My Own Private Airforce

The Greatest Flying Show on Earth

As I have already reported, my Swallows have returned, they have put four eggs in their house that I sublet to them, and the eggs have hatched and the family has grown.

I spend hours just laying back on the terrace and studying the birds in action. We tend to take birds for granted, that is if you live in the country. It’s not enough for us to live in this orange-tree forest, but we are entertained by our own airforce. The more I watch the more I realise that there is method at work. Firstly, this year our own family have a lot more friends who stay with them. Every night they sleep above the window arches, and at first light they wake up the morning with very animated chit chat and songs.

Their typical sentence runs “twitter….twitter…..twitter..soooo loooong” repeated many times over. It is such happy chatter, then they fly off to capture dinner on the wing. During the incubation period one of the parents were always with the nest, then the chicks were born and that started an intense period of feeding.

Finally came the day when the chicks took their first flight. Blanca, our cat was on standby just waiting for the chicks to make a mistake. However, the wonderful thing to see was the support they got from a whole host of visitors. There was so much activity and encouragement as one by one each of the chicks took to the air and made flying look so easy. It was definitely fiesta day at my house.

I am also very impressed by one other thing that cannot be a coincidence. When the weather is not good to hang our clothes on the line we use the lines under the terrace. I have been fearful that the birds will soil the clothing, but it hasn’t happened yet. Given the number of birds flying around and landing where they can, high enough not to get caught by Blanca, their cleanliness is amazing.

I have two neighbours who keep birds in captivity. What a shame, because my own airforce fly high, wide and deep, and when they want to they come back.

Nature is grand, and when we take the time to observe it closely it is truly a wonderful world.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Oldest Profession?

The Oldest Profession?

Do you hate your job?

When we think of the oldest profession in the world we normally direct our thoughts to prostitution, however, before that there must surely have come a profession that dealt with our more urgent fundamental needs of food, water, and lodging. However, we are talking about men’s needs, so that might not necessarily be so.

We could say with reasonable certainty that prostitution, in one form or another is universal.

v Greece, in the 6th Century, State-funded brothels were established.
v Spain, in AD590, the Visigoth King banned prostitution.
v England, under rule of King Henry II, in 1161 regulated prostitution.
v Italy, in 1358 embraced prostitution declaring that the profession was indispensable to the world.
v Italy, 1586, Pope Sixtus V declared that all prostitutes be put to death.
v France, 1802, abolished it laws that banned prostitution.
v Japan, in 1932 forced women into sexual service in so-called “comfort stations.” Women are still trying to receive compensation, or at least an apology.
v India, 1956 banns sex trafficking, but tolerates red light districts.
v The United States, 1971 in the State of Nevada licensed its first brothel.
v Spain, 1995, decriminalized prostitution per se, but imposed rules on the practise. Today, 39% of all males in Spain freely admit to using the services of a hooker.
v Sweden 1999 made it legal to sell sex, but illegal to buy sex.
v Holland, in the year 2000 legalized and regulated prostitution. Sex workers are unionised and pay taxes, and the industry is respected and controlled. There is active police vigilance against trafficking, and control by gangs and pimps. In Amsterdam, the famous practise of women who wait do so behind windows, and not on the street, giving an element of dignity. In 1989 13.5% of men in Holland admitted they sought service from the country’s 30,000 prostitutes, compared to 39% of men in Spain who have approximately 300,000 prostitutes to choose from.

Recently I found myself driving along a darkened street near one of the industrial estates around Valencia. There were so many girls lining the street revealing practical everything they had that I have re-named the street “Vagina Avenue.”

However, in The Netherlands they go one better than that. There is a brothel at Amsterdam airport, which gives new meaning to the phrase “having a layover.”

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

One Swallow does not a Summer Make!

One Swallow does not a Summer make, But…….

Two Swallows who, several years ago built a little house for themselves under my terrace roof, and return to it each year to augment their family, makes for a fascinating study. In my native Bermuda it’s the Longtail, the national beautiful bird that occupies so much of the time and attention of the population, but here in the mountains of Spain our annual visitor is the Swallow.

Firstly, we as humans say that we are the superior of God’s creatures, but just because we say so doesn’t actually make it so. When we sit and study some of the other creatures around us we should start to feel our own limitations.

We have two of everything essential, (two eyes, hands, legs, etc) plus we have managed to emulate birds by flying, sort of, but still these miniature, wonderful flying world inhabitants possess such incredible capabilities that they are true models for a number of things. Take communications, as an example: I sat and watched the parents of chicks in the nest take turns in feeding them. One parent would leave the nest just as the other arrived with split nano-second timing, and off they went dipping and diving, catching insects in flight that were far too small for the human eye to see. Somehow they communicate the fact, with a mouth full, that they are coming in and again, with split precise timing one leaves as the other lands.

Then there is the amazing spectacle of flocks of birds in flight in perfect sync, twisting and turning like some well-rehearsed ballet. How do they do that? What very advanced system of communication is involved whereby not even one makes a mistake by turning the wrong way? Fighter pilots spend hours studying birds fighting one another while the birds are in flight to learn something new.

I spend hours just watching them perform delicate balancing manoeuvres and simply going through their paces. They make it all seem so easy by using their tail feathers for support when necessary. And to top off their performance, if I’m lucky I may even get a song. I am tempted to say that it is amazing what joy we can get from the simple things in life, but these birds are more complex that I can imagine.

My only complaint is that their favourite perch is directly over my hammock, so with them above and me below, that could be a problem. I guess I will just have to consider any fall-out a blessing.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Street Prostitution

Street Prostitution -The lowest of the Low

“It shall be unlawful to copulate in the streets, or to solicit the sale of sexual acts to passing members of the public.”

Valencia has passed a law to the effect that it is unlawful for people to screw one another in the streets, because people have been screwing one another in the streets. You might think that this is such common sense that it would not be necessary to actually have a law on the books that speaks directly to the practise, but there you are.

In spite of a vigorous attempt to crack down on street prostitution there are thousands of women who wear next to nothing and make it abundantly clear what they have to sell. This practise degrades all women and is a terrible embarrassment.

I came across three or four girls at a roundabout wearing what seemed to be only panties, and they showed large mounds of pubic hair. “Christ!” said I. Because I couldn’t believe my eyes I joined the line of cars going round and round. The girls were being very clever. They were wearing pantyhose and thongs and a patch of fake hair to represent their own pubic hair. It was very effective in getting our attention and gave me quite a laugh.

I have to imagine that a street hustler is engaged in one of the most dangerous occupations of all, because they have no way of knowing who they are going off with, or what the man might want to do to them. Just this week the body of a prostitute was found on the street, having been killed, presumably by a “John”. These are the lowest of the low; the poorest of the poor, and the most unprotected. They will almost all be controlled by pimps, and many will be hooked on drugs, and diseased.

There is no attempt to monitor their health, not even when the police sweep them up and throw them in prison. I must wonder how a woman comes to fall so low in the world. Earlier in this series I told of finding myself involved with a group of six Nigerian women who had been beaten and robbed. They were grateful to me for taking them home, and I was invited to attend a party celebrating one of the girl’s birthdays. I was somewhat reluctant, but I was intrigued by the question: Are whores people too?

In the atmosphere of the party I noticed a circle of friends who it seemed were not in the game, and there was a mature woman who was evidently their controller. A couple of the girls had boyfriends, but this was a group of people from Nigeria, so I think it’s fair to say that the men were probably living off the earnings of the girls. However, if I did not know better, on the face of things they all seemed to be a perfectly normal group of people having a good time.

