So I’ve had my MacBook Pro for about a week now and thought I’d let those of you that care know what I think so far.

There’s definitely a learning curve. Things are in different places than on a PC. For instance, you don’t resize photos in the image information or edit area, you resize when you export an image to a different file. Kind of cool and useful in it’s own way, but hard to find. Same deal with mirroring an image. You know, flipping it? It’s not where the rotate functions are. It’s a control click function that’s only available after you put a photo into a book or other form of document. Again, makes a twisted sort of sense that it’s available where you might need it, but it wouldn’t have killed them to make it available in the iPhoto editing area. I’ve learned how to ctrl-click in place of right clicking and that’s not that big a deal. Actually, I’m finding the ctrl click, fn click, option click, apple click thing pretty easy. But a lot of that has to do with the fact that my first word processor on a computer was WordStar and there were tons of keystroke shortcuts.

Hardware wise, I couldn’t be happier. The whole, “It gets too hot.” issue that I read about doesn’t stand up because I own a Toshiba Satellite. THAT’s a machine that gets hot. I bought a cool pad to put between the Toshiba and my lap about four hours after the Toshiba came home. I’m one of those weirdos that actually uses my laptop in my lap. Usually in my oversized LaZ Boy recliner. The keyboards is very nice. The keys are bigger than on my Toshiba and that means a LOT to a guy like me. I’m an old touch typist. I don’t mean to brag because nobody cares anymore, but I can type wicked fast. I came in when speed and accuracy in your keyboarding mattered. Having a keyboard that doesn’t cramp my hands into little claws by the end of a writing session is HUGE in my mind.

Now I don’t know if it’s just because of the duo core processor or if it’s because it’s a Mac, but performance wise, there is no comparison to any PC I’ve ever used. It’s just FAST. Programs OPEN. Tabbing between open applications is freakishly seemless. Civilization IV in fully tricked out animation mode? Smooth as buttah.

So far the applications that came with the computer work just fine. I may look around for a more powerful photo editor just because I like to play a bit more than is allowed in iPhoto. For regular cleanup and “family” style stuff, it works just fine. For mashups and goofing? Not so much.

I bought mine with iWorks installed. I’ve read good and bad reviews about the Pages word processor. I’m in the “It works just fine.” category. Actually, I prefer it to Word in a lot of ways because it comes with in a plain vanilla editing mode and you have to tell it to do something before it starts getting “creative” on you. One of the ways I knew the Air Force was in trouble a few years back? We changed the way we formatted our correspondence to fit the MS Word Standard vs bothering to explain to our folks how to use the technology to fit our standards. I’ve only played a little with the Keynote Presentation software, but it’s very cool. Much easier to drag stuff out of the iPhoto app or iTunes than it is to do any of that in Windows. Formatting, grouping, centering, etc. is cake. No worries there at all.

So, I’m not angry at myself for not waiting for the core duo, I’m angry that I didn’t go Mac with my first laptop a couple of years ago. For me it’s just easier and more comfortable.

Your mileage may vary.

Well, the 250 GB external hard drive has arrived, and the Mac Mini should be here on Halloween. Last weekend I made a Herculean effort to get RHG’s computer (Gateway P4 2.0 - GHz) to a) work and b) access the Internet. I had partial success with a., but the Internet access was more challenging. I finally resorted to downloading IE7 to a thumb drive and installing it. No luck. The best course of action at that point was to reinstall Windows XP Pro, the unintended result being that I reformatted the hard drive, lost everything not Windows-connected, and was still Internet challenged.

Plan B. was to replace the whole box with Real Wife’s old machine (Gateway Celeron – a real piece of crap) which since new has been afflicted with the silicon version of Alzheimer’s disease. It could, however slowly, access the Internet, but her games simply would not run. I virus-checked it with no results. After being driven crazy with RHG’s boredom, I told her to use Real Wife’s computer when otherwise not in use. Understand that RW’s computer has Norton Internet Security, is update automatically every night, and is virus scanned weekly. To make a long story short, I spent the better part of last night rebuilding the Windows registry. Something caused a Norton error that read “TCP/IP Not Installed”, meaning that incoming email was not being scanned. This came after RHG reported that Lemony Snicket’s A series of Unfortunate Events kept locking up with some sort of email screen. I suspect this was somehow related to her Hotmail account, although Instant Messaging may also be a culprit. I got everything back up to speed (including getting rid of programs that were mysteriously self-installed such as Weatherbug and MyWebSearch), and promised Real Wife that RHG would be forever banned from that computer.

Plan C was to tell RHG that she was getting her birthday present early. I realized today that I do not have a USB keyboard, so I had Real Wife pick one up during her weekly 20 mile track to Wal-Mart. Unfortunately, it has bells and whistles that require that it be used in a Windows machine. I will therefore try to borrow a keyboard from work until next week or, failing that, buy one from our local Dell “Superstore” (yes, in a town of 2,500 people we have a Dell Superstore). I don’t particularly care for the proprietor (or Dell for that matter), but it will work out because I can tell him that I only need the keyboard - I bought the computer elsewhere.

Which brings me to the point of this post. It should be apparent that there is a common thread to this and related posts by yours truly. RHG is a pox upon every computer she uses. I love her dearly, but there you have it. I’ve looked at the history of her usage, and all I see are typical web sites that an early teen would be drawn to like a moth to a flame. I suspect that malware practitioners using human engineering have targeted her demographic. Hence the Mac choice. In addition to a different OS, I am now pondering what other safeguards are appropriate. I know that Norton offers security software for Macs, but is it necessary? I realize that the threat will increase as Macs become more popular, but I would rather not pay for another subscription until I have to. Nothing on her machine is mission critical, so I suppose I can afford to be a beta test for the first widespread Mac virus outbreak (RHG may disagree, but it’s my AMEX card). The real question is whether that threat is a) already present, or b) imminent. I’ll spend the money if it is well spent, but it is just one more thing to keep track of. I am taking other precautions as well, such as migrating RHG from Hotmail to Gmail and looking for alternatives to IM (I am guessing that a mass migration amongst RHG’s circle will please many other parents, and perhaps significantly reduce the revenues of our local computer superstore (many of which are derived from near terminal malware infections).

On a related topic, I’ve spent the remainder of the weekend doing work-related patent due diligence. As I mentioned earlier, I’ve downloaded IE7 and installed it on all of the machines in my domain. I know, I know, IE is considered to inferior to Firefox et al., and many of you will probably tell me that its use is probably the root of my problems. Nonetheless, I like IE7. Patent due diligence requires simultaneous access to several on-line databases, as well as a word processor and spreadsheet, and everything worked smoothly. I particularly like the tab system, where you can have multiple web pages open without clogging up the bar at the bottom that shows what programs are running.

Tomorrow after work I have to patch the tube on RHG’s bike. Finally, a project that is a more traditional “Dad Project”.

How to Be a Megastar Tour 2.0.

People either hate Blue Man Group or they love them. I think they’re amazing.

Three drummers, not counting the three Blue Men, Three Lead Guitarists, a bass player and a keyboardist. Tracy Bonham provided additional vocals and killer violin.

The basic story: The Blue Men order “Ronco’s How to Be a Megastar 2.0″ and use the information contained in the disk to turn themselves into “Megastars.” In case you missed it when I was reviewing the makeup of the band, this is a percussive performance. They. Rock. Out. We were sitting in the nosebleed section of the Pepsi Center in Denver and our chests were still thumping. I’m not sure I could have handled seats that were closer. This show is meant to overload your senses. You are bombarded sound and sight. It’s electronic and tribal at the same time.

Through music, stage magic, comedy, the omniprescent video backdrop screens, instructions from the Megastar Disc, and no small amount of rewriting rock history, The Blue Men work their magic to give us “the feeling.” If you’ve ever been caught up in a rock show, you’ve had “the feeling.” If you haven’t…shrug.

Some creative “Mobkasting” via text messages added even another layer to the show. You could text message the show for $1.99 and the show text messaged you throughout the evening. This made for some interesting looks from people around me as I was texted instructions to “Lead your section in yelling like a Cowboy.” “Shout “FREEBIRD” at the top of your lungs right now.” and a series of trivia questions that got you, “To the roof.” You didn’t miss anything important if you didn’t mobkast, but it was fun. The trivia questions made me realize yet again that I have a head full of completely useless information.

This was the first time I’ve had a chance to see them live. It was worth it. I’m a Roof-Dweller. By study and practice I’m a Jung over Freud kind of guy to begin with. Jung is all through the imagery of the show. This isn’t a terribly difficult concept show. It’s very simple. Through work, entertainment, and technology, we’re becoming LESS connected. The masks we wear are becoming more real to us than us.

I have to mention their tribute to 9/11. Very simple. Very touching. Didn’t leave you feeling like you should cry yet again, but left you remembering. I won’t say more about it because you may not recognize it for what it is at first and I think it’s supposed to be like that.

I’m not sure how I feel about the “instructive” portions of the show. Is it really cool that they let people know it’s okay to jump up and down and act like an idiot at a rock show in 2006, or is it really disturbing that we need permission from the performers? Both? I dunno.

Love ya man.

In gratitude for donations recieved from readers, following last weeks’ “bleg”, a portion of Chapter 1 of the latest “book”… which even now is completed and sits on a literary agents’ desk awaiting a decision over wether he will choose to take it on, or not

Chapter One - Preparations and Partings

Third November, 1843… With a heavy heart and much trepidation, I am resov’d to leave this place, and remove to California, first for the sake of my Dearest Darling….

Under a pool of golden lamplight in the silent bedroom, John Townsend carefully uncorked the bottle of ink in his portable writing desk, balanced across his knees, and wrote in his tiny, careful hand:
“I fear for her health above all else. She has a delicate constitution, and cannot bear another cold winter, or disease-wracked summer such as this last without permanent impairment. Moses has been all talk this year past about the marvels of fabled California and it’s wonderfully mild and temperate climate. He is impatient for emigration and adventure and swears hourly to embark upon it, in company with Allan and Sarah M. I think it is the talk of impetuous youth but he is of that age to venture upon such bold enterprise. Of late though, I have begun to believe that such transportation may be my Dearest Darling’s only hope of recovery to full health. In any case, she would not bear the thought of Moses’ attempting such a perilous journey himself and would fret herself into an early grave…” John crossed out the last three words, and wrote in “a decline…”

On the bedside table, a full kettle simmered over a burning spirit lamp. Steam hissed from the spout. John set aside the writing desk. A heavy blanket was tented over the head of the bedstead, and the head and shoulders of the woman sleeping fitfully underneath, a basin of water settled onto a pillow close to her head, a basin in which floated a few drops of camphor oil, their efficacy nearly spent with the cooling of the water. John emptied the basin into the slops jar, and filled it again with steaming water, and a fresh installment of camphor droplets.
John regarded her face, sheened with sweat and still flushed pink with the remnants of fever, or maybe the heat of healing steam under the blanket tent that lent a spurious look of health to Elizabeth’s face. Her blond hair and the neck of her high-buttoned nightgown were soaked with the sweat of a broken fever. He bent an ear towards her breathing; easy, without the gasp and wheeze that frightened him down to his soul with the threat, that her weak chest and frail constitution might take his Elizabeth away from him and leave him alone in this world. He put back the blanket over his wife’s face, and the newly-steaming bowl of water, and caught a glimpse of himself in the dressing-table mirror; a broad-shouldered man with a merry, and bluntly pugnacious face. His neck-cloth was loosened, and the fine broadcloth coat that his Elizabeth insisted that he always wear, being that he was a doctor, and had a position to keep up, set aside. His hair also stuck up in rebellious points and curls; he had run his hands through it too often during this latest crisis.

Someone tapped cautiously on the bedroom door and after a moment, opened it just wide enough to look around.
“Mose, boy, you should be in bed. It’s past two in the morning,” John chided his brother in law. Young Moses hesitated in the doorway, a gawky boy of seventeen not quite grown to his own strength, young enough to look heartbreakingly like his older sister with the same oval features and fair coloring.
“You’re still awake, Doctor John,” Moses said, trying so hard to sound gruff and manly “Is she better?”
“She’s sleeping easily; I think the crisis is past. I sent Mrs. Montgomery off to her own home hours since. ” John often had to speak comfortable and reassuring words to frightened relatives; sometimes they were the words that they wanted to hear and sometimes as it was now, the plain truth. John was glad of that for Moses’ sake. Not only was his Elizabeth a dear sister but next thing to a mother to Moses, since their parents had died ten years ago in one of the fever epidemics that swept Stark County, in Ohio. They were but newly married then, but the best established of all the Schallenberger’s children, and so Moses was left to them, a boy of six years and all but a flesh and blood son.

“Until next time,” Moses stepped a little into the bedroom, and looked at John, eye to eye. “This miasma, these epidemics of fever; Mr. Marsh writes about the climate in California, being bountifully temperate and healthy. If we could but remove her from them…”
“I know, Moses. I read the same letters, and hear the same idle talk.” John kept his voice low, and rubbed his forehead. His eyes felt like they were full of sand. “But it is a long, dangerous journey, and to a foreign country, at that.”

(more…)

So…

What are you all using for your Spam Killer? Looking for something that’s both cheap (preferable free) and reliable and a little bit more current then Spaminator.

Wizbang.

“I Believe”
(as sung by Diamond Rio)

Every now and then soft as breath upon my skin
I feel you come back again
And its like you havent been gone a moment from my side
Like the tears were never cried
Like the hands of time are holding you and me
And with all my heart Im sure were closer than we ever were
I dont have to hear or see, Ive got all the proof I need
There are more than angels watching over me
I believe, I believe

Chorus
That when you die your life goes on
It doesnt end here when youre gone
Every soul is filled with light
It never ends and if Im right
Our love can even reach across eternity
I believe, I believe

Forever, you’re a part of me
Forever, in the heart of me
And Ill hold you even longer if I can
The people who dont see the most
Say that I believe in ghosts
And if that makes me crazy, then I am
cause I believe

There are more than angels watching over me
I believe, I believe

***********************

My brother played this song at the end of my mom’s funeral, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Even the stoics broke down as it played.

For some reason tonight I’m missing the loved ones in my life who now live uncrossable distances from me - not the ones in another state, but those in another state of being.

So, I always was interested in being a writer, having actually begun to scribble down stories and adventurous narrations from when I was in the seventh grade, or shortly thereafter. Junior High school was just as deadly, and most of my peers were just loathsome enough that taking that particular refuge in imagination was a perfectly sensible response for someone whose nose was buried in a book very nearly twenty-four seven anyway. I liked to read stories, and I liked write them, and to think up stories and tell them to people… especially to my little brother Sander, who was a perfect mark for some of my best. Like the one I told him, when we were at the beach, once when he was about five; there was a factory or a power plant away down the coast, with the towers and chimneys just barely visible. I told him that it was a factory for making soap; that it sucked in all the white foam off the waves that were breaking all along the beach in front of us, and transformed it into soap and detergent.

Then there was the one for Blondie, when she lost a helium-filled balloon; as it floated away, I told her about the Secret and Mystical Island of Balloons, away off in the middle of the Pacific. It was the natural home for all balloons, where they went as soon as they escaped from children who had let go of their strings. They even, I told her, had rescue squads who ran special missions to retrieve the remains of popped balloons from wastebaskets the world over, and revive them, once they were safe on the Mystical Island of Balloons. Then there was the time she was frightened by the original Gremlins movie; she insisted there were gremlins under her bed. Heck, I had once heard leprechauns under mine. “How did you know they were leprechauns?” asked my mother, when she found me sleeping in the closet the next morning. I had curled up there for some peace and quiet; the leprechauns were very rackety. “Because they were little enough to be under my bed, and they sounded like Grandpa Jim, “ I told her; always logical. I told Blondie that she was safe from gremlins as long as our cats, Patchie and Bagheera, were sleeping on her bed; it was a little known fact that cats were absolute death on gremlins. One of the hundreds of reasons I love small children, they are so gullible.

The trouble with going straight into writing became clear to me along about the time that I went into college for that amusingly useless degree in English, when a couple of things gradually made themselves clear to my young and wide-eyed self. One of them was that only a very few of the duly and properly anointed works of Great Modern English Literature written after about 1930 did not bore me into a coma. Seriously: the reading list for a course in the Modern Novel was enough to make me want to slash my wrists, it was that depressing. Secondly, I realized that of the writers I did enjoy, both ancient and modern… most of them had done something else! They had done something else, seriously and with varying degrees of success before picking up the old goose quill and writing. (Classic quip about trying to earn a living as a writer: “It’s like hooking. Before you start charging for it, better be sure you’re pretty good.)

Just look at the list: Chaucer— diplomat and courtier. Shakespeare — actor and theatrical manager. Dickens — newspaper and magazine writer. Kipling — reporter. Mark Twain — reporter. HH Monro— ok, so he was a man about town and wrote on the side. Sir Walter Scott — lawyer. Robert Lewis Stevenson — trained as a lawyer, worked as a travel writer. Thackeray — journalist and editor. Even the modern popular writers that I liked most had done something else for a bit. James Jones —- soldier. Raymond Chandler — oil bidness. Dorothy Sayers pottered around in advertising, and so did Peter Mayle of Provence fame. Carl Hiaason — newspaper reporter. Hemmingway — well, he squeezed in some reporting. Joseph Wambaugh — policeman. James Herriot spun a career as a veterinarian into four books plus. Only JRR Tolkien camped serenely in the academic utopia for most of his writing life, but he had served in World War I.

