Execute

Source

LCDR Josh Higgins was walking past the Oval Office when he heard the President's administrative assistant call out to him, "Josh, do you have a minute?"

"Sure, what is it, Ma'am?"

"Don't you have a brother in the Army, some kind of explosives expert?"

"Yes, he's out at Kirtland, in New Mexico, Mrs. Goings¹."

"Do you have a number for him?"

Higgins was puzzled, "Sure." He pulled his phone out, found his brother's number, then jotted it down on a slip of paper and handed it to Mrs. Goings.

"Thanks, Josh."

"Sure, Ma'am, no problem."

The President was massaging his forehead, wondering why he had ever left the real world to get into politics. He dropped his hand to his desk when he heard his admin come in.

"What is it, Nancy?"

"Well, Sir, I'm no expert but this thing you're dealing with in France, it's a bomb, a possibly broken nuclear bomb, right?"

Nakagawa understood that Mrs. Goings knew a lot more than she let on, she heard things around the Oval Office that would no doubt drive one of his security people crazy, but she was a valued asset. She'd been superb when he'd been the Secretary of the Interior, she was certainly in her element now. He sat up.

"Yeah, you have some thoughts on the issue?"

"Not exactly, but the French want to encase it in concrete, like the Russians did with their reactor at Chernobyl, right? I saw the HBO mini-series on that, a nasty business."

"Yeah, I saw it too, but ..."

"This is a bomb, and not a big one. Did you know that we have an Army unit that specializes in just this sort of thing? Josh Higgins' brother is assigned to them. I just read an article about them online a few days ago."

"Doing your own research, Nancy?"

She smiled.

Nakagawa realized that without a network of people to work on things, there were a lot of things in government that just didn't get done. He felt lucky to be surrounded by capable people who didn't mind speaking up when they had something to offer.

"Do you have any more ..."

"They're the 21st Ordnance Company, out of Kirtland. LCDR Higgins' brother's name is Will, he's a Sergeant First Class." She handed the President a slip of paper, "I took the liberty of setting up a classified phonecon for you with his unit in one hour."

Nakagawa glanced at the slip of paper, it said, "I deserve a raise." He smiled.

"Yes, you do."

Captain Mark Radcliff, the Blackjacks' commanding officer, nodded as the President explained the situation outside of Marseille. He was wondering why the French military hadn't thought of this, surely they had Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) experts. He brought that up.

"They do, Captain, I asked President Beaugendre about that, they're not really certified for this particular task."

"Well, it is pretty specialized knowledge, Sir. But disposing of this thing seems right up our alley. Risky, but doable. It's what we've trained for."

"How soon can you be wheels up once I get the okay from the French?" Nakagawa asked.

"We're loading our gear onto a C-17 right now, Sir. We can be wheels up in ..."

The President heard bits of a conversation in the background.

"30 minutes, Sir."

"Good, I'll have the necessary orders cut. Once you're outbound we'll send you whether it's a go or a no go."

"Roger that, Mr. President."

The Ministère des Armées, François Vandamme, wasn't happy with the idea of an American team coming in to do the job his own forces should be able to deal with. But it was something that needed doing, he also realized that this might help get him the budget he needed to upgrade the French military's capabilities in that area. Perhaps a few other things as well.

When Général Malet finished complaining that he'd mentioned this many times before and that it was a bit late to ask the French Army to back up the Americans with something they should be able to handle themselves, Vandamme spoke, "My dear Théo, I know, I know, but for the moment we need to deal with this device. We don't have the capability at the moment, we will in the future. I need your very best EOD man on scene when the Americans arrive. Is that clear?"

There was a pause on the line, Général Malet knew that his boss had a vast temper, not much different from his famous ancestor³ so he simply responded, "Oui, Ministre, Colonel Dupont will be in Marseille as soon as I can get him on a plane."

"Very good. Merci, Théo." Vandamme severed the connection then had his secretary arrange for a meeting with the President. Might as well make his case for a bigger budget now, while the government had this hanging over them.

