE a question to be discussed soooooooome where?
• I am not lying when I tell you this. As I began conceiving this post, I was fishing for some way to reach my tush-analyst idols (Keith and Rachel) to see about interest, leg up, discussion on my conception of “O’REALLY, O’REILLY” and I had passed the last McInane item and was thinking about why McCain is hailed as a hero and received, I think six, war medals for destroying 30 million dollars jets (two in training) in missions against the North Vietnamese before being shot down, then captured, then POWed. So, Lieutenant McEjectButtonHappy was POW for five years. I was thinking, five years POW gotta really factor a person up psychologically. I am pretty certain I do not want a POW wingnut for a president any more than I want a poster child for stupidity.

As I was thinking over that last item I was tuning in Rachel on Air America and I’ll be horn swoggled [as they say in Arizona] if Rachel was not discussing the issue with a guest.

So my BIG QUESTION here is this. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THE REST OF YOU NEWS ANALYSTS AND TUSHES THAT YOU CANNOT BRING YOURSELVES TO ASK THE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS? R U VERKLEMPT

Remember how I left you in the middle of the Nits o’the Roundtable discussion and Wolfy was saying the USians would have to be hit with some real trauma if they were to give up their freedoms, allow martial law, permit their children to be poisoned by radioactive Depleted Uranium, give birth to deformed children, allow their economy to be bartered out from under them.

OK, I want to guide you back into your imagination with that last paragraph as you hear Rumsfeld saying “I really think we should refer to it as nine one one because nine one one is a call for help and brings up some serious emotions in the citizenry and most assuredly bend them our way.”

Now, as I close out this post, let me leave you to continue imagining on your own. You can float your little boat down the river of thought and as you pass through the last several years, you can imagine how often you have been bilked, inveigled, shell gamed, fooled, cuckolded, lied to and consider how well off are those who among others things would continue to draw their same high salary forever if they lost their elected post in congress.

You might envisage how much money has been pushed deep down into the pockets of those who sold their birthright to the devil in exchange for those stock dividends and that mortgage — all gone belly up, baby.

Go get another drink. Hell, get a truckload. Whatever you need to get it out of your system, bucko. Then come on back. Because we have some more imagining to do. Let’s go with a starter list of issues that we want President Obama to go to work on. Let’s imagine ways we can keep his nose to the grindstone to get them done. Let’s imagine ourselves into a recovery. Let’s imagine ourselves being healthy, wealthy, and wise citizens who will never be fooled again into murdering and torturing thousands of innocent people and burning, mutilating and deforming thousands of innocent children.

And then let’s sit down on the hillside by my house and look out over a Pacific Ocean that contains the water we run our cars on with no need for gasoline.

And let’s imagine what needs to be done and what has to be done. Let’s indict those responsible for trickle down morality from whoever is guilty of that radioactive baby dying from leukemia to those who are guilty of making those people dive out skyscraper windows to avoid burning to death.

And when the heads of the guilty are lacquered post top knobs lining Pennsylvania Avenue, let’s imagine how guilty we all are for letting it happen. Let’s use that guilt to challenge ourselves into getting up and getting to work because Utopia is still a ways down the road.

And that is our destination, nation.

jack luna MOTH

]]> http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/talk-walk-swagger/feed/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/giving-birth-oreally-oreilly-program/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/giving-birth-oreally-oreilly-program/#comments Tue, 14 Oct 2008 20:05:20 +0000 admin http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/?p=33 O’Really O’Reilly

O’Really Reactor TO O’Reilly Male-Factor
mp3 audio of this post by the author

With approximately three weeks before the Nov. 4, 2008 elections the vociferous polls say Obama is about ten points ahead of McInane. Maybe. Maybe not. Who is left except for the same one who does not know the obese bat in the McInane asylum rally who said she was worried Obama was an arab, WHO was a shill, betcha dollar to a couple dozen doughnuts.

That one would not know the malefactoring media muck maker is kneading the dough of the poll bisquits to make them rise right on time. And then deflate ever so much for the ahhhhhh reaction.

So, assume the McInane team is not worried. The F Factor will offset the points Obama leads by easily.

F factor? F for fraudulent election handling somewhat as Greg Palast outlined in his depiction of the 2008 fraud work on hearthevoices.com. Perhaps even Greg forgot to remember how exonerating is the practice of the crook calling everyone else a crook. But, ooooooohhhhh doesn’t that ooze over into media muck making magic.

So here is the idea that I have been rolling around a week or more and enough to think it is worth pitching to some TV network that is really “the place for [honest news on] politics.” MSNBC is about the only one that fits the bill and that is mainly at night. And OK, to be honest, I am hooked on Rachel Maddow and Keith Olbermann.

