Spring in New England

Yes, it's spring in New England! Yay!

How can you tell?

See the red circle above? Those are daffodils. I kid you not.

Those bunches in the picture above? Yup, more daffodils.

Just struck me, but I need to head north. Not just to see my Mom but because of this - 

It's maple sugaring time!

Oh, such memories I have of this time of year. The smell of my grandparents' farm, the wood smoke, the smell of boiling sap and something warm and wonderful cooking in my grandmother's kitchen.

Gramp and Uncle Hank sharing a wee nip while stoking the fire to boil the sap. Stirring and stirring, skimming off the top. Keeping a weather eye out for Gram who didn't approve of drinking around her bairns!

Gram's dogs, Tippie and Bimmie dancing in the snow with delight as "their kids" drive up and pile out of the family car. Those two dogs loved my brothers and I with such abandon and pure joy. To us, they were our four legged cousins. God, how we loved those dogs!

Doesn't matter that it's snowing, spring is in the air. The birds know it, the sugar maples know it and most certainly the daffodils know it.

Riding the Line Truck

This is a tale of the one, and only, time in my entire Air Force career where I performed duties in direct and immediate support of flight operations. 'Tis a tale I will tell my grandchildren (and mightily bored they'll be*).

Before we begin however, there are certain details of a somewhat "technical" nature which must be addressed. (Now, now don't shy away gentle reader, this will be brief and painless. Besides which, it has pictures!) For this tale involves the AN/ASG-22 Lead Computing Optical Sight which was used on the aircraft upon which I used to labor to keep in a combat effective state.

This is the front seat, the pilot's seat, in the F-4D Phantom II jet aircraft as operated by the Air Force of the United States of America in the time period during which I was assigned to Kadena AB, Japan and Kunsan AB, Korea.

The arrow labeled "1" is pointing to the "combining glass". The "pipper**" (see picture below, not the actual F-4D sight picture but close enough) is projected upon said glass for the pilot to see as he looks towards the pointy (business) end of his (or her) mighty aerial steed. (It should be noted that the ladies did not get to fly fighters when I worked on fighters. More's the pity.)

Now the arrow labeled "2" points to the general vicinity of a little "door" in the pilot's radar scope, behind which lived one of these -

Yes, boys and girls, a simple light bulb. Which provided the illumination to project the sight image upon the combining glass. Keep this in mind as what I have just told you is critical to understanding the rest of this story!

Now one fine day in the Land of the Morning Calm (Korea), I and my comrades-in-arms were sitting around our shop awaiting the labors of the day to commence. Now my normal post was in the Radar Calibration hangar which was about 75 yards away from our main shop. As there was no "customer" in the hangar I had naught to do but wait upon the whims and desires of our tempestuous shop chief, TSgt Skip.

Don't get me wrong, Skip was an awesome guy to work for. It's just that at times he could be a bit, come si dice, "demanding". (As was his right, after all he was the boss and was responsible for ensuring the care and feeding of two squadrons worth of aircraft Weapon Control Systems - WCS.)

I suppose I should explain (briefly) the organization of the maintenance organization in an Air Force tactical fighter wing of that era. Now there were two organizations which contained aircraft maintenance troops. The Component Repair Squadron (CRS - my outfit) which was responsible for the alignment, repair and calibration of the various aircraft systems. Then there was the Aircraft Generation Squadron (AGS), or the "Others" as I liked to call them. These poor ba$tards actually worked outdoors, in all sorts of horrid weather, directly on the aircraft themselves.

While my crew and I did actually work directly on the aircraft, it was in the sheltered comfort of a hangar. Not heated for sure, but being out of the wind (especially in Korea, in the winter) was a blessing not to be sneezed at. Now the other half of our shop was called "The Mock-Up". Picture a lab-type environment with test equipment and such, surrounding an aircraft radar system mounted on a bench in the center of the lab.

