Ok. I'm hacked off for only about the 1200th time since we began the Global War on Terror.

The war began years ago. I guess the serious war on the West began in 1979 when stooges reacting to the emergence to power of the anti-west fundamentalist Ayatollah Khomeini reacted in an anti-west fervor (similar to the Nazi fervor of the '30s) against the US embassy in Teheran.

Subsequent to that various radical Islamists have showed their courage by dumping an elderly man in a wheelchair from a cruise ship (Leon Klinghoffer from the Achille Lauro), ganging up on a brave young man who happened to have a US passport and beating him to death (Robert Stetham), and blowing up an assortment of old folks' homes, pizza parlors and school buses in Israel. I particularly applaud their vast courage in blowing up little children. In a stellar show of statesmanship and courage they boarded several airliners and used boxcutters to gut stewardesses (I thought women were "special" in Islam) until the pilots could no longer stand things and handed the controls over to soulless butchers who flew the aircraft into buildings containing people who had nothing whatsoever to do with stated Islamic issues with US policies.

Are we pissed? Hell yes. And we've showed it in the form of stealth aircraft, AC-130s, Apache Longbows, heavily amored/armed troops, etc. Some would call it an "assymetric" response--responding to agression from terrorists and the odd poorly trained/equipped military with 21st Century weapons and tactics, but if you don't want to find yourself staring at an Apache Longbow, don't gas our subways or bomb our buildings. It's that easy.

A few years ago we coerced Israel into making concessions to the Palestinian Authority (which entity came about because we twisted Israel's arm in the first place} and the PA rewarded us by holding one hell of a party on the night of 9/11. Screw you guys. And which Imam has come forward to condemn the murders in the name of Islam? I'll give you a minute. Yep---not one. A few governments have stepped forward, notably Pakistan, but nowhere have the people risen up en masse and decried the outright murders of 9/11.

So am I worked up about Abu Ghraib? Well, it shouldn't have happened. But just how, John Murtha, does a couple of war weary kids doing stupid things rate against an enemy that revels in death? Lynndie England, the barely functional moron who is the Abu Ghraib poster girl, did stupid things with her comrades. But they didn't saw any heads off, they didn't string burnt, executed bodies from bridges--you get the point (or do you in your political ambitions)?. How about our latest casualties, Kristian Menchaca and Thomas Tucker? They were so horrendously tortured and beaten that our people had to resort to DNA to identify them. They weren't caught in a bombing strike that blew them up--they were captured and their bodies were deliberately and systematically destroyed while they screamed in agony. What do you think, John "Ambition" Murtha, Teddy "Swimmer" Kennedy and John "Buddyf*cker" Kerry? Are we fighting a fight best kept on their soil or should we stand down and let them bring the fight back to us again one clear September day?

Well, it's 2:00 AM and I'm just now getting through a day and getting ready to bed down so I can get through another day, but I just had an extraordinary moment.

Saw the last moments of a movie. One the the "Godfather" movies, but I don't know which one other than I know it's not the first. I don't know exactly what was going on, but it seemed to be a number of "hits" while people watched an opera. It culminated with a family exiting the opera house and being caught in a cross fire in which a daughter was hit and killed.

I have news for the world. If anyone ever hurts my daughter, he or she had better kill me first. Because if I am alive, I will bring a world of hurt on that person that he or she will never forget (at least until the point of death). And death won't be instantaneous. I kid you not.

I don't make threats. I issue promises.

Just some late night thoughts. You may date my daughter, but if you hurt her, I'll make you wish you had never been born. I promise.

Sports are not the be-all and end-all for me, but since we live in an area where it would be pretty difficult to get eight or ten guys together for a pickup game (although we certainly have the land for it), boys' baseball and girls' softball have become a part of our lives. I've gotten involved in baseball, mostly to my distress (although as NOTR points out it may qualify me as a US/Iraqi liaison), but that's my own mistake.

Anyway, quite an evening today. It's the last round of the end-of-season tournament and SnakeEater Jr's team is hot in the chase. Last year they were the team to beat and somehow just lost momentum in the tournament. This year they have been incredibly inconsistent. Over the course of the season they succeeded in losing several games to teams that they should have beaten handily. It's just been wierd that way. Tonight they trailed the hands-down best team in the league for most of the game, but always stayed close enough that everyone knew the game wasn't over just yet. A Junior League game lasts seven innings--this game went nine before a winner emerged and SnakeEater Jr's team finally took it 6-4. SnakeEater Jr personally drove in two runs and made a great catch to put a batter out. He also employed his bazooka of an arm to keep a couple of runners at bay.

