Mindless Ramblings of the Perpetually Tired

Mount Hope Bridge (Between Bristol and Portsmouth, no not in the UK) Google Earth

Alright, I'm sick of talking about politics and the imminent demise of our Republic. So I thought I'd just riff and scat on whatever springs to mind. But first, a funny video. (Well, I thought it was funny...)

As to the title of this post, the weather as of late here in Little Rhody has been rather hot and sticky. Makes it deuced hard to sleep when one has decided -

"Air conditioning? We don't need no stinking air conditioning."

Well, "need" is a rather strong word, air conditioning over the past three weeks would have been "nice to have," but "needed"? Not really, we're all still alive, if a bit cranky. (Sorry Joe, I'm sure I've just committed some trademark violation. I claim "Unfair Use," or something.)

As I drove home from the place of employment on Wednesday (today as I write, yesterday as you read, or sometime in the past if you didn't read this on Thursday, the 18th of August), traveling across that bridge in the opening shot, a bridge which I traverse every day, twice, I thought to myself, "Self..."

Actually I was remembering the days of my youth (cue musical interlude) -

Yes, I was told what it means to be a man, but that's not my point. I'm still on the air conditioning thing.

When we were young (no, stop that Eric Burden, I mean it) we didn't have air conditioning at the ancestral home. No, we had windows. No, we didn't have any fans either, because (I remember this well Dad) we had windows. Windows to let the night air waft through to cool us as we slept.

Um, yes and no. Oft times there was no breeze, so we would lay there in pools of our own sweat and...

Um no. We didn't live in a van down by the river (I love that scene by Chris Farley) we had no air conditioning, try and keep up.

Yeah, we dealt with the weather conditions. You learned to sleep in that pool of sweat after a while. Well, not so much "learned" as after a few nights one was so freaking exhausted that I daresay we could have fallen asleep on the surface of the sun. Yes, not literally, I know that's not possible. Even if you travel at night. Or something.

So yeah, it's been like old home week, easier really, after all, I have a fan. I know Dad, I know, I'm a big sissy but I'm paying for the electricity, so I can "splurge."

While I wish I'd put the window units in, I actually don't care for their noise, the quality of the cool air and having to pay for all that electricity. After all, National Grid sent us our energy evaluation (sigh, no promotion this year) and we are the 26th most efficient users of energy compared to our neighbors. Hhmm, I might go next door and ask to see their eval.

And yes, The Missus Herself attributed our wondrous rating to my cheapness / laziness. Harrumph, like Al Davis used to say, "Just win baby." Well, that's enough for now, it seems the temperature has dropped from "Africa Hot" to "Honey, is the stove on Hot." Time to get some sleep. And yes, it's time to ramble on. Take it away boys...

Yes, I went there.

The Fall of the West

(Source)

One of the things which concerns me in these troubling times in which we live is talk of states seceding from the union. I've heard it in regards to Texas, more recently I've heard it in regards to Maine. In the latter scenario, Maine would break off from the United States and join together with the Maritime Provinces of Canada (New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island) to create a new country. (Obviously for the former, Texas doesn't apparently need any help to be an independent nation.)

I can think of nothing which would accelerate the fall of western civilization faster than these here United States fragmenting into smaller countries. This is an inherently bad idea.

The United States is a large country, both in terms of area and in population (third in the world in both categories). When one thinks of the movers and shakers on this planet in terms of real, global-spanning power (both actual and potential for the global piece, both military and economic in terms of power), one thinks of the United States, Russia, China, and India. Canada, while large in area, is small in population, lessening her impact on the world stage as a solo player.

This doesn't mean that some smallish countries don't wield a certain amount of power locally. Germany, France, and the United Kingdom remain local powers (100 years ago these three countries were global powers) as do Japan, Korea, and Pakistan, though they have little real impact in the affairs of the superpowers except as allies. Though the United States is sometimes considered the last remaining super power after the end of the Cold War, China is fast catching up and Russia is once again flexing her muscles.

