f-brilliant

Airbnb Tax Deal Stinks

2017-10-12T10:12:00.000-07:00

The deal stinks and is just another way for government to enslave us through more taxes.

It's another example of government protecting businesses that are slow to change.

BY DENNIS DOMRZALSKI

Am I the only one not cheering the news that Airbnb has agreed to collect the lodgers' tax and hospitality fees in Albuquerque and forward them to city government?

Some of the news reports about the deal, especially on the radio, seemed almost celebratory because the city will get more revenue. The Greater Albuquerque Inkeepers association seemed ecstatic about it.

Sure, the city will get more money. But then, visitors will have to pay more for the homes or rooms they rent. Why is that a good thing?

And tell me why that every time a new idea or a new technology comes along that can give us more options, comfort and lower prices, government has to step in tax the crap out of it so that, in the end, things aren't much cheaper?

The hotel industry doesn't like Airbnb because it's taking customers away from them. So what. Who says that any industry is entitled to our business just because they've been around for a long time?

Airbnb reported in September that its bookings in Albuquerque increased by 77 percent in 2017 and that more than 64,000 people booked rooms in the city using its service between June and August. Those are 64,000 people who didn't go to a traditional hotel or motel, and the inkeepers are angry about the loss of business.

Note to the inkeepers: You're not entitled to our business!

Mayor Richard Berry touted the tax deal as something that will provide “clarity and fairness in the tourism and hospitality industry.” And the inkeepers had talked about leveling the playing field.

Why do we need fairness and why do we need a level paying field in business? So existing business that are slow to adapt to change and new technology can keep their business. In other words, we're protecting businesses that don't want to change. We're protecting losers.

Can you imagine if we had the “level the playing field” mentality in the early twentieth century when Henry Ford came out with his automobiles? The whip and buggy people, and their politician friends, would have demanded that horses be required to pull cars.

The taxi industry, which has been a true monopoly, is crumbling in the face of competition from Uber and Lyft. But rather than adapt and use the same technology that have made the Uber and Lyft successful, the taxi industry is desperately trying to save its obsolete business model through politics, regulations and lawsuits.

And why do we tax the crap out of tourists with lodgers taxes and hospitality fees? They don't use many city services. They're not out robbing people, burning houses down or visiting senior, community centers or swimming pools.

We tax them because they're easy targets. And that's actually sick. Yet no one challenges the practice and policy of ripping off tourists with punishing taxes.

And why does government have to tax every single transaction between people? Because government has an insatiable appetite for our money and views us cows to be milked for every cent we've got.

So I'm not cheering the Airbnb tax deal. It stinks and is just another way for government to enslave us through more taxes.

Guest Op-Ed-Bail reform: Overdue And More To Do

2017-10-12T05:45:00.001-07:00

Before the reforms, dangerous defendants could buy their way out of jail by paying a bondsman.

Defendants, no matter how dangerous, who could post the bond would be released.

BY LEO M. ROMERO

Reforms to New Mexico’s traditional money-based bail system will make our community safer by permitting judges to lock up defendants who are most likely to commit new crimes if released. And the reforms should not be blamed for the increase in crime reported in the press. They became effective just three months ago, on July 1.

Leo M. Romero

Before the reforms, dangerous defendants could buy their way out of jail by paying a bondsman. Some dangerous defendants were never released by a judge but by jail personnel if they could post the money bond set forth on a bond schedule posted at the jail. Defendants who could not post the jail bond would see a judge who would set a money bond. Defendants, no matter how dangerous, who could post the bond would be released. Those who could not, even if charged with minor offenses, remained in jail until their trials, sometimes months or even years later.

A federal judge, in rejecting a challenge to the reforms by bonding companies, described the pre-reform bail practice in New Mexico as having “drifted into unlawful reliance on a growing money-bond industry and practices of routinely requiring money bonds that did not require judicial determinations of individual risk or ability to pay.”

The Committee on Pretrial Release reviewed bail practices and recommended an amendment to the New Mexico Constitution to permit detention of the most dangerous defendants awaiting trial and revisions to the rules of criminal procedure that minimize reliance on money bonds for pretrial release.

The voter-approved constitutional amendment permits judges to detain dangerous defendants if they pose an unacceptable risk of committing additional crimes if released. These defendants should be locked up pending trial, and the amendment now gives judges the authority to jail them without setting any bond that might be posted.

For defendants not subject to pretrial detention, the concept of bail, dating back to Medieval England, allows defendants to be released. A defendant is presumed to be innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, and a person should not be punished unless found guilty after a trial. Jailing a person before trial based solely on a charge contradicts the presumption of innocence and punishes that person without determining guilt.

Pretrial release conditions should minimize the risk that defendants may commit new crimes if released – risk of danger – or skip their trials – risk of flight. These risks vary in degree depending on each individual. Some defendants present unacceptable risks and should be detained. Others pose risks ranging from low to medium to high.

Except for those who should be detained, defendants should be released under conditions that reasonably ensure they will appear at trial and not commit new crimes. The defendant has not been proven guilty, and release pending trial saves the cost of jail. Pretrial detention is justified only when no conditions will ensure the safety of the community.

The revised rules give judges the authority to revoke release if the defendant does not abide by the conditions of release or commits a new crime.

An Albuquerque Journal editorial said the new pretrial detention rules need time to show results. I agree. The reforms will require judges, prosecutors, and defense attorneys to adjust to changes from a system that relied on money bonds to a new system based on individualized assessments of risks. I am confident that the reforms will better protect our community from crime.

Leo M. Romero, Former Dean and Emeritus Professor, UNM School of Law

Chair, NM Supreme Court Ad Hoc Committee on Pretrial Release

Pat Davis' Flawed Crime-Fighting Plan

2017-10-11T14:19:00.000-07:00

Proposed law would have the poor buying deluxe pizzas for the wealthy

BY DENNIS DOMRZALSKI

Say you pay for a pizza, sit down to eat it and the owner comes by and takes a quarter of it away. Would you be happy?

Then imagine that after taking a quarter of your pizza, the owner makes you pay for a second pizza for the people at the table next to you because he thinks they're more important than you.

Would you pay for it?

I doubt it.

Well, thanks to Albuquerque City Councilor Patrick Davis, you, meaning city taxpayers, might be forced to buy that second pizza for somebody else. That so-called second pizza would come in the form of paying for extra police protection for some businesses that Davis thinks are more important than other businesses.

Pat Davis

Here's the background.

Davis has introduced a proposed ordinance that would allow some businesses to band together and work with the Albuquerque Police Department to create “Security Assistance Funding Zones” and crime-fighting plans for businesses in their neighborhoods.

Once those businesses put up $50,000 of their own money, the city would pitch in $50,000 of your money as a match. The businesses would be able to use the money to buy security cameras and hire private security guards to patrol their areas.

Davis says its a way to fight crime and take some of the pressure off a chronically undestaffed APD.

But there are so many problems with this proposal.

First, why should any of us have to pay extra for more police protection when we already pay taxes for police protection? It's not our fault that Mayor Richard Berry has decimated APD. And no group of businesses or neighborhoods should ever be allowed to buy extra police protection. The cops are supposed to serve all of us equally.

Second, not all businesses in town would qualify for the extra taxpayer money to buy enhanced police protection.

Why?

Because Davis' bill lists only certain, preferred types of businesses that would be able to buy more cops. Here are the types of businesses that his bill would give special preference, and your money, to:

“The Council must find that the area meets the following conditions: The area is a commercial or arts and cultural district with significant economic development, art or cultural impact, tourist-related facilities and attractions or tourist-related transportation systems, or is of other significant importance to the city. The area cannot be primarily residential in nature.”

Pat Davis wants us to buy deluxe pizzas for well-off business owners

In other words, you have to be part of the arts crowd to qualify for extra police protection and extra taxpayer money. If you're a dry cleaners, or auto repair shop, or nail salon at Zuni and Wyoming, you won't qualify for more police protection no matter how many times your place has been robbed or burglarized.

Third, even if you're one of Davis' chosen types of business, you might not be able to afford the extra money you'd have to put up to buy APD's help. In other words, this is a type of police protection welfare plan for businesses that already have money and are doing well. If you're just making it by, well, screw you. You don't get extra cops, security cameras or security guards. You just continue to get robbed and burglarized.

The bottom line is that this is just a way for wealthier business people and neighborhoods to buy extra police protection.

And where will all that extra police help come from?

From neighborhoods and business areas that don't have much money. You got it, poor neighborhoods.

Cops and APD resources will be siphoned from poorer neighborhoods to wealthier ones.

If well-to-do business owners want to pay for their own private security guards, they should. But don't let them get more public police protection simply because they have more money and can buy it. Aren't we sick of wealthy people getting more than their fair share of public resources?

Davis told me that his bill is aimed at businesses in Nob Hill and the UNM area. He justified the potential public money giveaway to them by saying that those types of businesses pay a greater portion of gross receipts taxes than other businesses.

I'll have more on that in another post. But you can bet that the businesses at Coronado and Winrock malls, and the ABQ Uptown area pay more GRT than do the businesses in Nob Hill.

So what did I mean when I mentioned the pizza joint owner taking away a quarter of the pizza you paid for?

The decreased police protection you've gotten from Berry's administration because of the way he has ruined APD. You're paying for a fully staffed police department – or an entire pizza – with your taxes, and you're getting far less than that.

If Davis' privileged and chosen business owners want a deluxe pizza with five or six toppings, let them pay for it out of their own pockets, and let them hire private security people.

And give me back the quarter of my plain cheese pizza you took away.

Analee Maestas Resigns From APS Board

2017-10-10T15:24:00.000-07:00

BY DENNIS DOMRZALSKI

Analee Maestas, who has been implicated in a $700,000 embezzlement scheme at the charter school she founded and ran, has resigned from the Albuquerque Public Schools board, New Mexico Attorney General Hector Balderas said Tuesday.

Balderas demanded on Sept. 25 that Maestas resign from the APS board, saying that the allegations against her made her unfit to be a school board member.

State Auditor Tim Keller revealed the allegations regarding Maestas and La Promesa Early Learning Center on Sept. 12. Nearly $500,000 was diverted from La Promesa into the private account of a school employee, according to Keller’s report.

The employee who received the money was the school’s assistant business manager, Julieanne Maestas, Analee Maestas’ daughter. Analee Maestas was the school’s executive director at the time of the alleged misconduct.

Here's the news release that Balderas' office issued on Tuesday:

"Today, Attorney General Hector Balderas announced that Analee Maestas resigned from her position with the Albuquerque Public School Board, effective immediately.

“On September 28, 2017, I served a legal demand, asking Board Member Maestas to resign from her position in light of ongoing investigations related to fiscal mismanagement and because all public officials in the State of New Mexico have the duty to treat their position as a public trust,” said Attorney General Balderas. “I am pleased that that she responded to our legal demand by resigning and our office will continue to use our legal resources to protect the school children of New Mexico.”

Here's the release that Keller's office issued about Maestas' resignation:

"Today, State Auditor Tim Keller responded to the resignation of Albuquerque School Board Member Analee Maestas stating:

“After these unfortunate events, Maestas’ resignation helps brings some accountability,” stated State Auditor Tim Keller. “By resigning, she is at least providing the district a chance to be represented by someone who is not connected to the loss of hundreds of thousands of dollars that should have been going to our kids’ education. This is another step in the right direction to get La Promesa back on track and restore public confidence.”

"The issue was first brought to light in 2016 when the State Auditor released the results of an investigation indicating that Maestas had diverted La Promesa funds for personal use. Last month, State Auditor Tim Keller released an investigation that found hundreds of thousands of dollars were likely embezzled by Maestas’ daughter, a former Assistant Business Manager at the school."

And APS spokesperson Monica Armenta said the APS board has until Friday, Nov. 24, to appoint someone to fill the vacancy created by Maestas' resignation.

Here's the state law regarding school board vacancies:

22-5-9. Local school board vacancies.

