Weekend Anticipation Sondrome

I’ve got nothing this morning. Last night in the middle of my usual Friday night excess I had several cogent concepts I planned to explore in withering detail this morning, expanding the horizons of all fortunate enough to wander by Frail Deeds. I wake up this morning and I’ve got nothing. One more crime to lay at the feet of demon alcohol which prevented me from ascending literary excellence this morning. I’ve got to start writing these ideas down when they occur but that pre-supposes I’d be able to read my handwriting which is atrocious when I’m full on sober. At least several friends and relatives were treated to the re-emerging tradition of Friday night phone calls wherein my normal taciturnity is vanquished.

It Was Friday Night, After All

I’m a little excited because I leave shortly for a trek north into New Hampshire to link up with my favorite son and the ABFA. Part of what is turning into my month long celebration of my 60^th birthday includes a mini-pub crawl in Portsmouth. Since my son is responsible for exposing the pub crawling opportunities offered in the port city he has only himself to blame.  We’re going to try to catch the latest 007 flick (which I’m hearing troubling remarks about from the Cali-Daughter) before the pubs.

High Winds Blowing Away Most of Remaining Foliage
I Didn't Even Know there Were Houses on Far Ridgeline

Yesterday was spent in barely subdued anticipation of the impending trip north. I’ve got my annual physical next week so yesterday was the fasting bloodwork draw. I also had a couple shots (flu and whooping cough) to take that my daughter required from prospective grandparents to gain admittance to California. One thing I’ve noticed with the ketogenic diet – you really miss breakfast if it is delayed. After being prodded and injected I made my way to the closest diner to remedy the cravings. I think the waitress was a little scared by the crazed look in my eyes when the bacon appeared. I had to finish a huge project at work off which went right down to finish line for First Friday ceremonies which provided the sought after decompression from a very full week.  

Flighty Memories

The recent crash of the Russian airliner in the Sinai brought back a lot of memories. The flight originated at the Sharm El Sheik airport ferrying Russian tourists back home. I’ve flown out of that airport several times. I was the operations officer for a battalions sent to the Sinai on a peace keeping mission, an outgrowth of the Camp David Peace treaty between Israel and Egypt. We worked out of a well-fortified base camp just outside Sharm El Sheik right on the Red Sea.

Our Base Camp - Right Next to Hotels
Saudi Arabia in the Distance

The peace treaty allowed the tourist trade along the gorgeous Sinai coast to blossom. It was kind of incongruous as several of the camp’s guard towers looked down on 3 and 4 star hotels flourishing in Nama Bay. We had to drive around minefields to reach the airport. I’m guessing those have been eradicated by now, as the development continued after I left.

One of the things I was in charge of was securing the contracted airliner that brought the battalion in and the battalion we were relieving out. It was explained to me in no uncertain terms why this was important. A plane from the same airport carrying a similar deployment home less than ten years earlier had crashed while taking off from Gander, Newfoundland on the final leg of the journey. One of the many Middle Eastern terrorist groups claimed responsibility, as those sons of whores are wont to do. It was never proven but the military took a lot more interest in baggage handling at Sharm Airport after that.

Memorial in Gander to the 1985 Crash

Our baggage was checked by the Egyptian military on base and then ferried to the airport on our own trucks with military guards, no one was allowed to approach the trucks at any point. Once the plane taxied into position no Egyptians were allowed in the vicinity until I had established an armed cordon surrounding the plane. Thereafter the only Egyptian allowed to approach the plane was a fuel handler, previously frisked, accompanied by a very large PFC specially chosen for intimidation factor. The bags were loaded by soldiers under direction of the American air crew. The cordon remained in place until the plane taxied away for takeoff. Since the battalion was replaced in two waves the incoming battalion was responsible for similar security on the flight the second wave went out on.

I’m sure the civilian side was run a lot differently. The Sinai is very close to the sun center of terrorism, Saudi Arabia with their radical Wahhabi version of Islam. You can actually see Saudi Arabia across the Gulf of Aqaba from the Sharm airport.  Predictably the Saudis exported their cancer across the gulf and infest the Sinai. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were able to get a bomb aboard the ill-fated Russian plane.

The only silver lining to this tragic situation is the Russians will not take an Obamian “tsk tsk” approach to this attack. They have a well-earned reputation for exacting a severe price for this type activity. They don’t publicize it but they make certain the families of the people involve feel the pain and then some. The expression, heads will roll, springs to mind. It’s all very Russian. If I was ISIS I’d be girding myself up for some virgins because – “The Russians are coming.” Good hunting and Godspeed to them.

Casual Fridays and it Warmer here than L.A.!

Wickedly Scouting

First things first and there is nothing currently on the agenda more clearly in First Place than the impending arrival of the Frist Blog Reader. The Cali-Daughter had her latest pre-natal doctor visit yesterday and all signs are reportedly top notch. This is, of course, to be completely expected when you consider the parents involved. The Wingman was around to squire his wife to the appointment and all signs are positive for an announcement in the next couple weeks which will dwarf the mundane reporting on something like upcoming serial birthday pub crawls.

Cali-Growth - Impressive

Reporting something everybody who knows me finds curious is my affinity for schlock cinema. I guess I should be more embarrassed by this proclivity for films on the decidedly less than highbrow level. I could care less because it’s allowed me to enjoy the seemingly inane posturing of characters such as Ash from Army of Darkness and don’t even get me started on Movie 43. Alright, so it’s a fairly deep character flaw, I’ve learned to live with it. My wife’s better taste usually prevents me from seeing the theater of the cinematic absurd but as we all know, she’s out in California waiting to become a gramma, so I was unleashed on the local cinema again last night to see Scout’s Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse (you were warned). I don’t think this movie will garner any Oscar attention.

It was every bit as ridiculous as hoped. Three socially challenged high school boys are enveloped in a zombie infestation and set out to rescue their town with the help of a local stripper (cocktail waitress). Champ, Ron Burgundy’s sportscaster, shows up as a Dolly Parton worshipping scout leader sporting a zombie proof hairpiece. You get the idea by this time. I just sat back and let the complete absurdity of what I was watching wash over me. I mean who doesn’t want to see a zombified Oscar winner Cloris Leachman gumming high school posteriors. In a huge surprise I had the entire theater to myself. So bad it was funny, which is what I went in expecting. With schlock, you forgive a lot.

To demonstrate I’m not a complete loser, despite the two prior paragraphs’ compelling evidence, I did finish reading my latest Matthew Scudder novel by the incomparable Lawrence Block, Even the Wicked. Use of the term “wicked” to a New Englander opens several avenues of interpretation but Mr. Block went with the dictionary version. Scudder is hired by an attorney who’s been targeted by a serial killer using the press to announce his murders ahead of time. Scudder latches on to the case even after he ostensibly solves it which leads him down another fascinating path. Along the way he cracks another seemingly insoluble murder.

I really like the late life Block has allowed Scudder to establish for himself. He’s now happily married and the last few pages of the books has a heartfelt Christmas with his street smart assistant, TJ, that had even a schlockmiester like I misty eyed. All too often authors feel the need to pillory their main characters, especially those gifted with as many self-destructive tendencies as Scudder, in order to show some growth. Block is so comfortable with Scudder at this point that he just allows him to be who he is, a good man with an innate belief in the power of truth.

Here are some of Block’s words from Even the Wicked. Scudder in interviewing a subject in a NYC topless bar and his observation on the place and casinos rang very true to me:

I don’t know what Bunny’s Topless is like at night. It would almost have to be livelier, with more young women displaying their breasts and more men staring at them. And it’s probably sad at any hour, deeply sad in the manner of most emporia that cater to our less-noble instincts. Gambling casinos are sad in that way, and the glitzier they are the more palpable is their sadness. The air has an ozone-tainted reek of base dreams and broken promises.

Today's Fashion Explosion

Electing Crisis Reunion

I performed my civic duty yesterday by voting in Worcester’s city election. I wrote earlier this year that one of the benefits (amongst the many) of the move to Worcester is to finally be able to vote on some the political leaders I’ve been “privileged” to work with over the last ten years. In a huge disappointment, one of the guys I most looked forward to voting against (even if his opponent had been a rabid communist) decided to retire at the last minute. I know it’s delusional, bordering on the corny, but I actually enjoy voting. It may come from spending most of my life in the military defending a way of life that I actually believe voting makes a difference.