Loshchilov had eyes on the chateau, none of the cabal had left. A delivery truck had arrived in the late morning and from what he could see, someone inside was planning a celebration. He looked over at Koltsov and shrugged, they would see how much those bastards got to celebrate.

At that moment their "wives," Savelievna, and Borisovna, were in town preparing to attend the party. The Russian consul, with many contacts in the restaurant trade in Zürich, had arranged to have them added as staff to the catering business. The owner of which was deeply in debt to the Russian mob.

As he watched, another car pulled up, then drove off, no doubt a local car service from the airport. Loshchilov smiled, "Excellent, Kliment Ilyich Kargin has arrived, let the party begin."

Loshchilov slid back down the little hummock and said to Koltsov, "Things are moving along nicely, the catering staff has arrived, the regular staff, all three of them, just left. We needn't worry about harming any Swiss nationals tonight. And the cherry on top, Kargin just arrived as well, the gang's all here."

"What about the caterer himself?"

"He's actually German, from Bavaria. As are the two male wait staff. Petty criminals themselves I've been given to understand."

Koltsov grinned, "So no innocents will be involved?"

Loshchilov shuddered, Koltsov's grin had been the last thing many had seen before dying violently.

"So,when is this f**king party supposed to start?" Kliment Ilyich Kargin asked with a snarl. His flight from Moscow had run late, his own aircraft was in the hangar awaiting a new engine, so he had flown commercial. First class, but on Aeroflot that was hardly something to brag about. He'd also consumed far too much vodka on the flight.

Ruben Klerk rubbed his hands nervously, "10:00 PM, Herr Kargin. Can I show you to your quarters so that you might freshen up?"

Kargin swayed, looked at his watch, it was only 6:32 PM, "Yes, move it, I can take a nap after I shower."

Klerk stood there for a moment, he, as a multimillionaire, was not used to being ordered about, but this drunken Russian scared him.

"Certainly, follow me."

In the main subterranean conference room, Johann Obrecht, Rafael de Lima, Pierre Mallet, Elihu Baum, Tahara Yoshimatsu, and Aziz Haghighi were meeting. They were in a very good mood, their source in the DGSE had informed them that their "package" had arrived in Paris. It would be emplaced that very evening just down the street from Sainte-Chapelle, not far from Notre-Dame on the Île de la Cité, the very heart of Paris.

Obrecht's expert, who was in Paris to prepare the device, had assured him that everything within the Boulevard Périphérique would be leveled. Essentially, the City of Light would be destroyed, the dream of his predecessors would be made real. He had no doubt that had the Führer still been alive, he would have received the Grand Cross of the Iron Cross for this exploit. It made him shiver with pride.

Everyone in the room was already a bit tipsy, they'd been imbibing since shortly before three in the afternoon. The only one there with any regret in his heart was Elihu Baum. He despised Obrecht and Haghighi, but he lusted for power. Obrecht could make that happen. For now he would stomach his "colleagues" as best he could, the rewards would be well worth it.

Obrecht's expert had been tortured, then shot once his interrogators had drained him of useful information. He had been promised amnesty if he made the call to tell Obrecht that everything was in place.

"Yes Sir, the sun will rise over the Champs Elysée very early tomorrow. It should be spectacular."

After that, much to the man's dismay, the torment began. When his boss was celebrating in his underground conference room after being told of Kargin's arrival, the French took him to the lower part of the building and shot him. His corpse was already ashes in a nearby crematoria when Obrecht and his minions sat down to dinner.

The device itself was still outside Marseille, a special American Army unit was supposed to deal with that once they arrived. The head of the DGSE, Philippe Berthelot, had discovered the traitor on his staff some months ago. They had let the man inform on them to the monsters in Zürich, as he thought of them, while closely monitoring his activities.

