Category Archives: Blog

Blog

Return of the Queen

6 Comments

When last I posted to this blog, the subject was the sad passing of Janet’s 90 year old Lolo. Within a couple days the body was ready for viewing and the funeral was scheduled in Southern Cebu.

I asked Janet if she wanted to go. She did but must have told me 20 times that she could not leave me and so would not go. I was insistent and finally said, “Let’s find out what the process is and whether it can happen and then we can make a decision.”

I had actually encouraged Janet to go see her family on several occasions during the madness of 2020. I knew she missed them and now felt guilty that she hadn’t seen her grandfather just one more time. So this was the perfect moment to push her just a little bit (and Janet is not easily pushed) to go for the dual purposes of being at the funeral and seeing the family for the first time in nearly a year.

Visits to the Barangay Captain and the local health authority, known as the RHU, happened quickly. Janet was given a permission letter and documents from the Barangay and the RHU. But then the real question was revealed – what would the local Southern Cebu authorities require. Everyone, including me, assumed she would be required to quarantine, meaning she’d miss the funeral. If that was the case the trip might not be worth it.

To our surprise the local RHU where she needed to travel did not require her to quarantine. In fact they did not require her to be tested. They only required her to sign a form saying she would not leave the municipality.

So now how to go? The standard fast ferry out of Sibulan has been closed for tourist traffic throughout the pandemic. She could take the 7 hour Dumaguete to Cebu City ferry and then take a 3+ hour bus ride to her home town, but that was a PITA. There is another ferry out of Bato, about 10 kilometers from the Sibulan port. While some of that ferry traffic is for passengers most of it is commercial. It turns out that ferry had started running again about a week before Lolo’s passing.

And so it was that Janet had all her documentation ready and I prepared to drive her to the ferry. At the last minute she once again said, “I’m not going. I can’t leave you.” I pushed back hard. There were no more obstacles and who knew how long it would be for such an opportunity, so she needed to go.

These men can get self-assistance with help of internet-based pharmaceutical pfizer viagra australia stores. Homocysteine High homocysteine levels have been associated with serious and sometimes fatal side effects. free viagra prescription This is the icks.org soft tabs cialis only medicine that can provide the ED cure.Kamagra is meant for oral ingestion and is produced in laboratories, which makes it clinically proven. sildenafil buy This really is among the medicines produced Ranbaxy, from the renowned medication production organization.

BTW, in case anyone wonders why I didn’t also go – here’s the reason. True, for those who know me, I am far more terrified of government’s responses and lockdowns than I am of the virus. But that doesn’t mean that I am not cautious. I knew I would be surrounded at the funeral by large numbers of strangers and that sounded a bit riskier than I was comfortable with. I am in the age risk category and Janet is not, so it made sense (at least to me) for her to go and me to stay.

We got to the ferry and there was a big snag. Turns out she needed permission from the local authority where the ferry lands in Cebu to be in their municipality, since her plan was to get off the ferry and grab a bus. Had she driven a car or motorbike there would have been no problem; she would have just driven off the ferry and been on her way. She waited an hour for an answer; an answer that was not coming. She finally sent a series of texts begging them to help her. And finally they acquiesced and allowed her to come.

For my part, I was confident I had done the right thing, but I knew it would be hard. We had never been apart for more than four days. I had agreed that she could stay through Christmas but I wanted her to come home before New Years.

As the days and weeks passed, I became more and more bored. This is unusual for me; I am rarely bored. Boring – yes; bored – no. I watched movies, I played the guitar hours a day, I worked on repairing guitars for those customers who came to see my shop around the holidays. I walked/paced in our lot. Hell, I even mowed the lawn a time or two lol.

The paperwork involved in ensuring Janet’s return was not complicated, but unlike Cebu, she was required to provide a negative swab test for Negros. That proved to be more difficult. She could only have it done at a hospital in Cebu City, a 3+ hour drive. I booked the appointment for her shortly after Christmas. They told her it would take at least a couple days for the result. In the meantime all the local authorities here in Valencia said they would be closed after Tuesday for the rest of the New Years week. On Wednesday I received the negative test result, emailed it to the Valencia Tourism Office (BTW, they were very nice and professional). But of course by then no one was there and we had to wait until today, Monday the 4th.

First thing in the morning, Valencia Tourism approved and forwarded the docs to Valencia RHU. They sent it to me, I sent it to Janet, Janet printed it and signed it, sent it back to me and I sent it to RHU. Piece of cake. RHU contacted Janet quickly to determine how she wanted to quarantine. A hotel for sure – I know my wife lol. Plus the hotel provides breakfast and dinner, so it shouldn’t be too bad, although 14 days is a lot for both of us. I expect I won’t get to see her, unless she sticks her head out the window.

Anyway, the bottom line is that in 2 weeks we will be back together. We’ve never been apart for more than 4 days so 6 weeks has been a bear, but we’ve survived. Her friends miss her and tell me that often, but they miss her nothing like me. One thing’s for sure. She ain’t leaving my side again any time soon.

Blog

The Passing of Lolo

7 Comments

I have written about him before. Janet’s Grandfather, Lolo here in the Philippines, was probably my favorite family member. He didn’t speak a word of English and my Visayan is at best gamay (small) but I enjoyed seeing him every time I visited Janet’s family in Alcoy, Cebu. We had the same routine and everyone knew it. Janet would get a large bottle of San Miguel and we’d sit next to each other and share it with few words but many smiles.

Our Christmas routine was also set. Janet and I would visit Alcoy and when alone I would slip Lolo some cash. He was always very appreciative and I would hear later that he’d shared the proceeds with some of the grand and great grandkids.

As Lolo hit his late 80s his general health and spirits began to fail. Janet would encourage him, telling him she’d throw a big party for his 90th birthday and fly in some of his children who lived in Manila. Janet and I talked about this upcoming event many times; we were both looking forward to it when 2020 began.

Covid changed all that. As a senior, Lolo could not leave his house; neither could I. He could not understand why his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren could not visit him. By May the restrictions had been lifted enough to allow him to leave his house. But Janet and I could not travel to another island to be with him for the big day. Nor could his children in Manila. Nonetheless a 90th birthday party happened, sponsored by Janet. We promised Lolo that as soon as island to island travel was allowed we would have the promised big party. Yesterday that promise became irrelevant.

Over the past six months we had heard that Lolo’s spirits were flagging. All he wanted in life was to see his family, many of whom he could not see. He spoke sadly of it to his daughter (my mother in law) yesterday and then went to sleep; a sleep he never woke up from.

The family patriarch is gone and everyone is heartbroken. Janet, who kept hoping the travel restrictions would be lifted, is devastated that she could not see her Lolo one more time.

The Sildenafil citrate free viagra in australia increases the blood circulation in the reproductive organs in all ways. Now these on line levitra amerikabulteni.com sufferers can avail a healthy and safe drug to enjoy their lovemaking session again. One of the greatest inventions cheap cialis check content in this regard is not exceptional but also not assuming a leadership role in energy at a critical period in our history. Chemotherapy treatment viagra discounts in India can help relieve cancer symptoms.

We are trying now to arrange for her to go home for the funeral but in all likelihood she would be quarantined on arrival and miss the funeral. I have encouraged her to go anyway, since it seems clear to me that the restrictions are not ending anytime soon and she needs to see her family and they her.

