Don't look now, but tensions are easing in #Ukraine (a country in #Europe). According to #Reuters, #Ukrainians see "#understanding" with #Russia. #VodkaShots time?
Well, our #StateDepartment may as well celebrate the win, right? After all, it was our hard-nosed and relentless Twefforts and #Diplomacy which laid the groundwork for #negotiations. Think about it - if we didn't openly #StandWithUkraine on Twitter, then how could #Putin have known we were #Serious???
And you #Repukericans need to lay off, #OK? #Diplomacy has a long history of success. For example:
#NaziGermany would have become #NaziWorld if it wasn't for this famously brave tweet by #PresidentRoosevelt in 1941:
Or how about Truman's use of #Intimidation in defeating #ImperialJapan?
Look - this stuff #Works! Meaning, every time a # is #Tweeted, someone gets #Freedomed!
Personally, I'm most looking forward to the success of the newest campaign against chocolate milk bullying, #YesAllMilk, and also:
Look at those facial expressions! They're #DeadSerious. Better do what they #Say.
In the wake of the unfolding Veteran's Affairs book-cooking scandal, several thoughts float to the top of my cranial soft tissue, riding pulsating waves of vanilla-flavored elevator music. You know, music that sounds like someone tried to recreate the tin-needle ecstasy of an old music box with an 80's model Casio keyboard. See, I had a few experiences dealing with the VA a few years back. Most of my elevator music memories probably stem from waiting on hold with the education department, but that doesn't mean the medical side of things was smooth. I just don't remember which "sitting on hold" marathon came from what. Details.
So, my thoughts float on that elevator music, and two separate bunches of thoughts form two separate memories. And then there's a third thought about healthcare in this country, in general.
The first memory that comes to mind is not from the VA but from my time on active duty. I spent my first two years in the Air Force wandering around southern Wyoming, western Nebraska and northern Colorado. Well, one day I was wandering around Ft. Collins, Colorado, enjoying my weekly day off by going downtown to listen to horrible music in dimly-lit rooms where sweaty co-eds from Colorado State University tried to inspire the primal urges of one another through ritualistic displays of inebriated kinesthetics. Anyway. Before I went inside such darkened rooms I usually chewed some form of mint-flavored gum, understanding that true vanity is a pretty comprehensive regimen. However, one night, the gum was exceptionally sticky, and as I was walking from my car to the bar, said gum somehow dislodged one of the fillings in a back molar. I only have two fillings in there. Never even had a cavity until I was 19. But that's beside the point, I guess.
I called the base dentist the next day to schedule an appointment. It was a little disconcerting to walk my tongue across the back row of teeth and feel a gaping hole where that filling had once been. But the worst part was that the dentist couldn't get me in to re-fill the hole for another month.
A whole damn month.
Then, I finally get in there and the captain who filled it in called me names and made jokes about how little tooth I had left. I mean, that's cool, but usually I had to do something stupid to piss off an officer enough to earn a good peg-knocking. I guess my presence was enough for this lady. Hard to say if she was simply socially awkward or just downright malicious, but the effect was the same. She also seemed to revel in the fact that she could be as abusive as she wanted without fear of any recourse. After all, I was just a lowly airman, and if I called her by the name I had secretly given her in my head I would have found myself standing at attention before my supervisors. I'm sure she's proud of all the teeth she saved now, though.
I also remember my experiences with the VA after separating. On my two deployments to Iraq I was extremely lucky. The worst of my injuries included nagging pains in muscles and joints - nothing combat related. I get tinnitus in both ears. A muscle in my back has been aching ever since 2005, after wearing the vest, plates, ammo, etc., etc., for 12 hours straight. And my wrist has never really been the same ever since something "popped" while loading .50 Cal ammo cans into the back of a Humvee. But I've never filed a claim for any of this stuff. None of it is that bad. However, the VA came into the picture when some other vets informed me that Iraq and Afghanistan veterans could get five years of free healthcare through the VA.
Sweet, right?
Well, I decided to take them up on the offer just in case I could fix my back or wrist problems with physical therapy. The initial appointment was a month out from when I called. No big deal. I go in to a local clinic and talk to a doc for five minutes. I think they drew blood and asked me if I had AIDS and all that. Then I was sent home and told to wait for a notification from the VA hospital in Augusta, Ga. About a week later a letter came: the appointment was two months out. Cool.
The day rolls around and I drive two hours to get to Augusta, sit around and wait a little while despite the fact I had an appointment, and then I finally get seen by the physical therapy folks. The lady was very nice and all that, but she made me squeeze things with both hands and then told me that something was wrong with my wrist. Yeah, like I said. So she sends me to radiology. I waited there for about 45 minutes before getting my wrist X-rayed. And that took less than five minutes.
By the way, there were only a few other people in the waiting room, and they never moved.
And that was it. The next appointment was scheduled four months out. Four months. In the meantime, I was supposed to do the cool stretches and exercises contained on a sheet they printed out for me with cartoon pictures of a guy standing in weird positions. I did the stretches but life is what it is and I forgot about the appointment. When I tried to reschedule, they made it another four months out. That wouldmake it10 months between the initial clinic visit and my first physical therapy session. Needless to say I didn't go back to Augusta.
