Zen and the Art of BS

Do you remember research papers?

Most of us had to do at least one in high school English. And if you went to college, you had to do several more, usually. Outlines, 3 by 5 cards, notes, several books and/or other sources, headnotes, footnotes, bibliographies. We were told this was something that we needed to know.

They also told us that about algebra, and we know they lied about that.

The best research paper I ever did earned a 94% (which was an A-). 12 1/2 pages, a two page outline, 4 dozen index cards, footnotes, and a bibliography of about 2 dozen books that never existed.

I cheated.

The class was Communication English, a 3 credit class taught by a hippie/biker wannabe. You had to do four research papers to pass the class, and you were limited to a short list of topics, specifically: the subjects mentioned by Billy Joel in his song "We didn't start the fire." If you don't remember the song, or never heard it, here is the youtube video (if you want to hear it)



On one of my papers, I could not find enough info on the topic I had selected - this was before the internet, Google, and Wikipedia - so I expanded by research paper to cover three topics from the list (all three 20th century dictators) and entitled the paper "Totalitarianism in the 20th century." When the papers were returned, Mr Hippy Biker made a comment to the effect that my paper was on a topic /not/ on the list (and I assume down graded it for said reason). I responded that it was, if he had read the paper.

Which he didn't. I realized from his comment that he was one of those teachers who delegated the task of grading papers to his student aide. This is not an uncommon practice in the academical world, especially at the big universities, but it was one that irked me. Considering how much I had to pay per quarter, I would have like it if the teacher bothered to read my work - after all he was being paid to teach me, in theory anyhow.

But I realized at this point that he didn't care enough to read the papers, which gave me an idea.

The last paper was do shortly before the end of the term, when I was busy finishing this and that for my other classes, and preparing for finals. Not wanting to waste valuable time on a research paper that would not be read by Biker Dude, I invented one.

Paraphrasing an Encyclopedia article, I created a twelve and a half page paper, complete with footnotes and a bibliography of about two dozen books that were never published (by publishing houses that never existed).

And this is the funny part: It was the only paper for which I received an A.

It must have impressed the student aide who read and graded it.

And people wonder why I don't have respect for the academians of this world.

Actually I do, provided they are not idiots.

To these teachers, and many more who

did actually teach me something,

Thank you very much.

There were a few instructors I respected:
Mr Ownsby, my advisor/instructor for police science classes. A former Law enforcement turned instructor, his strories were not only entertaining, they usually wound up being the lectures on the subject of the day :-)

Dr Freidrick, A PhD in History that could actually teach in such a way that made history interesting (even to people not interested in history). The most important thing I learned from his classes was that, for the most part, much of what I learned about history in the public schools was either partially true, or completely wrong.

Randy Hubbs, Music instructor. I heard him on the radio recently, he now is a realator. In some ways this saddened me, but I hope he is successful in his new career. Mr Hubbs had such an enthusiasm for Jazz and music that it radiated in his lectures, and if you weren't careful, you got infected. To this day I am still a fan of the many forms of Jazz, RB, and Blues - as is my oldest dog.

My dog, in case you are wondering, did not take Mr Hubbs class.

Some years ago, I was working as a cook at a BBQ restaurant. There was a CD player, and many of us would bring in our own CDs - and the range of music that was played ranged from Butt Rock to Pop to& Country to Mexican, depending on who was playing a CD at the time. One evening, I left my CD case at work, but the next day the kitchen manager told me he had secured it in the office. He went on to tell me that, out of curiousity he went through my collection and noticed that I had a Best of Robert Johnson CD Robert Johnson, for those who didn't take Mr Hubbs class, was a old (old) school blues performer (c 1930s), who according to rumors sold his soul to the devil in order to acquire his superb talent. It turns out that the kitchen manager had also taken Mr Hubbs class as well, and was a Blues fan. He told me that he borrowed the CD and played it during lunch. I would have loved to have been there, just to see the expression on the faces of the Butt Metal fans as they were forced to listen to the twangy voice of an old (old) school blues performer.

I "cheated" a bit in school. I had a short story I wrote in Middle School for an English assignment, It got a B- the first time I turned it in. I re-used it several times in Middle School and High School (and once in college) and it recevied several different grades, although I never changed it from it's original draft.

But the classical cheat was in Consumer Economics class. Actually, there were two:

In previous blog entries, I have mentioned my friend Keith (the Redneck). We knew each other since pre-school, and for 12 years we had numerous classes together.One of the classses we were in together (in High School) was a class called Consumer Economics, which was required for graduation. The aim of the class was to teach us the basics of consumerism: opening a checking and/or savings account, balancing a checkbook, shopping, buying a car (or other vehicle), advertising, consumer fraud, etc, etc.

One of the assignment we had in the class was to go to an auto dealership, and collect some specific information about a car (as if we were actually going to but it) and write a report on it. We were to team up in groups of two, and naturally me and Keith paired up. The teacher, Mrs Hanson, arranged for us to be excused from our next class, so we had two hours (off campus) in which to do the assignment.

Now, maybe we intended to actually go to a dealership, but when the time came, we made it about 7/10th of a mile to the bowling alley/arcade, and played pool the entire time. Which meant, in theory, we were not going to be able to do the report.

In theory. In actuality, I did it

The following day, I had another excused absence from school. At the time, I was also taking a Shakepearean English class (I mentioned this in a previous blog entry). The Seattle repertoire was in town, performing Taming of the Shrew, and those of us in Shakepearean English classes were invited for a free performance at another High School. Those of us in Shakepeare class got tickets, a bus ride across town, and an excused absence from classes. This meant I would miss Consumer Econ that day, but before I boarded the bus for Shakespeare, I went into the classroom and left the completed report on the teacher's desk, along with a note explaining where I was and why I didn't turn it in during class - although she probably already knew where and why.

I had intended to inform Keith what I had done, but I was unable to find him before I had to board the bus and go, and when I got back, I spaced it off and forgot to mention it to Keith, so as far as he knew, we didn't do the assignment.

That Friday, at the start of class, Mrs. Hanson handed back the (graded) reports, which shouldn't have included ours, but did.

"Doug and Keith received an A" she said as she placed the paper on my desk. She always announced A papers when she returned them, in theory to encourage everyone to strive for excellence.

