Holiday weekend?

Strange night.

I'm alone in the house, have been since Friday, a bit past noon.

In the absence of people I've gardened, made some vegetable stock and not cooked (unless one counts corn-dogs in the microwave). It is now 0037 and someone just started some loud bass-thumpy music, of the boring sort. In the nine-months we've been here this is a first.

What wasn't a first was the semi-distant echoes of pistol shots.

I'm chalking it up to Memorial Day, but it's irksome. The moreso (though I know there is no relevance) because I don't practice my whistles after about 2130, so as not to annoy the neighbors (we're in a duplex, so for all that it feel like a house, we have an apartment wall) and we put an anti-bark collar on Oliver at night.

Feh.

Memorial Day

Steve Gilliard has this year's post, in my book, for Memorial day.

Trip to Fleet Week

Memorial Day is a funny holiday. We gave up Armistice Day, to come up with the tawdry (pace, I'll explain this, I promise) Veteran's Day. I'm all for paying attention to those who served, but Memorial day does me just fine in that regard. The dead are more worth a holdiday than the living. For those who want to show they care for veterans, forget the holidays, call your congressmen and bitch about concurrent reciept, or the fact that reservists who do 20 years have to wait until they hit 62 to collect the pro-rated pension they earned 20 years before.

Armistice Day was special, it was about a very specific thing. The end of an era. The death of peace, and civilised war.

So, back to Mr. Gilliard:

The SEALS were eager to explain their jobs.

As were the Marines on the flight hanger deck.

Usually, there is only a security detachment on a carrier, but the Marines bought their gear. A M198 howitzer, AMTRAC, some trucks, and for the kids, M-16's, armored vests, and machine guns. I asked the Marine standing by the GPMG if he was a gunner. But he was a radio operator instead. I didn't handle it, I did handle the M203. Make no mistake, real guns are heavy. As the kids found out.

Because there were a lot of kids. Kids and older adults. Not a lot of people my and Jen's age. A lot of former sailors and Marines. a lot of families, but few of emlistment age to 40.

As anyone who has been on aflight hanger deck can tell you, it is a large, large space. Usually jammed with aircraft, but empty today.

I sat in the AMTRAC for a while as kids clambored on and off. Little kids, toddlers. All I could think of was the WaPo reporter and how she'd just gotten out of one of them before the Iraqis blew it to shit. I cannot imagine the noise and heat of one in Iraq. But it is smaller than you think. As I sat there, all I could think was that people were in one of these for real today....

You got up to the flight deck by using the flight elevator.

Like everything else on a carrier, it's an operation. A group of us would walk on, the sailors would make sure that we didn't lean on the decorative Belgian gates, because they were there to keep people from the edge, not stop them from falling.

There was a little bump on the ride up, but it was a pretty smooth ride. I had hesitated for a moment, then I realized they bring up F-18's every day on this thing. As I stood there, I saw Jen's head on the flight deck. She yelled for me and I waved. When I got there, we walked around the flight deck and I showed her some of the planes and helicopters. We went on a CH-53 and a former sailor explained the need for seatbelts.

All of these vehicles are a LOT smaller in real life than they seem on TV. They are cramped and dingy, and filled with equipment. They may cost a million or more, but they look, at least on the inside, like a hooptie.

As we left, I explained to Jen how I felt.

"Let's get the fuck out of here, it's depressing."

"Why?"

"Because some of these kids are going back to Iraq."

She agreed. As we walked to the other flight elevator, I said, "Why the fuck did you want to come here? I know it's not something I would have done."

"Oh," she said "I remember the Kennedy from when it came into New York Harbor after 9/11"

...

I think anyone who thinks of these people as some kind of robot killing machines need to see them in action. They need to see them talk to kids and explain their jobs. Most of all, they need to see how young they are, how very young.

I have a feeling of guilt after going to the Kennedy. That somehow, we let these people down. That we didn't do enough to protect them. It was an odd feeling, but one I had all the same.

He's right. Fealty cuts both ways, and those who serve, they promise to do what the nation asks. In return, we need to be certain the things we ask need doing.

I wish I didn't believe it might happen

Forget me not panties

These are not, as one might think from the name, a set of underwear meant to be left with a conquest/lover/memorable occasion, as a memento.

No, they are a form of spywear.
These panties will monitor the location of your daughter, wife or girlfriend 24 hours a day, and can even monitor their heart rate and body temperature.
Based on pioneering research developed by the U.S. military at DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency), we have brought this revolutionary technology, previously only available to the military, to you!

These "panties" can trace the exact location of your woman and send the information, via satellite, to your cell phone, PDA, and PC simultaneously! Use our patented mapping system, pantyMap®, to find the exact location of your loved one 24 hours a day.

The technology is embedded into a piece of fabric so seamlessly she will never know it's there!


The testimonials....

When my daughter hit puberty I nearly had a heart attack. She started looking like a woman and suddenly she was wearing revealing clothing and staying out late with her friends.

Rather than become an over-protective parent , I decided to try forget-me-not panties™.

They work wonderfully. My wife and I bought our Sarah several pairs so we can watch her around the clock, and if we see her temperature rising too high, we intervene by calling her cellphone or just picking her up wherever she is. My only comment is it would be great to have a video camera, maybe you can work that into V.2.

I don't want to know what the point of the video camera is... maybe to not call her when it's just a scary movie?

A set of seven (the super high-tech, heartbeat and temperature monitoring ones) is only $1200 bucks.

Yes, it's a hoax but slick, one is tempted to believe them(clean; but spare website, seems to be aJapanese company, claims to be sold out; because of high demand, offers notification when stocks are up)

It part of a contest (and presently in second place, in no small part because of the bounce it's getting from people who believe it (some of the comment threads on blogs which didn't see through it are amazing. Just shy of flame wars from people dennying the falsity of it). The people who thought this one up (as well as the crying while eating one) hit a major part of the zeitgeist.

But oddly enough, they don't have any for the boys.

sillines

I am the sonnet, never quickly thrilled; Not prone to overstated gushing praise Nor yet to seething rants and anger, filled With overstretched opinions to rephrase; But on the other hand, not fond of fools, And thus, not fond of people, on the whole; And holding to the sound and useful rules, Not those that seek unjustified control. I'm balanced, measured, sensible (at least, I think I am, and usually I'm right); And when more ostentatious types have ceased, I'm still around, and doing, still, alright. In short, I'm calm and rational and stable - Or, well, I am, as much as I am able.

What Poetry Form Are You?


It also said, were I not a sonnet I should rather be a triolet

If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive. I'm the triolet, bursting with pride; If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. No, it isn't obsessive. Now hide All the spoons or I might get convulsive. If they told you I'm mad then they lied. I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive. What Poetry Form Are You?

Fucking Nanny State

I shouldn't be allowed to spend my weekends near the computer. Or if I am I should rather be spending it in the joyful mayhem of napoleonic wargames (Cossacks II is fun, even if the damned computer cheats. Some by design, some by happenstance of too much goin on at once, and the computer never losing its decision making powers because of lag).

The House of Representatives, as ever willing to treat soldiers, seamen, Marines and airmen as children, not entitled to be real adults. T first example of this is the ban on "explicit" sexual materials at the PX, apart from SOFA limitation is offensive. Not just that they don't think we ought to be made to pay full price for Penthouse, Hustler, et. al [Playboy is allowed, because they still don't show any penetration, which seems to be the line which must not be crossed], which I can sort of not mind because it helps the local economy, though at the cost of E-1s having to pay a premium from their small salaries.

The rationale for this bit of arrant nonsense is that the sale of such things is an endorsement by the gov't (never mind tha AAFES, and I presume the NEX as well) is a gov't concern in the same way the Post Office is. The sheer stupidity holding such a position entails is mind-boggling. Dr. Pepper and Coke have Gov't Endorsement. So too do BK and Popeye's.

As well as Skoal, Swisher Sweets, Marlboro and a host of other products (I've seen Trojan and Lifestyles, but never Kimono or Sheik).

In a, painfully consistent, move the House on Friday, decided it had the right to dictate the entirety of the DoD have it's choices curtailed, merely because the members thereof elected to serve the nation.

Under no circumstace, not rape, not incest, is enough to allow service women, or the female depndents of servicemen, from getting emergency contraception. Bad enough that these, legal, treatments are denied in cases less severe than these two-hot button exceptions (the ones used to show some of the hypocrisy in the anti-choice stance) even for these those who wear the uniform, or live with the sacrifices demanded of those who love those who wear it are asked to make, no even then they are not afforded these services.

Nor can they get the DoD to pay for abortion in the case of rape or incest.

