Adventures In The Mediterranean

I've always kind of regretted that I left the sea when I left the Navy, those many years ago. I've always loved the idea of sailing, especially of traveling by sailboat. I don't (regrettably) have any experience with sailboats, but in the Navy days I was occasionally engineer on a 50' power utility boat. I always enjoyed working on the utility boats. One of those really fun jobs!

Once in the seas south of Mallorca, we had to make a transfer of some people and supplies from one carrier--my ship, the USS Saratoga to another--the USS FD Roosevelt.

Turns out, the swells were about 20 feet--which the aircraft carriers didn't even notice, but the utility boats did.

I had the bow line, I was standing 'pon the foredeck ready to tie up as we approached the Roosevelt, and as we made our approach, a massive swell kicked the boat up and toward the side of the Roosevelt. The swell ebbed suddenly, leaving me about ten feet in the air, just holding onto that line for dear life!

The next swell brought the boat back up, violently (as far as my body was concerned). The boat surged upward as I fell downward, with painful results. I landed hard on the foredeck and managed to hang on. I got up and tied the line off and got back into the hold before the next big swell, which banged the boat into the side of Roosevelt. It knocked everyone off his feet but the Bosun, who was hanging on to the wheel. I still remember the bruises and muscle strains from that bit of acrobatics!

Ah, for the good ol' days!

The positive part of the story was liberty in Palma the next day. What a town!

From the Adventures of a wandering boy.

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

The Most Predictable Fumble of the Century--So far....

It was as if it was planned to be a huge mass screwup from the start. Hundreds of thousands of hippies outatime converging 'pon the Woodstock of 2009, there to see, and perhaps even to touch the hem of their messiah's robes.

Buzzing about the various chatrooms and message lists of the less-in-touch-with-reality from all over the country and abroad was the talk of tickets to the coronation inauguration of America's first god-king people's President. It promised to make the introduction of Elvis Presley or the Beatles seem as subdued as a cemetary, by comparison.

The glorious event fulfilled its promise in many ways. Washington DC was awash in humanity; throngs of worshippers like no Pope has ever witnessed.

Ah, but those tickets.....some were genuine and some were counterfeit. No one knew the difference. No one really cared. This was Woodstock 2009!

But, alas! As the day's festivities, and the events that drew these hundreds of thousands of worshippers to Jerusalem Washington were about to commence, it became apparent that all was not well in New Camelot. Thousands of worshipers well-wishers and fans of the new messiah were left stranded in tunnels and at locked security gates, waving their tickets to the blind eyes of a 42,500 strong security contingent with no head. I mentioned--dare I say predicted--the likelihood of severe difficulties here, just the other day.

According to a detailed story by George Loper here, the troubles didn't end with the lockout of thousands of ticket holders left freezing in lines outside the security gates, but continued as saddened and disgusted travelers attempted to catch their flights back home. The chaos found its way into the airports (no doubt with the enthusiastic help of TSA thugs), causing missed flights and hours-long delays.

Add all this to the climaxing SNAFU's: both the chief of the Supremes, John Roberts and the new King of the Universe President, B Hussein Obama, flubbed their lines. As any actor will tell you: take your rehearsals seriously. They didn't apparently. So, they had a redo, but no one thought to bring a camera or a tape recorder (although someone happened to have a hand-held voice recorder in his pocket.

Stalag California Senator Diane Feinstein is livid. She's calling for a full investigation to learn why the inauguration went so incredibly poorly. I honestly think it's commendable that, every time the federal government screws something up, one of our fine Senators is right there to call for a commission to investigate the reasons why things went so incredibly wrong. It helps keep out-of-work party hacks out of the poorhouse.

Washington would make a great sitcom, if it didn't kill so many people and cost so much money.

People shouldn't be afraid of their governments, governments should be afraid of their people.

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

The End Of The American Automobile

Today, the idiots in the US House of Representatives voted to bail out America's three automaking corporations. It'll be seen as the beginning of the end of the industry.

They didn't simply throw huge sums of money at the firms. They're all but nationalizing the industry. Like they've done with the banking industry. Like they want to do with the medical industry and the insurance industry. There seems to be a bit of hesitancy in the Senate, so while I don't think Senators are any more honest nor intelligent than Congressmen, they might have a less intrusive version. Maybe.

Adolf Hitler, from his little corner of hell, is smiling.

No, they're going to appoint a "Car Tsar" to strut about the corporate offices of the three auto building firms issuing edicts and apportioning the hard-earned spoils stolen from productive Americans to the ceo's according to how well they lick his jackboots. It'll be appropriate to envision a pompous preening rooster strutting about the halls of General Motors in shiny leather leggings and a faux Ike jacket, complete with epaulets and rows of medals, pacing back and forth in the boardroom, slapping his leggings with a riding crop, smiling smugly as the board members bow and scrape.

Look for a failed ceo from an unrelated firm to play the part of Cuffy Meigs in this farce.

Look for more Yugos driving at forty-five mph on our freeways. Look for electric cars stalled in lanes, their batteries having depleted their charge unexpectedly, blocking the Slauson offramp.

One of the biggest problems with the auto industry (and many other industries) is that its run by executives who are not car builders.They are either lawyers (for making compromises with EPA thugs, etc) or marketers (who attempt to sell whatever crap the lawyers and EPA thugs throw together). Hence, the quality individual conveyances as were being built prior to this Mordorian alliance are either nonexistent in today's market, or too expensive for the average individual to afford.

The statist's desire is and has always been to get the individual out of his individual conveyance and into public transportation to more easily control his choices of destinations, and to keep track of his movements.

Think not otherwise: at some point, the government's plan is to have every individual insert his id card into a slot on every bus, plane, passenger train or taxi to record his comings and goings. Private cars, should they still manage to exist, will (many already do) have gps locators on board to keep track that way, and ignition cutoffs should one wander off in an unauthorized direction.

All in the name of Homeland Security.

They've killed Freedom! Those bastards,

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Things I Did Not Learn At School

When I first flew into the Stalag, so many years ago, it was complements of Uncle Sam, sending me on a scenic cruise around a pretty big chunk of the western hemisphere. The first stop was the Recruit Training Center on Point Loma, a part of the seaside town of San Diego. Thence to the Training Center in Waukegan, Illinois to learn to maintain and repair diesel engines, and then to Mayport, outside of Jacksonville, Florida to spend the remainder of my enlistment aboard the USS Saratoga, which was not powered by diesel engines, but steam turbines.

