Friday, May 09, 2008

Tornado and the Perfect Pig-sicles

I know that the title of this posting sounds like the name of the one and only punk band in Reagan-era Alabama. I couldn't help myself. Today I am traveling east from a town (inappropriately named Liberal) in the farthest corner of southwest Kansas to Columbia, Missouri, today. It's a "working" vacation. You know how that goes ...

One of the towns we passed was Greensburg, Kansas. You may have heard of it in the news. It is the little town on Highway 54 that very nearly got erased by a monster tornado last year. President Bush has been out here to visit a couple of times. The last time I saw this town was before the storm. Back then it was another nondescript farming hamlet on the prairie. Here's what I saw today.





As I took these pictures, I saw other people in their cars with tags from other states busy snapping pictures as they drove through town. I also saw the faces of the people of Greensburg, tired of their town being on display, tired of doing without, tired of just being tired. It was the same look I'd seen on faces in Oklahoma after the terrible May 3rd tornado. There's just no way to really grasp such utter devastation. Then I saw this tree.



Almost all the trees in town are like this - sheared off where their canopy once was. This Spring those that could, and that was most of them, leafed out and got on with the business of living. There is a lot of growth and renewal in this town that my pictures don't show. This town is going to survive. It's a testament to the people and I wish them all the best in their continued efforts.

A lot further down the road, around dinner time, we had to pull into this place.



I am pretty sure that LC's is flatly the best BBQ place in all of Kansas City.

LC's Bar-B-Q
5800 Blue Parkway
Kansas City, MO 64129
Phone: (816) 123-4484

The place is really, really small. Expect a crowd. Expect awhile to get your order in. The portions are HUGE! Underneath all this food is a table - and that is all. It really does cover the whole table.



We got a slab of ribs and a mixed plate of pork and beef. The meats have a beautiful black glaze from the smoking process. The ribs come out looking like pork popsicles (pig-sicles). You can really taste all the effort and care that goes into each of these big meaty handfuls. It comes from the hardwood that is stacked in the back of the place until it's time for a little smokehouse magic. LC's makes its own sauce that is slathered onto the meats, which include beef, pork, turkey, chicken, ham and some more. That sauce is spicy, a little hot and a perfect mate for the earthy richness of the food.

If you ever visit Kansas City, you really need to visit LC's. It's just off the interstate and easy to find.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Three New Trees

I have three new trees in the yard. All of them are mighty oaks. Two were planted by me. One was planted by the squirrel that lives in my neighbor's attic. Can you guess which is which?

Oak "A"



Oak "B"



Oak "C"

Indiana, Good Gawd Ya'all!

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Feathered Reviewers on Amazon dot COM



George Orwell noted, "To see what is in front of one's nose requires a constant struggle.'' Shows ya what he knew. Those steaming chunks of poo on the footpath are the AFTER-math of the latest brouhaha between traditionally good, hard working, law abiding and respectful American Ducks and a rather typically Canadian ... Goose. I can only imagine that the PRE-math was like a great many reviews of books at Amazon.COM.

. . .

To: Duck, American

Subject: You are a [expletive]

I'm writing this review of your book slowly (very sloooowly) because I know you can't read so well. Your book is a pompously overcast, steaming piece of [expletive]. It has too many characters & no plot whatsoever. The audience for such a work is limited to people with the IQ of a toothbrush and the attention span of a cocker spaniel being shown a card trick. Worse yet, printing the book on yellow, white and blue paper was duplicitous, arrogant and wasteful. Your attempt at humor in the artwork only proves that you were weaned on a [expletive] pickle you sour-faced [expletive]. Please don't sleep on your side, because your tiny little brain will roll out your ear, you imperialist [expletive].

. . .

To: Goose, Canada

Subject: Please return my phonebook

Thanks

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Another tornado

Was working late today when the roof on the office building began rumbling. At first it was just a few thumps, then more, more and way more ... until the hailstones pounding the ceiling sounded like a full-tilt boogie drum solo.

At the first break in the torrent of rain and hail, I ran out to the parking lot to leave. The place awas littered with almost golf ball sized hail stones.





This weird cloud was rotating as it passed overhead.


You can't see it very well in this cellphone camera image, but there were a couple of twisty clouds inside that dusty wedge. One of them turned downward and became a tornado about five minutes and three miles or so east and north of this.

Maybe this is Nature's way of saying, enough is enough. Come home and work on the blog instead.

Monday, April 28, 2008

The New Job



Started the new job in the same old Evil Corporation last Monday. Still getting settled into the new office and routine.

Status?

Like the pay, the work and Triumphant Capitalism. Dislike this new tax bracket where I pay ALL of the federal debt MYSELF. Want the parking space by the door and my own secretary. Need the Corporate Financial Wieners and the 3 Budgeteers to ease up outta my face.

Will be regularly posting again very soon.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Happy Anniversary Oklahoma!



Today marks the anniversary of Oklahoma's great Land Run of 1889. It all started with a bang, then thousands of people charging off full-tilt boogie into the wilderness to claim a 160 acre chunk of land for their very own. To be sure, the event still stirs up controversy now as then, but this is the crown jewel of our State's creation mythos.

In my travels I've fielded many questions about Oklahoma. So, I'll try to answer a few of the more frequently asked questions about Oklahoma here. By all means, if you have a question, ask away and I'll get an answer back to you.

1. What is a Sooner?

Did you ever see that 1992 movie "Far and Away" by Ron Howard? In that picture Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman came to Oklahoma for the Great Land Rush of 1889. In the famous Land Rush scene, Tom and everyone else went to all the effort of lining up, playing by the rules and starting the Run at the appropriate time. Well, there were a few people who left a little "sooner" than they should have. These dirty rotten cheaters staked their claim to the very best land and water resources they could find. Those cheaters and their descendants survived the Dust Bowl and Great Depression because they got the best land. Another thing they've got is THE stupidest beer, wine and liquor laws on Earth. Yet another thing is the title "MOST teenage pregnancies in the Nation". Without the oppressive burden of scientific proof, one might just assume the pair are somehow related ...

2. What is a Boomer?

Have you ever looked at a neighbor's vast, empty property and ever thought about just ... maybe parking your boat there rent free ... maybe going ahead and just building a house there and moving in? Most HONEST people wouldn't think that way, but way back in 1880 a group of people in Kansas looked south into Indian Territory and didn't see any Indians. but they did see lots and lots of land ... glorious land ... so they thought maybe they should go ahead and move down there, smack dab in the exact geometric middle of nowhere, build houses, graze cattle, plow up the prairie and plant crops ... all on the down low of course because it was ILLEGAL. Sure enough, these land jumpers DID make the Indians (and everyone else involved) upset. The Boomers that "moved" into the Indian Territory (later Oklahoma) eventually were found and then removed by US Army. Sound strange? Well, there is a modern equivalent. They call the places these modern-day Israeli Boomers build "settlements."

