Imagine how surprised Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad must have been when he was informed in a taped meeting at The New York Times that his cover had been blown, and that the United States and now everybody else was on to the secret uranium enrichment plant his country is building 100 miles southwest of Tehran.
Ahmadinejad claims the plant is for peaceful purposes, but if you believe that you’re probably also betting on the Giants to win the pennant this year.
To his credit, President Obama delivered stern words to Iran, saying that rough sanctions would be imposed if Iran didn’t stop work on the plant and make it inoperable.
However, sanctions are meaningless to the Iranians because they are an oil-rich state and can get other, less-particular states to do business with them. Like North Korea, for example. Also, they know the U.S. hardly ever follows through on its threats.
Sanctions or no sanctions, however, we have little to fear from an Iranian nuclear plant, because it is unlikely the Israelis will allow it to reach a point where it would be turning out weapons which could be used against them.
The Israelis have an almost unblemished record of defending their national interests, and it would certainly be in those interests to blow that nuclear facility to kingdom come.
After defending themselves, of course, they would come home to a chorus of world condemnation, such as they have been getting for finally launching an armed response against years of Hamas rocket attacks launched from Gaza. Some of this criticism occurred because the Hamas soldiers bravely hid behind civilians instead of protecting them, and as a result Israeli bullets sometimes hit people who didn’t deserve to be hit.
No doubt some innocent Iranians would die, too.
Meanwhile, we should let the Iranians know that we will do nothing to stop Israel from doing its work.
As a resident of Madera County, I am requesting that reconsideration be given to the ban on medical marijuana dispensaries the Board of Supervisors enacted by unanimous vote Sept. 22.
I’ve been smoking marijuana for more than 50 years, though not continuously. Sometimes I sleep.
I am the father of four and grandfather of eleven, having been happily married to the same woman for 45 years. I enjoyed high (no pun intended … well, maybe) executive positions for decades in my chosen profession.
All eight of my daughters and sons-in-law are successful entrepreneurs, exceptional parents and staunch Republicans, deeply involved in their churches and communities.
Sheriff Anderson’s comments on medicinal marijuana seem embarrassingly provincial.
For example, his assertion that “cities with marijuana dispensaries saw an increase in crime” begs for independent verification.
The county counsel’s finding that “marijuana dispensaries would negatively impact the health, safety, and welfare of the community” is simply silly.
For more than 20 years, Dutch citizens over age 18 have been permitted to buy and use cannabis in government-regulated coffee shops. Even this non-medicinal policy has not resulted in escalating consumption. Rates of marijuana use in the Netherlands are far lower than those in the United States and rank average when compared to other European countries.
Setting aside recreational use, the proven medicinal benefits of marijuana are now far past mere anecdotal testimony.
One might as well condemn aspirin as a work of the devil.
I urge rescission of the Sept. 22 decision.
Mrs. Doud is in a particularly good mood this week because “Dancing With the Stars” has begun its annual, many-week run on television.
In case you have not seen it, the program matches well known people (aka stars) who may or may not know anything about dancing, with professional dancers, and over the weeks the pros try to help the stars figure out which foot is left and which is right. Along the way, as various dances are performed, some of the stars and their partner dancers get weeded out, until finally the contest is down to two dancers and their partners.
“How did President Obama do?” I asked Wednesday, after the first eliminations had taken place?
She gave me a funny look. I remembered, Obama is not on “Dancing With the Stars.” But he has been on just about every other TV program lately, thumping the tubs for the changes he wants to make in how the nation’s health care is funded.
This is nothing new. Presidents from Theodore Roosevelt to the present have used media space and time to some degree to promote what they thought was important — going around Congress, as it were, to get the people behind them.
The problem Obama faces is that even though he does a pretty good job on TV — for example, he doesn’t mispronounce words or speak grammatically unforgivable sentences — in the age of the remote control, he stands a good chance of getting clicked out in favor of more interesting medical programming such as “House” or “ER.”
His TV appearances are designed to convince voters they should write their reluctant-to-go-along Congress people and tell them to get off the dime and pass the health care package.
But he runs the chance of getting the dreaded click-off instead if viewers get itchy remote fingers.
Maybe he should give “Dancing With the Stars” a look as a backup.
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Several calls were received from people who objected to the county supervisor’s decision to close the Boot Camp.
“Have they totally lost their minds?” said a lady. “First they get rid of part of the fire department. Vern Moss will not be re-elected. At least Bigelow and Wheeler had a little common sense to try and get it done in a different way. Why don’t they talk to their employees to see what they are willing to give up? The guys who did the graffiti are already on the streets. Thanks a lot, supervisors. Maybe they’ll hit your house.”
Another unhappy lady said, “Hey, supervisors, how do you sleep at night? County employees are willing to take work furloughs. Instead you’re cutting out the boot camp, fire assistance in areas, and a lot of jobs. Are you taking pay cuts? Since now you are causing more unemployment, more crime rate, and how about the surplus money you have set aside to keep Manfredi on retainer?”
