Why I travel for candidate Jennifer Boysko

Jennifer Boysko

Letter submitted to the Herndon Patch :

Dear Editor,

In 2003 I joined what seemed like thousands of others to ride shuttles from the West Falls Church Metro Station to a farm in Falls Church to hear presidential candidate Howard Dean speak at a rally.

It was a beautiful fall day, and I was struck by the many members of the press who turned out and filled rows of bleachers to stand, take pictures, and shoot video. I can't remember anything Mr. Dean said, but I do remember meeting Jennifer Boysko, now a candidate for the Virginia House of Delegates from the 86th District.

Jennifer was then, as she is now, a cheerful and enthusiastic volunteer, smart and driven to work hard for those goals in which she believes (which happen to coincide with mine!).

You know when you meet someone, and you know right off the bat he or she is sincere and genuine? That person "clicks" immediately with you? Jennifer is one of those. Her great demeanor and energy are contagious.

Over the past decade I have had the pleasure of working with her on many campaigns. I have met her two daughters, her magnificent husband, Glenn, and have visited in their home.

Without equivocation, I can state Jennifer is a committed public servant who will work hard to represent her constituents. Her dedication and earnestness to work hard in Richmond is why I drive from my district at Tysons Corner (although I love my delegate) to Herndon to work for Jennifer, to canvass and "knock on doors" for her since Virginians need the very best we can find to be our voices in Richmond.

Plus, she is a woman. I believe if we had more females in office, a lot more communication between various parties would get done. There would not be so many turf wars, and increased female perspective would benefit us all, men and women. We women are not so "territorial."

I checked with the Clerk's Office at the House of Delegates who told me fewer than one of five Virginia delegates is female (19% or 19 of 100) and in the Virginia Senate, female representation is only six of 40 representatives (15 percent). The U.S. Census Bureau says women made up almost 51% of Virginia's population last year..

Àin't I a woman? Ain't it time for a change? I urge your readers to elect Jennifer Boysko to the Virginia House of Delegates.

Jennifer Boysko for Delegate/farmteam.org

patricialesli@gmail.com

President Obama: Please see this movie!

Brave New Films

 

The title is Unmasked: America's Drone Wars, and it tell the heartbreaking stories of Pakistani citizens whose lives have been forever changed by death and dismemberment of hundreds of Pakistani civilians caused by U.S. drone strikes, which the CIA and the White House deny or say is "lawful."

At the American premiere at Busboys and Poets on Fifth Street Monday night, about 100 crowded a screening room to watch the documentary and afterwards, hear three injured survivors, a schoolteacher and his two children, talk through an interpreter about the death of their mother and grandmother, tending vegetables in a field and blasted by a drone strike which injured six more children.

Film director and producer Robert Greenwald, left, poses questions to Rafiq ur Rehman, second from right, and his two children, Nabila, second from left, and Zubair, middle, at the screening of Unmasked: America's Drone Wars at Busboys and Poets. An interpreter is at right/Patricia Leslie

Nabila ur Rehman, left, describes with the assistance of an interpreter, the horror of her grandmother's death caused by a U.S. drone strike which targeted her grandmother out in a field while tending vegetables. The film,    Unmasked: America's Drone Wars, which documents multiple drone strikes and civilian deaths in Pakistan, was screened at Busboys and Poets where Nabila, her brother, Zubair, standing behind her, and her father, Rafiq ur Rahman, described the devastation to their lives and fear caused by drone strikes/Patricia Leslie

Rafiq ur Rahman, the father and teacher who also appears in the film, described the shock and sorrow of finding his mother's shoe in the field and his neighbors holding him back while they placed her body parts in a box. His mother, Mamana Bibi, was a midwife.

Mr. President, if you didn't know the NSA is spying on world leaders, why would you know that the CIA is killing civilians in Pakistan? After all, if the National Intelligence Director, James Clapper lied to Congress while under oath, why wouldn't the CIA lie to you?

Who's in charge of this house?

We treat convicted killers on Death Row better than the innocents in Pakistan who have no opportunities to present their cases in courtrooms for judges and juries to hear.

In grim detail with many photos of dead children and women, the film outlines the cavalier attacks upon Pakistanis while the U.S. military seeks to stop terrorists. A man talks about touching the skin of his dead father, taken out by a drone: "His skin broke like ashes."

The film begins with statements by a former Air Force drone operator, Brandon Bryant, who tells the anguish and turmoil he experienced after training to kill people with the push of a button.

From thousands of miles away "you can see the license tag on a car." He is quoted throughout the movie, along with attorneys, journalists, professors, a former ambassador to the U.K. from Pakistan, and Lawrence Wilkerson, former chief of staff for Secretary of State Colin Powell.

Rather than al-Qaeda recruiting terrorists the drones are doing it for them, said one Pakistani leader. Rather than educating its young, the people are afraid to send their children to school, fearing a drone attack, said another.

