September 30, 2008 by PT Rothschild.

A LOOK AT THE ‘KANSAS CITY SHUFFLE’ aka THE COMING TRIBULATION’S FOOD BASKET

Follow this link for 40 minutes that will take your mind off your money problems and give ’something completely different’ to chew on. Once again, ’smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, Sports Fans.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5266884912495233634&

AND SOMETHING NEW FROM 10/3/08- FOLLOW THIS LINK TO SEE WHAT THIS MEANS TO YOU RIGHT NOW!!

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/27009289

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September 29, 2008 by PT Rothschild.

“IN THE WORLD, BUT NOT OF THE (DEFAULT) WORLD”

Temecula, CA – Although the title says it all, the tear and the accompanying ‘lump in the throat’ actually came on Friday morning, two days before we left. The words ‘Burning Man’ are constantly in the air (along with the Playa dust), in the notes and in the limericks by Gonzo Frothwood which are found inside and out on every potty (at least all the ones in our ‘hood), where you could even find ‘moop’ (matter out of place, which is usually souvenir stuff left anonymously on occasion but towards the end, of course, dropped trash too), and in symbols everywhere. So the whole week is leading up to the Man burning. On Friday I realized that in one more day the Man burned. Unlike the Kentucky Derby, which is also a week long festival event, the Man was going to burn a lot longer than two minutes in climax. So you would think that I’d be dreaming about returning to daily showers, ‘real’ food gotten at my convenience, my own space overlooking this beautiful valley, the hubbub of the hoopla, not to mention computers that work (see Capt. Tuesday’s Tuesday story of dictation), TV, movies, cell phones and the daily news, in short, all the things we have come to depend on, rely on, and demand. You’d think that I would have gotten tired of being continuously dirty, covered in a thin layer of fine Playa silt; hearing people party all night long to the sound of potty doors slamming shut occasionally; and seeing nothing familiar to me from the Default World, including only fully dressed men and women. Yeah, you’d think that, wouldn’t you? But I wasn’t! In fact, I was very sad at having to return to the world. That was when I started to realize that over the past 5 days, including ‘white-out Monday’, something spiritual had happened to my consciousness. I had lived in an uncompromisingly impossible situation undreamt of by me just six days ago, and had not only survived, but adjusted and adapted. I had staked out my day and nighttime territory like a cat. I had made neighborhood friends, had a favorite bar hangout where if they didn’t know my name, they at least knew my face (and my secret thrill), knew certain landmarks as location bearings, and was finding my way around town pretty swell. I had seen a lot of unique stuff and there were gobs more to see. They knew me at the Post Office by name (“Hey, it’s Mr. Pete, the guy with all the cool swag” – thanks to the product manager at Premiere Innovations for providing me with all the gadgets to field test, like Bond, which passed with flying colors). I had taken an impromptu outdoor shower behind a passing water truck (“Mr. Pete, I’m still trying to scrub that image from my mind” – Capt. Tuesday). Heck, I had even grown bold enough to start taking a ‘bowl’ outside the tent in the camp site, to the chagrin of both the Capt. and Goose. (Nevada is one of the states that allow personal use of the weed that Mother Nature provides). By Friday, we, the city of Black Rock could have been all that was left on an apocalyptic Earth. I was enjoying being a non-violent Mad Max. We existed outside the World’s bubble, where even the Devil’s influence seemed nullified. I really didn’t want to leave.

