[dovate.com] » 2006 » October
Following is a true ghost story. All photos were taken by myself at the New Bethel Cemetery, unless otherwise noted.
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My first visit to Kempton came in the summertime, just a few years ago. A torrential rain began the moment I crossed the town-line and stopped the moment I left. I had come in search of the New Bethel Church cemetery, home of the gravesite of Matthias Shambacher. Doubling back, I made a second pass through the tiny town. This time, instead of rain, I was tracked by an ominous pick-up truck. Appearing out of nowhere from a private dirt road at the end of a dead end street, the pick-up took up position behind my car and escorted me right out of Kempton. When I crossed the town-line, the truck made a quick U-turn, returning to wherever it was that it came from. Apparently, the residents of Kempton don’t seem to look too kindly on outsiders.
The pick-up kept me out of the town until the following autumn. It would have kept me out for good, had it not been for the story I heard by a campfire one summer night, many years before. The man who told me this story is an upright and honest citizen, not prone to fanciful exaggerations or fabricated tales. He is also a brilliant man with a natural talent for reason unlike anyone I’ve met. He’s a mathematician, and a computer programmer, a man committed entirely to the most rational language in the universe. Beyond that, most of what he told me I’ve heard repeated by others who have shared eerily similar experiences at New Bethel Cemetery.
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The New Bethel Church cemetery is a beautiful place. Covering a couple of acres in the Pennsylvania countryside, its graves date back more than a century and a half. The town itself hasn’t grown appreciably since the day the first body was put to rest in that mysterious ground. In a world where old cemeteries are rapidly running out of room, more than half of this tiny burial ground still lays in wait. The landscape boasts old groves of native trees offset by small, family owned farms. In the distance, low rolling hills mark the ends of the horizon. At first glance, it’s idyllic.
It was this beauty that brought my friend to the mountainside two weekends a month for a survivalist-training camp. After a couple years of camping in the woods he and his campmates had seen their fair share of strange things: strange lights in the woods; screams in the middle of the night; and plenty of odd characters moving in the shadows. Before long though, any fear they once felt was usurped by a confidence grown by their experience in the woods. So one night after a few drinks, when someone suggested they take the short drive to the base of the mountain to the ‘haunted’ cemetery where the old killer Matthias Shambacher was buried, no one so much as flinched.
It was 10:30 at night when the five young men pulled into the small parking lot of the New Bethel Church. They felt their way around the building, navigating through the darkness towards the cemetery hill. Only one of them knew where to find the unmarked grave of Matthias Shambacher. Making their way to the first row of graves in the oldest part of the cemetery, he found the gap between headstones where Matthias was buried.
The men were comfortable in the cemetery, headstrong, fearless and drunk. Inebriated confidence is a dangerous thing, especially when mixed with late-adolescent machismo. The men, fearless and ignorant, began to try their luck. One of them stepped up and stomped on the grave, shouting profanities at the dead man. Then the one-ups-man-ship began. Someone spat on the ground, laughing and grinding his heel through the dirt and grass. In a few minutes four of the five, (my friend being the only one abstaining) stood spitting, stomping, cursing and taunting the long-dead killer. The defilement escalated to the point of ultimate disrespect, urinating on Matthias Shambacher’s restless, buried corpse.
Now from other stories I’ve heard, this cemetery gives even seasoned ghost hunters a very bad feeling. I’ve been told 5 separate stories, from 5 separate people on 5 separate trips to New Bethel that there’s something about the cemetery that screams “GET OUT OF HERE NOW” to unwanted visitors. It’s the strangest thing, but everyone describes the same feeling. It’s as if someone, or something, doesn’t want them there. Whatever it is, it fills them with an intense fear, forcing them to leave.
When the fear hit my friend and his buddies shortly after the mass desecration of Matthias Shambacher’s grave, it was far worse than anything that any of them had felt before at Hawk Mountain. Their fearless bravado evaporated in an instant. Although no one could define it, something had changed. One moment they felt nothing but their own egos and the next, they felt nothing but fear. Not a word was spoken between them, but there was no question about the message they were receiving. It was restless, angry and powerful. It spoke as clearly as the voice of God spoke to Adam:
GET OUT OF HERE NOW
The fear grew by the second, quickly subsuming their intoxication and driving their quickened footsteps towards the car. There was electricity in the air as they anxiously piled in. Each pore of each of their bodies felt as if invaded by a fine electric charge. The hair on their arms and legs stood on end and a presence other than themselves began to grow between them.
