joined on 11/03/04
last updated 08/02/09
about me
...perverse and often baffling
Project CAMELTOE is a study whose objective is to determine the feasibility of developing a general social systems model which would make it possible to predict and influence politically significant aspects of social change. Somewhat more specifically, its objectives are:
First, to devise procedures for assessing the potential for internal war within national societies;
Second, to identify with increased degrees of confidence those actions which a government might take to relieve conditions which are assessed as giving rise to a potential for internal war; and
Finally, to assess the feasibility of prescribing the characteristics of a system for obtaining and using the essential information needed for doing the above two things.
The women in Poughkepsie take their clothes off when their tipsy and the girls in Ypsilanti don't wear any panties.
Some people have everything and other people don't but everything don't mean a thing if ain't the thing you want.
— Hypocrite lecteur, — mon semblable, — mon frère!
I am my own Yoko Ono.
Whenever I think of the past, it brings up so many memories.
O God Thy sea is so great and my boat is so small...
The top likeness of Tupai Cupa was drawn from life in 1826 during a visit he made to Liverpool England. The lower image is his own drawing of his facial tattoo that he used as a "signature."
How you get so rude and
reckless?
Don't you be so crude and
feckless.
You've been drinking brew for
breakfast.
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Are these words that go together well?

I drape the serape over her shoulders and slid the tab to full heat, full blower. I replaced the heater core a month back. This one is bigger and better. I always drive with the top down. If it is raining out, I usually don't go. Or I take a cab. Or I walk.
...but it's not raining as me and Zsa leave her sister's hot house in Sausalito.
"Gros Michel is on to me."
I ease the "Saydayvay", a '69 Cadillac Coupe De Ville convertible, a patina-ed and powdery blue to a stately pace on the . Sometimes this car matches the sky on a pretty day. I beefed up the suspension and kept her high. I shortened the axles and where a wider print on the tire but all the rubber stays under the car. I've got anti-sway bars and gas shocks and the body is balanced so there is no sling to the plating in the driver's door and the window is bullet-proof and doesn't roll down, ever... More about that later.
Saydayvay has a new 472 cubic inch new block bored out to a fitted crankshaft with a 4.304 in (109.3 mm) stroke, increasing total displacement on the engine to 500 cu in (8.2 L). She is rated at 400 hp (298 kW), SAE gross, and 550 lb·ft (746 N·m) of torque. I dropped the compression from 10:1 to 8.5:1, the lowered compression ratio dropped the 500's gross output from 400 brake horsepower (300 kW) to 365 brake horsepower (272 kW), or 235 horsepower (175 kW) but makes her run silent, spooky and smooth.
"Glove box."
Zsa depresses the chrome button and the glove box opens elegantly, an un-opened pack of American Spirits brand lays out, next to a tiny, useless mirror. I press the cigarette lighter in and Zsa opens the the cellophane and cardboard and *pop* an orange element of heat is held to Zsa's face. She lights her cigarette. Zbig taps the radio frame. A.M. P.M. F.M. too. It churns out the boogaloo. Set on random, the sound system scrolls up a silly little love song.
Zsa inhales deeply. Women who smoke will have sex. Maybe not with you but they will have sex. Hopefully with you. It is a health thing.
It will be better for me to sleep the whole night through without thinking of Zsa but it is too late, way too late. I press a button on my fob and the gate opens, fast. I jacked this machine and made the fence gate to the lot run fast like a bunny.
Tue, December 1, 2009 - 8:38 PM
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She shivers in the dark but I am not wearing much more than her. I pull her to me and she cuddles into my warmth. We sit in the dark, in silence, on the patio for a solid three minutes.
"What is the nature of your relationship with my sister and you?"
I shrugged.
"You know Gros Michel is married."
"Yeah, but not to her."
"So that makes it okay?"
"Yeah."
We looked at the City lights across the Bay. The mooks were still rambling around the house, acting like tough guys with guns. They are tough guys with guns.
"Do you have a cigarette?"