They came to be on the street because they came to Spain with nothing, and it was desperation that drove them to try and raise some money. They would have also been in the game back home, and coming to Spain was in search of a better life. How very sad to have to continue in the same life here.

The police operate a vice squad in an attempt to clean up the streets. I was walking with my wife when we came across a hooker. I made it a point to pass very close to her so that I could say, in a whisper, that whoever tried to take her home would be in for quite a surprise. She was a he policeman, and not very convincing, but I suppose a man who was drunk wouldn’t know the difference.

I stumbled on the saddest sight of all late one night when my wife and I were driving home from an event in the city. The route we took was through an area close to the port. The traffic slowed down to a crawl because there were a lot of people in the street. The area was dark and grubby, and as we got into the thick of the people we realised it was a sex supermarket. In my headlights I saw an attractive girl take the hand of a handsome middle-aged man, and together they walked toward an abandoned building for a rendezvous. In that situation no-one had any dignity, but those two in particular stood out as a really sad case of a lonely man who was being given a little human warmth in the act of the holding of hands. I have never forgotten that sight.

If a man is looking for love or human warmth from a hooker he is looking in the wrong place. I even think that to expect to take off his clothes as though he were making love would be a mistake. Taking your problem to a whore is like going to the toilet. You are looking for relief, and as soon as you climax, in the mind of the girl it’s done, and who’s next is the question.

I make no judgement over prostitution as a profession. It has been around since time began, and will continue long after I have departed. Of course, for those people who are forced into the game, and who are abused and used by other people, they have my concern and sympathy. Many will require help and understanding, and I hope that they get assistance. I am a happy and content man in my marriage, and I hope that I never have to feel so desperate that I need the services of a hooker. For those who do I don’t think there should be a stigma attached, except that you may be furthering the exploitation of a helpless girl.

For those involved in this kind of life I cannot see anything at all for them to be happy about. As “Jennifer”, one of the prostitutes from Nigeria said to me, she hates the life and she hates the men who use her.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Middle Class Prostitution

Middle Class Prostitution

Continuing the series: So you think you hate your job!

Prostitution is a democratic institution, in that there are service levels to fit all types and status of clients. We have spoken of high-class hookers, and the fact that they form a very small part of the pyramid at the very top. The next step down is the middle-class crowd, and here is where things start to go kind of strange. There are problems in the higher echelon as well, because when we consider the basics, this is an industry that panders to people’s most fundamental needs, and what some people need is off the chart.

In Spain, we have a very healthy attitude towards sexual intercourse. Everybody should do it because it releases tension, reduces madness caused by a lack of getting some, and it usually feels good. Sometimes, it feels downright great! However, the government do not like to have people doing it in the street, or soliciting in public.

If prostitution is not outright illegal in Spain, it is a permitted activity, but families should not have to observe working girls in action. Therefore, it is urged to take place indoors. Consequently, there is a whole industry that covers glamorous, aggressively advertised leisure clubs that promise the client that his fantasies will be met in comfort, discretion and healthy surroundings. Just bring money; lots of money.

There are also less classy clubs in the country that even look forbidding from the outside. They usually call themselves “Night Clubs” and where I come from such places that are known as Night Clubs would be perfectly respectable. They might feature a show and dancing. Not so in these clubs. I frankly don’t know what goes on within, and I’m never going to be stupid enough to go and find out, research, notwithstanding.

However, a buddy of mine told me that he ventured into a bar with a name that said “topless” out front. He said that the two female bartenders were indeed topless, but he got the shock of his life when one of them came round and offered to let him massage her breasts, and she offered to do him a blowjob. That might be a bit much if all you wanted was a beer.

There are the bars with “Go-Go” or Pole dancers, but I haven’t heard of any bars in Spain where the girl will pick up your 100-euro note with her vagina. There are plenty of those in the good ole U.S.A.

From the working girl’s point of view it must surely be better to work inside out of the weather, and in relative security. Some men have very low opinions of whores, as though they are not people. They take it as their right to be abusive, and some men even think that whores should be killed. A woman needs protection from such perverted thinking. Consequently, here in Spain if you are lonesome and you have a sexual itch that needs someone to massage it, all you have to do is pick up a copy of the daily newspaper to see what is on offer.

It boggles the mind to look over the menu of the things that people are prepared to do for money. Simple sex seems to be the least of it, and services are available to men by women; to women by men; to either sex by same sex members; to couples by other couples, or either a man or a woman. One of the most startling adverts came from a grandmother who offered to lick the client from top to bottom. I wondered whether the client would shower before, after, or just not bother. Oh dear!

To indicate just how serious the leisure business is, take for example the largest brothel in Spain is a 3000 square metre complex that features a restaurant, two showrooms, 80 working bedrooms, a pool and garden area, and has 150 hookers on duty at all times.

Where all this goes so very wrong is when we consider that some of the girls are not there of their own free will. Any club that has to traffic in humans to keep a sufficient stock of staff to run their business immediately loses any credibility they might have had. Trafficking in humans is a very serious crime and is not to be encouraged at all.

Forced prostitution is the same as slavery, and slavery is the very worst crime of all. Always has been, and always will be!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Election Day

Election Day -Spanish Style

Today, the twenty-second day of May, 2011, is election day across Spain when voters are going to the polls to vote in Municipal elections. The cynical will say that on this day those who have been busy robbing the public are asking for forgiveness, and to be given the chance to continue their activities that they so much enjoy.

I have never liked political parties. As a young man, when I first became aware of politics, in my country we voted for individuals from our neighbourhood who wanted to be sent to parliament to represent our interests. They discussed matters with their constituents and they voted according to how the majority felt.

If a member from some other district came up with an idea that was clearly in the interests of the island, it was debated and approval would be given, based simply on its merits.

Then came party politics and all that changed. Everything is in the interest of party domination and party re-election. So what if the other side has an award-winning idea, the party in power would argue it into the ground lest the electorate saw value in the opposition.

I also don’t like politics in general because cash tempts the most honest and moral person. Everybody seems to have an agenda, and when you are the person in the middle the pressure must be awesome. Added to that is the general impression of the public who believe that all politicians are corrupt.

I have known persons who entered politics full of courage and moral rage against corruption. They were slowly worn down by the weight of public opinion, and the expectation of the public that ultimately some fell in line and fed happily at the public trough together with their colleagues, or they quit politics altogether.

Here in Spain the attitude to corruption is really quite amazing. If you are a politician and you are not putting money in your own pocket, why not? Some of those at the very top are in the courts charged with doing this or that, but they are also hoping to be re-elected today. I am outraged that these bastards have so little regard for my intelligence that they expect me to vote for them, or at least for sections of their party.

People have taken to the street to protest the behaviour of such scum but they are so arrogant that they take no notice. We people will vote anyway, and we really don’t have much in the way of choice between either major party, so who cares?

Well, I wasn’t going to vote at all, so disgusted am I, but then I thought what if I cast my vote for the lone Independent candidate? What if all the people who feel like me did the same thing, and what if this became a trend in future elections, might we go back to the future?

That is what I shall do. I shall go now and vote “Independentista!” Boy, will he be surprised.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Perfect First Black US President

The Perfect First Black US President: President Barak Obama

Much has been written about President Obama since he authorised the take down of Osama bin Laden, but trust me, this essay will be the most unusual angle you have ever seen.

First, a little something about me: I am a black man, but I am neither a Democrat nor a Republican. I‘m not even an American, but I have a lot in common with President Obama.