Took him, the Bear and one of Bear's friends out for ice cream after the game. We'd have gone for ice cream either way, but I'm sure it tasted just a bit better this way.

It's best two out of three, so I'm not rejoycing yet. But they rose up and beat a team that they've never beaten before. Game Two comes Wednesday. I damn near had to restart my heart several times tonight--I can't imagine what Wednesday will be like...

(On a really evil note, the manager's nancy-boy son was away today, so he wasn't a factor in the game. Expect him to be a [negative] factor in Wednesday's game)

How do you fire vounteers?

Damnded if I know, but the umpire coordinators got fired. That was the job I did last year by myself. It proved to be an incredibly difficult job--far worse than I ever imagined--by I refuse to quit, so I rode it out and did the job.

Well, the umpire coordinators (two--I was only one) got canned yesterday and guess who the league went to in order to finish the season. Yep, good ol' dumbass SnakeEater.

Fortunately I have my contacts from last year and am in good terms with all of them. The couple that took the job this year alienated a lot of the umps. So I have to pick up the pieces and drive on. I'm not complaining--not at all--the most important thing is to keep the league going for the kids, and I've already covered most of the games (might take a few myself), just commenting on league sports. I think I've said this before, but it takes adults to really f*ck up sports for kids.

Hit the landfill/recycling center the other day to offload a whole bunch of tree branches (which will be turned into mulch) and paper.

I have a "Dubya" sticker on the truck. I'm not at all ashamed that I voted for him instead of the weenie/buddy f*cker that the Democrats nominated. He's not perfect, but he slowed the economic downturn that Clinton initiated and above all we're fighting Islamic fundamentalism on their turf, not ours.

Anyway, some woman who was also offloading plastic or something saw my sticker and made a snide comment about "stupid" (the Democrat fantasy that Dubya, who has a history of shrewd corporate decisions and got elected twice, is a stupid man...) and "illegal" war.

Headed down the road to the gas station and incredibly, there she is right in front of me. The kids reacted first and said "Hey, there's the woman who yelled at you at the recycling center". I got out of the truck and said "Yep, it's her". At that point I saw HER bumper stickers, of which there were at least eight. They were so trite that it defies intellect. One which I remember simply stated "Cheney is a Creep". Wow--what an intellectual rebuttal of the current administration's policies!

Being as she felt compelled to yell at me (as I--gasp--recycled things, something that everyone knows Republicans don't do), I felt obligated to comment on the lack of intellect reflected by her bumper stickers. She ended up yelling at me in the gas station that I had "anger issues". Hmmm--Who had the stupid bumper stickers and had to shout at me at the recycling center???

I've been meaning to post this link for quite some time now. An excellent article on baseball:

Baseball's Timeless Appeal

Haven't had much time or inclination to post lately, so I'll just post some random thoughts to keep the blog alive for the time being.

Baseball: Gotta love the game, gotta hate being one of the people who helps keep the league going. Last year I scheduled umpires for games and it was a rough go. Out of a roster of 55 umpires, 23 of whom give a fig, it's hard to find umpires to cover some 32+ games a week. I took my medicine and covered most of the games but made it known at the end of the season that I wouldn't schedule umpires again. This year I was called at the last minute and asked to be the commissioner for the Jr and Sr leagues. I took it. This year the umpire guy (trying to do the right thing--in his mind) accidentally alienated most of the experienced umpires and umpire coverage this year has been dismal. I've had to call off a few games and ask coaches to be creative for a few more. I ended up umpiring a game on Saturday--not something I mind, but it's tough calling your son out. Almost blew a call because a guy on my son's team made a sweet tag--but dropped the ball. I was so excited by the tag I didn't see the ball hit the ground, just saw it roll away.

