Now here's a post out of the blue, but I was spurred on by something I read at another blog. I'm going to get a little bit preachy, but it's a point that I think a lot of people who haven't been there might miss. Part of the point is that military life is far more difficult than most people realize--it's not just blood and sweat, it's big on tears. And ennui.

Murf wrote of her disappointment in MilBloggers--that they suck her in with their tales of adventure in Afghanistan and Iraq, then disappoint her by tapering off when they return home and posting on the mundane, if they continue to post at all.

The dynamics of the return home are more complicated than most people realize, particularly for the married people. I'll address this from the male perspective since that covers the vast majority, but feel free to switch the roles--it works both ways.

When you deploy, your family life enters a sort of stasis. You go on to experience life-changing events, yes, but you expect to return home to the family you left 12 months ago. Meanwhile, your wife has 100% of the home responsibilities--paying bills, doing laundry, changing light bulbs, homework, diapers, mowing, changing oil, you name it. Not to mention the children are a year older, a significant period of time for a child. They grow in your absence. They change. You come home expecting to return to the family that you left, but in so many ways you don't. You and your family have both changed significantly.

This is what the guys are working with when they return home. The single guys may not have the wife/children issues, but they also struggle--with family, friends and society at large. The transition is intensely difficult.

Garrison life is rote and boring. You rotate through various "cycles". There's training cycle, during which you do soldierly things, school cycle during which you sit in classrooms trying not to fall asleep, and the much-loved post support cycle, during which you mow grass, whack weeds and rake straight lines into sand. Other than jumping out of airplanes (for the chosen few), there's not much excitement.

Civil War soldiers referred to going into combat as "seeing the elephant". Given that garrison life isn't particularly exciting at the best of times, imagine trying to find something interesting to convey to your readers once you've seen the elephant.

So sorry to those who've been disappointed by returning MilBloggers, but they have bigger issues than pleasing your vicarious interests.

Just a quick post--Balding, grey-haired guys with ponytails are just plain sad. Sorry.

A day early for Veterans' Day, but my wife is off tomorrow and I'll get no peace.

Just wanted to post two things for the day. A poem by Kipling (The Soldier's Poet) and an essay by a Marine Chaplain.

I'm mostly preaching to the choir here--fellow current and former military--but maybe just one person somewhere will read this and think for a moment. By the way, Thomas Atkins was a hero in the British Army and his name has become a symbolic name for British troops, often referred to as "Tommys".

Tommy

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

Rudyard Kipling

This essay will be posted 10,000 times tomorrow, and it's a bit corny, but like Kipling's poem it's solid food for thought.

What is a Veteran?

Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in the eye.

Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a piece of shrapnel in the leg - or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity.

Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear no badge or emblem.

You can't tell a vet just by looking.

What is a vet?

He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn't run out of fuel.

He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.

She - or he - is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.

He is the POW who went away one person and came back another - or didn't come back AT ALL.

He is the Quantico drill instructor that has never seen combat - but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each other's backs.

He is the parade - riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.

He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by.

He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep.

He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket - palsied now and aggravatingly slow - who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long that his wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.

He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being, a person who offered some of his life's most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.

He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known.

So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country, just lean over and say Thank You. That's all most people need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded.

Two little words that mean a lot, "THANK YOU".

Remember November 11th is Veterans Day

"It is the soldier, not the reporter, Who has given us freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, Who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, Who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, Who salutes the flag, Who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, Who allows the protestor to burn the flag."

Father Denis Edward O'Brien, USMC

To everyone who has served: Thanks.

Another link.

I was reading Barbette and she has posted a number of links to Marine bloggers in honor of the 230th birthday of the Marine Corps. I picked one at random and liked it a great deal. So I add Daisy Cutter to my list of links.

I particularly like Daisy Cutter's post on what it's like to be a part of something bigger than yourself. I also like the fact that he also doesn't think John McCain's military service automatically means us veterans have to like him.

Daisy cutters, by the way, are bombs fused to explode above ground level. Very nice weapons to be on the delivering end of. The BLU-82 and the MOAB are two examples.

Oh, and Happy Birthday to the Corps.

I've been reading JB's Sanctuary for some time now, but just now managed to see his link to a history of the 10th Special Forces Group.

It was a walk down memory lane. I actually saw some names I knew and I definitely remember the Nigerian MTT. I was later assigned to that company, though I was languishing in Signal Company at the time of the MTT.

Recommended reading.

Blackfive has some comments on how the Left Coast--San Francisco in particular--exposed the utter lack of critical thought that seems to be endemic to that area.

The denizens of San Fran have voted to ban firearms and an even more dangerous weapon--military recruiters--from Frisco.

You know, if we dealt properly with the human factor, firearms wouldn't be a problem. But in places like Frisco humans aren't a factor. It's the guns, dammit...

And military recruiters certainly pose a hazard--can't have them offering career potential to the locals...

Didn't check email yesterday as I had a lot of other things going on, so I'm a bit late posting this, but it's worth a shot.

From Barb:

Chuck Ziegenfuss, our inspiration for Project Valour-IT (Soldiers' Angels / http://soldiersangels.org/valour/index.html) has announced that his lovely wife Carren will be interviewed on MSNBC's "Connected - Coast to Coast" tomorrow at noon Eastern time. His post is here : http://tcoverride.blogspot.com/2005/11/publicity-stunt.html

Please share this news far and wide, if you are a blogger - post it and cross-post it! Watch the show, record it, blog about it. This is excellent coverage for this wonderful project!

Congratulations to Barb, the Ziegenfusses and all of the others who have worked so hard on this project.

TOO LATE UPDATE: "Tommorow" is today.

The "blogosphere" is quite a place. It contains giants, both good and bad, as well as gems. The giants are out there for everyone to see. On the "good" side we have such blogs as Powerline and Michelle Malkin (one of the smartest people to ever live, I think). On the "bad" side we have things like Daily Kos and Democratic Underground (not technically a 'blog'), which both serve to prove that there are statistically significant numbers of people who are so consumed with hate that they will literally crawl through sewers to express their hate.

Then there are the gems. I'm trying to link to as many of them as I can. I'm waaay behind on the task, and I realize that it's an impossible quest. Nonetheless, I'm adding new links when I get the chance. If I haven't linked to your site, don't be offended. I just haven't "gotten to it". And really, a link from this blog won't suddenly put you in the top ten, so don't stand on your head waiting.

Anyway, I've added a few new links. When you get a chance check out Mauser Girl (I have a Mauser, too, by the way), Gunn Nutt, The Gun Line, Texas Music, Grouchy Old Cripple and Chin Music.

And yes, I give preference to military people. It's an incredibly powerful bond.

On the down side, FinnCanuck at Sotamies has stopped posting--hopefully it's temporary as he's become busy working, and SFAlphageek has disappeared--most likely a military deployment. I emailed SFAlphageek questioning his disappearence, but my questions bordered on OPSEC violation so I don't know if he didn't get the email or chose to ignore it.

More links and more of my own insanity to come.

I see someone from Australia was able to hold his or her breath long enough to suffer this blog. In honor of the event, here's a photo of Snake Eater, jr. from his trip to Australia and New Zealand two summers ago as a Student Ambassador. I think the Koala was named Jack.


Koala

The ACLU is made up of vampires.

Yep----Vampires.

As Michelle Malkin reports, they can't tolerate the sight of a cross. A symptom of vampirehood, as I recall. I'd just love to break into their headquarters and spray them with holy water--I can only imagine the mayhem that would cause.

I'm not the most religious person in the world, but I've never been "offended" by a religious symbol--not even a crescent.

Some people just have axes to grind and don't mind being a$$holes as they grind them.

Ah, Halloween.

In 12 years at this house we've never had a single trick-or-treater. We've always taken the kids to the sister-in-law's place, which is in a neighborhood. This year, however, I'm staying behind "just in case". Since the kids started riding the bus last spring, the kids out on the main road are aware there are houses back here, so there's a chance, albeit a small one, that someone may show up at the door.

Didn't get to carving pumpkins until this evening, so I went for expediency, much to the wife's chagrin. I took the romance out of pumpkin carving according to her. Didn't know there was any romance in it, but what the hey. Anyway, got the reciprocating saw. One minute, two pumpkins beheaded. "What shape eyes to you want?" "Round". Gooood. Grabbed a Forstner bit--instant eyes. Back to the saw--noses, mouths...jiffy jack o'lanterns.

Well, I'll be damned. I didn't stay home for nought. Just had some kids stop by. Their parents (two families, I think) loaded them in a trailor and pulled them about half a mile up the road with a garden tractor. Figured they'll be the only ones, so I loaded them up with Smarties, Dracula erasers and Crayons. The kids were impressed and assured me they'd be back next year.

