California Sucks – Reason 3

Posted on by
1

This state needs a serious change in leadership. People laughed when it was proposed the southern California counties (specifically excluding Los Angeles) split from the existing state and form a new state of Southern California.

If you look at California’s voting demographics, you’ll see all the tree-hugging, socialist, “You Owe Me”, peaceniks live along the coasts from Los Angeles on up. Sacramento has a huge cluster of pod people there also, but they’re too far north (and too far out there) to care about the rest of us. The vast majority of inland California voters are conservative, law-abiding, “stand for something or you’ll fall for anything” people. This can best be summarized by looking at one of California’s most divisive election issues, Proposition 8.

Prop 8 was a voter initiative that wanted to firmly establish and retain the concept of marriage as a union between one male and one female. Unhappy with the near identical language in the “civil union” statutes that guaranteed equality for same-sex partners, the state devolved into throwing stones back-and-forth over the word “marriage” and, for me at least, it’s religious connotations. Regardless, check the map. If you have an image blocker on your browser you can see the image here.

See the green? If we were to change that color to red, what would that represent to you? If we changed the yellow to blue, does that change your perspective? Yes, I’m trying to draw a parallel here between Republicans and Democrats and no, they didn’t vote along party lines for or against Prop 8. My purpose here is to graphically illustrate how the population centers that would tend to be red or blue are divided between the coast and the inland valley, mountain areas. Los Angeles county is the lowest patch of yellow on the coast and the Mono Lake lovers are hugging Nevada.

So we have a problem. Check the numbers. The reason why California is a political wasteland is because the numbers are so close. True, the example shown is Prop 8, but the numbers pretty much ring true for just about any state issue. We can’t get anything done here. If we were to split the state and allow the southern counties to keep their tax revenues rather than sending them off to Sacramento so they can subsidize Oakland and San Francisco’s social service programs, we’d be doing a lot better. The San Bernardino / Riverside County areas known as the Inland Empire have one of the highest unemployment rates in the state but because the population density is less than Oakland, we lose. It ticks me off. It grinds my gears.

But why, specifically, does California suck today? Yes, it’s that old theme of illegals, drivers licenses and political pandering. There was an article today (here) in which the Los Angeles City police chief said his officers were not going to enforce the current law that requires them to impound vehicles of unlicensed drivers. Why? Because it’s not fair. It might limit or restrict their ability to get to or search for work. Uhhh…what?

California already turns a blind eye to illegal immigration. It’s a Federal issue and the State doesn’t have the right to enforce Federal immigration laws. Let me take that one step farther and say the state wouldn’t enforce those laws even if required to do so. Unlike Arizona, California would never consider laws that would require illegal aliens seeking to enter our public school system to show they live in the local district. Pay the same tuition at a college or university? Are you insane? That would mean undermining the DREAM Act.

I have had the immigration rant with just about everyone that knows me. I believe in immigration the way it was run even as late as the 1950s. If you want to come here, fill out the forms and get in line. Have a sponsor. Get a job. Two of my grandmothers had to do that and they were married to a U.S. born-and-raised citizen! They tried to deport one grandmother back to Australia and my Peruvian grandmother had issues because my grandfather was often out of the country flying aircraft between Los Angeles; Lima, Peru, and; Sao Paulo, Brazil. I’m not going to go into my overall feelings on this but I will say it’s highly disingenuous of our country to require people from countries with whom we do not share a common border to process through the system yet we pander to others.

But back to today’s issue. I have no doubt in my military mind that if I was pulled over in the People’s Republic of Los Angeles and produced my insurance card, my registration card and my Disneyland season pass from last year as a photo ID, they’d impound my car. It wouldn’t matter that I could recite to them my driver’s license number, my home address or my height and weight. My car would be on the back of a tow truck on the way to the revenue station impound yard in a heartbeat. I really don’t understand the reasoning behind the decision.

We’re told constantly it may be illegal to hire day laborers from the street corners. Forgetting the personal safety and risk you take, the state loses tax revenue. If we want to stop complaining about the number of jobs citizens have lost to illegals, stop hiring them. Some organizations post lists on the internet of companies known to hire or cater to the “undocumented” crowd. If you want to keep your job or create a job, boycott those businesses. If we get enough economic sanctions against employers (either by increasing penalties or citizen boycotts), they won’t hire illegals and they will magically self-emigrate back to their homeland.

But no amount of pushing an employer will seriously induce an individual to act now and act with decisive finality. If you know you cannot obtain a driver’s license in this state unless you can prove you have a right to be here, that’s a concern. If you know you might be subject to Federal identity theft laws if you use a false or stolen social security number to obtain employment, that’s a concern. But concerns really don’t mean anything. Every time you stuff a cigarette in your face you might be concerned about lung cancer but it doesn’t stop you from lighting up.

Just because I might get caught doesn’t really mean I need to lose any sleep over it. However, if I’m on my way home and I get pulled over and I have my car towed and impounded, THAT gets my attention. If I have to pay the tow charges AND the impound charges for my vehicle as well as a fine for driving the car without a license, I’m impacted directly. How will I work? Who freaking cares, as far as I’m concerned. How will you pick up the little ones from day care? Not my problem.

For me, this is not a humanitarian issue. Don’t cry to me about how as a Christian I’m charged with saving the world and all the people in it. This is not the same. Requiring foreigners to obtain documentation for admission into this country gives them certain rights and responsibilities. Knowing and obeying our laws keeps the playing field level. Breaking a law and claiming ignorance of the law because you didn’t know about it is the wrong answer. But let’s move on.

If the requirement is that you either pay-to-play (by getting a driver’s license legally) or you don’t drive, you don’t drive. Using the new Los Angeles philosophy, it seems any high school student 16 or older could tour around the county without having to have a license. All they need is their school I.D. Mom and Dad have their name on the registration and insurance, so the car shouldn’t be towed, right? True, they might fine the student for driving without a license but how can they do that to Betty Sue or LaTonia when they won’t do it to Belinda? Obviously, my comment has racial overtones, but my point is this: How can you say all you have to do is provide a picture ID and they won’t tow your car? Idiots.

California sucks.

John Carter

Posted on by
2

Bottom Line: I enjoyed the John Carter movie. Now you don’t have to read this whole thing.

I don’t have a television or a radio. I use an iPad to stream NetFlix and my computer to stream either old time radio (here) or contemporary Christian radio (here). Once or twice a day I’ll visit news sites that include Drudge Report and World Net Daily. As an aside to this story, if you think Drudge is a tool of the right-wing bunker-builders, you haven’t actually been to the site. If you scroll down to the bottom of the page you can link directly to just about any media outlet you’d like. This includes “real” news outlets. Funny thing, what’s a “real” news outlet? I’ve had this discussion a few times with one of the contributors here. Apparently, World Net Daily doesn’t qualify as a “real” news agency. I’m still unclear as to what the delimiters are, but I like them and like their new online format. Regardless, I’ll move on.

From a Drudge link (here) I learned this film is Disney’s largest loss to date. Millions of dollars in disappointment short at the box office. Why? I don’t know. My son and I went in the middle of the day on a Wednesday and the theater, though not shoulder-to-shoulder, was quite nicely filled. I went for four reasons. First, my thirteen year old son asked to see it. Second, I wanted to see what Disney had spent so much money on only to call it a loss. Third, from the WND site’s review of the movie (here, which will link you back to the original post on Slate here), I wanted to see for myself the comparisons being drawn between John Carter and Jesus. Fourth and finally, I read the original Edgar Rice Burroughs series in high school and wanted to see it on the big screen.

