Ahhh, memories! (apparently of banks too small to succeed)

I can't decide which scares me more....

The post-9/11 world our trumped-up war reactions are trying desperately to materialize as reality....


or, reading the labels on the foods we buy at our local super markets....

Example of a EULA*

So where lies the bigger threat? From without or within? Or both? (Never mind....I just remembered the economy, the defense budget, health care, unemployment, etc. etc.)

[Dada note re "EULA": As a child I had a relative named Eula. Today that name has taken on an entirely different connotation, not as a kindly aunt who might send you a book such as "The Yearling" on your 9th birthday, but as an "End User License Agreement." Now quick, secure your home from any seeds that may grow and propagate if they should come in contact with dirt on your property, lest you receive a visit from the FBI and end up doing twenty-five to life in San Quentin as a result.]

Dada confesses his opinionostomy!

Polidectomy: A polidectomy is the surgical removal of that part of the brain's prefrontal lobe housing the source of all reactions to political activities outside one's body that may positively or negatively impact the well being of a person.

For those few regular visitors to Dada's Dally, I have a confession to make: I didn't go through with the polidectomy to end all thoughts political within me which I alluded to some months ago. Anyone who has since continued reading Dada's has already surmised that.

But to be totally up front with everyone, I have another confession: On October 22nd, I did undergo a radical opinionostomy, to wit:

Opinionostomy: a surgical procedure used to create an opening for negative opinions on topics such as politics and economics such that they are released from the body before being expressed orally. Opinionostomy refers to the procedure where a portion of the respiratory canal is opened just below the larynx, allowing opinions to be carried out of the body before being verbally expressed.

Before going further, perhaps a bit more explanation is called for here. While it's only been two weeks, each day I become more and more impressed with the results of this procedure -- and pleased! What the surgery did was create a small opening as noted above for all political opinions, positive and negative, to be siphoned off the windpipe before reaching the larynx from which they would normally be expressed aloud.

Instead, a small tube removes such expressions. They end up in a small, expandable, rubber bladder-like bag secured beneath my left arm. I'm pleased to report -- as the healing progresses -- I am becoming less and less expressive on more and more issues that used to rile me daily, sometimes to great extremes. And -- I am still able to go bowling, shoot billiards and hoist an ale with my left arm (so long as I don't allow the bag to overflow)!

Well, that is, until today when, instead of emptying my bag once or twice, I had to suddenly excuse myself seven times when pressure building from the rubber bladder in my armpit became too tight for the shirt I was wearing to contain.

Hopefully today was just an unusual day.

...Thank god for this procedure. While having to excuse myself to relieve the pressure building in the bladder under my left armpit seven times today, I was at least spared the embarrassment of expressing opinions outloud by simply flushing them instead.

I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the news of Wall Streeters getting the H1N1 flu vaccine before people in high risk groups? That and the Fort Hood shootings.

See, before my opinionostomy I probably would have blogged, "What the fuck will it take before people wake up?" But that's an opinion and, thank God, I am now able to simply flush them down the toilet when my bag gets full.

Exposed! Dada seeking alternative ways out.

From The Telegraph comes this amusing story of a man caught in the act with another man's wife.

"Love cheat Sun Meng has been given the cold shoulder by his community after picture of him
cowering naked on an air conditioner were posted online by a furious husband. Photo: CEN"

"My family is ashamed and none of my own neighbours will talk to me any more," said Sun.

"I know what I did was wrong but I was afraid he would kill me.

"People are even laughing at how I look naked - but I have to point out it was a very cold day," he added." (Probably a reference to the Seinfeld episode where George experienced *shrinkage*.)

***********

(NOTE: Today's blog above is but an exploration of different directions.)

In recent weeks, I've been pondering, sometimes desperately, what to make of this blog. After four and a half years of wailing against prevailing winds I have concluded that the country will likely get what it likely deserves: a complete financial meltdown. Not that that's a good thing, but it may be the only way to arrive at something other than what we are currently "enjoying"; something other that we so desperately need.

The powers we chose a year ago to turn the ship around have simply made a big circle in the sea. Our ship's stewards chosen to save us -- incredibly! -- wear the same faces of those who imperiled us to begin with. And our ship's 180 degree course change has turned into a complete 360, i.e., we're back *on track* -- the same old course, the wrong course. That is unless one is to believe, as announced last week, the recession is over. With one exception -- it just doesn't include *you* (that's all of us) who have suffered most. Sadly, for anyone still in a Depression, the recession's end is a jobless recovery we are told.

Bullying Wall Street has had six months of bullishness. If you were foolish enough to miss it, where the hell were you? Too busy with the distractions of trying to find a new job? Keeping food on your family's table? Saving the roof over your head, or salvaging your old way of life when you could have been making huge gains in the latest Wall Street bubble of irrational exuberance?

And now come stories of the U.S. loosening missile technology exports to the economic controllers of our fateful financial future, the Chinese. Is this just some right wing bullshit to further stir the angst of fearful extremists? Could the ultimate irony be delivered some day by warheads of Chinese missiles killing millions of Americans with our own exported missile technology? I don't know and more and more, I care less and less.

Or how about the news of the Taliban declining a U.S. offer to "permit" the Taliban control of 6 provinces in the south and northeast of Afghanistan, if the Taliban will just allow us ("Oh Please, PLEASE!") to have 8 NATO bases there! Ask yourself, who's negotiating from a position of strength here? The Taliban or the world's last remaining *Superpower*?

All that aside, I enjoyed today's above lapse into an alternative means of escape.

It's that time of year again!

Dada, feeling the love.

Ah, another Halloween has come and gone. Last night the Dada's had the pleasure of sharing the eve with family in Oregon via Skype, seeing nieces and nephews prepping for trick or treating. My favorite costume was that of our great niece adorned in swim goggles, snorkel and draped in black with a large sign attached reading "Drowning in debt" covered all over with smaller signs of why, such as "lost my job, health problems, no insurance," etc. Dada admires such boldness in begging candy from strangers while imparting a message she considers important enough to remind them of our current state many would sooner forget. But, hey, what the heck, it's the state of the union for many, many of us.

But today is the first day of November, signaling the beginning of another season's display of humanity's purest expression of compassion and love for all things living! It begins, this first day of the new month, with The Day of the Dead when we, the living, honor those no longer with us, many of whom we deliberately sent away to *the other side*.

And so, with the official beginning of another such time where we drop our rifles (and our bombs) but not our guards, let us pause and partake of a crushing communal embrace of loved ones and enemies alike in a spirit that exemplifies the best of human qualities.

