Additionally, hosting the blog at my own domain enables me to customize the blog template I have been using so the appearance may change over time.

Be sure to change your bookmark, unless, that is, you’re happy to be rid of me.  I will be learning how to put together web pages and posting them as I go.

Saturday morning, early, I am off on my non-stop flight to  a month in Playa Baracoa.  I will be taking video and hope to post video reports.

Hasta la vitoria siempre

Yesterday I rented server space from a web hosting company and will be moving things to my own domain, as soon as I figure out how.   I’ll keep you five informed.

You’re So Right

• June 24th, 2007 at 1:17 pm · Edit

  Part III – Avian Passion Aside: No Means No

  “You, sir, are an anachronism. A stereotype. A figment of someone else’s imagination.”

  With real satisfaction I noted that, like clockwork, the mood change had come just as he drained his second box of Cabernet Classique. He wiped his chin with a tamale husk and turned to consider me more closely. This only redoubled my concentration on a point beyond the horizon.

  “You would be intensely annoying, if it were not for the fact that you don’t exist.” In leaning over to jab my chest with this thumb he kicked the shoeshine boy in the nose. The pathetic figure continued to buff while trying to stanch the flow from a nostril with a polish applicator. My companion tossed a coin in the street and pushed him roughly away. “That’s enough, get lost.”

  He was winding up for a four-alarm rant. I could scarcely conceal my delight. We had been at our usual table on the plaza for most of the afternoon. He had had me shift my chair several times to position my blistered pate between him and the sun and now it was beginning to drop behind the tiled rooftop of the Hotel Central.

  “I suppose it was the pigeon remark that brought this on.” I had to tread lightly, no sense goading him into using the ring.

  “I suppose it was the pigeon remark that brought this on.” He twisted his face into a nasty grimace and raised his voice to a squeal as he did a horrid impersonation of my newly acquired speech impediment. He belched loudly and called for another large box of red wine. “And I want it fresh. None of that old stuff.” He shouted after the retreating waiter.

  “I simply said that the males seem unusually aggressive. In light of the fact that the females are clearly not interested. They should take the hint.”

  “They should take the hint.” Again with the voice.

  “These are not your effete, politically correct, ‘By your leave, missy’ gringo birds!” I tried to imagine the smell of Listerine and failed.

  “These are unspoiled, hot-blooded, revolutionary LATIN pigeons. They see what they want and they take it! They part the feathers and have at it. Your pathetic rules of permissible behavior don’t apply here, Heloise!”

  “No need to get so upset. I only meant that in a civilized, sophisticated, democratic society…”

  “Oh? And where might that be?” You’re referring of course to that little banana republic just north of the border?” He cleared the table with broad sweep of his arm, held the wine over his head and made like a shopvac straight from the spigot.

  “That little republic, for all its shortcomings, is based on the rule of law…”

  “The law! That’s rich! You mean like the ‘law’ in Guantanamo? The Bay of Pigs ‘law’? The ‘law’ that contracted the Kennedy assassination? The ‘law’…

  “Oh, please. Not that Kennedy thing again.” This was going beautifully.

  “Yes, that Kennedy thing again. Do you deny that Kennedy was assassinated by Texas oil businesspersons concerned that he planned to end the Oil Depletion Allowance because he was acting to deneuter the Federal System, through issuance of Executive Order 11110?”

  “OK. So you have a problem with the current administration. The system is designed to deal with that. Checks and balances. How about some of the Democratic candidates? How about Hilary?”

  “Hilary? Don’t make me laugh. Hilary Clinton has gone through so many contortions trying to explain away her vote to authorize Bush’s Iraqi adventure and enunciate her current positions on the war I’m surprised she’s not in permanent traction. She will pander to just about any constituency to fulfill her desire to be president. Which in my book, qualifies her for immediate disqualification.”

  I resumed my serene consideration of the horizon.

  “Bahhhh. To hell with you. I gotta shit.” He threw up his hands in exasperation and started for the facilities. I glanced at the clock on the tower of the Bacilica Paris Hiltona Cathedral and noted it was exactly 5:19 pm. Say what you will about the man, he’s as regular as an atomic clock. Must be all that fresh fruit.

  The entire cantina staff arose and hustled to assist with robes and headdress as their benefactor shambled toward the WC, beads rattling, feathers wafting. My chance had come at last.

  Next Installment
  Part IV – The Condi Man Can

In case any of my five readers have missed the chronicles of “You’re So Right”, the master of Iconoflatulence, here are Parts I and II. I am eagerly awaiting Part III.

You’re So Right

Part I: I Can’t Place the Face, but the Odor is Familiar

As the shards of my shattered consciousness began to reassemble themselves, against my better judgment, like astigmatic quilt-makers on crack, I realized that it was pronounced “ha” as in hah not “ixla” as in Xalapa.

My vision cleared in brief bursts. Slowly, like one of those fifties movies where they played with the focus of the camera to simulate…well, someone’s vision clearing in brief bursts. When I finally came to, I really wished I hadn’t. Before me, squinting through clouds of acrid tobacco smoke at a wheezing laptop, muttering and chuckling as he hunted and pecked, sat a vision from hell. Not just any hell but a really bad hell, like living in the suburbs of a major American city . Or maybe having to sit through 24 hours of C-Span. Bad hell.

Hunt, peck. Peck, mutter, hunt. “Welcome back, sailor.”

With what, I am proud to say, considerable clinical detachment, I did a quick visual assessment of the abomination before me. Small, thin, dark as Cuban maduro with stringy matted hair the color of, say, the bilge from some steamer in Vera Cruz harbor. Arms like armadillos, feet covered in patent leather penny loafers. Awful. But the head. The head. So strangely distended under the massive pressure of a large granite boulder held in place by hemp and burlap. Sloping quickly back from the wrinkled forehead to form a shelf over the grizzled neck.

“I said welcome back, Kitty.” I realized he was talking to me.

“Where am I? Shit!” This is what I would like to have said. But, since I was incapable of speech just then, what I actually whined was “Whffffffarrach! Shisssht!”

I was unable to localize the pain with any certainty. It was mostly between my shoulders and my scalp, I knew that. It was like driving a 1972 Volkswagen behind a truck hauling sheep manure up a hill. You can’t go around it and you can’t stand the smell. Eventually, I realized that something had gone really wrong with my teeth.

“What’s the matter, not feeling so great?” The horrific demon before me continued hunched over the computer and distractedly worked at his left nostril with a mini-whisk, clearly vexed with some elusive turn of phrase on the screen before him.

“Whachadotobe?, you sonabamick!” I moaned.

“Oh, not much. Just a little pre-Columbian dental work. Thought I’d take care of it while you were still in dreamland.” He pulled luxuriously at his pulpy roach as the blue of the monitor reflected off his filthy, holographic My-Little-Pony shades. “Want to have a look?” I detected more than a little pride in his remark.

He lifted a hand mirror and held it before my face, tilting and zooming until he was sure I could see myself clearly. “Go ahead, say ahhhh.”

I barely recognized my own visage. My hairline, which I had always considered one of my best features, had somehow receded to about mid-crown; the sixties surfer bob replaced by a series of short tufts. Pig-tails actually; densely knotted and slathered with a tarry substance which held them a various angles away from my head. My face was bright red. Ape’s-ass red, except in the rivulets of dried tears which revealed the pallid skin beneath.

With great care, I drew my lips back from my throbbing choppers. I gazed in horror at the intricately chiseled and perforated designs that covered the formerly off-white glories with which my sainted parents had worked so hard to provide me. Each incisor was now adorned with three vertical grooves bordered by a sort of crescent moon chipped out along the midline; the designs on one side perfectly symmetrical with those on the opposite side of my mouth. Festooned as they were with tiny constellations of holes and imbedded chips of semi-precious stones, I couldn’t help but admire the artistry on some depraved level.

“What the thuck?” This last accompanied by a convulsive wince and fresh torrents of tears brought on instantly by the pressure of front teeth against lower lip. “Whath have you done to be, you badman!”

“Mad?” He snapped his head back so quickly that he slightly lost his footing, balancing as he was some 60 or 80 pounds of stone on his scrawny neck. “Mad you say?”

Whether it was the cackle of fetid laughter fouling what remained of the breathable air in that dank space, or the crude bludgeon brought down sharply on my stubbled pate, I know not, but the resultant return to incoherence was welcome beyond words. As I slipped into that satiny abyss, I realized that I was in the presence the very person I had come so many miles and spent so many years in search of. Once again the Shepherd of Satsop was within my grasp!

Next Installment
Part II – Do These Shackles Make Me Look Fat?

You’re So Right Part II – Do These Shackles Make Me Look Fat?

“OK, Let’s try this again. Muy rrrrrobusto, RRRRRRoberto!”

“Muy robusto, Roberto. ARGGGGGH!” The sensation was a lot like having one’s small intestines fed into a blender straight through the abdominal wall. As with all the times before, I had to look down and confirm, to my amazement, that there was nothing attached to or boring into my wretched gut.

“I don’t think you are really trying, you Gringo swine.” He reached once again for his Teletubbies ring.

“No, no. Please! I can do it.” He eased his hand away from the ring and gazed down at the notes before him on the podium. There was no way I could do it.

“RRRRRamon! Que pasa, hombrrrre?”

“Ramon, que…..ARGGGGH!”

“You imbecile! Where did you learn to speak Spanish, the phone directory?” His eyes were bulging so far out of his head they smudged the back of his glasses. “You’ve got to roll your R’s. RRRRRRRRoll your R’s!” The viscous spittle against my forehead sounded like hail on the roof of a ’57 Chevy.

“I don’t speak Spanish.”

“You certainly fucking don’t!” He took off the mortarboard, shuffled back over to the couch and fell into its fetid recesses. With childlike joy, I realized that today’s session was over.

As he lit up another dark dogend he glared at me in utter exasperation. “How in the name of all that is holy do you expect to be ready at this rate? Your coming out is just a few days away. You are going to ruin everything!”

“I…I’m sorry. Can we try German?” Big mistake.

“German? Did you say German, you pea-brained frat boy?” He reached for his pinky.

When I came around again he seemed to have regained his composure somewhat. “Ausgeseitnicht! Sie sind jetzt hier. Wie gehts?”

“Good, thanks. Sorry about the German remark. I’m just not myself, I suppose.” I attempted a smile through my cracked and bloody lips. “That’s an interesting trick. How do you do that?”, nodding toward his hand.

“Oh this little thing?” He held out his mottled ham and smiled coquettishly as he cocked his head to each side and admired the ring like a newly betrothed farm girl.

“Just something I worked out in my spare time. In case I had surprise guests. A little nanotechnology for the tum-tum. You swallowed it with that hamburger helper at lunch a few days ago. Works great don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. Feels like I’ve got a roto-rooter in my guts. “

“Just what I’d hoped. Here, check it out.” He swiveled the laptop around so that I could look over his shoulder as he clicked through the diagrams and spec sheets. As near as I could gather, the thing, which looked a little like a miniature molly-bolt, was designed to lodge itself into the lining of the small intestine where, upon activation from the remote control, it would continue to drill and tear its way through the digestive system. Talk about Montezuma’s revenge.

“How long ‘til I shit it out?”

“I’m not exactly sure, weeks…months. You’re the first, you see. Look upon it as your little contribution to science.”

“This is truly flattering. All to motivate me to learn Spanish. Sort of gives new meaning to the term ‘total immersion’.”

He had to grab the sides of the stones to support the head-shaping machine as he exploded into paroxysms of laughter. Stomping the floor, he rocked uncontrollably as his howls were gradually replaced with gasping for air. When the coughing had stopped, he regarded me with a sidelong glance and what I thought was a possibly a glimmer of respect…or was it some new recalculation of how much more it would take?

“That’s very droll. Very good. Did they teach you that at the academy?”

“Academy? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I would have shit myself if that were possible in my condition.

“Very well. Have your little games. Ready to get back to work?” He crushed out the roach on the back of my hand. The duct tape might as well have been monel metal.

“If we must. Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Not at all, fire away.”

“Are you planning to kill me?”

He turned to face me and raised his arms slowly in a gesture of evangelical sincerity. Out of the corner of my eye, I might have seen something scuttle across the room. “Kitty, you cut me to the cuticle.”

