Nope, not Rachel Ray. She’s sort of the antithesis of the Rachel who has really impressed me recently. Rachel Maddow, who has her own program on Air America, and has been on MSNBC’s Countdown as a political analyst, recently has stood in for usual host, Keith Olbermann (who, by the way is the one man with whom I’d like to be stranded on a deserted island.)
Maddow has the presence and the personality of a true news media star. She’s brilliant, articulate, appealing, confident, and down-to-earth. She’s also openly gay, and the way she presents herself visually reflects that fact in a very professional way. She has developed her own female — but not particularly feminine — style, and it works.
I suppose, if I had to be stranded on a deserted island with a lesbian, I’d just as soon it be Rachel Maddow.
The title of this post is an ineffectual parody of the Crew Cuts “Sh-boom.”
The point is that I’m singing the praises of T. Boone Pickens, whose ad I caught during some television show. I think maybe it was during Countdown tonight. I wrote down his website url, and I’m blown away. Well I probably would actually be blown away if I ever made it out to his wind farm.
PIckens has been an oil man all of his life, and he has come up with a plan to create a renewable energy network so that this country can break its dependence on foreign oil. It’s all there in his Pickens Plan, which includes the following statements:
America uses a lot of oil. Every day 85 million barrels of oil are produced around the world. And 21 million of those are used here in the United States.
That’s 25% of the world’s oil demand. Used by just 4% of the world’s population.
Can’t we just produce more oil?
World oil production peaked in 2005. Despite growing demand and an unprecedented increase in prices, oil production has fallen over the last three years. Oil is getting more expensive to produce, harder to find and there just isn’t enough of it to keep up with demand.
The simple truth is that cheap and easy oil is gone.
What’s the good news?
The United States is the Saudi Arabia of wind power.
Studies from around the world show that the Great Plains states are home to the greatest wind energy potential in the world — by far.
The Department of Energy reports that 20% of America’s electricity can come from wind. North Dakota alone has the potential to provide power for more than a quarter of the country.
Today’s wind turbines stand up to 410 feet tall, with blades that stretch 148 feet in length. The blades collect the wind’s kinetic energy. In one year, a 3-megawatt wind turbine produces as much energy as 12,000 barrels of imported oil.
Wind power currently accounts for 48 billion kWh of electricity a year in the United States — enough to serve more than 4.5 million households. That is still only about 1% of current demand, but the potential of wind is much greater.
So, the man’s got a plan, and he says:
Building new wind generation facilities and better utilizing our natural gas resources can replace more than one-third of our foreign oil imports in 10 years. But it will take leadership.
On January 20th, 2009, a new President will take office.
We’re organizing behind the Pickens Plan now to ensure our voices will be heard by the next administration.
Together we can raise a call for change and set a new course for America’s energy future in the first hundred days of the new presidency — breaking the hammerlock of foreign oil and building a new domestic energy future for America with a focus on sustainability.
You can start changing America’s future today by supporting the Pickens Plan. Join now.
If you go and read some of the comments in the forum, you learn things about Pickens that we liberals might have some problems with. On the other hand, at least he’s trying to organize a well-thought-out effort to convince whoever will be president that investing in building alternative energy sources is necessary for the economic health of this country.
Hmm. I wonder if there is someday going to be a way to convert my little suv’s engine to use natural gas or electricity. Probably not. I’m sure the auto industry wouldn’t want that to be an option. After all, the only other option would be to buy a new hybrid-of-some-sort car. And I won’t be able to afford that.
Hey nonny ding dong, alang alang alang (sh-boom)
Ba-doh, ba-doo ba-doodle-ay
Life could be a dream
Life could be a dream, sweetheart
For a while before his death in April 2008, non-blogger Myrln (aka W. A. Frankonis, i. frans nowak), posted here on Kalilily Time some kind of rant or other every Monday. Our daughter, who has salvaged his published, performed, and none-such writings, continues to send me some to post posthumously.
POEM WRITTEN IN THE CITY
OF LANDLOCKED PEOPLE WHO
THINK THAT OCEAN IS ONLY
A WORD AND SUN IS A BALL
FOR SUMMER SUMMERTIME FUN
(for mdf)
bobbing seaborne
on flashing flat planes
of sun’s bouncing image,
a single dory —
oars shipped and tucked
inside for keeping —
seems adrift and lost
from coves safety.
but horizon blocked,
navigator waits —
(dancing dolphins
side the gurgling surf
astride the swollen thighs
of seaweed waves…
…candy apples and taffy twists
and caramel is a candy) —
with sleeping eyes
and fingled breath
and hands for firmly guiding.
