Don't ask, don't tell, don't make a big deal...

A whole passel of other bloggers have mentioned the issue of the military's decision to do away with the don't ask/don't tell policy.

I was talking about it with my local Marine Recruiter, and his take gave me a giggle...

"I'm gonna end up with a premium on gays over straights. From my experience, they take better physical care of themselves, have better grades, and don't get in anywhere NEAR as much trouble. They'll be the perfect recruits!"

Couldn't say it better myself.

Sometime a cigar...

Sabra has an interesting post up over at her place. The shot that gave me a spark:

My experience--as an outside observer, generally, since most of my friends are guys--is that men actually tend to be very straightforward creatures. We just misinterpret them because we look for hidden meanings that aren't there, and they have problems with us because they expect what's on the surface to be what's there, and frankly that's the way it SHOULD be.

Preach it, sister!

Tell you the truth, there have been times I've had to come out and tell someone "I'm not a lawyer: I don't speak in loopholes". Because quite honestly, that seems to be the way some people think...

If I say "I can't make it to your , car's dead", it means exactly that: I would love to be there, but my transportation is doing a doornail impression. If I didn't WANT to be there, I would've told you "not interested".

Unfortunately, even a straightforward "not interested" gets ignored nowadays. It's almost like some people have become salesmen: if they just try a little bit harder, they'll convince you to do whatever it is you have already said "no" to. What IS it with that?

Thankfully, I don't (generally) have that problem with Spoon: she hears what I say*, takes it at face value, and goes forward. And she's learned to, generally, tell when I start "speaking in code": means there's trouble where we are, and she starts paying more attention to what's going on around us.

Sabra's right on this: start out as you intend to go forward. Folks, you can't have a decent relationship with someone if you're treating every conversation as if it were a high school lit assignment, where you have to figure out the author's intent behind their words. Instead, be open and honest, and expect (if not demand) the same in return.


*THE biggest fights we have are when she starts not hearing what I say, but what she THINKS I'm going to say. Whole other topic, there.

Beauty Standards

Holly over at the Pervocracy has a brilliant post up about beauty standards. Go, read: it's worth it.

I have a friend who could REALLY learn from this. He's a bigger guy, low self esteem, who will only chase after lithe lil' hotties. He's also always been chronically short on dates: the combination of "oversize" with "low self esteem" doesn't seem all that attractive to women, for some reason...

I've always laughed at folks who ask about "my type". Personally, my head always turns most with athletically built women (slender, small chest, LONG legs). And I've always had a thing for redheads. Usually end up with blondes, who are more on the "stacked" side (go figure).

Folks, "attractiveness" is more a function of chemistry between two people. Get caught up in the packaging, and you'll loose out: trust me on this...

Natalie Portman: are you paying attention?

Ok... here's one for the celeb watchers.

Although she doesn't directly say it herself, in a blog entry at HuffPo, this paragon of virtue (and bad prequels) spouts off with a quote:

"He posits that consideration…which has more to do with being polite to your tablemates than sticking to your own ideals, would be absurd if applied to any other belief (e.g., I don't believe in rape, but if that's what it takes to please my dinner hosts, then so be it)."

Bold mine.

So... you could presume from this, that Ms Portman is against rape (as she is against eating animals). After all, she casts them in a similar light.

Oops.

Scroll down to "Edit: new names".

Yep: she's signed herself onto the "Free Roman Polanski" BS.

So... let's connect the dots.

Eating meat = rape
Being a Hollyweird bigwig = rape is ok
Being a Hollyweird bigwig = eating meat is ok

Everyone got that?

Score one for common decency!

Caught this on a kilt-wearer's board, and thought y'all might enjoy it. Original thread is here.

Last week I walked into the local Market that I grocery shop at. I'm on friendly speaking terms with the folks that work there, never miss a chance to flirt with the checkout girls, or give the guys some teasing...

Anyway, so I walk in. There's a young woman near the front of the store, oblivious to everything, yammering at the top of her lungs on her cell phone. You've seen people like this on the street, in stores, and generally around. They are so wrapped up in their terribly important telephone conversation (they probably had another one, upon which the fate of the world rests, five minutes ago) that they're totally unaware of their surroundings.

So I walk in, wearing boots, camouflage kilt, t-shirt and so on. I was sweaty from a throwing workout. I grab a shopping cart and pass her. About fifteen feet down the aisle I hear her say....and you can just imagine the tone...

Oh My God, a guy in a skirt just walked in here! That is so ****!!

insert word that starts with "g" that we don't use on this forum, into the space where I left the ***.

So I stopped, put my glasses in my cart and walked over to her. I gently, but firmly removed the phone from her ear, held it up to my face and said ... ***"Oh My God, there's a really nasty girl here in the grocery store. She is so RUDE!"***

...and then I handed the phone back to her and went on with my shopping. I have no idea what she did after I handed her phone back to her, but you know, I'm totally OK with that. I noticed that the checker, name of Kim, was laughing her head off as I turned away, though...

Even if you don't wear a kilt, tell me you've never wanted to do something like this!

Damnit! Something in my eye...

Found via Armed Polite Society:

Sometimes when old Marines die they do fade away into unmarked graves in Potter's Field.

Such might have been the case for Gaspar Musso, USMC 925050, who fought in the Battle of Tinian in the Marianas Islands in 1944 and who died Nov. 15 at age 84 in a Brooklyn nursing home.

Enter Police Officer Susan Porcello, a PBA delegate at the 68th Precinct in Bay Ridge and one of those big-hearted New Yorkers who still make this the best city on Earth.

"No way was I going to let this brave old Marine who fought for his country in WWII get buried in Potter's Field," she says.

Porcello first met Musso back in July when she responded to a 911 ambulance call to the retired insurance broker's one-bedroom apartment on, appropriately, Marine Ave.

"When my partner, Eddie Ennis, and I arrived at his apartment Gaspar seemed a little bit down about himself," Porcello says. "He said he felt alone in the world. We talked to him a bit and as I looked around his tidy apartment I noticed that he had served in the military - the Marines to be exact."

Porcello asked him about family and friends. "Look around you, what do you see?" Musso said. "I have no family or friends."

To which Porcello said, "Well, I'm your friend."

Right there, with those four beautiful words, Gaspar Musso was destined to die with the dignity he'd earned with a rifle in his hands, fighting in a USMC uniform, in a war that saved civilization.

If she didn't already wear a badge, you'd want to pin a star on Susan Porcello.

Musso, a diabetic with a host of other age-related maladies, had accidentally overdosed on his prescription medications. Porcello accompanied him to Lutheran Medical Center.

"I told him I'd be back to visit him and take him to a senior center where he could make some friends," said Porcello, who comes from a big Italian family with a mom, dad, three sisters and a brother.

"I told him I was making him my 'Grandpa,' and if he liked, he could spend Thanksgiving with my family. Eddie and I discussed alternating holidays with Gaspar so he wouldn't be alone for any of them."

Two days later Musso was placed in critical care. Porcello asked hospital staff where he'd be buried if he didn't make it. "Potter's Field," said one administrator.

"This infuriated me," said Porcello. "There was no way I was going to let a man who fought for our country be buried in Potter's Field. Not on my watch!"

Porcello told the hospital to keep her apprised of Musso's condition. She had a local priest visit him. Porcello even asked NYPD's Missing Person's Squad to search for next of kin.

No luck.

Musso had been an only child to Anthony and Marie Musso, both deceased. He had no other relatives. Musso's only friend, an upstairs neighbor, had died the year before.

After his health improved, Musso asked Porcello to become his official health proxy.

She transferred him to Caton Park Nursing Home, where he was treated extremely well. She visited him often, learning that Musso was born May 7, 1924, joined the USMC in December 1943, finished training at Camp Lejune in March 1944 and was fighting with the 2nd Marines on Tinian Island by July 1944.

"I visited Gaspar on Nov. 13, bringing him rosary beads, a Bible, and his reading glasses," she said.

"The next day, Nov. 14, I returned and found Gaspar sitting up in a chair, dressed in his own clothes. Looking great."

Porcello washed his hands and face, trimmed his nails and eyebrows and asked if he was coming to her house for Thanksgiving. "I'm trying!" he said. He also asked Porcello to bring him a Christmas wreath for his room.

The next morning Porcello received a phone call saying that Gaspar Musso had died peacefully in his sleep.

No way was she going to let her good friend be toe-tagged and buried in Potter's Field.

Porcello paid out of her own pocket for a wake at McLaughlin's on Third Ave. and a mass at St. Patrick's Church in Bay Ridge, where a crowd of good-hearted cops from the 68th Precinct filled the pews, six serving as pallbearers. Sgt. Angel Rosa of the 68th, also a Marine, arranged for a USMC honor guard at Musso's funeral.

Then taps blew over Gaspar Musso, United States Marine, as he was buried next to his mother at Resurrection Cemetery in Staten Island.

With the dignity he deserved.

Semper Fi.dhamill@nydailynews.com

What IS an "American"?

This thread over at Armed Polite Society got me to thinking. Y'all know, this is NEVER a good thing!

Anywho... I'd like to pose a question to anyone reading this. It may seem like a simple question, but I think the answers you'd get out on the street might surprise you.

The question? "What IS an American?".

Not talking about a legal definition. What do YOU think would be the defining characteristics that say "Joe is an American"? Every nationality has something: what's ours?

After some responses, I'll address my thoughts on it. I'd like to see what others think...

Sometimes, a distraction is enough...

Well... things have been going well the last few days.

Spoon lost her job selling shoes (LOOONG story: she got screwed). And she turned around, and got two others. One doing outside sales (which she may or may not keep), and she's also doing home care.

I had a dry spell for two years: couldn't even get a call telling me to go pound sand. Now I've got this job with the magazine, and I just got a call for an interview for a position at the Maritime Museum. Wouldn't be much: fairly low pay, but it would be extra money (and I love history anyway)...

The personal life still has it's issues, but I've met some cool people to help distract me. Spoon, of course, is still here: don't think I COULD get rid of her. And we've met a couple REALLY cool people through a new website called "Biker or Not". One of whom, we'll be meeting in realspace this weekend. Not only is this young lady fairly cool (AND hot, and a good distraction), she's got a friend that might just be interested in carrying my jewelry. So LOTS of good comes from that connection!

Even better: there's another position at the library here in town, that I'm in the running for. This one is making LOTS of money, and has an awesome benefits package. And, theoretically, I could do all three jobs (thereby getting us to new mooring sooner)...

Oh... and speaking of my jewelry? There's a shop here in town that wants to carry it: I'll be picking up a bunch of my stuff from my sis, and bringing it home. Things are just looking up all over!

Family

Was talking with my partner Dub the other day, and discussing the whole concept of "family".

See, Dub's old school: you stand by your family, even the one's you're not related to. And you stand by them come Hell or high water, backing their play. you may not agree with their chosen course, but you're there to help.

Oddly enough, that's how I was raised: you stand by your family. Of course, I was also raised that, when someone proves that they really AREN'T family, you boot 'em to the curb with the rest of the trash. Conversely, when someone demonstrates that they'll be there, you adopt 'em (usually over their violent protests).

Some here may know a bit about my family situation: I divorced almost all my original brothers and sisters, trading 'em in on better models (actually, Dub is in that "new & better" category). You would not BELIEVE some of the folks I've adopted over the years.

There's Fluke: a good friend of our ex girlfriend: she's always been there for Squeaker, and she's DEFINATELY been there for me over the last few weeks.

There's Dub: whom I had only met a couple times, but was able to pour my heart out to when things blew. And who's problems I've heard quite a bit. But we still back each-other

There's our Jules: another girl that I'm in love with (despite her getting ready to marry an actual nice guy). She hadn't done more than talk to me on the phone a few times when mom died: when I stepped out of the house to make the necessary calls, I called her first. And her immediate response, upon hearing of mom's passing? "Do you need me up there?"...

There's Turk, one of my oldest brothers. That boy and I have a LOOOONG history (some of which, I'm not sure the statute of limitations has run out on yet). The man who stood up with me at my wedding, keeping me from running out on on The Best Thing that Ever Happened to Me (you DID know that this is the job of the groomsmen, right?).

There's Skip (some on the boards know him as Bedlamite). Remember the phrase "friends help you move, real friends help you move bodies"? Yeah...

There's AJ: a woman without whom, I would be dead today. When my career in Unca Sugar's Yacht Club went pear-shaped, she was the person who kept me from shuffling off this mortal coil.

And then there are the inlaws.

Remember the old cartoons, featuring the "House of Tomorrow"? How the mother-in-law was always getting offed in some way? Yeah... wouldn't suggest trying that with my Nancy-mom: dad and I would probably be tripping over each-other to do damage to the offending party. When mom was sick, Nancy would drive a half-hour one way every day to take care of her ('cause she hated mom so much, you know). Christmas was always done like many others: Spoon and I would go to her parents on Christmas Eve, and my parents on Christmas Day. Trick is, it'd be the same group of people at both locations: my parents would come out for Eve, and her family would come out for Day. There may be a few different additions here & there, but it was one ginormus family, not two seperates...

There are loads of others, but I think you get the drift: the people you meet in life, that you end up leaning on most (and acting as a crutch yourself when needed). The people that, if you honestly got down to it, probably know you better than you know yourself (and yet are there for you, despite that).

So Dub and I got to talking about this, going on until Spoon got home from her new job. And it made me think of some of y'all on here, and comments on some of my recent posts.

I'd like to thank y'all. There was a time not all that long ago, where I was ready to throw in the towel and just say "fuck it!". I was afraid of posting some of what's gone on (and is going on) in my life, because I was afraid there would be general condemnation. Instead, y'all saw someone in pain, and reached out.

You've almost restored my faith in humanity, folks. Good job! Y'all go get yourselves a cookie.

And if you're ever going to be in NE Wisconsin, let me know: I kinda owe you one anyway.