The Rather Large Mug

They’re falling apart, I tell ya…

I’ve been watching the news a lot. It’s been entertaining lately! But it raises my blood pressure, which is probably bad.

First off, the Republican-controlled legislature has approved the building of a wall between parts of the United States and Mexico. This is gonna cost billions of taxpayer dollars, and I think it’s a bad idea. Is a wall going to keep illegal immigrants out? No. It’s that simple. If you build a wall, people will tunnel under, fly over, sneak through… It’s not a barrier. The other part that bothers me is the symbolism. We are truly becoming the Soviet Union of our generation – there is talk of internal passports, we’re building a wall, the government can now LEGALLY come and get you in the middle of the night and throw you in jail forever… This is spooky! I don’t like it one bit.

Mr. Bush, tear down that wall.

The next item is scary, too… Republican Representative Mark Foley was head of the committee to keep Internet predators from raping, pestering, harassing, and/or luring young boys and girls. It turns out that Mr. Foley is truly uniquely qualified to head such a committee, being an Internet predator himself… It came to light last week that Mr. Foley had been sending nasty e-mails to underage boys.

Okay, the course of action here is clear… The police send in their vice squad and arrest Mr. Foley for all sorts of crimes and take him away in handcuffs. This is what would happen to anyone else in America who got caught doing what Mr. Foley did. But, since Mr. Foley is a powerful Republican, things are being swept under the rug and, true to Bush Administration Protocol, no one is taking responsibility for their actions.

Mr. Foley has been checked into an alcohol rehabilitation clinic. I guess they must cure pedophilia there, somehow. He claims that he bears no responsibility for his actions because he’s an alcoholic. And wait, this gets worse.

We have now learned that Republican House Leader Dennis Hastert knew about Mr. Foley sending illegal e-mails to young boys years ago, AND DID NOTHING.

So, Mr. Foley is an obvious danger to society, and has broken the law, and the Republican leadership kept silent. So, Mr. Hastert is going to jail in handcuffs as an accomplice to a crime? Soliciting child pornography or something? No. He’s not. You see, Mr. Hastert blames all this on the Democrats and ABC News. (I’m not making this up. Here’s the source.) He will not take responsibility for his own (in)actions, either. It’s the Bush Administration way of doing things, you see. Blame someone else.

In other sad news, United States President George Walker Bush has officially killed more Americans than the terrorists of September 11, 2001. We’ve lost more soldiers in Iraq than we did on 9-11.

This all comes from the political part that gained power by touting superior moral values. We NEED a change!

Photos…

A note on relationships in general…

Seems like I’ve inadvertently upset a bunch of people (a bunch being just short of a metric scad) lately. I’d like to say to the world in general and my family and friends in particular that I try very hard to be a good person. I don’t belittle people, I try my darndest to avoid saying or doing anything cruel or mean, and I honestly respect everyone I know. Please know that if I’ve said anything to upset you, it was unintentional (unless I was talking about politics – if my politics offend you, well, there’s not much I can do about that).

Thank you for your patience in this matter.

A few photos… (I take ’em, gotta share ’em.)

It’s easy to bleed when you’re cutting edge…

I’m thinking about switching from Blogger to their “Blogger Beta” version. They say it’s all sorts of nifty, with new features, yadda yadda yadda… But I’m a bit fearful of losing my archives, and I’m rather attached to my template (mainly because I’m not technically-savvy enough to feel confident in remaking it all). Has anyone switched? Did it work? Was it worth the pain? Were you able to keep all your old stuff but still use the new features?

One bug in Blogger that really bothers me is that you can’t have a space in the filename of any photo you upload. I hope they fix that soon…

You want to GO to the movies? Oh…

I read in The Week just a few minutes ago that the movie industry is getting a bit worried about all the people NOT going to movie theaters and watching their movies. They had all sorts of reasons, but they mainly talked about how people are more comfortable renting movies and watching them at home. They said something like, “thirty percent of people say they have the ultimate theater experience in their living room.” Well, I’m in the seventy percent that still has a regular old low-definition TV, but I still don’t go to the movies.

It’s not that I don’t like movies – I think some of the cartoons are great. It’s not that I don’t like putting my clothes on and schlepping across town in the rain to watch flickering images in a cave. The reason I don’t go to movies is that it simply costs too much. I can’t afford it. Dagmar and I go out once in a while and see a nice film (the last one we saw was Hitchhiker’s Guide, I think), and it always costs two to three times what it would cost us to rent THREE movies, make our own very good popcorn, and sit on our comfy couch where we can nuzzle each other when we feel like it. If the theaters want to increase their business, quit charging six bucks for two handfuls of popcorn and give the patrons value for their money.

Drippy Old Gents

I just had a few Jehova’s Witnesses on my porch. Nice gentlemen, standing in the rain with their suits on, waving pamphlets at me. I don’t think they were expecting a long-haired, bearded hippie wearing a robe and sandals to answer the door… I wanted to tell them that this was the wrong neighborhood to be canvassing on a Saturday morning – most of my neighbors don’t seem to be the sort of people who are awake and alert on Saturday mornings – but I figured they could probably tell that already.