The film quotes a Pakistani leader: The U.S. goes around the world and decides who to assassinate.

Killings should be the exception and not the rule.

Where is the accountability for all these deaths? someone asks. There is no investigation.

One victim was 16-year-old Tariq Aziz, on his way to play soccer, the target of a drone strike and likely fingered by an enemy who wanted the money the U.S. government offers informers whether they tell the truth or not.

Much like the fruit vendor, Mohamed Bouazizi, whose self-immolation touched off the Tunisian revolution in 2010, and Khaled Mohamed Saeed, whose beaten and disfigured face by police in 2011 launched the Egyptian revolution, the face of Tariq Aziz is the symbol of the stop drone strikes movement.

Who stands to benefit from drone production and who is lobbying Congress? No surprises: Boeing, Northrop Grumman, Raytheon are a few.

Beginning today the film will be available at no charge for all to see. 

After the screening, Robert Greenwald, the film's producer and director, said: "Technology has made it easy to kill. There is no democratic process." These deaths warrant no investigations by the U.S.  There is "no transparency."

Brave New Films, which Greenwald founded, produced Outfoxed, Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price, and Koch Brothers Exposed.

Rafiq ur Rahman and his children were headed to Congress today for a briefing called by Rep. Alan Grayson (D-FL). The film is set for screening at the United Nations and then, the British Parliament. Islamabad was the site last Saturday night of the world premiere, and Unmasked is scheduled for broadcast on Pakistani television.

It's time to stand up, brothers and sisters, since the media is again asleep at the switch while our government allows Big Business to operate the controls.

patricialesli@gmail.com

Behind the scenes at Vienna's Halloween Parade

Vienna's Halloween Parade participants got their first fright of the night when they lined up on Berry Street to face a green-headed monster lurking behind a fence/Patricia Leslie

And there to scare him off were library literary creatures (with decorated dog) to weave magic and witches brew/Patricia Leslie

Delegate Mark Keam of the 35th District outsmarted everyone with a horse-drawn carriage to safely transport his family away from scary monsters/Patricia Leslie

A loose cow was spotted drinking something besides milk (!) at the Vienna Business Association's pre-parade party at Jammin' Java.  A property tag claimed the cow belonged to Sean Sinclair/Patricia Leslie

A pretty princess at the Vienna Business Association's pre-parade party/Patricia Leslie

Yeeks!  How can anyone eat with these beauties staring at you?  They were found at a Maple Avenue restaurant and bore resemblance to Vienna librarians/Patricia Leslie

Beware of Vienna ghosts!/Patricia Leslie

Patricialesli@gmail.com

Puckheads at the Capitals

Just take a look at these four guys in fancy headgear, the number which just happens to match the number of goals the Washington Capitals earned last Saturday night v. the Columbia Blue Jackets at the Verizon Center in Washington. The final score:  Caps, 4 and Columbia, 1/Patricia Leslie

The ceiling crowd is a mite rowdier than the more sophisticated audience down below which can afford fancier seats.  This was in Section 411, Rows M and N, not far from the ceiling. Up here we are called "ceiling fans." Yo ho ho and a bottle of beer/Patricia Leslie

Before the game started and pictured on the big screen in the center of the ice was a young cancer victim who was honored while Caps Captain Alexander Ovechkin (8) and a Blue Jacket got ready to play/Patricia Leslie

Pictured on the big screen was Corporal Brandon Tillsonkorona from Raynham, MA, honored for his military service and deployment to Afghanistan.  Fans stand, applaud, and cheer the troops, recognized by the Caps at every game/Patricia Leslie

Bob McDonald sang The Star Spangled Banner before the start of the Caps/Blue Jackets game.  Said Patricia:  If I had been near the ice rather than the ceiling, photos of the game would have been lots better/Patricia Leslie

Patricileslie@gmail.com

Sameness at the Wall Street Journal and Washington Post

U.S. Senator Mike Lee (R-Utah)/U.S. Senate, Wikimedia Commons

They are at it again.

Is it just me that finds it odd that both newspapers would feature an un-urgent column about Utah Republicans and U.S. Senator Mike Lee (R-UT) on the same day, on the same page, and the same size?

Huh?

Yesterday's headline on the front page of the Washington Post at the fold in the left column reads:  "In Utah GOP, some seek to shut down tea party hero."

While over at the Wall Street Journal is this headline above a single column (below the fold) and on the left:  "Utah Senator Pays Price Back Home For Shutdown."

Both datelines are Salt Lake City. They talk about Lee's "cratering" ratings and how mad the business community is at him for voting with the tea party and supporting the government shutdown and how those business Republicans are going after Lee, all right, and looking to put up their own candidate (Don Liljenquist,  Josh Romney, perchance?) by way of "Count My Vote," which would be a new way of nominating an opposition candidate to Mr. Lee. 

