Bruce still gives me chills + I LOVE this guy (down arrow goes here) ...

I'll get to my hero of heroes, Fred Hampton, shown above or at left, depending on the Browser, in a minute.

First I have to say that after a particularly brutal, unnecessarily long day -- with the promise of many more to come -- I drove home, got chills listening to "Born in the U.S.A." and forgot it all.

Thank you, Oh Boss Man of the insanely expensive concert tickets.

I really fucking LOVE that song. I just looked up the lyrics for the purpose of this posting, and apparently some Lebanese people dig you, too.

So ... pretty much the whole song gives me chills. When it plays -- excuse me but cannot help but picture folks in Afghanistan and Iraq? Of course it specifically mentions Vietnam, but what difference does that make?

I was driving and this line specifically ...

Got in a little hometown jam so they put a rifle in my hand
Sent me off to a foreign land to go and kill the yellow man

... made me want to cry. And bear in mind I've heard this song a million fucking times.

I realized my scalp was tingling. Total euphoria. That's what music does for me. It gives me chills. Words and music together, I guess, because I really fucking LOVE the lyrics to "Born in the U.S.A."

And fuck anything that happened during the day once I have my music. My music and my ferret. Yes, I had to take Digger for his evening run when I first got home.

Onward: I know I've probably posted Fred Hampton's photo before. I LOVE Fred Hampton, if I failed to mention that previously. When ever anyone says, so and so never made enemies. FEEL SORRY FOR THEM. Fred Hampton, the Chicago cops gunned him down in bed in his underwear. He made some enemies. But when he was a child he knew he was going to die for the cause. He was all about that. He actually said if you do not have something in your life you would die for, then you're already dead. If you're not willing to die, you're already dead. Fred Hampton, here's one white girl in inner city Denver thinking of you, listening to Concrete Blonde's "Tomorrow, Wendy" -- f-ing great song, that one, and "Dazed and Confused," and touting Bruce Springsteen lyrics as a cure for all that ails.

(I must say that the "Tomorrow, Wendy" lyrics online SUCK. So I fixed them.) "Dazed and Confused" -- pretty hard to fuck up those lyrics, but they did. At least that last line is questionable. Mostly I love that song because Mr. Page plays his guitar with a violin bow. OH MY GOD THE BATTLE OF EVERMORE IS STARTING AND I LOVE THAT SONG.

Born in the U.S.A.

Born down in a dead man's town
The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
You end up like a dog that's been beat too much
Till you spend half your life just covering up

Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.

Got in a little hometown jam so they put a rifle in my hand
Sent me off to a foreign land to go and kill the yellow man

Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.

Come back home to the refinery
Hiring man says: "Son if it was up to me"
Went down to see my V.A. man
He said: "Son don't you understand now"

I had a brother at Khe Sahn, fighting off the Viet Cong
They're still there, he's all gone
He had a woman he loved in Saigon
I got a picture of him in her arms now

Down in the shadow of the penitentiary
Out by the gas fires of the refinery
I'm ten years burning down the road
Nowhere to run, ain't got nowhere to go

Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
I'm a long-gone Daddy in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
I'm a cool-rocking Daddy in the U.S.A.

Thanks to the folks at http://www.springsteenlyrics.com/lyrics/b/bornintheusa.php
for the Bruce lyrics -- I did add a few commas, forgive me.

Tomorrow, Wendy

It is complete now, two ends of time are neatly tied
A one-way street, she's walking to end of the line
And there she meets the faces she keeps in her heart and mind

They say goodbye, tomorrow, Wendy, you're going to die
They say goodbye, tomorrow, Wendy, you're going to die

Underneath the chilly gray November sky
We can make believe that Kennedy is still alive and
We're shooting for the moon and smiling Jackie (is) driving by and

They say: Good try. Tomorrow Wendy is going to die.
Tomorrow Wendy is going to die.

