I need to remind myself occasionally, that part of the reason I'm doing this is to get some writing practice. I wish I could do it and have a point, but at least once a week makes it like doing a newspaper column - only without the layout worries and the commander having to review every word (see Griffiss AFB, c. 1992-1995). Still there are weeks when, truth be told, there's just not that much happening.
Over the course of the last week or 8 days or so, I've actually been running about 5 times which is good. My knees are tight and I groan like an octagenarian when I get up, but I suppose that's just practice for 40 years down the road. That much practice and I'll be able to make that getting up noise without moving. Hopefully people will just bring me drinks in the hopes that I don't - we'll see.
The running is actually alright (other than said knees) my runs are up to about 3.5 miles and the time per mile has dropped about 15 seconds, so I guess I'm feeling pretty good about that. What I'm not feeling good about is the way the government wastes your money.
That's right. Believe it or not the government is buying shoddy equipment. Take the scale at the gym for instance. Two weeks ago I weighed a rather portly 190 pounds -- hence I started running. Now, granted, it's only been a week and I don't really expect to be significantly lighter - or lighter at all really. So you can imagine my surprise when I got on the scale after my run today and weighed in at 194!
What makes me feel slightly - and I emphasize 'slightly' (ironically) - is that in the couple of times I've managed to eclipse the 190 plateau - I've really "felt" 190+. I didn't - and don't right now, so 194 came as a bit of a shock to say the least. Now I've been told that there is always a little gain before the loss, so I'll keep an open mind about the whole thing.
Still, I think we should stop buying our equipment from the lowest bidder.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
An unexpected something
Well, this really is closure. Today I sold the Escape that made my trip to Texas so darned memorable. Full disclosure - I did in fact tell the buyer everything that happened and the resultant maintenance that was required. I did give them the warranty paperwork and applicable receipts for said maintenance. And I hope - I really and truly do - that this car provides them 60,000 carefree and maintenance free miles. Or at the very least gets them to Washington state where they are going next.
The 'something' however, isn't the sale of the car but is related. While taking the silver beast for a drive, I spoke to the wife of the pair and we were talking about moving all the time and assorted stuff that military people talk about. During this I had mentioned that I was here by myself and didn't have so much as a TV. She was aghast. I joked that they were welcome to buy me a TV to go along with the sale price.
Today, after the exchange, they put a 32" LCD high def TV in my car. I'm thrilled because now I can not only watch football, but also because I can sit on my sofa further than 6 inches from my computer screen.
So, here we are, about 6 weeks after arriving, and the major issues are finally taken care of and the Escape is no more one of them. I'm pretty well happy right now ... I just need to find a place to put this TV.
The 'something' however, isn't the sale of the car but is related. While taking the silver beast for a drive, I spoke to the wife of the pair and we were talking about moving all the time and assorted stuff that military people talk about. During this I had mentioned that I was here by myself and didn't have so much as a TV. She was aghast. I joked that they were welcome to buy me a TV to go along with the sale price.
Today, after the exchange, they put a 32" LCD high def TV in my car. I'm thrilled because now I can not only watch football, but also because I can sit on my sofa further than 6 inches from my computer screen.
So, here we are, about 6 weeks after arriving, and the major issues are finally taken care of and the Escape is no more one of them. I'm pretty well happy right now ... I just need to find a place to put this TV.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Starting the school year
Next week my oldest starts school - 3rd grade.
I personally remember third grade with some fondness because it was the first year I didn't have to go to Catholic school. In fact one of my fondest memories of 2nd grade was waiting for the bus one day while a nun handed us slips of paper. She said that if our parents couldn't help raise the money, the school would have to close. I remember very distinctly saying "Yay!" and the nun giving me one of those looks that adults everywhere give 7-year-olds who are little pricks. And she knew my parents would never see that piece of paper.
Still, and as an aside, it doesn't beat the day when ... signing up for 1st grade no less ... (a fact my mother will abashedly confirm)- that I physically punched a nun in the stomach and told her to go f-herself. But I actually said the 'f' - and I'm sure that set a bit of a precedent for my short-lived Catholic school career. At the very least it bought me an extra day because there was no signing-in that day for sure.
So it's not without a certain amount of irony that today I started school again - a PhD course - and at...you may haved guessed, a Catholic school. Our Lady of the Lake University - founded in 1895 by some nuns who probably thought it would be a good idea if people in Texas could read.
Oddly, and perhaps again ironically, this is my second Catholic school - Seton Hall being the first where I got my masters. But OLLU is a little different. At SHU the learning team got together at a school-sponsored event that featured an open bar. That, I hasten to admit, was pretty awesome and still is one of the great things about Catholic gatherings of almost any sort - weddings, funerals, and as it turned out in that instance, education -- Free booze. Fantastic.
At OLLU, however, class started a little differently - with a prayer. Having spent three years teaching ROTC at a military school I was quite used to a certain element within the ranks of professorial-types doing everything in their power to remove any vestige of prayer from any event they had to attend. They said it was offensive to them to sit there like they were something they were not - and that is "believers".
I'm not sure why this kind of thing bothered them, because I'm certain they liked to think they sat there not being complete and utter dick-heads. They didn't mind prostletyzing liberal politics, but try to make them attend an event with the slightest nod to a diety not directly aligned with their union, and you'd think someone had just given them a years' supply of styrofoam take-out containers.
If you ever want to see the wheels of decision-making come to a grinding halt - get a couple dozen PhD holders in a room with no adult guidance. Makes Congress seem like quiz show contestants on speed. All decisions are measured in geologic time.
I certainly don't mean to indict all university professors, but sadly, as in the country at large, the scant few who make up the 'easily-offended' are the continuously squeaky wheels whom most professors just want to shut the hell up. But they are squeezed out by political correctness which only allows 'free speech' if it fits certain parameters.
In fairness, most PhDs I know are really very cool, more than reasonable and not asses at all. But my, how they do like to talk about things for an unwholesome amount of time before coming to a decision. But I digress.
So, while I'd never consider myself 'religious' to an extent my mother would really like, I guess I just kind of appreciate the fact my professor did a prayer at all -- it's like flipping a giant bird to those academics who feel it's their job to stifle the rights of others. And you know, that kind of table-turning appeals to me on a number of different levels.
I didn't choose the university I now attend because it was Catholic - that's just serendipity I think - or maybe, somewhere out there in the great expanse, there's a nun on a cloud who'se just been biding her time as she pulls her tiny little fist of vapor out of my gut and smiles while whispering, "F-off to you too!"
I personally remember third grade with some fondness because it was the first year I didn't have to go to Catholic school. In fact one of my fondest memories of 2nd grade was waiting for the bus one day while a nun handed us slips of paper. She said that if our parents couldn't help raise the money, the school would have to close. I remember very distinctly saying "Yay!" and the nun giving me one of those looks that adults everywhere give 7-year-olds who are little pricks. And she knew my parents would never see that piece of paper.
Still, and as an aside, it doesn't beat the day when ... signing up for 1st grade no less ... (a fact my mother will abashedly confirm)- that I physically punched a nun in the stomach and told her to go f-herself. But I actually said the 'f' - and I'm sure that set a bit of a precedent for my short-lived Catholic school career. At the very least it bought me an extra day because there was no signing-in that day for sure.
So it's not without a certain amount of irony that today I started school again - a PhD course - and at...you may haved guessed, a Catholic school. Our Lady of the Lake University - founded in 1895 by some nuns who probably thought it would be a good idea if people in Texas could read.
Oddly, and perhaps again ironically, this is my second Catholic school - Seton Hall being the first where I got my masters. But OLLU is a little different. At SHU the learning team got together at a school-sponsored event that featured an open bar. That, I hasten to admit, was pretty awesome and still is one of the great things about Catholic gatherings of almost any sort - weddings, funerals, and as it turned out in that instance, education -- Free booze. Fantastic.
At OLLU, however, class started a little differently - with a prayer. Having spent three years teaching ROTC at a military school I was quite used to a certain element within the ranks of professorial-types doing everything in their power to remove any vestige of prayer from any event they had to attend. They said it was offensive to them to sit there like they were something they were not - and that is "believers".
I'm not sure why this kind of thing bothered them, because I'm certain they liked to think they sat there not being complete and utter dick-heads. They didn't mind prostletyzing liberal politics, but try to make them attend an event with the slightest nod to a diety not directly aligned with their union, and you'd think someone had just given them a years' supply of styrofoam take-out containers.
If you ever want to see the wheels of decision-making come to a grinding halt - get a couple dozen PhD holders in a room with no adult guidance. Makes Congress seem like quiz show contestants on speed. All decisions are measured in geologic time.
I certainly don't mean to indict all university professors, but sadly, as in the country at large, the scant few who make up the 'easily-offended' are the continuously squeaky wheels whom most professors just want to shut the hell up. But they are squeezed out by political correctness which only allows 'free speech' if it fits certain parameters.
In fairness, most PhDs I know are really very cool, more than reasonable and not asses at all. But my, how they do like to talk about things for an unwholesome amount of time before coming to a decision. But I digress.
So, while I'd never consider myself 'religious' to an extent my mother would really like, I guess I just kind of appreciate the fact my professor did a prayer at all -- it's like flipping a giant bird to those academics who feel it's their job to stifle the rights of others. And you know, that kind of table-turning appeals to me on a number of different levels.
I didn't choose the university I now attend because it was Catholic - that's just serendipity I think - or maybe, somewhere out there in the great expanse, there's a nun on a cloud who'se just been biding her time as she pulls her tiny little fist of vapor out of my gut and smiles while whispering, "F-off to you too!"
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
WTF?
I'm not on medication - really. And I don't think I need to be either. But it's been creeping up on me for a while and yesterday at a grocery store - it happened.
Let me preface this a bit first. For years Shadow has said to me how nice it must be to go to an office every day and communicate with adults. All she had at home of course were two (then) very young children who you talked 'at' more than talked 'to'. I'm not entirely sure that has changed yet, but in my present state of affairs, I think that might be preferable.
At work is fine and all - yes, I can talk to adults - about work stuff. But now when I get home, I've got ... no one to talk to. So, as I was saying, yesterday I realized that I had a friend - myself. Yup, I caught myself not only talking to myself in the grocery story - using that low, lips-barely-moving sort of mumble you usually associate with alley drunks and meth-heads who have no teeth, but I was...actually answering myself.
Indeed, I was carrying on a conversation to myself - looking at food labels and discussing with myself the merits of carbohydrates and such. Just to top it all off, when I did realize what i was doing, I did the following - out loud:
..."what the hell are you doing?"
"talking to myself?"
"Great, now I'm crazy"
"I've been crazy"
..finally, to myself "Hey, inside voice, you need to reassert yourself a little here bro."
Fortunately...well, no, there is no 'fortunately' to this story I guess. But maybe if I do ever need to go on medication, I'll have enough of me for a game of cards.
Let me preface this a bit first. For years Shadow has said to me how nice it must be to go to an office every day and communicate with adults. All she had at home of course were two (then) very young children who you talked 'at' more than talked 'to'. I'm not entirely sure that has changed yet, but in my present state of affairs, I think that might be preferable.
At work is fine and all - yes, I can talk to adults - about work stuff. But now when I get home, I've got ... no one to talk to. So, as I was saying, yesterday I realized that I had a friend - myself. Yup, I caught myself not only talking to myself in the grocery story - using that low, lips-barely-moving sort of mumble you usually associate with alley drunks and meth-heads who have no teeth, but I was...actually answering myself.
