Monday, February 28, 2005

MORE ON MYERS

Re the previous post: the only link I can find in my own blog (and wouldn't it be nice if we could archive our entries by subject matter?  as is possible on some blogs?) is the one from July when he was not approved by the Judicial Committee.  There is one from some time before that with quotes from Myers himself, quotes that would shiver your timbers.  However, here is more information on the man than you ever wanted to get, from Earthjustice.  I particulary recommend the link in the info that follows to "From the mouth and pen of William G. Myers."  Now, in the light of all the opposition to this nomination the first time, why do you supposed GWB nominated him again?  The hearing is tomorrow, by the way.  Get in touch with the committee members early.

P.S. It's tomorrow now, that is to say - it's Tuesday.  And this article I just read in Salon.com helps answer the question I asked last night - why is Myers being put up for the Fed. Bench again?  Silly me.

FORMER INTERIOR SOLICITOR WILLIAM MYERS

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NO NO NO! BAD PRESIDENT!

George Bush reminds me a lot of our kitten, Vixen.  She's kind of a teenage kitten now, and extremely determined to do anything we don't want her to do.  She leaps to the countertop - I can gently but firmly take her down, tell her no no no, and two seconds later she's right back there.  She jumps onto the dining room table where Gail and I both keep our Work In Progress for our classes and school activities - I give her a squirt with the spray bottle and say no no no.  She jumps down, but as soon as she thinks I'm not looking, she's right back up there throwing crayons and pens on the floor. Where, by the way, Honey (dog) then eats them.  It's a team act.

Anyway, George Bush.  He is trying to get William Myers approved for the Federal Bench AGAIN.  I have written about this guy a couple of times before here in this blog, and I'm going to see if I can find those links.  The Judiciary Committee turned him down once before. Even if I don't find the links, believe me this is not someone we want as a federal judge, with the ability to influence environmental policy now or ever. Please read this action alert from the League of Conservation Voters, and take action by sending your name on one of these emails to the Judiciary Committee.

Bush is doing the same thing with the ANWR, and I intend to pass along some information about that soon, too.  He just like my wilful kitten, determined to wreak havoc wherever he can.  Telling him no ONCE is just not enough.

LCV Header   February 28, 2005 Dear Mary Ellen,

President Bush is trying to dismantle our environmental protections by resubmitting activist judges with extremist records for lifetime appointments to the Federal Bench.

Tomorrow, the Senate Judiciary Committee will vote on the nomination of William Myers -- a nominee with such an extreme record that he failed to be approved in the last session of Congress. Your action is urgently needed -- if he's confirmed, he'll be undermining environmental laws for decades.

Myers's nomination failed the first time because of his radical record -- tell the Judiciary Committee to turn him down again!

  • Myers's professional credentials consist primarily of his service as an advocate for mining, grazing, and other special interests opposed to federal environmental laws that are critically important.
  • His lack of sufficient legal credentials caused the American Bar Association to give Myers its lowest passing grade for a nominee.
  • He argued to the U.S. Supreme Court that Congress lacks the authority under the U.S. Constitution to extend Clean Water Act protections to certain wetlands and other waters -- a position that is even at odds with the Bush Administration's own Department of Justice.
  • His call to elevate property rights to the level of "a fundamental right" under the Constitution would result in striking down many of our nation's important environmental laws as well as many other health and safety regulations.
  • As Solicitor at the Department of Interior, Myers showed a disturbing pattern of improper procedures that were rebuked and overturned bycourts and the Interior Department itself.

Write to the Judiciary Committee today and tell them to vote NO on the Myers nomination.

Sincerely,

LCV Policy Team


Not authorized by any candidate or candidate's committee.
Paid for by the League of Conservation Voters

The Action Alert is brought to you by:
League of Conservation Voters
1920 L Street, NW, Suite 800
Washington, DC 20036
http://www.lcv.org/index.cfm?MX=618&H=1

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Friday, February 25, 2005

SCALZI'S WEEKEND ASSIGNMENT

Father Scalzi has mysteriously gone back in time himself, to give us wkend task #12, though last week he was up to #48.  Reads like this: 

Weekend Assignment #12: Thanks to time travel and invisibility, you can be on the spot for any important event of the last 100 years (1905 onward). Which important historical event do you choose? As a twist, if you actually were at an important historical event, you can't pick that one. Why? Because you were there already. What, you want to be there twice? Think of the paradox!

This may be my favorite assignment yet. It's a very interesting thing to think about. In my usual dithering fashion, I have difficulty narrowing this down to one event.  There are two I couldn't miss, given the opportunities.  I don't just want to be a fly on the wall for these events, no - I want to be a full participant.  The first is to protest, picket, and parade with Alice Paul and company, until we get the 19th Amendment passed in 1920. {The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex.} Then I want to be in line for the historic moment when the polls opened for women to vote all over this country (15 states, mostly in the West, had already given women the right to vote by the time the 19th was passed), fill in my ballot and drop it in the box.  Just thinking about it I can feel the joy, the pride, the sense of a long battle finally won - don't you know those women partied like crazycakes?????? 

Alice Paul, "Mother of the 19th Amendment.