Actually, as much as the weeds around here need whacking, they’re not getting it. They are pretty much out of control. Weeds: plants considered undesirable, unattractive, or troublesome, especially one growing where it is not wanted,
It’s not just the weeds around here that are out of my control. I am still living under the tyranny of my mother’s growing dementia and dependence combined with my brother’s demoralizing rules and realities.
Not much freedom for me here, on this Independence Day.
Maybe I should go out and buy my own little weed whacker, vent my frustrations on that army of undesirables that are intruding over every path from the door to the world. Whack! Whack! Take that, you creepy things.
I did murder a whole bunch of Japanese Beetles today as they attempted an orgy on my tomato plant. Whack! Whack!
One can only hold in anger and frustration for so long. Yes, I think I need to go out and whack those weeds, clear a path, clear my head. I know that those weed whackers are pretty loud, loud enough to muffle the yelling I need to get out of my system.
Someday I will be able to celebrate a real personal Independence Day. Until then, I need to go out and get a weed whacker.
On Independence Day back in 2002 I blogged that there should be a “Interdependence Day,” and a commenter sent me to this page, where there is a Global Declaration of Interdependence, as follows:.
Preamble:
In acknowledgment of the many existing documents and efforts that promote peace, sustainability, global interconnectedness, reverence for life and unity, We, The World hereby offers the following Declaration of Interdependence as our guiding set of principles for moving forward into this new millennium. It is inspired by the Earth Charter, the essential values of which have been culled from the many peoples of the Earth.
Declaration/Pledge
We, the people of planet Earth,
In recognition of the interconnectedness of all life
And the importance of the balance of nature,
Hereby acknowledge our interdependence
And affirm our dedication
To life-serving environmental stewardship,
The fulfillment of universal human needs worldwide,
Economic and social well-being,
And a culture of peace and nonviolence,
To insure a sustainable and harmonious world
For present and future generations.
And tonight, as I watched part of New York City’s fireworks, I couldn’t help wondering how all of that money spent on fireworks all over this country could have instead been used for much more important and humanitarian purposes.
But rulers know how to pacify the people using bread and circuses, how to make them forget what the late George Carlin so eloquently reminded us about.
1984 — the year my dad passed away and the year that my son b!X acquired his first Macintosh.
I unearthed it from under the steps in my brother’s cellar today, padded khaki case covered with at least two and half years worth of cobwebs and twenty years worth of the dust it has accumulated as I’ve hauled it around through move after move. B!X long ago moved on to other parts of the country and other versions of the Mac.
I don’t know why I kept it. And I don’t want to have to lug it through one more move.
I can’t help wondering if it’s worth anything, this boxy Macintosh 128K.
I also can’t help wondering — if I kept it for another twenty years, would it be worth something then?
It’s astounding to realize that the damned thing cost close to $3000 back in 1984. My dad was a very generous man, both in life and in death.
The poem below by Billy Collins (one of Jim Culleny’s daily poetry emails) makes me sad and angry and wistful and hungry.
I’m not hungry for sweets. I surely eat enough of those.
Rather it’s a soul-deep hunger for the solitude to watch circles become salt, to reach for and conjure the words that make magic of metaphor.
And so I am angry that with each passing year I have had to move farther and farther from that place where destiny can be designed. And I am sad because those years can never be recovered. And I am wistful, finally, because that is what comes of and with age and the utter exhaustion of being someone else’s keeper.
Design
Billy Collins
I pour a coating of salt on the table
and make a circle in it with my finger.
This is the cycle of life
I say to no one.
This is the wheel of fortune,
the arctic circle.
This is the ring of Kerry
and the white rose of Tralee
I say to the ghosts of my family,
the dead fathers,
the aunt who drowned,
my unborn brothers and sisters,
my unborn children.
This is the sun with its glittering spokes
and the bitter moon.
This is the absolute circle of geometry
I say to the crack in the wall,
to the birds who cross the window.
This is the wheel I just invented
to roll through the rest of my life
I say
touching my finger to my tongue.
That’s been my ear worm for the past several days. The song is from the 1940s stage musical “Finian’s Rainbow.” — How Are Things in Glocca Morra?
