Dave Foreman, RIP

I just learned yesterday that Dave Foreman had died last September at the age of 75. This got me to thinking and wondering about him, how genuine he was, and how real the group he helped found, Earth First!, was. I long suspected that EF! was an Intel front, used to demonize real environmental groups, a large blackwashing effort. The group was certainly divisive. I remember sitting at a restaurant up in northwest Montana, where a cooler sported a bumper sticker that said

Earth First!
We’ll mine the other planets later.

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A flight of fancy

MBE stands for Order of the British Empire. It is an honor handed out to civilians on a semi-annual basis, by Queen Elizabeth, and now by King Charles. I do not follow it. 

The Beatles were given MBEs in 1965.  I was listening to Conan O’Brien discussing this, and he noted that John Lennon had given his back in 1969 while Ringo still wore his (on his forehead) even as it was covered with gravy stains. That’s Conan.

Lennon did some highfalutin excuses for his act of returning the medal. He said it was due to British activity in Biafra and for British support of the US in Vietnam, and, sardonically, because his song Cold Turkey was falling in the charts. I’d never thought about it before, always taking things at face.

We know from following the work of Sage of Quay, Mike Williams, that (as I had long suspected) the Beatles did not perform their studio music live, did not play their instruments on albums, and did not write most of the songs, maybe none of them. (Sage has a Billy Shears fetish, but I forgive him that.) George Harrison referred to his early work as “shit,” so I give him that. He actually did write that stuff. But Lennon and McCartney, no.

An idealist is a person who strives to be consistent, to be the same person on the outside as on the inside. For instance, Ted Danson, who played Sam Malone on Cheers, at an event honoring the entire cast, made it a point of removing his hairpiece so we could all see he was balding. “I’ll be darned,” I thought. “The man is an idealist, and could not stand the idea that he was not true to his real self in his outer appearances.”

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A malicious intrusion

Yesterday morning at 1:20 AM, all three phones in our house (one landline and two mobiles) rang at once. I did not answer, but this message was left on our mobiles:

“Due to police activity, there is a threat to your safety. If you are indoors, remain there. If you are outdoors, go indoors and remain there until further notice. Do not go outside and do not evacuate the area. Close and lock all doors and windows. Close all blinds and curtains and stay away from windows and if possible move to the basement. Do not let anyone into your home or business. Call 911 if there is someone on your property who you do not know. Monitor local and social media for additional information. Take shelter. Now it is 12:20 AM and the Lakewood Police Department has issued a shelter-in-place order for 1710 Rod St., Building 14.”

We do not live in Lakewood. There is no Rod Street – anywhere in the United States. There was no police activity anyone needed to know about. This message, laden as it is with fear triggers, had to be some kind of test, a psyop. Coming as it did at 1:20 in the morning, it was probably designed to catch people groggy and in a suggestible state. It was meant to put us in a state of fear.

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Movie (seen by no one) draws rave reviews

 
This YouTube link to the movie trailer refuses to embed. It will take you to a two-minute+ video.
 
The trailer above is to a movie called “To The End,” a documentary featuring Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, activist Varshini Prakash, climate policy writer Rhiana Gunn-Wright, and political strategist Alexandra Rojas. The movie opened in 120 theaters, and in the period of Friday, December 9 through Sunday, December 11, pulled in $9,667.
 
That means that the movie is doing crickets, showing four or five times daily to empty theaters. Typical of climate change lunacy, all of the action is in the clouds. We folks down here on the ground are barely aware of anything actually being wrong.

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A justification for wilderness

Years ago when I lived in Billings, MT, some friends and I would walk an eight-mile stretch of the Yellowstone River. This was our part of Audubon’s annual Christmas bird count. The trains ran the same route, and parts of it were so narrow that if a train came through while we were there, we would scatter and hunker up against a rock embankment with our faces buried. Trains are dangerous, and can throw rocks and debris that could be deadly.

I remember thinking one time as I was hunkered down how powerful those trains are, and how our industrial society is served by them. “I am part of this,” I thought, that is, me and my demand on resources is part of the reason that train exists. 

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Pulling back the curtain

The following comment from Greg under the post Intentional Deception or Total Incompetence has left my head spinning. 

There are charge[r]s in various areas in my area, there is a Tesla supercharger spot, has 5 stalls, charges .40 cents / kWh, and if [we] look 20 feet a way you can see the huge generator hidden behind some trees. I think most of these generators run on? Diesel fuel. So why not have cars that run on diesel and save the hassle of the chargers?

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Underpinnings of revulsion

The year was 1996. I was quite full of myself, newly divorced and feeling a sense of freedom, intellectually and personally, that was quite new to me. I had written an op-ed piece in the local newspaper in which I stated that our Democratic Senator, Max Baucus, was a “faux bonhomme, or false friend. In those days the editorial page manager for that paper had a certain amount of leash extended, and pieces like mine could break through. He would, of course, later be canned. Independent streaks in journalists usually result in them doing something else for a living, and indeed that was his fate. He died in 2019, I just learned. His name was Gary Svee.

As result of that editorial, I was approached by Chet Blaylock, who himself was running for governor, a quixotic mission in facing Marc Racicot, immensely popular. Blaylock suffered a heart attack during his campaign and died. He was a nice man. On his persuasion, I elected to run for state legislature. I might as well have had a heart attack, so slim were my chances against Peggy Arnott, who was endorsed by Racicot, and who was a far superior campaigner than I. She won handily, and I bear her no ill will for my lesson, well learned. I was no politician. I vowed never again to run for office. (Peggy herself would shortly thereafter marry her sweetheart and exit politics.)

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