tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62033675482030142192010-03-03T18:08:02.120-08:00Mi Tierra's Practical Cogitations, Ponderings and Post-PerceptionsI consider myself a thinker and not a feeler. I think about my feelings and at times act on them without thinking. Sometimes I think without feeling and allow myself to feel without thinking. I think I should feel more but at the same time, I feel that I should think more. But I am a thinker and not a feeler.MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-74214978427456467142009-11-06T01:28:00.000-08:002010-03-03T18:08:02.152-08:00The Drive-In is Dead.....or is it? - Part 2<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div>Drive-ins had already been around 15 years by the time the San Pedro Drive-in opened.</div></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The First</span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The first </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">drive-in opened on June 6, 1933 in Camden, New Jersey. Admission was $0.25 per person or $1.00 for a full car load! </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Three main speakers were mounted next to the screen that provided sound. The sound quality was not good for cars in the rear of the theater or for the surrounding neighbors.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span><object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://faraday.liketelevision.com/liketelevision/mediaplayer.swf" height="340" width="352"><param name="movie" value="http://faraday.liketelevision.com/liketelevision/mediaplayer.swf"> <param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"> <param name="saveEmbedTags" value="true"> <param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"> <param name="flashvars" value="file=http://faraday.liketelevision.com/liketelevision/playlist26.php?channel=158&parts=&displayheight=240&callback=http://faraday.liketelevision.com/liketelevision/stats_count.php&lightcolor=0xcccccc&backcolor=0x00000b&frontcolor=0xfbfbfb&logo=http://faraday.liketelevision.com/liketelevision/logomark.png&link=http://tesla.liketelevision.com&linktarget=_blank&repeat=list&shuffle=false"> </object><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/dit02-715232.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 241px;" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/dit02-715224.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/drivein_advert-719841.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 235px; height: 400px;" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/drivein_advert-719811.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><p><st1:state st="on"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></st1:state></p><p><st1:state st="on"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></st1:state></p><p><st1:state st="on"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></st1:state></p><p><st1:state st="on"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">California Drive-Ins</span></span></st1:state></p><p><st1:state st="on"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">California</span></span></span></st1:state><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">'s first drive-in movie theatre opened in June of 1938 (there were less than 15 "auto theaters" in all of </span></span><st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">America</span></span></st1:country-region></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> at that point). Within just ten years, another 43 drive-ins had opened up and </span></span><st1:place st="on"><st1:state st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">California</span></span></st1:state></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> was on its way to becoming one of the top drive-in states.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Between 1948 - 1958, the number of drive-ins in the state of </span></span><st1:state st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">California</span></span></st1:state><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> more than quadrupled and, while the number of operating drive-ins in most states had peaked in the late 1950's, the number of drive-ins in the state of </span></span><st1:place st="on"><st1:state st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">California</span></span></st1:state></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> kept climbing through the 60's, with more than 220 in operation by end of the decade.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Since that time, the number of drive-ins operating within the state has declined by 90%. Still, </span></span><st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">California</span></span></st1:place></st1:state><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> is one of the Top 5 Drive-in states and more than 20 remain open.</span></span></span></p></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Largest</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><br /></span></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">The largest drive-in theater in patron capacity was the All-Weather Drive-In of Copiague, New York. All-Weather had parking space for 2,500 cars, an indoor 1,200 seat viewing area, kid's playground, a full service restaurant and a shuttle train that took customers from their cars and around the 28-acre theater lot.</span></span></span></b></div><p style="margin-top: 0.25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.25in; margin-left: 0in; font-style: inherit; text-decoration: inherit; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Smallest</span></span></b></p><p style="margin-top: 0.25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.25in; margin-left: 0in; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-decoration: inherit; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The two smallest drive-ins were the Harmony Drive-In of Harmony </span></span><st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Pennsylvania</span></span></st1:place></st1:state><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> and the Highway Drive-In of Bamberg, South Carolina. Both drive-ins could hold no more than 50 cars.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0.25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.25in; margin-left: 0in; font-style: inherit; text-decoration: inherit; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Strangest</span></span></b></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><p style="margin-top: 0.25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.25in; margin-left: 0in; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-decoration: inherit; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">An interesting innovation was the combination drive-in and fly-in theater. On June 3, 1948, Edward Brown, Junior opened the first theater for cars and small planes. Ed Brown's Drive-In and Fly-In of </span></span><st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Asbury Park</span></span></st1:city><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, </span></span><st1:state st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">New Jersey</span></span></st1:state></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> had the capacity for 500 cars and 25 airplanes. An airfield was placed next to the drive-in and planes would taxi to the last row of the theater. When the movies were over, Brown provided a tow for the planes to be brought back to the airfield.</span></span></p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The drive-in theater movie experience cannot be beat.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Now What?</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Hey, this is the digital age. So many things that have faded over time reemerge disguised as a "new idea" and marketed to those who never experienced the "old idea" that is being revived by this "new idea".</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/CBH16_Motorcycles1.1-749785.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 302px;" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/CBH16_Motorcycles1.1-749782.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"></span></span></span></div><br /><div> </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Introducing the Open-Air Cinema! Old idea in new packaging! The only thing missing is all of the other people you can meet. Of course, nowadays, in this "chicken little" era, a lot of us are afraid of "the other people". Somehow, watching a large TV in my backyard doesn't do it for me. It lacks the "unique experience" you have at the drive-in. For those of you who have never experienced the Drive-in atmosphere, it's quite a unique experience that has all but disappeared. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Where Are the Drive-Ins?</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Seek and you shall find.......!</span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/Burr-Under-the-Saddle-761688.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 314px;" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/Burr-Under-the-Saddle-761657.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-7421497842745646714?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-77446527165590931542009-11-05T18:32:00.000-08:002010-03-03T15:51:21.558-08:00The Drive-In is Dead.....or is it? - Part 1<div><a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/San-Pedro-Drive-In-05-725856.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 205px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/San-Pedro-Drive-In-05-725770.jpg" /></a> When I was a kid, I remember my dad taking us the San Pedro Drive-In. This was usually on a Friday evening after he got off work at Douglas Aircraft in Long Beach. My mom never went with us because she also worked at Douglas but on the swing shift.<br />The routine was to get in the car, and go to Brown's Liquor on the NW corner of 1st and Gaffey (Currently "Hello" Liquor). There my dad would buy a 6 pack of Lucky Lager for himself and Barnum and Baily Animal Crackers for all of us.<br />If it was a good movie, there was a line at the pay booth. If not, we would get in quickly. They always showed two movies with one or two cartoons between them. After the first movie, all of the perimeter lights would come on (like a night game at Daniel's Field) for the intermission. Most of the time we would go to the grass area at the foot of the screen and play on the swings. Sometimes we would go to the snack bar but that didn't happen very often because, after all, we had Animal Crackers and<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/LuckyAnimal-717789.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/LuckyAnimal-717772.jpg" /></a> after having paid 10 cents for each box, we were expected to eat them. Other times, we would stay in the car and watch the "battle of the spotlights" on the screen. We knew that the intermission was almost over because the lights would dim. Hopefully, you remembered where your car was. After the intermission came the cartoons which was followed by the second movie. It was usually not as good as the first so it was common to see a good number of cars putting away their speakers and leaving.