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.

Since I'm picking on CPT Chuck tonight, he has a plea for some registration numbers. Seems he reformatted him mom's hard drive and when he went to reinstall Windows XP he found that the registration number which had been copied down was incorrect and XP won't install.

I grew sick to death of Windows ME about two years ago and upgraded to XP. I have all of the materials around here.....somewhere. CPT Chuck can have my registration number if I ever find it, but maybe someone else can lay theri hands on it first.

Some good news. CPT Chuck Ziegenfuss of From My Position... On the Way is out of the hospital. A long way to go yet, but he's started the journey.

And it's obvious from this post, that despite losing several yards of skin and a couple of digits to an IED, he hasn't lost his spirit or sense of humor.

Speaking of CPT Chuck, I guess it's time I mentioned Project Valor IT. I initially felt it was pretty thoroughly covered in the MilBlog circle and didn't want to be redundant, but upon retrospect, it's bigger than all of us. In a nutshell, it's a project to provide injured warriors with laptops and voice activated software so that they can stay in touch despite their injuries. I'll let CPT Chuck tell you about it here.

Another post about a lost child.

I'm not at all insensitive to the loss 0f a child. As I'ver stated, it must be the most wrenching experience possible. I know as a father I'd do anything it took to protect my children, right up to giving up my own life.

But I just don't always "get" other parents. I took Ryan's parents to task in the post below. Now it's time to once again take Natalie Holloway's parents to task.

She's gone. I'm terribly sorry. She was someone's child. It's the most awful thing imaginable.

BUT. What the hell was she doing in Aruba, hitting bars at midnight and leaving with guys she just met? Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Holloway. You endured a tragic loss, but what sort of values did you fail to instill in your daughter? What the hell is a college student doing in Aruba? I worked evenings as a fry cook and weekends making pizzas. Countless other students have waited tables, etc. You guys just wrote a blank check and said "Have fun". Well, she had fun alright. Right up to the point where something went wrong that night.

Sleep well.

Saw another one that raised my hackles today.

The local paper runs little personal ads on the third page. Birthdays, wedding anniversaries and anniversaries of deaths. Mostly stuff like "Lordy, lordy, look who's forty" and maudlin notes about how so and so was taken away from us.

Today brought another maudlin note about the loss of Ryan at the tender age of 20. I feel for his parents. The loss of a child has got to be the most wrenching experience possible. But they lost my sympathy early in their post. It read as follows:

"Ryan's life was cut short as a result of a restaurant serving Ryan (a minor) alcohol, afterwards he drove and died instantly in a car crash".

Bad punctuation aside, Ryan didn't die as a result of the restaurant serving him alcohol. He died because he chose to consume alcohol, presumably to the point of intoxication, and then drove. I wasn't there, but I'm pretty damned sure that nobody in the restaurant shoved a funnel into his mouth and nobody shoved him into his car and made him drive.

Those were all Ryan's decisions. Yes, the restaurant broke the law by serving him, but he killed himself. Plain and simple.

Have we hit the point where nobody is responsible for his own actions?

I don't know who wrote the ad/accusation for Ryan, but I'd suggest that he or she might find sympathy with Cindy Sheehan. You sure as hell won't find it here. You'd have found it right up to the point where you blamed the restaurant for his death. After that, you lost me.

I'm increasingly annoyed with my links in the left margin. I know nothing about HTML. Everything I do to this page is the result of playing with the template until I accidentally get something right. Sort of like the room full of monkeys typing out the works of Shakespeare.

If someone can tell me how to move the margin to the left so that most of the links read in a single line instead of being bunched up to the right, I'll welcome the advice. Hell, I'll even buy you a beer if you ever happen to find yourself in the Peoples' Republic of Maryland.

“Nothing can ever be the same”.

I remember those words. I was working in R&D, but had been sold up the river for 90 days to the QC department. They had hired someone to a high level position and she was in over her head, so I was asked to pitch in until she got up to speed. I hated the day to day sameness of QC, but there was a radio and internet access everywhere, things we lacked in the R&D lab.

I got to work late that day, mostly due to my apathy at working in QC, so I heard the news in the parking lot: An airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I shrugged it off, figuring some bonehead had accidentally flown his Cessna into one of the towers. Soon after, the horrible facts came to light and I ran for the R&D lab to fill everyone in. News like that makes its way even into the R&D lab-they already knew. That's when my boss made the pronouncement: “Nothing can ever be the same”.