Now that I’ve been back in the Default World three weeks, I miss Burning Man more than on that Friday that I spoke of. Actually, it’s more a longing akin to a wonderful ‘shipboard romance’. I’ve fallen in love with a Man, a Burning Man. Realistically I know that I have to wait to return until next year, though I hope to take in a regional happening in the desert down in SD. Almost as soon as I got back I could feel the layer of the Default World. The stress over business money, payments to be made, the ever developing banking crisis, Ike and all those people who only have one home, now ruined because they don’t live in the Bush/Cheney/McCain stratosphere, except at election time. The difference between Black Rock City and the rest of the planet is like two plateaus separated by a wide chasm where a bridge exists between them for a round trip once a year, visible only to those who look for it. Crossing this bridge, I learned a few things about myself, and a few things in general, to which, I can only thank the team I was part of, and Coffee Camp, that by the end even caffeine couldn’t resurrect. I have to give a ‘shout-out’ in particular to the ‘Queen’ of this expedition as I close this chapter called my first Burning Man, to IPod herself, the always stimulating, ever perplexing, routinely controversial, never boring, extremely loyal ‘man-rancher’, the rascally Keirah Ann Robbins aka IPod. Though some recent news has done much to prove that I am indeed back in the Default World personally, I still see some ‘epilogue’ magical gifting much as I did with the ‘prologue’ part of getting ready for BM. The beautiful valley that I call ‘Barbie-Land’ and once adored like a ‘Ken’ now I see as a part of the Default World. I still like living here but the allure is gone. The weather still turns my head, but the desert was like a BDSM woman in its harshness one day and perfect weather the next. At first it’s a bit tough, a bit rough, a little different, but then your nature adapts to the pleasure pain syndrome and you start to look forward to taking part in the punishment for the pleasure. Living completely free, enjoying Liberty to the fullest, where common sense and Jesus’ two Commandments are supreme, leads me to feel that I had visited a ‘Promised Land’ that Moses or Dr. King never did. Don’t know about Moses, but I do think that Dr. King might have gotten pleasure from taking part in this unique week. I think he would enjoy seeing grown-ups (though there were children present) of all colors, sitting shoulder to shoulder, watching and cheering as the Man, aka the ‘White’ Man’s power structure aka ‘The Establishment’ and the Devil, being rejected and burned in effigy. I think he could have related to the symbolic relevance of the Old Testament Jewish celebration of the ‘scapegoat’ which also happened once a year. He may have frowned, at least, publically, on some of the more ribald features of Burning Man found in Black Rock City, but I guess we’ll never know the answer to that one. Locally a number of my closest scene friends have all said they want to go next year, including one who seems made for this event. I’m smelling ‘sequel’ here, Sports Fans, but next year is a long ways off and a lot can happen between now and then, but, “Lord willing and the creek don’t rise…” END

THE BURNING MAN EXPERIENCE – LIFE AFTER THE RAPTURE – PT ROTHSCHILD

Epilogue: Two weeks after BM, the first thing that IPod said to me was, “I can’t wait to go back home”, indicating that she too had felt that connection and had made that connection. Two weeks after BM IPod returned to T-Town and to an amazing ‘welcome back’ music show at Murrieta’s Corner Pocket with Tree Fingers, Violent Eden, Nice Day, and the Elm Street Rockers. That same night she charmed the pendant from me that I had held out for ransom, and no, I won’t reveal what that ransom was, but what could I do? If not for her, I wouldn’t have even had the pendant, or experienced ‘life after The Rapture’.

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September 27, 2008 by PT Rothschild.

AFTER ‘BURN, BABY BURN’, IT’S ‘DANCING IN THE STREETS’

DCP Zone, CA – The postcard reads, “Rising from the Black Rock Desert in one of the flattest most remote places on earth is an 80 foot temple topped by the stylized figure of a man. Each person (49,599+ this year) is responsible to, pack in their water, food, shelter, and fuel, and leave no trace from the week long celebration. Burning Man with its incredible (art) sculptures, mutant vehicles, fire dancers, music, radio stations, theme camps, and barter society is a life changing experience for those who participate.” (J - Barry Costello, PO Box 37, Nevada City, CA 95959). The picture side shows a girl and three guys looking like the MTV ‘Tank Girl’ edition similar to the girl pictured here, except two of the guys are painted all blue. It is the expression of one of the blue guys wearing a much lighter shade than the famous ‘blue man crew’, that sets the comic tone of this postcard. He looks out in his outrageous attire like he is surprised to see our ‘alien’ Default World culture where ‘sex’ is used to ‘sell’ everything and ‘money’ is valued over people. The addition of a Chevy pickup truck and two mobile cherry pickers grounds the picture as being here and now. Otherwise, they could all be stars standing there, with their hands on their hips, for a Hustler Sci-Fi movie. Now probably you may be thinking that this whole party is not kid-friendly but while you might not want to bring your smart mouth, won’t-follow-the-rules, ‘I know it all’, hormonally ruled teenager who’s deep into puberty with you to Burning Man, children, on the other hand, are welcomed and there are activities galore for them and you (no children are there without parent or guardian) to participate in, like the Mouse Race! where you end up at Brigit Camp for grilled cheese sandwiches, or to just hang out with you and look at all the sights. They even do a Census, but on Saturday night, after chilling most of the day to the feel of anticipation in the air at Coffee Camp with my hair feeling like it was moosed, my nails and cuticles all dust-caked and dry, my heart wondered what was in store for this evening. Friday night had been a blast but you could feel the build-up on Saturday for the night time. The city with its child-like innocence reminded me of what Jesus had said about such a mindset seeing Paradise. So with that in mind, Goose and I set off to cross the Playa and see the Temple beyond the Man (and the temple structure that he was built on). That Temple was set to burn the night after the Man burns. It is said to be a much somber affair as it is sad to see the ‘religious order’ of things being set aside from the world. I would ponder that this is because so much of the world’s charity comes through organized religious systems. So we trudged out the miles, which look deceptively close thanks to the white flatness, and checked out the Temple, stopping for pictures taken of each of us. Then it was back to camp to wait for nightfall, but we took our time on the journey home. Though we were to see the Man burn as a group, Goose left Coffee Camp around 6PM to garner a front row seat for the ‘burn’. It would be a portent for the evening.

