Well, finally! Three weeks to the day after my misadventure in moving culminated in my car imploding in Tennessee, I went back to good ole' Nashville to fetch it and now I'm finally all moved into Texas.
On this, my second trip back for the 1,000 miles between Nashville and San Antonio, something jogged my memory - I meant to write about this before but I guess the whole car thing kind of took it out of my head. And my question is: What is it about America's truckers that necessitates the incredible number of roadside adult video stores?
Ironically, the 'Bible Belt' is littered with these things - at one place, I think in Arkansas, there is literally one on either side of an exit - making it sooo much easier for truckers to pull into going west or east.
Now, don't misunderstand me, I'm not saying that truckers are the only people at these place (and, for the record, no, I did't) but these places ADVERTISE to truckers - they make truckers their target market -- there has to be a reason for that. Before you send hate mail, I have friends and relatives who are/have been truckers, so I know this is a huge generalization, but still, they don't advertise to "Hey, driving home late from work, stop here and ... well, you know..." No, they say, "truckers welcome" and stuff like that.
In all, I'd say these places probably rank in the top 5 of most often visible 'establishments' on the trail. You have your fast-food, gasoline, Wal-Mart and the like; and then probably these places. Between, I forget, probably Pennsylvania or Ohio and Tennessee there is actually a chain - same store name throughout three or four different states. Maybe top 5 is a bit of an exaggeration, but you certainly notice them more than most other places.
I guess there is probably no point to this other than I found the juxtaposition of an advertisement for one of these places amusing as it was located within a couple hundred yards of a Christian advertising billboard asking me where I was going to go if I died today. (There's a whole raft of wise-ass answers for that in this context, mostly involving heart attacks and a really embarassing obituary...)
So, I guess, whenever I go into a Wal-Mart or something from now on and ask for an item, and they say, 'the truck will be here tomorrow,' at least I have a pretty good idea of where they might be now.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
A little seriousness here today...
I'd like to be serious just this once - I'm used to being away for a while. I take a little comfort in the fact that I know The Shadow has an exellent hand in running everything and, let's face facts, things run a little more smoothly during those times when I'm away for a month or so. I get that.
But I've been gone for about 2, 2.5 weeks and when the four year old talks to me on the phone and just wants her daddy there - puts the phone in her bed and covers it up while mum reads a story, well that's just ... let's call it tough.
I'm facing the prospect of deploying next year and while the next few months will be tough, it won't be nearly as bad as it could/can/will be a year from now. At least now I have pretty unlimited internet access and phone calls. Next year will be a move not of my choice and limited interaction from a helluva distance.
To all those folks who have deployed numerous times over the past 9 years (or more) and keep sucking it up and going back - I salute each and every one of you. Think about some of military folks who in the last 9 years have been away - for deployment training and/or the deployment themselves -- some of these folks have been gone for 5 (and a few more than 5) years of the last 9. While I salute them unreservedly, you HAVE GOT to give it up for their spouses and children and extended families.
Before I left home I had the opportunity to spend a few hours with a couple old school friends, Jason and Scott. Great weather, calm water and a fun boat ride. Three dads with their kids and a big ole' lake. One of my friends, Jason, says to me, "I don't want this to sound corny or anything, but thanks for what you do."
At the time I kind of laughed it off with a "hey, just keep paying me..." kind of thing. But, over the last couple weeks that little scene has replayed in my head a number of times. I felt then, and still do, a little bad not responding ... better. In retrospect, I think it is quite possibly, the coolest things one of my friends has ever said to me. Not for the words, or even the sentiment so much, but just for saying it. It wasn't just a tossed-away 'thank you' that you get while in uniform at the store - it was, to me at least, something far more meaningful.
I (and by 'I' I mean 'we' in the sense of military people in general) don't really think about it that much as something to be 'thanked' for - especially if we've been in the service any length of time. And I realize, that he wasn't just thanking me and The Shadow. Really, he was thanking the hundreds of thousands of men and women AND their families.
It's important, and it's impossible to over-emphasize, the non-military members in these situations. When I leave, the kids were sad (and The Shadow probably was a little too ;o) but it was she who was left with the pieces; she who was left with the bills, the house, the cars all that stuff. When I get back - or when anyone returns from a deployment - it's also the family that has to adapt again.