I was born in Bermuda, a close neighbour of Washington D.C. and as such what happened there was reflected where I grew up. I am in my seventy-second year, so in my lifetime I have seen a whole lot of things, and there have been even more things that have changed. During my early to middle years I have lived through legalised discrimination in a country that practised apartheid as much as though we were in South Africa. Of course, my ancestors came to the west as chattel where they were bought and sold in the fashion of animals.

From such humble beginnings, through the help of white men who laid down their lives partly over the principle of whether it was right or not to treat human beings as black people were treated, creeping gains have been made over many years. I relished every improvement, and no life adjustment went unnoticed, but “America will still have a very long way to go after I die,” or so went my thinking. “There will probably never be an elected US black president, or for that mater, a woman president in that country.”

When Shirley Chisholm, a black woman ran for president, I thought: Wow! Now wouldn’t that be something if somehow she got elected. Jesse Jackson made a grand run, and he gave one of the very best speeches at the Democratic National Convention that I have ever heard, but somehow, in my mind Jessie wasn’t quite the right candidate. He was carrying a little too much baggage.

Then, a Republican black member, Colin Powell, was thought to be thinking about making a run for the Oval Office, and this was something that caught all of America off guard. For so many years we had talked about a black president in the United States. Hollywood had treated the fantasy with Morgan Freeman, and the black actor who played the president in the series “24”. With Colin Powell, all he had to do was say the word and I am sure that he would have been assured of election with the pride and confidence of his Republican party, because very seldom there comes someone so obviously presidential material.

Of course, we all know that he went on to be George W. Bush’s Foreign Secretary and dispatched his duties with more of a presidential air than George Bush himself. It is a mark of the man’s intelligence that he had the great sense to say no to the opportunity, if it was an opportunity. Frankly, the position is so fraught with stress and challenge that I wonder at the mentality of all those who actually want to hold the office.

Black people have been told for so long that we were incapable of doing anything significant. We knew better, and in many ways where we got the opportunity we have been proving our capability, so we knew that we could do as well or make as much of a mess as any white man.
With that in mind it gave every black person in the world a great sense of satisfaction when the Democratic Party confirmed Barak Obama as its Nominee. Many of us might have been wanting for Hilary Clinton to get the selection as she would have made history as well as the first woman president, and she may still do so, but Barak Obama was the choice, and history was made. Finally, in America, black people were being taken seriously, but more important America had grown up and the paradigm shifted.

Previously, in order to occupy the Oval Office you had to be a white male. Anytime artificial criteria are set, that automatically means that real talent possibly will be overlooked. America had finally decided to choose on the basis on who they thought might be best for the job without regard to sex or colour, and that was a sea change.

America was at a place in its history that was so bad that the only thing that seemed left to be done was to push the “flush” button. The last thing that we really wanted to happen was that a black person be appointed to such an impossible job. If he fails that would likely set people’s impressions back centuries and confirm what the nay -sayers had been saying all along. We have seen how the American people can trash a president they don’t like, and my friends and I did not want to wish that on Mr. Obama, simply to make the point that America had a black president.

Barak Obama has come to the world stage with a clean background and he has conducted himself with dignity and with confidence. He has made very few mistakes along the way, and he has played the political game with shrewdness and aplomb. He has achieved certain things, in the words of former President John F. Kennedy, not because they were easy, but because they were difficult, such as health care reform.

He is a joy to listen to as a speaker, and now, he has pulled off the ultimate success in taking down Osama bin Laden, America’s most wanted man, dead or alive. He is only a politician, not God, but he acts very much like the ideal President, and whether one agrees with his political views or not, he is a credit to black people and he is setting the stage for other black candidates, and also women candidates. Hilary Clinton could possibly sail into office in 2016, partly on the basis of his continued success, and the stage might be set for a candidate whose name absolutely warms my heart: Condoleezza Rice.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Osama Bin Laden

The Late Mr. Osama Bin Laden

The end of Osama Bin Laden is one of those stories that is so juicy that if you are a blogger and you don’t treat it, people will ask what’s wrong with you. I am moved to write because I have long felt that he was not living in a cave, nor was he living a solitary deprived sort of life.

I was fairly certain that he was living in a place with electricity that allowed him acess to a television, and to be able to record his messages. I also thought that he had the comforts of home. However, in my thinking, I was sure that some powerful war lord had put him up in his compound in Afganistan, and that he probably had the comfort of women as well.

The foundation for such thinking was that the hunt for him had gone on far too long, and to envision anybody so committed that they would live like a hermit in a cave, especially as he was a rich man, for all these past years simply goes against the grain of human nature.

Now, he is no more! He may have been directing Al Quedea all these years from his comfortable hideout, although they didn’t seem to place too high a priority on cleanliness, but we have to be amazed by how determined the U.S. was in getting their man. No matter that he was holed up inside another country. Just go right on in an get him. The U.S. might makes it right.

I recall President Obama saying early in his administration that if he had actionable intelligence inside Pakistan he would follow that through. People are slowly coming to realise that although he might be a very moral man, he does mean what he says, most of the time.

America is very indignant about the fact that it was attacked on its own soil. Some people came into the country and carried out some outrageous actions that killed a number of its residents. Presumably those were people who felt that they were morally right to take the actions they did, just as America probably feels the same way when it invades someone else's territory. America always feels that it acts by taking the high road, and that history will judge it to have always have been morally justified.

I’m certain that it does try to be on the side of right, but it’s all in the eye of the beholder whether that’s correct or not. In the case of Bin Laden the SEALS went in to kill him. Period! Two taps to the head and American’s Most Wanted man got an X across his picture. Spare the paperwork.

My, how the world has changed!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Royal Wedding

The Royal Wedding of a Happy Couple

Topic “A” this past week has been the wedding of Prince William of the British Royal Family to Catherine (Kate) Middleton, and as weddings go, every wedding is as important to each couple as all others. Consequently, the wedding of William and Kate was just a wedding. However, because of who he is that generated a whole lot of pomp and circumstance, so, I as a man actually watched the event because of the environment in which I was, and because when so much is scripted, there is so much that can go wrong.

I held my breath as people walked alongside of women with long dresses, hoping that they didn’t step on the dresses. I also hoped that both men and especially women didn’t misstep and fall down. I even worried that the weather might spoil the event, but at the end of the day all went well, proving that once again the British are masters of the rehearsed and superbly orchestrated spectacle.

My favourite moment came when the couple left Buckingham Palace in a convertible and drove around the corner to Clarence House with balloons trailing and a sign that said, “Just Wed”, as if anyone in the world was not aware. I’ve decided that I want to write a couple of paragraphs not to add even more redundant information, but to focus on something that I thought quite strange.

The guest list read like a who’s who of people from around the world. There were the couple’s own friends and work mates and former school chums, but then came world leaders, and the rich and famous, basically people who have outrageous egos. Seating was arranged giving family and British royalty select vantage points, but over 1,000 people were considered the general congregation and they were sat in a place where they could not see a thing, except if it was televised, in which case they might just as well have stayed at home.

With people suffering from such inflated egos, to be called “The General Congregation” might have been just too much. To add injury to insult they had to arrive at the church at about 8am and sit there until 11am when the service got underway. What about bathroom breaks? Perhaps that’s what all those trees were for. Even the minor royals were not spared as they arrived at the church in rented mini-buses.

Back at Buckingham Palace, after the service some of the guests had to enter the Palace from a side door. Probably the same side door I used when I visited the Palace as a paying visitor. I just hope that they also didn’t have to leave through the gift shop.

I presume they considered it all worthwhile, but I’m sure we all have one thing in common in that we wish the newlyweds a happy life together.

