School's In For Summer

Endured my first day of real classes yesterday. The Corporate Strategy and Public Policy class is going to be rectally painous, with tons of reading, group projects, presentations, Wall Street Journal article reports, etc. We have two different instructors, one for Strategy, one for Policy. The Strategy guy got his doctorate at Indian U., so I let it slide that I went there as an undergrad so he'll hopefully give me an A just for that. We'll see how that strategy (har!) works come mid-term.

The instructors of Statistics traded some courses, so I have Dr. Han again, who gave out his home number for emergencies, and said an example of an emergency was, in his thick Asian accent, "...if you find some extra money in your pocket...and...don't have any friends to go drinking...then all classes next day canceled." The small problem is that he's never seen our textbook and didn't have a syllabus. Think he's being screwed over by the Math department...

Quantitative Decision Making is some spreadsheet-building class, doesn't seem too bad, a dynamic speaker. Using some math but more Excel.

Strategic Information Management is a new class, and I taught Information Operations in Colorado Springs, so I'm at least familiar with the topic. The instructor, however, looks and sounds like a balding Agent Smith from the Matrix movies. Angular features, with angry, cocked eyebrows undulating above his glasses, emphasizing words with a cocked fist. A very sarcastic sense of humor, though.

So that's a long day, but I'm still waking up at the time I was at my desk at the Pentagon, so I really can't complain.

The Pillsbury Dough Boy is Blushing

I am by no means a prude, and do not agree with the FCC scaring the bejeezus

(can you say bejeezus on the internet?)

out of networks and affiliates to the point that they're scared of showing adult-oriented material, leaving it up to parents to edit out what their children shouldn't be watching.

I was, however, a little taken aback by a commercial I saw last week, mid-day, for a pain ointment (a la Ben Gay) called Aspercreme. The tag line?

"Does our product work?...YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASPERCREME!"

Suite: Home, a la Tami

A kid on the old block.

Getting used to life in a downtown. Fire engines, motorcycles, and loud drunks pass by all the time. I can hear what my neighbors are doing. My parallel parking skills have been honed.

The apartment itself is okay. Thanks to some friends' loaned furniture, it's very comfortable, if small. I don't have so much as a patio door, and I miss going outside a dozen times a day, if only to watch the dogs chase squirrels.

There goes a fire truck. Second of the morning.

The interesting thing about being here without someone waiting for me at home is that I have not been in a hurry for six weeks. I leave for work in plenty of time, enough of a cushion to listen to the Bob & Tom show a little longer on the radio in the parking lot. At the end of the day, I stall to try to get home after the parking meters are free. Late at night, I take the long route through neighborhoods as opposed to the highways, hanging my arm out the window and listening to music. I think living here will just be pockets of boredom punctuated by trips home.

My first real semester starts Monday, so now I'll have reading and homework to do. At least that will fill up some time. The remainder I fill by going to movies at the dollar theater or on base (still a bargain at $3.50). I saw "Kingdom of Heaven" Friday, which was spectacular, though probably more so in a theater than on a television. Though be warned; if you're a history neophyte who prefers NASCAR, you may agree with the gent in the t-shirt and beergut who told me, for no particular reason, "I diddint think it wuz that gewd." Plus there was a guy in his 50s three rows up from me drinking clear liquid out of a small hand sanitizer bottle who kept mumbling that he couldn't understand the dialogue. So at least I have some entertainment.

I'm a quick healer, jr.

I walked Buckeye, Whiskey (again) and Harley yesterday at the Humane Society of Greater Dayton in the not-so-greater part of town, but at least they have a place. The latter two had recently had degenderizing surgery, so there wasn't a lot of sitting during our walks. Lots of lying in the grass and getting licked, though (I was the lickee). Unfortunately, Buckeye was a puller and was determined to chase down and eat any truck that drove by. During one attempted lunge, he pulled me into a hole in the ground, and my ankle (the one not injured Monday, mind you) turned over and down with a resounding double pop.

So now I'm limping on both legs, which actually looks more like someone doing the Bunny Hop. I'm thinking of bringing along jump ropes wherever I go so I don't look so silly.