The ship did have a number of diesel powered utility boats though, so I guess it was all right.

While billeted aboard that ship, I had no small number of adventures, some of which might have been the death of many a lesser man. I've decided that as the mood strikes me, I'll relate some of these tales for the amusement of friends and relatives. In fact, a few of these tales already find themselves languishing in the archives.

Several of we who graduated high school in the Central Class of 1961 opted to join the Navy within weeks or months of graduation. Every one of them, but myself, ended our training with orders to such places as Japan and the Philippines. I went to a ship on the east coast. Months later one friend, Gareth Johnson from East Grand Forks, suddenly appeared aboard Saratoga. We had been acquainted in Grand Forks; we became fast friends in that foreign setting.

Soon, we were off to the Mediterranean Sea for a cruise of several flight exercises and many foreign ports. Somewhere off the coast of Spain, we had a ship-to-ship with the other carrier in the fleet, the USS FD Roosevelt, as I recall. There was about a twenty-foot swell as we anchored, and we of the utility boat crew were to run some supplies and foodstuffs between the ships.

Handling a fifty-foot utility boat in a twenty-foot swell can be an adventure in itself when you're 20-years old. My job was the bow line. The trick was to secure the line to a vertical line tied high and low on the ship's hull, so that as the boat rises and falls with the swell, the lines slide up and down with it. Half a dozen fenders keeps the boat's wooden gunwales from getting chewed up by the steel ship's hull.

You wait for the top of the swell, then grab the jacob's ladder and scramble up as fast as you can, before the boat can come up on the next swell and hit you.

The funnest part of the day was the moment when I was standing 'pon the bow, bow line in hand, ready to tie off. Suddenly, the swell dropped away with the boat, leaving me ten feet in the air, holding onto the bow line for dear life. Luckily, the boat rose to meet me coming down, and I landed hard on the deck. Multiple bruises and a slightly sprained wrist.

Not far from this rendezvous was the island of Mallorca, where we anchored for a couple of days. This liberty turned out to be more of a plain old fashioned good time than what you'd call an adventure, and I wouldn't have missed it.

Gary and I were in the process of trying out local beers when we stumbled into a group of revelers from Britain. There were about eight or ten of them, visiting on holiday, and celebrating their last night before their return flight home.

The group, both boys and girls around my own age, turned out to be an excursion group, none of whom had known each other, before this holiday. There were no boy-girl friends in the group, as was evidenced by the fact that two of the girls quickly fastened onto to Gary and I, and there were no fights.

Mary Collins was her name, and she was from Cardiff. She was (and still is, one hopes) a very pretty and fun-loving girl. She told me I looked like Paul McCartney. I asked her who was Paul McCartney? In all fairness, it was 1963, and I'd been kind of out of circulation aboard the ship for a while. The Beatles weren't very widely known in the States, at that time.

I probably wouldn't recall her name (although there are things about her that I'll not forget), except that we kept in touch for a while, and as it happens, I still have one of her letters.

She reminds me of some of the things we did. There are other things of which she doesn't need to remind me. Seems we did some more beer drinking, and at one point, ran off from a sidewalk cafe without paying. Now, I don't remember doing that. It's something I'd never do, although I did drink a lot more in those days than since.

We ended up in a secluded corner of a park, each with a bottle of beer in hand. Alas, the night was too short. She had to catch her plane and I had to muster aboard the ship. I had to call in a favor to get my pals on the utility boats to smuggle me back to the ship, five hours late.

An indisputable fact: it was worth it!

Never stop having adventures.

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

The Brain Drain Tax

Back in the 1960's, I recall #1 all time Hall O' Fame Science Fiction Writer Robert A Heinlein saying that as the United States drifts toward socialism, and as USSR is gradually forced to accept degrees of capitalism, USSR would surpass the US in the degree of freedom by, I think it was, approximately 1980. While part of sci-fi writers jobs is to suggest possible futures, this area is fraught with danger. While Heinlein came very close to being right, after President Reagan drove them broke trying to keep up with us in the arms race Russian President Vladimir Putin (Modern Russia's near-equivalent to Germany's Adolf Hitler), is now saying "we'll have no more of this freedom crap" or words of similar meaning.

Putin appears to be restarting the Cold War. That's a big danger now, because recent weak-kneed US Administrations have no will, nor do they really have enough extorted cash, to engage in such a battle. President-elect Obama gives indications that he'd rather switch than fight. Or, the masochist's version: he'd rather be switched than fight.

Meanwhile, the wheels of the bus go round and round, and the bus has long since turned left. We can thank every Administration since Reagan's for that. By the end of Obama's term, the argument may not be about who will win, but how the spoils will be divided, and whether it'll be Putin or Obama who'll be selected World Dictator for Life. These, of course, are merely pessimistic musings on my part. I hope I'm wrong.

The world's productive individuals, those of them who are not scrambling over each other's backs for government bailout cash, are wondering where they stand.

There's been a lot of banter on the net and probably in other venues about "going John Galt." Since entrepreneurs who earn $250k and over have been declared the enemy by Obama, it's no surprise that small business owners in that category, or are working toward that category, are concerned.

Some, according to this entry on the Instapundit blogsite, are planning to "relax." That is, simply lay off employees and work only hard enough to stay below that threshold.

Others speak of liquidating their assets and leaving the country. There are many parts of the world, while perhaps even more socialistic than the US, offer pleasant country areas in which an individual or family can live in peace, tinkering, painting or writing with out much interference from that government.

Well, it's going to be tougher to outsmart the Reich than it used to be. According to a New York Post story, Americans who want to leave America and to retire to Italy (for example) will have to pay a hefty tax.

Thanks can be given to a bill that passed Congress recently and was quietly signed by President Bush two weeks ago.

Called the Heroes Earnings Assistance and Relief Act of 2008 (the HEART bill, for short), the main part of the new law deservedly gives benefits to soldiers. But the last part of the bill, under "revenue provisions," sticks it to anyone who no longer wants to live the American dream.

