MOVIE: "Together"

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One toy car, one record album and one game of soccer in the snow do not make up for the child abuse in this movie. Drugs, alcohol and cigarettes are lying around where kids can get them. An adult attempts to seduce a 13 year old. Children are ignored and neglected, forlorn and forgotten. Revolution is for angry men with weapons. TRANSFORMATION is when we put children first. If it is not good for children, it is not good. Period. It does not matter if you are working class, middle class or playing poverty tourist in some so called commune. If it is bad for children, it is bad. And nothing good will ever come of it. IF that is the point of the movie, it deserves four stars. I fear it is not.

MOVIE: "The Village Barbershop"

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Well, Chris, that's a sweet lil flick you have there. I would have made the pimp, hookers white US citizens, to keep down suspicions of racial stereotyping. I would have left out the lisp, as Gay folks don't usually speak like that, and I've never heard a florist do it. I liked the sets, but how can she afford an Airstream? I was jealous! And your lead actress has a cosmetology license, so I would expect her to at least wash and comb her hair occasionally. I loved your sound track. I loved all the colors. The props were fun, especially the guys next door. Great love interest: not beef cake, a real guy. In fact, I liked that these are real people, not eye candy. Script was subtle, effective and poignant. I hope it's ok that I chuckled, more than laughed. I hesitate to startle my pets. The garden hose was a nice touch, and probably my favorite bit. Liked the details, like the neighbor on oxygen who smokes. I will post this review in my blog, livinginthehood dot blogspot dot com. I wish you a long and successful career. That was a lot of work and obviously a labor of love.

MOVIE: "Matinee"

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Hey! Movie producers! Wanna get me off NotFlux and back in a theater? Hire Lawrence Woolsey to make it an interactive experience! Forget the boutique coffees and gourmet jelly beans! Market to the masses and zap their @$$es! That was AWESOME! It was REALLY SCARY when everything started to fall apart, too! What a spoof of B movies! I just finished watching THEM (which TERRIFIED me when I was a kid, during the same historical period as MANT). MANT is at least as cheesy! The Cuban Missile Crisis was another character in this film: ominous, foreboding, looming over childhood like a cracked balcony. I do not have memories of it; I think, out in California where I grew up, the adults decided to protect us from it. Poor Florida kids! I was terrified of my Czech neighbors, though, and had a nightmare that he would jump the fence with a dagger in his teeth and murder us all in our sleep! I remember duck and cover. I remember my Dad, who worked for Columbia Studios, who capitulated with HUAC and who thought there was a Communist under every park bench. We were all very scared then, worse than 9/11. More message movies that entertain the SNOT out of us, please, without preaching us into a coma! BRILLIANT! What a RIDE!

MOVIE: "Seducing Dr. Lewis"

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All across the world, tiny villages are dying. It is the tragedy of globalization and, more and more, climate change. People, whose ancestors founded their home towns hundreds and even thousands of years ago, can no longer survive and must evacuate to cities of low wages, indifference and exploitation. We are losing our cultures, heritage, foundation and future as a result. When the Solo Cup factory closed here, hundreds of people were reduced to shut ins, with no hope of other employment, watching television all day, eating cheap and nutritionally unhealthy foods produced on other factories, accepting food stamps and lining up at the food pantries. Because they have no money, the car dealer closed. So did the movie theater, the clothing shop, the hardware store, the green grocer and on and on. These people are not cartoons or stereotypes. The folks in this film are heroes for fighting as hard as they could to keep their lovely village, with its spectacular views of sea and sky, alive. Yes, it is in French, as clearly stated in the NF blurb. If one cannot read that, I suppose one could not read subtitles, either, even though none was over five or six simple words and none came too frequently to read, as there is not a great deal of dialogue. If people complain about having to QUOTE work END QUOTE at watching a movie, how in the name of Heaven could they possibly work to save our heritage? Me, I do not want to die of a heart attack from too many McGreaseys while aimlessly meandering imported factory junk at Wal*Fart. That is sound and fury, signifying nothing. I would rather die having fully lived, like the folks in this film.

MOVIE: "I'm Not Rappaport"

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Heartbreakingly heart felt, this is a love letter to New York City, her denizens, her popular history.

I need to note the actress, Elina Löwensohn, whose small but powerful roll orator of the inspiring speech that sparked a union strike was magnified by her understated and sincere emotion. According to Wikipedia, she QUOTE was born in Bucharest, Romania. After the death of her father, a survivor of Nazi concentration camps, her mother emigrated to the United States with her, where her mother went on a hunger strike in order to get a visa for her. END QUOTE

As the camera pulls back during closing credits, from a close up of Mattheau and Davis to a helicopter shot of the entire park and the city beyond, I realized the millions of such stories that wait, lovingly carved as the stone work of Central Park bridges, for people to discover, to appreciate and to respect. In the distance, we see the Empire State Building and, farther on in faded focus, the World Trade Center. The poignancy of Walt Whitman cries out as the Internationale is sung. We come from sturdy stock, we Americans. And New York City is a nexus of our strength.

It took me quite a while before I realized this was an adaptation to a play, it was so seamlessly translated. For this, I tip my hat to the late Mr. Gardner, in addition to his intricately crafted dialogue and his artistic eye for directing. He truly loved New York.

I have always wanted to visit New York City, for her history, her landmarks, her culture, her FOOD, her people. I expect I never will, as I do not have income enough to pay five dollars a pound for any beef less than prime rib (and that was 1999 prices?!). This piece lets me see what I am missing. I am happy for those lucky enough to live there.

To Red Diaper babies everywhere: thank you for taking care of our human library of struggle, courage, humor and brutally hard work.

My one quibble: Mr. Davis is an equal to the character of Nat. I wish his character could have spoken more of his experiences in the context of New York City, rather than playing straight man to Nat. The late Mr. Davis and Ruby Dee are heroes of mine and could tell you stories that would curl Nat's hair.

MOVIE: "Starting Out in the Evening"

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Warning: with all its plugged-in tweeting and face book posturing, the modern pseudo-intelligentsia is too preoccupied with the superficiality of posturing to ever produce art while barraged by marketing, demographics and the corrosive corruption of academic prestige. Those who can do. Those who cannot criticize. And the clamor of those latter voices drown the quiet contemplation of what gives life value. For, when real life intrudes into the schemes of power, glory and recognition, they turn in their keys and walk away, hungry for an easier conquest. Writers cannot find paid work, unless they write advertising copy or slanderous opinion blogs. The one sliver of genuine hope in all this is that a young man who, up until now, has cloaked himself in self righteous impatience, helps a frail man to bathe. So, there is still reason to get up tomorrow morning.

MOVIE: "Dirty Filthy Love"

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Oh, it is, indeed, a comedy, and a drama. I thought about the reviews here that said this film was miscategorized and I think I know the problem. Everybody on the planet has behavioral health issues. Some of us just have them to such a degree that denial and hiding are no longer possible. The options then are: commit suicide, be a pathetic loser for the rest of your life or face that person in the mirror, learn to love her, forgive him for being human and imperfect and then take a deep breath and live life. All this somber talk about so-called mental illness, how tragic the film is and how damaged and limited these people are? That is just a smoke screen: pretending you are better than someone whose behavioral health challenges are more obvious -- often temporarily, I must add -- does not bely the fact that all of us have stuff, whether we pretend we do not or just admit it and go on. This is a FUNNY MOVIE! Ok, it over generalizes about clean freak behavior and other stuff. Heck, for all we know, everybody in that support group DID have compulsions about cleaning! It is possible. That is knit picking. Mark is not a pathetic bum who makes excuses not to participate in his own life. He has burned himself out, trying SO HARD to mask symptoms of a neurological disorder, feeling guilty and responsible for something that was never his fault, trying to deny there ever was a problem. Even when he loses everything: when everybody in his life hands him black, plastic trash bags with his stuff in them, he is STILL trying to cover up his challenges! That is a lot more exhausting than just embracing the degrees of madness we all possess, forgiving it, celebrating our creativity in living with it and learning to run along the seashore. It is a sweet and honest movie, with much attention to composition, musical score, props, costumes and atmosphere/mood. Fact is, we are ALL strange, under our masks. And is that not the funniest thing of all?

heat nearly got me today.

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Holy crap, we're having a heat wave. I THOUGHT I was hot yesterday, but today proved yesterday down right nippy. And it's supposed to be over a hundred degrees through Sunday.