<br />When all the movies had played and it was time to leave, we would wake my dad, he would put the speaker back on the post, most of the time, and we would head home. As we traveled south on Gaffey and crossed Channel, my dad would hand the empty six pack to my older brother, Pete, who was riding shotgun. It was his job to dispose of it. Pete would roll down the window and as we made the turn from Gaffey St. onto Summerland Ave., Pete would fling the 6 pack out of the window into the empty lot on the corner (There were no littering laws at the time). After every throw, we would analyze the quality of his throw and compare it to previous throws (distance, height, spin and how many bottles left the container before hitting the ground). There are apartments located there now and I happen to know that under those apartments are a whole bunch of empty Lucky Lager bottles courtesy of my dad.<br />The San<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/San-Pedro-Drive-In-04-750536.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 133px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/San-Pedro-Drive-In-04-750487.jpg" /></a> Pedro Drive-In opened on June 6th, 1949 so in was not at all "old" when my dad would take us in 1953 and on. It had enough spaces for 831 vehicles. That's alot when you condider that if each vehicle had 4 people, and at intermission all of them go to the snack bar, you would find 3,324 people inside getting snacks. Even if only 10% go to the snack bar at the same time, we're talking about 332 people which is still alot.</div><br /><div>As the photo shows, it had a distinctive painting on the back side of the screen and the name was illuminated by neon lights. It dipicts a hacienda "Don" or caballero on horseback waving to approaching ships which is representative of San Pedro's history as Rancho San Pedro. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was located at the SE corner of North Gaffey Street and Westmont Drive and the map below shows what it looks like today. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/San-Pedro-Drive-In-in-2009-702355.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 342px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/San-Pedro-Drive-In-in-2009-702234.jpg" /></a> The map below shows what it looked like in 1953 when I was 5 years old. I added the text onto the map for general info:<br /><br /><div><div><br /><a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/San-Pedro-Drive-In-in-1953a-753032.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 342px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/San-Pedro-Drive-In-in-1953a-752958.jpg" /></a> View of screen and snack bar.<br /><br /><div><br /><a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/San-Pedro-Drive-In-03-743878.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 226px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/San-Pedro-Drive-In-03-743844.jpg" /></a> I ride my bike past this area about 4 times per week and can't help but reminese about old days gone by. I don't know exactly when the Drive-In was demolished but it, along with that Friday Night Community environment, is long gone. Nothing will ever replace the Drive -In.......or maybe there is something. After all, all new ideas are variations and extensions of some pretty good old ideas.</div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-7744652716559093154?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-18611418755067345322009-11-05T18:01:00.000-08:002009-11-05T18:22:17.297-08:00My goodness, how things have changed!! 01<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/BigBrother-741041.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 223px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/BigBrother-741014.jpg" /></a> <div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Parents replaced by 'Play Rangers'</span> </strong></div><div><br />The Mayor of Watford (Great Britan), Dorothy Thornhill, and her Council have just banned parents from watching their own children at two council play areas in the town. </div><div>She explains the decision to replace moms and dads with council-trained <strong><em>'Play Rangers'</em></strong> with the following platitudinous excuse to her local paper: </div><div>“Sadly, in today's climate, you can’t have adults walking around unchecked in a children’s playground.” </div><div>Nor, apparently, common sense in public office...<br />Last word to Mr Porter: </div><div><em>...parents' rights are being trampled on by this new atmosphere of fear and suspicion, brought about by the Independent Safeguarding Authority, a government that increasingly thinks it knows better than parents and local authorities that are keen to use any new power offered to them, however mad or tyrannical its application... </em></div><div><em></em></div><div>I myself can't imagine that anyone would stand for this. Granted, some parents (mom or dad) may be of the type that are not to be trusted but banning all parents from watching or playing with their kids is unacceptable to me. Rather than focus in on those who need a watchful eye, everyone not only gets "punished" but more importantly, get treated as though they are dangerous to their own kids. I suppose that this is a good example of the government assuming parental responsibilities. The idea of this really pisses me off.</div><div></div><div><em></em></div><div><em></em></div><div><em></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-1861141875506734532?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-4264291830384372492009-11-01T20:11:00.000-08:002009-11-01T23:38:41.050-08:00The War on Fathers - Whistle Blower Magazine<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/DadWar-752053.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 255px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/DadWar-752034.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>The evidence of this almost unthinkable scenario is everywhere:<br /><br /><strong>SCHOOL:</strong> In public school classrooms across America, in every category and every demographic group, boys are falling behind. Girls excel and move on to college, where three out of five students are female, while young boys – who don't naturally thrive when forced to sit still at a desk for six hours a day – are diagnosed by the millions with new diseases that didn't exist a generation ago. To make their behavior more acceptable, they are compelled to take hazardous psycho-stimulant drugs like Ritalin.<br /><br />Boys are more than 50 percent more likely to repeat elementary school grades than girls, a third more likely to drop out of high school and twice as likely to have a "learning disability." And the suicide rate among teen boys is far higher than that of girls.<br /><br />"What we have done," explains Thomas Mortenson, senior scholar at the Pell Institute for the Study of Opportunity in Higher Education, "is we have a K-12 school system that seems to work relatively well for girls and does not work for a very large share of boys."<br /><br /><strong>HOME:</strong> It's well known that roughly half of America's marriages end in divorce, but not nearly as well known that two out of three of those divorces are initiated by the wives. Moreover, America's family court system is scandalously biased in favor of the mother in child custody disputes. Fathers get custody of children in uncontested cases only 10 percent of the time and 15 percent of the time in contested cases. Meanwhile, mothers get sole custody 66 percent of the time in uncontested cases and 75 percent of the time in contested cases.<br /><br />"Where you have minor children, there's really no such thing as no-fault divorce for fathers," says Detroit attorney Philip Holman, vice president of the National Congress for Fathers and Children. "On the practical level, fathers realize that divorce means they lose their kids."<br />Unfortunately, this loss by children of their fathers' influence is directly responsible – far more than any other cause – for the modern national scourges of gang life, crime and much more.<br /><br /><strong>CULTURE:</strong> Fifty years ago, "Father Knows Best" was a hit TV show, in which insurance agent Jim Anderson (actor Robert Young) would come home from work each evening, trade his sport jacket for a nice, comfortable sweater, and then deal with the everyday growing-up problems of his family. He could always be counted on to resolve that week's crisis with a combination of kindness, fatherly strength and common sense.<br /><br />Today, television virtually always portrays husbands as bumbling losers or contemptible, self-absorbed egomaniacs. Whether in dramas, comedies or commercials, the patriarchy is dead, at least on TV where men are fools – unless of course they're gay. On "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," the "fab five" are supremely knowledgeable on all things hip, their life's highest purpose being to help those less fortunate than themselves – that is, straight men – to become cool.<br />As this issue of Whistleblower shows, experts like Ph.D. scholar Christina Hoff Sommers, author of "The War Against Boys," agree: "It's a bad time to be a boy in America." Sommers provides example after example of what can only be called an all-out anti-male campaign:<br /><br />"The carnage committed by two boys in Littleton, Colorado," declares the Congressional Quarterly Researcher, "has forced the nation to reexamine the nature of boyhood in America." William Pollack, director of the Center for Men at McLean Hospital and author of the best-selling "Real Boys: Rescuing Our Sons from the Myths of Boyhood," tells audiences around the country, "The boys in Littleton are the tip of the iceberg. And the iceberg is all boys."<br /><br />In fact, Sommers reveals, it has become fashionable in elitist circles to conspire to change boys' very identity:<br /><br />There are now conferences, workshops, and institutes dedicated to transforming boys. Carol Gilligan, professor of gender studies at Harvard Graduate School of Education, writes of the problem of "boys' masculinity … in a patriarchal social order." Barney Brawer, director of the Boys' Project at Tufts University, told Education Week: "We've deconstructed the old version of manhood, but we've not [yet] constructed a new version." In the spring of 2000, the Boys' Project at Tufts offered five workshops on "reinventing Boyhood." The planners promised emotionally exciting sessions: "We'll laugh and cry, argue and agree, reclaim and sustain the best parts of the culture of boys and men, while figuring out how to change the terrible parts."<br /><br />"Terrible"? As this edition of Whistleblower shows, there is nothing wrong – and a very great deal right ? with boys and masculinity. As maverick feminist Camille Paglia courageously reminds her men-hating colleagues, masculinity is "the most creative cultural force in history."<br />"The problem," said David Kupelian, managing editor of WND and Whistleblower, "is that misguided feminists, intent on advancing a radically different worldview than the one on which this nation was founded, have succeeded in fomenting a revolution. And that revolution amounts to a powerful and pervasive campaign against masculinity, maleness, boys, men and patriarchy."