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In America, every vote should be counted correctly.  Following the General Election on November 2, 2004, we have learned that there were numerous incidents of evoting machines malfunctioning and/or being tampered with and significant voter suppression.  Congress is being asked to investigate.  In the name of preserving democracy itself, the purpose of this article is to outline two courses of action which will help prevent future voting fraud in all 50 states:

Thanks for article on SS privatization. I'd been thinking lately along the same lines, but would characterize it perhaps a little more cynically. As an MBA I've studied the market [primarily in the early 90s]: Technical analysis was rapidly replacing fundamental analysis. The market had become psychological. Now with the DOW at 10,000--the fundamentals of the US economy doubtful--the huge impact of the so-called Plunge Team [officially goes by another name] and with the many mysterious accounting reforms--the market is adrift in artificiality. It is a pyramid waiting to fall. There is only one thing to keep it afloat [as all of the excess funds available to prop it up have been "invested"] and we're talking about the need for a whole lot of money. And so we have privatization of SS. I don't think it's as much about another bull market as it is about another round of large-scale Ponzi capitalism. It's SS injection or people start to poke around, determine that there is really nothing fundamental supporting the PE ratios and the whole thing takes a nosedive. It's find a new source of funds or go home. It's about pushing the US community further out into deeper water.
How does one eulogize their hero? Words seem to fail all of us when someone dies that we care about. When I have filled the role as minister at funerals, my bible college pastoral training does little to help. Death is a mysterious unknown that none of us will fully comprehend until we experience it firsthand. When someone dies we are left to scramble around, thinking not only about the personal loss of their presence, but also the sting of our own mortality. The person, the hero, we mourn today is distinguished author Doctor Hunter S Thompson.

An Associated Press dispatch from a Thai fishing village summed up the media spin a few days ago: “Former President Bill Clinton’s voice trembled with emotion as he and George H.W. Bush put aside their once-bitter political rivalry...”

Ever since his initial checked-out responses to the catastrophic tsunami two months ago drew worldwide derision, the current president has largely relied on two predecessors to do the image-repair chores. In effect, an ad hoc PR outfit -- Bush, Bush & Clinton -- has the three partners laboring to make themselves look good as compassionate great nephews of Uncle Sam. But there are deeper messages and functions here than mere image-polishing.

When an American president wants to make war, he doesn’t rely on private contributions. The U.S. warfare in Iraq has already cost taxpayers more than $150 billion, not counting the regular Pentagon budget that is now well over a billion dollars per day.

The global-scale PR work of Bush, Bush & Clinton underscores the idea that the era of big government is over -- for humanitarian efforts, anyway.
I guess I can call myself one of the Dylan generation since, at 63, I'm the same age as him, but the prose stylists that allured an Anglo-Irish lad hopelessly strapped into the corsets of Latinate gentility were always those of American rough-housers: first, in the mid-fifties, Jack Kerouac, then Edward Abbey, then Hunter Thompson.

Thank God I never tried to imitate any of them. Thompson probably spawned more bad prose than anyone since Hemingway, but they all taught me that at its most rapturous, its most outraged, its most exultant, American prose can let go and teach you to let go, to embrace the vastness, the richness, the beauty and the grotesqueries of America in all its thousand landscapes.

AUSTIN, Texas -- I have been observing the flappette over the sexist remarks of Harvard's president, Larry Summers, with some amusement. Initially, it was hard to sort out whether we had a case of an educator trying to provoke an interesting discussion, or one of those hoo-hahs where political correctness runs amok, or just another dimwitted sexist being ignorant. Turns out to be all three.

I would worry more about this -- I so enjoy being part of our national intellectual discourse -- except the Texas legislature is in session again, so I have to keep my indignation dry for the real thing. It is a source of constant wonder to me that the Lege, bad as I have known it to be all these years, is yet capable of becoming eternally worse. Among the nasty horrors awaiting us is H.B. 1212, mandating parental consent for the performance of an abortion.

We already have a parental notification requirement in Texas, so how much different can consent be? Of course you don't want your underage daughter getting an abortion without your knowledge, what parent would?

The Broadway in Columbus Series's "Thoroughly Modern Millie" opened Tuesday night at the Palace Theater with a tight, light and thoroughly enjoyable musical cream puff to adorn the Palace stage.

This is, of course, no major work of angst or passion.  Miss Saigon has come and gone. 

But as advertised, Millie is a perfectly lovely milk chocolate trifle, served light and frothy.  The performances are clean, competent and engaging.  The staging is unpretentious and credible.  The lines are delivered right, the music sung nicely, the pacing reasonable and the plot line so thoroughly predictable as to be downright relaxing. 

Lead Darcie Roberts (Millie) and her cohorts Stephanie Pope (Muzzie), Robyn Payne (Miss Flannery) and Pamela Hamill (Mrs. Meers) balance each other nicely, while the men---mainly Bryan McElroy (Jimmy) and John Ganun (Trevor Graydon), along with Emir Yonzon (Bun Foo) and Richard Feng Zhu (Chin Ho)---more than deliver on their end of the bargain. 

All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable evening, easy on the eyes, ears and psyche. 

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