Now, come on Harry, we need to start planning a future happy event. You’re having far too much fun as a single man.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Road Trip

Good Friday

It’s Easter, 2011, and we are doing something I thought we would never do. We have set out on a road trip to visit a friend who has moved from Spain to France, and the only time we can find to make a visit is during the Easter school break. Normally, when all the world, and his brothers and sisters take to the road I stay at home. That is because over holiday times like these there is usually a spike in deaths on the road. As a compromise we gave them all a head start and we waited until Good Friday to set out. Good move, as the roads were practically empty.

We left Valencia on the way to Zaragoza as a first stage, with a stop in Teruel for coffee and to stretch our legs. We arrived at noonday when the drums broke their Good Friday silence in a roar. The tradition is for drummers to commemorate the Crucifixion and burial of Christ starting at noon. It also made for a very nice welcome to us. In all, there were about 50 drummers, and that for us was quite impressive. Little did we know!

We carried on our travels arriving in Zaragoza about 3pm, and we found our hotel easily because it was situated on the Plaza Pilar, one of the main centres with a massive open space, fronted on one side by the great Basilica and church, and on the other by hotels and restaurants. At the moment that we arrived there was one of the Brotherhoods on parade with drums and wearing the pointy-headed costumes that is normal for Semana Santa festivities.

After a nice lunch we wondered around for a little while, and very rapidly it was time for the great processions commemorating the burial of Christ. This is done by parading Christ in various stages of the taking down from the cross, to the final depiction being Mary, the Mother of Christ being portrayed in all her pain and sorrow.

We had read somewhere that this would involve a total of about 10,000 drummers, but we assumed that to be a typo. There were many Brotherhoods participating, each one from a different church, and consisting of about 200 drummers in each group, some of them were very little children whose drums were bigger than they were. The processions went on for about three hours and were very colourful, so I suppose that in the end there were about 10,000 drummers, or so it seemed. The noise was deafening and was not to be ignored.

I’m not a very religious person, but I did have empathy with the believers on that day. One point of interest was that we had asked a policeman about the route of the parade beforehand, and whether the procession would pass our hotel. He said that they never passed that way, however; the parade has finished about an hour ago and we are now back at our hotel. Probably most of the groups are not yet prepared to call it a day, so they are parading around and around the plaza in front of our hotel.

That’s all well and good, but when are these people going to go home?

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Strange Dreams

Wille and the Monster Hand

Everyone and his brother and sister has at one time or another done what I did last night. I had a very strange dream, in colour, complete with smells. It was something right out of Stephen King, and the thing that is most peculiar of all is that I cannot find any hint of what might have brought this type of dream on, in such exquisite detail.

The Setting:

My dream involved a cast of characters of a single parent, poor black family living on the Louisiana Bayou. There was a mother, two boys and a girl. They lived in a wooden rundown shack with a porch, and they were surrounded by water with alligators. The principal character was the youngest boy, about 10 years old. His name was Willie who had several problems that made him a little strange. He was constantly picked on by his mother and by both his siblings, so Willie became a loner He had a mutt for a friend and he wandered around poking into this and that. In my dream I could hear the dialogue and the bullying of this little boy. The one thing that hurt him the most was his mother saying, “Willie, you’re just like your daddy, good for nothing!”

In my dream I was seeing this story unfold as part of a movie audience. We, the audience were certain that Willie would be taken by an alligator, and several times he had very narrow escapes that gave us a real shock. One day while Willie was playing in the water, something, that we never got to see, bit him on his right hand. His hand instantly became swollen and took the shape of a giant lobster claw. The claw had a mouth and a stomach, and it could talk. The claw became Willie’s best friend and his secret.

Whenever there were other people about the claw disappeared. The claw had an obsession with cats. Whenever a cat came into view the claw would drag Willie after it at incredible speed, and it would eat the cat. Other than that the claw was harmless. However, it was aware of the bad treatment that Willie was suffering from his family. On one such example of abuse from his brother the hand/claw struck his brother really hard, against Willie’s will. But the blow so stunned the brother that he backed off.

One day Willie was in his room talking to his claw when his mother heard something and went into the room surprising Willie. He immediately hid his hand/claw behind his back, but his mother insisted that he show her what he was hiding. Of course, Willie said he didn’t have anything, but his mother became violent with him. Let me see what you have behind you, Willie! We could see that the claw was making angry gestures, so we thought that the worst would happen. Willie! Show me what you have, Now!

And I woke up. The only thing that I had seen during the day was an advertisement for “Saw III, 3D” Of course, this is a terror film but I haven’t seen any of the Saw series, so that may have triggered the thought in my mind to create a horror story, but I can’t think of anything that would have directed my thoughts that way. Dreams are wonderful ways to escape, and they can be so vivid and detailed. I know there are people who try to make some sort of science about interpreting dreams, but frankly, I think dreams are usually just the entertainment during the sleep trip. They provide a means to fantasize and even to get the girl that is otherwise unattainable. That’s all, and nothing more.

The thing that is unusual about this dream is that I remembered it long enough to write it down.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Strange Dreams

Wille and the Monster Hand

Everyone and his brother and sister has at one time or another done what I did last night. I had a very strange dream, in colour, complete with smells. It was something right out of Stephen King, and the thing that is most peculiar of all is that I cannot find any hint of what might have brought this type of dream on, in such exquisite detail.

The Setting: My dream involved a cast of characters of a single parent, poor black family living on the Louisiana Bayou. There was a mother, two boys and a girl. They lived in a wooden rundown shack with a porch, and they were surrounded by water with alligators. The principal character was the youngest boy, about 10 years old. His name was Willie who had several problems that made him a little strange. He was constantly picked on by his mother and by both his siblings, so Willie became a loner He had a mutt for a friend and he wandered around poking into this and that. In my dream I could hear the dialogue and the bullying of this little boy. The one thing that hurt him the most was his mother saying, “Willie, you’re just like your daddy, good for nothing!”

In my dream I was seeing this story unfold as part of a movie audience. We, the audience were certain that Willie would be taken by an alligator, and several times he had very narrow escapes that gave us a real shock. One day while Willie was playing in the water, something, that we never got to see, bit him on his right hand. His hand instantly became swollen and took the shape of a giant lobster claw. The claw had a mouth and a stomach, and it could talk. The claw became Willie’s best friend and his secret. Whenever there were other people about the claw disappeared. The claw had an obsession with cats. Whenever a cat came into view the claw would drag Willie after it at incredible speed, and it would eat the cat. Other than that the claw was harmless. However, it was aware of the bad treatment that Willie was suffering from his family. On one such example of abuse from his brother the hand/claw struck his brother really hard, against Willie’s will. But the blow so stunned the brother that he backed off. One day Willie was in his room talking to his claw when his mother heard something and went into the room surprising Willie. He immediately hid his hand/claw behind his back, but his mother insisted that he show her what he was hiding. Of course, Willie said he didn’t have anything, but his mother became violent with him. Let me see what you have behind you, Willie! We could see that the claw was making angry gestures, so we thought that the worst would happen. Willie! Show me what you have, Now! And I woke up.

The only thing that I had seen during the day was an advertisement for “Saw III, 3D” Of course, this is a terror film but I haven’t seen any of the Saw series, so that may have triggered the thought in my mind to create a horror story, but I can’t think of anything that would have directed my thoughts that way. Dreams are wonderful ways to escape, and they can be so vivid and detailed. I know there are people who try to make some sort of science about interpreting dreams, but frankly, I think dreams are usually just the entertainment during the sleep trip. They provide a means to fantasize and even get the girl that is otherwise unattainable. That’s all, and nothing more. The thing that is unusual about this dream is that I remembered it long enough to write it down.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Libya

Would you buy a used car from this man?

