Save Me From My Neighbors!

Today was a beautiful winter's day, a little chilly but nice enough to enjoy the out of doors. The only problem was that my neighbor Daryl was enjoying it too. Is there any way to escape your messed up neighbors?

Today I come driving home from the library with my two boys in tow and what do I hear blaring out of Daryl's work van parked in front of his house, The Little River band at 125 decibels! And just so you know, 125db is when pain begins, and my head was throbbing. He's made sure that we can all enjoy his FM radio station complete with commercials. Every door of this van is wide open, and he has the volume turned all the way up. I guess the boombox that is connected to a car battery, that's connected to the solar panel in his front yard must be out of order, so he had to improvise. He's walking around moving lumber from here to there and doing all sorts of other crap.

As I walk into the front door of my house I notice that my wife has the windows open to let in some fresh air as she works at her computer, and she looks perturbed. She informs me that she's been looking for a boombox to blare classical music out of our front door to drown out Daryl's noise, but she couldn't find one. I think for a moment and come up with a solution. I attach my iPod to a set of amplified speakers and we are in business. I hang the speakers out the front door and start broadcasting Mozart as loud as I can get it.

It was rather pleasant in our house for about an hour with Mozart tickling our ears, most of the music was going outside so it wasn't overly loud in the living room. Outside was very different story, Mozart from my iPod was competing with Classic Rock from “BOB FM.” It didn't take long for Daryl to give in and turn off his tunes. He closed the doors of the van, then rumbled down the road in ole Rust Bucket. I'm still convinced Daryl's not from this planet and his rusty van is an alien space craft that makes frequent trips into outer space. But what was really puzzling me was why did Daryl spend days sanding the rust spots on his van? He even had his buddy -who threw fish on my roof years back- out there sanding with him. What do you think he did after he was done sanding away all of that rust? Absolutely nothing, no primer from a rattle can, no Scooby Doo paint job, nothing, not a damn thing. His van is now half painted, and half bare rusting metal. Maybe he needs rusting bare metal spots to be able to make contact with the mother ship, I don't think I'll ever know.

So for the moment I had relief from Daryl's noise pollution, so I called my sister in Florida on Skype. She had recently moved there from Oregon and her and her family are now enjoying the nice weather. While we are talking she stops and yells to her husband “He's at it again!” I ask her what's going on, and she tells me that their hillbilly neighbor is shooting off his guns. That's the trade off you get when you move to the country. You may be away from cities and the annoying neighbors named Daryl, but you trade Daryl for a neighbor named Floyd who likes to shoot at critters in his yard when he's not doing cookies with his ATV. It's America and our hillbillies have got to have their guns and motor sports damn it!

I've decided what I want is land out in the country, with no hillbillies, no vegetation to have to constantly whack, and no chickens! But I don't know if that's even possible. I suppose you could do chicken farming in a way where the chickens eat and peck the vegetation down, then it might be a possibility. And I suppose if you do your homework you could limit your exposure to hillbillies. I would think if a sign in front of the house next to the one you're looking to buy reads “No Trespassen, Git!” would be a good indicator as to why the house you are looking at is such a fantastic buy. Also look for the presence of teeth in the local inhabitants, or lack there of. Missing teeth is always a good indication that you may be in the middle of a hillbilly infestation. I will admit that the prospect of cheap moonshine produced by the locals has it's appeal, but I would rather buy my booze from the store.

Not all of my neighbors are crazy nut jobs. We have always had a great relationship with our neighbor Bill next door to our right. We watch their miniature horse when they go on trips, and their daughter and her boyfriend house sat for us while we took a trip to southern California. They did a fine job and the dog and the two cats were only slightly traumatized from the experience. I thought our little dog was going to need CPR when we arrived down the street. He was out being walked, and if he had been wearing doggy pants he would have crapped them when my son called out his name as we drove by.