“In seven days, you and I will sitting at a table on El Gastrointerologico Square sipping a cold Bohemian and watching the pigeons mate. This I promise you.”

“Now try this: Rrrrrrruiz, mi amigo! Dos Tequila, Porrrrrrrrrrrrrrfavor!”

Next Installment
Part III – Avian Passion Aside: No Means No

You may remember my periodic reports from Jose’s cantina in Merida, which I would visit a couple of times each week. Jose’s is what I would call a very funky place, others would probably think it seedy, and still others disgusting; and I couldn’t honestly argue with either point of view. After all, it rained almost as hard in the bathroom as it did outdoors and Jose was often exceedingly drunk. One night, in fact, he was so drunk that he walked around his place apparently unaware that he had pissed his pants. Shortly thereafter he took one of his periodic rides on the wagon.

I have been visiting the bars in my neighborhood here in Xalapa and have found a few that I enjoy. The other day, however, I hit the jackpot just a couple blocks from my apartment, when I stumbled upon Cantina La Negrita. Stumbled upon, because, like many of the bars in town, from the outside La Negrita carries no indication that there’s a bar inside. The other day as I walked pass I heard accordion music emanating from the doorway so walked in.

Here is what I found.  You can certainly tell that I’m a videography neophyte.

Los Amigos Del Taconazo play Norteno music, which features a diatonic (meaning a different note results from a pull on the bellows than from a push) button accordion (in this case a Hohner Corona) and usually a guitar and bass. The bass in the video is 90 years old, and really, really looks it. Los Amigos, who have been playing together for twelve years and play every afternoon at La Negrita, told me they dream of going to the USA to play.

Another serendipitous occurrence in Mexico.

A few days ago I mentioned that I had decided to build a Double Biquad antenna and that I had been scouring the City for some copper sheet to serves as an antenna reflector. I was inspired in my antenna plans by the information on this web page and this page.

Alas, I have failed in my search for sheet copper and have had to settle for an aluminum kitchen pan for a reflector, despite the corrosion problems associated with joining aluminum and copper.

I drilled a hole in the center of the pan and inserted a 1/2″ male copper plumbing fitting, which I soldered to the pan. Inserted in the male plumbing fitting is a short length of copper pipe to which I will solder the “biquad” element as soon as I receive the coaxial cable I ordered.

At the rear of the pan I will attach a female 1/2″ copper plumbing fitting, to which I will attach a yet to be designed system for attaching the antenna to some structure on the roof, assuming that my landlord doesn’t object. Having shown him my kitchen sieve antenna, I’m sure he believes, correctly I admit, that I am a bit of a whacko.

Further reports and photos will follow.

I needed a piece of scrap 12 or 14 gauge household wiring, a short piece of half inch copper pipe, a piece of sheet copper about 5″ x 9″, and some low loss coaxial cable. So off I went scrounging.

I was able to get the scrap wire and copper pipe with no problems from a scrap dealer up the street not to far and ordered 15 meters of the right type of coaxial cable and necessary connectors from a vendor on Mercado Libre, Latin America’s eBay affiliated online market place. Finding a piece of copper sheet, however, has been difficult.

I have checked in every hardware, electrical supply, and kitchen equipment store in Centro and in the area of the Mercado Los Sauces with no luck in finding copper sheet. A couple of days ago, though, I asked in a local plumbing supply store and the nice proprietors directed me to a metal dealer just off Avenida Lazaro Cardenas, a good ways North from my apartment.

So yesterday morning off I went to locate the metal dealer. Being Sunday I knew it would probably not be open for business, but I need the exercise and it was a beautiful sunny morning for an urban trek, up and down through the hills of Xalapa.

My map of the city doesn’t include a scale so I don’t know for sure how far I walked before locating the metal dealer in a very nice Colonia Rafael Lucio part of town, but I had been walking for an hour and a half. It was another hour and half to return. I plan to go again this morning.

The real treat of my long walk was encountering the Plaza Xalapenos Ilustres, a tree lined pedestrian plaza which separates the to and from lanes of Avenida Xalapa and which stretches from block upon block from the Avenida Presidente (Lazaro Cardenas) to Avendia Americas. The stretch of Avenida Xalapa passes the Pantheon Xalapeno (a large cemetery), a large sports school, and the famous Museo Antropologia.

The plaza, according to an informational sign, contains 1733 trees, predominately Sweetgums, Mexican Sycamores and Shamel Ash.

Presently the company is selling only vacuum tube, gravity feed, batch type hot water heater systems with the integrated tank of stainless steel.  The smallest system, with a 132 liter tank is selling for $8,700 pesos.  The systems include a mounting rack.  The company eventually plans to also sell photovoltaic systems.

Sunnergy is a company n Guadalajara whose website may be found here. 

The Next Hurrah reports that Robert Bork, Alan (torture is OK) Dershowitz, and ten other prominent and equally presumptuous attorneys, filed a motion with Judge Whalton “for leave to file brief as Amici Curiae and brief of law” on behalf of Libby’s motion for bail. (Bork, you will remember, was Nixon’s whoreson Solicitor General, who eagerly fired Watergate Special Prosecutor Archibald Cox, after the more honorable Attorney General Elliot Richardson and his deputy William Ruckelshaus resigned in protest rather than fire Cox.)

Judge Whalton, in granting the Amici Curiae motion, included a footnote in which he delivered some richly earned sarcasm, expressing his expectation that the “twelve prominent and distinguished” attorneys would provide similar assistance to his court in future cases involving less well-heeled defendants.

“It is an impressive show of public service when twelve prominent and distinguished current and former law professors of well-respected schools are able to amass their collective wisdom in the course of only several days to provide their legal expertise to the Court on behalf of a criminal defendant. The Court trusts that this is a reflection of these eminent academics’ willingness in the future to step to the plate and provide like assistance in cases involving any of the numerous litigants, both in this Court and throughout the courts of our nation, who lack the financial means to fully and properly articulate the merits of their legal positions even in instances where failure to do so could result in monetary penalties, incarceration, or worse. The Court will certainly not hesitate to call for such assistance from these luminaries, as necessary in the interests of justice and equity, whenever similar questions arise in the cases that come before it.”

Congress, you will remember, adopted the act to legitimize the Bush administration’s efforts to deny due process and habeas corpus rights to the Guantanamo prisoners after the Supreme Court ruled that the Guantanamo Bay military compound was in effect a part of the USA and, thus, the prisoners there are subject to the Constitutional due process guarantee.

The military judges in both cases dismissed the charges ruling that “the military tribunals did not have jurisdiction over detainees on the island”.

I find the comment from one of Ms. Rozen’s readers, an Air Force Veteran, to be particularly interesting. He reads the dismissal as a sing of a revolt amongst the professional military against the illegal actions of the Bush administration.

The neonatal mortality rate is the number of deaths during the first 28 completed days* of life per 1000 live births in a given year or period.

Here is a list of countries with lower neonatal mortality rates than has the USA.  I copied the information from the excellent World Health Organization web site, where all sorts of health care statistics may be sorted.

The neonatal mortality rate is the number of deaths during the first 28 completed days of life per 1000 live births in a given year or period.

Singapore            1
Czech Republic        2
Finland            2
Iceland            2
Japan            2
San Marino        2
Sweden            2
Australia            3
Austria            3
Belgium            3
France            3
Germany            3
Italy            3
Monaco            3
Norway            3
Portugal            3
Republic of Korea        3
Spain            3
Switzerland        3
Andorra            4
Brunei Darussalam        4
Canada            4
Cuba            4
Cyprus            4
Denmark            4
Greece            4
Ireland            4
Israel            4
Luxembourg        4
Netherlands        4
New Zealand        4
Slovenia            4
United Kingdom        4

And here are the countries tied for fifth.  Did you notice Cuba is at a rate of 4?

Belarus            5
Croatia            5
Lithuania            5
Malaysia            5
Malta            5
Qatar            5
Slovakia            5
United Arab Emirates    5
United States of America    5

No wonder the Cheney administration refused to have the “land of the free, home of the brave” sign on to the treaty creating the International Criminal Court.   Perhaps Nuremberg will host a new round of war crimes trials.

Sgt. Adam Kokesh has been honorably discharged from the Marine Corps after his “second activation as a reservist” and service in Iraq. It seems that his work with the Iraq Veterans Against the War has irritated the Marine Corps brass, which is now attempting to discharge Kokesh again, this time dishonorably.

Kokesh isn’t rolling over.

I think it’s a great story.

A number of Nazis were sentenced to death by post-WW II war crimes tribunals for employing such “techniques” on non-uniformed enemy combatants.

“The phrase ‘Verschärfte Vernehmung’ is German for ‘enhanced interrogation’. Other translations include ‘intensified interrogation’ or ‘sharpened interrogation’. It’s a phrase that appears to have been concocted in 1937, to describe a form of torture that would leave no marks, and hence save the embarrassment pre-war Nazi officials were experiencing as their wounded torture victims ended up in court. The methods, as you can see above, are indistinguishable from those described as ‘enhanced interrogation techniques’ by the president. As you can see from the Gestapo memo, moreover, the Nazis were adamant that their ‘enhanced interrogation techniques’ would be carefully restricted and controlled, monitored by an elite professional staff, of the kind recommended by Charles Krauthammer, and strictly reserved for certain categories of prisoner. At least, that was the original plan.”

Sullivan completes his report with:

“Critics will no doubt say I am accusing the Bush administration of being Hitler. I’m not. There is no comparison between the political system in Germany in 1937 and the U.S. in 2007. What I am reporting is a simple empirical fact: the interrogation methods approved and defended by this president are not new. Many have been used in the past. The very phrase used by the president to describe torture-that-isn’t-somehow-torture – ‘enhanced interrogation techniques’ – is a term originally coined by the Nazis. The techniques are indistinguishable. The methods were clearly understood in 1948 as war-crimes. The punishment for them was death.”

War criminals Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, et al, and their legal advisers, Alberto Gonzales and John Yoo, who justified “enhanced interrogation techniques”, in part arguing that the “enemy combatants” were non-uniformed, will unfortunately likely never suffer the justice visited upon the Nazis war criminals.

Sullivan’s report is well worth a read.

The scene, for me,  is reminiscent of the ’60s.

Card and Gonzales, it was revealed last week, raced Ashcroft’s Deputy Attorney General to Ashcroft’s hospital bed to ask him to sign off on the administration’s illegal domestic spying. Ashcroft, to his credit, refused.

No Honor for Andrew Card

Yesterday I was talking to my gringo neighbor, Steve, who relies on short wave radio for news and information. I am as completely unfamiliar with short wave radio as Steve is with computers and the internet, but he reports that he listens a lot to BBC and Radio Netherlands and that the networks carry shows hosted by conspiracy theorists, I supposed one could call them.

Steve reported that he had heard on one of the programs speculation that President Kennedy was assassinated by Texas oil businesspersons concerned that Kennedy planned to end the Oil Depletion Allowance and that Kennedy was acting to deneuter the Federal System, through issuance of Executive Order 11110, and he asked me to research the claims through the internet.

During the conversation Steve asked who I believe killed President Kennedy. I responded that of course I don’t know; but my guess is that he was killed by organized crime interests and Cuban exiles who had been trained by the CIA for the Bay of Pigs Invasion, otherwise known as UCLAs, Unilaterally Controlled Latino Assets.

Rolling my eyes, I returned to my apartment and searched the internet for information related to the two matters of which he had questions. Predictably, I concluded that both speculations are absolute crap.

Serendipitously, today, as I regularly do, I checked the Granma news website and discovered an article referencing the recently released book “Brothers: The Hidden History of the Kennedy Years” by David Talbot, the founder of Salon, the online magazine. With further searching I came upon this Salon report of the book.

I will leave it to you to read the Salon article if you’re interested; but Talbot reports that almost immediately upon being informed of President Kennedy’s assassination by J. Edgar Hoover, “almost with pleasure, thought Bobby”, Robert Kennedy’s suspicions focused on the mafia, Cuban UCLAs, and the CIA.