Berthelot sighed as he sipped his cognac, the traitor had gone "swimming in the Seine" with a nine-millimeter slug in the back of his neck, Obrecht's expert had been tortured to within an inch of his life, then been shot and his body disposed of in the river. Berthelot didn't consider himself to be a cruel or a violent man, but any threat to his beloved France and he would countenance the deaths of thousands. If only he could be in at the kill in Zürich, then he could die a happy man.

Obrecht raised his glass to propose a toast to the men around the table, as the room got quiet and all eyes turned to him, there was a loud crash outside, in the near distance. He turned to yell at his bodyguard to go investigate, when he remembered the man was not on site, for tonight was to be unsullied by hired help and minions.

"Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. Let me go see what that was. There have been some minor rockfalls in the vicinity as things begin to freeze, probably nothing, but it pays to be cautious."

"I'll go with you, Johann, I need to go to the loo anyway." Kargin didn't want Obrecht out of his sight for a minute. He sensed that his hit team was close by, he paid Loshchilov a lot of money, tonight he expected his return on investment, Obrecht dead in a "terrorist attack," after which he would take control of the cabal.

The others were tipsy on fine wine and cognac, he was drunk with power.

Loshchilov keyed his mic, "Iosif Semyonovich, kill the power, now!"

Before he could do so, he was startled by a loud crash from just down the valley. Koltsov turned in that direction and muttered to himself, "Huh, rockslide, that's going to garner some attention."

He saw the outside lights of the chateau come on and two figures stepped into the light, Kargin and Obrecht. "Very nice."

At that point, Koltsov pushed a button which detonated a small charge on the power lines leading up to the chateau. The place went dark.

Koltsov waited, he heard the growl of the chateau's emergency generator starting, it turned over once, twice, then stopped. The chateau remained as dark as the grave.

In his earpiece he heard Loshchilov's voice, "Vypolnyat'!⁴"

¹ Being a huge fan of Tom Clancy, I didn't realize back when I named the President's administrative assistant "Nancy" that that was the same first name as Admiral Greer's, and later Jack Ryan's, admin at CIA. Tuna pointed that out. As her name was Nancy Cummings, in my world, Nakagawa's admin is named Nancy Goings. Personal tidbit - on my high school football team I had two teammates, one named Cummings, the other Goings. I think I was the only one who found that amusing.

² 21st Ordnance Company (EOD WMD) “Blackjacks." You can read about them here.

³ General Dominique-Joseph René Vandamme, one of Napoléon's generals. Reportedly a brutal and violent soldier, renowned for insubordination and looting, Napoléon is said to have told him, "If I had two of you, the only solution would be to have one hang the other". Napoleon later also commented: "If I were to launch a campaign against Lucifer in Hell, Vandamme would be at my back." Source

⁴ Execute! (Russian - Выполнять!)

The Sarcophagus

Source

Jean-Pierre Lajoie and his team considered themselves lucky. Although a radiation detection system for the highways and railways of France had been proposed some years ago, a paper describing such a system had been published in the United States in 2008, the cost of such a system had been considered prohibitive.

Luckily for Lajoie, a prototype system had been deployed around a number of French ports, mostly along the Mediterranean, in early 2025. It had worked during testing, up to a point. The scientists had noted that the radiation which could be detected had to be at very high levels. So high that whoever was transporting the material wouldn't survive the exposure for more than a few days.

But the system had been left in place as top government and private labs worked on a system which could detect much lower levels of radiation. But, as one scientist quipped, "We don't want it so sensitive that an older watch with tritium or radium won't set it off." What was in place worked, but only if a strong source was presented.

That had happened on a wet afternoon in late September when the system had sent out an alarm as a train had passed out of Marseille, northbound to Paris.

Maxime Lemaigre had studied the data from the sensors and had shaken his head, "This is enriched uranium, it has to be. Whatever someone used to shield it has broken down or has degraded in some way."

That's when Lajoie and his team had been dispatched. Six boxcars had been detached from the train and had been shuttled to a nearby siding and placed in a maintenance barn. Lajoie knew that the shielding from that barn would be inadequate and had told the government so. Of course, they didn't believe him.

