The Bully Pulpit

Real reform is at last achieved! While Cuban residents may be strangled by a blockade instituted by the United States for more years than I've been alive — you've seen the cars: Jesus, open a Hyundai dealership already — a measure of change dawned on that Caribbean country this week when Raul "not the real dictator" Castro bequeathed upon his people the power to grow their own brain tumors.

Cell phones have come to Cuba.

Members of the Buena Vista Social Club can now — in the middle of their basement set, dodging the single communist light bulb that sways back and forth on its moth-eaten cord — call their American cousins and say, "Wish you were here."

And the American cousins can say, "That music sounds great. Let me record you, release the album and make a mint off your talent while you remain conveniently stuck in Red Cuba, unable to cash in on Capitalism."

It's nice to see progress made in the struggle for human rights. Cell phones. Man, what's next? Ipods?

Posted by James Faulk at 03:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I'm an amateur and ill-informed space junky. I read with interest any news tid bits related to physics, space exploration, astronomy and the like, and have a firm belief that the exploration of space is this generation's monument to the future.

The pyramids have been built, as has the Great Wall. Delving further and further into space is how this generation, this new millenium, will mark itself out against the tides of humanity that came before. Look at us!! We have rockets!!

But being a normal nine-to-fiver, an out-of-shape dad no less, my opportunities for space travel are severely limited, right? Maybe not.

According to these guys, a capitalist or two is taking an interest in developing relatively low-flying space trips for tourists.

Something to hope for — when I am 60 years old, I will hawk the last of my valuables, sell my dog and buy a ticket for a space flight. There may be dangers, but alas: Is there a better way to go than trying to burst the bubble of space? Sign me up.

Some people question whether the investment of time and resources into space is worthwhile, given the huge problems we have back here on planet Earth.

My answer? No matter what the conditions here, humankind needs something to kindle the imagination, to fire the soul furnace. If we spend all our time trying to fix problems, rather than at the same time trying to put one foot out further than ever before, we atrophy. And as things work, inevitably the research into space exploration, space travel etc., will pay dividends here on the home planet.

Tang, for example. Without space travel, we never would have discovered the wonders of Tang.

All this comes up because NASA budget cuts had almost led to the winter-time shutdown of the Mars Rover missions. After all the failed space missions coming from NASA, a budget crunch almost led to the hibernation of the one better-than-expected project still in operation.

Thankfully, the public outcry was too much, and the cuts will come from somewhere else. Hey, I know. There's a war in Iraq that seems to be quite the fiscal drain ...

Posted by James Faulk at 10:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (9)

The war in Iraq on Monday received the dubious distinction of having killed 4,000 American soldiers.

Add to that the roughly 85,000 civilians that died, according to estimates by this Web site, and the real magnitude of this mistake becomes clear.

Any soldier dying is a tragedy, but tens of thousands of civilians who had no choice in the matter? That's beyond tragedy, beyond apology, but somehow I'm still sorry.

I wonder if our country can ever live this down.

Posted by James Faulk at 03:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Seven a.m. wake-up and the kids scramble down the long halls of the house, looking wildly for their Easter baskets. Candy, stuffed animals, toys — the Easter Bunny always brings the works. He/She/It is a kind of Santa Claus Lite, without the red suit or the stretch marks.

For me, the first order of business is to check the weather ... Mostly sunny first thing in the morning, contrary to the forecast, which calls for mostly cloudy skies today leading into rain tonight. Maybe the egg hunt will be on after all.

Of course, I am firm believer (as all Humboldters must be) in getting the hunt on no matter what. As a child, I remember one particularly wet Easter when my brother and I, with some cousins, spent Easter afternoon in the dirty and oily garage, crawling around on our hands and knees, looking for eggs amongst burnt out carburetors and old weed whackers.

It was a white trash Easter, for sure. But as kids we felt we were getting something over on Mother Nature. Give us your best, Ma Earth, and we'll still find a way to conduct this silly tradition of ours.

Question of the Day: How did the story of Christ's resurrection evolve into a giant bunny hopping around the planet and giving away old boiled eggs?

