baldilocks

Eighties Perspective

Okay, I took another dreaded quiz, this one a so-called eighties lyric one:

This was the comment for my score, 39.5%: You were probably working in a bank in the 80's. 15% handicap on the Gen Xers.
5 point bonus for telling me where you saw this. Thanks!

No, Cheryl. I probably was black in the eighties. I have a working knowledge of rock lyrics, but not an in-depth one. Outside of Prince and other cross-over, ask me about some eighties R&B.

(Thanks to Kelley)

It Sure Is Easy...

...to mess up a pretty face.

Link Ho-in'

Venemous Kate confesses to being a courtesan of sorts. I'm not above that sort of thing, though Friday night is generally not the best time to offer this particular kind of trade.

Military Intelligence

Should this man be court-martialed?

The Army has filed a criminal assault charge against an American officer who coerced an Iraqi into providing information that foiled a planned attack on U.S. soldiers.

Lt. Col. Allen B. West says he did not physically abuse the detainee, but used psychological pressure by twice firing his service weapon away from the Iraqi. After the shots were fired, the detainee, an Iraqi police officer, gave up the information on a planned attack around the northern Iraqi town of Saba al Boor. [SNIP]

A military source said an Article 32 hearing has been scheduled in Iraq that could lead to the Army court-martialing Col. West and sending him to prison for a maximum term of eight years. [SNIP]

Col. West, 42, says he pressured the Iraqi after taking into account the dangerous environment and the risk to his soldiers' lives. [SNIP]

"I did use my 9 mm weapon to threaten him and fired it twice. Once I fired into the weapons clearing barrel outside the facility alone, and the next time I did it while having his head close to the barrel. I fired away from him. I stood in between the firing and his person.

"I admit that what I did was not right but it was done with the concern of the safety of my soldiers and myself." [SNIP]

An informant reported that there was an assassination plot against Col. West, an artillery officer working with the local governing council in Saba al Boor.[SNIP]

Col. West said the gunshots spurred the Iraqi to provide the location of the planned sniper attack and the names of three guerrilla fighters.

This may be valid courts-martial fodder:

"I asked for soldiers to accompany me and told them we had to gather information and that it could get ugly," Col. West said in his e-mail.

He said his soldiers "physically aggress[ed]" the prisoner. A subsequent investigation resulted in nonjudicial punishment for them in the form of fines.

Is that why LTC West is being tried?

Hmmm. I’m reminded of that old adage, “better to be tried by twelve than be carried by six.” Which is worse; a questionable tactic that arguably saved the lives of oneself and one’s troops or being dead? I wonder if these Army officials would prefer it if LTC West and his men were in their graves right now.

(Thanks to too many bloggers to mention)

Let Them Come

These Islamist terrorists have got to be the most stupid critters imaginable.

"Al-Qaeda is going to carry out a death blow against Americans during the month of Ramadan," Al-Majallah said, quoting an e-mail sent by Abu Mohammed al-Ablaj, identified as a senior member of al-Qaeda.

Ablaj, who regularly communicates with the London-based weekly via e-mail, did not specify if the threatened strike will be carried out in the United States or against American interests abroad.

"Muslims have the right to draw the blood of Americans, civilian or military, everywhere in the world," Ablaj said.

Suicide bombers in LA? Miami? Dallas? DC? And, especially New York City? Don’t they know that if just one splodeydope™ detonates in the continental US that it will be open season on all of Islam, rightly or wrongly? With as many people in this country legally and illegally packing heat, don’t they know that even innocent Muslims will suffer because of the Islamists' murderous short-sightedness?

Don’t they know that even the peace-at-cost types will say, “F*** it. Kill ‘em,” if a ‘dirty bomb’ is detonated in one of the Leftist bastions of San Francisco or Seattle?

The specter of something worse than 9/11 is too horrible to comprehend. What’s even worse to imagine is the terrible vengeance that would be wrought by both American civilians and our government.

After 9/11, there were a few ignorant, criminal "reprisals" against Muslims. Some asshat even murdered a Sikh. (Hope he get's the chamber/endless sleep.) It was astounding how few there were. Should another attack occur, however, I doubt that many Americans would demonstrate as much restraint. Human nature, and all.

Speak out, peaceful Muslims. Don’t be like Blackfive’s “friend.”

(Thanks to LGF)

Memories of the First Life (Part Five)

Nearing the end of my first four year commitment, I had a choice to make. I could stay in my present career and position for another four years, I could accept a position as a Training Instructor (TI) in the Air Force Basic Military Training School at Lackland AFB, Texas, or I could get a new job.

There was no way that I was going to remain a bomb loader, so that choice was made. Being a TI sounded like it might be fun for about a year. The problem was that the position was a four-year controlled tour, meaning you did four years minimum, period. It sounded like jail.

Besides, I figured that there was no point in putting up with the rigor of the military if you didn’t get to go to some other country.

So, cross-training it was.

Battle Log Update

Jeans. You know them, as do I. I like them in blue and black, mostly in the latter. For men, women’s jeans are strictly for viewing pleasure (or horror).

For women, however, jeans are the indicator of how big or small we’re getting. Like many women—except for you obnoxious ladies who stay forever small--I own many pairs of jeans in many sizes, ranging from sizes six to sixteen. I only own one set of sixteens, however. Having to buy those was my wake up call and after only two weeks of working out, they were too big. I had been a fourteen for several years and after a month of working out, they were too big.

