Hack Attack

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Hackers are trying to weasel their way into my website. How do I know? My webmaster pulls up info and shows it to me all the time. Up to this point, we’ve had seven hacking attempts, and they’ve all failed.

“How do you keep them out?” I can hear you saying. It’s easy: If you look at my spinning globe on the homepage of www.jerrybegly.com , you will see a character holding a sign which says something. The character came from Camp Pinetar, a comic strip that I drew several years ago. His name is “Hacker”, and he was way ahead of his time. (He hooked up a fax machine to his 3-D computer program and was faxing camp meatloaf to Africa. The natives at the other end thought that the fax machine was spitting out bricks for their new hospital.)

If you can catch it, the sign has a cryptic “anti hacker” message on it. One free t-shirt (no kidding) will be given to the first person who emails me and explains WHAT the sign says, and HOW it is used!

Bonus round: One free t-shirt (no kidding) will be given to the person who can email me and tell me what was used to make the squeaking sound on the globe. You must be specific. You haven’t heard the squeaking sound, or oiled the globe? What’s wrong with your computer?

Anyway, hacking is not encouraged in our society, but I can tell you the name of one major company in our area that is completely vulnerable to hackers. They are a multi-million dollar entity, and they must have a two-bit IT department. Shame. Maybe someday, you’ll see a spinning “Hacker” globe on their home page…

20,000 Hits Below the Belt

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We launched “www.jerrybegly.com” on April 1, 2009. That was no mistake. Yesterday we totaled over 20,000 hits. Wow.

It humbles me to know that more than 10 people enjoy reading my blog. Hopefully, it’s because you can relate a little bit to what’s going on in my posts. Or maybe you are transported to a time or place that you’ve not experienced, and that intrigues you. That’s what writing is supposed to be about.

This site is all about “hitting below the belt.” Here, we get to make up the journalistic rules. I get to call ’em like I see ’em, and I won’t have an editor throw me out of his office like happened at the Aspen Daily News one time. (cartoons that poke fun at gays aren’t tolerated in Aspen).

In sappy dweeb language, I would have to say that Caleb, my Webmaster, and you the reader/subscriber are the last two legs of my three-legged stool of blogdom. Thank you. If you really like a post, send it to a friend and share the irreverence. One of my favorites is “Bugs Bunny and the Mexicans.”

Now let’s get on with the show…

Bruce Springsteen Rides the Rails

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It was late August 1991, and the Turks were still celebrating Ramadan. Giles, a French chef and mountain climber, was traveling with me westward on a multi-day train ride through Turkey. We had just aborted a climbing/archaeological expedition on Mt. Ararat to look for Noah’s Ark. Yes, that Noah’s ark.

Former astronaut James Irwin, of Apollo 15, had put this expedition together, as he had done several other times. He invited me to join the search since I had mountain guiding experience, and had been part of the 1989 Huston Explorers Club group. It was in 1989 that I had met Jim in Houston.

Giles and I were riding first class at the back of the train. Being explorers, we began to wander around the train on day 2. Giles said, “Let’s see how far we can go to the front of the train before they stop us.” It seemed like a good thing to do at the time. So we walked forward in the train wearing tank tops, shorts, flip flops, and only carrying our cameras around our necks.

One of the first cars we came to was the dining car. Turks stared at a Frenchman, and an American in a World Gym tank top, as they wandered through the car. Giles kept pointing to me saying “Bruce Springsteen!” in a thick French accent. I kept on telling them, “I’m not Bruce Springsteen!” The Turks were not impressed.

It is interesting to note, that in Turkey, you can get away with murder as long as you have a camera around your neck, and are taking pictures. Turks are egomaniacs, and will stop and pose for you, as if they are some wannabe politician or young movie star. So we moved forward through the train, smiling, and taking pictures. Point a camera at a Turk, and they are your friend for life. Additionally, they will scribble down their name and address in some ancient cuneiform, expecting a photo in the mail.

My companion and I kept moving forward through the train, smiling and taking photos. Finally, we opened a door to see the two conductors in a box car, with bunk beds and a table. One conductor was standing, looking over the shoulder of a sitting conductor. They glared at us. Quickly, Giles said, “Photos. Photos!” The frowns turned to smiles, and the conductors stood at attention while we snapped away. They beckoned me over to them, put a conductor’s hat on me and stood by me like we had gone to school together for 12 years.

The train was coming to a stop, and Giles pointed to the door at the front of the car. “Can we go through this one?” He asked. The conductors didn’t speak English, but instead, opened the big boxcar door, jumped out, and gave us a stool to get down.

“Let’s take a picture of the front of the train,” Giles said. So we walked to the front of the train, turned around, and got ready to take a picture of the Locomotives. As I’m looking through the camera lens, I yelled, “Giles! The train is moving!” Sure enough, they took off without us.

Have you ever been in central Turkey with no passport, money, or luggage? I have. However, being the survivor that I am, I wasn’t going to let it last for long. I started running beside the train engine, ready to grab the ladder. Giles, being a smart Frenchman, did the same. I climbed the front ladder on the second locomotive, Giles climbed the rear ladder on the first locomotive. Then Giles jumped from the first locomotive to the second, where I was. We were on the train! Woo Hoo!

