Mmm Free Ben & Jerry's!
Today the 29th of April is Ben & Jerry's 30th annual FREE CONE DAY!
Head over to your nearest Ben & Jerry's scoop shop location and treat yourself.
Today the 29th of April is Ben & Jerry's 30th annual FREE CONE DAY!
Head over to your nearest Ben & Jerry's scoop shop location and treat yourself.
Worlds Tiniest Girl
Post Source: Telegraph
Age 15, height 1ft-11in, weight 11 pounds. Wow! That's about half a pound per inch. She sure is a cutie though. I could take her home and put her on my nicknack shelf. ;)
In the picture below on the left the 13 month old boy is bigger than she is. On the right is Jyoti and her classmates.
The teenager, who is the world's smallest girl according to the Indian Book of Records, has a form of dwarfism called achondroplasia. Now fully grown, she weighs just 11 lb.
Far from being unhappy about her tiny size, Jyoti says that she enjoys the celebrity status her height has brought her.
"I am proud of being small. I love the attention I get," she told the Sunday Mirror.
"I'm just the same as other people. I eat like you, dream like you. I don't feel any different."
Jyoti attends her local high school, in Nagpur, India, where she studies alongside classmates of her own age, though she sits at a specially made miniature desk.
Far from being unhappy about her tiny size, Jyoti says that she enjoys the celebrity status her height has brought her.
"I am proud of being small. I love the attention I get," she told the Sunday Mirror.
"I'm just the same as other people. I eat like you, dream like you. I don't feel any different."
Jyoti attends her local high school, in Nagpur, India, where she studies alongside classmates of her own age, though she sits at a specially made miniature desk.
Python Stalked: Ate Family Dog
Post Source: FOX News
While Children Watched. How gruesome.
BRISBANE, Australia — A 16-foot python stalked a family dog for days before swallowing the pet whole in front of horrified children in the Australian tropics, animal experts said Wednesday.
The boy and girl, aged 5 and 7, watched as the scrub python devoured their silky terrier-Chihuahua crossbreed Monday at their home near Kuranda in Queensland state.
Stuart Douglas, owner of the Australian Venom Zoo in Kuranda, said scrub pythons typically eat wild animals such as wallabies, a smaller relative of the kangaroo, but sometimes turn to pets in urban areas.
"It actively stalked the dog for a number of days," Douglas said.
"The family that owned the dog had actually seen it in the dog's bed, which was a sign it was out to get it," he added.
The boy and girl, aged 5 and 7, watched as the scrub python devoured their silky terrier-Chihuahua crossbreed Monday at their home near Kuranda in Queensland state.
Stuart Douglas, owner of the Australian Venom Zoo in Kuranda, said scrub pythons typically eat wild animals such as wallabies, a smaller relative of the kangaroo, but sometimes turn to pets in urban areas.
"It actively stalked the dog for a number of days," Douglas said.
"The family that owned the dog had actually seen it in the dog's bed, which was a sign it was out to get it," he added.
A Girl with an Apple
Coincidence or God's hand?
This is quite a story, and a true story of Holocaust survivors Herman and Roma Rosenblat. It is a true story, and a movie is being made by Atlantic Overseas Pictures based on the events. The the young lad pictured below is of young Herman. The other is a recent picture of Herman and Roma. The story starts below (you may want to grab a tissue).
“August 1942. Piotrkow,Poland. The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated. 'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, ‘don’t tell them your age. Say you're sixteen'.
I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker. An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, then asked my age.’ Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood. My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?' He didn't answer. I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her.'No,' she said sternly. 'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.' She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany. We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers. 'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.'
I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number. Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin. One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice.. Son, she said softly but clearly, I am sending you an angel. Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a young girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German.
'Do you have something eat?' She didn't understand. I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her just a kind farm girl except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia. 'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.' I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at10:00 AM. In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited. At 8 A.M.there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America, where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in. One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. 'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.' A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.
The four of us drove out to Coney Island. Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time. We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she asked softly, 'during the war?' 'The camps,' I said, the terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget. She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin,' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.' I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were, both survivors, in a new world.
'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day.' What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did he look like? I asked. He was tall. Skinny. Hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months.' My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be. 'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?' Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes,' That was me! 'I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it. My angel. 'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week.
There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go. That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren I have never let her go." Herman Rosenblat , Miami Beach, Florida.
I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker. An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, then asked my age.’ Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood. My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?' He didn't answer. I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her.'No,' she said sternly. 'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.' She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany. We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers. 'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.'
I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number. Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin. One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice.. Son, she said softly but clearly, I am sending you an angel. Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a young girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German.
'Do you have something eat?' She didn't understand. I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her just a kind farm girl except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia. 'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.' I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at10:00 AM. In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited. At 8 A.M.there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America, where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in. One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. 'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.' A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.
