Our Navy

As a non military type, this whole evolution seems to translate to if it seems easy, blame the people who do the job - they make it look easy. And it’s not.

Take a look at some of the people who make it look easy, then check out one of the things they make look oh-so-easy (be sure to read the comments for a fuller understanding).

From an Air Force pilot:

Every branch has it’s technical quirks, but from A-Z, top to bottom, the Navy hands down has a MUCH more massive gaggle of high tech equip. to understand, train for, and operate just for “normal-normal” daily ops, let alone combat, as compared to the AF or other branches–whether it’s aviation, subs or Surface Warfare units. My hat’s off to you guys.

And the vast majority of those people handling that "massive gaggle of high tech equipment" with such professional success in some of the most dangerous and demanding industrial environments in the world... are high school graduates just a couple years out of school.

The U.S. Navy at sea is definitely one of those topics where the more you know, the more impressed you are.

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More Naivete?

That must be what it is.

So, I'm following up the drivel below with more halo-crowned drivel...

I think most of this essay is rather pedestrian (I imagine the writer sitting in front of her computer thinking, "What's the most eye-catching column I could write this week? I've got absolutely nothing of substance to write about. Hmmm..." Commercialism meets the shallowest of feminism). But this little bit jumped out at me:

As with all curse words, however, frequency makes the heart grow harder. If you hear it enough, you get used it. That's certainly been the fate of the formerly shocking F word. I remember vividly as a child the first time I heard my father say it (I was blasting Alvin and the Chipmunks at 5:30 a.m., so no apology necessary), but I couldn't tell you the last time I heard it, because it has become such a familiar part of the ambient hum all around us.

Speak for yourself, "lady."

When I was a in my late teens, my older-by-about-12-years cousin accused me of having "virgin ears" when I didn't recognize double entendres, although it probably had more to do with his assumptions based on my having had a minister for a father until the age of 11. But these days that's certainly not true. Among other friends and acquaintances with "salty" language (and after living in a door room with a girl who swore every other word), I spend at least one day a week surrounded by Marines, so any virginity my ears once had has long faded, haha!--Most won't swear in front of me or else they offer a reflexive, "Oh! I'm sorry, ma'am," but at I times I move among them unobserved and so get the full color of their language.

Four-letter words come up in conversation with friends and others, but they generally don't bother me. It's not how I choose to express myself, but I'm not going to get the vapors if someone else doesn't share my fastidiousness of language. Frankly, part of why I avoid swearing is that if I developed the habit, I'd be in big trouble because I'm far too impulsive and distractable to reliably turn it on and off at appropriate times. I expect such words to make an appearance at times, and yes, they are sometimes a bit sandpapery to my sensibilities. But unless they're part of someone getting belligerent with me, most swear words just roll right off my back...

The thing is, unlike the author, I DO remember the last time someone used the f-word around me. It was Friday morning on a phone call to a former soldier I work with (technically not my boss, but I defer to him on many projects). We were discussing an upcoming event that is a tremendous opportunity for the organization, which he acknowledged when I told him of my involvement in it. His response, delivered in the tone of the former NCO he is: "Don't f--- it up."

Thanks, buddy!

But the point is, I remember it. I also know the time I heard it before that. The last time I was at the USO a large group of Marines were telling stories in the eating area while I was working quietly in the attached kitchen after having entered through a door they couldn't see. I heard every word (of which about 40% was unprintable). I had to stifle a giggle when I came around the corner carrying a tray of food and everything suddenly went g-rated.

So no, it is not the "ambient hum" of my everyday life. It's not unfamiliar to me, but somehow in my little corner of the world it's not a part of daily conversation.

Just another thing (like the post below) that makes me feel as if I were either born a couple generations late, or in the wrong era entirely... :P

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Incomprehensible

I honestly don't understand. I have my opinions, but I'm obviously missing something here, 'cause I just don't get this...

A married woman puts for the following reasons why lies are necessary in a happy marriage (now, I understand "No honey, that doesn't make you look fat," but these examples in support of lying don't seem to me to speak to a happy marriage. Or to a person I'd really trust very much):

1. Spouses are always trying to trick you into admitting something they think you secretly believe. - The only defense is a lie, especially when you really do believe it. So I lie and say, "Your health is the most important thing to me. If you're OK, I'm OK." Oh, and for those who are wondering how I can admit this in such a public forum, it's easy. I'm going to lie and say I didn't do a column this week.

