tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45877332559514113022024-03-05T13:24:12.884-06:00A place where I write about a place called ReadThis is a collection of stories from a Boy Scout Summer Camp that I worked at. Most of these stories take place in the 1990s to early 2000. Details fade, apologies if anything is incorrect. Names changed in some instances, not in others. Anything mentioning "The Load" is 100% accurate though. Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-68399879885177112532015-05-13T10:50:00.000-05:002015-05-13T10:50:07.206-05:00Wally WorldWe have been pretty lucky with next door neighbors. When we lived in Illinois, our next door neighbor was an older couple that had been in the neighborhood since it was first developed - 1978. They had two older kids who no longer lived with them and were very welcoming from the beginning. It was autumn when we first moved in and I was raking leaves when Daryl offered to let me use his leaf blower, out of the blue. The only negative, and it isn't really a negative, is that you couldn't help but feel like your lawn wasn't up to snuff. In the summer, it seemed like Darryl was mowing it at least three times a week, bagging the lawn clippings and weedwacking like a mad-man! In the fall, there wasn't even a single leaf on his lawn. He had a routine, blow the leaves, wait 20 minutes, blow the leaves again, wait 20 minutes, blow the leaves again. He would repeat this all through autumn. Just when autumn was about to end, he would then mow the lawn with the bagger on to ensure that even the tiniest leaf molecule was caught. Similarly, in winter, no matter how deep the snowfall or how cold it was, there was never a speck of ice or snow on his driveway. Even if I got up at 6 am, his driveway would look like it had been cleared for hours!<br />
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Perhaps the highlight of the year was the annual Christmas party. Every year they would throw this party and it was quite the fun time. They would ask people to bring side dishes but they would have all the main food catered, and they even arranged for Santa to come and visit the children. The other highlight is that he would convert his garage into a smoking den. It was a tradeoff between ventilation and heat, because it was Chicago in the middle of the winter. So he would have a kerosene heater on full blast and the garage door cracked with a window in the garage also cracked. He would set up a couple of card tables and folding chairs and even though it was chilly and somewhat uninviting, it seemed to attract a good deal of people. One of the few occasions I got to smoke a cigar! Even if you were not smoking, you probably got the equivalent in second hand smoke. I greatly enjoyed myself. After we had lived there for a couple of years, Daryl asked if he could park his cars in our driveway to facilitate the smoking lounge. How could I say no. Even though the parties usually ran pretty late, with a fair amount of booze consumed, he was always up at something like 4:30 in the morning to make sure that we were not blocked in! <br />
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Our new next door neighbors are an older couple, probably in their 70s-80s. One day last week, they invited us to come over for some sort of get together. I first met Wally a couple of months back when we had our one significant snowfall. We got about 8 inches, which is a lot for this area, and it was pretty heavy and wet. I was out shoveling. Wally came out with this little electric snowthrower. Amazingly, it handled the job pretty well. You couldn't go full speed with it, but it was definitely faster than a shovel. So Wally did a little bit of his driveway, and then told me he was going to go upstairs to sleep for a bit, but that he would leave his snowthrower out and I was welcome to use it. By this time I had almost finished my driveway, but I figured I would give it a shot. Apparently, old Wally was not really into replacing extension cords, because the first time I went to move the cord I got a pretty good shock. After that, I tried to use a stick or something insulated, but still got a shock here and there. I wonder if Wally had just got used to it.<br />
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Interestingly, when Wally's wife had suggested it to my wife, she had made it very clear that we were coming over for snacks only, that there would absolutely not be a meal. So we prepared accordingly. It was an interesting afternoon. First, they must have set the thermostat at 85+! It was amazingly warm. Even more amazing, they were both wearing pants and long sleeves, in fact Wally was even wearing a tie! I have come to realize that the old guy loves wearing a tie, I have rarely seen him without one. So we settled in to have some wine and cheese, and Wally really liked to let the vino flow! It seemed like he was gulping down glasses. I think he is a pretty funny guy anyway, but with the booze in his system he was cracking me up. He was telling stories about his youth and how he had been quite the player and his pursuit of his now wife. He also had not gotten the memo about the no meal policy because after we had been there for a couple of hours, he suggested that we should keep the party going by ordering a pizza! We begged off, since we were really pretty hot by now and the girls seemed to be getting bored. However, he then told a great joke. I hope I can do it justice here. He explained that the college he went to, primarily male, allowed you to take certain classes at the predominately female college. You had to get a pass though, called an inter-school pass. He then deadpanned that "after a few weeks the word 'school' was dropped from the name!"Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-6255485259286927622015-05-11T16:09:00.004-05:002015-05-11T16:09:56.984-05:00UnexpectedGrowing up, I never really thought about having kids. I wasn't really for it or against it, just something that I didn't think about. And now I have two little girls and know most of the lines to Frozen and watched the Cinderella movie when it first came out. <br />
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Bella was small when she was first born, just about 5 pounds. When she was first born she wasn't breathing, they had to give her oxygen before I could hold her for the first time. But, she was perfect. For the first few months, she was no different than other newborns, she spent most of her time either sleeping or eating. Interestingly, she spent almost no time crawling, she transitioned from rolling to walking very quickly. She was walking at 7 months. <br />
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Then, as she got older, she didn't seem to hit all the milestones that you read about in those books. Before having a child, I could not have cared less about how some book said to live your life. In fact, I would take pride in doing it differently than the book said. But, with a child, you feel so helpless and everything seems so new. They depend on you for everything and it is terrifying that you have no idea what is going on. So you turn to these books for reassurance. If your child is an outlier, you immediately fear for the worst.<br />
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It was clear from an early age that there was a lot going on inside Bella's head. She loved playing with toys and could concentrate for far longer than she was supposed to be able to. It was also clear that she had no intention of letting us in. She liked being held, she was very affectionate, but she had no interest in communicating. At first, that didn't matter, but as she began to have her own wants and desires, her lack of ability to communicate meant that she would simply fly into a tantrum if her needs were not meant. We tried to adjust, but it was hard. I hated seeing her sad. Sad doesn't really describe it, she would go into a full meltdown. One time we went on a simple trip to a local horse farm near our home. We had been there before and Bella loved it. This time something was different. It was cold and she needed to wear a jacket. She resisted at first and I tried to coax her into it. It only escalated from there. She started crying so hard she could hardly breathe, kicking and fighting and screaming all because we tried to make her wear a jacket in the winter. Perhaps she didn't like the color, perhaps she didn't like the way it felt against her skin. Regardless, she couldn't tell us. Kids don't have poker faces. You can tell their emotion at an instance. Which is why you can't help but smile when a baby or a toddler is laughing, no matter how you may be feeling. Similarly, it rips you to the core to see a child so upset and angry that their face is flushed and their face is streaked with tears. <br />
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Finally, we relented. I simply held her and wrapped her up in my jacket. The worst part is that you feel constantly judged. You feel judged when your child is crying uncontrollably and running away from you just because you want to put her jacket on. Then you feel judged because you are carrying a child who can easily walk and she is not wearing a jacket in the middle of winter. <br />
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Eventually, we had to address the elephant in the room. Tuyen and I had both been reading about Autism, but neither one had brought it up to the other. Tuyen took her into the school to be evaluated, and they confirmed what we had suspected. Still, it was devastating. We could no longer hope that we were wrong or that this would just pass. Fortunately, she started getting the help that she needed. The first thing I noticed is that they had taught her not only that she had to wear a jacket, but she actually wanted to put it on now. The teachers explained that unlike me, they had not relented. They had given her an ultimatum, if she wanted to play outside, she had to wear the jacket. I guess I wish I could have been stronger and not let her cries and tears affect me the way they did. But I wasn't. <br />
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Looking back now at age 7, she has progressed so much. She interacts with people, tells us about her day at school and just had a birthday party. She is in a regular class and only occasionally needs help. I think she will always be a bit different than most in the crowd, but she gets those genetics from me. I was never diagnosed with anything when I was younger but I remember greatly enjoying being on my own and spending lots of time alone. I remember I didn't have much control over my emotions, sometimes the smallest thing would make me burst into tears, like getting a bad grade on a spelling test or someone calling me names. I never really felt the need to make friends. Even now, I feel awkward in a lot of social interactions, particularly with strangers. Its hard to look them in the eye and I will never be the type of guy that can work the room at a party. When you are very young, I guess everyone is a stranger. <br />
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I know family and others that are close to me are sometimes frustrated about my ability to express myself. For instance, I probably could not have told this story aloud to anyone, even my wife. So I hope it goes with Bella. I have to have confidence that she will find her own way in the world. <br />
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More importantly, I have to accept it. Recently I heard a great podcast about Autism. The beginning of the podcast was a success story in autism, how a family had managed to get their son out of his shell and engage with them, even on a small level. While this was uplifting and in many ways mirrored our success story with Bella, the most powerful part was a doctor that had spent a great deal of time in the field. He had an adult son with autism, far more severe than Bella's. He explained that in most cases there are no success stories and Autism rips families apart. His son was celebrating his 19th birthday party and still had to wear diapers. <br />
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He was right, it almost did rip our family apart. If Tuyen and I were equally strong, it would have ripped us apart. Fortunately, she was so much stronger and I feel terrible that I made her shoulder most of the burden. Early on, I could not even talk about Bella's condition without sobbing. I just wasn't ready to face it. When we would go into meet with the teachers, I would hide in the corner, pretending to play with our youngest so that they wouldn't be able to see my face. Tuyen had to handle the difficult conversations about where she was succeeding and where she was struggling. Of course this made it much harder for Tuyen because she couldn't talk to me about it. So it was yesterday, when Tuyen spent her entire Mother's day making sure Bella's party would be perfect for Bella. Making sure everyone's needs would be met. Perhaps this should be in a card for her and not here - but thank you for truly being a mother and making us the family we are. Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-4163824948355772922015-04-27T10:38:00.001-05:002015-04-27T10:38:59.671-05:00CavernsA couple of weeks ago, we drove about 100 miles down to the Shenandoah National Park. It was pretty amazing. In just 100 miles you quickly transition from the built up cities of DC and the suburbs to wide open spaces with rolling hills. <br />
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We bought a group-on to the Shenandoah caverns. Turns out the group on was a good deal if you had 4 adults, but with two adults and 2 kids, we actually paid a little more for the group-on than if we had just bought the tickets when we got there. Oh well. <br />
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The caverns are privately owned, which is pretty cool. I would love it if I owned a bunch of land and discovered these enormous caverns one day! It did not look too promising to start with. We showed up right when it opened, but a couple of tour buses had evidently called ahead and were able to start their tour ahead of time. So we had 30 minutes to kill in a very touristy gift shop/waiting area. Fortunately the girls didn't break anything and eventually our names were called.<br />
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Our group was about 8 people, mainly adults but one kid that was probably about 14 or 15. Bella and Erin were easily the two youngest. You take an elevator to the start of the caverns, and they are very proud of this elevator, it features prominently in all their advertisements. One other interesting part was that our guide was training someone else. At first, I was hoping that we didn't need a guide because I thought it would be fun to explore on our own. However, our guide was a fun lady that definitely increased the enjoyment of the experience. <br />
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The caverns were unlike anything I had ever experienced. My experience with caving had been limited to the Adirondacks and a boy scout trip we took to some caves in the catskills. On both of those occasions, it was not particularly comfortable, you spent most of your time crawling and hunched over. Also, the only light you had was a flashlight, so you really couldn't see much. Here, the caverns were enormous. In some places the ceiling was 45 - 50 feet high. Also, they had filled in much of the cave floor with gravel, so it was a pretty easy stroll. Best of all, they had installed pretty extensive lighting, so you could really take it all in. <br />
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Bella wanted to run off on her own at first, the guide cautioned her that if she ran off the Cave Spiders would get her! This did not have the intended effect. She thought it would be great to meet the Cave Spiders! <br />
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The other interesting dynamic is that there was a bit of a war between regular tours of 10 people or so per group and the large "bus tours" of perhaps 80 people at once. We wouldn't have learned about this except for our guide training her replacement. Apparently, most of the bus tours are foreigners who either don't speak English or pretend not to. Consequently, during our tour, we kept passing elements of this same bus tour. Some of them had broken off and were significantly behind the rest of the group. Our guide let us know that often these "bus people" (A term I coined), will try to hang back far enough so that they can go on another tour. Our guide was very adamant that the bus people had to keep up with their group. I then started a running joke that all the problems and issues they have in the cave were due to bus people. It got a few laughs. <br />
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What was pretty neat was that the cavern was neatly divided into certain rooms and it was spectacular, particularly considering that it was entirely natural. The caverns were very much alive too, because the dripping of the water deposited materials in Stalactites and Stalagmites. It was just the right amount of time, the girls were pretty much ready for it to be over after about 1.5 hours, but you didn't feel like you were ripped off. <br />
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Interestingly, our admission included free entry into a number of other connected exhibits. The first was a series of window displays from the 1800s and 1900s. Before TV, it was common for families to entertain themselves by checking out intricate window displays. Although I thought it would be lame, some of the exhibits were really well put together. It was a good change of pace for the girls too, they could check these out at their own pace. <br />
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Next, we walked down the hill to this enormous warehouse building that was entirely devoted to parade floats. These floats were enormous, and we were the only people in the building. I thought it was kind of creepy, but Tuyen loved it. The final exhibit was called the "Big Yellow Barn". Probably better described as the "Expensive Giftstore" There wasn't a whole lot to this area, but there was an outside exhibit with a lot of ornery goats that kept the girls amused. All in, I consider it a successful visit. We definitely want to go back to Shenandoah Park and check out Skyline Drive some more. Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-8979817874225736682015-03-18T10:49:00.003-05:002015-03-18T10:49:35.908-05:00Rhyme of the Ancient MarinerI was not the best student in high school. I was never close to failing out and took Honors and AP classes, but I thought the whole grading scheme was bullshit. Whether you did HW or not and how often you participated shouldn't matter. Your grade should be based 100% on your test performance. I remember some classes where you even had to turn in your notebook and you would get graded on how neat it was and whether you had the right dividers in there. I should have just sucked it up and played there game, it wasn't like I was going to change the system. But, I was even more stubborn and unwilling to listen to opposing view points than I am now. <br />
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When it came time to apply for colleges, I noticed that you could apply to up to 4 State University of NY (SUNY) schools on one application. While most people were spending weeks and even sometimes months agonizing over college applications, I think I knocked it out in about an hour. I believe I applied to SUNY Buffalo, SUNY Binghamton, SUNY Stony Brook and the <a href="http://www.sunymaritime.edu/" target="_blank">SUNY Maritime College</a>. The first three were pretty typical large state universities with a large number of possible majors and your pretty typical college experience. The Maritime College was different though. Here your goal was to obtain a degree but also licensure as a third officer on a large commercial ship. Kind of like the ship from Captain Phillips. <br />