I told the priest: Don't count on any second coming
God got his ass kicked the first time he came down his stomach
He had the balls to come, the gall to die and then forgive us
No, I don't wonder why, but I wonder what he thought it would get us

Hey, hey, goodbye
Tomorrow Wendy's going to die

Hey, hey, goodbye
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry

Only God says: Jump!
So I set the time
'cause if he ever saw it
It was through these eyes of mine
And if he ever suffered it was me who did his crying

Hey hey, goodbye
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry
(Tomorrow Wendy's going to die)
Tomorrow Wendy's going to die
(Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry)
Tomorrow Wendy's going to die

Hey, hey, goodbye
Tomorrow Wendy is going to cry

Hey, hey, goodbye
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry

Dazed and Confused

Been Dazed and Confused for so long it's not true.
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.
Lots of people talking, few of them know,
soul of a woman was created below.

You hurt and abuse tellin' all of your lies.
Run around sweet baby, Lord how they hypnotize.
Sweet little baby, I don't know where you've been.
Gonna love you baby, here I come again.

Every day I work so hard, bringin' home my hard-earned pay
Try to love you baby, but you push me away.
Don't know where you're goin', only know just where you've been,
Sweet little baby, I want you again.

Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true.
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.
Take it easy baby, let them say what they will.
Will your tongue wag so much when I send you the bill?

More people I like ...

I like Lady Gaga because, you know, she entered the entertainment field through the kitchen.

I like people like that.

It is like working as a paraprofessional in a library where everybody treats the paraprofessionals like clerks until the librarians want to go home and want you to do the job of a librarian. And then going and getting your master's. And getting a job. And being nice to the paraprofessionals.

Not quite like that but -- you know what I mean.

Folks who enter through the kitchen are all right by me.

Alf from KTCL: Alf is great. I love driving home from my father's on Sunday nights because he has this retro show. He is about my age, too, so he always says little things that make me feel so WAY nostalgic.

Like I used to run home from the bus stop to watch MTV with the girl across the street, Stacey Barnett. (And if you ever Google yourself and hit on this blog entry, Stacey, please know that I found a pic of you on Google and, GIRL YOU LOOK FABULOUS. Really. You do. And I wouldn't just say that.)

Anyhoo. Tonight Alf said something about this Culture Club video and how it made him think of eating cereal in front of MTV.

I like other things about him, too. He's a local -- so we've got that, too. (Except he is a "Creeker" who graduated in '88.) Alf is an educated person. And educated in mathematics and Asian religion, to boot. That's just cool.

And he is out. If there is one thing to love, it is an out person.

So. Anyway. You're cool, Alf. I always, always want to call in a song for your Sunday night retro show but feel like you'll think whatever song I choose is a cliche. Like Wishing by FOS or Windows by Missing Persons.

But, Alf my brother, you sound pretty unassuming and cool, so that could just be me being my freaky self.

I also like Locals Only. That's great. You turned it from a show that no one wanted to host to a show that can help break a local act.

So, um, Alfie: If you are ever Googling yourself for kicks and you happen to read every single result and hit on this blog entry, would you please play the two songs I mentioned -- just some random Sunday -- during the retro show?

Thanks, my brother.

Peace out.

Always use your John Hancock, and, trust Jeanie, your life will go ever so smoothly ;)

These are screenshots from that AMAZING video by MGMT for their song Kids.

I made my papa watch it last night, because my Dad LOVES the movie The Wall -- so do I -- and so I thought he would dig it, with all the monsters walking about and whatnot.

(Dad was a little on the lukewarm side with the Kids video, but, you know, with your papa et al it is always good to get them to try new things.)

Onward: Usually the artwork I choose to go with posts has ZERO to nothing to do with what the post is about.

However, today the two photos have a marginal connection to the topic, which is about the CIA, NSA, FBI, etc., and government lists: getting on them, off them, whether they actually exist, what it takes to be noticed, on and on. I wrote a post about this first paragraph (below, covering last night's discussion with my Dad) before -- and really I've blabbed on a number of occasions (with keen insight, I might add ;) about stuff like intelligence technology and whether they really need your permission at this point to use it, on and on, but since I was hanging with my papa last night when it came up again, I decided to write a little refresher on my view.

At least about using your John Hancock in all cases to keep yourself off weird lists.

Basically I had sent my father to this blog to check out my latest video of my favorite person on earth, my ferret, Digger, PI, roaming the mean streets of my apartment building in Capitol Hill.