School: This year was 8th grade graduation. Now, to me 8th grade graduation is an odd concept--yet another overdoing of things...someone once told me recently that her kid "graduated" kindergarten and they had to rent a cap and gown. Fortunately it wasn't as bad as a cap and gown kindergarten "graduation". Not quite, anyway. When I was in 8th grade we just sort of segued to high school. We knew it was a new atmosphere with lots of new people, but we knew we'd see each other. In the case of a parochial school, there's a real diaspora. The kids, most of whom have been together since kindergarten (nine years), are being spread out among a good 15 high schools, so there's a sense of moving on. Hence the big deal over 8th grade "graduation". Incredibly, I got a bit maudlin, thinking about some of the guys I might not see again. I've been lucky to go on a lot of field trips over the years and incredibly, some of the guys find me "cool". There's Fred, who always smiles. Cory, whom I'd vote most likely to fall down an abandoned elevator shaft, but is a good guy. There's Beefy (his dad's nickname), who is the only 13-year old in the world who can pull off a bow tie and sunglasses. Marc, tall and happy. Drew--a quiet, introspective guy whom I can't draw out but was my son's best buddy. Calvin, who stands six-six(at 14-years)and works at the local ice cream shop. They all greet me, even when I'm not there for a field trip, with "Hi, J...'s Dad". I'll miss that.

Gaduation: An interesting event. I'm no prude by a long shot, but I was amazed by the number of girls (13/14-year olds) literally wobbling on their 5-6 inch heels as they filed in sans uniform for graduation. One girl (a teacher's daughter) wore a dress in which the hemline bobbed up and down and very nearly exposed her bottom (I kid you not). Another girl showed more cleavage than I imagined possible in a 13/14-year old. Yet another girl wobbled in on stilletto heels which wrapped around her ankles as her shirt showed off predernaturally advanced mammalian features. So much for the idea of staid churchgoers...

Birthday: Got another year older Saturday and spent the evening stripping and polishing the kitchen floor. I'd hoped to be stripping something else on my birthday. Sigh.

"A Bridge Too Far" is on now. It has the best depiction of what it's like to jump from an aircraft of any movie I've ever seen.

And now the obligatory Memorial Day posts. Most of the people who waste their time reading the tripe I post on this page are solidly on the side of the military, so I'm largely preaching to the choir. But who knows, maybe some day I'll sway just one person. Maybe even a guy who goes down on corn dogs (inside joke).

The first, "What is a Vet" was written by a Marine Corps Chaplain, the second, "Tommy" was written by Rudyard Kipling--the soldiers' poet. Thomas Atkins was a legendary British soldier, hence British soldiers are often referred to as "Tommys". In this case Tommy has become an avatar for all of those who fight on the side of right.

For those not familiar with these works I bid you read them, and give them some thought.

What Is a Vet?

Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in the eyes. Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a piece of shrapnel -- or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the soul's alloy 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?

The Vet 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.

The Vet may be the bar room 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 in Korea.

The Vet is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night in Da Nang.

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

The Vet is the Quantico drill instructor who maybe never experienced combat -- but saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and gang members into Marines by teaching them to watch and protect each other's backs.

The Vet is the wheel chair-riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.

The Vet is the career quartermaster who watched the ribbons and medals pass him by but made certain every needed bullet found it's way to the front line.

The Vet is one of 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 uncommon valor lies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep.

The Vet 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 was still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.

The Vet 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.

by Marine Corp chaplain, Father Denis Edward O'Brian

"Tommy" by Rudyard Kipling

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

Small town Memorial Day parade today. The best kind.

We had Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Cub Scouts and scouts I don't know anything about (Amana, Job's Daughters), school children carrying flags and elderly men in Ford convertibles. No commercialization, no floats--just sincere people honoring those who have given their all for this greatest of all countries.

I'm a pretty tough sort of guy. I was SF, I've worked construction, factories, I've laid on the ground and watched blood pool around me--in other words I'm not exactly a pansy. But I can't go to that parade without having to pretend to wipe sweat off of my face a few times.

Want to lose ten years off of your life?

Get a letter from the Clerk of the Circuit Court in which you can see the word "Subpoena" through the address window. I couldn't get that thing opened quickly enough.

As it turns out I had very peripheral involvement in a murder and I've been "commanded" to testify for the state. I wrote about this months ago when it ocurred, but basically somebody promised delivery of drugs, reniged on it and his "customer" quite literally blew his head off. The brother of the "victim" ran into our Boy Scout meeting and I actually went over to greet him thinking he was a new parent. Things went downhill from there and we ended up taking him to the local police station where my name was recorded.

We'll see what it all leads to--I have no problems whatsoever with testifying, but I honestly don't think I can really add anything to the case. On the other hand, it should be very interesting sitting in on a murder trial--We might get one murder every ten years here, so it's an opportunity, so to speak. Neither the shooter nor the "victim" were exactly upstanding citizens, so no tears need be shed for anyone involved.

