My Thoughtful Spot

use it up

Back during WWII, there was a common phrase that encouraged citizens to use all their possessions to the fullest. That would allow the manufacturing industry to produce for the soldiers, rather than for personal consumption.

In the last two years Daniel and I (well, mainly Daniel) have been rediscovering this phrase. Not because of any war, but because of the environment. And since the fall, it has been reinforced because of the recession.

The first big ticket item we saved was our armchair and ottoman. One of our kitties liked the twill fabric sharpening her nails, and finally one particular corner had become so unsightly that we had to do something. In previous years, we would have probably just bought a whole new matching chair and ottoman, but this time we took them to a furniture upholsterer. We saved money, saved manufacturing of a new chair and ottoman, and kept our old set out of a landfill.

Next item to go was the little tv/vcr combo in our bedroom. (Just the fact that it's a tv/vcr combo tells you how old this is.) The single speaker blew one day, making the sound very tinny and almost impossible to listen to. I was itching to get a flat screen/dvd combo, but Daniel insisted that we try to get the speaker replaced. So we looked up "tv repair" and found a nearby shop. Unfortunately, he cannot fix the speaker, but at least we tried!

Then last night, the halogen lamp that we use to light our bedroom -- the same lamp that Daniel had in his dorm in college some 13-15 years ago and survived countless moves -- died. We checked the bulb, but it must be the wiring. So we need a new lamp. I suppose we could take it to an electrician, but that damn thing is so ugly, it's time is more than up.

What are you doing to save money or the environment with products you use around your home? Has your behavior changed recently?

we'll see him soon

Today my brother-in-law Jim shipped overseas with the Air Force. He's in the Air National Guard and he is one of the last few people where he's stationed that hasn't gone to the middle east yet. The minimum amount of time he'll spend over there is six months, they say.

Once he arrives, they'll be briefed about the rules. Get email accounts, guidelines for care packages, and probably a bunch of other more important stuff. He's set up an online game to play with my nephew; I hope they'll be able to do it. I was thinking about sending him a care package of biscotti, but thought better of it. Biscotti? He'll probably get made fun of for having such fru-fru food. Prolly just stick to chocolate chip cookies.

If you pray, please pray for him and the rest of the brave men and women with whom he is serving.

When I find out about care packages, would anyone want the info for your own care package? Let me know in the comment section; I'm sure he and the other guys (and gals) would appreciate any comforts from home!

humble thanks

To all of our Veterans who helped to defend our country, protect our freedom, and preserve our way of life, thank you. Freedom comes with a price, and I don't know how to express my gratitude for you bearing that price. Our nation is greater for your service.

ends

Last night was an historic one for our nation. We elected the first African-American president and I am proud to be an American because of that. Even though his philosophical ideas and fundamental beliefs are not in line with my own, I can acknowledge how important yesterday was for us. In a way, it signals an end to many of the prejudices that existed in our country not too long ago that prompted the civil rights movement.

I hope this election also brings an end to something else. Hate. I'm not sure how it became so prevalent, but I have witnessed so much hate during this entire campaign that came to a head over the weekend and on Monday. In the last week, I made 700-900 phone calls to encourage people to vote. I was cursed at, chided, told that I was stupid/retarded, and even had my life threatened. Some of my friends went to Nevada to knock on doors to get out the vote. They had trash thrown at them, were threatened, and were accused of assassinating Martin Luther King, Jr.

I can have a discussion with someone on the facts. But I cannot battle such blind rage as what I and others have witnessed. I am baffled that one American can hate another for no other reason than a candidate whom they support. We're all Americans. We all want the best for our country. We differ on how we get to the best and, if we're lucky, because of that argument, we find the best. But this process cannot happen if we are so enraged that we can't see, listen, or discuss. I hope that all this venom will dissipate, and quickly. Because it never leads to anything good.