Now, I could wrap up this blog with anger over the restrictions, the crazy attitudes toward our elderly, in the guise of saving them, and many other rants. That may come in a future blog but for now I won’t. I will just use this as a memory of a wonderful older guy who accepted and shared a beer with a new family member from 8000 miles away. I will miss you Lolo!

Blog

Confessions of a Deplorable

8 Comments

…OR HOW I WENT FROM A BERNIE BRO TO A TRUMP HO

It’s been a weird year for this blog. For years it’s been about Filipinas, marriage and moving to the Philippines. But this year more often than not I’ve written about other things; mostly Covid and the lockdowns. Now once again I write against my core interests and look at my political transformation.

It’s several days after the election and finally Joe Biden has been declared President – by the media who apparently decide these things. Yes, there will be more counting, recounting and some court cases, but in the end it looks like we get Joe. Half the US is elated and the other half – not so much.

I got no problem with the celebrations and certainly expected to see such posts. They have a right I suppose. But several of the postings surprised and disgusted me, though I should not have been. In one, a 60-something woman I have known since childhood very eloquently opined how she would forever remember that many of her neighbors are racists, sexists and general monsters – because they voted for Trump – and that she would never forget.

In another post, a non-American friend was celebrating Biden’s win and mentioned he would be dumping some FB Trump supporter friends. Several Americans said they hoped not to be dumped. I wrote him a message also stating that I valued our friendship, although I had never met him in person, and tried to explain why calling Trump and his supporters racists, fascists and evil might be just a little bit insulting. He said he thought I was a reasonable guy and would only dump me “if you continue to support his attempts at fascist, racist, disgusting egotistical spoilt views.”

This all got me to thinking, how did I go from being on the right side to the wrong side of things lol.

Part of the following is a letter I wrote a friend some months ago trying to explain. The explanation didn’t work at the time and I’m not sure it’s gonna work now, but here goes nothing.

——————-

“2016 was a weird year. Facebook was exploding but the phenomena was still relatively new. All my friends were posting scores of political articles, links, and memes. Most of them were ugly and I had no interest. I found myself spending much of my FB time deleting posts. I was determined not to unfriend anyone – that seemed important at the time – and discovered that I could unfollow people, to save my mental health from their onslaught. I unfollowed one of my best friends who posted at least 10 nasty articles and bits of nonsense daily. I stopped watching TV news. A daily newspaper reader my entire adult life, I stopped reading the news and stuck only to the sports page and entertainment section.

I had 20 years to know that I couldn’t support Hillary; hated the bitch really. I didn’t agree with all of Bernie’s stuff but I liked him enough to vote for him in the primary. It was clear to me that the DNC stole the nomination from Bernie and handed it to Hillary; hmm, this sounds familiar. Voting for Trump was never an option. I had 20 years of history with him too and besides I had never voted for a Republican for President. Fortunately I lived in one of the few states that allowed me to write in my Presidential vote. So as they say, I stuck with the guy who brung me to the dance, and voted for Bernie in the November election.

Three things happened that soured me on the Democratic Party. As I say, I literally did not watch the news and had no clue as to what was happening other than people at work would occasionally talk about the polls and I heard hints that Hillary was up big.

Janet got sick the day before the election and election night I took her to the ER. CNN was on the TV and for this first time that year I spent 4 hours forced to watch CNN. I watched as the horrified “newsmen” sat apoplectic as Donald Trump won the Presidency. I was laughing. I felt great. I really got a kick out of watching those morons (aka experts) fall flat on their faces. I have always loved it when the pundits are wrong. I remember that Super Bowl when the defending Super Bowl Champion Bret Favre Packers were up against the Broncos and virtually not one sports commentator in the country thought the Broncos would win. Loved it when they did.

So anyway, I’m watching CNN, shocked at what I was seeing. But then reality came back to hit hard. I was told that based on this shocking result the stock market would crash hard the next day. It wasn’t a maybe, it wasn’t a possibility. Like most BS on CNN it was reported as a given fact. Since I was 6 months from retirement and my retirement funds were important to us, I told Janet to brace herself; the experts said we would be losing a ton of money tomorrow. The next day I didn’t look at my funds; I couldn’t bare it. I was still a fool who believed the media. When the following morning I opened up my account and saw that the market had jumped big time, I realised that just as I had bought into the Hillary will definitely win, I bought into the market crash. That day was the last day I have ever or will ever watch CNN.

I was elated. I still had no idea of what Trump actually stood for but I watched as days, weeks and months went by and I made a lot of money. Now that the media were reporting that the market surge was because of that bad bad Trump I told myself “well he made me money. He can’t be all bad.”

So back to those three things that soured me forever. First, the DNC clearly stole the nom from Bernie. Just after the election, came the great depression for most of my friends. I hadn’t voted for either Hillary or Trump and knew my guy wasn’t gonna win, so I wasn’t depressed. Within several days many people were asking who I had voted for. This struck me as contrary to my 60+ years of experience. Voting was a personal thing; something between you, your conscience and the ballot box. No one, other than my spouses had ever asked and I rarely told them. In the old days when I grew up, voting was supposed to be a private thing.

Imagine my shock when I told a few friends that I had voted, not for that bitch Hillary or that nut Trump (who was by then making me money) but for Bernie. I kid you not; all those people told me the election result was my fault. It was terrible people like me who caused Hillary to lose. So, now I knew that CNN was full of lying bullshit artists and my Dem friends were idiots, looking to blame people (I was influenced by the Russians apparently) instead of accepting their defeat and determining to do better next time; after all I was still a Dem, I thought.

What did I care? I still had no idea what Trump stood for, but my friends were apoplectic and I sort of liked that, and the media who somewhere deep inside I knew were no longer reporters, had lost their shit. Life was good! I was preparing for my retirement and who was President had little impact on me. Whenever people asked, my standard line was, “As long as the Social Security check clears, I don’t care.” But deep inside I wondered what the hell had happened and why I was kinda happy about it.

One other thing helped turn me off the Dems forever. For most of my life I had been a registered Independent. That felt classier. I still voted for Dems 99% of the time (I remember voting for Republican Sen. Mark Hatfield once) but I could say that I was independent; not owned by a party. But in 2008 I wanted to vote for Obama in the primary and that meant I had to register Democratic, so I did. I was too lazy to change back to Independent, so in 2016 I was still a Dem.

Oregon has had vote by mail for many years. I think we might have been the first state. A few weeks before the election, the Democratic party called; I hadn’t turned in my ballot yet. Could they come and pick it up? No! A week later I got the same call and they got a louder NO. Frankly I was pissed that they knew I hadn’t turned in my ballot yet and even more pissed at the implication that they could help the old geezer by picking up his ballot. I got a third and then a fourth call. On the fourth call I yelled at them, “If you call again I will vote straight Republican,” and hung up. Trump is absolutely right about vote by mail; it’s a total scam.

So now I knew that my Dem friends were full of shit, the media even more so, and the DNC wanted rigged elections. I still didn’t know what Trump really stood for but I knew I no longer wanted to be associated with these clowns.