I was thinking about that yesterday for some reason. Thinking about a guy I know who was in the Army for something like 13 years, then bagged out for whatever reason. He was an Infantry officer, airborne and Ranger qualified, but I don't think he ever spent time in TO&E Airborne unit. Be that as it may, after being out of the Army for quite a few years he got a bug up his whazoo and joined a newly formed Reserve Civil Affairs battalion. The battalion is tasked to support the 18^th Airborne Corps, and he signed up mostly so that he could jump again. That was in August of 2001.

He spent six months or so training full-time, then was off to Afghanistan. He came back, with another deployment looming, and ditched his lucrative civilian career in commercial sales to sign back up for the regular Army. For him, and countless others who have followed that same route, nothing can ever be the same.

Then after contemplating that, I read Dadmanly's blog. In profiling his battalion CSM, Dadmanly also writes of his unit's transition from a peacetime National Guard unit to a deployed active duty unit. It's a profound transition, and nothing can ever be the same.

Although I supported the invasion of Afghanistan fully, I wasn't real certain that we needed to enter Iraq as well. Given what has transpired there, I now support it fully. The media have apparently consigned the issue of the children's prison to the memory hole, but it was real. The pogroms were real, the torture was real. The WMD research, hidden away from us while the UN postured, was real. The links to Al Quaida were real as well. A place like that can't be allowed to stay the same.

Now that we're there, we have to stay there until the place stabilizes. To simply pull up stakes at this point would be to allow Iraq to become a lawless wasteland.

Nothing can ever be the same.

Military procurement isn't in the hands of the military. It's in the hands of congress. When the military says "We need an upgraded widget", congress decides if they'll fund an upgraded widget. If congress agrees, then the military will begin a search for which company can provide the upgraded widget. There are competitions, field trials, etc.

THEN congress gets involved again. If the best, cheapest widget upgrade isn't produced in Massachusetts, murderer Senator Ted Kennedy gets up in arms. Or if it's not made in West Virginia, Grand Kleagle Senator Robert Byrd gets involved.

There are times in history when Congress has forced the military to procure a “second choice”. There are times when Congress has actually forced the military to procure something they didn't even want. I can't recall the specific example, but I think it was an aircraft.

Recently fourteen Marines were killed in an AAVP7A1. Lots of letters and numbers. In my day it was known as an LVTP-7. Not too much of an improvement, but I knew it stood for Landing Vehicle, Tracked, Personnel.

Figure: Landing Vehicle. In other words, the thing floats. Not well, mind you. I have great respect for the Marines that get into those things. I've seen them launched, and they just b a r e l y float.

But float, they do and they provide Marines a means of not only of getting ashore, but of having armor protection once ashore. Not M-1 tank armor, but armor. Armor that can float, then fight ashore. It's a compromise. Sound familiar? Like Humvees aren't tanks? Well, neither are AAVP7A1s. They're damn good vehicles (if a bit scary to landlubbers) and they do the job that they were designed to do.

That 14 Marines were killed aboard an AAVP7A1 is a tragedy. I hate it. But uninformed news people make it even worse with their articles. They write of military failings—it was the military's fault that the Marines were in such an incapable vehicle, etc.

Hell, if the military had their way we'd be driving something that would fly across the Pacific, land and disgorge 300,000 Marines and fire eight-inch shells over their heads for support.

If you can develop such a machine and produce it in either Massachusetts or West Virginia, let me know. I'll invest.

I see someone from Lockheed-Martin held their breath long enough to read this blog. I used to work for a company that spun off of Martin's biosciences division. After the Army, it was the best, most interesting, most fun job I've ever had, but sadly the area where I worked was only a short-term income producer. Once the other end of the company got off the ground it was bye, bye.

My name is on a "patent disclosure" that the company filed for a closed-system bioreactor. I came up with a way to keep it from pulling a vacuum and imploding as it burned off oxygen but it never got as far as an actual patent. I guess that was my 15 minutes of relative obscurity.

From Michelle Malkin, this link.

A post by Byron York contains a photo of administration officials sitting down with Cindy Sheehan, the "grieving mother" turned attack dog who has been picketing President Bush's ranch. Note that they're just sitting down on the ground at her feet--no desks to hide fellating interns under, just a couple of regular guys there to talk. Read the dialog, too. They may as well have been talking to a post, but they didn't just stand up and tell her to pound sand like I would have.

Ok. This should generate some comments.

Know what I like best about 60s/70s science fiction movies?

Their assumption that in the future all women will wear bikinis and miniskirts.

