Nebur's World

hope springs eternal

2009-02-25T18:42:00.001-08:00

____________________________________________________
(lee stevens)

baseball season is back... i'm watching a spring training game from florida, the red sox vs the twins. baseball is such a peaceful sport, it makes me feel calm. picture unrelated, its a bird cooking pasta.

winter sunset

2008-12-15T09:05:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(lee stevens)

Morning Has Broken

2008-11-05T18:08:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(lee stevens)

The last sunset of the Bush Administration... I feel a tremendous sense of relief today.

It'll be nice to go abroad and not feel shame and embarrassment about our President.

Summertime Nature Watch

2008-09-12T18:09:00.000-07:00

Beijing Olympics -- The World's best Ping Pong players

2008-08-20T10:09:00.000-07:00

by Scott B.

the stage:

Polish woman with one hand

Had to leave a little early to catch USA vs Nigeria and Argentina vs Serbia in Men's Soccer

more to come.........

Summer Wildlife Watch

2008-06-28T18:09:00.000-07:00

____________________________________________________
(lee stevens)

dolphins jumping off the coast of san diego yesterday

splashing the boat

Spring Wildlife Watch II

2008-06-15T19:16:00.001-07:00

Happy Father's Day, Nebursworld reader!

____________________________________________________
(lee stevens)

Empty Nest

Baby Hummingbirds

Panama: 3 Years Gone

2008-06-04T23:11:00.000-07:00

by Scott B.

Last time I was in Panama, I didn't have much time to enjoy it. This time, I was able to stop and smell the patacones. Here are some pics from the trip, the last 2 weeks of May, 2008.

last but not least:

Spring Wildlife Watch

2008-05-17T12:05:00.000-07:00

____________________________________________________
(lee stevens)

Garden Watchdog

Life on Mars?

2008-04-13T20:14:00.000-07:00

by Scott B.

I went to Canyonlands National Park in southern Utah the first week in April with my dad and an old friend from law school, Russ. To see Russ' blog post on the trip, click here. To see a map of the Needles District of Canyonland, click here.

driving to utah:

at the trailhead, day one:

cairns marking the trail:

on the way to lost canyon:

my dad scrambling up a steep section:

on the way to elephant canyon:

elephant canyon:

instant noodles gourmet dinner:

on the way to chesler park:

chesler park:

chesler park, arrow pointing to my dad (for scale):

chesler park, arrow pointing to the tent:

day four, back at the squaw flat campground:

Star Trek III: The Search for Nebur

2007-04-24T21:35:00.000-07:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

rocker, i feel your pain. i've been lamenting nebur's complete failure to post up on here for longer than i care to admit. perhaps he left us for greener pastures.

soon as they settle that new planet i'm 5g

Living Proof

2007-04-03T22:52:00.000-07:00

Conserva-pedia?

2007-03-07T19:15:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

Have you seen this?

It's like Wikipedia (which I love), only painfully distorted.

Check the entry on "Big Oil."

Who writes this stuff? Seriously.

The Conservapedia entry on Bill Clinton is pretty good for a laugh too..

Futbol Con Gerardo: Otra Vez

2007-02-26T19:11:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

Last time I went to a soccer game with Gerardo (ok, two times ago) we almost got pummeled by Mexicans outside the LA Coliseum for wearing Argentina jerseys. They say you never make the same mistake twice, but you know... sometimes it happens.

Gerardo honored me by bringing an extra Denmark jersey to the USA-Denmark soccer game at the Home Depot Center a few weeks ago. I don't have any ties to Denmark, but I like the underdog, so I slipped it on.... Made it inside the stadium without incident.

After the game, an angry drunk USA fan started berating us for our red Denmark jerseys. I could see trouble in this guys eyes and all over his face. He shouted at me and demanded an explanation.

I told the angry drunk that Gerardo was born in Denmark and his mom still lives there.... this seemed to confuse and perplex the angry redneck, and he let it go. A short time later, he got out of his car and came up to us again. This time his target was Gerardo, who stands all of 5'4" and weighs in at 120 pounds.

"What's up with your friend? He looks like he has something to say."

We didn't say a word. We waited for the guy's wife/girlfriend to calm him down.... I had a feeling the guy was on either parole or probation, she didn't want him drawing attention to himself. Finally, after mad-dogging Gerardo for a bit, he went back inside his car.

I thought we were done with this angry redneck. After all, what did he have to be so mad about? USA beat Denmark 3-1, Landon Donovan finally scored a goal...

Angry drunk guy on probation approached our car for a third time, and get this: he started apologizing! He said he was wrong to go off on us, he was sorry, blah blah blah. Anyway, we escaped the Home Depot Center without getting throttled so it was a good day.

Quote of the Day

2007-02-22T00:38:00.000-08:00

______________________

by

The only real lawyers are trial lawyers, and trial lawyers try cases to juries.

-Clarence Darrow

Nebur's Note: Clarence Darrow never lost a death penalty case and saved 102 men
from the gallows.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Nebur is back! Oye, Oye, get ready for the can of woopass to be opened in the near future. The reasons for my absence? I was bogged down in the day to day realities of being a trial lawyer. My creative juices just were not flowing, at least not on these hallowed pages. I lost my Muse.

But check it out...... I am back and rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrready to rrrrrrrrrrrrrrumble! I have a trial starting next week, so please be patient, and please come back! I miss you all terribly, and thank you for your patience.

Winter Baseball in Venezuela

2007-01-17T13:41:00.000-08:00

by Scott B.

Ruben's cousin Roger Deago warming up in the bullpen before his start for the Leones de Caracas:

Me, Ruben, and Tim with Roger after he tossed 7 innings of shutout ball (only 5 hits allowed, one of which was a cheap bunt single by Luis Sojo) against the Cardinales of Lara:

Ruben and Tim stinking up the teleferico:

El Presidente Hugo Chavez: sacrificing for the country! (from Cd. Bolivar airport)

Christmas Eve, Ciudad Bolivar:

Salto Angel, Christmas Day:

Sapa Falls:

winter sunsets

2007-01-04T17:49:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

nebur, time to post something....... way past time, if the truth be telt.

Botched Jokery

2006-11-01T12:52:00.000-08:00

________________
By El Profe

"I messed up the joke!"
I can't overstress the importance of a great education. Do you know where you end up if you don't study, if you aren't smart, if you're intellectually lazy?
You end up getting us stuck in a war in Iraq. –John Kerry (D-Mass.)

That's what it should've sounded like, but we all know it didn't quite go down right. For a minute, Senator John Kerry (D-Mass.) claimed that the comments he made Monday while stumping for Angelides were a botched version of a joke he was making about the intelligence of the President but… let’s assume that he was in spin control and that what he was really trying to say was that dudes who don’t do their homework and go to college will invariably end up “stuck in Iraq”. Where’s the harm in this statement? Back in the day, when I decided to give going to college the old college try, I thought of it as an option to dying in the quagmire of the Panama Deception. It was either to go to college, flip burgers, gangbang, drug-deal or die in the great Panama Crusade. Life was that simple back then.

The memory of that great quandary is refreshed every time I hear about a new death in the Eternal Crusade Against Horrors. I recall being young and dumb. The list of war dead reads more like a myspace friends list; young cats from local high schools, dudes that could have been sitting next to you in that creative writing class but who instead heeded the call of that siren called “patriotism” that came with promises of college money and so much free pizza.

Could Senator Kerry’s remarks instead be viewed as a more menacing modern-day update of the classic, “Do you want to spend your whole life flipping burgers?" And if, as most intelligent people feel, this is what he meant, what’s wrong with it? People still say the latter. I’ve even heard people add “at Wal-mart” to this well-meaning insult. The fact is that being in college (and you can ask any punk baby-boomer, and a shit-load of our current leaders, who got out of Vietnam by simply claiming they were too busy with “school”-) just does not leave a lot of extra time to be sitting around waiting to get sniped by a Shi’ite militiaman with a bone to pick. When conservatives invented that thing called “victim’s infallibility” to denigrate the “politically correct” humanism of “liberals”, did they anticipate that they would ever be accused of the same type of selective hero-worship?

Whether it’s by clowning Alex P. Keaton, by decrying the 9/11 widows as “harpies” trying to make a buck off their personal tragedy, or by making “playing the race card” a trite euphemism in a country where we know racism no longer exists, “Republican hack” conservative commentating has long propagated the myth that liberals somehow delight in manipulating the undeniably real pain of the victim to forward their (often demonic and defeatist) political agendas. Doesn’t the outcry against Senator Kerry’s remarks smack of the same type of alleged hysteric defense of victims that liberals are accused of? Are we expected to believe that every single soldier is a powerful and highly intelligent army of one? Yes. The proof is in the fact that 9/11 happened and the world changed. Are we supposed to believe that if said troops had done their homework and gone to college not one single young person would have been saved from becoming stuck, or dying, in Iraq? It doesn't matter. Don't you remember 9/11?

Like Alex P. Keaton and the historically oppressed minorities modern conservatives hate, soldiers must never be accused of being anything less than they are; our best and brightest. They must never be accused of faking it or of having less than genuine motives for their actions. Unless, of course, when they are faking it, or when they do have nefarious motives for their actions. Like when what happens to them because everyone else's business.

Not all liberals believe that soldiers are dumb. Having access to a good edumacation does not make the edumacated class better than the soldier class. It is the soldier class's Christ-like sacrifice OF THEIR OWN LIVES that makes them untouchable, "infallible" (like the Pope), and better than the edumacated class with all of its "book learning" and Milan Kundera novels and faggoty eschewing of the natural urge and necessity to kill to protect the homeland.

How many of us can disassemble an assault rifle and reassemble it behind our back with our eyes closed? How many of us, as young men, did not enjoy learning about the past and meeting interesting young ladies as we pretended to do so? How many of us would like to visit an exotic land we never gave a shit about with permission to shoot people? Who has time to bask in “book-smarts” when the world is on the edge of the precipice? Can you prove to me that the Warrior-Gods have not won control of the soul and dreams of this world? Who here is not intelligent enough to fly an F1-11?

How many of us are not afraid of death?

No, Senator Kerry did not demonstrate that there is a gulf between the elitist Democratic Party and the rest of America, as the crackhead war-mongers are spinning it. Senator Kerry, in his moment of botched joking, may have just expressed one of the more “politically incorrect” truths of our time. We need our young people here, learning how to make our country better (in one of our prestigious, yet politically-correct and repressively secular-progressive universities, preferably). Not there (in the desert and for some bullshit) dying.

Reunited

2006-10-26T18:52:00.000-07:00

Part 2

2006-10-23T13:07:00.000-07:00

by Scott B.

Justice

2006-10-20T15:10:00.000-07:00

by Scott B.

Bahia Los Angeles, Baja California

2006-10-19T23:39:00.000-07:00

when stingrays attack: first the right foot...

then the left...

a good trip, well overdue

Overheard at a Softball Game

2006-09-12T10:12:00.000-07:00

by Scott B.

Last night our softball team played the Laguna Beach Fire Department team. They had some fans supporting them, it was 9/11, everyone loves firemen, we were short players and only had 8 guys... The DUI Fighters were big underdogs.

The game was knotted up at 3-2 in the third inning. One of our players hits a shot to third, the third baseman's throw pulls the first baseman off the bag... at least 2 feet up the line into right field.

The ump couldn't see very well from behind home plate and he called our player "out."

Of course we protested since it was such an obvious bad call. A few of the guys on the LBFD team told the ump he missed the call, so he changed it and called our guy "safe" at first.

One of our players said "See? These guys are firemen. They have to tell the truth."

So the catcher for the LBFD team says: "Yeah, we're not cops!"

Get it? Cops lie.

I thought it was funny.

The Hot Stove: Nine Minus Three (A Burning Man Tale)

2006-09-08T07:20:00.000-07:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

i woke up early sunday morning with a slight case of the brown bottle flu. i asked my dad if he wanted to take the bikes out for a ride before it got too hot, and he agreed. burning man is set up with a large area partitioned off where you can't camp called the "playa," which is reserved for art installations -- like this one, a huge structure built with 2x3 boards and nails (donated by a company from belgium):

or this one:

or "mutant vehicles" like this one:

anyway, it was a windy morning but i could hear someone playing heavy metal off in the distance somewhere. as we pedaled around the road that fronts the playa, i could hear the music getting louder... finally, as we were approaching, some guy stepped out into the road and blocked my path. he said he was building a jump for bikes, he needed someone to be the first to try it.

i looked over his shoulder and saw a crudely put together ramp, and some guy in a bunny suit was pouring gas or lighter fluid on the wood planks. "i'll do it," i said. the guy with the megaphone said "we got a volunteer!" and people started gathering around. the dude in the bunny suit lit the ramp with a lighter... flames were shooting up in the middle of it. i was picturing the ramp collapsing as i got halfway up the thing, then myself rolling around in the sand trying to scrape the burning napalm off my hands and face.

but people were waiting for me to go for it, there was no turning back now. i circled around to get some momentum, hit the ramp as fast as i could, sailed over the top, and stuck the landing like evel kneivel. the crowd cheered, and a girl with no shirt and a cowboy hat handed me a big bottle of jack daniels. i took a swig to stop my legs from shaking, but it didn't work.

the guy who stopped me in the middle of the road congratulated me on my successful jump, then he invited my dad and i over for pancakes. we had a plate of pancakes and syrup with slices of fresh mango, i had a can of spicy v-8 juice to wash it down. as we sat there eating our pancakes listening to old black sabbath tunes, we watched a few guys attempt the jump and stack hard. that's when my dad took the pictures, but by that time the flames had died down.

and that's the closest i ever felt to being a rockstar.

The Hot Stove Presents: Porno For Pyros

2006-09-05T13:34:00.000-07:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

burning man, 2006

black rock city, nevada

(more detailed report to follow)

Friday!

2006-08-25T22:10:00.000-07:00

Spanish-Only Rapist

2006-08-21T19:56:00.000-07:00

______________________

by El Profe

Kudos to the victim of last week's fake rape and the fine reporter that wrote up her story for knowing that if there's one thing Modesto Bee readers hate more than rapists, it's Spanish-speaking, possibly"illegal", rapists. This story is a textbook example of what I hope only I call "reporting by police scanner" and it did deliver the goods: hastily scribbled accounts of faked sex crimes fused with just a dash of current public opinion make wonderful Saturday morning reading. The Bee’s editorial had it right yesterday, too. I mean, why can’t even our nation's fictitious rapists learn English?

Woman Raped on Bike Trail, The Modesto Bee, 8/13/06

Police: Rape was a Hoax, The Modesto Bee, 8/14/06

Puto of the Week: Joe Lieberman

2006-08-09T11:53:00.000-07:00

Nature's Bounty II: The Bountifulness

2006-08-02T15:03:00.000-07:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

More garden photos, with quotes by Henry David Thoreau:

"The finest qualities of our nature, like the bloom on fruits, can be preserved only by the most delicate handling. Yet we do not treat ourselves nor one another thus tenderly."

"I once had a sparrow alight upon my shoulder for a moment, while I was hoeing in a village garden, and I felt that I was more distinguished by that circumstance that I should have been by any epaulet I could have worn."

"Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each."

The Hot Stove Presents: Nature's Bounty

2006-07-24T16:37:00.000-07:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

it's been awhile since nebur posted up on here. i don't have much to say as my head is beating like one of nebur's panamanian bongo drums. pics from the garden: enjoy.

congrats on the not guilty out of stockton!

Righteous Person: Patti Davis

2006-07-20T00:30:00.000-07:00

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by

Nebur's Note: President Reagan's daughter, Patti Davis wrote this piece on MSNBC in response to President Bush's veto of the stem cell research bill. Just as only Nixon could go to China, only a daughter of the Gipper could call out our president on his bull.

