Compare Your Plan Options; giving thanks to my government; or "How I learned to stop worrying and love hypertension, acid reflux and ulcers!"

NOTE: Approaching a landmark birthday [hopefully the last one!] later this summer, I have been inundated for the past six months or more with solicitations from insurance companies for their consideration of my Medicare part B supplemental coverage and Medicare part D subscription drug plans.

It has been a physically draining experience. But I would like to take a few moments to assist others who may be approaching such a significant new phase of life in the near future. While the options for both parts B and D are more numerous than bunnies on a rabbit farm, I have chosen to focus on the Medicare, part D, drug prescription plan.

Medicare's drug prescription plan is reason #38 the U.S. ranks 37th as of 2006 in health care among the world's most economically advanced nations.

It is my hope the valuable experience I have gained these past six months or so will take much of the stress out of the decision making process for others when choosing a Medicare drug plan.

Most importantly, we should not forget to give thanks to our congressmen in Washington for working long and hard in a close symbiotic relationship with the pharmaceuticals, health insurance companies and HMO's to craft a system that guarantees the maximum health of these industries, their lobbyists, and their lobbyist's "customers," our elected representatives.

Here then are the tools I have discovered most helpful in deciding the best Medicare prescription plan, each with its Medicare gap or "do-nut hole" that kicks in to give insurers some relief in case you're too sick and in need of too many, or too expensive, medications.

AARP, that organization founded to advocate for retired people, has been very helpful. One word of caution, however, they recommend but one prescription drug plan themselves. It's through UnitedHealthcare and doesn't mean it's necessarily the best one for retirees. UnitedHealthcare probably paid AARP the most of anyone for AARP to endorse UnitedHealth. Remember, when it comes to health care, concern for yours doesn't come first!

That aside, this AARP provided form proved very helpful. It allows you to list up to 10 medications you're on or will need in the future, their present cost, and what they will cost you under different plans, many with multiple copay sub-plans. I'm not sure how many plans I received solicitations from in recent months, in the 10's, 100's, 1,000's, but I'm sure a number of acres of Amazon rain forest trees gave their lives up for me.

If you'll notice, the worksheet recommends you "print as many as you need" copies for as many plans, their sub-plans and their sub-sub-plans as you're considering.

One of the other reasons to make lots of copies, besides all the incredible choices given (some come with free lunch seminars, or your own personal insurance agents who'll come visit you in your own home!) is the fact you must decide the plan best suiting your needs based not only on your current prescriptions being taken, but the future medical conditions you'll encounter as well. That's because not all plans cover all medications you might need.

During my drug plan selection process, I became very stressed. I developed hypertension, and indigestion soon followed with acid reflux, precursor to peptic ulcers. This was actually a wonderful fate, because I now know some of the medications I will likely need in the future! (It helped whittle down my choices by (just) a couple.)

But what follows are the really wonderful tools that can assist one in making decisions of which drugs they will need in the future. Knowing this, you can proceed with AARP's worksheet knowing that, come 2014, say, you'll probably need anti-cholesterol, hypertension, hepatitis-C, and multiple sclerosis meds. Or maybe, prescriptions for bi-polar disorder, thyroid, gout and rheumatoid arthritis (with the cholesterol problem, no doubt).

Keep in mind, the more you are willing to spend on the aids shown, the more likely their accuracy, which can save you money in the long run.

GOOD - Magic Eight Ball

Keep in mind, it can only give you "Yes" or "No" type answers. Hence, one will need to ask it leading questions and, depending on how "dark" your mood is about the future, it could lead to some maladies one would rather not really face, i.e., "Will I develop alopecia capitis totalis?"

BETTER - A real crystal ball

Better than an Eight Ball, but best read by a professional. May foresee afflictions via images conjured in the ball. However, the interpretations are still rather unspecific. (NOTE: Ignore the $1 bill in above illustration. A professional crystal baller will cost you at least a 100 times that for a short session.)

GOOD - Tarot cards

Like the crystal ball, however, doesn't do well naming specific diseases and the medications you will need for them.

BETTER - The i ching

With more combinations and permutations than tarot, definitive predictions as to your future disorders and diseases may be more specific, helping greatly in cutting down your Medicare, part D, plan options.

WORSE - mechanical "carnie" fortune teller

Least recommended as reliable unless you only have 50 cents to invest in your Medicare, part D, decision making process.

BEST - Your own personal swami.

Reminiscent of the Beatles' transcendent enlightenment years of the 60's, the one most likely to predict what diseases you may face in the future. This could provide you with the most valuable information for deciding which Medicare, part D, drug prescription plan is best for you. But be careful, make sure you procure a licensed professional with an excellent reputation as there are a lot of faker fakirs out there!

FINALLY - Divining Rods

While your choices in choosing the right prescription drug plan may be a bit overwhelming and, yes, while most folks in other advanced nations like France or Cuba don't have to worry about future afflictions they must suffer to determine which plan may or may not cover them, be thankful that here in the U.S. we get a say in it. We get choices. Thousands of choices! And, as a result, decisions to make! Good luck!

(Oh, and by the way, this last aid, a pair of divining rods, are designed to help you locate water underground. They won't actually tell you whether you'll get breast cancer or prostate cancer (if you don't have breasts).

But after finally wading your way through the myriad of Medicare drug options, you may get some ideas of where you might like to stick these rods!

We'll remember always, graduation day!

On Wednesday, president George Bush addressed graduates of the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. More than a thousand new graduating Air Force lieutenants applauded and voiced loud approval as Bush said the nation must not lose its nerve in the Iraq War.

photo by Reuters

Losing his balance, a tipsy president Bush was helped to the
podium to address Air Force Academy graduates Wednesday.

Charles Dharapak/Associated Press

Theodore Shiveley of Plano, Texas had planned to launch himself
into a flight of elation after receiving his diploma but aborted takeoff
when his flightpath became obstructed by an unexpected chicken hawk.

*****

My earliest memory of soldiers

Handmade Japanese prisoner of war bracelet with inscription "Guam 1946" and center heart bearing an image of a palm tree overlooking a serene beach scene (just months earlier washed in the blood of American and Japanese soldiers. [Click to enlarge]) In the background is a ceramic urn with a remarkable resemblance to an alien space ship made from clay containing my deceased brother's ashes.

