Hippie's Head Space

What We've Lost

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 07:55:00 +0000

   I don't think the younger generation realizes what we've lost.

   One of my fondest childhood memories was spending the entire summer vacation with my family, camped out in a big old Army surplus tent in a state park. Back then you could do that for free, without a reservation.

   My little brother and I used to walk down to the lake every day. The lake had a roped off swimming area that wasn't over our heads. They had a life guard on duty every day. Out past the rope there was a raft with a diving board. I taught myself to swim that summer just so I could get out to that raft. New kids would be there for a day or two and then be gone. We had the novelty of meeting new people every day who were just there to have fun. People were more trustworthy back then. At least we all treated them that way, and nothing bad ever came of it.We knew the park well, and could show them the fun places, like the little store that had soft serve ice cream cones for a nickle and sodas for a dime.

   We lead short hikes up old deer trails that seemed to dead end, with no adult supervision. There were rattle snakes, but there was also a large brown grasshopper that made a loud rattling sound until you got close to them. It made listening for the rattle of a snake pretty difficult, and the hikes a little more frightening and adventurous. We only saw one snake all summer long, but you never forgot they were out there. It was cool. We were popular. It was young boy heaven.

   We ate hotdogs cooked on sticks, and roasted marshmallows. I've never really liked marshmallows, but we were cooking stuff on a real fire with a stick! I took pride in getting them perfectly golden brown, before I had to choke one down, so mom would give me another one to COOK ON A FIRE WITH A FREAKIN STICK! How cool is that?

   On our last day there Mom had food to get rid of that wouldn't travel well. My brother and I each got an entire package of hotdogs to cook and eat. We were in hog heaven with seemly an endless supply of hotdogs. After we each eaten three or four, the idea of seemingly endless hotdogs kind of lost it's magic. Mom said if we didn't eat them, we had to throw them away. My brother and I decided to squish them to a pulp between our fingers and throw them away at each other. It was young boy heaven in America.

   Around thirty years later I mentioned that fun summer to my Mother. She said she hated it. It was in the early sixties. It turns out we were there because my Father was working on a federally funded hydroelectric dam. America spent our tax dollars creating jobs back then, investing in our future. We all believed things could only get better. It was a temporary job while my Father's union was on strike and the ship yard was closed down. She had to drive for miles to do laundry in a laundromat. She wore herself out taking care of my baby sister and cooking and cleaning for us kids. It was like "The Grapes of Wrath" for her.

   Today you need a reservation to camp just about everywhere. There is no lifeguard at the swimming area. It costs money to stay, and you are limited to how long. You must stay on marked trails, and often can't light fires. Young boys are not wild things in the wilderness, they visit like intruders in a wilderness museum. Kids are highly supervised because of pedophiles and mass murderers, and aren't allowed to talk to strangers. Those kind of sick people must have existed back then, but we didn't expect to run into them. We didn't live in fear of them, or even ponder their existence. People trusted each other and were friendly.

   There are no federal projects putting people to work, and we don't invest in America. It's pretty clear that things are still getting worse. There are few unions left. They are gone, along with the manufacturing jobs you could work at your whole adult life, with insurance and a retirement fund, and wages good enough for a man to buy his family a home and a decent life, without Mom having to work too. Sure Moms can get jobs if they want them now, but back then they didn't have to if they didn't want to. Now most have to. If a worker goes on strike they have no place to go. No good job to go to. Every fun thing left for us to do costs money, if you can get the time away, or dare to take it if it's offered. People are fighting to hold on to the few jobs not shipped over seas.

   This younger generation doesn't realize what we've lost, and I'm ashamed now to tell them. Why didn't we fight harder for organized labor? Why did we fall for trickle down economics? Why did we stop investing in America? What the hell were we thinking? Why did we let the rich slowly buy out and take over the government?