When a parent is away temporarily a new dynamic takes place in the household and when that parent returns, that whole life-dance gets distracted like a needle being pulled across a record. Eventually, the needle settles back into a comfortable grrove and it's own, new rythym but it's another big change - mostly for the family.
When the Shadow and I were prepping for this move and talking to our non-military friends, the response was always the same ... "you're doing what?!" And as I think about this, I realize my civilian friends rarely are away from their families. Sometimes, you'll have the long-haul trucker or some other job that requires time away from home - but even they, usually, don't do it for months at a time.
So, to Jason, Scott and all the others out there whom I've never really replied appropriately to, I'd like to say, 'you're welcome.' And I don't want this to sound corny either, but for every military member, there are 100 people out there making America a place worth being in the military for. And having friends who can make a couple hours on a boat a far more meaningful experience than a ride around the lake - well, in the end, that's probably why we do it at all.
But I've been gone for about 2, 2.5 weeks and when the four year old talks to me on the phone and just wants her daddy there - puts the phone in her bed and covers it up while mum reads a story, well that's just ... let's call it tough.
I'm facing the prospect of deploying next year and while the next few months will be tough, it won't be nearly as bad as it could/can/will be a year from now. At least now I have pretty unlimited internet access and phone calls. Next year will be a move not of my choice and limited interaction from a helluva distance.
To all those folks who have deployed numerous times over the past 9 years (or more) and keep sucking it up and going back - I salute each and every one of you. Think about some of military folks who in the last 9 years have been away - for deployment training and/or the deployment themselves -- some of these folks have been gone for 5 (and a few more than 5) years of the last 9. While I salute them unreservedly, you HAVE GOT to give it up for their spouses and children and extended families.
Before I left home I had the opportunity to spend a few hours with a couple old school friends, Jason and Scott. Great weather, calm water and a fun boat ride. Three dads with their kids and a big ole' lake. One of my friends, Jason, says to me, "I don't want this to sound corny or anything, but thanks for what you do."
At the time I kind of laughed it off with a "hey, just keep paying me..." kind of thing. But, over the last couple weeks that little scene has replayed in my head a number of times. I felt then, and still do, a little bad not responding ... better. In retrospect, I think it is quite possibly, the coolest things one of my friends has ever said to me. Not for the words, or even the sentiment so much, but just for saying it. It wasn't just a tossed-away 'thank you' that you get while in uniform at the store - it was, to me at least, something far more meaningful.
I (and by 'I' I mean 'we' in the sense of military people in general) don't really think about it that much as something to be 'thanked' for - especially if we've been in the service any length of time. And I realize, that he wasn't just thanking me and The Shadow. Really, he was thanking the hundreds of thousands of men and women AND their families.
It's important, and it's impossible to over-emphasize, the non-military members in these situations. When I leave, the kids were sad (and The Shadow probably was a little too ;o) but it was she who was left with the pieces; she who was left with the bills, the house, the cars all that stuff. When I get back - or when anyone returns from a deployment - it's also the family that has to adapt again.
When a parent is away temporarily a new dynamic takes place in the household and when that parent returns, that whole life-dance gets distracted like a needle being pulled across a record. Eventually, the needle settles back into a comfortable grrove and it's own, new rythym but it's another big change - mostly for the family.
When the Shadow and I were prepping for this move and talking to our non-military friends, the response was always the same ... "you're doing what?!" And as I think about this, I realize my civilian friends rarely are away from their families. Sometimes, you'll have the long-haul trucker or some other job that requires time away from home - but even they, usually, don't do it for months at a time.
So, to Jason, Scott and all the others out there whom I've never really replied appropriately to, I'd like to say, 'you're welcome.' And I don't want this to sound corny either, but for every military member, there are 100 people out there making America a place worth being in the military for. And having friends who can make a couple hours on a boat a far more meaningful experience than a ride around the lake - well, in the end, that's probably why we do it at all.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
And now for something completely different
Exercise.
Oh, I know, it's a dirty word and should probably have only four letters. But it's necessary - and has been (in my case) for quite some time - just ask the Shadow (OB in the list of followers over there if you're keeping score at home.)