After some food handsomely prepared by IPod with Orion celebrating his 28^th birthday, I headed over for a drink at my favorite bar, the Tree Top Lounge with B.A. serving up the ‘funishment’. Then I joined up with the crew and we were off. At first we had some extra people but it soon narrowed down to KB, Capt. Tuesday, Bumper, IPod, Orion, and myself. The night of the ‘burn’ is the climax for a day that seems to be rising up to a boil, an unsettling day actually. So it was that while some of us had gotten more than we expected, there were those who felt they hadn’t gotten what they thought they might. As we waited for the Man to burn in our viewing spot from the third row, a tiff developed. When it was over and the smoke had cleared though the fire hadn’t yet started, only Orion, IPod and myself remained, though KB remained close, mired down by his own very free flowing checkered robe in the tightly packed crowd. Our viewing area was close enough to feel the heat from the pyrotechnics that happened later in the evening. Before the night was over we would all be separated, except perhaps for IPod and Orion.

Before the Man burned, we sat on the hard surfaced Playa packed like sardines in a circle around the Man, so I was able to discard my jacket even though the night air had cooled down, and use it like a pillow for my aching ass. It took four days for the lower back stiffness to leave my body. Again the harsh climate was like a lash on your back so you didn’t get too lulled into Paradise. And then the Man’s arms started to rise on the neon lit Man structure, a structure so high that you could climb up four floors, at least inside the see-through lattice work. The crowd erupted into a roaring cheer. Once the arms reached the Nixon ‘I am not a crook’ position, fireworks started shooting out of what would be fingertips, and then from the structure base. The awesome amount of fireworks against the moonless black desert sky at a ground level of almost 4000’ above sea level, with the bursts of light were breathtaking. After eating a slab of chocolate from a suspicious looking piece of tin foil to which Bumper inquired about (“Sorry Charlie, only the best tuna. It was a leftover from last night’s wild, wild west days, and just enough for one.” – see MSN’s story on ‘magic mushrooms’ in the health section), I was set for the night. As I watched the ‘bombs bursting in air’, the lyrics from the Star Spangled Banner flashed into my mind. Burning Man and the society of Black Rock City, as outlandish as it is, really represents the feeling of ‘Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness – the ‘American Dream’. We have been ‘taught’ that the ‘dream’ is to own land bought from a bank (Wa-Mu, anyone?), be indebted, and become a guaranteed laborer for 30 years. At best this may be a wanted necessity, at worse, the current nightmare, as so many are finding out as I pen these words, all due to the occupation of Iraq for its oil. But before I could dwell on that point too long, a massive explosion and fireball lit up the area with light and heat. You felt the warmth on your skin as another round of cheers also warmed your heart, right down to its cockles. When another explosion went off causing more of the structure to catch fire as the Man was still shooting off fireworks from his hands and base structure, I thought of the last scene from ‘Star Wars’ (Episode 4) after Luke and crew have received their medals for the victory against the (first) Death Star. The Rebellion against the Empire, well, that certainly fit the day, or night as it were. Everywhere and everyone I had talked to in the last six days was a rebel against the Empire, the Establishment, and the Man. All seemed spiritual, some were religious, and maybe there were a few Christians like myself there, but we were all now rejecting the ‘world’, the Default World, like it says to in the Bible, whether any or many of the people there realized it. No money, no use of automobiles per se, and no washing your hands before eating. In the desert, if your hands get sticky from eating a free mouth-watering, cold and delicious ‘bomb’ pop, because you gave an impromptu definition from a picked word card (patriot – ‘a person with a good heart easily misled by cooked Intel’), you simply stooped down and ‘washed’ the stickiness away with a rinse of Playa silt or dust! In the Default World your mom’s head would spin like in ‘Scary Movie’ if you sat down at the dinner table with that announcement. Yet here it worked. I looked over at IPod and watched as the fireworks light bathed her face in varying colors. She was like a Princess Leah. She was as fiery and as headstrong, but Leah would have seen through and banished most of the ‘douche bags’ that IPod (Keirah) took into her heart to the outer moons of Xanadu. Maybe that was part of her charm, certainly that was a large part of her drama, but the timeless expression of youthful marvel painting her face as she gazed at firework burst after firework burst, as she snuggled back against Orion for comfort and warmth, made me speculate as to just what new adventures awaited us in the future. I hoped Orion would be better than the rest.

