Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Stupid People tricks

 This woman could have been either a Republican or A Meth addict

Woman charged with burning down 'The Senator,' a 3,500-year-old tree

Florida woman says she was doing drugs inside the hollow tree.

By John PlattWed, Feb 29 2012 at 10:50 AM EST

The Senator Photo: Christopher Elliott/Flickr
When the 3,500-year-old bald cypress tree known as "The Senator" burned to the ground in January, initial reports from investigators theorized that the fire might have been caused by a lightning strike.
But this week, a Florida woman was arrested on a charge of arson for burning down the tree. Sara Barnes, 26, told authorities that she and an unidentified friend were doing drugs inside the hollow tree and she lit a fire to see what she was doing.
Barnes took cellphone photos of the fire as it started and bragged about it to friends. According to officials, who said the arrest followed tips from witnesses, Barnes showed people the photos and told them "I can't believe I burned down a tree older then Jesus." She also told police that she regularly hid out in Big Tree Park, home of "The Senator," to get high.
Deputies from the Seminole County Sheriffs' Office arrested Barnes and another woman, 41-year-old Jodi Hill, at Barnes' apartment on Feb. 18. Both women were charged with possession of methamphetamine, intent to sell the drugs, and possession of drug paraphernalia. Police also confiscated Barnes' phone and laptop, where the photos of the fire were stored.
Beyond of the drug charges, there were tree-related charges filed by the Florida Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services, which arrested Barnes on charges of intentional burning of land, a third-degree felony.
According to The Orlando Sentinel, people angry about the fire have started posting "profanity-laced comments" on Barnes' Facebook page.
"The Senator" was believed to be one of the 10 oldest trees in the world and probably the oldest in the United States. It measured 17.5 feet in diameter and 425 inches in circumference, according to the Tampa Bay Times. It got its name from Florida state Sen. Moses Overstreet, who donated the acreage that formed Big Tree Park to Seminole County. The tree and the park received hundreds of thousands of visitors a year.
Last week, Seminole County officials announced plans to install fencing and security cameras in Big Tree Park near the site of the historic tree to protect the remains of the tree and another 2,000-year-old tree nearby. The fences will cost nearly $30,000, while the security system is estimated to cost an additional $34,000.
Barnes is currently being held in Seminole County Jail.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The things we find on the web






great Marketing ploy against face book

Monday, February 27, 2012

When the City fails in its Duty

The People take up the task


  This is probably the future of our own cities as our government cuts basic tasks to sve thjier own retirement funds

http://www.wired.com/magazine/2012/01/ff_ux/?utm_source=googleplus&utm_medium=socialmedia&utm_campaign=googleplusclickthru

Thirty years ago, in the dead of night, a group of six Parisian teenagers pulled off what would prove to be a fateful theft. They met up at a small café near the Eiffel Tower to review their plans—again—before heading out into the dark. Lifting a grate from the street, they descended a ladder to a tunnel, an unlit concrete passageway carrying a cable off into the void. They followed the cable to its source: the basement of the ministry of telecommunications. Horizontal bars blocked their way, but the skinny teens all managed to wedge themselves through and ascend to the building’s ground floor. There they found three key rings in the security office and a logbook indicating that the guards were on their rounds.
But the guards were nowhere to be seen. The six interlopers combed the building for hours, encountering no one, until they found what they were looking for at the bottom of a desk drawer—maps of the ministry’s citywide network of tunnels. They took one copy of each map, then returned the keys to the security office. Heaving the ministry’s grand front door ajar, they peeked outside; no police, no passersby, no problem. They exited onto the empty Avenue de Ségur and walked home as the sun rose. The mission had been so easy that one of the youths, Natacha, seriously asked herself if she had dreamed it. No, she concluded: “In a dream, it would have been more complicated.”
This stealthy undertaking was not an act of robbery or espionage but rather a crucial operation in what would become an association called UX, for “Urban eXperiment.” UX is sort of like an artist’s collective, but far from being avant-garde—confronting audiences by pushing the boundaries of the new—its only audience is itself. More surprising still, its work is often radically conservative, intemperate in its devotion to the old. Through meticulous infiltration, UX members have carried out shocking acts of cultural preservation and repair, with an ethos of “restoring those invisible parts of our patrimony that the government has abandoned or doesn’t have the means to maintain.” The group claims to have conducted 15 such covert restorations, often in centuries-old spaces, all over Paris.
What has made much of this work possible is UX’s mastery, established 30 years ago and refined since, of the city’s network of underground passageways—hundreds of miles of interconnected telecom, electricity, and water tunnels, sewers, catacombs, subways, and centuries-old quarries. Like computer hackers who crack digital networks and surreptitiously take control of key machines, members of UX carry out clandestine missions throughout Paris’ supposedly secure underground tunnels and rooms. The group routinely uses the tunnels to access restoration sites and stage film festivals, for example, in the disused basements of government buildings.
UX’s most sensational caper (to be revealed so far, at least) was completed in 2006. A cadre spent months infiltrating the Pantheon, the grand structure in Paris that houses the remains of France’s most cherished citizens. Eight restorers built their own secret workshop in a storeroom, which they wired for electricity and Internet access and outfitted with armchairs, tools, a fridge, and a hot plate. During the course of a year, they painstakingly restored the Pantheon’s 19th- century clock, which had not chimed since the 1960s. Those in the neighborhood must have been shocked to hear the clock sound for the first time in decades: the hour, the half hour, the quarter hour.
Eight years ago, the French government didn’t know UX existed. When their exploits first trickled out into the press, the group’s members were deemed by some to be dangerous outlaws, thieves, even potential inspiration for terrorists. Still, a few officials can’t conceal their admiration. Mention UX to Sylvie Gautron of the Paris police—her specialty is monitoring the city’s old quarries—and she breaks into a wide smile. In an era when ubiquitous GPS and microprecise mapping threaten to squeeze all the mystery from our great world cities, UX seems to know, and indeed to own, a whole other, deeper, hidden layer of Paris. It claims the entire city, above- and belowground, as its canvas; its members say they can access every last government building, every narrow telecom tunnel. Does Gautron believe this? “It’s possible,” she says. “Everything they do is very intense.”

