And they want me to pay for this?

I don't understand the concept of self-deprivation and the intentional infliction of pain.  I was reading the new issue of Outside magazine because it had several articles on weather, a subject that fascinates me.  The ads for all the "adventure trips" also fascinated me, but not in a good way.

"We'll have you up and on your bike and peddling your little legs off by 4 AM.  You'll ride 100 miles before we let you stop for a granola bar and some thick, nasty-tasting carb drink.  Mmmmm.  Then it's back on the road, the goal to totally numb your body before the sun comes up.  You haven't hurt until you experience 110 degree heat while peddling for your life wearing a 1/2" wide bicycle seat like it was a cheap thong." 

"And if you ever feel like dropping out, just look around....rattlesnakes and scorpions as far as you can see.  Talk about getting your second wind!  And did we mention the entire 4-day trip is uphill?"

"When you successfully complete the course you'll receive this fine parchment memorializing your achievement, as well as a fake gold medal on a ribbon and an oval-shaped little bumper sticker for your car that says '521.6'.  Your friends will see you in a whole new light!  All this for the all-inclusive price of just $3,400.  Or share the misery and bring a buddy for just $3,399 more."

Or you could just do this:  Send me all the money in your bank account, and I'll send over an ex-con truck driver I know who will beat the crap out of you with an ax handle.  Certificate included.   ;)

S

Somebody please refresh my memory....

Why are the US and other allied nations fighting in Afghanistan?  As I recall from 12 years ago, the US was pissed at the Taliban government of Afghanistan because it wouldn't close the terrorist training bases there and turn over Osama bin Laden and friends to stand trial for 9/11.  So we sent in a few dozen special forces with some communications equipment and CIA agents with suitcases full of cash.

We bribed the various tribal leaders to pull together (the Northern Alliance), at least temporarily, to fight their common enemy the Taliban.  They did, the Taliban abdicated, the terrorist bases were closed, and Osama went underground.  So why didn't we just have a parade, declare victory, and come back home?

Why did we stay and try our hand at "nation building"?  First of all, Afghanistan, like most Middle Eastern countries, isn't really a "country" at all.  It's just a bunch of tribes that were arbitrarily fenced in together by a line drawn on a map by their colonial "protectors" a century ago.  Their loyalties are to their tribe.  Period.

The three richest men in Afghanistan?

And now the Afghan Supremo Crooko, el Presidente Humid Carbide, is telling us he is breaking off "long-term security talks" with the US because we dissed him.  Well cry me a river, Humid.

Why do we keep sending him his monthly shakedown?  As with most of the foreign aid we send to Mid-East "leaders", little makes it to the people.  Most stops with the leaders and their families and cronies.

Listen up Humid...."long term" to you means about 30 seconds after the last US soldier gets back on the plane and comes home.  That's about how long it will take for your Afghan "security detail" to sell you out for a couple of goats and whack you and return life to the tribal warfare that has been the Afghan way for eons.  The Brits didn't change it.  The Rooskies didn't change it.  And neither did we.

We can just keep an eye on any terrorist activity that might pop up there and impact us.  If we find any we can just send in another CIA agent with another suitcase full of cash to bribe the appropriate warlord, things "happen", and the problem goes away.  Easy.  Then they can go back to living their life however they want.  Live and let live I say.  Er....

I call it "Scott's Foreign Policy".  I doubt they'll be teaching it at the Harvard School of International Relations.  They should.  What they're teaching now isn't working.

S

Too close for comfort

In yesterday's mail was a slick 3-fold Fiat brochure addressed to K.  Inside was a $500-off certificate if she buys one by August 31st. 

I went with her to a doctor's appointment today and as we were driving north back home on Central Expwy she (not so) casually slipped in, "Why don't we drive up to McKinney and check out the new Fiat's?"

But....but....mumble....stutter....twitch....

"I have a $500-off certificate.  We can save $500!"  *But hurry....offer ends soon*

"But sweetie, your car has only 27,000 miles on it, and you only owe $3K.  Let's pay off your car and a couple of other debts we have, THEN you can buy a new Fiat."

"Well....could I get a cabrio?"  (Convertible)

"Yes, baby."

"Could I get one in that cool silver/gray color?"

"Any color you want, babe."

"OK."

S

So maybe I was a bit hasty with my opinion of baseball

My friend Dana over at Bug's Eye View has sent me THIS SHORT VIDEO of a recent Red Sox / Yankees opening day game as narrated by a British sportscaster / comedian.  You've convinced me, Dana, that my earlier unkind remarks about America's Pastime were way off base.  (See...baseball  metaphor  :)

I can relate to this guy.  Watch it and see if you don't agree he really livens up the game.  ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two more just today:

This one from Arizona....

....and this one from Indiana.

Last Friday there was a BIG 18-wheeler moving van from Pennsylvania parked out front.  Its become a daily event.  Where are we gonna put all these people?  This is just insane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last week K's employer brought in a high-powered psychologist from California (Lord knows he gets plenty of practice out there!) to give a personality test to their Ivory Tower guys.  The goal is for everyone to learn what makes them tick and how they're wired, and to learn how to interact better with those who are wired (short-circuited?) differently.

After slapping the 3rd Floor guys around he moved downstairs to the huddled masses and gave them the test, too.  His assessment (of K at least) was surprisingly accurate.  I asked K to see if he could do an assessment of me, too, and he agreed.  I should get the results in a few days.

Now I'm having second thoughts about where this might lead. 

S

Bonding with the British

In my previous post I recounted my dad's first experience at being a soldier.  He made the fateful decision to NOT re-enlist and instead go back home and marry his honey.  Life was good.

Before long he heard of a very good job opportunity with Dallas Air College, owned by a "Major Long".  It was 1940, the Brits were at war with Germany, and things were looking grim.  The US officially professed neutrality, but our sympathies were definitely with our English cousins.

The British desperately needed pilots.  Theirs were getting killed faster than they could train replacements.  Problem was, the skies over England were a war zone.  There was really no safe place to train.

That was when the plan was hatched to very quietly send Royal Air Force (RAF) cadets to the US to learn to fly.  They were first de-commissioned by the RAF and sent to Canada where they were issued visas to come into the US, 50 at a time.

Major Long, probably because of his previous military experience and connections, was chosen to establish Terrell Aviation School about 30 miles east of Dallas for the purpose of this clandestine training.   They needed flight and ground school instructors, dispatchers, etc, and dad was hired as a navigation instructor and flight dispatcher.  It was very intense training, with 2 years worth of school compressed into just 7 months.

In his off hours the instructors taught dad to fly, but his eyesight wasn't up to par and he couldn't be considered for formal military pilot training.  (I obviously inherited his eyesight DNA.)

The Brits were here as civilians until December 7, 1941.  After that time we were officially wartime allies, uniforms began being worn, and the operations at Terrell became No 1. British Flying Training School, one of 6 set up in the US.  At Terrell alone they trained 2,300 RAF pilots.  Many were later killed in action, several became Air Marshall's (Generals), and at least one won the Victoria Cross, Britain's highest military honor.  Dad became good friends with many of the British instructors and cadets, and I think this is why my dad (and I) became serious Anglophiles.

Although proud of helping the British get through those tough days, dad eventually tired of the training role and joined the US Army again, hoping to become an Air Force (Army Air Corp as it was then called) gunner.  He wasn't accepted as a gunner because he was under weight.  Imagine that!  (That is one gene I definitely did NOT inherit.)  Because of his previous military and flight school experience he was sent to Sheppard Field (Today Sheppard Air Force Base) NW of Dallas to....train American pilots.

He was heartbroken at the time, but considering the mortality rate of pilots and aircrew, in retrospect he probably cheated death once more.   To his credit, Dad pointed out that during his time at Sheppard Field not one enemy plane made it north of Wichita Falls.  ;)

In later years the No 1. BFTS Association was formed comprised of all the Brits and Americans who worked and trained together at Terrell during the war.  They had yearly reunions, alternating between festivities in the UK and here in Texas.  Once I used my Confederate Air Force connections to have a number of WWII-era T-6 Texan ^ training aircraft give rides to our now elderly RAF friends.  It was great seeing all those smiling British faces.