I’m not interested in having religion foisted upon me by strangers who interrupt my one morning to sleep in (or ramble on in this blog), but you know, it really doesn’t cost anything to be polite. So I listened to them. They were polite to me, too, and gave me a couple pamphlets to read. As they turned to leave, it struck me that these two elderly gentlemen are much braver than ANY of our elected officials. I’ve never, ever had a politician knock on my door – they avoid this neighborhood like the plague. I wonder if I’ll be as polite to a politician knocking on my door as I was to the two guys in ties a few minutes ago.

It Kinda Scares Me

I work in a print shop. Thus far the Republicans have “outprinted” the Democrats roughly ten to one (that’s just what I’ve seen come across my desk). The company I work for has printed a TON of stuff for the Republicans – and here’s the interesting part – all but one item was part of a smear campaign. The Republicans have printed just one positive piece.

In contrast, we’ve only printed a handful of postcards and brochures for the Democrats, but not a single one of them even mentioned their competition – they were all positive “here’s what I stand for” pieces. Kudos to the Dems for standing tall, and boos and hisses for the Republicans for relying on negative campaigning.

‘Tis only a midterm election, I know, but I still haven’t seen more than a handful of Democratic yard signs. I’ve seen quite a few Republican signs, notably for congressman Steve King and gubernatorial candidate Jim Nussle. The problem with their signs is twofold – they tend to put up HUGE, expensive-looking signs in very pretty areas, thus ruining the scenery, and in my opinion neither of them is fit to govern. King wants the US government to give him (and I mean him, personally) over $2 million per mile to build a fence between Mexico and the U.S. Nussle backed a law making it more difficult for elderly and poor voters to cast their vote. Nice guy.

I much prefer the political stands taken by Joyce Schulte and Chet Culver. I haven’t heard much from either campaign, though. I hope they’re taking the high road and running clean campaigns. Too bad we can’t hope the same for their competition.

Time to Start the Weekend

It’s my nephew Hunter’s birthday today (he’s the very intelligent-looking chap pictured to the left). We’re going to go visit him soon. They’re having a big party for the guy – his entire class is invited! We’re looking forward to going and being old fuddy-duddies.

My cousin is getting married this weekend somewhere in the Southwest. I’ve been thinking a lot about him, wishing him well (we can’t make it to the wedding). But I have to admit I’m thinking much more about his parents, my aunt and uncle. They’ve both been fighting cancer; he just Thursday had brain surgery. My thoughts are going out to you guys – we’ve been praying a lot lately. I’m sure I’ll spend a fair amount of time this weekend wondering how everything’s going…

The Packers are playing the Lions tomorrow. I’m hoping that one of the teams will actually be good enough to win the game… I’m still hoping the Packers can pull out a winning season for veteran quarterback Brett Favre. It may be a vain hope, though – they’re a pretty young team.

In any case, it’s time to go cook some potatoes for breakfast, scrub my hairy carcass clean and start the weekend!

FRIDAY

My oh my, what a week! I hate it when I get stuck working long hours unexpectedly. Especially morning hours. Usually when I see 5:15 in the morning, it’s because I haven’t gone to bed yet, not because I’m headed to work…

I am now going to drink a beer. But first, a tale of ale…

“Dude,” my cohort at work, Drew, hollered at me the other day. “You gotta try this beer I found!”

“What, is Budweiser making something new?” I asked. He, quite rightly, gave me a dirty look.

“No, I went to that place around the corner, Charlie’s Liquor,” he said. “They have Beamish Stout there!” I gave him a blank look. He continued, “It’s beautiful! The best beer I’ve ever had! There’s absolutely no bitterness! It tastes like chocolate!” His eyes crossed slightly, tongue hanging out a bit, a goofy smile on his silly mug.

“That good?” I asked. “I’ll have to try it!” About then the boss came around the corner, frowning so hard I thought his nose was gonna pop off. So Drew and I scurried back to our respective corners like the little worker roaches we are.

After work that day I found myself staring vacantly into the refrigerator, waiting for my beloved bride Dagmar to get off work. There wasn’t much in the refrigerator to look at, so I shut the door and wandered off into the other room. That’s when inspiration struck! I was gonna go get some of that Beaver Snout or whatever it was that Drew liked! Off I went on the three-block trek to Charlie’s Liquor.

It should be noted that I never shop at Charlie’s. It’s a nice clean store, but they never have what I want… They don’t carry any New Belgium products (like my beloved Abbey, for example, see my previous, and much better written post HERE), and that’s about all I really want any more. Abbey and it’s older brother, 1554, a very fine beer indeed, suit me just fine. But if my buddy Drew thinks I should try a beer, well, I trust his judgment.

The door beeped at me when I opened it. A lady peered over the counter at me. I smiled and waved a little and headed for the Odd Beer Section. I scanned the labels. Guinness, Old Pekuliar, no Beamish Stout. The lady wandered over. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Beamish Stout,” I said. “I heard rumors you guys carried it…?”