"No, but I got a pack in my car. Let's go."
I hop over the rail to the deck and predict the jump down through the dark. five feet, maybe six.
I jump and roll as I hit the ground. Bad prediction. It was at least ten feet but I got up and put a good face on it.
"Come on, I'll catch you."
Zsa's legs swing over the rail and she leaps at me through the dark. My re-action is a large "ough!" and Zsa puts her forefinger to her pursed lips. We scramble up the side of the house. Zsa winces. Her ankel is fucked up but she can move with my arm around her. We climb the hillside just in time to hear the sound of the mooks engines roar and rev and pull out.
Zsa and I hobble the road a block away to my car. Only the passenger door opens so I climb in first. I grab the Mexican blanket that covers the back seat and and drape it over her shoulders.
"Where to?"
"I don't know."
"My place."
The engine on the Caddie purrs as as we leave the housing development and hit the highway. Soon we are on the bridge and another highway and in downtown Oakland.
"Perghaps the end of the world will not be apocalyptic."
Mon, November 30, 2009 - 1:22 PM
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I had negotiated the morning and made my way to Sausalito and made it to Delia's place by two in the afternoon. She kisses me and introduces me to her little sister, her co-owner of the bra shop, her cousin the firefighter and a few other palefaces she has mentioned in her ramblings and stories of her youth; an ex-boyfriend, an old girlfriend, the daughter of the manager of her daddy's estate up in a fresh new wine country.
I am looking my best; spectator shoes and kakhis, an orange Hawaiian shirt and a lover's smile, white teeth and bright eyes and a hollow bodied electric with a dark red inish and and brand new strings. Mr. Gibson Jr.
There is chit and there is chat and there is general bonhomie and some hors'd'ouvres and champagne and then the suggestion by Delia that I share the wealth of the north country green with the folks attending.
"I am delighted to share the bounty and goodness of this season's harvest. This bowl is a hybrid of Herer's Best and Mat-Su Thunderfuck grown in the high and dry lands outside of Tahoe."
I bring a vaporizer and a sack of the good green out of my brief case and allow the apparati to heat. I put a bud in the bowl and study the steamy goodness collecting in the inhaler, misty and wistful. I take a sip of the hot air and pass it to Delia who sucks hard and supresses her cough as she passes to her sister. Zsa inhales and looks at me hard. She is at ten years younger than Delia and very different looking in face but very similar in body shape. Slim waisted and nice titted and long necked and long limbed. She draws long and hard and her eyes roll as she holds the vapor in her healthy chest.
Delia's cell phone cries a crappy pop tune and she blanches, sputtering her air and waving frantically.
"Oh my God, it's Mike!"
We give Delia a good look, the room guessing the import of this new drama. Delia is good at drama. We have all been here and there watching crises and trauma and frighteneing attempts at diffeerent things.
"Michael will freak out if we are here smoking pot!"
I think to say that we are not actually smoking pot but vaporizing the good green but think better of it. I doubt she will sense the difference if her married Mike who is bank rolling this Sausalito condo can discern the difference 'twixt smoking and vaporizing.
Zsa asks, "I thought he is in Pawtucket with his family?"
"Well, that's his ring tone."
Delia picks up her cell and switches to a calm and mellifluous sing song voice.
"Hey Mike, you big hunk of burning love."
Three and one half beats of quiet from all around seems appropriate while she listens to her phone.
"I love you too, mwah, mwah, mwah."
Her thumb closes her directive and she sets into action witha small sigh.
"Spooky, you gotta go outside and let's get this place aired out. Mike is sending a mook over to make sure I'm okay."
Zsa fires off an snorting laugh and ask, "Why didn't you just say you are okay?"
Delia takes two steps towards Zsa, then crosses her steps and opens the sliding glass door to the deck which over looks the Bay.
