Product Endorsement!

OK - this is a weird one, and it doesn't involve any dog pictures, so you may want to skip it. Unless you're into the internet and live in the middle of nowhere.

There was a post over Christmas about a new type of connectivity up at Bad Dogs (North).

Abby's Mom and Dad live in the boondocks. Now, I don't mean the total, like charter-a-seaplane-to-get-in boondocks, but from the internet connection options, you'd almost think so.

Mom's been using dial-up (Dad does not use the internet) for years now. And, as most of you know, dial-up had just sucked in comparison to the other options out there for quite some time.

And Abby's Mom wanted Real Internet. She wanted to be able to view photos larger than 50k without a ten-minute wait. She'd heard something about these "internet videos" and thought they might be interesting. Mostly, being Abby's Mom, she wanted to be able to rapidly switch between travel sites to find the best deal on plane tickets OUT of the boondocks.

But she was thwarted at every turn. DSL from the phone company? "We're sorry, ma'am, but that's just not available in your area, and won't be anytime soon." Cable internet? Ha! Like there are cables out there?

How about the satellite TV provider? Umm..sorry, not in that location. She thought she had a good lead on a different satellite access system, but alas, the boondocks have oak trees, and they are such healthy oak trees that apparently they block out the line of sight to outer space. Or some such idiocy. It wouldn't work, the technician gently explained, before he drove away.

Abby's Mom was pissed. Highly. By the time Mr. Abby and I made it there for Christmas, she was eyeing Dad's chainsaws and thinking of solving oak tree problem. Dad was quietly pulling me aside and asking if there was anything that could be done "to get that damn internet or whatever in here," since he was starting to get vibes that she might burn the house down and insist on moving somewhere with FIOS.

So we scratched our heads. Then saw it on TV. Sprint/Nextel offered some sort of magic "card" that, when attached to a "computer" would enable the user to get to "the internet" through the magic of something related to cell phones.

So we called them. Well, they had card and some internets, but...(come on, say it with me)...it wouldn't work in the boondocks.

However...Mom has an Alltel phone...so we called Alltel...and then Mom and I went to the Alltel store...

And a week later, after Mr. Abby upgraded her RAM, installed Windows XP instead of Windows Boondocks and added a new graphics card...and after we found a magic adapter so you could plug a PCMCIA broadband card into a desktop expansion slot...we had VICTORY!!!

It's not quite FIOS fast, but it IS a huge step up from dial-up. And it's really not too expensive, when you compare it to a second, dedicated phone line and dial-up subscription. It's a WAY better deal than the satellite providers.

Props to Alltel. If YOU live in the boondocks and want to escape dial-up, it's worth a shot.

Why yes...

that IS a flower pot on my dog's head.

WHAAAT???? We're poor, yo.

And I'm a tree hugger. So we saved money AND recycled.

Some day I'll tell you how, using only duct tape and 550 cord, you can turn old uniform Tshirts into new underpants for the man in your life.

Woe is Dog...Dog is Woe...

Well, here's one I haven't had to do before. Casey developed a "hot spot" on her tail while we were at Bad Dogs (North). This was treated successfully w/ Benadryl and cornstarch. However, when we got back, she began working one up on the left side of her back.

It's been getting worse, and today it finally showed itself - a large patch of raw, hot, apparently itchy as HELL skin. And of course, being a Bad Dog, she was licking it wildly, in the futile Dog Hope that licking would fix the problem.

I brushed the hell out of her. Then, when Mr. Abby got home, we bathed her with special anti-itch/anti-skin bacteria shampoo. Then we cornstarched the spot. And she immediately licked it off. That was okay, since I'd forgotten the peroxide. So I rewashed the affected area, then peroxided it.

Meanwhile, Mr. Abby was at work on the licky-collar. Which she's wearing now, along with a healthy dose of foot powder on the area. We shall see...

She doesn't appear to be able to lick it. She does, however, apppear highly pissed at us.

Ah, shit...

Bad news from Baghdad.