I don't think you can truly get away from having neighbors unless you are in the 1% and can buy enough land to be out of hearing range of hillbillies shooting at varmints. Personally I'm hoping for an island with a mountain tall enough to avoid Tsunamis. That's were my house will be, right on top of that mountain. I could go down from time to time and collect coconuts, bananas, and go fishing like Gilligan. Maybe I would make my own rum so I would have something to sip as I lay underneath my big umbrella at my mountain retreat. Well hell if I could afford an island, then I guess I would have my rum delivered by porpoise. I would probably get very bored living on the island because I wouldn't have any nut jobs to write about, but I suppose I could hope for some castaways from a ship wreck, or maybe a pirate invasion.

Ok scratch the island idea, the thought of having to dig tiger pits to protect myself from pirates sounds like too much work. For the moment I'll just put up with Daryl.

It's Just Another Rainy Day

This morning when I dunked a bag of Irish Breakfast tea, together with a bag of Pomegranate Green into the same cup, I wondered to myself “do you think this combo might make my cup explode?” Then I pushed the thought out of my head. It's a dreary rainy day that would make even the Walmart happy face cry. The tea packed a nice punch, but needed some honey.

I spent the morning getting the kids off to school, running to the grocery store, then made nachos for lunch with the wife. We enjoyed them while watching an episode of Scrubs on Netflix. I'm sure I spotted a periscope in the lake in my driveway, I would have suspected the Russians but the Cold War has been over for years. I think the squirrels have gone high tech and are simply going after the nuts that are buried somewhere under the water.

In my local newspaper (The Register Guard) there is an article about two young activists who are suing the governor of Oregon for “violating his duty to uphold the public trust and protect the state from impacts of climate change.” Yes, I too wish the governor would get on that big bubble dome he promised for the state. It would protect us from climate change, intercontinental ballistic missiles, and speeches spewing from the mouth of Newt Gingrich. While our two young friends are at it could they also sue Newt for making millions of people vomit. It's just a thought.

In other news an 82 year old bush pilot from Willow Alaska was being chased by an agitated moose when he was saved by his 85 year old wife who hit the beast in the head with a shovel a few times. Grandmas are tough as nails in Willow. I wonder if they make moose strength Tylenol?

Another granny in Connellsville Pennsylvania said a bearded stranger in a pointy hat gave her the seeds to the four-foot tall Marijuana plants growing next to her tomatoes in her back yard. She just wanted something pretty to accent them. Sheesh, let the old lady have her pot plants for gods sake. And speaking of pot, The New York times reported that the reason that Australians are so laid back is because they consume more marijuana than anywhere else on the planet. Intoxicants -the article states- are at the center of most social life in Australia. I guess down under really means down under the table.

To tell you quite honestly this is the news that I enjoy reading in my local newspaper. The rest of the news is just too grim. The news is full of megalomaniacs trying to further themselves in the public eye, and the side affects of their destructive sociopathic ways. The people in charge of us -for the most part- want to have it all, and spend most of their time working to convince the rest of us how they deserve to have it all. Most of us want to live our lives in some sort of peaceful manor while being able to feed and cloth ourselves; but for a few, that's simply not good enough. They call their troop to war! “Our enemies are your enemies” they say. “If you're not with us then you're against us” they proclaim. “Greed is good” is printed on their flag.

I tire of those greedy bastards, and it's a rainy day.

An Inspirational Moment

Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.

I'm not a religious person, and you won't hear me saying “It's God's will” or anything resembling it, but when deaths and layoffs happened at the same time I was in for a ride with the aftermath. It was like getting my slate wiped clean to start over again. I decided to embrace the changes, listen to my inner voice, and then unexpected things started to happen.

I've come to the conclusion that for the most part I don't have control over my life. I may think that I do sometimes, but for the most part, life seems to be driving me. But before you say to yourself “Dan you're so full of crap” let me tell you this, if someone would have told me that a series of events would result in me staying at home running the household while my wife goes back to school a couple of years ago I wouldn't have believed it. But one thing lead to another and life guided me down the path that I'm now traveling. I suppose I could have fought the changes and tried to force some other kind of outcome, but I don't think it would have lead to a better outcome. Staying at home washing kids cloths is a drag, but I also am able to do things that let me be creative, and to help others.