I mentioned the other day that I suspect Cindy Sheehan pops a woody every time they announce another US death in Iraq. Fred Schoeneman links to photos of people doing just that at a 2000th death "celebration".

Don't miss NOTR's photo of Cindy copping a feel of Jesse Jackson, either.

Another video, but this one is a must-see. It's a street entertainer with a skeleton marionette. The guy's skill and sense of humor are both superb. I like it when the skeleton takes notice of passing women...

I'm brand new to cable internet, so I'm fully aware of just how painful it would be to download this on a dialup connection, but it's completely safe for work (where you have that wonderful T1 connection). Just turn your speakers down.

The dancing skeleton.

The memories brought back by yesterday were topped off with a light note when my daughter brought a honeybun home from school.

I know it sounds odd, but every time I see a honeybun my mind goes back to SF school at Camp Mackall. We mostly ate C-rations, but periodically we got hot meals brought from Ft. Bragg in mermite cans. On the occasions that we had a hot breakfast, we always got a honeybun. Somehow they become a fixation with everyone. When we went for morning runs we left the compound by one gate and returned through the other which was preceded by a long, steep hill which became known as "Honeybun Hill" after a few honeybuns were deposited there on post-breakfast runs.

Which leads me to another memory. The winter of 80-81 was bitter cold, and the C-rations were stored in an unheated metal shed. We were regularly issued frozen rations, which led to what might be the only case in history of someone breaking a tooth while eating applesauce.

Cindy Sheehan can drop the grieving mother act any time. We all know better. Instead, she's a cynical narcissist who is using the deaths of her betters to draw attention to herself. I have no doubt that she pops a woody every time another death is announced.

Sure, we could withdraw tomorrow, but then Iraq would collapse and every death--her son's, Norman's, all of them--would have been for absolutely nought. Iraq would live on as a festering bastion of Islamist hate . That being the case, we would have nothing to do but wait for the next attack, which would make 9/11 pale in comparison.

As it is, we're on the road to creating a nation state with the ability ensure its security and turn back the murder crazed Islamists who are flocking to the country.

And turn them back, it will. The people of Iraq are tired of the bombs. They're tired of children being killed. They want peace and security just like we do. This is the word from the people there, on the ground. The people who know. I know this is all news to Michael "Cargo Drop" Moore, Phil "I Boned 'That Girl'" Donahue, Teddy "I Got Away With It" Kennedy, Cindy "Look At Me" Sheehan and others of that ilk, but they just don't know.

Lance Cpl. Norman W. Anderson III was killed by a car bomb in Iraq. He was patrolling the Syrian border, preventing foreign murder crazed Islamic fascists from entering Iraq for the sole purpose of killing westerners.

LCPL Anderson's dad served on the same A-Team as I did back in the '80s. I had a good rant planned for today, but I'm off to visit instead.

Since I'm in an airborne frame of mind, some more paratrooper porn for you.

Some interesting exits--a couple of guys look like they'll still be bicycling out twists when they hit the ground.

This guy is good. Really good.

If you've ever been a paratrooper you'll get it. If not, just enjoy the dance.

I don't watch a lot of television, fortunately. When I do it's generally History Channel, things like that. Well, Sci Fi channel, but I'll deny it if asked...

Anyway, I caught the Fox News Channel for the first time in a very long time last night. Watched the Bill O'Reilly show. I run hot and cold on O'Reilly--I might watch him three or four times over a year, so I'm no slavish fan, and while I often agree with him, I also often see him as sort of overwhelming, almost bullyish.

Last night O'Reilly interviewed a guy who calls himself Malik Zulu Shabazz. Right off the bat, the guy gets zero points for originality. Way back when, a guy named Malcolm Little changed his name to Malcolm X, and then eventually to Malik Shabazz. They historic figure we know as Malcolm X was Malik Shabazz before the snot in question was even born.

Originality aside, the new Malik Shabazz has been something of a gadfly since his days at what is euphemistically called an "Historically Black University". In other words, he went to a school at which whites are as welcome as a randy dog at a Miss Lovely Legs contest. Shabazz is an acolyte of Screwy Louie Farrakhan and refuses to refute anything Farrakhan has said--not even Farrakhan's assertions that he was once beamed into an alien spacecraft.

Shabazz continues in the Farrakhan tradition: he's clad in a very expensive looking suit, and just like Louie--and I'm damned if I know why this is such a priority--he's wearing very expensive glasses. It's a fetish the two share. Nonetheless, both of them are living very expansive lives, funded by people who hardly know where their next meal is coming from.

I wasn't paying much attention, so I don't know how the interview started, but eventually O'Reilly got to the the people who used the neo-Nazi march in Ohio as an excuse to go wilding. O'Reilly asked Shabazz point blank if he understood that the rioters handed the skinheads a victory. Shabazz refused to acknowledge the point, but I couldn't agree more with O'Reilly on that issue. A bunch of ignorant whites exercised their freedom of speech to broadcast their message that blacks are animals, and a small group of blacks did their level best to prove the point. They certainly don't represent all or even most blacks. The rioters were an infinitesimal portion of the black population (just as the skinheads are an infinitesimal part of the white population), but they made the news. Not only did they show themselves to be contemptible, but they stole they spotlight from the skinheads. Rather than concentrate on the ignorance and hate of the skinheads, we ended up focusing on the behavior of the rioters. And Shabazz, who has become somewhat influential despite the fact that he's a jerk and doesn't amount to a pimple on a paratrooper's a$$, utterly missed his opportunity to say that. I have no problems pointing out whites who are ignorant jerks, but Shabazz is so wrapped up in race he can't even condemn other blacks who behave like savages.

Saw a car yesterday sporting at least a dozen bumper stickers, nearly all relating to vegetarianism. Most of the stickers indicated a disdain for meat eaters. Subtle digs like "Meat Eaters Suck".

As it drove off I noticed one more sticker, proclaiming "I'm Straight, but not Narrow".

I'd have to argue that.

A house about a mile up on the main road is advertising "Labradoodle" puppies for sale.

I'm thinking they must have gotten the labrador retriever drunk, since no self-respecting lab would ever make it with a poodle.

Toni at MyView reports on a documentary being made about a Marine Corps Reserve platoon deployed to Iraq. You can follow the link from her site to some more information and two trailers.

There are some good lines in the trailers. A young guy, probably the platoon leader, instructs his men to shot to kill when engaged. "We need to establish a reputation". Good advice, I think. People are far less inclined to mess with you if you have a track record of greasing those who do. Another good line comes from an older officer--didn't catch his rank, but maybe the battalion commander. He says, "How much ass needs to be kicked?...We'll let the enemy decide that".

Another thing I noted was that their flak vests now have a groin flap. I've never noticed that in an infantryman's vest before. Up until very close to the end of my time in the Army I had the old vest that was front and back and laced together on the sides. Toward the end I got a vest that went completely around and zipped in the front. I suspect that a groin flap might have made me just a bit braver...

Sunday was a day for the worst and best of professional sports.

I'm not really a big pro sports fan. I'd rather watch college ball, or even high school or Little League. There you see kids trying their hearts out (for the most part). And minor league baseball is pro baseball at a bargain price. Sure, they drop catches sometimes, but it's a good game, anyway--they're trying their hearts out to make "the show". No slackers there. And they're not yet above the rest of us. They'll give a kid an autograph, a batting glove, you name it. They're still tickled to death to be somebody's hero.

Well, yesterday I turned on a football game (at my son's urging, for the record), and what we saw wasn't football. It was brawling in the tradition of the Ravens, a thuggish team in a league known for thugs. If I were an announcer looking for a cute turn of phrase with which to gain notoriety, I'd have pronounced it "footbrawl". The Ravens tied the all time NFL record for most penalties in a game and in the process had two players ejected and several serious penalties which resulted in the ball being moved halfway (no set number of yards) to the other team's goal line. The ejections were inexcusible. I know not all NFL players are literate, but at least they can be trained. At least two Ravens were never trained that you never, NEVER, shove an official. Another one got into a tiff with and official and expressed his anger by throwing the football into the sideline crowd at a distance of 10 feet. He got called for unsportsmanlike conduct and actually argued that call. What a maroon. Sheesh.

Then, for the best of sports. Another pro game, but a good pro game. Houston Astros vs. Atlanta Braves. Wow. Possibly the best pro game ever played. They fought each other until the bottom of the 18th inning. No punches, no beanballs, just good baseball. For a while it looked like Atlanta had it in the bag. Then Houston came back and they went toe-to toe, pitcher-to-batter, for the equivalent of two straight baseball games. You could see that the players were tired, and the umpires had to be absolutely smoked, but it went on and it was good baseball. Finally, at the right time, a young slugger from Houston fired one down the third base line that made it over the fence. Game over.