Indeed, I was carrying on a conversation to myself - looking at food labels and discussing with myself the merits of carbohydrates and such. Just to top it all off, when I did realize what i was doing, I did the following - out loud:
..."what the hell are you doing?"
"talking to myself?"
"Great, now I'm crazy"
"I've been crazy"
..finally, to myself "Hey, inside voice, you need to reassert yourself a little here bro."
Fortunately...well, no, there is no 'fortunately' to this story I guess. But maybe if I do ever need to go on medication, I'll have enough of me for a game of cards.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Another day, another move
Ok, the title is a little dramatic, but it's essentially true. After less than 4 weeks on the job and having my job title pulled out from under me, my boss was cool enough to let me leave and be transferred to another office nearby. Turns out this was probably one of the better things that has happened so far on this little journey.
Although the new office is a few miles further away, it actually takes less time to get to and from and the driving is all highway - no more unending road of stoplights. So that's all nice. The job itself looks like it might be good too - interesting and around some nice people (well, that would have been true in either case - but there are more of said nice people at the new job). I don't have my own office, but weighed against that is the fact that I can no go to the bathroom without being escorted so in the grand ledger of life, I'll call that a win.
If you read this - and I'm not really sure anyone does - please feel free to become a "follower" (I promise there's no indoctrination/initiation or fee of any kind) and leave comments. I don't really care what you say.
Although the new office is a few miles further away, it actually takes less time to get to and from and the driving is all highway - no more unending road of stoplights. So that's all nice. The job itself looks like it might be good too - interesting and around some nice people (well, that would have been true in either case - but there are more of said nice people at the new job). I don't have my own office, but weighed against that is the fact that I can no go to the bathroom without being escorted so in the grand ledger of life, I'll call that a win.
If you read this - and I'm not really sure anyone does - please feel free to become a "follower" (I promise there's no indoctrination/initiation or fee of any kind) and leave comments. I don't really care what you say.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Things to keep in mind...
I feel like an explorer - or at least I did this morning.
I decided to go out for a little run today - first time in about a month. I'm pretty well acclimatized to the 100 degrees by 11 a.m. and I figured the fresh air would do me good. So, I laced up the tennies, grabbed the shuffle and off I went.
I would be remiss if at this point I didn't momentarily give a nod to safety. The ipod is fine, but when running in Texas it's probably a good idea to have water - or at least a couple of sweat-soggy dollar bills to buy some - and a hat. Hats are good. Cowboy hats - probably not so much.
Anyway, I figured I was only going to go 20-30 minutes anyway so it would be fine. Running, as you know, is different than driving. For one thing, you have no GPS when you're running and the roads all look different - because they are. Find a reasonable less travled road and you're running on it. Well, I found that and I started to run. After about 15-20 minutes, I figured I'd just cut through a housing area and get back to my apartment complex. The only problem was, that housing complexes are not built on a grid system - neither is most of San Antonio truth be told. And you don't really 'cut through' a housing complex as much as you 'wander around' one.
When I finally did exit said housing complex I was faced with a bit of a dilemma - left or right. Naturally, I chose left. Why naturally? Because I wanted to go right and I discovered this after I'd walked about half a mile to the left.
People I've worked with can (and if given a couple of beers will with great exaggeration (ok, not so much) tell you that I have a wee bit of a problem with navigation. But I finally found my way home albeit 90 minutes later and I wasn't dehydrated (much), and the battery hadn't run out on my shuffle - so all was well.
The upshot is that I found a running path that I now know and a quicker way to get to work even, so all in all, I feel kind of like Magellan.
I decided to go out for a little run today - first time in about a month. I'm pretty well acclimatized to the 100 degrees by 11 a.m. and I figured the fresh air would do me good. So, I laced up the tennies, grabbed the shuffle and off I went.
