I still don't get it

I've been watching the primary returns for a few hours now. Well, except for about an hour after supper when I was asleep with an attractive man and a yorkie on the couch. But I don't believe I missed much.

I'm not really understanding where this process is heading. It looks, whenever the numbers are broken down by county and occupation and income level, etc, that Sen. Obama is winning hardcore democrats and black folks, and Sen. Clinton is winning centrist democrats and older people.

This runs me straight into what's always been my problem with the primary system - the people picking the party's nominee are the sort of people who bother to register with a party affiliation. And they may end up picking a candidate who best represents the textbook party values, but I don't know they end up picking a candidate most appealing to the entire electorate. And ultimately, that is the point.

So it looks to me like the democrats are on their way to nominating Sen. Obama, but I can really see the other argument - that he's not winning in the places and ways that the democratic candidate will have to win in November to carry the general election.

As I've said before, I'm inclined to like Sen. McCain, and so this is academic right now. I'm also apparently immune to the Obama magic, so I really don't get the wild-eyed college students. It simply seems to me that we're letting a weird primary system enable fuzzy idealists to nominate someone who has no business vying to head our government, and who is not going to do well this fall.

Stormy mornings are the best

Rain and thunder makes a nice backdrop for staying in bed extra-long, enjoying that "I'm not really awake" feeling.

However, all three dogs are nervous and Sparky has developed the phenomenally irritating habit of barking at thunder.

I really don't want to do anything, but alas, that's not an option today. Primary returns to watch on the TV tonight, so that gives me something to look forward to. Add beer, and televised politics are almost as much fun as a good baseball game.

Housekeeping, etc

Tonight, for y'all, I've got a couple of neat blogs that commentor Peggy has pointed out to me (she runs a good site herself, by-the-by).

First we have two of our favorite things, Marines and dogs, all wrapped up in wonderful package over at K9 Pride. This, folks, is a really neat site and some good insight into the world of the military working dog and its person. Drop by and encourage (now recovering from the Corps) Sgt. Dowling to keep up the good work.

Peggy also pointed us toward Lt. Nixon's Rants. That would be the real officer sort of lieutenant (Navy O3), not the laughable butter bar sort. The LT is one of those Squids in da Sandbox, and he's putting out some throughtful copy during his tour. Drop by and check him out.

We also have The Lonestar Gal, who, for some odd reason, seems to be really looking forward to moving to Texas. Well, actually, she's coming from Ohio, so she's going to moving up in the world. Anyway, she's a thoughtful one, and the recent posts on the story of her life are not to be missed.

As always, I shall continue to wander through comments and try to share neat sites with you.

Begging off

I've got some cool blogs to point out that I've been clued into over the last couple of weeks, and some other admin type stuff.

However, I'm just flat wore the heck out tonight, and so I'm going to beg some indulgence and try to get that stuff taken care of tomorrow. I am playing Army for a couple more days, but it's normal-hours administrative stuff, so I'm actually going to get to sleep well past 0530 and get home at a decent time.

The highlight of the day? A toss-up between serving as NCOIC of Cake and doing body-fat tapings. I think the cake thing would make a great efficiency report bullet.

It's not just a job,

it's a job that is amazing at screwing up my weekends.

When a battalion-wide, nobody-leaves-till-everyone-pees piss test was annouced shortly after 1800, it was not a cheerful moment. I got home only moments ago.

Worst part was, the hour or so spent waiting on the few people who were having some sort of issue with producing the appropriate amount of urine. Made me want to rip their kidneys from their bodies and wring out the required 30ml.

And in other thrilling news...

When I fired up my email here at the airport (let's hear it for the Columbia, SC airport and its free wireless!), guess what showed up in my inbox?

We have received and verified your recent order. There is nothing that we will be able to tell you about the order until we have input all orders received ahead of yours into the system. Your order will now advance to our sales area and from there to our shipping area. Please note, that unless otherwise listed, our order to ship time is 30 days. You will receive other emails as the order progresses

.
From my buddies at the Civilian Marksmanship Program.

[insert Happy Dance here]

Now, the only thing is, until they process my order and I see some details, I don't know which carbine I got. There were only 540 Saginaw S'G' service grades available, so I asked for one of those or a Saginaw S'G rack grade or a Saginaw service grade. Any would make me happy, but I am curious.

Just so long as I was clear and only end up with one. Funding one carbine is tolerated, but funding three might mean I'd have to sleep in the back yard.

FREEEEDOM!!!!

With one final, drawn-out, tiresome ceremony, my class ended this morning. Of course, yesterday night being the last night at a military class, many cheap beers were consumed.

The only thing more irritating than sitting through a drawn-out tiresome ceremony is doing it hungover. Ugh. You think we'd all learn that, but it seems to be one of those lessons that doesn't take.

Now I'm sitting back at the airport waiting on the flight home. It's a drill weekend, so I don't get to toss the boots into the closet quite yet, but I am looking forward to not sharing a bathroom with strangers again for a while.

Three days more

til Revolution, we shall nip it in the bud...

