This guy, Harry Bostick, was convicted of felony drunken driving in 2009, just after having been convicted in 2008 – for drunken driving.  He was still going through a court mandated drug rehab program when he applied for his pardon last summer. On September 30, the Mississippi Parole Board sent its review of Bostick’s application to Barbour, recommending a full pardon in a 3-2 vote. Then… a week after Barbour let him loose, Bostick was again driving under the influence when he pulled out onto a highway and slammed into a car, killing Charity Smith.  Barbour had said that he wasn’t aware of Bostick’s October 2011 DUI arrest when he chose to pardon him.  But e-mails obtained by CNN show that the governor’s office did, in fact, know about it.  Amanda Jones, the governor’s chief counsel, and Secretary of State Delbert Hosemann were told about the October car crash that killed Smith just days after it happened.
Jones and Hosemann were even urged by a lawyer in the firm that represented Bostick not to issue the pardon, according to the e-mails.

                          

Depakote is a medication that has proven effective for seizure and also as a kind of leveling agent for the manic phase of Bipolar Depression.  However, Abbott admitted that from 1998 through 2006, it “maintained a specialized sales force trained to market Depakote in nursing homes for the control of agitation and aggression in elderly dementia patients, despite the absence of credible scientific evidence that Depakote was safe and effective for that use.”  They also trained its sales force to promote the drug to health care providers and employees of nursing homes as better than anti psychotic drugs for controlling agitation and aggression in elderly dementia patients, and then went further and promoted the drug as a treatment for schizophrenia.

Though the company paid for two studies of the use of Depakote to treat schizophrenia, neither met the goals established for the study.
“When the second study failed to show proof of their claims, Abbott waited nearly two years to notify its own sales force about the study results and another two years to publish those results”.

                          

No offense, but why the hell would I celebrate the Battle of Puebla? Yeah, that’s – I just looked it up – what all the commotion is about. Some battle between the Mexicans and the French. I’m Italian. Do I ask everyone to celebrate the St. Valentines’ Day Massacre? No. We celebrate that quietly, here by lining up 14 pieces of fish against a wall and then eating them while making Tommy Gun sounds with our mouths.

Seriously, that’s how stupid this sounds to me. We have Labor Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Flag Day, Presidents’ Day, Columbus Day, Groundhog Day, April Fools Day, Patriot Day, Women’s Equality Day. We got days for it just being a day. Do we need a Mexico verses France Day? Really?

And how come we don’t have any Night Days? Halloween used to be a night thing, but because we are such a sick society, any parent with half a brain takes his kid out way before the sun goes down. I want a Night Day. I want a celebration that marks the onset of nighttime. No one sleeps during the day of Night Day, so that when night falls we can emerge zombie-like and crawl from bar to bar in a gleeful stupor celebrating the dark. Of course the Catholic Church will see this as some Satanic thing and ban Catholics from participating, but that will just make it more enticing. In fact, I suggest that all Catholics wear a big “C” on their chest during Night Day. This will entitle them to one free drink at any bar of their choice. Sweet!

                          

That, I think, is the answer that works in the world that we inhabit.  How else do we make it through all of the incredible ugliness of what is all around us and not snap our collective noggins?  How do we sit through the recitation of horrors in the Charles Taylor trial?  How do we absorb the slaughter by Assad’s regime in Syria, as they actually make a game out of following the UN observers and popping off a fresh group of their own people as soon as the UN guys move to the next village?  The answer again…if the tree didn’t fall on me, I don’t care.  Translation:  If the mayor of my town is not setting up the Chamber of Commerce on the roof tops of shops along Main street, and arming them with sniper rifles, or – - if the Governor of New Jersey is not chopping hands off and collecting little kids to be in his revolutionary army, I’m not effected.