Already a car pulls up to the spaces outside of the cul-de-sac and two mooks, count 'em, two mooks climb out, saggy sweat suits and bulges. Delia pushes me and Zsa out onto the deck and runs to the front door. She doesn't turn on the deck light. Zsa and I, we sit in the dark as she answers the door and does a perfunctory intro of the mooks to the folks with a pass to see Delia.
Sat, November 28, 2009 - 6:55 PM
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As we headed towards the sun, earlier adventurers and pilgrams, voyagers and missionaries passed us, their faces facing us. Haggard, distraught, mad with survival and phantom pain. We still marched on, this brave and patriotic band of men and women with a goal and a desire and an earnest love of liberty and the advancement of this society, this great society.
"Do you head to the morning sun or to the evening sun?" The Great Leader says to me through the public announcement speaker. I have a photograph of the King framed on my wall and another framed at work by the electric clock and another in my cubicle, cut out from the magazine of the national geographic society. I want to escape my cubicle. I dream of great adventure and aiding the Great Leader. I want this more than the participation of mass games and more than marching about the City to establish order where disorder had reigned. I want this more than banners, and yellow ribbons and I want this more than circuses and even more than chocolate.
"Great Leader, oh Great Leader, where do I go?"
We are at the bend in the river, the last of supplies from the known world are loaded, tightly, methodically, into the flat boats. The natives are helpful and jolly and seemed glad for the green and the grain we pay them. Several months of requisition, collection and ready-preparedness sent many of the crew ashore and there was a demotic lingo between the troop and the indigenous folk, the mezclas, mulattos, mixtos, mixed breeds, hapas, metis and halvsies and there was the romance of lonely men on the edge of the earth. Babies are born and left in the village with grandmothers, aunties and cuckolds.
Fri, November 27, 2009 - 1:46 PM
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I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.
Re: RSL or LAX?
(in MLS Fans)
...just musing and a-wondering; how will the United States of footie re-act to an under .500 team from the capital of Mormanistan becoming campeonantes of soccer?
...still no futbol in the Bay Area. I can understand there is no MLS in the Town ...
read more
discussion post on Fri, November 27, 2009 - 10:04 AM
Dream of the Fisherman's Wife
U.S. Forces Out of Vietnam; Hanoi Frees the Last P.O.W.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Joseph B. Treaster
Special to The New York Times
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Saigon, South Vietnam, March 29 -- The last American troops left South Vietnam today, leaving behind an unfinished war that has deeply scarred this country and the United States.
There was little emotion or joy as they brought to a close almost a decade of American military intervention.
Remaining after the final jet transport lifted off from Tan Son Nhut air base at 5:53 P.M. were about 800 Americans on the truce observation force who will leave tomorrow and Saturday. A contingent of 159 Marine guards and about 50 military attaches also stayed behind.
The fighting men were gone, but United States involvement in South Vietnam was far from ended.
When Gen. Frederick C. Weyand presided over the furling of the colors of the United States Military Assistance Command, Vietnam, this afternoon, he told a handful of American servicemen, "You can hold your heads up high for having been a part of this selfless effort."
In a second address later on in the afternoon, delivered in halting Vietnamese, General Weyland declared: "Our mission has been accomplished . I depart with a strong feeling of pride in what we have achieved, and in what our achievement represents."
As the last American commander in Vietnam said good-bye to the huge white tropical building that was sometimes called Pentagon East, a force of 7,200 American civilians employed by the Department of Defense was standing under the eaves.
A majority of these civilians are technicians who are already at work with the South Vietnamese armed forces, trying to fill the gap in special skills that the Vietnamization program has been unable to provide. Many are repairing helicopters, jet fighter-bombers, radar systems and computers, and some are instructing the Vietnamese in these tasks.
This afternoon at Tan Son Nhut, while waiting for his plane to take off, Col. Einar Himma, a naturalized American from Estonia, talked of his two tours in Vietnam. He had grown fond of the Vietnamese, he said, and he felt sad about their future.
"There's going to be a full blown war starting up after we leave," he said. "The fighting has never stopped anyway."