Sorry, getting my Army crap mixed up with Les Miserables. Anyway, it's three days more, and then there won't be a revolution, but I will get to leave. Which will be nice, because this course is like one long bad joke.

Question: What is the effect of a nuclear blast on communications equipment?
Answer: Adverse

No - I don't really get it either. But for some reason, being here for two weeks is career-enhancing. Ugh.

The other thing I've learned is that some of us might think it was really simple if we had all our texts in .pdf format, and all the exams were open-book. Shockingly easy. But we'd be only partially right, because that assumption rests upon the stipulation that one can use the search function. Which assumes that one can spell.

We had one dude today who couldn't find the four "types" of something-or-other. Only after about five minutes did we realize that was because he was searching for "tipes."

Your tax dollars at work, folks.

BandAid, meet Sucking Chest Wound

Here's an odd one - Iraq: Bill proposed to ban toy guns

Iraqi lawmakers are working on a draft bill to ban importing toy guns and fireworks, hoping to curb increasingly aggressive behavior among children who have grown up amid real war, a lawmaker said Tuesday.

So, the good news is that these people are in every country.

The not-so-good news is that as of earlier this month, the Iraqi government is still struggling terribly to meet the benchmarks for government progress set forth as the "way forward" for their country.

But as long as they're progressing toward meaningless nannyism, perhaps they'll garner some more support from folks on the left in this country.

"The culture of violence has prevailed in our society and controlled the Iraqi family and that it has affected the culture of children," said Samira al-Moussawi, head of the parliamentary committee on children and women, which is preparing the legislation.

Good lord.

The bar is OPEN

I bolted out of class like a scalded cat. I ran three miles to ward off guilt, then schlepped the laptop over here. Check this out:



Yes, folks, this appears to be the last bar in the DoD where one can drink and smoke. And there's non-restricted internet. It's wonderful.

The class I'm in is not really worth comment, but it's over next week. So that's a plus.

In other happy news, the Mister swears he launched my paperwork to the CMP today second-day air (for guaranteed Monday delivery). So I cross my fingers and hope I get drawn for one of the Saginaw variants...

Yeah - that's going to be a few extra drills I'l have to dig up if I get picked, but still...

Still out here

I'm hanging out in a parking lot at my deep south training location. The all-ranks club here provides free wi-fi that is NOT restricted by the Army. However, the ranks club appears to be open three days a week. At least they left the wi-fi on.

The class is...well...about what you'd expect out of a professional education course for an Army that needs every warm body in uniform. Not real challenging.

Here's a sign outside the building we're in. It's for another class - fortunately, we are not being forced to tote rifles around, but they are. I apologize for the poor quality - it's a camera phone shot.



I really hope you can make out the bottommost word in quotes. If not, it's "LIVE." I am forced to wonder a little bit about any education system that requires folks to practice clearing weapons in a manner that's apparently inconsistent with how they'd clear them of live ammo.

Then again, the Army seems to routinely change its mind about the best way to clear an M4/M16, so there's always room for...interpretation? Or something?

There are some Navy folks here who are being...reprogrammed. Or whatever the term is for the training they give Sailors who are coming over to do Army work in Iraq. We don't have any real contact with them, but they don't seem overwhelmingly concerned or despondent, which I think is positive.

OK. I'm off to try to hunt down a cold beer before the exchange closes. Y'all take care. I'll be back to you reasonably soon (perhaps when they open the stupid club).

Some things never change

Including this one - I'm sitting outside a southern airport with a few guys with short hair and pile of green baggage, waiting on some promised "shuttle," smoking cigarettes and wondering if the shuttle would show up if I ran inside for coffee.

Who am I kidding? Of course it would.

Packing (again)

Well, it's been a really fabulous 44 hours at home, but there's a 0730 flight with my name all over it tomorrow.

[sigh]

I am off to another lovely vacation spot in the American South, this time for a bit of professional military NCO education. It will be, I am certain, absolutely fucking fascinating.

[puts on big girl panties, stops whining]

If it hasn't become obvious, I'm desperately trying to fufill the educational requirements for the next pay grade before...anything happens that might make going to schools impossible. KnowwhatImean?

It's a pretty short one, and at a far more civilized location than the past couple of outings have been. I truly, deeply and honestly believe that I'll be able to keep sharing my sunshine with y'all during this one.

Now, to finish up packing. I'm missing my Army Mandated Pre-Execution Checklist, which I completed at last drill and brought home and which is now...somewhere in this house, in one of the fifty gazillion manila folders we keep tucked in high places so Jack doesn't eat them.

I totally missed this

You all will have to forgive me for recycling old news. I was hanging out in Michigan a week ago when, it seems, Sen. Clinton was throwing a few back in a bar in Indiana.

I have got to admit, I got a kick out of that. Particularly when I asked the Mister, "did that actually happen?" and he replied, "Yep. And she looked like a pro."

...although Clinton is no stranger to late night drinks with the press and her staff, she usually prefers red wine or the trendy wheat ale Blue Moon with a slice of orange, not the watery light beer in the glass mug she waved in the air so proudly as the crowd chanted her name.