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It was the first school I heard back from, they offered admission and a full scholarship. They had an admitted student's day where you toured the school, got to ride on the school's training ship and meet with various students already enrolled. So my mom and I headed out bright and early. As it turns out a bit too bright and early as we didn't realize that this was the day that the clocks move an hour back for Day Light savings. Much like Clark Griswold's arrival to Wally World, we were the first one's there. This was a while ago, but I still remember a few things very clearly. First, it was a very impressive campus, lots of stately buildings and well maintained grounds. Second, the school had done a great job of putting this weekend together. There were lots of activities and it was all very informative. Even though this was not a military organization, all students were expected to wear uniforms and there were a number of military customs like marching and saluting etc. <br />
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Almost immediately, I knew, at least subconsciously that it wasn't for me. Maybe it was because of my maturity level or something else, but I couldn't picture myself wearing a uniform for the next 4 years and choosing such a specific career path. To my knowledge the graduates are typically employed, but generally you will working on a large ship. Of course, there is some irony here that I did join the Navy - yet interestingly enough have never been to sea. As the day went on, my feeling of unease began to become more of a panic. Until finally at lunch it grew to be too much and I ended up just bursting into tears in front of my Mom and telling her that I didn't think I could do this. She hugged me and told me it was OK and I didn't have to make any decisions right away and for some reason that was enough to change the whole experience. Looking back it seems so absurd, of course I didn't have to choose. But perhaps I had already told myself in my mind that I was going to go here, before even visiting the school because they had been the first to respond and had made such a generous offer. It may have been because things can quickly grow inside your own head to such epic proportions because you don't have that objective outside voice telling you the one thing you needed to hear to put it all in perspective. But, for whatever reason, the relief was instantaneous. <br />
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The rest of the day was quite pleasant. The culminating event is a brief cruise onboard the school's training vessel and I thoroughly enjoyed it. They told us that each summer we would take a cruise on this ship and gradually get more and more responsibility.<br />
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Of course, I did not enroll. That day was my first and only day there and I trekked off to Buffalo to go to college and begin the next phase of my life.<br />
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Looking back on it, perhaps it would have been fun. But it is a lonely life. Generally you are out to Sea for six months at a time. I am sure it would have led me to some adventures, but I have been lucky enough to have some wonderful adventures regardless. Spending evenings playing games with the girls and thinking about the family I have now, I am so glad I could not make it through that lunch!Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-91201787792699837082015-03-10T11:36:00.002-05:002015-03-10T11:36:41.039-05:00Game Time<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On the weekdays, the girls have a pretty strict
schedule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bella does her homework with
varying degrees of protest, but I think she mainly protests just to be
funny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would work with me, but T is
not having it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get to hang out with
Erin at these times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>True to form, I
never know if she is going to be super nice to me and want to snuggle and get
tossed around, or if she is going to give me the cold shoulder and act like she
has a restraining order against me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After Bella finishes her homework we head upstairs to play some games
after brushing teeth and putting on pajamas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are 3 games
that we have to play to completion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
first is a sort of charades game for kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You draw a card and have to act it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The girls are surprisingly good at it, particularly when they have to
act out an animal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’t just sit
there and mime it out, rather, they go full tilt around the room roaring their
heads off or screeching like a monkey depending on the card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I have no earthly idea what they
are doing, like when Bella had to act out taking a bath and all I could think
was that she was having a seizure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
sort of assumed the posture of a hunchback and did this weird one legged sort
of dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My other favorite part about
this game is that Erin never wants to be wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So if she has a guess about what the other person is acting, she will
say it extremely softly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Barely above a
whisper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once she finds out she is
right, she of course shouts it like she has never been more sure of anything in
her life!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My entire goal, in this or any
other game, is to annoy T.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like I
always more than accomplish my goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Next, we move on
to sequence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this game, you get dealt
cards with various animals on them and try to make a line of 4 of your chips
before someone else does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here the girls
have learned that sometimes a good defense is as much, if not more fun, than a
strong offense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bella in particular seems
to enjoy thwarting my plans and blocking me at the last moment when I am one
chip away from getting 4 in a row.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have never been able to convince them to join me in an alliance to overthrow T.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Erin is very much a loose cannon in this
game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes she is intent on
winning, other times she is intent on playing a particular card regardless of
its effect on overall strategy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps
my favorite thing that Erin does in this game is after a couple of turns she
starts ending every sentence with “and I win?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So for instance if someone suggests playing a certain card, she will ask
in her cute little voice “and I win”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perhaps even better than this is when she does win, because she stands
up, and starts jumping around and celebrating like she just won the lottery. She
has a huge grin and you can’t help but laugh along with her. T taught her good
sportsmanship so both Bella and Erin will acknowledge those less fortunate with
a handshake and a “good game”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The final
game is my least favorite, but I still love it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is called Disney Cupcake Factory, a game I never thought I would
play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here, there are a bunch of plastic
cupcake parts, wrappers, cakes, frosting and toppers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Based on your card, you have certain colors
and shapes that you are going after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
this point, the girls have their favorite princesses, so there is no way that
Bella will ever let me be Pochohantas (who I did not know was considered a
princess) or Sleeping Beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However,
the game is pure chance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You draw from a
series of tiles and you either get to pick up a piece of your cupcake or you
get the dreaded clock tower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you get
the clock tower you miss a turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, and this is not in the rule book, everyone gets to yell out “Wop-Wop-Wop”
to the person missing a turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Erin,
loves this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has no problem with
missing a turn as long as we all give her a hearty “Wop-Wop-Wop”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bella is the exact opposite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If she gets a run of bad luck and misses a
few turns she gets pretty angry and threatens to quit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She never does and is always over it within
12 seconds or so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a little while
Erin tried to pull a fast one by putting her face on the floor and trying to
peak under a tile before turning it all the way over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This may have worked if she was invisible,
but she did it very slowly and deliberately so she was pretty easy to catch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, the highlight is the girls
finishing their cupcakes because then they get to leave the bakery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, not part of the official rules.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of them like to give lengthy goodbyes to
all the Princesses that have not left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Particularly
Erin, it may take her a good five minutes to get through all her remarks!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wouldn’t trade it for the world</span>Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-59458048826184501052015-03-04T09:53:00.001-06:002015-03-04T09:53:51.898-06:00Like an IdiotI have started listening to podcasts on my commute. I should probably listen to educational ones to make myself a better person, but I don't. I choose comedy. Two that I have been enjoying are "Topics" by Michael Ian Black and Michael Showalter. These guys are hilarious, they choose to discuss a variety of issues, or topics if you will, and are absurdly smug and over the top in pretending to be extremely intellectual. They are so good at putting on the act that you sometimes forget that it is all a joke. One of my favorite lines "You say that there are no grey areas, yet I see you creating grey areas left and right like someone shading in a pencil drawing!" The other one that I have been enjoying is called "How did this get made" where a bunch of comedians discuss bad movies and the absurd plots and holes in the story. <br />
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The problem is, this stuff is pretty hilarious and I cannot suppress a laugh or a smile, so I must look like a bit of a lunatic on the train either grinning like a moron or outright chuckling to nothing in particular! <br />
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Another reason to be happy is that we finally sold our house! This was the first and only house we had ever bought or sold, so it was all new to me. Buying was a lot less stressful than selling. I think our realtor was a bit of a snake oil salesman. Some of the shenanigans that he employed:<br />
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1. Every single e-mail that he sent me included his full signature, that was at least 20 lines. A good 18 lines were dedicated to these bullshit awards that he had evidently won. Some were really hard to interpret, like he had a four star rating. I have no idea whether that was out of 4 or 20 stars, or who gave these ratings or what the criteria was. Everything was cloaked in ambiguity. In addition to his 4 star rating he was also rated a "platinum" seller. Again, I have no idea where this falls on the precious metal scale of realtors. Is platinum better than gold? Is it based on the value of the metal or its conductivity? Regardless, even if it was a 5 word reply, I had to deal with his monster of a signature.<br />
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2. There were certain e-mails that he sent me every week, canned status updates. For whatever reason, he had programmed them so they were sent out at 2 am on a Sunday morning. I guess the idea was that I would think he was a real go-getter and constantly working, that or a meth fiend. The jig was up pretty quickly though because these e-mails were always sent at the exact same time and contained zero original content. <br />
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3. He loved creating drama out of thin air. I think he was upset that I did not use his recommended lawyer for the closing. So, in his passive aggressive way, he would send me e-mails that implied the world was about to end because my attorney had not responded to his e-mail quickly enough. He also loved throwing my attorney under the bus representing that she was not doing enough to move the deal forward even though this guy was getting a nice percentage of the sale price simply for setting up automated e-mails! <br />
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4. My personal favorite was how vehement he was that I not attend the closing. In his typical flare for the dramatic he admonished me that he had seen so many sales fall apart because of the buyer saying stupid things at the closing. I guess he thought I must be an idiot or have Tourette's and believed I would just blurt out absurd things like "Man that flood was a fun time" or "Never thought I would see a house fire like that". If I had been in the area I would have showed up at the closing just to spite him, but it wasn't worth the travel. <br />
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The one thing that surprised me about the whole process is how attached I had become to the old girl. Don't get me wrong, I am glad we sold her and it made no sense to keep paying the mortgage and utilities, but it feels a bit strange to know other people will be in there. We lived in that house longer than we have lived anywhere else and it was the first home that either of the girls really knew. I suspect that the nostalgia will fade, but probably never disappear completely.<br />
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Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-9960051596318071402015-02-23T16:49:00.004-06:002015-02-23T16:49:55.885-06:007-11It all started off easily enough. I had a fresh podcast of "This American Life" and the soothing sounds of Ira Glass' voice as I set off on my virtual journey. Even though it was cold and icy outside, it was perfectly comfortable in the fitness room of our housing area.<br />
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So I figured I should start out at 6 mph, a flat 10 min per mile pace. Every five minutes, I would increase the pace a little bit, just to keep things interesting. The first piece of the podcast had to do with a guy from Missouri that had been convicted and sentenced to 13 years for armed robbery. The only problem was that he never actually served his sentence. Rather, the prosecutor mistakenly represented to the Judge that he had indeed began his sentence and was not out on bail (even though he was). So, everything seemed to be going well for this guy. He got married, started a family and ran a successful business. He almost got away with it. Ironically, approximately 13 years later, Missouri was going through the process of releasing him. It was only then that they realized he had never actually served any time. So, they sent a heavily armed squad of U.S. Marshalls to his house early in the morning and hauled him in.<br />
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I have mixed feelings on this guy. He knew that the State had screwed up. He was guilty and knew that he was only out on a technicality. On the other hand, he had showed rehabilitation. He was a functioning member of society, paid his taxes and was a good father. There seemed little reason to put him away for 13 years at a cost of $20k a year just to exact revenge. Besides, the State shouldered a fair amount of the blame. He wasn't hiding, they knew exactly where he was, they simply failed to come get him. Ultimately the State agreed and released him after a few months. Amazingly, he was picked up on a robbery charge a few months later. However, this time he was innocent, there was video proof that he was not anywhere near where the crime occured. Ultimately he was cleared of that charge as well. <br />
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That took me through the first twenty minutes and I was feeling great. I had a couple of miles down and was ready for more. The next piece was pretty lame. It was a short fiction piece that NPR had converted into a "radio drama" It featured a young lady out on a date with a pretty charming guy. Turns out that this guy is a pretty brutal African warlord, but he talks about it all, including the gruesome details inherent in the business of being a warlord, like just another job. The young lady, while taken aback, still goes forward with the date. I think it was well thought out and an interesting concept. The idea that a warlord is a person too, and even warlords may go on first dates where the topic of the absurdity of flour-less chocolate cake is discussed. (Flour is probably one of the healthier things in cake - so are they just bragging that their cake is butter and eggs). Overall, not a terrible segment, but just did not appeal to me.<br />
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That one probably took me to about the three mile mark. Three miles is tough, because you have knocked off a fair bit, but in the spirit of Robert Frost, I still had miles to go before I could rest (sleep). The next piece was very short, but good. It was a comedian reflecting on her middle school music teacher. Apparently this guy was pretty laid back and let the kids bring in their favorite records and play them for the class. (Incidentally, I had a pretty kooky guy for music class in middle school - he was big into playing weird music with the lights turned down and just lying on the floor and letting the music "flow" through you - pretty sure he would have passed a bong around if he was just a little bit more nutty). So this lady loved the Rolling Stones and the Beatles and always brought in their records to play. One day, one of the other kids in class asked her for advice on what song to play in class. He had brought his Dad's Rolling Stones album in and she immediately picked the song "You can't always get what you want" I am not a big Rolling Stones fan, but I do know that this song is pretty popular. However, the song is quite long and the first minute or so features what sounds like a children's quire singing the chorus very slowly and at a very high pitch. Unfortunately, for our story teller, the class ended before the song got good. This kid who had asked her for help thought she had played a cruel trick on him. <br />
