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July 31, 2005
More Questions on Ohio... November 9, 2004

Interest was strong right after the election:

Ohio.... The Battle Continues...

[The following message has just been distributed tonight to Democratic Party officials across the state of Ohio.]

Dear Regional Counsel,

Well, it seems the presidential election is not quite over yet.

John Kerry called National Counsel with his request that Ohio legal counsel not retire quite yet but rather take vigorous steps to assure that the vote in Ohio, including the provisional ballots, is accurately counted.

This is to live up to his pledge to do everything possible to assure that all votes in this election would be accurately counted. We do not expect the outcome of the election to change.

However, there are widely-circulating reports of election irregularities, some of which we knew about, and a lot of speculation about election fraud. This is in addition to the voter suppression activities performed by the GOP on election day. We want to identify and record as best we can precisely what happened.

Via Rox Populi

Read the rest of the letter. It is interesting.

More from November 11th

More on the Suspected Voter Fraud Issue

This appears to be the story Kevin from Wizbang was pooh poohing today.

Good evening. An Associated Press poll tonight suggests that 54 percent of us Americans have been given renewed confidence about the nation‘s electoral system based on last week‘s decisive presidential election. You guys might want to put that poll back into the field again next week.

Our fifth story on the COUNTDOWN, there is a small but blood curdling group of reports of voting irregularities and possible fraud principally in Ohio and Florida. That group of reports is moving from that end of the spectrum in which believers are likely to be wearing hats made out of Reynolds wrap to the other end of the spectrum in which the believers are going to the general accounting office and perhaps the FBI. The mainstream newspaper, the “Cincinnati Inquirer,” reports that officials in Warren County, Ohio, that‘s 20 miles northeast of Cincinnati, locked down their administration building last Tuesday night to prevent anybody from observing the vote count. Moreover the secrecy, unique among all 88 of Ohio‘s counties, was attributed to concerns about potential terrorism.

The newspaper reports that Warren County emergency services director Frank Young had recommended the walling off of the vote count based on information received from the Department of Homeland Security and the FBI Mr. Young did not explain whether al Qaeda might have been planning to hit Caesar Creek State Park in Waynesville or the King‘s Island Amusement Park. After some negotiating, reporters were finally admitted to that building around midnight. They were kept in the lobby. The counting went on unobserved two floors above them. Warren County‘s polls were among the last in Ohio to close, thus among the last to report and thus among the votes that clinched the state and the election for President Bush. A local television news director called the homeland security explanation a, quote, “ red herring.”

County prosecutor Rachel Hutzel told the newspaper that the Warren County commissioners were, quote, “within their rights to lock the building down, even though no other Ohio county did so because having photographers or reporters present could have interfered with the count.” You bet, Rachel.

Ohio, whose 20 electoral votes were based on a margin of 2 percent in the vote, has other problems tonight. The state reports 92,000 presidential votes did not count. Ranging from votes improperly cast to votes improperly counted. And in Cuyahoga County, that is greater Cleveland, the official records of 29 different voting precincts show more votes than registered voters to a total of 93,000 extra votes in that county alone.

As an example, in Fairview Park, 12 miles west of Cleveland, 13,342 voters were registered. 18,472 votes were cast. None of this even addresses the story we told you about last week in the town of Gahanna outside Columbus, Ohio. There in a district with just 800 voters, a voting machine added 3,893 votes to Mr. Bush‘s total.

'Countdown with Keith Olbermann' for Nov. 8
Read the Whole thing...
Hat Tip Deb


Kevin said of the story: "Good for him (and the DU pack fueling him) if he can find wide scale problems in Ohio

or Florida, but maybe Olbermann and his staff might allow the results
to bubble up a bit before running to air, lest they looks like partisan
hacks."

Maybe Wizbang should settle down and let Obermann do his job, or better yet, maybe everyone should be concerned enough, regardless of partisan position, to be supportive of finding the truth. There was this massive groudswell of enthusiam in "Finding the Truth," about Kerry's military record... I dont know, maybe its just me, but I think this story is just a tad more important. There is a reason that there is a sense of urgency in all this... That we cant afford to let things, "bubble up," becuase if we wait to long for those bubbles, perhaps a man who did not win the election will be sitting in the White House for Four more years.

Like Tas, I am trying to stay objective on this issue. But thats objective, not blind, deaf and stupid. This MUST be investigated, and the American People need to know the truth one way or the other. I would think, and perhaps I am being naive, that conservatives would want the truth as much as Liberals do.

Note 2005: It appears they did not, and while a number of former staunch Bush supporters have gotten to the point, where even they smell the stench of this administration's corruption... Wizbang stands solidly behind the President, and there is far from a revolution taking place in the streets.

Posted by David A at 03:11 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 970 Words
Some of my Ohio Coverage from 2004

Considering Today's Piece on Ohio, I thought I would dig up some of my old archived discussions on the subject. This piece from October 24, 2004, just before the election. More to come.

Stealing the Election 2004 Edition

Update IV: This is one of the fairest responses yet to my Rant... So much so that I want to highlight it as trully progressive thinking.

And thanks to Oliver Willis for giving this some attention.

Also a big thanks to Digby of Hullabalooo.


If Republicans think they can intimidate Black Voters in this year's election, they will soon find it is NOT going to fly. For my conservative friends who tried to pooh pooh dissenfranchisement of black voters in Florida in 2000, or spin it with claims that soldiers voting by absentee ballot were also dissenfranchised, whatever. It is NOT going to happen this time folks. This kind of bullshit will not stand.

Where the Hell is Malcom X or the Black Panther Party

when you need them. Someone needs to gaurantee that people will be able
to vote without being subjected to some stormtrooper who wants to
interogate you becuase they THINK you are going to vote Democratic.

The Bullshit is starting to stink up the whole country now. What is happening in Ohio is an outrage. But this time it wont be allowed to stand. A lot has happened in four years, and part of what happened is US, the troops in the trenches who will not allow this to be covered over.

I am going to make it my mission the next days up until the election to fight this bullshit at every turn, and to mobilize as many progressive bloggers as I can to the cause as well.

So I am throwing out a challenge to progressives everywhere, and to those on the right who care about our constitution, and not just their guy winning. It is time we cleaned up the dirt, and go back to being Americans again, people who pledge every day to defend the ideals of our republic.

Read On...

Pass the word on what is happening in Ohio and elsewhere, and trackback to this post. I will do likewise.

Others Blogging This subject

Oliver

Atrios

Majikthis

The Flybottle

Mousemusings

Crossposted the The PBA Site.


UPDATE:
Okay, so one of my conservative buddies gives me the old, "what for," in my comments section. I was going to answer him there, but I will do it here, so everyone can see it.

I am sorry Marty, but I dont really care what my conservative friends think about this one. I have read the comments from Philadelphia about the rationale for moving polling places at the last moment. I believe the Republican Party official said he was insisting on them being moved becuase he did not want to go into minority areas for fear of being stabbed in the back. Please Marty, I am just as sick of this shit as you are, but I am also tired of the hypocritical bullshit coming out of republicans and conservatives so save me the lecture.

Ohio is cesspool of dirty Republican Tricks. I guess you would explain this:

Link

away as an annomoly as well, right? I like you and Chad, Rob and JT, Kevin, Johnny Walker Red, Boyd, Bo, consider you all friends, but why is it that you can run with the most hateful and slanderous bullshit about Kerry, and its okay. As soon as someone brings this kind of thing up, its lowering the discourse, I am going to call you on it... BULL SHIT.

Why is it, that none of you are concerned about the CIA report that hasnt been released. Or the lies on Iraq. If this country is harmed it will not be becuase some of us choose to question what is going on on BOTH sides in this filthy process we are calling an election. At least I have the decency to point out both sides. Point to me ONE post you have made where you seriously questioned the actions of your party and the administration, just one!

I am black man, one who's parents suffered to win the right to vote, and this is an EMMOTIONAL issue for me.

And when you talk about hypocrisy on NADER, PLEASE.... How many republicans would be writing checks for him and insisting he were on the ballot if they thought he would hurt Bush. No one is fucking stupid enough to even imagine that scenario. I noticed a couple of my conservative friends stopped linking to me a few weeks ago as things started to heat up on the election. I have never stopped linking to them if I find something interesting on their blog. So I really dont give a rats ass, it simply goes to prove you can dish it, but you cant take it. But you know what, you are right about the Nazi picture, it just gives people an excuse to blow off what I am saying. So I have changed it for a more appropriate one with a Link that will explain it.

You said, "What is also outrageous is the fact that the Kerry campaign and the DNC have planned all along to challenge the outcome of the election regardless of the outcome (unless of course they win every state.) Even if there is no sign of voter intimidation, they have as their stated objective to make the charge everywhere they think that they are not doing well. Of course, I wouldn't expect you to write about that. It's your blog, and that doesn't match your agenda."

My agenda is seeing a fair election, whoever wins. Democrats would be STUPID not to be prepared to contest the election based on things that are going on right now. Why do I have the feeling that all the conservative bruhah over it, is a preemptive strike to discredit such efforts should they be necessary? You have the audacity to question my fairness in my blog postings. I challenge you or anyone else to find a blog on either side who has attempted to be as fair and objective as mine. You noted the link to the conservative blog, How often do you see a conservative blog giving the other side via links, it is rare. So sorry Marty, save me the lectures.

I saw my people robbed of their constitutional right in Florida, something that infuriates me every time a conservative denies it. I also saw what happened in Philadelphia....It wont happen again, and if I have to join forces with the devil himself, (a reference to you and my other conservative friends constantly criticizing me for linking other liberal blogs who take a harder outlook on the issues) I will do so.

It IS time we woke up and realized we were all Americans, and part of that wake up call is to realize that no one candidate is worth subverting our constitution or throwing our American values out the window for!

Some Additional Reading

Pierre Omidyar (Founder of eBay) - Requires Registration

Aldon Hynes

Orient Lodge (PBA)

Greater Democracy

Gentle Breezes



American Samizdat

Why are we back in Iraq

Netpolitik

Prometheus 6

Cul

Loaded Mouth

Sortapundit

UPDATE- Via Jesus General who says....
Hopefully, one of the major papers will pick up on this ChronWatch column by Sam Wells where he makes the charge that "Kerry is lying to Negroes about being disenfranchised in Florida."

The Following is my favorite part of the Column:

Kerry is lying to Negroes about being disenfranchised in Florida. You may recall that it was Democrats in West Palm Beach and other Dem strongholds in Florida who tried to steal the election in 2000 by having people stuff several blank ballots in the voting machine at the same time and punching the Democrat Party slate--giving rise to ''hanging'' and ''pregnant'' chads (partially punched out ballots). If a single ballot is placed in a Vote-a-Matic machine, which is the proper and legal way to vote, it is virtually impossible to punch one's vote in such a way as to produce either a hanging or bulging chad; each punch is clean and complete, producing a perfectly punched-out hole. Knowing that they had stuffed the ballots in those heavily Democrat (and heavily Negro) areas, the Democrats demanded recounts in only those areas, hoping that if enough of the ballots with the hanging and pregnant chads were counted--instead of being discarded for being spoiled as they should have been--that their man Gore might win. At the same time, the Gore lawyers worked to disenfranchise native Floridian military personnel serving overseas from voting by absentee ballot on the assumption (probably correct) that most of them would be for Bush and not Gore

Negroes???? Why dont cha go all the way Sam Baby, and just say Niggers, or Niggras as you Southern Boys used to say. Oh I know he didnt... And you people question WHY I am pissed on this issue? A bit of advice, dont come incorrect at me on this one, becuase if you do, friend or FOE, you are subject to get your feelings hurt!

UPDATE III: And now McGehee, a conservative I know from Wizbang, thinks we are drinking Koolaide. You know what McGehee, all the pathetic little insults in the world are not going to matter in this case. Bring it on... This has me so angry, I can barely talk about it. You pooh pooh it all you want. But the we will not stop. I lived in the South in the Early 60's and I saw these kind of intimidation tactics. This is not 1960, and it will NOT STAND. So pass the fucking KoolAide.

Thanks to the Commissar for trying to lighten the mood. And for pointing out ballot irregularities. But Rooftop Report has a logical explanation. It seems that whatever comes up indicating Republican Dirty Tricks, the other side has an answer and points to something suppossedly even more sinister.


And now another conservative blogger has weighed in on the recent court decision to deny provissional ballots. He says....
When you register to vote, you receive a voter registration card, or some other piece of information that tells you where your polling precinct is. Why do they do that? Could it be so you know where in the hell to go to place your vote on election day? Could your polling precinct actually be a location relatively close to where you live, so as to make sure you have a convenient place to go on election day? Yep, that would be about right, except you see there as some scumbags on your side doing this. Sort of defeats the whole purpose doesnt it?

Update IV: And now Paul from Wizbang has weighed in, determining that Democrats are really trying to steal Ohio. Surprise, Surprise Gomer Pyle.

Posted by David A at 02:58 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 1831 Words
July 13, 2005
ISOU Clasic

As any of you know who read my blog, it was lost a few months ago due to the incompetence and dishonesty of these people, who stole my hosting fees and then just disappeared for two months. My blog had achieved over a million hits in less than a year, was averaging 4-8,000 hits a day, and was a top 150 blog.
It has been a hard road back, and while the entire blog was lost when Sonnex went under, I have been using Google to try and reconstruct some of my favorite posts. As I mine these posts, I will add them to ISOU classic.

There are a number of posts there now, including the rough, unedited chapters from the book I have been working on. Thanks for reading ISOU.

Posted by David A at 11:17 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 133 Words
July 08, 2005
Declaration of Faith and Other Crap

I am a Liberal!
Have never pretended to be anything but. A middle of the road liberal perhaps. I might even be considered conservative on some issues. But I most identify with the term Liberal, even more so than Progressive.

I don't like President Bush. Never have. Decided that the day in 2000 when I saw him walking around with a certain smugness before the election was even decided. But I don't hate him. I draw the line at hate. It is a very personal emotion for me, and one I reserve for people who have done me great personal wrong.

I try to be fair and open minded on this Blog. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I don't. Because like 99% of the rest of the Polisphere, I am a partisan. I make no bones about it. I don't agree with MOST of what Republicans and Conservatives claim to stand for. I say claim, because I believe that many beat the drum but don't march to the tune.