What???!

2. Spouses should remain constantly vigilant of subtext. - One of the less-fortunate things that happens to couples of long standing is that you lose the ability to beg for compliments—and you forget to give them. There's only so much time in a day. Between work and kids and house stuff and other people stuff, we barely have time to say good morning and good night, never mind "you are the love of my life" or "you're pretty." And after a while, it becomes too late to ask your other half if you look good in red.

Hunh???

3. Spouses need lying for venting purposes. - Or from my end, it would sound something like, "If you have my iPod charger, I'm sending you to Bolivia in a box." Now all of that is a lie—nobody goes to Bolivia in August. But it's the only way to express your minor irritation without it blowing up into a big thing involving tears and people feeling unappreciated and taking positions just to be right.

Did I say "Hunh???"--with the befuddled tone of voice--once already...?

Now see, here's how it would go for me in the situations she describes:

1. With a smile and a wink, followed quickly by a hug and kiss/grope that lets my hubby know I adore him, "Well, I seriously thought about abandoning you in the ER to go to the concert, but I decided I love you too much." There's no subtext, no "she doesn't love me" thoughts for him to think. It's just a statement of fact--that it was tempting (he would obviously know how much the tickets meant ot me), but I know I love him more than some music group and so of course I was at the hospital with him.

2. I don't even know how to respond to this one, as I've never played that game with anyone and I know that it's a terrible question to ask a guy. And if I DID, I'd expect my beloved to say something like, "Ask your best friend--I refuse to answer questions like that other than to say I that I love you no matter what you wear." Ideally, that would be followed by a hug and a lingering kiss.

3. I don't even understand why this one is an issue. First of all, it's not a lie in terms of attempting to deceive; it's merely use of hyperbole and silliness to vent frustration in an innocuous manner. Expressing frustration over "little" things in that way (or even saying directly, "Please don't do that; it's making me crazy") shouldn't result in fights and tears. I accept that people I love have quirks and that they feel the same way about me; my telling them their quirk is making me nuts again isn't going to destroy our relationship! (Not to mention, him constantly "borrowing" her iPod parts when she doesn't want him to, and her throwing her clothes around when she knows he hates it are both seriously passive-aggressive).

Like I said, I'm obviously "missing" something here... I try not to lie because I hate when people lie to me--it makes me wonder what else they're lying about--and so having a spouse who thinks like this woman does would make me incredibly insecure; if they don't tell me something's wrong how do I know not to do it or again or how to fix it, etc? In my experience, even "little" lies make me start doubting either the person in general, or questioning my own perceptions... all wonderful things to be doing in a romantic relationship!

I'm not endorsing brutal honesty, but it seems to me someone you trust enough to marry should be able to handle statements like, "No, I'm not okay. But just give me some space and I'll get my head on straight," or "I'll talk about it when I can be rational, if you want." Or, "It's not the best thing I've ever eaten, but I can't tell you how much it means to me that you made it with such love." Those statements are perfectly honest when Dearly Beloved has just been an absolute idiot, or when DB experimented in the kitchen and made something ghastly, but they are loving and respectful. And DB knows that the next time you are asked something and your response is positive, you can be believed (and it goes both ways).

And then there was this lovely gem that builds my faith in humanity:

We are a culture of liars, to put it bluntly, with deceit so deeply ingrained in our psyches that we hardly even notice we're engaging in it. Spam e-mail, deceptive advertising, the everyday pleasantries we don't really mean—"It's so great to meet you!" "I love that dress"—have, as Feldman puts it, become "an omnipresent white noise we've learned to tune out." And Feldman also argues that cheating is more common today than ever.

I am certainly NOT unaware of those little lies in advertising, everyday pleasantries, etc. And they drive me nuts! And I roll my eyes at most commerials/ads. I also have a very hard time telling someone they look nice when they don't, or similar lies; instead I look for something postive AND honest to say with conviction and sincerity. Or else I don't say anything on the topic.

I've been sitting here ever since I read that last quote, trying to remember the last few times I engaged in 10 minutes of conversation, and I would swear on a stack of Bibles I didn't lie three times in the entire conversation, much less the first ten minutes.

But then again, I'm obviously a liar. Just like all of us.

Did I mention that I'm "missing" something here? If this really is how most people live, no wonder that the older I get, the fewer people I meet who I actually want to get to know...

**********

Just to clarify, I know we all have told a whopper or two in order to cover up something wrong/shameful we've done (and I tend to believe that it's usually not necessary to confess an affair if you think your spouse doesn't already know; often it's just an attempt to cope with the guilt of carrying that secret). Those kinds of lies can destroy trust, but it can be rebuilt over time and all can be forgiven eventually. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the pattern of frequent and habitual lies that supposedly everyone engages in, and upon which entire relationships are supposedly built/sustained. I can't tell you how sad that kind of thing makes me...

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Four FbL Weeks

It may not seem like much, but for someone who doesn't even have to step outside the house in order to work a 40-50-hour week in front of the computer, this is a lot! Two days ago I only had two things scheduled for these four weeks. I'm almost afraid to discover what will get added tomorrow...

September 15 - A day of touring a Marine base to see infantry training/facility. Supposedly it includes eating an MRE for lunch. Yuck--I'm a vegetarian!
September 18-19 - Representing my employer at a pre-Emmys event in Studio City, CA. I don't quite understand it all yet, but it does involve VIPs and TV stars. Cool thing? I'm going to have to treat myself to salon hair and makeup for the day in order to not offend the Beautiful Peoples' aesthetic sensibilities. Probably have to buy a new outfit, too... ;)
September 26 - Representing my employer at an event for military spouses
September 30 - Unveiling of work of art donated via my employer to local military hospital in combat casualty care ward.
October 14-17 - Coordinate and staff a booth at BlogWorld Expo in Las Vegas (hopefully this will also include some national media exposure). If you've had any experience in conferences/trade shows, you know that this item alone will be keeping me busy well before it actually starts.

Funny thing? Just this week the boss asked when I'd be taking my vacation. Bwahahahaha!

Note that I didn't bother to list the weekly day of volunteering at the USO... And somewhere in one of those weekends I have to fit my gift certificate for aerial dogfighting. And one more wrinkle in this: I've been slowly and steadily losing weight due to increased exercise, enough so that clothes are starting to sag (I've gone from tight "fat clothes" to semi-loose "skinny clothes"). How much do you want to bet that by the end of September I'm going to be shopping for a new wardrobe?

I know, nobody cares. But I had to blog something!

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Profundity

Rachel Lucas has had one of those amazing cold turkey successes with addiction and credits attitude as a huge part of that success:

After 20 years of serious addiction, all I had to do was decide that not smoking was a liberation rather than a punishment.

Just decide it. Not being able to have that cigarette isn’t something that sucks, it’s more like being slowly but surely released from prison.

I suspect that applies to a whole lot of "pleasurable" things we human beings to do to ourselves that we know we shouldn't do but think we can't resist...

And do read it all. There's much more to think about--she and her commenters have some great things to say.

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Angels

He has no personal effects. The only things that came with him from downrange [to Germany] were an envelope with a couple of [military challenge] coins and his Soldiers' Angels backpack.

A wounded warrior who is has gone back to work now has a friend following a familiar path. Read what he says about those who have come to the aid of his wounded friend and the wife who is now shouldering a tremendous burden.

Still not convinced it's worth your time? Here's another taste:

You don't really "arrive" in Germany, as much as you are born there: naked, bleeding, in pain, unsure of your surroundings, not knowing anyone and wondering what in the hell just happened.

Go.

And if you somehow missed Michael Yon's story about the Angels, go here, too.

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Life in Black and White, Pt. II

We're not in the post-racial period," Paterson said.

"The reality is the next victim on the list - and you can see it coming - is President Barack Obama, who did nothing more than trying to reform a health care system."

Paterson said the campaign against him is being "orchestrated" by reporters who would rather make the news than report it.

Well, let me just go take my racist self off to that dinner tonight... for an organization comprised of and honoring the first blacks in the Marine Corps.... at the invitation of my volunteer "boss" and friend... who just happens to be black.

Could be the 2nd straight day of overcast skies (it's raining!) here in sunny SoCal that is doing the talking here but I'm thinking in regards to Paterson: Go take a flying leap. And that's putting it nicely.

Seriously, I've been doing a lot of talking and thinking about this lately. CDR Salamander and his commenters had some great thoughts: What it comes down to is that those of us around 35 years old or so came to social awareness around/after 1980 and had a very different experience of race than our predecessors. And we get very tired of the older generation trying to paste their pathologies onto us in an attempt to feel better about the fact that they grew up racist. Watch the media: all the discussion about the "code language" of dissenters, the idea that resistance to Obama's agenda stems from suppressed racist tendencies, etc... it all comes from people over 35. The rest of us either roll their eyes at them or get angry for their slander.

When someone asked me what I expected from the dinner tonight, I told her I honestly didn't know. The options are either a celebration of the courageous people who stood up to withering and dehumanizing racism as they attempted to serve in wartime the very country abusing them, thus proving the error and repugnance of that racism... or a discussion of "how much must still be done to counter the racist institutional barriers." Knowing the Corps (and that the warrior tradition celebrates the courage in overcoming more than the tragedy of victimhood), I'm guessing it will be the former.

And I'm oh so proud to know the strong, honorable, smart and generous 30-year Marine who invited me, who looks beyond skin color and apparently finds in my case someone worth knowing simply for who she is. The feeling is certainly mutual.

So sad that Paterson and the other racialists apparently don't allow themselves the same experience...

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Too Wonderful for Words

Three strikes....

followed by a homerun.

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Mind Over Matter

As might be seen in the posts I wrote below, I was in a foul mood for most of the day, the kind of mood that makes you want to say, "To hell with work! Let's go eat chocolate and watch a movie!" Well, I persevered and completed my work (and only indulged lightly in the chocolate), though it was a real battle with my undisciplined mind.

This evening I dragged my sorry rear end out to go bike riding, knowing that was the only reasonable cure available to me. Less than 50 yards from where I'd started, I almost turned around--seriously considered it. I had NO strength in my legs. Nothing. It was just Instant Exhausted Legs, which I fought on every press of the pedals for the entire ride. I started out feeling like I'd just climbed a hill on the bike. Even though I went a couple miles shorter than ususal, my leg muscles were twitching with exhaustion when I was done.

The only thing I can think of is that my dark and foul mood all day had affected my body. I've experienced the impact of pushing through previous physical limits using positive mental feedback, and I know that specific thoughts such as "I'll never get up this hill" can actually make a physical challenge harder. But I'd never thought that a generally negative mood could have such a profound effect on physical strength/endurance.

Wow.

Another life lesson to file away...

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Old Fighter Pilots Never Die...

I only know from observation, but I'm guessing you can spot a fighter pilot by where on his uniform he puts his glasses when he's not wearing them. But aren't those supposed to be sunglasses hanging there...? ;)

GULF OF OMAN (Aug. 17, 2009) Vice Adm. Bill Gortney, Commander, U.S. Naval Forces Central Command, speaks to pilots from Strike Fighter Squadron (VFA) 113 aboard the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan (CVN 76). (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Chelsea Kennedy/Released)

Fun fact: I think I remember reading somewhere that his callsign was "Shortney." Better than the callsign I more recently heard about, given to a female naval aviator: "Grip."

*snort*

Bonus Question: What's with the bulletin board?

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Life in Black and White

I'll never forget the day I discovered racism. [click for more]

I was about 5 years old and watching a TV show, a rare treat. The central character was being mistreated and I couldn't understand why. My mother said, "They don't like him because he's black." My response was a confused and forthright, "But that's stupid!" Of course she agreed, and tried to explain how "some people don't understand that. They don't know any better."

The fact that I was white (a pale white) and my friends came in skin shades ranging from mine to the deepest shades of brown was about as relevant to my evaluations of them as the fact that our hair came in different shades, too. People of a variety of skin colors were my family's best friends, my father's classmates, and our fellow worshipers at church.

This intermixing continued through high school--white was merely a plurality; the senior class vice-president was black, and the senior president was a Hispanic guy with the last name of Chan. I don't remember the other class officers, but they included at least one person of Asian extraction, and I think only one was white.

Going to college was a shock. Not only did people segregate themselves in the cafeteria (that never happened in high school), but I had the joy of taking classes that taught me I was a racist and introduced me to all sorts of racist ideas that had never before even crossed my mind.

I couldn't possibly document all the people of a variety of races who have been a part of my life. Some because I never really considered their race, others because they never stood out--there hasn't ever been a time when my social millieu didn't include a variety of races.

*********

The director of the USO facility where I volunteer--a friend whom I have come to deeply respect and appreciate--retired from thirty years in the Marine Corps after having risen to among the highest levels of his profession. A couple months ago he strolled back into the facility on a slow day and snuck up behind me. He greeted me with a jovial, "Hey there, Pinkie!" before disappearing into his office without ever giving me the time to shake the reverie in which I had been lost and turn around.

"Pinkie?" It took me at least three or four beats of "Hunh?" before I realized what he meant: I was once again using the tiny pink laptop computer he always teases me about. And as I glanced up through the window into his office and saw the rich, dark color of his skin for the first time since he'd walked in the door, another thought slowly formed in my mind...

"Why didn't you think of race as one of the possible contexts for what had at first seemed an inexplicable comment?" A racialized person would've instantly assumed it was about our respective races. But that interpretation had obviously never occurred to either of us. I looked around the room, knowing that the young Marines lounging on the sofas must've heard what he said, too. Not a single one looked at all disturbed by a comment like that from a black man to a white woman. I thought that was pretty cool.

More recently I commented on a picture in his office. It showed him standing with an elderly black man and I asked if he were a relative. He told me the man was actually one of the first blacks in the Corps and asked what I knew about the history of blacks in the Marines. I told him I knew that though they'd integrated late, black enlisted Marines had been tremendously successfulreaching leadership roles in percentages far beyond their relative numbers.

But he told me the details. What it boils down to is that it wasn't until 1941 that Marines were accepted into the USMC, and even then they were not truly integrated. The first black Marines were trained at Montford Point, near Camp LeJuene. Thus they are called Montford Point Marines. Today an entire veterans organization is dedicated to preserving their memory and example.

It's funny. Thirty years ago I would've been be entirely fascinated by that conversation, as my child self had been when I sat in the lap of my mother's best friend, comparing our hands and asking why mine where the same color front and back, while she had lighter palms with backs of the same rich chocolate color as the rest of her.

But this time there was a bit of discomfort. I didn't really care to hear about how honorable Marines were treated so dishonorably just because they looked different, as I sat across from this highly-accomplished man whose "fathers" had been subjected to such indignity. But I set that aside and put on my big-girl pants, talked about what I knew, and listened to learn what I didn't. I had nothing to be ashamed of, I told myself, and so I refused to take on the shame that society has tried to thrust upon me ever since I sat in that first college class.

I was glad when the conversation was over, though.

Then, a couple days after that, he invited me to accompany him and his wife as their guest to a scholarship dinner-dance for the veterans organization I mentioned above. I was truly honored to be asked. Though I wondered if it would be awkward, I wouldn't have dreamed of doing anything but gratefully accepting his kind invitation.

Now the dinner approaches and while on one hand I look forward to it, there's something else there too... I don't know if it's because I fear the societal shame certain people would like me to shoulder, and which will surely be front-and-center at the event... or if it's because I fear this friendship could change. I like it being about nothing but military service and military support, with innocent and artless jokes that others less sanguine would misinterpret. I think I like the freedom to disregard our mutual heritage and pretend it's all about today and nothing more.

An interesting dichotomy that the military is one the most racially-integrated of American institutions... and yet only just-barely removed from open and institutionalized racism. A tribute to the fine people who comprise it today, but a bit uncomfortable for the newer generations who can't relate to the process the older ones went through and would rather it just all fade away.

I miss high school.

*********

Postscript: I'm not sure it's wise to write on this topic when I know I'm not at my clear-headed best. I felt the need to get it out on "paper," though. Hope I've expressed myself well. We'll see...

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Female Wrecking Balls

I've been somewhat irritated with half the planet these days. So, we might as well add the other half...

The most striking result was in the responses of single women. Offered a single man, 59 per cent were interested in pursuing a relationship. But when he was attached, 90 per cent said they were up for the chase.

I don't know whether to hate those women or pity them. What is wrong with them?!!

What is wrong with 90% of the women in this world who don't stop at "Wow, that's sexy/attractive. She's really lucky," and instead jump straight to "I'm up for the chase because he's in a relationship!!?"

I really don't know how to say this. I am stunned and disgusted... and oh so ashamed to be female.

And we single women who aren't one-woman wrecking crews wonder why men out there make so many erroneous assumptions about our intentions...

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Randomosity

Just some things I wanted to share...

It's Hip to Be Round -- Apparently President Obama is just so darn healthy and hip that people are rebelling by getting fatter. [It's NYT; get password here.]

Rebuilding Bryan Anderson -- It's from a year ago, but I just stumbled across it today. VERY interesting article about how the vitality and activity level of today's war amputees is affecting the technology. And neat to see that Anderson maintains his great spirit.

And in a similar vein, here's another story I missed the first time around. I tell you, I have to resist the urge to buy a hundred of them and go looking for Purple Heart recipients to give them to!

This deserves a post of its own, but I don't know what to say other than that he's a hero and you should read about him.

Yes, I Twitter (@FbL1). I was dragged into it kicking and screaming, and while I understand how effective it can be for some uses/people, I'm still not sure why I do it. So, this is for all my Twittering friends:

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For Future Reference

Just remember this the next time America goes to war and people talk about how they support the troops while opposing the war, and how it's not about politics.

[self-censoring for the sake of civility]

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A Pat is Nice

Nathan writes about a certain amount of discomfort he feels when someone thanks him for his service, pointing out that it has its benefits and he does it with eyes wide open regarding the risks. He then talks about how the families serve and sacrifice too. Here's how he closes:

But do you still want to thank a servicemember?

Here’s what you should do. Words are nice, but actions are better.

Find your nearest USO and volunteer. If it is too far away for you to travel, then drop off non-perishable drinks and snacks. Or give a cash donation.

USOs make the cruel travel schedule we endure bearable. They are wonderful for servicemembers, but also for the family when they are along.

It’s only a few hours for you, but it makes a HUGE difference to us.

Please.

That was just so awesome to read! Of course we don't do it for the warm-fuzzies, but it's always nice to hear that the effort makes a difference. Although, when someone says more than just thanks to me, I always brush it off with the truth: we're all just doing our part. And besides, I volunteer for selfish reasons--it's actually a ton of fun. ;)

So, see if you have a USO nearby that needs your help. Mine's a half-hour drive away (when traffic is good), but it's worth every minute.

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Friday Fun

Supposedly that's me in the purple (no Bill, it's not a pantsuit):

I don't think it quite looks like me, but I thought it was cute and it was fun to make...

Get yours here.

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Wartime on the Homefront

At various times this last year I've had up to three people I care about deployed to a combat zone at once. Grim returned safely (twice!), and now Sgt. B is safe at home, too.

I started to say in comments at B's place that if we could just bring home BillT, I would finally be able to sleep well.

But then I realized I'd spoken too soon: I have one friend whose son is about to deploy to Afghanistan and whose husband may follow the son, another friend with a husband in Afghanistan, and and at least 3 "acquaintances" (dear friends of friends) with loved ones deployed.

I'll never forget a particular moment on 9-11-01... I had read a lot about WWII and often thought about life on the homefront, wondered how they had stayed so strong for some many years while knowing their fellow citizens were dying on the other side of the world. On that horrible day in September, a bus drove by as I headed back to classes at the university. I stepped off the curb after it passed, and the realization suddenly hit me. It felt like the proverbial kick in the head... I said to myself, "Well, I always wondered how they did it. I guess I'll learn, now."

I don't have a family member in the military, so I wouldn't even think to compare the stresses and horrors of wartime life with a woman whose beloved is in a combat zone or a girl whose parent is deployed--I still don't know how they do it. But having friends go to war is no picnic.

Back on September 11, 2001, I'd never have thought the lesson would last so long...

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Lay Me Down

I know you hate hearing something is a must-read or a must-see. But please don't miss this.

Grab a hankie, listen to the words, and watch the American Heartland show its colors, as seen from the camera of a police car:

[H/T Miss Ladybug]

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I Love a Man in Uniform...

...I just hate the new Navy Service Uniform.

I'm short, and when I sit down at the USO reception desk, I can just barely see over the counter. Thus, I often don't see much of the person standing in front of me below mid-chest height. Since my distance vision isn't completely correctable, I usually cannot rely on a perusal of pins and service ribbons to recognize his service branch, especially when most of the Sailors and Marines coming through are headed to their first duty station and so are almost completely unadorned anyway.

Thus, when they're indoors and covers (hats) are off and a dozen different things are vying for my attention at the same time, here's what I see from behind the counter:

I don't even want to tell you how many Sailors I've addressed as Marine in the last three months...

@#$*^&$@#&! Navy Service Uniform.

I think my USO director likes it though. He's a former career Marine and the first time the new uniform appeared on the cover of Navy Times, he triumphantly slapped the newspaper on the desk and asked, "What does that look like? A Marine! Always knew the sailors were jealous of us."

[For those not familiar, that's a Marine on the left and a Sailor on the right. Click through to see their full uniforms.]

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Hurt and Embarrassed

...and a little afraid.

As I've said before, I try to avoid politics in general here, and usually when I do address it it's a military-related issue. The last time I told anyone I was hurt by and ashamed of my president was when the WH never issued an official statement on the hate-motivated attack on American soldiers in Arkansas.

But I am once again hurt and embarrassed. He is showing an appalling lack of leadership, and an outright hostility to over 50% of the American population. That is far beneath what is expected of a president--he's my president whether I agree with him or not, and he is the representative of all of us, whether he agrees with us or not.

Peggy Noonan, no right-winger is she, has an important column this morning. She puts it as nicely as possible, assuming the best:

All of this is unnecessarily and unhelpfully divisive and provocative. They are mocking and menacing concerned citizens. This only makes a hot situation hotter. Is this what the president wants? It couldn’t be. But then in an odd way he sometimes seems not to have fully absorbed the awesome stature of his office. You really, if you’re president, can’t call an individual American stupid, if for no other reason than that you’re too big. You cannot allow your allies [and the DNC] to call people protesting a health-care plan “extremists” and “right wing,” or bought, or Nazi-like, either. They’re citizens. They’re concerned. They deserve respect.

The Democrats should not be attacking, they should be attempting to persuade, to argue for their case. After all, they have the big mic. Which is what the presidency is, the big mic.

I'll leave it to my three readers to decide the implications of all this, but it's certainly not good.

Frankly, it sounds an awful lot like the tactics of Alinsky-style "community organizers" (i.e. dividing/inciting people) and he's the organizer in chief.

I am very ashamed of my president for doing nothing at best, and for acting the community organizer in chief at worst.

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To the Worker!

UPDATE: A perfect fit with this post and my reply to BillT in comments... When you've grown up around people like Kevin and his neighbors and coworkers, this sort of thing doesn't surprise you at all.

I LOVE this!

The group sends boys and girls to camps where they can learn to weld or run a lathe. It provides training and scholarships to vocational schools, and aims to "dispel the myth that a career in manufacturing is a dirty, low-paying job and dominated by men."

"The industrial arts have always taken precedence over the fine arts," Ratzenberger pontificated, sounding much like his bar-side character from Cheers.

"Remember, someone had to build the ceiling before Michelangelo could go to work," he said. "And even the most educated and skilled brain surgeon can't save a life if a plumber hasn't done his job so that clean, hot water flows through the pipes in the operating room where the surgical teams wash their hands."

My job is manual labor only to the extent that my fingers are required to be in near-constant contact with the computer keyboard, and I have to hold the phone to my head when I can't find find the headset. My mother worked in office jobs before getting married, and my father's job as a minister was all about touching books and pens and holding the hands of the ill or suffering as he prayed with them.

But my father gave me a tremendous gift, a deep and abiding respect for those who truly work with their hands.

I have about a year and a half of solid memories from his time in seminary (I was five when we left), but my formative years were spent in rural communities as my father ministered to farmers, bricklayers, mechanics and others possessed of calloused hands and rock-hard grips. His friendliness and naturally inquisitive nature flattered these hard-working men, who were only too willing to explain their trades and even teach or assist my father as he remodeled the old farmhouse we'd bought.

I watched as our house was stripped down to the bare two-by-fours and built back up again, with wiring carefully planned and executed according to code, wallboard applied with edges painstakingly seamed, fireplaces built with artistic skill, and pipes cut and sealed to bring life-giving fresh water at a gentle finger's touch. At each stage, church members and blue-collar neighbors my father had befriended coached and even pitched in to ensure our home would be sturdy, safe and comfortable. I watched as my highly-educated father gratefully took instruction from those who had only graduated from high school, and expressed his appreciation for their work in his wide-eyed way of reveling at the amazing diversity and breadth of the human mind. I was taught by example the lesson that a tremendous depth of skill and experience is required to turn brick, wood, shingles, wallboard, carpet, paint and fixtures into something that will one day become a comfortable home.

Hanging out with friends and kids from church, I saw their fathers come home dirty and sweaty and smelly... and I admired them for it because I knew it meant they had been working hard to make something tangible, something with lasting impact--whether they'd been tilling a field, carrying around heavy bricks, framing a house, or fixing a broken car... because it doesn't matter how educated or even brilliant you are if you have no place to live, no food to buy, or no way to get to your high-paying desk job 30 miles away.

In other words, kudos to John Ratzenberger!

[h/t to Mr. Wolf, via email]

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Paying it Forward Amidst Grief

This really speaks for itself:

Sometimes, writing the letters is hard.

"It does come to the forefront. When you write a lot, 'cause the pain is still very much there for us, so I know what that pain is," said Linda.

To learn more about the Living Legends Team referenced in the link above, click here.

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Grammar Nitpick of the Day

To certain people who are driving me nuts today...

It's "He gave it to John and me," NOT "John and I!!!"

You don't have to know any fancy grammar to get this one right, folks.

Here's the simple way to ensure accuracy: Anytime you don't know if it's me or I, just take out the other person in the sentence. For example, the sentence I started with--take out John: "He gave it to I," or "He gave it to me?" Obviously, "me." So it's, "He gave it to John and me."

Another common issue: "John and me went outside." No, just do the same thing with this sentence as the other one: "Me went outside" or "I went outside?" Of course, it's "John and I went outside."

See, it's not hard.

And no, you do not sound educated, intelligent or sophisticated when you stand up in front of your adoring electorate and say, "Our time in public service has meant so much to Mary and I."

You just sound like a pompous idiot who thinks he knows more than he does.

Okay, rant over. *dusts chalk off hands*

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Oh, the irony!

This is really just too much:

The Times published an especially embarrassing correction on July 22, fixing seven errors in a single article — an appraisal of Walter Cronkite, the CBS anchorman famed for his meticulous reporting. The newspaper had wrong dates for historic events; gave incorrect information about Cronkite’s work, his colleagues and his program’s ratings; misstated the name of a news agency, and misspelled the name of a satellite.

I've got my own issues with Walter Cronkite and his opining on the Tet Offensive, but he deserves better than that. I mean, supposedly this is "modern journalism's founding father."

Personally, I'd disown the lot of 'em.

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At Rest

His family... at long last:

"One of these Iraqi citizens stated that they were present when Captain Speicher was found dead at the crash site by Bedouins and his remains buried," the Pentagon said in a statement.

He was positively identified through a jawbone found at the site and dental records, said Read Adm. Frank Thorp.

As reports of his possible survival surfaced over the years, I hoped for their truth. But a part of me was horrified by the idea that he could've spent 10 or 15 years in an Iraqi prison. I didn't want to imagine how he would have suffered under such conditions. And to think of how his family must be suffering over those same years, suspended between loss and hope... Coping with death under "normal" circumstances is hard enough, the games your longing heart can play with the cold hard facts your mind knows... My heart has hurt for his family.

But now we know he truly has been at rest all this time.

It is the death of hope for his loved ones, but I pray it is also a comfort for them to now know it was quick for him, that he never suffered years of imprisonment and torture while wondering if he'd ever see his family again or--amidst the depression and disorientation that would surely come with such trials--wondering in his darkest and most fragile moments whether they had moved on without him.

May you rest in peace, with your country's gratitude... all of you.

UPDATE I: ROK Drop weighs in with a reminder of why there's an FOB Speicher in Iraq.

After the war in 2003 the Al Sahra Airfield outside of Tikrit was the area my unit secured and an initial brigade mission was to ask locals for information in regards to Captain Speicher who was believed to have crashed out in the desert west of Tikrit. Nothing become of the inquiries, but all of us at the brigade TOC were well aware of Speicher’s story and hoped something would eventually turn up. That is why the base was given the name initially Camp Speicher before being changed to FOB Speicher to keep the memory of Captain Speicher alive as new units rotated in and out of the base. It is good to see closure has finally come on this 18 year old mystery.

UPDATE II: Boudicca says it all in a powerful post drawing on her own experience of watching a friend deal with a KIA/MIA husband during Gulf War I.

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