Shortwave listening

I just installed a communications reciever on this slab, which is to say I simply bought one and plugged it into the wall. I also poked a piece of wire out the hatch to act as a primitive antenna.

I'm listening to a program from somewhere that is being broadcast in Spanish which is pretty good background noise right now, although in a while it will become boring and I will try tuning in something in English.

Later: 11.250 Megs, Common Sense Radio, which is an American conservative station. That grew a bit old and I checked my watch on WWV on 15.000 megs. It was 1 minute and 50 seconds fast.

The set I am using here is a Grundig S350DL which I snagged from Radio Shack out of convenience. I suppose it is OK, but it really isn't all that top notch of a set.

Here's a couple pictures of a shortwave set I built as a kid:

Mine didn't come with the case, as it was another 95 cents or something. Notice the plug in coils. In order to change bands you would unplug one coil and plug another one in.

here's another view:

Here's a bottom shot.

Back in the day it was a pretty good project for a kid and the best part of it from a parent's point of view is that it would keep the boy occupied for quite some time after he got it put together.

Last winter when I had a little spare time I fired the old set up and promptly picked up Radio Prague. I sent for one of their QSL cards and received it in a couple of weeks.

As a young shortwave listener I used to collect QSL cards. The system worked so that when you heard their broadcast you would send the station a card indication the time and place you heard the broadcast from and the signal strength. You were in effect acting as an engineer for the station.

When they got your card they would send you one of theirs.

Radio Prague sent me one of theirs and a bunch of nice little Czech trinkets.

I think they were impressed when they found out the radio thay came in 5x5 on was a 1962 Knight Kit I put together back then.

The receiver on board now is, of course, a lot newer, but to tell you the truth I wish I could drag the old one out here. It's a lot more fun picking up a station on the old set.



my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

I am back to spinning the wheels of industry

One of the places I have not been to in a while is Maine. It has been a few months. I like going there because generally there is a lobster pound near the terminal and the petroleum inspectors are pretty laid back and will run up and get us a few lobsters and a bunch of clams.

I got back on board this slab today up in the lower end of New England which is nowhere near Old England. They don't have castles and stuff like that in New England because it is too new to have had castles made there. Then again, Old England doesn't have lobsters and clams and while maybe a visit to a castle would be pretty nice sometime, getting a few lobsters now would be a pretty good deal that isn't going to happen because we are in the southern part of New England.

It was a pretty long ride to get back aboard and the changeover was hectic as I arrived on board during a cargo transfer.

First day back is a day when we do very little other than what truly has to be done. There is grub to be taken aboard and put away, beds to be made up, seabags to be emptied and their contents, mainly clothes, stowed.

This is a day when men move in and get their surroundings set up for the tour.

In addition to this, the recent suicide of Osama Bin Laden has heightened security measures, so there is a little more to be aware of. (Anyone that does what he did was simply committing suicide) There was a brief meeting with the shoreside people over this.

Relieving the other crew under these circumstances is normal and because of it there were a few things that we often do not get to do as soon as we get aboard. My street clothes now need a good cleaning as I wasn't given the opportunity to change into my work clothes.

We finished with the cargo transfer, finished up with the paperwork and sailed.

It was only then that I could rest a spell and change into my working clothes.

When we were underway I slipped into a set of khakis, donned my U-boat cap and sat down and relaxed a bit. A quicky supper was made up and eaten and served on paper plates to make things easier for the first day back.

I have now returned to being who I am for the other half of my life and now I am Captain Piccolo for the rest of the tour.

Oh, well. Fun's over and I guess I gotta get out of the pool.


my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

I earned my right to complain, and I just cashed in on it.

What have you done to make the country any better?

I went to Lowes the other day to get a some threaded rod and while I was there I was muttering quietly to myself as I mentally and somewhat orally figured out the project. I'll admit it, sometimes I think a project out loud.

Some youngster looked at me like I was half nuts, which I guess is OK.

"Old men sometimes think out loud," I said to him, answering his unspoken question.

"I hope I never get old like that," he replied.

"The 40th Street bridge has a low enough rail to climb over," I suggested, dryly. "Jump. That's one way of avoiding old age."

The woman with him giggled.

He went into a huff and said that all old people do is complain.

I turned and faced him. I know the type. All mouth and no beef. "I've earned my right to complain," I said, evenly.

"Oh yeah? What did you do?" he asked in a snotty tone.

"I served in the United States Army," I replied. "What have you done?"

"Er...Well I'm.. I'm not the military type," he answered.

"I can understand that," I said, reasonably. "There are quite a lot of people that are not cut out for military service. Perhaps you were a Vista volunteer or spent time in the Peace Corps. Maybe you were a candy striper at some hospital or dropped in to help out at the airport USO. There are a lot of things to be done out there. What did you do?"

"I...er, I..."

"Perhaps you were involved as a leader in a scouting program, coached Little League, something of that nature. Certainly you must have done something." I said. "Have you done anything for your country? The Commonwealth? Your community? Let's make this simple. What have you done for anyone else but yourself?"

He said nothing. I could tell he was frustrated because he had nothing to fall back on.

"After you do something for someone else, come talk to me, Sonny," I said. My tone was not unkind.

"Yeah, well..." he stammered. His tone was threatening. I know an empty bluster when I hear it.

"Well, nothing," I said in a calm tone. 'Settle down. I still remember a few of the tricks I learned in the army."

"Like what," asked his sweetie in a very wary tone.

"For one thing, you kill the women and children first," I said, cheerfully. "That simplifies things. It turns the area into one big free-fire zone. Then you can kill anything that moves except for kitty cats. I don't like to see kitty cats getting hurt." My smile was nothing less than totally charming. My tone was entirely unthreatening. I had turned on the charm.

She turned red and the two of them walked off in a huff.

As they left, my thoughts returned to basic training. I remembered the time I was hauled into the drill sergeant's office. He wanted to meet every single recruit and talk to them for a few minutes.

I recall him asking me why I joined the army.

I remember teling him that the reason was that when I became an old man and wanted to complain that I figured that three years in the army would give me the right. He seemed floored.

