July 26, 2021

“Your mom is so Berkeley”: Techies & Fear Porn arrive at the capital of Free Speech

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 12:33 pm


     I no longer have to travel to the ends of the earth in order to report on the news.  Sadly, the news now reports to me.  I don’t even have to get on an airplane.  News is no longer happening in far away places any more.  News is now happening right down the street.  Fear porn has arrived in Berkeley, California.

     Back in the 1960s, Berkeley used to be home of the Free Speech Movement.  People demanding free speech?  That was big news.  And then it wasn’t.  Once again, people started believing everything they read in the newspapers.  I had to travel to Iraq or North Korea or Honduras or Uganda to get a good story.  But now the Big Stories are right back here in Berkeley.

     Back in the day, we all used to make up really funny “Your mom is so Berkeley” jokes.  “Your mom is so Berkeley that when she got arrested for protesting the war on Vietnam, she had to hock her macrame in order to make bail.”  That sort of thing.  Boy, things have really changed.

     Here are some of our latest “Your mom is so Berkeley” jokes — except that they aren’t funny any more.
     “Your mom is so Berkeley that she now works for both FaceBook and Google, lives in a tiny little house below San Pablo Avenue that cost one million dollars two years ago and is so afraid of a virus with a 0.07% death rate that, even after 500 days in forced lock-down, she still wears her face mask to bed every night.
“Your mom is so Berkeley that she only works from home, never leaves her house, has her groceries delivered by Amazon, thinks that Dr. Fasci is a saint and not just a tool of Big Pharma, believes that if getting one Shot will keep her safe, then getting three or five Shots will keep her even safer, and strongly believes that Joe Biden never has a Senior Moment where he misplaces his car keys and the nuclear football.

     “Your mom is so Berkeley that she believes everything she is told on the evening news.”

May be an image of 2 people, cat and text that says 'DAY 490: ARE BIG PHARMA AND BIG TECH FINALLY TIRED OF PLAYING CAT-AND-MOUSE MOUSE WITH US? UH; NO.'



Stop Wall Street, War Street, Big Pharma and Big Tech from destroying our world.   And while you’re at it, please buy my books.

July 19, 2021

An indigenous ceremony: My totally noisy night in a quiet countryside

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 1:39 pm

     Yes, this is yet another proposed chapter in my future book entitled “2020: My Year of Living Dangerously During the Lock-Down”.  It’s probably not gonna be a best-seller but I’ve had fun remembering this very weird year (and a half).

      We are now on Day 490 of the lock-down.  Are Big Pharma and Big Tech finally tired of playing cat-and-mouse with us?  Uh, no.  The elite at Davos actually referred to us peons as “hackable animals”.  My home town just re-established its harsh lock-down policies once again, all because of a variant with a 0.02% death rateSo much fun!
March 26, 2021:  I am so ready for this!  Another sacred indigenous getting-to-know-nature ceremony starts tomorrow.  What will happen this time?  What will I learn?  What great form of enlightened knowledge will the sacred Mother grant me?  What visions will I see?  I can hardly wait!
March 27, 2021:  A friend picked me up and off we went, into the very heart of California’s never-ending Central Valley farmland.  “You are supposed to fast for a day before the ceremony,” the shaman told us — but when we pulled into a roadside gas station near Oakdale, there was a sign saying “Homemade Ice Cream”.  I couldn’t resist.  Strawberry.  Two scoops.  My bad.

     At twilight we pulled up in front of an isolated farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere, spread out our sleeping bags and settled in for a wonderful night of visions and dream quests far away from the Big City bustle and roar.  Out in the peace, quiet and fresh earthy smells of a farmland countryside?  Not quite.  No idealized pastoral scene here.  Not even close.  That bubble just popped.

     The indigenous ceremony was lovely.  The shaman softly played drums and sang healing chants with kindness and grace, strongly empowering us with ancient indigenous ways.  About 30 of us then settled peacefully back into the oncoming quiet of nighttime under quiet stars and a silent full moon.
     Turns out that our ritualized slumber party was being staged right next to a rather large dog kennel — right on the other side of the fence next to us.  20 feet away.  Big dogs.  Little dogs.  Yapping.  Barking.  Growling.  Howling.  Ferocious, scary, loud.  All.  Night.  Long.  20 feet away.  Crap.
      But wait.  It gets worse.  Right next to the dog kennel was a rather large chicken ranch.  30 feet away.  Apparently chickens never sleep either.  At least the roosters had sense enough to wait until 4:00 am before crowing.  30 feet away.  From me.

     But wait.  There’s more.  On the other side of the dog kennel was a rather large goat barn.  Seriously?  And every time the freaking dogs barked or the freaking roosters crowed, the freaking goats would go crazy too.  Ba.  Ba.  Ba.  All.  Night.  Long.  So much for the peaceful countryside.

     But wait.  More cacophony.  On the other side of the farmhouse were train tracks.  A train whistle blew every two hours.  All night long.  And on the highway next to the train tracks, large 18-wheel trucks also roared by — from twilight to dawn and beyond.
      Plus the woman next to me got sick and threw up.  Often.  A lot.  And the man two sleeping-bags away had grim nightmares and screamed every few hours.  People ate, sang, laughed, cried and got up to pee and poop — which then set the animal farm off even more.  All night long.
     The sacred Mother did not visit me at all this night.  I think that she was too scared.  Can you blame her?  And I got no sleep as well.  So much for the quiet country life.
March 28, 2021:  We drove home on an early Sunday morning, only stopping in Pleasanton to buy coffee at Peets and Fritos at Safeway.

March 31, 2021:  I guess that, upon reflection, I did learn something important during my trip to the Central Valley after all.  “Expect the unexpected.  Life never goes the way that we want it to go.  Be prepared to learn from the bad as well as the good.”  And next time you visit the countryside, bring earplugs.


Stop Wall Street, War Street, Big Pharma and Big Tech from destroying our world.   And while you’re at it, please buy my books.

July 9, 2021

No skin in the game: Who can we trust to not lie to us?

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 4:23 pm


      Here is a list of important scientific resources that have been banned on YouTube, Google, Twitter and/or FaceBook.  I’m not talking about conspiracy theorists or fruitcakes here.  These highly-trained science nerds have actually done the actual research, have been punished for speaking out, have no skin in the game and are not serfs to the Grand Illusion.

      Why isn’t anybody else pissed off about all this harmful and dangerous censorship besides me?  Especially when approximately 500,000 American COV$D deaths could have been easily avoided if only we had treated the sick with even freaking vitamin D or Intermectin — instead of waiting until the victims were on death’s doorstep, venting them until they died, and then just shrugging our shoulders and walking away?  I’m furious.  I’m calling these bastards out!  Why aren’t you?

Here’s Bret Weinstein (author of “A Hunter-Gatherer’s Guide to the 21st Century”) musing on truth, science and censorship in the time of a pandemic, a “My Dinner with Andre” moment:

And Del Bigtree’s Highwire is always a winner if you want scientific truth and entertainment at the same time:

Dr. Zelinko clearly outlines possible catastrophes resulting from The Shot, and also how to minimize damages if you’ve already taken The Shot — a must-watch:

Dr. Ealy is sick and tired of all the lies.  Finally somebody gets pissed off besides me!  Go him!   

Wanna really get into the nuts-and-bolts science of Da Jab?  Dr Caude discusses possible infertility.  She even uses a whiteboard!

 And you just gotta love James Corbett!  What’s really happening in India?
Allison McDowell sees our Big Tech future differently than Bill Gates does — luckily for us:

And of course Big Pharma hates Robert F. Kennedy!  And don’t even get me started on all the gross censorship of what is really happening in the Middle East!

And don’t even get me started on all the gross censorship of what is really happening in the Middle East!  Vanessa Beeley is routinely censored. 

Tim Anderson is routinely censored too.  “There have been at least eight dirty wars against Middle East countries.”  Iraq, Iran, Lebanon, Palestine, Libya, Syria, Yemen, Afghanistan, etc.  America is always the aggressor here.  Who knew?

Smoking gun just in:  Dr. Martin stated that the SARS virus was actually patented in the United States many years ago.  Shocker!

Inline imageInline image


July 3, 2021

Syria, Palestine & America: Are there worse things than death?

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 2:11 pm
     Do you look forward to dying?  Almost nobody does.  Here in America we call it “passing away”.  That’s just chicken-shite.  Death is death.  You pass a math test.  You pass cars on the freeway.  But when you die, you are dead.
     Palestinians know this.  They’ve watched so many people die that they even have a name for it.  “Genocide.”  And yet, even after 75 long miserable years, they still keep on dying rather than submit to a brutal occupation.  Why?  Because for them, death is better than living in chains.
     And the same thing is true of Syrians.  Thousands upon thousands of them have died heroically in order to save their country from brutal invaders.  No one there wants to spend their days living in just another Gaza.  They don’t want to live in chains either.

    And now let’s discuss the plight of Americans — Americans who are neither being tortured, napalmed, imprisoned or starved.  And yet Americans are so afraid of dying that they actually voluntarily chain themselves up.

     After almost 500 days of living in terror of a virus with a 0.07% kill rate and six different effective cures, one would think that Americans would be sick and tired of being enslaved by their own petty fears.  But no.

