What the....

Look what I just saw on TV.

An odd commercial, to say the least.



You get that? The Vampire Rights Amendment.

I don't get it, so I googled it. Seems the Vampire Rights Amendment is sponsored by the Vampire Rights League.

Ladies and gentlemen, I was still scratching my head, so I returned to my google search.

Turns out, this is a viral marketing ploy for an upcoming show. It's explained nicely here.

I'm not into vampires, and I think people who are tend to be kinda weird. However, that is some damn good marketing. A little web searching reveals sites and commericials for the opposition group, in fact. Some junior VP-for-advertising earned his or her bonus this year!

I swear

I'll stop being boring at some point, but for now, y'all are stuck with me going on and on about this new computer.

Today I figured out RSS feeds. Ok, maybe I didn't really figure them out, but the MSNBC feeds went away and I know how to put the ones I want in that spot. Pretty cool.

I've won the battle and sucked all my data over from the old hard drive. Downside, it seems physically impossible to make this goddam "Windows Mail" abomination recognize Outlook data files. However, I'm hoping to plunk a real version of Office on this machine this week, so perhaps real Outlook will come with it. I can't remember.

In cheery news, I finally remembered the password for my BADDOG38 email account, so I'm back to filtering a ton of spam and, if any of you choose to use the email link, I'm getting those messages as well.

Whoever dreamed up Vista deserves a size 7.5R combat boot straight between the lower cheeks, but aside from that, this switchover is going about as well as any technologically adaptive activity that I engage in does.

commo check

Can abby post using the email function on her phone? i am going to need some alternate posting options in the near future, but this one is painfully slow and seems to rule out capital letters and pictures.

The things you see

The Mister and I moseyed down to JRB today. Before leaving, we thought we'd take in some of the local base sights. So we stopped at the main "old military crap" display.



Looks pretty much like most such things. Couple of old planes, old helicopter in the background, etc etc. Heck, a few hundred yards away there's even some old SeaBee bulldozer. Pretty much the average display. Except...



Except one item that actually seemed to have attracted visitors. What on earth is the large green object that could attract visitors to one of these tiresome displays?



That'd be a thermonuclear bomb. I'd tell you about it, but I'll let the signage do that.



Pretty cool, huh? One of three. I assume that it's not one of three functional bombs. Although that would be a pretty cool thing to put on display, really.

There's also a nice plaque about the history of the JRB. I really like the ending.



Food for thought. Much as our current wars suck, what with being confusing and vague and all, it is fortunate indeed that we never trotted these critters out for a real-life use. If the order of the day was deterrence, then deterrence worked, and I for one am mighty thankful for it.

Great Ideas

I was in Fry's (the giant electronics place) with Girl Child on Tuesday. Fry's has everything, including non-electronic stuff. In fact, they had a large bin of personal-size pepper spray near the checkout.

Abby, said Girl Child, can we get pepper spray? That would be cool!

I thought about it for a moment, and my poor judgement kicked in. Sure, I replied. But if your Dad disapproves, it's a no-go, and I personally think that before you guys can walk around with pepper spray, you'd have to try it on yourselves.

She cheerfully assented, I bought a couple of little cans, and didn't give it another thought. I figured the idea of trying it out had probably turned them off.

I was wrong.

Last night, they remembered. The Mister agreed that one should experience pepper spray before being allowed to carry it to the convenience store and back. He further expressed that as part of our adult obligation to lead from the front, pepper spray should be a family activity.

You can see how this all went down, can't you?

Number Two son volunteered to get hit first, followed by Girl Child. Then I sprayed the Mister, and, against the sound advice of the three of them, allowed Number One Son to give me a thorough spritzing.

You know, that stuff sucks. I've had my share (and possibly your share) of CS over the years, but this pepper spray is a little different. Less snot and gagging (really, almost none), but it provides a really effective burning sensation.

The only bit of wisdom any of us exhibited in this whole exercise was to hold it next to the pool.



It was probably about 20 minutes before we were opening our eyes. Number One Son, the only one of us smart enough pass on the experience, spent that time giggling and pointing out that we were maybe not the smartest family he could be a part of.

All in all, it was quite the family learning experience. By morning, it was already taking shape as a future Family Legend. Of course, the two kids who'd participated in the spraying were declaring themselves Morally Superior to their brother and all their peers.

Little masochists. We may have future Marines on our hands, if they persist in relishing Things That Suck.

As an aside, I'd heard good things about pepper spray. But at this point, I would be inclined to recommend it, particularly for walking in dog-infested areas.

Teaser

Tomorrow...the family that pepper sprays each other...

Outtake from daily life

The Mister and I were at Kroger. We had two boxes of Hamburger Helper (Bacon Cheeseburger type), a bag of fresh green beans, and a crate of beer.

We approached the checkout. The Mister looked at me and said, "Wow. Are we white trash or what?"

Which reminded me..."Yes. We are. And we need cigarettes."

Yea!

After three attempts, I got the correct doohickey and have sucked my photos, documents, music, etc over to the new laptop.

This please me greatly.

In celebration, let's have some photos, shall we?



Here we have the Mister, riding around in circles recently. This does not look like fun to me, but apparently it's for him. Speaking of fun, check out this sign in a motel room we stayed in while fishing at Lake Fork.



I like that sign very much. And, for our last photo, we shall feature something else I like very much. Squirrels with lightsabers.



That last one is courtesy of those wacky kids over at ARFCOM, my favorite source for odd photos and excruciatingly detailed firearms information.

Ugh (PartII)

Well, I think the worst is over. The chills lasted a couple hours, and I woke up with enough energy to eat some toast, drink some water, and dig some ammo out of the back closet.

I'd better wake up feeling fabulous, 'cause I have plans to be shooting in the morning.

Alright, back to bed. Because the only think that fixes problems faster than hydration is sleep.

Ugh...

This was one of those days...I got up and took Mom to the airport, which is always kind of a bummer.

I came back, finished wrestling some Army paperwork, made the drive over to the unit, and, on the way home, was forced to use my ninja-like driving skills to avoid a three-car wreck on I-20 directly in front of me.

(This got more annoying when, immediately after I ascertained nobody was bleeding out and that I had no moral obligation to do anything other than get back in and continue driving home, all drivers involved started working toward a bitchy discussion of who was at fault)

(I will also note that it looked like everyone involved had been on a cellphone, with the possible exception of the big handsome pit bull who was panting cheerfully in one of the vehicles)

Got home, took a nap, woke up with a sharp, twisty abdominal pain. Hmmm...I didn't really eat very much today, so maybe I'll have a sandwich when this stops hurting so much.

Alas, instead of resolving itself with a nice sandwich, my stomach decided to be painful for a good hour, and finally resolved itself in the most dramatic bout of power-yakking I've done in years. In good news, it does seem to be much happier now.

