How'd you spend your weekend?

Hmm, a little interactive visit to Sea World? Very nice.
I don't think so. Maybe a trip to a huge European outdoor
pee-in Eh? Damn, is that Carlos Santana? Naaaaa.



HEY, eyes front mother fucker! Eh? Or was it more like this?



Aaah, hogs-a-plenty. Exquisite violence. No, not that ether. I went to Ft. Worth to visit a buddy, go to a gun show, drop off some parts to my gun smith in Mansfield, and do some car shopping on the side.

Got away from work at about 2pm on Friday. Got home and there was a message on the machine. "Two words dude, Greens Sausage!" My buddy and his wife are BIG fans of the stuff they sell there in Zabcikville, a little one blinker east of Temple. I take my dad out to eat Chinese food every Friday and didn't want to blow it off, so on the way to the Chinese food place, dad and I made the detour to Greens and I picked up about 9 lbs. of various meat products, as per their order; three lbs. of beef, three of jalapeno, and three of mixed, I think beef and pork. After dad and I pigged out at the buffet, I took the pops home and then headed north at about 7pm.

Got to the gun smiths place in Mansfield at about 9pm. He's building me a few new toys ( a nice Polish Tantal and a Hungarian side-folder), and I needed to drop off a few parts so he can finish one of them. His name is Randy Kline, and he runs Sledgehammer Arms Works. He's a great guy. Specializes in FN-FALs, and does great work on all sorts of other things, like Kalashnikovs. He's finished most of the Tantal, which is basically a Polish AK-74, and has sent the gun to a welder to have the left side safety latch put on. This latch is a special feature most other Kalashnikovs don't have. It's a little lever on the left side of the receiver that allows you to manipulate the conventional right side safety lever from the left side of the gun with your thumb. The original service rifles also have a three shot burst setting, but there's a limit to what I can legally have built, so I'll settle for the little selector lever.

Most Tantals you see don't have it. There are places where you can buy them, like the Tantal link on the left of this page, but my parts set came with it, so he's putting it on. The Hungarian side folder is more of a conventional AKMS from the 1960s or '70s. I had to give him a sling swivel and a cleaning rod for that one so he can install the swivel. It has to be attached to the left side of the receiver, like a very early AK-47 from the '50s. He thinks he'll have one or two of these rifles finished by the next gun show in Dallas in a few weeks, and I hope to pick at least one up as I hand over another parts set to him. Can't have too many toys. It's all about the gear babies.

Made it to Ft. Worth by about 10:15. These folks are my best friends, the people I floated the Grand Canyon with in '03 and '05. I've known this guy since about '88 when we met on a canoe trip in Oklahoma, and I've known her ever since they hooked up in the early '90s. We've all been floatin' and hangin' around together ever since. He was up watching TV when I got there. His dog alerted him to my presence and he came to the door as I walked up. His wife came out to visit and we talked about what we'd all been doing as we sat through most of an episode of Nip Tuck (what an amazing show) and then a while later everybody hit the sack (separate sacks, get yer mind out of the gutter). Their kid (her kid from a previous ugliness) is now enrolled in the tech school in Waco, TSTC, so I took his bed. Thing is, he's got a short little single bed slid up sideways against his wall, with a head board and foot board that stick up about 10 inches on ether end. I laid down on it for a time, with my legs propped up on the foot board, but then took the mattress off the bed and put it on the floor. Slept like a baby under the ceiling fan. Put it back in the morning. All is well. They don't give a damn. You know, I'm a large hairy mammal, and I gotta do what I gotta do.

We got up at about 8am, and after breakfast burritos (potato bits, egg, bacon, beans, salsa, cilantro, cheese, etc.) were consumed he and I went out to terrorize the car dealers. My buddy is the sort of friend that guys like me need to make it through life in one piece. I think dads ether train their sons to fix stuff, or they train you to know how to find a good repairman. My dad was the latter sort, so having a good friend who can fix things and who knows about cars is a great thing to have. Mostly we just drove to different places and tried on a few cars. "Tried on" is the operative term, because being able to fit into these things is a critical issue. I'm looking for a two door rice rocket that gets good mileage, like an older Solara, to take over from the old jeep. The Cherokee's got over 357,000 miles on it now, and badly needs a rest. Not replacement, just a rest.

My buddy advised me on the different cars that are out there, which he knows a lot more about than me, and on how to talk to the sales guys. I sat in a Mini Cooper, just for the fun of it, and no, it didn't fit. Love those things though. Sat in LOTS of stuff. Test drove a nice 04 Nissan Altima. Very nice; white with tan cloth, all the bells and whistles, 5 speed stick, but I think I need a two door. Something in me rebels against getting a big, four door geezer car. Sat in a lot of other stuff, and have basically narrowed it down to an 03 or 04 Solara, so long as it has an electric seat adjuster. That one feature alone gives me the head room I need. I dunno. It's not an emergency, so I've got time to look and see what's out there.

After all that, we headed off to the Amon Carter convention center and walked through a gun show. The museum and convention center area were crowded as hell, due to several other shows going on there at the same time. We had to park in the far off lot on the other side of the Cowgirl Hall of Fame, and then walk past the huge bidet they have spewing water from the cement in front of it. There was some sort of kids event going on at the museum of science and history, and a food show, Zestfest or something, down in the convention center, along with the gun show.

I was looking for a receiver for my next project, which is a 5.45x39mm AKS-74. There's a guy who shows up there who sells them, and I was able to get one. Last time I saw him he didn't have any. He mistakenly pulled a 7.62x39 receiver out of the box, and I bought the thing, even after looking over the stamps. I don't know how the hell I missed it. We left the show after my buddy bought some jerky and later, sitting in front of the boob tube, I realized it had 7.62 stamped on it big as day. We went back, found a parking place right up front, and I went in and easily exchanged it. The receivers are basically the same, but it would suck to have the wrong thing stamped on the rifle when it's finished.

After all that, with his wife begging off (she wasn't hungry and wanted to watch tennis), I took my buddy to eat big Mexican food at Papasito's. Introduced him to the Brochette shrimp, which is the best thing they make there. Large sized shrimp stuffed with cheese and a slice of jalapeno pepper, wrapped in bacon, spiced, grilled, then dipped in whipped butter. To die for. After that we took his pooch to the park and walked off the bloated feeling, and then I hit the road back here to the house. Got home by about 10pm.