Wellllllllllllll, it ain’tttttttttttt Fox News. That’s for sure.

And if MSNBC and Rachel won’t go for it, dear bleader, and Keith Olberman declines, I will just continue to do it here.

But frankly, I think this could drive the MSNBC ratings through the roof, drive Fox out of business, overwhelm the F factor sufficiently to allow us all to know that in three weeks that cool, calm, collected mulatto marvel will be assured the tiller of the ship of state.

I want all the blog readers, to get into this long enough to get hooked on debunking muck raking, dishonest journalism.

So this first episode goes as follows and if you get the non-pic/non-audio version, check back later tonight when it will have both.

O’Reilly is reading aloud his magnum dopus, The O’Reilly Factor.

O’Really is reading his own annotations of the magnum dopus, which annotation he will publish as the O’Really Factor.

O’Reilly: [quoting from a letter] … ‘A thoughtful, deliberative person does not stand a chance with you.’ … one letter selected at random. They come in bushels everyday. … Something about me and my nightly program … drives some people up the wall.”

O’Really: Gee, O’Reilly. While still in the first paragraph of the intro of your book you are manipulating cheap rhetoric tricks and logical fallacies. A three banger in the first paragraph:

1. twisting the reference
a. “a thoughtful deliberate person does not stand a chance with you”
becomes
b. O’Reilly suggests his show “drives people up the wall” especially thoughtful deliberate people
2. turns a soft criticism into ‘look how great I am’ because I can handle “thoughtful deliberate people.”
3. O’Reilly says “I’m used to it. I didn’t even have to have the top-rated cable news program to get the same response from my first-grade teacher. … I was controversial in the first grade. I come by it honestly”

O’Reilly: The first grade Think and Do book. “I have always had a thing about lies, lying, and liars — and this book was pure propaganda. The illustration of kids smiling while doing math problems was a major lie. I knew that at six years old.”

O’Really: My dear O’Reilly. You construed the Think and Do book was a major lie because the cover illustration showed kids smiling while doing math.
a. It would be a lie to you because in the cultural milieu of your youth, perhaps no one could imagine kids smiling while doing math.
b. It would be perfectly natural for kids to be smiling while doing math if their culture encouraged a desire, a joy, and a responsibility to do homework. Here are some cultures I am familiar with and most I have lived in wherein the children might want to do homework and might be smiling while doing it.

• Jewish families in the US.
• Minnesota families in the US and other areas in the US of high quality education.
• European families, especially German, Scandinavian, and in the low countries (Netherlands etc.).
• But, perhaps most importantly would be Muslim cultures, particularly in Iran. And do not forget, the Hindu-Arab Decimal Numeral system was a legacy to European cultures by the Arab cultures.

c. So, dear O’Reilly, the outstanding sentence in the first page of your introduction says

• you dislike lies and then ignorantly, you directly accuse the writers and publishers of your first grade math book of lying by illustrating children smiling while doing math
• Indirectly, you accuse your first grade teacher of being a liar because she tried to teach you math.
• But your greatest crime against humanity on your first page is
  • you suggest that it is good for citizens of the US to hate math and
  • define liars as those who try to teach US children math

d. It seems fitting to think of the Think and Do cover’s children as smiling at the village idiot who will become a first class liar but certainly would never have the love of truth required to become a mathmatician, any kind of physical scientist, architect, engineer, medical researcher or practicioner and on and on and on.

Essentially, you are just one of those name callers who would refer to a studious child as a nerd.

Reference:
Hindu-Arab Decimal Numeral System

– be well,
jack luna MOTH

]]> http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/giving-birth-oreally-oreilly-program/feed/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/character-assassinations-characters/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/character-assassinations-characters/#comments Fri, 10 Oct 2008 23:20:14 +0000 admin http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/?p=27 Approximate to the time of this post, I’m am going to tell you three stories about character. One of the characters in this character analysis is me. Another of the characters is my step son. The third of the characters is running for president of the US.

As it happens, all three of these stories are military stories.

These stories are not presented here to laud one character or denigrate another.

I present these three stories in compliance with the theme of this web site. Let me repeat the theme of this web site. After all, you could have fallen in here by accident from a YouTube video of Britney Spears trying to convince you of her artistic talent.

The theme of this web site is to help enable us to analyze how we form opinions, the character building value of that enablement, and the presentation of information that can help the reader to be a wiser, more skillful opinion maker and thus develop a more valuable character on the way to being all that you can be.

