Someone just visited Seattle and reported to me that the homeless situation there is getting totally out of hand and reports feces on the sidewalk and the usual things that go along with a place becoming a homeless Mecca.
He also reported that they are going to start building housing for the homeless which is a sure fire way to make the situation even worse. It's a lead pipe cinch that the people that get this housing won't take care of it and it will turn into a place that's even worse than a lot of homeless camps.
The prospect of free housing will get out and Seattle will be even more flooded with homeless people.
Someone has thrown a punch at Seattle and Seattle has decided to defend themselves by leaning into it.
I suppose what they ought to do is simply make it a point to do nothing for a lot of these people so they will go to San Francisco.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Saturday, March 30, 2019
It doesn't work that way
Many moons ago I built someone a house.
The soon to be homeowner was actually the general contractor and I was basically the job foreman/chief carpenter.
Part of my gig was to obtain the materials. I took the prints and headed off to a few suppliers I knew were pretty fair about things, including a pair of local building materiel places.
When the bids came in they had itemized lists and Joe Future Homeowner went through them and told me we were going to buy some stuff from one place, other things from another place and so on.
I told him it doesn't work that way and he was somewhat stunned. I explained to him that the bid was for the entire package, take it or leave it. He seemed mildly upset and of course wanted to go with the cheapest bid which was an outfit in Seattle.
This was on Kodiak Island and it would require shipping which actually was included in the bid. The difference between the Seattle outfit and the local outfit was well under $1000 and I had to convince him that buying locally was a better deal as everything from Seattle would show up in several flats and vans all at once.
The stuff would have to be organized and stored properly as things like sheetrock fare poorly exposed to wet weather and he'd have to find suitable storage for it as well as move it to the lot as needed.
On the other hand, the local supplier was willing to deliver everything as needed.
The cost of this would be a few thousand less than having to rent storage and move things around.
There were a number of "Can't we just...."and although I suppose we could have, it was still going to wind up costing more money by trying to cheap out.
I did sit down with him and run the numbers and much to his credit he actually decided that the cheapest way to build the house was to spend the extra money to purchase locally.
As things went, the job ran pretty smoothly and from time to time I would point out that because the local house delivered in a timely manner that the job ran fairly smoothly. His griping stopped immediately and he seemed pleased with the progress.
If I recall, I do believe the local house shorted us a couple small items and it only took a phone call to have them delivered at no extra cost. Had I had to call Seattle it would have taken weeks for the shortages to arrive and maybe even had additional charges.
As usual one has to look at the total coast of things, think and most of all not 'cheap out' on a project.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
The soon to be homeowner was actually the general contractor and I was basically the job foreman/chief carpenter.
Part of my gig was to obtain the materials. I took the prints and headed off to a few suppliers I knew were pretty fair about things, including a pair of local building materiel places.
When the bids came in they had itemized lists and Joe Future Homeowner went through them and told me we were going to buy some stuff from one place, other things from another place and so on.
I told him it doesn't work that way and he was somewhat stunned. I explained to him that the bid was for the entire package, take it or leave it. He seemed mildly upset and of course wanted to go with the cheapest bid which was an outfit in Seattle.
This was on Kodiak Island and it would require shipping which actually was included in the bid. The difference between the Seattle outfit and the local outfit was well under $1000 and I had to convince him that buying locally was a better deal as everything from Seattle would show up in several flats and vans all at once.
The stuff would have to be organized and stored properly as things like sheetrock fare poorly exposed to wet weather and he'd have to find suitable storage for it as well as move it to the lot as needed.
On the other hand, the local supplier was willing to deliver everything as needed.
The cost of this would be a few thousand less than having to rent storage and move things around.
There were a number of "Can't we just...."and although I suppose we could have, it was still going to wind up costing more money by trying to cheap out.
I did sit down with him and run the numbers and much to his credit he actually decided that the cheapest way to build the house was to spend the extra money to purchase locally.
As things went, the job ran pretty smoothly and from time to time I would point out that because the local house delivered in a timely manner that the job ran fairly smoothly. His griping stopped immediately and he seemed pleased with the progress.
If I recall, I do believe the local house shorted us a couple small items and it only took a phone call to have them delivered at no extra cost. Had I had to call Seattle it would have taken weeks for the shortages to arrive and maybe even had additional charges.
As usual one has to look at the total coast of things, think and most of all not 'cheap out' on a project.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Friday, March 29, 2019
I am posting on a newer computer
And the thing is too damned sensitive for my old clumsy fingers.
The touchpad, some of which I have managed to turn OFF is causing me grief as I have to be sure to keep my thumbs off of it or else sometimes the page I am working on either grows or shrinks.
It's just too damned sensitive for me. I HAVE managed to turn off the tapping feature and that has helped me a lot but there are a few more things for me to figure out.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Thursday, March 28, 2019
Someone that shopped at Costco asked me
where Kirkland is.
Seems Costco sells a lot of Kirkland products.
I said I'd get back to him and did a little digging. Kirk is someone that lives near a church, according to what I dug up so i told the guy that Kirkland was a populated place where there were a number of churches.
Glad I could clear his mystery up for him.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Busy
Busy
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Tuesday, March 26, 2019
It works!
There is now a magnetic sign on the tailgate of my pickup.
Danger
Manual Transmission
Vehicle may
Roll Backwards
I do not believe I have owned an automatic transmission since around 1971. I can hold the rig steady on any hill with the clutch. I have no problems whatsoever.
I put that sign there to keep people off my ass at stoplights and it seems to work. While it doesn't eliminate the annoyance it certainly minimizes it.
Yesterday when I stopped at a red light the woman behind me pulled up, saw the sign and backed up a bit.
We were facing downhill!
I do believe I would put this on a vehicle with an automatic transmission because it works so well.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Danger
Manual Transmission
Vehicle may
Roll Backwards
I do not believe I have owned an automatic transmission since around 1971. I can hold the rig steady on any hill with the clutch. I have no problems whatsoever.
I put that sign there to keep people off my ass at stoplights and it seems to work. While it doesn't eliminate the annoyance it certainly minimizes it.
Yesterday when I stopped at a red light the woman behind me pulled up, saw the sign and backed up a bit.
We were facing downhill!
I do believe I would put this on a vehicle with an automatic transmission because it works so well.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Busy as hell today
Sorry
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Monday, March 25, 2019
My cat and a QSO.
I was trying to bust through a real mess of a pileup in California once.
The cat jumped up, flicked his tail and changed the frequency on my rig. It landed on another pile up.
I figured WTF. One pileup is as good as another so I kept trying to bust through. I did on the third try and when I did I told the station that my cat was responsible and I needed his call sign.
When you are working a pileup you are supposed to have it before you enter the fray.
"Your CAT?" he asked, somewhat confused.
"Yeah, my cat," i said. "I was working a pileup in California and the cat jumped up and flicked his tail on my VFO and sent me from California to here. I said the hell with it. One pileup is as good as another and kept working it and here I am."
He laughed like hell, gave me his call sign and location.
And that is how I got Kuwait in my logbook for the first time.
A day later he looked up my email on my QRZ page and sent me an email telling me it was the funniest thing that ever happened to him on the air and NOT to send me any money for a QSL card.
The card arrived about a week later and I know mine was still on the way.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
The cat jumped up, flicked his tail and changed the frequency on my rig. It landed on another pile up.
I figured WTF. One pileup is as good as another so I kept trying to bust through. I did on the third try and when I did I told the station that my cat was responsible and I needed his call sign.
When you are working a pileup you are supposed to have it before you enter the fray.
"Your CAT?" he asked, somewhat confused.
"Yeah, my cat," i said. "I was working a pileup in California and the cat jumped up and flicked his tail on my VFO and sent me from California to here. I said the hell with it. One pileup is as good as another and kept working it and here I am."
He laughed like hell, gave me his call sign and location.
And that is how I got Kuwait in my logbook for the first time.
A day later he looked up my email on my QRZ page and sent me an email telling me it was the funniest thing that ever happened to him on the air and NOT to send me any money for a QSL card.
The card arrived about a week later and I know mine was still on the way.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Sunday, March 24, 2019
Someone took PetCo up on their offer
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Saturday, March 23, 2019
I just bought a couple of GI mess kit spoons
When you live alone you don't have to be formal and a mess kit spoon is just about right for eating chili and other things like that.
I suppose when I have someone in I'll get civilized and use the regular flatware.
Whatever...
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I suppose when I have someone in I'll get civilized and use the regular flatware.
Whatever...
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Friday, March 22, 2019
One of the things that is misunderstood about ham radio
is that you can now buy a $12 handy-talkie off of eBay and communicate all over the world with it station to station.
I suppose you can but you will be doing it through the internet. This means infrastructure and a big part of the draw to ham radio is being able to communicate station to station without infrastructure.
You can't do that on the two meter band which is what these inexpensive rigs work on.
Actually a lot of 2 meter communications are done through repeaters which is actually infrastructure. If the repeater goes down so does a lot of 2 meter communication in the area. A repeated is generally put on high ground and 'repeats' the message sent. Two meter is VHF line of sight and limited.
Where you get all of the around the world stuff you hear about ham operators is when they go on the air with HF, or High Frequency which allows signals to skip off of the ionosphere and bounce all over the place.
That's not a $12 eBay purchase. A basic station, purchased brand new runs about $1500-2000 for a solid starter set that you can gird the globe with.
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I suppose you can but you will be doing it through the internet. This means infrastructure and a big part of the draw to ham radio is being able to communicate station to station without infrastructure.
You can't do that on the two meter band which is what these inexpensive rigs work on.