Stress or anxiety can stop the brain from releasing chemicals that signal penile organ for buy viagra italy an erection. They further elaborate that PDE5 enzymes act hard in the male reproductive organ which causes such impacts & cialis super active they introduce blocking in the male reproductive organ which leads for blocking the super flow of the blood along the male reproductive organ. Many misconceptions and myths about erectile dysfunction exist as it a hard viagra cheap india topic for men to talk about. Whether or not green biotechnology products such as this one have been known prescription viagra cost click to find out to bring on some side effects, these should be of no concern if you stick to the rigid safety rules that are required.

Over the next year or more all my efforts went into my retirement, selling my house, moving to the Philippines and getting settled here. I knew nothing about the Russian controversy. I vaguely remember hearing that taxes had been lowered. I thought that as a retiree that would have little impact on me, which has turned out to be true.

Once again what little news I knew about came from my FB friends and their inane postings. Trump was a monster, Trump was a Russian agent. All I knew for sure since I didn’t listen to the news was that the market kept going up and economic news was generally positive. 

Again, I vaguely had heard that there was an investigation and special prosecutor but didn’t care. I was living in paradise and as long as my Social Security check cleared…

But guys here in the Philippines argued politics all the time. Watching 60-something Americans come to blows in a foreign country over who was and wasn’t President is something weird to experience. But again, who cared. But at some core level I must have cared. But how to find out? My FB friends were clueless, I would never watch CNN again. And then there came that fateful day when I casually did what every American liberal said he would never do (and I never had); I turned on Fox News. As I say I had never watched Fox News in my life; it was akin to going out to meet the devil at the crossroads.

There was a commentator who was bright, articulate and made sense. What was wrong with this picture? I went to YouTube and watched a bunch of his videos and before I knew it I had taken the red (no, not Russian) pill.

I discovered the other commentators were just as good, well maybe except for Hannity. Trump wasn’t some TV moron. He had a clear vision of restoring some of the things America had lost. The Dems hated him, the Europeans hated him, the Chinese hated him. And why not? He told them they were bums and from now on had to pay up. It all sounded good to me. And when he terminated the Iran nuclear agreement and moved the embassy to Jerusalem – well this was someone I had to look more closely at.

Through Fox News I got turned on to others. I watched hours of Ben Shapiro. A conservative Orthodox Jew? In an era of rising progressive anti-semitism? Are you kidding me? And then I got turned on to Jordan Peterson. He’s not particularly political and he’s Canadian. But he refused to let the government force him to speak in a particular way. He got hammered for it. But the more he was attacked the more sense he made and somewhere along the line became one of the most important thinkers of our time.

And of course I finally started listening to Trump and to my surprise often agreed with him. He reminds me of LBJ, who was crude. Of course the country got stuck with LBJ because of the Kennedy assassination. For good or bad we chose Trump. But the Dems couldn’t accept that, which strikes me as bizarre. It ought to be like sports; if you lose work harder.

And then there was the pandemic, which is Trump’s fault. It’s hit every country in the world including the one I live in – but it’s his fault. There is no doubt in my mind that some states have deliberately suppressed their citizens for political purposes and to make Trump look bad. The same people who went to the American people and with a straight face told them that the person they voted for is a Russian spy now were hopeful for economic collapse – so that they can win elections.

And as the population goes insane we had a police killing. I suspect the response is less about George Floyd and more the need to get outside and go crazy. Which also isn’t Trumps fault. But it is his responsibility to protect American people and American businesses that had already been destroyed by the lockdown and adding rioting to the mix ensures that many of those businesses will never come back. And there are people who are glad. 

Most of my friends are my age – 60+. My guess is they are not out looting and rioting. But many support the looters and rioters. So, after the crazy election of 2016 and the beginnings of the crazy election of 2020, after the pandemic and the reaction to the pandemic, and now rioting, I have done what I should have done years ago – started to unfriend people. When a FB friend writes a long manifesto about how to stay concealed as you are out to “protest” I realised it was time to dump these folks. When my upper middle class white friends, who will not lose anything, and whose prime knowledge of black people are the people who do their yards or pick up their trash, proclaim our white priviledge – well it’s time to dump them.

BTW, small point of note: I was married not once but twice to African American women. I know that African Americans are just like white people – no better, no worse.

I live in the Philippines now. Filipinos often dislike other races and countries. They express their feelings openly; such talk is not taboo. They often express similar disdain for their fellow Filipinos. I wince sometimes but I also admire the honesty. Somewhere along the line in the US we’ve decided that we must control thoughts and words, but let actions go unchecked. It should be the opposite. Give people the freedom to think and say what they want, even if ugly, while we make it clear that they cannot act on such feelings. And drop the hammer when they do. And that’s what Trump’s good at.”

——————–

Today, five days post election, I watch some of the Republican and conservative pundits speak calmly about the election results, the aftermath and the future. How can they stay so calm I wonder, when they have been called monsters for the past 4 years? And then it occurred to me; they’ve had a lifetime of the name calling, but this is all new to me.

For 63 years I was one of the good guys. Whether my guy won or lost and whether he was a decent leader or not if he did win; none of that mattered, because I was on the side of the future, not the past. Now, for the first time in life, I am on the side of evil. Cue the Darth Vader Theme.

I’m the guy wearing the black hat in Westerns. I’m the bad guy wrestler hitting the good guy when his back is turned. OMG I’m that giant who killed Tony Stark in The Avengers! And I’m surprisingly liking it!

Addendum: I got a message the next day from the non-American friend, apologizing but stating that he could no longer be friends. This is the time we live in.

Blog

Depression

16 Comments

This is a touchy subject. Like many of my posts this year it’s not gonna be as light and funny as usual. Tougher still, my standard blogging method is to use examples from people we know. Since I don’t want to hurt or embarrass any friends or relatives I will try to speak generally, unpersonally or use examples from Janet’s and my life.

Let me start out with a horrible bombshell. A few days ago in Janet’s hometown a teenager committed suicide. This was the 3rd suicide of a school-aged child in her town since the quarantines began. How many school-aged children have died of Covid-19 in her town during the same period of time? I think you can guess the answer – none. What we are doing to our children in the name of “safety” is unconscionable.

Love him or hate him; and there seems to be no middle ground; Trump got one thing right from the beginning of the lockdowns: he warned that if extended the mental health and suicide consequences would be dire. I can say that in my own personal life and the lives of those around me this has been true.

The irony is that since the strictest quarantines have been lifted here in Dumaguete, depression has gotten worse. Janet and I can do most things almost normally; shop, go to the mall, eat at a restaurant, exercise (I play golf twice a week), etc. Despite the fact that most of our lives have returned to some sense of normalcy, depression among many of the people we know has gotten worse.

I suspect in some weird way that when the worst of the lockdowns ended in May, many of us assumed that normal life would return and when it did not – well the months have taken their toll.

The medicine facilitates a purchase levitra online http://amerikabulteni.com/2012/05/18/obama-bu-kez-sex-and-the-citynin-yildizi-sarah-jessica-parkerin-evine-misafir-olacak/ way to be sexually young throughout the life. Deficiency in this hormone is a serious problem in men because of forming of different catalysts close to the penile Read Full Article sildenafil delivery territory and that bridles the blood arrangement into the vital bit of the body. Physical injury to the penis, spinal cord, prostate, bladder, pelvis or the nerves and arteries ear the penis and which super generic viagra helps the harder and longer erection during sexual intercourse are torn between using penile enhancement pills or not to use them due to safety concerns. Do not increase or decrease the dose as it might be more effective too. tadalafil 20mg cipla

I know in my own life I have done and said things I would not normally do or say. I have done other things, like working on my guitar playing or golf game, that seem positive, but I don’t trust my judgment enough to be sure. And yes, in a few dark moments I have strongly considered suicide. Janet has been a fantastic help but she too readily admits to depression.