Alright. Off for more quality time with my red Gatorade, and maybe a tuna sandwich here in a few.

Again, with the hate

It's amazing the number of passwords, logins, etc, that I had stored in my email inbox. On the dead laptop. Thus, it's amazing the number of things I can't quite access yet.

[snarl]

Additionally, I find it interesting that the PureEdge viewer which the Army is now using for all its forms is described as having "issues" with Vista.

[snarl]

And finally, this setup came with a 60-day trial of Microsoft Office, after which I assume it will disappear and leave me with that godawful Fisher Price Microsoft Work.

[double snarl]

The New Laptop

has arrived. Bringing with it strange default settings, cheerful helpful little messages and, of course, Windows Vista.

God, I hate change.

Chillin'

by the pool. It's shaping up to be a rough weekend with Mom in town. Next up on the agenda - hit the Amon Carter Museum and troll around for places with decent wine and snacks.

The Mister has taken off to ride his motorcycle rapidly around a track and, in a slightly sadistic fit of fatherliness, opted to take the kids with him. They toted off a large cooler and a tent for some shade, so I assume they'll survive.

We eagerly await the arrival of the new laptop tomorrow, so I can stop borrowing the Mister's desktop to blog. Although I do admit, I kinda enjoy the full-sized keyboard.

Here's hoping your weekend is as mellow as mine!

Sonuvabitch

I did not want a new laptop. I cannot afford a new laptop. However, there is a new laptop that will be heading my direction tonight.

[sigh]

In case anyone hasn't picked up on it, I'm getting ready to on another long Army trip. In most other circumstances, I'd consider a laptop something one wants, not things one needs. However, things being as they are, it's a need.

I am most appreciative of the info on how to suck over the info from my other hard drive. Stay tuned early next week for info on how that technological exercise goes. I have in the past been utterly overwhelmed by high-end calculators, so hilarity may ensue.

In much happier news, Mom is coming to visit tomorrow. So after I crack the whip and we get the kennel we call home cleaned up, I get a few days of hanging out with her, which is pretty awesome.

Aggggh!!!!

One of the kids was lurking by my laptop with me last night, as we talked PhotoShop and discussed the entertainment potential of cutting-and-pasting the heads of our various dogs onto major political and cultural figures.

You know, quality family time.

Problem was, beers were being consumed (by the adults, not the kids or dogs). And when the kid with whom I was sitting leaned over to get a better look at the sceen, a bottle of Landshark Lager was tipped onto my laptop keyboard, upper left side.

The situation appears dire. The laptop went dark, and one attempt to restart resulted into a brief flash of indicator lights, then total non-responsive deadness.

So - here's my question. Assuming the worst, and that my current attempts to remove all panels and let any moisture evaporate do not work out...if the laptop is dead...what measures can I take with my hard drive to try to save/extract information (photos, documents, etc)?

Heh

So the 'Dawg writes about taking a vicious kitten to the veterinarian, and ensuing blood and pain.

Now, I grew up with cats, and we were cheap, so we did home vaccinations. I got scratched. But I did not truly understand the evil of an angry cat until I was in Iraq.

We took a vet with us when we deployed. She was a major, some years in the Individual Ready Reserve, who ran a cat clinic in the South. A kind, short woman, who received cards, letters and photos from her "patients."

We shared a tent in Iraq. It was really fairly comfortable, since there were just three of us. The specialist, me, and the major veterinarian, who we referred to as, "The Ma'am."

One day, The Ma'am was showing us a postcard from a kitten, or some such madness, when the specialist took note of her arm.

Ma'am, are those...scars?

I glanced down. Our sweet, kind, southern vet had long white scars running from the backs of her hands up to her elbows, and a few disappeared beneath the tan sleeves of her uniform t-shirt.

Oh, she answered. Yeah. From back in the days when I held cats myself, before I started hiring assistants.

I grew up with cats, and I like cats. But cats are definitely, totally, not nice.

Abby's Big Adventure

Girl Child and I made it to Port Wood pretty much without incident (well, there was the part where I tried but failed to buy a blueberry muffin at a Starbucks that didn't have any coffee). Our first attempt at finding the correct photo location failed, but we got pointed in the right direction.

(Let's take a moment and hear it for the planning that resulted in us arriving at the first location at 0935 for a 1040 appointment - it turned out I needed the time cushion)

I pulled up to the corrected location, and climbed out to confirm we were in the right place before we downloaded my outfit.

Hey, Abby?

Huh? Did someone know me? I looked over, and there was a guy. A familiar guy.

As it turned out, a Blog Friend who I'd run into once before in the wilds of Louisiana. One of the Bad Dog crew, stationed at Port Wood, took note of my departure time and, having a down day in his outprocessing, thought he might swing by the photo place around the time it seemed I might arrive, just in case I needed some help.

[happy dance!] Yes, I did. Particularly when re-directed to another location for the photo. That, as it turned out, was a bit of a process, but we got 'er done.

Post-photo, we enjoyed a nice lunch, during which I learned he is in the process of acquiring an M1 carbine. I can only hope I was a bit of an influence. Perfect gun for desert coyotes at close range, that M1 carbine.

It's cool to meet people in real life from the internet. I'm sure there's a limit as to when it's cool to meet people from the internet, but I like to think the Bad Dog Blog attracts a distinctly groovy class of person.

Post-lunch, Girl Child and I very nearly t-boned an old lady who may or may not have been confused about from which lane she should make left turns. Or it could have been my mistake about which lane I should go straight from. But since it's my blog, we're calling it her error.

And, since now two of you have asked, I shall expose you to my awful Photoshop skills and share with y'all the product of my day's trek.



It's an OK Army photo, but it was a bad enough photo of me that I'm afraid the disembodied Casey head is an improvement.

We're off!

To Port Wood!

If you happen to see a grumpy-looking woman and a small child in a Jeep, who appear about as excited as you'd expect people to look who are driving 160 miles for a photograph, feel free to wave.

Oh, I get it now!

More wisdom from the man who will bring all the "combat troops" home from Iraq within sixteen months.

As you know, we here at BDC have been asking, as non-combat troops ourselves, exactly why we would do that. Turns out, it's because hanging out in Iraq is distracting.

Okay. I can see that. I mean, although I was a non-combat troop (that is, a troop to whom combat happens, but who is not...well...oh hell, let's not get into all that), I did find that being in Iraq distracted me from certain things. Like...I dunno...hanging out with my husband, drinking cold beer (or, for that matter, warm beer), eating holiday meals with my family, etc etc.

So. Yes. Iraq = distraction. Alas, that doesn't seem to be what Sen. Obama meant. Because the Senator is a very verbal man, he goes on tell us what he means.