Here's your word for the day -

balkanize - to break up (as a region or group) into smaller and often hostile units

The Balkan Peninsula of southeastern Europe is named for the Balkan Mountains, which stretch through Bulgaria from its western border with Serbia to the Black Sea. (Balkan derives from a Turkish word that means "mountain.") The region known as the Balkans is commonly thought to include Albania, Greece, Romania, the European portion of Turkey, and often surrounding areas. The decline of the Ottoman Empire in the 18th century led to a series of revolts that accelerated the fracturing of the region into a number of smaller states whose unstable coexistence led to violence that came to a head in World War I. Since 1919, balkanize and its related noun, balkanization have come to refer to the kind of divisive action that can weaken countries or groups, as well as other things. (Source)

When folks talk about secession, that's what they really will get, the balkanization of the United States. One large, global power dissolving into a bunch of little countries. Why don't we just surrender to the Russians and Chinese right now? Believe me, secession will lead to bloodshed, it will lead to the death of the Constitution, and the only people who will benefit will be the tinpot politicians and their corrupt, rich cronies.

There's a smarter way, a better way.

The South isn't mad at the North, the West doesn't hate the East. No, we are all pretty fed up with the Federal Government. We, the people, have let them overstep their bounds, it's time to corral them and put them out to pasture. The concept is called "dissolution."

That other concept, rarely discussed, is dissolution of the Union. In this context, dissolution means that the modern federal government, through layers of radical statutes, executive orders and harmful constitutional amendments, has departed from the people’s intended constitutional order to such an extreme degree that it has become a different government, alien to the original system laid down by the nation’s founders. Therefore, the constitutional government we’re supposed to be living under has been dissolved. 

“You wouldn’t secede from a dissolved government anymore than you would divorce a deceased spouse,” said Ron Avery, a Texas patriot well versed in the writings of America’s founders... 

As Avery sees it, the issue boils down to this: Since the states and their people, which created the original federal government, are being ruled by a rogue regime that reset the dials so much that it overthrew the original constitutional order, then seceding from that unlawful, alien regime is a form of tacit acknowledgement of that impostor government’s legitimacy.

“You don’t secede from a dead union—[instead] you declare it dissolved,” Avery said. 

... under dissolution, the people and the states in which they live withdraw their consent to be ruled, and they do so without “going” anywhere. If even one state would be so bold as to declare the facts of the constitutional government’s dissolution, this observation could spread to where the legitimacy of the federal regime is seriously undermined and, with sustained effort, declared void. (Source)

Now I'm no pan-anarchist, but that article cited above makes a certain amount of sense. Some states already have sheriffs who have indicated that they will not enforce a law they consider to be unconstitutional. We don't need lawyers to explain the Constitution to us, after all it is written in English. The Supremes have interpreted that document badly in the past to suit the powers that be. They still do.

We, the American people, need to get off our butts and take back our country. My first step, vote against every single incumbent. Both major parties have failed miserably, it's time to start afresh.

Remember this in November - vote the bastards out, out, out!

What say you?

There Goes the Neighborhood

Primer desembarco de Cristóbal Colón en América obra de Dióscoro Teófilo Puebla Tolín. (Source)

Little Bird raised his hand, then dropped to one knee, something on the other side of the clearing had caught his attention. He knew they were not far from the river which delineated the eastern boundary of their clan's traditional hunting area. The rest of the hunting party followed his lead, dropping down to be in cover and holding themselves very still.

As Little Bird watched, that which had drawn his attention resolved itself into a group of strange looking beings. While they looked similar to his own clan, the way they dressed had subtle differences, also their hair was bound up in odd ways. Little Bird had no idea who these strangers were, but they had crossed the river into clan hunting territory and they might be a threat.

This was not the first time members of Little Bird's clan had encountered strangers. In the earlier encounters they had managed to avoid them, thinking that perhaps the strangers had gotten lost while out hunting. It happened often enough when the game moved on, sometimes following new paths as forage grew scarce from overgrazing. But now these encounters were becoming more frequent.

Since the last moon, blood had been shed when a party of strangers had been startled by two members of the clan, paying less attention than they should have, coming up on the strangers unexpectedly. One of the strangers had been slain when he made a sudden move, no doubt in panic, one of the clan had also died. Now hunting parties were always led by an older man. Better safe than sorry.