One end that I am fearing is the end of my own American dream. As many of you know, I am just starting my medical practice. It is a start that I wouldn't exactly call "fresh" as I have nearly a quarter of a million dollars in student loan debt. I may own a small business in just two short years, if there is no universal health care program that will make me a federal employee. I worked hard to get to where I am and sacrificed so much in so many aspects of my life. And now, just when I might start seeing some of the fruits of all my labor, it may be severely cut and perhaps stifled completely. I will just keep my head down, take care of my patients, and hope for the best. I wonder, how many people out there are like me?

Last night, Californians voted to amend our state Constitution to end gay marriage. It doesn't take any rights away from gay civil unions, as many people erroneously believe. It does restore the definition of marriage to what Mirriam-Webster defines it: a union between a man and a woman. Fortunate or unfortunate, this was the issue that we had to vote on to tell the activist state justices that we will not tolerate legislation from the bench. I can honestly say that if this proposition had been the other way, I would have supported gay marriage just to protest the judicial acitivism that is rampant here. Many will see this as an end of gay marriage, which it is. But the bigger, more significant issue is (hopefully) the beginning of the end of judicial acitivism.

The one thing that is not ending, however, is my determination and conviction in the conservative principles of lower taxes and smaller government. I also espouse to Teddy Roosevelt's (another great Republican) environmental conservatism. These fundamentals are borne out of my love for my country and it's citizens. I will continue to fight for these prinicples; not for my sake, but for the sake of America.

wednesdays

My hump days are amazing. Because I work for like a quarter of a regular day usually. I get up a little before 5:00, run for 6 miles, then cool down enough to do an hour of yoga at 6:30. I realize this sounds insane, but consider the source.

After my well-earned shower, I head into work. See the folks I have to see in the hospital, pop my head into the office to see if there is anything to take care of, then head back home. I'm getting all kinds of errands done. And today, because there is the last presidential debate, I spent a lot of time watching the news and contemplating the debate. Because people who don't work during the week watch tv. We all know that. I just don't watch Jerry Springer. (Is he still on anymore?)

I also usually catch up on computer stuff. Emails, blogs, stuff like that. In my catching up, I ran across this post, which inspired a fascinating email between Daniel, my brother Steven, and several friends. The topic? a drinking game for the debates. Steven, clever as usual, came up with an abbreviated albeit effective drinking game for tonight's event.

So, as a team effort, here is your official Debate Drinking Game:

• My friends
• Maverick 
• Straight talk 
• Change 
• Hope 
• Middle class (double if said by McCain) 
• "That was an excellent question" 

GO! 

on the border, part II

Here is the continuation of Daniel's weekend at the American-Mexican border:

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Saturday night had a completely different "feel" to it than Friday. First, as dusk fell, strange traffic kept crisscrossing the "Ranchita" directly south of the Point -- both people on foot and two pickup trucks. Second, immediately after the sun set, "spotters" on the American side of the border began flashing lights south from positions both east and west of the Point. Lights flashed in answer from the Ranchita. Bobby and I took up our position on the Couch Trail as before, looking down to what we had called the "Tank Trap" -- the gap of fence into which steel "X's" had been welded. Bobby manned the night vision scope, while I was tasked with the radio. Since the moon had not yet risen, I literally could not see a thing. Suddenly Bobby called out, "There are four people setting up south of the Tank Trap. Three have identical backpacks and one, I think, has a rifle. I think they're going to cross." I immediately called this information in to Li'l Dog: "Li'l Dog, this is Boston. We have four individuals..." As I said this, Bobby said, "They're crossing, they're over the fence." I said into my radio, "they have crossed and are heading north between the Couch Trail and the 241." Li'l Dog replied, "Boston, that's a good copy, Mr. Green has been notified." Within 2 minutes a Border Patrol truck came screaming over the hill, searchlights blazing. The Agent trained his light almost exactly on the spot in the brush into which Bobby said the four illegals, likely drug smugglers given their identical backpacks, had jumped. Suddenly, the BP turned east and headed up the hill toward the 241. Perhaps he had gotten a more urgent call. Bobby kept the night vision scope trained on the general area to see if the group emerged from the brush. I called in to the Point that the BP had not apprehended the group and we believed they were still in the brush. About 10 minutes later two more BP trucks converged on the area and proceeded to do a methodical sweep on foot over the next 30 minutes. Knowing that Agents are not equipped with their own personal night vision, we maintained our position to try to see if the BP might "flush" the illegals out of their cover. Unfortunately, we did not see any of the group emerge.