"You joined the army to be able to complain?" he asked.

"No, Drill Sergeant. I joined the army so that when someone asks me what I did to earn the RIGHT to complain I can tell them that I served in the United States Army."

The drill sergeant stared at me for several seconds as he let what I said sink in a bit. He looked at me hard.

"Outstanding!" he said.

After all these years my service has paid off.





my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

Travel day.

I am headed off to the Seven Seas to spin the wheels of industry.

my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

A question for SEAL Team Six

Do you men take side jobs?

my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

The royalty in this country sucks.

One of my kind readers has posted a link in the comments section.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/7269841.stm

link is hot.

It is a series of pictures of Prince Harry in Afghanistan.
I have seen these before, but I will pass this on to any of those that have not. If I had to give a title to picture number 6 it would be 'The Prince and the Pauper'.

It is a case where royalty is guarding the peasantry. It is, to me, a wonderful turn on history. Over the years peasants by the thousands were slaughtered to defend royalty and in this picture, we have a prince out in the middle of a hotspot defending the peasantry. What a refreshing turn!

Prince William is employed flying SAR missions out over the water somewhere, and that speaks well of him, and I was just told that Harry has checked out on Apache helicopters. I read somewhere that William was green with envy when he heard that Harry had wangled himself a post in Afghanistan.

My guess is that Harry will promptly start a campaign of political arm twisting and bribery to get back into Afghanistan as a pilot.

I have half a mind to send Harry a dozen quaaludes. Good ones. Not those junky ones Lemmon used to make, but good, solid Royer 714s. Not to take for himself. These are to put in General So and So's tea so the good general can wake up in a whorehouse with a 14 year old as Harry is happily snapping away with a good Nikon camera as the good general comes to.

Harry, with a huge grin on his face would be standing there putting the memory card in his pocket telling the good general that the pictures will be mailed to him from Afghanistan, post me there ASAP, please.

For all that is said in this country, I have to give the royals of the latter half of the 20th century and the 21st century credit where credit is due.

The Queen (then princess) jumped into service during WW2 and drove staff cars around. Somewhere I saw a picture of her changing a tire.

Prince Charles, in spite of his reputation of being an old fuddy-duddy has held command of a couple of British ships and is a qualified pilot in a number of aircraft. I was told that recently he has been encouraging organic gardening and a few other causes. From what I have seen of him he has had a pretty sad life, but he has gotten off of his ass and served.

Charles's brother, Prince Andrew has flown choppers in combat in the Falklands, part of his mission description was that he was an Exocet misssile decoy. In case you do not know what an Exocet missle decoy is, it is a job you generally get to do only once. You simply crash your aircraft into an incoming missile to save the ship that the missle has been aimed at. It is generally not too painful as death comes very quickly.

The younger generation of Princes are young, energetic and seem very willing to dig right in and improve the UK by getting off of their dead asses and charging forth and setting an example for others to follow. It is obvious that both William and Harry are most certainly willing to put themselves into harm's way in addition to other things.

Both of them have taken on other causes to improve humanity and that speaks highly of them.

Granted, if either of them were to attempt to make a regular military career it would be far from normal. Their careers as soldiers would be constantly interrupted with having to attend to other regal matters.
After all, they are born into royalty and have quite a few other responsibilities to live up to. In one sense it is a shame. Then again, that's the way it is and both of them have come to accept it.

I see some pretty good leadership coming from Harry and William and maybe it will be followed by others. I'm pretty sure there are a few duke and dutchess type that might follow suit and see what they can do to make the UK a nicer place to live. Maybe the Earl of Somewhereshire will climb out of his gin bottle and open a distillery or some other business and get some people back to work. Who knows? The whole thing might tend to trickle down. It could prove interesting to watch.

I'm fully aware that most of my readership is American and that most of them are pooh-poohing the fact that I am writing about the royals again. Many readers are saying that the reason we became a country is to boot the royals out. That is true. Back then all the royals did was to drain us and keep us from living up to our potential.

What is not true is when many readers will say that there is no royalty in this country.

Bull$hit.

They are wrong. Open your eyes and look. Our royalty doesn't hold a candle to theirs. Unlike the royalty over there where the royals are at least attempting to serve and actually do a few things, the royalty in this counrty is nothing but a miserable drain on us, and just as badly as the ones across the pond did 300 years ago.

Up the street from me there is a King $hit that is convinced that he is special and that the speed limit on my street doesn't apply to him.

Down the street there is the biggest Drama Queen in town. When the wind knocked over her trash the other day her wails and laments were heard for blocks. Neither of these two have ever lifted a finger to serve anybody but themselves in any way, and neither of them are very good at that, either.

The rolls of government assistance are chock full of Welfare Queens that do nothing but leech off of our system and make things more difficult for all of us. Many of these are living a hell of a lot better than those of their subjects that bust their ass all day to support them.

About the only royalty we have had over the 20th century that has been worth sour apples have been Babe Ruth, who was the Sultan of Swat and Count Basie. These two, along with a small handful of others are the only royalty that has seemed to do the country any good at all.

Maybe what we could do is make a trade with the Brits.

We'll send them all of our Welfare and Drama Queens plus all of our King $hits in exchange for either one Prince William to fly SAR missions off of Alaska or one Prince Harry to run a company of infantry in Afghanistan.

It sounds like a pretty damned good deal to me.

If the Brits don't bite for that one then maybe some of you readers ought to take up playing the drum or the fife. I have no musical talent therefore I can probably only carry the flag, but I suppose that with my age I might look pretty good with a bloody bandage wrapped around my forehead.

I might knap up a couple of flints later today. I just checked my powder horn and possibles bag and I have powder and shot. It might be getting to be a pretty good time to chuck the royals out of this country again.

After all, the royals in this country suck. They ought to get booted out.
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Horray! hooray! It's the first of May! Outdoor screwing starts today!========================================================

my other blogs are: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ 

http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

Another day of boots and utes.

When I came home from this tour I had about 35 feet of a tree top that was sheared off by the wind. I finished chain saw madness and cut it up. Then I chipped up everything under 2" in diameter.