I am interested in your opinion. I am also interested in whether our work here is of any value to you, whether you are still a First Level Opinion maker or have climbed to the second level.

As I said the purpose is NOT to denigrate anyone. I do have to tell you, though, that, if after you have ploughed through the three posts, you then go to the polls and vote for John Mccain, I must consider that result in my assessment of this site and realize that to some degree I have failed my purpose.

Life is a full time job. A worthwhile life is a full time job with high overtime pay. That overtime pay may put you in the poor house. And only you may see yourself as wealthy beyond your greatest dreams. That is a chance I hope you will take.

So, I hope you will spend some of your valuable life’s time on these three posts:

• “There, but for the Grace of Chance go I”
• “Still Like Muffled Drums are Beating”
• “CAN DO”

Be all that you can be.

jack luna MOTH

]]> http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/character-assassinations-characters/feed/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/military-proved-son-great-man/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/military-proved-son-great-man/#comments Fri, 10 Oct 2008 23:08:53 +0000 admin http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/?p=30 “I am going to join the army. I am going to be a Ranger.”

I was nonplussed. Then I laughed. I had figured it out. Jacob was doing another play. Maybe a new version of HAIR. He was doing the role John Savage did in the movie. A far stretch from reality.

Jacob could not be a soldier. Maybe an infrequent pining for the glory of uniform until his brain caught up with his heart. But aside from playing a role, this kid was raised in the virtual arms of the Buddha. This sometime victim of his own high velocity mind. The thought of him, our wondering wunderkind hurting someone, even after having donned the shiniest uniform ever with glittering high polished brass, was terrible but really laughable joke.

This kid, a favorite of the local folks who had seen the “Got Your Back” by the Smiley Crew as the hero appeared to help some student figure out a math homework problem, fix some elderly person’s flat tire, unstop a sink, save a marriage, and then veer into the sunset saying, “got your back.”

Or coming in with a load of pipe and wire and gizmos and answering our questioning eyes with “Yep, I have it. I can make a perpetual motion machine.”

“I am going to join the army. I am going to be a Ranger.”

My blood ran cold. My sang-froid froze. My laugh died in my throat.

“Well, Jacob. How does that work exactly?

“Well, when I finish basic, the army, the US Army will give me five thousand buck. I will use that to pay off my debts. Then after Basic Training, the army will send me to Ranger training. I will have the esteem of being one of the elite. They will send me to translator school. When I finish with the army, I will go to university, all expenses paid, and get my degree.”

My mind flashed to TV ads, paid for by the taxpayer, of the brightly dressed military used car salesman goons roaming parking lots looking for kids to inveigle into the military. And my frozen blood began to boil. Our son had been duped by the military sideshow carnies.

“Didn’t anything I have said to you about the reality of the US foreign relations nightmare ad infinitum get through to you? Hasn’t your mother’s example of peaceful equanimity impressed you? Aren’t you the guy who was reciting the words of Mahatma Ghandi last month? Has someone slipped you a mickey? Do you have a fever? Do you remember anything about the stillness of Paramahansa Yogananda?

“Do you think you can kill a Muslim mother and her children, Siddhartha? Do you? Do you really?

Jacob was quick. His memory was good. “Oh, I won’t have to kill anyone. I just have to learn the language. I won’t be in harm’s way. And I have a lot of debt. And I want to know I can get through university and make something of myself.”

“Mom, may I borrow five thousand dollars until the end of Basic?”

And suddenly, he was gone. If he reappeared, how would he be? Who would he be? When would that be? How many times would those questions recur?

Would he come back with depleted uranium poisoning? Would his someday wife give birth to a deformed child? Would he die slowly of some popular cancer like leukemia? Would he return totally wacko? Was he destined to make his misfortune in a war that should not be? Killing people who should not be killed?

He went off to the military with the apparent insouciance about his mortality, his existence, as only a wide eyed, inexperienced teenager could go.

We grieved! We were not happy like the political candidates who are now shoving their kids into a dead end war just to show that they, the politicans, are patriotic. Whatever happened to the brave non-soldiers of the Vietnam era who said “hell, no, we won’t go?” Where are the souls of the brave wild eyed kids who DID go? And returned in boxes decorated with flags to hide the cheapness of the fifty-dollar-hammer like caskets? Would our boy come back resembling my friend, Don, who would never harm a flag, but who, when he was fully conditioned just wanted to over kill something, anything.

Several weeks passed. We got a phone call. It was Jacob.

He said he could not take it anymore. It was contrary to all he had been taught growing up. Something horrible happened there on which everyone was focused. It was unrelated to him but perhaps he was using that distraction to get out of there. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to go underground until his time expired and he was no longer under that command. Then he had to request a discharge. And eventually he was back home with us.