3. In Oklahoma do you have ... (x) ...?

a. Paved roads? Yes, we even have a Turnpike Authority to pay for the ones that your federal Highway dollars don't cover.

b. Electricity? Someone actually asked me this when I was in California in 1988. No, it wasn't the same guy who had that marijuana leaf T-shirt that said "Thank God for Adair County, Oklahoma".

c. Problems with the Indians? This conversation actually happened on a KAL flight to Seoul, South Korea. The Korean businessman who said this was perfectly serious.

Him: From Oklahoma, huh? Still got problems with the Indians?
Me: Problems?
Him: You know! I've seen it in the movies. You can't deny it.
Me: OK, feather or dot?
Him: Whaddya mean?
Me: Indians from here or Indians from India? We've got both kinds you know.
Him: Really?
Me: Oh yeah. We're THAT cool.

I suppose it's a little quaint to say that you love your State, even dangerously sentimental in these Postmodern times, but it's true ... even if no one else believes it.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

The Girls


Must be that time of year again for my neighbors. Came home today and saw "The Girls" gleefully preening in a field of sweetgrass and flowers. A gaggle of them, each both winsome and agog, were so elegant in thier strapless Hereford reds and whites, lined up by the steel pole and wire fence like dancers waiting for the music to begin.

Why?

The boys in the next pasture of course.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Fulica Americana



When I first found these strange birds down at the Pond, I had no idea what they were. I'd never seen them before in my life. Apparently I wasn't the only Oklahoman not familiar with the American Coot (Fulica Americana).

According to www.birdsofoklahoma.net, the American Coot may be described as a 15" Gray duck-like bird with a white bill and frontal shield, white undertail coverts, and lobed toes, frontal shield has a red swelling at its upper edge, visible at close range, immatures similar but paler.

The Coot eats mostly aquatic vegetation, algae; also fish, tadpoles, crustaceans, snails, worms, aquatic and terrestrial insects, eggs of other marsh-nesting birds. It pirates plants from ducks.

Coots are usually found near shore, considered golf course and gun club pests. Fortunately, they are migratory and are not a problem for long. According to The Journal of Wildlife Management, the coots arrive in late February and a generally gone by May.

This picture (taken by Berlin Heck) shows a pair of Coots. Although the name is eerily similar (as suggested by a couple of readers of this blog), I do not believe that this bird was intentionally named in honor of the Cooter. Although it would have been interesting, and a very different experience, had a "Vajayjay" nested in my Pond.

Maybe the confusion comes because like the words to, to, too, too and two - Coot and Cooter are very close, but they are not homonyms like the 2's. Homonyms are words that share the same spelling and the same pronunciation but have different meanings. Coot and Cooter are actually paronyms - words which are almost homonyms, but have slight differences in spelling or pronunciation and have different meanings. A Coot is not a HappyMeal's unmentionable bald biscuit. Just as a Cooter is not just a bird. It's a actually any of several freshwater turtles.

Words like affect and effect are probably better paronyms, but just aren't as funny.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Strange Birds

This wild turkey was fluffed up in the middle of the street, displaying for a pair of female turkeys when I drove up to them. I got the camera ready as they got off the road. He puffed up again as soon as they got to safety. Here he is. Can you see this Tom in his habitat?



This strange bird belongs to NASA. It is the Super Guppy and has a cargo compartment that is 25 feet tall, 25 feet wide and 111 feet long. It can carry a maximum payload of more than 26 tons. The aircraft has unique hinged nose that can open more than 200 degrees, allowing large pieces of cargo to be loaded and unloaded from the front. It's just passing through this neck of the woods.



And here are the Coots. They are only here at the pond during the daylight hours. I'm not sure where they go in the evening.

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Nancy and the Magic Coconut



Once upon a time in a tiny white house in a garden of very red roses, there was a Man named and a Woman whose happiness was matched in greatness only by their poverty. Each morning the Man would leave his happy home and go into the dark and wicked world outside because there were simply not enough prefabricated concrete building parts for the kind of simple and fast erections that the naughty Corporation enjoyed. Each evening the Man would return home with two precious coins jingle-jangling in his pocket.

The Woman would greet him with a kiss and smile. He would give her all his money and she would make him very happy indeed because she would let him rub her stomach and sing this song:

Soda cracker, soda cracker, sis boom bah,
Let's make some babies, rah, rah, rah!

One day the Woman sneezed and had a baby. It was a lovely daughter, who was a girl of unparalleled goodness and sweet temper. The Woman named her Nancy, and gave her a middle name that meant Love in another language. Upon returning from work, the Man was very happy, but did not rub the Woman's stomach quite so energetically, and his song was not quite so exuberant.

The next day, just before lunch, the Woman was in the kitchen felt first tickle of a sneeze coming on. She pinched her nose with her fingers, held her breath and tried to think about anything but having another baby. She thought about differential calculus, quantum electrodynamics, and even heavy baryon chiral perturbation theory with light deltas, before the image of a fat, pink little baby wandered into her thoughts. Before she could get a napkin out of the box, she sneezed and had a son. She named the son Spaulding. Upon returning from work, the Man was ... surprised ... however happily, and touched his index finger to the Woman's stomach, and mumbled the lyrics of his song.

The next day the Woman avoided the kitchen altogether and order Chinese take-out. It was small and hot and smelled of a perfectly safe beef and broccoli. She broken apart the chopsticks and opened the package of food. There lying on top of the rice was a little packet of pepper. Just seeing it was quite enough. She sneezed so hard that she spilled the package. When she was cleaning up the mess, she found a brand new daughter in the rice. She named the daughter Fawn. Upon returning from work, the Man was too astonished to speak. After his wits returned, he swore off singing from that day forward.

A beautiful fairy Godmother named Angelique heard of the magical births and came to see the children and give them special gifts. When Angelique saw the youngest baby girl, Fawn, she gave the child the gift of beauty. Angelique knew a great deal about beauty because not only was she pretty and pure, she had been a highly paid wedding gown model before becoming a fairy Godmother. Angelique determine that this child would grow into a beautiful runway model and make millions on the catwalks of Paris and New York.