We know the surviving Airman. His wife (also an Air Force NCO) worked with Mr. Abby here in Tampa. I met her husband a couple of times when he came down to visit. He's a very good guy - an EOD tech with a ton of experience. A true, dedicated professional. When I met him, he was working in a R&D type capacity here in the States. Even before he returned to actual EOD field work, he's probably done as much as anyone to keep our folks in the Sandbox alive, by learning how to better handle and mitigate the goddam bombs.

Anyway, he's headed to Germany and, depending on how long he's going to stay there, his wife may or may not join him. They currently live in the DC area and if he heads to Walter Reed, she'll be there. I'll refrain from over-sharing someone else's personal business, but it does look as though he will recover.

I didn't know any of Bill's teammates, but our condolences go out to their families and friends.

If you feel the need, Soldiers' Angels is a fabulous organization that cares for our wounded from the moment they hit the ground in Germany until they're discharged from stateside hospitals. I invite you to give till it hurts - our men and women certainly have.

Since you asked...

Yes, Sparky DID receive a haircut after we returned to the Humid Bog that is FLORIDA.



Fortunately, hair grows BACK. I have GOT to get a job...

Open letter to my MOM

Dear Mom,

Thank you very much for hosting the entire Pack for a fabulous Christmas. Thank you especially for all the thoughtful gifts. About one of those gifts, though... I deeply appreciate that you thought of Sparky and his passion for squeaky toys. I also appreciate that you took the time and expended the effort to find the Orange Dude.
Sparky ALSO enjoys the Orange Dude. In fact, he enjoys it for several hours a day. Normally in the evening when we're both home and trying to watch the news, but often later in the evening when we're trying to eat dinner and chat.

His enjoyment of the Orange Dude is, in fact, so extreme that when we try to TEMPORARILY take it away from him, he yaps and paws at us hysterically. Sometimes he brings Orange Dude to bed, which can be...well, either awkward or amusing, depending on the specific evening.

Did you know that Orange Dude is totally indestructible? No matter how vigorously it's chewed, even if it's passed off to CASEY for some chewing, it JUST KEEPS SQUEAKING.

So, in short, Mom - thank you for the Orange Dude. In response to your thoughtful selection of this toy, I'm already shopping for some Squeaky Slippers that you can wear around the house to amuse Sarge.



Your loving daughter,

Abby

Ahhh...self esteem boost

You know what makes me feel good about myself? Going to the laundromat. For those of you who are still unaware, the Crackhouse does NOT feature laundry facilities. Or even the possibility of such facilities.

So every ten days or so, it's off to the laundromat I go. It's normally an annoying and expensive experience, but it DOES make me glad to be me. For instance:

A - the laundromat makes me feel THIN. Ever observe the normal patrons of your local laundromat?

B - the laundromat makes me feel as though I've made GOOD LIFE CHOICES. That is, I'm not surrounded by squalling brats clutching fast food packages. Further, I'm not surrounded by a pack of squalling brats, EACH OF WHOM LOOKS JUST DIFFERENT ENOUGH that you know that if they all belong to the same woman, they also all belong to different men.

C - the laundromat makes me feel FINANCIALLY SUCCESSFUL. Yeah - I know, it's a stretch but observe:
1. I have actual laundry bags. True, they're Army issue, but at least I'm not toting our dirty clothes in plastic Publix bags.
2. I drive to the laundromat. Nothing more depressing than someone who rides up on a bicycle with the plastic bags on the handlebars.

So, although normally I'm not into inflating MY self-image at the expense of others, the laundromat reminds me that even though I feel that this stage of my life is the "impoverished, white-trash, living under a freeway overpass" stage, it COULD be worse.

You might be an old NCO if...

you're cleaning out your closet and decide to throw away several of the many pairs of combat boots.

But FIRST, you remove the laces and tuck them away in the "gear bin," just in case.

Because, you know, it's so hard to find boot laces here in the USA.

Favorite quote from Christmas

Just for any of you out there who don't know me, I am NOT the Queen of Fashion. Not even close. However, having the Bad Pups around this Christmas forced me to ennunciate something that I think we can ALL agree is a Basic Rule of Fashion.

