Mountain of Waste at Copenhagen

Mountain of Waste at Copenhagen December 16, 2009 – 7:21 PM | by: William La Jeunesse Use less water. Drive smaller cars. Turn down the heat. Save the planet. Those are the messages coming from the United Nations climate conference in Copenhagen, but the environmental elite here may have a problem with saying one thing while doing another — at least when it comes to paper.The green-conscious conference is utterly buried in it. Not just 8×11 white sheets, but the heavy cream-colored paper used in brochures and glossy red-and-yellow papers the United Nations uses to urge attendees to live a low-carbon lifestyle.

(emphasis added) via Mountain of Waste at Copenhagen « Liveshots.  Source: http://liveshots.blogs.foxnews.com/2009/12/16/mountain-of-waste-at-copenhagen/ (accessed 12/17/2009)

And more:

Handouts from the Colombian rainforest exhibit, which appeared to be underwritten by the country’s Ministry of the Environment, were printed on paper that did not indicate that it was recycled. That exhibit also provided documents promoting palm oil, which environmentalists say is being produced plantation-style in former rainforests, creating massive amounts of carbon dioxide from deforestation.

An NGO called Tearfund, which sells carbon credits and works to reduce poverty, offers up a 32-page brochure called “The first cut is the deepest; reducing global emmissions.” Its handout comes printed on thick, high-quality paper that is not recycled.

It seems as if the rest of the world wants to tell us “do as I say, not as I do” and to criticize the American lifestyle, thus

One reporter asked Inhofe “What do you tell the children who have to live in a nightmare world. What should we tell them about your country being a heroin addict on fossil fuel?

Source: December 17, 2009 – 7:19 AM | by: William La Jeunesse http://liveshots.blogs.foxnews.com/2009/12/17/sen-inhofe-r-in-lions-den-in-copenhagen/ (accessed 12/17/2009)

Yet the same critics will, I’m sure, gladly continue to take U.S. dollars from hard-working taxpayers via Secretary Clinton’s recent offer of $10 billion. See,

Clinton: U.S. Ready to Join $100B Climate Aid Fund

FOXNews.com

Secretary of State Hillary Clinton told reporters in Copenhagen Thursday the United States is willing to commit up to $10 billion a year by 2012, and would support a global fund of $100 billion a year to help developing nations deal with climate change, provided nations like China are willing live up to the ‘transparency’ demanded by the U.S.

via FOXNews.com – Clinton: U.S. Ready to Join $100B Climate Aid Fund. http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2009/12/17/clinton-ready-join-b-climate-aid-fund/ (accessed 12/17/2009)

There can be no doubt that human-caused emissions, waste, and more have caused damage to the ecology and you don’t have to believe in global warming to know that. But the damage does not emanate solely from the U.S. and nations across the globe must all make commitments, not just scream at the paper tiger that, sadly, America has become.

As those who know me are aware, I love the Earth and the outdoors as much as anyone and am frequently sickened by spoilage I see in rivers and creeks, or even high atop a mountain in Big Bend. We need to be better stewards but the political rhetoric gets in the way.

So the real question is this:  why must we couch our $10 billion commitment or the Copenhagen “summit” as dealing with “climate change” or “global warming” or any other of the perceived symptoms that may or may not come from human endeavors? Why not simply look at the things we could do better, as the U.S. has steadily done over the years (e.g. scrubbers on smokestacks, cleaner-burning fuels, etc.), to better treat good Mother Earth?

Oh, and chill with the hypocritical rhetoric!

The Land That Made Me Me

I think I’m putting this on here (and FB viewers might need to go to the link if photos don’t show) for a couple of reasons. One is nostalgic, nostalgia simply for times that I live within and nostalgia for the benefits that a simpler life provided for society. The other is to preserve for my children and grandchildren some images so vividly descriptive of my childhood and early adult years.  This was purloined from an email posted to my high school class email group (thanks, Eric) … and you can pretty well guess what year we graduated!

And by the way, while the exact years may vary, it’s the same land that made most of my friends — young and old alike.

