THE BLACKBURN REPORT

News and Opinion Based on Facts

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Hello, everyone.
Keep coming back.
I have a big suprise to tell you all, SOON.
One Love

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Allright, You Knuckleheads, Act Normal!




Monday, October 15, 2007

Amazing...All In Palindromes!!

Thursday, October 11, 2007

It's Just Another Day..doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-do

This is my regular thursday blog.
I hope everyone is well and getting ready for the weekend.
I've been working on IsraelAmerica quite a bit lately.
I think it actually helped me lose a friend.
I met an extremely attractive Jewish lady and advised her to go to IsraelAmerica.blogspot.com.
I didn't realize she was a peace now person, so, after seeing IsraelAmerica, she probably won't like me anymore.
Me and my big mouth.
Anyway, at this point, I need all the friends I can get.
Especially good-looking female ones.
Sigh.
Be good, everybody.
I love ya!

Saturday, September 29, 2007

Email


Email Us!!

mailto:michaelblackburnsr@gmail.com





33710

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Magdolna

You will thank me for this.
Ruzsa Magdolna is a Hungarian star, virtually unknown in the states.
She wrote this song herself, in English, to highlight her voice.
She is an unbelievable talent, termed the European Janis Joplin.
you'll see why.


Ruzsa Magdi






I don't care for hip hop, but this Hungarian singer is so cute, and so talented (she has a wide range of styles) and she just kills me in this video.
Watch it, it's fun!

Monday, September 10, 2007

A Horse walked into a bar.....

A horse walked into a bar.
The bartender said, "Hey, why the long face?"

La vita e belle


Hello, everybody, this is my regular Monday Blog.
First, I fixed the clips, the YOUTUBE clips so they fit on the page and display properly when played.
Today I want to talk about the movie "Lavita e Belle " and Achinoam's performance of the theme song.
The film is based on a true story about an Italian Jew who is sent with his 4 year old son to a concentration camp in the 1940's.
The protaganist, Guido, loves his son and doesn't want him to suffer the horrors of the ordeal, so he convinces him that the experience they are having is a game.
Guido Orefice is a sweet, goofy man who is always telling stories, The true power of love is explored in this masterpiece. Guido's love keeps Giosuy alive through the harsh truths of the concentration camp. As always, Guido makes everything into a story and a game so that the little boy will remain hidden throughout their time there. Even when all the other children are murdered, Guido's stories convince Giosuy to remain hidden from the soldiers. Giosuy's desire for his very own tank keeps him focused on winning the game that Guido has created.
Guido fell in love with Dora, a gentile, before they were taken to the camp.
Not only does Guido show great love but so does Dora. Since she is not Jewish, Dora is not threatened by the concentration camps. However, when Guido and Giosuy are taken, she demands to go with them. Dora never sees either of the people she loves nor does she have any more time with Guido, but her love brings her to the concentration camp to share their fate.
One of the reasons for the warmth of the film is that viewers meet the characters when their lives are simple and happy. We see them first as Guido and Dora fall in love and begin to share their lives together. Additionally, we understand the characters because they are so well-developed. The viewer completely understands why Guido would make a game of the concentration camp since he creates a story or a game for every other part of life even beforehand.
I can't recommend this movie with anything more than complete enthusiam.
It is truly an emotional film.
Please click the YouTube excerpt on the right of the page, it's Noa singing the theme song to the movie, and her rendition is as beautiful as any part of the film.
I first came accross Noa while listening to Arutz Sheva's Isaeli jukebox some 10 years ago.
(Google "Arutz Sheva Jukebox, click on Israeli music, "listen" and Noa sings 'Machar Yagi'a Bechatzot', it's about the 7th song on the playlist. It's incredibly beautiful and moving.
Noa, or Acinoam Nini, is a huge star around the world.
She is a Yemini Jew who currently resides in Israel.
There's a link to her website on this Blog, or you can go to http://youtube.com/ and search for "Noa", it's worth it.
The film and the song both have brought me to tears, and that isn't easy.
They help me put my own existence in perspective.
I'll be back.
G-d willing.

Friday, September 7, 2007

Why Did Bin Laden Dye His Beard?

I don't know.
According to "Arabists" commenting on the cable news shows,
dyng one's beard is not common in the land of the blood cultist-moonworshippers.
Grey in the beard symbolizes wisdom.
Not in Bin Laden's case, of course, but generally.
Maybe he thought Whitney Huston would see the video, and he's
been watching the " Just For Men" commercials which promise that young
sex-Goddessses will drop dead at your feet, even if you're a terrorist, or
pushing your paltry possessions down the street in a shopping cart, and he
believes it.
By now most of us have seen the new YouTube offering by Bin
Laden.
I only wish I could get ahold of the dope he's doing. I'm
kidding. I'm already paranoid.
But seriously, aside from murdering innocent
women and children, what has this guy got going for himself? It's good that he drops in once in a while.
Maybe it will help find him.
And maybe it will reinvigorate the war on terror.
It couldn't hurt.
Osama bin Laden said in a new video marking the sixth anniversary of al Qaeda's September 11 attacks the United States was vulnerable despite its military and economic power, but he made no specific threats.
In his first video appearance for almost three years, the al Qaeda leader said U.S. President George W. Bush was repeating the mistakes of the former Soviet Union by refusing to acknowledge losses in Iraq.
In a sign that the almost 30-minute tape, acquired by Reuters Television from a web trawler in Europe, was made recently, bin Laden mentions new French President Nicolas Sarkozy and British Prime Minister Gordon Brown.
Its authenticity could not immediately be verified, although an excerpt seen by Reuters matched a still photograph carried by an al Qaeda-linked Web site which advertised the tape in advance. "Despite America being the greatest economic power and possessing the most powerful and modern military arsenal, and despite it spending on this war and its army more than the entire world spends on its armies, and being the major state influencing the world's policies ... 19 young men were able ... to change the direction of its compass," bin Laden said in the tape.
"The subject of the mujahideen has become an inseparable part of the speech of your leader and the effects and signs are not hidden. Since the 11th, many of America's policies have come under the influence of the mujahideen."
The video shows bin Laden sitting at a table dressed in white and cream robes and wearing white headgear.
Beneath him, a banner on the screen reads in English: "A message from Sheikh Osama bin Laden to the American people." Bin Laden appears tired and sallow, though his beard is much shorter and darker than in his last appearance, when it was streaked with grey. White House spokesman Tony Fratto said the tape demonstrated that "terrorists are out there and they are actively trying to kill Americans and threaten our interests."

Sunday, September 2, 2007

Christina...Not Bad Looking, But Naiive..



Hello, everybody.
This is my regular Sunday Blog.
Today I want to talk about that lady, Christina Amapour, who's been called a female Michael Moore, but not as funny.
She put together a piece of Garbage for CNN called G-d's Warriors, which attempted to equate Islam with Judaism and Christianity.
The media does indeed have a liberal slant, as very few reviews were on the mark.
Credit should be given to MSNBC for several reports the next day castigating Amapoor and CNN for this outright propaganda piece.
Fox justly condemned "G-d's Warriors" but in an effort to appear...fair and balanced, they had a couple of imbecilic leftists commenting on the issue, and if one hadn't seen the piece, one wouldn't really know that it was in fact a piece of politically correct Muslim propaganda.
By the way, my favorite Web Site, IsraelAmerica, summed up the "Documentary" pretty well, even before it finished running.
They called it an "affront to intelligence and good taste."
israelamerica.blogspot.com/
By the way, (again), in case you haven't heard, Amy Winehouse, (They Tried to Make me go to Rehab, I'm No Good) just got out of rehab, and the English tabloids had pics of her after a fight with her live- in lover.
Amy's career is taking off, but may not get far, unless someone can intervene and save her from herself.