Nor are they to be allowed to get abortions, at theirown expense, on overseas bases. That one, as it happens every year, they did vote on. 293-194.

They can, however, in cases of rape or incest pay for their own abortions, even stateside, they have to pay for those. I'm not sure about the procedures for establishing rape or incest though. Is an open investigation enough? What happens if the police decide it wasn't really rape? Do the doctors have to wait for the police to make a determination?

Did the Republicans who opposed this have the courage of their convictions? Did they allow this to get the simple up or down vote they demanded of judicial nominees? No, they did the same things they did when they didn't like judicial nominees, they killed it in committe.

On the Friday before Memorial Day they smothered the bills, so they wouldn't have to go on record opposing legal treatements for military women. They didn't want to piss anyone off (not the people who are in favor of it, nor those who are opposed). Intead they did this dis-service.

Raise your hand, swear to uphold and defend the Constitution, and be told you know longer know what's good for you. Don't worry though, Congress will see to it that you are taken care of. They'll decide about whether you should be exposed to combat; a grudging yes, and contraception; a milque-toasty no(if you aren't on hormones or an IUD, well it's your problem if someone assaults you).

Chickenshits.

Why do I write?

Eric Muller (Is That Legal) was bitten by the "Why do I write?" meme.

He wrote a splendid piece on it. So too did George Orwell

In many ways Muller's explanation matches mine.

I like it. Silly and crazy as it is, I enjoy it, always have. So that covers part of it. I write for pleasure and to pacify a muse.

But that isn't all of it, I could keep a journal, and I've tried, but I always give it up. I need to share things. The only times I've been any good at keeping Pepys' sorts of records was when I was in Basic, or Iraq, or somesuch and wanted to tell someone about it (I wrote huge letters to people from Basic. Books were forbidden and I had to stay awake in classes. The drill sergeants and I had a small conspiracy. I pretended to be taking notes, they pretended to believe me).

Larry Niven once said he wrote about things which pain him. That's part of it. It's certainly why I write about politics, why I started writing opinion columns more than 20 years ago. I've always been interested in what goes on in the world. My mother said I used to creep downstairs, at the age of four, to watch news programs on Saturday morning, back in Indiana (me, I remember watching SuperFriends with my sister, but heck, what do I know). I do recall that I wanted to watch Bugs Bunny, in part, because it was on CBS and CBS had, "In the News"

It would be swell, I think, if I had clips and could convince someone, somewhere to pay me to write a column again. Or maybe not. I recall the pain of column deadlines. News was easy. Figure out what the conflict it, or the news, find the sources, ask the questions, look for follow up (questions and sources) ask those questions, put it all in perspective and hand it to the copy desk.

Opinion, on a deadline? There was a collection of editorial cartoons in the library, "Getting Angry, Six Times a Week" with Conrad, and Mauldin and a couple of others. It was about doing just that, finding something to say, every day. Something topical, and relevant. Yeah, these days I have the nation to preach to (heck, the entire world, with LJ) not just Monroe High School. That ought to make it easier (it was hard, sometimes, to find something they'd care about, esp. since I didn't grow up in the The Valley. The kids at there thought Sylmar was a tough neighborhood).

But I don't have the sort of credentials to make that happen. The only other way to get that sort of exposure would be to start frothing at the mouth, a la Goldberg and Limbaugh, so I think I'll pass.

There are the diarist aspects of it, detailing the gardening, and the poppy-trips and suchlike. Keeping a sort of history. Some of that is what makes LJ nice, and I wonder about the dead. Two people I've come in contact with here, are no longer with us. But one can still read their jounrnals. I back mine up, but I ought to give my passoword to someone (there seems to be some flap somewhere with an LJer who was killed in Iraq, perhaps even the one I refer to here's, parent's not being allowed access to his account). How long will the things I write here remain? How long after I've stopped posting and am no longer paying for the account will my thoughts on the day's events linger in cyberspace?

The food porn. Probably the regular part of this I like the most. Shared creation. Maybe someone reads it and tries to make it. Maybe they buy parsnips at the store instead of carrots (or potatoes, they would be nice, mashed with a little butter, and a bit of blak pepper; maybe some dill). I get to show off. A well-done dish pleases me more (though with less lasting an effect) than a well turned phrase.

To make a well turned phrase about food... bliss. To know I inspired someone to experiment, to eat with gusto, to enjoy life a little more. Better still.

So, that's why I write.