That guy never fixed my swamp cooler, but at least he dropped off some pads.

Well, a young woman picked me up hitch hiking earlier this week. She cares for her mother who lives in Solomon Estates, where I live. I recently watched "Skins," filmed on the Pine Ridge Lakita reservation. Except for the fact that THEY have a lot more trees and grass, Pine Ridge sure looks a heck of a lot like Solomon Estates! Ancient single wides, rusted out cars & trucks, piles of trash & scrap lumber to burn for heat, scary dogs, cows in too-small pens, shanty shacks, piles of tires, weeds and litter along the roads.... A lot of social services types actually MOAN when I tell them I live here: Not middle class enough for their tastes, I suppose.

Anyway, the young woman dragged her fiance over tonight. They had tubing, pressure fittings and even stuff I don't really need, plus a tall ladder. He and I got the air conditioner working as she stood in the yard and hollered back and forth between us, giving instructions from one to the other.

They came back a few minutes later with this alien robot thing. It looks like a Japanese washing machine or something: large small appliance. But it comes with two weird, fat flexible hoses and a flange thing that goes in the window.... a portable air conditioner! I mean, real, REFRIGERATED AIR!

Hold on; Miss Thing's stealing my cheese. Just found out she loves cheese. Who knew?

So, my modem, computer and monitor are actually COOL TO THE TOUCH!

I have the swamp cooler on in the kitchen and the little air conditioner on 3 feet from the bed and computer stuff.

I am nude, under a fan. My skin is cool to the touch. Cats have reappeared from under the house and 2 are actually in bed with me & Weasel (dog).

I have the air's fan on low, with temp. set at 75 for the night. I'm sucking in as much cold air as I can while it's night time, to cool the walls and ceiling as much as I can. I won't run the swamp cooler tomorrow and will set this thing at eighty degrees.

It pulls juice. I flipped the breaker to the living room twice tonight, trying to set everything up. I finally ran a utility extension cord to a bedroom, to lower the drain on the circuit breaker that operates my computer.

I got really sick today from the heat. I drank tea ALL DAY, lay in bed with a spray bottle of water, under my fan, nude. Every time I came back to bed, the sheets and pillows were so warm, they felt like I'd just taken them out of a dryer! My metal bed frame was as warm as a meal. I kept shutting off modem and monitor, whenever I left the computer, but they never cooled completely.

Finally, I put my sprinkler into the end of a ten foot piece of pvc pipe, strapped it to a shelf on my front porch and sprinkled the roof and walls from 2 pm 'til about 5 pm, but things were still warm in the living room. BUt the bedrooms, where the water didn't go? EVERYTHING in them was HOT, even with windows open.

As the young woman and man worked on my swamp cooler, some guys pulled up with some ripped trampoline canvasses, two of them.

I'd made a shade cover for my stock pond/fountain from one I'd found in a dumpster. A local kid saw it and I guess he told his family, cuz he'd told me they had some, too. So, I can make more shade tomorrow for the new dogs and maybe even a cover for my front porch, which gets western sun in the afternoon and reaches temps of a hundred fifty at times, baking the wall behind my head as I lie here in bed, even with a piece of styrofoam insulation betwen my pillows and the wall!.

It finally feels good in here. My heart rate and respiration are back to normal. I feel less in danger of a nose bleed that threatened all day. I can see better and my eyes don't sting as much.

I have to remember to start eating salt. I don't like salt; grew up without it. But I'll be in bad trouble if I don't start sprinkling some on my food. Think I need some bananas and potatoes for potassium, too. I was getting chest pains today from the heat, for some weird reason.

This new air conditioner will be used to cool the living room, only. I'd put blankets up to block the hall on one side and the opening to the kitchen on the other, to try to keep it warmer in here last winter. They'll help me keep it cool in here now, without having to cool everything.

I was in BAD shape today from the heat. Now, I'm eating cheese, rye crackers and as much watermelon as I want (I've still got another uncut!). And drinking my wonderful iced tea with ginger, cardemom Earl Grey, green tea, stevia and just a dash of sugar. I could NOT hydrate enough today. It was scary.


http://rogiriverstone.com

Too Small to Fail!

MOVIE: "Ben X"

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Have I missed something with ASD (autism spectrum disorder)? I am not familiar with delusions and hallucinations as part of the spectrum, but I could be wrong. In a lot of cases, who knows what is going on inside the head of someone else? Ben is totally capable of rage and destruction. He could have easily gone Colombine on his classmates. LOTS of kids end up suicidal from the toxic and sometimes lethal attacks of bullies. The stats on suicide are much higher in the U.S.A. Bullies succeed because they are not exposed. The community seldom knows about the torture being perpetrated. We condone it and even encourage it by our stereotypes and slurs in media and public discourse. We think it is funny to mock someone with a difference. Ben made a choice to end the torment. Everybody in town would know who is trustworthy and who is a weasel. I thought his solution was brilliant. Now, back to the delusion or hallucination: perhaps it is his higher self from whom he gets advice, support and encouragement? Even the incompetent doctors admit Ben is very smart. He just relates to the world by a different set of constructs than a lot of us do. So, the delusion or hallucination may be a part of himself. Violence is no solution. Ben is smart enough to know that; it would simply escalate the situation. If someone is a jerk, shine a light on that and invite your friends and neighbors to see it, close up, in detail. No more shame! Behavioral health challenges are not our real disabilities; the REAL disabilities are the attitudes of the TAMs (Temporarily Able Minded). They are much QUOTE crazier END QUOTE than we are! But why is it that someone has to die before the media listen?

MOVIE: "Jerome Bixby's The Man From Earth"

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What sort of faith says its creator is omnipotent and is the One True Religion and yet is so brittle and fragile that a science FICTION picture could evoke such anger, masquerading fear that maybe, just maybe, thinking beyond What-I-Have-Always-Believed might damage or destroy it? Are we as offended by Santa Claus? This is a group of scholars, discussing possibilities, postulating, speculating. Should we strap bombs to our chests, walk into a crowd of nonbelievers and detonate ourselves? Can we not just celebrate our ability to ponder and to think, without personal attacks and implications that such musings are naive or unread? How do we know what the other has or has not read? Is faith based on love, or is it a desperate nightlight to impotently attempt to ward off fear and doubt? Me, I think Jesus would get a kick out of this film, and Buddha, too. Please, do not fly a plane full of people into a tall building full of people simply because some people think differently than you do. For a $200,000 budget, this was pretty good, technically speaking. I would have picked a better actor to play John, though. I don't think his brow ridge was as prominent as it should have been; he was too hairless and he had an American -- rather than old European -- accent. He learned English on the other side of the pond; he would not sound like a weather announcer on TV. I also think John would be a happier person than portrayed, and much more emotive with his friends. What a nice gift to the world from the death bed of Jerome Bixby! Joy, curiosity, mystery, tenderness: these seem a lot more faith based than fear, anger and insults. But then, I never ran an inquisition.

MOVIE: "Free of Eden"

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I never would have believed I would ever give Phylicia Rashad, let alone Sidney Poitier, three stars for a piece in which either had performed. My main complaint: This is an after school special with cuss words. It is too naive, too simplistic and too much a manifesto on how to be a Black Republican (it is hard to pull oneself up by one's boot straps if one has no boots). I guess most of the people living in Eden are what: too stupid, too lazy to get up and out? Because, you see, there are no other factors that make it nearly impossible to escape poverty, right? Like: in the real world, some of the homeboyz to the bad guy would have snuffed Ms. Thing at the airport for snitching! THAT would be a realistic ending! Now, back to one of my favorite hobbies: the cussing. When Poitier opens his mouth to say something that rhymes with bull spit, my jaw dropped! Later, Ms. Rashad says something that rhymes with duck, several times, and my teeth fell out. To Sir With Love and Claire Huxtable KNOW words like that? They can pronounce them? The world has ended! You mean Black folk get to be regular folk, and do not have to constantly model perfect behavior, or be called race traitors or sell outs? Yet, most of the authority figures in this lil morality play cussed more than the not-too-street-wise-lookin teenagers in the flick. Music was tedious: a somber, forlorn, jazz trumpet in a public toilet, by the reverb. Lighting should have been much better where people were looking at each other through glass: Poitier's eyes were in shadow and he looked like some scary, B-movie bogey man. I loved Fast Freddy and wish he'd gotten a few more lines before . . . well. And if homeboy Poitier is so tight with the riff raff, would it not be beneficial to the denizens of Eden if HE popped his head in once in awhile, and not just order homegirl to pick up his slack? Wud up wd dat? The lil out take at the end of credits was lame. I would love to see Sidney Poitier bloopers! But not THAT one. Guess it was supposed to signify tender moment between daughter and daddy? Speaking of daughter: totally eye candy. But I kept looking for some of that backbone daddy has. I think Sydney (I guess she is named after a city in Australia?), born in the late seventies, will never really know the strength it took for Sidney, born in the late twenties. So the personalities are different. Do not get me wrong: Nobody should have to endure some of what Sidney Poitier experienced back in the day, but wow, what he did with that! So, maybe a sheltered life in post-Civil Rights U.S.A. softens the edges a bit more than I might like, but let us rejoice at the change. If you love Poitier, watch this. But it's not deep, unless you live (as, apparently, our heroine has) under a vast and unmovable rock. But my man Sidney could pee in his shoe while reciting the phone book, and I would be enthralled.