I would be remiss if at this point I didn't momentarily give a nod to safety. The ipod is fine, but when running in Texas it's probably a good idea to have water - or at least a couple of sweat-soggy dollar bills to buy some - and a hat. Hats are good. Cowboy hats - probably not so much.
Anyway, I figured I was only going to go 20-30 minutes anyway so it would be fine. Running, as you know, is different than driving. For one thing, you have no GPS when you're running and the roads all look different - because they are. Find a reasonable less travled road and you're running on it. Well, I found that and I started to run. After about 15-20 minutes, I figured I'd just cut through a housing area and get back to my apartment complex. The only problem was, that housing complexes are not built on a grid system - neither is most of San Antonio truth be told. And you don't really 'cut through' a housing complex as much as you 'wander around' one.
When I finally did exit said housing complex I was faced with a bit of a dilemma - left or right. Naturally, I chose left. Why naturally? Because I wanted to go right and I discovered this after I'd walked about half a mile to the left.
People I've worked with can (and if given a couple of beers will with great exaggeration (ok, not so much) tell you that I have a wee bit of a problem with navigation. But I finally found my way home albeit 90 minutes later and I wasn't dehydrated (much), and the battery hadn't run out on my shuffle - so all was well.
The upshot is that I found a running path that I now know and a quicker way to get to work even, so all in all, I feel kind of like Magellan.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Can you call this closure?
I don't think so. I mean, closure in as much as the demon car that finally made it back to Texas and then died a second death is now forgotten - not wholly forgotten, of course, as i still have to pay for it, but today I put a stake through it by buying a new car.
I'm not sure that qualifies as closure - not until I escape from the Escape as it were. I'm sure when it's fixed properly it will give somone another 60K-100K of driving enjoyment - I sincerely hope it does. I'm just as sure, however, that person won't be me.
I actually kind of liked the Escape, but when you've been bitten twice, it leaves you a little shy - especially driving around here. Take the other day - about 90 minutes before El Fordo decided to sputter on me. I was driving to the base and decided to take a different direction - sans GPS.
If you know me and have driving with me, you know that my navigation skills are --- how shall we say --- lacking. In fact, a few years ago while on my way from a base in Virginia to a base in North Carolina, I (without aid of a map and before GPS were ubiquitous in cars) just motored my merry way. Upon realizing I couldn't find said base, I called the guy I was supposed to meet and there was a silence on the other end of the phone - long enough to be what they call in the radio industry "dead air". Then the laughing. "You want sea, and you went mountains" the voice told me. Turns out I had taken a right (west) when I should have taken a left (east) Goldsboro...Greensboro -- they were both Boros that were colors, it's an easy mistake to make and could've happened to anyone.
Anyway, so I'm driving in Texas and there are these mean little houses...not "I hate you" kind of mean, but just small and ill cared for kind of mean - look it up if you don't get it. So, there are these houses and I'm on the road about 10 feet from the 'yard' to said houses and directly - and I mean directly - above me is a large raised highway. I think it would be a wonderful place to live I really do with all the conveniences of the modern superhighway nearly literally within reach.
At the very least I didn't break down THERE. You probably wouldn't be reading this today if I had. But I did have my GPS then and I did turn it on and found my way OUT and to base.
All that in a way to say, I guess I have a sort of closure with my attitude toward the little silver car as it didn't really leave me in a lurch, just more inconvenienced than anything else. But what I'd really like closure on as that cars goes, is my wallet. That thing seems like it will stay open for quite a while.
I'm not sure that qualifies as closure - not until I escape from the Escape as it were. I'm sure when it's fixed properly it will give somone another 60K-100K of driving enjoyment - I sincerely hope it does. I'm just as sure, however, that person won't be me.
I actually kind of liked the Escape, but when you've been bitten twice, it leaves you a little shy - especially driving around here. Take the other day - about 90 minutes before El Fordo decided to sputter on me. I was driving to the base and decided to take a different direction - sans GPS.