After that I finished my flower planting.

As soon as I publish this I am going to take these damned boots off, sit a few minutes and then drop the utes and shower.

Sorry for such a short post.

Pic, out.


Edited to add: Royal wedding comment.

Neighbor Bob said that Harry walks like a damned grunt. Looking back at what I saw at the wedding, he DOES walk like a grunt.


my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

Piccolo reports on the Royal Wedding (with apologies to UK readers)

This day so far has not been as good as it could have been.

I'm sort of jammed up and the weather is being beastly. I have about a jillion flowers to transplant and there is the remainder of the tree in the back yard that needs to be ground up.

Tomorrow is supposed to be a really good day, but I just know that something/someone will want a piece of me and there will be bent feelings.

Right now in the background the Royal Wedding is on, but not for the reasons most people think.

I am not going to watch the entire thing, I'll just add to this as I pick up on bits and pieces of it.

I really don't give a damn about poor old Willie tying the knot, but what is interesting is all the pagentry and the foofurraw and geegaw that is going with it.

The costuming is pretty funny to watch. I just saw a bunch of little kids dressed up like 17th century admirals and others in Little Lord Fauntelroy suits. It made me laugh.

I guess the entire city of London is there and everyone is dressed up.

Now they just zoomed in on someone that looks like he is holding back about two six-packs, thirteen cups of coffee and maybe a glass of orange juice. The man looks like he is ready to explode. The poor bastard.

Over across from him is another couple, probably the Duke and Dutchess of Earl or someone and he looks like he needs about 3 fingers of Jameson's and she looks like she's ready to wet herself. She looks a lot like the other guy I just mentioned. A guy with a jug under his coat could make a few bucks for sure, but a guy with a screen and an empty mayonaise jar could probably make enough to retire on in about ten minutes flat.

There's Harry, I guess, standing there next to his brother and the look on his face says, "Better you than me. When my time comes I'm skipping out to the colonies and the wedding chapel in Vegas with the Elvis look-alike guy!"

William is the heir.

Harry is the spare. This means that maybe he CAN get away with the Las Vegas/elopement plan.

It is a good thing that as the actual ceremony is going on. Right now they are at the if 'anyone has any reason why these two cannot be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold their piece' part.

This part make me grateful that I am here and not there because I just know that if I were there a damned fly or something would kamikaze my throat and I would either cough or clear it and the resulting 'ahem' would draw a gasp of horror from the entire British Empire.

If I had to attend such an event I would have to purge my entire digestive system the night before and arrive totally dehydrated which may not really prove to ba a very good idea, either. Passing out isn't too cool, either.

Now a choir of little kids are singing and they are pretty funny looking. The boys are in red coats with ruffled 'Errol Flynn getting ready to fight a duel' collars. They look like they are in training to become swashbucklers. Actually it's kind of cute.

Now there is some kind of windbaggedness on the part of the preacher, who I suppose is the Archbishop of Canturbury or someone. The Queen Mother is sitting next to her son, Prince Charles and Charles is doing a remarkable job of looking at the Archbishop with a rapt look on his face like he is listening to something earth shaking. I'll bet he is bored to tears, but the Royals have been trained to look interested in just about anything.

I'd be a lousy royal. They haven't built a church yet that I couldn't fall sound asleep in.

Next there is kneeling and prayers, which is part of what a religious wedding is all about, so I can't say there's anything wrong with that.

There's all sorts of preachers involved in this one and they are taking turns. The camera is on one and then the other as they add their two bits worth.

Now a big choir is singing...nope it's the congregation.

More prayers, and an interruption. A call from a doctor's office scheduling a medical proceedure. I'll take a break.

More little kids singing, these are dressed like little altar boys.

Gabrials Golden Trumpets are playing typical British castle music which move right into 'God Save the Queen', which is par golf.

They zoomed into Charles again and he looks like the past few years have really aged him.

More hornage blaring, which quickly turns into somewhat quieter music as the new couple goes to sign the register. I wonder what would happen if Prince WIllie had a problem writing and put an 'X' in the spot?

Now, an X is divided into 4 quadrants. The appropriate witness would fill in the quadrents as follows. The top quadrent would read 'his', the bottom would read 'mark'.The left one would read 'Prince' and the right one, 'William'. And there it would be, for all to see. I know all about this because back when I was in the army I endorsed a GI paycheck in this manner to see if it was legal. It drove the bank nuts, but I came in with two witnesses and they signed it this way. My CO heard about it and laughed like hell.

Now there are a whole bunch of...

Interruption: Official Fanfare on the trumpets as they start to leave.

Out they go to horse driven carts and as usual I have an evil thought.

The bride ought to throw the bouquet. I wish she would. That way I could get to watch the catfight of the century! Picture every woman in London, from eight to eighty, blind, crippled or crazy fighting over the bouquet! London's answer to 'The Jerry Springer Show', and all it would take to start it is a quick flick of the wrist. The power that Kate has in her hand is something that a brace of six-guns can no way compete with.

It would take the entire Corps of Royal Marines to break a melee like that up and the casualties would be enormous.

Fleet Street would go wild. The wedding itself would wind up as a small article on page nine while page one would read 3784 women dead in wedding bouquet cat fight!

It's pretty neat watching all of London go nuts cheering and carrying on.

Of course, when you think about it, the two of them are not looking forward as they ride. I don't blame them. I wouldn't look ahead. Off to the left and right are the adoring crowds. In front of them are a half-dozen horse's asses. Pick one.

Next, I suppose, are a bunch of gala festivities of some sort and I'd just bet that it is going to take a king-hell dose of crank to last for the rest of it. They just said that Harry is throwing a survivor's party after the dinner and that supposidly is the place to go, but with over 700 people invited I'd probably pass on that one.

The British military is involved, of course, and while for the average Tommy the assignment is probably considered an honor, you can bet your ass that being a Tommy in those ranks is no joy.