<br />Issue highlights include:<br /><br />"<em><strong>Banning 'Mom' and 'Dad</strong></em>,'" by Joseph Farah, who exposes the latest in bizarre and dangerous legislation by the California legislature.<br /><br />"<em><strong>The fathers' war</strong></em>" by Stephen Baskerville, a troubling look at how increasing numbers of America's military men risk all to serve their nation in wartime, only to be divorced by their wives and lose their children.<br /><br />"<em><strong>The war on fathers</strong></em>," by David Kupelian, an in-depth look at what's really behind the feminization of America.<br /><br />"<em><strong>Why men are being attacked</strong></em>," by Dr. Laura Schlessinger, who says: "It isn't all about hating men – it's largely about disdaining and dismissing them."<br /><br />"<em><strong>Has the bias pendulum swung against men?</strong>"</em> Fewer college-bound, higher suicide rates, shorter life spans suggest males are getting the shaft.<br /><br />"<em><strong>Paternity fraud rampant in U.S.", </strong></em>showing how 30 percent of men assessed for court-ordered child support are not actually the fathers of the children receiving the support.<br /><br />"<em><strong>'Shared parenting' seen as custody solution</strong></em>," a look at bills in New York that would require courts to treat mom and dad equally.<br /><br />"<em><strong>Resolving the boy crisis in schools</strong></em>" by Jeffery M. Leving and Glenn Sacks, showing how today's public schools are profoundly unsuited for the genuine needs of boys.<br /><br />"<em><strong>Child support gold-diggers</strong></em>" by Carey Roberts, who shows how frequent fraud results in fathers being victimized by the justice system.<br /><br />"<em><strong>Hating our fathers, hating ourselves</strong></em>" by Bob Just, a penetrating look at the high cost of resenting the fathers and husbands in our lives.<br /></div><div>And much more.<br /><br />"This is one of the most soulful, important and insightful issues of Whistleblower we've produced in a long time," said Kupelian. "I urge people to read it – it's much more than eye-opening. It could be life-changing. Really." </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-426429183038437249?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-48251596184168351742009-09-12T18:19:00.000-07:002009-09-12T19:40:32.383-07:00Osama Bin Laden's Misunderstanding....<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/Osama-708448.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 109px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/Osama-708445.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>After being blasted to atoms in some squalid cave in Afghanistan - we're not sure when, we're not sure where - the constituent elemental parts of Osama bin Laden are reassembled in another place for his expected reward. The landscape is beautiful: rolling hills, lush green valleys and rushing streams. Horses graze in meadows; the soft blue ridges of faraway mountains can be seen. Deep green forests are seen nearby. It is truly God's Country, and bin Laden smiles contentedly.<br /><br />Just then, in a flash of light, appears George Washington - a terrible scowl upon his face. Balling up a mighty fist (Washington was a big man), he smashes it into bin Laden's nose, compressing cartilage and breaking bone. Another great blow easily fractures his jaw. "Aie!" cries bin Laden, but before he can say anything the Father of Our Country disappears.<br /><br />Bin Laden sees another flash of light through tears streaming from his eyes. It is Thomas Jefferson, the Author of Liberty, holding a solid oak stick. A look of fury upon his face, Jefferson sends the stick into bin Laden's rib cage a number of times, cracking ribs. "Aiie! Aiie!" gasps bin Laden, but, as before, Jefferson disappears in a flash.<br /><br />In great pain, and clutching his ribcage, bin Laden sees a truly awful sight: General Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson, his blue eyes afire, holding a loaded musket. "Blam!" A .58 caliber lead minie ball shatters bin Laden,s right kneecap. As before, Jackson disappears. "Aiie! Aiie! Aiie!" cries the agonized bin Laden, collapsing to the ground. "This is not what I was promised! This is not what I was promised!"<br /><br />Just then another flash of light, and an angel appears, holding a clipboard. Bin Laden, seeing this, demands of him, "I have caused the deaths of thousands of hated Americans! I have done the will of God! Where is my reward?"<br /><br />The angel, looking at the clipboard, calmly responds, "It says here you get twenty-four <strong>Virginians</strong>. What did you think we said?"</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-4825159618416835174?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-2909807043599867142009-08-21T22:04:00.000-07:002009-08-21T22:42:59.845-07:00A Message To Garcia<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">"A Message To Garcia" was originally published in 1899<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Preface by the author, Elbert Hubbard</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="left">A Message To Garcia, was written one evening after supper, in a single hour. It was on the 22nd of February, 1899, Washington's Birthday: we were just going to press with the March Philistine. </div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">The thing leaped hot from my heart, written after a trying day, when I had been endeavoring to train some rather delinquent villagers to abjure the comatose state and get radioactive.<br />The immediate suggestion, though, came from a little argument over the teacups, when my boy Bert suggested that Rowan was the real hero of the Cuban War. Rowan had gone alone and done the thing - carried the message to Garcia.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"><br />It came to me like a flash! Yes, the boy is right, the hero is the man who does his work - who carries the message to Garcia. I got up from the table, and wrote A Message To Garcia. I thought so little of it that we ran it in the Magazine without a heading. The edition went out, and soon orders began to come for extra copies of the March Philistine, a dozen, fifty, a hundred, and when the American News Company ordered a thousand, I asked one of my helpers which article it was that stirred up the cosmic dust. "It's the stuff about Garcia," he said.</div><div align="left"><br />The next day a telegram came from George H. Daniels, of the New York Central Railroad thus, "Give price on one hundred thousand Rowan article in pamphlet form - Empire State Express advertisement on back - also how soon can ship."</div><div align="left"><br />I replied giving price, and stated we could supply the pamphlets in two years. Our facilities were small and a hundred thousand booklets looked like an awful undertaking.</div><div align="left"><br />The result was that I gave Mr. Daniels permission to reprint the article in his own way. He issued it in booklet form in editions of half a million. Two or three of these half-million lots were sent out by Mr. Daniels, and in addition the article was reprinted in over two hundred magazines and newspapers. It has been translated into all written languages.</div><div align="left"><br />At the time Mr. Daniels was distributing A Message To Garcia, Prince Hilakoff, Director of Russian Railways, was in this country. He was the guest of the New York Central, and made a tour of the country under the personal direction of Mr. Daniels. The Prince saw the little book and was interested in it, more because Mr. Daniels was putting it out in big numbers, probably, than otherwise. In any event, when he got home he had the matter translated into Russian, and a copy of the booklet given to every railroad employee in Russia.</div><div align="left"><br />Other countries then took it up, and from Russia it passed into Germany, France, Spain, Turkey, Hindustan and China. During the war between Russia and Japan, every Russian soldier who went to the front was given a copy of A Message To Garcia. The Japanese, finding the booklets in possession of the Russian prisoners, concluded it must be a good thing, and accordingly translated it into Japanese.</div><div align="left"><br />And on an order of the Mikado, a copy was given to every man in the employ of the Japanese Government, soldier or civilian. Over forty million copies of A Message To Garcia have been printed. This is said to be a larger circulation than any other literary venture has ever attained during the lifetime of an author, in all history - thanks to a series of lucky accidents.<br /></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Elbert Hubbard - December 1, 1913</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">A Message To Garcia by Elbert Hubbard</span></strong></div><div align="left"><br />In all this Cuban business there is one man stands out on the horizon of my memory like Mars at perihelion.</div><div align="left"><br />When war broke out between Spain and the United States it was very necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents. Garcia was somewhere in the mountain vastness of Cuba - no one knew where. No mail nor telegraph message could reach him. The President must secure his cooperation, and quickly. What to do!</div><div align="left"><br />Some one said to the President, "There's a fellow by the name of Rowan will find Garcia for you, if anybody can."</div><div align="left"><br />Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How "the fellow by the name of Rowan" took the letter, sealed it up in an oil-skin pouch, strapped it over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, and in three weeks came out on the other side of the Island, having traversed a hostile country on foot, and delivered his letter to Garcia - are things I have no special desire now to tell in detail. The point that I wish to make is this: McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, "Where is he at?"</div><div align="left"><br />By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies: do the thing - "Carry a message to Garcia!"</div><div align="left"><br />General Garcia is dead now, but there are other Garcia's. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">No man who has endeavored to carry out an enterprise where many hands were needed, but has been well-nigh appalled at times by the imbecility of the average man - the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it.</div><div align="left"><br />Slipshod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, and half-hearted work seem the rule; and no man succeeds, unless by hook or crook or threat he forces or bribes other men to assist him; or mayhap, God in His goodness performs a miracle, and sends him an Angel of Light for an assistant.</div><div align="left"><br />You, reader, put this matter to a test: You are sitting now in your office - six clerks are within call. Summon any one and make this request: "Please look in the encyclopedia and make a brief memorandum for me concerning the life of Correggio." </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Will the clerk quietly say, "Yes, sir," and go do the task?