Does Anyone Care?
At the end of the day, President Bush’s veto of stem-cell research doesn’t really matter.--
By Patti Davis

July 19, 2006 - During the height of the Vietnam War, a bumper sticker asked, WHAT IF THEY GAVE A WAR AND NO ONE CAME? Here’s a 2006 alteration of that: WHAT IF THE PRESIDENT VETOED A BILL AND NO ONE CARED?
On Wednesday, President Bush handed down his first veto ever, for a bill that would have allowed federal funding for stem-cell research on embryos left over after in vitro fertilization procedures—embryos that would otherwise be destroyed. The bill passed both the Republican-controlled House and the Senate, although it fell several votes short of the number needed to override a presidential veto.
The veto comes as no surprise; that battle line was drawn years ago. But it’s hard to believe that the 70 percent of Americans who support stem-cell research really care what President Bush does. I’m not suggesting they won’t notice, or be bothered—even annoyed. I’m certainly not suggesting that federal funding couldn’t move research along at a faster pace. But caring is an emotion of a deeper kind. When we truly care about another’s opinion, it’s because we value that person and hold in some esteem their judgments and pronouncements. It also might mean we believe that individual can influence the tide of the future with their opinions.
This is a president who has no currency left with the majority of Americans who, polls have shown, do not trust him. We won’t totally shrug off his intransigence, but we won’t waste too much time mulling over his reasons either. Why? Because we don’t care.
White House Press Secretary Tony Snow said, about the impending veto, that President Bush “thinks murder is wrong.” But apparently, the destruction of fertilized eggs—flushed away as if they’re useless—doesn’t count as murder. Only using those fertilized eggs for valuable scientific research that could eventually save people’s lives counts as murder in this president’s mind. No one in this administration, with all their wordplay and posturing, has been able to dance around that stunning lack of logic.
We are being asked to believe that this president’s opposition to embryonic stem-cell research has deep moral, religious and ethical roots. As we heard, the word “murder” is tossed around freely.
Yet this is a president who led us into a war with a patchwork quilt of lies. Thousands of American soldiers have died. Thousands more have returned horribly wounded, and we don’t even know yet what toll posttraumatic stress disorder will take on those who obeyed their commander in chief and went to fight in Iraq. We may never know the complete death toll of Iraqi citizens, but we certainly know that some were raped and brutally executed. There have been many beheadings, sometimes of Americans who simply went to Iraq to help the people there, not to fight. Let us please not forget 26-year-old Nick Berg who was beheaded in May 2004. Where is President Bush’s grief over all those deaths? He directs his moral outrage instead to the idea of using fertilized eggs, that would otherwise be destroyed, for potentially life-saving scientific research. He tells us it’s because he cares so deeply about life.
Where was his care in the aftermath of Katrina? This president, when he finally did touch down in Louisiana, made a smirking remark about the good times he used to have in New Orleans. As if alluding to his hard-partying past was appropriate while people were suffering and dying in the Superdome, while bodies were lying bloated in the streets.
We won’t care about this veto because we don’t really believe this president cares about us. Stem-cell research is going to go forward, obviously without this administration’s help. People like Bill Gates and Warren Buffet have shown us that there is some serious money in this country and there are dedicated, humane citizens willing to put their money where their beliefs are. If anything, President Bush’s veto of the stem-cell bill may galvanize people even more.
The future of this scientific research doesn’t rest in the world of politics, but rather in the committed hearts of people who long to see diseases like Parkinson’s and diabetes, possibly even Alzheimer’s, become treatable conditions. People who believe that the day will come when victims of spinal cord injuries will stand up from their wheelchairs and walk again. People who trust the scientists who are working so passionately on what will be, and already is, the next frontier of medicine.
No president can veto the will of people’s hearts.

Pastel Window

2006-07-17T18:14:00.000-07:00

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by

Window at the Laverne Church of the Brethren, during my cousin Casey's wedding, August 2005

Mild Eyed Mother of Exiles

2006-07-14T23:06:00.000-07:00

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by

Photo courtesy of Paparazzzi.

The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless,tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
-Emma Lazarus, 1883

2006-07-14T15:43:00.000-07:00

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by

Happy Bastille Day!

The Beautiful Game Turned Ugly

2006-07-05T13:02:00.000-07:00

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by

I have been in trial for the last two weeks, and don't have time to even shave. Expect to be down for the next week or so. In the interim, check out this video about racism in international soccer, sent to me courtesy of the Hispanic Pundit. It is about ten minutes long and quite compelling.

More after the trial.

Putos of the Month / Righteous Persons of the Month

2006-06-27T22:27:00.000-07:00

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by

Oh Say Does That Star Spangled Banner Yet Wave? (Yes, for now)

Today, The United States Senate, on a one vote margin (66-37), rejected a bill that would be the next step in a constitutional amendment banning flag desecration, or as I prefer to call it, a constitutional amendment that would desecrate the First Amendment. According to the United States Senate website:

These Senators voted for the bill:

Alexander (R-TN)Allard (R-CO)Allen (R-VA)Baucus (D-MT)Bayh (D-IN)Bond (R-MO)Brownback (R-KS)Bunning (R-KY)Burns (R-MT)Burr (R-NC)Chambliss (R-GA)Coburn (R-OK)Cochran (R-MS)Coleman (R-MN)Collins (R-ME)Cornyn (R-TX)Craig (R-ID)Crapo (R-ID)Dayton (D-MN)DeMint (R-SC)DeWine (R-OH)Dole (R-NC)Domenici (R-NM)Ensign (R-NV)Enzi (R-WY)Feinstein (D-CA)Frist (R-TN)Graham (R-SC)Grassley (R-IA)Gregg (R-NH)Hagel (R-NE)Hatch (R-UT)Hutchison (R-TX)Inhofe (R-OK)Isakson (R-GA)Johnson (D-SD)Kyl (R-AZ)Landrieu (D-LA)Lincoln (D-AR)Lott (R-MS)Lugar (R-IN)Martinez (R-FL)McCain (R-AZ)Menendez (D-NJ)Murkowski (R-AK)Nelson (D-FL)Nelson (D-NE)Reid (D-NV)Roberts (R-KS)Rockefeller (D-WV)Salazar (D-CO)Santorum (R-PA)Sessions (R-AL)Shelby (R-AL)Smith (R-OR)Snowe (R-ME)Specter (R-PA)Stabenow (D-MI)Stevens (R-AK)Sununu (R-NH)Talent (R-MO)Thomas (R-WY)Thune (R-SD)Vitter (R-LA)Voinovich (R-OH)Warner (R-VA)

These Senators voted against the bill:

Akaka (D-HI)Bennett (R-UT)Biden (D-DE)Bingaman (D-NM)Boxer (D-CA)Byrd (D-WV)Cantwell (D-WA)Carper (D-DE)Chafee (R-RI)Clinton (D-NY)Conrad (DND)Dodd (D-CT)Dorgan (D-ND)Durbin (D-IL)Feingold (D-WI)Harkin (D-IA)Inouye (D-HI)Jeffords (I-VT)Kennedy (D-MA)Kerry (D-MA)Kohl (D-WI)Lautenberg (D-NJ)Leahy (D-VT)Levin (D-MI)Lieberman (D-CT)McConnell (R-KY)Mikulski (D-MD)Murray (D-WA)Obama (D-IL)Pryor (D-AR)Reed (D-RI)Sarbanes (D-MD)Schumer (D-NY)Wyden (D-OR)

So what is the news here? Two Democratic senators whom I voted for, Reid of Nevada and Feinstein of Calfornia are putos for voting for a bill that they damn well know is unconstitutional, just to curry political favor.

On the other hand, Bennet of Utah, McConnell of Kentucky and Chafee of Rhode Island crossed party lines to defend the freedoms that the flag represents. They are Righteous Persons.

Oh..... and Lieberman (a.k.a. Bush's houseboy) gets honorable mention for doing the right thing for once.

More reading: One year ago today, Junichi wrote this piece shortly after the House voted in favor of a constitutional amendment banning flag desecration.

Sometimes the News is Too Good to Make Up

2006-06-26T21:14:00.000-07:00

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by

"There's nothing good about drug use. We know it. It destroys individuals. It destroys families. Drug use destroys societies. Drug use, some might say, is destroying this country. And we have laws against selling drugs, pushing drugs, using drugs, importing drugs. And the laws are good because we know what happens to people in societies and neighborhoods which become consumed by them. And so if people are violating the law by doing drugs, they ought to be accused and they ought to be convicted and they ought to be sent up." -Rush Limbaugh, October 1995.

Today, Rush Limbaugh was detained at the West Palm Beach airport for possessing Viagra without a prescription. Valid as his excuse may be, IMHO, people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.

The Fighting Side of Merle

2006-06-24T18:10:00.000-07:00

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by

Source: Over The Line

An excerpt of Merle Haggard's recent interview with MSNBC:

MSNBC: On last year's album, 'Chicago Wind,' you recorded a song called "Rebuild America First" in which you sing, "Let's get out of Iraq, and get back on track." Why do you think you were basically given a pass when the Dixie Chicks were raked over the coals for their comparatively tame criticism of the president and the war?

Merle Haggard: I don't really understand it. I don't know what's new about girls not liking war, first of all. And second of all, they have a right to say what they want to. Third, I'm an American, and I'll back everything they say. I'm not for the war in Iraq because I don't believe they've explained why they're doing it.

A year ago, I went to see Merle Haggard in Turlock with my uncle, Alan Davis, who blogged about the show. The show was excellent, and it was even better to see it with my uncle, who could explain the finer points of the Merle and the Strangers' music. This excerpt from Alan's piece is all the more relevant in the wake of Haggard's recent comments:

Alan Davis: Merle also subtly revealed his distaste for the fiasco in Iraq. He said he had been asked not to do any political songs (then he did one of my least favorites, 'Fighting Side of me.' He asked how many of the crowd heard the president's speech last night and generated huge applause. Then, while rolling his eyes with a sour smile, smirked 'I believe everything he said, don't you?' Haggard never fails to surprise, and always follows his own muse. His thoughts and music don't always conform with mine, but his individual path continues to amaze, inspire, and fascinate me.

I remember the cool chill in the auditorium as Merle committed the unthinkable sin of challenging our Commander-in-Chief. Throughout the audience, a few brave souls whistled their support for Haggard. I was sitting next to my friend's dad, a true Okie from Muskogee, so I held my tongue. As the show ended, we left the auditorium through the mugginess of a Turlock summer evening. Under a starlit sky and to the soundtrack of fiddling crickets, Alan explained the music and told me how in younger years he felt betrayed by Haggard's apparent pro-war stance in "Fighting Side of Me." It was a good night.

* * *

More reading: Junichi's article on the Dixie Chicks' 60 Minutes Interview

2006-06-23T09:36:00.000-07:00

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I am happy to announce that Rick Meyer and I have decided to continue our partnership, hopefully at least for another successful four years. We have moved into our new building, and look forward to many more years defending the rights of criminally accused individuals.

Who's Your Daddy?

2006-06-18T07:56:00.000-07:00

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A classic picture of my dad, taken at Tapachula, Chiapas, after a harrowing three-day journey through Mexico

Confessions of a Once-American Son
from my generation
to everyone in his

¿Por que no tengo abuelo?
What did you do to make him leave?
Were you ashamed
he did not look like you
talk like you
think like you
afraid
he
would embarsss
you.
***
Did you reject his Voice
you thought
inferior,
reflect your choice
through bastard...izations of his tongue,
through stunning orrations
of the E.S.L., English at the Second Grade Level
you now mastered.
***
Did you run and hide
when his family came to visit,
did you laugh and chide
when he silently said
te quiero.
***
Dime, Papi, were you like me?
did you do such things to mi abuelo?
And if you did,
then why do I have the best daddy in the world,
when nobody taught you how to de one?
***

Originally published in Poetry for the People: In a Time of Genocide, U.C. Berkeley, 1993. Happy Father's day, Pops, and to all Jefitos including mis dos abuelos (que en paz descansen), Bobby B ( Loved the trip to Panama, homeboy), The Top Dog (You did it by yourself and your daughter is a champ), Carlos Caro (Keep making that music, Mano!), The Litigator Jose (Congrats on Vincent Justice!) Tupakk (you're doing a great job raising your kids amongst the English), Adrian Mendoza (Congrats on the baby's graduation), The Ikabod (Little Jess is a champ), Senor Franco (Yo quiero a su hija), and even Mark (for giving me the most precious gift I have ever received.

Tales From the Court Presents: Saving the Drama for Your Mama

2006-06-16T12:55:00.000-07:00

(By Lionel Hutz)

after the first jury could not reach a verdict last week, on friday afternoon the judge asked who could NOT come back to deliberate this week. one guy couldn't make it, he was an orthodontist and he had a full week of appointments scheduled. dr was excused, alternate juror #13 sworn in to replace the dr.

the new jury was also deadlocked today. hung jury on both counts (driving under the influence and driving with a blood alcohol level of .08% or above). judge declared a mistrial. judge dismissed count one (driving under the influence) in the interests of justice.

the DA gave us the same offer the defense had already considered and rejected on seven previous occaisions. it looks like we will have another trial, this one purely on count two: .08% or above. lionel hutz thought of a few things he could've done differently in the first trial... gonna come back stronger than anyone could possibly imagine a la obi wan kenobi.

Pernicious Popups

2006-06-15T00:16:00.000-07:00

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Submitted to The Modesto Bee, two minutes ago . **Update: Published in The Bee 6/17/06**

Kind Editor,

Every day, I enjoy the Bee headlines in print form over a cup of coffee. Later in the day, I turn to Modbee.com to read the stories that interest me. Lately, I've been turning away from the online version, due to the annoying, invasive audio/visual popups. I mean really! Who reads Modbee.com to buy an RV or hear from the Save Mart fishmonger? I yearn for the good old days when pernicious popups were purely a pillar of porno, not periodicals.

World Cup House Rules

2006-06-13T20:38:00.000-07:00

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by Lilia

Lilia's Note: My brother-in-law wrote and gave these rules to his family. My niece forwarded them to me. He is lucky his girls are big soccer fans.

During the World Cup the TV will not be shared, no exceptions.
The remote belongs to the Dad.
The Dad will not under any circumstances answer the phone, door, or cell phone.
If you must, for some unknown yet incredibly important reason pass by the TV, you will have to crawl and be absolutely silent at all times, especially during commercials.
If the kids fall or get hurt, the mom will pick them up or they will get over it! If they start to cry, they must go outside.
Do not schedule any appointments to the doctor, dentist, etc...
Do not bother the Dad for any reason. He will ignore you.
Do not invite the Dad to birthdays, especially Weddings, Parties, etc. (He will not attend)
The TV can only be used from 12:00 to 5:00 a.m.
No questions and or comments during the games.
The refrigerator is only to be use for SNACKS.
No house demonstrations such as Tupperware, Jafra, etc...
Do not pretend to know the rules of the game.
If there is something very important you need to talk about, ask mom.

Rolling in the Mo'

2006-06-13T13:27:00.000-07:00

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"Single, Gray Silverado Seeking Single Four-Wheeler for Truckie Style fun"

A few years ago, I was a young Public Defender in Reno. One day, as I was driving to Carson City, I got stuck for about 30 miles behind a truck with testicles. Soon I would see more and more road nuts, and realize that this was a disturbing trend. For the last five years, I've been on the hunt for a photo of this elusive beast, but I never had my camera at the ready. Today, however, I was locked and loaded, and I bagged me a truck!

For more on the phenomenon, see pics and stories: Flickr photo, Lack of Style, and Spokane, or to order this deviant product, go to Bumpernuts.com or nutsfortrucks.com

Tales From the Court Presents: Dog Day Afternoon

2006-06-12T07:39:00.000-07:00

(By Lionel Hutz)

had a dui trial last week. the d.a. had no evidence of impairment. client pulled over around midnight for no front license plate -- no bad driving observed by cop. client passed 2 of the 3 field sobriety tests (heel-to-toe and one-leg-stand) and allegedly failed the third FST (horizontal gaze nystagmus -- the one where you're supposed to follow the pen with your eyes). blood alcohol level results: .09, .11, .10, .10, .10 -- shows a clear rising pattern at the time of stop.

gubment puts their expert on the stand. d.a. asks her expert: have you heard of the "mellanby effect?" gubment expert says: "that's a study where most subjects displayed greater levels of impairment during the absorption/ingestion phase than the elimination phase, at the equivalent blood alcohol levels." in other words, a .07 BAC on the rising side of the curve is going to be more impaired than a .07 BAC on the falling side of the curve.

i had never heard of this study. all i can say to the gubment expert is "you have no information that my client belongs to this category of 'most subjects', do you?" of course he says "no," and i move on.

after the gubment rests, i call my own expert to the stand. he was supposed to be there at 2:00 pm on thursday, and the judge was very impatient so i was out in the hallway at 2:05, keeping a lookout. he was 10 minutes late, so all i can say to him is: "have you ever heard of this mellanby effect?" as we're going into the courtroom, he says "yeah, ask me about it."

so i wait until the very end of my direct exam. i ask him if he's familiar with the mellanby effect. he says that he is, and he goes into the findings of the study, basically saying the same things the government expert said... then i ask him, "what do you think of this study?"

and he says: "well, the most important thing, to me, is the subjects that were tested."

not knowing what to say, i ask: "who was tested?"

and the defense expert says: "not who. the study was performed on dogs."

i had no idea. i laughed, and i sat down. the da goes up there for cross exam. she says: "don't dogs have the same digestive system as people? don't dogs have stomachs and livers just like we do?"

and the defense expert says: "well that's true, but i would never feel very comfortable comparing dogs to people." she couldn't really do much with that answer.

i lean over to my client and very subtly make the sign of a plane crashing to the ground with my hand.

after deliberating a full day, the jury's still out... lionel hutz is sitting in limbo over the weekend while his client's fate hangs in the balance... not unlike a modern-day sword of damocles.