Missing the 0

I needed to call the base operator for a number. Follows is the actual conversation I had with the computer, supposedly installed to improve customer service.

"You have reached the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base Operator. If this is an emergency, hang up and dial 9-1-1."

(This I already knew. This is why I dialed the operator.)

"If you know the person you are trying to reach, please say the person's first and last name. If you want to speak to an operator, say 'operator'."

"Operator."

(Three seconds pass)

"Did you say 'Barbara Denham'?"

"No."

(3 seconds)

"Sorry about that. Please say the person's name again."

"Operator operator operator."


(see previous time lapse mentioned above)


"Did you say 'Colonel John Anderson'?"

"NO! OPERATOR!"

"I'm sorry I'm having trouble understanding you. Please say the name of the person again."

"OPERATOROPERATOROPERATOROPERATOROPERATOROPERA-"

"Did you say 'Second Lieutenant Carl Weshcallt the Third'?"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"



(Time passes.)

"Did you want to speak to the Fonz?"

I'm a quick healer

We are required to do group "PT" within our AFIT groups (~15 officers) once per week on top of individual physical fitness the rest of the week. One of our majors volunteered to be the group's PT leader, and made a ton of friends with a 3-mile run in 87 degree weather the first day. I told her I couldn't run due to my spinal plasmatic ossification condition (I paraphrased) but would be happy to join the group for stretching and general attendance-taking.

This week, the leader chose to play Ultimate Football (like the frisbee game, only with a football), and I decided to give it a try. Perhaps short spurts and dashes would be different from a long, thirty-minute pounding on my L5S1 deteriorative dorsal discombobulation.

So today I'm shuffling around like a Tim Conway character, generally sore from leg muscles mad at me and nursing a sprained ankle from an awkward landing (following a touchdown catch, though, so it's cool), but the back's okay. For now. But it got me missing the summers of my 20s, when knee hyperextensions, twisted ankles, and occasional softballs to the face were commonplace from my participation in team sports.

My side won, 10-8, by the way. Pain hurts less with victory. --Vince Lombardi. Maybe Keanu Reeves in "The Replacements".

Even neutered dogs have balls sometimes

I jetted home Friday night, arriving outside Dulles with two and a half happy dogs craning their necks out the windows of my wife's Subaru. (Dover can't quite make it up there.) Licked heartily all the way home, I hugged all the kitties before sitting down to a lovely meal (salad? what's that?) and an early night, cozy in my old bed, though less cozy with a cat's claws on my chest.
Ostensibly, the reason we'd planned this weekend jaunt was so I could attend the 2005 Washington D.C. Humane Society "Bark Ball", the equivalent of Colorado Springs' "Fur~r~r Ball", only instead of dogs being part of the main event, here they are invited guests. My Pregnant Wife has been on the Bark Ball committee since before she was pregnant, and we arrived a little after noon to help set up the silent auction. We brought Bailey with us, since Griffin would have been an ass around other dogs, and Dover would have been petrified by all the noise and people. Unfortunately, since Bailey was with us in the room all day, by the time we got upstairs and changed and returned, her flabber was gasted as to what the hell these other dogs were doing in her room! The guests trickled in, with most of the dogs dressed up more than their owners (poodles in tiaras, great danes in tuxes, scotties in kilts) -- Bailey was adorned in two strings of white pearls, and got many compliments. She was a little huffy at first, but after a half-hour or so, there were so many animals around, she couldn't be bothered to have an attitude. So I took her over to the dog treat bar, where she could have doggie ice cream or doggie shepherd's pie.
The dinner itself, in an adjoining room, was a little disappointing; although the food was good and the people at our table very amiable (when we could hear each other), having 150 dogs barking all through dinner (and the guest speakers) was a little off-putting. Bailey, now up for 9 hours straight, simply plopped down between our chairs (when we weren't giving her doggie cake icing to lick), hoping the waiters wouldn't step on her.
The other good thing about this weekend was that I got to see my dad on Father's Day. I got him a light robe to replace the one he's had since the mid-80s that was so worn through, you could not tell what color it was initially. My wife even got me my first Father's Day presents ever, including a t-shirt that reads "Big Guy."
Not so cute by itself until I saw the one underneath, 1/10th the size, that read "Little Guy".