The look on Keith's face was priceless. He reached over and grabbed to paper off the desk and examined it in disbelief. In the hallway after class, he asked me "How the &%$# did we get an A? We didn't go to a car dealership, we skipped and shot pool. How the &%$# did we write a report, let alone get a &%$#ing A?"

"The Sunday paper" I explained.

Every Sunday one of the local auto dealerships ran a full page ad showing some of the cars available on their lot, including a "pick of the week" which gave detailed information on the vehicle - which happen to be most of what I needed for A- grade report. The rest of what I needed I invented.
"You'd have know that" I told him "if you ever read the paper"

"I read the paper" he told me.

"I meant besides the sports section and the comics."



Another assignment we had in that class was an oral report. At the start of the semester, Mrs Hanson had a list of consumer economics related topics, along with when each report was to be given. Keith and I paired up (as usual) and selected "going to a grocery site and reporting on in-store advertising," and the only reason we selected that topic was because it was the last one due, towards the end of the semester, so we would have plenty of time to actually do it.

Like that was going to happen.

We put it off and put it off (and put it off) until the day came when our report (which we didn't do) was due. As the class started, Mrs. Hanson in her Mary Poppins voice announced that "Doug and Keith have a report today" After a few brief announcements, she seated her self in the back of the room to listen to the reports. There were two other students who had a report due that day. They actually did the work, and gave a very interesting presentation. After they finished (and the students stopped applauding) Mrs Hanson announced "And now Doug and Keith"

Keith had that "this is going to be ungood" look on his face...

(he was good at that)

..but the look on his face when I stood up and walked up to the front of the class was priceless. He remained in his seat, and upon noticing that Keith was not going up with me, the teacher asked "Keith, are you not going to join Doug?" which was followed by several of our classmates calling "Yeah, Keith. Get up there"

Keith got up, walked to the front of the class, sat down in Mrs Hansons chair, and stared at me in disbelief.

I proceeded to give a seven and a half minute presentation on advertising techniques used in grocery stores. It was well presented, quite informative, and Keith and I received an A.

Keith facial expression was now a look of "WTF?"

I concluded my presentation with a Q and A session, and then Mrs Hanson praised us for an excellent report

After class, Keith was in awe of what had just happened.

"Doug, I was prepared for the 30 seconds of embarressment when we would have had to admit that we didn't do the work. Then you stood up and walked to the front of the class, I was like WTF is he doing? But when you made me go up there with you, I was planning to beat your @$$ after class. But when you actually gave our report... I was seriously planning to beat your @$$ for this"

" Did you really think I would march all the way to the front of the class, just to admit that we hadn't done or homework?"

"The thought crossed my mind. So when did you do the work?"

"I didn't. I found some of the information in the text book, and some I got from Mrs Hanson's lectures - you should pay attention more often, the are quite educational."

"So why didn't you tell me what you were up to /before/ class?"

" And ruin the surprise?"

Family Game Night

I mentioned once that me and my dogs do family night things. I talked about movie night once, and I mentioned playing Bingo. We have "family night" every so often. No set day, it's just when we decide to do it, we do it.

One of their favorite is Family Game Night where (as you probably already guessed) we play games. Like Family Movie Night, this requires a trip to the local Zip-E-Mart to acquire snacks: chips, sodas, beef jerky, etc.

My dogs got interested in games after seeing the "Dogs Playing Poker" painting, and decided that they wanted to play poker too. After teaching them the basics, we attempted to play a game, but found that lacking opposable thumbs it was difficult to hold the cards. We were forced to abandon poker (and any other card) game as a form of recreation, but did find a few games that they could play and enjoy, which led to our having Family Game Nights.

My dogs like to play games. Regular readers of this blog are fully aware of Macky Rae's obsession with Zombies and an online game called ZombieLand™. And Sarah and Freedom regularly play gin rummy, although they use Rummikub tiles instead of playing cards.

One of the games they all three enjoy is dominos, although we play a simpler version because the dogs do not have the best math skills, and are a bit confused on the concept of "multiples of five."

Macky Rae especially likes the game, and has learned to SLAP dominos on the table - much like you do when playing in the county jail. I suspect he learned this from one of our neighbors, who I suspect has spent a bit of time in the county jail on several occasions.

I taught the dogs how to play called Chinese Pig. Lacking hands, dice throwing was a bit problematic. Initially, they would throw the dice by picking them up (one at a time) in their mouths and dropping them onto the table. This was a bit slow, and the dice were quickly covered in dog spit (which was not fun when it was my turn to throw). But the main issue was , during a close game, Macky Rae got excited and accidently swallowed one of the dice - leaving the outcome of the game unresolved.

Eventually, the di passed. After a couple of days, Macky Rae came inside and proudly announced that he had "number two-ed a four." This meant that he had won the game we had started (and failed to finish) a few days before.

In order to resolve the spitty dice problem and prevent future dice consumption, I went online and ordered some pop-o-matic dice poppers.

Six? Chinese Pig only needs three dice!

We also play Farkle, which requires six dice. 

You probably remember the Pop-O-Matic thingies that came with Sorry, Trouble, Headache, or any of those games you played as a kid. They were designed so you (as a kid) didn't lose the dice.

Or accidently eat them.

The dogs enjoy these, as all they need to do is press down on the bubble with their paw and pop the dice. And I don't have to handle spitty dice.

They are fond of board games as well. Macky likes checkers, and Freedom is learning Chess. Sarah is fond of Parcheesi.

On of the board games my dogs like is monopoly, although they have their own rules. I will get to that in a moment. They got interested in Monopoly because of the Micky D's contest - game-piece collecting is very popular with my dogs, and we were visiting McDonalds daily while the monopoly game was going on, collecting game pieces, and sticking them onto the game board. We didn't win anything significant, the most valuable prize we won was free fries (super sized), but the dogs thought this was awesome - free fries!!!

We had a problem the first time, before we ever started playing.

No, nobody ate the dice

The first problem encountered was game pieces. There was an argument over who got to be "the dog."

Actually, it was a fight.

I tried making them take turns, each one being "the dog" on a different day. This didn't work, because the other two were mad at the one who was "the dog."

And this eventually started a fight.

So I told them nobody was going to be "the dog" and they had to choose another token.

And this made them made at me.

Freedom got the shoe, Sarah used the thimble, and Macky Rae had the Race Car - and insisted on making "vroom-vroom" noises ever time he moved his piece.