It was at this moment that they turned the key and……… nothing. The car they drove to the cemetery in, the car that they drove to town in, to the hardware store, to the Jersey Shore, to the city, all without any problem at all, was suddenly, inexplicably, dead. Suddenly the realization dawned that they were in the middle of nowhere, miles from camp, sitting in a broken down car, in the dead of the night, trapped in a cemetery more terrifying than anywhere any of them had ever been before. What they didn’t know was that all this was just the beginning.
Frantically, the driver tried the key again. The car sat dead. If they were going to get out of there, they were going to have to do it on their own. Doing his best to force the demons out of his head, the driver enlisted himself and a couple of the others to get out and take a look under the hood. Nothing had actually happened, they tried to tell themselves. It was weird, there was a bad feeling and it was an odd coincidence with the car being dead, but when it was all boiled down, nothing had really happened. No one was hurt physically or in any clear danger. They hadn’t seen or even heard anything unusual. With these thoughts swirling through their minds, they ignored the white-hot energy that pulsed through their bodies like electric fear, and stepped out into the open air.
They tried for 15 minutes to get the car going. Besides the fact that it wouldn’t start, they couldn’t find anything obviously wrong. Their attempts to suppress the fear were failing miserably. (You can try to rationalize with your emotions all you want, but you can’t expect it to do a bit of good.) The feeling of a presence grew heavier with each passing minute and with each futile turn of the ignition. The electric sensation pounded through them like an adrenaline rush that refused to fade. Then out of nowhere and for no reason at all, the car started. Unnerving in itself, they were still partially relieved at the seeming stroke of good fortune. As quickly as they could, they piled back in and pulled into the darkened country road. No sooner had they driven out of the Church driveway than a small animal ran in their path and under their wheel. They thought it was a chipmunk, but what kind of chipmunk was awake in the middle of the night?
Either way it didn’t matter. Although still frightened, there was a sense of relief in being on the road. It was only a few miles back to the familiar safety of the camp. But only a few hundred yards later, a squirrel bolted out into the road. It was too late for them to stop. Less than a mile driven and two animals were dead. The same insidious electric presence from the cemetery began to fill the car. Whatever sense of control they had gained was quickly losing ground to a fear that grew as oppressive as before. A rabbit darted out, running at full speed, as if being chased – hit and killed. Less than a minute later a raccoon appeared – hit dead. The presence was as strong as ever… a possum bounded out from the woods into the path of the car…
Against his better instincts, but seeing little alternative, the driver slowed to an agonizing crawl as animals appeared in the road with bizarre frequency. Animals were nearly pouring out of the woods and onto the road. They swerved to miss them as the ran into the path of their car. Whatever room remained in anyone’s mind to temper the night’s events with rationality had been lost. No doubt remained that whatever was going on was very real. Their fear was real, the presence they felt was real, the dead animals were real and the above all, whatever was controlling the events was real. The only thing they knew for sure was that whatever it was that was pulling the strings had an enormous power to create and manipulate fear in the living. Especially terrifying was the ever-more-likely prospect that the entity responsible was the infuriated spirit of a long-dead backwoods serial killer.
Except for the headlights and for the animals in their path, the road was pitch black and dead empty. The car made it past the last of the farms and onto the mountainside road that led back to camp. Both sides of the winding road were thick with forest. In the distance, their headlights caught glimpses of something up ahead. Now, I swear to God that this story is true. It was recounted to me by a trusted friend and one of the five men who rode that night in this car. Up ahead on that darkened country road, was Matthias Shambacher’s old Inn, the Inn, that saw the Gerhard massacre, the Shambacher murders and even the brutal murder of the priest who lived there after Matthias Shambacher had died.
What they saw, ever more clearly as they approached the Shambacher Inn in the middle of the night, was an ethereal white robed figure wearing a long, grey beard. He stood by the side of the narrow highway at the entrance to the old Inn. In his hand, he held a scythe, or some similar long handled farm instrument as he stood, staring down the car. Seeing the unearthly figure standing ominously at the side of the road, tore away the last bits of self-control the five men desperately clung to. Breaking into a panic, the driver pressed the gas to the floor, passing the terrifying figure with as much speed as the car would allow. They accelerated, 25, 30, 35, 40, until out of the darkness and into the road appeared a deer. By the time the driver hit the brakes they had already hit it, splitting its body, shattering its bone and sending its broken corpse careening back into the darkness. Losing control of the car the driver swerved and skidded, struggling to regain traction and direction. Blood splattered across the hood and stained the windshield. Panic defeated sense as the driver regained control and they drove as fast as the car would carry them back to camp. Come more animals, ethereal figures or even their own death, they didn’t care.