It's bad enough having the NCOs all over your case checking you out for, say, a colonel's inspection, but having colonels and generals in a state of panic over non existint uniform problems must be sheer hell. I can hear some brigadier screeching in panic-stricken voice at some poor private telling him that he has his socks on the wrong feet. Ouch!

The crowds are being shown now and in the flood of Union Jacks I see a Japanese flag being waved. Whatever.

One of the things I have noticed is that everyone there is dressed very nicely and sharp. The women are in well put together conservative dress, but nothing showy. It is like their clothes are designed to bring dignity to the event and not draw attention to the wearer. It's refreshing, actually.

Of course, one of the American reporters is wearing a dress that is out of place. The dress says 'check out my boobs'. What do you expect? Bad taste is timeless.

Speaking of the American media, where the hell is Joan Rivers? This kind of stuff is right up her alley. As much as a lot of us laugh at her, she'd really be the one to watch if she was covering this event. Joan would probably do a pretty good job of reporting on this event. Maybe she is, but I'm on the wrong channel.

I wonder how many people have and will try and crash the thing? I can picture one potential crasher and that would be Larry the Cable Guy. Yes, this is just the party for Larry to try and walk in on. I can just picture him getting pitched out on his ass. I can just see some huge guard in a Beefeater uniform throwing Larry out and as Larry hits the pavement I can hear, "Git 'er done!" in an East Liverpool accent.

Still, on a more serious note, security must be a gold plated bastard. There has to be a genius here running things. Security has to be as tight as a drum, yet be totally unseen.

I'm actually glad I watched it.

Outside the house it is drying up so I guess I'll go outside and plant in few minutes.

And ten minutes later it started raining and I am back here and as soon as I walked it it started to dry up so out I go.

Hey, a Lanc and a pair of Spits just did a flyby! Cool! A WW2 Avro-Lancaster bomber escorted by a pair of Spitfires! That would be like having a B-17 and a pair of Mustangs do a flyover in this country.

OK, NOW out I go.

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Back in. One of the neighbors came by when I was planting. She asked me if I had seen the Royal wedding. "Yeah, I did. First time I ever saw Larry the Cable Guy in a necktie," I said.

"You're kidding."

"Nope. He was sitting next to Camilla Bowles. Prince Charles had to sit with his mother, so Larry escorted her. Check it out on Joan Rivers tonight," I said.

"Really?"

"Yeah.. He cleans up pretty good. He even took his baseball cap off when he entered the cathedral." I said.

"Oh, I hope I get to see it!" she said and started to drive off. Then she stopped and backed up and reopened her window.

"Larry the Cable Guy did NOT attend the Royal Wedding!" she said.

"Whatever, check out Joan Rivers," I said.

She rode off figuring I was probably full of baloney, but I could tell she had a tinge of doubt in her mind. The thought that maybe Larry DID go to the Royal Wedding was going through her mind.

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I got outside finally and transplanted over 100 marigolds. They are sprouts and it is probably too early to see what is going to happen to them. I know it is too early but I'm going back to sea and it would be too much to ask anyone to come in and water them or otherwise take care of them while I go back to work


my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

A day of miracles

The miracle that happened last night.

The morning after I got home from this tour I went to the feed and seed store and picked up 6 of those nursery flats and a bag of potting soil. Each flat has 48 little cups in it.

I filled the flats with potting soil and broke open a couple of envelopes of supermarket marigold seeds and planted four of the flats, for a total of 192 possible marigolds. Two days later I planted another one with poppies and the remaining one with zinnias.

I watered the hell out of them and put them next to the window.

This morning when I got up and made my coffee I looked at the marigold flats and lo and behold!

About thirty of the little guys have sprouted overnight! A couple of them are now about 3/8ths of an inch tall.

I have never truly been a gardener of any kind. For the past few years I have bought flats of annuals from building supply houses and nurseries and transplanted them to make the frony yard look nice. This is the first time I have tried to grow anything from seeds and it is a pretty neat thing to do.

The little guys sprouted last night while I slept.

I think that the frosts are over for the year, but I am not 100% sure so I'll keep an eye on the weather.

Today if the sun breaks through I'm going to put the flats out next to the driveway and start getting them used to being outside.

It's pretty neat!

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Today's miracle.

I decided to start up the outside maintenance equipment today. Four small gasoline engines.

I took the lawn mower outside and pulled it through twice to set the choke and then filled the gas tank and waited about 30 seconds in order to fill the carb. It started on the first pull.

I filled the tank of the chipper/shredder and gave the carb a shot of ether. It started on the first pull.

The chain saw started up easily. On full choke it coughed on the first pull and then on half-choke it fired right up.

Mext came the weed whacker and that was the same as the chain saw. A first pull cough on full choke and a start on one pull on half choke.

All four tools ran like a top.

That's a bigger miracle than the miracle of life I got from the flowers!

my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

Signage wanted

Somehow my old sign disappeared and I want it replaced with a professional looking one.

It is to be set up on my lawn when I mow it.

It should read as follows:


Ground cover readjustment project

Federal funds $0.00
State funds $0.00
County funds $0.00
Local funds $0.00
________
Grand total $0.00

No tax dollars 'at work' here


If there are any of you sign makers out here that can make one that will fit on a 3' high by 2' wide piece of plywood, let me know. If the price is right I'll buy it.





In other news I made a grave marker for the cat I put to sleep a few weeks ago. I took a small piece of copper plate and had a jeweler put on it:

BLACKS
a pretty good cat

I then screwed the plate onto a flat piece of marble and it is in the garden to mark his final resting spot.





my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

I should be shot for this.

Neighbor Bob and I were doing what we do best which is to say that the weather was a little iffy and we decided to do what we do when the weather is iffy which is to sit in the garage behind the Miata and by the open door and watch the neighbors walk their pets.

One guy in his mid 40s was carrying his kids skateboard as his wife was walking the dog. She was about fifty feet ahead of him as the dog was really walking her. I snickered and Bob smirked. I noted the skateboard.

Target of opportunity.

"If you really had a pair you would be riding that skateboard," I said to him.

He didn't have much of a sense of humor, which is a part of being that age. He is getting older and doesn't like it. Then again, he looks like he doesn't get a whole lot of exercise which would do him a little good.