Robert Kennedy had been dogging organized crime for almost a decade; the Cuban exile oligarchs were angry with President Kennedy for his failure to provide air support to the Bay of Pigs invasion and for not invading Cuba in response to the Cuban Missile Crises; and the CIA (with George Bush Sr. playing a prominent role in the CIA’s Miami operations, second in magnitude only to CIA headquarters) had developed a close relationship with Cuban UCLAs which it had trained for the Bay of Pigs invasion.

As an aside the Cuban UCLAs later played a role in the Watergate break in, Iran-Contra, and who knows what other nefarious, criminal operations.

I think it’s all worth a read if you’re so inclined.

Nestled in a bowl amongst the semi-arid hills of, what I think is considered, the Central Mexican Highlands is the lovely city of Guanajuato. The very tidy, vibrant city is rich in history, architecture, museums, theaters, universities, and references to Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra and his Quijote de Mancha.

I traveled to Guanjauto early last week by intercity bus, taking the ADO line from Xalapa to Mexico City and the ETN line to Guanajuato. Thanks to my sister-in-law; I’ve not seen in twenty five years; and my wonderfully grounded niece, I’ve not seen in ten, for the invitation to join them in their visit.

The Mexican intercity bus system, like its intracity systems with which I am familiar, is comprehensive and economical. The luxurious ADO GL bus I took for the four and a half hour trip to Mexico City was $246 pesos; and included a very comfortable seat, a refreshment, and a movie. The even more luxurious ETN bus I took for the four hour trip to Guanajuato was $350, had only three seats across the cabin, padded leg rests, and included a sandwich, refreshment, and movie. There are, I learned, less expensive carriers which I did not find online but of which I learned at the stations.

There are four major intercity bus stations in Mexico City. I changed buses at the Mexico Norte station on the way to Guanjuato and on the way back took a $75 pesos taxi trip from the Norte station to the TAPO station in the East part of the City. The TAPO station was quite nice and convenient, constructed in a circle with the various terminals radiating from the circle; and with restaurants and an internet café at the center.

I had a tasty, authentic breakfast at the Norte station served by a friendly fellow who speaks English quite well. He explained that he had lived for a time in Salt Lake City where he operated a stucco business which employed six folks and where his wife and child continue to reside. He had been expelled from the USA by the immigration service and his wife is now processing the paperwork necessary for his return, a process, he said, would take three months to a year.

I arrived in Guanajuato about midday last Monday and, after a $50 peso cab ride, checked into my room at El Castillo de Santa Ceclia, a sprawling castle complex of stone and brick, complete with arches, towers, surrounding defensive walls, and suits of armor standing guard in the common spaces. One could even ascend a tower, via a spiral staircase, to the top of the entrance gate and enjoy a panorama of the city below.

Santa Cecilia, I have since read, is the patron saint of musicians and of the blind.

There is in the hotel courtyard a bronze statue of Quijote de Mancha, which, the accompanying sign explained, was symbol of liberty. I later learned that the city hosts an annual Cervantes festival and encountered references to Cervantes and Don Quixote statues throughout the Centro area.

I should also note that the hotel provides wireless internet service which one can access while sitting on the patio around the pool enjoying a morning cup of coffee from the Extra store around the corner. The hotel restaurant offered coffee that was tepid and a bit insubstantial for my taste at $20 pesos per cup, thus the morning trip to Extra.

The hotel was at about only 20 % occupancy, as it is now the off season. I was told that the hotel is full during August and September, as well as during Semana Santa and Christmas.

When I again visit Guanajuato I will seek out more economical accommodations in one of the many older Centro hotels, but a stay at the rather pricey El Castillo ($120 USA per night) is well worth the experience.

Guanajuato and the nearby pueblo of Dolores Hidalog figured prominently in the revolutionary war that ultimately ended Spanish colonial rule. The Alhondiga de Granadies (granary), now a museum in the city, was the scene of the opening battle of the Mexican revolution, a couple of weeks after Father Miguel Hidalgo issued his famous El Grito, or call to arms, from a balcony in Dolores Hidalgo on September 10, 1810.

Towering over the city is a huge, cantera stone statue of El Pipila, Juan Jose de los Reyes Martinez, who on September 28, 1810 set fire to the gates of the Alhondiga de Granadies, where Spanish soldiers were stationed, enabling rebel forces to enter the granary and to win the first battle of the revolutionary war.

There are at least three major theaters (below is the El Teatro Juarez) in Guanajuato, many museums, and the University of Guanajuato, all contributing to a rich art and musical atmosphere. The buildings housing the theaters, museums and university feature locally quarried beautiful pink and green caltera stone, as are the opulent churches in both Guanajuato and Dolores Hidalgo.

Cantera stone, a well as brick, was used also to construct the deep, arched beams that support the streets and building above Calle Hidalgo, a subterranean, serpentine roadway network constructed in 1965 through a river bed under the city, with the aim of relieving traffic congestion on Centro streets.

City buses ply the tunnels taking on and discharging passengers waiting at the many underground bus stops accessed by periodic stone stairways to the surface. It is a quite stunning engineering, construction, and artistic feat.

There are a number of well tended plazas and parks in Centro Guanajuato, surrounded by cafes with outdoor seating, pubs, and shops. Particularly in the evenings these public areas are filled with families, university students, diners and shoppers. The parks and plazas also provide a location for some of the public art that pervades the city.

Fronting on the Jardin Union, the largest downtown park, we encountered a pub which featured beer and 100% blue agave tequila brewed and distilled in a nearby city. The pub offered four beers, one which included tequila and lime, one which included coffee and chocolate, and more conventional dark and light beers. The street side entry way of the beautiful colonial building housing the pub contained a sales room for a variety of fine 100% blue agave tequila and gifts, and in the rear was a beautiful antique bar in which was an old copper still and a stained glass ceiling. It was all very well and very beautifully done.

Amongst Guanajauto’s many museums is the four story home of famed Mexican artist Diego Rivera, where there is on display many, many of Rivera’s works, as well as some of those of his wife Frida Kahlo and three of his students. Rivera moved with his family when fairly young to Mexico City, where he entered art school at the age of eleven. He was officially shunned for many years because of his communistic sympathies but is now recognized for the exceptional artist he was. The museum is well worth a visit.

I also visited the Museo de las Momias, the famous mummy museum. There seem to be various explanations as to why the bodies were disinterred but the bodies were apparently naturally mummified as the crypts in which they were buried were sealed such that oxygen was not present to enable the growth of agents of decomposition.

Amongst the other museums in the city, which I did not visit, are the Alhondiga de Granadias; Casa de las Leyendas, a museum of legends I’m told is fun; the nearby Mina de Valenciana, a still active mining operation; a couple of haciendas; and the Museo Iconografico del Cervatnes.

Guanajuato annually celebrates Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, the author of Don Quixote. I was told by a taxi driver that 30 or so years ago some university students conducted some sort of Cervantes celebration and that some time later the city adopted the cause. Today the city contains many references to Cervantes and a number of statues of Quijote de Mancha. I guess I will now have to read the book.

A visit to Guanajuato, I think, would not be complete without a bus ride to the nearby historic pueblo of Dolores Hidalgo, famous not only for Hidalgo’s El Grito but also for its brightly painted talavera ceramics. The bus may be boarded along the Avenida de Valenciana. Look for a bus with Hildalgo noted on the front window.

Colonial centro Hidalgo includes a beautiful, tidy central plaza across the street from a truly magnificent cathedral (and, given the grand cathedrals in every Mexican city and pueblo, that’s really saying something). The church is constructed entirely of pink cantera stone, with the stone around the entry way intricately carved.

Hidalgo has shop after shop vending talavera ceramic bowls, planters, dishware, shot glasses, ashtrays, and etc., etc., etc. One shop had an entire talavera bathroom set, including a toilet, basin, and towel and toilet paper racks. Should I ever build a house here, I will definitely go to Dolores Hidalgo and fill my little pickup with tiles and household furnishing.

I don’t know what else to report, except that I will certainly return to Guanajuato for further explorations, as I like it very much. Even better, though, than exploring the city was spending time with and getting to know my sister-in-law and niece.

As I think I reported here a couple of months ago I accompanied my gringo neighbor, Steve, to the local IMSS office to provide translation services for the renewal of his IMSS enrollment. While there I inquired as to what is required for me to enroll.

A few weeks ago I took copies of all of the documents I thought were necessary to apply for enrollment. As it turned out I was told that I must have my birth certificate translated into Spanish and was informed that I could have it translated down the street at the Centro de Idiomas (language school) of the University of Veracruz. So off I went.

The teacher with whom I met at the Centro de Imiomas indicated I could return the next day to pick up the translated document. When I returned she informed me that there were a couple items she wasn’t able to read from the 1970 photocopy of my birth certificate and asked me to make corrections. I corrected three items, such as my father’s middle name and the name of the street where my family lived at the time of my birth, the teacher promptly made the corrections, had the office director certify the translation, I paid $250 pesos, and I was on my way.

Today I returned to the IMSS office with copies of my passport and FM 3 visa, the translated birth certificate, 2 frontal head shot photos, and copies of my cable TV bill. Within 10 minutes after entering the office the fellow helping me had completed the necessary paperwork and escorted me to the outer office where I would receive the premium invoice, which I would take to and pay at the bank next door. Generally fees for governmental services here are paid at a bank. I waited in line, with my service number in hand, for about fifteen minutes when I was beckoned to the service counter where the invoices are produced. Within five minutes I had the invoice in hand and was off to the bank next door.

I waited in line at the bank for about 10 minutes, paid the $1,930.44 peso fee ($180. USA) for one year of health insurance coverage, received my receipt, went across the street to obtain two copies of the payment receipt, and crossed back across the street to the IMSS office.

I provided a copy of the receipt to the outer office service counter, went back to the office of the fellow who had completed the initial paperwork and gave him the other copy of the receipt, and within 10 minutes he handed me my enrollment card, upon which visits for medical attention are recorded, and my copies of the paperwork. That was it. All-in-all, it took about an hour or so.
As of June 1 I will be enrolled in the IMSS health insurance system. Next May I must renew my coverage and pay the annual fee, which, incidentally, is now $2,905 pesos for those over the age of 60.

As with my experiences with the immigration offices here and in Merida, the folks who attended to my IMSS application were uniformly very pleasant and efficient.

My landlord recently installed wireless internet service through Telmex (my current service is through MegaCable) but neither of my laptops have been able to detect the network. Consequently I have been doing a bit of internet research on extending the reach of my laptops WiFi antennas.

I ran across a plan for this home made antenna and put it together in about five minutes. I am now able to detect the apartment building network. The antenna consists of a USB WiFi antenna mounted in the center of a six inch kitchen sieve and connected through a USB cable to the laptop. I plan to try a larger sieve as the six inch model is very particular as to its placement.

The USB WiFi dongle was $400 pesos, the sieve $6.60 pesos, and the cable $85. pesos. So the whole set up was about $45. USA.

The report is in .pdf format.

Here’s a bit from the report summary:
Total Spending and Sources of Health Care Financing
• In 2004, per capita spending for all health care services ranged from a high
of $6,102 in the United States to a low of $2,083 in New Zealand. The
median for all 30 OECD countries was $2,571. The United States spent 15.3%
of GDP on health care services compared to 8.7% in the median OECD
country. Over the last ten years, Australia had the fastest average annual
growth rate of real health spending per capita and Germany the slowest.
• Among all OECD countries, the United States had the highest level of
spending from public sources in 2004. This is somewhat surprising because
only one quarter of all Americans have publicly financed health insurance.
• The United States spent over 17 times more than the median OECD country
on private health care spending (excluding out-of-pocket spending). While
private health insurance coverage is the most common source of health
insurance coverage in the United States, in other countries private
insurance is usually supplementary to public insurance coverage.
• Out-of-pocket spending per capita in the United States was more than twice
as high as in the median OECD country.
• As of 2005, the United Kingdom’s public investment per capita in Health
Information Technology (HIT) was nearly 450 times that of the United States.

I will be posting pictures and commentary over the next couple of days.

And it was Chris Wallace of Faux News. Giuliani was unable to provide a coherent answer. Until now I have read of this matter only a couple of times in blogs.

I jumped at the invitation as Guanajuato is reportedly one of those must visit places in Mexico. So tomorrow night I am off on a bus to Mexico City and Monday morning will bus to Guanajuato.