Ok, this is my day for ROFASix, but seriously, it's one of the best blogs that I read.

Anyway, we've all heard about the woman who decided to picket President Bush's Crawford, TX ranch. Apparently she arrived there aboard a bus labeled "Impeachment Tour". Cute.

At any rate, she asks "Why did George Bush kill my son?". Ignoring the fact that Bush has an alibi, he wasn't in Iraq at the time of her son's death, it's a simplistic question. "Why are we there?" is the real question, and NOTR posts the answer to that question here.

I particularly like the answer because it validates what I've been saying: It isn't altruism, it's to our interest to destroy the Saddam regime and rebuild Iraq into a country that can contribute. Much as we destroyed Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan then rebuilt them into contributory societies.

I should have noted this days ago, but NOTR at ROFASix has been reporting on an absolute outrage at Arlington National Cemetary.

Russell Wagner served briefly in the US Army. I don't know about his service, but he exited as a PFC, so I'm assuming it was brief and without distinction.

Later in life he decided it would be a good idea to tie up a couple in their 80s and stab them to death. Gruesome, hideously painful stuff.

Wagner croaked in prison and some jerk petitioned to have his remains interred at Arlington. As it turns out, technicalities remain supreme. Had he been sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole, he would have to be buried elsewhere. But since he was "merely" sentenced to life, he's eligible.

Reminds me of the brother-in-law. The Catholic Church does not recognize divorce, but he married a divorced woman with a child. How? Well, she wasn't married in the church the first time, so she was never married. So they say. Technicalities.

Sort of like OJ Simpson getting into the Football Hall of Fame, while Pete Rose can't even though he bet on his own damn team. Not like he was going to throw the game.

Anyway, next time I get really drunk and there are no Park Police in sight I intend to unleash a huge leak on Wagner's grave, as he lies there next to brave, noble men and women.

Got this link from NOTR at ROFASix. "Dean Says Democrats Must Take the Offensive".

In the same vein as NOTR's reply: I already find Dean plenty offensive. Physician or not, he's a very petty person (Note I avoided the term "man". That term has implications for me).

I'm not the biggest TV watcher in the world, so I miss out on a certain amount of "popular culture", if you will. Well, I turned on the TV just today to be met with an advertisement for a video game based on the raid in Somalia that has become popularly known as "Blackhawk Down".

I was extremely uncomfortable with the game. From the animated screenshots I saw on TV, the game tracks the real events. It's not a game about a huge sweeping event such as the invasion of Normandy or the Battle of the Bulge, in which the vast majority of participants are anonymous, rendering the whole thing somewhat generic (though they damn sure weren't generic to the guys who were there). This game is about a well-defined military action which has been written about in great detail and has had a major movie as well as several TV documentaries made about it. It was a small-unit action and most Americans can name at least one person who was there. Try Randall Shugart, Gary Gordon, Michael Durant, Jamie Smith, Todd Blackburn, Matt Eversman...It goes on and on.

Our military people were hung out to dry by an incompetent president who is on record as "abhorring" the military. People were starving due to a warlord mentality in Somalia. The UN made a typically pathetic effort to relieve the suffering and we ended up sending in military forces to destroy the warlords and allow aid to be distributed amongst the people. Once on the ground, US military commanders informed the commander-in-chief that they needed armor to effectively prosecute the fight against the warlords. This much I remember vividly: The Dept. of State (Which controls the military since when?) said that sending armor to Somalia would be deemed "provocative". Why it would be any more "provocative" than our military patrols is beyond me, but I don't have a PhD in International Relations.

So we sent a raid into the middle of a city swarming with armed and hostile citizens, and paid dearly.

Now somebody has created "entertainment" based on that. I have but to wonder how long before someone releases a "Battle of Roberts' Ridge" game. Or maybe an "MH-47 Down" game.

Sick, sick, sick.

Matthew Heidt at Froggy Rumunations has more to say about it.

It's long been noted that are a lot of lefty bloggers out there whose grasps on reality range from tenuous to non-existant.

Toni at My View noted the Moonbat Blog Taxonomy page which rates Moonbat Blogs by their "Reality Quotient".

I like the page, although I think the rater is far too kind to Oliver Willis...

Do check out My View, but skip the post on the male thong unless you're on a starvation diet.

We all know that hate isn't exclusive to the world of the Islamists, though they've certainly refined it to a higher degree than anyone in the civilized part of the world has.

Here's a prime example of the sort of utter lowlife that still slithers about at the lowest levels of our society: The "Reverend" Fred Phelps.