"Want to show me how it's done?" he shot back.

Now I am in my 60th year and have come to the realization that I am a little long in the tooth to go roaring down the hill I live on going like the hammers of hell on a a skateboard. Then again, I am not quite too old to take one out for a nice, slow, careful ride.

"Don't mind if I do give a youngster like you a few tips and pointers," I said, getting up off of my ass and onto my dying feet. I made it a point to be a little cocky.

I got on the damned thing and slowly wove my way back and forth across the street making a special effort to bleed the speed off by going uphill just before I'd turn and start going downhill. It was a careful, well controlled. slow ride. I took my time and made out OK.

I also made a mental note that my skateboarding days are pretty much over. Even at that slow speed I really didn't feel too comfortable. Had I taken a dive I could easily have broken something.

I hopped off and handed the board back to him.

"Learn anything from an old man?" I asked, in a cocky tone.

To a lot of guys the mid 40s are a rough age.

Even in the services forty is pretty much a cut-off age. A lot of schools are closed to those that have reached that age. They know that in an awful lot of cases things are starting to break down a little and that people are no longer made of rubber. I know of a guy that went through Ranger school at about 40 and it probably damned near killed him and he works out daily. I think he had to get a waiver to go through that particular school, but I'm not 100% sure. Still, you get the point.

Guys this age are no longer young and many of them fight it. This guy was one of them. There was no way in hell he was going to let that one pass. He stood on the skateboard and gave a shove and off he went, straight down the hill. In a few yards he was moving along at a pretty good clip and went whistling past his wife. When he tried to turn to start weaving and bleed off speed he was going a little too fast and went ass over teakettle.

Bob and I, standing at the edge of the driveway, looked at each other in feigned looks of horror. The man's profanity and the way he staggered to his feet told us he wasn't hurt much more than a good case of road rash and a beaten up ego. We returned to out lawn chairs in the garage.

We both picked up our beverages, my diet coke and his beer, took a sip and I reached over and pushed the button and the garage door closed. Then I'll admit the pair of us laughed like hell.

Five minutes later I reopened the door and we sat there watching the next dog owner pass by.

Next!




my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

One of the things people do not know about me

is that I am bilingual.

I speak very fluent High School Spanish. You can take me to any Spanish class in the nation and I will be able to communicate with the students there very well.

Unfortunately, that is about the only place that High School Spanish is spoken.

I recall a trip down to Old Mexico back in the 70s that I got to go on for cheap over a Christmas vacation and I sort of hooked up with this chick that went along. One night we went out for dinner at a nice little place that looked like you wouldn't get too sick there.

Being the suave, handsome and debonair devil I am, I started to order in my perfect High School Spanish. I ordered us a couple of steaks and a couple of beers plus a few other odds and ends.

The waiter smoothly replied in perfect idiomatic unaccented Milwaulkee English.

"Let's try this again in English," he said. "You just ordered a pair of baked stuffed elephants. I don't think you two are going to be able to finish them."

I instantly re-ordered in English.

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One of the things about posting here is that I have the choice to pick and choose what I want to post and anyone with half a brain knows that history is generally written by the victors.

It hasn't all been peaches and cream.

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Last night I had a little flash that went through my mind.

I got to see how fast time passes and how important it is not to waste it.

It was just about ten seconds ago when I was bellyaching about shoveling snow and now spring is in the air. The snows are gone and things are starting to poke their way out of the ground. I will be planing a boatload of seeds when I get home and doing all sorts of things to get ready for the upcoming season.

The lawn will need to be mowed and there will be weeding and the neighborhood will be back in full swing.

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my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

Easter Sunday.

This has been an interesting day.

I goofed off for a lot of it and just looked out the rear window and watched the wildlife.

Being rainy the bird activity was pretty low, but there was an awful lot of rabbit activity and it looks like there are going to be a lot of rabbits in the area this year. I saw no less than five at one time in my back yard.

I have never seen this much rabbit activity at one time in all the years I have lived here.

Last year it was chipmunks and Neighbor Bob and I had a hell of a time with them getting into the eaves and the attic. The cat was healthy then so I simply put the contents of his litterbox in another box and parked it in the attic.

I would have popped them with a pellet gun but the jerk down the street was laying for me and I wasn't going to give her an easy shot at me. A couple of years ago it would have not been an issue but the changes in the local police policies make things not concucive to popping chippies with a pellet gun.

Rabbits, of course, are no problem and they get a pass at the Piccolo place.

Last night I was out in the street and the guy across it and his little daughter were out and I mentioned that I am planning on planting a whole lot this spring, probably after my next tour. He asked me what kind of flowers and I looked at the little girl and in my best Margaret Hamiton/ Wicked Witch voice, said "Poppies...fields and fields of poppies!".

Her whole face lit up and she gave me the biggest smile in the world. It's funny that you can use a line from the Wizard of Oz on almost everyone over the age of five and and they seem to pick right up on it.

She laughed outright when I said to her, "I'll get you, my pretty....and your little dog, too!"

As I write this I just took a two minute break and stepped out just in time to see an old friend.

When I moved here he was a 19 year old kid dating the daughter of my neighbor. Now he's 37 and married to her and the two of them are raising 4 kids. Time flies. He's a good father, but in a way I worry about him and is future because he is still working with his hands. He's installing floors and doing general carpentry, which is fine, but an accident or health issues can put him out of work in a heartbeat.

I got a gift, marshmallow Peeps, the traditional Easter treat. I believe they are made by a Jewish outfit which tickles my perverse funnybone. Funny also is the Jewish barber that wished me a Happy Easter. He's quite a character and he wished me a Merry Christmas back when I got a clip in December. He's a pretty good guy. A few years back I got him a copy of the Constitution in Russian so he could study for his citizenship, as he's a Russian immigrant.

As for the Peeps, I will eat half of them now and put the rest in the cupboard for a few months because I like them when they get a little crusty when they dry out with age.