I hope to also visit Dolores Hidalgo, from where, in 1810, Father Miguel Hidalgo rallied the populace to revolt and which is today famous for its Talavera ceramics.

I am taking my equipment and will try to post photos and reports.

The pueblo is nestled on a hill side overlooking the rio and is surrounded by the typical forest found in this area, often with an under story of coffee plant and banana trees.

I continued on to visit the pueblo of Texim, a pueblito a few miles beyond Teocelo, a bit off the road to Cosautlan.

I stopped on the way home at his restaurant in Coatepec and had a delicious late lunch of shrimp in a type of mole sauce, with rice, salad, and a couple of Negra Modelos. I took this shot while sitting at my table.

This flower arrangement, of what I think are some type of Lilly, adorned my table.

The beautiful church below is in Centro Coatepec.

Please take a look and consider a donation.

Later, in December, 2006 I passed on an AP report “that Oregon Senator Ron Wyden is set to propose national legislation that would establish a system of “universal health care.”

Counterpunch is now reporting that Senator Wyden has done just that, “surrounded by his corporate supporters–Steve Burd, CEO, Safeway Inc.; Art Collins, CEO of Medtronic, Inc; H. EdwardHanaway, CEO, CIGNA; Steve Sanger, CEO, General Mills; and Ronald Williams, CEO, Aetna, Inc.”

Wyden’s legislation reportedly “is similar to that introduced by Republican Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney and Republican California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

The Counterpunch report continues:
“What’s the common denominator between Wyden-care, and Romney-care and Schwarzenegger-care?

“Individual mandates.

“The individual must get insured or the individual is violating the law.”

No wonder Wyden was surrounded by many corporate executives heading health insurance purveyors, after all his proposed legislation will require folks to buy their products, while proscribing legal sanctions for those who do not.

Where is it written, certainly not in the U. S. Constitution, that the people of the United States, whose government Lincoln told us was created “of the people, by the people, for the people”, cannot provide for themselves, through their government, a non-profit, single-payer health care insurance system?

The only place, it seems to me, that such is written is in the checks that the captains of corporate American write to the likes of Senator Wyden, to maintain their ownership of the U. S. Congress. Such would be of no news to earlier owners of Congress, such as the Revolutionary War profiteers or the beneficiaries of railroad grants dispensed by well “greased” Congressmen during the mid-19th century.

So, despite Wyden’s grandstanding, USA health care will continue to cost five times as much as that in other of the world’s richest countries; and the health care outcomes will continue, in many respects, to be worse than in those other countries. But, hey, it’s OK because the profits of the health insurance companies will be enhanced; and, as we’ve been told, what’s good for corporate America is good for us all.

If I had looked at the Xalapa map I had with me, which I didn’t do until I had arrived home, I would have learned that the road to Jacomulco, with which I am familiar, leads to Hautusco. One of my frequent dumb ass moments.

Arriving back in Xalapa I drove through town and again headed for Coatepec. I had decided to drive to Teocelo and ask as to the route to Hautusco, which I thought I could reach from Teocelo.

Arriving in Teocelo I headed toward the bar at which I had stopped the other day to ask directions. The proprietor, Senor Crescencio (Chencho, as he said most folks call him) Martinez, was tending the bar and talking to his son Carlos.

I ordered a Negra Modelo and asked the gentlemen how I would go to Hautusco. Carlos asked his father for a sheet of paper and drew me a detailed map, not only showing the route to Hautusco but the routes to all of the area pueblos as well. He also told me that the name Teocelo derives from Teo Ocelotl of the indigenous Nahualtl language, which in Spanish is Dios Tigre and in English God Tiger.

Senor Crescencio informed me one of his other sons is selling a small rancho in Texin, not far from Teocelo along the road to Cosautlan, and gave me his son’s name and phone number. I plan to contact his son to arrange to look at the property.

When passing through on the way to visit the ranchito a couple of weeks ago I noticed what a tidy little town it is, and when we stopped in Centro during the return trip for a bite to eat I noticed how very attractive is the central park. During my visit last Sunday to the home of Lorena and her father Franco, before returning to the Ranchito Coyolopan, I had even a better look of the town and decided that I wanted to return for a longer visit.

So Wednesday I walked to the tourist information booth across from the Parque Juarez, here in Xalapa, and asked from where I would board a bus to Teocelo. The very pleasant woman staffing the booth was able to tell me that I must go to the Mercado Los Sauces, about ten blocks from Parque Juarez. So off I went.

I located a bus parked adjacent to the mercado which indicated Teocelo on its front window and asked the driver, who informed me from where I should catch it. So off I went down Calle Bolivia to the bus stop. The bus may also be boarded at the route’s origin at La Rotonda on Calle Revolucion , about 12 blocks North of my apartment.

The bus was a very comfortable Mercedes and the young driver sported a gelled hair do that put to shame the greaser “duck tails” popular in my adolescence. Unlike the local buses one does not pay the fare upon boarding. Rather, there is a fellow riding shotgun who approaches each passenger that boards, determines their destination, and collects the fare. The fare to Teocelo is $13. pesos.

The route passes through Coatepec and continues toward Xico. Just before reaching Xico the road diverges, winds its way up and over a mountain pass, drops down into the valley of the river into which the Cascada Texolo falls, and snakes its way up and over another pass before dropping down into Teocelo. The scenery along the route is spectacular, including sheer rock faces, of well over one hundred feet in height, on each side of the narrow river valley the route traverses.

I debarked in Teocelo just around the corner from the central park and spent the next couple hours walking the streets looking for signs announcing houses for rent or sale, though I encountered none. I stopped into the cable TV office and inquired if they offered internet service and as to the prices for TV services. The very nice woman staffing the office indicated that the company does not provide internet service and insisted that she write down for me the TV connection and monthly services charges.

A bit further along in my tour I stopped into a bar that was about only 8 feet wide, ordered a Bohemia, and began grilling the proprietor with questions about the town. When I asked if he knew of any houses for rent or property for sale he indicated that he was selling a home around the corner. He informed me that the house, constructed only about five years ago, has fourteen bedrooms and five bathrooms. I finished the beer and continued on my way.

I am impressed with how clean the town is and how friendly the folks are. Almost without exception those I passed greeted me with a “buenas tardes” or “adios”, as is a common greeting here. The buildings are colorful, most of the streets and sidewalks are of stone common to the area, and the central park is amongst the most beautiful I have encountered.

Returning toward the central park I inquired of a gentleman I encountered if he could recommend a restaurant he likes. He directed me to the Dona Ofe restaurant across the street from the North end of the park. The tidy restaurant has about eight tables in the front room of a colonial home, with the food preparation in the rear. The tables are surrounded by beautiful caned chairs with frames constructed of rough hewn tree trucks or limbs.

As is typical of coninas economicas here, Dona Ofe offered a choice of two meals, carne asado, a thinly sliced beef flank steak, or chuleta de cerdo, a pork chop. Each meal was of three courses, a delicious pasta soup, followed by a plate of rice with peas and corn, and finally the meat plate with a salad of lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber. The meal included sweeten lemon water, corn tortillas, and tortilla chips with a fairly picante salsa. The meal was $30. pesos, which at today’s exchange rate is about $2.75 USA.

Following lunch I walked through the park to Don Franco’s bakery and home, located across the street from the end of the park opposite the restaurant, as I wanted to thank him and his daughter Lorena for their hospitality the previous Sunday and for their help with communicating with the owners of Ranchito Coyolopan.

Franco greeted me warmly, we talked for a few minutes, he encouraged me to visit any time and assured me that his home was also mine, and he directed me as to where to catch a bus home and which bus to take.

The bus in which I returned to Xalapa was a Blue Bird school type bus with high backed seats. It was an exciting trip home, as the driver maneuvered the bus along the winding mountain roads as if he were driving a sports car.

Teocelo is an enchantingly beautiful, very clean, quiet pueblo of friendly folks. I recommend to those visiting Xalapa a day trip by bus to Teocelo. I intend to return next week for further explorations to include a bus trip to the nearby pueblo of Cosautlan.

A few days ago I reported that Lorena, of Teocelo, had called at the request of the owners of the Ranchito Coyolopan who were concerned that perhaps the architecto who had taken me to the ranchito the previous Sunday may have given me incorrect information. I told Lorena that I would visit the Ranchito again on the following Sunday; and, on the way, stop in Teocelo to introduce myself.

I had told my gringo neighbor, Steve, of the call from Lorena and of my planned trip to the ranchito, and he asked if he could come along for my follow up visit. Steve is even more of a hermit than am I, so the trip promised to be a grand adventure for him.

Sunday at noon we left for Teocelo. We had no problem finding Teocelo, home to about 15,000 folks; and after about fifteen minutes of driving around in circles in Teocelo we encontered Lorena’s father’s bakery, located in a bright blue building across the street from the pueblo’s central park.

Lorena; her father, Franco; and a variety of sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins, and neighbors greeted us warmly. We spent a very pleasant half hour talking to Lorena and her father, as her father busied himself tending to customers of the bakery and adjacent juice stand.

Lorena is the coordinator of the twelve English teachers at a private school located between Coatepec and Teocelo, so speaks English flawlessly. She studied English for five years and spent a couple of months in Portland, Oregon as part of a student exchange program. Both Lorena and her father, as is customary, assured us that “nos casa es sus casa” and encouraged us to visit again as we excused ourselves and departed for the ranchito.

We thanked Franco and Lorena for their hospitalities, hopped in the pickup, and headed out of Teocelo on Calle Cinco de Mayo. Just beyond town there is a hand-lettered sign announcing the primitive route to Coyopolan.

The road to Coyopolan is a ten kilometer, exceptionally rough track that offers some stunning vistas of what, as best I am able to determine, are referred to in the ecological vernacular as “Veracruz Montane Forests”. Often cloud obscured mountains and intervening valleys mantled in a dense forest canopy which provides rich habitat for wide varieties of butterflies, birds, ground dwelling shrubs and animals, as well epiphytes, such as orchids, ferns, mosses, and lichens.

The winding road, scoured by frequent rainfall induced runoff, rises and falls as it passes numerous ranchos, occasional isolated dwellings, and through a couple of pueblitos before descending into the picturesque pueblo of Coyopolan.

Driving through the pueblo I reached the field at the end of town which hosts the regular Sunday futbol (soccer) games, attended it seems by most everyone in town, before I realized I had passed the entrance to the Ranchito Coyolopan. I gingerly turned around, careful to avoid the spectators, and soon encountered the ranchito entrance.

Senor Luis and Senora Betty were expecting me, as Senor Franco had advised them of my intended visit, and welcomed me warmly, as they did Steve upon his introduction.

Betty rounded up and placed three chairs on the concrete slab abutting the small, ramshackle home. Luis, Steve, and I settled into the chairs while Betty and an older woman visitor went off to the adjacent kitchen building. Smoke soon emerged from the kitchen building and Betty soon emerged to offer us food, as is customary here as it is in Cuba. I politely declined as I wasn’t the least bit hungry. I did, however, accept Luis’ invitation to try some fruit “vino”, which seemed to me more like liquor than wine.

We spent a pleasant hour, or so, listening to Luis describe the ranchito, describing his and Betty’s lives before moving to the ranchito two years ago, and looking at his old silver coins and a five year old, insect infested cigar. Luis told me that his minimum price for the ranchito is $450,000. pesos, about $41,000. USA at today’s exchange rate.

Steve and I thanked Luis and Betty, said our farewells, and headed back to Teocelo, picking up a couple of folks walking along the Coyolopan road on our way. Then on through Coatepec and home to Xalapa.

Given the very rough ten kilometer road; the lack of internet service and the immense amount of work involved with owning 7.5 acres, I have decided against buying the property.

I am thinking that Teocelo is probably a better place for me to live. It is a colorful, quiet, very clean little town, of which I will later post a description and pictures.

Neither is the least bit impressed, to say the least. Tenet’s book (which I have not read nor intend to read, as I refuse to buy books from crooks), according to McGovern and Scheuer is more about Tenet attempting to rehabilitate his reputation than of his prominent role in pimping the Iraq adventure. Their analyses, I think, are worth a read.

