BRB is Left Write Left

2010-06-06T17:03:00.002-04:00

Thank You Ford Motor Company

So the other day, I docked the Mercury Grand Marquis in the grocery store parking lot right next to a Ford Crown Victoria of the same year, 1996. I thought, thought I, that thanks to Ford discontinuing Mercury, I now drive a Classic Car; and you, Crown Vic owner, just drive a Ford. I laughed: heh.

BRB is Write(and has had classics before; but we won't talk about the Vega.)

2010-04-10T10:21:00.006-04:00

In Memory of the West Virginia Coal Miners

This is an old video, but still brings tears to my eyes.

For Bonnie and Lisa, who are coal miners' daughters, and lost their fathers to the dust years ago; we're thinking of you and all other miners' families.

Here are Rita McNeil and the Men of the Deeps.

BRB is Write(and sad at the loss of lives; they were just earning a living)

2009-11-15T16:33:00.004-05:00

Some Observations:

While noodling around the net lately I have found:

Many can read, but far fewer can understand; and

Many can write, but far fewer can communicate.

BRB is Write(and still confused)

2009-10-23T13:18:00.006-04:00

Not a Crazy Person Moment

But I have had a few moments recently that could have turned into a reappearance of C.P.

Food Lion needs to get rid of their requirement that every employee, upon encountering a customer, has to say in the general direction of every customer,"Welcome to Food Lion!" Most times when I go there it sounds like an echo or reverb. Also, most of the employees are not face-to-face with the customers. It is lip service in the worst way. No one means it; most hope that you will either ignore them or hope to hell you don't ask where the dried fried onions are shelved.

The last time I was in there, I was standing in line when one of the managers said something to the general atmosphere and walked away at the same time. I asked the guy in front of me what she said, and he said she would check me out at #5. I thanked him and went to #5 where manager said, "Sorry for the wait, welcome to Food lion." A prime moment for C.P. to appear. But he did not. I told her that getting a greeting from four employees who had to say that to keep their jobs was annoying, and she said she was sorry. I said "I sincerely doubt that," and left. Perhaps CP. did not appear, but Mr. Grumpy did.

Also, I'm fielding calls from people wanting to look at the car I have for sale. Since I had vertigo a few weeks ago, my hearing isn't as good as it was. Usually when I ask people to repeat themselves I tell them I have a hearing problem, and they comply, wanting to be understood. But the last guy, who has English only as a second or third language, only spoke faster and less clear when I told him about my hearing. I won't bore you with the whole conversation, but it consisted of him asking a question about the car, and my saying "Say again." Over and over and over. The asking price is clearly posted on the web site. ($525) He kept asking if I would take "garbled" dollars for the car. I said how much? Garble, garble. I finally said "Did you say $800? I'll take $800." Then clear as can be he said, "No, I said $300."

I try to not be a bigot, but, damnit all, some people want to be discriminated against. They invite it, and then whine loudly about it. Screw 'em. And I won't give my car away for $300.

BRB Is Write(and has C.P. under control....for now)

2009-08-24T11:12:00.003-04:00

Not The Chantays

Found this video while searching for something else on You-Tube.

That site is a time-sink; a black hole for computer time; a look-at-me-and-regret-it site.

Anyway, Dick Dale and Stevie Ray Vaughn really cook. Not sure what's up with Dick Dale's hair, but it was the '80s.

I grew up in suburban L.A. and Dick Dale was the surf music god. Never mind the Beach Boys, Chantays, Jan and Dean. I, personally, introduced my high school to "Miserlou." We had a jukebox in the cafeteria and first one in got first choice. Whenever I was first I played the flip-side of "Let's Go Trippin'": "Miserlou" I was always asked "what the hell is that, it's bitchin'." (Yeah, we talked like that in '63). I had a Dick Dale LP, also, but it got lost in one of our many moves.

My friends used to go to Harmony Park Ballroom to hear him and to dance. At that time I got my drivers' license and went to concerts with future Ms. BRB. We saw Ray Charles at the Shrine, and Peter, Paul and Mary at the Hollywood Bowl. I had many interests at the time, and not much money.

But Dick Dale still has my attention whenever he shows up.

BRB is Write(Surf's Up, Dudes!)

2009-08-18T08:40:00.011-04:00

Anger Management...Or Who is that crazy person, and why is he yelling at strangers?

I went to the dump yesterday; not one of my favorite activities. I loaded up the old Corolla with six-seven bags of house-hold garbage and rubbish and had to pay 7 bucks for the privilege of dumping it in the land-fill. We don't have garbage pick-up out here in the rapidly developing sticks. Also I pay just as much as the guy next to me who has a cargo van that could carry my garbage and my car with ease.

Already in a good mood, I pulled into a convenience store/gas station to get a soda and parked next to two guys that have a newer Honda. (The parking is on the side of the building out of sight of the store entrance and windows and most of the pumps.) As soon as I got out of my car one of them starts a sob story about needing gas money to get to Gastonia. Why anyone would want to get to Gastonia is beyond me. I looked at him and saw a young guy fairly well- dressed in shirt, shorts, nice shoes, smoking and has a tattoo on his ankle.

Then I hear a voice that sounds like mine: "Look at you; you have a better car, better clothes, you're smoking and have a tattoo, and you want money from me. Fuck off."

And I went into the store. Bought a soda. Realized that I just told two younger, larger strangers to fuck off. The manager asked me if I was all right. I told him about the pan-handlers and he checked and told me they had left. Not one of my prouder moments, not wanting to go back to my car.

I read somewhere that as we age our frontal lobes begin to shrink and that the filter between brain and mouth doesn't always work. I can testify to that.

So on the way home, I think a lot about this and resolve to try to keep myself in check. I tend to honk at asshole drivers and do other foolish things from the sanctity of my car. Not good. I was hungry, and thought maybe low blood sugar had something to do with it.

I headed for a favorite diner and so took an off-ramp I seldom frequent. It used to be patrolled by a few homeless folk, but not so much in the summer. Damned if it wasn't full of professional beggars. (I've posted on this in the past) I hate these guys. But, as I rolled to a stop I said to myself, "Self, you will not yell at these folk. They are trying to help youth or their church or something."

And then someone is rolling down my window and a crazy voice is yelling "Stop begging. Run a car wash, have a bake sale; you're begging; I don't care what the cause is!" Thankfully the light changed to green and I didn't have to hear that crazy voice anymore.

I am sure I must be on you-tube somewhere under the category of crazy person goes off on convenience store clerks. When I was buying beer on a daily basis, QM stores needed my date of birth to record in the register. This is really stupid in my case; I stopped looking twenty forty years ago. I finally lost it one day and told the clerk to put in her birthday. That didn't work, and I left, but I didn't get personal or swear. Progress of a sort.

So these latest relapses have me worried. But not too much, 'cause I have these frontal lobes for an excuse.

BRB is Write(and may randomly go off on the innocent.)

2009-04-03T09:44:00.010-04:00

There's something about April in North Carolina that always makes me think of these opening lines of The Canterbury Tales:

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
the droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(So priketh hem nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke..

Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages describes me to a tee (or fare thee well). I'm always ready to go, perhaps not on pilgrimages, but to just get in the car and not stop 'til I reach the ocean, or mountains, or desert.

But Chaucer never saw the April-green here in NC in contrast to the dogwood, dark boles and blue sky. We get this shade of green only at this time of year. Each leaf is reaching for the sun as it newly unfolds and displays a green that is new and fresh; it's a green that seems saved only for this moment. I'll try for a picture; my words cannot do it.

BRB is Write(and needs a fully annotated version of Chaucer)

2009-03-02T18:13:00.007-05:00

March 2 in North Carolina

Here's a few views of our location under a few inches of snow. I think I have a few shots of the same spot with that April green.

As you can tell, I really should learn how to manipulate these pictures.

Anyway, March snow, April green. As we say around here: "I love North Carolina."

BRB is Write(and is moving soon)

2008-11-26T11:44:00.003-05:00

Random Musings About:

What day is this?

While making my dump run I remarked to myself: Self, why are there so many cars on the road? Usually I answer myself right away; when I arrived at the grocery many miles later it hit me. Today is the last sane day of the holiday season. Many of the crazies are getting a head start.

There was one cop for every ten drivers on the roads. All the ones I saw had some one pulled over. (Go get 'em, guys.)

The store was plugged with last-minute shoppers (like me.) The interstate was full of travelers, but just not as many as last year.

I actually do like the holiday season, i.e. Thanksgiving and Christmas. What I don't like is the rest of the people enjoying it with me. By rest of the people, I mean the whole freaking world. Family is ok. Family is great. But the rest of the world best stay out of my way.

I get cranky when: Stores are sold out of the one item I want, nay need.

Other drivers aren't giving me the attention I'm giving them.

I have to go to the mall. (Interesting that I use the same phrasing when I have to go to the toilet.)

When every store clerk says, Have a good holiday. Although, around here you hear Merry Christmas much more than any PC response.

'Nuff crankiness: Y'all have a great Thanksgiving.

BRB Is Write(and has much to be thankful for)

2008-11-13T09:27:00.002-05:00

Take this sweatshirt, please

This is really for Tam

If I could write snark like that, well I cannot.

The story behind the shirt is that most of the BRB family worked for this radio station in Canada. At the time it was the only commercial classical radio station in the Dominion. (Privately owned) We had this board operator/cartoonist and the goofy shirt was the result of a promotional campaign.

So. you really can have music to soothe the savage beast.

BRB is Write(and knows how to use a cart machine)

2008-11-11T13:02:00.005-05:00

Veterans' Day

I don't have much to add this year from what I wrote last year. Just go hug a vet.

Also for any vet that might stumble across this post, check the link on the right to the Veteran's page. This is updated twice a month and is mainly for retirees and the disabled and their families. But for an impartial look at what's happening with the VA and legislation, it cannot be beat.

BRB is Write(and is still a vet)

2008-11-07T10:52:00.003-05:00

Find PDB Here

Tried to fix my blog roll and lost him.

BRB is no computer genius

2008-11-07T10:08:00.009-05:00

Election Leftovers (or Rightovers for some, or orts for the not-too-picky)

These are some random thoughts I had as I watched my giddy coworkers on Wed.

It took a lot of white folks to ensure Obama's victory. I know that he will not forget it, but I wonder about some of his supporters.

In our local fish-wrap today, syndicated columnist Ellen Goodman (average white woman) writes:

"Race was not 'the issue' in this election. I know that. The issue was the economy. The issue was the war...."

Perhaps race was not the issue in her circle, but it sure was among 98% of the black voters. If 98% of one race votes for a person of the same race, the issue is race.

I should qualify that. In all of the previous elections for president we had our choice of old white guy, younger white guy, military veteran white guy, draft-dodger white guy, smart white guy, not-so-smart white guy. I can understand having a candidate that you strongly identify with. In past presidential elections I have felt strongly disenfranchised. But don't tell me the issue isn't race. I'm not that dumb.

From reading the paper these past few days, not all of the media have sobered up. But when they do, they will face the problem of criticizing a man of race, and having the race card thrown at them. The honeymoon will last longer, but when problems arise, they will face the Imus dilemma.

BRB is Write(and really shouldn't write about politics)

2008-11-06T12:16:00.005-05:00

Camo Cat

This is Nell's favorite spot on a warm Autumn day. She will shift from time-to-time to follow the sun.

BRB is Write (and has boss cat)

2008-11-04T17:23:00.005-05:00

Dear Diary,...er Blog,

Today I went out and exercised my franchise. For those who know me, in years past, I would have been right at home with my coworkers. Today I had a few pangs of being a political turncoat.

Something about the whole liberal campaign clunks instead of ringing true. I think that we've been sold the color of his skin, and not the content of his character. Makes me sad, really. I could have voted on the liberal side if I felt that character really mattered. Oh well, just call me a bigot.

I don't trust politicians anyway, so I guess I can take some comfort in whatever side wins. They are all not to be relied upon.

Locally, I voted against every incumbent I could identify. Felt pretty good about that.

But the most satisfying thing of all was getting out and voting.

One other thing: I cannot get my link to PDB to work when clicking on the link to the left. So try it here.

BRB is Write(and worked his franchise till it cried for mercy, mercy, mercy)

2008-11-01T17:00:00.007-04:00

Can Your Cat Do This!

And, no, she's not pregnant! Nell is just getting her winter fat on.

In the fall, she likes to disappear in the leaves with her belly to the sun.

If I can find her, I'll post another picture.

BRB is Write(and is trying to add pictures to a rather blah blog)

2008-10-26T08:26:00.004-04:00

Reflections on Leaving the Grocery Store

Must be a lot of smart parents out there just looking out for their kids by giving them names such as:

Fire Lane; No Parking; and a few Handicapped.

These kids will never lack for a parking spot.

BRB is Write (and observant)

2008-07-17T10:13:00.002-04:00

On This Day In History...

I was born

BRB Is Write(other things may have happened, but this was a singular event)

2008-07-11T09:45:00.003-04:00

What's With This Donut Fantasy?

Since the begining of the week I have been thinking about donuts. Actually I have been thinking of going to a store and getting some and eating them.

By way of explanation, since I've stopped having beer for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, my appetite for real food has increased. I am hungry most of the time, and dessert has become a necessity. But donuts?

So yesterday I gave in and shopped for donuts. We live in the marvelous city that is home to the great KK donut franchise. (I cannot bring myself to spell it like they do.) I hate them; they are greasy beyond compare, and don't have very many varieties: iced grease, powdered grease and grease grease about covers it. We have one Dunkin' D place in town, and it's hard to get in and out of. So I went to a grocery store where I had noticed some donuts sold singly stored in a dedicated donut case. They were $.60 each! And they didn't look so good after all. I bought some peaches and a melon and went home.

This city has four universities and colleges, a major medical school, and more banks than a Saudi prince. It also has only four donut shops. Where we lived in Ontario, Canada there were two high schools, two radio stations, a Provincial Police barracks and seven donut shops including two Tim Hortons. (best coffee in N.A.) Come to think of it, I believe that the last time I bought donuts was in Canada. They weren't any $.60 either. (Fool, that was 14 years ago).

Back to the donut story: I went home, had some lunch, puttered around the house for a while and took a nap. When I got up I said to self, Damn, I still want a donut. I went to the library; and on the way home stopped at another grocery store to check out the donut situation. They had day-old KK in bags (in day-old ones the grease has set). I wandered around the store and looked at coffee cakes and other baked stuff. I felt like an idiot carrying around an empty basket, so I bought some ice cream and went home.

Now we come to today. I said to self, today we go to Dunkin' D and get some donuts. And then we can take them to PDB's and share them with him and Jackson. Good plan. After I dropped Ms CPB at work, I drove straight to the donut shop. While waiting in line, I thought, What am I doing here? What's with this donut obsession? I looked at the menu board and donuts were $.89 each, or $4.79 per half dozen. Holy Crap! I got out of line and went back to the car.

But the plan was to get some donuts and share them with PDB and Jackson. Here I am in line again trying to decide what six donuts to get. Been a long time since I had to make a decision like that.

Half a dozen donuts and a large coffee, $7.02; sharing with PDB and Jackson, priceless. Jackson is too small for donuts, so I ate his, and he had his banana mashed up with milk.

And now I am home, stuffed with four donuts and half a large coffee. I think it will be another 14 years before I go out to buy donuts.

BRB Is Write(and cannot wait to see what dietary craving descends next)

2008-07-02T10:17:00.003-04:00

Finding a New Voice

That last post has something different about it. Did you spot it? And no, I was not trying to do an Andy Rooney bit. His style, if one has heard it enough, is so easy to imitate that I did it unconsciously. It's like falling into a John Madden voice when talking about football.

Don't try to guess. It's the first post I've done completely sober. All the rest were written under the influence of various amounts of beer, from one to enough that I had to go lie down after I signed off. Lets say that I would have been legally impaired, if driving, about half the time. I don't remember which posts took the most beer to get through.

The other day, I reread most of them, and wondered how I did it. Here's one about my Dad that I rather like. I don't remember how many beers that one took.

Actually I like what I did with most of the topics I chose. Even sober, I generally like what I've written drunk or sober. It's a danger, I know, to fall in love with your writing. It's especially dangerous to really like the ones that had a large chemical influence. I might get the idea that the only way I can write is with a beer at hand and imbibed.

That's why I need a new voice. The old one has gone on the wagon.

BRB is Write (and sober for the first time in many a long year)

2008-06-17T18:10:00.003-04:00

What's in My Wallet

Those stupid ads got me thinking: what was really in my wallet?

Some things I never thought I'd find in my wallet:

Three business cards from three different doctors. One GP, one specialist of the intestinal variety and one from a shrink.

I have three discount cards from three different grocery chains. I wish doctors would issue them, or have specials once in a while. One discount card from a pharmacy.

Two cards saying which HMO I belong to. One drug card.

Several partially used gift cards.

Another credit card

Some things I cannot do without:

Driver's License; fishing license.

Library cards for the county system and one for the local major university.

Money (one fiver and six ones)

Social Security card (about to be cashed in)

AAA card. When you drive old cars, AAA is your friend. I like to look at maps, also.

Voter registration card. My ticket to vote, however useless that may seem, these days.

Somethings I need to get to carry:

Pictures of Grandchildren to show to everyone. But for that, I really need another wallet.

More money

And more money

BRB Is Write(and is not Andy Rooney)

2008-04-28T19:53:00.011-04:00

April 28: Day of Mourning

So, OK, who died on this day. Or rather whose deaths are we mourning? We are mourning your co-workers who died on the job, or died from injuries on the job or died from diseases contracted on the job. In Canada, this day is recognized by Parliament. Not sure about the good ol' U.S. of A. We tend to treat workers here as disposable commodities.

Not that Canada is really any better; they just tend to 'fess up to their errors more than we do. I mention Canada, also, because I worked there for a lot of winters (other seasons too, but winters tend to stand out). I was trained by my union in Occupational Health and Safety, taught the same to many workers and managers, and helped run our in-plant safety committee. I learned a lot of things and facts about the subject, but what always stuck in my gut was the fact that in Ontario workers who died on the job averaged one per working day for years.

Think about it. Over 250 folk lost their lives each year just by showing up for work. Now Ontario has some rather dangerous occupations such as mining, construction, forestry, police and fire work. Farmers didn't get counted as dying on the job unless they were enrolled as employees. Lots of farm folk lost family members each year. One was my neighbor. I should remind you that Ontario only has about 5 million people who live there. Was it a dangerous place to work? No. The numbers were considered a cost of doing business by all except those who were affected by a death.

We heard a lot about carelessness, and were they wearing their safety equipment. But they died, and their workplace was unsafe. We tried to change the attitude of workers by educating them in safety procedures, staying alert, and asking questions. In 1972, Ontario passed some rather remarkable health and safety legislation that gave workers the right to refuse unsafe work, the right to participate in company health and safety programs, and the right to information about any perceived hazards including chemicals.

I started instructing workers about health and safety through unions and community colleges in 1988. We informed them of their rights; they learned how to check their workplace for hazards; how to negotiate better and safer working conditions; and how to identify hazardous agents, among other things.

Sometimes I think we didn't make a damn bit of difference. The yearly death toll stood at one per working day year-in and year-out. Through some really tough economic times and through some times (not many) of relative full employment folk were still getting killed by going to work. I see that it hasn't changed that much now. We managed to change a few workplaces for the better, former students told me, but still death and injuries happen.

So take the time to remember those who died before you in their place of work. Perhaps some changes have been made for the better because of their sacrifice.

This post is late in coming. I have a job and am trying to stay alive, although my only danger is the interstate getting to and from the workplace. Have I told you about sick workplaces, yet? That's for another year, another April 28.

BRB is Write (and used to know a lot more about this stuff)

2008-04-12T12:57:00.004-04:00

Saturday Blues and Other Things

So my assignment, if I choose to take it, is to sort some of our STUFF into Keep, Discard, Give Away. Being who I am, I decide that I need to sort through our audio cassettes.

Here's what I've done so far: Assign show tunes, Sting, JC Superstar, Cole Porter (soundtrack of At Long Last Love) and other like sounds to #1 offspring: assign head banger stuff and Monty Python tracks to the sons in the family; throw away one damaged cassette; keep the rest.