The land that made me, me …

Long ago and far away, in a land that time forgot,
Before the days of Dylan, or the dawn of Camelot.
There lived a race of innocents, and they were you and me,

For Ike was in the White House in that land where we were born,
Where navels were for oranges, and Peyton Place was porn.

We learned to gut a muffler, we washed our hair at dawn,
We spread our crinolines to dry in circles on the lawn.
We longed for love and romance, and waited for our Prince,
And Eddie Fisher married Liz, and no one’s seen him since.

We danced to ‘Little Darlin,’ and sang to ‘Stagger Lee’
And cried for Buddy Holly in the Land That Made Me, Me.

Only girls wore earrings then, and 3 was one too many,
And only boys wore flat-top cuts, except for Jean McKinney.

And only in our wildest dreams did we expect to see
A boy named George with Lipstick, in the Land That Made Me, Me.

We fell for Frankie Avalon, Annette was oh, so nice,
And when they made a movie, they never made it twice.

We didn’t have a Star Trek Five, or Psycho Two and Three,
Or Rocky-Rambo Twenty in the Land That Made Me, Me.

Miss Kitty had a heart of gold, and Chester had a limp,
And Reagan was a Democrat whose co-star was a chimp.

We had a Mr. Wizard, but not a Mr. T,
And Oprah couldn’t talk yet, in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We had our share of heroes, we never thought they’d go,
At least not Bobby Darin, or Marilyn Monroe.

For youth was still eternal, and life was yet to be,
And Elvis was forever in the Land That Made Me, Me.

We’d never seen the rock band that was Grateful to be Dead,
And Airplanes weren’t named Jefferson , and Zeppelins were not Led.

And Beatles lived in gardens then, and Monkees lived in trees,
Madonna was Mary in the Land That Made Me, Me.

We’d never heard of microwaves, or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed, but they were not grown in jars.

And pumping iron got wrinkles out, and ‘gay’ meant fancy-free,
And dorms were never co-ed in the Land That Made Me, Me.

We hadn’t seen enough of jets to talk about the lag,
And microchips were what was left at the bottom of the bag.

And hardware was a box of nails, and bytes came from a flea,
And rocket ships were fiction in the Land That Made Me, Me.

Buicks came with portholes, and side shows came with freaks,
And bathing suits came big enough to cover both your cheeks.

And Coke came just in bottles, and skirts below the knee,
And Castro came to power near the Land That Made Me, Me.

We had no Crest with Fluoride, we had no Hill Street Blues,
We had no patterned pantyhose or Lipton herbal tea
Or prime-time ads for those dysfunctions in the Land That Made Me, Me.

There were no golden arches, no Perrier to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda, and cats were not called Bill.

And middle-aged was 35 and old was forty-three,
And ancient were our parents in the Land That Made Me, Me.

But all things have a season, or so we’ve heard them say,
And now instead of Maybelline we swear by Retin-A.
They send us invitations to join AARP,
We’ve come a long way, baby, from the Land That Made Me, Me.

So now we face a brave new world in slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they’re using smaller print in magazines.
And we tell our children’s children of the way it used to be,
Long ago and far away in the Land That Made Me, Me.

A different Christmas poem

Please see the note at the bottom about the origin of this poem.  Regardless of the true origin, it’s a beautiful thought and worthy of preserving.

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,

I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.

The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know,

Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.

Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

“What are you doing?” I asked without fear,
“Come in this moment, it’s freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!”
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..

To the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
Then he sighed and he said “Its really all right,
I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night.”
“It’s my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.

No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ‘ Pearl on a day in December,”
Then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.”
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘ Nam ‘,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue… an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.

I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.”

”  So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”
“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
“Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,
For being away from your wife and your son.”

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
“Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.”