The answer, of course, lays in marketing. Early Christians realized that the best way to convert the pagans was to adopt their rituals and holidays and adapt them to the Christian tradition.

"In second century Europe, the predominate spring festival was a raucous Saxon fertility celebration in honor of the Saxon Goddess Eastre (Ostara), whose sacred animal was a hare," says the article. "The colored eggs associated with the bunny are of another, even more ancient origin. The eggs associated with this and other Vernal festivals have been symbols of rebirth and fertility for so long the precise roots of the tradition are unknown, and may date to the beginning of human civilization."

Posted by James Faulk at 07:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Truthfully, I switched to Mac because all the computers at The Times-Standard except one are Apples. The lone exception was built in 1985 and runs on "flex capacitor" processing technology. Where's a newsroom supposed to get 10 gallons of plutonium for every hour spent on the Internet? The Lybians went out of business a long time ago.

Also, one of the perks of being online content editor is a company-issued Mac Book Pro laptop. Such a laptop makes me a lapdog in a pinch. I sit. I rollover. I'll do whatever my bosses want for a Scooby snack and my pretty silver computer.

Ethics Schmethics.

But even if work hadn't pushed me toward Apple, I know I would've gravitated in that direction anyway.
On my PC, there was just one too many error messages like the following:

And since I changed over, I've had no problems at all with my computer — no adware, no spyware, and no malware. When was the last time I was able to say that? Windows sucks. Don't be a sucker.

Posted by James Faulk at 02:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Wait one cotton-pickin' second. Some Bolshevik in Eureka wants to make it so that the lowliest wage earner in Eureka walks out the door with a ten spot for every measley hour he works behind the counter? Said communist grumbles something about a livable wage for working families and adds that such an initiative could help drum up interest in the November election.

Let's analyze this: The working world should be survival of the fittest. I work for peanuts (tasty ones, boss, but they're still peanuts — please don't fire me) because I obviously haven't achieved the evolutionary rung required for a decent-paying job. Just handing me a livable wage job without the requisite million years of appropriate DNA development, could throw natural selection for a loop.

Donald Trump and Martha Stewart got where they are because they are higher level human beings. They exist on a plane somewhere between the potato-chip chomping proletariat and the long-limbed aliens who gave Whitley Streiber a colonoscopy. Their wealth was not handed to them — they acquire riches by virtue of the $ gene.

To make matters even worse, we then want to bribe THE POOR to participate in the political process?? Say what?? This leftist wants to level the playing field so that poor hourly wage earners are as likely to vote as the stodgy VFW treasurer down the street, the gray-haired Mason with an American flag mounted on his Airstream motorhome.

Truly, a world turned upside down. Couple these wet dreams with a black man running for president and anarchy reigns. Where's Ron Paul when you need him?

Alexander Hamilton, so magnificently portrayed on the $10 bill, recognized that the general public (read: minimum wage earners) are ill-equipped to make governmental decisions.

"Men," he once famously said, "are reasoning rather than reasonable animals."

Shouldn't we listen to our founding elders?

Posted by James Faulk at 03:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

Still feeling sad that FiFi the dog went to that kennel in the sky? Has Cuddles the Cat's sudden departure for the hereafter left you feeling blue?

Never fear — freaks the world over have found a solution to those dead pet doldrums.

You can now collect a decade's worth of Spot's shedded hair from your couch, your carpet, your bedroom comforter and have that lovely waste sewn into some kind of garish garment ... a sweater made from Fido? A scarf made from Patches?

Hell, if you love your dog that much, you can even make boxers from your boxer ... you'll be scratching your crotch like the dog always did. What better way to honor man's best friend?

All of this just further proves my theory that way down deep, people are weird. Really friggin' weird.

Posted by James Faulk at 04:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Just listened to this speech, and as usual, Barack moves me and seemingly the rest of America with the power of his words.

The message seeks to transcend race, and put us all on the same team as we move ahead. A worthy goal, but realistic? I have to wonder if the rednecks of the world will let it happen. And because of those rednecks, I have to worry for Barack's safety as we move ahead into the general election.