</div><div align="left"><br />On your life, he will not. He will look at you out of a fishy eye and ask one or more of the following questions: </div><div align="left"></div><ul><li>Who was he? </li><li>Which encyclopedia? </li><li>Where is the encyclopedia? </li><li>Was I hired for that? </li><li>Don't you mean Bismarck?</li><li>What's the matter with Charlie doing it? </li><li>Is he dead? Is there any hurry? </li><li>Sha'n't I bring you the book and let you look it up yourself?</li><li>What do you want to know for?</li></ul><div align="left">And I will lay you ten to one that after you have answered the questions, and explained how to find the information, and why you want it, the clerk will go off and get one of the other clerks to help him try to find Garcia - and then come back and tell you there is no such man. Of course I may lose my bet, but according to the Law of Average, I will not.</div><div align="left"><br />Now, if you are wise, you will not bother to explain to your "assistant" that Correggio is indexed under the C's, not in the K's, but you will smile very sweetly and say, "Never mind," and go look it up yourself. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">And this incapacity for independent action, this moral stupidity, this infirmity of the will, this unwillingness to cheerfully catch hold and lift -these are the things that put pure Socialism so far into the future. If men will not act for themselves, what will they do when the benefit of their effort is for all? A first-mate with knotted club seems necessary; and the dread of getting "the bounce" Saturday night holds many a worker to his place. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Advertise for a stenographer, and nine out of ten who apply can neither spell nor punctuate - and do not think it necessary to.<br /></div><div align="left">Can such a one write a letter to Garcia?</div><div align="left"><br />"You see that bookkeeper," said the foreman to me in a large factory. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">"Yes, what about him?" </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">"Well he's a fine accountant, but if I'd send him up town on an errand, he might accomplish the errand all right, and on the other hand, might stop at four saloons on the way, and when he got to Main Street would forget what he had been sent for." </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Can such a man be entrusted to carry a message to Garcia?</div><div align="left"><br />We have recently been hearing much maudlin sympathy expressed for the "downtrodden denizens of the sweat-shop" and the "homeless wanderer searching for honest employment," and with it all often go many hard words for the men in power.<br /></div><div align="left">Nothing is said about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get frowsy ne'er-do-wells to do intelligent work; and his long, patient striving after "help" that does nothing but loaf when his back is turned.</div><div align="left"><br />In every store and factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on. The employer is constantly sending away "help" that have shown their incapacity to further the interests of the business, and others are being taken on. No matter how good times are, this sorting continues: only, if times are hard and work is scarce, the sorting is done finer - but out and forever out the incompetent and unworthy go. It is the survival of the fittest. Self-interest prompts every employer to keep the best - those who can carry a message to Garcia.</div><div align="left"><br />I know one man of really brilliant parts who has not the ability to manage a business of his own, and yet who is absolutely worthless to any one else, because he carries with him constantly the insane suspicion that his employer is oppressing, or intending to oppress, him. He cannot give orders; and he will not receive them. Should a message be given him to take to Garcia, his answer would probably be, "Take it yourself!"</div><div align="left"><br />Tonight this man walks the streets looking for work, the wind whistling through his threadbare coat. No one who knows him dare employ him, for he is a regular firebrand of discontent. He is impervious to reason, and the only thing that can impress him is the toe of a thick-soled Number Nine boot.Of course I know that one so morally deformed is no less to be pitied than a physical cripple; but in our pitying, let us drop a tear, too, for the men who are striving to carry on a great enterprise, whose working hours are not limited by the whistle, and whose hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold in line dowdy indifference, slipshod imbecility, and the heartless ingratitude which, but for their enterprise, would be both hungry and homeless.</div><div align="left"><br />Have I put the matter too strongly? Possibly I have; but when all the world has gone a-slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the man who succeeds - the man who, against great odds, has directed the efforts of others, and having succeeded, finds there's nothing in it: nothing but bare board and clothes. I have carried a dinner pail and worked for day's wages, and I have also been an employer of labor, and I know there is something to be said on both sides.<br />There is no excellence, per se, in poverty; rags are no recommendation; and all employers are not rapacious and high-handed, any more than all poor men are virtuous. My heart goes out to the man who does his work when the "boss" is away, as well as when he is at home. And the man who, when given a letter for Garcia, quietly takes the missive, without asking any idiotic questions, and with no lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest sewer, or of doing aught else but deliver it, never gets "laid off" nor has to go on a strike for higher wages.</div><div align="left"><br />Civilization is one long anxious search for just such individuals. Anything such a man asks shall be granted. He is wanted in every city, town and village - in every office, shop, store and factory. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">The world cries out for such: he is needed and needed badly - the man who can "Carry a Message to Garcia."</div><div align="center"><br /></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 290px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/RowanAndGarcia[1]-714872.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">Andrew Summers Rowan (center) and General Garcia (right).<br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-290980704359986714?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-27576447017759087852009-07-03T14:43:00.000-07:002009-08-21T23:48:53.293-07:00I don't care what anybody thinks!<img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 264px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/cowboyatitude-771699.jpg" border="0" /> <div><div>Have you ever heard anybody say that? Have you ever said that? I know that I have. But when someone says that, do they mean it? Are they telling the truth? Do they even think about what they are saying or is it just a gut reaction?<br /></div><div>In my case, it was a true statement. I really didn't care what anybody thought. But only when I felt confident that what they were thinking, or saying about me would in no way negatively influence the expected outcome of the task that I was attempting to accomplish at the time. </div><div></div><br /><div>However, at other times, saying "I don't care what anybody thinks!" was just a gut reaction and I did in fact care what was being said about me. Or, better stated, I was concerned if what was being said about me would <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">adversely</span> affect my ability to achieve my goal. The focus was on getting the job done and pretty much nothing else.</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-2757644701775908785?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-43018956422956263372009-05-04T21:59:00.000-07:002009-05-04T22:01:51.629-07:00Maribel's Tiger - 1994I don't know how Maribel got it in her head to own a tiger but that's what she asked me for. And, at the risk of life and limb, I came through for her. Well, sort of....<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/60CWtEW0M08&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/60CWtEW0M08&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-4301895642295626337?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-15924489790629539652009-05-04T21:47:00.000-07:002009-05-04T22:03:36.293-07:00Nite Nite Juan Carlos - 1992You've heard the term "You haven't changed a bit." Well, it is applicable to this video of Juan Carlos' tendency to sleep and eat. It seems that when he eats, he gets sleepy and after he sleeps, he gets hungy. I wonder if he's fallen asleep at work. This was taken in about 1992 when JC was 8 years old.<br /><br /><p align="center"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sIvLKdk0JmI&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sIvLKdk0JmI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-1592448979062953965?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-63873911503529110152009-05-04T12:04:00.000-07:002009-05-04T12:22:54.212-07:00The More Given, the Less Earned<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/dennis-prager2-702497.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 169px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/dennis-prager2-702495.jpg" border="0" /></a> <strong>Tuesday, April 21, 2009 - by Dennis Prager</strong><br /><br />One of the reasons for the ascendance of the English-speaking world has been that the English language is almost alone among major languages in having the word “earn.”<br /><br />Those of us whose native language is English assume that the phrase “to earn a living” is universal. It isn’t. It is almost unique to English. Few languages have the ability to say this.<br /><br />In the Romance languages, for example – a list that includes such major languages as Spanish, French, and Italian -- the word used when saying someone “earns” money, is “ganar” in Spanish, “gagner” in French. The word literally means “to win.” In Hebrew the word “marveach” means “profits.” In German, the word “verdient” means “deserves.”<br /><br />Obviously, it is very different to “win” or to “deserve” or to “profit” than to “earn.” Since the 1960s-‘70s, a concerted effort has been made to weed the word, and therefore the cultural value, of “earning” from American life. Increasingly little is earned. Instead of earning, we are increasingly owed, or we have more rights, or we are simply given.<br /><br />Many American kids no longer earn awards or trophies for athletic success. They are given trophies and awards for showing up. These trophies are not earned, just granted -- essentially for breathing.<br /><br />Another increasingly widespread concept that undermines the notion of earning is “unconditional love.” The term, which was barely used prior to the 1960s, is now ubiquitous. It is a prominent goal, a human ideal to strive for. The idea of having to earn love is more than unheard of today; it would strike most moderns as morally suspect.<br /><br />We expect unconditional love not only from parents to babies and toddlers, but to children of any age, no matter how they act. Parental unconditional love means that all people, no matter how disgracefully they act --- even toward a parent -- and no matter how old they are, must be shown infinite love from their parents. Parental love is never to be earned, always to be given.