About a half hour later, Li'l Dog radio'ed that another friend of his, a rancher further north from the Couch Trail who monitored the same frequency we were using, had called the Point from his cell phone and said he believed the group had entered his property. As Bobby and I listened, we could hear the sound of dogs barking coming at us from the north -- just as Li'l Dog said over the radio "... because his dogs are going crazy." This would have meant that the group of 4 slipped out of the area, perhaps between the time that the first BP truck arrived and the second two. In any case, Li'l Dog phoned the BP with this updated information, and they redirected to the ranch. We learned the next morning that BP successfully caught the group Bobby had sighted. Our first assist! What an exhilarating experience!

The night was still young, and more action was to come. A group of two younger Minutemen with the call sign "Porthole" had taken up a position further east, at the "Donut Hole," which is about as close to the 241 marker as one can get and still remain in their car. These two men radio'ed that they heard voices and rustling in the brush just below them, but on the American side of the border. Judging by the amount of noise, clattering and rustling, "Porthole" said they believed the group to be between 20 and 30 people. Apparently, they had crossed, but couldn't proceed further given Porthole's position and ours. Pinned down in the dark and cold, this group started to become aggressive, shouting insults in Spanish at two Minutemen. Suddenly, we heard this on the radio: "Patriot Point, this is Porthole. We're being rocked, repeat, they're throwing rocks at us." For legal reasons, this particular part of the story will end here, but suffice it to say that in a peaceful and safe manner the group was persuaded to stop throwing rocks. Most importantly, everyone was safe and no one was injured, either Minuteman or illegal immigrant.

As the evening "window" drew to a close, we returned to the Point as the Border Patrol "scope trucks" began to patrol the area. Flush from our collective success at assisting in the apprehension of 4 likely drug smugglers and the prevention of the group's crossing, we gathered around the kerosene heater to talk before bed. It was interesting to hear each person's reason for joining the Minutemen. Bobby, a native Virginian, had not thought much about illegal immigration until he moved to California around 2005. At that point, he saw first hand the strain that illegal immigrants place on our social services, and the creeping sense of entitlement brought with them. The two younger Minutemen who had been rocked explained that they had completed high school and were diligently seeking traditional, manual-labor jobs, but kept getting overlooked in favor of illegals, who commanded a lower wage. This story drove home to me that the unchecked flow of illegal immigration has devastated those old jobs which used to allow average Americans access to financial security and the pride of modest homeownership. In my father's day, a man could complete high school and obtain unglorious but quite steady employment as a porter, a gardener, a mover, a janitor, or handyman. These jobs put food on the table, allowed the purchase of a tract home, and perhaps allowed one to send their children to state college. Illegal immigration, along with many other factors, has evaporated these jobs for American citizens.

Another Minuteman, a rancher, has simply become tired of his animals being disturbed, his fences broken, and trash strewn on his property -- all by illegal immigrants. Still another Minuteman, an African-American with liver disease, told of consistently being denied government assistance, while watching illegal immigrants get essentially free care in our hospitals. While I don't necessarily agree fully with each of the positions that were expressed, and as I'm fond of saying, "the plural of anecdote is not data," at the same time, "where there is smoke, there is fire." If a variety of Americans from differing educational levels, races, and walks of life each feel the impact of illegal immigration, that says something. Our government, however, is not listening. Why should they? Illegal immigration is truly the cross-partisan "gift that keeps on giving." The political Left sees an influx of poor Hispanics, virtually every one of which (or at least their children) will vote Democrat -- a veritable voter machine. The political Right sees a source of cheap labor that will boost corporate profits -- making for happier days for Republicans at their local country club. While both liberals and conservatives conspire to do nothing, no one is watching out for the American people.