After that heavy labor, I put on a Joe Robinson CD, popped open a beer, and sat down to chart my progress. At this rate we may have all this stuff sorted by June 2010.

BRB is Write(and at rest)

2008-03-21T10:37:00.006-04:00

Those Were the Good Old Days?

A correspondent sent me the following:

Older Than Dirt Quiz:

Count all the ones that you remember, NOT the ones you were told about! Your ratings at the bottom.

1. Blackjack chewing gum

2. Wax Coke-shaped bottles with colored sugar water

3. Candy cigarettes

4. Soda pop machines that dispensed glass bottles

5. Coffee shops or diners with table side juke boxes

6 Home milk delivery in glass bottles with cardboard stoppers

7. Party lines

8. Newsreels before the movie

9. P.F. Flyers

10. Butch wax

11. Telephone numbers with a word prefix (OLive-6933)

12. Peashooters

13. Howdy Doody

14. 45 RPM records

15. S&H Green Stamps

16 Hi-fi's

17. Metal ice trays with lever

18. Mimeograph paper

19 Blue flashbulb

20. Packards

21. Roller skate keys

22. Cork popguns

23. Drive-ins

24. Studebakers

25. Wash tub wringers

If you remembered 0-5 = You're still young

If you remembered 6-10 = You are getting older

If you remembered 11-15 = Don't tell your age

If you remembered 16-25 = You're older than dirt!

I might be older than dirt but those memories are the best part of my life.

This last statement was included in the quiz, and is certainly not my sentiment.

I never used butch wax; I hated Howdy Doody and never saw another show after I had to watch it at a friend's house. My grandfather had a Studebaker, and he hated it. Traded it in for an Olds.

Not only did we have bottled milk delivery, we had a bakery truck come through the neighborhood several times a week. Helms Bakery had a fleet of trucks in Southern California from about 1930 to 1969. I cannot find a picture of the truck, but it was a GMC panel truck with the most amazing cabinetry inside. From the back huge drawers slid out to reveal donuts, danishes, pastries, and bread of all kinds.

My Mom had a standing order for several loaves of white bread a week and an account with the driver. Summers I padded my allowance with found golf balls and sold them back to the golfers for 10-25 cents. When the Helms truck came around I would get a few donuts: glazed or cake at 5 cents or a jelly-filled for 6 cents. Luckily, it came around only twice a week or I would have been much chubbier than I was at 9 years old.

One day the truck stopped in front of the house with that distinctive whistle. If no one came out, the driver would have to get out to put the loaf of bread on the porch. I came out, and he gave me the bread, and then asked if I wanted a donut. I told him I had no money, so no thanks.

At that point this 9 year-old started to learn about credit and all of its pitfalls. The driver said, No money? no problem, we'll just put it on your mother's account. OK! said I, and down the slippery slope I went. Well, this lasted 'till Mom got her bill from the bakery. I got an ear-full and a swat on the butt. I'm not sure what she said to the driver, but credit was never offered again. Too bad that credit lesson didn't stick. Creditors still think that they're my best friend.

All of this is by way of saying that those memories are not the best part of my life. The best part is now, and what will happen next. I have many fond memories of Drive-Ins, diners, bottled coke, etc. But stereo far outperformed Hi-Fi, and we had both; and mimeograph paper was probably toxic.

The memories are the best of times, the worst of times of my life. As I get older, I still am surprised at what the day brings. I had no idea of what being a grand parent was about, and it has surpassed all and any expectations. There is much I don't understand about modern technology, but much of it is far better than what we had before. My first car was an Alfa Romeo Gulia spyder (1960). My current Corolla with 250k miles on it would far out-perform that old Alfa if they were side-by-side. Yet you cannot use words such as cachet or panache with a Toyota.

Again, the past for me cannot be the best times. I pull from then and expect from now to make the best times.

BRB is Write (and wishes he had that old Alfa back!)

2008-03-06T08:31:00.006-05:00

Loose Ends And Some More Observations

I need to thank PDB for giving my post about SPN numbers a boost from his site. While I got only two comments, sitemeter tells me that most visitors left that posting by way of the site that explains the codes. This is what I wanted, and I owe him big-time for that. His readership is about one hundred times mine, and it seemed the best way to reach the most vets.

Since I last posted we have another grandson, Jackson. He has been a new and mighty influence on Casa del Bliss. New parents are almost as interesting as their new offspring. I don't much like other peoples' children: too many little darlings and absolute brats in the world. But my kids and their progeny are the absolute tops. As a Grandfather, I speak without any prejudice.

I have a volunteer package from the local VA Hospital in hand. It's almost like a job application, but I guess it has to be. This month is filling up, but this is something I have to do. I will keep the reader posted.

Some Observations:

Drivers here in the Great North State are getting worse, or I'm getting more observant or more easily annoyed. The NASCAR wannabes I'm getting used to: I'm not tailgating, I'm drafting; I'm not speeding, I'm qualifying, etc. We must be getting more Yankee drivers (NY, NJ, PA) who are just plain rude.

These drivers have several traits in common: a. They are oblivious to any of their surroundings. b. They have a divine right to make a left turn from the right lane or right from the left lane. c. If they miss an exit or an intersection they have no problem stopping traffic so that they can correct their error.

To these drivers I say: If you miss getting in the left lane to make your turn, go around the block. Our small downtown is laid out on a grid (see tic-tac-toe paper). Two lefts and one right get you going in the right direction. If you miss your exit on the freeway, go to the next one, and double back; don't make me brake and swerve to miss you as you cut across three lanes to make the exit. It is not your right to endanger me for your convenience.

Blogspot has seen fit to fix the spellchecker. I still have my dictionary at hand.

Right now I'm listening to some tracks from The Mercury Records Songbook 4CD box set. I don't have the the whole set, only the promotional sample 18 tracks. (one of the percs from working at a radio station; we got to dumpster-dive for unwanted cds.) This sampler has Jazz standards like "I Get a Kick Out of You" sung by Dinah Washington. Also on this disc are standards performed by Nina Simone, Shirley Horn, and Chet Baker, among others. I heard many of these performers and songs as a kid. I'm not sure how, but I was a radio geek. I'd leave the TV and go listen to my old tube set. It was amazing what am stations brought in after dark.

Instead of Observations I should have called it Ramblings. I'm done now.

BRB is Write (and loves the radio)

2008-02-19T15:52:00.003-05:00

It's Whine Time

Dammit, I have a cold. So what, you say? This is what:

11-1105 I quit smoking.

01-30-06 I got a strep throat. 02-20-06 I got a cold. In Mar 07 I got another cold; I have one now.

What's the point of quitting? I hardly ever got colds the whole 40 years I was smoking. In the Spring of 06 I bought some smokes and tried them. They tasted awful. So here I am, stuck with a yearly cold and 45lbs of excess flab.

One more whine. The spell check on blogger has quit. I guess I get what I pay for.

BRB is Write(and pissed off between bouts of mucus clearing)

2008-02-16T10:23:00.005-05:00

"It's Baseball, Ray"

Spring training has arrived and for baseball fans such as myself, it's a great time of the year. We get speculations upon speculations on how teams will do, how the stars will produce, which rookies will make a difference, and now, in this era, who is juiced, who may be juiced, and who must be juiced.

When I was a kid, the Dodgers left Brooklyn and came to L.A. I was already playing kids' ball in our local rec league. Not only did the Dodgers show up, so did the best baseball radio play-by-play announcer ever: Vin Sculley. I listened to him doing my homework, on the road with my folks, in Dodger Stadium while watching Don Drysdale knockdown batters and win games. I saw Sandy Kofax strike out 18 Cubs and heard Vin Sculley call the action at the same time. The stands were full of fans with the ubiquitous transistor radio. I fell asleep hearing him sign off: "This is Vin Sculley along with Jerry Doggett saying goodnight from Dodger Stadium, as the Los Angeles Dodgers defeat the San Francisco Giants 4 to 3."

And now we have ballplayers in front of Congress testifying about steroid use. I just wish Congress would go away and let baseball take care of itself. It has in the past and will continue to do so in the future. We don't need a room full of grandstanding politicians trying to impress us with their power, ignorance of the game, and general lack of any sense of what's important. The country is at war, we have economic problems and Congress wants to know who used steroids. This is an appalling waste of time and money.

Baseball has survived gamblers and cheaters. Field of Dreams starts by trying to explain how gamblers tried to corrupt the game and failed, and even made if not martyrs at least heroes of the 8 Sox players. We've had spitballers in the Hall of Fame and drunks winning batting titles and pitching no-hitters. Steroid users are called cheaters; they degrade the game say some. I say no they don't. Before testing anyone could use steroids; I cannot see punishing those who chose that path. It was available to all who wanted it.

Ty Cobb was a mean-spirited, bigoted thug, yet he is in the Hall of Fame. Sammy Sosa and Mark McGuire will never make it because we suspect they cheated with drugs. Yet when they had that great home-run race we all stood and cheered. Baseball is full of stats and hypocrites: maybe we can't live with both, but baseball will survive both.

What we cannot live with is our elected representatives posturing in front of cameras in the name of saving baseball. "We have to do this for the children" some say. Crap. What greater lesson can a child learn than his/her hero is human and took advantage of the situation or cheated? Like the poor, cheaters will always be among us.

Yes, Ray, baseball will survive as long as we value team sports. The game has been altered somewhat (the despicable designated hitter rule, e.g.) but it is still baseball. It's the only major sport where the defense controls the ball. There is no time clock. Each side gets the same number of chances on offence. But you know the uniqueness and timelessness of baseball, and others have said it better.

Just for now, I would like Congress to get out of all sports, and as Mad Max says on Johnboy and Billy: Congress critters get out of baseball, stop posing for cameras, get back to work, and quit ruining my life. Y'all have a good day.

BRB is Write(and still loves Baseball. Hurry up April 1)

2008-02-08T10:21:00.002-05:00

Bits 'O Honey

Just some tidbits from BRB Land:

Number one grandson had his first birthday on Wednesday. He just keeps getting more and more interesting as he gets older.

Number two grandson, Jack, is now full-term and is waiting for the most inconvenient time to drop in on the PDB household.

The only car we have had for the last four years, one Toyota Corolla DX, has hit the quarter million mile mark and is still going.

We have a family gathering this weekend that promises to be Great.

That's all for now.

BRB is Write (and life is good)

2008-02-07T09:49:00.001-05:00

So Where Are The "I Support Our Veterans" Ribbons?

The Veterans' Administration always seems to swamped by claims. It wasn't always this way.

When we had to draft folk to fill the needs of the military, we also had the G.I Bill of Rights. It provided for things like guaranteed mortgages and education benefits and medical care and disability pensions. Many of us didn't use all the benefits that were available. My education benefits arrived in a timely manner. The backlog of claims wasn't what it is now.

Ever since we went to an all volunteer military the VA has been buried by claims. One reason for this is that after the draft ended in the 70s, a G.I. had to enroll in a program to receive benefits and had $100 a month deducted from his pay for the first 12 months of that enlistment. If I had had a $1200 co-pay deducted before I even had a claim, I would make damn sure I would have claimed all benefits I thought I qualified for and perhaps some I was not entitled to receive.

There are other reasons for the backlog of claims, I'm sure, e.g. budget cuts, lack of priority, etc. Here's one thing being explored to help eliminate the backlog:

From my favorite Veterans' Bulletin:

VA Claim Backlog Update 14:

"Advanced technologies such as artificial intelligence could help the Veterans Affairs Department reduce a backlog of disability claims that has spiked past 1 million, according to computer experts and veterans advocates. The Veterans Benefits Administration, which processes the claims, has a backlog of 650,000 pending claims and another 147,000 that are under appeal and working their way through a process that "is paper intensive, complex to understand, difficult to manage and takes years to learn," Chairman of the Veterans Affairs Subcommittee on Disability and Memorial Affairs Rep. John Hall (D-NY) said at a 29 JAN hearing of the House Veterans Affairs Committee. Training an employee to rate VBA claims can take two to three years and many leave within five years, Hall said. Experienced raters can adjudicate only about three claims a day, spending two to three hours on each claim. He said the VA should consider the use of artificial intelligence technologies, such as automated decision-support tools that can determine disability payments, which would speed up claims processing. "

Swell. Use AI to help deny claims. Eliminating backlog does not mean denying claims, even if that is the easiest route to take.

I don't have the solution. I'm sure AI ain't it. Getting vets more publicity, making it an issue might. Volunteering might help also. From the same bulletin:

"VA Voluntary Service (VAVS): VAVS was founded in 1946 to provide for our nation's veterans while they are cared for by VA health care facilities. It is a volunteer organization run by the VA which helps veterans in VA facilities throughout the country. Volunteers assist in routine administrative functions to help free VA employees to concentrate more on health care. There are also several VA cemeteries that have VAVS volunteers assisting in maintenance chores. It is one of the largest centralized volunteer programs in the Federal government. Over 350 organizations support it and. volunteers have provided over 676 million hours of service since its conception. As a community service volunteers assist veteran patients by augmenting staff with end of life care programs, foster care, community-based volunteer programs, hospital wards, nursing homes, and veteran outreach centers. The program receives annual contributions of over $50 million in gifts and donations. There are two convenient ways to sign up to be a VAVS volunteer:
1. Contact the Department of Veterans Affairs facility nearest you, ask for Voluntary Service, and tell their staff of your interest in becoming a VAVS Volunteer. The staff will take care of everything else including your interview, orientation, and assignment! To locate the VA facility is nearest you refer to http://www1.va.gov/directory/guide/home.asp?isFlash=1 2. Volunteer now by filling out and submitting the form located at http://www1.va.gov/volunteer/volnowDB.cfmSomeone from your local VAVS office will contact you with additional information. [Source: NAUS Weekly Update 25 JAN 08 ++]"

Since I have been turned down for employment by the VA, am bored, and have a hobby horse to ride, volunteering seems to be the way to go. I'll let you know how it goes.

BRB is Write (and hates the system but not the players)

2008-02-05T09:02:00.000-05:00

The Right Way; The Wrong Way; The Army Way

I have here, before me, my discharge papers; my DD form 214. It has, among other things, my dates of service, MOS, training completed, and type of discharge or character of service as they like to call it: Honorable.

But in a section called "Transfer or Discharge Data" lies a ticking bomb. Line 11c sub-headed Reason and Authority references an army regulation and the obscure code SPN followed by a number. I never paid much attention to all the military jargon and codes on my DD214.

If you are a Vet and reading this dig out your DD214 and check your SPN. From the Veterans' Bulletin (Jan 15, 2008) I have linked on the right of this blog, read this:

"Spin Code Lawsuit: This case was originally filed in the US District Court, Northern District of New York, Syracuse and aspects of it are still being litigated. The lawsuit began in MAR 76 when Edwin Cosby with an Honorable Discharge discovered he had a bad "Spin Code" (i.e. Separation Program Number). Unknown to him and most other veterans beginning 11 JUN 56 under D.O.D. Instruction 1336.3 DOD ordered the military departments to begin putting a coded number on the main employment reference document of veterans. This document known as the DD-214 is often by employers of veterans seeking employment and benefits. DoD prepares eight or more copies of a veteran's DD-214 of which copy one goes to the veteran and others are eventually sent to State Adjutant General, VA Data Processing Center, Austin, TX. State Director Selective Service, and National Military Records Center, St. Louis MO. At a congressional hearing in 1974 DoD told Congress that only a couple hundred thousand documents had a code number and the "SPN" coding system would be stopped. However, in 1972, DoD started changing their "SPN" system to the "SPD" (separation program designator) and by 1977 nearly 20 million veterans with Honorable Discharges had a coded number. Congress subsequently attempted to pass a law regarding the use of the coded numbers; however, this failed to pass.

Numerous major corporations have admitted to having the codes and use them in their employment decisions regarding veterans. Banks, life insurance companies, State Government & Federal Government Agencies have them as well. Lists of the codes were sent to FAA, (federal aviation admin.), HUD, (housing & urban development), and Office Personnel Management. Even on an Honorable discharge, a "Spin Code" can hurt a veteran's chance of being hired by a prospective employer, obtaining a loan, and/or obtaining insurance. A few examples of spin codes and their meanings are:SPN 258 - Unfitness, multiple reasons SPN 263 - Bedwetter SPN 41A - Apathy, lack of interest SPN 41E - Obesity SPN 46C - Apathy / Obesity SPN 463 - Paranoid personality

A complete listing of spin codes can be found at http://www.landscaper.net/discharg.htm Veterans can request a new DD 214 with the spin codes removed. If you were in the US Army, written requests for having a SPN code removed from your DD 214 (Report of Separation from Active Duty) or earlier discharge papers, should be sent to: Commander, Reserve Components Personnel & Administrative Center, Box 12479, Ollivette Branch, St. Louis, MO 63132. Additional info on this subject is available at http://veterancourtcodes.com/ which contains a 90 minute video on the subject. [Source: Veteran's Forum 9 Jan 07 and Ed Crosby ecrosby1@rochester.rr.com ++] "

Use the links and find out what the Army really thought of your service. Think back to those jobs you lost out on and had included your DD214 as a reference.

My SPN code is 411: "Early separation of overseas returnee." It gives no reason for my early separation. The reason I had an early out was because, as a draftee, I had a two year active duty commitment, a two year active reserve commitment, and a two year inactive commitment. Well, in 1969, the Army Reserves were filled to capacity with the priviledged, well-connected, rich or just plain lucky draft-dodgers. (See Dan Quayle, e.g.) And in April, 1969 anyone returning from Viet-Nam with less than 150 days left in their active duty commitment were given a discharge and assigned as inactive to a reserve unit. Four years later I got a letter stating my commitment was ended.

None of this is on the DD-214. "Early separation of overseas returnee" could mean anything. I could have had VD and got discharged. No, there is a SPN code for that. I could have been homosexual; nope, there's a code for that. And your prospective employer had access to all those codes.

I am of the age that it really doesn't matter to me much now. However, I'm getting my "spin" code removed from my discharge. I urge you or any vets you know to do the same. We don't need the army putting any more labels on us.

At the time I was drafted students were protesting, politicians were taking stands against the war, soldiers were being vilified, and my life was being effing interrupted for a cause I didn't believe in. But I went. As I got older and somewhat wiser, I was reconciled to my service and even took pride in it. Just when I was using my DD-214 as a reference, the Army could have thrown a spanner in the works. Screwed again and gaining no pleasure from it.

BRB is Write (and will still prevail)

2007-12-20T10:45:00.000-05:00

Seeing a Legend

Van Cilburn was in town. How our small-town, but with a magnificent symphony, landed this virtuoso pianist is beyond me, but he was there. We saw him and heard him.

Yes, it was a fund-raiser, and the prices were elevated, and the orchestra donated some of their time to put on the concert, but it was worth it all. When I was in high school I saw Sandy Kofax pitch. I saw Stan Musial at the end of his career. I saw Ray Charles. It is a distinct privilege to be a witness to greatness. Van Cliburn, in his 70s, was great! I had heard of him, of course, when he won the first Tchaikovsky piano competition in Moscow in 1958. (I was 12 and my mother bought one of his recordings.) This concert 50 years later was marvelous.

Our view was from the balcony, but the acoustics of the hall are such that the sound is stunning from any seat. Cliburn is a tall man. When he walked on stage he seemed to tower above the whole scene, dominating it, but humbly, like a person not used to his height. When he sat at the piano and started playing, he still dominated, but all humility was gone. I noticed his hands like one would notice hands sticking out of too short sleeves. Those wonderful hands involved his whole being in the music. I had tears from the first notes. You can read a review by our local guy (Ken Keuffel, whom I affectionately call "kerfuffel") here. I don't do music reviews.

