Monday, January 14, 2013

Patriot Sunday

The Assassin Delivering Another Dagger
I was in heavy recovery mode yesterday from the after effects of the Panamanian invasion of New Hampshire on Saturday.  After church and the grocery store I prepared to settle in for the rest of the unusually warm January day to watch playoff football.  I think my wife advised the rest of the posse to leave me in peace because it was remarkably quiet for most of the afternoon.  I did not really think them capable of such hushed behavior.  After football I rewarded them with Daniel Craig as 007 and parts of a Brad Pitt movie.  My sister in law is in hot pursuit of Mr Pitt.  She dismisses Angelina Jolie as any true competition.

It was also kind of nostalgic because this is the last football game I will watch on this television which I’ve come to think of as almost a friend. The early game featured two teams I don’t care much about except to hate on the “preening” Seattle defense and underachieving Atlanta Falcons.  It turned out to be a very entertaining game as Seattle staged a comeback for the ages only to have victory snatched back when Matt Ryan finally performed under pressure.  I think we’re going to be hearing a lot more from Russell Wilson in the years to come.  I just hope he doesn’t get ruined hanging around the “preeners”.

Since I didn’t care too much about this game and it was so warm at halftime I went out to disassemble the last of the Christmas decorations out front.  That turned out to be a pretty big job but with the able assistance of the Wonder Pooch I picked it all up.  It is so strange to see the massive snow pack we had melting away so fast.

The late game with the Patriots was everything I hoped it would be, well except Gronk re-breaking his arm.  The Patriots put another hurting on the Houston Texans who just looked plain overmatched.  The playoffs are when the true stars step up their game and perform under pressure. Brady was in controlled assassin mode while the defense seems to be coming of age just in time.  I was impressed with the two young running backs who seem to “get it”.  I think the reason the Patriots have been so successful is transmitting their culture of winning to succeeding generations of new players.  Some get it while others (Chung) miss out and eventually just fade away.

We did receive a report from the MEG that my son survived his first episode of snow skiing.  She’s a great athlete and I appreciated her encouraging my son to try this adventure.  Based on his predilection for injuries we were worried about the outcome though.  We were never near ski slopes when he was growing up so it’s not something he ever took up.  He reported a couple (well more than a couple) falls on the bunny slope and some frustration at learning this new sport but he came through relatively unscathed.  I’m very proud that he overcame his half-tropical blood and tapped into his New England roots.
My Daughter and Son in Law Representing at Game Time in NYC (Photo by JMJ)
 
The Disassembled Christmas
The Vanishing Snow Pack
My Son the Skiier
Way to Go Big Guy!

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Panama Invades the Granite State

The Gang Fascinated by the Ice
Yesterday was an epic trip up to my hometown, Keene, New Hampshire, with my wife’s Panamanian posse. They wanted to do some sightseeing before the inevitable shopping (tax free) so they committed to an early start.  I was conveying these intentions to our Keene host, my friend.  I told him they wanted to be up there around 10 am but if my experience with them was any indicator – look for us in the early afternoon.

We already packed and ready to leave our house at 11am (right again!) when my wife’s sister noticed we were leaving Buddy the Wonder Pooch to spend the day in his cage.  She declared this simply would not do.  I told her there was no room for him and the entire group comfortably since we couldn’t use the rear seats with Buddy on board.  She said they would make this sacrifice for Buddy (he’s apparently been doing that worming his way into the heart thing he does so well).  Im not sure the rest if the gang was as enthusiastic about Buddy’s company but my wife’s sister is almost a force of nature.

The trip up was the usual talk filled adventure with the loudest one earning the right to talk first.  My wife was overcome with laughter (fun to watch) as her sister observed after waking up from a quick nap that her well-endowed cousin’s chest made for a comfortable pillow to sleep on.

It was unseasonably warm yesterday so we couldn’t take the gang out onto the ice at Robin Hood Park where I skated as a kid.  They were still impressed and took dozens of photos.  They were especially intrigued by a couple kids sledding down a nearby hill.  This was heavy nostalgia because I slid down the same hill almost a half century ago.  My wife decided she would remain in the car during this winter foray – snow holds no charm for her any more (if it ever did).