And there’s this “Open Letter to George Tenet” written “by a group of former CIA intelligence officers” which is also worth a read.

These folks are anxious to go to war with Iran over it purported nuclear aspirations but say nothing of Pakistan, Israel, or India, none of which are signatories to the Non-proliferation Treaty.

Despite their consistent failures, these psychopaths, who inexplicably are roundly considered to be smart people, have spent more than 25 years persisting in their neo-Wilsonian adventures; and have succeeded only in creating a much more dangerous world.

Habeas Schmabeas provides a glimpse into what Incurious King George and his courtier are doing in your name to “enemy combatants” in Guantanamo, which is entirely appalling. As it turns out most of the “detainees” were sold to the USA government by folks anxious for the bounty and have never been remotely associated with terrorist acts. They ae continued to be detained to spare the USA government embarrassment. Out of the hundreds of Guantanamo “detainees” only a dozen or two have any actual links to terrorist organizations or acts.

The piece contains a segment describing how Lord Clarendon, the British King’s aide in the 1600s, came up with the idea of interning undesirables on an off-shore island during the British civil war, during which the Christian Fundamentalist Puritans fought the royalty in an effort to institute a religious state (now it is the Muslim Taliban interned, then it was the Christian equivalent of the Taliban). The King’s implementation of Lord Clarendon’s idea resulted in the habeas corpus act adoption by the British parliment.

It is interesting, indeed, that Bush, acting on the advice of Alberto Gonzales who in turn acted upon the advice of the decidedly brown shirtted John Yoo, has instituted an off-shore gulag system essentially the same as that which precipitated the Habeas Corpus Act in Great Britain four hundred years ago. George Bush bridge to the 17th century.

As an aside, the musical interlude half way through the This American Life piece, which is about a half hour long, features a segment of the Buena Vista Social Club album.

I suggest that you take the time to listen to the piece. It is very well done.

Here is Suzy leaning on the railing of the terrace of her home in Playa Baracoa, Cuba. The terrace abuts an estuary where a river enters the Straights of Florida.

I will be staying in Suzy’s house for the entire month of July.

Read Tobias’ quotes and you will probably be left with the impression that the guy is not at all bright. It is appalling, but not at all surprising, that such a slimy moron has been leading the USA government agency charged with looting the economies and interfering in the internal affairs of under developed nations.

As reported on the ABC “The Blotter” blog:

“‘I’m sure as heck not going to be going to federal prison for one day, let alone, four to eight years, because I’m shy about bringing in the deputy secretary of whatever,’ Palfrey ["Jeane Palfrey, the woman dubbed the 'D.C. Madam,'"] told ABC News.

“Palfrey maintains she ran a sexual fantasy business that was legal and that if any of the women who were working for her had sex, they did so in violation of her rules and without her knowledge. She says there are a number of other prominent Washington, D.C. men who will be on her witness list. ‘I’ll bring every last one of them in if necessary,’ Palfrey said.”

Of all of the innumerable scandals unfolding in Wash. D. C. this one promises to be the most fun.

UPDATE:  Hypocrisy, it seems, is one thing that tends to get the attention of the largely disinterested USA electorate.

Tobias, who was patronizing prostitutes,  apparently “oversaw a controversial policy advocated by the religious right that required any US-based group receiving anti-AIDS funds to take an anti-prostitution ‘loyalty oath’”.

I was fortunate enough to have bought a piece of property in my early twenties, the sale of which thirty years later enabled me to give up on the work-a-day world in my mid-fifties. Additionally I pretty much fell into a career that during the last ten years or so of which paid me lucratively.

To get to the point. A few days ago I reported on my trip to look at the Ranchito Coyolopan, not too far outside of Teocelo. I reported that I was taken to view the ranchito by a Coatepec architect and his real estate broker partner, that the ranchito is an entirely enchanting property, and that the day was completely pleasant. I also reported that, as I was informed by the architect, the place could be had for about $50,000. USA dollars, actually $555,000. Mexican pesos.

I had pretty much given up on the idea of purchasing the property, given the combination of the price, the fact it is accessed a few kilometers up a very rough road, and there is no internet service. And so I informed the architect.

This evening, however, I received a call from a woman who speaks English very well and who identified herself as Lorena. She explained she was friends with Luis and Betty, the owners of the ranchito with whom I had left my phone number, and that they had asked her to call me. Lorena explained that Luis and Betty were concerned that perhaps the architect had given me incorrect information about the ownership of the property and the asking price. As it turns out, their concern was well founded as they are asking only $450,000. pesos and would likely accept $400,000.

She also explained that Luis and Betty had taken a liking to me and felt that I would be a good owner of the property into which they have obviously put so many years of their love and hard work. Lorena also indicated that, if I was interested, I could deal directly with Luis and Betty.

I had a very pleasant conversation with Lorena and told her that I would call her after considering the matter. I also asked if she thought that Luis and Betty might be interested in continuing to live on the property if I were to buy it, as I think it would be good to have someone there when leave on a trip. She said she would ask them.

So, at this point I have taken Lorena’s call as one of those signs I have heeded throughout my life, in this case that I should probably buy the ranchito. Doing so would mean moving to a beautiful little pueblo, immersion into a more indigenous culture than exists here in Xalapa, and life on an completely enchanting three hectare property at the base of Cofe de Perote with lots of water, wonderfully fertile earth, and a lifetime supply of firewood.

I will, of course, report on my ultimate decision.

So exclaimed Barack Obama in a recent “foreign policy” address, necessitated in his presidential campaign, I think, by the persistent media criticism that Obama lacks foreign policy experience.

Aside from the fact that such media criticism is nothing more than obedient stenographic reproduction of Obama’s opponents’ talking points, and that only one of our last five presidents had any foreign policy experience entering office, Obama is wrong.

Obama is correct that “narco-trafficking and corruption threaten democracy in Latin America” and it is the USA prohibition of illegal drugs that enables the black market within which the narco-traffickers operate.  It is the USA drug policy and appetite for drugs that lies at the root of the narco-trafficking”. 

Legalize drugs and the narco-traffickers would be out of business almost instantly, as would the corruption inevitably associated with drug wars.  I presume that Obama, like most other politicians, understand this fact but lack the political courage to say so.

The photo above is a shot of a portion of the farm from which the underbrush has been recently cleared and the coffee bushes  trimmed.

I have seen many banana trees in my travels around here but had never seen what I assume is a banana tree flower from which a bunch of bananas will emerge.

Here’s a shot of the flower hanging from a bunch of bananas.

The bananas are harvested by cutting the top of the tree off with a machete.   There were actually three different varieties harvested.  Sr. Serena rattled off the top of his head the names of over ten different banana varieties.

Shortly after I arrived at his office the architect, Senor Serena; his son Aldo; and his business parter and real estate broker, Senor Cordoba; and I piled into Sr. Serena’s pickup, with Senor Cordoba and Aldo sitting in the back on a stool and chair. Sr. Cordoba insisted that I ride in front.

We headed out of Coatepec on the road toward Xico and turned toward Teocelo.  A bit past Teocelo we turned up a cobble stone and gravel road marked with a hand painted sign as the route to Coyopolan; and after a very slow, very rough twenty minute trip we arrived in the pueblo.

Coyopolan is a very small, very picturesque pueblo nestled in forested mountains, over which rises the imposing Cofre de Perote, at 14,048 feet one of Mexico’s highest peaks.

Luis, the current owner of the Ranchito Coyopolan greeted us warmly and insisted upon taking us on a complete tour. We started in his large, meticulously kept garden of raised beds where Luis identified each variety of vegetable, fruit, and herb. Additionally there were large patches of corn and beans, an incredible number of different varieties of cacti, and a semi-circular greenhouse structure constructed of bamboo.

Next we head through a lush, green pasture of grass and blossoming white clover. Flanking the pasture was an area where Luis has been planting Blackberry plants, “poco a poco”, as he put it. He indicated that a kilo of Blackberries brings $15 pesos. Across the Blackberry patch was a good sized field of plants which look like short sugar cane plants. I don’t remember the plant’s name but Luis indicated that it encouraged milk production in the thirty dairy goats he previously kept.

Beyond the pasture and berry patch the property descends into a forest through which flows a system of small meandering streams that originate from springs on the property and which supply drinking water, stock water, and habitat for rainbow trout that have been introduced. Near the source of one of the streams is a concrete tank structure built years ago to contain the trout. The forest through which the streams flow is composed of Maple, Cypress, Mahogany, and a variety of other tree species.

The ranchito is an enchanting place which clearly displays the many years of Luis’ loving care and hard work.  The place can be had for about $50,000. USA.

Following the tour we settled down in front of the ramshackle house for a half hour of refreshments and conversation.

We said our farewells and hit the road, stopping in Teocelo at a cocina economica for tamales and sandwiches and later at Sr. Cordoba’s banana and coffee farm to harvest a few bunches of bananas.

I spent the trip back to Coatepec in the back of the truck with Aldo, Sr. Serena’s ten year old son, who provided an almost non-stop commentary for the trip back to town.

It was a very pleasant day spent with wonderful folks, visiting some exceptionally beautiful country.

I will shortly post pictures of the banana harvesting adventure.

I spotted this visitor crawling across my living room floor last evening.

The criminal prosecution of two of the young fellows was less than arduous and “Jurors in the criminal cases against Amox and Hicks acquitted them of serious felony charges, instead convicting them of a lesser charge and recommending probation.” Two other of the young fellows “pleaded guilty to an ‘injury to a disabled individual by omission’ charge.” None of the four spent more than 60 days in jail.

Morris Dees of the Southern Poverty Law Center pursued a civil suit on behalf of Mr. Johnson. “A jury of 11 whites and one black deliberated less than four hours before returning a unanimous verdict” awarding Johnson $9 million.

“‘The jury told all of Texas and, indeed, the entire country, that Billy Ray is a human being who deserves to be treated with dignity – that the life of each of us, rich or poor, black or white, abled or disabled, is truly precious,’ said Morris Dees, founder and chief trial attorney for the Montgomery, Ala.-based law center.”

My answer was that all things in the universe are composed of essentially two elements, matter and energy. The human body is, thus, composed of matter and energy. Relative to our energy component, the first law of thermodynamics holds that energy can neither be created nor destroyed but may change form (i.e. heat to electrical energy).

It seems plausible to me, I continued in my metaphysical rumination, that the material body is the generator of the energy necessary to fuel the mind; that is, to provide the electricity, through the metabolic process, that fires through the synapses from neuron to neuron in a process that enables mental functions. Without the body the mind could not be; likewise, without the mind to instruct fuel intake the body would cease to be.

It also seems plausible that what is called the mind consists of all the information received over a life time (such as thoughts, memories, and emotions) encoded, judiciously edited, stored in or on, and retrieved from, subatomic particles somewhere in the brain, or within the electromagnetic pulses resulting from particle interactions. For if our thoughts, memories, and emotions were material entities, wouldn’t a brain continually increase in size over a lifetime as it incorporates more and more information?

When we die, I continued, the matter component of us composts while our energy is released in the form of heat to float about the atmosphere changing form, perhaps repeatedly for millennia upon millennia, and some is perhaps incorporated into a new life.

It seems to me that with the energy released upon a death goes all of the information amassed over the erstwhile lifetime and when the energy possessed by a former life is incorporated into a new life a portion of that information is included.

Thus, I speculate, explains the concept of collective memory and the feelings that some folks have that they have lived a former life.

Given his recently revealed boneheaded acts of using public money to feather his girlfriend’s financial nest, Wolfowitz, it seems to me, is an example of a person who is not nearly as smart as he is roundly considered to be.

There is a clear difference, I think, between being an eager student and being intelligent.

Bougainvillea is omnipresent in Xalapa, as it also is in Merida.

I don’t know what type of plant this is which grows attached to trees, but very many of them were blooming.

A fairly typical view of the expanses of the lawn areas planted with trees.

The entrance to the garden.

A blooming lily in a small pond attached to one of the institute’s buildings.

An interesting flower on some sort of palm.

There is a nice collection of indigenous Pines and Cedars.

I don’t what type tree this is but I think the flowers are spectacular.

There is a nice three level pond system fed by a spring.