We all stood and cheered after the first movement, a real no no, faux pas not so many years ago. But our music director, Robert Moody, agrees that we should applaud when we feel moved. Not a soul was unmoved after that first movement. I'm listening to it now on a recording from RCA Victor Red Seal now on CD. I'm still moved. Van Cliburn did three encores. We did not want the evening to end. He did some Chopin fantasie impromtus, or such, and ended by accompanying the house as we sang Happy Birthday to the principle sponsor, Ms Hanes, of underwear fame. (manufacturing, not wearing)

I have to mention, again, the orchestra. We are truly blessed with a symphony that belies our town's small size, but demonstrates our wealth of talent. We draw musicians from four universities, including The North Carolina School of the Arts: faculty and students.

Gone to a live concert lately? Do it. The rewards are worth the hassle of getting there, and you cannot repeat a live performance on any sound system yet invented. Do it!

BRB is Write (and cannot wait for the next concert in February)

2007-12-13T09:07:00.000-05:00

Meditations at the Cantata

We went to a Christmas Cantata last Sunday at a local Moravian Church here in hyphen city. It was most enjoyable (haven't I written about live performances, already?): Woodwinds, strings, percussion, and piano accompanied by a chorus made up of several church choirs and soloists, about forty Sunday singers and ten instrumental students. It was a strong effort by all. This cantata alternated musical parts with spoken readings, mostly from scripture.

So here I am in the pew wishing I could cross my legs at the knee, or slouch down, or otherwise make myself comfortable. Pews are not made for worshipers' comfort. They have been designed to encourage attention and humility. Therefore, I alternated between attention and humility. During one of my humility postures, I noticed I had my legs crossed at the ankles, my hands on my thighs, and my palms up and my thumbs touching my index fingers. I looked down and saw my belly. Damn, I thought, Buddha had a beer belly, too. And I went from humility to more of a feeling of contentment and tranquility.

This church that held the concert was decked out in greenery: wreaths, garlands, and a '60s modern triangle of a tree on the back wall of the chancel. It covered up the cross. This is the second church I've visited at Christmas that had the chancel cross covered by an evergreen tree. One would think that in a Christian church sanctuary the cross would never be covered. I noticed that the flags were still visible. I really have no comment on this phenomenon, only questions.

Passages from the Old and New Testaments were read between the choral offerings. Scripture has changed remarkably since I first started reading it. As a child I wished for a modern translation to help me understand better. Now, I hate modern paraphrases, interpretations, translations. King James is a basketball star, not a version of the Bible.

Read this aloud from Isaiah 40:1-2 New American Bible: "Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God.
2
1 Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her that her service is at an end, her guilt is expiated; Indeed, she has received from the hand of the LORD double for all her sins."

Now read this from the King James version: "1 Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God.
2 Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned: for she hath received of the LORD's hand double for all her sins."

Try setting the first to music. Yes, the King James version is not reliably a true translation from the best sources, but it is far and away the best for Hebrew poetry and songs.

It was also a football Sunday afternoon. The sanctuary would have seated 250 easily. There were many vacant spaces in the pews. The only young people were in the orchestra.

It was a great afternoon out of the house with family and live music. From these musings, it doesn't sound as if I paid much attention to the concert. You listen your way, and I will listen mine.

BRB is Write(and is still searching for Christmas)

2007-11-26T14:31:00.000-05:00

From September 20 to November 26

That is a long time in the blog world. As it happens, it's been a long time for BRB also. Many small events in the larger scheme have passed through my life. We've had a few milestones and some rather glorious times as a family. We've been to two concerts and watched one legend perform. I got on an airplane again. (survived the whole flight ordeal, as you can see.)

To start, we lost a loved and very senior member of our family. She passed after a long illness and a lot of intrusion by the medical geniuses of our for-profit system. (That is how I saw it. I won't inject any more political statements.) She is missed.

I went to visit my mother shortly after that and found her in good health and still living on her own at age 90. I visited last year, and we had a lot to catch up on. This year we tended to just sit in companionable silence. I took her grocery shopping and slept on her sofa. We ate most evenings in the rather elegant dining room of her community. When the Lakers or the Clippers were on we watched; we dozed, we watched and at the end wondered who won as we went to bed. I stayed seven days, and found that that was one day too many. But it was a good visit.

PDB finally announced to the blog world that he and his most amazing spouse are having a son in late February. Read all about it.

Favorite son-in-law had major surgery and Ms CPB and I had that grandchild for a week of his Dad's recovery. I was not in shape for that. Grandchild learned to crawl that week and we chased him all over the house.

These are just some of the family happenings that I never got around to writing about. Over whelmed is not too strong a feeling for that period. I will get around to a few concert reviews and other stuff soon.

BRB is Write (and will continue)

2007-09-20T09:26:00.000-04:00

Some Minor Observations

Saw a guy dressed head to toe in camos ripping through traffic on a super ninja bike. Didn't strike me as a very good fashion choice for rush hour traffic.

There is a tee shirt shown here that I'd like to have. I reminds me of a time when I was still smoking. I used to stop at a downtown convenience store to get smokes almost every morning. The store changed managers and staff quite often. This day as I walked in I hear, instead of "Good morning," "How you doin', Boss?" New manager, black guy grinnin' at me. I just looked at him and got my smokes and left with a "goodbye." Next day same thing. The third day he gave me that greeting I responded: "Do you call all your customers boss or only the white ones?" His face went blank/hooded. He never greeted me that way again. He was gone a few months later.

Years ago I had a black co-worker who had a great tee. It had that red "Danger" sign and below it was: "Educated Black Man."

My favorite tee was on a young woman working at the feed co-op in our part of Canada:
"I may not be perfect, but some of my parts are excellent."

We've had the windows open, now, for almost a week. Except for a few bugs slipping through the cracks the screens leave, it's been great. The electric meter is now in slo-mo mode. Duke power worry.

Here is one reason I am ripping off all self-applied labels. I am still registered as a Democrat, but that can change. How stupid can a gang of Democratic Senators be? (Chorus: How stupid are they?) Warriors go to war. They need time off, yes. But the best way to get them home is to hand off the defense of Iraq to the Iraqis.

Dammit, I used to know who was on my side and who was against me. Now, all I can see are friggin' idiots posing for cameras and pandering to varied interests. My voting pattern used to be: "When in doubt, throw the incumbents out." From what I can see, the challengers bring even less to the fight.

BRB is Write (and had better stop)

2007-09-19T09:44:00.000-04:00

It Is Symphony Season, Again! Yay!

Our Sunday series of concerts started last Sunday. The feature work was the 1812 Overture by one of my favorite dead white guys: Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. I really like this work 'cause it starts in an almost pastoral manner with a theme played by the violas and cellos. And it ends with Napoleon and all the French getting smucked by church bells, organs, and cannons. Really cool. The cannons, in our concert hall (The Stevens Center), were synthesized by a massive sub woofer/amp firing cannon speakers. I'm not sure how the brass section survived, as they were right in front of the speakers.

The opening work was by von Weber: Jubel overture. The work was composed to celebrate some German King in 1818. It is very listenable and ends with the tune "God Save the King," or "My country 'tis of Thee," for you Yanks. It is a very fitting ending to the piece since all those 19th Century European Monarchs were related to each other anyway.

We also heard a new work, a premiere, if you will, by Dan Locklair, a live white composer, no less. The work is called Phoenix for Orchestra. I would buy a recording of this. It has antiphonal horns, melody, harmony, a commanding organ and lively parts for the orchestra. I whined about having to sit through another 21st Century piece of atonal, loud crap. What a pleasant surprise. I have sore ribs from Ms CPB elbowing me to remind me of my whining. What a great work, and our orchestra was up to it.

Sumdood playing the cello was the guest artist. I guess I do him an injustice. He is Zuill Bailey, a young cellist of note who has played with many large orchestras and in some prestigious halls. He couldn't have been better matched to the concerto he played: Concerto for Violoncello and Orchestra in E Minor, op. 85 by Edward Elgar. E minor, Elgar, Romanticism, expressive instrument (cello), emoting soloist, all worked together. It was very enjoyable if I kept my eyes off of him and concentrated on the orchestra. As an encore, he played variations on "Yankee Doodle Dandy." He showed a lot of technique (as if I knew) and drew admiring looks from the rest of the cello section (especially the women). Forty years ago, one would have had to play variations on "Dixie."

Again folks, even if you have the best recordings by the best orchestras and soloists, the best playback electronics and the best speakers, it is not comparable to being there for the live concert. Live concerts bring the dead white male composers to life. For a small city orchestra, the Winston-Salem Symphony is superb. The musicians are drawn from the NC School of the Arts and from some of the other colleges in town. The director, Robert Moody, brings enthusiasm and energy to the whole program.

We will get Van Cliburn next month for the fundraiser, like we got Perlman last year. We have had Midori as soloist and will get Evelyn Glennie in the spring.

One last thought on live concerts: I know professional musicians have studied, worked, practiced and rehearsed for years. They love their craft/artistry and will play most anywhere, as long as they can play. But, damn, for people at work, they all look like they are having much too good of a time.

Support your local orchestra; you and they deserve it.

BRB is Write (and looking forward to Piano Concerto #1 by dead Russian and played by live Texan)

2007-09-13T09:14:00.000-04:00

The Weather Breaks!

Not much of a headline?; not worth my time, your time, or the space here in Pixelland, you say? We have set more records here in our part of NC in the month of August than at any other time. More days recorded a high of 90 degrees F. in August than any year ever recorded. Al Gore weather. Duke Power got more of our money since the Italians spent the winter here late last century. (That's another story.)

I have the air off, and the windows open to the woods, 65F at 6am and 57% humidity. All of August at 6am it was 74F and 90%. It never rained. We are still in the midst of a drought, but rain is promised for tomorrow.

The deer and other animals are going to start moving again, and the slaughter will continue: deer vs autos. I need to get my neighbors to shoot more. I don't shoot deer, 'cause I wouldn't eat it; I like to eat what I kill, e.g. fish.

Speaking of this time of year: School is in, and school buses are clogging the roads. Please give them all the attention you can while driving: put the coffee down; turn off the cell phone; watch for kids. Know the rules for stopping for a school bus which is loading or discharging kids. You can look it up, I did. If you are on a four-lane road with a median, divider, boulevard, and are not following the bus, do not stop; those of us who have read the rules may run up your butt if you do. The same applies for a five lane road with a center turn lane. Don't stop if not following the bus. The routes are arranged so that kids don't have to cross major highways to get to the bus. Following? stop. Opposite direction, keep rolling.

That's my yearly rant about that. We now have some traffic circles where stop signs used to be. Many drivers don't understand the concept. Here it is in a nutshell: You yield to those in the circle. If you are in the circle keep going to your exit. That ain't hard, now, is it? Too bad none of my local traffic circle users will read this.

Nephew and his wife added to the earth's population yesterday and enlarged the greater family by one baby girl. Congrats to them both. All are doing fine, even the father.

BRB is Write (and loves the fresh air flowing through the house; take that, Duke Power!)

2007-09-11T11:52:00.000-04:00

Musings on This September 11

First of all, I forgot what date it was when I got up. All I knew was that I had a job interview at 9 am. Then when we got out to take Ms CPB to work and me to the interview I noticed lots of flags at half-staff. Ms remarked about the date and that we had a great-niece due to be born today. Damn, I forgot. I'll never forget that day, and nor will lots of others. I don't know how unique PDB's response was, but it was interesting. Check it out.

I hate job interviews. "So Mr BRB, tell me about Bruce." Do I lie, embellish, brag, be totally honest, a combination of all of the above? I don't lie very well, so I try to be honest.

So here it is, 9-11, and I have to walk voluntarily into the Federal Building here in town. Ok, I've got the chutzpah for that. If I say that the Feds were particularly security conscious today, I don't blame them. They all but asked me to undress to get through the screening at the entrance. Made it to the 7th floor and had my interview.

I should explain that I was applying for a clerking job at the regional Veterans' Administration office. Downtown Hyphen-town, where last year an abandoned car sat between the city court house and the federal building on main street for a WEEK! Oh well, the federal building looks a lot like a concrete bunker plastered with sandstone stucco. So did the Murrah building, as I recall.

I had a board interview with three of the VA's finest management types for this clerking job. "If you should get this job BRB, where do you see yourself in five years?" I didn't say retired.

What ever happened to all of the little flags that sprouted up like dandelions in the Spring right after 9-11? I guess we all tend to react and then to let things pass into memory rather than into memorials.

So here I am, 9-11-07, listening to "Forest Flower: Charles LLoyd at Monterey." It was recorded live at the Monterey Jazz Festival 1966. Hippie jazz some called it. Charles LLoyd on tenor sax, Keith Jarrett on piano, Cecil McBee on bass and Jack DeJohnette on drums; just an outstanding group playing live outdoors. In 1967 I ventured into Compton, CA to buy the album. Don't know Compton? Think Williams sisters, Athern Model Trains, south-central L.A., Watts, and you are close. I could have stayed in that record store all day and bought every album I had heard on our local jazz station, KBCA. I had money for one and got Forest Flower. Forty years later it is still fresh to hear; I still marvel at the improvisation and solos. It is a comfort album: one that brings back some rather painful times, yet remains remarkably relevant to me.

Back to this 9-11. I hope I get this job. We could use the extra income (who can't). And in some small way I can serve my fellow Vets, which is the primary motive in any case.

BRB is Write (and may have left it too late)

2007-08-28T10:26:00.000-04:00

Eine Kline Tag Musik

No, it ain't Mozart I'm listening to. It's the Tarheel Travelers. I've seen and heard this Bluegrass/Mountain Music group several times at a local country church. Right now I'm listening to their CD. I cannot give a web site, 'cause they ain't got one. However, if you Google them, you'll find their concert schedule around the various Mountain Music Festivals in the remoter sections of Appalachia.

They have great harmony in the "high-lonesome" voice/style of Bill Monroe and Doc Watson. And I always love that string sound of mandolin, guitar, fiddle, bass, and banjo. Think "Foggy Mountain Breakdown"; Flatt and Scruggs; The movie Bonnie and Clyde. I guess bluegrass is an acquired taste.

However, this music was born in the Appalachian Mountains by their Celtic ancestors that had to settle in the high country, 'cause the English had all the Piedmont to their selves, and like the colonial English everywhere in the 18th century, they had no space for lessor folk.

So you can hear this music in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia and all of "down east" Canada; Ireland, Scotland, and here in the mountain reaches of the Carolinas, Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, and Georgia.

All of this is by way of saying that the banjo player of the Tarheel Travelers showed up at the 75th anniversary of my father-in-law's rural church and joined in with two white gospel groups. Great music, if a little too Jesus centered and preaching for my taste. But, damn, (oops) they could play and sing.

So now I have on Delbert McClinton "Live," and I can give you a link. I cannot classify this music: Blues? Country Rock? Driving Texas Blues and RoadHouse music? Whatever, it works for me.

Who is Delbert McClinton? If you're old enough, you might remember an early Sixties ('62) pop tune called "Hey, Baby" by Bruce Channel. Delbert was on the recording playing the harmonica. He got a "With Delbert McClinton" on the album covers and posters. Damn, he must be older than me. When "Hey, Baby" came out I was learning to drive and fighting pimples.

On this "Live" recording he does the best cover I've ever heard of Otis Redding's "I've Got Dreams to Remember." He writes songs, too. "Livin' It Down" has to be the funniest she-done-me-wrong song ever. He uses nothing but cliches to describe his pain: "I had my ducks in a row and she shot 'em; I had my eggs in a basket and she dropped it"; and on and on; hilarious.

Enough for today. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe a little Charles Lloyd and Keith Jarrett.

BRB is Write (and knows what he likes)

2007-08-18T15:14:00.000-04:00

Grump time

So, of course, I went to the sad meat bin and got elbowed aside by lots of white-haired folk, and scored no meat. I will return another day for more abuse. Speaking of my elders, it's almost time for the new symphony season. It's always a trial for me to be polite when all those old folk are pushing into line. However, I figure I only have to survive another 20 years and I, too, will no longer have to be polite.

Message to bicycle riders:

Stay off my roads and stop clogging up rural NC. All you Lance (and Lancette) Armstrong wannabes lobbied so hard for all those "Share The Road" signs without realizing that YOU, too, have to share the road. Riding 3 abreast on a two-lane rural road with a 55 mph speed limit is just plain stupid arrogance. What's even worse, ya'all were doing it up a blind hill approaching a side road. Even my old Corolla will do 55 up a hill, but you cannot. It's a wonder you have survived this long. That little pointy helmet and those stretch what-evers will not protect you from your insanity. And in rural NC, don't flip off anyone who honks at you to let you know that they are passing. When cars overtake you, go single file and hug the white line, and we'll all get along.

Going from Grump to Gramps:

Met favorite son-in-law and #1 grandchild in their local pub. It was passing strange to see Irish son-in-law with a coke and a burger instead of a Guinness and a cigar. Of course he had the most precious, cutest, blue-eyedest 6 month old ever in his lap. It's always a treat to see them. I had the pint, but no cigar.

BRB is Write (and is never grumpy after seeing that child)

2007-08-17T09:29:00.000-04:00

Solo: I am so naive...

Chorus: How naive are you?

(I have to try this 'cause I am, after 61 years, still rather naive about things.)

When people tell me things I believe them unreservedly. Long, long ago in a country far away I was a shop steward in our local factory. The company had just contracted out the payroll work. The company sent the time cards and pay rates to another company, and we got paid. After many errors and late paychecks, the union decided to get involved and filed several grievances for back pay on short paychecks. Mine was from a young guy who said that the company had not paid him the 40 hrs he said he had worked.

At our first (and only) meeting with the Company rep they produced his time card for the pay period in question. He had so many missed punches and had few supervisor initials to correct the time card that I gave up and pulled him out of the meeting.

He wanted to know if he was getting his back pay. I had to explain to him that punching a time card was part of his job. I also told him that if he lied to another union rep ever again no one would take his case.

We lost because I believed him and didn't do my homework by asking for a copy of his time card.
As I said, naive.

Once when I was chief steward (I got the position by doing my homework) we won a rather important grievance by catching the Personnel Manager in a blatant lie. When we came out of the meeting I exclaimed to our Local President, "He lied! My god, he lied to us the whole time!" She just replied, "Of course he did. For a man of your age and experience you can be remarkably naive." I must say that she is some ten years younger and lifetimes more experienced and wise when dealing with people.

Solo: I am so naive...

Chorus: How naive are you?

I thought O.J was innocent. The jury said so.

Solo: I am so naive...

Chorus: How naive are you?

I think that most people are as polite as I am. I am always surprised by rude behavior. It costs nothing to be polite. I don't feel I am sacrificing any ego by civil behavior. However, don't be rude to me. I can lose my politeness in a heartbeat.

Solo: I am so naive...

Chorus: How naive are you?

I'm off to the sad meat bin at the local Lowes food emporium. I think I'm going to score some bargain meat. The rude septuagenarians and octogenarians will not be there pawing through the bin before me. That's how naive I am.

BRB is Write (and not as naive as I used to be)

2007-08-16T18:52:00.000-04:00

I have to do this:

I have to post without anything to say, 'cause I cannot think of anything that is really bugging me now.

Added a new video card and more RAM to this 3 year-old and now practically obsolete computer. We will likely run Windows XP until we replace all the hardware. I tend to hate technology, even though it allows me to run a Corolla up to 240k mi and still going; I can call folk from anywhere on my cell; I can clog up cyber-space with crap like this.

When we lived in Canada, I used to root for global-warming to happen NOW! Now, after the last few weeks in NC, my wishes are coming true. Never had very good timing.

I was going to rant about for-profit health care, but I won't. We seem to pay a lot for rather indifferent care. It's the Wal-mart model, I guess.

Maybe tomorrow will yield more and better ramblings.

BRB is Write (and had nothing to say)

2007-07-11T08:59:00.000-04:00

Requiem for a Tree

We lost a tree a few weeks ago. The landlord was afraid that if it came down, it would hit our house. The tree folk who took it down agreed and said it was likely hollow/rotten at the core.

Now, anyone looking at our place would remark: How can you miss one tree? We have about six or seven ancient oaks that shade the whole property of two houses and a large garage/workshop. We have a wood on the south side that runs east to west for about a mile and is hundreds of yards deep. Oaks, hickories, elms, maples, pines, and many I cannot name are well represented. There are enough nuts for squirrels and some forage for deer. The wood straddles a ravine that runs the same way, and was PDB's gun range for several years. In the winter, with the leaves down and the brush fairly clear, he had a clear 30-40 yards across the ravine with a hill for a backstop.