When Angelique saw the middle baby, Spaulding, she gave the child the gift of intellect. Angelique knew a great deal about intellect because her one true love in life had been a dashing young physicist who worked in an Advanced Weapons Research Lab for the Corporation. An accident with an atomic demolition munition separated them forever, and to mend her broken heart, Angelique was transformed into an immortal fairy Godmother. This child would graduate from MIT and make tons of cash perfecting the design of krytrons (nuclear weapon triggers) in the same Lab where Angelique's love once worked.

When Angelique saw the eldest child, Nancy, all she had left to give was personality. Angelique knew a great deal about this because personality was so enchanting that a mere glance would stop men in the tracks. Angelique preferred the company of women for conversation because most mortal men were only able to repetitiously babble a single word in her presence - "Humina" - which in another language means "Excuse me, Madam, may I clear a space for you to sit?", or, depending upon the vocal inflection of the final syllable, "Hold on t’yer shorts, kumquat. It's gonna get bumpy!"

As Nancy grew into womanhood, she listened to what her teachers told her about the world. She wanted to have fun and earn money. It seemed as though all of her friends were already doing it too. She dreamed of going with her father into the evil world and work for a multinational Corporation. The poor girl bore it patiently, but dared not tell her father, who would have scolded her.

One day a Charming Corporate Prince invited all to apply for a job as a software engineer. He wanted someone with personality who could help with a customer support/relations problem that had dogged the Corporation for years. All the people were invited, but only the young bothered to apply because entry level Corporate blows big time. So the young people gleefully planned their wardrobes, rehearsed their interview questions and prepared their resumes. Nancy made her preparations in secret because her father would never allow her attend an interview in the wicked world outside the red, red rose garden of home.

When the appointed day came, Nancy slipped out of an upstairs window, shimmied down the trellis for the climbing roses and was gone. She tripped and got caught in the thorny roses. Her smart business suit was ruined. She cried in despair. There was a burst of light and Angelique, her fairy Godmother appeared. . Don't be alarmed, Nancy, Angelique said. I know you would love to go to the interview. And so you shall!

And so she did! Nancy knocked them dead with her poise, confidence and sense of humor at the interview. That afternoon, the Corporate Prince called and gave her the good news that she had been selected. She could start on Monday in two weeks time.

Nancy was so happy to work. Every morning she told her father that she was going to work in a family owned Yum-Yum store where they bottled sunshine and rainbows for toppings on ice cream that was only made from the very happiest of the unionized cows in meadows of New Jersey. To make the story complete, she would stop by that store after working for the Corporation Taskmasters, and buy a carton of ice cream and some toppings for her father.

One day the people in Nancy's office at the Corporation were planning a tropical theme party. The theme drink was the Pina Colada. How the Corporate Lackeys worked at this party! One of them proposed using a Cream of Coconut based milk for the Pina Colada. Another proposed a quicker and dirtier substitute "Pina Colada Mix" for the coconut milk and sugar. But there was one Man who was true in spirit and pure of heart. This Man was The Most Honorable, The Corporate Marquess of Nondestructive Testing. He stayed true to the spirit of the coconut. His preference was coconuts, real coconuts and nothing but brown hairy coconuts.

The Marquess was an interesting man in many ways, but moreso for his luxurious hair, almost all sadly being on his back and chest rather than on the top of his shiny head. He had an Engineers common deficiency; that is, the singular ability to find a negative, or in the vernacular, he was able to pick turds out of the daisies.

The Hairy Marquess suffered from a broken heart. Some time ago he and his brother had formed a dart team. They recruited two additional members to build a foursome. There was the Corporate Prince and Dave the Klingon, a bad man who was born on bad day in very bad part of the city. He had the table manners of a goat and same conversational skills as Satan's bottom. Dave's one redeeming feature was that he did have very good hair.

Smoochmachine the Blonde was a storm that blew through the Hairy Marquess' life like a tornado on a warm spring day. Their relationship was passionate and intense. Their fights were legendary, and their make-up sessions just as revoltingly public. Part of this was because she was the Hairy Marquess' first true love. The Blonde One wanted one thing more than anything else in life - a husband.

One day, the Hairy Marquess and the Blonde One had a fight that grew more silent rather than louder the longer the spat went on. It was a "relationship" fight. Becky the Blonde wanted a permanent one and the Hairy Marquess prematurely panicked, hiccoughed a frightened "No!", and refused to hear anymore about the matter. The Blonde One cried. It was exceedingly uncomfortable to watch; that is, for everyone except Dave the Klingon.

He offerred the Blonde One a shoulder to cry on. He was compassionate, gentle and kind. One thing lead to another and they kissed. Then they moved in together. Of course, they moved into her house because Dave's wife lived in *his* house. For awhile Dave went "visiting the Library", then when Winter gave way to Spring, he went to "water the garden." When Summer came, Mrs. Dave caught the lovers betwixt the sticks and the jig was up. There was an ugly divorce, but at last Dave and the Blonde One no longer needed euphemisms.

With all of that behind him, the Hairy Marquess was ready to move with the Tropical Themed Party at the Corporate Office. His first task in building the perfect Pina Colada was to get the milk of the best brown, hairy coconuts that he could find. So he went to the grocery store. At the store he discovered that real brown, hair coconuts don't have pop tops, pull tabs or lids. Well, how hard could it be? He thought. He would get three of them and bring them home for experimentation.

The first coconut was subjected to the drill press. The Marquess discovered that the stubborn coconut would indeed submit to a quarter-inch steel bit. Then he discovered that he needed two holes to drain the thing - one hole for the precious milk and one to let the air inside. Then he realized that no matter how many holes he drilled in the coconut, the holes would not cleanly link up so he could use the shell of the nut for a cup.

The second coconut was subjected to a band saw. The Marquess discovered that the stubborn coconut would indeed submit to the high speed band of steel, but could not contain the juice that rushed out as soon as the nut was pierced. Worse still, the nut tended to shatter under the stress loading of the band saw.

He thought the solution may be in constraining the coconut before tapping on it with a chisel. He put the sole surviving coconut into a tabletop vise and tightened the jaws around it. He took a sharpened wood chisel to the coconut. He raised a mallet and gave it a mighty stroke. The coconut, even in its bondage, jostled. The chisel slipped and bit into the Marquess' bare knuckles drawing blood (and three stitches to close). Rage burned in his heart, and the Marquess raised the mallet again struck the offending coconut hard. It exploded in the vise raining milk and broken shell all over the garage.

The Corporate Prince, the Hairy Marquess and the others in the office gathered around the water cooler that next morning. The Hairy Marquess didn't want to explain the oven MIT sized bandage on his hand. When the truth spilled out, Nancy couldn't believe her ears.

"I can open a coconut ... with a spoon," she said.