Later he explained the moment of training he could not get past.

“They demonstrated how to kill a mother and child and plant a gun on them so they would appear to have attacked us. I realized that if the situation required a demonstration and an exercise at that level of severity, I would never be able to do that. I was horrified.”

I am grateful he never had to face the decision to do that. He never had to breathe the DU dust that is everywhere in Iraq. He never had to fight a war with sufficient armament. He never had to depend on the lying politicians who refused to ensure the medical care of returning soldiers. The stupid, “maverick”, blood gorged (poli)ticks who almost without exception showed themselves to be gregarious herd members and refused to be real mavericks and stand up against an illegal war, illegally launched without authority by a greedy scion of a family whose list of evil doings goes back to injustices done against holocaust victims.

Jacob is our war hero! He is a real hero, not a strutting banty rooster who calls himself hero to be consistent. The strutting banty rooster’s only consistency is lies.

Jacob does not have the GI Bill for school. He is not a Ranger. But he is doing as Joseph Campbell recommended. He is “following his bliss.” And in his own way, he has still “got your back.”

by jack luna MOTH

]]> http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/military-proved-son-great-man/feed/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/justice-deaf/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/justice-deaf/#comments Fri, 10 Oct 2008 23:00:57 +0000 admin http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/?p=31 The width of the street was little more than three car widths from curb to curb. Each curb had a parking lane. That left one for traffic. It was a cold Indianapolis winter day. The Beatles’s first song still lay in the future. I would not listen to a Beatles song enough to know the title until two or three years after that future arrived.

Right now I was terrified. A man had entered the traffic lane and it seemed I was hurtling toward becoming the cause of his death due to vehicular manslaughter. He didn’t look around. He seemed totally unconcerned about his impending death that was still a couple seconds away and could be avoided if he acted quickly.


I braked and braked and braked as he nonchalantly opened the door of a huge 57 Playmouth station wagon, climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the car door.

As I passed his car, I rolled the window down and shouted “watch for cars.” Wouldn’t you?

OK, maybe YOU would be very quiet and thank the precious Lord that you had not run over him. Even at the speed you had slowed to before what would have been impact, say ten mph, you could have killed him.

OK, YOU might have been very quiet and thanked the Lord he was a 40 year old, not dangerous looking man.

If YOUR gratitude had reached that point and stopped you would have missed the greater probability.

At this point we need to have a name for the man in the giant Plymouth with the ridiculous, huge tail fins. I was thinking Perp but I settle on Nut Job. Let’s name his car Fins.

Nut Job somehow, somewhere wheeled Fins around and suddenly was behind me. I went faster realizing now that I had a crazy man behind me. He went faster. I went faster. He went faster. Eventually I decided I would not be able to lose him and may as well face him and try to figure out his problem and reason with him.

I parked around the corner from residence. I stepped out of my car and turned toward him. He had parked behind me. I was looking down the barrel of a real pistol for the first time. A Nut Job was yelling at me a pistol for the first time. He seemed to go on yelling forever. “You stupid punk. You are all stupid punks. You think you can just do whatever you want to. Well, I am going to teach you a lesson. You don’t know who I am, do you? Well, punk, I am a cop.”

For the first time I spoke. “Thank God. I thought you were a crazy person chasing me down, waving that gun threateningly, and raging.”

I was booked and charged with three simple, ridiculously twisted charges. I was guilty of nothing. I got a lawyer. The Indianapolis version of justice wanted to put me in prison for 18 months and charge me an $1,800 fine. THAT’S RIGHT. FOR NOTHING. My lawyer said to tell the judge I was going into the military and prison would invalidate that “opportunity.” The judge said the court would verify and if I weren’t in military within a month, I would go to jail.

Even at the tender age of 18, I knew I did not want any part of the military. But it seemed a better fate than prison. I wore glasses. That precluded my joining the Army Paratroopers and completing my military service in 18 months. I didn’t want to crawl in the mud forever. I joined the Navy.

In Boot Camp I was a platoon leader because I had R.O.T.C. in high school. In placement the Navy offered to send me to any university in exchange for an extra two years Naval duty. I declined.

The Navy sent me to six months of electronics, telegraph, teletype, communications training. I learned everything about electricity, electronics, transmitter, receivers, power supplies, morse code. Annnnnnndddd TYPING.

The Navy’s misplaced elitism was ludicrous.The enlisted ranks of the Navy was no place for a real maverick who was not at all happy about having been shanghaied.