What’s really weird is this: now that I get together regularly with friends no one wants to talk about depression. Sure, we talk about Covid and the excesses of the government lockdowns and how we can’t wait to be able to travel again. But there is little talk about the difficulties with wives and families or the internal darkest times. I guess it’s a male thing. The media is the same. Lots of reporting about death or positive tests and some talk about the economy. But no discussion about the real mental and emotional impact on people’s lives. Very weird.

The exception is the children. As usual they are more honest than adults. School started last week in the Philippines but it is not in person. In fact, kids under the age of 21 are still in quarantine; unable to leave their homes. There are exceptions and gradually you see kids out and about a little bit. But the young kids we know admit that they miss school and don’t understand why they can’t go back and we’ve heard several expression of “I am sad…anxious… and depressed.” Kids and certainly teens know what these terms mean and it is horrible seeing children cope with the ramifications of not being able to play with other kids. It’s infuriating and IMO criminal.

I have no great conclusions here. Talk to your spouse; he or she is probably feeling the same. Talk to a mental health professional. And talk to your friends. No doubt they are experiencing similar feelings. That sounds like a good place to start. And since you’re all my friends – I’m starting with you!

Blog

Snakes and Quakes

1 Comment

On Monday we had two workers finishing the installation of some carabao grass near the back of our property. I was upstairs looking out the window from what used to be called the “Master Bathroom.” Today that term is apparently politically incorrect so I just call it “Our Master Bathroom.”

I am watching the workers, one of whom is holding a rake. He swings the rake, while in one smooth motion he jumps backwards. I think I know what this means and it can’t be good. He hacks a few times at what is obviously a snake and then stops. Janet joins them a couple minutes later. I’m still in “Our Master Bathroom” and have no intention of leaving. She confirms the thing is dead and then the worker picks it up with the rake/weapon and they take it and bury it.

She comes upstairs to tell me what happened, which of course I know. “It was gigantic,” she says. From my view, safe in “Our Master Bathroom,” I estimate it was 3 feet long and 3/4″ in diameter. “What kind was it?” I ask. “It wasn’t a cobra,” is all she knew. The story the workers told her was that they saw it on a low branch of our giant mango tree, located in the back corner of the lot; unfortunately just next to my shop. They took a rock and knocked it off the branch. From that point I know what happened.

And then Janet laid on me the best news. “They said it was a male. That probably means there is a female somewhere around.” Great. So glad that snakes are monogamous. Why can’t they be like most everyone else here?

Here’s the thing. In the Philippines I can deal with the giant spiders that are (to steal a Woody line) the size of Buicks. I can deal with the other insects and the dozens of lizards around our house at night. I can deal with the roosters (sort of like them), the pigs, the carabaos and cows that graze next door. I can deal with the motorcycles and bad driving. Most of the time I can even deal with the other expats. But snakes – well I ain’t thrilled.

Since this incident, whenever I go to the back of our lot or to the shop, I have one eye on the mango tree and the other eye down on the grass. When I open up the shop I take a quick peek around – just in case. Yeah, yeah, I know; Covid-19’s what I have to worry about. You can all worry about that in your home countries. I’ll worry about a pissed off 3 foot long female snake looking for her husband.

Don’t increase or decrease the dosage without consulting https://www.unica-web.com/amis08.pdf levitra online your doctor is even important. This article highlights five tips to make sure you make your Kamagra purchase safely purchase cialis online purchasing this over the internet. Those signals enhance gene activity and decrease programmed cialis cheap fast https://unica-web.com/archive/2015/unica2015-entries.html cell death (called apoptosis). This specific situation changes from one individual to another, wherein few men face complete breakdown to reach erection, on the other hand, viagra uk delivery has been known wide for its quick results after the consumption.

——————

A few days after the snake murder we were getting ready for bed. Janet was brushing her teeth in “Our Master Bathroom.” I was getting ready to hop into bed. Suddenly the house shook. It was a pretty good shake. A few seconds later there was another and a few seconds later another still. We went downstairs, left the house and sat on our porch; probably in a fetal position. But after a few minutes we decided the house wasn’t gonna fall down on us and went to bed.

The next morning I woke up and checked on the strength of the quakes. They were listed as 3.5 and 3.3. But here’s where it gets a little scary. The epicentre was listed as Valencia. Yes, that Valencia, the town where we live. When I lived in Oregon there were many tremors and a few quakes. We even had a 5.something about 25 years ago that did some damage. But the epicenters were always far away and deep underground. The epicenter to this series of tremors was right in the neighborhood.

The following day they revised the numbers. Turns out the quakes were 4.4 and 3.9. So happy they got it right.

So while all of you worry about illness and elections and little things like rioting – I have snakes and quakes to keep me up at night!

Blog

Four Paintings

4 Comments

I was the classic kid who couldn’t draw a straight line. That’s what I said about myself from early childhood. Yet I’ve always loved art and there’s plenty of talent in my family.

My Great Uncle Hymie (my maternal Grandfather’s brother) was a world-class New York artist, better known as Francis Hyman Criss or just Francis Criss. Not a lot of famous 20th century artists named Uncle Hymie lol. When my parents were married he gave them a painting as a wedding gift. It stayed in our living room or dining room our entire young lives.

Morning in Florence
If you love your health more than the cigarette, give up smoking now! Not only the cigarette, but alcohol is also one of biggest reason behind taking place of ED. viagra online sales So, men should be choosy before picking up the sexual function facilitators off buy vardenafil levitra http://icks.org/n/bbs/content.php?co_id=FALL_WINTER_1998 the shelves. A thorough sexual history and assessment of overall health is also necessary. generic cialis viagra Mentally stressed I would simply come home and cialis professional price click now doze off leaving behind a grumpy lady who always sat with a straight face.

Painted in the 30s, the dapper young Uncle Hymie can be seen in the foreground.

As a kid I knew in theory that Uncle Hymie was supposed to be an important artist, but unless you were Picasso, I didn’t know what that meant.

When we kids grew up and left home, my father sold the home and its contents, including the painting.

About 15 years ago I was an eBay junkie. I found an industrial lithograph made by Uncle Hymie in the 30s, a time when the government-sponsored WPA paid artists to keep them going. I’ve had it ever since and it while it’s not particularly exciting I keep it in a prominent place.

Melancholy Interlude

A decade ago with the explosion of the Internet, I looked up my Great Uncle. Not only was there tons of information confirming his importance, but there was the painting, Morning in Florence, that I had grown up with. It was hanging in a New York City gallery and the 6-figure price tag ensured that I’d never see it again.