So why this eulogy for one tree in the forest? This tree was a magnificent red oak. It stood on the edge of the woods and guarded our yard and an entrance to the woods. It had been there for many, many years. Before these buildings were here, the land was farmed. The tree stood on the head of a gentle slope, and any farmer can tell you that if you repeatedly plow or cultivate near the woods on a down-slope you will create a bank as the soil always runs down hill. The tree stood on a four-foot bank.

I called it the Sentinel Tree. Mathman put his archery targets at the base of the bank below the tree. He had a clear sight of about 60 feet. If you come down the drive and glance back at the woods, and don't look at the stump, you would never guess that that great tree was ever there. There are taller trees behind the stump. But this oak was massive. The stump is 42" across three feet above grade. And contrary to expert opinion, it was solid through. The landlord's son hauled off four logs, 8-10' long, to be sawn and milled. It yielded 36 to 40 feet of straight-grained red oak. I guess that's a good use for the Sentinel, but it was a healthy tree.

We came home from work one day and saw a guy climbing to the top of the tree, dropping ropes to a second guy, and taking the tree down a section at a time. When they dropped the upper trunk, it shook the house. The lower trunk was more massive, but it didn't have as far to fall. We just felt a shudder in the ground.

All around our part of NC trees are being sacrificed to the development gods. A local golf course in the city limits was sold. It was a big property, 27 holes, clubhouse, parking lot, lots of trees. All are gone. I saw some log trucks taking some of the trees, but most they burned. We had smoke in the air for weeks. Now there are condos in barren fields, and a few offices/light industrial buildings empty of tenants. The Ents wept for weeks.

I am not a tree hugger. I know my header declares I am Left Write Left. Trees grow; I just hate to see them go.

One more thing. I never expected that tree to be cut down. I never paid it that much attention. It was there guarding our yard and its woods. Things that we love, value, or just appreciate sometimes can only survive by someone else's whim. They hang by a thread; they may be destroyed at will, by accident, or by purpose. They are gone just the same.

BRB is Write (and misses the Sentinel Tree)

2007-07-03T10:13:00.000-04:00

Fourth of July

Yup, it's tomorrow, but today I have the computer all to myself.

I posted about the 4th last year, but I have a few new thoughts this year. One old thought: I prefer calling it Independence Day. That was when all those traitors to the British Crown declared their desire to be free and were willing to fight for it. Against all odds, it worked. That'll teach tyrants to throw out all their dissidents, third sons of the nobility, and independent thinkers. They will turn on you. The present government here should take note of that fact, but I guarantee they won't.

July 4th, 1968: I was in Vung-Tau, Viet Nam. We had no duty and went to the beach and ate steaks, drank a lot of beer, went swimming in the South China Sea, and passed out in the sand. Then, it seemed like a good time. That night, instead of fireworks, a bunch of GIs fired off a lot of ammo into the air complete with flares and tracers. Nice show, but I was still heading to the bunker, hung over, and not knowing who was shooting: VC or us.

July 4th, 1976: We lived in a campground in PA. That was our home. I wasn't feeling very patriotic. But the campground had some fireworks, and the smell of cordite freaked me out. We ate a lot of camp food with our neighbors, and then planned our emigration to Canada.

July 4th, every year we lived in Canada (1977-1995), we never let our kids forget that we were still Americans. We celebrated Canada Day July 1, every year, saw a lot of fireworks and then had a few sparklers and grilled more meat on the 4th.

July 4th, 1996-present: We have been in NC, in the same house. Had a few 4ths here with the family. We have never gone to any public display of fireworks, parades, or whatever. It has become a time for family gatherings 'cause we have the day off. (unless you're an independent retailer giving your help the day off. See PDB)

July 4th, 2007: We are heading to Wal-Mart for the weekly supplies and commercial abuse. We have one senior member of the family in the hospital; some other family members will be at the POPS concert in Boston; others will be in their pool in Florida.

We are diverse and scattered. We will be doing thoroughly American things (except traveling), and remembering that dissension is the American way. (Well, maybe not all of us.)

Have a good holiday; celebrate your freedoms by taking them out for a walk.

BRB is Write (and has a Red, White, and Blue cake in the house.)

2007-06-15T08:50:00.000-04:00

Flag Day was Yesterday

I didn't really miss it, but I was a bit disappointed by our village's lack of flags. Last year and for a lot of years past, flags fluttered from power poles, houses and businesses on most streets. Yesterday was rather lacking in display. We seem to be getting a little complacent, don't know why, and I will not speculate.

PDB has a little post on Flag Day that links to a Mark Steyn column on why we don't need an anti-flag-burning constitutional amendment. Go read it.

Last year I posted this story. I don't think I can improve on it.

BRB is Write (and has yet to display a flag)

2007-06-11T11:03:00.000-04:00

A Few More Fries for Thought

But not super-sized:

From the category of Why Is It? We love Nathan's and Hebrew National beef franks. They have an excellent taste and hold up well to grilling. But why do the Kosher packages have seven dogs to a pound (not a pun) and the non Kosher packages have eight dogs to a pound (again no pun)?

From the category of stupid label disclaimers: On the label of a large bottle of Mike's Frozen Hard Lemonade is: "Blender and ice not included."

Some more 10th grade gems (and no, I'm not betraying any confidentiality):

"The USA is the worlds largest supper power." Can't argue with that.

They had to use and understand the terms "natural-born citizen" and naturalized citizen." That proved problematic for some:

We got terms like "unborn citizen," "born citizen," "foreign unborn," "home born," "unnatural citizen," "non natural born." You get the picture.

"Declaration of Independants." Makes sense to me.

"Farmers of the Constitution." Foundling Fathers".

Also had this quote from Twain woven into one of the best essays I read: "A patriot loves his country. A nationalist hates everybody else."

And one of my favorites: "It takes a lot of hard work and smarts to become a memorized president of the US."

I hope I get called back to score some more writing tests. It was rather satisfying at times and could be very depressing at other times. It's hard to tell who is failing whom: Schools, teachers, parents, laws or administrators. But quite often, I read a paper that had triumphed over all those adversities, and it was a pleasure.

BRB is Write (and does not like very many kids.)

2007-06-10T14:21:00.000-04:00

Some Random Observations

I was going to call this post food for thought, but it would be just junk food at best; rather like fries served up at the library. (It made sense when I thought of it)

Waiting to rescue Ms CPB from her downtown workplace I get to observe a bit of street life, some very poor drivers with really expensive vehicles, and some interesting folk.

License plate on the back of a Lexus: ERUDITE1. Now, I wondered how hard it was for those folks to live up to that pronouncement; it surely didn't describe the car. Ms CPB's comment was: If you have to proclaim it, you don't have it.

The folk on the street where I usually wait is full of bankers, ITs, lawyers and various Admins scurrying in and out of the building. The odd urban vagrant slouches by occasionally, and lots of lost tourists looking for the way back to the colonial part of town. Walk down the street for six-seven blocks, and you will pass some old shops and cafes; some really trendy pizza, blues, deli joints wedged in with the performing arts center, micro brewery, and other shops that think they belong in the modern city scape.

Sometimes I have to wait around the corner. We are now in the guts of town. The old Woolworth is long time closed. There is a Historical Marker on the corner recalling the sit-in that took place there many years ago. On the next corner is the new city bus station. Between the Woolworth and the terminal are the necessities of urban life: the pawn shop, the barbershop, the magazine, tobacco, and snack shop. Life on that side of the street is a lot grittier than on the side where I'm parked. I rather like this part of town (in the daylight).

I recently had a job where I scored writing tests required by the state and written by 10th graders. I have come to several conclusions about schools and 10th graders. Spelling is no longer taught. Penmanship doesn't exist in any form in any grade. You'd think that teachers would insist that students write clearly, if only to make grading and correcting papers easier. The words there, they're, and their are ok to use interchangeably. Also allowed, and aloud and any other homonym that you care to name. Sentences and periods or full stops are optional. I cannot publish anything more detailed, 'cause, again, I had to sign a confidentially agreement. It is enough to say that 10th graders can be an opinionated lot when pushed. Most papers I scored demonstrated some thought, and some abandoned thought for just spewing out the parents' prejudices.

Most folk driving past my waiting place downtown have a phone in their ear. Who do they talk to all the time? What did they do before cell phones?

I have run out of fries.

BRB is Write (and still naive, but that's another post)

2007-06-10T13:49:00.000-04:00

Damn Michael Moore, Anyway

Just when some sort of Universal Health Care is again poking its nose above the foxhole, Michael Moore has to come along and film another one of his agiprop, docu-crap movies. He is so polarizing that he only sets back his issues by the way he portrays them.

Roger and Me was rather brilliant. But, and this is a Big Butt, even for the leftie, liberal, union man that I am, he cheated. He cheapened his take on GM by attacking the wrong people: e.g. ambushing little old ladies of privilege on the golf course. I have my own copy, and have yet to get to the end of it. He actually had me feeling sorry for all those sad capitalists. I guess I'm not a true-red red.

Howard Fineman has a column in the current issue of Newsweek. I don't pay much attention to politicians, but some of the Dems are talking about some sort of universal health plan. I wish them luck, but they really didn't need Michael Moore weighing in on the topic. His contribution will only set the cause back. When the furor about Moore's film subsides, we may, again, be able to address health care sanely.

BRB is Write (and wishes Moore would attack the rampant spread of crap in the media)

2007-05-21T10:03:00.000-04:00

Why I Hate Banks

I'm not sure how to make this grumble not sound like whining, but here goes:

Bank of America, you suck. I took my last paycheck from my last job to your place to cash, 'cause it is drawn on YOUR bank.

Teller: Do you have an account with us, Mr BRB?

Me: No.

Teller: Where do you bank?

Me: I don't. Ms. CPB does the banking. (as if it's any of your business; I'm trying to be nice.)

Teller: We may have to charge you $5 to cash it; I won't be able to tell until I run it through the system. Have you worked for this employer long?

Me: It was a five-week contract. (I am still trying to be polite. I now give her my driver's license and put my right thumbprint on the face of the check, and endorse their precious check.)

Teller: (after running the check through the system) There will be a $5 charge to cash this check.

Me: No.

Teller: Do you want to pay the $5 to cash this?

Me: No, I said. Please return the check and my ID. This check is drawn on your bank payable to me, who is no longer a stranger. You have my dl# and my thumbprint and my endorsement. We have already used up $5 of your and my time. Goodbye.

Bank of America should be getting enough money out of my employer without gouging me another five bucks. People have called me naive, and I guess I am; but, damnit, banks suck.

I was all prepared to head to the MALL with a fist full of cash to get some needed personal items such as shoes and underwear. It may take months for me to face going to the MALL again. Damn banks! I went to Ms CPB's bank and threw the whole amount into her account.

I have other things to grumble about (never say whine), but I'll save them.

BRB is Write (and rightly brassed off)

2007-04-24T19:37:00.000-04:00

Slaughter at Virginia Tech

I haven't posted on this event 'cause so many have. Just a few observations:

If ever we have a tragedy that affects our family, and a reporter comes within hitting distance poking a microphone or recorder in my face and asking me how we feel about said tragedy...
She/he will not be camera ready for any more interviews for a long time.

All the news outlets made more money off of this slaughter than they did wringing their hands over Don Imus.

The slaughter at Blacksburg, transferred to Iraq: Just another average day of murder by sub-human criminals. Hardly worth all the media coverage. I guess that's why I love this country and do not understand theirs. What the hell are we still doing there? Why do they still have rocks to sit on? It should all be rubble and sand by now.

Enough. Liberal angst is about to set in.

BRB is Write(and sorely confused)

2007-04-18T18:34:00.000-04:00

Full-Time Job?

I haven't been posting lately 'cause I gotta go to WORK everyday and only get to play with the computer a few minutes at a time. Also, I'm too bloody tired to do much else after work but watch live sports.

The last time I had a full-time day job was ****years ago. So now I just flit around the internet and drop a few pearls of wisdom on some of my favorite sites. I also deposit some swine droppings here and there.

But this job is temporary. I may be in full voice again in a few weeks. However, getting a steady paycheck could be habit forming. I hope so.

Ta ta for now

BRB is Write (and has a job)

2007-04-03T13:09:00.000-04:00

One More Thing I Don't Understand About Business

Circuit City has fired 3,400 of its best workers in a cost-cutting measure.

Let me try to understand this. The most experienced, most knowledgeable, longest serving and most dedicated workers got their pink slips. That seems to leave only the lowest paid, least helpful, and least ambitious retail clerks to help their customers. These are the same folk who get your order wrong at the drive-thru. That may only cost you 8-10 bucks and some irritation. Screwing up a home-theater system may cost a bit more.

The word contempt comes to mind. They have contempt for their customers (much like Wal-Mart has) and no consideration for their long-term employees.

Let's take the employees first. They get fired for being competent, loyal and remunerated/rewarded for being so. Circuit City is union free. Don't blame a union for driving up wages. These loyal folk took the company training, obeyed the rules, sold a lot of product and got fired for their competence. Where's the incentive for doing well in one's job? CC took that away. I wonder how CC's recruiting new employees reads? Do well and we will throw you on unemployment? Take the training and we will fire you for being competent? CC may as well open up a drive-thru window.

Now the customers: How stupid do they think we are? We will be satisfied with someone pointing us to the appliance section and asking for an interpreter when the clerk has English for a third language?

I will never again go there to shop. They can discount all they want. I read desperation and contempt in their business strategy. I like shopping, no, make that buying, at an establishment that shows competence and confidence. Circuit City has destroyed those concepts to their demise.

BRB is Write (and still naive)

2007-03-15T08:28:00.000-04:00

"This Is Your Weapon; This Is Your Gun"

I read a number of self-titled gun blogs. Most of the links come from PDB. It may be a little late in the parenting process, but I want to know what he is reading; who is influencing him besides his parents. Stupid notion, I know; he is what he is and we helped enable that.

Some of these blogs are rather negative and I don't go there. Most are well written, are adamant about supporting 2nd Amendment rights, and informative about various firearms and their history and function in battle, hunting and target use. Check these out: Tam, Colt, and Lawdog.

Why I'm not linking to liberal blogs is because those I have read are illiterate, poorly thought out, and totally wrong footed. But I digress.

Back in the last century '67 I got drafted. The first day of army basic training we were issued M-14s. After a lot of lecturing, instruction, and exhortation, the 1st SGT/DI got in front of the whole company and chanted this:

"This is your weapon (holds M-14 over his head),
This is your gun (grabs crotch)
This is for killing (brandishes M-14)
This is for fun (grabs crotch)"

I guess they were trying to drive the civilian out of all of us. Anyone who called the weapon a gun in hearing of a DI did push ups; or they had to drop into what was called the "front leaning rest." This is the start position for a push up; try maintaining that position for five minutes or more; agonizing. Weapon, rifle, firearm were all ok. NOT GUN!

So when I read these "gun" blogs, I can't help thinking weapon and push ups.

I have never owned a firearm. When I was eleven, my grandfather got me a Daisy Pump BB Gun. It was fired by a heavy spring-loaded pin. It had a magazine that fed the bbs. It was so hard to cock, that I had to put the butt on the ground and use both hands to chamber a round. He had a single-shot .22 that I got to fire once in awhile.

My next exposure to firearms was the army, and then later when PDB was on his own. I still like them; they have their place; they have provided me with some recreation and some close times with PDB.

So, "gun" bloggers, especially ex- or current military members, is it a weapon or a gun? Has anyone else heard that weapon/gun chant? Mr. liberal wants to know.

BRB is Write (and wants some answers)

2007-03-13T10:12:00.000-04:00

Oh Deer, Poor Deer, Bless Their Hearts

The early Spring road slaughter is on. I have in the past chided my hunting neighbors for not reducing the herd enough to keep the deer off the roads. To all the Nimrods I live near, I apologize.

Some sidebar, background is in order here. We live near a city in NC with a major university (in fact, there are four colleges that call this place home) with a major medical school, hospital and athletics department. We live in the county about 4 miles from THE MALL. Four to ten miles farther out are woods, creeks, farms, rural churches, rural dwellers, and RAMPANT DEVELOPMENT.

It is this development that is causing so much road kill. Roads that the animals used to cross safely, now have much more traffic. Folk who used to live in the city now live and drive in the country, and they haven't a clue about how to behave around farms, animals, rural school buses and mail delivery.

The developments, large and small, have occupied pastures, and destroyed woods; they have diverted natural drainage and eaten up a few small parcels of wetlands. They are rapidly turning our rural area into suburbia. I guess that's what they want.

I hope the deer just move to remoter regions of the state. The neighbors may have to go farther afield to hunt; I may never see them again passing through the small wood behind our house. But to see them dead in ditches is obscene.

BRB is Write (and mourns the land and its inhabitants)

2007-03-06T08:30:00.000-05:00

One More Word on Veterans

I try not to get too political in these musings. But the treatment, or lack there of, of our Vets has me ticked off. The problem is systemic. You can look it up. In this day and age there is the very popular sentiment of "I've got mine, let them get theirs;" or " It doesn't effect me, so what is the big problem?"

Indifference is the problem. Go to this blog, scroll down to the take titled Politics: An Interesting Take. Read the comments. Follow the link to Mauser Girl and read her post on Walter Reed and read the comments. Except for my comments, all have tried to lay blame on past administrations, criticized the press, and said, it's the army, so what.

Laying blame doesn't get better treatment for the wounded. Every administration since the VA was formed is to blame. The military is to blame. We, the people, are to blame. If we are not directly affected, we don't care.

Those that defend our freedoms deserve better. However one views the press, at least they brought it to light to the general public.

BRB is Write(and still angry)

2007-03-02T08:28:00.000-05:00

The Rest of the Article

It appears that the link to the veterans' bulletin sends us to the Feb 15 update. This article is from the Mar 1 update, which I get via e-mail. Hopefully they will update the site soon.

This is the rest of the article:

"Under the separate disability payment systems of the Defense Department and the VA, a higher VA rating does not necessarily translate into more money, and forgoing military disability retirement also means giving up lifetime commissary and exchange privileges, military health care and other benefits.While the number of soldiers placed on permanent disability retirement has declined in the past five years, the number placed on temporary disability retirement with medical conditions that officials rule might improve so they can return to work over time or worsen to the point that they must be permanently retired has increased more than fourfold, from 165 in 2001 to 837 in 2005. Troops on temporary disability leave convalesce for 18 months while receiving reduced basic pay. After that they are reevaluated and either returned to duty, or rated for separation or permanent disability retirement, or sent back to temporary disability for another 18 months up to five years. Along with paying them reduced wages during that time, the eventual reevaluation often leads to downward revisions in their disability ratings and lower disability payments. Service members' conditions must be deemed stable before they receive a permanent disability rating, unless they are rated at less than 30%. In that case, they are discharged with severance pay whether they are in stable condition or not. If their conditions then worsen, they'll receive no more money from the military.

"Compared to the overall size of the defense budget, disability retirement costs are relatively small. In 2004, the military paid more than $1.2 billion in permanent and temporary disability benefits to 90,000 people, the GAO said. That does not include the costs of lump-sum severance pay (up to 24 months of basic pay) given to 11,174 disabled troops that year in lieu of disability retirement pay. The Pentagon was unable to provide data on severance costs, the GAO said. In 2005, Ellen Embrey, deputy assistant secretary of defense for force health protection and readiness, told House lawmakers the reason for the comparatively large numbers of troops placed on temporary disability was actually to keep end strength up. A premature medical evaluation board decision, she said, "may negatively impact the individual's ability to continue serving." Col. Andy Buchanan, the Army Physical Disability Agency's deputy commander, said the system is not as bad as government reports have led people to believe. "It really is a fair process," he said. "It's wide open. We have nothing to hide." Buchanan also said he had "no visibility" on the costs related to disability retirement pay, so he doesn't know if the budget is going up or down. He said he gives medical evaluation board adjudicators one instruction: "Do the right thing. That's the guidance I give them. There is absolutely no attempt on the part of the Army or this agency to deny soldiers any disability benefits or to push them off on the VA. [Source: NavyTimes Kelly Kennedy article 24 Feb 07 ++] "

That denial sounds rather hollow to me. If some one says "We have nothing to hide," let the search under the rocks begin.