My Dad then sort of started checking out the rest of my blog -- he has seen it before but probably forgot -- and out of the blue he's like ...

"You want to get a job for the CIA?"

And I'm like: "Who's asking? What? Where are you looking?" Because, see, he had his laptop in front of him and we were sitting in his living room with my niece and nephew, who were totally absorbed in some dumb-ass Disney show designed for their demographic that was distracting me from my father's astute wonderings.

See, I did not know to what he was referring, so I had to move couches and have a look-see.

It turned out to be a rhetorical question, of course, his point being that if I ever wanted to get a job for the CIA -- say, working for the CIA Library, which I bet completely rocks and pays OK -- it is a safe bet that they might be irritated mildly by my flip statements on the blog profile about being a militant radical, professional subversive, etc.

And my answer to him was simple: If I were really a militant subversive -- and all the other things I listed as my occupation such as "infiltrator and overthrower" -- would I really advertise it? Would I put my John Hancock all over the place?

I don't think the government is concerned with people like me for a number of very simple reasons -- and NOT because I am one of those people who could care less re whether someone is listening because "I'm not doing anything wrong."

NOT. I AM SO NOT ONE OF THOSE "GO-AHEAD-AND-LISTEN-BECAUSE-I'M-NOT-DOING-ANYTHING-WRONG" TYPES. NO. NO. NO. NO. I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE FOLKS.

NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.

SEE EXTENSIVE, EXTENSIVE THOUGHTS ON THIS ANGLE TO THIS CONVERSATION FAR BELOW -- TOWARD THE VERY, VERY END -- STARTING WITH ...

NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.

Onward: The simplistic version of this blog post ...

First and foremost: I'm on the Grid. OH MY GOD I am so on the Grid. I've had the same land-line phone number for an eon to the power of 10.

No, I don't own a house, which I guess at age 40 makes me a little suspect, but I make up for it in a BIG way by collecting a paycheck -- the other way around, actually (by having it automatically deposited into a bank account).

The bank account. Social Security number. Credit card.

I am a cashless freak on most days.

I am just a freak, period, when it comes to plastic. Even I find it convenient, because I never have to find a receipt for anything. I never have to explain anything. My entire life is laid out there, month by month, on a single credit card. Imagine just how convenient all of us on the Grid are for the powers that would be. They don't need a list. We're it.

The Grid. Bottom line: That is a list. The perfect list.

The CIA doesn't need to worry too much about people who add themselves to a list just by living and breathing.

The folks they do worry about are not so much on the grid. Those are the folks for whom the lists are, mostly: People who entered the country on a student visa and then disappeared off the radar.

Folks who use disposable cell phones -- a lot of them -- like drug dealers from Honduras who have been deported and then turn around and reenter the United States with an ass full of, say, heroin.

Man gets deported. Reenters. Arrested. Jail time. Deported. Reenters. On and on. I'm sure more folks than just our friends at the CIA are worried about that.

*** BEGIN TRANSMISSION OF ONE OF JEANIE'S SIDE NOTES ***

A side note is that, I'm sorry but this is really obvious to me: You've got to ask yourself, about these guys who are dealing drugs in downtown Denver. What is so bad in Honduras that you would be willing to do that? To be deported and then reenter? Reenter after time in an American jail?

And to risk life and limb riding on trains through Mexico -- I guess Mexico unofficially HATES Hondurans slipping through Mexico on their way here -- to get back here to sell drugs to send the money back to mum and papa and the whole poverty stricken farming community.

You know?

Am I the only one who has seen "Maria Full of Grace"? Am I the only one who is like: Well, Honduras must be totally SHITTY for these folks.

Not that I appreciate them selling HEROIN downtown. And, believe me, I've seen firsthand what that SHIT can do to a person, and the person to whom I am referring, well, he did have an affinity for morphine sulfate before this bus-stop deal happened, but basically, and he swears this is true: He was at a bus stop downtown when someone asked him if he wanted to buy whatever amount of Heroin with which they start you off.

I do not know why he would lie about the bus stop. It just rings true to me. I can see it in my head.

