MikeLigalig.com

Could the Internet Bring on a Zombie Apocalypse?

Jun 11, 2012 1:00 AM EDT

Could the Internet bring on a face-eating epidemic?


Into the digital deep: from left, mass murderer Breivik, organ-eater Alexander Kinyua, and killer-cannibal Magnotta.
(From left: Jon-Are Berg-Jacobsen / AFP-Getty Images; AFP-GettyImages-Newscom; Hartford County Sheriff's Office-AP)

By some measures, the world has never seemed more civilized. Murders, rapes, and even barroom brawls are down. Then came springtime in America, and with it kitten-killing, brain-eating, entrails-throwing, blood-spitting, naked al fresco face-devouring crimes that made Memorial Day feel like end times. After this “zombie apocalypse,” as it was quickly dubbed, the federal government moved to restore order, noting no outbreak of a virus with “zombielike symptoms” and banning “bath salts,” an amphetamine-like drug cocktail that may have played a role in some of the crimes. But the question remains: what’s with all the craziness?

more at http://www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2012/06/10/could-the-internet-bring-on-a-zombie-apocalypse.html

Is the Web Driving Us Mad?

Jul 9, 2012 1:00 AM EDT

Tweets, texts, emails, posts. New research says the Internet can make us lonely and depressedâ€"and may even create more extreme forms of mental illness, Tony Dokoupil reports.



Before he launched the most viral video in Internet history, Jason Russell was a half-hearted Web presence. His YouTube account was dead, and his Facebook and Twitter pages were a trickle of kid pictures and home-garden updates. The Web wasn’t made “to keep track of how much people like us,” he thought, and when his own tech habits made him feel like “a genius, an addict, or a megalomaniac,” he unplugged for days, believing, as the humorist Andy Borowitz put it in a tweet that Russell tagged as a favorite, “it’s important to turn off our computers and do things in the real world.”

more at http://www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2012/07/08/is-the-internet-making-us-crazy-what-the-new-research-says.html

obviously a press release from his own congressional office. 

okay, okay, we know you're gearing up to take over the senate slot of your father.  one more dynasty in the making...

di pod ko mahibung nga si hubag uyon sa iyang natawhan nga ducutducut sa himbabuyan.  matod pa, maayo na lang ning ducutducut kaysa bag-id-bag-id sa babuy.

aning tungora, kumbinsido na ko nga si bugsay natawo sa liguidliguid sa lubodlubod.

Therefore, every country has different legal and criminal justice systems from the other countries in the world. Not only this, crime definitions differ from one country to the next. For example, a serious assault in one country could be recorded as an attempted murder somewhere else. Moreover, what represents a recordable crime in one country might not be against the law in another. So it is nearly impossible to compare the crime statistics of the various countries when every country implies different methods to compile crime statistics and many others maneuver their crime data.  And appallingly some others under-report crimes. Thus, crime statistics are only one measurement of police performance.

from Reality check: Is the crime rate higher in developed countries? http://www.nationmaster.com/

Quote from: islander on July 24, 2012, 09:51:19 AM
interestingly, the statistics can go on and on, like, say, are richer countries more apt to have more crimes?  (the G8 countries are in the top 10!)

The above mentioned report may force one to think whether the crime rate is actually very high in developed nations like Australia, the US, UK and Canada.  But before arriving at a conclusion, one must consider the following factors:

    There may be differences in the quality of recording and managing the data between countries. In developed countries recorded crimes are generally entered in a computerized database and channeled to a central point for analysis. In many less developed countries crime statistics are recorded on paper which can easily result in the loss of some of the statistics.

    The possibility of victims exposing the crime, and the police recording them, differs from country to country. Crime victims are less expected to report crime in a country with a corrupt or ineffective police force than in a country where the police is supportive and dependable. The distances people have to travel to the nearest police station, and the availability of transport to get there, is another factor which can affect crime reporting rates.

from Reality check: Is the crime rate higher in developed countries? http://www.nationmaster.com/

lisod gyod tuod. 

anus-a to ang imong adlawng natawhan? 
ingon si nanay nga tingbukad man to sa panglot nga diutay...

tinuod ba ni?  tingali baya ug buaya na pod ni nga gihimong kabayo ni dr. vicky belo...

mahinumdom man lang ko ani sa akong officemate sa una... isnabay mi ato; ilang tibuok barkada kontra ko.  di sad ko ganahan nila kay mga abusado. 

uy, naunsa man nga nakurat man lang ko one day, nanawag nako nga gahilak sa telepono.  gi-condemn diay siya sa iyang barkada nga mga bff kintahay kay ang iyang oyab minyo.  (by then, that married guy had been separated from his wife who got pregnant with another man.)

nahawasan intawon ning akong kontra nga amiga diay ko sa iyang tinan-awan.  simple ra akong gisulti.  ayaw paminaw, i said.  these friends of yours won't be there for you when you struggle for your next meal because you have nothing more to eat.  they won't be there when you cry yourself to sleep in the night because you've lost all hope.

naa ba ta para aning imong gihunahuna nga gapabadlong?  will we be able to help when he hits bottom?  pharisees ang gawas nato if we say yes.

you deserve a good night's sleep.  so should others.   

Quote from: Juan Dela Cruz on July 23, 2012, 10:33:17 PM
Hahaha! Maka lingaw jud ning mga isyu sa atong lungsod. Bisan unsaon kita ray gi ilad! Pero angay lang jud badlongon ang kapa badlong. Sakto ba?

ambot unsa tuod ang sakto.  as long as our lives are not endangered, wa ta sulonga ug wa ta kawati, di ta angay manghilabot aning atong gihunahuna nga gapabadlong.  ato ra baya nang hunahuna, ug malagmit masayop ta.  di ta perfect, right?  unsa man sad kunoy katungod nato nga mamadlong?  limpyo ba ta kaayo?  uroy ba.

maybe lorenz should also consider this motorcycle in addition to the porsche car.

asa kahay mas sakit?  ing-anion o masaypan ug ibot ang dila?

eeekkk.  salamat kay di tblander; maklaro sa screen.  naghagit gyod ning inahana nga makwadrado ang ulo sa iyang bata, moliwat sa monitor.  truly irresponsible.  tan-awa, wa na gani manudlay.

wow!  mango tree on wheels.

how the mighty have fallen...

