Hingham, MA, day nine, part II

0500, and your friendly neighborhood Not-So-Bad Man still sees no snow.  Oh, sheets of freezing rain aplenty, and howling winds, but snow?  Nope.

The scientific “meteorologists” have changed weather.com to read:


For today.  Me, I’m more worried about flooding than I am snow, but water’s had it’s fair share of chances to kill me already, if it was going to do so, it would have done it by now.  That for water.  I’m going for a run, see you all when I get back.

Out here.

Hingham, MA, day two, part I

All employed individuals must eat some number of s*** sandwiches on a weekly basis. I did not expect my first one with this employer to be a foot long, but as Ranger Jankovic used to say while we were telling TINS tales about our respective experiences at Ranger School, “I told myself every day: ‘I’ll quit tomorrow – Right up until the day I tabbed out.'” (“Tabbed Out” is when one is notified that one has received a GO on all required stations, passed the required number of graded PL (Patrol Leader) assignments, and passed the required number of peer reviews…The rest of the course is no walk in the park after that shining moment, but unless one kicks a Ranger Instructor, or the Command Sergeant Major or Commander of the remaining phase(s) in the b****, one can rest assured they are guaranteed the coveted black and gold)).

I’ll quit tomorrow, and gargle with Everclear tonight, s*** sandwich is consumed. I will be living / working in Massachusetts, not Florida, more’s the pity.

The rest of the day pales in comparison, no need to write about any of it. The nugget of corn in the sandwich (there’s always at least one, right?), is that my seated dumbbell curl weight (one rep max) went up by five pounds this morning (BEFORE I was handed my sandwich – PLEASE don’t consider that sandwich a nutrition recommendation), and tomorrow is an off day, no weights, just my morning jog.

Out here.

Wonder why I don’t trust the cops?

Well, perfect example:

The latest city resident to cash in on police misconduct would raise a glass to toast his victory, except he doesn’t drink.

The NYPD found that out the hard way when cops tried to charge Oliver Wiggins with driving while intoxicated to cover up for a police officer who ran a marked SUV through a Brooklyn stop sign and plowed into Wiggins’ car.

Wiggins, 33, received close to $1 million from the city for his troubles, but not before he was arrested and charged with impaired driving, had his driver’s license suspended and was hit with a repair bill for his 2004 Nissan Maxima that his insurance company would not cover because of the DWI bust.

Never mind that a Breathalyzer test he took at the East Flatbush scene on April 19, 2015, showed no alcohol in his blood.

While at the hospital, after the crash at Glenwood Road and E. 43rd St., Wiggins volunteered to have his blood tested for alcohol or drugs at the hospital. That test came back negative. Reports from the EMT and DWI technician each said Wiggins had no signs of intoxication.

That didn’t stop the arresting officer, Justin Joseph, from officially reporting Wiggins had slurred speech, watery eyes, an odor of alcohol on his breath and was observed swaying. Three months later, prosecutors dismissed the charges. . . .

[Emphasis mine]

No charges have been filed against the cops. All of the officers involved are still employed by the department.

This is why we all freak out a little when a cop car pulls in behind us, even if we’ve done nothing wrong.

This is why you need a gun (preferably more than one), loaded and easily accessible in your home.  Do you really think that if someone (or more than one person) kicks in your door to raid your home, the cops are going to respond in time to keep you on this mortal coil?  If you do, you don’t belong on it to start with.

This is some old bull****.

Bride’s birthday pre-game

It has begun.

Grey Goose dirty (filthy!) martinis for me, $68.00 / bottle glasses of Chianti for her.  I ain’t spending s*** on liquor at an expensive Brazilian steakhouse, and the groupon comes with a bottle of wine and dinner for two.

I’m afraid the steakhouse has made a rather large mistake – They won’t allow more than one groupon to be used per “group”, and we have a 6-person party.   So if they don’t seat us at least adjacently, if not push three tables together, its going to get loud.  Trust.


Ah well.  That will be entertaining blog-fodder at the very least.  With video.

RLTW, and out here.


Yeah, more ditto

A Date That Should Live in Infamy

In February 19, 1942 — seventy-four years ago today — Franklin Delano Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066. With the stroke of his pen, the man who had earlier snubbed Jesse Owens after the Berlin Olympics used his executive powers to order the imprisonment of over 100,000 persons of Japanese ancestry (as well as thousands of German and Italian ancestry) for the duration of World War II.


Most of the internees were natural-born American citizens, whose “crime” was having a parent or merely a grandparent with Japanese blood. It was an act of naked, aggressive racism that damaged people and families, including my own, for generations.

For those who leak tears at the thought of Gitmo, print this out and use it for tissue.  Perhaps, by osmosis, you’ll come to understand that allowing enemy intelligence / forces to roam unheeded within your borders or go back to their place of origin for more training and another deployment isn’t such a great idea.

You know, as a retired Field Grade (barely – I retired as a Major, those four years in the Guard and ten years in the USAR are the only reasons I got that gold oak leaf) Infantry officer…The lowest of the low, I feel as if I could spend a week writing a brief on why Gitmo isn’t a goat f*** and convince Congress to issue a statement that would immediately halt all of the sniffling and crying amongst those who hate Gitmo simply because they hate George W. Bush.

But why bother?  Sulu (George Takei) has formed his Brigades, our government isn’t even ready for a Twitter counteroffensive, and one wounded veteran going off about the mouth on Capitol Hill isn’t going to change anything (that’s reserved for the Cindy Sheehan’s and Beau Bergdahl’s of this world).

14 more years until I collect my pension, then I’m never looking at a newspaper again.  In the meantime, at least I’ll be employed firing small arms 9-5 for those 14 years.

God grant me the strength to make it through them.

Travel Diary: Panama City (PC), FL, day five, part VIII

I will admit to a certain hastiness in forming impressions of individuals, as a company grade officer working with NATO forces from 1990 – 1992, that skill was invaluable – MG (Major General , as in a two-Star flag officer) Wheeler , then the DCSPERS (Deputy Chief of Staff, Personnel) for the U.S. Army’s V Corps, who I’d once solved a difficult problem for at Fort Hood in 1989 while on convalescent leave from Fort Ord, once told me in the opulent V Corps officers club in Frankfurt:

“Son, you and I both know that the Frog Lieutenant Colonel serving as the Frog Brigadier’s aide de Camp is light in the f****** loafers, but if he makes a pass at you and you grace the floor of the dining facility with a few of his chicklets, I’m going to have to throw the book at you.”

I was frankly too drunk to realize if a “pass” occurred or not, so that situation resolved itself.

After watching Luke Hemsworth in Hickok, though, I tell you this: He’s only a working actor because of his brothers Chris and Liam. Left to his own devices he’d never have made it past even Kevin Spacey’s casting couch.

Nepotism pisses me off, although I’m honest enough to admit that had I been it’s beneficiary I’d feel differently about it.

And that’s all I have to say about that.