I didn't support the War in Iraq. I think it was a war based on assumptions and perhaps lies that was unnecessary for the time. Perhaps there would have been a time to go to War against Iraq, but I, and I believe many Americans agree would have preferred to fight it with Osama in jail or dead. Nevertheless, I believe it is a war we must win, and to that end, I support our Military in their efforts to do so. Regardless of the outcome, I believe that the legacy of the war will be a shameful one for our country and this President, with thousands dead and little likelihood that the austere goals (the current ones) of the administration, that the New Iraq will serve as a shining light of democracy in the region will come to pass. I am pessimistic in that way.

I am a Christian, but I don't believe that Jesus would be a member of the Christian Right.

I am a black man, but I don't believe that race should shield one from criticism, on the Right or Left. I have equal contempt for Sharpton, Jackson, Rice and Powell (Father and Son).

Despite strong views, sometimes defended emotionally... (I am not a Googlenaut, and have neither the time nor the inclination to defend every rant with the internet's version of footnotes), I am not so Dogmatic as to deny ever being wrong. It pretty much disgust me when I see this on either side.


I as a rule don't insult people. I think using the terms Wingnut, Asshat, Moonbat, etc., to describe one's political opponents just distracts from the real debate. And for the most part I have managed to stay above it. But there is one thing that just gets to me. Hypocrisy...

During the campaign calling Bush a Nazi or accusing him of fascism, even though such things as loyalty oaths to attend campaign events did merit such comparisons at times, was a declaration of war against the Right, you would be pretty much out of the discussion before it started. Questioning Bush's Military record was also high heresy. Interestingly enough Kerry was called by some of the same people a traitor, a liar, a coward, and worse, and that seemed to be okay.


During the campaign, one of the favorite tools of the Right, was Photoshop. Every week it seemed, there were picture captioning contest. Kerry was made fun of weekly in these contest and I will never forget the ones of him in the Clean Room Suit at NASA that made him look like a big assed Teletubbie. Yesterday I post a funny about Bush Wearing IKE style military jackets, and one of the same people who used to run those Kerry pictures, finds it to be foul and heinous. I don't know what I find funnier, the pictures of Bush wearing his warrior look, or someone who just two months ago was making fun of every Kerry Picture they saw, taking offense to me finding this one so damned funny.

But that's just the point isn't it. There are two sets of rules. We get to play as dirty as we like, when you do the same we will cry foul and insist that you are unreasonable until someone believes it. Aint gonna happen boys….

Now I would be out of line if I did not point out that there are perfectly rational and reasonable conservatives and republicans out there that I dig and respect. People like Boyd and the Commissar, and even Chad and Digger who I am always fighting with, but whom I respect. And there are others who I can and do disagree with on a regular basis, but whom I really like... I think it is a question of maturity. The Conservatives I tend to like and get along with, even in disagreement, are the ones who don't take politics personal…

Originaly Posted December 9th 2004, recovered via Google Cache. I think it is probably appropriate considering the fights I have been in lately.

Posted by David A at 04:35 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack (0) | 847 Words
May 09, 2005
32 Days -Chapter One

Introduction
I have wanted to write a book for years. Many issues have contributed to it not happening, primary among them was the discipline to simply sit down and write. Since Starting my Blog, ISOU in October of 2003, I have focused on creating the type of discipline necessary to write daily, and it has helped me in my quest. Then came the issue of topic. What do I write about? Finding a solution to that also helped me to set into motion the plan for this book. My idea was to set a timeframe, and to write whatever I wanted to write within that timeframe. The result was 32 Days of writing madness that attempts to cover some of the most interesting chapters in my own search for utopia. It is raw in some places, and names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty, but little has been left out. From the Ghetto to the streets of London to the Gentlemen's Clubs of Latin America, join me in my quest for Utopia.

Originaly Published on ISOU in December 2004

Chapter One - Growing up Ghetto
There are times when I look back on my childhood and I am simply amazed that I lived through it all.

I grew up on 73rd and Hoover in Los Angeles. Fifty yards from my house, on the other side of an alley, was an abandoned house called the "Crip Shack." The Crip Shack was the birthplace and "offices," of the notorious Hoover Crips, the nastiest part of the Crip Street gang Alliance made famous in Hollywood films like "Colors."

I went to Jr. High at Mary McLeod Bethune. A couple of my classmates were the founders of the Crips and other less notorious, but equally brutal gangs. In my last year of Jr. High, the school was evacuated on rumors of an impending shootout, and latter that day, the LAPD found enough weapons in a nearby house to arm a platoon of Army Rangers.

In the ninth grade, I was gang jumped by 20 members of the Ace Duces (A Crip Faction), and one of the lesser street gangs who populated the school. I accidentally stepped on the shoe of one of their leaders while in the cafeteria line. I was standing in line waiting for my Government Issue hot lunch, when I stepped backwards and onto the shiny new biscuits (A type of shoe popular at the time) of "Pee Wee," one of the gang leaders. Pee Wee was a short little fuck with a huge afro. Pee Wee dressed the part of the gangster at the time. Silk shirt, pleated pants, leather jacket and biscuits… It was a uniform of sorts for the bangers. And even though all of us did our best to match the style, you could always tell who the real bangers were.

I knew immediately that I had fucked up, and so did every one else in the lunch line. Everyone turned around to see what was going to happen. Even though I knew at that moment that I was fucked, I could not risk coming off like a wimp. "Hey man, I am sorry about that," I mumbled. He looked at me with contempt and hatred, and replied. "Motherfucker you best to be cleaning my biscuits." Now I could have probably saved my self the requisite ass kicking at that point by kneeling down and cleaning the footprint off his shoes, but that was against ghetto code. I knew that if I cleaned his shoe, I might survive the ass kicking that day, but would forever be marked, "a bitch." The ass kicking would simply be delayed. I also knew I would not be able to live with the snickers I would get from that day on, so I signed my own ass kicking warrant at that moment and responded. "Fuck your biscuits." I dropped my tray and walked away. I missed lunch, but my major concern at that point was finding a place to hide until lunch was over.

My confrontation with Pee Wee was the talk of the school for the rest of the day. I hid out at the next break, and watched the clock with a knot in my stomach the rest of the day. I knew that at 3:00 I had an appointment with Pee Wee and his boys. When the bell rang, I hauled ass for the street with my boy Otis, who was my best friend at the time. We were halfway up the block when I saw Pee Wee. He was standing on the corner, half a block away with a small army of guys, most of whom I did not even recognize. I turned to Otis... "Bruh, this ain’t your fight," I heard myself say. "Bail and see if you can find my big brother. I am gonna get my ass kicked, ain’t no need for you to get yours kicked too." Otis looked relieved as he took off running. If I was expecting the Calvary to come to my rescue, it didn't happen. My house was over a mile away, even if Otis had went looking for my Brother... Which he didn't. I ducked into an alley 20 yards from Pee Wee and his gang, hoping they did not see me in the crowd of kids leaving the school. As I turned into the alley I began to trot. Not exactly run, just kind of jog. Just as I was beginning to think I had escaped, there was a tap on my shoulder….

"Yo homeboy," I heard a voice say. "Someone is calling you." I then felt the blow. Then they converged. I don't to this day know how many there were. All I know is I was swinging wildly, not connecting very often, and they were... Big time. I remember going down in the alley, and biscuits, lots of biscuits kicking me everywhere. I rolled into a fetal ball trying to protect myself, and then I heard the siren.

I must have blacked out. The next thing I remember was being in the Vice Principals office with a couple of cops, Pee Wee and the VP.

I remember my face hurt, and so did other parts of my body. In fact, it would be easier to say what did not hurt.

I was a little nervous about coming back to school the next day, especially since I was black and blue all over, with my eye practically swollen shut. I figured best case scenario is that I would get clowned by everyone who saw me get my ass kicked in that alley. I latter found out that the audience to my ass kicking included my dear buddy Otis. To my surprise, I found out I was somewhat of a hero at school after that day. The consensus seemed to be that I had stood up to the gangsters. Even though I lost the fight, I had won respect. "Damn homeboy, you got yo assed whupped, but you went down swingin'," was a a typical comment. Even the gangsters seemed to give me a little more respect after that day...

It was not easy growing up where I did. The gang culture was all around me. 73rd and Hoover was in the middle of a battle zone. Crips, Brims (Latter immortalized as Bloods in the movies), Ace Duce's and Bounty Hunters, battled amongst themselves and with the Police of the notorious 77th Division, for the streets of my neighborhood. And the cops were little more than a street gang themselves, terrorizing the neighborhood and brutalizing anyone they saw as a potential threat. 77th Division would latter become the subject of a number of criminal investigations, including planting weapons on shooting victims and falsifying arrest records. I would have my own run in with them while I lived there. More on that later.

Most of the guys who founded the Crips came from my neighborhood.

One of the original founders was a guy named Leo. Leo was a small stature, light skinned, good looking black kid, who had a lot of natural intelligence and leadership. Unfortunately, he chose to apply it to all the wrong things.

Leo was a God Father in the Crips, one of the main leaders, and for some reason he liked me. He used to send me on errands to buy him and his boys junk food. My little crew and I would be playing softball or football on the abandoned lot next to the Crip shacks and Leo would call me over. I don't think he ever knew my name. It was always, "Hey fatboy, com'ere." I would hustle over and Leo would roll off a wad of bills and send me off to the liquor store to buy him something. He would always give me a dollar for myself. And even though he joked about me being a fat kid in front of his boys, he always treated me kindly.

Leo became a major drug dealer, and in the end broke the cardinal rule of dealing. He started using his own product. I started to notice that his eyes had a glazed, faraway look, and he started to scare me. One night I was on my way home and passed the Crip Shacks to cut through the alley and head home. From the darkness of the shack I heard Leo’s voice. "Hey Fatboy, come’ere." I hesitated, but knew I had better do what he said. Leo was not the kind of guy you never wanted to piss off. I climbed up into the ruined house and looked around in the darkness. Leo was sitting in a corner smoking a joint. "Come over here kid," he said. I walked over to where he was sitting. He held the joint up to me. "You want a hit?" I shook my head no.. He laughed. "Go ahead, take a hit. It aint nothin' but weed, lil nigga. It aint gonna kill ya." I nervously took the joint, and took a feeble hit on it, not even inhaling. He laughed. "Nigga that aint no way to smoke a joint. Suck that mutha fucka!" I tried again, inhaling deeply this time. The weed burned my throat and made me feel dizzy. Leo stumbled to his feet. "That’s it homey. Suck on that thang." I handed the joint back to him. He took a deep drag, and I could see that weird look in his eyes, even in the darkness. The moon shined in through the holes in the roof and walls, giving his face and eyes a weird glow.

He looked at me for a long time, taking drags on his weed. "I want you to do something for me lil’ nigga," he said. I don't want you to tell nobody though. "What," I asked. He reached down and unzipped his pants. "I want you to suck my dick." I stepped back towards the hole in the wall I had come in through. "I cant do that Leo," I stuttered. "I aint no fag!" He laughed. "I know you aint no fag, fatboy. But aint nobody going to know. Just me an you... Think of all the shit I done done for you!" I was feeling panic rising in my gut. Leo had killed people. Lots of them, if the stories were to be believed. Now he was telling me to suck his dick. If I did it, I was fucked. It would be all over the block by the next day. If I didn't do it, he might just kill me. I was getting sick at the thought...

"Leo," I pleaded. "You aint no fag. You are Leo, the baddest mutha fucker in the Crips. What it gonna look like, people hear you got boys suckin' your dick." He seemed to think about this for a minute, and then as quickly as it started, it was over. He put his dick back in his pants, zipped up and laughed his ass off. "I knew you weren’t no fag, lil' nigga. I just had to be sure. He reached in his pocked and peeled a twenty dollar bill off his bankroll. He handed it to me, and told me to get, "the fuck out my house." I practically ran out of that house that night. I made it a point to avoid the place for a few months after that. Then about three months latter I heard Leo had been shot dead in a driveby. I don't know if Leo intended to rape me that night or not, I would like to think it was just a test like he said... But I will never know. I was 10 Years old at the time...

There was another Crip Founder who grew up with me too. His name was Phillip. Phillip was a super cool, laid back thinker... I never saw Phillip in a fight. While Leo was known to be a hard case and a cold blooded murderer who handled his "set," through strength and intimidation, Phillip was known as a smart leader. He rarely lost his cool, and led by the strength of his intellect, and pure charisma. Phillip and I met when my 7th grade English Teacher asked me to tutor him. We formed a friendship that would last until he was sent to jail a year latter.

Phillip was always well dressed, sharp and smooth. They used to call him a Junior Pimp, and the girls adored him. At 14, Phillip was probably getting laid more than Hugh Heffner, and he was just as cool. Phillip always called me David. He respected me, and he protected me. He was kind of like a Black version of the Fonz, and everyone knew that if you hung out with Phillip, you weren't to be fucked with. I never saw him using drugs, or even drinking. When he was around his "set," or his boys, there was no question who was in charge. Although it may sound strange considering how much I liked Phillip, I am glad he went to jail when he did. If he had not, I would have probably ended up a Crip...


I was the tenth of ten children. Most of my siblings had already grown up and left the nest when I came along.

I was the miracle baby, born when my mother was 42 years old and my father in his late 50's. I was not expected and not planned for. But I was loved... Perhaps even more than my siblings, I was loved. I was my mother's baby. Though we were poor by most people's standards, my mother did everything she could to give me the best she could offer. Other than the occasional hand me down clothes, I pretty much got what I wanted as a kid. I was spoiled. I was the baby. In return I was expected to bring home good grades, go to church on Sunday, and be a, "good boy." I fulfilled most of that obligation for my first 15 years, even joining the Boy Scouts, something that took a lot of courage in one of the most violent neighborhoods in Los Angeles. (Just walking down the street in a Scout Uniform could get you an ass kicking by the Gangsters). At the time I was trying hard to be like my war hero Brother, who I worshiped more than the God I visited on Sundays. It was my Big Brother Thomas, the Vietnam War veteran, who saved my ass the one time I did cross paths with the Thugs in Blue from 77th Street Division, LAPD.