I enjoyed it and recommend it but I can see a few similarities to other movies. If you haven’t seen the movie and don’t want me to ruin it, stop reading. Otherwise, please continue.

In the scenes where they’re paddling down the river, I was reminded of the original Planet of the Apes movie with a similar scene. I could also see a lot of Star Wars similarities, also. The flying machines reminded me of the Star Wars Episode VI when they were trying to throw Han and Luke into the Sarlacc. The large arena fight reminds me of another Star Wars battle scene, where the Jedi are being attacked en masse.

That’s it for now. See the movie if you haven’t yet and let me know what you think.

Cowards

Posted on by
3

I had a discussion today with another one of those “wouldda, shouldda, couldda” folks that drives me insane. The issue? Military service.

I was born into an Army family and lived in a number of interesting places because of it. I joined the Army at 18 and spent the next 20 years doing all kinds of fascinating things that I won’t go into here. The point? I did what I felt needed to be done. It was truly the only life I had known so it seemed natural to return to it as soon as I was able. But because that life was, by default, compartmentalized (especially people and emotions) I’ll focus on people today.

For me and my kind growing up, there were lots of different groups of people. First, of course, were the military service members. Army, then Marines, then Navy. The Air Force really served as a charter airline for the Army (just like the Navy provided cruise-liners for the Marines) and didn’t get much respect from us Army brats. The Coast Guard didn’t count as a military service (except in WWII) because they fell under the Department of Transportation (after having been moved out of the Treasury Department, by the way). I’m certain every military branch had it’s own set of standards in which their service held the number one slot but since they were all posers anyway, it didn’t matter.

After the military service members were the dependents. Spouses and children were dependents. They were significantly lower on the totem pole than the service member, but at least we could buy cool crap at the post exchange.

Back in the day, being a dependent could suck really, really bad. Since it was the Vietnam era, almost all of my friends’ fathers were the service member, so where you stood in the social hierarchy depended on a few specific factors:
1. What was your dad’s rank?
2. Was your father Regular Army or drafted?
3. Was he a “soldier” or a REMF?
4. How many tours had he done in ‘Nam?

Due to segregation, we never hung out with any officers kids. My dad was a non-commissioned officer (NCO) and very proud of it. Although the Army ensured that officers, NCOs and junior enlisted soldiers all lived in different areas of the base (with significantly different standards of living, of course), I doubt my friends and I would have chosen to hang out with Zeros anyway. For clarification, enlisted ranks in the military start with the letter “E”. Officer ranks start with the letter “O”. Because the “O” looked like the number 0, we called officers and their dependents “Zeros”. I imagine it’s changed, but “Zero” was a derogatory term.

Anyway, back to segregation for a moment. I’m certain any military brat can tell a different story but me and my friends didn’t have issues of race. Segregation was by rank, not by race. I don’t ever recall as a kid hearing any of our dads refer to another person by a racial slur. Staff Sergeant Hernandez was either “Sergeant Hernandez” or the SDNCO (staff duty NCO). He wasn’t a “wetback” or a “spic” or anything else. Sergeant First Class Morris wasn’t “the black guy” or a “nigger.” He was “Sergeant Morris”. I think if any of our dads heard us refer to someone by a racial slur we would have had our asses kicked first by the dad that heard it then by our own fathers. As a child of the ’60s coming into maturity in the ’70s, racism wasn’t our issue. Whether you were a Zero or not was. And yes, if you screwed up and someone else’s dad caught you, he administered the first round of corporal punishment before you got sent to your dad for round two. No questions asked.

If your dad was Regular Army, you had it going on. Back in the day before your social security number became your number, you had a service number. Almost everyone remembers the old line about the three things you have tell a captor if you’re taken as a prisoner of war: Name, Rank and Service Number. No? You remember Name, Rank and Social Security Number? Newbie. “Real” soldiers, those that volunteered to join, had service numbers that started with “RA” for Regular Army. Soldiers that either volunteered to avoid the draft or were drafted had service numbers that started with “USA”. Since my dad joined during and did time in Korea, he had an RA number. That fact put me socially above some other kid who’s dad might have had more rank but only volunteered to join because he thought he might get drafted. We still accepted those kids but we let them know their dads were weak.

If your dad was a “soldier”, we knew it by his Military Occupational Specialty (MOS). It might have been called something different back then, but if your dad was Infantry, he was a soldier. Infantry, Armor (tanks), Artillery–those guys were the top spots. On one of his tours in Vietnam my dad was in Psychological Warfare working with the Special Forces, so I got to claim that honor also. If your dad was a cook, a supply guy or anything in the Adjutant General’s Corps or Finance, they were a REMF. Just like “Zero”, “REMF” (pronounced like it reads, remf) was derogatory. It stood for Rear Echelon Mother “Effer” and meant the chances of your dad actually seeing combat time were little to none. If your dad was a REMF, you were a REMF. It would be really bad if your dad was a personnel officer of a unit because then he’d be both a Zero and a REMF and your social status would suck with us. But since we didn’t associate with Zeros, we’d never see you anyway.

Today the outdated term REMF has been replaced by FOBBIT. If you’re a FOBBIT and proud, to me you’re still a REMF, loser.

How many tours had your dad done? Ideally, at least one. The last gasp of hope you had for any type of social recognition was if your dad had “punched his ticket” in Vietnam. If your dad had never been there, did not have orders sending him there soon or planned to ETS (get out of the service) before he got sent there, you were nothing with us. We would sooner play human-target lawn darts with a bunch of Zeros than a Non-Dep (Non-Deployable, Non-Deployed) REMF-loving waste of skin like you.

Non-Deps were vile. Even Zeros hated Non-Deps. It was universal. The best I can equate it to today was during Desert Storm. A female medical officer (Army, unfortunately) was interviewed on a local (Los Angeles) television station. In uniform, crying uncontrollably, she looked at the camera and said when she joined, no one told her she would have to go to war. That image was burned into my head and will stay with me forever. On my first day of basic training, a drill sergeant stood in front of us and told us that if we weren’t told one day we might be called upon to kill someone, perhaps by running a bayonet through their chest cavity in hand-to-hand combat, we were in the wrong place. How you can be in the Army–and an officer at that–and cry because “no one told you” is an outright lie.

Okay, so that basically established the pecking order within the accepted group of military branches and dependents. Then what?

We recognized two types of civilians. One had a capital “C” and the other was lower case. A Department of Defense (or Department of the Army, etc.) Civilian (capital “C”) was a technician. Oftentimes they were separated or retired service members that scored a sweet job doing stuff for the Army and getting paid for it. My teachers were Department of the Army (DA) Civilians. The people that worked at the MWR (Morale, Welfare and Recreation) office that rented us everything from rowboats and fishing poles to horses and guitars were Civilians. Civilians (capital “C”) and their dependents were okay by us. In Germany, for example, the father of a friend of mine separated from service and returned to marry a German woman. I don’t remember what Mr. Cobb did but he was a Civilian. His son was a friend of mine and we attended the Munich American Elementary school together. However, the Cobbs lived off-post in Unterhaching. Most of the Civilian families lived off-post but that was still okay.

Then there were civilians (lower case). Nothing was worse than a civilian. Words cannot express the disdain and contempt I had for civilians. From civilians came the two most evil infections the world has ever known: The Draft Dodger and the Career Student.

I will honestly confess that it wasn’t until my early-twenties that my mindset on civilians began to change. I still to this day cannot stomach draft dodgers and career students, but I accept that civilians have a place in this world and, most importantly, a right to exist. You might think I’m joking about this but those that know me well know how little I cared for civilians. I wasn’t a round-them-up-and-put-them-in-camps kind of freak (though I knew some) but I really didn’t care. I would donate blood to help a Non-Dep before I’d shed a tear for a civilian. This may not make sense to you but anyone with my background will understand immediately what I mean. We didn’t tell blonde jokes or Polish jokes or ethnic jokes–we told civilian jokes. How many civilians does it take to change a light bulb? Who cares? Nuke ’em ’til they glow and they won’t need light bulbs. That kind of stuff. But it only applied to American civilians. We loved the Germans and the Panamanians and everyone else. Just the Americans.

Before I continue, let me make a couple of things perfectly clear. First, it wasn’t until I joined the Army that I recognized not everyone was cut out for military service. Some people can’t stand the sight of blood and some people don’t do well under stress. Some people can’t work under someone else’s authority and some people obviously lost a game of human-target lawn darts early in life. I know not everyone is capable of performing the duties required of military service. In fact, there are some people in the service that have no right to be there but that also is a different story.

Second, education is good. Even a degree from a liberal, earth-first, Vegan-loving college is better than dropping out of school because it “got hard”. Life sucks if that’s what you make it. I’ve failed plenty of times in different things but at least I tried.

So, do I think everyone should be in the military? No. I hope that’s clear. But let me tell you two things before I *FINALLY* get to the point of today’s blog.

Hate is a strong word. I understand it’s subtleties and multifaceted meanings. I hate draft dodgers, especially those that fled out of the country during Vietnam. All my friends and the Zeros hated them, too. Being drafted did not automatically mean you were handed a rifle and sent to kill Viet Cong or NVA soldiers. What it meant was that the country in which you were lucky enough to be born required your service. Could you be drafted and killed in some far-away country in a war you didn’t support? Maybe. Could you be drafted and spend your whole tour of duty sweating your ass off painting rocks and picking off leeches at Fort Polk, Louisiana? Maybe. But if you were too much of a coward to consider anything other than running away, we’re better off without you anyway. But you’re still one step above the worst-of-the-worst: The Career Student.

Many cowards who chose to avoid the draft and couldn’t afford to run across the nearest border elected instead to become full-time college students. I honestly am not up-to-speed on what all of the draft laws were of the late ’60s and early ’70s, but I know that if you were a full-time college student, especially if you had a family, you got a reprieve of some sort. Un-Effing-Believable. I disagree with that line of reasoning just as much as I disagree that the draft should only be for men. If the country needs people to serve in the military, draft men and women, not just men. But that again is for another day.

If you are one of those who became a full-time college student to avoid the draft, knowing full-well what you were doing and taking this course of action with the intent simply to avoid the draft, I earnestly pray that someone else did not die because of your cowardice. You might be able to make peace with God, your pot supplier or whomever else you believe in to justify your actions, but there truly is no lower form of life. I consider you no better than a rapist or a child molester. Seriously. The contempt you have for your fellow man by causing them to pay a sacrifice on your behalf is unacceptable. You are the worst type of coward.

When we tuned in to the evening news to see what was happening in the States, what did we see? Flag burning college students complaining about the war. My friends and I hated them. Whether our dads were Regular Army, pre-draft volunteers or drafted, they were all service members who answered the call to serve their country. Did they like the war? None of us did. I can pretty much guarantee you that unless he was dead, you saw your father more in one year than I did in five. The same with my friends. Our dads weren’t there because they were called away. Sometimes one of our dads wouldn’t come home. There was no fanfare, no parade, no community event. One day Chris was at school with you and then he was gone for a few days. By the time word got back to us that Chris’ dad had died they were already on a plane back home. You never said goodbye. They just weren’t there anymore, neither Chris nor his dad. And who was responsible? As far as we were concerned, the flag-burning filth on TV.

I remember that my father returned home from Vietnam once (he served multiple tours there) and was taking a bus from Los Angeles to where we lived in Pasadena, California. Someone on the bus called him a baby killer. Why? Because that’s what all the young, hip, flag-burning, draft-dodging, pot-smoking, acid-dropping hippies did at the time. My dad beat the crap out of him and only because of the bus driver and some of the other bus riders, he didn’t kill him. Why? Today they would call it PTSD but unknown to the loser hippie, my dad had literally been in the jungles of Vietnam not 48 hours before shithead called him a baby killer. Does this matter? Not necessarily, but it will help you understand my position. I was proud of my dad for what he did. No one on TV ever stopped the flag burning. No one ever stopped the name calling. No one ever stopped the student protests (thanks for the effort at Kent State, though). “We”, the military service members and dependents, were always the villains.

One obvious group I excluded here were the conscientious objectors (COs). I respected them. They didn’t run from the draft or suddenly have the need to enroll in school. If they registered (many if not most did), they declared themselves as COs. Did that keep them from being drafted? No. In fact, I met two people when I first joined the service that had registered as COs but were drafted anyway. One was a Chaplain’s Aide and the other was a medic. Neither would carry a weapon or inflict harm to someone else but both answered when their draft number came up.

A conscientious objector is not someone that simply doesn’t want to join the military. To me, a CO is someone who either based on their religion, ethics, morality or combination of all three refuses to harm, much less kill, another. If you call yourself a CO and then punch someone in the face because they call you a coward, you’re not a CO. You’re a coward. A CO is not afraid of serving provided *service* is what’s demanded. Chaplain’s Aide, medic, dental hygienist, there are scores of job specialties where known, self-described COs can and do serve. If you were a CO during Vietnam, registered for the draft and reported to the draft board when they called your number, I have a lot of respect for you. Perhaps the military didn’t need or want you by the time you got there, but you got there. As a civilian (lower case “c”), you’re still head and shoulders above the rest because you took a stand on principles, not on fear. A true CO is not a coward. Jesus Christ was a conscientious objector and no one I know would consider Him a coward.

But on to today’s beef.

I’m certain I’m not the only person who’s heard someone say, “If I’d only stayed in I’d have my twenty by now.” That kind of bugs me. Why did you get out then? You did 12, 13 or 14 years–why did you quit? You can take an early retirement from the military at 15 years in most cases (reduced pay, of course, but you’re still eligible for retirement pay). Why did you leave? What are you not telling us? For what reason were you ineligible for promotion? What did you do that put a bar to reenlistment on your record? What happened? Just saying you “shouldda” stayed is not being honest. I’d like to know why you *didn’t* stay. If it wasn’t your choice, why not tell us what really happened? And don’t lie to me and tell me it was because you went to go work with Delta Force. Two quick questions will establish you’re a liar, so don’t even start. Just tell the truth. Why didn’t you stay?

Another favorite is, “If we were ever attacked I’d be the first one in line to volunteer.” What the frickin frack does that mean? You excuse the attack on the Marine barracks in Beirut because it wasn’t “us”. Technically, our Marines were in another country so that doesn’t count. Wow. Okay. So the first time they attacked the World Trade Center (remember that?) didn’t count? What about the USS Cole? Khobar Towers? What about our embassies? What about 9/11? At what point do you draw the line and say “we” have been attacked and now you’ll hold true to your word? Did you lie? Did you ever really intend to join or were you just lying to make yourself feel better? Oh, I know: When you said that you were in school. Now you’ve got a decent job and a family and you don’t want to give that up. What about the soldier on his fourth tour of duty that just got killed by a roadside bomb today? Are his wife and kids less important to him than yours are to you? Come on! Nut Up! If you’re afraid, say so.

There’s nothing wrong with being afraid. Fear is a basic emotion. The difference between fear and cowardice is simple: A person can have tremendous fear yet still try. A coward won’t even try. If you’re afraid to serve because it might cost you your life, let alone your family and your career, admit it. There is honor in admitting fear. But please, don’t lie to me and tell me that “we” haven’t met your conditions for being attacked (at which point you’ll run down to the recruiting station to sign up). Promote yourself up from coward. Admit your fear.

Today’s discussion was the classic, “If I could have joined, I would have” statement. I understand that if you have an emotional or physical impairment that keeps you from entering service in the military, it is what it is. I was seriously injured training with a Ranger unit at an Arctic Warfare school in Alaska. I was told if I did not accept a medical separation from service (with a healthy cash payout to boot) at that time (1985) that I would have to surrender any future medical benefits related to the injury and accept a mandatory separation date twenty years after my initial entry into the service. Unfortunately, my retirement paperwork came through in August of 2001 and we were attacked (again) in September of 2001. That, of course, is another subject.

Not everyone has a debilitating injury. The guy I was speaking with today thought he would get some respect from me by claiming an injury but that wasn’t to be.

In California, we have the California National Guard. I think just about every state has a National Guard, but that’s not important. The California National Guard (CANG) occupies and trains on CANG property. It’s state property, but designated for use by the CANG. We have armories and camps throughout the state. Have you ever thought about this? If the entire unit at your local armory gets mobilized and deployed overseas, what happens to the building? The unit won’t be gone forever. Who maintains the facility? Ah, my friend. The Great State of California has an answer for this: The California State Military Reserve (CSMR). Never heard of them? Neither had I, until I worked with them.

The CSMR has uniforms just like the CANG except the unit patches and name tapes are different. Admittedly, my experience with the CSMR is dated (1990s) but it was staffed with people who answered the call to serve in time of need. There were people of all ages, men and women alike. A guy I worked with for a short time was a captain in the CSMR who could only walk with the use of crutches as he was essentially a paraplegic. He was freakin’ awesome.

I was a Military Intelligence officer with an emphasis on electronic warfare (jamming, direction finding, communications deception, etc.). I was detailed at one point to work as a liaison officer to the CANG’s 40th Infantry Division when they went to the field for their annual two week training exercise. I had a senior NCO with me and together we comprised what was known as an IEWSE (Intelligence and Electronic Warfare Staff Element). We rolled up to the designated rally point for our initial contact as planned.

When the back ramp of the M577 Command Track came down, I was surprised to see a guy with two silver crutches coming down the ramp. Having had the experience of both legs in full casts at the same time myself, I figured this guy had been injured recently. He and I were both captains so we introduced ourselves by first name (though I couldn’t tell you his name if I had to right now). It was obvious by the way he moved that he had not been injured per se, but had a disability. Namely, he couldn’t walk without his crutches.

Yes, we spoke about the mission and what I was there to do and all that crap, which isn’t the point here. I got to speaking with him about how he got to be in the middle of Camp Roberts, California in the back of an armored personnel carrier when he clearly didn’t meet the physical requirements for military service. He told me about the CSMR, what they did and how they functioned. I was fascinated. This guy was a freakin’ genius who didn’t have a disability at all–he just couldn’t walk. To him it was more of an annoyance than anything else, but it really forced me to wrap my head around the concept of being disabled versus having an impairment. This guy couldn’t walk but it didn’t keep him from thinking. It may seem incredibly ignorant now, but I don’t know that the point had ever been made as clearly as it was working with him. He was a great guy to work with and it was obvious the other people in the command respected him very much.

We spoke at length about the CSMR. Basically, if a unit gets deployed, the CSMR will occupy the armory until the unit returns. There’s more to it than that of course, but my point is this: The guy today said his hearing in one ear was too bad to join the Army. If he “couldda”, he “wouldda” but he couldn’t so he didn’t. When I told him about the CSMR and the fact that he could still serve in uniform, the conversation went from motivation to something along the lines of not having the time to be able to do it right now. Very weak.

It really bothers me to speak with someone about military service they didn’t perform. Why waste my time? Honestly, now that I’m older and hopefully more mature, I respect you just for serving in the first place. I don’t care if you painted handrails deep in the bowels of a Navy ship or chocked wheels on an airfield in the middle of nowhere for the Air Force. You don’t have to be a Force Recon Marine or a Ranger. Your willingness to serve puts you in a select group. Your motivation and dedication might define what you do and how well you do it, but it doesn’t define *you*.

I know I will have to endure more shouldda, wouldda, couldda conversations in the future. I enjoy speaking with other people about their specific military experiences. The stuff I did and for which I was trained was fairly unique, highly specialized and not well known. My world was one acronym after another, all of which had specific references to either capabilities, platforms, performance, personnel or missions. If you know the difference between Trailblazer, Teammate, Quick Fix, Rivet Joint or Mohawk, let’s talk. Otherwise, I’d be more than happy to listen you. Everyone who’s served has a different experience, some good, some bad. But please, if you didn’t even try, don’t ask me to talk about my service. You wouldn’t understand.

I have some pretty simple ground rules regarding military service.

  1. If you served, don’t lie about what you did. A liar is a liar. You’re not a Ranger because you bought the tab at the PX, you’ve never served in Delta Force and your sniper team was never sent to assassinate someone. Don’t lie.
  2. If you want to serve, look into it first. Don’t join because Call of Duty is a bad-ass video game and you kick ass and take names like no one else. Serving is not a video game. It’s not a joke. You might have to kill someone. You might die. Worse, you might suffer horrible, disfiguring injuries. Know the risks. Don’t do it because you broke up with your high school sweetheart or because you think it’s your best-bet for a job. Do it because it’s right and you and your family know the risks.
  3. If you don’t want to serve, don’t. But don’t lie about it. Don’t pull the conscientious objector card and then wish death or injury to someone else. Don’t say it’s because we’re not really at war. Don’t say it’s because you’re not able to serve. Tell me you’re a CO and prove it by joining as a Chaplain’s Aide. Tell me you’re afraid and earn a little respect. Don’t lie and make up some reason why you can’t serve. Don’t be a coward.
  4. If you didn’t register for the draft, do so. It’s still the law.
  5. If you’re currently serving and need to speak with someone about what you’ve seen, done, heard or read about, talk to your Chaplain. You don’t have to be ‘religious’ to talk to a Chaplain. For what it’s worth, if you think you might have something like Combat Stress or PTSD, a conversation with the Chaplain could help clarify the issue confidentially. If you go to the TMC, an Aid station or hospital for consultation, that gets put in your record. See the Chaplain first.
  6. If you’re currently serving and want to re-up or separate from service, don’t make a decision without including your family. You need their support either way.
  7. If you’re a civilian and you read this whole thing, thank you. I’m almost fifty now and it’s taken my whole life to accept you as an equal. I wasn’t better than you, it’s just that you didn’t deserve the company of service members and dependants. I’m almost over all of that. Unless, of course…
  8. If you’re a draft dodger or a career student (as defined above), pray. Pray daily. Pray that God will remove the guilt I hope you feel as a result of your selfish, cowardly acts of betrayal to true Americans. When you see the names on the Vietnam War Memorial, I hope you say a prayer that your petty act of self preservation did not result in one single person’s death. Pray that God will forgive you when Jesus reminds you of John 15:13.

Sparky’s Office

Posted on by
Reply

 

Today we take a fascinating trip into Sparky’s office and delve deep into my twisted mind.

This is the house in which I now live. However, since this is the Internet age and there are as many browsers as there are electronic devices connected to the web at any given time, your viewing results may vary. If the picture is too small to discern any real detail, image a small two-story “starter” home with a small yard and a short driveway. It probably looks similar to houses in your neighborhood but mine’s a little older. Again, your browser may tweak the settings slightly but that’s where I live and, at least on my browser, that’s what it looks like.

I used to be one of the most anti-social, confrontational, in-your-face people you’d ever met. I was willing to back up anything at any time with aggressive action, not weak reaction. I was told under no uncertain terms by my spouse that if things didn’t change I would no longer be welcome at home. For those reasons among others, I was asked to leave*.

Knowing things weren’t good, I took an anger management class and really embraced the concepts and tools given during the course of instruction. I changed, but it either wasn’t enough or it was too late to reconcile and return home so I had to find a new home on a very limited budget. I found this place and I really, really like it.

The homeowner lives here also but he put me in charge as the caretaker for the house and its surrounding property. It’s not a bad gig most of the time. The house has multiple rooms and, because we’re on a hill, the homeowner likes me to keep all the lights on for any unoccupied rooms. Why? Although he doesn’t run a boarding house or a licensed hotel/motel (or even a B&B, for that matter) he thinks keeping the lights on encourages people who are tired, lost or hungry to stop by. Which, by the way, is exactly how I found him.

I used to have a lot of issues with that philosophy. It costs a lot of money to keep all the lights on. Moreover, keeping the lights on means you have to keep the rooms clean. It’s much easier to clean a room really, really clean once, turn off the light and shut the door. It’ll stay clean, right? Wrong. If the light’s on I can’t shut the door. Why? Those are the rules. As long as the homeowner is in his house all the rooms are his–even mine. If he wants to keep all the lights on all the time and he’s willing to pay for it, the lights stay on as long as he wants.

Between my revised post-anger-management attitude and the fact that I accept I’m living in someone else’s house where they make the rules, things have changed for the better. People recognize me and come up to embrace me and speak with me in the strangest places. Target, the UPS Store, Subway, a high school play, and even today at Kinko’s. Lots of people recognize me as that guy on the hill with all his lights on, which isn’t a bad thing at all.

If you live in a house with multiple rooms, try this: Open every door in every room and turn on every light in every room or closet. When you get up in the morning, mentally inventory everything in the house. When you’re ready, start walking around. Stop at every room and check that everything’s where it should be and that everything in the room is clean and presentable. If the homeowner walked in with you, would you be proud of the work he charged you with (i.e. keeping his house clean and organized)? If you do that every day for a few days you’ll see it’s not as tough or weird as it sounds.

If someone comes to the house in the middle of the night drawn by all the lights, I’m more than happy to speak with them and try to help them. Do I want them living there? Not necessarily, but if I can help point them in the direction of help I’ll do so.

Have you grown tired of this yet, having figured it out a long time ago? If not, here’s the spoiler: I’m talking about my spiritual beliefs, of course.

God, Creator of all things, gave me a spiritual house. Once I accepted, confessed and believed that He alone was God, He sent the Holy Spirit to dwell in my heart as the owner-in-fact of my mind, body and soul. I am the caretaker. However, that has a tremendous amount of responsibility. I decide who (or what) will cohabit with me in the house. If my thoughts and deeds (rooms in the house) are good and honorable, I have no problem keeping the door open for review and the light on so others can see what I’ve done and take note.

If my thoughts and deeds are not honest, wholesome or life-giving, I will probably want to shut the door, turn off the light and pretend it didn’t happen. That’s not setting a good example for me as a caretaker or as a parent.

So, what does this have to do with anything? I had to go to Kinko’s today to buy a hole punch. I got involved in a conversation with someone who recognized me from my church and wanted me to help them with some issues they’ve been having. I am not a pastor, a minister, someone with special healing powers or anything other than who I am. Regardless, this person wanted to talk about an issue with which they’re struggling and “felt in their heart” that I was approachable and could help them if by doing nothing else but praying for them.

A year ago I would have immediately assessed how to drop and incapacitate this stranger who approached me in the parking lot of Kinko’s. Today I held and comforted someone in need who sought my advice and prayer.

Our God is an awesome God.

 

*For the record, I never–not even once for pretend–yelled at, hit, threatened, belittled, called names or intimidated my spouse. My ignorance made me a stay-at-home, do-nothing jerk. All you He-Man, bad-ass, wannabes out there, I’ve got a plethora of reformed hard core gang members at my disposal who will tell you the same thing: Don’t be like we were. It’s a waste of time.

California Sucks – Reason 2

Posted on by
Reply

On a recent return trip from Flagstaff, Arizona, my kids and I agreed it would be fun to travel Route 66 as much as we could. We entered “The Mother Road” just west of Flagstaff and stayed with it. Before I continue let me state that if you don’t have either a ham radio or a C.B. radio, get one before you head out on this road. There were vast areas where my Verizon and my daughter’s AT&T cell phone services did not exist.

I enjoyed the old Berma-Shave ads they still have on the side of the road. I also enjoyed the cattle-guards, the tumbleweeds and the feeling you get when a semi-truck passes you in the other direction and your car swerves from the forces of the wind. Seriously, that was fun.

We passed towns (like Seligman, AZ) that are still close enough to Interstate 40 that if you chose to, you could ditch the highway and go back to the freeway. As I think many people know, the creator of Disney’s “Cars” received his inspiration for the movies after speaking with a barber from Seligman who talked about the “old” days, when Route 66 was the only game in town. So, with that in mind, we continued down the road.

We came across Peach Springs (speed limit 25 MPH) which could have been Radiator Springs? Who knows. We saw huge rock formations very similar to the hoods of the cars seen in the movie. Then again, we were probably seeing what we wanted to see. Except for the two or three towns where the speed limit went from 55 to 25, the countryside was beautiful and uneventful all the way to Kingman.

Once you leave Kingman, stand by. They don’t have any signs posted, but if you’re in a large motor home or pulling a trailer, or if you’re either afraid of heights or mountain driving, DO NOT TAKE Route 66 between Kingman and the California state border.

As we wound our way along the narrow road through the mountain pass, the view was spectacular. Well, you had to look over all the crosses placed on the side of the road where people had gone over the edge and apparently died, but still, the view was fantastic. If you’ve ever driven to or from Big Bear Lake, CA the back way from Victorville, it’s very similar to that except it’s steeper with sharper turns, more narrow, and they don’t have railings on the side of the road.

Not too long after we passed the Gold Road mine, we turned the corner to Oatman, AZ. If you have ever been to Calico, CA, imagine Calico with about 200 residents. I have links here and here if you want to check it out. We stopped the car, stayed for the gunfight, fed some burros and made a friend or two. I would go back in a heartbeat.

So, why does California suck (reason number two)? Route 66. In Arizona, there is no limit to the number of signs pointing you to Route 66 and in which direction you must travel to get there. To cross into CA from AZ you must re-link with I-40, but as soon as you’re across the river they have a sign for Route 66. Don’t fall for the lie. You will take the exit but it leads nowhere. That’s not true. It leads to some touristy boat dock area that doesn’t have a single through street anywhere. So we went back to I-40.

As we came closer to Needles, there was another sign for Route 66. We decided to try our luck and took the exit. Here’s the thing: I know we were on Route 66 because it was painted on the highway itself. However, at some point it became something else (Route 95) and no one bothered to post a sign. You know, something like Route 95 with a sign beneath it reading Historic Route 66. Nothing. I went from being on Route 66 to being on another road headed for Searchlight, Nevada.

Headed down the road trying to loosen my load with seven women on my mind, we came to a decision point. A regular street sign indicated we were at the intersection of Goffs Road and the 95. Straight or turn? There was nary a Route 66 sign to be seen anywhere. Bastidges. So my daughter did the next-best thing: Used her iPhone.

Interesting thing about an iPhone, or maybe it was because of where we were, but if you’re at the intersection of Goffs Road and Highway 95, you’re guaranteed to confuse the crap out of Siri. A simple request like, “Route 66 from my location” will give you two abortion clinics and a Chik-fil-A in Portland, Maine. Ask something like, “nearest gas station” and you’ll be asked if you want to make a spa appointment at Madame Wong’s Day Spa in Vancouver, British Columbia. I don’t think it was until my son shifted just to the correct angle that we had sufficient signal for the GPS map to appear and realize that Goffs Road is, in fact, Route 66.

Once you leave Goffs, CA (be careful of the 90 degree, 10 MPH turn from north to west), put it on auto pilot and take a nap. Unlike Arizona’s small towns still alive along the road, California’s small towns all died–except where they intersect with I-40.

I guess to be fair, California doesn’t suck *because* of Route 66, it sucks because it’s hard to find. The freeway signs do a good job of teasing you off the freeway to relive the days of old, but once you’re off the freeway you’re on your own. I really felt AZ did a great job keeping you on the road and encouraging you to stay there even if it was to feed the speed traps and tourist towns along the way.

California was more like a card from one of those adult phone sex operations. They tease you with the promise of a good time. On the surface, it’s sexy and appealing–Route 66: The Mother Road. It even has it’s own song! And then reality hits. Candice really isn’t a 22 year old fit-and-trim, blonde-haired, blue-eyed co-ed who walks around in short-shorts and a too-tight tank top just like Route 66 (in CA) isn’t full of nostalgia. Candice’s name is really Betty and she works in a cubical at a call center when she’s not serving beers at the local bar. Route 66 (in CA) is really just a pseudonym for a hyped-up road (when you can find it–thank you CalTrans) that cuts a path of loneliness and despair through the desert.

And that, my friends, is why California sucks (reason number two).

It Took Guts

Posted on by
Reply

At about 7:30 this morning I was engaged in a rather unusual discussion as a group of us met for coffee. An acquaintance of mine admitted an addiction to something they had been introduced to at a young age. The addiction grew over the years and although the family and the first spouse were aware of the issue, it was dismissed. Now on a second marriage, the individual had hidden the addiction from the current spouse out of fear and embarrassment. Until late last week.

Not wanting to hide the issue any longer, my acquaintance admitted the addiction to their spouse. Fast forward past the embarrassment, hurt and crying period they described, we come to today. It did not end as I thought.

My acquaintance told a small group of us everything that had happened from the initial contact to the most-recent event regarding the addiction. We were told of the attempts to self-heal and the subsequent failures. We were told of the life-long hurt and humiliation they experienced. Crying, one of my group came forward and admitted to exactly the same issue.

As we discussed and comforted those two, it became apparent that the addiction they had was no different than many other addictions: drugs, alcohol, pornography, anger, abuse. The key today, though, was this individual having the courage to come forward and admit the issue and ask for help.

As we were breaking to leave, a friend of mine came to me and asked what I thought about what had happened this morning. I related my thoughts and asked if we should have done anything different than what we did. No, I was told, we did everything this person would have hoped to have happen. In fact, how we reacted gave my friend the courage to admit an addiction to me.

Not to make light of it, but I thought I was done with the “Day of Confession” and was taken aback by this new admission. But it got more interesting. My friend not only wanted me to support them while they sought help, I was specifically asked to be this person’s accountability partner. I freely admit I have no idea what an accountability partner is, what they do, or how they establish accountability. All I know is that my friend asked for help and I, as I’m certain you would, freely gave it.

The first thing I was asked to do was read a passage from the bible out loud with my friend, which we did. I was then told that as far as my friend was concerned, they considered me “faithful” and “beyond reproach”. In fact, they felt I was perhaps the only person they could put into those categories. Wow.

Simultaneously, I had a huge feeling of honor that someone would think that highly of me while also feeling a huge weight of responsibility placed on a yoke around my neck. So, if something like this happens to you, do what we did:

First, we discussed the fact that I am no more or less human than my friend. Just because they honored me with very kind and blessing-filled words doesn’t mean I walk the straight-and-narrow path 24/7. I trip and fall just like the next person and, like most of my friends, I choose to get up and keep walking.

Second, I am not responsible for my friend’s behavior. If they back-slide, it is due to a conscious choice on their part and not because I did or failed to do something for them.

Finally, we established that an “accountability partner” is someone who can be called at any time to offer either words of encouragement, support, or meeting for coffee at all hours of the night. For us, an “accountability partner” is not a babysitter, an au pair or a scapegoat. If my friend is in a moment of weakness and needs strength and encouragement, I’ll be there. If they fall prey to their weakness, I’ll be there to lift them up and help them keep on the path they *want* to be on, not the path to which they briefly returned.

So, all this said, by the time 10:00AM rolled around, I learned a lot from and about a group of friends and acquaintances I see quite regularly. I also took on a role to which I personally felt unprepared but to which a friend of mine felt I was solely able to execute. Although I have a lot of mixed emotions about it, I feel confident that will succeed in my duties. Why? Not because I think I can do it myself but because my friend thinks I can do it and has asked for my help.

It goes without saying (to me, at least) that God played a huge roll in the lives of the people I associated with this morning. It took guts for the first person to admit their addiction. It took guts for the second person to join with the first. It took guts for my friend to ask me for help. It didn’t take guts for me to agree. I did what you would have done–helped a friend in need. At least that’s what I hope you would do…

Because I know my friend will read this post, I felt it appropriate to include the bible verse we read today that gave them the courage to approach me and ask for help:

Psalm 101 (NLT)

A psalm of David.

1  I will sing of your love and justice, Lord.

I will praise you with songs.

2  I will be careful to live a blameless life—

when will you come to help me?

I will lead a life of integrity in my own home.

3  I will refuse to look at anything vile and vulgar.

I hate all who deal crookedly; I will have nothing to do with them.

4  I will reject perverse ideas and stay away from every evil.

5  I will not tolerate people who slander their neighbors.

I will not endure conceit and pride.

6  I will search for faithful people to be my companions.

Only those who are above reproach will be allowed to serve me.

7  I will not allow deceivers to serve in my house,

and liars will not stay in my presence.

8  My daily task will be to ferret out the wicked

and free the city of the Lord from their grip.

Travel

Posted on by
Reply

Today I summarize my recent travel booking experience with respect to AAA, Amtrak, Travelocity and USAA.

Situation: I had a daughter visiting from Las Vegas and another daughter visiting from Flagstaff.

Mission: Coordinate round-trip transportation between Arizona and California and hotel accommodations in CA for up to four people for two days.

Task #1: Amtrak
Tools Used:
AAA Membership
Computer
Credit Card
What Happened: My daughter in Flagstaff will oftentimes take the train from there to home. It’s about an eight hour ride by train when it’s not delayed (by up to six hours recently). The train has a set schedule you need to check frequently to ensure everything’s still on time. If you schedule your trip at http://www.amtrak.com, you can make lower-level seat reservations, take advantage of the AAA 10% discount off the posted fare, e-mail your itinerary to whomever you wish and print a bar-coded receipt you scan at the Amtrak kiosk to receive your tickets. Easy, cheesy. I did everything on-line with my credit and AAA cards. Everything was set for her to arrive in CA on Thursday and return to AZ on Saturday.

Task #2: Holy Crap, Change Almost Everything
Tools Used:
Amtrak Receipt
Computer
Phone
What Happened: It occurred to me that if I rented a car (which I had to do anyway) through Monday, I could drive my daughter back to AZ and my son, my daughter from Las Vegas and I could all enjoy not only the time together, but the experience of “doing Flagstaff” for a day or two.* I needed to cancel the return leg of the Amtrak ticket and change how I was going to rent the car.
Lesson Learned: By canceling the return ticket BEFORE she scanned the bar-coded receipt and received her tickets, I was able to receive a full refund (in 5-10 days) for that portion of the trip. I still received the 10% AAA discount for the one-way ticket and my daughter kept her lower-level seat assignment. To cancel the ticket all I had to do was call the 800 number I found on the Amtrak website and speak with their automated assistant. Very easy.

Task #3: Rent A Car
Tools Used:
USAA Membership
Computer
Credit Card
What Happened: I used to always use an American Express card to reserve rental cars because I knew they covered any insurance issues and I didn’t have to buy the rental agency’s policy. I no longer use AMEX, so I thought I’d call my auto insurance carrier and see what they had to say. As a member of USAA, if I rent through one of their partners, not only does my USAA policy cover me, they cover any additional costs incurred with a claim. Long story short, I booked an Avis rental car through the USAA website. The cost for the rental (Friday through Monday) was the same cost it would have been if I rented a car through Hertz for Friday and Saturday with a AAA discount. My USAA price was the price–I didn’t have to add any additional anything for insurance purposes.

Task #4: Booking Hotels
Tools Used:
Computer
Credit Card
What Happened: I tried booking through the USAA website but they didn’t have “partners” in the two places I needed to stay in AZ and CA. I looked at the AAA website and found some deals but I wasn’t thrilled with the choices. Then I tried Travelocity.

I needed a hotel for four people in CA for Friday and Saturday nights. I am very familiar with the area and the hotels. Not satisfied with the pricing I found from the hotels displayed, I looked into their “super discount” rates. They will describe a hotel but not the name until after you book. Most of the discount rates for the “named” hotels in this area were as low as $65 but hovered around $110. I found a hotel in the “super discount” area for $48 per night that included two queen sized beds, a pool, hot tub, exercise room, laundry facility, complimentary breakfast and a nightly social hour (two hours, actually). The hotel was in the specific area I requested so I took a chance and pre-paid for the two nights.

The hotel wound up being the Ayers Hotel and Suites (or something like that). Crappa dappa it was nice. Located at the Ontario Mills Mall, the room was large, clean and secure. The complimentary breakfast was a misnomer. I was thinking a plastic bowl of Fruit Loops and a cup of coffee. Instead, they had menu cards whereby you custom ordered what you wanted. Eggs, meats, cheeses, vegetables, breads, potatoes, fruits–just fill out the card, hand it to the grill staff and when they called your room number, it was ready. I told my kids to go to town and eat what they wanted, assuming it would be added to my bill when I checked out. Not so. When I checked out they reviewed all of the room charges and said I was covered because I had pre-paid and had not incurred any additional costs. Awesome.

Booking for AZ was different. I again used Travelocity but because I only know the east side of the city very well I wanted to know the name of the place I would be staying. I again booked a double-queen bed room for four. This was at the Ramada Inn. Normally a $65 room for $40, I was very happy. They had the plastic bowls and Fruit Loops, but I’m not complaining at all.

I returned from AZ sans one daughter and my son, who was going back to his house. I needed a hotel in CA from Monday night through Thursday morning for my Las Vegas daughter and me. I went back to Travelocity looking for a “super discount” room.

I searched in vain for the $48 room that would have tipped me off it was the Ayers again. I found one hotel for $45 and another for $55 that had, at least by iconography, the exact same amenities with one exception: The $55 room had shuttle service to the airport. I remembered that the Ayres also had shuttle service but since I didn’t need it, it didn’t matter. It does matter, and I’ll tell you why shortly.

Anyway, I opted for the $45 room. This turned out to be the Econo Lodge Ontario. Again, being familiar with the area, I double-checked the safety on my 0.357 and chambered a round in my 9mm. Just kidding. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The area itself is not someplace I would want to be after dusk. The hotel itself, however, had a controlled single-entry access point with multiple exits under video surveillance and a staff member that routinely walked the perimeter with the resident beast-on-a-leash, checking the security of all the exit doors and keeping watch over the vehicles in the parking lot. I felt much better after I checked in than I did after I initially booked the room. Other than the wireless service going down Wednesday afternoon and not being repaired before we left, I had no issues with the room or the hotel at all.

Okay, what difference does the shuttle service make? Here’s my thought: Better hotels close to the airport will have a shuttle. For me, this includes the two Hiltons, Ayres, Doubletree and Aloft (though I’m certain there are others as well). Off-brand hotels or hotels more than three or four miles from the hotel don’t seem to have shuttle service. The Knight’s Inn is just as far from the airport as the Doubletree but they don’t have a shuttle. If price is your only issue, the Knight’s Inn is your best bet. If safety and security is an issue, the Doubletree might be your choice. Regardless, I will be staying in a hotel at least once a month with my son. I’m going to explore the shuttle versus non-shuttle iconography on the “super discount” portion of the Travelocity site and let you know if my theory pans out.

Hotel Booking Summary:
The desk clerk at the Econo Lodge clued me in to a couple of things I didn’t know about the Travelocity rate I received. First, not even the people at the front desk know what I paid. When we stayed at the Ayers, I assumed that because I pre-paid they had my credit card on file to bill any additional charges. I didn’t think it was odd that they didn’t ask me for the card when I checked in but I didn’t dwell on it. At the Econo Lodge, however, I had to sign a statement that I agreed to the room rate. However, the room rate amount was blank and in the total it simply said, “Pre Paid.”

Second, I was told that when you book a “super discount” room via Travelocity, the rate is withheld because the hotel may only offer one single room for that rate or that rate may only apply for a specific period of time (like a stay not exceeding two days or a three-day minimum stay). The rates are truly unadvertised so the desk staff cannot offer someone else a room with the same deep discount you paid on the “super discount” Travelocity site.

Believe it or not, this was the summary. I’ll talk about the trip down Route 66 some other time.

*NOTE: There is no “doing Flagstaff”. If you don’t drink or eat pizza there’s not much to do after about 8:00PM.

Drivers Licenses for Illegals?… Really?… Again?

Posted on by
Reply

This is my first post, so I will try and keep it short and sweet until I get into the swing of things. After all, I don’t want Sparky to ban me right off the bat before I even get going.

Lets break this issue down for a moment and see if we can get some clarity by giving equal time to some proponents arguments.