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I think this took me through 3.5 to 4 miles. I almost gave up on the next story. Honestly, I am probably not giving it justice here because I was spacing out during a lot of it. It just seemed that the story teller was trying too hard to make his audience feel a certain way. He told the story of a long cab ride that he took in Israel shortly after his wife had a miscarriage and he learned that his father needed a risky operation due to cancer. In order to stand any chance at beating the cancer, the doctors would need to remove his dad's tongue and larynx. So, this guy is in a bad mood. For whatever reason, he takes it out on his taxi driver who is just trying to be friendly. The issue I had with it is that he never tells his taxi driver that he is not in the mood for talking. He just thinks it to himself really hard. As if this taxi driver is some sort of mind reader! In my opinion, taxi drivers are usually pretty interesting. They are often immigrants to the country, work extremely long hours and have a deep and never ending hatred of Uber! I have no problem chatting with them, in fact provided that they can get me to my destination (see last post) I am generally pretty easy going on them. Not this guy though, he just ends up unloading on his taxi driver telling him to shut the hell up. This is shortly after the taxi driver has told a story of another taxi driver trying to screw his out a few thousand dollars. Our narrator, continuing his theme of being batshit crazy, tells the taxi driver to pull over at a bank and he will withdraw a couple of thousand bucks and give it to the taxi driver. All that the driver needs to do in return is create a scenario where the taxi driver's wife just had a miscarriage and the taxi driver's dad has cancer. What an asshole. I understand that people have different levels of pain that they are dealing with at any given time, but just because one person is going through some tough personal issues does not negate the troubles of others. Also, all this taxi driver did was pick this dude up and talk to him. This guy acted like the taxi driver was somehow responsible for all the bad stuff this guy was facing. I really would have liked to have heard the story from the perspective of the taxi driver. It probably would have been fairly interesting - something about making small talk with a dude and the guy completely losing his mind! I have spent enough on this, but ultimately there was some crap about the taxi getting hit with a bomb or involved in a traffic accident (see how little I was paying attention here) and the guy in the taxi not wanting to tell his Dad, so as not to worry him.<br />
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I was really hoping for something good, and NPR did not disappoint. The next segment dealt with the non-fiction story of the meat shortage in the US in the early 1900s. These two guys, incredibly smart and innovative men, came up with the idea of introducing hippopotamuses as a food source. It was actually pretty brilliant, because hippos could live and graze in land that was totally useless for cattle or other livestock. The other issue they could address is there was an outbreak of a particularly invasive plant in the wetlands at the time and the hippos could turn that into meat. While on its face it seemed crazy, it really wasn't. Most of the meat we currently eat (sheep. cattle, chickens) are not native to North America, we have just been eating them for so long that we don't consider them imported. Interestingly, the guy presenting the story seemed to think if they had e-mail and faster communication, it may have worked. Because both of these guys were constantly travelling, they were forever sending letters that were crossing in the mail. One of the guys went on to great success and both Yale and Stanford wanted his papers, as I am sure they will want this blog! Even then, many years later, he still believed that it was a good idea. <br />
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So ended the podcast, but not my run. I had hit six miles and was pretty much wiped. But I wanted that last mile. I had to reduce the speed to a pretty pathetic pace for a couple of minutes to get my second wind, but eventually it came and I was able to power through the last mile!Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-78420009034446093882015-02-20T13:56:00.000-06:002015-02-20T13:56:27.237-06:00Back at it and thoughts on airportsFeels like forever since I last posted. I have resumed my Marathon training, or that is to say, I started over at week 1 again. But, this week I have done three three milers, with just the long run to go on Sunday. If I can, I'll push for 7 miles, which is the recommended distance for the week 2 long run. If successful, then I will move on to week 3. If I only get 6, then I will have to continue with week 2. I am cautiously optimistic because today's run went really well, 3 miles at just under 8:30 pace. This was a huge turnaround from the run the day before, where I had struggled to go under a 10 minute pace. Part of that may have had to do with the fact that I was sore from an impromptu truck pull the day before ..... but that is a post for another day. <br />
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This week, winter has really come to DC. So much so, that Bella only went to school one day this week! Perhaps it feels particularly cold because the week before we were out in San Diego where it was in the 80s. The only low parts of the trip were the flights. On both flights I was put in the middle at the very back of the plane and every single seat was taken. It seems now that the last highlight of flying coach is snagging a coveted spot in the overhead bins. I think part of it has to do with the laissez faire attitude flight attendants seem to have adopted. People bring these huge carry-on bags and no-one seems to bat an eye! Sure, there are those metal bins placed around the airport that tell you to check your bag for size compliance, but I have never seen anyone use one! Since most airlines allow you to check bags for free if flying with the military, I didn't even bother but I did witness some pretty funny stuff. <br />
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First, you get the people that are able to get their bag in the overhead, but many rows back from where they are sitting. So they have to swim against the stream at boarding to try to get back to their seat. Usually, people let them through, though begrudgingly. What is more fun to watch though is at arrival, there is always one person who thinks that they will be able to travel against the mass of people in the aisle to get to their bag. I have yet to see that one work. Trying to cut the line of people departing an aircraft is one of the hardest lines to cut. The other exercise in futility is when the flight attendants ask those not making a connection to remain seated so that those making a connection can leave the aircraft first. Bullshit! I place myself in the category of always making a connection. Also, even though it seems like an eternity, it doesn't take that long to actually clear the aircraft. I doubt the success of most people making a connection hinges on gaining a couple of minutes from deplaning first. <br />
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The worst part about the middle seat is the war of the armrests. The problem is, that you cannot divide 4 armrests evenly by three people. The one nearest the aisle and the one nearest the window are clearly spoken for. However, I think people feel that if they have one armrest, they should naturally get the other, to balance out. F that. I am getting at least one armrest, and if I have to sit in the middle, I feel like I should get the other as a consolation prize! My strategy is to wait until someone leaves the armrest clear for even a second, perhaps to turn the page of a book or get something out of their bag. Then I pounce! I plant my arm there and I will try to hold that territory as long as possible. On my flight out, I was sandwiched between two pretty large people, luckily they decided to hibernate on the plane, so the armrests were mine! <br />
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The flight back had even more hijinx. First, I passed a guy in the security line who looked like he had come right off a pirate ship. He had the giant 3 pointed hat, the pirate shirt, everything. The best part was that it looked like he was travelling with his wife and she was dressed as plain as could be! Perhaps he had some sort of pirate engagement immediately after his plane arrived and there was simply no time to change. I wish I could have talked to him a bit more. <br />
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The next funny part was that the plane was predictably extremely full and they made the announcement that those who were boarding last would likely have to check their carry-on bags. They try to upsell this by explaining that it is 100% complimentary! That takes some balls. Here they are initially telling people that you are allotted a carry on bag, but when they cannot fulfill their side of the bargain they try to explain that the concession is that they won't charge you for their screwup! So they keep repeating the message, encouraging, then urging people to check their bags. Finally, the inevitable happens and they report that indeed all the overhead bins are full and remaining passengers must check their bags (but still absolutely free!) A few people groaned, but this one middle aged old lady who looked like she might be a 7th grade English teacher dropped a pretty loud Mother F&*%ER to no-one in particular. I guess she really didn't want to check her bag. <br />
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In the continuing tradition of older white people raging against nothing in particular, my seatmate on the return flight was an older white guy. Probably in his 60s. On most long haul United flights the planes are equipped with direct TV, for a cost. JetBlue pioneered this, as far as I know, and even offered it for free. But with United, only unwanted bag checks are free. I noticed that the old guy's screen wasn't working, and he was not happy about it. The entire time we were on the ground and for the first ten minutes of the flight, he was trying to fix it. It started off calmly enough, he tried pressing the various buttons. Eventually both the pace and the intensity increased to almost a frantic level. Finally, he too decided to drop a pretty loud F-bomb. And amazingly, the screen started working at that exact moment! The great part was, he never looked at the screen again. He had no intention of actually paying for the service, I guess he just wanted the option. It would be a bit like going ballistic about not receiving a dessert menu when you had no intention of actually ordering any dessert.<br />
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My wife and the girls were not flying with me, but there flight was at almost the exact same time. Consequently, we were both flying through the same weather. The descent was pretty rough, there were extremely high winds and the turbulence was pretty good with some big jolts here and there. I was worried that the girls may have been afraid. Turns out it was just the opposite, they were having the time of their lives laughing their heads off and wanting more! <br />
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Perhaps the icing on the cake was our taxi driver home though. Maybe I was a bit short tempered from the long flight and the early start but this guy seemed to have no business driving a cab. We all pile in and I tell him our destination, which is pretty close to the airport, probably about 7-8 miles away. He then asks me which way I want to go. I tell him that I really don't care. At least to my knowledge, no one route is better than another. So I tell him to take the highway. Now, apparently, he is under the impression that I am his co-pilot and will give him step by step directions. I did not realize it until we are getting dangerously close to blowing our exit. I tell him, but it is too late. Anyway, I let it go, getting off at the next exit is not that much slower. Then I realize that we are about to miss another turn, and this time I don't think it is too late. But he does. So we have to make a U-turn. I then explain to him that GPS is pretty standard technology, particularly in the taxi business. He retorts that he thought I would give him step by step directions since I told him I wanted to take the highway. The problem is, he never gave any impression that he was waiting for my input until it was too late. Also, he seemed to blame me, rather than simply apologize. This was probably the first time I didn't give any tip for a taxi ride.<br />
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All in all, a hell of a trip!<br />
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Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-41922845727438882722015-01-23T09:07:00.000-06:002015-01-23T09:07:11.309-06:00Wishful thinkingOn my way home yesterday, I stopped at a local CVS to pick up a drink for the ride. Ever since my old road bike was stolen, I prefer to never leave my bike unattended. Almost every store, particularly the big chain stores have no issue with me bringing my bike inside the store.<br />
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As I was preparing to enter the CVS, I saw this young girl, probably around 15, run up to the exit door at full speed and sort of bounce off. The door then slid open and she ran out at full speed clutching something under her arm. An employee followed, but declined to give chase once she left the store. It took me a second to process it, but clearly the girl was a shoplifter. I was so close, if I had realized what was going on I probably could have blocked her with my bike for that second or so necessary for the employee to catch up. But I didn't. I just stood there watching it unfold. They say that is a pretty common reaction in a stressful situation. That instead of fight or flight, it is really freeze, than fight or flight. By the time I had fully processed what was going on, she was 50 feet away and who was I to give chase. There have been stories about employees that are sued when they chase down a shoplifter and cause injuries during the apprehension. Not that I think this 15 year old girl had a strong legal team! The thing I remember the most, was as she was running out the door, she turned around and laughed at the employee. That made me think she was just stealing for the thrill of it, not because she needed whatever it was she took.<br />
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A similar thing happened a few years ago. I was on 2 week leave from the middle of my tour in Afghanistan. I had gone to a Best Buy store with my Mom and Sister. We had finished shopping and were in the parking lot getting ready to get in our car. All of a sudden, this young man, probably about 15, comes running by. You could tell from the way he was running that he had been running for awhile. He wasn't sprinting, he looked fatigued. Just as I was processing that, I see a New York State Trooper, also on foot about 40 feet behind. The microphone for his two way radio had fallen off the clip on his shoulder and it was trailing behind him. It was pretty clear that he wasn't going to catch this kid. Again, for a split second, I considered going after him. I had fresh legs so I probably could have caught him. But I didn't. I didn't even try. <br />
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The thing is, I would like to think of myself as having the natural instinct to give chase. But, experience has proven otherwise. Perhaps it has kept me out of trouble. But, you can't help but feel like a bit of a coward.Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-33449139250510973712015-01-22T11:05:00.000-06:002015-01-22T11:05:36.201-06:00Off the WagonMy last post, which is still in draft form was about my six mile run. It was a good run and I kept the pace under 10 min a mile which was my goal. But unfortunately, it has been my last run for a bit. I travelled and then got a little sick and then got more into bike riding. All excuses. The plan is to start up again next week. Week 2 is essentially the same as week 1, just with a 7 miler on Saturday v 6. <br />
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I have been enjoying the hell out of my new bike. First, everything is tight and accurate on it. I had grown used to some of the foibles of my old bike, the fact that the shifting was a bit of a hit or miss proposition, that the bike may choose to change gear of its own accord etc. <br />
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What I love most about this new bike is the performance when I come off the seat and stand on the pedals. I had largely given up on standing up to climb hill on my old bike because the front shock absorber would continually articulate up and down with each pedal stroke. So even though I was expending quite a bit more energy, there was no real increase in performance. The same is not true on the new bike, it is like having a little bit of an afterburner now! <br />
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I am sure over time that I will forget about how much faster this bike is compared to my older one and wish for an even faster bike. However, I feel that I am very much in the region of diminishing returns. A bike that cost several times what my bike does may be a bit faster, but the real thing that is slowing me down right now is my own level of fitness. So I will be focusing on that for the near/far future and enjoying the hell out of my new ride.<br />
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With the chiller weather, there are less people using the path so not so many stories of crazy individuals. Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-79173780600694301772015-01-08T11:51:00.002-06:002015-01-08T11:51:53.288-06:00The New RideFor the past few months I have been bike commuting on my old Jamis Mountain bike. I picked the Jamis up in Okinawa probably 10+ years ago. I don't plan to part with it, in fact I may even put the fat tires back on it to have a good bike for trails and running around town. The issue is that the drive train is getting close to worn out. It does not shift very smoothly, and occasionally it will skip gears. Also, even though I have put thinner tires on it, it still has a front shock and is not really suited for the bike trails. <br />
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I used to have a nice trek road bike. Unfortunately, I left it overnight in a train station and even with it locked up, it was stolen. So, after much internet surfing and looking around, I have ordered this little beaut:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Yap0yEoD5t3UdbhuXIZjZomDgbrk5ctqw4y3NRm4-QDaTdF_fydYJ6JqNKM8aoDJmJTFOBZlGpokEKHUqalc3k2R-59djVQiRoFeMVPXUJYmItNs_j0Sth8lP00QqyMDuaCkIZ0qLqQ/s1600/31-1454-BLK-SIDE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Yap0yEoD5t3UdbhuXIZjZomDgbrk5ctqw4y3NRm4-QDaTdF_fydYJ6JqNKM8aoDJmJTFOBZlGpokEKHUqalc3k2R-59djVQiRoFeMVPXUJYmItNs_j0Sth8lP00QqyMDuaCkIZ0qLqQ/s1600/31-1454-BLK-SIDE.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
It's a Fuji Sportif 1.1c. It is set up to ride a little less aggressively than a pure racing bike and I can add a rack or fenders if necessary. I should get it by the middle to end of next week, which is nice because it should be warm enough to ride then.<br />
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The only day I rode in this week was Monday, the rest of the week was too cold and snowy. We may get a little thaw tomorrow, so perhaps I will ride home. I will certainly be riding the following week though. It will be interesting to see how the riding meshes with the running. Speaking of the running ... but first an aside.<br />
