I have to confess:  I never knew what a sockpuppet was, and I’ve never practiced it myself – until this past week.

I read and sometimes comment (usually as N=1) on the Daily Nightly blog hosted by Brian Williams and containing the posts of correspondents, news writers, producers and Williams.  Sometime during the summer, Williams got tired of me complaining about the failure of NBC News to disclose conflicts of interest, and when I really complained about Russert’s testimony during the Libby trial, he (or whoever moderates his blog) stopped publishing my comments.  So I occasionally saved and pasted them on my own blog, just so others can determine whether I was making sense.

Last week, Williams was dancing on the ceiling about hosting Saturday Night Live. Remember last wek?  Democratic presidential candidate debate hosted by – Williams and Russert?  Wonder why the questions were distorted and focused on UFPs instead of Constitutional crises and unlimited executive power grabs?  Uh huh – all niters prepping for SNL.  So knowing that my comments wouldn’t be published under my known pseudonym, I became “Len”.  And here, for your reading pleasure – or emetic/laxative, depending on your need or gag factor, is the resulting post with comment section.

I deleted the draft due to the inability to preserve publishing rights, and I thnk those of you who have critiqued and commented.

There doesn’t seem to be any way to reserve full rights here, so I’ve pulled the drafts, but left your comments.  Thanks to those who read, critiqued and commented.

John Carr, the former president of NATCA (National Air Traffic Controllers Association), writes a thriller of a blog called The Main Bang.  You can only read it when you are next to an immediate fire suppression rescue device as your hair will spontaneously combust from all of the FAA transgressions against the controllers and the safety of the flying public.

Yesterday, John and his faithful commenters took on this a new Bushco War OF Terror TM threat:

Now it seems you can have real time flight tracking on virtual radar in your office, home, workplace, or, God forbid, a pickup truck full of Osama’s buddies toting shoulder fired missiles—for the low, low price of only $899.

Crossposted from To Us.  Permission to use noncommercially with attribution. For faster response to questions please email me at aek2013 at columbia dot edu.

Northeastern University hosted retired Central Command General John Abizaid to speak to its Middle East Center for Peace, Culture, and Development students about the U.S. and the Middle East this morning. The public was also invited, and I think I may have been the sole representative of that element of the audience.

General Abizaid, a Colorado Rockies fan, apologized for competing with the Red Sox homecoming parade.

However, the NU Middle East Center host, Professor Denis Sullivan, let him know that his presentation would end in plenty of time to take in the festivities.

Northeastern’s President Joseph Aoun, a professor of linguistics, introduced General Abizaid with this intriguing proposition: America is unique in being “hyphenated”.  People can be Arab-Americans, Latino-Americans, African-Americans, etc., and in America, this enrichment thrives and cultural and ethnic heritage celebrated and valued, instead of the enforced assimilation that occurs in other countries policies toward their immigrants.

Were that it was so.  President Ayoub has not perhaps lived in homogeneous communities in the South or Midwest, for example, where immigrants are not only not rewarded for cultural pride and immersion, but are discriminated for it.  However, I digress, and this optimism is not a bad thing.

General Abizaid had spent time introducing himself to the students beforehand, and he opened by acknowledging them, ROTC members, active military and Northeastern community audience members in attendance. He was comfortable in front of this audience, and he was at home and in command of his message at all times.

(Crossposted from To Us.  Permission to use noncommercially with attribution. I have very limited public access computer time, so if you desire a response, please email me at aek2013 at columbia dot edu for a quicker reply.)

A novice to jazz, I attended the NEC’s tribute to George Russell with an all Russell composition performance.  I plunked down in a seat on the aisle in the middle of the hall.

The students, all dressed in beat-wannabe black, clomped on stage, but the pianist was smiling a genuine toothy smile, and he didn’t appear to be any student!  Bradley Hatfield was “subbing” for the scheduled pianist.

And then the music started and I was blown away – literally – by the amped up volume, but also by the must-move beat and rhythms.

Just behind me, a tremulous voice was offering some syncopated running commentary.  Very pointed and informed commentary.

TPM Muckraker wasn’t interested in my hot news tip, so you get the goods.

Keeping it all in the family:

Jeb and George W. Bush have been good for the brothers Agwunobi.

Crossposted from To Us All.  Permission NOT granted to use at this time without express author’s consent.

I’m working on a novel outline for this year’s National Novel Writing Month: NaNoWriMo.

Something wicked this way comes. A synopsis of the plot I’m working on:

The snow crunches underfoot, and it yields to a soft underlayment, glistening with mystery as the moon parlays its reflected sheen on the infinite sparkling frosty desert.

An aroma of universal home wafts through the swaying branches of pine, of spruce and of arborvitae. Pungent, yet gentle, it speaks to timelessness, of shelter, of contemplation. Those trees, in their conversations, tell the stories of the wind, of the light and shadow, and of all those who pass overhead and underneath the regal limbs.

This night, the deepening blueblack of the scrim reveals brilliant gems in their courses.
The moon conducts the symphony, and the celestial choir hums the chorus. Listen, ears pricked, and feel the song of songs. The trees sway in rhythm. Tapping bark tympanics applaud the performance.  The earth turns in time with the music to follow the melody.

Peering through the ferny pines are the night watchers.  Those with wings ruffle their rachis and tuck themselves into the tempo. Paws shuffle and legs dance with the harmonic pulsing. Fur rises and then settles in warm comforting envelopment of its bearer.

The lone observer encumbered by clothes to protect a vulnerable fur-less skin, gazes unseeing, but with listening ears, hearing feet, fingertips alive and perceiving the deep cold that doesn’t come from the air.  Hands curled and thrust deep in flannel-lined pockets, face turned to the moon, lost in the music, the pattern, the all, time wasn’t, and here was everywhere and nowhere.

Far to go, having far come, here at last.

Here at last.

Chewie is a French Alpine wether (that’s a neutered goat, for you non-Caprine readers). He is black and white, with perky ears and a propensity to do spontaneous arabesques and cabrioles when the feeling strikes.

He and his pal, Buddy, a soft brown and tiny-eared La Mancha wether, had been petting zoo goats, and when their summer in the sun was over, they had been sold to the first comer. After a stint being used to clear brush from fields, the owner no longer wanted either of them, and so they landed at a farm to live with horses, miniature horses, chickens and several pygmy goats.

(Some old stories – with FD in mind.)

Dancing Bear is a little mahogany bundle of soft fur, a curly tail, and no eyes.

One was never developed at birth, and the other was left untreated by its owner, who was disgusted that the little dog wasn’t going to be sale able. She took him away from his mother a few weeks too early and left him outside, hoping that he would die out of sight and definitely out of mind.

However, the fates intervened, and the little underfed puppy finally landed in a safe place with a person who loved to hug and cuddle the little bit of fluff and fur.

I’m now a week away from ….I don’t know – nothingness might be an apt word.

So this last bit of blogging is essentially risk-free and somewhat liberating, as lasthorsestanding remarked on another thread. My other life – the one where I had a home, an occupation and a “normal life” – is one you might find of interest, and how it led to today, where I have nothing and no one, and where there is no future except no future.

Several years ago, I was house-hunting for a small country place in which to be able to keep my two horses.