A. A vacancy occurring in the membership of a local school board shall be filled at an open meeting, at which a quorum of the membership is present, by a majority vote of the remaining members appointing a qualified elector to fill the vacancy.

B. A qualified elector appointed to fill a vacancy occurring in the membership of a local school board shall hold that office until the next regular school district election when an election shall be held to fill the vacancy for the unexpired term.

C. If a qualified elector is not appointed to fill the vacancy within forty-five days from the date the vacancy occurred, the department shall appoint a qualified elector to fill the vacancy until the next regular school district election.

D. In the event vacancies occur in a majority of the full membership of a local school board, the department shall appoint qualified electors to fill the vacancies. Those persons appointed shall hold office until the next regular school district election when an election shall be held to fill the vacancies for the unexpired terms.

History: 1953 Comp., § 77-4-6, enacted by Laws 1967, ch. 16, § 32; 1979, ch. 335, § 4; 2015, ch. 145, § 97.

Some ABQ Businesses Are More Important Than Others

2017-10-10T14:12:00.001-07:00

Albuquerque City Councilor Patrick Davis has introduced a bill that would allow some businesses to get tax money to buy extra police protection.
The businesses would be able to get up to $50,000 in taxpayers' money to form Safety Assistance Security Zones. They'd have to match that $50,000 dollar-for-dollar and they'd be able to use the money to hire private security guards, install security cameras and so forth. The problem is that only certain types of businesses would qualify. And, aren't we already paying taxes to provide uniform police protection throughout the city?

Here are the types of businesses that would qualify for extra tax dollars for rime fighting:

"The area is a commercial or arts and cultural district with significant 20 economic development, art or cultural impact, tourist-related facilities 21 and attractions or tourist-related transportation systems, or is of other 22 significant importance to the city. The area cannot be primarily 23 residential in nature."

Bottom line: this is double taxation and the city picking winners and losers.

Dan Klein and I discuss the downfalls of this proposed ordinance in our latest podcast.

ABQ Election Winners And Losers

2017-10-04T08:39:00.001-07:00

Twenty-two-year-old Gus Pedrotty makes a name for himself. Ricardo Chaves got taken. Ken Sanchez survives ART. Wayne Johnson looked pathetic. So-called political expert gushes about pathetic 29 percent voter turnout.

BY DENNIS DOMRZALSKI

Way to go Gus!

Yeah, there's going to be a runoff election on Nov. 14 between Tim Keller and Dan Lewis, but you already know that. And it doesn't take much so-called analysis from alleged experts to figure that Keller's going to be the next mayor.

So instead of projecting and pretending to be deeply insightful about something so obvious, I'll give you my take on last night's winners and losers.

And that biggest winner is Gus Pedrotty. The 22-year-old UNM graduate got 6.85 percent of the vote – OK, let's round it up to 7 percent. That's a hell of a showing for a kid who basically had no money, name recognition, campaign staff or money.

What Gus does have is energy, youth and passion and ideas His energy and passion are infectious, and at 22-years-old, he just turned himself into a somebody in this community. Now, that might not be saying much considering the pathetic state of this city, but being a somebody at 22 is a hell of an accomplishment.

And, get this: On election day, Gus got more votes that Wayne Johnson, the Republican Bernalillo County commissioner in the race who raised hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Damn good job, Gus.

Here are some other winners:

- The city of Albuquerque and its sick economy. That's because the paid sick leave ordinance was defeated, and defeated by the narrowest of margins: 718 votes. The seven-page proposed law would have crippled small businesses, stifled entrepreneurship and turned the city into a lawsuit hellhole.

Since we're already an economic hellhole, we didn't need this strange law, which would have amounted to an ATM for lawyers.

- City Councilor Ken Sanchez. I thought Sanchez was toast based on his support of the hated Albuquerque Rapid Transit project. But Sanchez won the election outright with 51.82 percent of the vote.

- Bot Cornelius, the political “consultant” who took 81-year-old Ricardo Chaves' money. Chaves loaned his campaign $500,000 and spent about $300,000. Cornelius was paid $175,000 for his alleged consulting. And what did that $175,000 get Chaves? A massive 475 votes – you read right – or 0.49 percent of the total.

Good job, Bob.

- Tim Keller. The smiling auditor smiled his way through the campaign without ever furrowing a brow, not even when answering questions about Albuquerque massive crime increase. Some in the chattering classes figured that Keller would top out at around 25 or 30 percent. But, apparently people like his smile and he got basically 40 percent of the vote. And that's in an eight-person race. It was an impressive showing.

Losers

- Brian Colón and the people who contributed to his campaign. The lawyer and former chair of the state Democratic Party raised more than $825,000 for the campaign. And for that he got 16.38 percent of the vote. It looks like Colón's political career is over.

- Wayne Johnson. What the hell was wrong with him? He's a Republican and he spent the entire campaign attacking, well, another Republican, Dan Lewis. I'd like to find the genius who advised Johnson to rip a fellow Republican instead of a Democrat. The attacks on Lewis backfired and Johnson got a massive 9.63 percent of the vote.

Whatever it is that drove Johnson to attack Lewis, I don't know. But it made Johnson look sleazy and pathetic. And it's another example of how inept and stupid Republicans can be.

- Ricardo Chaves. As I said earlier, he spent around $300,000 and got 475 votes. You do the math.

- Dan Lewis. Even though he came in second with 23 percent of the vote and will be in the Nov. 14 runoff with Keller, I have to say he lost.

Why?

Because he was one of the first people to announce for mayor and he spent the entire campaign talking about crime. That should have been a winning strategy because 99 percent of city residents think crime is the most important issue. But Lewis couldn't connect with voters. Maybe it's because he's a Republican and because people are holding Mayor Richard Berry's failed eight years in office against all Who knows.

- Democracy and a political blogger. Blogger Joe Monahan gushed in his blog this morning about the high voter turnout. Really?

There were 96,971 votes cast for mayor, or about 29 percent of registered voters. Joe, 29 percent is pathetic! I'll say it again, a 29 percent voter turnout is pathetic.

It's even worse when you consider that the city is in the middle of an epic crime wave. We're being assaulted, robbed, burglarized and shot, and our cars are being stolen at record rates and numbers, and only 29 percent of the registered voters went to the polls. Anyone who raves about a 29 percent voter turnout is out of it.

- The NAIOP and Chamber of Commerce crowd. These lovers of Mayor Berry's ART project were basically behind Johnson and Colón. And they lost.

- Public campaign financing. Keller boasted constantly about how he hated big money in politics and how he was the only publicly financed candidate. But the PAC, or Measure Finance Committee, formed on his behalf raised hundreds of thousands of dollars from big-money organizations. Talk about hypocrisy.But I guess progressive big money is more equal than conservative big money. Talk about hypocrisy.

Here are the vote totals and the percentages:

Tim Keller 38,156 39.35 percent

Dan Lewis 22,238 22.93 percent

Brian Colón 15,884 16.38 percent

Wayne Johnson 9,342 9.63 percent

Gus Pedrotty 6,638 6.85 percent

Michelle Garcia Holmes 3,748 3.87 percent

Susan Wheeler-Deichsel 490 0.51 percent

Ricardo Chaves 475 0.49 percent

Sick leave ordinance:

For 45,333 49.61 percent

Against 46,051 50.39 percent

Still No ART Funding

2017-10-02T14:55:00.001-07:00

BY DENNIS DOMRZALSKI

The deadline for the federal government to fund Mayor Richard Berry's $126 million Albuquerque Rapid Transit project has come and gone, and, guess what? The Federal Transit Administration still hasn't approved the project.

That means that the next mayor might have to fill a $69 million budget hole somewhere at City Hall.

The supposed deadline for the FTA to sign off on the project was midnight on Sept. 30, as the new federal fiscal year began on Oct. 1. That deadline was important because, according to President Trump's proposed FY 2018 budget, any FTA transit project not funded in FY 2017 won't get any money in the current fiscal year.

Technically, ART wasn't funded by that deadline.

An FTA spokesperson told me that the ART project still hadn't been funded as of Monday afternoon (Oct. 2) but that the project was still under internal review by the agency.

And Berry's spokesperson, Rhiannon Samuel, said in an email that city and FTA officials met last week and that everything is apparently fine.

"The City had its quarterly meeting last week and FTA is thrilled with progress on project," Samuel said. "The funding remains approved and the grant agreement is expected in the coming months."

I'm not sure what the approved funding she's talking about means. Because right now, there is no approved funding.

Sure, Congress did put $50 million in the FY 2017 budget for ART, but without a funding agreement from the FTA, meaning a contract, that money isn't available.
And besides, the city was hoping to get $69 million from the feds. So even if it somehow gets the money in the "coming months," the city will still be $19 million short of what it expected.

Here's ART's math: The project costs $126 million. Of that, the city had $57 million on hand in previous federal grants and revenue bond money. The rest - $69 million - was supposed to come from the FTA.

ART is now more than 80 percent complete, and so the city has to be getting money from somewhere to pay the contractors beyond the $57 million it had on hand. It is supposedly getting that money from a capital projects fund. But the city has never said exactly which projects are being robbed to pay for ART and which projects would have to be cut or canceled if the $69 million from the feds never shows up.

As it stands now, ART hasn't been approved by the FTA. It looks like the new mayor will have a big financial problem to solve.

Vegetarians are Murderers

2012-05-06T06:45:00.000-07:00

Mass Murder At The Dinner Table! How Smug Vegetarians Kill Trillions Of Living Things

As a life-long meat eater, I confess that I'm disgusted and shamed by eating habits that lead to the brutal deaths of so many of God's gentle, living things.

I am sickened by the fact that there are millions of people who don't care, and who even feel a moral superiority about the fact that their dietary practices sustain an industry of systematic mass murder.

I shudder to think that there is a growing culture of ghouls who happily eat babies, fetuses, sex organs, severed heads and mangled appendages, and who cause pain, disfigurement and death to a degree that would shock even a sicko like Adolph Hitler.

They are a culture of smug, arrogant murderers who portray their agenda of wholesale slaughter as the epitome of virtue.

These murderers are vegetarians.

Every year, billions of living plants are killed, disfigured, abused, beheaded, pillaged of offspring and otherwise brutalized in order to satisfy vegetarians' cravings for roughage and a lifestyle that makes them feel superior to others.

It's true . Anyone with the slightest understanding of agriculture knows that many plants are killed when harvested. Others have their fruits, which contain potential offspring, hideously ripped off their bodies.

But you'll never hear about this from vegetarians. All you get from them is self-righteous blather about how they can't eat meat because their overburdened consciences won't let them participate in a ritual that leads to the death of animals.

Veggies constantly try to make meat eaters feel guilty about killing cattle. Apparently though, their consciences don't throb over the murder of plants.

That's because the carrot-heads are the stupidest, most arrogant and hypocritical phonies ever. They're too dumb to understand that plants suffer and are killed in order to feed them.

So let's go through it, rutabaga killers.

Enjoying that salad? If it's made with iceberg, romaine, escarole or even succulent bibb lettuce, you're eating the beheaded portion of the plant. The legacy of your passion for leaves? Vast killing fields littered with the remains of millions of stumped, headless, formerly living things.

When a lettuce head is chopped off, a white, milk-like liquid seeps from the severed head and the plant stem. Call it plant juice, or whatever. It's plant blood. And that brown stump on the bottom of the lettuce head is the slice wound scabbed over.

Other plants that are decapitated en masse so veggies can scold others: cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower and celery. Cabbage and broccoli will live after their heads are chopped off. But they will sprout lots of tiny, new heads, making them look like mutated freaks.

Studies have proved that tomato plants scream when their scarlet fruits are ripped from their bodies. I've never heard a nasal-voiced veggie deplore such abuse. Ripe tomatoes contain scores of mature seeds. A plant seed is a self-contained plant fetus. Give it some water, sun and warm air and it'll grow. Billions of plant fetuses are gobbled daily by veggies in an unprecedented massacre of innocents.