But what to do about these strangers? Game was becoming scarcer and scarcer, there was barely enough meat for the clan to live on, having to share hunting lands with these strangers would be impossible. Either the clan must move on, or the strangers must be driven out. There seemed to be no alternative.

For now, Little Bird was determined to kill this small party of strangers. The clan was hungry, there was no time to wait for the strangers to move on. It was kill, or starve.

------------------------------------------------------

xenophobia: fear and hatred of strangers or foreigners or of anything that is strange or foreign

If you look back to the ancient Greek terms that underlie the word xenophobia, you'll discover that xenophobic individuals are literally "stranger fearing." Xenophobia, that elegant-sounding name for an aversion to persons unfamiliar, ultimately derives from two Greek terms: xenos, which can be translated as either "stranger" or "guest," and phobos, which means either "fear" or "flight." Phobos is the ultimate source of all English -phobia terms, but many of those were actually coined in English or New Latin using the combining form -phobia (which traces back to phobos). Xenophobia itself came to us by way of New Latin and first appeared in print in English in 1903. (Source)

The fear or distrust of those "not like us" is deeply rooted in the human psyche. In the earliest days of our species, humankind was spread across the planet, our numbers were small, the land available was vast. As time went by, different cultures found their niche in the environment and prospered as well as could be expected given the difficulties of survival in those days.

Imagine, if you will, that your quiet little town stands alone, there are no other people, no other settlements, in any direction for a hundred miles. Your town is self-sufficient, raising enough crops and having enough game to feed the entire town with a bit left over to tide you over in case of a failed crop, or a harder than normal winter.

Away to the north there is another small settlement, once self-sufficient but now the soil is devoid of nutrients, the crops have failed for a second season. The game has migrated to greener pastures, perhaps the nearby river has been fished out. This settlement has two choices, stay where they are and die, or move on, like the game, to greener pastures.

So you're out in your fields one day, tending your crop. As you move further out you discover that something has been in your fields, eating the food meant for your people. Now wary, you move on, discovering a small band of people, who perhaps dress differently, maybe they even look different. But there they are, harvesting your crop. What do you do?

Fear of the unknown is something built into us, when confronted with the unknown we have one of three reactions: we prepare to flee, we prepare to fight, or (consumed by indecision perhaps) we freeze, maybe hoping that the threat will go away. It's a survival instinct, unless completely isolated from other humans, those groups who neither fled nor fought would certainly be destroyed. (Those who froze were nearly always destroyed. The deer in the headlights reaction is not always a viable survival strategy.)

Now as our species thrived and spread across the planet we came into contact more and more with other members of humankind. Usually the more advanced group would drive out (or kill) the less advanced. This can be seen in any place where a more advanced culture has collided with the lesser advanced. Ask the First Peoples in this hemisphere, ask the Aborigines in Australia.

In modern times many people still atavistically fear that which is different. Especially those from cultures which are somewhat isolated, with no experience with cultures different from their own. A denizen of New York City would probably not even spare a glance at a family of hasidim walking down the street.

Hasidic family in Borough Park, Brooklyn. (Source)

The gawking (and rude comments no doubt) in small town northern New England when I was a youth would (no doubt) be rampant. Of course, seeing a black family in the days of my youth was also extremely rare. And would have drawn the same gawking and rudeness, perhaps not overtly, but it would be there.

My point being is that cultural diversity is nothing to fear just for the sake of something being "different." While an extreme example, fear of other cultures is no more logical in modern times than a blue-eyed fellow like myself being mistrustful of someone with brown eyes. (Which would make me most unpopular with the bulk of my tribe. Most of whom have brown eyes. We blue-eyed types are most certainly in the majority in Clan Sarge.)

Xenophobia as a survival instinct is no longer useful. At some point in our history as a species it did make sense. Nowadays, not so much.

Don't fear that which is different, learn about it, discover its origins, its goals, don't fear and hate that which is different. Only fear that which is malevolent. There are plenty of examples of things to fear and hate in this world.

And some of them look just like us.