In the end, they made it to their camp, physically unharmed. The car was badly damaged with bits of hair and flesh embedded in the broken grill and headlights. The electric presence vacated their space and their fear began to fade. Emotionally and mentally they suffered far more damage, having learned a valuable lesson about unsettling the dead.
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My friend’s story is not unique. I have since learned that tales of Matthias Shambacher and the strange power that his spirit seems to hold are fairly common in that corner of Berks County. The ominous electric presence, the feeling of being watched and even the bearded white figure holding a long-handled farm instrument are all common to ghost stories from Kempton, PA. A quick Internet search will uncover several similar stories.
As terrifying as the stories are, I found myself seeking out the New Bethel cemetery last autumn. During my visit, I didn’t dare disrespect the dead and was careful to leave before sunset. What I found was a strange, beautiful and utterly peaceful cemetery in the Pennsylvania countryside. It was an overwhelmingly calm and quiet day… except for two small details.
The cemetery sits on a hillside. At the top of the hill is a grove of trees. During my visit, hundreds of crows (I believe a group of crows is called a murder) were roosting in those trees. Now I know that crows tend to congregate in groups like this from time to time, but there and then? Normal crow behavior or not, nothing offsets the nerves a bit like a noisy murder of crows. But I soon got used to them and enjoyed the late autumn afternoon in the idyllic countryside. Eventually I got back into the car and started on the trip home. Having left at sunset the road darkened quickly. I recalled my friend’s story and imagined what it must have been like to be in that car. At that moment a spike of energy ran up my spine. It wasn’t a chill; it was more like a jolt of electricity running up my back and to the base of my skull. Startled, something told me to look out the window. Glancing out the passenger side window, I saw a fresh roadside memorial placed in honor to someone killed on that spot. Surrounded by wreaths, written messages and fresh flowers a handmade cross was driven into the ground at the side of the narrow, tree-lined road. At its base, among flowers, notes and colorful adornments was a dead cat. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours old.
The jolt subsided as soon as I passed the memorial. A few hundred yards later I pulled onto the highway and pointed the car back towards the city. It wasn’t much, really just an odd little thing you could easily ignore or write off as coincidence… but when dealing with Kempton, PA, Hawk Mountain and Matthias Shambacher you can never be certain.
In the late 17th century, celebrated musician, doctor, astronomer, botanist, scholar and acclaimed occult leader, Johannes Kelpius retreated into the woods of the Wissahickon Valley with a group of like minded spirits. There they awaited the second coming and its subsequent set of Earth Changes. Unfortunately the end of the world never came and by the early 1700’s, the group had disbanded.
While it lasted, the Society of the Woman of the Wilderness (as they called themselves) was something very special. They were like the Druids of Stone Henge, 19th century trancendentalists, Mason offshots and general pagans all in one. They welcomed all people and were sought out by many non-hermit monks for their wisdom and guidance. And all of it happened in the very same woods I’ve been exploring since I was a kid.
It’s the sort of thing I probably write a book about… but at this point I don’t know a whole hell of a lot about the Society. Until I learn more and in the meantime, here are some pictures of the Cave of Kelpius. Liza and I visited the ‘cave’ this past Sunday morning.
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One last thing. In my brief internet research on the Kelpius Cave, I came across this site and photo. It was accompanied by the following text:
Well a few days later when I got the photos back from the photo lab one out of the four photos had something strange in it that gave me chills and haunts my dreams now.
In the one photo it looks likes a large cloud of smoke and at the bottom of the cloud is clearly the face of something that is not human. It sorta looks like one of those “gray aliens” I didn’t see anything when I was there taking the photos. I scanned up the photos for you to see.
I didn’t edit this photo in anyway. In this day and age where you can’t believe what you see I didn’t even want to adjust the brightness/contrast it’s totally untouched. It really spooked me. When I was at the cave I didn’t see anything but I didn’t feel like going in the cave.