BUT, the Navy had mastered the art of technical training to the degree they made the fulfillment of their motto possible. CAN DO. Navy schools taught you what you needed to know without the philosophy behind it. Not WHY TO. But, HOW TO. And it stuck. And it is still sticking. Except that I added the philosophy and the WHY TO because that was for me the icing on the cake. But when I reached Norfolk, Virginia after my training, I knew my job. I knew I could deliver. And somehow the Navy testing had placed me in the most fitting job for me in the Navy that did not require a university degree. The Navy had discovered what I could learn to do that could help me repeat the Navy motto with assured confidence.

I CAN DO. It resonated. My father had never told me what I could not do. He told me what I did not have permission to do. As in “no, you may not.” But I never heard him tell me I was incapable of doing anything.

When I left my first Navy Radioman billet, our Commander gave me a very personal letter of reference. “He is the best morale builder I have had. He is technically competent. He is tenacious. He is an imaginative problem solver.”

I had roughly two years of service remaining in the Navy. I maneuvered eventually a job in the flag admiral’s staff. I was on a boat. But it was a tender tied to the dock. I was tied to the tender. And the admiral’s staff.

I had returned to the religion of my youth. I was a baptist. The church I went to supported a theology school. I had found a new goal. I would be a linguistic missionary.

For the last two years of my four year agreement with the Navy, when I went to work I was a sailor. I was a professional US Navy sparky. I had the sparky insignia on my arm. The electrical lightning bolts. They always made me think about Ben Franklin.

Our communications team handled Naval communications for the recovery from the water for the Project Mercury and Project Gemini. We received Navy citations for our work on both projects. Astrologically, my sun sign is Gemini. My ascendant is Gemini. Gemini is ruled by the planet Mercury. The symbolism, Mercury, represents communication, learning, speed. While I am not crazy about the pseudo science of Astrology, I cannot deny I am exactly what my astrological chart says: a dualistic, duplex, communicator.

I took the Navy experience to the bank. I studied computer science at UCLA. My first six years in computers I worked for the integrating contractor of the Air Force Satellite Control Network. We made those satellite pictures of cold war Russian activities possible. CAN DO.

I spent almost twenty years living around the world learning languages and cultures and oh, yeah, making airline and travel software function for 25 of the world’s greatest airlines.

As a corporate technical educator I designed, implemented, and managed the world’s best corporate education system. Its principles were based somewhat on the Navy’s system. The erstwhile training manager would often say to me “Jack, I don’t think we have been told we can do that.” I would reply “Horst, in the Navy we had a motto. “CAN DO.” The motto was not “CAN NOT DO.”

I sailed out of the Navy with technical knowledge, a track record of overcoming obstacles on the way to success, and two years education off base in theology and linguistics.

I never intended joining the military. But having been coerced by necessity, I made walking the plank a springboard to success, not a death walk to Davy Jones’s Locker. To some extent the Navy did indeed make me. But just as truly, I made the Navy.

John McCain says he is a maverick, a rebel. But John McCain has never had to work a day in his life. He is a diabolical parasite. I have given far more than I have taken. Perhaps, in today’s world, I would be considered stupid and John McCain smart. People such as I will be required in tomorrow’s world, on the road to a true and realistic Utopia, not a phony freedom of lies and trickery, . And more than ever people like John McCain will be deprecated, and despised.

My Navy motto says “CAN DO” not “CAN DO DO.”

by jack luna MOTH

]]> http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/justice-deaf/feed/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/grace-chance-2/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/grace-chance-2/#comments Fri, 10 Oct 2008 22:49:51 +0000 admin http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/?p=28 This story is not intended to be an exhaustive study of John McCain. It is not intended to be a denigration. It IS intended to outline some quotes and events within the space (and a bit more) normally allotted to an online blog post.

These references DO intend to provoke a question about a candidate for president who for whatever reason does not discuss the issues concerning the general public but has turned his campaign into an attempt to marshal a force to garner votes for McCain from the lunatic fringe, the ignorant, the illiterate, the hateful, the racist, the mean, and the stupid.

John Mccain source info:
(http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/mccain.htm)
Copyright 1999 Robert Timberg
http://www.charlierose.com/guests/robert-timberg

Mother (when Mccain was twelve)
“From that time on, he was a pain in the neck.”

Rives Richey, one of his closest friends in high school, remembered McCain as rambunctious and combative, at times “just repelling,” the type of kid who had a few good pals within a student body that either actively disliked him or gave him a wide berth. “He was considered kind of a punk,” said Richey.