My latest baseball email, word for word:

Guys,

I hadn't planned to be Junior/Senior Commissioner this year. Last year's stint as Umpire Coordinator nearly killed me. I had every intention of sitting on my fat posterior and enjoying baseball this year, but I got a last minute call asking if I'd take the commissioner position and couldn't turn it down. I want the guys to have a quality baseball season. I'm not the best commissioner in the world by a long shot--I'm about to lose my mind over rescheduling games among other issues.

Having put my own shortcomings on the line I'd like to address two issues, one which some people will regard as minor and one which I will remain adament about.

The (seemingly) minor issue is the flag. I think baseball should be played underneath an American flag. As far as I know, the flag gets flown only when I put it up and I was dismayed to find that when I put it up last Saturday, the teams which followed never bothered to take it down. I can't make anyone put it up or take it down, but I think it would project a nice image if we flew the flag during games and then took it down and stored it properly until the next game. As a former Boy Scout and soldier I can give lessons on how to fold it if need be.

Ok, off of my soapbox. Now for the real reason I am writing this email.

I received a call from John ---- (umpire, and a damned good one) tonight about the game. John feels that the base umpire took a lot of heat and John told me that as far as he's concerned every one of the calls could have gone either way. He said that the guy called a good game. I have tremendous respect for John's judgement, and if he feels that the base umpire called a good game, I'm going to go with it.

As I said, I didn't ask to be commissioner and I know I'm not very good at it, but I am the commissioner for better or for worse. I purposely did not look at the schedule to see who played tonight, and I won't. This warning is for everyone:

I will not tolerate coaches, managers or parents giving umpires a hard time. If you want to discuss a call in a rational manner, that's fine (Bear in mind that judgement calls are not open to discussion, period). Little League Baseball is about imparting a love of the game, teaching kids how to play, teaching teamwork, teaching sportsmanship, encouraging them to put their heart in it and play hard, teaching them how to win with dignity and lose gracefully. When you die your obituary might note that you were active in youth sports--it won't post your win/loss record.

Part and parcel with developing young baseball players is developing young kids who have an interest in officiating the game as well. Jumping all over young, budding umpires does the game no favors. It just makes them quit. We are suffering from a serious dearth of umpires. By contrast, the Jaycees, where my daughter plays, have no shortage of umpires. The umpires there are treated with great respect despite the fact that I can tell you as a former softball umpire myself that they are not even as good as our 13-year old umpires. They don't call games in a "professional" manner and often make bad calls. BUT--they are afforded respect and never badmouthed in front of the girls.

Our job is to develop young boys (and girls). Beating up on the umpires does nothing to that end. What coach has never signaled a player to steal only to have the player picked off? Likewise, umpires sometimes boot calls. But until you're perfect, lay off the umpires.

John often briefs managers before the game with this line: "You get two warnings, and this is your first". I'm following in that vein. Yes, I know that sometimes something outrageous occurs on the field, but 99.9% of the time it's a good guy doing his best to call a good game.

Let's have a good time and play some baseball.

Jim

Discrimination comes in all flavors. There's a claim by certain people, mostly black "leaders" who literally make a living playing the race card, that only "empowered" people can discriminate, ergo only straight white males are capable of discrimination. Well, discrimination is discrimination. Period. And I've seen every bit as much (far more, actually) discrimination from minorities than from the evil straight white male.

Well, here's a turn I never would have thought of--

Gallaudet University is variously described as "the nation's only" and the "world's only" university for the deaf. I don't know know which, if either, is true, but I know that it enjoys a reputation as a stellar institution of learning.

Well, the students at Gallaudet have chosen to make total a$$es of themselves. Recently a woman named Jane Fernandes was selected to succeed the outgoing president of the university. Now, to my mind, a president manages a university. In the selection process, you are looking for someone who can do that job. The president of Wyotech probably doesn't know a lot about repairing diesel locomotives, he/she knows how to run a school. Leave the technical details to the instructors. Not good enough for the students at Gallaudet. The president must be deaf.

Well, Mrs. Fernandes just happens to be deaf. From birth. But---she learned to speak and grew up speaking. She didn't learn American Sign Language until her early 20's. The problem? She's not "deaf enough".

Gad. Reminds me of the arguments I've heard about people not being "black enough". It's discrimination, plain and simple. You can cloak it with strawmen about "empowerment" and whatever else, but it's simple discrimination. Something that I hope the graduates of Gallaudet never have to contend with themselves.