<br /><br />We expect God to show unconditional love to all people, again no matter how they act. According to the doctrine of divine unconditional love, God loves sadists as much as He loves the kindest individuals. No one earns God’s love; we receive it, like sports trophies, for breathing. Many fine people believe this about God, but I think it is religio-cultural-specific, and non-biblical. In 15 years of study in a yeshiva I had never heard the phrase, and it would have struck me, as it still does, as quite odd. It depicts God as a love machine who, like an air-conditioner that emits the same amount of cold air no matter how the inhabitants of a house act, emits the same amount of love no matter we act. It means that we in no way influence God’s love for us. I don’t find that comforting. And it is certainly no more likely to induce decent behavior in human beings than a God who does show conditional love based on human decency.<br /><br />We expect unconditional love -- meaning unearned love -- from spouses. No matter how awfully you treat your wife or husband, as soon as you were married, you were owed unconditional love. While your spouse and you had to earn each other’s love prior to marriage, the moment you got married, you no longer had to earn the other’s love.<br /><br />We also expect forgiveness to be given without being earned. Many people believe in what I call automatic forgiveness -- the obligation to forgive anyone any crime, committed against anyone, no matter how many victims and no matter how removed from my life. Thus the pastor of a church attended by then-President Bill Clinton told the president and all others at a Sunday service that all Christians were obligated to forgive Timothy McVeigh, the terrorist murderer of 168 people. Did McVeigh earn this forgiveness? Of course not. So where did the notion of unearned forgiveness come from, especially unearned forgiveness from people who were not the victims of the evil being forgiven? It is one thing for me to forgive those who have hurt me; it is quite another for others to forgive those who have hurt me. God Himself demands that we earn forgiveness. The term for that is repentance. No repentance, no forgiveness.<br /><br />Finally, the increasingly powerful culture of entitlement and rights further undermines the value of earning anything. The more the state gives to its citizens, the less they have to earn. That is the basic concept of the welfare state -- you receive almost everything you need without having to earn any of it. About half of Americans now pay no federal income tax -- but they receive all government benefits just as if they had paid for, i.e., earned, them.<br /><br />America became a great civilization thanks to a culture based on the value of having to earn almost everything an American got in life. As it abandons this value, it will become a mediocre civilization. And eventually it will not be America. It will be a large Sweden, and just as influential as the smaller one.<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/dennis-prager2-737687.jpg"></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-6387391150352911015?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-91458147717551450482009-03-21T19:30:00.000-07:002009-04-15T14:14:49.558-07:00Do Guns Kill People?<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/American-Gun-726481.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/American-Gun-726473.jpg" border="0" /></a> <em>I don't think so. My step-dad have several rifles and pistols in his room for many years and those weapons never killed anyone. If they were supposed to, then he got swindled. They just stayed in the corner of the closet exactly where he left them. Do you think that they might have been defective? The below text was extracted from a YouTube video I ran across and almost begs for a response from anyone who feels that an American Citizen should not have the right to be armed in order to defend himself from all outside threats!</em><br /><p>In 1929, the Soviet Union established gun control. From 1929 to 1953, about 20 million dissidents, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.<br /><br />In 1911, Turkey established gun control. From 1915 to 1917, 1.5 million Armenians, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.<br /><br />Germany established gun control in 1938 and from 1939 to 1945, a total of 13 million Jews and others who were unable to defend themselves were rounded up and exterminated.<br /><br />China established gun control in 1935. From 1948 to 1952, 20 million political dissidents, unable to defend themselves were rounded up and exterminated.<br /><br />Guatemala established gun control in 1964. From 1964 to 1981, 100,000 Mayan Indians, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.<br /><br />Uganda established gun control in 1970. From 1971 to 1979, 300,000 Christians, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.<br /><br />Cambodia established gun control in 1956. From 1975 to 1977, one million educated people, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.<br /><br />Defenseless people rounded up and exterminated in the 20th Century because of gun control: 56 million.<br /><br />It has now been 12 months since gun owners in Australia were forced by new law to surrender 640,381 personal firearms to be destroyed by their own Government, a program costing Australia taxpayers more than $500 million dollars. The first year results are now in:<br /><br />List of 7 items:<br /><br />Australia-wide, homicides are up 3.2 percent.<br />Australia-wide, assaults are up 8.6 percent.<br />Australia-wide, armed robberies are up 44 percent (yes, 44 percent)! </p><p>In the state of Victoria alone, homicides with firearms are now up 300 percent. Note that while the law-abiding citizens turned them in, the criminals did not, and criminals still possess their guns!While figures </span>over the previous 25 years showed a steady decrease in armed robbery with firearms, this has changed drastically upward in the past 12 months, since criminals now are guaranteed that their prey is unarmed. There has also been a dramatic increase in break-ins and assaults of the <strong>ELDERLY</strong>. Australian politicians are at a loss to explain how public safety has decreased, after such monumental effort, and expense was expended in successfully ridding Australian society of guns. The Australian experience and the other historical facts above prove it.<br /><br />You won't see this data on the US evening news or hear politicians disseminating this information. Guns in the hands of honest citizens save lives and property and, yes, gun-control laws adversely affect only the law-abiding citizens.<br /><br />Switzerland issues every household a gun!<br />Switzerland's government trains every adult they issue a rifle.<br />Switzerland has the lowest gun related crime rate of any civilized country in the world!!!<br /><br />Think about it. Where would we be now if the Colonist's were unarmed when the British attempted to extend their rule over them?<br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-9145814771755145048?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-27333836250345247412009-01-30T00:54:00.000-08:002009-01-30T01:11:21.328-08:00Let there be light...Lots and lots of light.<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/cone-bulb-731523.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 124px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 124px" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/cone-bulb-731520.jpg" border="0" /></a> I need lots of light. More light than is politically correct. All of my lamps have incandescent bulbs of 75 watts or more. So the environmentalist sees this and expresses his opinion on the matter. Says that I should care about excessive use of electricity. I asked him what type of bulbs he used. Puffing his chest a bit he proudly stated that he has changed all of his bulbs to the ENERGY STAR qualified bulbs that use about 75 percent less energy than standard incandescent bulbs and last up to 10 times longer. I paused and the asked him "Why don't you save even more energy by using candles? He seemed a bit perplexed because he just looked at me and didn't respond. However, as soon as he does, I will be ready with my thoughts on "fireflys in a pickle jar" lighting method.<br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-2733383625034524741?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-36675733493416493662008-12-03T22:41:00.000-08:002008-12-13T21:18:51.235-08:00Celebrating my 60th BirthdayMy 60th Birthday was celebrated on Saturday, December 6, 2008 in pretty much the same way that my 5th birthday was celebrated; on my bike. When I was 5, I got my first bike used for $5.00. My current bike only cost $450.00 more. All went well on my first century and I enjoyed it so much that I am trying to come up with a reason to do it again. It felt good to be out in the open at the crack of dawn. The cold, the smell and just the adventure of it all reminded me of days gone by out in the field. Total mileage was 102.46 miles. How long did it take? All day! The most that I had ever done in one day was 82 miles however those 82 miles were much more difficult that the 102 primarily because the 82 was not planned as well and the 102 was. Also, nutrition made a big difference as well as riding my bike to work from 3 to 4 times a week for about 3 months prior to the 102. <br /><!-- Bikely on-my-site code. --><br /><div id="routemapiframe" style="width: 300px; border: 1px solid #d0d0d0; background: #755; overflow: hidden; white-space: nowrap;"><br /><span style="display: block; font: bold 11px verdana, arial; padding: 2px;"><a style="color: #fff; text-decoration: none" href="http://www.bikely.com/maps/bike-path/60th-Birthday-101-Mile-Ride">60th Birthday 101 Mile Ride</a></span><br /><iframe id="rmiframe" style="height:260px; background: #eee;" width="100%" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" src="http://www.bikely.com/maps/bike-path/60th-Birthday-101-Mile-Ride/embed/1"></iframe><br /><span style="display: block; font: normal 10px verdana, arial; text-align: right; padding: 1px;"><a style="color: #ddd; text-decoration: none" href="http://www.bikely.com/">Share your bike routes @ Bikely.com</a></span><br /></div><br /><!-- Bikely on-my-site code. --><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-3667573349341649366?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-59296050867335348132008-11-24T20:38:00.000-08:002009-03-27T15:57:13.859-07:00I went to war but I'm not a hero.<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/RPB_MOHPhotoCropped_small1-792205.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 169px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 225px" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/RPB_MOHPhotoCropped_small1-792197.jpg" border="0" /></a> Ever since 9-11-2001, there has been a very broad and frequent use of the term "hero". In doing so, we are pretty much destroying this word to such an extraordinary extent that they lose their meaning. By using the term so broadly, we have managed to group someone donating blood with soldiers dying in hand-to-hand combat. Workers in the World Trade Center are considered in the same class of "hero" as the firefighters who entered the fated buildings by their own free will in order to save lives. Giving blood is a noble activity, just as the loss of life in the collapse of the Twin Towers is a travesty. Examples certainly exist of individual acts of valor and courage, but in a broad sense, it would be a disservice to the truly brave to consider either party "heroes."