According to snopes.com (http://www.snopes.com/holidays/christmas/glurge/different.asp) the true author is Michael Marks.  And on another site (http://officespam.chattablogs.com/archives/2006/11/lcdr-jeff-giles-sc-usn.html), I found this comment:

Jeff Giles has been incorrectly cited as the author of “A Different Christmas Poem”. The poem is actually entitled “A Soldier’s Christmas” and was written by Michael Marks on December 7th, 2000. The works of Mr. Marks have been featured in the Washington Times, hang in the Titan Missile Museum, and are featured on the International War Veteran’s Poetry Archive at http://www.iwvpa.net/marksm

I know, because I am Michael Marks. LCDR Giles simply forwarded my poem long ago and had his email signature appended at the bottom.

Warmest regards,

Michael Marks

Thank you, Michael Marks, for a beautiful piece.

http://www.snopes.com/holidays/christmas/glurge/different.asp

“The Blindside” will blindside you emotionally

For the guys I’ll say it’s just a movie about football so go enjoy some good hitting. It does also star Sandra Bullock — one of my favorites — who looks positively scrumptious as a blonde and turns in what may be the best performance of her career.

Now then, for the gals and those guys willing to get in touch with their “feminine” side, go see it for a wonderful story that will show you all sides of life.  And it will rip your guts right out from many different directions.

I think it may be the best movie I’ve seen in years. Many years.  It includes apparent elitist rich white folks, a catty lunch group of women, a view of the worst of the ghetto and some rednecks you’d love to strangle.  If you were to plot the emotional ride it would be a sawtooth wave as opposed to a nice smooth sine wave!  You will see the best of humanity juxtaposed with the worst of what homo sapiens do to one another.

Be sure to see it with someone you love. I did.

If you want to know a little more, check Internet Movie database:

The story of Michael Oher, a homeless and traumatized boy who became an All American football player and first round NFL draft pick with the help of a caring woman and her family. full summary

Art Linkletter can’t compete

Remember “Kids Say the Darndest Things?”  Great show. Would love to see that back.  But what people say in court could be quite competitive with what kids say.

Had an application for court-appointed attorney.  Let’s say it’s from Jeff who is charged with a felony.  The application is denied because he lists $60,000 in clear assets.  So I have him at the bench to tell him why it was denied, whereupon he says “I don’t got that no more … my wife sold everything.”  Hmmm, what’s up, I think.   So I quiz him.  Property is gone, money is gone and does not know where wife (call her Brenda) is.

OK, he now qualifies, having told me this sad tale under oath. Then we notice on his application that the wife listed was Wilma.  I had already sent him back to the holding cell.  “Wait, Prew (deputy/bailiff), we need him back” and here he comes.  “I’m confused. What’s your wife’s name?” I ask. “Wilma” he says.  “But you told me your wife was Brenda” says I.

“Brenda is my wife. Wilma is my ‘baby mama’ who I live with.  That’s why my wife sold all my stuff and left.”

And he did not seem to have been real surprised at that result.

He’s indigent. He gets the lawyer.

HOW IMMIGRATION AND MULTICULURALISM DESTROYED DETROIT

This is a must read article. I am NOT expressing an opinion about either immigration — whether any form of it is good or bad — or multiculturalism (whatever that means to different people). But this writer appears to have his facts in hand and thus I pass along the facts he presents, together with his analysis of his opinion of cause and effect. I don’t vouch for that analysis but do think there has been enough written about Detroit to lend credibility to the notions presented to at least warrant discussion.  The typos, regrettably, are his.

Also see Okrent, Daniel.  “Detroit:  The Death — and Possible Life — of a Great City.”  Time.com. September 24, 2009.  http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1925796,00.html (accessed Dec 3, 2009)

Feel free to come to my blog and comment.

HOW IMMIGRATION AND MULTICULURALISM DESTROYED DETROIT

By Frosty Wooldridge
October 5, 2009
NewsWithViews.com

For 15 years, from the mid 1970s to 1990, I worked in Detroit, Michigan. I watched it descend into the abyss of crime, debauchery, gun play, drugs, school truancy, car-jacking, gangs and human depravity. I watched entire city blocks burned out. I watched graffiti explode on buildings, cars, trucks, buses and school yards. Trash everywhere! Detroiters walked through it, tossed more into it and ignored it.