So, before we get into exercise, just a few words about the new locale. The other day "Moe" came to the apartment to install my internet connection. Funny thing, people. You meet them and five minutes later, after you find some trivial little thing in common, they're willing to tell you about all kinds of larcenous and likely felonious stuff. Take "Moe". It turns out that Moe did a stint in the Navy some years back - in fact, he's still hitting Uncle Sugar up for some scratch as a reservist even now. Anyway, in his position as some type of mechanic or communications engineer or some such nonsense, he was around a good quantity of tools ... WHICH HE PILFERED ONE AT A TIME.
That's right. Moe, a kind enough guy, thought it perfectly ok to tell me, a complete stranger, that he "took one tool a day" and now has a tidy little kit of Snap-Ons at home. But apparently it was ok, because he wasn't the only one doing it and the guy who was SUPPOSED to be keeping tabs on things like that wasn't doing his job. Apparently, no one wondered why his ship was ordering sets of tools in multiple amounts. Your tax dollars at work. On the plus side, he did a fantastic job setting up the network and I couldn't be more pleased. Plus he gave me his number in case I ever needed any computer help - you know, on a cash basis.
Then we have "the Guy." I don't know his name and I don't care. What I do care about is that a $130 P90X, brand new in a sealed box only cost me 50 bucks. I met him at a gas station and he got out of his van and showed me a couple boxes, and I paid the man and everyone is happy. I'm sure he got them from a legitimate source - I mean, they don't sell these things in stores, but he had an ad on Craig's List so he's most likely legit...right? I'm sure he is.
That Guy segues nicely into exercise. Today I began the P90X program. If you aren't aware it combines an entirely psychotic daily workout along with a nutrition plan - doing just one won't get it done sadly. Fortunately, a tablespoon of peanut butter is a 'snack' and if you really concentrate you can make a table spoon of peanut butter last a really long time.
If you have heard of P90X it's probably because someone you know or who is a friend of a friend has used it. I know people who have used it and they all say it's fantastic - but difficult. So, in 90 days we'll see.
I did take some "before" pictures today. In the interest of not wanting any of you to hurl, I shall not post them. In 90 days, if I've actually lost the couple stone I hope to lose, then I'll post them with the 'after' pictures - so you've got that reason to come back at least once more in the next three months.
Monday I start work. For those of you who are now aware, I work in a secured building. Without a certain level security clearance, you have to be escorted everywhere - this is annoying as I don't have said clearance at this point. So, when I arrive, someone has to meet me at the door, sign for me and escort me to the office. If I have to go to the bathroom, someone's got to go with me. This is, how shall we say, inconvenient -- and not just for me I hasten to add.
Still, it could be worse. I could be on some sort of colonic cleansing diet.
Oh, I know, it's a dirty word and should probably have only four letters. But it's necessary - and has been (in my case) for quite some time - just ask the Shadow (OB in the list of followers over there if you're keeping score at home.)
So, before we get into exercise, just a few words about the new locale. The other day "Moe" came to the apartment to install my internet connection. Funny thing, people. You meet them and five minutes later, after you find some trivial little thing in common, they're willing to tell you about all kinds of larcenous and likely felonious stuff. Take "Moe". It turns out that Moe did a stint in the Navy some years back - in fact, he's still hitting Uncle Sugar up for some scratch as a reservist even now. Anyway, in his position as some type of mechanic or communications engineer or some such nonsense, he was around a good quantity of tools ... WHICH HE PILFERED ONE AT A TIME.
That's right. Moe, a kind enough guy, thought it perfectly ok to tell me, a complete stranger, that he "took one tool a day" and now has a tidy little kit of Snap-Ons at home. But apparently it was ok, because he wasn't the only one doing it and the guy who was SUPPOSED to be keeping tabs on things like that wasn't doing his job. Apparently, no one wondered why his ship was ordering sets of tools in multiple amounts. Your tax dollars at work. On the plus side, he did a fantastic job setting up the network and I couldn't be more pleased. Plus he gave me his number in case I ever needed any computer help - you know, on a cash basis.
Then we have "the Guy." I don't know his name and I don't care. What I do care about is that a $130 P90X, brand new in a sealed box only cost me 50 bucks. I met him at a gas station and he got out of his van and showed me a couple boxes, and I paid the man and everyone is happy. I'm sure he got them from a legitimate source - I mean, they don't sell these things in stores, but he had an ad on Craig's List so he's most likely legit...right? I'm sure he is.