Check out Guidons, Guidons, Guidons for a similar take.

When appliances attack?

About a month ago the ceiling in the kitchen began leaking water. It became clear it was from the toilet in the master bedroom, and the leak is in the pipe between the bathroom floor and the kitchen ceiling. My wife won't let me cut a hole in the ceiling (even though she wants it repainted yesterday), so we're at loggerheads. The toilet remains out of commission because she won't let me fix it.

In the last week (so help me) we've lost two more toilets, the washer and the dryer. I fixed the toilets. In both cases a bolt holding the bowl to the tank corroded and dropped out. I replaced bolts and wax rings (just because), and all is well. The dryer started making way more noise than usual. I took it apart and found a piece of plastic in the blower fan. Within minutes of having fixed the dryer, my wife announced the washer was acting funny.

The washer's issue seemed to be with the pressure switch (which tells it when it's full of water), but I'm beginning to think it's with the card that tells it when to spin, drain, etc.

So far I'm three for five, but who could have imagined having three toilets, a washer and a dryer all go south in less than four weeks?

Reminds me of an old movie called "Amazon Women on the Moon". A very strange movie, but mostly a parody of what late night TV used to be like. It's made up of vignettes surrounding the eponymous movie. The opening scene, however, has nothing to do with the rest of the movie. It's called "Mondo Condo" and features a guy coming home from work to find that his appliances have all rebelled against him. That's how I feel right now.

Addendum: I'd forgotten, but my run of luck began about three weeks ago when a nipple in the line between the well and the water tank sprang a pinhole leak and the resultant high-velocity aerosol thoroughly soaked my work bench and everything on it. Took me as long to clean up the water as it did to fix the leak.

Is it any wonder I harbor misanthropic tendancies?

Went to a deal at the Girl Scout leader's house the other night. All of the girls in the troop go to parochial school with my kids, and I am definitely po' folk in that crowd. (On occasions when my wife makes me go to church I take great delight in pointing out those who double park their BMW SUVs so they don't get scratched, then walk past the poor box without a thought. She usually doesn't bug me about going back for a couple of months...)

Anyway, I'm sitting there amongst a very affluent group (not a beer in sight, $%*& it), listening to them, and I'll take my SF buddies over that group any day.

Got one skinny, undersized guy who has to be heard, no matter what. Probably a salesweasel. Has the obligatory kewpie doll-looking wife. Here he is in somebody else's house and he loses track of his three-year old. Never got off his posterior. He went on at length on how his kid dismantles things, then opines that since it's dark he doesn't think the kid will wander far. Never got off his butt to look for the kid. Kid eventually shows up and starts breaking stuff. The guy and his wife tell the kid to stop two or three times, then go back to dominating conversation. The kid knew they wouldn't do squat, so he never paid one bit of attention to them. I hope I don't have to see them again. Not just because the guy is annoying, but also because I don't want to listen to their whining when said kid grows up to be a sh*thead.

Then the subject of school band came up. The girls are fourth graders, so they've been invited to begin instrumental music this year. One of the joys of parochial school is that band is not covered in tuition. Musical instruction is supplied by a contractor. So I get to spend the kids' college fund on tuition and my beer money on band. It's ok. I call it being a parent.

Well, another kewpie doll wife (with dark roots in her platinum hair) had just been going on at length about how they lease a place at the ocean every summer and spend most of the summer there. That's fine. I drive a 15-year old truck, but I don't much like the beach anyway. Moments later she related that her husband announced that if band was going to cost $60 a month, no way in hell was their daughter going to join. In other words, they spend all summer at the beach, but 60 bucks a month is too much to give their daughter the opportunity to explore instrumental music.

I @$%#*!@ hate people.

Oh, and for the record my son has opted to continue playing tenor saxophone and my daughter has picked up the torch and is playing my old clarinet. I'm still playing baritone bugle in a drum and bugle corps. And the wife...well, she plays on my nerves.

Hook, line and sinker.

I'm told by both Fred Schoeneman and Jen Martinez that the "propaganda poster" I linked to on Fred's site is the work of a lefty who thinks his reworked posters are some form of high satire.

Anti-war I can live with. You can be against the war and still make sense, but go to this guy's web site and you see the usual lefty nonsense: the name of our country spelled "AmeriKKKa", garbage like that. Most of his reworked posters are pretty far out, too.

The guy's name is Micah, of all things. Most of the time I'm above making fun of somebody's name, and I have a kind of funny name, too. But "Micah" fer chrissake? Obviously his mom did some heavy drugs while pregnant, which might explain a few things...

Neat photo at Fred Schoeneman's web site. Brings back memories, which NOTR's comment pretty much nails.

At first look I thought the aircraft is a C-7 Caribou, but the sponson-like things on the fuselage aren't right.

I have sort of a soft spot for Caribous as I made what has to have been one of the last ever US military parachute drops from a Caribou. The Air Force had completely eliminated them from its inventory and someone got the idea to transfer a few to Reserve Componant Special Forces units. 20th Group HQ in Alabama got one or two of them. I have no idea where they were able to scare up pilots and crew for them, but at least one got off the ground and made it to Maryland and we jumped into Edgewood Arsenal.

It was quite the experience. The C-7 has piston engines, just like those in a car, vice the turbine engines on a C-130 or the jets on a C-141 or C-17. It was a blast from the past, as they say. And sloooow. We took off trailing dense plumes of smoke behind us. There was a 55-gallon drum strapped to the forward bulkhead with a hand pump on top. Every so often the loadmaster would look at his watch, head for the drum and pump the handle several times. Don't know if it was engine oil or hydraulic fluid, but obviously something was leaking or burning at quite a rate on that bird.

There are no jump doors on a C-7, just the ramp. Ramp jumps on a C-130 are easy--get to the end of the ramp, hop a foot into the air, and by the time you come back down the aircraft is no longer underneath you. CH-47s are ramp jumps, too, and a lot slower than a 130, but I dislike them so much I usually flung myself out with great zeal. Never helped them in my opinion that you exit right into the exhaust stream from two tubines, so you get to suck kerosene fumes on the way.

Anyway, we crossed the DZ nice and slow in the Caribou and out we went. Some of the guys actually banged their packing trays on the ramp, being as they were anticipating a normal (i.e. fast) pass since it was a fixed wing aircraft. Minor stuff, really. What I liked was the lack of turbulance and the nice, easy slow speed exit.

It was also the absolute only jump I ever made where was so little wind that the canopy dropped right down on top of me. Loved it.

Years later I met a guy who had married a woman whose maiden name was Caribou. Not thinking things through, I told him that I had once jumped a Caribou. To this day I remember his expression.

Just for grins, you can find some photos of C-7s here. I should warn you that the gallery contains one of the most searing photos of the Vietnam War as well. This photo is of a C-7 which had just lifted off after a resupply mission to a firebase when it was hit by an outgoing artillery shell from the firebase.

Interesting post at Fred Schoeneman's blog, here.

The reworked poster made me laugh. The language is a bit over the top, but I admire the sentiment. But what's really interesting is the responses.

The hard left has serious linguistic and anger issues.

I'm not a big television fan, but there are a few things I like to watch. On Wednesday nights I enjoy a show called "Myth Busters". Lately it's been followed by a British show called "Top Gear". Being something of a gearhead I enjoy watching the staff shake down cars I'll never be able to afford.

Tonight "Top Gear" had a special treat for me. They tested a TVR.

At this point I'll have to come clean and admit that I seem to be attracted to quirky things, both automotive and human.

TVRs are about as quirky as any automobiles ever were. To make it worse, while I certainly like the new TVRs, my favorites are those produced in the 60s. I covet one of those even more than I covet a Ferrari. The odd name comes from the name of the company's founder, Trevor Wilkinson.

How odd are they? Check out this beautiful 1965 Griffith. By the way, I watched a Griffith absolutely thump a big ol' Corvette at a vintage auto race near Salzburg. Here's a side view of a Griffith.

Here's some more eye candy: a 2500M and a Taimar.

And finally, a Vixen. Some salesguy at a store in Nashua, which is where I lived when I was stationed at Ft. Devens, had a Griffith. I saw it in the parking lot one day and went straight into the store, found him and asked him what he wanted. So much for my poker face. It was beat up and he obviously didn't give a hoot about it, but when he saw my enthusiasm, things changed. Didn't get the car.

I'm currently accepting TVR donations...

I'm trying very hard, but so far the best thing I can say about Harriet Miers is that nobody can really say anything bad about her.

Got a few extra bucks and need some entertainment? Sign on with AOL and then try and cancel your account.