Well, take that, Mr. Mike Lee, and get scared.  

The papers did not quote all of the same people, just former governor Jon Huntsman and Liljenquist, another former candidate.

And then there's John Price, a former Republican National Committee member and Bush (unclear which one) ambassador whom Sen. Lee still doesn't recognize.  Oh, dear me, Mr. Price. Throw down the red carpet for you, and let us bow and scrape the floor.

I am one of the last to defend the tea party, but this is a rather strange coincidence, don't you think?

Do the editors get together and decide to run these?  Or does someone on the opposition plant, pitch, and promote them?  

You decide.  (I checked New York and Los Angeles and could not find sameness at either place.)

Too much similarity, if you ask me, and who's asking?  

It is not Mr. Lee.

patricialesli@gmail.com

$18.50 for 'Gravity'?

Sandra Bullock and George Clooney star in Warner Brothers' Gravity

Yeeks and zowee.

Movie fans, Gravity is (pause and gulp) worth it.  And I'm not even a sci-fi nut.

It's absolutely the highest price by a long shot I've ever paid for a movie, but this was the IMAX with those funny glasses and the crashing sounds and music and floating debris you'll swear is going to smack you right in the head.

And it's Sandra Bullock all the way.  You go, girl!  We are only too proud to see you in the lights again. Pox on those who make you unhappy.

George Clooney plays a minor role, little more than a cameo, a halo (!) appearance, but to see him up close is a nice touch. (A girl can dream, can't she?)

You must know something about the plot by now, and all I will say is another flick about man rescues girl entered my mind. (Yawn.) Never mind.  You keep hoping (?). 

Why does it always have to be the fault of the Russians?  What about the Chinese? Or the North Koreans?  Do they have space stations?

The film's not without its faults, namely, an embryonic Sandra Bullock floating in space in her underwear.  Rather tiresome, and I wondered if the film had broken except she kept moving.  I guess the producers felt obliged to enter sex somewhere.  Those space suits don't seem as cumbersome as NASA might have us believe.  I wish to see George Clooney in his underwear.  Red is a good color.

This is an intense movie, not recommended for children under age 13, or those prone to dizziness. (Take your pills.)

It has a PG-13 rating with one F-bomb in addition to other expletives, I believe. Why are they necessary? They are not.

Without question Sandra Bullock will be nominated for Best Actress and there'll be a few other nominations to come out of this, too, I'll bet: Best Picture, Best Visual Effects, Best Sound Mixing and Editing, Best Director (Alfonso Cuaron who co-wrote it with Jonas Cuaron), and Best Original Score (Steven Price). 

IMDb says Clooney is an "uncredited" script collaborator, and just take a look at the huge crew.

It's great to see product from Mexico, Cuaron's homeland.

Oh, and if you really want to know how accurate the show is, read what retired astronaut Garrett Reisman says about it in Forbes.

Hang on.  You may get lost in space. To quote the late great Bette Davis:  "Fasten your seat belts.  It's going to be a bumpy night."  

patricialesli@gmail.com

Keyless in Carolina

The keyless wonder, AKA a Nissan Altima with round wheels, at Brookgreen Gardens in South Carolina/Patricia Leslie

At the Raleigh-Durham Airport I picked up my rental at the Thrifty counter and took off for the coast and the mountains and a reunion with high school girlfriends. 

Oh, boy!

Thrifty had give me a new Nissan Altima which is a lot bigger than my trusty 1999 Volvo. I've had a Volvo since college.  Which means before 1999.

I tooled down Interstate 40 for a few minutes and, being without lunch, pulled in to a McDonald's to get my bearings and cheap nourishment, and, upon returning to the car, could not start it.

This is a car, mind you, without a key.  They don't make cars with keys any more. 

Who knew? 

At the Thrifty counter, I had requested a PT Cruiser, and Avery (the manager) laughed heartily and exclaimed:  "They haven't made those since 2009!" 

Well, I said, do you have a used one I can have? 

Nope.
 
Was anything said about a keyless car?
 
Nope.

Directions on how to drive one?

Nope.  I guess everyone else knows.

This is what I really wanted to drive.  Ain't it cool?  And look it's already at the beach, waiting for me!/carautoportal.com

At the McDonald's parking lot, I pushed a bunch of buttons, and a dashboard screen flashed "brake and start button" or something, and I thought, I've braked this car.  What does this mean? 

I called the service number listed on the rental agreement, and a woman told me to put my foot on the brake and push the button at the same time. Who knew? 

You have to read a dissertation to find out these things before you drive them? 

Her quick response told me she was a mechanic who had answered this question more than once.

I got the car started and headed back to the interstate where the heavy bass on the radio was giving me a headache, but how to turn it down?  You know what it's like driving down the interstate at 75 mph in a rental and trying to find the right buttons to push?

