Author Archives: BZ

Giuliani: Illegal Immigration Is NOT a Crime

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Rudy Giuliani may have stabbed himself in the heart recently. I have two “hot button” issues and this is one of them. From a Glenn Beck interview with presidential candidate Giuliani:

GLENN: Right. But isn’t illegal immigration a crime in and of itself?

GIULIANI: No.

GLENN: Aren’t you saying —

GIULIANI: Glenn —

GLENN: You’re protecting criminals by saying that being treated as a criminal is unfair.

GIULIANI: Glenn, it’s not a crime. I know that’s very hard for people to understand, but it’s not a federal crime.

GLENN: It’s a misdemeanor but if you’ve been nailed, it is a crime. If you’ve been nailed, ship back and come back, it is a crime.

GIULIANI: Glenn, being an illegal immigrant, the 400,000 were not prosecuted for crimes by the federal government, nor could they be. I was U.S. attorney in the southern district of New York. So believe me, I know this. In fact, when you throw an immigrant out of the country, it’s not a criminal proceeding. It’s a civil proceeding.

GLENN: Is it —

GIULIANI: One of the things that congress wanted to do a year ago is to make it a crime, which indicates that it isn’t.

GLENN: Should it be?

GIULIANI: Should it be? No, it shouldn’t be because the government wouldn’t be able to prosecute it. We couldn’t prosecute 12 million people. We have only 2 million people in jail right now for all the crimes that are committed in the country, 2.5 million. If you were to make it a crime, you would have to take the resources of the criminal justice system and increase it by about 6. In other words, you’d have to take all the 800,000 police, and who knows how many police we would have to have.

GLENN: So what’s your solution?

GIULIANI: My solution is close the border to illegal immigration.

GLENN: How do you do that?

GIULIANI: You do that by building a fence, a physical fence and a technological fence, and the technological fence is more important than the physical fence. The technological fence would alert you to illegals approaching the border well in advance so the border patrol can get there and stop them. You deploy the border patrol every 50 miles along the border.
I’ve already outlined this on a map. I did this in detail about two weeks ago. And then you have the border patrol stop people from coming in, literally stop them from coming in. If you did that for a year or two, you would end it.
You also have a tamperproof ID card that every person from a foreign country should have that comes into the United States. The goal has to be, yes, you’re allowed to come to the United States but you have to identify yourself before we let you in, and we have to be sure you’re a safe person. And then if you come in, you’ll be in the computer base, you’ll be able to work, you will have to pay your fair share, you’ll have to pay taxes but we have to end it right at the border by having the resources to stop people from just walking into this country and not identifying themselves.
Only the federal government can do this.
If the federal government doesn’t do this, there is no way that the local governments in this country can handle it other than in a practical way.
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If you make people that are just going to be here for the next 20 years, if you put them in a situation of danger and risk, you’re going to have more crime in your communities.

Oh really? Is that correct? Perhaps you can hear the enamel grating from my teeth at this point; nevertheless: Agree? Disagree? Make your own decision.

BZ
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Away

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What a relaxing day it’s been. How strange, and how wonderful.

The wife and I decided it was time to get away from the localized Central Fornicalia madness and partake of our Fornicalia coastline. It’s been hot as hell recently (no, not Global Warming — around the Central Valley it’s called “summer“) and, for the area, relatively humid. When I write of heat, I’m indicating temperatures around 105 to 110-degrees. Not where I live in the mountains, but where the wife’s house is, in Sacratomato — which is also where I work. We both agreed: it was time to head for the coast.

We enjoy staying in Monterey, Carmel, Big Sur, Santa Cruz, Capitola, Eureka, Ft. Bragg, Mendocino — anywhere we can see the ocean, we can hear the waves, and enjoy relief from the heat.

It’s strange, because I’m writing this post in the same chair you see my wife occupying in the photo above, on her laptop, connected to the internet available in the room. At the same time, it’s about 55-degrees outside, overcast, and I can see the ocean fog running for shore. I can hear the tumultuous cascading of the waves, and I’m watching them strike a series of rough rocks just outside the window. I have my camera mounted on a tripod from the little veranda, so I can catch any really monumental waves — like the last series I just missed because I was writing this sentence — in hopes of snagging another photo for the post.

We’ve decided that today, after procuring breakfast, we’ll be banana slugs and simply leave the door open so we can read, write, and just savor the essence of the coast. I have a few Heinekens nearby (imagine that), my wife has a wine cooler on the table, I’m writing this post and she’s sewing a sock monkey for the truck we’re going to buy soon, to replace her ancient 1990 Toyota pickup.

Despite the gray day, the impending fog, the lack of sun, we both find the surroundings utterly beguiling and relaxing. We’re enjoying identifying the dogs we see walk by. We’re marveling at the turn of the gulls as they wheel mere feet from the veranda. I can see the ocean now, changing to a deeper green than it was a few mere minutes prior — why is that? A small flock of ducks just zipped by. And now and then, too far for the zoom on my camera, we can see the popping heads of seals surfacing for a breath and a bit of orientation.

We’ll be here another three days, and likely doing the same thing: not much and/or, what we wish when we wish. I’m starting Daniel Silva’s The Messenger, and my wife is beginning James Rollins’s The Judas Strain. We are both rabid and voracious readers; we adore that in each other.

I’m convinced: if I were to win the lottery, I know my two immediate choices would be to live in the mountains above the snowline, or by the ocean. And, ultimately, I know my final choice would be to live in the Pacific Northwest, by the ocean. Northern Fornicalia, Oregon or Washington state. Living next to the ocean wins, hands down.

