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Shoutouts

To the person or persons who have been paging me to an unlisted data connection in Bullitt County, live in fear.  Someday, I will find you and you will suffer.

To the man in Thornton’s today who had his ear gauged big enough to fit 12 gauge shells through the holes, you should fear the following two phrases:  “reconstructive surgery” and “professional job interview”.

To the wonderful person who figured out that if you took dark roasted coffee, ground it up into little bitty teensy weensy pieces, packed it into a cookie full of win, and then shot hot water and steam through it you get the sweet nectar of life, may the caffeine gods forever bless you.

To the sweet automotive angels that got that frayed wire on the van to poke my finger last weekend, allowing me to find the cause of my problems with that vehicle, bless you.  It’s been Africa hot here in Kentucky lately, and having air conditioning has kept me from breaking some or more of the vehicular manslaughter laws.

OUCH!

Only a couple more weeks to NFL pre-season football!

And yes, I am ready for some football!

Perchance to Dream

I walked into the Tractor Bar, smelling the smoke of French cigarettes and Cuban cigars coming from the little beer garden as it wafted in through the open double doors.  The bar was almost empty, with only a few Finns the size of small tractors playing darts in the back.

The Marilyn Monroe look-alike tending bar smiled at me.  Without asking, she passed me my usual, a Lapin Kulta poured into a beer glass big enough to drown in.  I settled down on the bar stool and started sipping at my beer.  It had been over a decade since I’d had one, and I was going to enjoy every drop.  The beer was strong, and dripped down my parched throat like warm honey.  Ahhh, bliss. 

As I drank, I read over the newspaper I found laying on the bar.  The front page was mostly taken up by a story about the war in Afghanistan, and a smaller story about problems between Georgia and Russia.  Since I was in Helsinki, the problems in Russia were closer to home, but I read both articles from start to finish.

As I turned to the second page, I heard someone at the other end of the bar ordering a Black Jack and Coke.  As I glanced down to see what other American was in the bar, I was surprised to see an old friend.  He looked just the same way he did the last day I saw him, 20 years old and healthy.  The intervening years hadn’t grayed his hair at all, and he was the same Irish/French-Canadian Massachusetts fire plug he’d been in Monterey years before.

“Hi DB, how’s life been treating you?” he said between sips of his drink.

“Not bad Sash, where have you been?”

“Oh, here and there.  How’s my name sake?”

“OK, I guess.  He started his freshman year of college a couple of months ago.  Seems to be doing well so far.”

“Good to hear.  What brings you here?”  His smile brighened his eyes, and I swear his red-blonde hair looked even brighter than normal.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.  We lost touch when you left Monterey.  Now you show up at my favorite bar in Helsinki.” 

“Oh, just travelling around.  There’s a few of us who are going to be here tonight.”

I gave Sasha a quizzical look, but he just smiled and turned back to his drink.

I took another look around the bar, and at one of the tables, two tall, thin men were playing chess.  To my amazement, I recognized them.  They were privates from the MP company next to my unit in Bosnia.  To be honest, I can’t remember their real names.  We all just called them Iff and Biff, the twin brothers of different mothers.  These two were closer to each other than most blood family, and you never saw oen without the other.  We’d met when I’d shown up to a Dungeons and Dragons game with my old worn out dice and a pencil.  They’d become good friends during my time there, and had been a part of the close knot of friends that had kept me from going off the deep end when I got a Dear John phone call.  They saw me looking at them, and waved hello before turning back to their game.

Turning back to the bar, I found the seat next to me occupied.  A pretty girl with short, dirty blonde hair was stirring the ice in a Pepsi. 

“Eileen!  What are you up to?  I haven’t seen you in decades, and no-one else has either!”

“Oh, not much.  Just coming ’round to see everyone.  How are you doing?”

“I seem to be having a pretty good day. Four old friends show up in my favorite bar.  I wonder what’s going on.”

“Well, that’s something we wanted to talk to you about” said a deep voice from behind me.

I turned to find a tall, thin, dark haired man sitting in the stool across from Eileen.  He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.  He was dressed in a pair of old faded Levi’s and a blue work shirt.  The smoldering Camel cigarette in his hand was about half gone, and he placed it in an overflowing ashtray next to a large cup of coffee.

“DB, we all know how much we meant to you once upon a time, but as things happen, we’ve lost touch.” the dark man rumbled as he picked up his mug. “It’s no-ones’s fault.  Life makes it hard to stay in touch when everyone’s in motion all the time.  Heck, I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize me after all these years”

“But I’ve tried to find all of you.  Google searches, posting my name and email on bulletin boards, joining trade groups, you name it.”

“Well, some of us didn’t quite make it to the digital revolution.”

From across the bar, Sasha raised his hand.

“And some of use don’t want to be found.”

Eileen looked down into her glass of soda.  Iff and Biff smiled from across their knights and pawns.

“And you?” I said to the tall man.

“Well, let’s just say it’s best that I stay in the shadows.  When the time is right, we’ll meet up.”

“What we’re all trying to say, DB, is that it’s not your fault or anyone else’s that we’ve all floated away from each other.” said Eileen.  I could see the ouline of a small tear forming at the corner of her eye, and reached over to gently wipe it away.  Eileen had been the big sister I’d never had, and was loved by everyone who knew her.  Seeing such a good and gentle woman cry was enough to break anyone’s heart.

“Yeah, we all try our best, but when it’s time to go, it’s time to go” remarked Sasha from the end of the bar. 

“And we all remember the good times” chorused Iff and Biff, now walking over to the bar.

“So we all know how much we mean to you, and our memories of the good and bad times won’t ever vanish like we did.” explained the tall man.  Everyone nodded their agreement.