"If you wore it squirrel hunting this morning, it is NOT acceptable for Christmas Eve!"

Keeping that one basic rule in mind will probably stand us all well in the long run.

Random cool shit

So all the Bad Dog Faithful out there know I have a little...thing for firearms. Most of you also know I have a thing for cool containers and kits. I own an Otter Box, for god's sake. And a Pelican case.

Recently I've noticed an incredibly cool trend of firearms coming from the manufacturers as part of a "kit." This trend seems to include cool packaging. I first ran across this from Smith and Wesson...



How cool is THAT??? Now, to be reasonable, I cannot imagine EVER buying a S&W 500 - it's an insane firearm for anything other than big game hunting - and I can't imagine why ANYONE would buy one with a 2.75-inch barrel. Ouch. Further, after some reading about bear attacks, I'm not really convinced I'm going to shoot my way out of the jaws of a grizzly. However, if you're paranoid, or wealthy enough to spend $1,399 on something that amuses you, well, then, this is IT.

Then today I found THIS, from Mossberg...


Again - wouldn't buy one. 12 gauge shotguns aren't my thing.
Pistol grip shotguns are also not my thing. But for the truly paranoid, this ROCKS. The blued version comes in the OD tube and includes a "Survival in Can" kit. The stainless one comes with sort of folding knife/mulitool in a velcro pouch. I assume the tubes float. I don't see a price on this puppy, but I'd guess at an MSRP around $699.

This trend is fabulous. One of my biggest gripes when I buy a new pistol is the lack of cool packaging. Just a crappy little plastic box with a gun-shaped cutout. I'd get better boxes if I bought cigars. It's a little disappointing when you spend hundreds of bucks on a new toy to not even get a cool Pelican-style case. Maybe it's coming...

Home again...

much to our chagrin, the Bad Dogs and I have returned to Tampa (we brought Mr. Abby home, too). A wonderful Christmas up north.

Tampa is, of course, hot and damp and generally foul. More to follow, but it's New Year's Eve and I have beer to drink.

Merry Christmas from the family!

TEAMWORK is the key to a successful Christmas celebration!



First, Casey must PATROL the Christmas area, ensuring a fire is burning for proper ambience, and securing the living room from roving bands of dog treats.



THEN, Sparky must MODEL his Christmas neckwear, while at the same time warming the legs of one of the Bad Pups (the Bad Dog stepkids).



Finally, all Christmas chew toys must be LICKED into shape. An aside, what Abby learned this Christmas: If the BOXER receives a squeaky moose puppet, it's a BAD IDEA to put the puppet on one's hand, then SQUEAK it. Good way to get one's hand CHOMPED by said boxer.

Oh well. Merry Christmas to all the Bad Dog Faithful! Bonus points for you if you know the song from which the title of this post came!

So sorry...

for the lack of posting recently. We're up at Bad Dogs (North), with the stepkids, having a grand old time. Abby's Mom is progressing with her Full Frontal Assault on breast cancer, and is handling her chemo very well (she's had one round).

Also, posting has been impeded by....well, a picture would describe this best.



See? How can I be expected to work under these conditions?

Testing...

testing...ahem...one...two...three...

we're trying a new connection service from Bad Dogs (North). Real updates to follow shortly. Please stay tuned.

Like having my teeth pulled

...with a Gerber.

Anyway, we're headed north tomorrow, so Sparky helped me try to do some wrapping tonight.



I'm not totally paranoid, but while I don't work too hard to keep my identity SUPER SECRET, I would rather not be excessively identifiable to strangers on the internet. There ARE weirdos out there. Plus, what with my occasional calls for extreme violence in various directions, I'd like to avoid any fatwas.

What you DON'T see in this picture is Mr. Abby doing the lion's share of the wrapping on the other side of the rug. He's better at it than I am.

Notes to Iraq Study Group

Well, this little group came out with a very nice list of recommendations the other day. I read over the report online. Nice summary of how things are going over there. Beyond that, well...

There are just a couple of things I'd point out. Maybe any interested parties could print these out and occasionally refer to them while reading the ISG report.