   Why did we let them make us so afraid of each other? The wealthy against the middle class. Christians against atheists. Homophobes against homosexuals. Hippies against hardhats. Scotch drinkers against potheads. Whites against Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, Jews, Muslims, etc. Men against women. Everyone against the unions, and the Tea Party against all common sense. Sure, they own the Media and they have their top minds working on spin and propaganda, but still, you only have to look around you. Everybody is against terrorists, and everybody against us must be a terrorist or a Nazi or some variation of retarded. What the fuck America?

I'm so sorry we let this happen. I have no defense. We have to wise up and pull our heads out of our collective asses. We need to mind our own business and find some tolerance for the differences between us. Screw the labels and the stereotypes that are really meaningless, and keep us divided, and pointing fingers at each other.

We need to pull together. We need to show the party of the rich that the party is over. We need to hold the party of the rest of us at gun point if we have to, to make them fight like their healthcare and pension and jobs and, even their very lives are on the line. Ours are. Make them do what we elected them to.

Stop "hoping" and start demanding.

The cuts they won't consider | SocialistWorker.org

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 05:23:00 +0000

The cuts they won't consider | SocialistWorker.org

The republicans want to cut the budget. OK, lets start with what we don't need, that we spend the most on. That's just common sense.

t r u t h o u t | Tax the Rich: A Deficit Plan That Doesn't Hit We, The People

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 05:25:00 +0000

Follow the link below to this article. I know I'm posting a lot of links lately, these articles say what needs to be said better than I can say it.

t r u t h o u t | Tax the Rich: A Deficit Plan That Doesn't Hit We, The People

t r u t h o u t | Dennis Kucinich: Fake Taliban Leader, Fake Elections, Fake Deadline, Real Trouble

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Thu, 25 Nov 2010 12:49:00 +0000

t r u t h o u t | Dennis Kucinich: Fake Taliban Leader, Fake Elections, Fake Deadline, Real Trouble

Check this out.

Right now Congress is considering passing a bill, the DISCLOSE Act

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 09:42:00 +0000

We just saw an election where corporations for the first time were allowed to secretly spend unlimited amounts of money through front-groups to try to buy elections. Right now Congress is considering passing a bill, the DISCLOSE Act, that would curtail the secrecy and force front-groups to let voters know which corporations and CEOs are funding their political attacks.

I just signed a petition urging Congress pass the DISCLOSE Act before the end of the year. The bill has bipartisan support but it won't move forward unless voters demand action. Follow this link to sign the petition:

http://pol.moveon.org/discloseact/?r_by=25236-18165271-jIRCfhx&rc=paste

Thanks!

t r u t h o u t | Did the Rich Cause the Deficit?

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 09:30:00 +0000

t r u t h o u t | Did the Rich Cause the Deficit?

You're god damned right they did. They knew exactly what they were doing when they did it.

Read the article linked above before you embarrass yourself saying otherwise.

Real Hide IP - Hide Your IP Address, Surf Anonymously, Protect Your Privacy, Guard Against Hackers

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 08:26:00 +0000

Real Hide IP - Hide Your IP Address, Surf Anonymously, Protect Your Privacy, Guard Against Hackers

This software does just what it says.

Also, if you post a review of the software on your web site, you can get the license for free.

http://www.real-hide-ip.com/

People For the American Way: Tell Advertisers to Drop Fox

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 22:02:00 +0000

People For the American Way: Tell Advertisers to Drop Fox

Glen Beck says he's looking out for the common man. The hard working American. The fact is, he represents the interests of big banks, big oil, big pharmaceuticals, big insurance companies, and auto manufacturers who would have crashed without the "bail-out" that he bitches about.

Do you feel like a sucker yet?

You should.

Advertisers:

JP Morgan Chase & Co
GEICO (Berkshire Hathaway)
Zurich Financial
Chrysler
Direct Holdings Americas, Inc (Time-Life)
GlaxoSmithKline
AstraZeneca
Lilly Corporate Center
BP
The Hartford Financial Services Group, Inc

Good Dog

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Sat, 06 Nov 2010 03:25:00 +0000

Imagine that you look over the neighbor's fence, and see a dog chained to a stake. The dog has been there for a long time. It has accepted that being left to fend for itself is it's only reality.