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Sometime in the late 90s the load had us all over to his place for an impromptu party. This is when a lot of us considered our life to revolve around climbing, particularly the load. At the time, he was renting a room above the garage of some lady. I think he helped out with housework in exchange for a discount on rent. I don't know whether he had permission to do it, but he built a climbing wall right in his little room. Since he did not have a lot of vertical space, he made it extremely over-hanging, not quite horizontal, but a very difficult angle. <br />
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As I remember it, the party started off with a meal from Boston Market, that took forever to make. I think this was because the load had planned that we would go mountain biking first, but no-one brought their mountain bike with them. At some point we returned to the load's place where we drank a few beers and watched some movies. It was a bizarre selection of movies. At some point we watched <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0102898/" target="_blank">"Shakes the Clown"</a> and then an assortment of climbing movies. These movies were basically shots of people climbing really difficult climbs interspersed with them clowning around or doing other climbing related activities. At one point, this English climber is working out in a climbing gym doing some incredibly difficult set of one arm pull-ups and weighted rope climbs. When he finishes he brings his face within inches of the camera and says in a very heavy English accent "Personal Best, That right there was a personal best"! For whatever reason, perhaps the exuberance and absurdity of the way he said it, it made us all laugh and stuck with us. Particularly the Weebs and I. So on many occasions, even years later, we would try to work in the expression "That right there was a personal best." <br />
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Today's run was a personal best, 3 miles in 25 minutes flat, or an average pace of 8:20. Not setting any records, but it is encouraging. Tomorrow is a rest day, but Saturday I have the six miler. The plan is to start out really easy, probably keep it around 10 minute miles to start with just so I have plenty left. I will likely see how I am feeling at the 3 mile mark and hopefully turn it up a notch. <br />
<br />Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-35970879057570580852015-01-07T12:52:00.000-06:002015-01-07T12:52:10.014-06:00Another DayFirst real taste of winter here these past couple of days. Yesterday we got about 4 inches of snow, but it was handled extremely poorly. I think everyone thought it was going to be a dusting, so there was no pre-treating of the roads nor did they get a ton of snow plows out. Second, the heaviest hit right in the middle of the morning commute. Personally, I enjoyed it, I got to make fresh tracks on the bike trail and the train ran smoothly and on schedule. Some of the roads were so bad in DC that they shut them down to vehicular traffic but let me through on my bike! <br />
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Then, throughout the day I received a whole bunch of automated e-mails from Bella's school. The tone was super apologetic. Apparently, there had been a lot of trouble with buses navigating to pick up kids and even some minor fender benders. Naturally, people went ballistic and attacked the school for opening. I was amazed by how frank the tone of the e-mails were and how unequivocal the school was about admitting its mistake. It's always easy to look back on something in hindsight, but the fact of the matter is that the school had no better weather forecasting than the general public. The difference that just a couple of inches can make (insert dirty joke) is huge. The best part was that they called a 2 hour delay today, and they called it in the middle of the afternoon yesterday. Almost like a consolation prize. There was nothing extraordinary about today, it was pretty chilly but nothing like what is going on in the Midwest, probably high teens at the coldest. Further, it probably enraged some parents even more that count on the kids going to school at a certain time so that they can go to work. <br />
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For the crotchety old man part of the post, kids have it too easy now when it comes to school closings and delays. Most of them get text alerts or e-mails the moment the decision is made. I remember getting up in the morning and tuning the radio to the local news station. Then you had to wait for what seemed like an eternity to go through the list alphabetically of all schools. Having a school that started with the letter "S" didn't help. The most nerve-wracking part was where it looked like a 2 hour delay may turn to a closure. You would notice the clock inching ever closer to the point of no return. The point where there simply wouldn't be enough time to turn around the buses. Inevitably some of the fancier schools (I'm looking at you Scarsdale and Westchester Exceptional Children's School) would close. But, it seemed like our school liked to be the tough guy, the last one to blink in this game of chicken. What a thrill when you heard those final words of "closed" though. It was like a mini holiday. Sledding down the hill in the front yard, sometimes if it snowed enough sledding down the road that ran in front of the house! There is nothing sweeter than an unexpected vacation day!<br />
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Got my second three miler in today. My legs were a bit sore when I woke up this morning, but the run went well. On a treadmill I have trouble staying interested if I keep it at a steady pace so I like to try to increase the speed by .1 mph every minute until I can't keep it up any longer and then bring her back down and do it all over again. At my max pace I was right at 7:53 a mile, but overall average page was 8:50 a mile. One more three miler tomorrow and then a rest before the 6 miler. Hopefully it will be warm enough to run outside, that way I can run three miles one way and be forced to complete the run! Plus I figure I should get the experience of running outside. Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-21817731073953359062015-01-06T11:22:00.003-06:002015-01-06T12:32:52.412-06:00ResolvedI have never been much for New Year's Resolutions, but this year I have made a few. I figure if I put them on here, there may be a bit more of an effort to follow through. <br />
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1. Run a Marathon: I think the furthest I have ever run is a 10k, perhaps a bit further, but nowhere close to a marathon. Fortunately, with the internet, there are a number of training guides up there. I plan to follow the guide <a href="http://www.halhigdon.com/training/51137/Marathon-Novice-1-Training-Program" target="_blank">here.</a> It looks deceptively easy at first, just start out with a 3 mile jaunt, but then seems to increase relatively quickly. Luckily there are no shortages of places to run, from the treadmills at work to the many bike paths. I still haven't picked what Marathon I want to do. The default would be the Marine Corps Marathon here in DC, that doesn't take place until September, so that would give me plenty of time to get the mileage up and then try to get faster too. The event I would really like to do is the <a href="http://www.pikespeakmarathon.org/" target="_blank">Pike's Peak 1/2 marathon</a>. However, this looks tough as hell. When the winners are putting in times of 4+ hours for a 1/2 marathon! I think I need to first complete a marathon and an ascent of Pike's Peak before combining the two! There is still time though, perhaps the Pike's Peak ascent can make the list for next year.<br />
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2. Lose Weight/Eat Better: This kind of goes along with number 1, but I feel like I will be happier if I am healthier and turn to better avenues of stress relief. I read about this idea of intermittent fasting. Essentially, you try to eat all your meals within a 6 hour period and then fast for the remaining 18 hours. Some people skip breakfast and then eat only lunch and dinner. Personally, I have been trying, and by trying yesterday was the first day, of eating breakfast and lunch and skipping dinner. Because my girls are always running around like maniacs and have the metabolism of humming-birds, there is always a good amount of yummy treats around the house. I feel like I can get the most bang for my buck by skipping the dinner and subsequent grazing. Tuyen still makes excellent dinners, I just have them for breakfast. I started off the day with some spaghetti this morning! <br />
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Those are the main ones, because they are concrete. Overall, I would like to make myself a better person. Perhaps be less self centered and understand the needs and feelings of others around me a bit better.<br />
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EDIT: 1st run down. The guide says to take it easy so I banged out the 3 miles at a 9:05 pace. Not exactly blistering, but at least not walking pace. Felt like I had more in the tank. Wed and Thurs are both 3 milers, rest on Fri and a sixer on Sat. That will be test. <br />
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Part 2:<br />
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We were supposed to get a light dusting of snow last night into this morning. Well, it turned into more like 4-6 inches of snow. Apparently no-one was really prepared for it, schools were not delayed, the roads were a complete mess, it has been quite a day. It is largely over now, but it was quite an adventurous commute in this morning. I only rode about 2 miles to the train station and about 4 miles in, but the city was a mess. They had closed off a lot of the inclines because they were so icy that cars were having trouble getting up there. My bike is absolutely covered in salt right now, I will have to give it a good cleaning and re-lube the chain. Still, there were some fun parts blasting along the trail making fresh tracks in some powder. I fear that it may be a bit of an icy mess though with very cold temps predicted for the rest of the week. Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-52369936960643786982014-12-24T09:16:00.001-06:002014-12-24T09:16:01.487-06:00Sort of Like High SchoolI went to a large undergraduate institution. Some of my first year classes, like introductory physics had more than 400 students in the lecture hall. The professors were giants in their fields, but not always the best teachers. Frequently they were foreign and hard to understand. Unlike high school, where there was an emphasis on how you kept your notebook, whether you did your homework etc., college was refreshing in that all that mattered was whether you grasped the material. You were free to show up to class or not, no one cared how you took notes, it was all about quizzes and exams. <br />
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Upper level classes had fewer people, but the emphasis remained the same. There was more interaction with the professors, but there was no such thing as a grade for class participation. I thought this was normal for higher education. Then I went to law school.<br />
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Law school, particularly the first year, is like high school. In the first year you are divided into sections, of roughly 70 people each. You have all your classes with your section, never really interacting with the other sections. Indeed, our first year Torts class was further subdivided into two mini-sections of 35 each. <br />
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At the beginning of the 1st year of law school, everyone starts on the same page. However, it is a rough learning experience. Generally speaking, the grades that you get at the end of your first year determine much of your job prospects. My school was ranked around #60 of 200+ schools, so not terrible but not terrific. The higher your school was ranked, the less your individual class rank mattered. For instance Yale, usually regarded as the top law school in the country, doesn't even give grades the first year. Firms are so eager to get Yale students that it doesn't matter how you do. To be fair, it is extremely difficult to get admitted to Yale, so even those at the bottom are very impressive. Sort of like being the worst player on an All-Star team. <br />
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Conversely, at my school everyone was shooting to be in at least the top 10% of students, hopefully the top 5%. Over the course of the first year you would take 6 exams, that largely made up your GPA. You were graded in Legal Writing, but it wasn't worth as many credits, so it was more important to get a high grade in the doctrinal classes. The two biggest, worth 5 credits a piece, were Torts and Civil Procedure. Civil Procedure came second semester, so that first year, first semester, everyone had their eye on Torts. Even more nerve wracking, your entire grade is based on the final exam. You have no idea about whether your study habits are working until it is too late. <br />
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Our Torts professor was affectionately named the "velvet hammer." The problem was that he was an exceptionally good teacher. Not only was he exceptionally smart, he was some sort of expert on first amendment issues, particularly issues like hate speech. He had a unique knack for conveying the information. So much so, that almost everyone in the class grasped the material pretty easily. Torts is probably one of the easiest subjects in the first year curriculum as well. There is nothing too complicated. Most classes spend the first 20% of the semester on intentional torts, like battery, false imprisonment etc. The last 80% is spent on unintentional torts and the theory of negligence. Even though the analysis of unintentional torts is more difficult than intentional torts, it is still pretty straight forward. At my school, professors had to follow a strict curve, typically only 5% could get an "A", 10-15% an A- and so on with the majority of the class receiving a "B" or below. Therefore, grasping the material was not good enough. If you wanted the "A" you had to know the material better than the majority of the class. Inevitably, someone had to be crushed under the velvet hammer. Fortunately, it would at least appear to be gentle. <br />
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Professor H, ran the torts class in the most friendly manner he knew. He was so concerned with protecting people's feelings and encouraging participation that he went a little over the top. For instance, if he asked a straightforward "Yes/No" question and the answer was "Yes", he would try to let someone who answered "No" down as easily as possible. Instead of giving a gruff "wrong", he would say something like "well that's really close, and you seem like you were on the right track, but in fact in this case the answer happens to be 'yes'" But it worked. It was probably a combination of his easy going personality and the small class size, but there was far more participation in that class than any of my others. <br />
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One interesting aside, Professor H was pretty intolerant of people showing up to class late. Particularly if you made a habit of it. We had one young lady who did make a habit of it. She appeared to be in law school almost as a lark. She seemed to have no end of discretionary income, always wearing the latest fashions and never the same outfit twice. She was always late. I think what infuriated Professor H the most was that she always came in with a fresh Starbucks. So this was a person who realizes that they are late, but nevertheless makes sure to stop for a drink. Perhaps if she skipped the drink she would have been on time, or at least less late. So after about the 10th time of this happening, Professor H has had enough. But of course, he is too nice of a guy to actually blow up. Rather he goes the passive aggressive route of waiting for her to take her seat, and then addressing the entire class and giving this long winded speech of how it is important to value everyone's time and what showing up late represents. I would have gone the more direct route myself, but that wasn't how Professor H rolled. I was surprised we didn't join hands and sing Kumbayah. The worst part was that she was either too stupid to grasp that this was about her, or was too self involved to care, she continued to stroll in late, perfectly coiffed with steaming beverage in hand, for the remainder of the semester. <br />
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Typically, right around Thanksgiving, is when panic sets in. Classes are mostly winding down, with exams typically scheduled for the middle of December and wrapped up before Christmas. All of a sudden, you realize how close it is. You have this nagging fear that there is always more to learn, more nuances to perfect. Professor H gave us a thorough review session and encouraged people to drop by his office for further questions and answers, but it was never enough. There was always doubt.<br />
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I think Torts was the final exam that we took that semester. I know Criminal Law was first because people were losing their damn minds in the exam room prior to it starting. The issue was that we took all of our exams on laptops and used this special program that locks you out of the rest of your computer. Prior to the exam starting, all of the tech people are in the room making sure people can log on. It was going smoothly until people noticed that the clock had started counting down. Almost all exams are timed, typically 3-4 hours per exam and you want every second. Since everyone was new, we all assumed that once the clock reached the prescribed time our exam would automatically submit. This was not the case, as the poor tech guy explained again and again. The problem was everyone was so amped up and nervous, that he had to keep explaining it over and over. <br />
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By the time Torts rolled around, it was like the end of a marathon, the last thing left to do to end the first semester. Most exams consist of a long fact pattern where you have to figure out the relevant legal analysis. Professor H mixed it up a bit with some multiple choice first. It is hard to write a good multiple choice question for Torts, because typically the answer is "it depends." But, for a well written multiple choice there can only be one best answer. The trick is to exploit a little loophole that leads people to select the trick answer. I think that was worth only 10% of the exam though. <br />
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The bulk of the exam focused on a fact pattern involving a young kid taking an assault rifle from his dad's unlocked gun closet and going to a mall and shooting it up. It was more complicated, there were issues of the security guards having an idea that he had a weapon and the kid making threatening comments at school. Over the course of three hours you had to identify and analyze different theories of liability. I thought I did a pretty good job (turns out I got an A in the class). <br />
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After grades had come out and we had started the next semester, Professor H offered to do a review of the exam. This was great because you could see where you could improve. Most professors grade based on a score sheet, looking to see whether you identified an issue and your analysis, with most issues worth anywhere between 3-5 points. He gave us the score sheet and that is when I immediately noticed the velvet hammer. There was a section worth about 16 points, a significant number of points, where he expected a policy argument on the whether the legislature should ban assault rifles. To be fair, throughout the semester and indeed even in the instructions for the exam, he had instructed us to consider policy arguments. Most of us missed it entirely or only touched upon it in a cursory manner. That was the flip side of the curve though, you were only measured against the person at the top. If they missed an issue it actually helped you. So fortunately, the velvet hammer swung hard and hit uniformly.<br />