Saturday night was again spent in the "Fifth Wheel," and Bobby and I were back on the line by 5 a.m. Sunday morning. Nothing particularly eventful occurred except another game of cat and mouse with a smuggler on the Mexican side of the border by the rock "igloo."

Not forgetting my promise to L'il Dog, after the morning "window" for crossing closed, I suggested we scale the 241 and repair the torn-down flag. As the pole is 21 feet tall, and does not have a guy rope (or else the illegals would simply lower our flag rather than tearing it down), we had to do a little bit of a circus act to get the flag up there:

But after some amazing work by Porthole, she flies proudly again:

Immediately after hoisting the flag, what should come sailing over the hill from the Mexican side? Why, rocks of course. They missed us by a fair margin, so we were in no danger, but we raced over to the side of the hill to see who had been throwing them. We came upon two Mexican nationals in black who, as soon as they saw the size of our group, proceeded to haul ass back into Mexico. Interestingly, we also saw a black Cadillac Escalade driving south-east on the Tecate Federale highway. This was probably the truck that dropped these two individuals off. Clearly, given that it was an Escalade, these two men were either spotters who were attempting to cross into America in order to guide others across after night fell, or drug smugglers attempting to make a brazen daylight crossing. Clearly, they were not migrant laborers; but they were angry that our flag-raising activities had impeded their crossing. Here is a photo of the scrubland into which they retreated (they eventually hid behind the rock in the middle left of this picture, shouting insults at us):

Most of the group retired to the Point, but Porthole and I stayed behind at the 241 for an hour to make sure these gentlemen didn't return. As I sat quietly, I had an opportunity to see the real environmental toll that illegal immigration takes on our landscape. Here is a shot of the 241, littered with cans and bottles and bootie materials:

By now, it was time for Bobby and me to head back to Orange County. We said our goodbyes to Li'l Dog, Richard, Porthole and of course Freckles. Li'l Dog asked us to come back as soon as we could. We could tell that being there alone takes a huge toll on him. The smugglers have the same radios we do, and often taunt him: "Grandpa, we know you can't stay awake forever, go to sleep..." At best it can be comical, but at times, all alone on the Point, it must be positively unnerving. Li'l Dog has been shot at also, and a deep rusted gash on the hood of his truck shows where a smuggler, with amazing accuracy, shot a spotting scope and its tripod right off the car. Yet, day in and day out, he stays. He stays and does the job our government should be doing. He stays, and supports the Border Patrol as a "force multiplier." He stays, because in this crazy world, someone has to. Every day, he raises the flag on Patriot Point and scans the horizon, alone if necessary, grateful for any volunteers who may visit. He stays, because his presence may prevent one more backpack of drugs from addicting someone, may deter a criminal or child molester from making your hometown his own, may keep a terrorist from joining up with a cell somewhere... or may simply keep someone who doesn't have the legal right to be here, from being here. It's not about immigration. Immigration happens when someone goes to the U.S. embassy in their country and gets a visa, and that's not what happens at the 241. It's about the trampling of our law, the violation of our sovereignty, the rape of our Nation. And while we sleep, the Prisoner of Patriot Point maintains his solitary vigil on our behalf.

on the border

Over President's Day weekend, Daniel went to the Mexican-American border. He saw and did some pretty amazing things, and I thought it would make for a perfect post. Below, you'll find the story of his adventure...

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For quite some time, I have wanted to volunteer with the Minuteman Project -- the civilian group that watches sections of our southern border and reports sightings of illegal immigrants to the U.S. Border Patrol. I have wanted to do this not out of hostility to immigrants, because I believe orderly, legal immigration is the lifeblood of our Nation. Nor have I wanted to do this out of ethnic prejudice, because I am of mixed ethnic extraction, some of which has not always historically been considered "white." I have wanted to do so out of a concern for the rule of law and for national security. I have also wanted to do so out of solidarity with the Minuteman Project, which, despite having never mistreated an illegal immigrant (and having provided emergency medical attention to many) has been vilified and slandered in the press as a gang of "vigilantes," when they are no such thing.