It was good to see the buddy and his wife. He's in town for a good while this time, so we'll do it again soon. He's talkin' about comin' down and goin' tubing in New Braunfels in a week or so and then going camping at Lost Maples state park in a month or so. Slept in today and watched a long documentary on Heavy Metal on VH-1. Love these sorts of shows. It's the history dude in me I guess. I loves me some metal some times, but I also love to listen to Maria Callas sing an aria from Puccini, or some old Dusty Springfield. So I never could be a part of the whole Metal culture. I guess it's like that line from Annie Hall- "I could never be a member of any group that would have me for a member." Then saw a documentary about the wars in Afghanistan. What an amazing mess. It seems that no matter what anyone does, the progress of time only furthers the goals of these crazy mother fuckers. To paraphrase Caligula, it's too bad they all don't have but one neck. We'd hack it through!

Dinner tonight was at Mom's (big shock). She cooked chicken and dumplings to die for, plus peas and carrots, and there was a peach cobbler layin' around too. Her shit don't stink, I wanna tell ya. Sis and I converged on the place from different directions and consumed mightily. Took dad some aluminum cans I crush and save for him. He's been saving those things and recycling them for 20 years. Doesn't get much for the aluminum these days, but it's his thing, so I do it. We ate big food and then watched the football games.

Couldn't believe they cut to the commentators on CBS with about 40 seconds left in the Tennessee game, just as they were driving down to maybe tie it up. And then the Cowboys screwed themselves out of a win with stupid penalties. Same old Cowboys. Actually we flipped back and forth from the football to the tennis. I'm avoiding all the 9/11 coverage. Depressing as hell. Amused by all the people screaming over the ABC 9/11 program. Interesting how they only notice bias in the media when it's FOX, and only get mad at historic inaccuracy in the coverage of events when it's them that are being covered inaccurately.

Well, it's late. I've got to do a wash and look into my classes for tomorrow. The new week is upon us, damn it. Later dudes. FHB.

Well it's Friday.

But then, every day is fat fuckin' friday around
here. Or is it fat nekked friday? You decide.
And no, that's not me ether.

This is pretty cool.

Saw the northern lights once in Canada, driving up to Lake
Opeongo to go canoeing and Pike fishing with my Cousin. It was
amazing. Was looking out into the darkness as we drove north
and there it was, this blue or green haze in the distance. I said
"what the hell is that?" I knew what the aurora was, but never
thought I'd get to see it. We don't normally get light shows like
that down here. We do have the Marfa lights, but that's a whole
different thing. Beautiful. We'll meet again some day.

A bit more wisdom...

The only place men want depth in a woman is in her decolletage.
- Zsa Zsa Gabor.

The desire engendered in the male gland is a hundred times more difficult to control than the desire bred in the female glands. All girls agreeing to a lovers' lane tete-a-tete in a car, knowing that they will limit their actions to arousing desires and then defend their "virtue," should be horsewhipped.
- Marlene Dietrich.

I'm saving the bass player for Omaha.
- Janis Joplin.

Women are like banks, boy. Breaking and entering is a serious business.
- Joe Orton.

... as in the dark all cats are grey, the pleasure of corporeal enjoyment with an older woman is at least equal, and frequently superior, every knack being by practice capable of improvement.
- Benjamin Franklin.

Older women are best because they always think they may be doing it for the last time.
- Ian Fleming.

I trust you know the "three nevers" for proper gentlemen?
Never shoot south of the Thames.
Never follow whiskey with port.
Never have your wife in the morning - the day may have something better to offer.
- P.V. Taylor.

Forget school kids: Why don't they bus horny women?
- George Carlin.

To succeed with the opposite sex, tell her you are impotent. She can't wait to disprove it.
- Cary Grant, at age 72.

You have to do tobacco like you do a woman. You must let it work up a good chew, let it get moist and juicy. If you chew too fast, it will become dry and fall apart.
- Phil Garner.

At one time or another most men have had sexual encounters that have a sad similarity to pushing an oyster through a keyhole.
- Anonymous.

Holy Mother we do believe,
That without sin thou didst conceive;
May we now in Thee believing,
Also sin without conceiving?
- A.P. Herbert.

And finally, when the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward the VII, said to his mistress, Lily Langtry, during a quarrel, that he'd spent enough on her to buy a battleship, she replied, "And you've spent enough in me to float one."

Is this you Phlem, out by the pool?

You gotta love a country that still lets it's citizens own seriously
lethal shit like this. Click here if you want to see it in action.
Notice the big smile on the first dudes face. Gotta love it.


Get one, while they last. You never know when you'll need
to take out an APC or somethin. You know, home defense.

Stuff like this only happens in movies.

You guys need to go over to Big Dick's site.

Read about a little adventure he had on a road trip from Texas to Pennsylvania.

More wisdom, and an inspiring pic.

"Marriage (whether registered or not) begins, not with setting up house, counting wedding presents, blowing kisses, looking at wedding groups, but with two bodies confronting one another like two wrestlers. To clinch and struggle and contend with one another. Rolling about, now one on top, now another; grunting, croaking, sweating, murmuring, yelling. So the world began, with vast turbulence in the genitalia of space."
- Malcolm Muggeridge, The Green Stick.




"Sex in marriage is like medicine. Three times a day for the first week. Then once a day for another week. Then once every three or four days until the condition clears up."
- Peter DeVries.

"Even a rat likes to go into a different hole every once and a while."
- Anonymous.

"Outside of every thin woman is a fat man trying to get in."
- Katherine Whitehorn.

"It would be less demanding, enslaving, perplexing and strenuous for a healthy male to screw a thousand women in his lifetime than to try to please one, and the potential for failure would be less."
- Irma Kurtz.

I tell ya, I got a million of these, and you gotta love Malcolm.

Well, sounds like the crocodile hunter finally fucked with the wrong critter...

And I don't think any of us can be too shocked about it. Just figured it would be something a bit more predictable, like some sort of rediculously poisonus snake, or a big salt water crock, or a hippo. Never a stingray. Only thing you did know was that when he bought the farm, he was gonna be deep in the middle of some critters personal space and askin' for it. Still, when was the last time you heard of one of those things killin' someone? Bizarre.

