Needed That Bubbly

Still steaming after getting out of the hotel hot tub, staring out the window at the Colorado dusk lighting the back of Pikes Peak. A necessary respite after a crappy day.
After a nice weekend.
Separate lunch and dinner with old friends (with one of my old roommate's kids calling me "Mistah" all night -- not "Mr. Dan", just "Mistah") before staying up until 12:15 working on a paper for class.
Man, does that phrase have a familiar ring to it.
I got stuck on a question, so I figured I would print out what I had and work on the last two questions during the provided self-study time Monday morning. I didn't know we'd be writing papers, so I didn't bring a thumb drive, and rather than go out and buy some more CDs, I figured it would be easy to just e-mail it to myself and print it out at the Business Center downstairs.
Only the printer didn't work.
Har.
A program on the computer had me send it to the front desk, but it didn't work there, either. The guy behind the desk offered to let me go back in his office and print it, but I couldn't download it off of hotmail there, so he gave me his personal USB drive to go out and get it off the computer in the Business Center and for the LOVE OF PETE finally print it out. At 1:04 in the morning.
After which I had to come back and read homework to prep for the daily quiz before crashing at 2am. Which I shouldn't have bothered with anyway since I missed 2 of the 5 questions. Plus one of the instructors asked if he had any Political Science or History majors in the room, and when a few of us raised our hands, he said he would use us as a meter to determine if the math formulas had sunk in. "So what does 'm' stand for in this equation?" "Mass," said one student.
"Slow down..." I said, with a faux frown.

My Brain Is Full

When I told Ainsley I wasn't particularly enjoying the class thus far, she brought up the interesting point that this is my third course in four weeks and maybe I'm just in training burnout.
I married smart.

Friday we were offered self-study time in the afternoon, so I was able to break away to drive out to Schriever AFB for a 4 SOPS 15th Anniversary thingydingy. Unfortunately, it was practically over by the time I got there. I did get a chance to meet the current commander, after previously exchanging e-mails (although I must not have made much of an impression, since he later called me "Jeff"), but only ran into three other people I knew.
I did get a kick-ass t-shirt.

Today was a gorgeous Colorado Saturday, giving me time to hit the Air Force Academy gym, do some shopping in Old Colorado City, and hook up with some friends (a guy I used to work with in Turkey, and then an old friend from College). And notirepeatnot read anything about satellite acquisition policies.

Spring in the Air

We were released from class at 1330 today.
13 inches of snow by 1800 in Black Forest, just up the road.
I-25 closed between Denver and the Academy.
Dinner plans with Thom and Nancy postponed.
Pupe.

Travelholics Anonymous

The first step is to admit you have a problem.
With other people.
Easy Peasy.

The 2:35 flight didn't get off the Dulles tarmac until 3:30, after "waiting for luggage to be loaded." I thought the rule was to get there 45 minutes prior to boarding so bags can get stored. I did MY part. Let's GO. I'm sitting next to a woman with fat forearms reading a book in GIANT PRINT written by the sister of Scott Peterson to talk about how horrible it was to be related to a murderer and oh darn I get to write a book about it.

The plane landed in Denver a little after 5 pm local, so I had to rush in order to get to my 5:35 Colorado Springs departure. Only at the end of that gateway was a supreme lack of airplane upon which to board (even though all the signs said "on time"). Plane showed up around five to six, and we left in the small plane about ten after (sitting next to a larger, huffier/puffier gentleman this time). The short, fifteen-minute flight was a breather, and it was neat to fly directly over the east side of town, my old stomping grounds. Yep, there's that Fazolli's on Austin Bluffs.

Unfortunately, only one of my bags accompanied me on this particular plane. I still had my corresponding tags, so they were able to track down my big suitcase with my uniforms and tooth floss somewhere in the ether. "It'll be here in thirty minutes because our planes are never late and we're perfect would you like to wait of have us deliver it somewhere?"
Delivery.

Last step? Rental car.
"We have you in a small-ass Skia or Jarvis or Tinkie Winkie (whatever the hell she said); would you like to upgrade to something bigger, still at the government rate?"
"Sure, if it's the same price as my reservation."
tappatappatappa
"Is it the same price?"
"It's all the same government range."
I showed her my orders. "This is what I'm authorized."
"Oh, you're authorized this."
It was $1100.
"Really? That's how much the smaller one would have been?"
"With the governmet rate and all the taxes and fees..." nodnodnod
I rolled my one case out to I-21. Big-ass Kia Sedona SUV. No way. Looked at my contract again. "Upgrade? Y"
How about N
I rolled back into the airport desk.
"I may not have been clear or don't understand what you're saying, but I'm not comfortable with this -- just give me my original reservation."
tappatappatapa.
$593.
"See, this is what I meant by 'THE SAME PRICE' and this is really not."
"Well, it's all a range (both hands down on table, palms in, to display said range) and you'd still get reimbursed."
I did not say: "a) no I wouldn't and b) go to hell you frickin slimy saleswoman thieffette."
I did say: "I would rather be a better steward of taxpayer dollars," and rolled out to J-7.