The second event is the Spanish Civil War, 1936 - I've always daydreamed of being a member of the Lincoln Brigade, the group of Americans who went to join the revolt against fascism, against Franco, fighting against the evil that was soon to engulf much of Europe.  Hiding in caves in the mountains, making guerrilla attacks with my hermanos and hermanas against the Guardia Civil - meeting Federico Garcia Lorca, drinking wine, fighting - even dying - for a cause that was ignored by most of Europe, a lost cause, but one of the most important social movements of the century. It's a purely romantic fantasy, but I've had it since I was a teenager.  Again, not a fly on the wall for this one either.  No, a rifle in my hands, a wineskin on my belt, "¡España!" the last word on my lips. 

Pablo Picasso

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Thursday, February 24, 2005

SNOW ON THE EAGLE!

Yes, Robin of Midlife Matters just sent me an email saying "Omigosh!  It snowed on the eagle!"  Which lets me know that at least one other journaler is keeping an eye on that nest.  Since the link to the entry about the EagleCam is fixin' to (as we say in Texas) leave the sidebar of most recent ten posts, I'm putting it in here once again.  I check in on them several times a day, I must confess.  The eaglets are due to hatch very soon - I just hope it will be after this snowstorm is out of here.  The current shots of the eagle hunkering over the eggs in a big pile of snow are really rather pathetic.  The note says, though, that the eggs will be okay as long as the eagles stay on them.  Those dear brave determined birds.  I wonder why they haven't learned to put up a thatched roof over the nest? 

Anyway, it's snowing big time on the Delmarva.  I didn't get a snow day, as my classes are in the morning, but I did let my second class out half an hour early, so they could get safely home.  The worst of the storm is supposed to happen this afternoon and evening.  The college did just close, letting G come home for the afternoon. The school districts have been closed all day, no BratClub for me today. So here we both are, snug as bugs in rugs.  Hope everyone else is the same. 

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WRP on HST

All right, this, I promise, is the last Hunter S. Thompson post. Unless, of course, I find something else I can't live without pasting into this scrapbook called my journal.  No way to resist this, by one of my contemporary journalistic heroes - about one who chose to meet his final deadline.  I think you'll like it. The quotes in this piece are eerily prescient, don't you think? 

    The Proverbial 'Live Boy'
    By William Rivers Pitt
    t r u t h o u t | Perspective

    Monday 22 February 2005

"The only way I can lose this election is if I'm caught in bed with either a dead girl or a live boy." - Edwin W. Edwards

   In the same month the planet gets to know the 'journalist' James/Jeff Guckert/Gannon, Hunter S. Thompson decides to make The Big Bit-Spit and eject from the planet. This could be sacrilege, and I hope his family will forgive me, but there is something wretchedly fitting in the confluence.

    Hunter was a drunk and a drug-sucker. He would go to cover an event and slather himself with LSD. He went to the '72 GOP convention as a wild-eyed liberal and elbowed his way into the activist bullpen, grabbing a sign reading 'Garbage Men Demand Equal Pay' before charging the floor with the Nixon-shouters to howl “Four More Years!” at John Chancellor. He wanted to write about motorcycle gangs, so he went out and joined the worst of them, and got his ass stomped in. And wrote about it.

    Hunter Thompson is the reason I write politics. Period. He was the most honest man in the business. Everyone else had and has an angle, a reputation, or a source to protect. Hunter stripped it down to the raw throbbing nerve and let it fly. How is this for prose:

    "How many more of these goddam elections are we going to have to write off as lame but 'regrettably necessary' holding actions? And how many more of these stinking double-downer sideshows will we have to go through before we can get ourselves straight enough to put together some kind of national election that will give me at the at least 20 million people I tend to agree with a chance to vote for something, instead ofalways being faced with that old familiar choice between the lesser of two evils? I understand, along with a lot of other people, that the big thing, this year, is Beating Nixon. But that was also the big thing, as I recall, twelve years ago in 1960 - and as far as I can tell, we've gone from bad to worse to rotten since then, and the outlook is for more of the same."

    Or this:

    "It is a nervous thing to consider: Not just four more years of Nixon, but Nixon's last four years in politics - completely unshackled, for the first time in his life, from any need to worry about who might or might not vote for him the next time around. If he wins in November, he will finally be free to do whatever he wants...or maybe 'wants' is too strong a word for right now. It conjures up images of Papa Doc, Batista, Somoza; jails full of bewildered 'political prisoners' and the constant cold-sweat fear of jackboots suddenly kicking your door off its hinges at four A.M."

    Or this:

    "The main problem in any democracy is that crowd-pleasers are generally brainless swine who can go out on a stage & whup their supporters into an orgiastic frenzy - then go back to the office & sell every one of the poor bastards down the tube for a nickel apiece. Probably the rarest form of life in American politics is the man who can turn on a crowd & still keep his head straight - assuming it was straight in the first place."

    That's the stuff. Rip it down, Bubba, and let the fur fly. For the record, the aforementioned is from 'Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail 1972,' possibly the most purely excellent book on politics to be found anywhere.

    Amusing, then, that Hunter decides to cash his check in the same week we learn about James or Jeff Gannon or Guckert or whatever. What would Thompson have made of this feeble wretch? Of a man who reports on the White House with a fake name? Who was so clearly the go-to guy for McClellan or Bush when the questions got too hot? Who copied and pasted his 'news reports' from boilerplate GOP press releases? Who somehow got within 20 feet of the President of the United States using a false name while peddling his wares online as a male prostitute for $200 an hour?