MOVIE: "To Sir, With Love"

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To all those of you who believe racial stereotypes are real, here is proof that it is a bunch of hooey and that you are full of hot air. Mr. Poitier can neither box, nor dance, his way out of a paper sack. I was dumbfounded. Until watching this, I thought he was totally perfect! Honestly, though: I needed a good, happy cry for joyful reasons, like how one person can actually make some sort of difference in this world. I needed to remember that I am right to think every person deserves dignity and that, given the opportunity, will break her or his back to live up to high expectations. What a CAST! Where are all those brilliant young people now, and what are they doing? So cool to see Mr. Poitier go from BLACKBOARD JUNGLE to this! Too bad the cast of TSWL did not have as much professional good fortune, though. Corny by the standards now? Maybe. Dorky clothes, silly slang. But it is not important. People want to learn, want to take responsibility, want to walk with our heads held high. This film is a lovely reminder.

MOVIE: "Not One Less"

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This happens in the U.S. to most vulnerable populations, all the time. When my roommate stranded me in a rural house with no utilities and no vehicle, I hand wrote notices and walked all day, posting them to people's gates, asking for help. The next morning, the sheriff came to my door, warning me that I was littering and to never do it again. Police stopped me once for hitch hiking. No public transportation was available and I lived 25 miles from decent groceries. When I explained my circumstances, one officer said he did not give a f*** if I am old; he would take me to jail and put my dog in the pound. When my goat was dying, I yelled for help from every passing vehicle. Nobody stopped. I am disabled and cannot bury the goat properly, so, last night, dogs dragged the body from the grave. The smell attracted other predators and scavangers and I woke this morning to find all my ducks and geese dead. I frequently eat from trash. The way to heal the planet would be to put the needs of children first. This would cause us to solve all social, economic, environmental and political problems in healthy ways. I am an adult; I am not surprised at the cruelty and indifference I experience. But I do not forgive that this happens to children, in the U.S., all the time. Beautiful movie. Show it to your students.

MOVIE: "CSNY Déjà Vu"

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What is the difference between Halliburton and CSNY? Halliburton guys dress more dapper and get hair cuts? Two hundred clams for a ticket? Oh, yes, GW Bush was a terrible thing. But Obama is in office now, and where are the voices, protesting war? People sing these memorized lyrics and speak of how artists and audiences need to get involved, need to sing more. Where are we singing; in the cemeteries, the mountains of Afghanistan, the streets of Iraq? Should we not be putting our own lives on the line to demand peace, now? Why are we so quiet? Is it because the only difference between Viet Nam and now is the fact that Bush was smart enough to recycle the same military personnel over and over, rather than reinstate the draft and risk political suicide? So, all the affluent people who can actually attend college are not in jeopardy this time, can focus on their studies and their individual solutions, pay lip service to pacifist protest, but actually do nothing to change anything? What HAPPENED to Change, anyway? MAYBE we will let out Queers in the military, but we will still not let them marry? And we will have anti-Queer preachers pray over us? Where is this change? Production quality here was terrible: out of focus, vocals overpowered by instrumentals. This was a disjointed apologia for the motivation of the tour. We learn nothing of the tour, itself. This is an infomercial for CSNY. Nobody is empowered; nobody learns anything; nobody has to break a sweat, make a commitment or actually change anything. This is an anthem for complacent tongue cluckers.

Kate sent a poem

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The poem is too desolate for me right now. It's too cold. I'm not saying I don't agree with it. But it isn't any comfort. Sorry.

I stayed up until 3:30am because I heard coyotes. I had to leave Nilly in the front yard, so any death smell wouldn't attract scavenger/predators to the back with the chickens and goats. I left my front door open, but sat on the porch for a long time, waiting for a sheriff I'd called but who never came. I wanted welfare checks for the night.

I finally lay down at 3:30 and slept 'til some time after 5, when the babies started screaming again. I let the ducks and geese out of the house and the goats out of the back yard.

I drank only one cup of coffee, wheeled Nilly to the dirt pile and began covering her. I've got one layer on her, but it's not enough. But my arms and legs are so sore from working on her for six hours, I can barely walk or carry things. I put an old pallet on top of her and came in the house to lie down.

I heard a ruckus in the front yard: chickens hollering , cats running in, baby goats screaming, trying to get in the front door.

Two dogs outside, after the baby goats, Willy trying to fight them off. They ran into my back yard. The big one had a bloody mouth. I picked up a PVC sewer pipe and smacked him over the head a few times, since he'd cornered himself in my fence. I let them run out. Weasel chased after them. I don't think they'll be back.

As I started to walk back out, I saw that poor, frost bitten rooster, who'd just regrown his tail feathers, father of a new nest of eggs, lying dead by the duck pond.

I ran out front. The baby ducks and geese were huddled together, right in the open, dead silent. I called to them and they all came to me.

The hens may all be hiding under the house. I heard one singing just a minute ago; it's about four hours later.

My legs are so cramped, I can barely walk. My arms and hands are so tired, it hurts to type this.

I will push more dirt over Nilly tonight and tomorrow morning. There's a heavy, iron grate, looks like some sort of farm equipment, about fifty feet from her grave. It must weigh two hundred pounds. I've sort of moved it before, to get something under it. I'll drag to Nilly's grave, once I've used that entire pile of dirt (10 feet long, six feet wide, two feet tall) to cover Nilly.

Before I started digging, I let the babies come to terms with her. They smelled her all over, especially one ear the little nanny liked to chew. They smelled all the hoses and tubes, tools, blanket, sofa cushions, the chair I sat in and the bucket my neighbor sat on. They even smelled my iced tea glass. They're not crying now. They all came to the grave and smelled her before I started covering her.

Willy, bless his heart, gently butted the dirt around her, once I'd started covering her, trying to uncover her so she could get up.

I think they all know she's gone now. The babies might cry a bit more when they crave milk and at bed time.

She was full of milk when she died. She was a great mother. She was taken from hers at a week old. I don't know how she knew all the wisdom of raising babies, but she knew.

She protected Willy constantly, since Willy is the gullible and trusting one. She protected those kids. She always warned me when someone was coming too close to where ever we lived.

She liked to eat cigarettes, cardboard boxes, junk mail, hard candy and those molasses cookies I'd bake with medicine hidden in them.

I can still hear her voice. Damnedest thing: I could swear I heard her calling me this morning.

The consciousness of that being was amazing: brave, kind, curious. She had an incredibly complex sense of humor. She never suffered fools lightly. She thought the sun rose and set in me. I could see her eyes smile when she saw me. Goats don't have many facial muscles for expression. They tell you what they experience through placement of ears, tail, stance and eyes. I always knew what she was telling me with those eyes. I held her eyelid up so she could see me most of last night, allowing for blinking. She watched me steadily. I could see how weary she was. I could see she was sad. I did not see fear. I saw a little pain near the end. She looked at me with complete trust, even when I was hurting her.

I never stopped talking to her the entire time.

My legs are on fire. I need to eat. and drink something.

She was an amazing gift in my and Willy's lives: a truly noble creature.