The room became perfectly silent. The Marquess locked eyes with Nancy, searching her for a tell tale sign of a bluff.

"Five bucks says you can't," the Marquess said.

"Make it ten," Nancy said, "and I'll open two of them."

"You're on!" the Marquess slammed the ten spot onto the water cooler.

When Friday came, and it was time for everyone to gather at a local watering hole, Nancy got the keys to her father's car.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She was almost out the door, but now she caught.

"Out with some friends," she said.

"Out? Where?"

"To the Brewery."

"Not in my car you're not!" he shouted. "I won't hear another word about it either."

He went back to reading the newspaper. Nancy burst into tears and ran back to her room and threw herself onto her bed.

While she was crying Angelique, the fairy Godmother, appeared and said, "Why are you in tears? What is the matter?" Poor Nancy told her tale.

Angelique said "Quick, fetch me a pumpkin!" When Nancy brought one, Angelique turned the pumpkin into a 1992 Cadillac El Dorado that she knew Nancy's father would appreciate because there is safety in big old cars like that. Angelique put two big green coconuts into the back seat of the car in a brown paper sack. She handed Nancy an oversize sharp ended spoon, and said, "You can open the magic coconut with this, I've put little grooves in the coconut where you are supposed to open the coconut."

Angelique then turned Nancy's business appropriate dress into a beautiful gown, complete with a delicate pair of stylish, low-heeled leather shoes that fit like slippers. Angelique bade Nancy enjoy the ball, but return before midnight for the spells would be broken.

At the Brewery, the entire corporate court was entranced by Nancy and her charming personality, especially the Hairy Marques, who never left her side. When she was ready Nancy took the first magic coconut out of the sack, slipped the spoon into the groove and pried downward. The coconut opened perfectly straight. She drained the milk of it into the Corporate Prince's cup of pineapple juice. A little dash of rum later and the Corporate Prince lifted the glass to his mouth. It was good!

Nancy opened another coconut for the Hairy Marquess. In an even shorter time, she had his cup full of milk. She poured in the rum and pinepple juice for him. She stirred the drink with her spoon. The mixture chilled into a wet slush.

The Marquess to the drink and touched it to his lips. He dabbed his tongue into the liquid. It was good! He thought. It was really good.

Everyone raised a toast to Nancy. The Hairy Marquess passed her a ten dollar bill. Nancy felt like she was on top of the world.

She saw the clock in the corner and grabbed her pursue. She left only at the final stroke of midnight, and almost lost one of her shoes on the steps of the Brewery.

"I have to go," she asked.

"Wait!" the Hairy Marquess said.

He rushed out the door after her. He was overwhelmed with curiosity,

"How did you do that?" he asked.

"It's a secret. Maybe I could tell you one of these days," Nancy said.

"I'd like that very much," he said.

He walked her out to the pumpkin colored Caddy, and fell in lover with her somewhere along the way. They were married several months later. Their first child is almost a year old now.

Moral: Beauty is a treasure, intellect is a gift, but graciousness is priceless. Without it nothing is possible; with it, one can do anything, even open coconuts with a spoon!

Monday, April 07, 2008

Tornadoes In Oklahoma

Every so often I'm reminded that Oklahoma really is a place "where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain." A few days ago, most everyone else got a little reminder too. Yes, we had a tornado in the area, but my house and town are safe. Unfortunately others weren't so lucky. Thanks to everyone, but especially dear Suzanne and Bindi, for their concern and generosity.



An old Army buddy of mine lives in a house not far from this one. For him everything is fine now - now that a few days have passed, the roads have reopened, and visits have been made to the hardware and lumber stores.

One of the things about Oklahoma that you really should know is that we are a small state. You're only one or two degrees of separation from almost everyone in the state. That means if something happens, it happens to us all. Community. This is the best part of living here.

Tornadoes are also a part of living here. This latest one is said to have been an F1. Though at the lowest end of the Fujita scale, it did come at night, when most people were sleeping. Fortunately we have the very best weather radars and meteorologists in the country, so plenty of advanced warning was given and no lives were lost in this storm. There was a good deal of damage because the storm crossed into the metro area.

I live in Norman, Oklahoma, at the opposite end of the metro from where this storm struck. Norman is the home of the University of Oklahoma, a National Weather Service Forecast Office, and the NOAA's National Severe Storms Laboratory. We have an extraordinary collection of French Impressionist art in the Fred Jones Museum of Art at the University. We also have a first rate Natural History Museum. Other than that, Norman is a fairly ordinary town. Some call it the most boring town in America.

Others would disagree. Tourists come here from all over the world to go on storm chasing tours that let these thrill-seekers locate and "chase" a tornado-producing super-cell thunderstorm. It is very dangerous to confront tornadoes, and these folks are willing to pay $300 a day or more for the chance to see one of Mother Nature's most destructive forces up close and personal.

Me? Nope. I've seen my share of tornadoes already. From the great May 3rd, 1999, twister that had the fastest winds ever recorded on planet Earth (318 mph) to some up and down F1s that did touch and go landings on the empty prarie, I've been there, sees that and don't want to do it again.

No, in all my expereince with storms, I think I'm typical. I've only had to hunker down and let a storm blow over me twice. The first time happened when I was about 12 years old. It was night and the tornado was wrapped in rain. The television said to take shelter because the tornado had been seen coming in our direction. The house had a basement, but you had to get into the basement from doors on the outside of the house. The rain mixed with hail when we were running to the basement. It stung when it hit your body. The tornado was so close that you could hear the storm through the rain. It sounded like moaning. It came very close. In flashes of lightning we could see it through the windows in the basement. It did a lot of damage to a neighbor's house, but ours was spared. Some cows were killed and a horse was lost. It was never found again.

The next time my wife and I were students at the University. We were living in the Parkview Apartments on campus. These apartments had no designated storm shelter, so when the storm came, you had to get into the bathtub, pull a mattress over you, and hope for the best. It was a small tornado that came up from the south through a small town called Noble. I could hear the sirens in Noble going off, but ours in Norman were sounding. A neighbor from China called me and asked what he should do. I told him how to shelter his family and that the storm would sound like a train on the railroad. The police drove by then announcing on the loudspeaker that the sirens were broken and that everyone should seek cover immediately because the storm was very close. The tornado lifted right as it touched the Norman city limits. Everyone came out of their cover, except the Chinese family living next to me. From that direction I heard two things at almost simultaneously - blood curdling screams and the air horns of the southbound 5:40 ATSF freight train.

When the tornado watches come, most people will get a beer, go out on the front porch and look for the storm. It's a social thing, so if you're not from around here, you probably not going to understand. When a tornado warning comes, it's time to move to shelter. It's that easy.