You notice that it's master feeds it sporadically, but never enough. The dog is scarred and weathered. It paces the circumferential rut it has worn at the end of it's chain, never getting anywhere, yet it must move. Your conscience finally does what it was created to do, so you go to set him free.

He snarls at you and leaps against his restraints. It takes you a long time to convince him that you are not an enemy. Eventually, he sniffs your hand, and lets you pet him.

When his master steps on the porch and yells "That's my dog. What the hell are you doing?" the dog bites you, in defense of, and out of loyalty to, the only master he knows.

It serves no purpose to hate the dog.

You don't have the heart to hate the dog, even though he reminds you of your working class friends who voted republican, and you want to kick their stupid asses.

Donald Duck Meets Glen Beck

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Sat, 30 Oct 2010 19:35:00 +0000

Radical Green Solution?

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 20:59:00 +0000

Imagine a vehicle that was designed from tiny particles, each with it's own purpose, that replaced them selves, and could repair minor injuries.

It could find it's way home in the dark, even if the owner was drunk, and automatically avoid collisions.

It maintained it's own fluid levels, and filled it's tank (without the owner's help) from biomass that grows wild by the side of the road.

It's waist products would include a touch of methane, but mostly emerge as nuggets of pure organic fertiliser.

If you own two of them, they can even reproduce themselves. If times became tough, you could even eat it.

Not only could you love it like you now love your car, it could love you back.

We used to call them horses.

They were invented by the one who brought us sunsets, snowflakes, vaginas, and most everything we love.

The New "White Underclass" Predicted Over 40 Years Ago

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 20:51:00 +0000

Somebody sent me a link to a page that was talking about the new "White Underclass" as one of the results of our failed experiment with letting the rich do whatever the hell they want. Why separate the white underclass from the rest of the "underclass"?

Only because they didn't seem to see it comming.

It's not like nobody meantioned it. The baby boomers just wrote us off as Hippie Socialists, and made cartoon characters out of us (Like I got time to actually hug a fucking tree).

Like A Rolling Stone

Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime, in your prime,
didn't you?

People'd call
say, "Beware doll
you're bound to fall"
you thought they were all
kiddin' you?

You used to laugh about
everybody that was hangin' out.
Now you don't talk so loud.
Now you don't seem so proud,
about having to be scrounging
your next meal.

How does it feel?

How does it feel,
to be without a home?
Like a complete unknown?
Like a rolling stone?

You've gone to the finest school
all right Miss Lonely,
but you know you only used to get
juiced in it.

Nobody ever taught you
how to live out on the street'
and now you're gonna have to get
used to it.

You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And and say "Hey, do you want to
make a deal?

How does it feel?

How does it feel,
to be on your own?
With no direction home?
Like a complete unknown?

Like a rolling stone.

You never turned around to see the frowns
on the jugglers and the clowns when they all did
tricks for you.
You never understood that it ain't no good.
You shouldn't let other people get your
kicks for you.

You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat.
Ain't it hard when you discover that
he really wasn't where it's at,
after he took from you everything
he could steal?

How does it feel?

How does it feel
to be on your own?
With no direction home?
Like a complete unknown?
Like a rolling stone?

Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
they're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made.
Exchanging all precious gifts.
You'd better take your diamond ring and
you'd better pawn it babe

You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags
and the language that he used.
Go to him now, he calls you,
you can't refuse.
When you got nothing,
you got nothing to lose.
You're invisible now,
you got no secrets
to conceal.

How does it feel?

How does it feel
to be on your own?
With no direction home?
Like a complete unknown?
Like a rolling stone.

-Bob Dylan

Copyright ©1965; renewed 1993 Special Rider Music

Farm Power

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 19:55:00 +0000

Farm Power

Check out this unit.