If you won the lottery, where would you live?

BZ
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Honor Our Heroes

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The following has been winding through the internet and its message bears repeating here for my readers:

THE PASSING OF A GENERATION
by CPT. Stephen R. Ellison, M.D.

I am a doctor specializing in the Emergency Departments of the only two military Level One trauma centers, both in San Antonio, TX, and they care for civilian emergencies as well as military personnel. San Antonio has the largest military retiree population in the world living here.

As a military doctor, I work long hours and the pay is less than glamorous. One tends to become jaded by the long hours, lack of sleep, food, family contact and the endless parade of human suffering passing before you. The arrival of another ambulance does not mean more pay, only more work.

Most often it is a victim from a motor vehicle crash. Often it is a person of dubious character who has been shot or stabbed. With our large military retiree population, it is often a nursing home patient. Even with my enlisted service and minimal combat experience in Panama, I have caught myself groaning when the ambulance brought in yet another sick, elderly person from one of the local retirement centers that cater to military retirees. I had not stopped to think what citizens of this age group represented.


I saw “Saving Private Ryan.” I was touched deeply. Not so much by the carnage, but by the sacrifices of so many. I was touched most by the scene of the elderly survivor at the graveside, asking his wife if he’d been a good man. I realized that I had seen these same men and women through my emergency department and had not recognized what magnificent sacrifices they had made. The things they did for me and everyone else that has lived on this planet since the end of that conflict are priceless.

Situation permitting, I now try to ask my patients about their experiences. They would never bring up the subject without the inquiry. I have been privileged to an amazing array of experiences, recounted in the brief minutes allowed in an emergency department encounter. These experiences have revealed the incredible individuals I have had the honor of serving in a medical capacity, many on their last admission to the hospital.

There was a frail, elderly woman who reassured my young enlisted medic, trying to start an I.V. line in her arm. She remained calm and poised, despite her illnessand the multiple needle-sticks into her fragile veins. She was what we call a “hard stick.” As the medic made another attempt, I noticed a number tattooed across her forearm. I touched it with one finger and looked into her eyes. She simply said “Auschwitz.” Many of later generations would have loudly and openly berated the young medic in his many attempts. How different was the response from this person who’d seen unspeakable suffering.

Also, there was this long-retired Colonel, who as a young officer had parachuted from his burning plane over a Pacific island held by the Japanese. Now an octogenarian, he had a minor cut on his head from a fall at his home where he lived alone. His CT scan and suturing had been delayed until after midnight by the usual parade of high priority ambulance patients. Still spry for his age, he asked to use the phone to call a taxi, to take him home, when he realized his ambulance had brought him without his wallet. He asked if he could use the phone to make a long distance call to his daughter who lived seven miles away. With great pride we told him that he could not, as he’d done enough for his country and the least we could do was get him a taxi home, even if we had to pay for it ourselves. My only regret was that my shift wouldn’t end for several hours, and I couldn’t drive him myself.

I was there the night MSgt. Roy Benavidez came through the emergency department for the last time. He was very sick. I was not the doctor taking care of him, but I walked to his bedside and took his hand. I said nothing. He was so sick, he didn’t know I was there. I’d read his Congressional Medal of Honor citation and wanted to shake his hand. He died a few days later.

The gentleman who served with Merrill’s Marauders, the survivor of the Bataan Death March, the survivor of Omaha Beach, the 101-year-old World War I veteran, the former POW held in frozen North Korea, the former Special Forces medic — now with non-operable liver cancer — the former Vietnam Corps Commander. I remember these citizens.

I may still groan when yet another ambulance comes in, but now I am much more aware of what an honor it is to serve these particular men and women.

I have seen a Congress who would turn their back on these individuals who’ve sacrificed so much to protect our liberty. I see later generations that seem to be totally engrossed in abusing these same liberties, won with such sacrifice.

It has been my personal endeavor to make the nurses and you enlisted medics aware of these amazing individuals when I encounter them in our emergency department. Their response to these particular citizens has made me think that perhaps all is not lost in the next generation.

My experiences have solidified my belief that we are losing an incredible generation, and this nation knows not what it is losing. Our uncaring government and ungrateful civilian populace should all take note. We should all remember that we must — “earn this.”


These people, well called The Greatest Generation, to include my mother and father, saved not only this country, but literally saved the entire planet from enslavement. I received this e-mail from my father, an 87-year-old retired USAF Colonel, who served in World War II and during Vietnam, both in active duty and as a Reserve. As I am fond of saying: “If it had rivets, he flew it.”

God bless America. God bless The Greatest Generation.

BZ

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You’re Kidding Me

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C’mon people, are we really this stupid?

Someone has been calling grocery stores and discount stores around the US, threatening to blow up employees and customers via some kind of hidden bomb, if the employees don’t wire money to an overseas account.

NEWPORT, R.I. (AP) — Large grocery and discount stores across the country have been targeted by a caller who threatens to blow up shoppers and workers with a bomb if employees fail to wire money to an account overseas, authorities said. Frightened workers have wired thousands of dollars — and in one case took off their clothes — to placate a caller who said he was watching them but may have been thousands of miles away.

Okay, so you’re in a store. The manager shuts the front doors and screams: “Everyone, listen, listen! A man has called to say that there is a bomb in the store and it’ll detonate unless we all take off our clothes!”

Do you:

A: Laugh until you stop;
B: Punch Manager in face;
C: State: “____ you.”
D: Walk out the door or break the glass in order to do so;
E: All of the above.

BZ

P.S.
The obvious answer is — well, you know.
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