     Ask yourself, “Why are Americans so afraid of dying — even when they aren’t even in any danger?”  I have no reasonable answer to that question.  Do you?


Almost everything we need to know about COV$D is contained in these videos now posted on Big Gee’s Blog.  And guess what?  You won’t find any of these videos on Google.  No big surprise there.  Censorship is rampant on the Web.   Sigh.

And here’s a moving video statement regarding COV$D by an Australian aborigine master painter:

And last but not least, here’s me singing an improvisational rap song on my 79th birthday. Go, me!


Stop Wall Street and War Street (and Big Pharma) from destroying our world.   And while you’re at it, please buy my books.

July 1, 2021

Growing old gracefully: Face creams help but The Shot does not…

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 2:14 pm

     Google just informed me that “Consumers spend an estimated $382 billion on cosmetics each year.  Skincare products alone will represent a $135 billion market by 2021.”  Wow.  All that money?  Spent just to keep us looking younger?  Seems to me that looking younger must be a pretty important goal here in America, right?

       If this is actually true, then here’s a helpful experiment that each of us can easily try at home.  Look closely at all your friends and neighbors who have been locked down for the past 451 days — and have been given The Shot.  Then report your observations scientifically.  Tell the truth now.  Don’t the subjects of your study mostly look at least three or four years older than they should?  Kind of more gray around the skin tone?  Several more wrinkles near the eyes that didn’t used to be there before?   Be honest here.  Am I right or what.
      So here’s my point.  If it’s important to you to look less old than your age, then spending money on skincare is probably a good idea.  But if you truly want to look younger, then why are you letting Pfizer, Johnson and Moderna be your beauticians?  That makes no sense at all.

PS:  Speaking of old age, I just got back from spending four glorious days in the magnificent Sierra Nevadas — one of the highest mountain ranges on the planet.  And what did I learn?  That these monumental megalithic grand escarpments, higher than any imaginable man-made construct on earth, will be doing just fine in another four billion years from now, long after our current corporate war-mongering technocratic propagandized trans-human artificially-intelligent screwed-up locked-down surveillance states have long been forgotten.

     There’s a moral here somewhere.  “Nature bats last.”  Sorry about that, World Economic Forum.

PPS:  There are 1,671,329 residents in Alameda County where my home in Berkeley is located.  Newly-revised-downward figures just issued by county authorities state that only 1,223 of us died from You-Know-What in all of 2020. That’s only a 0.07% death rate.  On the other hand, 3,092 of us died from diabetes in Alameda County — yet we never locked down McDonalds or CocaCola.  What’s with that?


     When I told a nurse friend of mine what I had just learned about the 0.07% death rate, “That’s wonderful news!” she gushed enthusiastically.  But then I realized that she thought I mean it was 0.07% after over 50% of county residents had received an experimental injection.  Er, no.


Stop Wall Street and War Street (and Big Pharma) from destroying our world.   And while you’re at it, please buy my books.


Pee-see-are tests: The smoking gun

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 2:12 pm



      Like someone screaming “fire” in a crowded theater, all we ever heard throughout the year 2020 was “Cases!  Cases! Cases!”  But were there really all that many actual viral cases out there — or was it mostly just smoke and mirrors?  According to a recent graph supplied to us by the mayor of Berkeley, California, actual deaths from you-know-what amounted to only 0.07% of Berkeley’s population back in 2020 — way before the Pfizer, Moderna & Johnson’s shots were even fired.

     According to the mayor’s graph, deaths from The Virus hovered way down around zero back in 2020 — and yet the number of “cases” last year shot through the roof.  You can’t have it both ways, guys.  Either the virus was deadly or it was not.  And if it really was all that deadly, how come so many PCR tests came back positive — and yet hardly anybody died?  Or even displayed symptoms?

     Obviously, the PCR tests must have been faulty.  If they were not, then most of us would have suffered from runny noses at the very least last year or been stuck in our beds for days if not weeks or would have died — even if “asymptomatic cases” were even a thing.  And here is the actual smoking gun:


 PS:  My research shows that something else of interest is afoot these days regarding COV$D.  Before The Shot became readily available, the evening news called COV$D a horrific deadly pandemic disease, right?  But look at what’s happened to it now that The Shot has (allegedly) saved us from the Grim Reaper.  Now the nomenclature suddenly changed.  Why is that?  Here’s why:


      The Shot is designed to give you a small dose of COV$D, right?  So you take that shot.  And then many of you inexplicably end up with some debilitating respiratory disease that may or may not cause you to die — and this new thing that you have now looks suspiciously like the original COV$D, right?  Only now the evening news tells us that what you have is not a result of taking your shot but is actually only just a mild “summer cold” — even if it kills you.

      Since it has now become inconvenient for Big Pharma to scream “fire” in a crowded theater (again), post-jab COV$D has been degraded to only a summer cold.  “No cases here.  Nobody’s died.  Move along.”  And so we all do move along — even though people are actually dying from The Shot.  Even though our fire exits are blocked.  

     It’s embarrassing to think that every single thing that we’ve done in the past 463 days has been driven by a well-planned Big Pharma public relations campaign.  


Is VAERS deleting the records of people who have been Shot to death?–Replacing-VACCINE-DEATHS-Hugo-Talks–lockdown:c?src=open&r=BDs8q7zJ33C6YN9eZLdx8DwMyNx2gsWg

Is Notorious F.B. deleting the reports of any prominent scientists who don’t support the dominant narrative?  Duh, yeah.

     I shouldn’t include this damning report from Dr. Richard Fleming so as to avoid giving you nightmares and also so I can keep my Notorious F.B. page, but what the hell:

     And then there’s Robert F. Kennedy Jr giving a presentation that I attended in San Jose recently.  The man is a walking encyclopedia of truly true COV$D facts.

May 31, 2021

San Diego, March 2020: My very first lock-down experience (but unfortunately not my last)

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 4:12 pm

Editor’s note:  Remember how surprised we all were — back when the lock-downs first started?  ‘It’s only going to be for a few weeks,” they told us.  “It’s only until we flatten the curve.”  Yeah, right.  Here is the first chapter in my proposed book, “2020: My Year of Living Dangerously During the Lock-down”.   It will take you back to a time that we can now barely remember — 441 days ago, back when we weren’t all locked down and injected.

March 9, 2020:  For some unknown reason, I’m not getting very excited about my upcoming trip to San Diego.  “Just think about the adventure!  The possibilities!  All that stuff to write about!” I keep telling myself — yet all I’m feeling right now is anxiety and a headache coming on.  Not even stepping onto a BART train to the airport with a suitcase in my hand is perking me up — although it was kind of fun to do my chicken dance at the TSA checkpoint after they had completely ignored me for ten minutes.

      I was trying to patiently wait my turn for that metal detector thingie but the TSA guys were working really hard at ignoring me, but it’s pretty hard to ignore a 77-year-old lady who is doing a chicken dance and singing “Take a chance on me!” at full throat for ten minutes.  The bastards are lucky I didn’t twerk.
     All that turbulence on the airplane didn’t help either.  How am I going to fly all the way to New York City in April when I’m this disinterested in merely flying to San Diego.  But the good news is that I only got lost four (4) times on the way from the airport to my AirBnB, way out in the suburbs.
     However.  Now that I’m here, it’s not really clear if I’m going to survive spending the next six days with a hovering-helicopter-style AirBnB host.  I already love her dearly — but she’s definitely a germaphobe freak.  I have to swab down the bathroom and kitchen sinks every time I use them.  Not allowed to eat in my room.  Have to wear special disposable house slippers.  Arrgh!  Sooner or later she’s going to find out the deep dark truth about me — that I’m not all that afraid of germs.  No, I’m not a slob.  But I’m not exactly a neat-freak either.  What am I to do?

     Walked over to stock up on food at Von’s supermarket and buy toiletries at Walgreens.  Welcome to San Diego.  I could have done all that shite at home.  My book convention is being held at the Marriott Hotel so I took a bus and the light-rail trolley over to check it out.  Next?  A microwave dinner was involved.  And I cleaned up completely afterward, honest.  Even wore disposable rubber gloves and used Clorox wipes too.  This is unnatural.  Germs are good for our immune systems.  Clorox isn’t.

