2 Noses Up Mike Beck's You-Know-What

In the halcyon 2^nd wave of Feminism, when we passed credit legislation and abortion in Colorado before they were even U.S. law, some of us boneheads who believed when women were in positions of power there would be more justice. We had not encountered an immense piece of corruption like Megan Oliphant sitting on city council. Monday night, not only did she disrespect the research on my piece in a magazine with a couple university professors, but next winter when your street isn’t plowed as soon as you think it should be, you can thank her.

No. 7 on the council agenda was an item: Consideration of accepting Langworthy Ct. Right away.  The accompanying notes stated the 2013 Council refused to accept the right of way. Ms. Kotter gave an explanation, which only confused the issue. Councilman Riley Rausch motioned to accept the street. I jumped up and said, “Hey wait a minute! Why did the previous council refuse to accept it?”

Councilman Bill Hosch, who also objected to accepting the street, explained that originally there was to have been one open lot that would allow city workers to pile the snow there, but Mike, as he often does, filed to build another unit in the empty space, that if I recall, was also supposed to be access to an adjoining park too. So, I said, "Well, since Beck caused the problem, let him pay to have the snow removed in perpetuity." Rude, crude, discourteous piece of work that she is, Ms. Oliphant 2nd the motion over my comment without allowing me the right to finish.

Is Cascade Cancer Central? Does City Council Even Try to Protect Us?

Using the article that I had published in Free Inquiry, a national magazine a week ago, I asked the council to consider an ordinance I wrote curtailing the ability of the businesses (White Front) and farmers from spraying us with toxins from the air. City Administrator Lisa Kotter said she had contacted the city attorney that the law will not allow us to create a bubble around the town. She also said I could complain to the Federal Aviation Administration and the Iowa Department of Ag. 

To buttress my contention that the courts are beginning to draw the connection between Parkinson's, cancer, Alzheimer's, etc. and toxins in the environment, I used the research I had done on Round-Up, whose parent company was forced to pay $280 million to DeWayne Johnson for damages saying the courts are beginning to award money for the cancer and other illnesses.

Both Delaney and Megan Oliphant challenged my research, which was, of course, done correctly.  So, Tuesday morning I had the U Iowa Law Library get the complete legal citations both for the Southern District Court Chief Justice’s opinion that journalists’ rights are being illegally curtailed by Iowa’s “Ag Gag” laws. There are now actually 3 of these cases.

Incidentally, I used some hearsay evidence as well. Nothing wrong with saying I have heard people call Cascade “Cancer Central” because that is certainly true, and I relayed a tale of a doctor saying to a Cascade cancer patient, "Well, what do you expect? You live in Cascade!

I also wonder if this is how the City Council would treat Greg McDermott if he showed up to make a request? Would Mr. Delaney think he could disrespect any other city resident published in a magazine with a French physicist, and a couple university profs? Should we support his business, when he doesn't respect the achievements of fellow citizens? 

Reflections on Having Your Rights Violated with Impunity

 

A couple days ago proof copies of my piece, a review of a new book published by the Cato Institute called Superabundance, arrived.  I left copies of both the book and the review with Melissa at the library, so anyone who wants to can read them. It’s a brave article and my hat’s off to Paul Fidalgo, the relatively new editor of Free Inquiry the Secular Humanists Magazine for running it. I deserve a pat on the back for writing it because the amount I was paid works out to about two cents an hour, but that is how America works: the news is primarily full of a lot of nonsense and politics. It is almost impossible to make a living wage reporting the truth about moneyed types, especially, if it runs counter to the economic interests. Why do you suppose we had another bank bail-out of banks last week?

The pix accompanying my article are a disaster because a guy either working for the pumping company

or the owners of the confined animal feeding operation (CAFO) chased me off demanding my phone, hollering that I was trespassing on private property.  How is somebody living in a big urban center looking at my photo can tell a honey wagon and a tractor are about as long as an 18-wheeler is beyond me. Righteous as Old Nick himself, the guy sticks his hand in front of my phone. Being seriously outnumbered, 77 years old, and unsure he wasn’t correct, I fled.  However, a little research proved it was my rights as a journalist were being violated. At least, according to Stephanie M. Rose, the Chief Justice of the Southern District Court, who may or may not realize how difficult it is to get a photo of a honey wagon that gives the authentic dimensions with some young guy menacing you.

