Coming soon! - The Dogs of Dada

"Chigura Donada!"

By year's end, 228 homes and the public school built by residents of a South Korean village will be demolished and the fields they used to farm seized. This is being done to expand the U.S. military base, Camp Humphreys.

It's all part of the smaller U.S. military presence in South Korea that will see its troop strength reduced from its current 37,000 to 25,000 by 2008.

According to Medea Benjamin (a personal hero of mine) who traveled to South Korea in support of the dispossessed villagers, expansion of Camp Humphreys is part of the changing "role of U.S. forces in Korea from a defensive posture against North Korea towards a more flexible, rapidly deployable force for the wider Asia-Pacific region. The U.S. military refers to this as 'strategic flexibility'." And while there will be fewer U.S. troops, their capabilities will be enhanced technologically, as well as their golfing skills. That's because a lot of the land seized from the farmers will be used for a golf course.

But this isn't a story about a bunch of "inconvenienced" citizens. If governments determine a better use for your property than what you're using it for, be it to provide you and your family a living or a living space, governments will prevail, either by use of eminent domain or some other force. It's just the traditional "have-lesses" yielding to the "haves" and "have-mores" who are building a better world for us all.


No, instead, I only mention this for the delightful phrase Koreans often employ on occasions such as these. It's brought to us as a result of Medea Benjamin's visit to this South Korean village about to be erased from the earth for a par-72 past time. In English it sounds like this:

“Georgie Bushie Chigura Donada”
which translated means,
“George Bush, leave this planet!”

That gave me my first smile of the pre-dawn day. It's kinda catchy.
“Georgie Bushie Chigura Donada!”

Peace on Earth

As a follow-up on Monday's post regarding a peace symbol wreath and an upset homeowner's association that threatened a fine of up to $1,000 if it wasn't taken down, I'm pleased to offer the following from Truthout.

November 28, 2006 | Bill Trimarco and Lisa Jensen with their symbolic wreath. Last week, they were threatened with fines of $25 a day by their homeowners association until they removed the four-foot wreath shaped like a peace symbol from the front of their house. In its original letter to the couple, the association said some neighbors had found the peace symbol politically "divisive." The fines have been dropped, the three-member board of the association has resigned, and peace signs are multiplying in the town.

I can see where a peace symbol wreath would be an extremely divisive neighborhood gesture during the Christmas season. After all, seems there are some goddamned Christians simply addicted to blowing up people and shit.

The nation that keeps on giving and giving.

The last president entitled to lifetime protection from the Secret Service after leaving office was Bill Clinton. All subsequent presidents, congress decided, would be afforded a maximum 10 years of protection.

But according to a Homeland Security budget report, in that George Bush plans to travel overseas after leaving office, much like his father and president Clinton (and Dada assumes that means travel exclusive of those nations that are signatories to international treaties and conventions that punish war crimes/criminals), the Iraq war, and continuing terrorism threat, "the president's post-presidency detail will require significantly more resources than are currently staffing former presidents," the report says.

It is increasingly assumed congress will restore lifetime secret service protection to the president. According to William Pickle, current sergeant of arms for the U.S. Senate and former 26 year veteran of the Secret Service said, "You'll see that with 9/11 and the war we're in and the memories of people going for decades, the Secret Service and Congress will have to change that and make it a lifetime (requirement) again."

It's nice that people won't forget president Bush for a long, long time. Sadly, my biggest regret at this news is that in retirement, just like while in office, Bush will continue to be our costliest president ever. One we truly couldn't afford, I imagine. But it's important we maintain the security of one who so significantly increased, globally, the danger to us all.

Bring the troops home now. Not six months from now. NOW. Quit looking for a way to win. We can't win. We've lost. Sometimes you lose. This is one of those times. Be brave and admit it.

~excerpt from Michael Moore's letter,"Cut and Run, the Only Brave Thing to Do"

In a word.....

Words clarified, redefined:

hun·ger (hŭng'gər) n,

a. A strong desire or need for food.
b. The discomfort, weakness, or pain caused by a prolonged lack of food.

Sometimes combined with "in America" as in "hunger in America." The good news today is "the Bush administration has stopped using the words 'hunger' or 'hungry' when describing the millions of Americans who can't afford to eat. Instead of suffering from hunger, the Agriculture Department now says these people are experiencing 'very low food security.'"*

According to the USDA, an estimated 35 million Americans (for at least part of last year) were not able to put food on the table, or according to the administration's revised hunger definition, were "very low food security."