Soon the Man and the structure were blazing ferociously. Curiously enough though, the Man’s right arm stayed raised in the air like a ‘Heil Hitler’ salute. Watching the burn and knowing what it symbolized to me and so many others there, I wondered about my Jewish ancestors on that side of the family and the ceremony of atonement, when they sent out into the desert the ‘scapegoat’ once a year, which carried the entire community’s sin away. Taking part in this heathen celebration felt spiritual to me in a religious way. A light had been cast into a corner made dark and foreboding by hearsay, opinion, tradition, and order. I looked over again at IPod. She was so like a favorite granddaughter to me. She takes care or rather ‘looks after me’ like Francie did her ‘papa’ in ‘Tree’ and I had come to really trust her and her intuition. To some she is an enigma wrapped in a paradox, but to me she is a ‘safe haven’. I can always find the center of her maze. I felt safe in the crowd of thousands as we sat packed in like Muslims, watching the Man finally burn, then topple, structure and all, crashing to the ground. Suddenly everyone stood up, then people from every direction and the hundreds directly behind us all started running or trotting toward the collapsed heap. IPod and Orion, hands clasped together, were swept from me and disappeared into the sea of faces and screams. I can’t describe my feeling of loss at that moment. Part of me said, ‘you’re old, slow, and stiff, but maybe if you really tried, you could catch up to them. But another part of me, maybe the Jedi part, said ‘it’s their night, I’m not a chaperon, let them go party or whatever.’

I looked around and everywhere people, ‘burners’, were moving toward the Man, or what was left of him. I decided to also go, even though doing so would cause me to lose all my location bearings. Soon I was part of the throng, a mass of people slowly circling around the burnt Man counterclockwise and remembering why I was told they do this at Mecca. After seeing the Man’s ashes for myself, I slowly made my way back to the fringes of the circling crowd, finally slipping free to pause and look around. I did not take any pictures or want to for that matter. I’m sure you can find something on YouTube. I did not want to show you something, Dear Reader, that you really should experience for yourself, if you can. To be in the midst of thousands of people, strangers all to me save less than ten, all rejoicing wildly, spinning fire, hooping and hollering, running here and there in every direction, in a backdrop of hundreds of lit-up art cars, all with music blasting in the distance, is like no other experience I can name. The chaos of it, the unbridled revelry, all lit by fire, starlight, and LEDs is an incredible rush to the senses, and even if you are perfectly sober, you head and sagacity are reeling. So I paused, thought fleetingly of IPod, turned on my ‘raver bait’ flashing pendant I had traded for a night earlier, looked out at the wild, anarchistic glory, and said to myself, ‘OMG’, then stepped off. I might add that at no time was I pushed, shoved, or jostled by the maddening crowd. It was truly other worldly. (ed note: the remainder of this night can be found in ‘Sex & the City – Some Enchanted Evening. Next, the last chapter of The Burning Man Experience, Life After The Rapture – ‘A Wave Good-bye, With A Tear In My Eye’)

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September 27, 2008 by Bill Gould, Publisher.

Homeland, California - On September 26, 2008, about 7:00 AM, deputies from the Hemet Station’s Problem Oriented Policing Team conducted a search warrant service in the 25000 block of Melba Avenue in the unincorporated community of Homeland. The warrant service was in response to community complaints of drug activity at the location.