There were some exceptions either way, of course, but those works of literature, most especially the modern writers anointed by the academe seemed…. Well, pretty juiceless. Enervating. Arid. Given over to navel-gazing, and the weaving of elaborate language with nothing much to say. Even those few who did attempt something more in a novel than a dry exercise in special language effects seemed to look at real life, and real people as if they were something faintly exotic, carefully placed in a natural setting in a zoo and seen through a plate glass window. It almost seemed as if doing something else, anything else for a while filled a writer up with people, experiences, scraps of odd conversation and occurrences… filled them up with life and energy, and that was the kind of writer I wanted to be. Besides, going out and doing something else for a while looked like being a lot more fun than hanging around for post-graduate studies.

Comment #1, unaccuntably killed by SPAMINATOR, for which I extend apologies:

Email : jocrazy02@yahoo.com
Author : Joe
URL :
Body:
“One of the hundreds of reasons I love small children, they are so gullible.”

And as for the great writers? I still remember suffering under the required
reading list back in HS Senior English. Adam Bede. Wuthering Heights. Scarlet
Letter. If I hadn’t been a science fiction fan, that dry as old bones writing
would have destroyed my love of reading forever. I know it has a place in
literature, but I just couldn’t find a place for it in my reading.
Coment #2, also unaccountably killed by SPAMINATOR

Author : Matt
URL :
Body:
I had a friend who told his nephews that he had four hearts and used to be a
trapeze guy in the circus. He was very funny and never missed an opportunity to
spin a yarn, about anything at all to anyone. He was a computer geek for a
living - at one point he was on a team, employed by [large Detroit auto company]
that hacked into [large Detroit auto company’s] computers, networks, etc. to
test security.

I am not sure why we still have the current iteration of SPAMINATOR, as all it seems to do is delete and insult our regular commenters

Now released and available for download.

New in version 2:

-Phishing protection - reports if websites are possible scams
-Session saving - From the options dialog, you can tell Firefox to open at the same sites you left it. Also, if Firefox crashes, when you open it again, you get the option to restore your tabs and windows
-Web feeds - improved interface for web feeds, including the option to subscribe with an external program or service
-Spell checking - squiggly red lines under words you spell wrong
-Search suggestions - common search terms are suggested as you type in the search box

… to send up prayers, warm thoughts, white light… whatever your preferred methodology… for a missing US Soldier, presumed kidnapped in Iraq.

The Army has not identified the soldier, who works as a translator.

So, our local public television station finally got around to airing the first episode of this Masterpiece Theater drama, and Blondie and I taped it, and saved to watch on a night when there is nothing, but nothing intelligent on.
Just as they were about to reveal the nature of the parsons’ unsavory adventure in the fo’c’sle, I burst out laughing and said to Blondie “Oh my gawd, it’s “Buggery on the Bounty”!
Fortunately, she does know who Cheech and Chong are… anyone else remember that skit?

And as long as I am into low humor, I have to re-post these re-makes of romance novel covers. You’re welcome, I live to serve.

I bought the low end MacBook Pro just because I wanted the extra pixel real estate and video card but with only 512 Megs of RAM. Why? Because I bought two 1 Gig sticks online and installed them myself, and I saved almost $300.00! I realize Mac techs think highly of themselves, but come ON. $300.00? It was simply a matter of removing the battery, unscrewing three of the the smallest phillips head screws I’ve seen outside of a pair of eyeglasses, which is a hint for those of you who are going to do this yourself. Take out the 512 stick…which will fit nicely…somewhere…and then install the 2 sticks. Hwalla! 300 bucks in my pocket.

Frequent commentor John may wonder why I didn’t wait for the Core 2 Duo vs the Duo Core. Simple. I can afford this now and I have no idea how much they’re going to raise prices on the new ones. This works, I’m good, beautiful wife isn’t upset about the cost of this toy.

Okay, first impressions. As always, the packaging for all things Mac rocks. A lot of thought goes into it. There’s an elegance to the packaging that says, “This is going to be cool.” Even at the Apple Retail Stores, have you seen the bags they put your stuff in? It’s a plastic backpack! Even their bags are functional! Okay, I’ll stop. On the flip side of the store, the checkout clerk is NOT a conceirge, okay? They’re checkout clerks!