So Louis Bonnot of the Autorité de sûreté nucléaire (ASN)¹ had been sent. When he arrived and talked with Lajoie, then taken his own measurements, he immediately phoned his superiors at ASN.

"Sir, this thing is throwing off lots of radiation, it would be suicide to approach it in order to determine what it is. My guess is that it's a uranium bomb. I will know more once the data analysts at ASN have had a chance to run the data through our computers. But from what I've been told, and where this crate came from, it almost certainly is an old Soviet tactical nuclear weapon."

Bonnot listened for a few moments, then spoke again. "It will be difficult enough decontaminating this place where it sits now, not to mention the 15 kilometers of track leading back to Marseille. Sir, this is a major incident. Somehow we must get this device far away from here. No Sir, I don't know how."

After a few more moments listening now to the Director of ASN, Bonnot simply said, "That's only a stopgap solution, Sir. But better than none."

Hubert Dufresne watched as his boss turned to him, Bonnot shook his head, "We need to seal this off for now, Hubert."

"How much, chef?"

"The entire barn, the military is flying in security for the site and ASN is trying to find enough material to build a sarcophagus over the barn. Much like the Soviets did at Chernobyl."

"That will cost millions of Euros!" Dufresne exclaimed.

"Yes, but for some reason the Director thinks he knows a source to fund the project."

"Really?"

"Don't ask me Hubert, I only work here."

President Nakagawa called Bill Aspinall into the office, he had told everyone to leave while he took a phone call.

"Who was that, Sir?"

Nakagawa looked ill, but he answered quickly enough, "That was the French President and his Prime Minister, they believe they have located the second bomb."

"Where?"

"On a railroad siding about ten miles north of Marseille. Seems the French have a partial nuclear detection system around their major Mediterranean ports."

"I thought that they were only able to detect a serious level of ..."

"Seems the crate the weapon was in was dropped in Marseille after being taken off a ship. Apparently whatever shielding was around the weapon has been compromised. It's leaking badly. One French dock worker has already died, three others are in critical condition."

"Damn, what did they do, lick the f**king crate?" Aspinall knew a bit about the subject.

"Apparently some highly radioactive bits of rust came out of the crate, it's believed the first man might have inhaled some of the dust from that. The others got sick from handling the cleanup."

"Damn. What are the French going to do?"

"Something along the lines of what was done at Chernobyl, President Beaugendre has ordered that task to be done immediately. The site is being evacuated for a distance of five miles around."

"Jesus, that's going to cost a lot of money!" Aspinall noted.

Nakagawa nodded, then said, "I let the French in on our little problem in Zürich. The cabal and how it's probably their weapon that the French intercepted."

"Ah Sir, that information is highly classified ..." then Aspinall stopped himself, the President was the man who made that call. He could determine who had a need to know and who didn't. Heck, if he wanted to the President could have the whole thing printed out on flyers and posted on telephone poles around DC.

"Yep, I classified it Bill. But Prime Minister Girardot had a brilliant suggestion, make the cabal pay for the cleanup. After all, it's their mess."

"And how would we make them do that?"

"Well, as Girardot put it, clean up the mess, or be shot. After being tortured."

Aspinall grimaced, "Wasn't Jean Girardot a French para?"

"He was indeed, he was indeed."

"What about the Swiss government?" Aspinall knew how tight-fisted Swiss bankers were.

"Beaugendre thinks the Swiss will cooperate for a piece of the action."

"Sir?"

"Well, the cabal is going to go from extraordinarily wealthy to dirt poor overnight. Seems they keep the bulk of their funds in Zürich, the Swiss can make the argument that the money is the proceeds of a criminal conspiracy and subject to forfeiture."

"What keeps the Swiss from keeping all of the money?"

"Beaugendre believes that they are amenable to reason. He also has leverage of some sort that he wouldn't talk about. He said, 'Trust me, the gnomes of Zürich will, as you Americans say, play ball.'"