Finally, I had to go online and buy more dogs tokens. I found some on eBay, and bought enough for everyone. We then went to the hobby store and each of the dog picked a color to paint there dogs.

The dog piece is the most popular monopoly playing piece, not only with dogs but with people as well - according to a recent survey. The car was second. Monopoly has retired a few tokens, the most recent is the Iron. And they added some, the most recent addition to the line-up is the cat - which is not popular at our house.

I mentioned "dog" rules: I came home one afternoon and found the dogs engaged in a game of monopoly, which was fine until I noticed a few irregularities. The first thing I noticed was that someone had taken a sharpie and changed Free Parking to Free Barking. Similarly, Jail was crossed out, and replaced with The Pound. I also noticed hotels on the Railroad spaces, and like a fool I asked.

ME: Why is there a hotel on the Reading Railroad

MACKY: That is not a hotel, it is a train depot.

ME: And the house on Electric Company?

MACKY RAE: It's a power station

Scrabble is also popular with my dogs, especially with Macky Rae who slaps the tiles down when he plays his letters. We make allowances for spelling - after all, they are dogs. Freedom and Sarah are fairly good at spelling, mostly. Macky Rae has issues with the [C] and the [K], and words like [K][A][R] and [K][A][N][D][L][E] are frequent.

There are dog rules as well. For example: the [Q] is assumed to have a [U] (in fact, a "u" was added with the sharpie) so [Q][E][E][N] for "queen" is valid.

Q is a rather odd letter. Maybe we should do a survey or something, and maybe retire the Q from out alphabet and replace it with a more usefull letter

Another "dog" rule is double points for "dog" words: Bark, Woof, Canine, Fetch, Treat, etc. "Cat" and other feline-words are prohibited.

As I have mentioned, we have a fourth member of our pack: Reba, who now 6 month old. Reba is learning to be a dog, mainly by following the example of the other dogs. She enjoys playing games, although being a pup she has not mastered various concepts yet, but she does faily well at some of the simpler games.

We were teaching her dominoes last night (and Macky was teaching her to slap them on the table). This was going well, until she got excited during a game and ate the 4:2 domino...

Chinese Pig is played similar to regular pig, but with three dice. "Oriental" Dice are preferable, but regular dice can be used.
 

Asian dice are traditionally printed with

the 1 and the 4 in red.

Each turn, a player throws the dice, and scores for each [1] or [4] he throws. After each throw he may bank his points (and end his turn), or continue throwing for more points. A player must score at least one [1] or [4] each throw. If he fails to throw a [1] or a [4] he has "pigged" and loses his points for that turn. (Points earned on and banked on previous turns are kept).

First throw immunity: If a player fails to throw a [1] or a [4] on his first throw, he may continue to rethrow the dice until a [1] or [4] appears, after which if he fails to throw a [1] or [4] he is pigged and losses his points.

The first player to reach 100 points wins the game

Cinco de Mayo 2015

May fifth is Cinco de Mayo, which is Spanish for "The Fifth of May." In addition to being a date on the calendar, it is also a holiday. Most people have heard of it, but relatively few Americans actually know what it about.

And, I discovered, neither do some Mexicans, and it is primarily their holiday.

A lot of people assume it is Mexico's Independence Day, and its not. That's in September. My dogs think it might have something to do with the invention of burritos - and they might be right.

Actually, it isn't

Macky Rae (my younger dog) looked it up online: About a 150 years ago, Mexican forces defeated a larger, better trained French forces. There is a longer, more detailed version on Wikipedia, but essentially it  to commemorate some well deserved ass kicking.

If you want more info, go read the article.

Over the years, it has taken on a different significance, and it has become more or less a Hispanic Cultural Pride Day. And it is also celebrated by non-Hispanics - because everyone likes a party, or in this case a fiesta.

My dogs celebrate Cinco de Mayo, and the reason they celebrate is twofold:

1. They're Hispanic. Or at least they think they are. They are half Chihuahua, so they think that makes them part Mexican.
2. There is food involved. Anything that involves eating ranks fairly high on their list.

Because of its large Hispanic population, Pasco WA (near to where I reside) has a Cinco de Mayo celebration, although it usually gets moved to Saturday. They still call it Cinco de Mayo, even though it was actually Dos de Mayo. There is usually a parade of some sort, followed by singing and dancing, food and drink, and other fiesta activities.



We live in West Richland, which is more or less the opposite side of the TriCities area from Pasco. There is not a large Hispanic presence here, although I have noticed a few Chihuahuas.

 There is, however, a Cinco de Mayo parade - of sorts.

Around noon-ish, there is the unofficial West Richland Cinco de Mayo Parade (and Taco Feed!). We, that is me and my dogs, head out from our place, walk up a block to the main road, then "parade" down - past the Car Wash, the Zip E Mart, Lorenzo's Restaurant, the mini-mall, etc, etc, until we reach The Taco Truck. We make our selections, then go down to the nearby park and /eat/ our selections.
Ok, the Pasco parade is more elaborate, be we like our version just fine.



Some people have an issue with Pasco, and the Hispanics, primarily over the non-English speaking people. And to some degree I agree with them, after all this is America and you should speak the official language of the country which is...

Actually, the United States doesn't have an official language.

When people deride Pasco's Hispanic community (and the not speaking of English), I remind them of a time, many years ago, when parts of Pasco were a bad, dangerous, part of town. It wasn't safe to walk the streets at night. Then the Hispanics moved, bringing their strong, catholic family values. That part of town became nicer, safer.

And their yards look nice.

And Viera's Bakery on the corner of 4th and Lewis is totally awesome - even my dogs thinks so.

Over the years, many of the stereotypes attributed to Hispanics (and other cultures) have been discarded in favor of a more enlightened view. On of the (almost) dicarded stereotypes was Speedy Gonzoles - and heaven forbid you don't know who he is.

For those who don't (¡Ay, caramba!), he is a loony toons character, The "Fastest Mouse in all of Mexico."

The Cartoon Network, about 15 years ago, decided to not show Speedy cartoons, as they might offended Hispanics.

What "offended" the Hispanics was having their mouse removed from the cartoon line-up.

As speedy doesn't do anything that might be considered offensive (culturally), Hispanics love him. The Hispanic-American rights organization League of United Latin American Citizens called Speedy a "cultural icon", and thousands of users registered their support of the character on the hispaniconline.com message boards. Fan campaigns to put Speedy back on the air resulted in the return of the animated shorts to Cartoon Network in 2002.