So how does railing about how politicians that are really Coneheads fit into the “help others” category? Sometime pointing out the lunacy of a situation makes people think about it. When we take a step back and think, then magic starts to happens. Sometimes the “Oh shit!” moment happens, and a realization that the world is a more messed up place than anyone could have ever imagine. At this point, we can either become alcoholics and drown out the world, or decide on how we can all by ourselves make some sort of positive difference. The way I started doing this was by doing a self assessment.

I took a good look at myself and wrote down what I really love to do, my passions, my strengths, and the things I'm obsessive about. Being obsessive about something is important to me because if I don't have a drive to do something, then I'll stop doing it. If something is too painful to do then I won't do it well. If only I could use that excuse to get out of washing dishes, or changing the Guinea Pig cage. I'll never admit to doing a good job of cleaning animal cages.

One day many years ago something clicked in my head and I decided I wanted to be a writer. I had atrocious spelling, and had to re-teach myself most of what I blew off in school. Years ago when I was in the military I took a couple of composition courses through University of Maryland that helped me get back on track, and then I started self-teaching myself how to write. Now I compulsively tap away at my computer to give myself personal enjoyment, and hopefully some of what I write may actually help someone. I put my passion for technology to work in other ways, by helping friends with their problems, and helping my veterans group by building them a web site. I've just started working on it, and will turn it loose on the world in the near future. Most of the members of this veterans group are technologically challenged, so by doing something that I enjoy and is relatively easy for me to do, I get to help this group reach out to help many more people. It's not that hard to make a difference in our messed up world if you are doing something you love to do.

Going with the flow, not fighting things that I can't control, and putting my heart and soul into the directions that seem natural are bringing me down the ever changing path in a way that I feel good about. I'm not sure about what's around the corner, but I'm sure it will be an adventure. Hopefully there is a dish washing, cage cleaning robot in it, I can only hope.

OK now that Christmas is over, you survived the traffic, the big dinner, and the credit card bill, it's now time for a new year, a new beginning, an apocalyptic end to the world!

2012, isn't that when the world is supposed to end? Isn't that when the Mayans ran out of rock to carve on, isn't that when Nostradamus said everyone will get gas from eating too many Big Macs? Will Newt Gingrich become president?!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” I say as I hide under a bed!

OK everyone get a grip. We all know, well some of us know, that bad crap will eventually happen to planet earth. And bad things do happen on a regular basis, like big earth quakes, tsunamis, volcanoes erupt, crazy guys get big bombs, you know the normal bad things. Heck one day a big rock could fall out of space and squash us all like bugs; it's happened before. Big dinosaurs once looked up into the sky as one squashed them with a fiery ball. They were clueless because of their small sunflower seed sized brains (like chickens), but it must have been one hell of a barbecue.

Hummmm, let's talk about other things like New Years resolutions. I think most of us think about new beginnings in the new year.

What will it be?

• Loose weight.
• Exercise more.
• Eat Better.
• Get more money.
• Find a way to get your asshat boss fired.

We all have our lofty goal that most of us fail at. You have to really want to do those things in order to accomplish them. If your love of Ho Hos is greater than your love of jogging in the rain then which one do you think will prevail, eh chubby? My motivation for exercising more is the painful body parts that remind me that if I don't move I will rot. So yes, I will be doing more exercise because pain just sucks. But fudge is coming after me from every angle and I don't know what to do! A little fudge won't kill me will it? I'm not allergic to walnuts.

I think this is going to be an interesting year. We are going to have a presidential election and we are going to have people acting like total nut nuts because of the 2012 end of world predictions. And the fun part is we get to experience the craziness the entire year! The election isn't until October and the end of the world isn't expected until December.

So Whooo Hooo! monkeys with pants will be freaking out selling their cars, houses, and... pants. Religious fanatics will be passing around the Cool-Aid, and seeing Jesus in their burnt potato chips. People will be giving money to heathen pet sitters who won't be ascending to heaven when the rapture hits.

So Happy New Year! Now go get good and drunk, put the taxi service on speed dial and have a blast. While your drunk tell your asshat boss he's a... well an asshat. You can tell him on Monday you were drunk and thought he was your neighbor Daryl, so he won't fire you.

Tonight we are celebrating a day early and hiring a sitter and going to see a movie call “My idiot brother”. It's showing at a small movie theater where you text for a beer refill, and waiters deliver food to your seat. I can't wait!

A Firkroy Christmas Special!

Christmas, a time of joy, a time of brotherly love, and a time for self reflection. Gatherings of family and friends in a festive atmosphere always makes for a time that everyone looks forward to. Before we can have the merry making, we need to do a month of shopping for the right gifts. The Internet makes it easy for some things, but other things we have to shop for the old fashioned way, by getting in our automobiles and dealing with the horrendous parking. In our family re-arranging the living room comes next, then bringing in the countless boxes of Christmas decorations, plates, candles, and assorted things to be plugged in from the garage. 

One of my favorite parts of the celebration is our yearly trek out to get our Christmas tree while listening to Christmas music on the radio. We got out to a tree farm just outside of town where we were greeted by a Santa waving and meeting cars as they came in. We all got candy canes, and decide to go look at trees that have already been cut. You can go out into the field and saw one down if you feel like it, but luckily for me my wife spied a Noble Fir that she had to have pre-cut right off the bat. They put the tree in a machine that shakes off all of the bugs, and loose needles, and then I had them run it through the bailing machine for easy transport. When we got home we put it into it's stand, and added water. The kids have gotten to the age where they can decorate the tree for the most part, and it was fun watching them adding ornaments while giggling with excitement.

My children both love Christmas, the lights everywhere, the goodies they are going to consume, and their endless gift list for Santa. A guy showing off his remote control helicopters for sale in the mall was a big hit with them. He was selling me hard and offering me deals if I bought them today. He wasn't aware that I read the same book on sales, and I wasn't getting a twisted arm on this day, damn it! But the kids will get their stuff, and I will get to shop at the Holiday Market filled will items created by our local artisans. Oh, did I mention the home made fudge, I love the fudge...Ho Ho Ho.

As a card carrying heathen I often take a squinted view of the whole Christian part of the Christmas experience. I tend to look at the whole thing as an extended solstice celebration but that's just me. I have no problem with people believing that the person who saved them from burning in hell for eternity had a birthday, and now it's time to have a big consumer orgy. (I figure if there is a hell then mine will be filled with chickens pecking away at my ankles and screaming “No barbecue sauce for you!”) But it would be nice if those same people would stop trying to make everyone else conform to their beliefs. If I'm not into stoning people to death for Jesus like it says in “The Good Book” then that should be OK.

This time of year brings out the Christmas militants, they are everywhere with signs in their yards promoting “Put Christ back in Christmas” and condemning the phrase “Happy Holidays” as a conspiracy to tear down the very fabric of the celebration of the birthday of the one who saved them from burning in the fires of hell. It doesn't matter that the Christmas tree is a Pagan invention, or that Jews are celebrating Hanukkah at the same time. You better be promoting Jesus and if you don't then you must be waging war against Christmas! There is no war against Christmas, believe it or not it's just paranoia. The real war is in the minds of those trying to deal with the conflicts between their religion and reality. That Satan guy isn't fabricating contradictory information to your beliefs, reality is simply what it is, reality. 

I had Jehovah Witnesses show up one Christmas morning while I was in my bathrobe, they looked at me up and down like I was indecent. What was indecent was showing up at my doorstep on Christmas morning at 8AM!

I remember saying “Go away” and closing the door. They “hurmft” and went next door to spread their message of “No friggen fun for you!” to my neighbors. 

I've been thinking about putting up some sort of protection from religious militants for Christmas morning. I'll have to watch the movies Home Alone 1, 2, and 3 to get some good ideas. I'm thinking a generous amount of ice, tar, and pointy things is in order.