The four of us drove out to Coney Island. Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time. We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she asked softly, 'during the war?' 'The camps,' I said, the terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget. She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin,' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.' I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were, both survivors, in a new world.
'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day.' What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did he look like? I asked. He was tall. Skinny. Hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months.' My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be. 'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?' Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes,' That was me! 'I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it. My angel. 'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week.There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go. That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren I have never let her go." Herman Rosenblat , Miami Beach, Florida.
Thanks to Celia Farber at Dean's World.
Light Posting
My apologies for the light posting recently. Well very light, as I haven't been a heavy poster for a couple of years anyway.
The reason for the lack of posts is that I've been quite busy. I have been developing Invision IP.Board forum skins. However I hope to have a little more time soon.
Meanest Mom, or Good Parenting
Source: The Washington Post
Personally I think the world needs more moms like this. Jane Hambleton placed an ad and sold her 19 year old son Steven's car after finding booze under the front seat.
"OLDS 1999 Intrigue. Totally uncool parents who obviously don't love teenage son, selling his car. Only driven for three weeks before snoopy mom who needs to get a life found booze under front seat. $3,700/offer. Call meanest mom on the planet."
Steven said it was a friend who left the booze in the car not him. Tough luck I say. Mom and her son received offers to do a show from Good Morning America, Oprah Winfrey, and Ellen DeGeneres.
And while Mom likes Oprah, Steven loves Ellen, and Mom was inclined to give this one to her son, considering she had taken away his car and all.
They were going back to Iowa to sort it all out, and were unreachable yesterday.
All of which proved one thing: America needed this. Oh boy, did we need this kind of tough love, the kind that says, "I am not your friend. I am your mother. Eat your peas. Now."
They were going back to Iowa to sort it all out, and were unreachable yesterday.
All of which proved one thing: America needed this. Oh boy, did we need this kind of tough love, the kind that says, "I am not your friend. I am your mother. Eat your peas. Now."
The mom was perfectly with in her rights to sell the car because she bought it for him to begin with at Thanksgiving time, and set forh two rules. No Booze, and Keep It Locked.
In the market for a new boat?
You could take Saddam Hussein's old 256 footer out and kick the tires....
....If you have an extra $34 million to splurge that is.
But hey, it has "bulletproof glass, closed-circuit television, storage space for a large cache of weapons, including heavy machine guns and surface-to-air missiles, and a secret passage that runs the length of the boat for easy access to a fast patrol boat and a mini-submarine pod for emergency exits."
Protecting Your Electronic Equipment
Recently I answered a post on one of the many forums I haunt for a person who had computer problems after a power failure. The person wanted to know why his surge protection had failed, and what kind to replace it with.
Because I spent most of my life working in electronic equipment repair (I'm retired now) I have seen tons of damage done either by poor or worn out surge protection, or the lack any surge protection to start with. For what it's worth I'll repeat the information I posted on selecting a surge suppressor.
Unless you are going to spend a lot of money, like over $100, your surge suppressor will most likely be what is known as the MOV (metal oxide varistor) variety of protection. If you pay less than $10 it's still uses MOVs, but probably poor 1-way protection. More on types of MOV protection later.
Some people erroneously think all power strips are surge protectors. Unless the UL label says "transient voltage surge suppressor" the UL rating is there only to rate them for their performance as an extension cord. If there is no UL label at all it's likely junk regardless of what else the package says, so don't buy it. However the UL label only means that the item has been rated to meet minimum standards.
All MOV surge protectors have three ratings, clamping voltage, energy absorption and response time. All of these ratings are very important to protecting your electronic equipment.
Clamping voltage - This tells you the voltage at which the MOVs kick in to conduct electricity, shunting it away from your equipment. In power strips there are three UL ratings for clamping voltages. These are 330V, 400V and 500V, with 330V being the best. Because this is the voltage that the MOV clamps at, it is also the voltage that will be allowed through to your connected equipment until the surge passes.
Keep in mind that your nominal 120 volt AC house current is measured as a RMS (root mean square) voltage. The actual peak of the constantly changing AC voltage, which is the important factor here, is substantially higher around 170V, and somewhat closer to the clamping voltage of a 330V MOV. Modern switch-mode power supplies in todays electronic equipment will compensate spontaneously to this temporary increase allowed by the MOV, protecting the delicate circuits they supply.
Energy absorption - How much energy in joules (watt seconds) the surge protector will absorb before it fails. The higher the number here the better, but it should be at least 400. I would recommend at least 600 or more. Higher energy absorption surge suppressors either have physically larger MOVs or multiple MOVs wired in parallel.
Response time - There is a slight delay as an MOV responds, or begins to shunt to the power surge. This rating is in nanoseconds or picoseconds. Look for one with a response time of < 1 nanosecond (billionth) or better yet picoseconds (trillionths). The longer this delay the longer your equipment will be exposed to the full unclamped the surge.