I traveled to the garden on a local bus I caught on Calle Clavijero between Calles Altamirano and Victoria. As with all local buses, the fare is $5 pesos.

The Instituto de Ecologia resides in a number of buildings lying at the edge of the botanical garden. The institute, the website of which may be found here, is this year celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of its botanical garden.

The garden is composed of expansive areas of lawn into which have been planted a wide variety of indigenous and non-native tree species, a typical native forest, a small formal garden area, and a nursery area. The garden is flanked at one side by a lazy creek along which has been planted various varieties of timber bamboo.

The garden has a very nice collection of Palm trees, some of which may be seen here. The tall Palms with the bulge in their trunks are Royal Palms, common to Central America and Cuba. One often encounters the trunks of Royal Palm trees, which appear as though formed from concrete, used as columns to support palapa roofs.

Near the entrance to the grounds is a bed of Bird of Paradise plants in glorious bloom.

More photos to come.

The thing was perched on the door jamb of my apartment door when I returned.

The following was taken from Middle East scholar Juan Cole’s excellent blog  “Informed Comment”.

The Circle Closes In: A shameful campaign

By Taner Akçam

For many who challenge their government’s official version of events, slander, e-mailed threats, and other forms of harassment are all too familiar. As a former Amnesty International prisoner of conscience in Turkey, I should not have been surprised. But my recent detention at the Montreal airport—apparently on the basis of anonymous insertions in my Wikipedia biography—signals a disturbing new phase in a Turkish campaign of intimidation that has intensified since the November 2006 publication of my book, A Shameful Act: The Armenian Genocide and the Question of Turkish Responsibility..

You may have recently read that Rove has been using a Republican National Committee email account for the vast majority of his email communications, presumably in an effort to avoid discovery of his messages.

Today I read that the RNC legal counsel has informed Congressman Waxman that Rove has been deleting his email messages from the RNC system well into 2005, a couple of years after US Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald instructed the White House and the RNC to preserve email messages.

There is an adage that I recall hearing since Nixon’s Watergate travails – “The cover up is worse than the crime”, a truism of which Rove is apparently ignorant.

Rove is demonstrably ruthless, but apparently not very smart, which perhaps explains why Bush acts like such a moron.

The vendor asked what name I would like carved on the box, I wrote out the name of a Cuban friend, and within 3 minutes he had carved the name using a small knife with a curved blade.  He first carved vertical slices that would separate the letters and then quickly carved each letter.

I happened upon this tree in Veracruz, not far from the bus station.

Cabo San Lucas, for those who don’t know, lies at the Southern most point of the Baja California Peninsula, where the Pacific Ocean and Sea of Cortez converge. A bit Northeast lies San Jose del Cabo where Jesuits missionaries constructed a mission in 1730, in pursuance of their mission to evangelize the indigenous Pericues population, and which today serves as the municipal capitol.

I stayed in the Pueblo Bonito Rose, a luxurious hotel in which LLH has owned a time share for some years. The owners also have the abutting Pueblo Bonita Blanco and a couple of other similar hotels in the area. The Pueblo Bonitos are amongst a row of luxury hotels that line a fairly steep beach of white sand and are very well done.  If you look closely just to the left of the two red and white columns at the far end of the pool you will see a large bronze statute of Neptune.

The staff of the Pueblo Bonito dress in differing uniforms depending upon their function or, in the case of waiters, in which restaurant they work. All staff who regularly deal with the customers speak English well and the resort provides English classes to those in entry level positions, such as housekeepers, to enable them to move into positions requiring English.

Ernesto, a daily fixture at the Pueblo Bonito with whom I became acquainted and who sells activities, such as diving, kayaking, wave runners, and etc., one day told me a story that involved the Beatles, Mother Mary of Cuatameco, Mexico, and hallucinogenic mushrooms. Whether or not the story is actually true, I think it’s a good story.

According to Ernesto, the Beatles, at some point, visited Cuatameco where there is reportedly a woman known as Mother Mary who has access to hallucinogenic mushrooms. The Beattles, so the story goes, consumed some of Mary’s mushrooms and later wrote the words “Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be, let it be.”

The beach fronting the row of resort hotels is plied daily by itinerant vendors selling all sorts of products, most notably silver jewelry, hats, and necklaces and bracelets of shells. The resort hotels do not allow the vendors to enter hotel grounds, while beach side restaurants are more tolerant of their presence.

Life Long Harborite and I seemed to be particular targets of the jewelry vendors who, when we declined the jewelry, always asked if either one of us might be interested their primary products, which did not include jewelry. The jewelry display enables them to get a vendor’s license that they must display, but their primary products are drugs. I suspect if a dim witted gringo like me understands this fact, the licensing authorities and police must surely. Another reason to love Mexico.

The town, which has become a very popular destination amongst gringos, sports a fairly large marina, a part of which, we discovered when we landed there in a water taxi, is private. Additionally, at least one cruise ship drops anchor each day and ferries its occupants into town.

The old part of town, away from the tourist areas, is a quite charming, authentic Mexican pueblo with a number of older, less expensive hotels and colonial buildings.

I haven’t visited any other part of the Baja Peninsula, but the part I saw from the airport in San Jose del Cabo to Cabo San Lucas is a desert, with low lying scrub and lots of Saguaro Cactus, some quite large, as is this one I ran across in town.

Cabo San Lucas is worth a visit, I think; but if you’re like me and prefer a more authentic experience you may wish to stay in one of the hotels in the older part of town.

The entrance to the building gives the impression of a nondescript, one-story well worn building, with a covered portal accessed by a short, semicircle drive that accesses two adjacent streets that converge at a corner. Once in the door, however, it becomes immediately apparent that there is much, much more to the building than is suggested by its exterior.

The entrance is flanked, symmetrically, by small jewelry and art stores accessed from the interior. The art store is in turn flanked by a fairly long registration desk.

Beyond the desk lays a room, with a octagonally vaulted ceiling with stained glass windows fitted in each of the eight sides. A fountain centered by a stone sculpted mermaid, vested in bright green moss, lies in the center of the room, directly below the apex of the octagonally hipped roof. The front wall of the room displays a shallow pond containing a maritime themed sculpture collage, composed of fish sculpted from sheet metal, stone sculptures, a magnificent piece of coral, and sculpted odds and ends.

The three steps down from the registration desk accesses the interior courtyard containing the dining tables and multi-colored dining chairs. The typical Spanish colonial courtyard structure consists of a series of what I believe are Roman arches. The arches support a second story consisting of a balcony, perhaps 10 feet wide, and rooms to the rear. The balcony provides additional seating arrayed along the wrought iron railing that provides protection from a fall to the courtyard below.

The restaurant is decorated with an odd conglomeration of pictures, paintings, chandeliers, religious art, sculptures, and ceiling fans of different vintages and styles, but it all seems to fit.
Each panel of the ancient wooden bar is illustrated and the bar is fronted by bar stools sculpted from all thread, large nuts and bolts, steel plate, and a variety of other materials. The second story is covered with a palapa roof in which the structural members are roped together, rather than connected with mechanical fasteners.

The food was very good. For lunch one day I had some very tasty tostadas with avocado, lettuce, octopus, shrimp, and pickled vegetables. Life Long Harborite judged the slightly customized clam chowder to be the best he’s ever eaten. For my final dinner in Cabo I ordered an equally delicious salad with breaded scallops.

If you’re in Cabo San Lucas be sure to stop in to gawk at the magnificent edifice, examine the artfully conglomerated decor, and to enjoy the fine food and drink.

At this moment I am sitting in the Mexico City airport waiting for my connecting flight.

The flight from Veracruz was quite spectacular as we flew right past Pico de Orizaba, the highest peak in Mexico and third highest in North America.

I could also see extensive agricultural terraces on the Eastern slope of the mountains as we approached Mexico City, which in Mexico, by the way, is referred to as D. F, or simply Mexico.

Though I have been able to connect to three different unsecured wireless networks here in the airport I have been kick off each of them before I could put up this post.

Consequently, I’ll had to wait until sitting in the sun in Cabo drinking Mexican beer.

I have, in fact, had to wait to post this.

I’ve never before been to this are of Mexico; and, viewing the area from the airplane window I realized the Cabo San Lucas is locate amidst a coastal desert. The area where I am staying is the typical row upon row of expensive resort hotels. It is definitely not a typical destination for me.

Life Long Harborite’s brother-in-law has informed us that, as of this afternoon, we will have the use of a Cadillac, of uncertain vintage, owned  by a firefighter friend in the USA.  I am hoping that we will take an excursion from the tourist areas.

More later.

I earlier had promised to post pictures of a palapa typical of the Arroyo Zacate and Avasoslo del Valle area I visited last weekend.This palapa is in the rear yard of the home of one of Abbi’s aunts we visited.

Here is a shot of the roof structure, which is most often composed of poles rather than the dimensional lumber used in this particular palapa.

This shot shows the palm fronds laid horizontally to the rafters, which uses the spine of the frond as a structural element.

The palapas in Merida, with which I was familiar, had smaller poles or lumber laid horizontally across the rafters that supported palm fronds laid vertically relative to the rafters.

The method shown in these photos is more efficient as to the use of poles or lumber but uses more palm fronds.

The photo below shows that the leaves are removed from what becomes the upper side of the spine of each frond. The fronds are then laid shingle style to provide the roof covering.

Using this method half the frond leaves are wasted, but it provides a more water tight roof covering than roofs with the fronds laid vertically.

It is indeed a sad day for me. Mari, to whose lavanderia I have taken my laundry since arriving in Xalapa and about whom I posted last October, died yesterday morning.

I have become quite close to Mari, her husband Enrique, and her two sons Omar and Tristan.

Omar came to my apartment yesterday to give me the bad news, which I had heard earlier, and to ask me to attend Mari’s service today.

So this morning, despite my general aversion to funerals, I walked to the Bosco de Recuerdo for the service; and discovered that I was not only the lone gringo present, but the only person not of the family, as well. I feel quite honored by the invitation.

I met and was treated very warmly by Mari’s five sisters and her ninety one year old father.

There was a Catholic service, involving prayers led by a woman to which the others present responded, which seemed to go on for a half hour or so. But being a Pagan, probably a fallen Pagan at that, and unfamiliar with Catholic prayers, I suspect it seemed longer than it actually was.

I will miss Mari, who always treated me very kindly and always had a number of questions ready for me whenever I visited.

I was thinking while waiting for the service to begin that in my six months in Xalapa I have become close to four local families, while in my nine months in Merida I became close to only one. I suppose the explanation for such has more to do with my overall comfort level and my improving Spanish than with differences between the folks in Merda and here.

None-the-less Xalapa is becoming more and more to feel to me like home.

Having gone to bed earlier Saturday night than the rest of the household I arose Sunday morning before all except Perfecto’s mother, who, amongst other kitchen chores, was kindling the tortilla fire.

Ivan had told me of a sulfur spring (fuente azufre) at the far end of the pueblo. He pointed down the road in front of his store and indicated “todo derecho”, which means straight ahead all the way.

So, with my camera in hand, I tip toed through the house, quietly bidding la senora “buenos dias” as I passed through the kitchen, and set out through the still sleepy village to find the azufre, in hope of a morning dip.

A couple of blocks from Ivan’s store I cam upon an older gentleman working at preparing a large pile of plam fronds for placement on a roof. I quietly asked if he would permit me to take a photo. He didn’t understand my request so called to his son to come out and speak with me. The son assured me I was welcome to photograph his father at work.

A bit further along I came to a wire fence stretched across the end of the road, with a narrow, wooden, swinging gate along side. A young woman sweeping the yard in front of the house adjacent to the gates instructed me to “pase por favor”. I thanked her and after passing through the gate I was approached by a smiling, older gentleman in a straw hat who directed me to just follow this path traversing a rolling pasture. I thanked him, bid him a good day, and continued on my way.

I turned the final corner in the path and saw there was a woman and her daughter washing clothes in the river into which the sulfur spring flows. I announced myself , so as to not startle them, and asked their permission to approach. The woman bid me to “pase pro favor” and I stepped down to the spring. Departing with their arm loads of clean clothes, the woman encouraged me to take a dip. I responded that I had no swimming suit but she assured me that I would most likely be alone that early in the morning.

