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

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

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

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

Battening down the hatches!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heroes, or........

The ultimate pledge of allegiance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quote of the Day ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chalk the block -- a lot of fun!

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

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

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

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

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

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

109 N. Mesa Street, a location and a blog

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

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

The light of day arrives.

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

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

President Obama by Wendy Reyes.

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

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

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

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

Avoiding Germans on Planes (and other loose ends)

5 Tips on How to Avoid Germans on Planes

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

Juarez drug war stats update.

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Chalk the Block "Oh, oh!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death comes to a daughter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yep," I agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam's Sunday "swim" break from editing

Jumbones, a Great Pyrenees, rests on owner Ethan Seamans as they swim Saturday at
Nations Tobin Aquatic Center in Northeast El Paso. El Paso Parks and Recreation
opened the pool to dogs and their owners after the end of the swimming season.
(photo by Mark Lambie/EP Times)

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

Yesterday I proudly watched my editor Sam demonstrate his finest rodeo skills at the park. Using the leash of his latest found buddy as a pigging string, Sam ran circles around a picnic table until the leashed dog chasing him was literally at the end of his rope, wrapped tightly to the table along with his scantily clad bikinied mistress.

I'm sure had Sam been at the rodeo he would have won the "calves roping" event this day. And I probably would have won the accompanying photo contest that went along with it had there been one. Sadly, Mrs. Dada being elsewhere in the park at the moment missed it and I didn't think it appropriate to ask Sam's victims if I could take a picture. But Sam and I will always have the shared memory of his accomplishment.

The occasion for this was the Second Annual Dog Day Swimming Event. Held at a pool not far from home, the City of El Paso holds a party for dogs before they drain it's two outdoor pools at the park for the season. The $2.00 admission per dog (humans get in free) benefits the local Humane Society and several other local animal rescue shelters.

Sam, having always been on a leash whenever away home, was free to roam the large park. I was anxious to see his social skills with other dogs. (Learning of his rodeo skills was a bonus!)

Sam strutting his stuff poolside, never letting on he's a water wimp.

Sam did great with all other dogs and we learned a couple of things I'd been curious about:

• I was anxious to know how he would take to the swimming pools. He didn't. At the home of friends shortly after we got Sam over two years ago, he was "accidentally" nudged into their pool. It was great watching Sam swim for the minute or less he was in the water. Little did we know that would likely be our only time to ever see him swim. And while I nudged him into the kiddie pool yesterday upon arrival, Sam let me know, as turtles go, he's a desert tortoise. Oh, and any dreams of ever living in a wetter clime like the Pacific NW are definitely shelved so long as Sam is alive. He refuses to walk outside if the grass is wet. This has caused Sam and I on occasions to be out strolling the neighborhood in rainstorms getting drenched for his day's end "pee" late at night.

Sam playing with one of his new found friends.

• Despite the freedom he was given and the distractions of the many, many other dogs, Sam maintained awareness of our whereabouts. Only a couple of occasions did he lose track of us and when he became of aware of this, it was great to see him suddenly lose interest in play to focus on finding mom or dad. And more delightful was his response to hearing my clapping hands and calling him as he spotted us and came sprinting! No doubt, we are soul mates for sure.

This was our first time to attend this event. Sam and I went there Saturday, but it was way too crowded, the line too long. I'm glad we returned to try again yesterday. It definitely won't be our last time.

Every so often it's good to test your rights.

As we are learning from recent town hall meetings of the past month, the 2nd Amendment (freedom to bear arms) is apparently far better protected than the 1st (freedom of speech).

While individuals have been thrown out of public meetings for wearing a shirt with 'the wrong message' on it and demonstrators are often restricted to designated "free speech zones" out of earshot of their message's intended recipient, such is not the case when wearing a weapon to a public demonstration.

"There's no law against it," has been the response of law enforcement when citizens express alarm at the presence of such individuals publicly. As a result, Dada would like to suggest those weapons that disturb others when spotted in crowds on individuals intending to intimidate everyone present be recognized for what they really are: instruments of Male Enhancement.

Being as how most communities have strict laws against displaying one's sexuality so brazenly in the open, anyone caught doing so in crowds could then be removed from the situation for the public obscenity of exposing themselves to others. They could then be detained, fined, locked up, or whatever until the event is over and everyone has safetly disbanded.

Of course, while carrying weapons in crowds like this has its drawbacks, i.e., it makes their possessors look like pea-brains, I guess that's the trade-off for the chance to show everyone else you're a bigger prick than they are.

When in Rome...? (or "Et tu, Wilson?")