Everything melts

burns out:

lamp lamp-shade

the light itself

with no shade left

no world

belongs to you and you

belong

to no world

you are pulled

by rain and light

on roads coming

and going

from everywhere

to everywhere

Jaan Kaplinski

The Same Sea in Us All

Translator: Sam Hamill

Nilly died about 15 mins. ago

Click image to view full size. Nilly is facing camera.

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I don't know. She was fine this morning. Mid to late afternoon, she was sleeping in shade, not near Willy or babies, which is unusual. Babies eating lots of solids now. She didn't let them nurse often or long any more. I thought she was taking a break from them in the heat.

As afternoon went on, babies became more agitated, as Mommy not there.

IT was maybe 4 or 5 o'clock before I understood that something was really wrong. She had moved, was lying down, breathing labored. She couldn't get up.

I put her in my Radio Flyer wagon with an old sofa cushion and rolled her into the front yard, so I could yell for help from passing vehicles.

My neighbor called a friend with goats. Friend said she thought it was bloat and Nilly would be dead in 45 mins, if dr. didn't cut open one of her stomachs to release gas. No vehicle, no money for vet.

I took vinyl tube off my home made air conditioner. I covered it with hand lotion and forced it down her throat into her stomach. I pushed on her sides and she aspirated some. She also had watery diarrhea. Goats normally poop several dozen pellets, the size and shape of rabbit poop. If they're sick, the worst that usually happens is the pellets clump like black berries. I'd seen some black berries the last two days, but thought nothing of it, as everybody's looking very healthy. Had to be Willy or Nilly, as babies' poopies are very tiny, like pepper corns. It usually clears up in a day or two. No big deal.

Now, she's squirting out the back end: Not like a goat, at all.

She moaned a lot. I made a sling from an old blanket, wrapped around her distended stomach, would lift her 'til she hollered. Sometimes, she'd vomit, which is almost unheard of in goats, and sometimes leak out the back.

I would get loud and keep stimulating her when breathing got labored and she rallied at least half a dozen times.

Then, the moaning came regularly, almost with every breath. Her neck went slack and she couldn't hold up her head. I extended her wind pipe. I put a chip of firewood in her mouth, to hold it open, so air could pass more easily.

I went around to the back yard to get another sofa cushion, so she'd be more comfortable. When I got back, she'd stopped breathing. It was seconds. I guess I shouldn't have left her. As long as I stayed, she kept fighting.

I punched her in the chest, screaming, "Babies! Nilly! Come here! Come on! Come back!" I put my hand over her nostrils and sides of her mouth and put my mouth over the front of hers, vomit and all. I must have given her CPR for over twenty minutes. Several times, I felt small muscle movements, but she just couldn't come back. She was trying, even then.

So, I sat with her while her brain died. I thanked her for the babies, for her friendship. I let her know it was ok, that I understood, that I'm not mad at her.

She's in the front yard, still in the wagon. The babies went to bed in their dog house in the animal shelter. Willy went to bed on an old sofa I have out there for them. The babies had been running in the yard, screaming for her. I let them & Willy stay around through all of this, although the babies didn't understand Mommy was sick and kept jumping on her. But I wanted them to know when she was dead, so it wouldn't be as scary as having her just disappear.

I can't dig a hole big enough for her. There's a pile of dirt outside the fence. The people who lived here before had a LOT of trash and burned & buried much of what they didn't just leave lying around. The pile of dirt is at the top of a slope, about ten feet long and six feet wide. I will have to lay Nilly at the bottom of the slope and just push dirt on top of her. I can't let the wild dogs and coyotes get a taste of goat meat; they'll kill all the others.

I lost one of my best friends tonight. I called KUNM's request line. Fortunately, the person on the board is Bob Otty tonight: old hippy, radical, suspicious of station management, always signs off with "Always Look On tthe Bright Side of Life" by Monty Python and refuses to bleep out the phrase, "Life's a piece of shit, when you think of it..." I told him it's an emergency and I don't have Rachel's home number. Would he mind paging her and giving her my number and not tell anybody, since Rachel's always so worried about someone thinking she's abusing some privilege of her job, including her pager.

She called, confused and probably asleep. She's not very smart about human feelings and it took her awhile to understand that I didn't need her to help me, as Nilly was dead. I just needed a human being who knows how much those animals mean to me to let me speak my sorrow. She finally got it. I thanked her for not being mad about the pager and the hour. She was tender and kind and said not to worry.

Kate, they've taken SO MUCH from me. And I've gone through so much to keep my ANIMALS, at least, safe and healthy. Did they HAVE to take NILLY?!?!?!?

The goats sometimes browse on vacant lots near by. One is catty corner to my place. Today, a guy in a van was parked right in the middle of that empty lot, his side window pointed right at my house, staring at me. He stayed out there for about two hours, staring at me constantly. The neighbor who came over to help tonight recognized my description of his van. He owns the lot. If I go over there tomorrow and find rat poison or something, I will call Animal Control. But I cannot guarantee that I won't do something to the bastard. I've been all over that lot with my goats. If I see poison over there, I'll know it was him.

My goats never eat poisonous plants.

My friend is dead. One of the best friends I ever had in my life. I'm embarrassed to say, but Nilly was always my favorite goat of the 2.

I don't know how I'll handle the babies tomorrow. They'll probably witness the burial. I doubt I could keep them away.

I'm so far beyond grief, my heart feels dead. Tomorrow morning, I'll have to see my friend, stiff and dull eyed. I couldn't get her eyelids shut. I'll have to bury my friend in the heat and prickles, all alone. It will take all day.
http://rogiriverstone.com

Too Small to Fail!

MOVIE: "Departures"

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Producers, actors and directors approached it with the same meditative and craftsperson like skill so essential to Japanese tradition. The music is not emotionally manipulative: it is a depiction of the strong and profound emotions of the characters which, according to Japanese etiquette, may not be expressed overtly, out of consideration for the well being of others. This film is a testimony to the agony of grief, the joy of existence and the poignancy of life. We in the West are at least as emotionally repressed and probably more prone to trauma, because we do not have well developed ceremonies to handle it. We do not have social permission to express what is profound, and are punished or ridiculed for such expression. Nokan (encoffinment) is a process of allowing loved ones to witness, and participate in, the preparation of the dead for cremation. Families also witness cremation. Tearing of the veil between life and death is very much more healthy than modern, Western funerary practices which segregate death so radically from the living that we can now pretend antiseptic denial: a process not dissimilar to trash removal, as can be seen in the ham-handed behaviors of one pair of undertakers in the film. Solemn and gentle ritual is vital for psychological closure for the living and mitigates the trauma. The nokanshi must remove ego from this process; there must be no reaction to the state of the body, be it decomposed, transgendered or anything else. The nokanshi must respect the needs of the body and the loved ones first. Later, the nokanshi may find his (or her?) own way of coming to terms, but not in the presence of the deceased or witnesses. The director was convinced, due to the taboos associated with funerary practices, that this film would not be a commercial success. It stormed the box offices in Japan.

MOVIE: "Ballast"

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This is a hopeful, encouraging, empowering film about the sorts of people whose lives have been too long silenced.

Speaking of silence: The sound engineer needs to be worked over for totally screwing up what could have been a really good film, but I'm giving it 4 stars for acting, lighting, script and honesty, even though I could barely hear the actors.

The problem with the dialect is the SOUND. Every word is understandable, WHEN there is decent audio. These actors were not miked correctly. Did they have a boom? A shot gun? Did they use anything besides a cell phone to record this? It's terrible! The motorcycle is so loud, it scared me, so I know the fault is with sound engineering and not with the streaming medium. But I had to literally hold my breath for dialogue at times, with speakers four inches from my ears, at full blast.

It didn't need a sound track; that would have ruined this. Besides, with the above mentioned audio issues, I couldn't have heard a thing, anyway. What the heck kind of music could one put to this, anyway?

Emotional repression is a fact of life among the rural poor. I can imagine that would be especially true at times for African Americans, who have a heritage of silently sucking up what the cold world has offered. This family is seriously traumatized. They act out in their grief in self destructive ways.

But, slowly, they turn themselves back toward the light, toward hope, toward initiative, toward study, toward love.

I'm very happy for these people. They didn't let the trauma permanently poison them. They won!

MOVIE: "Far From Heaven"

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This is a queer movie; it is peculiar. It is not a Queer movie; it does not portray Queer history, culture or life in any authentic version of reality.