Another very important factor to look for is the type of protection. You may have read packages that say 2-way or 3-way surge protection (if it doesn't say it's probably only the minimum 1-way protection). If this sounds confusing, it simply means how many ways the incoming power lines are protected, and is also a factor in price. Chances are if it's less that $10 it is only 1-way low energy absorption protection. Still 1-way is better than none.
1 way (Hot to Neutral) - Good
2 way (Hot to Neutral, Hot to Ground) - Better
3 way (Hot to Neutral, Hot to Ground, Neutral to Ground) - Best
MOV surge suppressors have a finite lifetime and will always wear out. When is determined by how many, and how large the surges are that your surge suppressor is exposed to. Generally you will not know when they wear out unless they short, which commonly only happens from lightening damage. Your equipment will still work after they wear out, but you just no longer have any protection. As a rule of thumb the higher the joules (energy absorption) rating the longer the surge protector will last. At any rate it's a good idea to replace MOV type surge suppressors every few years.
Most people know better, but I have seen some people use those three prong adapters. They are mostly used by people in older homes not up to code, but don't use them. Using one will open up the ground, effectively removing the all surge protection from the circuit. Fastening the wire coming out of the adapter under the outlet plate screw won't help because the screw often either isn't grounded properly, or worse, is made of PVC or some other material that is either a poor or non-conducting material.
The UNunited Nations
I recently ran across a blogger with a great writing style and keen knowledge of UN history. It isn't that i deny that the UN has done good in the world, it has, but to see the good without considering the other side of the scale is an abstraction to reality. A view that makes excuses for Despots, gives money and aid to our enemies, allow our country's image to be muddied, and generally promote socialism.
Although I've excerpted a fairly large piece it's just a small portion of this sagely written post. Please read the whole thing right here.
Every government – not country - chose its representatives at the UN, and each of course chose its aristocrats. The Western nations sent their intellectuals, the communist nations sent their secret police, and the poor countries sent educated members of whatever organized crime families were currently ruling the nation. It sounds like a lead-in to a joke: An intellectual, a 3rd-world crime boss, and a KGB officer walk into a bar… But it was no joke. We now know that the Soviet legations were not merely “infiltrated by” or even “riddled with” KGB agents, but were composed entirely of such agents.
The people of Russia or China were never represented – the governments were. The people of Ghana, Guyana, and New Guinea were never represented – their governments, formed entirely of ruling castes – went to Turtle Bay. Even in the democratic nations there was a certain “type” who went to the UN: Dag Hammarskjold* was the son of a prime minister, from a family which had directly served the Swedish crown since the 17th Century. He had taken graduate degrees in political subjects, then gone to work in government.
....
The non-aligned nations sent people like Kofi Annan, smooth-talking members of corrupt ruling families eager to get in on some international money action. The UN is not only imperfectly democratic, it is anti-democratic. Under the guise of giving every nation, no matter how poor and weak, a vote in the world’s governance, it is actually a force for giving every aristocracy, no matter how evilly chosen, international power. Even if it were the United Less-Than-Half-Insane Nations the aristocracy issue would still be a problem. Heck, Even the United Sensible Nations would have that problem.
Because - even the Sensible Nations sent too many people with that 1939World of Tomorrow outlook on life. The UN is to international relations as air cars and bubble cities are to science. What all the smart people predicted turned out to be not completely untrue, but far enough off the mark as to be ridiculous. The UN is the government we imagined The Jetsons would have.
Thus, one group went to the UN with the goal of teaching the peoples of the world how to be sensible, one group sent the secret police, and the third came to find the line where the dollars were. What do we expect to happen in such a situation?
Exactly what did happen. Europe and North America thought that public relations meant getting the word out what great ideas they had, and giving people stuff. The Soviets played a deeper public relations game, exploiting regional hatreds to turn people against the US. Romanian secret police defector Ion Mihai Pacepa revealed that it had been specific Eastern Bloc policy to incite Arabs against the US by sponsoring resolutions against Israel, incite African sentiment against the US by sponsoring resolutions against South Africa, and siding with all post-colonial governments regardless of ideology in order to highlight disparities of wealth.
Now the UN resolutions I suggested you read up on should come to mind. The UN docket has been taken up with exactly those three things for 60 years. That Russian strategy worked pretty well. Well enough that they even convinced the intellectuals of the Western nations. UN Resolutions over the years have been dominated by Israel, South Africa, and the plight of former colonies now ruled by kleptocrats. Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Cambodia, North Korea, vast slaughters in China, religious persecution in Arab countries – Historians will find no record of such things by studying the UN archives.