Since it was my rights that were violated, I should be hauling McDermott (the pumping company, I think) or Hosch (CAFO owners?) into court, but that costs money, which a free-lance journalist, by design doesn’t have, so I am looking for a lawyer to file a pro bono suit. Fat chance I’ll find one, huh? The money is all in the farmer corner, but if you know a lawyer with a shred of social consciousness, get a hold of me.

Though I am not holding my breath.

How Far can you trust the U.S.P.O?

 Before I left for Florida to hand-deliver the quilt I made for a new baby, in January I paid all my bills and left a check in a stamped, addressed envelope for the one charge—my ticket home—that I knew would be on my next Visa bill. My sister-in-law, a totally trustworthy soul, told me she put it the mailbox the day I asked her to, but mysteriously the check never crossed my account. Of course, since I had made no payment, Visa stopped activity on my account. When I got home, I found the check/envelope in my mail—the post office had sent it back to me. I had plastered some of the many return address stamps that come in the mail, trying to use them up. The sorting machine canceled the back of the envelope, and returned it to my address! 

Now that all my mail is open I see I never received the check for an article I wrote before I left. I sent them the W9 they need to pay contract employees like me, but apparently the P.O. never bothered to deliver it. 

While I was in Florida I flew to San Juan, Puerto Rico for a couple days and someone stole my billfold on the way back, with only my driver’s license, Visa Card and $30. Naturally, you can’t get ahold of the restaurant you last used it in or Lost and Found in the Miami Airport because management doesn’t want to hire enough people to staff those positions. 

With no identification, I called the trustworthy sister-in-law, had her go get my passport, and send it certified mail. Requiring a signature (from me), costing $7.99 extra. When it appeared the envelope had been signed (by someone in the P.O. I presume) was open and my passport fell out on the ground!

 Mission accomplished--the quilt was delivered and is awaiting the arrival of the baby! But we certainly can't trust Mr. DeJoy's Post Office very far.

 

Tears in Florida

 I spent the dead of winter in Florida, an American subculture. A sizeable portion of American and Canadian elites are moving there along with a segment of population, whose skills allow them to work from home. Primarily, the elites of North America who can afford two, three or more houses. 

Nonetheless, the illustrious governor of Florida (Ron DeSantis) and the illustrious one before him (Rick Scott) have set a policy that allows the wealthy to destroy the environment and forces the middle class—skilled and unskilled workers—all people who get W-2 forms to pay most of the tax. The very wealthy and Canadians, who pay taxes in Canada, seem to think it is OK that they come to the U.S. buy a house, squat for six months and a day and pay no Florida real estate tax. As a result, development is rampant and  the state's infrastructure appalling.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

There is no mass transit to speak of. The roads are often impassible, choked with cars. What passes for mass transit is a couple of bus lines (Flixbus and Red Coach) the former not at all reliable, the latter, iffy and often late. We sat in the “express” lane for high occupancy vehicles for an hour, making the bus over an hour late to Ft. Myers. I was waiting for the eventually late bus with a full view of peeling, moldy parking garage at the Miami International Airport, the inside of which isn’t much better. 

I am probably giving you the erroneous impression that taxpayers/people suffer the most from De Santis-

Scott’s misbegotten policies. By no means. The little turtle trail of tears (below) was probably made by turtle injured or burned when he tried to cross an asphalt road to get to a lake. My niece found him dead against a barrier the developers erected, he tried to tunnel under. 

With a bicycle for transportation, I would often see poor serpents, who, looking for a sunny spot, crawled out of the sparse natural spaces left onto the road or sidewalk and were run over by a car or a couple careless teenagers in a golf cart, or maybe even a motorized scooter.  No, clearly, a fair real estate tax policy in Florida would benefit the people, the turtles, the serpents, nay everybody/thing in whole state.                                                                                                                     

The poor birds are also befuddled and about to lose their place. Above, the remains of a pretty blue and black snake dead on the road. When you look around you and walk on the edges of developments so numerous in Florida, it is hard to keep back the tears.