Through a family friend, I had the opportunity to volunteer with a group of Minutemen operating out of Campo, California. A retired U.S. Army captain, whose radio call sign is "Li'l Dog," has been manning a stretch of border 55 miles east of San Diego on a continuous basis since April 2006. Concerned about the large stretches of border that are essentially unmanned, Li'l Dog volunteered early with a chapter of Minutemen. As the movement splintered into various schismatic groups, he continued to watch the area, building a close relationship of mutual respect with the Border Patrol. Based on an outcropping of rock close to Mile Marker 240 he dubbed "Patriot Point," Li'l Dog hand dug and installed a flagpole which proudly flies the American flag, as well as two donated mobile homes, an old military truck labeled the "Deuce and a Half," a combination of solar and generator power, and the most diligent and loyal dog known to man, Freckles. While other Minutemen come and go as their schedule allows, Li'l Dog remains on site 24/7, often alone for long stretches at a time, scanning the border with binoculars and spotting scopes, and reporting what he sees via cell phone or FRS radio to the Border Patrol. He refuses to leave as long as the border is not secure; in his words, he is the "Prisoner of Patriot Point."

I and another volunteer, Bobby, arrived at Patriot Point on Friday at 1230, after a three hour drive from Orange County. We met Li'l Dog and our family friend, Vince. Here is a view of Patriot Point:

Here is a view of the "facilities," at 3000 feet no less:

And here is Freckles, smartest junkyard mutt you'll ever meet:

Apart from the dedication of Li'l Dog, what impressed me immediately about his operation was the close and favorable relationship he had with the Border Patrol. The local office new him by name, and at least once each day a Patrol Agent would come to visit Patriot Point, bringing a newspaper and intelligence about border crossing traffic. Impressively, the Agents would ask L'il Dog about his planned operations for that night, if he had volunteers on hand, and would coordinate Border Patrol placement so as not to duplicate efforts. On Friday, Li'l Dog explained to the visiting agent that our group would fan out in twos along the border between Patriot Point and Marker 241. I was astonished to hear that the BP, in response, would focus its efforts west of the 241. This indicated two things to me: first, Li'l Dog's efforts have a real impact respected by the BP; and second, our Border Patrol is so understaffed that they are happy to utilize the services of volunteers. Think about that for a second. With a federal budget of over $3 trillion in 2009, our Border Patrol does not have enough manpower to patrol all sections of the border on its own. This is inexcusable. It is that way for one and only one reason: because the government and corporate interests actually want it that way.

Li'l Dog explained that most border crossing occur from 4 to 7 p.m., and from 4 to 9 a.m. He suggested we take the time to walk the border ourselves for a bit and view the supposedly secure "Virtual Fence" our government promised to build. I changed into comfortable hiking books and thick socks, cargo pants, a layered top of T-shirt, insulated long sleeve shirt, and wool jacket, sunglasses, and Patriots hat. The wind at 3000 feet is quite fierce, and I learned to appreciate the layers. Strictly for defense and potential "rattlesnake abatement," I also carried my Beretta PX4 chambered in .40 S&W.

Bobby and I proceeded to walk along the border to "the 241." What we saw defies description. Sections of 50 year old, rusting fence, with enormous gaps, and well worn concave depressions underneath it -- worn that way from hundreds of bodies slipping underneath. This, ladies and gentlemen, is our southern border:

Look at that gap! Not a single BP agent, checkpoint, or even camera in sight. Literally anyone could walk through -- from drug dealer, to criminal, to terrorist. A few hundred feet west, toward the 241, is a section of missing fence. Has the government repaired it? No. What they've done is weld some steel "X's," the kind you see used to stop tanks in old war movies, into the gap. Will it stop a tank? Maybe. A person can just walk around, over or under it.