Tens of thousands and then, hundreds of thousands today exist on federal welfare, free housing and food stamps! With Aid to Dependent Children, minority women birthed eight to 10 and in once case, one woman birthed 24 kids as reported by the Detroit Free Press—all on American taxpayer dollarss. A new child meant a new car payment, new TV and whatever mom wanted. I saw Lyndon Baines Johnson’s “Great Society” flourish in Detroit. If you give money for doing nothing, you will get more hands out taking money for doing nothing.

Mayor Coleman Young, perhaps the most corrupt mayor in America, outside of Richard Daley in Chicago, rode Detroit down to its knees. He set the benchmark for cronyism, incompetence and arrogance. As a black man, he said, “I am the MFIC.” The IC meant ‘in charge’. You can figure out the rest. Detroit became a majority black city with 67 percent African-Americans.

As a United Van Lines truck driver for my summer job from teaching math and science, I loaded hundreds of American families into my van for a new life in another city or state. Detroit plummeted from 1.8 million citizens to 912,000 today. At the same time, legal and illegal immigrants converged on the city, so much so, that Muslims number over 300,000. Mexicans number 400,000 throughout Michigan, but most work in Detroit.

As the Muslims moved in, the whites moved out. As the crimes became more violent, the whites fled. Finally, unlawful Mexicans moved in at a torrid pace. You could cut the racial tension in the air with a knife! Detroit may be one our best examples of multiculturalism: pure dislike and total separation from America.

Today, you hear Muslim calls to worship over the city like a new American Baghdad with hundreds of Islamic mosques in Michigan, paid for by Saudi Arabia oil money. High school flunk out rates reached 76 percent last June according to NBC’s Brian Williams. Classrooms resemble more foreign countries than America. English? Few speak it! The city features a 50 percent illiteracy rate and growing. Unemployment hit 28.9 percent in 2009 as the auto industry vacated the city.

In this week’s Time Magazine October 4, 2009, “The Tragedy of Detroit: How a great city fell and how it can rise again,” I choked on the writer’s description of what happened.

“If Detroit had been savaged by a hurricane and submerged by a ravenous flood, we’d know a lot more about it,” said Daniel Okrent. “If drought and carelessness had spread brush fires across the city, we’d see it on the evening news every night. Earthquake, tornadoes, you name it — if natural disaster had devastated the city that was once the living proof of American prosperity, the rest of the country might take notice.

But Detroit, once our fourth largest city, now 11th and slipping rapidly, has had no such luck. Its disaster has long been a slow unwinding that seemed to remove it from the rest of the country. Even the death rattle that in the past year emanated from its signature industry brought more attention to the auto executives than to the people of the city, who had for so long been victimized by their dreadful decision-making.”

As Coleman Young’s corruption brought the city to its knees, no amount of federal dollars could save the incredible payoffs, kick backs and illegality permeating his administration. I witnessed the city’s death from the seat of my 18-wheeler tractor trailer because I moved people out of every sector of decaying Detroit.

“By any quantifiable standard, the city is on life support. Detroit’s treasury is $300 million short of the funds needed to provide the barest municipal services,” Okrent said. “The school system, which six years ago was compelled by the teachers’ union to reject a philanthropist’s offer of $200 million to build 15 small, independent charter high schools, is in receivership. The murder rate is soaring, and 7 out of 10 remain unsolved. Three years after Katrina devastated New Orleans, unemployment in that city hit a peak of 11%. In Detroit, the unemployment rate is 28.9%. That’s worth spelling out: twenty-eight point nine percent.”

At the end of Okrent’s report, and he will write a dozen more about Detroit, he said, “That’s because the story of Detroit is not simply one of a great city’s collapse. It’s also about the erosion of the industries that helped build the country we know today. The ultimate fate of Detroit will reveal much about the character of America in the 21st century. If what was once the most prosperous manufacturing city in the nation has been brought to its knees, what does that say about our recent past? And if it can’t find a way to get up, what does that say about our future?”