Actually a lot of 2 meter communications are done through repeaters which is actually infrastructure. If the repeater goes down so does a lot of 2 meter communication in the area. A repeated is generally put on high ground and 'repeats' the message sent. Two meter is VHF line of sight and limited.
Where you get all of the around the world stuff you hear about ham operators is when they go on the air with HF, or High Frequency which allows signals to skip off of the ionosphere and bounce all over the place.
That's not a $12 eBay purchase. A basic station, purchased brand new runs about $1500-2000 for a solid starter set that you can gird the globe with.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Thursday, March 21, 2019
Do not ask your doctor this.
They have NO sense of humor.
That is all.
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Wednesday, March 20, 2019
I see a lot of female doctors these days and it makes me wonder why
My guess is that the men who would have opted for medical school went into someplace else where the real money is to be made.
I may very well be 100% wrong but that's my first instinct.
You have to remember I tend to solve mysteries by following the money and I generally do OK with this theory.
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I may very well be 100% wrong but that's my first instinct.
You have to remember I tend to solve mysteries by following the money and I generally do OK with this theory.
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Tuesday, March 19, 2019
I have hit woman's colleges a time or two on this blog and
I think I'll hit them again.
I wonder how many of them sit around telling each other how empowered they are and how they don't need men to do things for them yet change a flat tire by standing next to the car looking helpless like some damsel in distress.
Then they return to class and brag to their classmates how they suckered some guy into doing it for them.
Over the years I have seen a number of people on the PA turnpike with flat tires and I have often stopped to help.
The one that makes me laugh was the woman in her late 20s that had all sorts of feminist stickers on her car.
I simply cracked the lug nuts for her and told her that was probably the part that she didn't have the strength to do herself and that she was now on her own. She got upset so I offered to teach her how.
She looked pretty annoyed as I told he to get out the jack and pointed out where to put it and how to raise the car. She did it but it was plain she was looking for a sucker to do her dirty work for her as do a lot of so-called feminists.
I guess she couldn't go back to her friends and brag about some sucker of a man changing her tire for her.
My all time favorite was when I saw what appeared to be a well dressed woman getting the jack out of her trunk. I pulled over and took one look at her. She was professionally dressed in a woman's suit, heels and makeup and saw me and asked me if I would be so kind to crack the lug nuts if they were stuck. It was obvious that she planned on changing her own tire.
I looked at her and told he she was too well dressed to be changing a tire and simply took the jack from her.
She told me she was on her way to a business meeting of some sort and was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
I told her I knew she could but was offering her a chance to stay clean simply as a courtesy and she readily accepted.
It took maybe ten or fifteen minutes and while I was working I told her about the little chickie-poo with the sticker clad car and what I did. She laughed and said it was deserved.
She offered me some cash which I refused and then offered to buy me lunch at the next rest area which I accepted and we talked a while. She was a career woman, divorced with a long term boyfriend that had a career of his own.
Her thing was that she was wise enough to realize that you can't really have your cake and eat it, too. She had opted for a career. What I also found interesting is that she was not a farm girl. I had assumed that because she was comfortable with changing a tire.
Raised by her father? Nope. Both parents. She was comfortable around men because she was comfortable with herself.
The biggest thing that they taught her is that nothing is free and that nobody owes you anything.
They also taught her a thing called COMPETENCE. She could take care of herself. She was also gracious and appeared to be flexible.She had a personality and although she was a businesswoman I suspect she would have done quite well as a truck stop waitress if times got hard. That says a LOT for a woman!
Looking back on it I may have cheated her. She could have walked into a business meeting with a couple of dirty marks on her clothing and quietly commented that she had to change a tire along the way and commanded a lot of respect for it because there are a lot of men that can't.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
I wonder how many of them sit around telling each other how empowered they are and how they don't need men to do things for them yet change a flat tire by standing next to the car looking helpless like some damsel in distress.
Then they return to class and brag to their classmates how they suckered some guy into doing it for them.
Over the years I have seen a number of people on the PA turnpike with flat tires and I have often stopped to help.
The one that makes me laugh was the woman in her late 20s that had all sorts of feminist stickers on her car.
I simply cracked the lug nuts for her and told her that was probably the part that she didn't have the strength to do herself and that she was now on her own. She got upset so I offered to teach her how.
She looked pretty annoyed as I told he to get out the jack and pointed out where to put it and how to raise the car. She did it but it was plain she was looking for a sucker to do her dirty work for her as do a lot of so-called feminists.
I guess she couldn't go back to her friends and brag about some sucker of a man changing her tire for her.
My all time favorite was when I saw what appeared to be a well dressed woman getting the jack out of her trunk. I pulled over and took one look at her. She was professionally dressed in a woman's suit, heels and makeup and saw me and asked me if I would be so kind to crack the lug nuts if they were stuck. It was obvious that she planned on changing her own tire.
I looked at her and told he she was too well dressed to be changing a tire and simply took the jack from her.
She told me she was on her way to a business meeting of some sort and was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
I told her I knew she could but was offering her a chance to stay clean simply as a courtesy and she readily accepted.
It took maybe ten or fifteen minutes and while I was working I told her about the little chickie-poo with the sticker clad car and what I did. She laughed and said it was deserved.
She offered me some cash which I refused and then offered to buy me lunch at the next rest area which I accepted and we talked a while. She was a career woman, divorced with a long term boyfriend that had a career of his own.
Her thing was that she was wise enough to realize that you can't really have your cake and eat it, too. She had opted for a career. What I also found interesting is that she was not a farm girl. I had assumed that because she was comfortable with changing a tire.
Raised by her father? Nope. Both parents. She was comfortable around men because she was comfortable with herself.
The biggest thing that they taught her is that nothing is free and that nobody owes you anything.
They also taught her a thing called COMPETENCE. She could take care of herself. She was also gracious and appeared to be flexible.She had a personality and although she was a businesswoman I suspect she would have done quite well as a truck stop waitress if times got hard. That says a LOT for a woman!
Looking back on it I may have cheated her. She could have walked into a business meeting with a couple of dirty marks on her clothing and quietly commented that she had to change a tire along the way and commanded a lot of respect for it because there are a lot of men that can't.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Monday, March 18, 2019
I wonder how much a flamethrower costs?
I saw a movie once and remember only one particular scene from it. I just Googled it and found it.
I have always wondered about how the public would react to some poor soul that found some drug addict trying to rob him and simply lit his ass up.
The perp flees the home burning like a Tiki torch and collapses in the front lawn and shortly after the police arrive to find the smoking remains of someone they have been looking for.
The on the scene cop takes one look at it, shakes his head and asks Joe Homeowner and asks him, "How come you didn't just shoot him like anybody else does?"
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
I have always wondered about how the public would react to some poor soul that found some drug addict trying to rob him and simply lit his ass up.
The perp flees the home burning like a Tiki torch and collapses in the front lawn and shortly after the police arrive to find the smoking remains of someone they have been looking for.
The on the scene cop takes one look at it, shakes his head and asks Joe Homeowner and asks him, "How come you didn't just shoot him like anybody else does?"
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Open note to elected officials.
If you are not PERSONALLY willing to enforce a law then you ought not to enact it.
I don't man passing the buck or delegating it to some poor working stiff cop to enforce it. 'I' means personally as in YOU.
If you, the elected official are not willing to suit up, draw a weapon and lead the charge then you have no business enacting a law.
On top of that, you have no business calling yourself a leader.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
I don't man passing the buck or delegating it to some poor working stiff cop to enforce it. 'I' means personally as in YOU.
If you, the elected official are not willing to suit up, draw a weapon and lead the charge then you have no business enacting a law.
On top of that, you have no business calling yourself a leader.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Saturday, March 16, 2019
The other day I posted about a cousin of mine
that was KIA during the Battle of Iwo Jima.
I mentioned that he wanted to become a math teacher and let's run with that.
A Japanese machine gunner killed him on 12 March, 1945.
What did we lose that day?
Actually it's hard to say. The possibilities are endless. He actually could have come home, attended college on his GI Bill, become a math teacher and brought his life experiences into the classroom with him.
I went to school in the 50s and 60s and almost all of my male teachers had served in WW2 in one way or another. I had a math teacher in Jr, High that had been a footslogger in Europe and had seen considerable action. I remember that once in a while he'd have a faraway look on his face for a moment or two and snap out of it.
I had a history teacher that flew over The Hump and brought supplies into China. He was a loadmaster on a C-47 and the route he took was often referred to as the 'Aluminum Highway' because of all the crashed airplanes that littered the mountain passes.
These people brought a lot of life experience with them.
A lot of WW2 vets became teachers because of their experiences in the service. People fail to understand that when a man sews on corporal or petty officer stripes he pretty much automatically becomes a teacher. It's still the same way. The services are pretty much run by the NCOs who teach their subordinates their jobs and duties.
Non veteran teachers hate it when this is pointed out because a lot of NCOs often lack formal education, or at least used to. It galls the hell out of them.
Jack had already been a teacher when he put on corporal's stripes and worked as an assistant drill instructor at Parris Island. He had taught civilians how to be Marines. Maybe the die had been cast.
Then again, maybe he would have decided to simply go another route.
On the other hand maybe he would have come home after his experiences in the Pacific and simply become PTSD case hiding in a bottle. Some did.
What did we lose at Iwo Jima when Jack was killed?
Nobody will ever know.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
I mentioned that he wanted to become a math teacher and let's run with that.
A Japanese machine gunner killed him on 12 March, 1945.
What did we lose that day?
Actually it's hard to say. The possibilities are endless. He actually could have come home, attended college on his GI Bill, become a math teacher and brought his life experiences into the classroom with him.
