Of course when the horse got well and the mud disappeared, the work was piled up and the temperatures hit the 90s. Oh, the joys of working next to an 1800 pound hot-box-bug-magnet. But I’m not complaining. Really. Just don’t ask the horse.

Big Jim and I have been having quite a few nice chats over the last couple of days. I can answer most of his questions. Well, other than: Why? I hate when he asks that one.

So far, the best I’ve got for him is that it’s all just a part of what is turning into the world’s longest “oh-fuck-I’m-getting-close-to-40” crisis. Just hang in there, I tell Jim-the-horse, because in the not-so-distant future I’ll be well into my “oh-holy-shit-I’m-getting-close-to-50” crisis. Buckle up.

And if you think talking to a horse is stupid, imagine what it feels like to be a Democrat today. Yeah, you remember those starry-eyed ninnies who wet themselves all last year over the “chosen one” coming to solve all our problems? Sure you do.

Well, it really sucks to be them. If, that is, they could muster the common sense necessary to realize that it sucks to be them (again). But when “kick me” seems to be their secret motto, I’m betting they’ll just spin today’s news of Obama ditching the “public option” to his “health-insurance reform” plan as a smart and pragmatic step toward the kind of change that we’ll eventually get when ….(editor intervenes: oh fuck, I can’t take it).

Yeah, we all know how well that Democratic electoral pragmatism works. And the first ingredient for its “success” is that no one has a memory. Because if you did, you’d remember all the previous stupid Democratic pragmatism of just the last decade or so. You know, things like: The Clinton’s health plan, the first Iraq War, the Second Iraq War, the Afghanistan War, the need for a “veto-proof majority,” and a super-excited willingness to play along with the not-so-unwritten rules of the American political game: bend over for the rich when the rich want you to bend over.

Earth to liberals and Democrats: You just got your asses kicked by the teabaggers. Yeah, the people you like to snicker at for their passion. But while you were snickering and otherwise sitting on your asses, your Almighty President and your almighty majority in Congress gave you one big and mighty smackdown on health care. Single-payer? Nope. Public option? Nope.

But, hey, don’t bother them about it – they’re on vacation. Besides, it wouldn’t be “polite” to point out that while they’re on vacation after drop-kicking the needs of the people into the “fuck them” pile, poor slobs like us are still working through the dog days of summer – without adequate health care, I should add.

I should stick to talking to horses.

Enjoy your Monday, my friends.

1) Framing a new greenhouse with “mentor.”
2) Forgetting my camera so there are no shots of “mentor” or our work.
3) Seeing “mentor’s” homestead and wondering why the door handles are all marked with signs that read: “turn.”
4) Makes me wonder if I need a new “mentor.”
5) Eating blueberries at “mentor’s.”
6) Eating raspberries at “mentor’s.”
7) Wondering how “mentor” survives since in our five hours of “work” he sliced his finger with a handsaw and got bit by a wasp.
Leaving with 2 pints of “mentor’s” homebrew and a quart of blueberries.
9) Taking a nap after returning from “mentor’s” place.
10) Eating a salad and sweet corn that had nothing to do with “mentor.”

The New York Times has a curious piece today on Hugo Chavez’s dislike for golf. Here’s the money quote:

“Let’s leave this clear,” Mr. Chávez said during a live broadcast of his Sunday television program. “Golf is a bourgeois sport,” he said, repeating the word “bourgeois” as if he were swallowing castor oil. Then he went on, mocking the use of golf carts as a practice illustrating the sport’s laziness.

I have nothing further to add.

Yo, right-wingers, take a chill pill for a half a second and put your thinking caps on. No, not your ninny-caps, your thinking caps, damn it. You know, the one’s marked: Thinking Cap.

There. Good. Now think. About this: Why are you so willingly being the dupes of the corporately-controlled medical, pharmaceutical and insurance industries?

It can’t feel okay to your “freedom-loving” spirit, can it? Because there’s nothing that even remotely involves both your freedom and your bizarre willingness to shill for the corporate honchos who so happily have their boots on your neck (and wallet).

You’ve been fooled. Deal with it.

Think, for a second, how Obama’s hope-brigade feels about now. Hint: They’ve been fooled too.

I know, I know, you’re angry. So am I, and for many of the same reasons.