1 - Iran is not a partner for peace. Iran kills US soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines. If they could kill Coast Guardsmen, they would. It doesn't seem to violate any classification to say that we KNOW that Iran is responsible for a particularly nasty variety of weapon that was developed STRICTLY to kill American servicemembers. And it does. It has. SGTs Reali and Willey. Among many many others. We do not "partner" with countries that take an active, cheery interest in killing our soldiers.

2 - Syria = Hezbollah. They are not "partners for peace" either.

3 - In no way, shape or form does this group have any right to insist Israel comprimise its security to help us weasel out of Iraq.

Check it out - if this group's definition of success involves pleasing Syria, Iran and Hezbollah, as well as requiring the only reasonably civilized nation in the region to roll over and expose its belly, is theirs a definition of "victory" we really want?

(hint - if answering the above requires any thought at all, you should immediately jab a fork into your hand. Repeat until you're thinking more clearly)

Christmas Gifts

We've established already that I love Christmas. I hate the stupid song, but love the holiday.

But we like to focus on things I hate here, so let's do that. I hate Christmas gifts. I hate Christmas gift shopping. Now, I'm sure this is because I'm not very good at it. I have family members who spend all year picking up the most wonderful things. I, on the other hand, have no idea what anybody ever really wants unless they tell me.

It's not bad with some folks. I get the list, select an item or two, then purchase. But it still gets bad.

See, even if I manage to FIND a gift that seems like something someone will want/use, I then have to WRAP it. Does anybody remember my post on trying to make a shipping box? Yeah - gift wrapping is a similar total meltdown. I did a couple of easy ones today. Of course, I spent half the time trying to chase the dogs off the wrapping paper, a quarter of the time unwrapping the tape tangled around my fingers, and the remaining fourth trying to remember where I set the scissors. Then I spent five minutes picking G. Shep hair off the packages.

And these were the nice, normal boxes. I have one object that I can tell is going to reduce me to whimpering on the floor and swigging gin.

THEN it got worse. Because my entire family is certifiably nuts, we do tend to do Dog Gifts.

I told you Santa Claws has something stashed away already for the Sparkster, but I had a bag from PetSmart that came in with a couple of others. Stupid me, I set the bags DOWN on the couch while I did a couple of just-walked-in things. Only to turn around to see BOTH of the Bad Dogs expressing ACUTE interest in it.

Which led to more yelling and cursing. Because Bad Dogs do not UNDERSTAND the concept of delayed gratification, or holidays.

So although I'm wildly looking forward to this Christmas, I can't wait to be done with the gifts. I like giving them, and I like getting stuff (who doesn't), but the logistics make me crazy.

So if you'll excuse me, I have to go try to wrap a squeaker toy. Silently.

Water Heater

OK. I sensed a little disbelief on my earlier rant. So here it is. I did some cropping to minimize the total number of coffee drips visible. Yes - it's UNDER MY COUNTER.



Didn't know they made these, did you?

SO MUCH HATE

There are no words for my rage. And I can swear with the best of 'em.

Have I told you about my water heater? My....(wow - I think I could run together a string of four-letter words to serve as an adjective, but it would be a LONG string)...miniature water heater???

My water heater that makes it PHYSICALLY FREAKING IMPOSSIBLE to wash my body AND shave my legs? Oh, who the hell am I kidding. I can't wash and condition my hair unless I want to skip soaping my torso and washing my face. I got my hair washed, armpits shaved and started reaching for the body wash today when - ZAP! - COLD WATER!!!

That just ain't right.

Oh, stop. Spare me. I don't give a rat's ass if YOU don't mind cold showers. And I do not give a SHIT if people all over the world lack indoor plumbing. I just don't care. I am an American. I am an adult. I file respectable tax returns. There is NO REASON for me to have a shitful, three-gallon water heater.

You might not understand how this impacts one's life. But think about it. EVERY SINGLE DAY I run out of even lukewarm water before I can complete my shower routine. Now, true, in a perfect world, I DO like a nice, long, hot shower. But these days I can't get FIVE DAMN MINUTES.