I have always thought that Muamar Quaddafi was quite mad. Just the look of him and his actions suggested that he was not playing with a full deck The one thing that is for certain is that Quaddafi is no Mubarak. His people know him better than I do, so they would have known that they were playing with explosive material when they decided he had to go.

I can unerstand how frustrating living under his rule must have been, and seeing the results next door in Tunisa and Egypt must have been tempting. " The time is right," would have gone the thinking, but when you are dealing with a perceived madman with tremendous resources you have to know that the odds are not on your side. And so it is being proved correct. It was a grave mistake for the people of Libya to attempt to get rid of The Colonel in this manner, and they must now pay the price of their ill-conceived actions. In spite of a no-fly zone and attacks on tanks from the air, Quaddafi has the upper hand with arms and fools who will use them against themselves, in the end. This is very sad as I can understand the urge for freedom. They cannot win, and when it is clear that he has put down the rebellion he will turn on the very people who helped kill the uprising. Meanwhile, a very dangerous precedent has been created. The U.S. and others have attacked Libya for doing the very same thing that Bahrain and Saudi Arabia will likely do in the future. Those countries will not suffer the same fate. They are too important as producers of oil. What a mess!

Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Deadly Duo

Earthquake and Tsunami

I believe it may be correct to say that everyone in the world, who has access to a television, is in shock over images of the massive power of Mother Nature. The earthquake and tsunami in Japan is the very best documented by cameras of any major disaster, thanks to the Japanese obsession of recording everything on camera.

What I have seen is so overwhelming that it is impossible to find words to explain my reaction. However, I’m fairly certain that my response was universal, as I watched in horror, with mouth open, occasionally muttering “Oh….. My……. God!”

We have had two major events of a similar nature, one in Haiti, which was completely unprepared, and the other in Japan where earthquake readiness has been refined to a fine art. However, no-one can be prepared for a tsunami of the size and power of the one that rolled over Japan.

Tsunami: a Japanese word, literally meaning, “harbour wave” but in practise is a large destructive ocean wave caused by an underwater earthquake.

Recently, I watched a documentary of the history of the world that was presented, I think, by National Geographic. It was truly interesting and very well done. It covered the various changes that the world has undergone since time began. The history of the world reflects the fact that there have been periods when The Sahara Desert was under water; of when mountains were under water, and flatlands became mountains through eruptions.

In the beginning all of the land mass was joined, and since then, through violent eruptions and movement the land was torn apart and moved thousands upon thousands of kilometres apart. Climate has gone through several cycles from ice age and heat. Whole species have been wiped out. From time to time certain species need to be culled as they place an over-bearing strain upon the earth’s resources. Mankind is doing just that as we speak.

What is clear is that Mother Nature decides to periodically change things around, as any good Administrator is inclined to do. In the early years the world was not very developed by man’s hand, and the changes that happened affected relatively few people. But, look at the world now. An earthquake of minimum proportions, or a hurricane impacts a lot of people. However, these changes are part of the constant evolution of the world. At the moment the cycle is Global Warming that many refuse to believe is happening.

The Japanese tragedy is a Triple disaster consisting of three principal earthquakes that happened simultaneously, followed by a catastrophic tsunami, and the icing on the cake: a full-scale nuclear meltdown. One day the people were celebrating life, and the next, without warning they were dead. My thoughts are with them and their survivors.

Warning! There is more to come at a location near you and me.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

A Wonderful Cat Story

Anyone know how to administer a pill to this wonderful creature?

A family of four, Mother and Father, son and 14 year-old daughter were in the process of relocating from one country to another. They were at the airport securing their dog and cat for the flight, when an accident happened in the airline office. A worker accidentally knocked the cat carrier to the floor, and that caused the carrier door to spring open, and the cat sprang out.

“Close all doors and windows!” went the cry. “Don’t let that cat out!” Just then, someone walked in and the cat was gone in a flash, which was the cat’s name. Given that this was in an airport there are “no-go” areas, and “absolutely no-go” areas. However, airport staff, Customs officers, Police, and travellers all ended up chasing the cat all over the building. “Dear God, please don’t let him get on the runway!”

The plane was ready to leave, so father and son left with the dog, and mother and daughter, whose cat it was, stayed to try and corral Flash. Fortunately, when the cat left the building he was on the public side and running for the sea, followed by mother and daughter. A man was passing in his car, having just collected his young son from a flight. He followed the women where they were peering down a very deep drop at the sea. They could hear the cat at the bottom in a crevice, with the sea lapping at the shore.

The man was an off-duty Customs Officer. “Wait here”, he commanded. A very short time later he reappeared with a very long rope. He said to the daughter that he would make her a harness and lower her down, and hopefully the cat would come to her. He was amazed how readily she agreed. So, carefully he lowered her where she got soaking wet, but a terrified Flash came shaking to her. Now that she was holding him and crying she couldn’t get back up because she didn’t dare let the cat go.

As there was more rope left, her mother said I will go down and together we will get the cat back. Unfortunately, the airport had gone back to business as usual and no-one else had come after them, because the man could have really used the help of several strong fellows. That notwithstanding, he somehow managed to pull both of the women up, and the cat, with the help of his young son.

A substitute cat carrier was found and they all left on the next flight. Their adventure had begun!

The world seems to be crumbling around our ears and we are besieged by bad news. In the midst of all that negative stuff this story happened. It was a chance for one very unassuming man to become a full fledged hero; a young girl’s heart was broken and very quickly mended; a lot of people got a chance to try to do something very positive; and the story ended happily.

It simply doesn’t get any better than that!


Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Playboy, Penthouse, et. al.

Too much of a Good Thing?

I recently watched a television presentation about the rise and fall of Playboy, and that reminded me that I bought the first edition of the magazine, and many, many editions after that. Playboy consumed my imagination and changed my outlook on life. I bought not only the magazine but the whole concept. I was a Playboy Man, and I tried to embody the total lifestyle.

I took up smoking and I smoked Cool cigarettes, because that was the brand that Playboy pushed. Later, when the magazine changed to Benson & Hedges, I changed too. Then, when they said that the real Playboy man would smoke only Benson & Hedges Gold, and would carry his cigarettes in a gold case, and use a gold lighter, I went right along with all of that.

It seemed that girls were reading Playboy as well, as they seemed to know exactly what was expected from the modern woman. Life for me, at least for a time was one big party. However, if you are hearing a tinge of regret in all of this, you are right.

These were times of sexual freedom and people did some things in those days that you would have to be absolutely mad to do today. Remember, these were the days before AIDS. Herpes was something we didn’t like to think about and we played Russian roulette with our bodies. Then came AIDS, but the problem was exclusively one for the gay society, so we partied on. Then it found its way into the hetero-sexual society and that took the smile of confidence from our faces. As we came to understand more about the incubation period we became downright worried, and I turned my back on all those monthly men’s magazines.

Personally, I came to realise that something had not been added to life, but rather we were, and are suffering a sense of loss of magic. In the relationships between men and women it is not in my opinion a healthy thing that there is so much openness. We wear clothes for many very good reasons, and one of them is the guarding of the mystery of each other.

I admit that to begin with I bought and kept the magazines for the pictures of naked women. The pictures grew more explicit until I could tell what the girl had had for breakfast. There was nothing more I needed to know about her, especially as a picture on a page. That same attitude carried over into my private life and my inter-action with women. Unfortunately, women became as expendable as the magazines, and that was really the whole sadness of it all.