Quote from: bugsay on July 24, 2012, 03:33:03 PM

hmmm..mura'g wa na sa china...

nag-concentrate tingali ang china sa lacoste nga ang buaya nagtuwad.

great thread.  awesome.

flew to cebu.  daghanang libaong sa langit uy.  kurog jamo ang eroplano tungod tingali sa tropical depression.  ambot ba ani.  di na pod ko kalahos ug bohol kay grabe kuno ang bawod, according to my sis.

way kalainan sa peke nga samsonite.  ang spelling kay samsongite.

ang paris ni babolat:


ang accessory:

ang ubang nagger kay ingnon man ug "nag-sermon na pod".

akong brod kun saputon na ang misis kay ingnon ang iyang 2 sons ug "hapa, doy, naa na ang tora-tora!"

as well...

Quote from: bugsay on July 24, 2012, 02:05:06 PM
mura'g nagkasimod ang bonbon ani....klaro kaayong nasapid ang kanahan...

kinaiya gyod tingali nag future designer; naay simod ang bonbon, naay ipok ang pizut.

Quote from: Lorenzo on July 24, 2012, 12:31:28 PM
I never played this kind of game when I was a child. Kuan ra gajud , marbles ra , nakalimot na gajud ko sa Bisaya term of that game.

jolern penirz gyod tong marbles, i believe.  maangin pa gyod ang kagardz ug mamordz.  

wa na ko kaabot aning gitawag sa tagalog ug "luksong tinik", ambot unsa ni sa bisaya.  ang akong dinuwaan ani mogamit pa man mi ug kahoy o pisi.  wa na pod gani ko kaabot sa "chinese garter" nga duwa.  by the time nauso ni, di na ko puwede.

chinese garter, aka ten-twenty

Quote from: hubag bohol on July 21, 2012, 09:47:54 AM
Hmm, ergonomic ang tirada, well-designed ang nganga...

design na gani ang tirada, wa na lay labot sa nganga, bugsay na gyod ani ang giangin.

He wants to deploy 5,000 fishing vessels with 100,000 fishermen armed and trained by the People’s Liberation Army. The militiamen supposedly would make up a force stronger than the combined navies “of all the countries in the South China Sea.” They would confront states that have territorial claims contrary to China’s, namely, the Philippines, Vietnam, Malaysia, Brunei and Taiwan. He said deploying that many fishing ships would be no problem, since Hainan alone has 23,000. By forming the fishermen into a maritime militia, he said the PLA-Navy could serve as rear echelon, not the front line and fall into the trap set by the US government.

Those are not the words of an official of a country that is striving peacefully to develop. Those are the words of a neighborhood gang boss threatening to let loose his armed goons to trespass and steal. China’s idea of economic growth is to grab adjacent seas to feed its population and fuel its industries, with no regard for neighbors’ legal rights. It flaunts military might to demand the neighbors’ consent.

China’s awesome war materiel notwithstanding, its army is not about to start conflict. It has had no recent experience in shooting, except at civilians at Tiananmen, Tibet and Xinjiang. And at unarmed Vietnamese sailors in the Paracels in the 1980s. To provoke war could backfire on the Communist Party. The PLA would be exposed all the more to be reporting so loyal to the party’s military commission, instead of to the people through the government’s defense ministry.

-more at Blocking P-Noy's convoy - and his daang matuwid,
GOTCHA By Jarius Bondoc (The Philippine Star), July 23, 2012

China, the neighborhood capo wannabe

A Chinese official’s proposal to arm 100,000 fishermen to roam the South China Sea and “defeat the Philippines and Vietnam” betrays two things. One, China’s is not a peaceful economic rise. Two, its military is too cowardly to start a war, and so must use civilians as cannon fodder.

He Jianbin, who came up with the strategy for confrontation, is no mean barbershop gossip. He heads the state-owned Baosha Fishing Corp. His comments were published in Global Times, the English arm of the Chinese Communist Party organ, People’s Daily. His views are official.

-from Blocking P-Noy's convoy - and his daang matuwid,
GOTCHA By Jarius Bondoc (The Philippine Star), July 23, 2012

brayt langgama.  taas ug i.q., disproving the idiom of "birdbrained".

right, lorenz?  this is a day late (philippine time), but it is never too late...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LORENZ!

dako ra tingali siyag karsones unya iya lang gibak-san ug garter.

mas moangay kog sauce nga bisaya para ani.  ang tagalog sauce tam-is ra kaayo.

a great way to say goodbye.  i wish i could be just as profound when my time comes.

clearly this is in the number of crimes committed.  per capita would be different.  but i'm more curious about the number of crimes in countries where there is the death penalty compared to countries where this is non-existent. 

interestingly, the statistics can go on and on, like, say, are richer countries more apt to have more crimes?  (the G8 countries are in the top 10!)

malagmit.  di baya ning pari lalim kun mabitik ug leyon.

Quote from: chicogon on July 24, 2012, 02:34:10 AM
Ga liquid diet tawon...

my badness.  pamakwi sa beef rib gahapon?  here's hoping you'll take solids soon.

had red rice, buwad, cheese, and cucumbers.  nakalimtan ang hara hachi bu kay butirik man tungod sa buwad. 

"The Girl From Ipanema," poses for a photo backdropped by a collage of pictures from her youth, in Sao Paulo, Brazil. (AP Photo/Andre Penner)

2012. "The Girl From Ipanema," poses for a picture in Sao Paulo, Brazil. The quintessential tune was (according to legend) inspired by Pinheiro when she passed the songwriters in a beachside bar on her way to the sea 50 years ago.

To its legions of fans, the decades have only heightened the song's allure, adding a wash of nostalgia to this hymn to passing youth and beauty. At 68, Pinheiro has two TV shows roles and is planning to launch a book in English about her past. (AP Photo/Andre Penner)

The poet Vinícius de Moraes with the "Girl from Ipanema" Helô Pinheiro

Vinícius, in turn, had written the lyrics in Petrópolis, near Rio, as he had done with “Chega de Saudade” six years earlier, and it took him just as much work. To begin with, it wasn’t originally called “Garota da Ipanema,” but “Menina que passa” (The Girl Who Passes By), and the entire first verse was different.