So this means that EVERY SINGLE DAY I have a bad experience that pisses me off. I haven't shaved my legs in like four days. I won't until I can
A) schedule an additional shower where I otherwise require no washing
B) shower somewhere else

That would be the gym. And how ridiculous is it that I have to plan to shower at the gym if I want to wash my hair and shave my legs?

And yes - I blame Mr. Abby for this. We wouldn't be in Tampa, in this weird-ass financial position, in this evil stupid ratbastard CRACKHOUSE if it weren't for him. I TRY not to hold it against him, but I pointed out that I fully intend to have this situation rectified this summer. If he can't get orders and get us somewhere acceptable where we can improve on the housing situation, well, I'll move into a goddam state campground somewhere. At least they have HOT WATER.

AAAAGH!!!!!!! So. Damn. Angry.

OK - now that I've vented about that, I have things to do. I think I'll kick Sparky, just to vent that last little bit of "irate."

Shooting out the speakers

I've mentioned before that I've spent some Christmases far away from home. All of them were at the hands of the military. And all but one of them (the first one, Parris Island, '96) was made even worse by AAFES (that is, the Army and Air Force Exchange Service).

I was 19 and stationed on Okinawa the first time I encountered this horror. I was living on Camp Hansen on the empty northern part of the island. One day I wandered into the exchange about a month or so before Christmas. I was feeling okay about the whole thing. Away from home, yeah, but I was in Christmas denial - I wasn't there, so it wasn't happening.

Then, from above, as I wandered the aisles of knives, cigarettes and black Tshirts, I heard it...
I'll be home for Christmas,
You can count on me.
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree.
Christmas Eve will find me,
Where the love light gleams.
I'll be home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.
Christmas Eve will find me,
Where the love light gleams.
I'll be home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.


Oh Jesus. I'd been doing well up to THAT point. Now I was choking back a lump in my throat, and glancing around, I noticed a zillion other young Marines doing the same thing.

I had the same experience the next year, when I was in the same place trying to get orders off the island. That year, I'd hoped to make it home for Christmas, but it didn't happen. And Bing Crosby made every trip to the exchange an excruciating reminder of what I was missing.

After that, I hated the song. Even if I WAS headed home, it reminded me of all the times I wasn't, and of all the folks who, for one reason or another, weren't where they wanted to be either.

And it went over the top last year. December was a month of death and horror and fear where I was. Things were bad and getting worse, we'd gotten hammered on Thanksgiving and the roads were blowing up regularly. It seemed as though we were sending soldiers from our manuever unit home in bags every day.

On Christmas Eve, we ran a road that was getting to be a nightmare in order to pick up some of our soldiers and take them on a shopping trip to Camp Liberty. Christmas was going to suck, but we figured we'd do a run to the nice PX so everybody could buy Spam and a new CD or something. Eat a real meal with non-stale bread. Have fruit. And ice cream.

We picked up our team, braved the same Hell Road going out, then shot up to Liberty. We pulled down the guns, shucked our armor and helmets and wandered into the Big PX. It was nice. This was the most relaxed we got during our year there. Wandering the aisles, grabbing a box of CheezIt, and some cans of root beer, I heard it again.
I'll be home for Christmas,
You can count on me.
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree.
Christmas Eve will find me,
Where the love light gleams.
I'll be home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.

I could've spit. No - I wouldn't be home for Christmas. Not even close. As it turned out, I'd have a crummy Christmas in the extreme, but I definitely was NOT going to be home, and I did NOT need Bing reminding me about that. Armed to the teeth, I was tempted to pop off a couple of rounds at the speaker. Or whoever had decided to play Bing Crosby.

Asshole.

Anyway, I switch radio stations when that one comes on. Talking to Mom today, I discovered that she refers to last year as the year she'd stalk out of a store if they played it.

Come on - that song doesn't make ANYONE happy. It sucks and it makes people sad. It makes even HAPPY people sad. It should be purged from music libraries, banned from radio stations, and Bing Crosby should be dug up and beaten.