Memorial Weekend

Reservations made? Bags packed? Beach stuff ready to go? Brewskies on ice? Cooler in the car already? And tunes! Gotta get some batteries for the radio. Got your SPF 53 lotion? Dont forget the beach towels. Bring a good book to read. And a nice hat. And make sure you have your beach sandals ready, the sand gets mighty hot. Oh, and the plastic bucket and shovel and little rake for the sandcastles. Very important. What's an outing at the beach without sandcastles?

Are we all set? Ready? Cant wait to get to the beach? Dont you just love Memorial weekend? The beginning of summer, an extra day without having to go to the office?

Yeah. I love it too.

But, when you get to the beach or the park or your friend's pool this weekend, remember why it is that you can go to the beach or the park or your friend's pool. Remember that it's called Memorial Day for a reason. Take a brief respite from the sun, sit down under the shade of a big tree, and think about what it took for you to get that day off from work.

Honor those that gave their all for you this weekend. Take a moment between swims and thank them for their sacrifices. So many of them gave their lives so that you could freely enjoy the sand between your toes. So you can feel as free as that ocean breeze. So you can laze on your beach chaise and watch your kids frolic on the shore.

Thank them, they did it all for you.

In their own words...

Bill has an excellent post up at In DC Journal with a great interactive link to stories from WWII vets in their own words. More than appropriate reading for this Memorial Day weekend.

Then something goes BOOM!

I'm sitting back at ManCamp yesterday afternoon hoisting a few beers with my neighbor. It was a long day at work and I needed a little R&R, a little decompression. We're just sitting back there talking shit and all of a sudden there's this huge BOOM. My neighbor and I stare at each other for a second in stunned silence.

It turned out to be a truck's engine catching fire and exploding. Not an everyday occurence but something that does happen from time to time.

But I learned, no, I confirmed something about myself just then. I am definitely not the same person I was before September 11, 2001. Call me paranoid but for that brief instant, for that tiny miniscule second I was scared.

I heard the explosion and I immediately thought Fuck. We are being attacked. I know, it seems silly now, but the truth of the matter is that I did think it. Even if my mind quickly dismissed the thought as some kind of mild hysteria, it happened. I thought it.

In that microsecond I pictured my wife driving home and finding me dead. I pictured my parents distraught at losing their son. Would they have been killed too?

I know, it sounds crazy. But I have to admit it. I can't fool myself. I just don't think so naively anymore. My little world, that microcosm of friends and family and work and home no longer feel so isolated from the reality of the rest of the world. I am not the same. My family is not the same. And while the world around me still revolves as if nothing had ever happened on 9/11 and beyond, I know it disguises itself in its familiar daily routine. Yet somewhere there is that little nagging voice that says Be careful man. Shit just aint the same anymore.

When will Cuba be free?

When there's alot more people like Niurkis Padron:

HAVANA, May 25 (Reinaldo Cosano Alén / www.cubanet.org) - Two agents of the Department of State Security arrested Niurkis Padrón as she was leaving the U. S. Interests Section in Havana and, after confiscating some books, magazines and brochures she had received at the diplomatic office, held her for 18 days at State Security headquarters.

Padrón is a peaceful opponent of the government. Her husband, Virgilio Mantilla, also a dissident, was recently sentenced to seven years in prison.

Padrón said she had been held for five days in a locked office and for 13 in a cell. She said she was beaten and questioned by agents, who accused her of being a "terrorist and a mercenary in the employ of the U. S."

Padrón said she is a teacher and that she hasn't worked since 2002, after she was accused of being a terrorist and the wife of a terrorist.

Monsieur Moore

Cox & Forkum have the definitive Michael Moore.

What do you do...

...when your political party has no platform, no issue of merit, no solution, and no clear direction?

Why, you resort to nothing more than schoolyard name calling of course.

The Democratic party, the party of the people, the party of the little guy, has no problem with this. It has no qualms about denigrating Americans.

Think this country is fucked up now? Elect a Democrat in November and watch the American ideal become nothing more than a trivial anecdote.

Cuban Dichotomy

There's really not much commentary I can give for this:

SANTA CLARA, May 24 (Cubanacán Press / www.cubanet.org) -The sign at the door of La Pastora church, in Santa Clara, reads: "After June 1, no more medicines will be donated since the church is not authorized to provide that service."

Every Tuesday and Friday, missionaries had been distributing soup, bouillon cubes, crackers, medicines and soap donated from Spain and Malta. The Catholic charity Caritas had also been involved in the distribution of medicines to those that showed an appropriate medical prescription. The medicines are either not available in pharmacies or are available only in the dollar market, to which many Cubans don't have ready access.

Last Tuesday, Father Fidencio, himself a Spaniard, came out at the usual time and announced to all that were waiting for the distribution that he had been told Cuba is a world power in the medical field and that there was no scarcity of medicines or any need for them to give away medicines, which only caused unnecessary public gatherings. He said the last distribution will take place May 30.

Father Fidencio quoted the Public Health official who came to see him as saying: "In Cuba we have a surfeit of medicines and large public gatherings are forbidden." (Emphasis mine.)

And then theres this:

HAVANA, May - Dr. Dulce Leonor Torres slapped her hand to her forehead; she had just written seven prescriptions for an older patient and not one had been filled: the medicines were not available in the pharmacy.

Lupe Rabala, 75, who suffers from diabetes, hypertension, arthritis, and nervous disorders, said she is tired of hearing "we don't have..."

Yet the government guarantees her the medicines needed for her treatment, as the ration card she recently received attests.

"It's a contradiction," she says. "How is it possible that they run out of a medicine that I have guaranteed by the card? Where do these medicines go? To the black market, to the resellers! There, you can buy it for 15 times its price. They have everything that they don't have at the pharmacy."

It sure is a good thing Castro came along and got rid of Batista and all that corruption.

Sprinkler?...Um..

What's a sprinkler?

Confessions of a cluttered blogmind....

The Swan more important than the President's speech? Perhaps GW should have had breast implants and worn lingerie and pumps to do his speech.

The French arming the Pallies? Nah. Heresy, n'est pas?

Naked, green and wandering through the neighborhood doing the Hamsterdance song? FOR THE LOVE OF LIFE MAN!!!!

You mean I'm not a member of the respected media? Guess it's back to drag link whoring. (Zomby's essay is truly a must read)

Respected member of the media slanted? I'll believe it when I see it on the 6 o'clock news.

Michael Moore gets 15 minute standing ovation at Cannes? Maybe it just took him that long to waddle up to the stage.

Kerry flip-flops on nomination NO-mination? How out of character.

Mr. Wonkonian? Some things are just too sick to imagine....

Getting older? No way girl. Better. Getting better.

Bumper Sticker Hypocrisy

Big, black, brand new Ford Expedition in front of you at a light.

2" ball trailer hitch (for pulling a big boat, a really big boat).

Tinted windows.

Yacht Club parking sticker on rear window.

Green bumper sticker that says: Cut the Bushes, not the trees.

Some people just don't get it do they?

Tuesday Cubanism

Today's Cubanism is one I have not heard very often. It probably originates from the early sixties, around the time after the Bay of Pigs Invasion.

Cubanism:

Vamos a la americana.

Literal translation: Let's go ala American.

Actual translation: Let's go halfway.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

I get to the office after having done a couple inspections this morning and as I sit down at the computer to write my reports, my cellphone rings. It's my wife and she sounds a bit flustered.

