So, Here It Is…

13. July 2006 · Comments Off on So, Here It Is… · Categories: General, GWOT, Israel & Palestine, War

Here we are then, with things happening too fast and close together to keep track, and the definite feeling that all most participants can do is tighten grip and hope to hold fast, as events gallop towards an abyss. Hezbollah picking a fight with Israel, and Iran holding their coat, and f**k all the UN or any other internationally based busybodies will ever be able to do. I was resoundingly chided by some of our international commenters last month for voicing my personal and inchoate feelings of dread… I am drinking some cheap Chablis this evening, and I do not feel any better than I did when I wrote this.“Events and portents appear, flashing like lightning in one of our summer Texas thunderstorms, finally occurring so frequently that the sky is continuously lit with an eerie blue-white light…”
See, here’s an analogy about co-incident and co-dependent states who have a certain history; it’s not a perfect analogy because there’s only a few features that the Independent Entity of The Gaza Strip has in common with Mexico; a lot of acrimonious and co-dependent history, and a lot of back-and-forth familiarity. Sort of like a lot of countries in Europe, come to think on it in my naïve American way.
Suppose, just suppose that — just by way of example, a group of Mexican narco-traffickers (who are a powerful influence in the borderlands, and perhaps not entirely de-linked from the official Mexican establishment, such as it is) decided to pop across the border— after months of lobbing a lot of indiscriminate and indifferently aimed rockets— say into Brownsville and Laredo, or El Paso and Yuma, where they had succeeded in doing nothing much except make local residents extremely nervous about loud noises, and extraordinarily prompt about hitting the deck— and snatched a couple of soldiers from Ft. Huachuca. Suppose they took them back over the border, and demanded that the federal government immediately free any Mexican nationals held by the various American law authorities. Imagine how that would go over?! And just to extend that simile— how would it go over, if Basque separatists in Spain did the same to soldiers of France? Or any other irredentist European community to a neighboring state… and consider that all any other such group would have do thereafter to extract concessions would be to go on a brief cross-border shopping trip for human capital.

No, d’huh. I do not have a good feeling about this.

The eastern world it tis explodin’,
violence flarin’, bullets loadin’,
you’re old enough to kill but not for votin’,
you don’t believe in war, what’s that gun you’re totin’,
and even the Jordan river has bodies floatin’,
but you tell me over and over and over again my friend,
ah, you don’t believe we’re on the eve of destruction.

Don’t you understand, what I’m trying to say?
Can’t you see the fear that I’m feeling today?
If the button is pushed, there’s no running away,
There’ll be no-one to save with the world in a grave,
take a look around you, boy, it’s bound to scare you, boy,
but you tell me over and over and over again my friend,
ah, you don’t believe we’re on the eve of destruction.

Barry McGuire “Eve of Destruction”

Stolen Kisses at the Skylark

13. July 2006 · Comments Off on Stolen Kisses at the Skylark · Categories: Air Force, General, Memoir, Military, Pajama Game

There has always been this stereotype of the women’s services as a stronghold of lesbians; and there might, I say just might sometime in the distant past, have had some validity to this stereotype, depending on the times and in some places. There was a gay activist I recollect reading some years ago, who insisted that 100% of the women in the WWII services were lesbian, a dubious factoid that may come as a considerable surprise to male veterans of that era, especially those who romanced and/or married a pretty nurse, typist or vehicle driver whom they met whilst both were in uniform. I would tend to agree that during the long decades after WWII when female service members were forbidden to marry or have children, those women who decided to devote themselves to a military career may possibly have contained a slightly higher proportion of those whose amours were of the Sapphic variety… or possibly just unenthusiastically heterosexual.

In my own service, I was acquainted with a bare handful of women who I would not have been surprised to learn that they were gay… frankly, I preferred not to know, and refrained from speculating, lest I ever be hauled up before the local AFOSI and asked point-blank and asked to choose between either lying outright, or narking out a friend. And the services did embark on those lesbian hunts, vigorously, thoroughly and with every evidence of keen enjoyment. A number of my female mid-rank and senior NCO friends all thoughtfully agreed during the early days of the Clinton administration, that “don’t ask-don’t tell” banished that particular nightmare for us. Frankly, I was surprised as hell that I was never accused of being a lesbian— there certainly were people that hated my guts and took note of my conspicuously unmarried state. I can only suppose I was saved by my notorious disinterest and demonstrated incompetence at any sort of organized team sports.

It would be my personal, scientific wild-ass-guess that the lesbian proportion among women serving in the US Armed Forces these days is no more than the representation in the general population— and that would be the 3% that is the small “c” conservative estimation. It may even be less than that, actually. I’d be basing this on the admittedly anecdotal experience of basic training, and a good few years of living in the barracks, where there are no secrets. Let me reiterate: thanks to thin walls, shared rooms and gang latrines, there are damn few secrets in a military barracks, least of all about ones’ sex life.

And for Air Force basic military training, about the only thing the women in my training flight had in common aside from XX chromosomes and a taste for adventure, was some kind of interest in the male of our species, ranging from the intense to the mildly intellectually curious. (Or as my daughter would put it; “strictly dickly”.) Guys, guys and only guys; and watching the other girls put on full-date makeup, carefully arranged hairstyles, and most perfectly arranged Class-A uniforms on the occasion we were allowed to go down to the training-side BX annex… on liberty… by ourselves (or in pairs, anyway) for the period of one hour to purchase such small personal items as toothpaste and deodorant was sufficient to convince me of that. Other girls in the flight became ostentatiously and suddenly religious… because we could go to services on Sunday, and at least sit in adjacent pews. As we advanced in training, we were permitted certain periods of base liberty, to frolic chastely and pursue and be pursued in such venues as the bowling alley, the library, the BX annex and snack bar, and the Skylark Recreation Center.

Prior to being allowed such dizzying freedoms, we were given a stern lecture about the guys… well, those that we would be encountering. Not the usual common or garden American guys, though. There would be foreigners… with strange and potentially alluring ways. Or maybe not, since there were some very, very different cultural differences involved.

Lackland AFB was, and still is a major military training center for more than just Air Force basic. The AF security police tech school, and the basic officer training course were there…. And there was some kind of tech school training course for foreign military enlistees, distinctive by their somewhat colorful uniforms and occasionally very crude behavior in formation and out of it. Our TI, Sgt. Petre, kept an admirable poker face when she gave us the lecture; no, some of the strange stories we would hear about the Saudi Arabian and Iranian students were absolutely not true. They were strangers in a strange land, and we should be polite, of course, but we should keep in mind that as far as cultural mores went, as military women we would be even stranger to them. And we should be careful about giving any encouragement, because the gentlemen trainees from Saudi and Iran had a tendency to assume a great deal from it. Sgt Petre told us about a female trainee who collected such a single-minded and persistent admirer that he was camped out on the sidewalk in front of the squadron training building waiting for her every time her flight had base liberty, which so rattled the poor girl that she stopped leaving the building at all.

(to be continued)

Random Thoughts…

09. July 2006 · Comments Off on Random Thoughts… · Categories: General, Good God, Rant

…in the wake of this weekend’s Protein Wisdom-Deborah Frisch blog-swarm du jour:

1. Life is short, and the blog-universe is huge.

2. If you are not interested in what you are reading on a particular blog, move on.

3. If you get off on arguing in the comments… well, that’s your hobby. Mine is gardening. No one gets paid for a hobby.

4. Being the object of a blogswarm is about as much fun as being repeatedly stung by a swarm of African killer-bees.

5. There is a lot to be said for veiling certain aspects of your personal life in your blog. Like your children, your home address, and where you work.

6. Implied threats and sexual aspersions about someone’s immediate family are beyond the pale. So are DOS attacks on their site.

7. This is one for the theory that people who study psychology have a shaky grip on their own sanity.

8. What the &$%# do we have to *%^$ing do to get some &$%ing civility between people who disagree strenuously?

9. Frankly, I am glad that the biggest problem I have with comments here are the torrents of automated spam. Getting the sort of comments that some other bloggers get would make me pretty sour about the whole open comments concept.

KoreaTown

07. July 2006 · Comments Off on KoreaTown · Categories: Fun and Games, General, N. Korea, Pajama Game, War

About the first thing I ever noticed about Korea— during the bus ride from Osan AB to the Yongsan Garrison bus terminal in Seoul— was that it didn’t look a thing in like M*A*S*H… even allowing for the whole show being unconvincingly filmed in the wilds of California, on a set built out in a valley between very obviously chaparral-covered hills … and hills that were dark sage-green, and gently rounded— not the steep and bright green hills, painstakingly terraced that I could see from the bus. And also nothing like the distant mountains visible all the way round Seoul on clear morning, chipped and jagged, like something cut from jade-green glass, just like the mountains in ancient oriental prints. Seoul, cut through by the wide silvered loops of the Han river did rather resemble Los Angeles, in that it went on seemingly forever, flowing around hills and tracts of parkland, a jumble of high, low and medium-rise buildings and which offered pretty much everything a reasonably cosmopolitan person could want. Myself, I loved the retail and wholesale fabric market, near to Tongdemun Stadium… not much harked back to what Korea had been half a century before, unless it was the porters who carried enormous burdens on their backs up and down the tall staircase of the fabric market building. No, South Korea had moved on, since the days of M*A*S*H.