By comparison, we see how Islamic men and women inter-act. The woman is covered up in public, and in some cases to ridiculous extremes, but her beauty is reserved for her husband and her family. He is presumably constantly stimulated by what he only feels but does not actually see, but Western man has no need for his imagination, and consequently, without the aid of the mysterious his interest quite naturally wanes far too soon.

I recall the moment the light went on in my head. I had spent an evening out with a new woman, and at the end of the evening when I took her back home I was invited in for a “nightcap.” Generally that meant sex. However, I really liked this woman and it didn’t seem right, so I asked her to be patient with me for not asking for sex on our first date.

She broke down and cried, and spent the next hour trying to make me realize how difficult life as a woman was. We men, it seemed expected her to pay with her body for any time we spent with her. She had to decide that she would go to bed with me when I asked, before saying yes to a date. For that reason she hardly ever went out.

I felt, on behalf of all my fellow men, like a real shit!

For the publishers of men’s monthly magazines, they might have realized that a case of less would have been more, but I don’t expect that any of the people who took the money would ever see that. As time moved on, I found myself far more interested in the very excellent articles in the magazines than the girls. I started to question my sexual being, but the fact of the matter is that you can only serve up cheesecake so many ways to make it interesting. After that, I need to move on. I no longer buy the magazines, and nude pictures of women do nothing for me. Even the topless girls on the beaches of Spain leave me cold, and apparently most of the other men feel the same way. One day a woman and a man went walking along the beach, both of them topless. I doubt if much more attention was paid to her than to him. What a sorry thing to have to say.

Hugh Hefner is now about 85, and for him, in his words “it’s been a hell of a ride, and it’s not over yet.” Even if we look at his life we see a man who has seemingly grown sick and tired, or at least blasé of too much of a very good thing.

For me, looking back if I had it to do all over again I like to think I would have done many things differently, especially succumbing to the Playboy lifestyle. I gave up quality for quantity, and that is never a good thing.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Capitalist America with a Social Conscience

Open to New Ideas

It has been ingrained into every American child that the American systems of capitalism and democracy are the only correct systems for the world, and that it is very difficult to think beyond those teachings when your country is as big and powerful as the U.S. However, the world is not a place like that where only one way is true and acceptable. The world is a diverse globe with many systems in which people believe. Others may criticize, and indeed there will always be room for improvements in all systems, but the challenge is to keep an open mind that can lead to a better style of living in each country.

I was one of the people who looked on with amazement over the battle to expand health care reform in the U.S. to ensure that citizens were not dying in the streets due to inaccessible health care. I could not see why there was even an argument at all over the basic philosophy.

America is a country that believes in the value of personal meritocracy. Study hard; work hard; gain the promotions and work your way to the very top and you will be revered and entitled to all the respect and reward that is a part of your position. There is fundamentally not too much that is wrong with that in theory, except that there is very little room at the top. Every society should have a healthy middle class, and even the lower class should be entitled to a respectable standard of living.

The rich take care of themselves, and they are very choosy about whom to invite within their ranks. The meritocracy about which we speak is usually the path forward that is lubricated through who one knows, rather than what knowledge is actually possessed. How a society takes care of its middle and lower class is the standard by which it is judged. The so-called trickle-down system can only work if there is enough to trickle-down. In these very difficult times it is somewhat debateable whether that theory is of any use.

These times call for more flexible thinking, the so-called “out-of-the box” creative thinking, and that means prejudice against other ideas will serve to defeat one even before starting. I’m not putting forward any particular ideas for acceptance by the panel of U.S. scholars who must resolve their country’s problems, but one idea that Spain has used as a form of financial stimulus program for several hundred years is a national lottery, the purpose of which is to put as much money as possible in the hands of as many people as possible.

These lotteries take place around Christmas and the beginning of the year, and winnings are tax-free and paid in one lump sum. The tens of thousands of winners use their new found wealth to pay off debts, buy new houses, cars, and generally to share it into the community.

The point I’m trying to make here is that such a lottery system as socialist as this will probably never get consideration within the U.S. simply because it is socialist. It certainly has far more merit than the one-person wins all type of lottery.

More information on this idea can be found at wikipedia.com/elgordo. In the meantime, keeping an open mind to new ideas can be one of the most positive things one can do.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

My Once-in-a-Lifetime act of Violence

My Once-in-a-Lifetime act of Violence

The results were at least constructive

In one of my previous blogs I wrote about bullying, and the fact that anyone is a bully if he or she seeks to put another person down in order to "big up" their own self. Having talked to a couple of people it seems that life is constructed of the bullied and the bullies. This is a very serious problem, and a flaw in human nature.

It will come as no surprise that I confess to having at one time played the role of both.

As a young child I found it easier to hang out with the losers. At that time I was not a good student and this greatly troubled one of my teachers, who I will call Mr. Sweeting, because that was his name. I had failed to complete my homework assignment for him, again, and he said that I would have to stay after class to complete the work. I was not a happy chappy.

After the other children had left he told me that he wanted me to stay because he wanted to say that he thought I was throwing away my opportunities. He could tell I could do so much more with my studies, and that by hanging out with a group of boys who obviously would not achieve much in life I was hurting myself.

That message was received by me as him disrespecting my homies. How dare he! I wanted to hear no more and began to leave. I bullied him, and there was a little scuffle, he stepped back and I was gone. I was fuming on the way home when I got an idea. I would tell my father that he had slapped me around without provocation on my part, and my father would go to the school and sort him out.

When my father came home I put on my sad face and told him my story. I said I just didn’t think it was right that an adult should be treating a child in such a manner. My father immediately became genuinely angry, to my complete satisfaction. My father was a big man, and a person who was strictly uncomplicated. Trouble between a teacher and his son! He wasn’t having it. How did he hit you? Was it an open-handed slap, LIKE THIS!!! SLAP!

The slap knocked me off my feet and sent me sailing through the screen door that was left hanging on one hinge. Now my father was really pissed because I had broken the door and he would have to fix it. I lay in the dirt wondering what the hell went wrong when he came out and scooped me up. He said, did he hit you with a closed fist, like this? I will tell you that I screamed a scream unlike you have ever heard:” No! It never happened!” My scream must have been heard halfway around the world.

He said, “ I send you to school to get an education. I don’t care if the teachers have to pound it into your head with a mallet. Don’t you ever bring such nonsensical stories home, and do not make it necessary for a teacher to complain about you. Now, get an education!”

I sat outdoors for hours asking myself what the hell did I just do? Who did I prefer to lock horns with, my father or the gang?

The trouble started right away as soon as the gang sensed a change in my attitude. The bullying was intense as I tried to settle down to study. It all came to a head during one lunch hour when I went to the boy’s toilets. The gang followed me in and harassed me relentlessly, culminating in hanging me head down into the hole in a bench with the latrine below. My terror was so complete that someone went to call a teacher. That teacher was Mr. Sweeting who came to my rescue, just as the bell rang. He was also the teacher who took my next class, which was gardening.

My crying was unstoppable, so he placed me on my own in one corner of the garden and gave me a pitchfork to turn over the ground, and the rest of the boys were allocated the opposite corner. He then briefly left to inform the head teacher of what was going on. In that short space of time the gang leader, and bully-in-chief, came over to me. I didn’t even know he was there until I saw his shoes and heard him say, “so, you love me, huh!”