McCain, who enrolled as a sophomore [in high school], was named Worst Rat after his first year. He wore the title as a badge of honor, which in some ways it was. One of his few friends, Malcolm Matheson, remembered him fondly as “a hard rock kind of guy, a tough, mean little fucker.”

Said another [high school] schoolmate, “He prided himself on being a tough guy. He was seemingly ready to fight at the drop of a hat. He was easily provoked, ready to be provoked.”

Rives Richey: (At the juvinile court hearing for verbally assaulting women in public), “All we did say was do you want to get picked up. The only person that said anything was John, who [on refusal of their offer] told them to shove it up their ass.”

Both girls mistakenly identified Richey as the boy who had used the profanity … Richey, aghast, waited for McCain to speak up and clear his name. Soon he was fuming at his friend’s silence. It was a standoff. McCain wouldn’t confess, Richey wouldn’t squeal. The judge suspended Richey’s license for six months, let McCain and the other boy off with a warning.

During the time of graduation, Richey heard Mccain was going to Annapolis.
“You know, frankly, honest to goodness, if they’d have rated everybody in the class for likely to succeed, I guarantee you he’d of been in the bottom ten, without any question.”

Much the same might have been said about Jack McCain in his youth. At Annapolis he stood 423 out of 441 in the Class of 1931, eighteenth from the bottom, worse than his father, better than his son.

John Mccain source info:
(http://www.vietnamveteransagainstjohnmccain.com/cin_unfit_2.htm)

At the Academy, aside being known as a “rowdy, raunchy, underachiever” who resented authority, Cadet McCain became infamous as a leader among his fellow midshipmen for organizing “off-Yard activities” and hard drinking parties. Robert Timberg wrote in his book, The Nightingale’s Song, that “being on liberty with John McCain was like being in a train wreck.”

McCain’s grades were “marginal.” He drew so many demerits for breaking curfew and other discipline issues that he graduated fifth from the bottom of the class of 1958. Despite his low “class standing,” and no doubt because of the influence of his family of famous Admirals, McCain was leap-frogged ahead of more qualified applicants and granted a coveted slot to be trained as a navy pilot.

Good Party Animal - Bad Pilot:

McCain Lost Five Military Aircraft

McCain, the “below par” pilot, eventually lost 5 military aircraft, the first during a training flight in 1958 when he plunged into Corpus Christi Bay while trying to land. The Navy ignored the crash and graduated McCain in 1960.

While deployed in the Mediterranean, the hard partying McCain lost a second aircraft. Timberg described the crash: “Flying too low over the Iberian Peninsula, he took out some power lines which led to a spate of newspaper stories in which he was predictably identified as the son of an admiral.”

Unscathed, McCain returned to Pensacola Station where he was promoted to flight instructor for Naval Air Station Meridian in Mississippi. The airfield at Meridian, McCain Field, was named in honor of McCain’s grandfather.

Flight instructor McCain lost a third aircraft while flying a Navy trainer solo to Philadelphia for an Army-Navy football game. Timberg wrote that McCain radioed, “I’ve got a flameout” before ejecting at one thousand feet. McCain parachuted onto a beach moments before his plane slammed into a clump of trees.

The Navy dismissed the crash as “unavoidable” and assigned McCain to the aircraft carrier USS Forrestal in December 1966, which was patrolling the Mediterranean Sea and Atlantic Ocean. In Spring 1967, the Forrestal was assigned to join the Operation Rolling Thunder bombing campaign against North Vietnam.

McCain lost his fourth plane on board the Forrestal on July 29, 1967 when a rocket inadvertently slammed into his bomb laden jet. McCain escaped, but the explosions that followed killed 134 sailors. McCain was transferred from the badly damaged Forrestal to the USS Oriskany. Shortly afterwards, on Oct. 26, 1967, he was shot down and captured by the Vietnamese.

Timberg described McCain’s advancement: “in the fall of 1974, McCain was transferred to Jacksonville as the executive officer of Replacement Air Group 174, the long-sought flying billet at last a reality. A few months later, he assumed command of the RAG, which trained pilots and crews for carrier deployments. The assignment was controversial, some calling it favoritism, a sop to the famous son of a famous father and grandfather, since he had not first commanded a squadron, the usual career path.”

While Executive Officer and later as Squadron Commander McCain used his authority to arrange frequent flights that allowed him to carouse with subordinates and “engage in extra-marital affairs.”

This was a clear violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice rules against adultery and fraternization with subordinates. But, as with all his other past behaviors, McCain was never penalized; instead he always got away with his transgressions.