Hell, she's not even new. She was the provost under the outgoing president and is married to a (hearing) retired Gallaudet professor.

To date the students have gone so far as to bar entrances with vehicles and have actually asked Congress to intervene. The protests have even spread to the Maryland School for the Deaf in some show of misplaced solidarity. The dispute has been so bitter that the interim head of the board of trustees resigned, saying she was just overwhelmed by everything and had to go. Nice work, students. Hope you're proud of yourselves.

And the whole thing isn't without precedent. In 1988, when a hearing woman was appointed president, the students shut the campus down for a week and forced her to resign.

Imagine me in a position to hire someone and telling them "We're all hearing people, we just don't want your kind around here". I wouldn't do that in a million years, but you get the point.

Discrimination, boys and girls, is discrimination. Period.

Well, I blew a weather call this evening. It had been nasty, drizzling and unseasonably cold all day. Two hours prior to game time it appeared that more storms were blowing in from the south, so after agonizing all afternoon I decided I had to make a call sooner or later, so I called tonight's game off. I made the call much sooner than last years' commissioner would have, but we spent a lot of time hanging on a thread with him, not to mention driving to the ballfield in rain because he wouldn't make the call until the last possible second. For better or worse, tonight's games didn't happen.

Didn't want to end up like these guys...


Rain

Finally caught a break. The kids hang out with a girl and boy down the road whose father is a contractor. They're the big paintball crew, and while I didn't think much of paintball when I watched it, the kids had a blast.

We live adjacent to a corn field and while there is a row of trees between us and the field we get ferocious winds that sweep across it. Some years ago we lost a big chunk of siding across the back of the house and recently we lost a downspout.

I have an extension ladder, but it won't reach the roof in the back of the house (it's on a downslope and has a walkout basement), so I went and called the guy I know. Hell, if I'm going to pay someone, it may as well be someone I know and like. He wasn't in, so I left a message. Two days later two guys simply showed up, replaced the downspout, took all of the bent downspout with them and left. Just like that.

So I called and left another message. He called me back this morning and I asked him what I owed. I know it was $400+. It was estimated at less than our $500 deductable, but just barely less. "I don't know", he said, "just buy the boys a case of paintballs next time we go out". We're talking $25 bucks.

If anyone wants to know a good contractor (and a good guy) in central Maryland, drop me a line.

"Dr. Stangelove or How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love The Bomb" came on the other night. It's one of those films that I just can't stop myself from watching. It's the darkest of dark comedies, but the deadpan performances by the actors and the whole way it's put across make it an incredibly compelling film.

It's an anti-war film (soldiers aren't necessarily pro-war, they just recognize its inevitability) by the Master of the Strange, Stanley Kubrick. If you haven't seen it, well, put it on your list. It has to do with "noocular" annihilation of the world, but Kubrick and his bent staff do things along the way you couldn't imagine. The characters have incredibly imaginative names, but I have to wonder about the sex lives of the guys who came up with the names.

First, there's Gen Jack D. Ripper. No explanation required.
Then there's Gen Buck Turgidson--"Buck" being a young, studly man and "turgid", well, you know
The hero of the film is a British exchange officer named Mandrake and, of course, Mandrake is known as an aphrodaisiac
The Soviet Ambassador is named Alexis Desadeinski--could the Marquis de Sade be far behind?
The US President is named Merkin Muffley. The two words have something in common. Ask me if you don't know.
The Soviet Premier is named Kissov (kiss off).
There are some gratuitous names such as Col. "Bat" Guano and Maj. "King" Kong, but the above ones are the best.

There are even things like a B-52 Pilot reading a Playboy centerfold and later the same woman (who I think really was a centerfold) showing up in Gen Turgidson's bed.

And then the lines:
When Gen Ripper loses his marbles, he calls Wing Commander Mandrake and informs him that the "big one" has started. In an understated US stereotype of British officers Mandrake replies "Oh, damn...are the Russians involved?"
Or when Gen Turgidson catches the Soviet Ambassador taking photos he tackles him prompting the president to declare "You can't fight in here, it's a war room".
Or, "Shoot, a fella could have a pretty good weekend in Vegas with all that stuff" (You'll have to watch it).
And I don't know why this is my favorite, but it is. You'll have to watch the movie: "That's private property. Ok, I'm gonna get your money for you. But if you don't get the president of the United States on the phone, you know what's gonna happen to you?....You're gonna have to answer to the Coca-Cola company".

Murf asked that I keep up-to-date on my little tiff with the county health department.