The recent changes of command at Walter Reed suggest that there is much to hide. More light needs to be shed on the shameful treatment of our returning wounded. I think that the light will reveal more than rats and cockroaches in out-patient rooms.

BRB is Write (and wants justice and honor for our vets)

2007-03-01T08:53:00.001-05:00

Support Our Troops--Support Our Vets?

I receive this bulletin twice a month from an organization that reports on all things pertaining to veterans and their special interests. Much of it is only useful for service retirees, but they also keep track of bureaucratic decisions and policies that affect all vets. They report, they don't judge. They document their information and give sources.

Given all the publicity recently to Walter Reed Med Ctr. and the poor conditions for outpatients, this bulletin may seem small potatoes. However, further on in the article they report delays of unconscionable proportions that are realities facing disabled vets.

Read the paragraphs below, and read some more from the bulletin and then decide how much the government and its attending bureaucracies are "Supporting Our Troops."

The troops fight for our country and then have to fight at home to get their benefits. I think that the treatment the soldiers receive from their government and even from the army in which they served shows the indifference, if not outright contempt, those organizations have for those that served.

Read the bulletin and decide:

"ARMY DISABILITY RATINGS: According to veterans' advocates, lawyers and services members the Army is deliberately shortchanging troops on their disability retirement ratings to hold down costs. In support of this the Inspector General has identified 87 problems in the system that need fixing. "These people are being systematically underrated," said Ron Smith, deputy general counsel for Disabled American Veterans. "It's a bureaucratic game to preserve the budget, and it's having an adverse affect on service members." The numbers of people approved for permanent or temporary disability retirement in the Navy, Marine Corps and Air Force have stayed relatively stable since 2001. But in the Army, while in the midst of a war, the number of soldiers approved for permanent disability retirement has plunged by more than two-thirds, from 642 in 2001 to 209 in 2005, according to a GAO report last year. That decline has come even as the war in Iraq has intensified and the total number of soldiers wounded or injured there has soared above 15,000. (Emphasis mine)

"The Army denies there is any intentional effort to push wounded troops off the military rolls. But critics say many troops being evaluated for possible disability retirement accept the first rating they are offered during their first informal board. Dennis Brower, legal advisor for the Army's Physical Disability Agency, acknowledged as much, saying only 10% of soldiers request a formal board. If they were to request a formal board, and then appeal the decision of that board, they would receive higher ratings. The system is complicated, "unduly so" the Rand Corp. think tank said in a 2005 report, and the counselors who advise troops often have insufficient training or experience. Service members also assume that after months spent in a war zone, the military will look out for them, critics say. Those who try to navigate the process beyond their initial evaluation face long waits, lost paperwork and months or even years away from home as they try to complete the process.

"If they receive a rating of above 30%, they receive disability retirement pay, medical benefits, and commissary privileges. Those rated under 30% they receive severance pay and no benefits. Many eventually give up and take their chances with the VA, which may give a higher rating for the same disability."

I don't normally blog about things political, but this has got me rightly ticked off. I am a vet, and, thankfully don't have a service connected disability that I have to fight for. (If you don't count significant hearing loss in my right ear. I ran hundreds and hundreds of 7.62 rounds through my M-14. In the 60's, in training, the only folk who had hearing protection were the DIs and the range marshalls.)

I once wanted to work for the Veterans' Administration to try to help vets less fortunate than I. But now I see that if I had, I would be just another bureaucrat having to delay and deny benefits to keep my job.

BRB is Write (and weeps for our returning wounded; they faced one enemy and paid the price. Now they have to face friendly fire.)

2007-02-26T13:32:00.000-05:00

Generation Gap

The gap added another generation in our family. Feb 6th, in the middle of the night (when else?) Mark William Sean appeared, ready for battle in our diverse and expanded family. He is our first grandchild; he is the first child for our daughter and her husband.

It just seems a little strange that I went to bed one night as Dad, and woke up as Grandpa. Oh well, I don't feel any older and I sure don't act any older. I guess I just gained another title.

BRB is Write (and now aging with a grandson)

2007-02-20T07:47:00.000-05:00

Many Reasons No Excuses

Yeah, it's been a while since I last posted. The last posting was painful. Not to write, but to get edited and posted. My web browser needs to be refreshed every time I save a post as a draft and want to get back in to edit. I just gave up.

Now, I have figured a way around those problems. We have windows xp, and we have it divided into my side, Ms's side and a guest side. I can blog on guest, because I never finished installing "New and Improved MS explorer." Somehow the default browser, if not installed, will allow me to post and edit. On my side, I finished the installation and got crap as a result. And because I'm a techno-idiot, I can only do end runs around problems instead of solving them.

So instead of posting to my own blog, I've been commenting on other blogs. Sometimes I'm the shit-disturber, sometimes I just complement the writer, and sometimes I ask for information.

But now, it's time to get back on track, and do some of my own essays. A lot has happened since I last posted and I'll get back to it anon.

BRB is Write (and back, no excuses)

2007-01-26T08:15:00.000-05:00

MEME?

I'm not sure where that term came from, but it appears I have been tagged by PDB to answer some questions about myself: Namely, Today's game is: "Five off the wall, strange, unusual or just little-known facts about yourself."

1. In the Spring of 1965, I hitch-hiked from Eastern PA to Los Angeles. College students, then, hitched all the time. My journey was just a little longer. I had $20 in my pocket and a lot of trust in people.

2. I can turn weepy at the most unexpected (for me) moments. I don't watch E.T. anymore. I cried at PDB and Ms PDB's wedding REHEARSAL. Unix can verify this. I held myself together at our daughter's wedding because I had to walk her up the aisle. I found myself thinking things like, "I have to tell her to get the oil changed on her car." After the ceremony I went outside and let it go. I have to be careful what music I listen to or the flood might start. And for a very private guy, this can get embarrassing.

3. I have also thrown some foaming rages; just not as often as getting weepy. The last time was when Blogger ate my latest and most important and life changing, prize winning prose.

4. Strange as it seems for this self-proclaimed unreconstructed hippy, I like guns and like going to the range with PDB. I like to eat the fish I catch. When fishing in strange waters my first question is always: "Can I keep my catch and eat it?"

5. I have a really tough time answering questions about myself. It has taken me a week to get four.

BRB is Write

2007-01-13T12:04:00.000-05:00

Mea Culpa

This is a test post. I have a really bad feeling that the problem with blogger is really a problem with the new version of microsoft exploder I unwittingly downloaded. I am using Ms CPB's side of our computer, and she did not finish installing the new version of exploder which I did.

So that rant against Blogger: Just substitute Microsoft for Blogger, and all will be ok.

Now I just have to get rid of that "wonderful and more powerful version" of exploder. I don't take too well to "new and improved." I want DOS and the 486 back. Something is wrong when my cell phone has a longer/more complicated instruction book than my Toyota.

BRB is Write (and finds techno-life unfathomable)

2007-01-03T09:47:00.003-05:00

I want my old blogger back! The new one will NOT let me edit, will not recognize changes in spelling; will not let me save as a draft with my changes; will not let me edit ANYTHING I have saved as a draft. They have changed all the font sizes so that normal is now small and large is what normal used to be. I have tried to copy some text from another source and then edit it; no go. If I make an error and then publish the post, I cannot go back and correct it;

This new and better blogger crap does not work; it is a piece of shit, and I am about ready to call it quits. I was having fun with this blogging stuff until the techie, geekie assholes decided to make it better; there are no instructions for bloggers like me who don't understand much of that bullshit jargon they use for English.

There is no help by e-mail; If you cannot get by with that crap they call help, tough shit. "Why should we care; the site is free; you're too stupid to be blogging anyway." I guess I got what I paid for.

BRB is Write (and writely pissed off)

2007-01-03T09:47:00.001-05:00

Too much has happened in the world since I last posted to comment on in one post, so I'll pick off a few. Either Blogger or the updated version of microsoft exploder I unwittingly downloaded has changed all my font sizes. I hate not being in control of this supposedly easier to use system.

James Brown died. I'm sorry I never got to see him in concert. In high school there were very few of us in that white-bread suburban school who knew who James Brown, Little Richard, Clarence "Frogman" Henry and others were. It was surf, Beatles, girl groups, Bobby Darin et. al. that got all the play. Made me sad.

Jerry Ford died. At the time of his pardon of Nixon I thought he was as big a crook as Nixon. They were just two thieves hiding the spoils of their collusion. Funny how much wiser Ford got as I matured.

I've been reading a lot of blogs on PDB's links. I shouldn't be surprised by all the negativity out there, but I am. Don't get me wrong; there is also much good writing out there. Most of these sites are gun oriented, conservative politically, and can sound sensible. But most offer no solutions, only criticism. One can have valid criticism without offering solutions, but many of these sites just invite negative criticisms and some descend into ad hominem which just invalidates any argument. (Don't know what ad hominem is? Look it up; I did. "Or are you too stupid 'cause you're fat?")

In a future post, I will link to some of the sites I like, and some I found offensive. (just as soon as I figure out what happened to the new and improved blogger.)

BRB is Write (and still writing)

2006-12-20T08:33:00.000-05:00

Hiatus

Nice word, Hiatus. It really means a break in a continuum, an interruption. But it also means that after the break things will continue.

So it applies for this blog, not that this journal is a continuum. Let's just say that I am taking a break for awhile. I will return after the New Year with renewed vigor (at least not having snot on the brain).

Some topics, you ask? How about Perlman Part III? Family get-togethers? And other observations that inspire the ageing muse?

BRB is Write(TTFN)

2006-12-15T13:02:00.000-05:00

Still Sick

OK, I'm still sick, and I'm sure no one wants a blow-by-blow (pun intended) account of my infirmity. But this sucks. Seems to be a lot of this type of cold going around, and 'cause I've been out and about these past few days, I'm sure I've done my part to spread it to those that don't deserve it.

Yesterday, Ms CPB and I helped to finish up her Dad's moving from a small house to a gigantic one fifty miles away. Her Dad is eighty, and out lasted both of us. I hope I didn't infect him; Ms CPB didn't stay far enough from me, and now she has it. However, since we both have stopped smoking she gets sick fewer times and the cold doesn't last as long. I can only hope.

Snot must affect the brain, or the connections from thought to brain. Just a theory. (see what I mean?)

BRB is Write (and miserable)

2006-12-13T07:30:00.000-05:00

It Ain't Fair

I have a cold and a sore throat. So what? you say. This is what:

November 11, 2005 I quit smoking. Two months later I got strep throat, and a bad cold. Less than a year later I have a sore throat and a cold. The last time I had strep throat, was 1993, winter, in Canada. I have had very few colds my adult life. I don't get flu. I quit smoking, and get sick twice in the same year. It ain't fair.

BRB is Write (and sick)

2006-12-08T08:33:00.000-05:00

Soup Time in Carolina

In the late Fall our thoughts turn to soup. That's right, hot, savory, delicious, comforting soup. Ms CPB makes the best soup I have ever had; and not only does she do soup very, very well, she likes making it as much as I like eating it. I am many times blessed. She is the Goddess of soups.

This season alone she has made corn and black bean chowder with bacon and lots of other good stuff; vegetable beef; tomato; sausage, greens and bean; chicken veg with pasta. At any one time, we will have several varieties of left-over soup in the fridge. Last night we each had a different soup with grilled cheese sandwiches (my contribution) and still have one more in storage and more planned for the weekend cooking. Which brings me to the whole point of this essay:

How do you, dear reader, re-heat your left-over soup? I favor using a pot on the stove. You get to stir it occasionally and the aroma wafts around the room. Ms CPB has no real preference: microwave or stove top. Now, I have tried both methods and will make time for the stove top. Microwaved soup may not be heated through, the appliance is noisy, and there is no aroma throughout the kitchen.

What do you think? I have to go make a choice for lunch.

BRB is Write (and hungry)

2006-12-07T14:06:00.000-05:00

Lessons From the Past

Today is Pearl Harbor Day. It needs to be remembered, not for Japan's attack, but for our reaction to it. I'm glad to see the third generation from the event still talking and writing about it. See PDB's posting. It makes my point.

On my recent visit to my Mom, she told me a few things that I really didn't know about the time. I knew that my Dad and Mom had to move the date of their wedding up 'cause Dad had to report to boot camp a lot sooner. A two-day honeymoon, and off he was to San Diego. He was stationed in San Francisco between sea duties. Mom told me that they decided to have a child during the war because if he was lost, she would have his child. I never knew that. I always thought that my sister, born Oct '43, was a result of a fortuitous union while Dad had shore duty. I was post-war, Jul '46. Both planned.

Even at 89, Mom still surprises me.

The country reacted to the attack typical of Americans of the day. I'm not sure how we would react today, and that is a sad thought.

BRB is Write (and still prays for no more war)

2006-11-27T08:32:00.000-05:00

Veterans and Thanksgiving

These are two topics I have yet to comment on. Somehow they seem to go together.

For me and for much of the country in the late 60's and 70's this wasn't always the case. I am a vet of the Viet-Nam era, drafted Sept 67 and let go Apr 69. People then seemed to blame the troops for the war instead of the politicians and their supporters. It never happened to me, but I've heard the stories of soldiers vilified, spat upon, and disrespected. At least this time around, the troops are supported by the populace even if the war is not. We got no thanks for going to war as the government dictated. The most print and film went to the draft card burners and those that fled to Canada. I could not face either choice, so I went; I went not believing in the cause, but believing I had no choice and that I would survive. Somewhere in my subconscious was a faint feeling of duty. It was my country and I enjoyed it and had to pay something for it besides taxes.

Years later and some maturity gained I knew I was right. But I didn't blame Tom Hayden or Muhammad Ali for their choices. This is the beauty of this country: dissenters may go to jail, but they, too, can gain respect for their beliefs if they stand by them.

But this is supposed to be about Veterans. I am one and this is my experience. When we lived in Canada, I found many male Canadians fascinated about the Viet-Nam war. Actually I found more support for Viet-nam vets at that time (1977-1995) than I ever had in the U.S. Many of those guys knew someone who crossed the border and enlisted. I met several. They just wanted to go to war and help out the U.S. When some of my co-workers found out I was a Vet, I had to answer many questions of the type: "What did You do in the War?" My answer was always I was an airplane mechanic and was stationed in a very secure area. (True) One young co-worker kept pestering me for more gory details: Didn't you ever shoot anyone or fire on a village...? I finally told him I was really trained as both a silent killer and a sniper, that I lost count of my kills and though I was stable now, it didn't take much to set me off. (False) He left me alone after that.

In Canada, it is called Remembrance Day. And on the 11th day of the 11th month at the 11th hour, all across Canada at memorials large and small ceremonies take place with town folk and Canadian Forces and Cadets. PDB took part in several. He and his Air Cadet Squadron marched in a parade and stood on a monument to the fallen while the town celebs made speeches. Don't see much of that here, even in NC.

When I was discharged at Oakland, CA., Spring 1969, the army gave us our back pay in 50 dollar bills and a class A uniform to walk out in. My friends and I shared a cab to the San Jose airport to meet wives and girlfriends. Walking through the airport to the bar we got looks but no greetings, friendly or otherwise. Memories fade over time, and I'm not too sure if the bartender was surly because we were in uniform or wanted to pay for the drinks with fifties.

Now, I see many troops in airports and they are familiar and have the respect of the civilians.

Perhaps, 'cause I'm in the South, Vets and soldiers seem to have more honor for their current and past service. This state, NC, seems to have more military posts than universities, but I may be mistaken.

My Dad was a Vet, my Father-inLaw is a Vet. I hope my sons don't have to be Vets. If they want to enlist, more power to them, but I would not be happy.

Back in the day, it seemed that vets had to band together and look for respect and honor. Now it is just given. For that I am thankful.

About Thanksgiving Day, you may want to read PDB's take. We were at the same gathering. Some family, too much food and a great time.

And if you think your Congressional Representatives and Senators are only paying lip-service to supporting the troops and vets, check out the Veterans link in the right margin. It is an eye-opener.

I almost forgot to mention this video about Remembrance Day. I think it's really great, and was sent to me by one of my Canadian friends.

BRB is Write (and has no visible scars)

2006-11-20T14:11:00.000-05:00

Democrats Win! So What

For the first time since we moved to NC I missed a federal election day. I was too busy worrying about losing my sanity by going through security and boarding a plane on the way to visit my Mom. Or, the toothless Bichon we live with ate the ballot. No excuses, I didn't vote; I don't feel good about it; I will not whine about politics and politicians for the next two years. I did not exercise my franchise.

Just a word to Democrats: Don't Gloat. The blame is all yours now. You have no excuses for doing nothing. No sooner do the liberal types win than I get a link to Michael Moore with this. Not only is this gloating, it is cynical, and no way is it sincere. If any one of those pledges comes true, I will carry Michael Moore's bags from Flint to where ever he wants to go. I think many of those pledges are desirable to achieve. But you, Mr Moore, cheapen the argument and goals by your presentation and make them harder to obtain. "That liberal asshole Michael wants universal health care and tolerance for all folk and their religion. Has to be a bad idea 'cause Moore wants it."

I hate self-proclaimed liberals who have an audience. Much of what Moore presented in Rodger and Me and other films was true, but the presentation was guaranteed to offend all but the most loyal supporters. Same with Fahrenheit 911. I couldn't finish either one. Without you liberal hacks, we in the bleachers, in the pews, on the shop floor, and voting may achieve some of those pledges.

When I was the chief steward in our local, many years ago, the President of the local was one of the smartest people I have ever known. Not only was she a woman, she was blond and younger than me. I thought I had lived a pretty interesting life to that point. Her experiences made us look like the Cleavers. She kept saying to me how can you be so naive when faced with people's problems? Anyway, we won an arbitration when the company clearly violated the contract. We caught the personnel manager in several lies. After it was all over, I said to Linda, "I want to gloat; can I gloat now; we were right." She said "No you can't gloat, now or ever. We have to work with this person again and again. Gloating just makes us look unprofessional and like uneducated shop workers. We would lose credibility in his eyes." Pretty smart lady. Did I mention that she is now a national rep. with a major international union?

So Democrats, just get to work; don't gloat, don't even snicker in private. You will be held accountable, and likely found wanting.

BRB is Write (did I mention that I am a liberal?)

2006-11-20T07:02:00.000-05:00

Impressions of Southern California

Yes, this is about Mr. Paranoid returning to wonderful North Carolina from a family visit to La La Land.

And, dear Reader(s), I apologise for not reporting earlier. My quixotic nature demanded that I tilt at a windmill first. And to my family here, who think I over-react to perceived injustice, I cannot help it. Live with it.

I grew up in SoCal. In the fifties and into the sixties it was a great place to live. Smog was bad, but on clear days you could see the mountains ringing the area. I learned to drive on the freeways. Some days I would spend the morning in the mountains, and the afternoon at the beach.

I won't make it too idylic, because in many ways it wasn't. And now, it isn't at all. If you don't venture out from your little suburb or gated enclave too often it can seem like paradise. But get out into the maelstrom, and you have to wonder how all these people survive.

On this trip, I was out on the freeways at 4:30 am most mornings. Even at that hour there was a lot of traffic. Nothing to slow folks down, but enough to get one's attention. I went into the San Gabriel Mountains to see the sunrise.

Not too many folks on those roads, but on Glendora Ridge Road, from Mt. Baldy to Glendora, I passed a few guys in camo descending into the canyon armed with long rifles. It may have been some sort of hunting season. However, the glances they gave me as I rolled by were not too friendly. Mr. Paranoid fantasized about Patriot meetings, and stepped on the gas. When I was a kid, and my Dad and I went fishing in the San Gabriel River, North fork, and West Fork, the road passed many box canyons that had targets set up at the back, and some riflemen near the road firing away into the rocks.