<br /><p>What about the pilot who saved 155 lives by landing his plane on the Hudson river? He has been hailed a hero, but wasn’t he just just doing his job? He was after all a specialist in airline crisis management. And what about Jan Palach. the Czech student who committed suicide by self immolation as a political protest against the Soviet-led invasion of Czechoslovakia. Was his suicide an act of heroism or egoism? Or does it depend on what the act achieves?</p><div>Earlier this month, Lasantha Wickrematunga, a Sri Lankan newspaper editor was murdered on his way to work. Mr. Wickrematunga exposed corruption in the Sri Lankan government and even predicted his own murder. He believed that journalism was a career that called on its practitioners to lay down their lives calling it an honor to die for his duty. Does heroism mean dying for your cause? How far should heroes go to honor their duty? What does it take to be a hero?</div><div><br />In Mumbai, the wife of the murdered chief of city’s anti terrorism squad has spoken out in an interview about her loss. Kavita Karkare said she was proud of her husband’s sacrifice, but wishes her husband had opted for another profession. Is it selfish to die for a cause? What about those left behind? </div><div><br />Who do you define as a hero? Can we consider footballers and movies stars to be heroes in the same way as we do firemen and doctors? Do we use the word too lightly or is it simply a question of definition?</div><div></div><div></div><br /><div>My definition of hero is an ordinary person that did extraordinary things. A true hero is really never a hero at all; at least not in their own mind.<br /><br />My son, 1SG Alex Ortega, had lunch with Master Sergeant Roy P. Benavidez (A Texan half Mexican and half Yaki Indian) back when he was an E5 or E6. This man, a Vietnam Veteran, is a hero to me as well as to those men whos lives he saved. Sergeant Benavidez went on a rescue mission on May 2, 1968, to save wounded brothers; he was the only man to go. Carrying only a knife and a medic bag, he ran to his wounded buddies, sustaining gunshot wounds to his leg, face and head. A helicopter landed to rescue all of the men that were stranded. Benavidez got them all on board the helicopter only for the pilot to be fatally wounded, causing the chopper to crash.</div><div><br />He rescued all of the men from the crash and fought off the Vietnamese Army for six hours with the help of air strikes, circling gun ships, and his own fortitude. A second chopper landed and he boarded his wounded comrades, then he got on and then collapsed. Everyone thought he was dead, placing him in a body bag. While the doctor was zipping up the bag, Benavidez spat in his face to signal he was alive. They flew him to Saigon for surgery, treating him for seven severe gunshot wounds, twenty-eight shrapnel wounds, and bayonet wounds in both arms. </div><div><br />When he was awarded the Medal of Honor by President Ronald Reagan, Benavidez said "I don't like to be called a hero. The real heroes are the ones who gave their lives for their country." Such humility and modesty from Sergeant Benavidez is really representative of heroes because they never want the credit.</div><div><br />Heroes are not born heroes. People that fantasize of doing heroic things are never going to be heroes. True heroes are the people that do not think about being a hero; they just do what is instinctive to them and then do not bask in the glory of their actions. It surely was not Roy Benavidez's plan to go into that combat zone to get shot; he just wanted to save his friends. He just rose to the occasion and did what he thought was right.</div><div><br />What truly makes a hero is the courage to say that it is not oneself that is the hero, it is someone else. In this case, Benavidez says that it was not he that was the hero; it was the faceless men who paid the ultimate sacrifice.</div><div></div><br /><div>On March 23, 2003, 19 year old Pvt. Jessica Lynch, a member of the 507 Maintenance Company, was wounded when the unit's commander made a fateful wrong turn and drove his lightly armed column straight into an Iraqi ambush. In the confusion, a bloodbath ensued. Ten Americans were reported killed, 50 wounded and 12 had surrendered to the Iraqi Fedayeen fighters.</div><div></div><br /><div>On April 3, the Washington Post ran the front-page story headline, "She was fighting to the death." Like some sort of real-life version of Hollywood's G.I. Jane, Jessica was purported to have fought back against overwhelming odds, even after she was wounded. As reported in the media, she had allegedly killed several Iraqis and only surrendered after firing her last bullet.</div><div></div><br /><div>Was she a hero? No. She was a soldier that broke her foot in the crash of her vehicle, she surrendered, was taken captive, probably raped and was rescued.</div><div></div><br /><div>The word hero is always heard these days. One hears the term applied to people where it is not really necessary or appropriate. Does toughness and fortitude on the field of sports really constitute toughness and fortitude on the field of battle? No it does not. A man who throws his body on a grenade so that the guys to his left and right can go home and see their children is a hero. A firefighter who disregards his own life for another's life is a hero. True heroes are the people that you do not usually hear about. They are always in the shadows and never in the spotlight and they would not have it any other way.</div><div></div><div></div><br /><div>"Hero" is a very special term to be used accurately and with great care.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-5929605086733534813?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-23695370641575406062008-11-20T23:03:00.002-08:002009-04-15T13:55:59.583-07:00Stevie and the nickle...<a href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/Nickle-712968.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 149px" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/Nickle-712963.jpg" border="0" /></a>Every time I think of this I can't help but smile because it reminds me of how people will let their emotions overrule their logic.<br /><br />I was about 9 years old and Stevie was about 7 or 8. Stevie was a neighbor who lived 2 houses to the west of Mom's house on Oliver Street in San Pedro, CA. On this particular day, we were walking east on Oliver St. somewhere between his house and ours. As I recall, I saw a nickle laying on the sidewalk. To use at that time and at that age, a nickle was enough to buy a Snickers, a Mars bar or even a soda.<br /><br />As I pointed in the direction of the coin, I said, "Look, Stevie, a nickle!" Stevie reacted immediately and got to the nickle before I did. I told him that it was mine because I saw it first but he said that it was his because he got to it first. Now if this would have happened in front of Stevie's house, the assumption would be that it was more his than mine and in front of my house, more mine than his. That was sort of and unwritten law that all of the kids on the street recognized and respected. However, since it was between both of our houses, the geographical location of the nickle was considered the same as "international waters" and therefore, anything goes. So in order to settle the issue, we reverted to "jungle law" and started to fight over the nickle. Well, Stevie was smaller than me and real squiggly too. He got away and ran home with the nickle. I was crushed. Not because we fought, not because Stevie got away, but because he had my nickle.<br /><br />I walked home crying about the lost nickle. When she saw me, my Mom asked why I was crying so I gave her a full account of what happened between Stevie, me and the nickle.<br /><br />Now my Mom was raised during the Great Depression of the early 1930's so she was very frugal regarding financial and other matters. So she too reverted to "jungle law" and immediately got on the phone and called Stevie's Mom. They started to "argue" about what had happened. Seeing as how when my Mom got fired up, it would be a while before she was cool enough to handle so I went back outside to ride my bike. As I rolled out from the driveway to the sidewalk, I saw Stevie walking toward my house. He walked up to me and asked, "What are you doing?" "Nothing.", I said. He asked,"Want to go to the store?" I said, "Yeah, lets go."<br /><br />Now the store that he was talking about was what we called the "Little Yellow Store". It was a neighborhood store set up in a converted clapboard house on the SW corner of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Summerland</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Bandini</span>. At this store, a small bottle of Coke costs 7 cents. Stevie only had a nickle (my nickle). However, the store owner would allow us to sit outside and drink the soda as long as we brought her back the bottle which has a deposit of 2 cents. So in effect, we paid for the soda, but not for the bottle.<br /><br />So Stevie and I sat outside the store and shared the soda. When we finished, we walked home and talked and played the whole way (2 blocks) as little boys will do. We hung out in front of Stevie's house for a while and then I went home. When I walked into the house, I heard my Mom still arguing with Stevie's Mom about the nickle that no longer existed and guaranteed, will not even be remembered tomorrow. Well, maybe 51 years later but not tomorrow.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-2369537064157540606?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-86682828925514538182008-11-19T19:39:00.000-08:002008-11-24T21:44:51.995-08:00Well, back when I was a kid....<span style="font-family:verdana;">I was born in 1948. I have some very clear recollections of what things were like when I was about 8 years old. The year would be 1956 and by this time we were living in San Pedro, CA. As can be imagined, it was quite a bit different than today.<br /><br />First of all, my mom didn't smoke or drink while she was pregnant with be but if she did, it was something that wouldn't have caused any concern to anyone. CPS, or Child Protective Services was about 20 years into the future. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">She took aspirin, ate blue cheese, raw egg products, loads of bacon and processed meat, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes or cervical cancer.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When I came home from the hospital, my baby</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> crib was covered with bright colored lead-based paints. I slept on my stomach and I shared the room with my sister and brother.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">There were no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when I rode my bike, I had no helmet and sometimes, no shoes. Hitchhiking was not considered a risk.