Don't know if there is a God, but if there is, who the hell does Fred Phelps to think that he can speak for Him? If God hates "fags", which I doubt; that's up to Him to announce, not arrogant pissant Phelps.

Not content with just hating "fags" (Does that include lesbians?Or maybe he gets off on that so gives them a pass on it) now Phelps hates America, and those who defend it. He's been traveling around "protesting" (being a jerk, more like it) at soldiers' funerals, adding needless pain for their families and mourners.

Check out the PDF file announcing their latest protest. It's clearly written by someone of exceedingly limited intellect.

Clearly it won't be to my advantage to drive to Arlington tomorrow and beat the hell out of the old fool and his cretinous followers in front of the Metro Police Department, but here's to hoping that I someday find myself in a dark alley with a few of them.

Tip of the beret to Gold Falcon.

Finally back posting. In other words, DUCK!!

Anyway, spent a few days at the Boy Scout Jamboree. While the atmosphere was certainly dampened by the deaths at the beginning of the week, life went on.

Was it hot? Hell yes. Was it humid (even worse)? Hell yes. Was the weather utterly miserable? Hell yes. Was it fun anyway? Hell yes.

There were some 47,000 scouts in attendance, and I'd hazard a guess that at any one time there were close to that number of visitors in attendance as well. It was crowded, frantic, frenetic and at times miserable. But we lived. No heat issues among our hearty gang of four, though we saw plenty of video game addicts lying prostrate along the path.

There were literally hundreds of exhibits. Sea Scouts, Venturers (Explorer Scouts), Order of the Arrow (yes, I'm a member), Eagle Scouts..you mention it. The Army exhibits took the cake, though.

Here Snake Eater, Jr. emerges from the loader's hatch of an M-1 tank.



M-1

Here's a new blog that I have to link to. She has things to say, she's extremely intelligent and she appreciates the role of the military. And I have no idea where the pseudonym of "Murf" originated.

Murf's du Jour.

Promised someone months ago that I'd post something on the Wagon Wheel. The Wagon Wheel was probably the most popular night spot off of Ft. Devens.

There were some options. For example, there was the Mohawk Club, which required a cover charge and featured head banging music at a decibel level which could induce convulsions. First time I was there a fight broke out behind me and I ended up combing glass out of my hair. There was also the Rotary Club, which I initially avoided because the name conjured up images of blue haired Rotarians drinking coffee at 10:00 at night. Finally learned it was called “rotary” because it was located just off a rotary (roundabout or traffic circle) so I gave it a shot. Guess what—blue hair and coffee. Downtown Ayre boasted a piano bar of all things, but the clientele consisted of guys with oversize gold rings, cigarette permeated blazers and slacks, too much cologne and the sort of women who are interested in said men. 'Nuff said. There was a Shirley Club if I recall, but it apparently left little impression on me. I'd occasionally hit places in Boston or Fitchburg (Black Horse Inn?), but they were too far away to make a practice of.

So, the Wagon Wheel it was. As the name implies, it was a haven for country music and the people who listen to it. Lots of tight jeans, snake skin boots, vests, cowboy hats and huge belt buckles (tombstones for dead dicks, someone called them). I used to watch and wonder to myself how many of these guys had ever such much as gotten to within 50 feet of a bovine. But generally speaking it was a friendly crowd and reasonably accepting of country-impaired patrons. Got to know one of the waitresses. She eventually relocated to San Diego and is presumably working her way through the Pacific Fleet.

Fortunately, on the way back to post there was an old-fashioned silver diner where one could stop and grab something absorbent to put in your stomach before proceeding through the gates. A prudent stop since rumor had it the garrison commander had charged the MPs with pulling over guys from Group and citing them as often as possible. Not a problem as often the socializing from the bar carried over to the diner.

On post options were the enlisted and officers' clubs. The post wasn't big enough to boast a separate NCO club at the time. The original enlisted club was a nasty pit, on a par with a Soviet Army recreation facility I once visited. Fortunately they broke ground for a new club soon after I arrived. The new club was between the old one and my barracks and shortly after they dug the hole I recall waking up in my barracks room with a pile of muddy clothes on the floor and little recollection of what had transpired on the walk home other than that I had been on a construction site or two before and wasn't going to let this hole redirect my usual path home. The officers' club was an older building, but it retained an elegance. I had occasion to go to the officers' club at least twice, once unfortunately for a wake. I don't remember what took me there the other time, but I met a very interesting CT National Guard lieutenant. She apparently felt the beret made up for the difference in rank.