******

My very earliest memories of soldiers were the ones that hit closest to home. Born during World War II, I was the third son of the family, separated from my older brothers by nearly 18 and 19 years respectively. My oldest brother left home only months after I was born. Just out of high school, he was drafted and sent off to Europe; to England first, then France. Being a teletype operator, he never saw combat, although he was never far behind it.

I only remember a couple of his war stories. Like the charming English lass he met and shared dinner with a couple of times in her family's home, followed by singing around their family piano, trying to escape for a few moments into the pre-war memories of peace which then seemed then so distant. It was a classic romance tale of missed opportunity, of what might have been.

I enjoyed his recollection of D-Day as he saw it from the shores of England, recalling how the skies were blackened with steady streams of allied aircraft heading out across the Channel.

Or after shipping over to the Continent, there was the night in France when he ran into the back of a German tank! I always laughed at that one. Seems it was a very dark night and he was on foot and the tank turned out to be a derelict destroyed some weeks earlier by the allies. (I don't remember if he was on his way home from an evening of a little too much celebrating.)

My other brother, younger by a year and a half, hung around home a little longer until drafted just as the war in Europe was winding down. He ended up in the Pacific, on Guam. And like my other brother, he, too, missed combat, guarding Japanese prisoners of war instead.

Developing an excellent rapport with the "Japs," he had primo handmade Japanese jewelry he brought home with him after the war, crafted from scrap pieces of B-29's or any other war materiel I imagined he could slip them for their beautiful transformations into bracelets and rings, each marked with dates and places from the horrors of that war.

Luckily, unlike tens of thousands of others not as fortunate, they both came home from that great war. I was able to know them, to look up to them and in some cases idolize them as I grew up.

I lost both of those brothers within the last ten years or so. The incredible hand made Japanese jewelry is now in my possession.

Neither of my brothers are "residents" of national cemeteries scattered throughout the land that annually sprout little American flags on this weekend. As they wished, each was cremated and their remains scattered in beautiful locations by their baby brother, each time with the aid of an intimate family group.

And I always recall at this time of year as a small child - after being the center of my parents attentions my earliest years while my brothers were away "at war," of the first time one returned home. It was my brother from Guam.

Eyeing him as the threat he now represented for the attentions of Mom and Dad, I one day had the audacity of a young child to speak up and ask of our returned 'warrior,' "Why don't you go back to the Army!"

Thankfully, I came to realize, that was something he didn't have to do.

"Happy Memorial Day, Bros!"

******************

PHOTO OUT-TAKE

I decided to include this photo out-take as reminder of how little is accomplished here at Dada's without the tireless
behind-the-scenes efforts of my Editor Sam, shown here helping me set up this morning's photo shoot for this blog.

Memorial Day, 2008

San Francisco National Cemetery, photo by Susiep

From an "iffy" memory, I think it may have been Kurt Vonnegut who said (paraphrasing badly with that same memory), "Our technology exceeds our morality by centuries."

While we're excellent at remembering those whose lives were sacrificed in wars, humanity is an abject failure at remembering their horrors. ~Da

Here then is "a look, by the numbers, at the pace of veterans' burials at national cemeteries:"*

6

Number of new national cemeteries under construction.

7
Average burials per day at Ohio Western Reserve National Cemetery.

30
Average burials per day at California's Riverside National Cemetery, the busiest national cemetery.

60
Median age of Vietnam War veterans and all veterans in 2007.

76
Median age of Korean War veterans in 2007.

84
Median age of World War II veterans in 2007.

125
Number of national cemeteries.

1,800
Average number of veterans dying each day.

101,200
Number of interments in national cemeteries in 2007.

686,000
Estimated number of veteran deaths in 2007.

7.9 million
Number of living Vietnam era veterans.

23.8 million
Estimated number of living veterans.

Source: U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, Associated Press

* as published in USA Today

Happy Memorial Day!

Wishing everyone a happy holiday seems a bit inappropriate for a time set aside to honor the memories of loved ones passed. Nonetheless, I hope it's a very pleasant weekend for everyone.

(NOTE: For those who have been readers of Dada's for some time you can stop here as what follows is the same Memorial Day memory I've run for the past two years. That's because I've been unable to top it. I guess there's truth to "peaking too early.")

********************

photo by Dada

Another Memorial Day and I muse at the parade of those incredibly peaceful cemetery names across the land. It's too bad in life we can't aspire to the serenity we embrace in death in places like Skyline Memorial Gardens, Forest Lawn, Oak Grove, Rose Hill, Evergreen, Memory Gardens, Pierce Brothers Cemetery.

Wait! Pierce Brothers Cemetery? Pierce Brothers always sounded more like the Flying A gas station on the corner of 10th and Main than a place of eternal slumbers. But Pierce Brothers it was in the hometown of my youth.

This weekend I recall a Memorial Day of many, many years ago where the sacred, set-aside sections of Earth of every little community and town sprout multi-colored bouquets under the stars in fields of blue amid red-white stripes atop neatly mown lawns of verdant greens. Pierce Brothers was no exception.

Being a new comer to my little town, the significance of Memorial Day was lost on me. I didn't know anyone 'neath those flowers and flags. Yet every year this happened.

Oh sure, there were the two grandmothers and grandfathers who died before I was born. I never knew any of them. And as absent as they had been in my life, they were almost equally aloof in their deaths, buried seven states and 2,000 miles away. They were nothing more to me than glistenings in Mom and Dad's eyes whenever they'd remember them.

I was a stranger to death and those who represented it to us the living were nothing more than faceless names carved into the stones they were buried beneath where those floral arrangements and little flags suddenly sprang up every Memorial Day down at old Pierce Brothers.

But to my parents the day held more meaning. And so, when my mom announced that she and dad were going to take a drive through the local cemetery to see the graves, would I "like to go along?" I declined. There was no one there I knew.

That's when inspiration hit me. Plucking a handkerchief from my bedroom dresser, I headed out to my bike, announcing I was going to go for a ride instead. I wished them a pleasant drive.

Arriving at the cemetery a few minutes before my folks, I picked out a grave near the narrow lane that wound among the eternal slumberers. Borrowing a single rose from the bouquet atop it, I began working myself into the proper mindset. Trying to evoke tears, I imagined I was standing over the grave of Gina Lollobrigida, or Sophia Loren. For more tears, I imagined both beneath me.