    Hunter once wrote in 'The Great Shark Hunt' about walking in on two Secret Service agents sharing a joint back and forth in a hotel room. Maybe that's how Gannon/Guckert/Whoever got within pistol range of the leader of the free world. No other explanation seems to satisfy.

    It comes down to this. The Bush crew has been caught in bed with the proverbial 'live boy.' Someone in that White House either eased Gannon/Guckert/Whoever through the 'hard pass' application process, which requires a thorough background check, or else smoothed the way for him to get day pass after day pass after day pass. Some complain that Gannon/Guckert/Whoever is being victimized for his political views. This misses the point. Someone let a working, advertising whore into the White House, and then was stupid enough to let him walk around alive and free after he blew his own cover. That's the point.

    My hero died tonight. He was a flawed man, a maniac, in so many ways the antithesis of what a journalist is supposed to be. Worst of all, he told the truth. There is now one less warrior on this planet filled with Guckert clones, drones who get fed shit and regurgitate it wholesale for the masses because that is what we are trained to eat.

    Rest in peace, Hunter. Thank you for everything. We're going to deal with this Gannon/Guckert/Whoever person, and then move down the line and deal with the rest of the whores. You died on the eve of the birth of a new journalism, populist in nature, beholden to the truth and thanking the Google gods every step of the way. I wish you had stuck around to see it, but I'll tell you all about it when we meet at that clearing at the end of the path. Until then...

 

© Copyright 2005 by TruthOut.org

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Tuesday, February 22, 2005

FROM ROLLING STONE MAGAZINE

Just can't stop thinking about Hunter Thompson somehow.  He can't send us pieces from the afterlife, in all probability, but here's a snippet that he wrote in this life, during the recent campaign season, on Thompson's friend and ours, Richard Nixon:

"Richard Nixon looks like a flaming liberal today, compared to a golem like George Bush. Indeed. Where is Richard Nixon now that we finally need him?

If Nixon were running for president today, he would be seen as a "liberal" candidate, and he would probably win. He was a crook and a bungler, but what the hell? Nixon was a barrel of laughs compared to this gang of thugs from the Halliburton petroleum organization who are running the White House today -- and who will be running it this time next year, if we (the once-proud, once-loved and widely respected "American people") don't rise up like wounded warriors and whack those lying petroleum pimps out of the White House on November 2nd.

Nixon hated running for president during football season, but he did it anyway. Nixon was a professional politician, and I despised everything he stood for -- but if he were running for president this year against the evil Bush-Cheney gang, I would happily vote for him.

You bet. Richard Nixon would be my Man. He was a crook and a creep and a gin-sot, but on some nights, when he would get hammered and wander around in the streets, he was fun to hang out with. He would wear a silk sweat suit and pull a stocking down over his face so nobody could recognize him. Then we would get in a cab and cruise down to the Watergate Hotel, just for laughs."

*****

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Monday, February 21, 2005

FEAR AND LOATHING IN THE AFTERLIFE?

When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. 
   - Hunter S. Thompson 1937 - Feb. 21, 2005

Rest in peace wherever you are.  I'm sorry it had to end this way, and I've gotta wonder why it did.  If there is an afterlife, I hope you are having the chance to spend some time with Richard Milhous Nixon.  I'm only sorry you won't be writing about it.

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Sunday, February 20, 2005

JUDITH HEARTSONG'S ARTSY ENTRY, FEBRUARY


This month Judi has given us the delicious assignment of writing about an object of our affection.  Well, she says "The" object, but who among us has only one?  You can link to the assignment entry here,  and in the comments find links to other essay entries.  It's a lovely chance, in this month when we celebrate love, to meditate upon one - or more - of the many loves that bless our lives.
THE OBJECT OF MY AFFECTION (ONE OF THEM)
She’s sleeping on the green couch behind me now, almost hidden in the cushions, a pile of calico fur. Mostly white, that fur, with black, orange and tan markings. Especially endearing is the black spot under her litlle round chin. She’s an old girl now, next birthday she will be seventeen. She can’t make the high jumps any more, spends most of her time sleeping, isn’t much interested in the sundry cat toys that have accumulated with the advent of a new kitten, nor even the occasional kitchen mouse. But she is the spiritual center of the house, our Zen master, our priestess, our Bastet.
In a long lifetime of many cats, Gail and I both say she is the platonic ideal of felines, the Ur cat, the cat of whom we never will be worthy. Three years after Artemis and Popcorn died, we finally felt - maybe, almost, do you think? maybe not, I don’t know – that we were ready to have another cat in our lives. The incredible sadness of life without feline companionship: that empty feeling when there is no cat standing on your chest at 5 a.m., licking your nose – demanding to be fed. The furniture without claw marks. No gritty crunching under your feet in the bathroom, no little turds that didn’t make it into the catbox. We couldn’t stand it any longer.
How often do you read the bulletin board at the P’town health food store and find the cat of your dreams in need of a home? There she was, a three year old calico staring out at us from her photo, beseeching, entreating, yearning for a loving lesbian home. We went to visit. She climbed right into my lap, stretched her arms up over her head and asked me to rub her armpits. I did, of course. She purred, loudly, gratifyingly. We said we’d think about it, and we left. There was grocery shopping for the guest house to be done, we were busy women for heaven’s sake. No time to linger with the delicious weight of soft warm cat body, the sound of purring, the joy of white fur on black jeans.
We split up at the A&P, took different parts of the list to throw into baskets, met up when we were finished at the check-out counter. There was a litter pan in Gail’s cart. There was cat food in mine. Evidently, a decision had been made.
That was thirteen years ago. Between that day and this one, she has traveled across the country with us many times, even spent six crazy months with us in an RV, adapting to the gypsy life better than we did. Because we know our time with her dwindles, we treasure every day. She’s always been a full-figured sort of cat, round and plump, a solid presence, a grande dame. As she grows elderly, she has become smaller in some ways, bonier. Her presence, though, does not diminish. She commands the sunny spot by the back door, no other animal dares take it. She stretches, luxuriates, dominates that patch of warmth, moves with it as it moves. She is healthy, her fur is still luxuriant and soft, despite the quantity of it that she transfers constantly to my many black garments.
She lives for love, this cat, both giving and receiving. She rubs noses with the ragged cocker spaniel who adopted us soon after we moved in here, tolerates the insanity of the new kitten who trotted in our door Election Day. I wake in the night to the warm weight of her body curled on my hip, her soft purring sends me back to sleep. When one of us is sick, or sad, or lonely, she comes to lick a hand, nuzzle a neck, settle on a lap, tell us love is always there. When our lives together almost unraveled, fell apart, she crawled under the covers and slept between us every night for months, holding us together.  Because of her, today cold Sunday morning sunshine found us in a pile of humans, felines, one small scruffy dog, waking in a pile of comforters, quilts, flannel pjs,  grey hair and fur. A family still together on a raft of love.
Gentle with the children when they come to visit, she lets them pet and brush her, hold her, follow her around. They adore her, write her letters, want to talk to her on the phone. Gentle and fierce, a blessing in our lives, a teacher who has shown us the constancy of relationship, the endurance of love. This is Molly, companion of our days, comforter of our nights, object of the entire family's deep affection.



POST SCRIPT, five years later.
I spent some time this morning searching out this essay, since I have placed my award on my current blog and thought I should connect it to the essay that won it. 
We moved out here to New Mexico from Delaware almost four years ago, at the beginning of June, 2006.  We have endured many losses since that move, but one of the hardest was losing Molly.  She was already elderly when we moved, driving in the blistering heat across the country with two cats and a dog, but she made it through the trip, and settled in to her new home quite contentedly.  She began failing during the first year we were here, but still enjoyed eating, sleeping in the sun, curling up with us at night, being groomed and loved by visiting children. By the second autumn, however, she was having a hard time with everything, and bit by bit it became clear that her time with us was coming to an end.  When she developed seizures and couldn't walk, we saw that it was indeed time.  I held her in my arms all night, wrapped in my sweatshirt, close to my heart, to keep the shudders and shakes at bay, and early the next day we called our wonderful home-visiting vet.  We spent the morning, all of us, cats and dog and women, in a heap on a quilt on the living room floor, holding Molly, stroking her, crooning our love and grief.  When Kathy, the vet, arrived, we moved out to the back patio, where I wrapped her in the quilt and held her in my lap in a rocking chair in the sun.  She left us easily and peacefully, but oh so irrevocably.  
It has been over two years and tears are running down my face as I write this.  We will never stop missing her, and no other pet will ever hold quite the same place in our hearts. Our little dog, Honey, also left us a year later, leaving our remaining cat, Vixen, lonely and bereft.  After several months of her sitting watching out the front windows waiting for him to return, we gave in and acquired another rescued cat.  This little cat, Sophie, is quite a character and we love both our girls a lot.  But...there was only ever one Molly.  The grande dame of cats, the avatar of love.


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Thursday, February 17, 2005

YEAST IN A BARREL

One more link on the subject of the previous post.  This one is a George Monbiot column entitled Mocking Our Dreams, and contains this marvelous paragraph:

... "And this leads us, I think, to a further reason for turning our eyes away. When terrorists threaten us, it shows that we must count for something, that we are important enough to kill. They confirm the grand narrative of our lives, in which we strive through thickets of good and evil towards an ultimate purpose. But there is no glory in the threat of climate change. The story it tells us is of yeast in a barrel, feeding and farting until they are poisoned by their own waste. It is too squalid an ending for our anthropocentric conceit to accept."
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Wednesday, February 16, 2005

SIGN THE PETITION

Well.  I have been working on a monumental entry on the subject of the Kyoto Protocol, which goes into effect today - for those nations which have chosen to ratify the Treaty.  These include Russia, but  not the USA.  However, I have gotten so bogged down in references and quotes and sites and stuff, that it may be a long time from now before I ever get it jerked into shape.  And by then everyone will have forgotten - what in hell is the Kyoto Treaty, anyway?  The way we seem to function in this throw-away society.  Here today, gone tomorrow. 

I want to quit my jobs and just blog all day.  Maybe all night too.  Until such time as I can do that (and it's G's worst nightmare for what will happen when we do finally get to the point where we can retire), monumental entries - even on important subjects - have to take a back seat to grading tests and papers, planning classes, vetting possible new texts to use for several classes in coming semesters, helping plan the new language lab - software, websites, etc., and getting some sleep now and then.

So, I have shortened my monumentality into simply referring you to something that gives me a great deal of hope.  This column in the current Grist online magazine section called Soapbox, "Sign Here to Save the Planet," talks about a new grassroots movement to ratify the Treaty at a people's level.  My research on Kyoto has led me into the realms of darkness and despair - environmental groups are arguing among themselves, some environmentalists are saying it's too late anyway, others are pinning their hopes on the Climate Stewardship Act (McCain-Lieberman's bill), which is once again entering the circles of hell known as Congressional approval.  Or, an icicle's chance in hell. 

As the article says:  All the while, we are, as the British paper The Independent put it, sleepwalking into the Apocalypse.

What on earth is a person supposed to do?

The existential choices are few and barren. We can try to findasafe haven in, say, New Zealand -- but there's no escaping a global threat. We can defy a history of futility and try, yet again, to appeal to the humanitarian instincts of ExxonMobil and Peabody Energy. We can go into hibernation for four more years. Or we can try, as individuals and organizations, to bring the U.S. in line with the rest of the world.

That's what a small group is attempting with today's launch of a nationwide signature-gathering drive for a People's Ratification of the Kyoto Global Warming Treaty. Last year, longtime New York-area activists Ted Glick, Connie Hogarth, and the Rev. Paul Mayer put together the Climate Crisis Coalition, an umbrella group that includes environmentalists, religious leaders, campus organizers, peace groups, and activists working on indigenous rights, environmental justice, and human-rights issues.

It's a short column, but if you don't have time to read it all, just click on this link, which will take you to a site called Kyoto and Beyond, where you will find the link to the petition.  Please consider signing it.  Environmental Defense also has a petition, one of my many links in my original plan, to send to the White House and Congress asking them to join with the other industrial nations in trying to reduce greenhouse gas emissions.  Perhaps if this People's Ratification plan gathers enough participation, those in Washington will see that this is indeed what we want for our planet.

Now, as I have all these links, I think I'll just post some of them here for anyone who's truly deeply madly interested to explore.  And then, perhaps, someone else will do the monumental entry.

Global Warming - Undo It.  From Environmental Defense. 
Climate Stewardship Act - an update.
Kyoto Can't Save Us - a scary piece from Grist Magazine.
Welcoming Kyoto - also from Grist.
Apocalypse Now:  Sleepwalking to the Ends of the Earth, from The Independant  (talk about scary!)

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Tuesday, February 15, 2005

DEEP FRIED DONUTS WITH EVERYTHING, PLEASE

One of my sisters sent me this tonight.  Her neighbor sent it to her.  His brother sent it to him.  Is this urban legend?  a bad joke?  or a real piece of news reporting?  Hard to tell anymore, that's all I can say.  And did those silly people in their minks and cowboy boots actually eat this stuff?

WHITE HOUSE DISH:  CHEF NOT TO LAURA'S TASTE

After 11 years as White House chef, Walter Scheib III has been pushed out of the kitchen by First Lady Laura Bush. While Scheib says he wants to leave on a positive note, insiders say that the 'top toque' was unhappy at the Bush's insistence that he give up all French recipes and cooking techniques, and create an elaborate inaugural menu paying tribute to the brand names of a dozen top Bush campaign and GOP donors.

With Lea Berman at the helm, more 'donor dinners' expected

By Deanna Swift

WASHINGTON, DC—After 11 years as the chief chef of the White House, Walter Scheib 3rd is taking off his toque, collecting his knives, and moving on. In a statement to the press, the chef acknowledged that he had been fired due to an inability to meet the stylistic requirements of the first lady.

Mr. Scheib's removal is part of a comprehensive makeover of the social wing of the White House. Former White House social secretary Cathy Fenton was recently replaced by Lea Berman, aprominent Washington DC entertainer. Ms. Berman is expected to be involved in all aspects of White House entertaining, from food, to flowers and other decorations.

A bad taste
Menu_frenchWhile Mr. Scheib was gracious in his parting words, saying that it had been an honor to serve the first lady, sources close to the chef say that his relationship with the first family had grown increasingly tense since he was asked to stop using French recipes and cooking techniques after France refused to support the US-led invasion of Iraq.

Asking a chef schooled in the culinary tradition of Escoffier to forego béchamel and beurre blanc is a major sacrifice, says historian Will Anthony, the author of a forthcoming book on the chefs who've served the White House. "It would be the equivalent of telling the president of the United States that he could never eat his beloved barbecue again," says Anthony.

Tensions were further exacerbated, say sources close to the chef, by White House orders that Scheib create a special inaugural menu to honor the brand names represented by more than a dozen top GOP and Bush campaign donors. Scheib was reportedly vocal about his unhappiness over having to create dishes that featured such ingredients as Coca-Cola, Krispy Kreme Doughnuts and Pilgrim's Pride Whole Butter Basted Turkeys.

Money on the menu
http://swiftreport.blogs.com/.shared/image.html?/photos/uncategorized/whitehouse_menu_1_1.jpgThe menu that Scheib ultimately composed, served at three candlelight inaugural dinners, is a testimony to the chef's ingenuity. He brined the Pilgrim's Pride turkeys in Coca-Cola, before stuffing them with sweet-and-savory stuffing made from Dunkin Donuts old-fashioned cake doughnuts. (Pilgrim CEO Lonnie Pilgrim was a Bush pioneer in 2004, pledging to bring in more than $100,000 in contributions to the Bush/Cheney campaign, while Dunkin Donut is a long-time GOP contributor).

Also on the menu: Cedar Plank "Pacific Seafoods" Sockeye Salmon in "Dole Pineapple" Sauce, inspired by Bush campaign Pioneers Frank Dulcich, CEO of Pacific Seafoods, and David H. Murdock, Chair and CEO of Dole Food Co. And for dessert: more doughnuts. For the final course, Scheib paired Krispy Kreme "Snow Balls" with Nestlé "Nesquik" Hot Fudge Sauce and Asher's Chocolate Covered Mini-Pretzles, a dish that was inspired by Pioneers Joe M. Weller, Chair & CEO of Nestle USA, and Robert Asher, Chair of Ashers Candies, and by Krispy Kreme Donuts, which gave more than $90,000 to the Bush/Cheney campaign in 2004.

A new direction
It's unclear what impact the departure of Chef Scheib will have on the kind of food being served at official White House functions. But the appointment of Ms. Berman as social secretary seems to indicate that the White House plans to continue shaping meals and menus to honor major Bush donors. Ms. Berman's husband, Wayne Berman, is a long-time GOP fundraiser.

Scheib hasn't said what his future plans are. Before becoming chief chef at the White House, Scheib cooked at the Capitol Hilton in Washington and at the Boca Raton Club in Boca Raton, FL. Historian Anthony says that regardless of any bitterness between the chef and the first family, Scheib likely has a bright future ahead of him. "Former White House chefs have gone on to do great things. Look at Verdon and Mesnier," says Anthony. "Scheib has proven that he can pretty much do anything. Where else are they going to tell him he can't use a mirepoix and that he has to come up with dishes out of Coke and doughnuts?"

Coca-Cola brined Pilgrim's Pride turkey with Dunkin Donuts old-fashioned cake doughnut sweet and savory stuffing*

Coca-Cola brine
1 1/4 cups salt
1 quart Coca-Cola
2 bay leaves
1 medium onion, peeled and halved
2 cloves
1 10- to 12-pound Pilgrim's Pride Whole Butter Basted Turkey
1. Place salt and Coca-Cola in a large deep pot and whisk until salt crystals dissolve. Whisk in 4 quarts cold water. Pinbay leaves to onion halves with cloves and add them to brine. Let mixture cool to room temperature.
2. Add Pilgrim's Pride turkey, placing a large heavy pot or sealed zip-top bag filled with cold water on top to keep bird submerged in Coca-Cola. Place pot in refrigerator and marinate overnight.

Dunkin Donuts old-fashioned cake doughnut sweet and savory stuffing

6 cups Dunkin Donuts old-fashioned cake doughnuts, chopped
2 cups diced onion
1/2 cup butter
2 cups cranberries
2 teaspoons dried rosemary
1/2 tablespoon dried sage
1 cup chicken broth
Cook onion in butter or margarine over low heat until soft. Add doughnuts, cranberries, rosemary and sage, chicken broth, salt and pepper to taste. Mix gently but thoroughly.

Roast Turkey
Remove Pilgrim's Pride turkey from Coca-Cola brine. Thoroughly rinse turkey under a slow stream of cool water, rubbing gently to release salt and soda residue, both inside and out. Pat skin and both interior cavities dry.

Remove neck and giblets. Begin lightly spooning doughnut stuffing into the neck cavity, then into the body cavity. After the bird has been stuffed, secure the legs to the tail. If the band of skin is not present, tie the legs securely to the tail with string. Twist the wing tips under the back of the turkey so they won't overcook.

Roast turkey, breast side down, in a preheated 325 degree F oven for 2 hours. During this time, baste legs and back twice with Coca-Cola.

*Recipe provided courtesy of White House kitchen.

Deanna Swift can be reached at deannaswift1@yahoo.com.

(Go to the URL (below) and click on the menu shown above left to see what the chef was required to do....) http://swiftreport.blogs.com/news/2005/02/white_house_che.html
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Sunday, February 13, 2005

FRIENDS AND READERS, A VALENTINE

The Sunflowers

Come with me
  into the field of sunflowers.
    Their faces are burnished disks,
       their dry spines

creak like ship masts, 
  their green leaves,
    so heavy and many,
      fill all day with the sticky

sugars of the sun.
  Come with me
     to visit the sunflowers,
       they are shy

but want to be friends;
   they have wonderful stories
     of when they were young -
        the important weather,

the wandering crows.
  Don't be afraid
    to ask them questions!
      Their bright faces,

which follow the sun,
   will listen, and all
      those rows of seeds -
         each one a new life!

hope for a deeper acquaintance;
  each of them, though it stands
     in a crowd of many,
       like a separate universe,

is lonely, the long work
   of turning their lives
     into a celebration
       is not easy. Come

and let us talk with those modest faces,
   the simple garments of leaves,
      the coarse roots in the earth
        so uprightly  burning.

                                             Mary Oliver

       If I were JudithHeartSong I would paint you a picture,
if I were Deabvt I would write you a poem (actually if I myself had a little more time I would write you a poem).

But sometimes I feel that because there is Mary Oliver, no one ever needs to write any more poems. She says everything, and always says it better than I could ever hope to.

This community of Journal Land is like this field of sunflowers to me: each one of you a new life with a wonderful story, people of whom I am not afraid to ask questions, say what I mean, each of you a separate universe, uprightly burning, with whom I hope for a deeper acquaintnance.

I love each and every one of you, I cherish your friendship, I am grateful to be in this field of bright, modest, upturned faces, telling our stories, listening to one another's, as we try, separately and together, to turn our lives into celebrations.
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Friday, February 11, 2005

WILL YOU?

As I'm sure you know, the Kyoto Treaty will go into effect next Wednesday, February 16.  Fifty-five industrial nations  (ours not being one of them)  have signed this treaty, pledging to reduce emissions of climate-changing greenhouse gases over the coming years.  Since the USA has decided that we don't have to care about climate change, it's okay for all of us to go on driving SUVs, overheating and overcooling our houses, blowing as much of anything as we like into the atmosphere.  Yes?  Or, maybe, you think, not.  Here is a fascinating post to help us know what we, as individuals, can do - even if the country's official policy is Nightmare on Corporate Avenue.  It begins like this (highlighting is mine):

"On Wednesday, February 16, the Kyoto Protocol will come into effect, mandating participating nations to reduce their emissions of climate-changing greenhouse gases. Canada has ratified Kyoto. The United States has not.

Have you?

Not literally, of course. Individuals can’t sign international treaties. They can, however, pledge to match its goals (summarized by World Resources Institute): a reduction of emissions in the United States to 7 percent below—and in Canada to 6 percent below—the 1990 level by 2008-2012.

Fifteen Cascadian localities have signaled their intent to follow or approximate Kyoto, as you can see in this list maintained by the International Center for Local Environmental Initiatives. (Overall, unfortunately, Cascadia’s CO2 emissions have climbed by about 19 percent since 1990, as we documented in This Place on Earth 2002 (download the book, read pages 47-50).

Inspired by this leadership, I decided to make the pledge myself. A few days ago, I solemnly swore—OK, not so solemnly, but I did swear—I would reduce my family’s emissions of climate-changing greenhouse gases by at least 7 percent below our 1990 level.

Climate change is mostly a systems issue, not a personal one. I can’t change my utility’s power plant from coal to wind. I can’t install hybrid-electric engines in all the world’s new motor vehicles. I can’t enact a global cap-and-trade system or a national carbon tax. To see such systemic changes, we need business and government to develop policies and practice that will carry us to the Kyoto goal.

But personal action is at least a small part of the puzzle. And aligning our lifestyles with our values is never a bad idea. So, yes, pledging Kyoto may be mostly symbolic, but so are wedding rings, battle flags, and flaming crosses. Symbols are powerful.

The swearing was the fun part. It made me feel good. The hard part came next: figuring out how I was doing on my pledge. That part proved mind-boggling at first, but I hope it won't be for you if you decide to follow suit.

Among the half-dozen personal greenhouse-gas-emissions calculators available online (for example, Environment Canada’s list), the best seems to be Safe Climate, maintained by the World Resources Institute. It allowed me to make estimates of emissions from home energy use and car and airplane travel."

You can read the post in it entirety here, and discover another fascinating site at the same time.  I first found reference to this post on a new site I have discovered, World Changing, one any serious environmentalists will want to bookmark. 

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Wednesday, February 9, 2005

EAGLE CAM

This is Blackwater Wildlife Refuge, down near Cambridge, MD, looking about like Prime Hook Wildlife Refuge did when we went walking and birding there on Sunday.  After these three warm days both places have probably melted somewhat, and there may be more open water. 

The Delmarva Peninsula is a fantastic place for anyone who enjoys birding, or wildlife and outdoor water activities.  It is one of the principal stops on the Atlantic flyway, so the migrations all flock past us, stopping to eat and rest on our beaches and in our wetlands.  During the summer the Refuge has a webcam on an osprey nest (Osprey Cam), the log of the eggs and hatchlings, then fledglings, is on the site.  The ospreys are still in South America, but what's up and running is the Eagle Cam.  It's a camera on a bald eagle nest high in a loblolly pine, sending live pictures to the site.  There is also a great gallery of stills from the camera, which can actually be more interesting than the live cam - as sometimes not much is happening in the nest.  When I visited a while ago I could see only one adult eagle  She must be sitting on the eggs, because I can't see any of them. The other one must be out hunting and gathering. 

The folks at the Refuge are a little worried about these eggs, because it's all happening earlier than usual.  If we have a cold, wet spring, the chicks may not make it.  So, I guess watching the Eagle Cam could be watching a tragedy unfold.  On the other hand, what an incredible chance to witness something we'd never get to see otherwise.  Privy to a wonder!  The eagles TURN THE EGGS, imagine that! They bunch up their talons so they won't punch through the shells, and roll the eggs, to keep them evenly warm and keep the membranes from sticking to the shells on one side.

Check it out, bookmark it.  Let's see what happens here, wait and watch with me.  How incredible is this?   

         
Turning the eggs.

 

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Monday, February 7, 2005

ABSOLUTELY IN MY BACK YARD

And, as the previous post reminds me - as spring does gradually creep into our neighborhoods, our own backyards, we will start to think about what we'll do with those spaces this spring and summer.  From the Audubon website, here is a nice little guide to creating an ecologically friendly environment in the territory over which you have some control, some choice.  The greatest amount of pesticide runoff comes from suburban lawns and gardens, gasoline powered mowers emit incredible amounts of toxins into the air (I have the actual statistics on these somewhere, I will see if I can find them and incorporate them into this post later.).  By the same token, these areas are places where we can encourage native plants and animals, foster welcoming environments for birds and insects whose normal territories grow daily smaller, use what would become landfill to create glorious compost, organically grow some of our own food, create safe play spaces for our children.  We can all be environmentalists in our own backyards; let Audubon show you some rudiments of this philosophy.
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Sunday, February 6, 2005

IMBOLC

This week up in Pennsylvania, The Groundhog saw his shadow. Surrounded by silly men in top hats, a crowd of cold revelers, TV cameras and reporters, Puxatawny Phil did his thing. On a sunny day, which of course showed his shadow, thus predicting six more weeks of winter. My ESOL students at the college, and my afterschool kids, were all quite curious about this event. I simply explained the current happenings, downloaded some pages from an educational site for the youngsters, gave the adults vocabulary words having to do with Groundhog Day.

What I didn't go into with either group is the tradition, stretching back into the pagan past, of the true festival of February 2nd, Imbolc. Imbolc is one of the major holy days of the Celtic calendar, a day to celebrate the end of the true deep winter and look forward to the coming of spring. At this time, no matter the possible weeks of dark days and bad weather, we see the first signs that spring will indeed return: milk returning to the udders of farm animals (the meaning of the word "Imbolc" is given variously as "in the belly" or "in the bag"), new lambs in the fold, sowing seeds inside to be moved outside to the ground when it is no longer frozen.

The day was sacred to the goddess Brigid, also spelled Bride, Brighid, Brid and others. She was a goddess of many things, among them fire, healing, fertility and poetry. Here the winter aspect of the goddess, The Crone, is transformed into the spring aspect, The Maiden.

Our tradition of spring cleaning began back in those times, at Imbolc people cleaned their houses of the winter's dirt, took down and burned any leftover Solstice greenery in a sacred fire, put out offerings of bread and milk to the goddess that she would help their hopes for the coming year, the coming season of planting and harvesting, the birth of new animals, be fulfilled.

The Christian church took the day over as it infiltrated the Celtic lands, and it became Candlemas, or the feast of The Purification of the Virgin Mary. In the Pagan tradition of Imbolc, fires and candles were lighted everywhere, calling back the light, the sun, warmth for the fields. At Candlemas candles were lighted in the churches. All of which simply follows the fact that the days now are growing longer, quite obviously, and that we can all see the light of hope for spring and summer at the end of the tunnel of winter.

We don’t live in such a way that any of this is important any more – we don’t need to hoard food and milk, firewood and hay, through the winter in order to survive. Our houses, our cars, our schools are heated, the supermarket shelves are full of everything we need. But for the creatures of the earth, this is still a day of awakening, hibernating creatures (like groundhogs) start to awaken and sniff the air. The bears, skunks, snakes, groundhogs, wander out and see if the earth yet has anything to offer to break their long winter’s fast. In many places there is as yet little sign of earthlife, so they go back to sleep for a few more weeks. Nonetheless, the wheel is turning, and those who pay attention can feel it. Spring will soon be in the air.  And so, we have The Groundhog coming out to check around.  This particular tradition comes to us directly from Scotland, where it is bears who come out to sniff the air. 

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Saturday, February 5, 2005

MOUTHS OF BABES

CONNECTED TO OUR MOTHER

If you understand Nature, 
The deer will eat from your hand. 
The sun makes the plants, 
Animals eat the plants, 
The humans eat the animals, 
and Earth needs the humans to take care of it. 
So you see, as you stare 
into the endless sky, 
we live from our Mother Gaia's birth, 
and if you understand Nature, 
The deer will eat from your hand. 
And we all, plants, animals, humans, 
are children of the Earth. 

- Maria Domeier,gr. 5, Red Wing Burnside El.
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Friday, February 4, 2005

FRIDAY (NOT SO) FUNNY


From Grist Magazine
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Wednesday, February 2, 2005

WHAT'S IN YOUR PILE, THIS YEAR?


I probably won't have much time for writing here in the coming days, lots to do for school, and G is using our solitary computer quite a bit for a course she is taking.   I hope that you will come over to my other journal, the books/reading blog, and participate in something that I did last year and have decided to do again this year:  a listing of what you have lying around on your bedside table, coffee table, by your reading chair, any other places in the house where reading matter tends to accumulate (bathroom?).  This is a fascinating snapshot of people in J-land, always revealing and interesting.  I'm not talking about all that stuff on your shelves, stuff you've read or hope to read in this lifetime, I'm talking about the piles that come and go over a period of time.  Depending on how often you prune them.  When I did this last year FDTate suggested I do this once a MONTH, but that would be far too often.  About once a year seems just right to me.  Come on over and play, a good time will be had by all! 
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