As for the famous girl, Jobim and Vinícius did in fact see her pass by as they sat in the Veloso bar, during the winter of 1962â€" not just once, but several times, and not always on her way to the beach but also on her way to school, to the dressmaker, and even to the dentist. Mostly because Heloísa Eneida Menezes Paes Pinto, better known as Helô, who was eighteen years of age, five feet, eight inches tall, with green eyes and long, flowing black hair, lived in Rua Montenegro and was already the object of much admiration among patrons of the Veloso, where she would frequently stop to buy cigarettes for her motherâ€"and leave to a cacophony of wolf-whistles.

â€"Bossa Nova: The Story of the Brazilian Music That Seduced the World, by Ruy Castro, Pp. 239-240.
http://songbook1.wordpress.com/

The truth

(From Bossa Nova: The Story of the Brazilian Music That Seduced the World, by Ruy Castro)

It has already been explained, but people find it hard to accept the truth: Jobim and Vinícius did not write “The Girl from Ipanema” (Garôta de Ipanema) in the Veloso bar (today called Garota da Ipanema), which was on the street that used to be known as Rua Montenegro and is now Rua Vinícius de Moraes, at the intersection with Rua Prudente de Moraes (no relation). It was never the duo’s style to write music sitting at a table in some bar, although they had probably spent the best hours of their lives in them.

Jobim composed the melody meticulously on the piano at his new home in Rua Barro da Torre, and it was originally intended for a musical comedy entitled “Dirigível” (Blimp), which Vinícius already had worked out in his head but had not yet committed to paper.

The legend

In 1962, on her way home from school Héloisa Pinheiro regularly passed the Bar Veloso on Rua Montenegro in Rio de Janeiro’s fashionable Ipanema district. The composer Antonio Carlos Jobim and poet Vinícius de Moraes, who were collaborating on a musical comedy, were hanging out in the bar. Every afternoon they watched her pass by, and were inspired to write “Garota de Ipanema”. Later Jobim said, “She had long, golden hair, these bright green eyes that shone at you and a fantastic figure: let’s just say that she had everything in the right place. …” [Harold Emert, Insight Guide to Rio de Janeiro pp. 138-139]

Now the street has been renamed “Rua Vinícius de Moraes” and the bar, “A Garota de Ipanema”. But heartbreakingly beautiful girls still walk by every day. . .


Manuscript of “Garôta de Ipanema” and Héloisa Pinheiro, in Ipanema

http://songbook1.wordpress.com/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5QfXjsoNe4#

Marcus Vinicius da Cruz e Mello Moraes (October 19, 1913 â€" July 9, 1980), also known as Vinícius de Moraes and nicknamed O Poetinha (the little poet), was born in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Son of Lydia Cruz de Moraes and Clodoaldo Pereira da Silva Moraes, he was a seminal figure in contemporary Brazilian music.



As a poet, he wrote lyrics for a great number of songs that became all-time classics. He was also a composer of bossa nova, a playwright, a diplomat and, as an interpreter of his own songs, he left several important albums. (wikipedia)

Antônio Carlos Brasileiro de Almeida Jobim (January 25, 1927 â€" December 8, 1994), also known as Tom Jobim, was a Brazilian songwriter, composer, arranger, singer, and pianist/guitarist. He was a primary force behind the creation of the bossa nova style, and his songs have been performed by many singers and instrumentalists within Brazil and internationally.



Widely known as the composer of "The Girl from Ipanema" (Garota de Ipanema), one of the most recorded songs of all time, Jobim has left a large number of songs that are today included in the standard Jazz and Pop repertoires. (wikipedia)

Ipanema is a neighborhood located in the southern region of the city of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, between Leblon and Arpoador.  Its beach became popular because of the song. (wikipedia)


Ipanema beach

it's the song that turned 50, not the girl herself who's now 68.

background:  this brazilian bossa nova with the original title of "Garota de Ipanema" captivated the world when it was released internationally in 1964.

music: Antonio Carlos Jobim; lyrics: Vinícius de Moraes (English lyrics added later by Norman Gimbel)

The first commercial recording was in 1962 by Pery Ribeiro. The version performed by Astrud Gilberto, along with João Gilberto and Stan Getz, from the 1964 album Getz/Gilberto, became an international hit, reaching #5 in the United States, #29 in the UK, and charting highly throughout the world. (wikipedia)

so what does the guy do for a living if he gives massages for free?

When Lava hopped down, stopped and stared at all the reporters, and then turned toward me, I looked a little above his head. That way I didn't see the recognition cross his face, didn't see past and future connect in his eyes. Because if I did, I knew I'd lose it then and there, and none of my comrades in the U.S. Marine Corps would ever speak to me again.

I'd wanted him to be alive. I wanted to know he was breathing and leaping after dust balls. If he was alive, then he would make it here to California and run on the beach and chase the mailman instead of strangers with guns. I'd wanted him to be alive almost more than anything I could think of.

Now Lava was headed my way. Fast. As fast as his legs could carry him. As I bent down to deflect the crash, that's when I saw the look in his eyes. It was an older version of the look he gave me when I first spotted him that day in Iraq: "I am going to kick your butt."

Film footage showed a dog barreling toward a well-composed Marine in uniform who bent down, caught the dog in mid-leap, stood up and turned circles with his face buried in the dog's fur. Lava was safe. He was home.

Photographed by Lori Stoll
"We have a new family now," says
Kopelman, with wife Pam, stepson
Sean, and Lava in La Jolla, California.

Brad flew with two other dog handlers to Amman, Jordan, where they passed through customs. They spent the night in a hotel in Amman, while the dogs were kept in an underground garage. As a result, Brad spent most of the night down there. Lava bounced around and wanted to play.

In the morning, the dog handlers were taken to Royal Jordanian, which would fly them to Chicago's O'Hare airport. Ken Licklider, meanwhile, drove to O'Hare, where he met up with John, Kris and others. They waited in the baggage area. Finally, Lava's crate came through.

John later explained, "That's when the dam just broke." He told me how he rushed Lava outside and exclaimed, "His first pee on American soil!"

And about Lava's behavior once they got to the hotel room, which John described as "Running around and around the room in circles. Wow."

And then John was finally calling me and saying, "He's here. He's safe. He's an American dog." John, Kris and Lava flew into San Diego the next day.

Surrounded by the media, I waited at the Helen Woodward Animal Center. Reporters asked me how I felt. Before I could answer, the airport van pulled up. I could see Lava through the window, see how big he'd gotten. I saw the same face, the same goofy look in his eyes, the tongue hanging out.