Many vegetables are immature when torn from plants. They are, in effect, babies or children. Many simply wouldn't taste good if allowed to ripen or grow to adults. That makes veggies baby and child eaters. The carnage is appalling!

How about the cherished carrot that so many of today's self-righteous murderers chew on? They're ripped out of the ground while alive, and basically eaten alive. Others that suffer a similar fate: radishes, potatoes, turnips, parsnips, beets and green onions.

Consider the prized asparagus. These firm shafts are sliced off of the plants with sharp blades. But if left to grow, they would produce a feather-like plant with thousands of seeds. The shafts contain sex organs.

How many stalks of wheat give their lives for a loaf of whole-grain bread?

Next time a vegetarian nags you with a tirade about being a killer for eating meat, reply that they're the greatest mass murderers ever. And tell them on other thing:

That Adolph is smiling up at them.

Lying on Resumes

2012-05-05T12:56:00.000-07:00

Most people are forced to lie on their resumes

Yahoo’s CEO Scott Thompson is being hounded for lying on his resume and saying he had a degree in computer science when he didn’t. One of Yahoo’s largest shareholders wants the guy fired by noon on Monday for the lie.

My reaction is, so he lied on his resume?. Big deal. Who doesn’t?

Truth is, in this insanely credential crazed society, people feel forced to lie about their experience and credentials. And especially now, when computers, and not human beings, are reviewing resumes. Put the wrong qualification down, or fail to mention one that the computer is programmed to flag, and you’ll never get an interview.

At least when humans looked at these things they could get a feel for the person behind the words on the paper. No more.

And, as employers demand super-human employees who can do everything, job seekers are inflating their skills and experience to meet those idiotic expectations.

So, if you even once helped a co-worker learn a new skill, even if it was just for a day, you are now a “mentor who trained colleagues to master new skills critical to the company’s core mission.”

It’s as big a lie as saying you have a degree when you don’t. But it sounds good, and recruiters and interviewers love it. No, they demand it. Try shrugging in an interview and saying, “Yeah, I took a couple hours one day and showed Ed how to use Excel. It was no big deal after he got used to it.”

They’ll throw you out the door for failing to be a mentor.

I’ve seen resumes loaded with examples of “community service,” and boards and commissions people are on, which some bosses love. Problem is, most of that stuff is fraudulent as well. If some of these people actually participated in all those organizations and boards, they’d never have time to actually do their jobs or care for their families. They join the boards just to pad their resumes. They don’t actually do the stuff.

But imagine if you were asked in an interview about your record of community service and answered:

“I don’t have one. I work 50 hours a week, got a family, and when I’m off I’m dead tired and I like to spend it with them. And, when I’m off I like to relax, pop a few beers and watch war movies.”

You’d never get the job.

And when it comes to college degrees, in many instances nothing could be more useless, especially if you’ve been doing your job for more than 20 years. If you’ve been in the workforce that long, most of the stuff you learned in college is obsolete. If you’ve been working that long, you’ve learned more on the job, including new technologies and skills, than you ever did or could in school.

So why do they keep asking for obsolete degrees?

Some people, especially older workers, don’t have college degrees, but they have enormous skills, experience and instinct that college can’t and never could teach. If they’re honest on their resume and say they didn’t finish college, they’ll never get past the computer and called for an interview.

If they do lie and the lie is discovered, the self-righteous interviewer (who has most likely loaded up his or her resume with massive exaggerations) will become indignant.

It’s good that the late Steve Jobs started his own company. His resume would never make it past the computer because the founder of Apple never finished college.

There’s got to be a better and more honest way to hire people. The standard should be whether they can actually do the job, not what degrees they do or don’t have.

Until we find that better way, most everyone in the workforce will continue to lie.

Obesity Researcher's Theory Full of Fat

2012-01-02T12:37:00.000-08:00

By Dennis Domrzalski

In the summers, after a breakfast of cornflakes and milk with a teaspoon of sugar—for treats, sugar-coated Frosted Flakes and Trix—we were out the door by eight.

There was only one rule: be home for supper at five in the afternoon.

We walked, we ran, we bicycled, we crawled, we hid, we played, we jumped hedges; we climbed fences, lampposts, buildings, garages and trees—we roamed our Chicago neighborhood at will until we dropped. After supper we went out again and played until dark. We slept soundly and jumped out of bed in the mornings, ready for another satisfying breakfast of cornflakes and a day of nonstop playing.

We were kids, and with a couple of exceptions, none of us were fat. How could we have been, what with engaging in eight to 10 hours of physical activity every day?

I mention this because there’s another idiotic theory on the obesity epidemic that has supposedly turned America into a nation of 300 million butterballs. This one, by Melinda Sothern, a fitness and nutrition expert at Louisiana State University, says that we’re all fat because of mothers in the 1950s and 1960s. Those moms smoked during pregnancies, didn’t breast feed and had kids too often. That has, according to Sothern, led to metabolic and physiological body changes that have turned us all into waddling, diabetic slobs.

If my ma were alive and had read Sothern’s theory she would have rolled her eyes, waved a hand and proclaimed, “That’s so silly. Doesn’t she have any common sense?” She would have answered herself, “no.” There are so many complex theories about obesity by over-educated PhDs., sociologists and other alleged deep thinkers that someone needs to throw simplicity into all the yakking and handwringing. So here it is:

Maybe we’ve turned into a nation of tubbos because we’ve become inert slobs who stuff our faces with chips while vacantly staring at wide-screen TVs and computer screens. Maybe we’re fat because we don’t do anything anymore—none of us.

I’ll start where obesity starts, with kids and their parents.

Our parents weren’t fat. Oh, some of the women were stout, and some of the men had beer bellies—back then a sign of prosperity and a nobly-lived life. They couldn’t have been fat because they actually did stuff. Most of the men worked in factories or machine shops and spent their eight hours lugging around hunks of steel. Others were mechanics or carpenters or printers, and who knows what else. But they moved all day and, for the most part, didn’t sit in offices and at desks. There were no computers or cell phones, so they couldn’t waste hours sitting still playing solitaire or checking stock prices.

Most of our moms were housewives. They didn’t sit around like lumps either. They washed clothes, ironed, vacuumed, swept, dusted, washed floors on their hands and knees and made breakfast, lunch and dinner. When they needed groceries or clothes for us kids, they—a shocker here—walked to the neighborhood stores. They had to walk because most families had one car, and the fathers took those to work. My ma walked somewhere every day.

Those moms weren’t fitness freaks who believed that kids could live on ionized air and melted glacier water. No, they believed in hearty meals. We ate fatty foods—lots of sour cream, butter and rich and tasty gravies. Pie crusts were made with lard, and fillings with real sugar.

Cauliflower was boiled and then slathered with bread crumbs and melted butter. Same with cabbage. Pork chops were fried in bacon grease. Chicken was baked in a roaster with a couple of sticks of butter for gravy. Pound cake and mashed potatoes were made with butter. We drank chocolate milk and ate cheesy, greasy pizza.

So why weren’t we fat? Because we moved—constantly.

If we weren’t out of the house by eight in the summers, we were told to get out and stay out. It’s not that the parents didn’t love us; they just knew instinctively that kids had to be out in the fresh air playing with their friends. So we did. And it was fun and glorious because we were with our pals and there were no parents hovering around worrying that we might fall and scrape our hands and knees, bump our heads or break a fingernail.

We walked and biked everywhere—to parks where we played ball, to junk-strewn lots where we played guns and army, to the railroad tracks where we put rocks and pennies on the tracks, to magic shops a couple of miles away. We played football, baseball, hide n seek and guns in the narrow streets and 16-foot-wide alleys. We caught spiders, hunted grasshoppers and raced each other for the hell of it. Our dads made us dig weeds in the lawns and cut the grass—with push mowers! We had to wash windows and blinds, sweep sidewalks and basements and otherwise work around the house. Later on, many of the guys had paper routes, which they walked.

During the school months we were in our play clothes and out of the house within 10 minutes of getting home. Here’s another shocker: We walked to and from school! For some kids it was a six-block walk. In kindergarten we were walked by parents, but from the first grade on, by older brothers and sisters. In nine years (1959-1968) of walking to the same grammar school, none of us was ever kidnapped.

We walked home for lunch and then back where we had Playground, which is now called recess, and which is increasingly banned by sissified and terrified school administrators. We chased each other, fought each other, played basketball, dodge ball and other games that are now considered horrifyingly dangerous by parents who are afraid of everything and who think that life is a risk-free proposition.

In the winters we shoveled snow, built snow forts, had snowball fights and played hockey. During the two-week Christmas break we were at Koz or Mozart parks every day, where they flooded the ball fields to make ice rinks, and skated until we dropped or our toes went numb. Then we’d go home, warm up, eat and go back to the park at night to skate some more.

The girls played too, maybe hopscotch and jump rope, who knows. But they were active because none of them were fat either.

As evidence that obesity is related to metabolic and physiological changes in Americans, one journalist who wrote about Sothern’s theory cited statistics. In 2002, middle-aged American men were 27 pounds heavier than guys in 1960, and gals 25 pounds heavier.

To that, we in the neighborhood would say, “No shit.”

In 1960, men and women moved and did physical labor. By 2002, most were behind computer screens and sedentary, and so were their kids. If you eat the same or more and become less physically active, you turn fat.

Rather than blaming obesity on 1950s moms, Sothern should cheer them for having had the common sense to have known that kids needed to be out playing constantly by themselves and burning up all that energy and all those cornflake calories. If she wants to end obesity, it’s simple: stop babying kids and get them playing, walking, fighting, jumping rope and running again, and get Americans out from behind their desks, computers and all-you-can-eat buffets.

And if Sothern wants to be taken seriously, she should slim down her mind; it’s obese with over-educated theory.

Abolish Political Parties

2011-07-14T09:16:00.000-07:00

Political Parties are Gangs and Politicians are Gangbangers

It’s safe to say that most people are revolted at the sight of glaring, snarling slogan shouting gangbangers whose loyalty is to the gang and nothing else.

They live for the gang, dress for the gang, fight for the gang and die for the gang. They slavishly obey orders from their leaders and live to destroy rival gangs. Nothing matters to them but the survival and supremacy of their gang and the destruction of a rival gang, and they will do anything and everything to achieve those two goals.

In polite quarters, gangbangers are considered misguided and oppressed. In more realistic ones they’re thought to be pathetic, hopeless, scum, dangerous and a threat to everything decent, moral, productive and honorable.

While we can’t outlaw gangs, we abhor and shun them, and we know instinctively that the world would be safer and better off without them.

So why don’t we feel the same about political parties? They’re nothing but gangs, and their leaders and members, especially elected officials, are nothing but gang members. Politics is gang warfare waged by people in nice clothes.

What else can it be?

Republicans and Democrats legislate and govern only with the party in mind. Everything they do is to ensure that more of their party (gang) members get elected and that the other party (gang) is destroyed. Each party has its own slogans—Tax the rich! No more taxes!—which their members mechanically spout to anyone who will listen. Members who think and vote contrary to orders from party leaders are ostracized and punished. Majority leaders and minority whips work to ensure party discipline. Votes in Congress, state legislatures and city councils are routinely along party lines.

In New Mexico, former Democratic state Senator Manny Aragon, who’s now serving prison time on a bribery and corruption conviction, bullied and threatened his fellow Democrats during his rise to and grip on power. Although many Democrats abhorred what Aragon was doing, they kept silent. They were afraid that Aragon would punish them by denying them capital improvement money and committee appointments. They sold out the truth, and all New Mexicans, out of fear and a lust for power, money and the gang.

Every chance they get, party members denounce the other guys. Democrats are turning us into a self-destructive welfare state and forcing us all to marry gay people, the Republicans cry. Republicans, snarl the Democrats, are out to make all widows and orphans homeless and deny old people their heart pills. Their lives are dedicated to the party and its subgangs—unions, trial lawyers, Wall Street and chambers of commerce. They wage turf warfare and call it politics.