"I'm Ok" she says. "But this guy just hit my car."

"Where are you?" I ask.

"I'm at the bank parking...NO I AM NOT MOVING MY CAR FROM HERE!!" She's screaming at someone over there.

I ask her what's going on and as she tells me the guy that hit her is screaming at her. I can hear the guy yelling in the background. "Call the cops right now," I say. "I'm on my way."

I fly out of the office, get in my truck and haul ass to the bank. My mind is reeling. I'm thinking I'm gonna have to get into with this guy becuase not only did he hit my wife's car, but he has the audacity to scream at her as well. In the middle of a parking lot.

I'm driving through the streets like a madman imagining this guy berating my wife and possibly even getting physical. I can picture myself getting there, jumping out of the truck and beating the guy to a pulp for disrepecting my wife. No one screams at my wife. No one. Not me, not her bosses or parents or irate clients. No one. I'm ready to pound on this guy.

Adrenaline is shooting through me when I get there. I throw the truck into a space, get out and quick time it towards where the guy is close to my wife's car. She sees me and immediately comes to me. She is one pissed off woman. She starts to tell me about the guy screaming and all the nasty shit he's just said to her and I just stop her. I calmly tell her "Wait here."

I walk up to the guy and say "A ver, why don't you scream at me?" fully expecting that I would have to bitch slap the guy in the middle of a parking lot.

There I am not 2 feet from the guy's face, waiting for him to just utter one wrong little word before I take 12 years of martials arts training to him and he turns into syrup.

"Oye," he says to me. "I'm sorry man. You know how sometimes you are having a bad day and..."

"That's no excuse." I tell him. "I heard you screaming at my wife over the phone. Why arent you screaming now?"

"I'm really really sorry about that. You know sometimes when you 're having a bad day and something like this happens you just lose it," he says. I'm about to lose it if he gives me this excuse again.

"You disrespected my wife and she deserves an apology."

He looks over to her, offers a meek sorry and by my wife's eyes I see that it just isnt acceptable to her. She starts to lay into him and I just cut her short. "Relax babe," I say. She walks away to the cops that have arrived by then.

I ask the guy if he has insurance. He says yes. "Ok. Ya esta bueno (thats enough). Let me just tell you one more thing," I tell him. "Imagine if it were your wife and some guy hits her car and then starts screaming at her. You wouldnt like that at all would you? You need to learn a little fucking respect."

I turned around and walked away. I really did want to beat the crap out of the guy, God knows he deserved it. But he just wasnt worth it. Why make a bad situation worse.

I'll just let our attorney to the damage to the fucking asshole.

I am no economist but...

...and bear with me here but....

If the Bush administration's recent changes to the to the remittance amounts allowed to Cuba means less money goes to family on the island from Cuban exiles, then why is Castro's government raising prices in the dollar stores?

If there are less dollars in hand, then there are less dollars available to buy things, no? And, since Cuba is a Marxist/Socialist system where the government is supposed to provide all for it's people, then why didn't the lower prices at the dollar stores?

HAVANA, May 21 (Ariel Delgado Covarrubias / www.cubanet.org) - The Cuban government has finally specified the extent of the price increases it proposed to impose in dollar stores after U. S. president Bush announced new measures his government would adopt regarding Cuba.

A circular addressed to the managers of all dollar stores on the island dated May 17 and signed by the Vice-Minister of Internal Commerce stipulated the increases by product lines, with most prices rising 10 to 15%, and some up to 50%.

Foodstuffs, such as oils, baby food, cereals, preserves, sausages, crackers, honey and syrups, milk derivates, soups, sauces and dressings, soft drinks, candy, and meat products except for chicken which already went up recently, were all to increase in price by 10%.

Others, such as vinegar, cooking wine, dried fruits, olives, capers, and spices go up by 15%.

All cosmetics and personal hygiene products will increase by 10%, except for soap, which will go up between 14 and 33% depending on quality, and laundry soap which will go up between 12 and 20%.

Clothing will go up between 10 and 15%. Baby and children's clothing will increase 10%; adult clothing 12%; underwear 15%. Shoes mostly will go up 15%; children's shoes, sneakers and slippers 10%.

Hard lines, including appliances, accessories and parts; furniture and bedding; hardware and most household goods; foreign books; video tapes and audio cassettes; all go up by 10%.

All office supplies, including the likes of calculators and telephones, their accessories, parts and supplies; photographic equipment and supplies; toys, and bicycles, increase 15% from their prices as of May 10.

Automotive goods, spare parts, batteries, and tires; as well as construction materials go up by 10%.

Domestically-made tchotchkes usually bought as souvenirs increase 30%, imported ones 20%. Imported cigarettes are up 20%; domestic alcoholic beverages (except for Havana Club rum) go up 10%, imported ones 25%.

All items-one price stores also will increase their prices as follows: what used to be one dollar will now be 1.50; what used to be 2 goes up to 3; 3 goes up to 4; 5 increases to 7; and 10 dollar items will be 12. The increases here go from 20 to 50%.

The regime surely made no money from those remittances right? So the regime could leave prices as they were becuase, you know, they never benifitted from the remittances in the first place. Then why raise prices? It makes no sense.

Unfortunately, it does make sense. Raising prices in dollar stores serves to not only further repress the Cuban people, but now Fidel and cronies can point the finger at the US and say it's all the big bad imperialists fault.

I hope the Cuban people realize that the US doesnt own those stores, the Cuban state does.

Politics-Free Monday

Welcome to Politics-Free Monday here at Babalu Blog. There will be no Fidel bashing, moonbat hazing and ideology criticizing here today. It's just a regular ole Monday.

Tomorrow we return to our regularly scheduled program of ranting and raving, but today, please enjoy the post below.

Dreams

You ever had a dream that felt so extraordinarily real that you wake up still in that dream? I had one of those about my grandfather this morning. In the dream he had passed away and the family was making arrangements for the funeral. Everyone was there, my mom, dad, aunts and uncles. Even my wife, whom my grandfather never met was at my side. It was surreal. I woke up and not only did I think I was supposed to go to his funeral this morning, but my heart ached. I felt the same dread I felt at his passing years ago. I woke up crying.

The feeling wore off after a few minutes, once I realized when and where I was, but I felt heavy, burdened.

My grandfather was a great man. He helped raise me when I was a kid, when both my parents worked two jobs each upon our arrival to the US. He and my grandmother pretty much had me all day, every day. They were both such incredibly noble and good people. They did not just babysit me, the tutored me, cared for me, taught me things I would need to know in my new country.

This morning, while I was getting ready for work, for a lingering moment I could have sworn I smelled his English Leather. I miss him.

The following is a piece I wrote about my grandfather a few years back. I had posted it here before but it was lost when my site crashed a few months ago. So, being that I feel him close to me today, this post is for him.

Benchmarks

"Don't call me that. I don't like being called that, makes me feel old . . . Call me something else, anything. Pick a name for me."

I was confused. What else was I going to call him? I didn't know that many words. 'Semaforo'. No. 'Ambulancia'. No, that didn't sound right either. We had been standing on the corner waiting to cross the street when he had pointed these things out to me and taught me what they were. I couldn't call him either of those.