Today, after two and half months of hellacious cardio three days a week and rather fun--there are good-looking guys in there--but intense weight-lifting three days a week, I got into the size tens! Comfortably.

I even tried on one of the eights (dang, they look tiny). Got ‘em on, but not buttoned. Three months ago, I couldn’t even get them over the hump (my backside).

It is a wonderful feeling. I’m shooting for six.

*****

At the base gym where I work out, there are huge picture windows in the weight room and the cardio room facing the gym parking lot. This parking lot is shared with the base headquarters building, which is located next to the gym. Lots of civilian workers there, including lots of middle-aged ladies, like myself. Lots of big ladies. Really big ladies. No, I mean BIG. Not just the kind that are twenty or thirty pounds overweight, but the kind that are carrying an extra person with them. These ladies don't walk, they roll. Everytime I see one going into the HQ building when I'm looking out of one of the windows, I work just a little bit harder. I was on my way.

For the past couple of weeks, however, I've seen a couple of really large ladies coming into the gym. One had asked me what my routine was and I told her. When I mentioned weights, the two balked, but I think I'm going to encourage them to try it next time I see them. I'd love to see two that size get fit and love it.

Normal Stuff Tomorrow

Just so you know, I haven’t been incinerated. No chance of that in the middle of South Central LA unless a riot jumped off and I didn’t hear about it. School duty has simply been calling insistently. However, Breaker and Citizen Smash are keeping watch on what nature and arsonists have wrought.

What's Going On

Lots of work done in the last few days, but none of it on this blog. But I have been reading some interesting stuff in between writing papers.

Michael J. Totten lets International Red Cross spokeswoman Nada Doumani in on the simple facts of life in the age of terrorism.

S-Train expounds on a pet peeve of mine: hair—or lack of it—and how American cultural influence has affected the thinking of black women regarding this subject.

Patterico has extensive coverage on the Terri Shiavo controversy. I won’t be covering it here; too many warring feelings for me to come down on one side or the other. Yet.

Acidman is reading to chuck it all and join the great tradition of southern novelists.

Tonecluster laments the hazards of inter-ideological dating (first part).

Blackfive relays a harrowing and moving story of how the professionalism and humanity of our troops saved one of their number, who should not have survived, but did so.

Charles shines the bright light of day on this weekend’s “peaceful” demonstrators.

And John Hawkins of Right Wing News sent out e-mail to more than 150 right-of-center bloggers asking which books had the most impact on their thinking. Read it here.

Here’s my top ten:

The Holy Bible, various
The Closing of the American Mind, Alan Bloom
The Gulag Archipelago, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
The Dahomean, Frank Yerby
1984, George Orwell
The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis
Dumbth, Steve Allen
No More Vietnams, Richard Nixon
The Prince, Niccolo Machiavelli
The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand

UPDATE: Oops, forgot: Cobb's many posts in Diary of a Black Man are simply fascinating.

UPDATE: Duh. "Use the Trackback URL, not the URL of the post itself," says the good Typepad Help Lady.

Ugly

I can’t decide whether this act of libel is the vilest, the craziest or the dumbest thing that a person can do in public to another. You make the call.

Charles Johnson is presently contemplating legal action on this. Bear Flag lawyers, check it out.

UPDATE: Charles has hidden the entry on his site that I linked to above, likely for legal reasons. Steven Den Beste also weighs in on the subject.

In the Air

When I stepped outside this morning, I received an inkling of what New Yorkers experienced a couple of years ago. The smell of burning is everywhere, this, even in brushless South Central Los Angeles. My car has little flakes of ash all over it. One shudders to imagine what it must be like close to the flames. Can anyone imagine losing their home and most of their precious possession? Not the DVD player and the new sofa, but the pictures, the get-well cards and the thank-you cards; the card your niece made you to tell you that she loved you.

Your computer. There are so many things here, including said pictures. This newest Cali disaster should remind us of two things: 1) back up your information, and 2) you can get another house, but not another life.

Bear Flaggers (like Byron) and other Californians : be safe. My thoughts are with you, as are my prayers.

UPDATE: Citizen Smash has a running update of the dire situation in and around his city, San Diego. Keep well, Commander.

Lord of the Moonbats

Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not.

Actor Viggo Mortensen knows that, for his role in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, he has mostly a captive audience. Most Ring lovers, having seen and loved the first two installments, are not likely to miss the finale, especially having viewed the absolutely cool and exciting trailer. Those of us who might have been inclined to boycott the trilogy in light of Mr. Mortensen’s previous idiotarian remarks on the Charlie Rose Show regarding Operation Iraqi Freedom, had already been wowed by The Fellowship of the Ring and unable to resist seeing The Two Towers. Mr. Mortensen likely knows this and feels comfortable that The Return of the King won’t be Dixie Chicked. So he knew that he could go participate in today’s moonbat fest in DC--check out the re-broadcast on C-SPAN today at 5PM PST--without fearing that ROTK’s box office would suffer from it too grievously.

So be it. I will certainly be one of the first to see ROTK. However, I hope Mr. Mortensen has made a hefty sum for his terrific turns as the decidedly non-idiotarian Aragorn, son of Arathorn, soon to be King Elessar. I hope that he invests his money for his future and makes enough to live on. After the release of the ROTK DVD, I suspect that many are done lining Mr. Mortensen’s pockets.