So, NPR did an interview this week with the two apparatchiks who came out strongly in favor of blowing up the Nork’s Two-dong (or whatever name it has that is a natural fodder for more sophomoric jokes than mine) long-range missile on the launch-pad as some sort of crushing pre-emptive strike to send a serious message to the Norks about what happens when you threaten America. They were quite airily confident not only of our ability to do this, neatly and effectively (which is actually a rather comforting thought) but seemingly quite careless of the risks to South Korea if we had done so— which is not. And since the gentlemen in question are of the party that currently seems to be getting off 24-7 by condemning George Bush being pre-emptive, unilateral, careless of world opinion, and barging straight on to the main point of actually blowing up stuff, rather than sitting around and talking about it until everyone has gone mad with boredom, and issuing a strongly worded memorandum… well, it had the charm of the unusual. I wondered if somewhere, there is a Rovish political consultant, thinking agent provocateurish thoughts. (And if either of the gentlemen concerned were acquainted with the old saying about sending a message and using Western Union— probably not, since it has to be explained carefully to anyone over the age of 50-ish— none of this awareness showed in the interview.)

Well, never mind— they just struck me as being quite chipper about “doing something!” and quite horribly casual about possible Nork reprisals. No veteran who has ever served a tour in South Korea can be entirely insouciant about that— not with knowing how close Seoul is to the range of Nork artillery fire, how close to the DMZ, and how bat-shit insane the self-isolated regime to the immediate north has demonstrated itself to be, in all sorts of large and small ways. Well-meaning and intelligent people usually do not advise intentionally pissing off a deranged street-person holding a hand-grenade with the pin missing. I have probably just horribly maligned all deranged street-persons with access to personal explosives here… but what can you honestly say about a mini-nation who kidnapped Japanese citizens in order to force them to train spies, and South Korean movie actors to force them to make movies, confiscates the Chinese trains which are shipping them relief supplies, fields a diplomatic corps which deals in drugs and counterfeit money in order to make their budget, honors the family of the founding leader in a manner usually confused in the outside world by worship of a deity— and that would be the outside world of circa 1st century Rome.. except assume that someone with a Pythonesque turn of mind has made this all up.

Alas, North Korea is all too real; a small nation with delusions of adequacy about being a military power despite not having fought a serious, balls-out, all hands on deck war since the 1950ies… and them with the aid of the Chinese, who must seriously be having doubts about now. Yes, North Korea is their dog in this dispute; a small, hyper-active, bug-eyed, noisy and incontinent dog, of the kind that make people itch to kick into the next dimension, and I so wonder if the Chinese are getting pretty testy with their bad-tempered, and vicious little pet. When desperate refugee Nork citizens are taken pity upon by the stereotypically hard-off Chinese peasants along the China-Nork border, you really have to wonder about how things are, in the last rigidly Stalinist armpit of the world. Especially when young refugees from the North are clearly recognizable in the South, because (thanks to the juche and economic independence, all-around socialist superior spirit and the resulting endemic malnourishment) they are very obviously shorter, thinner, and weedier looking. And I do not forget for a moment, that these are still the same human stock— the same jolly, tough and resourceful people who on the south of the DMZ, worked themselves out of a Third World, war-torn, desperately poor UN-dependent basket-case that they were in the mid 1950ies. South Koreans built a shining and modern city out of the wreck that it was when my father passed through there at the end of the Korean War.

What their kin have built out of the North may be a country-sized concentration camp, and every dreadful story that has managed to leak out, against brutal control, will likely prove to both the gospel truth, and the least portion of the horrors. So, there you go. North Korean may have the Bomb, and more distressing still, be able and willing to sell it to anyone with the wherewithal. And the assumption has always been that Seoul is in range of whatever violently explosive munitions they have. So, what really can you do, knowing what is at risk? Do you openly provoke the violently insane, and one with a proven track record of being totally immune to shame, or wait until they melt down entirely? I read a comment last week (Can’t remember who— Angie at “Dark Blogules” maybe… who said that her enjoyment of old episodes of M*A*S*H had been forever ruined by the various characters’ blathering about how useless, pointless and aimless the “war” was… when it had been in retrospect a successful effort protect the South Korea— now a vibrant, successful and interesting place, from becoming the dysfunctional horror of North Korea.

Interesting times, people, interesting times. Discuss.

New Adoption

04. July 2006 · Comments Off on New Adoption · Categories: Critters, General

Our backyard neighbor came running yesterday morning in an obvious agitated state, having seen “a giant white snake type creature” in their yard. Further investigation revealed that, indeed, there was a four foot white snake curled up in the hosta patch. Not pure white, actually, but with faint almost imperceptible light tan markings and pink eyes. Judging from the shape of its head and its demeanor, and some knowledge of the snakes indigenous to its area, it was not venomous. So, in the spirit of farm boys everywhere, I captured it. It appears to be an albino snow corn snake (elaphe guttata guttata). I don’t know the sex – apparently you have to “probe” (whatever that means), a snake to find that out but it has a pretty docile temperament so we decided to add it to our menagerie. So, off to the pet store to buy some frozen mice, another heat mat, and whatever other accoutrements are needed to keep a snake happy. We learned in short order that, while corn snakes raised in captivity are fine with frozen mice (microwaved to approximate body temperature – with a lemon garlic rub perhaps?), wild corn snakes prefer their meals served live – one per week. Given Real Wife’s affection for pet rats and other rodents, this will clearly be my responsibility. Although I have hunted game, and slaughtered cattle on our farm as a teenager, I do have some misgivings about sending a mouse to certain slow death. I have therefore promised Real Wife and Red Haired Girl that we would only select the ugliest of mice that are those totally lacking in moral values.

The thing that bothers me is how this snake survived in our area, given that we have a couple of owls who make a regular appearance. And with a gazillion kids all over the neighborhood, even a single sighting would have resulted in an urban legend of major proportion. I suppose he may be an escapee, although there has been nothing in the local paper or radio station, nor did a canvas of the neighborhood turn up any leads. The other possibility is that someone turned him loose.

So far he seems to be fitting in. We did have to place a piece of cardboard between his terrarium and that of the gecko, the latter getting pretty excited at the sight of the snake (apparently a natural predator). Pet Store Guy suggested not handling him for a week or so to let him get used to his surroundings. He seems very curious and active. For a hiding shelter I put an old bicycling helmet into service, which is pretty bizarre because when he hears us enter the room he pokes his head out of one of the ventilation slots – kind of a Medusa thing.

While at the pet store we also saw the cutest ferret…

Radar

IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776

04. July 2006 · Comments Off on IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776 · Categories: General

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.

(snip)

We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

Happy 230th birthday, America. You’re not perfect, but you’re not as bad as some would have us believe. And you’ve certainly lasted a lot longer than many who were at your birthing anticipated. Here’s hoping that the grand experiment begun so long ago will continue unabated for another 230 years.

salute

The Lit-Major’s Game

02. July 2006 · Comments Off on The Lit-Major’s Game · Categories: Fun and Games, General, That's Entertainment!

When I was whiling away a couple of years at Cal State, earning a professionally useless but amusing degree in English, my classmates and I used to entertain ourselves by working out what certain towering figures in literature would be doing, if they were professionally functioning in the arts and letters of the present- or just the last quarter of the 20th century. What would they be writing, and what sort of writing— and given that movies and television would be in the mix— what variant of creativity would be within the scope of time-transplanted literary talent?
There aren’t any definitive answers, of course; the only requirement is to be able to extrapolate amusingly. Herewith some of the proposed 20th-century career paths:

William Shakespeare: Actor turned writer; the movies, of course. Wildly popular, prolific and all over the map, quality-wise, over a long, long career.

Mark Twain: Reporter and writer of very fine magazine articles on popular culture and commentary, and the occasional book. Pretty much what Tom Wolfe, or PJ. O Rourke does now.

Henry James: Still a novelist, producing exquisitely wrought and finely detailed novels. Very high-brow, lots of literary prizes, but not very widely read. Never an Oprah Book Club selection.

Edith Wharton: Ditto.

William Thackeray: Witty, roman-a-clef novels, about people on the fringes of power in various establishments. The public is vastly amused with every one, trying to figure out who they “really” are about. Threatened with legal action on occasion, which just boosts sales figures.

Charles Dickens: Writer and producer of very long, and involved, and wildly popular TV series/miniseries. All of them have long story arcs, many eccentric characters, and enough turns and twists to keep the audiences’ attention riveted for years.