The Hot Stove Fun Fact of the Day: Vol 1

2006-06-09T07:09:00.000-07:00

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(by lee stevens)

i was watching the season finale of the sopranos on sunday night. there was a scene where phil was ragging on recently deceased vito, and tony says to him: "hey, you're talking about one of my captains."

and phil says: "captain of what? the good ship lollipop?"

i laughed at the joke, but later it occurred to me that i don't even know what the good ship lollipop is... i've definitely heard of the song, but what's it about?

so i looked it up. contrary to popular belief, the good ship lollipop is not a boat, but rather an airplane. and apparently it flies to candy land. source: wikipedia.

world cup starts tomorrow morning with germany vs costa rica. i know nebur is probably against costa rica because they qualified and panama didn't, but i still have to root for the underdog.

The Hot Stove Summer Sports Preview: Pen Cap Chew

2006-06-04T11:08:00.000-07:00

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(by lee stevens)

summer is my favorite time of the year. as i turned the page of my sierra club calendar to june last week, it occurred to me how many good sporting events we have on the menu this month. baseball season is in full swing. the nba basketball championship starts thursday. the nhl hockey playoffs are going on too. on friday morning at 9:00 am the month-long world cup soccer tournament kicks off with germany vs. costa rica in munich.

a couple good reads to get geared up for the world cup:

1) how soccer explains the world, by franklin foer.

a good book that uses soccer/globalization to explain many issues in the world, from religion to nationalism to hooliganism. my favorite chapter is the one on the barcelona football club, which won the champions league a few weeks ago over arsenal. this chapter goes into the history of barca, explaining how the club "was the heroic center of the resistance" to gen. franco's fascist military dictatorship. barca already has the best and more dazzling player in the world in ronaldinho, but here's another reason to love the team.

2) this month's national geographic magazine, why the world loves soccer.

the article is a collection of short essays by 8 different writers. i liked the 2 essays on african soccer:

"juju on the field" is a story about soccer in the ivory coast by paul laity. here's an excerpt:

"Witch doctors scatter charms on the field or smear the goalposts with magic ointments to keep the ball out. In 1984 no fewer than 150 fetisheurs [witch doctors] stayed with the Ivoirian national team at their hotel before a crunch game in the African Nations Cup: each player took a bath in water treated with various potions before being invited to make a wish in the ear of a pigeon."

"healing a war-torn land" is a story about soccer in angola by henning mankell. apparently angola barely qualified for the world cup with a miracle last-minute win over rwanda:

"This triumph exists first of all in the hearts and minds of the Angolan people. To go to the finals of the World Cup in soccer means an enormous amount to the self-confidence of a country that has been ravaged by war and deprivation. A country, battered for so long, will be built up again."

africa has never won a world cup. i'm really pulling for one of the african nations (ivory coast, togo, angola, ghana) to win for the first time...

Book Review: Enrique's Journey

2006-06-02T16:03:00.000-07:00

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by Lilia Franco

Enrique's Journey is the true heart wrenching story of a young boy's horrific quest to reunite with his mother in the United States. This book will break your heart as it retells Enrique's immigrating from Honduras to South Carolina. It will also open your eyes to the brutalities committed by so-called humans. Throughout his attempts to cross the Mexican and U.S. borders, Enrique encounters gangsters, bandits, corrupt police, migra, starvation, beatings, deportation and depression, none of which deter his resolve.

The author, Sonia Nazario took the trip herself to make the account more authentic and personal, and she definitively succeeded. Many times, when reading was just too painful, I would stop, reflect, and remind myself how fortunate I am that my parents came to this country. They too encountered insurmountable odds to give us a better life.

Nebur's Note: This weekend, that special someone in my life decided to go to Vegas, and leave me here. Fortunately, I now have a good book to read. By the way, HBO plans on doing a six-part miniseries on Enrique's Journey. More Links:
Enrique'sjourney.com
Review in Hispainc Magazine
A hateristic review by Vdare.com's Joe Guzzardi
The Invisible World, Sonia Nazario's convocation address ar Williams College, '04
LA Times interview with Sonia Nazario

Out with the Old

2006-05-30T21:22:00.001-07:00

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© Adrian Mendoza 2006

Today, I opened a new office on Ninth and G street. My grandmother's former kindergarten student, Adrian Mendoza, took this photo of me in the old office, as part of his Eleventh Street Project. In one image, he summed up my law practice on 11th and J Street.

My Choice for California Governor

2006-05-30T01:07:00.000-07:00

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Ms. Barbara Becnel. A Democrat with a conscience. Please join me in voting for her in the June 6 primary. Help me to remind my party that we are against the death penalty, in support of immigrant rights, and in favor of more schools, not jails.

Kids, if the Party has left you, cast your vote for Barbara. Let's show California what it means to be a Democrat.

A Day Without an Immigrant, Part I

2006-05-24T12:05:00.000-07:00

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Nebur's Note: Finally, I am posting stories and emails from myself and others about a Day Without an Immigrant. Part I is by me.

2:22 am:

A Day Without a Panamanian is finally here. My court docket is clear and I've got top ramen galore up in the crib. For the next 24 hours, the shop is closed. I will buy nothing and sell nothing. I will take no cases, and I will accept no fees for dispensing legal counsel. I will practice before no court, and no minute order will be inscribed with the name "Villalobos," at least not in The Mo'.

The slumbering brown bear has awoken from a long winter. The people are speaking. The people are mobilizing. The students are learning. Most importantly, the workers risk their livelyhoods to show the impact of their dollar.

As sure as I know anything, I know that in the morning, someone is going to tell me that I don't love America, that I should leave. In fact, many someones will likely pass me as I walk the line. Instead of honking, they will flip me off and tell me that I should go back to Mexico. I've been there, by the way, and it is quite nice, and I do want to go back, but I digress.

9:00 am:

Well I have officially slept through the first two hours of a Day Without an Immigrant. I suck. But oh, how it feels to sleep in on a work day. After a quick shower and a ten minute drive, I arrive at Crows Landing Road. Practically none of the businesses are open. Even the car lots and Supermercados are closed, thanks to the fine work of my friend, Crows Landing Merchant's Association President Jorge Elizalde. I am so very proud to be a Latino businessman today.

I take my place in the sea of thousands. In my 32 years, I have never seen this many people mobilized in Modesto. This will be a great day. God Bless Immigrants!

Tomorrow: El Profe gets gritty with Armstrong and Getty

Links:

Why I Will Boycott on May 1, by Cesar Cuauhtemoc Garcia Hernandez,

What Rights do I have if the INS comes to my door?
Que derechos tengo si la migra me arresta?
Illegal Immigrants who Love America Stop Persecution of Immigrants

Can I be fired for protesting?

The Naked Guy is Dead

2006-05-21T10:23:00.000-07:00

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Certain men just weren't meant to wear clothes

"I don't want to facilitate the power structure with my conformity."- Andrew Martinez

This Sunday morning, like most, I awoke with nothing on the agenda. I have a trial to prepare for later today, but that could wait. After scanning the channels on the tube, I checked my email to find that The Naked Man, Andrew Martinez, is no more. My Berkeley friend (and Dixie Chick official blogger) Junichi, wrote about Martinez here. I then read more about Andrew on Wikipedia, and in several obituaries. It seems that after years of mental illness, he took his own life in a Santa Clara jail cell.

Just last weekend, I was in Pasadena, just a few blocks from where I spent New Year's Day with my Cal homies Oliver and Khanh back in the Early Nineties. I was in Pasadena this time to meet Karina's sister Lilia. She and her teacher friends invited us to join them for Happy Hour. I didn't know anyone there, and so as I tend to do, I started telling old stories. I told them I went to Cal, and somehow the subject got around to the Naked Guy. I cracked a few jokes at his expense. Little did I know that these would be the last few days of his life.

I guess it is too soon to say what inner demons led to Andrew's death. What I can say from my limited contact with him almost fifteen years ago, is that I don't think he had mental health problems then. The few times I met him, he was confident, and clear in his mission. Like so many Berkelians before him, he was a true non-conformist. Andrew displayed his body on Sproul Plaza, on the very steps where Mario Savio said:

There's a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can't take part, you can't even passively take part, and you've got to put your bodies on the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you've got to make it stop! And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all!

To be honest, I didn't get Andrew's protest at the time. In all honesty, I somewhat resented him. We were in the middle of protesting the rise of militarization after Gulf War I, the Rodney King cop verdicts, and most importantly to me, the attacks by the administration on the Ethnic Studies Program. In a short 10 months, we mobilized thousands of students, in protest after protest. In those ten months, we never got ink anywhere but in The Daily Cal. Andrew disrobed, and was interviewed by everyone from Playboy to Time Magazine. Yes, it could be said that in regards to how Andrew's protest took the spotlight away from our struggles, I had penis envy.

Years later, I see that his protest was part of a greater tradition. This man earned a Berkeley education, and gave it all up in favor of his free speech rights. We never did that. Even when we got arrested in California Hall, we walked out, knowing that if we sat down we would likely face academic consequences on top of our arrest. This guy had the cojones to take the administration to the brink.

I don't know why I didn't understand Andrew at the time. Perhaps he said it best in his bumper stickers:

R.I.P, Andrew Martinez. You died at 33 because the world wasn't ready for you. Thank you for your time on this earth.

* * *
Photos of Andrew Martinez

Timeline and newspaper articles

CNN Obituary

Why Our Criminal Justice System Does Not Work:

2006-05-19T11:45:00.000-07:00

Stanislaus County Deputy District Attorney John Mayne

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Stanislaus County District Attorney John Mayne wrote this letter to the Modesto Bee, published May 11, 2006:

I am a prosecutor, and I support Birgit Fladager for district attorney. She is the finest prosecutor I have ever met. Her unwavering pursuit of justice on even the toughest cases is inspiring, and her integrity is unsurpassed. On the other side, Superior Court Judge Mike Cummins' former career as a criminal defense attorney still shines through. In court, I have had his criminal defense attorney supporters ask for trials set "any time past June 6," in the hope he is elected.
Prosecutors like Birgit Fladager seek justice; criminals, through their attorneys, generally seek to escape justice.
Cummins told me that I should avoid public support of Fladager because, "only bad things could happen" to me if I did so. He explained that there is no upside to public support because prosecutors did not have the money to fund Fladager's campaign and added, "No one cares what prosecutors think."
I hope he's wrong.
JOHN R. MAYNE

My Response:

Deputy District Attorney John Mayne’s May 11, 2006 letter is disturbing on many levels. In support of his candidate for the upcoming District Attorney race, he states that “Prosecutors seek justice; criminals, through their attorneys, generally seek to escape justice." His comments presume that all people accused of crimes are guilty, and that criminal defense attorneys somehow conspire with criminally accused individuals to evade justice.

Shame on you, Mr. Mayne. You have been an attorney for nine years. You know that everyone has a constitutional right to muster a defense to criminal charges. You know that people are innocent until proven guilty. I have heard you utter those words to a jury. I have heard you compliment my kids on the Modesto High Mock Trial team for their understanding of this human right. You know that the vast majority of criminal attorneys, be them prosecutors or defense attorneys, are dedicated public servants. It is beneath the dignity of your office to imply that
individuals evade justice by simply asserting constitutional rights. And it is downright unethical for you to say that criminal defense attorneys help criminals to escape justice.
Mr. Mayne, it is a pity that a high school student has a better grasp of the Constitution than you do. Or is it that you know the law, but are playing on public fears to back your candidate?

Welcome to Baltimore, suckers

2006-05-19T07:35:00.000-07:00

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(by lee stevens)

The best news story I've read all week.
(Source: Juan Ceja)

Cinco de Mayo

2006-05-07T13:23:00.000-07:00

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From La Cucaracha (Source: LF)

Tales From The Court: Law on the Lawn

2006-05-04T10:38:00.000-07:00

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Photo: BART AH YOU

From THE MODESTO BEE, May 4, 2006, 04:36:21 AM PDT:
A panel of experts -- including attorney Drew Rowe, left, Rueben Villalobos, Stanislaus Superior Court Judge Rick Distaso and attorney E.F. Cash-Dudley -- took questions from the public on the courthouse lawn in Modesto.

I was honored to be asked to speak on a panel at Law on the Lawn Day in Modesto on May 2nd. But I have a couple of bones to pick with the Modesto Bee. First, why is my name mispelled yet again? Why do people insist on adding the Anglicized first "e"? Second, why are Drew Rowe and E.F. Cash-Dudley identified as attorneys, and I am not? What's up with that?

Tales From The Court: The Case of the Telephone-Game Terrorist

2006-04-27T10:37:00.000-07:00

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Oh Say Does That Star Spangled Banner Yet Wave?

The Facts:

Mr P., a family friend, is a middle-aged Israeli, with a couple of decades in this country. He speaks with a pronounced accent. Due to life's ebbs and flows, he has spent the last few years in limbo. His moderate depression issues have strained his family relationships. A year ago, he filed a workers' compensation claim against his employer, a local eatery, and was summarily fired. For the last several months, he has been unemployed. Two weeks ago, he went into the jobs office to process an unemployment claim. According to law enforcement, he proceeded to tell several employees that he was going to come back with a gun and shoot up the place, and he praised Osama Bin Laden. He was arrested, and charged with section 422 of the Penal Code.

My client alleges that he never made any of the threatening comments. He did exercise his Fifth Amendment right to vent his frustration with U.S. Policy in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Vietnam. He also exercised extremely poor judgment in mouthing off to state bureaucrats.
Until that day, Mr. P had never spent a moment in custody. Moments would become hours....... hours would become days.

The Law

Penal Code section 422, wrongly known by the profession as the terrorist threats statute, is violated if a person:

Willfully threatens to commit a crime,
which will kill or seriously hurt another person,
with the intent that the statement is to be taken as a threat,
which statement on its face is so unconditional, immediate, and specific
as to convey to the victim, an immediate prospect of execution of the threat.
Additionally, the receiver of the threat must actually be in fear. Penal Code 422 can be punished as a misdemeanor or a felony, and is a strike under the California Three Strikes law. If convicted, Mr. P was facing up to three years in the state prison.

How it Went Down in Court

Day 3
I got a call from a friend and fellow attorney informing me that Mr. P had been arrested two days ago, and was going to be arraigned on the felony charge later that day. I went to court, arraigned the defendant, and set the matter for a bail reduction hearing two days later, and a probable cause hearing within the 10-day statutory period. I asked for the police reports so I could prepare for the hearings.
Day 5
By the bail hearing, I had not been provided the police reports, which the judge must take at face value in considering a bail reduction motion. The district attorney showed me part of his file and told me that the People would not consider any plea that wasn't a strike felony for serious time. I requested my client's release, and the district attorney strenuously objected, using the police reports to intimate that my client was an Osama-loving gun nut who threatened to come back and shoot everybody in the building. I pointed out the obvious, that there must have been a language confusion, because no Israeli would be an Osama groupie. The judge denied my request and left my client in custody, without prejudice for me to renew my motion at the probable cause hearing a few days later.
All the while, my client (who is diabetic) was going into hypoglycemia. He was starting to kind of fade in and out, his anxiety obvious in his visage. Then, in an act of kindness that will surely earn him an eternal home on high, a kind Deputy arranged for Mr. P to have a glass of orange juice.
A simple glass of orange juice and a kindly soul were the mana that got Mr. P through the savage world of bars and chains.
Day 8
By the probable cause hearing, I had received most of the reports. A new district attorney was assigned to the case. I have known this lawyer to be an ethical and worthy adversary. He presented three witnesses in an effort to establish my client's threats. In listening to the testimony, I had one focus: Come hell or high water, I would object to all hearsay testimony.
Hearsay: An out-of- court statement offered to prove the truth of the matter asserted. In other words, people can only testify as to statements they heard, not what other people heard.
Witness 1 testified that she heard something from my client about a gun. She also testified that Witness 2 told her that my client said that he would "come back with a gun." Of course, I objected and got that statement excluded as inadmissible hearsay.
Witness 2 testified that, although my client was obnoxious, he never said anything about coming back with a gun. He also testified that he heard Witness 3 say that my client said that he would "come back with a gun." Again, that hearsay was excluded.
Witness 3 testified that she never heard my client say anything about coming back and shooting up the place.
It seems that due to my client's disruptive behavior, the witnesses unwittingly played a game of telephone when being interviewed by the police officer. It also seems that when under oath, the witnesses were honorable enough to testify only as to what they heard. These witnesses understood the sanctity of their oath, and renew my faith in the goodness of man.