It wasn't long before I spotted our black and yellow '57 Ford slowly winding along the lane towards me. Never once glancing in their direction, but with hanky deployed, I dropped to my knees as I placed the lone rose atop the grave in my best display of grief for the departed, Gina and Sophia. Behind me I thought I heard my mother's voice as they passed. Through the open car window came the words, "That damn fool!"

My prank had succeeded beyond my greatest expectations. Once back home, my folks and I would laugh about it. And every Memorial Day with my folks thereafter, I would hear my mom recount that one in particular to friends and family.

And now, many years later, I am no longer a stranger to death as in my youth. Mom and Dad are no longer here. Having passed almost 20 years ago now, they slumber eternally. No, they didn't end up in the Pierce Brothers place. They went to a place called Fir Lawn.

But just like Pierce Brothers and every other cemetery in the country this weekend, the flowers and flags are in full bloom. And while Fir Lawn is four or five states and almost two thousand miles away, there occasionally occurs a Memorial Day when, amid the colors and tributes of sadness, a shadow is cast across their graves. It's the shadow of their son with hanky in hand, a rose in the other. And I swear I can hear the words of my mother once more saying, "That damn fool!"

More tight odds and loose ends.

Since my post here last Tuesday, I came down with a horrendous cold. Mrs. Dada lectures me I need to stay inside more during dust storms instead of being outside atop a ladder painting under the eaves, flipping off low flying military aircraft. But this spring the windy season just keeps on rolling along as El Paso sends its top soil to Midland - Odessa and points beyond in exchange for top soil from New and Old Mexico, leaving me little choice but to paint if I'm to finish before the house turns into a summer-long project. Besides, I think by painting during a dust storm, the sand gives the new coat a nice texture.

But for someone who hasn't had a cold in a couple of years, I find it a little strange this is my second this spring already. As the latest government weather data indicates, the rising temps in the American West are approximately double the average global increase elsewhere. So I don't know if I'm a victim of global warming or just the demise of my own aging immune system.

As if that wasn't discouraging enough, a headline in today's El Paso Times reads, "Experts say 'dust bowl' coming," and we can expect it to be twenty times worse (and more widespread) than the infamous dust bowl of the 1930's! This makes getting my painting done outside all the more urgent, I suppose.

I remember as an impressionable anthropology student in the 70's musing at where the Southwest's Anasazi culture, which flourished in this area for 900 years between 400-1300 A.D., went after suddenly abandoning their elaborate communities that grew over the centuries. Maybe us folks of the American West will soon find out when we join them?

Maybe they went to Africa. That's just speculation on my part after reading further in the dust bowl article that China is steadily buying up huge tracts of land in Africa and South America. Will China eventually "relocate" out of Asia?

That stimulates the thought if American politicians were a bit more astute, maybe we could find a way out of the tremendous lien the Chinese hold on America's future. Like, perhaps we could sell 'em huge tracts of land here. I don't know how much we owe 'em or how much, say, Utah, Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico are worth, but maybe we could make a deal. I'm forgetting, of course, these are future dust bowl states and the Chinese probably already know this. Besides, our politicians aren't that astute anyway.

However, it amazes me how every election year our politicians in Washington, D.C. have a 'momentary recovery' from their Alzheimer's for a few months and pretend to remember who the hell they're really sent to the nation's capital to represent--us!

I'm talking about the senate vote this week that passed Bush's Iraq war funding bill by a 75-22 margin. Against the president's threat to veto the bill if congress added on extraneous crap like additional GI Bill educational benefits for our military, plus a 13 week extension of unemployment insurance, home heating assistance and other domestic spending add-ons bullshit, a defiant senate went ahead and did it anyway!

Now the "Fart Boy," who is used to getting his way, said he would veto that because we, as a nation, can't afford to spend money here at home on Americans. It's just simply an extravagance we don't have the money for. (NOTE: Senator "Bush twin" McCain concurs.)

But half of the senate republicans snubbed Bush and voted with Democrats. As one article I read said, "It’s interesting how vulnerable republicans" (up for re-election) "suddenly start to notice the merit of democratic legislation six months before Election Day, isn’t it?"

(The house, meanwhile, went even further. They voted down Bush's $165 billion war funding bill, so the unfolding saga continues.)

All of this serves to illustrate how congress can get balls for a couple months when their asses are up for reelection. I, for one, favor negotiating with the Chinese for one of their small tracts of land in sub-Saharan Africa or South America where we can evacuate all the DC pols from the corrupt, poisonous environment Washington has become.

Who knows, in relocating, maybe our deportees will discover where those vanished Anasazi went?

In the meantime, I'm going back to bed in hopes of curing this cold; of unclouding my thinking.

Random thoughts while under the eaves.

Today I was under the eaves, painting. A boisterous fighter jet from Holloman AFB just outside Alamogordo, NM, 82 miles up the road, roared by low overhead. The sound from his jet engine/s was deafeningly thunderous.

I'm envious. With afterburners on, he can make the 75 minute time it takes me to drive up to that base from here in 3 or 4 minutes. With a better view. And he doesn't have to pay for the gas either! As with all the Air Force jets and Army helicopters flying past too low in violation of my airspace, I flip him off. But he doesn't see. They never do, but it makes me feel better.

Before, Holloman AFB was home to the F-117 Stealths which have just recently been mothballed. But to maintain the local economy of Alamogordo, a contingent of F-22 Raptors, the Air Force's latest, have been stationed there. Designed to fight and defeat the Russians if the cold war should ever rekindle and then turn hot, we can only hope our purchase of them wasn't a waste of money, right, because I don't see much use for them against al Qaeda and Taliban.

And their new agility and speed saddens me. That's because there's even less chance now than before with the F-117 Stealths of them seeing my extended middle finger waving as they fly by.

I take a break for some water. While in the house I check the local temperature outside. Excite.com says it's 103 degrees! I scoff. The area of roof I'm working on in 103 is the same part of the roof I worked on in 107! But that was over 20 years ago. So while my good sense is still missing, I'm wondering how much of my old endurance may have joined it?