     Tomorrow it’s supposed to rain all day.  Really hard.  Guess I’ll be spending the day in bed.  Coulda done that in Berkeley too.  Maybe there’s a branch library nearby that won’t involve hours on public transportation?  Maybe I should just concentrate on reading, dreaming and watching TV?
March 10, 2020:  I’ve been up since 4:15 am.  Shitty day so far.  “The time is now 9:16 am.”  I’ve still got a headache.  Am I having fun yet?  I’ll be okay tomorrow for sure but today sort of sucks eggs.  Guess I’ll hobble down to the library.  That’s about all I’ve got planned for today.
      But.  “Actions speak louder than words.”  So I finally dragged my sorry bootie down to the bus stop, caught the #120 bus to Fashion Valley, caught the downtown trolley and ended up at Old Town San Diego — which turned out to be the perfect place to go.
      First off, there was a real blacksmith’s shop — with a real smithy too.  Three of them.  And boy did they know their stuff.  A pleasure to watch.  Back in time at least 150 years.  Hell, the whole town was back in time at least 150 years.  My kind of place!  I used to be a history major in college, remember?  And a wannabe archeologist too.  Plus it was Taco Tuesday at the Cantina.  And with guacamole too.
      Then I visited the stable, the haunted house, the courthouse, the church, the tobacco store — loved the old-timey tobacco store.  Then I felt better.  Much better. San Diego might be fun after all.
      Next chapter in my life on public transportation?  Back to the trolley, followed by the #120 bus again.  Up to the Linda Vista branch library wherein I got locked out of my Yahoo account on their computer and even after an hour of cursing under my breath, still couldn’t get logged back in.  Arrgh.  Then back to the #120 bus.  “Hey!  That was my stop!”  Rats.  And the bus didn’t stop again until I was back to freaking Fashion Valley.  Waiting for the next bus, an hour later.  No more #120 bus for an hour.  Sat on a bench.  Read a book.  Finally.  The bus finally took me back up the hill.
      Back at the AirBnB, my attitude had completely changed, I was happy to see my host after a day of getting lost in the rain and I even asked her for helpful tips on how to clean a bathtub.  Next I’m gonna ask her what she uses to clean floors.  My host is a gold mine of cleaning information.  This could be just what I need.
       Now I’m still trying to hack my own e-mail while lying around my room in my nightgown, watching the Hallmark channel on TV and eating microwaved enchiladas.  Life’s good again.  But I still hate airplanes.
March 11, 2020:  “My name is Michael Grossman,” said some guy in my dream last night.  He kept popping up there — in the midst of a bunch of spooky goings-on in my childhood home.  No idea who he was.  Then the phone rang in real life and it was Ann, another author attending the book conference, who also wanted to visit Tijuana today.  Grabbed some microwaved sausages, ran out the door and jumped on the #120 bus to meet Ann at a downtown trolley stop.
     After the usual confusion we finally found the trolley to San Ysidro, the last California city this side of the Mexican border.  Anna told me her entire life story in the ensuing 45-minute ride.  I told her mine.  We’re good.
      Bought burgers and fries at the famous San Ysidro McDonald’s, walked across the border and here we are.  Ann is all talking about “El Chappo”.  Huh?  “No, not to worry.  He’s in prison now.”
       Our goal in Tijuana was to meet some asylum-seekers.  Border-crossers were a big deal in the news just then — Trump’s Wall, the kiddie prisons and all.  We snagged a taxi driver after going through customs.  “$100 for four hours,” he said.  “$50 for six hours,” Ann replied in Spanish.  We settled for $75 for five hours.  Let’s go!
     First he took us to PLDHA.  Don’t ask me what that stands for.  I have no idea.  But the place was totally awesome.  We met actual real buscando asilos!  Real asylum-seekers, running away from violence in Central America.
     One man had experienced a gun being held to his head back in Honduras.  There were mostly men at this shelter.  So much to write about — can’t write it all here now because I am totally worn out by all this information.  Will get to it tomorrow.  Hopefully.  But it was a completely amazing day.  Totally amazing.  And our cab driver turned out to be our knight in shining (Nissan) armor.
March 12, 2020:  And it’s raining like hell right now.  It’s not spozed to rain in sunny San Diego, right?  Trudging in the rain is gonna be no fun.  So I won’t.
       Anyway, back to my Tijuana report.  “My story,” said another man, “is that my parents took me to America from Mexico when I was four years old.  But last year, ICE suddenly showed up and deported me.  They just took me down here and dumped me out on the street.  I knew no one here, had no family here, had no money.  Nothing.”  He found this place and now serves as their majordomo and translator.
     Then he showed me where the men slept — in two rooms that were crowded with three-tiered bunk-beds constructed from scrap wood.  50 bunks to a room.  And only one shower.  It was primitive as hell.  But it was far better than sleeping on the streets.
     Then we met the director, a kind, compassionate and well-educated woman from a prestigious Tijuana family who has devoted her life to charity and good works.  “We operate on a shoestring budget here — but operate we do.”  I gave the director a big hug — and then another big hug.  She didn’t have to be doing this.  But she was.
     Next Alberto took us to a shelter for women, run by Italian Catholic nuns.  “We have 72 women and children staying here,” said the director.  This shelter was so obviously more well-heeled than the men’s shelter.  It even had real store-bought bunk beds — only two bunks high and not hand-cobbled together out of scraps.  The kitchen was modern and immaculate.

       But enough about writing about Tijuana.  Will write more about it later.  The rain has just slowed down for a minute so I’d better run off to the #120 bus again.  But did I get wet?  Oh yeah.  It was a disaster.  Soaking wet.  Missed my trolley stop.  Again.  Waded through flood waters.  Clung on to a chain-link fence while doing a balancing act over said flood waters — all the while desperately clutching my umbrella.  Finally arrived at the book convention.  Sat for two hours in a cold draft while volunteering at the registration table.

     I did win a free book at one of the author panels.  Met some old friends.  Started to finally dry out.  Started to actually have fun!  Plus I managed to recruit several celebrity authors to join my own panel on Saturday.  Scored some interesting free books.
     But then the other shoe dropped.  “I’m sorry but we need to shut down the conference,” announced its director.  “County board of health’s orders.”  And, boom, that was that.  Sadly, I took the trolley and bus home in the rain, trudging along with at least 25 pounds of free books.
     Free books!
     Everyone at the conference suddenly started giving them away.  It was like Christmas at a library!  Everyone sorted through the piles of books and unzipped the gift bags in delight.  A happy ending after all.  An accidentally- one-day conference but that one lone day was totally fun.  “Books in a time of plague.”
     Tomorrow I’ll have all day to write more about Tijuana.  And on Saturday too.  And the day after that.  Nowhere to go now.  Even Disneyland is closed.  Hopefully the library won’t get shut down.  Hopefully my airline won’t get shut down.  I’ll see what Expedia has to say.  I should just go home early.  But why?  What’s happening at home that isn’t happening here?  Plus I’ll have to explain to my apartment-sitter why I’m back so early.  Screw that.  I’ll stay.
    Plus this lock-down is only going to last a week — 14 days at most.  “Just long enough to flatten the curve.”
March 13, 2020:  Friday the 13th.  Rainstorms so far this morning.  I’m not self-quarantining.  I’m weather-quarantining.  Rats.  Bored already.  Time to write down some more Tijuana notes before I forget what all else happened down there.  Next we went to a tiny restaurant and had a delicious beef stew.  “It’s called barbecoa.  They cook it overnight on slow heat.”  Yummers.  We also ordered some tamales.  And tacos.  Guacamole.  Wow.
     Next stop was at the Catholic shelter for women and children run by nuns and another compassionate director.  But the beds were much nicer.  Did I already say that?
     “It is difficult for Mexico to absorb so many refugees into our economy — but not impossible,” said the director.  “We have teachers, a clinic, a psychologist, attorneys and even a beauty school here.”  Salon de belleza.
     “It is not people who are bad.  It is the political situation that forces them to be bad.  We must bring down the violence, lift our hearts, lift up the bad.”  Turn it into good!
     “Who we are is not what we own.  If every human being performed just one good deed a day, the whole world would change for the better.  It would be a revolution.  We must work on the individual level.”
      She told us that many women there had been raped.
     Next we asked the director about the approximately 100 men we had seen across the street from the sanctuary as we drove up.  They had been sitting or standing against a wall across the street, eating plates of rice and beans.  “We also serve breakfast, lunch and dinner to homeless and migrant men,” she replied.  “We serve around 300 meals a day.  Women living here cook and serve the meals.”  We saw long tables with large pots of beans and large pots of rice being ladled out.
     The women and children here were cheerful.  It was a cheerful place.  Children played in the sunny courtyard.  Women nursed babies.  “We try to get families back together.”  Making the best outcome from tragedy.  Happy yet sad.  I almost had tears in my eyes.  Ann definitely did.
     Then came our reward for our hard day’s look into sadness and pain.  Alberto drove us off to the beach!  We sat on bar stools at a counter that overlooked the Pacific ocean and watched the waves roll onto the sand.  Drank margaritas.  Gobbled down tortilla chips.  Looked at Trump’s Wall as it plunged into the ocean.  Heaven.  But with a tinge of reality thrown in.
     Next it was time to walk back through the border crossing.  As we stood in line waiting our turn to present documents, about 100 young men walked by us in single file, each one dragging a small roller-board suitcase.
     “Where are you off to,” I asked.  “De donde?”  Los Angeles.  But why?  Porque?”
     “Fresas.”  They were going to California for three months to pick strawberries.  They were braceros!  Legal immigrant workers to keep agribusiness happy and do the painful stoop-labor that most Americans turned down their noses at.  Why else would immigrants be allowed across the border — if it benefits large corporations, why not?  If it merely benefits human beings, then forgetaboudit.
     “Watch out for back pain,” I gestured by stooping and holding my back.  They laughed.  They were hopeful.  They would work hard but bring money back home to their families, doing the work that Americans don’t want.  I wonder how much they will get paid.  Paid by the hour, by the basket?  Fresas.  For Americans to eat.
     Going across the border was easy.  Back to California.  Back onto the trolley.  Boom.
     Meanwhile, back at Friday the 13th in San Diego and the new lock-down.  UPS just delivered a package to my Air BnB so I guess the lock-down isn’t total.  I’m trying to figure out how to change my flight.  No luck there.  So.  What do I want to do today?  No idea.  I should self-quarantine but where is the fun in that?
     Going to the library is always fun.  Central branch.  Perfect!  I now have a San Diego library card!  Plus the new central library is awesome, is right next to the trolley line and has free wi-fi!
     Then I walked over to the Gas Lamp district and met a nice homeless man who directed me to Jimbo’s, the local healthy answer to Whole Foods.  And they still had toilet paper on their shelves!  I bought the homeless man a gluten-free cherry-chocolate energy-bar thingie out of sheer gratitude — and in return he told me how to get to the Green Line trolley station.
     “It’s right next to where they have the Comic-Con conventions.  They even make the station announcements there in Klingon.”  I’m in awe.  Reached the trolley just before a huge downpour.  Another one.  It’s not spozed to rain in San Diego.
     I’m now trying to figure out what to do tomorrow.  Legoland is closed!  Now that’s going way too far.  “I can take you up to Mission San Diego tomorrow,” said my Air BnB host.  Perfect.  How nice of her.  She has turned out to be really nice.
     Can’t get Expedia to change my flight to earlier — but I am bravely having a great time anyway.  Stiff upper lip!  But I still can’t believe that Legoland is closed for a month.
March 14, 2020:  Today has turned out to be a most perfect day — especially since it started out so badly.  2:00 am?  No sleep at all so far.  None.  Zero Zip Nada.  Sleep remedies to the rescue?  Homeopathy, herbal remedies, melatonin, tryptophan, circular breathing, counting sheep?  All of them.  Downing pills like tequila shots.  Nothing.  Finally!  Around 4:30 am, one of them worked.  Have no idea which one.
     Then I ran off to the nearest branch library and totally indulged myself on Yahoo and FaceBook.  Off to Mission San Diego after that.  Loved it there!  Maybe it was the happy souls of the padres at the mission (doubt it — those guys were merciless) that made this place feel so holy but more than likely it was the untarnished souls of the innocents they slaughtered in the name of building churches and securing slaves.  The bastards.
     In any case, there was a strong aura of sanctity surrounding San Diego de Alcala.  This particular saint was famous for his healing powers.  Boy could we use him now — to heal all our greedy politicians and corporate vampires.
     Mission San Diego was only two long blocks away from a trolley station.  So.  Where should I go next?  Seaport Village!  Where I could stand on the embankment and (almost) see Point Loma, my sweet childhood home.
     I remember back when my mother used to take me to visit all the missions in California — or at least most of them.  So I decided to finally forgive her for being such a money-grubbing social-climbing warrior queen and try to only concentrate on the good times we had every summer when she took my sister and me on road trips to Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo, Los Angeles, San Diego and Tijuana.
     Checked Seaport Village off my list.  So far I’m loving today’s trip down memory lane.  What happens next?  “I’m gonna take my trolley to Old Town Road,” to paraphrase Lil Nas X.  Another good experience there, wandering around the Old West again.  Mariachi music this time.  An old schoolhouse.  An old hotel.  Refrigerator magnets!
     Then I chatted with a nice lady on the bus, walked back to the Air BnB, drank some cheap wine and ate too much “healthy” junk food.  COVID was the farthest thing from my mind.
March 15, 2020:  Another miserable sleepless night.  What’s with that?  It’s my last day in San Diego and I’m being shut out of the dreamtime.  No matter how much you want it or struggle to catch it, sometimes you just can’t force the dreamtime to arrive.  What a shame.  I do my best work when I’m asleep.  Screw it.