In addition to super charged Doppler weather radars and science out the wazzoo, we also have a protective Native American legend that says Norman will never be hit by a tornado. Apparently the city is on some holy ground that was considered safe enough from tornadoes to hold tribal meetings and that sort of thing. Some say that there has never a tornado that touched down in the Norman city limits, but that's not entirely true - but close enough for government work and legend.

Suzanne, I love you to pieces and thank you for your concern, but don't worry about me one little bit. I'll be fine. With the kind of advance warning these weathermen can provide if a tornado ever does come close, I live close enough to the interstate to be miles away by the time trouble comes.

Monday, March 31, 2008

First Blooms



After some rough weather, the first signs of Spring have finally come. These blooms just popped open ... under a nest that some birds have built in the lattice for the climbing roses. Those roses get very bushy and bristle with thorns. The chicks will be well protected and have the best smelling nest in the neighborhood!



A little further down the wall, I found the first rosebud of the season.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Banjo-legs of Customer Support

Was cruising past the pond today and I saw the strangest thing. A goose with a banjo-leg.



For those from more Northern latitudes, a banjo-leg is the strange condition that a dog gets when you scratch his belly just so ... and one of his back legs starts working all by itself. One could say that it's a semiquaver from a itch needin scratched, and you'd be almost right, because what the dog is really doing is picking an imaginary banjo with that strumming leg. It's a musical itch. If you don't believe me, just try it. Scratch your old dog just so ... and when that leg gets to strumming, sing these words:

Chicken in the bread pan pickin out dough.
Granny, does your dog bite? No, child, no.

Just see if your poor hound doesn't look back at you, forlorn and bedraggled, with that "You SO did not go there" expression.

I used to believe that dogs were the only animals with banjo-legs, and I was ... yet to be enlightened. How it hurts to say it. Fortunately, Enlightenment was right around the corner! I was having a bad day at the Corporation, so I drove to the pond to contemplate Nature. There was a goose, a brand new goose by the way, standing on one leg in that classic "I'm sleeping, leave me alone" pose. Then, as if by magic, the other leg began strumming. It became a banjo-leg! I don't know if it was a dream, or one legged aerobics, or what ... but all of the sudden the events of the day became perfectly clear to me.

Humans have banjo-legs too.

It's not in their real legs though, but in their emotional legs. Don't believe me? Try this the next time your in your favorite Corporate customer support office ...

"Hey, Joe SoAndSo, a customer called with a software problem. They need Sum_Thingy changed really bad."

Presto! Mere moments after your coworkers' hollow, horrified indignation comes the more familiar strumming ... the emotional banjo-leg ...

"It can't be done. It quite simply can't be done."

Why?

"There's no money. There's no feasibility. We don't have the staffing for that. We can't put that on one of our networks. There's licensing issues. There's no approvals."

Really there's no willingness to try, no courage to actually TALK to someone who can solve the problem. A whole department with the moral substance of a popcorn fart. So, the banjo-leg goes faster and faster, and when it reaches an incredible, butt-tingling speed ... out pops:

"It's impossible!"

But all you them saying is:

Chicken in the bread pan pickin out dough.
Granny, does your dog bite? No, child, no!

Monday, March 24, 2008

Bindi, Sweet As Sugar

It happened again! Another award. I'm so happy. My dear friend, Bindi, wrote this one into her Friday, March 21, 2008 posting:

at this Easter season am sending a delicious award to Dawn, Jo, Maithri, baby Suzanne, Skeeter, and Arv...


Enjoy your delicious award!!!

I love you all

Happy Easter with lots of ♥


Thank you so much, Bindi. You are a dear and I love you too. You're far too kind. Thank you again and bless you.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Happy Easter!



Happy Easter to everyone. Best wishes to you and yours this season.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Skeeter wins an Award!

Happy news! I've been given an award by The Snarkiest who said:

Ah, the perfect levels of sarcasm an wit I enjoy. I hadn't found a post worthy of an award for March 10, and here it is. I hope you don't mind that I award you as the Snarkiest Post of the Day belatedly. It is well deserved. The award is here:


Now if I can hold out til Monday for #2.

Isn't it ironic that on the day for which I received this award, thesnarkiest carried a picture with the caption "Condom truck tips, spills load"?

This is an unbelievable honor and a complete surprise. So many people have a part of this, chief among them Mr. Frank Wiggly, for his commitment to nudism and the restrooms in my building. Wiggly may be the High Templar of Nudism in civilian life, but he will always be the Bowels Beneath the Brains in this Corporation. To Guilderfleece, I can't think of anybody I would rather be standing here with than you. Thank you so much for this. For everyone at Patty Cake's Janitorial, the entire team who makes our facilities sparkle and keep our dispensers stocked. Because you remind us, we know that "Real Men Flush". A brilliant, brilliant job. Thank you to all of them.

Thanks to the readers who signed this lucky post. To Robyn, yes, it is the paper, the whole paper and nothing but the paper every single day. To mrs4444, if you figure out "the vibe" please let me know, until then I'd be very, very happy for you to come back anytime for a visit. To terrirainer, you look pretty damn good for a (and I want to quote your remark for accuracy) "naked, overweight woman with stretch marks". You know I love you and would have said the same even if you weren't naked. Honestly you need to come back to class. We miss you. To nouveaublogger, maximum power to you brother. May there never be a shortage of reading material anywhere you go. To suzanne, because you are the greatest. Your garden may be as close to Eden as I ever come. Thanks for sharing pictures of it with me. To bindhiya, I'm so happy that you visit my blog. You are the kindest, gentlest soul I know. Bless you. To maria, your writing is so good it lifts me up when I read it, and it challenges me to be a better person. Thank you for visiting my blog. To eva, I find rattling the newspaper to be very funny also. Thanks so much for visiting. Please, please come again.

Thanks to thesnarkiest for this award.

Thank you very much indeed. Thank you.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Is that a Polynomial in your pocket?

I am completely insufferable today.

Back to Waynesburg for another day with the Contractors, and what an excellent day it turned out to be. Any day that contains lengthy and spirited discussions of particle-induced X-ray emission, scanning electron microscopy and energy dispersive X-ray detection, tomography, carbon nanotubes, subparagraphs of IEEE standards, jet engine gas path dynamics, renormalization and deresolution factors of spectral data, numerical analysis and statistical package preferences ... well, you know it's going to be a good one. But a really great day is one that contains a moment when a dedicated group of uberNerds staring at the graph of a group of data points start placing bets on the which order polynomial is needed to best/most efficiently fit the curve. Oh yeah, do you feel it? I feel it. That's right! Jump back Jack, this Big Daddy-O wins a big round of ice cold Diet Coke from the hapless mathematical wannabes. Polynomials? I got a pocket full a polynomials. I got constants to go with 'em too. Woo hoo!