By profession, I am a cook and so over the years I have primarily worked to one degree or another in the food service industry. One of the places that I worked, whom I shall not mention by name but I will tell you that it was a seafood place that had lobsters. Red ones.

I also won't mention that they are managed by weasels, because it would be unfair. I didn't work at ALL of their restaurants (just one), but the one I did work at had weasels, and the district manager was rather furry as well.

I'm not saying they are the worst as weasels go, but there are above average, weaselistically speaking. 

But I digress.

I worked primarily evenings, and usually got off work around 10:30 or so. I often stopped in at the 24hr dinner across the street for a bite to eat before heading home. One night, one of my co-workers, Miguel, came in (for coffee, and to wait for his wife to get off work and come pick him up). He spotted me, and asked if he could join me (I said yes) and for almost an hour we had a rather pleasant conversation. We discovered that we were both descended from farm and working class people, we both agreed that an unnamed waitress was cute, that the managers were pendejos (Spanish for weasels), and we both thought that Luis (another co-worker) was completely insane. And a few other things. We talked until Gabriella (Mrs Miguel) arrived.

Now what was interesting about our conversation was the fact that Miguel spoke about as much English as I did Spanish, which wasn't much. I can order a beer and ask where the restrooms are, and a few odd phrases like "¿Por qué hay un puerco en el baño?" (Why is there a pig in the bathroom?)

So how did we manage to even talk, let alone have a detailed conversation? Because we wanted to, and were not going to allow something as trivial as a language barrier stop us. We gestured a lot, and drew pictures, but we managed to communicate.



Speaking of a language barrier (and crimson crustaceans) another co-worker was a Chinese man by the name of Wei-xing "Sam" Jong, who was from Canton (China). Sam was college educated, and was Majoring in language at the University of Canton. He spoke in addition to his native languages of Cantonese and Mandarin Chinese - six other languages, including English.

Spanish was not one of these six.

This proved comical, and frustrating, as "Sam" tried to communicate with the non-English speaking employees. He would try to employ a bi-lingual translator, but his English was not perfect, and his Asian accent made comprehension by Hispanics problematic.

Hell, I had trouble understanding him, and I speak English.

On evening, after the dinner rush ended, some of us cooks went outside for a smoke break.

Officially, we were taking out the trash. If you grabbed a bag of garbage when you were heading outside, it was a "trash run" and the store still owed you a 10-minute "smoke break" later.

So we were all out smoking, someone commented on "Sam's" trouble earlier that evening communicating with co-workers.

"Sam" he was asked. "when you were going to college, you knew you wanted to immigrate to the United States, right?"

"Yes" he answered.

"Then why didn't you take a year of Spanish before you came here????"



Macky Rae, my younger dog is learning to be bi-lingual. He is learning to speak pig Latin. We wants to be smarter than a pig.

Most of us do.

Some fail to achieve this.

On that note...


Before we start the parade , we, that is me and my dogs, would like to end this blog entry with a song. It's a popular Spanish song called Cielito Lindo. Some of you may know it, and if you want to sing along with us, please feel free to do so.

ME:
De la Sierra Morena,
Cielito lindo, vienen bajando
Un par de ojitos negros,
cielito lindo, de contraband

DOGS:
Ay, ay, ay, ay, Canta y no llores,
Porque cantando se alegran,
Cielito lindo, los corazones

ME:
Pajaro que abandona,
Cielito lindo, su primer nido,
Si lo encuentra ocupado,
Cielito lindo, bien merecido

DOGS:
Ay, ay, ay, ay,
   MACKY: Let go get tacos
   ME: Macky!
Porque cantando se alegran,
Cielito lindo, los corazones

ME:
Ese lunar que tienes,
Cielito lindo, junto a la boca,
No se lo des a nadie,
Cielito lindo que a mi me toca

DOGS:
Ay, ay, ay, ay,
   MACKY: It's time to go get tacos!
   ME: Macky, quit that!!
Porque cantando se alegran,
Cielito lindo, los corazones

ME:
Una flecha en el aire,
cietito lindo, lanzo Cupido,
si la tiro jugando,
cielito lindo, a mi me ha herido,

DOGS:
Ay, ay, ay, ay, we all want tacos!,
   ME: Hey!!!
Burritos and Nachos, Beans and Rice
Corn chips with lots of Salsa!

Mean Ass Female Drill Sergeants

So it is December of '83, almost midnight, and I am standing outside with several other guys wondering if the Sergeant was even aware that we were out there, as we had been standing there for some time. He hadn't and eventually he came out and began yelling.

And I, and no doubt the other guys, were wondering just what we had gotten ourselves into.

Welcome to Lackland AFB - the gateway to the Air Force. Basic training began right there and then.

For the first 72 hours, the yelling is continual. There is nothing you could do right. Ye stood wrong, you looked wrong, you even breathed wrong. And if you didn't breath, that was wrong too.

Most people, that is to say those who did not join a branch of the military, find this somewhat evil. We did too, at first. But the "evil" has a purpose:

• It weeds out those unfit to serve. If you can't handle being yelled at, you won't handle being shot at.
• You learn to work as a team. Even though the other guys were mostly strangers, it was us against him.
• You learn to do things the military way, correctly, the first time.

The last one is important. Unlike other professions, not doing something correctly the first time could have lethal consequence. For example: You failed to properly maintain your weapon, and it malfunctions during a combat situation. You, and/or your team may wind up inadvertently dying for your country.

General Patton once pointed out that you do not win a war by dying for your country, but by making the enemy die for his country.

 But as hard as it looks in the movies, and as hard as it seems at the start of basic, by the time you are done and look back on it all, you can't believe that you were such a wuss at the start of Basic Training.



So what is the meanest animal?

It sort of depends on your definition. Some say badgers, some say Tasmanian devils, some say grizzlies, some say pandas.

Pandas? Really??

 My choice, at least for the top ten list of mean mammalian creatures in Homo Sapiens Drillus Femalia, more commonly known as the female drill Sergeant.

Women can be pretty mean to begin with, especially mothers. And not just human mothers: Sarah, my female, got fairly protective when she littered.