Sadly this news probably won't make the wide distribution it deserves, crediting Bush for being the very first president in our history to eliminate hunger in America.

*****

peace (pēs) n, in this case peace as an expressed desire in the form of a peace symbol. As Lisa Jensen has learned from her Colorado homeowners association, displaying a peace symbol wreath as a Christmas decoration is a divisive neighborhood gesture and fineable by $1,000 if she keeps it up. Ms. Jensen has vowed to, until after Christmas.

*****

ref·u·gee (rĕf'yʊ-jē') n. -One who flees in search of refuge, as in times of war, political oppression, or religious persecution.

Finally today, we learn that Iraqis fleeing to neighboring countries for their lives, are not allowed to bring any of their worldly possessions if they hope to be permitted entrance and stay. And as Nir Rosen, a freelance writer and a fellow at the New America Foundation has revealed they are not refugees according to president Bush.

Use of the word refugees to describe desperate Iraqis seeking security from the US led war in their country casts the Iraq war in a negative light. Maybe Iraqi refugees trying to save their lives and those of their families should just be called what they really are--tourists!

*Thanks to Democracy Now! for today's vocabulary lessons.

Fortunate Wal-Mart survivors of the pre-dawn Black Friday shoppers melee.

I awoke at exactly 5:00 a.m. this morning. I couldn't have been more precise had I set an alarm. As I stared out through narrowly slit eyelids at the clock I was holding at extended arm's length, my very first thought was, "They're unlocking the doors at Wal-Mart this very minute for the thousands of early shoppers vying for one of the twenty-five nineteen inch color TV's for $59.00, to include remote control." (Okay, so maybe I didn't think the "to include remote control" part.)

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. Forgive me if I'm bit snarkier than usual today. Many years ago I braved the cold and dark to shop one of those impossible Friday - after - Thanksgiving bargains futilely. Arriving about an hour before opening, I was stunned by the line, already hundreds of shoppers long. I had as much chance of snagging one of those below cost color TV's as winning the lottery.

I decided to forgo the thrill of the chase, of the chance to elbow an expectant mom in the ribs for position in the mob, or maybe trample over an unfortunate Grandma who'd fallen in the narrow doorway entrance. All in the spirit of the season.

Back in the 90's in a discussion with the head of the local community college's sociology department, I'd mentioned how desperate Americans are for community. It was the time of the OJ Simpson trial and as I suggested to him, if nothing else, a community of obsessed Americans had developed as a result of the gruesome murders. It was the topic of conversation at the workplace. "Think he did it?" was conversation starters among total strangers.

Around that same time I read of literally tens of thousands of Saturn owners attending Saturn owner's "reunions." Apparently a community would come together for a day of food, games, and story exchanges about the one thing that was the glue of the group--owning a freakin' Saturn!

The professor found my definition of communities intriguing, he said. Today I ponder if those shoppers standing out in the cold and dark across the nation aren't a community also? Collectively they all share something in common. That is, until the doors open when it becomes every man, woman and child for themselves and the tempers and bruisings begin. I'm not sure, if these are communities, how cohesive they are.

But what reminded me of this all the past week was the revival of the OJ Simpson community. With the impending Fox appearance of OJ describing to us all how he would have done it had he done it on air and in his upcoming book, the OJ Simpson murder fans seemed to reawaken. And in the most surprising turn of events, the apparent outrage of the community cancelled both OJ's Fox TV appearances and the book!

Well, here we are with one week remaining in November plus one month remaining in the year. The death toll of American GI's in Iraq is approaching 2,900 and I'm wondering--if we have a really good December--we might not hit the 3,000 killed mark by year's end. Is that an outrageous thought? Absolutely, but it's certainly not unrealistic, right?

Which brings up another conundrum I have with the concept of communities. In that they are supposedly a distinct segment of society which shares a common interest with others of their group, the anti-war community seems to be growing; to now include the majority of Americans.

Yet, unlike Saturn owners who can actually organize a reunion of games, food and fun for a day or an OJ Simpson community that can cancel TV appearances and publication of his book, or a group of shoppers who can come together one grand day a year to kick off a holiday season by elbowing and punching out fellows shopper for a cheap iPod, there exists an even greater community--that of those who oppose the war that is killing our own and others for lies.