…Thinking back, I just felt that I didn’t want to stay too long, it’s a strange place. I’m glad I didn’t go in the cave because that face was clearly looking at me.
Kelpius cave is little known but you can find more information on the web about this strange dooms day cult and it’s leader Johannes Kelpius.
You can post this e-mail and photos on the web.
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So I’ve been seeing that crazy commercial about net neutrality paid for by the National Cable and Telecommunications Association. Here’s something really brief that someone by the handle of Ergasiophobia wrote over at /..
“It seems the National Cable & Telecommunications Association is spreading a blatant lie in the form of a commercial claiming that the net neutrality act will cost the consumer more and that it is ‘bad’ for the consumer. This, of course, ignores how much the cable companies will profit from the act’s defeat. For some truthful information on the net neutrality act check out savetheinternet.com”
I disagree with one point above. They commercial doesn’t really lie. Lying implies that a something was actually said. The commercial merely calls net neutrality “mumbo jumbo.” Mumbo Jumbo is simply defined as: “the guardian of western Sudan villages symbolized by a masked man who combats evil and punishes women for breaches of tribal laws.”
Or in this case, it’s more likely defined as: “meaningless incantation or ritual.” So like Lynn Swann’s campaign platform, the commercial is a bunch of words that mean absolutely nothing. I could say the commercial is “mumbo jumbo” but that would just be a stupid punchline. Really it just plays to that great human combination of massive ignorance and relative stupidity. But that’s not a good punchline either. Why not just watch the ad: [link]
In this world, there’s nothing better than good cheese. I’m personally fond of goat cheeses. That’s why today, I recommend southern Spain’s, Garroxta. Fine either along or with olives, salamis, or other Spanish/Mediterranean flavors, this cheese is simply amazing. Pick up some today at your local purveyor of fine cheeses. For many of you, that probably means Dibruno Brothers. ($19.99 a pound)
I don’t love my job that much, but here again I’m talking about the things we’re doing at Mural Arts. Today was the big old local media event at Ben Franklin High School.
If you’ve been by Broad and Spring Garden in the last few months, you’ve probably noticed several giant pairs of eyes staring down from the southern façade of the school. The mural is a partnership between the Mural Arts Program, the Philadelphia Inquirer’s editorial board and the (embattled) Department of Human Services. The project brought together an enormous and improbable range of individuals in an attempt to reach for several lofty and grand ideals in an effort do massive good. The measure of its success is written across approximately 365 feet of wall. Below are a few photos from today’s event. Here’s a [link] to an article in today’s Inquirer.
The first two images show the mural itself. The third image shows Jane Golden through the eye of a local Fox News camera and the fourth is of the Artist, Don Gensler and Inquirer editorial board facilitator… I forget her name. (I claim bloggers rights in not giving name credit where it is due, due to lack of memory and effort)
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This is a small and interesting city. On Saturday night I was at a friend’s show at an overpriced dive at Frankford and Columbus Blvd. I stepped outside to get some air and started talking to a friend who was also enjoying the crisp autumn night. We walked across the street to an abandoned shack in a vacant lot and continued our conversation about some such shit. He noticed the sign on the shack and we both stood and stared at it. I was utterly fascinated by the thing.
Over the course of the night I kept showing the sign to my friends, asking for an explanation. None came. It being interesting and a great backdrop, I took some photos. The next day, after sobering up I hoped to make sense of it. I went back and looked at the shots only to discover that the sign was still seemingly fucking crazy. I posted a shot of it on the front page. Although I usually reserve the front page for my haute, choice shots and this is a drunken, handheld, noisy as hell mess of a photo, you can only really read the bizarre sign if it’s more than 800 pixels wide. Click here for the large version.
Otherwise, the sign reads:
BEATS ME I’m not Talking to you PORK our own seasoning/Tender and Juicy! NOBODY is watching the children
Was this the work of a crazy person? What was sold here? Who owned it? Pork? Then, today I asked a colleague and found out that the sign, along with 16 others are the work of my place of employment… the Mural Arts Program. So now I feel a little stupid about the whole thing, it being a project carried out by the organization I work for.
But anyway, to read more about the pretty interesting project, click here. For photos of the murals, click here. That’s all for now.
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So yesterday afternoon I headed over to a friends house in West Philly. There were about a dozen people and 20 pumpkins. I carved 2. I bet you can guess which one in the below pic is mine.