A man commented on the headline “county reaffirms fire cuts. It’s interesting how supervisors Moss, Dominici and Rodriguez all live within cities that have fire departments. So why do they care about county residents? It is also amazing that the winter time staffing of the Rancheria fire station just below North Fork wasn’t one of two to be cut because supervisors Wheeler and Bigelow and ex-supervisor Gary Gilbert all live in the response area of that station.”
A man wanted to “comment on last week’s lady caller who complained about the planning commission complaining about the Hispanic places of business, the color of the stores, and window displays.” This caller said, “It is not just Hispanic stores. It goes for all stores as far as the colors go. Those colors may go quite well in Tijuana. But here in California they are a little out of place. When in Rome do as the Romans do.”
A man commented on “the needed light over here on Cleveland (Avenue) and Raymond Road. I wish somebody would put a traffic light there before there’s an accident or even a death. I talked to my (county) supervisor, Max Rodriguez, and he told me it was not up to him, but up to the mayor. I wish they would get it together and get a light there.”
A lady called in response to the man last week that said parents should buy life insurance on their children instead of having car washes to pay for funerals.
“He is wrong,” said this week’s caller. “Instead of paying corporations to do what we should be doing, for example having the community help each other, he’s suggesting we pay corporations to do what we can do as a community. That way nobody makes money out of us. It’s irrational and I disagree.”
A lady called “about the sidewalk on north (D Street?) … and Adell (Street), near Desmond Middle School. It is so bad and so dangerous. The traffic is bad and the children are walking in the streets.”
A woman “hoped the (Madera Unified) school board and athletic directors are liable for our kids when they go to tournaments.” She claimed “the girls volleyball coaches are speeding down the freeway doing 90 miles an hour with our kids. We need bus drivers taking kids to tournaments, not coaches.”
A man called about an article in another paper concerning “the swap meet at the drive-in and officials and city at odds over the owner exceeding the limits of his permit. I just wonder why the Tribune doesn’t print somewhat controversial articles or information for the rest of the city to be aware of. Is there some sort of good old boy network between the city and the paper? Are you afraid of losing a two-column, four-inch ad that the theater advertises on a daily basis?”
A woman said, “Every so often a large religious group uses the Women’s Improvement Club’s old building on north Q Street. The large group takes up all the nearby parking for the residents in the area. They stayed the whole weekend and all night. I wonder how such a large group fits in that small hall. I wonder if the city knows about it.”
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Right now, in the town where I did most of my growing up, frantic preparations are under way for the annual potato harvest. In Shelley, Idaho, along Spud Alley, which parallels the railroad track, empty freight cars stand waiting. Inside the warehouses, stacks of burlap bags and flat boxes await filling. In some warehouses, some of the spuds from early digging may be going through the sorters, but there won’t be many of them.
The town is still getting over the excitement of Spud Day, held the third weekend in September.
It was huge. On Wednesday evening was the Miss Russet pageant, which had to be moved to the Hillcrest High School auditorium in nearby Idaho Falls, because nowhere in Shelley (population about 3,000) had enough seats.
The Tater Trot was Friday at the Shelley High School track.
Saturday began with a big pancake breakfast at the Senior Center, and that was followed by the Spud Run and Half Marathon, the Children’s Parade (I was in a few of those, riding my trike) and the great Spud Day Parade, which brings people from as far away as Firth and Woodville.
The biggest event, though, is always the free baked spud giveaway at the southeast park shelter.
If more people knew about this, they would come from a lot farther than Firth or Woodville. They would fly in from New York, New Orleans and San Francisco. Because nowhere else is it possible to get a baked potato that fresh or that good.
If you want to get one of those potatoes (but not baked) all you have to do is go to McDonald’s. Most of McDonald’s fries are cut from Russet Burbanks grown in the deep volcanic soils of the high valleys of Idaho, Washington and Oregon. But if you want a truly great baked potato, head up to Shelley.
My friends of Hispanic heritage love to load peppers on just about every dish they prepare. And I’m not talking about those wussy peppers like you get in the little green cans, the ones you can stir into scrambled eggs and still eat them without having to undergo a tongue transplant. I’m talking about the peppers that look like they mean business, the ones you can buy from bins at the Bridge Store, that look like they will burn through the bottom of the plastic bag before you get them to the check stand.
Those are the ones I’m talking about. The ones that set your mouth ablaze, the ones that make your lips feel like you took a big drag on the lighted end of a blow torch.
Yes, those peppers. I go out of my way not to eat them, although once in awhile, I’ll accidentally scoop up a chip full of salsa that is so hot it also functions as stove cleaner in the restaurant’s kitchen. When that happens, I immediately signal the server and ask her to bring me a block of ice so I can put my tongue on it.