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Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-16528486797204409762014-12-19T15:18:00.000-06:002014-12-24T08:39:19.587-06:00Bachelor PartyLike most people, I had my Bachelor Party in <strike>Las Vegas</strike> Atlantic City. Atlantic City has everything Vegas has, as long as you don't count what Vegas has too carefully. For a little while, it thrived, or at least survived, because it was the only game in town that did not involve flying across the country. <br />
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It was a blast. In addition to the usual camp contingent of the Weebs, Wiggs, and the Load, my brother from another mother, and my brother from the same mother both came along. This was a time when the Load did not have his financial house entirely in order. To that end, he had applied for a credit card, which he intended to treat as a gift card, to finance the trip. Unfortunately, the credit card didn't come true. I don't know if you can have a negative credit rating, but if anyone could, it would be the Load. Regardless, he was my best man and was not going to let this obstacle stand in his way.<br />
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I don't remember all the details, but there are a number of incidences that standout:<br />
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1. We had a great time at this Irish themed bar. It was a beautiful day, sitting out on a comfy porch and the beer and food was flowing freely. There was the usual making fun of each other and making ridiculous jokes that were only funny to us. For instance, one of the trips that we used to guide out of camp involved a portion of the Raquette river. There is one section of the river called "the Oxbow" which is an area where if you take a wrong turn you end up going in circles endlessly. Ken Smith, wrote descriptions of each trek, and for this section he wrote in bold letters <strong>avoid the oxbow.</strong> So of course, when on my way to the bathroom, which involved going around a corner I passed the load going around the exact same corner and admonished him to avoid the oxbow. <br />
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2. We had a friendly game of Texas Hold-Em poker. I think we each threw in 20 bucks and it was elimination with the winner taking all (~$100). Normally, for most card games, the Wiggs always wins. However, he had not played much poker, and poker is a game of luck and bluffing in addition to skill. The Load had the most experience playing poker and had set this up. We only found out later that the Load had assumed he would win and had factored the hundred bucks into his financing. As luck would have it, I ended up winning. The Load, as always, took it in stride though.<br />
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3. The NJ Ballet. Once you leave the main boardwalk area of Atlantic City, you quickly find yourself in some less than desirable neighborhoods. Fortunately we were travelling as a pack and we were all pretty good sized guys. As we were taking in a show, all was merry and bright. However, the Weebs indicated that at one point both he and the Wiggs had been minding their own business when they felt their eyes begin to burn and their noses run. What we surmised/guessed, is that someone had sprayed pepper spray in the area in an attempt to perhaps steal their wallets while they were incapacitated. Fortunately, it never came to that. Perhaps they escaped the full blast. <br />
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4. You really can't smoke in an elevator. Over the course of the weekend, many a cigar was smoked. You are allowed to smoke most places in Atlantic City. You are not allowed to smoke in an elevator. However, my brother was never one to let a placard deter him. We all entered an elevator, and I think my brother was the only one smoking. Even if he was not the only one smoking, he was producing an incredible quantity of smoke. His cigar was like the machine beekeepers use to keep their bees calm. Not only was he spewing smoke at an alarming rate, but it was a relatively small elevator and a smoky haze quickly enveloped us. It would have been OK if we had made it all the way down. But, a few floors down a couple stepped on the elevator. Right away, the woman, who was probably in her mid forties informed my brother that it was not legal to smoke in the elevator. Perhaps if my brother had said something rude or ignored her, she would not have gotten that mad. Instead, he sincerely acknowledged her and responded back with, "Yes, it is illegal to smoke in an elevator." This seemed to set her off and she told him that he should be ashamed of himself, to which he responded that she was right and he should be ashamed of himself. The more he agreed with her, the angrier she got. Also, he kept that stogie stoked and produced just as much, if not more, smoke. Fortunately, it was not that long of a ride.<br />
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5. There is a restaurant on the boardwalk that is entirely covered in dollar bills. The walls, the ceilings, picture frames etc. In addition to the dollar bills, there are foreign currencies from all over the world. Most people who visit the restaurant, sign a dollar bill and the owner finds some place to stick it. He probably has thousands of dollars worth of dollar bills in there. For some reason, society works here. I talked to the owner and he said he had very few instances of people taking the money. It is like a diner in the choice of food, a place where you can get breakfast any time of the day. However, it also sports a full bar, so if the mood strikes you, you can order a stack of pancakes and a mint julep! I really enjoy visiting this place any time I am in Atlantic City and I am sure we had at least one breakfast there. <br />
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All in all, it was a great trip. Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-72489419886730315142014-12-16T14:20:00.002-06:002014-12-16T14:20:41.877-06:00Some Thoughts on SerialI've been listening to the <a href="http://serialpodcast.org/" target="_blank">Serial</a> podcast. It is an interesting idea, a couple of reporters that investigate a murder from 1999. It is very in-depth reporting, with lots of interviews, court recordings etc. The part that got me though was when some of the jurors were interviewed. The jurors tended to believe that the accused should have testified. They reasoned that no innocent person would not cooperate in their own defense. The prosecutor cannot mention it at all in his closing argument, arguably it would be grounds for a mistrial and an ethical breach. Even though the Judge is required to read jurors an instruction that specifically provides that the jurors are absolutely forbidden from drawing that inference, it nonetheless tends to happen. I understand the reaction. I think people interpret it as the accused must have something to hide if he is unwilling to take the stand. After all, this is probably one of the most important days of his life, and he is just going to sit there. What the jurors don't know is that the accused has likely spoken with his defense attorney, at length, on this topic.<br />
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I have yet to try a case where the accused has testified, either as a prosecutor or defense. As a defense counsel, I always left the choice to the accused. But, I would inform him/her of the potential pros and cons of testifying. On the pro side, it is a chance to tell your side of the story. And, importantly the jurors really want to hear that side. The list of cons is much longer, in my opinion. First, the accused is going to be nervous and scared and that will likely come through in his testimony. However, the jurors may well interpret that as evasiveness or not telling the truth. Second, on cross examination, the accused will feel attacked. This will not be the first time. For the entire time leading up to the trial the accused will likely have been felt like they were attacked by the State. From interrogations by police officers, plea negotiations and the entire process the accused will feel like it is a "me vs them" situation. Indeed it is. The case will be captioned in some form to resemble "the government" <b>vs </b>"the accused"<br />
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The other issue is that many accused do not invoke their right to remain silent from the outset. In many cases the accused will have waived their Miranda rights and often will talk to law enforcement at the outset. I think prior to becoming an attorney, I would likely have done the same thing. Particularly if I was innocent. If someone accused you of something you didn't do, the natural reaction is to explain that they don't have the correct version of events. Or, their version is incomplete. The problem is, in most cases what you tell law enforcement can only hurt you, not help you. Once you are suspected of committing a crime, regardless of how believable your version of events, it is highly unlikely that law enforcement will simply drop the case based on your story. The danger is that you accidentally remember a detail incorrectly, or your version conflicts with that of a witness (even if your version is indeed the correct one). People have a tendency to believe a witness, at least at the outset, particularly if the witness has no discernible bias or motive to lie. The accused has to start from the other end of the pendulum. Most jurors tend to distrust the accused until his credibility can be bolsters by other witnesses or evidence.<br />
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Further, a conversation with law enforcement is not a level playing field. You have no idea what they know, who they have spoken to or whether they are being truthful. It is like a novice playing a poker game against an expert and they get to see your cards. Also, at the end of the game you either break even or lose everything. <br />
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Finally, the danger of the accused speaking to anyone prior to the trial is the hearsay exception for admissions by a party opponent. Generally speaking, a witness cannot testify in court as to what another person said out of court. There are a lot of exceptions, too many to go into here. But the big exception is that the prosecution can generally bring in any statement that the accused made. But only the government. The defense cannot introduce out of court statements from the accused that are helpful to the case, because at that point those are not admissions by a party opponent. <br />
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So if an accused does elect to testify, all of his prior statements that prejudice him will come in. There will be inconsistencies. Memories fade, interrogations are stressful. Law enforcement is permitted to use leading questions. The ideal case would be an accused that elects only to speak at his trial. Of course, that rarely happens. Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-73654155041256046992014-12-11T12:02:00.001-06:002014-12-11T12:02:25.257-06:00Consider ThisIn the first year of law school, with few exceptions, everyone takes the same classes. The idea is that all law involves at least some aspects of either criminal law, torts, contracts and property. In addition you take federal rules of civil procedure, even though most people don't practice in federal court. But, states rules are usually pretty close.<br />
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My contracts professor was a nut. He had a Ph.D in philosophy and while he had a law degree I don't think he ever took the bar or intended to practice law. That's the funny thing about law school, and perhaps to an extent academia in general. They value the rank of the law school, not whether the professor is actually competent to practice law. Great thing about this guy is he didn't even go to a particularly good law school. <br />
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He was all about technology. Because of this, his classes were extremely different than any others. In the standard class, particularly the first year, the school likes to use something called the Socratic Method. The idea is that the professor calls on one person, and that person is supposed to recite the facts of the case, and then what the "holding" was. The holding is the general rule that the case stands for. Most of these are pretty old cases, but they still get cited. For instance, in torts, we had a case about some kids in school fooling around in class. This one kid was kicking this other kid in the shin and unbeknownst to the kicker, the kickee had some weird disease that made his bones brittle and generally very susceptible to injury. So he develops this pretty complicated injury and the family sues. The kicker's family argues that he should only be liable to the extent a normal person would be injured. The judge disagreed and held that you generally take the victim as you find him. Or, the eggshell skull rule. <br />
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So in a typical class, you would flush out the ruling through a series of questions, then there would be the inevitable back and forth about whether you agreed with the holding or not and whether it was good policy. In a big class, you may only get called on once in the entire semester, but it could be for 20 minutes. Our contracts professor made us purchase these "clickers" for his class. The way it worked is he would ask the entire class a multiple choice question and you could key in your answer through the clicker. He would then get an instant distribution of how the class voted, sort of like asking the audience in "Who Wants to be a Millionaire." I happened to think this was the better way to go, not only for assessing your own knowledge, but for the professor to understand what concepts people were grasping or not. <br />
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He still felt like he had to do the Socratic method though. But you could tell his heart wasn't in it. The problem with the Socratic method is that it takes a long time because the student has to think through the answers, may not be super familiar with the facts etc. So our boy would ask a student to lay out the facts of the case, let them get out approximately seven words, and then take over, regardless of how well the person was doing. He also had this habit of calling on people who were on the exact opposite side of the direction he was facing (class was arranged like 3 sides of a rectangle with the podium at the other side, but he never taught from the podium). It would be so random because sometimes he wouldn't even switch topics, but he loved switching up people. He also had a hard time with pronouncing even basic names. For whatever reason he tended to believe that people in his class had adopted non-standard pronunciations of their names. So if your name was Maria he might pronounce it like Mary-A with a big emphasis on the "A". <br />
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His other love of technology was carrying around the smallest laptop possible. This thing must have had a 7 inch screen max! He would wander in with this thing, and then have the hardest time reading the screen or finding the right keys to hit. So a good portion of the class was spent with him bent over the laptop, squinting and awkwardly using one finger to type. <br />
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I learned the reason for his small computer when I visited his office. It was something out of hoarders. There was crap everywhere, the bookshelves were filled to the bursting point, there were books all over the floor, some still in their original wrappers. He must have had 6-8 old computers just scattered around in there. Some were super old too, like the giant cube monitors that used to let you type only in green font. There was random stuff too, like a samurai sword. Not mounted on the wall - just lying around just in case he needed to fend off an attacker. When you came to visit with him, he would motion for you to sit on a chair that was overflowing with papers. You would try to take this stack and put it on the stacks covering the floor. Every time you came back, there would be a fresh stack there. Random shipping boxes were strewn about, some had been broken down, others not. The only area that was free was the one chair he used. There was just enough space on that tiny desk of his to put the computer. It wasn't enough to put the whole computer on, just enough to put more than 50% of it so that it didn't fall off. <br />
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Like most classes, the entire grade depended on how you did on the final exam. His exams were always entertaining because he would use the exam to make fun of other professors and the administration. Most exams are attempts to model what it would be like to get a client with an issue. So it is a long narrative with various legal events happening. He had a review before the class and essentially gave the entire fact pattern at the review session. It didn't really matter, you are graded on a curve, but he was of course the only one to do this. <br />
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The next year, when I was on Law Review, I chose him to be my adviser. I chose him because I wasn't actually at all interested in Law Review. Law Review is the biggest scam there is, but it looks good on your resume. So even though I had zero interest and was working full time at this point, I did it. It is a pass/fail class that I cam dangerously close to failing. You have to write a paper over the course of the year and at certain points you have to meet with your advisor. Luckily, my contracts professor thought that the term "meet to confer" on your paper was satisfied by sending me a "read receipt" over e-mail after I sent him the draft. Other people were having these super long meetings and writing multiple drafts, but I knew I had chosen correctly.<br />
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I would sometimes drop by his office in future years, but he was never there. Fortunately it seemed to only get more cluttered!Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-6538800258940804952014-12-05T12:25:00.001-06:002014-12-05T12:25:28.782-06:00More Fun with ErinEvery first Friday of the month, Bella's school does a walk to school event. Supposedly it is supposed to show our support of the environment. However, the event does not involve walking from your house to school, rather, everyone meets up at this park and walks the 1/2 mile or so to school. I am pretty sure, far more fossil fuels are used than if all the kids just took the bus. Almost everyone, myself included, drives to the park. Also, the buses still run, because they can't make it mandatory. It is still quite a fun thing. They set up a little table where the kids all sign their names and there is hot chocolate for the kids and coffee for the adults. I think they get sponsored by Starbucks and Einstein Bagels, because there is a large collection. Erin always gets a bagel, takes one bite and then makes Tuyen carry it around for her. <br />