Now, one has to be very crafty about getting his assets liquidated and removed from the country. Even British rock stars and Canadian actors will have to pay the tax to return to their own countries.

This, of course, is patterned directly after the taxes that needed to be paid by citizens of the USSR who wanted to expatriate during the Cold War. Which brings me back to Heinlein's prediction. Pay attention to science fiction writers. Sometimes they're right.

Tip of the old gray fedora to Noodle Food and Instapundit for

People should not be afraid of their governments; governments should be afraid of their people.

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Herding People

Maybe I'm slow. This has been going on for decades, but not long enough that I can't recall days when things were different.

It suddenly hit me as I watched a tv news show, observing Barry Hussein Obama walking across the pavement toward an aircraft, where he walks up a staircase to the doorway of the plane. We've all seen this repeated dozens, if not hundreds of times for as long as there've been passenger planes.

If you've been around for a while, you might remember walking across the pavement from the terminal (interesting choice of appellations) building to the movable boarding staircase leading up to the aircraft. Otherwise, well, the ritual can be seen in any of several older movies. Or whenever an upper-level politician arrives or leaves by plane.

They used to say that when any three Californians get together, they instinctively form a line. It's still true. At today's airports, anywhere within any of the various United States, one spends virtually his entire time in one line or another. Cars line up to enter parking lots. One has to line up to check one's luggage. To confirm one's ticket. To show your federally-approved id (papers, please?).

It's been a few years since I've visited an airport, and even more years since I've flown, so I might not have the drill quite right. Some of it's from hearsay from folks who've flown more recently than I.

One must line up to have his belongings searched and scanned, as well as his person. Randomly chosen items are confiscated, from knitting needles to bottles of shampoo, for no discernible reason. The federal thugs don't allow weapons, assuring that anyone sly enough to sneak a weapon on board can do anything he wants. If the passenger's not lucky, he might be pulled out of line to have a more complete search and/or questioning. Unless he's middle eastern in appearance, of course. We wouldn't want to accidentally offend any member of an islamic murder cult.

Penn Jillette tells of a TSA thug having played with his jewels during a search in the Las Vegas airport back in 2002. He carried his complaints through to a point in which he really had some of the federal TSA thugs worried. Now, we know for sure that Penn Jillette has a pair. Seems like we all should do that. Not only would we show that we haven't lost ours, but it'd probably put an end to this naziness once and for all.

Next, there's the line at the boarding gate. As one passes the gate, one finds himself inside of a dimly-lit cavern, seemingly being herded along toward the gates of hell. I always imagined an arched gateway with the sign "Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here."

1st class lines up first and boards. Strange, since 1st class is forward. When the rest of the poor schlubs line up, they enter and must pass through the forward cabin. Time and grace is lost by the 2nd class passengers having to make their way through the 1st class cabin, whose members are stowing their carry-ons and finding their seats, and generally acting like rules of politeness don't apply to them, as regards to the "little people." Meanwhile, those selfsame little people are scanning the faces of the 1st class elites for celebrities. Deliberately planned confusion.

This, to me, is herding. Placing cattle prods into the hands of the TSA thugs to keep the line of cattle moving, is the small next step.

Meanwhile, the American aristocracy still walks out 'pon the taxiway, in the crisp morning air to the stairway that leads up to an aircraft the luxury of which most of us can only imagine.

Now, I wouldn't gripe if these elite were industrialists, builders and creators--men of self-created wealth. They deserve all the luxury they can afford.

These counterfeit aristocrats are parasites, men and women who've accumulated their wealth and status by having fleeced the productive people of America. Often never having held an honest job in their lives. And, 'tis they who've set up the rules thusly, so that the victims of their system know their place.

American life should be rethought, placing status in degrees according to an individual's creative and productive ability, not his ability to victimize others.

People should not be afraid of their governments; governments should be afraid of their people.

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Drill For Oil? That's Incredibly Naive!

I don't often watch Keith Ubermann--who wants to listen to an ex-sportscaster with a minor speech impediment talk about politics? Ok, as a good, politically correct libertarian, I have to apologize for calling him an ex-sportscaster. Problem is, I went to Fox to watch O'Reilly, but he started right off accusing "the evil oil companies"of price fixing, monopolizing, trying to profit at more than 4%, and probably child dismemberment. When it comes to anything sexual or anything involving oil, O'Reilly must have serious issues. There is no rationality whatever in the man's head regarding either of these issues.

So, I switched to MSNBC and the Ubermann show.

The topic with Ubermann, predictably, was oil as well. He showed a clip of McCain suggesting that it would be a good idea to allow offshore oil drilling. He still, stupidly, won't admit drilling in ANWR is a good idea, which must be a concession to his famed reputation for bipartisanship. Still, drilling off the coast of the Stalag, as well as Florida, the Caribbean, the Gulf and other places, would help. He then showed B Hussein Obama saying that "drilling won't have any effect on the price of gas today." I'm pretty sure this is an exact quote.

Of course it won't, dummy. We aren't drilling today.

The Aussie sang, "If you want your boomerang to come back, first you've got to throw it." The proper counter to B Hussein's proclamation is, "If you want the price of gas to come down, first you've got to drill it."

Aside: A clip of B Hussein at a campaign stop in Iowa where volunteers were filling sandbags. He said (subsequently cut from the clip), "I can do that! I've seen shovels before!" At which point he took up a shovel and slowly, deliberately placed part of three or four scoops of sand in and near a sandbag held by a swooning supporter.

The blushing Democrat then put the bag in the trunk of his car, saying he was going to have it bronzed and hanged on the wall in his den.

Back to the point. I don't know how many times lying leftists have quoted, word for word, the mantra, "We can't drill our way out of the gas crisis."

Well, yes we can. Drilling, in fact, is the only way. Developing an inexpensive, universally available high quality replacement for petroleum to fuel our vehicles, heat our homes and supply fuel from which to produce electricity will happen, but not today. Not tomorrow. And if government gets involved, not for a long, long time.

The truth of the matter is, most political officeholders, both Democrat and Republican, want to immobilize Americans. It's been observed that most feudal serfs never traveled more than ten miles from where they were born. They were far easier to manage that way.