When lunchtime rolled around, we convoyed in rented nerdChariots to Stryker's Grill,1117 Willow Road, Waynesburg, PA.



It's advertised as a sports bar restaurant and grill offering burgers, sandwiches, pastas, seafood, and pizza in an upbeat social atmosphere. It's in a bowling alley, so it's blue collar enough to be real. I didn't see a bar, but I did see the Budweiser man wheeling beer by the handtruck-full. The food is alright. For Friday Fishday, I had this:



When we finished working, it was really late in the afternoon, so I drove as fast as I could south to Morgantown, West Virgina, to see the campus of West Virgina Unversity. It was raining like a cow peeing on a flat rock, so the drive over the mountains to Morgantown was interesting. I was hoping to find something on campus to help soothe the agony of that miserable thumping the Mountaineers of West Virginia put on our beloved Oklahoma Sooners in the last Fiesta Bowl.

I didn't. The campus itself is kind of disappointing. Yes, it's winter and the trees are bare and there are no flowers, but ya don't need Braille to figure out Butt Ugly.

Their main Library is downtown instead of right in the middle of campus. This little building is the only on-campus Library that I saw.



The best thing I found on campus was the Personal Rapid Transit. These little, driverless shuttles travel around campus and into town on tracks like shuttles at an airport. Here's what one of these very cool vehicles looks like up close:



Naturally I had to seek out the few, the proud, the girlfriend-less unterNerds yearning to graduate into real jobs ... and work for uberNerds like me. I found them.



If what I said before about the girlfriend/date-less students of engineering was TRUE, then why is this building ...



dark as a steer's tuchus on a moonless prairie night? It's Spring Break, of course!

A Change of Plans and Mel on the Shelves

Big Jim, one of the guys with me here in Pittsburg, got a phone call from home. His elderly father in law passed away in the afternoon. So I took Big Jim to the airport yesterday evening. Sympathies to the family in their time of mourning.

The job goes on, so back to work I go. The rush hour traffic on the way back from the airport was terrible, so I pulled into a Walmart just off the interstate to kill some time. Look at what I found on the bookracks!



It Mel Odom's latest book, HellGate: London: Goetia. It's a dark and strange tale about demons, magic and people who fight to survive in and overcome the horrors of a post-apocalyptic London. I have a copy at home. I brought one his Rogue Angel novels, Serpent's Kiss, with me on this trip. If the Hellgate book is as good as the Rogue Angel series, then it's going to be great. Can't wait to read it!

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Groovy in Waynesburg, PA

Spent the day visiting a Contractor in Waynesburg, PA. With an office between a maximum security penitentiary and an unguarded runway, you'd think there'd be more traffic … just passing through. Sure enough, right around noon the giant alarms at the prison began to wail. Definitely time to drive a little … faster.



Went to Groovy's for lunch. Had the Special, a Chix-n-Cheese with Bacon Sandwich. Hey now, it was good. Stop by if you have a chance. Prices are reasonable and the food is good.

Late in the evening, we called it a day and went to Pittsburgh. The scenery was perfect - the hills, the convergence of the great rivers, the lights of the city …



And the "rough as a cob" roads! I thought the roads in Oklahoma were bad. This place has axel-snapping canyons for potholes and narrow, twisty death-funnels for off-ramps. I had to snap this image with my teeth clenched to keep them from rattling out of my head.

Eventually we found Fatheads, 1805 E Carson St, in Pittsburgh. How I miss my GPS unit! We timed it just right apparently and made it through the Fort Pitt Tunnel after the rush had cleared. Fatheads is famous for its oversized sandwiches, selection of beers, and being full to overflowing with some of the Steel City's most beautiful women. Unfortunately, they were all my son's age. At least they had hockey on the Bigscreen.

They brought me a bowl large enough to hide a human head. Here's the Chef Salad that was inside it. The turkey was smoked and the salad greens crispy cold. Yum.



Oh yes, everything does go better with a nice Harp lager.

Hope tomorrow is as much fun. We'll see you at The Church Brew Works in Pittsburgh. Hold the table for us because we'll probably be a little late concluding a small business matter … before pleasure.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Another Adventure



Hi! Thanks for stopping by. The Corporation sent me Pittsburgh today. I be here until Saturday. The good news is that I have a internet connection so I can compose blog entries. Promise I'll write again soon - probably tomorrow evening.

Night, night. Talk with you again soon.

Peace & Love,

Skeeter

Monday, March 10, 2008

A Poopie Practice



Have you ever seen the man who boldly, confidently strides through the hallways at Work, a newspaper tucked under his arm, a cell phone going jingle-jangle-jingle on his belt loop, and a single-minded focus on reaching the restroom as elegantly, yet as quickly as decorum permits? Why? It's simple. There's an old Corporate Theory that says you do everything, including #2, on Company time. This works well enough for weekdays, but makes for some exceedingly uncomfortable weekends, especially those of the three day holiday variety.

We have a few subscribers to this Theory working for us at the Corporation. One such person, Mr. Guilderfleece, reads the entire paper (including circling want ads for that next best job to come) while perched upon the porcelain throne. For the life of me though, I can't imagine what could be so important that he has to talk about it on that cell phone from inside a restroom stall?

There are times when it doesn't pay to ask such questions. Today was one of those days.

Mr. Guilderfleece pulled back into the office from his morning Constitutional holding a bit of ill gotten booty over his head. Apparently at some point during the Sports page, he dropped the Lifestyle page. When Guilderfleece reached for his Lifestyle, he found a wallet down there. Not immediately knowing who its owner was, and being the Good Samaritan that he resolves to be, he opened the wallet to look for an ID. There was one in the featured, plastic-protected slot right in the front of the wallet. It was a photo membership card from a nudist colony in New Mexico. Maybe there's more to nudism than meets the eye, exactly how I can't imagine - having seen the photograph. I had to insist that Guilderfleece quit looking for more ... photo identification ... and contact the rightful owner of the wallet.

Guilderfleece used the Corporate Email Address Book and soon located the owner of the wallet, one Mr. Frank Wiggly. Franklin, as he says his friends call him, works in another building altogether, and just visits our building for the facilities - in the mornings, five days a week, that is.

Father Jake

I've never been one to let the truth get in the way of a good story, and I hate to start changing now, but I have some bad news and the only way I know how to say it so it will mean as much to you as it does to me is ... like this. I hope that you and the people in my story will forgive me for any embellishments.