(Thanks to Ith for the Return of the King trailer)

Anniversary of Infamy

Twenty years ago today, the US Marine Barracks in Beirut was blown up by the terrorists, killing 241 Marines, Navy and Army personnel.

When the Beirut bombing of sleeping US fighting men occurred, I had been in the Air Force for two years. Before this cowardly attack, I had been intimately associated with our versions of weapons of mass destruction and had begun to question the wisdom of war in general and my role in perpetrating war in particular. Minus all the pertinent facts and naïve to the nature of humans, I had decided to put in a request for Conscientious Objectors Status. I nearly had the paperwork done when my comrades were murdered and maimed in their sleep.

Paperwork trashed.

It was then when I realized that evil truly existed and must be opposed…”by any means necessary.” I have not regretted this decision once.

Rest in Peace, good men and Semper Fidelis.

Funny, You Don't Look Chinese

Having an African last name that doesn’t “sound African” to the American ear usually brings questions and has brought some interesting exchanges my way. Many think it’s Chinese in origin and, possessing a distinctly un-Chinese appearance, I’ve giggled at some puzzled expressions directed at me when I say the name. I used to get annoyed when some would think it was Chinese until a Chinese guy asked if it was.

Most people are polite and ask the origin straight out. Then, there are some that are just plain rude. Here’s an example of the latter that occurred when I worked for United Airlines. A co-worker had seen me before and asked me what my name was:

Man: What’s your last name?

Me: Ochieng.

Man: (pauses) Are you married?

Me: No.

Man: Did you used to be married?

Me: (thinking 'boy, is he nosy,' but having a sense of where the conversation is leading) Yes.

Man: What is your maiden name?

Me: Ochieng. I went back to my maiden name when I got divorced.

Man: What was your name before?

Me: (here it is, I thought; I smiled sweetly) Before what?

Man: Before you changed it.

Me: I was born with this name. It’s my father’s last name.

Man: (really puzzled now) How did he get that last name?

Me: (yanking his chain, knowing what he really wanted to know, but ticked off at how he went about getting the information) It was his father’s name and his father before him. (Not really. I’ll explain below.)

The man is totally perplexed now. Finally I tire of his crap.

Me: Why don’t you ask the question that you really want to ask?

Man: What kind of name is that?

Me: Kenyan. My father is from Kenya.

Man: (ticked off, to my delight) Well why didn’t you say so in the first place?

Me: (shrugs) You didn’t ask. You made all kinds of assump….

He stomped off in a huff.

*****

In my father’s tribe, it’s not customary to take the last name of one’s father. Each kid gets his/her own last name. The name is determined by the conditions under which the child is born, i.e. morning, noon, night, raining, etc. The last name also varies in the spelling with regard to gender: girls’ last names begin with A, boys’ with O. With Kenya having been a British colony, some Kenyans use their fathers’ last names in keeping with the European tradition. Some don’t. However, even those who use the European system of naming still have a “middle” name; more accurately, two last names.

Since I was born in the US, I was given my father’s last name, but I have my own last name which begins with A. As with the Russian patronymic concept, it’s permissible to call me by this name alone, but in my family, it can get confusing. One of my sisters has the identical “middle” name. When she lived in the DC area, I went to visit her and she took me to a Kenyan gathering. Someone called out our name: “Hey, A….!” We both said, “hey, what,” looked at each other and giggled.

Just a little narcissistic FYI.

Excuses

Getting accepted into the Bear Flag League: good. (Thank You!)

Procrastinating reorganizing my blogroll: bad.

Blogrolling.com accepting new members (finally): good.

Entering 69 entries into two blogrolls: okay, good, but tiring.

Writing a missive for my blog: good.

Writing a 700-word paper for school: what do you think?

Memories of the First Life (Part Three)

Since it appears that this memories thing will be a multi-part post, a series, if you will, I have given it its own category.

My sojourn as a technical training instructor was relatively uneventful. Oh, I enjoyed it and had a lot of fun, but I won’t be posting too much about that fun here, especially since my mother’s reading this stuff. (Hi, Mom!)

Since I was only an Airman First Class (E-3) when I arrived at Lowry, it was often assumed that I had no practical experience as a bomb loader. The reason? During the technical training (job training) that comes directly after basic training and before assignment to one’s first duty station, there are some students that manage to score an average of 98% or better on the tests. Often, those students are offered technical training instructor positions right out of school: that is, instead of going to get the practical experience of doing the job, they go right into teaching others how to do the job. Since I was busy having fun during technical training and only achieved a high 80s average, I had been sent on to my station, Plattsburg.

None of my airmen students gave me any flak over this assumption and most of my NCO students didn’t either. However, there’s always one. A staff sergeant called me out in front of the whole class: “What do you know? You’ve never been out at a real base to do this job.” I corrected him.

Later, I told my boss about the incident. Abe Something (can’t remember right now) was a black man, about five-six, weighed about two-fifty and had a bald head. He had all the dimensions of a cannon ball with a voice and a personality to match: he took absolutely no crap, especially off students.

After I dimed on the sergeant, Abe called him into his office. We could hear Abe outside of the building. Abe wasn’t the kind of guy to give you a letter of counseling/reprimand or anything. He was the type to threaten to cut your eyeballs out and feed them to you. And he treated me like a little sister.

*****

Being a “technical training instructor” bequeathed to me several gifts. The class designed to train instructors to teach helped me to do three things:

• It helped me to minimize my innate shyness. (To those who know me in person: stop laughing! Thank the designers of this course for the hellcat you presently know and love/put up with.)

• It eliminated any fear of making speeches, even impromptu ones. Preparation and practice are the keys, but once the fear is gone, you can bloviate jaw-jack talk to your heart’s content without a script and without that funny feeling in your stomach.

• It minimized the horrid, annoying habit of peppering speech with verbal fillers, e.g. “like,” “you know,” and especially the dreaded “uh.” It also minimized “physical distracters,” e.g. moving your head too much, twirling hair (not a problem for me now, but then I had a little Afro), and playing with pencils, shuffling papers and the like. FoxNews reporters Wendell Goler and Jennifer Eccleston would benefit greatly from this course.

Poor Cruz

I wasn’t going to post today, but this is too funny to let pass. California Attorney General Bill Lockyer voted against the recall, but voted for Arnold Schwarzenegger. Lockyer explains his choice:

Asked why he didn't vote for his fellow Democrat [California Lt. Governor Cruz Bustamante], Lockyer said, "You know the people in your profession really well. You know who works hard and who doesn't. Cops know that about cops. Doctors know that about doctors. I know that about politicians."

Ouch! Almost makes you feel sorry for the guy.

(Thanks to the Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler)

Dean Wants to Send Clinton to Middle East

As what? A human shield?

If Howard Dean should become the POTUS and send Mr. Clinton to the ME as his peace envoy--stop screaming, readers--hopefully the former president has learned many lessons from North Korea and Oslo/Camp David and would be able to use those lessons to clean up the entire Middle East mess.

Wait. I forgot the nature of the person I was referring to.

Flying Too High

How do you hold your liquor (drinker)? Tie him to a chair.

A drunken Austrian citizen, after charging the cockpit on flight from Mexico City to Paris, is subdued with belts and stockings by his fellow passengers. The pilot makes an emergency landing at JFK. Minutes after the landing, the Austrian is mysteriously dead. Schade (too bad). (According to the article he may have been injected with a sedative.)

A couple of years before the 9/11 attacks, I remember hearing a similar story of an unruly airline passenger who tried to open the fuselage door. His fellow passengers sat on him and ended up suffocating him. I happened to be in a military class, when my classmates and I heard the story on the TV news during a break. One of our dimmer classmates exclaimed upon hearing this story: “They violated his civil rights!” One of our less dim classmates responded with this: “That b******’s civil rights to breathe ended at the point where everyone else’s civil rights to land breathing began!”

I’m betting the alcohol, plus the sedative, plus the likely beat down the Austrian guy received did him in. Guess the nuts and the terrorists will have to find another angle.

(Thanks to evariste, denizen of LGF)

Can the Crusader

To those who understandably refuse to register to read the Los Angeles Times, here's the editorial in its entirety:

Can the Crusader

Casting military or political struggles in intolerant, especially religious, terms is a sure way to make them intractable. The Thirty Years War, which was at bottom a battle among Catholics, Lutherans and Calvinists, left Europe blood-soaked in the 17th century.

In recent decades, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has fundamentalist Israeli settlers and Palestinian militants confronting each other in explicit religious terms. That's one reason President Bush has been exceedingly careful to cast the war against terrorism in secular terms. It is a struggle for moderates to quell the fundamentalists' fondest wish, to cast the battle as one between Christian and Muslim cultures. Fundamentalism, unfortunately, can appear in many guises.

Consider this unlikely pair: Army Lt. Gen. William G. "Jerry" Boykin, the new deputy undersecretary of Defense for intelligence, and Malaysia's Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad. As Times staffer Richard T. Cooper reported Thursday, Boykin has repeatedly said he sees the war on terrorism as a battle between Judeo-Christian values and Satan.

Meanwhile, Mahathir announced Thursday at the Organization of the Islamic Conference summit that "today the Jews rule this world by proxy" and must be outsmarted by Islam. In their penchant for demonizing, the two men have more in common than they might think.

Imagine the two conversing: Boykin tells Mahathir it's obvious that Islamic militants hate the United States "because we're a Christian nation, because our foundation and our roots are Judeo-Christian And the enemy is a guy named Satan" (June 2003).

Mahathir laughs and tells Boykin he's got it wrong. No, no, don't forget the Jews: "The expulsion of Jews from the Holy Land 2,000 years ago and the Nazi oppression of Jews have taught them nothing It has transformed the Jews into the very monsters that they condemn so roundly"(1986). Mahathir continues that "the European race" itself is sexually deviant, greedy, responsible for warmongering and wants to "control the world again" (June 2003).

Boykin responds that although he doesn't believe Europe is at fault, the war on terror is "a war against the forces of darkness. The battle won't be won with guns. It will be won on our knees Stay on your knees and don't ever give up" (January 2003).

The two men perceive the world in similar terms. One sees a perfidious plot against Asian and Islamic values; the other, newly in charge of hunting down Osama bin Laden, Saddam Hussein and other terrorism targets, appears to believe that the entire Islamic world is America's enemy.