Let us give thanks for yet another season of love and reconciliation, if only for the next 6 or 8 weeks. It's time to set aside our petty lusting for mass annihilation of our brothers and sisters, to begin planning the annual gathering around a dining table, TV or tree, injecting another 40,000 warriors into Afghanistan, or anticipating again the line outside our favorite predawn Wal-Mart store before they open their doors at 5:00 for another Black Friday rushing crush of crowds dying to express their compassion and love for one another as only limited quantities of 19" high def TVs for $99 can do.

It is with such spirit Dada gives thanks. Thanks for being a member of the human family so filled with love and compassion for one another as this approaching season once more reminds us. Thankful we have been granted the stewardship of oversight and safety for all living things of the Earth as we partake camaraderie over turkeys and hams. One can only imagine the mayhem and chaos of the world were we not.

As we partake of this spirit, take care not to get too overwhelmed by it. Just let it flow over you like a rising tide. Let it pile on you. Enjoy it, but take care not to let it drown, smother or crush you. Such incredible feelings of peace and joy only last a few weeks. And we can all hold our breaths that long! Then it will be back to our work of building a better world as only we humans are the best -- and chosen -- to do!

Happy November everyone!

* Dada apologizes for reusing last year's graphic. So busy was he setting out traps to kill mice in the back yard, he didn't have time to manage a new one. "Peace on Earth to all living things!"

What a difference a day makes!

(Note: This is my first blog in over six days. Just as with the United States, its "empire" and our species, Dada's Dally is devolving. Where to, I'm not sure. Certainty is elusive in these ambiguous times. Nothing to get alarmed over, I suppose. It's just a natural process we all happen to inherit.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On one of our morning walks at a relatively new sports park complex we discovered recently just a couple of miles from the house, Sam and I were enjoying the paucity of people. A gentle, yet steady, breeze was blowing clouds across the landscape as their shadows raced down the mountain sides trying desperately to keep up with their masters.

At the park, no amount of coaxing this beautiful morning could get Sam to even consider a dip
in the inviting waters. (Maybe because they're the processing ponds of the sewage plant? Just
kidding -- the watery looking foreground is actually the top of the MX-6 the camera sat atop.)

Autumn's my favorite time of year, but in El Paso I have this joke that we experience the most ideal weather, in the 70's, for only a few days as temperatures bounce back and forth between the upper 80's and lower 50's.

Closing one's eyes and breathing in, the air even smelled saltier. I could almost sense the
seaweed and other scents of decaying life as it washes up at my feet on the exposed desert
floor of a low tide. (Note: Such effect is lost on Sam, having never been to a beach..)

Raised in California and always just a dozen or fewer miles from the ocean and, more recently, spending almost a week of every summer during the 90's decade of the penultimate century on a northern Oregon beach, I do miss it. But the visual expanse afforded us here in the desert with the ocean breezes rushing past gets me there without buying a ticket on Southwest Airlines.

View in the 'hood yesterday morning on my way to pick up the newspaper off the
driveway in my shorts and t-shirt. Indeed, what a difference a day or two can make.

Wednesday night -- I remember it well -- I was comfortably abed watching the 10:00 o'clock news -- until the weatherman came on. He warned of freezing overnight temperatures and possible snow. Where the hell did that come from? Freezes don't make their first appearance here until mid-November normally. Already having been dusted by the sandman, a dusting of snow is the last thing I needed.

But minutes later I found myself dressed and outside desperately triaging, much like God, those house plants that were to survive the night inside the warm house to see the light of the following morn; to breathe in the breathtaking ocean breezes again. Or maybe just a chilling *wind* rushing off the snow dusted mountains.

Good news: The weatherman promises temperatures will be back in the mid-70's by Sunday! Truly, this time of year, what a difference a day can make.

Let's hear if for guerilla theater!

Remembering Molly Ivins on her birthday....

OK, so it's 55 days after the fact (Molly Ivins was born August 30, 1944), but I just wanted her to know I remembered her birthday and to thank her for the wisdom she so often imparted to us all.

Happy Birthday Molly!

America as metaphor for "Zombieland"? Or do I have that backwards? Or does it even matter?

Scene from the movie Zombieland

Last Friday I got brave. That's because I went to see Zombieland. Alone. Mrs. Dada had other places to be. Even if she hadn't, she wouldn't have accompanied me. She's more into British 1800s films or Sci-Fi flicks genres. So I was on my own.

I'm not keen on horror flicks either, but Zombieland stars Woody Harrelson and, being a quasi-fan, I usually enjoy his stuff. At least for this one, I was curious. That, plus, critics gave the movie 3 stars. I assumed that was out of a possible 5 (not 10). They also praised it for the humor so successfully infused therein.

So off I went for the 11:00 a.m. showing at the neighborhood mega-screen theater. One of things I really enjoy about going to an early matinee is the crowd, i.e., there is none! I eschew crowds in movie theaters at night and weekends. That's because it's kinda like being in a mob of zombies and with a new virulent strain of flu this season, I confess, I have this fear my convictions may be reinforced, engulfing me in a Howard Hughes irrationality before year’s end.

One can go to a brew pub knowing s/he will be among others who enjoy good ales and conversation. But going to a movie, particularly a zombie horror movie, one is exposing themselves to a far wider range of the public which can be at once interesting, strange, and sometimes scary -- especially being in the dark together! That point was especially driven home to me this past summer while attending local town hall meetings on health care reform with our congressman and local teabaggers. (Fortunately they left the lights on!)

But Friday it was just me and two other people. They arrived after me and I confess I was a bit disappointed, hoping for a few minutes I was in for my own private showing. But no problem, had this been an airplane, I could have rented a blanket and folded up the armrests. "Isn't there some way I could take up two, maybe three seats?" was my exact opposite reaction to attending a Saturday night movie in a crowd.

"ZOMBIELAND" AS MOVIE

The humor the critics had enjoyed was absent. I surmised that was because the crowd was too. Some things are just funnier with more people. When there's a crowd, the one with the lowest threshold for humor can jump start an otherwise deadpan audience by laughing. Laughter then spreads throughout much of the audience like a virulent swine flu. (Sorry, bad analogy.)

I did enjoy Woody Harrelson. And I liked the effects which, however, grew more tedious over time. (How many different ways are there to kill a zombie, each gorier than the last?) When I arrived home, Mrs. Dada was anxiously awaiting my "review." I gave her a brief report on what I had seen, told her I was glad she saved her money and a couple hours of her remaining life for something better to do. And then in my summation I said a curious thing: "But I think Zombieland was a metaphor for something else." That being the part I probably enjoyed most about the dismal movie. But I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, being very bad at metaphors as I am. I left it at that.