————————–

In 1965 I was 12 years old. My parents, who were close and shared many hobbies, started painting. It quickly became a daily obsession. Each evening they sat on either side of their king-sized bed and painted, often with the TV going. Their painting styles were consistent with their personalities. My father was meticulous and took a month or more to do a painting. My mother was free flowing and once she found a photo or image she liked would often knock out a painting in a day or two. They were amateurs, but talented amateurs. I have nothing from my father but thanks to my sister’s generosity have one very small still life done by my mother. In the lower right hand corner you can see A (for Aileen) ’65.

So, when we built our house in the Philippines I wanted art. Of course over the years I’d collected various simple (meaning cheap) works of art and a half dozen framed photographs. So there were things to hang in the new house.

But I wanted Philippines art. Over a couple of years Janet and I had looked a little bit and seen stuff we liked but nothing that really said, “this is it.”

Then in July we were in Bravo Resort in Sibulan, north of Dumaguete. The hotel lobby had 4 paintings by an artist named Boy Mata. I asked the Front Desk Clerk about the artist; he only knew that he was out of Manila. I found his Facebook page and sent him a message asking what he had available and for how much. I told Janet not to get her hopes too high because in all likelihood the work would be beyond our budget.

A couple days later Boy sent us 8 images with sizes and prices. We narrowed our choices to two and since this is the Philippines asked “Last price?” Boy lowered the price, found a shipper who could send the painting to Dumaguete. We agreed to split the shipping charge. Boy sent me pics of the painting being packed and the shipping receipt. Three days later we received the painting and Janet and I were ecstatic! We took a picture and sent it to Boy. To my surprise he didn’t respond.

A week later I got a message from his daughter. Boy Mata had passed away the night before. In all likelihood we were his last customers.

I don’t know how to feel about the death of someone I don’t really know and yet feel that I do. We certainly feel blessed that we were able to discover his work and purchase one before his passing.

And as Janet always says, “Life is short. Enjoy it while you can!”

Blog

My History of Violence

6 Comments

As many of you know I spent much of my life in Portland, Oregon. It was mostly a nice life. It’s where Janet and I married and lived a delightful four years before getting the hell out as fast as we could.

Now Portland is Antifa Central on the nightly news (assuming you believe that the news still exists). The images sadden me. I know all the buildings and blocks that have been hit. I loved the Elk that’s no longer there. When I joked that apparently the elk, who had been there for 100 years, was racist and deserved destruction, someone told me with a straight face, “maybe the sculptor was a racist.”

What’s odder than the violence, is the reaction from many of my Portland friends which basically comes down to “everything’s fine here; nothing to see.” Of course most of them live in the affluent suburbs on the West and East sides of Portland and rarely go into the city. Nonetheless they assure me that it’s a plot from the government and right-wingers to paint the city as descending into chaos.

I suppose it’s the nature of violence. If your street has had no robberies your town is safe; if you’ve been robbed then what the hell are the police and politicians doing to solve the problem.

The cynic in me is also reminded of not long after 9-11. A buddy of mine went to New York City. When he returned I asked him how it was. “Exactly the same,” he replied. “That is, unless you try to get to Greenwich Street (where the Twin Towers were).”

All this has made me examine my feelings about violence and my history with it, as well as its existence in the Philippines. So that’s what follows.

Childhood/Teenager – Philadelphia:

I grew up in an environment far different from Janet’s. Our neighbourhood was suburban and upscale. There was no crime or murders. We didn’t lock our house or cars. I know that would sound insane to a younger person, but no one did in those days – at least not where we lived.

There were no bad people roaming the streets of my neighbourhood. Now that I am an adult I realise that in those days there were vagrancy laws and the cops would shoo away anyone that wasn’t a resident or “didn’t belong.” I took it for granted that if someone was walking the streets, they lived there.

Then one summer we got robbed. I distinctly remember seeing my father break the back door window so he could tell the insurance company it was a break in; not that we were too stupid to lock the doors. The police told us there had been a series of robberies. From then on the doors were locked. Locking the car would soon follow.

At some point (and I don’t remember the chronology) my female cousin was walking down the street of her neighbourhood and got flashed. I remember how upset people were and my mother talking to me about what to do if I ran into a “bad man.” I’m sure it involved running like hell. Life was changing.

Again, I’ve forgotten the details and chronology but around the age of 14-15 came the big one. My 2nd cousin (who I barely knew) was a co-ed (that’s what they used to call them) at the University of Pennsylvania. She was raped and murdered. It was big news – I mean front page banner news – in Philadelphia. A pretty, upscale co-ed murdered in the dorms at Penn. The family was stunned but I didn’t really know her so wasn’t sure how to feel.

A couple years later I went off to college at the University of Rochester. Her younger brother attended Rochester. I was a Freshman and he was a Sophomore. I think my parents set it up so he would take me under his wing. We got together a couple times at first and I would wave at him when I saw him on campus but I never got closer. He was a nice guy but my God, his sister had been murdered; and at 17 I had no idea what to say to him. BTW, it’s taken 50 years to acknowledge that that was the reason I didn’t try harder to get close to him. I acted like it was his fault but the truth is it scared the shit out of me.

New York City:

After my sophomore year I went to NYC to visit a girl I liked. The first thing she said to me when I entered the apartment was, “Did you lock your car?” I couldn’t remember and we rushed down to the street to check. She acted like the car would be gone or stripped by the time we got there but fortunately it wasn’t. Welcome to New York.

The next year I transferred to City College of New York (yes I was chasing the girl). I found an apartment in the Bronx which I shared with two other students. The apartment was right across the street from a college that had just closed. This meant that previously most residents of the area were students, but when I moved in we were just about the only young white people in the neighborhood. Will get back to that in a moment.

CCNY was located in Harlem. Interestingly I never had a moment of fear walking the streets near school or taking the train to and from school, even at night. Was I young and stupid or was it safer than one would suppose; probably a bit of both.

Back in the Bronx where I lived, I befriended some young people in the neighbourhood. The truth is my roommates were never around (girlfriends), the girl I had chased was no longer in the picture, and the new girl I was chasing was only occasionally available after considerable begging. In short I knew no one and was lonely.

One day one of these friends showed up at my apartment. We watched TV and he brought something to smoke. I provided the pipe and whatever it was was pretty damn good. Once I was suitably relaxed he pulled out a knife and held it to my neck. For the next hour I was sure I was going to die.

He started out the robbery with intimidation, yelling, “Where’s the gun. Where’s the gun!” “What gun? What are you talking about?” He was sure we were packing. Once I convinced him we had no gun he proceeded room to room. My roommates weren’t poor and had some high end shit but he only had two hands and lugging around 200 pounds of tube McIntosh stereo equipment wasn’t practical. One of my roommates had the habit of coming home and emptying his pockets of all the change onto the carpet in his room. The robber starting fishing for quarters. I must admit I had been broke a few times and had done some similar fishing in the past. Marty, my roomy, must have had $50 in quarters on the carpet and my burglar friend stuffed his pockets.

Naive moron that I was at some point I asked him why he was doing this; after all we were friends. He laughed at my stupidity. “I’m an addict.” Welcome to New York.

Testing The Adrenal Function: As you online pharmacies viagra experience any abnormal sign, you consult an endocrinologist who would evaluate your adrenal glands. This anti-impotency pill is a cialis for sale india drug that can hurt them, or worse. As a flowering plant cheap viagra tablet it is known to have some new girlfriends so I went to the sorority rush parties. But now it is easy to cure this disorder viagra 50 mg go to the icks.org with so many drugs available in market or on online stores as it is easily available out there.