As he spoke a Government officer downtown was reporting that more than 100 military incidents had occurred in the last day- almost double the number reported in the last weeks before the cease-fire was proclaimed on Jan. 28.
Across the airport, 30 coffins with the bodies of Government soldiers had just been unloaded from trucks. A Vietnamese woman knelt weeping beside her husband's coffin.
Colonel Himma's candid talk was unusual for a military man. Many of his colleagues refuse to admit that in eight years, with hundreds of thousands of soldiers, millions of tons of bombs, a panoply of deadly devices and billions of dollars, they had not won the war.
Many offices still contend that the Army never lost a battle in Vietnam; their reasoning is that, at whatever price, the troops always took or held the terrain in question. But now the places where some Americans consider that the greatest victories of the war were achieved- Khe Sanh, Dak To, Hamburger Hill, the Ia Drang Valley, the rises and hollows south of the demilitarized zone- are controlled by the Communists.
Army publications and some officers describe the Tet offensive of 1968 as an allied victory even though many others say that its impact on the American public triggered the beginning of the United States' disengagement from Vietnam.
Admiral Moorer's Regret
Still, one general said the other day: "The Army leaves with its chin out and its chest high. It's done a commendable job."
Today, there were congratulatory messages from Washington and the Pacific headquarters and a fleeting note of regret from Adm. Thomas H. Moorer, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, that the war had not enjoyed "the full measure of support it deserved."
When the first big American fighting units began arriving in South Vietnam in 1965, there was a standard explanation for the United States presence.
"We've come here to stop the spread of Communism," the soldiers would say without hesitation. "If we don't stop them here we may be fighting them in San Francisco next." Sometimes the soldiers also mentioned giving the South Vietnamese the opportunity to live under a democratic system.
One officer who has been involved in Vietnam for several years conceded in an interview earlier this week that what the United States had achieved here was "certainly less than any of us planned in the beginning." He said that the United States had succeeded in giving the South Vietnamese "a reasonable chance to survive."
"Now," he continued, "it becomes a matter of will and determination on the part of the South Vietnamese."
To reach this point, the cost to the United States has been almost 46,000 men killed and more than 300,000 wounded. The military has become controversial, its self-confidence has been reduced and it has been forced into a new mold- a volunteer army spruced up to attract enlistees but anathema to many old regulars.
North Vietnam, South Vietnam and the Vietcong have lost a million men on the battlefield. No one on the allied side knows how many Communist soldiers have been wounded, but it is doubtful that the number is fewer than the 400,000 South Vietnamese hurt in combat.
American officials estimate that perhaps a million South Vietnamese civilians have been killed in the war and that more than 40 per cent of the 16 million survivors have been uprooted by the fighting, their homes and belongings lost, their families scattered.
From the beginning American military men felt that the fighting in Vietnam would be like the fighting in Korea. But there were seldom front lines or large formations of troops to assault.
"In this war," a colonel said, "a squad of 10 or 12 men was considered an excellent target for wings of aircraft and battalions of artillery."
The Americans used such tactics partly out of frustration, but also because commanders were under pressure from Washington to keep their casualties down in an unpopular war.
Many Vietnamese civilians became victims. Wide areas of territory used by the Communists were declared "free-fire zones." These were places where bombs could be dropped or artillery fired at any time without special clearance. Peasants living in the areas risked death if they did not leave.
Under Gen. William C. Westmoreland, the American commander in Vietnam when the troop build-up began, there were "search-and-destroy" operations, in which sometimes thousands of soldiers would push through an area, often in tanks and armored cars.
The ambush was the greatest enemy tactic and the booby-trap was his most effective weapon until last spring, when the Russians began supplying 130-mm. guns that could fire a shell 17 miles.
One way that the Americans tried to overcome the ambush tactic was to expose the enemy's hiding places. The did this by defoliating thousands of acres and plowing down great stretches of rubber plantations and forest land bordering the roads.
But the favorite weapon of the Americans was the helicopter. This, as one general liked to say, freed the men from the "tyranny of the terrain."