Undeterred, I resume my place outside on my ladder. Suddenly, I hear the following melody for the first time this season. Some of my older readers may recognize it. It went like this:

"Ba ba bah ba bah, da da da dah da da da dut
da da dah da da da da dah dut!" *

And I muse at what I'm hearing. Could the composer of this wonderful little movement 280 years ago ever imagined at the time it would be playing as a signal to children the ice cream truck approaches? How exciting!

My mind wanders to how careful one must be when being creative. How one's creative powers may end up hawking Eskimo Pies to children sweltering in heat with sweet tooths 280 years from now.

Then my mind drifts to the Voyager disks sent into space in 1977. If the neighborhood ice cream truck preserves music from a quarter millennium ago, I wonder if Chuck Berry had any idea when he composed and performed his classic "Johnny B. Goode," that it might one day be heard by someone on a planet in the neighborhood of Alpha Centauri, our sun's nearest fellow star.

And who knows? Maybe excited alien kids may eventually rush to secure sweet frozen refreshments for relief from their warming planet/dying sun/in an aging solar system singing,

"Go go,
Go Johnny go?"

These are the things that occupy my mind while painting under the eaves in 103 degrees.

While my upper torso is shielded from the blazing sun by the eaves, my legs are being toasted a golden tan.

I imagine how great they'll look when, next month after summer has begun, I flag down the approaching ice cream truck playing,

"Ba ba bah ba bah, da da da dah da da da dut
da da dah da da da da dah dut!"

******

NOTE: For those of you old enough to remember the above melody, congratulations! It's from Jean-Joseph Mouret's (1682-1738) first movement of his "First Suite in D," from his second book of Fanfares for Trumpets, Kettledrums, Violins and Oboes (published in Paris, ca. 1729). The movement is in rondeau form; it is also known as Mouret's "Rondeau," the "Theme from Masterpiece Theatre," and the sound this summer's approaching ice cream truck makes.

Is God on our side?

Paris, early 20th Century; a Dadaist reading performance (before the tomatoes were launched).
'It’s not Dada that is nonsense--but the essence of our age that is nonsense.' ------ The Dadaists
***************

"Is God on our side?"

That was the most provocative question Saturday night when social commentator, aka comedian, George Carlin appeared locally. Some present got more than they bargained for. Or maybe not. Perhaps some who came, came not to listen, but to speak.

It seems the disenchantment for certain "oddience" members began when Carlin dismissed as just "another empty slogan" the phrase popularized one or two hundred years ago, "God Bless America!" That's when the first boos broke out.

While El Paso is a large city, that's no direct correlation to its mind size. This became more evident as Carlin postulated God probably doesn't extend most favorite nation status to anyone, even Americans. That really upset a few of the impression that God actually does.

I wasn't present Saturday evening. I just read the review in yesterday's paper. Apparently, this part of the monologue became so totally unbearable to one oddience member he eventually rushed the the stage, pointed at Carlin and shouted something (unintelligible to the reviewer), thus interrupting Carlin's monologue.

The thought that "military cemeteries are packed with delusional soldiers who believed God was on our side," was the launching point where Carlin's reasoning crossed into the outspoken protester's faith. And it was about then the first "F-bomb" was launched from another in the oddience.

But as the boldest among those was extricated, expunged or some form of "exed" (maybe "exited" is the word I'm groping for), the audience cheered. Carlin, unmoved, remarked, "Who cares, tonight he's in the minority."

Save for the missing raw eggs and rotten tomatoes, it sounded like an excellent few moments of "Dada."

Doing dishes from years before.

First off, I'd like to apologize. Apologize for two reasons. First, because what follows is a "rerun" of something I've posted here before over two years ago back in February of 2006. Secondly, because it's my Mother's Day post and it's a week late.

That's because I just got off of Skype - a video program that allows one to talk with, as well as see as you do, friends and family.

The occasion was the first birthday party for the newest member of our family, our great, great nephew. During that visit with family in Oregon, I had a few moments to chat with our great niece, aunt of the birthday honoree. Recently she has been visiting Dada's Dally. I had the chance to ask her of a blog that most impressed her. What follows is that blog.

I'm so glad to have had the opportunity to ask this of my great niece because, recently, Dada's Dally has struck me as devoid of any originality or sincerity. Concerned my latest writings are the evolving stagnation of thought from current conditions warranting more and more of my attention which are, yet, less and less worthy of same.

I realize I have become a snarky bastard! The freshness that once inspired me has become a staleness of repetition of the same tedious old themes.

So, suffer--or suffer not, if you choose to forgo it--with me a tribute to a couple of years ago when Dada's Dally was a bit fresher, a little less cynical. When the world was a bit less stale.

To my mother who has been gone from this Earthly plane for over 20 years now, I wish- belatedly--just like always--a very warm, heartfelt "Happy Mother's Day, Mom!" Those of us here who still remember you miss you a bunch!

(And thanks to a "great" niece for reminding me of this today.)

DOING DISHES FROM YEARS BEFORE.

Sunday morning.....

"Where the hell's our dishwasher?" I asked myself, looking at the huge mess left from last night.

Answering myself, I heard me say, "You are the dishwasher, stupid!"

In our house, I do the dishes. My wife would like for me to have a dishwasher, but always I resist. Maybe the reason we fight tooth and nail on this dish washer issue is because of mornings like these. Being the only house in this entire end of town sans a dishwasher is a badge I wear with pride at times, particularly on these mornings.

See, it's only rare occasions with very special meals like last eve that we even break out the China.

(And note, here, China is a misnomer, because I remember as a very young child when my mother received these cups and plates and saucers. And I remember appreciating the beautiful pieces of that China, even after discovering the conundrum printed on the bottom of each where it was stamped in the tiniest of print, "Japan".)

I never mentioned this to my mom. She was so proud of that set of China with servings for 12. Even then, I knew my parents had come thru the hard times of the Depression long before I ever came along. This was mom's very first set of China and it meant so very much to her. It would be her only set of China.

But it was post WWII when Japan bore the reputation of the vanquished and anything Japanese was thought of as inferior goods. As junk.

It was only over the years with the rise of Toyotas and Nikons that I began to appreciate our dinnerware. Somewhere along the way, I realized the Japanese were probably the foremost makers of quality China, for wasn't it we Americans who had taught them so well the secrets of glazing and high temperature firings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki?