Now we Radar Cal guys, if we could not align a unit in situ would dismount it and drag it down to the Mock-Up guys. Of course, they would always try to align it themselves and sometimes actually succeed. For we Radar Cal guys were considered just one evolutionary step above your common, flight-line-type knuckledragger. The Mock-Up types were lordly type folk who seldom ever dirtied their dainty hands on filthy "airplanes" and were far too fragile and precious to actually (gasp) go outside, into the elements.

Now on the bottom of the WCS food chain were the poor guys and gals who got assigned to AGS. The AGS folk worked outside, on the flight-line in any and all sorts of weather, day and night, etc. etc. That is, of the multiple places a WCS person could go, AGS was the last choice. The AGS troops were bossed around by nasty "nose-pickers" (that's what we Lords of Avionics called the hard-working, under-appreciated aircraft crew chiefs, what you aquatic types call "plane captains") and generally only had time to read the aircrew's write-up in the aircraft forms (the 781s), fire the system up, run BIT checks and then pull the part they suspected was causing the errant behavior. Normally the most-removed part was the Synchronizer (the Sync as we called it). And 9 times out of 10 it was the Sync. Normally it could be aligned and re-installed. Sometimes it had to be shipped back to the depot for repair and the Mock-Up folk would order, then issue a reconditioned Sync to go back on the jet. (The Sync is shown in the next picture.)

Normally, WCS troops were rotated from one organization to another when re-assigned from one base to another. Normally. I was somewhat unique in that I had gone from CRS on Kadena to CRS on Kunsan. My orders to Korea did say "AGS" but somehow the aforementioned TSgt Skip got them changed. I had been to Korea and worked with Skip before, on temporary duty from Okinawa. Skip knew me and trusted me. And I had demonstrated a certain knack for the Radar Calibration game. As the much loved (hated?) Coach Bill Belichick might have said, "It is what it is."

So, after that long explanation, we're back to "I and my comrades-in-arms were sitting around our shop awaiting the labors of the day to commence". It was then that the phone rang, Skip answered the phone, went semi-apoplectic, calmed down, said "I guess so" a number of times and then said, "When you're ready come by the shop and pick him up."

All heads came up, swiveled towards Skip with a collective "Huh?"

Skip looked directly at me, said "Grab your field jacket and come with me". Crap! The others, naturally all sniggered or sighed with relief and went back to reading "Stars and Stripes", I grabbed my field jacket.

Skip rummages in a tool box and hands me one of these -

and one of these -

It is then that my fate dawns on me... I am to "ride the line truck". I looked at Skip with a somewhat pleading look. He looked back at me, with his steely gaze, and said, "I know Sarge but I need Dave in here with me and Ted's too stupid to know what to do. You're all I've got at the moment. AGS says that it's 'our turn', I'll sort them out later. For now..."

"Got ya Boss..."

So I donned my field jacket and took up my bulb and screwdriver and awaited the arrival of "the line truck" (see next picture, it's not an Air Force van but it is exactly the same type of vehicle I was awaiting.)

The line truck arrives, I climb in. This is going to be painful. The driver, aka "the line chief" is, of course, a nose picker. The line chief is always a nose picker. It's what they do. I head to one of the bench seats in the back and settle myself. Bulb in one hand, stubby screwdriver in the other. Held aloft as if being presented to some invisible presence. The line chief notices, the van stops.

"What the Hell are you doing?"

"Just being ready chief, just being ready."

The van drives on, the line chief is muttering something about "fudge" and "WCS troops". Not sure what that was all about.

Now mind you, you should remember where the bulb is used. You should also remember the little door on the side of the pilot's radar scope, behind which the bulb lives. (If you've forgotten, go back and re-read that first bit, I'll wait here for you.)

Now the stubby screwdriver is used to open that little door, so you can swap out the little bulb, which provides the illumination source for the pilot's lead computing optical sight, which the pilot uses to drop bombs, strafe bad guys and such. So that little bulb is kind of important. It is also the only thing which WCS can easily change WITHOUT GROUNDING THE AIRCRAFT for an appreciable length of time.