But we have a common “enemy”: Those in the self-proclaimed “civil middle” who find our passion distasteful. They’re the ones wringing their hands over our so-called threat to democracy while sending mountains of cash to their representatives. Oh, the irony.

It’s easy to preach civility when your checkbook is doing your political talking.

“Shhh,” their wagging fingers declare, “your passion is interfering with our contributions and connections.”

But most of us don’t have that luxury. We only have the rawest of raw democratic tools at our disposal: Our voices, our actions and, yes, our passion.

Sorry, but I’m not convinced that the right-wingers’corporatally-orchestrated angst aimed at health-care reform has much of anything to do with health-care reform.

Nope. It’s more about the wily lobbyists and movement manipulators stoking the flames of discontent toward a simpleton (and self-serving) message of: It’s them! It’s them! (Read: It’s not us! It’s not us!)

Because, to the corporate, media and political elite the truth hurts. And it’ll be a cold day in hell when they use their primetime stage to declare the truth: It’s us! It’s us!

Follow the money.

Until then, they’ll keep counting on their network connections – Disney! GE! – to diss the passion of the masses who dare to upset the proscribed plan of non-change.

The left failed to rally their grassroots passion when Obama & Co. doled out billions for Wall Street and its bankers. They were, as you’ll recall, still in the haze of hope when Obama was pulling off his soothing glad-handing to the economic elite that declared nothing but: “See, I’m really no threat.”

But the right is not similarly missing its opportunities when it comes to health-care reform. The only problem is that it’s half-baked and fully submissive to more of the same corporate think (and strategies).

The losers? Us. Or, we, the people, who are unable to ante up what it takes to play politics in modern America.

Imagine if the passionate left and the passionate right could use this moment to see the populist light at the end of our ever-shrinking democracy tunnel and declare as loudly as possible: We only have our passion, our freedom, our hopes, and our majority status to fight the true enemies of democracy: The corporate bastards making a sham of our dreams and ideals.

It’s worth a shot.

[Addendum: After writing this, I ventured over to my friend Dave Lindorff’s site to find a similar rant. Go read it And weep. Or, better yet, act!]

Read the verbal gem by Louis Proyect regarding the health-care activism from the right wing and the lethargy from the left wing.

Here’s a fine nugget:

When the evening newscast the other night was showing footage of the chaos at another one of these town meetings, I told my wife that it reflected the basic difference between the Democrats and the Republicans. The Democrats do everything they can to demobilize their base, who are seen as inconvenient and extraneous to their main way of getting things done, namely through closed door meetings with corporate executives and nonprofit honchos over how to screw the American people while giving the opposite impression. Meanwhile, the Republicans are much more reliant on an activist base because their social support is much narrower. As a party that rules directly and openly in the interests of the moneyed elite, it requires all sorts of grass roots organization to push its filthy agenda forward.

Well, not literally. Because liberals don’t fuck. They donate. Sperm. To people they’d apparently rather not meet (or fuck). But they’ve convinced themselves that it somehow feels better this way. For a while. Until, that is, they realize that those to their right and – most assuredly — to the their left – are having more fun. And then they bitch and moan. Which, I guess, helps them forget that they don’t fuck.

See, I’ve got it all figured out.

–

I’m speaking, of course, about the liberal whine-fest going on about the right-wingers who are daring to show their passion in public by standing up and speaking out about the Democrats’ new “health-insurance reform” plans. Sure, these right-wingers need to be dissed for the nefarious ways in their thinking (earth to wingers: your arguments are half-baked at best). But your passion is pretty cool.

And, unfortunately for those of us who believe in real and total – gasp! – socialized medicine for every man, woman and child in this country (you know, kind of like Canada), the right-wingers are kicking some activist ass, forcing the health-care reform possibilities to slip in the same ditch they died in back in 1992.

But since the liberals hate passion, they’re counter strategy for the moment is to diss passion, wag their fingers in rebuke, claim American democracy is based on “civility” (try telling that to the Iraqis, Afghanis, et al), and otherwise sit wringing their hands in a fit of nervous and judgmental nothingness. You can’t do that!