We got to my room. I had two guitars and a small amp. He could only carry one guitar. “Which one?” he asked. “What?” “I can only take one so choose.” “That’s like asking me to choose between my children,” I wailed. One of the guitars was a ’63 Fender Jaguar, which I had recently purchased in Greenwich Village. I thought of this recently because a top vintage guitar seller (Norm’s Rare Guitars) with a YouTube Channel recently posted a video of a ’65 Jaguar which was selling for $10k. I’m yelling at the TV, “Janet – I had that guitar but mine was even older.” I gave my burglar friend the Jag.

Now mind you throughout the ordeal I was looking for something to pick up and brain him. One roomy had a big candle and I wondered whether that would be heavy enough to knock him out but I was too terrified. One consequence of the robbery was I subsequently decided that if something similar ever happened again I’d use the candle and bash the MF to death!

The guy tied me up badly and locked my door. I got out of the ropes within a half hour but no one responded to my yelling until the next day. Free, I went to a pay phone and called the police.

Two policemen arrived and they took a report. As we sat on the living room chairs-sofa they were exchanging glances and giggling. I couldn’t figure out why until I realised the pipe and it’s remains were laying on the coffee table! It was like a scene out of The Big Lebowsky.

Portland:

Years later I was living in Portland with my soon to be Wife #2. We had a nice rental home in a beautiful old Portland neighbourhood. One day she got home to see the back door glass had been smashed just liked my Dad had done all those years before and the place robbed. “But they didn’t take anything,” she said relieved. I searched the house. “Yes they did – my guitar.”

It wasn’t a high end guitar but it was the best I could do at the time. The experience was actually positive and a couple years later I decided to teach myself how to make guitars so I’d always have one! I’ve been hooked ever since.

A couple years later Wife #2 and I were living in our own home (not far from that rental) and had one child. In the middle of the night someone pounded on our door and yelled. I looked through the peephole and saw a youngish and clearly stoned person very insistent on getting in. “Get the hell out of here,” I yelled but he continued. Wife #2 called the “soon to be defunded” police. Within 3 minutes two cop cars screeched outside our home. Four officers rushed out. I could hear a struggle on our porch; the struggle was brief and the guy was in the back of one of the cars. One officer came inside our home and quickly told us what had occurred, we thanked him profusely, and off they went. This is why we pay for police!

It was about 12 years later. I’d divorced and married Janet. Again we owned a nice home only about 5 minutes from the previous home. By now the neighbourhood had changed a bit. It was still pleasant and slightly upscale but the local park, like so many others in Portland, had allowed tent cities. During the day homeless young people wandered the neighbourhoods; no vagrancy laws enforced in Portland. People drank or defecated in back yards.

One day both Janet and I were home. A young man wandered up the street. Clearly he was stoned, psychotic or both; he yelled incoherently and pounded on everyone’s door trying to gain entry. Our neighbor and Janet were on the phone consoling each other, terrified. I called the police. One officer finally arrived and took his time about it. He came into our house. The guy was in the middle of the street ranting and then occasionally would go up to someone’s house and shake the door knob to get in. The cop explained, “I can’t do anything unless he agrees to go.” “What!” I said incredulously. “If he volunteers I can take him to the hospital. If not he has to commit a crime.” “What about trespassing?” I asked. The cop shrugged. “What if I did something about this?” I asked. “Then I would arrest you.”

In all fairness to the Officer, he spoke to the guy a couple times and eventually the guy did get into the car and off they went. But the experience certainly demonstrated the changes in City policy over the 12 years.

Philippines:

As we prepared to retire and move to the Philippines a consistent mantra from friends was, “Is it safe?” You’d think they were attempting to do an impression of Lawrence Olivier in Marathon Man.

Let’s see: as safe as Philly where we were robbed, as safe as NYC where I was robbed or as safe as Portland where I was robbed multiple times?

I have already written about how we were robbed in a previous rental house in Dumaguete.

The Philippines is the same as anywhere else. If you haven’t been robbed you think it’s safe. If you have been robbed you do what we did: put bars on the windows, a large spiked wall around the property, install a CCTV system and get a dog. Are we safe? Not necessarily. If someone wants to get in badly enough they can. The difference here is the cops arrive ready to shoot! Its taken me 67 years to admit it but – that’s a good thing.

Blog

Lockdown Consequences

4 Comments

If you thought this was gonna be a scathing indictment of the worldwide lockdowns, you will be disappointed. Sure, I think I could make an argument that many of the lockdown measures have been unnecessary, extreme and even Draconian, but this won’t be it. Will see whether FB slaps me down anyway.

The following are two stories, random really, about lockdown consequences. One is fairly trivial and one is serious.

———-

I’ve always had great eyesight. I was the kid who when we were driving could read a sign a couple hundred yards away. “How can you read that?” someone would ask. I’d shrug. I remember my mother taking me to an optometrist as a small child, who declared I was 20-20 (whatever that meant) and wouldn’t need glasses “until you are 40.” Since that was an infinite time away I thought, ‘I’ll never need glasses.’

Nonetheless by my mid-40s my ability to read the computer and newspaper seemed to be waning and after decades I reluctantly went to an optometrist. “Why are you here?” he asked after examining me. “You’re 20-20 (by now I knew what that meant).” I explained the problem I was having and he explained why I needed cheap reading glasses despite my perfect vision.

When Janet and I married we went to optometrists a couple times. The last time was three years ago, just before we moved to the Philippines. The doctor pronounced that we were both 20-20. “Which one of us has better eyesight?” Janet asked. The doc reluctantly admitted it was the ancient husband. I rubbed Janet’s nose in that one for awhile.

As the lockdown and quarantine has partially lifted here in Dumaguete, my buddies and I have returned to playing golf. Before Covid-19 became an insane part of our lives, our weekly game was a high point of my retired life. Today we returned.

The course’s first hole is a short 100 yard par 3. I hit a decent shot just off the green. I saw the ball fly all the way but when it landed 100 yard away I saw two balls. Everyone else hit their shots and as I focused on each white ball after landing, I saw two of each. OK, there’s a nasty joke in here, but I’m not writing it.

I blinked my eyes, shook my head and wondered what was wrong. I had no problem seeing trees or the flagstick or anything else; just looking at that tiny while ball in the distance seemed a problem. As the round proceeded I tried to focus on each ball in the distance. I had no problem seeing the ball in general. As always I could tell my companions, “your shot’s 10 feet left of the cup (ok that didn’t happen often).” After a while I wasn’t seeing double, I was seeing maybe 1 1/2 balls.

By now I had told my fellow players who expressed concern and suggested I go check it out. And I probably will do that when this is all a little closer to being over. By the 18th hole I was seeing almost normally; 1 ball and a slight blur. It then hit me. For two months I’d been indoors. I spent lots of time looking at computers and phones and TVs. Sure I’d gone out a bit and walked around. But I’d had no reason to focus on a small object 100-200 yards away. I hadn’t even driven, where focusing in the distance is important. So, for now I no longer have the best vision in the world. I wonder what else I’ve damaged with two months indoors.