Deputies located several firearms, methamphetamine, a stockpile of ammunition and various types of improvised weapons. Documents found at the location link the occupants of the residence to a hate organization. In July of this year I wrote an article about Hate Graffiti I discovered in Homeland after covering a fire that had occurred in the area. Although this warrant service was done in a different area of Homeland that the fire was, it still raises questions as to whether this is a major problem in the area.

Arrested were Thomas Pentico (38) and Brandi O’donnell (26). Both suspects are believed to be involved in the use and distribution of methamphetamine. The suspects have two children who reside at the location, an infant and a two year old.

Due to the serious risk to the children, the Riverside Sheriff’s Drug Endangered Children Response Team was contacted and responded to the location. The Drug Endangered Children Response Team is a multi-agency team committed to the well being of children threatened by drug related crimes. The children were ultimately referred to the custody of Child Protective Services.

Pentico and O’donnell were booked into the Southwest Detention Center on various drug and weapons charges. Anyone with info about this or other issues related to this should contact the Sheriffs Department.

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September 26, 2008 by PT Rothschild.

OBAMA’S NEW REGISTERED VOTERS & OTHERS HAVE BEEN FLUSHED

Temecula, CA – As many people’s anger boils over, like the lone woman yesterday holding up her hand-made ‘No Bush Bail Out’ sign on the I-15 Winchester overpass, who don’t want their tax dollars going to keep Bush/Cheney’s ‘haves/have mores’ rich and richer, those people with 13 cars and seven mansions or more have already began to ‘bail-out’ the voters and votes that could stem the red flow of blood and money from this country as this Empire verges on collapse. Printed below for your perusal is how both black and white anti-Bush voters who have lost their homes are being flushed down the ‘John’. Folks, it’s not as bad as it looks, IT’S WORSE!! And Florida, which made the news again just the other day for ‘vote recount’ irregularities is just the tip of the iceberg America is being steered into. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.

Jim Crow — The Remix (For Browns & Whites too this time*) - By Kai Wright | http://www.theroot.com  

The Republican plan to steal the election and can we stop it?