The illegal immigrants use felt "booties" when crossing, both to mask their tracks and muffle the sound of shoes on rocks. Here is one of the booties laying in our path as we walked to the 241:

Here is a concave space under the fence, where heaven knows how many drug smugglers and illegal immigrants have slipped through:

Here are multiple gaps in the fence by power tower 131, also known as the Couch Trail. Why? Because there's actually the remnants of a couch there, where pregnant illegal immigrants would rest. While no one can blame people searching for a better life, immigration simply must be handled in a more legally orderly fashion than via a Fourteenth Amendment "anchor baby":

And if that weren't bad enough, here, the fence just STOPS. No reason. It just stops. X marks the spot for entry, I suppose?

By now you can see the light of near-sunset, and Bobby and I finally reached the 241. This mile marker has had eight American flags torn from it, probably by drug smugglers or human smugglers ("coyotes"). This alone should tell you something about some of the people who cross our southern border. Li'l Dog has made it a point to hoist a flag as soon as one is torn down, but as one man, he can't scale the 21 foot flagpole by himself. I radio back to Patriot Point that we've arrived and promise to help replace the flag by the end of my stay. Watching the sun set, I quietly chant the Phos Hilaron, the Greek Orthodox hymn for evening time.

Looking down into Mexico from the 241, I catch a strange sight. A large, well tended Ranch is directly south of the 241. There is a main house, stable, and several expensive cars. But there are also a number of smaller, windowless buildings, or buildings with few windows. Various cars stop on the main road; people get out, and go into these buildings, but they don't come out. Li'l Dog explains that at best, these are safe houses, where illegal immigrants stock up on water and canned tuna before making the crossing. At worst, and more likely given the affluence of the "Ranchita," these are places where people willingly or unwillingly become drug mules -- loading up on satchels of marijuana or cocaine -- either because it's their business to do so or because some coyote has said, "I'll guide you across, but only if you carry this."

We head back to Patriot Point before the sun fully sets at 1730, to get ready for the "evening rush." After dark, cameras become useless, and only night vision goggles work until the moon rises, and binoculars can then be used with some difficulty. Bobby and I take up a position on the Couch Trail, halfway between the Point and the 241. Bobby mans the night vision scope, and I man the FRS radio. My accent and Patriots hat lead me to quickly be dubbed "Boston," and that becomes my call sign. Another Minuteman takes up a post at the "Donut Hole," a space between some brush nearer the 241.

Li'l Dog explains that the Border Patrol has told him his greatest value, apart from maintaining a presence, is to deter would be crossers from crossing -- to, in other words, "keep them legal" by keeping them on the Mexican side. Why? Because every crosser who is apprehended must be taken by the Patrol Agent to headquarters and booked. While the Agent is "away from the line," six more crossers come over. Therefore, Li'l Dog said it is perfectly acceptable to periodically turn on our headlights, make noise, and generally be visible. Deterred crossing is always preferable to apprehensions. Li'l Dog takes deterrence to a nonviolent extreme, using a bullhorn to periodically proclaim, in serviceable Spanish, "Do not cross into the United States, this border is secure."

Friday night is almost painfully uneventful. By 2300, Bobby and I have not seen a single attempted crossing. Li'l Dog and Vince reported seeing some "spotters," individuals on the American side who flash lights to incoming illegals to let them know the way is open, but no actual crossers. Knowing that the BP infrared scope trucks come out at 2300 to patrol more heavily, we retire back to the Point. A few hours of sleep is caught in the "Fifth Wheel," the second mobile home, which is surprisingly comfortable.