For the safety of all concerned (being my other dogs), I set up a special kennel/nursery for Sarah - otherwise she will take her pups and hide them under the bed or behind the sofa. Like a military commander, Sarah sets up an perimeter around the kennel/nursery, and no one (except for me) is allowed in the exclusion zone.

I have a fourth dog now, her name is Reba. She is 5 1/2 month now. Shortly after Reba was born (around the third day or so) we went outside for a potty break. We being me and the dogs, although I don't go potty outside  - the neighbors would not appreciate that very much. Potty break for Sarah when she has pups is to run out, pee, and run back in to take care of the babies - usually under a minute.

The other dogs take there time.

This time, however, there was an unexpected development. Sandy, a Rottweiler who lives nearby had gotten out of her backyard and was wandering.

Sandy is a friendly dog (not vicious), and she never wanders far, just around the neighborhood. She will eventually go home on her own, if someone doesn't take her back.

Sandy had wandered into our complex and was near our unit when I opened the door to let the canines out. Sarah spotted her right away, and her motherhood gene kicked in. She did not want any straying dog in (what she considered) her area. She let out angry barks, and charged towards Sandy.

This could have gotten ugly, but it didn't.

Sandy is a big Rottweiler, at least 100 pounds. Sarah is a Chihuahua/Pomeranian, around 5 pounds. Despite the size difference in Sandy's favor, the sight of an angry Chihuahua charging towards her at full speed, barking angrily, must have unnerved her, because she turned around and fled back to the safety of her own yard.



But female drill Sergeant mean is a bit difference. Female drills need to be a bit meaner than there male counterpart, not because the possess different genitalia, but because on the average a female is smaller than a man, and unless she learns how to get a smart ass male's respect instantly, she will never be an effective drill sergeant.

And the female drills I encountered were good at this.

I could tell several stories, but perhaps the best example involved a female sergeant who simultaneously chewed out two entire flights (platoons) of men. That was 100 men, including me

I didn't do anything

(this time)

What had happened was this: We had just finished up one of the many classes we were required to attend, and were outside waiting for the sergeants to come get us and march us to somewhere else - class, chow, etc. Since we were just waiting, we were standing roughly in formation, but at ease - which meant informal.

As we were waiting, a female sergeant walked past. She was one of the shortest sergeants I had ever seen, standing about 4'12" and weighing maybe 115 pounds. As she walked past, she noticed that one of the trainees had his hat on askew.

Sergeants notice these thing

She slowed for a moment, and requested that the trainee with the askew hat correct his improper wear of the uniform.

By request, I do not mean that she politely requested that he adjust his hat because it was improperly being worn contrary to Air Force Regulation 35-10

By request, I mean she went up to him and informed him "You better get that hat on correctly"

The offending trainee came to attention (as was required in Basic training when being addressed by anyone higher than the rank of squirrel), then swiftly and efficiently corrected the hat (improperly being worn contrary to Air Force Regulation 35-10).

Satisfied, the female sergeant proceeded onward around the corner of the building towards her destination.

After a few movements had past, one of the other trainees made kissing noises in her directions, thinking she was out or range.

Or so he thought.

Now what I remember about this was this: One moment she wasn't there, then there was a flickering of light as Mr Scott beamed her into the middle of our formation

(I said Mr Scott instead of Geordi LaForge, because at the time I was in Basic Training, Star Trek the Next Generation had not been made yet)

She had heard the cat call, such are the eyes (and ears) of the Training Instructors, but was unable to determine with any certainty who the offending trainee was

Or maybe just didn't care.

Unable to determine the source of the cat-call, she called both Flights (100 men) to attention, faced each flight towards the other, and then walked up and down between the two formations and informed all of us in no uncertain terms (and a few terms that cannot be repeated) that such behavior was not appropriate, etc, etc...

So efficient was her 100 man ass chewing that five of the 100 wet themselves, two collapsed from the verbal assault, and one (Airmen Kowalski) suffers from PTSD and is still receiving psychological counseling from the VA.

I was informed by a member of the other Flight that the offending Trainee, who made the cat-call, was appropriately dealt with by the other members of his flight, sort of a peer intervention.

By peer intervention, I mean a "blanket party" after lights out.

 You don't have much of a sense of humor in basic training.

The base I spent most of my time in the military was Kelly AFB, located in San Antonia, TX. Kelly AFB was right next to Lackland AFB - and by right next to i mean they shared a common fence.

Two of my close friends during this time was a supply specialist (who was part of my unit) and her husband who was a KP sergeant.

At least once in Basic you will get KP duty (washing dishes, etc). Its a five to mine job.

Yes, I said five to nine. You start a 5am and get off at 9pm.

Welcome to the military, where regular hours are a luxury, and working long hours occurs more often than you might like.

My record was 3 days straight when lightning fried out the air traffic control toweree's comm systems.

 So we drove to the  trainees chow hall to pick up her husband. As we were sitting at a table, waiting, trainees came out and quietly sat at anoth table, waiting to be dismissed. At the time, I had heard this totally funny joke and had been telling it to anyone and everyone all day

I can't repeat it here - it's one of those kind of jokes.

My friend told me to tell the boys my joke, so I did. They sat quietly as I told it, and when I got to the punch line...

Nothing.

They just stared at me, like frightened rabbits.

Later, my friend the KP sergeant reminded me that there was no such thing as humor in Basic. To them, an NCO was something to fear, and the fact that I was trying to tell them a joke didn't register.



So like I said, my base was next to the trainee's base, and since we had minimal shopping facilities on Kelly, I often went to Lackland. One of the "facilities" was a photography studio. For whatever reason I felt I needed to have a portrait of me in my full uniform, so I scheduled an appointment.

Being that I didn't want to risk getting my Dress Blues dirty and/or wrinkled before I had the picture taken, I waited until I got to the mini-mall before going into the men's room and changing into my uniform.

After I got my picture taken, I returned to the men's room, change out of my uniform and started to go to my car.

That's when the Female TI stopped me

"You had a uniform on when you went into the latrine" she informed me.

Latrine is military-ese for bathroom, in case you didn't know.

"Where is your uniform now?" she asked.

"In my duffel" I responded.

Now I should explain what was going on. Most of the personnel on Lackland are trainees, either in basic training or technical school. As such, they are subject to certain restrictions, such as not being allowed to wear your civilian clothing when going off base. The Sergeant assumed that I was a trainee who was trying to sneak off base in his civvies.

I realized this, and decided to play along for a while - I had nothing major planned until that evening.