People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of the people.

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Highjacking At T-Shirt Point

First, allow me to suggest that all of this airport security is really a scam to put in place a system by which all prospective travelers must be cleared by government to leave their current location. Additionally, it gives them the information as to just where they're going. The Third Reich did just this sort of thing--in a much lower-tech fashion as befitted the time--in Germany during the period leading up to WWII. Looking at the way the US federal government (and others) is arranging things, it parallels the German model fairly well.

Although, as we all know, the whole of what is sniggeringly called "Homeland Security" is dressed in the trappings of keeping Americans safe from terrorists.

First it was guns. Then it was knives. Then it was anything that could be remotely imagined to be able to break the skin--such as pen knives, nail clippers and--I kid you not--knitting needles. I haven't yet heard whether they confiscate blind folks' canes. Then, they started inspecting shoes. May their hands all develop athletes' foot. They started confiscating bottles of shampoo and tubes of toothpaste. They started feeling up people's genitals and women's breasts. Checking out pregnant women's abdomens.

I remember when the airport people would open the door. They'd check each passenger's ticket and let them walk out to a portable stairway that led to the door, where a stewardess would take a look at your ticket and give directions to your seat. Ah! Those were the days. The only federal sloths at the airport were safely confined to the tower, and were rarely seen.

'Tis true that the airlines, who have a true, rational interest in keeping dangerous individuals from interfering with the plane's flight to its destination, were very lax concerning their responsibilities along those lines. Several highjackings to Cuba should have lit a bulb somewhere, but didn't. I suspect there were federal restrictions as to what could be done, that interfered with the airlines' best interest.

Making a long entry even longer, I have to refer you all to the most moronic (not by far, but still, pretty dumb) event along these lines. It happened at London's Heathrow (where else?) and has cause groans of derision and peals of laughter all round the civilized world. As reported in Thisislondon.co.uk, a young man was refused boarding on an airliner and threatened with arrest for wearing a t-shirt with the image of a Transformer!! A Transformer that has some sort of machine gun for an arm.

Let's pause for a moment to allow ourselves to get up off the floor and recompose.

During a day in which there were at least a two teen-agers killed in knife attacks reported 'pon that same news page, whose murderers (if caught) face no more than a couple of years in stir, Heathrow officials are worried about a bloody (to use local vernacular) t-shirt!

This in a country in which self defense is illegal.

Englishmen! Englishwomen! Run, don't walk off that island, where insanity rules.

V, where are you when we need you?

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

What Will We Use For a Swastika Now That Swastikas Ain't Cool?

Swastikas are hated in the various United States, by most people. They won't play in the federal government as a symbol for our gestapo. It might cause a resistance to form. Americans would be very good at resistance if the heat in the proverbial pot were increased too quickly. The feds have been turning it up pretty quickly these past few years, and the portion of America that's not asleep with dreams of the security of a benevolent government, taking needed steps to protect us from an enemy that would destroy us all, are becoming increasingly aware that this is no longer the America of Thomas Paine, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, et al.

In a practice run at setting up checkpoints at all rail stations in the country, the feds have been helping finance the New York City police department's quasi military control of the city's subways. You know, the famous subways of many a stage play, movie and anecdote, in which one can get to within a few blocks of just about anywhere in the city worth going for a nickel. Of course it, like everything else, is no longer a nickel.

Police started, somewhat over a year ago, checking random grocery bags and book totes for what....? Oh, yes! It was for bombs. Everyone in city government and the media said it wasn't a violation of one's Fourth Amendment rights. If one wanted to avoid the search, he could walk from Fifth and Broadway to Jones Beach. Carrying one's MP3 player, Speedos, a sandwich and a thermonuclear device.

No big deal. If you take the subway, we'll just take a peek in your daypack and you're on your way.

Well, as government takes away your rights in big bites, and missions creep along the baseboards, it didn't stop there. Magee Hickey, a reporter for WCBSTV News in New York, reports here that NYPD officers, clad in full armor and carrying MP5 submachine guns and M4 carbines, and accompanied by drug--I mean bomb sniffing dogs are now manning (and dogging) the various subway stations in the city.

The story also states that similar squads of storm troops have been stationed around the Empire State building, Wall Street and other New York landmarks for years. What a joy! I wonder if they were stationed around the World Trade Center prior to Sept 11th.

All this money being spent, when all that'd be needed is an armed populace! Armed on their own nickel and unpaid, happy to just consider themselves capable of their own defense.

Welcome to the brave new world.

This is, of course, just a trial balloon, to see if the most compliant of all Americans, New Yorkers, will rebel. They won't. As long as the heat isn't turned up too fast.

NYPD, the organization whose members like to find a poor foreigner in a doorway, brace him (in plain clothes), and when he reaches for his wallet with his id, shoot him over 50 times (only hitting him 16 times. I wonder how many times they reloaded), is in charge of this fiasco. My guess is, it'll be a relatively short time until several subway riders will be killed after these Jack-booted thugs open up the MP5's at some drunk who runs when they brace him, and bullet ricochets fill the train station. They probably won't hit the drunk.

Why do you think these New York's finest are taking the precaution to wear armor?

I mentioned in a previous entry, there's little more the members of the Boot On Your Neck Party (both sects A and B), want than to control Americans' ability to travel at will. They'd put it in a request to Santa Claus every year, except that hizzonner Mr Claus can't go to New York any more without his bag being searched.

So, if the Neocons and the leftists (but, I repeat myself) get their way, and there are checkpoints every few blocks on every street, manned by armored thugs with submachine guns, what will be the symbol emblazoned 'pon their helmets and shoulders?

A cross within a crescent, maybe?

They've killed Freedom! Those bastards!

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

....And Another One Bites the Dust....

It just hit the news yesterday that Aloha Airlines is going out of business--at least as far as its passenger operations are concerned. Aloha's announcement can be read here. Aloha blames unfair competition for its distress, according to the press release, but what is the real reason?

During the current President's Administration we've seen a very radical turn toward fascism on the part of the federal government in incompetently mistaken reaction to the attack which destroyed New York's World Trade Center. Rather than follow the evidence and track down the leaders of the group that masterminded this act, and other acts previous, the Administration has decided, after launching a multi-billion dollar war against the wrong country, to crack down on American Freedom by, among other things, creating vast new bureaucracies to snoop on, keep track of, control the travel of, and monitor the communication of American citizens.