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Behind closed doors, Erin is pretty friendly towards me. She likes me to swing her by her arms so high that her feet almost hit the ceiling, she enjoys making up words and songs and is generally a nut. In public though, it is a different story. I may as well be a stranger. She only wants to hang out with her Mommy. She won't let me pick her up, she won't really even talk to me. It is kind of the reverse of a domestic violence relationship where the abuser treats the victim well in public but not well behind closed doors. <br />
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Fortunately, Bella is nice to me both in public and private. Today, while we were waiting for the walk to start, we continued the heated game of duck duck goose (DDG) we started at the house. For a little while, it was me, Bella and Erin playing, but Erin ducked out and it was heads up DDG from that point on. I really love that Bella was up for one on one DDG. There is not a whole lot of surprise in the game, except for how many times Bella will pat you on the head before she finally calls you a goose. Usually a good 15 times of being called a duck first. Bella also refers to the person that picks the goose as the "ducker". After this, we engaged in a series of races. They started out as simple foot races, but once Erin and Tuyen got involved we transitioned to hopping races, lunge races, skipping races and walking backward races. Erin always won the walking backwards race, because her interpretation of walking backwards is sprinting forwards! <br />
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The thing with Erin, as I may have mentioned before, is that if she gets the slightest bit of moisture on any of her clothing, she will immediately attempt to remove that article, regardless of whether she is wearing anything underneath. She has zero tolerance for dampness. Unfortunately, she took a spill this morning and got a bit of mud on one of her knees. She was very upset about that and demanded to be changed immediately. We didn't have any extra clothes, and luckily she decided to keep her pants on! <br />
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When the walk finally did start, Erin of course refused to walk with me at all. Bella and I walked along though. When Erin walks, unless she is super excited about the destination, she really takes it easy, just a super slow pace. In fact, when she holds your hand she kind of leans back into her walk, just to make it even a bit slower. However, it is a large group of people all walking, so you don't really notice how slow Erin is going. It only took a little time to get to school and Bella was very excited to be there, so it was a good excursion.<br />
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On the way back, it looked like it would start to rain pretty soon. Surprisingly, Erin doesn't mind the rain. I think she is ok with her entire body getting wet, but does not appreciate when only a portion of it does. So she was in no hurry and continued her leisurely stroll back to the vehicle. <br />
We weighed the girls this morning, Bella was 44 pounds and Erin was 30, starting to bulk up! Of course, anytime I asked Erin if she wanted me to carry her, I was quickly rebuffed in no uncertain terms, we were in public after all! She had no problem with Tuyen carrying her, but it is tough for Tuyen to carry her long distances. Finally, I just walked ahead a bit and brought the truck to Erin rather than Erin to the truck!<br />
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Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-34256433803559381322014-11-24T17:26:00.001-06:002014-11-24T17:26:17.201-06:00An Officer and a Gentleman - Part 2Every OCS Class is assigned a class officer, a class Chief Petty Officer and a class Drill Instructor. Most of the class officers are put there to rot, they don't do much and it is not a good assignment in terms of advancement. Our class Officer, a Lieutenant, was no exception. I really have no idea what he did. We only sporadically saw him. He threatened to not let me graduate because I needed my wisdom teeth removed. Luckily, someone intervened. He also called me Wilson throughout the entire 13 weeks I was there. I didn't even look like the guy named Wilson in our class. Even at graduation, when I rendered my final salute to him, he saluted back and said something along the lines of "Well you made it, Wilson" I fired back "Smith, Sir" and walked off. <br />
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The class Chief Petty Officer was Senior Chief Lucas. I loved that hard charging Filipino. He had a really heavy accent but was super squared away. He was responsible for all the administration, with a 50+ class it was a huge job, but he never missed a beat. I like to think he was the one who talked some sense into the Class Officer and let me graduate on time. <br />
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Finally, the man we would see the most, and genuinely come to love and admire was our class drill instructor, Staff Sergeant Lewis. Unlike the class officers, they only picked the best Marines to come to OCS and most of them made rank. Most of the other drill instructors were Gunnery Sergeants, but Staff Sergeant Lewis was one paygrade lower. However, I am sure he picked up the next rank quite quickly. I think he was Haitian, he did not have an accent and he was a very fit man. He was slightly on the shorter and stockier side, but definitely a force to be reckoned with. <br />
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One of my first memories of SSgt Lewis was when he was teaching our entire class how to iron. There were almost 60 of us, crammed into this small room sitting indian style. Here is this ripped up guy, showing us how to iron, and doing it in the manliest way possible. Every move he made was, to quote the man, "quick and vicious"! I didn't know you could be quick and vicious while ironing, but he somehow made it so. I half expected him to put the iron out on his tongue! Then something very awkward happened. One of the girls in the class had been raising her hand for awhile and finally SSgt Lewis had enough. Just like with everything else, there is a specific procedure for asking a question. Something along the lines of "This Officer Candidate requests to ask the Class Drill Instructor, Staff Sergeant Lewis a question." The Drill Instructor would typically reply with a succinct "What" or "Spit it out" Pronouns were strictly forbidden, there was no I or me, but the best part was if you called SSgt Lewis "you" by accident. He would then say "what the hell do I look like, a female sheep"? I thought this was a clever retort. This girl is having all sorts of trouble getting her question out, each time that she has to restart she would get even more flustered and fumble some more. Finally, on the verge of tears, she simply shouts out "This Officer Candidate needs to go to the head to change her tampon" I don't think any of us were expecting anything like this! Certainly not SSgt Lewis, who is still wielding the iron. He just turned away and motioned for her to leave the room!<br />
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Mail call was always an interesting experience. We would all gather in the hallway (passageway) in the dorm area, and SSGT Lewis would have this enormous stack of mail. He would call your name, and hand your piece of mail to the "mail body" You would run up as fast as you possibly could, then clap both your hands onto the mail, quickly and viciously! If it was an envelope you could open it up at your leisure. However, if it was a package it had to be opened up in front of everyone to ensure there was no contraband. If you received candy, you had 30 seconds to eat it all, regardless of the quantity. One guy's mom sent enough full size Snickers bars so that we could all have one. By this time SSgt Lewis was starting to go a little easier on us, so he let us all have one, but it was done with orders as to when we could unwrap, take the first bite, swallow etc. Another guy had a bit of a prankster for a girlfriend. She sent him what appeared to be a big bag of Starburst. In fact, it was a large ziploc bag filled mostly with gravel and a few Starburst. So, SSgt Lewis instructed him to eat the starburst, and indeed he tried. Finally, SSgt Lewis noted that he wasn't swallowing. He barked at him and asked why he wasn't swallowing, the guy through a mouthful of gravel remarked that "Its gravel, Sir" This was one of the few times we saw SSgt Lewis chuckle as he told him to spit it out! Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-13721319322237356432014-11-21T13:23:00.002-06:002014-11-21T13:23:49.445-06:00An Officer and a Gentleman - Part 1 The First WeekI first saw this movie when I was pretty young. My favorite part was when Richard Gere fights his drill instructor. I didn't see it again until after I had gone through OCS, and realized that they had taken quite a bit of poetic license with it. The other thing I did not remember was the very graphic sex scenes. I had just started seeing a young lady and it was quite awkward choosing this as a movie to watch together. Lots of awkward silence.<br />
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Officer Candidate School was an interesting experience. I would never want to do it again, but I am glad I went through the experience. Here is what I can remember: <br />
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The school is 13 weeks long and used to be in Pensacola, FL. They have moved it to Newport RI now. The first day is admin day, but they make it as stressful as possible. I made the mistake of checking in quite early. The first thing that happens is you get yelled at by upperclassmen. The only difference between them and you is that they have been there for about 10 weeks longer, but they are wearing uniforms and yelling at you. I think they were going extra loud on me because I was there first one to check in so they had plenty of rage. They made me take off my shoes and pull the laces out. They then had me relace them and constantly yelled "Inboard over outboard" which I eventually understood as how to lace up the shoes with a specific lace going over another one. Of course, they don't tell you this, they simply make you do it over and over until you finally get it right. Everytime they yell at you, you have to yell back. Either "Yes Sir/Ma'am" if it is a question of "Aye Sir/Ma'am" if it is a command. No matter how loudly you yell, you are told to yell louder. You have to acknowledge each time they say "louder" with an "Aye Sir" Of course it is not called yelling, it called "being ballistic" I have no idea where this came from, but for the next 13 weeks we were constantly told to be more ballistic. <br />
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The rest of the day was kind of a blur, the two things I remember the most was the chow hall and uniform issue. You don't get your official uniforms until near the end of the week, for the entire first week you wear what are referred to as poopy greens. You are issued a pair of pants and a WWII style helmet painted bright silver. The helmet is referred to as a chrome dome. You also have to march around with a canteen everywhere you go. The funniest part about the poopy green pants is that there is no effort to try to give you a pair that fits. Indeed the upperclass men seemed to delight in giving you the wrong size. The entire process takes about 15 seconds, you march over to this giant closet and they just pull whatever they feel like off the shelf and give it to you. I was fortunate though. I was issued a pair that must have been a 46 inch waist, they looked extremely comical but I could just adjust my belt to stop them falling off. Many of my classmates got issued pairs that were far too tight. <br />
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The chow hall procedure was something else. For the next 11 weeks every meal was the same way. Your entire class of about 50 people marches to the chow hall four abreast. You halt outside the building. Your class leader then gives the following instruction "Class 28-01" (We were the 28th class of year 2001), upon receiving the command march, you will halfstep up the ladder-well execute an immediate column left and form up outside the door" Everyone then yells back "Aye Section Leader" If the section leader messes up any of the command, you get to yell back "As you were Section Leader". The Section Leader then shouts, "Ready" at which point everyone inhales very sharply and as balistically as you can inhale. This is then followed by "March" at which time everyone yells "Kill" and marches up the stairs. You are then ordered to "adjust" which means making sure your uniform is squared away. The Section leader then yells "Door Body off the rear". Since we marched in descending height order, the door body is usually the smallest person. Our door body was this small lesbian, before you were allowed to be a lesbian. Once we were allowed off base on weekends, her "aunt" would come visit her. The door body's job is to cup there hand around their head and peer into the chow hall to see if there is another class already waiting in line. If there is, the section leader would yell for the "knowledge body" This person stays in line, but has to recite key Navy knowledge to the group while waiting. Things like general orders of a sentry or code of conduct. Think of someone shouting "I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist." and so on. After a few minutes of this, the Section Leader will order the door body to report the status of the chow hall deck. If the deck is clear, you enter.<br />
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You enter the chow hall, one at a time, following the person immediately in front of you. As you cross the threshhold, you stomp your foot on the metal plate at the bottom of the doorway and shout out what number you are. So the first person shouts "zero-one" followed by "zero-two" and so on. Also, you don't get to use regular numbers like thirteen or twenty-five. Rather you would say "one-three" for 13. Inevitably someone screws it up and you have to go outside as an entire class and start all over. Once you enter you form two lines and stand as close as you possibly can to the person in front of you, affectionately designated as "nut to butt". One at a time, you walk forward to a giant stack of trays, you then slam your hands down as hard as you possibly can on the trays and grab one. After the first week you get regular cutlery, but for the first week you only get an oversized spoon, referred to as your "war spoon" You then get whatever they happen to be serving, and hopefully it is something that lends itself to an oversized spoon. Once you have your food, you proceed to your table. You then put your tray on the table, and stand at attention while reading from this pocket sized notebook that you are issued. You have to hold the notebook at arms length with your arm straight out and parralel to the deck (floor). Once the last person has their meal, the class is ordered to sit all at the same time. The worst part was if you sat near one of the legs for the table, because you were not allowed to straddle it. You had to have both feet on the same side of the table leg. There is no talking. The section leader will then order people to pray at will and then you begin your meal. <br />
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Even this is extremely regulated. Your two glasses of water must be touching each other and touching the top right corner of your tray. On occasion, the drill instructors would march right down the center of the table and if your glasses were not properly "grounded" he would proceed to kick your drink onto your shipmate. Sometimes entire trays of food would be sent flying. When you were eating, you would snap your head down to look at the food, take your war spoon and try to get a reasonable bite. Once you had the bite, you had to snap your head up and stare straight ahead. It was only then that you were allowed to chew. This procedure was repeated for every bite. The best part was that you were on a strict 20 minute schedule, the Section Leader is the only individual authorized to wear a watch. Every five minutes the section leader would raise his hand. At that point you swallowed whatever food you had in your mouth. The Section Leader would insure everyone was looking at him and then would proceed to slam his hand down onto the table three times as loundly as he could. He would then follow up, ballistically, shouting "Class 28-01, this is your one-five minute warning" And we would all shout out "Aye Section Leader." There are multiple classes all eating at the same time, so every minute or so, someone is pounding on the table and calling out warnings. You get a warning at 15 minutes, 10 minutes, five minutes and 1 minute. The 1 minute warning is stated as "This is your immediate warning" <br />
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Clearing your tray is regimented as well, the entire class is given the following instructions. "Prepare to ground glasses on tray" at which point you put your glasses on the tray. Then everyone is ordered to stand. Finally, you grab your tray, as a class, and march to the scullery to turn in your tray. Meals were always scary because lots of drill instructors were present and you never knew who might mess with you. Sometimes, if the class screwed up enough, you were taken outside and ordered to exercise. <br />
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You don't actually meet your drill instructor for the first few days. You only interact with upperclassmen. While they can yell at you, they can't order you to exercise. Also, the first week you live in this big open bay. After week 1, you move into 4 person dorm rooms. The first time we met our drill instructor was another great time. We had checked in on Sunday, and I think it was Wednesday morning when our drill instructor showed up. Except it wasn't just him. It was every single drill instructor, probably 8 or 10 of them. They all came running and yelling into our squad bay at 5 am like a pack of wild dogs. At any given time you might have 4 or 5 of them screaming at you, ordering you around. One of them climbed up on these large metal lockers we had to store our clothes, probably 6 feet high or so. The Drill instructors order you to get dressed, but you have to follow their exact sequence, which might mean putting on your left sock, then your shirt, then perhaps your pants, followed by your left shoe and finally your right sock and shoe. They are also tearing around the place pulling sheets off the racks and causing mayhem. From that point on, your drill instructor is never far away and you are in constant danger of screwing up and doing calithenics whereever you happen to be. Their favorite is to take you out to the sandpits to exercise. We affectionately called these the SUYA for Sand Up Your A$$. My favorite time was we had to march around with our mattresses, then proceed to the SUYA, do a ton of calithenics, fill our pockets with sand, bring the sand into our living spaces and dump the sand out, and of course clean it up. <br />
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At the end of the week, on Friday, you transition from "Indoctrination Candidate" to "Officer Candidate". They call that day "Black Friday" It all starts off with an inspection. They bring in a bunch of senior officers to inspect your bed (rack) and locker. Inspection is a loose term, really they just come in and throw your stuff everywhere. They then ask you a bunch of questions, whatever you answer is wrong, and they tell you that you will never make it. Once that is done, you have to jam all your stuff into a big green bag called a "sea bag". Though the bag is equipped with straps you are not allowed to use them. Rather, you must bear hug your bag, as you march to the new living spaces. It takes forever because you are constantly doing exercises and standing around with this bag in a very uncomfortable position. <br />
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Once you get to the new dorms there is an epic PT Session. The drill instructor marches you all over the two floors of the dorms, doing countless push-ups, leg-lifts, straddle hops (jumping jacks) and so on. What happens next is awesome though. Just when you think you can't do anything else, the drill instructor orders you out of the dorm to presumably do more exercises in the sand pit. However, all of the senior classes are there. They are applauding and handing out water bottles. Then they welcome you to the regiment and even put on a skit for you. You instantly feel like you belong, it is quite touching. More importantly, the drill instructors are gone, it is the first time in a week when you are allowed to laugh and smile. It is only a small break, but it couldn't come at a better time. <br />
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Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-76036124545930474492014-11-21T12:06:00.000-06:002014-11-21T12:06:02.325-06:00The Return of the Load The Load just put up some quality posts, so it motivated me to write one. November seems to have flown by, I can't believe this is my first post for the month. A couple of weeks ago, on Veteran's day, I went to my daughter's school for career day. I was speaking to 5th and 6th graders. It was an interesting time. The whole thing kicked off with a player from the Redskins. He kind of rambled all over the place about how tough it is to make it, how he nearly failed out of high school and his plan to open a high end lounge in NYC. The kids seemed to enjoy it though. After his speech, we rotated from classroom to classroom. We had a 15 minute block in each classroom to talk about what we did. Some of the highlights:<br />
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1. Every kid who had a familiy member or friend that was in the military asked me if I knew the person. Often they would just give me the first name too, so on a couple of occasions if they asked me if I knew "Joe" or "John" I could honestly say I did. However, I am pretty sure it was not the same person. Sometimes they would even ask if I knew someone that had served in the Vietnam war and had left the military 30 years ago. <br />
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2. I should have planned out what I was going to say a bit more. Most of the time, they started in with questions almost immediately. They all wanted to know about my time in Afghanistan and whether I had shot anyone. Unfortunately, my time over there wasn't that glamorous. They also wanted to know if I had been shot at. Technically, I had been, but the story is not that exciting. During our first couple of days we had a car bomb go off near the main gate and later that day we were ordered into the bunkers. We found out that we were ordered into the bunkers because two landowners near the base were having a dispute and firing rounds at each other. Some of these rounds were landing inside the base. The funniest part about all of this is that we hadn't been issued ammunition yet. So there were a bunch of us, in the military, who were outgunned by the local poplace! I had been in the gym when the car bomb went off. I was there with some Army guys that were part of the quick reaction force or QRF. These are the guys who are on call to respond to immediate threats. The bomb goes off and these guys gear up and start running to the front gate. I ran with them, not really thinking, for a few steps, until I realized that I didn't have my body armor on or any ammunition. So I went back to the gym. <br />
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I did get two injuries while over there, both minor, both sort of funny. The first one (I have previously written about) was when I was running the fence line at a base near the Pakistani border. Some local kids were running with me and we were having a great time. At least I thought we were. One of them decided it would be fun to throw a rock at me. It was a hell of a throw because he cleared the fence and hit me square on the dome while I was running. They all scattered after that. The special forces medic who checked me out afterwards told me that I should have shot the kids. I am pretty sure I would be in the brig if I had. The second injury happened during a heated volleball game. We weren't outside, Top Gun style. Rather, it was inside a gym. The court wasn't exactly regulation, and just beyond the out-line was a wall. I was going for a hot, did not keep my bearings and ran right into the wall. My glasses cut into my face and there was a fair amount of blood. <br />
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3. It was interesting what the kids focused on. In one class, I mentioned briefly that one of the things we do is prepare wills for people. The entire rest of the class was lots of questions about how specific you can be in your will (like can you specify what music is played at your funeral and what dance people have to do). I liked this question because it assumed that there would be dancing at the funeral. I then talked to them about assets that pass outside of probate and the ability for the surviving spouse to renounce the will if he/she is not happy with the share left to him or her. Personally, I find drafting wills to be one of the more boring things that we do, but these kids couldn't get enough of it. <br />
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4. I got to meet Silvio's older brother! Some interesting things about this guy, he too was the biggest kid in class and had even more hair than Silvio. It must have been shoulder length, pretty unkempt as well. It was a relatively cold day and he was wearing shorts and a vest, not as outlandishly colored as Silvio's but still pretty good. My favorite part was that I began my little speech and he immediately interrupted me and told me to write my name on the board. I was hoping he would have some bizarre questions, but he never followed up. He was just there to enforce the rules. <br />
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5. I couldn't be 100% honest, or at least I didn't feel it was appropriate. When they asked about what kind of cases I worked on, I left out the ones that we do the most - child pornography and sexual assault. I can only imagine the flak the school would get into if I had opened that can of worms. They did have a ton of questions about espionage and treason, but we don't get too many of those cases, fortunately. I wouldn't mind trying a case like that, although it would likely be a lot of work because of classified materials. I only worked one case where classified information was an issue, and it was a rather minor one. What I found interesting about it is that the individual that owns the document can refuse to disclose it. Of course the charges would likely be dismissed, but it is interesting that the owner of the document can derail the whole proceeding. <br />
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6. One of the girls in the class is our next door neighbor and when I pointed that out to the class she apparently became a bit of a celebrity. She told us about it the next week. I felt like a bit of a celebrity because a bunch of kids wanted my autograph. First time that has ever happened. It was interesting because some had sheets of paper to collect all the signatures of the various presenters, others just tried to find any random bit of paper. I signed post-it notes, backs of receipts, old tests, you name it. <br />
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7. Most of the teachers didn't really pay much attention, I think they were trying to take care of some work. However, this one teacher was great. I had met him briefly when I went to School with Bella, he was the gym teacher. He ran the gym class pretty strictly. He did not run the career day very strictly though, he wanted to spend the whole time talking about the movie "A few good men" and doing the famous "You can't handle the truth" line. I don't think any of the kids had seen it though. <br />
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All in all, a pretty fun time. As I was leaving the school I walked by the cafeteria and good old Silvio was there and motioned for me to come in and talk to him. Unfortunately Bella wasn't there, but still always fun to see Silvio. He wasn't wearing a vest, but he did have his hair in a crazy mohawk with what looked like a ton of hair gel holding it all together!Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-24707227404741753482014-11-20T00:14:00.000-06:002014-11-20T00:14:25.823-06:00Don't Mess With KW!KW is one of the smartest people I know. Not academically smart - I'm sure school was not the best time of his life - but still super smart. He was pretty much better than me at a lot of things I thought were really important: chess, ping-pong, mountain biking, rock climbing, building things (he laughed heartily the first time he saw me swing a hammer), fixing things with engines, backgammon, etc. In modern education parlance we would say that he had high bodily-kinesthetic intelligence. And his spatial reasoning kicked ass. <br />
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I think that because I thought of myself as smart, I tended to want to compete with KW a lot. Well that and we were in our 20s and teens while working at camp and drank a lot. Mix in testosterone and you have male egos clashing. KW and I were good friends, he introduced me to climbing and was the first of many mentors n that field to me. Though his bedside manner was often lacking (he liked to yell at partners to motivate them), he taught me a lot in my first few years at the Gunks. <br />
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Our competitions usually ended up with KW winning. I beat him at chess, once. Out of perhaps a hundred games. I never out-climbed him, then or now. I beat him at Ping-Pong, once, though he was quite drunk. Out of hundreds of card games of Hearts, I might have been victorious once. If I tried to shoot the moon, I ended up missing by one card, if he tried, he usually got it. Yet like the young buck I was, I kept at it.<br />
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The one place I had a fair shot was at the arcade. On Wednesday nights or on the weekends, the staff used to drive down to Lake George and wander around aimlessly. There's not much to do there except drink and play video games - so we usually spent a large deal of time in the arcade. KW and I would engage in marathon Tetris games, games in which I had a slight edge sometimes. I chalk this up to having skipped all my Sociology 101 lectures in college to go play Tetris. Right next to the Tetris machine was a classic air hockey table. It was here that the story I originally intended to write in this post took place.<br />
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KW and I were locked in a legendary battle. We were sending the puck back and forth at blinding speeds. Often spilling over the sides. We garnered quite a few sideways glances from patrons who thought we were taking our game a little too seriously. <br />
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At some point that summer we had discovered that we had a slight advantage placing our hands in the scooped out part of the paddles rather than holding the knob on top. This left our knuckles exposed to repeated bashings from the puck which we sent whizzing back and forth. There was very little strategy to these games, it was fake this way, fake that way, SHOOT, and repeat. <br />
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The battle had gone on for at least 20 minutes (which was quite long for an arcade air hockey battle) and we were all tied, next goal wins. Back and forth, ouch and ouch, it went. It was at this point that the impossible occurred. I sent a shot whizzing at KW so hard that when he intercepted it, the puck flew up in the air, over his shoulder, hit the Tetris machine behind him, bounced higher and hit a blade on the overhead fan which, though the cheap plastic cracked, used its momentum to send the puck back down to the table in front of Keith, where he promptly shot it past my paddle and scored the winning goal.TheLoadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02882053039051205076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-74097929509865128652014-11-19T23:30:00.001-06:002014-11-19T23:30:11.986-06:00How I Spent My Summer Vacation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There was MasterCam training, surfing, visiting family, NYC, a cruise to Bermuda, and lots of gardening. But in between it all my sister took my son and I to one of the coolest places I've ever been:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIRbsXHzxS0m7mXwi-iCedszyb2kqDlaY7zAO-yDJ5Nxklsw_w3UoQCVXtFqJlaYXrBlYiYGarulTJi-36a12MouWXxe64tHxvnvT9y1GZj7rIX31XXHlqwsFy7WCLE4xyFMtgzlakQ/s1600/IMG_4765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIRbsXHzxS0m7mXwi-iCedszyb2kqDlaY7zAO-yDJ5Nxklsw_w3UoQCVXtFqJlaYXrBlYiYGarulTJi-36a12MouWXxe64tHxvnvT9y1GZj7rIX31XXHlqwsFy7WCLE4xyFMtgzlakQ/s1600/IMG_4765.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></div>
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Pa may not look like much, as a matter of fact it looks like a run down house with aluminum siding sitting on the edge of a shopping plaza in downtown Portland, Maine. That's because it is. But the proverbial look can be deceiving and though the quality of the physical structure doesn't change as you enter and walk up the worn carpeting on the stairs, what's waiting for you inside has to be experienced to be believed. Visiting the Portland arcade was one of the most awesome times I've had, ever.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2GpUC9TnA90JG7P0e29aeey5mduRfb79CY5MENclZkSNmayN7BWEDUX46XRcDAGsXkvln4MvY9WN8vv2mm6XRW7LtKOS-vNk2sqJjyXhgQGlk-UWmHpjn1nJJoJ_w2LvfZhUzqDrtg/s1600/IMG_4766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2GpUC9TnA90JG7P0e29aeey5mduRfb79CY5MENclZkSNmayN7BWEDUX46XRcDAGsXkvln4MvY9WN8vv2mm6XRW7LtKOS-vNk2sqJjyXhgQGlk-UWmHpjn1nJJoJ_w2LvfZhUzqDrtg/s1600/IMG_4766.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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As you walk up the stairs and reach the second floor you come to a desk/counter manned by an older gentleman who was probably a teenager in the 70's at the birth of the video game - but still has a sparkle in his eye and a feeling of pride as newcomers start to look around. He explains that for $5 you get too choose a soda, a bag of chips and a record to play. Yes, a record. In a set of bookcases on the wall was a collection of a few hundred vinyl albums, mainly classic rock but with a good bit of punk, disco, new-wave and others thrown in. I chose the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack and as he placed it on the turntable I entered the arcade.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lrxVvx412eq1mVqxzTWW38vAINZa7uyUACCXiTpjdcl-A8vwQ-Jz4hF9QWha-D5909GNnH-52S6_zZpgUjzGbJNxotdddS4PzRGQsNaVlgOmu-mfJfuBGe7GsFPyOpxzCG5y3G9rYw/s1600/IMG_4762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lrxVvx412eq1mVqxzTWW38vAINZa7uyUACCXiTpjdcl-A8vwQ-Jz4hF9QWha-D5909GNnH-52S6_zZpgUjzGbJNxotdddS4PzRGQsNaVlgOmu-mfJfuBGe7GsFPyOpxzCG5y3G9rYw/s1600/IMG_4762.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'm 43, which means I was 10 when the above date occurred. Pong pre-dated me but otherwise I grew up with video games. Saw them get fancier, switch from massive machines to home consoles to PCs back to consoles; I witnessed them go from tapes to cartridges to CDs to online purchases; I was there when you were able to play with people not in the same room and then not in the same country; I saw controllers go from (pornographically named) joysticks to paddles to containing more buttons than you could shake a stick at, first with short wires then long wires then no wires; and I watched games migrate to tablets and phones and everything in between. As I walked from room to room and sat in the many comfy chairs, I was transported back, waaaaay back.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JZcl7l-DDB8ZH_aw8WAWFOuwBmL241tnvEemFB36gbTGRXEwmzuRGOMl6JknUskAOzSx4a2U1dwvFv9qXk82cXzPASSYTASgq59fbrzrM4ROPuO_xMphJba_PHV2aCfS1ndfmU8XvQ/s1600/IMG_4742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JZcl7l-DDB8ZH_aw8WAWFOuwBmL241tnvEemFB36gbTGRXEwmzuRGOMl6JknUskAOzSx4a2U1dwvFv9qXk82cXzPASSYTASgq59fbrzrM4ROPuO_xMphJba_PHV2aCfS1ndfmU8XvQ/s1600/IMG_4742.JPG" height="297" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original Play Station</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUCa2B_XL_rnK9t8TMhrVVNXrQDjXO9rhO3NGRp5gaxZTwMiS60Yved_r1zCMnpQWZ3BzHyiDPaWEDBwp75ZH4wHEy-oq9WATROIQm4tXskyPv3plrGfezAMm1wUBKxd69XQJKOuvnEg/s1600/IMG_4740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUCa2B_XL_rnK9t8TMhrVVNXrQDjXO9rhO3NGRp5gaxZTwMiS60Yved_r1zCMnpQWZ3BzHyiDPaWEDBwp75ZH4wHEy-oq9WATROIQm4tXskyPv3plrGfezAMm1wUBKxd69XQJKOuvnEg/s1600/IMG_4740.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you identify the controller my son is using?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKb4AMQXjf3dUY77pMwDGNA8GH0g9LHwxNcUHNdYrXozNr__MIsFBA-CUliTxGUWsRJ99TBTHJtOLOUbR_v6MjpAPb-XEa8mp9LrP0-iyJxmHkzpFcCfaJXuvRYcilyeinlCyW60rRbQ/s1600/IMG_4737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKb4AMQXjf3dUY77pMwDGNA8GH0g9LHwxNcUHNdYrXozNr__MIsFBA-CUliTxGUWsRJ99TBTHJtOLOUbR_v6MjpAPb-XEa8mp9LrP0-iyJxmHkzpFcCfaJXuvRYcilyeinlCyW60rRbQ/s1600/IMG_4737.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, Bally had a home console.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA55aWCZbf7f1jS10GB4-jEw-eScOh0dY6opUKkqtXLmfOBSCa5yFvk5zBl61muSuVsrYE9yoixPPNULuo5fVUdHS8dpqH345xyBu71wt8po4_u80tcY0M8MfvUshuRLd9-HnMG7XhTQ/s1600/IMG_4734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA55aWCZbf7f1jS10GB4-jEw-eScOh0dY6opUKkqtXLmfOBSCa5yFvk5zBl61muSuVsrYE9yoixPPNULuo5fVUdHS8dpqH345xyBu71wt8po4_u80tcY0M8MfvUshuRLd9-HnMG7XhTQ/s1600/IMG_4734.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And of course the original Nintendo controller.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY97hCwVV0DwJmwZDJDNs7InAcFPm1czON9jPK_60ompeulxPn4Qh97VlltgjbCtQ_Kemm3eTOry8aEzD7LC3MdU9mWcJtMGCid6AMf42ReHoStPSkRHdg2hi8cvNj8eYSv_5uuQ2pGg/s1600/IMG_4723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY97hCwVV0DwJmwZDJDNs7InAcFPm1czON9jPK_60ompeulxPn4Qh97VlltgjbCtQ_Kemm3eTOry8aEzD7LC3MdU9mWcJtMGCid6AMf42ReHoStPSkRHdg2hi8cvNj8eYSv_5uuQ2pGg/s1600/IMG_4723.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Commodore 64, need I say more?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ScFnv5eyDibjM2aLSwPVJlvmBPlsehTkK9N22P-CjmDVY8W8KDQPEdOYZgG5Y_8Osu1Us6sRV2OKlr51NjedClmmH8FwwylG0xM4946mTmrpcGVBgRYKdO6d5HZuNGyjB5SKe7iHMA/s1600/IMG_4720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ScFnv5eyDibjM2aLSwPVJlvmBPlsehTkK9N22P-CjmDVY8W8KDQPEdOYZgG5Y_8Osu1Us6sRV2OKlr51NjedClmmH8FwwylG0xM4946mTmrpcGVBgRYKdO6d5HZuNGyjB5SKe7iHMA/s1600/IMG_4720.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pong on a 13" black and white television.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLa5oDXhQiQ1jhm_BDODQcSFTNxsAyiDQ6vAMLDiKThmf-JEocJFIAlavKoNaXVwR3jmidb7tra2CNmEgFitWy3QHkUDSwj5iAltIIM4_yeZ1dzsmJE7drFfz9GwDtFl0hjpvdhwDDdw/s1600/IMG_4719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLa5oDXhQiQ1jhm_BDODQcSFTNxsAyiDQ6vAMLDiKThmf-JEocJFIAlavKoNaXVwR3jmidb7tra2CNmEgFitWy3QHkUDSwj5iAltIIM4_yeZ1dzsmJE7drFfz9GwDtFl0hjpvdhwDDdw/s1600/IMG_4719.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you imagine purchasing a console you could play only one game on?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9W0CuZJQPWz6msns0AphataKw-264YyXDeb9TxvbQ_ZyOEtG95QBX7jkWpXmtGHvCRFUljsUFvNs-AmWT4fDUlbEgFoxBU7SHnQfQ0mceUS72ncXz3pmI6_UHWNj_JVbstGHy1EImVg/s1600/IMG_4714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9W0CuZJQPWz6msns0AphataKw-264YyXDeb9TxvbQ_ZyOEtG95QBX7jkWpXmtGHvCRFUljsUFvNs-AmWT4fDUlbEgFoxBU7SHnQfQ0mceUS72ncXz3pmI6_UHWNj_JVbstGHy1EImVg/s1600/IMG_4714.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nintendo Entertainment System</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOvZbeyciU-2KfS6NMsJa3qlCAS6sUp7kHXGgJ1GoRKwRLiJu6NZAhVG6ZchE70UdeDhO81PDypqx_Dcy6PjqAQsNihAXqXTuC0h3CKYZnoRUmCxW3RpWBpLmuS14hyphenhyphen0Ee3CowCH8NQ/s1600/IMG_4712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOvZbeyciU-2KfS6NMsJa3qlCAS6sUp7kHXGgJ1GoRKwRLiJu6NZAhVG6ZchE70UdeDhO81PDypqx_Dcy6PjqAQsNihAXqXTuC0h3CKYZnoRUmCxW3RpWBpLmuS14hyphenhyphen0Ee3CowCH8NQ/s1600/IMG_4712.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And my favorite. In 5th grade, everyone had one of these. My dad was a computer programmer so we had an Atari 800, one of their early PCs. We had a few games played on a cassette tape (seriously) but I longed for my friends' houses and the hundreds of games....</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWPu5JnQnAY_ViMHsdiWfF5bsTMp3Ltwe057t55ZgHjDvxEXooehhZwCao6cZL97nFzJJyfH2jHUTsWE8gS0XQMeTg_jhsbCHuPKTstUeBlIyoPSknulaS2w4uwezaquPIx_A99SrB-A/s1600/IMG_4711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWPu5JnQnAY_ViMHsdiWfF5bsTMp3Ltwe057t55ZgHjDvxEXooehhZwCao6cZL97nFzJJyfH2jHUTsWE8gS0XQMeTg_jhsbCHuPKTstUeBlIyoPSknulaS2w4uwezaquPIx_A99SrB-A/s1600/IMG_4711.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure if they had every game ever made for the 2600, but this pic is about half of what they had.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKeGpmdMwAsy-fz1FRvVeHUOcItHbmwhyYPzJ8ziWseUwniBI3HssrZX7tfkzVJ2Y5f510NWsmePrQE7UvPsOK50lGvOyNT6JwTmv6FijzTszz_D_cmvNixeOtzSB5jU2_Tp1UDYDubQ/s1600/IMG_4713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKeGpmdMwAsy-fz1FRvVeHUOcItHbmwhyYPzJ8ziWseUwniBI3HssrZX7tfkzVJ2Y5f510NWsmePrQE7UvPsOK50lGvOyNT6JwTmv6FijzTszz_D_cmvNixeOtzSB5jU2_Tp1UDYDubQ/s1600/IMG_4713.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They even had ET, which was actually as bad as everyone had said it was. This game was so bad that thousands of copies were buried and recently dug up.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.polygon.com/2014/11/4/7158267/atari-2600-et-landfill-cartridges-ebay-auction" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.polygon.com/2014/11/4/7158267/atari-2600-et-landfill-cartridges-ebay-auction" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4OnMOg85Y6uPgHUUZHxeOtjetyWAxjnR-G0OtmFN1w7f-iRZDx2pakDek3jr5Pe_J1zKU7-U7wQvrOTRgsvEZ-UVzvboR6rQJfkNlmyG7OPTf2IWq2Fm6maZzJBZtlyqs16Cbh8hTjg/s1600/atar_2600_landfill_carts.0.0_cinema_960.0.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.polygon.com/2014/11/4/7158267/atari-2600-et-landfill-cartridges-ebay-auction" target="_blank">Click here to read the whole story.</a></td></tr>
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I spent hours moving from couch to couch, playing games, journeying back to a more funner time in my life and introducing my kids (7 and 4) to games that weren't on a phone. I can't think of a better way to spend $5. But there was more, much more....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkDQnDHduzSuWFLduHjLA6lLz0SQ_zC6K8ASanMV3irkJUSvHpvHsTWsghqY4ynuPUNYB8KN1hIZoEK1wZ3Aj_78LXwv7xS0c3X-LAS-MxrlpS8HROcD7JmSbh31utiq0Q1m9gZX9Trw/s1600/IMG_4763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkDQnDHduzSuWFLduHjLA6lLz0SQ_zC6K8ASanMV3irkJUSvHpvHsTWsghqY4ynuPUNYB8KN1hIZoEK1wZ3Aj_78LXwv7xS0c3X-LAS-MxrlpS8HROcD7JmSbh31utiq0Q1m9gZX9Trw/s1600/IMG_4763.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Got my name up there!</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLdW-vHULkLtNoa_J-8XVCBGCw3iqTMAbC" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLdW-vHULkLtNoa_J-8XVCBGCw3iqTMAbC" target="_blank">So I really wanted to end this post with an embedded playlist of videos from the visit to Portland Arcade, but blogger is not playing nice with my youtube channel, so here's the link if you want to see the intensity of my son playing Mario Kart, a classic Pong battle, my younger son totally baffled by what he's seeing, and several videos of my getting very intense with Space Invaders.</a><br />
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<br />TheLoadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02882053039051205076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-32659888461877931372014-10-31T11:20:00.001-05:002014-10-31T11:21:21.664-05:00Cheese, Clocks and ChocolateThe Summer of 2001 was the first summer I did not go back to camp. At this point, I had finished my Masters Degree in Mechanical Engineering and I was to report to Officer Candidate School sometime in the middle of June. I had a few weeks with not much to do, and decided that it would be time for an adventure. <br />
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Initially, I was planning to return to my motherland, England, but there was an outbreak of hoof and mouth disease so much of the countryside was off-limits. So, like the way I make most important decisions in my life, I winged it and decided that I would head to Switzerland. I had a full three weeks and figured I would just go from Hostel to Hostel and take each day as it came. Perhaps memory makes everything better with age, but I cannot remember a single thing that went wrong the entire journey.<br />
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My first week started off in Interlaken. I snagged a train from the airport in Zermatt and was on my way. The train was clean, punctual to the second and it was a smooth ride. Switzerland is an interesting country, most of the inhabitants speak French, German, Italian and English. This is because the various regions tend to adopt the language of the country that borders them. <br />
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As I was nearing Interlaken, a young lady struck up a conversation with me. I quickly learned that if you ask a Swiss person whether they speak English, if they say "a little" it means they are fluent, and if you say "yes" it means that they speak it better than you do! She informed me that I could use the rest of my train ticket to travel via Ferry to Interlaken. It happened to be a beautiful sunny day, just a slight breeze, a perfect day for boating. I had two travel guidebooks with me, and it was easy to find the hostel. It was nothing fancy, but it was very clean and professionally run. A large number of the guests were American, but there were a host of other countries represented as well. Most of the Hostels had little bars attached to them as well, so it made for a very comfortable experience. One thing that I never figured out at this particular hostel were the showers. I think they may have been defective, but without warning your nice steamy shower would alternate to very cold water for a few seconds and then go back to normal. Maybe that is just how they roll in Interlaken, living life on the edge, never wanting to get complacent, not even in the shower. <br />
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Switzerland is built for walking. Most of the towns, particularly the touristy ones, have beautiful town centers that are cut off to automobiles. My days were simple, most days I would simply go for a hike. I had a great book about hiking in Switzerland with all sorts of good suggestions and detailed directions on how to reach the trailhead. Almost all the trailheads were accessible by train. Some hiking highlights:<br />
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1. Almost every hike could have been right out the Sound of Music in terms of stunning scenery;<br />
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2. Most of the time, a hike would cross a town and there was always a nice restaurant to get some good food and beer;<br />
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3. Many times, hikes would pass through farmer's fields. Often these fields were full of the farmer's cows. This would never work in the States because people would deliberately try to let the animals escape, but in Switzerland it did work. You opened the gate to enter and closed it behind you. You follow the same procedure to exit. <br />
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4. There are lots of natural springs where it is perfectly safe to drink the water without treating it. <br />
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After a week or so in Interlaken, I made my way to Zermatt, home of the Matterhorn. I was only intending to stay a week, but stayed closer to 10 days. Zermatt bans cars entirely. All the fancy hotels have souped up golf carts to pick up the wealthy from the train station, but the hostels do not. <br />
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When I checked into the Hostel in Zermatt, I used my military ID for identification. For some reason, this impressed the guy running the hostel and he gave me my own room. It had twelve bunks in it, but he never assigned anyone else to the room the entire time I was there. I still ran into plenty of people, so it wasn't lonely, and it was nice not to be disturbed at night.<br />
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Zermatt is dominated by the Matterhorn, no matter where you are, you can see it. Like a big tooth rearing upwards from the meadows below. Almost everyday I did hikes right in Zermatt, in the Matterhorn's shadow. I had considered trying to hire a guide to see if I could summit, but was told that it was still too early in the summer for that. But, it was fun hiking up onto the Matterhorn's shoulder, still quite high, but no technical climbing required.<br />
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At some point, I paid to go on a day trip of ice-climbing. There were about 5 of us in the group, 4 already knew each other. But they welcomed me into the fold. We met the other half of our party at the site. I think they were polish or czech, but they were starting off the day with some incredibly strong Scnapps or something similar. They were quick to share, and I figured, why the hell not! They did not speak much English though and our guide did not speak their language. They kind of settled on French, which worked well enough for the guide and the group. Our guide was quite a character, he was a professional guide so this was a walk in the park for him. He had a great sense of humor, but made sure we knew when it was time to listen. We did our ice-climbing on a vast glacier. To reach the spot, we all roped up, so that if one of us fell into a crevasses, the others could arrest the fall. As we were hiking across the glacier, you would hear these low rumbles every so often. Our guide pointed to the mountains surrounding the glacier and indicated that those were avalanches. We were nowhere near close enough to be in any danger, but this was the first time I have been in an area where avalanches are going on all around you. <br />
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I had gone ice climbing a few times before. Generally, ice-climbing is a bit of an exercise in misery. It is very cold, you have a ton of gear on and belaying is the worst. At least when you are climbing, you are working and staying warm. The belayer, stands at the bottom of the ice climb, freezing and dodging chunks of ice that the climber has dislodged. <br />
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Climbing on the glacier was nothing like this. For one, it was probably in the 50s, and the sun reflected off the glacier, so it was extremely pleasant. Also, the belayer stayed on the glacier and lowered the climber into the crevasse. Any ice that was dislodged simply fell to the bottom of the crevasse. I had a blast. <br />
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Towards the end of my stay in Zermatt, I was at one of the local bars and recognized a girl from the hostel. We got to chatting and headed back to the hostel. On the way to the hostel you cross over a pedestrian bridge over a river that runs through the town. This bridge is perfectly framed by the Matterhorn. What followed was an awkward exchange. I started talking about how beautiful the spot was and said something along lines of "can I kiss you" to which she responded "I don't think I can say no". I only heard the no. I chalked it up to a classic case of me reading the situation with the ladies wrong. Still it seemed a bit harsh and I didn't know what to do but walk away. Fortunately, she quickly realized that I was an idiot, and clarified her response.<br />
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Due to my extended stay in Zermatt, I only had a few days in Lucerne, and one of those was a travel day. Still, it was beautiful and I encountered the Swiss Army! Despite being very peaceful, the Swiss are ready to go to war. My understanding is that all the members of the military keep their weapons at home and are ready to mobilize at a moment's notice. Further, the swiss have placed charges at key border crossings ready to destroy bridges to halt an invasion. My favorite part is that despite being landlocked, the Swiss even have a Navy. <br />
Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4587733255951411302.post-83872490136602878962014-10-27T15:41:00.002-05:002014-10-27T15:41:31.258-05:00Back to School (Featuring Silvio)My daughter's school had a Dad's day today. Dads can come in and observe the classes and do menial work like making copies! It was an exciting day. <br />
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It started off with reading and math problems. Nothing too exciting, although the technology is pretty cool. There are no more chalkboards, everything is done on a Smart Board. The teachers can project anything up there and then even mark it up with an electronic pen, John Madden style!<br />
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Bella had a pretty good mix of girls and boys in the class, a nice number of different ethnicities mixed in too! By far my favorite, next to Bella of course, was her classmate Silvio. He was easily the biggest kid in the class, probably by about a foot. He had a mop of blonde hair, that was only marginally kempt. He was also slightly portly, which added to his character . He looked very much like what I imagine Chris Farley looked like at his age. By far my favorite thing though was that he was wearing this really awesome down vest. First, you don't see a lot of people rocking vests, but I think they are a great invention. Keeps your core warm and leaves your arms free. His vest was awesome though because it was a mix of camouflage patterns but the bulk of the camo was in tye-dye colors! Similar to this<br />
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This is the best approximation I could find. I hope he continues to rock the stylish outerwear for a long time. I also really liked that his name was "Silvio" The only other Silvio I have encountered was in the Sopranos. He didn't seem to mind me calling him Sil. I wish I could have convinced him to call me Tony. <br />
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The morning was pretty routine. The class rotated between different stations. I was running the number bingo station and doing a hell of a job. The kids had to count by tens and find the matching number on the electronic bingo card. I quickly realized that I probably should not be a 1st grade teacher. It seems that you need to rule with an iron fist, but I love the chaos and kind of encouraged them to be a bit crazy. Time seemed to fly by, we were headed to lunch. Lunch was pretty similar to what I remember. The big difference it seems is that almost all the kids brought their lunch and hardly any bought it. This is the exact opposite of what I remember growing up, almost noone brought in a lunch from home. I sat across from Bella and next to my good buddy Sil. For such a big kid he didn't eat much at lunch. Lunch seemed to take way longer than needed. All the kids were done eating and we still had another 20 minutes it seemed. After lunch was recess. <br />
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Recess was largely confined to a playground, an area to play basketball and not much else. There is a much bigger play area in the back, but I think the older kids play there. Most of the kids formed into groups of 5 or 6 and chased each other around. Not Silvio though. This guy loved climbing to the top of the playground and launching himself off the top and hitting the ground. It was probably 10 feet or so and he just loved it. He would tuck and roll and the ground was woodchips so he didn't get hurt. I don't think the other kids had any problems with him, he chose to do his own thing. Another thing I really respected about him. <br />
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After recess, we went to Music class. This was pretty chaotic. The kids were still pretty wound up from recess. They were learning about different notes and how to keep a rhythm. The idea was that when a song played they were supposed to walk on their tippie toes for the fast notes and squat down for the longer notes. Most of the kids followed it to some degree, there was a good deal of running on tippie toes, but good old Silvio had other ideas. His idea was that he would run around at full tilt and then do these headfirst slides across the floor. He could tell that I was loving it and cracking up, so I think I egged him on a bit. While they were sitting on the carpet learning the next activity, he was wrestling with this other kid, just a madman. At the end of class, we got rhythm sticks, essentially drum sticks. Silvio and I were goofing off, he put his on the top of his head like antenna, I put them in my mouth like walrus tusks etc. Only Silvio got caught though, he had to go to a brief time out. I felt a little bad that I had gotten him in trouble, but he didn't hold it against me. We were supposed to keep tapping the rhythm sticks to the song. Silvio alternated between tapping his sticks as hard and loud as he possible could, to pretending they were num-chucks, to breaking into an air guitar session. <br />
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Gym followed Music Class. We immediately started off with two laps around the school. Silvio, true to form, started out at a full sprint. Unfortunately, he was unable to keep up the pace and fell to a walk pretty early on into the first lap. I ran with Bella and we convinced him to come along with us. He seemed pretty winded, but he obviously has the heart of a damn lion and kept up with us. In gym, they were learning about different ways of moving and different paths. They were broken up into 6 groups and played follow the leader. One group would skip in a curve line, the next would gallop in a zig zag etc. Silvio was initially number 3 in his group, but wanted to be number 2. The only rule was that you couldn't pass people. That was one too many for Silvio. He just bowled over the kid in front of him, while skipping, to ensure that he would be number 2. <br />
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The last part of the day consisted of learning about continents, countries and states. Poor Silvio was having trouble sitting still, and had to leave the group a few times. It didn't seem to phase him. I noticed that he was sitting next to another adult at one point. I guessed that it was his Dad, but he seemed like a totally normal guy. I was hoping for a similar outrageous fashion and hair choice. <br />
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As we were leaving class at the end of the day, I saw Silvio in the hall. I asked him if he had been sitting next to his Dad. He explained that he had been. He then said something that I don't think I will forget. He explained that the guy used to be his Cousin's dad. Without skipping a beat he explained that his Dad died. And he was rock solid about it. I still have trouble coming to terms with my Dad's death even now. Silvio seemed to take it all in stride. I wouldn't expect anything less from him. <br />
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<br />Voyageurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887015950379374062noreply@blogger.com0