"Why is it in there?"

"It's easier to carry"

"OK, smart guy. Why don't you just hand me a 341"

AF form 341 was a disciplinary form that, as trainees, we were all required to carry at least two of them at all time. That was, no matter where we were on base, if a training sergeant saw us doing something wrong, he (or she) would request on of our forms (which already had our names and units filled in) and the sergeant would fill out the bottom part, detailing our misbehavior, and forward them to our sergeants via the distribution system (which worked very quickly). Our sergeant would then apply the appropriate level of yelling and punishment.

In theory, the Form 341 could also be used to inform our sergeants what a good job we were doing, but I never heard of them being used in this capacity.

"I don't have any" I informed her.

I burned my 341 after I completed my school and was no longer considered to be in training status.

"What is your name" she asked, pulling out a small notebook and pen.

I gave her my name, and she wrote it down.

"What's the number to your CQ?"

CQ is, essentially, the main office for a military unit.

"5-1693" I answered.

She pause, momentarily caught off guard. The reason was that each of the (then) six military bases had a different exchange number. Lackland was 3-, and I had just given her a 5- number.

"What unit are you with? she asked, not quite as forceful.

"1923 Comm" I answered.

"Your permanent party? Why the hell didn't you tell me that when I stopped you?"

"Because I have always wanted to get back at a training sergeant"



I encountered my Basic Training Sergeant some time later, at a base wide softball tournament - my shop had a team. Me and O'Leary had been drinking beer all afternoon, and slightly buzzed I noticed the man nearby with a small child was none other than MY sergeant. I mentioned this to O'leary, who dared me to go talk to him.

"I ain't afraid of him" I said

"Then go talk to him"

"OK, I will"

And I did.

I walked up and and said "Sir..."

Yes, I said "Sir" - Drill Sergeants in the Air Force, while you are in training, are addressed as "Sir"

"Sir, you may not remember me..."

"Barnes" he said. "Flight 015, January/February 1984"

"Yes, sir" I answered.

I almost came to attention (also required in Basic). The reason I didn't was because of all the Beer I drank.

We chatted for a moment, then I was informed (by O'Leary) that our team was next up in the Tournament. I informed him that I was needed, and that it was good to see him again.

I actually pause for a moment, waiting for his permission to depart.

Basic training lingers for a long time.

March Winds, April Showers, Easter, April Fools, and 4-20

There are a few holidays in April.

The most predominant, of course, is Easter

Easter for those of you who really don't know...

And if you really dont know, you really need to pay more attention to what's going on around you.

...Easter (sometimes referred to as Resurrection Sunday) is the celebration of Christ's death and subsequent resurrection, affirming that he was the son of God
.
Now, some of you may not believe in Christ. And I won't argue here whether he did or did not exist, or if he did whether he was or was not the Son of God, or whether there is or is not even a God.

But whether you believe or don't, whether Christ did or did not exist, he has had a profound effect on history, society, and the world in general - not just in a spiritual way but in a physical way as well. Let me explain:
A dear friend of mine, one Rev Heath, once told me this "Even if something is not real, if enough people believe that it is real, it will have real consequences."

(Yes, Diana. I was paying attention during our conversations).

So even if (for the sake of an argument) Christ was not real. billions of people (past and present) believe that he is. Therefore he has real consequences.

And for those who object to Christ's teachings, what did he say that was so wrong? Love your neighbor, do good, don't return evil, look both ways before crossing the street... No, wait. That was my mom.

But I digress

Love your neighbor and do good. Is this a bad thing? Really??? Personally, I think we need more of this type of philosophy to permeate our society.

What I do have a problem with at times is the actions of some (so called) Christians, and the things they do in the name of Christ.

I won't go into detail. I could do a whole blog entry of "bad Christians." I could do a weekly blog on this subject.

Many (many) Christians implement their faith in an unchristian-like manner, but that has been around since day one of Christianity Many of St. Paul's letter's addressed issues and contained admonishments to the new churches about improper Christian practices.
Basically, it can be summed up like this: Christ taught that we should love one another, for which he was killed. After thinking about it some, people decided that it was a good idea, and then for the past 2000 years have argued and fought over how to properly love one's neighbors.

(I didn't come up with the above thought - it was from the writer Douglas Adams (Hitchhiker's Trilogy, et.al.)

I'm glad God love is perfect. I was God, I would not be very inclined to save humanity.

But I digress, again.

I like Easter, as do my dogs.

Last Easter, they got up early early, in order to ambush the Easter Bunny.

Being dogs, they do not like rabbits or other small rodent-like creatures such as squirrels and chipmunks and such.

They didn't get him.

How did rabbits get associated with Easter? Or for that matter colored eggs? Or chocolate?

Or a traditional Baked Ham? Jesus was Jewish, so we know darn well that Baked Ham was not what they ate at the last supper!

I searched the bible and the only reference I found was in the old testament, which declares Rabbits un-kosher. And there were no references to coloring eggs or chocolate in connection to the resurrection (or any other aspect of Christianity). Mary Magdalene DID NOT ask a giant 6 foot rabbit (named Harvey) if he knew where they had taken Christ's body. There were no eggs laying around that particular Sunday morning (colored or otherwise). And the only reference to chocolate was in Paul's letter to the Midichlorians warning then "not to eat all the chocolate, lest your butts become enlarged."


Some Christians object to such "pagan" rituals associated with Easter. Some don't even like the name Easter (also of pagan origins). But these same people celebrate Christmas, which is actually of pagan origins. In fact, there are more paganisms in Christmas than all the other holy-days combined.

What??? you may be asking. Christmas pagan???

Christ was not born December 25th. No where in the bible does it give a date for his birth, and scholars say it was most likely not in the winter months.

but I am digressing yet again.

4-20.

This is a relatively new (historically speaking) holiday. It is not recognized, or even sanctioned by the government.

In fact, the sacrement of this holiday is illegal (except in Washington and Colorado)

Some years ago, 4-20  and Easter fell on the same day. Which was weird. On that particular evening, me and my friend Keith (the redneck) decided to go to the mini-casino for a couple of drinks and a few hand of Blackjack.

Regular readers may remember the story of Keith at the Indian casino. by this time however, Keith had (finally) learned that he ws not going to get rich at Blackjack, and only gambled moderatly.