The engineer opened the front door on the locomotive that we were on, and started screaming to us in Turkish. He was waving his hand wildly, beckoning us to come into the cab. We complied. I guess we went as far to the front as we could.

When we got into the locomotive, the two engineers were yelling at us like Marine Drill Sergeants. Then Giles calmly said “Photos. Photos.” The yelling stopped abruptly, and we began taking photos. I have photos of the men. I have photos of the engine cab. I have a photo of Giles driving the train with his hand on the throttle.

We were in that cab for what must have been an hour. We passed over several bridges, drove through rough canyons, and past mountains, plains, and sheepherders. The engineers wanted Giles camera, and tried bartering cigarettes for it. “No” was Giles only reply.

“We’d better get out of here,” I said, “They could take your camera, throw us off of the train on a high bridge, and everybody would know that those two stupid tourists climbed onto the train while it was taking off, and fell off of the engines into a deep canyon." We could become victims of the perfect crime.

So when the train finally came to a stop at a station, we smiled, said “Thank you!” and ran for the back of the train. The conductor met us as we boarded. He was pulling his hair out. Giles looked at him, smiled, and said, “Photos! Photos!” The conductor glowered at us, pointed to the back car of the train where we were supposed to be riding, and shouted, "NO PHOTOS!”

Your Tax Money at Work

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Today it hit me like a Texas Tornado, or a metric ton of bricks. There are 3 kinds of people in this world:

 

  1. Tax Protesters.

  2. Tax Embracers.

  3. Tax Sufferers-in-Silence.

More and more I’m running into Tax Protesters. They aren’t the kind that absolutely refuse to pay income tax, but they are becoming more vocal about what they see as our different levels of government generally smothering Americans. Some of them talk of “Taking America back”. Some tell me that they are contacting their representatives on a regular basis. Whatever the action, these people used to be part of the Tax Sufferers-in-Silence. They are good, hardworking, moral, usually Christian, citizens.

Our leaders would do well to remember what happened when Christians in the early colonies were overtaxed, and subject to “…a long train of abuses…”. We Americans will put up with a lot of shenanigans, but there comes a point where responsible citizens will rein it in.

The Tax Embracers are of the category where it is generally assumed that your government is the best entity at taking care of the public. After all, look at our beautiful city parks, paved sidewalks, and public schools. (OK, so don’t look at our public schools.) Police, fire, and the Tidal Basin in Washington are testimony to the government’s care for us. (OK, so forget the Tidal Basin. The last time I was there, trash was floating all over in the water. On the other hand, there were chain link fences everywhere because of Homeland Security, and you couldn’t go into the Capitol to use the restroom, which probably is why the Tidal Basin was trashed.) Tax embraces will literally kill you during the process of “taking care” of you. Don’t get me going on this.

Tax-Sufferers-in-Silence are the absolute largest group. Our friends, relatives, coworkers, and neighbors fall into this group. They usually work real hard to make a living, and don’t have time for tax protesting, or other nonsense. Not only that, they aren’t sure what to do, or where to start. They are the person who you always hear saying, “You can’t fight City Hall.” Baloney. For an example of how one simple letter can LOWER your taxes, check out my blog, “Copy of a Tax Protest Letter”. That one letter lowered my property taxes, and you can do it too! Suffering in silence isn’t necessary, anymore. If ever there was hope in America, it is in the fact that you can now hold the government’s feet to the fire.

 

Barack Obama Wants You to Buy Toenail Clippers

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Anyone who has been on the Internet lately (I assume you’re not reading this on a bulletin board at work) has noticed the “stimulus” ads. I’m talking about the ones using Barack Obama’s name.

“Barack Obama wants you to lose weight!”

“Barack Obama wants you to buy a new car!”

“Barack Obama wants you to buy organic toenail clippers!”

Who are these people, and why don’t they fire their ad agencies? Do they really think that Americans want the President telling them what to do on EVERYTHING?

“Barack Obama wants you to invest in yo-yos!”

“Barack Obama wants you to sell your children to slave traders and go back to school!”

“Earn your B.A. (Barack of America) degree while sitting at home collecting unemployment!”

To have so many ads on the Internet using Barack Obama’s stimulus plan as the impetus, shows what a nation of charlatans and con men we’ve become. Either that, or we are all now taking marching orders from our new Commander in Chief. Or maybe we all are greedy and just want “the other guy” to pay for our life’s choices.

“Barack Obama wants you to plant wildflowers!”

“Barack Obama wants you to give blood to the needy government!”

“Barack Obama wants you to lick his boots! Only $29.95. Don’t delay!”

The chickens will come home to roost when Americans start calling the White House switchboard and begin asking questions like, “Mr. President, where should I send my kid to college?… Or camp?”

“Mr. Obama, which peanut butter should I buy?”

“Mr. President of the Century, where did I put my car keys?”

“Hey Barry, can I borrow the car tonight?

“What’s up with last week’s NASCAR satellite feed?

“Why are there so many questions about cars on Jerry Begly’s blog site?”

I don’t know. Maybe it’s OK for Barack Obama to be invoked about everything. After all, he asked for it.

“Hello Whitehouse? My organic toenail clippers broke. Where do I send them for repair?"