I was selling candy for my mother's church when I was stopped by one of the police Anti-Gang units. They were called, "Team 2," and they were notorious in the ghetto at that time. I heading home after a day of selling candy door to door for my mother's church when a Team Two car pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of us. The driver called me over to the car. "Hey Fat Boy, get your black ass over here," the cop said. I was with three other friends and we all walked over to the patrol car. "What you got in the bag Nigger?" the cop asked. "I ain't no nigger, cop." I said in my most defiant "ghetto," voice. The driver opened the door of the patrol car and he and his partner stepped out. "We got us a smartass here," he said to his partner, who just shook his head. "I asked you a question boy," he said, taking his shades off as he stepped up within a foot or so of where I was standing.

My parents always admonished me to be respectful of cops and I generally was, but here this guy was harassing me when I was actually doing something good for a change. I was not going to have it. It did not help that all of us in the neighborhood had recently come under the influence of Brother Charles X, a Muslim shopkeeper who sold cookies, candy and the radical black muslim theology of "the evils of whitey." I was in no mood to be interrogated by this, "white devil," and I figured I was in the right, so "fuck 'em." I looked the cop in the eye and answered him. "I know my rights Mr. Police officer man... I ain't done nothin' wrong. I am selling candy for my mama's church, so why don't you pigs leave me alone."

The next thing I knew I was slammed against the Police Cruiser, and being frisked. The cop took the bag with the candy, and the money I had collected that day. “Listen you little fat bastard, I know you stole the candy, so we are going to confiscate it.” He took the bag from my hand, and told me to move on. I stood there, not believing that a cop had just, “stole,” a bag of candy from a kid on the street. My friends were standing back on the curb. Bunch, one of my best buddies at the time, started ragging on me. “Yo mama gonna whup yo ass David,” he said. I knew at that point that I had two options. I was either going to take an ass kicking from these two cops or from my Mama... And to be honest, I was a helluva lot more afraid of my Mama at that moment. You did not mess with my mama when it came to the church. I stepped between the cop and his car. "Look man," I said. "You are just going to have to arrest me. I know I ain't done nothing wrong. And I ain't going home without that candy and the money those people done paid me." The cop laughed. "Have it your way boy." He grabbed me by the shoulder, spun me around against the car, and slapped the cuffs on me... I was shoved roughly into the back of the police car, and whisked away, as my friends stood laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

I sat on a low bench in the police station for over an hour before my mother and her Pastor showed up at the police station. I could hear them talking to the Desk Sergeant outside the holding area. The cop was telling them how I resisted arrest and how they were going to hold me for questioning in a gang matter. No matter how much my mother pleaded and the good Reverend admonished, the Sergeant just "dissed" them. Finally I heard them leave. The Sergeant came back to see me at that point. I was cuffed to a low bench in a smelly, hot room. I guess he could tell I was afraid. "Did you really think your mama and, "Reverend Ike," were gonna get your ass out of the trouble you are in boy?" He asked me, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Now if you had just kept your mouth shut and not argued with the officers, you would be home having dinner right now." He laughed and walked out of the room. Seems like hours passed, but I am sure it wasn't that long. Suddenly, I heard my older Brother Thomas speaking to the Desk Sargeant. "You got a kid here named David Anderson?" he asked. "Who's asking," replied the desk Sergeant. "The man who came to get him out," replied my brother. "And what the fuck makes you think you are going to have any more luck than his mama, or the "Reverend Doctor Feel Good." Replied the cop.

I will never forget my Brother's reply. "Because my Mother and the Reverend did not just spend three years working for the U.S. Government killing people for a living. And because if you mother fuckers don't let my little brother go in the next five minutes, you are going to have to explain why you arrest a kid for selling candy for the church, and why you killed a decorated Vietnam Vet who just came here to get his baby brother out of jail. Cause if I leave here without David, when I come back, I am going to declare war on you mother fuckers." I heard the cop say something I could not make out, and the next thing I know, my Brother and I are in his car driving home. The bag of candy and cash were sitting on the seat between us. Fucking cops had even paid for the couple of boxes of candy they had taken from the bag. My brother never said a word on the drive home. We pulled into the driveway, he patted me on the head, leaned over me and opened the door. I wanted to say, "thank you." I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. I wanted to tell him that he was my hero. I didn't say anything. I wish I had...

That was the last run in I ever had with the cops, except for the couple times I was pulled over for moving violations... Yeah, life in the Ghetto in the 70's was a hoot... Good Times and JJ Walker didn't have shit on the Anderson family. But things would only get more interesting...

Posted by David A at 10:46 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 3732 Words
May 07, 2005
Allright Peeps I am Back! - Updated (Below the Fold)
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Two weeks in the freakin' Wilderness, but Daddy's home! Hot Damn! First off, thanks for everyone who stayed on me about not letting ISOU die. Your thoughts and encouragement are appreciated.

But more than ANYONE, I have to thank Rogue. I have got to be one of the luckiest people in the world to have you as a friend. Most people who know our history together would be even more shocked that we are so close, but I love ya, and I always will. You are the kind of generous, kind and loving person that we all should strive to be like.

This has been a humbling experience for me, having my Blog knocked off the air by a very unscrupulous and cowardly person, who obviously did not pay our hosting bill, and who to this day, has not had the balls or the decency to even answer my phone calls. Whatever.... Karma is a Mutha, and I suspect that he will get hit with a MASSIVE Karma bomb in due time. In the interim, my lawyer will track him down.

I am happy as hell to be back, and look forward to rebuilding the blog.

One Love Everyone, and drop a guy some linky love, we need it.

Okay, a couple of people who were not in on the email about what happened to ISOU have asked so let me fill you in...

The Following email was recieved from the asswhipe who was responsible for hosting my site. He finaly responded after my site was down for 24 hours. I gave him every chance to talk to me about it, even after he sent me this email:

----Original Message----- From: Josue Salazar [mailto: josue.salazar@gmail.com] Sent: Wednesday, April 27, 2005 6:52 PM To: David Scott Anderson Subject: Re: Very Concerned

Hi David.

I am extremely sorry about this.

I am going to be honest with you, it's the least i can do.

We pay a datacenter monthly for the server.
I have been offline most of the time for the past weeks due to family
problems. And while i understand how this is none of your business and
is not acceptable, i just want to let you know what happened.
I was in the hospital from last sunday until yesterday night, i stayed
in Turrialba for the night, and without internet or my cellphone which
is not working at the moment.
Yesterday night, the Datacenter took the server down, and formatted
it. To this point, i don't understand why they did such a thing. But
it's what they did.
The backup drive was also formatted.

In other words, there is no data we can restore. We will be getting a
new couple of servers in another datacenter in the next few days, but
it will be a blank start.

This is completely devastating, unprofessional, unlucky, and i
understand my reputation is now pretty much gone. I'm sorry about
that.

What i recommend you do right now, is you go and get a hosting account
at another provider, (www.dreamhost.com is higly recommended), update
your nameservers, and upload a backup of your site, if you have one,
if not, as bad as it sounds, put some kind of notice to your visitors.
Then send me the bills and i will pay them for you, besides refunding
the money you paid me.

I really wish i could be of more help, but this situation has pretty
much killed my business, and i'm left without options as to what to
do.

About Pension Santa Elena, Ran sent me $300 on friday. I had asked him
for less, but i did ask him since my laptop had died and i needed some
money to repair it. He was cool and sent me half of the final price. I
told him i would show him a first version of the website on sunday.
The very sunday i was hospitalized.
I completely understand how you may want to cancel the contract i made
with them. I only ask for a couple of weeks to get the $300 to
transfer it back to them.
If on the other hand, for some reason, you still want me to finish it,
i will gladly do it, and probably not charge another dollar for it.
It's your call, since you're the one who hired me.

I am sincerely sorry. And i appreciate your trust, and i know after
this, you will probably won't want anything to do with me.

I will be back online in a couple of hours.

Again, this pretty much killed my business, and i will be seeking
legal action against Managed.com (the datacenter) in the following
weeks.

Now the thing that pains me is that the coward has refused to answer my phone calls and is basically hiding behind his girlfriend or whatever and not coming to the phone. He has not responded to any additional emails and has basically stolen my hosting fee, and a $300 deposit for web site development from a client of mine.

Now he thinks I will forget this. I WILL NOT. I have Grupo Utopia's attorney working on the issue, and may soon get police involved as well.

(DELETED ON ROGUES ADVICE)

Posted by David A at 11:58 PM | Comments (19) | TrackBack (5) | 871 Words
CA + (Updated)
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A couple of months ago I recommended CA+ as a great way to get in touch with what is going on in business in Central America. The Newspaper continues to impress me with the depth and clarity of its coverage of the region. I read this article today about an idea to create a sort of Economic European Region in the area. It makes an interesting read.

The process of Central American regionalization is occurring daily, as individual companies overcome the problems of small local markets by disregarding national borders and selling goods and services to a consumer base of 30 million people.

The regionalization of institutions will take longer, as shown by the apparent collapse of the Plan Pueblo Panama.

An ambitious program initially promoted by Mexican president Vicente Fox in 2001 as a way of linking his country's economically-troubled southern states with Central America, the PPP promised investments of as much as $10 billion in major infrastructure development, including modern highways and an energy corridor stretching from the Mexican city of Puebla as far as the Panama Canal.

In theory, the plan made sense. With Northern Mexico increasingly looking to the United States and Canada as investment and trade partners, stronger links between Central America and Southern Mexico could generate economic growth in both regions.

In the real world, however, the PPP was poorly thought through.

Southern Mexico is a major generator of hydroelectric power. But production costs are not much cheaper than those in Central America.

The isthmus is becoming increasingly important as a tourism destination. But few Southern Mexicans can afford a golf excursion. As for ecological tourism, they don’t need to leave home to enjoy it.

Since both Southern Mexico and Central America are mainly agricultural economies, greater integration between them is not likely to yield big gains.

The size of local markets is something I struggle with daily in running my own business. While this initiative may have failed, I very much look forward to the continuing evolution of local markets, which is taking place on a company by company basis, with Grupo Utopia being one of the leaders in driving technology in the region.

Note: I had an interesting breakfast meeting this morning with the Publisher of CA+, one of several I have had recently. He is the same person who publishes La Republica, my favorite Costa Rican newspaper. I have been an unofficial Technology Adviser, to La Republica for a couple years now. We may be finalizing something for me to work more directly with the two publications on their web versions in particular. It is an exciting development, because I consider La Republica to be THE BEST Business newspaper in Central America, and CA+ to be a compelling opportunity to present the business news of the entire region.

We are planning another sit down on Tuesday, will keep you all posted.

Posted by David A at 04:46 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 484 Words
I wonder if I temporarily dissapeared...

From The Map, when I got nuked a couple of weeks ago?

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Posted by David A at 01:50 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 13 Words
Bill Frist and the Nuclear Option
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Originaly posted by Zen Comix on April 25, 2005

Posted by David A at 01:40 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 9 Words
Dear New York Times: Fuck you

Can the NY Times run a disclaimer informing their readers that they're sucking the right wing's collective cock? Fucking honestly, why are they running a story about right wing bloggers accusing the Associated Press of being in bed with the terrorists? Why is this considered news? And if they have to run a story on it, can they at least get their facts straight?

For example, here's the caption they gave to this photo:

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Some conservative bloggers contend The Associated Press was complicit in taking this photograph of the slaying of an Iraqi election worker. The A.P. strongly denies that.

What's wrong here? Well, let me make a couple corrections. First: "Some conservative bloggers contend" WITHOUT ANY PROOF WHATSOEVER. Second: "The A.P. strongly denies that" BY PROVIDING INFORMATION ABOUT HOW THE PHOTO WAS TAKEN, WHICH THE RIGHT WING BLOGGERS HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO DEBUNK.

Oh, I'm sorry, if they made those corrections then the Times wouldn't have had a story.

Yet the rabid dickheads at Power Line and elsewhere will still claim that this is an example of the "liberal media." I guess for the right wants to NY Times to swallow before granting them their approval.

...Salon has more.

Originaly posted by Tas on April 12th, 2005

Posted by David A at 01:21 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (1) | 211 Words
May 06, 2005
ISOU Classic
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Thanks to Shylah, who meticulously pulled down everything she could from Google's cache, there is a lot of good material salvaged. I have created a new category called ISOU Classic. I will be posting a lot of the material in that category, and when it is from one of the guest bloggers giving them attribution at the end.

Hey guys.... Thanks for sticking with me.

Posted by David A at 11:48 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0) | 66 Words
Congrats to Ron, who wont let Gannongate Die!

Ron continues to cover Gannongate with a great new angle, Jeff Gannon, Master of Plagerism! This is must read stuff!

The Raw story has a great interview with a journalist Mr. Gannon ripped off.

A Massachusetts newspaper reporter and her then-editor have accused former White House correspondent 'Jeff Gannon' of plagiarizing an article at which the reporter was the only media witness, RAW STORY has learned.

The alleged plagiarism was discovered by blogger Ron Brynaert, who has tracked other plagiarism by Gannon and various Talon News correspondents at his blog, WhyAreWeBackInIraq.

A Jun. 17, 2003 article published by Jim Guckert, who wrote under the pen name Jeff Gannon, contains numerous identical quotes and similar phrasing to an article written by Melissa Beecher for the Waltham Daily News Tribune five days earlier. A comparison of the two articles compiled by Brynaert follows.

In the article about a Massachusetts couple who refused to let their home-schooled children take a standardized test, Guckert used quotes identical to Beecher's article without attribution. Beecher was the only reporter in attendance at the couple's home the day the Department of Social Services came to collect the children.

Guckert did not respond to two email requests for comment.

The accusations by Beecher-and her editor-are sure to raise concern about Guckert's selection for a National Press Club event Apr. 8 titled, "What is a Journalist," and draw new attention to two paragraphs Guckert copied verbatim from the Associated Press in April, 2003. Both Beecher and her editor were shocked to hear the Guckert would be a panelist.

Beecher, who now writes for the Salem News, said she remembered the story Guckert apparently copied from vividly.

"I remember this particular story so vividly because of the people that were involved," Beecher told RAW STORY. "I had to wake up in the morning at six o'clock in the morning to get there at 6:15 because I had to be there when DSS arrived."