Yes, the radar may be "broke dick", the Electronic Counter Measures (ECM) system may be on the fritz, but if the crew of an F-4D had an operating gun sight, they could put bombs on target with a very good chance of success. No gun sight, no launch. Fortunately, swapping out that bulb took all of five minutes, on a bad day. The poor bastard who had to ride the line truck for WCS seldom, if ever, got called out to the jet. Perhaps once in a thousand aircraft "goes" does a WCS guy get to show his mettle.

I'll bet you can guess what happened the day Your Humble Scribe rode the line truck.

Ten minutes into my sentence ride, a call comes in over the radio. "Aircraft such-and-such, no gun sight". The line chief responds that we're on the way. As we drive off, the chief looks at me, still holding bulb and stubby screwdriver at "present arms" and mutters, "I'll be damned..."

We arrive at the aircraft. I put on my headset and dismount the vehicle. Over to the crew chief I go and bellow over the noise of the jet's two powerful J-79 engines, "I NEED YOU TO SHUT DOWN NUMBER ONE!" (That would be the port-side J-79, in front of which I need to climb up for to check the bulb.)

Crew chief talks to the pilot, pilot shakes his head "No". Crew chief bellows this at me, I point out that "NO ENGINE OFF, NO SIGHT FIX! TELL THE A$$HOLE THAT!" Crew chief informs the proud aviator of this simple fact of safety, no doubt tells the knight of the air just how much a J-79 costs to repair, and you see the pilot's shoulders slump, and you hear what sounds remarkably like a jet engine spooling down.

Pilot nods to crew chief, crew chief slaps me on the shoulder. And I'm off.

Striding manfully to the jet, I climb the ladder, arriving at the front cockpit, I nod to the pilot (a Major by the way, that would be the equivalent of a LCDR to you aquatic types) and turn to survey the situation with that there AN/ASG-22 Lead Computing Optical Sight, one each.

'Lo and behold and what to my wondering eyes should appear but the "pipper", proudly displayed for all the world to see. I adjusted the dimmer switch, pipper would get bright, pipper would get dim. Nothing wrong with it, nothing at all. At this point I turn to the man what be in charge of flying this here modern marvel of an aircraft and note that he is wearing something which has been forbidden by all and sundry in the aviation community whilst actually in operation of an Air Force issue F-4D Phantom II fighter jet -

Yes, what be the pride of our silk-scarved air warriors, a pair of aviator sunglasses. A pair of POLARIZED aviator sunglasses. Why were these forbidden to our mighty fighter pilots? If you were wearing these, you would NOT be able to see the pipper. I don't know the scientific reason, I just know that polarized sunglasses are verboten when in the front seat of a mighty Phantom.

So do I tell the pilot, this Major, this aerial warrior that he needs to take his sunglasses off. For they are forbidden to you. No. Of course not, where's the humor in that? What would be the point of this story? Did I think to myself, "Forgive him, for he believes that the customs of his tribe are the laws of nature!" No.

I turn to the pilot and with thumb and forefinger of my right hand, grip said offending sunglasses by the bridge and gently pull them off of our Phantom-driver's rugged visage. Leaning back slightly, to allow the pilot to see his combining glass, I bellow "CAN YOU SEE IT NOW?"

Our air warrior blanches, gives an apologetic nod of his head and holds his hand out in supplication, his silent gesture telling me he'd like his sunglasses back. I handed them to him with a stern look. He placed said sunglasses in a pocket of his flight suit and then snapped the visor of his helmet down. The visor which was designed to protect the pilot's eyes from glare and still allow him to see the gun sight. He bellows at me "THANKS SARGE, I'M AN IDIOT!"

With smiles and salutes we part ways, him to vault into the heavens and dance on silvered wings, etc. etc. Me to return to the bowels of the line truck. To return to my never ending vigil, awaiting the next time a gun sight is in distress and a pilot cannot launch. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.