"With audacity one can undertake anything, but not do everything"*

Today's post is a two-fer.  A little bit of Air Force Museum and some related Medal of Honor info.  OldNFO had a post this week about FDR's plane and I commented that there was an airplane in the museum that was at least "dressed up" to be FDR's plane.  There were a lot of airplanes that weren't the "actual", the actual having been destroyed either in combat or lost to time.  There were also a lot of the "actual" aircraft and that was very cool.

One of the very cool aircraft in the museum was this one.

 Fiery Ginger IV was a P-47 flown by Col Neel Kearby in the South Pacific.  It was named for his wife Virginia who, evidently, was a redhead.

This site was the source for this photo as well as most of the details of Col Kearby's story

Regrettably, this was not the actual aircraft flown by Col Kearby as it, and he, were lost over New Guinea.

To the left is the P-47 painted in the colors of Col Kearby's aircraft.  In the center is the actual tail recovered from the crash site.

One of the .50 cal machine guns recovered.

Even though this is a replica, you can see that the Colonel was highly successful in his job as a Fighter Pilot with 22 confirmed kills.  In the course of researching this post, I came across some interesting pieces of information about the war in General MacArthur's AOR.  At the time of Col Kearby's involvement, Coral Sea, Midway and Guadalcanal campaigns had been fought and the Japanese had taken some severe losses.  However, the Allies were still suffering from what USCINCPAC would call, during my tenure there,  the "tyranny of distance".  It takes for-EVER to get things from here to there, even today.  In WWII, it was even worse.

So, General MacArthur and his Air Force Chief, General Kenney, were fighting a third priority campaign.  Europe first, Central Pacific next and anything left over would go to the South Pacific.  Kenney had been the 5th AF commander for about a year when he came back home to beg (literally) for more assets.  He finally convinced General Arnold to give him a Group of B-24s, 2 and a Half B-25 groups (what did the other half do?  Attach itself to someone else?  Hmmmm) and 3 Fighter groups, one of which was a P-47 group, the 348th.

Source

This event occurred in March of 1943.  The drop tank had not reached operational status yet, and if range was a factor in Europe,  think what it was like in the Pacific.  Additionally, the P-47 was built by Republic, which would eventually build the F-105.  I'd always thought the saying "if Engineers built a runway all the way around the planet, Republic would build an airplane that needed every foot of it to get airborne" was directed at the Thud.  Evidently, it originated with the P-47.

The aircraft would go on to be much admired by its pilots for its ability to sustain damage and return their little pink behinds home.  It also developed a good reputation as a high altitude escort for the bombers and its ability to perform ground support with its 8 50cal machine guns and large weapons load. That reputation would be gained in the future by extreme effort from Pilots and Maintenance. It was not the common perception in 1943.

Another little historical tidbit was that the P-47 would be operating in an AOR where the P-38 was pretty much ruling the skies.  The P-38 had inherently long legs and could turn well, which was an advantage against the Japanese.  The fact that it also had 2 engines was another advantage (when do you need two engines?  when one quits.)

So, there was some skepticism on the part of the receiving command on whether the P-47 could "cut the mustard".  General Kenney arranged an impromptu test.  He informed the Commander of the 348th Fighter Group, Lt Col Kearby, that the commander of one of the P-38 Groups would be arriving at Kenney's headquarters the following day, perhaps Col Kearby would like to greet him?

Suffice it to say, Col Kearby who, from all tales was a masterful tactician with the P-47, turned his adversary into a movie star.

At some point, Col Kearby mentions to General Kenney that his goal is 50 confirmed kills.  While he IS from Texas, apparently this was not a boast and was his actual intent.

I remember reading about the "competition" between Bong and McQuire for the most kills and did remember that there were two others in contention and that Col Kearby was one of those.  For some reason,(a couple of thousand hours in a fighter, the son of a fighter pilot and membership in 5 fighter squadrons perhaps?), I have an understanding of that mentality, so I'm ok with his goal.

In any case, it's now October and Col Kearby decides he wants to take some aircraft that are not currently scheduled for other missions and fly an offensive sortie against a Japanese airfield airfield.  They're 50 miles away when the Japanese scramble to intercept them.  The Japanese Air Commander for the region was already airborne and had directed the scrambling fighters to join him.  Before that happens, Col Kearby spots the commander's aircraft below him and dives into the attack.