They disappeared around the bend in the path, I disrobed, and stepped into the very clear, slightly warm water in the small pool where the water, with only a slight sulfur odor, emerges from rocks just above the level of the river. The water cascades a couple of feet over rocks at the far end of the pool and flows on to the river.

The rocks over which the sulfur water flows are covered with what appeared to me as pure white algae. I was later discussing the white material on the rocks with some of Abbi’s family and was told the white material is skin shed from the many folks who bath in the spring, as the sulfurous water cause the skin to shed. Though the explanation sounded implausible to me I certainly did not argue the matter.

A couple days after my return to Xalapa I visited Javier, the shoe shiner in Parque Juarez I visit every couple of weeks, and told him of the shed skin explanation. He laughed and assured me the white material on the rocks were aquatic plants.

Having completed my refreshing bath and redressed I headed back to town. Not very far along the way I ran across these turkeys and a brood of chicks. I returned to Perfecto and Laura’s home for a breakfast of fruit, cereal, and yogurt and then prepared to depart for Avasolo del Valle to visit Abbi’s father, a bunch of her other relatives, and to attend her niece’s birthday party.

More later.

And to think politicians across the USA, encouraged by their generous benefactors at the Merck pharmaceutical company, are clamoring to spend billions of dollars vaccinating young girls to prevent 3,670 cervical cancer deaths per year.

Abbi went off to visit relatives while I chatted with Ivan who had lived in San Jose, California for four years and was quite interested in my story. A bit into my conversation with Ivan I asked if he sold beer. He answered no and made it quite clear that he didn’t approve of beer. So a bit later, telling Ivan I wanted to explore the pueblo, I excused myself and went off in search of a beer, which I found at a small store a couple blocks away.

Next to Ivan’s store was the beautiful out building with a palmed thatched roof which you may see in the photo at the left. Located at the rear of most of the homes of Abbi’s relatives I visited had palm thatched palapas housing open air kitchens and dining areas. Each included a small wood fire pit over which was placed a large round, clay platter upon which tortillas are cooked.

The palm thatching technique used in the area is different than that used in the palapas with which I was familiar in Merida, in that the fronds are placed horizontally to the roof structure, while the fronds in the Merida area are placed vertically. I will post close up photos of one of the roofs in the next couple of days.

To sit for a while, drinking beer and chatting with the woman proprietor and her very cute and talkative granddaughter was a very pleasant respite from the long drive. The woman suggested that I should buy her brother’s house, next door to hers, and promised she would take care of me, promising specifically to do my laundry and cook my meals. I told her I needed a house with garden space, which her brother’s has not. Having downed a couple of the small Sols I continued on my exploration of the village.

Arroyo Zacate is a pueblito, a few miles up a dusty dirt road from highway 147, that is home to about 250 folks living within about a 4 square block area. The village is fully electrified and enjoys both telephone and cable TV services. The inhabitants are members of a few different extended families, with the members of each family sharing a particular part of the pueblo. Abbi’s family lives in an area of town encompassing perhaps ten or twelve houses.

The town has many little stores which folks operate out of their homes; three churches of Catholic, Episcopal, and Evangelical persuasions; a tidy, freshly painted primary school; many new houses in various states of construction; and lots of brand new galvanized metal roofs. One of the homes under construction sports the intricately carved front door seen in the photo at right.

The remainder of the afternoon and evening was spent moving from house to house visiting various of Abbi’s relatives. We settled for the night in the home of Abbi’s cousin Perfecto, his wife Lauara, and their four boys (with another child on the way) who may be seen in the photo at the left. The older woman at the left in the photo, holding a photo of her very recently deceased husband, is Perfecto’s mother who lives in Xalapa.

Late in the evening the boys of the house, and a couple of their cousins, had warmed up to me so I spent the last hour before going to bed about ten, a couple of hours before anyone else in the house, in the living room with the kids. They asked if I would take their pictures and each tried to outdo the others in striking the most comical pose. Here’s Gabriel.

It was an entertaining end to a very pleasant day.

A week ago Monday I was in a zapateria to buy a pair of sandals. The shop did not have the sandals I had selected in my size so the woman attending me made a phone call and soon Abbi arrived, laden with a few pairs of various colored sandals. Abbi, whom may be seen in the photo at right, asked me where I was from, where I lived, and would I like to visit her “rancho” and attend her niece’s birthday party. It was indeed a serendipitous occurrence.

I was taken aback by the invitation from an attractive young woman I had met only thirty seconds earlier and didn’t know quite to make of it. I still don’t.

Abbi couldn’t know that I relish opportunities to visit new places and meet the folks who live there. Likewise, she didn’t know I have a pickup so was not seeking a ride for a trip that normally takes her eight hours and four bus transfers. She wasn’t seeking someone to finance her trip as during the trip she insisted that she should pay for the gas and tolls, though I refused her insistence to pay the tolls and snuck off to the gas station without her in Avasolo del Valle. Abbi’s response, when I asked the purpose of her invitation, was that she wanted to get to know me.

I accepted her invitation, after a few moments of consideration, and asked what I should bring. She responded that I should bring clothes and laughed when I indicated my disappointment that the party wasn’t to be a nude affair. She made it clear that beer and/or rum were not welcome, indicating that her evangelical faith, shared by most of her huge family, does not permit drinking, smoking, or even dancing.

So early last Saturday morning, after a stop at Chedraui for provisions, we set off. Abbi had invited along a friend, Estel, who, shall I say, was less than svelte, so it was a bit cramped during the five hour drive in my two seat camioneta. Estel, as it turned out, continuously directed me to be careful of the dangerous curve ahead and where to turn, despite the fact, as it soon became clear, she really had no idea how to get to where we were going. My polite attempts to inform Estel that listening to two people giving different directions was a problem for me and that Abbi was the designated navigator were ineffective.

Accustomed to eating breakfast early and not yet having eaten, about 9:30 we stopped along highway 150 at a roadside stand where we each selected a quart sized container of mixed fruit. The sanitary standards of the fellow cutting and serving the fruit would probably dissuade most gringos; but, believing that a reasonable intake of foreign microbes helps maintain healthy gastro-intestinal and immune systems, I didn’t hesitate. Later, in fact, I was able to help myself to a bit of smugness when Estel developed a bit of gastro-intestinal distress, apparently from the fruit, while my gut remained firm.

Hanging around the pickup, eating our fruit in front of a rather decrepit home, we were approached by an elderly woman who insisted we step into her front yard to view her flower garden. One of the stars of her garden may be seen in the photo at left. Look closely and you can see a tiny purple flower of five petals growing on the tip of, what I think is, the stamen of the large pink flower.

A bit further along, just outside of Tierra Blanco, we stopped for empanadas and sodas at one the typical roadside restaurants folks operate out of their homes. In this particular case the tables were set up on the graveled area in front of the home. The ground was so uneven that a two inch thick rock was necessary to shim the table so the sodas didn’t go tumbling.

The nearer we traveled to the pueblos the more I was reminded of the rolling hills of Virginia and North Carolina, where the hilly rural terrain is most suited to pasturing livestock. Along each side of the rising and falling roadway stretched living fences of wire strung on trees planted as posts. The branches growing from the tops of the fence trees are periodically lopped, with the trimmings used for fire wood. This time of year the trees not recently lopped are in full bloom, as may be seen in the photo at right.

The lush, green hills and endless rows of blossoming fences, illuminated brilliantly by the bright sunshine, rolling off to the horizon in every direction made for some spectacular vistas.

I will post photos in the next day or so of the pueblos we visited.

“The North America Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) has brought 1.3 million job losses in Mexico in ten years, Jones said. Increased exports to the United States have failed to generate growth, and some studies show that the real wages in 2004 were less than in 1994, Jones said.

“The rules on liberalization of services in such agreements threaten to drive local firms out of business, reduce competition, and extend the monopoly power of large companies, the report says.

“”When Mexico liberalized financial services in 1993 in preparation for NAFTA, foreign ownership of the banking system increased to 85 percent in seven years, but lending to Mexican businesses dropped from 10 percent of gross domestic product (GDP) to 0.3 per cent, depriving poor people living in rural areas of vital sources of credit.’”

When the small cities I used to work for first obtained email service the city attorney made a point of informing all employees that email messages are discoverable in legal proceedings, so we should be very careful what we write.

Apparently no one advised the political hacks appointed to White House and Justice Dept. positions of such, for the some of the three thousand pages released very clearly indicate the political nature of the purge.

Those who don’t understand that the combine of the USA government and multi-national corporations purposely act in concert, through supposedly multi-national lending institutions and USA government agencies, to place poorer nations of the world in permanent debt so as to compel their subjugation to the interests of the corporatocracy, or those who wish to understand the specific means to that end, should read at least the first two hundred, or so, pages.

Having attained a degree in business administration from Boston University and married, in the late ’60s Perkins was facing the military draft and a likely trip to Vietnam, a war to which he says he was opposed. Perkins’ father-in-law, an engineer with the Department of the Navy, arranged through a friend, “Uncle Frank”, for Perkins to interview for a position as a spy with the National Security Agency (NSA), which would have deferred him from the draft. Instead Perkins and his wife applied for and were accepted a Peace Corps volunteers and were stationed in Ecuador (which college graduate Perkins initially thought was a country in Africa.)

While in Ecuador Perkins was contacted by a vice-president of Chas. T. Main, Inc., an engineering consulting company headquartered in Boston. The MAIN vice-president indicated he was the company’s liaison to the NSA. Subsequently Perkins provided MAIN with regular reports of “Ecuador’s economic prospects.”

Subsequent to his Peace Corps service Perkins went to work for MAIN as an economist, a vocation for which his pursuance of a Business Administration degree, he writes, “had not prepared” him. Shortly after beginning his MAIN career he was approached in the Boston Public Library while studying Kuwait at the suggestion of his MAIN recruiter, Perkins was approached by a mysterious woman, “Claudine Martin”, who identified herself as a “Special Consultant” to MAIN.

Martin ultimately took to training Perkins for his career as an “Economic Hit Man”, in a Boston apartment which Perkins subsequently learned had not been rented in her name. Nor was Perkins ever to again locate Martin. Martin told Perkins that her job was “to mold [him] into an economic hit man”, that “no one can know about your involvement”, and that “once you’re in, you’re in for life.”

Martin explained to Perkins that his job was “first….to justify huge international loans that would funnel money back to MAIN and other U.S. companies (such as Bechtel, Halliburton, Stone & Webster, and Brown & Root) through massive engineering and construction projects.” and “Second …work to bankrupt the countries that received those loans (after they had paid MAIN and the other U.S. contractors, of course) so that they would be forever beholden to their creditors, and so they would present easy targets when we needed favors, including military bases, UN votes, or access to oil and other natural resources.” Thus began Perkins’ whoresome career.

Perkins first assignment was to produce wildly inflated economic projections of the economic benefits of reconstructing and augmenting Indonesia’s electrical generation, transmission, and distribution system. An assignment to which he eagerly took, though he understood his work would exacerbate already extreme Indonesian poverty and would literally kill poor Indonesians that his work would further marginalize.

Perkins subsequently plied his trade of killing poor people and enriching selected oligarchs in Panama, Ecuador, and Iran and also in a convoluted system for returning Saudi Arabian petro-dollars to the USA through a scheme to which he and his colleagues cynically referred to as “The Saudi Arabian Money Laundering Affair.”

Perkins left his ten year career with MAIN, claiming that his conscience got the best of him. Writing that, while enjoying the riches his MAIN employment has brought him by cruising his yacht in the Caribbean historically used by slave traders, he recognized that he “too had been a slaver.”

Despite the bout with his conscience that cause him to resign, Perkins resumed work for MAIN as a consultant at three time his previous salary, and became a “highly paid expert witness-primarily for U. S. electric utility companies seeking to have new power plants approved for construction by public utility commissions.” Amongst his assignments was “justifying, under oath, the economic feasibility of the ….. Seabrook nuclear power plant” in New Hampshire.

Later, in the wake of the federal PURPA act, Perkins started an independent power production company, in which a number of powerful banks and engineering firm rather mysteriously invested. When he later sold his business to a large oil company and decided to write a tell all book, he was seduced into a lucrative position with Stone & Webster, upon the promise that Perkins would not write the book.