Friday, February 24, 2012

The Day in Poetry

Love NPR depressed that the  GOp promises to shut it down if elected also love the idea of Poetry to describe the days events

Today marks second installment of an exciting project at All Things Considered. Each month we'll be bringing in a poet to spend time in the newsroom — and at the end of the day, to compose a poem reflecting on the day's news. Last month we invited Tracy K. Smith to join us.
This month we're talking to Craig Morgan Teicher. He is a poet, critic and freelance writer. He is the author of Brenda Is in the Room and Other Poems, as well as a collection of short stories and fables called Cradle Book.
After Teicher spent some time writing, he sat down with Melissa Block to talk about the poem — and the process. He was inspired, he said, by a story in the news about Google. Rumor has it that the company plans to create eyeglasses that have smartphone capabilities.
"I love the Internet," Teicher explained. "I walk around with an iPad everywhere I go. But the idea of the Internet superimposed on what you see really changes the stakes. It's kind of creepy."
Teicher also explained how he structured his poem. "I ended up writing in a form called a villanelle," he said. "The first and third lines are repeated as the last lines of the succeeding stanzas through the rest of the poem."
The form helped him come to terms with his subject. "It's about convincing yourself of something and repeating something — trying to get over a point that you can't quite get over," Teicher said.
It was also a way to find some order in the midst of a hectic day. "It's a form that I happen to feel pretty comfortable with and so it helped me organize the process of going from nothing to poem in a couple of hours."
This was a challenging task, but Teicher called it a fun one. And he was happy with the result.
"Normally I wouldn't have even shown this to my wife yet," Teicher told Block. "But it was a really fun thing to get to do, and I'm grateful to get to do it. I hope people like the poem."
As for whether he liked it? "Oh yeah," said Teicher. "I think I'll keep it. I'm happy with it."

Through The Google Glasses: A Villanelle

BY CRAIG MORGAN TEICHER
At last the Internet is before my eye,
the actual world merely the consequence
of the search terms I supply.
Looking up, I see information in the sky:
not just birds but related stories and comments
from readers of the Internet before my eye,
or between it and the world where I
am walking and yet at a distance,
veiled by the search terms I supply
to my glasses. I feel uplifted, high,
even, almost, uploaded. It's intense,
merging word and world in my eye.
Looking at you, glasses off, though, I feel shy —
there's so much these glasses can't enhance
about me, so much search can't supply.
But with them on I'm more than a guy
at a keyboard. I am a see-board, immense,
re-envisioning, according to the Internet in my eye,
a world, at last, that answers to the terms I supply.
All Things Considered's NewsPoet is produced and edited by Ellen Silva with production assistance from Rose Friedman.


http://www.npr.org/2012/02/24/147208997/newspoet-craig-m-teicher-writes-the-day-in-verse

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

CHICO HOT SPRINGS


  1. Had the opportunity to take the Goat family over to Chico Hot Springs for the Day on Sunday. Had not been there since shortly after our marriage. Being presidents day weekend it was quite busy . The bar and pool were full of families ,and good ole boy snow mobiles.  There is a great restaurant there and a hotel spa but we did not visit those this trip.  The water was hot and the mineral pools that feed the swimming area  have a pleasant slightly sulphuric smell. I was  trying to shake a case of the crud in the steam and it may have helped a bit.