Not all members of Rome's Senate were pleased
with Obama's speech to both houses last night.

(photo courtesy of Rep. Joe Wilson, R. from South Carolina who, growing
up, probably watched too many movies of the ancient Roman empire.)

Where's the buses? There's just GOT to be some damn buses here somewhere!

Day after Labor Day. Our representative has returned to D.C. as congress reconvenes. Thank God he is gone! I only say that because of the tremendous outpouring of deranged people secreted away around our state who came to see him.

This past Saturday, Mrs. Dada attended her third (and thankfully last) health care reform town hall meeting. I just couldn't join her. Having gone to two, I'd seen and heard enough wacky people's contankerousness. As the meeting with our congressman Silvestre Reyes commenced inside the high school gymnasium of my wife's alma mater, I scoured the parking lots for the buses outside.

Just as congress had been in recess during August, I suspected many patients of state mental hospitals from all over Texas were on furlough from their heavy doses of major tranquilizers like Thorazine and others. In order to attend and witness in person grass roots democracy firsthand, they were bussed from places around the state. Places like Austin, Terrell, Big Spring, etc., state hospitals. To El Paso.

And so, while I was outside, Mrs. Dada was attending her most contentious town hall meeting to date, telling me afterward all she had witnessed inside.

Like the man seated next to her spouting obscenities and angry retorts: to a veteran who had lost a leg, "I hope you lose your other leg," he chided; to our congressman to whom he said something like, "you don't have that long to live," while pointing his index-finger-as-pistol at him and making *shooting sounds.* He would glance at Mrs. Dada seated next to him to see her reaction, but she retained her calm, not giving him that pleasure. She would later gather pictures of the wrathful patients with much subtlety, including this man as he was being escorted out of the meeting by a police officer. (This was obviously the most disturbing one of all, for who was to know if maybe he hadn't left his gun outside on the bus?)

Meanwhile, out in the parking lots, I realized from recently reading the experiences of one who had worked in the mental health system many years ago at the then called State Lunatic Asylum (in Austin), that many of the ill are dangerous and seriously disturbed individuals. Others, not so. They are simply helpless in their hallucinations and paranoia and need to stay confined somewhere inside away from society on the outside. From what I had witnessed in my attendance at two town halls, I wasn't sure which there were more of at these gatherings.

Before the meeting, another reformer with counseling experience expressed her professional opinion to Mrs. Dada that much of the behavior exhibited in these meetings was the result of grave fears of change manifesting as extremely irrational and overt rage, often very threatening in nature. I suspected, for many, it was exactly what had gotten them committed. Or maybe they were extra angry this day, knowing, this being the last meeting, they were all about to be bussed back "home" afterward. Or perhaps even more callous, these sick folks just don't give a damn about people without health care insurance because they're all being nicely taken care of courtesy of the state of Texas?

Back inside, "You are an idiot if you believe people are going bankrupt in this country because they don't have health insurance!" shouted a woman to a lady testifying she was being impoverished because of a health condition she's enduring without insurance.

"Why don't you go home!" the angry woman continued to this lady with an accent whom Mrs. Dada later learned was born in this country and is working on her PhD in engineering. "You can be bought for a nickel!" the untranquilized woman ranted.

"You lie! You are a liar!" an exiting man shouted directly at congressman Reyes. "You liar!"

Back in the parking lot meanwhile, I had had no success in locating the bus these crazies came in. I decided maybe they would lead me to it as they exited the meeting. But that didn't happen. As a result, a very unsettling feeling came over me as the crowd dispersed to their own cars and left.

Watching the parking lot empty, my worst fears washed over me. These insane people, shouting down discourse, some with ominous threats, weren't from Big Spring or any other State Hospital. Nor were they from anywhere out of town. These crazy bastards are El Pasoans. And some of them are my neighbors!

Labor's Last Day

PORTLAND, OR, Sept. 5, 2011 UP (Unassociated Press:)

Oregon, first state in the nation to honor labor with its

very own day of recognition in 1887, was ironically the

home of the last (and still unemployed) member of a

disbanded union, Andrew Carter, to observe the former-

ly recognized national Labor Day holiday on Monday.

**********

LABOR DAY

"In the early twenty-first century, Labor Day parades, rallies, festivals, and speeches were still organized by labor unions across the country"....but.... "because of the shrinking popular base of traditional labor unions, however, most Americans tended to regard the day merely as the finale of a long summer of fun in which hot dogs, barbecues, and picnics reigned." (Labor Day from Answers.com)

On Friday , February 12, 2010, a congressional bill authorizing an additional $.995 trillion bailout funds for corporate America had a page inserted into it by an unnamed senator late, late that evening. The bill, as with most bills its size, went unread by representatives before its near unanimous passage the following Monday. The rider, to all who have since had the chance to read the bill, has become known as "page 1137." It declared the former holdiay known as Labor Day was to be immediately revoked.