Hope you all have had a happy Easter.






my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

Picolo on professional sports

154 MILLION dollars over 7 years baseball deal?

I just read where the Red Sox have cut a deal with a first baseman named Gonzalez for $154,000,000 over seven years.

That's ridiculous and adds yet one more reason why I don't pay a whole lot of attention to baseball.

Of course, this could get me shot if I ever have to re-enter American lines at night and forget the password because I don't know who won the World Series. I really don't care, either.

For the love of some old lady, baseball is a kids game. It is not a contact sport and the liklihood of getting seriously injured is pretty small.

Of course, someone has to cough up about $22 million to pay this guy and you can bet your patoochie that it ain't gonna be the fat cats that own the club. The fans are going to get the honor of paying this overpaid athlete for playing a kid's game by increased ticket, hot dog, beer,soda and memorabilia prices.

Enter the $20 hot dog and the $30 beer.

Twenty years ago ticket prices had already gotten to the point where taking the family to see a ball game was becomming a once or twice a season event. It was a real treat back then instead of being the American Pastime it was once slated.

This aggravates me to the point where I'd like to see Pete Rose get some kind of pardon so he could be placed in the baseball hall of fame where he belongs. After all, good old Charlie Hustle, as he was sometimes called had a love for the game that he would have willingy played it for, say, $20,000 a season.

I listen to these professional athletes whine about being underpaid and can't help but remember why I opted out being any kind of a professional sports fan. I have had no interest whatsoever in any professional sports in about thirty years. The spark that set me off was a baseball strike years ago.

I simply decided that I would have nothing to do with encouraging these overpaid whiners and have not given them anything for decades and will continue to do so.

I still get my baseball, though. One of the mothers down the street is raising a trio of boys, all three play ball in one of the local leagues all summer long. I figure I have a few more years of having an inside contact with the pony league schedule. Free admission, hot dogs about two bucks and brown bag a 16 ounce beer to wash the dogs down with.

It's great watching the youngsters play their hearts out simply for the love of the game and the games I watch are played by kids just old enough to put on a pretty good show.

All I know is that when I heard the money being paid a first baseman for the Red Sox, I simply feel pretty good about the decision I made to ignore professional sports.+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

The adventures of the Second Most Interesting Man in the World.

Yeah, I thing the ads are great. So here's the Second Most Interesting Man in the World.

He's the guy that isn't quite number one, but I guess he's pretty interesting...but not enough to be number one.


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He can speak High school Spanish and make himself understood in any high school in the country.

(but nowhere else)

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He doesn't put Grecian formula in his beard.

(Jonathan Goldsmith did to get the job from Dos Equis so that's why he's only the Second Most Interesting man in the World)

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He won the Cripple Creek Donkey Derby Days tobacco spitting contest.

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When it rains he gets wet just like everyone else.... Well, not quite as wet as everyone else.....

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He took second place in the Grand Prix... Guess who beat him?

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The police don't question him as often as they question the Most Interesting Man in the World because they don't find him quite as interesting.
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He's a lover not a fighter....but he he's pretty good with a pool cue, so watch out.

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He has has just as many adventures as the Most Interesting Man in the World but his were not quite as interesting.

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He doesn't always drink beer but when he does, he won't drink a Dos Equis.

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He speaks fluent French, but not in Russian. He speaks it in French.
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His blood smells like it might have just a touch of cologne in it.

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He was offered a job making beer commercials once...

but he wasn't interested.
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Feel free to add anything you might have in the comments section.



my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

News I got later yeaterday evening

There is a guy that I have known for years that has been somewhat a wet blanket regarding the way I have lived my life even though it has never been any of his business.

He retired a while back and to tell the truth I was not all that sad to see him retire and get off of my back.

He was always telling me how I should have buckled down and gone to college gotten married and raised 3.2 kids in a house in the suburbs with a little white picket fence around it.

My sailing and fishing days were ‘too dangerous’ for his taste. He was always telling me I should have played it safe.

When I met him after I had spent a glorious afternoon in a Stearman biplane he asked me why I would do such a dangerous thing.

If he wasn’t telling me how to stay safe then he was telling me how I ought to see the light and join his church and be saved and change my life.

I’ll make no bones about things. It would be pretty nice to be able to drop in on a couple of grown kids and visit a couple of young grandbabies.

Over the years I have had a number of people tell me that I would have made a pretty good father, but for me it simply wasn’t in the cards.

My lifestyle and career choices were not conducive to it. Raising children would not have been fair to the kids as I would not be around enough to do a decent job of being a father. Now that it is too far along to start over again I have to sit and think of all of the could haves, would haves and should haves.

All in all things have worked out pretty good for me when I look at the big picture. I’m reasonably content even though there are a few regrets. On the other hand I wonder about those that have no regrets. Maybe my basic contentment is just a part of my DNA or something.

For several years I have heard all this talk from the guy about how wonderful his life is as a father and grandfather and how I have wasted my time.

This man seems to never have had a bad day in his entire life if you listened to him.

I have heard him go on and on about how wonderful it was that he married at an early age and started his family right off and how happy he is with his family his home and his church.

I sit here wondering about all of his happiness as I write this because yesterday evening shortly after I got home a mutual acquaintance told me that this guy is no longer collecting his pension. About a month ago he took a shotgun and put it in his mouth and blew the back of his head off.

This spring I am going for a hot air balloon ride in his memory. That or skydiving.






my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

I just got home

Bad news: I lost the top of a beautiful tree in a wind storm.
Chain saw duty tomorrow.


Good news: When I walked by a bird house I put up before I left to go to work, a bird poked his head out. Cool!


Home is the sailor home fron the sea.....



my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

One of the things I am not is greedy.

I have a life style that is fairly comfortable and I'm happy this way. I have no real desires to get rich and have a whole pile of toys. My hobbies are shooting and booting around in a 20 year old Miata sports car and I really don't have to spend a whole lot on that because I reload my own ammunition, although components are going up in price these days. Still, it is affordable.

That and a little gardening in the summer. Seeds are cheap.