But as he says, maybe it's better to be optimistic than jaded — if we all wonder whether such a change is possible, it never will be.

Posted by James Faulk at 08:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

A battle for who is the greener ...

One neighbor installs solar panels on his home to get off the grid and consume as little energy as possible. Al Gore would call this a laudable goal.

The neighbors, however, have planted redwood trees, which over the course of several years grow so tall as to block the sunlight from reaching their neighbor's panels.

Of course a court battle ensues, and some of the trees are ordered cut down. Both have pure motives, and therefore clear consciences. Oh, and one had a Prius and the other an electric car. Who is the devil and who is the saint? Or, to ask the dirty question, who is the Republican in this situation?

All of this reminds me of a relative of mine. He lives in Ceres, California (Read: hot and dry), and takes great pride in maintaining his yard despite the heat. Many hours he spends, and many gallons of water brought in from outside the area via canal and pipeline, to keep the grass green and healthy.

But a lush lawn is not enough. He orders dozens of redwood trees, and plants them around the periphery of the yard (more than an acre's worth) for privacy and "a bit of grandeur," he said.

Never once does he consider that redwood trees aren't native to the area. Never once does he consider the amount of water it will take to keep these trees alive and thriving.

And never once does he consider that the water stolen for such a use was perfectly happy flowing down a river somewhere else, a river that could have had a healthy fish population but didn't because so much of its water was wasted on fruitless endeavors such as growing redwood trees in the Central Valley.

And we wonder if the human race is doomed.

Posted by James Faulk at 04:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

According to this article, believers in God are happier than atheists and non-believers. They are better able to deal with tragedy and the suffering of day-to-day life.

But then, for me, there's the problem of cognitive dissonance: A psychological state that describes the uncomfortable feeling between what one holds to be true and what one knows to be true.

As a child, I was coming up on the age of accountability, according to our Southern Baptist church at the time. At the age of 12, I was told, all those thoughts I'd had about our Sunday school teacher, and the neighbor girl, and the pretty ladies in the magazines, were suddenly the evidence that would be used against me in the court of eternal damnation.

Out of one side of his mouth, our preacher was lecturing to us on the Lord's merciful nature, and how anything can be forgiven by letting God into your heart. Out of the other side, fire and brimstone rained down from the heavens. A sinful life would be repaid by eternity spent in a lake of fire.

After weeks of laying in bed at night, tossing and turning and wondering whether my lustful mind would end me up in eternal pain, I rejected religion outright.

If God is a being that would damn people to an eternity of pain for having thoughts they could not control, then I wouldn't reward said Supreme Being with my worship.

Years later, I came to understand God and religion differently, and have found a religion of sorts to pursue for myself: Without the dogma ... an understanding of eternity and of God through a mystical, almost Buddhist lens.

But in terms of traditional Christianity, and traditional religion, I'd still probably be listed under the "non-believer" category.

Would I be happier if I thought someone else was behind the wheel, someone warm and fuzzy who made all decisions based on what was best for me? Absolutely. But that is not my reality.

And for further proof: A cow wandered onto U.S. Highway 101 near Giuntolli Lane yesterday and was killed when a car slammed into it, spraying cowflesh everywhere. Now tell me, would a just God let an innocent cow be so vaporized? These are the questions I need answered.

Posted by James Faulk at 11:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Since this seems to be the week of potty talk, let's now examine how a vast vat of shite in the Central Valley (not the city of Modesto, though it qualifies) could be the solution to the state's energy problems.

It's a simple principle: There are cows. Cows poop. Normally, such cow dollups sit meditatively in a field as adornments that can fuel a fire in a pinch, but little else.

Now, the pooled poop is set to power 1,200 houses per day.

That is, crap from 5,000 cows — "effectively a 33 feet deep, 5 football field-sized vat" — will be converted into natural gas, and thus energy. With 2 million cows statewide, the article says, the potential for renewable energy is huge.