A CURIOUS THING HAPPENS (ER, MAKE THAT TWO CURIOUS THINGS)

Then today, two curious things happened. I was reading James Howard Kunstler's weekly rant over on Clusterfuck Nation. He entitled it Marching Toward Zombieland. Fresh from the movie, I read it with particular interest. I was hoping to find the metaphor buried 'neath the movie.

I enjoyed Kunstler's article, with particular trepidation for the audacious bankers and Wall Streeters who he says will be pressing their luck with their next round of blatant blood sucking billions of dollars in bonuses come Christmastime in the face of a well armed America. He concluded with the warning,”Watch out, Lloyd Blankfein! Woody is on his way....” (Lloyd Blankfein being CEO and Chairman of Goldman Sachs and “Woody” being the movie’s zombie slayer par excellence).

Kunstler’s zombie analogy was intriguing. But when I read Cindy Sheehan's post on my Facebook page entitled "He was the 'perfect infantryman'" (a link to the article she highlighted, not her Facebook page), things began to get a little strange. Suddenly Zombieland as metaphor was beginning to crystalize and horror movies as manifestations of a society’s attempt to cope validated. It was about a veteran soldier, Jacob W. Sexton, who had served in Iraq and was home on leave from his current Afghanistan tour with his family in Muncie, Indiana.

Monday, Jacob went to a local theater with two of his brothers. Tragically, in the middle of the movie they were viewing, Jacob used a gun and killed himself. The movie he and his brothers were watching? Zombieland!

Hopefully I’ll have more to say about Zombieland as a metaphor next time, after the idea has had a little time to set up (ala plaster drying).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Dada note: Rather than a separate follow-up on this blog, I have posted my final thoughts on this topic in the comments section below.)

WHO IS THIS MAN?

WHO IS THIS MAN?


A. - a very young Ben Gazzara

B. - an escapee from Carl Jung's collective unconscious

C. - "Oh my god, it's MY *God*!"

D. an internet hoax

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you've seen this face before, Dada recommends you go here

Trick or Treat!

Dada's prayer: --------- "Dear God, please help me to
overcome my infatuation with this woman, amen!"

Rush Limbaugh sodomized?

Flickr / Lord Jim

A few years ago I sat outside in the parking lot of a medical center waiting for Mrs. Dada inside who had a routine doctor appointment. When I'd finished reading the paper I folded the classified section -- NY Times' crossword outside up -- such that I might hone my language skills a bit. But I soon realized the Times crossword puzzle, progressively more difficult as the week goes on, was way beyond me. That's because it was Friday.

No problem. I would listen to one of the talk radio stations. As luck would have it, it must have been prime time. That's because the prima donna of daytime radio talk was on. I hadn't heard Limbaugh in some time, but I thought I'd give him a listen. Good to catch up on what's ticking in the hearts of the conservative's brains, I figured. Turns out, that Friday several years ago was the last time I ever checked in on Rush.

It's likely we've all heard this past week how very upset Rush Limbaugh is because his attempt to share in the purchase of the St. Louis Rams and become a part-owner of a National Football League team's franchise has been exorcised due to his controversial and often racist spewings to which the world of sports is not exempt. (I don't need expound on those. That's because there are excellent examples here.)

And so, as I listened to his majesty, "on loan to us from God" on the radio that day, he told of a man who had himself sodomized by a Great Dane (small donkey, or whatever, I forget what) out in his backyard. Unfortunately, the encounter was more than the man anticipated. That's because he died afterward as a result.

But the funny part, the whole reason Rush was relating this to us was: This man was a democrat, or even -- possibly -- a liberal (the two no longer necessarily synonymous). I don't remember if the victim was a politician of any import in his local or state politics. All I remember was Limbaugh's guffawing on and on about this man, seeking pleasure, who was bludgeoned to death in a few brief moments of ecstasy (?).

Now, hearing the squealing and pitiful wailing of Limbaugh at being denied his opportunity to realize a dream and obtain some minute excrement of societal legitimacy, I can't help but ponder, "Maybe there is a god?"

And as a pack of right wing shills, led by the likes of Bill O'Reilly (ignoring Limbaugh's habitual embrace of racist remarks) jumps to Limbaugh's defense, I can't help but reflect back on Rush's guffawing that day on the radio upon the sodomizing to death of a democrat, or even -- possibly -- a liberal (the two no longer necessarily synonymous, sorry I must always qualify that).

The only difference being, one was spared the embarrassment of his actions. The other has survived to now live it.

Example One: Cartoons that succeed because they're both funny and NOT!

Can VW get more people to choose the stairs by making it fun to do?

Now, if we could just find ways to make peace, health care for all,
conserving resources, protecting the environment, etc. more fun.

Are you being served?

Rest assured, congress is working to get you the best health care possible.

Obama's War: from Information Clearing House - ICH

This program contains graphic language and violent imagery. Viewer discretion is advised.

HOLY SHIT! (OR, EARNING SOME COLLEGE TUITION)

This is a 55+ minute video from Frontline. Fifty-five minutes in our busy lives nowadays is a long time, I know, but if you can, you may want to give it just a few minutes at least. (I consider the time I gave it my sacrifice for Obama's Afghanistan war. Well, the 10 minutes I've given it so far. That and my tax dollars that could be building schools, roads, saving lives here, etc. instead of blowing 'em up on the other side of the Earth. Pues, c'est la guerre, I suppose.)

Juarez death count update

Santa Muerte

From the El Paso Times this morning reporting
the number of Juarez homicides, year to date:

Juarez: 1,900 (Juarez homicides for
the entire year of 2008 = ca. 1,600)

El Paso homicides to date: 10

I realize it's not fair to compare the deaths in Juarez with
its sister city, El Paso, just across the Rio Grande. The pop-
ulation of Juarez is at least twice as great as that of El Paso's.

Of prizes, mental health, cosmic rays, big and small change, blah, blah, blah

"It's an embarrassment and even an impediment to peace. President Obama, in letting the committee award it to him, has made himself look vain, a fool and dangerously lost in his own mystique." (Bronwen Maddox in The Times of London)

The Ghost of Christmas Past

As the story goes, Swedish chemist Alfred Bernhard Nobel had the fortune of a visit from the future when, upon the death of his brother, a newspaper mistakenly reported the death as his own. Alfred was saddened to read the legacy by which he would most be remembered was that as inventor of dynamite.