The bus bench was uncomfortable. The green two-by-fours running lengthwise were too far apart and my small, skinny butt felt like it was slipping through, wedging into the cracks. I kept having to push myself up using my arms because my legs didn't reach the sidewalk.

"Why don't you call me 'Chu', like your father does?"

I shook my head. Eso no. I was mad at my father, he's the reason I was here. It was his fault that I had to get on that plane that hurt my ears. It was his fault I had to go into that big white room by myself with that fat lady that poked me with all those needles. My arm was still hurting. "Esa vacuna esta infectada (That vaccination is infected.)," Mami would say. I couldn't even go play outside because she said I'd get fever again. Now my father wanted me to go with him to get a haircut and I didn't want to go. That's why I threw the tantrum. That's why abuelo took me with him, to calm me down. 'Gua-gua', I thought. No, not that either. He's my grandfather, why couldn't I call him 'Abuelo?'

The rounded heads of the bolts clamping the two-by-fours down to the cast concrete legs almost burned my palm. I didn't want to lean back, scared that the heat from the painted plywood back would go right through my shirt. "What letter is that, abuelo?" I pointed to the first big letter painted on the bench back.

"W'. And stop calling me 'Abuelo'. Can't you think of something else to call me?

"And this one?" I pointed to the second.

"'Q'. When you think of a name, I can call you the same. Quieres que te ayude?" (Do you need help?)

I shook my head again, I could do it. My body was squirming now, feet forward. My torso twisted almost parallel to the superman style letters. Blue with white on a red background. W..Q..B..A..I spelled to myself. Mami had already started to teach me my ABC's.

"Abuelo, what does it say?"

"Nada;" he pronounced the letters," It's the name of a radio station. A ver. Por que no me llamas..." (Let's see, why don't you call me...)

"Cuba?" I interrupted, as if I'd just made an incredible discovery. It sounded like the word on the bus bench. I had heard that word many times before. They were always talking about Cuba. Cuba this and in Cuba that. It seemed like something or someone that everyone I knew loved, including my grandfather.

"No. Not that. Don't call me that. I'd rather you call me abuelo for that matter."

He stood up, stepped off the curb and looked down the street.

When we boarded the bus, I mimicked the way my grandfather paid the fare. Small coins first. The money jingled past the slot of the machine. Through the squared glass dome at it's top I could see the nickels and dimes bounce on the bottom. Metal plates sloped down from the edge where the glass was to a hole in the center. The plates moved up and down, causing the change to bounce and roll. The machine made a sound like a maraca, only softer and steadier.

My grandfather held his hand out; "Two transfers please." His other hand slipped his leather change purse into his pocket. The purse was square on one side, rounded on the other when closed. Opened, it was round on both sides, with a pocket on one side and a little leather wall on the other that stopped the change from falling out as it slid out of the pocket.

The driver leaned over towards his window and pulled out one of three or four small pads. He tore two ticket-shaped sheets of thin paper from the perforations. From a black leather holster on his belt he pulled out what I thought were scissors. He slipped the two sheets into the mouth of the thing, aligned them, and squeezed the handle twice.

"Abuelo, why's he doing that? What's he doing to our papers?"

"He's punching holes in them. That's so the driver knows where we came from and where we're allowed to go when we take the other bus...Why do you keep calling me that? How about 'Pepe'?"

"No, asi se llama tio (No, that's my Uncle's name)," I told him. I took one of the two transfer slips from his hand and examined it. The holes were shaped like horses.

When the ticking of the money machine and the tinkling of the bouncing coins stopped, the machine let out a long hiss. It's job done. No more coins to count. We swayed our way to the rear of the bus and sat with our backs to the street.

"Abuelo, what's your name?"

"Jose de Jesus Lopez-Comas".

"Can I call you 'Jose', abuelo?"

"I don't think your mother would like that. Besides, nobody calls me that anymore."

"What does mami call you?"

"'Papa'. That's what all your aunts call me, too. Is that what you want to call me?"

I shook my head again, almost frowning. Somehow it didn't sound right, he wasn't my father.

Signs ran along the sides of the bus above the seats. I stared at them, pretending I could read each one, imagining something for each one except the one just like the sign on the bus bench.

"Abuelo, is it far?"

"Ya estamos llegando, niño. (We are almost there son.)" A gold chain dangled from his belt to the pocket he was reaching into. I waited for him to pull out whatever treasure he was hiding. It must be something important, I thought, why else would it be on a chain? It wasn't until it was in his open palm that I was able to see it. It was a watch unlike any I'd seen before. It was gold and round with a loop at the top that the chain attached to. With his index finger he pushed the loop and it flapped open. Letters took the place of numbers. I decided he probably put it in his pocket because it was too big to wear around his wrist.

Patiently he explained to me that the letters were actually numbers and that the little hand on the two and the big hand on the twelve meant it was 2 o'clock. We would be arriving when the big hand was at the three, at 2:15.

"Abuelo, why is it 2:15 instead of 2:3 , like it says?"

He tried to show me, but the concept was too confusing. Halfway through his explanation I was lost and paying attention to the signs again. I wanted to know what each one said.

"Muchacho despierta (Wake up, boy!)" he said, bringing me out of my daydream. I couldn't wait to get off the bus, eager to go somewhere, anywhere. I forgot that we would have to take another bus. I forgot about the transfers.

This other bench was in the shade and not as hot. One of the two-by-fours had come loose from the leg. The bolt was missing and I tried to look for it but was made to sit down. "That bolt hadn't been there for months," I was told. There were stains on my side of the bench right under the tree. I wasn't sure what they were but I kept my distance anyway.

"What does this one say, abuelo?" This bench back was white and had a pair of glasses painted on it.

"Optica Lopez. It's where I bought my glasses."

"Lopez? Isn't that your name? Do you own it, abuelo?"

"No, I don't own it. There's lots of people with my last name, it's very common. How are you doing with my new name?"

"How about 'Lopez'?"

"That's too formal. It's what they call me at work." He paused to think, "Muchacho, si tu abuela te oye nos regaña a los dos (Boy, if your grandmother here's you she'll scold us both.)."

The money machine didn't make a sound this time, we had transfers. The bus driver took them, looked them over, and then speared them onto a stick close to the steering wheel.

"Abuelo, can I call you 'Papachu'?"

"'Papachu'? Is that what you want to call me? Are you sure?"

I nodded. The man across from us put his newspaper away, stood up and pulled the cord to signal the driver that the next stop was his.

"Can I pull the cord this time, Papachu?”

"God bless you!" a woman's voice interrupted from behind.

My grandfather had a pretty laugh, loud and real. It was deep and contagious. "Everybody's going to think you have a cold if you call me that. Te van a decir 'el catarrozo' (They are going to call you flu-boy.)."

I agreed. This naming business was hard.

He had to lift me so I could reach the cord that ran along just below the signs. It wasn't stretched taut, it draped from one fastener to the other. I pulled it four times; I would have pulled it more, but my feet were quickly planted on the rubber mat that lined the center aisle of the bus. The bus driver looked at me through his big rearview mirror and frowned. I had to grab onto the seat in front of me because the bus was stopping but I wasn't.

"Lopez! Que paso? Se te quedo algo aqui ayer?" (Lopez, what happened? You forget something here yesterday?)The barber smiled. His hair was neat and trim, like my grandfather's. His white guayabera was perfectly pressed, just like my grandfather's. He stopped cutting the man's hair only to shake hands.