I went to school in the 50s and 60s and almost all of my male teachers had served in WW2 in one way or another. I had a math teacher in Jr, High that had been a footslogger in Europe and had seen considerable action. I remember that once in a while he'd have a faraway look on his face for a moment or two and snap out of it.
I had a history teacher that flew over The Hump and brought supplies into China. He was a loadmaster on a C-47 and the route he took was often referred to as the 'Aluminum Highway' because of all the crashed airplanes that littered the mountain passes.
These people brought a lot of life experience with them.
A lot of WW2 vets became teachers because of their experiences in the service. People fail to understand that when a man sews on corporal or petty officer stripes he pretty much automatically becomes a teacher. It's still the same way. The services are pretty much run by the NCOs who teach their subordinates their jobs and duties.
Non veteran teachers hate it when this is pointed out because a lot of NCOs often lack formal education, or at least used to. It galls the hell out of them.
Jack had already been a teacher when he put on corporal's stripes and worked as an assistant drill instructor at Parris Island. He had taught civilians how to be Marines. Maybe the die had been cast.
Then again, maybe he would have decided to simply go another route.
On the other hand maybe he would have come home after his experiences in the Pacific and simply become PTSD case hiding in a bottle. Some did.
What did we lose at Iwo Jima when Jack was killed?
Nobody will ever know.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Friday, March 15, 2019
Speaking of tarring and feathering politicians,
you can now pick up a pretty good military surplus feather pillow for short money and I saw where a couple of places are running sales on roofing tar.
Stock up now!
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Stock up now!
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Thursday, March 14, 2019
The story you aree about to hear is true.
The names have been changed to protect the innocent...or those few that are still living.
On 12 March, 1945 a young marine sergeant was killed in action on the island of Iwo Jima. He was my cousin.
I never knew about him until my aunt gave me a family tree and I saw someone listed as "Died. Iwo Jima, Japan, 12 March, 1945."
I mentioned that to my aunt and she had no details and asked me if I knew how to get them. I said I would do what I could. I knew that on the man's listed death date was during a heated discussion with the Japanese empire over the ownership of that particular island.
A couple of months later I found myself visiting my sister and having time on my hands because she had to go to work so I figured that was a pretty good time to start digging.
The Marine Corps was good to me and sent me his casualty card which listed his outfit, his injuries but had anything identifying like his address blanked out per privacy regulations. Armed with his outfit I went on line and scoured the WW2 Marine websites and hit pay dirt. An old timer knew Jack and we swapped several emails and he even passed me on to a couple of other guys that knew him.
One of them sent me a couple of old black and white pictures of the company and I got lucky. I got a couple of pictures of Jack. I have one of him standing there with a holstered .45, slung cowboy style. The cocky look on his face told me a lot. First of all, it told me he had not seen action yet.
I managed to contact them and they all said he had been hit by a sniper and passed painlessly.
Of course, I was smart enough to know that everyone in the infantry that didn't come home was hit by a sniper and died painlessly. No infantryman is ever torn apart, burned to death or died coughing blood as his lungs fill up...
I also knew that a casualty's personal effects were gone through very carefully to avoid causing the family undue grief.
Those are the unspoken rules. The family has enough to deal with without wondering about some girl's name found in his wallet or some other dumb thing is. The story about his passing is scrubbed by his buddies and they only hear what a great guy he was.
So I had some digging to do and decided to pay someone a visit.
It's about 300 miles to Cincinnati from my place and when I got home I called one of the guys and drove to meet him. He was gracious and had me over for lunch. It was a long haul.
Between that and a couple of long phone calls with two other men, the available service records and casualty cards. I put a lot together. A couple of old photographs helped.
I begin.
Jack was the son of 'a dumb Irishman that worked for the city' according to an old relative. Right after high school Jack landed a halfway decent job just before Pearl Harbor.
Looking at his photograph I see he was a cocky Irish kid that thought he was a tough guy so he headed straight down to the Marine Corps recruiters and enlisted shortly after Pearl Harbor.
He was nothing more or less than a product of his time. He was simply another patriotic kid that wanted to get even with the Japs for the treachery of Pearl Harbor
He must have done fairly well in boot camp because he was held back at Parris Island, handed a set of corporal's stripes and was assigned duty as an assistant drill instructor. I'm sure this galled a lot of pre war Marines, many of which had two or three hitches under their belt before they made corporal. Still, there was a war on and the junior officers and NCOs had to come from somewhere. Promotions like this were fairly common at the time.
Actor Jimmy Stewart went from private to colonel in the Army Air Corps during WW2. Another 23 year old man was promoted to Air Corps colonel and a 28 year old became a Brigadier General.
It really was not much different in the Marine Corps. If you could do the job you often got it and the rank that went along with it.
During his time as an assistant drill instructor his kid brother dropped out of high school, followed his brother and enlisted. He was not trained by Jack but when his training was closing Jack quietly approached the Sergeant Major and managed to get his brother assigned as far east as possible.
The brother, whom I spoke with, claims this eventually saved his life. Most of his class headed out to the Pacific upon graduation. Straight into the meat grinder.
Shortly thereafter the cocky Jack put in a request for duty overseas. It was granted and he was assigned to the 4th MarDiv, then assembling in California. They shipped out in January, 1944 and in thirteen months saw four amphibious invasions. Jack was to be in three of them.
I believe it was here that he was assigned a squad and was given sergeant stripes.
On 31 January the 4th MarDiv including Jack hit the beach on Roi Namur and in four days secured the island. One of the guys said he spotted Jack standing at water's edge with a pistol trying to shoot a Japanese soldier in the surf trying to escape.
Roi Namur might not have impressed Jack too much because it was a short fight and casualties were light by Pacific standards. While he had just gotten a little taste of war, he actually hadn't seen the worst. In four days the island was secured.
Shortly after the 4th MarDiv left the island and took replacements and began training.
On 15 June, 1944 the 4th MarDiv hit the beaches of Saipan.
According the one of the guys, Jack never got off the beach. His casualty card confirms this in a way. It says he suffered internal injuries caused by an exploding artillery round and was out of the fight early on.
One of the guys remembered seeing Jack nearby throwing grenades with them at a Japanese position of some sort and then there was an explosion and Jack was out of the fight. Looking at it in 20/20 hindsight and knowing what I do he got off somewhat light in that he survived and recovered. He returned to the unit in time to train for the next invasion.
Jack's injuries kept him out of the invasion of nearby Tinian. Tinian was the island that Enola Gay took of from on the mission that entered the world into the Nuclear age when she dropped the bomb on Hiroshima.
Internal injuries caused by explosions are unpredictable. Autopsies of people without a single outward mark on them have found that a person's complete insides have been turned to jelly.
After the light casualties of Roi Namur I'd bet it was still a little of the somewhat cocky Irishman that hit the beach at Bloody Saipan. I'm sure he became a wiser man and grateful to simply be alive at this point.
The Marine Corps is big on training and I'm damned sure it was then. At the time there was no fixed infantry school like there is today. A rifleman was shipped from Parris Island or San Diego to his unit and it was expected that the NCOs would train him there. Training ranged from excellent to piss poor, depending on the junior officers and NCOs.
Jack was sent from the hospital back to his unit and the replacement and training cycle started again. The 4th needed an awful lot more replacements than they did after Roi Namur. It was about this time that Jack told a couple of his buddies that when the war was over he wanted to be a math teacher after the war.
FDR had just signed the GI bill of Rights and it had opened a door that Jack and most others never had even considered. To working class Americans like him, college wasn't even a dream before the GI Bill was signed. Jack saw this as an incredible opportunity.
The next target was to be a small island in the Volcano chain and the fight was expected to last only a few days.
Marine intelligence did not know who would be leading the Japanese defense. It was to be Tadamichi Kuribayashi, one smart Japanese officer that knew Americans well. Kuribayashi knew he was not going to be able to hold the island against the Americans. Instead he devised a devious plan to chew up and kill as many Marines as possible.
Kurabayashi had spent five years as a junior officer in North America, three of which were in the United States. He knew what he was up against and he knew Americans well. Instead of fortifications on the island, he went below the surface, creating a huge maze of tunnels and fighting positions.
It must have been a very worried young man that boarded the landing craft on 19 February, 1945 and came onto the beach at Iwo Jima that morning. I'm fairly certain he had learned that the average Japanese was not a buck toothed little guy in thick glasses. He knew they were serious adversaries. He had found out the hard way.
The commanding officer of the invasion, Holland M. "Howlin' Mad" Smith watched as the Marines landed and waited for what was going to happen next. There was no shooting going on to speak of.
When the soft volcanic ash beach was clogged with men and stuck machines Kuribayashi ordered his guns to commence firing and turned the entire thing into a terrible bloodbath. I have no clue as to where Jack was at this time. I do know he made it ashore and got off the beach.
When Kuribayashi opened up, Holland Smith was heard to comment that "I don't know who he is but the Japanese General running this show is one smart bastard. Smith knew then and there he was in for one hell of a fight.
The predicted four or five day fight actually ended up lasting for five hard weeks. It was the only time in its history the Marine Corps suffered more casualties than they dished out.
The fighting was brutal and on the fourth day the iconic flag raising took place. I'm sure Jack saw it and like most people thought the fighting would soon be over. It wasn't. The predicted four or five day fight turned into a meat grinder that lasted five long weeks.
None of the vets I spoke with gave me a blow by blow description of things. They most likely saw it as one huge blur with days turning into nights turning into days and so on.
Most of the casualties were not from gunfire, but from high explosives. Veterans of other battles reported that they had never seen so many torn up corpses.