Open the box, take out the computer. Figure out the power cord because…it’s a bit different but it’s very cool. Plug it in, open it up, turn it on. English please. My name. My address. Yes I do. No I don’t. Why yes, that is my home wireless network, please connect to it, enter password. Do I have a dot Mac account or did I purchase a dot Mac box? Why yes, yes I did. Authenticate. Coolness. New email. Your welcome.

It’s thinner and lighter than my Toshiba. It starts MUCH faster. It opens applications MUCH faster. Web pages seem to FLY open. Even kludgey graphic heavy ones. I’m smiling.

Now all I have to do is read the two books I bought at the Apple Store today to figure out what the hell I’m doing and how everything works. That should take all of…hmmm, two weeks?

UPDATE: ARGH!!!!!!

Oh well, that’s what I get for thinkin’.

Chuckle…giggle…snort…BWWAAAHHHAHHHHA!

I thought it was funny, but then I think Osbert Lancaster is funny, too.

Link courtesy of Daniel Drezner.

When I was a child, someone gave my sister a boxed book-set. I was the reader in the family, and I devoured them. They were hard-cover selections of Readers’ Digest articles. Each book had a theme (Courage, Endeavour, and two others that escape me, just now). In one of them, I read for the first time of the Hungarian Revolution. I don’t think that was ever covered in any history class I took throughout my 17 years of schooling (my history classes rarely made it to WWII by the end of the school year).

This morning, I opened up my link to the Opinion-Journal online, and the first title in their content list is The Hungarian Revolution: impotent, poignant, personal.

My generation had the Tiananmen Square Protest. But fifty years ago today, it was the Hungarian Revolution. And like Tiananmen Square, it was doomed.

Oh, it didn’t seem doomed, at first. The entire city of Budapest seemed to fill the streets, the public square. 8-12 hours they stood there, chanting, stamping their feet, clapping. They wanted the Russians to go home, the Soviet star on the parliament to be turned off. The star was darkened, but the Russians didn’t go home.

For 13 days, the Revolution progressed. The first Soviet tanks abandoned their orders, and joined the people. Imre Nagy, the Hungarian leader, said Hungary wanted to leave the Warsaw Pact. The Soviet Union announced in Pravda that it was considering entering into negotiations “…on the question of the presence of Soviet troops on the territory of Hungary.” (source) The same day the article was published, Oct 31, the Soviets decided the needed to respond more strongly, and moved more tank units into the region.

By Nov 7, it was over. The Soviets installed a new Prime Minister, and promised safe passage to Nagy, who had sought refuge in the Yugoslavian Embassy. When Nagy left the Embassy, he was arrested and taken to Romania, where he was eventually tried for treason.

Remember them today… those heroes of yesterday, whose blood ran in the streets of their hometown.

Remember them, and their courage, and honor their memory.

“October 23, 1956, is a day that will live forever in the annals of free men and nations. It was a day of courage, conscience and triumph. No other day since history began has shown more clearly the eternal unquenchability of man’s desire to be free, whatever the odds against success, whatever the sacrifice required.”
- John F. Kennedy, on the first anniversary of the Hungarian Revolution.

Attention members of African Royalty/Govnernment who want to put a lot of money in my bank account: Stop calling me “Dear.” We just don’t know each other well enough.

and 5-6-7-8 Up and strettttch, prance-prance-prance, prance-prance-prance, nudge the man’s elbow, nudge the man’s elbow. Sit, look cute, pant-pant-pant.”Help” the man put on his shoes, nudge-nudge-nudge. Sit and wait for leash. Leash is clipped and bound for the door.

Walk-walk-walk, sniff-sniff-sniff, walk-walk-walk, sniff-sniff…plie’ and piddle. Leap away, run-run, STOP, darn leash. Walk-walk-walk, sniff-sniff-sniff, walk-walk-walk, sniff-sniff…gran plie’ and fart and pooooooooop, turn-turn-turn, gran plie’ and poooooop, turn, gran plie’ and poop and kick-kick-kick and BOUND away, run and stop, look at man, pant-pant-pant, head for home.

To: CNN News Director
From: Sgt. Mom
Re: Jihadi Sniper Video Broadcast

1. I am resisting the impulse to install viciously skeptical quote marks around the “Broadcast Standards” portion of the title to this post, mostly as it screws up the formatting and ability to post comments. So, consider them installed, as an indicator of my own viciously skeptical attitude towards your “broadcast standards” in airing selected portions of the snuff video provided to your news department through undeniably murky channels.