"This is my grandson," he introduced me by name. "His father wanted him to get a haircut but he didn't want to get one. I told him to come with me so he wouldn't have to ." Louder now, "I don't think he needs a haircut, do you? He can just watch me get mine."

The barber looked puzzled for a second, nodded, then smiled again. "It'll be a few minutes, have a seat."

There were mirrors opposite each other on the walls. One wall had a long counter just below the mirror. It had an assortment of spraycans, scissors, bottles.. all kinds of things I had never seen before. The other wall had a row of chairs and a table in the middle stacked with magazines and newspapers. The steel arms of the chairs turned downwards and became legs. The seats and backs were burgundy leather. They looked comfortable, not like the bus benches. When I sat down my bottom sunk in. It was bouncy.

"Abuelo, what's that blue stuff?" On the counter equally spaced were four clear glass containers. Combs and brushes floated in a blue liquid.

"It's a disinfectant, for keeping the combs and things clean." My grandfather looked at me and for a second I thought he was mad at me. His eyes turned to the other barbers but his face didn't.

"Abuelo?....Abuelo? Did you hear that, Juan? Lopez is being called 'abuelo'. Ya eso es el colmo." The other barbers chuckled but didn't take their eyes off their work.

"Let's go, abuelo, it's your turn," the barber stressed the word 'abuelo'.

Grandfather got up mumbling, whispered something to the barber and sat down on the swiveling chair. I followed the endless number of his reflections getting smaller and smaller, each a bit further into the mirror. He told his barber how I was supposed to think of something to call him and how I hadn't been able to.

"We used to call him 'Electrolux' in the old days. When he used to play shortstop for los Alacranes de Almendares," the barber said as he swept the imaginary hairs off my grandfather. His haircut had only taken a minute. There wasn't even any hair on the smock. "He never missed a ball, his glove was like a vacuum."

"'Electrolux', abuelo?" He didn't look like any baseball player I'd ever seen I thought, as I watched the barber stack big yellow books on the chair.

"Yes, that's right," he sighed, "but that was a long time ago... Ya yo estoy muy viejo para jugar pelota (I'm too old now to play baseball). Now all I have is television and radio. In the spring I'll take you to an Orioles game if you want."

My head almost came off from nodding. My bangs hit below my eyebrows and made me blink each time my head dropped.

"Well, I'm done." He turned to me, "Ya que estamos aqui, por que no dejas que Evelio te de un pelaito?" (Since we're already here, why dont you let Evelio give you a little trim?)

I agreed. A real baseball game, I thought. I couldn't wait.

I was so busy talking baseball that Evelio was done with me before I even noticed. He was already brushing the back of my neck with his soft little broom. With each sweep I felt more itching crawling down the center of my back. The talcum cloud almost made me sneeze.

"So, your grandfather doesn't want to be called grandfather, eh? That's just like him. No quiere soltar la juventud." My grandfather found that funny. He gave Evelio a strange grin. "Why don't you call him 'Hermano' or something. That way he'll think he's your age." Everyone laughed as Evelio helped me down.

The sound of the bell over the door was muffled as my grandfather closed it behind us. I still smelled the talco powdered on the back of my neck. I sat on the bench at the stop where the last bus had left us but was told that we had to cross la doce, we were going in the opposite direction. In my head I was running all the names my grandfather had. "Abuelo. Pepe. Papa. Lopez. Chu."
"You sure have alot of names, abuelo."

"That's why I want you to give me a new one. That way everyone can call me by the same name." He said this as he pulled me up on the curb at the corner with another bus bench. This one looked cool and inviting. It was freshly painted and was shaded by a big tree. It had no stains. I let go of his hand and hopped up on it.

"Niño! Bajate de ahi (Boy, get down from there!)." He said seriously, "I never sit there and when you're with me I don't want you sitting there either."

"Why can't we sit here, Abuelo? This bench is clean and it's in the shade." It was the best bus bench, I thought.

"I don't sit there because it reminds me of my friend Julio." He paused for a second, staring at the bench, "I would sit there with him and wait for the bus to work every morning... He was a good friend... Eramos inseparables (We were inseparable)."

He told me how he had met Julio on the plane from Cuba. How they had both worked for the railroad but had never met. How Julio, like him, had left his family, his home and his country and come to America. They had both been scared to come to Miami but were more afraid of what might have happened to them in Cuba. Here, he said, as old as they were, they were able to start a new life, and, in time, bring the rest of the family over. They had only had each other, he said. They shared everything. Julio had even gotten my grandfather a job where he worked by saying that they were cousins.

"Where is Julio now, abuelo?"

He let out a big sigh, stared beyond the empty bench, "He's gone. Died just before your grandmother got here." On the last word he turned his face away from me, as if looking down the street. "That's one of the reasons why I want you to give me a new name," he said,"para olvidar lo que deje y lo que he perdido. (To forget what I've left and what Ive lost.)"

"What did he call you, abuelo?"

"Primo."

"Primo?"

"Yes. That's what he called me, 'Primo'."

A bus was heading up the street towards us, getting bigger and noisier. It left a trail of smoke in its path. I looked for the number '7' on the front but the glare from the windshield wouldn't let me see. I pulled on his arm for his attention.

"Is that our bus, Primo?"

"Si, Primo."

*crickets chirping.....

Where the hell is everybody?

Nothing but tumbleweeds here in blogdom today......

Hey! Let's go vacation in Cuba!

It's the summer! We are Americans! We can freely travel about without repercussions! I have two weeks in June, let's go spend them in Havana!

They encarcerate Cuban journalists and human rights activists in Cuba?

Who gives a shit, we are Americans! Fuck'em!

Es el petroleo! EL PETROLEO!!!

Castro - Chavez.
Cuba - Venezuela.

It's all about the oil.

Irie mon.

Jamaican resort chain Superclubs owns properties in Cuba which were confiscated from American interests when Castro came to power. Superclubs makes money from tourism with these properties. Superclubs and others, along with Castro's regime, are responsible for the tourist apartheid system in Cuba.

So what can be done to curtail this apartheid in Cuba?

Deny officers of Superclubs entry into the United States.

That's kind of harsh you say? But, is it really? Superclubs denies Cubans entry into their resorts in Cuba, so, basically, it's tit for tat, no?

20 de Mayo

On May 20th, 1902, a small island in the Caribbean known as Cuba declared her independence from Spain. La Republica de Cuba was officially born on this day 102 years ago.

Today, El 20 de Mayo, is Cuba's Independence Day.

Yet, despite the hard fought battles of her history, despite the blood and sweat of a noble and brave people, she remains a country under seige. She is an independent country controlled by her self-imposed dependency on one self-imposed man.

One-hundred two years later she remains a country where individual freedoms are foreign. A country where progress is just a word and desperation is a bedfellow. She still lives in chains.

Cuba, the Pearl of the Antilles, land of extraordinary beauty, where palms spring from her like a silken mane. Where ripe oceans caress her silhouette. Where the soil whispers and the air carries a million flowers.

Cuba, land where the warmth of her people hides the frigid despair of their souls. Where hope is the food of millions.

Cuba, land that subsists on tomorrows.

Today's Cubanism

I realized I used a very ubiquitous Cubanism yesterday in this post about artists and their love for the dictator.

...Castro is the big guy, the head honcho, el que mas mea...