Timberg wrote, “Off duty, usually on routine cross-country flights to Yuma and El Centro, John started carousing and running around with women. To make matters worse, some of the women with whom he was linked by rumor were subordinates . . . At the time the rumors were so widespread that, true or not, they became part of McCain’s persona, impossible not to take note of.”

In early 1977, Admiral Jim Holloway, Chief of Naval Operations promoted McCain to captain and transferred him from his command position “to Washington as the number-two man in the Navy’s Senate liaison office. McCain was promptly given total control of the office. It wasn’t long before the “fun loving and irreverent” McCain had turned the liaison office into a “late-afternoon gathering spot where senators and staffers, usually from the Armed Services and Foreign Relations committees, would drop in for a drink and the chance to unwind.”

Timberg described McCain’s advancement: “in the fall of 1974, McCain was transferred to Jacksonville as the executive officer of Replacement Air Group 174, the long-sought flying billet at last a reality. A few months later, he assumed command of the RAG, which trained pilots and crews for carrier deployments. The assignment was controversial, some calling it favoritism, a sop to the famous son of a famous father and grandfather, since he had not first commanded a squadron, the usual career path.”

While Executive Officer and later as Squadron Commander McCain used his authority to arrange frequent flights that allowed him to carouse with subordinates and “engage in extra-marital affairs.”

This was a clear violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice rules against adultery and fraternization with subordinates. But, as with all his other past behaviors, McCain was never penalized; instead he always got away with his transgressions.

Timberg wrote, “Off duty, usually on routine cross-country flights to Yuma and El Centro, John started carousing and running around with women. To make matters worse, some of the women with whom he was linked by rumor were subordinates . . . At the time the rumors were so widespread that, true or not, they became part of McCain’s persona, impossible not to take note of.”

In early 1977, Admiral Jim Holloway, Chief of Naval Operations promoted McCain to captain and transferred him from his command position “to Washington as the number-two man in the Navy’s Senate liaison office. McCain was promptly given total control of the office. It wasn’t long before the “fun loving and irreverent” McCain had turned the liaison office into a “late-afternoon gathering spot where senators and staffers, usually from the Armed Services and Foreign Relations committees, would drop in for a drink and the chance to unwind.”

John Mccain source info:
http://www.answers.com/topic/john-mccain

… he did break down and sign a confession that he was a “black criminal” and an “air pirate.” The shame of the confession led McCain to contemplate suicide at the time, and stayed with him years after the fact. “The only thing I can say is that the code says you will resist to the best of your ability,” he told Pierce in 1998. “But I failed myself. I failed my fellow prisoners. I failed my family, and I failed my country. Is there anybody else?”

… returned home with a Silver Star, Bronze Star, Legion of Merit, Purple Heart, and the Distinguished Flying Cross.

McCain explained to Pierce, “One of the reasons I’ve been reluctant to judge other people is that I’ve had so many failures of my own. I failed when I was in prison. I failed in my [first] marriage. I think that if there are any benefits from my failure, it’s to realize that other people fail, too.”

—

In 1983, McCain was elected to lead the incoming group of Republican representatives.[62] Also that year, he opposed creation of a federal Martin Luther King, Jr. Day

McCain became enmeshed in a scandal … one of five United States Senators comprising the so-called “Keating Five”.[90] … McCain had received $112,000 in lawful[91] political contributions from Charles Keating Jr. and his associates at Lincoln Savings and Loan Association … In the end, McCain was cleared by the Senate Ethics Committee of acting improperly or violating any law or Senate rule, but was mildly rebuked for exercising “poor judgment”.

In 1997, McCain became chairman of the powerful Senate Commerce Committee; he was criticized for accepting funds from corporations and businesses under the committee’s purview, but in response said the small contributions he received were not part of the big-money nature of the campaign finance problem.

In August 1999, McCain’s memoir Faith of My Fathers, co-authored with Mark Salter, was published …

According to one reviewer, it describes “the kind of challenges that most of us can barely imagine. It’s a fascinating history of a remarkable military family.” [ed. note - PSHAW]

— end of report —

]]> http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/grace-chance-2/feed/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/glossolalia-fun-sense-sarah-palin/ http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/glossolalia-fun-sense-sarah-palin/#comments Sun, 28 Sep 2008 06:40:29 +0000 admin http://ourslo.com/ourSLO/?p=24 Audio of this article

The output of Glossolalia (speaking in tongues) depends on the content of the machine generating the glossolalia.

The content of the machine generating the glossolalia will depend on all the input ever experienced by the individual including inculcated material and internal predispositional guides and the psychological protocols one has developed within to accomplish a predisposed goal and remain capable of operating in the world one has created, the world as one perceives it, the world one projects to impress on those in their environment, and the real world.