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Back then, none of the families cars had seat belts and, yes, a</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">s a result of a sharp turn, in the back seat, we would slide from one side of the car to the other.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> The first car that we had with seat belts was my moms 1965 Pontiac Catalina.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">If our parents took us with them to the store, we could be left in the car or outside the store with a bag of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Fritos</span></span></span></span> without being abducted.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We drank water from the garden hose and bottled water did not exist other than the 5 gal. bottles from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sparkl</span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">etts</span></span></span></span>.<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/fosters1-726787.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; width: 189px; cursor: pointer; height: 134px;" alt="" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/fosters1-726759.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">Buying "take out food" </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">was a very rare event in our house and was </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">from Foster's Old Fashion Freeze on 4t<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">h</span></span></span></span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Gaffey</span></span></span></span>. </span><a name="mcdonalds"><span style="font-family:verdana;">(15-cent hamburgers</span></a><a name="mcdonalds"></a><a name="mcdonalds"><span style="font-family:verdana;">,</span></a><a name="mcdonalds"></a><a name="mcdonalds"></a><a name="mcdonalds"></a><a name="mcdonalds"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> </span></a><a name="mcdonalds"></a><a name="mcdonalds"><span style="font-family:verdana;">19-cent cheeseburgers, 20-cent milkshakes and 10-cent sodas).</span> </a><span style="font-family:verdana;">No Pizza Hut, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">K</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">F</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">C</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">, Taco</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> Bell or Subway. </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">We didn't even know about <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">McDonalds</span></span></span></span> as it was in its infancy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We ate meals all together as a family. We all ate the same thing a</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">t the same time and in the same place; the kitchen table. You ate what you were served, no excuses. My mom had a habit of giving you one more spoonful than you asked for. If you wanted 2 spoonfuls of beans, she would give you 3. If you wanted 1, you get 2. If you didn't want any, you get 1. And you will eat all of it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Everything closed at 5.30 pm and I do mean everything. If you needed milk or sugar at 6:00 pm, you had to borrow from your neighbor. (7-11 got it's name from the hours that they were open, 7:00 am to 11:00 pm, which was revolutionary but they didn't appear on the West Coast until 1964) And no one was open on Sundays. Yes, getting through a Sunday Bar-B-Que required proper prior planning! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We shared one soda amongst four friends, everyone drank from the same bottle and NO ONE actually died from this. This was usually a 7-cent Coca Cola in a bottle purchased at the "Little Yellow Store" located at the SW corner of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Summerland</span></span></span></span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Bandini</span></span></span></span> (long since gone). It was customary to wipe the opening of the bottle with your shirt after taking a drink and before passing it on. We probably thought that that alone killed cooties.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We would collect used glass soda bottles and cash them in at the </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Little Yellow Store"</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> and buy candy and ice cream with the earnings. We shared the candy. Small bottles yielded 2-cents but the bigger Par-T-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Pak</span></span></span></span> bottles were 5-cents.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank sodas with real sugar in them, but we weren't overweight because...... </span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!!</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It was common (normal) to leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as I was back when it started to get dark. No, no cell phones or pagers. </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">No one was able to reach me all day. And I was just fine. We would walk to Peck Park Pool, pay 35-cents and spend all day there until it closed. No one ever came by to see if any of us had drowned. That was the life<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">guards</span> job.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill on the north side of Oliver Street next to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Bandini</span></span></span></span> Street School (only to find out we forgot the about brakes). We built many tree houses and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">cubby</span></span></span></span> holes and played in the canyon (area behind Mom's house) with our toy trucks (made from stamped and formed steel).</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> We actually would pick teams for a semi-organized "Rock Fight" that also took place in the canyon. Yes, we threw rocks at each other. There was only one requirement that one had to meet in order to play. Well, it was more of a promise than a requirement. And that was that if you were hit with a rock, you would not cry and you wouldn't tell. Ones ability to fulfill that promise was always regulated by the force with which the rock struck you multipled by where the rock struck you. We weren't very good shots but once in a while someone who threw the rock would get lucky and inversly, the one who was struck was not as lucky. Oh well, just another day of wholesome play.</span><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We explored the harbor, the ponds at Averill Park, the woods around Peck Park and any abandoned places we came across, and never drowned or got lost.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We did not have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Playstations</span></span></span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Nintendos</span></span></span></span>, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape movies, no surround sound. We had one black and white TV in the living room and with the antenna on the roof, were able to get channels 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, and 11. If the weather was clear, you might get channel 12 which was a Spanish language channel. No, in 1958, multi-language anything was an unknown concept. Channel 12 was broadcast from Tijuana, Mexico.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Kites and Yo-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Yos</span></span></span></span> had their own season. We made our own kites from newspaper.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">We read comics and books and learned to make them last.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">There were no mobile phones, no personal computers, no Internet chat rooms.....BUT.....<span style="font-weight: bold;">WE HAD REAL FRIENDS</span> (flesh and blood humans) and we went outside and found them!</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">We rode bikes, we boxed, wrestled, climbed trees, made tree houses, fought and made up.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">I was hit by a car, fell out of trees, got cut, and there were no </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">lawsuits as a result of these accidents.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Only girls had pierced ears and long hair and only men had tattoos and short hair.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt (the worms didn't live in us forever). </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">And in December, there was only one festive holiday....... CHRISTMAS ...... and everyone wished each other a MERRY CHRISTMAS without any concern about being criticized for saying it. Take it or leave it! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I was given an air rifle that shot <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">BBs</span></span></span></span> for my birthday. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them to come out and play! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Little League Baseball actually had tryouts at Peck Park and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with their disappointment (You know, suck it up!). Imagine that!! Getting into the team was based on skill and not because of any concept of fairness. Strange but true!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I went to Catholic School from 1st grade through the 8<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">th</span></span> grade. Our teachers, nuns from Our Lady of the Presentation, would smack the back of your hand with a wooden ruler or smack you on the rear with the belt they carried around their waist, depending on the severity of your crime. Bullies always ruled the playground at school. </span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >The idea of a parent confronting a teacher for using corporal punishment on their children was unheard of. They actually sided with the teachers! </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >As a matter of fact, if you <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">"forced"</span> a teacher to use corporal punishment on you, once your <span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >parents found out, and they would, they would most likely punish you with additional corporal punishment.</span></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" > Of course, </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >corporal punishment</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" > was not a commonly used term back then. It was referred to as a "spanking" and nothing more. Nobody wanted one but no one died from one either. No big deal. It came with the territory of "being a kid".<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">We had the freedom to fail, the freedom to succeed and were taught to assume responsibility for either outcome. My mom stressed this to me time and time again when she told me that "If you use it, <strong>you</strong> put it away, if you dirty it, <strong>you</strong> clean it, if you break it, <strong>you</strong> buy it".