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When the sun went down, those of us remaining put all the pumpkins out in the tiny front ‘yard’ and relaxed on the porch. People started stopping and looking at the display. The weird thing is, most the people who stopped commented on the ‘Toynbee pumpkin’ and knew of the tiles. It’s amazing how well they’ve seeped into public consciousness.
Not having any use for it once it was done, I took the Toynbee pumpkin half a block down the street to the director of Resurrect Dead’s front porch. The plan was to leave it there without explanation. There were a couple people sitting there, so I left it with them. I gave no name or real explanation. Jon didn’t live there anymore, but about an hour later he called me trying to figure out where in the hell the thing came from.
Here are the rest of the pumpkins. My favorites are Ari’s pumpkin prison, Scan Boltron’s horrible splayed rectum pumpkin, and Jamie’s cat pumpkin… but they’re all pretty good.
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As I’ve been mentioning for a couple weeks, today marks the 31st anniversary of Arnold Toynbee’s molecules turning dead in anticipation of their future reassembly on the gigantic Planet of Jupiter!
It’s also the 10th anniversary of the self-inflicted immolation of West Philly legend (?) Kathy Change. [Go to an event today]
October 18th marked the deployment of the Galileo spacecraft, which was the first human engineered spacecraft to reach Jupiterian orbit.
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A buildings a building, so why is it so hard to capture that strangeness of Philly’s city hall? It’s not like photographing a person. the building just stands there. It doesn’t move and it doesn’t change. Even still it’s very hard to capture the character of city hall. This may be the closest that I’ve come.
Dublin, 25th August 2006: Steorn, the technology development company, has today announced a cut-off date for scientists to respond to its challenge to take part in a public validation of its free energy technology. Steorn placed an advertisement in the Economist on August 18th inviting ‘the most qualified and the most cynical’ scientists to step forward. More than 3,000 scientists have now responded and the deadline for any last minute applications has been set for 12 midnight, September 8th.
Steorn’s technology is based on the interaction of magnetic fields and allows the production of clean, free and constant energy. The technology can be applied to virtually all devices requiring energy, from cellular phones to cars.
From all the scientists who accept Steorn’s challenge, 12 will now be invited to take part in a rigorous testing exercise to prove that Steorn’s technology creates free energy. The results will be published worldwide.
Sean McCarthy, CEO of Steorn, commented: “We expected a good response to our advertisement because of its potential and its implications for the scientific world. Our technology goes far beyond scientific curiosity and addresses many urgent global needs including security of energy supply and zero emission energy production. In order for these benefits to be achieved, we need the public validation and endorsement of the scientific community.”
“The next stage is to go through the applications and validate the information that we have been presented with. That will enable us to select a jury of 12 of the world’s best-qualified scientists who are prepared to test the technology and publish their findings to the world, whatever those findings turn out to be.”
Steorn will contact all of the scientists who have applied to investigate its technology so that it can validate their educational background and areas of research. It anticipates that testing will begin before the New Year. The length of time that the testing will take will be determined by the 12 scientists, as will the location and format of the test process.
[link]
I’m a huge fan of synchronicity. (Here’s a link to a wacky new age definition of the idea.) Another, more common synch is Pink Floyd and the Wizard of Oz, which is a decent example of a movie synch. Basically, you take one thing, then you take another, unrelated, but abstractly similar thing and you put them together and out comes some 3rd and strangely profound thing. Sometimes these synchs written off as coincidence and other times worshipped as miracles. Usually they just make people believe – however fleetingly – in ‘magic.’
The Toynbee tiles are sort of like an axle from which an infinite number of synchronicities are attached. A huge part of my interest in the tiles is the wholly unexplainable set of coincidences and strange events associated with their research. The odd thing is, as strange and improbably as many of these coincidences are, none of them really means anything. But take all these meaningless improbabilities and put them all together and they move the research in the right direction.
Here’s a small, recent example. Justin Duerr, the world’s preeminent tile fan and expert, is also an enormous admirer of Kathy Change. His appreciation of her is near to the level of interest that he has for the tiles. Recently, a suspect emerged as the second, new-school tiler. He’s a Philly artist who works with stencils. Some of his work is very similar to the tiles. He was introduced to the Resurrect Dead message board by a poster who presented a piece of his, Portrait of Kathy Change. (pictured)
But none of this meant anything. The artist found out about the message board discussion and posted. Although he knows of the tiles, he’s not the new-school tiler. But he did go ahead to point out that Arnold Toynbee died on 10/22/75. Kathy Change died on 10/22/96. Aside from these 2 things, he himself was born on 10/14/75, or just 8 days before Toynbee’s death.