It's fairly easy to figure out what it means: el que mas mea means the head honcho, the big cheese, the man in charge.

We Cubans are a bit colorful but we sometimes cross the good taste line with our sayings.

El que mas mea literally means He who pees the most.

Amid the decay, let the music play.

I've received more than a few emails regarding my opinions and posts on the Hollywood elite who practically worship Fidel Castro. Oliver Stone, Danny Glover, Harry Belafonte...it's quite a long list of characters.

When I've said that I would never watch any movie or show or whatever by these people, I've been asked Why? And I don't really have a concrete answer for that question. There are too many reasons to list, too many points to argue, way too many things to explain. I've been told that I'm depriving myself of some good works. That these actors and such are superb in their art. Well, you know what? So be it. Let them act and produce and direct and sing and play and then go coddle the dictator. I just can't, in good conscience, be a party to their love affair with the man responsible for so many painful events for so many Cubans. I. Just. Can't. Do. It.

Musicians are just as bad, if not worse. It's a good thing that I don't really listen to commercial music anymore as I would probably find myself listening to a very select few artists, over and over and over. I used to be a big fan of U2 back in the 80's. And the Police. And I really enjoyed a few songs by Bonnie Raitt. Now, I just can't listen to any of their stuff. It's been prostituted. Tainted.

Tainted because these musicians have performed for the bearded horse himself. They have rubbed elbows with the same man that would have had my father killed. The same man that bleeds his own people dry because of his insatiable lust for power and his downright refusal to understand the more than obvious notion that his self-lauded system of government just doesnt work.

These artists, be they writers, musicians, actors or whatever are all hypocrites. Every single one of them that has ever stepped foot on Cuban soil and "preformed" for Fidel and who they think are his "people" serve to further denigrate the ideal of liberty and equality. These Cuban "people" they have preformed for have mostly been the regime's elite. The party officials. The ones that toe the line. The ones that turn their own neighbors in for having an extra chicken for dinner simply to get in good standing with the government. For a ticket to a concert they send the old man next door to a prison. For an entrance to a movie they make the family across street lose thier jobs because they have a satellite dish. It is disheartening and pathetic.

Humberto Fontova has an excellent essay at NewsMax on this very subject. He reminded me that, despite the love affair between Castro and certain musicians, until the 90's most American music was banned on the island. It was subversvie to the regime. Cubans wanting to hear the Beatles or the Eagles had to do so clandestinely, all the while watching out for that neighbor that would turn them in for an extra handful of beans.

Now these musicians write songs for Fidel Castro. It's like a cause to them. They believe Castro is the little guy being oppresed by the big bad US. I have news for them: Castro is the big guy, the head honcho, el que mas mea. And they are nothing but useful idiots. Stepping stones needed by a failing and fraudulent regime that desperately needs to get to the other side, the same other side that regime vehemently works to discredit and debase.

Remember the AIDS benefit concerts way back when? When a whole lot of famous musical acts would get together to collect money for AIDS victims? Some of these very same famous musical acts have performed in Cuba, for Castro, the very same man who dealt with the AIDS epidemic by rounding up all those afflicted with the disease and throwing them in sanatoriums alongs with the criminally insane.

Music to save the world my ass. Self serving, masturbatory, egotistical musical baffoons. It isnt art anymore when it's used to promulgate something almost unholy. Something wrong and backward and full of hatred. Something ineluctably vile and contemptuous.

Stop the music and listen beyond the silence. An island full of people whispers.

12 IPs, 10 Old Posts...

...240 spam comments in less than 2 minutes. Unbelieveable.

@%#$&^%$@#!!!!!

"Fidel can live until the ripe old age of 140", doctor says.

MOTHERF^&$^%#$#ING SON OF A &^$^%$#&!!!!

That means I'll be 103 when I get to see where I was born.

(Thanks for the levity guys! Via Patrick and Rob A.)

Siempre Fiel

Honor, duty and sacrifice.

My son could work at McDonald's and he could get killed by somebody coming in with a gun for the money in the till. He could be driving a car and get hit and be killed. He could walk across the street and be shot. If he dies as a Marine in another country fighting for what he believes in, then he's died with honor and I'm going to hold onto that.

Eva Savage, mother of Lance Corporal Jeremiah Savage, 2nd Battalion, 4th Marines killed in action in Iraq.

Jeremiah was Dizzy Girl's nephew and a father of five.

My deepest sympathies to the family and everlasting gratitude for a such a sacrifice on our behalf.

WMD's?...In Iraq?

...Nah...You're fucking with me right?

"My heart is with you but I cannot do anything else".

CI 153-D

DATE: May 1, 1961

TO: THOMAS J. KELLY, Metropolitan Sheriff

FROM: LT. FRANK KAPPEL, Supervisor Criminal Intelligence

SUBJECT: CUBAN COUNTER - REVOLUTIONARY ACTIVITIES - Additional Information

On April 26, 1961, Agent A. L. TARABOCHIA was contacted by a very reliable informant who revealed that he had just returned from the abortive invasion in Bahia de Cochinos on April 17, 1961.

The informant stated that he had taken part in the invasion as coxswain of a landing craft attached to the transport, "Atlantico".

In preparation to the landing, the informant and his group were transferred from the training camp of Trax, Guatemala to Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua.

The group was commanded by ENRIQUE TOMEO who was assisted by an American instructor known as DOC. The group, comprising eight men and eight boats, remained in training for approximately 30 days.

Puerto Cabezas is located on the Eastern coast of Nicaragua and has no communications with the interior except by air and telephone. It is the opinion of the informant that although the location was ideal as a secret embarkation point, it lost its secret value when the troop transports waited at anchor in the bay for three days after loading the troops. The informant added that while all the means of communications were controlled by the government, nothing could prevent a Communist from leaving on foot and contacting a foreign embassy in Managua revealing thus the impending invasion.

The informant revealed also that the training camps in Guatemala were not shrouded in the secrecy that was alleged to surround them because there were Guatemalan civilians working as laborers by day and returning to their homes at night. Opposition by Guatemalan communists and Castro sympathizers was strong and culminated with the ambush of a truck enroute from Trax to Rethaluleu. The truck with a few recruits was blown up by dynamite as it rounded a curve on the mountain road.

The training at the camps was conducted by American instructors of the highest caliber. According to the informant, the performance of the instructors as individuals and their professional preparation were instrumental in forming a lasting bond between the troops in training and their instructors. This accounted for the high morale of the troops who, even after the abortive invasion, declared themselves ready to return to action as soon as possible.

At this point, it should be pointed out that even after capture, the majority of the invading troops showed their fighting spirit whenever the opportunity arose. It is a matter of record that on April 26, 1961 during a televised interrogation of the captives, FIDEL CASTRO was forced to warn the spectators that applause was forbidden during the interviews. This measure was adopted after the prisoners, herded into the Havana Sports Palace, gave a prolonged applause to a captured invader being interviewed before TV cameras by FIDEL CASTRO. The prisoner contradicted some of the dictator's statements about the motives that had prompted the captives to join the invading forces.

The informant revealed that the 81 mm mortar instructor could hit a 55 gallon drum used as target with the second salvo. In most cases, the instructors accompanied the troops as far as feasible and in some cases, as with the frogmen, they actually led their men to their objectives.

According to the informant, there were several miscalculations which led to the unsuccessful conclusion of the invasion.