At that stage in life, Alfred Nobel claimed title to 350 patents and controlled factories and labs in 20 countries such that, were he still alive today at age 176, some think he might have challenged the United States' claim for world's biggest empire.

One can only speculate how different things might be had Nobel worked to do good instead of the more prevalent malevolence of super power nations always grappling to be "top dog" through wars, exploitation of the impoverished and the spread of misery globally. But nations, being but a sum of their parts, are only human, doing what they do best -- manifesting human nature upon a world we so presently enjoy. But I digress.

So, Nobel, wanting to change how he would be remembered, established a foundation with the financial backing of his accumulated wealth to present awards annually for the top achievements in arts and sciences. Oh, and one other category that falls in neither of those other two. An elusive ideal called peace with a suspected half-life shorter than that of Cobalt-60 apparently. (No one knows for sure, existing as it has for such short periods in history.)

Current "lunacy" the sun's fault (or other 'loony' theories)?

There are any number of thoughts on conditions, events or other cosmic influences outside the realm of our little human friendly space neighborhood that may affect mankind beyond its ability to even recognize, much less do anything about. These may range from Earth's solar system crossing of the galactic ecliptic, the galactic "equator," to violet rays from outer space bombarding humankind. I suppose these are possible if not verifiable. But one thing we know...

Cosmic rays reaching inside our solar system are "at record levels for the Space Age." The reason? Our sun's solar activity is in a "deep lull." And with so little solar activity, its shield protecting us from cosmic rays shrinks.

I have no idea if the increased cosmic rays passing inperceptably through our brains may be responsible for the current world we inhabit where normal things appear crazy and/or crazier-than-bat-shit things are accepted as normal as we have seen in recent months.

The effect of gamma rays on man-in-the-moon marigolds

So Friday, October 9th -- the day Earth first bombed another heavenly body, the moon, (with ordinance - dynamite perhaps?! - sent by who else but the U.S., of course) -- marked the day of international reverberations felt around the world from the seeming lunacy-dropping announcement of this year's Nobel bomb for recipient of its annual Peace Prize, Barrack Obama.

Without the credentials of fellow Nobel Peace laureates he now joins such as Albert Schweitzer, Desmond Tutu, Martin Luther King, the 14th Dalai Lama, Jimmy Carter, and Mother Teresa, Obama appears to have his work cut out for him.

Pushing a rope uphill

As an online article today suggests, "While the Nobel Peace Prize may provide a boost to president Obama's agenda, some analysts say it is more of a burden." Dada wonders if that might not be because the glaring contradictions between what Obama says and what Obama really does have now been gutted and laid open for all the world to compare?

Meanwhile, Thorbjorn Jagland, member of the Norwegian Nobel Committee, struggled to answer questions of dumbfounded reporters as to this strange choice of a man whose actions run contra to the very ideals the Peace Prize represents. Might it be the committee, in its selection, is goading Obama to live up to his pre-nomination promises?

If I had a million dollars...

Dada would like to suggest how Obama might use the nearly one million dollars that accompany this prize: Why not place that money in an escrow account as recompense to survivors of the innocent victims Obama's actions kill in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Pakistan until we get the hell out of there? Of course, at the rate we are going, that will be years and compensations from Obama's trust fund to victim's survivors will be in pennies.

Meanwhile, Dada wonders if five time Nobel Peace Prize nominee, Mahatma Gandhi, who was assassinated two days before his likely sixth peace prize nomination -- a prize he never won -- might not be turning over in his grave about now? Oh no, thankfully not. I forgot, Gandhi was cremated.

The New Economy, Act II

Dada's "Birthing the New Economy," Act II

"This morning, I seen the curtain pulled back on the misery. People fighting over a line. People threatening to shoot each other. Is this what we've come to?" ~Walter Williams, after witnessing events in Detroit this past weekend

Back on the 16th of February, in a blog subtitled here, "Birthing a different currency, or: How I learned to stop worrying and love the new economy!", I hinted at my vision of the economic future of America. While the timing I predicted for this birthing was premature, I confess, in part that was intentional.

I can't predict with any precision when what I foresee in store for most of us will happen, but part of my motive was to pull the future closer to readers of that particular blog to give them something to look forward to besides the World Series or the next episode of "Dancing with the Stars." While my timing may have been imprecise, I still stand by my vision.

Let me just highlight a bit from a recent event that took place in Detroit this past weekend . The occasion? A governmental "temporary financial assistance and housing services program to individuals and families who are homeless, or who would be homeless without this help."

Thousands of people ("one police officer estimated the crowd at 50,000") scrambled for five thousand applications for the $1.5 million being offered up. The article, "Chaos at Cobo", reads like good satire, i.e. it's laughable -- if it wasn't so very, very damn serious. Here, then, is a smattering of what I'm talking about:

They came by foot, wheelchair, bicycle and car. About six left by ambulance after tensions rose and people were trampled, according to a paramedic on the scene. One unfortunate soul got his car booted.

Or how about the (typical) unprepared bureaucracy that underestimated the extreme number of needy who would answer the government's call to opportunity. That gave birth to some creative on-the-spot little capitalists, to wit:

By early morning, the applications had run dry. But some hustlers got the bright idea to photocopy the original and sell the copies for $20 a pop. They were doing a brisk business. The desperate are easy prey. The white original applications stated clearly on the bottom: "Do not duplicate -- Must Submit Original Application."

But not to worry, by late that morning the city of Detroit was handing out its own photocopied applications with one volunteer's admonition, "I'm not even sure the government will accept these." But it was the city's means of public appeasement -- to avoid a possible riot.

Keep in mind, those of the upwards of 50,000 who came for aid and who were lucky enough to get it, will be paid in increasingly worthless dollars. Globally, faith in the dollar to retain any glint of value is rapidly eroding. And when that faith collapses, Americans can then marry the cynicism of their political science to the worthlessness of their economics.

So in the process of birthing a new economy as our current one fades, we're sure to hear more and more stories like the one out of Detroit this past weekend. And we may finally get to have social intimacy with those we wish didn't exist. I'm speaking of those we ignore begging for our change as we sit at the intersection in our SUV's looking the other way, waiting for the light to change, commanding, "Oh, please, hurry. Please change light before he gets to my truck with his 'Hungry...God bless you' sign!"

Think of it as a reuniting of Americans. (Let's just hope it doesn't turn into one big riot.)