Sometimes, there just isn't enough slobber.

As my transplanted life has been rather sedate, lonely, and petshit-free, I knew I wanted to volunteer at the local Humane Society. Thursday was my first day, and I got to walk and brush three dogs (separately), and evaluate my interaction with them for the Volunteer Coordinator. Shy, confident, good on a leash, not, knows how to sit, couldn't sit if you paid him. I thought it would be depressing, but it's actually a great feeling to get these dogs out of their kennels for a little one-on-one (or one-on-tree) time. The building is small, but relatively nice and only about 10 years old. It has more cats (130+) than dogs (~25), because there's another city organization that has the animal control contract (which usually picks up more dogs than cats). I'll be heading over there every Thursday, at least until September when my class schedule will change. Hopefully I can convince them to buy a big dog suit, so I can do what I do best.*

If anyone's interested in an all-gray short-haired cat who meows at your very presence, reaches out to you, and scratches her head against your fingers, I've got just the Josie for you.
Not that I've fallen in love or anything.
She's just a cool chick.

*breakdance, scare old ladies, pretend to eat baby heads.

Buzzkill

Here's your Free Dan Tip of the Week:

Should you have a cell phone,

and you should,

but do not have an ear piece,

which you shouldn't, unless the law requires one, since they're annoying and don't work half the time,

before placing a call, typically accomplished by pressing known digits, then "send"/"OK"/"[Green phone symbol]" as the case may be for your particular model, and then putting said phone up to your ear,

turn your phone off "vibrate."

I about vibrated my whole head yesterday.

And now, oddly, I can no longer remember any of the state capitals.

This has been a public service announcement.

Sin Sitter

In my never-ending quest to save money for the kid's college education, I have been checking out movies at the library for free rather than going to Blockbuster, and taking in newer-ish flicks at the dollar theater, even though the floor is so covered in grime it's like walking on ice. It's located in a strip mall that also has a dollar store with...interesting clientele, to say the least. Quite the sociological study, these mother-daughter pairs in matching muu-muus, jean shorts and half-shirts on teenage girls who look like they've had a life preserver implanted around the navel, and occasionally shirtless, wrinkly elderly who look like they've been smoking since Sir Walter Raleigh was in town.

I went to see "Sin City" tonight, a visually stunning movie based on the "graphic novels" of Frank Miller. Think "Pulp Fiction" meets "Dick Tracy" meets "Tron". Gory, bloody, violent, nude, and cursatory, I lost count of the number of appendages broken, sliced, sawed, skewered, shot off, impaled, and/or eaten.

So you can imagine my surprise when this idiot brought five kids in to see it. Oldest had to have been 8; the youngest, maybe 4. Doing things before the movie that little kids do, rushing to the front, bragging about who had the best seat, etc. I actually wondered if I'd walked into the wrong theater, but no, there it was, guns blazing. When I saw "Natural Born Killers" in the theater, I was appalled that some lady had brought her two young daughters in with her. But this guy... words fail me.

Learning Japanese I Really Think So

This week, our Algebra "refresher" course's instructor was changed, from an AF Major to a civilian professor, Dr. Han, who has a great sense of humor when you can understand him. He also has a tendency to write fractions from the bottom to the top, so as he's explaining it, you have to really watch him to make sure you're not doing things right side up. Whenever he gets to a part of a problem where he has to do a large multiplication, he writes "= H.W." and says, "that's homework for you." And if an equation doesn't have a solution, he writes on the board, "Forget it." It has become our class motto. "Do you want to see some more examples?" "Forget it!"

My calculus instructor at Indiana University was from Pakistan, a Dr. Rabbi Battacharya. A name I'll never forget (to go with Ram Shivakumar from India, who taught Microeconomics). Shame I couldn't understand a word he said. Can't remember if I got a C or a C-.

I started taking music and history courses after that.