All of this is absolutely unConstitutional, a fact missed by both leftist and conservative politicians and pundits throughout the US and the world. Obviously, they haven't read the document lately (if ever).

What has this to do with Aloha Airlines? Just this: Many freedom-loving individuals are seeing the hideous gauntlet through which one has to run to board a passenger plane, and rejecting it. For most, it's a minor inconvenience that is accepted because there is no choice if one has to fly. For some, like the young lady who was required to remove her body jewelery with pliers recently, and for many others who are similarly abused, it can become a nightmare.

For some, it even means prison, if they dare protest too much--that is, if they attempt to defend themselves against the minimum wage thugs that man the checkpoints at the airports.

Little wonder that many of us, for whom flying is an elective rather than a requirement, choose the private automobile.

My theory is, and there's no way to prove it precisely, that many individuals are eschewing trips to places to Hawaii and other faraway places for locations to which one might drive. My last several vacations have been to Nevada, Arizona and right here in the Stalag--areas rich with scenic and pleasant places to which to get away for a few days.

I do not wish to be subjected to gestapo-like treatment by TSA's thugs at the airport. No, I don't have nipple rings, nor any other attached jewelery, but I do have a very legal folding pocket knife I'm fond of feeling nestled in my hip pocket.

Perhaps the number of mainlanders that similarly decided to drive to the Grand Canyon or to Las Vegas rather than be treated like Jews at certain German rail heads, is large enough to cause a small ripple in the economy of the smaller airlines, the brunt of which fell first on the back of Aloha Airlines. Too bad. Accounts are that Aloha was a well-liked carrier by its regular users.

The decline and fall of the American Experiment is matched by the rise of the Fourth Reich.

They've killed Freedom! Those bastards!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

You Coulda Had A V-8

As I've mentioned many times, because of all the bureaucratic foolishness in the evil Patriot Act, the equally evil TSA and Homeland Security in general, I've vowed to stay the hell off commercial airliners except in the most dire emergencies. What constitutes a dire emergency? Hard to say. One hasn't come up yet. I suppose I'd fly if it was required by my job (not likely) and there was no other way.

A trip to Europe? We've been planning one (loosely) but the ongoing turn from historic playground to islamic wasteland tends to lessen the trip's desirability.

Perhaps a family emergency, but most of my family resides within driving distance.

The notion of having to beg permission of the government to travel at will is not only unConstitutional, but essentially evil and against everything for which America's Founders stood. Each elected representative who voted for the establishment of Homeland Security, the Patriot Act and every atrocity committed by their membership, by commission or omission, should be prosecuted to the fullest degree the law allows, for egregious violation of his Oath of Office.

Yesterday, there was yet another in a long line of incidents that illustrate the inconvenience that occurs when utterly incompetent bureaucratic parasites (but again, I repeat myself) attempt to do that is well beyond both the scope and mandate of government, and the intelligence and ability of the civil servant. They seem to be trying to provide security to individuals in a situation whose technological nature is far beyond the ken of the bureaucratic mind.

The situation, as described by Andrew Kirtzman in a WCBSTV story here, involved someone spilled tomato juice 'pon an xray machine.

A TSA thug said that 'twas a vendor who committed the spill, but government thugs lie. Additionally, if the alleged security of airports can be so easily interrupted, isn't that a problem in its own right?

I'd wager that 'twas actually one of the dopey civil servants who committed the horrid act, and I'd further wager that said thug will not be punished, with the possible exception of a verbal admonishment to be more careful next time. That is, if you want to put an xray machine out of commission to score a longer break, don't let anyone see you do it.

Meanwhile, hundreds of travelers were inconvenienced, and many probably missed their flights. Doubtless, millions of dollars have been lost by the airlines and by lost business.

It'd be nice to hear the airline corporation executives raise some hell about these very common delays caused by bureaucratic fumbling, but they're largely spineless empty suits and live in fear of even more draconian regulation.

They've killed Freedom! Those bastards!

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Big Brother is Alive and Taking Notes

In order to gauge the willingness to comply with outrageous demands, presumed to come from the federal government, an evil corporation by the name of PIRE (Pacific Institute for Research and Evaluation) has managed to convince Gilpin County (Colorado) Sheriff Bruce Hartman that there'd be federal money in it for his county if the Sheriff set up a few roadblocks in which PIRE would be allowed to voluntarily take blood, saliva and breath samples from the occupants of travelers.

The fit hit the shan (thanks, Larry) when drivers later reported that PIRE examiners, dressed in "official-looking" blue uniforms, became insistent that reluctant drivers comply and be sampled. Some were detained for as long as forty-five minutes while PIRE examiners repeatedly and sternly asked them to submit.

At no time were law enforcement officers brought into play, except to handle traffic control.

Sheriff Hartman, who had apologized for getting involved in this scam, has been interviewed by Charles Goyette, for broadcast on The Charles Goyette Show Monday, Sept 24th. Details here. There are some relevant links in the story and further details, as well. The interview will also be available on the Freedom's Phoenix website after the broadcast.

The only reason I can think of for doing "private" surveys this way is to accustom Americans to the idea of "papers, please?" road blocks at random locations and times around the country. The fascist-oriented officials in government (almost all of them) have an abiding frustration over not being able to keep closer tabs on the movement of Americans.

If there are any federal officials that can be linked to this atrocity, they need to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for violating their oath of office, and removed from office, fined and imprisoned. A public hanging would be even better, as an educational aid for others. I imagine, however, that these errant individuals have carefully covered their tracks.

PIRE should have its ass sued off by all travelers inconvenienced.

Americans have to start drawing a line against these trial balloons and forcing the federal government's fascist infiltrators out the door and into the graybar hotel.

People should not be afraid of their governments; governments should be afraid of their people.