In case you didn’t pick this up, the Toynbee/Change memorial days, (31, 10) are this Sunday. And just to throw in an extra piece that you’ll have to take my word on, the Toynbee idea, the inspiration for the tiles in the mind of the tiler was discovered at almost precisely the time of my own birth.
None of this means anything. Somehow though, this information is a step in the right direction.
If any of the throngs of Toynbee tile fans out there that might be reading this are interested, a new tile was very recently glued on the southeast corner of 38th and Walnut Streets. I discovered the new tile by thinking to myself, ‘this is a perfect place for a tile,’ then seeing one. This has happened a few times (Washington Ave, 30th street station) and I’m starting to think that maybe I glue them myself in some hypnotic state. Either that, or the actual tiler and myself share some sort of aesthetic affinity. If that’s the case, watch for tiles in the following places:
Chinatown, probably along Arch at 10th or 11th.
The Parkway, near the library/Logan Circle.
Girard Ave, between 5th and Delaware Ave.
And just in case the tiler is reading this, there’s a great spot in front of the zoo entrance on a short spur between the intersection of Girard and 34th street. Very heavy foot and auto traffic.
But anyway, the new tile, without the heat of summer sun is having a hard time getting exposed. Although run over by hundreds of cars a day, the tarpaper has hardly budged between Sunday and Wednesday. Here are a couple (cell phone) images:
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Months ago, when the Philadelphia Mural Arts Program showed an exhibit of artwork from inmates at Graterford prison, one artist clearly stood out. He went by the name Spel. I encourage everyone to go out and grab a copy of this week’s Philadelphia Weekly and read the cover story. It’s about Spel and Mural Arts. They go back a long way.
By far, the best thing about working for Mural Arts, is working Mural Arts. It’s something very special. For whatever kind of day I have at work, I never, ever question the importance or the validity of what we do. It’s genuinely amazing.
It’s getting to be my favorite time of the year. Autumn is a really magical time. Things are happening all over the place. Trillions of insects are dying, trees are going into hibernation, crops are harvested and animals large and small are preparing for the winter. As usual most events go unseen. With all the death and the inexorable march towards winter, people think this time of year is creepy. That’s a good thing. It’s great to have a month or so here or there when people try to frighten each other with stories of the paranormal. I’m planning on offering some stories of my own in the next few weeks, but I’d like to start with the creepiest of the creepy, Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven, as read by Christopher Walken. That’s all for now.
I haven’t written fake news in a while… but.
Years ago, I remember seeing Arnold Schwarzenegger on Arsenio Hall. He jokingly told Arsenio that the real, Austrian way to pronounce his name was “Schwartze-nigger” and that, (it’s been a long time and I don’t remember his exact words) “we have more in common than you thought.” It was those comments that inspired me to re-work the following Reuters article. [original article here]
Schwarzenegger tells Leno link to Bush is “ridiculous”
By Steve Gorman/Steve Weinik
LOS ANGELES - California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger distanced himself from President George W. Bush on national television on Wednesday, saying he was as far from his fellow Republican as he was from winning an Academy Award during his film career.
“To link me to George Bush is like linking me to an Oscar. That’s ridiculous.” the former bodybuilder and Hollywood action star joked during an appearance on NBC’s “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno.” “You know why, you know why?” Schwarzenegger continued. “Like my father said, you will never win an Oscar in Hollywood. The Jewish people” he said while tapping his nose with his index finger, “will never allow me to play anything but evil cyborg or kindergarten teacher. I could do Shakespeare.” Schwarzenegger insisted. “The White House, it is now the same way. The neoconservatives, the Jews, they control everything now. Do I look like a Jew? That’s ridiculous.”
The Governor’s remarks, which were met with silence from the audience and an uncomfortable joke about Mel Gibson from Leno, have set off a firestorm of controversy that the Schwarzenegger campaign has struggled to contain. “The Governor’s remarks were intended as a joke. The Governor harbors no animosity towards the Jewish faith or its people.” Spoke Schwarzenegger’s spokesman, Hans Reich, III at a hastily convened Wednesday morning press conference.