I don't really aspire to own, for example, a Ferrari or something along those lines. I can scare myself enough with my little $1200 Miata if I decide to. What is neat about the Miata is that I heated it up by beefing up the suspension and removing a few of the things that bleed horsepower like the air conditioning unit and the power steering system. I probably have under $2500 in it and the fun I've had with is is priceless.

A lot of the parts I put into it I either got off of Craigslist or eBay. It goes like the hammers of hell considering it only has a 1.6 liter engine. It holds the road like glue on sticky stuff.

I live in a little cape that is paid off and I generally do all of my own work if I can and it's in pretty good shape these days. My pickup is a simple two wheel drive Toyota that I paid cash for because I could.

I'm pretty much a minimalist. If you come by for dinner sometime you will be served a meal on a halfway decent set of dinnerwear. The flatwear will be inexpensive and most of the glasses will match pretty closely. It most certainly will not be bone china.

You'll eat pretty good, though. I'm a pretty good cook when I feel like it.

One thing I have a hard time figuring out is why so many of my coworkers seem to have so many problems with money. I can see it if you are raising a brood of kids, but if you are not I can't seem to figure out why.

Actually I can. It's an attitude.

It seems that a lot of people are caught up in the trap and have fallen for the smooth talking devils on Madison Avenue. The think that they need a whole lot more than they do.

A four wheel drive truck is nice to have on a snowy day, I'll be the first to admit, and the power of a 440 cubic inch V-8 feels pretty good when you start to stuff raw fuel into the afterburners, but it is expensive.

My pickup is a 4 cylinder two wheel drive and for maybe one or two days a year I have to wait a little bit until the streets are plowed a bit before I leave. To me, it isn't worth the thousands one spends on a monster machine.

My job is nothing more than a job of work that pays a halfway decent wage and I can live well on it if I am even the least bit observant. Back to the pickup. It ran me about $17,000. The guy the sister ship of mine has a huge four-by that cost him well over $50,000. That's a lot of money. On a 5 year note that's about 10K/year, not counting interest. Do the math. There's a $33,000 difference in our vehicles and they both get used for the same damned thing; they haul us to work.

This doesn't even begin to go into the additional expenses of insurance, lower gas milage and maintenance, which adds up pretty fast.

Me? I'd rather have the $33,000 plus, pay lower insurance rates, get good mileage and quietly commute in my Tacoma.

My home is really nothing too special, it's a small 3 bedroom cape in a wonderful neighborhood. It's paid for, and has a beautiful back yard. There are deer, birds, squirrels, chipmunks and occassionally, turkeys that wander through the yard and almost every summer a doe gives birth in my back yard. It is a wonderful thing to behold, and the neighborhood is a great place to live.

Still, it is a modest home with no frills and nonsense. It's not on top of the hill and it isn't eight bedrooms and I don't get to brag a whole lot, but I can say that it is a whole lot nicer than where about 85% of the rest of the planet lives when you look at the big picture.

I live well and I am satisfied. I haven't fallen into the traps that seem to abound and put a large percentage of us in bondage.

I listened to one of the guys brag about his big Dodge pickup a while back. He told me what it cost him and I shook my head sadly. He said it was a lot more comfortable than my little Toyota. In the next sentence he told me he was working overtime and I asked why. He said he had to catch up on some bills.

I wryly told him I had to catch up on my fishing and got a dour look.

We had both bought our trucks at about the same time. I looked at him and asked him how many miles he had on his and he told me. I commented that I had twice the mileage on mine.

He asked me why and I told him that I have more time to enjoy my things than he does because I don't have to work overtime to pay for them. He looked confused.

I told him that it sounded like he was a slave to his posessions; he didn't own them, they owned him because the time he lost paying for them was time he should be enjoying them but couldn't because he was too busy working.

Let's look at his truck, a four wheeler. The man lives on the coast of North Carolina on a flat and fairly level section of the state. He doesn't have to climb Mount Everest to get to his home and snow is really not a problem. He drives down the street and parks in a fairly level driveway just like you see on TV. It's simple, as issued in fact.

Of course, he'll insist he needs a four wheel drive and when you call him on that, he'll say, "Well, I do a lot of four wheelin'."

Yeah, right. First of all he doesn't have the time to; he's at work most of the time to pay for all of this. Besides, the guy is pretty picky about the appearance of his V-8 behemoth and the chances are pretty slim that he's going to go out into the boonies and tear up his truck, at least if he has half a brain.

Truth is, he needs a 4 wheeler to satisfy his ego and prove to everyone he's some kind of a big shot.

Ask him how much he puts in his 401K and I'd just bet it's not a whole lot. He'll tell you he can't afford it. He's got car and house payments to make because instead of a modest home he has a castle atop the hill somewhere and the moat has to be dredged annually and drawbridge maintainence is not cheap.

In short, it is keeping up with appearances that is driving him. He's a slave and is competely convinced that if he doesn't have the latest Blackberry or the newest computer, then he is doing it all wrong.

My all time favorite out here is the guy who got a call telling him that one of his kids had gotten in trouble with the law. He turned to me and was pretty upset, of course. I simply told him that maybe it was time to stop working so much overtime and spend some time with the kid and get him back on the straight and narrow. Good advice in my book.

He looked at me like I was from Mars and with his lower lip quivering he stated that he now had to make even more money yet. He turned and called straight in and asked for more overtime yet, even though he hadn't been home in ten weeks. His answer to everything was simply to make more money.

Why?

How in hell is all the money in the world going to make up for time spent being a father?

How about intelligently spending the money you have?

Right now I am writing this on a $200 surplus laptop that I bought because I knew it will be able to take a few hard knocks. It isn't the newest or the biggest or the best, but when I am done writing this and I post it nobody will know what kind of computer it was written on and when you look at processors they are only as fast as the ISP is. Most newer computers process a whole lot faster than their service provider. Chasing technology for the average guy is a complete waste of money.

Service rifle season is coming up and someone asked me if I was going to rebarrel for the upcoming season.

Why?

At 600 yards the barrel I have still hangs in there a whole lot better than I can shoot it. When it gets to the point where I can outshoot the rifle, I will bebarrel. Putting a new Krieger barrel on it at this point is just dumb. Let's just wait until the one I have wears out and then we'll rebarrel. When it loses accuracy I'll put on a Krieger. Quality pays.