     I only have one more day in San Diego — so time to make the most of it even if I’m a sleep-deprived zombie.  That woman I met on the #120 bus just called and asked me to meet her in Point Loma.  Point Loma!  “Get off the trolley at Old Town and then catch the #28 bus.”  But that bus only comes once an hour so I went to the Lane Field Waterfront Park instead and stared at all those abandoned cruise ships.  And saw a baby manta ray too.  So cute.  And threw a penny into the San Diego Bay in order to make a wish.

     “I wish that people would just freaking shut up about COVID-19 and stop being such wimps.”  The entire media has gone freaking nuts about this coronavirus — but nobody in San Diego is coughing or even wearing a face mask.
     Next stop?  Back to the central library.  I love libraries.  But tomorrow this one closes for three weeks.  “And my church was closed today too,” said the bus lady.  Seems just a bit extreme.
      Then I jumped on the San Ysidro trolley again, got off at the borderline McDonalds, bought some fries and crossed over into Tijuana.  Again.  I’m so proud of myself.  “No Fear!”  And the photos of me on top of the famous Zebra Donkey were awesome.  They looked just like the one taken of me as a kid on a Zebra Donkey way back in 1953.
     Then I bought some refrigerator magnets, priced some tequila (too expensive) and snagged a taxi back to the border.  He only drove me one freaking mile.  “That will be 22 dollars.”  Nice try, buddy.  I handed him a ten-dollar bill, threw in a dollar tip and fled.  Whew.
     Back to the USA.  Back to McDonalds.  Back on the trolley.  Wonderful day.  I can safely say that I have experienced San Diego to the fullest extent — given that I only had such a short time.
March 16, 2020:  I actually got seven (7) whole hours of sleep last night.  Now I’m good to go.  And I checked in with my house-sitter back in Berkeley.  She’d already left.  “But I totally stacked your refrigerator before leaving, even bought you a whole leg of lamb — so you are all set for the lock-down.”  That should last me for the full 14 days of the lock-down.  Now all I gotta do is pack up and head off to the airport.
     But wait, what?  The State of California just issued a verdict that anyone over the age of 65 has to stay at home because apparently they get the disease more easily and can therefore spread it.  Say what?  Now anyone over age 65 has become the new Typhoid Mary?  Xenophobia against seniors as well as Chinese?  That sucks eggs.  What?  We’re just spozed to stay out of sight and quietly starve to death?  Will I need to get Botoxed before I can go out?  Screw that.

March 17, 2020:  I may not have seen everything in San Diego but, damn, I’ve come pretty close.  And considering that both Legoland and the Zoo are out of bounds due to COVID-19, I did amazingly well.  I miss San Diego already.  I miss Tijuana.  I even miss my Air BnB host’s obsession with being super-clean.  I wonder, however, what she will think about hand sanitizer now.

May 27, 2021

In layman’s terms, why are pro-vaxxers dying?

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 12:16 pm

     It seems to me that all I do these days is read up on COVID statistics.  Bor-ing!  And yet several clear patterns are emerging that make it all worth the effort.  According to Dr. Eileen Natuzzi, post-vaxxers are beginning to suffer from “Multi-System Inflammatory Syndrome” and, in some cases, this new disease appears to be fatal.  According to the CDC’s vaccine adverse event reporting system, pro-vaxxers appear to be dying at the rate of 30 people a day.  

     How can this be?
      What the freak is this “Multi-System Inflammatory Syndrome” exactly — and why is it killing us off at that rate?  Here’s my non-scientific explanation.  The villain here is obviously a Bad Guy called Spike the Protein.  And although Pfizer, Moderna and Johnson portray him as a smooth talker, he is actually a tough guy with sharp edges.
      And when he drives through our blood streams in his getaway car, he careens down these tunnels from side to side, constantly bumping up against the walls of our veins and arteries, causing system-wide inflammation.  Spike the Protein is truly a gangster.  Out of control.  Him and his billion other gangster buddies are wildly hot-rodding around each injection-recipient’s blood stream.  No respect.
     The result of all this reckless driving and inflammation is several kinds of internal bleeding and/or clotting.  Period.  And taking my cue from Dr. Natuzzi, I call this new development an Inflammatory Syndrome of the Circulatory System.  Hats off to Spike for inventing an entirely new disease.  But then that’s what gangsters do, right?  Try to steal stuff that isn’t theirs.
     But what happens next?  Here is my next question for Science.  How can we haul this evil Spike off to traffic school?  How can we throw him into Blood Clot jail?  How can we stop him before it’s too late?

Zionists are at it again — acting like genocidal freaks.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 12:15 pm

Not a good look for them.  Or for America either.






















Time to do a little catch-up on my most recent memes.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 12:13 pm

Memes as an art form?  Sure, why not.














May 26, 2021

At the Muhammad Ali Museum: Character assassination is still assassination

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 11:04 pm
     President Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr all got whacked the old-fashioned way.  Bullet to the brain.  Bullet to the heart.  But the oligarchs who own America don’t do that kind of stuff no more.  Too many questions.  Too much bad publicity.  Too much blood.  Too many of us “conspiracy theory” peons getting pissed off.
     Now the oligarchs simply bushwhack your reputation if you dare get out of line.  Joe McCarthy-style.  “You’re a communist.  You’re anti-American.  You’re a left-wing Antifa.  You’re a right-wing QAnon.  You’ve gone off the rails.  You’re a Socialist!”
     The oligarchs tried to assassinate Muhammad Ali’s character as well.  And they will try to do it to you too if you ever dare to question their current Dominant Narrative — as seen on TV.