The biggest sweep of women ever to occur in that club, though, was pulled off by Canadian paratroopers. They came down to train with us for a few weeks, during which time my blood alcohol content spiked frequently but never succeeded in zeroing out. For their last night on post they were hosted at the officers club, for which event they wore their dress uniform—kilts. They kept their promise to meet us in the enlisted club after they had completed their obligation at the officers' club. What had to have been every last woman in that club followed them out the door and down to the enlisted club.

A singular event, to be sure.

Politics have always pushed the edge of sanity. Way back when there was a guy who actually cast doubt on his opponent when he announced that his opponent was a homo sapiens and his sister was a practicing thespian. Honest. And the guy won the election.

Now we have John Kerry, who has made all sorts of claims about his military record--many of them refuted--but who has absolutely refused to put his signature on a document to release said records, calling for Supreme Court nominee John Roberts to release all of his judicial records.

Nice try, John Kerry. Huff and rant all you want, but you're an utter hypocrite. Worse, even. You tried to make your military service an issue in the election even though it backfired on you big time and everyone with a brain realizes that you're a prat. You've utterly refused to make your service record public (hmmm, wonder what you're hiding), and now you're trying to appear manly (a stretch for you, I know) by demanding someone else make his judicial record public.

Keep trying, Johnny.

I posted about James Doohan's passing the other day, but I bow before the superior writing here.

Going to have to add Argghhh to my links.

Strangest thought came into my head today after I retreated from the heat and spent some time in the armchair with the latest installment in the Harry Potter saga.

Toasts.

Sort of an odd thought, but there's more there than it would seem on the surface. Not "Here's mud in your eye" and that sort of quasi-humerous watered down toast, not "I'd like to thank my parents for making this moment possible" (as though it was your parents who got your girlfriend pregnant, necessitating the marriage that you're now toasting and later rueing) but the manly statements warriors would make over a round of drinks before they went of on such manly endeavors as great quests, battles and the like. The truly great toasts have the dark edge of death, which certainly awaited many of those gathered, as well as the certainty that victory can be achieved through strength and perseverence.

Here's a good one:

Stand to your glasses, men
The world is full of lies
Here's to the health of the already dead
And here's to the next man to die.

This one's my favorite (so far). Being brought up Catholic I knew that the "proud and angry dust" is man. No matter how long I shall live, I'll always remember the words "Remember, man, that you are dust and to dust you shall return". Anyway:

The troubles of this proud and angry dust
Are from eternity and shall not fail
But bear them if we can
And if we can we must
So shoulder the sky lads
And drink your ale.

So just for a change of pace, a little amusement, whatever; lets see if we can amass a collection of warrior toasts.

Damn. James Doohan passed away today.

If the name doesn't ring a bell, certainly everyone has heard of Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott--Scotty from Star Trek. You know... "She can't take much more of this, Captain"

I'm no Trekkie, though I do have sort of a soft spot for science fiction movies (I'll deny it if ever asked again), but everyone my age has seen Star Trek.

The thing about Doohan is he's a relic of another time in Hollywood. A time when actors knew there were things bigger than themselves. Doohan, a Canadian, served with distinction in the Canadian Forces in WWII. I can't possibly think of a single current actor of any note who would stoop to military service. Like Billy Clinton famously said of himself, they're destined for better things.

Doohan served as an artillery officer until he was wounded on Juno Beach during the invasion of France. Wounds to his leg precluded continuing as a ground pounder, so he was reassigned to fly spotter aircraft to direct artillery. Numerous biographies all note that he became known as "the craziest pilot in the Canadian Air Forces".

He apparently possessed quite the intellect as well, with a particular gift for linguistics. Most of the punks in Hollywood today can barely light their own cigarettes, much less complete a crossword puzzle.

On a more prurient note, I'm impressed that he apparently fathered a child at the age of 79.

RIP, James Doohan, and thank you for serving the world in its time of need.

http://www.startrek.com/startrek/view/series/TOS/cast/69073.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Doohan

Recently was reminded of the animosity some people hold toward the contractors in Iraq.

The discussion reached an absolute low a while back when four contractors were brutally killed. Kos decided to remind everyone of his status as the most classless blogger on the internet and declared them “mercenaries” and brushed off their deaths with his infamous “Screw 'em” comment.