Granted, my situation was not life-threatening, but it brings me to my third thought:
Single. Payer. Health. Care.
If you want to know how this country would manage a single-payer system, then look no further than the VA or military systems. Everything is a macro-view, devoid of understanding. You are either a "1" or a "0" in some type of spreadsheet or matrix or whatever fancy tools some lowest-bidder contractor pulled out of his nethers and sold to a panel of numerophiles who've never worked a day in the medical world. (This is partly my imagination, perhaps?)The management ethos hinges on questions like, "what is most cost-effective?" or "which does the least amount of political harm?" Seriously, think about it. It really doesn't matter what you or your doctor decide.
The way the system is set up begs for abuse and abusive personalities. I didn't even tell you about the time I had walking pneumonia and the base clinicians said they couldn't see me and diagnosed me with "a cold" over the phone.
"Take some Motrin. Drink orange juice."
Awesome. Never mind the part (and yeah, I told them this) about how I can't sleep at night because I'm too busy coughing up blood. Sure, Motrin and O.J.
Anyone who wants single-payer healthcare needs to consider the reality of the human element. No system can be perfect, and when you create one that insulates the operators within it from liability (like the dentist who knew I had no choice but to sit there and take the abuse), and when it is managed from the perspective of business-suited actuaries who live miles away from the actual patients and doctors, you will end up with a healthcare system just as superficial as that music they make you listen to after asking you to "hold."
Look, Boko Haram didn't just show up yesterday. They're an al Qaeda offshoot that's been active in northern Nigeria for a decade now. And by "active," I mean to say, "killing people." You know, for freedom and stuff. Well, it looks like they've finally gone too far now, because after kidnapping hundreds of schoolgirls, the terrorist group has finally felt the hashwrath of Hollywood's elite:
Wait, who changed Sean's sign? That's not the, uh... this isn't about... uhhhh...
Bueller?
Bueller?
Anyway, with Operation Pouty Face in full swing, we might as well loosen our collars, kick back and go on watching our reality TV shows. The heroes are here now.
Each spring, I wait for the tree pollen to finish up its annual pollution and then open up the windows and dust off the winter stench that had invaded my home for the past few months. Then I dust off the lawnmower in preparation of four (or five or so) months of beheading dandelions. The bees come out and start buzzing around the back door, having mid-air collisions with the red wasps and yellow jackets. Whiffle bats are great for those critters. Nailing one of those pests in mid-air has a certain sound and feel to it that I imagine is only surpassed by that of a clean, 'sweet-spot' home run stroke. Anyway.The lizards are everywhere, and then the feral cats start skulking around the periphery, taunting my dogs or having late-night fights in the woods beyond, complete with some of the absolute worst noises ever imagined. But at least all that stuff stays outside.
For one military veteran, 'Spring Cleaning' has taken on a new meaning. Here's the basic story: an active duty military member deploys to Afghanistan and has a friend looking after his house while he's gone. Friend enlists the help of some degenerates to fix the place up. When the work (if any was even done) is finished, said degenerates promptly move into the house, claim it like a dog does a bush, and then stay there, drinking water from buckets because you can't get the city water turned on without a lease. The owner of the home says the squatters don't have permission to stay and wants them out. However, the home owner is in Hawaii now. Not exactly a short drive to check on the house.
Luckily, it looks like the squatters are moving out, and with the help of some veteran's groups. This news will probably come as a huge relief for the home owner.
Aside from being a philanthropic house-sitter, this Ortiz fella is apparently also a pit-bull connoisseur with a long rap sheet(shocker) who wears Bob Marley shirts of vibrant colors, no doubt intended to really bring out his eyes and make those neck and face tats 'pop' with Lady-Gagaesque gusto. Who wouldn't want such an upstanding, trustworthycitizen guarding their personal wares?
Anyway, it looks like this situation is working out for the best now, so that's the main point. And I'll stop complaining about all the flying, stinging insects at my house.
At least for now.
Pat Tillman could have made great money playing professional football. Instead, he chose to serve his country, and gave the ultimate sacrifice 10 years ago to the day. Don't know who he was? Start here.
RIP, and thank you, Pat.
Last week a "truce" was struck between Ukrainian and pro-Russian forces. The deal seemed to favor what Russia wants anyway, so it doesn't really look like much of a deal. Furthermore, those pro-Russian forces in eastern Ukraine didn't waste any time in not honoring the agreement. And the rhetoric on both sides has been bold, chest-thumping style stuff, but while Russia seems to keep getting their way, the US responds with... Joe Biden and more talk. Granted, we are sending more troops to eastern Europe, but if we're really concerned about the numbers of Russian troops on the Ukrainian border then the 600 troops to Estonia, et. al. doesn't seem to match all the hype. I'm not even saying we need to intervene militarily - above my pay grade, for sure. But it seems like this is all dog-and-pony; all bark and no bite.