And so one of the things I pride myself in yet today is the fact that, as a kid, I never asked my mom of her new dishes, "Mom, why, on the bottom of each piece of China does it say "Japan"?

But you know what I really like about those plates, cups and saucers? Well, it's washing 'em the next morning after an evening with special friends like last night. By hand. Not in some machine with hoses and heating elements.

Because as I clean each one, I'm remembering the history of these dishes. I'm thinking of all the people from my past who ever ate off each plate or drank from each cup. And what amazes me most is all who partook from this "China" are now gone.

There were my folks, my two older brothers, 17 and 18 years my seniors, whom as a kid I worshiped and looked up to so much. Of old family friends and aunts and uncles and cousins. All dead. Of Christmases and Thanksgivings long past.

And hams, pot roasts and turkeys served up with all the trimmings. Of the green beans that sat on my plate and the embarrassment I suffered before so many of those people because I couldn't excuse myself from the table to go outside and play til I'd eaten 'em. And by then they were gaggingly cold.

And so this morning, alone with those dishes as my wife--who'd so deliciously filled them the night before--still slept, I passed an hour's time with those plates, cups and saucers. It seemed like only a minute or two. But before I knew, the dishes were done. And as I replaced them affectionately back on the shelf for who-knows-how-many-more-months before the next special dinner, I put away my parents, and my siblings, and all those aunts, uncles, cousins and friends so important to me so very, very long ago.

And you just don't get mystical experiences like that from any dishwasher with hoses and heating elements.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom -- belatedly (again)!

*****

Loose Ends

Armed Forces Day, '08

A four year old girl peeked out of an M-88A1 military recovery vehicle
Saturday during Armed Forces Day at Fort Bliss. ~El Paso Times photo.

Hope everyone had another wonderful Armed Forces Day just like last year. Locally, it was a beautiful day to get out with the kids, to let them explore the insides of armored personnel carriers, tanks, and see rocket and missile bearing helicopters up close and imagine their thrilling capabilities, unlike unfortunate Iraqi families who only see them from a distance but get to experience their capabilities, often close-up or first hand! A great chance to see the means by which America spreads "democracy" around the world.

GE quits!

On a sadder note, I noticed in yesterday's paper General Electric is getting out of the appliance business. For more than a century American homes have harbored appliances manufactured by the company that "brings good things to life."

It's part of G.E.'s strategy to "exit slower growth and more volatile businesses." I suppose microwaves, ranges and refrigerators are subject to slow downs in public demand and, like now, can be downright sluggish in the depressed economy most Americans are currently experiencing. (Expect similar quality Chinese replacements in the near future to fill the void, I suppose.)

Maybe G.E. has discovered that much of its defense related industries are far more profitable in a nation waging "perpetual war for perpetual peace."

A nation engaged in eternal conflict will have endless needs for the manufacture of equipment and ordnance that either blows things up (continual replacement) or equipment that gets blown up (continual replacement), unlike the civilian population that may experience recessions and/or depressions from the stress and strain of having to pay for its government's militancy -- in lieu of refrigerators, of course.

The Check's in the Mail

If I'm to believe a recent table I saw showing when we can expect our one-time rebate to save the economy, we may actually experience a direct deposit into our checking account very, very soon!

I've already decided how I'm going to spend it. For a few weeks it will make up the shadowy difference between prices past and prices present on such things as gas, eggs, milk -- you know, those skyrocketing energy and food costs that aren't part of the Consumer Price Index, the latest figures of which reassure us all that inflation is tamed and contained.

So we won't be purchasing more (to stimulate Bush's tanking economy). We'll just be paying more.

Latest Dope on the Local Drug War

Rereading this so far, I realize what a downer today's blog has been. So I'd like to end on a more positive note which comes in the form of good news!

This morning's El Paso Times headlines about the ongoing drug war just across the border in Juarez are encouraging. In the slayings and ambushes that have been averaging 3.5 killings per day (25 for this past week), it is reported that yesterday only 3 were murdered! Hopefully, the beginning of a positive trend?

*****

Running on empty!

I have this recurring dream where I'm in the middle of nowhere and, just after passing a sign that reads "NEXT SERVICES 98 MILES", followed by a McDonald's logo and a Chevron symbol and -- at the very bottom of the sign, the afterthought, "GOOD LUCK!" -- I am prompted to look down at my gas gauge. It's riding half-way between a quarter of a tank and EMPTY, leaving me to ask myself, "If I slow from 70 to 50 mph, can I make it 98 more miles?"

It's then I ponder why the only gas indicated on the road sign is that of a Chevron station up ahead when I remember our secretary of state, Condoleezza Rice, as a former Chevron oil executive and former Chevron "oil tanker." And I wonder if there's any connection? "What happened to all the Texaco, Shell and Citgo gas stations?" I ask myself.

Suddenly it occurs to me: "This is the 21st Century. Whereas gasoline was our liberator in the20th Century, it is now our oppressor!"

I pause for a moment's self-adoration at such profound thought. Patting myself on the back, I'm gloating with pride! Then it hits me what this all implies. Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I realize I'm not going to make it 98 more miles before my car takes its last gasp for gas and dies. I truly am on the threshold of a whole new world!

*****

Today's news clips or, the same old hypocrisy bullshit and government *fun with numbers*!

Bush photo-oping his failed Mid-East policies in Israel...

"JERUSALEM (AP) - President Bush on Thursday criticized the deadly tactics of extremist groups like al-Qaida, Hezbollah and Hamas and said he looks toward the day when Muslims 'recognize the emptiness of the terrorists' vision and the injustice of their cause.'"

(Words spoken by Bush, leading Christian terrorist, while visiting the leading Jewish terrorist state and failing to recognize the emptiness of his own terrorist visions and the injustices they cause.)

***********

Meanwhile, a headline in today's Business sections across the country states "Inflation pressures ease." This should make everybody feel better:

"consumer prices edged up 0.2 percent last month, slightly lower than expected and better than the 0.3 percent rise in March."

While the prices of food had the biggest monthly gain since January 1990, one must remember food prices are not part of the American's real world indicator, the Consumer Price Index. Neither is gasoline and other energy prices. As a result, the price of gas in April fell 2 percent according to our government's voodoo economics!