Mr. Todd Haynes, writer and director of FFH, was born less than ten miles from me and six years after, in the San Fernando Valley. I can tell you right now: he knew little about the Civil Rights movement of the time; none of us did. It shows in this film. No mentally competent African American man, raising a daughter on his own, would jeopardize her safety by such reckless behavior. Period.

I also believe Mr. Todd Haynes has some work to do on his personal issues about being a Gay man. I'm sure he, like I, was saturated and inundated with anti Queer propaganda of the late fifties and early sixties, during his formative years.

Let me make this clear: Gay cannot be presumed to be alcoholic, woman hating wife beaters! THAT IS A STEREOTYPE.

Oh, it's a very artsy movie, for sure. A lot of attention was paid to the "smoke and mirrors" to mimic a '50s melodrama. He wasted a lot of time on those details. The halting dialogue was farcical, gee whiz, and completely undermined the viewer's ability to relate to the characters in any but the most superficial ways. Not for one second would he allow the viewer to be immersed in the story telling; we must always be reminded that he made a movie. This movie was about Todd Haynes' ego most of all.

This is a movie of stereotype piled upon stereotype. The effect is similar to some cheap imitation of Andy Warhol or that guy who makes the giant "inflatables" and lobsters.

There is no there there.

He learned a lot in film school; that's quite obvious. And he bamboozled a lot of Hollywood snobs who want a chance to assuage their liberal guilt with pretty revisionist history.

And one, very crucial, but unnoticed detail gives him and his pandering house of cards all away.

Ms. Moore's dresses "hiked up in the back," to quote a constant warning from my mother, as I was growing up. No middle class little girl like me -- and especially no upper middle class housewife from Connecticut -- would EVER be caught in public with her petticoats showing and her hems not straight!

From opening overture to spring buds on a branch, I laughed at the sheer gall of this movie, all the way through. It's an embarrassment to Black folks and Queers.

MOVIE: "Bottle Shock"

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I don't know the first thing about wines, mostly. It's odd, as I'm rather a foody, but nobody ever taught me and, frankly, I don't have the budget.

I almost didn't hit play on this one. See, I know what has happened to Napa Valley SINCE the great wine wars of '76. Guys like those portrayed in this film wouldn't have a snowball's chance these days. Speaking of snobs.

I only watched it because I'm curious about Alan Rickman's film career, having just watched "The Winter Guest."


Even though I could pretty much guess what would happen in France, the movie was so suspensful, and had presented the characters so well that I was aching for their success, I have literally bitten off all my finger nails.

I'm a native Californian. People who were willing to drive around on three tires are the real Californians. Cut me, and I bleed Steinbeck. I have to cheer for the Napa Valley folks in this one.

The music was wonderful, thanks. The sound, however, was muddy, had no full range and bad volume. When people spoke quietly, I couldn't hear them, and my speakers are, literally, four inches from my face, cranked to full volume to get through this one. bad.

Little details in this movie make it more fun. For instance, they had to hire 2 actors, get them chauffeur costumes and have them lean against the outside wall of the wine tasting, conversing as working people do as the rich hob nob. We couldn't hear them; they only appeared for a few seconds. THAT is film making.

Bravo!

Now, I need a nail file and, some day, a good glass of wine. But right now, it is 1:30 in the morning. I should not have stayed up so late!

MOVIE: "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead"

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OK, I guess I'm a pseudo intellectual fifteen year old girl then 'cause I enjoyed it.

Maybe it's my brain injury which, I fear, seems to be affecting more with time. For instance, When "Elizabeth R" first came out on Masterpiece Theater, I watched every episode on the edge of my seat. Tried to watch it on NF the other day and could not keep up. Sigh.

I think the Monty Python/ Waiting for Godot crack is pretty close, 'though I really can't bear sitting through another performance of either in my old age. I'm more a "Red Dwarf" gal these days.

So, with memory and concentration fading, I totally spotted myself with this one. Funny as a pickle eating contest at a chapped lip convention.

Personal note to
auc 1808773

The lack of accessibility to these movies for people who need captions is beyond me. I understand: even though I can usually hear, with Elizabethan accents, grammar and figures of speech, a little help might be nice.

I stopped the film multiple times to look up inconsistencies with props. There may, indeed have been tomatoes, MAYBE in Denmark, in those days, but would R & G have had access? The bath scene is more accurate than I'd have thought.

But I still find no excuses for the matches.

This is a fart in a chapel: it's only funny to those of us too tired or too inexperienced to revere Shakespeare as High Art, which he, himself, did not.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosencrantz_%26_Guildenstern_Are_Dead_%28film%29

MOVIE: "Lollilove"

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So, this is suppose to be an indictment of privileged people who exploit the homeless for their own career advancement and ego gratification, right?

Then, why were the cat and dog in this movie credited before the actual homeless people filmed here in closing credits?

I didn't watch this; I skimmed this. That was enough.

Did those real homeless people get PAID for being in this tragedy?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LolliLove

MOVIE: "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"

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Yes, it's Gilliam and a very nice film to look at as a result.

BUT

This is just another film about addicts. Addicts are completely narcissistic. The only thing they respect is their mind alterning chemicals. They're compulsive liars. They put other people's lives in danger because they're too impaired to understand they are not immortal, that their mind is altered by mind ALTERING substances, that what seems "brave" and "edgy" to them is simply irresponsible.

These are little boys with too much money to buy drugs and anything else they "want." They have frail egos and drug induced delusions of adequacy.

And Saguero cactus doesn't grow on any road to Los Vegas from Hollywood.

Oh, was there a war in Viet Nam of which everybody was sick? Funny, most of the world's population found some other way to deal with it besides turning into chemically induced sociopaths.

How ignorant of us!

As for we needing "more bizarre" behavior like this; that's how we got the coke queen/drunk GW Bush in the White House, mumbling, "you're either with us or with the terrorists."

There IS no "American Dream." There's just U.S. propoganda. So, if anything died, it was the delusional thinking that propoganda brought on. And how do we deal with that, kiddies? Get loaded and disrespect and endanger people who've done you no harm.

When he threw change at the waiter and walked out without paying his bill, I knew just what kind of boy he was: Spoiled, addicted, narcissistic and abusive.

This isn't a film. It's a temper tantrum.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fear_and_Loathing_in_Las_Vegas

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I've lived, undiagnosed, with Post Traumatic Stress, for most of my life.

I first saw "The Fisher King" well before I had a diagnosis. Until then, I just went through life, feeling inadequate or lazy or stupid, not knowing how utterly painful the nightmare really is. I didn't know other people weren't held down by PTSD like I was. I thought I was squandering my potential and I hated myself.

"The Fisher King" gave me permission to begin a path to recovery. Its main theme is hope: liberation from bondage, from trauma, from timidity.

"Jack" is always seen behind bars at the beginning of this movie: he's the real captive here, not "Perry."

I want to say something about production. I'm not from NYC and have never been there. But, whenever the subject of Union Station comes up, I immediately see the scene from "TFK," and smile.

And that Escher stair case! Holy smokes!

And the improve in that gorgeous Chinese restaurant!

And the lighting in Bellview!

And the defense of the homeless. Yes, thank you.

This movie probably helped me save my life. It is a dear friend. I was recently robbed and lost almost everything, including my VCR tapes. When I saw "TFK" in my "Play Instantly" thing today, recommended to me, based on my other eclectic and breaking-the-algorithm of trying to guess what I'd like, I was thrilled.

The moment I heard the name, "Babbit's," I misted up.

Every psychology class should be required to see this film. If you think you can "treat" or, more preposterously, heal people with behavioral health challenges, this should be required curriculum!

BRAVO!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fisher_King_%28film%29

MOVIE: "Bickford Shmeckler's Cool Ideas"

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Who says young adults will only buy a ticket to male hormone exploitation flicks?

This has beer and other bongs, ogling and inflatable palm trees, sure. That's part of college/young adulthood.

But the pretty girl ain't no bimbo. The best peer advisor is really honest about himself and the protagonist doesn't cringe with adolescent homophobia. The "homeless" guy is not (as the insulting blurb on NF says) a "lunatic;" he's a guy in crisis looking, gently and commitedly, for a way back.


In fact, behavioral health challenges aren't used here to manufacture cheap snickers. It's a fact: life is hard and sometimes, one needs to recover. No shame in it.