The people of Russia or China were never represented – the governments were. The people of Ghana, Guyana, and New Guinea were never represented – their governments, formed entirely of ruling castes – went to Turtle Bay. Even in the democratic nations there was a certain “type” who went to the UN: Dag Hammarskjold* was the son of a prime minister, from a family which had directly served the Swedish crown since the 17th Century. He had taken graduate degrees in political subjects, then gone to work in government.
....
The non-aligned nations sent people like Kofi Annan, smooth-talking members of corrupt ruling families eager to get in on some international money action. The UN is not only imperfectly democratic, it is anti-democratic. Under the guise of giving every nation, no matter how poor and weak, a vote in the world’s governance, it is actually a force for giving every aristocracy, no matter how evilly chosen, international power. Even if it were the United Less-Than-Half-Insane Nations the aristocracy issue would still be a problem. Heck, Even the United Sensible Nations would have that problem.
Because - even the Sensible Nations sent too many people with that 1939World of Tomorrow outlook on life. The UN is to international relations as air cars and bubble cities are to science. What all the smart people predicted turned out to be not completely untrue, but far enough off the mark as to be ridiculous. The UN is the government we imagined The Jetsons would have.
Thus, one group went to the UN with the goal of teaching the peoples of the world how to be sensible, one group sent the secret police, and the third came to find the line where the dollars were. What do we expect to happen in such a situation?
Exactly what did happen. Europe and North America thought that public relations meant getting the word out what great ideas they had, and giving people stuff. The Soviets played a deeper public relations game, exploiting regional hatreds to turn people against the US. Romanian secret police defector Ion Mihai Pacepa revealed that it had been specific Eastern Bloc policy to incite Arabs against the US by sponsoring resolutions against Israel, incite African sentiment against the US by sponsoring resolutions against South Africa, and siding with all post-colonial governments regardless of ideology in order to highlight disparities of wealth.
Now the UN resolutions I suggested you read up on should come to mind. The UN docket has been taken up with exactly those three things for 60 years. That Russian strategy worked pretty well. Well enough that they even convinced the intellectuals of the Western nations. UN Resolutions over the years have been dominated by Israel, South Africa, and the plight of former colonies now ruled by kleptocrats. Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Cambodia, North Korea, vast slaughters in China, religious persecution in Arab countries – Historians will find no record of such things by studying the UN archives.
Source: The Assistant Village Idiot
The Hero's Journey comes around, once again
This article was written by, Warren "Bones" Bonesteel, posted at his request!
Please feel free to share this with our mutual friends and acquaintances. Also feel free to share this with those who are ready to take the next step in their very own 'Hero's Journey.'
The cycle of The Hero's Journey comes around, once again.
The End of the 'Beginning.'
Part One.
Keep well in mind that each one of us first embarked upon our own Hero's Journey at the very moment of conception within our mother's wombs. As we mature physically, mentally and emotionally, however, most people repeatedly refuse or ignore the "Call to Adventure," thereby losing the opportunity to grow, to learn, and to change the world for the better for all of us. Some few among us do, finally, accept that Call. Most of those who do accept that Call are seldom known by their peers, especially in their own lifetimes. Instead, once they have accepted that Call to Adventure, they effectively have no more peers. At first, you, as Hero, will truly learn what it means to be alone in a crowd. In the end, you will learn that there is no such thing as loneliness. There is only peace.
Within the context of our personal Heroes' Journeys, we are, or can become, the Mentor in someone else's Journey. We can also be the Trickster, the Gatekeeper, the Goddess, the Ally or one among many other archetypes. Thus, without other people, even our former peers and those who've refused the Call to Adventure, the completion of each of our personal and individual Hero's Journeys is endangered. We absolutely need one another in order to become capable of completing our Journeys and then returning with the 'boon' that will benefit others.
From the outside, or even from the 'inside,' The Hero's Journey doesn't always end with the Hero living happily ever after...or even being known or acknowledged as a "Hero." In many stories, the "Hero" is never known by other characters as having contributed anything to society, although, within the context of the story, he may have saved and/or transformed their very lives. In fact, once you read enough of those stories, you'll find that most "Heroes" in most stories never had a normal or 'happy' life to begin with. No matter their social status, they were usually dissatisfied or disillusioned with their 'normal' lives and/or with their 'normal' cultures and societies, if, indeed, they were not previously abused by them.
In most Hero's Journeys, at the very end, a 'sacrifice' must often be made. This often means that the Heroes, themselves, will die a natural or supra-natural death. This is often a death in combat or some other type of struggle, ala Achilles, Socrates, etc., or an undignified death at the hands of the Hero's enemies, in which his/her enemies succeed only in defeating themselves. The movie, "Braveheart," offers a telling example of the latter. In the end, even death has no victory over the "Hero." Death holds no fear for him. He or she has literally and/or preternaturally transcended death. At that point, the Hero will have learned no more or less than what all of the wisest of mankind's Avatars have tried to teach us for thousands of years.