First, there was the unjustified delay of departure from Puerto Cabezas and the sudden vacating of the camps. Both operations could have been carried out in a more secretive way by transferring men and equipment piece meal to a rendezvous point and staging area in some uninhabited island of the Caribbean. The seasoned troops in the camps could have been replaced with recruits in order to avoid immediate knowledge of a sudden departure.

The informant added that the complete convoy came in full view of Guano Island in the late afternoon of April 16, 1961. Guano Island is used by the Cuban Government as a weather station and has a radio station in operation.

Since approximately nine hours elapsed from the time the convoy came in view of Guano Island and the time the landing began, there is good reason to believe that the weather station on the Island reported the strength and direction of the convoy because it is most unusual for such a number of ships to travel together in close proximity of the Cuban coast.

This apparent lack of secrecy prompted the captain of the ship, a Spaniard named MARURI, to ask if the island had been taken by the Anti-Castro forces.

The informant states that the landing took place according to schedule but almost from the beginning, the invaders ran into considerable opposition from the militia. The landing of a party of frogmen which was to establish the landing beaches was discovered by a patrol of militiamen. The leader of the party had to kill the members of the patrol and this exchange of fire resulted in alerting the rest of the positions along the coast.

The landing operations began at approximately 5 a.m. after the initial opposition had been subdued. The troops landed singing the Cuban National Anthem and until daylight, the operations progressed satisfactorily.

The landing operations were somewhat hampered because of another instance of bad judgment when tanks, trucks, and other heavy equipment were landed before the infantry. The infantry men in turn landed with a little more than their weapons and necessary ammunition to carry them over until the rest of the material could be unloaded from the ships.

The informant revealed that the day before the landing, ROBERTO SAN ROMAN, Commander of the heavy weapons battalion, had stated during a briefing session that the Castro Air Force had been obliterated and posed no threat. SAN ROMAN added that the operation was going to be mainly a landing by the Brigade and no popular uprising was expected, at least at the initial stages.

The unexpected arrival of Castro's Air Force on the scene created a situation that soon became unbearable for the ships. Although the ships tried to offer as much support as they could to the troops that had landed, their effectiveness was hampered by the lack of weapons. The only armament the transports had consisted of four .50 caliber machine guns. After two ships were badly damaged and abandoned, the escorting destroyers gave orders to withdraw out of range of the coastal batteries.

The consensus of the returned expedition members was that it was a lack of adequate air support that doomed the invasion. The Castro Air Force, consisting of three Sea Furies and four B-26's, had the advantage of greater range and greater speed and maneuverability of the Sea Furies as opposed to the air support of the invaders consisting only of B-26's.

The sinking of the communications vessel and that of the transport carrying the fuel and ammunition for the tanks rendered the position of the troops that had landed almost desperate. The Captain of the U.S. destroyer code named "Santiago" asked an aircraft carrier cruising in the proximity for air support; back came the reply, "My heart is with you but I cannot do anything else".

The fighting continued until mid-afternoon of April 18, 1961 when the transports received orders to return to Puerto Cabezas. One of the reasons for such action was the fact that the transports were overloaded with high octane fuel and explosives and an approach to the coast could mean sure destruction.

The informant added that every one of the returned invaders was willing and ready to return and felt positive that with sufficient air cover, the operation could have been successful.

After a two day stopover in Puerto Cabezas, the evacuees left by air and arrived at Homestead Air Force Base at approximately 11 p.m. of April 24, 1961. Mr. FRANK BENDER'S Assistant, BARKER, was on hand to receive the returning personnel.

In order to underline the poor judgment of the organizers of the invasion, the informant cited an incident that created deep resentment among the troops. Just prior to departure from Puerto Cabezas appeared aboard the transport, "Lake Charles" Comm. JESUS BLANCO, Chief of BATISTA'S infamous S.I.N. (Naval Intelligence Service). BLANCO'S presence not only offended those present but resulted in what could be termed mutiny when BLANCO demanded command of the ship. A compromise was reached and BLANCO was relegated to command the artillery (four .50 caliber machine guns) of the vessel. BLANCO did not disembark in Cuba but returned to Miami along with the rest of the evacuees.

The chronological succession of the military operations will be summarized in a report to follow.

Respectfully submitted,

A.L. TARABOCHIA
Intelligence Agent

LT. FRANK KAPPEL, Supervisor
Criminal Intelligence

ALT/rew

Found at cuban-exile.com.

Million Hombre March

...there were thousands of people on the Malecón because there was no alternative to the pressure of the unions and the Party. Some had happy smiles because they could go home afterwards to rest. The children received a day off from school.

The world press covers these "marches" in Cuba as something extraodinary. As if all the Cubans there are actually there in solidarity with their government. The fact that the regime forces most to attend these meetings goes either unkown or ignored.

SANTA CLARA, Cuba, May 17 (www.cubanet.org) - I just read in the newspaper Granma that 1.2 million people marched on Havana's Malecón. The headline said that was only a small part of the brave and heroic people who made evident the unity and fighting spirit of the Cubans.

The photo that appeared in Granma was evidence of the enormous human river, multicolored and compact, that marched in front of the Anti-Imperialist Viewing Stand in the capital. Havana came to a stop. Nobody worked, nobody went to school. According to Granma, it was a patriot party where David shouted at the powerful Goliath from the north, where no one was afraid and everyone was for country or death.

But what would have happened if at the time of the great parade there had been a flotilla of American ships off the coast? Or if there had been a rumor that the American Interests Section and accredited embassies in the city had announced they were opening their doors to give out free of charge immigrant visas?

Imagine the scene. I can envision some old people burning the tires on their cars to reach the ships. I can see people running in all directions except towards the viewing stand where there's a man in olive green. They're ready to accept whatever happens.

The images that pop into my brain faster than the cinematographic 24 per second show women with children in their arms entering the diplomatic offices while their husbands go to the sea; the military remove their uniforms and jump into the water, knowing that a counter-order might come from the embassies. I see Rául saying adiós to his brother, who cries out once again, Venceremos!

I believe that, for a few hours, this would be a true plebiscite among people with a plurality of votes, or a type of consultation of the public powers by submitting to a popular and direct vote approval or rejection of proposals from the people. What an escape valve!

But it's an illusion to think that the United States can promote such a popular consultation within our borders, unless Cuba authorizes participation in a new visa lottery to be announced in Granma, as was done in 1998. They know how many requests were then made, although many never reached their destiny because of the complicity of trained hands that converted to ashes those requests.

It is said that the number of requests in 1998 surpassed half a million. If we consider that each request covered four family members, the total surpassed two million. We don't include those who didn't participate because of fear of reprisals or the letters that disappeared.

The Cuban explanation will always be that those who emigrate do so for economic reasons and the rhetoric will say we're a third world blockaded country

The number of people who expressed their desire to emigrate was substantially higher than two million Cubans in 1998. What would the number be now, six years later? To me, they'd be unimaginable.

For these reasons, I think it's too euphemistic when it's said that a determined number of people participated in the march "representing 11 million Cubans." There are Cubans who never watch national television, not even out of the corner of their eye, because they've been subject to so much propaganda and calculated lies. Don't speak of unity because the right to buy a telephone or a televisions is capable of making an enemy to the death of neighbors or companions at worked.

But there were thousands of people on the Malecón because there was no alternative to the pressure of the unions and the Party. Some had happy smiles because they could go home afterwards to rest. The children received a day off from school.