The Conclusion
At the close of evidence, the Judge encouraged the district attorney and I to use the lunch break to attempt to resolve the matter. The D.A. and I spoke, and agreed that the evidence would not support a felony charge. We resolved the matter for a misdemeanor disturbing the peace charge, with custodial credit for time served, and a condition of probation that my client take all medication prescribed for his depression. My client was released that day, and got to see his kids after a hard eight days behind bars.
On that Central Valley day, justice was done.

These Ain't horseshoes, Hoss!

2006-04-25T12:19:00.000-07:00

Lessons in Bocce and Life
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The Central Valley sky dabbled with crying the day HP came to town. Rays of liberal light cleaved through conservative clouds. The fire flamed and the mahi-mahi marinated as the Compton Caballero got off his trusty steed. He came to talk politics. He came to meet some old friends he had never met. He came to match wits. Pick your weapons. Name your terms. Mano a Mano. Two men enter, One man leaves.

The game would be bocce. In my many years of traveling the human spirit, I have never met a man that could turn down a lawn game. Be it horseshoes or putting, croquet or lawn darts, there is something about the smell of grass, a projectile, and a target that feed the competitive drive. So today's duel would be decided by the game of the Ancient Romans. The closest to the target, or pallino, scores points. First to ten wins. The only house rule: There must be a bottle in the non-throwing hand at all times.

Ever cocky, HP was a willing participant. He spoke of noble days dominating the horseshoe court. He gave his confident grin, and even used his wily ways to convert my nieces into his adoring minions. As my kinfolk cheered "Go HP!," he tossed the palino. The game was under way.

HP: Mistake Number One: Never give a vato home-court advantage. How can you be expected to navigate the cabbage that life sets between you and your goal?

The Hispanic's first ball was far off target. It seems that his physiology causes him to lean to the right, perhaps against his better judgment. After a point to point rally, I took an early lead with a three-pointer, taking the score to 5/2, my favor. Then, the Hispanic decided that he wasn't going to get punked by a Panamanian. He learned the long game, and tied up the score. It was time to flip the script. Up to that point, the Hispanic was using the roll technique, which works fine on the long game. When I regained the pallino, I threw it short. It was about to be on!

HP: Mistake Number Two: Never let a vato choose his weapons. Oh..... the look on your face when you saw your first conservative red ball ball roll on through, leaving the yellow pallino in its wake. And oh...... the look on your face when you saw me gently lob my ball; as you saw my ball land and kiss the pallino, as if drawn to the target by the hand of Providence. Befuddled you were, Skywalker!)

But the Hispanic is no dummy. He learned the game, and tied it up at 9/9. The next point would win the First Annual North/South Bloggero Bocce Bash. Yang talking rights were on the line. The crowd gathered, as the clouds parted and divine light illuminated the path to victory. The Hispanic held the pallino; he had the advantage. He could go long, or he could go short. As he launched the pallino, amidst of flurry of his premature expatiation, I knew the game was all over. As he silenced his gibberish, the wind whispered gently through the orange blossoms, and the the birds began to warble "Gonna Fly Now." It seems the Hispanic decided to try something new. He went for the Super-long, leaving the palino a mere meter from out-of-bounds. You could see the look on his face. He knew he had it.

HP: Mistake Number Three: Never, and I mean never try some new spit when the game is on the line against a Panamanian. Go with what you know. I mean when, in the history of the Americas, has a Panameno given up? [Except for that one embarrassing moment.]

The trick to playing Super-long bocce is just like bidding on The Price is Right: never over bid. Smelling the victory, the Hispanic hurled his ball to the far corner of the course, and watched in shock as the momentum carried the ball through the grass, past the pallino, over the concrete, and out of bounds. The ball was dead. I didn't have to kiss the target, I just had to keep it in the game. With a steady hand, I lobbed Ball 1 to within a foot of the pallino. As tired as his message, a broken HP rolled Ball 2 out of bounds again. In fact, he did the same with Balls Three and Four. By my last ball, I had three balls in, but the game wasn't over. If I rolled my last ball into the pallino and knocked it out of bounds, the round would be a wash. So, in a coup de grace, I held my ball high to the heavens, and dropped it by my feet. The game was over. Good had prevailed over evil. And hopefully, HP learned a few life lessons.

And the Winner is Nebur!

* * *
In all seriousness, it was a pleasure to have HP up in the crib. I hope it was the first of many bloggero barbecues. Now I can say "Some of my best friends are conservative."

2006-04-18T12:57:00.000-07:00

______________________

by El Profe

Nebur's Note: This letter, by our own Profe, was published in The Modesto Bee. By the way the law firm will be shut down on May 1, 2006. We'll see if Modesto can make it for a day without a Panamanian!

ESL students are mastering language
Last Updated: April 18, 2006, 06:45:27 AM PDT

While I find most of the anti-immigrant letters The Bee publishes hilarious in their racist, slippery-slope naiveté and logic, one recurring theme is language. Apparently, a few people are inconvenienced by having to strain to understand immigrants. Might I suggest that my fellow Americans bridge the gap by learning a second language instead of bellyaching about the natural evolution of our country?

As a teacher of English as a second language, I can assure you that my mostly Mexican students are, indeed, learning, and sometimes mastering, your strange codes. One day, these Mexican-American children and the rest of us fifthcolumns will forgive your efforts to stop history and, in the spirit of brotherhood and cooperation, will make this country, our country, as great as it can be. I promise.

Only by accepting the changing face of our state can we be ready for the future. Kudos to all the demonstrators who flew the American flag at recent demonstrations. Your patriotism will no doubt leave these racists scratching their heads!

RICK PINEDO

Sunday sunset

2006-04-16T19:45:00.000-07:00

.

Where are you, Nebur?

The Further Adventures of Super Tran

2006-04-09T10:00:00.000-07:00

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by KT

Nebur's Note: Yes, I have been lax on the writing lately, taking time to smell the sweet cherry blossoms in my backyard. I will be back soon. I have however, been reading. One of my most amusing recent reads is the site of my second-oldest homeboy, K.T. Tran. He has been on a "back in the day, when I was young" kick lately, which provides great blog fodder. This story is about how he became a writer.

Every superhero has a unique story. Peter Parker was a scrawny geek of a high school student until he was bitten by a radioactive spider which gave him the speed, agility and proportionate strength of a spider. Rich boy Bruce Wayne was a spoiled little brat until one lonely night in the crime-ridden city of Gotham the well-to-do Waynes decided to take a walk on the wildside when they took a shortcut through Crime Alley where they ran into a small time crook named Joe and the rest is history. Joe orphaned Bruce and set the wheels in motion for the young lad, who developed bipolarism at an early age, made an instant decision to spend the next twenty years of his life pushing the physical limits of his body and, with the help of billions inherited from mommy and daddy, developed the grooviest crime fighting weapons in order to further his quest to rid the city of Gotham of its criminal elements. Then, there are also those mutants who are just born special and have have to spend their whole lives trying to deal with a bunch of jealous humans who hate them cause they're not special. And finally, there is Superman, who was an alien sent through the galaxies by his father Jor-El after the scientist discovered that his planet, Krypton, was about to spontaneously explode. When the young alien reaches Earth, he was discovered by the Kents who raised him as a human, named him Clark, and gave him just the right amount of love and moral upbringing that would inspire the young lad to use his "gifts", which were empowered by the yellow Sun (Krypton had a red sun), to become the greatest super hero icon of all time. I mention these icons because everyone have seen them on screen. They are legends.

But my story is a little different. In the Fall of 1984, a set of circumstances would change the life of one Vietnamese boy named Khanh forever, transforming him from a young arrogant punk into the superhero known as....Super Tran. No, seriously though, I became a writer when I was in the fifth grade and I have two persons to thanks for that. One is my teacher that year, Mr. D, who I still think of fondly although I really should be major pissed at him. The other person was named Felicia B., who at that time, was the most beautiful girl in the whole universe, which basically means she was the most beautiful girl at Franklin elementary school. Felicia was then what Jessica Alba is today, the consensus. Everyone thought she was fine! and on that fateful year, I was her classmate. I was in a 5th/6th grade combination class taught by Mr. D. Like everyone else, I had a crush on Felicia so I did what all boys do when they like a girl but don't know how to tell her, I made fun of Felicia, and my punishment for that crime was detention for the rest of the school year, and before you get the wrong idea, this sentence was handed down in October, and I served the entire sentence all the way up to the last day of school. On that fateful day, Mr. D made me write "I will not make fun of Felicia" 100 times. And, as I stared spending more of my freedom imprisoned in that class, Mr. D did his best to vary my punishment in order to keep me from getting bored. But mostly, he made me write "I will not make fun of Mr. D." Generally, it would happen after he read one of my stories.

Not unlike his colleague, Mr. D did not want to work every single minute of the day, he liked to have his "quiet time" as well. Thus he came up with this ingenious idea of having his students write "journal entries" for thirty minutes every day. Now to the average student, this assignment was the horror of their life because most students hate to write since it involved....spelling, unless you are Asian-Indian of course. But me, I took advantage of that assignment to get my revenge on Mr. D. I couldn't physically assault him, obviously, since I was about 60 lbs back then, but I did get him back...on the page. Instead of writing journal entries, I created characters consisting of my fellow students and of course Mr. D, who I think I referred to as Big Nose D, a recurring character in my fiction, and I was.....ladadadee....Super-Tran.

Click here for the full story

The Hot Stove Trend of the Week: LARPing

2006-04-07T07:45:00.000-07:00

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(by lee stevens)

the hot stove Trend of the Week, to start your weekend off right: LARPing.

according to k.o., this stuff is 100% real. people really dress up in these costumes and fight each other. people get hurt.

for a hilarious short (30 seconds) video example of LARPing, click here. it's called "lightning bolt," for obvious reasons. check the fine maiden clapping in approval at the end of the clip -- classic.

my question to you, nebursworld reader, is this: how do these people agree on what happens at the rumble? if some guy says he's blasting you with lightning bolts, what's to stop you from claiming you have a magic lightning bolt-deflecting bracelet? hypothetically speaking, of course.

if one of those wizards or goblins came at me in the forest throwing mad bolts in my direction, i'd just duck and weave so they all missed me. because i have speedy cat-like reflexes and i'm hyper-aware of my surroundings at all times. 360 degrees.

i can't be touched, i'm quick like that. nobody can lay a finger on me. as old school flame throwing righty walter johnson (aka "the big train") once said, "you can't hit what you can't see."

release the hounds!
l.s.

The Hot Stove Book Review: In Praise of Slowness

2006-04-05T07:04:00.000-07:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

two weeks without a post (el profe's contributions notwithstanding) nebur, for shame. it's been so long i'm resorting to posting a book review for a book i'm only partway through. before i start on the review, though, 2 quick thoughts:

it's been raining here straight nonstop. my garden is underwater. i put so much effort last weekend into digging up planters and turning over old soil, mixing new potting soil, transplanting little starter plants, staking trellis netting, pulling weeds, stacking bricks, breathing toxic perlite and vermiculite dust... now its ruined. i can't do anything but wait it out. the tomato and squash plants in particular don't like to get their leaves wet. i hope the sun comes out soon.

took 3 hours this morning to drive 60 miles north in the rain. as if that wasn't bad enough, i saw another one of those calvin praying stickers. first the conservatives co-opted the american flag as their symbol. now they've stolen calvin. i was peeved by the calvin pissing on bin laden while wearing an uncle sam hat, but the calvin praying stickers run contrary to everything calvin stands for. calvin is subversive. calvin has no respect for authority. calvin plays by his own rules. now this:

ok, book review time. i've been on a nonfiction book roll the past couple months. if you like soccer, check out "how soccer explains the world" by franklin foer. if you like baseball, i recommend "a day in the bleachers" by arnold hano. mr hano wrote a very cool article in the l.a. times book review section last weekend, you can read it here.

i like the part where mr hano claims the modern scoreboard/jumbotrons at the ballparks are too distracting:

"A baseball game is a mystery, unfolding. Let the scoreboard tell me hits, runs and errors, and the scores of out-of-town games. I'll do the rest."

on to my latest read, by carl honore. like i said, i'm only halfway through this book. but i can already tell it's good. the book talks about the importance of slowing down in life, not to rush things. how its cool and probably healthier to not wear a watch. the benefits of growing your own food and cooking it with care, then taking the time to enjoy it with friends in a leisurly fashion. you can read more about it here.

excerpt from page 11:

"In this media-drenched, data-rich, channel-surfing, computer-gaming age, we have lost the art of doing nothing, of shutting out the background noise and distractions, of slowing down and simply being alone with our thoughts. Boredom - the word itself hardly existed 150 years ago - is a modern invention. Remove all stimulation, and we fidget, panic and look for something, anything, to do to make use of the time. When did you last see someone just gazing out the window of a train? Everyone is too busy reading the paper, playing video games, listening to iPods, working on the laptop, yammering into mobile phones.... This is where our obsession with going fast and saving time leads. To road rage, air rage, shopping rage, relationship rage, office rage, vacation rage, gym rage. Thanks to speed, we live in the age of rage."

my good buddy keymarto is coming out here this weekend with his wife sara and their 3 kids: devin, jasper and arabella. they're all taking the train from colorado out here to california. i'm going to ask him if he spent any time just gazing out the window, and i'll report back to you, nebursworld reader. in the meantime, check out the book "in praise of slowness." i think you'll like it.

your friend,
l. stevens

An Ill Triptych- Three True Stories, Part III

2006-03-27T00:01:00.000-08:00

______________________

by El Profe

Modesto, California, June 17, 2005

Like most of us, 30 year-old Sal Sanchez enjoys unwinding with a little brewski after a particularly grueling day at work. That hot Saturday, Sanchez, an amateur writer and music collector, dropped by the Quick Mart to say hello to his acquaintances, the Singh family, and take home a six-pack of Heineken mini-kegs. But fate had other plans for him.

“They were standing in the middle of the parking lot; like, 5 or 6 of them, at least 13 or 14 years old, and all dressed like [Detroit rapper slash actor] M and M’s [sic] but slightly more menacing. I’m not used to being intimidated in my own neighborhood, especially by punk kids, so I walk tall and think OG thoughts in the hopes that this’ll project and fools will know to respect me. And by respect I mean think I’m either too soft-core to kill or so hard they’ll regret trying... That’s what it’s like when you’re me.”

In fact, Sanchez, a college graduate with a reputation as an affable, conscientious and occasionally well-heeled purchaser of premium lagers, had no idea what the hell he was doing when he stopped “thinking like an OG” and stopped by the Quick Mart that afternoon. With tears in his eyes, he recounts the events of the next terrifying minutes.

“So they were standing in the middle of the parking lot and wouldn’t move out of the way of cars that were coming in and out. Cars full of families, TAXPAYERS, for chrissake, had to go out of their way to not hit these little bastards. So, I’m thinking to myself, you know, ‘Let me do my OG ‘Boyz N Tha Hood’-Larry Fishburne thang and warn these lads to get out the way, you know?" So, as I’m walking from my car to the mart, I say, in a cool, kind of “hip-hop” voice, ‘Hey, fellas, -like that, I called them ‘fellas’- you might want to move out of the way there. You might get hit.’” Sanchez blushes to remember his folly. “It was like I had told them that Mike Jones, Nelly, Tupac Shakur, and T.I. were all part of a gay studio gangsta mafia, or something. I’d never seen such raw anger and genuine hatred projected at me, not even from my ex-girlfriends.”

“The leader, (I guess) without even looking at me, says, ‘Or what? You gonna hit us, bitch?’ So I get closer and ask, ‘What did you say?’ and without looking at me again he says, ‘What? You gonna hit us, bitch? Are you deaf, motherfucker?’ Then the other ones start chiming in with their own charming threats. My knees are shaking at this point because one 13 year-old, I could probably dispatch with a quickness, but six 13 year-olds would beat the living shit out of me!”

Sanchez then enters the Quick Mart, buys a case of Ballantine instead of the sixer of Heineken, and chats with the shop owner, Mr. Singh. It appears the teens have been harassing customers all afternoon long and scattering when the police drive by, only to reassemble in the exact same spot a few minutes later. One can’t help but think of the nefarious liquid metal bounty hunter from Governor Schwarzenegger’s classic, ‘The Terminators, Too’.

“I must’ve stayed in that market for ten minutes, perusing the different varieties of incense and reading the free Spanish-language weekly, until I felt safe enough to return to my 2005 Chevie Tahoe. The little thugs were still out there, in the middle of the parking lot. ‘Oh, look, this motherfucker bought some beer. He’s drinking and driving! Don’t hit me, bitch,’ they yelled as I walked quickly to my truck, trying to ignore them. ‘This motherfucker’s drunk and he hit me with his !’ one of them hollered. I felt like Michael Douglas in ‘Falling Down’, except, well, no, maybe not Michael Douglas in ‘Falling Down’, maybe more like a dumb-ass.”

“As I tried to pull out to go home and enjoy my full case of ice-cold chelas, they stood right behind my truck and wouldn’t let me out. I could hear them mocking and taunting me, their every jape making me wonder whose children these were. Finally, they relented and I was able to leave the parking lot of the Quick Mart. I don’t even remember waiting to get home to pound a beer. It was surreal.”

An Ill Triptych- Three True Stories, Part II

2006-03-24T07:50:00.000-08:00

______________________

by El Profe

Nebur's Note: Part II in a three part series on youth in the Mo'. Part III will run on Monday.

Modesto, California, May 6, 2005

30 year-old Vic Ramirez was minding his own business one sunny spring afternoon, collecting owl pellets from the ground around the palm tree in his front yard and enjoying a tall glass of iced tea, when he heard a most peculiar exchange between two adolescent boys riding a bike along this normally quiet East Side street. “It sounded, at first, like they were playing a word-association game,” said the father of two, as yet unconceived, children, “so I turned down the car stereo and listened.” It was then that Ramirez was able to discern the nature of the boys’ playful “banter”. “I was shocked when I figured it out. Playfully, and quite loudly, I might add,” the handsome teacher nervously reported, “They were calling each other, um, racial epithets.”

Not just any “racial epithets”, but two very repulsive racist nomenclatures in particular.

“The one kid, the one steering and pedaling the bike, he appeared to be what in my house we call ‘Anglo-American’. The other kid, the one standing on the little pegs attached to the back tire, he appeared to be African-American. They couldn’t have been older than 13 or 14, yet there they were, going at it,” Ramirez said. “The one on the back would call his chauffeur a ‘kike’, and the boy pedaling would then call his passenger ‘nigger’. And they kept doing that, going back and forth like that, probably about fifteen or twenty times, while I was listening, anyways [sic]. I was thoroughly disturbed.”

Although Ramirez alleges that he made eye contact with the boys in an effort to intimidate them (“The proximity of authority can work wonders”, he thinks), they did nothing to stop or amend their verbal “game”. “I thought that after they’d seen me, they would’ve chilled out, you know, because they were being [so] offensive, but they didn’t. They just kept doing it. I didn’t get the feeling that they cared who was listening.”

According to Ramirez, before the duo turned the corner and traveled out of sight, the boy on the back of the bike turned to look at him. “And then I saw it; what I think a lot of kids nowadays lack in spades:”

He pauses dramatically, looking out into the street and then across to the well-kept lawns of his neighbors, where an Asian family performed their weekly landscaping duties, then to a tree with a white cross spray-painted on its narrow trunk, searching for the right word to complete such a broad generality.

“Shame.”

An Ill Triptych- Three True Stories - Part I

2006-03-23T12:39:00.000-08:00

______________________

by El Profe

Nebur's Note: On a break from sketching, El Profe decided to take to the streets to gather Rockwellian stories of life and living in the Mo'. He has graciously agreed to debut these stories on our pages. Part II will run tomorrow, and Part II on Monday.

Modesto, California, March 17, 2006

The restroom at Bobby Robledo’s place of employment is so cold, the 31 year-old has to make frequent trips to his mother’s house nearby to “move [his] bowels”. “I also hate stinking up the office, you know,” Adds the amateur cartoonist/documentarian. It was after one of these bathroom visits that Robledo had his terrifying encounter with some forces beyond his control.

“I’d just returned to work and I’d parked my 2005 Chevie Suburban along the street on the far side of my place of employment right. It was around the time that school lets out. There were a few kids walking along the side of the road, mostly middle-schoolers, you know, slow moving types.”

He takes me to the exact spot where it all happened, in a mostly rural corner of this city of 250,000, where the streetlights and sidewalks suddenly disappear. “Some kids had just been dropped off [at the bus stop] by what some call the “short bus”, and others had just arrived from other schools. I could see them walking toward me, and I knew some of them from the neighborhood. These are good kids, hard working American kids, and they greeted me accordingly.” Robledo demonstrates how “hard-working American kids” greet him, a pseudo-officious, grammatically correct exchange of pleasantries possibly learned from a prescribed school curriculum for English learners.

“Then I saw them,” his voice turns cold, removed, “coming around the corner. Like four of five kids, on three bikes, the youngest of them was at least 7 or 8 years old. They turned the corner so now they were riding towards the kids who’d just been dropped off by the school buses.” Bobby points in the direction the bikes were traveling, his muscular arm tracing the imaginary paths of the swap-meet-bought BMXes to a point on the horizon, a quarter of a mile away. “They went…that way…” “They were laughing and acting obnoxiously when they passed me. Truth be told, had they passed a little closer, they would have almost certainly barely avoided hitting me. Then they got closer to the school kids and that’s when I heard them.” Robledo shudders to recount the moment, but knows that he must if his story is to do society any good.

“They started ‘singing’ (for lack of a better verb) Chris “Ludacris” Bridges’ seminal hit, “Move [Bitch] (Get Out The Way)” and yelling the chorus (Move, BITCH, Get out the way!…) at the little girls who were walking home! I couldn’t believe my ears! Now, I’m a hip-hop fiend, and I’m the first to defend hip-hop from the insidious attacks of the right-wing media, but this was just over the top.”

As Robledo regains his composure, the neighborhood flares up for a minute; a police patrol car races down Martin Luther King, Jr. Avenue, siren wailing; the disoriented tenants of a local crack house emerge to see what all the racket is about, and, finding nothing of interest, smoke cigarettes and mutter incoherently at each other for a few minutes before sauntering back into the dark house; a pack of wild and mangy Chihuahuas narrowly escapes being killed by traffic: and everywhere there are bored children doing whatever will make the hours go by faster; I spy a group of children breaking the windows of their own home, a brother loudly cussing out his little sister and calling her a whore while some adults do nothing but continue quietly washing the family car.

I ask Bobby what he did after the “attack”.

“Well, the little girls were quite upset, understandably. Having never been called ‘bitches’ it was probably a horrible experience for them, right? They looked at me like I could do something about it, so I yelled out for the boys to come back. I was going to give them a piece of my mind AND a little lesson in civility by asking them to apologize to the girls.” “Did they come back?” I ask, knowing the answer. “No,” Robledo answers grimly, “They yelled, ‘Fuck you, bitch! And kept rolling.”

The Hot Stove: Sopranos Theme Song Nostalgia

2006-03-22T08:40:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

i was down in san diego last weekend for the world cup of baseball -- more on this later. i will try to post about the games saturday and monday after i sort through the many pics i snapped. anyway, i recorded the second episode of the sopranos because i missed it on sunday night, and i just watched it last night. for the nebursworld reader living in a cave, hermit-style: the sopranos is a show on HBO, back for a sixth and final season after a two-year layoff.

*spoiler alert* stop reading if you don't want to know what happens to tony s.

whenever i hear the sopranos theme song it takes me back to early 2002. i had never had HBO before, but i heard the show was quite good and i wanted to check it out. through the magic of netflix i was able to watch all the old episodes from the first four seasons -- in chronological order -- on dvd. my buddy m2 was into it too, so i had somebody to talk to about all the best lines, which always makes it more fun.

my ritual: i'd come home from work to my apartment and cook some dinner. mostly i'd go for trader joe's pasta because it doesn't require too much skill, i could have it ready in 20 minutes, and it was tasty. as soon as the food was ready i'd throw in the dvd. then i'd crack a beer, take the phone off the hook, and hit "play." as soon as i'd hear that distinctive theme song, i knew i was in for a one hour treat.

it's almost embarrassing how little has changed in 4 years. i still love the show, of course. i'm still here with my bowl of raviolis. instead of a beer i had a glass of wine with my pasta. i still resent any interruptions of my ritual. although it's quiet i have to rewind from time to time because i missed the words (paulie walnuts is sometimes incomprehensible). i'm 4 years older. not so sure about the wiser part.

one of my roommates walked in after the show was over, and i talked to him about the part where carmela is playing music for tony while he sits in his hospital bed in a coma. if something were to happen to me and i found myself in a vegetative state, i'd want to hear some music too... but i want to be straight on the music that's going to be played for me, i don't want to hear any crap that's going to make me yearn for the white light at the end of death's tunnel. juan ceja said he'd probably play whatever he wanted to listen to, because i'd be comatose and it wouldn't matter much to me anyway.

false!

i think the right mix of music could help rise me from my coma. i know it couldn't hurt if i were to hear something to my liking, that's for sure. so now that's settled.

a few weeks ago we were watching this strange show on the discovery channel about the european "bog bodies" phenomenon. apparently a body left in a peat bog will be perfectly mummified -- the skin gets all leathery but basically you look the same as the day you died. so i told my roommates that when i died i wanted to be flown to scotland and have my body dumped into a distant and obscure peat bog, where i'd be properly preserved for future generations. i want my baseball glove tossed into the bog too, that way nobody but me will ever use it. so now that's settled, too.

i'm getting everything in order in case the whole shit house goes up in flames.

USA vs germany in soccer this afternoon, live on ESPN. go USA!

Rainy Days and Salty Tears

2006-03-20T13:57:00.000-08:00

______________________

by

"In the summer, a bug is born at eight in the morning, only to die at five in the afternoon. Tell me, Father, what does that bug know of the nighttime, and what do you know of being in love?"
-Camila O'Gorman, to her confessor.

Yesterday, a friend of mine called to borrow the movie Camila. It seems that she is showing it to her film class tonight, and was having the darndest time finding it at the local film shops. I rented Camila months ago, and for all that time, the disc sat on my coffee table, serving more as a coaster than a movie. I rented it but hadn't yet watched it, so it sat there gathering dust. When I got the call, I took a look at the disk. Covered with Diet Coke sap and radioactive-orange Cheeto dust, the disk had seen better days. After I washed off all the gunk, it was still a mess, scratchy as a Dylan song. There was only one thing to do. I would have to watch the movie, to see if it was in good enough condition for the film class. As I nursed away a cold on a rainy Central Valley Sunday, I put the movie in the DVD player and settled in for the film.

* * *
It was the late 1840's in Buenos Aires. The daughter of aristocrats, Camila O'Gorman came of age during the regime of Juan Manuel Rosas. As the Federalists and the Unitarians wrestled for control of Argentina, Camila struggled between her role as a submissive debutante and a free thinker in an age where dissent was unthinkable, especially from a woman. In this most unlucky of times, she committed the unforgivable sin of falling in love with a priest, Ladislao Gutierrez. There's was un amor prohibido, both for the moral scandal, and for the political convictions of the priest.

* * *
The streets were crisp with the smell of wet asphalt and seasalt the day I first watched Camila. It was a grey Berkeley day in the early 90's, and I had a Saturday to spend with my first love. The girl and I took my scooter to Taiwan and got an order of General Tsuo's Chicken and Mu Shi Gai. While they cooked our order, we ran upstairs to the video store. After picking out a forgettable Hollywood flick or two, we went to the foreign film section. To the sound of thunder, I knew that time was running out if I hoped to scooter home before the rain set in. We rented Camilla, picked up the food, and hurried back to the dorms.

As ginger-orange steam wafted from the paper boxes, we grabbed our chopsticks. As always, I admired her delicate scissor-style technique, a style I tried and failed (yet again) to duplicate. With the elegance of Dick Cheney at a knitting convention, I reverted to my Guay Lo tong-technique, losing half a bite for every morsel that mysteriously made it to my mouth. But I digress...... We put Maria Luisa Bemberg's masterpiece into the VCR and settled into the film as the precipitation pattered percussion on the panes, the rythm of the Lower Sproul drum circle barely sounding in the background.

For those of you who plan on watching Camila, now would be a good time to stop reading, as I am about to give away the end. For those of you who stopped reading shortly after the sexy box cover gave way to sapp, my apologies.

* * *

Through the cross-hatches of the confessional, Camila fell in love with her confessor. They shared a lust for learning and a passion for politics. Neither could be silenced. Dissolutioned by the young land barons, Camila ached for a man who she would be honored to call her marido. Stifled by the church and its ties to the government, Ladislao saw in Camila the honesty and humanity so desperately lacking from his country. To the rythm of hooves clapping on cobblestone, Ladislao and his beloved Camila eloped, to start a new life away from the church and aristocracy of the stifling Buenos Aires summer.

* * *

Soon we forgot about the food and the thundering rain, consumed by the drama unfolding before us. Maybe an hour before the end of the film, we foresaw the ensuing tragedy. The honeymoon in the country gave way to sorrow, as a wicked priest revealed Camila and Ladislao's true identity. They were sentenced to death by firing squad, and spent months in the Santo Lugares Prison. Camila's pregnancy gave hope of a reprieve, yet on August 18, 1848, she was executed along with her love.

Camila: Ladislao, estas alli?
Ladislao: A tu lado, Camilla.

As long as I live and as many times as I love, I will never forget these closing lines. After Ladislao is shot, the firing squad reluctantly fires upon Camila, center mass, killing both her and the fruit of her love for Ladislao. They are thrown into a joint coffin, her lifeless arm embracing him for eternity, their hearts together for all time.

* * *

And then I awoke from the spell that this movie cast upon me. The Girl cried uncontrollably, and I held her as we sat in silence. That was the first time I realized that tears taste salty. I would again taste her tears a year later, but that time the tears would be my fault. In time, our feelings subsided, and we would go on to love others. But on that cold Saturday, as we embraced one another in mourning for lost love, the rain and the tears tapered off, giving way to a majestic double rainbow.

* * *

Historical and Movie Sources: here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.

The Hot Stove: Celebrating the Celtic People

2006-03-17T08:34:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

about a month ago i had to stop reading the newspaper. well, the front page section anyway. i still love the sports section. but the world and domestic news was causing me too much stress, too much anxiety. my heart was always racing, i couldn't read any more bad news. luckily, keymarto bought me a subscription to national geographic magazine.

i was reading this cool article on the celtic people called "celtic realm" in the march issue. keymarto has a lot of irish pride but he probably didn't get past the photo of the topless scottish girls with torches. here's my favorite part:

"By the end of the Middle Ages, Celtic culture was headed to extinction, its remnants pushed to the very western edge of Europe... Being ostracized to no-man's land did not spare the Celts from further depredations. The English and French banned or restricted their languages, their instruments and music, and in the case of the kilt-wearing Scottish Highland clans, even their clothing. It's a bit miraculous Celtic civilization survived in any form. By clinging to the fringes, geographically and culturally, Celts refused to vanish.

Now, in one of those delectable backward flips of history, Celts and all things Celtic suddenly seem omnipresent. "Europe's beautiful losers," as one British writer called them, are commanding attention as one of the new century's seductive identities: free-spirited, rebellious, poetic, nature-worshipping, magical, self sufficient."

couldn't have said it better myself. happy st patrick's day, nebursworld reader!