That Guy segues nicely into exercise. Today I began the P90X program. If you aren't aware it combines an entirely psychotic daily workout along with a nutrition plan - doing just one won't get it done sadly. Fortunately, a tablespoon of peanut butter is a 'snack' and if you really concentrate you can make a table spoon of peanut butter last a really long time.
If you have heard of P90X it's probably because someone you know or who is a friend of a friend has used it. I know people who have used it and they all say it's fantastic - but difficult. So, in 90 days we'll see.
I did take some "before" pictures today. In the interest of not wanting any of you to hurl, I shall not post them. In 90 days, if I've actually lost the couple stone I hope to lose, then I'll post them with the 'after' pictures - so you've got that reason to come back at least once more in the next three months.
Monday I start work. For those of you who are now aware, I work in a secured building. Without a certain level security clearance, you have to be escorted everywhere - this is annoying as I don't have said clearance at this point. So, when I arrive, someone has to meet me at the door, sign for me and escort me to the office. If I have to go to the bathroom, someone's got to go with me. This is, how shall we say, inconvenient -- and not just for me I hasten to add.
Still, it could be worse. I could be on some sort of colonic cleansing diet.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The $7000 Happy Birthday Trip
Well, I've done it - I've arrived where I need to be and 'almost' without incident. You see, while I have arrived, my vehicle is still only halfway here and will likely stay soaking up the Grand Old Opry and country music particles for some weeks. This, of course, sucks because that means I'll have to wash it and beat on the seats until all those particles come out. On the upshot, I might find someone's lost dog, job, or trailer, so there is the potential to make a few bucks on this.
I digress (which will be a recurring theme here just you watch and see). So, I'm traveling down this lonesome highway and things are peachy until I hear a distinct 'noise' coming from, of all places, the engine. It is a noise I have not heard in the 1100 miles I'd traveled to that point. A knocking, kind of "this is going to cost you" noise that no one wants to hear ever, much less halfway to their destination and in a land where 'wife-beater' tank tops are molded onto beer bellies so tightly that individual chest and back hairs have poked their way through the polymer fabric.
Alas, this was the case. Fortune would have it that: A. I was no longer in Kentucky where I had zero cell phone reception (no idea why); and B. I was within a 1/2 mile of an exit.
After exiting and being pointed to a repair facility I drove off doing that thing guys do when the car is just about to die -- namely patting the dash and speaking softly to it; letting the car know that if no one else does, YOU believe it can make it to the third stop light and the left. "come on darlin', you can do it," you purr. "almost there...that's right... DAMN." I believe that the speaking probably comes from our lost 19th century heritage of talking to our horses. You know, when you've ridden so long and fast that the horse is all lathered and a heartbeat away from dieing but you really need to park right in front of the saloon. Anyway, a Ford is not a horse...which is really too bad.
There I sit, fortunately (again) in the turning lane of the street and I'm pretty sure at this time we have a new Pope, because there is white smoke pouring out from under the hood. Now, being a man I have a couple options - options 1: call for assistance or option 2: open the hood first, look around like I have a clue as to what could possibly be wrong ... and then call for assistance. I chose the latter as to keep both chromosomes somewhat in tact.
Help arrived and upon lifting the front of the vehicle, I noticed a fair amount of what appeared to be oil pour onto the road. "hmmmmm, that can't be right," thought I, never one to miss a chance to get anything right while it relates to automobiles.
10 minutes later at a garage, the mechanic/owner pulls me in and points a flashlight to the raised engine after having removed the tire. "see that?" he asks. "sure," I say. "you shouldn't" says he - "that's the inside of your engine - that hole is made by that piece of metal which is one of your rods which has made its way through your engine block." Ummmm, yeah. "That sounds expensive," I offer. The nice southern man confirms my assessment.
For the third time (fortunately?)this man also rents U-Hauls, and 9 bills later I'm on my way again - oddly getting better mileage than before despite the size of the beast I'm now driving but also secure in the knowledge that all the bits and pieces are 'inside' the engine where they are supposed to be.
Next post: A Friend In Deed is a Friend with a Spare Car!