I don´t know where it came from. I didn´t think about it, I just picked up the pitchfork and slammed it through his shoe and foot until it would not go any further. He was pinned to the ground and his whole frame shook like jelly as he swayed like a giant tree. His blood seemed to spray from his foot like a watering hose.

The entire school went mad, and I was sent home. It was customary for me to walk the seven miles to school, so I set off to walk home. However, I did not go home, instead I waited on the shortcut where I knew the second in command would pass as he was my neighbour, separated by two houses. As he came into view the branch of the tree that I had in my hand crushed his nose like an over-ripe tomato. “Leave me alone!” That was my demand.

A policeman came to our house that evening to inform my parents of what had taken place. That was the first they knew that something had happened. The officer said that I had been under extreme harassment and bullying, and in all good conscious they could not bring charges against me, provided I took no further action.

My father looked at me in complete amazement, and I told him I was trying to get an education. He never moved, and his mouth just hung open.

The incident happened on a Friday, and on Monday morning I arrived at school early and took up a position at the flagpole. The children sensed that something would happen and began to gather around. I was waiting to sort out the leader of the girl gang who had also been a thorn in my side, but when she came up the steps and saw me she dropped her books and ran back the way she had come, and was absent from school for a week.

During that week a group of the boys came up to me to apologise for their behaviour, and because I was the one who took their leader down they wanted to pledge their loyalty to me. What did I want them to do?

My reply was as follows: “You come to school to get an education, so get an education! Secondly, leave me the hell alone!!”

I went on to become a grade-A student, normally graduating each class in first or second place.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

To Topple a Giant-Hosni Mubarak

To Topple a Giant-Hosni Mubarak


Over an eighteen-day period, starting in late January and ending on February 11th, 2011, the world watched as the Egyptian people wrote the manual on “How to Topple a Dictator.” Their methodology was perfect and efficient. Of course, their inspiration came from Tunisia where the people there were even more ruthless and successful, although their task was not as great as that in Egypt.

It all goes to prove once again that every great change starts with the power of one. On a day in Tunisia the police took away a young man’s food items that he was trying to sell. With that he became so despondent that he decided that he might just as well kill himself, and this he did by setting fire to himself. Those flames translated into the fire of discontent with the government and its leader who had ruled comfortably for 23 years. Within a week he and his family were fleeing for their lives.

Meanwhile, the people in Egypt took note and decided that what they had seen was a very good idea indeed. What the world has witnessed in both situations is nothing less than a sea change in the Arab world, and quite possibly in the Western world as well. People power, when properly harnessed can be awesome.

Egypt, a land of Pharaohs, Mummies, Great Pyramids, and The Sphinx has always been central to the rest of the world. The Egyptians have given so much learning to the world, and much mystery as well. It should not be too surprising that this most populist country of the Arabic world would lead the way in effecting such extraordinary change. Arab dictators and kings are now on notice that life and power can never be taken for granted.

Politics in Egypt has moved slowly and along the path of Dynasties. For Hosni Mubarak, who ruled for 30 years, this would have been an expected length of time to rule. I feel certain that he was intending to rule until the day he died. After all, The Pharaoh Ramesses II ruled for 67 years.

However, one thing is becoming clear in politics, and it is this: The patience of the people will allow for a maximum period of leadership of 12 years. That is three terms of four years each, enough time to implement changes and see them through to fruition. Beyond that the public start to grow restless and they crave change. Savvy politicians even run on a platform that calls for a change of political party to rule the country, simply because it is time.

Whether you are a King or Queen who directly rules your country, or a dictator or political party, you need to take account of the fact that after 12 years your time is up. Should you stay beyond that period of time you will outstay your welcome. We can only try to understand the shock and awe that deposed rulers are trying to cope with today after having been fired by their subjects.

What we have seen in Tunisia and Egypt are only the first steps in their change. What the future will bring for them is unclear. The United States hopes that U.S. style democracy will be the accepted form of life in these countries, but that form of governance has its own drawbacks in that party comes first before country.

We should avoid thinking that these historic events only affect the subject countries. In fact, they have a worldwide impact in ways that we are not able to comprehend at this moment, but your life and mind will be influenced as well.

P.S. The thought crossed my mind that if such an incredible action happened in Egypt, it could surely happen anywhere. I turned on the television the day after the president resigned and found myself watching pictures of people scuffling with police and being arrested. I thought that was all over with and I was very confused, until I discovered I was looking at live pictures from Algeria.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Suspending Disbelief

Suspending Disbelief-Hiking in Iran?

Apparently three young American hikers were out for a stroll in Iraq one day when they made a wrong turn and crossed into Iran. Oops! The Iranian authorities picked them up and charged them with being on a spy mission. Now, that government is under pressure to let them all go. They have already released the woman, who became engaged to one of the young men while in detention. (How did that happen?)

The trial has begun in Iran, in which the two men are in custody and the woman has been released back to the United States, but is being charged in absentia.

That is the public story, and the “hikers” have declared that they are simply adventurous and innocent young people. They apologised for trespassing, and the young woman has thanked the rich man who posted bail for her, which is an outright gift because she won’t be going back Now they all want the same thing to happen for the two remaining detainees, and that is supposed to be that.

The last time I looked Iraq was a country engrossed in war and internal strife, so why on earth would three innocent young Americans find themselves going walkabout there as though they were in Kansas? Did they miss the fact that thousands of people were dying while the bombs and IED’s were going off? Are we supposed to believe that they simply walked into a travel agency and asked to be booked to fly into Iraq? How the hell did they get into the country in the first place?

The Iranians think that they were in their country to spy. What would be so interesting in Iran to collect information about? Well, there’s just a little matter of the Iranians developing nuclear weapons that is of paramount interest to the U.S. So, sure, is there a case to answer? I think so, and I also resent being fed the line of bullshit that they want me to accept.

I have no way of knowing who the three people really are, but the one thing is for sure, and that is, I don’t buy their story. Do you?

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Former President George H. Bush

Former President George H. Bush - An American Icon

I watched an interesting interview between the former president, his wife Barbara and Larry King recently. I was delighted to see that both the President and Mrs. Bush seemed to have their health and were in full control of their faculties, and in particular they retain their sense of humour.

This was a president that I liked a lot. I should qualify that by saying that I am not a republican, nor am I a Democrat, for I am not even an American. These are important qualifications because when it comes to American political commentary you can never get a straight answer. It all depends on who you talk to. This is just to let you know that my comments will be as centre of the road as they can be.

George the father Bush always came over as a very likeable guy, although a little goofy at times, but I never had an issue with any of his policies as president. He was vice –president to Ronald Reagan, the man Republicans just loved, except of course the man who shot him, and I’m not so sure that he was a Democrat. I’m not entirely certain why Ronnie was so loved, except that the one thing he was good at was communicating.

He was a Hollywood actor turned politician who ended up playing the most important role of his life as President of The United States of America. His training in acting came in very handy, and if it were possible for him to have been elected for a third term the voters would have done so.

In a sense that is just what they did by electing his vice-president, and in his term in office George H. Bush gave the country a clear win in a war over Saddamn Hussein. Why the electorate then chose to throw him out of office is hard to fathom.

The last time that I saw him was at the commencement of Barak Obama’s presidency. He was not looking all that well, and I understand that Mrs. Bush has not been well either, so to see them both looking well and sounding feisty and funny was wonderful.

During the interview they covered a lot of ground, including their son’s presidency and some of the things that he did. Quite naturally they defended his time in office and the decisions that were taken, and there were comments from their other children and grandchildren as well.