Um, liberals, they CAN do that. In fact, they ARE doing that. And – again unfortunately – they’re winning by moving the heath-care debate into the nebulous never-land of complete and utter nonsense. Why do you think your almighty savior, Obama, hasn’t uttered the words “single-payer” since before he needed your vote? Or, for that matter, why do you think Obama’s new goal is to simply “reform the insurance industry?”

Let me answer those questions: Because the right-wingers are showing passion and the liberals are busy crying foul over the display of passion. Losers.

I really love it when the liberals are declaring that the passion being shown by the wrong-headed rightists is being orchestrated by an “organized movement.” And what’s the problem with that? Yo liberals, try it sometime. But, be careful, you might find that you have to actually stand up and speak out for something other than Team Democrat at election time. Oh no, there go the cocktail party invitations and 4-star ratings at your favorite ninny-liberal blog!

I had the opportunity to hear a bit of Vermont’s Senator Bernie Sanders on the radio this afternoon. He was huffing and puffing about the right-wing passion and, while admonishing them, he actually declared that “American democracy is based on civility.”

Sorry, but you have to be neck-deep in liberal bullshit to believe this. And you’d also have to be totally and completely devoid of any understanding of American history, too. Because there was nothing very civil about the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, the war on the Native Americans, the fight for rights for women and minorities or, for that matter, the fights for workers’ rights. People died for these causes. So stop getting your panties in a fucking wad about some dopes who stand up and speak out of turn at a meeting.

But we all know why they’re pissed. Because they’re afraid of passion. They’re afraid to risk anything for their beliefs. And they’re devoid of the ability to do much of anything politically other than bet it all on some election-day fantasy involving the “next best hope.”

Yeah, it must suck to be a liberal. So much rhetoric, so little action, and so many other people to blame.

Hell yes, it’s Friday.

Go forth and agitate. You know, like Malcolm X, John Brown, Scott Nearing and Emma Goldman.

Sorry, gang, but I’ve been working in the Kingdom all week – out early, back late kind of thing. Well, the out early thing has involved the bicycle so don’t start feeling too sorry for me. Vrrrooommm.

Speaking of the bike, yesterday’s ride saw the odometer on my four-year-old machine click past 11,000 miles. And to think it got me nowhere but exactly where I started. Hmm, the story of my life.

I’ve been in heavy pasture reclamation mode while waiting for Big Jim to heal from yet another bout of “thrush.” The cause? Damp conditions. Imagine that. But the big fella should be fine in a couple of days – just in time to tend to firewood clients who have been waiting patiently.

And before certain readers start bitching and moaning about all this personal stuff, consider the political alternative: Dems caving on nearly everything. Been there, done that. Yawn.

But if you like dark comedies, consider the Obama White House’s lexiconic shift in the health care debate. During the “campaign of hope,” Obama talked passionately about fundamental “health-care reform,” including more than a few references to “single-payer” and “universal coverage” to make the liberals roll over for a voting-day belly scratch.

But those days are gone. Because now the Obama White House is calling its health care initiative a mere “health-insurance reform” plan.

And that, my friends, explains it all. The joke’s on you, America.

Speaking of jokes, how about Bill Clinton’s great trip to North Korea? It reminds me of the old joke, “Did you here about the two hot chicks who were trapped in a plane with Bill Clinton for 12 hours?” Well, if it was an old joke I’m betting the punch line would go something like: “It made them miss their confinement with Kim Jong Il…”

But, seriously, when I heard one of the former captives tearfully describe the scenario of their release, I was expecting something different when she – sniff, sniff – described opening the door and seeing Bill Clinton on the other side. You know, something like, “and his pants were down to his ankles….” Sniff, sniff, indeed.

Oh wait, I’m being informed by my CIA Twitter Feed that this was a “strictly humanitarian” mission. Scratch those jokes. Cue the National Anthem. Because America Rocks! Fuck yeah!

It is, in fact, very comical how the right-wing nutjobs are reacting to Bill’s Great North Korean Adventure. In a nutshell, they’re pissed that we didn’t just declare war. Operation Get the Hotties was just too good to pass up for them. But, thankfully, the little black war boxes are now safely out of their team’s hands.

I can hear Cheney mumbling, though: “They what?! Talked?! Pussies.”