He's been out of the headlines lately hasn't he, ever since that little incident when he waved his kid at a crock and the media jumped him and started comparing it to the infamous Michael Jackson dangle over the balcony. Never was annoyed by his antics the way some were. Just another one of those animal goobers on cable TV. Never saw the movie, though some said it was ok. Can't imagine.

Even if he pissed you off, you've got to give him credit for making something big out of himself in this world, and for trying to do good things for nature, even if he did it as a silly, exceedingly cheery caricature. There's a lot worse assholes out there, and the odds of any of them being shoved in a tank with a stingray are very slim. Seemed like a nice guy, and I'm sure his family is going through hard shit. Feel sorry for them, but they had to know it was comin'.

Tag, yer it.

Mmmkay Phlem, here goes.

1. A book I've read more than once? There's a few; Child of God, The Hunt for Red October, The Curse of Lono, and something about Daniel Boone I read when I was a kid. That was the first real book I read cover to cover, and it was so good, and I was so pissed off and sad when it ended that I read it over again.
2. What book would I want on a desert Island? Obviously, something about survival on a desert Island. Thing is, are there really any desert islands anywhere? Aren't they usually jungles with all sorts of rats and bugs and shit? Actually, I'd crate up all the books I have here that I'll never get a chance to read because I can't make myself turn this friggin' thing off, or the TV. Desert Island would be a great chance to get all that reading done, but I think I'd be too busy surviving. It takes a LOT of effort to do that If you don't have switch-on power and water or a supermarket. Never will get these things read.
3. A book that made me laugh? Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, The Curse of Lono, basically anything by the gonzo man.
4. A book that made me cry? Can't remember one. Lots of movies, but can't remember a book. Probably just don't head in that direction. Don't read for weeping and a release.
5. A book I wish I'd written? Obviously, something like How to Make a HUGE Amount of Money and be Slathered in Cooze Without Really Trying. I can see my infomercial now.
6. A book I wish had never been written? Phlems' got it covered with the Qur an, but I'd add the Bible... because religion IS the opiate of the masses, and people are stupid enough. They don't need encouragement. No offence guys. I'm probably wrong but can't remember a time in the last 2000 years when some desert born religion wasn't the cause of human torment and pain. If people could keep it to themselves, that would be different. I prefer the animist stuff we had before the damn Romans came, but even that probably would have gotten out of hand if left alone and given a chance. Maybe then it's not religion, but the stuff humans do with it. Anyway...
7. A book I'm currently reading? The Whiskey Rebellion, by William Hogeland. Just finished a little thing called The Coming of the Civil War 1837-1861, by John Niven. Before that it was If the South Won The Civil War, by MacKinlay Kantor and Plains Indian History and Culture, a series of essays by John C. Ewers. What can I say? This history shit gets me goin'. Ok, there's also a few magazines, catalogs and comics that float through from time to time. Oh, and I've got a coffee table type thing called The Peacemakers, Arms and Adventure in the American West, by R.L. Wilson, out next to the shitter, but I only get to look at it for a few moments at a time now and then. You know.
8. A book I've meant to read? The list is too long. Lots of history. Lots of amazing carnage.
9. A book that changed my life? Probably that Daniel Boone thing. It got me started, way back then. Ether that or C.S. Lewis', The Chronicles of Narnia. Had to read that in a book club someone set up back in school in Missouri. Loved it.

Well, who will I pass this on to? I guess I'll tag James, Mushy, The Rat (ok, it's a long shot), Becky ('cause she loves these lists), Dirtcrasher, and maybe Heather B. There. Tag, yer it.

And here's a few more fun quotes...

"I've only slept with men I've been married to. How many women can make that claim?"
- Elizabeth Taylor.

"Elizabeth's never been in a supermarket, in any kind of market. She's never in her life stood on line to use a public phone- a public anything. It's like deprivation. Elizabeth's a true innocent. Every time she gets laid, she gets married. Nobody ever told her you can do it and stay single."
- Lillian Hellman.

"I say I don't sleep with married men, but what I mean is that I don't sleep with happily married men."
- Britt Ekland.

"Adultery: second only to front-line combat, produces feats of almost lunatic daring. And it thrives on the extraordinary capacity of the deceived partner to ignore the signs of infidelity, so obvious to the rest of the world."
- Mary Beard.

Postscript, and maybe a retraction. You know, after thinking about it while driving to the big feed at mom and dads this afternoon, I've decided I was a bit harsh to the organized religions back there in #6. I guess any belief system can be turned into a viscous murderous travesty if the right people get hold of it. We probably shouldn't paint any religion, including Islam and Christianity with a broad brush because of what their devotees do in their name. It's just too convenient now to say "oh to hell with all of em" when there are car bombs going off. We forget all the hundreds of years of horror visited on the planet by Christians, and even all the wars and atrocities perpetrated by the followers of the Olympians, or the Animist Mongol hoards, or the supposedly atheistic Nazis. It's people who are the problem. I'm back to that. It's becoming a theme somehow. So I'm officially switching my choice to Rousseau's The Social Contract, because of what a lot of stupid frogs learned from it, and all the carnage that ensued for generations after. There, I feel better.

Some quotes on the process.

"To win a woman in the first place one must please her, then undress her, then somehow get her clothes back on her. Finally, so that you will allow you to leave her, you must annoy her."
- Jean Giraudoux.

"She is descended from a long line that her mother listened to."
-Gypsy Rose Lee, talking about a pretentious chorus girl.

Hamlet: "Lady, shall I lie in your lap?"
Ophelia: No, my lord."
Hamlet: "I mean, my head uppon your lap?"
Ophelia: "Aye, my lord."
Hamlet: "Do you think I mean country matters?"
Ophelia: "Think nothing, my lord."
Hamlet: "That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs."
-Shakespeare.

"Oh, John, let's not park here."
"Oh, John, let's not park."
"Oh, John, let's not."
"Oh, John, let's."
"Oh, John."
"Oh."
- Anonymous American folklore.

"Infidelity, that infallible rejuvenator, calms the fear of growing old. In spite of our decreasing charms we sweep young people off their feet, for young people do not understand themselves, and fortunitely for us, can still be hypnotized by those who do."
-Cyril Connolly.

Stiff standing on the bed,
First it's white and then it's red.
There's not a lady in the land
That would not take it in her hand.
- Old English riddle (answer: a carrot)

"Madam, you have between your legs an instrument capable of giving pleasure to thousands... and all you can do is scratch it."
-Sir Thomas Beecham, to an untalented female cellist.

Another date has slid by and awakened the Rantasaurus in me. Rantasaurus Rex, by God, slithering forth.

I'm a history guy, so the dates that float by on the calendar occasionally awaken memories and thoughts in me of things in the past. Occupational hazard, like mispronouncing peoples names when I take roll in my class. I was sitting on the throne this afternoon, contemplating DEEP things, when I glanced at the calendar on the wall and noted that I would need to change the page. Tomorrow begins a new month. Another one has flown by. Seems to happen faster and faster as I age. The upcoming days date roused things in me, or maybe it was the Chinese food.

About 67 years ago tonight (I'm writing this late on August 31st), the Germans launched the Second World War in Europe, and the greatest human carnage that we have reliable records for, by invading Poland. September 1st, 1939, at about 5am in the morning, I think, the planes began to swoop in and a German cruiser anchored in the port of Danzig, there supposedly on a friendly visit, opened fire on the Polish port defenses. There's amazing video of that ship firing into the city, the tracers going off and the big guns blasting various sites in the town. It all happened without any warning.

Well really, anyone with a brain had to know something was up. Germany had swallowed Czechoslovakia in late 38 and early 39, and was steadily ginning up a reason to jump their neighbors to the east. But like today, people have an amazing capacity to avoid seeing things if those things are inconvenient or inconsistent with what they prefer to believe. We see that now, on a daily basis. I find myself thinking a lot of the time that some belief systems out there could never exist without the capacity of its devotees and acolytes to completely ignore the obvious reality sitting right in front of them. It must be a basic aspect of the human animal. Experts call it "selective perception"- the capacity to ignore information that you disagree with and focus on information that reinforces your preconceived ideas. Bottom line... people are fuckin' stupid and deluded. Always have been. Always will be. Bank on it, you'll do well.

Anyway, back to the carnage. The Nazis had come to power in Germany in 1933 by selling the idea of national renewal to the beleaguered voters who'd seen their beloved nation mugged, raped and sodomized since the last war, and were sick to death of it. The Germans had lost the First World War after winning most of the battles and without ever having seen foreign troops on their soil. The ensuing treaty of Paris carved whole chunks of their nation away, people included, that then became part of the new nations of Poland and Czechoslovakia. The French, who'd seen whole regions of their nation laid waste in the war were gleefully taking it out on the newly emasculated Germans, taking back territory they'd lost in the 1870s and forcing Germany to be demilitarized and humiliated.

Things were bad enough in the 1920s, with Germany forced to pay ridiculous war reparations to everyone and suffering a huge amount of political instability. The great depression came along in 1929 and 30 and just took everything to an even more surreal level. The worst of the depression was in full swing in 1933, and Germany was hit hard. Inflation had destroyed the savings of the middle class, arguably the most critical demographic group in any country. You've all heard stories about people rolling wheelbarrows full of money to the bakery to buy bread. That's literally true. People papered their houses with money because it was cheaper than wallpaper, burned it for fuel in their furnace because it was cheaper than coal. It took a billion reichsmarks to buy a beer in Hitler's local watering hole. The people there were neck deep in serious shit, and their political leadership was worse than useless.

The allies had taken down the Kaisers government in 1919 and sent him into exile. They replaced it with an ineffectual parliamentary system, but did nothing to ensure that the system succeeded. In fact, it's as if they set out to see it fail. The Germans went from a political culture that valued order, to a place where disorder reigned. From being the most important great power in Europe, with the most advanced technology, science, philosophy, popular culture, music, to being everyone's piss boy. As a result, any group that was close to the main stream of German heritage and thought, that played on visions of the past and a sense of oppression and betrayal was bound to win. The voters by 1933 had to choose between the same old bureaucrats that had mismanaged things, the Communist Party on the left who were offering a revolution to the workers and poor, or the National Socialist German Workers Party on the right... "Nazi" for short, from the German "Nazional".

The Nazis played up to all the right feelings in the public. They came from a very familiar place politically, draping themselves in nationalistic chauvinism, the greatness of the past, giving people someone to blame their problems on and saying that if elected, they would punish the guilty party's and make Germany great again. They didn't say that if elected they would drag Germany and the world into a war that would end with 50 million deaths and genocide, but there you go. Who knew? They didn't know that this would be the last election Hitler would allow, but they hadn't gotten much out of elections in the 20s and probably thought it was a small price to pay for the national rebirth they were longing for.

The truth is, democracy is a fragile thing. It has to be nurtured, particularly in its youth. Essentially it's a process. People need to see something out of it in order to allow it to grow and become cemented in their political culture. Once it is, the voters can put up with all sorts of crap without it threatening the survival of the system. Voters in Germany had gotten nothing but grief out of it, so most of them probably didn't miss it when Hitler did away with it. People might say that the Germans just weren't ready for democracy yet, but that sounds too much like a convenient excuse to me.

There's a myth out there that says you can't impose a democratic system on people who aren't ready for it. The opponents of the war in Iraq love to spin that one out and wave it around. They use it to explain all the death and destruction there now, and would have us believe that we made a huge mistake even trying to give them a system their volatile, tribal, sectarian culture is too primitive to contain. The lesson of Germany though illustrates the fact that it can be done if it's done right. Pound the shit out of them so there's no doubt who won or lost, occupy them for 6 or 7 years, denazify them to get rid of the officials who represent the old regime, pump money and experts in to rebuild their economy and play up to the good things in them, and freedom takes hold pretty well. Turns out most people are the same, despite their culture. Give em a chance and the natural democratic instincts will come out.

It can't happen thought if every other country around you is actively resisting the change. The vast majority or our problem in Iraq is not the natural result of taking away the stability of the old regime, meddling where we shouldn't have meddled. That's an all too convenient "conventional wisdom" pushed by the folks who've been calling the war a quagmire since the second week. Our problems in Iraq are a result of a tragic decision on the part of the major Sunni regimes in the region to subvert the process that would produce a democracy run by Shiites and Kurds (which we should have seen coming). But more fundamentally, it represents a fundamental failure on the part of all the people in the west who supposedly love freedom to work hard enough to see it grow in Iraq. What message was sent to the enemies of real change in the middle east when Zarqawi blew up the UN headquarters and the United Nations and all the NGOs in the country promptly ran away like cowards? Isn't democracy something worth dying for any more?

What would Germany look like today if all her neighbors and the powers of that day had actively subverted the process of political change and democratization? Well, we know the answer to that question. We've seen it happen. When nothing was done to nurture the democratic process in Germany and a lot of other European nations in the 1920s a whole slew of dictatorships blossomed. The Czechs were the only ones to succeed in creating a real democratic system that worked, and that was in spite of all the meddling that was going on. The collapse of the republic and the rise of Hitler was not the result of the idea that democracy can't be imposed on a people. It was the result of the failure of the powers of that time to see the process through to it's end.

It was a failure of will. A failure of vision born out of shortsightedness and greed. The powers of that day chose to defend a narrowly defined national self interest and told themselves that the failures of the German republic were a result of the failures inherent in the German character. They're too fond of uniforms and order. Sound familiar? Don't we hear now from many corners that the Arabs are just to culturally primitive, too tribal to accept a functioning pluralistic democracy? How could we think to try to impose it on them? They're not ready for it yet. We learned after the Second World War that it can be done. We learned that lesson at the cost of more than 50 million lives, but when we took the time, effort and money to see it through to it's end, it worked like a charm. The result was a blossoming, stabilizing democratic force in the heart of Europe that anchored the western alliance against the new Soviet menace in the east.

It may be an unfortunate truth that our efforts in Iraq are destined to fail. Many pundits are sure of it, as Iraqi society seems to slip into sectarian chaos. If it does fail, it won't be because we tried something that couldn't work. The blame for the failure will be shared by lots of folks. We'll debate the issues for a long time. Undoubtedly a lot of the blame will go to all those who played up to the most negative aspects of Iraqi society to divide it and destroy its ability to function. Too many people are willing to destroy Iraq in order to save it from reform and westernization. Maybe that was an inevitable result of not having a force on hand big enough to establish order and security. Again, these things will be debated for a long time.

Undoubtedly though, blame must also be shared by those in the democratic world who sat back and watched while the house burned. Some of them did it out of a cynical desire to see us lose, but others simply failed to feel the pull of obligation to help bring the benefits of our system to others. It's always easier to complain about some horrible system, analyze the situation to death, protest the abuses of human rights, and then have a telethon to raise money for the victims. It's a way to create the illusion that you are doing something while you really do absolutely nothing. Very safe. Very tidy. Tell yourself "those people" are just too culturally primitive to deal with real freedom and self government. Don't go jump into a civil war. It's not worth dying for.

There was a phrase that spread through France and western Europe in the months after the Germans rolled into Poland and the war broke out. Anti war protesters were determined to save their nations from repeating the mistakes of the last war. They said "Mourir pour Danzig?" (why die for Danzig?). Apparently it wasn't worth it to them yet to shed the blood it might take to end the Nazi tyranny. That tyranny was rolling through Poland, away from France, so who cares? Don't borrow trouble. By May of 1940, that tyranny was rolling through France and they were singing another tune. I grew up hearing over and over that if someone had just done something earlier, maybe those 50 million people wouldn't have had to die.

If the result of all this carnage in Iraq is the rise of a new fascist regime, or two or three such regimes, well, we will have seen it all happen before. Despite everything we did and all those that bled for the freedom of those people, some things just don't change.

Bye bye Angela. One huge pain-in-the-ass gone.

I'm so tired of that lame assed, hippy dippy, Pipi
Longstocking bullshit she wears. Cold as hell to take
her to Paris and then give her the heave ho, but it
was gonna happen. Back to the farm Pipi. Kayne is
gonna go next, unless he pulls his country head out
of his ass. What the hell was he thinking about with
the last two or three shows in a row? What was with
that 1977, studio 54 bullshit? Amazing.

The classy people on that show stand out like a sore
thumb. Laura is cool as hell. I love the way she dresses
herself, but I'm getting tired of the 1930s, Masterpiece
Theatre look. Jeff's an asshole. Needs a beatin', but isn't
that what rock star artists are supposed to be like? Thing
is, he's so arrogant, he could loose it at any moment. He's
got his shit down though. Vincent is a loose cannon. Brilliant,
but I never know what he's gonna produce. Uli has GOT to
do something other than another sheer, flowing print. I
love that shit but they're gonna hammer her. She's great
though. Has to take it up a notch. Mike is the most
consistently cool designer. Classy and cool. So I'm thinking
its gonna come down to ...

Mike, Laura, and Jeff.

Wadda ya think?

Ok, time for more rude pictures.

Lets call this a political statement. Wonder why we never
saw anything like this on that old TV show "Streets of San
Francisco." Wasn't that guy in the Grateful Dead? At least
his aim is true. Musta just got up. Reminds me of me at about
6:30, only bigger, fatter, and hairier. I know. Inconceivable.



What, you were expecting another tattoo? Lets title this one...
Best friends. Very nice. It's all love. Total love.

Some corrections and new tidbits.

I took my family down to Austin today to eat Mexican food at Papasito's, and got mom and sis liquored up and pumped em for details. Turns out I had a few things bassakwards. We didn't get to England till '67. We were in Wichita falls for two years in stead of one. I started Kindergarten and first grade there, but it was some sort of half assed, half day only first grade and they didn't teach me much. So when we got to England and I started the second grade, I didn't have the proper preparation to do well. So it was the second grade I repeated, which made everyone think I was an idiot. Can't imagine why I thought it was the first, but there you go.

On the local bullies, my sister remembers them well. Apparently there were a whole series of female bullies as well as the guys I had to deal with. Mom said that as far as I was concerned, it all came down to the fact that while I was six years old when we got there, I was as big as an eleven or twelve year old, so all the older kids went after me. I've always been freakishly large, so I guess they thought I was older and just slow. Anyway, it's amazing the stuff you can get out of Mom when she's had a few margaritas.

Sis reminded us of how miserable she'd been in England, and of all the stuff that was going on that the folks never knew about. She said that dads base had been South Ruislip, and that we went to school at West Ruislip. She was going from the eighth grade to the tenth while I went through the second twice and then the third. She says that she'd had a hard time at PE. The Lesbian (her description) PE teacher used to allow the older girls to attack and strip the younger ones as part of some initiation. They'd strip you and leave you there naked for people to see. She says she fought them and they never got all of her clothes off. The folks never found out about these things. Don't know why, but I guess she didn't feel like she could tell them. So she drank.

Remember, this is 1967-70. Europe was overflowing with heroin from Turkey and Vietnam, some of it care of the CIA. She says that on Friday nights all the kids would gather at a spot on base called the Teen Club. The band that played there was made up of local service brats who lived in our neighborhood and would one day become famous as the band "America". You know, "Horse With No Name", Jerry Beckley and friends. We found out how famous they had become later when we got to Missouri.

She says that while other kids were doing hard drugs or smoking weed, or having sex in the back rooms, she was downing a pint of vodka that she and her friends would purchase off base at a nearby pub. A pint a week, every Friday. She says she stayed away from all the other mess, but had to fend off the gropes of some of the older guys, including one of the guys in the band, from time to time. She says that one night, a guy put the moves on her and told her if she didn't come across she'd have to walk home. So she hitch-hiked, and ended up getting in trouble for it. Was put on restriction and had to miss Cream's farewell concert at the Royal Albert Hall. Those were the days.

She reminded me that before I was born, in about 1957 or '58, the three of them had been stationed there at Bergstrom, in Austin. There'd been a thirteen year old girl next door named Priscilla who occasionally babysat my four year old sister for my mom and dad. My dad said that her stepfather had fancied himself a card player, but had lost a lot of money to my dad learnin' otherwise. A few years later, when My folks had moved on to Bermuda, where I was born, they learned that Priscilla and her folks had moved to Germany, and that she'd hooked up with this Elvis fellow. Again, small world.

Anyway, as I said, all that is ancient history now. We're all well, fat and happy, and wouldn't trade the things that made us stronger and wiser for anything. I just wish I'd been about ten years older. There's a lot of stuff, like seeing my folks when they were younger, or getting to know my paternal grandparents, or maybe hookin' up with Priscilla, that I missed coming along as late as I did. Oh well, as dad says, wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which hand fills up first.

Memories of England.

I recently heard from a blogger whose stuff I enjoy tremendously, who asked me to expand on comments I made in an earlier post where I talked about a few years my family spent living in England. I had to reread that "Memories" post to see what I'd said. I guess I left the impression in the post that those three years were a negative experience, but in retrospect I can't say it was all bad, or even mostly bad. But there was a lot of crap that went on there, partly due to the environment we found ourselves in and partly due to the stuff that was going on in the world at the time.

It was the late 1960s, the hey day of the counter culture. Vietnam was burning at a high pitch, and hundreds of years of lame British policies in Northern Ireland were coming to a head. There was an environment there where dad and other military people were told not to go out into London in their uniforms for fear that they might get into trouble, and there were even policeman posted for a time at the entrance and exit of our housing area.

We lived in a town called Carpenders Park, north of London on one of the tube lines. We lived in a clump of base housing set aside for Americans, surrounded by a high wall. We didn't have a gate, but it was sort of like the gated communities that a lot of people live in today. The housing area was dominated by a large open, paved playground and an unpaved area about the size of a football field. There were trees along the inside of the wall, and more in the central playground area, as well as swings and the like. It was excellent for hanging out, playing kick ball, riding your bike, or whatever.

The central area was surrounded by duplexes, with their back doors facing the field and play ground, their front doors facing the road. There was (and still is) a dairy farm on the uphill side, across the two lane highway from the complex. A road ran into the complex from that dairy side, in front of our duplex, around the neighborhood in a circle, and then out and down to the main town by the tube line where the Brits lived. There were duplexes inside the circle of the road, and more duplexes and a few single family houses on the outer side of the street, with their backs to the encircling wall where trees had been planted. There were no fences, so all the kids played in everyone's yard. You know the adults had to love that. My dad wasted a lot of time trying to get these kids to respect his "yard" to no avail. People would ask me "why's yer dad such a dick?' I'd say "I dunno."

Whether or not you lived in a house or a duplex depended on your fathers rank. I think generals families had houses, but the rest of the officers, enlisted and a few DOD civilians lived in these duplexes. It was basically an English public housing complex. I was young enough not to really care or notice the quality of the place, but my mom and sister did. I think that had something to do with the vibe that existed in the family while we were there. I loved the place, but they remember it being a run down hovel. We could have rented a house in a nicer suburb of London, but dad was too frugal to do it. We knew people who did that. They lived a lot better than we did, and their kids went to local public schools with English kids and got a lot better education. My sister and I rode busses in the morning to the base schools at Ruislip, and spent all our time with other service brats.

Dads early life in the depression taught him that if they are giving stuff away for free, you took it. My moms upbringing was a bit nicer, and she learned to differentiate between the kids who dressed well, even if they were poor, and the kids who were wild and ran around barefoot. My grandmother was a surgical nurse at the local hospital, and the primary bread winner in the family. She taught her three daughters to believe that those kids were barefoot because their parents were trash, and she shouldn't have anything to do with them. My dads folks always made sure he and his brothers had shoes, but I don't think there was the same sense of superiority. When my sister and I insisted on going barefoot in the summer, it used to drive our mom crazy. Made it even more fun to do it.

As the son of a sharecropper, hoeing and picking cotton until the war came along and gave him other career options, dad was taught to see things more basically. The result of all this is that my mom and sister were both pain-in-the-ass princesses, but my dad had no patience for that shit. He loved the fact that my mom was beautiful and kept the house with tremendous style and elegance, but to him, the day-to-day running of the house was her job. When he wasn't at work or playing golf with the guys from work, or doing whatever chores were required at home, he was sitting in front of our one black and white TV and didn't want to be fucked with. In many ways, I think that setting sums up the life that most baby boomers had back then. Our life was just on the other side of the ocean, in an island of Americans, set in the middle of a foreign country.

I think I was about five or six years old when we moved to Britain. It was the summer of 1966 and we had just completed tours of duty in Omaha, Nebraska, where my dad finished his BA in Political Science, Oklahoma City, and Wichita Falls, Texas, where I started kindergarten. We moved to three places in three years after a three year stint in Bermuda, where I was born. That was our life back then. You didn't live anywhere long enough to make friend's, and if you did, you lost em quick and had to make more in the next place. My older sister became a life guard in Wichita Falls at the pool on base and I took lessons and learned to swim. My sister was becoming a teenager by the time we moved to England and the generation gap was as wide as the friggin grand canyon.

She was going through completely different stuff than me, feeling that she should have been given more freedom and pissed off all the time. She's still mad at the folks because they didn't let her go to Hyde Park one weekend to see a free concert when she was thirteen or fourteen. She had friends who got to go to Creams farewell concert at the Albert Hall in about '68, but she couldn't go because she was on restriction that night. In other words, her normal teenage crap was elevated to a completely new level because she was in England, in the center of world pop culture in the late 1960s but not old enough to be able to fully take part in it. We found out later that she and her friends were doing all sorts of adult stuff on the sly, drinking and smoking and shit, being a typical rebellious kid. She's very lucky that ether she didn't get raped, addicted, or caught doing any of that shit by my mom or dad. I don't know which fate would have been worse. She claims other kids were doing even worse stuff and that she was always a good kid. Probably true. All I know is, she's been a huge gasping pain in my ass from day one, and she still is, bless her.

My life in those days was pretty much bounded by the walls of that housing area, and the cutthroat society that existed between the kids there. The few kids I hung out with were ok, but the kids that were a little older were constantly at one another's throats. The enlisted kids took great joy in pulling down an officers kid, and there were bullies roaming all the time, just looking for an easy mark like me. I was shy and retiring, so I was a favorite target. Fighting was constant, and I was always having to worry about getting jumped by some older kid. When fights began, all the other kids would form a circle and shout encouragement to the combatants. I'd never seen anything like that before, and it scared the shit out of me. Remember, I was six years old, which I don't think is quite old enough to have learned how to fight or defend yourself, much less be comfortable with the fact that you're gonna have to. I didn't grow up fighting with a brother like my dad, which might have given me the confidence and experience I needed before I was thrown to the wolves.

The result was I ended up spending a lot of time indoors, in my room or in front of the TV. I got overweight, which I've spent the rest of my life dealing with, and I learned to live inside my own mind, and basically shut out a lot of what was going on around me. I read my sisters set of encyclopedias for fun, listened to records on my little stereo and played with little medieval or Roman soldiers that my mom got for me (remember, it's England). I loved watching British TV shows like The Thuderbirds, Doctor Who, or Jackanory. I loved shows or movies about history, the Middle Ages and the Romans, and daydreamed constantly about being in those times and places. They had a cool show, sort of a soap opera, in which a British kid and a Roman kid became friends. All that stuff exploded in my imagination and I never really came down from it.

My first grade teacher, Mrs. Ireland, was a hag and a half (poor bitch). She had no clue what to do with me. I daydreamed constantly, and basically lived in my own world. Mom became convinced that there was something wrong with me, and took me to shrinks and had tests done, all of which gave me the mind fuck of the century. My sister remembers thinking "why doesn't he just do what he's supposed to do?" She'd been pressured to make good grades at my age and thought I was getting a pass. I remember one day when Mrs. Ireland gave out instructions for some project. I was in another world and hadn't heard what she'd said to do or not to do. She brought me back to reality; got right in my face and yelled at me in front of everyone when I did exactly what she'd just told us all not to do. That was my early school experience in a nut shell. Not much of a scholar then, or now, but you never know how things will work out. Today I make my living teaching school, college level History and Government. I wish Mrs. Ireland and the others could see me now.

When the time came to pass to the second grade, my folks came to me and asked if I'd mind repeating the first grade. I remember that moment very clearly. We were on the base, going into the officers club for lunch or something, which was a huge treat (the burgers and fries were to die for). They looked down at me and posed the question. I think my mom got down and looked me in the eye. What the fuck is a 6 year old gonna say? I didn't want to do it, but was made to do it anyway, and from the first day of school (I remember that day specifically too) when I walked into class, everyone else was sure that I'd flunked the first grade, and was obviously a looser. My new teacher never took me out in front of everyone and told them different, so I was labeled and set aside and spent the next few years having to live it down. The fact that I lived in the same neighborhood with these kids meant I had to take it to the playground out back as well.

The story the folks gave me was that they had screwed up and put me in school too early. I had to ether sit out a year or repeat the first grade so that all the other kids could ketch up to me in age. There may be somethin' to that because I was the same age as everyone else through the rest of my school years. Graduated high school at 18. My sister (the bitch) recently told me dad said at the time it was because I'd flunked. Who the fuck knows? All I know is being labeled as a looser at the age of 6 did nothing but add to the list of reasons I had to avoid other kids and stay in my room.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all hell. There were good times too. There were summer days when we played kick ball all day out on that field and had a blast. There were fabulous snowy winters when we got time off from school and spent all day playing and building snow forts. There were times when my mom and dad cooked traditional meals for us, like home made ice cream and fried chicken, passing on to us a little of their own family traditions. There were summer days on base when we went and spent all day at the pool and the BX and had burgers and fries. There were the summer days I spent in the trees by the wall playing Roman soldier with other kids. There were the days in those trees, hidden from others, where little boys and little girls showed one another stuff that would have horrified their parents to death, and even days at school when time seemed suspended and fun and discovery ruled the day. I loved living there on those days, and even look back fondly on much of the other stuff that turned out to be less traumatic in the end than this post may make it seem.

But I also hated it. I learned to avoid bullies there, rather than to defend myself. I learned to live inside my own mind there, and my socialization was stunted for years after. I learned to love books, TV, Movies and to love history there, and would never trade those times I spent quietly in my room for anything. I make a pretty good living teaching history now, and get to try to help people understand things that I've loved for 40 years. All the other stuff is ashes.

England was a singular experience in my life, but the peace and quiet of the woods in Missouri was a paradise compared to it (see earlier post). Basically, my hiding place got a lot bigger and more interesting. My life got a lot more normal in Missouri, but I never learned to be much of a team player, or much of a student, or even really how to defend myself from bullies (it took a long time to get over that). I've been a loner ever since. I learned a long, long time ago that if you stay to yourself, no one has the chance to fuck with you, and you can do pretty much what ever you want.

Thing is, there's a point in your life when you have to own who and what you are. Wining about your childhood at my age is grounds for a severe beating. I'm who I am now, good and bad, because of all the experiences of my life, both good and bad, and that makes me the same as everyone else in the world. Lots of people had it a lot worse than I did. I was lucky. I still am lucky. My family is all still alive and still gets together regularly in the summer and consumes massive quantities of homemade peach ice cream and fried chicken. Plan to do it again this coming Lador Day weekend. I tell folks my mom's got the best restaurant in town. She knows her shit. We're goin' to Austin to eat Mexican food tomorrow.

She has the house set up like no one else, classy as hell, with all the paintings, brass rubbings and clocks and stuff they brought back from England, laid out all over the place. Don't get me wrong. She can still be a huge pill from time to time. My dad is 84 now. He's been retired since about 1975, and has outlived most of his friends and all but one of his brothers. He spends a lot of time watching crappy daytime TV and sitting in the swing in their back yard with the cats, thinking about old times. When he asks me from time to time to come over on the weekend and take him to the driving range or the golf course, I have to bite my lip to keep from saying something like "hey, where the hell were you 40 years ago when I needed you?" But you know, I love that old bastard to death, and there's a statute of limitations on that old shit. It's water under the bridge. They made up for whatever they did or didn't do back then with things they've done in later years.

So I go over there every weekend, and I take him to eat Chinese food, and to hit balls when I can, and I remind myself that his father died when he was my age, back when we were living in England, and there was nothing he could do. He and his father were the best of buds, but because of his career he couldn't spend time with him. He didn't have the chances I have now. When I was in my room, his father was dying of a heart attack and his mother was in a nursing home with alzheimer's, unable to recognize ether him or his brothers. That realization makes me think the life he had back then was a lot sadder than mine? I wish I'd known.

So, we're all a lot older now, and if you pay attention during your life, you learn to see things from other points of view. You learn that some of the things that seemed earth shaking in your childhood turned out not to matter much at all, and that your parents are just people. They dealt with the shit that was thrown at them as they lived their life, and as you lived their life along with them. In stead of a large extended family to help her, my mom had so-called experts writing books, telling her how to raise her kids. And it didn't help that the world we were growing up in might as well have been on another planet from the one my folks had known. Like I said, it's all water under the bridge.

In August of 1999 I went to England to visit with some good friends who had moved over there, and during the visit I made a point to find Carpenders Park and ride the tube up to see it. The circle of housing is still there, but they had torn down the old housing and replaced it with nice new buildings the year before. In every other way though it was still the same place. The trees and the playground are still there in the center of the place, and the Dairy farm across the highway looks like a snap shot from my memory. Couldn't believe it. It was almost a triumphal feeling to stand there looking out over it and tell myself, "see, you've made it. Here it is. This place is still here, but you're a big, strong man now and you've made it back. You're not that little kid any more." I guess that's a nice end to the tale.

Well, I've got to go to the store and get some shit to eat. I'm gonna try to make that shrimp fried rice Mushy talked about a while back. So go hug yer kids and don't be such an asshole. One of these days you're gonna be old as hell and they're gonna be taking care of you. You're gonna want them to like you then, and bring their kids around for you to spoil. My folks don't have any grandkids. That's the price they pay. Consider yourself warned. Later, FHB.

Postscript: Having reread this a few times, it occurrs to me that the little boy who was very scared so many years ago is still very much inside me. In going back to Carpenders Park in '99 it was like I was fulfilling a duty to myself. The stronger, grown up and basically happy guy I am now was taking that unhappy kid back so he could see the place and put it behind him. It was sort of like taking a scared little kid into a dark room and turning the light on so he can see there are really no monsters. I think I'll always feel a need to protect that kid. He didn't have much of anyone to protect him for a long time. In a fundamental way, he's still who I am.

Oh, and the rice turned out good. Check out the fixens at "Mushy's Cookings" over in the links. Ok, now I'm realy done. Enough is enough. Shtum.

The mystery is finally revealed.

Oh, I'm in LOVE!

Well, maybe lust. Yep, it's lust. I was surfin' the Sturmgewehr
site last night and came across this baby. Mmm, boy.



It's an AR-74. A guy up in Washington State wants to sell it.
It's basically an AR-15 (M-4 carbine) with lots of after-market
stuff attached. Thing is, it shoots a Russian 5.45x39mm cartridge
(their version of our .223) from a Russian clip. The best of both
worlds. But he wants a shit load of money for it. Will power!
Will power! Don't do it! Man, I'm just a huge gasping whore
when it comes to new toys. Huge! Somebody stop me.

Update: ok, the passion has subsided, a bit. I've got two parts
sets at the gun smith now, plus another out on the work
bench, so I guess I should chill out. Sure looks purdy though.
Bet it shoots nice too. Oh well, I'll keep thinkin' about it.

Somebody said it was FOAD Thursday?

I think I've got that covered. Fuck-off-and-die
Thursday? Where do you guys come up with this
shit? Seriously. Is there a committee somewhere?


And no, that's not me ether, but I know how he feels.
I lost it in front of the kiddies (high school seniors) the
other day. Was showing them a video and they just
would not be quiet and watch it. Bunch of chatterers.
I shushed em a few times and got increasingly pissed off
as time went on. Finally, standing over them in a loud voice
I said...

"How many God damn times am I gonna
have to tell you all to shit up? Sit there quietly
and watch the damn video!"

Well, they sat there still as little statues for about the next
15 minutes. I immediately thought "Oh shit, what did I
say and who heard it?" Obviously they frown on cursing
in the public school system, but considering what little
shits these kids are, I'm amazed it doesn't happen more
often. No one has said anything to me so I guess I'm in
the clear. I guess I get a bit of a pass because I teach
a college class and I'm not a public school employee.
Anyway, It cracks me up thinking about it. Would
suck to be drug in front of the principal at my age.
Not too worried about it. They're pretty cool down there.

Now this is cool as hell.

How does a jet powered, street legal VW beetle sound to ya?
Ok, what about a jet powered Vespa scooter? This guys
crazy, and if you want to see how crazy he is, click here to
see more pictures and text. I'm always envious of guys who
have the technical skill to whip this sort of thing up. Enjoy.

Some signs you're getting older.

How many of these apply to you? Come on, fess up.

Your house plants are alive, and you can't smoke
any of them.

You keep more food than beer in the fridge.

You hear your favorite song in an elevator, or at the
supermarket.

You watch the Weather Channel.

Your friends marry and divorce instead of "hook up"
and "break up."

YOU are the one calling the police because those damn
kids next door won't turn down the stereo.

You feed your dog Science Diet instead of McDonald's
leftovers.

Sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt.

You take a LOT of naps.

You go to the drug store for ibuprofen and antacid,
not condoms and spermicide.

A $4.00 bottle of wine is no longer described as "pretty
good shit."

You actually eat breakfast food for breakfast.