Attribute: Quotes used in today's blog courtesy of Information Clearing House

Capitalism at its best: Metacapitalism

Meta:
Meta definition number 4 at Answers.com
a. Beyond; transcending; more comprehensive:
b. At a higher state of development:

Example ~ Dada suggested usage:
Metacapitalism

Have you heard of poor Gwen? She's homeless after things went bad between her mom and dad (who deserted them). Soon afterward Gwen's mom lost her job. This led to the loss of the family's home. Gwen now lives in a car with her mom. And each night an armrest is her pillow. (Thank god for the auto industry's ingenuity of cup holders or the carpet would be hideously coke-stained I'm afraid).

Gwen is the creation of Mattel and a credit to the evolution of marketing during what could be the endless devolutionary downward spiral of capitalistic despair.

Gwen, at 95 bucks a pop, is testament to the genius of capitalism; that in these difficult times there are still profits to be reaped at the expense of the growing number of dispossessed in America.

At the moment, as expressed by one young consumer, it is a disappointment there aren't more accessories she can adorn Gwen with. Maybe if everyone owning a Gwen doll tossed a few bucks in her mom's direction, or found mom a job, it might improve the availability of accessories for poor Gwen.

Practice patience, dear consumers! Once we emerge from this growing depression, Gwen may regain her dignity and, who knows, be befriended by Barbie. And, as Sean Hannity loves to remind, the great thing about America is anybody can grow up to be the CEO of Bank of America. In our metacapitalistic society, you never know!

We wouldn't be getting "greased" would we?

"It's not a matter of what is true that counts but a matter of what is perceived to be true."
--Henry Kissinger

Answer to today's question, "Are we being greased?"
Well, of course we are!

Today's El Paso Times editorial page political cartoons

This one with the caption "Pinukechio"

I sometimes wonder if Iran's Supreme Leader Khamenei or President Ahmadinejad ever awake in the middle of the night in the presence of the ghost of Saddam Hussein? And perhaps, trying to get back to their slumbers, they toss and turn, maybe sweat a little or, worse, feel their breaths shorten, becoming shallower from the ever tightening noose of a hangman's rope about their necks. I suppose that's possible when you get on America's *short shit list.*

Saddam Hussein knows. Inspections for, and denial of his possession of, any WMD's or training camps in his country for al-Qaeda terrorists could not save his neck. "It's not a matter of what's true" as Henry Kissinger so eloquently put it. World opinion was being greased by the unyielding Bush/Cheney truth. Even if they had to make it up. It was "what is perceived to be true" that had to be constructed. And it was, relentlessly. After all, there was an agenda already written that had to be materialized.

The financial challenges of retirement

Wow, you gotta really feel for Ken Lewis. You know, he's the head honcho of Bank of America and he's retiring by the end of the year. While I don't know how much he makes at his job before he retires -- somewhere in the neighborhood of $28 million in '06 (but down to $10 million last year -- holy shit, that's a big drop!), I guess -- being a banker -- he's figured how he'll make it on only $9,590 in retirement. Oh, that's $9,590 per day!

I could give him some advice like, say, oh, maybe try to lay some of that aside. Like maybe start a savings account at Bank of America maybe; say, sock away $8,000 - $9,000 a day. Course, being out of work without the income he was accustomed to, laying $8-$9 thou aside a day may stretch him a little thin. But it's always wise to save little back for a rainy day. You never know.

Quote of the Day

For today's quote, I chose democratic Congressman Alan Grayson of Florida who is drawing the wrath of republicans. They demand he apologize for his saying on the House floor that "the Republicans’ healthcare plan involved wanting people to 'die quickly.'"

Rep. Alan Grayson: “I would like to apologize to the dead, and here’s why. According to the study ‘Health Insurance and Mortality in US Adults,’ which was published two weeks ago, 44,789 Americans die every year because they have no health insurance…Let’s remember that we should care about people even after they’re born. ... I apologize to the dead and their families that we haven’t voted sooner to end this holocaust in America.”

Grayson has refused to apologize.

*Thanks to Democracy Now! for highlighting this.

Forward... inline text as attachment Move to... Trash Letters to Answer Subscriptions, vonage, etc Undeliverable Mail More Actions... View Headers View Source --------------- Mark Unread Flag Message

Meanwhile, just one parallel universe over from ours....(in MY universe)

Eight signatories to the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (Germany, the United States, Britain, France, Russia, Libya, China and Iran) sent representatives to a small Swiss villa at Genthod, just off Lake Geneva, for talks with Israel that began today (October 1).

In Washington, U.S. President Barack Obama welcomed what he called "constructive" talks with Israel, but he stressed that Israel must follow with constructive action and be more forthcoming about its nuclear program.

"Israel must demonstrate its commitment to transparency. Earlier this month we presented clear evidence that Israel has a covert nuclear facility in Dimona," he said. "Israel must now agree to cooperate fully and immediately with the International Atomic Energy Agency, it must grant unfettered access to IAEA inspectors within two weeks."

Obama also said Israel must demonstrate that its nuclear program is peaceful.

Without such concrete steps, he said the United States won't continue to take part in talks but instead will move to bring what he called "increased pressure" on Tel Aviv.

President Obama, however, became visibly agitated when questioned about Germany's concern over the ironic timing of the U.S. announcement today that it plans to increase nuclear weapons production under a "Complex Modernization" initiative. Obama responded menacingly, "That's none of Germany's or anyone else's goddamned fucking business, got it?"

Question of the Day

If, as Howard Zinn said,
"There’s no flag large enough enough to
cover the shame of killing innocent people."

Dada asks: "How about a lot of little ones?"

Dada's quote of the day -- from Dada.

Prostitute #37 - Max Baucus, aka "Maxine."
Johns, please note: During his leadership of a senate hearing on health care
reform, after ordering the chamber cleared and in recess until repeated
demonstrators in favor of a "single payer" option could be removed, was over-
heard to say, "We need more cops!" then laughing. This, suggests this whore is
working under the protection of law enforcement.

"In health care, private insurance with a public option is a lot like having sex and retaining your virginity. That is, while both are possible, I suppose, both are better if had at the exclusion of the other. Hence, as with health care reform, your virginity is only completely sacrificed if you allow yourself to be totally screwed. (And who better to lose your virginity to than a professional whore, right? Max Baucus, er, "Maxine" - sorry, may just fit your bill! Of course your screwing will cost you a helluva lot more if you choose this option!)

"Lesson: Always be careful the whore you chose to bed with."

Battening down the hatches!

It's been a rough month for the Dada's. It all started in late July or early August when we learned of the CDC's priority list of who should receive H1N1 vaccine inoculations. Being a senior citizen, I was in that group, along with very young children and pregnant women who were the highest priorities on our cruise aboard the Titanic. It was determined I would be sailing First Class!