"As should have been apparent to President Bush and Sen. [John] McCain, the central front in the war on terror is not Iraq, and it never was," Obama said in what his campaign called a major policy address on Iraq, Afghanistan and national security.

Obama said that part of his new strategy will be "taking the fight to al Qaeda in Afghanistan and Pakistan." [emphasis added]

See, that's an important point, clarification-wise. Senator Obama seems to believe that being in Iraq is distracting our combat troops from...invading Pakistan?

Honestly, there might be some vaildity to that point, but "taking the fight" across the largely imaginary Pakistan border, at least in any way that we'd talk about, is probably something that bears a little more discussion than the average throwaway line in one of the Senator's speeches.

Fortunately, the Senator continues to imply this fight-taking is the work of the combat troops who have been thus far more or less, he seems to think, fucking around in the desert in Iraq for no apparent reason. I for one am glad for that, even if it means I have to spend a tour in Iraq without the combat troops, because at least it doesn't imply my participation in the first rotation of Operation Waziristan Freedom, or, as President Obama might choose to call it, Operation Hindu Kush Hope.

In the news

we have some choices today.

We could talk about this chipper bit from Fox News: Stocks Set to Plunge - FOXBusiness: Futures tumble as concerns about bank sector, GM job cuts drag on the dollar, send overseas markets lower. But that sounds dull and awful, so let's not talk about it.

Instead, let's discuss Drunk Man Torn Apart By Bears After Falling Into Enclosure. That sounds far more interesting.

The 22-year-old man was drunk and trying to take close-up shots of the Siberian Brown bears at Mykolaev city zoo when he lost his footing, witnesses said, acording to Channel 5 television.

The three bears charged the man immediately, tearing him "limb from limb" as he tried to escape, according to the station, quoted by the Deutsche Presse-Agentur news agency.

That's really pretty much the whole story, right there. I think most of my readers are sharp enough to extract the learning points from this one without further comment. But it is nice to see that once in a while, somewhere out there, actions still have consequences.

[rage]

I don't know which brilliant individual decided that official photographs should be included in Army promotion packets. But that individual is currently on the list.

Because I am a decent Soldier and I think they should pay me more and let me be in charge of more stuff, I will be driving my happy self down to the place that sounds like Port Wood because - I kid you not - it is the nearest Army-blessed photographic facility.

[grumble]

The only thing that could make this evolution more fun is if it required great amount of uniform futzing. Wait - it does!

Because the Army is big on self-esteem, they have a ribbon for everything. Including NCO schools, which I have been attending like a big dog all year. So I dragged a kid with me to JRB, bought that ribbon, an annoying little number to put on it (because I have been to two NCO schools, and thus am entitled to more plummage than folks who have been to only one, but less than folks who have attended three or four). I also bought a new ribbon bar, and devoted a chunk of time to trying not to destory other ribbons in the process of moving them over.

Girl Child was "helping" (that is, laughing at me while I swore).

What's that one?, she asked, pointing.

It's the Army Service Ribbon, I responded. In the Army, they give you a ribbon to wear on your Army uniform as additional proof that you are in the Army.

Oh, she said. It looks kinda...um....well, if it was a flag...



[sigh]

I know, I responded. But I am probably not allowed to refuse to wear a ribbon because it looks like a gay pride flag.

We're dogsitting!

This is Tango.



Tango is, I am informed, part shepherd (I dont really see it), part pit (that I see) and, I'd guess, part raccoon. She's adorable, and just a little bit high-strung.

My stepkids,

have a great sense of humor, and a fairly cruel stepmom.

At 0610, I climbed out of bed, thinking, what a nice morning for a hike! I need some company!

Because they are children, and not very wise, all three got up and agreed to a happy trudge.

Six miles (1:48, with 50lbs of crap) later...I took them out to breakfast (getting them out of bed had required bribery), and they turned to some serious napping. They're just now starting to roam around again.

Heh.

I have to admit, I was impressed. Number One Son often accompanies me on jogs and trudges, and so I wasn't surprised that he hung in there (and considering that he's carrying only a 2-quart canteen, there's no reason he shouldn't have). Number Two Son and Girl Child, however...really wanted to stop after the first three miles, but kept going. Then they really wanted to turn around at the point that would have made for five miles, but they had the stopwatch and CamelBack, so they just kept tromping. Good on them.

I have got to get Number One Son to stop thinking it's moto to run the last couple of blocks, though. Maybe if I give him the pack and vest for that part...

Just because

I don't have anything to say doesn't mean I shouldn't blog, I guess. Because then the bar starts creeping up in my own mind, and then I'm not posting because I don't have anything important to say.

Ha! As though anyone comes here for important.

In recent adventures...

It came to my attention that an upcoming Army evolution will involve a timed trudge with gear. One of my comrades remarked that he was buying a new set of boots for this trudge (which is 6.2 miles). He will be buying the shiny high-speed-low-drag Oakley boots, which he has never had before, and which are just-recently-authorized for wear.



I came home and remarked to the Mister that buying a new pair of boots that one has never had before, shortly before and specifically for a hump (that's Marine for trudge - in the Army it seems one "ruckmarches" or "rucks") seemed like a recipe for blisters. And, I concluded, silly. Because c'mon, it's only 6.2 miles.

The Mister agreed, then made a shockingly insensitive observation.

It's not very far at all, he said. But, Abby, you haven't done that stuff since you left the Marine Corps. It might not be easy anymore, because now you're 30.

Hmmm. Could be true. So I busted out the trusty 20-lb weighted vest (close enough to body armor, I figured), and my awesome-but-not-sexy Belleville boots.



(just as a side note, for any deploying reserve or Guard types I might have, they will often issue these boots during your mobilization. Snatch them up if you get the chance, or request them if you can see them on the shelf at supply)

I took off in the evening with Number One Son and a three-mile course ('cause, you know, a three-mile course done twice is a six-mile course). We should, I told him, walk briskly. Really awesome performance would be 15-minute miles, the sucky minimum we would accept would be 20-minute miles.

So we trudged. And trudged and trudged, and sweated a little, and drank some water. As another side note - taking a teenage boy with you provides not only someone to carry the water, but provides extra incentive to not be a slow wimp.

We finished at 1:37, for 16:15 miles, which I felt was pretty respectable. The vest did kick my ass - I highly recommend it if you feel the need to suffer more. Walking with it wasn't rough at all, but it did limit any running to a very slow shuffle. I knew that would suck, but when we got close to the end I really wanted to see if we could hit 1:36, hence the hustle. Alas....

I was feeling pretty good about myself until the next morning. When I woke up and...couldn't move. I'm almost recovered now, and we'll be doing it again with a little more weight either tonight or tomorrow.