One of the vets I spoke with confessed that rather than expose himself, he simply shit his pants. Nobody laughed, it was not funny. Many other men did this also.
They didn't shit themselves because they were scared in the normal sense of it. They shit themselves because they knew what would happen to them if they exposed themselves for even a minute.
Jack managed to survive until 16 March when a Japanese machine gunner brought him down along with his platoon sergeant. Someone had managed to spot the machine gun position and the guys held off briefly until they could get a flamethrower.
It was a rifle grenade that stunned the Japanese position briefly until they could get that terrible weapon to bear on the position. The Japanese inside were incinerated.
By this time the fighting had gotten so brutal that the Marines often didn't shoot Japanese that had been hit with liquid fire. They simply preferred to let them burn to death.
Jack's casualty card seems to disagree with what was told me by the guys. I tend to go with the forensics over the witnesses but not in this case. At first I wondered and then figured out that the shrapnel injuries on his body had been post mortem. His body laid out there probably for several days until graves registration could recover it. I'm sure it was hit repeatedly by flying shrapnel, explaining the difference between witnesses and the casualty card.
You also have to remember that dead was dead and there was no time to perform autopsies. They simply scooped up the dead and buried them in a temporary cemetery in the island. What else could they do? I'm sure the last notes on his casualty card were simply scribbled in by a very overworked graves registration person that was either sick to his stomach or totally numb because it was the only way to keep from going insane.
Aftermath of Iwo Jima.
The island was declared secure on 26 March, 1945, two weeks after Jack was killed. The term 'secured' meant the end of organized resistance. There were still an estimated 3000 Japanese soldiers still in the caves holding out. Small scale fighting continued for over three months, mostly with Japanese that left the caves at night to forage.
For weeks GIs reported hearing subterranean explosions as the Japanese blew themselves up with grenades. The last two holdouts emerged in January, 1949 and surrendered.
The cost of the battle as opposed to what was gained by it is still disputed to this day. It is pretty clear, however, that cost was seriously taken into consideration by President Truman when he made the decision to drop the bomb on Japan.
Jack was buried in the 4th MarDiv cemetery and rested there until 1948 when he was disinterred and reburied in the veteran's section of his hometown cemetery where he now lies.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
When you look at the casualties on Iwo Jima and see that we were going to have to invade Japan proper, you thank God for the bomb....
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
On 12 March, 1945 a young marine sergeant was killed in action on the island of Iwo Jima. He was my cousin.
I never knew about him until my aunt gave me a family tree and I saw someone listed as "Died. Iwo Jima, Japan, 12 March, 1945."
I mentioned that to my aunt and she had no details and asked me if I knew how to get them. I said I would do what I could. I knew that on the man's listed death date was during a heated discussion with the Japanese empire over the ownership of that particular island.
A couple of months later I found myself visiting my sister and having time on my hands because she had to go to work so I figured that was a pretty good time to start digging.
The Marine Corps was good to me and sent me his casualty card which listed his outfit, his injuries but had anything identifying like his address blanked out per privacy regulations. Armed with his outfit I went on line and scoured the WW2 Marine websites and hit pay dirt. An old timer knew Jack and we swapped several emails and he even passed me on to a couple of other guys that knew him.
One of them sent me a couple of old black and white pictures of the company and I got lucky. I got a couple of pictures of Jack. I have one of him standing there with a holstered .45, slung cowboy style. The cocky look on his face told me a lot. First of all, it told me he had not seen action yet.
I managed to contact them and they all said he had been hit by a sniper and passed painlessly.
Of course, I was smart enough to know that everyone in the infantry that didn't come home was hit by a sniper and died painlessly. No infantryman is ever torn apart, burned to death or died coughing blood as his lungs fill up...
I also knew that a casualty's personal effects were gone through very carefully to avoid causing the family undue grief.
Those are the unspoken rules. The family has enough to deal with without wondering about some girl's name found in his wallet or some other dumb thing is. The story about his passing is scrubbed by his buddies and they only hear what a great guy he was.
So I had some digging to do and decided to pay someone a visit.
It's about 300 miles to Cincinnati from my place and when I got home I called one of the guys and drove to meet him. He was gracious and had me over for lunch. It was a long haul.
Between that and a couple of long phone calls with two other men, the available service records and casualty cards. I put a lot together. A couple of old photographs helped.
I begin.
Jack was the son of 'a dumb Irishman that worked for the city' according to an old relative. Right after high school Jack landed a halfway decent job just before Pearl Harbor.
Looking at his photograph I see he was a cocky Irish kid that thought he was a tough guy so he headed straight down to the Marine Corps recruiters and enlisted shortly after Pearl Harbor.
He was nothing more or less than a product of his time. He was simply another patriotic kid that wanted to get even with the Japs for the treachery of Pearl Harbor
He must have done fairly well in boot camp because he was held back at Parris Island, handed a set of corporal's stripes and was assigned duty as an assistant drill instructor. I'm sure this galled a lot of pre war Marines, many of which had two or three hitches under their belt before they made corporal. Still, there was a war on and the junior officers and NCOs had to come from somewhere. Promotions like this were fairly common at the time.
Actor Jimmy Stewart went from private to colonel in the Army Air Corps during WW2. Another 23 year old man was promoted to Air Corps colonel and a 28 year old became a Brigadier General.
It really was not much different in the Marine Corps. If you could do the job you often got it and the rank that went along with it.
During his time as an assistant drill instructor his kid brother dropped out of high school, followed his brother and enlisted. He was not trained by Jack but when his training was closing Jack quietly approached the Sergeant Major and managed to get his brother assigned as far east as possible.
The brother, whom I spoke with, claims this eventually saved his life. Most of his class headed out to the Pacific upon graduation. Straight into the meat grinder.
Shortly thereafter the cocky Jack put in a request for duty overseas. It was granted and he was assigned to the 4th MarDiv, then assembling in California. They shipped out in January, 1944 and in thirteen months saw four amphibious invasions. Jack was to be in three of them.
I believe it was here that he was assigned a squad and was given sergeant stripes.
On 31 January the 4th MarDiv including Jack hit the beach on Roi Namur and in four days secured the island. One of the guys said he spotted Jack standing at water's edge with a pistol trying to shoot a Japanese soldier in the surf trying to escape.
Roi Namur might not have impressed Jack too much because it was a short fight and casualties were light by Pacific standards. While he had just gotten a little taste of war, he actually hadn't seen the worst. In four days the island was secured.
Shortly after the 4th MarDiv left the island and took replacements and began training.
On 15 June, 1944 the 4th MarDiv hit the beaches of Saipan.
According the one of the guys, Jack never got off the beach. His casualty card confirms this in a way. It says he suffered internal injuries caused by an exploding artillery round and was out of the fight early on.
One of the guys remembered seeing Jack nearby throwing grenades with them at a Japanese position of some sort and then there was an explosion and Jack was out of the fight. Looking at it in 20/20 hindsight and knowing what I do he got off somewhat light in that he survived and recovered. He returned to the unit in time to train for the next invasion.
Jack's injuries kept him out of the invasion of nearby Tinian. Tinian was the island that Enola Gay took of from on the mission that entered the world into the Nuclear age when she dropped the bomb on Hiroshima.
Internal injuries caused by explosions are unpredictable. Autopsies of people without a single outward mark on them have found that a person's complete insides have been turned to jelly.
After the light casualties of Roi Namur I'd bet it was still a little of the somewhat cocky Irishman that hit the beach at Bloody Saipan. I'm sure he became a wiser man and grateful to simply be alive at this point.
The Marine Corps is big on training and I'm damned sure it was then. At the time there was no fixed infantry school like there is today. A rifleman was shipped from Parris Island or San Diego to his unit and it was expected that the NCOs would train him there. Training ranged from excellent to piss poor, depending on the junior officers and NCOs.
Jack was sent from the hospital back to his unit and the replacement and training cycle started again. The 4th needed an awful lot more replacements than they did after Roi Namur. It was about this time that Jack told a couple of his buddies that when the war was over he wanted to be a math teacher after the war.
FDR had just signed the GI bill of Rights and it had opened a door that Jack and most others never had even considered. To working class Americans like him, college wasn't even a dream before the GI Bill was signed. Jack saw this as an incredible opportunity.
The next target was to be a small island in the Volcano chain and the fight was expected to last only a few days.
Marine intelligence did not know who would be leading the Japanese defense. It was to be Tadamichi Kuribayashi, one smart Japanese officer that knew Americans well. Kuribayashi knew he was not going to be able to hold the island against the Americans. Instead he devised a devious plan to chew up and kill as many Marines as possible.
Kurabayashi had spent five years as a junior officer in North America, three of which were in the United States. He knew what he was up against and he knew Americans well. Instead of fortifications on the island, he went below the surface, creating a huge maze of tunnels and fighting positions.
It must have been a very worried young man that boarded the landing craft on 19 February, 1945 and came onto the beach at Iwo Jima that morning. I'm fairly certain he had learned that the average Japanese was not a buck toothed little guy in thick glasses. He knew they were serious adversaries. He had found out the hard way.
The commanding officer of the invasion, Holland M. "Howlin' Mad" Smith watched as the Marines landed and waited for what was going to happen next. There was no shooting going on to speak of.
When the soft volcanic ash beach was clogged with men and stuck machines Kuribayashi ordered his guns to commence firing and turned the entire thing into a terrible bloodbath. I have no clue as to where Jack was at this time. I do know he made it ashore and got off the beach.
When Kuribayashi opened up, Holland Smith was heard to comment that "I don't know who he is but the Japanese General running this show is one smart bastard. Smith knew then and there he was in for one hell of a fight.