By 0400, we are back on the line. As sun rises, we make our first sightings. On a hill on the Mexican side, smugglers have made a sort of "igloo" of smaller rocks, behind which they can hide themselves and larger groups of immigrants. Several times, a smuggler dressed entirely in black pokes his head up from the rock, sees me, and darts down again. For several hours, he and I play cat and mouse, while the sun heats up the rusted fence. As its expansion sends out weird banging noises, the BP radios Li'l Dog to inform him that the smuggler I'm watching has a group behind him. I stand firm, watching the same section of fence. He never crosses. Perhaps he got tired and "TBS'ed" ("turned back south"), or moved to cross west of the 241, where the BP concentrated its presence.

During the day on Saturday, a friend of Li'l Dog's who owns a ranch nearby took us on what he calls the "Tecate Cruise" -- a 14 mile guided tour of the border between Campo and Tecate. The "fence," such as it is, is more of the same. This particular stretch is part of the supposed "New Fence" promised by Secretary of Homeland Security Chertoff:

If I weren't so busy laughing, I'd cry. Just keep telling yourself "we don't need a fence, fences don't work." Right. That's why they have fences around military installations, construction sites, and you have one around your house.

Here is the fence between the U.S. and Tecate (yes, the same Tecate where the beer is from). See how it is meticulously patched where there are holes? That, at least, is a good thing -- one would think:

But, here, just a dozen feet away, is this:

So surreal it's almost Kafkaesque, don't you think? And of course, right by that opening, we found tons of booties, water and beer bottles, and empty food cans. Our border truly is analogous to locking your front door and leaving all your windows open.

As Saturday wore on, we headed back to the Point so we could take up our positions before the 4 p.m. "window." When we arrived, Li'l Dog was on the phone with BP. He relayed that according to Border Patrol, our heavy presence along the border on Friday night had caused a "backup" of "product" -- meaning that the drug smugglers couldn't get their goods across, and there would be pressure to move more drugs and bodies across the border tonight. According to Li'l Dog, something like 40% of the marijuana and ingredients for methamphetamines come across the Campo border. Since the federal government started controlling pseudephedrine, more and more smugglers were simply bringing across backpacks of the stuff, since it is still legal and uncontrolled in Mexico. More than that, most smugglers take drugs on consignment, and face stiff penalties from their masters if they fail to move the stuff across. Basically, what BP was telling us was "hold on and strap in, it's going to be a bumpy night."

And a bumpy night it was. Our first night vision sighting, spotting and assisting in the apprehension of four drug smugglers, a group of 30 illegal immigrants sighted and reported, one of our positions assaulted by rocks, and more. But it's late, and that story will have to wait for tomorrow.

saturday six

Episode 135

1. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being very pleased/enthusiastic and one being very unhappy/depressed, how would you rate your feelings on Democrats taking control of Congress?
uh... 1.I understand why it happened, but it's a 1 just the same. It's mainly a tax issue, but there are a lot of issues. On taxes -- I like my money and I work freaking hard for it. Harder than most people work for what they've got. And I don't step on poor people to earn what I do. Please don't take more of it away from me. It's just not fair. On stem cell research -- Leading up to the election, the democrats were running these commercials with people that were supposedly going to be afflicted with horrible diseases and that they were going to remain sick because stem cell research wasn't going to get federal funding. Leaving the whole religious issue out of it, will someone please tell me why this is an issue? Any other kind of research, like drug development, new tools for the OR, etc., are all privately funded. Why the hell does the government have to pay for it? Let the private sector handle it! On gun control -- There are enough laws out there regulating the purchase and handling of firearms. Any more laws will only make it more difficult for law abiding citizens to obtain firearms. It's not going to stop the criminals any. Please don't take away my ability to defend myself, since the police has no obligation to help if called. Remember Hurricane Katrina? On universal health care -- This is such a complicated issue. Mainly because the government has, yet again, thrust itself into an arena in which it has no business. Will someone please show me exactly where in the Constitution it says the goverment has to regulate health care? Or where it says that everyone deserves the absolute best care medicine has to offer for free? It doesn't. All I know is that if Congress manages to take control of the entire industry and make me the equivalent of a postal worker, I'm out. Have you ever been to a VA? That's how the government runs health care. We have a perfect example here already. I have seen some pretty scary things at the VA. I wouldn't send my enemies there.
Okay, I'm getting off my soap box now. But the question asked for it!