It was like nothing I have ever experienced. The guy literally would not let me cancel the account. I must have said "That's fine, but I simply want to cancel my account. NOW" ten times. I actually backed down because I woke up everyone in the house after five minutes on the line with this guy. I told him I was sick to death of my connectivity issues with AOL. He asked me to explain my problem as he is a floor supervisor in Tech Support. Oh? Then why are you answering phones on the "cancel" line? I know everyone at AOL reads from a script, but does that script include lying about your job there? Apparently.

Anyway, after some time I had woken everyone up and needed to back off. He extended my account for free and promised to email me details of the half-dozen offers he threw at me too fast for anyone to comprehend.

Did I get the details emailed to me? What do you think...

Picked up this link from Little Green Footballs.

I'm not sure what to say except we seem to be one step closer to the precipice. Tolerance appears to be a one-way street.

Workers in the benefits department at Dudley Council, West Midlands, were told to remove or cover up all pig-related items, including toys, porcelain figures, calendars and even a tissue box featuring Winnie the Pooh and Piglet.

Muslims can't even tolerate Piglet? If alarm bells aren't going off big time in your head right now, there is no hope for you. Islamist elements are bending our culture to be acceptable to them, and we're going along with it, lest we offend them. A Muslim coming to the west should expect to see pigs. He/she (should I write "she" in a smaller font so I don't offend male Muslims?) doesn't have to eat them, but needs to accept that we have them. Don't like it? Too bad.

Now here's "tolerance" for you:

Councilor Mahbubur Rahman, a practising Muslim, backed the ban. He said: ?It's a tolerance of people's beliefs.

By that logic, banning Islamic symbols would be a tolerance of my beliefs. It's the exact same thing. Good thing I'm one hell of a lot more tolerant than Rahman and his ilk.

A couple of lessons in unnecessary "speech".

Recently HUD chief Alphonso Jackson predicted that the "new" New Orleans will no longer be a majority black city. Immediately the Black Congressional Congress and luminaries such as Jesse Jackson, et al, jumped on the statement.

Now, as far as I can tell, it's a fairly neutral statement, but even I know it's the kind of thing that will just get you in trouble, and I'm not even smart enough to head a federal agency such as HUD. Race is an incredibly touchy issue and unless you're saying something positive (as opposed to merely neutral), it's best just to leave it unsaid. I do have some non-racial thoughts about the "new" New Orleans, which I'll post later. I stumbled on a premise I find rather interesting.

Lesson two involves Halloween costumes, which is why I put "speech" in quotes. Apparently visual things such as flag burning and photographs of crucifixes in urine are "speech", so here we go.

There's a new shop up in town which is selling Halloween-related items. They only have 30 days to make money, so they're going full court press to publicize themselves. When I drove by early this morning they had several people standing along the road, wearing costumes and holding signs. I saw Darth Vader and a clown, albeit a very creepy clown. Now I'm not real wild about the clown--Halloween was once witches and goblins, but now it has to be edgy. I can live without the clown. But I can live with him, too. He was merely creepy, not offensive.

Later in the day there had been a shift change and right in the middle of the biggest intersection in town I beheld the obligatory offensive costumes. A pregnant nun accompanied by a priest sporting an enormous woody.

The question is Why? They could have been vampires, ghosts or Porky Pig. But they had to be something that a lot of people would find offensive. Right there, just like Mr. Jackson, they simply weren't thinking.

But just like Mr. Jackson's unthinking statement, this one is going to bite them in the posterior like a pit bull (I was tempted to say "Like a tiger biting a certain effeminate magician", but I know better than to say things like that...). Because as they stood at that intersection, the vast majority of the traffic was emanating from an event a quarter of a mile away---A flea market at the largest Catholic parish in the entire state had just shut down.

Blackfive has some photos of a mass tac jump as troops jump into Operation Bright Star, a biannual exercise in Egypt.

Once out of jump school I never saw this many canopies in the air at once again. It's quite a sight.

Turner Drop Zone at Ft. Devens was a small DZ. If I recall we could put out eight guys at a pass and there was no time for screwing around. One time when a guy hesitated in the door we all ended up in the trees.

Check out the photos here.

Just for fun. This is a departure, but hey, why not?

My friend Julie sent me some questionnaire that you're supposed to fill out and send to ten friends, etc. It has a bunch of questions and the idea is maybe your friends will learn something new about you. I don't do the "forward this to ten friends" thing with emails, but I figured I'd fill it out and send it back to Julie just for grins. Her answers were all serious, I'll let you judge mine.

Julie and I go way back. She may well be my best friend and is certainly my closest female friend. We tend to trade a lot of banter and innuendo, which is evident in some of my answers.

So, here's the questionnaire:

* Ever been so drunk you blacked out? Damned if I remember

* Missed work because it was raining: Of course not

* Put a body part on fire for amusement: Umm. Do I have to answer?

* Been hurt emotionally: Hurt? How about mortally wounded?

* Kept a secret from everyone: Yes, and I ain't tellin'.

* Had an imaginary friend: No

* Wanted to hook up with a friend: Yes. Then slowly remove her clothing...

* Ever thought an animated character was hot: Jessica Rabbit!

* Had a New Kids on the Block tape? NO! No Backdoor Boys, either.

.......................What is your favorite.....................

* Shampoo: Whatever makes the dandruff fall out and the hair stay in

* Body Wash: I don't care what Old Spice says, body wash is for girls.

* Hair Color: Brown, with patches of pink scalp.

* Day/Night:  Night

* Summer/Winter: Winter (Think fires, hot toddies, warm beds...)

* Lace or Satin: Leather, baby!

* Favorite Food: Seafood, Indian food. Sushi's up there, too, but no more sea urchins...

* Favorite Movie: Second Hand Lions (Thought I was going to say The Green Berets, didn't you...)

* Favorite Book: Da Vinci Code

* Favorite Ice Cream: Cherry vanilla

* Favorite Subject: Biology

* Favorite drink without alcohol: Do I have to? Ok, iced tea (with a little vodka)

* Favorite Words: Damn, not again.

* Favorite beer: Weizen

--------RIGHT NOW-------------------------

* Wearing: Shorts and a button down shirt (ok, boxers)

* Hair is: Too long and too thin

* Eating: Crow

* Drinking: Gatorade (with a little vodka)

* Thinking : I could really use a piece of ass.

* Listening to: The children arguing

-----------------------LAST TIME YOU----------

* Wore a skirt: I'm not answering this one (see question #5)

* Met someone new: Damned if I remember

* Cleaned your room: Last night

* Drove a car: Haven't driven a car in months. Maybe a year. Drove the truck this morning

-----------------DO YOU BELIEVE IN---------------

* Your friends: If I didn't believe in them they wouldn't be friends

* Santa Claus: In a way

* Tooth Fairy: You mean Dr. Thanderthon?

* Destiny/Fate: Nope

* Angels: Nope

-------------FRIENDS AND LIFE------------------

* Who have you known the longest of your friends? Dave(You clock in at #2)

* Who's the shyest? Not sure

* Weirdest? That's hard to decide. It's a matter of degrees with that bunch.

* Who do you go to for advice? You and Chip (a Lancers guy)

* Who do you cry to? Boys don't cry.

* When did you cry the most? If I did, it would be the last three years. Continuously

* Best feeling in the world?  Triumph. Victory. Smashing your enemy. Grinding his face....Umm. Ok. Next question...

* Worst Feeling? When you have to go really bad and your stomach starts bubbling.

* Who will respond to this email the fastest? Somebody. Anybody. Please...

* Who sent this to you? You forgot already?

Don Adams passed away.

Known to my generation as Agent Maxwell Smart and the voice of Tennessee Tuxedo, and to younger ones as the voice of Inspector Gadget, Adams is worthy of mention because he was another member of that generation of actors that knew there were things in this world bigger than themselves.

Adams enlisted in the Marine Corps during WWII and served in the Pacific, eventually contracting Balckwater Fever on Guadalcanal. After recovering he finished out the war as a drill instructor.

RIP Don Adams.

Before I start, I want it understood that there are Islamics and Islamists. Don't get them confused.

It's a point of fact that Islamists declared war on the West years ago. For a long time the Islamists largely allowed the Palestinians to wage war as their proxies. During this period the war on the West mostly simmered, bubbling occasionally when brave Palestinian warriors performed such heroic acts as pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair off of a cruise ship, beating a Navy man to death while they held passengers at gunpoint and tossing grenades into schoolbuses, pizza parlors and dining halls at old age homes.