"I do understand that major papers use the smaller papers as a way to get their news to know what's going on in some of these smaller communities," she added, "but when direct quotes are used without attribution it's not acceptable. Good reporters don't do that. It's upsetting to see that a nationally-recognized personality would."

Beecher says she was the only reporter at the event.

Read Both Pieces, I am pleased to see Ron getting the attention he deserves for his awesome investigative work.

Originaly Posted March 31st

Posted by David A at 12:04 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 413 Words
May 05, 2005
Going backwards in Darfur

There's good and bad news concerning the genocide in Darfur. The good news is that I've noticed increased coverage of it in the MSM recently. The New York Times had four pieces on Darfur last week, and the Boston Globe also ran an op/ed piece by Eric Reeves.

Unfortunately, that's about it for the good news.

Deputy Secretary of State Robert B. Zoellick's trip to Sudan last week has signaled a shift -- regression -- in US foreign policy towards Sudan as hesistates to call it genocide. This is despite a high end death toll estimate of 650,000, not to mention the ongoing gangrapings, displacement of over 2 million refugees, poisoning of wells, and theft of the land (which, surprise surprise, has the potential to pump out 500,000 barrels of oil a day).

The refugees of Darfur are in need of food, especially before the rainy season starts in July, but the UN World Food Program has been forced to cut rations due to lack of funding. Worse yet, the attacks against international aid workers are climbing.

There's nobody to protect these aidworkers, or the people of Darfur, because the UN does not have a single peacekeeper in Darfur. The few peacekeepers that the African Union has in the region are relegated to filing reports after crimes happen since they don't have a mandate to protect Darfuri and aid workers by engaging the Janjaweed, and whatever elements of the Sudanese military who are helping them, in combat.

In the meantime, even though the Sudanese government provided arms and support (along with direct intervention, like using their air force to bomb Darfur villages) to the Janjaweed militia which continues to terror the people of Darfur, the world continues to attempt to work with Khartoum like they aren't part of the problem. The international community has listened to President Bashir claim that he can handle the Darfur crisis for the past two years, and during that time the bodies keep piling up. Who is finally going to call bullshit on this sham government?

There are two things you can do to help: Inform and donate.

The Darfur Accountability Act could possibly come up for a vote in the Senate this week. Click here to tell your senator to support S.495.

For donations, there are plenty of places where your money could go. I've picked out three to advertise:

* Save the Children
* Care USA
* Doctors Without Borders

Besides simplification, the reason I pick these three are because of the most pressing problems currently facing Darfur. Care USA focuses on delivering food, which is badly needed. With Save the Children, that's self-explanatory. And Doctors Without Borders is on the list because of the women and children in Darfur who need the most help. And, indeed, it's them who are the biggest victims of this genocide. The women who have survived have suffered brutal and repeated gangrapings, along with the medical complications and pregnancies that come with such crimes. In many instances, these women are shunned from their communities or are left to be the sole provider for their families if their husband is murdered. Out of any of Darfur's victims, the women need the most help, and Doctors Without Borders focuses on them.

I put my money where my mouth is last week and donated $100 each to these three organizations. This decision was helped by looking at my tax refund and seeing what I could afford, which explains the timing part of why I'm posting these donations links. Anything you can give will help.

To keep up with Darfur news, Coalition for Darfur and The Passion of the Present are great blogs to goto. I also keep an archive of my Darfur coverage at darfur.loadedmouth.com, where it has a bit more... Errr, attitude? Yes, that's the right word.


Posted by Tas on 4/19

Posted by David A at 06:01 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 643 Words
What does it mean to be a patriot?

Ann Coulter is on the cover of Time Magazine this week. Coulter is so very 2003. I don't get why someone so passe' would make their cover. But it's their magazine..they can pollute it however they choose.

Coulter's stirred a lot of crap in her day. Pretty much all of it about liberals. Here's a few of her gems:

Liberals have a preternatural gift for striking a position on the side of treason. You could be talking about Scrabble and they would instantly leap to the anti-American position. Everyone says liberals love America, too. No they don't. Whenever the nation is under attack, from within or without, liberals side with the enemy.-Excerpt from Treason, Coulter's love song to McCarthyism.

"When contemplating college liberals, you really regret once again that John Walker is not getting the death penalty. We need to execute people like John Walker in order to physically intimidate liberals, by making them realize that they can be killed, too. Otherwise, they will turn out to be outright traitors." Coulter, Conservative Political Action Conference, January 2002

Whether they are defending the Soviet Union or bleating for Saddam Hussein, liberals are always against America. They are either traitors or idiots, and on the matter of America's self-preservation, the difference is irrelevant.--Ann Coulter

What does it really mean to be a patriot? What does "pro-American" really look like?

Tell me in comments what being a patriot means to you.

Originaly Posted by Carla on 4/19

Posted by David A at 05:44 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 244 Words
Another introduction, this one belated...

...and for that, my apologies.

This is Jack of Random Fate, a blog that David has been kind enough to link to with more frequency than I likely merit given his readership. I am also a guest-poster at the increasingly prominent blog The Moderate Voice, filling in when Joe Gandelman is unable to post due to concerns involving that pesky "real world" we all have to deal with.

To emulate Juliette in her full disclosure self-introduction, I am a self-described slightly left leaning centrist. David once asked me to join his Progressive Blog Alliance (sorry, link broken), but I was not able to because I have many views that do not align with what I feel is the Progressive agenda.

However, I strive to avoid channelling all my thought into ideological paths.

As a consequence, I have been called a right-winger by those on the left, and a left-winger by those on the right. It has been said that if everyone dislikes your solutions, you must be onto something good, but somehow that is cold comfort when you are dodging rocks thrown from both sides.

Although I am an expatriate in France and in a different time zone, I hope I am able to do my bit to keep David's blog alive and well during his absence while remaining true to my contrary nature of challenging any and all assertions to absolute truth.

Posted by Jack at 05:27 PM | Comments (1)
Filed under Guest Bloggers
Politics should not be a Death Match

There are still issues that are unrelated to the actions of men dressed in red who chose the new leader of the Roman Catholic Church.

One of those issues is the state of partisanship within the government of the sole world superpower, the United States.

In the not-so-distant past, members of the United States Congress would see beyond their differences to a larger responsibility towards the nation as a whole, not towards one particular constituency, understanding that the United States was and is a nation of many people with many views, and one view cannot dominate to the exclusion of all others.

Currently, however, those who have been elected to lead in Congress have forgotten that principle, and instead seem to think that complete and total destruction of any who think differently is the only acceptable option to appease their constituency.

Or, as I put it in a post at Random Fate:

The old aphorism, "Is this any way to run a railroad?" seems to apply here.

BOTH parties, BOTH wings, have reverted to zero-sum tactics in a non-zero-sum game.

We are all trapped in a Prisoner's Dilemma with fools playing a zero-sum game.

As I have said repeatedly, we ALL have to live together, or balkanize and become as weak as the nation-states in that tragic region.


Do we really want to continue down the path of mutual destruction?

Originaly Posted by Jack on 4/19

Posted by David A at 05:37 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 489 Words
Filed under For the Children

There's a new threat facing our nation, especially our nation's youth, and it's time the government did something about it. You've heard about the obesity crisis, the dangers of tobacco and second-hand smoke, how guns cause crime, and the unimaginable danger of riding a bicycle without a helmet. But I bet you haven't heard about how dangerous one particular item--one you likely have sitting around your home, completely unguarded--can be to you, your family, and the American Way of Life.

It's time the word got out about the new enemy: Bread!
Research on bread indicates that:

1. More than 98 percent of convicted felons are bread users.
2. Fully HALF of all children who grow up in bread-consuming households score below average on standardized tests.
3. In the 18th century, when virtually all bread was baked in the home, the average life expectancy was less than 50 years; infant mortality rates were unacceptably high; many women died in childbirth; and diseases such as typhoid, yellow fever, and influenza ravaged whole nations.
4. More than 90 percent of violent crimes are committed within 24 hours of eating bread.
5. Bread is made from a substance called "dough." It has been proven that as little as one pound of dough can be used to suffocate a mouse. The average American eats more bread than that in one month!

12. Most American bread eaters are utterly unable to distinguish between significant scientific fact and meaningless statistical babbling.

Write your Senator! Alert your Congressman! Stop the presses, call your lawyer, and prepare to join in the biggest class-action lawsuit in history as we finally put the demonic corporate bread cabal out of business and in to jail where these criminals belong!

Originaly posted by Beck

Posted by David A at 05:31 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 291 Words
May 04, 2005
HP Relationship

We have been trying to establish a relationship with HP for over a year now. Tonight we had a great meeting with members of HP's Latin American Management Team and are exploring an important strategic relationship. I want to thank Mateo Figueroa, HP's Sales Manager for Central America and the Caribbean for his enthusiastic response to our ideas, and acknowledgment of Grupo Utopia's unique position in the Costa Rican Market Place. I look forward to a long and mutually beneficial relationship and to promoting HP's solutions in the region.

Posted by ME, on March 20th

Posted by David A at 06:10 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 95 Words
The Detainment of Two New York City Girls

The New York Times reported of two 16 year-old girls that were detained because of a report that they are potential suicide bombers. The Immigration and Customs Enforcement told Reuters that the case is strickly an immigration matter. If that is so the why did the federal government have a judge issue a gag order on the case.

The girls are from Bangladesh and Guinea. Teachers at Heritage High School were outraged. Teacher Kimberly Lane said of the Guinean girl: ""This is a girl who's been in this country since she was 2 years old. She's just a regular teenager - like, two weeks ago her biggest worry was whether she'd done her homework or studied for a science test."

New York Times reporter Nina Bernstein tells NPR's Day To Day that the Bangladeshi girl had become a devote Muslim and was (maybe) involved with a young Muslim man. Her father thought she ran away and notified the authorities. The father felt this may have set off the whole chain of events. The other girl was popular and ran for student council in her school. Bernstein said the girls did not go to school together and no one is even sure if they knew each other.

The blog Detainment is covering this story as it develops.

(Crossposted at Last Day of My Life)

Posted by Michael on 4/19

Posted by David A at 06:05 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (1) | 229 Words
January 01, 2005
Chapter 6 - 32 Days

College Boy

In my final year at Metro there was a lot of pressure on me to choose a University. I got the feeling constantly that I was a “star,” a success story, and that my accession to a major University was a sort of example to the other students. Elise Slifkin was particularly interested in helping me, and she offered to help me gain entry to UCLA. My opinion of the whole thing? I was scared. I did not feel I was ready to go to a Major University. I didn’t believe my experiences at Metro, or with L.A.’s public School System had prepared me for University Life. I made a decision that would change my life once again…

I arrived at L.A. Southwest College in September of 1978. LASC was built on the ashes of the Watts Riots. It was one of those places City Fathers liked to point to as an example of progress in the Ghetto. Just a mile or so from Washington High School, LASC was supposed to be a bright shining star in the neighborhood. To some it was. When I first saw it, it reminded me of what the infamous Maginot Line in Pre World War II France must have looked like. It consisted of four buildings sitting on top of a hill, and some older prefab building that resembled aircraft hangers on the lower campus. The main buildings were multi storied concrete affairs with tinted windows that resembled slots in fortress wall. The building had the look of a fortress. I guess someone decided that if there were more riots, this was one place that would not burn.

There was a big practice football field, but no gym and grass was sparse. It was not what I imagined college would be like. I enrolled with a Journalism Major, and my first day in class, I got a big surprise. I walked into the journalism department and came face to face with an old friend… Well at least an acquaintance… Jeff Sneed was a guy I knew in Jr. High School back in my Bethune days. He was smart, athletic, and had the kind of looks girls drooled over. If you can remember Dr. J, Julius Irving of the Philadelphia 76ers, then you have an idea of what Jeff looked like. Jeff was the kind of guy who was so good looking even guys said he was good looking. “Yo man, don't I know you,” I said, upon encountering him. He looked at me and smiled. “Yeah man, we went to school together at Bethune.” I laughed, “No shit. Small world. So you are studying Journalism too?” He nodded his head, and we started to rap. That was the first day of a friendship that would last for years to come. Jeff and I would become best friends, competitors and eventually enemies. But neither of us knew this at that moment, and we were both just happy to see someone we knew in a new place.

Life at LASC was interesting. It was the first time in my life where I did not have to go to school. I was an adult now, and going to class was a choice, not an obligation. My father died in February of 1978 of complications from cancer, and I was pretty much on my own at that point. Leti and I had broken up over the summer, and I was flying solo. LASC was a good choice for me. I don't think my head was on right to be starting UCLA at that particular time in my life.


When we arrived at LASC, the journalism program had a new professor, Mark Day, a 30-something writer of some note, who was a kind of social activist. Mark was as Liberal as they came. A Jewish dude who was obviously suffering from “Liberal Guilt,” and who gave us way too much damned control over the campus paper. Truthfully, Mark seemed to be a bit intimidated by us. Especially Nita, the reigning editor of the paper when I arrived. Nita was this tough little black chick with a short afro, tight body and even tighter jeans, he he… She would have been “tight,” if not for the fact that she had a so-s0 face, and the butch haircut gave her a quasi lesbian look in my eyes at the time. She was also a bitch at times, but she was a good writer, if not that great an editor. It was the campus paper that gave me the sense of mission to get up everyday and go to school, even when I didn’t have to, and I jumped in with a passion. By the end of the first Semester, Nita was out. She and Mark had gone at it on more than one occasion, and she did not hesitate to play to race/sex card. If she didn’t get what she wanted, it was, “You just don't respect a woman Mark.” Or “You just can’t handle a strong black woman Mark.” Mark had his issues, but any objective observer could tell the man was bending over backwards to be accommodating. I was named Executive Editor of the paper the second Semester, and began a program to improve the quality of the paper. Jeff was named Managing Editor, and we began a partnership that would last for years.

We completely scrapped the look and feel of the paper, and executed a new design. We added a cartoonist, hired an old retired man from the neighborhood to sell advertisement for the paper. We grew the paper from four pages to eight and eventually to twelve. We broadened the scope of the paper to cover community events, movie reviews and strong editorial content, which was my focus. And the paper started to get noticed. If the first year was about “evolution,” the second year would be “revolutionary.” I didn’t date much while at LASC. The paper was my lady, and I really didn’t have time for much of a social life.