The predicted four or five day fight actually ended up lasting for five hard weeks. It was the only time in its history the Marine Corps suffered more casualties than they dished out.
The fighting was brutal and on the fourth day the iconic flag raising took place. I'm sure Jack saw it and like most people thought the fighting would soon be over. It wasn't. The predicted four or five day fight turned into a meat grinder that lasted five long weeks.
None of the vets I spoke with gave me a blow by blow description of things. They most likely saw it as one huge blur with days turning into nights turning into days and so on.
Most of the casualties were not from gunfire, but from high explosives. Veterans of other battles reported that they had never seen so many torn up corpses.
One of the vets I spoke with confessed that rather than expose himself, he simply shit his pants. Nobody laughed, it was not funny. Many other men did this also.
They didn't shit themselves because they were scared in the normal sense of it. They shit themselves because they knew what would happen to them if they exposed themselves for even a minute.
Jack managed to survive until 16 March when a Japanese machine gunner brought him down along with his platoon sergeant. Someone had managed to spot the machine gun position and the guys held off briefly until they could get a flamethrower.
It was a rifle grenade that stunned the Japanese position briefly until they could get that terrible weapon to bear on the position. The Japanese inside were incinerated.
By this time the fighting had gotten so brutal that the Marines often didn't shoot Japanese that had been hit with liquid fire. They simply preferred to let them burn to death.
Jack's casualty card seems to disagree with what was told me by the guys. I tend to go with the forensics over the witnesses but not in this case. At first I wondered and then figured out that the shrapnel injuries on his body had been post mortem. His body laid out there probably for several days until graves registration could recover it. I'm sure it was hit repeatedly by flying shrapnel, explaining the difference between witnesses and the casualty card.
You also have to remember that dead was dead and there was no time to perform autopsies. They simply scooped up the dead and buried them in a temporary cemetery in the island. What else could they do? I'm sure the last notes on his casualty card were simply scribbled in by a very overworked graves registration person that was either sick to his stomach or totally numb because it was the only way to keep from going insane.
Aftermath of Iwo Jima.
The island was declared secure on 26 March, 1945, two weeks after Jack was killed. The term 'secured' meant the end of organized resistance. There were still an estimated 3000 Japanese soldiers still in the caves holding out. Small scale fighting continued for over three months, mostly with Japanese that left the caves at night to forage.
For weeks GIs reported hearing subterranean explosions as the Japanese blew themselves up with grenades. The last two holdouts emerged in January, 1949 and surrendered.
The cost of the battle as opposed to what was gained by it is still disputed to this day. It is pretty clear, however, that cost was seriously taken into consideration by President Truman when he made the decision to drop the bomb on Japan.
Jack was buried in the 4th MarDiv cemetery and rested there until 1948 when he was disinterred and reburied in the veteran's section of his hometown cemetery where he now lies.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
When you look at the casualties on Iwo Jima and see that we were going to have to invade Japan proper, you thank God for the bomb....
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
(fill this in) lives matter.
Actually most lives matter.
Most.
If you don't behave yourself in a civil matter then your life ain't worth a damn is the way I see it.
It doesn't matter what race, creed or color you are.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Most.
If you don't behave yourself in a civil matter then your life ain't worth a damn is the way I see it.
It doesn't matter what race, creed or color you are.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
One of the things that kept me alive is that I always ran a
reasonably clean camp.
While I was 'homeless' I managed to follow a few simple sanitation rules which I believe kept me healthy.
I kept my outhouse a respectable distance from where I cooked and ate. I also dumped my food scraps in/near the privy and covered my feces and food scraps with a little dirt. Yeah, it really WAS that easy.
I see where 'medieval diseases' are starting to run amok in homeless camps and I daresay the big reason for that is that those people don't understand the simple rule that you don't $hit where you eat.
Anyone that won't walk fifty yards to move their bowels gets what they deserve. Urine is a different story. Ten yards is sufficient.
Then again I was smart enough to avoid the so-called homeless camps because they were fraught with laziness and stupidity.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
While I was 'homeless' I managed to follow a few simple sanitation rules which I believe kept me healthy.
I kept my outhouse a respectable distance from where I cooked and ate. I also dumped my food scraps in/near the privy and covered my feces and food scraps with a little dirt. Yeah, it really WAS that easy.
I see where 'medieval diseases' are starting to run amok in homeless camps and I daresay the big reason for that is that those people don't understand the simple rule that you don't $hit where you eat.
Anyone that won't walk fifty yards to move their bowels gets what they deserve. Urine is a different story. Ten yards is sufficient.
Then again I was smart enough to avoid the so-called homeless camps because they were fraught with laziness and stupidity.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
Fixing the old range.
The oven control knob split on the old range and instead of throwing the whole range away I decided to fix it.
I ordered the 'universal set' from AMazon and it came with adapters for practically every gas range out there except mine. However the knob was exactly what I wanted. Off to Ace Hardware.
At Ace I found knob set for an electrical range that came with adapters, one of which measured to being a good fit.
Seeing that the electrical range knob wouldn't work I looked and saw that the set came from the same outfit I bought the set from on Amazon. I took a chance and bought it.
Luck was with me. With Ace's adapters and Amazon's knob I am up and running.
It's a pain in the ass but sometimes you have to think outside of the box.
A couple of times I have rewired old lamps by purchasing a new lamp on sale and stripping them for parts because it was cheaper than buying the parts themselves.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
I ordered the 'universal set' from AMazon and it came with adapters for practically every gas range out there except mine. However the knob was exactly what I wanted. Off to Ace Hardware.
At Ace I found knob set for an electrical range that came with adapters, one of which measured to being a good fit.
Seeing that the electrical range knob wouldn't work I looked and saw that the set came from the same outfit I bought the set from on Amazon. I took a chance and bought it.
Luck was with me. With Ace's adapters and Amazon's knob I am up and running.
It's a pain in the ass but sometimes you have to think outside of the box.
A couple of times I have rewired old lamps by purchasing a new lamp on sale and stripping them for parts because it was cheaper than buying the parts themselves.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Monday, March 11, 2019
I just saw an question about American police departments.
Someone from another country asked about American cops and what happened to them if they shoot an innocent in the line of duty.
I was tempted to tell then that when a police officer guns down a toddler in a baby carriage that they grab a case of beer and go back to the station and celebrate.
I didn't.
When you look at the big picture, there really are not a whole lot of police shootings. Shooting someone is the second to last thing a cop wants to do. The last thing, of course, is to get shot.
The hassle of the following investigation is enough to make any cop risk his life to avoid shooting at practically ALL costs.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
I was tempted to tell then that when a police officer guns down a toddler in a baby carriage that they grab a case of beer and go back to the station and celebrate.
I didn't.
When you look at the big picture, there really are not a whole lot of police shootings. Shooting someone is the second to last thing a cop wants to do. The last thing, of course, is to get shot.
The hassle of the following investigation is enough to make any cop risk his life to avoid shooting at practically ALL costs.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Sunday, March 10, 2019
Getting laid in a government run whorehouse.
I was sitting outside of Walmart waiting for someone alongside three other guys that were waiting for their wives. I looked at them and asked, "I wonder what it would be like getting laid in a government run whorehouse?"
It made every one of them bust up laughing.
"First ya gotta sign in and fill out a form," I started.
"Then ya gotta show at least 3 IDs to make sure you're old enough," added one of the guys. "AND have a note from your wife giving you permission."
"You can only get two drinks from the bar of watered down whisky because they are worried about your health," added another.
The big guy added, "And drunk driving."
The guy in the green shirt, "Let's go into the parlor and meet the girls! You just KNOW the government has chased all the good talent out."
"Yeah," I added. "They went to Madame Dolinski's House of 1000 Delights where they can make some real money. You just know the government recruited these women from 'The People of Walmart'.
"The one that can remove the chrome from a trailer hitch is long gone," added the big guy. He was trying to be somewhat discreet but we all knew what he meant and laughed.
"Remember, they all have to be properly racially mixed," said the big guy. "One of them has to be at 1/2020th Indian to represent Elizabeth Warren." Everyone cracked up.
"Don't forget the government requires they hire the handicapped," added the guy in the green shirt.
"No age discrimination, either," added the big guy.
"Yeah, I can see it now," I added. "Enter the parlor and it's the biggest collection of wheel chairs, geriatrics, fatties and not a single attractive fairly young one to be seen."
"Hey!" said the quiet guy in the brown jacket. "Mandatory government issued condoms."
"Yeah," added the guy in the green shirt. Eight ply steel belted rubbers made by B.F.Goodrich out of old tires."
We all laughed.
I had to leave and started to take my leave. "Of course, because the government can't even run a whorehouse that sells whisky at a profit we all just know that it's got to be entirely subsidized."
"Hope Trump doesn't find out about it, he'll close it down unless it turns a profit," added the guy in the green shirt.
"If they can't run a damned whorehouse, one that is selling a renewable resource they ought to shut it down." added the guy in the green shirt.
I walked away laughing. My parting shot was "Some things ought to simply stay free enterprise."
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It made every one of them bust up laughing.
"First ya gotta sign in and fill out a form," I started.
"Then ya gotta show at least 3 IDs to make sure you're old enough," added one of the guys. "AND have a note from your wife giving you permission."
"You can only get two drinks from the bar of watered down whisky because they are worried about your health," added another.
The big guy added, "And drunk driving."
The guy in the green shirt, "Let's go into the parlor and meet the girls! You just KNOW the government has chased all the good talent out."
"Yeah," I added. "They went to Madame Dolinski's House of 1000 Delights where they can make some real money. You just know the government recruited these women from 'The People of Walmart'.
"The one that can remove the chrome from a trailer hitch is long gone," added the big guy. He was trying to be somewhat discreet but we all knew what he meant and laughed.
"Remember, they all have to be properly racially mixed," said the big guy. "One of them has to be at 1/2020th Indian to represent Elizabeth Warren." Everyone cracked up.
"Don't forget the government requires they hire the handicapped," added the guy in the green shirt.
"No age discrimination, either," added the big guy.
"Yeah, I can see it now," I added. "Enter the parlor and it's the biggest collection of wheel chairs, geriatrics, fatties and not a single attractive fairly young one to be seen."
"Hey!" said the quiet guy in the brown jacket. "Mandatory government issued condoms."
"Yeah," added the guy in the green shirt. Eight ply steel belted rubbers made by B.F.Goodrich out of old tires."
We all laughed.
I had to leave and started to take my leave. "Of course, because the government can't even run a whorehouse that sells whisky at a profit we all just know that it's got to be entirely subsidized."
"Hope Trump doesn't find out about it, he'll close it down unless it turns a profit," added the guy in the green shirt.
"If they can't run a damned whorehouse, one that is selling a renewable resource they ought to shut it down." added the guy in the green shirt.
I walked away laughing. My parting shot was "Some things ought to simply stay free enterprise."
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Saturday, March 9, 2019
Yesterday was one of THOSE days.
It started when I was out early and stopped in for a cup of coffee at a convenience store way north of home.
I said, "Good morning, Gorgeous" to the clerk and found out she was an SJW type that snapped at me and told me that she was NOT gorgeous. So much for trying to be cheerful and friendly.
'My bad," I replied. "Besides being ugly you're pretty stupid, too." I shot back. Now take my money and I'm outta here."
The woman behind me clearly looked quite amused. I turned to her and told her I try to be kind and stay that way until someone comes looking for a fight then I oblige them.
She laughed and said I sure put up a good fight! She had no sympathy for the little twit, either.
The day grew more and more surrealistic.
Outside someone saw my Universal Life Minister sticker and asked me why it was on my truck. It wasn't out of simple curiosity. It was just plain nosiness. I hate nosy.
"Because I'm a f***ing minister, Asshole. You got a problem with that?" I shot back.
He looked horrified, snapped his jaw shut and walked off rather quickly in an indignant self righteous huff. That's the second time I have done that in about three or four years and I admit it is funny as hell to see someone go into shock after I do that.
Some guy my age heard it and laughed. I turned to him and told him that if I had know that being a grumpy old man was going to be so much fun I would have grown older about twenty years earlier. That really made him laugh. I told him us old guys have to stick together and he agreed 100%.
It didn't change until after I left a Verizon shop. I'm trying to swap ISPs now and the two big ones here in town make it a miserable experience. Nobody wants to sell internet only. They try and trap you into bundles and I don't want a land line anymore and I damned well don't want cable.
I guess too many of us have cut the cable and they are trying to force us back into the fold but I'm not having it.
They DO sell an ISP package for about $40/month but I can't stream with it. It is actually about the same to bundle all three than get a decent ISP alone. Maybe even a little cheaper.
I left Verizon frustrated.
The whole thing is very vexing and sometimes I want to drag the fat guy in a suit with a big cigar out of his office and pummel the holy hell out of him but it's against the law.
While maybe it SHOULD be against the law, they don't want me on the jury for someone that did beat up some muckety much because I do believe I would be quite tempted to hang the jury....
In top of that I am driving a new rental while my beloved pickup is in the shop. I was parked and got hit. The guy that hit me was honest and has made it good but it means I am stuck with a new vehicle and it is an annoyance.
I asked for the simplest machine they had but it's still a little too complex for my tastes. I learned from the last time because I turn my cell phone off when I get into it so the car doesn't bug me to tie my cell phone into its system.
Sometimes I feel I would be a lot better off with a '62 Dodge pickup with a four speed and a slant six with a manual choke. I like simple vehicles.
I can't wait to get my beloved Taco back. I'm tired of trying to step on a clutch pedal that isn't there.
I did have a nice fish dinner to end the day, though. Cod cooked in orange juice, peas and Cole's Law.
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I said, "Good morning, Gorgeous" to the clerk and found out she was an SJW type that snapped at me and told me that she was NOT gorgeous. So much for trying to be cheerful and friendly.
'My bad," I replied. "Besides being ugly you're pretty stupid, too." I shot back. Now take my money and I'm outta here."
The woman behind me clearly looked quite amused. I turned to her and told her I try to be kind and stay that way until someone comes looking for a fight then I oblige them.
She laughed and said I sure put up a good fight! She had no sympathy for the little twit, either.
The day grew more and more surrealistic.
Outside someone saw my Universal Life Minister sticker and asked me why it was on my truck. It wasn't out of simple curiosity. It was just plain nosiness. I hate nosy.
"Because I'm a f***ing minister, Asshole. You got a problem with that?" I shot back.
He looked horrified, snapped his jaw shut and walked off rather quickly in an indignant self righteous huff. That's the second time I have done that in about three or four years and I admit it is funny as hell to see someone go into shock after I do that.
Some guy my age heard it and laughed. I turned to him and told him that if I had know that being a grumpy old man was going to be so much fun I would have grown older about twenty years earlier. That really made him laugh. I told him us old guys have to stick together and he agreed 100%.
It didn't change until after I left a Verizon shop. I'm trying to swap ISPs now and the two big ones here in town make it a miserable experience. Nobody wants to sell internet only. They try and trap you into bundles and I don't want a land line anymore and I damned well don't want cable.
I guess too many of us have cut the cable and they are trying to force us back into the fold but I'm not having it.
They DO sell an ISP package for about $40/month but I can't stream with it. It is actually about the same to bundle all three than get a decent ISP alone. Maybe even a little cheaper.
I left Verizon frustrated.
The whole thing is very vexing and sometimes I want to drag the fat guy in a suit with a big cigar out of his office and pummel the holy hell out of him but it's against the law.
While maybe it SHOULD be against the law, they don't want me on the jury for someone that did beat up some muckety much because I do believe I would be quite tempted to hang the jury....
In top of that I am driving a new rental while my beloved pickup is in the shop. I was parked and got hit. The guy that hit me was honest and has made it good but it means I am stuck with a new vehicle and it is an annoyance.
I asked for the simplest machine they had but it's still a little too complex for my tastes. I learned from the last time because I turn my cell phone off when I get into it so the car doesn't bug me to tie my cell phone into its system.
Sometimes I feel I would be a lot better off with a '62 Dodge pickup with a four speed and a slant six with a manual choke. I like simple vehicles.
I can't wait to get my beloved Taco back. I'm tired of trying to step on a clutch pedal that isn't there.
I did have a nice fish dinner to end the day, though. Cod cooked in orange juice, peas and Cole's Law.
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Friday, March 8, 2019
I just read where someone got a letter
telling them they could lose their security clearance for having stocks in companies that deal with marijuana, medical or recreational.
What bull$hit!
Having stocks in companies like that is no crime. It's probably just smart business.
It's time we get over the whole pot needles thing.
Actually the Libertarian in me says that they simply ought to do away with the war on drugs. It's been a waste of time and money and hasn't gotten anywhere. The same type of people that would ruin their lives are doing so and will continue to do so regardless of the legality.
Do away with the war on drugs and we don't have to house these people in jail anymore.
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What bull$hit!
Having stocks in companies like that is no crime. It's probably just smart business.
It's time we get over the whole pot needles thing.
Actually the Libertarian in me says that they simply ought to do away with the war on drugs. It's been a waste of time and money and hasn't gotten anywhere. The same type of people that would ruin their lives are doing so and will continue to do so regardless of the legality.
Do away with the war on drugs and we don't have to house these people in jail anymore.
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Thursday, March 7, 2019
At a gas station.
A two pump situation and some jerk pulls in and stops at the FIRST pump instead of pulling down to the second pump and making room for someone else.
I looked at the clown for a second and saw him go into the store to pre pay. He was adding insult to injury. I was going to be there a while...or maybe not.
I went around and backed into the pump he should have pulled into in the first place, swiped my card and started fueling.
There was a happy looking pudgy woman on the other side of the pump fueling her car. She looked around the pump and said to me "I saw what you did. That guy behind you was pretty ignorant. Could I buy you a cup of coffee?"
I admit that I was surprised but shot back, "Young lady, are you trying to pick me up? I am an old man well over twice your age and if nothing else I am flattered."
"Well, ahhh..., yes and no," she replied. "Let's talk about that later. It's worth two bucks to see that guy have to sit there a while. You can see someone is behind him. He can't get out until you let him. It's worth two bucks to watch him get pissed off."
I liked this chick instantly. I gave her my standard line. "Marry me and I will take you away from all of this. We will move into a little house in the suburbs withe a white picket fence around it and raise 2.3 children and spend our lives in wedded bliss."
She laughed. "Maybe we can have horrible domestic fights and get on the Jerry Springer show!"
I had met my equal, my kind of person.
It was all bull$hit and I recognised it instantly. I took her up on her cup of coffee offer and we got to watch the fool back up after he fueled. The guy that was behind him had decided not to wait. He pulled away from the pumps and went into the store. He was not pined in but he had to back up in cramped quarters.
He had to come forward and cut his wheels. Then he had to back up again and then come forward and cut them again. Finally he was able to drive off.
I was drinking her coffee at the time. She was the one that was amused. So was I , actually.
The clown had to come forward, back up and repeat the process at least three times. She and I laughed ourselves silly. We watched it together.