Cow manure is placed in this digester and heated to the temperature of a cow's stomache (100 degrees F.). The methane that usually just goes into the atmosphere to cause global warming, is trapped and burned to run a generator. The heat produced by the proccess warms the manure to the right temperature (100 degrees F.), and the electricity generated can be used, or sold back to the local power company.

Free electricity from what was once a polutant. Talk about your green energy. What more could you ask for?

A Funny Little Story

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 02:37:00 +0000

He sat at the bar, his jacket thrown over an empty bar stool to hold it in reserve. He glanced frequently at his watch.

"What the fuck am I doing here?" he wondered.

When nobody was looking, he scratched the neck stubble of his freshly cut hair. It was styled like that guy in the movies that the women at work always talked about. You probably know the one. He had worn a ponytail proudly like a "freak flag" up until this morning, a remnant of his rebellious youth, and he really didn't want to cut it, but he figured that if he was going to attract a woman at his age, he had better get with the times.

His glass was half empty.

He swirled his ice to kill time. He wanted to down it and have another drink to ease his nerves, but he wanted to be at his best. Her profile said she liked blue eyes, and he didn't want them to be red when she finally arrived.

He was dying for a smoke, but "Women today don't like smokers." he remembered the guy on TV saying. He tells himself it will be worth it to wait. He felt he would be willing to quit for the right woman, but until she comes along, those camels felt like a visit in jail from and old and dear friend.

She fussed with her make-up at the stop light. She was running a little late. "Make them wait a bit, it adds to a sense of mystery. It sends the message that you believe yourself worth waiting for." her friends had said. She would have rather been there on time, but she felt obligated to "establish her worth" from the get go. She was dying for a smoke, but nobody liked smokers now days. She would pretend not to be one of them.

When the light changed, she pressed her bare toes against the gas pedal. She knew she had spent too much on her shoes, and they were not driving shoes. Not much good for walking either. They were "looking at" shoes. She had spent 3 grueling hours finding them the day before. The sales lady said they made her look "fierce", like a runway model. Models looked fierce, and men loved models, so that must be what men want, right?

She knew she wasn't fierce; she was more like a puppy. She was a marshmallow of warm sticky compassion that couldn't get enough hugs. "He doesn't need to know that." She thought to herself. The magazine had said that he would lose respect for her, and consider her "clingy". She had heard enough of her friends' stories to validate her fears. Her ex-husband Bob did too.

She sometimes fantasized about living in a big house full of kids. Anybody's kids would be fine with her. Kids understood the power of a good hug and a kind smile. And in those day dreams a man would be home soon; the kind of man who accepted her as she is.

She began to regret not taking that quick shot of Jim Beam before she left the house. It had been her Daddy's whiskey. Something about it reminded her of his arms around her in pure, innocent, and unconditional love. The scent of Jim beam and sawdust brought back the memories of her father's love like no photograph could ever do. He used to love it when she came to his workshop, where he built all kinds of wonderful things with his own hands. He always wanted to know all about her day, but she also enjoyed just seeing him focusing on his work, and not talking for hours. Momma and her both knew he kept a bottle hidden out there to spike his coffee with, but it wasn't discussed, and she could not remember ever seeing him drunk.

Twenty minutes late so far. He hated when people didn't show up on time. He found it insulting, like maybe He was so insignificant that his feelings didn't matter. "Like I've got nothing better to do" he thought.

He had nothing better to do, but that wasn't the point. Maybe it was a bit passive/aggressive, but fuck it; he was going to have another drink. Red eyes are good enough for the "bitch" who kept him waiting...

He hoped, because lately he was lonely as hell.

"Maybe I'll order a Jim Beam and coke instead of another metro fucking sexual Grey Goose Martini?" like the one he'd been nursing he thought. Then he remembered that his ex wife always said it made him smell like a drunk, so maybe "the bitch" had already suffered enough (even though she wasn't there yet, or even aware she was being punished), he joked to himself.