"Damn."

"Yes, indeed."

¹ Nuclear Safety Authority

The Hunt is On

Source

"Michel, you should go to the doctor. This is something serious!" Pauline Deslys was concerned, her husband, Michel Masson had started vomiting two days ago. Now he was vomiting blood.

"Alright, bring the car around, I think I can make it down the stairs by myself."

"No, sit here, I will go get Charles to help you down to the street."

As his wife left to get their next door neighbor, Masson sat quietly. In truth he felt terrible, fatigued, nauseated, then the vomiting started. Now there was the blood. He thought at first that it was some bug he'd caught from a coworker. But the blood, that was serious. He was supposed to work tomorrow, a ship was coming in from Turkey. The way he felt now, he didn't care if he missed work.

Three days ago Masson had been with his crew, unloading a ship from Georgia, port of origin was Batumi. He had no idea where that was. As Idris Morceli, his forklift operator was maneuvering a large crate with odd markings from the dock to a shipping container, he'd hit a pothole, which they'd been complaining about for months. The crate had slipped from the forks and hit the concrete hard.

Masson had gone up to the crate, to see what the damage was. He'd noticed the odd markings on the box -

სასოფლო-სამეურნეო ტექნიკა

Сельскохозяйственное оборудование

Tarım Ekipmanları

Attrezzature agricole

Equipement agricole

The last one he recognized, "Huh, agricultural equipment, what was it, a tractor?" he speculated. Crate wasn't big enough for that, whatever it was, it was damned heavy.

He looked it over, the wood was cracked on one corner, but not badly. He signaled Morceli to get it back on the forklift and load it in the shipping container. As the man did so, Masson stayed close to the container, to make sure nothing else adverse happened.

He pulled his collar away from his neck, funny how it seemed hot right now. He wondered if he was coming down with something.

Though the damage to the crate wasn't that bad, the equipment inside had been badly damaged. The body of the machine had cracked when it had stopped abruptly when the crate hit the ground. Though the rigging inside the crate was more than sufficient for most heavy machinery, this machine was old.

It had sat for years in a poorly maintained storage bunker not far from Tashkent. Standing water was present in the bunker when the men had broken in to steal anything they could find which might be valuable. They were disgusted at not finding any Kalashnikovs or RPGs, what sort of weapons bunker was this?

They had left, leaving the doors partially open. More water had gotten in, causing the machine to rust in spots. Not badly, easily cleaned up. At least that's what the corrupt Uzbeki officer had thought. When he'd been contacted by people looking for Soviet-era weaponry, he brought them to the bunker.

A couple of weeks later, a big truck with its own forklift had shown up to haul out two of the machines. He had been promised a rather large payout by the Russian gangsters he did business with.

He never had the chance to spend much of his money, the Uzbeki had been killed in a motorcycle crash not too long after the Russians had moved the machines. He thought they were probably nuclear weapons, he didn't know, he didn't care. But the colleague he'd mentioned that to cared very much. Enough to report the man.

Realizing the can of worms which would be opened by an investigation into this, the local authorities decided that the officer knew too much. He had been riding his brand new motorcycle when he'd been clipped by a dump track. It was, so the local police said, an unfortunate accident.

The crate had been loaded into a shipping container which had been loaded on a train. Now the container sat deep in the marshaling yards at Marseille, awaiting transport to its final destination.

Paris.

John Nakagawa had been expecting the phone call, once again Ephraim Johansen was proving his worth over at CIA. The man had contacts everywhere it seemed, including one inside the cabal operating out of Zürich. It never ceased to amaze Nakagawa how evil organizations tended to attract people who had trust issues, it was a weakness that could be exploited.

"Good afternoon, Gospodin Prezident Ryzhov. How are you today?"

"I am well, President Nakagawa. I've been led to understand that we have a mutual problem in Zürich."

"Yes, Gospodin Prezident, I'm glad you see it as a mutual problem, so what I ..."