Rudyard Kipling: Also a newspaper reporter turned novelist, poet and short story writer, and entertainer. Doing what Garrison Keillor does now, even to the radio show.

Sir Walter Scott: Enormously popular writer of historical adventures based on historical figures. James Michener, only shorter.

Louisa May Alcott: Empowering chick-lit. Frequent Oprah guest, and Book Club selection.

Jules Verne: Science fiction, of course— but through the medium of interactive video games.

And to cross over into classical music, Richard Wagner would be doing movies too: very elaborate, special-effects laden, Kubrick-ish blockbusters, with thunderous musical scores and eye-catching set-pieces. They would be very popular, and the critics would come away from press showings bubbling over with ecstatic praise, even though they wouldn’t quite understand a lot of it.

Add your own, elaborate on or propose alternatives for mine: just be creative and above all, amusing.

How Secure is Your Data?

01. July 2006 · Comments Off on How Secure is Your Data? · Categories: General

In a related article to the VA data-theft, the reporter discusses the need for better data security. According to the article, IT departments are typically concerned with protecting the infrastructure, not the data.

I would argue that protecting the infrastructure is part of protecting the data. But I agree that protecting the infrastructure isn’t enough.

In the almost 15 years (gasp!) since I left the Air Force, every job I’ve had has been somehow related to computers, although I’ve usually worked as a trainer rather than as a consultant. Since 1998, every job I’ve had has provided me with a company laptop to make my life easier as a road-warrior. Reflecting on those jobs with laptops, I realize that my various jobs weren’t all that security-aware, either.

The 1998-1999 job was with a gov’t contractor, implementing network security on Air Force bases worldwide. Those laptops had no encryption or authentication beyond the basic “log into it when it boots up” process. I want to say those laptops had data with little or no value, but OPSEC taught me that little pieces can be part of the overall puzzle, and even little pieces shouldn’t be compromised. We carried the plans/processes/IP addresses/backup copies of configurations on our laptops and never worried much about it (and I worked with security geeks who worried about everything). BUT we paid close attention to the physical security of our laptops, and were mildly paranoid at all times. Looking back, I realize I can only speak for myself and my own laptop – I have no idea if the security geeks incorporated greater security on their own laptops, but there was no company policy regarding such. Logging onto the company intranet was a simple process, with basic username/password, if my memory can be trusted. Was the infrastructure secure? Couldn’t really tell you. My memory’s gotten too hazy.

The 2000-2003 job was with a large commercial entity, once the darling of the stock market, then a laughingstock (to the disgust of all those who held or are still holding their almost worthless stock). That laptop held network monitoring tools, copies of course materials and powerpoint presentations, and copies of site-visit reports. Nothing earth-shattering or particularly valuable, but we had a little thingy we carried that we used to login to the company network. I’ve forgotten the correct term for the little thingy, but it provided a constantly changing password, which was tied to our user id. However, this little thingy was only used for logging into the corporate network – we didn’t need it to access our laptop. The infrastructure was secure – our laptops? Not so much.

Early 2003 to late 2004 was a period without company laptops, as I was without a company. But Jan 2005 brought me a new job, and in late Feb, my company laptop arrived. This company has different passwords for everything on the company intranet, and they change at different times (and have different criteria for acceptable passwords, to keep it interesting for us). This includes having to regularly change the password to log into our laptops. So far, just like everyone else, more or less. Again, the infrastructure was secure, but the laptops – not so much.

But then, sometime last summer, they came out with a new policy. Laptop hard drives were to be encrypted, and a password is required to boot the laptop. It’s kind of annoying, from an end-user’s point of view, and makes the laptop take longer to boot up, but it gives me a certain piece of mind, knowing that there’s at least an attempt to secure the data on our machines – machines which are routinely carried through airports and into client sites (some of our folks travel 100% of the time; others, like me, were told the job entailed 50% travel, so we only travel 70-80% of the time).

Bear in mind that all the jobs I’ve described here involved lots of travel. The 1998-99 job was 100% travel, the 1999-2003 job was about 75% travel, until the last year when I was stationed at a client site full-time, and the current job is officially 50% travel. I don’t think the VA jobs have that much travel built into their job descriptions. But the data on the VA computers is infinitely more important than most of what I’ve had on my company laptops.

Enforcing a rule that says “don’t take data home” is hard to do, especially in this age of “do more with less,” which means less people are handling the same amount of work, and telecommuting.
So it behooves the companies, whether they are commercial companies or gov’t agencies, to build in protections. Store the data on the company server, not the employee laptop. Make the employee network in via a VPN, if they’re working from home. Provide the employees with the “little thingy” that changes the approved password every 90-120 seconds. Encrypt the laptop harddrives, for cryin’ out loud, to build at least that minor level of protection into the process. Use biometrics, if needed, for stronger security.

Or, if you truly don’t want employees to take data home, DON’T GIVE THEM LAPTOPS at all, and create a script that prevents them from saving data to anything other than a network drive.

And yes, as the article says, if you HAVE rules against taking data home, ENFORCE the rules. If a supervisor overrides the rules, as happened at the VA, fire the supervisor. If an employee disregards the rules, fire the employee. Make it a fire-able offense to compromise data.

Whatever you do, DO IT RIGHT. Don’t purchase your security from the lowest bidder. Purchase it based on who has the strongest security. Don’t base your security policies on the convenience of the user – base it on the importance of the data.

And for those of you reading this who think it doesn’t apply to you – how secure is your home network? Have you at least enabled the minimum wireless encryption? Or do you let the entire neighborhood use your wireless network (and your internet connection) for free? Oh, and when was the last time you changed all the passwords you use online (or the one password you use everywhere online)?

FBI Recovers Stolen VA Laptop

01. July 2006 · Comments Off on FBI Recovers Stolen VA Laptop · Categories: General

Timmer sent me this link, and I’ve just now had time to read the article. Please forgive my late posting on this, but I was on a business trip this week, and that significantly impacts my internet time.

According to the news article, their initial assessment is that the data has not been compromised (they’re thinking it’s not even been accessed). If this is true, it’s good news for millions of former and current military members.

HOWEVER….

The good news that the laptop and hard drive were recovered was tempered by Nicholson reporting two other instances of data theft, this time in the Midwest.

Nicholson reported VA sensitive data losses in Minneapolis and Indianapolis. A backup tape containing 16,538 legal case records went missing May 5 from the regional VA office in Indianapolis, but VA’s department general counsel was not notified until May 23.

The tape contains a daily chronology of the week’s cases that are managed on VA’s case and attorney tracking system called GC Laws, said VA general counsel Tim McClain.

“The tape most likely contained privileged attorney-client information,” he said. A security officer at the regional office reported that the backup tape was missing from the locked office.

In the Minneapolis data breach, a VA employee took a laptop computer home and locked it in the trunk of the car, which then was stolen in 2005. There have been two incidents of data loss from that incident, Nicholson said.

The data on the laptop affected 66 individuals who had sought services in a VA health facility. The financial auditor was performing income reviews of certain patients for means testing to determine payments. A postal inspector brought the identity fraud to the attention of VA, which is providing credit monitoring for the veterans. VA is notifying them and will provide credit monitoring for them.

Another section of the article states that the employee whose laptop was stolen had been taking it home (with supervisor’s permission) for the last three years. That employee called police 52 minutes after the laptop was stolen. VA didn’t say anything publicly until 2 weeks had gone by.

Also, in the case of the missing backup tape, it was reported missing on May 5, but they didn’t tell the general counsel (I’m assuming that’s the legal dept?) until May 23. WHY? Were they hoping it would just magically turn up?

And possibly the most disturbing comment in the article – it’s last sentence: “VA’s data breach began a string of breaches across agencies, including the Agriculture Department, the Navy, the IRS and, most recently, the National Institutes of Health’s credit union. “

Question for the computer geeks and security geeks – they say it looks like the data has not been accessed. If someone had simply ghosted the harddrive to another harddrive, or (to use an obsolete function), performed an XCOPY, would it indicate that the data had been accessed? Is there some archival flag that gets flipped when such a thing occurs? Or is it likely that what they’re saying is that when they look at properties on the spreadsheet, it shows the last accessed date as before the theft? (and couldn’t that be jiggered by changing the date/time on the pc?)

I would love to believe them, and think that all is hunky dory now, but I’m just not sure I’m ready to do that. The feds, however, are ready to stop thinking about providing credit monitoring for those whose data was stolen.

The Fine Old Art of Shark-Jumping

30. June 2006 · Comments Off on The Fine Old Art of Shark-Jumping · Categories: General, GWOT, Media Matters Not, Pajama Game

Seriously, I really think the NY Times has done it this time. The Times, and a fair number of other old-style media have been puttering around in the lagoon, testing the engine, measuring the angle, paying out the tow rope, contemplating the shark… and with this compromise of the Swift program…The good old Times has taken a dead set at that puppy, roared up the ramp and gone sailing into the air, to come down again who knows where, although I personally think they are still tumbling in free-fall. The last couple of days have reminded me rather of the dissection of the infamous 60 Minutes-Bush-AWOL-Memo story, only in slow-mo. People who knew about typefaces, and how Reserve units operated back then and what official documents look like took a long, hard look, and got angrier and angrier about how a clumsy and nakedly political hit piece was perpetrated by an ostensibly respectable, big-name media showboat.