So if these people care about the party and nothing else, who cares about the rest of us? The answer is no one.

That’s why we have to abolish political parties. Their gang warfare is destroying us.

Minnesota government has been shut down for two weeks as Republicans and Democrats wage their gang warfare. Obama and the Republicans can’t reach a budget deficit or debt cap deal because they’re locked into party—gang—mentalities. Any compromise means the other side wins, and that just can’t be tolerated. In Wisconsin, Democratic state senators ran away and fled the state in a move they thought would prevent Republicans from passing a budget bill.

Let’s stop the gang warfare. Although we should, we can’t abolish political parties because we have free speech and the right to organize and affiliate with whom we please. But we as individuals can do something about it.

Go to your county clerk’s office and change your voter registration to independent or not affiliated. If the rules don’t allow that, bitch and moan to your elected officials, neighbors and the news media and demand a change.

If every American registered as an independent, the gangs would be exposed as meaningless. Candidates could then run as citizens and spout their own ideas, not those of the gang.

Let candidates know that you won’t for anyone who affiliates themselves with a political party or spouts divisive party—gang—slogans. Demand that they run as independents and as citizens, not as party members. Demand that their loyalty be to the nation and its citizens, not to the party.

If one of these nitwits comes to your door and identifies him or herself as a party member, tell them they’re a sleazy, unprincipled gangbanger and slam the door in their face.

Don’t put up with this gang warfare a second longer. It’s destroying us. The nation and the government belong to us, not to political parties.

Police departments in major cities have gang units that track gangs and work to dismantle them. Let’s do the same with politics.

Destroy the political parties.

F. Chris Garcia: Elitist Pig

2011-07-12T10:46:00.000-07:00

Accused UNM Sex Ring Prof Wants "Professional Courtesy"

By Dennis Domrzalski

We don’t know if former University of New Mexico President and alleged scholar F. Chris Garcia will be convicted of charges that he recruited women to earn their—and his—livings by giving blow jobs and other sexual delights to strangers for money.

The 71-year-old prof, whom the local media fawned over when he taught political science at UNM, is charged with helping run an online prostitution ring that served more than 1,400 horny customers. Garcia, supposedly know as BurquePops, is charged with recruiting women to spread their legs and open their orifices for cash.

He is presumed innocent until proven guilty. That’s the way it should be.

But Garcia has already proven himself to be an elitist pig unworthy of anyone’s sympathy.

Today’s (July 12) edition of the Albuquerque Journal includes a front-page story about a letter that Garcia wrote to UNM President David Schmidly shortly after he was arrested. Schmidly barred Garcia from campus and his UNM office and suspended his teaching privileges while police were still collecting evidence in the case. Schmidly also thought it proper to keep Garcia away from the campus and young, female students while the case against him is resolved.

Garcia’s letter to Schmidly protesting the ban smacks of arrogant elitism and the attitude that those in high positions deserve not to be held to the same standards as the rest of us fools.

“I had hoped that you might give me the benefit of the doubt and at least somewhat take into consideration my many years of contribution to the university...but apparently have not,” the Journal quoted Garcia’s letter as saying.

Here’s the translation to that: You and I are in the same club and I am shocked and appalled that you would treat me like an ordinary student, kitchen worker, car mechanic or bus driver. I am a professor!

Garcia’s letter continued: “I would expect that a person of your academic and administrative experience would be far more understanding and perhaps even show some compassion towards me in my current situation.”

Translation: The rules and laws that apply to other rubes don’t apply to you or me. We are better than everyone else.

And then the kicker to Garcia’s letter: “Given my long and meritorious serviced to the university, I am extremely disappointed in the lack of professional courtesy extended to me.”

The kicker is the line about extending professional courtesy. It means that Garcia feels he should be afforded special privileges and treatment because of who he is and the club he belongs to.

Professional courtesy works like this: When an off-duty cop is stopped for smashing his car into a wall and reeks of alcohol, the cops on the scene laugh, let the cop go and doctor a police report to make it appear to be an “ordinary” accident, or never write a report at all.

Professional courtesy means that when lawyers, judges, firefighters or high-ranking public and business officials and other members of the club are caught drinking and driving, doing drugs or beating their spouses, they get a pass. It means there’s a double standard for club members and the rest of us. Club members walk, and the rest of us get arrested, go to jail, get finger printed, scramble to post bond, and then, humiliated, leaved to face family, friends and co-workers.

Professional courtesy was rampant here when I arrived 25 years ago. Cops protected themselves and other club members. Even the great Steve Schiff got caught up in extending professional courtesy to club members when he was the district attorney here in the mid-1980s.

Schiff admitted that the practice existed and vowed to end it. In the past 25 years it has been significantly eroded as we’ve seen judges, lawyers, cops, state legislators, state treasurers and other club members arrested, jailed, disbarred and convicted for a host of crimes.

That’s good. In America, and anywhere else, we should all stand equal before the law and rules and regulations and not get special treatment because of rank or club membership.

Garcia appears to be outraged that Schmidly gave him no special treatment and that he treated him as he would everyone else at the university who’s accused of a crime.

To demand special treatment based on rank or club membership is the height of piggishness and a lack of respect for blind justice. It’s the ultimate in contempt for basic human rights.

Garcia whined in his letter that he’s accused of a non-violent crime.

Really?

Prostitution might someday be legal here, but right now it isn’t. It’s associated with human trafficking— meaning slavery—violence, addiction, disease, early death and much more. I’m guessing that if you ask prostitutes if they’d like to make a 30-or-40-year career out of drugs, violence, slavery, disease, crime and sleazy sex, most would say no.

And, if he is convicted of having recruited women into the sex ring, Garcia would be guilty of having put them at risk of contracting diseases, being arrested, convicted, imprisoned, and having their lives forever ruined. How sensitive.

If Garcia wants professional courtesy, let it be the courtesy the rest of us get.

Mary and the IRS

2010-03-27T04:30:00.000-07:00

Mary had a little lamb,
She took it out to play,
Then an IRS guy came
And snatched the lamb away.

"That lamb was a gift to me,"
Little Mary said.
"Sorry, kid," the agent sneered.
"It's income to the fed."

Mary then began to cry,
And she began to wail.
Horrified, the agent snapped
And hauled her off to jail.

"We own you, you dumb-assed kid,"
The laughing agent said.
"You owe us the day you're born
Until the day you're dead."

Mary's parents had some cash
To get her out of jail,
But it was just not enough
To make the girl's bail.

"Mary's cell has been her home
For most of this long day,
And home to us is income, fools,
And on it she will pay.

"Little Mary breathed our air,
And that is income, too.
Pay us now," the agent said.
"Or it's a cell for you!"

Mary's parents had no choice;
They joined her in the cell,
And for the rest of their poor lives
That is where they'll dwell.

Every day the agents come
And taunt that family,
They sing the IRS's song
And gush it out with glee:

"We'll tax you from the day you're born.
We'll tax you when you're dead.
We'll tax the dirt you're buried in,
We are the mighty fed.

"You're all the slaves of government.
You're bred to give us cash
And when you can't give us no more
We'll tax your dead fat ass.

"Tax and spend and tax and spend!
Oh let us tax and spend!
Get this straight you slaving fools:
The tax will never end!"

Ambrosia

2010-03-19T11:04:00.000-07:00

To him she was ambrosia,
Sweet to the taste and touch,
He couldn't shake her from his mind,
He loved her way too much.

Every night she was right there,
In all his many dreams,
The love they made made angels sing,
They were such wonderous scenes.

She wasn't there when he awoke;
It happened once again,
And so he dozed back off to sleep
To dream what should have been.

The Amazing Maisel!

2009-12-12T07:10:00.000-08:00

Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, and meet…
The Amazing Maisel…
The most daring man on earth!

By Brenda Kay Dunagan

The man inside the front-loading washing machine can’t hear the screams of terror from those on the outside. His sore limbs, bound by leg irons and handcuffs, are painfully cramped. Something has gone terribly wrong with his signature and world famous escape stunt. The soapy water chokes him, stinging his eyes and throat, as he spins at 50 rpms. The machine’s deadly spin cycle is about to start, and it will pulverize him, if he doesn’t escape NOW.

Tension builds outside the washing machine as the man inside tries desperately to free himself from his cuffs and leg irons. It’s been way too long., though—it’s never taken this long!—and his anxious assistant awaits the emergency signal from him that she never sees. Through the machine’s small glass window, she sees that blood is starting to tint the sudsy water.

This time, time really is running out!

“Get him out!” the director of a crew filming the escape for a worldwide TV audience screams. “Get him out!”

The assistant reaches to push the large red emergency handle that will shut off the machine.She pushes, but the handle breaks off from the washer—everything is going wrong!—and she screams. This wasn’t in the script!

The emergency crew storms in.

The electricity is cut, and the washing machine’s door is pried open.
The man inside tumbles out ,somersaults out onto a red carpet, leaps to his feet, and with a grin that says he has effortlessly nailed another death-defying escape, victoriously shakes his fists at a shaken film crew.

Albuquerque’s world-record-breaking daredevil is at it again, entertaining millions with his shocking stunts and unassuming boy-next-door grin.

“I just want to sound like a normal guy,” Rick Maisel says, emphatically, peering over the rim of his glasses with huge brown eyes.

Nice try, Rick!

This man is anything but ordinary! Inventor, educator, author, motivational speaker, magician, escape artist…is there anything he can’t do?

“Nothing’s impossible,” Rick chuckles, fidgeting.

“Just don’t try anything I do at home!”

Fans instantly recognize Rick’s Vegas-style red satin sequined jacket and quirky “Ricky Megawatt” rap song, his Weird Al Yankovich humor and mad-scientist mannerisms.

Having logged appearances in 42 countries, Rick has astonished over one billion TV viewers with his myriad of super-human feats. Besides his washing machine act, he conducts over half a million volts of electricity across his skin and through his body, escapes from a strait-jacket while suspended 2,200 feet from a hot-air balloon, and survives being arc-welded into a milk-can, shackled and submerged in 45 gallons of water. Then, there’s the Tank of Death, Rick’s very own macabre invention, a 500-gallon Plexiglas tank filled with water, into which a crane lowers him, upside down in restraints!

Rick boasts an extensive list of television appearances, including The Tonight Show with Jay Leno, The Today Show, Kathy and Regis Lee, and Maury Povich Show. Ripley’s Believe it or Not! featured him in 225 shows in its live review show in Branson, Mo, as well as its TV series and museums worldwide. The Guiness Book of World Records lists him holding the world record since 1996, escaping upside-down from a straitjacket in 2.23 seconds. And Escape and Beyond, a one-hour television show, features him breaking four world records in escapes that he himself conceived and designed.

Of the thousands of shows in the last forty-two years, his favorites were his childhood performances. The only boy in a family of sisters and female pets, Rick developed a close bond with his father, “Buddy” S.L. Maisel, who died in April 2008.

“Dad wrote my first scripts,” Rick recalls, “He wrote silly one-liner jokes for me that the audiences just loved!”

Buddy encouraged young Rick, and his son joined the International Brotherhood of Magicians (IBM), which, after 35 years of membership, awarded him the Order of the Merlin’s Shield.. Later, Rick joined the Society of American Magicans, and the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists.

“I performed my first professional magic show when I was eight,” Rick grins from ear to ear. Amy, his younger sister, was his assistant.

“Of one hundred contestants, I came in second place with The Illusion of the Appearing Wand, and was awarded $10.. The applause was addictive!”

Sponsored by the IBM at the Silver Spur Family Restaurant, the contest was held for Sorcerers’ Apprentices, a magic club for children ages 8-18. A family friend and life-long IBM member, Stan Jennings, introduced Rick to the brotherhood to which he still belongs.

At 10 years old, Rick had his own professional listing in the Yellow Pages. At 12, he was earning $100 a show at the Petroleum Club in downtown Albuquerque.