As I read about this engagement, I recognized the tactics immediately.  You're flying in a fighter that is rugged, fast, and carries a lot of armament, but can't turn for squat.  How do you fight a nimble tight turning aircraft?

Simple, dive from well above, get going as fast as possible, close to minimum range (about 300 yards) before opening fire, then success or not, run away.  In other words, just like you'd fight with an F-4.

Why 300 yards?  Bullet Density.  The guns were harmonized for that range and you would have the maximum bullets on your aim point.  Each bullet hitting the target expends its energy on the target.  The more bullets, the more energy the target must absorb.

So, down he dives, spouting his flames from under (Sorry!), and shoots down the Enemy commander.  The remainder of the Japanese force, not knowing their leader no longer exists, wastes precious time trying to find him.

Col Kearby's formation regains altitude and is heading home when they spot, not only about 12 enemy fighters 10,000' below them, but a dozen bombers 10,000' below the Japanese fighters.  His wingmen call the tally and want to engage. Col Kearby tells them to be patient and maneuvers his flight into a perfect attack position at the fighters 6 o'clock very high.

From there, they attack and in the ensuing engagement, Col Kearby shoots down 6 more aircraft for a total of 7 for the day.  On landing, he is only credited for 6 confirmed kills as the ground personnel had not loaded enough film to record all 7.

His flight had 9 confirmed kills (and 1 probable), had fought for over an hour and flown for 3.5 and returned all 4 P-47s unscratched.

That's fairly impressive! Medal of Honor material?  At that point in the war? Yes.

On March 5, 1944, Col Kearby has 21 confirmed kills, 3 behind Bong.  But, the Japanese are running out of airplanes and finding targets is getting more and more difficult.   He's leading a flight and sees a flight of 3 Japanese fighters well below them apparently preparing to land.  He noses over his flight to begin the attack.  Again, I remember this maneuver and I also remember another fighter pilot-ism (actually it comes from Romancing the Stone) "Bastards have brothers").  Their initial attack is successful as he and his wingman shoot down two of the Japanese fighters, but the unseen 3 fighters in trail saddle up and ride.

Col Kearby is MIA for the remainder of the war, and  there was some hope as he was last seen attempting to bail out.  Unfortunately, it was not meant to be, his body was recovered by Native Tribesman still in the chute.  Apparently he'd broken his neck on landing.  His remains were repatriated in 1949 and buried in Dallas.

From his memorial in Arlington (Texas)

From his Citation:

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty in action with the enemy, Col. Kearby volunteered to lead a flight of 4 fighters to reconnoiter the strongly defended enemy base at Wewak. Having observed enemy installations and reinforcements at 4 airfields, and secured important tactical information, he saw an enemy fighter below him, made a diving attack and shot it down in flames. The small formation then sighted approximately 12 enemy bombers accompanied by 36 fighters. Although his mission had been completed, his fuel was running low, and the numerical odds were 12 to 1, he gave the signal to attack. Diving into the midst of the enemy airplanes he shot down 3 in quick succession. Observing 1 of his comrades with 2 enemy fighters in pursuit, he destroyed both enemy aircraft. The enemy broke off in large numbers to make a multiple attack on his airplane but despite his peril he made one more pass before seeking cloud protection. Coming into the clear, he called his flight together and led them to a friendly base. Col. Kearby brought down 6 enemy aircraft in this action, undertaken with superb daring after his mission was completed.

Rest in Peace, Warrior!



*Napoleon

Meeting Old Friends, for the First Time

Aidan's Pub (Source)

Some years back, I had no idea about this blogging thing. I read the US Naval Institute blog daily, but didn't really think of it as a blog, per se. Of course, at the time I really had no idea what a blog was. Not a clue.

Then one day, in a conversation with The WSO she told me of a brouhaha in her husband's squadron, VFA-136. Doting father (and father-in-law) that I am, I broke out the Google-Fu to get more "gouge" on the story.