He ordered another vodka martini.

It was a bit strange that he picked this place for her to meet him. She had grown up not three blocks from the little neighborhood bar where they would meet, but she hadn't told him that yet. It was near the edge of town where the suburbs ended, and a few farms and fields were the only things separating humanity from wilderness. It was a great place to raise kids. She had grown up playing in these woods with her brothers and sister. The thought occurred to her that maybe he was a married man, arranging for what he hoped would be a discreet and easy piece of ass in what her city friends would call "the boondocks", so he wouldn't get caught.

"We'll see." she said to her reflection in the rear view mirror.

She had forgotten how much she had missed this place. She had Married "Bob and his family's money" right out of high school. She hadn't married him for his money, but he and his family made such a big deal about their money that she include it in their title whenever she thought of them. Bob probably would have wanted it that way. Even he knew on some level he wasn't much without it, but since he had it, he didn't worry a lot about it either.

"He never had any real motivation to develop as a person" she told herself. She was still making excuses for him, she knew, but old habits are hard to break. They had moved to a swank apartment in the city, where she never felt comfortable. All the women in her building seemed jealous of her, and her husband's status and resources. Status and resources meant the world to them, and she couldn't relate. She would have traded all that for a good man who listened.

Half an hour late.

"I guess I should call and check on the kids" he thought. He had two boys and three girls. The adviser at the dating website said not to mention kids or exes for the first few dates. They had a lot of rules that didn't make sense to him, but he also knew that he was no expert.

"Keep it light." They said. "Put a positive spin on anything you just can't help revealing about yourself, but playing your cards close to the vest was even better. Get her to think she likes you first" they told him.

"What a pain in the ass" he mumbled to himself.

Then he told himself he'd better watch that talking to himself thing or, she's going to think he was nuts. He decided not to call his sister so early in the date. Hell, they lived only a few blocks away. His sister knew where to reach him if she had to.

His sister had been through a difficult divorce. She kept apologizing for all the times she had cried on his shoulder, and he kept telling her he didn't mind. The truth was, it was the most valuable thing his shoulders had done in a long time. He was a good listener, and a good friend. It made him feel good to know that it helped her. It helped him to realize that all he ever wanted from a woman (who was not his sister, for Christ's sake) was to have her want him to hold her, to listen to her, and to value him for that quality.

Sex was a bit lower on his list, but it was on there. "Carved in stone with his own cock" he grinned as he thought to himself. "Keep your eye on the pussy prize" he silently and crudely (as a real man should do, he had been taught to believe) while simultaneously and subconsciously reminding himself to shield his awareness from acknowledging his own longing for tenderness. He hadn't thought it out so far, but his subconscious was afraid that he may start crying, and never stop for the rest of eternity, and "That way There Be Monsters!" was clearly and boldly written on the uncharted margins of the map of his psyche. The one he kept secret, even from himself. He had buried that so long ago that he had forgotten where it was buried, and how deep, or even why it was buried in the first place.

The men's magazine at the barber shop had warned him about coming off as too soft. "Chicks hate that" he told himself. That's what his ex had said when she left him for a wealthier man. She said that he was "too emotional to be a real man" and to stop his crying.

"The fucking bitch, get out of my head." he thought.

He knew that He was limited in what he could offer a woman on a carpenter's wages. He didn't want to come off as a pussy on top of that. He reminded himself to try to act more manly.

She pulled into the parking lot, but didn't turn off the motor. What if he was another metro-sexual creep who talks about himself and what a big shot he is? She hoped he was more down to earth, and not so caught up in trying to fit in. What if he doesn't want kids? What if I get lost again in self doubt, and become "needy"? "Men hate that" she told herself, and she hated herself when she did it. Maybe it's too much to ask for a man to want to touch her soul? Maybe that's the big lie? That any man is capable of that? Or maybe she just doesn't deserve that?

Maybe no man could ever feel that way about her?