The one person I did hang with in my two years at LASC was Cheryl, believe it or not, the Captain of the Cheerleader squad. Cheryl was this Big, leggy, big chested, honey colored black girl, with a beautiful smile and a fun loving nature. We were never really, “official,” but we went out a couple of times. I think the reason Cheryl dug me was because I was not intimidated by her. She was a big girl, tall, athletic and strong. And she was aggressive. I think most of the Brothers at LASC were intimidated by her, although I don't think too many would have hesitated play quarterback/cheerleader captain with her. The truth was, I wanted her sexually, but she did not really turn me on intellectually. Perhaps that is why I never put too much effort into moving the relationship forward.


Since I wasn’t focusing on dating, I took the time to improve my writing, and to focus on winning the paper some respect. During the second semester we attended a regional Conference for journalism students. During the conference we met students from all over Southern California, but made friends with one group in particular, Golden West College. Golden West was a Junior College located in the heart of Orange County, probably one of the most conservative, and “whitest,” counties in all of Southern California. We could not have been more different our two schools, and yet we hit if off. We spend two days partying with them at the conference hotel, and on the second day of the conference, we took our first award in school history. We were awarded Best Small College Newspaper in Southern California. It was a tremendous honor, and a validation of all the hard work we had put in improving the paper. That weekend was about buzz, and the buzz was that there was a new player on the scene, and that our program would get some recognition out of it. Mark Day took the opportunity to use the award as a resume booster, and took a job at a more prestigious school. We really didn’t care. Mark had very little to do with the success of the paper anyway. My last words to him… “Fuck you Mark.”

Mark was replaced by Jack Matcha, a someone famous writer from Hollywood. Jack had written for the, “Good Times,” TV show, and was as good they get in writing fundamentals. Jack was old… Very Old, when he came to teach at LASC. He was this little hunched over man who walked with a cane, suffered from the worst dandruff I have ever seen, and had nose hairs that looked like a freakin’ forest. It was hard looking at the old dude, but damn could he teach!

Jack was a little conservative at times, but he mostly stayed out of the way and let us do our thing. By my third semester at LASC, the paper was generating enough ad revenue to pay for itself. We were making a difference. The paper was respected in the community, recognized by the student journalism community, and important enough to the school that I actually felt like I had a little bit of clout. It was 1979 and Disco was all the rage. I like most people my age, were Donna Summer Fans, and I actually got an interview with the Disco Diva. Unfortunately I never got to meet her in person, but I submitted a list of questions and she answered them. I also learned it was good to be a journalist, even a student one. I got to attend a number of concerts, movie premiers and what not, with a press pass. It was pretty cool shit.

Jeff and I worked hand in hand on the paper, but there were occasional clashes of egos. There finally came a time when I had to tell him that I was the boss, and that our friendship had nothing to do with business. It was an uncomfortable conversation, but one that needed to be had. We would not have another conflict like that one for a couple of years.

In our last semester, we attended the State Journalism Conference. This time we would not win best paper. But we didn’t totally wash out. I won an award for Best Sports Feature Story, and we received much acclaim as one of the best college papers in the State. Jeff and I both applied to the University of Southern California and were accepted that Spring. Neither of us were accepted into the Journalism Program as there were no slots available. We both decided to study Political Science. In may of 1980, I graduated and began the adventure of my life.

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Posted by David A at 10:55 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 1801 Words
December 28, 2004
Chapter 4-5 32 Days

In my final year at Metro there was a lot of pressure on me to choose a University. I got the feeling constantly that I was a “star,” a success story, and that my accession to a major University was a sort of example to the other students. Elise Slifkin was particularly interested in helping me, and she offered to help me gain entry to UCLA. My opinion of the whole thing? I was scared. I did not feel I was ready to go to a Major University. I didn’t believe my experiences at Metro, or with L.A.’s public School System had prepared me for University Life. I made a decision that would change my life once again…

I arrived at L.A. Southwest College in September of 1978. LASC was built on the ashes of the Watts Riots. It was one of those places City Fathers liked to point to as an example of progress in the Ghetto. Just a mile or so from Washington High School, LASC was supposed to be a bright shining star in the neighborhood. To some it was. When I first saw it, it reminded me of what the infamous Maginot Line in Pre World War II France must have looked like. It consisted of four buildings sitting on top of a hill, and some older prefab building that resembled aircraft hangers on the lower campus. The main buildings were multi storied concrete affairs with tinted windows that resembled slots in fortress wall. The building had the look of a fortress. I guess someone decided that if there were more riots, this was one place that would not burn.

There was a big practice football field, but no gym and grass was sparse. It was not what I imagined college would be like. I enrolled with a Journalism Major, and my first day in class, I got a big surprise. I walked into the journalism department and came face to face with an old friend… Well at least an acquaintance… Jeff Sneed was a guy I knew in Jr. High School back in my Bethune days. He was smart, athletic, and had the kind of looks girls drooled over. If you can remember Dr. J, Julius Irving of the Philadelphia 76ers, then you have an idea of what Jeff looked like. Jeff was the kind of guy who was so good looking even guys said he was good looking. “Yo man, don't I know you,” I said, upon encountering him. He looked at me and smiled. “Yeah man, we went to school together at Bethune.” I laughed, “No shit. Small world. So you are studying Journalism too?” He nodded his head, and we started to rap. That was the first day of a friendship that would last for years to come. Jeff and I would become best friends, competitors and eventually enemies. But neither of us knew this at that moment, and we were both just happy to see someone we knew in a new place.

Life at LASC was interesting. It was the first time in my life where I did not have to go to school. I was an adult now, and going to class was a choice, not an obligation. My father died in February of 1978 of complications from cancer, and I was pretty much on my own at that point. Leti and I had broken up over the summer, and I was flying solo. LASC was a good choice for me. I don't think my head was on right to be starting UCLA at that particular time in my life.


When we arrived at LASC, the journalism program had a new professor, Mark Day, a 30-something writer of some note, who was a kind of social activist. Mark was as Liberal as they came. A Jewish dude who was obviously suffering from “Liberal Guilt,” and who gave us way too much damned control over the campus paper. Truthfully, Mark seemed to be a bit intimidated by us. Especially Nita, the reigning editor of the paper when I arrived. Nita was this tough little black chick with a short afro, tight body and even tighter jeans, he he… She would have been “tight,” if not for the fact that she had a so-s0 face, and the butch haircut gave her a quasi lesbian look in my eyes at the time. She was also a bitch at times, but she was a good writer, if not that great an editor. It was the campus paper that gave me the sense of mission to get up everyday and go to school, even when I didn’t have to, and I jumped in with a passion. By the end of the first Semester, Nita was out. She and Mark had gone at it on more than one occasion, and she did not hesitate to play to race/sex card. If she didn’t get what she wanted, it was, “You just don't respect a woman Mark.” Or “You just can’t handle a strong black woman Mark.” Mark had his issues, but any objective observer could tell the man was bending over backwards to be accommodating. I was named Executive Editor of the paper the second Semester, and began a program to improve the quality of the paper. Jeff was named Managing Editor, and we began a partnership that would last for years.

We completely scrapped the look and feel of the paper, and executed a new design. We added a cartoonist, hired an old retired man from the neighborhood to sell advertisement for the paper. We grew the paper from four pages to eight and eventually to twelve. We broadened the scope of the paper to cover community events, movie reviews and strong editorial content, which was my focus. And the paper started to get noticed. If the first year was about “evolution,” the second year would be “revolutionary.” I didn’t date much while at LASC. The paper was my lady, and I really didn’t have time for much of a social life.

The one person I did hang with in my two years at LASC was Cheryl, believe it or not, the Captain of the Cheerleader squad. Cheryl was this Big, leggy, big chested, honey colored black girl, with a beautiful smile and a fun loving nature. We were never really, “official,” but we went out a couple of times. I think the reason Cheryl dug me was because I was not intimidated by her. She was a big girl, tall, athletic and strong. And she was aggressive. I think most of the Brothers at LASC were intimidated by her, although I don't think too many would have hesitated play quarterback/cheerleader captain with her. The truth was, I wanted her sexually, but she did not really turn me on intellectually. Perhaps that is why I never put too much effort into moving the relationship forward.


Since I wasn’t focusing on dating, I took the time to improve my writing, and to focus on winning the paper some respect. During the second semester we attended a regional Conference for journalism students. During the conference we met students from all over Southern California, but made friends with one group in particular, Golden West College. Golden West was a Junior College located in the heart of Orange County, probably one of the most conservative, and “whitest,” counties in all of Southern California. We could not have been more different our two schools, and yet we hit if off. We spend two days partying with them at the conference hotel, and on the second day of the conference, we took our first award in school history. We were awarded Best Small College Newspaper in Southern California. It was a tremendous honor, and a validation of all the hard work we had put in improving the paper. That weekend was about buzz, and the buzz was that there was a new player on the scene, and that our program would get some recognition out of it. Mark Day took the opportunity to use the award as a resume booster, and took a job at a more prestigious school. We really didn’t care. Mark had very little to do with the success of the paper anyway. My last words to him… “Fuck you Mark.”

Mark was replaced by Jack Matcha, a someone famous writer from Hollywood. Jack had written for the, “Good Times,” TV show, and was as good they get in writing fundamentals. Jack was old… Very Old, when he came to teach at LASC. He was this little hunched over man who walked with a cane, suffered from the worst dandruff I have ever seen, and had nose hairs that looked like a freakin’ forest. It was hard looking at the old dude, but damn could he teach!

Jack was a little conservative at times, but he mostly stayed out of the way and let us do our thing. By my third semester at LASC, the paper was generating enough ad revenue to pay for itself. We were making a difference. The paper was respected in the community, recognized by the student journalism community, and important enough to the school that I actually felt like I had a little bit of clout. It was 1979 and Disco was all the rage. I like most people my age, were Donna Summer Fans, and I actually got an interview with the Disco Diva. Unfortunately I never got to meet her in person, but I submitted a list of questions and she answered them. I also learned it was good to be a journalist, even a student one. I got to attend a number of concerts, movie premiers and what not, with a press pass. It was pretty cool shit.

Jeff and I worked hand in hand on the paper, but there were occasional clashes of egos. There finally came a time when I had to tell him that I was the boss, and that our friendship had nothing to do with business. It was an uncomfortable conversation, but one that needed to be had. We would not have another conflict like that one for a couple of years.

In our last semester, we attended the State Journalism Conference. This time we would not win best paper. But we didn’t totally wash out. I won an award for Best Sports Feature Story, and we received much acclaim as one of the best college papers in the State. Jeff and I both applied to the University of Southern California and were accepted that Spring. Neither of us were accepted into the Journalism Program as there were no slots available. We both decided to study Political Science. In may of 1980, I graduated and began the adventure of my life.

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Posted by David A at 10:58 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 1799 Words
December 27, 2004
Chapter-3 32 Days

I have been asked often why I have a taste for Latin women. It’s a long story and one probably worthy of Freudian Analysis, but it probably started in 1976….

In October of 1975 I suffered arm and knee injuries while playing football for Washington High School. Those injuries required surgery and a recovery period of several weeks. Unlike previous years in school, I had never really focused on my studies at Washington, and they had suffered. When I finally returned to school after two months I was informed that there was no way I could successfully complete the 10th grade on time with my grades and the amount of work I was behind in. My mother met with the school principal and it was recommended that I transfer to a special school called continuation school.

Continuation Schools were a special program at that time designed for students who for various reasons had fell behind in their regular program. They were attended by a mixture of losers, teen mothers and various malcontents that the regular school simply did not want to deal with any more. They had no athletic programs, few frills and were considered a, “last chance,” for most kids. I was not “thrilled,” at the prospect of going to one of these schools. Neither was my mother, but there were few options left at that point.

Most of the Continuation Schools were located on “regular,” high school campuses, and Washington had one as well. It was called Duke Ellington High School. Fortunately for me, (I don't think I could have bared the shame of being there), Ellington was full, so I was sent to far off Metropolitan High, in an industrial area of East Los Angeles, and my life was about to change forever…

“Metro,” was a tiny little campus in the heart of the warehouse district of East Los Angeles. The entire school consisted of a basketball court, two bungalow like buildings and a parking lot. The day my mother and I arrived for our, “interview,” it was cold and gloomy, and I felt like I had been consigned to a special kind of hell. Our Interview was with the Assistant Principal, a tough little mixed heritage Black and Native American woman, who explained the simple rules to us. “This is your last stop David,” she said. “You can either make the best of it, and graduate with your class, or you can fail. It is all up to you. Then she explained a concept that made all the sense in the world to me. At Metro, all course work was self paced and based on, “contracts.” Each class had a contract consisting of required course work. Teachers were facilitators, but each student was responsible for fulfilling their commitment as fast or as slow as their abilities permitted. I was intrigued… I had always been bored by standard course curriculums. I often felt like I was wasting my time by being forced to work at the same speed as others who were less capable. Here was my opportunity. If what this woman was saying was right, I would not only catch up with my class at Washington, I would finish before them…

My first days at Metro were difficult. The student body was a mixture of teenage mothers, lightweight thugs, who weren’t quite up to Crip or Blood standards of viciousness, a few people like myself who had simply fell behind, and a few certifiable nut cases and losers who were on the last leg of a journey to failure. I was no thug, but neither was I a nerd or loser, so finding my place was a difficult one. I decided that my best course of action was to forget about any kind of social life, and to focus on manipulating the contract system to my advantage. I dived into my work with a vengeance, working like a demon to finish contracts quickly and asking for extra work. When I arrived at Metro my GPA was 2.0, when I finished it was 3.87. How I got there was a combination of hard work, and the love of some of the best teachers I have ever met.