Well, they really didn't, but the government wants you to believe they did.

Said one unnamed government official, "It gets so tiresome hearing Americans bitch and bitch about their growing hardships when the price of gas is falling." (Okay, so I made this paragraph up, but not the one about how the government makes gas prices fall with slick statistics as oil prices climb above $125/bbl.)

Wise old owl.

A neighbor called me this afternoon. Excitedly he said, "There's an owl in my front tree." Grabbing a camera, I rushed next door.

After finding a brown lump on a branch in the area where my neighbor was pointing, I decided I must be looking at the owl. I started "Hoo - hooing!" to get his attention.

I got the impression this really annoyed the owl who appeared to be trying to get some rest. That's because he looked down at us briefly with what I interpreted as disgust at my feeble attempt to communicate.

I was never able to capture his icy glare. But here's what I did get.

photo by Dada

Mrs. Dada ID'ed it as a barn owl. We sent the picture to a friend who confirmed it was indeed a barn owl. He told us it's called a "schleiereule" in German. (Having then gone to audio German dictionary, I'm afraid I'll have to stick to the English "barn owl.")

But he also told me there's an old European saying, "When you hear the owl, and have a penny in your pocket you will always be rich!"

Sadly, the owl wasn't speaking this afternoon. But that's okay, even if he had, I didn't have a damn penny on me either!

***

Mother's Day leftovers

Editor Sam waiting on the brats!

I hope everyone had a great Mother's Day. Ours was one of the nicest in recent memory. Probably because I decided to include our new patio furniture in it and the weather cooperated in what turned out to be a truly immaculate conception.

It was a small gathering of but four - myself, Mrs. Dada, editor Sam and the one remaining mother between the three of us, my mother-in-law. Brats simmered in beer then browned on the grill were served on buns so freshly out of the oven the bakery refused to package them in a bag of plastic. They had to box them instead.

I think my choice of bratwursts may have been a genetic thing over which I had no control. Being one generation removed from family roots in Wisconsin, I suspect selection of that state's national food was a way to capture a little of the spirit of my mother who's been suspiciously absent from Mother's Day gatherings for the past 20 years now.

Sadly, while the pleasantness out on the back patio was going on, it was a very bad day for some Mexican mothers just over our border. That's because they were losing their sons. Five more bit the dust in the small town of Palomas, just across from Columbus, NM. Apparently in retaliation for two killed there Friday.

The drug cartels are adjusting nicely to the beefed up "security" of the Mexican army and federal police sent to the border to squelch the violence. After a brief decline in the drug war killings immediately after their arrival, the ongoing slaughters appear to be resuming their more "normal" levels .

You may recall, Palomas, Mexico is where the entire (small) police force resigned a couple months ago and its police chief crossed into Columbus, NM to ask for asylum.

Later in the evening, I discovered the following items that evidence some people are taking the impending oil crisis seriously. Here was one curious example:

"Trigger" always wanted to go for a ride. She finally got her wish but didn't know she'd have to be the one horse behind its one horsepower energy source that drives Dubai inventor Abdolhadi Mirhejazi’s "Naturmobil". She walks the treadmill just behind the driver.

Abdolhadi claims the Naturmobil can obtain speeds up to 80 kph, but normally cruises around 20 kph. A four horsepower version is in the works. It will ferry tourists around, stopping occasionally to "gas up" in greener pastures, I suppose.

When Mirhejazi's friends first heard of this most unusual idea, they were convinced he was off his rocker (horse), but he proved he wasn't "bucking around" with his "cart before the horse" invention. The Naturmobil is touring and lucky folks in Sacramento, CA are scheduled for a stop there sometime in June.

Stepping up the horse power a bit, say to 20hp, and a bit more practical I suspect, I caught a link (thanks AZ Goddess) to this sporty looking little number, this German built Loremo which, I don't know, may mean "tree hugger" in Italian. Able to attain 60 mph in 10 seconds and a top speed of 100 mph, it's a sporty looking little four seater that weighs just 1000 lbs using nothing but diesel, i.e., no plug-in recharging or hybrid fuel cells and gets 157 mpg!

157 mpg German built gas guzzler, Loremo

The Loremo will begin selling in Europe in 2009. Price tag estimates are $13,000. Eco-conscious Americans should contain themselves because by the time it reaches U.S. shores, the Bush devalued, gutted dollar will probably price it out at around $137,000! Things aren't cheap anymore, but such is the price Americans must pay for the bombs to support their global domination of a dying, shriveling empire in the last stages of putrefaction.

Finally, one of the more discouraging things to close out a great Mother's Day was late night radio where I learned all the baby boomers who took their medicine in the 50's and early 60's in the form of the Sabin or Salk polio vaccines, did so from serum produced with monkey kidneys that were all contaminated with a cancer causing virus. Somewhere between 100-200 million doses were delivered to unsuspecting Americans, according to E. Haslam, talk show's Coast to Coast AM guest last night. According to Haslam, we are now in the middle of the cancer epidemic we now enjoy as a result of those vaccinations. (But at least polio's been eradicated, right?)

Oh wait, I just remembered -- I actually heard that in the first segment of the show just after midnight. So it wasn't a bad ending to a great Mother's Day after all. It was a bad beginning to a whole new week.

Happy Mother's Day

From our cosmos to your cosmos, we send you this flower, a cosmos,
with fond thoughts and loving memories. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom!"
(We would have called, sent a card and flow-
ers, but we don't know where you've gone.)

"El Cinco de Mayo" Texas style, aka "El Sinkhole de Mayo"

Curious onlookers (or idiots?) check
out Daisetta's evolving landscape.

Mexico's annual Cinco de Mayo festivities have come and gone but, not to be outdone, Texas began its own unique version of the Mexican holiday in the small community of Daisetta 30 miles outside of Houston this past Wednesday.

That's when a giant sinkhole appeared and began gobbling up the landscape and everything in it right beneath the Deloach Oil and Gas Wastewater Disposal Co. It's being dubbed by some as Texas' own "El Sinkhole de Mayo."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dada NOTE: As I've blogged here in February, Texas takes great pride in being the *biggest*, the *most*, the *best* at just about everything -- as in the *most polluted state in the nation.* It's something Texas agencies overseeing the regulation of industry whose operations affect the environment, work very, very hard at (often by sleeping with the captains of those industries).

