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...