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The Electoral College
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March 28, 2004
Carbonboy's Contribution to
Democracy in America
OK, guys, think "out of the box," think
2004!
If
I were in charge, here’s what I’d
do to transfer power back to the people -- presumably from big business,
their lobbyist, special interest groups and politicians with an agenda
distinctly out of touch with the people that elected them. Presumably
the way the founding fathers intended.
The odds of any of this happening in my
lifetime: ZERO. Yet I wonder if I’m the only one that
feels a tad disenfranchised as an American living in a Democracy.
The argument that our “founding fathers” intended this country to be
a “Republic” may have been valid 228 years ago, but to give these dead old
farts god-like status has got to stop. To these guys, “all men are
created equal” really meant, “all white males owning property are created
equal.” Some would like to go back to the mode of thought, and given
I’m a white male property owner . . . well never mind.
It took over 180 years to get that misconception fixed, so the
“founding father” argument just doesn’t cut it anymore. My fix is as
follows:
1. Dump the Electoral College. No it would not be
retroactive and Bush could keep his job (at least for this year). But at some finite point in
the future (say in five years) dump it. With 260+ million people in
this country, it is an antiquated system and there is, plain & simple, NO valid argument to
keep it.
2. Hold the national primary elections in a one-week period.
10 states each day. Which states go first would be determined by a
lottery in advance each time an election was held. I would hope that
Americans are sick of having a candidate chosen months before they even get
a chance to vote. This should be a no-brainer and the media circus
would have a great time before and during the week.
3. Make voting mandatory and make it simpler. Taxes are
mandatory, driver licenses are mandatory so why not voting? Why must
we go “out” to vote? If we can file something as important as our tax
returns by mail or filing electronically, why not voting? People don’t
vote because they feel their vote counts for nothing and they are
unfortunately right. For those who would be upset over being forced to
vote, include “none of the above” on each ballot. And enforcement?
Well, we certainly can’t fine or jail people, but some positive form of
“enticement” surely exists.
4. Ban all political media ads, period. Have you ever
seen a political ad (on either side) that actually said anything? Pure
Hype & Spin. If American’s are not fed up with attack ads (the fluffy
one’s lasted a week) they will be by next November. People want facts
to make informed choices, not hype, not spin, not misconception and not
outright lies. Should two hundred million dollars elect a president or
should the people?
So,
you don’t like the plan? Fine -- your future is in the hands of
lobbyist, influence peddlers, big business, big money and the lunatic
fringe. Without question, they all have your best interests in
mind.
I wonder if Carl Rove would approve?
Ha, Ha, Ha, yeah right!
March 20, 2004
Darn,
I forgot my recent rant to get us all set for a Brutally Entertaining
Election Year on my Cruzer Mini Storage Device (and I'm too lazy to rewrite
it). So it will have to wait until Monday.
Meanwhile, here's an authoritative
definition of a word that gets tossed around a lot these days. Read
it!
Democracy:
1. Government by the
people; a form of government in which the supreme power is retained and
directly exercised by the people.
2. Government by popular representation; a form of government in which the
supreme power is retained by the people, but is indirectly exercised through
a system of representation and delegated authority periodically renewed; a
constitutional representative government; a republic.
3. Collectively, the people, regarded as the source of government. --Milton.
4. The principles and policy of the Democratic party, so called. [U.S.]
Merriam-Webster Dictionary of
Law, © 1996 Merriam-Webster, Inc.
You think we live in a democracy? Well,
those righteous old white men commonly referred to as our "founding fathers"
might have disagreed. The question/debate is: why are we still
listening to those dead old farts?
March 14, 2004
It's an election year
and, boy, things are going to get ugly -- Carbonboy's precursor of
things to come is in the works. Oh and I was right about the fat thing. Update coming
there as well.
Meanwhile, someone has to keep an eye on things at the
beach as spring break
approaches. Where better to spend the weekend?
March 1, 2004
The Don Laing Story - The Last
Year – Chapter One
Donny and Sonny on Far Neinte under
construction in Ventura, March, 1984
The
initial optimism that I had after returning to LA had dissipated rather
rapidly. I will spare you the depressing details except to say I
recall cruising around the Palos Verdes Peninsula in search of a secluded
place to set up my mountain tent should I actually become homeless.
I would be the best-equipped homeless person in LA
living in Southern California’s second most affluent neighborhood, perhaps
even having an ocean view. I imagined returning to my high-tech tent
on my carbon-fiber bike after a night of sushi & sake down on
Pacific Coast Highway. Without the cost of a home and car, I could
live quite comfortably. So I rationalized in despair, trying to accept my pending fate.
My past passing thoughts concerning the thousands of
homeless in LA were typical: it was purely their own fault for
their pathetic circumstances -- the losers deserved what they got.
Now I understood
clearly that such was not always the case.
I had worked harder than anyone I know in the aerospace industry and it
seemed surreal to be faced with such bleak options. I dreamed of
Yvette & I driving down to Cabo San Lucas to ride out the winter, but I
had lost touch with her entirely.