His show, billed Ricky Maisel the Amazing, included illusions like the linking handkerchiefs, doll-house production boxes, levitations, dye boxes, appearing goldfish, and the sword box.

The legendary Dai Vernon, considered by many to be the greatest sleight-of-hand magician in the history of magic, gave young Rick this piece of advice:

“Listen, kid, if you do just one trick better than everyone else in the world, or perform an act that no one else has ever performed, you can make it in this business.”

This advice echoed through Rick’s mind throughout his teen years.

“I remembered some video footage of fraternity boys in the 1950s, climbing into dryers with crash helmets. I wanted to perform Harry Houdini’s underwater escapes, but the tank would have cost $25,000. I saw a front-loading washing machine, and thought, This is it!”

He had discovered his niche in the world of magic.

Did he just climb in a washer and start it up?

“No, I had to condition myself,” Rick explains, “with the help of a gastro-endocrinologist doctor, B.W. Brown Laundry Supply, and anti-nausea drugs like Dramamine, I overcame motion sickness before we ever added water.”

Then came the water. And the claustrophobia.

“I never knew that I would be afraid of tight spaces, but when the washer filled with soap and water, I panicked. There just wasn’t much room in there.”

Rick almost drowned the first two times he practiced the escape, but he overcame his claustrophobia.

The washing machine escape catapulted him into world-wide notoriety.
“Houdini, Move Over!” the National Enquirer’s headline proclaimed in 1990 after its reporters had seen Rick’s washing machine escape.

Does he have a death-wish?

“I’m not afraid of dying,” he laughs,” I just don’t want to do it any time soon!”

Rick takes the arts of escape and illusion a step forward, not only hearkening back to vaudevillian stage magic and side-show theatrics, but also employing futuristic, high-tech post-modernism, science fiction, and educational physics in his acts.

Rick’s message to the world is simple:

“I want for people to be exited and curious about the world in which they live. I want for them to challenge illusions and overcome self-limiting fear.”

If anyone knows something about fear, it’s Rick.

He’s overcome fear of heights, tight spaces, and large audiences, just to name a few.. He also has to deal with the risk of injury.

He smashed both wrists in a silver-smithing accident. When his doctor told him to find a new career, Rick found a new doctor instead, and was performing for the National Enquirer the next year.

He’s undergone three spinal surgeries after suffering a broken back from two automobile accidents. He didn’t realize, as he was being lowered by crane over Albuquerque’s Civic Plaza on New Year’s Eve, 2000, that he had a ruptured disk.

His worst injury, however, occurred while filming before a live studio audience for A Current Affair. While being arc-welded inside 50-gallon stainless steel drum, something malfunctioned. After freeing himself from the handcuffs, he couldn’t escape the welds. What happened next, Rick says, was a near-death experience.

“It seemed like the inside of the can was filled with lights. I could see what was happening all around me, even though my eyes were closed. I had been submerged in water for over 90 seconds. I was one second from breathing in the water. Then, the can opened up.”

They re-filmed the scene immediately, even though he nearly drowned.

A venerate performer, Rick shrugged off his near death. “The show must go on!” he now laughs.

“People call me a daredevil. I’m actually a safety expert. I cope with my fear of the unknown by educating myself.”

He makes things look dangerous, although he claims they are very safe.

The only person authorized by the FAA to suspend himself from 30,000 feet by rope restrained in a straitjacket, he has perfected emergency signals, hires trustworthy safety personnel and uses only equipment with which he trusts his life.

His most valuable instruments are his body and his mind. He exercises several hours a day to maintain his flexibility, strength, and cardiovascular stamina. Likewise, he plans every moment of each act with the precision of a mathematician.

What will Rick pull out of his hat next?

Courageous, yet unassuming, Rick has overcome the impossible. Now, he wants to share fearlessness with the mere mortals of the world.

Escape or Die! The Guide to Overcoming Fear, a motivational book, once published, will be available in bookstores around the country. Rick bases it on his personal experiences, his studies in multi-dimensional and quantum physics, and his strong desire to help others live happier, less fearful lives. He will share his invincible genius and charismatic charm with audiences worldwide, combining inspirational talks with death-defying feats, proving once and for all that the human spirit can overcome challenges, limitations, and disabilities, and live in fearless fulfillment!

Stupidity

2009-12-02T14:04:00.000-08:00

If you are waiting for a meteorite to fall on your rival's head, you're an idiot.

Linda! A strange love poem

2009-11-27T14:48:00.000-08:00

I'm in love with Linda.
Linda don't love me.
I only wish I somehow could
Just really make her see

Past the fact I drink too much,
And that I'm overweight,
And that I really fart too much
When we go on a date.

She really needs to understand
That just because I'm bald,
She shouldn't hang the telephone
Up on me when I call.

Just because I burp a lot,
And sneeze and hiccup, too;
Linda please don't laugh to loud
When I say "I love you!"

So I scratch my crotch a lot;
I have to when I itch.
I'd love to scratch you, Linda dear,
And make your insides twitch.

So I never brush my teeth,
And never comb my hair,
Linda baby, Linda dear,
Why do you at me glare?

Bathing isn't everything;
It wastes much H2O.
Linda baby, Linda dear,
I ache for you to blow

Your sweet warm breath into my ears,
That are plugged up with wax,
And slide your tender, loving hands
Deep down my dirty slacks.

So I don't clip nose hairs;
They just grow back again;
It leaves me much more time for you;
Oh Linda, Linda when?

I know I sweat profusely,
And that I rarely shave.
Linda dearest everything,
Make me your sweaty slave!

So I swear and spit a lot,
And often pick my nose;
Please, please, please my Linda dear,
Please just take off your clothes!

About you I know everything,
Including your shoe size.
When I recall your measurements
All things within me rise!

I know what types of "things" you wear,
That press against your thighs,
When I see your bra strap, dear,
Out pop my beady eyes!

Oh Linda precious darling, dear,
No longer can I wait,
To taste your precious skin, my dear
And lick you off my plate!

I love you precious Linda, dear,
With all my heart and soul.
That bulge you see down in my pants
Is not a lump of coal!

Linda you don't love me, dear.
I think I now know why;
Despite your looks, despite your charm,
You're really just too shy.

I think that you're afraid of me;
Afraid you'll love me too;
Afraid that when you touch me, dear
You'll just go all to goo!

Someday I'll brush my teeth again,
And comb my greasy hair,
And on my bed my Linda, dear,
There lying you'll be bare.

Linda, Linda, Linda dear,
Oh Linda I love you.
I only wish with all my soul
That you would love me too.

I love you so my Linda dear.
I know you don't love me.
I hope, though, that you'll lose your fear
And that you'll come to see

That I'm the one who's just for you;
That I will set you free;
That only in my puffy arms
Damn happy you will be.

I love, love, love, love, love you dear,
Oh Linda I love you!
Please say it darling Linda dear:
"I love, love, love you too!"

Freedom To Fart!

2008-11-24T09:57:00.000-08:00

Farts to Flowers By Brenda And More Goofy Inventions

It’s Christmas time! And as we reflect on the true meaning of Christmas—the birth of Christ, the spirit of joy, compassion, love, understanding, forgiveness and redemption—we must never forget its other true meaning: spending money and shopping.

Yes, shopping! That’s really what this holiday is about—spending money and making retailers and their stockholders wealthy.

This year it’s especially important to shop. The economy is tanking, and if it continues like this, all our jobs will disappear and none of us will have any money left to surrender in the form of taxes to the Tax and Spend liberals in Congress.

It’s also about you. Do you really want to be regarded by your friends, relatives, family members and enemies as a grouchy, loveless cheapskate who refuses to give gifts on Christmas?

Hell no!

That’s why we’re here to help. Brenda Dunagan and I have formed a new company to help you spend your money! S.C.A.M. Inventions, Inc., which we started last night, offers a stunning array of products that already have minimalists, anti-materialists, socialists, commies and global warming proponents ruthlessly stomping over one another in a frenzied rush to spend more and more money.

So people, here are some of the products we’re offering to help you help keep the economy strong:

Farts to Flowers Sheets by Brenda—It happens to even the most disciplined of us. You’re underneath the sheets next to that loved one or pet and, pffffffffffffff! You let one rip. There’s no shame in it—it’s a natural bodily function—but damn, if you’ve been eating the wrong food, whew! You stink up the entire neighborhood, and that loved one or pet runs like hell. Many people just hold that gas in, squeezing tighter and tighter, all the while creating the potential for some serious internal organ damage and a really messy explosion.

Well, worry and hold it in no more. Brenda has the product that will eliminate the embarrassment of farting in bed. In fact, this product is so good that it will ENCOURAGE PEOPLE TO LET LOOSE! A HAPPY, HEALTHY BODY IS ONE THAT PASSES GAS WITHOUT RESTRAINT!

These sheets—they’re available in satin, cotton, wool, polyester, burlap and papyrus—have an activated charcoal lining that—you guessed it—absorbs the smell of body gas! Never again will you stink out your partner. Never again will you feel compelled to hold it in. Never again will you be a fart-holder-inner! That, people, is FREEDOM!

Our winter sheets come with a special, chemically-treated, activated charcoal lining that, when contacted by body gas, produces an exothermic reaction that converts the gas to heat! That’s right, heat in the winter from your own farts! The toxic chemicals on Brenda’s summer sheets reverse the process and produce a cimhehtoxe reaction that turns that gas to refrigerated air! SELF-MADE AIR CONDITIONING!

But wait, THERE’S MORE! YES MORE! Those toxic chemicals with which we’ve treated the Farts to Flowers Sheets by Brenda will also generate a FLORIFIC ODOR! That’s jargon for saying THESE SHEETS WILL MAKE YOUR FARTS SMELL LIKE FLOWERS! Daisies, roses, dandelions, you name it, you get it!

And DON’T WORRY. The toxic chemicals we use WON’T KILL YOU right away.

“I was concerned about bringing this invention to market,” Brenda explains, “because the gas, electric, fuel oil, pellet stove and air conditioning companies will go out of business because people will be heating and cooling their homes themselves. I’m a capitalist, and not very big on sustainability, whatever that is. But then I realized that these sheets give people the FREEDOM TO FART! That’s what America’s all about.”

The sheets come in one-size-fits-all.
Price: Summer Sheets, $502.13 Winter Sheets, $727.16

Launder No More Unmentionables—Also known as Three-Legged, Six-Day Underwear. This is another product from Brenda’s brilliant mind that shouts loudly and proudly so all the world can hear: Brenda Dunagan cares about people!

You damn straight she does. That’s why she developed her three-legged underwear. On a camping trip and discover that you brought along only one pair of unmentionables? Not to worry. Step into these things and you’re good for six days! The three leg openings create three separate crotches. Step through different leg openings each day, and you’ve got a fresh crotch! That means you get three day’s wear out of ‘em! Ahhh, but it’s not over. Just turn these babies inside out and you’re good for another three days! SIX DAYS TOTAL FROM A SINGLE PAIR OF UNDERWEAR!

Each pair is multi-colored, meaning each crotch and front are colored differently so no one—not even that INTIMATE SOMEBODY—will suspect that you’ve worn the same garment six days straight!

Here’s the truly wonderful and exciting thing about these undergarments. After being worn for six consecutive days—especially on a camping trip—no amount of soap, toxic chemicals or plutonium will get them clean! So you just toss ‘em! NO MORE LAUNDERING DIRTY UNDERWEAR! No more gingerly digging those mangy things out of the laundry hamper!

Price: Pack of 12, which is 72 days of wear, $73.12

Loaves and Fishes $10 Bill—Everybody, we mean Everybody is going to want these miraculous $10 bills! Why? Because, like the loaves and fishes in the Bible story, these $10 BILLS MULTIPLY AND REPLICATE THEMELVES! Place the bill on any flat surface, ask it to multiply, and yikearooskies! You’ve got a MOUNTAIN OF TEN-SPOTS! You’ll want to be careful, though, because if you don’t specify how many times you want it to multiply, the Loaves and Fishes $10 Bill will replicate uncontrollably, and you’ll be stuck with a HOUSEFULL OF MONEY!