"No" she said out loud.

"God Damn it, no!" she said again, surprised at the strength of her own voice (and getting past the weirdness of realizing that she was talking to herself out loud again). That can't be an attractive thing to do she thought, and then she slammed the breaks on that foolishness too.

"I'm worthy, and won't accept anything less" she reminded herself.

"Let's do this thing" She said as she set the brake, shut off the car, and removed the keys.

45 minutes late.

Screw this. "Bartender, can I get a Jim Beam and coke!" she heard him yell out as she was entering the room. When their eyes met, she first noticed their color, and then the fact that he was pulling a cigarette out of a pack of the same brand she smoked.

"Weren't his eyes supposed to be brown?" she thought.

"Are you Jim" she asked?

"No, are you Joan?" he replied.

"I guess we both got stood up?" she said, but it didn't seem to matter to either of them. He didn't know it at the time, but he would remember every detail of the way she looked that night for the rest of his life…

Except for the shoes, because straight men just don't give a rat's ass about a woman's shoes.

On their third anniversary, they had a big fight about his not remembering her shoes on the night they met, and he ended up sleeping on the couch, but otherwise, they lived happily ever after (as much as a couple realistically can without being a bullshit character in some mind fuck fairytale sold to us all by the valentine industry and such). But I'm jumping too far ahead…

At first the blue eyed man was disappointed to see that she was not his date. Not the one he expected anyway.

She was also disappointed and a bit embarrassed about being stood up herself, but the blue eyed man had a way of making what should have been an awkward moment for both of them into an amusing joke, like maybe they were both better off the way things worked out. He talked about his kids and his work, not to boast, but because he loved his work, and he loved his kids, and she love him for it.

They talked about their exes and neither was threatened by it. She asked him if he'd ever thought of growing his hair longer, because she thought it would look good on him, and she didn't even freak out when Jim Beam and coke sprayed out of his nose.

They drank Jim Beam and shared cigarettes, and that evolved into doing whatever they felt like doing on every level without shame or hesitation, and loving every minute of it for the rest of their lives, and they loved, strong and deep, like in some beautiful dream, and then I woke up..

One shot left of the Jim Beam.

I downed it, and tried to go back to sleep. That didn't work so I lit up a smoke. I thought about my first wife, and cursed myself for not appreciating her when I had the chance. Then I forgave my youthful ignorance like the doctor told me I should, for "That Way There Be Monsters" and I'm on a first name basis with all of them.

I took a Paxil, and smoked a joint.

"Mary Jane" never lets me down, or asks anything of me that I can't, or don't want to give. She is like the lover you thought you wanted back when you didn't know any better. She never challenges you to be a better man, or asks anything of you at all, because she doesn't really need you for anything. She just makes you feel good until that feeling becomes a numbing trap of boredom and frustration.

Kind of like my first wife I think, and then I remember the real reason I left long ago. She didn't really need me; she just didn't know it at the time. I decided to get out before she figured it out.

I get lost in a jungle of memories. The Pride Monster jumps out from behind a shrub, and starts humping my leg. Then "The Creature from Clinical Depression Lagoon" jumps out and reminds me to "Stop crying. Nobody can hear you anyway because you're alone." Then I realize I'm being sucked into the "Great Vortex of Self Pity". The "Ghost of Therapy Sessions Past" rattles our mental chains, and I wonder if I have eaten a bad piece of meat, or a spoiled bit of potato, or if I'm trapped in a hell of my own making, or if I've just gone completely ape-shit crazy, or if I'm trapped in a never ending story that I don't know how to end, and I look around for the "Ghost of Future Romance".

The other monsters all say that "There never was a "Ghost of Future Romance" or even a future romance for that matter, and that I must have just made them up in my head. I could have sworn I'd caught a glimpse of them both just the other day, but that day was long ago...

A man needs to be needed sometimes. That's all I'm saying.

I think.