I digress (which will be a recurring theme here just you watch and see). So, I'm traveling down this lonesome highway and things are peachy until I hear a distinct 'noise' coming from, of all places, the engine. It is a noise I have not heard in the 1100 miles I'd traveled to that point. A knocking, kind of "this is going to cost you" noise that no one wants to hear ever, much less halfway to their destination and in a land where 'wife-beater' tank tops are molded onto beer bellies so tightly that individual chest and back hairs have poked their way through the polymer fabric.
Alas, this was the case. Fortune would have it that: A. I was no longer in Kentucky where I had zero cell phone reception (no idea why); and B. I was within a 1/2 mile of an exit.
After exiting and being pointed to a repair facility I drove off doing that thing guys do when the car is just about to die -- namely patting the dash and speaking softly to it; letting the car know that if no one else does, YOU believe it can make it to the third stop light and the left. "come on darlin', you can do it," you purr. "almost there...that's right... DAMN." I believe that the speaking probably comes from our lost 19th century heritage of talking to our horses. You know, when you've ridden so long and fast that the horse is all lathered and a heartbeat away from dieing but you really need to park right in front of the saloon. Anyway, a Ford is not a horse...which is really too bad.
There I sit, fortunately (again) in the turning lane of the street and I'm pretty sure at this time we have a new Pope, because there is white smoke pouring out from under the hood. Now, being a man I have a couple options - options 1: call for assistance or option 2: open the hood first, look around like I have a clue as to what could possibly be wrong ... and then call for assistance. I chose the latter as to keep both chromosomes somewhat in tact.
Help arrived and upon lifting the front of the vehicle, I noticed a fair amount of what appeared to be oil pour onto the road. "hmmmmm, that can't be right," thought I, never one to miss a chance to get anything right while it relates to automobiles.
10 minutes later at a garage, the mechanic/owner pulls me in and points a flashlight to the raised engine after having removed the tire. "see that?" he asks. "sure," I say. "you shouldn't" says he - "that's the inside of your engine - that hole is made by that piece of metal which is one of your rods which has made its way through your engine block." Ummmm, yeah. "That sounds expensive," I offer. The nice southern man confirms my assessment.
For the third time (fortunately?)this man also rents U-Hauls, and 9 bills later I'm on my way again - oddly getting better mileage than before despite the size of the beast I'm now driving but also secure in the knowledge that all the bits and pieces are 'inside' the engine where they are supposed to be.
Next post: A Friend In Deed is a Friend with a Spare Car!
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The 'stuff' society
This post is mainly because I feel guilty for not posting something here every now and again - keep in mind I'm still in New England for the next few days.
Still, it occured to me that I'm pulling a trailer to Texas that weighs more than 2000 pounds loaded. In most countries in the world, 2000 pounds of 'stuff' is probably as much as an extended family has - from grandpa down to jim-bob and elizabeth. For an American (or many 'western' families I suppose) it doesn't really start until after the first ton.
To whit - I don't have a cheese grater, knives of any useful purpose, saucepans, bedside light (or table), not a single cooking ingredient - not even as lowly as salt or olive oil.
We are definitely a 'stuff'-based society and while my ton of 'stuff' is mostly useful (the Opus stuffed animal being the likely exception but needing to be packed lest The Shadow throw it away as she's attempted to do several times over the last 20 years), there are pounds and pounds of it, that quite frankly, are not.
And when I get down south, the first needless stuff I think I'll work to get rid of will be the extra 30 pounds sharing the driver's seat with me. I'll post again probably from a hotel in the heartland somewhere.
Still, it occured to me that I'm pulling a trailer to Texas that weighs more than 2000 pounds loaded. In most countries in the world, 2000 pounds of 'stuff' is probably as much as an extended family has - from grandpa down to jim-bob and elizabeth. For an American (or many 'western' families I suppose) it doesn't really start until after the first ton.
To whit - I don't have a cheese grater, knives of any useful purpose, saucepans, bedside light (or table), not a single cooking ingredient - not even as lowly as salt or olive oil.
We are definitely a 'stuff'-based society and while my ton of 'stuff' is mostly useful (the Opus stuffed animal being the likely exception but needing to be packed lest The Shadow throw it away as she's attempted to do several times over the last 20 years), there are pounds and pounds of it, that quite frankly, are not.
And when I get down south, the first needless stuff I think I'll work to get rid of will be the extra 30 pounds sharing the driver's seat with me. I'll post again probably from a hotel in the heartland somewhere.
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