Category: random

We were the third class housed in the barracks at the time. It would be another couple of weeks before the “Senior-flight” would graduate and the “Junior-flight” would advance, followed by the “Baby-flight.”

Initially, I was housed with a member of the “Senior-flight” class. The young man, not much older than me, spent much of his time at the Enlisted Man’s Club, drinking.

One evening the young man came into the room completely intoxicated. He had with him a mirror that he promptly hung on the wall behind the door to the room.

The next day it was discovered that one of the mirrors from the restrooms across the hall was missing. A fast search of the barrack was made and the mirror was located.

At first I was blamed for the theft; however it was quickly pointed out that I still had a shaved head from my days in basic training. However my roommate had enough hair to need grooming.

I figured he was so drunk he didn’t remember doing it.

It didn’t take long for me to be moved to the ground floor with the majority of my classmates. The other airman graduated a couple of weeks later and I never heard from him again.

Mary woke me early to help her clean up a mess our Yorkie, Trixie, made as we slept. Being groggy, I rolled out of bed and discovered the mess for myself as I stepped in it.

Now mind you, Yorkie’s by nature are very small dogs, ours weighs in at less than five-pounds. So how much poop can such a tiny dog leave in its wake?

I figured a log or two – but no – she planted an entire forest. Since she was shuttered  behind a closed-door all night, like every night, I cannot discipline her for this ‘accident.’

My use of the word ‘accident’ is largely based on a lack of knowing what else to call it. Trixie is nearly 14-years old and has been house-broken since puppy-hood.

So if this wasn’t an accident and was done on purpose, we have a real problem. And more than likely that problem will turn out to be induced by a decline in her health.

Anyway – I’m up for the day, but not for the lack of returning to bed at one point. I crawled between the sheets only to find poop there too.

“Ah, shit!” I stated aloud, meaning it not only figuratively, but literally as well.

“Now I have bedding to wash,” I heard myself exclaim, “and she’s such a tiny dog!”

Being in-charge, no matter how routine the duty has never really been my idea of enjoyment because something eventually goes wrong, like the time during tech-school while I was a student leader.

Not everything that got screwed up was my doing. That’s especially true when it came to guys who were looking for ways to piss people off.

One such person was Airman Robert Hinton. He was a mouthy, blow-hard and bully when it came to getting his way.

Airman Michael O’Gorman asked me to hold on to the one and only vacuum cleaner we had on hand for use on the first-floor. I took it from him thinking it was an easy enough to do and set it upright by my bed near where my desk was.

A couple of minutes later Hinton steps into my room and says, “I want the vacuum.”

“No,” I told him, “I’m holding it for O’Gorman.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he returned.

“And I don’t care what you do or don’t give,” I replied, adding, “I said I’m holding it for O’Gorman.”

Hinton walked away muttering. I had hoped that would be the last I hear from him, but it was too much to hope for.

A couple of minutes later Hinton reappeared at my door, demanding that I give him the vacuum cleaner. I simply told him, “No!

He stood there glaring at me. I returned to the homework assignment I had laid out on my desk, pretending to not notice him anymore.

“Jus’ give me the God damned vacuum!” he shouted.

Hinton had found my button and he was pushing it. “No! And that’s final,” I shouted back, “Now go bug someone else!”

He turned and walked down the hallway, cussing at me as he went. I laid the vacuum cleaner on its back and pushed it up against my bunk.

I wanted to hide it from Hinton’s eyes.

A few minutes later Hinton was back at my door. Again he demanded that I give him the vacuum cleaner.

This time though, I told him I didn’t have it anymore. I knew it was lie.

“You fucking liar,” he screamed, “I can see the God damned thing right there!”

Hinton pointed to where the vacuum cleaner lay, tucked up against my bed.

“I told you, I don’t have it,” I continued to say, knowing full good and well he could see it. I was daring him to challenge me as by now I wanted to pound the shit out of him and leave him laying in a blood heap in the hallway.

He started around the end of my bed, but I met him before he could go the side the vacuum cleaner was on. I stopped in front of him, effective blocking his path.

Hinton was a bully and unprepared to fight so he didn’t have the stomach to push by me. Furthermore, my bravado left him confused as he wasn’t used to any one standing up to him.