On the plus side, the Hero becomes capable of doing things that most people only ever dream of, at best. He leads a rich, fulfilling, interesting, even adventurous, if often dangerous, life. He is no longer of this world and the world is no longer in him. In the end, his own life experiences, knowledge, education, wisdom and insight far exceed those of his former peers. In the end, for the Hero, the Veil between this world and the next becomes transparent.
Had he refused The Call to Adventure, had he chosen safety over the unknown, or the familiar over the strange, the Hero would have never known the opportunity to grow, to learn, to overcome his own limitations, and then, at last, to share what he has learned with others.
Part Two.
In years past, several good men and women were my own mentors, gatekeepers , advisors, supporters and counselors. Among several of those who absolutely changed my own life were George, John, and Rodger. (Ruth Ann has been my metaphorical "Goddess." Without the "mystical weapon" which she provided, this last cycle of my own Journey could not have been well-begun, let alone complete...)
Most of those men and women, my own Mentors, are now gone, having 'sacrificed' themselves for the sake of others. In an almost mystical fashion, the accounts of the final moments of each of them are nearly identical. In the end, they each and every one left this world with a final gesture, a small movement or wave of the hand, seeming to offer blessing or peace and comfort to others, then, quietly closing their eyes, they left this world behind. In my own mind, they are, each one of them, Men and Women who stand among the pantheons of the world's greatest Heroes. Without regard to time or effort, t.hey changed the lives of many others for the better. Few among men remember their names. Few among men will ever know of them. They are the men and women who helped to transform my own life, for the better. Unacknowledged and often despised by their peers and their 'betters,' they changed the world for all time to come, for all of us. They were my own Mentors. Among those who issued me my own "Call to Adventure," they are, were, and remain, my personal Heroes.
As with nearly all Hero's Journeys, in time, the Mentors in my life left me, the Hero in my own Journey, much too soon. Why didn't they 'take better care of themselves?' Why didn't they do 'this' or 'that' or the 'other?' At the time, the answers to those questions were, to me, incomprehensible. A conundrum! An enigma! I was lost without them, the best among men, my Mentors! How could I ever survive without them? Now, I know the answer; at least, in part.
Their own lives were constrained by their own Hero's Journey. In retrospect; and having spent many hours and days with them, I learned that their own lives were subject to a similar 'fate' as my own. Many things that other people simply take for granted were not even a part of their "decision tree." Any alternative to what these Heroes did in life was unthinkable or else simply unavailable to them. The 'mission' of the Hero, or Hero as Mentor, is never about himself or even about what he wants, needs or desires. Such selfish needs and desires, especially those of his former peers, are nearly incomprehensible to him.
The Mentor also knows that sacrifice is necessary. In time, the Hero also learns this Truth. Indeed, the word 'sacrifice' no longer has any meaning to the Hero or to the Mentor. Suffering is no longer suffering. Sacrifice is no longer sacrifice. Giving is no longer considered to be 'taking' something from one's self. At the very end of his Journey, the 'normal' world is no longer a place where the Hero (or the Hero as Mentor) is comfortable. The world, his previous 'normal' life, is no longer comfortable with him. Plus, in all Hero's Journeys, the Mentor must eventually leave, or else the Hero whom he has mentored in his turn, will never grow, learn, and then transform the world as he himself has been transformed.
As some of you may have noticed, over the last few months, my own cognitive functions are failing me. My communications with most of you have completely stopped or else become short comments attached to larger 'cut and pastes.' Such communications as the one you now read no longer take minutes of my time. They require hours upon hours of intense effort. This one has taken more than sixteen hours, with numerous 'breaks.' My short and long term memory has also begun to fail. (How many times have I asked you to repeat something that you've just said? Not that I couldn't hear, but because I couldn't remember, let alone focus upon what you'd just told me.) In any case, my cognitive functions are not what they were even a year ago. My physical health has diminished and with each day that passes, additional signs of such failing health are revealed to me. Getting out of bed has become a physical, painful struggle. If I walk a mere forty or fifty feet, I must then rest and catch my breath. Sitting at the computer has become a physically wearying process. Eating a decent meal has even become tiring. I also find that I must lay down and 'rest' several times during the day. Although physical pain has become a constant companion, at present, it is nothing more than many little pains added together, which is .distracting, at best. ;O)
So, although I'm not an old man; for me, what others would call a premature death is now almost assured. A few weeks or months, or possibly a couple of years longer, and I must leave you. The final climax of my own Hero's 'Great Cycle' approaches. At this point in my life, I have few regrets. Those few regrets that I still harbor are often a torment to me, even knowing that objective hindsight reveals that I could have acted no differently with the resources available to me during the periods in question. Indeed, many avenues of action that others take for granted were closed to me. In short, my life has been chock-full of unsolvable paradoxes and catch-22s. The Hero's Journey is often more like that than not, really. If this were not true, the Hero would never become transformed into the man or woman they eventually become; an individual capable of transforming not only himself or herself, but capable of transforming the world around them, with the lone caveat, "Let those with ears to hear, hear."