Mad Scramble for Freedom

Iraqi police patrolling the parade ground watched a vehicle trailing dust approach a location in the Green Zone and stop. They watched one man get out and shake hands with another, watched the two men exchange papers, watched a dog jump out of the car. They approached the vehicle and asked to see the papers. What was the dog's purpose?

"He's a working bomb dog," one of the men said. "I'm taking him back to my compound." They examined the papers, the dog, the man's face.

A motorcade then sped to Baghdad International Airport. One vehicle contained David, Lava in a crate, other people, and gunmen in bulletproof vests who guarded the doors and windows. The vehicles zoomed along on a highway where 12 people had been killed by bombs in the last month.

Finally, my dog arrived at the tarmac near a truck loaded with gear. "This is Lava," David told Brad Ridenour, a dog handler for Vohne Liche Kennels and another vital link in the chain. Soon after, I received a new e-mail.

I stared. I opened it and read. "As of 1600 hours," it said, "Lava is out of the country." For the second time in my adult life, I broke down and cried.

But as the weeks passed, the plan was cemented. In the Green Zone, David Mack (not his real name) reviewed Lava's documentation, including an international health certificate for live animals. Security around the Green Zone was cinched tighter than usual after reports of "irregularities" with the Iraqi elections. Demonstrations raged; mortars were launched.

At the NPR compound in the Red Zone, Lava was smuggled into a vehicle with a cameraman, since no animals were allowed to pass through. The vehicle drove to the first checkpoint. Sam waved goodbye. More mortar rounds were launched into the Green Zone. I sat at home in California and waited for an e-mail. And paced. And worried.

The vehicle sped through the dangerous streets, inching toward the checkpoint line. The driver stared forward. The cameraman counted rolls in the coiled barbed wire outside his window.

A bomb dog circled the vehicle as a guard reached through the window to check the cameraman's pass. The pass was good; it was the bomb dog's possible detection of Lava that was so threatening. But he was in search of only one thing, and when he didn't find it, he was off to the next vehicle. The guard scanned the pass and waved them into the Green Zone where, at that moment, the Iraqi government extended the country's emergency state by an additional 30 days. All of us waited. I paced some more.

Passing the Test


Scott Peterson/Getty Images
Journalist Anne Garrels, who found
Lava, "incredibly affectionate,"
kept an eye on him in Iraq.

Meanwhile, a man she knew in Iraq, someone I'll call Sam to protect his identity, managed to locate a vet and get Lava all his shots and proper documentation. Before long, Anne had to leave Baghdad, while I was assigned to patrol the Syrian border until leaving for the States. By now, I had learned about Ken Licklider, who owned Vohne Liche Kennels in Indiana. He was a former U.S. Air Force police-dog handler who trained dogs for search-and-seizure work; many of his dogs were used by the military to sniff out bombs in Iraq. There was a chance that Lava could fly out with Ken's dogs and handlers to the United States. "It means putting Lava on a transport with them," John Van Zante told me.

John, of the Helen Woodward Animal Center in California, and Kris Parlett, with the Iams dog food company, were my link to Ken. Iams had even offered to pay all the transport costs. Now we just had to sneak Lava out of the Red Zone in Baghdad, where he was hiding with journalists, to the military base in the Green Zone, the walled center of the city. John and Kris would take it from there. Me, by e-mail: "Thanks, John."

John: "We may actually put Lava on a plane. I hope this is it!"

Then, a worry. The kennel's overseas program coordinator: "Can you confirm that Lava has all his health and shot papers in order? Recently we ran into a problem with one of our dogs, and the military vet would not allow the dog to leave the country for an extra thirty days. I don't want that to happen to Lava." Neither did I. On top of that, I was leaving soon.

Sure enough, in early March I left Iraq, spent three days in a tent in Kuwait, and then flew to Shannon, Ireland. I was on my way home, but all I could think about as I drank pints with a bunch of other Marines was this: I just didn't see Lava making it to California to be with me. The plan to fly him out seemed too easy. You only get so much luck, my thinking went.

Daring Rescue Plan

For most of January and February 2005, I worked at the Joint Task Force in Balad, replacing a lieutenant colonel there. I had great accommodations: a trailer with a real bed, a refrigerator, a wall locker. We also had a gym and plasma TVs in our command center. It might have been a great mission, except I worried about Lava. I knew he was safe with the Marines back at Camp Fallujah, but I was trying to save his life.

For a while Corporal Matt Hammond watched him, even building him a little plywood hooch, which the guys filled with toys and blankets and hid in the commanding general's personal security detachment, the last place on earth anyone would think to look. Then we came up with a plan to get Lava to Baghdad, where he would be vaccinated. The guys managed to convoy there, and at a prearranged time and place handed Lava off to journalist Anne Garrels, whom I'd become friendly with and who promised, by e-mail, to watch him for a few weeks at her National Public Radio (NPR) compound.

The hand-off was a bit of an ordeal, I heard later. Matt struggled to remain emotionless, while Anne grabbed Lava and left. Lava didn't have a collar or a leash, so she had to carry the now-large puppy back to the car. Luckily her Iraqi driver didn't object; most Iraqis did not like dogs. When I read Anne's e-mail from Baghdad, not even Patton's presence could have kept my tears from flowing. "Just to confirm that Lava is safely with me..."

Was I a gutless wimp? Maybe.

Anne would e-mail me with updates whenever she could: "Lava is happy." "He's incredibly affectionate." "He sits beautifully."

I returned to the main base with Lava on Thanksgiving Day in a Humvee -- which, after serial bombardments, firefights and crashes, looked more like a secondhand stock car. Lava loved the loud trip; he perched on my lap and drooled. Once safely at Camp Fallujah, I spoke to the military dog handlers. The working dogs made up an elite unit that out-specialized any weaponry or high-tech mapping systems the U.S. armed forces possessed.

When I asked if Lava could hide out in one of their kennels, the handlers shook their heads. "Can't help you, sir." They said that the closest military vet who could give Lava vaccinations worked in Baghdad -- some 40 treacherous miles away. They doubted he'd be able to help. They wished me luck, though, and gave me what I suspected was some very expensive dog food.