Maybe I'm way off base here. Maybe this growing anti-war sentiment does not a community make. Communities often take action or bring about a desired event or result. This doesn't seem possible among this group.

So rather than ponder this at any length, maybe I'll distract myself by joining the community of shoppers today. And if lucky, maybe I'll still score a bargain. And maybe if the next five weeks are really good, the death toll in Iraq will top 3,000 by year's end? Seems all so obscene.

In a parallel universe just two doors over from our own....

The most successful international sting operation in history was concluded in Vietnam earlier this week.

Led by Norway and a cooperative consortium of 17 other nations acting collectively, a defiant George Bush (formerly president of the United States) and an elite group of 10 other national leaders, to include China's former president, Hu Jintao, and former president Vladimir Putin of Russia, are shown at the Tân Sơn Nhất International Airport just before boarding a plane and being whisked off to an International War Crimes and Criminal Activities Court in Spitsbergen, Norway, where each will be tried for various and sundry international transgressions against humanity.

The apprehended leaders had been lured to Vietnam with the promise they would partake in a super-secret two day/one night slumber party, to include many lavish and unspeakable party "favors." The much anticipated pajama games didn't come off, however, leaving attendees disappointed it was, instead, the big bust many had been secretly fearing in private for years. They just never imagined it would really ever happen.

But in the "real" world, things like that do happen, in the parallel universe just two doors over from our own.

Laugh of the Day

A nice cartoon, no doubt inspired by our administration and senators like Mc Cain, Lieberman, Clinton, etc. Special thanks to those whose heads have already exploded like "Duke" Cunningham, Mark Foley, and Tom DeLay, reminding us that politics is, indeed, a shitty business.

Those blurring lines

The fact two people were trampled jockeying for positions towards the front of a line in Fresno, or that three separate scuffles broke out over the course of five days injuring seven individuals standing in line outside a Dallas suburb's Best Buy pales to what happened outside a Cleveland Circuit City early Thursday night.

That's because the line of tireless shoppers, each vying to be one of the lucky few to come away with a Sony PlayStation 3 after sales of a limited number were to begin 12:01 Friday a.m., were attacked around 10:15 p.m. by two suicide bombers resulting in the deaths of at least 35 and the wounding of 60 others, many seriously.

Of course, none of this happened. It's just part of the blurring of reality that begins whenever long lines form. Whether it's the line of Iraqi men standing outside a Baghdad police station wanting nothing more than to work or the line of American shoppers outside a Cleveland Circuit City wanting nothing more than to play, it's sometimes difficult to discern where real life ends and video games begin.

Politicians continue to work on this. Meanwhile, thousands continue to die or get maimed with all the gore and realism of a video war game, only messier.

Quote of the Day

“It is not fair or easy to look a soldier in the eye and tell him he must shoulder a rifle again and risk his life in a third tour in Iraq. But ask it we must. If, and I emphasize if, we have the will to win.” (Senator John McCain, who wants even more troops in Iraq than president Bush.)

Don't bet on a beta.

This morning as I came to blogger, I was greeted with the following message:

"Your new version of Blogger is ready!"

Okay, there've been other tempting messages from Blogger to convert the old blog to their new beta blog version, so after saving all the previous Dada blog entries (save for the many wonderful comments from regular readers), I was ready to take the plunge per Blogger's relentless urgings.

Finally I arrived at the buried button, now uncovered, where one dives into the future at the risk of total severing from one's past. Gasp, deep breath, and all that remained to do was hit the "Agree" button.

Such courage was finally conceded in a "damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead" attitude. Imagine my disappointment after crossing my fingers and closing my eyes, only to peek through slitted eyelids to see the message telling me Blogger could NOT convert my blog to the new better, beta version.

So if this old blog is too large to convert, why the proud announcement, "Your new version of Blogger is ready!"? It's reaching the point where one can't believe anything they're told anymore.

(But curiosity being what it is, I went ahead and opened a new blog under their new format. Mostly to see how much better everything would be "over there." So I won't pass judgment just yet, out of respect for programmers who have been working their collective butts off for months on this. Seems only fair to give 'em a proper chance. But so far I'm not sure what all the hoopla's about.)

Global warming, pfffth!

A week after the election and apparently El Viejo, Amarante, can't be bothered right now with politics. Having lain aside his protest flag, I caught a glimpse of him this afternoon with a ristra of chiles.