For me, the Veil between this world and the next is literally becoming transparent.
Part Three.
Although, in some ways, I am like a little kid who wants to 'stay up late' just to see what happens next in this ol' world, my curiosity about what's 'on the other side' has been growing for quite some time. I have also well-learned that this present world is, indeed, Maya. An Illusion. The 'scroll of heaven,' unrolled. A very fine-grained simulation or virtual reality, if you will. I think that I am, at long last, almost ready to experience True Reality. A place beyond our present considerations of power. A place beyond deception, corruption and self-interest. A place beyond danger, fear or temptation. So, in the end, no matter his life or death, heaven, or paradise, if you will, always awaits the Hero.
For me, my time among you is growing short. For those who have relied upon my own meager and inadequate attempts to Mentor and Counsel and Advise, you must gather your strength and take the next step in your own Hero's Journey. Some things I have not yet shared, for you are not ready for them. Others, you will have to learn for yourselves, in any case. There are some things that no one else can teach you. They are things which can only be learned, not taught. Other 'lessons' have been beyond any ability of mine to properly convey. There are many things which you, in your turn, will learn and discover that would never have crossed my mind. As similar as each of our Journeys are, they are never exactly the same. Each one of us is different. Each of us is unique and special. We each have an ability, a talent, a gift, an insight that no other can offer. If you accept the Call to Adventure, in time, you will learn what your true gifts are. Then, and only then, others will be drawn to you, as you will be drawn to them, to Mentor and to be Mentored.
You have all been my Mentors, my Allies, my 'Goddesses,' and even my friendly - or not so friendly - Tricksters. Without each one of you, my own Journey could never have been complete. For this, I am sincerely grateful for your time and consideration as well as for your patience. Whether you know it or not, I have learned much more from you than I was ever able to teach.
Here, near the end of my own physical Journey, constrained by my personal 'destiny' and the patth that I, alone, must walk, and looking beyond this present life, the only question that remains is: "Which way lies perfect freedom?" or, more aptly phrased, "How do I complete the delivery of the 'boon/elixir' in the most effective manner possible?" 'Self-Sacrifice' and/or an inglorious death at the hands of my enemies? or preternatural peace? Either way, I still 'win. Either way, so do you. In the end, whatever the rest of the world might say or think or do, whatever the outward appearances or the 'spin,' the true Hero never, ever loses.
The viral memes and narratives that I've worked on - daily, for two months shy of seven years - are now beyond anyone's control. They will continue to grow and to spread. In most respects, those memes and narratives never had my name attached to them. They never did. I freely gave of what was freely given to me. Most of the people with whom I've interacted over the last seven years are not even aware that they have been 'infected.' Thus, a new Journey for humanity has begun. My own mission in life has, finally, been accomplished. I'm kinda excited about that. My next 'mission' should be very intriguing, and, perhaps, even challenging. I'm looking forward to it. My own, personal, Jubilee is almost here.
Life, you see, is only the beginning.
I am the whisper on the wind.
The fire in your soul,
I, the will that cannot bend.
Unquenchable coal,
I'm the blaze of freedom's mend.
S.
Warren "Bones" Bonesteel
Author and Researcher
Sgt USMC 1976-1983
55 Crestview Drive Rapid City, SD 57701
(605) 348-2830
wrsteel@blackhawke.net
Please feel free to share this with our mutual friends and acquaintances. Also feel free to share this with those who are ready to take the next step in their very own 'Hero's Journey.'
The cycle of The Hero's Journey comes around, once again.
The End of the 'Beginning.'
Part One.
Keep well in mind that each one of us first embarked upon our own Hero's Journey at the very moment of conception within our mother's wombs. As we mature physically, mentally and emotionally, however, most people repeatedly refuse or ignore the "Call to Adventure," thereby losing the opportunity to grow, to learn, and to change the world for the better for all of us. Some few among us do, finally, accept that Call. Most of those who do accept that Call are seldom known by their peers, especially in their own lifetimes. Instead, once they have accepted that Call to Adventure, they effectively have no more peers. At first, you, as Hero, will truly learn what it means to be alone in a crowd. In the end, you will learn that there is no such thing as loneliness. There is only peace.
Within the context of our personal Heroes' Journeys, we are, or can become, the Mentor in someone else's Journey. We can also be the Trickster, the Gatekeeper, the Goddess, the Ally or one among many other archetypes. Thus, without other people, even our former peers and those who've refused the Call to Adventure, the completion of each of our personal and individual Hero's Journeys is endangered. We absolutely need one another in order to become capable of completing our Journeys and then returning with the 'boon' that will benefit others.