In the early days the most popular helicopter tactic was the air assault. A general would pick a trouble spot, soften it up with artillery and air strikes for 15 or 20 minutes and then load up 400 or 500 men in helicopters and set them down on the edge of the objective.
Toward the end of the American experience in Vietnam, helicopters were mainly used for armed reconnaissance in which they would scout a suspicious area and shoot at anything that moved. In Da Nang last June a couple of helicopter pilots bragged about how they had made a farmer "dance" in his rice field and how another time they had shot down a boney cow.
As United States troops strength moved downward from its 1969 peak of 543,000, the pressure increased to keep down American losses and the use of bombers increased. This added to the cost of the war and almost certainly led to more inadvertent casualties.
My Lai Most Damaging
The most painful memory for the Army was the My Lai massacre. But an incident in which eight Green Berets were accused of killing a Vietnamese double agent in the fall of 1969 hurt the Army too. The eight- six commissioned officers, a warrant officer and a sergeant- were arrested and charged with shooting Thai Khac Chuyen in June, 1969, and dumping his body in the South China Sea. A little later all Special Forces soldiers were pulled out of Vietnam.
Often when American military men talk about the mistakes of the war, they conclude that more force should have been used. Many think that North Vietnam should have been invaded. Failing that, they would have preferred to march deep into Laos to try to cut the Ho Chi Minh supply network.
Early Training of Vietnamese
There is general agreement that the United States should have started building the Vietnamese armed forces from the beginning, instead of assuming the main combat role until it became clear that the American public would no longer support the war.
There is little question that in four years the Vietnamese armed forces have made strides forward, but they still have shortcomings.
General Weyand declared today that the Government forces had proved "their readiness, determination and capability to defend their ideals" during the North Vietnamese offensive of 1972.
In that campaign, several South Vietnamese units broke and ran, others suffered devastating casualties and, in some cases, entire battalions were captured. American and South Vietnamese officers said that the massive use of American air power had saved the country.
Although American advisers to Vietnamese units and Special Forces Soldiers often lived close to the Vietnamese, and often ate Vietnamese food, most American servicemen lived in isolation in compounds and barracks that were as much like home as they could make them.
Air-conditioners, soft drinks, beer, ice cream, the latest movies, television, tape recorders and pin-ups were standard. Most of the food was shipped from the United States. Generals prided themselves on elaborate messes.
Junior officers and noncoms took pride in building fancy clubs. The Air Force club in Pleiku was known for its huge crystal chandelier. One of the most popular clubs in Saigon used to be the top of the Rex Hotel, where the officers held barbecue cookouts every Sunday night. In the beginning there were slot machines everywhere, but they abruptly disappeared one day.
Heavy Ratio of Support
Men in support jobs outnumbered combat troops by more than 7 to 1. But there were line units with many helicopters, like the First Cavalry Division, where the "grunts," or fighting men usually got two hot meals a day and sometimes had ice cream and soda in the field.
The tour of duty in Vietnam was one year. Its brevity made the separation from family more bearable but it created great turbulence in the armed forces. Many officers felt that this short tour weakened the services structurally and created a situation in which, as one officer said, "We didn't have 8 years or 12 years, or whatever it was of experience- we had one year of experience eight times."
Officers spent six months in combat duty and six months in administrative or support jobs. This gave everyone some exposure to the war and increased his chances for promotion, but it also kept everyone in unfamiliar jobs.
With all the amenities, though, morale began to fall in 1970 and 1971. Drug use became endemic. A few units refused orders to go into combat and enlisted men occasionally "fragged" their officers- throwing fragmentation grenades. Soldiers began to wear love beads and peace symbols and let their hair run shaggy. It was only after units had gotten down to a hard core of "lifers," specialists and technicians that the American forces in Vietnam regained some of the lost discipline.
Today, as the last men were heading home, a reporter asked whether they were happy or sad. Several majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels glared fiercely and snapped, "No comment!"
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