Mrs. Dada, being younger than I, received no mention. She was in the lowest priority group to be protected. Instead, because of limited supplies, Mrs. Dada was triaged to the "least of our worries" group. She would be somewhere below the upper decks in steerage.

"Well, with my immunity, maybe I'll be able to play nursemaid to you when you catch the swing flu!" was my consolation to her. I'm sure there were other couples around our age who were in that "same boat."

Now we've learned with the revised CDC list, Mrs. Dada has to cede her steerage Titanic cruise ticket. She's received a free upgrade! She is now a member of the priority group! However, we've also learned I've lost my place among the privileged. That's because anyone over 64 is now off the list - *Presto, bingo -- Vanished* - no longer even mentioned! I'm still mentally transitioning in the idea of going from "defendable" to "expendable."

Not even making the list, I'm not sure that I won't end up somewhere 'neath steerage, shoveling coal into the guts of a boiler from hell.

With apologies to all those town hall tea baggers. I guess maybe we do ration health care, huh?

WARNING: IF YOU ARE ONE THAT FINDS THE TRUTH HURTS, PLEASE DO NOT VIEW THE FOLLOWING 3 MINUTE VIDEO.

Heroes, or........

The ultimate pledge of allegiance

As a young soldier staggering home late one night from the NCO Club, my toe caught the edge of the curb as I stepped into the street. Tripping, I fell -- face first -- into the southbound lane of the roadway directly in front of the club. Feeling too drunk to get up, I had the presence of mind to look first to my left for oncoming traffic, then to my right for northbound vehicles before settling in for the night on the firm but cool surface of the asphault I'd decided to make as my bed. Mind you, in New Mexico, stationed at White Sands Missile Range as I was in the mid-60's, the road in front of the NCO Club at that time of night was anything but a busy thoroughfare.

I tried not to think about the public epitaph of my demise had a vehicle passed by, unable to stop after seeing me lying there in the road. But I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been labeled a "hero" simply because I'd died during wartime in the service to my country. Fortunately, that didn't happen for any of us to find out, thanks to another soldier afoot minutes later also on the way back to his barracks after a night at the club. Spotting me in the road, he took pause to investigate the body he'd found lying there.

"Hey, hey, Wake up! You can't sleep here.You're in the middle of the road!" were his nervous words that inspired me back from my restful roadway repose enough for me to remove myself from the street and resume the couple of blocks stagger back to my quarters.

I never knew him, hence, don't remember who that person was that night who may have saved me from a lot of grief, or even saved my life, but I'll never forget him, for in some small way he was a hero to me.

But he was no hero really. He was just another soldier like myself who was on his way back from the club with a belly full of booze. And like most others who would have done the same thing, he stopped to help a fellow soldier prevent possible injury to himself.

Yet today, more than forty years later, many of our fallen soldiers are being tagged heroes for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Worse, in some cases heroes are being created from stories constructed somewhere in the bowels of the Pentagon in what must be its enormous public relations division. Stories that simply aren't true grow images of heroics that never happened. All for the consumption of the folks back home.

And the ultimate irony is the way these warriors return home. As I've come to realize from from my gross devaluation of the term 40 years earlier, the word hero is a relative thing. I guess "hero" is a better way to remember a lost loved one returning in a cold metal coffin adorned in the drapery of an American flag that has come to symbolize the endless state of wars we now engage. Better than the alternative tag, "Victim." Or yet even worse, the most unthinkable label of all, "Enabler."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Dada note: Evidence of the collective unconscious? Half way through the writing of this blog, I happened to read Wave the Flags, Again by local Las Cruces writer, Thomas Wark over on his blog, "A Bordello Pianist". I found it amusing we may have been tapping into the same source when writing these blogs. That place often visited by a young Bob Dylan when seeking inspiration -- the collective unconscious?)

Quote of the Day ...

... on the apathy of Americans (as excerpted from an article, The Ultimate Sign of Lethargy by Bill Maher

....That's the ultimate sign of our lethargy: millions thrown out of their homes, tossed out of work, lost their life savings, retirements postponed - and they just take it. 30% interest on credit cards? It's a good thing the Supreme Court legalized sodomy a few years ago.

Why can't we get off our back? Is it something in the food? Actually, yes. I found out something interesting researching last week's editorial on how we should be taxing the unhealthy things Americans put into their bodies, like sodas and junk foods and gerbils. Did you know that we eat the same high-fat, high-carb, sugar-laden shit that's served in prisons and in religious cults to keep the subjects in a zombie-like state of lethargic compliance? Why haven't Americans arisen en masse to demand a strong public option? Because "The Bachelor" is on. We're tired and our brain stems hurt from washing down French fries with McDonald's orange drink.

(Dada note: With apologies for the graphic. Washington is not in meltdown. Washington continues to grow more prosperous by the day. It's the rest of the fuckin' country that's in meltdown, but this is the only graphic I had and I thought it added a nice touch of color to an otherwise bland blog.)

Our culture as a "a festering pool of mass ignorance."

"From the prehistoric Lascaux cave paintings to the stirring symphonies of Mozart to today's hot-dog eating competitions and action films with comical gerbils, culture has descended into a festering pool of mass ignorance."

This is simply not true! Nor is the proclamation by "Yale sociologist Paul Riordan, who has spent his career analyzing western civilization's fall into the depths of depravity," that this will officially occur today, Friday, September, 25, 2009, at 3:32 p.m.

What this is, is pure claptrap from an "article" in The Onion.

While recent events of Western Civilization, as most often influenced by the United States, have served as a rich source for laughs among many, or angry retorts and predictions of impending doom among the less humor endowed among us, I'd like to take a 15 minute recess from such satire to acknowledge but one of the many, many things that still make America, and Western Civilization, the source for the good life we all embrace and enjoy as residents therein.

I suggest we forget for a moment all the nattering nihilistic nabobs of negativity who focus only on the little pessimistic things about the U.S. and its role in the Western World; to focus instead on what truly makes us great.

While I know we may not possess the ability to win wars despite the largest defense budget on the planet, we tend to overlook the *bang for the buck* our defense industry buys us. And I realize, though we have been at war for over 60 plus years now, we often forget we have expanded our sphere of influence around the world in the process. Sure, much of it has been militarily instigated by creating instability and misery through wars and insurrections globally! Yet, that's no small feat.

And while it's likely true that despite this, the U.S. is not more secure, but less, some would argue our Empire comes at great domestic costs we can't afford, don't recognize, nor care about. But are we to forget the spirit of our people that makes America great?