And the Winner....

...of the First Annual Ted Bundy Invitational Smoke-Off is......

Everyone that went.

It was complete decadence... Three smokers billowing their smoky goodness for over 4 hours...Tons of bacon wrapped shrimp on the grille... Country style pork ribs...The absolute most delicious baked beans you have ever had...A huge Potato casserole...Corn on the cob...Shitloads of beer...Utter decadence I say.

Both All three chickens turned out exceptional. Juicy and with that incredible flavoring that smoking produces. Steve's was a little juicer - he soaked his bird in brine overnight - but overall they were the best damn chicken you could ever eat.

It was an incredibly beautiful day. Nice breeze coming off the canal and through ManCamp. Everyone sitting around having a few and laughing and generally having a great time. Little kids catching fish at the water's edge. My nephew running around the yard like a little mad man.

It was just unbelievable. At two-thirty in the morning, we were out back singing along to Oldies from the radio.

Today, I need a week's rest.

Steve has some pictures up on his site, but they do no justice to the sheer majesty that was the Smoke-off.

Sated

It...it...it was just too much damn food.

Another Forced March

Castro held yet another march against his imperialist neighbors to the North yesterday. Thousands took to the streets dressed in red and chanting slogans. The march went past the US Diplomatic mission after, of course, an hours long discourse by the bearded dictator.

I did not see the march on TV as I am pretty tired of seeing Fidel frenzy his indoctrinated followers into hatred. I am told that many of the faces seen were definitely not those of Cubans. There were Venezuelans, Chinese, Vietnamese and others from Latin America.

The slogan being chanted was:

''Long live free Cuba! Fascist Bush!''

How quaint.

Perhaps Fidel reads the Democratic Underground?

The Ted Bundy Invitational Smoke-Off

Yes folks, it's finally here! The Inaugural Ted Bundy Invitational Smoke-off is this Sunday. Two masterful BBQing forces facing off in this battle of technology vs. nature.

Steve "I'm a Lazy Ass Becuase I Use 'Lectricity"

vs.

Val "It Ain't Smoking iffin There's no Fire"

Don't miss this epicurean war of epic proportions!

At stake are blogdom's BBQ bragging rights!

Photo courtesy of Steve's Electric Photoshop Smoker.

Tales by the pool

You may have read that I've been having the pool refinished. It really really needed it. Apparently, the pool had not been refinished for over 15 years. When the Mrs. and I bought the house almost two years ago, the pool looked OK. The prvious owners had done a quick patch up job and then painted it.

Well, you have no idea how bothersome it is to get home from work, maybe doing roofing inspections in the Florida heat, go outside and not be able to cool off with a nice dip in the pool. Oh, the water was usually pretty balanced and clear, but the sides of the pool had chunks that had fallen off in the past year. And the paint was chalking already. If I'd jump into the nice clear water, after about 10 minutes of swimming it was as if I was swimming in milk. Nassssty.

So we scrimped and we saved until we had enough money to get the pool refinished. It's been a long process. First was finding the right contractor to do the work. There must be alot of pool contractors in Florida you say? Yes. But pool contractors are notorious for being..um...less than professional. The guy across the canal from me hired a big pool company and it took them almost a month to complete the job.

I dont know if you know anything about pools but, keeping an inground pool empty is a bad thing. Especially when you live on a canal. The underground water, if increased by heavy rain and such, will push that massive concrete pool structure right out of the ground. An amazing thing really, to witness Mother Nature kick some of man's technology's ass.

Anyway,most contractor I dealt with orginally told me at least two weeks to have it redone. Two weeks!!!! Can you imagine me sitting up at night by the pool staring at it, waiting for the thing to pop right out of the ground for two weeks? Two weeks was just not acceptable.

We finally decided to give the work to Maggie's friend's brother-in law. He would have been my first choice had I known thats what he did for a living. He came over when Steve was here a few Sundays ago, took a look at the pool, gave me a great price and told me, weather permitting, the pool would be done in five days. Five days!!!!!

Go for it I said.

Work started this past Monday afternoon. I had to have the pool sand blasted as it had been painted and the new DiamondBrite finish would not adhere to existing paint finishes. It was a mess. Sand and plaster and chunks of stuff were all over the place. The workers did their best to keep it under control, but the pool was in such bad shape that it was impossible to keep the crap down. I spent Monday evening shovelling sand and plaster and crap.

On Tuesday, the skimmer guy - i was having a skimmer built in as the old pool had this stupidity of a skimming system - was supposed to come in the morning and the work was suppsoed to be done early so the tile guy could come in and prep and tile in the afternoon. Skimmer man didnt show up until about 4:30 PM. I argued with him. He was done by 7:30.

Wednesday the tile guys came early morning, they were a bit peeved because the surface at the tile line wasnt exactly flush and plumb. I argued with them and told them just to get it done. That they would have to work out their costs and such with the contractor. They relented and finished the work. After they had left, I went into the pool and checked the tile line. Two or three places had dips in the tile. I called the pool guy up, told him dude, if you want me to pay for the tile work, it's gotta be done right. Tile guys were back at the house in an hour. They fixed the problems and left.

That same afternoon, the plaster guys came in to prep the pool for the finish. Prepping consists of chipping away all hollow spots on the existing plaster with an axe. It's quite a chore. Imagine two guys inside an empty pool chipping away for hours and schuncks of plaster and crap and other deleterious material flying all over the place. This was totally a complete mess. I argued with these guys too. They were ready to apply the bond coat - a bonding agent necessary for the new finish to adhere - without fully chipping away at all bad areas. I lost it. I called the pool guy and told him if he wanted me to pay for this that it would have to be done right. A minute later the plaster guys phone rings, two minutes later they are back in the pool chipping away. They finished applying the bond coat afterward at about 6 PM.

Yesterday morning, at about 7 AM, theres five guys at the gate. These are the plaster guys and friends. They got in the pool, started mixingup the plaster and went to work. By 1 pm the plaster was done. All it needed was was some smoothing. I went to the supermarket, picked up some burgers and chips and beer and BBQ'd some lunch for them. They had really busted their asses. Probably cause they didnt want to deal with me anymore.

After the DiamondBrite finished was smothened and dried for a few hours, the pool guy came by at 7 PM and acid washed the entire plastered surface. Another messy job, but necessary for the finish to get it's correct color. He left here at about 9 PM.

As I type this, the pool is being filled. It sounds like a waterfall outside. Yes, my pool will be filled by this afternoon. I have to go buy more chemicals and stuff so that I can give the pool it's start-up balancing. The pool guy did an excellent job and best of all, it was basically done in four days!

By Sunday, my newly finished pool will be ready to accept it's first swimmers. That will be me, at about 7 AM because I just cant wait any longer.

So, it looks like the Great Beer Butt Smoke-Out is on for Sunday.

I can't wait.

When Castro didn't need the cash...

Back when Castro was financed and subsidized by the USSR and he didnt need dollars to keep the economy going....

-There were no prepaid phone cards to call Cuba. The phone calls placed to the island took weeks to get through, if they were allowed at all. If the recipient of the call was not in good standing with the government, read: a revoltionary and a communist, sometimes the calls were not put through. When they were, they were monitored.

-No Cuban that left the island was allowed back on the island. No exceptions.