I gave a quick tour of the city (it’s really not that big).  The most exciting portion was pointing out the spots where the movie Jumanji was shot.  This especially got the attention of the youngest member of the gang.  They quickly tired of the tour and ejected my friend and I at the Elm City Brewery (our haunt of choice) so they could engage in what they do best – SHOPPING!!!!

To our intense pleasure, our favorite bar tender was on duty.  My friend had shown me a recent front page article which had her picture featured. We complimented her on her notoriety and she kept the beer flowing all afternoon which I thought was an extremely good exchange.  I really enjoy these afternoon with my Keene friend as we pontificate on life and generally catch up without distraction (well, except the bartender).

I never expected to spend the entire afternoon there but by the time we made contact with the Panamanian shopping expedition it was well into the third quarter of a football game that started almost three hours after we first took our seats (you do the math).  My friend and I laughed out loud when we got the predicted answer from my wife that they were in the check-out line.  Thirty minutes later (TJ Maxx has very long check-out lines) we reunited and headed over to Margaritas for dinner.

We had a lot of fun and I carefully installed my Keene friend next to me to perform his duties of being my filter.  He performed admirably and we completed the dinner without a single patron being assessed inappropriately (well almost).  A couple of really cute kids got out to chase the lights from a disco ball on the floor which led my wife to ask the waitress if dancing was allowed.  My Keene friend was checking for quick exits when he was rescued by her negative answer.

We left the restaurant and the gals wandered up Main Street to check out the town and take some Jumanji related pictures.  My wife made a bee line for a kitchen supply store that she adores, apparently the shopping bug was not quite sated for the day.  My Keene friend and I stayed outside for the beginning of this excursion and noticed a stand up photo of a really ugly guy in the store’s front window.  While we were discussing the challenges this guy must face we noticed the sales clerk manning the register inside the store was said ugly dude.  We had to get the story behind this and we ended up talking with him for a while.  He was a really nice kid and the photo was a gag gift for the owner of the store who turned the tables by putting it up in the front window.  You just got to love small towns.   

After assessing that we had done enough damage  for one day we returned to my friend’s house to watch a re-run of Keene’s victory in the Pumpkin Wars.  Loading the car for the return trip was a bit of a challenge as Buddy was literally encased in TJ Maxx bags.  He didn’t seem to mind.  My wife, on the other hand, had to drive (you did read the part about my extended stay at the Brewery, right?) and the trip seemed agonizingly slow due to some pretty thick fog.  We made it home and I checked the news to find out Peyton had choked once again in the playoffs – not a bad day, at all.
Gang Pose
Keene Friend Gets into the Act
My Wife Telling me Who is #1 in Her Heart When I ask Why She Stayed in the Car
At The Elm City Brewery!
At Margarita's Surrounded by Filters
The Rest of the Gang At Margarita's
Margarita's Disco Kids
My Wife's Sister Dominating Main St Keene
Jumanji Spot
The Ugly Dude Photo - My Friend Inside Talking with the Subject

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Zorbadized

The Gals in Pizza Consumption Mode - I Advised Beer to Help
Yesterday was a very slow day at work.  My boss asked if I wanted to celebrate a Frist Friday but I had to remind him of the five Panamanian women waiting for my return.  I promised that the upcoming two months had plenty of opportunities for First Fridays.

The plan last night was to show the gals one of our typical Friday nights when my wife and I usually head to Zorbas for some of that mystically imbued pizza.  I told my wife that everyone should be ready to go when I got home around five because if we waited too long Zorbas would fill up and we would have a long wait for seats.

Astoundingly, everyone was ready, well except for my wife, but she rallied and we left only fifteen minutes behind schedule.  There was a driving rain storm which also probably helped keep attendance down but we were able to slide right into a table upon arrival. 

These ladies are a lot of fun to be around.  Apparently the female pack instinct for rest room attendance crosses cultural divides.  I’m still trying to figure out how four of them were able to hit the Zorba’s very small rest room at the same time. 

The ladies had done both yoga and zumba exercises during the day so were a little hungry.  I had to fight to hold my own as we downed not one but two giant pizzas completely.  I think this gang could give my son and son in law a run for their money in the pizza consumption department.