After that (of course), I finally got the standard we'd be trudging to in the upcoming event.

• 55lbs. or a third of your body weight (whichever is less) to include IBA, Weapon, LBV and Ruck
• 10 Kilometers = 6.2 miles
• 3 Hours or less
• Go / No-Go grade
• Mostly flat surface

I'm not overwhelmingly concerned, but I figure I'll dry run it a couple more times just to ensure I don't suck when we do it.

Civic obligation MET!

Well, that was a bit of a disappointment. Went down, checked in, got assigned to a district criminal court.

Had lunch, drank coffee, was ready to go in for the voir dire part, and...case settled (or something), no jury required. Thank you for your time, here's $6, have a great day.

[sigh]

I was number 52 of 60, so I probably wouldn't have made it on the jury anyway, but I was hoping for a little more of a learning experience in return for a day of my time.

Civic duty

Remember the jury duty notice I got before I went to Court Licks? Yeah. Well, I got it postponed, but because I really kinda at least want to go see what this is all about, I did not request an exemption.

And that postponement...well, it was good for about a month.

So off I go today, with a vague and crappy map of the downtown area. What fun.

Huh?

A quick click over to CNN led me to this headline - I am not kidding - Obama says he's 'been very consistent' on Iraq

I doublechecked and realized I was indeed on CNN and not on the Onion.

Consistently defeatist, wrongheaded and obtuse, perhaps.

"The belief that we have a national security interest in making sure Iraq is secure, I've been saying consistently,"

Huh. See, I pay pretty close attention, and that's not what I have taken away from the Senator's statements.

Obama reiterated his commitment to his withdraw plan again. “I will call my joint chiefs of staff and give them an assignment and that is to end the war,” he said.

Well, ok. 'Cause running on a promise to prioritize an immediate end to our activities in Iraq doesn't sound like the plan of a man who believes we have a national security interest in making sure Iraq is secure. But maybe I missed something, being just an old dumb sergeant and all.

[rolls eyes, heads to fridge for more beer]

Stupid huuurts! (Part II)

It's really not easy being Abby these days.

I was cutting...cucumbers or onions or something yesterday. I finished chopping, scooped up the cutting board and knife, and lost control of it, sending the knife to the floor.

Well, not directly to the floor.



As far a dropping a paring knife point-down onto a toe, it was about as painless as it could have been.

I should probably be wearing a helmet, at the rate I'm going.

cleaning at midnight

(not really, but if I was a slightly more domestic chick, I sure would be)

Dad is driving down to visit, and is currently racked out in his vehicle, in Oklahoma.

Not as far away as I would hope he'd be, considering we have some pretty decent work ahead of us making the house look decent tomorrow.

Ah, well. That's why I have stepchildren, and a bullwhip.

Stupid huuurts!

There I was, at the range. I burned through about 150 rounds of .45, then decided to put a few through the M9. Whereupon, I hurt myself.



Yes - it seems I chambered the fat part of my left index finger. My best guess (since it happened rather rapidly), is that somehow my slingshot slide-release technique that functions just fine with the 1911 doesn't jive so well when rapidly applied to the M9.

See - this works just fine and I have never hurt myself doing it.



It's the same way I grab the slide to clear a stoppage, so I figured it would be best to always grab the slide that way. For some reason, today, the first time I chambered a round in the M9, the above approach translated as the one pictured below.



No - I don't know how that happened. But I'm fairly certain I'll be extra aware of what I'm doing with that finger every time I handle an M9 from here on out.

And, just as an extra, because I found it on the camera, here's a picture of Sparky on the dining room table. Apparently, while I was at Court Licks, the chilluns went on a spree of photographing him on various prohibited surfaces.



Just something to keep in mind, for those of you who might find yourself at our dinner table.

I've been remiss

in my performance of happy dances.

Of course, along with all the other gun nuts out there, I did the Heller happy dance (that links to the entire decision, FYI). Seriously - you mean the Second Amendment guarantees an individual right? Next major Supreme Court surprise - the right to breathe in implies an individual right to breathe out.

Anyway. A win.

Now, I'm not going to put my freebies from Uncle Sugar on the same plane of importance as the Bill of Rights, but I'm also doing the happy dance about the recent GI Bill upgrade.

The Post 9/11 GI Bill will provide up to 100% of your tuition. In addition, the program provides a monthly housing stipend, and a stipend of up to $1,000 a year for books and supplies. If you attend less than full-time you will receive a portion of the payment based on the number of units of study.

...

100% - 36 or more total months
100% - 30 or more consecutive days with Disability related Discharge.
90% - 30 total months
80% - 24 total months
70% - 18 total months
60% - 12 total months
50% - six total months
40% - 90 or more consecutive days

For Active Component folks like the Mister, this is pretty simple. For Reversists like moi, however, it will require clarification. Some of these service amounts include time on active duty other than on "mobilization orders," some don't seem to. There's also the always-interesting question for what is probably the most mobile demographic in the US this side of migrant fruit pickers - how is the state determined?

Fortunately, the DoD always pays someone to figure this crap out and put it in a pamphlet written simply enough that even soldiers can understand it.

[pauses, does math] My last mob was 14 months and change, I did a six month tour at SILLYCOM, there's probably another six months of active duty for various schools and exercises...and, well, there's a good chunk of time left on my current enlistment.[rubs hands, does Mr. Burns impression] Eeeexcellent.

This is gonna be a sweet deal no matter how they break it down.

What can one say

about this sort of thing?

Postcards showing police dog-in-training Rebel, a German shepherd born in early December, are causing a furor among the region’s Muslims who believe dogs are "ritually unclean," the Daily Mail reports.

[sigh]

Sometimes, you really gotta wonder if the clash of civilizations crowd is on to something.

I mean, I try. I do. I really do.

But any group of people who can get their knickers in a twist over this...



The ritual oppression of all things female is bad. The general disdain for secular learning and genuine expansion of knowledge...also bad. But affecting great offense at a cute puppy on a public-safety flier?

This crap needs to be booted back to its miserable hovels in fly-infested third-world hellholes. Most ricky tick.

I did not know there was a market

for this sort of thing, but a stop at the Fort Worth Star Telegram website enlightened me. Did you know you can buy handmade FLDS (Fundamentalist Church of Latterday Saints) clothing? On the internet?

The group's site seems to focus largely on children's outfits, so you could outfit your short people to look like this:



A good look for tearful goodbyes as government agents take your children away, it seems.

Anyway, if that's your bag, the site is FLDS Dress, and it looks like you might be able to place special orders if you want something similar for the taller folks in your life.

The Man strikes again

As always, I picked up the "crud" my last couple of days playing Army, and got off the plane hacking and sneezing (Mom, Dad - thanks for the immune system that allows me to resist illness until right before I come home, virtually guaranteeing that every homecoming in my life will be a festival of phlegm).