Iraq is in no condition to rebuild itself at this point and we certainly can't just walk away. To do so would be to allow Iraq to implode and become the same lawless vacuum that Afghanistan was: A training ground for every bombslinger with a grudge against the west. Just as we helped to rebuild Germany and Japan after WWII because it was in our best interest to do so, we must help rebuild Iraq.

To do so requires big companies with the infrastructure to mount this sort of operation. Unfortunately, there are only so many companies capable of that. If it seems that KBR and Halliburton have something of a monopoly in the rebuilding process, it's because they are among the few companies that can mount and support an operation of this size. Guy down the street runs Joe's Bobcat Service. Nice guy, hard worker, but putting him and his Bobcat on a C-130 to Iraq would accomplish nothing. How does he find a place to sleep, how does he eat, obtain fuel, spare parts...ad infinitum?

Companies are nothing without employees, and now there's a need to increase the number of employees substantially. The positions are most likely temporary, they require an extended period of time away from families in an unpleasant climate and they expose the workers to constant danger from guys who think sawing heads off with penknives is a lot of fun. People don't do this for free.

The contractors in Iraq are making great money, but that's what it takes to convince people to drop everything and take their hard-earned oil pipeline skills, electronic skills, etc. and head for the sandbox.

The Karl Rove/Valerie Plame issue is being thoroughly covered, but I can't resist weighing in.

First: Joe Wilson is a liar. He lied about the contents of his report, and he lied when he said he was recommended by Cheney and not his wife.

Second: The CIA didn't give a damn about Wilson's report, anyway. His only "qualifications" were an ambassadorship (a purely political appointment) and a wife who worked for the CIA. His report had little more credence with them than it would had I written it.

Third: It's only a crime to divulge the name of covert operatives. Plame was not a covert operative. Plame and Wilson had quite the penchant for posing for glamor photos for Vanity Fair, among others, though Plame dramatically would conceal her face beneath the shadow of a large hat, things like that. This is not the behavior of a covert operative.

Why did Rove name Plame? It's all right here, under the subtitle Telling the Truth.

I know a lot of very sincere teachers and administrators.

But the NEA is obviously rotten to the very core. As far as I can tell from this post at Captain's Quarters, the union officials at NEA (who are union officials, not teachers) could give a fig about education and care only about using the size of their organization to drive their political agenda.

Repairs have been made.

I've not been happy with the placement of the comments button on this blog, but I wasn't sure how to fix it.

The thing is, I never tried, either. I finally got impetus (also known as a kick in the a$$) when Murf (who isn't really named Murf) pointed out how confusing the button was. So I buckled down, muddled through the template code and placed the button in its proper place at the end of each post.

Should have done this weeks ago. Thanks for the boot.

I want to add a number of blogs to my list on the side, and I've fallen behind in that task times two.


I do want to name some blogs now, and I'll add them to the links list after I've finished cutting down and chopping up two deceased oak trees, installing the pond, building a trellis over the basement exit, doing a complete tune-up on the wife's truck (along with new front brake pads and calipers), prepping for Snake Eater Junior's 13th birthday party, scheduling umpires for all-stars (and umpiring some of the games as well)....You get the idea.

Anyway, here's a list of more blogs I find interesting:

My View Further proof that conservative women are smart and very attractive.

Soldier's Mom Intelligence and poignence

Makaha Surf Report A defense contractor--Articulate thoughts from a different viewpoint

Dadmanly A Reservist now in Iraq, with a spiritual bent

Michael Yon Former SF, now a journalist in Iraq. I'm Waaaay behind in listing this guy.

James Lilek Nothing military here, just a great place to waste hours on end. The Bleat is good
reading, the other links are pure fun.

More links are pending.

I've been very busy lately and have fallen behind in a number of areas, including anything that involves use of a computer.

I wish I could put together a substantive post right now. I was at a "management picnic" on Sunday (dreaded it worse than I do a visit to the dentist, but I survived) and was reminded of a number of little events in the past. Actually made for some pleasant reminiscing and fodder for future posts.

Anyway, all I can put together right now is a conversation I had one evening while in basic training.

For a hundred or more years now, military men have suspected that their food and drink are laced with saltpeter. Saltpeter is potassium nitrate (KNO3) and is reputed to lower the male libido. As the legend goes, military leaders are concerned that virule young men in close quarters with other virule young men and lacking in female companionship will soon be humping each other like sodomite rabbits unless something is done.

I can't remember the spelling of his name, but there was a guy in my basic training platoon whose name sounded like "Syler". Interesting guy. He liked being referred to as "Psycho Syler" and did everything he could to live up to the moniker.