Life at Metro was cool. There were no fights, no violence of any kind, and if you took advantage of the system, you could get things done. My favorite teachers were Ms. Slifkin, Mr. Wolfson and Mrs. Depaolo. Elise Slifkin was my Biology Teacher. She was a hippie throwback to the 60’s. She was stern, but kind and bought out the best in me. Steve Wolfson was an attorney who taught Social Studies and History. He was fighting a landmark case at the time he taught at Metro, one he eventually won (http://www.4lawschool.com/property/marina.shtml ). One of the great things about Steve was that he treated me like an adult. He would discuss the merits of his case with me, and incorporate it into what I was learning as part of his Social Studies curriculum. Nancy Depaolo was simply a saint. One of the most dedicated teachers I have ever known. Nancy was my English Teacher, and the first person to really ever show any interest in my writing.

I bloomed at Metro, if it is possible to use a term like that to describe the man child that I was. Ms. Slifkin taught me the wonders of biology in ways that I never imagined. Through her I learned to tend to a garden, to see things in nature that I had never seen before, and to appreciate the beauty all around me. It was an entirely different world from what I was used to at other schools. The teachers seemed to care. Ms. Slifkin, Mrs. Depaolo and Mr. Wolfson became not only my teachers, but my mentors. They saw something in me that no other teacher had ever taken the time to see, and under their guidance, I saw myself growing. I was learning, not just the stuff I was obligated to by the contracts, but about life in General. Mrs. Depaolo helped a couple of other students and myself to put together a collection of poems and short stories. The book was sold all over the school district and we got to keep part of the funds in the way of credits to buy things at the school store. Most of the material in the book was mine, and I suddenly found myself a minor media star with people contacting me from all over the school district. One of the pieces in the book was a short story called, “Shades of Love,” which was autobiographical though no one really knew it… You see, I had discovered LOVE for the first time at 16. She was a Chicano girl from nearby Belmont High School, and I met her when our basketball team scrimmaged with their Continuation High School. (More on that latter). I was deeply in love, and the poems and story were strongly influenced by that love.

In my second year at Metro, Mr. Robert Owens joined the faculty. Owens was the first Black male teacher I had ever had. And while I was fortunate enough to have a father at home, Mr. Owens became a surrogate father to me and to all the other young Black men on campus. He taught us about responsibility, respect for women, and how to be men. I think Mr. Owens was about the most respected teacher I ever had. While his office capacity was auto mechanic teacher, he was really more of a mentor and role model. I can remember sitting in his class room in a circle with a bunch of other guys from the school, while Mr. Owens sat and just rapped with us. “It takes more than a penis to make a father,” he would say. He explained to us the responsibilities of fatherhood, and why those of us who had no children, should wait until we could afford them. He also spoke to the boys who were already fathers… not lecturing them, but just rapping with them. Explaining to them how important their role was, and building up their self esteem, while making sure they understood how important they would be to the development of their child, and how responsible they were for that role. He more than out fathers, and our big brothers, taught us to be men…. And he taught us to carry ourselves with dignity and respect. The girls loved Mr. Owens. He called them ladies, and made us do so as well. If he caught us referring to women as bitches or ho’s, (very common for young men at the time, and it seems a tradition that has only grown stronger with time), he would take us to his classroom and give us a good dressing down.

Mr. Owens also started a basketball team! While we could not belong to any league, Mr. Owens took coaching us very seriously. There were some very talented young men at Metro. Rick Walker had been a star forward at one of the Southern League high schools before he nearly flunked out, and was sent to Metro to make up his time. Owens taught us the John Wooden full court press offense, and while we could not legally play any of the “regular,” high schools, he arranged for us to play all the continuation schools in the District. Poor assholes, they never knew what hit them… While we were organized and disciplined, most of the schools we played were just a bunch of the boys getting together and running street ball. I don't remember us winning a game by less than 50 points, in the two years Mr. Owens ran the program. The day I met Leticia, we were visiting Belmont High School, and the school permitted us to play in their gym, the first time most of our guys had ever played on a hardwood floor, and it was an inspired performance.

The teachers encouraged us to mix with the kids from the other school, and when this cute little Chicano girl sat down next to me in the bleachers, I knew I was in trouble. “Hi,” she said with a big grin on her face. “Why aren’t you playing with your Vatos?” I laughed. “Not my sport baby.” I replied in my coolest voice. She looked up at me…. “Hmmmm, I am afraid to ask, but what is your sport?” Now this was my opportunity to reply with a cool line. I looked around the bleachers. I would have guessed the Gym would hold about 1500 people. That day there were about 100, with our two little schools mixed together on one side of the Gym. There were a couple of Chicano guys watching me, waiting to see how I would react…. “Well Seniorita, to be honest I am into one on one sports.” Two Chicano guys sitting in the row behind us whooped, “Whooo, SA is smooth!” Giving themselves a double high five in the process, and laughing.

I did not pay too much attention to the rest of the game. I know we won by like a hundred points or something, but I was too busy playing “Mac Daddy,” to notice or care. I gave her my number and asked her what she was doing after school. She agreed to meet me in downtown L.A. to grab a bite and talk more. Her name was Leticia. She was this beautiful little brown skinned Chicano with full lips, long, thick hair, big brown eyes, and an ass to die for. Her laughter was hypnotic, her smile could light up a room, and her voice could melt the coldest ice. She taught me Spanish, but even before I learned, her words in Spanish could melt my heart and make me putty in her hands. Through her, I learned to love life. She taught me to love tacos and salsa music. She taught me to appreciate the beautiful Aztec Murals painted on the walls of housing projects all over East L.A., and she taught me to love another culture as much as I loved my own. And she taught me to make love to a woman, not just fuck. Through her I learned the profound difference between the two, and how each had their place. Twenty eight years latter, I can still hear her laugh and taste her lips. And to her I owe my love for Latin women and Latin culture.

That first night was magical. We had dinner at “Clifton’s,” a cafeteria style restaurant in downtown Los Angeles. Clifton’s was a magical place. Great food and lots of it. And a décor that featured lots of plants and sort of a jungle motif. I don't even remember what I ate. I just remember looking into those beautiful brown eyes of hers and listening to that voice… She was beautiful, and I knew I was in love within five minutes of meeting her back at the Belmont High Gym. After dinner, we strolled through downtown, arm and arm. There was a park I knew of, not too far from Clifton’s. We sat on a bench and just watched the people pass by. “You are the most beautiful girl I think I have ever known.” I heard myself say. She laughed… “And you are the biggest liar.” Each time she laughed, those big brown eyes twinkled, and I could not resist. I leaned in and kissed her on the lips. I was not sure what to expect. Would she get angry and leave? Would she slap me like chicks did in the movies? She kissed me back…. A long passionate kiss, that seemed to last forever. And it was confirmed…. I was in love. Maybe for the first time. I was 16 years old….

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Posted by David A at 11:10 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 2311 Words
December 26, 2004
Chapter - 2 32 Days

The Making of a General

I feel pretty damned lucky to have grew up at the time I did, and in Los Angeles. Like most people I guess, I occasionally struggle with whether I would change anything. I find little that I would truly change. I remember the first day I walked into Washington High School. It was a big day for me… High School, another level, a step closer to becoming an adult. Washington was a whole new world for me. My mother sent me halfway across town to go to Washington, hoping that by doing so, she would be taking me away from the influences of the gangs and gangsters in our old neighborhood. Little did she know that she was tossing me from the fat into the frying pan. Washington High School in 1975 was the capital of the Crip Empire. The school was dominated by Crips. If you were male and attended Washington High School in 1975, you were a Crip, an athlete or a victim…

I decided that my salvation lay in being an athlete. Washington High School was part of Southern League, probably one of the most powerful Basketball and Football Conferences in Los Angeles, and made up of all the Black High Schools in the City. To make the football team, there were three requisites. You had to be big, BAD and fast. I met the first two easily; the third I wasn’t bad at, but I wouldn’t be running track. Despite being over 200 Pounds at 15 years old, most of it was baby fat, so I suffered as the training regimen began. My first two a days were torture. Carrying around all that excess body weight and another 40 pounds of equipment was not an easy thing. And September in Los Angeles is still wicked hot. But my teammates stood by me. I learned for the first time what it was like to be part of a team. Oh I learned about Teamwork as a Boy Scout, but this was different. Scouting was playing at being a warrior. At Washington High School in 1976, if you were on the Football Team, you WERE a warrior! It was tough running laps in the stifling heat, and many times I felt like I would pass out from it, but I kept going. There were guys who ran right beside me, shouting encouragement and pulling me along when I faltered. I remember the pride I had when I mounted the bus every day for the long trek home, carrying my helmet and my Washington Generals practice jersey.


As a sophomore, I was made part of the Jr. Varsity starting team, and the Varsity backup squad. Washington had some incredible players at the time, many who would go on to play professional ball. Playing was like being in a miniature war every week, and “General Pride,” was something even the gang bangers took seriously. There was a big “W” painted in the main entrance to the school, and signs everywhere said, “Don't step on the W.” It was a tradition that went back to the days when the school was all white. But I doubt if the rule was enforced the same back them. In 1975, if you got caught stepping on the W, the only question was who would kick your ass… The football players or the Crips who had their own way of showing, “school pride.”

Our first game was against Locke High School. It was a scrimmage and I got to play offense and defense. I outweighed most of the boys on the other side by 50 pounds, so it was with sadistic pleasure that I got to run over the smaller players as I led a power sweep running play. On defense, I was punishing. Often taking on and beating two blockers to make a tackle. We won the scrimmage 44-0.

At the same time, I got my first introduction to Fraternity Life. At Washington there were social clubs for almost any type of student. The social clubs were like fraternities, with pledge periods and initiations. One of the most popular was “The Lettermen,” a social club open only to Letter winners in one of the school’s athletic programs. As a football player, it was automatic that you would join The Lettermen. Through The Lettermen, I would get my first taste of what it was like to go through the humiliation of joining an exclusive club. I would learn a lot more when I went on to the University. As a Letterman candidate we marched from class to class singing, “Trying so hard, so hard, to be a Letterman, so hard, so hard to be a Letterman. There was this funky little step, or way we had to march, and as ridiculous as it sounds today, I thought it was way cool at the time. Being a Letterman initiate was cool. It was like being in a “dignified,” gang, and no one fucked with you. It also worked out to be a great way to get laid. And I lost my cherry to a girl who I would give my Letterman Jacket. It happened at my Sister’s house. Who lived just a few blocks from the school, and whose address I was using to attend Washington.

While I never really lived with my Sister, she gave me a key to her place, and let me stay there on those nights when practice ended late or when I was just too tired to go home. My sister loved to party, and she was often out until late with her friends. Technically I lost my cherry to one of her friends several months before, when I was sleeping on her couch and she and one of her friends came home drunk after a night of partying. My sister stumbled off to her bed to sleep it off, and her friend, one of the sexiest women I have ever know came over to the couch I was sleeping on and started messing with me. I was sleeping in my shorts in the September heat, and she reached under the covers and started fondling me. While I had never had a girl or woman touch me there, I had heard all the stories, and definitely knew what was happening. She reached under the blanket and started jerking me off. I just lay there real quiet, not knowing if should touch her or not. It did not take me long to reach climax…. Hey, I was a fifteen year old being jerked off by the glamorous 30 something friend of my Sister. Think about it. When I finished, she pulled my shorts back up, kissed me on the lips and left. I saw her many times after that, and we never even spoke of what happened that night, but she would often smile at me in a knowing sort of way.

The day I officially lost my cherry was a great one. We had just beaten cross town rival Fremont High School, starting a near riot on that campus. I had my best game with four unassisted tackles and a performance that earned me a write up in the school paper the next day. Out bus was pelted by stones and soda bottles by irate Fremont fans, and we had barely escaped without injury. Our cheerleaders were on the same bus as the team, and I had been checking out one of them, Charise, for a long time. She sat next to me on the ride back to Washington. I took the opportunity to chat with her on the long ride back. When we got back to the school I invited her to my Sisters place. “It’s only two blocks away, and my Sister can take you home latter,” I volunteered. At that point I knew my sister was not at home, and that she would not be back for at least a few hours.

When we got to my Sisters place, she was as I expected, no where to be found. I offered Charise something to drink, and we sat on the couch and watched TV. It did not take long before we were doing some pretty heavy making out on the couch, and the short skirt of her cheerleader outfit made “access,” a helluva lot easier. We were both hot and sweaty from the game, and I suggested we take a shower together. She ignored me, telling me that the sweat turned her on. I made love for the first time that night, with my football pants down around my ankles, wearing my grass and dirt stained game jersey. Not exactly what I imagined the first time would be like, but I will never forget it. I still have a fetish for making love partially clothed. Hehe…

Midway through that first Year, I suffered two devastating injuries that would end my dreams of playing for the NFL, end my glorious High School Football career, and nearly end my scholastic career as well.

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Posted by David A at 11:12 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 1512 Words
December 25, 2004
Chapter - 1 32 Days

Growing up Ghetto

There are times when I look back on my childhood and I am simply amazed that I lived through it all.

I grew up on 73rd and Hoover in Los Angeles. Fifty yards from my house, on the other side of an alley, was an abandoned house called the “Crip Shack.” The Crip Shack was the birthplace and “offices,” of the notorious Hoover Crips, the nastiest part of the Crip Street gang Alliance made famous in Hollywood films like “Colors.”

I went to Jr. High at Mary McLeod Bethune. A couple of my classmates were the founders of the Crips and other less notorious, but equally brutal gangs. In my last year of Jr. High, the school was evacuated on rumors of an impending shootout, and latter that day, the LAPD found enough weapons in a nearby house to arm a platoon of Army Rangers.

In the ninth grade, I was gang jumped by 20 members of the Ace Duces, one of the lesser street gangs who populated the school. I accidentally stepped on the shoe of one of their leaders while in the cafeteria line. I was standing in line waiting for my Government Issue hot lunch, when I stepped backwards and onto the shiny new biscuits (A type of shoe popular at the time) of “Pee Wee,” one of the gang leaders. Pee Wee was a short little fuck with a huge afro. Pee Wee dressed the part of the gangster at the time. Silk shirt, pleated pants, leather jacket and biscuits… It was a uniform of sorts for the bangers. And even though all of us did our best to match the style, you could always tell who the real bangers were. I knew immediately that I had fucked up, and so did every one else in the lunch line. Everyone turned around to see what was going to happen. Even though I knew at that moment that I was fucked, I could not risk coming off like a wimp. “Hey man, I am sorry about that,” I mumbled. He looked at me with contempt and hatred, and replied. “Motherfucker you best to be cleaning my biscuits.” Now I could have probably saved my self the requisite ass kicking at that point by kneeling down and cleaning the footprint off his shoes, but that was against ghetto code. I knew that if I cleaned his shoe, I might survive the ass kicking that day, but would forever be marked, “a bitch.” The ass kicking would simply be delayed. I also knew I would not be able to live with the snickers I would get from that day on, so I signed my own ass kicking warrant at that moment and responded. “Fuck you man, I said I was sorry.” I dropped my tray and walked away. I missed lunch, but my major concern at that point was finding a place to hide until lunch was over.