It appears his more immediate concern is securing the autumn harvest from the inevitable ravages of sinking temperatures. Dreaming of global warming and a fall that doesn't freeze, at his age Amarante shouldn't hold his breath. But if it's any consolation, this is the latest he's left the fruits of summer out in the fields. And there's no real serious threat of a freeze tomorrow night. It's more like a "flirtation."

But a flirtation is sufficient to motivate one to protect, at the very least, that which one wishes to preserve at the very most. The rest he will gather at his leisure in the days ahead, in disbelief as he is, that instead of securing harvests by Halloween, this year at least, his chiles, it would appear, may be safe til Thankgiving and beyond!

Consensusless weekend

Mrs. Dada attended a non-violence workshop Saturday and Sunday, leaving me to run wild. So I watched a little basketball and football on TV, did some reading on the Web and in the newspaper, putzed around a bit in the yard and still had time to shop for shoes made in China!

I did read one interesting article in the paper. Apparently, through the diligent observations of U.S. researchers, elephants have now joined the elite group of animals that have self-awareness! Formerly this exclusive club was limited to we humans, the great apes and bottlenose dolphins.

It was a large mirror that gave it away. (Elephants had only been tested with little mirrors formerly.) Evidence of self-recognition by one elephant before the researcher's mirror was unmistakable.

The article went on to talk of other animal's reactions before a mirror. For example, dogs will react to their image by often looking for the dog behind the mirror. I was so awed at the amazing work these scientists are doing.

On Sunday afternoon, I decided to torment myself by driving over to the Humane Society. I knew I shouldn't, but I thought I was up for a little psyche self-mutilation.

Once there, I noted the usual number of medium sized dogs. Then I visited the "nursery" where the younger dogs and puppies are kept. There weren't a whole lot. I was glad.

You know there's a fair number of dogs that are very cuty and have winsome personalities. But there's always a few you're pretty sure aren't gonna make it outta there alive. Some are scruffy and not easy to look at. And there are some who haven't had a very good life and, as a result, they're angry. Flashing teeth and growling, I cringe and say something like, "Oooh, dear one, I'm so sorry. Please try to smile more. And wag your tail. Please wag your tail more." If only those could have gone to the anger management workshop with Mrs. Dada this weekend. Who knows? It could mean the difference between life and death.

The large dogs, the older dogs, have it extra hard. "They're losers" we most often hear from those working with shelter animals. That's because people prefer younger, smaller, cuter. Odds for big dogs aren't near as good as for puppies. I guess that's why I was most interested in seeing the big guys this day.

I was happy to see about half the large dog kennels unoccupied. Maybe that's because some were out in the exercise yards. But I didn't get to see all the big dogs. That's because the second or third one I came to was Kaysie. Kaysie was a gorgeous lab-shepard mix. Reason she was abandoned simply read "Moving." As I looked in at beautiful but timid Kaysie, she stared back, trembling uncontrollably.

I tried to imagine what Kaysie might be thinking. Maybe something like, "Where'd my family go?" "Why'd they bring me here?" "When they coming back?" "ARE they coming back?"

Kaysie was so frightened and as I knelt down and spoke to her softly, she started toward me, then retreated. I thought about her family who gave her up. We have a lot of military here. When transferred overseas, taking the family pet isn't always an option. Maybe that was Kaysie's plight.

I had to stop there because I sensed the water welling up in my eyes. There might be more Kaysies further down the line. Other people were present and I'd left home without a handkerchief.

I quickly headed back to the car and, as I did, I had one happy thought about Kaysie. "Thank god she hasn't self-awareness." Maybe she thinks this is all happening to some other dog.

Thirteen years is a long time to carry a poem around

We mostly live in little wooden boxes. Outside the boxes there
are birds. We go outside and watch them. They excite us and lift
our spirits.

The boxes we live in are made of fir and hemlock, of oak and
cedar and sheetrock. We build windows in them so they will not
be so dark, and so that we can see the birds.

Sometimes we feed them, when the weather is harsh, or when the
plants they eat are not permitted to grow, or the insects they
would feed upon are poisoned instead.

We enjoy the birds so much that we build them little boxes to nest
in, and we place the boxes near the windows in our homes. They
would live near us anyway, except that we usually saw down the firs
and hemlocks and cedars they would live in.

Taking the trees this way is called logging, as the taking of whales
is called whaling. When all the trees within reach are taken, as a
drift net takes everything it reaches in the sea, it is called clear
cutting. It is said to resemble the effect of a forest fire, except
that we then apply herbicides and pesticides so that nothing will
grow but a single conifer species.