We stopped at Walgreens for Advil Cold & Sinus, which, apparently because you can use it to make meth, is now a controlled substance. I picked up my little I-want-cold-meds tag and proceeded to the pharmacy, where a nice little pharmacist asked for my driver's license.

She took it, got me my 20 caplets, and proceeded to start typing something into her computer.

Pardon me, I asked, but, just out of curiosity, exactly what information are you capturing?

Oh, she replied, we get your name and address and driver's license number. You know, so they can see how much of this stuff you're buying and if they think you're using it to make meth. Even though I know you're not. She smiled.

I can buy 5,000 rounds of ammunition with no ID (unless I'm buying at one of those places that likes to verify age), but they are tracking my cold medicine purchases?

Creepy.

Home (again)

and, as usual, the fabulousness that is one's very own bathroom cannot be overstated.

Money Quote

From our recent camping trip... We were toward the back of the convoy of humvees heading back to the barracks when all was said and done. At one point, there was a stop sign at which we needed to turn right. There were about twenty trucks in our convoy.

You can tell the ones who haven't deployed, said our chief instructor, because they're stopping at the stop sign.

Almost there...

We survived the "field" portion of this class. It wasn't particularly arduous. In fact, the ticks were probably the worst part of it, and led to this sign.



Yes, that sign is on the shitter. I can't imagine a tick infestation there, but it can't be a good thing. Two words, ladies and gentlemen: butt ticks. There - now you'll have a nice image to ponder [shudders].

As for me, I didn't encounter a single one the entire time we were out there. Perhaps that's because I don't like ticks, and thus avoided walking through the tall grass.

They gave us a day off today for no apparent reason, and I went to Philadelphia to walk around and see the sights. We went to the National Consitution Center, which was cool. I recommend it. Independence Hall was full for the day, so we settled for a stroll around Washington Square and then returned to our lovely quarters.

48 hours from now I fully intend to be back at Bad Dog Central, enjoying that most wonderful of all luxuries...my own bathroom.

Camping!

We're off for a few nights in tents. We have three "phases" of Civil Affairs soldiers out here. We've got what we call the "10 level," which is folks who are coming over from another field and for whom this is their introduction to what we do. We have our midlevel group, and a small group of more senior NCOs.

This is one of those entertaining fields where training often involves interacting with the local community to get people up to speed on finding key personnel in a civilian community and talking to them. The 10 level students started that yesterday, and beginning tomorrow we'll be riding around with them, doing the "teach, coach, mentor" gig.

So I'll be off the radar until the middle of next week, riding around and offering my valuable insights to new CA soldiers. It should be very special.

And if any of you are in the Court Licks area, and happen to see a bunch of humvees parked behing a convenience store, have no fear. It's not an invasion, it's a coffee break.

More thoughts from school

It wasn’t until I noticed that my Mom was telling stories about my youthful misbehavior that I even thought of seeing if I could access the blog through the Army computer system here in the classroom. Lo and behold, I can! The system doesn’t seem to jive with Haloscan, but I can post without trudging through the groundhog ambush site to the club.

Anyway...since I don't want to pay attention in any more classes, I have plenty of time to put together long, rambling posts.

We’re getting close to the end of the classroom portion of this, which is A Good Thing. We’ve pretty firmly established at this point that Civil Affairs NCOs, more than any other group in the military, have zero tolerance for foreign civilians.

We wish refugees would get real jobs and move out of camps, we loathe handing out humanitarian assistance supplies, we firmly believe that willful stupidity is an insurmountable barrier to conducting population and resource control operations with any level of force below tanks.

I’ve previously said we have only one soldier in our group who hasn’t deployed. We have a couple others who deployed as something other than CA. But among those of us who have, there is not a single one who has not had an HA (humanitarian assistance) drop that:

A – turned into a no-holds-barred brawl

B – involved handing out some asinine and truly useless item that came from some level of “Higher”

The Afghanistan folks cornered the market on B. That operation gets more international support, and so they get a wider variety of stuff. Including children’s underwear with celebrity images emblazoned on them, courtesy of (wait for it, it won’t be a surprise), the people of Japan.

We agreed that the concept of targeted HA drops almost entirely escapes maneuver unit commanders, who seem to be big fans of just handing crap out because Iraqis (and Afghans) like crap. We’d prefer they consider our input on issues like which populations need stuff, which populations deserve stuff, and which populations might be bought for our side with stuff. Our mission is really, really, really not to put a smile on a child’s face. It really, really, really is to wean the people of these countries off their dependence on American handouts.

But of course, soldiers like children and, since the current policy on war trophies sucks, it seems that the one thing everyone wants to take home is a picture of them handing a Beanie Baby to an urchin. We have had no luck convincing any of them that Beanie Babies are not Humanitarian Assistance items, and, thus, CA should not be responsible for them.

[sigh] I thought it was just us, but I was wrong. At least I know I’m not alone.

One score

and ten years ago, a woman in Michigan was, after many (very many, if you ask her) hours of labor, presented with a shrieking infant. The woman and her husband had planned to name the infant Edwin if it was male, and Rachel if it was female.

The baby was a girl but it did not, according to the legend, look like a Rachel. It looked, the story goes, like an Abigail.

The woman was Mom, the husband Dad, and Abigail was, of course, yours truly.

Today is the big Three-Oh.

I find it a little depressing to be 30, but it certainly does beat the alternative. Rumors abound that this would be an appropriate point to grow up and act like a responsible adult, but they are unconfirmed rumors, so I won't be making that a priority.

In honor of this momentous day, I have for you a picture of a groundhog here at Court Licks.



It's like a hobbit birthday, in which my guests get presents!

EDIT: Hey! I can't see the full comments with the Army internet, but I am fairly sure my Mom is NOT allowed to tell stories!

Class stretches on…

In the past couple of days we’ve covered culture (in three excruciatingly detailed classes), negotiations (in one brutal six-hour block), and a truly painful block titled “Coordinate With Interagency, Intergovernmental and Nongovernmental Organizations.” This last one involved lots and lots of discussion about how much we all value the United Nations and its contributions to building a better world.

Actually, the negotiation class was taught by a New Jersey cop and former SWAT guy who initially defined negotiation as a single sentence – Sir, could you move a little closer to the window, please?
Guaranteed laugh line in a room full of soldiers, that.

And again, although the course material is about as useful as the proverbial screen door on the submarine, the class interaction allows for us to reach consensuses on important issues for the Civil Affairs NCO.

Let me share some of those with you.