Taking the medicine can be harmful, so avoid it and prefer to use other medical remedies. viagra line If you have any chronic medical condition, talk to http://deeprootsmag.org/2014/09/15/hearts-flux/ sildenafil tablets australia the doctor beforehand. Toronto city amazing places Toronto is one of the best City in North America not without a reason, as if to bare her soul, Priyanka sinks her teeth into this character she has obviously invested so much in, a character, unlike her What’s Your Rashee’s cardboard cutout imagery, is shaped with perplex moods she has viagra no prescription online fittingly grasped within her periscope. Sexual embarrassment is one big issue which men feel hesitated in hearing with their partner or with his cheap levitra 20mg family physician.

I’ve said often that I really like all of Janet’s family members. Not a bad one in the group. But, if I think about it, the person I like most (and don’t tell any other family members this) is Janet’s Lolo (Grandfather). His great grandchildren call him Lolo Old Guy (as opposed to Janet’s father, who is their Lolo/grandfather), which is pretty funny. He speaks no English but he was always very nice to me. Whenever I see him we share a beer. That is the extent of our relationship, which only proves that a relationship can be built on a very simple thing.

Lolo (from Janet’s mother’s side) turns 90 this Sunday. For the last couple years at least Janet has been telling him that she will throw him a big 90th birthday party with a couple pigs. In the Philippines the size and importance of a party is always defined by how many pigs you have. Janet reminds him of this often because we have all noticed that as he has aged he seems not as happy as before.

Last year he was sick in the hospital. The flu became pneumonia. They gave him oxygen and antibiotics. He talked about how it was his time to go. But it wasn’t. Slowly he recovered and went home. His strength was down but Janet reminded him he had to hold on for his huge 90th birthday party. Janet had also intended to fly in some of his children, who live in Luzon and no doubt cannot afford airfare.

And then Covid-19 and the quarantine came. Lolo, who always liked a daily walk, could not leave his house. He could not understand why his daughter (Janet’s mom) could not visit him, nor could his grandchildren or great grandchildren, all of whom live within a ten minute walk. Janet’s mom tried to explain but how do you explain viruses and quarantines to a 90 year old, who just wants to see his family.

He talks about the end and everyone tries to keep his spirits up and remind him of the party. Now that the lockdown has been relaxed a bit, Janet has come to the conclusion with my help, that it’s time for Lolo to take an occasional walk and carefully see some of his family. It’s the only thing he wants in life and at 90 he should have it.

I know that Janet is heartbroken that she cannot be there with him for his birthday. She tells her family that when travel between islands resumes we will have a real party; all of us together. But in the meantime this Sunday there will be a pig and we sent a video greeting.

And while I don’t tell Janet, not being there breaks my heart too.

Blog

GCQ, ECQ, Fake Watches & Faker Covid Stats

10 Comments

Last Friday, May 1st, Negros Oriental downgraded its quarantine from ECQ to GCQ – well sort of. I described the very strict ECQ requirements in this blog.

Most of the Province welcomed the GCQ. It meant that most people could go back to work; a necessity for Filipinos. Most stores and businesses re-opened, albeit with restrictions. On Monday the 4th, the malls re-opened and that’s when the shit hit the fan.

Robinsons Mall, where we do most of our shopping had never completely closed. Throughout the ECQ the supermarket was open, the pharmacy was open, sometimes the hardware store was open, and a couple fast food places were open for take out. But that was it. Janet and I were in the mall Sunday and could see most of the stores had staff inside cleaning and disinfecting, preparing for the Monday re-opening.

Janet and I were wise enough to know that Monday would be crowded as hell and we didn’t want to deal with that. After all, for many Filipinos it would be the first time they could work in a month or more, and for most residents it would be the first time they could shop other than for essential food and medicine. Apparently Janet and I were wiser than the leadership.

Pictures were posted all day of traffic in Dumaguete and crowded malls and social distancing not being done or enforced. By late Monday many were calling for something to be done and some were even calling for a return to ECQ. This is what panic does to us.

As I say Janet and I skipped Monday and returned to Robinsons Tuesday. Like most people, there were many things we hadn’t done in the previous month and we were anxious to do them. Our experience was nothing like the complaints from Monday. The traffic was normal, the mall was not crowded, the mall parking lot had plenty of spaces, and people calmly socially distanced. To be honest I was happy and really impressed.

But this didn’t matter since the decision had already been made based on that one day. The pass system, which allowed only 1 person per family to go into Dumaguete to shop, was reinstated for non-residents. The pass system for Dumaguete residents (color coded) was also reinstated. The pass is necessary not just to get through traffic checkpoints but to get into malls and markets.

They also unfortunately reinstated the restrictions on seniors 60+. We are supposed to stay home. The only exceptions are that a senior who works can get a pass and a senior who lives alone can get a pass for essential needs.

So for me, after a few days of freedom, I’m back to lockdown mode. Well, not entirely. My attitude has shifted a bit. For over a month I absolutely followed the rules. But at this point I figure since they can’t determine what the rules are, I can bend them just a bit. Last night Janet and I drove into Valencia town to hit my fave taco cart; take out of course. I threw on my cap, thinking if I covered my mostly bald and grey head I’d look younger lol. I saw several other old farts, so I didn’t feel very conspicuous. Never have I been so happy to watch someone make me a fajita. I thanked them profusely and gave a bigger than normal tip. We got home and I inhaled the fajitas. Sometimes it’s the little things.

—————————

Most people who know me know that I am a watch guy. In retirement that means inexpensive (aka cheap) watches. I have a G-Shock or two and saw a new model that I liked. March 1st I went online where many Lazada vendors were selling the model I wanted. The prices were all over the map. No surprise since most G-Shocks in the Philippines are fake. I messaged a couple vendors who messaged back, “Authentic Sir.” Yeah right. In the end it’s a G-Shock and plastic and who cares so I ordered one. March 9th it hit Manila and went through customs, where it’s been ever since. This morning I got a message from NinjaVans, my fave delivery service. It’s on its way a mere two months late. Just like the Fajita, never have I been so happy to get a cheap fake watch!

Of course it came from China, so I sanitised the shit out of it first before putting it on! Happy locked up guy!

———————

Now, let’s segway to the serious stuff. I was a math guy when I was young. I was not only good at doing the math I was pretty good at understanding the concepts. Never has math and statistics been as important as in this pandemic and the experts, who may be expert doctors, or experts at getting elected aren’t very good with math.

Let’s face it; nearly all of us panicked at first because the statistics were showing that 3-6% of Covid-19 positive patients were dying. That was based on the number of deaths divided by the early positive test numbers, based on little testing. And it’s true that 3+% death is scary.

Children, who get their dependency needs met on a regular basis. tadalafil purchase cialis online sales Testosterone exchange and erection inducing injections are also available. With eczema cases, medical studies have shown that even the utilization of weak Neem leaf extracts can efficiently treat acute eczema conditions. viagra sildenafil 100mg It was indeed an eye opener viagra price india and I realized that it was not rocket science to recover from the serious situation both psychologically and physiologically as well.