It's not a stupid movie. It's not Stephen Hawking, but, no offence, dude, Stephen hasn't really published fun. Interesting, inspiring, but not a lot of deliberate fun.

So, not too cerebral. Not too bone head macho.

The togas scared me, at first. I had "Animal House" flashbacks that almost made me turn it off. But it went dang cool really fast, and I'm good with it.

And what IS frog-on-a-stick?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bickford_Shmeckler%27s_Cool_Ideas

Off the Grid: Life On The Mesa

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These are not heroes. I guess middle class people wanted to visit these outlaws for some romantic notion. They're not romantic.

I have electricity and well water, but no sewage or heat. I have phone, because I have no vehicle. I have internet, or the isolation would leave me too depressed and despondent.

I leave the water off most of the time because the pipes burst when frozen and they leak. Landlord won't fix anything. I hitch hike or ride my gasoline bicycle. NO drugs. Maybe 3 shots of bourbon each for xmas and my birthday each year.




Kids don't need to be near what's going on out there. There are guns, drugs, toxic chemicals, explosives, rusted scrap metal, poisonous critters, extremes of heat and cold and no access to any help in an emergency. People set fires, shoot guns, get very intoxicated.

It's not a tribe; there's scant cohesion or sense of responsibility to self, let alone others in any consistent way. It's a group tantrum.

I'm sure the "progressive" elite in Albuquerque and Santa Fe will champion these people as "greens," "anarchists," and revolutionaries. They are not. Chaos is not anarchy.

Foraging junk to reuse is not environmentalism, if you are, in the same film, creating huge explosions of noxious smoke.

I put a lot of the blame for the necessity of their and my living arrangements on a society that shuns and vilifies people with behavioral health challenges. A lot of us would rather just live in squalor than "come in" to your "therapies" of toxic drugs, guilt trips and prejudices masquerading as "statistics."

But we're not all a bunch of hair trigger renegades, just waiting for a chance to scare the snot out of the tourists.
Don't know how you make a plastic greenhouse survive sixty mile wind gusts, like we get where I live, though.

What kind of society are we running when our children live like feral dogs?

http://www.snagfilms.com/films/title/off_the_grid_life_on_the_mesa/

MOVIE: "Ship of Fools"

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The blurb here says this movie is "dark." BALDERDASH! This is one stinkin' funny, spot your pants comedy, if you're twisted and patient enough to actually pay attention. Psychologically and philosophically speaking, this makes Cameron's "Titanic" look like a kiddy pool (one wonders how anybody could drown in something so shallow).

I've had a crush on Michael Dunn since I was a kid, back when this came out. Those eyes! That grin! That voice! Intelligence and irony seep from every pore. I <3 href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ship_of_Fools_%28film%29">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ship_of_Fools_%28film%29

MOVIE: "Dark Matter"

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Except for the pathetic ending, this is an excellent movie. Until the protagonist resorted to his "solution," I was completely empathetic.

The "university" (aka assimilationist thought factory) did this to me. They did it because I, a person with behavioral health challenges, believed that class status and "disability" should not be reasons to exclude people from active participation in education.

When shaming me into silence didn't work, they tried isolation and finally had to resort to blatant lies, false accusations and attributions of motive to me that weren't mine.

The system of inhuman pressures people within the modern "academic" industrial complex must endure is making not only the individual participants sick, but has corroded the system to the point of uselessness, which is now destroying the larger culture.

The ending merely reinforces stereotypes about behavioral health challenges and is part of the problem. We are more afraid of you than you have any right to be afraid of us. You mask your prejudices behind carefully manipulated "statistics" to portray us as dangerous, untrustworthy and irrelevant.

I lived with humiliation, dismissal, shouts, threats, sabotage and actual physical violence from my so called "superiors" at the university. Given their behavior, I would have been completely justified in expressing anger, frustration and disappointment. But, because of my behavioral health challenges, I didn't dare express any of that; they would have used it as an excuse to pathologize me.

So, before we assume the sadistic ivory tower of academia will drive people "crazy" and assume to equate that with "violent," remember my story.

They broke my heart. They robbed me of my career. They shunned and ostracized me. But most important of all, they killed my ability to make a contribution to the larger society.

But I never harmed or threatened any of them. Thank you, Richard, Marcos, Tristan, Paul, Renee and Mary B., in particular.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_Matter_%28film%29

MOVIE: "Wall-E"

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We don't have to sit passively, consuming what the big corporations tell us we need, letting our planet, our bodies, our kids and our lives disfigure and die.

We can stop allowing ourselves to be anesthetized and distracted by the BS images of B & L. We can look to each other, form community, plant new life and restore ourselves and the Earth.

This is the most subversive film ever out of Disney studios. It's anti Disney.

Stop sucking the garbage they want to feed us.

Plant something.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WALL-E

MOVIE: "Marilyn Hotchkiss Ballroom Dancing and Charm School"

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I don't think I've ever seen a movie John Goodman's in that I don't like. It's not that he's a brilliant actor, it's just that he has such great taste in scripts.

Until now, that is. With this performance, I can say Goodman is a brilliant actor. I could FEEL him, every time he spoke. It hurt my belly to watch this.

As per the usual Goodman choices, this is not the same old boring formula writing. It's unique and off center and really interesting.


Hurt like the dickens to watch and so encouraging!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marilyn_Hotchkiss%27_Ballroom_Dancing_and_Charm_School

I walked away from the US Census job training

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Kate,

I really tried. I REALLY TRIED!

I planned for that job for WEEKS!

I bought and cooked prepared foods to take for lunches, as I can't afford overpriced crap in that area. I froze small soda bottles of water, to keep my foods cold. I washed all my work clothes. I worked on my bicycle, so it would run its best. I bought food storage containers. I bought a Vasoline body lotion, because petrolium (jelly) is the best way to get oil (petrolium) drips off my legs before going in to work.

I bought the cats a 13 lb. sack of kibble, since I won't be cooking anything for me that they'll want to eat. I made sure there's big containers of water for them to drink and I made litter boxes, since they'd be locked inside all day.

I rigged my trailer as a house for Weasel, since he can't be locked in all day and is so small, he'd escape through the back yard fence and try to follow me if I didn't bring him with me.

I bought the goats a bale of grass hay, since they'd be locked up in the back yard all day, where nothing grows, where they couldn't browse fresh stuff. I bought fifty pounds of cracked corn. I lugged it all home either hitch hiking, with stuff piled on my baby stroller, or pulling it in the trailer I've hitched to my bicycle

I even made the goats a jungle gym out of 55 gallon drums, buckets, a teeter totter a guy was throwing away, etc., so they wouldn't be bored while I was gone 40 hrs. this week for training. I bought gold fish to eat the algae out of the swimming pool stock pond with swamp cooler pump I built in the yard for fresh, oxygenated water for everybody.

I EVEN bought me 3 new pair of socks and a cheap pair of shoes that don't have holes in them.

I extra soaked my garden yesterday, because I figured I'd be too tired for the next day or two to water.

I REALLY planned and prepared for this job!

I usually get up early, but made sure I was trained for 4:30am, so I could be awake (that takes 2 hours, with brain injury and can't be rushed, I've learned) and have chores done AND allow extra time in case something funny happens with gasoline bicycle.

They were COMPLETELY disorganized. I walked in and the room was already half full at 8, because some were told to be there then; I was told 8:30. Everybody was confused. They weren't even sure how many days, or hours per day, training was. Training is a regular 40 hr work week for a job that's evenings and weekends. I know some people fell through the cracks because they'd have conflicts with other employers. And that's just one example, but it's not why I left.

It was the loyalty oath. I just started reading it when I saw the first problem.

Remember: this is a very conservative area and almost everybody who isn't Roman Catholic is born again. I asked if I had to swear "so help me God." and the guy said they "have a form for that." Then, he singled me out and told me to wait 'til the others were sworn in. I said, "I won't be singled out for religious differences." So, I stood.

"All enemies, foreign and domestic:" I didn't verbalize that. I thought, I can do this; I'll just define for myself who is or is not an enemy.

But then, there was this statement that I affirm I am not being coerced to take this oath (which I was) and that it is not my intention to misrepresent myself (which I was).

I saw, immediately, Baghdad, lit up during Shock and Awe. I saw the first gulf war. I saw the amputations, mutilations, screaming, fires, crush injuries...

I saw every war since I've been alive.