Saturday, August 25, 2007

Now are the clouds lowered Upon Our House

You can’t do anything for anybody.
Whenever you do, people take it the wrong way.
Or you do it wrong, in which case, they are right.
If you should have known you were wrong.
The worst of it is, it takes forever to tell the stories to explain how you were trying to do something kind and helpful when people who don’t believe in that kind of thing,or never did anything unselfish, think you were doing something wrong.
But what do I know?
I’m just a schmuck without two nickels to rub together.
I’ve made a few mistakes.
But I’ve learned from them.
On the other hand, I’d do it all again.
I ran into this yenta recently who’d done her best to ruin my life, I treated her with kindness and gave her some money.
I should have run.
We are in a strange time.
I don’t know if things are getting better, or if we are on a fast track to Armageddon.
A couple of days ago I turned on the TV, a lady who had shot her preacher husband in the back just got out of being incarcerated.
67 days she served.
Can you guess what her defense was at trial?
I think you can.
Could it have been…abuse?
You guessed it.
According to her testimony, after she shot him in the back, he said, while he was lying on the floor, his life’s blood pouring from his body, according to her, he said, “Why?”
The jury felt sorry for her.
She said he made her dress in high heels and a wig to have sex.
She never told anyone she was abused in any way.
A chill goes down the spine of half the men in America when a story like this comes out.
Please understand, I don’t blame women in general for what’s happening, but there are a lot of men walking around today who’ve been good to the women in their lives and had a figurative knife put in their back.
Husbands and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends are killing each other at an unprecedented rate.

When you hook up with someone of low character, you should expect something bad to happen, eventually.
Before my last relationship ended, for a while, I thought that the lady in question was going to kill me in my sleep.
Am I crazy?
No, she was, and I knew it.
But she was sane enough, I also knew, to trot out the abuse excuse, and I figured she’d probably get away with it.
As it turned out, obviously, she didn’t kill me.
But in the wreckage of the relationship she has proudly proclaimed her victim hood and accused me of “emotional abuse”.
She doesn’t know the nature of it, she has nothing specific except, she says, “He played tennis too much , he woke the baby and he ignored the baby.”
Oy Vey.

Like I said, I don’t blame women in general.
I was married to a very decent lady at one time who actually had compassion and made the break-up as easy as possible.
So to those who turn on members of the opposite sex and say, “They’re all dogs, or no good.” I say, you are wrong.
But, the good ones are definitely harder to find and hold onto than the ones who are looking for a fool.
So, good luck to you.
I’ll be back.

Friday, August 24, 2007

Pat Falls!!

Hello, everybody, this is my regular Friday blog.
Today I was with my little boy, we were playing in the sandbox and a pretty girl came by.
Patrick ran to the edge of the box, stood up on the edge and wham!
Head over heels.
I just missed him by a few inches.
I think he'll probably have a goose egg when he gets home tonight, poor little guy.
But you know, like father, like son.
I'm the same way.
If a pretty girl walks by I forget about everything else.
He cried a little, but forgot the incident in a couple of minutes and we went back to playing.

CNN has been broadcasting a series titled, "G-d's Warriors."
Don't watch it unless you want to puke all over yourself.
Guess who comes out to be the good guys and who comes out to be the bad guys?
That's right, the Jews and the Christians are the ones we have to worry about because Baruch Goldstein shot some Muslims screaming, "Kill the Jews" in a cave 13 years ago.
They don't mention what the innocent Muslims were screaming, of course, or that they had recently murdered two of Goldstein's closest friends, one of whom died in his arms.
CNN condemns the Christians because they support Israel.
The Muslims, if you didn't know already, are according to CNN, just misunderstood.

Mailto:

Friday, August 17, 2007

Friday the 17th part II

Hello everybody, this is my regular Friday blog.
Stick around, you might learn something you never knew before.
I know what you're thinking, you're thinking, who is this schmuck that thinks he knows something that other people don't know?
Well, you know, when Edison invented the light bulb, he told everyone the same thing, and they all thought he was nuts, just like you probably think I am.
When the Wright Brothers invented the airplane, and told people they could fly, everyone said, "listen to these crazy b**tards, they don't know nothing. "
Maybe I'm smarter than you are, and I can teach you things.
Or maybe I'm not smarter, and you don't know why.

But seriously, I had a very nice time with my son Patrick today.
He's very bright.
Like his Dad.
He knows his own mind, and he knows what he wants, just like his Dad.
He's very handsome, too, like his Dad.

He's only two, and he gets kind of tired out after a couple of hours, and his mind starts to wander, and he gets sleepy and a little cranky sometimes, like his Mom.

Just kidding.

Have a nice weekend, everybody.


1287

Thursday, August 16, 2007

This is the Barrow Gang.
They robbed banks.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Hey there...


I'm still alive.
If you call this living.

Friday, August 3, 2007

Workin' For The Weekend

I would send out for assistance but there's souls on the signal wire
And the corporation logo is flashing on and off in the sky
They're putting all your names in the forbidden book
I know what they're doing but I don't want to look
You think they're so dumb, you think they're so funny
Wait until they've got you running to the
Night rally, night rally, night rally
Everybody's singing with their hand on their heart
About deeds done in the darkest hours
That's just the sort of catchy little melody
To get you singing in the showers
Oh, I know that I'm ungratefulI've got it lying on a plate
And I'm not buying my share of souvenirs
You can stand to attentionYou can pray to your uncle
Only get that chicken out of here
Everyone gets armbands and 3-D glasses
Some are in the back room
And they're taking those night classes
You think they're so dumb, you think they're so funny
Wait until they've got you running to theNight rally, night rally, night rally

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Quick Joey Small jumped Over The Wall

Two criminal cases of interest this week.
A lady in Indiana left her baby in the car while she ran inside the house to get an umbrella.
A thief stole the car, abandoning it a block away when he noticed the baby.
She's in jail now.
She's a criminal.

A fellow in California was fleeing from law enforcement when two helicopters crashed over head.
They are considering charging him with felony murder.

Serves them right?
I wonder....

Friday, July 27, 2007

Email Us!!

mailto:michaelblackburnsr@gmail.com

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

The Quarrys



It was raining cats and dogs outside.
I stepped into a poodle.
But all seriousness aside, I was thinking about the Quarry family again today.
I remeber Evelyn, my Mom, saying, "You know, Jerry Quarry should nick-name himself, 'Rock', you know, then he'd be Rock Quarry'".

When I met them, i.e., Mike and Jerry, Mike was fifteen, so was I.
We were at the crossroads of lives filled with promise, with dreams of success in our eyes.
It gives me a "someone is walking over my grave" kind of feeling.
Mike is dead. Pugilistic dementia, they say, caused his death.
Massive blunt force trauma.
Jerry is gone too.
They were only in their fifties.
I remember sparring with Jerry Quarry right after he had won the Olympics Gold.
He was huge, but a gentleman.
I mean, gentle, considerate, and kind.
He should have lived another 20 years.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

The Strange Death Of My Friend Mike Quarry


I just learned shortly after watching some film of an old Mike Quarry fight, that he had died over a year ago.

He was a good fellow, although I only knew him as a kid.

Here's one story of our bout in 1965.