It was therefore no surprise that the Texas Railroad Commission (TRC) immediately jumped in to assure everyone in and around Daisetta that Deloach Oil and Gas Wastewater Disposal Co. had no hand in this catastrophe despite violating its state permit by dumping 800,000 barrels more salt water into the giant underground salt dome than authorized in 2007.

While Dada hasn't sufficient data to claim Deloach is responsible for this, I don't think the TRC has sufficient data to claim they're not. But the state has its well earned reputation to uphold, i.e., to protect polluters over citizens, environment and the health of both. It's what has earned Texas the nickname, "The Pay Toilet for Industry."

Follow-up to Tuesday's blog, "The Spirit of '76 rekindling?"

Tuesday in the blog, "The Spirit of '76 rekindling?" (below), I reported on a school district whose chief financial officer, Jimmy Loredo, refused to pay the $42,000 per month (!) increase in its water bill for flood control improvements that became effective in March. (El Paso Independent School District's water bill increased $56,700 per month!)

Wednesday, El Paso's mayor, John Cook, and the Public Service Board met with a contentious public over increases in water bills to pay for flood control projects.

As a result, a standing room only meeting with private citizens, small business owners and school district officials resulted in a cut in fees paid by all. While the school districts will now pay only 25% of their previous assessments for the flood control, the reductions are temporary, rebuilding to their full current levels by 2011.

A defiant Jimmy Loredo responded by saying, "They're throwing us a bone, but we're not going to bite" as he noted the new temporarily lowered fees will still cost the district a $300,000 annual increase for flood control projects, "a big chunk of money that we frankly can't afford."

All of this controversy is the result of August 2006 floods that caused millions of dollars in damage to El Paso in what was called a "once in 500 year flood." As one city representative who raised a valid point said, "I don't know if the world will even exist in 500 years ... why do we have to pay for all of this in the next five years?"

It's good to see governing officials can still hear, and respond, to the outcries of an angry public. But some, like Ysleta school district's Jimmy Loredo, remain defiant.

Just a word of caution to governing bodies. Has a dangerous precedent been set by your officials reacting to the demands of angry citizens?!

Take heed, the Spirit of '76 pangs of defiance have been "thrown a bone."

The Spirit of '76 rekindling?

A modicum of Revolutionary spirit was revealed on the front page of the El Paso Times this morning. It surfaced in one Jimmy Loredo. He's the Chief Financial Officer for the local Ysleta Independent School District.

Presented with a $42,000 water bill for stormwater projects enacted as a result of the August '06 floods in El Paso and which took effect this March, Loredo refused to pay. According to the article, El Paso's three major school districts are being assessed an average of $41,300 per month in stormwater fees.

"We didn't pay it and I told the PSB" (Public Service Board - the local water authority) "that I wasn't going to pay it, either. If they want to come and cut our water off, let them. I would like to see them be responsible for sending 46,000 kids home."

It's nice to see outrage manifest in someone with the juevos (and children as leverage) refusing to just go along. (An option lost on most 21st Century Americans.) I don't know how this will play out, but it's pleasing to see someone revolt! (Ooh, someone getting "mad as hell and not gonna take it!" huh?)

We need flood control. We learned that from 2006 inundations that caused much damage. But we also need empathy from local governments that continue to raise taxes with no appreciation the paying public is experiencing a dramatic recession. We're all being stretched and squeezed and the status quo of endless wants and needs by governing entities must be tempered in these times out of appreciation of a public being increasingly ravaged by the soaring costs of food, energy, and taxes.

If not, I hope we can expect to see more folks with the juevos of Ysleta School District's financial officer. I didn't know anyone was capable of such revolting behavior any more.

Eight Belles redux

I'm back to painting the house again. To distract me from the immediate, often boring task at hand, I brought out a radio. It helps.

First let me say, as a previous owner of three greyhounds (simultaneously!), two of whom were retired off a race track in Arizona, I think I can declare my understanding and empathy with animals bred for the amusement and financial enrichment of their owners. It sucks!

I don't know what they do with retired race horses, particularly those who aren't very good, who don't earn their owners money by winning races, but I know what they did with greyhounds before caring people stepped in. Slow dogs were "retired" and, most often, destroyed. Now, if lucky - thanks to people who care enough to spare them, they are adopted out to loving homes. But it wasn't always that way. And I'm not satisfied with that as a solution. Dog racing needs to be stopped.

But back to my painting. While up under the eaves, someone called into the talk show I happened to be listening to addressing this past weekend's Kentucky Derby which saw the demise of Eight Belles before the eyes of thousands present after she broke down just after crossing the finish line in second place. Talking like a Chuco, the caller wanted to know...

"Yo, what's the deal with the horse they destroyed?"

"Michael Vick is in jail for dog fighting, dude!"

"And some of my bros from the 'hood are behind bars for cock fighting man," he said. "What's with that? We eat those birds on Sunday for dinner."

Point well taken. Seems a little like a class thing, doesn't it"? Because the owners and trainers of those magnificent thoroughbred horses continue to operate despite the cruelty exhibited with the break down of Eight Belles, a prized "possession" stressed beyond her natural capabilities who had to be destroyed.

Apparently it's more common then we know as I learned after hearing this evening's excellent PBS Lehrer Report debate on horse racing. See, Eight Belles wasn't the only casualty from this weekend down in Kentucky. As we learned, another, a four year old, broke down on Friday. His chances of survival? Fifty-fifty!

Larry Jones, Eight Belles trainer said after losing his horse, "These THINGS are our family, you know. We put everything into 'em we have, and they given us everything they have. They put their life on the damn line here, ah, and she was glad to do it." (Emphasis mine.)

The debate that ensued was unsettling. That's because sports writer for the Washington Post, Andrew Beyer, who argued racing is not animal cruel, delineated just about every reason racing should be drastically changed, if not totally eliminated.

But sadly, Beyer could not bring himself to admit the breeding of horses for greater speed on spindlier and spindlier legs, increasing the likelihood for breakdowns like the tragic two this weekend at Churchill Downs, is animal cruelty.

As Eight Belle's trainer reminded us after she was destroyed, "She was glad to do it!" [sic]

*****

Reminder to White House, "Your slip's showing!"