Out My Front Door

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Fri, 22 May 2009 23:00:00 +0000

I looked outside to see if it had stopped raining, and this is what I saw.

Obama: Fix U.S. Drug Policy!

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 05:10:00 +0000

Obama: Fix U.S. Drug Policy!

Ask Friends to Sign

Thank you for signing the petition! Help gather signatures:

Total Signatures:

129,549 of 200,000 signatures

Causes Featuring:

Add your cause to this list

Top Signature Gatherers:

Jessica Tibbs
617 signatures
Ben Masel
177 signatures
Zac
117 signatures

Petition Sponsor:
STUDENTS FOR SENSIBLE DRUG POLICY FOUNDATION wrote and will deliver this petition.

Petition Due Date:
June 25, 2009
58 days left
About this Petition:
As he prepares his new administration, Obama has the opportunity to appoint a "Drug Czar" who will shift drug policy toward a public health model and away from a criminal model. Please sign this petition and let our new president know that a change in drug policy is needed!
The Desired Outcome of this Petition:
Obama appoints a "Drug Czar" who will treat drug abuse as a health issue rather than a criminal issue and will move away from a "War on Drugs" paradigm.

AFTER SIGNING, PLEASE JOIN THIS EVENT TO HELP SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT THIS PETITION: http://www.facebook.com/event.ph...

Pasted from <http://apps.facebook.com/causes/petitions/15>

Building a square foot garden

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 19:55:00 +0000

Building a square foot garden

In my neck of the woods it's time to get outdoors and grow some food. Free organic fruits and vegatables. All it takes is a small upfront investment, and a commitment to pull the weeds before they become overwhelming. You can even do it well in a small space. These links will help show you how:

Where to build it

Is the soil fertile enough?

Raised beds and double-digging

Pasted from <http://journeytoforever.org/garden_sqft.html>

Misinformation

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 18:27:00 +0000

A majority of Americans support a cap on carbon pollution -- but you wouldn't know it from what you read in the papers or see on the news.

Across the country, those who want to keep America addicted to fossil fuel are making gross misstatements about clean energy -- and the media has been playing right along.

In one case, opponents of clean energy misquoted an MIT study so badly that the author wrote to them in protest, saying their claims were "just wrong. It's wrong in so many ways it's hard to begin."

Of course, they didn't stop, and their misleading statements were repeated on TV and in newspapers across the country.

You know the truth, and right now your voice is the most powerful tool we have to set the record straight on the carbon pollution loophole.

Will you send a message to your local paper using our simple tool?

Your "Letter to the Editor" will make a powerful impact when it is published: These letters are read by millions of people each day. Your letter will show that Americans across the country support a clean energy future and will help news outlets shape their coverage of this issue.

These letters are also a good way to reach your members of Congress since many read the newspaper opinion pages every day.

Our opponents want to scare Americans out of supporting change. Your letter will show that it won't work. That we're not afraid and that the most costly mistake we can make is doing nothing at all.

By using our simple online tool, you can write and send your letter very easily. And we've provided all the talking points you need to make it effective.

We can't let opportunities for a better future be derailed by fear and misinformation.

Stand up for clean energy in your community. Get started now:

http://www.RepowerAmerica.org/page/speakout/carboncap?js=true&zip=98284

Thanks,

Steve Bouchard

Campaign Manager

RepowerAmerica.org | Privacy Policy | Donate | Unsubscribe

Hippie Wins Lottery!

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 22:18:00 +0000

Last seen leaving town on a new Harley.

April Fools!

Hurt

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 17:58:00 +0000

The new "New Deal"

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 08:15:00 +0000

Behind me, my TV is on. Andrew Zimmer is in Uganda to sample "bizarre foods" with the locals. One goat, a hill of ants, one squirrel, some green bananas, and some local grains, fed over 300 people. There was dancing and singing. They were truly celebrating the moment. These are happy vibrant people who have virtually none of the material goods we can't seem to live without. They laughed both at, and with, Andrew, as he danced and ate, and laughed for the shear fun of it all. No petroleum was burned. No currency changed hands. Nobody was turned away for not being able to "pay" for their portion. Everything they needed came from within a mile of the village.