We shake our heads and sigh in disbelief, as we go back to waxing our cars and trimming the bushes.  Me?  I give some money to Amnesty International.  I give some money to the International Red Cross.  Man, I even bought some mosquito nets so the African kids don’t all die so fast from Malaria.  Yeah.  I’m one of the good guys.  Of course, it takes me about 17 seconds to ‘internet’ my part and then I get back to the important stuff, like the cars and lawn.  But, hey… power to the people, I say!  I will strike my thunderous blows to evil and tyranny everywhere!

To be fair, denial is salvation.  Should we all be absorbed in the misery that is painting most of the 3rd World, we would shrivel and wilt like the daisies we are- – having been born here in the Civilized West.  We are not made of the same stuff…at least not that we are aware of.  Yeah, somewhere deep in our darkest recesses we feel it…that black, ugly sense that if pushed, we could turn into a Charles Taylor, but we spend every minute of every day – according to Freud at least – pushing that down, as we attempt to fit into some societal model.  I guess that’s best, so remember, if you actually do hear the tree fall, pretend it was thunder or God’s bowling ball and get out of the way!

                          

Out of the nation’s 10 largest cities, Philadelphia’s homicide rate is the worst. Last year ended with 324 homicides, up from 306 in 2010, and as of January of this year, 34 murders and counting.

                          

To live one day at a time like everything is just swell; 
To send me a Rolex so I can really enjoy one moment at a time; 
 To learn to avoid and run from hardships as the pathway to peace;  
And not taking, as He did, this sinful world
 as it is, but imagining it as I would have it; 
Trusting that He will make all things right instead of me trying to do it. 

That I may be unbelievably and screamingly happy in this life 
and even more super duper happy with Him in the next.

Amen.

Like you , LK…I too am done!  Toasted. Fatigued, infuriated, and feeling helpless.  A voice in a void that, unless I say something completely idiotic, hateful  and ruthless enough to go viral on You Tube, rises like a silent cloud to nothingness.  A voice that on Tuesday had so much more meaning as it screamed GOAL!!!! while my wife and I sat in hockey bliss, munching $9.00 fries and $10.00 beers.  A voice that delivers joy and pure devotion as it whispers “I love you,” to my sleeping wife.  Otherwise, a voice that is basically unnecessary.

We – more-so  you – rant weekly about all the horrors, cruelties, political gaffs and corruption, illegal and un-winnable wars, genocide, and on and on and on.  And yes, it’s a good thing to enlighten, to make people aware.  But even too much awareness bloats the psyche.  Like a therapy session that lasts longer than an hour because the brain shuts down from too much information, enlightenment and awareness become so much white noise, or worse, crying wolf.

And so, at least for now, I am washing myself clean of any and all responsibility of everything and anything that goes on outside my immediate circle of loved ones.  I imagine this will last for two or three days, but right now, it feels really, really good!

                          

I asked myself what I would do if this was it. If I knew for sure that say by next Wednesday everything was just gone.  My immediate bonehead ideas were 1.  Buy the Bugatti Veyron Super Sport…the fastest car in the world – and drive it as fast as it can go , which is 253 mph.  2. Buy the L115A Long Range Rifle – the best sniper rifle in the world, and shoot a bunch of Taliban guys just as they were getting ready to rape someone.  3.  Move next door to Angelina Jolie and take her for a ride in my new Bugatti.  And 4.  Drive Angie and me to NYC to find Donald Trump and punch him in the face.

Now of course, all of that is just simple self-entertaining nonsense, and I fully realize that I would do none of those things because none of those things have any true meaning.  But then comes the puzzle – why bother with meaning if this is all over – including my inherent awareness of myself?  And then that irritating God thing comes up and I have to start all over.  Was it the fear or love of God that kept me from just letting go of all restraints and tearing through this life like a mad dog?  Or was there some gene plugged in during mom and pop’s coitus?  The truth – at least my truth when giving this some heavy thought, is that one dies like one lived.  I believe that having gone so many years traveling what I assumed to be the correct path, the right thing to do, the way to be, and so on, has been so deeply deposited into my psyche that even now, knowing that Wednesday next is the end of everything, I would behave in exactly the same manner I did all those hundreds upon hundreds of past regular Wednesdays.