We stood there looking each other in the eye, and then he stepped back and turned away. As he retreated down the hallway for the third-time, he called me a “fucking liar,” once again.

I hollered after him, “You already said that!”

A couple of minutes later, O’Gorman stepped inside my doorway and asked for the vacuum cleaner. By that time I was more than happy to get rid of it.

“Hinton wants it after you,” I told him as he wheeled it away.

Three lessons I carried away from the encounter included never letting someone get me so angry that I can’t think straight; never tell a lie even if it’s knowingly designed to piss someone off; and never promise to hold something for anyone at anytime.

Stop trying to be everything to everyone.
Doing so is impossible, and trying will only burn you out.
But making one person smile can change the world.
Maybe not the whole world, but their world.
So narrow your focus.

Decided to go to Apple Hill in California’s historic gold region. For years, I’d heard that aside from apples, apple pie, cakes and cider, they had many wonderful craft-makers selling their goods.

So I decided to go for the day since its is only 150 miles away from my home. I grabbed my camera and headed west over I-80, south on old 49 and finally east at Placerville towards Apple Hill.

I’d love to show all the fantastic and delightful pieces of craft ware I saw, but I can’t. Instead I can only share with you this single frame which sums up a day of photographic disappointment.

*Sigh*

As it turns out, many of my Progressive friends are right, making the U.S. gun-free can be done in five easy steps.

1. Elect 67 Senators and 290 Representatives who support the cause.
2. Have the newly-elected Congress propose to repeal the 2nd Amendment.
3. Get 38 states to ratify the Constitutional change.
4. Enact Federal legislation that makes gun ownership illegal.
5. Confiscate every gun in the country, door-to-door if need be.

Easy-peasy. And while we’re at it — lets change the name of the country too, because we REALLY wouldn’t be ‘united’ on anything anymore.

Confidence, like happiness, is mostly an inside job. One can, however instill confidence in an insecure person.

From time to time, when a new air staff member started at a station, I’d be given the duty of training them. If I saw they were hesitant, I’d stay close by to encourage them to the point that they felt somewhat confident.

The biggest problem most new hires had is the fear of screwing things up – especially stumbling over their words. If I saw this, I’d ask them if they’d ever heard of Babe Ruth.

Most said ‘yes’ and I’d continue by asking, “Do you think he was the home run king of his day?”

The response would usually be something like: “Yeah.”

“Would you be surprise to know that Ruth struck out seven of 10 times he was up to bat?” I’d continue.

“That is surprising,” was often the response.

“So, if you look at his stats,” I’d say, “then apply them to yourself by doing the math, which in this case would be speaking about 10 times in two hours, and say you flubbed up twice each hour – you’d still be doing better than Babe Ruth’s life time batting average.”

I loved seeing that ‘light bulb’ pop on.

Soon to be ex-Senate Minority Leader Harry Reid is accusing Charles and David Koch of advocating criminal justice reform to cut their legal liabilities. Reid, as per his normal smear tactic, didn’t specify what illegal actions would be absolved by the Kochs’ efforts.

Reid did suggest that the Kochs have become more active in efforts to reduce “overcriminalization” and reform the U.S. justice system “because they have been in the past prosecuted for doing some things that have been illegal.”

“I’m glad they’re on the right side of something finally. Could be that one reason they’re interested in this is because they have been in the past prosecuted for doing some things that have been illegal … And they fought back,” Reid said on the Senate floor. “They are embracing reform now, but it does not negate the many bad things they’re doing to hurt American families.”

Ironically, Reid could benefit from some of the same reform efforts. Such changes would allow him to keep future illegal campaign contributions like those that he received from his granddaughter’s jewelry company or from convicted felon Harvey Whittemore, who illegally funneled nearly $150,000 to his campaign.

During the last election cycle, the Nevada Democrat lambasted the Kochs as billionaires trying to buy political influence through massive campaign spending. Reid has made clear he’ll continue that line of attack during his last 15 months in the Senate.

I’ll be glad when this fucking idiot no longer represents the Silver State — because he sure the hell doesn’t represent me!