This is not to say that I am cheap. I'm not. Quality costs money and in general is the most cost efficient way to go. There's no savings when a cheap tool fails and breaks an expensive part. There is no gain buying an inexpensive house in a neighborhood that is going down the sinkhole.

It's just that I do not consider thinking to be an option when it comes to spending sums of money.

The truth is that every so often you have to look at things and put your brain into gear and ask if you truly need something or are just feeding an ego. You have to ask yourself what good something is going to do for you and think a little. In this life, thinking is not an option. Spending your life in slavery to a bunch of stuff or having time for the things that matter is a choice many of us can make.

Of course, when I see a bunch of ATVs, boats, firearms, cars and other toys being sucked up into a hole in a cloud I might change my mind. That means that someone figured out a way to take his stuff with him after he died. Until I see that happen I am not going to worry about it.

Do I want my freedom or do I want to be a slave to a big house or a monster truck or some other spendy little toy I don't really need?


Remember, you pay for your toys with your time. It's your choice. I made mine and I'm pretty happy with it. Although I haven't gotten myself a whole lot of toys in this life I've had the time to do a lot of interesting things. I simply opted for fewer toys and more time to do things.

My advice is to choose wisely.







my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

Tonight's post is a dedication

The post is dedicated to a certain woman I know that persevered 12 years of Catholic education. She knows who she is.

Kiddo, this one's for you.


Our new shipboard series, 'Cathoic High School girls in trouble' is coming along nicely.


There are several parts, of course.It is an eight part series.

Part one: The shameful beginnings

Part 2: The formative years

Part 3: Uniform day

Part 4: Sister Mary Aloyosious.

Part 5: The insult

Part 6: Punishment day

Part 7: Revenge

Part 8: The final humiliation.

No, we are not writing kiddie porn. There is nothing more to this than what you have already read, just a series of amusing titles.

It started when I had to get an email through to someone that told me to make sure the subject box contained something that would catch his eye as he gets over 100 emails a day. He explained he didn't want what I sent him to get buried in the other things he had going.

I grinned at the nearest crewman, a guy with such deep rooted dark psychological problems that he is a rare and precious jewel to sail with. He's my go-to guy for anything sick, twisted or depraved. This man is a very valuable asset to the sanity of the vessel.

He's also my stay away from guy when I am drinking any beverage. He has caused me to ruin a number of keyboards which is yet another reason I use a milspec laptop. When coffee comes out of your nose and onto the keyboard it doesn't hurt the laptop.

I looked up and said to him, "Give me a subject for this email I need to send."

"Gay bikers on acid?" he suggested.

"You can do better than that," I said.

"Catholic high school girls in trouble?" he tried.

"Has potential," I said.

"Part 2: The formative years," he added.

"Excellent!" I said.

So I sent an email off to a business cohort with 'Catholic high school girls in trouble. Part 2: The formative years' in the subject box.

Of course I got a call back inside of an hour. He was amused. Apparently his wife, who was looking over his shoulder was not.

My shipmate overheard the phone call and smiled proudly.

"What are you going to do for an encore?" my shipmate asked me.

"Part 8," I replied. "The final humiliation." and we laughed.

Then I got to thinking. We needed a laugh. I opened word pad on the old combat laptop and titled a page "Catholic high school girls in trouble" and listed parts 1 through 8.

Part 2, of course, was tagged 'The formative years' and part 8 was tagged 'The final humiliation'.

"OK, guys. Fill in the blanks," I said, spinning the laptop. I got up to go out on deck.

When I got back about ten minutes later the blanks were filled in. It's what you see above.

Life out here is often difficult at best and it has been a hard trip. We've been run hard and everyone is getting pretty close to getting a little punchy. Sometimes the job needs a little help. We needed a good, sick, depraved yuk. We needed something, really.

The best part of the whole deal was watching a trainee blush. He's young enough so that it wasn't more than a year or two that he was chasing high school girls and it was funny watching him turn beet red.

Still, it was the kid that pointed something out.

"Betcha if you need the office quickly and the phones are jammed all you have to do is send them an email with one of those chapters in the subject box," he said.

It's because of this that we keep the trainee around. The man keeps shining through at odd times. He clearly has potential.

"Yeah", said my second. "They'll call you...fast."

It reminds me of the story of the guy at the chocolate factory that fell into a vat of chocolate and shouted, "Fire! Fire!"

People came running and quickly fished him out ot the gooey mess.

The foreman wanted to know why he had shouted 'fire!'

He looked at the foreman all covered in gooey chocolate sauce and stammered out an explaination. "Nobody would have come running if I had shouted chocolate sauce," he said.

I guess that if I ever run into an emergency, need the office fast and the phone system is busy I'll just send them an email with one of the aforementioned titles in the subject block. They'll be calling us in in a matter of minutes.

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Remember, Lumins have hopes and dreams just like you.

Save the Lumins!

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my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/

Ever buy something like a football or a pillow on eBay?

Try it sometime. Hilarity is likely to ensue.

It will probably come packaged the way a soccer ball I bought there came.

Neighbor Bob's kid had a birthday coming up so I decided to get the kid a soccer ball. I got a pretty good price for one on eBay and sent the money off and presto!

There it came in a huge box that some guy in a brown truck left on my doorstep.

I opened the box and sadly shook my head.

The ball was wrapped in several layers of bubble wrap and the oversized box was jammed full of packing peanuts.

I took one look at the packing and then carefully checked to make sure I had bought a real soccer ball instead of a model soccer ball made of something like bone china.

Nope. It was a real live ordinary soccer ball of the kind that kids just boot around these days.

I brought this up to a shipmate today and he told me that he once bought a pillow of some sort on eBay and it was the same deal for him. A huge oversized box with a pillow covered in bubble wrap and carefully placed into a box full of packing peanuts to make sure that if it was handled roughly in shipping that it wouldn't get broken.

Don't these people have a brain?



my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/