There was no car in J-7.
I looked up and down and behind some cars, trying to find the gray Hyundai Accent, but only found it after the slimy saleswoman thieffette was halfway to the parking lot after my reserved, tired, just-kill-me phone call. Up there in J-2.

The Embassy Suites are lovely, opulent almost, but my room was stifling, and rather than a grand, car bumper-sized aerodrome of an A/C unit that goes RORRORRRORORORRORORORR to blow the curtains around and lull me to sleep, there was a central system with four inch-square vents that went

whoooosh..

and didn't cool the room down after ninety minutes. I asked the front desk for a fan, but they instead moved me to another room. Which was also blazing. They suggested I open a window, and I said I could just sleep on the porch. To her credit, she said she would see about getting a fan for me since I'm staying so long...

It's one-thirty in the morning east coast time. Weird how I stay up late when I'm TDY.
Easier to sleep when there's a beauty in the bed.

whooosh...

The End of the Start

Friday, finished five days of training (what? you go to training?!), this time about the Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty itself, redundantly referred to as the START Treaty. The training was more geared to the rest of the treaty that doesn't have to do with the Votkinsk mission, but since ours only makes up about 3% of the 1000-page tome, I guess it's okay if people want to learn about the other 990 pages.

It was interesting to hear about the other DTRA missions, both in Russia and supporting the recipricaltationary missions the Russians perform here (missions that I may very well end up supporting if I'm here long enough). A guy from our office gave an "oh, by the way" briefing about what we do, but since it wasn't on the end-of-course test, no one payed much mind.

Babble Rouser

One wonders when Wyan will wax wordfully.
He is learning to speak in fits and drabs, though doesn't seem interested in saying words he knows the signs for.

"Say 'please'."
*Hand wipe across chest.*
"No, say 'please.' 'Pleeeeeease'."
*Hand wipe. Looks like he's telling the guy on first to steal
second.*
"Ryan, can you say, 'Please'?"
*Sign for 'cheese.'*

He knows "open", though it takes him an hour and a half to say it, with about eighteen 'o's in the beginning. Most any spherical object is a "ball." And he has a fallback.
"Can you say, 'watch'?"
"Bleah."

I just need to be careful with his parroting ability; about the only thing we watch on TV anymore is the news, though that isn't always the most kid-friendly subject matter. The other night the lead story was a murder in D.C. I tried to make it more light and airy for the boy:
"Yay! Mur-der!"
And of course Ryan said "Muhda!" with a big smile.
And of course a big smile my way, from the face of Ainsley, there was directed, not.

I'd Camera In the Morning

As many digital photos as we've taken in the past eighteen months* there are still some Ryan-centric events I wish I could have captured for my posterior. Saturday he was stomping around in water puddles on the driveway, happy as can be, able to balance and stomp stomp stomp. Sunday he high-fived with Bailey, and Monday he blew a soap bubble out a monkey stick.

*four kajillion

What I would like to do is take a picture of Ryan sleeping. It would be akin to a snapshot of Bigfoot having a Loch Ness Monster sandwich: yes, that rare.
I have yet to get Ryan to sleep since returning from Russia, and despite the fact that he seems to LOVE sleep once he gets there, often going through the night for 10+ hours, he just refuses to just give in to the sandman's bag-beatings, crying his fool head off, wandering back and forth in his crib like a caged tiger, or stacking his stuffed animals in some mini-me ciruque du soleil pipe dream. It's annoying and frustrating and slightly embarrassing to realize my son's bedtime is becoming later than mine.

P-Nuts

With Mom in town and no WGN on our cable system and with the Washington Nationals on the road this week and knowing she'd be in baseball withdrawal, I purchased some tickets to the see a local minor league game -- the Potomac Nationals vs the Lynchburg Hillcats. Not knowing that it was going to be 42 degrees still at night. But the beer and nachos and luke warm dogs kept us luke warm, and our front-row seats thirty feet from the plate were pretty cool. But because this is Class A ball, or maybe because of the weather, the stadium was ridiculously sparse. On a bad night, a major league team pulls 10,000 folks. A minor league team maybe 1 or 2 thousand. I counted 127 people.
It was so quiet, I could hear discussions from the dugout on the opposite side of the field, and felt compelled to turn my phone to 'vibrate' lest I get a call during a tactical moment in the game and cause the pitcher to throw the ball at the mascot. ("Uncle Slam.") The atmosphere was like being at a tennis match, save for the sound effects coming over the loudspeakers.
It was typical small-town stadium, with billboards plastered all over the outfield walls for local insurance companies, pizza places, and Hamburger Helper (?), plus little skits and competitions between innings for the kids, as well as local discounts if so-and-so got a hit.