When it rains it pours, so they say, and by
December, it was clear that I would lose my house and my car. My LA
friends acted strangely around me. I never quite fit in with my new
gang of South Bay friends, but now there was a noticeable distance.
Worse still (for me anyway), my good friend Tom headed back to Boston to get
married and he had no intent of ever coming back.
I had gone to countless interviews from Burt Rutan in
Mojave to undisclosed hotel job fairs for the B-2 and the still secret
Stealth Fighter. No one would hire a boat bum with carbon-carbon
experience, in spite of my past secret clearance.
I considered asking my friend Rick if I could stay with
him in the Valley, but I dreaded the thought of being a houseguest. My
preferred last option was to beg Naomi to stay with her in San Diego, but I
had done that three years ago after losing my first job in LA.
Besides, she had found, still another, new boyfriend. And after our
last live-in experience, we found that we were highly compatible only as
long as we did not live together.
Donny had kept in touch but he too was struggling up in
San Luis Obispo. He didn’t tell me this, but he had given up his
bungalow and had moved in with Jules at her dorm at UCSB.
When Donny called in late January, I had already packed
most of my stuff and put it in storage. In my mind, I was going off
the edge of the cliff and there seemed nothing I could do about it.
But this time there was some real excitement in his
voice. He was working on a large ketch in Port Hueneme and had
convinced the owner that the boat yard was ripping him off. Donny
commandeered the project to Ventura Harbor and was “in charge.” He
told me to get my butt up to Ventura as soon as possible. “Don’t worry about
a place to live, the owner needs someone to live aboard.”
I completed vacating the house, packed my cameras and
woodworking tools, and headed downtown to Union Station to take a train to
Ventura. I had taken the train up to San Francisco once before with a
former girlfriend in 1980. It is a glorious trip under those
circumstances. This time, it was depressing to travel through the San
Fernando Valley, right past my old employer where I built flight critical
parts for the space shuttle fleet. No one cares about all the 7-day
weeks I put into that noble project, I thought. When Columbia landed
safely for the very first time, I soon after lost my very first job in this
industry.
By the time the train was heading up the Santa Susanna
Pass into Simi Valley, the second glass of wine kicked in and the last
miserable months in LA were forgotten. I had nothing to hold me there
any longer. My good old high school buddy and I were starting a new
adventure. Spring was here and the 1984 Olympics were coming to Southern
California.
Before I knew it I was in Ventura and Donny was waiting
for me in his red Audi. We headed right to Ventura’s new upscale harbor and,
of course, had a few beers and downed some oysters shooters before I got the grand
tour of the 65-foot ketch.
As it was Sunday, the crew was not
working. The yacht was in the very corner of the marina. It was a
hardy fiberglass Scukum Designed vessel, used as a robust and tough fishing
vessel in the cold Alaskan waters.
Far Neinte
was docked in the very corner of the boatyard (where the white skiff is
docked in this recent photo)
The interior was gutted, except for the guest quarters,
which was completed in maple trim & mahogany panels and a classic teak &
holly floor. That was to be my quarters, so said Donny. It was
quite comfortable I recall and it would prove to be my home for almost the
next year.
Before my arrival, Donny had just completed
laying down the teak deck.
My first job, so he told me, would be to plug all the screw holes. "It
takes a true craftsman to shear all the plugs without a flaw" he said. I
imagined that there were thousands. But
that would wait until tomorrow.
As the sun was setting, we headed north to Santa Barbara,
along one hell of a beautiful stretch of Pac Coast Highway. I recall
sticking my head up through the sunroof and taking in the view -- the steep
jagged coastal mountains to the east bathed in red and purple hues, and a fiery red ball
licked by the white surf to the
west. The salt air smell was overpowering and oh so sweet. Here we go again.
I'm being pulled back again to the most wonderful place on the planet.
Before heading back to Jules' dorm (which
apparently was were I was to spend the night), Donny said we have one stop to
make: Nippers of Montecito, a really upscale champagne & caviar bar --
very big in the
'80's.
We sampled a hoard of both, and Donny
dropped at least $200 during our hour stay. Ironic, I thought, for
someone living in his girlfriend's dorm -- but classic Donny Laing.
When we finally got to UCSB, Jules gave
me a big smile & hug. Tomorrow, I would be moving onto the boat, I explained,
but she already new that.
I was ready for sleep, in spite of the
cramped quarters, but Jules beamed to us that Chad was coming over. I had no
idea what that meant, but Donny was quite happy. "Chad's coming over"
he chanted repeatedly.
My homeless tent option in PV suddenly
seemed viable -- at least I could sleep in peace. OK,
Chad was coming over. Wake up Mike. Who the hell is Chad?
The Complete Don Laing Story to Date:
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part
VI
Part VII
Part VIII
© 2000-2004 Michael
Milauskas - Composites-By-Design
Corporation
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