Dave Fierro is my trainer. A Mexican gnome He’s good natured and funny. We are waiting for my fight to come up. All night long handlers have been helping their beaten fighters to the lockers in the Anaheim Civic Auditorium. Other fighters came back after their fights obviously elated, some overjoyed at success in the ring. Tonight was a big night for me, I was fighting someone who was famous, Mike Quarry. His brother, Jerry Quarry, had just won Olympic Gold by knocking out five straight opponents. Mike was also tough. Like me, he was tall for a middleweight. Dave was talking quietly as he taped my hands. “This kid’s tough, Michael. You’re a better boxer, but he has a powerful right cross. He knocks guys out.” He wraps the gauze around my hand and between my fingers methodically and expertly. “Don’t trade punches with him, out box him.” I hear him, and I don’t hear him. I hear his voice and the words, but my mind is flying. I look around and see gray lockers, street shoes on the floor, clothes strewn over the benches.I can hear the crowd upstairs yelling. I can tell by the amount of cheering that someone is probably taking a fearful beating. All it sometimes takes is one punch to decide the winner and loser in this type of combat. They are practically carrying some guy downstairs, obviously the loser. He has a purple welt under his eye, his nose is bleeding, and he looks barely conscious. Well, that’s what all of us fighters face down here. Could be me in a few minutes, I’m thinking. Dave puts the last strip of adhesive tape across my knuckles, I stand and shadow box a little. I feel quick, my hands blur as I throw combinations of punches that Dave has taught me. Quarry and I stand abreast as we wait for our fight to be announced. He looks over at me, “Hey Michael,” he says, quietly, “We ‘re friends and all, outside the ring, but inside the ring, the way I feel, we’re not friends anymore.” I smiled, “I’m glad to hear you say that, Mike. No hard feelings. A voice drones out of the ludspeaker. “Quarry, Blackburn, you’re up next.” We walk up the stairs like gladiators and out into the arena. I can feel the eyes of the women in the crowd as I make my way towards the ring. Mike gets his intro first, his famous brother is mentioned, and then I’m introduced, as “one of the hottest prospects in a long time, and the East Los Angeles boxing champion.” Quarry gets a huge ovation, I get some polite applause, some catcalls, and some boos. In the center of the ring the referee says, “You boys know the rules. Let’s have a good, clean fight.” Everything else seems to disappear, it’s just me and my opponent in this universe which is the ring. Quarry is jabbing, circling counter-clockwise, I’ve always noticed the odd way the Quarry’s fight. Mike’s head is bent to the right, unless he’s bobbing and weaving in the odd, jerky style that is peculiar to Quarry brothers. I unleash a combination, Mike fires back with a combination of punches of his own, catching me with a hard right hand. I back pedal and throw long left jabs, the punch Mike had landed did some damage, my mind is foggy. I hear the crowd roar for my blood.” Knock him out, Quarry!” Fans shout excitedly. I’m moving from side to side, using my speed and footwork to avoid the flurry of blows Quarry flings at me. Suddenly the lights go out as he lands a left hook flush on my jaw. At some point I’m back on my feet and the referee is brushing my gloves against his white shirt, which is dazzling in it’s brilliance. Then I’m back in my corner. Dave is calm. Everyone else is screaming. I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Across the ring, Quarry looks like he's being restrained from coming at me by his handlers. I feel like I'm in some kind of Salvador Dali painting come to life.
I was able to avoid being punched out in the second round, and in the ensuing rounds we traded punches. I remembered Dave saying not to fight this way, but Mike’s pre fight comments and Dave’s feeling that I couldn’t punch as hard as Quarry, or survive his shots, made the bout personal. In the final round we were both exhausted. I didn’t want to raise my hands they were so heavy. In the corner Dave says, “Michael, he’s tired.” I answer, breathing hard as Dave pours ice water down my neck. “So am I.”
Dave is rubbing my shoulders and talking into my ear, “Michael, you got this fight won. Just jab and move, don’t take any chances.” I don’t answer, the bell rings. I leap off of my stool. Quarry comes roaring out of his corner. We touch gloves, he smiles, “This is it, Man, go for it.” We square off and he comes at me with two quick jabs and a flashy looking over hand right which grazes my jaw, That was close, I’m thinking. I throw a left , lean to the right, throw a hook and a hard right hand, uncoiling my body and throwing the right like a fastball. The punch lands flush on Quarry’s chin, I hit him with a left hook and another right before he pulls back at the waist then back pedals a couple of steps. I chase after him, he stops, I coil my body to the right and my gloved fist is like a whip as I bring the punch low then up. Just before the blow connects Quarry steps inside and lands a perfectly thrown right which hits me while all of my momentum is going forward. Everything goes white for a second. Just like a whiteout in the high country. I leap back and to the side as Quarry pursues me with a confident smile on his handsome Irish face. I grab him around the waist, clinching, as the referee steps between us and shouts, “break”. Quarry won a split decision. A disputed split decision.



Mike Quarry (born March 4, 1951; died June 11, 2006) was a light heavyweight boxer. He had a record of 63-13-6 with 17 knockouts during his career, which began in 1969 and ended in 1982.
Mike Quarry was born in Bakersfield, California. He first began boxing at the age of 8 and obtained his license to fight as an amateur at 17. In 1968 he tried out for the Olympics but was disqualified for ducking below the waist and using the ropes to provide additional momentum for his punches.
Mike Quarry tried to emulate his older brother Jerry, a renowned heavyweight fighter.
"(Mike) always felt like he didn't have his own identity," Robert Pearson, his brother-in-law, told the Los Angeles Times. "At one time Michael said, 'They might as well put on my epitaph: Here lies Jerry Quarry's little brother.'"
Mike Quarry had his one chance at a title shot in 1972, when he went up against Bob Foster for the World Boxing Council and World Boxing Association light heavyweight crowns. Quarry lost on a fourth-round knockout.
Mike Quarry's death was attributed to pugilistic dementia, which also caused Jerry Quarry's death.
Mike Quarry's grave is in Shafter, California, near the grave of Jerry Quarry.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Sarah Silverman...Oy Vey


This young lady is probabaly the funniest comedian in the last 50 years.
She has a number of videos on http://youtube.com every one is hilarious.
She's a bit...off color however.
If you watch the video I've linked to below, don't have any kids around, OK?













http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EhKnjEXL3w

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Some Advice..


To anyone experiencing the break-up of a relationship, here is my advice...

Be as kind as you can.

Do not seek revenge.

Do not make threats.

Do not use the children as pawns.

Get on with your life without the other person..immediately,

they are no longer your concern.

Do it.

Survive.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Liatush!

פלס. מצרך נדיר





גם מאמי וגם סקסית

Hey, everybody, PLEASE listen to the song posted on the right, labeled "Israeli Rock".
It is one of the best songs I've ever heard, it features an ensemble of singers coming in and harmonizing at different stages of the tune.
The lyrics say, " after everything all will end, and the picture too".
The song is a warning for a young star - things are ending in the end, so stay a human being
It is truly moving.
In the news, President Bush is asking for more time to make progress in Iraq.
I say we give him the time.
I've heard some credible reports that many Iraqis are begining to get involved in the fight against Al queda, the cancer of the middle-east.
I had a nice talk with one of my daughters last night.
I thought to myself, "I'm lucky to have a daughter like her," but I guess it's not really luck.
It's genetics and a great Mom.
A long line of beautiful, intelligent women on my side, and a long line of beautiful women on her mother's side, too.
Baruch HaShem






Saturday, July 14, 2007

Israel army holds Shalit suspect


You've got to have a lot of sympathy for this poor man.
Held by the most blood-thirtsty group of armed bandits on the planet, and having no idea when or if he may be released.
If you pray, this man could use your prayers.
Mike
The Israeli military says it has arrested a Palestinian man over the capture of Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit one year ago near the Gaza Strip.
A military spokesman said Mohammed Salameh Abed Zufi was detained by Israeli troops during a raid on the Rafah refugee camp in Gaza on 9 June.
The army said it delayed announcing the man's arrest while it prepared charges.
Cpl Shalit was captured by militants last year in a raid across the Gaza border which killed two other soldiers.
The Israeli army said Mr Zufi was a member of Hamas and the Popular Resistance Committees militant group.
Hamas' military wing has said it captured Cpl Shalit.
'Honourable deal'
An army spokesman said Mr Zufi had photographed the 25 June 2006 attack in which Cpl Shalit was seized.
The spokesman said Mr Zufi had taken part in other attacks, including firing rockets from Gaza into southern Israel.
A Hamas leader in Gaza, Ismail Haniya, said last week that he would like to bring Cpl Shalit's captivity to an end.
Mr Haniya said he wanted the Israeli soldier freed in return for the release of Palestinian prisoners held by Israel in an "honourable deal".
About 10,000 Palestinian prisoners are being held in Israeli jails, some without charge.
On the first anniversary of Cpl Shalit's capture, militants linked to Hamas released an audio message from him.
He said his health was deteriorating after a year in captivity.
His capture triggered a large-scale Israeli operation in the Gaza Strip.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Al Sharpton, Bigot


I AM SICK AND TIRED OF Al Sharpton, that pseudo “minister” setting himself up as some type of arbiter of morality.
He is now going after Howard Levin for saying, in a description of a costume that Beyonce wore, that it was a “roboho” outfit.
Aside from the fact that Sharpton created the disgusting, racist Tawana Brawley scam, he has no credentials to present himself as someone to be deferred to in terms of right and wrong.
His attack on other (white people) people’s use of commonly used vernacular is hypocritical to say the least.
Rev. Al is a racist SOB. Listen to his radio show sometime; it'll scare the hell out of you.

Friday, July 6, 2007

Click On Painting to see Full-Size View !!

I"m not a Christian, But I like fine art.

This painting by Salvadore Dali is so cool..

Thursday, July 5, 2007

When the rains come

I can show you,
That when it starts to rain,
Everythings the same,
I can show you,
I can show you....

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Happy BirthDay Nicky!




Happy Birthday Son,
And
Many More!!
Love,
DAD

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Wimbledon


The World Championships of Tennis start tommorrow.

Roger Federer, Sharapova, Andy Roddick, justine Henman.

Watch it!