2. And good job on bringing jihadi death porn to a greater audience. Carrying the bag for propagandists is in the finest journalistic tradition of a Walter Duranty, and exactly what we have come to expect of an organization that kept quiet about Saddam Hussein’s regime rather than lose the CNN bureau in Baghdad.

3. Congratulations also on continuing in the fine “journalistic” tradition established by Peter Jennings and Mike Wallace in that long-ago broadcast of “Ethics in America” where in the immortal words of James Fallows: “Wallace seemed unembarrassed about feeling no connection to the soldiers in his country’s army or considering their deaths before his eyes “simply a story.”

4. Enlighten us: Is it more, less, or equally scummy to imbed one of your own reporters with the enemy and video American soldiers being ambushed and gunned down… or just to buy the video from the Al-Quaeda camera jockeys?

5. Realizing that CNN is engaged with the wider world audience, as opposed to merely and only us hopelessly tacky and déclassé Americans, I can only suppose whoever authorized airing the jihadi sniper video spent a whole three or four seconds considering the feelings of the families of those service personnel, and their comrades who are shown being targeted. That delicacy on your part is much appreciated. However, the next CNN crew to visit an US military base in pursuit of a story may receive a somewhat frosty reception.

Sincerely
Sgt Mom

I caught My Chemical Romance on SNL last night performing, “The Black Parade.” I don’t know their music. I’m not an emo/goth kind of guy other than I think Goth Chicks are hot around this time of year…okay, any time of year, I’ll admit the fetish. If they weren’t all children I’d be in a lot of trouble. I’ve said too much haven’t I?

From the clips I’ve just sampled I don’t think I’ll be picking up their earlier albums to get caught up. I don’t think I’m going to try to make it to one of their shows because…everyone would assume I’m a ticket taker or security guard.

They do however have my attention and I’m probably going to be picking up this album once it’s available for download. The reviews I’ve read compare it to, “A Night at the Opera,” “American Idiot,” “Sgt Pepper(!!!!),” and “The Wall.” Other than “The Wall” that’s some amazing company. I’m not going to bore you yet again with my opinion of what’s wrong with “The Wall.” Just accept that I think it’s crap, ‘k? The thing that worries me most about “The Black Parade” is that the “hero” seems to have daddy issues and you know…Everclear already has a new album out. I’m going to give this a chance though because musically, I liked what I heard.

So “The Black Parade” is a concept album, and possible even the new name for My Chemical Romance if this new sound works for them. Concept albums, for good or evil, are back. I think that’s a good thing. I mean think about some of the great concept albums. I’ve mentioned a few already, but how about “Breakfast in America,” “Leftoverature,” “Children of the Sun.” You know and I know that we spent wayyyyy too many hours listening to those albums with headphones firmly around our ears. It’s good that the youngsters have some headphone earbud candy, and it’s also nice that something from today’s music has risen from the clutter to get my attention. I find most current music absolute dreck.

Face it, when Tenacious D is in the top 10 on iTunes, for a pre-release, music has issues. Tenacious D are so funny my ribs hurt, they’re even musically pleasing, but how the HELL did they rise to the top? It’s October. All the good “school’s in” albums should be out by now and Jack Black’s humor is outselling Rod Stewart. Granted, Rod Stewart has become Barry Manilow, but do you understand the inherent wrongness there?

Anyway, you can probably catch the video for “The Black Parade” on almost any video site this weekend. If you’re a Tim Burton fan, you’ll love the look of this thing, and if you’re not give it a listen anyway.

My computer, upon which I am now depending upon more than practically every other non-living thing in my life besides air conditioning… inexplicably crashed on Thursday night.

It is fixed now, mostly because the local computer consultant/expert/wonder-worker who sold it to me originally, and to whom I have steered a lot of business, made a house call and sorted it all out, knowing how much depends upon this, now that I am trying to work the free-lance writing thing, and writing for this site and for Blogger News Network. Besides my (miniscule pension) and a pittance for working at the radio station on Saturdays, that is my only income.

He also fixed the wireless modem that allows Blondie to use her laptop, had a stab at sorting out what has been wrong with my printer, swapped over all my important files to the newer, faster computer with more memory that he had sold to the office which closed down last year and which my employer generously gave to me. (There were two other computers in the office, like how many others did my former employer really need?)