To the president and his first lady, a reminder: Be careful when speaking in public because most often when you open your mouth, your hypocrisy slip shows. Adding to the long, long list of such examples, we note today's glimpse of her slip during Laura Bush's press conference regarding Burma's government after a cyclone there that appears to have killed thousands.

Mrs. Bush "urged the Burmese government to accept foreign aid after the devastating weekend cyclone while chastising the regime for not informing its people of the impending disaster."

"'The response to the cyclone is the most recent failure of the regime to meet its people's basic needs,' Bush told reporters,"* forgetting the recent 2005 Gulf Coast Katrina Hurricane and its pre- and post- reactions to it by our regime's leader -- her very own husband.

Damn it's hard to be part of an administration that can't open its mouth but put its own foot in it!

*attribute: The Guardian

The sport of kings continues. (This one goes out to Eight Belles.)

Oh the fairgrounds were crowded, and Stewball was there

But the betting was heavy on the bay and the mare

As they were approaching, about half way around

The gray mare she stumbled and fell to the ground

And away out yonder, ahead of them all

Came a-prancing and a-dancing, my noble Stewball

~lyrics to Stewball

In the 70's, my wife and I accompanied my brother to the race track. He had a great love for 'playing the ponies'. It was a love I didn't particularly share, but to enjoy some quality time with him in an activity he dearly enjoyed, we went along. It was a beautiful afternoon.

In the seventh race at Hollywood Park that day, I placed a $2.00-to-win bet on a 12-1 beauty named Baghdad Lady. And as they rounded the last turn into the home stretch, there she was, comfortably out front leading the pack. The excitement of the announcer's voice grew as the horses approached the finish line yet, strangely, Baghdad Lady--leader of the field--never got another call down the stretch. Nary a mention. How could that be for one who was so in command of that race?

The reason soon became obvious to all of us. As the horses crossed the finish line, as we glanced down to the home stretch in front of our grandstand wondering what had become of our bet, we saw her. There, with leg in pieces and dangling was the most horrific sight. Baghdad Lady had suffered a thoroughbred's worst nightmare. She had "broken down" as they say.

That was the last time my wife and I attended the horse races. And that was the day beautiful Baghdad Lady, a strong and vibrant creature, bred for speed atop the spindliest of legs, died. We learned this in a brief mention in the following day's Sports Page.

And then came Barbaro in 2006 with all the promise of a Triple Crown winner who tried so valiantly, yet failed to live up to the "kings" of the sport's expectations.

Yesterday's Kentucky Derby served to remind us once more of the victims of this "kingly" sport.

While magnificent images of beautiful creatures behind white fences stretching for miles around green pastures is a glorious sight, it's the vision for kings. What it really is, is just another industry for the amusement of the masses and their masters. My apologies if I offend anyone who is a fan of this "sport," but my sensibilities for these magnificent beasts bred to amuse us are too strong to withstand what the "Sport of Kings" demands.

As with Barbaro's demise, yesterday's Derby was yet another reminder of what happens to some of the noblest beasts on Earth who are bred for our sheer pleasure with the expectation to perform, often beyond their capabilities.

Yesterday, Eight Belles, a filly, a "girl" who chased the eventual male victor to the finish line, gave her best trying to do all we expected of her. Sadly, her spindly ankles failed her. But she died trying her best to please us.

After Barbaro's demise during the 2006 Preakness, an AP story said, "there wasn't much enthusiasm for the finish, especially with many of the fans in tears." I expect more tears were shed yesterday. But fear not -- not enough tears to stop the Preakness, the Belmont and the same trifecta next year and the year after that, ad infinitum.

Horses are sentient beings. Do you wonder at Eight Belles' stable mates curious as to her eternal hereafter absence after yesterday's tragedy? As she lay confined to the track where she had fallen, trying desperately to right herself while being suppressed by handlers, Eight Belles unsuspectingly entered what I can only hope are better pastures without the white fences in which to forever frolic. At least that is my dream for her. Because sometimes the demands of kings are beyond even the noblest efforts of the most magnificent of "beasts."

Up on the roof!

When this old world starts getting me down
And people are just too much for me to face
I climb way up to the top of the stairs
And all my cares just drift right into space
On the roof, it's peaceful as can be
And there the world below can't bother me

~The Drifters

Being as how it's warming up in the desert Southwest, it's time to start thinking about air conditioning. Thursday I spent some time up on my mother-in-law's roof starting up her evaporative air cooler. (An annual ritual no longer missed at the Dada house since the advent of refrigerated air some years ago.)

While the disadvantages of the old swamp coolers are several, there's one huge advantage that's difficult to get around. And that would be, getting up on the roof. The view is so much better. It gives one a whole different perspective. It felt so nice to be - for a brief time - above the madding crowd. (The Bush gang, congress, the corruption - not my mother-in-law.)

When I was finished with the cooler, I announced I wasn't coming down, it had been so pleasant I didn't want it to end. But I was finally lured back to the abyss by Mrs. Dada, tempting me with an India Pale Ale. So okay, call me weak.

Exciting Friday!

Regular visitors here know of frequent visitor, Border Explorer. This morning, clicking on her name in one of the comments she posted here on Dada's, I expected to be taken to the latest entry on her excellent travelpod blog, but instead ended up at Border Explorer's new blog now unfolding!

I liken this to having a high powered, high resolution telescope turned to the cosmos in which one can watch the birthing of a new star!

Congratulations, Border Explorer. I'm really looking forward to learning more of your take on reality; on the meaning of "post-modern religion" and other Border Explorer esoterica. Welcome to "Bloggerville"!

*****

Enjoying a respite

This morning I took a break, escaping for some time to Mexico with the aid of a friend who sent me a link to this website. Another excellent gallery of photos of the people of Oaxaca is here.

I love great photography of interesting places and faces. They inspire me to want to steal away with a camera and shoot up the landscape and the people in it. Of course, mine never come out anything like these. 

I would love to credit these photos to the artist who took them, but I didn't see who that was. Enjoy!

Tlaxiaco, State of Oaxaca, Mexico.

A crumbling plastered wall calls out for
Liberty on Calle Cinco de Mayo in Oaxaca.

Soccer ball escaping the 16th century cathedral of Yanhuitlan

Día de los Muertos in a cemetary in Apoala