My confrontation with Pee Wee was the talk of the school for the rest of the day. I hid out at the next break, and watched the clock with a knot in my stomach the rest of the day. I knew that at 3:00 I had an appointment with Pee Wee and his boys. When the bell rang, I hauled ass for the street with my boy Otis, who was my best friend at the time. We were halfway up the block when I saw Pee Wee. He was standing on the corner, half a block away with a small army of guys, most of whom I did not even recognize. I turned to Otis…. “Bruh, this ain’t your fight,” I heard myself say. “Bail and see if you can find my big brother. I am gonna get my ass kicked, ain’t no need for you to get yours kicked too.” Otis looked relieved as he took off running. If I was expecting the Calvary to come to my rescue, it didn’t happen. My house was over a mile away, even if Otis had went looking for my Brother… Which he didn’t. I ducked into an alley 20 yards from Pee Wee and his gang, hoping they did not see me in the crowd of kids leaving the school. As I turned into the alley I began to trot. Not exactly run, just kind of jog. Just as I was beginning to think I had escaped, there was a tap on my shoulder….

“Yo homeboy,” I heard a voice say. “Someone is calling you.” I turned around and was met by a fist to my face. Then they converged. I don't to this day know how many there were. All I know is I was swinging wildly, not connecting very often, and they were…. Big time. I remember going down in the alley, and biscuits, lots of biscuits kicking me everywhere. I rolled into a fetal ball trying to protect myself, and then I heard the siren.

I must have blacked out. The next thing I remember was being in the Vice Principals office with a couple of cops, Pee Wee and the VP.

I remember my face hurt, and so did other parts of my body. In fact, it would be easier to say what did not hurt. The cops were asking me questions. “Young man, is this the boy who led the attack on you….” I looked at Pee Wee and back at the cops. I remembered “the code.” Never tell on anyone. It was better to be a dignified victim, than one who used the cops to get your payback. “Do you think I would be sitting here officer, if he was the one,” was all I said. Then I added my own personal little insult to Pee Wee, who gratified me to no end by looking scared shitless, despite the fact that I was the one who just had the shit beat out of me. “I ain’t never seen Blood before.”

Calling Pee Wee, “Blood,” which was the greeting of an opposing street gang, was my last attempt at gaining some dignity from the situation. They took Pee Wee in anyway. Apparently when he was picked up, they found a gun on him. The word got out somehow that I did not rat him out, and hear that he even said, “That nigga’s got a lot of balls for somebody who just got they ass kicked.” My rep went up a couple of notches, just for getting my ass kicked. Go figure.

I was a little nervous about coming back to school the next day, especially since I was black and blue all over, with my eye practically swollen shut. I figured best case scenario is that I would get clowned by everyone who saw me get my ass kicked in that alley. I latter found out that the audience to my ass kicking included my dear buddy Otis. To my surprise, I found out I was somewhat of a hero at school after that day. To some it was because I did not tell the police what happened, but the consensus seemed to be that I had stood up to the gangsters. Even though I lost the fight, I had won respect. “Damn homeboy, you got yo assed whupped, but you went down swingin’,” was a a typical comment. Even the gangsters seemed to give me a little more respect after that day…

It was not easy growing up where I did. The gang culture was all around me. 73rd and Hoover was in the middle of a battle zone. Crips, Brims (Latter immortalized as Bloods in the movies), Ace Duce’s and Bounty Hunters, battled amongst themselves and with the Police of the notorious 77th Division, for the streets of my neighborhood. And the cops were little more than a street gang themselves, terrorizing the neighborhood and brutalizing anyone they saw as a potential threat. 77th Division would latter become the subject of a number of criminal investigations, including planting weapons on shooting victims and falsifying arrest records. I would have my own run in with them while I lived there. More on that latter.

Most of the guys who founded the Crips came from my neighborhood.

One of the original founders was a guy named Leo. Leo was a small stature, light skinned, good looking black kid, who had a lot of natural intelligence and leadership. Unfortunately, he chose to apply it to all the wrong things.

Leo was a God Father in the Crips, one of the main leaders, and for some reason he liked me. He used to send me on errands to buy him and his boys junk food. My little crew and I would be playing softball or football on the abandoned lot next to the Crip shacks and Leo would call me over. I don't think he ever knew my name. It was always, “Hey fatboy, com’ere.” I would hustle over and Leo would roll off a wad of bills and send me off to the liquor store to buy him something. He would always give me a dollar for myself. And even though he joked about me being a fat kid in front of his boys, he always treated me kindly.

Leo became a major drug dealer, and in the end broke the cardinal rule of dealing. He started using his own product. I started to notice that his eyes had a glazed, faraway look, and he started to scare me. One night I was on my way home and passed the Crip Shacks to cut through the alley and head home. From the darkness of the shack I heard Leo’s voice. “Hey Fatboy, come’ere.” I hesitated, but knew I had better do what he said. Leo was not the kind of guy you wanted to piss off. I climbed up into the ruined house and looked around in the darkness. Leo was sitting in a corner smoking a joint. “Come over here kid,” he said. I walked over to where he was sitting. He held the joint up to me. “You want a hit?” I shook my head no.. He laughed. “Go ahead, take a hit. It aint nothin’ but weed, lil nigga. It aint gonna kill ya.” I nervously took the joint, and took a feeble hit on it, not even inhaling. He laughed. “Nigga that aint no way to smoke a joint. Suck that mutha fucka!” I tried again, inhaling deeply this time. The weed burned my throat and made me feel dizzy. Leo stumbled to his feet. “That’s it homey. Suck on that thang.” I handed the joint back to him. He took a deep drag, and I could see that weird look in his eyes, even in the darkness. The moon shined in through the holes in the roof and walls, giving his face and eyes a weird glow.

He looked at me for a long time, taking drags on his weed. “I want you to do something for me lil’ nigga,” he said. I don't want you to tell nobody though. “What,” I asked. He reached down and unzipped his pants. “I want you to suck my dick.” I stepped back towards the hole in the wall I had come in through. “I cant do that Leo,” I stuttered. “I aint no fag!” He laughed. “I know you aint no fag, fatboy. But aint nobody going to know. Just me an you… Think of all the shit I done done for you!” I was feeling panic rising in my gut. Leo had killed people. Lots of them, if the stories were to be believed. Now he was telling me to suck his dick. If I did it, I was fucked. It would be all over the block by the next day. If I didn’t do it, he might just kill me. I was getting sick at the thought….

“Leo,” I pleaded. “You aint no fag. You are Leo, the baddest mutha fucker in the Crips. What it gonna look like, people hear you got boys suckin’ your dick.” He seemed to think about this for a minute, and then as quickly as it started, it was over. He put his dick back in his pants, zipped up and laughed his ass off. “I knew you weren’t no fag, lil’ nigga. I just had to be sure. He reached in his pocked and peeled a twenty dollar bill off his bankroll. He handed it to me, and told me to get, “the fuck out my house.” I practically ran out of that house that night. I made it a point to avoid the place for a few months after that. Then about three months latter I heard Leo had been shot dead in a driveby. I don't know if Leo intended to rape me that night or not, I would like to think it was just a test like he said… But I will never know. I was 10 Years old at the time…

There was another Crip Founder who grew up with me too. His name was Phillip. Phillip was a super cool, laid back thinker… I never saw Phillip in a fight. While Leo was known to be a hard case and a cold blooded murderer who handled his “click,” through strength and intimidation, Phillip was known as a smart leader. He rarely lost his cool, and led by the strength of his intellect, and pure charisma. Phillip and I met when my 7th grade English Teacher asked me to tutor him. We formed a friendship that would last until he was sent to jail a year latter.

Phillip was always well dressed, sharp and smooth. They used to call him a Junior Pimp, and the girls adored him. At 14, Phillip was probably getting laid more than Hugh Heffner, and he was just as cool. Phillip always called me David. He respected me, and he protected me. He was kind of like a Black version of the Fonz, and everyone knew that if you hung out with Phillip, you weren’t to be fucked with. I never saw him using drugs, or even drinking. When he was around his “set,” or his boys, there was no question who was in charge. Although it may sound strange considering how much I liked Phillip, I am glad he went to jail when he did. If he had not, I would have probably ended up a Crip…


I was the tenth of ten children. Most of my siblings had already grown up and left the nest when I came along.

I was the miracle baby, born when my mother was 42 years old and my father in his late 50’s. I was not expected and not planned for. But I was loved… Perhaps even more than my siblings, I was loved. I was my mother’s baby. Though we were poor by most people’s standards, my mother did everything she could to give me the best she could offer. Other than the occasional hand me down clothes, I pretty much got what I wanted as a kid. I was spoiled. I was the baby. In return I was expected to bring home good grades, go to church on Sunday, and be a, “good boy.” I fulfilled most of that obligation for my first 15 years, even joining the Boy Scouts, something that took a lot of courage in one of the most violent neighborhoods in Los Angeles. (Just walking down the street in a Scout Uniform could get you an ass kicking by the Gangsters). At the time I was trying hard to be like my war hero Brother, who I worshiped more than the God I visited on Sundays. It was my Big Brother Thomas, the Vietnam War veteran, who saved my ass the one time I did cross paths with the Thugs in Blue from 77th Street Division, LAPD.

I was selling candy for my mother’s church when I was stopped by one of the police Anti-Gang units. They were called, “Team 2,” and they were notorious in the ghetto at that time. I heading home after a day of selling candy door to door for my mother’s church when a Team Two car pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of us. The driver called me over to the car. “Hey Fat Boy, get your ass over here,” the cop said. I was with three other friends and we all walked over to the patrol car. “What you got in the bag Nigger?” the cop asked. “I ain’t no nigger, cop.” I said in my most defiant “ghetto,” voice. The driver opened the door of the patrol car and he and his partner stepped out. “We got us a smartass here,” he said to his partner, who just shook his head. “I asked you a question boy,” he said, taking his shades off as he stepped up within a foot or so of where I was standing.

My parents always admonished me to be respectful of cops and I generally was, but here this guy was harassing me when I was actually doing something good for a change. I was not going to have it. It did not help that all of us in the neighborhood had recently come under the influence of Brother Charles X, a Muslim shopkeeper who sold cookies, candy the radical black muslim theology of “the evils of whitey.” I was in no mood to be interrogated by this, “white devil,” and I figured I was in the right, so “fuck ‘em.” I looked the cop in the eye and answered him. “I know my rights Mr. Police officer man… I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. I am selling candy for my mama’s church, so why don't you pigs leave me alone.”

The next thing I knew I was slammed against the Police Cruiser, and being frisked. The cop took the bag with the candy, and the money I had collected that day. “Listen you little fat bastard, I know you stole the candy, so we are going to confiscate it.” He took the bag from my hand, and told me to move on. I stood there, not believing that a cop had just, “stole,” a bag of candy from a kid on the street. My friends were standing back on the curb. Bunch, one of my best buddies at the time, started ragging on me. “Yo mama gonna whup yo ass David,” he said. I knew at that point that I had two options. I was either going to take an ass kicking from these two cops or from my Mama… And to be honest, I was a helluva lot more afraid of my Mama at that moment. You did not mess with my mama when it came to the church. I stepped between the cop and his car. “Look man,” I said. “You are just going to have to arrest me. I know I ain’t done nothing wrong. And I ain’t going home without that candy and the money those people done paid me.” The cop laughed. “Have it your way boy.” He grabbed me by the shoulder, spun me around against the car, and slapped the cuffs on me…. I was shoved roughly into the back of the police car, and whisked away, as my friends stood laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

I sat on a low bench in the police station for over an hour before my mother and her Pastor showed up at the police station. I could hear them talking to the Desk Sergeant outside the holding area. The cop was telling them how I resisted arrest and how they were going to hold me for questioning in a gang matter. No matter how much my mother pleaded and the good Reverend admonished, the Sergeant just “dissed” them. Finally I heard them leave. The Sergeant came back to see me at that point. I was cuffed to a low bench in a smelly, hot room. I guess he could tell I was afraid. “Did you really think your mama and, “Reverend Ike,” were gonna get your ass out of the trouble you are in boy?” He asked me, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Now if you had just kept your mouth shut and not argued with the officers, you would be home having dinner right now.” He laughed and walked out of the room. Seems like hours passed, but I am sure it wasn’t that long. Suddenly, I heard my older Brother Thomas speaking to the Desk Sargeant. “You got a kid here named David Anderson,” he said. “Who’s asking,” replied the desk Sergeant. “The man who came to get him out,” replied my brother. “And what the fuck makes you think you are going to have any more luck than his mama, or the “Reverend Doctor Feel Good.” Replied the cop.

I will never forget my Brother’s reply. “Because my Mother and the Reverend did not just spend three years working for the U.S. Government killing people for a living. And because if you mother fuckers don't let my little brother go in the next five minutes, you are going to have to explain why you arrest a kid for selling candy for the church, and why you killed a decorated Vietnam Vet who just came here to get his baby brother out of jail. Cause if I leave here without David, when I come back, I am going to declare war on you mother fuckers.” I heard the cop say something I could not make out, and the next thing I know, my Brother and I are in his car driving home. The bag of candy and cash were sitting on the seat between us. Fucking cops had even paid for the couple of boxes of candy they had taken from the bag. My brother never said a word on the drive home. We pulled into the driveway, he patted me on the head, leaned over me and opened the door. I wanted to say, “thank you.” I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. I wanted to tell him that he was my hero. I didn’t say anything. I wish I had…

That was the last run in I ever had with the cops, except for the couple times I was pulled over for moving violations…. Yeah, life in the Ghetto in the 70’s was a hoot…. Good Times and JJ Walker didn’t have shit on the Anderson family. But things would only get more interesting…

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Posted by David A at 11:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 3776 Words
November 03, 2004
Anger Management

I am in need of a good Anger Management Class!
Todays Blog Review from that Noted Blog Critic, The Anti-Social Bitch

David, as far as I'm concerned you're a popularity slut who will whore yourself for a link. You don't even appear to care about the quality of the sites that link to you so long as you get that link.