Now, of course, this is all part of Hillary's last-ditch attempt to connect as the "regular guy" Democrat. And I think it's pretty effective, particularly when contrasted with Senator Obama's pathetic record of public beer drinkin'.

...the Illinois senator mocked Clinton for taking a shot of whiskey in front of TV cameras. But it's not that Obama hasn't made attempts to connect with voters in a bar, as well — On a bus tour stop on March 28, Obama had a few sips of beer with [Penn. Senator Bob] Casey in front of the press. He did not finish the beer. Emphasis added

This campaign really is getting more entertaining by the day.

I now return you all to normal blogging, which is not based on week-old news.

Just an aside...

My guard dogs suck. I came home at 0410, opened the garage door, pulled in, got Jack and one bag out of the Jeep, shut the garage door, and opened to door to the house, while talking to the puppy.

Did I get barked at? No. I did not.

Were my legs ripped off by my G. Shepherd? No. They were not.

I was in the kitchen turning the light on before Sparky came blinking out of the bedroom. My fierce, wardog Marine husband? He finally woke up after I shook his knee for several seconds.

And Casey woke up when I turned the bathroom light on. She got petted, then promptly went back to sleep.

Although it's probably technically impossible to successfully invade Bad Dog Central, it seems you can do whatever you want here in the middle of the night as long as you don't drop any plates on the floor.

Look what followed me home

No. Not another dog. No way in Hell.

[shudders]

Anyway.



Cousin Randy won this, I think, at an NRA banquet or something. He goes to a lot of those. He doesn't need it, I might be able to use it, and so it came home with me, with only the vague instruction to see if I could find "something kinda like" my ProCarry to send up to him. Eventually. Someday. No hurry.

I guess that means I can keep it and send him a pistol, or trade it for a pistol for him, or sell it and buy him a pistol, or take no action for quite some time.

I think Randy mostly wanted to send me home with a rifle of the sort I'd told him I was seeking.

It's a Remington 700 in .308. The scope is a Nikon, and I have no idea what the heck the story is with the bipod. Front and rear irons are in a little baggie, along with some sort of green Remington locking safety doohicky. It hasn't been fired.

I was looking more for a .270, but there's not a thing in the world wrong with .308, and it is in fact what the Mister's open-country scoped rifle fires.

It's in the gun room, hanging out with its bipod extended. The Mister ought to be home soon (your tax dollars bailing out of work early!), and I think we'll stand around and scratch our heads and try to figure out its fate.

Home!

Depart Hastings, Michigan at 0840 Thursday, arrive Bad Dog Central at 0410 Friday. 1,234 miles in...20.5 hours.

Total cigarettes consumed...roughly 23 in Michigan, Indiana, Kentucky and Tennessee. Another 16 were needed to make it across Arkansas and partway across Texas.

Pushups done at rest stops in order to get blood flowing, roughly 80.

Powdered donuts vomited on the dog bed in the back of my Jeep - 3. But that wasn't until within 100 miles of home, so I just dragged Jack up front, told him it was OK, and put the pedal down.

I know driving that far in one swoop isn't ideal, but when I don't get tired until after the thousand-mile mark, there's no way I'm stopping.

It's nice to be home, and to have slept whatever there was of the night in my own bed, surrounded by the rest of my pack.

Everybody

likes motels.



Not only was he allowed on the bed (which never happens in normal life), but interstate motels are chock-full of neat smells.

I was a little intrigued by what might have caused him to sniff wildly at the edge of the bedspread, but I decided I didn't really want to think about it. Sometimes, I think we're all glad that our noses can't tell us as much as dogs' noses tell them.

Hanging out with the fam'

My first morning up here, I did Mandatory Breakfast with Gramma. Her routine involves a 0700 sharp appearance at the Big Boy restaurant in the next town over, and was mildly put out that my Dad insisted a 0800 departure.

Gramma is a Big Boy frequent flier - the other breakfast people all know her, and she has a "usual" order. She waited tables for about 100 years, and feels entirely free to offer helpful input to the breakfast waitresses. Although there is a "please wait to be seated" sign, she ignores it and heads directly to "her" table upon entry.

Yes, she is the Terror of Big Boy.

But it's a community, and she enjoys participating in it. She won a quilt in a cancer benefit raffle there a couple of years back (after her brush with esophogeal cancer), and paid that win back by knitting an afghan for their most recent raffle.

Gramma is a...brisk woman, and although I wasn't there when she donated the afghan, I can imagine her thumping it down on the counter and directing the nearest staff member, "You's can use this in your next cancer raffle," then heading out the door with absolutely no further discussion.

Small towns and their gathering places are wonderful because there's a place in them for every character, even the afghan-knitting Terror of Big Boy.

Holy crap!

I'm a smoker. I can count the number of times I've interacted with smokeless tobacco on hand and have several fingers left over.

However, if I had any confidence that this sign was anything but an odd arrangement of words, I'd buy stock in Copenhagen



I mean, c'mon. How cool would that be?

Sign courtesy of one of the fine gas stations of Wayland, Michigan.