For even more potential, they could stick a hose under my nine-year-old's blankets at night and catch more than a whiff of the real stuff. That boy farts like a bowlegged bartender.

Posted by James Faulk at 11:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I really have no problem admitting guilt ... you can ask my wife about the strange and harrowing list of crimes for which I've taken credit over the years. This time, it's a public setting, but what the hell? Grownups face up to their crimes, and I committed one. Well, kind of.

I'm a hooker looker.

I consider myself enough of a connoisseur of the feminine form that the local hooker set does nothing for me. But the prostitute who was under the ... uh ... employ of New York Governor Elliot Spitzer? I gave her the old Internet what-for.

First, I saw her photo on Drudge. Then I read about her on MSNBC. And then, shamefully watching over my shoulder for bosses and coworkers, I visited her MySpace page. I listened to her sing. I even checked out her favorite movies.

We have some things in common.

I feel dirty.

Posted by James Faulk at 03:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I'm posting the following link from Technorati so that I can join their database, get a ton of traffic and eventually garner a Google sponsorship to live in a cyber sky tower and write blog entries all day. Small aspirations lead to small disappointments.

Proof of my selling out:

Technorati Profile

Posted by James Faulk at 10:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Some scientists have figured out, according to the Daily Mail, that marijuana can be used to counteract some of the impacts of Alzheimer's, specifically those dealing with memory.

"One of the 400 compounds in the drug can significantly slow memory problems caused by the disease, tests show," says the article.

With Ronald Reagan being the unfortunate poster president for that tragic disease, does this mean the end of "just say no" to marijuana? Or does it mean that while 1 compound helps fight Alzheimer's, the rest vaporize so many brain cells that in the end for most long-time dope smokers the end result is a wash?

I have old friends I could call as research subjects, but I can never seem to remember their phone numbers ...

Posted by James Faulk at 02:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I filed this under the self-love category because I couldn't think of where else ... but I saw this on Salon.com and thought, What does my poop say about me?

I take poo health seriously — well, at least as seriously as it can be taken — because my dear old Da died of the colon cancer. And I can force myself to take a long look back, when I need to, if it will tell me how my own poop chute is operating.

Posted by James Faulk at 10:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

So someone has just now figured out that Moses probably had to be high to see and hear that burning bush?

Or, conversely, was it the burning bush that got him high? As the Times-Standard's positive blogger would say, think about it.

Whoa there, letter-writers hell-bent on demanding my resignation: I'm just kidding, and it's not blasphemy if the joke's on Moses, right? Still, I've never conversed with a shrub and the moments when I was most tempted? Definitely under the influence.

Posted by James Faulk at 04:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Could this Gundersen story get any stranger, or more convoluted? It has all the makings of a Lifetime movie special, if only the reality of it all wasn't so disturbing. Rape allegations, machine guns, and small town cops suddenly thrust uncomfortably under the microscope? Who needs pulp fiction?

But on a lighter note, John Driscoll and I searched YouTube last week for machine gun videos that matched the caliber of the two dozen or so weapons held by the Blue Lake Police Department. We found a bunch, then had to laugh at the personalities drawn to taping themselves firing off long bursts of machine gun fire.

Below are posted only two examples. Note that the following are NOT weapons the BLPD is accused of having.

And then: Who said Hatfield V. McCoy is dead?

The following is titled "FAMILY FUN" on YouTube. Can you think of a better way to bond with your mum and pop?

Posted by James Faulk at 11:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Failed, that is, to make more than a token effort at blogging:

1. i
2. n
3. f
4. l
5. u
6. e
7. n
8. z
9. a

But I am recovered, and hereby dub this strain of Humboldt Crud the Bedwetters' Bug. First, as some of you may know, my moniker here around the newsroom is Bed Weditor (web editor, get it?), and I am the Supreme Example of the waste this disease can lay on a person; second, after several nights of tossing and turning and coughing and crying under the thumb of this virus, one can't help but dampen the sheets with projectile emissions.

Posted by James Faulk at 10:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Posted by James Faulk at 11:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)