“Well, we usually have some,” she said, “but someone just bought the last of it this afternoon. There was another guy here just a few minutes looking for it, too,” she said. She then went on to describe my buddy Drew to a tee. “He looked awfully disappointed when I told him we were out,” she said. “We should have some in tomorrow or the next day.” I thanked her, grabbed a six-pack of beer more or less at random and left. That night I had my first Samuel Adams Cream Stout. Not bad… But not as good as I imagined Beamish Stout would be.

The next day, the door beeped at me when I opened it. A grouchy-looking heavyweight with a goatee glared at me from behind the counter. I searched in vain for the Beamish. Finally I asked the guy if they had any Beamish. “No,” he said. A man of many words, he. I went home and had another Sam Adams Cream Stout. “The Cappucino of Beers,” the label read. Not bad.

Day three found me back at the store again. This time the lady was there again. “We don’t have it,” she called from the counter. “The distributor said they’re not going to give us any more. You may want to try going to Nebraska or South Dakota – they have different laws there…” Shoot. If I’m gonna schlep all the way to South Sioux in Nebraska to buy beer, I’m gonna get Abbey and 1554, which is pretty much what I wanted in the first place! I was simply hoping to find a good beer within walking distance…

So I just got back from South Sioux. They didn’t have Beamish Stout, either… But I now have a firm supply of my beloved Abbey! I am indeed a happy man! When I opened the fridge to put the Abbey away, I saw one bottle of Sam Adams Cream Stout, a bottle of Boulevard Wheat (a great summer beer if you toss a bit of lemon in it), a few random New Belgium beers, and a Miller Lite. I pushed it all to the back and put my Abbey in the place of honor.

I shall now drink one.

Has anyone out there had this Beamish Stout stuff? Should I keep looking for it? Am I missing out on anything? Is it as good as Abbey (which I am now drinking)?

It Ain’t World War III, Folks

People keep tossing the phrase “World War III” around. “This could be the start of World War III,” they say. Or, “The war against terror is really World War III.”

Bullpucky.

We’re not in World War III, at least not yet. Let’s look at the numbers…

World War I:
5,565,146 Allied Military Casualties
3,157,833 Allied Civilian Casualties
3,386,200 Central Military Casualties
3,485,000 Central Civilian Casualties
The total is: 15,596,071 dead people. Say that out loud. source

World War II:
I’m not gonna break it down – it’s too depressing.
The total is: 62,537,400 dead people. Say it out loud. Pronounce the number. Sixty-two million, five-hundred and thirty-seven thousand, four hundred people died. The Soviet Union alone lost 23,200,000 people. Over twenty-three million, eleven and a half million of which were civilian casualties. In Poland, over 16% of the population was killed. source

The United States lost 126,200 people in World War I, and 418,500 people in World War II. These are big numbers. Staggering. For comparison, my hometown has around 10,000 people.

It’s hard to put together numbers for the War on Terror, I’m finding. Here are the numbers that are out there…

2,667 American Military Casualties in Iraq. source
234 Coalition Military Casualties in Iraq. source
333 American Military Casualties in Afghanistan. source
568 “Non-Iraqi Civilians” killed in Iraq (contractors, journalists, etc.) source
90,000 Iraqi Civilian Casualties source
2,762 Civilian Casualties in the 9/11 Attacks source

This totals up to… Give me a minute… 96,564 – 90,000 of which are Iraqi civilians. Just shy of 100,000 people are no longer here because of the war on terror.

I’m sure all the numbers I’ve listed here are probably wrong – they’re most likely estimates – but they’re probably pretty close. I’m also sure that I’ve forgotten some aspect of the war on terror (the bombings in Madrid and London, for instance).

The point of all this is simple. Our current situation is horrible. One wartime death is too many – ask the widow who buried her husband last week just a few miles north of here. The soldiers serving in Iraq and the rest of the Middle East deserve our utmost respect for doing what they’re doing. But let’s not call it World War III. One-hundred thousand casualties thus far is a sickening number, but that’s a small fraction of the sixty-two million lost in World War II.

But on the Other Hand…

I recently received an e-mail from someone saying how wonderful it was that the world has gone 1,000 days without war.

Bullpucky.

We’re burying people here. Kids in uniform are dying. They say we’re in peacetime because “it takes two governments in conflict” to qualify as war. Hey, if it waddles like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck. We ARE in war. We may not be warring against another government, but we’re at war. It’s not World War III, but it’s war, nonetheless.

But NOW What?

The sad part is that the War on Terror is not by our choosing – it was foisted upon us rather violently on 9/11 – but the vast majority of casualties are now coming from the war in Iraq, a war we started. Even President Bush now admits that Iraq and Saddam Hussein had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks of 9/11. (Anyone remember Osama bin Laden?)

I support our troops, but I do question our leaders. Do we need to defend ourselves against terrorists? You betcha! Do we need to stretch our military thin in Iraq while Iran and South Korea are rattling their sabers? Hmmm…

Let’s look at it. We’ve got troops in Iraq, but not enough to quell the insurgency. But too many troops have been there for too long – we’re running out of resources (personnel, petroleum, money). Do we do as the Republicans want and “stay the course?” That seems kind of silly to me – we’ve been staying the course too long already, and it doesn’t seem to be doing much good (the Taliban are making a comeback in Afghanistan, you know). Or do we do as the Democrats want and bring the troops home? Well, it would destabilize the region tremendously if we pulled all our troops out at once, and there are people running amok in the Middle East who would like to do us harm. A conundrum.