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Fastest Thumb in the West

Back in my hitchhiking days, as related in this earlier entry, mainly in the early 1960's before the hippies ruined it, I used to be able to outrun the Greyhounds on my thumb. I did so many times. Often, my rides came from truckers who wanted a conversation to help pass the time. Sometimes I'd ride in a truck all night long, talking with the driver about roads, cities, past adventures and even politics. He'd often spring for breakfast to boot, even though I'd try to talk him out of it. 'Twas I who owed him, and sometimes I'd manage to talk him into letting me take the tab.

Once, when hitching from the Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Waukegan, Illinois to Grand Forks in winter, I was dropped off at about midnight in the outskirts of Bemidji, Minnesota (Curling capital of the United States). It was cold. Very cold, and still. The air was so cold it couldn't move. I was in Navy blues (wool) with just a peacoat. I knew that if I didn't get a ride soon, I'd have to find shelter or I'd freeze.

There was very little traffic.

I kept my eyes on a nearby building, a meeting hall of some sort. It was all lit up. The plan was to go over there if I got dangerously cold. Or, if the lights started going out.

After about an hour, I knew I couldn't last much longer. Did I mention it was cold?

A truck appeared and I shifted to make sure I was in his headlights. He stopped!

Man, did that warm cab feel good! I thawed. Soon, I could move my knees and elbows without hearing the creaking of my joints.

There were two drivers in the truck--one in the coffin and one driving. They were Canadians. Because of the relative quality of American highways, Canadians often opted to use them instead of braving the northern highways, even with the additional miles. These guys were coming from somewhere near Ottawa and headed for Winnipeg.

The driver said he thought I might be in trouble. I told him I was about to start knocking on doors.

The guy in the back joined in, and we talked about Canada. I was kind of interested in Canada, because Grand Forks is only 75 miles from Winnipeg and I'd go up there once in a while. They had some great coffee houses there, in which there was poetry reading and folk singers. I never could understand beatnik poetry (I think I was too rational to get it), but I liked the folk music of the time. The Kingston Trio were among my favorites, and this one coffee house had a copycat trio.

I digress.

In the end, the guys said that I could visit Canada as much as I want, but I should stay in the US. They stopped at a truck stop in Crookston, where they were turning north. After a break and a hot cup, I bid the guys thanks and farewell, and they drove off as the first glow of morning appeared in the east.

Crookston is only about 15 miles from Grand Forks, and I got a ride pretty quickly. I hit the streets of town at about 8am Saturday, according to the First National Bank's time/temperature clock. The clock also flashed 30 degrees below zero (F).

Later, the tv declared that it had been 56 below in Bemidji overnight.

Little wonder that Babe is a blue ox!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Enjoying Las Vegas qua Las Vegas

While I did those things for which I came to Vegas, Debbie had been rammin' around the various hotels and casinos much of Saturday. The Liberty Lives! Conference was over after a nice buffet lunch early Sunday afternoon, following which I became freed up to check out some of these things, as well.

Debbie had been talking about seeing a show while we were there, but many of them were closed Sunday and others were outrageously expensive. Since we'd talked about seeing one of the tribute shows, she bought a couple of tix for a show called "The Rat Pack is back!"

As we walked from our hotel to the Greek Isles Hotel and Casino, which contains the theater at which the show is presented, we began to be concerned, as we noted that the building had a rather "weathered" appearance. Our concern was not partucularly diminished as we entered the building and observed a relatively small and spartan casino.

Concern mounted as we went to the will-call window to get out tickets. The male member of the couple in front of us was having a discussion with the clerk.

"Sandy said the tickets would be here for me."

I couldn't hear the "I'm sorry sir, I don't find anything in your name."

The man produced a cell phone. "Just a second. I'll call Sandy." And, turning to me, "I'm sorry this is taking so long."

He says something I can't hear to his phone, then hands it through the slot in the window. "Here's Sandy."

After a few seconds, the clerk hands the phone back to the gentleman, then after several seconds, pushed his tickets out to the gentleman.

He took his tickets, thanked the clerk. He and his lady turned to Debbie and me, apologizing once again.

Well, Debbie and I got our tickets, then went to the hotel's restaurant for a pretty ordinary dinner while waiting for showtime.

When we were seated, 'twas at a table well back from the stage. We were going to have trouble seeing over those in front of us. After pondering that fact for a few minutes, we were approached by an usher, who offered us better seats down near the stage. Whoopee!

The show turned out to be excellent! "Dean Martin" sang a couple of his standards, and did so extremely well. Facially, one could tell it wasn't really Dean Martin, but that's about the only way. He had the voice, the moves and the manerisms, not to mention the Dean Martin rap. As the show continued, the same proved to be true of "Sammy Davis, Jr," "Joey Bishop" and "Frank Sinatra." They were really good!

About two-thirds of the way though the show, "Marilyn Monroe" joins the group on stage. She banters with the boys in perfect Marilyn Monroe style, then is given the stage. She sings, going out into the aisles, soon asking who's having a birthday. Interacting with those who respond, she picks out an elderly gentleman and proceeds to sing Happy Birthday, in the style the original performer famously sang to President Kennedy, years ago. Planting a couple of lipsticky kisses 'pon the gentleman's face, she returned to the stage for the rand finale act, performed by all five performers, during which a jet of air reproduced the famous skirt-lifting scene from The Seven-Year Itch."

Great show!

As we stood to exit the room, who's sitting in the booth directly behind us? The couple who were in front of us at the will-call window. We chatted, briefly. Turns out he's Dick Hardwick, a comedian currently working at the Sahara. "Sandy," was Sandy Hackett, son of the late, great Buddy Hackett. Sandy is one of the producers of the show, and plays Joey Bishop.

We left the room still chatting with Dick and his wife, and ended up meeting the members of the cast and talking with them for a little while. Dick didn't say anyting, but I'm pretty sure it was he who got Debbie and me the better seats down near his table. Cool!

And I got to hug "Marilyn Monroe!"

We went casino hopping the next day, and did a little more gambling, collected a few souvenirs and went up to the top of Paris Las Vegas' Eiffel Tower. It might only be half the size of the original in Paris, but 'twas still very high at the observation deck up top. Debbie was white knuckling the handrail.

Then, there was the drive home. We'd had a lot of fun, and I include the drive home in my favorite car, at night, across the desert under the stars. There's a Bob's Big Boy in Baker. I haven't eaten at a Bob's Big Boy in easily fifteen years.