Now you may find me a bit sacrilegious, but I don't mind. I think Santa is still going to leave me a bottle of cognac under the tree if I've been good. I'm not sure if I'm going to cook another turkey on the barbecue or not, we had a turkey for Thanksgiving and maybe the gobblers need a break. A pig might have to be sacrificed, and a ham served for Christmas dinner. It's nice to change the glutenous meal from time to time.

This year my wife and I are both missing our parents as we both had one pass away very close together, My wife's mother Marge, and my Dad Al will be in our hearts this year and very much missed, we love you both.

Now, everyone have a wonderful holiday no matter what you believe. If you think there is a war brewing against your beliefs then turn off Faux news, take the little pills the doctor gave you, and have some eggnog with a lot of booze for god's sake!

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Have a great Kwanzaa, Fabulous Solstice, a Happy Holiday, and a Wonderful New Year!

 

And if I left anyone out then Happy (fill in the blank)!

Coneheads Are Running Everything!

At this time of the year it always seems hard for me to get off of my butt and get some writing done. Not that I'm sitting on my butt, it's just that there are so many things to do. With the holidays here and with ¾ of the family in school I end up playing Mr. Mom to the Max! My two young boys are mess making cyclones traveling in circles around the house throwing Legos and kick boxing each other, all the while making dirty dishes and wiping their little paws on the furniture. I'll be the first one to concede that I don't enjoy being the household janitor, and I don't like continually washing dishes and filthy kid cloths, hell who does, it just sucks.

When the kids get home from school I have to crack the whip on the little homework slacking mess-makers, and it usually ends up being more work for me than it is for them. They are learning about fractions, and nouns, and the groans of despair that can be heard with every page of work. This makes me the student of calmness and Zen, and helps me expand my knowledge of the local beer trade.

“Am I just a slave?” is a favorite proclamation of the miniature masses when I ask them to put away their newly washed boxer shorts into the proper drawer. I know what your thinking. “Why not just get the kids to help?” Well I do have them help to some extent (with a lot of effort on my part) but you just can't give them a to-do list and expect everything to be done in a satisfactory manor. Maybe I'm just being a perfectionist, but when I ask to have the garbage taken out, I really do expect a new bag to be put in the can before you jump back on the couch for another episode of Scooby Doo.

Talking about Scooby Doo, have you seen any of the countless Scooby Doo movies that are being cranked out of Korea? They really are very good, but when you reveal the man in the mask you will see that Scooby Doo is really some guy named Mr. Pang who works for a company named DongWoo Animation. I have to stop and wonder, what are they putting in Scooby snacks, Kimchi maybe. Is the Mystery machine really a Kia minivan? Are the bad guys really spies sent in by North Korean mad man Kim Jong-il? He has an excuse for coming off as a mad man you know, and you do realize by now that Jong-il is simply a demented Conehead alien.

OK, OK, you've all heard this alien conspiracy stuff from me before, and you may be thinking “Did Dan stop taking his medications again?” But hey, I'm no loon! All heads of state, and people running for office are Conehead aliens. Have you looked at the American presidential candidates lately? Take a real close look, they may look human, but when they open their mouths it's all “Your positive perception of me is vital to my existence.” when they speak. I swear they have all had plastic surgery, and wear makeup. Most have had half their brains removed (presidential candidates), and others simply wear big cowboy hats (Texan politicians), but rest assured they are all Coneheads. If you went to any of their houses on Halloween you would be given six-packs of beer, and fried eggs.

Fried eggs made me think of food, and on the food front I decided to make this week soup and salad week, or at least for the next few days. I had the -manna of the gods- chicken fried steak at Sheri's restaurant the other day, “mmmm boy.” was it good. But I'm feeling the need for more roughage. Oh, and don't listen to anyone who would put down chicken fried steak they're obviously Coneheads on Vulcan crack. But seriously, I do need to eat in a more healthy fashion if I intend on living to a ripe old age. So I try to have regular salads and cut down on piles of wheat and red meat. We had a Chef's Salad tonight with the other white meat (oink), and tomorrow it will be a chicken noodle soup. Yes, I had red moo cow meat in the chicken fried steak, but all of the veggies, and soup are the antidotes.