So far: phone call transferred three times, each time they claimed to have tried to get in touch with someone else who was "not available". I'm awaiting a return call from the Deputy Health Officer.

My question is simple: What authority does the county health department have to make me prove that I had my daughter's eyes examined?

A dispatch from the Libertarian front lines...

A couple of months ago the county sent someone to conduct visual screening throughout the county--even, apparently, private schools. We received a report that the screener had detected possible issues with the Bear's vision.

That set off immediate warning bells with me since I'm nearsighted and I know that myopia (nearsightedness) is a genetically dominant trait. I have watched in absolute amazement and gratitude as Junior approaches 14 with perfect vision. Possibly my "dirty" gene is mitigated by the fact that my wife possesses the vision of an eagle. Nonetheless, we immediately scheduled an appointment with a pediatric opthamologist.

For those not familiar with it, there are optometrists and opthamologists. I routinely go to optometrists, who conduct a vision assessment and prescribe and fit glasses. Opthamologists are MDs who can conduct a full medical examination of the eye. So we went the full route and had her evaluated by an opthamologist, including the infamous eye drops that make daylight look like a nuclear burst.

The opthamologist gave her a clean bill, with the usual disclaimer of "right now". She may someday need glasses, but as we speak, she's good to go. As one who has worn glasses for almost 40 years now, I hope that she never has to.

But nothing is ever good enough for the nanny state that the Democrats have created here.

Today I got a note, sent through the school by the county, demanding that I provide the school (It's a private school that has nothing to do with the county) with proof that I've either had her seen by an "eye professional" (whatever that is) or have scheduled an appointment with an "eye professional".

In retrospect, the first note may have had a piece on the bottom to be filled out documenting the fact that we'd had her evaluated, but I honestly doubt it. My wife has a very good eye for that sort of thing and has none of my "Eff you" response to overreaching authoritarianism. She'd have filled it out and submitted it.

So where we stand now is that the county is demanding that I provide evidence that I have followed up on the findings of some minimally trained troglodyte who conducts mass screenings of children throughout the county. Yes, I've followed up. I had her evaluated by an MD, thank you. And I will never, ever, ever skimp on health care for my children. More to the point, I know what it's like to sit in a classroom and not be able to read the blackboard. That was when my parents realized I needed glasses. I will react immediately should that ever occur with one of my children.

I intend to have a very interesting phone conversation with the county tomorrow. I would never *not* take her to the doctor, but I'll be a stone sonuvabitch if I know how the county can force me to submit proof that I've taken her to someone with the nebulous title of "eye professional".

More to come.

I have got to get one of these hot dog grillers. Not only is it practical and a conversation piece, but it will keep my wife from eating the hot dogs...



Hot Dog Griller

I should dread this season, and I do, sort of. The phone calls, the scheduling, the ill-disguised anger in their voices when I call managers to tell them there is no umpire for their game, the shuttling back and forth between baseball and softball...

I should hate this time of year. But I don't. It's a time of rebirth, renewal, and the resumption of the game I love just as much as it hates me (sounds like a marriage).

Well, beat the drum and hold the phone - the sun came out today
We're born again, there's new grass on the field
Roundin' third, and headed for home, it's a brown-eyed handsome man
Anyone can understand the way I feel

I guess everyone knows that's John Fogarty's song "Center Field". Rumor has it that the "brown-eyed handsome man" is Jackie Robinson.

Almost got to umpire at Bear's softball game tonight. Got to game time with no umpire in sight and I approached the manager and told her I had been an ASA umpire in the past. She cleared it with the other manager and I was on the field when the league official, who has thus far been invisible, materialized and announced that she needed to find an "unbiased" umpire. As though I'd throw a slow-pitch softball game involving nine-year olds. She dragged another dad away from his daughter's game and he did an ok job. His calls were good, if not done in the "official" manner, but he had to miss his daughter's game. I understand her point in bringing in an "unbiased" umpire, but I was a bit put out by the inference that I might be biased.

The counterpoint to that is Junior League baseball, a highly competetive league composed of 13, 14 and 15-year old boys who have been playing organized baseball for eight to nine years running. I had to cancel a Junior League game tonight when the scheduled umpire called to say he couldn't make it. I gave the managers the option to hold a scrimmage on the field and incredibly, they were able to find a dad in the stands to umpire the game. I'm glad that they did--but contrast that against the much younger girls in the softball league and me, with experience, being turned down because I just might be biased.