Mahathir undermines moderate, secular Muslim leaders while Boykin mocks Bush's attempts to emphasize that the U.S. is targeting terrorists, not Islam. Boykin may say he is speaking for himself, but at his level anything said outside his living room will be seen as speaking for the U.S. military.

Mahathir will fade away on his own. It's up to Defense Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld to retire the Pentagon's self-proclaimed crusader before he does more damage.

Did you note that the commentator wants General Boykin to lose his new position and be forced to retire because of his religion?

Not Holding My Breath

Greg Easterbrook of the New Republic, in a scathing review of the new Tarantino movie, Kill Bill, makes some arguably anti-semitic remarks in his blog (and subsequently apologizes). The Los Angeles Times lets an anti-Christian screed about a US Army General--who happens to be a fundamentalist Christian--slip by its editors into print.

My question: when are the powers-that-be in Christianity and Judaism going to issues their versions of a fatwa?

When are Pope John Paul II, Franklin Graham and Abe Foxman going to let loose their minions to wreck vengeance on Easterbrook and the LA times for the vicious slander of their respective religions?

Say what? What’s that you say? They likely won’t do such horrible things? Why not? According to the LA Times Editorial, fundamentalist Christians and fundamentalist Muslims like the terror apologist and Jew-hater Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad are exactly the same.

When Jews and Christians start murdering innocents on purpose without the swift and overwhelming condemnation of the majority of their respective adherents, I’ll buy the analogy.

Watching the LA Times self-destruct has all the charm of gawking at a pile-up with bodies strewn all over the highway: curiousity is winning out over disgust.

(Thanks to Dennis Prager and Charles Johnson)

Spam in My Name (Not)

On Rachel Lucas' site, she has this message:

If anyone gets any sort of e-mail with my site name as the subject, and the e-mail says anything at all about being unable to reach "your" website and then a URL of one of my old archive pages, IGNORE IT AND DELETE IT.

What she said. Apparently some #*&%#^ is sending comment spam to other sites with a link to one of my posts in it.

Destroyers and Usurpers! Curse Them!
--Treebeard, LOTR: TTT

Memories of the First Life (Part Two)

After a year at my base, I checked into the requirements for becoming an instructor in my career field. They were: one year at present duty station (check), achieve a certain level in the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB; check) and have a cumulative “nine”—the highest possible--on all of the last five Airman Performance Reports (now called Enlisted Performance Reports, the highest cumulative score being “five”).

This last item was something that I was worried about. Oh, I had been a good girl, but it was rumored that the superintendent of maintenance, a senior master sergeant (E-8) rarely endorsed a nine for new airman. My first and only APR was done, but the superintendent hadn’t done the endorsement. Three weeks went by before I checked on it again.

Back at It

S-Train returns to the pugilistic blog world in a pugilistic fashion. Welcome back to the ring, sir.

Memories of the First Life

Well, it’s over and it’s been a blast. My career was varied and interesting and I thought I’d share a few of the more interesting factoids with the readers.

*****

My first career field in the Air Force was munitions maintenance, more descriptively known as bomb loading. Now, as many recruits find out, it is extremely unwise to enter the military in “open field,” that is, without picking your job first. I did this and munitions maintenance is what I got.

Back then, many fields that had been previously barred to women had the bar dropped and munitions maintenance was one of them. New female recruits were steered toward these fields and I was one of them. This field had weight lifting requirements, but they were lowered in light of average female physical capabilities. Take that as you will and keep in mind that, having gained seven pounds in basic training, I weighed a grand total of 110 pounds upon graduation from same.

At my first duty station, Plattsburg AFB, New York, my shop had a total of 73 people. Three of them were women, counting yours truly. By the time I had been there a few months, I was the lone female. One had messed up some equipment and was consigned to indoor duty. The other became pregnant. (Later, we got another woman in the shop, who, for a time, was my roommate. More about her later.) Before my time, there had been other female loaders in the shop who had left it through similar means.

Needless to say, I had to prove myself.

I did so by the usual means: always being on time, not complaining about anything, volunteering for every crappy duty that came up--believe me, there were plenty--and doing something novel: my job.

Not complaining about one particular subject was very difficult for me. Imagine a young California girl who had only seen snow once in her life, having to work outside in an upstate New York winter everyday. My standard accoutrements were: parka (with hood), parka pants, skull cap (covering ears and neck), black beanie, long johns (top and bottom), panty hose, socks, boots, mukluks, thin gloves (for working), and black leather, fur-lined gloves (plus the usual female undies). Oh yeah, and there was my uniform. And I would still be freezing my little narrow a** off.

I remember walking to work one December afternoon in 1981—we worked the swing shift—dressed as described, freezing said a** off and talking to myself. “Why in the hell did you do this? You could be sitting in a nice warm college classroom right now. What the hell were you thinking?”

We worked in four person teams and, because of my physical limitations, my position involved more hands-on duty than brute strength. Actually, having smaller hands made it easier for me to work in this position than was so for many men.

I hated this job. But, having made the commitment, I would stick to it and bide my time. I couldn’t see myself purposely sabotaging equipment. The thought disgusted me. As for becoming pregnant, I couldn’t see myself doing that either, but for more practical reasons: why make an eighteen year commitment—a lifetime one, if you ask me--to get out of a four year one?