Corn Chipping My Way Into History

Although I was honored to be picked up to go to AFIT, I was disappointed that I wouldn't be getting the typical military mid-level officer education that my predecessors and some coworkers have gotten down at Montgomery. The silly sports games and obstacle courses. The group leadership projects. The seminars with men and women from the other services or other countries. Alabama cornbread. Mostly, though, I worried that I was going to miss out on the great history lessons and guest lecturers that I got but a small taste of while at Squadron Officer School in early 2000.
Wednesday and Thursday, however, our summer short classes were suspended so we could sit in on the out-going class' Wright Brothers Lecture Series, similar to Command and Staff College's "Gathering of Eagles". We heard from four WWII-era pilots (to include an original member of the Tuskegee Airmen), two Medal of Honor recipients, three recently retired general officers (to include the general in charge of NORAD on 9/11), and two astronauts, one who was on the International Space Station for 6 months, and another who walked on the moon during Apollo XVI.

An awesome, moving, inspiring two days, which managed to make all the more insignificant my three years up in North Dakota, 100 feet underground, eating fritos.

Sect 115, Row 2, Seat 21

Just got back from the uncomfortably named "Fifth Third Field", home of your Dayton Dragons, the farm team to the farm team to the farm team for the Cincinatti Reds. They were playing the Burlington (Iowa) Bees, same as above to the Kansas City Royals.

The stadium is three, maybe floor blocks from my apartment, and I figured I'll be much busier with schoolwork later in the summer, so why not catch a game now? Very nice stadium, only built in 2000, with large green dragons gargoylely flanking the scoreboard (the eyes light up and the nostrils blow smoke when the home team hits a home run). The team hits the field to the opening strains of AC/DC's "Thunderstruck", only instead of yelling "Thun-da!" the singer goes "Dra-Gons!"

Typical small-city ball game with your usual minor-league family-friendly 'tween-inning entertainment, with dancing mascots ("Heater" and "Gem"(?)), shirt slingshots, kids running the bases in funny costumes, and a septagenarian version of the Village People dancing to "Macho Man" on top of the dugout.

A dull 1-0 game at the start of the 7th inning ended with a rousing 7-3 victory. Snorting dragons-a-plenty. I had a 23-oz Labat's Blue. And apllauded these young local lizards.

Fear My Snot

An eighth of a millemillemilestone

Today, at approximately 3:04pm, my wonderful Ford Thunderbird LX crossed the 125,000-mile threshold. The Vehicle That Just Won't Die keeps on car'in despite the better wishes of My Pregnant Wife. When she is Post-Pregnant and we are back down to having only one domicile between us, it will probably be time to get a more family-friendly car. Maybe.

June of 1995, I bought that car. I was a 24-year-old First Lieutenant. No one new who Monica Lewinski was. Gas was a nickel.

What a car. It's gotten me into and out of snow-capped ditches in North Dakota. To the top of Pikes Peak. Down Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. Across the Chattahoochee. Kansas. It's driven in three whole other countries, to include Canada, Turkey, and Texas.

I brought home my 5-month-old dog, Bailey, from the Minot Humane Society in it; she was curled up in the back seat, scared and confused as to what was going on. She turns 8 in August.

It drove me to my wedding. To my promotions to Captain and Major. To countless Arbyss'sies.

Five Thousand Gallons of Gas. Forty-one oil changes. One floormat.

*sniff*

Cecil B. DeCat

I came home for lunch today, since one of my afternoon classes is halfway between the base and my place. The door to apartment 416 was open and there was a desk fan sitting in the opening, pointed at the floor. Out stepped a girl. "Hi, neighbor!" "What happened?" I asked. "I'm trying to clean my carpet."

I didn't press the matter. We exchanged names and pleasantries, even though she was wearing a Purdue T-shirt. (I later found out she didn't go there, so it's okay.) Said I had to get a quick lunch down me, nice meeting her, t'ra.

Ate said lunch of leftovers. Walked out to get to class.

There's an orange tabby.

"Hi, cat."

Pet, pet, pe-

kkkkhHHHHHH!