We got back to the house and watched another semi-raunchy comedy together, The Change-Up.  The gals loved it.  Again I think it was pointing out the male foibles that drew most of the laughter.  I didn’t care because this was a lot of fun.  Today I’m talking the entire gang up to my hometown where we’ll descend on teh Keene Friend for the day.  I’m sure some tax fee shopping will take place – Elm City Brewery, here I come.
My Wife and He Sister
The Gals Back Home Posing with Buddy

Friday, January 11, 2013

Memory of Light and Rex


Yesterday was a day of memories.  My book reading agenda was thrown into total disarray.  I was in the middle of the middle of three anthologies of Glen Cook’s Black Company series when I received the final volume of Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series – A Memory of Light.

I am going to drop everything to read this fourteenth and final novel in the epic series.  Jordan has been a companion since the early 1990s with this series of books following the rise of Rand Al’Thor to almost mythic power in his building confrontation with the ultimate evil – the Dark One.  This book sees the final battle as the fate of the entire world hangs in the balance.

I’m a total geek when it comes to this type fiction where Jordan became the true inheritor of the Tolkien mantle.  Where so many other authors tried Jordan succeeded in creating an entire world and associated myths.  I also liked that he empowered the women in his stories without succumbing to a mind numbing exploration of “feelings” without completely ignoring them.

Jordan who real name was James Oliver Rigney, Jr., passed away in 2007 after a brave battle, which he shared with his readers, with a debilitating disease.  He knew the debt he owed to his fans and despite the ravages of his disease strove to lay down the outline for the conclusion of his epic series.  His devoted wife and editor, Harriet, hired Brandon Sanderson to complete the series which culminates in A Memory of Light. 

I’m a little hesitant to start because I know this will be my last visit to Andor, Camelyn, the border kingdoms, the magnificent Aiel fighters, the Aes Sedai, and so many more memories.  I felt like I lost a friend when Jordan passed away and I look at this book knowing that at the end I will have lost another.  I’m going to cherish reading this because I’ve got to know what happens to all the beloved characters and hated enemies, but it will be bitter sweet.  Yeah, I know I’m a complete geek – deal with it!

Speaking of losing old friends, yesterday Rex Trailer died.  This will mean absolutely nothing to anybody who wasn’t a kid in New England in the 1960s.  Those of you who were will know exactly what I’m talking about.  Trailer hosted a TV show on Saturday morning that became a huge deal to New England kids of the time.  He was a cowboy in Boston, of all places, but he made a generation of kids (mine) feel special.  He also went out of his way to support special needs kids when that simply wasn’t done in public and hadn’t become a cottage industry.  He was color blind and made a point to include children of all races in his audience – just a good man. It may have been the innocence of the time but the world without room for a show like Boomtown is a little diminished, as are we all with his passing.  Thanks Rex, for being an icon to a young kid and making a generation believe in some truly appropriate values.  In tribute to Rex - I've tried uploading my first video directly to this blog - we'll see how that goes.

On the home front the gang of Panamanian women took a break from their epic shopping forays yesterday and I had the entire posse to deal with last night when I got home from work. I had to keep the volume control of the TV in hand as I tried to watch a movie in a nearby room as the conversation waxed and waned in decibel level.

They joined me to watch a couple of movies as well.  They laughed and kind of enjoyed Moonrise Kingdom, which I loved for its quirky take on life.  A lot of the subtle humor went over their heads.  They roared at the next movie, Horrible Bosses, which pokes fun at really inept men.  This apparently struck a note with them because they did not stop laughing for the entire movie.  Maybe they’re trying to tell me something.
R.I.P. Rex and Thank You

My Wife (On Right) and Her Posse Last Night

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Panamashopping

This entire week I have returned home to an ominously quiet house.  This is in direct conflict with having five Panamanian women in residence.  Buddy is exhausted and not his usual bubbly self, apparently from entertaining all day prior to my arrival.  The answer comes around nine o’clock, store closing time, coincidentally.  My wife’s Panamanian posse has decided they want to spend (literally) the first part of their trip to the US exploring the local shopping establishments. 

Apparently they barely beat me out of the house each day, leaving shortly before I get home from work.  When I ask my wife why they start so late, she throws her hands up in the air and says it’s very hard to get everybody organized.  This is truly vengeance for me after decades of trying to get her places on time.  The turnabout job of herding cats is not as much fun as it looks from the outside.