Friday, June 22, 2007

Working for the weekend


Things are looking better every day.
I'm strong, confident and rising above the injustice visited upon me by the criminals of the Sandoval County CYFD.
Someday I hope to have them in court explaining why they committed perjury and falsified documents.
But for now I just try to enjoy life and feel joy in knowing that my children are prospering and doiong well.things are looking much better for little Patrick as well.
Enjoy your week-end everyone.
Shabbat Shalom


Thursday, June 21, 2007

Shalom, Shalom!



Need I say more?
These young ladies are Israelis who've been peruaded to do the patriotic thing and pose for an issue of Maxim's Magazine.
I attended a court hearing this week, it went well.
Patrick is doing great.
He is so beautiful, and almost as smart as his Dad.
Which is pretty good since he's only two!
I've been studying computer animation lately, it's going well, and it's fun, too.
I must confess to playing more of the game "Al Queda, Hunt for Bin Laden" than I should, but it's rather addicting, and who wouldn't love shooting hundreds of Arabs before killing Mr. B himself?
I used to play this game quite a bit with my son Michael.
(Sigh) Those were the days.
I am following the story of the missing pregnant mother in N. Carolina.
9 days now.
I've had some relationships go bad, but it's really sad how some of them, and it seems like more all the time, wind up so tragically.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

kudos to Salmon Rushdie


Salmon Rushdie, as most of us know, has been the victim of a Fatwa, the Islamic version of the Lifetime Achievement Award, that most of us could only hope to earn.
I more than likely despise Islam more than Rushdie, so where’s my Fatwa?

But all seriousness aside, the man is an incredible writer, some say, (and I agree) a genius.
My top pick from his writings is , “The Ground Beneath Her Feet” a surrealistic yet engrossing story of the love between two rock stars.
"I am thrilled and humbled to receive this great honour and am very grateful that my work has been recognised in this way," the new knight said.
He deserves it, and it tends to make the cretins who issued the “Fatwa” look rather fatuous as well.
That's his wife in the photo BTW, do you wonder why he is smiling?

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Bonnie an Clyde (By Bonnie Parker)


You've read the story of Jesse James
of how he lived and died.
If you're still in need;
of something to read,
here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde.
Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang
I'm sure you all have read.
how they rob and steal;
and those who squeal,
are usually found dying or dead.
There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;
they're not as ruthless as that.
their nature is raw;
they hate all the law,
the stool pidgeons, spotters and rats.
They call them cold-blooded killers
they say they are heartless and mean.
But I say this with pride
that I once knew Clyde,
when he was honest and upright and clean.
But the law fooled around;
kept taking him down,
and locking him up in a cell.
Till he said to me;
"I'll never be free,
so I'll meet a few of them in hell"
The road was so dimly lighted
there were no highway signs to guide.
But they made up their minds;
if all roads were blind,
they wouldn't give up till they died.
The road gets dimmer and dimmer
sometimes you can hardly see.
But it's fight man to man
and do all you can,
for they know they can never be free.
From heart-break some people have suffered
from weariness some people have died.
But take it all in all;
our troubles are small,
till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.
If a policeman is killed in Dallas
and they have no clue or guide.
If they can't find a fiend,
they just wipe their slate clean
and hang it on Bonnie and Clyde.
There's two crimes committed in America
not accredited to the Barrow mob.
They had no hand;
in the kidnap demand,
nor the Kansas City Depot job.
A newsboy once said to his buddy;
"I wish old Clyde would get jumped.
In these awfull hard times;
we'd make a few dimes,
if five or six cops would get bumped"
The police haven't got the report yet
but Clyde called me up today.
He said,"Don't start any fights;
we aren't working nights,
we're joining the NRA."
From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
is known as the Great Divide.
Where the women are kin;
and the men are men,
and they won't "stool" on Bonnie and Clyde.
If they try to act like citizens
and rent them a nice little flat.
About the third night;
they're invited to fight,
by a sub-gun's rat-tat-tat.
They don't think they're too smart or desperate
they know that the law always wins.
They've been shot at before;
but they do not ignore,
that death is the wages of sin.
Some day they'll go down together
they'll bury them side by side.
To few it'll be grief,
to the law a relief
but it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.

Israel plans attack on Gaza


ISRAEL’s new defence minister Ehud Barak is planning an attack on Gaza within weeks to crush the Hamas militants who have seized power there.
According to senior Israeli military sources, the plan calls for 20,000 troops to destroy much of Hamas’s military capability in days.
The raid would be triggered by Hamas rocket attacks against Israel or a resumption of suicide bombings.
Barak, who is expected to become defence minister tomorrow, has already demanded detailed plans to deploy two armoured divisions and an infantry division, accompanied by assault drones and F-16 jets, against Hamas.
The Israeli forces would expect to be confronted by about 12,000 Hamas fighters with arms confiscated from the Fatah faction that they defeated in last week’s three-day civil war in Gaza.
Details of the plan emerged as Fatah forces in the West Bank stormed Hamas-run buildings, including the parliament in Ramallah, where they tried to seize the deputy speaker.
Israeli officials believe their forces would face even tougher resistance in Gaza than they encountered during last summer’s war against Hezbollah in south Lebanon.
A source close to Barak said that Israel could not tolerate an aggressive “Hamastan” on its border and an attack seemed unavoidable.
“The question is not if but how and when,” he said.
Uzi Mahnaimi

Friday, June 15, 2007

Friday


Friday at last.
I don't know about you, but I could hardly wait.
It's nice to see Mike Nefong getting his comeuppence for his brutal treatment of the innocent Duke LaCrosse players.
Having experinced first hand the corruption of those in the local DA's office here in Sandoval
County, I'm pleased to watch this evil man squirm on the stand as he awaits his fait.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Clueless in Gaza


Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Happiness Is............



Celebrities, Ancient and modern,
Speak about Happiness:
Happiness, that grand mistress of the ceremonies in the dance of life,
impels us through all its mazes and meanderings, but leads none of us by the
same route.
~ Charles Caleb Colton
Of mortals there is no one who is
happy. If wealth flows in upon one, one may be perhaps Luckier than one's
neighbor, but still not happy.
~ Euripedes
A great obstacle to happiness
is to anticipate too great a happiness.
~ Fontenelle
What we call
happiness in the strictest sense comes from the (preferably sudden) satisfaction
of needs which have been dammed up to a high degree.
~ Sigmund Freud
No
man can be happy without a friend, nor be sure of his friend till he is unhappy.
~ Thomas Fuller
We are long before we are convinced that happiness is
never to be found, and each believes it possessed by others, to keep alive the
hope of obtaining it for himself.
~ Samuel Johnson
No matter how dull,
or how mean, or how wise a man is, he feels that happiness is his indisputable
right.
~ Helen Keller
When one door of happiness closes, another opens;
but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which
has been opened for us.
~ Helen Keller
it is better to be happy for a
moment and be burned up with beauty than to live a long time and be bored all
the while
~ Don Marquis

Monday, June 11, 2007

Arab Killer Convicted


A father has been found guilty of murdering his 20-year-old daughter because she fell in love with the wrong man.
Banaz Mahmod was strangled in a so-called "honour" killing and buried in a suitcase in a back garden.
Her father Mahmod Mahmod and his brother Ari Mahmod ordered the murder because they believed she had shamed the family.
Banaz told police four times that she feared they wanted to kill her, even writing a letter naming those she thought would do it -
one of whom later admitted his part in the killing and two who fled the country.On another occasion her fears were dismissed by a female police officer who thought she had made up the story to get her boyfriend's attention.
She is one of a number of Metropolitan Police officers now facing an internal disciplinary investigation over the handling of the case.Mahmod, 52, and Ari, 51, both from Mitcham, south London, were found guilty of Banaz's murder following a trial lasting nearly three months.
Banaz had helped convict them from beyond the grave with a video message played to jurors in which she told how she feared she was going to die.
She recorded the footage, in which she said she was "really scared", following an earlier attempt by her father to kill her on New Year's Eve 2005.
Banaz fled but later went back to her family and tried to carry on her relationship with boyfriend Rahmat Sulemani in secret.
But when they were discovered and Rahmat was threatened by Ari's associates, she contacted police again.Banaz was urged to stay at a safe house but told officers she believed she would be all right at home because her mother was there.
The following day, on January 24, she disappeared. Her decomposed body was discovered in Handsworth, Birmingham, three months later.Mohamad Hama, 30, of West Norwood, south London, an associate of Ari, has already pleaded guilty to the murder.
Darbaz Maref-Rasull, 24, of Hounslow, west London, was cleared, with Ari, of conspiracy to pervert justice. Pshtewan Hama, 26, also of Hounslow, has already pleaded guilty on the same count.Neither Mahmod nor Ari showed any emotion as the verdicts were delivered. They were both remanded in custody to be sentenced at a later date.
Rahmat shook his fist in celebration and wiped tears from his eyes as he watched the jury return with their decision.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Roland Garros


Howdy.
Beautiful weather out today.
Trying to make the best of it.
I swam a few laps, and gasping for breath went inside to watch Roger Federer try to take the French Open title from Nadal.
He failed.
The French Open has been a curse for many great players.
Nadal, who in my opinion is not a great player, has won it three times, but no other major tournaments.
He grew up on clay.
Feder has mainly played hard courts and grass, all of which he has won in the last three years.