Pour Some Out for the Homie

2006-03-16T13:43:00.000-08:00

______________________

by El Profe

Sadness in Whammyville

The Color of Justice, Part II

2006-03-15T10:08:00.000-08:00

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by

The Biggest Crock

Today, a deputy district attorney approached me in court and told me that he heard that I had called the District Attorney's Office racist. Apparently, someone in his office had read my post, The Color of Justice, and taken away from the article that I called the District Attorney's office racist. I quote the presumably offending language from the previous post:

In my line of work, I deal with racist bullshit on a daily basis. Count the scant number of times I've cussed in these pages, and you will begin to understand how serious I am. Daily, I deal with judges and district attorneys and defense attorneys and probation officers and clerks and cops and witnesses, all of whom bring their life experiences before the bar. (Complete Article)

In order to clear up the confusion, I thought I'd make my position perfectly clear. The point of my earlier post was to vent at the realization that the California State Bar is 84.4% Caucasian. The point was to lament that only 15.6 of the bar is made up of Latinos, African Americans, Asian/Pacific Islanders, Native Americans, etcetera. The point was that because of the dearth of attorneys of color, we have a situation where law offices, such as the local district attorney's office, do not reflect the demographics of the communities that they serve.

My point was not that individual district attorneys, judges, probation officers, or defense attorneys are racist. My point was that we work in a legal system with a stacked deck. The more people realize that, the more they can work to change it. So to the 84.4%, I ask you to make that change.

[Atticus Finch] teaches that one should not dwell on the fact that evil exists, but that they should instead realize that the existence of this evil is a sign that there is work to do, and progress to make. (Wikipedia.org describing Atticus Finch)

* * *

Tales from the Court: The Case of the Straight Shootin' Lawyer

Oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave?

Here is a story of such a change maker. Five years ago, I worked at the local public defender's office. Though I had been there for less than two years, I was the senior misdemeanor attorney, and trained all the newbees. One day, the boss hired this fourty-year old brand new attorney. He was of the Caucasian persuasion, had a haircut out of the early eighties, and a bushy mustache. The focal point of the office chatter, everyone asked "Who's that cop?" In other words, he wasn't the prototypical public defender.

A few months into the job, the newbee was chomping at the bit for a trial. I had the case of Mr. B on my caseload. Mr. B is a large black man who is married to a small white woman. He and his wife were living in a residential motel, when someone called the cops to report a domestic disturbance. The cops arrived and found the wife yelling. They immediately rushed Mr. B. The wife told the officers that the couple was merely arguing, and that at no time did Mr. B touch her. She had no injuries whatsoever. When all was said and done, Mr. B was not charged with domestic violence, however, he was charged with resisting arrest. The prosecutors did not dismiss the case, so I set it for trial. My client did not resist, and his arrest wasn't lawful to start.

I was truly afraid to go to trial in this case. My client was as innocent a man as has ever walked this Earth. I knew that to acquit him, I would have to take on the race issue head-on. I would have to be a straight shooter. And I knew that in my experience, people tend to discount racial allegations when they are made by people of color. How many times have I heard "Stop being such a victim! We are all equals!"

I spoke to the newbee about the case, and reassigned it to him the week before trial. Although it was only his second trial, he gave a Finchian performance. In his cross-examination of the officers, he had them admit that Mr. B had done nothing wrong, and that they initially detained him based on their preconceptions. The newbee's closing argument was as honest and powerful an oration as I have seen, rivaling Jesse Jackson's speech at the 1988 Convention. The newbee looked into the eyes of the 12 jurors and told them the following.

Ladies and gentlemen, you've heard the evidence. You know that Mr. B is not guilty. In fact, you know he's innocent. But I'm afraid, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I'm afraid that you are going to do the wrong thing. And I'll tell you why I'm afraid. I'm afraid because I'm afraid that if I were sitting in your shoes, I would do the wrong thing. I'm afraid that I would put the evidence aside and convict this innocent man, because of the years of life experience that I bring with me to the table. These officers aren't bad people, but what they did was. On behalf of my client, I ask you to do the right thing.

And the jury did. After listening to the straight-shooter, they said my two favorite words. You know what they are. Say them with me: Not Guilty.

Mr. B went home a free man. The straight-shooter and I eventually became law partners. In an interesting twist of fate, one of the officers involved in the case walked into our office a few years later. It seems that a friend of the officer had gotten into some legal trouble. Even though the straight-shooter had called the officer on his racism, the officer respected my partner for his integrity in how he defended Mr. B's case. What an honor.

Getting the Fifth Whammy

2006-03-14T14:07:00.000-08:00

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by

Press Your Luck host and humanitarian Peter Tomarken died along with his wife in a plane crash, as they were volunteering to fly a sick patient to a hospital. It seems he caught his fifth whammy. May he rest in peace.

Nebur's Salt Lake Vacation - Revised

2006-03-12T23:34:00.000-08:00

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by

Salt Lake City, 11:55 a.m.

I am sitting in the airport in Salt Lake City, interestingly sober after two twenty ounce 3.2 beers. This has been an experience. It is Sunday, so everything is closed. I guess everyone goes to this place called "church" on Sundays. On an unrelated note, 95 year-old LDS president Gordon Hinkley visited Santiago, Chile yesterday, to rededicate the temple, as well as to welcome Chile's first female President, Michelle Bachelet. By the way, HP is Bachelet's biggest fan. I'll catch y'all later when I am back in wicked Cali. The Sopranos starts tonight!

* * *

Back in the Mo', 8:00 p.m.

In the fourth grade, I did a report on my favorite state, Utah. Having read and reread all the Great Brain books by that point, I was sure that Utah was a land of adventure, where frontier folk and friendly foreigners came together in peace and harmony. In 1999, I made the pilgrimage for first time for my friend Tupakk's wedding. I have been back twice, including this past weekend. Here are some observations on Salt Lake:

Utah is not a land where frontier folk and friendly foreigners came together in peace and harmony.
The Great Salt Lake is in fact a salt lake, but it is not all that great. I've seen better.
Due to high salinity, the only fauna that lives in the Great Salt Lake is the Sea-Monkey, which it so happens is not actually a monkey.
Polygamy Porter is a little bit much for one man to handle. Just ask Bill.
The baseline for roads (and addresses) in Salt Lake City is the Temple. Thus, 300 West is three blocks west of the Temple, and so on. (More here.)
When Tupakk told me that aliens had landed in the Bonneville Salt Flats, he was speaking in Metaphor.
West Wendover, NV is the only part of Nevada that is on Rocky Mountain Time rather than Pacific. This makes sense, since it is just across the border from Wendover, Utah, and more than 100 miles from Elko, the nearest Nevada city of any size.
Montego Bay is a great place to win money if you've got crazy-mad card playing skills like me.
Montego Bay is a great place to lose money if you bet on Cal against UCLA in basketball.
If you find yourself in Midvale, and have a hankering for chicken wings, keep driving. Trust me on this one.

* * *

More from the Wasatch

(Source: HBO.com)

In Big Love, the fine people of HBO have done it again. Tonight's pilot intrigued me as much as the first Deadwood. Bill Henrickson (played by Bill Paxton) is a Salt Lake City business man who balances the pressures of running a chain of stores with the stresses of his homelife, or rather homelives. His three spouses are artfully played by Jean Tripplehorn, Chloë Sevigny, and Ginnifer Goodwin. Between the bills, seven children, the mortgages and paying tribute to Sevigny's father Roman, The Prophet, Bill is barely getting by with help from the blue pill. The season promises catfights, brushes with the law, sex, gangsterism, and, in true HBO tradition, the everyday banalities of a prostrate polygamist. What more could a show deliver?

-Nebur "The Latter Day Sinner" Sobollaliv

Salt Lake City, Utah

The Hot Stove Good Riddance Award: Ms. Gale Norton

2006-03-10T14:01:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

i hope the door hits her on the way out. five years of pillaging our forests and serving the interests of energy companies at the expense of the american people, that will be her legacy.

what a stain.

My Family

2006-03-07T16:34:00.000-08:00

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by

Angela Deago con El General

Over the last week, three stories have been written about my elders. They were all well written, and have great photos, including one of my grandmother with General Omar Torrijos, who governed Panama until he died in a mysterious plane crash in 1981. I come from a family of poets, but unfortunately, our tradition is oral. In her story of my great grandmother Sabina and my grandmother Mamacita, KJERRINGA MOT STRØMMEN has documented this tradition, and included a poem of her own. Also, Cooking Diva's Melissa De Leòn has written a piece on my Tio Juancho, complete with photos.

Sabina the Wise, by KJERRINGA MOT STRØMMEN
Mamacita, by KJERRINGA MOT STRØMMEN
Latin America's Best: Juan Deago, by La Chef Melissa De Leòn

Mi querido y adorado
recordado general
que me llevaste un día
a flamear mi bandera
en la zona canalera
porque otra extranjera
ay, su lugar tenía......
Arroz de soberanía
cultivaré en Miraflores
el Chagres de mis dolores
me dará su agua fría.
Quiero sembrar un maíz
en la Zona del Canal,
zona de soberanía
la tierra que es tuya y mía
en la Zona del canal.

-From "La Zona Del Canal" by Ángela Deago

The Color of Justice

2006-03-06T19:19:00.000-08:00

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by

The Biggest Crock

Today, I read several critiques of Crash's Academy Award. I loved the film for its brutal honesty. I don't know if Brokeback was a better film, because I haven't seen it yet. I do know that I left Crash feeling the same way that I do every single time that I deal with racism: paralyzed, as if felled by a blow to the belly.

In my line of work, I deal with racist bullshit on a daily basis. Count the scant number of times I've cussed in these pages, and you will begin to understand how serious I am. Daily, I deal with judges and district attorneys and defense attorneys and probation officers and clerks and cops and witnesses, all of whom bring their life experiences before the bar.

I've had a federal judge look me in the eye and justify the arrest of my black defendant based on an arrest warrant for a white man: "But counsel, they both have bald heads! Motion denied." When, in the history of the universe, has a white man suffered a similar fate?

I've seen young Mexicans labeled as gang bangers for stealing hair scrunchies. I've never seen a white kid charged with a gang enhancement. Ever. And white kids bang.

I've plead white defendants to petty crimes based on the same type of conduct that nets serious time for people of color.

I've argued more than 40 jury trials in eight jurisdictions before almost 500 jurors. Five of the jurors have been black. Five. One percent. The simple truth is that outside of Los Angeles, a black man has a better chance to lead the Clan than he does to become a juror in the state of California. Ask any lawyer you know. And now I know why.

It seems that 84.4 % of the lawyers in California are white, up a few points from five years ago. It seems that 1.7% of the bar is black, and 3.8% Latino. (Source: California Bar Journal, May 2006.)

Welcome to my world.

Puto of the Week: Dick "Trigger" Cheney

2006-03-06T12:16:00.000-08:00

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by

(Source: Jeff Faerber)

Is there not some chosen curse, Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin? - Joseph Addison
(more here, here, here, here and here)

Tales from the Court: The Case of Pretty Boy Floyd

2006-03-03T11:31:00.000-08:00

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by

Oh Say Does That Star Spangled Banner Yet Wave?

The Facts

Late one summer eve, Pretty Boy Floyd was out on the town with his latest squeeze, a comely coed called Consuelo. The theme of the evening was the same as my Senior prom: "This could be the night!" (It turned out that it wouldn't be the night, either for Floyd or 15 years earlier for me.) Consuelo was the designated driver, since she wanted to show off her brand new wheels. It seems Consuelo hit the sauce a bit heavy that night. In a manner befitting Carrie Bradshaw, comely Consuelo consumed Cosmos consecutively until she could consume no more. All the while, Pretty Boy Floyd nursed two beers and a Jack and Coke. Realizing that this wouldn't be the night, Pretty Boy Floyd downed the remaining two thirds of the cocktail, gathered up Consuelo, took her keys, and began the thankless task of returning a pickled bird to her nest.
As Floyd pulled out of the cantina district, Johnnie Law pulled him over for going 40 in a 25. Field sobriety tests were administered by Law, and "failed" by Floyd. Half an hour later, Floyd blew a .08/.08%. Officer Law hemmed up Floyd, who spent the night as a guest of the county.

A couple of days later, Floyd picked up the phone and called The DUI Fighters.

The Issue

To prove up the DUI, the government needed to establish that Pretty Boy Floyd was driving a vehicle, and either 1) under the influence, or 2) at a blood alcohol content of .08% or higher at the time of driving.

The Trial

A conviction would mean adverse consequenses for Floyd's career. He decided to go to trial. He testified honestly, and told the jury that he was not under the influence. I cross examined the people's expert and established that there was no way to establish that my client was at a .08% or higher at the time of driving. I cross examined the officer, who honestly testify that my client performed the field sobriety tests aproximately 80 to 90 % correct.

The Verdict

The jury walked in. As Floyd and I rose, he clutched his heart, in one of those "Elizabeth, I'm coming to join you" ways. The clerk then read the jury's verdict: My two favorite words. You know them. Go ahead and say them with me.
Not Guilty.

And on that day in the Valley, justice was done.

The Hot Stove: Hope Springs Eternal

2006-03-01T14:46:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

it's officially march 1, nebursworld reader!

you know what that means: baseball season is right around the corner...

Blame it on Rio

2006-02-28T10:20:00.000-08:00

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by

The Magical Mist of Corcovado

Corcovado was decidedly not a quiet night of quiet stars when the Stones came to Rio. Under the illusory shadows of The Redeemer, 1.2 million people sardined into a mile-long stretch of Copacabana beach. By the time the Stones took to the stage, the crowd had been waiting for more than ten hours to see these contemporaries of Christ. This would be a night of music for the masses.

* * *

We spent the early evening walking along the beach, checking out the sights. Unlike Ipanema, Copacabana seemed seedy. By the early evening, Cariocas and tourists alike floated on silicon clouds, long under the influence of bottomless caipirinhas and moderately cold Skol. Along the beach, biker clubs and volleyball teams flew their colors. One group even had a banner just for me.

As the sun set, more and more people converged upon the stage. The warmth of the day dwindled, and the individual gave way to the headless mob. All of a sudden, The Stones opened the show, and we found ourselves running the gauntlet, shoulder to shoulder with drunken revellers, pick-pockets, and degenerates of all sorts. Never before had I experienced crowd anxiety, but at that point, I truly thought I was in trouble. The slightest car backfire would trigger a mass exodus. I kept repeating my mantra: No matter what, stay on my feet.

By that point, we were rolling six strong. The heat was stifling, the noise deafening, and the goal was to stay together. The guy from New York had the idea to caterpillar our way through the crowd. Placing hands to shoulders, we somehow found our rythm and made it through.

Once on the other side, we found ourselves in a chaotic crowd trying to figure how to get out. Busses and taxis were marooned in the sea of humanity. Every few minutes, a limp and gasping body would be carried out, a sweaty, speedoed savior on each limb. Between heat stroke and alcohol poisoning, these partiers were not handling. At one point, I saw a middle aged man, apparently dead. His rigid fingers clutched at his heart, and his lifeless lips curled against his teeth, revealing the pattern of his bridgework. In vain, someone cradled him and tried to pry his mouth open, the pour soul's jaws digging into the rescuer's fingers. A mere twenty yards away, an ambulance wailed, unable to break through the crowd. In silence, we walked by, our eyes drawn to the lifelessness.

* * *

By that point, our goal was simply to make it back to the hotel. Somehow, the tsunami landed us at the far end of the beach, just in front of the last jumbotron. The cool sea breeze soothed the skin, and the crowd dissipated to reasonable numbers. Finally, I had a chance to relax for a few minutes and gather myself.

Denouement

* * *
We spent the last hour of the Stones concert relaxing on the beach. We finally felt safe to have a couple of beers, so Scott, the self-proclaimed travel expert of the group, worked his magic and was able to negotiate five beers for ten Reals, instead of the going rate of four for ten. A whole 42 cents richer, we sipped our Skol and rocked out to the Stones.

The Guy From New York, Me, and My Three Chest Hairs.

* * *
The highlight of the trip was the next night. We all went to Club Mix on Ipanema Beach. Unlike the geriatric girl from Ipanema that we saw earlier in the day, Club Mix was full of Rio's hottest twentysomethings. As we drank and partied the night away, His Royal Mickness walked in, and it was all good.

My Friend Mick Jagger

-Written in Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2/06

The Hot Stove Movie Review: Grizzly Man

2006-02-27T15:15:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

movie: grizzly man
theme: a documentary by werner herzog on the life of timothy treadwell
plot summary: grizzly bears saved his life, then they took it away
hot stove rating: 5 stars

"The clearest way to the Universe is through a forest wilderness." (all quotes by Scottish naturalist John Muir)

i loved this movie, one of the best ones i've seen recently. i found it to be both tragic and funny. the scenery in alaska (shot by treadwell before he died) is truly amazing. i've been to alaska twice but never like this guy, camping out in the middle of nowhere amongst the grizzlies. the footage treadwell gets is like nothing i've ever seen -- these wild bears are right next to him and he's talking to them in his weird baby voice... one time he even pets one of the bears swimming next to him in the river.

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves."

so, you ask, what's so funny about a deranged, childlike man and his innocent girlfriend getting mauled and eaten by a grizzly? well, for one thing, the director's german accent is really humorous to me. we've got this movie on TIVO at home, and some of his quotes have become regular comedy fodder at my place... (in fake german accent: "een fact i vud rekkoment u deestroy eet, eeemmediately.")

note: nebur would point out that a synonym for "mocking" is the lesser known "jape," although you would have to look it up in the dictionary or be a hardcore scrabble nerd to know this.

several of the characters in this film are funny, from treadwell's parents, to his ex-girlfriend, to the creepy alaska coroner guy. werner herzog really struck gold with that dude. but the best character, by far, is the failed-actor (supposedly, he was runner up to wooody harrelson for the part of woody in cheers) and ex-venice beach drug addict timothy treadwell.

treadwell has some classic lines. more than a few times someone in my house has been grumbling about their food getting ravaged, or their beers gaffled. a well timed "i love you, mr chocolate" or "i love you, scout" in treadwell's distinctive falsetto effeminate voice always does the trick. situation diffused.

"Keep close to Nature's heart...and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean."

despite the fact that he's goofy, self-promoting, and perhaps a mental case, treadwell is a likable character. it's hard to resist someone who cavorts with the animals like he does, sort of a modern-day st francis of assisi. you forgive him for having so many personal issues because he's so kind to nature.

sometimes i think about retreating into the forest and living off of plants and berries. i could do without the phone, but i'd get lonely if i couldn't send or receive letters. i'd go on long, punishing hikes in snowshoes, and drink black coffee out of my thermos and listen to the sounds of nature.

"When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.”

and there would be nobody to bother me, just animals who hung around like treadwell's pal scout the fox. i could practice guitar or harmonica and whittle little statues and figurines out of sticks. and i'd grow a big beard and let my hair grow long. i'd climb trees and make secret forts where i could hide if someone tried to attack me.

anyway, i highly recommend you see this movie, nebursworld reader. i think you'd like it. if you rent it and you think it sucks, go see nebur and tell him you want your money back. he knows i'm good for it -- tack it onto my scrabble debt. for the record: i don't think "fa" or "ta" is a word, either. i don't care what the scrabble dictionary says.

R.I.P. Barney Fife

2006-02-26T12:17:00.000-08:00

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by

As much as anyone, Don Knotts babysat my sister and I back in the latchkey days. His characters were as simple as a whisltle and a fishing trip. As gaudy as leopard-print sofas and sashed suits. As provincial as a meal of es-car-gots. As timelessly funny as why the chicken crossed the road. Rest in peace, Deputy.

Sidenote: Who can name the only episode of The Andy Griffith Show (that I know of) which had Black actors? Hint: Ernest T. Bass was in it.

On another note, I am back in the States, and tired. I wrote a couple of pieces in Buenos Aires that will go up after I unwind to Gunsmoke, curling, and ski jumping on the Tivo. It's good to be home.

Righteous Persons of the Month: Unnamed Anesthesiologists

2006-02-21T11:49:00.000-08:00

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by

Early today, two unnamed anesthesiologists refused to participate in a judicial salvo designed to "humanely" execute Michael Morales. I have no idea why they agreed to participate in the first place, but when it came down to it, they refused.

The apparent sticking point was the physicians' obligation, under procedures specified by a federal appeals court in a ruling Sunday, to intervene if Morales appeared to regain consciousness or displayed signs of pain. The court said the anesthesiologists would then have to take steps to render the inmate unconscious or "otherwise alleviate the painful effects'' of the drugs.
"Any such intervention would clearly be medically unethical,'' the doctors said in a written statement today. "As a result, we have withdrawn from participation in this current process.'' (SFgate.com full story)

The horror of there walkout, is that Morales spent hours not knowing if he would be executed. Finally, prison officials decided to go with a procedure that in essence, is a single, wicked shot as opposed to a cocktail. In all likelihood, he will be executed today. However, the Unnamed Anesthesiologists refused to participate in such barbarism. If only all doctors would follow the Hippocratic oath:

I will prescribe regimens for the good of my patients according to my ability and my judgment and never do harm to anyone.
To please no one will I prescribe a deadly drug nor give advice which may cause his death.

-Buenos Aires, Argentina,
16:30 hora local

Rio de Janeiro, Day I

2006-02-18T12:58:00.000-08:00

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by

After a nearly 24 hour trip we made it to Rio. When we got to LAX, they told us that our direct flight was cancelled, and we likely would not be able to leave until Sunday. Finally, they got us a flight through Dulles. We got here at about three in the afternoon today, just minutes after they closed down the streets. Two Million people are here to see the Rolling Stones in a free concert on Copacabana beach.

The Stage

This is a sea of humanity. I have never seen so many people in one place. We are taking a breather in the hotel, then back for more.

No Parking: The Stones are in the House!

The Hot Stove: "Nobody's Fault But Mine"

2006-02-16T09:40:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

so i figured out how to take low-light shots with a tripod... actually my friend ernesto taught me about the "lamp" function which lets you set the length of time the shutter stays open. my camera has a 2 second maximum, which seems to be plenty. peep the first couple shots, with the partial transcript from monday's daily show with jon stewart to keep you interested. the bulb function allows you to do some pretty cool things with a flashlight or car headlight.

Jon Stewart: "I'm joined now by our own vice-presidential firearms mishap analyst, Rob Corddry. Rob, obviously a very unfortunate situation. How is the vice president handling it?

Rob Corddry: "Jon, tonight the vice president is standing by his decision to shoot Harry Wittington. According to the best intelligence available, there were quail hidden in the brush. Everyone believed at the time there were quail in the brush.

"And while the quail turned out to be a 78-year-old man, even knowing that today, Mr. Cheney insists he still would have shot Mr. Whittington in the face. He believes the world is a better place for his spreading buckshot throughout the entire region of Mr. Whittington's face."

Jon Stewart: "But why, Rob? If he had known Mr. Whittington was not a bird, why would he still have shot him?"

Rob Corddry: "Jon, in a post-9-11 world, the American people expect their leaders to be decisive. To not have shot his friend in the face would have sent a message to the quail that America is weak."

Jon Stewart: "That's horrible."

Rob Corddry: "Look, the mere fact that we're even talking about how the vice president drives up with his rich friends in cars to shoot farm-raised wingless quail-tards is letting the quail know 'how' we're hunting them. I'm sure right now those birds are laughing at us in that little 'covey' of theirs.

Jon Stewart: "I'm not sure birds can laugh, Rob."

Rob Corddry: "Well, whatever it is they do ... coo .. they're cooing at us right now, Jon, because here we are talking openly about our plans to hunt them. Jig is up. Quails one, America zero.

Jon Stewart: "Okay, well, on a purely human level, is the vice president at least sorry?"

Rob Corddry: "Jon, what difference does it make? The bullets are already in this man's face. Let's move forward across party lines as a people ... to get him some sort of mask."

An Important Day

2006-02-15T13:37:00.000-08:00

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by

Today I began offering group health insurance to my employees. I have always been blessed to have employer-paid health insurance, and have always thought insurance to be beneficial for both the employer and the employee. Yet, as a struggling small business owner, I didn't feel that I could afford a group plan. It has been hard making the transition from labor to management, and the issue that I struggled the most with was insurance.

A few months ago, my pregnant secretary took a month to recover from a cold because she didn't have insurance. She probably would have been all better in a week if she had insurance and a simple office visit. Productivity went down, and I felt like an hijo de puta.

That all changed today. From now on, employees of my firm can feel safe knowing that as I benefit from their labor, they will be provided for should illness occur. They have the same coverage I have, and the ability to pay for benefits for their children at an affordable rate.

Most law firms in my area do not provide benefits. I encourage my fellow attorneys to step up to the plate.

Mood: Relieved
Listening to: Michael Jackson: Man in the Mirror (Make that change!)

The Hot Stove: The Changeling

2006-02-14T11:48:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

sometimes when i'm bored and procrastinating, and i don't have any friends to harass or annoy over email because i've been banned or blocked, or i can't think of anything to say, or there's no inspiration, no spark, nothing to stoke the flames of ritual torment, nary a weary target, and all the low hanging fruit has been picked from the tree of woe, i'll poke around other people's blogs. strictly as a last resort, but.

most of the time it's like reading someone's diary, except they take all the juicy bits out and leave in all the boring drivel that i force myself to read through anyway, for reasons i can't explain. reading a diary that someone has made public for you to read is a pure time waster. like i want to read the things that you throw out there to make yourself look good or cool -- quite the opposite. but i do it anyway, partly because i'm hoping there will actually be something revealing, partly because, like i said before, i'm bored. and i like to read.

the part i like best is when the person signs off with mood: _____, currently listening to:_______.

i like the music part, because that can tell you a lot about a person. sometimes it will turn you on to some good music, too. the mood part i could do without, because there are only so many ways to describe a person's moods, and it doesn't really add anything to the blog. eventually the mood listing starts getting repetitive, and i can picture some lonely drama-club type guy finishing up a post for his blog, and he's thinking: how do i describe my crap mood today, have i used "melancholy" yet? i have no interest in someone's self-serving psychological assessment, but i'm keen to hear what they might be listening to.

speaking of moods, i just finished a book by mark haddon, this is my favorite part: "I like dogs. You always know what a dog is thinking. It has four moods. Happy, sad, cross and concentrating. Also, dogs are faithful and they do not tell lies because they cannot talk."

why don't we have this feature on nebur's world? i think it would add to everyone's enjoyment. i want to know what sensitive love song nebur's listening to when he drives to work, i want to know what cutting-edge mix is in el profe's tapedeck. what about tobin? is he a classic rock kind of guy?

yesterday i was sorting through my weekend snaps... i have to get a tripod for these low-light shots because it's too hard to keep this camera perfectly still. i have a lot of blurry post-sunset pics.

here's a good action shot from sunday:

a dog that likes sun on her head:

still life, the kind of which you don't see very often this side of france:

happy valentine's day, nebursworld reader!
mood: anxious.
listening to: box elder by pavement.

love,
lee s.

An Olympic Moment

2006-02-13T23:36:00.001-08:00

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by

Zhang and Zhang

I have always been an Olympic junkie. My favorite moment was watching my former Cal homeboy Chris Huffin take the bronze in the decathlon in Sydney. After leading in the first nine events, he scored a personal best in his worst event, the 1,500 meter. Who could forget Ali lighting the torch in Atlanta? Or Carl Lewis and Ben Johnson in Seoul. Or Apolo Ohno and Kim Dong-sung in Salt Lake. Or Kristi Yamaguchi edging out Midori Ito and Nancy Kerrigan in '92?

In a time of war, it sure is nice to see the nations of the world competing in events without guns and rocks. Except, of course, for the biathlon. Oh, and curling I guess.

These Olympics have not disappointed. Michelle Kwan is out, and Apolo went down in the 1,500, but today, a pair of Chinese Ice skaters displayed the Olympic spirit. After doubling over in pain following a fall in a throw quad salchow, Zhang Dan had to hobble over to her trainer. Less than five minutes later, she and her partner returned to the ice, and skated a near-flawless silver medal performance. It was amazing.

Now if I can only figure out how to read the day's news without all of the Torino spoilers! I've been waiting until night to check the news, but now I can't even read my email without getting targeted spoilers from gmail!

It seems technology is not always our friend. Oh well, I'm off to vacation. I'll try and drop a line from Rio de Janeiro.

Six or Seven Bite-Sized Morsels

2006-02-13T11:40:00.000-08:00

______________________

by El Profe

There but for the grace of Harpo go I

"If Oprah is perfect in goodness and wisdom, then ignorance and evil cannot come from Her [or Harpo Productions]. If they could come from Her, she would not be perfect; and if She were not perfect, She should not be praised as Oprah and
perfectly good." -Mardanfarrakh, 9th Century A.D.

Two weeks ago today, a few million soccer moms and quite a few other losers tuned in to the Oprah Winfrey Show to watch her Highness rip the writer, James Frey, what can only be described as "a new one". The Chew-Out in Chi-town came over his admission that bits of his "memoir", A Million Little Pieces, were anything but memoir’ed and wholly fabrications of the imaginative little spheres of his brain. I was one of those losers who waited to watch the encapsulation of what was hyped up as what would be the most spectacular public ass-reaming since last year's Folsom Street Festival that night on Access Hollywood. AND...I caught the last five minutes of the infamous dressing down of the false crack-head the following night on the Oxygen Network’s "Oprah, After the Show"... and I also caught the obligatory "in-case-you-missed-it" discussion on the Today Show the next morning as I brushed my teeth. Against my better judgment, here are some of my gleanings:

First of all, I disagree with the observation of one Vanity Fair editor, Name Unimportant, who described Frey to the Today Show’s Katie Couric as having appeared nervous and psychologically fragile throughout his humiliating public tongue lashing by Miss Winfrey. Frey looked like a dude who got busted lying- a look I’ve seen and had on my own mug at least two or three times in my life. Add to the shame of getting caught in a lie the fact that his "memoir" has steadily been increasing in sales since The Smoking Gun exposed him as an exagerrator of the first order, and you can easily see why he is not sure whether to smile or cry. If I were him, I’d be laughing, but probably very nervous about having to admit that I lied to a nation of stay-at-home moms and the men who love them (Some of those people are pretty strong- a lot of pulaties and isometric weight training- plus, many own guns.)

Secondly, when other writers are accused of or confess to literary improprieties in the past, we as a television watching society have heard little, if anything, about it beyond the intitial "bust". It makes the headlines for one day and then, poof, it vanishes like so much Real World Season 5. I fondly remember my mother reading Doris Kearns Goodwin's (now debunked) Lyndon Johnson & the American Dream, to me as a child and the heart-ache only I must have felt when she was exposed as a solipsistic liar. How could anyone forgive her for what she did? How could America forget so quickly?

Third, I’m tired of this all-pervasive concept of "culture" that passes for mass-marketed entertainment these days and that continually forces us to conclude that there is a "culture war" and that our "culture" is slowly dying the "death of a thousand cuts", only to forget about ti mere weeks later. I believe the fudging of genetic research by the South Korean scientist, Hwang Woo-suk (a writer, like Frey, in that he had to actually write some of his scientism down on paper, and a liar, like Frey, in that most of what he wrote down was lies) to be a bigger cultural story than the Passion of James Frey because of the issues of possible eternal life through genetic manipulation and the eventual end of the human/pet-master/servant dynamic that his research implies. But ask anyone (you know the type) two weeks ago (in the days before the "Cartoon Riots of 06"), and they would have told you the James Frey controversy was the number one indicator that we are living in the final days and times and that at any moment we could all be witnessing the Rapture of the Church. I mean, how dare he DUPE our number one purveyor of quality culture? How could lies, sweet little lies, take on such a beastly and public visage?One need only think of Comet Hyakuteke as the prophetic "sign in the sky" and James Frey as the False Prophet and his admissions as "seven-horned beasts", and that’s it. Game Over.

What’s worse is that Frey’s lies were presented to us as a symptom of a deep-seeded neurosis or an evil "beyond the pale" of mere men, as if people cannot just SIMPLY LIE! As if lying, in all its horror, is something people are just incapable of doing anymore unless they are compelled to by a neurological disorder. Whatever happened to presidents admitting they had felt "lust in [their heart[s]" or Sasquatch hoaxers and Bigfoot Industry entrepreneurs admitting that the legendary fossilized scrotum trails of North America's favorite wookie were fabricated? Don’t people know that God is infinite in his forgiveness (Matthew 18:21-35)?