Do you ever wonder what aliens are doing with our moo cows? Do you think they're turning them into burritos? Yep, the damn aliens are turning our cows into burritos, and putting themselves in charge all over the world. You've seen the pictures of the gray big eyed creature that was supposedly held at Area 51 haven't you? I believe there may indeed have been an unfortunate accident that caused this alien to get stuck on the planet of the apes.

This particular alien must have really screwed up in order to let himself be captured by primates. Maybe he was sitting on the toilet when his spaceship crashed into earth.

“This is Mesloid calling the mother ship, I'm approaching earth, come in...” the alien said into his intergalactic communicator.

“Oh man I shouldn't have eaten those last three moo cow burritos!” Mesloid says as he runs to the can.

Meanwhile, “Beep, Beeep, Beeeeeep, GET OFF THE CAN DUMB ASS!!” His control panel screams. On his dashboard the red “Going to run into a planet” light comes on, while he's preoccupied with other business.

Wham!

He starts to wake up, blinking his big oval eyes. He starts to realizes he's not in his spaceship anymore, he's actually on a cold, hard table with bright lights overhead.

“Well this just sucks!” says Mesloid as he realizes that he's on the wrong end of an anal probe.

The only reason all of this hasn't been made public is because of the Coneheads who are running everything don't want you to know about it. They are in league with the gray big eyed aliens, and they want our cows.

OK, I've said enough for now, it's time to put on my aluminum foil hat and to sit down and watch “My Name is Earl.” on Netflix and pretend that aliens really don't exist.

A Seargent's Story, of the Great White North

It was a hard decision to make, re-entering the Air Force after being out for over a year, but it was 1982 and the economy just stank. I had to trade my Swiss army knife for a tank of gas to get to the military recruitment office to raise my right hand once again, and swear to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Unfortunately for me I was living on North Dakota street at the time, and someone in the assignment office must have thought it would be real funny to give me orders to Grand Forks Air Force Base in North Dakota. A Strategic Air Command SAC bomber base poised to strike the USSR right over the North Pole.

I was able to get an advance on my travel pay and purchase a used Volkswagen 412 to drive across Idaho, Montana, and into North Dakota in the dead of winter. I had never driven on snow packed freeways for hundreds of miles before, and I was sort of enjoying the adventure. I had a tire blowout in Idaho and was able to purchase some used studded tires that came in very handy. The heater didn't exactly work very well in my Volkswagen with no radiator, so I spent a lot of time scraping ice from the inside of the window that accumulated from my breath.

Per Potentiam Pax, Latin for Peace through Power.

After a couple days of driving, and sleeping at a rest area in my car in sub zero weather, I finally arrived at Grand Forks. Not exactly what I would call a winter wonderland with it's flat bleak landscape, and blowing snow snakes. Coming from a place where you always saw hills and mountains the flatness everywhere was unreal. I was able to get a room, and the next day showed up at my duty assignment, the Radio shop at the 319^th Avionic Maintenance Squadron. I rang the doorbell to the secure room and I was greeted by a familiar face, John Treadaway an old high school acquaintance that I had run track and cross country with in High School. I really couldn't believe I was going to work with someone I went to school with, but those High School days were long gone, and we never really developed a friendship. I was a Sergeant and he was an Airman First Class with a chip on his shoulder. I suppose he looked at me as one of the authority figures that he had a grudge against.

After processing, and training on B-52 bombers I was assigned to the swing shift; 4PM to Midnight. The swing shift supervisor's name was Staff Sergeant Johnny Blane. Johnny was great to work with, a charismatic leader who knew how to motivate his people. I soon became second in charge, and after testing, and making the cutoff was waiting for a promotion to SSGT myself. Johnny was on top of his game, but his life took an unexpected twist after a random piss test. It came back positive for THC, the active ingredient in marijuana. The Air Force had a zero tolerance policy toward drugs, you could get drunk every night if you wanted to, and if the police weren't involved, nobody cared. But don't Bogart that joint my friend, because if you did, they would find out, and make you miserable before they shoved you out the gate.