     So.  Here I am at the Muhammad Ali museum in Louisville, Kentucky, about to buy a T-shirt in the gift shop.  And guess who suddenly pops up and starts giving a speech right there in front of the building?  Charles Booker, the hero who desperately tried to save us from Vampire Mitch.  And then guess who else pops up?  Bernie Sanders!  Yeah, that Bernie Sanders.  In the flesh.  Just six feet away from me!  Socially distanced.  Now here is a person who has had his character assassinated too.

     “Muhammad Ali is a hero of mine,” said the Bern.  They tried to destroy Ali’s character until he would be too old to box.  Didn’t work.  Ali fought back.
     And the oligarchs tried to destroy Bernie’s character too — hoping he would be too old to run for prez again as well.  Ha!  I’d be damn lucky to be as physically fit as our Bernie is here in Louisville.
     And now those same oligarchs are trying to discredit anyone who dares to go against the dominant COV!D narrative.  According to the CDC itself, thousands of people in our new VaxiNation have died from The Shot so far — but no one is allowed to talk about that “misinformation” without getting maligned, defamed or censored.

     Where is Muhammad Ali when we need him the most — to go toe to toe with the evil pharmaceutical industry that only makes money when we are both sick and scared to death.  Sometimes literally.
PS:  Ali’s museum was totally inspiring.  I recommend it highly.
PPS:  Near the museum was a touchingly handmade memorial to Breonna Taylor, another citizen of Louisville.  And two days ago, cops arrived and demolished it.  But people came back the next day and constructed it again.  And the cops snuck in the next night and tore that one down too.

PPPS:  I also went to the wonderful Louisville Slugger museum — and they displayed a photo of Hank Aaron touring the factory a few years ago.  Wanna try telling our Hank that dying because of Big Pharma’s favorite money-maker is a conspiracy theory?  You will have to go to his graveside to do it.  Rest in peace, Hammerin’ Hank.

Should we fear the vaccinated too?  Good question:
Dr. Mercola has had his character assassinated for decades now.  What is the first thing you think of when you hear his name?  Quack?  I rest my case.  And yet he is far healthier than most Americans by far:
And Del Bigtree constantly gets stabbed in the back by Big Pharma even though his scientists are far more accurate, credentialed and scientific than their sell-out hacks:
I sent this video out earlier and people refused to watch it.  “Wikipedia says it’s not been peer-reviewed.”  Duh.  Watch the damn video anyway!
Want the Big Picture?  I bet you don’t — but maybe?  If you do, here it is:
Here’s Naomi Wolf, being interviewed by Dr. Mercola about the ten steps to tyranny.  BTW, doctors are being arrested and/or fined if they even dare to mention the possibility that vitamin C, vitamin D and zinc might even help even a little in preventing and/or treating COV!D.
Add Tucker Carlson’s name to the list because he dared to mention the high death rate from experimental injections here in VaxiNation.  Sometimes even Tucker Carlson is right, er, correct:
And where, exactly, is all this VaxiNation insanity taking us?  Down the rabbit hole or on to better things?  The choice is ours (not Big Pharma’s):

Tracking the beast: An economist’s 2020 statistics that broke my heart

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 11:02 pm


Editor’s note:  Here’s my most important article to date (except of course for my reports from, Iraq, Palestine, North Korea, Syria, etc. — but I digress)

     Apparently 100,000 Americans died needlessly in 2020 so that Big Pharma could sell us this useless injection crap.  That’s just cold.  To watch 100,000 Americans die miserably and alone?  For a con game?  They gotta have hearts of ice to do that.  

     Please watch this video if it’s the only thing you do between now and when your heart breaks too.

PS:  I’m putting this link here because it’s being censored you know where else.

PPS:  Forget about being a Republican or a Democrat.  Just watch the damn video.

Censorship? “Oh no, we don’t do that!”

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 11:00 pm
     Recently a highly-credentialed world-class scientist made an astonishing announcement.  “Two years from now, almost everyone who took this experimental injection could be dead.”  That’s a very powerful statement.  Is this imminent scientist correct — or is he just crazy?  Either way, we are not being allowed to hear his side of the story.  If you dare to post his finding on social media, you are immediately de-platformed from YouTube and thrown into FB jail.
    A famous MIT researcher also recently stated that, “Five months into the [Crappy Vaxxy] campaign, statistics tell a frightening story.  Deaths are 14.6 times more frequent during the first 14 days after the first [experimental] injection among people over the age of 60, compared to those who aren’t vaccinated.  That is extraordinary.”  We’re not being allowed to question her data either.  What if this imminent scientist has gone meshugenah — or what if she’s right?  We will never know until it may be too late.
     Don’t we have the right to know that a whole swath of the Greatest Generation is dead right now because of The Shot — and because at least six (6) effective treatments for COV!D have been systematically censored?
      “Safe and effective!  Safe and effective!”  Huh?  No side effects at all from what amounts to having anti-freeze, fertilizer and GMOs stuck in our arms?  No side effects at all?  Or have they been censored?

     “Oh no, we don’t do that.”

PS:  And here’s a question from another top scientist whose name we’re not allowed to mention on FB.  According Big Pharma’s constant hype on TV, its injections will prevent you from getting COV!D, right?  You get the injection and then you are safe.  End of story.  So why are vaccine passports even a thing?

     If you know that you are already protected from COV!D, then why worry about whether the next guy is protected or not?  Either you yourself are totally protected like you see on TV — or you are not, right?  So the passports must be for some other reason than to protect you.  Now what could that other reason possibly be?  We’re gonna have to ask the Davos Boyz about that one.  “World domination?”  Duh, yeah.

PPS:  President Assad was just re-elected in Syria.  I’ve been to Syria.  Twice.  The people there all love President Assad.  Why?  Because he saved them from ISIS, the Saudis and blood-thirsty American oil interests.  Because of President Assad, Syria has not become just one more lame-arse Libya.  And we’ve been censored regarding factual news from Syria too.











April 22, 2021

Face masks, lip reading & 400 days of Hell for the deaf

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 2:46 pm
     I met a set of identical twins the other day.  One twin was deaf and the other one wasn’t.  One was surviving the lock-down okay — but the other one was just about driven crazy by it.  Guess which one was deaf?
     “All my life, I’ve gotten by in this world by lip-reading,” said the deaf twin, “but now, suddenly, there are no more lips to read.”  He hates being deaf.  But even more than that, he hates face masks.  You would too if you were deaf.
     Sure, Newsom and Cuomo always use ASL interpreters at their press conferences.  Bully for them.  But where was this concern for the deaf when the face-mask mandate was decreed?  Where was the Americans with Disabilities Act?
     Face masks don’t even hardly “Stop the Spread” anyway — perhaps only 2% of it.  Not that it matters.  We were only spozed to be locked down for 14 days anyway, remember?  Now we’ve suffered though 400 days of lock-down, with no end in sight, all because of a disease with a 0.1% death rate at most.  Even death rates from experimental injections are starting to climb up toward that rate.
PS:  A whole bunch of COV!D patients were actually killed by being put on intubators instead of from the disease — even despite what we are being told on Gray’s Anatomy about intubators’ efficacy.  And these twins are yet another example of well-meaning medical science gone haywire.  One twin was put on too much oxygen at birth.  One twin wasn’t.  Guess which twin ended up deaf?
PPS:  Deaf people aren’t the only ones having trouble communicating without being able to see faces.  Our babies are also living in “Mask up or Move On” hell as well.  How can they possibly move on without access to these important learning-milestone facial cues?
We’ve all been living in an Eternal Halloween for over 400 days now.  And even we who are not hearing-impaired are being driven crazy too.  Perhaps its time to rip off the masks.
Hmmm.  Why was the COV!D-19 virus patented even before the Plandemic? Plandemic 2 Indoctornation is now available online (but not on YouTube):
Are face masks even dangerous?  Duh, yeah.
And where is all this leading to?  Good question!

You want more evidence that we are in a Plandemic?  Here it is:

And you think that they aren’t censuring us just because we dare to question the dominant narrative?  LOL.

And here’s everything you ever wanted to know (and much more) about the actual science behind COV!D.  “The Swiss Policy Research  website provides an ongoing compendium of information with links to studies, etc. and also easily digestible graphs of various statistics”:

And Pfizer doesn’t have all that hot of a post-vaccine injury record either.  It’s not just J&J that should be put on pause:


Stop Wall Street and War Street (and Big Pharma) from destroying our world.   And while you’re at it, please buy my books.

April 18, 2021

Tesla, BMW & Corvette: My return to Silicon Valley

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 3:13 pm
Editor’s note:  Much to my absolute horror, I’ve just lost my red spiral notebook — the one where every single detail of my most recent visits to Palo Alto, Mountain View, Sunnyvale and Cupertino are faithfully recorded.  “N-o-o-o-o!” I wailed.  It was almost like losing a child — or at least a brain-child.  So I have tried really hard to reconstruct my journey here as best as I can.
PS:  If you happen to find my red spiral notebook, pleeeze let me know.  But it’s okay if you read it first — it’s too full of hot gossip to resist.  I will understand.

