Category: About Us

We recently found this missive in our FFFF e-mail sack:

Subject: Having trouble figuring out FFFF

It seems this blog doesn’t know where it stands politically, I’d originally assumed it to be non-partisan, but have seen it seem to lean towards the right. Which I figured was corrected with the Norby expose until the duvall affair. Now it seems focused purely on the republican side of the 72nd special election, somehow supporting norby who recently the blog said was illegally raising funds. what?

There seems to be an ideological disconnect.

Good points. It seems a little clarification is in order. First, we have several bloggers – some Libertarian, some Repuglican and others of unknown political persuasion. Second, we have no particular espoused blog-philosophy other than trying to promote independent and relatively intelligent office-holders who will be accountable for what they and their employees do. We are not a party-affiliated operation and have no ambitions in that direction. There are already several partisan blogs in OC and they are full of self-congratulating hacks.

We do tend to be persuaded that less regulation and government micro-management of our everyday lives is a good thing; but we especially believe that the rules laid down by government should be applied evenly and fairly – especially to the government itself.

When Norby’s campaign goofed up and sent out money solicitations to County workers, the Shadow chastised him; similarly she had at him for his hapless County Clerk campaign that smacked of desperation on his part. But when an opening occurred after the Duvall mess, the Harpoon (rightly, I believe) suggested that Norby go for the State Assembly where we are in dire need of Redevelopment reform – a theme constantly revisited on this blog.

Our readers may be interested to know that we are actively recruiting both Libertarian and Green Party members to run for the 72nd race because we would love to see some alternative voices heard for a change.

In short: we may seem unpredictable, and if we are its because there is more than one of us; certain issues may resonate with some of us; and we don’t write about everything. 

So keep visiting. You never can tell what you may discover here. 

Okay, we’re giving you a lot of good links in this post. Click on ’em all.

Right now the Divine Miss K is listening to French Radio on Pandora. She’s also wondering if it in any way is connected to this weird dream about people smoking cigars. Hack hack….phooooo

Yes, it’s confirmed. Courtesy of the most testosterone driven milbloggers at Blackfive, the Divine Miss K will be in Las Vegas at Blog World Expo. She’ll also be visiting her time-to-time haunt over at the Blogcritics. It’ll be a chance to pick up some work, meet a bunch of fellow bloggers, and see which tech companies are folding in on one another.

Learn more about it at the Divine Miss K’s Milblog, The Kitchen Dispatch, by clicking the icon on the sidebar. Btw… The Kitchen Dispatch was named “the best milspouse blog going” by no less than BabaTim of the excellent Afghanistan Blog Free Range International. The two blogs are the yin and yang of war.

Side rant: For a long time now, that other paper has run death stats of the wars in their paper. Though they are stats we in the milcommunity should and do keep in mind, they have, like many,  boiled it down to this one sad, but true aspect. War is horrible. The many issues and people involved are deep and complex. But given the source, it’s par for their course. Though J. Dobrer’s August column was well intentioned, it’s also served as a reminder of the same elitism, snobbery and odd-distancing that has long entrenched this burg. He was surprised to be moved when he saw the ghost of the Twin Towers, though how anyone would not be is beyond my comprehension.  I traveled there after a friend lost her husband in the horror. Let’s just say… I will never forget those crowds, the feeling of being pushed, the lights, the sounds, the smell and the finality of it all. And when I was there this summer,  the effect was no less.

He was however, correct about Al Qaeda.

The suggestion: The Divine Miss K highly recommends some of the side links on  The Kitchen Dispatch to various milblogs. Each one will take the reader out of their comfort zone.  But then that’s the point isn’t it?  But this opinionating is for naught, since the hoi polloi claims to “never read the blog.”

Back to blogging: Hope to see you there.

Friends For Fullerton’s Future is one year old.  In our first year we have had 229,818 page views.

My cab driver was a young man named Cornelius. He has a wife and already five kids, and lives in a patched together sheet metal shack on the wrong side of Ushanda’s perimeter beltway. Like lots of Ushandans he steals government electricity from a bootleg transformer and an extension cord. He showed me a photo of his family standing in front of their ramshackle house. He seemed eager to talk. Especially about Country Western music.

He wore a pink shirt and said he loved Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. And Kristofferson.  Cornelius sang a soulful rendition of Sunday Mornin’ Coming Down as we zig-zagged our way along Mombazi Boulevard, past the foreign embassies, some now empty, and into the downtown district. He wasn’t bad. He does karaoke two nights a week in a Ushandan club.

We entered the curved and cracked asphalt driveway of the Ushanda Hilton at about 3 PM. The sunlight now slanted through the decorative palms, but the heat and humidity had become even more oppressive. Cornelius said that modern Country was just overproduced pop music now. I agreed and paid him. He seemed very happy to get American cash. Tanzanyishan paper dollars are virtually worthless.

Like the once gleaming buildings of the business district, the hotel is a reminder of better days – when foreign investment was still seen as a plausibility, and also a shabby symbol of lost hope. It is air conditioned, barely, although this God-sent amenity often relies upon a diesel generator rather than Ushanda’s over-taxed, and unpredictable power grid.

At the lobby desk some problem was not getting solved. Africa.

A well-fed, but obviously frazzled American, wearing a crumpled white linen suit and white shoes, with a wild shock of white hair, was arguing volubly with the desk clerk. A high-pitched Southern twang held forth. Nearby stood a sad, starched, yet wilting woman of indeterminate age, all too familiar with the script.

Ah have a reservation, dammit! I am sorry sir, but we do not have it here. Well you better look again, son,  Ah’m from Texas, and Ah’m a doctor! Sorry sir, but I cannot find a reservation for you.

Reservation? The place was damn-near deserted. I figured out pretty quickly what was going on. Ugly American Doctor was getting jerked around by a Third World hotel clerk. He would get his room all right, but not right away. I was enjoying the performance, but I was becoming damn thirsty, too. Peeking meekly around Doctor Phogbound I gave the clerk a quick wink of approval and asked if  I could check in. I had a reservation. Marlowe. Yes, sir!

In need of something cold I headed across the lobby to the hotel bar, leaving the dreadful Phogbound in drawlful fulmination.

Ah’m a colonel. By Golly, Ah’m important! Ah know a congressman!

I had an uneasy feeling our paths would cross again.