When I contacted the military vet in Baghdad, he respectfully reiterated General Order 1-A, adding that diseases such as leishmaniasis, hydatid disease and rabies were common among stray dogs in Iraq. "My apparent lack of concern isn't due to not caring," he wrote. "I'm simply following orders."

Well, shoot. But I wasn't about to stop there. I'd already snuck Lava into the officers' building, where he slept with me on a cot. On the computer, I was Googling anything I could think of -- puppy passport, help Marine help puppy. I felt frantic about Lava's fate. Yes, I was a Marine, brave to the point of insanity. But I'd be damned if I was going to let anyone shoot my puppy.

The puppy thumped his tail on my chest. I realized that I could no longer sleep at night unless some little fur ball was nestled up against me. Though from day one Lava had been a group project, I was now considering him my own. I made his safety and well-being my mission.

I started calling friends and family, telling them about Lava and asking for help. At first I thought that the silences on the other end were the usual international lags on a cell-phone call. But I soon realized that my friends back home were trying to place the word puppy in the context of war.

When I called one of my best buddies back in San Diego, Eric Luna, and asked him if he knew how to get a dog out of Iraq, I heard nothing for a long time but some static. "Hey, Easy E, you still there?" I said.

"Yeah, man, I'm here. What did you just say?"

"Puppy. I have a puppy. Can you help me figure out how to get him out?"

Eric collected his wits. "Sure, man. Yeah, anything you want."

hanep, hahahahaha!  angay diay magbantay ang china ani nato.

Quote from: chicogon on July 21, 2012, 12:10:35 AM
I wish I can be ojective on this... kay dili man igo na lang ko mosunod sa thread

because you know more what priesthood entails, kami na lang nga mga menos ug alamag (mga from the outside looking in) ang magkukabildo, hihihi.

wa man tingali niy kalainan pananglit sa mga macho nga laki nga nagkukabildo ug unsay bation sa babaye nga manganak.

Quote from: Vistabel on July 20, 2012, 04:25:22 AM
unsa kaba bisan ang imong mga uyab maoy nanulti mubalibad gihapon na sija nga waaa sijay uyab sa una.

siaw ay.  ing-ana diay ka, flying segs?  manugilon nga naa kay oyab bisag wa ka mangamoral?

Most nights, Lava slept on the roof of the compound with a group of Marines, but once the weather turned colder, he came inside.  He looked wide-eyed and cute, all paws, snuffles and innocence.  In reality, he wasn't innocent at all.  I personally saw the little monster destroy several maps, one cell phone, five pillows and some grunt's only pair of socks.


Beef jerky for breakfast: Some of the
guys tore up little pieces for Lava.

One morning I woke up and found Lava sitting near my sleeping bag, staring at me, his left ear flapped forward and the remains of a toothpaste tube stuffed in his mouth. "Morning," I said. He replied with a minty belch.

Another time, I woke up to see his entire front end stuffed into one of my boots, his butt and back legs draped out over the side. He wasn't moving. I thought he was dead -- probably from all those MREs. "Oh, no," I said, cursing. But when he heard my voice, his tail started wagging like a wind-kissed flag. I decided that from then on, he wasn't eating noodles, biscuits or beans in butter sauce. No more toothpaste. Only meat.

And then another morning, I thought someone had short-sheeted my sleeping bag because I couldn't push my feet to the end. It was Lava, who'd managed to crawl in during the night and curl up at the bottom in a ball.

I pulled the dog up under my chin. He snorted and snuffled, and I scratched his ears. "What's going to happen to you once we leave here, little guy?"

Scary, Uncertain Fate

As I untied my boots, Lava bit at the laces.  As I pulled a boot off, he grabbed hold and tugged.  I tugged back.  The dog growled.  I growled back.  "Hey, what's with this puppy anyway?"  I asked.  "What are you guys planning on doing with him?"  No one answered me.

Lava crawled out of my lap and turned a few circles, flopped down and fell asleep with his nose buried in my empty boot.

Like everything else in Fallujah then, nothing but the immediate was really worth thinking about.  But when a puppy picked my boots to fall asleep in, I started wondering how he'd die.  Especially when I knew I'd be leaving the compound soon and heading for Camp Fallujah about 12 miles away.  In February, I'd be leaving Iraq for good and returning home to California.

I just knew the little guy was going to die.  This one won't make it because he's too damned cute.  As a lieutenant colonel, I also knew military rules as well as anyone, and every time I picked Lava up, they darted across my brain like flares: Prohibited activities for service members under General Order 1-A included adopting as pets or mascots, caring for or feeding, any type of domestic or wild animals.  The order was taken pretty seriously.  The military didn't want anything like compassion messing things up.  Our job was to shoot the enemy, period.

paita.  wa gani diay tawoy chance nga bisag makapangita na lang ug bag-ong pet owners nga mosawo ug kabinlan.

Every morning we fed Lava and then piled out of the house to various posts across the city.  Some Marines patrolled the streets; some cleared buildings looking for weapons; some got killed.  Me, I supervised three wide-eyed Iraqi soldiers who, in their new, U.S.-issued, chocolate-chip cammies, waved their rifles around as if clearing away spider webs.  They were untrained, out of shape and terrified, these members of the Iraqi Armed Forces, coaxed by the United States to help root out insurgents.

At night we all gathered back at the compound, where we covered the windows with blankets and sandbags, cleaned our weapons, and made sure Lava had dinner.  After that, we would bed down and review the day's events.

"We found a weapons cache ..."

"Yeah, well, we got caught in the alley ..."

"Yeah, well, we had to transport the wounded and then we got hit ..."

As we talked, Lava would paw through our blankets.  Then he would sit between my crossed legs and stare out at everyone.

The Marines bragged about how he attacked their boots, slept in their helmets and gnawed on all the wires from journalists' satellite phones up on the roof.  "Did anyone feed Lava this morning?" someone yelled out, as "I did" came back from every guy in the room.

He was always chasing something, chewing something, spinning head-on into something.  He stalked shadows, dust balls and balled-up pieces of paper.  He could drag a flak jacket all the way across the floor.  But you couldn't yell at him.  Even though you were an elite, well-oiled machine of war, you'd be considered a freak if you yelled at a puppy.  So he was completely pampered and kept warm.

By the time I came around, he already knew the two most important rules of boot camp: You don't chew on bullets and you only pee outside.  Lava gave the Marines something to be responsible for above and beyond protecting their country, and getting their brains blown out -- or worse -- in the process.  He gave them a routine.  And somehow, I became part of it.