-US Dollars were not allowed. Anywhere, for whatever.

-Care packages were allowed yet not many sent them for fear that said packages would never reach the hands of the intended recipient.

-Both Cubans abroad and Cubans on the island were separated from their families and had little, if any, contact with those remaining under the dictator.

-Letters, the only true form of communication available to separated familes, to and from the island were opened and read by party officials. They were censored and then sent to their destination. Some letters never made it through.

Now, the big bad Soviet machine is no longer and Fidel and his policies just don't cut it. The regime's criticizing of the US restrictions and the tightening thereof, is just a veiled hypocritical plea for a handout.

Tit for tat.

The US limits cash remittances to Cuba and what does Castro do? Why, first he closes up the dollar stores, the only places on the island where anything of value could be purchased, then he raises prices.

Said one man waiting in line in front of a dollar store:

"The government will raise the price on appliances so that Cubans abroad will have to send more money than they were sending up to now."

HAVANA, May 12 (Ernesto Roque / www.cubanet.org) - After the government's
announcement that the prices of some products would increase and the sale of others would be restricted provoked a general feeling of uncertainty, long lines of would-be consumers waited for dollar stores to reopen in the midst of an increased military and police presence in the streets.

"Lines are huge; it's as if the world were coming to an end," said Alicia Ortiz, of San Miguel del Padrón. "They didn't open the stores until after noon because they were taking inventory, or so they told those of us waiting outside."

People seemed intent on stocking up in expectation of uncertain times. One woman said she had bought 13 floor mops. "I clean floors for people and I have to make sure I have what I need to work, so I bought 13 mops just in case tomorrow they change their minds again."

Another woman said: "We have to buy and store what we need, because nobody knows what will happen tomorrow."

One man said: "Prices are already high; to raise them even more is abusive."

Another speculated: "The government will raise the price on appliances so that Cubans abroad will have to send more money than they were sending up to now."

So far, prices have remained stable, although some had gone up recently: chicken, from 2.25 dollars the kilogram to 2.75; and Pomi tomato puree from 2 dollars to 2.65.

The general mood is one of uncertainty. An employee of one of the stores said he had learned of the new government measures on TV, and that when he arrived at work had been told they had to take inventory, and thus the delay in opening.

Many were leery of government statements that more measures would be forthcoming if they became necessary. "Where are we going to end up," said one man.

On the streets and particularly in front of the stores, police in uniform and military in olive drab were in evidence, with additional police patrols patrolling slowly through the streets.

But not all were despairing. A few retained a Panglossian optimism. "This is for the good of the people," said one man who also waited

Nepotism allegations....

I just had my 20,000 visitor come in. It was my niece Amanda. Being the 20,000 customer here at Babalu Blog she gets full, unabated privileges to the pool, which, incidentally, is about 4 hours from being newly refinished. She will also have a one year gold membership to ManCamp™ and a set of complimentary salt and pepper shakers.

Congratulations Amanda!!!!

-- conscience? how quaint! --

The title of this entry is snipped from perhaps the absolute best piece of writing I have read in a long time.

Jeronimo DuBois sent me an email this morning about a new entry at the Tears of Things where he states (it) is unlike anything I've written on the blog so far. Long ago, Camille Paglia talked about expanding the boundaries of the English expository essay; I'm doing some of that here. This thing is surrealistic.

It's more than a surreal expository essay. It is brilliant. Not only does he take the art scene to task, but he does so eloquently and with a magnificent twist.

I urge you to take a few moments of your day and spend it with a few imprisoned and ailing Cuban dissidents. Take them with you to an Arizona art gallery where works by Cuban "artists" are being shown. Hear what they have to say. Smile with the humor of these Cubans who despite their predicament, despite the fact that they rot away in jails for speaking truths, still have that indomitable ironic wit. Breathe in their Cuban spirit.

If you read anything today, read "The Prisons Behind Lisa Sette Gallery: Cuban Art Series #6."

I promise you will take in more meaning than that of all my archives put together.

Gracias Jeronimo. The goosebumps will be with me for quite a while.

Thanks

Sometime today, I will officially reach the 20,000 visitor mark. A small milestone yes, but a milestone nonetheless. I want to thank everyone that comes by to take in my ramblings and attempts at coherent writing.

I have met and corresponded with some great people since starting this blog and I feel honored and privileged to have you all come by and hang out with me.

Mil gracias a todos.

No really, it's not Scrappleface

Ever read a headline that just makes you laugh 'til it hurts?

Cuba, on war footing, gears up for huge anti-US protest.

"on war footing"

BWUHAHAHAHAHA

What exactly is a war footing for Cuba? Bags packed, rafts ready? They hardly have enough fuel for their taxis there, I doubt they could "launch" a worthy air and sea "attack."

That headline is from the Channel NewsAsia website. There's more coverage from the Vietnam News Agency:

Havana, May 12 (VNA) - Millions of Cubans will take to the street in Havana on Friday morning in a march launched by the government against the Bush administration's policy vis-a-vis the country.

The Cuban government said in a statement that the march will proceed along coastal Malecon avenue where a US representative office is located to "trenchantly answer the escalating US moves against Cuba's people and their revolution".

"The march will shed more light on the Cuban people's determination to continue its tremendous efforts to build a more humanitarian and equal society. All measures taken by Washington against Cuba prove its current policy of fascism," the statement said.

A total of 1.2 million people took part in a march against EU's intervention policy in Havana on June 12, 2003

Let's see... Last year Fidel forced his people to march against the EU nations. A few months ago it was marching against the Spanish. Last week marches were forced against the Mexicans.

With all the talk of the US embargo isolating Cuba, it seems that Cuba is doing a pretty good job of isolating itself.

Tune in next week when Castro forces marches against Trinidad and Tobago, the Marshall Islands, Grenada and the Galapagos islands.

Integrity Personified

Sgt Hook.

Despite the news, Good exists in this world

I haven't written much the past two days for fear of spewing such a vile and hate filled barrage of words becuase of the happenings around the world. I had been at a loss for anything good to say until I read this post by Alan at the Command Post.

Despite all of the media coverage to the contrary, there is good in this world. Good people do exist and far outnumber the bad.

We all have the ability to to be better human beings. It may be hard to find that good spot sometimes with all that is going on around us, but it is there and it is in all of us.

Alan's entry at the Command Post is about just one good person. A woman who decided to raise 13 children, 11 of them adopted, despite the problems and tribulations the special needs of these kids would bring upon her.

Now is our chance to do some good. From now until Friday midnight, all contributions to the Command Post pay pal account will be donated to the Tom Family Education Trust to help brighten these kid's futures.

A few bucks donated will do our souls some good. Heaven knows we all need it.

The Coffee is Brewed

Wake up and smell it.

Via Scott.

Two Words

No mercy.

Cuba was not a third world nation...

...before Castro, just after.

Someone in the comments section of this post stated:

Cuba was dirt poor before the "revolution" too.

and:

It was a horrible, corrupt, poor, unfree, cesspool that most people wanted to leave (but couldn't).

and:

Castro is the worst thing that ever happened to Cuba. But the place sucked before too. And when he is dead and gone it will probably still suck. That is the way Latin America is.

I won't take the time to find the information showing this person just how wrong he is. But I will give him a link to a website focused on just one of the aspects of a Cuba that was never a third world nation.

The Tramways of Cuba

Link thanks to Ad