Some people are saying we should set a deadline. Give people warning before we pull our troops out. That sounds good, I guess… Except that it gives the bad guys a heads up that if they lay low until the deadline they’ll be free to run amok again. It’s nice to think that the Iraqi military would be ready to take over by that time, but geeze, that looks kinda doubtful, doesn’t it?

You know, maybe we should look at the past for ideas. The Marshall Plan worked. We managed to occupy Japan after WWII for quite some time with no insurmountable obstacles. We can find a way to do it again. We can do this.

Here’s one thing I do know for certain. We absolutely, positively CANNOT cut taxes and maintain a war footing at the same time. We absolutely, positively CANNOT afford to keep giving a hefty percentage of our money to other governments in exchange for oil to keep our SUV’s running. We absolutely, positively NEED a change in our leadership. A drastic change. Thankfully the elections are coming up soon!

Insurance or Politics?

I’m sad. I just found out that my insurance company, Farm Bureau, has come out in support of every single Republican in Iowa — including Steve King. I guess I’m not surprised that the insurance company leans to the right, but I guess I never thought that they’d come out and openly advocate for politicians. I guess I’m just simple that way.

My problem is that Mr. King, Iowa’s Fifth District Representative, espouses ideas and theories that I just can’t abide. He advocates cock fighting. He wants the United States government to give him between $2 and $3 million per mile to build a wall between the United States and Mexico. And when I say he wants the government to give “him” the money, I mean Mr. King wants the money for himself – he wants to subcontract the job to his son and one of his neighbors. Granted, having two more millionaires in Iowa would be good for two Iowans, but it won’t do squat for me personally, I think the idea is repugnant, and I’m ashamed that Mr. King is from my fair state of Iowa. source

Anyone know of any good insurance companies?

Sadness

I saw a sad sight the other day. I was out mowing the yard (using the electric mower my mother-in-law has graciously “permanently loaned” us – the grass was too tall for the reel mower) when I heard a commotion across the street. A kerfuffle, perhaps. There were Things Going On over there.

I stopped the mower and gawked. (Slack-jawed gawking is one of my favorite pastimes, you know.) A couple neighborhood kids were arguing. A boy and the girl, brother and sister.

I don’t know how old they are, but I’m not used to seeing them looking “adultish.” The boy must be in his mid-teens – he’s probably over six feet tall, and his voice is changing. The girl is very much over six feet tall. (Is it my imagination, or are kids “aging” at an earlier age than they used to? These kids are teens, but look like they could be college-aged. Spooky.)

Anyway, in typical brother-sister fashion, the two of them were squabbling. Loudly. The sad part was that they couldn’t chase each other. This isn’t to say that they weren’t trying to run, it’s just that they couldn’t. The girl was furious, and was trying to get away from her brother, and he was angrily chasing her — but they were both moving at a sedate plod. She was thudding her way down the sidewalk, and the boy was lurching behind, both yelling at the top of their lungs. “Leavemealone gasp gasp I’mgonnatellma!” and “Getbackhere gasp andfinish pant yourchores!”

It makes me sad that teenagers these days are too out of shape to pick on each other properly.

As a side point – MAN, those electric mowers are keen! They really do work exceptionally well. I highly recommend ’em. I know, I know – just ’cause they don’t use gas doesn’t mean that they’re “fossil fuel free.” But, there IS the chance that the power coming through the grid may come from a hydroelectric or nuclear sources, whereas if you use a gas mower you’re 100% sure you’re using oil (thereby enriching the Saudis and Dick Cheney).

Dagmar and I took a week off work. It’s rare for us to get a week off… We didn’t really go anywhere – being in debt sucks – but we had a LOT of interesting experiences!

Saturday

Sunday

Monday

It was indeed an honor to be there.

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday-Friday

It has been a good vacation. Today is the first day of football (go Packers!), so a pizza is on the way. Tomorrow things get back to normal. The riding season is slowly winding down, so I’ll be able to spend a bit more time writing again. I have lots of stuff to say, trust me. I think ABC is doing a miserable, terrible thing by misrepresenting our government’s handling of terrorism, I think Pete Ricketts and Steve King are in no way qualified to participate in our government, I think I miss playing my bass… I have lots of opinions. And they’ll all come out sooner or later, now that summer is getting tired.

Senator Joseph R. Biden Jr.

I had an opportunity to see presidential hopeful Senator Biden in person the other day. He was an interesting speaker, though I’m not sure I learned a whole lot. I did learn that the Woodbury County Democratic Headquarters is just a few blocks away from my house, and they don’t have air conditioning.

Senator Biden had a wonderful plan on how to handle the immediate aftermath of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in the oval office at that time, and it’s five years too late to institute his plan. But his plan sounded pretty nifty and got a good round of applause.

Two things stood out in the Senator’s speech… The first is that he very loudly refused to say bad things about United States President G. Walker Bush and the Bush Administration (though he did point out a number of things he’d do differently). “The President isn’t as dumb as you’d think,” he commented. (I’m paraphrasing – he may have used different words, but that’s what he said.) Senator Biden feels that the Bush Administration truly feels they’re taking the country the right direction, that they’re not messing things up out of malice or stupidity, but rather misguided patriotism.

The second thing that stood out was his opinion on Iowa’s economy in the ethanol age. “You’re sitting on a gold mine,” he said. “You’re the only game in town,” meaning that once E-85 and bio diesel vehicles hit the market, Iowa will be in a good position to sell more corn and soybeans. I had a LOT of questions for him about this subject, but I hadn’t done my homework (and still haven’t) so I refrained. I wanted to ask things like, “How will the coming economic boom in Iowa affect farm subsidies?” and “If this stuff is going to be so great for the local economies, why are the citizens of Merrill (a small town just north of here) trying to stop construction of a new ethanol plant in their area? What do they know that we don’t know?” and “How does it work that if the huge agribusiness companies like Archer-Daniels-Midland get more money for their crops it’ll be good for me? They’re not based in Iowa…” But, like I said, I don’t really know enough about the issue to ask intelligent questions, and I’m not sure I’d understand the ramifications of the answers…

All in all, though, I enjoyed listening to the Senator speak. He was very personable, intelligent, and didn’t seem to be overly arrogant. He seemed knowledgeable on the issues he addressed – but, of course, HE chose the issues himself… He answered all questions well, and (contrary to most politicians) stayed on the topic the questioner chose to ask about. I didn’t really hear anything new or startling, but in my opinion the Senator handled himself well.

At the end of the meeting, the Democrats, as always, said that they need everyone’s help. However, as always, no one actually said what they needed help with, or how a person can help, or how to volunteer… I’d love to help them, but they never ask me to do anything – even when I e-mail them and volunteer my services (as I have several times). It’s a tad bit frustrating.

Local Benefits

We don’t have a lot of money to donate, my wife and I, so when we get a chance to actually DO something good for the community we generally jump at the chance. I got to mix three of my favorite things this weekend – charity, music, and beer.

A police officer here in Sioux City passed away recently, and the local chapter of Iron Pigs (a law enforcement biker group – the name makes sense if you think about it) held a fundraiser for the family. They had a nifty poker run, lots of food, and my band played for a good four hours. Judging by the number of people there, I’m thinking they raised a considerable chunk of money, which hopefully will help the officer’s family deal with the medical bills…

It’s a sad state of our society when neither the government nor insurance will help a family in need. Thankfully, in this case, the family could count on the generosity of the community. I’m constantly amazed at how much bikers give to the community.

I have to admit, though, that I’m a bit worried what will happen in a few years when a bigger proportion of the community finds it harder to donate… Senator Biden’s comments for the future are hopeful, but so far I haven’t seen any ethanol or bio-diesel money coming into the community.

There are a few reasons to be optimistic, though – Gateway announced they’re going to be bringing a few jobs to North Sioux City and a California company is hiring a few thousand people to man a call center, also in North Sioux. This is the first good news we’ve heard since Gateway left for San Diego and MCI axed a zillion people in the area.

Comedy? This is Comedy?

I like William Shatner. I think he’s funny, even if he doesn’t mean to be. So, when the comedy channel had a roast for Mr. Shatner this weekend, I made sure to record it. So far, so good.

I woke up in the middle of the night last night and decided to watch the show. That was my mistake. I’ve certainly heard of celebrity roasts, but I’ve never actually watched one. I don’t think I like this style of humor… By the time I’d watched half the show, I felt like I should write letters of apology to all the celebrities who participated. I felt just horrible watching this… Betty White was there. I felt bad when comedian after comedian made jokes about Ms. White being so old she may have an uncontrolled bowel movement at any moment. (They used much coarser language, of course.) Ms. White took it all in stride, though…

The whole thing left me wondering if people can find anything funny without referring to religion, sex or poop. I don’t really care who’s gay, or who’s Jewish, and I truly don’t want to think much about poop at all. Ever.

The comedians did have a few clever moments, but I really found the whole affair degrading to everyone involved. Maybe I’m just a prude, but I truly enjoy clean humor a lot more. I will always have more respect for Bill Cosby and Garrison Keillor and their intelligence than I will for comedians that resort to nasty humor.

Puffy Man

I have to let my secret identity out. I am Puffy Man. I don’t have much of a costume, though. Just a robe and some pajama bottoms, really.

“You look too skinny,” my vunderful vife said to me this morning. “I bet you’re losing weight. Don’t do that – I like you the way you are.” You must understand, she tells me this once or twice a week. I always fall for it. She likes my belly, I don’t. I want it to go away.

“You think so?” I answered, swiveling my paunch around. “Do I really look thinner? Is my diet starting to work?”

“Vhat diet?” my beloved said to me. “You’re on a diet?”

“Of course I’m on a diet, Hunny-Bee. I eat only food that fits in my mouth.” I trotted off to the scale, hopeful that maybe, just maybe I have lost a few pounds. Eyes straight forward, I step on the scale. I give it a few moments to “settle in” on a number and peer around my bulging belly at the result.

“AAAARRRGHHHH!” I wail. “I haven’t lost ANY weight! I’m still pudgy! I’m hefty! Puffy! I’m puffy-looking! I’m a puffy man!” What a way to start the day, eh?

Patriot Guard

It’s one of those things that you just have to do. And you can’t explain the experience to anyone who wasn’t there – the words just don’t exist. There have been precious few times in my life when I’ve seen a group of people and thought to myself, “They are absolutely, one-hundred percent right. There is no gray area – these people are doing the right thing, and I want to be part of it.”

A little background on the Patriot Guard Riders…

There’s a Baptist Church in Topeka, KS that believes that when a U.S. soldier dies, it’s God’s way of telling us that homosexuality is bad. The logic is that the soldier died defending the United States, and the U.S. government is tolerant of homosexuality – therefore the soldier is defending homosexuality and is going to hell. The really bad thing about this is that they go to soldiers’ funerals and wave signs saying, “God Hates Fags,” and “God Hates America,” and they yell at the grieving family. I wish I didn’t have to mention these people at all, but they’re a fact.

In response to this group protesting at soldiers’ funerals, a group of bikers (quite a few of whom are either combat veterans or, like myself, served in the military in peacetime) started going to the funerals as well – not to out-shout the protestors, but simply to stand in a line between the protesters and the families – if invited to do so by the family. Thus was born the Patriot Guard.

I’ve only been able to support two Patriot Guard functions, but I’ve been moved deeply by both.

My first experience was in a suburb of Omaha a month or two ago. A buddy of mine, along with our wives, left from Sioux City on a windy, windy day and made our way the 90-some miles to our destination, a gas station parking lot. Once at the “staging area,” we hung around for a bit waiting for other bikers to arrive, then were called to a quick meeting. We gathered around and listened to the State Captain give the instructions. We were to ride in formation a few blocks to the chapel where the service was to be held, park our bikes, and line up along the sidewalk in order to block the families view of the protesters (who were about a quarter-mile away anyway, thanks to a state law).

We obediently saddled up and headed to the chapel. I noticed that a few bikes had nifty flags attached to the back. We proceeded to line the sidewalk and stood there at attention, those with flags at the end towards the chapel, while the family came in. It was VERY emotional. Once everyone was in the chapel, we made a beeline for the shade and awaited further instructions.

“When the family comes back out,” the State Captain said, “we’ll need to be lining the sidewalk, saluting. I’ll need five volunteers to ride with the hearse to the funeral home after the service.” As you can see by the photo to the left, the five volunteers turned into nearly two-hundred. That’s just the way this group is. (By the way, you can click on any of the photos to see a larger version. I think.)

When the services were over, I overheard the soldier’s father saying that he was going to buy a motorcycle so he could join the Patriot Guard and honor other fallen soldiers. (By the way, I’m not saying either of the soldier’s names, simply so the families can have a little privacy. I feel a little bad writing all this in the first place, like I may be invading on private ground.)

I found out later that not only does the Patriot Guard attend the services themselves, but they will also meet and escort the fallen soldier from the airport, no matter what time he lands, to his destination.

My latest experience was just this past week in Pender, NE (population 1,148). The National Guard unit based in Wayne, NE was activated some time ago. (Soldiers in that unit come from all sorts of little towns in the area.) When word filtered down that a soldier from Pender had been killed I started making plans to attend. When I realized that many of the Patriot Guard Riders were at the Sturgis rally that week I decided I’d go for sure.

The night before the service Dagmar and I went to the store and bought a flag and some miscellaneous brackets – I figured if I bought enough hardware I could figure out a way to mount the flag on my bike somehow. (By ten or eleven o’clock that night I succeeded. I ended up using one bracket and six zip-ties – not the best arrangement, but it worked.)

At four in the morning the day of the service I was awake and somewhat alert. I had seen on the Patriot Guard web site that a group of riders from LeMars, a town north of Sioux City (and my hometown), was planning to stop for a fifteen minute break just off one of the Interchanges here in town; I figured I could meet up with them there and follow them to Pender. Unfortunately, when I went outside at five-thirty in the morning to get the bike cleaned up and ready to go, I couldn’t help but notice the pouring rain, lightning and thunder. Hmmm… I puttered around in the garage for about an hour, cleaning various bits of chrome, watching the rain. Finally I went back inside to get my rainsuit. I kissed Dagmar on the nose, grabbed my stuff, and headed back outside. Joy of joys, in the three minutes I was inside the rain stopped! I stowed my gear in a saddle bag and headed off to meet the LeMars group.

Fifteen minutes later I pulled into a parking lot just off the indicated Interchange. I could see a group of four bikes parked in the corner with a few people milling aimlessly about. I pulled up and shouted “Patriot Guard?” They nodded, so I parked. Introductions were made, hands were shook. I was starting to get a bit worried – the last Patriot Guard function had something like 200 bikes present, and here there are only five of us so far. But at about that time the LeMars contingent pulled in, doubling our size. Again, hands were shook, introductions were made…

And off we went. It’s only about forty miles from Sioux City to Pender, so we were pulling in at the staging area (a gas station in Pender) within an hour. Our group of about ten bikes (plus the one we picked up on the way) joined the three bikes that were already there. Hmmm… Not a big turnout so far.

By the time we had our helmets off, a lady from the gas station had approached our group. I was ready for her to ask us what we were doing, or tell us to leave, but instead she said, “I heard what you boys are doing today. We made some nice sandwiches and coffee for you – it’s right inside the door.” We all smiled and thanked the nice lady. Just then we hard a rumble in the distance behind us. We all turned to see a LONG line of motorcycles approaching from the distance – the Omaha contingent. “Oh my,” said the lady, “I’d better make more sandwiches.”

As soon as all the bikes were in the parking lot, the State Captain called everyone to the “mission briefing,” where details of the day were explained. I have to admit, I felt a bit proud when he said he wanted “bikes with large flags” to lead the way to the church. (I noticed that all the LeMars guys had large flags on their bikes – only a handful of other bikes had large flags. I’m willing to bet the LeMars guys have done this before.)

So, we headed off for the church, just across town. Once we were all in the parking lot (which took a few minutes), a few volunteers handed everyone a flag (provided by the Patriot Guard) and we made our way to the sidewalk to create an avenue of flags for the family. The National Guard unit had a parade float near the church. On the side of the float were photos of each member of the unit. There were a lot of photos.

Once we were “settled in” at the sidewalk, I took a moment to glance around. At the church door was a military honor guard. After them were the American Legion with their flags. Following that group was our own Patriot Guard with our flags. Combined, we stretched from the church door, around the corner, and nearly a block down the street to the east. The protesters were there with their children just a block north of the church. You really couldn’t see them, though, for all the American flags waving in the breeze between them and the church. There were several television crews wandering around. A man quietly rang a big brass bell every ten seconds. He did this for over an hour, his head down, silent tears falling from his cheeks.

When the family arrived to make their way into the church we were called to attention. The family made their way down the flag-filled sidewalk past us and into the church. As soon as the service started, we headed back to the parking lot where we stowed our flags and waited to find out what we were to do next. I noticed there were so many people at the service they couldn’t all fit into the church – quite a few people were standing outside in front of the church, listening to the service as it was piped through loudspeakers.

There was another short meeting where word was passed down that we were to reassemble in front of the church to honor the soldier as he was brought to the hearse, then an honor guard of seven “large flag” bikes would lead the hearse to the cemetery in an eight-bike “missing man” formation with the rest of us following – remaining large flags to the rear please. So, we hung around, quietly talking in the church parking lot while the service was going on, sipping on bottles of water (again, donated by the Patriot Guard). When it seemed the service was coming to a conclusion we gathered in the front of the church where we waited in formation to honor the soldier as he was placed in the hearse. Again, the emotional impact was startling, so very many people there with one goal in mind – to respect a young man who lost his life.

Once that portion of the service was over we headed back to the bikes and proceeded to the cemetery. As we made our way through town, a few bikes in front, hearse, five or six cars of family members, followed by hundreds of motorcycles with uncounted cars at the end, we started seeing small groups of people standing here and there on street corners, hands on their hearts or saluting, waving small flags. We turned a corner. Someone who knew what the funeral route would be had placed a boom fire truck on each side of the street with booms extended, a huge American flag strung between them billowing gently over the street. That’s when I found out just how hard it is to ride with tears in my eyes. The farther we went, the more people there were on the side of the road. As we left town I could see that for two miles to the cemetery at the top of the hill there were people lining the roadway nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, waving small flags and saluting. You know, it’s really hard to ride a motorcycle on gravel while crying. When we got to the cemetery we passed a truck. In the back of the truck was a big brass bell, being rung every ten seconds by a man with his head down, quietly crying.

We parked our bikes, grabbed our flags, and arranged ourselves in formation a respectful distance from the gravesite. It took a long time for all the family, friends and townspeople to arrive – there were a LOT of people. We were far enough away that I couldn’t hear the service, but I could tell what was happening simply by watching the mourners. Shots rang out, followed by a lone bugler playing “Taps,” the bell rang on.

It took a few minutes after the service for everyone to compose themselves and get the flags put away, and quite a bit longer for the impact of the whole thing to sink in.

We must remember that no matter what our opinions of the war or our leaders may be, there are soldiers dying – and they deserve our respect. I’m honored I was able to do so twice. The Patriot Guard is more than mere flag-waving – it truly is about honest and sincere respect. For more information on the Guard, simply click here. (They do accept donations if you’re interested in helping out a bit.)

Can I Go Back to Bed? Please? (Updated – now with pictures!)

It’s been one of those days, and it’s only one in the afternoon.

I woke up from a bad dream in a bad mood. “You rejected me!” I said to my vunderful Viennese vife. “You’re a rejector!” I threw back the covers and tried my best to stomp out of the bedroom. It’s hard to stomp effectively on carpet. Some of the effect is lost somehow.

“I did vhat?” my beloved bleary-eyed bride asked, sitting up in bed. “I rejected you? I did not!”

“Did too!” I replied, standing in the doorway. “In my dream. You told me that you and Mel Gibson were going to Tahiti with a bottle of tequila. It made me sad.”

“You need to remember to turn the TV off when you sleep,” she said. “You fell asleep vatching the news again.”