1 – Village cleanup projects are a giant waste of the American taxpayer’s dollars. Iraqis don’t care if their towns are ankle-deep in garbage. If they did, they’d ask for some of these projects. They don’t. It’s a common misconception of newly-arrived maneuver battalion commanders that paying for a bunch of some local bigwig’s cousins to pick up trash for a couple of weeks will enable these folks to see the light. They don’t care.

2 – Everybody likes to build schools because Children Are The Future. However, if there’s no system in place to hire and pay teachers, the utility of the new school is roughly zero immediately following the ribbon-cutting. If there is a system, but it’s entirely dependent on US dollars and contracting, it’s only slightly better than worthless.

3 – The nomadic subpopulation in Afghanistan is, apparently, the CA NCO’s worst nightmare, since this seems to be a group that travels around and has figured out they can get money and stuff from a wide range of US military units. Worst of all, they must be placated, since a large part of their economic heritage involves smuggling stuff across mountainous borders.

4 – Again, about the schools. Although economic growth initiatives don’t make for good ribbon-cutting pictures, we’ve decided that education without economic opportunity is bound to become either an expensive luxury, or the source of lots of well-educated Iraqis and Afghans working in other countries – neither of which is part of the overall goal.

5 – The Officer Efficiency Report should be changed to a GO/NO GO document in theatre. Far too many stupid ideas are initially conceptualized as “bullet points” on an OER. A good NCO can identify one of these ideas at 100 yards, but trying to stop one…well, imagine an armadillo on a Texas highway going toe-to-toe with a Peterbilt. Yeah. We know how that ends.

6 – The no-beer rule sucks. However, as dutiful noncommissioned officers in the US Army, we recognize that we are most effective when we train ourselves to live as warrior monks – rejecting personal comforts and vices in favor of an ascetic study of our field of expertise. Further, since we are, indeed, warriors, we must train our bodies and minds to accept deprivation. In that spirit, along with giving up beer, we have discarded mattresses, sheets and pillows in order to sleep on the ground outside the barracks. We have also taken to pouring sand and insects onto our food before eating it.

It appears that Those Who Know Best have decreed that we shall spend another week in the classroom getting made smarter. I can only hope it’s as illuminating as this first one has been.

(admin note - yes, I retro-posted this for ease of organization)

^%%$%^ Army computers

I had a nice little post for y'all, even though the wireless is down and I'm using an Army computer.

Then Blogger took a giant crap on me.

[sigh]

So, no thoughtful little post. However, when I can get up and running again on my own computer, I do have a groundhog picture to share.

But the interesting part...

aside from the woodchucks and the sparrows, and the incredible evil of the no-beer rule, there is a nifty side to this class I'm taking.

I spend all day sitting in the world's most dull TRADOC-required classes. I taught four hours on the fine details of writing orders yesterday (just in case any of my fellow mid-level NCOs ever find themselves running a Division G3), and suffered through 4 hours this morning focused entirely on Annex Q to the Operation Order - the Civil Military Operations Annex.

Obviously, this sucks. But our instructors aren't real interested in the classes, either, as long as they fill the time required. And so every PowerPoint slide is the jumping off point for whichever of us is treaching the class to ask, "So, who has experience with [whatever] while you were deployed?"

And that's where it gets good. Because in our 16-soldier class, we have one soldier who hasn't deployed. We have people who've worked Civil Affairs in Iraq, and Afghanistan, and a couple who've been to both. We have people who've worked at Echelons Above Reason, and many people who've worked in the dirt. We have people who did the Iraqi invasion, and people who've worked the State Department at Provincial Reconstruction Teams.

It's a lot of experience, it's significantly more current than anything in our texts, and it's directly related to what all of us will be doing at some point again.

Best of all, the nature of our work being what it is, the discussions enable us to pool our knowledge and dream new ways to "slap the Good Idea Fairy out of the air." That is, tactics, techniques and procedures for managing enthusiastic, ambitious and idealistic officers. This is vital to NCO education, and probably is enough to make this tiresome outing worthwhile.

Just when it was staring to get really miserable...

the weather up here finally broke and it's not 1,000 degrees with 98% humidity. I find ol' Court Licks much more enjoyable when I'm not squinting through a sheet of sweat.

I mentioned the bird's nest in the bathroom to y'all, right? It's occupied (I can hear the little sparrows), but I can't get a good view from the outside (yes - I leaned waaaay out the window to look - nearly becoming one of those "weird military deaths" statistics).

But I wouldn't want you to think I was pulling your leg, so here's a crummy shot of the portion of the nest that protrudes into the shower entrance.



It could be evidence of the Army's horrifying lack of interest in our living conditions, but I prefer to think of it as a cheerful and rustic touch.

More Army Fun

Greetings from lovely Court Licks, Eastern Seaboard!

The official mascot of Court Licks appears to be the giant fat woodchuck, of which I have seen no fewer than 14 examples in the space of about 24 hours. The Mister retained possesion of the digital camera, so don't get your hopes for exciting woodchuck imagery, but if one wanders close enough, perhaps I'll take a cell pic.

This particular class I'm enrolled in is focused on my job, so thus far it isn't too painful. The blanket no-beer rule, however, sucks the big one. Guess you can't win 'em all - if you get (mildly) useful content, you apparently don't get quality military recreation.

However, it seems the internet is not a physical impossibility, although it is a bit of a trudge. It does require operating off of battery power, which means I will soon have to brave the woodchuck-infested hike back to the barracks.

[sigh]

I love this job.

Check this out!

I wish I could claim credit for this guy, but ran across a link over at Blackfive today. In case any of you didn't catch it, you need to trot over and check out Daniel's Big Trip.

His blog is all on one page, so I recommend you get a cup of coffee and start at the bottom. Here's a "mission statement" type blurb from his first post:

I've decided that since I gave 11.5 years of my life to this country, and even lost body parts fighting for it, I want to SEE it, and the people who live in it. My plan is to drive basically a big circle around the USA from TN to Maine, then Oregon, down Cali and off to Key West. I have a beat up 1984 Suburban I've been preparing for the trip, and my plan is to live in it, along with my mildly retarded Boxer. I hope to see a lot of sites, stay off the interstates, and meet a lot of interesting people along the way…

The coolest thing about this gentleman and his blog is that although he got hurt pretty badly, and the wounds have obviously changed the course of his life, you will find that you are not reading a pity blog. After about two posts, I was so caught up in the Suburban, the trip and the boxer that I was in far more danger of spitting coffee all over my keyboard and shorting it out in a fit of laughter than I was of choking up.

It's very good. And the boxer? The boxer is adorable.

Blaaaah

I have to take off tomorrow and do another Army thing. This one will be a location that sounds like...Tort Licks.

I'm trying to pack, but wow - am I ever lacking in enthusiasm for the process. I've been at it a while, and my progress is less than stellar.



Yeah, that's two pairs of underwear and a hat.