It would've been worth it just to drive there and then drive back.

They've killed Freedom! Those bastards!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Viva Las Vegas!

Well, I'm back. One of the fun things about the trip was the drive out there, starting at 0100 Friday. Cruisin' along a desert highway in the wee hours, where our main company on the road was 18-wheelers and billions of stars on a moonless night is hard to beat.

We arrived at the New Frontier hotel at about 0730 and found a nearly empty casino. We had a first-thing-in-the-morning beer at the bar, which was surfaced with video poker machines, then went into the hotel restaurant (The Orchard) for a real breakfast. The cook there actually knew how to fry eggs to order! They have a breakfast buffet there, but Debbie and I agreed to skip it in favor of the menu. All I'd do is eat a whole bunch of bacon, and I don't need that.

The room left a lot to be desired. It wasn't fully maintained--the TV cabinet (which we never used) had a broken door and the bathroom fixtures had a lot of old calcium buildups and corrosion damage. The large window gave us a view of the beautiful Wynn hotel across the Strip, instantly making us wish we were staying there instead.

The few daylight hours I spent in the room were spent watching the construction work on what looks like a second Wynn building going up alongside the first. I can watch construction work all day (busman's holiday), and watching the crews' skill as they lift rebar mats into place and tie them down, and watch concrete crews placing the material is so cool!

Both Debbie and I did a little gambling, with a surprising degree of success--if you define success as breaking even. Remember: the percentage is always with the house. Debbie got a kick out of watching the action at the craps tables and I enjoyed watching the play at the roulette wheels. Neither of us knows enough about the games to be able to bet intelligently, so in the end, all we did was watch.

One of the (sort of) disturbing things about Las Vegas flows from the fact that it's been thirty years since my last visit to the town. Thirty years ago, it seemed like the casinos made their money mainly from the games. Everything else was either free, or very inexpensive. Rooms were cheap. Meals ditto. Shows, too.

Now, everything is its own profit center, therefore everything costs what it actually costs. I guess I don't actually have a problem with that, but it seemed odd to have to pay as much for a steak as it'd cost in LA. I suspect the cause of the change has its roots somewhere in the tax structure. The government extortionists have to get their clutching fingers into the pot, as well!

I can't complain, though (well actually I can, but who's gonna listen?) because Debbie and I had a very good time.

While I attended Liberty's Conference, Debbie did some exploring. She went up and down the Strip checking out a few of the casinos. We did a bit of that together too, after the Conference was over. I'll get into that in a subsequent entry.

'Twas the best vacation we've had in years.

They've killed Freedom! Those bastards!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Liberty Lives!

I'll be heading out to Vegas for a few days, starting tomorrow. Among other things, I'll be attending the Liberty Editors Conference at the New Frontier Hotel. Speakers will include editors and contributors to Liberty Magazine. Part of the weekend will be a celebration of the life of Liberty's Founder and Publisher, the late R.W. Bradford, a fellow whom I'd really have liked to have known.

I'll write a report on the proceedings 'pon my return.

Remember, VOTE FOR NO INCUMBENT!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Life's Strange and Winding Paths

Having read Philosophical Detective's tale of the unusual twist in an old friend's life-path, I'm reminded of a somewhat similar if maybe slightly more common situation in my own experience.

I have a friend (since we were ten) who, after several years married and two kids, came out several years ago. I learned this from another childhood friend, after I went to my 35th anniversary high school reunion in North Dakota. He told me that Chuck (NHRN) had been in town that weekend, but hadn't taken part in the reunion festivities.

Since Chuck was living in Winnipeg, and I had flown in from the Stalag, I was a mite miffed that he hadn't made his presence known. I'd, of course, spent time with several of my other high school friends, rehashing old times and bringing each other up to date, telling lies and promising to keep in touch, but Chuck was one of those I really would like to have seen.

I had visited Chuck once during my biker years, back in the '70's. I rode up to Grand Forks on a vacation and visited a couple of friends. I got Chuck's phone number and gave him a call. After getting his address, I rode on up to Winnipeg.

The dopey Canadian border people made me leave my pistol with them at the checkpoint, but I was able to retrieve it on my way back. I don't know what Canadians have against self defense, but I swear they have a sheepish quiver in their voices and that they grow their own personal wool against the winter cold.

Chuck had a moral objection to the draft, and moved up to Canada right out of high school--and stayed there. I had the same objection, but solved it by joining the Navy. Being anti-authoritarian in the extreme, I had a rugged time with military discipline, but had a good experience with my time in service all the same. One hitch, though, and both I and the Navy had had quite enough of each other.

Back to my tale, I had a nice visit with Chuck and his family in Winnipeg. I got the impression of a very staid, conservative family man, whereas I was anything but that. I might've seemed like a bit of a wild man, riding up on a clattering motorcycle packed to the gunwales with camping gear, souvenirs and not-too-clean clothing.

Since then, according to my other classmate, he got divorced, and came out--all while being a very successful executive in a medical profession. I don't know what happened to his family.

He doesn't seem to want to communicate with me now. I'm guessing he might think I won't accept his orientation. Well, it does seem strange, but this is Stalag California, home of the fruits and nuts, and one can't live here too long without making acquaintance with the odd gay man. I've come to terms with that circumstance many years ago.

It'd be nice to be in touch with Chuck, but I guess it's not to be.

We had a lot of good times, back in the days of twenty-five cent-a-gallon gas and nickel candy bars.

Remember, VOTE FOR NO INCUMBENT!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Where There's Smoke There's Ire

In their seemingly never-ending crusade to make certain no one, anywhere can ever enjoy himself, we see yet another small portion of the surface of planet Earth 'pon which the smoking of tobacco will no longer be allowed by the smoking nazis. (The Orange County Register, Sept 14, 2006 print)

Orange County's beaches. Outdoors. Where the weather is generally relatively cool and breezy.

Now, I realize smokers are, in large measure, their own worst enemies. If I had a buck for every butt I've observed tossed out of a car or just dropped on the ground, I could've retired years ago. Some--in fact, maybe most--smokers are incredibly careless with their butts and their smoke.