One operates accordingly.

Some protocol generators of glossolalia have a great cover up to offer their adherents. The glossolalia needs no, indeed proscribes, known language. So, every babble is protected by a built in nondisclosure. Yes, you just have to feel it, which means moving it from the forum of thought, to the agora of feeling, and ascribing the marvelous source, not to the content mentioned above, but to the user’s “ability” to channel god as convincingly as their worshipful peers.

Succinctly, if Sarah Palin and I were speaking in tongues standing side by side, our utterance would be so different, in so, so, so many ways. She would be the one with the single minded ferocity of a white tornado.

The destruction of the tower of Babel was like fire: good and bad.

Step through that for now and listen to the bard saying in As You Like It “Sweet are the uses of adversity which like a toad, ugly and venomous, wears a precious jewel in its head.”

When I am walking on the mountain behind the house here, I write. That is, I talk and record into my Sansa Clip MP3 player. Sometimes an article, sometimes a story, sometimes I glossolaliate - in English or Spanish, sometime in Danish or an effort to recover it, sometimes in my own version of German, not high German, not low German, more like Bavarian under the influence. It might sound to you more like Yiddish with a strange inflection.

My previous mate, Judith, and I would sometimes talk, in a game — she in her Yiddish that was becoming less accessible to her through disuse and I in my German that was becoming less accessible to me through disuse. Amazingly, we understood one another pretty well. In fact better than we sometimes did in English. For obvious reasons if you stop to think about it.

The babble on the mountain has various uses and purposes. It is free association. And since it is free, I try to use it up. One, to just let the mouth, brain, and heart go free for a while. It does them good. Two, brainstorming. Every now and then, well frequently, stuff pops out I had no idea was in there. Three, my mountain walking partner, dot.dog, likes it. We share a distinct preference for the sound of Danish. Thus, I may eventually become fluent in Danish again.

Since the Sansa Clip is recording, I am always happy when I discover that I have said something that pleased me to have said. No, dot.dog is not always pleased simultaneously. But if he is sufficiently pleased enough to give me one of those pleasant extended grumbles as only he, I assume, can, I cannot but help to accept that as a favorable edit when I play the recording back later looking for the good stuff.

Feel free to try all this yourself. Let me know how it works for you. You can even take dot.dog along with you if you like. Hecky darn, you can even use my mountain if you want to. But just be aware that my neighbor, Do, and friends have put a Trol Toll bucket at the little bridge over the gully, and he would appreciate your dropping a couple coins in the bucket, or a good luck charm or something.

Now, next time I get on this track I am going to share with you the technique I use if I stay in my Il Grotto work station instead of trekking up the hill. It is called Mind Mapping. You can even get some open source software to use if you want to. I usually just use a tablet and then later capture the tablet on the webcam.

Back to the mountain mapping, hazards do exist.

No, we have not seen a mountain lion, not even a lynx around here in a couple years. But imagine you have been up the hill a bit. You sit down a while to rest. You have already babbled. So you get out your beloved Hohner XB-40 Extreme Bending Harmonica and play dot.dog a little meander as you study the stars and ruminate. By and by, you let the stars go their own way. You rise and start the trek home. Just you and the night and dot.dog, the portion of the latest chapter in the latest volume of your autobiography, and a new melody, maybe a new song. You are pleased.

You come down the trail and decide to descend from the trail down to your street through a huge vacant lot, hiking light probing the steep possibility of a stumble. Then, suddenly, from high above, from a window way up there, someone is bellowing that you had better quit authorizing your pup to poop out there and why don’t people clean up. And as you listen to the rant, you observe the furrowed brow of dot.dog as if he is saying, “now hold on, I pooped half hour ago and several hundred feet higher.”

You try to explain that to the ranter. He disappears. You ask, well don’t you want to hear my side. You guess not and having reached the street you turn toward home just as a white tornado comes whirling out the door of the house containing the aforementioned window. The tornado grabs you by the shirt, breaking the lanyard of the mp3 player and the mp3 player goes sailing across the asphalt as the white tornado beats you half to death. You are on your back. The tornado is astraddle you with the obvious intention of beating you the other half to death. Well, sufficiently that it crosses what is left of your mind that death may be very, very imminent.

So before you go off thinking about how you are going to get constructive, creative, all mapped out, remember this. It is a jungle out there, Jane. Think it over. You can always choose to forget the mountain and just go on down to your local Diassembly of God Church. Who knows, you and Sarah may glossolaliate together. You with your creative effort. Her with her white tornado.

jack luna MOTH

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