Maybe next year.

Friday, June 8, 2007

Paris Gets the Treatment

I have a problem with those who aren't celebrities being subjected to the type of injustice that they are subjected to.
But that doesn't mean people who have means should be brutalized as well.
I think it is terribly wrong to punish people with money more harshly than is merited.
Remember the French revolution.
Caging people is barbaric, and should only be used for the most violent and dangerous criminals, period, and an alternative needs to be found for them as well.
No one is sentenced to being beaten or killed in jail, That is not part of the sentence, and if there were not so many people in jail, essentially for being poor, uncontollable violence would not be epidemic in prisons and jails.
I would be willing to bet that the L.A. Sheriff thought Hilton's life might be in danger.
I understand from reports that whenever she left her cell criminals would yell and scream things like, "we gonna get you, Paris."
Making a big show out of hauling her into Sybil Brand or Lakewood isn't right.
There's plenty of other county farms and facilities they could have sentenced her to and that should have been part of any "deal" that was cut.
That in itself says alot.
Everybody wanted a big show out of this and Baca is the real stooge. To just toss her into gladiator school is way wrong
This whole affaire should have been handled with alot more discretion.
Because of her high profile and notoriety she should be afforded at least some modicum of consideration.
Like I said earlier, there are PLENTY of jail facilities that could serve the purpose of incarcerating public figures such as Paris. Maybe a little dairy farm or an honor ranch in the canyon.
But to just pop her into the central slammer is sadistic. Paris wouldn't stand a chance in some jail ratpack melee .

Thursday, June 7, 2007

Lord, Protect My Child

I don't know if Patrick's mother reads this Blog or not.
If she does, I ask her to think about the wonderful life Patrick can have with the people he is with now.
He will have everything he wants in life.
He will have much more than we could ever give him.
Please, let Patrick have a happy life.

Here's a poem from Bob Dylan that kind of mirrors
How I feel.






For his age, he is wise,
He's got his mother's eyes,
There's gladness in his heart,
He's young and he's wild ,
My only prayer is, if I can't be there,
Lord, protect my child,
As his youth now unfolds ,
He is centuries old,
Just to see him at play makes me smile,
No matter what happens to me,
No matter what my destiny,
Lord, protect my child,
While the world is asleep,
You can look at it and weep,
Few things you find are worthwhile,
And though I don't ask for much,
No material things to touch,
Lord, protect my child,
He's young and on fire ,
Full of hope and desire,
In a world that's been raped, raped and defiled,
If I fall along the way ,
And can't see another dayLord, protect my child,
There'll be a time I hear tell,
When all will be well,
When God and man will be reconciled,
But until men lose their chains,
And righteousness reigns
Lord, protect my child.



Paris Treated Like A Human Being


Paris Hilton was released from jail this morning, much to the chagrin of reporters, pundits and assorted haters.
She should have been released, not because she's Paris Hilton,but because jail is cruel and unusual punishment.
There are very few people who should be in jail.
To lock human beings in cages is barbaric, and people who have not been locked in a cage, surrounded by violent criminals, don't really have any knowledge with which to intelligently comment on what Ms Hilton went through.
Kudos to the L.A. Sheriff's Dept.

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

I Don't Care..




I don't care if it rains or freezes cause I got my plastic Jesus riding on the dashboard of my car,

You can buy Him phosphorescent,

Glows in the dark,

He's Pink and Pleasant,

Take Him with you when you're travelling far.

I don't care if it's dark or scaryLong as I have magnetic MaryRidin' on the dashboard of my car

I feel I'm protected amply

I've got the whole damn Holy Family

Riding on the dashboard of my car

You can buy a Sweet Madonna Dressed in rhinestones

sitting on aPedestal of abalone shell

Goin' ninety, I'm not wary'Cause I've got my Virgin MaryGuaranteeing I won't go to Hell!

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Places We've Seen

This is a pool in Sabino Canyon.
The Road up to Mt. Lemon...
A forest in the Catalinas near Mt. Lemon
The Mighty Rio Grande River At Sunset

A view of the Sandia Mountains from the desert near Albuquerque.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

A Day at the Beach in 1960


Sue Robinson is 13, a very mature thirteen.
I’m twelve; she’s an older woman.
To me, at least, she is definitely a woman, nothing childish about her.
She’s from Tennessee; she has an accent that knocks me out.
We are lying in the hot sun, fanned by the cool ocean breeze, on the beach at Malibu.
Dad, muscular and tan, is wrestling with Mom, but he looks over at Sue and me from time to time.
I get the uneasy feeling he’s looking at her more than me.
Sue looks up as she lies on a blanket on the sand and the waves roll in like liquid, caressing hands, lapping at the shore.
“Do you like me, Michael?” she asked, coquettishly, moving in a way that always takes my breath away.
“No, Sue,” I replied, a smirk on my face.
She sat up abruptly, her cheeks flushed red, she looked out at the Pacific,” You don’t?” she pouted.
“I don’t like you. I love you.”
I answered, and looked into her dark blue eyes.
She relaxed and ran a hand through her long black hair.

She is on my mind all the time.
I feel light-headed when I’m around her, and lost when I’m not.
I’ve had girl friends as far back as I can remember, but this was different.
This was passionate, overpowering, and sensual.

I leaned over to kiss her, she pulled back, “Not here, Michael, not in front of your Momma and Daddy.”
I felt a surge of disappointment.
I stood up and grabbed the rope looped through the surf rider we’d rented.
“I’m going out. Watch me, OK?”
She licked her lips and batted her dark eyelashes “Don’t go out too far.”
I trotted through the soft golden sand towards the foaming, greenish surf.
The sand was hot.
It burned my feet.
I sighed with relief as I trod across the firm, damp, sand at the water’s edge.
I looked towards the pier where Pat, Maureen and Rick are building sand castles.
The water is cold as I wade in and clamber onto the raft.
I used my hands to propel the surf rider past a group of laughing teenagers, splashing and playing at shoulder depth in the ocean.
A flock of snowy white gulls is wheeling overhead under the flaming sun; the deep blue sky is a roof with no ceiling.
I floated over the swells and felt the sea breeze cooling my body.
I looked over my shoulder towards the beach.
The people looked tiny in the distance.
I started to sit up on the surf rider and with a feeling of panic I slid off of the slippery plastic, plunging into the depths of the sea.
I can’t swim!

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Zen, Tao and Mountains




I rode my mountain bike to the foothills of the Sandias from Albuquerque yesterday, it only took an hour or so, it was a nice morning, warm and sunny, although we've been having some pretty heavy thunderstorms in the afternoons.
I enjoyed the quiet and solitude while hiking in the high desert mountains..
Because of the elevation and nature of these mountains, there is a feeling of otherworldliness..

I took a trail that begins at the parking lot off of Tramway.
I walked up the sandy arroyo that my sons and I had hiked so many times in the past.
The trail basically followed the arroyo around, and eventually ended-up in a narrow canyon, one or two hundred feet above the stream. This first portion of Embudito Trail was rocky, exposed, and pretty steep. There were a lot of switchbacks along the way, and it was hot, with no shade to speak of.
However, after only 50 yards there was a streambed, I took off my tennis shoes and let the chilly snow pack runnoff cool me down.
After about another mile or so, Embudito Trail started getting into some evergreen trees and shade, and it was really pleasant.
Shortly thereafter, the trail crossed the streambed and switched to the north-facing wall of the canyon. This stretch of the trail was very lush and green. It is one of the most secluded and prettiest areas in the Sandia Mountains.
There were pounding storms during the afternoon hours, but I waited them out in a shallow cave near the trail.
It was invigorating and enriching.
The high country, like the high country of the mind, is not that easy to get to, and the air is rarified, but the effort is worth it.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Will the Real Homer Simpson Please Stand Up?