And that's when I stumbled across a blog yclept Neptunus Lex. The proprietor of that fine establishment had a well written story of the events at VFA-136. I tipped off The WSO, she and her husband (Big Time) both indicated that the story was accurate.

At the time I also noticed that this fellow seemed to write every day, sometimes more than once. I started reading some of his other entries, soon I was reading Neptunus Lex every day. It was part of my daily routine. Get coffee. Fire up computer. Hit Neptunus Lex.

As I was "up north" in my employer's "vast global enterprise," working away from home, living in a hotel, reading that blog kept me connected with the outside world. Sure I could watch the news, groan at the commercials and think I was being "informed."

Nope, not my style. Still isn't.

Another thing about this blog was the number of interesting and well-informed folks who commented there. No trolls that I can remember, well, there were a couple but the proprietor would usually see them off the premises in short order. Generally speaking a rather nice group of people. Not the usual comments you'd read on the Web of World Wideness. (Check out damned near any YouTube video and read the comments. Like a band of bloody orcs marching out of Mordor, snapping at each other and being generally unpleasant.)

After Captain LeFon's (the inhaber of Neptunus Lex, callsign "Lex") untimely demise in March of 2012. I, and a great many others, felt as if we'd been punched in the gut. Our little community was rocked by the loss of our main man, the guy whose writing entertained and educated us every day. What would we do?

Well, a number of things happened. A new blog was created titled The Lexicans (yes, that is a link) and folks were solicited to write for it. I signed on, eventually created my own place (what you're reading now as a matter of fact).

Then some of us around the country gathered to salute the memory of our fallen comrade on the day of his funeral. Some of us started meeting face-to-face, here in New England, out in Sandy Eggo, Chicago, and other far flung locations. We discovered that we had much in common, not just an appreciation for Cap'n LeFon's writing and sense of humor. We started referring to ourselves as Lexicans. We became a community again. We even have our own Book O' Face page!

Well, Saturday I got to meet yet another fellow Lexican fact-to-face. Once again we discovered many things in common other than an appreciation for the old blog, Neptunus Lex.

Bob, for that is his name, and his son James (again, that is the lad's name, no last names though as we always like to maintain the privacy of our community) had traveled down to Little Rhody for their annual father-son road trip. Thought to look up Yours Truly whilst in the vicinity and so they did.

A fine dinner was had at that fine establishment shown in the opening photo, Guinness was consumed (For Strength) and stories were swapped. All in all, it was an excellent time.

The Missus Herself didn't really understand this Lexican thing in the beginning, but as she meets more of our merry band, she understands. Communities are built upon common interests and common beliefs, This Lexican thing is very real and very special.

So whenever I get the chance to meet face-to-face with a fellow Lexican, I always say that I'm meeting an old friend.

For the first time.

Thanks for stopping by, Bob and James. A pleasure to finally meet you.

Odds n' Sods

After another hot and humid day, a bit of rain slides in.

As you might recall, The Missus Herself returned late Thursday from her sojourn in California. It was late, she was tired (sleepless night, early wake up, long flight with two stops) and was not displeased with the state of cleanliness of the manse. I must admit, in the past I had not been as attentive to the house chores and had heard about it. In fact, when The WSO called me Thursday evening, I told her that I was doing some tidying up and she would need to speak louder to be heard over the vacuum.

"Yeah, right Dad. Why do you bother? Mom is a perfectionist, no matter how hard you clean, you just know she'll find something amiss."

Admittedly, that's why in the past my efforts at house chores had been less than optimal. But then I remembered something from last year, when I had again put some effort into cleaning. While I was rather proud of the job I had done, she walked in, pointed at the faucet in the kitchen sink and exclaimed, "It's like you don't even care!"

So this year I polished the faucet in the kitchen. The faucet in the downstairs bath AND the faucet in the upstairs bath.

When we arrived home from the airport, she walked into the house, commented on the humidity (bear in mind, in the Lemoore region of California humidity is typically not an issue, in Little Rhody by the Bay, it's a BIG issue), said hello to the feline staff (one of whom was ecstatic to see Mama, the other decided to shun Mother for having been gone an entire month), looked about and simply said, "I'm tired."