I have a No 1. BFTS scrapbook full of photos, but it's buried somewhere deep in my warehouse.  Maybe some other time I'll attempt to uncover it.

So dad survived, I'm here, and now you're stuck with me.  :)  

S

The blogger that almost wasn't

My dad, like many people of his generation, lived a very interesting life.  I've always found one era of his life in particular to be special.  

For many Texas boys of that time, due to the still-raging Great Depression, there weren't many career choices after high school outside of farming, and my dad had no intention of becoming a farmer.  Instead he became a soldier.

At only 17 my dad had to get his parents permission before he could enlist in the Army.  After his basic training he was assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division.  Today the 1st Cavalry Division arrives in battle by helicopters or in tanks or humvees.  In the late 1930's they arrived in battle on horseback.

No joke, my dad was a horse soldier.  They still had horse-drawn chuck wagons and caissons.  Mechanization was just being introduced into the US Army and therefore horses were still in use.  As weapons of war they were probably pretty useless, but they still existed.  He served under soon-to-be famous commanders such as George S. Patton (dad said he was one mean SOB).  They went on maneuvers all over the Southwest....once he rode a horse from San Antonio to El Paso (about 550 miles).  

After dad's horse was "requisitioned" by a Colonel to be his new polo mount dad was transferred to Troop Headquarters for a more agreeable job.  When his enlistment was almost up dad's commanding officer approached him and said he had received orders to go overseas on a new assignment.  He wanted his staff, including dad, to re-enlist and go with him to this exotic new post.

Dad, while tempted, had other plans.  He wanted to go back home and marry his sweetheart, my mom.  He reluctantly told his commanding officer he was mustering out of the army, thanks anyway.

Turns out that exotic overseas assignment was the Philippines, and the commanding officer was Colonel Jonathan M. Wainwright.  The same Jonathan M. Wainwright who eventually surrendered American forces to the Japanese at Corregidor after the three-month-long Battle of Bataan.  

The few survivors of that siege were sent on a horrific 80 mile forced march known as the Bataan Death March to a prison camp, and even fewer of them survived to see the Allies victorious in WWII.

I'm lucky to be here.  Thanks, dad, for your fateful decision. I'm REALLY glad you got to be my dad.  Happy Father's Day.  :)

Tomorrow I'll say a bit more about dad's involvement in WWII.  

S

I went to a fireworks show but a baseball game broke out instead

I live just 2 blocks north of Dr Pepper Ballpark, home of the Texas Rangers AA Frisco Roughriders farm team.  I'll go to one or two games there a year willingly, that due to the fact my hosts agree in advance to ply me liberally with brats, nachos, and beer.

After every Friday night home game the ballpark treats fans (and the neighborhood) to a first class fireworks show.  I love fireworks, but I don't want to see them from blocks away.  I want to be right underneath them....I want to FEEL them when they explode.

Last night it was reasonably cool....well..."not hot", so I thought I'd walk a block down to the park that separates my complex from the ballpark and get a ringside seat to the fireworks show.  To time it just right I found the radio broadcast of the game on some obscure AM station.  

Honestly, and I know this will offend some so I'll just apologize now, I can't stand baseball.  It just bores me to tears.  I mean, 1 guy on offense, 9 guys on defense.  How fair is that?  And talk about over-paid Prima Donna's? Jeez!  (I heard on the sports that some player....I didn't get his name....is on injured reserve after hurting his pinkie finger high-fiving a team mate.  Way to go, Stud!)

So I was very painfully listening to the ball game on the radio.  With one out in the bottom of the 9th I leashed up 'Lil Fucker (aka Luke, the dog) and we headed out.  A couple of minutes later I was at the park settled in on a comfy bench.  

Five minutes later....10 minutes later....15 minutes later....turns out it wasn't as "not hot' as I thought....nothing.  COME ON ALREADY!

Finally I called home and asked K to listen in to the game again and see if it was in extra innings.  Well DUH!  Yes, of course it was.  I'm sure some guy in the press box looked waaaaay out past the left field fence and saw me sitting there, sweating, and gave the signal to hit a late home run and tie the game.

I came home and was just getting into bed an hour+ later when I heard the first KABOOM!  

Murphy's Law / Scott's Corollary  ;)

S