Its a great day or weekend get away from the hectic Bozeangeles metropolis, but I would probably not go back for Presidents day

weekend

Monday, February 20, 2012

three dog night

Three Dog Night

In the old days, before houses were warm,
people did not sleep alone. Not even
windows went by themselves into

the cold sheets of night. Rooms were
lit with lanterns and children were
encouraged to jump on their beds,

warming themselves, before they
crawled inside. You might sleep with
your cousin or sister, your nose

buried in the summer of their
hair. You might place a baked potato
in your blanket to help it remember

warmth. A fire would be lit but, after
awhile, it would smolder down
to the bone silence of ash. Everything

was cold: the basin where you washed
your face, the wood floor, the windows
where you watched your breath

open over the framed blur of snow.
Your hands and feet were cold
and the trees were cold: naked,

traced in ice. You might take a dog
to bed or two or three, anything to lie
down with life, feel it breathing nearby.
"Three Dog Night" by Faith Shearin, from Moving the Piano. © Stephen F. Austin

Saturday, February 18, 2012

John Bozeman's Bistro

 So , for the first time in a while Mother Goat and I got to go out on a date, leaving  little Goat in the questionable care of a sitter. It was great to get to get out and experience a little adult atmosphere. We went to the Baxter  building which is very upscale, Ted's Montana grille and The Bacchus Pub share a large common area with music and a  nice fire place. e had a couple drinks and listen to  Craig  T. Hall on an Acoustic guitar. Then we went to the John Bozeman Bistro for dinner. My wife and I were virgins to this restaurant but I found the atmosphere very similar to Boodles a very nice ( and expensive restaurant  destroyed in the big explosion downtown a few years ago ) Its worth the price for a special occasion or if you are feeling like you or your friends are deserving of a reward. Eat the food, drink the wine ignore the price tag.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Spring Fever

  Little Goat and I planted  some Rosemary, Thyme and Basil seeds in some window pots yesterday. Looking forward to growing season. We have not had much of a winter. I hope we get some snow pack in the mountains or we will have a very smokey Summer. Below is a great Ted talk on Urban gardening and the collective power of the web to solve problems with growing veggies inside.

http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/en/britta_riley_a_garden_in_my_apartment.html

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Political vs The greater population

  Have we reached a tipping point in our willingness or ablity to affect change in  our  society ? is change neccesary ? BozeAngeles seems to be in balence but national we don't seem to be able to move out of a  fricking channel of opposition,( I.e if the liberals are for it I'm against it or if the wacko right wingers are for it I'm against it. )


Apathy (also called impassivity or perfunctoriness) is a state of indifference, or the suppression of emotions such as concern, excitement, motivation and passion. An apathetic individual has an absence of interest in or concern about emotional, social, spiritual, philosophical and/or physical life. But contrary to this, an apathetic individual may take interest in emotional, social, spiritual, philosophical and/or physical life's attributes. Not necessarily to end that apathy but in order to find a deeper meaning to the existential meaning of being, part of which necessitates apathy, for we are by definition 'without meaning'.
They may lack a sense of purpose or meaning in their life. He or she may also exhibit insensibility or sluggishness. The opposite of apathy is flow.[1] In positive psychology, apathy is described as a result of the individual feeling they do not possess the level of skill required to confront a challenge. It may also be a result of perceiving no challenge at all (e.g. the challenge is irrelevant to them, or conversely, they have learned helplessness). In light of the insurmountable certainty of universal doom, apathy is the default mode of existential nihilism, and, as such, is not considered to be a pathological state by those who experience it. (See the works of Arthur Schopenhauer).

Monday, February 13, 2012


  Mailed off a care package to Mother Goat's Nephew in Afghanistan  today hopefully the last before he s boots on the Ground in America. Matts a Marine and does not share the stuff he's done and seen but heres a nice post from the BBC about Nritish troops in the same part of the GHan

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-15093744

Sunday, February 12, 2012

the changing face of protest the revolution is digitalized

The Digital Revolution has been talked about for years, but now we're seeing how truly revolutionary it can be.

The massive upheavals of the Arab Spring have been orchestrated by activists on social media, using Facebook and Twitter to get out the crowds . . . and get out the message.

Videos from Syria posted on YouTube are now providing a view of the turmoil inside a largely-closed nation.


But the shift in the balance of power isn't just shaking dictatorships . . . it is shaking corporate America as well.

http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-3445_162-57376133/how-the-revolution-became-digitized/

Saturday, February 11, 2012

10 degrees and blowing snow in Bozeangeles but the Gods say Spring is coming

Today is Imbolc, the day of midwinter.
The cold has begun to fade away,
and the days grow longer.
This is a time in which the earth is quickening,
like the womb of Brighid,
birthing the fire after the darkness.


Wednesday, February 8, 2012

how much do we really want to share

  Kind of a double edged sword, our retail economy is increasingly  cyber attached. Mother Goats company is using social media more and more. Over on Prairie Ponderings ( see link at left ) KB has started selling things on etsy.  Are we willingly selling our souls to the machine or are we using the Machine ?

http://www.cnn.com/2012/01/23/tech/social-media/web-1984-orwell-cashmore/index.html

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Langston Hughes 50 years ago still true today

Let America Be America Again

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek-
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean-
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today-O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home-
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay-
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again-
The land that never has been yet-
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME-
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose-
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath-
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain-
All, all the stretch of these great green states-
And make America again!