YOU’LL NEVER BE POOR AGAIN! And, you’ll be able to GIVE TO CHARITY WITHOUT FEELING GUILTY that you gave away your liquor and cigar money!

You’ll have to be careful to never lose, misplace or spend your Loaves and Fishes $10 Bill, because only the original that we send you replicates. The offspring are sterile, so to say, and not imbued with the parent bill’s MIRACULOUS QUALITIES.

We must CAUTION, however, that the LOAVES AND FISHES $10 BILL will multiply only if you TRULY BELIEVE IT WILL. Only if you have faith! ONLY IF YOU BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE ENTITLED TO BE FILTHY RICH! If they don’t replicate and make you FILTHY RICH, it’s your stinking fault.

To order our Loaves and Fishes $10 Bill, just place $100 CASH ONLY in an envelope and address it to: I’M ENTITLED TO MONEY! P.O. BOX $$$$, MONEYVILLE, USA.

As soon as we receive your $100 CASH ONLY, we’ll send you one Loaves and Fishes $10 Bill, and you will be a HUMAN MONEY MACHINE!

Why did Brenda and I invent these wonderful products?
“I thought to myself,” Brenda says, “’wouldn’t it be great to make useful products that can make peoples’ lives better—to better humankind?’

“’Yeah,’” I thought, “’that’d be good. But it would be better to make money by doing almost nothing and selling people stuff they don’t need.’ So that’s my motivation—money!”

And let our making money be your motivation too!

As Brenda says:

“Be a smart feller, not a fart smeller. Buy my Six-day Undies!”

The Dalai Lama Exposed!

2008-05-29T12:35:00.000-07:00

Sometimes coffee is just coffee

Online personality test rankles insecure blogger

A Test for Mr. Lama

By Dennis Domrzalski

If only I had lied about what coffee actually does to me.

I wouldn’t be sitting around moping and thinking I’m some sort of freakish, really pathetic loser.
I’d feel good, who knows, maybe even buoyant. Instead of dressing in black, I’d go all out and throw on a cheerful suit of battleship grey. I’d glare only at ninety percent of everyone I see, and I’d start hanging out in funeral homes instead of cemeteries.

But I blew it. I was honest. I said that coffee made me jittery, nervous, nauseous, sick, was repugnant, that I thought it was mistake for me to have ever put that first drop of the caffeine-laden liquid to my trembling lips, that I’ve rarely had it in life, that the few times I have, I anticipated it with terror, and that because of the way it makes me feel I will never have it again.

Turns out I wasn’t really talking about coffee. No. I was actually describing my attitude toward sex.

It was one of those online personality quizzes that a friend had forwarded, this one the Tibetan Personality Test, apparently from the Dalai Lama himself. There were only four questions—you had to make a wish before answering—and the instructions said that for the four questions to precisely and thoroughly determine your personality you had to answer them honestly. The first answers that popped into your head were the best, the instructions advised.

One question said: Write one word that describes each of the following: dog, cat, rat, coffee, sea.
I went a little goofy when it came to coffee. I described it, not as a stimulant or acidic beverage, but as “jittery.” Then I added in all the other stuff because just a half-cup of coffee will make me dizzy, get me trembling and bouncing off walls. I can’t deal with coffee. Never could.

Then came the killer: the answers. The description of the animals implied the personalities of people in your life, including yourself. Then coffee. “Your description of coffee,” the computer screen said, “is how you interpret sex.”

Stunned and humiliated, I raced to the wife and demanded that she stroke my throbbing ego by confirming that my interpretation of sex was a little more flattering than “jittery.” She cackled.

Out the door and into the car I flew to a dear friend who normally greets me with a hug. I told her what was up (not down), and waited for the usual hug. It never came. Instead, she held her arm and hand out limply (in obvious mockery), turned her head to the side, cast her eyes downward and snickered.

Back home I raced to fire up the computer and redeem myself by taking a slew of online personality and IQ tests—dozens of them. No Dalai Lama eastern spirituality crap for me. The results were depressing. I was either a moron or had no personality at all. Three “lifestyle” tests showed that, based on my habits and attitudes—particularly the attitudes—I died at age three.

Trembling and in need of something stronger than pure, fresh spring water, I staggered to the only “guru” I’ve ever known: Phil.

He laughed as I blurted out the story, tossed me a few cold ones and soothed me with these wise words:

“Who the hell is Dalai Lama? Why would anyone take a test from someone with such a strange name? Only a moron takes those Internet tests.”

“Of which I’m one!”

“How do you know that?”

“All of those personality tests said I’m a social misfit!”

“Well, you are—for taking and believing those stupid tests. Look. Suppose this goofball Lama had substituted beer for coffee? What would you have answered?”

“Sustenance! Love! Ecstasy! Nirvana! Addictive! Explosive! Adventure! Life itself!”

“Yeah. And if he had substituted tofu or sand or mud or toenail clippings for coffee your answers would have been negative. So just because some goof with a funny name decides to use coffee as symbol for sex, we’re all supposed to accept it? That’s crap.”

“But, but, but, what about the other tests?”

“Nonsense made up by academics who are so screwed up that they’ve got to find a way to make every other normal person feel as worthless as they are. I once had a shrink give me a test that asked what I would do if I was in a forest and a giant grizzly bear suddenly charged me. The possibilities were run, play dead or fight the bear. I wrote in ‘Shit in my pants!’ which is what everybody would do if attacked by a maniacal grizzly bear.

“The shrink frowned and said I should have answered ‘Fight the bear’ because the bear represented life’s problems and obstacles. By answering ‘Shit in my pants,’ I was afraid of, and being helpless in the face of life’s problems. I told him that a grizzly bear represented a grizzly bear, not life’s problems. Then I told him he was a problem and that I’d take care of him straight up.”

“And?”

“I choked him ‘till he gurgled ‘Disassociation!” or something like that, and tossed him out the third-story window.

“Another shrink gave me a test that asked what I’d do if I went to a wine and cheese party and the room was full of a hundred people I didn’t know. Would I stand in the corner by myself and wait ‘till someone talked to me, or would I go around the room and introduce myself to as many people as possible?

“When I wrote in that I’d leave and go to the corner tap because I hate wine and only drink shots and beer and beer and shots, he accused me of being paralytically shy and afraid of people.

"I dragged him to the tap with me. He puked after his first shot and ran out the door when everybody laughed after he started babbling about cognitive dissonance.

“So here’s a one-question quiz you can put on the Web.

“Your interpretation of sex is expressed by:

A. How much whipped cream, baby oil and coleslaw you fantasize about slathering over that hunk or babe who's in front of you this very second?

B. Your admiration of, or desire for, overgrown zucchinis?

C. What you daydream about doing with strawberries, cherries and grapes?

D. How frantically you pant at even the slightest sight of skin?

E. How often the word “consume” comes to mind when eying that hunk or babe?

F. How many thousands of dollars you’ve spent at the love products store?

G. Your one-word description of an acidic beverage that rots your stomach lining?

"Now let's see what Mister Lama has to say about this."

War Stinks!

2008-04-07T17:06:00.000-07:00

LANL scientists are developing the most grotesque weapon ever imagined

This sick device will make pacifists teary-eyed for nukes

By Dennis Domrzalski

War is hell. Ask anyone who's seen their buddies' heads blown off, frozen in a foxhole or been shot at by angry men screaming insults at them in foreign languages.

But for the past several years, the big brains at Los Alamos National Laboratory have been working overtime to make war even more sick and gruesome than it already is. The people who gave you strontium‑90 in your milk and blue snow are developing yet another weapon that'll have humans diving under desks and cowering in basements and in bathrooms. And when the horror of this device is known, even pacifists will be teary‑eyed for old‑fashioned, city‑vaporizing nukes.

The spooks are developing so-called non‑lethal weapons. Things like super glues that make planes stick to runways and chemicals that turn truck tires into powder. The idea is that these weapons will incapacitate humans, but not kill them.

Listen to the generals and scientists and you get the idea that non‑lethal weapons are gifts from God, sent down so we can still wage war but not hurt each other. It's not so.

Some of these non‑lethal weapons are lasers that explode eyeballs and microwaves that cook internal organs. Those are bad enough. But the pocket protector crowd is busy on a gadget that is so grotesque that if used, we can forget about calling ourselves humans. A news article explained the horrible device:

"Ifrasound: Very low frequency sound generators could be tuned to incapacitate humans, causing disorientation, nausea, vomiting or bowel spasms."

Bowel spasms! Soldiers suffer enough trauma in war, what with having to watch bodies being ripped apart and having to eat cold food. Must we subject them to more pain?

One of the most embarrassing things that can happen to a human is having someone discover that you went in your pants. Ask any second grader. Not only will we subject brave soldiers to the trauma of losing control, but also to the humiliation of having millions know that they couldn't hold it.

That's sick. Our enemies will get the weapon, too. And rather than having snappy parades of returning soldiers who are maimed but proud, we'll have sorry lines of vets hanging their heads, shuffling their feet and scrunching their bottoms. Better to take a bullet in the spleen than to have a crushed self‑esteem.

We'll be waging wars where the deciding factors will be, not which side has more ammo, bigger bombs, more courageous soldiers, smarter generals, or better tactics, but who has more Pepto Bismol and toilet paper.

Some believe in the glory of the valiant charge toward the strongly held enemy position while being splattered with pieces of your comrades. With this machine, glory will be redefined as who made the quickest dash into the woods.

Strategic targets will no longer be rail centers, ports or industrial cities, but toilet paper factories. Rather than the shouts of "medic" and "morphine," future battlefields will ring with calls of, "Underwear! Underwear!"

The scientists don’t know it, but they’re wasting time and money in developing the bowel spasm machine. That's typical. When scientists work themselves into patriotic frenzies and develop nation‑busting bombs, species‑destroying germs and other science‑advancing wonders, they usually fail to think about the terrible consequences of their work or how impractical and unusable their gadgets are.

It happened with nukes. After blowing up lots of big ones, making noise and intimidating the Russians into building bigger nukes than we had, scientists finally realized that "Hey, if we use these things, we'll destroy the globe, and that means us, too."

They're making the same mistake with the bowel‑spasm machine. They haven't thought about the consequences, or about whether this terrible machine will lead to victory, which it won't. Because, non‑lethal weapons or not, the enemy must still be cleared from the field to ensure victory.

But what the spooks haven't figured is this: After you've caused millions of enemy soldiers to have bowel spasms, who on earth is going to want to take them prisoner?

Financial Bailout

2008-04-06T15:06:00.000-07:00

Bush League Money Problems

Phil’s posture was worse than ever.

His shoulders were a little more hunched, head even more bowed, and legs a lot wobblier than usual. His tired and dreary shuffle had gotten to the point where his feet were actually carving long slide marks into the hard tile floor.

Not even my usual—and always successful—method of cheering him up worked. He refused the warm can of discount beer, and didn’t even look at the women’s underwear catalogue that I held open down in front of his face.

“What the hell is wrong? You down to your last half-gallon of whiskey?” I growled.

“Way worse than that,” he mumbled in reply.

“Jeeze! The wife has decided to stay married to you!”

“Worse. I’ll probably lose everything—the car, the home brewing equipment and the bowling ball. I’ve been irresponsible with my money.”

“Irresponsible? Have you been giving to charity again?”

“Hell no!”

“Buying clothes for the kids?”

“No.”

“Investing in 'socially responsible' companies?”

“Nooooooo!”

“Then what?”

“I’m in debt—credit card debt, the mortgage, the second mortgage for the bill consolidation, back income taxes to the feds, back taxes to the state. It’s a mess. The cars are starting to go and I don’t know how I’ll pay to get them fixed. The interest rate on the mortgage is high, but I can’t get it down because no one will refinance me because my credit is so bad. I’m just going to go under.”