From the outside, or even from the 'inside,' The Hero's Journey doesn't always end with the Hero living happily ever after...or even being known or acknowledged as a "Hero." In many stories, the "Hero" is never known by other characters as having contributed anything to society, although, within the context of the story, he may have saved and/or transformed their very lives. In fact, once you read enough of those stories, you'll find that most "Heroes" in most stories never had a normal or 'happy' life to begin with. No matter their social status, they were usually dissatisfied or disillusioned with their 'normal' lives and/or with their 'normal' cultures and societies, if, indeed, they were not previously abused by them.
In most Hero's Journeys, at the very end, a 'sacrifice' must often be made. This often means that the Heroes, themselves, will die a natural or supra-natural death. This is often a death in combat or some other type of struggle, ala Achilles, Socrates, etc., or an undignified death at the hands of the Hero's enemies, in which his/her enemies succeed only in defeating themselves. The movie, "Braveheart," offers a telling example of the latter. In the end, even death has no victory over the "Hero." Death holds no fear for him. He or she has literally and/or preternaturally transcended death. At that point, the Hero will have learned no more or less than what all of the wisest of mankind's Avatars have tried to teach us for thousands of years.
On the plus side, the Hero becomes capable of doing things that most people only ever dream of, at best. He leads a rich, fulfilling, interesting, even adventurous, if often dangerous, life. He is no longer of this world and the world is no longer in him. In the end, his own life experiences, knowledge, education, wisdom and insight far exceed those of his former peers. In the end, for the Hero, the Veil between this world and the next becomes transparent.
Had he refused The Call to Adventure, had he chosen safety over the unknown, or the familiar over the strange, the Hero would have never known the opportunity to grow, to learn, to overcome his own limitations, and then, at last, to share what he has learned with others.
Part Two.
In years past, several good men and women were my own mentors, gatekeepers , advisors, supporters and counselors. Among several of those who absolutely changed my own life were George, John, and Rodger. (Ruth Ann has been my metaphorical "Goddess." Without the "mystical weapon" which she provided, this last cycle of my own Journey could not have been well-begun, let alone complete...)
Most of those men and women, my own Mentors, are now gone, having 'sacrificed' themselves for the sake of others. In an almost mystical fashion, the accounts of the final moments of each of them are nearly identical. In the end, they each and every one left this world with a final gesture, a small movement or wave of the hand, seeming to offer blessing or peace and comfort to others, then, quietly closing their eyes, they left this world behind. In my own mind, they are, each one of them, Men and Women who stand among the pantheons of the world's greatest Heroes. Without regard to time or effort, t.hey changed the lives of many others for the better. Few among men remember their names. Few among men will ever know of them. They are the men and women who helped to transform my own life, for the better. Unacknowledged and often despised by their peers and their 'betters,' they changed the world for all time to come, for all of us. They were my own Mentors. Among those who issued me my own "Call to Adventure," they are, were, and remain, my personal Heroes.
As with nearly all Hero's Journeys, in time, the Mentors in my life left me, the Hero in my own Journey, much too soon. Why didn't they 'take better care of themselves?' Why didn't they do 'this' or 'that' or the 'other?' At the time, the answers to those questions were, to me, incomprehensible. A conundrum! An enigma! I was lost without them, the best among men, my Mentors! How could I ever survive without them? Now, I know the answer; at least, in part.
Their own lives were constrained by their own Hero's Journey. In retrospect; and having spent many hours and days with them, I learned that their own lives were subject to a similar 'fate' as my own. Many things that other people simply take for granted were not even a part of their "decision tree." Any alternative to what these Heroes did in life was unthinkable or else simply unavailable to them. The 'mission' of the Hero, or Hero as Mentor, is never about himself or even about what he wants, needs or desires. Such selfish needs and desires, especially those of his former peers, are nearly incomprehensible to him.
The Mentor also knows that sacrifice is necessary. In time, the Hero also learns this Truth. Indeed, the word 'sacrifice' no longer has any meaning to the Hero or to the Mentor. Suffering is no longer suffering. Sacrifice is no longer sacrifice. Giving is no longer considered to be 'taking' something from one's self. At the very end of his Journey, the 'normal' world is no longer a place where the Hero (or the Hero as Mentor) is comfortable. The world, his previous 'normal' life, is no longer comfortable with him. Plus, in all Hero's Journeys, the Mentor must eventually leave, or else the Hero whom he has mentored in his turn, will never grow, learn, and then transform the world as he himself has been transformed.