On the flip side, they are having a truly entertaining time.  They come back burdened with piles of shopping bags and funny stories.  Last night’s was adventures in the dressing rooms at Macy’s where somehow a 46DDD bra ended up on top of my sister in law’s head (I didn’t ask) which everybody said was incredibly humorous.

My wife always calls to apologize that I have to make my own dinner but this is good practice for the upcoming months.  They end up eating their own dinner after their arrival.  Last night dessert was served shortly before eleven pm.
 
This has provided me with the opportunity to start making inroads on the stack of movies I received for Christmas.  I’m holding out on some until I get the new television installed.  I can also play the movies really loud, even though I’m alone and not trying to drown out loud kitchen conversations.  Last night I actually had the windows shaking for a couple of sci fi explosions – kind of cool.  Buddy freaked out a couple times and when I paused the movie a couple times the backyard coyotes wee in full voice.  I think they were enjoying the movies as well

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Military and Civilians – Again

Every now and then I take some time on this blog to explore the differences between the military mindset and American society.  I do this because it is one of the things I’ve struggled to understand since I retired.  I did not realize how much I had changed during my time in the military until I was thrust back into daily contact with “civilians”, in the People’s Republic of Massachusetts. 

I loved the military ethos of duty, honor, and country.  I took a lot of pride in calling myself a “warrior” and felt fulfilled that I was called to defend something I truly believed in, American society.  It’s hard to explain that to someone who’s never worn a uniform or certainly to someone who dislikes the military. 

I get a lot of things sent to me via email from friends and acquaintances.  Many of these end up in the waste basket before I’m even half way through reading them.  A good friend sent me the article I’ve attached below because it does a very good job of exploring the differences.  I don’t agree with everything he says but I think he makes a very cogent argument about human nature and the need for “sheep dogs”.  Despite the haranguing of so many ultra-liberals who believe the knuckle dragging military is obsolete – there still be wolves in the dark of the woods, waiting.
 

“On Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs

By LTC (RET) Dave Grossman, author of "On Killing."

Honor never grows old, and honor rejoices the heart of age. It does so because honor is, finally, about defending those noble and worthy things that deserve defending, even if it comes at a high cost. In our time, that may mean social disapproval, public scorn, hardship, persecution, or as always, even death itself. The question remains: What is worth defending? What is worth dying for? What is worth living for? –

William J. Bennett - in a lecture to the United States Naval Academy November 24, 1997.

One Vietnam veteran, an old retired colonel, once said this to me: "Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident." This is true. Remember, the murder rate is six per 100,000 per year, and the aggravated assault rate is four per 1,000 per year. What this means is that the vast majority of Americans are not inclined to hurt one another. Some estimates say that two million Americans are victims of violent crimes every year, a tragic, staggering number, perhaps an all-time record rate of violent crime. But there are almost 300 million Americans, which means that the odds of being a victim of violent crime is considerably less than one in a hundred on any given year. Furthermore, since many violent crimes are committed by repeat offenders, the actual number of violent citizens is considerably less than two million.

Thus there is a paradox, and we must grasp both ends of the situation: We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep.

I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me it is like the pretty, blue robin's egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell. Police officers, soldiers, and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful.? For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators.

"Then there are the wolves," the old war veteran said, "and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy." Do you believe there are wolves out there who will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial. "Then there are sheepdogs," he went on, "and I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf."

If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What do you have then? A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero's path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed.

Let me expand on this old soldier's excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial, that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids' schools.

But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid's school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep's only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of denial.

The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, cannot and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheep dog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.

Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn't tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, "Baa."

Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog. The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door.

Look at what happened after September 11, 2001 when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero?

Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed right along with the young ones.

Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, "Thank God I wasn't on one of those planes." The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, "Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference." When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warrior-hood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference.

There is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, but he does have one real advantage. Only one. And that is that he is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population. There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory crimes of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself.

Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I'm proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs.

Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, "Let's roll," which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers - athletes, business people and parents. -- from sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground.

There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men. - Edmund Burke. Here is the point I like to emphasize, especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn't have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.

If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior's path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.

For example, many officers carry their weapons in church. They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs. Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to massacre you and your loved ones.