As you read in my book review of Chris Steiner’s book, $20 Per Gallon, the auto industry won’t come back. Immigration will keep pouring more and more uneducated third world immigrants from the Middle East into Detroit—thus creating a beachhead for Islamic hegemony in America. If 50 percent illiteracy continues, we will see more homegrown terrorists spawned out of the Muslim ghettos of Detroit. Illiteracy plus Islam equals walking human bombs. You have already seen it in the Madrid, Spain, London, England and Paris, France with train bombings, subway bombings and riots. As their numbers grow, so will their power to enact their barbaric Sharia Law that negates republican forms of government, first amendment rights and subjugates women to the lowest rungs on the human ladder. We will see more honor killings by upset husbands, fathers and brothers that demand subjugation by their daughters, sisters and wives. Muslims prefer beheadings of women to scare the hell out of any other members of their sect from straying.

Multiculturalism: what a perfect method to kill our language, culture, country and way of life.

Listen to Frosty Wooldridge on Wednesdays as he interviews top national leaders on his radio show “Connecting the Dots” at www.themicroeffect.com at 6:00 PM Mountain Time. Adjust tuning in to your time zone.

© 2009 Frosty Wooldridge – All Rights Reserved


Source: NewsWithViews.com
URL Source: http://www.newswithviews.com/Wooldridge/frosty506.htm
(accessed Dec 3, 2009)

Story of a challenged senior

Gleaned from the coffee-stained keyboard of the internet, I found this. Could not find the originator so cannot give proper attribution, but it’s just too good not to preserve and pass along.  I’d like to say that I’m not in this fellow’s category since shortly after I took the bench one of the newspapers dubbed me the “electronic judge” but hey, that was 13 years ago!

How did we ever cope as kids????

I thought about the 30 year business I ran with 1800 employees, all without a Blackberry that played music, took videos, pictures and communicated with Facebook and Twitter.

I signed up under duress for Twitter and Facebook, so my seven kids, their spouses, 13 grandkids and 2 great grand kids could communicate with me in the modern way. I figured I could handle something as simple as Twitter with only 140 characters of space.

That was before one of my grandkids hooked me up for Tweeter, Tweetree, Twhirl, Twitterfon, Tweetie and Twittererific Tweetdeck, Twitpix and something that sends every message to my cell phone and every other program within the texting world.

My phone was beeping every three minutes with the details of everything except the bowel movements of the entire next generation. I am not ready to live like this. I keep my cell phone in the garage in my golf bag.

The kids bought me a GPS for my last birthday because they say I get lost every now and then going over to the grocery store or library. I keep that in a box under my tool bench with the Blue tooth [it’s red] phone I am supposed to use when I drive. I wore it once and was standing in line at Barnes and Noble talking to my wife as everyone in the nearest 50 yards was glaring at me. Seems I have to take my hearing aid out to use it and I got a little loud.

I mean the GPS looked pretty smart on my dash board, but the lady inside was the most annoying, rudest person I had run into in a long time. Every 10 minutes, she would sarcastically say, “Re-calc-ul-ating” You would think that she could be nicer. It was like she could barely tolerate me. She would let go with a deep sigh and then tell me to make a U-turn at the next light. Then when I would make a right turn instead, it was not good.

When I get really lost now, I call my wife and tell her the name of the cross streets and while she is starting to develop the same tone as Gypsy, the GSP lady, at least she loves me.

To be perfectly frank, I am still trying to learn how to use the cordless phones in our house. We have had them for 4 years, but I still haven’t figured out how I can lose three phones all at once and have run around digging under chair cushions and checking bathrooms and the dirty laundry baskets when the phone rings.

The world is just getting too complex for me. They even mess me up every time I go to the grocery store. You would think they could settle on something themselves but this sudden “Paper or Plastic?” every time I check out just knocks me for a loop. I bought some of those cloth reusable bags to avoid looking confused but I never remember to take them in with me.

Now I toss it back to them. When they ask me, “Paper or Plastic?” I just say, “Doesn’t matter to me. I am bi-sacksual.” Then it’s their turn to stare at me with a blank look.

I was recently asked if I tweet. I answered, No, but I do toot a lot.”