So there I was. Then the wheels began to turn. How could I get into the best position possible within the career field, through legal and honorable means, until the time came for me to separate from the service or cross-train (get a new job) and re-enlist? Answer: I would become an instructor.

(continued)

Notice

I've got a paper due today in an on-line class. So I'll likely do a little late night blogging.

UPDATE: Too tired from doing what I had to do to do what I want to do. Good night.

Obligatory Baseball Post

After overhearing that the New York Yankees/Boston Red Sox game scheduled for today was cancelled, I joked to my aunt: "What happened? Did they put all those fools in jail for the night?" Turns out that Fenway Park is soaked with rainwater.

Re-Cap of S-Train Saga

So, you’re a black man. You’re married and you have three children. Despite messing up in your youth, you began to ‘straighten up and fly right.’ In your now upright state, you’ve been successful and prosperous, professionally and financially. You move your family into a nice home. The neighborhood is 70% white and 30% black. You have no problem with that, else you wouldn’t have moved there.

Just weeks after you make your move, you’re at home, minding your own business. It’s after 1AM, so minding your own business includes sleeping. Suddenly you’re awakened by the sound of a window breaking. Grabbing your legally-owned firearm, you go to investigate the source of the sound. You see a man in your home. Since you’re the only man that lives there, you know that this man doesn’t belong there and likely doesn’t have good intentions toward you and your family.

The High Priest of Beat Down

Don't mess with this man of God.

Unbelievable

In the previous post, I linked to a firearm self-defense story articulately penned and, unfortunately, experienced, by a blogger. Many others linked to it, read it, empathized with it and congratulated the gentleman on his cool-headed defense of himself and his family. Then there were the other ones: the ones who, in their unwillingness to consider that the citizens of this country just might need to be armed against the scum of society, refused to believe the account. They nitpicked the language of the story, and, worst of all, refuted the veracity of it on legal grounds (no names or locations had been mentioned).

Then his site host became involved and now many legal wranglings will ensue.

All because some racist thugs--the capped burglar said that he was going to kill all the n****** in the house--broke into his house and he made the legal choice not to take it lying down.

In order to help alleviate some of the flak the gentleman is taking--which is partly my doing--I have removed the link in the previous post along with the name. Godspeed, sir.

UPDATE: In light of the fact that this story has been linked to all around, I have reposted the link to the story.

Out There

This guy should be hung by his pinky toes for leaving us hanging in the middle of a humorous story.

Balloon Juice, using L. Paul Bremer’s objective-based press conference items on Iraq’s transition to democracy, demonstrates that some people have a rather subjective definition of the word ‘quagmire.’

Serenity, you tell the bugger, girlfriend! I joined the military after dropping out of college. I wanted to join right after high school, but the parental units weren't having it. And, since I was only sixteen when I graduated from high school, I still had to play by their rules.

Dean observes than some of those who bat for the other team have realized that the Second Amendment applies to them as well.

UPDATE: S-Train tells a Second Amendment story with a happy ending.

Gamin' on Ya

Here’s a game I can’t wait to get a copy of: Ghettopoly, Monopoly with a ghetto flavor, or should I say ‘flava?’

....displayed the game board, with properties including Westside Liquor, Harlem, The Bronx, and Long Beach City, and squares labeled Smitty's XXX Peep Show, Weinstein's Gold and Platinum, and Tyron's Gun Shop.

Of course, there are a few so-called black leaders that are taking this game and themselves just a bit too seriously:

Black leaders are outraged over a new board game called "Ghettopoly" that has "playas" acting like pimps and game cards reading, "You got yo whole neighborhood addicted to crack. Collect $50." Black clergymen say the game, the brainchild of a Pennsylvania man, should be banned, and have called for a boycott of Urban Outfitters unless the company stops selling Ghettopoly in its chain of clothing stores. [snip]

"If we are silent on this issue there is more of this type to come," the Rev. Robert P. Shine Sr., president of the Black Clergy of Philadelphia & Vicinity, said at a sidewalk rally Wednesday in front Urban Outfitters' corporate headquarters in Philadelphia.

Give it a rest, gentlemen. If we don’t laugh, we’ll go insane.

David Chang is the creator of this game. I’ll bet those of the Southern Caucasian persuasion will be the first to line up and buy one of Mr. Chang’s next innovations:

(Thanks to Absinthe & Cookies)

UPDATE: Hasbro, creator of the board game Monopoly, disavows any connection to Ghettopoly and makes the case that Chang has violated their intellectual property rights. Hasbro does have a point.

Flag Folding Ceremony

To thank everyone for thanking me for my service, I’d like to post the text of my Flag Ceremony. It was an honor and a privilege to serve. And, on occasion, it was a lot of fun as well.

My flag ceremony was only the second one I had seen done for retirement purposes. I was going to forgo it—I’m someone who doesn’t like a lot of muss and fuss. But my first sergeant threatened to have me killed if I didn’t have the ceremony, so I relented. I’m very glad that my mind was, ahem, changed.

Note the Christianity explicitly spelled out in the text. I wonder how long the text will remain in its present state before some unreasonable non-Christian raises hell about it, pun intended.

I’d also like to dedicate this post to those who are still serving, especially those far from home. May every last one of you come home safe!

Athletes...