When I was a Senior at good old Springfield High School in always sunny and ever lovely Springfield, Colorado, the vocational specialists from Colorado State University blew into town. The School Board invited them to come and "talk" to us Seniors about the Future and Work and the horrors of growing old without any prospects. They set up a film projector in a math classroom and ran a film intended to prove to me that Rock & Roll was a Lifestyle and not a Profession. The difference between the two is that one earns money, makes a living and is respectable. The other leads to poverty, grim despair, hair loss and impotence. Being raised on a farm, I was accustomed to the first two, but those last two were deeply, deeply disturbing.

They took us off in groups of five for testing. It seemed simple enough. Read the question, check a box. The vocational aptitude test was multiple guess, so how hard could it be? When it was over, the very first computer I'd ever seen graded the test and kicked out a sheet of answers. I heard some of the kids being advised to go the University and study engineering. That was a good Profession. Some of the kids were slated to do best with the welding, automotive repair or carpentry skills they'd picked up in the trade classes. Sadly, a wrinkle creased the forehead of the graduate student reading my printout. There was only one Profession for me. Apparently, I would do best in a life of Service the sheet said. The options were limited to Soldier in the United States Army or Priest in the Roman Catholic Church. Having discovered GIRLS a few years before, the options narrowed down to just one. Damn! Big Green Corporation ... here I come.

So I talked with a recruiter. He said that what I needed was an "Action and Adventure Lifestyle". The hair would be shorter than the "Rock & Roll" Lifestyle, but the camouflage clothes would be exceedingly cool. He said the money would take care of itself and that I would earn over three hundred U.S. dollars in just my first month. Hot diggity damn, I was going to be rich in no time. One of my crazy uncles back from Vietnam told me "A soldier leads a life of sex and danger". My grandfather (the one who personally liberated the Hell out of France in World War 2) quickly agreed. I have to confess that Sex and Danger seem like pretty good career rewards. What I didn't realize at the time was just how remote the odds were of having our next several wars in places exclusively populated by beautiful, sex-starved women.

No matter where I went in my travels, somewhere at the back of my mind was that question. You know, the "what if" one.

When I eventually enrolled in the University, I had the very good fortune to land in the parish of a most dynamic and wonderful priest named Father Jake. He had served in the Air Force, earned a Master's Degree and been a teacher in the public schools for a number of years before going to the Seminary. He was the most energetic priest I'd ever known. After he'd fulfilled all of his pastoral obligations and duties, he taught a 4000 level Comparative Religions class at the University.

St. Brigid's was a fairly large parish. It had an extensive outreach program for poor and disadvantaged people. He was creative with penance, and for me that was especially helpful because it gave me the chance to "volunteer" time to help with the outreach effort.

Father Jake didn’t like to drive, but driving was required because the Church had opened a mission parish that he needed to visit regularly. The Church also had three elderly nuns that helped. When I had the chance, I'd volunteer to drive. Father Jake had a big old car and there was always a group wanting to travel somewhere.

One of those visits was to a mission parish. It was the Christmas season, but this was for a funeral. The tiny town we were going to was poor and most of the people made their living raising chickens. The countryside was ditched with earthworks to handle vast amounts of rainwater that came regularly. Unfortunately, after a series of floods a little girl had disappeared while playing near one of those swollen channels. She fell. The current in the water was too much, and she just disappeared. The townspeople desperately searched for the child. Several days later, someone found her a great distance from where they'd searched, trapped in the roots of a fallen tree.

The church building was a plain brick building that had once belonged to a small Protestant congregation that had aged and died out as the town's fortunes declined. The pews were cold, hard and old. The place was so quiet. It smelled of flowers, a mountain of them towered over the small, white coffin at the front of the church. For reasons I don't care to know, the casket was open. The little girl inside looked as though she were simply sleeping there.

Father Jake greeted the people and began the service. It went on as any such service goes. There was a lot of crying. There was so much emotion. I don't remember any of the words now, just the rhythm of the words as they passed by. I only noticed when it stopped. I saw him staring at the casket. He was deathly pale, as though he'd seen a ghost. I stood and looked into the casket too. Tears were coming from the corners of the little girl's eyes. Father Jake sighed, made the sign of the cross and finished the service.

We didn't talk about it on the way back after the burial. I don't recall ever seeing him take a drink on any other occasion, but he did that day. After that, he had to prepare for a discussion group. I left him to it, but returned that evening for the discussion group meeting. Father Jake believed that Life was for the Living and that the Service of the Lord was of the utmost importance. That night he spoke about how people have options in Life and how it is best if they look to making decisions in keeping with what God wants for them. He spoke of the example of Luke 1:38 which ordinarily says: "And Mary said: Behold the handmaid of the Lord: be it done to me according to thy word. And the angel departed from her."

Because of the entirety of what had happened that day, his mis-paraphrasing of that passage went something like ... "And Mary said do it to me according to your will". Most of the people in the audience laughed. Eventually, I did too, but I understood what he meant.

I also understood that it took a better man than me to be a Priest in the Roman Catholic Church. That was the last time I ever did the "what if".

When I got back from Turkey this last week, I just learned that Father Jake had died. He was a saint and I will miss him.

Fences & Good Neighbors

Spent this weekend removing the fence that was broken by the falling trees from the ice storm. Yep, the old fence had to go. It was fourteen years old, rotten, and patched way too many times. Meter readers had gone over the top of it. One armadillo and a countless horde of gophers had drilled under it. This is it on the trailer ready for its great ride to the garbage transfer station.



My neighbor just had her 90th birthday. She really didn't like that old fence. It took all day, but with the help of her grandsons, we put up the new one, installed the gates and everything. Here it is.

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

Gifts from the East

Well, I finished unpacking from the trip to Turkey and organized the souvenirs into these nifty little gift bags. At work yesterday, I passed out all of the gifts to the people who linked in helped me solve the problem I was working on over there. It was great fun seeing everyone's reaction. I promised to bring a souvenir back for Marisa, the second from the left is for her. Hopefully I'll see her and our instructor, Mel Odom, at class tonight.



Got a couple of pieces of news while I was gone. One of them is bad, and the other is good, but a little unexpected. The good news is that I'll be starting an important new assignment soon to at work. The new adventure begins in a couple of weeks. Hopefully this is onward and upward ... ah, Life in the Corporate World. Another day ... another $1.35 after taxes.

Monday, March 03, 2008

There's No Place Like Home

Home at last! What a trip. So much excitement ... so little time ... I have to confess that getting to work like this is why I am still a lackey to my corporate masters. Where did they send me this time? Ankara, Turkey.

