Source - links updated 6 March 2024 |
Sun 26 Feb 2006
Posted by lex under SoCal
Sorry for not weaving one more
strand of the Rhythms saga, but it was nuts this weekend. Simply. Crazy. And
anyways, I did find a lovely little WordPress plug-in that would “find all” and
“replace all,” which means that all of those strange html tags that got loose
during the iBlog to WP 1.5 to 2.0. to 2.0.1 process have finally been put to
bed. Which is nice. For you.
You know about the retirement on
Friday, so: All caught up there. What I haven’t shared (because I’ve been, you
know: Saving it) is the story of the other things that went on.
First a little trip backwards in
time. On Wednesday I was desired and required to be up in the Front Office, for
to speak with the actual Chief of Staff on a Matter of Some Import. While
waiting to see himself (Himself not being in town at the moment) a female chief
petty officer approached me hesitantly:
“You’re a pilot sir?”
“Why yes. Yes I am, actually,” I
replied. Thinking that, you know: The wings on my khakis were a dead give-away,
for anyone as had eyes to see.
“A jet pilot sir?”
“Yes. I flew FA-18’s,” I replied,
absurdly gratified but wondering where this was going.
“What are you doing on Saturday
evening, sir? Have you got any plans?”
“Eh,” non-plussed. What can this
mean? At all?
“There’s a party sir, down at the
Aerospace Museum, and I wondered if you might want to go?”
“Erm!” said I, almost forcefully.
“Oh,” she said, laughing (ha-ha!),
“I meant with your wife, sir.”
*Blushing furiously*
Well. Turned out there was this
thing down in the park. A dinner at the Aerospace museum, with all of the finer
set turned out in their very best shore-going rigs. Summat to do with a rich
guy who flew to Quito, Ecuador on a “goodwill trip” (Lex translation:
Boondoggle) way back in 1931. Turns out his son reprised the trip in 1961. And
now his grandson wants to do it again in 2006 to, you know: Cement
relationships, or something. In a company-provided Pilatus PC-12. Which is a lovely airplane, that your humble scribe
wouldn’t mind getting his mitts on, for all that it doesn’t have afterburners,
won’t loop and can’t blow anything up but itself.
Which when you think about it, is
rather sad. But still.
Jay Leno was there, accompanied by
his chin. The two of them left your humble scribe and his fair lady fit fair to
burst at the seams with laughter, us being nobbut a few steps from the stage
and himself owning a well-deserved reputation for making the funny.
And all the other Very Rich Folks
from Sandy Eggo were there as well, with a few of us from the sea services
there to provide color, as it were. In our mess dress blues and whatever the
Marines Call that rig of theirs that latches at the throat and opens at the waist, not
unlike what I have seen of Mexican gang wear up in Los Angeles, but never mind.
Speaking of uniform woes, I found to my shock and awe on Saturday morning
(those festivities being the least of my concern) that the mess dress blue
jacket I had a-waiting in the closet was one full gold stripe short of my
current rank, egads. And the Big Boss himself would be there, so no fair
pretending to be a commander.
Fortunately I had a comrade of equal
rank and approximate size just over the hill, and borrowed his jacket. So that
worked out. Except that I also discovered that while both of us are what is
politely called “stocky,” he is also a smidgen shorter than myself, which means
that I ended up looking discreditably like one of those monkeys from the Wizard of Oz, at least in my own regard, selah.
Short and stocky does not equal tall and stocky, as it turns out.
Nothing for it though, head down and
keep churning.
Svelte, we felt, when we sat us down
to dine. Plutocrats and oligarchs on every side, and ourselves but decoration -
but not alone in that: Across the table from us were three men of a certain age
- shall we say mid-60’s and be kind? Accompanied by their wives, and in once
case a fiancee, all of whom were at least 30 years younger than their squires
and contrasted to their gents in fitness and in beauty as the day is
differentiated from the night. And everywhere around us men sat with women half
their age and thrice (at least) their beauty, with every here and there an
island of two who had been together for the long haul, bless ‘em at every step.
I suppose the sight of these pairings was supposed to engender a kind of envy,
but in me at least it had the opposite effect. Let it go, says I, and
acknowlege the eternal truth: Ain’t love grand?
Later, having made our apologies,
the Hobbit and I made our way back up to the north country, and decided to stop
in at a lovely little place in the town of Del Mar for to sink a nightcap. I had two
occasions to explain that, no, as far as I knew, there was no cruise ship in
town, and yes, that this was in fact a uniform belonging to the officer corps
of the interlocutor’s Navy, charmed. So very many young and comfortable people,
so blithely unaware of what’s going on in the world. The world itself being so
very far away from Del Mar.
And today of course is but three
day’s shy of the Biscuit’s birthday, so I took the opportunity to take her and
her best friend on a shopping trip down to Pacific Beach, a place she favors,
as, truth be told, I once did too a couple of decades back. The thing to do
today is shop at clothing “exchanges,” places where people turn in their
clothes for not much money, and buy new (old) clothes for not much more. You
can leave a store with armfuls and not have spent very much, which suits the
both of us very well. Eventually though we made our way from the places where
people come to posture for dramatic effect, with tatoos and piercings on
several display, to the Goodwill store, where some people come to shop. And to
tell you the truth, the whole thing made me feel just a little low.
See: We were shopping there as a
choice. We were slumming, sort of. And there were many, many folks shopping
there because that was what they could do, to shop at Goodwill.
Between dinner at the museum, and
shopping at the Goodwill store, there’s something I can’t quite get my head
wrapped around.
It was a strange weekend, that way.
[Part 3 to follow]
NOTE- Source link at the top takes you to the
Archive.org original WITH reader comments.)
Ah...the "comments"; seems Lex did have a following ( I came to his site late, regretfully). The uniform quandaries are known to most of us who've had to "represent".
ReplyDeleteThe benefits too; for there are those examples of " clothes make the man", there IS something about the Prussian collar ("choker") that seems to appeal to the ladies.
Ah, and having to borrow from true friends. I was just telling the tale of wearing borrowed whites at a reception and having a meatball roll down the entire ensemble, requiring an abrupt exit; at least I'd made it through the ceremony intact and the dry cleaner managed to save the uniform.
Boat Guy
Indeed, Lex did encourage comments, including polite disagreements, and they are part of what bonded his readers into an enduring friendship and loyalty which continues in a private group even today, 18 years after Lex's post above, and a dozen years after his death.
DeleteTomorrow's installment WILL INCLUDE the original comments, so all can see how readers reacted to that post, which is a bit more introspective and appreciative of one's condition.
The Wayback Machine captured comments for most of Lex's posts if anyone cares to dig them out.
John Blackshoe
God, I miss that guy.
ReplyDeleteI completely understand Lex's inability to wrap his head around the dichotomy. Sometimes we might feel like we don't deserve to have what we have, when faced with others who don't; a little guilty of our riches, when we consider what could have been done with that fortune for others without.
ReplyDelete