“How much do you owe?”

“Forty-five thou’ on the mortgage. Fifteen on the debt loan and maybe five on the credit cards.”

“So a total of sixty-five, maybe seventy thousand?”

“Yeah. I can’t keep up. I can’t make the payments. Bill collectors keep threatening me. The IRS is after me. They’ll probably slap liens on the house. And worse, Louie at the tap won’t give me credit anymore. Can’t even get a pitcher of beer when I’m out of money.”

It didn’t take long to truly understand Phil’s problem and to gently and sensitively recommend a solution.

“You’re an idiot,” I said.

“That I know.”

“But not for the reasons you think. Your problem is that you’re not in debt enough! You don’t owe enough money. Seventy grand is worse than chicken feed. It’s nothing. The reason those bill collectors and the IRS are coming after you is because you’re inconsequential to the national and the global economies. If you fail and go under, no one but you and your family will really be hurt, and no one but you and your bartender will care. So they hound you for the little money you owe them.

“You want to get these people off your back? Hell, want them to offer to bail you out when you go bust, just like they bail out all those billion-dollar hedge funds and Bear Stearns? Want the federal government, every bank and every pandering politician to throw money at you? I mean, throw money at you?”

“Yeah. But how?”

“Go out and borrow more money. Borrow so much money and get into so much debt that even computers won’t be able to count it all. Borrow tens of billions—even trillions—of dollars. Borrow more money than anyone or any company or any government has ever borrowed ever in the history of ever.

“And then, and here’s the key, mismanage and waste all that money. Put it into reckless and irresponsible investments. Hell, buy yourself a light beer brewery.”

“How do I do that?”

“Pretend you’re a government official or a politician.”

“Then what?”

“Default on your loans, declare that you are hopelessly insolvent and that all those trillions of dollars are gone.”

“Won’t they put me in prison?”

“Hell no. Prison is for petty borrowers like you and me—people who owe almost nothing. No. They won’t throw you in prison. You know what they’ll do to you if you mismanage and waste trillions and trillions of dollars that aren’t yours?”

“What?”

“Give you more money!”

“They’ll give me more money?”

“Yeah. The government just found billions to bail out Bear Stearns, a Wall Street financial firm that was going kaput. A bunch of years ago the feds brokered a billion-dollar deal to rescue an incredibly risky hedge fund that was failing because of risky and irresponsible investments.

“And you know why they threw money at these frauds and crooks? Because they couldn’t afford to let them fail. If these people and companies collapsed, the world’s economies would collapse. So rather than throwing them in prison for being crooks and frauds, they give them more money.

“The key is to make yourself indispensable to the world’s economies. You do that by owing everybody money. If you owe enough and are indispensable enough, they can’t let you fail. Now go out and borrow the money you’re entitled to.”

Phil bucked up after the short lecture and lesson on global economics. He popped the beer and paged through the underwear catalogue. He shuffled off in a much better mood.

A couple of months later Phil had undergone a total transformation. He stood up straight. There was a bounce to his step. He no longer needed underwear catalogues because he had svelte, scantily-clad babes on each arm. Giant diamond rings weighed down each and every one of his fingers. He puffed hundred-dollar cigars, sipped the world’s most expensive whiskey and said that he had recently paid $25,000 for dessert at a New York City restaurant.

“So you went out and borrowed money?” I asked.

“You damn straight.”

“How much?”

“Well, a few weeks ago I was worth a couple of trillion. I almost bought myself a turnpike, but decided on cigars instead.”

“You were worth a couple of trillion?”

“Yeah. Lost it all. Made the stupidest investments ever. Sunk trillions into canal building and horse-and-buggy factories.”

“But canals and horses and buggies are obsolete. No one uses them.”

“I know. I just wanted to test your theory. It works. I wasted all that money, and now they’re all throwing more money at me. They won’t let me fail. They’re running the printing presses full time just to bail me out. They say I’m the biggest money waster the world ever has seen, or will ever see—a total fraud and incompetent.”

“And based on that they now want you to?”

“Run for president!”

Grade School Candy Pushers Thwart the Nanny State

2008-03-24T14:44:00.000-07:00

Grade school candy bans create little entrepreneurs

Teachers trying to kill the entrepreneurial spirit

Apparently there is still hope for America. And that ray of hope comes from, of all places, California.

The Daily Press of Victorville reported last week that the sugar and junk food ban in California schools has created an underground economy where kids are buying and selling candy bars and sodas at big profits:

“It’s created a little underground economy, with businessmen selling everything from a pack of skittles to an energy drink,” said Jim Nason, principal at Hook Junior High School in Victorville.

This has become a lucrative business, Nason said, and those kids are walking around campus with upwards of $40 in their pockets and disrupting class to make a sale.

Schools have been individually banning junk-food sales for years, and enforcement was increased in 2005 when Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger passed legislation to combat childhood obesity, according to the office of the governor.

Since then, schools have slowly adjusted by offering more healthy alternatives, such as baked chips and granola bars.

But Nason said that he sees just as much candy and soda as ever, because students still bring it from home — for lunch, and to turn a profit.

“I think it’s original purpose was pretty good, but it doesn’t seem to be making that big of a difference,” said teacher Rolayne Allen of the junk-food ban.

Teachers are instructed to confiscate candy when kids have it in class, Nason said, and the punishment for making sales can be detention.

That last paragraph is typical of the Nanny State control freaks who want to control every aspect of our lives. They refuse to understand that we don't want to live by their rules--that we want our chocolate, grease, eggs, booze, smokes and anything else that tastes and feels good. And, they're making little criminals out of these budding entrepreneurs by giving them detention for selling candy!

Kids used to get detention for mouthing off to teachers, starting fights or trying to burn their schools down. And you can see where some of those detentions might have been justified. But detention for selling candy!

A judge once told me that the way everything is being criminalized and banned in this country, pretty soon all kids will be stamped with parole numbers at birth.

I think he's right.

But until then, God bless those grade school candy pushers.

NM Democrats buying votes, too

2008-03-21T08:45:00.000-07:00

NM Democrats are buying votes, too

Lujan and Wiviott offer delegates food and motel rooms

Dave Cargo says AG won’t investigate vote-buying charges because he doesn’t want to hurt Dems

By Dennis Domrzalski

Former New Mexico Gov. Dave Cargo says he now knows why the state Attorney General’s Office seems to be dragging its feet in investigating allegations of vote buying at the February Bernalillo County Republic Party’s pre-primary nominating convention.

Democrats have been engaging in the same kind of vote-buying behavior, and Democrat AG Gary King doesn’t want his party to get caught up in the mess.

The Espanola-based Rio Grande Sun reported Thursday that at least two candidates for the Third Congressional District seat being vacated by Rep. Tom Udall, D-NM—PRC Commissioner Ben Ray Lujan and Developer Don Wiviott—were rewarding delegates who voted for them at the Party’s March 15 pre-primary convention with food and hotel rooms.

The AG’s Office said last week that it wasn’t investigating the allegations of GOP vote-buying because political party elections are private affairs that aren’t covered by the New Mexico Election Code.

Cargo sees another reason for Democrat King’s refusal to investigate:

“They don’t want it to slip over into the Democrats,” the former governor said. “I’ve said that if they looked at the Republicans they’d have to look at the Democrats. It’s amazing that they aren’t cracking down.”

Here’s what the Sun reported:

Gifts for Delegates

The financial disparity between the top two candidates for Udall's seat and the rest of the field was made evident at the convention. Lujan has received broad support with the help of his powerful father, state Speaker of the House Ben Lujan (D-Nambé).

Lujan's staff swarmed the Santa Ana Star Center with ear pieces and walkie-talkies and handed out food coupons for pizza and hotdogs to delegates who voted for him.

Wiviott's staff and volunteers also took measures to ensure Wiviott's delegates were well looked after.

San Juan County delegate Ivan William Pfeifer had arrived the day before the event and stayed the night at a Holiday Inn Express in Bernalillo, care of Wiviott's campaign.

"We were very much surprised it was even offered," said Pfeifer, who donned a blue Wiviott shirt at the convention.

Caroline Buerkle, Wiviott's campaign spokeswoman, said the campaign provided rooms for about 20 delegates. Two-hundred delegates voted for Wiviott, who has used his own money to build a war chest worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

"The overwhelming majority of delegates got here completely on their own," Buerkle said.

Nothing in campaign finance law explicitly prohibits candidates from providing lodging for delegates, and the Secretary of State’s Office deferred any questions on the matter to the Attorney General’s office.

“We have a similar situation regarding the paying of registration fees at the (Republican Convention),” Secretary of State spokesman James Flores said. Buerkle said the campaign was not worried about any perception the rooms brought.

"What do you do for the delegate who can't afford to come?" Buerkle said. Pfeifer said he had not been swayed by the free lodging.

Cargo, a Republican who brought the allegations of Republican vote buying to the news media and to the state Secretary of State’s Office, said what Lujan’s and Wiviott’s campaigns did at the convention amounted to vote buying.

“I consider it vote buying. What else did they pay, their back taxes?” Cargo asked. “It amounts to blatantly buying votes.”

The AG’s Office told us last week that it doesn’t think the Republic vote-buying scandal warrants an investigation because political party elections are private affairs that aren’t covered by the New Mexico Election Code. The election law says it is a fourth-degree felony to offer someone a bribe to vote a certain way, or to accept a bribe to vote.

King’s office might be wrong in its opinion that party elections aren’t covered by the state’s election law. Here’s what the Election Code says about party elections:

1-7-1. Political parties; condition for use of the ballot. (1969)

All nominations of candidates for public office in New Mexico made by political parties shall be made pursuant to the Election Code [1-1-1 NMSA 1978]. No political party shall be permitted to have the names of its candidates printed on any election ballot unless and until it has qualified as provided in the Election Code.

Cargo has been pushing for an investigation into allegations of the Republican vote buying efforts. Heather Wilson’s U.S. Senate campaign has admitted that it paid the $30 registration fees for five people to attend the Bernalillo County GOP’s mid-February convention in Albuquerque. Attendees to the convention elected delegates to the state GOP’s March 15 nominating convention.

NM SoS Mary Herrera, a Democrat, has been trying to investigate the allegations of Republican vote buying. But her office is represented by the AG, and any charges in the matter would have to be brought by the AG.

“I did hear back from the AG and they told me that they don’t have a date when they will make a determination,” Herrera said Thursday. “Our legal counsel (from the AG’s Office) says he is still meeting with his authorities and that they don’t have a determination yet. There’s nothing I can do until I get a determination from the AG.”

Albuquerque Journal fails miserably again

2008-03-19T06:23:00.000-07:00

Journal can't be trusted to deliver a story on time or accurately

New Mexico's largest news operation took 16 days to cover this hot story

Another journalistic disgrace

By Dennis Domrzalski

The Albuquerque Journal today proved once again why it can't be trusted to inform the public.

Today the paper finally published a story about the allegations of vote buying at the mid-February Bernalillo County Republican Party's pre-nominating conventions. And what a lame, disgraceful story it was. Read this stupid lead:

A registration fee for rank-and-file Republicans to attend their county convention— a fee candidates sometimes pick up— might be the root of a behind-the-scenes political flap in Bernalillo County.

Naaah! Really? A registration fee might be the root of a behind-the-scenes political flap?

How about allegations of criminal vote buying are ripping the party apart? That would be more accurate. How about this story has been raging in the national blogosphere for weeks and has contributed to a massive swell of anti-Heather Wilson venom? How about former KKOB Radio afternoon drive time news anchor Laura MacCallum broke the stories in late February and resigned in early March when her idiot news editor killed them because bloggers hadn't picked them up? How about this blog broke the MacCallum resignation story and put the vote-buying allegations on the Internet on March 3, more than two weeks ago?

You'll never read about those things in the Journal because they're the truth and that paper is incapable of telling it.

This is typical Journal arrogance, though. If they're too lazy or too stupid or too biased to break a story, then, in their minds, it isn't a story. It doesn't become a story until they say so.