The rains wash these poisons along with the wondrous soil from the
hillsides, trickling and splashing into the creek, altering it
physically and chemically so that fewer fish are inclined to call it
home. So many of the spawning grounds have been lost that there are
many more ghost salmon than live ones.

We believe the water is safe, and we take it from the creek to drink
and to cook with and bathe in and to wash our cars. We also sprinkle
it on patches of grass called lawns, which we maintain at a fixed
height, lest it cause unrest. We inherited this custom from the
English. Very, very large lawns are called golf courses, and we
inherited them from the Scots. Some radical thinkers believe that the
only patriotic place for this kind of grass is on a baseball field, an
American invention.

The number of people who watch baseball is a very small fraction of
those who watch birds. Worldwide, there are more birdwatchers than
afficiandi of any other pasttime. Long ago, when we could still
understand them, the birds gave us guidance and wisdom. Now we avidly watch their comings and goings and try to touch the lost thread between us and them, like forlorn lovers waiting for the phone to ring.

The ravens would tell us about the water, if we could understand them, but we already know, and that is what is amazing. We already know, and some of us don't care.

Dada's Dali Dally

COMING SOON!

Is it weekend yet?

Well, it's been a really exciting week and, frankly, I'm tired of it. During Bush's Wednesday press conference, we learned that while the president was reassuring us of his commitment to retain Rumsfeld as defense secretary, he was really in the process of replacing him. But this was all happening on the weekend before the election, so rather than just say nothing about the "great job" Rumsfeld was doing, the president lied to us. As he explained on Wednesday, he had to. That's politics. Seems that's what politics often makes of politicians--liars.

Also during that Wednesday press conference while speaking of Iraq and the American people, Bush said:

"Somehow it seeped in their conscious that my attitude was just simply 'stay the course.'"

Shouldn't someone sit the president down and play Keith Olberman's Countdown recordings of Bush saying to the public "stay the course" in at least thirty different public speeches on tape? I'm wondering if Bush is that seriously delusional, Ronald Reaganal, i.e., in the degenerative stages of Alzheimers, or just flat out lying to us again. Any one of those possibilities is extremely dangerous for a leader who wipes his feet on the Constitution and can start wars on whim.

And I watched Rumsfeld speak at Kansas State University yesterday when the closest thing to criticism during the brief Q&A session by the "critical" members of the student body came when one student rose to inquire how Rumsfeld would grade himself.

Rumsfeld responded, "I'd let history worry about that." I wasn't enjoying that until Mrs. Dada pointed out that Rummy was in fact "flipping his questioner off!" It was then I noticed him rubbing the side of his nose with his extended middle finger while answering. Could it be? A Freudian gesture perhaps?

Then it was on to yesterday's "love fest" luncheon between the president and new house speaker, Nancy Pelosi. To temper our post election expectations, please forgive as I resort to using the "N" word here, but as Nader reminded us, "Democrats gained the majority in the House, it was on the backs of some very rightwing Democrats who won the election against rightwing Republican incumbents. And so, there was no mandate for any progressive agenda."

Perhaps that explains Pelosi's conciliatory attitude towards the president. Or maybe it's just post-game congratulations before the fireworks display begins. Whichever, I only know that it's extremely disappointing to me that in this country a president can get impeached for staining a blue dress, while a president who's stained the entire Earth breaks bread with his opposition in cordiality.

Such is the art of politics I suppose. Something of which I know little other than it's extremely dangerous and tiresome. It's been a long week.

There's a new world somewhere

AP photo

Well, this is a really sad, sad picture. To the bad architects of the new world whose walls are already crumbling, I suppose there are any number of possible captions for this gloomy photo, to include song lyrics as well :

We are the egg men, Coup coup ca choo, coup coup coup ca choo.

"I am the Walrus" Beatles

"You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed"
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins"
"Masters of War" Bob Dylan

There's undoubtedly a mountain of fitting titles that might be applied to this somber image. But it it is nice to hear Bush and Rumsfeld "agree it's time for new leadership" at the Pentagon and, as a result, Rumsfeld can just walk away. Too bad our troops in Iraq in need of new leadership aren't given the same option as their secretary of defense. To just walk.