March 15, 2021:
  The good news is that I just scored a one-day job in Palo Alto for next week.  Can’t turn that one down.  Not in these freaky days.  But the bad news is that I need to take six (6) different PCR tests before reporting for duty.  And every single test needs to be taken at a site that’s 39.7 miles away.  Will my poor sweet 1990 Toyota make it that far?  And back again too?  Seven different times?  I just can’t ask my little red car to be that stalwart.  Braveheart though my car is, I’m gonna have to take the train.
     First you take BART to Millbrae, then cross over the tracks, jump onto CalTrain, sit around in the parlor car for a half hour and then boom, you’re in Palo Alto.  Except wait — what!  CalTrain is leaving without me?  “Stop that train!” I screamed.  It didn’t even slow down.  That sucks eggs.  I’m gonna be late for my test.  Crap.  But, wait.  There’s a bus.  Going south.  Run, Jane, run!  “How long will this bus ride take?”
      “Just a couple of hours.”  I’m screwed.
     Chewing my nails.  Pacing the aisle.  How am I going to explain this to the boss?  Started thinking up excuses.  “The dog ate my homework.”  Sprinted to the test center.  They were just packing up.  “Wait for me-e-e!”  Whew.  Passed the test.  The train ride back was anti-climactic.  But I did get to read 50 pages in the latest Robert Galbraith novel — which is 900 pages long, BTW.
March 16, 2021:  Wash, rinse, repeat.  Caught the train on time.  Passed the test.  “Negative.”  Another 75 pages read.
March 17, 2021:  “Daddy, what’s a train?  Is it something you can ride?” I sang.  “Railroading on the great divide, nothing around me but Rockies and sky!”  Five or six more railroad songs later, 60 more pages read, another PCR negative report.  Enough is enough.  I’m driving down there tomorrow and getting a motel room.
March 18, 2021:  Yet another negative test.  Whoopee.  Now it’s time to go watch the Hallmark channel and eat take-out from Chipotle down the street.  Gotta love motel life.  This was a fabulous idea.

March 19, 2021:  Negative again.  What do you know.  Since the lock-down started 400 days ago, I’ve been to twenty different American cities, worked the census and worked the election — yet still can pass a PCR test.  Makes you think for a minute about just exactly how dangerous COVID actually might be, right?  And I haven’t even gotten the flu.
March 20, 2021:  Yet another negative PCR test.  This is stupid.  Weren’t we spozed to “flatten the curve in 14 days” — a year ago?  Big Pharma has once again proved for certain that most Americans were born under a turnip truck.  But I don’t care.  I gots a cute little motel room and they don’t.  Humph.
March 21, 2021:  Another day, another negative PCR test.  Finished my job.  It felt good to be working again if even just for one day.  Did I mention that I hate the lock-down too?  Watching small businesses be destroyed, children freaked out by eternal Halloween masks and teenagers swallowing drugs is just not my idea of fun.
     But you know what my idea of fun really is?  Going off to see my parents in the graveyard.  Telling them about my horrendous year of COVID.  Chatting to them when they’re not in a position to talk back!  On the drive home tomorrow, I’m going to stop by their cemetery and say hello.  And bring them some pie too.  What a good daughter I am.  Too bad it took me all this long to learn how.
     This evening at twilight, I drove around Palo Alto just because I could.  All this time I had been thinking that Berkeley had become a paradise for rich techies.  Boy was I wrong.  Palo Alto is the freaking mothership for rich techies.  Good grief, the whole place smells like money.  Even East Palo Alto is starting to turn like a sunflower toward the One Percent.  There’s a Porsche in every Palo Alto driveway almost and ads for ten-million-dollar-plus palaces take up pages and pages of the local weekly rag.
     But then I started asking myself, “Just how far can technology go, really?”  What is its end game?  Nothing but gadgets?  Chips inserted under our skin and inside our brains?  Don’t laugh!  It will happen.  And then what?  You can’t eat technology — and you can’t hug it either.  “Moderation in all things,” said Euripides, meaning in this case that there must be some middle ground between becoming android robots sitting in front of a monitor screen 24 hours a day or going back to being cavemen.
       Plus I truly do not understand how come the American Left is so fond of lock-downs and experimental injections and yellow-star passports.  The American Left valiantly protested against JFK lies, Vietnam lies, Jim Crow lies, Iraq lies, Watergate lies, etc. yet suddenly the American Left thinks that Big Pharma and the Davos Boyz are saintly corporate do-gooders incapable of telling a lie?  Will somebody please tell my how this is actually a thing?
March 22, 2021:  On my way to the graveyard in the mountains above San Mateo, I stopped by Filoli Gardens.  “Filoli stands for ‘Fight for what you want, love with great passion and live your life to the fullest,’ the motto of the guy who built this place.  Bet you wouldn’t see him cowering under the bed because of a virus with a 0.02% death rate.  Bet he’d be out there stealing from us just like the guys in Big Pharma do today!
     But the gardens were lovely.  And the house was spectacular.  Louis the Fourteenth, eat your heart out.  The butler even had a butler here.  And this was before Silicon Valley was even invented.
      Then a bizarre thing happened when I arrived at the cemetery.  I couldn’t find my parents’ graves.  What!  Had Mom and Pop suddenly gone zombie walkabout?  For two whole hours I tramped up and down that freaking hillside.  I’d been there dozens of times before and always found them right away.  Holy crap.  “Mom!  Pop!  Where are you?!?”  They weren’t particularly there for me when I was a kid because my father was a typical 1950s workaholic and my mother was all depressed by suburban life — but I had actually assumed that after they were dead, they would at least stay in one place!  Brokenhearted, I drove home in disgust.
April 9, 2021:  Suddenly I seem to be spending a whole bunch of time in Silicon Valley.  Back to Sunnyvale for another one-day gig.  Drove down this time.  Any excuse to spend time in inexpensive motels!  And this time my employers gave me an antigen test.  They used that instead of the old PCR one.  Negative again.  “You don’t have COVID now and you never had COVID,” is what this new test apparently means.  Fine with me.  Or maybe I’m just not trying hard enough?
April 10, 2021:  “Good job, Jane,” they told me at the job site.  Nice to be appreciated.  And the motel I stayed in had an actual swimming pool!  And it was heated!  But you had to make a reservation to swim in it and only one person could swim at a time.  But who cares!  It was the first time I’d been swimming in the past 389 days!  OMG, how much I have missed swimming!  And then I ate take-out from Taco Bell.  Life is good.
     My motel was three blocks away from the nearest Tesla dealership.  And I must have passed at least two BMW dealerships on the main drag.  Plus vintage Corvettes are as common here in Sunnyvale as Hondas are in Berkeley.  But they did have a Goodwill store here too.  I snagged some high-end sneakers.  Even the Goodwill is high-end around here.
April 11, 2021:  Treated myself to a trip to the legendary Winchester Mystery House.  Spooky.  What can I say?  Haunted by ghosts?  Apparently not.  But there are lots of creaking doors, cold spots and lights that flash on and off.  My electromagnetic field monitor went crazy.  Totally satisfying if you are into that sort of stuff.  Ghostbusters!  Well worth the trip.  Plus I also bought a refrigerator magnet in the gift shop.
April 12, 2021:  Time to go back to Berkeley.  Just one more task to accomplish on this side of the Bay — track down my missing parents!  Apparently they got back from their ghostly sabbatical just in time for my next visit.  First I found my mom’s grave, sat next to her, cried a bit and told her all about my year of living dangerously in times of COVID.  Then I found my pop’s grave and told him the whole story too.
     Both my mother and father lived through the 1930s Great Depression — and both of their families were poor as dirt even before that.  Pop’s father was an itinerant  migrant worker in California’s Central Valley and my mother’s mother was the economically-challenged wife of a dead wagon driver from Banning, trying to raise three fatherless kids out in a desert in SoCal.  Both of my parents worked their way through UCLA during that Great Depression and then my father served in the Pacific during World War II.

     I can’t even imagine either of my parents ever becoming terrified by a little virus with a 0.02% death rate.  Americans these days have gone soft.


Stop Wall Street and War Street (and Big Pharma) from destroying our world.   And while you’re at it, please buy my books.