At The Albuquerque Tribune years ago we routinely beat the Journal on big stories. When it could, the idiot paper ignored the story for a week or two. Then it published its own version and pretended like it had found the news. The Trib, which is now gone, was by far the better newspaper.

The Journal's not-so-ace political reporter Jeff Jones failed to mention an even bigger issue in the state GOP: The threats that were made to at least three people who once considered running for the First Congressional District seat being vacated by Congresswoman Heather Wilson.

Jones quoted New Mexico Attorney General's Office spokesman Phil Sisneros as saying the AG's Office wasn't investigating the vote-buying allegations because political party conventions are private affairs that aren't subject to the New Mexico Election Code. Sisneros told us that last week. But we at least found a part of the election code that contradicts Sisnersos' logic. Here's the law:

1-7-1. Political parties; conditions for use of ballot. (1969)
All nominations of candidates for public office in New Mexico made by political parties shall be made pursuant to the Election Code [ 1-1-1 NMSA 1978]. No political party shall be permitted to have the names of its candidates printed on any election ballot unless and until it has qualified as provided in the Election Code.

Other sections of the election law say it's a fourth-degree felony to buy a vote or to accept a bribe to vote a certain way. Jones didn't bother to include that in his story either.

This isn't the first, nor will it be the last time the Journal has failed and will fail to fully inform its readers. It buried its story about MacCallum's resignation.

There might be one bright side to the Journal's finally running the vote-buying story. Two lame bloggers might finally recognize the story as news. Heath Haussaman and Mario Burgos both Republican Party apologists, said the vote-buying scandal was never a story. Now that the Journal has declared it news, these two might finally see a story.

You can read the Journal's story here. But why waste your time?

Brenda Dunagan: Master of the Ballroom!

2008-03-16T08:23:00.000-07:00

Albuquerque Dance Instructor Brenda Dunagan Gets Her International Dance Diploma

All of Humankind Cheers

An Awed World Wonders: What's Next For Brenda Dunagan?

Sick of hearing about lying, thieving, sneaky politicians and idiot celebrities? Care to hear about some of the remarkable, talented, smart, hard-working and inspiring people who actually deserve honor and acclaim? Of course you do. I said so.

So here’s Brenda Dunagan. Brenda is a dance instructor, performer, magician, choreographer, scholar, jokester, inspiration and just one incredible human being. She chases dreams and catches them. Read her professional bio here (page 6).

Last week, Brenda got what amounts to her Master’s Degree in ballroom dance instruction: her Licentiate Diploma from the Imperial Society of Teachers of Dancing. She and Albuquerque dance instructors Bill Zimmerman and Anita McBride went to Los Angeles and took grueling, two-day exams from the snooty Brits who run the Imperial Society. The three, who teach dance at Albuquerque’s Enchantment Ballroom, all passed. They studied and practiced with each other for the exams for more than a year, cheerfully dragging themselves into the studio at 10 o’clock on Saturday mornings--no easy thing for dancers because they're always working into the early morning--to rehearse and meticulously go through each and every step. They also spent untold hours each week studying and memorizing instruction manuals and dance steps. In the week before the exams, Brenda spent more than 30 hours rehearsing.

Brenda is also a tenacious scholar. In December she got her B.S. in biology from the University of New Mexico, with minors in philosophy and chemistry. That came after 11 straight years of going to school part time--never missing a semester--and while working full time as a dancer, instructor and performer. She's performed in all 50 states and 11 countries.

My wife and I have been taking lessons from Brenda for the past year. In that time I’ve gotten to see just how much hard, hard work, dedication and practice—yeah, practice, practice and more practice—it takes to make gliding around a ballroom floor look effortless. And I've gotten to know Brenda. Brenda is a friend, and one of those rare people in life who, because who and what they are, spark you. She has sparked me, and I'm grateful and thrilled for it.

So here's to Brenda, Bill and Anita. Congratulations!

Here's a story I wrote last year about Brenda. It initially appeared in Accent Albuquerque Magazine

By Dennis Domrzalski

“Rock step forward, cha, cha, cha. Rock step backward, cha, cha, cha,” Albuquerque dance instructor Brenda Dunagan encouragingly repeats over and over as she gently coaxes her stiff-jointed, middle-aged student into simple steps and movements that are far beyond his limited ability to comprehend and execute.

The balding student tries, but for someone with the grace and agility of a plodding brontosaurus, it’s a tough and clumsy go. The student manages, with a studied and anguished deliberation, to mechanically place one foot where it’s supposed to go.

It’s not the effortless, fluid and exuberant step that Dunagan would like to see, but it’ll get there. And in a few weeks the student will be gliding across the wooden dance floor of the Enchantment Ballroom dance studio trying desperately to erase the humiliation of a time when he was so painfully shy that the mere thought of dancing made him nervous enough to vomit.

Photo: Steve Bromberg

The student will succeed because Dunagan won’t quit. The 34-year-old dream chaser never has. That’s why, after 11 straight years of taking at least two courses a semester—all while working full-and part-time—Dunagan will graduate in December from the University of New Mexico with a B.S in biology and minors in chemistry and philosophy. That’s why this entrepreneur, stage magician, professional dancer, choreographer, linguist, kick boxer, yoga practitioner, self-starter, movie extra, tutor, model, lover of knowledge, performance artist and passionate individualist will find a new level to climb to after she graduates. She wants to teach, write and continue in academia. Whatever she does, Dunagan will succeed, and in doing so, she’ll inspire others to do the same.

That’s because Brenda Dunagan is contagious. Spend just a little time with this five-foot-three, 115-pound, laugh-loving, category-five human tornado, and you’ll be thinking about goals set and never fully pursued, time wasted in orgies of self-pity and procrastination, and obstacles never sidestepped or smashed to pieces. And in just a little while you’ll be energized and thinking once again about the possible and dusting off those old goals and dreams and saying to yourself, “Dammit, I can do it—No. Dammit. I will do it!”

“People should never give up on what their dream and goal is—if they want to dance or go to college or do anything else that everybody in their life has told them what they couldn’t or shouldn’t do, or aren’t going to able to do. They should disregard that and pursue their dreams,” Dunagan says while using a double-handed clasp to raise a mug of coffee during an interview on a recent day off.

“I’ve had students with one leg learn how to dance. I’ve had people in wheelchairs come up and say, ‘I love music. I love to move. I want to have fun with my wife. Help us choreograph a dance in a wheelchair.’ A lot of people keep from doing things they really have passion for because they say, ‘You know, I’m really not intelligent enough. I’m not young enough. I’m not thin enough, or I’m not physically capable.’

“It is magical and so wonderful to see people overcoming their obstacles and their boundaries and realize that they can catch a dream and celebrate being alive.”

That might seem easy to say for someone who has won countless dance awards, performed in all 50 states and 11 foreign countries, owned her own dance studio and met President George W. Bush, but it comes from experience. Dunagan wasn’t always the beautiful, graceful, high-spirited, funny and charming dancer, artist and determined scholar and philosophy club junkie that she is now. At Manzano High School in the late 1980s she was a skinny nerd whose glasses were almost as big as her head.

“When I was a teenager I didn’t get a lot of dates. I was really awkward and nerdy and I had big, hooter-owl glasses, and I was skinny, skinny,” Dunagan laughs with a confidence that respects a past that tempered the pain of awkwardness with the comfort of isolation.

“On weekends I would stay at home and watch old black and white Hollywood movies—Frank Sinatra, Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire. It was kind of pathetic, but that was my social life. Those were my dates. So I fell in love with old Hollywood—big-band music, women in beautiful, feathery dresses and suave, debonair men in their tuxedos.”

Determined to bust out—and maybe get a date or two—Dunagan nurtured a dream: She would be a singer. She wanted to join Manzano’s Swing Choir. To do so she took some dance lessons at age 17 to make the choir’s dance auditions. It was then that Dunagan realized something about herself: She loved movement and music. It was exciting, and it seemed as if she was born to do it.

“Dancing came very naturally to me,” she says. “When I was 18 I started taking professional ballroom lessons, and started teaching when I was 20. After two years they asked me to teach. It’s funny, because I had never planned on being a dancer.”

During those first few years of teaching dance, Dunagan held onto another goal: She wanted to go to college. No one in her family had ever done so. Her mother and father, Jeanette and Phill Dunagan, ran an appliance business (they still do), and they knew that their daughter would do quite well dancing, performing and jaunting around the world using her talents to transport audiences into fairytale worlds in which they too were gliding effortlessly across ballroom floors with handsome or beautiful partners.

Fate intervened, though. At age 23 Dunagan was in a bad car accident. Ligaments and tendons in her neck were torn. She got a settlement and took three months off to decide what to do with the rest of her life. It was then that her self-starting and self-motivating side really took hold.

“That’s when I taught myself trigonometry,” Dunagan laughs. “I went back and reviewed all the high school crap I had never learned. I was dyslexic and I had always scored horribly in math. I realized that in learning how to dance and learning how to memorize directional movement that I was thinking differently than other people. I bet that I could teach myself math. So I went and got some tutoring books and taught myself algebra, trigonometry and pre-calculus. Then I scored a 98 percent on the college entrance exam. I can write in opposite directions with both hands and I can write with one hand in English and one hand in Spanish (she also knows French) simultaneously.”

Dunagan quit dancing, took a waitressing job and enrolled in college.

“Dancing has always been a means to an end for me. I’d say, ‘Okay, I’ll take this job here and that job there to make enough money to pay my tuition this semester,” she says.

In 1995, after she had quit dancing to fully concentrate on going to college, fate stepped into Dunagan’s life again when she was waitressing at the Great American Land and Cattle Company.

“I was at the restaurant and an old dancing partner of mine was roller skating on rollerblades outside. He broke a wheel on his skate and came in and said, ‘Didn’t you used to dance?’ I said, ‘Yeah, but I don’t dance anymore.’ He said, ‘Oh my god, we’ve got a job at the Kimo Auditorium in two weeks and one of my dancers broke her leg. Can you replace her?’ I said, ‘I quit dancing two years ago and I don’t do that.’”

The former partner persisted and Dunagan began rehearsing with the group. She performed with them at the Kimo.

“There were talent agents in the audience, and the next thing I know I’m getting calls for this show and that show and I’m performing every weekend for the rest of my life,” she says with a “Sometimes, I still can’t believe this” laugh.

In 1999 Dunagan was hired by The Pink Flamingos as a Ginger Rogers impersonator. She toured the country and world with them for two years. Even though she was on the road, Dunagan always made time for school.

“I would always do a correspondence course or fly back and go to school on Tuesday’s, Wednesday’s and Thursday’s and then go back on the road on Friday,” she says.

In 1998 Dunagan became an assistant to Albuquerque magician and escape artist Rick Maisel, the man who, in handcuffs and leg irons, stuffs himself into a front-loading wash machine, turns on the wash cycle and escapes before the deadly spin cycle begins and whirls him into a heap of broken bones. Since then she has bought and sold her own dance studio, helped care for her 92-year-old grandmother, become an on-stage magician, been involved in countless dance and performance productions, including dance and music videos, and donated dozens of dancing lesson packages to various charities. She is studying again with the prestigious Imperial Society of Teachers of Dance of Blackpool, England to get her Licentiate, or Masters teaching certificate (she already has an Associate certificate), in Ballroom Dance. When she gets it, Dunagan will be the only female dance instructor in New Mexico to have one.

Although Dunagan is a fireball and an inspiration, she isn’t flawless.

“I drink copious amounts of coffee,” she says. “That’s my only vice.”

“Only one vice?” the disbelieving interviewer demands.

“I’ll sound like Bill Clinton, here, but define vice,” Dunagan says while laughing.

Dunagan has a favorite saying: “Whatever you do every day is what you will be able to do most of your life. The activities you put off doing are what you lose the ability to do.”

It looks like Brenda Dunagan won’t ever lose the ability to do anything.