If you know me and have driving with me, you know that my navigation skills are --- how shall we say --- lacking. In fact, a few years ago while on my way from a base in Virginia to a base in North Carolina, I (without aid of a map and before GPS were ubiquitous in cars) just motored my merry way. Upon realizing I couldn't find said base, I called the guy I was supposed to meet and there was a silence on the other end of the phone - long enough to be what they call in the radio industry "dead air". Then the laughing. "You want sea, and you went mountains" the voice told me. Turns out I had taken a right (west) when I should have taken a left (east) Goldsboro...Greensboro -- they were both Boros that were colors, it's an easy mistake to make and could've happened to anyone.
Anyway, so I'm driving in Texas and there are these mean little houses...not "I hate you" kind of mean, but just small and ill cared for kind of mean - look it up if you don't get it. So, there are these houses and I'm on the road about 10 feet from the 'yard' to said houses and directly - and I mean directly - above me is a large raised highway. I think it would be a wonderful place to live I really do with all the conveniences of the modern superhighway nearly literally within reach.
At the very least I didn't break down THERE. You probably wouldn't be reading this today if I had. But I did have my GPS then and I did turn it on and found my way OUT and to base.
All that in a way to say, I guess I have a sort of closure with my attitude toward the little silver car as it didn't really leave me in a lurch, just more inconvenienced than anything else. But what I'd really like closure on as that cars goes, is my wallet. That thing seems like it will stay open for quite a while.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
The move that won't end...
By now I think it's pretty obvious that this move to Texas hasn't been without some ... how shall we say ... consternation. As yesterday's post shows - or I thought it showed - that was all pretty well in the past. Until....
Today. So I'm driving my newly engined Ford Escape back from the base grocery store when I notice it seems to be 'shifting' (it's an automatic) a little funny. And no sooner do I pronounce this in my head than the thing pretty much shuts down. Not white smoke shut down like last time, thankfully, but it slowed down to about 10mph.
Drop the gas pedal to the floor and listen to engine, well, whimper. About 2000 rpms was it. Dropping the pedal to the floor should immediately send the tach to about 5 or 6000 rpms and have the motor screaming and the car moving. Nothing of the sort. In fact, it was as quiet as this car has ever been.
So I pulled into a parking lot and asked the pIzza hut people to lend me a phone book. They did one better and the woman who was working gave me a lift home. She had Van Halen's 'Jump' as a ring-tone which was interesting - not something you hear everyday and certainly not what you'd expect a woman's phone to be playing, but there you are.
So, tomorrow is another day off work and pulling what's left of my hair out while trying to sort out the mess that is my vehicle situation. If it was paid for I'd just take it into the desert and shoot it. Alas, it's not. Not by a long shot.
Oh, and classes start next Saturday...fantastic.
Today. So I'm driving my newly engined Ford Escape back from the base grocery store when I notice it seems to be 'shifting' (it's an automatic) a little funny. And no sooner do I pronounce this in my head than the thing pretty much shuts down. Not white smoke shut down like last time, thankfully, but it slowed down to about 10mph.
Drop the gas pedal to the floor and listen to engine, well, whimper. About 2000 rpms was it. Dropping the pedal to the floor should immediately send the tach to about 5 or 6000 rpms and have the motor screaming and the car moving. Nothing of the sort. In fact, it was as quiet as this car has ever been.
So I pulled into a parking lot and asked the pIzza hut people to lend me a phone book. They did one better and the woman who was working gave me a lift home. She had Van Halen's 'Jump' as a ring-tone which was interesting - not something you hear everyday and certainly not what you'd expect a woman's phone to be playing, but there you are.
So, tomorrow is another day off work and pulling what's left of my hair out while trying to sort out the mess that is my vehicle situation. If it was paid for I'd just take it into the desert and shoot it. Alas, it's not. Not by a long shot.
Oh, and classes start next Saturday...fantastic.
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