And now, personnel who have worked with classified materiel and operations, who know anything about classified, who deeply care about classified are becoming angrier and angrier about the revelation of a legal, useful and productive effort was blown by the newspaper of record— another big-name media showboat, the so-called “newspaper of record”— for nothing more rewarding than affording the “newspaper of record” an opportunity to preen themselves ostentatiously on their wonderful “scoop”. The NY Times response to criticism for doing so appears to throw gasoline on a smoldering fire, for the sheer lordly arrogance of deciding extravagantly that the “public” just had to know all the details of a war-time effort to prevent terrorists from transferring funds… the funds that buy enormously loud explosions in a variety of public places, explosions that potentially turn an assortment of random human beings into so much bloody mush.

I can only assume that the editors of the NY Times are operating in the happy confidence that none of those potentially and so suddenly transformed will be those known personally to the grandees of the “newspaper of record”. It must be marvelous to live on such an elevated plane, to be totally removed from consequences. Now, I am not so far gone in brutal cynicism as this gentleman to assume that this whole thing was done out of a particularly ugly fit of pique— “You stupid red-state proles had better vote as we tell you to vote, or we’ll blow the gaff on every secret plan we can find until you do, and damn the consequences!”… but I am of a sick enough humor to think that spilling the details of the Swift project is a win-win for the NY Times, all the way around. It means Pulitzers for all, and the fawning adoration of the usual suspects for their courage in speaking truth to power, or at least biting it in the ankle. The odds are increased that they will be able to cover the next terrorist atrocity in really splendid, breathlessly late-breaking-development style, milk a couple of tears for the resultant obituaries, and get at least three or four hard-hitting exposes of the various government departments or persons who “allowed (insert meaningful date or place name here) to happen”… which will result in at least two more rounds of Pulitzers. Think of the New York Times as the gift that keeps on giving.

I try never to attribute to malice that which can be attributed to stupidity… or at least, a horrible sort of tone-deafness on the part of the major media, first articulated by James Fallows in “Breaking the News” (And here I am again, plugging his ten-year old polemic… honestly, the man ought to be giving me a commission.) His point then, and one which I have come to see validated over the last four or five years, is that that the elite media seem to increasingly see themselves as some sort of aristocracy, floating serenely above the vulgar hurly-burly, and dispensing their magisterial pronouncements from on high, with little care for how they may affect— and sometimes they do affect, markedly and even horribly— and it matters not to our aristocracy of the media, for they float imperiously away, on to the next big story, the next big scoop, and the next breathlessly-detailed horror of the moment.

Mr. Fallows intuited that the discriminating news-consumers were on to the media grandees, and felt considerable contempt for them, based on how they were increasingly portrayed as buffoons on movies, and in television. Reporters were once portrayed as rough-hewn heroes, competent, well meaning, and worthy of respect— but even as Woodward and Bernstein were still respected as selfless heroes of the newspaper reporter profession, we were laughing at the chipmunk-brained Ted Baxter, on the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Over the next decade, the lake of contempt has deepened and broadened; perhaps television, books and movies have caught on to something, in advance of our so-sensitive news media. Reporters are more like to be portrayed as a Ron Burgundy clown than a hard-working and ethical Edward R. Murrow, or an Ernie Pyle type.
This is not to say that all major media reporters have sunk to such a sad state— those who hold to the old standards are perhaps as much distressed as I am about the spectacle of a major newspaper trading the security of their fellow citizens for a mess of Pulitzer pottage. But this whole Swift thing does not reflect well on the NY Times, and their pretensions of being the major American paper of record.

It does not, and they are richly deserving of all the contempt and cancelled subscriptions thrown in their way.

Goin’ to California (and back)

29. June 2006 · Comments Off on Goin’ to California (and back) · Categories: Ain't That America?, Eat, Drink and be Merry, General, Pajama Game

Not being a regular visitor west of the Rockies (my last trek was to Pasadena on 9 Sep 01 – a whole other story), I always find California to be an experience worth commenting on. As I write this I realize that I may not be able to make the post until my return. I am staying at the Atrium Hotel in Irvine, which purports to have free high speed Internet in every room. Sounds good in theory, but I have spent 3 hrs. so far on the phone with the hotel’s Internet provider trying to get the “automatic” connection to work – with no luck so far. This is a pet peeve of mine because usually, in order to get connectivity away from home, I must go through a process of iterative setting changes that render my home and work connections inoperative on my return. And, of course, because the changes were iterative (and not recorded – my fault), reversing the process involves an equal dose of frustration. I see a Blackberry in my future.

Anyway, my mission is to evaluate a new technology in which my employer is considering an investment. The entrepreneurial community here always amazes me, along with what its interaction with “old industry” is like (when it goes well). Not in a bad way, but rather in the sense that we old liners are impressed with their vision, and they are impressed with our ability to point out the obvious legal/market/reality checks. We spent about 14 hrs. brainstorming at their Santa Ana office, located in one of many complexes with small office spaces arranged not unlike large self storage facilities – relatively cheap rent, undoubtedly high turnover. The mind is boggled by the amount of venture capital discussed within each “unit”, and the dreams and disappointments that accompany each change in tenancy. I long ago resigned myself to a life of servitude, albeit fairly compensated, but not these people. Dot com bust – what was that? A fourteen-hour day in my business usually equals mind numbing grind, but not when I do these meetings. Not a stupid person in the room, with the possible exception of yours truly, and get this – no bringing in Subway sandwiches! Lunch at the Cheesecake Factory and a (very) late dinner at some great seafood joint – I think McCormick Schmidt (although I could have done without the karaoke).

I arrived yesterday afternoon and decided to chill at the Atrium. It’s a pretty cool hotel that I can heartily recommend (as long as Internet connectivity is not a priority) at $139/night. It has been around for a while and the blush is somewhat off the rose, but it seems to capture the essence of this part of California. At only three stories, it is a rambling place that surrounds a rather nice courtyard with palm trees aplenty and a nice pool. I love the lizards too. Navigating the complex can be a challenge, but once getting the feel for the place it seemed that the meandering is one of its charms. After spending the three hours trying to achieve connectivity, I wandered to the bar and grill for a double scotch and a steak sandwich – both of which, by the way, were excellent. I struck up a conversation with the barkeep and some locals, who told me that it was unseasonably hot and humid – at 83 deg. and not-so-bad humidity! Having lived in west central Illinois for so many years, where 95 – 100 deg. and 90% humidity is not unusual, I was a little (lot) surprised. After all, L.A. always seemed like a hellhole to me -–much like Phoenix. It turns out that their proximity to the ocean results in a normal high of around 80 deg., but with little humidity. One of my new friends, an Irvine native, BEGGED me to not tell anyone about the true state of the climate – he says there are too many transplants as it is. Sorry Carl – this is newsworthy and the American public has the right to know. You should appreciate this based on your vocal support of the NY (and LA) Times of their exposure of the insidious terrorist wiretapping and financial record tracking. Anyway, I expect Carl will still greet me as an old friend the next time because I doubt that he is a regular reader of this august blog.

I was in Washington DC three weeks ago, and did write a piece called “Foggy Bottom” that I intended to post, but it seemed too cynical upon further reflection. The memorials and monuments were great, but the landscaping sucked and the people were either tourists or overflow from K street lobbyists. At least the SoCal people freely admit that its about the money. Funny though, once they get it a lot of them decide that money (but not theirs) is the root of all evil

Anyway, later that night I was sitting in my room’s balcony watching the flight attendants arriving, and casually eavesdropping on their conversations as they came through the parking lot. The content was not memorable, but the tone, and the manner in which they made their way to the check-in area, reminded be so very much of TDY’sThe and overnight trips this young airman took so many years ago, when the world was not a place to be wary of, but rather a kingdom to be conquered. It is good, I think, to sense a glimpse of that, from however far ago, while in a tropical climate.

Trouble brewed on the home front with both Red Haired Girl and Real Wife when I mentioned that I was about 10 – 20 minutes from Disneyland (God as my witness – I did not know this when I planned the trip). I am searching for a t-shirt with the legend “My Dad Went To Disneyland And All I Got Was This Crappy T-Shirt” Links would be appreciated.

UPDATE – I am now home, and have at least reintroduced the IBM X41 to the home wlan. I feel younger, helped a bit perhaps by being in the aisle seat as a self-appointed guardian of two young ladies aged 11 and 9, travelling alone by plane for the first time to visit their grandparents. With their necklace-displayed credentials and travel papers, and the question “Mister, have you done this before?”, I knew it would be a good plane ride, and it was. The noise and sensation of landing gear and flap motion etc. gave me an opportunity to explain engineering principals (including the Bernoulli principal); topics long since banished from our normal family discourse for reasons unknown to me (Real Wife and Red Haired Girl don’t want to hear about entropy anymore either – go figure) I even got free snacks and headphones from the flight attendant (now $4 and $2 respectively on AA). That whole experience was a not-so-small serendipitous gift that, although reminding me of my grandfatherly age, also reminded me of how the world looks to the young.

As I write this, I am back in Illinois; on the patio with a cold beer and Springsteen on the box. Grilled cheese sandwich for supper. Life is good. I don’t see myself ever living anywhere with palm trees, but visits to such places, and often the transit to and from thereof, makes life worthwhile.

With regard to Disneyland, Red Haired Girl on the way home from the airport lamented that she once again missed a ride on a “real” rollercoaster, to which I argued I didn’t like the odds of 1-2 fatalities per year on said rollercoasters. Got home – another twelve year old killed today at Disneyworld. Am I missing something here?

Lastly, 13 June marked fourteen years of wedded bliss with Real Wife. For our anniversary, I traded her Barbie Jeep on a new Grand Cherokee – red – with a Hemi. Of course, the main selling points were back up sensors, extended warranty, etc. Did I mention that it has a Hemi?

By the way, for any computer whizzes out there, during my California Internet hell, I was able to connect, but if it took longer than a few short seconds to bring up a web site, everything timed out and the connection went dead – any ideas on why?

Radar

Cats & Dogs

29. June 2006 · Comments Off on Cats & Dogs · Categories: Critters, Domestic, Fun and Games, General, General Nonsense

(The following is one of those e-mail things that go around: it just seemed to be an interesting coincidence that a friend sent it to me, just when Timmer’s Miko re-appeared, and my own Spike and Percy seemed to be fast becoming very, very good friends… not that there’s anything wrong with that!)

EXCERPTS FROM A DOG’S DAILY DIARY:

8:00 a.m. Oh, boy! Dog food! My favorite!

9:30 a.m. Wow! A car ride! This is a blast

9:40 a.m. A walk in the park! Ate some crap…Delicious!

10:30 a.m. Getting rubbed and petted! I’m in love!

12:00 p.m. Lunch! Yummy!

1:00 p.m. Playing in the yard! I just love it!

3:00 p.m. Staring adoringly at my masters…they’re the best! I’ll wag
my tail in joy.

4:00 p.m. Hooray! The kids are home! I’m bouncing off the walls!

5:00 p.m. Milk bones! Great!

7:00 p.m. Get to play ball! This is too good to be true!

8:00 p.m. Wow! Watching TV with my master! Heavenly!

11:00 p.m. Sleeping at the bottom of my master’s bed! Life is soooooooo
great!
More »

Timmer-Coffee+Gym=bad time for the one standing nearby

26. June 2006 · Comments Off on Timmer-Coffee+Gym=bad time for the one standing nearby · Categories: Fun and Games, General, The Funny


Get this video and more at MySpace.com

Timmer, you’re the best. So I give you this tribute.

Pax Romana

25. June 2006 · Comments Off on Pax Romana · Categories: General, History, Military, Pajama Game, War

The stone ruins of Imperial Rome underlie Western Europe and the Mediterranean like the bones of a body, partially buried, yet here and there still visible and grandly manifest above ground, all but complete. From Leptis Magna in North Africa, to Hadrian’s Wall in the contentious border between Scotland and England proper, from Split in the Former Yugoslavia, to the 81 perfectly preserved arches of the ancient bridge over the Guadiana River, in Merida – that part of the empire called Hispania –and in thousands of lesser or greater remnants, the presence of Rome is everywhere and inescapable. The same sort of cast- concrete walls, faced with pebbles, or stone or tile, the same sort of curved roof-tiles, the same temples to Vesta, and Jupiter, to Claudius, Mars and Mithras; the same baths and fora, market-places, villas and apartment buildings, all tied together by a network of commerce and administration. Goods both luxury and otherwise, adventurous tourists, soldiers and civil administrators— the very blood of an empire, all moved along the veins and arteries of well-maintained roads and way-stations, of which the very beating heart was Rome itself. Carrying that image a little farther than absolutely necessary, I can visualize that heart as being a human, four-chambered one; of which two— the political/imperial establishment, and the flamboyantly military Rome of battles and conquest— have always rather overshadowed the other two in popular imagination. Commerce and civil administration just do not fire the blood and imagination – unless one is wonkishly fascinated by these things, and it would take a gifted writer to make them as interesting as imperial intrigues and soldiering adventures.

But close to the Palatine Hill, where the sprawling palace of the emperors looked out over the linked fora, law courts and temples in one direction, and the Circus Maximus in another— Trajan’s concrete and brick central market rambled over three or four levels, from the great hall of the Corn Exchange down to the open plaza of the meat market at the level of the forum below . Here was the embodiment of the great hearts’ economic chamber. Every sort of imaginable commodity moved from one end of the empire to another and from parts outside the Roman hegemony: corn from the Egyptian breadbasket, silk from faraway China, spices from India, African ivory and gold, olive oil, oranges and wine from the Mediterranean to everywhere else. And that trade was enabled by law and technology. Roman roads, waterworks, and civic infrastructure like harbors, lighthouses and bridges would in some cases, not be equaled or bettered until the 19th century. While emperors and soldiers came and went, sometimes with messy and protracted splatters of blood, the unspectacular and dull work of the empire went tirelessly on and on, little changing from day to day, decade to decade, until Rome itself seemed eternal, fixed forever, immutable like the stars in the sky.
More »

Fair Warning

22. June 2006 · Comments Off on Fair Warning · Categories: General

The 2006 school year has ended and the class of 2007 is in the barrel. Triggers will be pulled and rounds will go down range in a couple months. This is a time of year where a recruiter’s future will hang in the balance. It’s a well established mantra in the military recruiting realm that a high school program is the key to a recruiter’s success. Knowing the administrators, teachers, coaches, counselors, and custodial staff are important parts to that success. But, where the rubber meets the road is the students themselves. In my particular station we’re preparing to launch our first foray into the newly minted senior class.

I’m not a parent, but I deal with them a lot. I’ve seen first hand the emotions that a parent can feel when they’re confronted by the military talking to their child for the first time. For my experiences it has gone both ways. Some parents are eager to get their kids into the military. When I call they wake Johnny up and tell him to talk to me, or tell me to come by and put their kid in boots and out of their hair. Others are less enthuastic and are concerned that I’m trying to take their young from them, they challenge me to prove why their child should serve. Still others are repulsed by the “US Government” that appears on the caller ID and I’m greeted with threats of violence to my person before I can even identify myself.

In my area the first attempt to contact will be starting soon. A mail out has been prepared that will go to all seniors in our schools identifying the school’s assigned recruiter, as well as listing some of the benefits of the Army and the Army Reserve. This may be a wake-up call for some parents so I figured I’d use my kindly provided pulpit to explain a couple of things, and maybe correct some misconceptions.

It’s the job of a recruiter to contact high school seniors. We’re required to do so, and we’re required to do so about three times. Once at the beginning of the year, again in the middle, and finally at the end prior to graduation. If you tell us “no” we won’t keep calling. We will keep calling though if you never answer the phone, or if you keep hanging up on us when you do answer.

Despite what someone may think all the services are not connected. We don’t share lists. This is frustrating to you as the senior/parent and me as the recruiter. You may tell the Marine recruiter “no” and the next day the Army recruiter will call. Don’t be upset that you’re getting another recruiting call a day after you just told one to leave you alone. I do empatize with your plight, between the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard, and the Reserve and Guard forces for all services you’re looking at a lot of “no”. All I ask is that you treat us as kindly as we will treat you.

We don’t know your child from Adam. If your child is disabled or special needs, just tell us and we’ll leave you alone. And, God forbid, they died, you have our deepest sympathies, but we didn’t realize it when we called. We’re not trying to bring up painful memories.

Your child may have different desires than you. Just because you don’t want your child to join doesn’t mean you child doesn’t want to, or at least isn’t curious. Have an open mind and at least discuss it with your younin’. If you’re still not interested, let us know.

We are able to help. All people who enlist into the Army are eligible for $4,500 a year in tuition assitance, most will be eligible for the GI Bill that can help with at least $30,000 for post high school education. It’s a rare family who can totally dismiss $39,000 for college. Even through the Reserve you’re still looking at $30,000 to help with an education.

It’s an interesting time for recruiting. We’re moving into five years of a volunteer force in an active war. It’s a challenege that’s been met for the most part. Despite a constant barrage of the horrors of combat, and a lack of reporting on the good deeds conducted, and made possible, by the men and women fighting the fight, people still continue to sign up. The plan of Al-Qaeda, our enemy, to win is to generate enough ill-will and bad-press so as to break the back of our country. The unwilling (hopefully) complicity of some major media in that plan hasn’t succeeded because of the grassroots efforts of veterans, the troops themselves, and those who support them.

Recruiting in the time is a challenge, and it’s a challenge for which I didn’t volunteer (“detailed” is a nice way of saying “dragged kicking and screaming”). But it’s a fight that is almost as important as the ones being fought overseas. When my recruiting class graduated we were graced to have CSM Michelle Jones, the Command Sergeant Major of the United States Reserve, as our keynote speaker. During her address she told us to view our time in recruiting as our deployment. That without NCOs going out and finding the next Soldiers, team leaders, squad leaders, even sergeants major any progress made in the War on Terror would be for nought. I do believe in what I do as a recruiter. I hope that some day, 20 years from now, I’ll be reading the Army Reserve magazine and recognize some 1SG or SGM as someone I enlisted. Assuming I can still remember by own name 20 years from now that is.

Anyway, parents of high school students, please be aware that the time for your children to be adults is coming. Recruiters really are just doing our duty. We’d like you to help us while we help your progeny.

As an aside, I typed this on the laptop and it has a picky space bar. If a word runs together I’m going to blame it on my equipment, not that I’m a moron who can’t type.

Memo: Reciprocity

22. June 2006 · Comments Off on Memo: Reciprocity · Categories: General, GWOT, History, Iraq, Military, War

To: Amnesty International, the IRC, Human Rights Watch and other professional international worry-warts
From: Sgt Mom
Re: The Treatment of POWS:

1. So, once the oozing layers of condescension and spurious moral equivalence are wiped off, this guardian of the imprisoned and mal-treated is on the record as condemning the treatment of Privates Menchaca and Tucker. Ummm. Yeah. Thanks. Heaps. I am sure their families will be really appreciative of your concern. You probably will want to remove them from your mailing lists for the immediate future, though. Don’t thank me for this bit of advice, I live to serve.

2. I am sure the above-named parties would have been assiduous, tireless, noisy, and above all, effective in protecting the basic rights of all Americans, military and otherwise, who were taken captive by insurgents, free-lance Jihadists, Talibanis, Baathists… or whatever we call the gentlemen with the mad enthusiasm for the “Religion of Peace”, depending on the week, and the location. Oops— they would have been, should those various captives have… you know… lived long enough, after having been taken captive.

3. Tortured, decapitated, eviscerated, mutilated to the point of having to resort to DNA analysis to make a positive ID… sort of puts that whole panties on the head, dog-leash, kinky humiliation games, locked up in Guantanamo and having your Koran flushed in the crapper into a whole ‘nother perspective, doesn’t it? Reminds you of what you were all about, once upon a time? Maybe? Just a teensy bit?

4. Frankly, I rather think your dilemma as regards this matter may be rather short-term: it’s pretty well acknowledged among military circles that there is no surrender in this war. There just is not. There is a Marine axiom to the effect that an enemy may kill you with your own weapon, but they’d have to beat you to death with it, because it had better be empty. One way or another, there will be no American POWs. No retreat, no surrender.

5. And after this episode, there may not be many of the insurgents taken prisoner, either. Think on that, gentlemen; think on WWII in the Pacific theater, once it got around what kind of treatment the Japanese accorded to prisoners. Surrender was neither offered, nor accepted. You might be able to work up some sort of retroactive campaign about this brutal disregard of human rights, but you might want to hurry, since most of the participants are well into their third quarter-century.

6. Thanks for your expressed concern, though. We shall take it into active consideration. (Which is military code for thrown into the recycle bin, wadded up, and with great force.)

Sincerely
Sgt. Mom

PS—a note to the usual commenters, you know who you are. Please consider very carefully, any response you may make to this post. This is a matter I feel deeply and personally about, ever since my daughter told me about the conference she and the other female Marines had at their base in Kuwait, after the capture of the Army convoy which contained Pvt. Jessica Lynch, and other female Army personnel. Please do not try to provoke me on this issue, I will delete the comment without a backwards look, and if I am sufficiently offended, I will blacklist the commenter. Word to the wise, chaps, word to the wise.

Later: Additional words from New Sisyphus, via Rantburg and Daily Pundit.

Caption This One Winners (060616)

19. June 2006 · Comments Off on Caption This One Winners (060616) · Categories: General


(U.S. Air Force photo/Staff Sgt. Candy Knight)

1.) Sgt Fluffy: “We found Muldar sir.”
2.) Adjustah: “After an alleged DUI, MP’s arrest and search Voltron.” (Boyo loved this one.)
3.) Andrew V.: “Mr. Hoffa, are you in there?”

Back again on Friday.

Meet Max

17. June 2006 · Comments Off on Meet Max · Categories: Domestic, General

With Miko the Grey now assumed to be either “adopted by a nice family” or fox food, we decided to jump right back into the pet frey and adopt another pet. I’ve wanted a dog for as long as I can remember, but I’ve always had cats. I’ve dog-sat when and where ever possible and I like dogs. I’ve been blessed with friends who have let me borrow their dogs when life sucked. There’s nothing like the trust and love that a dog can give you

Mom’s experience with the Lesser Weevil and Spike gave me the confidence to think that we could do a dog with our less than friendly old female tabby. Three hours in and so far so good. Max (Maximum Dawg) seems to want to make friends but Gypsy is having none of it and has given Max a couple of full claw swipes at Max’s nose. Max seems disappointed, but is giving Gypsy a wide berth. He’s nothing if not smart. Two swipes across the nose and he’s had quite enough.

Max is a Blue Heeler that we rescued from our local animal shelter. That’s how we get our animals. Either folks are moving and have to get rid of a pet, or we get down below our two animal quota and get one from the animal shelter. I don’t buy purebreeds from puppy or kitten factories. I doubt anyone in my family has ever bought an animal from a store. Both my parents grew up on farms so the idea of a purebred cat or dog is kind of ridiculous where we come from.

Max was our second choice but I’m okay with that. Our first choise was Lady, a 3 year old pure pit bull with the sweetest personality of any dog I’ve every met. But…we live on base. Base regs are pretty specific in their prejudice against dogs “of a certain kind.” Because of assholes who have trained their pitbulls and rottweillers to be vicious brutes instead of loyal companions, there are even some towns that don’t allow dogs “of a certain kind.”

When Max (then named PupDog) came into the “get acquainted room” he basically jumped in my lap, then Beautiful Wife’s lap, and then he practically knocked Boyo off his chair cleaning his face. This is a dog that knows how to suck up. What caught our eye about him was that in a kennel full of barking dogs that were losing their minds jumping around begging and barking “oooh-ooh–ooooh, pick me, pick meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” Max was very calmly following us and waiting for pets and scratches.

For now we’re going to have to do at least two good long walks a day. Heelers are high energy dogs and if you don’t, they’ll bounce off the ceiling. When we can afford it better, we’ll get a fence for the yard so he can run around. We’ve been watching Dog Whisperer though and from what I can tell, walks are magic on dogs. That’s how they know they’re dogs and they don’t get confused about becoming human.

Now you know I’m a cat person as well. Don’t worry, Gypsy will still be first cat in our house, but right now it’s her choice to go pout in our room instead of coming to get some lap time. That and the bed will be off limits to the dog. Max will sleep in his kennel. Not because we’re mean, not because we love our stuff more than him, but because that’s what dog people I’ve known forever says is good for them. It gives them their place to chill.

I’ll keep you posted on our adventures. Now I can cat and dog blog. I think we need a new category.

Almost forgot. He’s neutered. We had him chipped immediately for an additional $15 and he’s wearing a collar with our phone numbers and address on it. Our cost from the shelter for him? $35.00. That’s thirty five. Pure breeds from pet stores? Haven’t seen one for less that $150 since we started looking last year.

Asymmetrical Weevils

17. June 2006 · Comments Off on Asymmetrical Weevils · Categories: Domestic, General, Pajama Game

The Lesser Weevil – who I dearly wish had not come already named and accustomed to it so I could have named her Fluffy- and Spike the pocket-puppy , dwarf Shi-Tzu, have most amusingly become the best of friends. Weevil being now about a year and a half, and a large breed ( certain knowledgeable neighbors have speculated that the non-boxer half is Rhodesian ridgeback) and Spike being about 8 months old, they are both essentially puppies together. The only thing that Weevil refuses to share is food out of her very own personal food dish; the growl out of her when Spike tries to snatch a mouthful or two just as a tease, is quite blood-chilling. But Weevil casually empties out Spike’s dish without a moments’ hesitation, and both of them vacuum up any and all contents of the cats dishes’ without a moment’s hesitation, unless carefully watched. They share everything else in the best communal tradition, though — the chew-toys, the crate and the various comfortable spots around the house. They would like to move in on the cats, and share more toys, dishes and comfortable places, but the cats unsportingly refuse any of this.

The original trio of Arthur, Morgie and Henry do not care for the dogs and ignore them as much as possible. Sammy and Percival tolerate the Weevil— who is huge in relation to them, and plays too rough, but freely romp and wrestle with Spike. Spike will never grow any larger than she is, at about five pounds and change, which must be much less intimidating to Percival, at eight pounds, and Sammy, at fifteen or so. Nothing at all intimidates Spike. Of all the real and imagined faults of little dogs, she really has only one— that of yipping frantically, when over-excited during an energetic romp with the cats or Weevil. Well, that, and the whole house-breaking concept, which is still a little unclear… and the chewing thing… but hopefully these are temporary failings.

There was one of our wonderfully noisy and productive thunderstorms this morning, rumbling in around sunrise and dropping generous quantities of rain, just when I had about despaired and set out the sprinklers. It seemed to actually be cool, afterwards, when I leashed up Weevil to her heavy choke-chain and leash, and put Spike into her harness and light-weight cord leash, and they were so happy to be out and about. Usually Weevil begins to wilt after four or five blocks, and begins to wheeze dramatically and look at me with huge, tragic eyes as if asking me “why are you torturing me this way?!” when she was the one dragging me all over the sidewalk until that point. Spike bounced energetically along, tail and nose up, fur flapping all the way. I usually have to pick her up and carry her, when she begins to wilt, but today she trotted along all the way, neck and neck with Weevil. Spike may be small, but all heart.

I think she is good for Weevil, who desperately needed another dog for companionship. She was nearly uncontrollable whenever we encountered another dog, until now— even just going past a house where there was another dog in the yard meant a prolonged wrestling match, and me practically strangling her with the choke-chain, but she behaves herself now… well, mostly. I have also nearly gotten her trained to sit down when she meets someone; although this meant me telling people NOT to pet her, until she did sit down. She had a bad way of jumping up on people— not good, when she is sixty pounds of hard muscle. She still tugs at the leash when she sees a cat, though. The cats may not know that she really, really just wants to see if they will play with her, but the cleverer cats, the ones that we see every morning hanging out in their accustomed places, have figured out that she is under restraint, and no real danger to them. They watch her with wary eyes, but they do not move an inch. Most mornings, there is a tiny Russian Blue who looks enough like Percival to be from the same litter, lurking behind a large ornamental rock, right by the sidewalk. A month or so ago, Weevil lunged at him, and he scrammed at top speed, but she has behaved herself since. The young Blue favors that place, because whoever lives in that house scatters bits of dried-out toast for the birds, out in the street… and he watches the birds from behind that rock, in the morning. Everyone needs a hobby, I guess, even the cats and dogs.

The neighborhood was pretty quiet this morning, because of the rain, and eight thirty is pretty early as Saturday morning goes. I did notice the same battered pickup truck two or three times, with some odd junk piled into the back, and only realized after the second time that they were out junking. Next week is bulk-trash pickup, when we can put out anything and everything (except concrete waste, topsoil and dangerous chemicals) and the pickings have lately become pretty good. A better class of homeowner must have moved in— they’re throwing away some very good and useable things. Last month I picked up a nice glazed plant-pot, and a small wooden box that looks as if it were a presentation case for a set of silverware. (Look, I can paint and decoupage it— Blondie wants it as a writing case.) Last week it was a good-quality brass lamp stand, with a broken shade— do people not know how to re-wire lamps these days? Or replace lampshades. Day before yesterday, a perfectly good and originally expensive bird feeder. One of the unsung benefits of running in the very early morning— first crack at the excellent stuff put out for the trash. I have four or five chairs in my house that I picked up in Spain, and repaired and refinished, after beating the junkers and the trash men to them. I’d be embarrassed about this, but not after we caught an episode of Antiques Roadshow, where a gentleman showed up with a 18th century sideboard what he bought from some neighbor kids who were going to break it up and burn it in a Guy Fawkes’ Day bonfire. Recycling … it’s a good thing….

Small Technical Notice

15. June 2006 · Comments Off on Small Technical Notice · Categories: General, Site News

As some of you have noticed, we have a moderation queue, where comments that contain certain words go, until one of us can review them, clear legitimate comments to be posted, and consign the usual spam to oblivion.

There is also an option for blacklisting certain words— which when incorporated into a comment— will instantly, and without appearing in the moderation queue— result in that comment being “vanished”.

Being wearied to death of the current torrent of spam from idjiots too cheap to like, just buy an ad! I have finally taken the step of entering certain terms into the blacklist; terms such as the common names of certain games of chance, the common names of prescription medication, and certain less common terms for various sexual practices and perversions; all of which— based on my experience moderating comments, and emptying out spam by the trailer-load on a regular basis— probably won’t turn up in comments posted by our regular commenters; most of whom, I would assume, are not gambling addicts, sexual perverts, or addicted to prescription drugs.

And if they are, they are kind enough not to share the details with us.

Which is my round-about way of saying if you legitimatly do need to incorporate names of prescription drugs, casino games, or sexual practices into your comment, you would best be advised to either put dashes in between the letters, or astericks, or something. Otherwise, it goes straight into oblivion.

Memo: In Answer To Your Three Questions

12. June 2006 · Comments Off on Memo: In Answer To Your Three Questions · Categories: General, GWOT, Media Matters Not, Rant, sarcasm, War

To: NPR’s Daniel Schorr
From: Sgt. Mom
Re: The Answer to Three of the Lamest Rhetorical Questions I have ever heard

1. The questions that ruffle the magisterial mind and furrow the brow of old-line journalism’s greyest eminence are, if I understand tonight’s commentary correctly: (a) how could a squad of Marines kill 25 civilians in vicious house-to-house fighting, (b) why did we drop a pair of 500lb bombs on Al-Zarkawi’s hideout, and then administer medical care when in turned out that the head-chopping psychopath wasn’t quite dead, and finally, (c) why were the three suicides at Guantanamo described as being aggressive acts, instead of being acts of despair at being held indefinably without trial (insert obligatory moaning here… the man reminds me of no one so much as he does of Eyore, gloom, despair and agony, wall to tall and treetop tall.)

2. Here are the short answers, Mr. Shorr; read and heed:
(a) Tragic and regrettable collateral damage, caused by the insurgents’ well established habit of not wearing recognized uniforms, and hiding behind non-combatants. Be a sport, and inform whoever keeps track of stuff like this, during a war… isn’t that supposed to be the Geneva Convention something or other? Someone has been remiss in their duties, I look forward to whatever moaning commentary you have to make about this. Please also exercise some proper journalistic discipline and skepticism with anyone who tells you that the Marines lined up all twenty, or twenty-five, or however many civilians, and executed them point-blank. (See rape victims at the New Orleans super dome, refrigerators full of bodies, massacre at Jenin.)

(b) Ok, so we’re softies. Our bad. We should have dropped a pair of thousand-pound bombs. Wouldn’t have made such a nice, clear post-mortem picture, though. I don’t care how nice the gold frame was, a bucket of blood and dismembered body parts wouldn’t have had quite as much convincing power at the press conference. It wouldn’t have wasted quite so much of the duty medic’s valuable time and effort, though.

(c) Because, as much as one might wish otherwise, there is a war on, and Gitmo is the POW camp? And the commonly accepted practice is to keep POWs until the war is over? This does mean, given that interpretation, that the Gitmo internees have an excellent chance of eventually creaking their way out the front gate on walkers, and hauling little tanks of oxygen after them, on the day the war is over. We’re just grateful that at least they managed to off themselves without taking anyone else with them, as is the jihadi custom in this degraded age.

3. Finally, I wonder how much longer you can milk out having been on Nixon’s Enemies List as the central jewel in your major-league journalism crown. Nixon has been dead for years, and major-league journalism is hardly looking any healthier.

4. Hoping this has been of help to you, in your search for enlightenment.

Sincerely,

Sgt. Mom

How to Torture Your Teenagers (or: what happens when old friends get together)

11. June 2006 · Comments Off on How to Torture Your Teenagers (or: what happens when old friends get together) · Categories: General

Was just reading through the comments on Timmer’s latest “top 100” post, marveling at the musical knowledge of our readers, and it reminded me of a conversation I had yesterday with my 2 best friends from college. The memory of the conversation flowed into what followed the conversation, and since it’s making me smile while I sit at the airport for 2 more hours, I thought I’d share.

Barb, Rachel & I, all graduated from the same university back in the early 80s. This means our formative years for music were primarily the 70s. We seem to share the same tastes in music (not much like Timmer’s taste, as far as I can tell from his postings), and grew up listening to the great folk-music artists of our time. Barb & Rachel each have teen-agers, while I have remained footloose & fancy-free, other than my 3 dogs.

I was in town visiting them for a day, at the tag-end of a business trip, and after eating a thoroughly delicious home-cooked meal, Rachel’s son found Barb’s old guitar and started strumming while we talked. That led to us discussing songs we grew up with. I forget what song started the conversation, but before long someone mentioned “One Tin Soldier,” to a chorus of blank looks around the table (Barb’s kid knew it, but the other kids didn’t). Of course, once you mention one song from a particular era, the floodgates of memory open, and song titles start pouring out like water. Each song title was greeted by a totally blank look on the part of the teens, and one of them finally mentioned how impressed they were that we could remember this stuff from.. oh, I don’t know.. 30 years ago? We of course explained that it was becuase of the time-frame in our life, but the amazing thing to us was that while we knew the songs and still remembered most of the words, we couldn’t begin to tell you who the artists were. I guess we just weren’t that sophisticated back then. For that matter, I still can’t tell you who sang those songs I loved so much back then -who *did* sing One Tin Soldier?

Anyway, on to the torture part.

As I said, someone mentioned One Tin Solder, then someone else mentioned Billy Don’t be a Hero, and I popped up with “… oh, and that song about the crash on the date… was it called last kiss?” Rachel said “Teen Angel,” and Barb started singing “We were out on a date in my daddy’s car…” Of course, Rachel & I immediately joined in, and we all drummed on the table during the beats between the lines, singing out the first verse and chorus as though we were 13 again. Then I tried to get them to admit to remembering “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road,” but they swore they’d never heard of that one (it played regularly on our top-40 station when I was in 8th grade, but we grew up in different states).

Ya gotta feel sorry for the kids, trapped at the dinner table, listening to 3 “old ladies”* reliving their adolescence. Then Barb dug out her song-books, and we made Rachel’s son play One Tin Soldier so we could sing it together, and then dragged him through “If I had a Hammer.” I think he was spared “Fire and Rain,” only because we couldn’t find it in Barb’s book.

So after Rachel’s son finally escaped to the basement with the guitar, I dug out my IPOD and Barb found some speakers, and we listened to James Taylor for the rest of the night while we caught up on our lives. What a wonderful evening that was.

True, lifetime friends are so precious. I hope those of us who have them know how blessed we are.

*I categorically deny being an “old lady,” being nowhere near old enough for the red-hat society, but I’m sure to the teens we seem positively ancient

Where the Hell are ya Meeks?

10. June 2006 · Comments Off on Where the Hell are ya Meeks? · Categories: General

One of the furrier members of our family took a walk on Tuesday Night and she hasn’t come back yet. The Animal Shelter has been called, Vets in the local area have been notified, and the L.E. Desk has nothing on their blotter. We’re hoping that it’s a matter of time. She’s never been gone this long. We’ll run an add in the paper next week. We’re hoping that she’s just let herself be lured into another home with the promise of tastier kibble and just hasn’t managed to escape yet.

Boyo is bummed. Beautiful Wife is depressed. I bounce in between “shrug-it’s a cat” and “Dammit where’s my CAT?!”

Life will go on if she doesn’t return but it will be a life less rich. This picture doesn’t show it, but she’s a Hemingway Cat, she has thumbs and she’s not afraid to use them. I was her human so I’m especially feeling a lap less warmed.

Update 16 June: Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! There was a fox in the field about a half a block away from our house. Shit!

United Colors of Cat-dom……….???

09. June 2006 · Comments Off on United Colors of Cat-dom……….??? · Categories: Domestic, General, Good God

sammy, morgana, the fat one, and Henry

Too good for the floor.

Most Deeply, Sincerely Dead

08. June 2006 · Comments Off on Most Deeply, Sincerely Dead · Categories: General, GWOT, Iraq, War, World

That head-chopping psychopath, Zarkawi – and his aides and so-called spiritual advisor. It must be excellent news, as NPR has been banging on about nothing else for the last two hours. Haditha was only mentioned only once.

I’d wish they had mentioned how the tips about his location came in from local Iraqi nationals just a little more… and perhaps explored how unpopular his tendency to blow up school children, police recruits and the odd passing stranger has made him among ordinary citizens. I hope the bounty on him is shared out fairly among anyone who had a hand in narking out the murdering freak.

Discuss.

A Good Day

08. June 2006 · Comments Off on A Good Day · Categories: General, Iraq: The Good

It is reported that Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi is dead, having been killed in a U.S. airstrike conducted against him and several others. I’m glad to not have to ever see the bastard’s face again justaposed with images of the latest horrendous act d’jour.

Radar

Trans-Dimensional Poop

05. June 2006 · Comments Off on Trans-Dimensional Poop · Categories: Domestic, General, Pajama Game

Blondie and I are convinced that there is something very strange going on at my house, where the Lesser Weevil, and Spike, the Weevil I Know Nothing Of, are getting along famously with each other, and on terms of moderate familiarity with at least two of the cats, Sammy and Percival.

The Lesser Weevil is crated at night, and let out into the yard during the day, and seems to both rather like the shelter of the crate, and to have grasped the whole concept about the proper disposition of body wastes— that is, outside the house. After all, Mom and Dad’s dogs always caught on, without a great deal of fuss and hyperventilating. Alas, the tiny Shi-tzu Spike (or Spike-ette, or Spike-arella) is innocent of the whole concept, in spite of our best efforts at monitoring and control. For a very small dog, about 5 pounds when dripping wet, she generates an amazing number of small piles of poop on an erratic and wholly mysterious basis.Said small piles suddenly and magically appear in areas where she has not recently been for twenty minutes or half an hour. It is most completely mystifying to have a small, well crusted (and therefore aged) pile suddenly appear in the middle of a stretch of carpet, which was pristine five minutes previously… and when Spike has been curled up blamelessly on a folded towel in the other room, dead asleep for the past half hour. Blondie and I are neither blind, nor unobservant, or that indifferent to housekeeping, but we have yet to account for this phenomena. I postulate the existence of a small, erratic wormhole in the local space-time continuum, with one end fixed on Spike’s nether regions, and the other opening erratically at various points around the house, depositing poop which has spent any number of minutes or hours in limbo in trans-dimensional space, before emerging into the here and now… usually just when we are within a hairs-breadth of stepping in it. Blondie is convinced the cats are plotting a feline coup de pussy-tat, conniving to undermine Spike and pay her back for snorkeling through their litterbox in search of unspeakably canine gourmet delights. Little Arthur, Henry and Morgie therefore must be concealing Spikes’ output, and then placing it strategically, as some disgusting sort of poop-mine. So far, there is no evidence either way, although our neighbor Judy has pointed out that she has observed Spike doing her business on top of the magazines and newspapers piled on the lower deck of the coffee table… and the feline element might be doing their bit to move it on to a location slightly more noticeable. The jury is still out… as are the paper towels, disinfectant and the carpet-scrubber.

Aside from this, she is quite an endearing little dog, feisty and fearless, in spite of her small size, and— aside from the housebreaking issue— outgoing, affectionate and not the least bit neurotic or snappish. Blondie insisted on us getting away from the house and yard and all that on Memorial Day, so we drove up to Fredericksburg, and took the Spikelette with us. The toy breeds are supposed to be the ultimate porta-puppies, who live for nothing else than to be Velcroed to their chosen human 24-7. Spike’s notion of absolute nirvana seems to involve being draped across either one of our laps, or tucked into our elbows like a fat, furry little football. We put her in a harness and under leash and walked up one side of Main Street and down the other, and went to the Herb Farm, and enjoyed the day immensely. We had to carry her after a block or so; she was at a hazard of being stepped on, or leash-entangled in someone’s legs, and of course we carried her into the shops we were interested in. I thought sure we would be kindly asked to leave with our dog from some of the very high-toned places, but it looks like the fashion for tiny pocket-puppies is well established in Texas; I’d not be surprised to hear that Shi-tzus as a fashion are so very much last year, since everyone— especially those inclined to coo over Spike— seemed to have one, or know someone who had one. A lady from Austin who gave us her card and was especially admiring, runs the local breed rescue chapter. There is a horrible fate in store, we are certain, for people who get pure-bred dogs because the breed is the latest craze, and then decide it just doesn’t work for them, although the lady from Austin said, comfortingly, that it was a good thing that Spike’s original owners took only two weeks to decide that she wasn’t working for them, and pass her on to someplace where she had a chance for a happy and affectionate life, full of play with other animals. Spike was so happily drained by this adventure that from Monday evening, she slept motionless and exhausted, like a scrap of limp black and white fur on the folded towel that is her bed for most of that night. Yes, she is a happy little dog, and will have a wholly happy life.

It is the funniest thing, to watch the Lesser Weevil walk through the living room, with Spike’s jaws firmly clamped to her jowl or ear, like some furry body-piercing. The two of them are tussling under the bed as I write this, and the Lesser Weevil is as indulgent and long-suffering as if Spike were one of her very own puppies. Now, if she would only grasp that whole eliminating-out-side concept… but I am suspecting there may be a very real reason for the breed name being commonly pronounced as “shit-su”!

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