April 14, 2021

My trip to Sacramento: Capitol crimes, pizza & the #38 bus

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jane Stillwater @ 3:01 pm
Editor’s note:  This article is a relatively long one, hopefully designed to eventually become a chapter in my future book about traveling dangerously in times of COVID.
January 20, 2021:  “Why are you going to Sacramento?” asked my neighbor as she watched me lug a suitcase over to my wonderful little 1990 Toyota.  Damned if I know why.  Maybe to have a nice little chat with Governor Newsom and finally set him straight?
     “Stop being such a brat,” I would tell him.  “Go to your room.  And take all those freaking face masks with you.  We’re done here.”  But will he listen?  Probably not.  Hell, I’m 78 years old — far too frail to wear a freaking face mask, especially since the nano-particles in those ugly blue ones are in the same fiber family as asbestos.  Definitely not a good look!
     Now I’m all settled into my Sacramento motel room, watching reruns of Golden Girls — and I’m older than any of them.
     So.  The drive to Sacramento took about two hours because I stopped in Vacaville to visit the famous Rock Shop.  Around 200 feet square, it’s as big as the ground floor of Macy’s — and filled with geodes and amethysts and crystals and all kinds of cool stuff.  I bought $25 worth of cool stuff.  Totally satisfactory.  Rock on!
     As I drove by the state capitol building on my way to the motel, the National Guard had just finished packing up.  About 30 Humvees were about to roll out.  Guess Newsom didn’t get his big chance at quelling a riot today after all, poor guy.  No big photo-op for him.  Only about 50 or 60 dispirited protestors showed up and just wandered around a nearby park for a few minutes.  Dressed in black camo.  Guess they thought it was Halloween, saw that no candy was involved and just melted away.
     Then I walked over to Trader Joe’s from my motel room, about a mile away.  Damn.  That U.C. Davis Medical Center across the street from my motel is huge.  Every sick guy in three counties must go there.
     The rest of my stroll to Trader Joe’s featured residential streets — seriously reminding me of the American Midwest.  Hometown feeling.  Wide front porches.  Maple trees.  Stuff like that.
     “I used to live in San Francisco,” said a clerk bagging my groceries, “but I could no longer afford the rent.  Sacramento is much cheaper.”  Yeah, I’ve heard that before too.
      Back to the motel.  Microwaved some low-grade tamales.  Called my college roommate.  Made a plan to meet her for lunch tomorrow.  Drank a glass of Two-Buck-Chuck.  Turned on the Hallmark channel.
      I hate to say this but I don’t think there’s going to be any huge late-breaking news stories to write about here in Sacramento.  This isn’t exactly Iraq.
     What is it about motel rooms that keep luring me in?  Could it be because their walls are so bare and empty — while the walls in my apartment look like a million little things are hung on them?  Good grief.  What if I took everything off my walls?  ‘Your apartment would look like a motel room,” is the short answer.  Oh.  But in the long run, that might not be a good thing.
January 21, 2021:  Got a lot of sleep but had a rather weird dream that involved me spending time with one of the world’s greatest cancer experts and he was in conversation with Chairman Xi, the head leader of China.  But.  I have no idea what they talked about.  I tried to discretely eavesdrop but no luck.

     Pulled open the drapes this morning.  First thing I saw was the medical center’s massive oncology building.  No wonder I’m dreaming about cancer.
7:00 pm:  Today turned out much better than I thought it would.  That lunch with my old college roommate was fun.  She’s (still) a real sweetheart — and interesting too.  Good to know that she hasn’t turned into a fussy little old lady like so our age many do.  Plus tacos were involved.  And a cross-town ride on the #38 bus.  And a lovely walk across the historic Tower Bridge spanning the rather-wide Sacramento River.
       Then things got a bit more interesting.  While walking around looking for a bus stop, I got lost.  25 long blocks later, I finally located the #38 bus back to my motel.  But that’s okay.  I got to walk around the Capitol building and talk to the cops there.  “Can I take a tour?” I asked one.
      “Sorry but the building is closed.”
      “The employees are working from home until the pandemic is over?”
     “No, it’s permanently closed.”  Oh.  So I walked around the building’s exterior and read the labels on all the trees in the park surrounding the Capitol.  Who knew that a sycamore looked like that?  Moving on.
     My hunt for the illusive #38 bus stop continued.  I asked another cop.  “Sorry.  I never take the bus.”  And that was the standard answer from the next five people I asked.
     Then this strange young woman all dressed in black with safety pins holding her clothes together and bright yellow eyeliner and a belly button ring and a thong-top showing through and black nail polish and steel spikes everywhere was kind enough to google the bus schedule, bless her punk heart.
     I still couldn’t find the bus stop but ten blocks later I did find a Goodwill store.  And a belly-dance studio selling used books.  Walked past even more old-fashioned Victorian homes.  Past an upscale wine bar in Mid-Town.  Past an upscale pizzeria.  Pizzasaurus Rex.  “Got any pizza by the slice?”  No.  Their pizzas were huge.
     But the nice lady behind the counter did tell me where the bus stop was.  I could have just taken it from there, sure, but now I gots pizza on my mind.  “Nobody is on the bus but you and me,” I told the bus driver.  “Let’s hijack this bus and go off to get pizza!”  She laughed.  But I still ended up getting a slice at the Sacramento Natural Food Co-op.  “Stop the bus!  I bet they sell pizza!”
     That was a fun day in Sacramento.
      What to do tomorrow?  I could go over to the U.C. Davis Medical Center across the street and have a sore tooth pulled at their dental school?  I already visited Sutter’s Fort back when I was a Girl Scout.
     Perhaps visiting Old Town?
     I like Sacramento.  It’s unpretentious and low-key.  Perfect place for a stay-cation.  So far.  And I’m still enjoying my motel room.  “You could go visit the zoo,” said my college roommate.  “I hear it’s still open.”  All the museums are closed.
      And the evening news kept bleating that “the coronavirus has killed 440,000 Americans by now.”  No it hasn’t.  Day 314 of the lock-down and they are still lying to us.  And people still believe them.  Downtown Sacramento was a ghost town today.  Everyone (except me) was staying home, huddled in fear next to their TV screens, terrified of a disease with a 99.9% recovery rate.  I had the place all to myself.
     But there is also some good news-slash-bad news.  Within 24 hours after Uncle Joe Biden’s inauguration, the W.H.O. announces that they are finally getting their PCR tests under control and cycling them down to a more believable amount of cycles — so hopefully no more false positives now.
      And suddenly it’s now okay for doctors to use effective treatments such as Ivermectin, Vitamin D and even the dread HCQ.  What does this mean?  That suddenly a miracle happens and Biden miraculously gets COVID under control just by getting sworn in.

     And of course Pfizer-Moderna’s experimental injections helped produce this sudden miracle too.  Big Pharma to the rescue!  President Biden turns the tide!  America is saved by the heroic Democrats — with a little help from the Davos Boyz and their minion Dr. Fasci.  Lucky us.  But if we are even a little bit skeptical about this new miracle, then they call us Trump-lovers.