I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend if he carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, "I will never be caught without my gun in church." I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a cop he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texas in 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down fourteen people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw himself on the boy's body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"

Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for "heads to roll" if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids' school did not work. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them.

Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?"

It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up.

Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: you didn't bring your gun, you didn't train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by your fear helplessness and horror at your moment of truth.

Gavin de Becker puts it like this in "Fear Less", his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation: "...denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn't so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling." Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level.

And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes. If you are a warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be "on" 24/7, for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself... "Baa."

This business of being a sheep or a sheep dog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-sand-sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheep-hood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically at your moment of truth.”

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Man Cave Maneuvers

 
The Old Room Configuration
Yesterday saw the start of a paradigm shift in the room where I spend most of my waking hours.  I will readily admit that I watch too much television.  I have since my earliest days – it’s a form of escapism that I willingly devote way too much time to.  Most of that escapist era is spent in my family room with my large projection television.

This television was my retirement gift from my wife when I left the military.  It was one of the coolest moments in my life when I walked into a Circuit City (it was a while ago) and proudly told the sales dude – “Show me your biggest TV.”  I bought that television and have been really happy with it but it is a huge, boxy space eater that my wife has not always appreciated –ascetically speaking.

My son and wife got together to buy me an even bigger flat screen television for Christmas that is going to be mounted on the wall above the fireplace.  Yesterday saw the first step in that transition with the cable company coming to move the cable connection across the room.

The guy showed up on time but I immediately sensed issues when he told me the best thing to do would be to get an electrician to trace the wires and then have someone come in to do the installation.  I got the impression he was behind in his schedule and was hoping to escape my house early.  His apparent bad luck ran true when he ran into me.  I tersely explained over Buddy’s paroxysm of rage at being caged and unable to sniff or at least taste this intruder that I had clearly explained the requirement when I set up the appointment.

I showed him where the new TV would be and suggested he drill down through to the garage and wire into the panel from there.  He said he didn’t think he had the correct tools and asked to see what kind of drill bits I had (my confidence continued its nose dive).  He got through the floor and then came back up from the garage with one of my wife’s plant holders with a cute little angel on top.  He said I should extend this through the hole and tap so he would know where to drill up from the garage. We did this and when he tried to get the wire through he failed miserably.  I was getting frustrated and his office was calling him every five minutes to find out why he was so far behind. 

Sensing that he was about to give up I told him to give me the plant holder and wait in the garage.  I went upstairs and jammed the thing down as hard as I could which poked through the garage roof. His garage ceiling hole was off by about six inches but at least we now knew that.  He then spent about five minutes trying to wrap the wife around the plant holder stem which fell off every time he tried to push it through the hole.  I suggested duct tape (which solves all problems) and with that I was able to get the wire up into the family room.   

He finished his work and when I pointed out the TV was still on the other side of the room he looked like I crushed his spirit.  I told him to show me how to make the connections and I would do it myself.  It turned out to be pretty easy and I was semi-amazed when I turned everything back on that it all worked. 

I went upstairs to get ready for work and found Panamanians scattering from my room.  Apparently they had all been hanging out in there with my wife while the installation was going on. 

I returned home after work to an eerily quiet house.  My wife and her posse had left to do some shopping (shocking!).  They were delayed a little bit by a dog from way down the street who came to visit Buddy.  This other dog belonged to one of the party guests from the weekend and when he escaped from his house made a bee line for our house.  I’m guessing he smelled Buddy on his owner and wanted to check out this other dog.  My wife said it was almost comical because Buddy was standing on his back legs on one side of the door while the other dog did other same on the other – looking at each other through the window.  Buddy was barking as if the world was about to end which made the Panamanians all nervous. The neighbor showed up looking for her dog and the crisis was averted.

I used the quiet time to finish re-arranging the family room.  Buddy helped by vomiting twice, probably still coming down from his adrenalin surge.  It was kind of jarring to see the room changed so drastically; like I said – I spend a lot of time in that room.  The next step will be the installation of the new TV next week – color me psyched!

I won’t talk about the college football championship game last night out of respect for many of my friends who are big Notre Dame fans.  It was certainly men against boys.
The Critical Tool Used for Cable Installation
Also Useful for Dragging Wire Up
 
The New Temporary Configuration - Awaiting New TV