Forgive me, for I have sinned.
I mean in putting up this video.
It's pretty funny, though, and the tune is catchy.

Monday, May 21, 2007

It's Monday...


Monday morning, can't trust that day,
Monday morning sometimes it just turns out that way.
Oh Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be
Oh Monday Monday, how could you leave and not take me.


Mamas and Papas

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Shalom Ba' Olam


Shalom, Shalom,

A dear friend, Aliza Shifberg, of blessed memory, would say that when I said "Shalom."
She said it in kind of a bored way.
Like, "Yeah, Yeah, Shalom already."
Aliza was a Holocaust survivor from Poland.
After fleeing Poland in the forties, as a 15 year old girl, she fought against the Arabs and the British, ("Mainly the British." she would say) as a member of the underground organization, Haganah.
When I light the Shabbat candle on Friday, I think of dear Aliza and her family.
When I was "vacationing", last year, her daughter sent me a number of books on Israel and Jewish issues, and kept in constant communication, when many of my gentile friends, and even family, forsook me.
Aliza was brought from New Mexico to live with her son, Israel,in Thailand, where she lived the type of life she deserved, pampered and loved by all.
A true mensch, she was.
I'm going to keep the Amy Winehouse video up as long as YouTube will let me, it's really a great video and showcase for an incredibly talented lady.
If you have a few moments, please give it a listen..tell your friends, buy the album!
All you Blackburn's out there, and everyone else, for that matter, enjoy the week-end!

Friday, May 18, 2007

Amy Winehouse!






Music Review: Amy Winehouse - Back to Black
Written by Janine Macdonald

Back to Black is Amy Winehouse’s second album, and the soul singer gives it her all. Although her first album came out in 2003, many people will be hearing her for the first time around, and will love her as much as I do.

The funky reggae sounds of "Rehab" is addictive, but even more addictive is this girl’s strong, big voice and her ability to change her style of music in each song and still belt them out.

It’s not hard to see why this girl won the Brit awards for best solo album recently. The track "Me and Mr Jones" seems to take back a step in time to the sixties, and sounds like an all-girl band’s, such the Supremes, hit song. It is very catchy and her vocal range shows the influence of the likes of Diana Ross as well as "Just Friends."

The title track, "Back To Black," is another that sounds like a Supremes' song musically, and as soon as I heard it, I expected Diana Ross to start singing, “baby, baby…” as it is so reminiscent of "Baby Love."

Actually, probably more than half the album bares itself as a tribute to artists from the sixties, who have influenced Winehouse, and it could easily be considered a tribute to Phil Spector’s style of music that helped many bands from that period become famous.

The whole album is a highlight and a music lover’s delight in not just the vocals but the chimes, sax, bass drums, piano and harmonies. The talented singer also had a hand in writing her songs and the style of her writing is fresh and refreshingly honest.

Definitely a fine introduction to jazz for those who have not had the pleasure before, and Winehouse shows that she can hold her own against the likes of Joss Stone.


Outstanding songs: "Rehab," "Back To Black," "Me And Mr. Jones."

I can’t wait to hear more from this refreshing new artist, who blows Norah Jones out of the water, and might even look at picking up her first album.

I give her 4/5

Record Label: Republic
Year: 2007
Track listing:

1. Rehab
2. You Know I'm No Good
3. Me & Mr. Jones
4. Just Friends
5. Back To Black
6. Love Is A Losing Game
7. Tears Dry On Their Own
8. Wake Up Alone
9. Some Unholy War
10. He Can Only Hold Her
11. Addicted

Needs Must, I like It Well

Things are going alright.
Haven't heard from any family in a while except Patrick and Liz, but I guess everyone is pretty busy.
Nice weather in New Mexico today.
Enjoy the weekend everyone!

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Summer


The sun was just beginning to paint the sky as dawn crept, like an awakening lover, over the distant mountain ranges.
I’d been living in the Sandia Mountains for a couple of seasons.
The faded yellow Toyota pickup was parked on a slant on the sandy, rock strewn trail, a tent and assorted camping gear would be stowed in the back later.
I heard the quiet chirping of birds in the fragrant, Douglas fir overhead and the hectic chatter of a family of squirrels.
I was invading their space, and they were letting me know it.
My campsite was on a grassy field off of a rock covered four-wheel trail at the timberline.
I stretched in my sleeping bag in the red, heat-encapsulated tent, grabbed some matches, put on a pair of cut off jeans and walked outside through the yielding soil towards the fire ring six feet from my tent. The morning air was chilly.
Pines towered above me like ancient wooden sentinels, the air was filled with the smell.
I poured some gasoline on the logs in the center, struck a match and stood back as the pile exploded into flames.
As the flames died down, I leaned over the burning logs to warm up.
I looked around.
The firs and pines of the forest were covered with sweet dew, the grass looked healthy and alive, the hills and valleys around me were pink from the rising sun.
I hiked down a rocky slope and through a thicket of reeds where I knelt beside a cold, clear stream and bathed, goose bumps breaking out on my body as I braved the frigid water.
I pulled the cutoffs over my hips and trotted back to the fire.
The warmth of the flames on my skin felt good.
The smell of burning pine mixed with the scent of the forest was invigorating.
I looked at my watch.
It was 7:30 in the morning; I had to be at work by 8.
I put on a pair of faded jeans, a black t-shirt, a pair of canvas shoes, threw my tent and accoutrements in the back of the truck, stuck the key in the ignition, cranked the Toyota’s four cylinder engine to life, and gravel spraying behind me, bounced over the rock strewn four-wheel trail into town.
The countryside was lit with the blazing fire of the sun, which now was burning over the horizon.
The valley below was alive with brush and green cacti,
The green jungle- like strip of forest bordering the Rio Grande snaked it’s way through the middle of the valley, only occasional glimpses of reflective silver giving away the river running through it.
I gunned the engine as I left the wild country and pulled onto Tramway, heading downtown.
20 minutes later I wheeled the pick-up onto the gravel covered parking lot of the yellow cab company.
I was covering for another driver today.
Usually I worked nights.
If you want to see the raw underbelly of life in a city, drive a cab for a while.
I got behind the wheel of cab 64, guided her out of the lot and drove over to 15th and Summer where my kid brother Kevin lived with his wife Liz.
Liz was a beautiful Spanish girl with lustrous black hair, soft brown eyes, and an intelligent, cheerful, soft-spoken manner.
Kevin was a match for her physically, and had a kind of animal magnetism that made him irresistible to men and women.
I liked the neighborhood, I had survived quite an ordeal there, and I had come back to life, from the brink of self-destruction, in a small wood and stucco house that he and I built over a couple of summers and winters.
I reached into the pocket of my beaten leather jacket and extracted a joint, which I smoked while I watched the rustic little neighborhood come to life.
The dispatcher’s voice crackled over the radio as I blew a stream of bluish smoke through my nose.
‘Sixty-four, you got a personal call. A young lady wants you to pick her up at the restaurant on Central next to the Imperial Inn. Her name is Marcia.”
I coughed up a lungful of potent marijuana as I clicked the mike, “Ten-four, dispatch. My ETA is 10 minutes.”
I shoved the transmission into drive and maneuvered the cab onto 15th as I headed for Central.
The dew had burned off of the lawns and young Hispanic kids were plodding towards their respective schools.
I caught the traffic light at 15th and Central, and the eye of a pretty 15 or 16 year old schoolgirl.
She waved and stuck out her thumb.
I waved back and smiled, but kept driving.
I pulled into the rear of the restaurant as Marcia walked up and got beside me in the cab.
Marcia and I had been dating for a couple of months.
She was a hooker.
We talked a lot; she was quite intelligent, really.
She was pretty, a brunette with very short hair, not butch, but short, just past her ears.
She looked about thirty, but she was only 27.
We talked about life, philosophy, and morality.
She was a very moral person, for a prostitute.
She put a soft hand on my knee and said, hoarsely, “I’m tired, Michael, take me home. I just want to soak in a hot tub, relax, drink a beer.”
“Sure thing, Babe.” I said as we headed out into the rush hour traffic heading west on Central.
I looked over at her.
She really looked tired.
She had been a middle-class kid from a good home in the suburbs when she started working for a high-class escort service as a teenager.
Years later she was on a whole other level, selling her body to strangers, some pretty unpleasant strangers, for the money to survive and pay for her habits, whatever they might be.
She told me that she wanted to go back to school, get out of the life, but it was her life now.
She was stuck in it.
I leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth.
She smiled. “You’re nice, Michael. I like being around you. You make me feel all warm and fuzzy.”
I chuckled. “I know some women that would take issue with that assessment.”
She rolled her eyes, “They don’t know you like I do.”
Marcia lived in a motel near the Rio Grande, one of those weekly rates places, a little run down, almost abandoned after the freeways were put in.
I keyed the mike, “Dispatch, I’m out of service for a few.”
The dispatcher drawled back, with what sounded like an edge of sarcasm, “Check, 64.”
I walked her to the door.
“What do I owe you?” She asked as she reached into the pocket of her tight, worn, blue jeans.
“It’s on Yellow Cab.” I smiled.
She reached up and clasped her hands around my neck, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
I leaned closer, her perfume was soft, enticing. “Take advantage of me, Marcia.”
She ran her hands down my back; I tingled.
“Alright, Darlin’, come inside.” She whispered.
We walked into her room, furnished with a TV, a small gas range, a bed, a mini-refrigerator and a couple of worn looking chairs.
Marcia kicked off her high heels and said, “I’ve gotta use the little girl’s room. Make yourself comfortable. Kick your shoes off, and, whatever.”
She looked so pretty.
She was safe here, at home, I liked her, and she knew it.
I turned on the TV. It looked to be a slow news day, a couple of muggings, an assault or two, and a rape. Nothing unusual or particularly news worthy.
The newscaster was a frankly sexual- looking blonde.
I really felt like Marcia and I were friends more than anything else, but I was still a young man with normal desires, and I couldn’t help but think of what she would be wearing when she emerged from the “little girls room.”
She got a kick out of my expression when she wore something particularly sexy.
I looked at my watch. She was certainly taking her time, I thought.
I waited a few minutes more and said, “Hey Marcia, you ok in there?”
The silence was heavy, oppressive.
I walked over to the bathroom and knocked softly, “Marcia?”
Not a sound.
Something was wrong, I felt it.
“Marcia!” I banged on the door.
I cracked the door and the world focused sharply in one terrible moment.
Marcia lay sprawled out on the floor, her feet up against the door, pale as a cadaver.
I forced the door open, her legs bending at the knee stiffly.
She was dead.
A needle dangled from a vein in her arm, her eyes stared unseeing into the vacuum of space.
I knelt beside her body and placed my fingers on the side of her throat, checking for a carotid pulse.
Nothing.
I could see she wasn’t breathing, either.
I placed one hand on her forehead, tilted her head back, pinched her nostrils shut and blew into her mouth.
Buttons popped as I ripped her blouse open and felt for her sternum.
I’d done this kind of thing before, I mean CPR, but not on someone who I cared about, someone who I’d expected to be relaxing in bed with me about now.
I gave her a couple of breaths and began chest compressions.
Suddenly there was a man standing in the doorway, staring at us wide-eyed.
He looked like a junkie.
I turned towards him, “Call 911!”
I turned back and continued performing CPR on Marcia.
The junkie was still staring, frozen to the spot.
I shouted, “call 911, NOW!”
He stammered, “I can’t, I’ll get busted..”
“I will track you down, if this girl dies, and I will beat you to death. Don’t give your name. Tell them what you saw. Give them the address and walk away. Call, Goddammit!”
The junkie started walking backwards, “OK,” he said.
I could hear him on the phone as I forced air into Marcia’s lungs and pushed her sternum against her lifeless heart.
My hands were sliding across her chest from perspiration; I was almost blind from sweat pouring into my eyes as I worked on her unresponsive body.
After what seemed like an eternity, Firemen were rushing into the bathroom.
“We’ll take over, fella.” A tall, muscular looking Paramedic said.
I fell back against the shower stall, dazed, saddened and nearly exhausted.
The Paramedic shoved an endo-tracheal tube down Marcia’s throat while another medic injected her with Narcan.
He looked at me while he attached a bag to the tube and began hyperventilating her.
“How long has she been down?”
I wiped perspiration from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Five minutes, ten. I’m not sure. She was in here alone when I found her.”
Suddenly Marcia coughed and began gagging.
My eyes widened.
I could not believe it.
She was alive!