I went on this adventure with a corporate handler named Nix. Nix doesn't like his real first name, so he tries to get everyone to call him "Nix" and I'm not sure why because I've seen his real name and THAT ain't it. Nix's full time job is preparing and presenting briefings, executive hand-holding, and putting out corporate fires. He's been doing this same thing since the Cold War, so he's gray, brittle, and talks about his prostate a lot. He hates coffee, people who whisper and Republicans. He loves American food, drinking tap water, and firearms. His working vocabulary actually includes the phrase "commie, pinko bed-wetter."

My job is much simpler. I'm a technical Prima Donna. For purposes of Full Disclosure, my resume also includes Self Righteous Prick and Insufferable Ass, the proximal location of which, I'm sure, qualifies me for Management.

When we landed at Washington Dulles, so I turned on my cell phone and called the office.

THEM
Did you know that CNN is reporting that 10,000 Turkish soldiers had crossed the border into northern Iraq to chase the PKK?

ME
(bitter sarcasm)
Great.

THEM
(gleeful anticipation)
What part of Turkey are you going to anyway?

Whenever I received news like this when I was in the Army, I could immediately locate my next duty station by finding the biggest, nastiest, steaming anal-esque fissure on the map. Once again, it looked as though I would be riding to that destination with my old friends, Bitterness and Cynicism wedged in between Nix and I.

Our next stop was in Munich, Germany. I wanted to buy a Diet Coke in a newsstand in the airport, but my Corporate "Hi-Ho, Let's Go!" Card was rejected at the cash register. I had no Euros, so Nix paid while I called the Card.

ME
No "Hi-Ho". Wassup?

THEM
You are the Bad One. You tried to use the Precious in a Duty Free store. We've protected Precious from places like that. We will report to Management every such attempt to improperly use Precious. Is there anything else I can help you with?

ME
It WASN'T as Duty Free store!

THEM
Yes, it was. We know those things.

ME
Did you know that there is a dildo store on the main concourse in this airport?

**click** ... buzz ...

Our next stop was in Esenboga Airport in Ankara, Turkey. Went through immigration and Customs, then on to curbside to meet our escort, "Mr. Happy". As far as escorts go, Mr. Happy is about as good as any I've seen. Sure, he knew where all the good places to go were, but he was too proud of his country to permit us to see any of them. He immediately told us that it was safe to travel anywhere in his country at any time. I asked him specifically about a number of places I'd read about on the internet to which he consistently replied, "Except there."

He drove us to our hotel. It was a small, out of the way place, but did it have location! It is within 400 meters of both the Kizilay Square and the famous Kocatepe Mosque.

Kizilay Square is more or less the center of Ankara. There are "Mom and Pop" type shops everywhere. This one had cakes in the window. I haven't developed the pictures of the fondant cake sculptures they had.



I would wake up every morning with the call to prayer from the Kocatepe Mosque. The call to prayer starts with a hard electronic click and then a wailing chant just like you hear in the movies. The Mosque stands on a hill and commands the area around it. It's roof is made out of a colored tile that makes it look blue in the evening and a kind of green in the morning. It changes colors all day long between those two. It's something worth waking up to see.

Mr. Happy would arrive promptly at Stupidly Early, so I had to shower quickly and then sprint down to the self-serve breakfast in hotel restaurant. Nix had been to a few Middle Eastern countries before, but never stayed long enough to acquire a taste for the food. Turkish cuisine has similarities with that style, but really is unique. Nix wasn't happy with the offering. I had a great breakfast every single morning.

Mr. Happy drove us off to where we would do REAL work. The drive wasn't unpleasant, but it was longer than I'd expected. Traffic? Well, I didn't have to cover my eyes with both hands, scream and beg God to let me live another minute ... all the time.

Work is work. What can I say about that? Nothing, nothing at all, so don't even ask.

Once the sun was down, Mr. Happy would drive us back to Ankara. There was internet service in the hotel so I could check the email and see how things were going. Sleep.

I wanted to take a cab and see the landmarks, but Nix put the official kibosh on most of that. One place he didn't know about until I'd already planned it with Mr. Happy was a visit to Ankara Castle. Excellent place for restaurants (albeit pricey ones) and the view is spectacular.

One of the dishes you really need to try in Turkey is Adana Kofte. It's spicy ground veal and lamb patties formed on kebob skewers and grilled. Oh my God is this stuff good! Here's a picture of it and it's chicken counterpart. I had this stuff every single day for lunch just because I could. I even found a recipe for it on the internet that I'll try later.





There was a bar, the 1-A, just across the street from the hotel. Thank goodness. They had one choice of beer, a Tuborg lager, and an impressive selection of liquor. Most of it was RAKI, the national alcoholic beverage of Turkey. Raki tastes like black licorice and packs a wallop. It is usually served mixed with cold water, and when it is first mixed with water, it becomes milky white. That's why its nickname is "lion's milk". You sip it slowly and the common toast is SEREFE pronounced "share-a-fa" which means "to your honor".

Coffee in Turkey is interesting. Turkish coffee is served in the cute little espresso type cups. The coffee is not as tough to choke down as its cousin in the Persian Gulf states, but it will still pop your eyelids open for sure. I did find a Starbucks on a corner in the Kizilay Square, and it was certainly good.

Sure, there were plenty of people who refused to acknowledge our existence, some even spit and few more hissed as we walked by, but Nix and I didn't see anything genuinely unbecoming until out next to last evening.



We were walking back to the hotel from the Burger King across the street from Kizilay Square and out of the blue, a pair of very aggressive Night Crawlers approached me. While one mimicked repeatedly swallowing a banana, the other announced ... the rather obvious ... and its price. Naturally I said "No" and walked away. They persisted. I tried to be diplomatic and told them that I was married and therefore perfectly accustomed to going without, so "No, get out of my face!" That didn't work either. Then something spectacular happened. Nix earned his pay for the trip. Oh yes, handling problems is something that Nix knew how to do very well. In about as minute or so, not only were the street urchins gone, but so was everyone else on the street. It was kind of like a movie, only weirder because after all the screaming (OK, I'll own up to it. It was only me, but I was caught up in the moment.) was over Nix asked me why I thought that the girls weren't attracted to him ... as he hustled me off the scene. It turns out that prostitution is legal in Turkey. Who'da thunk it?

Alas, all good things come to an end. Our last evening ended in the 1-A bar drinking Tuborg and watching CNN. They announced that Turkey was ending it's campaign in Northern Iraq and would pull the troops out in the morning. Ironic, don't ya think?

Ain't life grand?