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.