Why say anything about it if we're not going to do anything? Not that I think I have the answers. I simply have lots of questions.
Maybe this is just the new era of diplomacy? Forget talking softly and carrying big sticks, no more Detente, bye-bye, peace through strength, hasta la vista, RESET, it's looking like the era of More Flexibility.
At the end of March the Army's new regulations on grooming standards went into effect. Initially much of the attention focused on the new tattoo guidelines. Some troops even rushed to the local tattoo parlor for one last foray into the land of permanent body art before the rules became the rules. Tattoos and military service seem to go hand-in-hand. It's simply a part of the sub-culture - a brazen defiance of all things "normal," ironically personified by those who willingly signed their lives away to be one small part of a magnificent machine (for a few years, anyway). For some military members, those tattoos serve as reminders of why they do what they do.
But tattoos aren't the only form of self-expression military members enjoy to maintain some realization of "self" in all that uniformity. Hair is another one. I remember constantly testing the boundaries on both hair and tattoos. That had more to do with me than anything else, but I only bring that up for context.
Shortly after the new regulations went into effect, a new outrage came to light: racist hair standards. I've sat back and watched online arguments or listened to others argue about whether or not prohibiting dreadlocks, or "twists or multiple braids that are bigger than a quarter of an inch in diameter" is racist. Some argue that it's all about uniformity. Others say it's about making the military in a white man's image. I even read some far off rant about trying to weed out minorities.
Whatever.
First things first: racism is the belief in the superiority of one race over the other. If anything, this looks more like cultural ignorance, both on the tattoos and the hair.
That said, I'm taking the side of Sgt. Jacobs here (the creator of a petition to repeal the new hair regs). I'm taking the side of all the troops with tat sleeves and corn rows. And my logic simply comes down to this:
When in uniform outdoors, all service members have to wear a "cover." Meaning, a beret, patrol cap, flight cap, etc. A HAT. Unless they're on the flight line, of course. But the point is that uniformity comes from the uniform. If the hair is short, then what difference does it make if it's held short by "twists" or gravity? If the tattoos are visible on the forearms, then what difference does it make when the sleeves are down? Uniformity comes from the uniform. And, most importantly, when the troops have boots on the ground and they're dressed to the nine's in battle rattle with helmets on top, is anyone really worried about their tattoos or hairstyle?
Former Sergeant Kyle White will be the seventh living MoH recipient from the latest operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. On their way back from a patrol, White's platoon was ambushed. In the ensuing battle, White was briefly knocked unconscious by an RPG blast, applied two tourniquets to one of his wounded brothers, tried to save another in vain, kept firing back at the enemy, radioed for MEDEVAC, and then had to hold the position throughout the night until the birds arrived. Read the whole thing.
It's hard to imagine what that must have been like. Time probably slows down, making minutes feel like hours. And then to be under heavy fire, watching the men around you go down one after another, and still continuing the fight... just.. damn.
Here's a brief photo gallery of White from his days in the military. Thank you for your service, Kyle!
But right now I'd buy her a beer if I could. Why? Because she's a high-profile type who said something I appreciate, and she said it in public. Here's part of what she said, RE the media's treatment of the latest Ft. Hood shooting:
"that the most important deciding factor on what explains the [shooting] must be the fact that the suspected perpetrator is an Iraq War veteran. As if veterans are uniquely dangerous. As if knowing the suspected shooter served in Iraq explains why this happened."
Absolutely. First of all, Post-Traumatic Stress is NOT a disorder. Anyone can get it, and the source of the stress is different for all individuals. The intensity of the stress is proportional to the perception of trauma experienced, and through the lens of a given person's perceptions and experiences. Dead bodies probably don't bother a coroner as much as they do someone who doesn't expect to see them everyday, or someone who is seeing a dead body for the first time. It doesn't mean the person being stressed by the trauma is broken or experiencing a mental "disorder."
Quite the contrary, really. Isn't it natural for a person to replay traumatic memories and try in vain to amend the past?
Maddow also said:
"If we think of every other mass shooting in America as somehow particular to the circumstances of that shooting but this one as explained away as 'Oh he was an Iraq vet'... not only does that not help us understand what happened here, it is an offense against every other veteran who right now is getting that stigma shoveled onto them by a lazy civilian world and a lazy civilian media who find this dangerous veteran stereotype to be an easier thing to point to than America has a bad mass shooting problem."
The last sentence is probably a clue to some "it's the gun's fault" type thinking, but I'll look past that for now to appreciate her rejection of the Feinstein-esque idiocy. Cheers!
"True to Putin's insistence that Russia cannot be judged in Western terms, Putin's new conservatism does not fit U.S. and European definitions. In fact, the main trait they share is opposition to liberalism. Whereas conservatives in those parts of the world are fearful of big government and put the individual first, Russian conservatives advocate for state power and see individuals as serving that state."
I recommend the whole thing: http://www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/141080/anton-barbashin-and-hannah-thoburn/putins-brain
What's 'appenin' with them 'yperlinks, Charlie?
Two minutes, Turkish.