STICK IT TO THE MAN !

I have family that have actually uttered the words of the title to my post:
"Stick it to 'The Man'!"
And they believe in that ideology.
To the degree I can, I have separated myself from that element of my family.

It set me to thinking about an "Association" that's in real trouble for a number of reasons today, not the least of which seems to be they have forgotten where their bread is buttered:
NASCAR.

This "association" is just now beginning to allow fans to return to the stands to watch the performance of their "talent" on the track. The fact they want us to believe we're watching "stock cars" with Ford, Chevrolet, and Toyota emblems on their hoods is a major pet-peeve of mine and will be the subject of a future post about how stupid the general public is.
But that's not the subject of this post.

This post is about last weekend's gathering in Talladega, Alabama.
Think about they money "the man" risked to make that race happen. Track owner. Promoters. Television coverage and their sponsors.  Concessionaires. Insurance providers. And (shudders)... attorneys...
HUGE amounts of money had to be spent in order for this event to happen on the scheduled date.
And contracts had to be written to cover all aspects of what happens IF it does not happen on the scheduled date... AND what happens if it runs on a later date... AND what happens if it doesn't happen at all.
That's a LOT of $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$.

And what happened?
Mother Nature said, "Not so fast, Bubba", and rained on everyone's parade.
And everyone went to "Plan B".

The race DID happen a day late, after we all went through the heart-sinking thought that someone would be stupid enough to suggest lynching one of the drivers would have been a great idea if only we were still in the democrat-controlled post-Civil War years.
DAMN those garage door pull-ropes!

And we peons have absolutely NO idea what hoops "The Man" had to jump through to make the race happen a day late. (I still watched it, in its entirety, on FOX Sports. Bubba finished 13th, and when the FBI pointed out he should have just closed his garage door he insisted it was still a noose.)
I enjoyed the race, and thank "The Man" and everyone that was involved in pulling off that event.

But here's my point:
I've pointed out here many times that I'm not rich. I have enough income that my needs and the needs of my family are met. I have enough discretionary income left over that we can do "frilly" things like buy tickets to go see NASCAR races if we want.
But someone with a WHOLE LOT MORE MONEY needs to risk a BUNCH of money to make more money in order for me and my family to go watch Bubba finish 13th in a "Stock Car" race.
I have NO desire to stick it to that man. In fact I thank him and all the others that had to put their necks on the block in order to make that even happen.

I fear what I see going on in my country right now. I hope cooler, smarter heads will prevail.
In the meantime I'm cleaning, lubricating, and practicing.
You should too.

Waste Management

We've been home from Phoenix three months now.
Due to retirement, our "home town" trash disposal folks punted our collection service to an out-of-town company.
Are their services more expensive? Of course.
Dealing with them has been a fiasco from the outset-
Three weeks after we arrived home they FINALLY brought out a receptacle for our trash. (And we had to pay a $50 charge for that.) We paid an initial quarterly fee to get them to start regular service.

Today we got another bill from them.
And it's for more than we were told. They've added a bunch of new fees...
Fuel Surcharge. Environmental adjustment fee.
We don't generate a lot of waste. It seems usury. And the company has NOT been responsive when we've called to deal with them.
So we just called and canceled their service. They'll pick up their receptacle in three weeks.

Our neighbors are all having similar experiences.
We WILL find another way to dispose of our waste in an environmentally friendly way. But I fear what we are gonna see, more and more, is a roadside that looks like the above photo.
And then? We'll all be paying someone to pick up our nasty roadsides with our tax dollars.

Some municipalities include trash pickup in services provided by taxes.
That sure seems to be a better way to keep our community litter-free.

The Purple One

When you see some high-ranking soldier on TV with a "barn door" full of ribbons on his left breast, what do you look for?
For me, I first look for the purple one.
Medals on a military man's chest, by regulation, have a priority. Medals of valor rank first. The Purple Heart comes after them. But it will appear in line BEFORE medals of merit and campaign medals.
Thank Goodness, my search of our warrior's chests for the purple one is almost always fruitless.