 Sept. 18, 2008–The Republican Party has finally found the outer edge of political cynicism; it’s located in Macomb County, Mich. Operatives there have figured out an upside to the foreclosure crisis roiling black (and other*) neighborhoods: It enables mass voter-registration challenges and thereby offers a powerful opportunity to suppress the vote in Democrat-leaning districts. An enterprising journalist for the independent-media site Michigan Messenger exposed the party’s plan to exploit foreclosures last week, prompting local leaders to feign outrage, claim to have been misquoted and threaten a libel suit. Those denials notwithstanding, the Obama campaign has asked a federal court to issue an injunction against any use of foreclosure filings in registration challenges, just in case. As general counsel Bob Bauer put it, “They can tell it to the judge.”But while the details of the Michigan plot may be uniquely noxious, the broader tactic—known as voter “caging”—is a 50-year-old Republican dirty trick that is rooted in century-old voting laws designed to skirt the 15th Amendment. A series of legal challenges had finally driven voter caging into remission by the 1990s. But in 2004, desperate Republican operatives facing a huge Democratic turnout revived it with great success. And they’re redeploying it widely in 2008. The scam is as convoluted as it is craven. It starts with a list of potentially ineligible voters. The Macomb County gang planned to create its list from recent foreclosure filings, according to the Messenger, based on the notion that people who have lost their homes are likely to be registered under incorrect addresses. The more traditional route is to simply flood largely non-white districts with mailers marked “do not forward,” then compile the names that are returned undeliverable. Most states maintain stunningly broad rules governing registration challenges, so this sort of flimsy evidence is enough to make sweeping claims of voter fraud. Armed with their lists, Republican operatives file mass challenges to thousands of registrations, charging that the listed residents are cheating the system by polling in the wrong precinct. At the polls, they then challenge individual voters, which often means those voters only get a provisional ballot. The challenge itself isn’t the point, however. A 2007 Project Vote study outlines voter caging’s history and notes that most mass registration challenges are filed just under the deadline and are rarely pursued meaningfully. Rather, the goal is to gum up the democratic process by creating chaos, both at the point of registration and on Election Day. By holding a breathless press conference trumpeting widespread voter fraud, Republicans busy election boards with responding to nonsense rather than serving voters and, worse, justify sending ranks of operatives to polling stations to harass voters in the name of “monitoring.” Each Election Day challenge occupies a poll worker, creating long lines and disorder that discourages all would-be voters.
And if they’re lucky, they scare new voters away from showing up at all. The tactic has been so wildly successful that Republicans have solidified the myth of voter fraud in both the popular mind and the law. This spring, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld an Indiana law that requires voters to show a state-issued ID at the poll. The court ruled that the specter of voter fraud justified the imposition on democracy. It ignored research showing voter fraud to be extraordinarily rare and dismissed evidence that blacks, youth and low-income people are all far less likely to have state IDs. Republican operatives set the stage for that ruling in 2004. They challenged half a million voters in targeted campaigns across nine politically strategic states, according to Project Vote. Prior to the election, Florida, Pennsylvania and Ohio all made voter challenges even easier than they had already been; all three states had Republican-controlled legislatures. In Ohio’s Cuyahoga County—which includes Cleveland and is reliably Democrat—Republicans flooded polling stations with operatives to challenge 14,000 voters; 45 percent of them lived in majority black communities. They hit 31,000 voters statewide. And as registration deadlines approach this fall, the same process is gearing up all over the country. In Wisconsin, Republican Attorney General J. B. Van Hollen filed suit last week—a month before the registration deadline—demanding election officials check individual records of thousands of voters who registered before the state’s new voter ID system went into effect. In Madison, City Clerk Maribeth Witzel-Behl complained that the last-minute demand will make other necessary preparations for the largest-expected voter turnout impossible. “It will disenfranchise voters,” she told Wisconsin’s Capital Times.In Louisiana, the secretary of state is busy purging thousands of “inactive” voters from the rolls. According to the Louisiana Justice Institute, the only way you’d know you’re on the inactive list is if you saw the state’s ad in a newspaper, which thousands of still-displaced Orleans Parish residents couldn’t do. The Justice Institute has published a searchable database of the names here, to help displaced residents who want to vote in their hometown make sure they stay registered. Meanwhile, at least one Virginia county has targeted college students with plain scare tactics. In Montgomery County, home to Virginia Tech, the registrar warned Virginia Tech students that listing their campus address for voter registration could jeopardize everything from their parents’ tax returns to their own driver’s licenses. “If you have a scholarship attached to your former residence, you could lose this funding,” the ominous but vague memo declared, according to Inside Higher Ed. And Michigan’s not the only place where losing your home could mean also losing your vote. The Columbus Dispatch reported this summer on state election officials’ concerns that Ohio’s new voter ID law will collide with foreclosures to create chaos at the polls. Voters who are registered at their old homes but have new addresses on their IDs, for instance, will be turned away. Ditto in several other states with both new voter ID laws and waves of foreclosure. None of this is new. Republicans first used the myth of voter fraud to justify vote-suppression tactics in an Arkansas race in 1958, deliberately exploiting Reconstruction-era laws that made voter challenges easy enough to keep newly franchised blacks out of the process. It worked so well in ‘58 that in 1964 they launched “Operation Eagle Eye,” which targeted 1.8 million voters nationally. The game proceeded with impunity until 1981, when the Democrats sued over a voter-caging campaign in New Jersey, arguing that the effort deliberately disenfranchised minority voters. That case, along with a subsequent one in 1986, generated a consent order that barred the national party from launching mass voter challenges without getting court approval. The order, however, does not bind state party officials. Nor can we count on the network of federal law enforcement that mobilized to block just this sort of chicanery in the Jim Crow days. The Bush administration’s politicized firings of U.S. attorneys were, in no small part, driven by its effort to stymie the protection of voter rights Three of the eight U.S. attorney firings being investigated by Congress involved officials who refused to go after supposed voter-fraud cases in the run-up to the 2006 congressional elections. Which leaves it to us to protect ourselves from this cynical but deeply effective manufactured chaos. A growing number of watchdog groups are trying to mobilize citizens to do the Justice Department’s job. This week, a coalition under the banner Election Protection launched a Web site and a hotline (1-866-OUR-VOTE) where voters can learn how to make sure their own registration is secure and report problems in their districts. The Advancement Project has set up a similar site here. Jurisdictions facing registration irregularities, backlogs and confusion now will certainly face the same on Nov. 4. Neither situation will be accidental, and the best tool left for identifying them in advance is through would-be voters. An ounce of prevention, watchdogs stress, is worth a pound of post-election litigation and outrage. (*- added by PT Rothschild)

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