Today initial antibody testing shows that in all likelihood millions of Americans (and everywhere else) have had Covid-19. In NY State the antibody testing indicated 21% of the residents have had it, whether they knew it or not. Depending on your outlook that can be good or bad news. Bad because it indicates what was only speculated; that Covid-19 is very infectious. Good because if you divide the deaths by the actual number of people who have had the disease we now can be confident that the percentage or mortality rate is much lower than previously thought; perhaps as low as .1%. That certainly does not help those who have died, but it does help those of us worried to know that if we get the disease our chance of dying is not 3-6% but closer to 1/1000. You have to wonder if we knew from the start this reality, would our decision to lockdown the world have been the same?

The other piece of statistical information that no one seems to be talking about is this. We have been told from the get go that seniors and those with other medical issues are far more likely to die than younger or middle aged people. This certainly makes perfect sense. Who is likely to do better: a healthy 30 year old or a falling apart 80 year old?

But that’s not the full story. Today I heard international statistics on the percentage of total Covid deaths in nursing homes. IOW deaths in nursing homes divided by the total death count.

Canada – 62%; Australia – 25%; Denmark – 33%; France – 51%; Germany – 36%; Ireland – 60%; Israel – 32%; Portugal – 40%; Sweden – 45%; and the USA – 58%.

Yes, you read that right; 58% of the total Covid-19 deaths in the US have occurred in nursing homes and assisted living facilities! Try to get your head around the 58% statistic. And what is the conclusion of the experts? Seniors do badly with Covid-19 and we should protect them.

That’s not how I interpret the statistics. My interpretation? Seniors thrown into cramped shitholes don’t do well.

Unfortunately, such an admission breaks the self-delusional narrative of most Western countries: that we maintain our elderly in clean, medically well-maintained and staffed facilities, comparable to 5-star hotels, where our beloved parents and grandparents can interact with other like-minded oldsters.

How do I know the above narrative is bullshit? Because no senior anywhere, anytime ever wanted to go into a nursing home.

As I was approaching retirement, my mind turned to images of what retirement (if I could afford to retire) might be like. Never once did I think, ‘oooh, when I hit 70 I’ll go into one of those nursing homes, where I can play shuffleboard and chase the nurses.’ Like most seniors I thought, ‘I’d rather be dead than shoved into one of those shitholes.’

As I prepared to retire in the Philippines, Janet and I discussed my aging often. It was always, ‘the family will take care of you and if we need help we can hire a live-in nurse.’ And that’s what we’ll do.

So, the Covid-19 pandemic has at times shown off the best of humanity and at times the worst. And how we in the West treat our seniors has been exposed as the worst.

Blog

Shaming the Dead

9 Comments

I’ve been writing this blog for – well, I’ve forgotten how long – but it’s been a long while. Each piece has related in some way to being married to a Filipina or living in the Philippines. Today I break that record.

We all know that the last two months has been unique and terrifying for each one of us. The frightened responses of nearly every human being on the planet have been at times inspiring, reminding us of the power of our collective will and genius. But just as often the responses have been petty and inhuman.

If I listed the incorrect assumptions and decisions we have made over the last three months, the typed list would wind around the block. That’s not my purpose here.

But there is one disturbing trend which I have noticed over the past month – the shaming of the dead. It started 3-4 weeks ago when several public figures, who had publicly downplayed the virus, contracted Covid-19 and died. Posts and memes were posted saying the individuals had gotten what they deserved. Really? Someone deserved to die because he was wrong or because he chose to take a risk?

I have also recently noticed posts, articles and video commentaries, a few even by physicians, essentially stating that if it weren’t for those people who don’t take care of themselves and therefore have existing conditions or co-morbidities, we would have much better mortality statistics. Is this what we really mean to tell people as a society?

Let me get this straight. You’ve lived till 85 or 90, in many cases because medical science has given you a longer life than you would have had 100 years ago. You’re old but hanging on. But you have high blood pressure or heart disease, cancer, diabetes, pre-diabetes, or you’re obese. And if Covid-19 gets you – it’s sort of your fault. You ate too many Snickers bars when you were a teenager. Or did you? Let’s do the math. In fact, when you were a teenager, you were living through the depression and were lucky to eat anything. Or you were fighting in WW2 or Korea; not many Snickers bars on the battlefield. But it’s your fault – you fucked up the stats.

BTW, the obesity statistics are based on BMI and are pretty bizarre. According to BMI I am supposed to be 118-145 pounds. I kid you not. I haven’t been 118 pounds since my early teens. By the time I was 16 I had hit my final and massive height of 5’6″. I remember clearly (the memory of youth). I had a 27″ waist and was 129 pounds. When I turned sideways I disappeared. But I wasn’t 118.

To make matters worse old age has screwed up my BMI. I’m no longer 5’6″; I’m a hair over 5’5″. This may be the spinal shrinking of old age. More likely it’s the hair loss. It used to be pilled up good on my head and probably gave me an extra 1/2″. Bottom line, at 5’5″ my BMI weight is supposed to be less than Dr. Fauci. And I didn’t eat the Snickers bars either; Milky Ways and Baby Ruths were my preference.

And don’t get me started on the nursing home issue. One of the reasons I moved to the Philippines is that there are no nursing homes here. As you get old and sick your family takes care of you as best they can. Over the past 2-3 generations in the US, you’re deposited in a nursing home. It apparently is coming as a great surprise to some that this means a bunch of old people are crammed into small spaces and share germs; who knew.

And now here we are in late April and many of the world’s governments are dipping their toe into the pond of re-opening their countries. And the reaction of some to those hoping that their world will re-open is – you’re gonna kill yourself and kill us too. Millions of people are suffering from the pandemic and just as many from the lockdowns. And what do we say to anyone who makes the tough decision to go back to work? “We wish you well.” I’m not hearing a lot of that.

They have sildenafil citrate, which works to increase the blood flow cialis fast delivery to the penis. For instance, PDE-6 is an enzyme present in the penis that restricts the flow of urine from kidneys to the urinary bladder and its final exit viagra soft tab from the body. Thus, throwing stress out of your life is essential part tadalafil soft tablets for every human being. Headache, facial flushing etc. are some of the minor side- effects which could be experienced by the males https://www.unica-web.com/archive/2018/unica2018-entries.html viagra prescriptions online since they find it difficult for maintaining the harder erection of the penile region during the actions of making love.

I know, I know. I’m pissed and this blog piece is a bit morbid. Bear with me – it’s gonna get worse. I have a bit of experience here which I will share.

My mother died at 40 after a battle with breast cancer. It was the 60s and a cancer diagnosis meant death in the minds of most. When she first felt the lump she delayed going to the doctor; just for a month or so, but her fear made her wait.

Her GP delayed as well. She had gone to him her entire life; he literally was the doctor who delivered her. He told her to come back the next month and they’d check again.

So my mother delayed and her doctor delayed and when she died there was a certain amount of finger pointing. It was their fault.

It was my fault too. I was in college and going through a typical college issue (aka smoking weed) which was stressing out my mother. When she died months later her best friend came up to me and told me that I had basically killed my mother. I thought I must have heard her wrong but I hadn’t. I was actually mature enough for a 19-year old to realise it was her grief talking. But clearly I wasn’t that mature. My memory is foggy but I’m pretty sure I never spoke to her again.

All this leads to the simple and not particularly profound conclusion that – no one wants to die of Covid-19 and no one wants to kill you. But whether we lock down the world for months more or gradually open it back up, people will catch the virus and people will die. The dead and their families deserve our sympathy and our love. Let’s find a way to give it to them.