I’m writing this not so much because of the President, but particularly because of Barbara Bush. I feel we should pay a lot more attention to this most amazing of women who was at the head of a household that produced a president in her husband, and a president in one of her sons; and a governor of the State of Texas in one son, and the governor of The State of Florida in another son.

I’m not sure of the accomplishments of her other children, and I was thinking of doing research to find out, but I have decided that’s enough already. What a lady! We need to know a lot more about her and how she turned her family into an authentic American Dynasty.

Stay tuned for the Barbara Bush story.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Footnote of the Father of The Girl next Door

Footnote of the Father of The Girl next Door

In a startling development during this past week, the father of the girl at the centre of my last blog collapsed in the bar that he spent every day, and all day at. He was rushed by ambulance to hospital, and as I write this the prognosis is very grim indeed. He is not expected to recover.

I do not know what the problem is exactly, but I’m betting that it has something to do with his liver

In spite of his maltreatment of his daughter I had hoped for a turn around of fortunes for him. He was a man who was suddenly faced with the sole responsibility of something that overwhelmed him, and he simply was not able to cope adequately. Sure, we can judge him harshly, but if we were in his situation could we have done any better.

It may be difficult to feel sorry for this man, but I can only hope that Heaven will be kind to him.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Girl Next Door -Final Chapter

The Girl Next Door -Final Chapter

I predicted that it would end in tears, and it did end that way, but that does not make me any kind of genius. Most people would have called it the same way. If you are just tuning in, here’s a little background:

The girl next door was one of my neighbours who is about 34 years old, but has the understanding of a person aged about seven. She has a number of problems and her mother was her greatest supporter, but the mother died about three or four years ago. What made the girl her own worst enemy was that she had a tendency of breaking out into a prolonged crying state during which she would vomit. It certainly sounded awful and nothing that anyone tried could help her.

I often thought that she was crying for the loss of a normal life that was being denied her. After all, she was a woman on the outside, but a little girl trapped in a woman’s body.

She was a very difficult person to manage, but her mother was always there for her with patience and understanding. Once the mother died she was left in the care of her father who had limited intelligence and was completely out of his depth with her. The rest of the family decided to get on with their lives and leave it to daddy, but he was so frustrated that he took it out on her. The abuse was horrible and the crying more frequent and intense.

None of the family came to her help, nor any of the other neighbours would step forward. It fell on me, the foreigner to report the matter to the police and the City Hall. Investigations were held and everyone agreed that the situation was just not right and that something had to be done. Time went on, and the abuse continued through the first anniversary of the initial intervention; and the second anniversary came and went, and I was certain that he would strike her and kill her in a drunken rage.

If that happened there would be tears all around, and much shaking of heads and shrugging of shoulders, and then everybody would go back to their lives except the girl next door. She would simply be gone, failed by the system and everyone within it.

And then, out of the blue the Nuns came for her. They took her to their Convent and introduced her to other young people with similar living problems. She cried copious tears in separating from her father as they spent every minute of every day together, most of that time living in terror for her. At least she knew her life with her father, and all these people were strangers to her. This was even more terrifying, but with the help of her new friends she quickly settled down and came to realise that she was making a quantum leap forward.

Now, she is a completely new person. She no longer cries, and she has proven that she can learn. She can reach out to her relatives; she can make decisions on her own, and she can complete ordinary living tasks and be responsible for herself to a certain extent. She has put on weight as she is eating properly and has found a new sense of self worth.

Perhaps that was what she had been crying for all those many years. I am so very happy for her. This story could not have a happier ending, even for her father who could possibly meet a widow and have something of a life for himself.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Smokers, and smoking in Spain

Smokers, and smoking in Spain

New Year’s Resolution for smokers in Spain:
“ I will not smoke in my workplace nor in bars and restaurants, etc in Spain from January 1, 2011.”

When I came to Spain eleven years ago, I had come from a country that had already turned its back on smoking in public and at work. One of the first things I noticed here was a young mother nursing her baby while smoking and I concluded that people here must be rabid smokers, and that Spain would never change its smoking habits.

From the beginning of 2011 smoking has been banned in all places serving the public; in places of employment, as well as certain outdoors areas. That order replaces the failed attempt that made a fool of the government by simply allowing owners of certain establishments to choose to allow smoking. That was what they did in the first place. This is an amazing turnabout, and one I am personally happy to see.

However, I must say that I have sympathy with addicted smokers, and that means about 99% of them. I am a recovering smoker, having given up the habit 48 years ago. After all this time the best I can say is that I’m still recovering. I am one cigarette away from starting again, and there are times when if my companion lights up I lean a little closer to the action. My position as an ex-smoker is: love the smoker; hate the habit.

Consider the poor person who is a committed smoker. When his body yearns for nicotine he simply lights up a cigarette. Because of weather complications, some smokers entered an airport, and didn’t exit until 12 hours later. All that time he is not allowed to smoke. That must really be difficult.

I take serious issue with the CEOs of the tobacco companies who took an oath to tell the truth, then stated that they did not believe that cigarette smoking was addictive.

Lying, dishonest bastards!

I believe, as all smokers do that cigarette smoking is addictive and that those Chief Executive Officers of their cigarette producing companies lead the charge to make them more or less addictive. If they really do not believe smoking is addictive then we have the situation that they don’t know what they are doing, and that is really, really scary.

The things that smokers do to non-smokers are truly horrible, and most seem to have no remorse. Have you ever dressed up in your finest clothing and found yourself in the midst of a gang of smokers. You have to smoke whether you want to or not. It’s called passive smoking. Passive, my ass! They force you to do so. They also make you stink, and your nice expensive clothes are ready to be thrown in the trash bin when you get home. I have heard of people who actually undress outside where they leave their clothes for days to lose the smell.

When you have smokers to your house they leave their tell-tale foul aroma. Because our house is a non-smoking area, our smoker visitors go outside to have a fag. They crunch out the butts in the ashtray (which I later handle like a stool sample) and come inside, where they exude the smell of tar through their veins. It’s a smell uncomfortably close to vomit.

I smoked during a period when smoking was Cooooool! It was advertised especially during PrimeTime television, but then The Marlboro Man died of cancer. Ooops! Back then we considered it was our right to smoke and we gave it no more thought than that. If somebody said yea, but what about my right not to have to smoke your second hand discharge; and my right to work in a smokeless environment; and all my other rights that you smokers trample on? I’m fairly sure our response as smokers would not have been very kind.

So, what can we non-smokers do to get even with smokers? To copy the disagreeable smell we could belch the used smell of garlic, or fart the smell of day old boiled eggs.
To copy the crunched up cigarette butts that smokers don’t seem to think is litter, I could drop chewing gum on your patio or carpet. (If I let you smoke in my house, then I’m the dummy.) I could do those things, but they are so disgusting that I simply would not. (At least not in the company of someone.)

Instead, you are now simply being thrown out, exiled to the great outdoors to form a ghetto. I’m sorry for you because you probably got started because the cigarette pushers gave you freebies when you were in college, or you thought the adverts were so wonderful, or like so many you simply carried on the great family tradition because your mom and dad smoked. Now that you are beginning to feel like a leper you are simply unable to stop.

But, the people who make the products say they are not addictive. What would you like to say to them?

Footnote: Now that the law has been in place for about a week and that compliance is ruthless, it is beginning to become apparent that life-long smokers are making a determined effort to quit by any means possible. Some are even admitting that this is probably the move they needed. While cigarette smoking does not kill all smokers, smoking is definitely not a healthy option. Any practice that adds costs to the medical health bill eventually is a cost to us all.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael