One of THOSE days

You know the days: where EVERYTHING jumps up at once?

Got to rush dad to the ER last night. Today, met with a therapist that wants to work with our BACA chapter. And now, I get to run to somewhere in the middle of frelling Illinois for a case...

I'll be gone all weekend... y'all keep thinking of me, please. And the young lady we're goin' to help!

Update

Sigh...

was planning on visiting dad anyway tonight: had some business out of town, and was heading home with my VP when I got a call:

"Strings... you have access to a car?"

"Umm... yeah dad... I'm in one now, headin' home. Spoon and I'll be over when she gets home. What'd ya need?"

"I need to go to the hospital... I can't breathe"...

Did you know you can do some pretty amazing speeds in a lil' Saturn...

We got dad there with plenty of time. And it was nothing major: the doc had reduced his steroids too fast (or so my understanding goes). And dad got to make passes at a bunch of cute young nurses...

And they wouldn't even let me wheel him out when we left: something about my commenting on the cement pylons...

The Month from Hell

So... I know I haven't been posting much lately: unfortunately, we're entering the territory of Child Abuse Awareness Month. Or, as we like to call it, the Month from Hell...

It's kinda hard to explain to those not involved in BACA. Heck, it's sometimes hard to explain to some of the members: especially those who haven't experienced it for themselves.

This year, we're starting with an Awareness Party: a shindig at our home watering hole, mostly to promote the knowledge of Child Abuse Awareness Month, but also to try and generate membership. From there, things get hairy...

There's arranging presentations to whatever group we can think of, who might be interested in helping kids. PSAs have to be recorded, and stations talked into running 'em. There's pledges to be collected for the 100 Mile Ride at the end of the month. And then the final weekend...

The end of April, per BACA International directive, includes the 100 Mile Ride. Not a big deal: all our patched members need to go on an awareness ride of approximately 100 miles. However, our Chapter has two other events that Saturday: the area's largest bike show (put on by the Ant Hill Mob), and our local DHS sponsored Family Fun Day. Arranging staffing for that weekend for us is very similar to recruiting for the English Navy during old George's time: we sometimes feel like we need to resort to rum drinks...

I'll try and keep SOME kind of schedule here: kinda feel I owe y'all that. And I apologize ahead of time if I seem overly focused on BACA this month: it took over last year, and it's already doing the same this year.

Before I go: if y'all have a local Chapter, and have a lil' extra from Uncle Sam, think about giving a pledge. Or even better, if you have the time: ask 'em about joining. Very few things are quite as rewarding as seeing the smile on an abused child's face, and knowing you're responsible...

HAPPY OSTARA!!!

Time for the spring equinox. Hope y'all (of whatever faith the seven of ya are) have a great day, with good tidings for the rest of the year!

Dreams

Now, I'm not talking about "What I want to be when I grow up", or "I'd like to be able to buy Spoon her MP-5". I'm referring to those lil' snippets while you sleep, that make you wonder when you wake up "what drugs did my folks feed me when I was a baby?"...

So I wake up: having almost forgotten daylight savings time, I've slept a little later than I expected. Gotta get up: the Chapter's gonna be here soon, as we have an adoption today. Get dressed, and duck outside for my morning smoke. Talking to my roomie, and I relate the following:

"Yeah... It was kinda weird: I walk into Mc Donald's, and the Happy meal toys are plush High Road members"...

Then I watch as my roomie tries hacking up a lung: he was laughing so hard, he started coughing...

Where does my brain come up with this stuff?

Then there was Spoon, way back when we lived with my inlaws: she sits up, leans off over the bed with an exclamation of "OOPSIE!", and starts puttering around...

"What's wrong love?"

"I dropped the Jello... You tied it too tight to the spoon!"

By the way: NEVER laugh at someone talking in their sleep. She was still pissed the next day, even though she couldn't remember why...

Dad Update, 09 March

Well, got to spend some "quality time" with dad at the hospital, while he did his breathing tests today...

Doctors are saying "final stage emphysema, COPD". He's trying to get into some research hospital in Maryland: they've (supposedly) been working wonders. we'll see what happens...

Doing my best NOT to think about him being gone at the moment: still haven't really dealt with mom, and that was 03 (do we ever REALLY deal with losing a loved one?).

The Old Man is optimistic about his chances: he's still hoping to return to Thailand. Tell you the truth, I'm hoping he can too...

what's up with this BACA business?

Some of y'all might occasionally wonder "What's that biker thing the guy in the kilt is writin' about?". Today, I'll try to explain...

BACA was the brainchild of one JP "Chief" Lilly, a licensed child play therapist in Utah. It started with one child that would be fine in the office, but would fall apart out in the world: Chief got some biker friends of his together, visited the boy at home, and an idea was born...

I first found out about BACA at the Ren Faire: I was a new rider, so I always tried to take a look at anybody's colours as they walked past. Saw a member of the S E Wisconsin Chapter, asked about it, and things kinda went from there: roughly a year and a half later, and I'm suddenly the pres of the second Chapter in WI.

BACA has a very simple mission: to help abused children feel empowered in the world they live in. Yes, we do charity rides and such: we're completely non-profit, and every cent somehow goes to help kids. But we do more than that: we actually go out and adopt these kids into our organization, making them a part of something world-wide...

Now, y'all know about bikers: scratch one, we all bleed... then we all get a lil' pissed. These kids become part of that: hurt one of our kids, we get a mite riled. The kids know this, so they feel safer: safe enough that, in one case, an abused 9 year old flipped the double-bird to her abuser outside the courtroom, right before giving testimony that put the asshat away.

There's more: court appearances, a counseling fund, plans for Camp BACA. But the basic idea is helping these children feel safe...

Check out the link: it explains FAR better than I can. And, if you see one of us, give a smile and say "hello": the person wearing the patch is willing to risk their ass to help a child feel empowered...

Things I've Learned: Marriage

Things I've Learned: Marriage

Over the years, I've learned one or two lil' things about the institution of marriage. Since I seem to play counselor for so many friends, I figured I'd share some...

1) NEVER go to sleep angry. Every time you sleep on anger, you double the problem. A small lack of sleep is FAR easier than divorce proceedings.

2) Regardless of the available space, NEVER put her clothes with yours. While she might be fine stealing what you normally wear, the time WILL come up where you'll be wondering why your underwear feels strange.

3) Tell her you love her... often. Buying her a new Maserati might be worth big points, but those three lil' words, spoken often and with sincerity, are worth more.

4) Do NOT involve friends in your relationship. Unless you're sleeping with another person, THE only folks that need to be involved are you and your spouse: anybody else's judgemental attitude about your relationship is less than worthless, and should be treated as such.

5) Do things both as a couple, and separately. No matter how much you love Cupcake, having her in your back pocket constantly WILL make you want to kill her eventually (and she's probably a better shot, and feeling the same about you). Spend some time apart occasionally.

6) Do lots of little things, just because. 99 cent silk flowers, handed off "'cause you felt like it", will make her feel far better than the dozen long-stemmed roses at Valentine's Day.

7) LISTEN when your partner talks. The absolute worst fights Spoon and I have had have been because one didn't listen to everything the other had said, and the resulting misunderstanding got blown all out of proportion.

And THE most important relationship advice I can give?

8) When the blow-up occurs... do NOT call me. Especially at 3 in the morning. I'll tell whomever does so that they should simply leave the asshat they're with, preferably shooting them in the kneecap on the way out the door

Musings on Mom

Don't know how many of you know: my mother passed away on 13 Oct 03. Obviously, this is not a date I celebrate. This year I've decided to remember her the way she used to be, and share some stories with y'all.

Hopefully, none of these stories will result in her spirit returning to take up her spoon and beat me 'bout the head and shoulders...

Mainly, I remember the lil' things: like getting revenge for the Birthday Incident, or watching her chase a Marine out the door with the above-mentioned spoon. Or the absolute joy she took in Spoon (my wifely unit): she always introduced her as "my favorite daughter", even before we talked about getting married...

She's been gone a couple years now. They say "time will heal", but I gots news: they lie like rugs.

This month though, I'll run through some of the better mom stories...

Afraid of heights?

Gonna plead "lack of writeables" today. So let's jump in the way-back machine, for yet another stroll through water-logged memories...

Ever looked at a modern Naval warship, and noticed WAAAAY up the mast, WAAAAY out on the yardarm, there's lil' propeller-lookin' dealies?

Those're called "wind speed and direction indicators", or "windbirds" in Navy parlance. And maintaining them is the job of the intrepid ICman.

Anyone remember what MY job was on the ship?

So... We're in port, and we have to pull the windbirds down for routine maintenance. It's a REALLY simple procedure:

1) follow tag-out procedure for all the RADAR type stuff up on the mast (unless you like glowing in the dark)

2) put on bungee-jump harness

3) obtain a "ball-breaker" (this is supposed to be a safety device: my testes say otherwise)

4) climb up the mast, and inch your way out the yardarm (hoping the bungee part of the harness works if you fall)

5) tie a rope onto the tail of the windbird in question

6) undo 4 bolts, and lift 'bird off it's post (btw: these things are neither small nor light)

7) lower 'bird down to the deck via rope (ummm... It IS long enough, right?)

8) tape plastic bag over now exposed electrical leads

9) climb down (no,you can't use the bungee function of the harness: I asked)

No big deal, right?

Did I mention that I'm afraid of heights?

Still got to go up though: wasn't just that I was the lowest man on the pole, but I was the least afraid of the aforementioned distance from windbird to deck.

Bloody wimps

Things NOT mentioned in the instructions:

- What to do when your EW buddies think it's funny to rotate the dish just a touch while you're aloft

- The incredible feeling of overbalancing a bit when you break the tape to secure the bag (IC1 thought for sure I was gonna take the express route down)

- Have a one-handed knife for cutting whatever might need it while you're up there (I went street shopping for a switch blade for this exact reason: it's probably STILL wired to that harness)

Things you Do Not Do while aloft:

- Lean out as far as you can, hold out random tool, and shout "Hey Andy, catch this for me!"

- Lean back, wobble a bit, and say " I'm feeling dizzy"

- Start asking your spotters about high-dive records

I went up and down that mast often enough that the height eventually didn't bother me as much (helps to not look down unless giving your spotters a hard time). Even bought a cup to deal with the ball-breaker. And got to see some BEAUTIFUL things (from that high up, the panorama of Singapore is breathtaking).

STILL afraid of heights though...

NEVER let your mother get to know your Skipper

Given the lack of other writable subjects...

I got jumped while in the Nav: walking down the street in San Diego, 5pm on a Sunday, right in front of the courthouse. Felt like someone was behind me, zigged when I shoulda zagged, and *FLASHBULBS*...

Woke up unable to open my eyes (they had crusted shut with blood), and asked three questions: "Where am I? Why am I on the ground? Where are my cigarettes?" (yes... I'm a true smoker)...

Off I go, to Balboa Naval Hospital. They call my Captain, who immediately calls my mother. Mom and dad fly out, at which time they get to meet the Skipper (whom most of us referred to fondly as "Terry")...

Terry was glad to meet my folks, and SERIOUSLY pissed that something had happened to "one of his boys". We're talking about a guy that usually had a Santa hat on his head, and who had ignored the Singapore Port Authority in their order that he not pull in until the next day ("I promised my boys we'd be in Singapore today, and by God we WILL be!"). The unfortunate part of all this is that it gave my mom a chance to meet my Skipper (which brings us to the nasty part)...

The entire time I was in the Nav, I had to call home every day I wasn't at sea: if two days went by without a call, mom got VERY worried. So, around the 18th of Feb (a fairly significant date in my life), I start having trouble getting through: no answer at the house, and NOBODY knows where they are.

That fateful day, after getting cut loose, I wander out to the Exchange (needed to check the ATM: was supposed to have somebody paying me some money direct to my account, which they hadn't). Start walking back to the ship (my roomie had my car, and hadn't made it in yet (NEVER trust a Marine with your wheels). And about halfway there, I get a page: the number for DC Central. Ok... I'm heading back to the ship (roughly two mile walk)... I'll see what they want when I get there. Make it down to roughly a half-mile when my beeper starts yelling again: DCC again, with a 911 prefix...

Maybe I over-react to some things. When I saw that prefix, THE only thought was that something had gone DRASTICALLY wrong, and I needed to immediately discover the mechanics of personal teleportation. I blew past the pier guard so fast they barely saw that I was holding SOMETHING out for them to see: only reason I didn't get clobbered was I was moving too fast. Up the gangway, past the quarter-deck, and down the stairs to DCC. Where I'm calmly told to change into dungarees...

Calmly... that set off some alarms. You don't 911 someone, and then act calm when they're present: "911" means "oh, shit... we're DYING!!!".

I change, and head up to the shop (as I was told). My DivO (Mr Bittle: nice guy, normally) comes in and tells me I've been implicated in a case before the Captain, and they wanted me back to testify. Which was kinda conceivable: although I hadn't written any checks on my account, I DID know the guy that was at Mast...


Let's review fer a sec: haven't been able to track down the parental units, money that I SHOULD have hasn't appeared yet, my roomie is gawds know where with my car, and now I'm supposedly in trouble with the Captain about checks that I couldn't have written.

I light a smoke: about the time I get halfway through it, we receive The Call: Send ICFN Strings up. I look at Brad (DivO), and try to calmly finish my smoke: the shaking doesn't help the illusion of an innocent man any. So we troop our way up to Officer Territory, and the Captain's Stateroom. I walk through the door, to see the Captain sitting at his desk (lookin' fairly stern), a lil' half-wall behind him, kinda partitioning off his personal dinner table...

Captain: "Strings: you've been accused of writing some bad checks by your friend. He's already been sentenced, but we need to clarify your involvement"

Me: "Ok Sir: what do I need to do?"

Capt: "well... have you written any bad checks lately?"

Me: "No Sir. I haven't written ANY checks lately."

Capt: "well... the ones you're supposed to have written are over there on the table: take a look, and tell me they aren't yours"

I walk around the little divider...











And see may parents, grinning, as dad points and says "GOTCHA!"

Seems mom had charmed the Skipper, and wanted to get aboard to surprise me for my birthday. Terry (being Terry) had suggested going one better...

I was told later that the entirety of my Division was outside that door, to keep me from walking out...

Another tale from the Pacific...

Seeing as I have nothing else to talk about...

Sailors drink... some, quite heavily. When folks drink, they sometimes do... strange things. Sailors, sad to say, are no exception to that rule...

Come staggering down the ladder after a midwatch, wanting nothing more than to bury my head in my pillow, and hear a VERY loud *CLANG!* from the next compartment over. I REALLY don't want to know... it's full of pit boys, SERIOUS snipe territory. They're all big and hairy and...

"What inna HELL was that?" I ask, sticking my head through the door. And the sight that greeted me was three BTs, holding back a fourth from... well... the wall.

That clang? Oh... number four had punched the wall after a verbal altercation (with said wall). I asked one of the three about it, and the response STILL makes me giggle: "I dunno, man. I think it (the wall) said sumthin' 'bout his mother"...

BTs... *sigh*

What good's a sailor...

... without some sea stories?

Glad you asked... ;)

I was on the USS Duluth for awhile, as an IC tech. Putting me in "E" Division, which was full of some seriously twisted individuals...

So... we're on WestPac, and pull into Hong Kong. This was before it reverted to the Chinese. While there, we took on stores for the trip home. What I hadn't thought much about was the fact that our berthing compartment was right above the Dry Stores room: so, anything headin' that way essentially went through our bedroom...

I go out that night, and come back around midnight or so. To find most of the EMs on the ship giggling like lil' girls, just outside the door to my rack space. Being the curious type, I have to ask... "So... what's gotten into you lot?"

"Dude... you HAVE to check out Jamie... it's funny... just take a look"...

Now Jamie was one of the PO3s of the EM shop, and someone I held in some respect: respect that would grow when I got back to the States, as he took his own time to head to the hospital when I got jumped (making sure it was a friendly and familiar voice I heard when I woke up). And his rack was two above mine. So I open the door, slide back the privacy curtains (expecting what, I'm not sure)...

During the ontake of ship's stores, some lazy slug had left a 50lb burlap sack of rice sitting in our compartment. Jamie was fairly drunk, and his fellow EMs thought it would be cute to give him a "friend" in his bunk that night. Not sure WHAT the boy was dreamin' about, but he was makin' love to that burlap sack like she was Ms Universe.

I shook my head and went to sleep. Woke up the next morning to find 50lbs of rice sitting in the walkway between the racks. NOBODY from "E" Division would eat rice the rest of the trip: didn't want the extra protein supplement...

Looking at Sitemeter...

So I take a gander at Sitemeter, and what do I see but a link for "Recent Visitors by World Map". Of course, being the egotist that I am, I check it, and see the above. And I have just one question: who the heck is reading me from Zambia and Finland? Speak up, folks: y'all got my curiosity aroused!

the world produces better idiots...

This post over at Boobs, Injuries, and Dr Pepper reminded me of an overheard conversation here the other day. The roomies had some friends over, and were (apparently) talking about kids and folks hang-ups about them. The overheard comment? "Yeah: the entire female side of her family thinks breast-feeding is unnatural"...

I pop through the door, absolutely incredulous: "Y'all said WHAT?!?". Much laughter ensues "Yeah... Strings heard "breast" and had to find out more. Heh, heh, heh"...

But yes... I had heard rightly. Seems this young lass of my roomies' acquaintance has a long string of female ancestors who believe Gog the cavewoman had a Playtex nurser to feed Oog. They had some other beautiful beliefs: her mother asserts that she doesn't defecate (ever), as it's not lady-like (not even gonna START on that one)...

Of course, there are a number of folks (or were, when I was around 6) still telling their daughters "You get pregnant by kissing boys". A statement that completely ignores the predatory nature of the adolescent male: while the logic of "if they don't kiss, they won't get worked up and go farther" looks good on paper, it doesn't translate well to real life. Witness what happened to one friend of my sister, where the exchange (I was present, don't remember why) went like this:

Daughter: "Mom... I'm pregnant"
Mom: "HOW?!?! Didn't I tell you..."
D: "But mom... I never kissed a boy! All I did was let them..."

Don't think I need to go any farther into that one: mother there was stunned, and sis and I were asked to leave rather abruptly...


Bedlamite is fond of the saying "Make something idiot-proof, and the world will produce a better idiot". Personally, I think the world just keeps "improving" 'em, on the off chance we might try to proof something against 'em...

What's up with that title?

Well... since Law Dog decided to mention me, I'd better post sumthin' new...

Some of y'all might wonder about the title of this silly thing: I'm a member of a pirate's guild at the local Ren Faire, and our guild was granted "charter" by the "queen": if this WERE actually Elizibeth's England, that would (technically) make us "privateers"...

What does this mean in real life? Not much... we get together occassionally, and terrorize a bar in Milwaukee (if you're in the area, Fitzgibbon's is a nice place). Hang out at Faire, have a party now and then.

But it gives me a cute title for my blog...

... and I'd like to thank...

Well now. Go to read through my normal nightly blogs, and see Law Dog has posted a link to me... lil' ol' me... as a "blog of note"...

YA HOOOOOOOO!!! 'DOG GAVE ME A BOOST!!!!!!!

Ok... I'm better now...

Thanks Law Dog: you just made my day!

News from foreign parts

Well... looks like Lil' Dick got hisself re-elected in Chi-town...

Mom used to work for the City of Chicago as a secretary (this was before she met Dad). Worked for Old Man Daley. And she met Lil' Dick... who she REALLY wanted to push down the stairs a few times. Huh... Mom could've saved all of Illinois, had she followed her heart. Let that be a lesson to y'all: when your heart says "push the pompus lil' twit down the stairs", maybe following that advice will save someone a bit of headache.

weathermen. Meh!

So... went to Milwaukee, to deliver some things Squeeker forgot last time she was here, and hoping to sell some fund-raiser books for our BACA Chapter. Just before leaving, the weatherman says "severe winter storm warning"...

Wow... we had a lil' bit of rain, couple places where there was an inch or so of snow on the road, and that's it. Ma Nature better dump a couple feet on us soon, or I'm gonna be REALLY disappointed...