I smell another ‘ Ahmed the Clock Kid’ in the making. You know the teen that ‘built’ a clock n a brief case purposefully to look like a ‘bomb,’ and the media and President Obama loved him up and turned him into a ‘misunderstood’ sensation?

Same things happening as the web history of the Umpqua Community College murderer showed him to be of mixed-race, aligned with groups like ‘Black Lives Matter,’ ‘Fuck The Police’ and ‘Fuck Yo Flag.’ However, most of that social media stuff is gone.

This little coward had a friend by the name of Mahmoud Ali Ehsani, whose profile has also disappeared. And he wrote about the attention given to the asshole that shot a television reporter and cameraman on air in Virginia in late August.

Umpqua Community College also appears to be deleting their association with the murderer (Not that I blame them,) but it should be known that he was part of a college theater class presenting the play, “Blithe Spirit,’ later this month. However, everything to do with that production’s been scrubbed.

Being part of a college production class and performance runs counter to the seemingly preferred media narrative of this murder being a loner. He also gave a “manifesto” to a surviving student of the shooting, but that’s not being mentioned either.

I’ve noticed that the media is continually selling the narrative that the murder was a loner, a mentally disturbed individual without any mention of his writings, behaviors and social tendencies. Furthermore, CNN has gone so far as to change the gunman’s skin color and thin his nose and lips, and no-one’s showing pictures of his mom, Laurel Margaret Harper, a Black woman — jus’ his White father.

This piece of shit’s real name is Christopher Sean Mercer (which I hate to publicize again,) but much of the media is using ‘Christopher Harper-Mercer’ and ‘Chris Harper-Mercer.’ That’s because it sounds more Caucasian and not at all Black.

It seems like the media is trying its damnedest to back-up Obama assertions about ‘yet another school shooting.’ But now that the killer’s online background’s being examined by those more interested in the truth than the agenda, Obama’s speech doesn’t line up with the facts.

Furthermore, Obama plans to visit Roseburg, Oregon, the hometown of Umpqua Community College, this Friday. His announcement has cause a social media outcry, calling on him to stay away, allowing the community to recover by itself, since his words following the tragedy were more like salt in the wound than a salve that heals.

I hope a large, armed, 2nd Amendment-loving crowd of rural Oregonians’ shows up to turn their backs on him as he glides across the stage to make yet another play at ridding U.S. citizens of all firearms. Hell, who knows – maybe he’ll incite a riot by proclaiming tighter restrictions through executive fiat.

I know – I’m not supposed to think such things, let alone put them into words – because it ain’t politically correct.

I never thought I’d be writing about a certain hairstyle, but then again I never thought I’d live to be as old as I am today. For the past several years I HAD to shave my head because I eventually developed a rash that wouldn’t go away.

However for the last few months I’ve been treating my scalp with ‘red light’ therapy and it really helped a lot. But in the last three weeks the rash returned with a vengeance, this time on my neck.

So, after doing everything I could to battle it, including up the amount of time I sat in front of my lamp, I decided to shave my neck and the sides of my scalp above my ears. In fact, I took it to the line where most male Jarheads keep their hair to pass inspection.

The only difference is, I cut nothing off the top in the style men wore back in the roaring 20’s. It’s called an undercut and I thought it looked pretty good, despite of having done it all by myself.

(Think of actor Tom Hardy’s haircut in the movie ‘Lawless,’ only a little higher and tighter.)

Unfortunately, my wife never acknowledged that I even cut my hair, though we were sitting in the living room next to one another. Then our house mate came home and took one look at me and stated emphatically: “That looks stupid.”

Neither woman was being mean. Kay tends to say exactly what’s on her mind, while Mary simply ignores my ever-changing hairstyle, commenting: “You change more than a woman.”

So I spent the next few hours sulking over the snubs while periodically going to the mirror to look at myself and assess whether I should keep it or not. In the end, feelings hurt and a little peeved, I chopped everything off and now I look like a very old ‘boot,’ once again.

Afterwards, vanity struck and I’ve since become mournful for my hair. It is proof that ‘pride goeth before a fall,’ because now I have to start all over re-growing it and looking goofy in the process.

And you know what else — I’m not Tom Hardy either — damn!