I suppose I could have bought the coffee but I would like to consider myself wise enough to think she got her money's worth and I'd be damned if I would have insulted her by offering to pay.
She was nothing more or less than a minimum wage worker that made her decision as to how to spend her her money. She bought me a small cup of coffee.
In my opinion she got one hell of a laugh for a buck.
I wasn't going to take her dignity from her.
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I looked at the clown for a second and saw him go into the store to pre pay. He was adding insult to injury. I was going to be there a while...or maybe not.
I went around and backed into the pump he should have pulled into in the first place, swiped my card and started fueling.
There was a happy looking pudgy woman on the other side of the pump fueling her car. She looked around the pump and said to me "I saw what you did. That guy behind you was pretty ignorant. Could I buy you a cup of coffee?"
I admit that I was surprised but shot back, "Young lady, are you trying to pick me up? I am an old man well over twice your age and if nothing else I am flattered."
"Well, ahhh..., yes and no," she replied. "Let's talk about that later. It's worth two bucks to see that guy have to sit there a while. You can see someone is behind him. He can't get out until you let him. It's worth two bucks to watch him get pissed off."
I liked this chick instantly. I gave her my standard line. "Marry me and I will take you away from all of this. We will move into a little house in the suburbs withe a white picket fence around it and raise 2.3 children and spend our lives in wedded bliss."
She laughed. "Maybe we can have horrible domestic fights and get on the Jerry Springer show!"
I had met my equal, my kind of person.
It was all bull$hit and I recognised it instantly. I took her up on her cup of coffee offer and we got to watch the fool back up after he fueled. The guy that was behind him had decided not to wait. He pulled away from the pumps and went into the store. He was not pined in but he had to back up in cramped quarters.
He had to come forward and cut his wheels. Then he had to back up again and then come forward and cut them again. Finally he was able to drive off.
I was drinking her coffee at the time. She was the one that was amused. So was I , actually.
The clown had to come forward, back up and repeat the process at least three times. She and I laughed ourselves silly. We watched it together.
I suppose I could have bought the coffee but I would like to consider myself wise enough to think she got her money's worth and I'd be damned if I would have insulted her by offering to pay.
She was nothing more or less than a minimum wage worker that made her decision as to how to spend her her money. She bought me a small cup of coffee.
In my opinion she got one hell of a laugh for a buck.
I wasn't going to take her dignity from her.
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Wednesday, March 6, 2019
One of the things that makes me laugh is when
I place an ad for something and someone wants to try and sell me what they have and not what I want. Surprise!
A while back I advertised that I was looking for a beat up old rifle to use as a truck gun. Actually I wanted to put it in someone's cabin and didn't want anything nice in case the cabin got broken into and the rifle was stolen.
Now I specified that I was not looking for something new and improved and even explained why I did not want anything collectable unless they wanted to give it away.
OK, fine.
The first four emails I got were from people trying to sell me exactly what I wasn't looking for. They had either brand new or decorative gold plated commemorative models the wanted to sell me.
All four of them sent me back indignant accusations of being a lowballer after I told them what I was willing to pay. I told all four of them to go back and re read the original ad where I specifically said I was not looking for a fancy rifle.
One guy answered and said he understood what I wanted and apologized for wasting my time.
Eventually someone came along with what I wanted and I picked it up. The seller obviously didn't have a good formal education but had native wisdom. When we met he smiled and said that he knew I was looking for something that I would not get upset about if it got stolen. As last someone understood!
The rifle is still at my friend's cabin and he reports the cabin has been broken into and the rifle is still there. Looks to me like I picked the right model to use as a truck/cabin rifle.
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A while back I advertised that I was looking for a beat up old rifle to use as a truck gun. Actually I wanted to put it in someone's cabin and didn't want anything nice in case the cabin got broken into and the rifle was stolen.
Now I specified that I was not looking for something new and improved and even explained why I did not want anything collectable unless they wanted to give it away.
OK, fine.
The first four emails I got were from people trying to sell me exactly what I wasn't looking for. They had either brand new or decorative gold plated commemorative models the wanted to sell me.
All four of them sent me back indignant accusations of being a lowballer after I told them what I was willing to pay. I told all four of them to go back and re read the original ad where I specifically said I was not looking for a fancy rifle.
One guy answered and said he understood what I wanted and apologized for wasting my time.
Eventually someone came along with what I wanted and I picked it up. The seller obviously didn't have a good formal education but had native wisdom. When we met he smiled and said that he knew I was looking for something that I would not get upset about if it got stolen. As last someone understood!
The rifle is still at my friend's cabin and he reports the cabin has been broken into and the rifle is still there. Looks to me like I picked the right model to use as a truck/cabin rifle.
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Tuesday, March 5, 2019
They grow up fast.
I was chatting with one of the local moms the other day and I have watched her kids grow up. I commented to her about having to have someone ashore to do things like pick up mail and other little things. Her 14 year old daughter was with her.
I looked at the daughter and said, "If I didn't have Mrs Pic around I suppose I'd have to marry someone like you." Her mother smirked.
The daughter simply replied, "Wait until I get my driver's license so you can buy me a car as a wedding present." All three of us shared a laugh.
There was something comfortable and confident about the way she said it that reminded me that maybe even last year she would have had a hard time with a comment like that.
She's growing into a pretty confident young lady and it's a joy to watch the young ones grow up.
I hope again that I run into one of the kids I played baseball with yers ago. They must be in their mid 30s by now and it's been a while since one of them has been by. Time flies and it's well been over 20 years since I hit the home run that broke the grouch's window and about a decade since one of them saw me in the yard and stopped for a beer.
Time flies.
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I looked at the daughter and said, "If I didn't have Mrs Pic around I suppose I'd have to marry someone like you." Her mother smirked.
The daughter simply replied, "Wait until I get my driver's license so you can buy me a car as a wedding present." All three of us shared a laugh.
There was something comfortable and confident about the way she said it that reminded me that maybe even last year she would have had a hard time with a comment like that.
She's growing into a pretty confident young lady and it's a joy to watch the young ones grow up.
I hope again that I run into one of the kids I played baseball with yers ago. They must be in their mid 30s by now and it's been a while since one of them has been by. Time flies and it's well been over 20 years since I hit the home run that broke the grouch's window and about a decade since one of them saw me in the yard and stopped for a beer.
Time flies.
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Monday, March 4, 2019
There's a BIG difference between finding trouble
and looking for trouble.
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#Walkaway...from BOTH parties.
I
have seen a number of people do that to the Democratic Party and I
certainly understand it. In fact I fail to understand why many more
people have not.
Lately
the Democrats have certainly proven that they are no longer the party
of JFK and thee New Frontier.
Now
this is NOT an ad to run out and join the Republicans. It isn't a
spiel for Trump and MAGA. It's an alternative to the way the
Democratic party has turned. You simply walk away from the Democratic
party and become an independent voter. Come election you take the
time out to find the candidate that is closest to your value system
and vote that way. You put an end to voting a straight ticket.
Look
at what the Democratic party has turned into. Still want to be a part
of it? If not, #Walkaway.
If
you believe in the Second Amendment then #Walkaway.
If
you believe that socialism really isn't the way you want the country
to go then #Walkaway.
If
you think the New Green Deal is ridiculously overpriced and will end
up inhibiting your ability to travel then you really ought to
#Walkaway.
If
you think that stifling the economy is a bad thing then simply
#Walkaway.
If
you don't think it's OK to murder the newborn, then #Walkaway.
If
you accept Sharia Law being practiced in the United States you might
consider #Walkaway. This should hold especially true if you are a
woman that doesn't believe in genital mutilation and that women are
property. I don't see how any American woman would accept the
introduction of Sharia Law in the United States.
While
I suppose there are a few centralist Democrats out there, there are
also a number of other candidates. There are generally Republicans,
Independents, Libertarians and others out there. You do have choices.
Personally
I have been a friend of neither the Democrats OR the Republicans.
Both parties have a lot to be desired. Even the Libertarians have moved away from their origins. I have actually walked away
from both parties over the years. I'm too independent a person for
either.
I
make up my own mind.
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Sunday, March 3, 2019
Someone once asked me where I got my education.
I told them that the twelve years I spent in public school were a waste and I learned nothing there. During that time the education I got was at the kitchen table being taught things by my father.
After that it was three years in the United States Army, a year living in a tipi in the Rockies, eight years commercial fishing in Alaska and thirty years in the Merchant Marine.
I entered the Merchant fleet as an ordinary seaman and for a few years afterwards I would park a cup of coffee and a pack of Camels next to a textbook on the galley table and sit down and study. As I near retirement I still read up on things work related. Education is a never ending thing.
Under a year later I was an Able Seaman with a tankerman's endorsement AND an entry level officer. I added a few other things over time, studying at the kitchen/galley table. A year after that I became Captain Piccolo.
As a result I have never been without work.
It is interesting to note that every classroom I was in that was worth a damn I was permitted to smoke in. That's an Old School Hawsepipe education!
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After that it was three years in the United States Army, a year living in a tipi in the Rockies, eight years commercial fishing in Alaska and thirty years in the Merchant Marine.
I entered the Merchant fleet as an ordinary seaman and for a few years afterwards I would park a cup of coffee and a pack of Camels next to a textbook on the galley table and sit down and study. As I near retirement I still read up on things work related. Education is a never ending thing.
Under a year later I was an Able Seaman with a tankerman's endorsement AND an entry level officer. I added a few other things over time, studying at the kitchen/galley table. A year after that I became Captain Piccolo.
As a result I have never been without work.
It is interesting to note that every classroom I was in that was worth a damn I was permitted to smoke in. That's an Old School Hawsepipe education!