And it'd be nice if Bush and Cheney could be given the same opportunity as well. Especially ol' Bush who, if you look at his history, excels at mucking things up, but he's not the best at seeing things through to their end. Maybe he didn't realize when he took the job, he'd have to stay for eight years! Or, as someone said once (at least), to "Stay the course."

Sadly for Bush, but more sadly for us, this is one job where you can't just go AWOL or desert; or sell your stock options and walk away and have daddy's chums set you up with a baseball team or something.

Nope, two more years for this pair. But not to fret. Despite today's really sad picture, perhaps the lyrics to another very old song by the Seekers offers these fellows some hope.

"There's a new world somewhere
They call The Promised Land
And I'll be there some day
If you will hold my hand"

If rumors are true, I think that "Promised Land" is in Paraguay.

Election Day: Another Rove yawner?

I wasn't going to blog today. With fingernails gone, I'm now down to gnawing off my fingers in anticipation of election day results. See, I still harbor some Pollyannish glimmer of hope there might still occur in my lifetime a quasi-honest election in this, one of the world's most farcical of all self-proclaimed "democracies."

But I just came from Enigma's Watergate Summer blog after leaving a comment. Feeling impassioned still, I'm going to just paste it here in a slightly streamlined version. (But thanks Enigma for inspiring this.)

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

Every election I vow to my wife, "That's the last fucking election I'll ever vote in." She knows I'm a damn liar. But when your Green candidate is forbidden to debate against his democratic and republican opponents, when your district's been gerrymandered so if you vote democrat and every registered democrat in your precinct votes, it doesn't fucking matter, you lose anyway, because some fucking opposition party member drew up district's boundaries so you can't win, and if it's a presidential election and your state votes a winner, the electoral college can override the vox populi and cast their votes for the loser making him the winner, voting--well--leaves a really bad fucking taste in my mouth. So, once more I went out and violated my oath and voted.

And when I returned home to my "early voted" wife I once more vowed, "That's the last fucking election I'll ever vote in." And I'm not even poor (but may be soon) Black, Hispanic or redhead. (That last one was an empathy comment for Enigma whose votes are never counted.)

And then I heard Jimmy Carter remind us this weekend why the U.S. doesn't even qualify to have observers oversee the election process: It doesn't meet, or violates, conditions necessary for fair elections.

And there, that's why I hate to vote. And I stated all my reasons without one mention of those damn, fucking Diebold, Sequoia, or ES&S voting machines which, when all else fails in procuring victory for the despots, act as a kind of kinky insurance policy.

But this has been a nice break from my task this afternoon. Back to the hard work in the backyard. See, I'm melting down my plowshares. (Thanks Meldonna for the idea. The time for votes not being counted is over.)

Reacclimating to the "real world" through Nature

Thousands of snow geese from Canada visiting for the winter.

We left Albuquerque a bit earlier than we needed yesterday. That's because there were a couple of stops I wanted to make during the drive home. As we descended from a nice weekend of distractions, we found ourselves being overtaken by realities we had managed to escape for a day or so.

Like, just before we entered the Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in the middle of a vast deserted desert, an oncoming train approached and blared its whistle at us as it passed. A banner and flag draped affair consisting of five passenger cars, we later learned it was carrying Governor Bill Richardson on a campaign tour up New Mexico's Rio Grande valley.

But for the next hour or so, we would divert our attentions from the *real world* by focusing one last time on the beauty of Nature. We wanted to see how many migratory birds had already arrived from their chilling climes up north. Obviously, many.

A great blue heron

The very first visitor to greet us as we crossed over the small bridge to the refuge entrance was this blue heron. He was very patient as we shot him. And just across the road from the heron rose a cacophony of voices in the form of thousands of squawking snow geese. It was an incredible symphony.

Lone bald eagle perched atop dead tree at pond's edge.

A birdwatching couple with an enormous telephoto lens pointed out a bald eagle. He looked very lonely, perched atop a dead tree in a pond where the landscape seemed to slope upward towards the extreme right. Removed from the crowd and so seemingly alone, he reminded me a little of president Bush.

Thousands of fearful, jittery snow geese take flight at a bald eagle's command to be fearful, to "Be very afraid!" (It seemed to work extremely well, causing Dada to ponder if these were really geese, or just another big flock of frightened turkeys.

But moments later, the eagle spread his wings and took flight, flapping furiously towards the snow geese. And the geese instantly became fearful, thousands of 'em rising in flight in reaction to the eagle's warning they should be scared. I was very amused at the reactions of the geese to the eagle who seemed to be reminding them all why he should remain top bird.