</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">(Emphasis on "<strong>YOU</strong>")</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-8668282892551453818?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-63753898010014769942008-11-18T22:16:00.000-08:002008-12-13T20:43:42.082-08:00Am I right or am I wrong?Am I right or am I wrong? Do you agree or disagree? Does it matter to me that you think I'm right or wrong or that you agree or disagree?<br /><br />No. Not really. Since everyone has their own take on life, no one can really say that anyone is either right or wrong when it comes to those things that are no more than an opinion based on one's own experiences. This is not so regarding anything that can be measured to an established standard that one must meet.<br /><br />This blog is my soap box (and I have a bull horn), my wall of graffiti (and I'm the only one with a can of spray paint) , my treasure chest of recollections (and only I have the key). My postings will allow me to state my case, express myself, explain my point of view and to document the things that I often wonder about but never fully understood. That's all. I'm not asking if I'm right or wrong. It is what it is.<br /><br />I find it challenging to try to document my thoughts in such as way so as to paint an accurate rendition of them in another persons mind when they read the completed verbiage. I want them to feel what I feel. It's not necessary to agree, just listen and understand. If I succeed in documenting a given thought to my satisfaction, you'll never know it because only I know what I wanted to say in the first place. However, the fact that I posted it is a good indicator that I was satisfied, but not always.<br /><br />It would be interesting to hear other peoples points of views and opinions on a subject of interest to me, but I'm not asking for it. I have no problem explaining what has happened in my past or what I did but I don't want to go through a process of justification just for the sake of it. After all, some of my postings will reference situations that happened long ago and I was a different person then. I may only remember that I did a given thing but may not remember why I thought it was a good idea at the time.<br /><br />I am impressed by anyone who, when in the process of stating their point of view, respect mine. If that doesn't happen, I won't hear a thing you say.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-6375389801001476994?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-90949710615575240982008-11-18T21:00:00.000-08:002009-03-22T01:06:54.092-07:00Did I fight for your freedom?<a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/pfc_ort-756576.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 300px;" src="http://www.mitierragrafix.com/blog/uploaded_images/pfc_ort-756565.jpg" alt="" border="1" /></a>As having served as an Infantryman in Vietnam in 1969, I have often wondered if some people actually do feel that I (we) fought for their freedom. Sometimes I wonder if I think that. Since there are many who don't believe that, I ask this question to only those who are open to the possibility that I (we) did fight for your freedom. You may be free to watch whatever you want on television but you are not free to tell your neighbor what to watch. I take that back, you are free to tell your neighbor what to watch on TV and they are free to ignore you. I think that is more accurate.<br /><br />For the sake of argument, I'll direct my original question to those who maintain the approximate belief that freedom is the proclamation of liberty, individual sovereignty, self-determination, inalienable rights, equality of opportunity, justice under the rule of law and human dignity for all, derived from God and guaranteed through constitutional republican government of the people, by the people and for the people - all for the purpose of enabling us to find individual and collective happiness (summed up as the "American Spirit").<br />My answer to the question of did I (we) fight for "your" freedom are "Not exactly" and "Probably".<br /><br />Not exactly because when I joined the Army in February of 1969, I didn't even know where Vietnam was let alone have any single opinion regarding our presence there. And some folks would smirk and say, we shouldn't even have been there, it was politically motivated, our freedom wasn't threatened, etc. I knew that we had soldiers in Vietnam but I felt unaffected by that as how, at the point in my life, it had no meaning to me. My joining the Army had nothing to do with protecting my or your freedom. I did it for the adventure of it. No, not the adventure of going to Vietnam, just the adventure of being in the Army. Going to Vietnam was by chance (if not inevitable). So no, I didn't really fight for anyone's freedom.<br /><br />But then again, I probably did.<br /><br />Let's say that you live in an apartment which is the 5th building from the corner. You hear your next door neighbor, a fireman, running out of his apartment screaming that the house on the corner is on fire. By the time that he gets to the corner, the fire has reached the 2nd house from the corner. He applies his fire fighting skills to the max and by the time he puts out the fire, the 3rd house from the corner, as well as the first and second, lay in ruins. The 4th building from the corner was slightly scorched. The 5th, yours, was saved.<br /><br />Did you neighbor fight to protect your property? Maybe. Did he put his life on the line to save the folks in the house on the corner? Maybe. If you ask him, he may say that he was just doing his job but for all you know, he's a pyromaniac and gets off being involved with fire! Who knows? And then again, who cares about the reason that he did what he did. In this case you would agree that his actions had something to do with your apartment not burning and you'd be grateful for his actions.<br /><br />But what if you lived in the house that was 20th from the corner, or even the 50th from the corner. You probably wouldn't feel the same because you never felt that your house was in eminent danger. As a matter of fact, you might not have even noticed that there was a fire down the street. It's too far away for you to feel the danger. It was too far away to affect how you live.<br /><br />But if the fire had gone unchecked, and no one intervened, and the wind was just right, the fire would have reached your house. But by that time, it would be a raging inferno that would have very likely claimed your home as another fallen victim. But it didn't, did it?<br /><br />So, the question is, did that fireman save your house? Maybe.<br /><br />Did the Vietnam Veteran fight for and defend your freedom? Yes, I know, your house is the 50th from the corner, but believe me, the answer is, "Probably".<br /><br />The world is much to complex for me to fully understand what goes on and who's involved and how it all fits together, who's lying and who's being truthful so I can't honestly say that "<span style="font-weight: bold;">YES, WE DID FIGHT FOR YOUR FREEDOM".</span><br /><br />But I do know what was in our hearts.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-9094971061557524098?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203367548203014219.post-18193053685226004642008-11-17T21:24:00.000-08:002009-05-15T11:01:19.027-07:00Why a Blog?Lately I have been recalling many of my past personal experiences that I consider significant events in my personal history. I benefited from some of them and paid a price for others. To a great extent, I was formed into who I am as a result. I want to document, primarily for my family, the most significant of these experiences (or situations). I want them to know more about me than they do at the moment.<br /><br />Often I find myself in a situation or see someone else in a situation that closely resembles one that I've been in before. No, it's not <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">déjà</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">vu</span>. Just like there are a given number of plots for movies (IE; That Horror Movie with the Psycho, Buddy Cop, The Action Movie, Chick Flick Romance, The Twist, Stereotype Shakeup, Epic War Movie, Teen Comedy, etc.), it seems to me that there's only a set number of situations that one can find himself in. Just like an "Action Movie" can have many, many variations by changing any of the many variables (actor, location, time in history, etc.) the bottom line is it's still in the genre of an "Action Movie". Likewise, a real-life situation (Situation X) has a multitude of variables as well, but the bottom line is that it's basically a variation of Situation X, no matter how you slice it. When I'm in a situation, I invariably categorize them as a Situation X, Y or Z. This allows me to apply knowledge learned from past situations to new situations. This is not to say that I always come out smelling like a rose because I don't.<br /><br />My situations are nothing spectacular, but for those that were and continue to be affected by the person I was and am, these postings may provide some insight into who I am and where I come from. Not in the geographical sense but an emotional, intellectual and psychological one. We are products of our environment and I want to describe the environments that I have found myself in over the years. Like all of us, I've had some experiences that had a very profound impact in my development as a person and how I viewed myself and others. If it was a positive experience, I may see it as an award or a shining moment in my life, if it was negative I may see it as a scar that an incident that left me injured; it may not hurt anymore but I'll always remember what happened and especially the pain. Either way, I am always aware of them.<br /><br />The way I interpreted this combination of good and bad experiences and the decisions I made in response to them, affected the manner in which I responded to the world around me. I have noticed that sometimes I may initially blame someone else for my situation, but eventually, like in 2 minutes, I will take that blame and place it where it really belongs; on my own shoulders. I realize that I was born with freedom of choice and have always had the ability to apply that freedom in every situation I have ever been in. Even the decision not to exercise this freedom is a choice in itself.<br /><br />I am hoping that as I post my thoughts over time that my family will learn something new about me (and maybe I'll learn something new about myself) and use these pieces of information as bits of a puzzle that when enough pieces are in place, one will get a good sense of who I am and where I come from. Even I can't fully appreciate those two aspects of my being. Although I have a large family, I have never succeeded in opening up to anyone in such a way that they really got to know me and I would like to change that. Some may say that I never tried and I can't totally discount that opinion.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6203367548203014219-1819305368522600464?l=www.mitierragrafix.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.html' alt='' /></div>MiTierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106132753574990837dortega@MiTierraGrafix.com0