Finally, gentle, most faithful and gentile reader, I ask, has anyone you know read A Million Little Pieces? Now, I ain’t no literary type, (in fact, most of you who know me know I operate with the equivalent of a 10th grade education) but… okay, I’ll let you be the judge:

I want a drink. I want fifty drinks. I want a bottle of the purest, strongest, most destructive, most poisonous alcohol on Earth. I want fifty bottles of it. I want crack, dirty and yellow and filled with formaldehyde. I want a pile of powder meth, five hundred hits of acid, a garbage bag filled with mushrooms, a tube of glue bigger than a truck, a pool of gas large enough to drown in. I want something anything whatever however as much as I can. -James Frey

This is what sells in Oprah’s America? This sounds like the notes I take during staff meetings! I think of all the notebooks I have at home, the germ of a shameful, "fake" memoir I always planned to write and sell as a novel (Half Past a Monkey’s Ass) but was too embarrassed to since they chronicle my years spent as a mediocre student and hard-partying, solipsistic manimal with a taste for gorditas, self-pity and well-mixed cocktails of so-called "gateway drugs". Will the Post-James-Frey world be inaccessible to all fake literature or just the fake literature that only pretends to be non-fake literature but is actually fake? Everything that is not filmed, incidentally, is certifiably fake. What if I published Half Past a Monkey’s Ass and claimed everything in it had happened to me, but added a fictional anecdote in which I drunkenly crash my car on the night Operation Iraqi Freedom starts and drive it, wrecked and sizzling, right into a DUI checkpoint where I conveniently and readily blow a .23 as my chimp drinking buddy maniacally scribbles blasphemous cartoons of Zoroaster in the passenger seat and still no one reads it? Besides substantiating my deepest fear of being inconsequentially human in a world with no God, would that make this discussion moot? What if I convinced Oprah that my story could help millions of people? Make one person millions?

San Cristobal de las Casas,
Chiapas 10.II.06

The Hot Stove: Digital Revolution

2006-02-09T13:08:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

after months of agonizing research and second-guessing myself, i finally took the plunge and purchased my first digital camera. don't tell the unabomber i'm a technology sellout. the switch to a cellphone was bad enough.

i picked up a fuji e510 on dell.com for $160. it has a wide angle (28mm equiv) lens for landscape shots and it takes AA batteries, so i'm pretty happy with the camera so far. readers of nebursworld will now be bombarded with my favorite new digital pictures until neburs strips me of posting priviledges.

t.g.i.a.f. nebursworld reader!

The Hot Stove: Patriotism

2006-02-03T07:26:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(by lee stevens)

what is patriotism?

"The notion that a radical is one who hates his country is naïve and usually idiotic. He is, more likely, one who likes his country more than the rest of us, and is thus more disturbed than the rest of us when he sees it debauched. He is not a bad citizen turning to crime; he is a good citizen driven to despair."
-H.L. Mencken

last weekend i went up to carson to see the usa soccer team take on norway. it was my first time at the home depot center, which is the only stadium in america built exclusively for soccer (or so i'm told). i love to watch soccer, and i'm always fired up to check out a new venue.

"When a whole nation is roaring Patriotism at the top of its voice, I am fain to explore the cleanness of its hands and the purity of its heart." -Ralph Waldo
Emerson

the game wasn't that competitive, america whupped up on the norwegians: USA 5, norway 0

i was expecting a lot of norway fans, but there weren't that many in attendance. there was only about 15,000 people total, nowhere near a sellout. it's nice because you can buy the cheap tickets and sneak down to the good seats, but personally i prefer a rowdy, sellout crowd. go to the LA coliseum to see the mexico national team play (mexico vs korea: wed feb 15) if you don't know what i'm talking about.

"To announce that there must be no criticism of the president, or that we are to stand by the president, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public." -Theodore Roosevelt

i was going to write about the game, but what's really on my mind is patriotism.

"What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as a child?" Lin Yutang

over the span of the last 5 years i've grown increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of patriotism. i love america, but i'm extremely embarrassed by president george w. bush and his administration. if i'm out of the country, i avoid the issue of american foreign policy as much as possible. i'll try my best to change the subject and steer the conversation in another direction. if necessary, i'll sneak away and duck the question entirely. i never had to do that when bill clinton was president. not once.

“You're not supposed to be so blind with patriotism that you can't face reality. Wrong is wrong, no matter who says it.” -Malcolm X

everything about george bush makes me cringe. i loathe the way he walks and his fake-cowboy way of talking. i can't stand his "us against them" rhetoric. i hate how he wears that little american flag pin on his suit. what's the point? is he proclaiming his 'hood like some kind of gang member? i watch the world news on bbc, i never see any other world leaders wearing flag pins. can you imagine if the leader of germany or japan wore a flag pin to a UN meeting? my guess is that it would spark outrage. what is karl rove thinking by having his puppet wear a little american flag on his lapel? is there anyone who doesn't recognize bush as the president of america? that's one of the perks of being the head of a superpower as opposed to some obscure african country -- everyone knows who the president of the usa is, there's no need to claim "usa"...

"Patriots always talk of dying for their country, and never of killing for their country." -Bertrand Russell have you seen this idiot on bill o'reilly's show? he's actually suing the laguna beach patriot's day parade because they rejected his application to participate. in case you don't know, this is the bigot anti-mexican co-founder of the minutemen. he lives in orange county (mission viejo) and i guess he gets his jollies by driving down to the border to catch mexicans who cross illegally. so he wants to bring his redneck contingent to laguna beach to march in their city parade. the parade turned him down because, as part of their bylaws, they don't allow for religious of political entries. sound simple enough. the laguna beach patriot's day parade is mostly groups like the local vietnam vets, boy scouts, high school sports teams, etc... they don't want the controversy gilchrist and his minutemen would bring to the otherwise peaceful parade.

crybaby gilchrist is suing because the parade let in groups like the "peace vigil" and a group called "la playa center." first of all, is there anyone who is really against peace? i don't see how that's "political." secondly, i know the people who who run "la playa center" -- my friend's mom (who comes from spain) is one of the volunteers, she goes down to the day labor hiring center and offers free english lessons and healthcare advice to migrant workers. charity: how is that political again?

i have also seen the minutemen group protesting at the day labor hiring center in laguna canyon. i have personally seen them flying the red swastika nazi flag across the street from the little strip of land where mexicans wait for low-paying day labor jobs. gilchrist tried to distance himself and his group from the guys with the nazi flags, but still... the message is mostly the same: get out of our country.

i don't know what the result of this lawsuit will be. if gilchrist and his scummy lawyers prevail, the parade will likely be a circus. if they get injunctive relief, maybe the parade will be cancelled. if they win and get the $25,000 or whatever it is they're suing for, i don't know where the money will come from. the parade is run by a small, independent group headed by charles quilter (veteran of 4 wars)... they don't have the deep pockets of the city. who's knows. i'm just kind of pissed this asshole is trying to force his way in. if he wants to march so badly, he can take his group of haters down to the border and they can prance around in the desert to their black hearts' content, as far as i'm concerned.

of course, nebursworld being a forum for people from all walks of life, i welcome your opinion. this is, after all, america. last i checked, it was still ok to speak your mind around here...

"Wednesday morning update, hot off the presses: Judge rules Parade can bar Minutemen Great news. Although I regret the free publicity given to Gilchrist and his group.

Surprise, Surprise!

2006-02-01T20:52:00.000-08:00

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by

Who would have thought that I would be lauding Alito? It seems that he voted to stop the execution of condemned Missouri inmate Michael Taylor. Great start. Let's see how he holds up.

Indigo Hypnagogia

2006-01-30T23:05:00.000-08:00

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by

Under the purple oak I slumber,
Willingly following the lotus blossoms.
Effortlessly, I abandon the daily trappings,
The arrogance and the pride,
The blame-placing and the guilt.
Like a leaded blanket, I cast them off,
Knowing that under the purple oak,
I have nothing to fear.

Under the purple oak,
All is love.
Under the purple oak,
Love is all.
Under the purple oak, I sense your warmth, and
Hear your girlish giggle, and
Taste the salty sweetness of your tender tears.

Under the purple oak,
I say what I believe, and
I believe what you say, and
Under the purple oak, our enveloping embrace
Reduces the daily vinegar
Into a sweet balsamic
That percolates the palate,
Leaving me longing for more….

Under the purple oak, all is forgiven, and
Forgiveness is irrelevant, and
Time is timeless, and
Daybreak will never come, and
Night is clearer than day, and
Under the purple oak,
We finally become
One.
-Ruben Villalobos

Who are the kidnappers?

2006-01-27T14:01:00.000-08:00

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by

It seems the United States is arresting wives, even nursing mothers, to leverage surrenders of suspected Iraqi insurgents. The story:

In one case, a secretive task force locked up the young mother of a nursing baby, a U.S. intelligence officer reported. In the case of a second detainee, one American colonel suggested to another that they catch her husband by tacking a note to the family’s door telling him “to come get his wife.”
The issue of female detentions in Iraq has taken on a higher profile since kidnappers seized American journalist Jill Carroll on Jan. 7 and threatened to kill her unless all Iraqi women detainees are freed. (Full Story)

Now tell me, who are the kidnappers?

On a lighter note: Tucker Carlson and Dorismar

2006-01-26T20:32:00.000-08:00

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by

Dorismar: Environmentalist and border jumper

Enough with the death penalty. Enough with the war and violence and racism and Bill O'Reilly. Today, MSNBC's bow-tied bobbing-head Tucker Carlson, uhm, exposed, a little-known area of immigration law. In the following piece, Carlson interviews Michael Feldenkrais, a Florida attorney who represents Argentine supermodel, Playmate, and environmentalist Dorismar, in her suit to avoid deportation because of her "extraordinary abilities". The story:

CARLSON: Do you think there is there a porn shortage in this country, do you think? I mean, is there a lack of homegrown porn actresses? Is this a crisis?

FELDENKRAIS: I do not believe it's a crisis. There's definitely a lot of talent out there. And but that doesn't stop us from...

CARLSON: Why should we flood the market with cheap foreign imports, thereby forcing our own porn actresses out of work and oppressing their wages?

FELDENKRAIS: I don't think we're flooding them. I think one person, two people. This is not an area where you're going to have 200 million people coming in as porn actresses. But you will have a select few, a very good few, that will be able to do what she does. And you're not necessarily letting the floodgates and allowing half a million people come in just because they have a cute butt. No. (Full Story)

Tucker, we at Nebur's World thank you for this gripping ........ expose. You are living proof that the conservative press has their hands on the .... pulse ... of the community. I have no doubt that the venerable Edward R. Murrow would rerspond to your piece as follows:

"Good night, and ....... Good Luck!"

60 Days Part Deux: Where U At, Bill O'Reilly?

2006-01-23T22:56:00.000-08:00

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by

Chief Warrant Officer Lewis Welshofer Jr., Convicted Killer
(Source: MSNBC)

It is rare that I second guess a court for showing leniency in sentencing. After all, I am a criminal defense attorney, and not a Fox News blatherist. I know that courts are seldom too lenient, and I know that it is the rare case where armchair jurists know better that a sentencing court. After all, judges have the benefit of seeing evidence and witnessing testimony. This being said, a military court martial has gone too far, and drawn me out of my self-imposed period of blog silence. The story:

No jail time for officer in Iraqi general's death: Army interrogator stuffed Iraqi in sleeping bag and suffocated him
The Associated Press, Jan. 24, 2006
FORT CARSON, Colo.
A military jury of six officers on Monday ordered a reprimand for an officer once facing up to life in prison for the death of an Iraqi general during an interrogation session. Chief Warrant Officer Lewis Welshofer Jr. also was ordered to forfeit $6,000 salary and was restricted to his place of work, worship and barracks for 60 days. ....
Welshofer was convicted of stuffing the general headfirst into a sleeping bag and sitting on his chest....
Earlier in the day, Welshofer fought back tears and asked the military jury not to separate him from his wife and children by sending him to prison. "I deeply apologize if my actions tarnished the soldiers serving in Iraq," Chief Warrant Officer Lewis Welshofer Jr. said at his sentencing hearing. Prosecutors said Welshofer put a sleeping bag over the head of Iraqi Maj. Gen. Abed Hamed Mowhoush, sat on his chest and used his hand to cover the general's mouth while questioning him at a detention camp in Iraq in 2003. (Full Story)

So basically, according to this court, you can put someone in a sleeping bag, sit on their chest, and cover their mouth with your hands, literally chokinging the life out of them. According to this court, you can do that if a) your intention is to interrogate, b) You are willing to do the hard time of 60 days for your crime, and 3) Your victim is Iraqi, or "the enemy," in military jargon.

Sixty days, for the taking of a soul! Where are you on this one, Bill O'Reilly? You have spent the last two weeks excoriating conservative Judge Edward Cashman for "violating the human rights" of a rape victim by sentencing her rapist to 60 days in jail. Bill, it didn't matter to you that the Judge only imposed the light sentence to ensure that the defendant would immediately begin sex offender treatment. It didn't matter to you that the judge would have imposed a minimum of three years in custody if the State would assure the court that it would provide sex offender treatment. It didn't matter to you that this judge was trying to break the cycle, and keep a developmentally disabled offender from re-offending. It didn't matter that the Judge's sentence prompted the Vermont Department of Corrections to change their policy and actually provide "corrections" in the form of treatment.

It didn't matter, Bill, because to a demagogue such as yourself, 60 days gives you hours of fear-mongering fodder. 60 days lets you hawk your hyperbole of a criminal justice system that has forgotten the victims. 60 days is just what you need to promote your goal of sticking a chip in the left ear of every sex offender, and emblazoning them with a Laverneian scarlet letter.

So where are you on this one, Bill? How is it that a court doesn't violate a victim's rights by sentencing his murderer to 60 days of house arrest? Or Bill, is it that you are afraid to speak against this obvious affront to justice because of your stance on the war?

Shame on you, Bill. I guess Phil Donahue got it right. You are a warmonger who will say whatever you want to send more Americans to slaughter. And you will remain silent when it suits your cause.

And that's the whole truth, Bill!

The Hot Stove: Surprise, Surprise

2006-01-20T07:23:00.000-08:00

____________________________________________________
(By Lee Stevens)

Things aren't going too well for the Republicans at the moment...

Tom DeLay is circling the drain, Bill Frist is going down for insider trading, Jack Abramoff is about to spill the beans.... so who decides to make another appearance?

Tape Attributed to Bin Laden Warns of New Attacks in U.S.

My favorite bit comes from Dick Cheney:

Vice President Dick Cheney said in an interview on CNBC television that the recording was a reminder that there was a "serious threat" to the United States. But he also said that the U.S. had shored up its defenses significantly since Sept. 11 and that Al Qaeda's failure to mount another strike was "not just dumb luck."

Dumb.

My Favorite State: New Jersey!

2006-01-09T18:46:00.000-08:00

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by

“The curtain rises on a vast primitive wasteland, not unlike certain parts of New
Jersey." - Woody Allen

Well, Mr. Allen, I think you are wrong. And I don't mean about the whole marrying your daughter thing, (although that is probably also wrong). I mean New Jersey just voted in a moratorium on the death penalty, based on unfairness of its application. Here's a new state slogan: "New Jersey: Our government doesn't kill people."

P.O.T.W.

2006-01-06T12:15:00.000-08:00

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by

More to Come

The Gumshoe Report: The Mysterious Sotic

2006-01-05T12:30:00.000-08:00

_____________

By Al Tobin
Nebur’s World Names Sotic Man Of The Year In ‘06

We’re less than a week into the new year, but so confident are we in Sotic that we are already naming him Nebur’s World’s 2006 Man Of The Year.

Yes it is true his name rhymes with narcotic. And yes like a comet he can be seen blazing across the sky nightly. Mankind need only open its eyes to witness Sotic’s brilliance.

His contributions to Nebur’s World are always profound. I’d like to see him contribute to this blog-thing of ours every week. His words will always have a home here.

Mankind need not fear that tomorrow will bring darkness as long as there are people like Sotic to lead us to the light.

Sotic is a minister of reform; a man who promotes harmony in society and nature.

You yourself may be a capitalist. You may be a pharmacist. You may be a capitalist and a pharmacist, in which case you’re probably a drug dealer. But even you, my lost lamb can learn, if you open your heart and your ears to Sotic.

And with the guidance of The Most High we ask all good men and good women to join Sotic in his quest for a better world. Amen.

We here at Nebur’s World are also offering a cash prize of $64,000 and a free trip for two to beautiful downtown Modesto, to anyone who can reveal the secret to Sotic’s wisdom and beauty secrets.

- END -