Marcia refused to go to the ER.
After the Paramedics left I walked her over to the bed where she lay down.
She looked at me angrily, “I’m very upset with you.” She said.
“Upset? At me? What for?” I managed.
“I lost a good high when you called the Paramedics.” She responded.
“Marcia, you were dead. You were in code arrest.”
She snorted, “I do that all the time. I always come back. Without the paramedics.”
I stood up.” I’ve got to get back to work, Kid, I apologize for spoiling your day.”
I walked outside, got into the cab, and left a long black streak of rubber on the asphalt as I roared back onto Central Ave.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Pacing our fretful hours....

The sun is bright, the birds are trilling, I almost feel happy, I'm puzzled by the unfamiliar feelings.
I was sitting by the water fountain near an ancient, gnarled oak when a woman with long black hair, in her forties or fifties, sat nearby.
She smiled.
I smiled back.
I had nothing to lose, for christ sakes.
"You have a nice smile." she said.
I shook a cigarette from the pack and offered her one.
She took the smoke and I lit her.
She took a long deep drag.
"Are you a student here?" She asked.
"No, I'm an outside agitator."
She cocked an eyebrow. "An agitator? That doesn't sound like a good thing to be."
"I'm kidding." I responded.
She leaned forward."You have hazel eyes."
I looked at her.
She wasn't bad looking.
She looked like she might have been roughed up a time or two, but who hadn't, in this environment, our mutual environment?
"My name's Michael." I said.
She smiled, "They call me Loca."
I sighed, it figured, the first women that had interested me in a while, and "they called her Loca."
We chewed the old fat for a while, her story was pretty typical, when you thought about it.
Abusive boyfriend and husband (Aren't they all?), tough times, difficulty finding work, drugs cut with too many bad additives.
"you like coffee, Loca?"
"Sure." she smiled with what might have passed for a winsome smile, and we walked to the Frontier restaurant.
I gazed around the restaurant.
Mainly college students and teachers.
I remembered coming here once with Marcia.
Marcia was no longer among the living, which I thought, was not all that bad a thing.
I took a sip of coffee, it was good.
Loca looked like she was sizing me up for something.
She was probably wondering if I had any money, a job, a car, a home.
"Where do you work, Michael?" She asked, casually.
" I don't work, Loca. I collect unemployment."
I wondered why I was thinking of Marcia today.
Then it occurred to me.
Loca resembled her, and Marcia and I had sat right in this very booth more than a few times.
The last time I'd seen Marcia she was talking about going into rehab.
I had kind of loved Marcia, in a way.
She was really independant.
No one told her what to do.
Now she was dead.
I shuddered and took a long drink of coffee.
I want to tell you about Marcia, I don't know why, I guess because someone should remember her.
She was tall, almost as tall as me.
She had that look, though, that trouble is my middle name kind of look.
I didn't care, I had it too.
(to be continued)

Saturday, May 5, 2007

Look At these Photos and Win a Prize

Click this link, see how many of these celebrities you can identify: http://myvideosone.blogspot.com/

Everythings Fine...

I spoke to Mikey, Ricky and Michele, yesterday.
They sounded great.
Mikey reports having "A lot of friends, doing great in school."
Ricky sounded really well, too.
He talked about many things and seemed particularly happy about their new puppy who Dylan named "Cutie Pie."
He's looking forward to playing soccer this summer.
Our best wishes go out to The whole kids and all the family.