I guess I was regaining my *real world* mindset reeeal fast!

Return from Albuquerque, or welcome back to the *real* world

Returning from Albuquerque yesterday afternoon, we mistakenly turned on the radio as we drew closer to civilization. From listening to NPR we learned from Jimmy Carter why the U.S. does not qualify to have observers oversee the election process: It doesn't meet, or violates, conditions necessary for fair elections.

But more disturbing was the NPR story on the results of the Pew Research Center's latest and last poll conducted before tomorrow's election. It's showing strong Republican gains, citing such factors as the Kerry - Bush spat and the improving economy by some as the reasons behind the re-energized republicans.

Sadly, we were returning to the same Universe we had escaped just the day before. And I got the eerie feeling the latest poll was greasing us for the surprising election results (!) we'll all enjoy beginning tomorrow evening. Either that or America is a nation of more ignorant bastards than even I can comprehend.

Albuquerque!

Waiting for the India Pale Ale to kick in or Mrs. Dada through the beer glass.

I've been flyin'
down the road,
And I've been starvin' to be alone,
And independent from the scene
that I've known.
Albuquerque.
- Neil Young

Saturday night and I find myself in Albuquerque. How the hell we got here I'm not sure. Something to do with a spur-of-the-moment impulse. I think it was some form of election eve escape. Some hope for a pleasant distraction perhaps that found me saying to Mrs. Dada, "Let's go to Albuquerque!" this past Thursday.

And so here we are. Saturday night and our dinner plates are gone. Our used napkins lie crumpled neatly on the table as I wait for the delicious India Pale Ale to kick in.

Back in its heyday of Empire, England had a problem. Getting beer to the troops, those enablers of its global aspirations, before it rotted. To places like India and other exotic lands. As a result, Brits learned by upping the content of the hops in the beer, it acted as a preservative enabling shiploads to arrive in places "where the sun never set" and empire was preserved. (Which is better than places "where the sun never shines" that empires deserve, I suppose.)

So here I sit, in Albuquerque, in "A great people place," as one website described Il Vicino's brewpub. And while I love meeting others and chance encounters, this evening I came here with Mrs. Dada for its great beer. For the mystical powers of this empire elixir to help me forget what next Tuesday is.

Earlier in the day, I'd read Molly Ivins latest article. In it, she said:

"I remind you what this election is about? Abu Ghraib, Guantanamo, unprecedented presidential powers, unmatched incompetence, unparalleled corruption, unwarranted eavesdropping, Katrina, Enron, Halliburton, global warming, Cheney's secret energy task force, record oil company profits, $3 gasoline, FEMA, the Supreme Court, Diebold, Florida in 2000, Ohio in 2004, Terri Schiavo, stem cell research, golden parachutes, shrunken pensions, unavailable and expensive health care, habeas corpus, no weapons of mass destruction, sacrificed soldiers and Iraqi civilians, wasted billions, Taliban resurgence, expiration of the assault weapons ban, North Korea, Iran, intelligent design, swift boat hit squads, and on and on."

Ivins concluded her article by reminding all of us how this election is about more. How it's about salvaging the Constitution. And it's about the corruption dripping scoundrels counting their gold piles while Rome burns. People like Bush, Cheney, Tom DeLay, Karl Rove, Dennis Hastert, Jack Abramoff, Ralph Reed, and a littany of others so busy restoring Bush's "honor and integrity" to the White House.

And here's where I need the India Pale Ale to really kick in. That's because I don't think Tuesday will change much. Corruption of the voting system is well established. Daily we hear of some new, outrageous schemes to confuse or mislead voters, or to outright block voters from exercising their rights. There's no limits to creative and criminal ways to steal elections it would seem.

And I wonder? How many fucking national election results will Americans accept being settled under very suspicious circumstances or outright criminal acts before they reach their event horizon? Or is a critical mass of outrage something that only happens in places like Mexico or Nicaragua where the U.S. stirs a hornet's nest for rigging elections while here in the U.S., Americans simply accept it?

I know from the elections of 2000 and 2004 we have gleaming examples of how it's easier to just roll over and accept the theft of the nation by the bold and most audacious among us. But is there no point where we stand up and reject such outcomes? And if we ever reach that point (pray it doesn't come too late), what will we be willing to pay? I guess that depends on how much we think what's at stake is worth. Apparently, at the moment, that's not much.