The right wing is particularly pissed that Kim Jong Il got a photo op with Clinton. But if they’d put aside their ninniness for just a second they’d realize that the more Kim Jong Il is photographed the more he looks like a Hollywood creation of the classic third-rate dopey villain.

You know, kind of like Newt Gingrich…but with a uniform…and a tan…on a diet…and shorter. But just as fucking whacked.

I’ve got miles to travel and work to do. Enjoy your Thursday.

Oh my, the sacrifices the modern dad must make.

But I’m not afraid of a challenge.

So, on Saturday, I held on tightly to my wife and granted my daughter’s 12th birthday wish and – damn it – we made it happen.

“We” being used loosely because the “I” in the parental “we” was mostly cowering in the weeds, taunting when taunting was least warranted, singing when none of the twelve-year olds wanted to hear an old man sing, and challenging them in the pond when it was clear my time as “King of the Pond” has long passed. Damn. I swear it was only a couple of years ago that I think they thought I was cool. Time meet reality. And the page turns.

Our daughter, Bel, was given a blank canvas to paint her dream birthday party. It was one of those parental decisions that leaves you gritting your teeth and pondering the possibilities of what the wish might be. And, to our delight, Bel came forward with this scenario a few weeks back: “I want to invite three of my friends on a camping trip to Walden.”

Whew.

For those unaware, I manage a 117-acre wildlife preserve in Walden, Vermont for the organization I still direct, Food & Water. It’s a very special piece of property that borders the 11,000-acre Steam Mill Brook Wildlife Refuge. Food & Water bought it about eleven years ago after our founder, Dr. Wally Burnstein, passed away. His passing resulted in a special fund to honor his life of kicking some serious activist ass.

There were many ideas floating around about how to spend it in “Wally’s honor.” Some board members wanted to purchase a full-page ad in the New York Times honoring Wally’s remarkable career as both a physician and an unbelievable visionary when it came to stopping the corporate bastards in our midst. Wally, for those who didn’t know him, successfully fought uranium mining in New Jersey and food irradiation nationwide but, even more importantly, he did it with love, laughter and an almost child-like lust for life.

Wally took me under his wing in 1987 while I was a drummer in a punk band and staff member for the New York Public Interest Research Group (NYPIRG) in New York City. And my life was forever changed. Because Wally was a punk too – but a punk with a medical license and more connections than I thought were possible.

I was a young man from Iowa staying out late hammering drums at CBGBs and he was a Jewish doctor from Brooklyn who went to bed early with visions of activists strategies dancing in his head. And, somehow, we were like two peas in a pod who breathed life into an organization and laughed along the way as we made one corporate criminal after another cower at the mere mention of “Food & Water.”

Wally always wanted out of the suburbs of New Jersey. He spoke often of his failed attempt to make his break to the woods and fields of Northwest New Jersey, declaring that the good life was the one that both fought the good fight but also blazed the new trail of living the way we ought to be living.

Wally was, therefore, deeply supportive of my decision to take Food & Water’s headquarters out of Manhattan and into the woods of the Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom in 1991. And he was particularly thrilled that the decision to go to Vermont also involved the marriage between myself and his niece, Stacy, who was a University of Vermont graduate looking to get back to the Green Mountain State. Indeed, all things are connected.

To make a long story shorter, I didn’t waste any time lobbying the Food & Water board to purchase the land in Walden when a local realtor called me about it a year or so after his passing. It was a large tract of land. It was in jeopardy of being developed. And it was the kind of place that Wally would have loved to retire to if he hadn’t been stricken by the disease he spent his career fighting and – better yet – seeking to prevent: cancer.

The board agreed with me, and the land was purchased in Wally’s memory.

And so it goes, more than a decade later, as our daughter who never had the chance to meet Wally but has been nothing but infused with his stories and memories, declared that her birthday wish was to do nothing but camp on the “Wally Land” with her friends. Cool.

We had a blast. Stacy and I were proud and happy. I thought a lot about Wally and his influence on Bel even though she never met him. And I heard Wally’s laughter well into the night as we swam, told stories, and contemplated ways to truly make a difference in these rather short lives of ours.

“Be a confrontation to fixed reality,” Wally used to like to say.

Indeed.

Happy birthday, Bel.

Here are a few photos from Saturday’s birthday camping trip: