Must Be in the Blood

Though he's only 13, I've taken my grandson to weekly PT with the Marine Corps recruiters and poolees on delayed entry.  The kid's been crushing it!

Last week we did an Indian run, with the added twist of a medicine ball.  The boy kept up and actually outperformed a good number of the poolees and other guests.  Yesterday, we did our monthly Initial Strength Test, which consists of each person doing a max set of pull-ups, a timed plank, and a 1.5 mile run.  The boy did 7 pull-ups, planked for the max time of 3:45, and ran the 1.5 miles in just over 10 minutes.  He outperformed poolees and other guests in every single event.

After we all finished our pull-ups, I asked the poolees to raise their hands if they did 10 or fewer pull-ups.  About half raised their hands, and I said "Congratulations, you just got beat by an old man."  I then asked the poolees to raise their hands if they did fewer than 7 pull-ups.  About a third kept their hands up.  To them, I continued with "Congratulations, you just got beat by an old man AND a thirteen year old boy."  When we finished the planks, the kids who hadn't maxed their time at 3:45 were standing in a group off to the side.  I looked over at them and said, "Congrats on getting out-planked by a 13 year old boy and an old man.  You suck!  Do better!"

I didn't do that for the run, though I should have.  The boy was one of the fastest ones there, finishing fourth, and I pulled out a personal best run time of 12:18, finishing faster than about 1/3 of the kids.  The recruiters seem to be enjoying the boy's presence.  I'm sure it is disheartening for these kids to get their asses kicked so mercilessly by the boy and me, and it should motivate them to do better.  Lord knows I'm proud of the boy.  It must be in the blood.

Not the Way

As this Cyclosporiasis thing is still going strong because of bad lettuce, I'm now reading there's a problem with jalapenos.  It's almost as if the universe it trying to tell us that a global mega food chain, full of an exploited work force, while simultaneously woefully lacking in product diversity, is not the way.

 #EatLocal

Some Things Stick With You...

I saw the movie Parenthood almost 40 years ago.  There's a scene from that movie that really hit home, even as a young man who hadn't yet had children. I still paraphrase the scene, and try diligently to live by it when I'm feeling overwhelmed.  I'd love to share the clip with you.

The Forgotten Art of Personalized Service

One thing that online retailers and big box stores cannot provide is highly personalized service, and I had forgotten the wonder of that level of attentiveness and expertise. My running shoes were wearing out and it was time to replace them. As is the case with many consumer goods, there is a dizzying variety of choice, and finding the best option can be a bit overwhelming. I've done the whole research-to-death thing, and quite frankly I'm a bit tired of it, so I decided to hit a store that specializes in running shoes, and I'm glad I went. 

I chose my spot, and the sales guy provided the exact expertise I need. We started by verifying my shoe size with a podoscope, which measures not just foot size, but arch height and other smaller details to provide a more customized fit. Next they asked me to run on a treadmill for a minute so they could record my running gait, again to find shoes that would match my body type. In this instance, they were looking for indication of excessive ankle rolling. From there, we discussed the frequency, distance and terrain of my typical run, and then Andy brought out about a half dozen shoes for me to try. Next, I walked around the store directly comparing different shoes. Wearing one of each shoe allowed me to directly compare and contrast, making it easy to select the best shoe for my needs. He also showed me inserts and socks to try out. The inserts didn't do anything for me, but I did pick up a pair of socks.

Another really cool item to note:  I was prepared to pay a small premium for the additional service, but was pleasantly surprised to discover that prices were in line with far larger competitors.  In fact, I received a discount for being a veteran, so I actually paid less.  It was great to rediscover the forgotten art of personalized service.

We have a boy!

Wifey and I fetched older grandson from Chicago yesterday morning.  We’ve got him for an extended visit, and I’m excited that he’s here.  After picking him up, we drove to downtown Chicago for a bit of sightseeing.  The original plan was to take him to the observation deck at Sears Tower, but the tickets were about $50 bucks a pop, and we had to wait for an hour, so we passed.  Wifey had considered getting advanced tickets, but we had no guarantee that we’d be able to make it, considering flight and traffic delays.

From there, we walked through the park, showing off the bean and the public water park area, after which we walked down Michigan Avenue.  We stopped in a couple of shoe stores at the boy’s request and introduced him to Pizzeria Due’s deep dish Chicago style pizza.

We left Chicago around 5:00 PM, at the peak of rush hour.  GPS sent us home via a path that's different from my tried-and-true method, and from there I made a mistake that cost us an extra hour of drive time.  Instead of following the GPS start to finish, I followed a US highway that I usually take.  Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that road cuts south, and goes through a ton of towns in the previously unexplored area.  The result was that I drove more miles, at a slower pace.  That’s a mistake I won’t make again.  Instead of getting home at about 9:30, we got home at 10:30.  Oh well, live and learn.  In the grand scheme of things, this is a first world problem.

Oh, on the good side, I got record high MPG in my little Murano.  I had a portion of travel where my average MPG was 32+ MPG, and the average mileage was 28 MPG for the tank. To put this in perspective, EPA estimates are 28 MPG highway, and my driving was combination.  My mileage was about 15% better than advertised.  And no, I didn't drive like a grandpa.  I'm too young at heart for that $h!+.

Words Matter

At my reunions this month, I was reminded how much words matter, specifically mine in this case.  During both of these events, I had people tell me about things I had said that stuck with them, sometimes for decades.  In many of these cases, I was just being a smart@$$, making off-handed comments.  That makes it all the more interesting, because my off the cuff comments somehow managed to have a lasting impact on people.

One of my high school classmates thanked me for the last minute reminder on Facebook.  He said he thought the reunion was a week later, and would have missed it if I hadn't sounded off.

One classmate's spouse reminded me of a work tidbit I had shared with him years and years ago.  I said "Those who can't do, manage.  Those who can't manage, do."  In this context, I was referring to managers vs. staff in the workforce.  He and I were coworkers at the time.  To me, it was a tongue-in-cheek variation of the old adage "Those who can't do, teach."  But it somehow stuck with him for twenty years.

I had multiple people, classmates and Marines alike, tell me that they appreciate my writing, because I come across as thoughtful and reasoned.  In this context, they were referring to my posts on Facebook.

One guy told me that he appreciated how I had called him out on some previous bullying behavior.  There are other instances, but they all follow this line of thought, and I believe I've cited enough specific instances to make my point...

There are two things I'm trying to communicate here:  1) I'm low key celebrating the knowledge that my tidbits of wisdom occasionally make a difference.  Too often in life, it feels like my words fall on deaf ears.  It's good to know that's not always the case.  2) Every piece of feedback was about good things I said.  I know that I am sarcastic and blunt in my delivery, but I try diligently to live a life that spreads the good and the love... you know... like a f*ck1ng hippie.  It's good to hear that my attempt to celebrate the good strikes home at least sometimes.

Class Reunion

I just returned from a high school class reunion.  It was a blast!  This was the third reunion I've attended, and each time it's a little different.  The first one was not too long after graduation, and it was a bit like an extension of high school.  People tended to kind of hang around with their high school cliques, reliving their glory days.  A few even tried to assert social dominance like they did in school.  It wasn't exactly bullying; it was more like bragging and exaggerating accomplishments.  At that reunion, I appreciated my friends and welcomed new real connections with classmates that had moved past high school, but the primary feeling I left with was contempt for the high school elite who wanted nothing more to relive their glory days and brag.

The second reunion I attended was another milestone reunion, and I saw a significant change in my classmates.  While we did focus on catching up with our close high school friends at first, we also quickly engaged with classmates we knew but didn't necessarily hang out with a lot.  There was still reliving of the glory days by those who had peaked in high school, but for the most part, we had collectively moved past those days.  The ones who wanted to relive the glory days kind of ended up in a corner, talking amongst themselves, while the rest of us enjoyed getting reacquainted and sharing life stories.

This reunion essentially saw the complete disappearance of high school drama and hang-ups.  Yeah, there were still one or two people who had peaked in high school trying to relive the glory days, but they were essentially ostracized.  They'd kind of insert themselves into random conversations, make one or two comments that were ignored, and they'd move on to the next group.  It was kind of pitiful, except for the fact that they brought the reactions themselves based on their behavior.

We spent a lot of time at a local sports bar, which was okay, but not ideal.  It was great because it was big enough to fit everyone, and it offered food and beverages for everyone, but it was kind of loud.  But there was an underlying understanding that we wanted to ensure that we made the event free to attend, so that nobody was excluded for financial reasons.  The bar scene also provided ample opportunity to mingle.

We toured our local high school, which recently had a massive upgrade and expansion to the athletic center.  There was a new swimming pool and a new indoor track and field center, both of which were spectacular.  It's unfortunate that this is being built at a time when school enrollment is falling due to declining birth rates, but them's the breaks.

The older (academic) part of the building was much as we remembered it, though many of us commented that things felt smaller than when we were kids.  For me, the band room in particular brought back a lot of nostalgia, because that's the single area where I spent the majority of my time.

It was awesome to see a lot of people I hadn't seen since graduation, and it was great to catch up with everyone (aside from the one or two reliving their glory days.)  It was also wonderful to know that most of us had moved on.  I had one classmate ask me point blank if I'd go back.  I said no, I'd choose a lot of other points in my life to revisit, but not high school, adding on that I pitied those who peaked in high school.  She fully agreed, and we had a moment.

None of that, however, was my favorite part.  For me, the best part was catching up with my second set of parents.  I stayed with the parents of my friend Greg.  For those of you who don't know (or don't recall,) Greg was my best friend for years and years.  We knew each other since sixth grade, and we were inseparable until he committed suicide a bit under 11 years ago.  I've always loved, respected and appreciated his parents, and it was a no-brainer to ask if I could stay with them during the reunion weekend.  I made a point to spend time with them each day, and spending time with them was the highlight of the weekend.

If you're a regular reader, you know that my relationship with my parents is... strained.  That's a side note to this story, but I felt the need to bring this up for anyone who wondered why I didn't stay with them.  My main point is this:  I am blessed.  Within the last month, I was able to attend two reunions with two completely separate groups of people who had an outsized impact on my life -- my Marines, and my high school classmates.  I have a pair of chosen parents that I love and value just for who they are, not because I owe it to them.  I have a great wife who happily joined me, even though neither group is "hers."  And these friends accepted her for who she is, without reservation.

I Broke Him

I broke my first poolee at Marine PT yesterday.  And when I say broke, I mean that I single-handedly broke the will and spirit of a poolee to the extent that he dropped from the program.

Before you create a narrative in your head that makes me sound unusually harsh, badass or sadistic, let me clarify that I didn’t go full drill instructor or anything like that, but I was probably about as close as I get with these kids.  I am fully cognizant that I am not an active duty Marine, and my job is to serve the recruiters, further the mission of the Marine Corps, and represent the Marine Corps League.  It is not my place to weed out the weak, and I have never actively tried to do so.  Here’s what happened…

We had a new kid, who kind of reminded me of the kid I called private Pyle… the kid who washed out earlier this year.  We were doing bodyweight exercises, such as push-ups, burpees, planks, etc. and we were running.

We were broken up into two teams, with me leading one team, and a young reservist Marine leading the other.  It was a contest, and I was pushing my team.  Bear in mind that I was also doing the exercises with them.  I was leading them as if I were active duty, which means ensuring they were sounding off loud and proud, and giving their all.  This kid in particular had a hard time keeping up.  At first I kept yelling for him to push harder.  When his body was physically unable to do so, I’d give him a couple of reps off, yelling that he’d continue with us when we hit the next five.  For example, he dropped on push-up twelve.  On rep 13, I told him that he would join back in at 15.

This continued for a while, until he dropped on an exercise, which we finished without him.  He was sitting on the grass, arms wrapped around his knees, head between the knees.  I asked him if he was ready to join us, in a conversational tone.  He looked up at me and his face was a snotty, tear streaked mess.  I took him to a recruiter, saying in our Marine Corps, joking-yet-seroious demeanor “I think I broke him.”  This was far enough out of the ordinary that I wanted a recruiter to step in, because again, I don’t want to overstep my boundaries.  I went back outside and continued with my team.

A short time later, the kid jumped into a vehicle with a recruiter and left.  As the kid entered the truck, he popped his head back out and hollered Thank you for the opportunity, Marine Evan.  I suspected that meant he was permanently finished, but was focused on leading my team of poolees, so I set the comment aside for a bit.  When we finished PT, I talked to the recruiter, who confirmed that the kid was indeed done, permanently, and he told me the story.

It turns out that the kid has an abusive mom, who yells at him a lot.  This means he’s really sensitive to it.  He had hoped that PT sessions could get him used to it before boot camp, but unfortunately, it triggered him and he broke.  He told the recruiter that he appreciated the opportunity, but he needed to go back on his antidepressants.  So, I did not actively seek to break anyone.  What really happened was that I stumbled across a fatal flaw and brought it to light.  From my perspective, it’s less offensive that the kid find out now, rather than breaking while in boot camp.  In that respect, I guess I did help further the mission of the Marine Corps.

A Different Breed

 
In a recent post, my friend Sunny asked if we (referring to our generation) are a different breed.  The crux of the post is a philosophical question asking if we would have cared more or been less mischievous if we had social media.  Sunny claims that she would be far more cautious, because she was concerned about what others knew about her.  Conversely, kids today do attention-grabbing stuff just for the sake of getting attention.  While her comment is not fully inaccurate, I do think it's a bit... incomplete.

I'd like to start by sharing a truism:  Every generation believes they're special and unique, and they unfailingly deride their descendants as softer and weaker, while simultaneously dismissing previous generations as out of touch for failing to understand the unique challenges of the day.  I'd like to propose the idea that two opposing philosophies can be true, and use my experience as an example.  I'm gonna go with the crazy short version, because I'm trying to make a point.

My mom's dad fought in WWII as a Marine.  He saw some serious shit!  Many, many men from that generation saw shit that nobody should have to witness, and it was considered normal.  However, after they got home, things reverted to normalcy.  That generation saw the largest economic boom in American history, and when my grandfather died, he literally had stacks of gold coins in his house.  Between that and investments, my mom and her siblings inherited a nice little nest egg.  His was the last generation where an employee could expect to work a lifetime with a single company and receive a gold watch at retirement time.  They were a different breed.

My dad grew up relatively poor.  Born in the mid-1940's, his childhood home had an outhouse... within the city limits.  But he was able to attend college at an affordable cost, and do so as the sole breadwinner for the family.  My mom was a stay-at-home mom, but this was relatively unusual for my generation.  Most of my friends had two-person incomes, but it was optional during this time.  They were a different breed.

Despite the fact that my mom stayed at home, I was for all intents and purposes a latchkey kid.  I was generally kicked out of the house in the morning and told to not come home until meal time.  I can't count how many times I'd come home because I needed to use the bathroom, but the door was locked and my mom wouldn't answer.  I'd piss in the back yard, drink from the garden hose, and continue on my merry way.  For lack of a better way to phrase it, my mom was the worst combination of neglect and helicopter parent, and because I was in a one income family, I was relatively poor.  I joined the military so I could afford college, because this was when costs had just started to skyrocket.  We were a different breed.

My kids had two working parents; they were on the very tail end of free range parenting, and at the very early end of social media.  Many of their peers were borderline neglected, finding "friendship" through social media.  They're also the first generation to experience participation trophies and where there's no such thing as failing at school.  We all know how that's turned out.  They were a different breed.

My grandkids are growing up in an age where their every move and every feeling is monitored and parsed.  Kids of today can't do anything without it being recorded, and every feeling needs counseling.  People from my generation and before are dismayed, and deride this as soft, but we need to acknowledge this isn't the kids' fault.  They are a different breed.

Now, let's wrap this back to the beginning.  Yeah, kids do attention-grabbing stuff, but this is nothing new.  I grew up in an era with the class clown.  Every boy wanted to get with the cheerleader, and we were all jealous of the adoration the team quarterback received.  We all wanted attention, and sought it in our own way.  The difference was the lack of social media.  It's not that kids have changed.  They still want to be loved and adored.  The big difference is that the stage is far larger, so it's far more difficult to stand out.  So yes, we are a different breed, but that's true of every generation.

Another Reason for Socialized Medicine

I read an article today that said roughly 25% of working people stay in their job just for the health insurance.  Not surprisingly, the rate is higher among people with lower income, and those with chronic health conditions.

This, in my opinion, is another reason to implement socialized medicine in the US.  I have had jobs that absolutely sucked, and the only reason I kept them was because I needed healthcare for my family, food, and rent, so I understand being trapped in a horrible job.  Unlinking healthcare and employment would be good for labor, because one of the shackles that keeps people tied to a $h!++y job would be released.

This, of course, is exactly why I suspect that business likes the current healthcare system.  After all, it's more difficult for me to leave an employer if my health and financial well-being are on the line as a result of being without insurance.  Another consideration is that larger businesses can use healthcare benefits as a competitive advantage to attract and retain high-quality employees.  The implication of this reality is that socialized medicine could also serve to level the playing field for smaller businesses, because the administrative cost for employee insurance tend to decrease as headcount increases.

Regardless, I still feel it's time to try something different.  We have the highest healthcare costs in the world, yet we still have millions with no insurance.  But I've beaten this drum before...

Fancy Googling

I played with AI a bit today, asking it to tell me about the author of a certain blog.  It was a pretty good synopsis.  Overall it provided reasonably accurate demographic information.  It also gave a fair assessment of the author's writing style, interests, and areas of expertise.

Bonding With the Bike

After leaving my Marines, I headed a little further south, to Robbinsville, NC, to spend some time on the wonderful twisty roads of the area.  I took Highway 129 and rode Tail of the Dragon... five times.  Once I finished with that, I headed toward Robbinsville to check in to my room.

I should have followed the signs instead of the GPS on my bike, but I didn't.  I ended up hopelessly lost.  I probably rode every mile of a nearby Cherokee reservation while trying to find my bearings.  At one point, I ended up on a rock/dirt road that led to the most difficult riding I've encountered - ever.  This was more trail than road, full of large rocks, ruts and mud puddles.  I eventually reached a point where I knew that continuing down that road would lead to disaster, but turning around was tricky in its own rite.  I have to admit, this was the most concerning moment of the entire trip.  I was in the middle of nowhere, with no phone cell service and I had no idea how far I was from the nearest help.  I was nervous that I'd drop the bike while making the 500-point U-turn on that teeny, hilly, muddy road, but I made it out.  From there, I finally found a sign, but went the wrong way...

I had planned to ride the Cherohala Skyway; it's beautiful.  I didn't want to do it exactly then, but that's where the wrong turn took me.  If I'd have turned left, I'd have been in Robbinsville in minutes. I ended up going right and following the Cherohala Skyway for its entire route... in the pouring rain... which brought a bunch of that famous Smoky Mountain fog... and road crews were doing tree trimming, so there were areas covered in crushed wood, leaves and random other debris on the road.  The water soaked through my rain gear.

I'd like to clarify that I was never scared or worried on the Skyway.  My plan was to get somewhere that had cell service and write down directions to the hotel, but something better happened.  I got into a small town and gassed up.  Another rider was there at the same time, and we chatted about our situation.  It turned out he was going back to Robbinsville as well, so I just followed him.  Once we got back, we hit a diner and swapped rider stories.  After dinner, I retired to my room and enjoyed the sleep of the dead. 

To the uninitiated, this might sound a bit harrowing.  While my brief off-road adventure gave me a moment of concern, I was not horribly worried, because my life was not in imminent danger.  From my perspective, running the tail was perfect, followed by a misadventure.  And let's face it: Misadventures make the best stories.

We Interrupt This Broadcast

I received a call from my older daughter yesterday, informing me that her husband's mistress showed up at their doorstep.  This woman has had to endure far more than her share of hardship, and more drama than any one person deserves.  I am going to refrain from further comment for the moment, and focus on supporting my daughter and grandson.

We now return you to your regularly schedule blog posts. 

My Marines

Continuing my story about my Epic Vacation... 

I arrived in Pigeon Forge on Thursday, for a reunion with a bunch of buddies from my Marine Corps unit.  The cabin we stayed at was actually in the countryside, roughly halfway between Pigeon Forge and Sevierville.  Calling the place a cabin is a bit of an understatement though.  It was three stories, with a pool table, a swimming pool, two hot tubs, and a two-lane duck pin bowling alley.  The kitchen had two stoves, two dishwashers, two refrigerators, and the dining room had two massively long tables.  It was absolutely wild!  We spent a ton of time on the deck off the main floor, consuming adult beverages and just catching up.

I hadn't seen one of the guys who showed up, Bob, in over 30 years, and as is typical with my Marines, it was like we hadn't missed a beat.  Everyone got along very well, as is always the case.  While we generally avoided the goings-on of the world, we did briefly talk politics.  Military people tend to be on the conservative end of the spectrum, so I was the odd man out in my political leanings, but we were all respectful.  For the most part, we talked about our lives and re-hashed our old war stories.  The fun part of this is that our time in service overlapped, and we were all deployed at different times, so had new audiences when we bragged about how we saved the world from communism.

We saw a mama bear and her two cubs a couple of different times while we were there.  They were close, but not dangerously so.  The first time we saw them, momma was foraging in the woods behind the cabin, and the second time, they were exploring a giant dumpster in the driveway of the house next door, which was under construction.

We went into Pigeon Forge twice.  One day we went and raced go karts, and on the second visit, we took a redneck comedy bus tour.  Both days included a visit to the Old Smoky moonshine distillery.

The meals were cooked at the cabin, and they were kind of organically planned.  We had big breakfasts of bacon and eggs, and out dinners consisted of burgers, steaks, and chicken, all cooked on the outdoor grill.  Everyone willingly pitched in to cook, serve, or clean up.

Everyone who attended this trip agreed that it was a massive success, and we are very much leaning toward the same location next year.  The fun part is that even if we double the number of people attending, we will have plenty of room to put everyone up in the cabin.

Tune in next time, when I talk about my motorcycle adventures.

Epic Vacation

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I took a little vacation last week.  The vacation was essentially split into sections... traveling to the first destination, a reunion with some of my Marine Corps buddies, some motorcycle riding in the Smoky Mountains, and traveling home.

The reunion took place just outside of Pigeon Forge, TN.  This is a long way from my neighborhood, so I split the commute over two days, since I rode the bike.  Day one I traveled to Indianapolis, and day two landed me in Pigeon forge.  For the most part the ride was pleasant and uneventful.  It was brutally hot, but this didn't really bother me.  I made sure to stop every hundred miles or so to pound a Gatorade and rest.  As the day warmed up, I wore an evaporation vest under my jacket, which helped keep me cool.  Later on, I swapped out the vest and just soaked my t-shirt.  This didn't last as long, but it provided more cooling because the shirt wasn't as heavy, so I got better air flow.

The scenery was nice, especially on the second day, traveling from Indy to Pigeon Forge.  The mountains were particularly scenic.  The only real headache I experienced was getting from Pigeon Forge to the cabin.  My GPS didn't play nicely, so I found myself riding to a turn, stopping to confirm my location and next turn, repeating ad nauseam.  GPS problems became a recurring issue later on, but I'll expound on that more later...

 Tune in tomorrow when I talk about the reunion. 

Harsh Karma

I recently found out that my ex has been diagnosed with congestive heart failure.  I don't know the details, because quite frankly, I'm not all that interested.  The only reason I care at all is because it impacts my kids.  This is where it gets interesting:  It turns out they're not that interested either.

If you recall some of my previous writings about her shenanigans, you will remember that she has been a less than stellar parent, which is a charitable way of phrasing things.  It's more accurate to say that she's been manipulative, neglectful, and generally selfish.  Her behavior has been so bad for so long, that both kids recently cut off communication with her.  When she contacted them to share that she was hospitalized, their reply was something to the effect of I wish you well.

One of my girls asked my thoughts.  I replied by saying "When you girls were younger, I saw how she treated you, and I hated it, but I knew I had to play the long game.  I know I wasn't perfect at it, but I tried diligently to not bash on her, while also not excusing her behavior.  I knew my bias, and also kind of understood that bashing on her would do no good.  The best thing I could do was be there for you, and hope that one day you would realize how poorly she treated you, and that you'd eventually see her for the person she is.  I just didn't realize how harsh that outcome would be."  When challenged on the use of the word harsh, I clarified that a harsh consequence is not always excessive... sometimes it's justice.

On the Road Again

I'm heading out for a little vacation.  I'm jumping on the bike and heading out for a reunion with some of my Marine Corps buddies.  I may or may not post while I'm doing my thing.

Oh, You Loony MAGA-ites!

You can't make this sh!+ up! MAGA doesn't believe that climate change is real, but they're fully on board with the idea that an individual can purchase the materials to "geoengineer" extreme heat or cold, just to make things inconvenient for their supreme leader.

Road Trip

When I was in the Marine Corps, I was stationed at (now closed) MCAS Tustin.  This is in the heart of Orange County, California, and everything was close by.  I could be at the beach in less than 30 minutes.  Disneyland was less than an hour away.  I could be in the mountains or the desert in about an hour.  LA was about an hour away, San Diego was about 90 minutes away, and I could be in Tijuana in less than two hours.  Every weekend was a road trip.

One weekend night, I loaded up my VW Bus with a bunch of my Marine buddies for an evening of cruising Newport Beach. Relatively early into the evening, I saw a young woman, obviously quite intoxicated, staggering around a parking lot.  She was in bad shape!  She could barely stand, she was slurring her words to the point where I could hardly understand what she was saying, and her pants were missing.  I knew that if she didn't get home, something very bad would probably happen to this young lady.

I convinced her to get into the van with us, letting her know we were taking her home.  This was before the days of cell phones.  I asked her where she lived, and she slurred "Inshunithus."  I couldn't understand what she was saying.  I asked again, and she again slurred "Inshunithus!"  I asked her to spell it, and she replied "E... I... N... I... Inshunithus!"  She then passed out in the lap of one of my buddies, and she was down for the count.

I had one of my buddies dig into her purse and locate her driver's license to find her address.  She was saying "Encinitas," which was over an hour south of our location. One of my friends grew up in Oceanside, which is close by, and knew how to get to that city.  Once we got there, we were able to wake her up, and she was able to give us directions to her house, where we dropped her off and waited by the door until she got safely into the house.  Again, it was before the days of cell phones, so we didn't have GPS to guide us.  We were fortunate that she was just coherent enough to give us turn by turn directions to her place.

When we looked at her license, we learned it was her 21st birthday, which explained why she was so snot slinging drunk.  It didn't explain her missing pants (or skirt, whichever it was.)  To this day, I have no idea what happened to her after we dropped her at her door, and I have no idea how she got so far away from home.  I can't help but wonder if she had a "Dude, Where's My Car?" scenario.  And if so, did she ever find it?

All I know is that we planned an evening cruising the beach, and we ended up taking a road trip to E.. I... N... I... Inshunithus!  We had hoped to pick up some chicks, but not exactly like this.  As is usually the case though, the best road trips -- nay, the best stories -- are the result of an unexpected twist of fate that changes your plans.  Kind of like another road trip, where my buddy Fred and I decided to drive to San Francisco for a newspaper and a Coke, and to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge, not realizing that San Francisco was eight hours away.

A Labor of Love

One of my favorite aspects of summer is fresh produce.  I love making fresh salsa, cucumber salad, and homemade pickles.  Iowa sweet corn is the best there is!  Right now black raspberries are in season.

I've had a small patch of black raspberries in my back yard for almost as long as I can remember.  You won't find black raspberries in stores, because they have a very short shelf life.  But I've made a small tradition of taking my kids to the back yard to pick black raspberries with me, and then my grandkids.  In the early years, the patch was small and only produced a few berries, so we'd just go out and eat them straight off the vine.  Since then, I learned how to tend the canes and the patch has grown noticeably.

A couple of years back, I discovered a wild stash growing in a woody area close to my house, and everything changed. I suddenly found myself with enough berries to do more than eat a small handful every couple of days.  I decided to try my hand at making jam.  I actually started out making a simple sauce to pour over ice cream, using only the berries and just enough honey to lightly sweeten the reduction.  The pivot to jam was a natural progression; I just had to mildly tweak my recipe.

The process was as much about learning as anything else.  For starters, I was not interested in a jam that contained as much sugar as fruit.  But I also learned that a certain amount of pectin, sugar, and lemon juice are all necessary for the jam to gel.  I made three small batches of jam last year, sharing the product with family and close friends, actively soliciting feedback, and refining accordingly.  My final recipe uses about 1/3 of the sugar of recipes I found online, and I believe it's far superior because it focuses on the flavor of the berry instead of maximizing the sweet.

This year's harvest has been the best so far.  I've harvested over a gallon and a half of berries, which will yield about 30 quarter pint jars of homemade black raspberry jam, and the season is not quite finished.  Oh, quick side note, I also found a patch of wild blackberries this year.  I hope to not only harvest them, but also I hope to propagate and transplant a few canes to my back yard.

This is definitely a labor of love.  The short shelf life of a black raspberry means that I need to forage at least every other day.  Daily foraging is better.  Mosquitoes are out in force, especially in the wild patch in the woods.  It's hot, and the wooded area blocks the breeze.  The raspberry bushes in the woods are mixed in with nettles.  Between the nettles and the thorns on the canes, I have to wear jeans.  And it's getting hot!  There have been many times where I've been out foraging in 90+ degree weather with Iowa humidity stacked on top of it.

And the labor doesn't end with the foraging.  I have to freeze the berries so they don't rot.  The foraging window is about a month.  So I have to keep the freezer clear for that time.  Then there's actually making the jam.  I have to do it in small batches, making only six or so jars in a batch, and each batch takes about an hour to an hour and a half to make.  This doesn't include the cost of the sugar, pectin, and jars.

The funniest part is that, while I love raspberries, I don't eat that much jam.  I might eat 3 or 4 jars over the course of a year, but the overwhelming majority is given away.  To me, this is a hobby.  I love the idea of being able to harvest wild edible food, and I enjoy preserving fresh, local produce for use during the cold winter months.  My favorite part though, is sharing my culinary talent with friends and family.

I know several people who can food, but compared to the population at large, even in rural Iowa, I possess a relatively rare skill.  When I give someone a jar of my black raspberry preserves, I share that I forage the berries myself, that I can the jam myself, and that it's my own personal recipe.  I say point blank that what I'm sharing is a labor of love.  It's universally well received and highly appreciated.

It's Not Just Gaming Consoles

I read an article today that said Microsoft is increasing the price of the Xbox console.  I already own the Xbox, and I'm a very casual gamer, so to me this in and of itself isn't a huge deal.  It is, however, a result of a larger supply and demand problem, and the root cause is Artificial Intelligence.  In a nutshell, the AI boom is creating a huge increase in demand for RAM... specifically the RAM needed for video cards.

The thing is, increasing RAM production is not a simple process.  It's wildly expensive to build a new manufacturing plant, and the ongoing costs are expensive as well, because most hardware requires an environment that's for all intents and purposes cleaner than a hospital.

The economic law of supply and demand indicates that if demand increases and supply does not, prices must increase to maintain purchasing equilibrium.  This makes suppliers want to increase supply so they make more money, but as I said, it's not easy in this case.  The end result is that we have higher costs for everything that uses RAM.  This means that gaming consoles and computers cost more.  It's not just gaming consoles.

My big questions are "Is it worth it," and if so "to what extent?"  We as a society are spending billions of dollars to build data centers.  These data centers are consuming vast amounts of natural resources to continually power and cool these data centers.  The payoff is still unproven, and the most widely-seen consequence is a massive disruption in the labor market.

So... big companies are making money hand over fist... real people are losing their jobs... real people are paying higher prices for everything from computers to electricity to water.  I say again... it's not just gaming consoles.  I ask again, is it worth it?  And if so, to what extent? 

Another Personal Best

I bench pressed 160 lbs today.  This may not sound like much, but it's more than I weigh, I'm in late 50s and I've never bench pressed this much in my life.

KISS and Trump

I had a random thought the other day.  Donald Trump is the non-musical version of the band KISS, specifically Gene Simmons.  Think about it... KISS and Trump are both willing to put their name on anything if it will bring them a buck.  KISS toilet seats?  Check.  Trump steaks?  You betcha.  KISS and Trump both think they're the greatest thing since sliced bread.  People that love them, REALLY love them.  People that don't like 'em REALLY don't like 'em.  Simmons and Trump both say they don't drink, smoke or do drugs.  I'm sure there are other similarities.  Feel free to add your own.

I'd love to see a venn diagram of KISS and Trump fans.  I bet there's a lot of overlap.

Tires

I've been driving for well over 40 years.  During that time, I've had too many vehicles to list, and have probably driven over a million miles.  It always kind of amazes me how much of an impact fresh rubber has on how a ride handles.  I got new tires on my Ultra last weekend and man, it almost felt like I had a sport bike.  The handling is so light and responsive!  I'm really looking forward to Tail of the Dragon next month.

My Chair

One of the few things in life I'm finicky about is my spot in the living room.  I have a reclining love seat that's got the perfect view of the TV, great acoustics, and an end table next to me for my beer and snacks.  It's probably the one and only stereotypical behavior I share with TV dads.  Hell, I even defy the stereotype by sharing the remote.

Late last week, the recliner cable broke.  I've developed a habit over the years where I'd kick the recliner into its upright position when standing up, so my redneck repair was to use some creative cable kinking and a little masking tape to hold the cable in an extended position, so the recliner would not stay in the upright position.

The deeper discussion was what to do about the loveseat.  The material is a combination of leather and vinyl.  The vinyl has started to crack and flake away over the years.  The cushioning has collapsed in places, so I sit at kind of a cant.  In the grand scheme of things though, I'm not a "throw it away" guy.  The chair still meets my functional needs.

So, for Father's Day, I ordered a new cable, and it arrived today.  My Father's Day gift to myself was replacing the cable so I can recline again. 

This is a Nice Analogy for the Entire Administration

 For those of you unfamiliar, our illustrious POTUS decided a few months back that the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool urgently needed a paint job.  In typical Trump fashion, he started the project without permission and without following proper channels, and bullied dissent into silence.  He then swore up and down that he could get it done for cheap, because he knows a guy, and he vowed that it would be quality workmanship.

The outcome has been... less than promised.  The cost skyrocketed.  The timeline dragged.  The quality sucks.  In less than a month, paint is already peeling off the reflecting pool.  I've grabbed my popcorn, because I don't want to miss how he tries to spin this.

This whole boondoggle is a nice analogy for his entire presidency... er, presidencies. 

Coming Into Her Own

As I mentioned back in January, I sent my dog Gilmour across the rainbow bridge.  When that happened, I was more than a little concerned how that would impact my other dog, Lainie, who followed Gilmour everywhere.  She had a lot of isolation anxiety and I was worried that she'd go a little crazy if left alone, and destroy my house like she did shortly after I brought her home from the Humane Society almost a decade ago.

That hasn't been the case at all.  She's happy, mellow, and perfectly content to lay next to me while I work.  When I walk her, she's off leash, never running too far before turning around and checking in.  She used to be wary around other dogs, and now she's happy and outgoing.  She still gets nervous during thunderstorms, but even that seems less traumatic than it used to be.  It's wild what a mellow, happy, outgoing girl she's become over the last few months.  She's really coming into her own.

Sick of News

I've hit the point where I'm really sick of consuming news.  I think it's because my definition of news is significantly different that of your average reader.  Does the title of your piece contain words like crushed, owned, humiliated or humiliated?  If so, it's likely I will pass your article, because that's not journalism, that's sensationalism, and it is written for a very specific audience.  Does the title talk about a celebrity who makes an inflammatory comment, or alternatively, talk about vague, unspecified behavior designed to pique the reader's curiosity?  Sorry, not interested.  Unfortunately, it seems that the overwhelming majority of news is written not to enlighten, but to trigger an emotional response.  Congratulations, mass media.  Mission accomplished.  My emotional response is a combination of disgust and fatigue.

Solution in Search of a Problem

I'd like to propose the idea that Artificial Intelligence is a solution in search of a problem.

For years, AI pundits have promised the sun, the moon and the stars.  For mankind, it can find a cure for cancer.  For business, it can automate repetitive tasks currently performed by people.  Spoiler alert:  cancer is still a thing, and each automated job is an unemployed person.

To make matters worse, I have yet to see a definitive return on investment.  Yes, the economy is going gangbusters on this, but I can't help but think back to the dot com bubble.  Here's what I actually see...

People losing their jobs.  There was a socially contracted promise that these folks would be retrained, but what's happened is that low-skill workers have been unable to learn high-skill jobs.

Business has had a difficult time quantifying how AI has improved the bottom line. 

Computer costs are going through the roof due to the insatiable demand for hardware.  Data centers have deep pockets, leaving consumers and small businesses paying a higher cost for no additional benefit.

Data centers promise extra jobs, but in reality that's just construction.  Once the data center is up and running, the additional jobs are a pittance.

Data centers drive up the cost for utilities, such as electricity and water.

Data centers cause huge headaches for area residents due to noise, light, etc.

And the craziest part about this is that we're building a huge infrastructure for an unknown payoff.

Please prove me wrong. 

Sooo Relaxing!

As I mentioned yesterday, wifey and I had a couples massage.  It was great.  It's only the second time in my life I've had a professional massage, and it was most excellent.  I think part of the reason I had gone so long without was because I had a deep tissue massage the first time around, and I left more sore than when I went in, and I was sore for a couple of days.

This time around, I kept the lesson from my first massage and went for a medium pressure massage.  I had fully expected I'd have muscle tightness, even though I do yoga, but I had no idea how much tension my muscles were carrying.  My neck and shoulders in particular still feel crazy relaxed compared to before the massage.  I asked the massage dude what he noticed as a therapist, and he essentially said that I was tense all over.

You may notice that I had a guy do the massage.  I know that some people are weird about having a male masseur, but not me. 

After I got home, I cracked a few beers and relaxed even further, and later on, I made fajitas for dinner.  The fajitas had beef, chicken and shrimp.  Yummy!

Overall, it was sooo relaxing!  I think I'm gonna need to take the wife out and do this again sometime.

Couple Time

Wifey and I have a couples massage today.  I bought her a gift certificate for a couples massage back in April.  I like spoiling her, and I like spending time with her.  It's been a little too long since we've done something like this for absolutely no reason.

I'll let you in on a little secret.  My wife kind of awes me.  I can't believe how consistently kind she is, while at the same time having strength of character and will that's incredibly uncommon.  I'm even more surprised at how well she tolerates my silly ass.

Yep, I'm pretty fortunate. 

It's Just Not Fun Anymore

I'm about ready to hang up my hat with my local Marine Corps League detachment.  Earlier this year, we had a bitter and contested leadership election, and the root of the problem is that the old guard is used to having their way, whereas the current Commandant is trying to bring our detachment into the 21st century and attract younger membership.

Earlier this year, the old guard nominated a challenger to the current Commandant and lost at this year's election.  A couple of guys immediately stopped coming.  A couple of others just successfully pushed through changes to our bylaws, effectively making this our current Commandant's last term.  What they did was change the term limits in our bylaws, reducing the previous four-year limit to a two consecutive term limit.  I have to admit that it was clever.

At the same time, I have several problems with this.  First and foremost, they changed bylaws because they didn't like the outcome of a single election.  That's a huge case of overkill, kind of like an NFL fan pushing through a rule change because his team lost the Super Bowl.  Second, the previous term limit was four years total for an individual and the new term limit is two consecutive years.  For as long as I've been a member of this group, finding people to serve in leadership has been notoriously difficult.  By shortening the term limit, this problem is exacerbated.  Third, the role of Commandant in particular has a learning curve.  The first year is just learning the ropes, and speaking from experience, year three is where you really hit your stride.  This means the rule change will reduce the effectiveness of future leaders.  This, of course, is what the old guard wants.

We have become a microcosmic example of the exact problem that Veteran Service Organizations across the country are experiencing.  We are unable to attract and retain the younger generation of veterans.  This is precisely because the old guard veterans are completely out of touch with the needs and motivations of younger veterans.  We understand the problem and know that we need to change, and meet the younger veterans where they are.  When we do get younger folks, they show up with enthusiasm, but it's quickly crushed by the old guard.  The new guys have ideas about things we can do to bring in more young guys, but the old guys shoot down the ideas, because they're too expensive, or they tried it once before and it didn't work.

And the shit these guys are bitching about is stupid shit!!!  They're getting pissed off over things like place mats at a formal dinner.  They're getting pissed because they're used to their good ol' boys club internally selecting the local Marine of the Year, despite the fact that the nomination process requires submission by members at large.  They're behaving like stereotypical boomers.  They talk about wanting to grow, change, and attract younger members.  But when the rubber meets the road, they're not willing to change or sacrifice anything to achieve the outcome they say they want.  They say they want change, but they mean they want everyone else to change.

I'm proud of being a veteran, and I love serving the veteran community, but I've got to admit that I don't know how much more of this I can stand.  Where I used to look forward to the monthly meetings, and left feeling energized, I'm now feeling a pit in my stomach before the meetings and am consistently leaving with a strong case of the ick.  It's just not fun anymore.

Pride Month

As you're likely aware, June is Pride Month, which according to AI is "...a global observance dedicated to celebrating the LGBTQ+ community..."  I'd like to speak about this for a moment...

When I was a child, it was illegal to be gay, and homosexuality was considered a mental disorder.  While the legal and medical standards changed rapidly in the 1970s, it was still generally considered taboo to to be gay.  I absolutely remember fag and fem being among the worst insults one could hurl at a young male.  Homosexuality could get you thrown out of the military, which was a bit ironic, considering how homoerotic that hyper-masculine environment really was.  And I must admit that I was intolerant of homosexuality in my younger days.  At one point in my early twenties I proudly announced that I was only intolerant of two things -- bigots and faggots.  And yes, I was aware of the irony.  At that stage in my life, I thought I was pretty clever.

My perspective changed when I worked with a guy named Brian Smith.  Brian was one of those guys who neither flaunted nor hid his homosexuality.  I figured he was probably gay, but we never talked about it.  I got to know him as a person and, quite simply, I found his presence enjoyable.  He was fun to be around.  I discovered his homosexuality by seeing a small pin-back button in a drawer at his desk that had a rainbow and said "Sorry girls, I'm gay."  This was not snooping, because I needed to open his drawer for legitimate work, but that's not relevant to the story.  What's important was that I had a passing mundane epiphany.  I could either continue with my gay hating ways, or I could accept his sexuality and move on.  I chose the latter.  Essentially, what had happened was a realization that I could continue living with my prejudice and suddenly start hating a guy based on the fact that he was gay, or I could continue to accept him for who he was, while realizing that part of that identity happened to be that he was gay.  I chose the latter.

This was not a watershed moment in my life.  The entire internal conversation may have taken five seconds.  There was no big change in my personality.  I didn't suddenly transform into a vocal ally.  What happened was that I realized one of my life assumptions was incorrect -- the assumption that homosexuals were somehow deviant, depraved, or inferior -- and I accepted that my old mentality was incorrect as matter-of-factly as if I had discovered that I had the wrong answer on a homework assignment.  I corrected things and moved on.

I'd love to say that moment caused me to accept the transgender community, but that's not what happened.  I still wasn't ready to accept that gender identity may not coincide with biological gender.  And I'll admit that, to this day, I can't quite relate to the gay or transgender identity... except for lesbians.  I totally get why lesbians dig chicks, because I do too.  But the thing is, I've learned to realize that I don't need to understand or relate.  I just need to accept.  I don't need a detailed understanding of the science behind gravity to realize that an apple falling from a tree will always hit the ground.

From my perspective, this is what Pride Month is about.  It's about trying to remind people that, while homosexuality is outside of the mainstream, it's not a deviant behavior that warrants scorn, contempt and hatred from the straight community.  Simply being transgender does not warrant hate and violence.  Sexual preference and gender identity are simply one of countless things that make us all unique, such as biological gender, race, national origin, faith, hair color, and so forth.

I look forward to the day where we can appreciate one another for our character, not our characteristics, but I'm not confident this will happen during my lifetime.  Until that happens though, please know that I will quietly work to advocate for this outcome. 

... Better Than I Can Say It

I read a great critique on Trump MAGA folks today.  Okay, it's not a critique.  It's a brief heartfelt essay that explains why some are having such a difficult time with Trump supporters.  Mike McCready is the author.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with McCready, he founded Pearl Jam, Mad Season and Temple of the Dog.  These are all bands I really appreciate.  And once again, he's found words that have eluded me for years.

Here's his essay... 

Martha's 100th Birthday

I don't know if you heard about it, but the United States is set to celebrate its 250th birthday on July 4.  This, of course, is a milestone birthday that deserves respect, reflection and celebration.  Unfortunately, it doesn't look like that's going to happen, and once again I'm going to place the blame on us.  When I say "us," I mean all of us... the collective group known as Americans.

At the center of this debate, of course, is our illustrious leader, Donald Trump, a person who can't resist making everything all about him.  For example, he is advocating a new $250 bill that carries his image, in honor of the country's 250th birthday.  Despite the fact that we have laws preventing living people from appearing on our currency, because that's what monarchies and dictatorships do, our commander in chief somehow believes that he deserves more recognition than Washington, Franklin, Jefferson, Lincoln and others who appear on our currency, by becoming the first living president to appear on currency.  This is a side note to illustrate my point...

My point is that we are celebrating our country's 250th birthday.  Part of this includes a planned "Geat American State Fair," scheduled to take place late June through mid-July.  While I personally think the idea of a fair is a bit quaint and out of date, I support the basic concept of a big birthday bash.  The problem is that Trump's mentality demands that everything be about him.

Unfortunately, this also divides our country.  Half of America will automatically reject anything associated with him, so half of the country is effectively left out of the birthday celebration.  Another 25% supports Trump but still feels that he should let this celebration be about America, so their opinions are dismissed as well.  Meanwhile, the remaining 25% gets to have a hootenanny... f**k the rest of the country!  I politely dissent.  While I am certainly part of the never Trump crowd, this specific post is about this specific issue... our country's 250th birthday celebration should be about the COUNTRY, and the PERSON should recognize this and play second fiddle for once in his life.

To use an analogy... Great-grandma Martha's 100th birthday is coming up, and she's married to her third husband, Bob who's obnoxiously gregarious.  He's planning a huge blowout party.  He will be the emcee.  He will cut the cake.  He will personally select the band and each song the band plays.  He's planning the meal.  He's sitting at the center of the head table, with her to his immediate right.  He will give the toast and be the only speaker.  He will talk about how smart she was to marry him, and trash talk her previous husbands and any offspring of those husbands.  He will dance poorly to YMCA.  You get the idea.

His family knows how this will play out.  Half of the family will refuse to go to Martha's party, because they hate Bob.  They want to go to the party, but they also know they'll be absolutely miserable if they attend.  They don't want to go through that, and they don't want to subject their family to that special kind of hell.  Another quarter of the family will suck it up and go, even though they don't really like Bob.  The final quarter will show up, hoot and holler at the toast, tell Bob he threw a great party, get falling down drunk, and completely forget to wish Martha happy birthday.

It doesn't have to be this way.  Bob could hire others to give Martha the birthday she wants, which is a celebration that the whole family would want to attend.  But that's not how Bob works.  Here ends the analogy.