Tuesday is "Here we go again!" time. Karl Rove is confident nothing much will change because he knows the outcome from crunching the real voting numbers by using "The Math." (Perhaps The Math none of us has access to because it's buried deep within a secret code in Diebold software?) By Wednesday we should know.

But for now, it's still Saturday and I'm still waiting for the India Pale Ale to kick in. It's the beer of empires you know.

Oh what rutty ruts we weave!

If you like a good metaphor, I think you might love this one. On August 26, 2004, president Bush came to Las Cruces, NM. It was an election year and he was hustling votes.

Las Cruces official's warned the Bush campaign their little international airport couldn't handle the weight of a C-17 jet ladened with heavy bullet-proof vests, limos, and other presidential accoutrements so necessary for Bush's comfort and safety. But the jet went ahead and landed anyway.

Someone in town had given their permission Air Force officials said. Who remains vague, maybe because no one wants to claim responsibility for the nearly two-thirds of a million dollars damage the two inch deep ruts in runway 4-22 suffered! Seems the Bush example was followed, i.e., responsibility of anyone for anything doesn't exist.

After Bush's visit, runway 4-22 was closed down. Now, twenty-six months later, it still remains closed. It took almost 14 months for the city of Las Cruces to receive a check in the amount of $603,754 from the Air Force to repair runway 4-22, making the Bush Las Cruces appearance one of the most expensive campaign stops of the 2004 season.

I'm not so sure the city's slowness in getting runway 4-22 repaired wasn't a very wise decision, being as how it's another election year--just in case Bush got a whimsy to drop by Las Cruces again this fall.

But Las Cruces' rutted remnants of Bush's presence got me to thinking of the tracks Bush and his business hacks have left all over the world, to include those inside the vaults of the U.S. Treasury.

Runways can be paved over, and the holes dug to bury the dead resulting from this administration's global hubris can be filled in, if not forgotten. But the ruts in the lives of millions upon millions of survivors cannot.

But be patient, for if Bush doesn't maim or kill you politically, economically or militarily by January, 2009, he and his gluttonous hacks may have sated their appetities for wealth and opulence by then. And they may actually decide to leave office then!

That would seem to be the indication hinted at by the actions both Bush and Cheney are presently taking. With U.S. national debt up over three trillion dollars ($3,000,000,000!) since they took office, and the country having to borrow $2.5 billion each and every day (why that's $1/2 a billion more than we're spending in Iraq every two weeks!) just to remain solvent, looks like our president and his veep are hedging their bets against U.S. economic collapse.

Or I could be overly pessimistic here. Bush and Cheney may simply be planning their escapes to avoid war crimes trials. Whatever the reasons, Cheney is investing heavily in "Old Europe" bonds and inflation protected securities in what looks like anticipation of a U.S. economic armageddon as Mike Whitney over at Counterpunch suggests.

And what of Bush? Well, that one's even more curious. Seems there are rumors here, and stories in various Latin American (but not U.S.) newspapers. As succinctly put over on Wonkette's We Hate To Bring Up the Nazis, But They Fled To South America, Too:

"Here’s a fun question for Tony Snow: 'Why might the president and his family need a 98,840-acre ranch in Paraguay protected by a semi-secret U.S. military base manned by American troops who have been exempted from war-crimes prosecution by the Paraguyan government?'"

The answer's probably simple: To get away from all the ruts Bush has created, to cover his tracks (or ass?), leaving the rest of us scurrying for the life boats on the decks of the world's biggest Titanic.

Many thanks for the Bush Paraguayan paradise segment go to D.K. Raed, who alerted me to this over two weeks ago, and Nona over at Fish Wars on Cars who blogged about it, 11/1/06.

How do we get back home?

Back in the early 90's, I played around with graphics on the computer. This is an effort that resulted from the inspiration I received from someone's (now unknown, unremembered) painting of an old 30's something car I liked. I added a photo of a girl I took at a breezy air show over 20 years ago and called it "The long way home." I think that's what we're all facing if next week turns out to be a vote by computers and not people.

But more than that, my main reason for posting this here now is to push the previous horrific Stephanie Miller misogynist's death threat a little further down the page. Miller persevered heroically, while the retired bully exposed himself for the "right to my opinion too" by threatening Miller's life and then denying it when confronted by her in an on-air phone call during her radio show to this perv. Bravo Stephanie!