The end result was that the wing commander reissued the "no sunglasses" edict.

Oh, and I never had to ride the line truck again.

Go figure ...

*Guess the movie, the actor, his character and the scene that line is from. (Sorry,  no prizes, no glory., just the satisfaction of being a "know-it-all")

** The pipper is, in actuality the little dot in the center of the sight. We just called the whole thing "the pipper".

Ma Vie Militaire (Part VI)

It's been a while since I've done a post on my life in the military (Ma Vie Militaire for you non-French speakers) and I felt that this would be a good time to pick up that thread. Whether or not that pleases you, we shall see.

The chap in the photo is a Master Sergeant (as was I, FYI this is abbreviated "MSgt" in the AF) and he is performing maintenance (of some kind) on the radar of an F-4C. How do I know it's an F-4C? Well, for one thing the original photo says it's an F-4C. The other sure give-a-way that it's an F-4C (as opposed to an F-4D) is that there are no dipoles on the face of the radar dish. "What are dipoles?", you ask. On the next picture (which is the radar set of the F-4D) those eight handle-looking thingies are the dipoles. I will not bore you with the technical details of what those are for, primarily because I don't remember at the moment. It was a long time ago.

Note that I referred to them as "handle-looking". One thing that the majority of brand new airmen had to be told was...

"THOSE ARE NOT HANDLES NUMB-NUTS! DON'T EVER LET ME SEE YOU ATTEMPT TO PICK UP THAT GORAM ANTENNA LIKE THAT AGAIN! DO YOU READ ME TROOP?"

Not that I ever had to be told that. More than once.

Now back to our MSgt. From the looks of it, he is tightening the top bolts on the radar-receiver transmitter (there were two), or he's mugging for the camera. Something that we Weapon Control System (WCS) troops liked to do. The good MSgt also appears to be either Air National Guard or perhaps in the Air Force Reserve. That proof is left to the reader. (Anyone? Buck?)

Seldom would there be a photographer around when we were actually working on the aircraft, the flight line being a rather dangerous place to be if you didn't know what you were doing. Not as dangerous as the flight deck of an aircraft carrier mind you. While we Air Force types faced some of the same hazards as our Navy brethren, no Air Force maintainer ever got blown over the side of an Air Force base. We also didn't have catapults. Our pilots had nice long runways to take off on and we were expected to stay OFF of those nice long runways. Safer for everyone that way.

Which puts me in mind of a story, or two.

On my first real-life Air Force assignment, I was flown many, many miles from home and deposited on one each Kadena Air Base, Japan (Okinawa if ye be a purist) in the middle of the night. Left to my own devices I was for quite some time. Until the most kind Air Force Security Policeman on duty in the MAC Terminal took pity on me.

Called my shop he did, asking them if they would be so kind as to come pick up their brand new airman he did. An hour later, they had not. Staff Sergeant (SSgt) KindFellow called my shop again and politely informed the Technical Sergeant (TSgt) running the mid shift that he now had two choices: come and pick up your damn airman, or explain to his commander why HE was called in the middle of the night to pick up said airman (uh, yes, that would be me, perplexed, tired and befuddled).

Forthwith, said TSgt came and collected my tired self and drove me to my barracks. There to explain to me that my refrigerator needed to be cleaned once a week. Uh? What? It's 0530 in the blankety-blank morning, I've just been flown a gazillion miles from home, dropped on this semi-tropical isle, left in the MAC Terminal for two and a half freakin' hours, finally picked up and dropped here and you want to remind me to "clean the refrigerator"? Uh, thanks Sarge! There will be more tales of that particular individual. Back then I called him "The Drapire". That story will be told in these spaces. Eventually.

Now we were talking about that amazing, never moves, never pitches,yaws and rolls runway weren't we. Ya know that long paved thing without which it ain't really an Air Force base. (Well, unless it's a missile wing. Ya can't argue with that sort of firepower, runway or no!)