"Mr. President, we are both warriors who left parts of ourselves on battlefields of other people's makings. Please call me, Maksim."

Bill Aspinall quickly scribbled something on a piece of paper and showed it to the President. Nakagawa nodded, he knew of the Russian custom of using the first name and the patronymic to honor family connections.

"Please, Maksim Vladimirovich, call me John, with the world in danger, I see no need to stand on formalities."

"I agree, John Timofeyevich."

Nakagawa was impressed that the Russians had done their research on him, his father's name was Timothy. But there was business to attend to, so he got down to it.

"What are your intentions towards those people in Switzerland, Maksim?"

"I intend to eliminate them, to put it bluntly, John."

"Do you know that the Italians intercepted a Soviet-era nuclear weapon in the Mediterranean some weeks back? Did you know the smuggler indicated that there was more than one?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally President Ryzhov spoke, "I did not know that, John. Do you have any idea where that other weapon might be? If there truly is a second weapon."

"No, not exactly, we think it was bound for France, perhaps the United Kingdom, but beyond that ..."

"John, we know where the weapon might be going."

"You do? Where?"

"Paris."

After the call ended, Nakagawa sat quietly, tapping his fingers on his desk. Aspinall said nothing, letting the President work things over in his mind. Finally, the President sat up. He hit a button on his intercom.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Nancy, can you track down Jason Howard for me?"

"Certainly, Sir."

Aspinall sat quietly, if the President was calling in Howard, he had something in mind. Something rather violent, Aspinall assumed.

The President's phone buzzed, he picked it up, "Jason, how do you feel about taking a trip?"

"I'm always ready to travel, Mr. President. Can I bring some friends?"

"Of course, they'll probably enjoy the trip as well."

"Where are we going, Mr. President?"

"France."

"Nice, any place in particular?"

"We can talk about that, can you swing by the White House?"

"On my way, Sir."

"Bring your friends."

"I will."

Finally Aspinall spoke, "Howard and his crew? Things are pretty serious if you're bringing them in."

"Yeah, things are that serious. Do you have any contacts in the French security agency, what's it called?"

"The DGSE, Sir, the Direction générale de la Sécurité extérieure. Yes, I know a couple of guys in that outfit. Know a few guys in the French military as well."

"Do you trust them?"

"The DGSE guys? Sort of. The military guys? With my life."

"Good we'll need to bring them in on this. After all, it is their country at risk."

Aspinall nodded, "The French know how to play hardball when push comes to shove. Think the Russians might let us talk to one of those assholes in Zürich?"

"They might, for now though, let's get the French side of things rolling."

"Yes Sir."

Nuclear weapons, the President thought, why does some fanatic always think of using those to make a point?

WHAT a week!!

 Well, Campers, its been a very unusual week since we last talked.  To use an Air Force Acronym for activities and projects, it's been "Alovnv*".  But, that's ok, it just takes a lot of energy out of you.

First in the order of importance.  Mrs J has her PET scan Tuesday (AKA tomorrow).  With the Lord's help, we'll be through this "Big Adventure" with a clean slate.  Yes, I know, regular PET scan's are still in her future, to make sure the Cancer stays gone, but a clean slate will reduce a lot of familial blood pressures.

As to the Big Week, (No Sarge it isn't THE Big Week in WWII, I mean where would we find enough B-17s to reenact?) this Big Week started last Monday with the arrival of The Rev and MBD and their two children, MG and Leon.  The Rev and MBD were headed to a retreat in the Colorado Mountains.  I believe it was church related and his parents attended also.  The retreat started Tuesday and ended Saturday.  So, with travel, Monday through Sunday.

Suffice it to say, having a 3 year old and an 8 month old in the house is a challenge.  It's even more so with a 69 year gap between the youngest and oldest persons in the house.  Sleep?  We don't need no steenkin' sleep.  Parents flew in today, Sunday as I'm writing this,  Responding to comments tomorrow may be delayed somewhat.  I intend to sleep.