I continued the voting theme with my movie choice last night on dateless, date night. Our Brand is Crisis is a Sandra Bullock vehicle in which she plays a political operative (think James Carville) in a Bolivian presidential election. Bullock turned out to be the only thing remotely watchable in this movie that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be a comedy or a withering indictment of the electoral process. Bullock is joined in battle with Billy Bob Thornton who seems to be making a late life career out of James Carville types. The rivalry between the two was supposed to be a center plot line but it never rang true as Thornton just didn’t have the chops to hang with Bullock.

While there were a couple funny moments, too much time its spent waiting from Bullock’s character to come out of her semi-psychotic funk. None of the supporting characters were worth rooting for outside of a deluded young Bolivian. The slime political operatives coat themselves with to be effective necessarily makes them less than admirable characters to root for. Maybe that’s the point, but this movie never grabbed me and it should have.

Future Mom and Dad Together at Last

The First Blog Reader generously delayed his/her impending arrival long enough for his/her Dad to return to his/her mother’s side. Wingman blew into L.A. yesterday for his last show on the current tour as he took up his Daddy Watch post. I know there was a very relieved daughter of mine who was the most content with that development and not just because she now wouldn’t have to depend on her mother for the drive to the hospital.

My Favorite Panamanian Stylin in the Green Room Whilst Reunion Took Place

I fielded a late night call from my Favorite Panamanian where she reported the reunion at the concert location in full swing. I heard Wingman in the background and could tell how happy both he and his wife were to be together. I was lucky enough, despite a very busy military career, to be present (in a comfortable waiting room) for the births of both of my kids. It’s not a moment to be missed, that first encounter with progeny. I’m so excited Cali-Daughter and Wingman will get to experience that very soon. 

Today's Edition

Memory Fraught

Colors Starting to Fade out Back

Today’s complete intertwined with memories. This would have been my mother’s 82nd birthday but she never made it to her 71^st. A complicated woman does not begin to describe her and the turmoil of her later years have graciously faded, allowing me to remember the brilliant “Mom” of my youth. She of the indescribable chocolate chip cookies, a ready laugh, a love of the written word and occasionally even tossing the odd Cantankerous Friend into a snow bank when he failed to say hello. Happy Birthday Mom – I wish you could see the adults those two grandkids of yours developed into. Rest well.

Mom and I

Today is also Panamanian Independence Day. I could never have predicted that small, beautiful country would become so intertwined in my life when I first set foot there in 1981. When Army friends heard I was being assigned there, all of them said, almost to a man, its hot but it also has the most beautiful women in the world. They were right on both accounts and less than a year later I found myself married to one of those beauties.

It’s been over 30 years since I discovered Panama and my Favorite Panamanian’s eyes still flash. I love going back there because of the people, especially my wife’s family and the incredible power of almost non-stop laughter. Life is so much richer when you spend a majority of the time laughing with it. So Happy Birthday Panama! Thanks for lending me one of your most divine exports. She is truly the salsa of life.

Speaking of said salsa she was hard at work over in the weekend in California creating empanadas (yet another welcome export of Panama). My daughter’s cat was fascinated with the process while standing in at Buddy’s normal post. The WingMan arrives back in L.A. today from his tour so he’ll be there for the birth of the First Blog Reader. I know there was a huge sigh of relief from a certain tour bus that no early arrivals manifested; so happy for them right now.

Pee Wee Admiring Panamanian Culture

May Have Gone Overboard Today

Rhode Island Red

I went zoning in Rhode Island yesterday which completely vanquished the forces of loneliness which were already in full flight after the Saturday with my sister and brother in law. Since the Patriots had yesterday off my brother in law as available for Red Zone attendance at his brother in law’s house and invited me down to share in the camaraderie. Buddy was less than pleased to spend the afternoon of his designated bonding time alone but I paid him off with a large rawhide chew toy (he’s kind of easy that way).It was a fun way to spend the afternoon and so much easier to get to now with the move to Worcester. My brother in law’s sister was fresh off a crime fighting role in Providence where she served as a jury foreperson and had the defendant charge the jury box when he disagreed with their guilty verdicts. A couple Taser shots and seven deputies later she was called upon to continue reading the verdicts (sounded like a lot of fun).