"Not Worth the Ammo"

Born in Pittsburgh and a graduate of the University of Miami, I'd been a Marine since 1992, when I transferred from the Navy.  Now, in my second deployment to Iraq, I was looking at a starving five-week-old outlaw.  Members of the First Battalion, Third Marines -- called the Lava Dogs for the jagged pumice they'd trained on back in Hawaii -- said they'd found the pup at the compound when they stormed it about a week ago.  He was still with them because they didn't know what else to do with him.  Their choices were to put the little guy out on the street, execute him or ignore him as he slowly died in the corner.  The excuses they gave me were as follows: "Not me, man, no way."  "Not worth the ammo."  "I ain't some kind of sicko, man."

In other words: Warriors, yes. Puppy killers, no.

They named him Lava.  The newest grunt was treated for fleas with kerosene, dewormed with chewing tobacco, and pumped full of MREs.  Officially called Meals Ready to Eat but unofficially called Meals Rejected by Everyone, MREs were tri-laminate pouches containing exactly 1,200 calories of food.  Lava quickly learned how to tear open pouches that were designed to have a shelf life of three years and to withstand parachute drops of 1,250 feet or more.

The best part was how these Marines, these elite, well-oiled machines of war who in theory could kill another human being in a hundred unique ways, became mere mortals in the presence of a tiny mammal.  I was shocked to hear a weird, misty tone in my fellow soldiers' voices, a weird, misty look in their eyes, and weird, misty words that ended with ee.  "You're a brave little toughee.  Are you our brave little toughee?  You're a brave little toughee, yesssirree."

The puppy looked back at me, ears high, pink tongue hanging out sideways from his mouth.  I realized he wanted me to chase him.  He was giving me the "I was never afraid of you" routine.  So I scooped up the little guy.  He squirmed and lapped at my face, which was blackened from explosive residue, soot from bombed-out buildings, and dust from hitting the ground.

"Where'd you come from?"  I said.

The puppy acted like he had just jumped out from under the Christmas tree, but meanwhile I called my cool to attention.  It's not allowed, Kopelman.  Marines letting down their guard and getting friendly with the locals -- pretty girls, little kids, cute furry mammals -- it wasn't allowed.  But he kept squirming and wiggling, and I liked the way he felt in my hands.  I liked not caring about getting home or staying alive, and not feeling warped as a human being because I was fighting in a war.

At the sound of my voice, the puppy looked up at me, raised his tail and started growling this baby-dog version of "I am about to kick your butt."  Then he let loose with tiny war cries -- roo-roo-roo-rooo -- as he bounced up and down on stiff legs.

"Hey," I said, bending down.  "Hey.  Calm down."

There was fear in his eyes despite the bravado.  As I held my hand out toward him, he stopped barking.  He sniffed around a little, which surprised me until I noticed how filthy my hands were after almost a week of not washing. He was smelling dirt and death on my skin.

I leaned forward, but he tore off down the hall.  "Hey, come back."

Lava

I remember being exhausted.  The tiredness weighed more heavily on me than my 60-pound rucksack.  As I walked through the door of our command post in northwest Fallujah after four days of dodging sniper fire and sleeping on the ground, all I could think about was sleep.

That's when I first saw Lava.



A sudden flash of something rolled toward me out of nowhere, shooting so much adrenaline into my wiring that I jumped back and slammed into a wall.  A ball of fur skidded across the floor, halted at my boots, and whirled in circles around me with the torque of a windup toy.  Though I could see it was only a puppy, I reached for my rifle and yelled.

It was November 2004.  In the days before our march into Fallujah, U.S. warplanes had pounded the Iraqi city with cannon fire, rockets and bombs.  The bombardment was so spectacular that I -- and the 10,000 other Marines waiting on the outskirts -- doubted anyone would live through it.  But plenty managed.  Now, sniper fire came from nowhere, like screams from ghosts.

Retired Marine Corps Lieutenant Colonel Jay Kopelman was serving in the battle of Fallujah in 2004.  In an abandoned house, Marines came across a tiny stray puppy who was, even at 5 weeks old, brave enough to challenge them.  So the warrior and the little dog with a big heart became companions, despite military regulations against keeping pets in a combat zone.  Kopelman was determined to save someone from the hell of war, and it turned out to be the puppy he named Lava.  Kopelman’s books, “From Baghdad With Love” and “From Baghdad to America” recount his struggles to bring Lava home to America, and the efforts of man and dog to overcome PTSD as they adjusted to their lives after Iraq.

Who’s the hero?  Both.  As Kopelman says, “I may have saved Lava, but he saved me back.” -http://www.apdt.com/


Lieutenant Colonel Jay Kopelman (Ret.)

the following are excerpts from the book From Baghdad, With Love (Jay Kopelman, Melinda Roth, first published October 1st 2006 by Lyons Press). 

hahay.  you always reflexibly choose the angso way.

welcome!

aray.  either of the two is another story.  peligro na ug kaso.

hi, chris.  you're back!  ka-cute anang mga iro sa imong avatar.  maka-daydream man sad ko ana nga unta naa sila sa among tugkaran bisan ug gapuyo ko karon ug puy-anan nga way tugkaran.

then i should wonder why sodas are sold anywhere, even in schools and to small children. 

it is not for us to mete out judgment.  maka-judge ta or demand what we expect of our politicians kay we put them in their jobs through our votes.  kining pagpari wa tay labot, pareha sa pagminyo.

kini bitawng bana o asawa nga mangabit, di man pod ta makaingon nga maayo pag magbuwag na lang na sila dayon.  they need time to thresh out their problems and time to forgive, kun matabang pa.  mao pod na sa religious vocation.  let's give erring priests time to thresh out whether their chosen way of life still holds some meaning.  mogawas ra bitaw na kun tinuod gyod nga di na niya makaya.  tan-awa si kanhing padre roberto cajes, di ba nahimong politician kadugayan.  gibotaran pa gyod sa mga katawhan.

meantime, it is best to withhold judgment.  sayon ra raba i-estorya kun di kitay hingtungdan. 

sa cebu naay big pet store with inhouse vets nga mo-celebrate sa october by giving free anti-rabies vaccines the whole month.  pero free baya pod ang anti-rabies vaccines sa department of agriculture throughout the year. 

ang vaccine nga tricat against infectious enteritis, feline herpesvirus and feline calicivirus (kining duha ka viruses might lead to pneumonia) mao ra gyoy imposible nga free kay arang mahala purya, makapordoy.  karong rainy season, kana tawong mga iring nga homeless, piligro gyod ug feline pneumonia.  fatal gyod tawon ni para nila.

mao nga sa tanto-tanto, ang pag-adopt nimo kang budinggit is one in a million.  lupig pay russian roulette intawon ning homeless cats nga ma-home.  congratulations!