The casino we went to was one we frequented on a regular basis. It was across the street (somewhat) from where I was working at the time, and I would often go there after work for a drink, or two. Keith would often join me there.

The casino was run by J.B. (we never new if this was his real name, or his initials), a man who was the most professional looking person I had ever seen. Suit and tie, stern demeanor, never smiled - the perfect casino floor boss. He wasn't intimidating, he just never smiled - until this night.

After a few drinks, and a few hands of Blackjack, we decided to call it a night and proceeded out to our cars (or in Keith's case, his truck). As we were leaving, we saw J.B. outside smoking a cigarette on his break. As we walked past, I wished him a Happy Easter, and received a polite "Thank you, you too," and Keith followed that with "And if you are so inclined, Happy Holidays" referring to 4-20.

J.B. paused for half a moment, then responded with "I am, and I will after I get off work."

The things you never suspected about people.

April Fools day.

I have managed to pull of a few good April Folls pranks. And the reason I managed to suceed was that I didn't pull them on the 1st of April - that would be too obvious.

As long as you say, or do, something with a striaght face, people are inclined to belive you no matter how outrageous it is.

The classic prank, on that me and my cohort still laugh at 30 years later was the Bill You Have A Child prank:

After High School, our friend (Bill) ran off to who knows where and didn't bother to call or write or nothing for almost a two years before finally contacting us.

We decide to get paybacks.

We prefaced the prank with "the seed." Both me and my cohort (Gene) mentioned (casually) in letters to Bill that we had seen Linda. We didn't say which Linda, which could have been one of three that he dated while he was here.

We also mentioned (casually) that she - Linda - was with her daughter.

We also mentioned that we mentioned him to "her" and that she eagerly asked for his address which we gave to "her." Later, in a phone call from him, he told me (and later told Gene) that he wished we hadn't given her the address because the baby could be his.

Which confirmed that he had "done" at least one of the three Lindas.

To this day we don't know which one.

Phase two: I wrote up a ficticous letter (from Linda) that he had a child, etc, etc, and even enclosed a photo of some small child (I got it with a picture frame I bought). I had another friend of the female persuasion, who had lovely, femenine handwritting, to write it out. We mailled it off...

..and waited.

Two days later, when Gene and I were returning from classes at the college, we ran into my mother at the mall, who informed me my friend Bill was trying to get ahold of me and wanted tme to call him back - and I could call collect.

Gene called me later and said his mom told him more or less the same thing.

We made him "stew" for two days before I finally returned his call. I acted casual, as if I didn't know what was up. Excitedly, he told me that Linda wrote him, the child was his, etc, etc.

You could hear the anxiety in his voice.

When he finished telling me everything, I told him I wondered if that had anything to do with the Attorney that was trying to contact me and Gene.

"What???" he exclaimed.

I could feel the sweat through the phone line.

I played him for a moment, then let him off the hook. He was so relived that it was all a joke, he forgot to call me a @#$%.

I received a letter from him a few days later. All it said was "You are an @#$%"

Gene was called a @#$%  personally by a phone call.

Bill Lowe, if you are out there, send me an email. Me and Gene (your @#$% friends) would love to hear how you are doing.

Nerds, like me

Last month, Star Trek actor Leonard Nimoy, best known for his role as Spock on Star Trek, died on February 27th died at the age of 83. He will be missed, but as the saying goes he lived long, and prospered. Usually, I am relatively un effected by what goes on in the life of Hollywood celebrities, but as a science fiction nerd, Nimoy's passing saddened me.

Macky Rae, my younger dog, took it hard as well.

Regular readers of this blog are aware that Macky Rae enjoys Science Fiction, and is a big fan of Star Trek.

He is also fond of Dog Movies, "1950s Era Black and White Giant Insect Films," and Zombie Flicks.

Nimoy was also dog lover.

He co-authored a book with

his "best friend" entitled

I Am Not Spock's Dog

Like many Trekkies, Macky Rae was effected by Leonard Nimoy's passing.

Being only five (and a dog) Macky sometimes doesn't distinguish from reality and things he sees on TV and/or in the movies. As such, he did not distinguish that there is a difference between Leonard Nimoy the actor and Mr. Spock the star trek character

But neither could many Trekkies.

Macky asked me why they didn't do the Fal-tor-pan (the re-fusion) and bring Mr. Nimoy bake to life like they did in Star Trek IV: The Search for Spock. I wasn't sure how to explain it to him, so I just told him that you can only do the re-infusion once.

He accepted that.

Spock, Star Trek, and Science fiction had (and still does have) a significant impact on our culture. Here's just one example:

When you go to the doctor, especially during a hospital visit, you may be surrounded by a collection of monitors with display screens which allow the doctors to quickly know your assorted vital signs and other bodily statistical information.

This had it's origins (to some degree) from Dr. McCoy's sick bay

A doctor in the 60s was watching Star Trek and after seeing the Sick Bay thought how nice it would be if, as a doctor, he could just look up at a screen and know his patients vital signs (instead of stopping to take a pulse, or any other time consuming procedure). And the more he thought about it, he began to wonder if it was possible to do something like that then.

He called a friend, who developed medical equipment, and asked "Could we do something like that?"

The technology was there in the 60s for such equipment, but nobody had thought to do it - except for Sci Fi nerds.

This is a common fault amongst doctors, and for that matter everyone else. We become so part of the routine, we fail to see how things can be changed and improved.

The doctor and his friend eventually arranged to visit the sick bay set of Star Trek, observing and taking notes and sketches, and the friend began developing various monitors for heads up displays.

If the Sci Fi nerd has any role in our culture, it is they who say "Hey, wouldn't it be neat if...?" Eventually, someone else says "Yes, it would" and before you know it, something new enters our lives that we didn't realize how much we needed.

Sometimes the nerds themselves come up with the new innovations!

Say what you want, but the most significant technological innovations of the 20th and 21st century were not from those people who were the jocks, or the prom queens, or any of the other so-called popular kids. It was the nerds.



I have been a Sci Fi nerd most of my life. I began reading Sci Fi almost as soon as I could read. And I was watching Star Trek before I even started grade school, and I am talking the original run of the original series.

From Space Dog goes to Mars I moved up to more significant stories and books as my reading ability improved, eventually reaching an adult reading level (by the 8th grade - most Sci Fi nerds have an above average reading ability) .