I'm actually pretty thrilled to have gotten a seat in the class I'm attending, and it shouldn't be anywhere near as awful as the last one. But wow - I do not want to make piles of stuff, check that stuff off a list, then cram that stuff into bags.

Alright. The time has come to stop whining. I'm off to pack!

It's not ALL fun and games

when Dad has a prior engagement and Abby is in charge of dinner for the team.



They picked in reverse-seniority order, so we'll see how this goes. If nothing else, it should be educational. Or at least, funny.

Corrupting the youth!

Yep! That's me. Number Two Son and I packed up an armload-o-rifles and headed off to the range.

First, we set him up on my uber-tacticool Plainfield carbine.



The red dot scope seemed to work out pretty well for him.



Two out, three right in there. He was pleased, and thus, so was I.

Being a good adult, I did manage to let him shoot first before breaking out the new (old) carbine.



I know, I know. The sling is in the mail, since the one I had on hand is on the Inland. Obviously, I found the trigger spring.



A little high at 50, but I was pleased with the grouping, and the rifle ran like a clock. I am a very happy camper.

And, finally, one more. Because I am just so darn proud.



That is the young man, adjusting his firing position with my AR. And yes - that is his finger - straight and off the trigger.

Random news roundup!

First off, in the way of Things That Are Bad But Are Really Good News, we have: Surgeons: Man's 'Tumor' Turned Out to Be 25-Year-Old Towel

Surgeons in Japan thought they were removing a tumor from a 49-year-old man who was suffering from abdominal pain in late May.

Instead, they found a 25-year-old surgical towel that had crumpled into what looked like a softball-shaped tumor, Agence France-Presse reported.

Well, nobody likes to find out they've had a towel in their guts for 25 years, but if you're having a tumor removed, I think the relief would be almost enough to force the thought of a lawsuit out of your mind.

And in Big Brother Is Watching news, we have: Researchers Secretly Tracked 100,000 Cell Users Outside U.S. for Six Months

Researchers used cell-phone towers to track individuals' locations whenever they made or received phone calls and text messages over six months.

In a second set of records, researchers took another 206 cell phones that had tracking devices in them and got records for their locations every two hours over a week's time period.

The study was based on cell phone records from a private company, whose name also was not disclosed.

I guess the moral of the story here is, if you're headed toward the Mexican border with all possible speed and The Man on your tail...pull that little card out of the back of your phone, or, better yet, yank the battery out and chuck the whole thing into a ditch.

And, finally, in Why Paying Attention in Science Class is Important news, we have: Thieves take Jesus statue from church cross

DETROIT, Michigan (AP) -- Thieves who stole an 8-foot statue of Jesus Christ off a crucifix in Detroit may have been seeking copper to sell as scrap. Problem is, it's made of plaster.

The Rev. Barry Randolph said Wednesday that the statue at the Church of the Messiah is green and looks like copper...

[sigh]

Let's hear it for Michigan's public schools, hey?

Huh.

So Sen. Obama has clinched the nomination.

Which tells us all about our choices in November.

I have to admit, from a strictly chick perspective, I'm annoyed to see Sen. Clinton lose to someone I think might be a lightweight.

(Seriously - I recognize that a lot of my readers are probably older white protestant dudes who dig guns, but for a second, try to put yourself in my shoes)

I only wish that our first viable female candidate had been someone I was more politically aligned with.

And I have to wonder - and there's no way to know until the dust settles in November - if the Democrats overplayed the equality hand and made a bad choice.

I heard the talking heads yap earlier about how Senators McCain and Obama are at odds on nearly every issue, from health care to immigration to Iraq. They remarked that this election will really be between two very different directions for this country. I wonder which of the two we will choose.

We all know where we stand, but I think curiosity about where everyone else stands is very natural. I think this election may allow us to see some of that.

Stepmom of the year

Since we have 14 year old boys here, we have throwing stars. And throwing knives. All the good stuff. Trouble is, they throw these things at the fence. Fences being made of wood, and the boys not quite being ninjas, the knives and throwing stars bounce back.

This, it seemed to me, was a laceration waiting to happen. A laceration that would, without a doubt, be timed so as to interfere with either my obsessive watching of CNN, my beer drinking, or both.

And that cannot be allowed to happen.

So Girl Child and I went to the range and shot up half of the .22lr in north Texas. We also purchased a couple of extra targets. Then we stopped at Home Despot and picked up some foam board, which we proceeded to hack apart in the parking lot so it would fit in El Jeepo.

Brought it home, added some thumbtacks, and...voila!



Number Two Son discovers that these throwing stars work much better when throw them at something they'll stick in.

(A note - the monikers "Number One Son" and "Number Two Son" infer no preference or order of merit. It's a seniority issue. Number One Son is eight minutes older than Number Two.)

Note to self:

That little spring in the back of the trigger housing on my M1 carbine? (consults book - that would be the trigger spring) It does come out. But when it comes out, it comes out with a sense of urgency.

[sigh]

Now I have to crawl around the armory/library looking for one of the few small carbine parts for which there is no "spare" in my toolbox.

[grumble grumble]

This would be easier if my "gun futzing" area didn't look like a junkyard for old military weapons parts. I have the other M1 carbine in larger pieces so I can compare, and I was swapping springs and stuff on 1911s yesterday, so the whole space is littered with springs, nasty q-tips, and befouled pipe cleaners.

The last full measure of devotion (updates below)

The President just, in a short ceremony, presented the Medal of Honor to the parents of a fallen soldier.

SPC Ross McGinnis laid it all down 4 Dec 06, when he threw himself on a grenade in a Humvee in Baghdad.

He was a Private First Class then, and 19 years old. There are four men alive today because of the choice one young soldier made, in a split second that probably stretched forever.

It seems, from the news article, that McGinnis was not cut out to be a student. He struggled in school, within walls, behind a desk. But in the end, he found a place where he belonged. His father saw it.

“He was more reserved and more confident and seemed to stand a lot taller, although he didn’t grow any while he was in the Army,” his father said. “He was a man. Unfortunately, we never really got to know him as a man. He was a child when he left, he got to visit with us a couple times, then he was gone.”

I cannot imagine the courage, devotion and outright love it took for that young man, in that second that lasts forever, to decide to lay down all the years, days and moments that he had left, so that the other men in the vehicle could have all of their remaining years, days and moments. Trying put oneself into McGinnis' boots at that second makes one feel very small. And very, very thankful.

I know, in a the detached way that we all know these things, that his parents are crushed. I'm certain they are proud, but all the pride in the world can't make up for an empty seat at the table on Thanksgiving. But at the very moments his family looks at the empty table every years and the grief threatens to pull them under, I hope they look at the Medal on the mantel and realize that somewhere, there are four other families who look at a man at their table, and whose gratitude is the only thing in the world equal to the grief of the McGinnis family.



