The Wheels of Justice Turn Slowly

[From KOB:]

Albuquerque attorney John Wayne Higgins usually defends drunk drivers.

On Wednesday night he had the right to remain silent; instead he acted as his own attorney and tried to defend himself. [He was arrested for drunk driving.]

You may recall John Wayne Higgins. In 1998, John Wayne Higgins ran for Bernalillo County Probate Court Judge. With no probate experience, he ran against Ira Robinson and Merri Rudd. In a three-way race, Ira Robinson ("Family matters.") won. Two years later, Robinson ran for the State Court of Appeals. His victory created the vacancy that finally brought Merri Rudd to the office she was made for.

Imagine the drunk DWI attorney as probate judge. How do such people think they qualify to run for a particular office? It’s an insult to the public.

PS: Ira Robinson left the State Court of Appeals, for, ahem, personal reasons.

So long, Dumbass!

Good riddance to Duhbya and BushCo, the board of AmeriCo. Good goddamn riddance to every damn one of them. For generations, people will spit on the ground at the mention of George Duhbya Bush.

I expect this to be the last entry in the Dump Duhbya category, unless Republicans are crazy enough to nominate Sarah Failin’. In that case, for continuity, I’ll just put her in the same category. They are two peas in a pod.

A special Fuck You to Dick Cheney and Karl Rove, the twin Princes of Darkness. I’d pay the airfare to send them both to Abu Ghraib or Gitmo. And for an extra slippery bathmat for Grover Nordquist.

In Which I Throw My Shoe at Jim Scarantino

Jim Scarantino has tried hard to fill the void left with by the departure from New Mexico of John Dimdahl, that paragon of rightwingnuttery. Today, Jim explains the dark side of progressives (using a Nobel laureate to defend his views). Let’s listen in:

As Nobel laureate Friedrich Hayek has shown [mjh: beyond any doubt!], progressives have always had a regrettable dark side. … [I]n their push to transform society, progressives frequently show an eagerness to employ the coercive powers  of the state against individuals and individual rights that inconvenience their agenda.

Hmmm. Does he mean things like forcing you to take your shoes off before boarding a plane? Is Jim referring to the database record that includes your Facebook page and Amazon purchases? Or is he thinking of the hundreds of people imprisoned for years without a trial, often wrongly? Oh, those damn Progressives. No, wait, that was the Conservatives! Sorry, Jim.

Human beings of every stripe have a regrettable dark side. Conservatives have always worn theirs on their sleeves. peace, mjh

This Week’s WTF!?

I’m amazed at the gall of the right-wing lecturers who dare to offer any advice without prefacing it with, “We were wrong…” You *were* wrong — horribly, royally, monstrously wrong. Your repeated mistakes — coupled with an amazing swagger — have brought this nation to a new low. So, admit that first or shut the fuck up for a few years. peace, mjh

Our democracy is based on the principle of consent through compromise. When the pendulum swings too far left or right many unfavorable circumstances come to be. …

In our state most of the tax paying producers are on the right while most of our government social programs favor the left. … [mjh: I pay taxes, as do all my leftist friends. None of us receives corporate welfare.]

In past years we could count on an unbiased, balanced news media to step in and energize the public to force fairness in government! Now the media cannot be trusted to exercise their constitutional mandates because a majority of their members have chosen partisanship over honesty.
        Don Spiers
        Los Lunas

ABQJOURNAL BIZ: Letters

So, the media was trustworthy when it was bullied liked the rest of the nation by the Texas Tyrant? You’ve still got FOX, Donny, and Lush Limbaugh, ad nauseum.

Es war einmal…

Once upon a time, I lived in Germany. I studied German for four years and majored in German Language and Literature at UVa. I was even the President of the UVa German Club for a year or more. (Twenty years later, Tina Fey studied German at UVa.)

My thoughts today are sent back 31 years, when I was living in Eckel, Germany, a small town outside of Hamburg, in northern Germany. It was cold, dark, and snowy this time of year. Thanks to one of my favorite professors, Jens Rieckmann, by way of his brother-in-law, I had a job with Herr Gerhard Heitmann and lived with die Familia Heitmann (I don’t know if I have to use the dative article when the preposition is English; it would be required with the German preposition: “mit der Familie Heitmann.”). (Herr Rieckmann was one of the few people I told I wanted to be a poet. He wisely noted it wasn’t much of a living.) When I first arrived in the Heitmann’s lovely home, I announced I would only speak German. I had moved to Germany because I was a good student but not fluent. It was a long time before I realized Gerd und Inge had hoped I would help their two children, Gabi und Jens, improve their English. Sigh. I must have been a disappointment, though they either didn’t let on or I didn’t get it.

Instead, Gerd gave me a job in his Zimmerei. Gerd was an architect and had a sawmill in his backyard, where workers cut lumber for jobs they constructed. They did it all. And I worked as an unofficial apprentice. (There was an official apprentice, whose name I forget, though I can see his face.) Apprenticeship was alive and well in Germany. To become a master in a trade required leaving one’s home to work in a new location under a full Meister for a year. The Meister of the Zimmerei (other than Gerd), was Herr Wolf, a fiercely intimidating man who could have picked me up with one hand. As tradespeople, we had official craft uniforms, heavy black corduroy bib-overalls with bell bottoms to keep the sawdust out of your boots. And a broadbrimmed black hat to keep the sawdust out of your collar. We looked ready for an Amish high school disco dance. (I still have my measuring stick and pencil from those days.) I used to wonder if Gerd didn’t expect me to hate the labor and opt to be a tutor, instead. Too bad I didn’t realize that was an option — if it was one, in fact. As it was, I labored hard as a junior tradesman in rural Germany for about 6 months. I drank too much on occasion (before and after, as well). I ate pigs feet, eels, und Bienenstich. I danced and played ping-pong and Skat. I fell in love with a girl named Suzanna, who was wise enough not to fall in love with a mush-mouthed foreigner. Before I left town, Gerd — a giddy practical joker — and I hung a garden elf outside Zanni’s window. Something to remember me by.

German and my life in Germany are never that far from my consciousness. Today, they are even higher in my thoughts as I digitize a German folk album I bought while I was there: Ikarus, von Reinhard Mey. (Icarus has been a profound figure in my ideomythos since childhood. And, I have been the Minotaur on occasion.) The song, Ikarus, is full of gorgeous imagery from an airplane window. The singer asks what it is that drives him to leave home (even as the imagery suggests it is reason enough). Perhaps, to escape prison. Such a wonderful tune is immediately followed by my second favorite on the album: Es gibt Tage, da wünsch’ ich, ich wär mein Hund (There are days, I wish I were my dog.)

Gerd Heitmann is one of the few people I’ve ever sung to. He was delighted by Grandpa was a Carpenter, by John Prine, as sung by me. (“He built houses, stores, and banks. Chain-smoked Camel cigarettes and hammered nails in planks.”)