Guess how close that start button is to the radio button?

Inches.

What would happen if you pushed the start button instead of the radio button barreling down the interstate?

Never mind. 

I called Service to see how I could tune down the bass, and Service put me on hold while someone went to read a dissertation. It didn't take long for Service and me to become fast buddies.

A few minutes passed before somebody beside me in the adjacent lane started honking his horn.  I knew it had to be a "his" because "hers" don't do this kind of thing.  Besides, we'd never notice.

Soon, out of the corner of my eye, I could detect a waving hand.

We were doing about 80.

I guessed I was going to have to move my eyes from the lanes in front of me and look over in the other lane to see what was going on, and there was a black dude waving and pointing to the left front tire.  

Now, I thought, this is a new car!  What's wrong with the tire?  Nothing could be wrong with the tire.  Come on!

I drove on and exited at the first place, which, of course, was an office park where U-turns are prohibited, and you have to drive five miles before you can make one.

I turned right, and then right again, and, maybe another right before I found a left turn lane where I pulled into a dirt driveway where a house was for sale, and I got out and inspected the tire, leaving the engine running.  No sense in being stranded in rural North Carolina and losing (more) beach time.

Nope.  

Nothing wrong with the tire. 

Not flat. 

Still round.

I got back in the car and tried to find the interstate.

Was it a right turn here and a left turn there?  Where was the interstate? 

I made it back and called my sister who said she would not talk to me since I was driving.  We chatted about 20 minutes, and I asked her why a man would play a mean trick on me to get me to leave the interstate.

We talked about man's inhumanity to man.  And mean tricks.  Like what they do on Capitol Hill.  Not women.

I sailed on, happily anticipating the beach, cold beer, and old friends.  Ten minutes later there was a collision. 

Coming towards me in the right lane in the opposite direction was a huge piece of… floating heavy duty plastic, about the size of a beach towel. 

Where are those environmentalists when you need them?
 
Slam! 

It attached itself to the grill and made a ratatatatat sound which interfered with the loud bass which was still giving me a headache since I had hung up the call with Service which, I guessed, was still reading the manual. 

The plastic addition served me right for becoming hysterical upon spying the overturned semi filled with hundreds (thousands?) of filled plastic garbage bags at the Baltimore-Washington Parkway off-ramp that morning on the way to BWI.

I am not getting off the Interstate again for a piece of plastic, I thought.  No way.  Get real and get over it.  I am not stopping again.  I was never going to get to the beach, and, at this rate, the waves would be stopped by the time I got there.

I drove on with the plastic flying in the breeze and some of it, I supposed, melded (melted?) on the grill. Who cared?  Not me.

A few minutes later while cruising about 80 mph (this is no lie),  the driver of the tractor trailer I was passing dozed off (!) and began drifting in my lane.

Whatzzis?  

I rapidly woke him up when I beat on the horn which I could barely hear over the ratatatatat flapping in the wind and the boom-boom-boom of the bass which kept the drums in my head pounding. 

He moved back to his lane. 

I needed a break.  This was tooooo much.

ezilon.com

By that time I had reached South Carolina and pulled into another (fast and cheap) McDonald's to get a coffee and hamburger without catsup.

Pyramids rise near the South Carolina coast/Patricia Leslie

Out in the parking lot, a uniformed, older-than-teenaged employee spied the plastic dragging on the ground and attached to the grill, and looked quizzically at it. 

Oh, that, I said, and I pulled off the new decoration.  That's the way Nissan is designing cars these days, to make up for a lack of keys.

He asked me about the new car, and I said I wouldn't have it:  You can't see out of the rear window and it drives loose.  My 1999 Volvo is much better.  Besides, it has a key. 

Oh, that's because of the price, he said.  Those keys are $300, and they're trying to save money.

I got back in the car and hoped that braking and punching the start button would make the danged thing start.  At least, if I hit the wrong button the car wouldn't suddenly stop on the interstate since I was still parked.

Just as I was ready to back up (always dangerous) and exit McDonald's, another man walked up to the front of the car and without speaking, smiled, and motioned to the hood. 

Oh, that, I motioned back.  The car's okay. 

He pointed to the hood.  It was loose.

He slammed it shut, and off I went. 

Ding!  Ding!  Ding!  The back space key in my brain brought up the image of the black dude.

This is what I saw on the beach in South Carolina once I finally got there/Patricia Leslie

Another one on the South Carolina coast/Patricia Leslie

I made it to the beach, all right, where I had to take to my bed for 15 minutes before I could start the party. I felt like I had been tossed around on the shore by Hurricane Karen which was nowhere close.  I knew where she'd been though:  all over me somewhere in Carolina.

Volvo for Life

A 1999 Volvo/Volvo cars.com

A South Carolina shore/Patricia Leslie

Patricialesli@gmail.com