Many of the camping sites on CA #2 in the forest, and much of the highway, are closed. So the Forest service has scraped out bare dirt sites beside East Fork road and allow campers there; all you need is an overnight permit. It's not pretty, but it's in the mountains with a creek adjacent and very peaceful.

I guess you can tell I have fond memories of those mountains.

Some other observations: A new 3-series BMW with the plate: I'LLSUE weaving in and out of traffic.

Anything will grow there. Just water it, and stand back. Some of the older neighborhoods have vines, shrubs, trees over-growing the pink stucco walls and cinderblock fences. Lush is not too strong a word; but water is the key.

On a farmers' market sign: Avacados: 20 for $1! I could have put a couple hundred in my luggage and paid for my trip.

Mom is safe in her retirement community: gated, guarded, and well looked after. They have 7 foot Bird of Paradise plants and other lush flora. There is a pond with a fountain and a dining room and food that rivals many hotels. This is all as it should be, because the residents pay well for the priviledge of living there.

And, yes, I survived all the security checks and all the take-offs and landings. The security folk were courtious, but not too helpfull. I stood for several minutes waiting for my carry-on bag to be searched, when a fellow passenger said that unless security told me to wait, I should move on. So when I got my shoes tied and belt back on I moved on straight to the bar. Thanks to Ms CPB for making sure I had enough money. Outward bound, my plane left ATL at nine am, the exact time the bar opened. I spent $20 on beer on that 4hr flight. One beer an hour.

On the return journey, I had time to visit the bar at the Duke's airport in Orange County. They didn't pour me on the plane, but I spent less on the flight.

The plane was a 757; cramped in coach, but I had a very smooth flight both ways. Nice plane, but apparently they have no room for food for the passengers. Crackers and cheese, trail mix and a cookie do not a meal make. Four beer helped round it out.

The plane was going on to New York from ATL. After a shakey landing, they announced that the New York passengers would have to exit the plane, also. They were going to have to change equipment for the next leg. It was a very calm way of reporting that since this 757 almost came apart on landing, we'll have to get another plane.

Mr. Paranoid had another beer before getting on the 737 for the short hop to Charlotte. PDB picked me up.

We all survived, and I got to see Mom. I still don't like to fly.

BRB is Write(SoCal still rocks, but not for me)

2006-11-16T09:30:00.000-05:00

More About an Evening With Perlman

Did I say I loved the concert? Yes I did. Again and again I loved the concert, and at the risk of giving the W-S Symphony an excuse to raise ticket prices, I would have paid more to attend that concert.

However, they stiffed the band. This is a near paraphrase: We are thankful that the orchestra is volunteering their time this evening so that we may have Itzhak Perlman. It sounded as if, if they had not played for free, we wouldn't have had Perlman at all.

I just read this article in the Winston-Salem Journal. The notable passage is this: "... Wachovia Wealth Management - which took the unusual step of paying Perlman's hefty fee - is also making his concert one of the attractions that its clients will see in a two-day event called 'Artsfusion.'" So I stand corrected about the sponsors. In my previous post, I questioned where they were, when the band had to play for free. They were there front and center making sure we could get Perlman. For this I thank them.

But symphony management, what happened that caused you to lie to the concert goers, and to lean on the orchestra? I realize that most of those musicians would play for free to have the opportunity of playing with Perlman. But did they have to? I understand jacking up the ticket prices. You just charged what the market would bear. I understand why Perlman gets a "hefty fee." He has earned it.

But is the W-S Symphony in such dire financial straits that you needed to pocket the money normally earned by the orchestra? I would guess that you had the biggest box office take in many a year for that concert. You didn't even have to pay the star! And the orchestra had to volunteer to get Perlman? I don't believe it. If you have an explanation let us hear it.

BRB is Write (and loved the concert)

2006-11-13T09:07:00.000-05:00

Itzhak Perlman Live!

Last Thursday evening we went to see Itzhak Perlman with the Winston-Salem symphony play Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Major at the Stevens Center.

What a marvelous evening! The orchestra played the best I've heard them in the two seasons we've been going. Having a soloist of the brilliance of Perlman's perform with your orchestra must be like having Agassi as your doubles partner, or Eric Clapton front your garage band. People of this calibre raise the level of achievement of all those around them. Not that our local symphony is the local garage band. Those folk can really play without the inspiration of playing with Perlman. Ms BRB and I have concluded that the First Chair violin, oboe, bassoon, horn could play for any named orchestra. There are probably others.

This is why I could never be a music critic. You don't really need to read the whole review. The first three paragraphs should be enough. Is this good writing, or does this guy need an editor? "And what can we say about the music's key of D Major? It was around but seemed unable to tame the music's striking harmonic ambiguities." (ambiguities can be striking? If not an editor, get him a dictionary.) Pluh-eese. Are we to anthropomorphize music as wine critics do to their little liquids? Yes, the musicians bring life to the notes; let's just leave it at that.

Back to the evening: Perlman was a treat to watch and hear. When he was not playing he was still totally engrossed in the sounds coming from the orchestra. Just before his part started he would tuck the violin under his chin and then drop his hands to his lap. It looked like someone had flung the instrument from the wings and he caught it with his chin and shoulder just before it lodged in his neck. (It doesn't take much to amuse me.) There were four curtain calls. He went back to center stage to acknowledge each one. If you have seen Perlman, you know how difficult that must be. After the third call, and as we were clamoring for a fourth, a towel flew out from the wings. He came back to center stage anyway.

Just a few more observations. The Executive Director came out at the beginning and announced that in addition to thanking the sponsors (some bankers that handle really, really rich folk, and charge accordingly) that the orchestra was volunteering their services for the evening so that we could have Itzhak Perlman. That caused me to wonder why the balcony seats were $60 a pop. We normally pay $20 for the Sunday matinee concerts. That's thirty thousand for the balcony box office alone. I shudder to think what the orchestra seats grossed. The evening was still the best concert we have attended. However, if it was a fund-raiser, I would have appreciated a heads-up, and a receipt. Does Perlman command that much? He earns all he can get, but please don't stiff the orchestra. Where are you sponsors?

I loved the concert. I would pay that price anytime to have that experience. But, again, the workers got stiffed. I realized that they "volunteered." I am just an old union worker who has experienced again and again workers taking a hit for the greater good while the investors sacrifice nothing. Did Ms Executive Director also forgo some salary? I'll shut up about that now.

I loved the concert. Again, have your music live as often as you can. Performers rise to live audiences as they never can to studios and sound boards. I would rather have had that night with Perlman and our "garage band" live in person than the same music recorded by The New York Philharmonic and played on the best sound system money can buy. Live is live, and the rest is just bits in the stream.

BRB is Write (and likes dead composers live.)

2006-10-30T08:59:00.000-05:00

Mister Paranoid Goes Flying

Wednesday I take off for California on one of our major airlines. I get to change planes once each way. Terrific, four take-offs and landings over the next week. I will do anything to visit Mom.

Actually, I'm not really paranoid about flying. I cannot change anything about getting on a vehicle that weighs tons and takes off into the air with no visible means of support. Except, perhaps, changing my attitude about flying, and that ain't gonna happen. No, paranoid fits the description of me facing any bureaucratic authority. I just don't get along with my fellow citizens who are acting in that capacity.

What's there to worry about, you ask? Everything. While going through all those screenings, something about my baggage or pocket contents, or socks after I remove my shoes, is going to tip off one of those highly trained, sharp-eyed, and suspicious guardians of my safety to single me out. From there it goes down hill. Questioning, strip searches and further degradations will be heaped on me. And then, after I'm found to be innocent, (see, officer, I told you my cough drops are not explosive devices.) I have missed my flight, lost my money, and am stranded in the airport, while my clothes and cell phone wing it across the country to Fullerton. Who's going to tell my Mom?

When I was younger and much more naive, I liked to fly. I even liked the air trips back and forth across the Pacific when I was in the Army. I've flown on DC-6Bs, DC-8s, 707s, 747s, 727s and other Boeing products. In the military I flew on Beavers, Otters, Caribous, C-130s, CH-47s. They all carried me safely. There is no one event that changed my mind about flying. Call it an evolution of an attitude, if you will.

The first time flying freaked me out was in 1992 when the whole BRB family, all five of us, flew from Toronto to L.A. One crash would wipe out the whole clan. But of course, me being me, I kept it in and was the bold, intrepid father. Not only that, but planes had gone no smoking that year, and Ms BRB and I tried really hard not to freak during the five and a half hour flights. So next time on a flight to L.A. I had a two hour lay-over in Houston. No smoking on the plane, and the whole freaking airport had gone "smoke free." Smoke free if one didn't count the exhaust fumes that swept into the terminal from all the standing, idling vehicles just outside the entrances. Flying was no longer fun. And there were lots of bureaucratic authority around to enforce being smoke free, right down to the bartender who told one commercial traveler, put it out lady, this is a smoke free airport. Isn't this a goddamned bar? she replied.

Now that sounds as if I have tied flying fun to smoking. Anyone with an addiction that cannot be satisfied when the internal alarm goes off tends to blame the conditions that prevent the satisfying of the craving. But now, smoking is no longer an issue. I still no longer view flying as fun. At least smoking or not smoking isn't an issue.

Also, my family tells me I tend to over react in certain situations. I guess this is where the paranoia comes in. I will honk my horn and wave the appropriate number of fingers at drivers who cause a near miss. I rail at injustice; I bristle at insults, perceived or actual; I suspect EVERY bureaucrat of trying to thwart my needs and wishes. What a way to live.

I know that flying is the safest means of transportation in this country. But one is so much at the mercy of things one cannot control. At least driving gives me the illusion that I am in control. Besides, one can see much more of this great country even from the interstate than one can from thirty thousand feet.

So off I go on Wednesday. I feel much better now.

Did I ever mention the seventh sense? Perhaps it's not a sense like ESP, but more of a collective will. The only reason planes stay in the air is the collective will of all the folks on board to keep it flying. Aerodynamics is a scientific myth. Think about it.

BRB is Write (and calm)

2006-10-26T08:38:00.000-04:00

On Becoming Older

Let me direct you to a very thoughtful essay on Acceptance. I think Lewis has it together on this. It isn't rolling over and taking what comes. It's recognizing the truth in the old prayer: "Lord let me have the strength to change what I can, acceptance of what I cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference."

In the essay he asks why life is so hard for some, and nothing seems to happen to others. I have just a few thoughts on that. Many people try to shelter themselves from life, from it's hardships and from it's risks. They shelter their kids: no playground equipment, soccer instead of hockey, disinfectant instead of letting anibodies develop. They live in gated enclaves or "safe" neighborhoods. You get the picture. Many of these folk miss out on a lot of tragedy because of their carefulness, and for many life still bites them in the ass.

At the same time, many of these sheltered beings miss out on a lot of life. Risk-taking is not in their lexicon. We have taken a lot of risks in our lives, and life hasn't bitten too hard. Chasing dreams may seem irrational to some, but essential to others. We have chased dreams that never resolved into reality, and had some come true. All of them took a lot of sweat and faith. They didn't always work out, but the effort was fun, engaging, and at times risky.

Sometimes I envy those who took the straight road: education, business or career, retirement planning, retirement. No, envy is not right. It is admiration. I never had the discipline or the inclination for that path. I always wondered What if? What's that like? Can I make a difference there? What's over that hill? We who do that pay a price, but we are also rewarded with riches that the safe, rich folk cannot buy.

So acceptance is not giving up. It is recognizing where you are and what you can change.

BRB is Write (and has much trouble accepting anything)

2006-10-23T14:05:00.000-04:00

Pondering Begging

I think fundraising has sunk to, descended to, fallen to creative begging. People seem to want you to donate funds to their causes by doing nothing to provide even a semblance of earning the money.

What prompts this pondering is the practice of having gangs of beggars swarm around cars at busy intersections. Now these folk claim to be raising funds for various youth groups, churches, cheerleaders, bands, etc.; some have on roadworker vests; some have white shirts and ties; some hand out leaflets; some hand out candy. All of them have buckets with slots in the lids and they shake them at stopped cars, dodging in and out of stopped traffic in a weird dance to collect funds. I put up the windows and lock the doors.

There is no opportunity to engage them face to face in any kind of dialogue. It's take the money and run. Now, the VFW and KoC also beg, but they are outside stores and don't shake buckets at you. They are there in person to talk with anyone curious enough to ask about their programs.

But this new process of collecting from those stopped in traffic I find repulsive. What are the kids supposed to think? All we have to do is to go out into traffic, shake buckets at drivers, and get the money we need for our cause? It's not a lesson these adult leaders need to teach. How about having them earn their way to camp, or band uniforms, or the state finals?

At the great risk of causing much moaning and groaning among my younger reader(s), in my day, in times past, we raised money by selling something, or providing a service. How about a carwash? I said I wasn't much of a joiner anymore, but years ago I was heavily involved in church youth groups, scouting YMCA, ball teams. We put on breakfasts, and got the food donated, and helped cook it. We washed cars, sold peanuts door to door, had bake sales, and auctioned off our time to bidders who put us to work for a day. We raised money and didn't beg for it.

One year I was a student intern at a UCC church in Reading, PA. Student interns always got the youth group to lead. We planned some activities that would take money to accomplish. One suggestion from the kids was that we have a No-Bake bake sale. I was so naive. What is that, I asked? You just ask those in the congregation to donate whatever they would spend on ingredients for baking goods for the sale to us. Then they don't have to bake, and we don't have to man tables selling the stuff. I said that sounds like begging. We did it last year, they replied. Not this year, I said. We got people to bake; we did a little publicity; we staffed the tables with kids; and made more than twice what they made begging. The kids also got to meet a lot of church members they otherwise never would have. The church members got to see their youth working and not begging. Working for money works.

Some final ponderings: I guess these corner beggars have learned a few things from the homeless that used to frequent the same intersections. Where have the homeless gone? I used to see the same guy several times a month at the same intersection. I never locked my doors when I saw him. Did the bucket shakers run him off, or scare him or crowd him out? Maybe he got a bucket and joined them.

BRB is Write

2006-10-20T07:50:00.000-04:00

Why Am I Doing This?

As many of you know, I got my butt drafted into the Army in Sept '67. It was one of the low points in my life; at the time it was the very worst thing that had happened to me. I went. I had used up all my deferments, and jail or Canada were not options for various reasons. So I went.

This is not a recap of my Army career. I met a lot of really great guys. Two of them in particular, Gary Morris and Jerry Cochran, I spent my whole enlistment with. Together, we were at Ft Ord, CA for basic, Ft Rucker AL for aircraft mechanic training, and the 73rd SAC in Vung Tau for the Viet-Nam tour. We went home together, same day, same plane. We saw each other one more time a few months later, and then never again.

So a few years ago, bored in front of the computer, I Googled my old Viet-Nam unit just to see, and by God there was a web site. It had photos, a guest book and a history. There were a few names I remembered in the guest book (not Gary and Jerry, though). I fired off e-mails to several. I never heard from any of them. I sent e-mails to several that I didn't know, but were there at the same time. One, I have corresponded with for almost a year, and I'm glad we do. But our tours overlapped only by a few months, and we had never met.

I should explain about the 73rd. The company was fairly large and roughly divided into those who flew, and those who kept the planes flying. I was in the latter group, and most of the guest book entries are by those who flew, pilots and observers. There was another group that interpreted the film and other data that was collected by the radar and infrared cameras. These guys tended to be included with the observers who were all enlisted.

So here I am trying to find someone who clearly remembers me. I have sent 3 e-mails to the officer who was my boss in the parts supply area. Never got an answer. I have sent e-mails to the web master of the 73rd site, because I am convinced that we shared a barracks for over 8 months. No response from him either.

I have left messages on several other vet sites including Guest Book for Vung-Tau and Lost and Found. I have never heard from any that knew me. Perhaps, as I have mentioned elsewhere, I was a bigger idiot than I thought, and no one wants to remember me.

There is a Mohawk Association web site that I check from time to time, but they want dues, and I'm not much of a joiner. However they have reunions of Mohawk units each year, and let the public view the pictures. The last set of pictures from this year's reunion have many photos of past Mohawkers and no identifying captions. Two guys in some of the pictures I think I recognize, but who can be sure after forty years?

Months ago, I decided to hell with all this crap of trying to reach people who may remember me in the army. I was checking e-mail several times a day, and getting depressed when I got none. So to hell with them all.

Then I had another dream about getting drafted into the army. I have had this dream on and off for the last 10 years. In the dream, I am my current age and get drafted, and tell every one that I have done my duty, I'm 52 years old and what the hell is going on. I am in uniform and explaining to the kids in the unit what the army is all about. I hadn't had one of these for several years, until this week.

The twist in this one is that now I am 60 (which I am), I am in uniform, and I'm telling every one that this is just like a dream I have had for the past ten years. What the hell is going on?

So what do I do? I go to the Mohawk site and fire off an e-mail to one of the directors, identifying myself and asking about guys in the reunion photos. I can't seem to leave it alone. Do I need validation? Do I need justification? In a previous post "Looking back" I approached the question. Apparently I haven't answered anything. If it's an addiction, I have acknowledged it.

What now? I have an e-mail out there and I'll be waiting for the non-response. I'm off to the dump. I wish the refuse in my head was as easily disposed of as that in the house.

BRB is Write (and confused)

2006-10-17T10:30:00.000-04:00

Minor Stuff

We had an earthquake this morning according to the local fish-wrap's web site. What quake? My cat (he is large!) registers more on the BRB scale when he hits the ground running than the 2.6 registered on the Richter scale just NE of our town. The Richter scale is a log scale, like sound intensity (decibels), and an earthquake of 3.6 is ten times as intense as our puny 2.6. In SoCal, where some of us are from, anything under 4.5 is never mentioned and everyone yawns at anything under 6.0. Get a grip hyphen town!

The beer blogs continue. Check out PDB and Tam for insight and comments on beer as drink and beer as taste experience. For me, if it says beer on the label, if it was never flavored, if it doesn't look like coke, if it doesn't bite back, and if I can have more than one pint without feeling bloated, it's for me. 'nuf said on beer.

I like cooked meat. I shop for raw meat at the local "sad meat bin." (Thanks to unix_jedi for that term) The only problem is elbowing out of the way all the rude seniors and stay-at-home moms for the good stuff. Never mind that I'm (at the moment) stay-at-home spouse. A good steak, ribeye, NY strip and the like are still $6-8/lb. But they are well aged. Cook 'em or freeze 'em I grab what I can. Just stay away from my elbows.

After blogger ate some of my best prose, and then lost it's connection, and then refused to give back what I had written, I now save as draft (another beer reference) each precious paragraph. Just write it again, you say? Among other things baby boomers tend to loose is short-term memory along with car keys, glasses, and what name belongs to which pet and what child.

BRB is Write (and looking forward to his next draught)

2006-10-13T11:59:00.000-04:00

Be a Coward or Be a Man

First, read PDB's post on this subject, and the comments. I'm not sure if the issue is be a man or be a coward. I think it's more like do what you can with what you have at the time.

Anyway, long ago, in a country far away the BRB family was returning home from a day with friends. All five of us were crammed into a 2-door Volvo about 15 years old. The youngest was 2 and the other offspring in elementary school.

We were just entering the residential areas, down a long hill. I could see up a side street on the right several houses. In front of the second house I saw a women bolt from a Camero chased by two men. As we passed the intersection all three were throwing punches and kicks; the woman was getting the worst.

That was the situation. What does a man do? At the time, I was in stature Mr. Average, 5'10" and 160 lbs. Even the woman was larger. I had my whole family with me.

Here's what happened. I stopped the car just past the intersection and started to run to the fight. I hadn't a clue what I would do when I got there, and all sorts of bad things flashed past my mind. But I shouted and tried to distract the men and attract attention to the fight. They probably laughed at super-hero approaching them. At the same time, an EMS vehicle pulled up. In Canada they were called St. John's EMS and hired big, hulking drivers and attendants. They took over the situation. The men fled, and St. John's guys took care of the woman. I walked back to my family and tried to keep from hyper-ventilating.