He must have been having one hell of a day, because if one of these guys asked you, trust me, you'd be all like: "SECURITY!"

But ... who am I to judge, right?

(And, postscript: He's doing OK, my very, very close, inner-inner circle friend. Much, much later. Doing OK. It was a veritable trip through The Inferno for everybody involved, trust me. But he is on the climb skyward as of this month.)

*** END TRANSMISSION OF ONE OF JEANIE'S SIDE NOTES ***

Anyway, this has gone on quite longer than I intended, and I don't want to bore you anymore than usual, so I'll wrap up by saying that The Grid isn't the only compelling reason why you and I -- most of us, anyways -- are not on a government list. I might have said this before, but I knew a guy, a very, very, very smart guy, who believed he got on a government list because he surfed the wrong part of the CIA website or something like that. Lingered too long. You know.

I dunno. I do know that the government needs the lists to be manageable. Read: short. And that they try very hard to be nimble about the whole thing. They try to get you on there and off there as quickly as possible so they can focus on the real terrorists.

EEK. I cannot believe I just said that.

NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.

This next part is so very, very important to me that I cannot believe I didn't start off with it ...

I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO SAYS, AT A COCKTAIL PARTY OR WHEREVER: "I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT ANYTHING ILLEGAL OR DOING ANYTHING WRONG, SO THEY CAN GO AHEAD AND LISTEN TO MY CONVERSATIONS."

Oh, Honey, NO. No. We're not talking about the cliche of a slippery slope here.

Honey: We're talking about a dead drop. Straight down. Straight down to Iran. Straight to North Korea.

You do not want to be handing back freedoms.

You do not want to mess with your basic Civil Rights.

Trust me: Let's not even go there as a people.

Do not give up the cow just because they are selling the milk back to you in nice packaging.

No, Honey. No.

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

I should have started off with this angle, and I apologize to you all that I did not and sounded like an idiot as a result. TRUST ME: I am not one of those.

I guess I was just blabbing on in response to my Dad's question. I was just saying that I am not so worried about a government so inept that they would keep me on a list for an unusual amount of time that I would hesitate to be flip about my occupation.

Say I was getting on a plane in Paris, going home, and -- just being my usual exhausted bipolar self -- called someone from an airport payphone to say that I was worried about something, say about the airport folks rounding up all the Americans and corralling them into a certain part of the airport.

In keeping with the I-don't-want-anyone-listening-to-my-phone-calls view of life on Earth, I would not want to be put on any weird list.

I guess I am saying I am not important enough. And that surely someone would see the flip-ness in the laundry list I have written after Occupation on my blogger profile:

militant radical / professional subversive / infiltrator and overthrower / agitator / resistance leader / commie / communist / democratic socialist / demonstrator / activist / protester -- on and on!

Surely the word "flip" would enter someone's mind by the time they got to those last three words.

And if the world were not safe like that, if you could not assume that the world were such that you could write that, then we would not be here. We'd be in Iran or North Korea.

And we would do something about it.

At least I and my recovering addict friend would.

Digger, PI, evades capture once again on mean streets of 1540 Logan ...

So, yeah, that's my little buddy. And here's the latest interesting library info from ALA -- there is also some interesting research coming out of Rutgers, but I'll blab on about that in a future post:

"Opening General Session speaker Christie Hefner drew a clear parallel between businesses and libraries in terms of what they need to do to survive. She noted how, as Playboy CEO, she came to the conclusion that the company 'didn’t want to be a magazine company -- we wanted to be a company that represented a style of content.' That led Playboy to expand to television in the 1980s, the internet in the 90s, and mobile devices today.

"Libraries, she said, can not simply fill the traditional roles of providing books and research materials. Hefner suggested several ways libraries can and are moving beyond those roles, including the online distribution of materials, instantaneous translation of materials, bridging the digital divide, and partnering with both for-profit and non-profit entities. 'Who could you partner with to make having and using a library card really cool?' Hefner queried."

The full article is at http://www.al.ala.org/insidescoop/2009/07/11/opening-general-session-christie-hefner-on-change-business-and-the-first-amendment/