     And the Trump/Biden/COVID circus goes on.  America loses.  Globalist oligarchs win.  But then who am I to judge.
January 22, 2021:  The Nanny State has failed me!  Woke up this morning with a tooth ache, looked out the window, saw the U.C. Davis Medical Center across the street, thought “why not” and called up their dental clinic.
     “I’m visiting from out of town, have developed a sudden toothache and would like to see a student dentist today,” I said to the person who answered my call.
     “I’m sorry,” said the receptionist, “but we only have one provider on duty and are booked solid until March.”  March!  Only one provider!  What kind of a dental school is that!  Guess I’ll just have to take an aspirin — which reminds me of that old joke about the woman on a bus who drops her aspirin.
     “My aspirin!  My aspirin!” she cries.
     And of course the bus driver replies, “Lady, if your ass burns, stick it out the window.”  As a kid, I thought that joke was totally funny and risque.
     So.  No trip to the dentist.  What else is there to do today?  Sacramento during the lock-down has very few options for tourists.  “The Governor’s Mansion is closed and is now a private residence,” said a helpful cop.  I googled around.  The Crocker Museum is closed.  The Indian Museum is closed.  The Gold Rush Museum is closed.  The Railroad Museum is closed.  All the senators and assembly members are working from home.  Sutter’s Fort is closed.
     The cemetery is open!
     I don’t want to go to the zoo.
     Dream report:  Dream #1 was post-apocalyptic.  I was wandering through a deserted supermarket, trying to convince some young woman to take care of an abandoned baby but the young woman kept levitating.  Dream #2 involved an anguished young pianist with dark eyes and unruly curls.  Chopin?  Beethoven?  In any case, he was slowly starting to go mad — and not in a good way.
     I had plans for today.  Honest.  But then it started raining.  Back to watching TV in my nightgown.  Later on?  Still raining.  Puddle-jumping?  Sure.  But thanks to the #38 bus, I had a very small adventure today anyway.  Small.  But it was still an adventure.  Sort of.
     First I found beaucoup books-on-tape at another Goodwill store.  This one appeared to be the Sacramento mothership of Goodwills.  My 30-year-old Toyota’s sound system only plays cassette tapes, right?  No mp3 players for me.  And yet books-on-tape are as rare as hens’ teeth these days.  “Score!”  They had three love stories, two adventure tales and even one Louis L’Amour.
     Next?  Comfort food.  Hot mac-and-cheese.  Sitting at the bus stop in the rain, gobbling it up with my fingers.  Couldn’t wait until I got back to the motel.  Simple pleasures.  Two kinds of cheese.
     But, wait, what?  The next #38 bus didn’t even stop for me.  It just drove right on by.  “Stop!  Stop!” I cried but nobody heard me except for the rain and the dark and a couple of homeless old men.   I ran after the bus — half-eaten mac-cheese, groceries, Goodwill bags and all.  No use.  Sigh.
     But then the #62 bus driver, bless her heart, picked me up, called the #38 driver on her dispatch phone, the #38 circled the block again and then actually returned to pick me back up.  Sacramento, I love you.  Please never lose your small-town allure.
      Meanwhile, back at the motel.  Watching the news.  Disgusting.  Isn’t it enough that Biden won (or even stole) the presidential election by shoving COVID nightmares down our throats?  Now he’s got to extract revenge on anyone who didn’t vote for him?  Now he’s comparing anyone who doesn’t fall in lock-step with the Davos Boyz’ party line to cult members and fans of bin Laden?  Everywhere on TV you hear about “domestic terrorists”.  I’m totally not a fan of The Orange Man — but the Biden-slash-Fasci-slash-Pelosi gang are really sore winners.
     Now they are calling for real Americans to hunt populists and conservatives down.  Be careful what you wish for, Uncle Joe.  Even more divisions between Americans.  He and Trump deserve each other — and only the Davos Boyz win.  GlobalCap does not want America strong.  Job well done, World Economic Forum.  As one famous neo-con once said, “It’s a lot easier to kill a million people than to control a million people.”
      Right about now, all I can say is, “I’m so glad that I’m old.”  I won’t have to live through the Fourth Industrial Revolution and watch my grandchildren turn into cyborg robo-bots.
     Time to bury my brain and go watch the Hallmark channel again.  But wait, what!  The Matrix is playing on AMC!  “Don’t take the blue pill, Keanu!”  Oops, too late.  Now here come the Bad Guys.  Perhaps the blue pill might not have been such a bad idea after all.  Americans might actually be onto something here by keeping their heads in the sand.  “We now live in a world of A.I.” sez Lawrence Fishburne.  “Artificial Intelligence.”  They suck out our energy and bombard our minds with 5G?  Sure, why not.  “You’re The One, Keanu!”  Go for it.  Fight the power.
     Good grief, I love motel-room life!
January 23, 2021:  I’m thinking of staying another day here.  Why not.  What else have I got going on?  Plus the state legislature will be in session on Monday and the bed here is totally comfortable.  And there are free movies to watch!  And it’s going to rain tomorrow.  Who wants to drive 90 miles in the rain.
     Plus today was nice.  I’m beginning to like Sacramento’s hometown feel.  And the bus drivers are so nice.  It’s like having my own private Uber.  “Door to door.”
     Only two bus transfers to get to the zoo — and the first bus trip landed me right in the middle of an election-fraud car-protest rally in front of the state capitol building.  Not only Trump supporters were demonstrating but also a few “Justice for All” signs were being waved as well.
     Election fraud is election fraud no matter who commits it.  Election fraud probably put Trump in the White House in the first place — so how ironic would it be if election fraud got him booted out as well.  Karmic justice.  He shouldn’t have crossed the World Economic Forum.  Trump kissed more Swamp arse than Hillary Clinton — but apparently kissed far less Swamp arse than Uncle Joe Biden.  Bernie didn’t even stand a chance.  He only puckered up slightly.
     Next stop?  The zoo.  Basically they had two lions, two kangaroos and an alligator that looked like it was dead.  And a magical snow leopard.  Took a selfie with the snow leopard.  Worth the whole bus trip out there.
     Then on the bus ride back, I remembered Pizzasaurus Rex.  “Stop the bus!”  But the Rex-sized pizzas were just too huge for me to even consider getting one.  But one kind customer saw me looking so hang-dog-disappointed about not getting some that he gave me his second-to-last slice.  Yummers!  I gotta starve myself for a week and then go back.
     Those pizzas are huge.  “That’s because they’re from the Crustaceous Period,” said the waitress.
     Back at the motel.  “Can I please get a break in your rates if I can stay another night?” I asked the desk clerk.  He gave me 20% off.  Who knew that I would be pining away to spend another night in freaking Sacramento.
     But I still need to visit the historic cemetery, binge-watch cable TV and go lobby some legislators on Zoom.  Picket the Governor’s Mansion.  Be open to other stuff.
   Dream report?  About punk teenagers hanging out at a gas station in wheelchairs.  And about a woman who had witnessed a murder when she was a child.  And then about meeting an insane man on a bus who kept staring at me with wild crazy eyes and muttering about how sick and tired he was of living with his mother.  Why did my subconscious come up with all that?
January 24, 2021:  Did I mention that I had left my green watch cap by accident on the miniature train at the zoo yesterday?  And the conductor guy had searched all over the zoo for me in order to give it back?  That’s the kind of small-town niceness that gives Sacramento its charm.
     At 10:00 am this morning, I needed to watch an Amazon movie on my laptop.  Why?  That’s part of my job description.  As a member of SAG-AFTRA, the actors’ union, we are required to watch a whole bunch of movies and vote on who is the best actor, right?  I did this last year too but this year is different and weird because no theaters have been open for the past 318 days and all the nominations that we’re spozed to watch have been put forward by Netflix, HBO, Amazon and them.  But I don’t have cable at home so I haven’t been able to watch any of them at the time they were released.
     I hate the New Normal.
     And even at the zoo yesterday, all the little kids seemed so depressed because everyone’s smiles were concealed behind their masks.  So I gave all the little kiddies a nod and a finger-wave.  It was the least I could do.  So sad.
     But now the motel’s wi-fi is broken.  So much for watching more of that Amazon thing.  So back to being a tourist.  The #38 bus dropped me off right next to the historic Cathedral of the Sacred Heart — just in time for the liturgy.  Held outside in the cold, sure, and totally in Spanish too but I’m loving it.
     At first I tried to pray for the priest and congregation but was totally not feeling it.  They apparently did not need my prayers.  But you know who did?  Just two blocks away, shining in the last of the morning sun, was the state Capitol building.  “Pray for me,” whispered the Capitol.  “These freaking legislators need all the prayers they can get — not to mention our power-mad Governor.  He obviously needs all the prayers he can get too.”
     After the liturgy ended, I got lost.  Again.  That’s what I do.  “Where is the Governor’s Mansion?” I asked a little old Jewish lady wearing a Star of David beanie as well as two homeless guys and a customer at Mike’s Bikes who googled it for me.  There it is!  Beautiful.  Amazing.  But I can see why Governor Newsom refused to live there.  Drafty-looking.  Probably didn’t have an elevator either.
     After that, there was more waiting around for the #38 bus which only comes once an hour on Sundays.  Here we go.  More sitting around in the cold.  “I’m hungry.”  Again.  And back at the motel, the wi-fi was still broken.  I pirated the U.C. Davis Med Center’s wi-fi for a while but then got caught out and was banned.  No wi-fi?  Too bad for me.  Guess it’s time to practice the joy of spending time with my own self.  Again.  Eat, sleep and get lost.  Story of my life.  Is there life after one’s wi-fi goes down and there’s nothing good on the Hallmark channel and only junk food is available?  I’m having a motel-room existential moment.
     And did I also mention that the streets of downtown Sacramento were mostly deserted this Sunday?  Except for a handful of characters who looked like they had no place else to go, the place was a ghost town.  Windows were all boarded up.  But guess what else?  The downtown area looked exactly this empty during the weekdays too.  I hate this lock-down.
January 25, 2021:  It’s my last day in Sacramento.  Pizzasaurus Rex is closed on Mondays so no need to hang around this town any longer.  I have my priorities straight.  But this trip has been a great success anyway — even if I only had one slice of the world’s best pizza.
     Dream report:  I was attending a party at a fish market when i saw a small boy out playing in traffic.  I rescued him from certain death.  Is that imagery supposed to mean something?  Who knows.  I’ve long ago stopped trying to interpret my dreams.  They have a life of their own.  I am no Sigmund Freud — and I am no lucid dreamer either.  If I was, I would have sneaked into Governor Newsom’s dreams, become his worst nightmare and given him a severe wake-up call.  Then California would still be the world’s fifth-greatest economy and not just some burned-out shell of its former self, terrified beyond reason that 0.01% of us would die.  [Later on, approximately 0.06% of us will die from Pfizer-Moderna experimental injections including deaths 1524 between December and March alone -- but that is a story for the future.]

     My former college roommate who I came here to visit?  Apparently she went to have her “vaccine” shot yesterday — after I had desperately tried to talk her out of it.  I can only hope that she doesn’t suffer any of its horrendous side effects or that I will hear later how she had died suddenly in her sleep soon afterward “from unrelated causes” — like over 900 other Americans have done so far after getting shot up.  But Pfizer-Moderna’s merchandising campaign is totally effective.  And why shouldn’t it be?  Big Pharma has had decades of practice in marketing fraudulent drugs to us on TV.  Think Vioxx.  Sigh.

      I have explained all the dangers of this experimental injection to her.  That’s all I can do.  Sadly, at some point you just have to let people go their own way.  If 2020 has taught me anything, it has taught me that.
     How sad.
     Maybe I should stop by that historic old Sacramento cemetery and get used to hanging out with the dead.  Lovely place, acres of statuary monuments and grief expressed in stone by people from a hundred years ago.  Sat on a memorial bench under a spreading oak tree and ate lunch.  Got in the car and started driving home.
     But wait!  I just drove past the site of where that old Nut Tree plaza in Vacaville used to be, where I used to go as a kid.  Now it’s a newly-developed mall — but with a sign for Fenton’s legendary ice cream sticking up high above the freeway!  Tires screeched and brakes squealed once again.  I bought a hot caramel sundae.  Good grief, that was yummers.  However.  Once you open that door to empty nutritionless carbs, it stays open.  So I stopped by Fat Apple’s in Berkeley too and bought a slice of its famous olallieberry pie as well.  “With lots of whipped cream, please.”


Older Posts »

Powered by WordPress