Now one of the goals of Ground Safety was to ensure that aircraft in the process of landing and taking off never had to share the runway with anything other than themselves. Driving ground vehicles onto the runway during flight operations was, shall we say, "frowned upon".

So it's a bright and shiny morning on Okinawa. The sun has just peeked over the horizon and the KC-135 tankers are rolling, going up to support the day's flying missions.

The Big Guy with 4 Engines is a KC-135, the Little'un is an F-16
KC-135's Are BIG Airplanes!

Now a KC-135 launching first thing in the morning from Kadena to support flying is what?
A) Loaded to the gills with jet fuel
B) Very, very heavy
C) Uses a lot of runway
D) All of the above.

Yes, (D) is the correct answer. Now there I am, enjoying the dawn, anticipating going off shift, a bit of breakfast and then indulging myself in some serious rack-time (sleep). As I look on, to my left a KC-135 begins her take-off roll. I am loving this, jet aircraft are never boring (at least not to me).

As the big jet accelerates, the amount of runway diminishes When loaded with fuel, the big fellas tend to use most (if not all) of the available runway.

I look to my right, sensing movement. Oh look, I says to myself, a maintenance van! Hhmm, why is he headed towards the runway? (Why did the maintenance van cross the runway. To get to the other side?) Now there is a "hold short" just beside the runway on the little access road leading to said runway. Common practice, nay, the LAW, states that vehicles wishing to cross the runway WILL contact the tower and WILL NOT proceed until cleared by the tower.

Hhmm, curious. The van has not stopped at the hold short but is continuing onwards, seemingly oblivious to the world outside the van. Perhaps he thinks that the KC-135 (which is rapidly approaching and has no hope in Hell of either stopping or leaping over something on the runway) can magically slam on the brakes and try again. Or perhaps leap, unicorn-like over the errant maintenance van and fly away on pixie dust. Uh, no, no chance.

So I realize that unless that van hauls a$$, I am about 500 yards away from watching a very large, fast-moving object (loaded with fuel) collide with a small van. Now it passes through my head that I wonder if I'm far enough away to survive what appears to be the inevitable disaster and thinking, "probably not". And it's far too late to run and just where would I run too?

Ah, so this is how it ends...

Nope, the driver of the maintenance van suddenly realizes he has committed a faux pas. So he (I'm guessing) floors the accelerator and just narrowly avoids being creamed by the tanker. For its part the tanker eventually lumbers skyward, intact. Though it would not surprise me if the aircrew may have needed to change their undergarments at some point in time.

I later heard that the driver had been cleared to cross the runway by an inattentive boob in the tower. Word on the flight line was that said inattentive boob won an all-expenses paid trip to "sunny" Shemya AFB in Alaska. Uh, sort of. Shemya is in the Aleutian chain of islands. Yeah, that little dot under the "A" below. (And yes that IS Russia to the left of the little island.)

Didn't matter that there wasn't much to do there. Sergeant Inattentive-boob was now Airman Inattentive-boob, yes demoted he was and his wallet lightened a certain amount as a "reward" for almost causing a catastrophe.

Now Shemya was NOT exactly a plum assignment. Rumor has it that it was "The" worst assignment in the Air Force. Buck may have some input on that, I wouldn't. All my assignments were nice. As a matter of fact, I don't think I had any crappy assignments in my 24 years.

But that's another story for another time.

What The...?

On the way to work this morning, it's the first day of Spring. Still cold though, as it's still New England.

It's Wednesday, also known as "Hump Day", though 'tis a term I've never really cared for, it is the middle of the work week. The "light at the end of the tunnel" (aka Friday) is just perceptible. Monday lies two days in our wake.

So I depart Chez Sarge and I head to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts to purchase the Official Non-Alcoholic Beverage of the Chant du Départ (i.e. iced coffee) for to consume as I struggle through the opening hours at work.

As I dismount the vehicle, at the location (to put it in cop-speak) I notice that little still life depicted in today's opening photo. As it is prior to beverage purchase, I grumbled a bit and commented (sotto voce) as to the ancestry and mental acuity of the individual who left this debris in the parking lot. Meant no doubt to brighten my day. And give me fodder for a blog post. Said individual of questionable parentage and suspect intelligence is 1 for 2. Did not brighten my day, but here we are, posting about it. 1 for 2 in baseball is rather good. But don't ask Daryle, the man is indifferent to the national past time. Given the Red Sox marked lack of success lately, I cannot fault Daryle's judgement that much. But I digress.

Into Dunkin' Donuts I proceed and after the usual witty banter I normally exchange with the lovely ladies employed therein, I purchase my beverage of choice and head back to the Element for to head into work. Again I am confronted with that touching tableau of discarded lottery tickets and the expended, crumpled pack of cigarettes. At this point in time though I have had a sip or two of the magical iced elixir purveyed by the commercial descendants of Mr. Rosenberg, (a fellow New Englander I might add) and am prepared to be far more observant than I had been only moments earlier.

'Twas at this point gentle reader, that I positively identified the objects depicted herein as a discarded cigarette pack and various, diverse and sundry discarded, non-winning, lottery tickets. Prior to the coffee, the identity of those items was mere idle speculation, a passing glance was all that was afforded them. Now I could, at my leisure, study the offending items, and thus identify them beyond any reasonable doubt. After said positive ID was registered in the brain of Your Humble Scribe, a certain image came to mind from the depths of my memory banks. Those of a certain age may remember this - 

That would be the visage of Iron Eyes Cody, après surveying an American landscape littered with the debris of unthinking Philistines. Our world is their trash bin, sad to say. I didn't quite feel like that, "subdued rage" would have described my mental state a bit more accurately.

After yesterday's post this seemed to be a most fitting follow on. Not only can we (apparently) not be "nice" to each other in this country anymore, apparently it's also considered fashionable with a certain set to empty the detritus of one's automobile into the street or parking lot, whichever is most convenient for that group, thank you very much.

Another thing which set me off was the lottery tickets. I've heard the lottery referred to as "a tax on the stupid", while I'm not sure I'd go that far it's not that far from the mark. Perhaps it would be better to call it a "tax on the perpetually lazy and unemployed". Why do I get so spun up over this? Perhaps I have seen someone use their magic state-issued "credit card" (actually it's food stamps camouflaged as a credit card) to purchase food and then proceed to Customer Service to buy lottery tickets, "Oh, and a pack of Marlboro's too!", at my local grocery store one too many times. Perhaps.

Grrrr. I pay taxes to feed your lazy a$$ thus reducing my disposable income in order to provide you with disposable income to purchase cigarettes and lottery tickets. Grrrr. Then you dump the old cigarette pack and the non-winning lottery tickets in the parking lot on YOUR way to Dunkin' Donuts to buy coffee. Coffee which, I'm here to attest, is NOT, by any stretch of the imagination, cheap. I suppose it could be worse, they could all be going to Starbucks to spend my tax dollars.

Now I'm not against assisting someone who is down on their luck and out of work. But someone who is in this condition and isn't cutting back where necessary, yeah, that burns my butt, just a little. The problem, as I see it, is that right now the country has far too many people content to sit back, suck on the government teat and let someone else do all the heavy lifting. And a certain political class which encourages them to do so.

Again, I personally have had enough, thank you very much. Rant complete, thank you for reading. Now move along folks, nothing to see here.

After I get more coffee, it's one of THOSE days...

A Request for a Friend

Uncle Skip, a blog-buddy of mine and his lovely wife could use some help. Mostly his wife, Grandma Skip, or GS as she's referred to on his blog. Which, by the way, is With His Tongue Planted Firmly in His Cheek, a most excellent blog, don't you know? Always on my "must read" list.

Anyway, Grandma Skip has been diagnosed with cancer. I'm just thinking that she and Skip could use some help from the Almighty. So, if you've a mind to, send some good thoughts Heavenward for these two good people.

Prayer works. So, a little help?

Thanks...

Civil Discourse, The Lack Thereof

Yes, I've been over to Quick Meme again. I did not create the above, someone else did. So, thank you, "Someone Else".

I was actually looking for a good graphic to go with the topic of today's post. Which I should introduce with a definition from the OAFSSRFTOTN:

Civil discourse is engagement in discourse (conversation) intended to enhance understanding.

Kenneth J. Gergen describes civil discourse as "the language of dispassionate objectivity", and suggests that it requires respect of the other participants, such as the reader. It neither diminishes the other's moral worth, nor questions their good judgment; it avoids hostility, direct antagonism, or excessive persuasion; it requires modesty and an appreciation for the other participant's experiences.

In Book III of An Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690), John Locke contrasts between civil and philosophical discourse (or rhetorical discourse) with the former being for the benefit of the reader, and the public good:

“First, By, their civil use, I mean such a communication of thoughts and ideas by words, as may serve for the upholding common conversation and commerce, about the ordinary affairs and conveniences of civil life, in the societies of men, one amongst another.

Secondly, By the philosophical use of words, I mean such a use of them as may serve to convey the precise notions of things, and to express in general propositions certain and undoubted truths, which the mind may rest upon and be satisfied with in its search after true knowledge. These two uses are very distinct; and a great deal less exactness will serve in the one than in the other, as we shall see in what follows.”

My point being, in today's society we seem completely unable to discuss the issues of the day without getting overly emotional about it. Is it because we are "more stupid"? I do know that many people in the world now-a-days have no manners at all. We are definitely a "ruder" society than when I was a kid. Why is that?

Now what sent me down this road? (You may be asking yourselves. Or not. I'll answer the question anyway.) Over at Well, Oh Yeah!!!, Ivan Toblog's Monday post set me to thinking. (Not always a good idea perhaps, but seeing as how I've started, might as well finish.) It seems that we are allowing a$$holes to dominate the national debate. Particularly the a$$holes who have access to a camera and a microphone, financed by advertisers.

This is also something which has bothered me for quite some time now. The so-called "news" outlets, are NOT reporting news anymore. It's all about ratings. Who can get more people to watch their "news" program? Who can sell more stuff? It's all a bunch of crap I tell you.

In our cafeteria at work we have television monitors which are normally showing CNN. Not that long ago, this was a really good source of what was going on in the world. It still is from time to time. Giving credit where credit is due, their coverage of the Papal election was pretty good. Their coverage of that lunatic ex-cop out in California was alright, though a bit overboard at times.

But mixed in with the "news" is a lot of fluff. Who really cares who went to Hugo Chavez's funeral? All we really needed to know is that the a$$hole was dead. (Where will Joe Kennedy get his cheap oil now?)

On days with really hard news, it seems that CNN brings out their A-Team, the rest of the time it's a bunch of pretty boys and girls. I mean seriously, to be a journalist you have to be good-looking?

At any rate, too many networks (and I include Fox) have some ranting blowhard on, raving about what a bunch of ba$tards those Democrat/Republicans are. Of course, some times we actually get a politician on there to rant and rave. Usually it's a Democrat, sometimes it's a RINO (Republican In Name Only), seldom is it an actual conservative politician.

But the national discourse is now at the point of an "Us Versus Them" mentality. It sucks, it truly sucks. Most people aren't like that, yes some are, but not the majority. I think that if you get away from the cities you might meet more reasonable people.

We need to all take a deep breath, calm down and talk like rational, reasonable adults. Let's leave the school-yard antics to the elementary school-age kids and the blowhards in Washington. As Americans, let's grow up and figure out the best way ahead for this great nation.