Hence, today I'd like to look at one small reminder of why the United States, as heir to Western Civilization's leadership, is on track to bigger and greater things despite all the naysayers predictions of future doom and gloom.

Just look at the genius of one small item. In this case, Item # 37-1, better known as Coozies. It's but one example of proof America is far from dead. This just may save our sinking auto industry whose collapse can be attributed in large part to its inability to recognize the necessities demanded by consumers -- cup holders! As General Motors on the economic rebound has now realized, you can never have enough cup holders.

America: Still the battering ram of Western
Civ's innovativeness. "Get cozy with a Coozy."

So next time confronted with someone like a Marc Faber (author of The Gloom Boom Doom Report) who guarantees the US government "for sure will go bust," just remind them of Coozies. (They've probably never even heard of them!)

I'm not denying we have problems. Yes, it's true a recent global ranking of nations in a well-being and environmental impact study shows Costa Rica ranked #1, nine of the top ten countries are in Latin America and the U.S. is number 114!

Nor do I deny America ranks 37th among nations in health care and every day another 14,000 people in this country lose their health insurance. It simply shows the significant room we have for improvement!

So "Heads up America, be proud!" and remember, what we lack in some areas, we lead the world in others. Like, who do you think has the world's tallest roller coaster, huh? Why, we do of course!

The world's tallest. It's what makes us great! Six Flags Great Adventure,

Jackson, New Jersey. Hydraulic launch rocket coaster, Height: 456 feet

(Oh, damn, I inadvertently revealed reason # 37-2 why America and Western Civilization is not in a state of total collapse. I was saving that for another blog.)

Chalk the block -- a lot of fun!

I had planned to go downtown Friday evening to catch the opening of El Paso's (second) Annual Chalk the Block (CTB) this past weekend. To avoid the tremendous heat of last year's event (held in June), this year's CTB was moved to September with an evening start for participating artists, followed by an early 6:00 a.m. start on Saturday morning.

Because of area rains, I opted to forgo my Friday night trek downtown. I figured there might not be much art laid down under stormy skies. Instead, I would get up early Saturday morn -- very early. Arriving downtown at 6:00 there was no light for artist's to work beneath. In fact, in the predawn darkness, there were no artists either.

The main site for many of the chalk the block creations was
this plaza outside the El Paso Museum of Art. In the darkness
of 6:00 in the morning, it was a perfect time for artists to get a
jump on the day, that is, if they were blind! (There were none.)

I've been intending for some time to visit the inner city to catch the light of early morn. To take some pictures. Saturday, waiting for daylight to arrive and the artists that were sure to follow, I had my chance. As you can see, there was just oodles of light for artists to work by at 6:00 a.m.. One was made to wonder if the person who scheduled this start time had ever been awake at that hour of the day this time of year. In lieu of that, perhaps they might have consulted an online almanac for an idea when daylight arrives. (Hint: about the same time as the artists did.)

OPPORTUNITY!
Too dark to Chalk the Block with art, I decided the only chalking this time of
day might be the outlines of the dispossessed bodies that didn't make it through
the night. (Okay, before the Chamber of Commerce gets too excited here, I'm just
kidding, alright? At least I didn't stumble over any bodies during my walk about.)

It was a bit strange roaming the mostly deserted city streets at this hour. I imagine if one studies the night population of downtown, it likely goes through several phases. First group would be comprised of late shoppers, diners, and show attendees, seasoned with a welcome smattering of tourists throughout. That would gradually morph into bar patrons, the party people. But in the darkness of 6:00 a.m., the only ones I encountered were the less fortunate homeless and indigent scurrying for secret places of invisibility before being caught in the light of the sun.

109 N. Mesa Street, a location and a blog

One of the places I'd decided I would seek out was 109 N. Mesa Street. It's a building wherein an interesting blog of the same name originates. It's creator captures little vignettes of people by photographing them unknowingly as they go about their daily lives.

I shot a few pictures of his building, thinking maybe if the blogger inside saw me shooting his "house" he might shoot back and I would end up a picture on his blog. Sadly, I think it may have been too early in the day. As a result, he was likely shot just as his own victims are -- unknowingly.

The light of day arrives.

As the sky brightened, I decided it was time to amble back toward the Museum of Art. Surely the artists would be arriving soon. I would search the sidewalks for friend Wendy Reyes' entry. While I didn't know what its subject matter might be, she had given me a clue. "It's one of your favorite people."

I had no idea who to expect. That is, until I found she had been out the night before and upon seeing it, I knew immediately it was Wendy's.

President Obama by Wendy Reyes.

Glancing down upon it beneath its plastic sheeting to protect it from any overnight rains, was her masterpiece. It was then I realized her beautiful chalk creation wasn't the only thing showing through the plastic. So was her sense of humor!

"Excellent!" Dada inspects the final product later in the day. (The
President bears a scar where someone accidentally stepped on him.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dada addendum: Any minor criticisms I may have expressed as to the scheduling of the event's early start on Saturday morning were far overshadowed by the major success of Chalk the Block. This year's event was bigger and better than the inaugural one last year, leaving me with much anticipation of Chalk the Block 2010!

Avoiding Germans on Planes (and other loose ends)

5 Tips on How to Avoid Germans on Planes

Of course, I was immediately drawn to the article with this headline. Only after reading its first paragraph, however, did I realize I'd misread the headline "5 Tips on How to Avoid Germs on Planes." (with apologies to all my good German friends -- it was an article about reducing one's odds of contracting the N1H1 flu virus if traveling by air this fall)

Juarez drug war stats update.

More than 180 homicides have occurred in Juárez so far this month. This is an exciting statistic because it puts our sister city on a pace to break August's record setting homicide total of 300! I'm not Favreing (lying to) you!

If the violence continues to escalate, each new month will surpass the all-time deadliest record of the month before! Which is akin to each game Brett Favre steps on the football field to play, NFL record books must be revised.

Will it be a Revolution? Civil War? (Uncivil War?)

I'm always confused by whether it will be a civil war or revolution that ignites in this country next year. Hence, I've taken the liberty of coining a new term. In that Americans will be warring against each other and fighting their government all at the same time, how about calling it The Civilutionary War?

As a result, Mrs. Dada and I are driving up to the High Desert Brewing Company in Las Cruces soon to discuss the idea of starting a pool. (Any thing for a chance to share a couple pints of IPA ale with friends, right?) For $10 a chance, you can draw one of the 50 chances, each representing a state in which the very first shots of the Civilutionary War might be fired. That will give the winner a tidy sum of $500 with which to buy ammo. (That is, assuming they can find someone still selling any.)