And so, if the Mayans are in fact correct, there will be people stealing, raping, killing, and doing all kinds of bad stuff. But I believe that those people have been struggling with keeping themselves under control all along.  The majority of us will just sit, realizing there is nothing else we can nor need to do.

As for me, my Bugatti -Jolie imaginings washed away for the comical absurdities they were, I would gather my family and try to keep them from the panic and fear that accompanies any unknown.   I would hold them close, and laugh and cry and run through memories and even discuss what is next for us since we all, my family that is, have a belief in an afterlife.  And whether that afterlife is man made fodder created to keep everyone from cracking up at the thought of death, or a mystical, spiritual truth doesn’t matter.  Hope is what has helped me and my loved ones through this life.  To drop it now would be as illogical as shooting up the Taliban.

Still, there is a tiny part of that sniper thing that gives me a smile.  Gonna have to talk that over with God next Wednesday.

                          

Dear Young Leader,
You have in front of you, two paths.  The one is that which you know.  A sheltered life of luxury and protection from the outside world.  The other is quite extraordinary, as it has the potential of running parallel with that of Siddartha Gautama, or the Buddha.

You see, when Prince Siddhartha was a few days old, a holy man prophesied he would be either a great military conqueror or a great spiritual teacher. His father, King Suddhodana preferred the first outcome and prepared his son accordingly. He raised the boy in great luxury and shielded him from knowledge of religion and human suffering. The Prince reached the age of 29 with little experience of the world outside the walls of his opulent palaces.  One day, overcome with curiosity, Prince Siddhartha asked a servant to take him on a series of rides through the countryside. On these journeys he was shocked by the sight of an aged man, then a sick man, and then a corpse. The stark realities of old age, disease, and death seized and sickened the Prince.

For a time the Prince returned to palace life, but he took no pleasure in it. Even the news that his wife had given birth to a son did not please him.

One night he wandered the palace alone. The luxuries that had once pleased him now seemed grotesque. Musicians and dancing girls had fallen asleep and were sprawled about, snoring and sputtering. Prince Siddhartha reflected on the old age, disease, and death that would overtake them all and turn their bodies to dust.

I am wishing you the wisdom and openness of heart to make the right choice.

                          

Anyway, when I got the rough track of the song, I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t a folksy whiner.  The band even suggested I make it rock and roll!  “Yahoo,” said me.  Well, the thing came out tough, and angry, and gutsy.  The band even managed to lyrically deliver the much maligned point of the Occupiers, demanding to know:

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE FOOLIN’?”

Very cool, and maybe 99 Power have given the Movement an anthem.

Here are the video, the music track, and the lyrics:

Note from Cheyenne Picardo, the video editor: “My gratitude goes out to all of the protestors, artists, animators, documentarians, and other people who have created the content from which this piece is derived. In making this piece, I tried to pay respectful homage to the global video conversation that is so effectively saturating the Internet. Please feel free to post links to your work in their entirety in the comments section. We’re all in this together. Thank you!”

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE FOOLIN’?

Recorded by 99 POWER    Words & Music by James Mee

Who—do—- you— think you’re foolin’?
. . . Do—you—- think you’re foolin’?
Who— do—you—- think you’re foolin’?
. . . Do— you— think you’re foolin’?

Who— do—you—- think you’re foolin’?
. . . Do— you— think you’re foolin’?
Who— do—you—- think you’re foolin’?
. . . Do— you— think you’re foolin’?

Who—do—you—think you’re foolin’? . . .
Do—you—think you’re foolin’?
Who—do—you—think you’re foolin’
Do—you—think you’re foolin’?
Who—do—you
Who—do—you think you’re foolin’
Do— you— think you’re foolin’

You stabbed my heart, made me scream,
with the broken pieces of the American dream

Copyright 2011 Metrostar Music
c/o Publishers’ Licensing Corporation P.O. Box 5807, Englewood, NJ 07631

PLCAgent@aol.com