I stomped off to the kitchen, in a muffled, carpeted sort of way, startling the cat. One cup of water in the microwave for a minute and a half, toss in a teaspoon of instant coffee, some sugar…

“Ow!” That hurt. Hmmm… Take another sip. Ow! Why does this hurt? The coffee’s not hot… Abandoning the coffee I wandered into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Aaaahhh… I have a zit in my moustache, just above the corner of my mouth. I’m sensitive there! It’s not yet seven in the morning and I’m in a bad mood, I’ve upset my wife, scared the cat, and at the tender age of not-quite-forty have acquired a pimple.

I tend to my daily ablutions, taking care not to hurt myself, and head back to apologize to my wife. “I’m sorry I accused you and Charlie Gibson of running off to Zanzibar with a box of wine,” I said, kissing her on her delicate little forehead.

“It vas Mel Gibson,” she replied, “not Charlie. Und it vas Tahiti we went mit tequila, not Zanzibar.”

Off to work I went, mildly groggy due to the abandoned coffee. Aahhh, what a glorious day! The sun was shining, gracefully reflecting off the neighbor’s garbage can, birds happily scolding squirrels… I decided to walk to work. This is not unusual – I generally only drive the car on Mondays when I have to go to the bank. About halfway to work I started thinking of my motorcycle. I formulated a plan. I was going to get my motorcycle at lunch – that way I could take a short trip after work. The day was looking brighter.

On my way home for lunch, just as I was walking past the dachshund house (they have three, and they all bark at me whenever I go past) my phone wheedled at me. It was my Austrian Snowflake.

“I vas thinking,” she said, “Vy don’t you take the afternoon off and go tootle around on the motorcycle? You seem stressed lately.” I pondered that thought for a second. There’s nothing going on at work, but I hate to leave for lunch and never go back… “Hmmm,” I replied. “I’ll think about it. It does seem to be a good time, and the weather’s good.” We chatted for a few minutes more, until I got home. I threw a TV dinner in the microwave (you can get ’em ten for ten bucks at Hy-Vee) and started dreaming about an afternoon in the sun. By the time I’d finished my so-called “chicken” I’d talked myself into taking the afternoon off as well as the following day. What fun! And my little European Snickerdoodle is working at the County Fair for a few hours tomorrow – I can ride the motorcycle down to the fairgrounds and surprise her… This is gonna be great! All I gotta do is go back to work and let them know what I’m doing…

I gathered all my stuff — helmet, bike key, extra hair bands, sunglasses and headed out the door. We have a one-car garage which sits at the end of our driveway. There are fences on both sides of the driveway. Our little white car is parked in front of the garage, in which resides the bike. I hop in the little white car (a 1993 Ford of some kind) to move it out to the street. Key in the ignition, turn… Nothing. The battery is dead. Dead, dead, dead.

Gaaaaaaahhh!

Not only can I not get the motorcycle out with the car sitting there, but I can’t afford to take any time off work if I have to buy a new battery (or, Lord forbid, an alternator). So much for happy afternoons in the sun. (I probably could still take a vacation day tomorrow, but I’d feel horribly guilty.)

After making a few phone calls I figure I can pick up a battery charger at Wal-Mart (gasp!) for fifteen bucks. Then I can limp the car down to our local mechanic (Woody’s Garage – I highly recommend him) so he can test it to see if it’s the battery or the alternator. Yich.

I call my wife to tell her the glorious news. “The car is broken again,” I said into the phone. “The battery is dead.” I related the details to her. “Vell,” she said when I finished, “We can’t really afford to do much. Ve might have to use the credit card.”

“Nah,” I said. “I can walk to work for a couple weeks until we can get the money saved up to fix the car if we need to. I don’t think we need to use the credit card.”

She agreed. “But,” she said, “You can still take tomorrow off as a vacation day if you want. It won’t change your paycheck any, and you really need to go de-stress.” I told her I’d think about it. “And I’m still sorry about getting mad about you and Mel Tourmet going to Abu Dhabi,” I said. “You’re so nice, you don’t deserve goofy husbands getting mad at you for dreams.”

“It vas Mel Gibson,” she said. “Und it vas Tahiti mit tequila, remember, not Abu Dhabi. It vas your dream…”

Back at my computer at work, I started mulling over the possibilities of a vacation day. You know, if things go right I could probably get the car charged and to Woody’s by eight in the morning. If it’s just a battery, I could probably afford that if we went the cheap way… You know, I just might take a vacation day tomorrow! I painfully stroked my moustache, pondering the possibilities.

“Bong,” went my e-mail. Our biggest customer. He needs to have a bunch of stuff done, “by the end of the weekend.” He goes on vacation Monday, you see.

So much for my vacation day. Now I’ll be lucky to salvage Saturday! I’m sure I’ll end up working Sunday…

Sigh.

But, on the good side — my wife never DID leave for New Delhi with Mel Brooks and a bottle of champagne. I DO have a job, and a nice little house with a nice little kitty that may eventually forgive me for stepping on him this morning. And I have a motorcycle, too. AND, I am now the proud owner of a battery charger. (I feel like I’ve come of age… No one’s truly an adult until they have a battery charger.) It’s all good… I’m just having a grumpy day.