I'm not sure if war was openly declared when they blew up the USS Cole or when they bombed Kobar Towers, or if it was another time. But the attacks of 9/11 are a milestone. At that point all doubt was erased. Anyone with three brain cells to rub together (ok, that eliminates Hillary, Michael Moore, Charlie Rangel, Barbara Boxer, Cynthia Kinney and a host of others) knew at that point that Islamists had declared war on the West.

Or had they? The attacks are Islam lashing out at the West for our policies. We should have expected the attacks. Islam is the religion of love. They don't hate the West, just our policies.

Well, maybe they do. But there are better ways to express displeasure than deliberately killing as many people as possible. That's a primitive response, not one suitable to evolved people in the 21st century.

At any rate, the point I want to make is that they have now completely blown any pretense that they are lashing out against Western policies, and not simply the West. The French police have detained nine Muslims (Algerians, apparently) who have been surveilling the Paris Metro, an airport and an intelligence facility.

France is likely the most pro-Islam country in the West. They can't possibly have a bone to pick with France's foreign policies. This makes it absolutely clear that the war they have declared is simply a war against the non-Islamic West.

Screw that idea that they're angry at our policies. They HATE US. They hate everyone who is not exactly like them. And there is no dealing with people like that.

It's been a rough month, but once again the US demonstrates our incredible resilience and ability to overcome.

I almost feel guilty about having had a fun Saturday, but as the country moves like platelets to close the wounds, life goes on. I'd like to do a dozen or more things to pitch in, but at every turn I'm met with those who do it as a profession and don't welcome amateurs. Frustrating, but reassurance that no matter what, as a country we can deal with it.

Went to a place called Hershey Park. Hershey as in chocolate bars. Not the biggest park in the world, but not bad, either. Pound for pound, it's hard to beat them for roller coasters. They have so many that at times three tracks are intertwining with each other. At the advanced age of 45 I'm still a huge coaster buff and fortunately, my wife and kids are as well.

This time of year Hershey begins offering exclusive days to entities which can sell at least so many tickets. My wife's agency sold 10,000 tickets to a park that normally handles some 45,000 people per day at high season. We literally walked onto roller coasters that had waiting queues labeled “90 minutes wait from this point”. That's why I go this time of year-90 minutes in line for a ride?

What a great day. Rode all of the bestest, newest coasters, then watched the kids ride the Sooperdooperlooper eight times in a row—dashing down the exit slope, detouring past our bench on the run to shout “Can we do it again?”, and re-entering the ride for another turn.

It was fun, too, to watch 13-year old Snake Eater jr,. who is so concerned about “being cool”, and nine-year old Bear, who is as petite as Jr. is tall, but won't take second. To Jr's credit, he did a great job of taking care of Bear when she needed it. Next year, to be fair, we'll take along a friend for each and let them have fun with their peers. We had a great time, but I know a 13-year old sometimes wants to be with his peers, not his parents.

For the chocolate fans in the audience, I should mention that the wind blew strongly from the Hershey plant across the park for a good portion of the day. It was although they were piping the aroma in.

Afterwards we hit a local chain deli/restaurant. I like trying something different each time, but this place has worked well for us, so we go there because we know it works for the kids. They have interesting selections such as sandwiches made on “rainbow bread”. I had a sandwich of grilled apples, ham, onions and cheese on a pretzel roll. Absent a beer, can it possibly get better than that?

I could pitch any one of a dozen rants now, such as Hamas firing 30+ missiles into Israel and then getting their western jeans in a knot when the Israelis had the temerity to respond to force with force. This was their gratitude to Israel for removing countrymen from Gaza at gunpoint.

But at this point my thoughts are with others, such as Jack Army, who has had to relocate to Ft. Polk to escape Rita. Hopefully he'll have something to come back to. That way he'll have some belongings for the movers to pilfer as he heads to Hawaii (gallows humor, I know, and more some other time about how military and government people provide the moving and storage industry with a great second income). And NOTR, whose daughter escaped Rita, but has been called back into the unknown. And Jennifer Martinez, whose Texas family isn't yet all accounted for.

Been light on the posting this week. Topsy-turvy sleep schedule out of nowhere, then some glitches with my new sports car on the information highway, my cable modem.

I seem to be back, though I'm leery of the modem now. The field tech admitted that he wasn't sure what he did to make it work again. Now I'll have to come clean and admit a lot of my repairs jobs are like that. Sometimes I take things apart, put them back together and they just work. Nonetheless, it doesn't inspire confidence. I just hope the fix lasts long enough that Jason at Tech Support and I don't recognize each other by voice anymore.

Anyway, I'll start back with a sandbagging. Some bloggers just deserve to be bludgeoned repeatedly in the blogosphere. Oliver Willis is one of them. He actually gets paid by Media Matters to blog about things he knows little to nothing about. His blog subtitle: "Like Cryptonite to Stupid" speaks of a greatly expanded ego, putting it on a par with his waistline.

Recently Ed Morrisey of Captains Quarters noted that Maryland Lieutenant Governor Michael Steele is "articulate", among other things. Besides being articulate, Michael Steele happens to be black.

Apparently the Democrats are terrified of Steele. They have been trying to dredge things up about him from Day One. In Maryland the Governor and Lieutenant Governor run on the same ticket, the same as the President and Vice President. Their initial attacks, in which they disclosed such inanities as he (a member of the state bar) gave his sister advice during her divorce (big hairy deal) were aimed at undercutting the Republican Gubernatorial ticket. Just recently Chuck Shumer operatives stole Steele's SSN and misrepresented themselves to obtain his credit record, a move apparently aimed at keeping him from seeking further office. So make no mistake, they are afraid of him, and that's enough to make mindless automatons like Ollie froth at the mouth.

So Ollie jumped on "articulate". Henceforth to be known as "The 'A' Word". He actually tried to make the point that calling Steele articulate means other blacks aren't. What a stretch.

I think Ollie truly wants to live in the world of things like Race Norming, in which graders say "Well, he did ok.......for a black guy". He likes feeling stupid and oppressed; yet really he's only stupid, not oppressed.

One of Ollie's commenters picked up on an incident that occurred some years ago, in which a DC Councilman referred to the sums spent on a particular program as "niggardly". Someone with an apparently limited command of English and seemingly no access to a DC public library in which to look at a dictionary (and an axe to grind) screamed "racist epithet" and the case was closed. Funny thing is I'm pretty sure the guy who complained that the city wasn't spending enough on a particular social program is homosexual, and thus yet another "oppressed minority". Anyway, Ollie's oh-so-erudite commenter explained that we should know to avoid loaded words such as "articulate" and "niggardly".

Beam me up Scotty. Please. Now.

Always feast or famine. Certainly people along the gulf coast have had it with rain at this point, but things are looking pretty brown and sere hereabouts.

I'm considering stripping naked and dashing out into the yard to perform a rain dance. Don't know if it will have an affect on the weather, but it should certainly prove devastating to local property values...

The left is really pressing the attack in the wake of Katrina. Now Bill Clinton is reinforcing his legacy as the US's most classless president and unloading on President Bush with both barrels. His intense desire to see the Dragon Lady his lovely wife elected president so that he can share in the power and once again enjoy fawning adulation is obvious in his statements.

People are still knee deep in toxic muck and Clinton has taken leave of his joint fund raising efforts with Bush I to bash Bush II. How noble.

He started off hitting Bush on Iraq. Same old thing—WMDs. Yet, here's the opening line of a Clinton presidential press conference. Click for the rest of it.

Earlier today, I ordered America's armed forces to strike military and security targets in Iraq. They are joined by British forces. Their mission is to attack Iraq's nuclear, chemical and biological weapons programs...

Another quote worth reminding Clinton of:

"When I left office, there was a substantial amount of biological and chemical material unaccounted for . . . it is incontestable that on the day I left office, there were unaccounted for stocks . . . "

So, having ignored history in which he took part solely so he could bash the president (which amounts to lying, something he knows a thing or two about), he went on to bash the Federal response to Katrina, ignoring the real timeline of events. That also amounts to lying.

Powerline does a great job of Fisking the NOLA portion of Clinton's statement here.

I also like this post at Recurring Themes in Fiction. Don't miss his link to the American Spectator piece by Ben Stein.

Getting back on schedule.

I was quite the spectacle this evening, though. It was back to school night--an evening of too many peopl esaying too few things and taking too long to do so.

The foot is starting up again (I have no idea what is goin on there, but they've eliminated gout, anyway), so I started the day off with lots of Ibuprofin. Finally decided I'd better hit the Indomethacin if I planned on walking into school. It's a good anti-inflammatory, but it makes me sleepy as hell, so I try to stay away from it. Combine that with my topsy-turvy sleep schedule, a warm room and the above noted speakers, and I imagine I was quite entertaining. I think I even snored a couple of times.

Can't wait for the wife to get home this weekend and ask me what was said tonight...

Talk about reverse schedules.

Couldn't sleep Saturday night. Sat up until 5AM at which time I managed to fall asleep until 10AM. Then the kids went off to a baseball game with their aunt and uncle, who cynically use them to get posters, autographs, etc. So I spent the day in slow motion, ensuring that I wouldn't be able to sleep again last night. Went up around 2:30AM and apparently slept some. Got up, sent the kids off to school and collapsed on the couch.

I'm thinking that some medicinal EtOH will be in order tonight to ensure I go to sleep like a normal human.

Sort of a poll question for the ladies.

Saw a t-shirt today with a graphic on the front reminiscent of a street sign. Sort of an ovals and circles kind of thing. It showed a female figure on her knees in front of a male figure who appeared to be pushing her head down.

Beneath the graphic were two arrows point to the wearer's crotch. The caption read in part “Choking Hazard”.

Now, ignoring the fact that choking hazards are most often caused by small bones, if this guy asked to join you at your table, would you accept?

All of the shrillness and venom that I've been decrying has its roots in the fact that the Democrats are just flabbergasted that they are no longer running this country--they've lost the presidency, both houses and most governorships.

For the Democrats, I propose that there's an easy answer to the problem. Take better care in selecting presidential nominees. You guys almost nominated Howard Dean, a certifiable nut. You sidestepped that one, but look who you have given us: Al Gore, John Kerry/John Edwards.

If you guys want to put forth a woman, that's fine. I'd vote for the right woman, say, Condaleeza Rice (NOT Hillary). But if you're going to nominate an ostensible male, at least nominate one who has a penis...

And just one more thought before I retire.

What could possibly be the attraction of dying for Islam and spending eternity with 72 women who don't put out?

AOL just posted a poll in their typically skewed tradition. Anyone with three brain cells knows that you can make polls say anything. It's like the age-old loaded question "So when did you stop beating your wife?".

AOL's loaded question begs the issue of Federal response to Katrina. In their eyes, and the eyes of so many of their mindless subscribers, Bush failed.

It's a matter of record that Bush pressed both the Mayor of New Orleans and the Governor of Louisiana to allow Federal assistance before the hurricane ever made landfall. They refused. So just how in the hell is this Bush's fault?

And to take things further, Bush went above and beyond. He didn't have to get involved. What happens to a state is its own problem unless and until a president declares it a federal disaster area. Every state has police, fire and EMT assets as well as National Guard forces. You take care of your own unless you get overwhelmed, and then you ask for help. In a historical precedent, Bush offered help before the disaster occurred and was brushed off. This point is important: Bush offered Federal help before the hurricane ever made landfall, and his offer was brushed off. Repeat it as a mantra, because certain elements (Ted "Hey, can I give you a lift?" Kennedy, Bill "You sure have nice lips" Clinton, et al.) want you to believe that somehow the lack of state response is the fault of the President of the United States.

What happened, happened. The leader of the most powerful nation on Earth couldn't mutter an incantation to divert the storm, nor could he prevent utterly incompetent state and municipal leaders from shirking their own duties to their state and city.

I'll say it again--the US government is not a first responder agency. That's up to the individual states with their police, firefighter, EMT and National Guard assets. The Feds enter the fray after the fact, assess the situation and make determinations as to where specific assets need to be directed. You want recriminations in the wake of the hurricane? Look no further than Ray Nagin (who happens to be black, dispelling the "New Orleans took it on the chin because Bush hates blacks" theory).

I spent time in both the National Guard and the active Army. Started out in the National Guard's 20th Special Forces Group and once I realized I was enjoying drill weekends way too much I went active duty and was assigned to the 10th Special Forces Group.

So I'll always have a place in my heart for all of Special Forces, and 10th and 20th Groups in particular.

20th Group has had an interesting two weeks. As a National Guard entity, units of the 20th SFG are scattered over several states, including Alabama. The 'Bama Boys are quite the hardy crew. We used to joke that their mileage was proportional to the amount of Rebel Yell whiskey (yes, it's a real brand) they had on hand, but the truth is that they are a good, tough bunch of guys.

They're currently in New Orleans, taking on a job as grueling as anything imaginable.

Now I just got word (and I'm not violating OPSEC--word is out), that my old company (different designation now, but it's my old company) is deploying to OIF. Godspeed guys. Wish I could be there.


Flash

Another one for the book entitled "And This Helps Just How?".

While the Gulf Coast, most notably New Orleans, tries to pump water, feed people, shovel muck, treat injuries, curb diseases, rebuild, and just survive; more and more people are using the disaster to make political hay.

The situation is still ongoing. People are still engaged in a struggle to survive, yet the finger pointing began with great alacrity before the rain had even stopped. Kanye, Al and Jesse began screaming "racism" immediately, even though the incompetent mayor of New Orleans happens to be black.

Now Al Gore is out beating the global warming drum. Is he doing anything to help? No. He's not stumping for donations, he's not rolling up his sleeve to give blood, he's not using his considerable personal fortune to provide for the victims. He's saying the hurricane is Bush's fault, because Bush didn't sign the economically-devastating Kyoto Treaty.

One more classless act that can't even wait for people to get a decent meal before he tries to make political capitol out of the situation.

By the way, I have to give credit when it's due. Not long ago I noted that the US is always on the spot when bad things happen to other countries, and given that, I wondered where everyone else was in the wake of Katrina.

As it turns out, a number of countries have pitched in. I'd try to list them, but the list probably changes with every passing day. I know that the Saudis have pitched in to stabilize the price of crude oil and a number of nations have made monetary donations.

Incredibly, Iran has offered oil and even dirt-poor Bangladesh has offered aid.

Most dramatically, Mexico sent a relief convoy into San Antonio and a Naval vessel to the Louisiana coast. This is surprising and gratifying on several levels. We've never had exactly great relations with Mexico, at least not since we annexed the northern part of their country and turned it into Texas. And the whole drug trade issue has been a constant source of friction, particularly in recent months when a violent gang war has erupted on the border. Add to that immigration issues, and while we're good neighbors, there's a lot of resentment on both sides. Not only that, but while it's not a poor country, Mexico sure isn't the richest country in the world and they have enough of their own issues that no one would blame them if they didn't reach out. Yet they did.

Thanks to everyone who has reached out to us when we took a hit.

Leaving the grocery store last weekend I ran into two guys from the local Disabled American Veterans chapter who were collecting donations. I've considered joining the DAV (I'm eligible) for the networking possibilities, so I stopped to make a donation and talk with them. One of the guys was quite elderly, very likely a WWII vet. The other was my age and incredibly overbearing. Frankly, I'd have liked to talk with the older gentleman, but he couldn't get two words in edgewise.

I filled out a paper while blowhard expounded vociferously about his accomplishments in the DAV. As I finished the paperwork I mentioned to him that I was separated from the Army while I was overseas, therefore my records are at the national office, and not the state office as usual.

"No problem," he said. "Know where my records are?".

No, I don't.

"At the hearing (I have no idea what hearing he meant) they had to go to 'covert' to find my records. After the hearing two guys walked in the room and took the tapes with the transcripts. The clerk was astonished. I told her 'You don't want to mess with those guys, or we'll both disappear in the morning'."

Rule #1: Anyone who tells you he did covert stuff...Never did.

Rule #2: Blowhards don't get asked to do covert stuff.

Rule #3: Nobody allows classified stuff to be discussed in an open forum. Confiscating the tapes is shutting the barn door too late.

Rule #4: Don't make assumptions. He probably assumed I was a REMF like he obviously was and wouldn't know he's full of fertilizer.

Rule #5: All of those TV shows--Seven Days, La Femme Nikita, etc.-- are a lot of fun, but if you believe them, as this guy obviously does, I have some real estate to sell you.

I'm having second thoughts about the DAV now as General Blowhard is the Vice-Commander of the local chapter. But then again, it could be fun to expose his gluteous in front of everyone at the post...

Until then, my meter is pegged.


BS Meter

Certainly the predominant event of the last two weeks has been Hurricane Katrina. Combat operations continue in Iraq and Afghanistan, the rest of the world still exists; but our attention has turned to Katrina and New Orleans in particular. I haven't commented on it because so many others, more capable than I, have been. Actually, I haven't commented much on anything lately. An extremely painful foot injury (still have no idea what I did) sidelined me for a few days, a weird software burp kept me offline for a few more, and frankly I haven't been much in the mood to post for a few days. But I can't stay quiet forever...

Before I get into the deeper issues, one thing that I've thought of many times in the past is our insistence to live in what you might call areas on the edge. Think Laurel Canyon, nature's wind tunnel, where the slightest spark is fanned into a raging fire, plants holding the soil together are burned away and the next time it rains all of the homes slide down the hill. Think the Outer Banks, where they build million dollar houses on stilts, and they get washed away anyway. Think New Orleans, where the cemeteries are above ground so the bodies don't float out of the ground when they get flooded--in other words they've known for more than a century that they're a flood waiting to happen. Experts have been saying for years that New Orleans is due for a devastating flood. Yet, people continue to live in these areas, rebuilding time after time. I'm not sure if it's tribute to mankind's indomitable spirit, or another symptom of our insanity (I suspect the latter).

Now, onto New Orleans itself. Apparently New Orleans is a majority black city. Frankly, I never gave it any thought. But Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton and others of their ilk such as rapper Kanye West and bloated windbag Elijah Cummings (D-MD) are more versed in demographics than I. With the speed of a quick reaction force of paratroopers; Jackson, Sharpton et al deployed to create racial mayhem where it didn't exist, even as people of all hues suffered and perished. Jackson and Sharpton, who have made millions and millions by screaming “Racism”, but can't produce any evidence of ever actually having done anything to help impoverished blacks, once more held forth in strong, reverberating statements, but never got their wingtips wet. Kanye West, who recently held a party where a man was shot in front of several hundred fellow partygoers who all subsequently swore they didn't see a thing, brought everything down to the basic level that Jackson and Sharpton only alluded to. West complained, in front of news cameras, that the police were being told to shoot “us”. What “us”, Kanye? You're not even in Louisiana. Ooooh. That “us”. So it's “us” and “them”? Meanwhile, Jackson, Sharpton and Cummings complained that President Bush was withholding help from New Orleans specifically because it's a majority black city. Well, if the president is as stupid as the Democrats keep claiming, how would he even know it's a majority black city? Hell, I didn't know, how should someone as stupid as the president know? Howard Dean threw in, too, but he doesn't count since he's white and we all already know he's clinically insane.

Oh, and about the president withholding help: He declared an emergency before the hurricane ever made landfall. Fair warning, mayor and governor. I haven't read it yet, but apparently the Washington Post just broke a story that the president approached one of the two (mayor or governor) while the storm was en route and was told Louisiana/New Orleans didn't need federal help. There are also stories of National Guard and Red Cross personnel being turned away in the first hours. I need to look into these before I make any firm pronouncements, but I'm inclined to believe them. At any rate, there was sufficient warning and Mayor Ray Nagin and Governor Kathleen Blanco sat on their respective thumbs. There's a photo of a bus lot in New Orleans where there a dozens, maybe hundreds, of school buses under water. Had someone local (such as the mayor—George Bush has no authority to order New Orleans school buses to take part in an evacuation) gotten on the stick and made things happen, there might have been a very different outcome to the storm. New Orleans still would have received the flood it's been begging for, but there might be a lot more people still alive.

And then, there's the aftermath. New Orleans has not distinguished itself. Some of the things that have occured in the aftermath defy rationale. There's been the traditional looting that seems to accompany any big event in an urban area (that is not a racial statement—more later when I get to an essay called “Tribes”). But in a turn unique to New Orleans, police officers are participating in the looting. People are firing shots at helicopters attempting to deliver supplies. The behavior on the ground in the wake of the disaster is less than exemplary, to say the least. AND—these people who stuck around, despite the warnings, are now simply sitting down on the nearest patch of dry concrete and bitching about the federal response. Hey, things happen. Storms hit gulf coast cities that are below sea level. Get off your posterior and make things happen. Quite whining about what hasn't happened.

Just when I thought things were weird enough, I learn that the people seeking refuge in the wake of the storm object to the term “refugee”. People really need to get over the whole name game thing. If you're seeking refuge, you're a refugee. It's not a pejorative. People get way to balled up over “labels”.

Well, I've avoided it long enough. Time for the “Tribes” thing. There's been a lot of racial finger pointing in the wake of Katrina, as I've pointed out already. Mostly, it's because New Orleans is majority black, so the bad people are also mostly black. If it was a majority white city, most of the bad people would be white. It's that simple.

What sets us apart from each other isn't skin color (well, it is for some, but they're stupid people no matter which side they sit on. Yes, I mean you Jesse and Al). What sets apart from one another is attitude. How we view one another.

I work in biotechnology—a weird turn from a career in SF, I know, but it's intellectually challenging and I like it. Anyone I meet in my line of work is very, very smart. Lot's of PhDs, Some of them are actually—gasp—black. Jesse Jackson would hate them. Jesse wants all blacks to be downtrodden and susceptible to his diatribes. What I meet is people who are just like me, only smarter. Hope things get better—quickly.

I hate to sound flip in light of the tremendous disaster that has just befallen us, but the question begs to be asked: Where is the international community, particularly the UN?

We just took a tremendous hit. In terms of loss of life, it appears estimates have ballooned from approximately 80 to at least 1000. In terms of economic impact, we've lost access for an unknown period of time to the fifth-largest port in the world, we've lost (again for an unknown period of time) 25% of our oil refining capacity, and we've frankly all but lost a major city: New Orleans. It could be months before any of these issues are resolved, and New Orleans will never be the same city, no matter what. The flooding won't receed tomorrow or the next day. Katrina headed north and swelled every river and tributory heading south. It will be days before the flooding even begins to receed. We can't even comtemplate how to start cleaning up until the waters receed. Meanwhile, countless bodies will head out to sea--people forever unaccounted for.

Yes, the tsunami was far worse in terms of loss of life and a far greater humanitarian disaster. But we're past that. Yes, I'm sure they're still struggling, but since they tossed the non-Muslims out of the relief effort I've sort of lost sympathy for them, and with that, the UN now has troops and money to spare.

So where is the UN for us now? Where is Jan Egelund, who accused the US of being "stingy" even while we sent a naval armada to the relief effort and ramped up our monetary committment with every following day? Where are the UN types who accused Bush of sitting on his hands, even though he immediately ordered said armada to the scene then waited for reports from the scene to tell him whether it was enough or more was required--and meanwhile Koffie Annan was skiing in Colorado?

I don't mean to be flip--I know that these are all rhetorical questions. The UN will never, ever come to the aid of this country no matter what happens. And I don't know that I'd want them anyway. Jan Egelund will never, ever back down from his "stingy" statement even though we gave far more than any other country, and he won't give us a single Euro in the wake of this disaster.

But the questions beg to be asked, particularly in light of the criticism we suffered. The Australians and the New Zealanders really took the bull by the horns in the wake of the tsunami. They deserve tremendous credit. But we also responded in force to an event half the world away, eventually shouldering the brunt of the relief--until we were all chased away for not being of the appropriate religion, that is.

So where's our relief? Jan Egelund???

We live a quiet, charmed life for the most part. We get up each day and go on about our business and our pleasures, secure that should things go wrong, men and women with training and equipment will respond to protect us and take care of us.

On 9/11 we were struck an incredible blow. Our emergency services people responded to that blow and paid dearly for their dedication. They will forever be lionized in US history for their sacrifices.

As the wearied, ash covered firefighters finished their awful job, the staff of American pride was picked up by the infantryman and carried overseas.

Remember this in the wake of 911?


We took it to them. Big time.

And we owe our warriors. They did it for us. We owe them a means to stay in touch, to express themselves. I bid you take a look at project Valour IT. Valour IT seeks to provide computers and voice-actuated software to wounded warriors who cannot type. In this day and age, computers have become a primary means of staying in touch. Imagine if I took your computer away--I know people who would end up curled in a fetal position in a corner.

Help out if you can.


Update: Here's the URL for Project Valour-IT

http://soldiersangels.org/valour/index.html



Enduring Freedom

Just came downstairs after a day of going through every minute detail of the kids' school supplies, filling out paperwork, checking and rechecking, ironing uniforms, packing lunches....I went on missions with less prep than this.

Anyway, I turned on the TV with the idea of going to coverage of the hurricane. Just today the potential nationwide significance of this storm began dawning on me (read-WAY higher gas prices) and I was looking for coverage. ROFASix is way ahead of me (as usual) and has the frightening details here.

Well, never got to the news. Caught sight of Ron White (Blue Collar Comedy Tour). The guy is crude, nasty, biting and impossibly funny. So I stayed there. Better than the depressing reality of this hurricane.

As the show wound up I turned my attention back to the computer and was almost completely oblivious to the TV until I heard something that made me turn around. I can only honestly say I caught the last three letters: I-R-E. But I will swear that they show sent an old Morse telegraphers' exercise as part of the closing image (Ron White Productions).

I was part of the last generation of Morse Code operators in the Army, but it wasn't that long ago...honest. At any rate, we all knew a sort of limbering-up exercise (which could easily cross the line into showing off like you were a rock drummer beating out rhythm). It was "Ben's best bent wire".

Remember that to a Morse Code guy, dots are "dit" and dashes are "dah". Here is the exercise:

Dah dit dit dit ... dit... dah dit... dit dit dit
Dah dit dit dit ... dit... dit dit dit... dah
Dah dit dit dit ... dit... dah dit... dah
Dit dah dah ... dit dit... dit dah dit... dit

Pretty catchy, huh?

I could add ten blogs a day to my list--average. Some days I could add 20. But there's a line between adding every blog I like and adding the blogs I REALLY like. Unfortunately, I have to stick with the latter.

Well, here's another one I REALLY like. The Gun Line.

In a recent post he mentions two things I've mulled over a lot. English as a second language and nuclear free zones.

The US is a huge melting pot. The best one in the world. I spent five years in Europe and liked the place and most of the people, but if you think Europeans are more accepting of other cultures and people than we are, I have some news for you. Josephine Baker notwithstanding, the Europeans could teach us a great deal about xenophobia.

Having said that, we have a tremendous number of people in this country who speak one variation or another of Spanish as their first language. That's ok, to a point. I'm going to get myself in huge trouble here, but I'm on a roll. It's ok, to a point. We have the richest culture of any nation on the planet exactly because so many people come here and bring their cultures and languages with them. Vast numbers of Spanish-speaking people live here and serve in the Armed Forces. I applaud them for that, but they tend to stick together and speak to each other exclusively in Spanish. First of all, it sets them apart from everyone--there's no assimilation, no sharing. It's them and everyone else.

Now, here's the big one. I remember years ago watching a documentary about an airliner that went down. One of the difficulties in investigating what went wrong was that in the last minutes the cockpit crew reverted to their native language--Afrikaans. The international language of all civil aircraft is English. It's not my fault, it's just the way it is. And I don't blame the crew one bit. If I was a pilot and the international language was whatever, I'd probably lapse into English at the very end. In fact, it probably wouldn't be printable.

Now imagine a tank crew. A round hits the tank. Blood, guts and feathers everywhere. At this critical moment, under unbelievable stress, is our hero going to communicate with his crew in English, or is he going to lapse into the language he uses the majority of the time?

Case in point, when I was in basic training, a woman froze on the grenade range. In her terror she utterly lost her capability to speak English. I happened to be there at the time and ended up accompanying a drill sergeant to work with her as I spoke Spanish. It came to a good end, obviously, but it would have been a whole lot easier if she was more immersed in English.

I'm not picking on Hispanics and definitely not suggesting that they abandon their culture upon entering the US. It's exactly the amalgum of so many culures that makes the US the great place that it is.

But I'm suggesting that English as a uniting language isn't such a bad idea.

As far as Nuclear Free Zones, sometimes they're funny, sometimes they're not. They're funny when people post signs declaring X location a "Nuclear Free Zone". Sort of like all of the schools that spread signs around their perimeters declaring the school to be a "Drug Free Zone". Yeah, that sign will keep them off of the property. You know how scary signs can be...

They're not funny when communities such as Takoma Park declare themselves to be a "nuclear free zone", and that includes participating in evacuations. Whether or not it's likely that DC will be subjected to a nuclear attack is beside the point. Takoma Park, which sits astride evacuation corridors from DC, has announced that should DC be evacuated, they can't evacuate through Takoma Park. Well, first, I'd like to see them stop it, should it ever occur. And second, what an incredible abdication of responsibility. You'd like to see you friends fried before you'd allow them to head for safety via your neighborhood? What a bunch of yo yo's.

The left is far, far more frightening than Cowboy George.

I'm back to picking on CPT Chuck, but via Barbette, I've learned a bit more about the Ziegenfuss family. Seems service runs deep in their psyche.

For what it's worth, CPT Chuck's wife, the indomitable Carren, was also on her way to becoming an Army officer when a repeated back injury sidelined her. If I read things right, she fought through the first injury, determined to succeed, and it was only when she reinjured her back that she was forced to withdraw. So kudos to Carren for determination to serve her country, and for standing by one of our heroes.

Found a sort of neat, utterly useless device. It creates a map of countries or states visited. You have to scroll down to the bottom to see it (once again, HTML eludes me), but for what it's worth-a map of places on the continent that I've visited. Probably needless to add, but the visited countries are in red.

Scrappleface specializes in very biting, very funny satire. But writer Scott Ott took time out from that to pen a hypothetical letter from President Bush to Cindy Sheehan. It's a good read.

It's worth noting that while Sheehan's antics have endeared her to far lefties such as Code Pink, they have utterly alienated her from her family, the very people whom you would expect to depend on in your time of loss. Her parents and siblings have issued a letter distancing themselves from her and her husband has filed for divorce.

Being in a dark and maudlin mood today, I might point out one line from Cox's "letter":

"Mrs. Sheehan, everyone dies. But few experience the bittersweet glory of death with a purpose -- death that sets people free and produces ripples of liberty hundreds of years into the future."

Death without a purpose is something I dread more than any pain of death itself. Yet, as an aging ex-warrior I fear that is exactly where I head. Some day I shall simply fade away, and to no purpose. Just one more life lived, and not particularly well.

So much better had I lived a brief, yet glorious life as did Casey Sheehan.

I'm still less than thrilled with the template of this page, but I've made a couple of strides lately.

For all my my faults, I give credit when it's due. Thanks to Murf for setting me down the path to a few positive changes.

Now, when it comes to HTML, I'm still like that room full of monkeys that will eventually type the works of Shakespeare. I do stuff and when it works, I'm pleased. When it doesn't work, I muddle until it does.

I still have some muddling to do, but I like the changes.

One last post this evening. One more thing that's left me shaking my head.

A new fast food place opened in town this morning. For their grand opening they announced that the first 100 customers would get a coupon good for free combo meals for a year. My sister-in-law, who literally salivates at the words "free" and "sale", requested the use of my two kids. I knew what was going to happen--she has a long track record of using my kids to get free stuff and then taking it from them--but my wife shuts me down every time I bring that little detail up.

Anyway, off they went. Spent the night at the sister-in-law's place so that they could arrive at 5AM for the 7AM opening. Asked Snake Eater, Jr. about it this evening. Turns out I had no idea how weird such an event could get. They got there only to find out that people had camped in the parking lot the night before. There was a photo and article in the paper this evening. Tents, people playing cards at tables in the parking lot--all before dusk of the night before the grand opening. All for a year's worth of fast food...

Everyone has their priorities, but I think those people need to get a grip. You spent 16+ hours camping in a parking lot so you could get fast food combo meals for a year?

This is a sort of "sincere" chain. They give things like toothbrushes and motivational books with their children's meals. But it's still fast food. It's still fried and accompanied by a soda drink.

These people who had nothing better to do than camp in a parking lot for the priviledge of greasing their gullets with fast food have a finite number of futures. Either they'll grow sick of fast food combos well before the year is out or they'll grow fat and diabetic and sue their doctors for telling them they're fat and diabetic.

On the other hand, maybe they can use the coupons to feed themselves when they pull their next campout for tickets to "Before the Saga Begins: The Birth of Yoda".

Now it's time for the sad and the sick.

Seems some fat woman went to her doctor, he told her she's fat, and now she's offended. So she complained to the complained to the New Hampshire Board of Medicine. Sadly, the Board, which presumably is made up of medical professionals concerned for peoples' health, was just as offended as she and has asked the state Attorney General's office to investigate the doctor despite a committee recommendation that they close the matter with a simple letter to the doctor.

The woman has become diabetic and has developed gastroesophageal reflux and chest pains.

Lady--you're fat. You know it, too. When someone calls me fat it's kind of hard to get real worked up about it, because it's true. You need to take the same tack. The guy was just trying to help. And you're just looking for a payoff. To keep you in Twinkies for the remainder of your truncated life.

We were in Germany when my Army career finally ended due to a wrecked knee. We stayed for a while and I worked in the recreation department on a field station. In the winter, I was the Ski Guy. I did all of the maintenance and issued skis to the mostly civilian personnel. Back then ski bindings were adjusted using an algorhythm that depended on the skier's weight and boot sole length (leverage). I had one woman in particular who consistantly refused to tell me her weight. I was mystified. She always wore the black spandex pants that were fashionable then, so I could see every lump of cellulite from her waist down (shudder...). I knew she was fat. I knew just how fat she was. The only thing I wasn't certain of was her precise weight. She would take my chart and point to a setting. Well, I'm not the smartest guy in the world, but even I knew her weight once she did that. But she did it time after time as though she was guarding a secret--"Maybe nobody actually notices how fat I am through my cellulite-revealing pants". She'd probably complain about the doctor, too.