I could imagine nothing of the modern world that I might bring them to improve these people's lives in a permanent way. I don't see smiles, camaraderie, and laughter like that when Americans usually gather. Hell, even at the Superbowl, we are hoping that half the people in the stands go home as losers, so long as we feel like "winners" for a moment, even though in reality, nothing of value has really been lost or won by any of us.

"What about a community well?" you might think. Sure, maybe it would allow them to grow more food in a shorter time, until the soil was depleted. They might double their population because of this modern convenience. Then one day the steel parts of the well pump go to rust, and have to be replaced. At that point, they have become slaves to "free trade", and their old ways will be lost, or their families will starve.

Technology at it's worst can be an addiction. At it's best, I believe, it can free us from some of the immediate results of our failure to deal with the fact that we have over populated the planet. It will buy us time to use our heads and our hearts to come to some agreement about what each of us really needs, what we can do without, and how to insure that each of us gets a fair share. That some day we may be able to laugh and dance and be free and happy as a community, instead of living separate lives of quiet desperation, and fear of our neighbors.

The alternative would have been to let profit motive cause us to piss away all of the world's petroleum, and let our children, and their children, deal with the results.

This new "new deal" that I keep hearing about is so much more than a band aid on a mortal wound. It allows us an opportunity to be a part of something that will benefit not only mankind, but all of the other life forms we share the planet with. Something that will bring us together, instead of pitting us against each other competitively. I believe that is what most of us have all (secretly, maybe even to ourselves) been seeking in a leader. Somewhere in our hearts is a desire to work together with those around us for the common good. An ancestral memory of our tribal lifestyle of knowing, without a diploma, that we are all one person.

At least, that is what the chief of this village said to Andrew. That we are all one. The villagers know this, and living in this knowledge, have a lifestyle which allows them to experience joy and belonging in their daily lives, in a way that we have lost, in what we would consider stupidly and arrogantly, one of the most backward and broke-assed places on the planet.

I'm imagining a future where young men and women who might otherwise have lived by crime, working the welfare system, hard drug dealing, or becoming soldiers, having the ability to earn an education. I imagine young men and women of my locality taking jobs in rebuilding our infrastructure, and creating wind and solar farms to capture what is free and renewable, instead of hoping that Boeing gets a new military contract so their families can eat. They will have "meaningful work" instead of doing whatever the rich are willing to pay for today. Work that they can be proud of.

Air
Water
Food
Shelter
Meaningful Work
Positive Human Interaction.

These are the things we require, and everything else is gravy. These things are enough to allow us to be free and happy, we just seem to forget that. We are deliberately programed to forget that. We have often been forced to choose as our life's work, something that requires most of us to choose between these requirements, because if we were allowed to have them all, nobody would show up to build bombs or fight wars.

Wouldn't that be a damned shame?

Obama has promised to lead us to something better than what we have, and we are so ready for that. As of today, I am just as broke and handicapped as I was before the election, but there is hope in my heart that my grandson's world will not be as bad as I have feared. My whole outlook on life has been improved by this hope. My faith in the general goodness of the American people has been restored. So many of us have shown a willingness to work together to do what we can to make this country as good as it can be.

You can't squeeze a drop of that from what the republicans were offering. Even if Obama and all of us who elected him fall short of our goals, we were able to spend some time of our lives together as human beings, moving in the right direction.

In that respect I feel like a winner, and I know I'm not alone.

My Grandson

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 15:44:00 +0000

Link

Register To Vote!

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 03:15:00 +0000

Hey, I waited till the last minute too.

Register to vote.

Is an imperial presidency destroying what America stands for?

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 07:39:00 +0000

Boat Racing

grasshopper2469@hotmail.com (Happy Hippie) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 18:48:00 +0000