Anyway, one day Psycho announced to one and all that the Army was obviously putting "Softpeter" (I think he honestly thought that was what it's called) in the food as he hadn't had a woody since he got to basic training.

I waved him to my bunk as he passed by. "Psycho," I said, "We're in basic training. We get up at 0430 and start moving at 90 miles an hour. The first thing we see in the morning is other men in underwear. Then we go out and sweat and groan profusely performing calistenics in the presence of other men. We continue moving at a deadly rate of speed throughout the day while the temperature hovers around the century mark. The last thing we do at the end of the day is shower with a bunch of naked men and collapse in our bunks. If, given these circumstances, you were getting regular visits from Woodrow, I would count you as perhaps the sickest individual I have ever known".

He never brought up "softpeter" again.

Dancing around the topic of killing enemies has just reached an all-time high (low).

Even twenty years ago the Army used phrases such as "neutralizing the enemy" and catchwords like "interdiction". Obviously, you "neutralize" smeone by causing their heart to cease functioning. And "interdiction" actually refers to forbidding something. You "interdict" a convoy by blowing it off the road. The sniper course was (is?) called the Special Operations Target Interdiction Course. You "interdict" your target by blowing his brains out.

Word games have been around for a very long time. They make it easier for soldiers to do what they must, and easier for generals to explain to reporters what their troops have done or are about to do.

But word games have just now passed ridiculous. Here is the description from Army.mil of the "mission" of the M-240B. I placed mission in quotes because I'm still not convinced that an inanimate piece of equipment has a mission to call its own. Anyway, here it is:

Deter, and if necessary, compel adversaries by enabling individuals and small units to engage targets with accurate, lethal, direct automatic fire.

Any guesses as to what an M-240 is? Sounds pretty high speed.

It's a machine gun. As such, it's "mission" is to perforate enemies and ensure that they give their lives for their cause. "Deter, and if necessary, compel"?? Screw that. The purpose of a machine gun is to kill as many enemy as possible and "compel" the remainder to keep their heads down until US troops can figure out another way to kill them.

The article goes on to say that the M-240 "delivers more energy to the target than the smaller caliber M-249 SAW". That's the Army's way of admitting that the 40-year love affair with the 5.56mm round might be nearing an end. The M-240 fires a .30 caliber round while the M-249 fires the same .22 caliber round as the M-16. Troops have been complaining about the M-16s lack of knockdown power since Day One.

Anyway, not to lapse into the whole debate over calibers, etc. I just found the "mission" statement something I couldn't let go without comment.

Here's the web page: http://www.army.mil/fact_files_site/m-240b/

Some deep thoughts and humbling words.

As I've mentioned, milblogger CPT Chuck Ziegenfuss was badly injured in Iraq. His wife, Carren, has taken posting on his blog for him, providing everyone with updates on his condition.

Recently CPT Chuck was visited by an old friend, who put some thoughts down and asked Carren to post them here.

I can't possibly add anything. Read the post (and the rest of the blog as well).

Robert "Posie" Pfaff, drum major of the Hanover Lancers Drum and Bugle Corps, passed away Sunday.

Posie had been with the Lancers since the '50s. A truly dedicated man who loved drum corps and the Lancers in particular, Posie continued to march despite a diagnosed heart condition which had previously required surgery.

Posie collapsed and died while the corps was forming up to step off in a parade. It can truly be said that he died while doing something he loved. We should all be so lucky.

A day of wildlife encounters.

My wife is afraid of just about anything that creeps, crawls, hops, etc. I've been summoned to the driveway to remove a toad so she could get out of her car and called home to deal with a large spider that kept her and my daughter at bay. Fortuntely, as I've often reassured her, we live too high on a hill and too far from any sort of water for any snake to venture here. We have lots of deer and lots of rabbits, but the thought of a snake making the trek here seems remote at best.

Spent the day working in the yard, performing a myriad of tasks that I've been putting off. You really have to admire insects. They have lightening reflexes and can respond to stimuli in a thousandth of a second. As I'm shoveling some dirt I dragged my hand across my shirt at one point and became simultaneously aware of two things: Something was crawling on my shirt and that something had already responded defensively to my hand.

Fortunately I contained myself to "Ouch". Last time I got stung in the presence of three-year old junior I expanded his vocabulary significantly. He later had a conversation with my wife that went like this: "Daddy said a bad word". "Well, he was hurt and upset". "Ok, well, if I get stung can I say 'sh*t', too?"

Turns out my wildlife encounter wasn't over.

Later I went to begin a long overdue task. My wife purchased a liner for an ornamental pond some time ago. I put it where she wanted it installed, turned it upside down so it wouldn't fill with rainwater and left it there. The area is lush with a somewhat neglected herb garden and a constantly overflowing bucket into which the air conditioners empty the water they squeeze out of the air. We use the water for flowers, but the level of humidity here ensures more water than we need, hence the constant overflow.

It was time to start digging, so I waded into the herbs, grabbed the pond liner and lifted it to move it out of the way. No sooner had I lifted it than Jake himself, in the form of a large and rather aggressive Eastern garter snake emerged. I said "Wow" and shoved the liner aside. Jake took off toward the house (we were maybe five feet from the house) and I hear "'Wow', what?....AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!". The wife abandoned the scene with a sound reminiscent of the rustling of wings, accompanied by a shriek as though emitted by all of the lost souls in hell. Normally not a fast mover, within seconds she was two floors above me, leaning out the window and screaming "Shoot it!".

At this point I was trying to corral the thing. It was extremely aggressive and actually charged me twice. I'm not afraid of snakes, and certainly not garter snakes, but venom or not they can and do bite. To this day I have a faintly visible scar where one bit me when I was a teenager. Like a snapping turtle, it has no teeth or venom, but it wouldn't let go. I finally threw my hand out and it ripped free. So, having said that, I'm not afraid, but neither do I care to get bitten. As aggressive (and terrified) as it was, making a grab for it was difficult. I tried trapping its head with a piece of felixible pipe I had at hand, but couldn't get it. I had every intention of taking it in the house to "display" to the wife before I drove down the hill with it to let it go. All this time the wife is telling me to shoot it. I told her no way I was going to shoot the thing three feet from the side of the house. The woman who gets upset when our son bounces a tennis ball off of the house told me to go ahead.

At one point I lost it and it actually got around behind me and was headed to get under the pond liner again. It was a weird feeling to get outflanked by a snake.

In the end it got up under the deck and under some boxes I keep camping equipment in. I figured I could spend all day chasing the thing, or I could go back to digging a hole for the pond and let the fact that it was still loose keep the wife in the house and out of my hair.

Worked like a charm. She wouldn't even eat supper on the deck with the thought of the thing five feet beneath.

The part about 'displaying' Jake for my wife is a bit mean, I admit, but it's an old childhood memory. My mom hated snakes every bit as passionately as my wife, but she was a bit more aggressive. While the wife flees, my mom would stand her ground and mince any serpent that had the misfortune to cross her path. As a kid I caught snakes pretty regularly for no particular reason. It was just something to do. That's how I managed to end up with one latched to my finger. Anyway, I once caught one and innocently brought it in the house to display my prowess to my mom and she actually levitated. I've always wanted to see that feat performed again...

Had one last encounter that's a continuing mystery. One side of the house is heavily planted with wildflowers. Every time I poke in there to cut some for the table, something rushes back and forth. Happened again today. It's probably a chipmunk, but it's one hell of a big chipmunk if that's what it is. The flowers are so thick that I've never been able to catch sight of it. Maybe a small bunny. It's one or the other, but after a half dozen encounters I have yet to figure out what it is. Damndest thing...

Jennifer Martinez posts some excellent thoughts on patriotism and sellouts here.

And so ends baseball.

Snake Eater jr's. team won the regular season handily, then went on to win the double elimination league tournament, winning each of their games early via the ten run rule.

Then on to the district tournament. We drove an hour into the mountains, squared off against a team that was the odds on favorite, and beat them.

Then came the seemingly cursed game. Rained that day, and we spent 90 minutes or so getting the field back in shape. Playing against a team they repeatedly hammered in regular season play, the guys had established a nice lead when the lightening we knew was in the air showed up. We waited things out, but it became obvious the game wasn't going to happen. Suspended the game in the bottom of the third. Spent a great deal of time the next day getting the field in shape even as the sky blackened. The storm came through and the managers agreed to wait it out a bit to see if the storm would pass. Agreement or not, the other team simply up and left. Meanwhile, the storm wrecked the field. Came back the third day, worked on the field and finally it was game time. Our guys just never got their feet under them. Finally lost to the last place team in the league by two points.

It was a sad night, but the guys topped it off with a pool party at a team mate's house and the tears dried up.

I'm still on the hook to schedule umpires for a few more weeks, but after that it's a whole month off before fall ball.