The provision, long sought by Business, was deemed necessary to increase American productivity if the nation was to effectively compete with global labor markets. Said an anonymous executive from the last American auto company still manufacturing cars, ....

"Rather than our work force taking a holiday, we realized an immediate way to increase labor's productivity -- by having them work for their pay the first Monday of every September instead of paying them to just take a day off and woof weenies, burgers and beer."

"Labor Day was set up to honor America's workforce one day of each year with a holiday as appreciation for all their hard work the rest of the year. But in the context of the global labor market now enjoyed in the 21st Century, that concept is obsolete," he continued. "We lobbied long, hard and contributed much to get this law passed. It's a victory for all Americans!"

"We must continue to seek ways to further increase the American laborer's productiveness, with ideas like this and doing more with fewer workers working longer hours. You know, those still with jobs doing the labor formerly done by 3 or 4 of their now deposed unemployed co-workers," he continued.

"It's the only hope for this country if America wants to stay strong with a labor force able to compete with the likes of wages being paid to Third World workers; like China's forced *free labor* prison populations."

**********

HAPPY LABOR DAY AMERICA! LET'S HOPE IT'S NOT OUR LAST!
(dedicated to the memory of our late visionary president, Ronald Wilson Reagan, who saw the future now being enjoyed by us all.)

"The hat oft proclaims the man!"

My latest blog profile photo was inspired by a Christmas present I received just this past Saturday. It was a hat from the very talented and enterprising El Paso artist, Wendy Reyes. She brought it back (along with another for Mrs. Dada) from her trip to Guadalajara last December.


It's a very cool hat and I now feel some obligation to "earn" the air of distinctiveness it lends. Passing strangers in museums or galleries might see the hat and think there's an artist or something under it. I'll have to work on that.


For the few readers who may remember and those who don't know, I met Wendy after blogging about a Chalk the Block event put on at the El Paso Museum of Art a year ago June. Wendy saw my blog and responded,


"Hello! This is a very nice review!! I really appreciate you liking my work! I am the girl that painted "St. Bartolomeo" .... My name is Wendy Reyes, and I am a local 18 year old artist."


Actually, Wendy understated her talent. Having had opportunities to view Wendy's work and the success she has had with it these past 15 months, I believe Wendy is the premiere young artist in El Paso. Next weekend is the second Chalk the Block and I hope to attend and write about it afterward.


I'll try to do an even better job of covering Chalk the Block this year. After all, I have new credentials to live up to now. My cool new hat!

And we'll up ya two or three better!

Pullout of Soviet troops from Afghanistan. 1988. Photo by Mikhail Evstafiev.

October 7, 2009 marks the day the U.S. will begin its ninth year at war in Afghanistan. Russia of the former USSR, spent nine years in Afghanistan before its final withdrawal, February 15, 1989. Afghanistan is often referred to as the USSR's Vietnam.

Knowing we can easily beat their Afghanistan longevity, I would just like to say to the Russians:

"Na-na, na-na-NAH!" America is the greatest.

The proof is in the pudding. We can have three losing wars or Vietnams. We are the American Empire, so "Pffffth, take that!"

President Obama cited Wednesday

President Obama was pulled over and given a citation Wednesday. The officer who ticketed him, speaking on the condition of anonymity said, "It wasn't an actual ticket. It was just a 'Failure to Yield' warning" (to the public opinion of those who elected him).

"Click it or ticket" - freeway sign reminder of state law all auto passengers must wear a seatbelt

The Irony

In today's paper we learn a passenger was injured when an SUV driven by her husband blew a tire, went out of control, left the interstate and rolled several times.

And who was this woman who according to this morning's newspaper story chose to ignore state law by not wearing a seat belt in the SUV? She's a local District Court Judge.

Dada finds it ironic that one who passes judgments in cases brought before her in her courtroom apparently, when entering a motor vehicle, throws good judgment 'out-the-window'. Which, coincidentally, is exactly where she was thrown, too, yesterday as her SUV tumbled out of control.

The large cuts on the District Court Judge's head and other bruises she suffered could have been far worse. After being airlifted to a medical center, she was later released, thankfully okay.

Dada hopes this accident has given our judge some better judgment or, at the very least, more respect for the laws she is entrusted to enforce.