It was Schwarzenegger’s fifth guest spot on the late-night comedy show since he used a 2003 appearance on the program to announce his first campaign for public office in 2003. The remarks re-ignited questions about the Schwarzenegger family’s ties to the Nazi party during the Second World War.
The governor’s Democratic challenger in his bid for a second term, state Treasurer Phil Angelides, complained NBC was snubbing him while unfairly giving Schwarzenegger, “a clear nazi sympathizer” valuable media exposure weeks before the election.
A spokesman for the Angelides campaign accused NBC of violating federal rules that generally require broadcasters to give opposing candidates equal time. The Angelides “nazi sympathizer” remarks have forced the campaign into full damage control mode.
“Not only does Angelides seek to control the content of what you see on late night television, he seeks to control the speech and content of those programs as well.” Spoke Reich at Wednesday’s press conference.
A Fox News poll shows that California voters do side with Schwarzenegger’s free-speech platform by a 2-1 margin over Angelides policy of censorship and increased restrictions on public speech.
“What we have here is a clear blunder by the Democratic Party of California, really the Democratic Party at large.” Remarked Tony Snow when asked about the Schwarzenegger/Angelides controversy during Wednesday’s White House Press conference. “The Democrats are a threat to the Constitution and to the liberties guaranteed in that Constitution. I think that much is clear.”
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Today’s post is brought to you by a series of odd coincidences.
Kathy Change is an inhabiting spirit of West Philly. Whether that spirit is active and of a singular consciousness doesn’t really matter. From the most rational to the most animist definitions of “magic” she’s still inspiring great things from very interesting people. Beyond that, 10 years since her death her power only seems to be growing. (The tenth anniversary of her death is in just under 2 weeks.) Whether you agree with her or not, please take a few minutes to read about her life.
While she was around, I knew of her only peripherally. I had heard of her and moved in some intersecting circles, but didn’t really know her. Over the past few years my connections to things and people that she’s left behind have been much stronger.
The strongest of these was the performance of Ju Yeon Ryu’s, Lost Spirits. The performance was intensely powerful, so much so that I mentioned to my girlfriend (who was in it) that I saw it not as a staged presentation for an audience, but more as a ritual offering to actual Lost Spirits. Kathy Change’s flags were an integral part of that piece. Human souls were the metaphysical fabric of the performance, while the flags served as the central material aspect of it.
The photo at the top of this page is from the first half of the 2-day, 6-hour presentation of Lost Spirits.
I heard the president trying to pass the blame off on North Korea’s nuclear status on the Clinton administration. I am only one man and I have little time for research. Therefore let me refer you to a fun and informative video. The people at Frontline are many and well resourced. Please watch this episode regarding both administrations approaches towards NK. It’s broken down into manageable shorter videos. [link]
This evening I discovered that at some point, my cable hook-up started re-allowing the Fox News Channel. I was so happy. I love watching Fox News. As icing on the cake, I discovered this miracle at the beginning of the O’Reilly’s Factor. Don’t ask me how, but the Factor is somehow it’s worse than it used to be.
Highlights were most definitely his immigration coverage. He set the stage with his least offensive piece, a short bit on the new security fence along the border. (Keep in mind I said least offensive not inoffensive.) What followed the fence story, and I’ll use his words in “”’s here: Video (repeated over and over) of 2 “Latino Girls” “attacking” and “Anglo” girl. He warned that more of this was coming and described the problem of single mother’s in the Latino community in the United States as “mirroring the African American problem.” The African American wha…? Someone get that man a white sheet.
My love of Fox News soon waned and I switched back over to Keith Olbermann who was running through the remaining valid amendments in our Bill of Rights after Jefe Bush’s recent destruction of Habeas Corpus. It turns out that only amendment 3 really stands anymore, or in case you forgot:
No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.
I had a nice, long weekend. Ate dinner at 3 restaurants in 3 days, (night 1 Nodding Head, good as usual, [jambalaya] night 2 Radicchio, excellent, [veal with wild mushroom] night 3 the [Port Richmond not Queen Village] New Wave Café, Polish restaurant/bar, good as usual [stuffed cabbage / beets and mashed potatoes]) And that about does it for restaurant review day. That’s all for now.
O’ Yeah. North Korea doesn’t concern me one bit.