I saw it all, Kate.

And then I thought about drones over Pakistan under Obama.

And then I thought about "don't ask; don't tell" and Obama's waffling on Queer rights.

And then I remembered the NPR story yesterday about how tens of thousands of military are returning home disabled. It wasn't the focus of the story; the story was about habitat restoration as employment for veterans. I remember standing at the kitchen sink, unable to breathe, thinking of what tens of thousands of wounded people would look like, and all the others without diagnoses who would never be the same again after war. And that was just US people.

And then, I remembered my trips to the VA hospital, when I worked for a veteran and when I did radio documentaries about veterans.

And then, I remembered how HARD my life has been with a brain injury and PTSD and the FLOODS of people with my diagnoses, returning to the states now, and we have NO infrastructure to welcome, debrief and rehabilitate them in this recession.

I remembered one snowy day after 9/11. I got on the bus, wearing a long skirt, coat and a long, wide scarf, wrapped over my head and around my face for warmth. Some boys on the bus had called me "towel head" and al quaida and started pushing and hitting me. The bus driver did nothing.

I am not an enemy of the state. I love the USA and I love her citizens and social history.

I'm also a committed pacifist and I mean "committed" as in willing to go to jail for it, as many, including the Mennonites, have in the past.

The only real threats I've experienced to the US Constitution (which I passionately support) are US politicians and military authorities. They're the ones who make the bone headed decisions that cause terrorism in the first place.

There's this movie, "Dakota Skye," about a girl who knows when people are lying. She's in history class. The teacher says, "oh, yes, Jefferson had a few slaves" and the caption for what she heard was "Jefferson had 200+ -- I can't remember the exact number" Then the teacher says, "Jefferson freed a lot of his slaves." And her caption said, "He freed exactly five slaves, and all of them were blood relatives"

I'm not naive. And I do support the US Constitution, which the average US citizen, when read excerpts from it, will often say must be part of some Communist document.

I didn't say a word. While everybody else was trying to fill out w2 forms without worksheets (it's the US Gov't., and they didn't include an IRS worksheet for deductions, etc.?), I gathered my things, got up, pushed past the woman seated beside me who had refused, twice before, to move her chair so I could pass without climbing all over her, and I left.

I heard a man who'd followed me outside say, "ma'am, ma'am" in a tone of voice that sounded like I'd be sent to the principal's office or a firing squad if I didn't respond. But I never stopped and I never looked back.

I went around the corner, to my bike and my dog, holding that damn loyalty oath. I greeted Weasel and let him off his leash.

I got out my cigarettes and lit one. I tore the loyalty oath in half and set it on fire with my cigarette lighter.

We went to a grassy place near a bank. My bike was in the sun to warm. I pulled out one of my mock frappucinos (Starbuck's makes them; they cost $2. I make them with generic --not Nestle's --Quick, a teaspoon of instant coffee and milk, shaken up in a 20 oz. plastic soda bottle) and sat in the grass with my dog, sipping my drink and smoking.

I was proud of myself for being ethical.

I was devastated that I wouldn't get the nearly $500 for a week's training, not to mention the job, itself, which I would have loved and would have paid a lot more money.

I thought about the $800 car down the street that I couldn't buy, the credit cards I couldn't pay off and or the savings toward getting a better place to live that I wouldn't have. I thought about my painful, rotten teeth, five of which I've extracted myself. I thought about how I can't afford shoes or a vacuum cleaner and how sore my feet are and how dirty my floor is.

I wanted to cry, I really did.

I wanted to talk to someone about it and KNEW nobody here would understand. Then, I remembered the Mennonites own a little store a block from where I was, so I went by, but they were closed. I don't know these Mennonites. They're white caps. The ones in Ft. Sumner are black caps and FAR more conservative. But the white caps are standoffish and very rigid about promoting their condemnation of such things as Halloween. Black caps are much more open, curious, funny, generous and nonjudmental. I only wave at a few white cap women who live up here as they walk or drive by. They're polite, but not friendly like the black caps were. So, I can't really talk to them, either. But they wouldn't have taken that oath, either.

So, I came home, took off my nice dress that I'd had to wear under sweats to keep bike grease off it, and let the goats out.

While I was sitting in the grass, I thought about telling you. But I wanted to wait 'til I wasn't so strongly, emotionally conflicted before I wrote.

And I worry that robots might be reading email and seeing some of the words in this one and I don't feel safe and I worry about compromising you by sending this.

Radio is my only way out of poverty, I'm pretty sure.

I'm sending a picture of my teeth. It was about four years ago. They're much worse now.

MOVIE: "Go Further"

You are reading http://livinginthehood.blogspot.com
"We take food stamps!" Oh, yeah? Well, you ain't takin' mine, dude. I get $90/month to live on. That's ONE trip to the politically correct, boutique food stores.

I live in the frontier. I'm five miles from a BAD grocery and there's no public transportation, so I have to hitch hike when the weather's too bad for my gasoline powered bicycle. Most of us can't afford biodiesel. Most of us can't afford all the meal prep.

This is a "revolution" for upper middle class and wealthy white, young, able bodied snobs who are pricing the rest of us out of healthy food. TWO people of color on the bus: the Asian yooga instructor and the BLACK BUS DRIVER! Please!

Last town I live in, half the meals were bought a the convenience store, since the nearest large grocery was 120 miles, round trip!

Notice you didn't see anybody disabled, low income? What's up with that?

Hemp oil? How would one acquire THAT? At least we could use French fry oil, if we could afford the fuel conversion kits!

Solar? How much do those panels cost and how much energy do they produce?

Stop smokin weed and get down here in the big box slums with the rest of us!

One star, for Ken Kesey.

Useless. I learned NOTHING!

MOVIE: "One Flew Over the Cucoo's Nest"

You are reading http://livinginthehood.blogspot.com

This garbage is still going on in so called mental "health" facilities. Now days, they rely more heavily on drugs as chemical rather than physical restraints.

Also, thanks to big PhRMA, now everybody gets a diagnosis, so they can sell more drugs.

Abuse is rampant.

Mac is no antihero; he is a hero. He tried to comply. He was polite, calm and cheerful. But he thought for himself and showed compassion for the other inmates. That made him a complete threat to a brittle and nonfunctional system of abuse, control and repression. He had to be stopped.

If behavioral health were treated using dignity, actual listening, respect, encouraging a sense of accomplishment, honest sexuality and just plain fun, more people would have fulfilling, productive lives, rather than wandering the streets, jails and wards in hell on Earth.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One_Flew_Over_the_Cuckoo%27s_Nest_%28film%29

chicknes, garden, films, job

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Kate,

Well, I've been on a serious film binge since I wrote you re: "Julie and Julia."

You can read my adventures in women's films here:
http://viridianariverstone.blogspot.com/

and on poor folks here:
http://livinginthehood.blogspot.com/

On the last, you'll also see detailed research results on building a home made air conditioner. I have plenty of fans and buckets; I just need some flexible, metal tubing and I'll stay cool all summer. If I purchase a 12 v automobile fan and a solar battery charger, I can use no electricity! But that's down the road. Right now, I have to keep it cheap.

See, next week, I begin a 4 day, paid training to be a Census canvasser. The job will last apx. 11 weeks, apx. 30 hrs/week at $13+/hr. It should give me plenty of opportunity for meeting local residents, whom I may contact later for radio stories. There's plenty of walking, too. I should be carrying a hand held computer or specialized notebooks. I can drive my gasoline powered bicycle to the neighborhoods. So, I'm gorging on film stories, so I'll have images, memories and sounds of things I really enjoyed as I go out to people's homes. It will make me less fearful, less anxious, less defensive, less grumpy, less impatient with meeting new people at their homes.

You're torturing me with your adventures in NYC, you know. I get plenty of music online, yet I do know the power of a cathedral, acoustically designed for music and spoken word. I watched "Amedeus" again the other night. The wedding takes place in a cathedral with live music.

I work & sleep in a kid's bunk bed: double on bottom, for self and animals; twin on top, welded of metal tubing. I've hung baskets, clock, lamp, electric blanket control, modem, telephone and speakers from the top bunk's bars. My computer speakers are directly over my head and of radio production quality. While my hearing has diminished over the years, due to tinnitus, my brain is quite capable of filtering out the static of whistles, squeals, buzzes and I can hear ok. And the brain soon adjusts to the position of the speakers, relative to the monitor (which is to my left and apx. 3 feet away), so I hear what I'm watching in good stereo. The Mozart was wonderful!