I never liked the nickname for the Washington Nationals ("Go, Nats!"), and thought it was even sillier to refer to the local club as the "P-Nats." But their lead-off hitter's name sounded like "Placenta", so they have bigger issues.

April 13, 2007

Final

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 R H E

Lynchburg 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 6 0
Potomac 0 1 0 1 0 0 0 1 X 3 10 0

W: J. Lannan (2-0, 0.69); L: T. Redmond (0-2, 7.27); SV: J. Spradlin (1) HR: POT: B. Powell (2).

Snotty By Nature

Not sure if it's just the natural cycle of virusii or the coming of the spring (with three freezing nights in a row? har!), but for the first time in memory, Ainsley, Ryan, and I were all sick at the same time. Fortunately, it's just colds we're all trying to get over, though the wife and I are slightly more dignified in the nasal drip removal process than little man. The man looks like he's pulling a cheesy piece of pizza away from his face sometimes.

Further illin' is being performed by Griffin, who somehow hurt his right front shoulder, most likely bounding down our back hill to bark at squirrels, dogs, or nothing, as he does. But he yelped in pain at 3 o'clock in the morning last Thursday, probably just from rolling over on it. He seemed to be getting better, but yesterday he yelped again, prompting Ainsley to ask who I'd stepped on getting out of bed. A quick visit to the vet got him some doggie ibuprofen and instructions for R&R...so I basically have to walk him around in the backyard instead of letting him dart out like a rocket.

Spent a lovely Easter evening at the Boivins' house, where the showdown between Ryan & Chloe is getting a little more even, now that Ryan has the height leverage that standing and walking provides. Ryan is now confident enough that if Chloe barks at him, he just barks back. "woo-woo-woo", it goes, chin jutted out, finger a stern point, but usually leaning up against Daddy or Grandad.

My brother Tim flew in from England for a ten-day visit, coinciding with my mom's four-day visit from Oklahoma. Ryan has sure changed in the respective fifteen- and twelve-month gaps in seeing him, and they're chuckled to death over his ability to use sign language. "Uncle" Tim is particularly curious as to why the sign for 'cold' (making two fists and faux-shivering) has to be undertaken with such vim and vigor, with sound effects, red face, "forehead veins bulging"... my son, the emoter.

I Ought To Have My Head Examined

Or so the Army thinks, anyway.
A couple weeks ago, I reported to the Ft. Belvoir Dental Clinic's walk-in hours for my annual checkup (you can't make an appointment, since that would actually be efficient), and after waiting an hour and still not being called, I grabbed my records and left in a huff (or a minute and a huff). But after realizing that in order to be seen at the Pentagon, I would have had to make a separate trip just to get my records in-processed, I figured the half-hour there and back x3 wasn't worth the gas, so I tried again yesterday, this time bringing a book to brew my stew. So to speak. ("Manhunt", the story of the search for Lincoln's killer, a great, quick read after the 800+ pages of a veritable prequel, "Team of Rivals", about Lincoln's life and those of some of his cabinet members.)
After only 35 minutes, I was taken back for x-rays, and rather than biting down on the cardboard film, I had to stand in the middle of this contraption while a machine span around my head to get a 180-degree x-ray view of my choppers. Pretty cool. But after another 30-minute wait out front, then fifteen in the chair before the doctor came in, the exam took all of 132 seconds. And since performing my annual cleaning right then and there would have made, I don't know, "sense", they told me to go make an appointment for that. I eat peanut butter and oreos in defiance of their scheduling.

On the home front, we are officially deckless. A project we were thinking about last summer, and started actively pursuing in November, the old rickety crappity unsafe for Ryanity deck has been demolished to make room.
A sunroom, in particular.
And a deck.
And a patio.
With a hot tub.
Pictures to follow.
Actually, the old one hasn't been completely torn down yet, as Dover learned when he went running up the three front stairs to be transformed into Underdog albeit temporarily as he flew the two feet back down to the ground through from whence he thought the deck floor was still yea verily.
It apparently cracked the heck out of up my wife of whom.

"...WHAT the...?"