Yuck. Why would any woman with a modicum of self-respect want one as a mate? Okay. Good body? Check. Lots of money? Check.

But it all comes back to that self-respect thing. If he’s stupid, lacking in integrity or just plain too self-absorbed—aren’t they all--all the body and money in the world would not attract the woman with her head on straight. (Actors fall into this category as well, Bruce Willis notwithstanding.)

My main reason, however, for finding pro jocks less than attractive is much more basic.

My aunt, in her constant attempts to marry me off—likely to get me out of her hair—used to periodically suggest that I try to put myself in a position to get to know some of the professional athletes around LA.

My periodic answer to this suggestion was a polite and diplomatic version of “are you crazy?” (it is my aunt, after all).

Finally, when I made one factual observation about the state of affairs with athletes, she stopped.

The fact? I am 42 years old. Since I still harbor the notion that I might have a baby--don't have too--should Mr. Right come along in the next couple of years, I know that the chances of me popping out a pup that will later ride the short bus to school are higher than usual.

Why up the odds?

Exhibit A

It Only Seems to be About Football

Since it’s football season--as Rush Limbaugh fans and critics alike may have noticed--I’ve, yet again, been yearning for a team to come and make a home in LA. We need an expansion team this time; our own bundles of joy and mayhem, not some other city’s leftovers.

Let’s see. What should we call this mythical LA football juggernaut?

The LA Predators.

The LA Running Men.

The LA Terminators.

Oh, wait! Here’s the best one: the LA Barbarians. That would suit us just fine. Riotous it would be.

Sad Situation

This morning, before heading to the gym, I went to do my duty.

I walked in the poll center (in a church…hmmm) and hanging from the tables were the requisite signs A-L and M-Z, so I queued up in front of the latter. One of the ladies asked me what my last name was. I told her. She helpfully informed me that I was in the correct line.

My turn came up and I had my driver’s license ready. Long realizing that my last name is difficult to handle and realizing that, to some, it doesn’t necessarily go with the face--more about that in a later post--I spell out my last name and hand the woman my license. She began to look for it on the registered voters' list.

After the passing of a few more seconds than was reasonable, I looked down and noticed that she was looking in the Ps. “My last name begins with O,” I said helpfully and the without the malice that usually characterizes my pre-exercise, pre-caffeinated state. “You’re in the Ps.” She smiled sheepishly and apologetically. Now having committed a few ‘duhs’ in my time, I’m willing to forgo judgment on a person’s intellect in the face of just one.

However, there was another.

When the lady got to the Os, she points out a name, turns the book around and says, “there you are.” Well, there I wasn’t. The name she had pointed me to was “Obom,” or something similar. My name was five lines down; I pointed it out to her and politely compared it to that of my driver’s license, which she still had.

Again the sweet, sheepish smile was flashed.

Later when I got home, I only had to say the words “polling place” to my great-aunt—with whom I live—and she was on a tangent. “Boy, there was one stupid broad that works in there!” Heh. No one can quite insult another like a 'sweet' little eighty-two-year-old lady can.

Speaking of old ladies, there was one in the polling place whose mental faculties didn’t seem up to the level of my aunt’s. She was in her booth at the same time I was in mine. Just as I finished, I hear a cracked voice shouting, “Where’s Davis? I can’t find Davis on here!” (Sigh) I don’t think the lady quite grasped the situation being presented before her.

Pray for us Californians.

The Night Before Recall

Xrlq has all the skinny on Arnold. Consider this information, fellow Californians, before you make this vile man your governator...er...governor.

(Thanks to CGHill at dustbury)

Spelled Out

Today, at the grocery store, the bagger of my goods was a man of Mexican heritage with a Mexican accent. He was in his fifties, about five-five, brown-skinned, graying temples. He wore glasses, had a pleasant smile and a pleasant demeanor. When I first saw him, I did a double take, however. He was a dead ringer for a physician of my aquaintance, Dr. H.

Dr. H is originally from Syria.

What's to stop a Mexican-appearing wannabe-jihadi from sneaking in over the southern border among those yearning to be free? Answer me that, Gray Davis.

Almost Done

Yesterday I made the trip up to my unit, along with my aunt, for the second-to-last time as a military member.

This time it was for my “flag ceremony,” one during which I was presented with the gift of an American flag for my years of service. To say that it was moving is an understatement. Pictures will be posted on the thirteenth.

The hours leading up to the ceremony were spent saying goodbye to the people I’ve served with for the last eight years. You know, the hugs, the kisses the exchange of numbers, of e-mail addresses. I would say that I likely won’t see most of them again. However, that won’t be true for several and thank God for it.

Some partings were trivial. Others were very special, indeed. My chief flight surgeon--a bird colonel and like a mother to me--gave me a beautiful gift, an old style atomizer.

My superintendent-a chief master sergeant (E-9), who has long been my good and trusted friend—told some rather unflattering stories about me. She didn’t tell the good ones.

My OIC—a captain—gave me a cool USAF retired coffee mug. Now that we don’t have that fraternization issue hanging over our heads, she and I are going to storm Southern California together. Watch out, guys, especially if you’re good-lookin’!

Saying goodbye to my kids—the airmen—was especially difficult. But I had done my time and it was up to me to get out of their way and let them do theirs.

Time to start my second life.

Kenyan Wives do a Bobbitt

Understatement alert: this is just a bit extreme. Just give him the boot.