We have a few, non indigenous trees that bloomed in private yards. Mostly, though, I'm still waiting for the prairie to look green from a distance. I see fresh growth everywhere, close up. I'm on a gently rolling hillscape, above the Rio Grande. I can see bottom land fields, mesas and the Sandia Mountains. The sky is heartbreakingly beautiful.

TINY flowers are blooming everywhere, but must be noticed to be seen. There's a miniature white daisy that I suspect is chamomile, but I won't pick any to smell it until it's past blooming. There's a bell shaped flower on stalks of something that looks like wild onion or chives or maybe a tiny lily. There are salmon flowers, the size of a nickel, that look like small wild rose or California poppy, but are not. Occasionally, I see wild, white lupin. Mustards are blooming. I see starts of thistle in my nearly-barren back yard; they'll grow four feet tall with outrageously purple blue flowers, like miniature artichokes.

My father used to call these desert flowers "belly plants," because you just about have to get down on your belly to really see them. He loved the desert and Mom and I scattered his remains at a primitive camp ground in Borrego Springs, among the hummingbirds (his most loved bird.) He actually held one once, when he was very sick. He was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the garden, when two hummers started fighting for territory. One hummer flew right into our 8 foot redwood fence and felll into the flower bed. He grabbed his oxygen tube (200 feet long, so he could walk the yards with oxygen) and went to the bird. He rummaged in the plants 'til he found it and held it, on its back, in his palm. He gently stroked its chest, fearing it was dead. Soon, however, the bird revived. He said it was limp in his hand and, suddenly, it was just gone! It went so fast, he couldn't even see it fly away.

I get my love of primitive life, desert and animals from Dad. I also get my sense of humor from him. From Mom, I got love of the arts, including music, well done home crafts, including food and gardening. And I got learning and reading from both of them: he, nature and science; she: literature, poetry.

My little garden is struggling to sprout, despite almost nutrient free soil (thank to goats, I have lots of goat poop and my neighbors bring me yard waste for compost and mulch). I have no idea what will survive the struggle to live here. My tub gardens are sprouting mightily. They're cattle feed tubs, like these:
http://www.cliftonfeed.com/images/pix-logos/Cattle-FlyTub.jpg

And I found two timpony, of all things, at the Fort Sumner landfill. They had no drum heads. I'm thinking they belonged to the high school. But they're great for planting and they look like copper, so they're quite impressive.

I'm TRYING to grow amaranth, purple beans, multicolored popcorn, several squash and melons, garlic, onions, carrots, broccoli, spinach, basil, poppies, marigolds, luffa sponge, a blend called "Rio Grande restoration" which includes native grasses and desert/prairie plants, birdhouse gourds, lemon cucumbers (which can be pickled), heirloom tomatoes, some old potatoes that went to sprout, clover, oats, and I can't remember what all else.

I've dug 2 trenches apx. 30 feet long beside the house and fenced it. I also scratched out an apx. 15x10 kidney-shaped bed in the "drive" on the other side, liked with firewood. I have some native cactus in there, too. That one's covered with plastic and metal laundry hampers, crates, animal cages and a small piece of fence, to keep chickens and goats away from sprouts 'til they're big enough to be unattractive. Of course, chickens and goats MUST jump on all that, but they can't get to the baby plants. Oh, I have sunflowers, too: Hopi black dye.

I bought a bunch of seed at http://www.nativeseeds.org/ and an online friend sent me a huge batch of other seed. We're having spring rains, so watering's not a big issue.

I should tell you about the rooster who walked at least half a mile, half dead, to get here. Nobody nearer has chickens. He was in the empty lot, across the road from my drive. I thought, at first, he was one of my hens (my eyes are bad), and approached him. I knew he was a rooster when he raised his hackles at me. He took off, running the opposite direction, so I left him be. Several hours later, there he stood, again. I ignored him, but threw out some feed. Soon, he was in my yard, so spent, he let me pick him up, but screamed about it. His entire comb, waddles and part of his beak were black with frost bite. His tail feathers were gone. He had poop on his vent feathers, which can be a dangerous sign of contagion. But I put him in my chicken/goat house. He was so weak, he had a hard time holding himself upright.

Next day, he was still where I'd put him. I took him out to my little fish/stock pond and set him down. He fell in the water twice. He drank and drank for most of the day.

The next day, he began, haltingly, to walk about the yard. The hens would attack if he came too close; they knew he was sick. For three days, it went like this. He never made a sound, except to scream if I had to pick him up.

Finally, in early afternoon of the next day, he crowed. I thought: he might make it.

He won't sleep with the others; he perches on a low branch of a sapling beside the north side of the house.

The hens adjusted to his presence and began permitting him to come ever closer to them as they hunted food in the yard. By now, he was crowing appropriately, mornings and evenings and , periodically, at other times, if a stray dog came near us.

By the time the hens were ignoring him as one of the flock, the best thing happened. I was out with the goats, across the road in the field, when I heard a hen squawk. I looked up to see the rooster dismount my best laying hen.

He's a gaming cock. I don't think he was fought; he looks old and his spurs are nubs. He doesn't have much time left on Earth: maybe a year or two.

But he's all over the yard now, healthy and happy. I don't know what will happen to the blackened flesh on his face. it may drop away and he'll look very strange.

He found me. Just like Fatty Watty Kitty Catty and Spanky, my part time dog.

I guess the word is out about me in the animal world. These days, there's a scruffy, hungry-looking black laborador circling the place apologetically. He doesn't seem interested in killing chickens, goats or cats, so we'll see what happens there.

I may buy some ducklings at the feed store this week; they're due on the 21st of April.

Very long message. sorry.

TELEVISION: "The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman"

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I think it's well past time for the Motion Picture Academy ("Oscars") to give Ms. Tyson a lIfetime Achievement Award.

When Halle Barry received the first Oscar for best leading actress, it was a profound moment, mostly because it had taken so long for the Academy to acknowledge the work of Black women in the arts.

All I could think was, "What about Ms. Tyson?"

Yes, she has had a profound and ample career as an actress who has consistently portrayed strong characters. She has lived just fine, thank you very much, without serious recognition by the Academy.

We have generations now, again, who do not know their history and the risk to life their grand parents took to get us here.

Few realize what an act of courage is portrayed by an old woman, drinking water. We take for granted that for which people risked their lives. And those who forget their past are doomed to repeat it.

Ms. Tyson took serious risks to her life and professional career, just by choosing the powerful roles she acted.

Ms. Tyson's body of work needs to be honored and respected, to shine a light on the history of struggle and dignity her portrayals have consistently represented.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Autobiography_of_Miss_Jane_Pittman

DIY Air Conditioners

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I'd rather freeze a few 2 liter soda bottles for the ice water. I can also use them when I take my ice chest to town for groceries.

Gravity fed requires no ice; heat is transferred into lower container's water.

A hybrid of both the car and house air conditioning systems could be built, so you'd have a fan powered by solar battery charger, using gravity fed water.

Here's a really radical alternative: your hybrid, using copper coils, could blow cold air INto an ice chest, for a portable refrigerator without household current!

HOUSE AIR CONDITIONING
This one requires a pump.


This one is gravity fed: no pump, but it won't work if you let the top bucket run dry! No ice required!


AUTO & CAMPING AIR CONDITIONERS
Here's one using 12v fans. It operates heat or cool. I'd use a Styrofoam ice chest, rather than the bag, for stability. The really cool part of this is that your electricity source can be a 12v solar battery charger. They're pretty cheap at online auctions. This would be heat or cooling for camping trips, vehicles, etc. where alternating current isn't available. Items can be heated or cooled using a car refrigerator, which operates on both settings, and can also be powered by the solar charger.

Homemade Air Conditioner - The most popular videos are a click away

Another 12v, using an ice chest. I'd use the frozen 2 liter bottles for this one: recycle the water.

12v Portable Air Conditioner Camping Tent - VidoEmo - Emotional Video Unity

MOVIE: "Miracle at St. Anna"

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I've always hated war movies.

Then, I saw "Glory."

"Miracle at St. Anna" is just as powerful.

This may be the best work Spike Lee has ever done, and I really respect his body of work.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miracle_at_St._Anna