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Saturday, March 2, 2019
One of the things that cracks me up
is how easy it is to troll a woman that has gotten a liberal arts degree, especially if she got it from a woman's college.
If the woman's college is one of the Seven Sisters then it's easier yet. All one has to do is use words like 'sweetie', 'honey' or 'cupcakes' and they completely lose it. It's hilarious. They go off like a skyrocket.
I ran into one woman that thought she was an elite because she had a liberal arts degree from one of the Seven Sisters. Some elite. For Pete's sake, the little girl up the street got an engineering degree and snagged an excellent job upon graduation. Her degree came from a basic coed state run university. She had to suffer through classes with the mean old boys in them. She is far more useful to us that some idiot with a liberal arts degree from a woman's college, seven sister or not.
Actually the perceived advantage of an elite woman's college is that the student body, for the most part is full of advantaged women. An inordinate number of the students there have fairly affluent parents. I suppose that it makes for halfway decent networking. On the other hand, networking through an Ivy League coed school would likely be a lot more effective assuming the woman graduating has a useful degree.
Too many of the liberal arts degrees offered by these schools really leave graduates with no practical education. They create school teachers, social workers and the like, few of which actually make a whole lot.
Truth is, six of the Seven Sisters are still woman's colleges. Vassar went coed in '69.
One of the disadvantages of woman's colleges is that it tends to provide a very sheltered four years. Most of the student's parents are affluent, it's women only and they tend not to mix with the rest of the world. It provides them with a limited view on life for the most part. One practically never hears of a Mount Holyoke College grad rooming with a mechanic's or plumber's daughter for example. They usually have a clique consisting of students with wealthy backgrounds.
In short the schools create a really limited outlook on things for its graduates. It creates a lot of sheltered women that wind up with unrealistic outlooks.
The days of men only institutions actually ended with WW2 as the bulk of male college students went off to war and the schools had to either accept women or go under for lack of students and an overabundance of empty desks. After the war the schools expanded and stayed coed.
Actually when you think about it the best things the Seven Sisters did waas between about 1865 and 1900. Four of the seven are located in Massachusetts, two in New York and one is in Pennsylvania. These three states suffered terrible casualties in the civil war and left a shortage of men that lasted for decades.
Many women headed west searching for suitable husbands to raise families with. Women from the Seven Sisters that went west at least found the opportunity to become schoolmarms while looking for Mr Right. The ability to teach school kept an awful lot of these women from falling into prostitution, something that happened to a lot of women during that period.
Let's face it, if you worked for Miss Kitty in the Long Branch Saloon there was a lot more to it than pouring Festus and Doc Adams a free cup of coffee. The rooms upstairs were there for a reason. A Seven Sister education did give some of these woman an opportunity to avoid working for Miss Kitty.
Still, in this day and age the schools still provide a certain amount of overprotective sheltering and fill the women with a lofty sense of false dignity. Many of them are never comfortable in the real world. It doesn't take a whole lot to troll these woman. All you have to do is tip over their false sense of dignity and it doesn't take much.
One of these women tried to explain to a certain waitress I used to run into how she was selling out her dignity by letting the guys call her honey and dear. The waitress, who I will call Flo simply asked the little social worker how much she took home on payday. Flo was making almost three times that with a high school diploma and an ability to use her outgoing personality.
It's interesting to note that those truckers that flocked to the diner Flo worked in may have called her honey and dear but never crossed the line and said anything truly insulting to the woman. She simply wouldn't take it and would throw them out if they did. Flo has more ability to deal with life than the overwhelming majority of the Seven Sisters graduates could ever imagine.
Yet there are an awful lot of these women running round that graduated with their heads in the clouds and many of them never do manage to get their feet on the ground.
Sorry, ladies. I have a hard time respecting a spoiled little girl that had daddy send her to a liberal arts woman's college.
On the other hand, I have a lot of respect for the three sisters up the street that got practical educations from a halfway decent state college.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
If the woman's college is one of the Seven Sisters then it's easier yet. All one has to do is use words like 'sweetie', 'honey' or 'cupcakes' and they completely lose it. It's hilarious. They go off like a skyrocket.
I ran into one woman that thought she was an elite because she had a liberal arts degree from one of the Seven Sisters. Some elite. For Pete's sake, the little girl up the street got an engineering degree and snagged an excellent job upon graduation. Her degree came from a basic coed state run university. She had to suffer through classes with the mean old boys in them. She is far more useful to us that some idiot with a liberal arts degree from a woman's college, seven sister or not.
Actually the perceived advantage of an elite woman's college is that the student body, for the most part is full of advantaged women. An inordinate number of the students there have fairly affluent parents. I suppose that it makes for halfway decent networking. On the other hand, networking through an Ivy League coed school would likely be a lot more effective assuming the woman graduating has a useful degree.
Too many of the liberal arts degrees offered by these schools really leave graduates with no practical education. They create school teachers, social workers and the like, few of which actually make a whole lot.
Truth is, six of the Seven Sisters are still woman's colleges. Vassar went coed in '69.
One of the disadvantages of woman's colleges is that it tends to provide a very sheltered four years. Most of the student's parents are affluent, it's women only and they tend not to mix with the rest of the world. It provides them with a limited view on life for the most part. One practically never hears of a Mount Holyoke College grad rooming with a mechanic's or plumber's daughter for example. They usually have a clique consisting of students with wealthy backgrounds.
In short the schools create a really limited outlook on things for its graduates. It creates a lot of sheltered women that wind up with unrealistic outlooks.
The days of men only institutions actually ended with WW2 as the bulk of male college students went off to war and the schools had to either accept women or go under for lack of students and an overabundance of empty desks. After the war the schools expanded and stayed coed.
Actually when you think about it the best things the Seven Sisters did waas between about 1865 and 1900. Four of the seven are located in Massachusetts, two in New York and one is in Pennsylvania. These three states suffered terrible casualties in the civil war and left a shortage of men that lasted for decades.
Many women headed west searching for suitable husbands to raise families with. Women from the Seven Sisters that went west at least found the opportunity to become schoolmarms while looking for Mr Right. The ability to teach school kept an awful lot of these women from falling into prostitution, something that happened to a lot of women during that period.
Let's face it, if you worked for Miss Kitty in the Long Branch Saloon there was a lot more to it than pouring Festus and Doc Adams a free cup of coffee. The rooms upstairs were there for a reason. A Seven Sister education did give some of these woman an opportunity to avoid working for Miss Kitty.
Still, in this day and age the schools still provide a certain amount of overprotective sheltering and fill the women with a lofty sense of false dignity. Many of them are never comfortable in the real world. It doesn't take a whole lot to troll these woman. All you have to do is tip over their false sense of dignity and it doesn't take much.
One of these women tried to explain to a certain waitress I used to run into how she was selling out her dignity by letting the guys call her honey and dear. The waitress, who I will call Flo simply asked the little social worker how much she took home on payday. Flo was making almost three times that with a high school diploma and an ability to use her outgoing personality.
It's interesting to note that those truckers that flocked to the diner Flo worked in may have called her honey and dear but never crossed the line and said anything truly insulting to the woman. She simply wouldn't take it and would throw them out if they did. Flo has more ability to deal with life than the overwhelming majority of the Seven Sisters graduates could ever imagine.
Yet there are an awful lot of these women running round that graduated with their heads in the clouds and many of them never do manage to get their feet on the ground.
Sorry, ladies. I have a hard time respecting a spoiled little girl that had daddy send her to a liberal arts woman's college.
On the other hand, I have a lot of respect for the three sisters up the street that got practical educations from a halfway decent state college.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Friday, March 1, 2019
I managed to survive the government shut down
I was renewing my credentials and the requested more information so I had to send it in.
This dragged out the process but it wasn't too bad. I knew I'd have time before the current credentials expired and then Bingo! Government shutdown and the Coast Guard people stopped working.
For a while it looked like i was going to be screwed and my credentials would expire while I was at sea and I'd have to be pulled off and maybe face disciplinary action but the shutdown ended.
Then I realized they were swamped with three weeks backlog and I was running out of time before I had to return to work.
That's when I pulled an old trick out of my hat.
Even though I never get to meet these people face to face I generally try and get ONE person to handle my case. I may have to wait and sometimes lose a day because they have a day off here and there but I try and establish a rapport with one person.
I do believe it paid off. I called the Coast Guard, asked for the woman I alway ask for and pled my case to her, explaining that time was running out.
She said she'd see what she could do and PRESTO!
Later that afternoon I got an email telling me my credentials were in the mail. I had them in my hands with three days to spare.
It pays to keep one's temper and establish a rapport with someone in any office you do business with.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
This dragged out the process but it wasn't too bad. I knew I'd have time before the current credentials expired and then Bingo! Government shutdown and the Coast Guard people stopped working.
For a while it looked like i was going to be screwed and my credentials would expire while I was at sea and I'd have to be pulled off and maybe face disciplinary action but the shutdown ended.
Then I realized they were swamped with three weeks backlog and I was running out of time before I had to return to work.
That's when I pulled an old trick out of my hat.
Even though I never get to meet these people face to face I generally try and get ONE person to handle my case. I may have to wait and sometimes lose a day because they have a day off here and there but I try and establish a rapport with one person.
I do believe it paid off. I called the Coast Guard, asked for the woman I alway ask for and pled my case to her, explaining that time was running out.
She said she'd see what she could do and PRESTO!
Later that afternoon I got an email telling me my credentials were in the mail. I had them in my hands with three days to spare.
It pays to keep one's temper and establish a rapport with someone in any office you do business with.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
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