That was the last time I faced anything calling for more courage than confronting everyday problems like tailgaters and cranky bosses. In PDB's blog, he has a plan; commentors have plans; others get paid to react properly. I cannot comment on that. I think we just do what we need to do given the circumstances and our abilities. I would fight to defend my family. If I had to fight, I would fight to win, damn the consequences. If all I could do was to call 911, that's what I would do. But we don't know what we would do until we are confronted with the choice.

I have finally realized that it can be an evil world out there. Those of us safely enclosed in our protective enclaves may be confronted by that evil; I would not even predict how we would respond to physical threats.

One does what one does.

BRB is Write (Don't Tread on Me)

2006-10-11T08:31:00.000-04:00

Real American?

I keep hearing this term. It has even been applied to me.

So, just what is a real American? I mean, all sorts of absurdities occur to me. Is it one who was here originally and almost got wiped out by the late-comers? That's gonna exclude a whole bunch of people, and besides, I have heard the term applied to many who are obviously not aboriginal.

Perhaps immigrants are real Americans. Perhaps it's a process, a becoming, an elevation to real American status. I'm not sure. And if there are real Americans, there must be real non-Americans, or virtual Americans, or traitorous Americans.

It might be a mind-set: Real Americans think this and do that. For example, I am an unrepentant hippie-liberal to many. But when I reveal that I am a Viet-nam vet, all that previous hippie stuff is forgiven, and I become a real American. Real Americans serve in the armed forces, virtual Americans dodged the draft. Not-quite-real Americans make movies and spout liberal politics. I am so confused. If we only count real Americans as deserving of citizenship, we have increased the illegal population ten-fold. Did I mention absurdities in the first paragraph?

You, dear reader, should know by now that I hate labels when applied to people. Try and stick one on me. I support all sorts of liberal ideas such as collective bargaining, no capital punishment, make love not war. I have a feeling that other real Americans support these issues, also. However, I also support all my gun-toting neighbors and relatives. Capitalism works. I support our soldiers and those that were troops (veterans) much better than all the chicken hawks in Congress. Give this site a read, and you will realize that all the vets we have honored are getting screwed by the bureaucracy (Veterans' Administration) and our elected representatives. It's called the RAO Bulletin Update. It's a lot to wade through, and AOL regards it as a non-computer friendly site (AOL blocks it through its spam and pop-up blocker). If you want to know how your representative votes on vet issues, this site will tell you how to check.

Perhaps being a real American depends only on how others perceive you. Do you go around thumping your chest, touting real Americanism? (not even sure Americanism is a real word) Do real Americans realize what they really are?

As I said at the begining: Absurdities abound; one could even dance to various tunes of real Americanism. Do you know a real American when you see one? Has this term ever been applied to a woman?

BRB is Write (and is real)

2006-10-02T13:15:00.000-04:00

Koran or Quran

Okay, you journalists, when did ya'all start the PC spelling and pronunciation of this book that we all have called the Koran since forever? Even Mark Steyn uses Quran in his latest screed about the terrorists' treatment at Gitmo.

My American Heritage Dictionary fourth edition, lists Koran first, and Quran as a variant from Arabic. If we don't give them creedence anyway, as they are murdering cowards, why be PC about it?

As Steyn writes: "It seems to me that one sign this war is over is when Muslims are grown-up enough not to go to full-blown baklava nuts over other folks touching their Qurans." Exactly. It ain't gonna happen, Mark. Please go back to Koran.

BRB is Write(Koran is good enough for me)

2006-10-02T08:12:00.000-04:00

Simple-Minded Solutions

You have to read this story in a South Carolina newspaper. (PDB has supplied the impetus for this whole posting, so go read his posting on the same topic.)

In essence, a local politician calls for sterilization of parents of misbehaving children. I stand corrected; he only singled out mothers for "spaying" if they cannot control their offspring. Let the deadbeat dads go on searching for fertile women. I'm not sure why he left out the male parent. Perhaps the thought of nipping gonads cuts a little too close.

The other simple-minded solution from another local politician was to provide some recreational equipment and programs for the poor little bastards out of taxpayer funds.

Guess which side of the political spectrum each dope is from. Generally, I can tell who is who by their proposed solutions to complex problems. The conservative answer is usually simple and cheap:

"We pick up stray animals and spay them," Larry Shirley said in a story published Saturday by The Post and Courier of Charleston. "These mothers need to be spayed if they can't take care of theirs. Once they have a child and it's running the street, to let them continue to have children is totally unacceptable."

Now, equal time for the dope on the left:

State Sen. Robert Ford, a Charleston Democrat, agreed that the crime highlights a societal problem but dismissed Shirley's suggestion to sterilize people as "crazy."

"What Larry Shirley needs to talk about is getting City Council to provide some recreational facilities and activities for these kids and creating an atmosphere conducive to a normal society," said Ford, also a former councilman.

What both sides are missing is the realization that no amount of "good" parenting or government programs will correct a bad kid. For whatever reason, some kids are just plain rotten. We all have known them. I don't know the reason, but here is some speculation. The child doesn't feel loved for whatever reason. The child has a genetic defect. The child's environment sucks. Too much TV, video games, advertising have all been blamed. Check out this book for a most thoroughly researched, and exhaustively explored thesis on bad kids: A is for ox : the collapse of literacy and the rise of violence in an electronic age / Barry Sanders. You can find it at any Major University Library. He offers no solutions, just causes. Most seem just as reasonable or as looney as others who have written on the subject.

Back to tell who's conservative and who's liberal. In general, conservatives have simple solutions for complex problems, and liberals have complex solutions for simple problems. The guys in the above story cut true to form, and both are equally as stupid as their solutions.

BRB is Write(and has spoken)

2006-09-30T09:47:00.000-04:00

Absurdities and Other Non-Essentials

Have you ever noticed that the store clerks at BP gas and convenience stores are called ambassadors? My American Heritage Dictionary, fourth edition, defines ambassador as: "A diplomat of the highest rank, accredited as representative in residence by one government to another." "from the latin: ambactus, servant." There is no second meaning. It is absurd to call a clerk an ambassador. Perhaps they should be called servants which is more accurate and more properly describes the services they provide. Or perhaps these clerks are/were accredited diplomats of the highest rank and are just moonlighting. It can't be easy being a servant to the present administration. It's just absurd.

This morning I got another e-mail chain letter. Don't sent me any. The chain gets broken here. I don't care how wise, pathetic, cute, patriotic, religious, well-meaning, mean-spirited, sappy, (I'm running out of adjectives), you think your letter is: don't send it to me. Send me a personal note with similar sentiments, and I will be sure to respond to you. I send out e-mails all the time. Some are just letters; some are things people have sent me that I will forward if they are funny, cute, entertaining, etc. Chain letters do not get fowarded.

Hunters: Ya'all need to take better aim this deer season. Thin out that herd. I have seen more dead deer on our rural and not so rural roads this year than I ever have in the eleven years we have been here. We have had deer feeding on windfall apples that fell on our driveway. I am not a hunter because I wouldn't eat what I killed. I don't like wild game. I fish. If its big enough and edible, I take it home to eat. I know the hunters around here eat their kill, or give it to others to eat. OK by me. Just shoot straighter.

Athletes: Just 'cause a sports reporter shoves a mike in your face, doesn't mean that you have to speak. Let your performance on the field speak for you. Remember the old saying: "It's best to keep your mouth shut and let people think you are idiot, than to open it and remove all doubt."

Politicians: Read the above paragraph.

Just when I thought some of these people were dead, they show up with new CDs. Jerry Lee Lewis has a new one called Last Man Standing. He records all kinds of stuff with all kinds of artists. From the little I've previewed, Killer is Back! Ray Charles has an album of his songs recorded with Count Basie. Sam Moore recorded a new CD with guests and a smashing blues band. Sigh. Too much music, too little time.

Oxymorons: Tolerant Religious Fundamentalists. White House Candor.
Contemporary History.

Muse! Where the hell are you? I am floundering here in a sea of banalities and cliches. But, I'll motor on until even I cannot stand this journal. Wake up, Muse. I don't need breathtakingly original thoughts. just a few that really, really don't suck, OK?

BRB is Write(missing the Muse, soldiering on)

2006-09-25T13:44:00.000-04:00

Overture and Two Dances

We went to the symphony Sunday. It was an entertaining program in spite of two of the pieces being 20th century. In fact, the players made Stravinsky's Firebird Suite sound much better than it sounds in any recording I've ever heard. As a former board operator for Canada's one commercial classical radio station, I've heard a number of versions and they all jangled and jarred. I guess one has to be there. The other dance actually had dancers. It is called Sabar: Concerto for Senegalese Drum and Dance Ensemble and Orchestra. The composer is James DeMars. The opening piece was Beethoven's Egmont Overture. This very familiar work was the finale of the very first concert of this symphony sixty years ago.

The theater is small; one might say it is intimate (especially in the balcony!, but the web site says it will seat 1387; seems like most are crammed in the balcony), but the sound is absolutely pure and warm, reaching all parts with effective acoustics. I just wish that the theater folk would remove 10% of the seats in the balcony (they were empty anyway) and make room for adults. I guess people were smaller when those seats were installed. If you are used to theater seating at your local movie-plex, picture this: once in your seat, you cannot move your legs or butt; you will be elbowed and elbow others. Cramping up is a real possibility.

We bought a Sunday series of concerts, as we did last year. Most of our town's retirement facilities seem to like the Sunday afternoons as well. Pity. I'm not against the elderly; I'm related to several. But, I keep encountering the rudest, the most perfumed and powdered, and cranky every Sunday. We changed our seats this year from the ones we had last season, to avoid sitting in the middle, and to avoid two particularly rude seniors. Last season, we tried to get to our seats before they did, 'cause if they got there first, we had to ask them to get up to let us in. They would pretend not to hear us; when I insisted, they got up with many grumblings and rumblings. They talked to each other all afternoon. I found myself climbing over my seat to the row above to get out during intermission. Ms CPB stayed put. Enough about them. They are still there this season, and we have aisle seats far away.

I need to say more about the music. The Concerto with the drummers was marvelous. Four drummers set up rhythms with one bare hand and one stick hand on six different drums. The orchestration provided a wonderful background, and set up many themes for the concerto. The orchestra was perfect throughout. I found myself wondering how the percussion section felt about those Senegalese percussionists. Could our local drummers do the same? Dancers came on stage from time to time to accompany the music. The whole ensemble was vastly entertaining: I forgot about cramped seating and cranky seniors the whole time. Marvelous.

Again the orchestra was up to the Stravinsky suite. I haven't mentioned the conductor/music director, have I? He is totally charismatic, and gets the best out of these local musicians. Back to The Firebird Suite, it is so much better in person. Perhaps paying 20 bucks to fight seniors and to sit in cramped quarters makes a difference. I think that the whole sensuous experience of being there is what makes the difference. Also, in the finale, Stravinsky ripped a few notes from Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition: The Great Gate of Kiev. The horns echoed the theme from the Gate. One Russian paying homage to another seemed rather appropriate.

There is not much to say about Beethoven's Egmont. It is such a wonderful overture. Our radio colleagues liked it 'cause, again it was the right length, it was Beethoven, it is moody and dramatic. The symphony orchestra played it superbly. I have heard many different recorded versions. Live is best.

One last word: Support your local symphony. Go to live concerts. Hearing all this great music live has no other equal. Even if you have the absolute best audio equipment at home, you're still at home. Most recordings are done in a studio. Musicians are at their best, most alive in concert. Get out there and enjoy.

BRB is Write (and not a music critic)

2006-09-23T17:45:00.000-04:00

Dear Readers,

Are you out there? My ego demands some feedback; some little indication that you are out there. People who live in this household may ignore this request:

If you have taken the time to read anything at this site, please leave a comment. You can do it anon. You can call me an ass; really boring; correct; a panty wearing, tree hugging liberal of the worst kind. Just respond. My ego is hurting. I can stand criticism, but not being ignored.

I know I said that this is for me and my therapy and vanity. So, OK, I want more; who doesn't? I read other blogs and comment when moved to do so. Perhaps I'm not moving you. OK, I'll try harder.

BRB is Write

2006-09-23T12:10:00.000-04:00

Sleeping Muse

I don't know if the Muse is asleep, drunk, on vacation, or what. It ain't here.

It only matters for me, anyway. Judging from the comments, the Muse could be dead, and no one but me would care. This is supposed to be for me anyway, my therapy, my journal, my ego exposed.

I promised Ms CPB that I wouldn't write about the total moral bankruptcy of Islam and it's followers, governments and clergy. So I won't. I might offend one of them, and cause more terrorist acts. Mea culpa, mea culpa.

I just started re-reading The Lyre of Orpheus by Robertson Davies, a (gasp) Canadian novelist. I must admit, all Of PDB's blogs on Canadians prompted me to start the book. If you want to understand his rants and insights, read Davies. This book is one of his last, and one that captures Canadian thought, or more accuratly, the Canadian psyche, or what PDB was talking about in that scene he describes at the park with his friends, better than any other book Davies has written. Anyone rising above mediocrity, on purpose, is suspect. Strivers are criticized. Davies quotes the National Prayer: "O God, grant me mediocrity and comfort; protect me from the radiance of Thy light." Amen

Ok, Muse, wake the hell up. The dam is about to burst and I need direction. Politics seems irrelevant. Democrates are boring, liberals are either Hollywood or crazy, conservatives are starting to make sense.

After months of complaining to the cable company about not getting 30% of the stations I'm paying for, they finally boosted the signal in our area. I get Imus once again, on MSNBC. And perhaps that's why conservatives seem to make sense. They want to wipeout terrorists instead of trying to understand them. My understanding is long gone.

My only admited predudice, in the past, was against redheads. I never met one I liked. However, I have gotten over that. But I have abandoned all tolerance for a certain non-Christian religion. I am now blind to all their arguments, justifications, sufferings, and admirable qualities. All of them are the same, I am ashamed to say. Events have forced this on me, sort of like admiring pigs from afar, and then having to live among them. This tends to change one's perspective.

I said I wouldn't do that, so I'll stop.

BRB is still Left Write Left(and missing a Muse or two)

2006-09-15T09:01:00.000-04:00

DAMNED LIBERAL COLUMNISTS

I read Jonathan Alter weekly. I generally like his columns. But this latest, is the worst, cheapest, shabbiest, piece I have ever read by him. It is beneath his skills. No first year journalism student could get away with it. Not in my school anyway. Go to the links in the right margin and click on Jonathan Alter. Read his so-called opinion piece.

Did I miss the joke in the first paragraph? Writing a "what if" column is as bad as a fiction writer putting the hero in an impossible situation, and then revealing that it was just a dream. It's a cheap trick. It shows no thought, no research, no effort.

Alter, you are much better than that. That's why I'm so hard on you. We liberals have very few columnists we can trust. I trusted you. I don't always agree with you, but I always trusted and respected you. Please give your next column or story a bit more consideration. No more cheap tricks.

BRB is Write (and disappointed)

2006-09-12T09:13:00.000-04:00

LINKS

I now have links. I now know how to put them in. I didn't figure it out.

We had breakfast on Sunday with PDB and Ms PDB. Lots of good Southern food and conversation. After breakfast, they came back to our house and helped me with the links. PDB is a self-taught IT sort and Ms has one certificate in web design. So now there are links and I don't have to put the whole web address in the text. You can click on the reference. Cool! If write read
Mark Steyn, or listen to some oldies from Freddie's Page just click.

The process is a little cumbersome, but it works.

BRB is Write (and linked)

2006-09-08T07:17:00.000-04:00

Fall Fair Fall Fare

It's only September 8th, I know, but Fall is not far off. When we were living in our small part of Ontario, Canada, the week after Labour Day marked the start of my Fall depression. Now this depression didn't start until the second Fall. The first Fall we didn't know what to expect.

Some trees started to turn around Labour Day. I thought that they might just be sick, or weak, but year after year, the same varieties turned color. Several days later, I was walking over a hill on the farm. When I reached the crest, the wind from the North hit me in the face, and it felt like it carried ice. We had a light frost the next day. Most of the garden survived, but we still had many green tomatoes and cucumbers left. We harvested them all.

And I thought uh oh. But the weather changed again, and we had weeks of pleasant, gentle weather. The trees still turned colors the whole time; Fall in Canada marched on. The weather was pleasant, but there was a foreboding about it. It was as if it was saying, don't trust me, enjoy me now, it only gets worse.

We moved from a travel trailer parked on the farm, to an old, drafty, brick farm house about half a mile away. It had four bedrooms, and bath upstairs, and living room, dining room, kitchen, and entrance hall down. It had electricity, and NO furnace. It had two wood-burning stoves. One was in the kitchen for cooking, (didn't I mention no modern stove?) and one in the entrance hall for heating the rest of the house. The farmer I worked for had me cut down many large willows that were shading one of his fields. I cut it into firewood, and split the larger pieces. I hauled all of it to the field just behind his house and dumped it into a great pile.

Later I found out that this great pile of soft wood was to be my winter fuel. When we moved I shifted a great portion of that soft wood to our wood shed and stacked another 4 to 5 cords around the house. I cut some dead hard wood from the bush on the farm we moved to. That small 2 acre wood had a lot of hard wood, but I was forbidden by the landlord to cut any of it.

We ran out of wood Jan 1. We had had snow on the ground since Nov 1. No one seemed to think we needed to have our quarter-mile drive cleared of snow. When we went to town, we walked to the road and got in the borrowed truck. So I spent my lunch and free time during daylight hours hauling small amounts of wood from the great pile on one farm to our farm house with a small tractor that had a box fitted to it to transport one full-sized pig. What did I know about wood? We started out with wood stacked all over the place. I talked to a few neighbors and none of them had ever heard of burning willow for winter fuel.

Before I start whining let me say we stayed warm, we ate well (mostly chickens we had raised) and waited for Spring; and we waited, and we waited. First day of Spring is March 22. We had snow, and several feet on the ground. By Easter, we had a muddy drive and piles of snow all around; still couldn't drive up to the house in anything but a tractor. May 1st it snowed.

FALL FAIR

I tried to enjoy Fall as best I could, but after that first Winter and lack of Spring, I got depressed four years in a row. We tried to enjoy Fall in Ontario. Churches had harvest-home days with much food; we went to something called a corn roast. Sweet corn on-the-cob was boiled in a cauldron over an open fire; There was butter, salt and pepper and field ripe tomatoes with white bread. We ate sweet cobs and had great tomato sandwiches.

Local villages and small towns had Fall fairs. Traveling carneys would set up shop; sheds were full of prize produce, and live stock was judged. One village had one of the oldest carousels in Ontario. The kids loved that, and the food vendors provided many treats.

FALL FARE

We preserved food. I slaughtered chickens. We raised beef and pork. We ate well. Ms CPB baked bread and preserved veggies. We had no money.

Thanksgiving in Ontario is celebrated on the second Monday of October. I now know why. By U.S. Thanksgiving all of Canada is hunkered down for Winter. Only hockey players, snowmobile riders, and natives enjoyed Winter.

Fall in North Carolina takes a long time to get going. By the time the leaves have turned, Christmas is only weeks away. Back in Canada, after we left the farm, and had some money, and didn't have to provide our winter fuel by labour, Fall seemed to not have that same foreboding. I got depressed anyway. I had months of snowshovelling, cold feet, and dripping nose to look forward to; not to mention slick roads. Each winter we were there, one of the kids' buses slid off the road, and they all had to be rescued by another bus. No one ever got hurt, thankfully. The first four winters I put our vehicle off the road, also.

For many of our last years in Ontario, Ms CPB and I worked for Canada's only commercial classical radio station. We started as board operators; I stayed as one part-time, but Ms CPB soon got a full-time position as the music librarian. Every Fall, the programmers and on-air stars dragged out the Fall music. We played variations of "September Song" (not exactly classical, but it fit the format). Vivaldi got a lot of play, of course. Everyone's favorite was "Fall Fair" by a Canadian, Godfrey Ridout. It was just long enough to be a feature piece, and it was TOTALLY Canadian. That seemed to be the justification for playing it, topical, Canadian, and length. I liked it for the music. We went to many Fall Fairs in an effort to ease my depression. The music fits just as as well as Strauss waltzes fit ballrooms.