When I found out that my ex-husband was behaving in a manner not conducive to marital bliss, I simply served him…with fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Actually, it was just with divorce papers. Though I would occasionally joke about killing him, I would have never dreamed of actually doing so or physically maiming him like the aggrieved (and criminal) Kenyan wives in the article. But then, I’m only half Kenyan.

(Thanks to Straight White Guy)

History and Civics Quiz

Now here’s a quiz worth taking. I missed three:

1. Of the people, by the people (arrgh!)
2. Father of the Constitution (double arrgh!)
3. Opposed ratification of Constitution (duh for this one)

Lesson: go with your first answer.

(Via Townhall.com)

Make it Stop

While upright and honorable young men like this one...

…are helping to bring lives worth living to a previously oppressed people, terrorists of the same age or younger are murdering fine young men like this one…

…just miles from my own home. The frightening part about it is that the terrorists are often indistinguishable from the victims. Often the terrorists are the victims of their own terror.

Rest in peace, Daniel.

(Soldier's Picture courtesy of Dean's World and A Small Victory; Daniel Fitzgerald's photo appears in the LA Times)

Another Boomless Grenade

At last we find that one of the ‘experts,’ James Taranto, really is an expert. In his piece for today's Opinion Journal, he discovers a biography of one Ambassador Joseph C. Wilson IV on the Middle East Institute’s website. Snuggled at the end of it is this tidbit:

He is married to the former Valerie Plame and has two sons and two daughters.

Wonder how that got in there?

About Facts

From Harold S. Geneen (1984), former President, CEO and Chairman of ITT:

"Time after time in those early ITT management meetings, I would question a man about his facts, Where did he get them? (Usually from some other man.) How did he know they were correct? Were they facts? So I wrote a memo about 'unshakeable facts.'

"Yesterday, we put in a long hard-driving meeting mostly seeking the facts on which easy management decisions could be then made. I think the most important conclusion to be drawn is simple. There is no word in the English language that more strongly conveys the intent of incontrovertibility, i.e. 'final and reliable reality' than the word 'fact.'

"However, no word is more honored by its breach in actual usage. For example, there are and we saw yesterday:

"'Apparent facts'

'Assumed facts'

'Reported Facts'

'Hoped-for facts'

"'Facts' so labeled and accepted as facts - i.e. 'accepted facts' - and many others of similar derivation.

"In most cases these were not facts at all.

"In many cases of daily life this point may not be too important, but in the area of management momentum and decision, is all-important. Whole trains of events and decision of an entire management can be put in motion in the wrong direction - with inevitable loss of money, time and morale - by one 'unfactual fact' accepted by or submitted by YOU - however unintentional.

"The highest art of professional management requires the literal ability to 'smell' a 'real fact' from all others -and moreover to have the temerity, intellectual curiosity, guts and/or plain impoliteness, if necessary to be sure that what you do have is indeed what we will call an 'unshakeable fact.'

"So . . . start now IS IT A FACT? but more important, IS IT AN UNSHAKEABLE FACT?

"No matter what you think, try 'shaking it' to be sure.

"Send this message down the line."

Geneen, H. (1984). Managing. Boston: Doubleday.

(Thanks to my Critical Thinking and Computer Logic Instructor)

Traveling Woman

I’ll be one guestblogger among many at Dean’s World for a couple of days, but never fear, I’ll still be rambling here.

Woman Has Baby with Octopus Arms!

Michael J. Totten says that this CIA leak “scandal” amounts to tabloid fodder and I’m inclined to agree with his assessment. I’m just not as classy as he is.

(I'll assume the readers know most of the pertinent facts. If not, click the CNN link. It'll have the facts, most of 'em, anyway.)

Considering that there have been several conflicting reports regarding the CIA employee’s (Valerie Plame) duty title, this "scandal" is beginning to take the aura of an interoffice rumor.
From CNN:

Sources also said Tuesday that Plame is not an analyst, as Novak said this week, but a CIA operations officer. For many years, the sources said, Plame was an active overseas undercover officer for the agency. More recently, she has been working at a management level within the operations section of the CIA.

From the Opinion Journal Editorial Page:

In any event, Mrs. Wilson was not an agent in the field but is ensconced at Langley headquarters. It remains far from clear that any law was violated.

And Robert Novak, the columnist who put the CIA employee’s name into print in the first place, makes things even more confusing, shifty bugger that he is.

From a Novak commentary at Townhall.com:

A big question is her duties at Langley. I regret that I referred to her in my column as an "operative," a word I have lavished on hack politicians for more than 40 years. While the CIA refuses to publicly define her status, the official contact says she is "covered" -- working under the guise of another agency. However, an unofficial source at the Agency says she has been an analyst, not in covert operations. [Emphasis mine.]

You’d think that the *professionals* on which we rely {snort} could get this factoid straight, SINCE THE ENTIRE STORY HINGES UPON IT.

Assuming the facts are eventually straightened out and Plame is an operative and some hapless CIA employee swings for blowing her cover, how will it be proved that the Bush Administration did this on purpose? How can it be proved that the administration did this to avenge on Plame's husband, due to his criticism of its decision to go to war?

A better question: why would any rational person think that the Bush Administration would authorize such a thing? What would there be to gain?

UPDATE: Michael decides to comment after all.