Then we can get rid of ALL the current office holders in Washington and put some real people in there. It's time we dumped our professional politicians. They are there for their own benefit, not ours. They will tell us whatever they think we want to hear in order to stay in office. We need folks who will view politics as a dirty chore that has to get done, then they go back to doing their real work. Kinda like the legislature in Texas.

I pray this is not why the national discourse is what it is. There are days that I am less and less sure that evil is not behind this current mess.

Like Ivan Toblog, I'm sick of this crap!

Chant du Départ Official Stuff

Found this on the web. Decided to inflict it upon you.
Sorry...

Earlier today I was at a complete loss as to what to post about. As I worked at my real job I would, occasionally, head on out to the Web and gaze upon the offerings of others. Many were good and wise. Many were tongue-in-cheek. A couple were even a bit snarky. Your usual collection of writings running the gamut between the sublime and the ridiculous. All entertaining, none of which made me sit up and say, "Why, there's a topic I could run with. That sounds interesting. Hmm, what would be my take on that?"

Nope, nothing.

Nada.

Bupkis.

Until I stumbled upon this. I've been reading Kevin Underhill's blog for a while, it's humorous and sometimes enlightening. At any rate, Mr. Underhill was talking about "Official State Crap". I was amused, then...

...it struck me, the blog could have "Official Crap". Like, you know, Guinness, the Official Irish Dry Stout of the Chant du Départ. Or more informally, the "Official CdD Stout". Not to be confused with...

"Ermie", The Official CdD Stoat

So here we go, a partial list of the Official What-Sis of the Chant du Départ. (I say partial because there is absolutely no doubt in mind that this list will be added to. Heck, I may even create an entire page to hold this list!)

Official CdD Bird: The Red-Tailed Hawk (Buteo Jamaicensis).

Official CdD Horse: The Clydesdale (Bigus Horsus).

Official CdD Tree: The Sugar Maple (Acer Saccharum).

Official CdD Automobile: The Honda Element (Hondus Elementus).

Official CdD Poet Laureate: For now, that would be me. Self-appointed, I know. But it is my blog after all.

Official CdD Aircraft: McDonnell-Douglas F-4D Phantom II.

Official CdD Nut: Again, that would be me. I can be very nutty. And again, it is my blog.

Official CdD Marine Mammal: R. Lee Ermey. Well, he is a Marine and he is a mammal.

DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT, CUPCAKE!!!

Official CdD Fossil: Ah, I guess that would be me again. I even have a belt inscribed "FOSSIL". I thought the kids were making some kind of statement about me. But the Nuke assured me it was actually a brand name. I am scared to actually check her story out online.

Official CdD Outdoor Musical Drama: "The Incident at Looney's Tavern" (I actually stole this from the State of Alabama. Just because I really like the name. Normally though, I abhor musicals. They just seem, I don't know, unnatural.)

Official CdD Non-Alcoholic Beverage: Dunkin' Donuts Iced Coffee. I drink enough of this to float an LCS (Littoral Combat Ship). Oh wait a minute, do those actually, ya know, float?

Official CdD Non-Caffeinated Beverage: Caffeine Free Diet Coke. (Don't ask, it's somewhat embarrassing.)

Official CdD Theme Music: This -

Oh yeah, I went there...

Official CdD Snack Food: Pringles. (Damn it! I'm addicted to them, don't make me give them up! Arrgghhhh!)
Okay, I'm all better now, let's continue.

Official CdD Armored Fighting Vehicle: The PanzerKampfWagen V "Panther"

Hey, I wanted to have an official tank. Okay?

Official CdD State: Confusion. (Like you didn't see that coming.)

I think I'll leave it at that. Seems like a good list. I'm sure that if I really worked at it I could come up with more. But there's that whole "work" thing.

*Shudder*

No thanks!

UPDATE:

My old school chum Greg has nominated a comic strip to be the "Official, etc. etc." of the blog. Nominations are now closed. Therefore...

Know ye by these presents...

Official Announcement of...
The Official CdD Comic Strip:
Pearls Before Swine
(Check the sidebar, there's a link)