So every Fall I get a little gloomy. I don't have to cut wood anymore. Like Bilbo and Frodo I feel the call to travel, but just don't seem to be able to put my feet on the path. Someday.

BRB is Write (and loves Fall in North Carolina)

2006-09-05T14:29:00.000-04:00

LABOR DAY LABOUR DAY

Since I have recorded my thoughts on all previous holidays, I cannot leave out Labor Day. Since most of my organized labour experience was in Canada, I give them their spelling.

Many blogs, news columns, pundits and other journalists have repeatedly extolled the virtues of labour, the benefits to all of us of organized labour, the sins of organized labour. We have organized labour to thank for Jimmy Hoffa, Bob White, paid holidays, higher wages, the whole spectrum of worker issues. Oddly enough, workers' compensation was given to us by companies getting tired of losing law suits to workers.

I'm going to talk about workers I have known.

Mom was a worker. For most of her career she took care of the hotshot salesmen in her company. She corrected their spelling. She re-wrote their letters; she maintained their schedules. She made herself indispensable to the whole office. Back in the day, women had that role in the office workplace. Mom took care of the household. We all pitched in, but it was her domain, also.

Dad was a worker. He was a letter carrier post war, and an inside worker post polio. When he was an inside worker, he worked a lot of overtime, and in many years got no overtime pay, but got paid time off in lieu. As an inside worker supervisor he had no union representation, but had many of the benefits the letter carriers had.

Ms CPB is a worker. She has been since high school. She worked two jobs, one full-time and one part-time while pregnant with our first child. She worked in the home for many years rearing and educating our children. When the last went to school, she resumed working outside the home . She is our main support.

I worked for 8 years in an auto-parts plant in Ontario, Canada. To talk about all the workers there, would take many pages. One group I remember well could transform any work station into a better, safer, more efficient station than any industrial engineer. These guys were old factory hands; some came from farms, where the only way to success was to economize all movement; some came from other closed plants.

Engineering and supervision would set up a work station for a new product. They would do a few test runs and decide on a quota for one 8-hour shift. These guys (old factory hands, and I include women in the group) would start out with the first set-up, and by the end of a few shifts, would re-arrange the station so that the quota was met in 6.5 hours. I loved to work with those folk.

I was a union representative in those days. I loved representing those people. Some of them retired while I was there; for some of them, it was the only job they ever had. I would see them downtown, and they always had a smile on their faces.

Throughout the years, the plant had three different owners. Three times we formed plant closure committees. It finally died. I don't know what happened to all those workers. Some I have kept in touch with, some have died, some moved on. On Labour Day, I especially think of them.

When I was a kid, Labour Day was just like Memorial Day, or The Fourth. The only difference was that we had to go back to school after that day. Sometimes we went to the mountains to fish and relax with the rest of the population of Southern California. Other times we went to a neighbor's pool and partied.

More than other holidays, I understood Labour Day best. My parents were workers. My friends' parents were workers, and they all had the day off paid.

I have seen Labour Day parades, presidential speeches, concerts, all extolling the virtues of labour. That lasted one day. The rest of the year, other interests take over and labour is under seige. But this is the American way. Labour is just another commodity like wheat or Texas crude. It takes some very cold decisions to treat people as resourses and not people.

But this is supposed to be about workers. Most of us are workers, i.e. people who earn a wage from an employer. PDB works about as hard as I did while on the farm, but he doesn't qualify as a worker as I define one, along with all the other small business owners who probably put in many more hours than their employees. They don't belong to the club; I exclude them; but Labour Day is also theirs to celebrate. I know he worked on Labour Day, as many other owners did.

Want to know more about workers? Get the book Working by Studs Terkel. It will be in any library. He interviewed hundreds of people from all walks of life. It is remarkable and totally American.

Notice I didn't get into the nobility of the worker, the oppression of the worker or even the death and maiming of workers. All have their own days, not remembered in America.

On Labor Day Labour Day, this is what I thought of.

BRB is Write (and at the moment, not a worker)

2006-09-05T14:03:00.000-04:00

Dog Owners

Please, please keep your pets under control. If you're in town keep them on a leash, confined to the yard, in the house. Don't let them roam the neighborhood.

I was rolling down one of our downtown expressways this afternoon. Cars ahead of me were bailing out left and right, pounding brakes, and creating chaos. As I bailed on the right shoulder, I saw someone's dog lying in the right lane. I thought it was dead, and went on past, checking my mirrors to see who was going to hit me from behind. The dog (rather large, short-haired, brown) got up and staggered into the left lane. That is the last I saw it.

Someone lost a pet.

I make no judgement. I am only reporting. Just take care of them.

BRB is Write (and likes dogs)

2006-08-29T14:27:00.000-04:00

I Figured It Out

Dear blogger folk-support,

My profile is now back at the top of the page, no thanks to you. I went back to the post where it first happened and discovered what happened.

In Absolutly Useless Rant, I put in a web site for the NC Drivers' Handbook that extended into the margin. I took out that link, and all was restored.

Now, if I can figure out from your spare, assuming much of the blogger, instructions on how to put in links, I won't have to put the whole address in the body of the post.

Learning is good; frustrating your customers is not wise. Wise up!

BRB is Write (and back in business)

2006-08-29T12:37:00.000-04:00

So Where Is My Profile?

If you have stumbled across this blog, you may wonder who is this journalist? You need to scroll all the way down to the last entry on this page, and Bingo! There I am.

Click on the profile, and whoa, there is something there. Previously it was empty, a void in the blogger universe. I was the mystery wrapped in an enigma. Pride of mystery and cloak of obscurity I was. (Backward speak I can.) But no more. The most you can learn about me I have revealed.

Actually, the real reason I added something to my profile was that I thought that if I updated the profile, the Profile and Archive titles might resume their rightful place at the TOP of the page. Never happened. Sigh. I am not a victim. I just don't know why it sank to the bottom, and how to get it back in place. (Does Blogger have a floation device?)

But I will move on. Labor Day is coming. I smell a blog. I think I'll compose it starting with a blues progression in the first few bars.

BRB is Write (and exposed)

2006-08-25T10:33:00.000-04:00

Looking Back Looking Forward

This past year I've been using the power of the net, and my meager search skills to try to reach back to people I've known. These would be people who I liked, who had some positive influence on me, or were just fun folk. I've found a few. What is more, I have surprised the be-Jesus out of them by trying to contact them and actually reaching them. I'm not sure why I'm doing this; it must be some sort of self-inflicted therapy.

Some I knew in the army I located on my old unit's web site. (http://www.ov-1.com/73rd_SAC/first.html) I have e-mailed several of these old acquaintances, and have heard from none of them. Perhaps then, I was a bigger ass-hole than I remember. I correspond with one guy who was there at the same time, but we didn't know each other then. That's probably why he replied.

Several folk in Canada have responded favorably to my reaching back to them, and we have a sporadic exchange. One is, of course, The liberal, feminist, union organizer from The Great White North. Wise lady.

The only undergraduate professor whose name I remember, I found. Sent him an e-mail. He responded by saying how glad he was to hear from a former student from so long ago. I offered to go to the West coast to meet him, and he asked me how many of his books I've read. Never heard from him again. Oh well.

Looking forward is a lot harder. Everything on the net is either current or history. I can't find any help there. Looking forward is hard. PDB has said that I have no dreams. How can a son be so wise? Actually I do have some dreams, but most are really short-term.

I want to visit my Mom. I want to see my first grandchild. I want to see PDB get store #2,#3,etc. I want to see mathman succeed. I want to see us to never retire. I want a job.

Are these wants or dreams? Are these means to reaching dreams? Sometimes I cannot tell the difference. I have spent a lot of time looking back. Perhaps I need to do that to find out what my dreams could be?

I have had dreams in the past: Marrying Ms CPB, raising a family, being an English professor, being a Moravian minister, always providing for our family whether it meant raising vegetables and pigs to earning money. Looking back, I have no regrets. Dreams that didn't happen are ok, and those that came true, were better than I ever expected. I guess that's a bonus.

But what about now? Dreams or means to dreams. I was never a career person. I wanted to be, or I thought I wanted to have a life career. But I had to try many things; I had to see what was down this or that road; what is past that forest I can see in the distance. I have not lost that desire. What I have lost is the ability to get out of familiar ruts.

I think I can find it again.

That is why BRB is Left Right Left

2006-08-22T18:30:00.000-04:00

Right Margin is Back

But it is not where it used to be. To anyone of my few readers, the archives and post titles are a long scroll DOWN. Not where I would have put it, but I am at the mercy of computer geeks.

Ms CPB says that I should try a blog entry without being whiny or grumpy.

This ends this entry.

BRB is Write(and will not admit to being grumpy or whiny)

2006-08-18T13:40:00.000-04:00

Dear Blogspot:

What the hell happened to my right hand margin, which includes a list of past posts?

2006-08-18T11:40:00.000-04:00

Absolutely Useless Rant

But I'm going to do it anyway. Journals are therapeutic to the journalist.

This is about trying to educate Carolina drivers. I've had several goes at it, so has PDB(www.pdb.blog-city.com). But here I go again.

Dear Carolina driver,

That stalk on the steering column that flashes a little green light on your instrument panel that you inadvertently hit from time to time is called the directional signal. On my Toyota, if I tap it down it flashes an arrow pointing left, and at the same time flashes a light on the front and rear left side. This means I am going to make a maneuver to the left be it a turn or a lane change. Conversely, if I tap it up it signals a maneuver to the right. Please get used to it.

Turn signals are not optional equipment, nor is their use optional by statute. I realize that this might confuse some drivers as to why I am honking at them when they fail to recognize my flashing turn signal and cut me off, turn in front of me or do something else equally as stupid. I will also guarantee this: my car is older than yours. My car costs less to repair, and your insurance company will pay.

It is nearing the time when school buses will again clog the roads. Please obey the rules and give them all a break. Many of you are over cautious and will stop for a school bus stopped heading the opposite way on a four-lane or greater road with a divider or median or fifth lane turn lane. Please don't! This will confuse those of us who have read the rules concerning school buses. Read it for yourself: http://www.ncdot.org/dmv/driver_services/

Also, Carolina drivers, please pay attention when you are driving. Most close encounters I have with others involve no one paying attention, either me or them. Driving is fulltime. We have many distractions while driving, phones, stereos, children, dogs, food, smoking; I have been distracted by all of the above, so have you.

One more thing: I don't care how much power your car stereo has. I have heard some that need enough power to supply a small city. I am not impressed. If you are gassing up next to me, shut the damn thing off.

I invite your comments, and you can do it anon.

BRB is Write (and grumpy and nearly got crushed earlier today)

2006-08-13T18:33:00.000-04:00

Final Fantasy: Epilogue

We all said goodbye this week. The Major University with the Major Medical School and the Major Athletic Program gave us the finale. I missed Thursday. I had the choice of visiting a dead workplace or having dinner with many of my family members. It was not too tough to make that choice. I told my supervisor I had transportation problems. What's one more lie among liars?

Friday was entirely bizarre. We who were left had some cake provided by the MU with the MMC and the MAP. I was prepared; I had dinner before going in. Nice touch, cake, I reckon. We heard that some administrators had been in to visit the day-shift. Message: They will work with all diligence to have our workplace up and running by Feb 07. We were also told that said administrators came back at 5pm to talk with the evening shift. Too bad no one told them that the evening shift that day started at 6pm. They left. Their message was delivered by the remaining supervisor.

That supervisor takes very poor minutes of meetings. Also, I got a goodbye, nice knowing you card from a very nice co-worker. Also I got a $5 gift card from whom I'm not sure, but it was in a thank you for all the hard work card. The card was from the above supervisor. I had to sign for it. On the list of gift cards and signatures were various denominations of said cards, from $20 to $5. What am I to think? Is this just more indifference, incompetence, carelessness, or contempt? Did all surplus workers get a gift card? (The card is good at one of the poorest grocery stores in the area. $5 is just about enough for a six-pack.)

I stayed two hours and made a few calls. No surveys completed, but I talked with a lot of old folks. If any of the surplus employees are invited back, it will take months to get all the completions needed to satisfy the head investigator.

However, BRB will rise above it all. I see that the MU with the MMS and MAP has some openings for positions I am qualified for. I can tell them that I understand the funding cycle and grant awarding process. I won't expect cake with the bad news.

I made a lot of friends through it all. I'll still never understand business; academic, commercial or otherwise, it will remain a mystery. However, experience of any kind makes us who we are. It's how we grow, and how we mature.

This is not a whine. It's a post mortum.

BRB is Write

2006-08-10T16:10:00.000-04:00

Pinhead Final Fantasy Part III

This should all be over soon. This is my last week doing phone surveys for a Major University with a Major Medical School and a Major Athletic program.

I've told you about no business plan, and no funding. I've told you about the center resurrecting itself early next year. I've mentioned lies and damned lies. So the following may seem minor and rather petty.

All employees got an e-mail on Sun. advising all that the center will be providing lunch and dinner all week. Well, that's nice I thought. Mon it was pizza. Tues bagels and donuts. Wed. doritos, salsa and nacho cheese and fruit still in the Wal-Mart bags. Wed evening surplus employees took up a collection for some fried chicken and sides for Thurs. I chose not to participate. Dinner as defined by the powers at the center is good enough for this surplus guy. Hey, they have stood by me all this time.

I don't know if this last debacle shows insensitivity, incompetence, or just contempt for the rest of us remaining until the very end. I suspect the last. And I am walking away with much the same feeling for the remaining, anonymous powers.

Also, I have learned from sources that shall remain unnamed, that a CHOSEN few of the surplus will be CALLED to finish up some remaining business after the rest of us are gone. I wish them well. Many are called, but few are chosen.

I hope that this is the final whimper of a once resourceful, imaginative, and competent workplace.

R.I.P.

BRB is Write (and sad)

2006-08-08T08:39:00.000-04:00

More Random Observations

I have never seen any smiling shoppers at Wal-Mart. Have you? Ever seen any happy kids at that place? Have you ever thought, "Oh boy, we're going to Wal-mart!"?

One question you will never hear a cashier ask: "Did you find everything you were looking for?"

Wal-Mart knows that you will put up with a lot because of low prices. We shoppers are not taking advantage of them; they are taking advantage of us.

Tailgaters: get off my butt! I will NOT go faster just 'cause you are enraptured with the back end of my Toyota. If conditions allow, I ALWAYS exceed the speed limit. But if all I can see in the mirror are wide eyes, you on the cell phone, and if I cannot identify your vehicle by the shape of the windshield, count on this: I will slow down. I will slow down and irritate you further. I hope you have no kids riding with you. If you back off, I'll resume exceeding the speed limit.

There are, out there in the real world, people who are totally oblivious to others; some that are totally oblivious to what effect their actions have on others. They think that ordinary rules of behavior NEVER apply to them. You have encountered them. The guy who parks his SUV in front of the convenience store and blocks 3 parking spaces and one set of gas pumps; the woman who parks in the fire lane outside the Harris-Teeter to go in and get just a few items are only two.

I hate to pick on drivers, but I encounter those the most. However, how about grocery shoppers that leave the cart in the middle of the aisle; how about seniors who crowd in front of the line at elevators, in the bank, or any other place I happen to be in?

People, pay attention. The world is getting smaller, the roads and shopping aisles are getting more crowded, the vehicles are getting larger. I am getting older and more cranky. (That's another rant)

BRB is Write (and grumpy)

P.S. When was the last time you drank tap water?

2006-08-04T11:23:00.000-04:00

Dissent is the highest form of patriotism--Thomas Jefferson

This was going to be a rant about patriotism; who owns the word; who has highjacked the concept, but I've changed my mind.

This is about my Dad. I looked in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 1940 edition, for the Jefferson quotation. (I like to verify things when I can. If I have a book to look in, I will, before trying google.) This book was my Dad's. On every single blank space on all of the fly leafs, he had written or pasted cutouts of other quotations that grabbed his interest. From Don Mclean(American Pie) to Sartre to Henry Gibson (Laugh In) there must be dozens of them.

I never used this book while living at home, but took it with some others after he died . PDB (look him up. www.pdb.blog-city.com) found this book extremely fascinating, and it lived with him as he grew up.

I should mention that Dad wrote in the margins of every book he owned, and every magazine he read. He would sit in front of the TV with the rest of us and watch Ozzie and Harriet or Lawrence Welk, with Time Magazine on his lap and a fountain pen in his hand. I think he was a lot smarter than us. When he lifted his head to pay attention to the show, he just couldn't stay with it.

My Dad was a reader. He grew up as a reader and was encouraged by his Mom and Aunt. He was also a keeper of a journal, and in later years, the journal turned into family letters.

But the wide variety of quotations that he thought fit to paste or write into his Bartlett's tells much about him. I knew he was a life-long Democrat. He had a federal job and then a federal pension. But he judged the candidate as an individual, and voted for some local Republicans because he thought that they had local interests as a priority. He couldn't bring himself to vote for Nixon or Reagan, but despaired about the poor quality of the Democratic candidates.

Back to the quotes:

"And so I hold it is not treason
To advance a simple reason
For the sorry lack of progress we decry.
It is this: instead of working
On himself, each man is shirking
And trying to reform some other guy." Harvard professor Babbit

"I am goddamned tired of listening to all this babble for reform. America is a hell of success." Joseph G. Cannon

"I was a lonely, teen-age broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pick-up truck." Don McLean

Sometimes he was really hard to figure out. He took me fishing; he supported my interest in sports. He could be really hard on me about my homework, getting it done, getting it right; I had to keep my shoes shined and wear my suit on Sunday. When I did something really stupid, he couldn't understand why I did it. At times I sneered at him as teens will. Other times I was in awe.

This story may take a while to set up, but it shows much of his character. I played baseball as a kid in our L.A. suburb. This was pre-Little League in our area. We had no tryouts. All the names went into a bin and were drawn: 15 kids to a team. We had caps and tee shirts with our team name, and had to return the shirt at season's end. The rules were regular baseball rules. Runners could lead off; pitchers had to pitch from a stretch with runners on base. We all learned what a balk was. We played 7 inning games. Each kid had to play at least 3 innings. A pitcher could only pitch 4 innings. So with this rule, most managers started their best pitcher and let him go 3 innings. Then that kid would play at some other position until the seventh inning, when he would come in and finish up the game. Any player who left the game had to stay out.

So one afternoon our team was getting killed 15-0; did I mention no mercy rule? My Dad was a parent helper, coaching on third base this day. We couldn't get a sniff of a hit against their best pitcher. When he left to play right field and we faced another pitcher, we got a few hits and some fly-outs, but no score. In the 7th inning they trot out this monster pitcher again. (I don't think anyone checked his birth certificate.)

Dad was livid. "Hey, let the kids try to hit! You're winning 15-0! What's with bringing this kid in again? and several other choice phrases. Dad, above all, wanted the kids to play and have a good time. I didn't think he was very competitive. How wrong I was.

Their catcher was not very good, and couldn't really handle those pitches, just as we could not hit them. Lots of passed balls and dropped third strikes gave us a number of base runners, but all were still there when out 3 came.

So here we are, bottom of the 7th. I come up and strike out, but get to first on a passed ball. I eventually ended up on third. Always the observer, Dad said to me: "The pitcher and catcher are really very cocky, and not paying any attention to you. The catcher just lobs the ball back every time. Just walk off the base and down the line when he throws the pitch. Take off for home when the catcher lobs the ball back." So I did what he said, and stole home. We lost 15-1, but because Dad wanted a little consideration for the kids, and didn't get it, he settled for a little justice. He cost that other team a shutout.

He thought more about others than himself. He went to all the ball games my nephews played in, just as he did with me. When I left home, he would look for neighborhood kids to take fishing.

But the variety of those quotes? I wish I knew what he was thinking when he pasted and penned them into that book. Obviously he thought them all important. But which did he agree with and with which did he disagree? I think I know, but he was private that way. I guess I'll never really know. We should have talked more. But I'm a lot like he was, we can be enigmatic, private and erupt at times.

I know it drives the whole family crazy. It's who I am and who he was.