Friday, May 4, 2007

It's just another day dee-de-dee

The cellblock got real quiet after the tear gas dispersed like some kind of phantasmagorical vapor.
Just before the bars of my cell had clanged shut, 702 had squeezed through and now sat on the floor near the cell door.
702 was 19 years old, but he’d seen a lifetime of incarceration already, having graduated from years of juvenile detention centers and emerging into the adult population.
He lit up a crooked hand rolled cigarette and asked, “What’re you locked, up for Blackburn?”
702 was the kind of kid you never really met in the “real world”, incredibly intelligent but completely uneducated.
He was quiet and intense, handsome, in a furtive sort of way.
“It’s a long story, Seven, let’s just say, I made some enemies amongst state officials. Petty bureaucrats with more power than they can handle.”
“Yeah, but what did you do, is my question.”
“Nothing illegal, Seven. I’m innocent.”
He looked at me through heavy lidded eyes, “I think you’re a con man.”
I didn’t laugh out loud but I smiled inwardly.
Guards were filing in through the front of the cellblock, wearing riot gear and carrying a panoply of weapons.
Zimmerman was the lieutenant.
He stood in front of the tightly bunched group of correction officers.
He was calm and efficient, an anomaly in this setting.
His eyes swept the cellblock and he said, “Gentlemen, you are now on lockdown.”
Moaning and cursing reverberated through the block, echoing like a jet roar through a mountain canyon.
He wiped his brow with a black-gloved hand and continued. “There has been a fight, I need to know who was involved.
Until that issue is resolved, lockdown will be in effect. That means no rec room, no smoking.”
702 reached into his waistband, pulled out a Bic and lit another cigarette.
Zimmerman paced back and forth, like a large house cat, “Anyone want to tell me who was fighting?”
Someone shouted from further down the row of cells, “Yeah, anyone wanna snitch? Step forward!”
Another voice yelled out, “it was the new guys! The new fish! Roll’em out!”
Another party was heard from, “Get the Fuck outta here!”
Inmates began shouting throughout the block; the metallic rattling of fifty sets of cell doors gave an unsyncopated rhythm to the uproar.
“Hey, Blackburn,” said 702, “I got some dope, you wanna get high?”
“Maybe later, Seven Oh Two, thanks.”
I cracked the hot-water tap on my sink and filled a cup.
“You want some coffee, Seven?” I asked.
“No, thanks, Man, I don’t drink coffee.”
“How unusual.” I commented as I spooned in a teaspoon of instant from a bag, added some sugar and stirred the mixture before swallowing the coffee in one long gulp.
The brew helped to clear the taste of tear gas from my mouth and throat.
Zimmerman was coming upstairs, his soft- soled shoes noiseless on the concrete stairway.
He peered through the bars at 702.
“What are you doing in here Roberts?”
702 smiled, “I didn’t have time to get to my house when you locked us down.”
“Unlock 19 and 17!” Shouted Zimmerman in the direction of the control room.
“Go back to your cell, Roberts.” Then to me, “You been fighting today, Blackburn?”
I chuckled. “I’m an old man, Sir. Would I be fighting?”
Zimmerman laughed good-naturedly, “I’ve known some pretty crazy old men here, Mike.”
“I’m not one of them, Sir.”
“Then why are you here?”
I pondered the question. “Because I’m crazy.”
He laughed again and walked down the freeway.

Wednesday, May 2, 2007

It could be you..or me

United States Homeless Statistics


From the National Coalition for the Homeless:

Poverty, Urban Institute and specifically the National Survey of Homeless Assistance Providers, draw their estimates from a study of service providers across the country at two different times of the year in 1996.
They found that, on a given night in October, 444,000 people (in 346,000 households) experienced homelessness - which translates to 6.3% of the population of people living in poverty. On a given night in February, 842,000 (in 637,000 households) experienced homelessness - which translates to almost 10% of the population of people living in poverty.
Converting these estimates into an annual projection, the numbers that emerge are 2.3 million people (based on the October estimate) and 3.5 million people (based on the February estimate).This translates to approximately 1% of the U.S. population experiencing homelessness each year, 38% (October) to 39% (February) of them being children (Urban Institute 2000).
It is also important to note that this study was based on a national survey of service providers. Since not all people experiencing homelessness utilize service providers, the actual numbers of people experiencing homelessness are likely higher than those found in the study, Thus, we are estimating on the high end of the study's numbers: 3.5 million people, 39% of which are children(Urban Institute 2000).

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Walking With Mary

If the story below seems familiar it's becuase I ran it on Michaelblackburn.org.
I'm running it here for old time's sake.

circa 1967
I’m walking Mary Ann home.
My heart is pounding away in my chest.
I’ve got to be cool, I think to myself, I’ve got to be like Paul Newman.
“You lived around here long?” I ask, struggling to make conversation.
She’s looking ahead ,“I lived in Thousand Oaks for a while.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that like?”
“Oh, lot’s of rich kids.” We turn the corner onto Alvarado street.
She turns her head three quarters of the way toward me and I look into her eyes, they seem so huge, she smiles.
“Kurt Russell went to school at the same school that I did.”
I light up a cigarette and offer her one, she touches my hand as she takes it.
She cups her hands to light up in the mild spring breeze, I cup her hands with mine, I try to look in her eyes, but she’s concentrating on the smoke.

I’m thinking of the dream I’d had the night after I first met her.
In the dream we are walking hand in hand, in the forest of the San Bernardino Mountains,
She’s standing in a glade, her face is golden, glowing, she’s wearing a white ruffled blouse, with ruffles at the sleeve.
She’s gesturing, she’s beckoning
Then we’re on the beach, Santa Monica, black clouds roll , the sea is dark green and seems to rise to fill the horizon, the sand is gold, it’s soft, she leans toward me, her lips part…
Then I woke up.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, Jesus Christ, I thought, what the Hell was that all about?

I leave the reverie and look at Mary Ann.
“Hey, you gotta walk on the inside, OK?”
She steps in front of me, smiling.
“Why?”
I think about it.
“Well, if the girl walks on the street side, everyone thinks she’s a prostitute.”
She laughes, it sounds like chimes, those real thin one’s you see on rich people’s porches.
“So you think someone might think I’m a hooker, eh?”
“It isn’t that. I just don’t want anyone to think I’m a pimp.”
She runs a hand across my chin, “you don’t even shave yet. No one’s going to think you’re a pimp.”
I blush, “I shave. I just shave real close.”
She looks serious for a moment. “I like your face; it’s just like a girl’s.”
I’m insulted and scowling.
I walk her to her door and she says, “Come on in.”
The floor is hardwood..
The place doesn’t look like they have a full time maid, but it’s clean.
Edna, her mother, is sipping a beer and sort of watching TV.
She looks me up and down, heavy lidded, bedroom eyes, I swear to God.
I figure she’s about 34, she’s a little plump, but she still looks pretty good.
She bears a remarkable resemblance to Ann Margaret, a popular actress.
“What’s your name?” she says looking over her shoulder.
“Michael, Ma’am.” I reply, hoping to sound like the kind of boy she’d push her daughter to hang out with.
“How old are you, Michael?”
“I’m seventeen, Mrs Monterosso.”
“You look younger. It’s delightful to meet you Michael.” She says and makes sort of a bow and a flourish, using the glass in her hand like a scepter.
There’s a basinet next to her, I walk over and look inside.
“What’s her name?”
Mary walks to my side and puts her face beside mine “Linda Monterosso.”
She reaches into the basinet and scoops the kid out “She’s 3months old.”
She nuzzles her face against the baby.
“Well, I gotta go.” I say, self-consciously.
“Thanks for walking me home,” Says Mary.
“It was a pleasure” I say, a little too emphatically, but no one seems to notice.
I feel completely weightless on the way to the park
Mary Ann, Mary Ann, I’m thinking.
I approach Macarthur Park and Dennis and Eddie are coming towards me.
It’s a weekend, and the park is somewhat crowded.
I throw my arms around Dennis and Eddie grandly, benevolently; I love these two guys, even though I’m hoping to wind up with Eddie’s girl.
We walk through the colonade on the Alvarado side of the park and enter the boathouse.
All the races and nationalities in the world come through this park, and some drift through the boathouse scene.
Some hang out for a while, or month or two, some for years.
Maureen is Mary Ann’s best friend, and they come here from time to time.
Everyone had fights here.
Mary Ann had a fight in this park, for Christ’s sake.
“So Eddie, ” I start, “Mary Ann’s your girlfriend or what?”
“Whatta ya always asking questions about Mary for, Mike?”
“I don’t know man, just trying to make conversation. What’s she like?”
“She’s the Virgin Mary, man”
I blink, “What?”
“She don’t play around. So forget about her, anyway, you ain’t her type.
Ya got me?”
He asks as he “playfully” punches me in the shoulder.
“Yeah, Eddie, sure, not her type. Got ya, Man.”
I had to get home and talk to Maureen, see what kind of impression I was making on Mary, if any.
I made my excuses and shot over to our apartment.
It was a stucco duplex near Sunset Blvd, I hurried inside and entered Maureen’s room, closing the door behind me.
Maureen had a funny kind of grin at the corner of her mouth.

To Be Continued