After graduating High School, I briefly attended Columbia Basin College before enlisting in the Air Force. Another Sci Fi nerd, who I new from gaming, also was attending C.B.C and we would meet up for lunch every day. We eventually spotted other nerds we new from gaming, and they joined us for lunch as well.

Eventually, one of the nerds had a great idea: Let's form a Sci Fi club, and the school will let us have a room for us to be nerds in. So we did the paperwork, got the approval, and put the announcement in the bulletin.

And something weird happened

On Thursday, 11 o'clock, we went to our assigned room, and found that there were other people coming as well. They had read the announcement, and wanted to join the Sci Fi as well.

Nerds, like us.

After returning from my time in the Air Force, I decided to return to C.B.C. and finish my degree. I was introduced to a nerd (through another nerd) who was part of the Sci Fi club - the same one that I and other nerds founded years before. I was invited to visit, and when I arrived at the meeting, I found the room full of Sci Fi people

Nerds, like me

I joined the club (again), eventually being made (breifly) the club president.

It was during this time that I, and the Sci Fi club nerds became involve with Rad Con. For those of you who are not from the Tri-Cities, WA area (or have just not heard of it) Rad Con is a Sci Fi convention - and by Sci Fi I mean science fiction, Tolkienesque fantasy, vampires, werewolves, etc.

Build it, and they will come. And they did. Hundreds.

Nerds, like me.

As a special guest, we invited former congressmen Mike McCormick to be a quest speaker. I won't go into detail, but McCormick was a science guy at Hanford before getting elected to the state legislation, and later to congress. McCormick was impressed with the number of people interested in science and science fiction that were attending the convention.

And I knew what he was thinking: Nerds, like me.

After graduating C.B.C. (twice) I continued on with my normal life - as normal as Sci Fi nerds can be anyhow. One of my friends who also graduated C.B.C. and was part of the Sci Fi club asked me if I wanted to join another Sci Fi type club: The Romulan Internaional Empire (a Star Trek based fan club). Well, I really didn't, but I didn't want to offend him by saying I have better things to do that topretend to be a Romulan once a week, (or however often we would hold meeting), so I said maybe and that I would think about it.

So some time later I got an odd call. And I do mean odd.

The first thing that was wrong was that they called at 9:30 in the morning. Normally, that is not bad. But by profession, I am a cook. Since people generally prefer to eat dinner at dinner time, as a cook I usually work evenings, which means I get off work at !0pm (or later) and don't get to bed until around one of 2 in the morning. This means 9:30 is early for me - the same as 5:30 for normal people.

The man, with a distinct southern accent, ask for me by name and identified himself as Admiral Brok Jomar, stating his "name" and "rank" as if it would mean something to me (it didn't). He said that Commander Hadrian could not be reached because he was on reserve duty and I was listed as the Sub Commander of the Starship Farseer. Eventually it dawned on me: this had something to do with my friend's Romulan club.

The more he talked, the more confused I became. He claimed he attempted to contact Commander Hadron, but he was informed that he was doing his two weeks reserve duty.

OK, now I am starting to see a bit of light. My friend was in the Army reserves, and was away at Ft Lewis for his two weeks. Could this be related...?

Brok said I was the vice president/ sub commander of the club. He needed some info, which I didn't know.

I had just found out that very moment that I was a Romulan.

When my friend got back from his two weeks reserve duty, I asked him about it. What he told me was that he knew I wanted to join so he filled out an application and sent it to the club headquarters. And it gets better: having started the club, he was the President/Commander and he designated me clun Vice President/Sub Commander.

I had ben drafted into the Romulan navy.

So periodically, I met up with the other club members.

Nerds, like me

When I was in the Air Force, I lived in a dormitory, much like those used by college students and prison inmates. There was a holder for a door tag in which you put your Name, Duty Section, and Work Phone. There was olso a section that said comments. I had seen another Airmen write scripture in his (John 3:16) so I decided to write something non-military related as well. What I wrote was

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn

which was from the writing H.P.Lovecraft, a horror writer who is credited by Steven King as being a major influence on his writing.

One afternoon, there was a knock on my door, and when I opened it, there was another Airman standing in the hallway. He had seen my door tag comment (and knew the reference) and told me he had to stop and introduce himself as another fan of H.P.Lovecraft.

Even in the Air Force.

Nerds, like me.

Busted

Macky Rae (my younger male dog) got arrested.

I got the call from the West Richland police in the late evening of the 1st, informing me that my dog was in custody along with several other dogs (and a cat) for suspicion of disturbing the peace and vandalism. And littering.

Macky says they can't make the last charge stick.

For those of you who watched the game, Seattle lost 24-28. The dogs went to a super bowl party for dogs, part of their 12th Dog Association club.

The first clue that something was going wrong is when Freedom and Sarah came home without Macky. I asked, and the said Macky was going to the Zip-E-Mart with some of the other dogs to get a soda. That was another clue as Macky does not drink soda.

The next clue was the phone call.

A few of the delinquent dogs, angered by Seattle's lose, went on rampage. There was an article in the paper. I saved it, in case you missed it:

---

Police arrested 5 dogs and a cat on charges of malicious activity, and are looking for several more in connection with a string of vandalism that occurred Sunday evening in and around Van Giesen between Bombing Range Rd and the Yakima River. The animals, all wearing Seahawk gear, were identified as members of the "West Richland 12th Dog Association," a Seahawk fan group for dogs. Authorities are not treating this as gang-related activity, as it does not meet the criteria.

The dogs dumped trash cans, knocked over mailboxes, and rolled a GeoMetro with a "Patriots" bumper sticker, apparently in response to Seattle's 24-28 loss to New England.

The dogs, identified by the name tags on their collars, were Rocky, Jake, Spot, Macky Rae, and Chico, and a cat named Freddie. The cat was also a member of the 12th Dog Association, being allowed to join the "dog" group because there is no 12th Cat Association in the area as most cats are not Seahawk fans.

The dogs will appear in district court on a future date.

---

I had to go down to the station, post bail, and get my dog (as did a few of my neighbors). They had the canines (and a cat) in the holding cell. They were all whining until officer Brookings came in, ordered them in a loud to "Sit!" and  then gave them all a treat for being "good dogs."

They should try that with the two-legged inmates. 

We were told that we would be getting a court date in the mail.

I'm looking forward to that.

Macky Rae, in case you are wondering, has been grounded.