As you may have guessed by now, I don’t eat a lot of those peppers because I am an old Gringo whose ancestors came from a place where mashed potatoes were considered really, really spicy food, especially with a little brown gravy on them.
But I might change my mind about peppers, especially if I happen to get a pain in my chest when I am sitting at a table watching others eat salsa that would rip my tongue out and stomp on it.
Hot peppers, says The Wall Street Journal, might help you survive a heart attack. Just rub the hot stuff in them — capsaicin — on your chest and abdomen, and if you are having a heart attack, it may help you survive.
Of course, if you have a little rash on your chest, or a little cut, and you get the peppers on it — you may prefer the heart attack.
I’m not one who drinks sodas with sugar in them. For me, it’s diet Coke, diet Dr. Pepper or diet Pepsi all the way. That’s why I don’t personally care if plans to put a tax on sugared soda pop are carried out.
The penny-an-ounce tax (about 12 cents a can) being proposed by San Francisco’s mayor and gubernatorial hopeful, Gavin Newsom, would be imposed mainly on San Francisco’s young people, who are the main Coke, Pepsi and Dr. Pepper drinkers. But that’s okay in this case. If you don’t look like Newsom, you deserve to pay more taxes.
Newsom, a skinny Democrat, is a believer in the data we’ve been hearing lately that the reason Americans seem to be getting fatter is because of all the sugary soft drinks we consume (or rather that you consume, what with my being sugar free). Because as a people we are getting more obese, we also are getting more diabetes, more high blood pressure, more heart attacks, etc., and dieticians are blaming a good part of it on all the sugar Americans consume, especially what they consume as children.
And there’s probably some truth in those data, although there are other data that also show we are eating more fruits and vegetables, too.
Newsom probably hopes piling a tax on sugary pop will have the same effect that piling taxes on cigarettes had, which was to discourage some users from using. With a package of cigarettes costing what a carton once sold for, it’s no wonder fewer people are buying smokes. But to have the same effect on soda pop, a cent-an-ounce tax wouldn’t cut it. The tax would have to be more like $3 a can or $10 for a 2-liter bottle.
And to whom would all those taxes go? Probably to support the poor, who wouldn’t be able to afford to eat because of all the money they’d be spending on soda pop.
If you are among those who think we as a nation should do all we can to increase our use of renewable energy sources, raise your hand (my hand is up, too). Well, if you are one of those, prepare to be disappointed. It isn’t going to happen, at least not while most of us on this planet are still alive.
A case in point was played out recently in the Broadwell Valley of California’s Mojave Desert, which is probably the best place on earth to site a solar array plant, such as the private company Brightsource was interested in building on 5,000 acres of long-unused former railroad and now government property.
This property, reportedly some 5,000 acres, is basically barren desert. Its only asset is sunshine, and plenty of it.
The solar plant, in the form of rows of parabolic mirrors that would have focused the sun’s rays on a boiler atop a tower, would have produced 500 megawatts of electricity with solar-heated steam, about enough to power 400,000 homes.
But California Sen. Diane Feinstein, D-San Francisco, put the kibosh on the proposal. She wants the land for a national monument, never mind that the desert already is full of national monuments, including Death Valley and Joshua Tree.
Brightsource has withdrawn its plans, and along with it any chances the state may have had for moving forward right away with its plan to generate a third of its electricity from renewable sources by 2020.
So-called environmentalists, who want green energy, ironically are making it ever harder to site green power plants.
Solar plants, wind farms and dams with hydroelectric capacity are almost impossible to put up these days because some people, using “the environment” as an excuse, don’t want them in their back yards, no matter how useful they may be.
A copy of The Old Farmer’s Almanac for 2010 fell into my hands this week, and I am happy to report that this reliable publication predicts above-average precipitation and below-normal temperatures in Central California for this fall and winter.
Good. We need a few wet years.
The book also predicts an onset of global cooling, although one should presume global warming will continue over the long haul because of all the hot air that emanates from the world’s capitals, especially Washington, D.C., and Sacramento.
The almanac is full of useful information, such as which stars are the brightest and when. That is knowledge I never felt I needed, but I know many who pay close attention to the heavens and what goes on there. I have never been able to figure out the constellations, but the book has them down pat.
Most interesting about the book are the advertisements — ads you won’t see in many other places. For instance, there is an ad for Free Magic Spells (Tell Us What you Need). There’s also a book about “When You Should Never Eat Strawberries.”
There is an ad for the ComposTumbler, which is a pretty good product. I had such a device more than a few years ago, and it turned out a lot of compost. Of course, you have to take care of it, giving it a good turn every couple of days, or it is no better than any other compost pile.
The book also offers a home-water lightener — it makes water lighter. Light water apparently cures everything, tastes great, and costs hardly anything at all once you make the reasonable initial investment.
Finally, an ad for New Face has attracted me. The product is guaranteed to cure skin discoloration, wrinkles and prune lips. I’m going to order some. I don’t have prune lips yet, but why not be prepared.