Perkins made a career as a whore to the rich and powerful assisting in their pursuits to become even richer and more powerful. He was informed by Claudine at the beginning of his career that he was to act dishonestly and that his service would harm poor people. He knew that he was killing poor people in Indonesia, Panama, Ecuador, and other places he worked. He knew that “jackals” employed by the CIA, who moved in when economic hit men failed in their assignments, had killed Panama president Torrijos and Ecuadorian president Roldos. He knew that the mysterious investments in his energy company were intended to keep him quiet. And he knew likewise the Stone & Webster employment offer.

Despite the fact he knew and despite his claims of his conflicted conscience, at every turn in his career Perkins chose the route of the “sell out”, “prostitute”, or “traitor”, as he puts it throughout the book.

None-the-less, Perkins has the gall to sanctimoniously indicate in his preface that “This book is written so that we may take heed and remold our story. I am certain that when enough of us aware of how we are being exploited by the economic engine that creates an insatiable appetite for the world’s resources, and results in systems that foster slavery we will no longer tolerate it.”

I was in the local mercado earlier this week to buy a new pair of sandals and one of the woman minding the shop, Abbi, asked me if I wanted to visit her families rancho for her nieces sixth birthday party..  I readily accepted the offer as I am anxious to meet more local folks, particularly those from the rural areas.   Abbi told me that, as she is from a large family, there will be “muchos gentes” at the party.

I will provide a report and photos upon my return.

I took the photo of this spectacular tree from the roof of my apartment building.

The pundits proffering this line are wrong.

From a Washington Post online chat yesterday with Stuart Gerson who was a Deputy AG in the Bush I administration and acting AG at the beginning of the Clinton administration. Gerson informs us that “It is customary for a President to replace U.S. Attorneys at the beginning of a term.”

Lyme, Conn.: The “Democratic” response to the firing of the U.S. Attorneys is that these actions were political. The “Republican” response is that the Clinton Administration fired all but one U.S. Attorney at the beginning of the Clinton Administration — so of course, it is all political. What is the difference between these mid-Presidency firings and cleaning house at the beginning of a Presidency, if any?

Stuart M. Gerson: There is a difference, but I do not find it to be an important or material one. It is customary for a President to replace U.S. Attorneys at the beginning of a term. Ronald Reagan replaced every sitting U.S. Attorney when he appointed his first Attorney General. President Clinton, acting through me as Acting AG, did the same thing, even with few permanent candidates in mind. What is unusual about the current situation is that it happened in the middle of a term. However, all of the incumbents had served more than the four years presumed in their original commission and, I suggest, replacing them is entirely the prerogative of the executive, as each deposed U.S. Attorney has agreed. The personnel practices employed, giving inaccurate reasons for terminating them and not giving them the courtesy of notice, are, as the AG now concedes, unacceptable.

UPDATE:  CBS’ Public Eye has comments of a number or knowledgeable individuals relative to this matter.   The comments support what Gerson has said.

On the other hand, current Edwards spokesman David Ginsberg counters that “John Edwards cast his vote based on the advice of national security advisers and the intelligence he was given, not political advisers. He got political advice on both sides of the argument, and made his own decision based on what he thought was right, not political calculation.”

If Shrum’s story is true then Edwards is the phony, calculating politician I believe him to be.

If Ginsberg is correct then Edwards is a nitwit. Edwards, at the time of the vote authorizing the Iraqi adventure, was a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee, the ranking member of which was then Florida Senator Bob Graham. Graham recognized that the Bush administration was cooking intelligence and voted against authorizing Bush’s war.

If Graham knew, then why didn’t Edwards – or Biden, or Clinton, or etc.?   Al Gore knew, and he wasn’t even a Senator.

It is illegal to lie to Congress during “any investigation or review, conducted pursuant to the authority of any committee, subcommittee, commission or office of the Congress, consistent with applicable rules of the House or Senate.” The penalty is five years in prison, unless the matter deals with terrorism, in which case the penalty is eight years.

What do you suppose the chances of any of the liars spending any time?

By the way I’ve often thought there should be a Constitutional Amendment that establishes that the penalty for any elected or appointed government official lying to the USA public should be the same as that which applies to members of the public lying to Congress.

Gonzales, in the face of the unfolding scandal of the political firing of 8 US Attorneys General, announced at a new conference today that “Like every CEO of every major organization, I am responsible for what happens at the Department of Justice.  I accept that responsibility and my pledge to the American people is to find out what went wrong here, to assess accountability…”

How could an even moderately intelligent person “accept responsibility” and promise to “assess accountability” in the same sentence?

Thanks to the work of internet journalists, most prominently those at Talking Points Memo, the rolls of Gonzales’ chief of staff, Karl Rove, and Harriet Miers (one of Bush’s “mother hens”) in the US Attorney firings, at the urgings of various republican congresspersons and functionaries, has come to light.  Another case of the profit driven media largely failing the public.

Aside the walking path around Los Lagos is this mosaic.

The stadium, built in 1925, is named for the Veracruz state governor of the time, Heriberto Jara Corona, and was funded in part by “philanthropist” William K. Boone. The facility was refurbished during the 1980s.

Boone was the manager of Xalapa’s electric utility owned by the Higgins Estate Inc. of Manhattan. The employees of the utility went on strike in 1925 seeking higher wages. Boone was unable to reach an agreement with the employees and, ultimately, upon the order of Governor Jara, the utility was seized by the Veracruz state government.

At the far end of the stadium, as shown in the photo above, is this series of statues atop columns forming a portion of the fence surrounding the stadium.

Atop each of the larger end columns is this sculpture.

The photo above is of the upper end of the plaza from which radiate the stairways shown in the photos I posted a couple of days ago.

And another stairway radiating from the plaza. There are, in all, four different stairways accessing the plaza.

A bit further along the plaza is this shrine and fountain. Water runs into a pool from the four little spouts, shown here as the dark spots below the shrine visible just above the front lip of the pool.

The plaza, fountain and shrine are located in the Xalitic neighborhood, one of three of the city’s  original  neighborhoods. Folks settled here as a spring, which now feeds the fountain, emanated from the hillside.

This shot is from a bit further along down the plaza. The red building at the right houses a series of tubs in which folks wash clothes.

Coulter et al are entertainers who have happened upon profitable shticks that wingnuts pay them to perform, no different than the likes of Jimmy Swaggert, Pat Robertson, or Jerry Fallwell. Hand wringing condemnations won’t dissuade their acolytes, so why bother?

Construction of the plaza and stairs is just now finishing up.

I’m afraid that a link is all I’m able to provide.

HPV is a prevalent sexually transmitted disease, with 6.2 million new cases reported each year, according to the Center for Disease Control. More than thirty strains of HPV infect the genital area. Some strains encourage the growth of pre-cancerous cells that have been identified as leading to cervical cancer, of which 11,150 new case are predicted by the National Cancer Institute to occur in 2007 with 3,670 leading to death.

So we have legislators and governors throughout the country, coincidentally  beneficiaries of Merck largess, seriously advocating that we spend over $1 billion to prevent 3,670 cervical cancer deaths, yet our health care system could not afford $80 to treat this young fellow’s abscessed tooth.  The infection in his tooth, by the way, infected his brain; and, despite more than $250,000. in brain surgery and other medical treatment the young fellow died.

Yep, our profit driven health care system is the best in the world (in addition to being the most expensive in the world) if you have insurance or can afford to pay.

The state government building, which abuts the Parque Juarez, is also quite handsome.

Blossoming flowers have added color to Parque Juarez, which through the Winter has been green. And the intensely yellow flowers of the jasmine vines that cling to the trunks of the park’s trees, are imparting a delicious aroma detectable throughout the park and even, with the correct breeze, across the street.

I can’t say that Winter weather here was the least bit unpleasant, but the sunny, warm weather, as of late, is very nice.

Due to half-hearted prosecutions and pervasive bigotry the justice system failed, as the perpetrators were convicted of only minor offenses. In the face of the injustice, Morris Dees of the Southern Poverty Law Center (one of the world’s true heroes, I think) has filed a “wrongful-injury lawsuit” against the perpetrators.

It is a sad and outrageous story.

The Globe reports that “a computer seized from paramilitary leader ‘Jorge 40′ revealed the names of dozens of politicians who supposedly collaborated with paramilitaries in intimidating voters, seizing land, and kidnapping or killing labor unionists and political rivals. Other revelations followed, including secret documents signed by officials pledging moral support or kickbacks to the illegal militias.”

Columbia, as you will remember, receives more USA military and economic aid than any other nation in the Western Hemisphere. The aid is provided to fight the drug war and a long term insurgency.

I don’t think I’ve previously posted a photo of the stunningly beautiful Palacio Municipal. City Hall to those in the USA.

I am unable to get far enough away for an unobstructed front shot of the building so you’ll have to settle for this shot of the center portion.

If you look closely above the second story windows, just below the upper balconies, you will see the cast faces you can see in the two lower photos.

UPDATE:  Thanks to Ivan for the correction.

“After the speech, McCain was asked by an audience member if he was ‘sucking up to the religious right.’ He drew laughs by responding: ‘What’s wrong with sucking up to everybody?”

McCain has been sucking up to the likes of Jerry Fallwell and the Discovery Institute in Seattle as of late. My good friend, Life Long Harborite, would call that “swinging on the meat”.

Padilla, you will remember, is a USA citizen arrested, on no hard evidence, in the Chicago airport upon his arrival on a flight from Switzerland; and, while Attorney General Ashcroft and Bush beat their chests about protecting the country from terrorism, jailed in New York. Shortly, so as to remove him from civil court purview, Padilla was declared an “enemy combatant”, based upon legal opinions rendered by then White House Counsel Alberto Gonzolez which he , in turn, based upon the bizarre fascist legal opinions rendered by Deputy Attorney General John Yoo (who opined that Bush could order the torturing of a child, including crushing his testicles, in an effort to make his father talk). Padilla was ensconced in a Naval brig in South Carolina, not allowed to consult his attorney, and tortured.

Anyone who doesn’t think that fascism has taken a firm hold in the USA should read this report of the whole shameful Padilla affair by Seamus McGraw posted on the CourtTV website. The report is just that, a report, and not editorial commentary.

The Southern Poverty Law Center has issued a report, entitled “The New Crusaders”, that discusses the overtly anti-semitic “radical traditional Catholic” movement with which Gibson and his father are affiliated.

Here are photos of a couple of other really nice features of the park.

One of my favorite features of the park is this little aqueduct atop the stepped retaining wall you can see in the photos, with the water cascading to each successive level.

Here you can see the aqueduct with the water splashing from one level to the next.

The aqueduct crosses the path atop the arch in the photo at left, and discharges into the pond shown in the photo below

This group occupies one of the best locations in a very busy Centro shopping district. There was another group just down the street.

Sorry about the traffic noise but I just got the video camera and am still learning how to use it and edit the video.

“…marketing and underwriting cost a lot of money. McKinsey & Company, the consulting firm, recently released an important report dissecting the reasons America spends so much more on health care than other wealthy nations. One major factor is that we spend $98 billion a year in excess administrative costs, with more than half of the total accounted for by marketing and underwriting — costs that don’t exist in single-payer systems.

“And this is just part of the story. McKinsey’s estimate of excess administrative costs counts only the costs of insurers. It doesn’t, as the report concedes, include other “important consequences of the multipayor system,” like the extra costs imposed on providers. The sums doctors pay to denial management specialists are just one example.

“Incidentally, while insurers are very good at saying no to doctors, hospitals and patients, they’re not very good at saying no to more powerful players. Drug companies, in particular, charge much higher prices in the United States than they do in countries like Canada, where the government health care system does the bargaining. McKinsey estimates that the United States pays $66 billion a year in excess drug costs, and overpays for medical devices like knee and hip implants, too.

“To put these numbers in perspective: McKinsey estimates the cost of providing full medical care to all of America’s uninsured at $77 billion a year. Either eliminating the excess administrative costs of private health insurers, or paying what the rest of the world pays for drugs and medical devices, would by itself more or less pay the cost of covering all the uninsured. And that doesn’t count the many other costs imposed by the fragmentation of our health care system.”