When I hear that song, I am back in my little cocoon of a room where my asthma has me ensconced for days on end listening to the radio and playing with my endless supply of movie star paper dolls. The sun is shining through the sparkling window panes, opened just a bit to let in the fresh air. The room is filled with my breath and my music and an otherwise silence that negates any stress. My imagination takes me wherever I want to go, and the music on the radio is my magic carpet.
Even today, as the ear worm circles through my brain, somewhere deep inside me, I retreat into a safe, secluded place, where the sun shines through clear window panes and I am left to conjure a life of peace.
I haven’t seen anything appear through a search yet, but both Brian Williams and Keith Olbermann mentioned that, as the people gathered at the Kennedy Center to honor Tm Russert, a rainbow appeared over the NBC Washington Studios.
That is such a lovely and uplifting piece of synchronicity.
Not surprisingly, there are no rainbows over here in the mountains — just lots of thunder and rain and some kind of blight happening on my little “oasis in the wildnerness” garden. And I can’t take a photo of it to see if anyone knows what it is because I dropped my little camera while away the other weekend, and it broke. I bought a new little one but haven’t had the time to figure it all out yet or download the software.
Meanwhile, despite taking an antidepressant, my mom is having more frequent bouts of uncontrollable crying. She keeps asking for her husband, my dad, who passed away almost 25 years ago.
We are sitting at the table, and she is eating some spaghetti with a roasted sweet red pepper sauce that I make. She decided that she doesn’t like tomato sauce and she doesn’t like straight alfredo sauce, so I mix my pureed sweet roasted red peppers with a little alfredo, and she wolfs it down.
“Where are your children,” she asks.
“They live far away,” I answer. ” Where are yours?”
She looks at me and says, “I don’t know.”
I don’t know which is worse, Alzheimer’s or “old age” dementia. With Alzheimer’s you don’t realize that you’re not remembering. With dementia, you are torn apart by a sense that you can’t remember even though you want to.
I look back at my original blog, which I began in November of 2001. At that point, I was already taking care of my mom, living across the hall from her in a senior citizen apartment building. Even back then, when she wasn’t so bad yet, I was struggling to have some sort of life apart from caregiving. With each month that went by, I lost more and more of my own life.
I never thought that it would all go on for so long.
No wonder I’m burned out.
Already, newspapers and magazines (and soon TV programming) are encouraged to sell key words to advertisers – so-called “in-text advertising” – in the online versions of stories. Can you imagine advertisers going for stories with key words such as “health care reform,” “environmental degradation,” “Iraqi casualties,” “contracting fraud,” or “K Street lobbyists.” I don’t think so. So what will happen to news in the future as the already tattered boundaries between journalism and advertising is dispensed with entirely, as content, programming, commerce and online communities are rolled into one profitably attractive package? Last year the investment firm of Piper Jaffrey predicted that much of the business model for new media would be just that kind of hybrid. They called it “communitainment.”
Moyers also said great stuff like:
…this Administration – with the complicity of the dominant media – conducted a political propaganda campaign, using erroneous and misleading intelligence to deceive Americans into supporting an unprovoked attack on another country, leading to a war that instead of being “quick and bloodless” as predicted, continues to this day. (At least we now know that a neo-conservative is an arsonist who sets the house on fire and six years later boasts that no one can put it out.)
and
Democracy without honest information creates the illusion of popular consent while enhancing the power of the state and the privileged interests protected by it.
Democracy without accountability creates the illusion of popular control while offering ordinary Americans cheap tickets to the balcony, too far away to see that the public stage is just a reality TV set.
Nothing more characterizes corporate media today – mainstream and partisan – than disdain towards the fragile nature of modern life and indifference toward the complex social debate required of a free and self-governing people.
This leaves you with a heavy burden – it’s up to you to fight for the freedom that makes all other freedoms possible.
Be vigilant; the fate of the cyber commons is at stake here, the future of “the mobile web” and the benefits of the Internet as open architecture. We’ll lose without you: the only antidote to the power of organized money in Washington is the power of organized people at the netroots.
You can go to the FreePress site and read, listen to, or watch the whole amazing speech.
A couple of years ago, I agreed with Molly Ivins that Bill Moyers should be president. Maybe what he should be is Barack Obama’s Carl Rove.
It’s too bad that there isn’t a Corporation for Public Blogging (like the Corporation for Public Broadcasting). Maybe if there were, b!X would have been able to continue his city-based and well respected journalistic (but not economic) success, the Portland Communique.
Surely there must be some foundation or trillionaire somewhere who might want to give out grants to independent citizen blogger/journalists? I nominate b!X to be first on the list.