He took my old computer in swap for an hour of work, but I still will owe him for a good chunk of time, although he is in no hurry for payment… which is good, because I cannot afford it. The just-completed book sits on the agents’ desk, and a lot of other proposed work has been sent to various pubishers. I have a promise of income from it, someday…. but I need to pay the computer expert soon.

So, I am blegging for small donations to pay for this work and to keep my internet connection. We were doing OK, but this has us stretching our resources to the snapping point.

Paypal is fine… e-mail me for particulars… and my thanks.

Thanks to the new downsizing “Force Shaping” measures, it looks like I’m back to retiring from the Air Force next year, as originally planned.

I know I’ve made “jokes” about why I’m retiring but tonight I’m thinking more about the truth of the matter.

The truth ladies and gentlemen is that I’m in the way. No, I’m not sinking into some sort of dark place, I’m facing reality.

Reality: I joined the Air Force late and I’m 22 years into it and I’m 45 years old. I’m as old as most Colonels. I’m older than some Chiefs. My generation, my year group of folks is almost entirely retired. I’m feeling not alone, but lonely. There just aren’t that many folks my age in the Air Force anymore. I was at a symposium a couple of weeks ago with about 100 other Master Sergeants and I just didn’t feel like I fit in. That had a lot to do with age and the Class A type of folks who typically take this seminar.

Reality: If I’m going to make Senior, I’ve got at least another year and a half of rehabbling my file to make a decent board score. Look, I’m having fun being part of the booster club and being part of a Top 3 that’s really involved with helping the younger folks, but I’m just not willing to suck certain Chief’s schwing-stick or kiss another Chief’s butt to make sure my file rises to the top. I would love to maintain the illusion that the Senior or Chief’s board is based completely on a stratified system of filling in the right events in the right order. I’d be lying to you and myself if I ignored the fact that Chief’s talk amoungst themselves.

Reality: I simply can’t hack the new PT Standard. Because of past abuses and some genetics, I’ve got a blood pressure problem and a cholesterol problem. My feet, ankles, knees and lower back, simply don’t tolerate high impact aerobics any more. All of this is in no small part to continuing to doing things I shouldn’t have done and not doing other things that I should have done. Bottom line, I should be doing Tai Chi, Yoga, vigorous walking or low impact Cross-Training, and not Tae Kwon Do and pounding pavement. I’m all for service before self. I’m done hurting myself though.

Reality: The Air Force is changing…again. When I came in, we didn’t think, we KNEW that we were going to one day go head to head with the Soviets. My generation was pretty darn sure that we’d have to pick up an M16 to protect a base long enough to get the planes off the groud and then figure out how the hell to get out of Dodge…or not. In the 90s we were mostly thinking we might have to spank the Chinese around a bit or eventually get around to Iraq or Iran, but all that would be done from a distance or a secure forward deployed location. They told us and told us and told us that they wanted our brains, they wanted our technical skills. Today we want smart jocks, not nerds. It’s not enough to be proficient at your job, once again we’re expected to be warriors. I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point in the past few years, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m simply not a warrior. I don’t belong in a war zone. I would be a hinderance. I’m more worried about what my life means to my family and friends than I am about convoys or other NCOs or Airmen around me. Believe me, that hurts to admit, but on the other hand, I know it’s kind of normal. I also don’t have the nervous system I used to. Simple crap startles me. Boyo, my Ninja son, has managed to jump start my heart on more than one ocaission in the past few months. If my body follows the route of my Dad and sister, this is not going to get better in the next couple of years.

Reality: I’m becoming more jaded and cynical and I’m having a harder time keeping my mouth shut in front of the younger folks. I’m saying things out loud that I should keep to myself and other Senior NCOs. I’m close to becoming one of those old, cranky, bitter bastards that I can’t stand. I still have my sense of humor, so I haven’t crossed the line…yet…but I can see it coming.

Reality: I don’t see how the hell the Air Force is going to maintain it’s mission with the current round of personnel cuts. That’s a problem. I don’t see a solution. It’s time for me to get out of the way so folks who can see a way, can take my spot and get it done. I’ve managed to keep the dam plugged so far, but they’re temporary solutions to problems that are going to get worse instead of better.

And finally, I understand what the word weary means. I’m weary. I need to quit doing this before I turn into one of those guys that retires and has a heart attack six weeks after he walks out the door.