As some of you may have noticed, over the last few months, my own cognitive functions are failing me. My communications with most of you have completely stopped or else become short comments attached to larger 'cut and pastes.' Such communications as the one you now read no longer take minutes of my time. They require hours upon hours of intense effort. This one has taken more than sixteen hours, with numerous 'breaks.' My short and long term memory has also begun to fail. (How many times have I asked you to repeat something that you've just said? Not that I couldn't hear, but because I couldn't remember, let alone focus upon what you'd just told me.) In any case, my cognitive functions are not what they were even a year ago. My physical health has diminished and with each day that passes, additional signs of such failing health are revealed to me. Getting out of bed has become a physical, painful struggle. If I walk a mere forty or fifty feet, I must then rest and catch my breath. Sitting at the computer has become a physically wearying process. Eating a decent meal has even become tiring. I also find that I must lay down and 'rest' several times during the day. Although physical pain has become a constant companion, at present, it is nothing more than many little pains added together, which is .distracting, at best. ;O)
So, although I'm not an old man; for me, what others would call a premature death is now almost assured. A few weeks or months, or possibly a couple of years longer, and I must leave you. The final climax of my own Hero's 'Great Cycle' approaches. At this point in my life, I have few regrets. Those few regrets that I still harbor are often a torment to me, even knowing that objective hindsight reveals that I could have acted no differently with the resources available to me during the periods in question. Indeed, many avenues of action that others take for granted were closed to me. In short, my life has been chock-full of unsolvable paradoxes and catch-22s. The Hero's Journey is often more like that than not, really. If this were not true, the Hero would never become transformed into the man or woman they eventually become; an individual capable of transforming not only himself or herself, but capable of transforming the world around them, with the lone caveat, "Let those with ears to hear, hear."
For me, the Veil between this world and the next is literally becoming transparent.
Part Three.
Although, in some ways, I am like a little kid who wants to 'stay up late' just to see what happens next in this ol' world, my curiosity about what's 'on the other side' has been growing for quite some time. I have also well-learned that this present world is, indeed, Maya. An Illusion. The 'scroll of heaven,' unrolled. A very fine-grained simulation or virtual reality, if you will. I think that I am, at long last, almost ready to experience True Reality. A place beyond our present considerations of power. A place beyond deception, corruption and self-interest. A place beyond danger, fear or temptation. So, in the end, no matter his life or death, heaven, or paradise, if you will, always awaits the Hero.
For me, my time among you is growing short. For those who have relied upon my own meager and inadequate attempts to Mentor and Counsel and Advise, you must gather your strength and take the next step in your own Hero's Journey. Some things I have not yet shared, for you are not ready for them. Others, you will have to learn for yourselves, in any case. There are some things that no one else can teach you. They are things which can only be learned, not taught. Other 'lessons' have been beyond any ability of mine to properly convey. There are many things which you, in your turn, will learn and discover that would never have crossed my mind. As similar as each of our Journeys are, they are never exactly the same. Each one of us is different. Each of us is unique and special. We each have an ability, a talent, a gift, an insight that no other can offer. If you accept the Call to Adventure, in time, you will learn what your true gifts are. Then, and only then, others will be drawn to you, as you will be drawn to them, to Mentor and to be Mentored.
You have all been my Mentors, my Allies, my 'Goddesses,' and even my friendly - or not so friendly - Tricksters. Without each one of you, my own Journey could never have been complete. For this, I am sincerely grateful for your time and consideration as well as for your patience. Whether you know it or not, I have learned much more from you than I was ever able to teach.
Here, near the end of my own physical Journey, constrained by my personal 'destiny' and the patth that I, alone, must walk, and looking beyond this present life, the only question that remains is: "Which way lies perfect freedom?" or, more aptly phrased, "How do I complete the delivery of the 'boon/elixir' in the most effective manner possible?" 'Self-Sacrifice' and/or an inglorious death at the hands of my enemies? or preternatural peace? Either way, I still 'win. Either way, so do you. In the end, whatever the rest of the world might say or think or do, whatever the outward appearances or the 'spin,' the true Hero never, ever loses.
The viral memes and narratives that I've worked on - daily, for two months shy of seven years - are now beyond anyone's control. They will continue to grow and to spread. In most respects, those memes and narratives never had my name attached to them. They never did. I freely gave of what was freely given to me. Most of the people with whom I've interacted over the last seven years are not even aware that they have been 'infected.' Thus, a new Journey for humanity has begun. My own mission in life has, finally, been accomplished. I'm kinda excited about that. My next 'mission' should be very intriguing, and, perhaps, even challenging. I'm looking forward to it. My own, personal, Jubilee is almost here.
Life, you see, is only the beginning.
I am the whisper on the wind.
The fire in your soul,
I, the will that cannot bend.
Unquenchable coal,
I'm the blaze of freedom's mend.
S.
Warren "Bones" Bonesteel
Author and Researcher
Sgt USMC 1976-1983
55 Crestview Drive Rapid City, SD 57701
(605) 348-2830
wrsteel@blackhawke.net