And now, a little prep video for our upcoming Civilutionary War.



Finally, for something a little lighter and whole lot more fun....

Chalk the Block "Oh, oh!"

The Second Annual Chalk the Block festivities kick off from 5-10 p.m. this evening. Reading over the list of activities for the ongoing weekend of fun, it sounds like this year's art fest promises to be much bigger and better than last years. It resumes tomorrow morning at 6 a.m. The idea was to give artists a chance to do their work in the cooler parts of the day(s).

I hope to go down this evening, weather permitting, take some pictures and look for our friend Wendy Reyes whom we met there last year and is participating again this year. I plan to be back tomorrow morn around 6:00. I've always wanted to be downtown in the early morning's light to take a few pics. Later in the afternoon, we'll go back for the awards to the winning artists. (Hopefully the ceremony won't be emceed by Kanye West.)

The "Oh, oh!" factor? The weather calls for thunder storms later today. (We had some good ones last night.) I don't think rain would be good for sidewalk chalk art. Let us pray.

In parallel universe #37, there was a Dada, Paul, and Mary

Before Peter, Paul and Mary,
there was Dada, Paul and Mary.

Today, the usual news of the crumbling global American Empire, its bankrupt homeland imploding, rife with a national cognitive dissonance spreading like a malignancy among its populace, all takes a backseat to more disconcerting news. Mary Travers of Peter, Paul and Mary has died.

Most people don't know it, but before my brief stint as the fifth member of the Doors in 1969, I had been a member of another group over 10 years earlier.

Five and a half months before my thirteenth birthday, I had the great fortune to join Mary and Pete Stuckey as the third member of a folk group known as Dada, Paul and Mary. Yet a string bean of a kid, I was taller than Mary even then, but, "Ooooh!" how I looked up to her. Being seven years younger than Mary and still in school, we began as relative unknowns doing the endless circuit of coffee houses that dotted the landscape of every small America town that had at least one stoplight.

I only lasted a few months with the group because of the conflict our music had with my ongoing studies like Algebra I and Social Studies. But beautiful 20 year old Mary tutored me in these and other subjects when we weren't making music. I grew to love Mary's angelic soprano voice and her empathy for the causes of oppressed people everywhere.

But my mom wasn't so enthralled with the spell from the "older woman" I had fallen under. I would pick up on this whenever I would call her from a pay phone while on break from our gig in some dark little coffee house in places like Turlock, Ojai, or Salinas. Yet, more than the music we made, or the Algebra she taught me, Mary taught me so much more. Mary Travers taught me about life.

I'll never forget my five months with Dada, Paul and Mary before my reabsorption into total obscurity. And I am so thankful for the wonderful music and lessons learned from it as given so freely by our successor group, Peter, Paul, and Mary.

Mary Travers, 1936 - 2009
Thank you! R.I.P.

Death comes to a daughter

Friday evening, Mrs. Dada and I became engaged in conversation with our neighbors after spotting their 8 or 9 year old daughter Samantha outside. She was in her front yard playing with Tommy, a younger brother, practicing his passes, catches and drops of a football between them.

I have to confess, Samantha is like the daughter we never had, and little Tommy could have been our son. I've enjoyed this family since they moved in across the street a year ago. The pleasant sounds of these children who allocate so much of their time to outdoors and play add a welcome supplement of vitality to the neighborhood. They remind me of many pleasant hours spent outside with neighbor kids of my youth.

So upon espying one another, we waved. "Hi Bob!" Samantha hollered. "Hi, Sam!" I returned. We'd agreed some weeks ago, she could call me Bob instead of Mr. Dada, if I could call her Sam. We hadn't seen each other in awhile, hence, I crossed the street to see how they'd been. How school was going. If that move to Hawaii they'd been anticipating was really going to happen. (It had been dangling like the proverbial carrot on a stick before them for a couple of months now.)

"We're moving at the end of this month," Sam confessed somewhat excitedly.

Bittersweet were my thoughts as we discussed the details of their plan.

"It rains a lot," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but you'll practically be at the beach all the time!" I said with envy. "And another nice thing, you can't get lost there 'cause if you take a long enough ride, you'll always end up where you started," I added.

"Cause it's just like this," Sam observed, pointing with her big toe to a large spot on the sidewalk made from a raindrop that had just fallen. "Only bigger."

"Yep," I agreed.

Exchanging football tosses with Tommy as we spoke, Mrs. Dada and I were soon joined by the parents. They're a military family. Moving is an integral part of their modus operandi. As is war.

We had a nice visit about the kids, their impending move, Hawaii, and Iraq. During this last subject, neighbor told us of an experience there he'd had one day while on patrol. Of a young girl about 8 or 9 years old who didn't obey their repeated commands to "Stop!" as she continued to approach their patrol vehicles. My neighbor, with a quick check with his NCO in charge, was given the a 'green light.'

At a distance of 40-50 yards, with a short burst or two from a large caliber weapon mounted on his patrol vehicle, my neighbor wasted the young girl. In an instant, 8 or 9 years of life was extracted as her limp, lifeless body collapsed to the ground. I don't know how much, if any, of the horror I felt I was able to conceal as I glanced at sweet Samantha, his daughter of similar age, as our neighbor looked at Mrs Dada and asked, "What would you have done?"

But the story didn't end there -- it has a happier ending, fortunately -- for an instant after the child's lifeless body slammed into the desert sand, the American patrol watched the unfolding drama as the woman who'd just lost a child picked up the lifeless remains of her daughter that were but seconds ago vibrant with youth. Stunned, the GI's watched as she proceeded toward the patrol with the body in her arms.

As if watching a slo-mo replay of what had just happened, the woman, undaunted, resumed what had been her daughter's approach of the GI's. And again, warnings to "Halt!", to stop, went unheeded. Convinced the woman may be finishing the mission her daughter had fallen short of, our neighbor once more received his NCO's okay to splatter this woman. In a second, the order was carried out -- as I glanced at my neighbor's young wife.

I don't know if the patrol ever reconned the scene to see if explosives were on or attached to the body of a young Iraqi girl that caused an American patrol to end her life that day. But in some perverse mindset, it is what many of our GI's are doing to keep their fellow soldiers and, ultimately, American families safe from terrorism.

In some small consolation, the young Iraqi girl who may have died needlessly that day didn't go to eternity motherless! Yet being motherless may be the fate of her siblings, if any, left on this Earthly plane. I guess that's the nature of war these days; of "liberating" people.