Quote from: taga tigbao on July 20, 2012, 05:12:36 PM
Si Catarina, mabdos na pud ug manganakay na! RH Bill sa mga iring!

my badness.  in the average lifespan of a healthy female cat, 20k to 27k ang iyang mga kaliwat, balig pila ka generations kay anak sa anak sa anak, etc., wa pay labot nga ang apo sa tuhod nagdungan ug panganak sa orig nga inahan like catarina.  3-4 times manganak sa usa ka tuig ang iring, kadaghanan pa gyod sa anak baye.  di lang diay rh bill ang ilang gikinahanglan ani nila, hasta one-child policy pa gyod diay. 

kalami na lang unta kun naay project ang veterinarian's association nga free neutering and spaying during the animal welfare month of october.  pero malooy sad ko ani nila kay wa baya kaayo na silay clients, naa pa gyoy ubang clients nga ibilin lang ang ilang unwanted pets unya di na balikon.     

beautiful, healthy and clean cat you have there, tigs.  bajeng klaro kay calico.  patay kag mag-heat na.  mas sabaan pa na kaayo kay sa imong girlfriend o sa videokehan. 

please, ipa-spay with a very good vet if okay with you.  di na siya sapayan manganak.  rh bill gyod ang angay sa iring.

Quote from: taga tigbao on July 20, 2012, 04:31:33 PM
Tulo ray nahibaw-an anang Budinggit Bro: TUG, KAON, KAMRAS.

paeskwelaha ug music and languages, aron malingaw ka sa lain-lain nga tuno ug paagi sa iyang meowwww.

jay kopelman's books about lava (both became international bestsellers):


"A Marine, a War, and the Dog Named Lava" By LCol Jay Kopelman

examples of the book in other languages:


the second book:

true.  pero karon nga ulitawo ka pa, ajaw baja pangandoy nga unta makaanak kag morag iring ha?

n.b. lava also helped jay kopelman find a wife.



According to Jay, Lava helped him sort things out “with and within” himself and showed him that they both needed more than just each other in life. This is the part where Lava, while on a walk in the park, takes off and “simply races up to a gorgeous woman at the park whom he'd noticed on previous outings, homed in on her seven-year-old son, and dragged the boy to the ground as if he were another puppy.” Long story short, that led to dates and such until eventually they got married.

http://alphabravocharliedelta.wordpress.com/

The service members’ lives are changed for the better because of the bonds they make with dogs, they say. Some have done multiple tours in Iraq. Fox, for one, has been deployed three times. Take away those bonds and they suffer.

Steve Ronk founded Operation Cookie Jar, the Sparks, Nev. organization that helped get the seven puppies out of Iraq. He’s a former military man who spent more than 60 months in Saudi Arabia.

At times, animals on base were rounded up and shot, Ronk said. He couldn’t bear it. He grabbed a cat once and put it under his shirt. He took it home. He saved two others as well.

So he felt compelled to help the Marines with the puppies, he said. He knows the heartache of deployment all too well.

“I’m still right there, right with them.”

http://www.the-two-malcontents.com/

Changed for the better

It’s tough being a dog in Iraq. They aren’t considered pets. They tend to run in packs. Many are malnourished. Some are mean. Some have been wounded and are missing legs.

Nubs, for one, had much of his ears sliced off by an Iraqi who believed it would improve the dog’s hearing and watchdog abilities.

Some of these dogs have never been treated kindly by a human, so any kind of affection can be richly awarded, Dennis said. He and Nubs were reunited March 22, when Dennis got back from Iraq, and they were recently featured on “The Ellen DeGeneres Show.”

Crisp, of the SPCA, and others discount criticism from some who question the time, energy and money spent to save dogs, considering the brutal toll on human beings in Iraq.

That’s how Marine Maj. Brian Dennis recruited help for Nubs’ rescue. And it’s how Capt. Jamisen Fox and his Marine buddies recently got seven puppies to San Diego from their remote outpost near the Syrian border.

“We never heard about Marines doing this,” Fox said.

One of the Marines sent a photograph of his puppy to a troop support organization, Operation Cookie Jar.

Thus began the effort. Operation Cookie Jar set up the flight and vaccines. The Marines managed to find an Iraqi veterinarian to give the shots and sign the necessary paperwork. Puppy carriers were shipped over.

Hundreds upon hundreds of e-mails were sent back and forth to make all the arrangements, said Fox, 33, a Camp Pendleton Marine. Finally, in February, vehicles from a private security firm rumbled to the outpost, 200 miles from Baghdad.

From Iraq, the puppies were flown to Kuwait and then to the United States.

Today?

Kopelman adopted two of the puppies, which now romp at the Rancho Coastal Humane Society in Encinitas, a shelter that also helped in the effort. They are about 4 months old. They’re teething. They’re full of pep.

“We felt beholden to them,” Fox said, noting that the dogs had little chance of surviving in Iraq once the Marines left.

“Who was going to care for them?”

http://www.the-two-malcontents.com/category/the-good-stuff/

Not an easy thing

Kopelman was one of the first to get a dog home from Iraq. There’s no road map for this. You wing it, he said. It’s one of the reasons he’s surprised the trend seems to be increasing.

He got help from an American reporter, the Iams pet food company and the Helen Woodward Animal Center in Rancho Santa Fe. And he wasn’t sure â€" until Lava finally arrived in the States â€" that it was going to work.

“It’s not an easy thing to do.”

With the war now five years old, U.S. bases are becoming more permanent and soldiers and Marines are staying in one place longer, leading them to befriend the dogs that routinely come looking for food and shelter.

That leads to a connection. And that leads the service members to think of doing the improbable: bringing them home.