Today at Wally World I saw him again. I'd seen him a couple weeks ago, wearing his "Purple Heart" baseball cap, and wanted to approach and, these days of "stolen valor", challenge him about it.
At that time I was in a bit of a rush, so I let it go.
Today? I had the time and the inclination.

I walked up to him, pointed to his cap, and said "I got one of those too. Where'd you get yours?"
"Phu Loi", he replied.
And a half hour of conversation ensued.

He was an Army medic. His whole Viet Nam tour was spent in the South of the country, from the outskirts of Saigon clear over to the Cambodian border.
He was the genuine article. And I thanked him for the job he did.

Hearing I was a helicopter jock he made the same statement I have heard a thousand times:
"You guys saved our asses SO often. Thank you."
To which I related the fact that my job in Viet Nam was to use the helicopter to kill people, and when I came home I used the machine to save people's lives.
We both smiled.

He talked about watching us fire the mini-gun at night... about what an awesome sight that was...
How counting bodies after the gunships had done their thing was like walking through a Civil War battlefield.
I said, "I have no idea how many people I killed during my tour."
He said, "You have no idea how many of US you saved."

And as always, the tears came.

"Dream Sheets"

I've used that photo in this blog before. It's a Bell UH1-C model similar to the one I flew in Viet Nam. I LOVED the old bird. Viet Cong and North Vietnamese regulars didn't. Oh well...
They were Marxist/Socialist/Communist/democrats. 

About halfway through my tour of sunny Southeast Asia in 1969 I realized I needed to have a hand in planning my future. At the time the ARMY had a form we called a "Dream Sheet" that you could fill out and specify what YOU would like to happen to your life in your future career efforts. By this time in my ARMY life I had figured out that if I could figure out that if what the ARMY needed could coincide with what I wanted to happen, I had a pretty good chance of actually succeeding in guiding my life. So I filled out the form and said I wanted-
1. To go back to Savannah, GA to be an instructor at Hunter Army Airfield there.
2. To go to Germany to join a helicopter unit there, or
3. Go to Ft. Knox and fill whatever helicopter Command job the ARMY needed.

A couple months before my DEROS- (Date to return from overseas service), I got orders assigning me to Hunter AAF in Savannah, GA.
There, I successfully graduated from the ARMY's "Method of Instruction" school and became an instructor, teaching Vietnamese Air Cadets how to fly the Bell UH1 Huey helicopter.
My assignment there lasted from November of 1969 until August of 1972.
To quote a phrase from the Brad Pitt movie "Fury", it was "The Best Job I Ever Had!"

While you're living your life you are too close to it to be objective.
I had survived my Viet Nam experience.
I was a 22-yr old Captain in the ARMY making more than enough money to keep a smile on my face.
I was flying a machine that by this time I was "putting on" like an old pair of house-slippers.
And I was doing a job that obviously was necessary to help my country.
It took 14 years until I found another job that gave me that kind of satisfaction-
Flying an EMS helicopter.

Memories of Savannah make me smile.
Chatting with others I realize how fortunate I am to have 'em.
Now? I'd like to make some more just like those.

The Apollo Missions

We're coming up on the 21st anniversary of the Apollo 11 landing on the moon. In Viet Nam when our team landed there, I looked up at the moon in awe and felt pride that I was defending a country that could accomplish such a feat.
We've just experienced the first "commercial" launch of a vehicle taking men into space to rendezvous with the International Space Station.
If you, like me, have an avid interest in history and how it relates to our lives today, I think you'll enjoy Bill Whittle's four-part series on how we... the USA, won the "Space Race" and got to the moon.
Click on the link above to see Part One.

I hope you enjoy the series as much as I did.

"Respect My Authoritah !"

I've been a cop.
It's a lousy job.
While I wore a badge I mostly flew a helicopter above the guys down there doin' the dirty work.
And I was glad I wasn't down there with 'em.
Cops are now, for all intents, front-line soldiers.
And I'm amazed that anyone wants to do the job these days, considering the compensation they get.
If we continue to treat them as we are, I fear NO ONE will want to do the job.
And then... where will we be?

We live in interesting times.

Grasshopping ?

Since we "Covidians" were trapped in Arizona an additonal three weeks, we came home to find grass in our yard high enough to hide small prey AND predators. Thank goodness we have a machine to handle that problem. Similar to the photo above, it mows a 60-inch swath at 7mph.
Damn the small prey... full speed ahead!

Waking the machine from nearly five months of slumber was surprisingly easy. After bringing the battery up to full charge I attacked my foe. Clippings FLEW for 20 minutes, then it ran out of gas.
WTH? I had checked fuel and oil levels before engaging the starter key.
Fuel cap off... yep, almost full. I mount back up and crank a while, exercising both throttle and choke levers. No dice.
Scratch head. Yeah I know... that never does much good.
Go get an adult beverage to allow for the "Eureka" moment to come upon me.

Back to the subject at hand I mount up and try again...
It starts instantly! I knock down grass that goats and cattle would be delighted with for another 10 minutes until once again... it "runs out of gas".

I'm no genius in this situation, but I know infernal combustion engines need O2, fuel, compression, and the ability to eliminate their waste. And I know how REAL mechanics would attack this problem-
They'd start replacing the cheap stuff and work though the more expensive as necessary.

I take off the fuel filter. It has an opaque outer cover, so it's not easy to tell if it's moving fuel.
"AutoZone" fixes me up with a new one for $8.99. The new one has a clear shell.
Mount up again... it starts instantly.
I mow for 15 minutes or so and it "runs out of gas".
Of course I'm dismayed. I wanted this to be easy. That never seems to be how it works for me.

Right at Close of Business time I call the Pro and I'm pleased when he answers. I give him the symptoms and tell him what I've done so far.
"I've cleaned the air filter; checked all the fuel lines for obstructions. I changed the fuel filter. I loosened the gas cap in case that vent is clogged."
"Sounds like your fuel pump" says he. "They go bad on those Kohler engines after a few years."
Crap. I'm tired and fuzzed.
I don't think I can do that, so that probably means he'll need to come and get this thing. That means $$$$$$.

He says, "We're COVERED UP right now and it will take several days for us to get to your machine."
Yeah, it's Spring. That stands to reason.
"You can do this. The fuel pump is on the side of the engine. There are three lines coming into it..."
And at this point I realize I'm gonna have to do without my mower for a week... maybe more.
I stop listening to his instructions. The forlorn looking mower sits idly in our side yard all evening.

Freshened by a good night's sleep I awaken and have a cuppa. The light bulb goes off-
"YouTube"!
Into the search block I put the magic words "18 horsepower Kohler fuel pump replace".
And VOILA! There it is. Like the man said, it has three lines coming into it. Two bolts hold it in place on the side of the engine.

I grab tools and attack the slumbering monster. The possibly faulty pump is in my hand in 10 minutes. My mentor sells me a new one for $28. My machine is once again whole in another ten minutes.

THERE! I mount up and twist the key.
The engine spins. And spins. And spins, but doesn't fire.
My hopeful heart sinks. I start my diagnosing process all over again.
I pull the line coming out of the pump to the carburetor and crank the engine. Fuel SHOULD spurt out.
Nothing.
Is this new pump faulty? Possible, but not bloody likely.

In desperation I decide to try something that seemingly makes no sense at all-
I take off the gas cap and give the fuel tank a "blow job", pressuring fuel through the system.
I hear fuel squirt into the fuel filter.

Back in the command seat.
Turn the key.
INSTANT start. Runs like a top!

And, thanks to "YouTube", I feel like I've gotten away with murder.

Hitting the Barn Door

Some years ago one of my active Law Enforcement buddies showed me the backup firearm he'd just purchased. That's it shown above... a 9mm "Keltech". It just slightly larger than the palm of my hand, and impressed me as a good concealed carry piece.  So I bought one.
Took it out to the range and fired two magazines through it. The little S.O.B. is uncomfortable to fire, and at the end of the second magazine I was literally missing the entire target with some of my rounds. (I was tired that afternoon and probably shouldn't have even been on the range.)
That was two years ago. I haven't fired it since.

I've been thinking about it this week. It's time to get back on the horse.
I'm going to grab it and figure out what I'm doing wrong.
I'll let ya know.

When The Gullible Awaken-

More and more, it looks as if a tremendous FRAUD has been perpetrated on the American People. And I've been amazed at how many of my "intelligent" friends and loved ones have fallen for it.
But there IS a silver lining here, in spite of the fact it may take DECADES to recover from the damage done due to our naivete.
And it is this:
The real truth is beginning to surface.
This fiasco was forced upon us to kill the best economy the country had experienced... certainly since the end of WWII, and maybe EVER.
Evil-doers succeeded in that mission.
But they didn't consider that there is now plenty of time for scales to fall from eyes.
And when that happens, even the presently ignorant will be angry.
And there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth in political halls.
In November... REMEMBER.

Hong Kong Flu

In 1968-69 our nation lost 164,000 population adjusted lives to Hong Kong Flu.
We didn't panic.
We didn't destroy our economy.
Obviously, we weren't as smart then as we are now.

Duty. Honor. Country.

Whittle's generalization, analyzing this Lt. General Flynn fiasco:

"When you're dealing with military personnel, with very, very few exceptions; and I can't think of any right off the top of my head, their personal sense of honor, integrity, and above all, patriotism,
their love of country, is not just their primary characteristic.
That is what their SOULS are constructed of."

If you don't know Bill Whittle, go to "YouTube" and GET TO KNOW Bill Whittle.
I think he had no personal military experience.
But he sure seems to have his finger on MY pulse.

I Touch Myself

"Don't touch your face. Wash your hands frequently. Stay six feet away from others."
Yeah. Sure.

Are you paying closer attention to how often you break these "rules" now?
I am.
And I'm watching on TV the people insisting we follow these rules closely.

They don't follow their own commands.
So... wash your hands. A LOT.

Submission Urination

We've owned two male Dachshunds.
Both, when greeting you for the first time, would roll onto their backs and when you reached to pet them, urinate on you.

Seems lots of people are rolling onto their backs and submitting to unconstitutional government edicts these days.
I guess we should just be pleased they're not urinating on us.

Another Milestone

It went by without my notice.
My first post here was published 26Apr05.
So I've now been blogging here 15 years.
Yes, FaceBook has made a dent.
But when I want to express myself in detail, I still do it here.

Fifteen years...
That's a lotta water 'neath the bridge.

Tribute Bands

 In Branson, MO last year we saw tributes to ABBA, Elvis, and the Temptations. (The Temptations group had a couple guys that actually sang with the original group.)
In Destin, FL in the Fall, we saw wonderful acts playing songs made popular by the BeeGees and Chicago.
And it made me think-
"Journey" is still touring.
There's a fabulous Filipino singer out front that sounds more like Steve Perry than Steve Perry. Some of the original backup players now performing are not from the original group. So the question:
Isn't the present "Journey" group now a "Tribute Band" for all intents?

Rock and roll is here to stay, I know that very well!

"What's That?"

Pointing under our coffee table she exclaimed, "WHAT'S THAT"?

It was moving, slowly. I had no trouble identifying it... a spider, about the size of a U.S. quarter dollar.
She immediately reached for a slipper to squish it.

"Don't do that!" I shouted...
"I'll take care of it."

I got up, got a wine glass, and covered him/her.
And we finished watching an episode of "Twilight Zone" and two episodes of "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" on "MeTV".
I then got a stout piece of printer paper, slid it 'neath the glass, and carried glass, paper, and spider outdoors where she/he belonged.

One of God's amazing inventions, I've always been fascinated with spiders and snakes.
And yes, they have a place in our world.
That place is... out of doors.

Sara Jean thinks I'm crazy.
I wonder what God thinks?

Chernobyl

HBO.
Five episodes, each about an hour long.
And I'll have trouble describing how excellent I think it is.

We couldn't help thinking about comparisons to the Covid-19 situation we find ourselves in:
"Is our government handling this competently? Are we being lied to? Are they using this to consolidate their power to further control us?"

Anyone with an interest in the Chernobyl disaster probably knows most of the "big pieces" shown in this mini-series. But for me, there were several details that were illuminating. Most of us cannot fathom how many people were impacted, how much geography, and how far into the future this catastrophe will reach.

If you have any interest, and have access to the series, I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Bread

I like bread. 
I love it fresh out of the oven, still warm, so the REAL BUTTER melts on it.
For a guy who's "height challenged" with newly diagnosed blood glucose issues, that's a problem.

Years ago, Mother bought us one of those bread makers.
You add all the ingredients and turn it on. It mixes, kneads, and bakes automatically. When it BEEPS you have a one-pound loaf to spread butter on. (Don't forget to remove the little stirring thingy from the bottom of the loaf as Mother did, or your machine becomes useless.)

With my weight/cholesterol/glucose troubles we realized the bread maker had to be retired.
So it is now gathering dust out in the utility room next to some of the other "gadget" appliances we have acquired along the way. (Why did we ever think we'd make regular use of that thing that makes a sort of frozen yogurt out of fruits?)

I miss bread and butter.
Life is cruel.

Losing My Medical Certificate?

A little over a year ago I registered with the VA because of my Agent Orange exposure in Viet Nam.
I don't think my exposure to the chemical was serious, but who knows? So, "just in case", I threw my name into the pool. Little did I know the machinery I was setting in motion!

I was called in for lab work.
Not extensive stuff... just height, weight, blood pressure, a couple vials of blood, pee in the bottle, and a consult with a Doctor.
My blood pressure was slightly elevated. My blood glucose number was through the roof.
I was diagnosed as diabetic.
The Doc prescribed several medicines. I'm now using one of those pill dispensers I used to see "old" people using. Mine has a little cubby for Sunday through Saturday and AM/PM.
It takes me about 20 minutes to sort the meds and the food supplements I also use into the dispenser.
What a pain.

So time rolls on and I go see my Flight Surgeon to renew my med certificate.
Like the honest trooper I am, I listed in detail the pharmaceuticals and dosages my VA Doc prescribed.

A month or so ago I got a letter from the FAA:
"So you're taking Terazosin, Oxybutinin, and Metformin, huh? How nice! Maybe we'll deny your medical. Have your Doctor type up a detailed letter telling us more about why you need this stuff."

The FAA, like virtually every bureaucracy on earth, has resorted to a phone system manned by machines: "Press one to not be disconnected", etc.
I spent half an hour waiting to speak with a live human, then got disconnected.
When I called back I was informed the office was closed and I should "call back during business hours".

Next day, after another half-hour wait, I did speak with a live person and got a 30-day extension so I can get back home to work with my VA Doctor about clearing this up...
IF we can clear this up.

The idea of losing my medical certificate when I feel great and want to get out and do some more teaching?
Disheartening.

This getting old is frustrating.

Podcasts

I enjoy podcasts.
While we're suffering like caged animals, they can  be entertaining and informative.
I became aware of Bill Whittle back in 2005 when he was writing a weblog.
He's a pilot. He's clued in to what's going on in the world.
And he's SMART AS A WHIP.

I wish he'd run for president in 2024.
Spend an hour watching the above video and see if you don't emerge agreeing with me.