  1. “we are a much more secure nation if we do issue driver’s licenses and/or state IDs to every resident who applies, regardless of immigration status.”
    Ok, this is almost just too silly. So, anybody who applies, will be issued a driver’s license. That way, I guess, we can slack off on the border restrictions. Anyone from, oh, I don’t know… Iran, or Afghanistan for example, can walk on in to the DMV, take a driver’s test and get a license, and drive off into the sunset, fat, dumb and happy right? So where does the “much more secure” part come in?
  2. “If illegal immigrants are afraid to talk to police because of fear of deportation, fewer people come forward to report crimes, aid police investigations, and testify as witnesses.”
    So using this analogy, I guess if you grab some old ladies purse today, run around the corner and take the cash out, then witness somebody else getting mugged walking home, you will have no problem reporting the mugging to the cops, as long as we remove the fear of being arrested for stealing the old ladies purse, right? Illegal is Illegal…Period!
  3. “We need to keep track of them somehow because they are so afraid of deportation that most of them live ‘off the grid’. This will help us keep track of them”
    If we assume that they do live mostly off the grid, working for cash under the table, no checking or banking accounts, no social security cards, etc. (more on this later), and we are going to give them DL’s to keep track of them, what name do you suppose they will use on their application? How will we verify their information on the form. And here is the really scary scenario; someone goes to the DMV, claims to be illegal goes through the process to get their DL with their “real”  name verified by our superior background research. Ok, now multiply that by all 50 states (or at least the ones that are considering this legislation or have enacted something like it), with different identities in each. Cool! They should be easy to keep track of right?
  4. “Moving around freely is a right in this country. Taking that right away is unconstitutional and racist.”
    I love this argument. Growing up in a small California town, I could not wait until my 16th birthday so I could go take my drivers test and get my license. The week before I took the test, I got into a little argument with my dad over some trivial thing, trying to launch fireworks meant for a vertical launch from a safe non-flammable surface from a jury-rigged hand held launch tube I think, (like I said…trivial). He told me, and I quote “a drivers license is not a right, it is a privilege. It will be earned and not freely given to you! If you want that license, you have to prove to me you deserver it.” I still happen to believe that. Thanks Dad.
    As for it being constitutional, last time I checked, the constitution applied to US citizens. By definition, illegal aliens are not US citizens, and as for being racist, well, I have not even mentioned a particular race of people here have I?

I could go on all day with this (don’t even get me started on how they(illegals) prop up our economy), however I need to get back to work. I hope Sparky lets me publish this article.
Until next time…

Good Enough For You?

Posted on by
1

Stand by, this is probably going to be long.
Just like you, I sometimes struggle with the choices I make. For the moment, I’ll leave religion out of the discussion. Heck, I’ll even try to leave out sex and politics. Now, on to my beef (as it were):

At least in Southern California, just about everyone either needs a car or needs to know someone with a car. You might want a Suzuka Gray Metallic Audi T-Type RS Coupe with a Black/Alcantara interior, but would you drive a Toyota Camry instead? How about a 1990s-era Honda Civic? If you have a desk job at an investment firm and you don’t shuttle clients around or meet at their offices, do you need the Audi? Wouldn’t the “beater” do just as well?

What about clothes? Do you really need brand new designer label clothes if you’re on a budget? Clean, used, pre-owned, whatever you want to call them, clothes work just as well, don’t they?

But there are times when what’s good enough for someone else isn’t good enough for you for whatever reason. *You* wouldn’t drive a beater. *You* wouldn’t drink off-brand coffee. *You* wouldn’t eat anything less than high-quality, free-range, non-steroid beef. Or would you?

I just read an article from The Telegraph(^1) which discussed the evolution of test-tube beef. After I got over the initial throat-tightening revulsion to the concept of using stem cells to grow my dinner, my next thought was that it would be perfect to help solve the world’s hunger issues.

One claim is that a single “stock” animal, “would be able to produce about a million times more meat through the lab-based technique than through the traditional method of butchery…” What could be better? Well, truth be told, what could be better for someone else? I still like to know that my table meat and I at least shared breathing in common. Even fish breathe. And this, my friends, becomes my dilemma. It’s the “do as I say, not as I do” problem.

Would you eat it? If it’s good enough to feed a nation of starving people, would you eat it? If not, why? Prejudice? Are you of the “my meat needs to bleed” ilk or would you suddenly declare yourself a vegetarian to avoid the thought?

I love Andrew Zimmern’s discussion of food and how one culture perceives something as a delicacy and another as garbage. Some people will say “meat is murder” and shout out the evils of global warming caused by McDonald’s policy of slash-and-burning Amazonian rain forests to increase the cattle herds that then generate billions of tons of methane which destroy the environment(^2). Someone else might say it’s unnatural for us not to eat an omnivore diet since that’s what we are. Regardless, if we have the technology to bring the end of world hunger one step closer to extinction, shouldn’t we use it? I can’t really answer the question.

I know how my meat is made, even the notorious “pink goo” processing. I don’t care. You can show me videos of animals being slaughtered and processed for food. It is what it is. If you don’t like it, don’t eat it. But I will honestly say that the process they described in making the test-tube beef kind of turned my stomach a little.

I’ve seen death before. I’ve seen kids where half of them are on one side of a path and the other half, the “goo” half, has pooled somewhere else. Shocking, yes, but mentally it’s okay. Blood is red. Dried blood is black. Cut meat (excluding seafood) will range from pink to black whether it’s a kid who picked up a “dud” mortar round, road kill or tomorrow afternoon’s gourmet steak dinner. But as described in the article, the whole test-tube process seems unnatural and bizarre.

Would I eat it? Probably not intentionally the first time. But if it fed millions of people somewhere else, am I too “good” for it? No, but the crowd scenes in Soylent Green keep playing in my head. If I had to eat it, I would. But let’s be clear: It wouldn’t be to save the planet or save an animal’s life. If I ate it, it would be because that might be the only thing available or affordable on my budget. I’m not going to go Vegan just because my burger’s yellow. I’ll just need to forget how they made it.

^1. Link: (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/science-news/9091628/Test-tube-hamburgers-to-be-served-this-year.html)
^2. I’m shooting from the hip. Don’t quote me on this as I’m not presenting them as facts. I have to put this in because although no one reads or follows this blog currently, chances are some Vegan bastidge somewhere will Google-search it and sue me because my stats are wrong. Who freaking cares. I’m using this as an example. Get over it.

California Sucks: Reason 1

Posted on by
2

The office a few doors down from me was broken into last night. Again. In fact, I think it’s only by the grace of God that I haven’t also been victimized. Many of the units in our office park have been hit multiple times in the past six months. Now, why does this mean California sucks?

I imagine, though I can’t know for sure at this point, if I were in another state like oh, Texas or Arizona, the following scenario would end differently: Working alone at night in my office complex at 1:00AM, a large diameter pipe is thrust through my all-glass front door. Three or four guys swarm in looking for whatever they can take when they rush into my office and see me sitting at my desk. Anywhere else I could probably be justified in sending a couple of .357 magnum rounds in their direction. I could be pushing it, but in Texas, I might even be able to get away with sending a couple of them to the hospital with mortal gunshot wounds. And then there’s California.

True or not, I don’t think California has a clearly defined “rule” for what constitutes self defense and what can be done. If I pulled my .357 would I be guilty of brandishing a firearm? If I shot in their direction (which I must say is kind of pointless–if you’re going to shoot, shoot to kill), am I guilty of attempted murder? If I were unfortunate enough to actually kill one (the ideal being all), in addition to being sued civilly for violating their civil rights, would I also be charged with murder?

Would I have to wait until they re-purposed the pipe from a door-buster to a head-buster to defend myself? Would my after “regular” business hour presence be considered a threat to the intruders? After all, they waited until they could naturally assume the unit would be vacant before they broke in. Could a lawyer argue that I enticed the poor victims into my office and laid in wait for them to break in so I could extract some sort of vigilante justice? I don’t know. And because I don’t know, California sucks.