Today’s members of the military have found that the Internet can play a key role in doing so.

http://www.the-two-malcontents.com/category/the-good-stuff/

The bond can be hard to explain, said Kopelman, 48, a La Jolla resident. To understand, a person almost needs to have been there, he said. It’s war. It’s ugly. It’s deadly. Troops get tired, lonely, scared.

And here comes this mutt.

Or, in his case, a puppy found in the ruins of Fallujah.

Lava, so named for Kopelman’s Marines outfit, Lava Dogs, was dirty and flea-bitten. But Kopelman and his fellow Marines immediately felt a tug.

“You can’t save everything,” Kopelman said. “But you can save this small part of Iraq. And in doing so, you’re saving a part of yourself.”

http://www.the-two-malcontents.com/category/the-good-stuff/

 It can cost as much as $4,000 to send a dog to the United States. It can also be dicey, considering the military forbids keeping pets in a combat zone.

Troops get help from family members, friends, animal rights groups such as the SPCA and businesses. Private security firms are sometimes hired to transport the dogs from combat areas or far-away desert outposts to airports.

The service members say they have no choice.

They’re their dogs.

“They provide tremendous lift,” said Jay Kopelman, a retired Marine lieutenant colonel who wrote a book called “From Baghdad, With Love,” about his successful effort to bring a puppy named Lava to San Diego in 2005. “They provide a sense of home. What’s more American than a kid and his dog?”

http://www.the-two-malcontents.com/category/the-good-stuff/

Here, for the first time, Kopelman holds nothing back as he responds to the question, “Why did you save a dog instead of a person?” The answer reveals much about his inner demonsâ€"and about the bigger picture of Operation Iraqi Freedom. He talks about what it’s like to return to the States and examines the shocking statistics to come out of Iraq: Depression, suicide, alcohol abuse, and broken relationships are at record highs for the men and women who serve there. Kopelman credits Lava with helping him to endure combat and the pain of war, as well as helping him deal with the surprising difficulties of returning to everyday life. Civilians have a hard time understanding what being a Marine means, and the adjustment to living among them is hard for these soldiers. This book attempts to shed light on that for all readers.

http://www.skyhorsepublishing.com/

From Baghdad to America

Life after War for a Marine and His Rescued Dog

Jay Kopelman



Lieutenant Colonel Jay Kopelman won the hearts of readers everywhere with his moving story of adopting an abandoned puppy named Lava from a hellish corner of Iraq. He opened the door for other soldiers to bring dogs home, and in From Baghdad to America, Kopelman once again leads the pack with his observations on the emotional repercussions of war.


Jay Kopelman and Lava, Iraq, 2004

It was Angel that inspired me, as you will read in our book, to select “Perseverance” as the most important of the Four Golden Rules. She tried to keep going through her illness, despite the frailties of her body. She persevered with a passion. She walked to strengthen the back legs, took the medicines to get well. Her love never diminished, even when she was in pain. She played with her tiny friend Winnie as though she were a puppy. When the time came to go, she sat quietly in the back seat of the car on our way to the vet. When we took her into the room from which she would not return, she went gently, quietly seeking us out for a last pat on her golden coat. When the vet asked her to lie down for the injection, she obeyed with the signal dignity of a lady. As the injection went into her veins, she closed her eyes, accepted the relief from pain and passed on without a murmur to join the other Angels.

In death, as in life, Angel is an inspiration. Maybe Rule Five should be “Make Certain You Make Every Minute Count”, treasure the short time we have together, make certain that we use this time to learn, lead, love what we do, and when the time is right, leave in dignity.

Martin Levin

http://martinlevinandfriends.blogspot.com/

When we brought Angel to Sarasota, hopefully to spend the winter in a warmer climate, she was reunited with her friend Winnie - a one-year-old female small dog. Angel towered over Winnie, but when they met, Angel would chase after Winnie to show her affection, girl to girl.  Angel had respect for males, including me, but she adored women, especially Paula. At the last hours of her life she sought me out for a treat, but cuddled up to Paula.

She was the force that drove the household. She walked as briskly and as often as we would take her, going as far as she could without a whimper. She loved to swim. And, as many of you have read, on October 2, just a little over a month ago, while we were in our house in Rye (which is located on the water) she disappeared in the late evening. She was out for her regular evening outing but slipped away while Paula was not looking, found her way in complete darkness down a 12-foot rocky embankment, and went swimming in Long Island sound. Paula, searching frantically with a flashlight, saw the sparkles on her collar and flew down the embankment, catching Angel just as she was paddling to get into the deeper water. Paula, shoeless, in her soggy nightgown, dragged Angel up to safety. Rather than being apologetic, Angel was frustrated and fretted at not being able to enjoy her midnight dip.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

An Angel Passes Away

Angel was put to sleep on November 13th in Sarasota, Florida - our winter residence. She was 15 years old. Angel was the inspiration for my book All I Know About Management I Learned From My Dog. She may not be here in person but she will be with us when our book is published in April 2011 by Skyhorse Press and distributed by W.W. Norton.

Angel was on center stage for the almost five years that she was with us. She taught us many important things but in the last four months, as she struggled with a growth on the brain, weakness in her back legs, and a failing liver, she kept going, generously giving of her love. 

In the end, Levin found that his Four Golden Rules of Management were so simple that even Angel understood them. Thus, if a manager can develop trust, it will lead to corporate excellence, provided he or she is able to communicate effectively, make the right strategic decisions, and, above all, persevere. Levin’s book is one to entertain, inspire, and educate business executives (and dog lovers).

http://www.skyhorsepublishing.com/

And as it turned out, his journey led him toward realizing the Four Golden Rules of Management:

      Rule 1: Trust and Leadership
      Rule 2: Communication
      Rule 3: Problem Solving and Decision Making
      Rule 4: Perseverance

All I Know About Management I Learned from My Dog

The Real Story of Angel, a Rescued Golden Retriever, Who Inspired the New Four Golden Rules of Management

by Martin Levin



When 91-year-old legendary management guru Martin Levin decided to adopt a dog by the name of Angel, he thought he was in for an interesting experience, yet not a challenging one. It didn’t take long for him to learn that he was wrong. Very wrong. Following one of the guiding mantras of his life to never stop learning, Levin found that each day with his dog brought new insights. Through interacting with Angel, he began to recall some personal adventures that added to this insight.

either is possible (though judging from the attire of this particular ghost or non-ghost, he's obviously of another era), albeit he's too small in terms of scale with his surroundings.