"...okay! ... Adrian? ....This your cat?"

"Is he out there? ........ ...Cecil! What are you doing? Bad kitty! You climbed over a real high obstacle! Thank you, Dan."

"Sure."

Cecil: "Mrrrooorrrrr...."

Seems Cecil needs a girlfriend.

Fire your spokesman

Many gyms around the military have been equipped with multiple televisions hanging from the ceiling, either with closed-captioning or the ability to wear headphones and listen to whichever TV you want. At the Wright Field Fitness Center, however, nearly all the aerobic equipment has individual screens right in front, letting the sweater tune in to Oprah or Sportscenter or America's Funniest Home Videos repeats. So thank you, American and foreign-born taxpayers.
While watching Headline News, I heard Sophia Choi report that the Supreme Court had ruled that foreign cruise lines had to adhere to American standards when it came to handicap access. She then added that a spokesman for Norwegian Cruise Lines said "This ruling could cripple our industry."
Talk about a guy with a fjord in his mouth.

X4-3xy+2x/(y-3)*|x-2y| = ?

As little as three weeks ago I was on the fourth floor of the Pentagon reviewing Defense Planning Scenarios for the Wargaming, Simulation and Analysis Division of the Joint Staff while prepping senior Air Force leaders for the upcoming Quadrennial Defense Review.

Today, I rationalized a denominator with a radical in it by multiplying the conjugate.

You know what? I miss the Pentagon. A month ago I could care less about finding the roots of a polynomial. I didn't like High School. I don't need flashbacks to 9th grade. The worst of it is that even though the Math Review course is supposed to be a refresher, they "highly encouraged" us to plonk down $115 for a textbook, though they couldn't "require" us to buy it. For a class that doesn't count that will be done in three weeks. Instead, I thought I'd pay my rent and did some algebra problems I found on the internet, since I don't think the problems have changed all that much since 2002. Or 856. Or 3459 B.C.

The other "refresher" courses are in English (next week we discuss grammar!) and Microsoft programs. The other day we learned how to change plain text to italics in Microsoft Word 2003.

But we're also getting some Air Force history and technology lectures, which are pretty cool. Today we learned about the background of Wright-Patterson AFB, why it's here, who it was named after (Wilbur Wright of the Wright Brothers, who died of Typhoid in 1912 and Frank Patterson, the pilot son of the local magnate who invented the cash register, who died in training here), and other cool details. Like how AFIT's first graduating class (actually, the precursor of what was to be called AFIT after the AF was established) in the 1920s included the father of astronaut Buzz Aldrin, the second Earth man on the moon.

Stay tuned to this screen for further trivial matters of import.

First professional football game? Played in Dayton.

There's a small white diner across the street called "YUMMY BURGER". It also serves Thai food.

Not How I'd Hoped It'd Turn Out

Dayton Daily News, your daily news source for all things Daytonian.

NAKED DRIVER INJURED TRYING TO ELUDE POLICE

Sheriff's deputies arrested a Cincinnati woman who had been driving naked
and attempted to elude officials Monday night on U.S. 35.

The 56-year-old woman has

This is where I stopped reading.

13 and Life

My Pregnant Wife sent me an e-card today commemorating my 13th anniversary of taking the oath of office as a second lieutenant on the third floor of the ROTC Detachment at Indiana University. If all continues to go fairly well, this will be just about the half-way point of my career. If life starts to go very well, I'll have won the lottery and purchased the Air Force of New Zealand for my kids to play with.

I would have passed the 13-year mark on May 9th, but thanks to a November 1991 physical raised questions about a head injury I'd sustained in March of 1989, I had to undergo Neuropsyche testing the last two weeks of May (the earliest it could be scheduled), so my commissioning was postponed until 1 June. They tested motor skills, short-term memory, puzzles and basic knowledge. For fun I told him I thought Louie Armstrong was the first black guy to walk on the moon.

Funnily enough, that neurological psychological metaphysical hypothetical political lyrical miracle whip testing took place at the closest military hospital to Indiana University, which happened to be situated in a little town called Dayton, Ohio.