Red Zone Crew Yesterday

My sister came over for part of the time to cast aspersions on her husband’s fantasy football team’s selection. Their team was playing my team and it didn’t go well for them initially. It got infinitely better later in the night and I think I’m going down for the second week in a row. At least the Cantankerous Friend will be happy as he’s convinced the commissioner, my favorite son, is conspiring against him. Just because he’s afflicted with rampant paranoia doesn’t mean he’s wrong though.

I came home to relieve Buddy of his boredom and spent a couple long phone calls with the California ladies. The First Blog Reader seems more and more imminent but my daughter seems to be cruising through her late pregnancy period with complete equanimity. If you hadn’t guessed I’m a little proud of her.

Hosmer's Mad Dash

I was saying goodnight to them just as the Royals improbably tied up what turned out to be the deciding World Series game. The dash home by the Royals player in the ninth inning was one of the most audacious but awesome plays I’ve ever seen – total guts. Once the Royals got beyond d the Mets’ starting pitching you had to figure it was over and a few innings later – it was. Royals seemed destined this year but the Mets look dangerous for years with that pitching.

Today's Sartorialness

Sad Dog Happy Owner

Buddy thought he caught a break this year with the Favorite Panamanian on the other side of the continent. He mistakenly believed he would not be subject to the annual indignity of being costumed up for Halloween. He vastly underestimated the reach and influence of said Panamanian. Every day we talked this week she pestered me about what I was going to put Buddy in for Halloween and was decidedly unhappy with my breezy responses. What is about women that they feel the need to humiliate dogs by festooning them in costume? At any rate, since I can deny her nothing, Buddy donned an old Army PT shirt and succumbed to his annual humiliation.

Buddy the Army Dog

At least this year he had more entertaining activity at the front door. He immediately achieves critical mass any time the front doorbell rings and last night was of course the mother of all doorbell ringing nights. I initially leashed him by the front door but when the first group of kids almost fell down the stairs when he cooked off right in front of them I moved him to a less confrontational location in the living room. He still sounded off robustly at every door ring and there were some nervous candy procurers throughout the night. He must have made an impression on possible tricksters though as the pumpkin laying undefended on the front steps went untouched.

Awaiting Victims in his Initial Location
Leashed so He Couldn't Jump on the Toddlers

It was so cool to finally be in a neighborhood with actual kids for Halloween although some of the costumed accompanying mothers also made an impression. When did that start happening? My favorite son and the ABFA were at some sort of Halloween Party last night. The ABFA was predictably cute as a fairy queen but I’m still trying to figure out what my son was. I’m sure there’s a story there.

Son (on the Right) in Mystery Costume

Son and ABFA in the Middle

The best part of the evening though was the arrival of my sister and brother in law from Rhode Island. They had their Saturday night open up unexpectedly and decided to assail my loneliness. They caught the end of the candy dispensing and then dragged me kicking and screaming into Worcester to Brew City. Alright, I may be exaggerating the kicking and screaming part. We left the remaining candy on the front step in a paper bag for any late arriving trick or treaters. When we returned only half was gone – honest kids who knew!

Sister and Brother in Law in Front of Ancestral Lodgings

My brother in law recently traced some of his ancestry and discovered his grandfather, upon emigrating from Italy, first lived in an apartment in Worcester in the highly Italian neighborhood surrounding Shrewsbury Street. When he googled the address of the apartment it was none other than where Brew City is nowadays. He didn’t need to google that fine establishment because he, a regular reader of the blog, was familiar with the First Friday feats of legerdemain accomplished there by his very own brother in law. Brew City was packed with some scary and ultimately questionable costume choices but we had a very good time. My favorite waitress stopped by to chat, wondering at my Saturday appearance, as did the land tract owning bartender almost unrecognizable with a purple wig. My sister had to educate the kitchen staff on gluten protocols but the manager personally insured the situation was resolved.

Sister and I

The best part was just sitting around trading stories and jokes with two of the finest people drawing breath. This is exactly the type of night I envisioned when I retired ten years ago and it lived up to its advance expectations; not an easy task. Moving into Worcester has made it so much easier to accomplish these type outings. It was all of 5 minutes to drive to Brew City. We missed having my wife alongside but understood the importance of the work she’s performing as a pre-grandmother on the left coast. 

The Stars are Up! Cali-Daughter Completed Nursery Decorations