“Well, I need to get going.” said Eileen.  She gave me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek in the same way she’d said goodbye the night before I graduated in Monterey.

Sasha came over and clapped me on the back a little too hard, the same way he had when he’d last said goodbye.  Eileen and Sasha walked out of the bar together.

Iff and Biff came over and gave me a hug together, the same way they had the morning I flew home.  They left the bar hand in hand, leaving me alone with the stranger.

“Well, it’s about that time.  Better finish your beer, son.  You’ll be leaving soon too.” he said as he finished his coffee.  He took his unfiltered Camel with him as he headed towards the door. 

Just as he got to the door to the beer garden, he turned around.

“Take care of yourself and my grandchildren, DB.  It’s time you got back.”

And then he left.

BEEP BEEP BEEP      BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Honey, wake up.  We’ve overslept,and I need you to get BooBoo ready this morning.” said the Irish Woman, shaking me awake and back to the real world.

Some dreams vanish the instant you open your eyes.  But I swear I could still smell the cigarette and taste the beer.

Show Some Love!

Breda and Bonnie are starting up their new Internet radio show tonight!

Breda is all aflutter, but she and Bonnie have done this before and done it very well.  I think they are going to rock, and won’t even break a sweat doing it!

Go on over to their sites and give them some encouragement, and then listen in.

I don’t know if it’s art, but I know I like it!

H/T to


Jumping on the Bandwagon

Since just about every other blog out there is doing it, here’s a computer generated analysis of my writing:

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Dear Technology Organization

I have gone to several conferences with your organization, and taken several classes with you all.  I read your website daily, and get several information feeds from you about updates to your technology field.  I have also taken part in several webcasts with you, but never again.

You see, your webcasts are, for the most part, put on by software and hardware vendors.  I don’t care about that, since you go out of your way to make sure the webcasts are informative and not just dressed-up sales pitches.  The information given out is almost always very well done, interesting, and applicable.

But since I have to give my contact information when I register for the webcast, the vendors then know who I am and how to get in touch with me.  A few days after the webcast, my phone starts ringing with sales calls, and my email fills up with invitations to demo whatever product they are pushing.

I come to your organization for knowledge and information.  I understand that you all cannot just put on these presentations without some consideration to the economic part of the industry.  However, I do not wish to be subjected to two weeks of unsolicited emails and phone calls in exchange for a 45 minute webcast on securing Linux and Solaris.

I will continue to attend your conferences and webcasts that are not put on by vendors, and I look forward to taking as much training from you as my company will pay for.

But I will no longer be attending webcasts that you allow a software or hardware vendor to create.  My time and my attention are better spent doing the job that I apply your information to than answering the phone and trying to politely tell a salesman to never call me again.

Just for the record

I live in Kentucky.  I am not from Kentucky.

The Van, She is Fixed

Those of you who follow my meandering thoughts are familiar with the trevails of my minivan.  Basically, it’s gone through four starters in the past three years. 

I put the latest starter in a month or so ago, and it still didn’t want to crank.  I could hear the starter whirring, but it wouldn’t crank the engine.  I’ve been trying to find time to work on it, and using my truck through the summer.  It hasn’t been too bad, but not having air conditioning in the truck this summer has sucked the zub kabir.

Last night while chatting with some friends, I mentioned that I was going to take the inspection port off the flywheel and check it for broken teeth.  Several people suggested that I re-check the electrical connections.

This morning, I crawled under the beast and rechecked all of the connections.  All of the bolts and nuts were on tight, so I started feeling around for the inspection port to check the flywheel.  While I had my hand up in there, something sharp and pointy stabbed my finger.  I twisted my head around to look, and there I found that the neutral wire coming off of the starter was coming apart at the crimp to the connector.  I took the connector off the starter, opened the crimp and re-connected the wire to it a little bit farther up the wire. 

After re-connecting the wire and re-checking that all the other electrical connections were tight, I reconnected the battery and tried the key in the ignition.  After a moment of cranking, she fired right up!

Wai, Newbius, and Agripa, I owe each of you a bottle of Kentucky’s Finest if we ever meet face to face!

Remember, according to my maintenance sergeant at Huachuca, all equipment is never “right”.   It is in one of these states:

  1. Broken
  2. Fixed
  3. F***ed

Now the van is fixed, when I was afraid that the flywheel was broken, and it was f***ed.  Hopefully it will stay fixed for a long long time. 

As a bonus, my Redneck Score is down by 10 points.  No more non-working vehicles up on blocks in the driveway!

Mystery Jet

A friend of mine forwarded this picture to me.  It was taken recently at Bowman Field here in Louisville.

By the painting on the rear of the fuselage and the tail, I’m guessing it’s a U.S. aircraft of Vietnam War vintage.

He asked me if I recognized it, and I didn’t.  Since I love a challenge, I started pouring over websites that listed U.S aircraft from that era.  I’ve found a few things that are close, but nothing definite.

Here’s all I know:  It appears to be a single engine, straight wing jet aircraft.  I’m about 85% sure on the straight wing, but if it’s swept wing, it’s pretty gradual.  There are what appear to be auxiliary fuel tanks on the end of the wings.  The wings sit just at the bottom edge of the fuselage, with engine intakes just to the front of and above the wing.  There is possibly another intake above and to the rear of the canopy.

Like I said, nothing I can find is a perfect match for this photo.  Closest thing I can find is the A-37 Dragonfly/T-37 Tweetybird.  But on those two, the shape of the tail and the fuselage are not quite right, so unless it’s a variant, that’s not right.  So, I’m stumped.

So, all of you aircraft guys out there.  Any ideas on what this is?