Men do not fight for flag or country, for...glory or any other abstraction. They fight for one another.
-William Manchester, Goodbye Darkness

Child to the rescue!

We had a little emergency tonight. Yes - 'twas a toad.

Those of you who've been around for a while might remember last year's toad fiasco. The toads have returned.

I shoved the dogs in the house and relocated one last week. In thanks for my efforts, it peed on me. Toads, if you're not aware, can pee a lot.

So when I found one lurking outside tonight, I shoved the dogs inside and began complaining about the toad. At which point, I realized how useful it can be to have 14 year-old boys around.

Number One Son volunteered to move the toad to the front yard.



How fabulously useful is that?

Happy Dance!

Let's get this out of the way right up front - that whole FedEx delivery guaranteed by 1030 line is bull. The Big White Truck of Happiness showed up around 1130. But...whatever.

I had to put it in a chair and look at it for a moment.



Fortunately, there are kids here who bring a little normalcy to the house - otherwise I'd probably still be gazing at the box. "C'Mon, Abby," they said. "Stop being weird and open it."



The first thing we must do is look past the godawful M2 birch stock. There's a reason I keep spare M1 stocks in the garage, and this is it. So let's look more closely at the rifle itself, shall we?



That's gorgeous. The barrel is an Underwood 11-43, which seems to make it possible it's the original. The bore is bright and clean, the moving parts show almost zero wear. Although the dates make it likely the rifle saw considerable service, it looks like it may have skated through its time in US service, and in Italy's being assigned as the weapon of someone who didn't go outside.

And getting an office-dweller's weapon, if you ask me, is awesome.

I slapped some BLO on my extra M1 stock and put it all together. I will tear the bolt apart and clean it up (it's the only really grungy looking bit), and we should be good to go for some range time this week.

So. Here we are.

The Mister braved the fury that is Cranky Sleeping Abby and prodded me awake around 0640 (with an old fishing rod, from a safe distance, while crouching behind a dresser).

FedEx hasn't yet seemed to screw up my carbine's progress - at least not so that I can tell from the tracking info.

I have coffee, CNN, and I am officially waiting.

I am supported in this effort by Casey, who's sacked out on the floor next to me. Sparky and Jack are nowhere to be found, and I suspect - scratch that - I have confirmed - that they are racked out with children.

To my amusment, Sparky is curled up with Girl Child on the big bed. The boys share a room, in which they each have a little bed. Jack is, of course, stretched out on one of those.

Nice weekend

With lots of pool time, a little yard work, etc etc.

I tried to go to bed last night, only to discover this on my pillow:



[sigh] The stench isn't the worst part. The worst part is the indignant looks I'm subjected to for snapping a picture and disturbing his sleep.



And, yes. He stayed in the same spot all night long.

"Why are you laying on me," asked Mr. Abby?

Yorkie, I replied.

He nodded, scooted over, and the two of us divided the share of the bed that wasn't occupied by eight pounds of cranky little dog.

Yipee!

Look what's coming to Bad Dog Central!!!



(that'd be the M1 carbine)

Monday, by 1030. I think perhaps I shall get up with the Mister and sit in a lawn chair in the front yard, drinking coffee and waiting on the Big White Truck of Joy.

I say again...

I knew this town was evil when I was there.

BAGHDAD – Coalition forces captured a key suspected Special Groups financier May 28 in Mahmudiyah, about 15 km south of Baghdad.

Intelligence sources led Coalition forces to the residence of the individual believed to be a key Special Groups financier. He is suspected to be the primary financier between Iranian intelligence elements and Special Groups criminals in Mahmudiyah and southern Baghdad and was reportedly distributing funds to weapons smugglers supplying criminals in those areas.

Every so often some little piece of info will trickle out that makes me really happy to have gotten out of there in one piece.

I do remember a few good guys down there - hopefully a few will still be around once all the rats have been rooted out. The region from Mahmudiyah west to the Euphrates is the last thing you'd expect to see in Iraq - green and fertile farmland. It would be nice to see that producing for the whole of Iraq, and not merely serving as tall grass for evil bastards to lurk in.

Hovering ain't natural

and that has bene proved yet again by a helicopter crash on a hospital roof.

Fortunately, it appears from local news reports that there were no deaths, and only minor injuries for the two folks onboard during the training evolution.

I love a good helicopter ride, but they do seem a little bit complicated and prone to fall out of the sky.

This caught my eye because it was in downtown Grand Rapids. Fortunately, not at the hospital where Mom works in the emergency room, however.

Her hospital is getting the overflow. Heh. She's got a couple of days off, so I know one ER nurse who is most likely not answering her phone today.

WTF is THIS???

Calling all my people out there who might know anything about Texas lawn pestilence! I noticed this...weird crap this morning.



I fear a fungus. It looks like...ash or something similar. And there are several spots of it around the front. Just the front, of course. Not the back or the sides where we have some sort of "undesirable" (but much more hardy) grass.



Any ideas out there? What might it be? What will it do? Should I just treat the entire front lawn with diesel fuel now, burn it to the dirt and lay down astroturf?

Cheese for morons

I loves me some cheese, so I picked up a package of pre-sliced swiss at the store the other day.



This was pretty good cheese. Nice flavor, nice texture. A great sitting-around-munching-on-cheese choice. I was doing just that when I flipped the package over and perused the text on the back.

At which point I realized that apparently, some people need serious instructions to execute even the simplest tasks. Check this out, for those of us who cannot figure out how to open a package of cheese...



I was going to comment on the number of non-english speakers who might still struggle through this process, due to the one-language instructions, but then I realized that even folks who speak strange sub-Saharan dialects could probably work from the pictures.

It was nice to know that the good folks at Kroger are committed to helping even the very confused access cheese. But what about post-access? What if you used the pictures, got the cheese open, ate some, and then became confused?

What of this extra cheese, you might wonder?

Relax. Kroger got you covered, with a little block of helpful text I like to call "concept of bag."



I think that's readable, but if it's not, here you go:

This recloseale package is a convenient way to store unused cheese. For best quality keep refrigerated and use within 3 to 5 days after opening.

This is good info, because I cannot count the times I have dumped unused cheese into the dryer, left it there for a week, then been disappointed in the quality when I wanted to finish it off.

Plotting...

For the week ahead. If I was a better adult, I'd have this figured out so that the kids did all the housework while I hung out at the range. In fact, a couple of years ago, I could have gotten away with that. Now, though, they're smarter, and they'll probably catch me sneaking out the door with my Black Bag O' Joy.

Hmmm....

In other news, we have business days again, so I'm back to constantly checking to see if the CMP rifle has shipped.