Now I was pleased that a tirade as to my apparent need to "live in a pig sty" didn't follow her entry into Chez Sarge. However, praise craver that I am, I pointed to the faucet in the downstairs bath and said, "See my Dear, I even cleaned the faucets this time." Rather than pat me on the head and point out what an idiot I was, she nodded, smiled, and said, "Yes, I noticed."

Are ya gonna rain, or not?

So I figured I was home free. Did the job. Looked good. Wife happy, me happy.

While slaving away at work doing engineering at my place of employment on Friday, my smart phone dinged. No really, it made this little "ding" noise. Come on, do I have to play a clip of the noise it made? Really? Sigh...

Okay.

Yes, kinda like that.

Anyhoo.

I checked my phone to see if it was trying to tell me something, sure enough, a fellow Lexican had sent me a Book O' Face "personal message." (I find that terminology odd, I mean, is the Book O' Face capable of sending  impersonal messages? But I digress...)

Now the "PM" was seeking a meet up as this fellow Lexican was going to be in the area and perhaps I might like to have a pint of the Guinness with him. Of course, I answered in the affirmative. Then I figured that I better call My Lord and Master, The Missus Herself and see if she wished to accompany me to the place where Guinness is served.

So I rang her up and jocularly asked if she was recuperating from being with the grandkids for a month.

Which I thought would be like this...

(Source)

Nah, more like this...

(Source)

Yeah, the grandkids take after me in some ways.

But The Missus Herself wasn't going to play along with my jocular tone, seems that I had mistreated the garden in her absence and the weeds were taking over. She was not pleased. No, not at all...

(Source)

So this day, Saturday, I am to do penance in the yard. Pulling weeds (I don't think she said, "with your teeth" but I wouldn't put it past her) and various and sundry other gardening related things.

But she did agree that going to a place where Guinness is served on draft (and a very lovely plate of bangers and mash can be had) was a right fine idea. "Yes, yes I will accompany you to meet this Lexican fellow," said the love of my life.

So, I've got that going for me.

So did it rain? (I know you need to know.)

Why yes, yes it did.
(Just enough to boost the humidity to Fort Walton Beach levels...)

Yeah, I've got that to look forward to, while pulling weeds...

...in the yard...

...with my teeth.

You'd think I'd learn to listen to my better half.

Out of Sorts...

(Source)*

In aviation, a spin is an aggravated stall resulting in rotation about the center of gravity, wherein the aircraft follows a downward corkscrew path. Spins can be entered unintentionally or intentionally, from any flight attitude and from practically any airspeed. All that is required is sufficient yaw rate while an aircraft is stalled. An incipient spin is typically driven by inputs made and held by the pilot, whereas a fully developed spin is a self-sustaining maneuver. In either case, a specific and often counter-intuitive set of actions may be needed to effect recovery. If the aircraft exceeds published limitations regarding spins, is loaded improperly, or if the pilot uses incorrect technique to recover, the spin can lead to a fatal crash. (Source)

So far this week has been "interesting" to say the least. I'm not getting a whole lot of sleep, not sure why, maybe I've been too excited about The Missus Herself returning home from California, maybe it's the high humidity we've been experiencing, maybe I'm just sick of being on my own for an entire month.

Then again, I have surgery scheduled for a week from today and that is always a morale booster. (Not!) But in essence, that opening cartoon describes my week pretty well, I'm in a bit of a spin. As long as I don't do anything grossly stupid, I'll pull out of it just fine.

(Source)

Of course, there's always the chance that cartoon #2 is in effect. In which case I might be fire trucked, though I doubt it. The past month has been anything but smooth.

So just a short post, more tomorrow (I hope) but for now you should go to the source link for those cartoons. Some interesting F-104 stuff. Well, interesting to me anyway. As I write this I am still a few hours away from picking up mama from the aeroporto, as you read this, well, she's already home.

Until tomorrow then...

At the Smithsonian - YF-104A, AF serial no. 55-2961, NASA aircraft number 818 was flown by NASA for 1,439 flights
between 27 August 1956 and 26 August 1975. (Source)

* There's that word again, "normal."