One of the reasons for the thus-far proposed ban is a distaste by the public for cigarette butts in the beach sand--not to mention the possibility of one's stepping on a still-smouldering butt in the sand, with bare feet.

It might be speculated that there'd be a lot less anger at smokers by non-smokers were smokers more careful with their by-products.

When I was a younger man, I had the opportunity to spend some time 'pon the beaches of southern France, Italy and Greece. One of the things I recall especially is the fact that the beaches of Cannes and Nice are segmented by cute little fences and had controlled access. I don't know if they were privately-owned or merely leased by private operators, but there was an admission fee to enter the beach. Once inside, you selected a spot 'pon which there was a parasol provided. Waiters came around taking drink orders, or you could just lie in the sun and read, or swim, etc.

Part of what was paid for admission paid people to clean the beaches up, presumably, daily. I use the past tense because it's been many years since I observed all this, and it may not now be the same.

The point is, what we have here in the beaches of the Stalag is the tragedy of the commons. The beaches are public, they belong to all, which means they belong to no one. And that's exactly who takes care of them. What's the government's solution? The same as their solution for most things: heavy fines and lax enforcement.

What you bring to the beach, stays at the beach: your soda cans, cigarette butts, spare change that falls from your pockets, candy wrappers, tanning lotion bottles..... Who's going to pick them up? No one.

You don't think the lifeguards, the police, the parks & rec drones (civil welfare recipients, all) are going to, do you? The only reason the "public" beaches are as clean as they are is that many folks clean up after themselves. But many don't.

Other than the general hatred of many at seeing others enjoying a cigarette 'pon the beach, the biggest reason for wanting a law against smoking there is the cigarette butts--which no one will clean up. That's actually not a bad reason, but attend: there are never any cigerette butts laying around at Disneyland, nor at Knott's Berry Farm--even in the marked smoking areas. They are private property. Their customers pay to be there. The staff uses part of the admission fee to hire people to keep the place clean and free of litter.

We all expect that.

Throw down a paper napkin at Disneyland and step back and watch it. Within a very few minutes, there'll be a cleanly uniformed employee along to sweep it up.

The caretakers (?!) at the "public" beaches couldn't care less. They'd step on or over the napkin and walk on, and probably throw a hot dog wrapper on the sand alongside of it.

So, what am I saying? Well, I'm saying what I always say: Privatize. The foolish notion that the beaches will be better as "public" property is best tossed into the same trash can into which all thinking people have tossed the insane idea that farms and factories should be publicly owned. We, all of us who are civilized and rational, know it was a bad idea then and a bad idea now.

Who wouldn't pay a few bucks to have access to a clean, maintained beach with various amenities such as food and drink waiters and his own mini-cabana? With security against the well-known and often observed beach louts, thieves and drunks.

Why can't some of these private beaches allow smoking, and others not? Why can't some offer alcoholic beverages, and others not? Why can't some allow children, and others not? Pets? Volleyball? Surfing? Imagine the possibilities!

Remember, VOTE FOR NO INCUMBENT!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

Would Isolationism Really Be Worse Than This?

The United States has helped just about every nation on earth, one time or another, and sends aid money to many "developing" nations (read primitive totalitarian dictatorships). We're there to help in every natural disaster with both public and private aid. We try to humanely intervene in international struggles and help sooth the disagreements.

It never works. Most of the nations of the world regard United States to be arrogant and controlling. The United Nations, a body that wouldn't exist without our efforts, is basically anti-American. Even countries which would no longer exist, but for our help, side against us more often than not.

I don't entirely blame them.

A hundred years or so ago, the United States of America was a country to be emulated by emerging countries all around the world. We had very nearly perfect liberty. Our government protected our rights, but was not intrusive. Individuals could determine their own futures to a degree never seen on earth before or since. Advancements were being made by these same individuals, in both technology and philosophy, to a degree we can't equal today.

In spite of all that, we've become the country 'pon which blame for all the earth's ills have been affixed. Some of it is justified. Most of it isn't.

Face it. The United States federal government is and has been for over 100 years, unbelievably inept at international relations. Like one might imagine of the antiMidas, everything we've touched has turned to sh(fecal matter)t.

Our dipsh(fecal matter)tlomats get us into wars, both trade and shooting, without exception, with every alliance or treaty signed or attempted. No nation should ever regard itself a super power or a world leader.

It's been the height of arrogance on the part of the neocons that, since Reagan put a well-deserved end to USSR--for which we deserve the world's thanks--they think our intelligence agencies, our state department, our diplomatic corps and our military are infallible, omniscient, godlike.

Meanwhile, everything they touch turns to sh(fecal matter)t.

I propose that the federal government tend to the internal affairs of the United States exclusively and not communicate in any way with foreigners. I propose that the US military and all intelligence agencies suspend foreign adventure and devote all of its resources to protecting the United States from attack by foreigners--either governments, individuals or groups.

In the interest of trade, I propose that the private firm that wishes to conduct international trade, do so in the absence of any government action, and at their own risk. What problems they get themselves into, they must get themselves out of.

If individuals wish to travel outside the borders of the US, they must do so at their own risk, and get themselves out of any trouble in which they find themselves.

I suspect that those nations that want to engage in trade or that favor international tourism will take steps to make their country receptive to foreign visitors.

Our government has botched things so badly that we ought to look into criminal prosecutions of those incompetents who can be shown in a court of law to have caused difficulty.

I'm up to here with the criminal negligence that resides in Washington DC.

These people need to be looked after!

Remember, VOTE FOR NO INCUMBENT!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California

The Fountainhead Cafe

Traveling to New York City? Hungering for some Ayn Rand moments in the city in which she set her last two novels and lived for forty years? Check out the new Fountainhead Cafe on West 10th St. There are vegetarian dishes and non-alcoholic drinks.

"....If you watch people as they drink, you'll see that they get progressively less objective." says the proprietor, Chad Brandon, a Montana native who now lives in New York.

The Fountainhead Cafe is planned to be a place where objectivists can "get together and talk about ideas."

Next time I get to NYC, it'll be one of the places I'll visit.

Tip o' th' grey Fedora: The Wine Commonsewer

Remember, VOTE FOR NO INCUMBENT!

Warm regards,

Col. Hogan
Stalag California