2. The Democrats have been, naturally, very critical of the Bush administration and the course the country has taken. How effectively do you believe that they can turn things around by the 2008 election?
Now that the Democrats have control of both the House and the Senate, I think a lot of damage can be done before 2008. Here's hoping that they do enough to piss off the rest of the country and ensure another Repbulican in the White House.

3. What would you rather have for breakfast: a) ham & eggs with toast, b) grits and sausage, c) pancakes and syrup.
Green eggs and ham? No, just kidding. Pancakes and syrup. yummy....

4. Take the quiz: Are you too negative?

Are you too negative?
Moderate You know that life is about how you look at it. You see the positive and negative in every situation and this gives you a clearheadedness that others (especialy your friends) admire and seek. You have a balanced world-view that is sometimes negative, sometimes positive, but always right-on.
Take The Quiz Now!	Quizzes by myYearbook.com

5. How likely are you to change your views based on your answer?
I suppose I could be a little more positive. I'm working on it. Really I am.

6. You are serving as a juror in a murder trial. The defense team is claiming a woman killed her own child while insane. As a juror, would you cosider it critical information to know how soon she might be "back on the street" if found Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity, or would this have no bearing on your verdict?
The sentence shouldn't have any bearing on the ruling. If she's not guilty by reason of insanity, than that should be the verdict. I know it does in the real world, but it shouldn't.

a citizen remembers

Five years ago, countless of innocent lives were lost and we were wounded. That scar is still there -- a pink, new scar. Still tender. New skin that can be easily injured again. But the superficial wound was the smaller one. Our collective psyche was damaged irrevocably. And yet we stand strong. Together. We fight our enemies, visible and invisible -- the main enemy is an ideology. How do you defeat that? We are still trying to figure that out so that we can remain safe. So that what happened five years ago will never happen again.

I remember it so vividly -- probably always will. I was a third year medical student six hours from home in Bangor, Maine. It was my psychiatric rotation, and we were meeting with our attending in his office, going over some things that were going to happen in the doctor's group session with all of the patients. I went down the hall towards the front to pick up some information from the chart, when I saw that most of the patients were gathered around the tv. Not unusual, because sometimes they put on a movie. I paused briefly to try to see what movie it was. Hmmm... a movie where someone is blowing up the World Trade Center. I wonder what movie that is? I haven't seen that one.

I went back down the hallway with the much-needed information. At the time, that was the most important thing I could be doing. A few minutes after I returned to the office, one of the Social Workers knocked on the door. "Have you heard what is happening? Someone attacked the World Trade Center in New York!" We've heard it before, like when that guy put the truck full of explosives in the basement. We'll check it out in a moment.

I'm not sure how much time passed until we actually went back down the hall to one of the tv's, but when we did, even more people were gathered around. It wasn't a movie. The buildings were on fire, but they were still standing. But not for long. We all stood paralyzed and watched them fall. Daniel called me. He was also away from home... in Richmond, VA. He was so upset. Probably just as upset as I would be if someone blew up the Golden Gate Bridge. New York was his home. And it had just been attacked. Using our planes as weapons.

We were told we could leave early. Would we be asked to go to Manhattan to help with the injured people? We all decided we were ready to go at a minute's notice. But we were never asked to go. A few days later we learned why. I went to church and prayed. And cried.

Where were you?

the polls are closed

This isn't a political blog, and this isn't a prelude to my opinions of the initiatives that were on the special election ballot in the great state of California today. I just wanted to say that I voted.

And every time I vote, I am reminded about what a great country we have, despite all it's failings. Every time I vote, I am grateful for the people who have served to defend our country. I vote to honor them just as much as I vote to make my voice heard. Isn't Veterans' Day coming up?