So lets see Donna, which of the 431 Blogs that link to me do you question the quality of, and what exactly are your qualifications to judge those blogs. I am sure they would be interested in the critique of the Blog Mama herself!

I've seen you plead in other people's comments for links. I've seen you bitch because someone didn't trackback you properly.

Well gee whilikers Donna, I did not know you read my blog that much to note such things. But lets look at it for a moment. I have been told I am one of the most generous linkers in the blogsphere, even linked to you a few times when you actually had something interesting to say. But HEY if it makes you feel good, guilty as charged. I had a strategy for growing my blog, it worked. I built my blog much like I have built my business, by establishing contacts and contributing in a constructive way to the blogsphere. The result, the aforementioned 431 links 2500-4000 hits a day.

Interesting that you would be so obsessed with me that you would go read someone else's comments to see where I am, "pleading." As for the trackback thing. I have seen instructions on proper trackbacks on many blogs including one that you seem to have a lot more respect for, so are they a link whoring slut too, or is that honor reserved only for me? In fact, the TLB, which you seem obsessed with condemning, I discovered through your site, but I guess that was before you decided that purest bloggers did not care about ratings.

Most successful blogs and even some that are not so successful have trackback policies and enforce them, but then you probably wouldn’t know that being a hobby Blogger and all... But then again I still have a very SNIPEY email from you Bitching... That is the word right, about me posting a whole post of yours in a trackback, before I learned the ropes. But again, that was before you became a Born Again Blogger and expert on Blog Etiquette right? I am sure you really dont give a shit how or even if someone does a trackback to one of your post today, right? Maybe that would be more convincing if you just removed trackback from your post Donna, ya think?

It's all about links for you. And you don't even seem to get how crass and tasteless that is.

How crass and tasteless is it? Why don’t you tell me. Educate me, I am dying to know. And while you are at it, why don’t you write a book, I am sure all the other Bloggers who cultivate linking and use trackbacks as part of a strategy to build their Blogs and to get the word out on a particular post would love to hear your opinion on it!

You think you're being open minded when in actuality you come across as needful and pleading to be liked.

Its called Anti-Bitch syndrome Donna, not all of us take pride in being bitches or assholes

you know. But you certainly have excelled at it. So you just keep doing
what you are doing, because in my opinion you are the premier anti
social person, and certainly the biggest bitch in the blogsphere!
Congrats, button for your blog forthcoming! As for being needy and
pleading to be liked. I don't know. I would imagine that one would need
to speak to a psychoanalyst for that kind of diagnosis? What was your
job again... SIM champion and housewife? Forgive me if I
don’t go rushing out to find Sigmund Freud. I do find it somewhat
ironic as sometime back when I had my sexiest blogger thread, you were
the first person to submit a picture. So it strikes me that the desire to be liked thing must not be all that bad hmmmm...

I find the whole thing sad. I delinked you because of all of that. But mostly I delinked you because I refuse to associate myself with a person I can't find any respect for. It's too bad you'll never understand what I'm saying here.

And I tell ya, I am all broken up about it. I mean it's like the first time you delinked me, when I was having a blog fight with a friend of yours... I was really trashed then, almost drove me to drink. Confused the hell out of me too, since the argument really had nothing to do with you until you decided to insert yourself in it. To be honest it was a long time before I even realized that you had put me back on your blog roll. And for someone who makes such a big deal of trying to downplay things, you sure act like it is some kind of honor tantamount to Knighthood to make it onto your primary blogroll! Sorry to dissapoint, but making your blogroll was never and is not at the or near the top of my list of priorities. I know this must come as a shock to you. And now to discover that you have delinked me again, combine that with the election results and I may need to stand out in my back yard with an iron rod in a lightning storm! NOT... I mean I am sure you must think it is the most aweful and humiliating thing in the world to be delinked by ASB! And I am sure if I dig deep enough I can find an impact... I mean my page views had to have gone down by what.... three a month as a result! I mean that hurts!

But you are right, indeed it is sad Donna. Because to be honest, until you decided you were going to be my judge and jury, and started your snide little attacks on me on your blog, I never said a bad word about you. I frequently commented on your blog, and as I said, linked you when I found something interesting or funny.

Since you have been playing psychoanalyst with me, I will take a small liberty here and do you the same honor. What I find sad is that you have this obsession with other people's lives. You are a person who is obsessed with meddling in the lives of others and manipulating them. You have a god complex and feel like you are somehow entitled to pass judgment on others. You are also an angry person, anyone who reads your blog can tell that. Your superiority/inferiority complex comes out almost daily as you rant about something or someone or another that you hate.

Well I hate to tell you this, but the sad thing is few people really care. Maybe the really NEEDY people do, but you see that is the proof that your diagnosis of yours truly is wrong. Because I really don’t give a shit what you think. I am responding to this for one reason only, to let you know that. You are so fast to criticize but rarely extend yourself. I am not going to go into details here because you know what I mean.

I lost respect for you a LONG time ago, but I was not so arrogant as to think it mattered to you. That is perhaps the biggest difference between you and I. And it's too bad YOU will never understand what I am saying here. Now please go back to your SIMS, your knitting, your cats, your casseroles, whatever, because REALLY, and I know this will come as a surprise, it isn’t all about YOU.

Restored from Google Cache of ISOU V.2

Posted by David A at 12:11 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 1345 Words
October 14, 2004
Morning Notes... Trippin' Arround the Blogsphere

A BRUTAL assessment of the Debate from Heretical Ideas.

Rob reports on Danziger Cartoon getting the boot! Good deal!

Now you know why people Pirate Music. Via Wizbang.

Mick has more on the Debate.

Cul has early poll numbers with Kerry winning.

Tas explores the origins of Bush's Culture of Life philosophy.


I wasn't the only one watching the debate online last night.

Kathy has a great list of all the newspaper coverage of the debate.

The incredible Ms. Lauren joins the PBA! Another one of my daily reads joins us, along with TCF last night. Welcome to all the new members.

Sadie Mirth- Rapidly becoming one of my favorite bloggers.

TIA calls the debate for Kerry, declaring a sweep.

Tia News has some reasons not to vote for Bush.

Vane was so bored by the Debate that she fell asleep in the first 15 minutes. LOL!

Angel talked to Hubby, please continue to pray for a friend if you are so inclined or visit her blog and give her a virtual hug.

P6 reports on continuing BAD news for the Bush Administration.

Jesus General offers Support to Bill O'Reilly! LOL!

George W. Bush knows Black People! Hat Tip: The General

Bush's refusal to Admit Mistakes explained...

Glad to see that Jeff is a Sci-Fi Fan, a welcome respite from Politics.

OTB has a great roundup on what the experts are saying about the debate. Hat Tip: BCC

An 8 Year Old Conservative in the Making, gives her take on the debate! Hat Tip: Digger

From Jack: If these two men are the best we can come up with for the highest elected office in our nation, we're fucked...

a cnn/gallup/usa today poll had kerry winning the debate 52-39. msnbc's online poll had kerry winning 71-29, cbs's poll had kerry winning it 39-25 (36% had it as a draw).

but cbs cant be trusted, my gop friends say.

so we go to fox news since theyre fair n balanced

whose internet poll had kerry winning it 55-44.

so basically nobody thinks that bush won this debate

except

the instapundit

worlds greatest blogger

who says bush won it "hands down".

and then finds three people who agree with him. and links to noone who disagrees with him.

im shocked.

shocked.


Tony Pierce

Looks like the Pakistanis are getting serious.

Seems like there is a pretty broad consensus based on polling, that Bush got whacked.

Could it be that the cummalative effect has just wore him down and now people are just conceeding defeat, I dont know, but I really did not see Kerry win a clear victory last night, and believe me I wanted him to. Maybe it was watching it over a sucky internet feed. Any way enough for now. Will update through the day.

This is a copy of a Google Cache Article from ISOU V.2

Posted by David A at 04:30 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 490 Words
October 07, 2004
America's Wars

Chad does a super job
of compiling the History of America's Wars all the way back to WWI. It
is an interesting study. I dont agree with his assessment that many of
them were wars of choice in the same sense as Iraq was, but it is a
well written and informative piece.

Recovered from Google cache.

Posted by David A at 05:08 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 57 Words
September 09, 2004
Bush's Military Record

This from Oliver:

The worst rightie canard is that Bush isn't running on his military record (you mean the record with the gap longer than Nixon's 18 1/2 minutes?), but Kerry is. Of course, the problem is, Bush is running for reelection not only as president but as commander-in-chief. We have currently lost the lives of 1,004 good people directly attributable to the current commander-in-chief's inability to lead, so the fact that apparent dereliction of duty is the norm and not the exception to Bush's record is an issue very worth noting.

Juliette:

The subject and the attitude behind this

have brought up so much anger and disgust in me (again) that I can
barely see straight. All of a sudden these people--who wouldn't dream
of enlisting, AD or not--are flocking experts on the military. All of a
sudden it's sooo important that a CinC must have military experience,
much less a "spotless" record of same. This would be the same military
that they/their parents spat upon and called baby-killers a generation
ago.



Wizbang:



On February 23, 2004 Doonesbury creator Gary Trudeau issued the following challenge:

[H]elp us flush out an authoritative witness to President Bush's tour of duty defending the skies over Alabama -- and put this tired, recycled AWOL story to rest once and for all.

If you personally witnessed George W. Bush reporting for drills at Dannelly Air National Guard Base between the months of May and November of 1972 we want to hear about it.

USA Today - Former Guardsman: Bush served with me in Alabama

Looks like Trudeau owes the USO $10,000.

Rusty:

Former Guardsman: Bush served with me in Alabama

Now can you guys just shut the hell up? Of course, over at the DU there will be whining that the guy is a NASCAR fan, which is code for bigot-segregationist-homophobe who wants to starve children and force women back into using coat-hangers.

---

Not surprisingly, to the Right this story represents a left wing Major Media conspiracy. To the Left, it represents Justice after the smear campaign run by the Right on the Swift Boat accussations. Righties will, as Rusty and Kevin have done, claim vindication in the so-called witness that has come forward for Bush. To them I ask the question, "what makes this witnesses story any more legitimate than those who defended Kerry in the SBV accussations, you cant have it both ways. There appears to be some letters and documentation showing that something fishy was going on back then. This will of course be spun ad nauseum by those seeking to defend Bush, that is all fair and well... But I would suggesst as Rusty did that the conspiracy theories be put away. Let the media do their job, and the chips fall where they may, just as they did with Kerry. You can not stand on a soap box and demand that Kerry be investigated to the hilt as a "candidate," while the President gets a free ride. And in all honesty, the argument of Bush not running on his Military record is Disingenuous. He may not be running on his Military record, but he is running on his sincerity and honesty, and this if true, will show that he has been anything but.

Recovered from Google Cache

Posted by David A at 05:12 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 555 Words
August 31, 2004
My Position on the Issues

Someone asked me today about my political positions noting that I sometimes take conservative viewpoints. So I wanted to just post my views on the most common issues:

Abortion: Against it, except in cases where the mother’s life is in danger. Too many people use abortion as birth control. I also think abortion should be legal in cases of rape and incest. Sorry to my Feminist friends, I do believe a woman has domain over her body. But I believe that people need to be more responsible for their actions, and from a moral perspective, abortion troubles me. My wife and I lost a premature baby, and it was a sobering experience for me. All semantics aside, a life is a life, and I just cant see taking one because one did not take (adult) precautions. Now before you flame me let me say this. It is my deep personal conviction. I do not advocate making abortions illegal because I have seen what happens when young women go to illegal abortion clinics and endanger their lives. For anyone who chooses to have an abortion, that is between them and their conscience or them and their God, it not my business.
DEADBEAT DADS: I felt I needed to ad this one too. It takes two people to make a baby, and I think so called deadbeat dad laws need to be strengthened. Women should not be forced to bear the burden alone of unplanned children.

Affirmative Action: I am For it until something better comes along. I am against the principal, and I am also against pure quotas, but I also feel that the playing field needs to be leveled in some way or another. Too many people think that the playing field is level, it is not. Inner City Schools still suck, as long as they do, there has to be a way to give those kids a chance.

Welfare: I am against long term welfare. I am for short term assistance, mandatory job training and placement assistance. I am also for assistance to the elderly and incapacitated, but in a fashion that allows and promotes the concept of dignity.
Taxes: I have changed my position on this one. I think the tax code is far too complicated. Since I am not an economist, I am not going to advocate a position here except to say that the system needs to be fair and ensure that everyone pays their fair share.

The Middle East Conflict: I support Israel’s right to exist, not to dominate. I support Palestine’s right to exist not to murder. I believe the U.S. should take a more aggressive role in seeking a final resolution to the conflict. I don’t believe we should be so obviously on the side of Israel, it does not make for honest brokering of the peace.

The War on Terror: I am For Aggressive, take no prisoners, clandestine and special ops prosecution of the war, taking it to the terrorist all over the world, hitting them where they live and annihilating them. Against wasting time, money and American blood in Iraq, especially since the Iraqi’s don’t seem to appreciate it. (See Iraqi Soccer Team telling Bush to Stuff it).

Civil Rights: If you believe Racism no longer exist in America, you are delusional. The Struggle is not over.

Gay Marriage: I could care less what Gays do, and have more important things to worry about. As I have said before, if two people who love each other want to exchange vows and make a commitment to each other, more power to them. I don’t believe that churches should be forced to recognize such unions, but I feel that they should be able to have recognition of a legal union.

Health Care: I don't believe anyone in America should have to choose between healthcare for their children and themselves and paying the rent or putting food on the table. If Costa Rica, one of the smallest countries in the region can have a form of Universal Health Care, so can the wealthiest nation on earth.


Posted by David A at 04:25 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | 682 Words
 
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