All that having been said, I was very impressed with the 3 year old.  Emotions and Self-control aren't up to maturity, but her intellect is pretty far up there. 

 She's gonna go far! 

The 8 month old spends the majority of the day sleeping, but he's got a pretty good sense of humor as well as a need to explore.  Yes, Mrs J and I have a hand off protocol when one or the other of us needs to do something.  

 

He gave himself a shiner last Tuesday when we were watching TV.  He walked up the the coffee table in front of the sofa, stumbled and fell on the corner.  Fortunately, the corner was well rounded, but, nevertheless, we were concerned.

It's healing up nicely though.

You may have seen the Uniform that is required on the property, but just in case,  let's take a look.

Yep, coming out in a flying helmet.  He's also a pretty good eater for 8 months old.  Most of it goes in his mouth.

Most of it!

Most went into his mouth, some went on the floors where 5 patient dogs were acting as floor cleaners.  The rest went on his skin, clothes and tray.  Cleaning the kitchen after meals takes a bit longer than it did week before last.  Oh Well!

But,  Mrs J and I as well as the rest of the family are ready for a bit o sleeping catch up.

Peace out, y'all!  I'm going to catch an afternoon nap.

*A lot of velocity no vector.  AKA we were going hard and fast and getting nowhere.

Summer's Gone?

OAFS Photo

I have that picture above as my Book of Faces "cover photo." During some painful days at work I will go to the Book of Faces and just stare at that photo for a few seconds, maybe even a full minute. Brings me peace it does.

You may have noticed that there is no fiction post today, the Muse needed some time to herself, can't say I blame her. The grammarians were out in full force yesterday and it browned me off a bit. You try creative writing every single day and try not to make an error or three. Here's a reminder, I speak English, very well I might add, I cannot type as fast as my brain creates, so typos and grammatical errors occur. Point them out if you must, but add an element of snark, and you're gone. Well, your comment is anyway.

Another shocker, I'm an amateur historian, actually minored in the topic at school, so if you feel the need to add some historical tidbit in your comments, you're not educating me, you're annoying me. Just stop, start your own blog. I mean seriously, in some cases I know far more about the topic than you ever will, so while you might think it's a great comment, I don't. Take a deep breath, comment on the content (I repeat content) of the post or just drive on. 'Nuff said.

And just why is the reference work called "Who's Who." Grammarians, have at it. (No, not really, hold it in.)

Now it's easy to assume that it's just the significant other trying to mold you, sometimes what she's (or he as the case may be) trying to tell you is valid. When your kids agree, well then, maybe your sh!t does actually stink.

I've been extremely crabby this year, snapping at people for what seems like a good reason for me, but isn't really. I'm on the road to my happy place, but I ain't there yet. The Missus Herself has broached that topic more than once, honestly, I just ignored it. But when The Nuke and LUSH both pointed out that sometimes I'm more of an asshole than I need to be, well, I took notice.

Doesn't mean I've abandoned the cult of curmudgeon, simply dialing it back a bit.

Source

The title? Well, it's September, innit? Kids are back in school, the vacation days of summer are gone and people will be closing up their swimming pools soon. I know, I know, it's still summer until later this month, but does it really feel like it?

I thought not.

Anyhoo, going to dinner tonight¹ at an Italian place in Cranston, has good reviews, including a recommendation from a colleague, so there's another reason to not write tonight. Dinner with friends is always something to savor.

So, if I have offended, 申し訳ありません.²

No, really.

I'll leave you with this ...³

Source

Postprandial Update:

Dinner was incroyable or perhaps I should say incredibile, I mean it's an Italian place, innit?

If you're ever in Cranston, RI, stop by Marchetti's, it's excellent. Tasty food, gigantic portions, we're going to be eating Italian all week I think.




¹ Saturday as I write, Sunday as you read ...

² Very sorry (Japanese)

³ Hat tip to wirecutter. Yes, I know, it's not the same, but I credit him with the phrase.