Johnny claimed that his brother had sent him some funny brownies as a joke, and that he wasn't a pot head. Of course it didn't work (it never did), and Johnny was demoted, forced to clean toilets for months, then booted out. At about this time I received my promotion, and took Johnny's place as the swing shift supervisor. Johnny got married to a woman in our shop before getting busted, and she got orders to Alaska. We received a post card from Johnny months later with a picture of him surrounded by a table of pot. I guess those brownies really must have been addictive.

SSGT Daniel LaFollette re-enlisting in the Radio Shop. I drew the Garfield in the background.

I was a pretty easy going boss, all I really cared about was that we got all of our work done. If we got everything done we would get off work early on Fridays, and head into town for Margaritas. Lunch usually consisted of boxes we affectionately called box nasties. When mystery meat sandwiches on white bread where placed in our box nasties, someone would usually declined to eat theirs and the Glad wrapped questionable food item would become a baseball. Mystery meat sandwich baseball was always a good lunch time activity in the shop, and we tried to remove the meat and bread chunks out of the million dollar satellite communication radio tester before we left for the night, but the day shift supervisor did find a chunk of meat one morning, no big deal it was blown off as being left by a sloppy eater. It was handy to have a lock on the door because of our secret equipment in the room, this way nobody ever hit a sandwich home run just as the Squadron Commander walked in. SAC officers just didn't have a sense of humor.

Grand Forks was really a depressing place in the winter, and most of the time it seemed to be winter. The only thing that there seemed to be able to do was go to bars or restaurants. They had great bars, and drinks like the Suffering Bastard in a skull mug were my favorite drinks, I don't think it was safe to drink more than one of those unless you liked a pounding head in the morning, they really lived up to their name.

living in the barracks as a Staff Sergeant meant I had my own room; it did however come at a price. I was put in charge of half the hallway on the third floor, and I had the key to the room where the vacuum cleaner was stored. Anyone wanting to clean up after hours would could come to me asking for the key. It became a little annoying when I received a knock on the door at 1 AM from a drunk (Suffering Bastard) who wanted to use the vacuum.

“I -hic-” “need the vacuum cleaner” A swaying, slurring young man said to me as I opened the door.

“It's 1 o'clock in the morning go back to bed man.” I say to the weaving drunkard, as I squinted through one eye.

“I um, got a pile of ralph here, and a pile of ralph there” He says to me still looking like he could hurl again at any moment. Apparently he had barfed all over the hallway in front of his room.

“I'll tell you what, you let your ralph dry up, and then you can get the vacuum cleaner in the morning” I say to him with a half awake smirk, and shaking my head up and down.

“Oh -hic-, good idea” He said stumbling back toward his room. I went back to bed, I had to be at work at 7AM and needed my beauty rest.

2:12 AM I am awakened by screaming, apparently someone stepped barefoot into our drunks puddle of ralph. A lot of profanity ensued but then it died down after a few minutes.

6AM I get up to go to work, I see our now hungover suffering bastard cleaning up his puddle of vomit. Apparently he was passed out in his room, and didn't hear his victim stepping into his mess.

No harm done, nobody punched, mess cleaned up, nothing to report.

Yes, there was a lot of drunkenness, and I remember on New Years Eve one fellow swinging outside of the second story barracks window in a make shift New Years baby diaper. He luckily didn't kill himself and provided a few minutes of “look at the jackass” entertainment. I had one friend who would be drunk every other day, and on a hangover on the rest. He used to stop by my room and play video games on my Commodore 64 computer. He would always offer some of his B&B or Drambuie and I actually grew to like the stuff after a while. That same friend had a wealthy family and when we both got orders to Europe, he offered to let me come along with him across the Atlantic. He was going to live on this small ship in Spain and planed to captain it himself. I don't know about you but I really didn't want to depend on a drunk to get me across the Atlantic ocean in a boat. I've often wondered if he made it, or if he ended up swimming with the fishes.

I had the honor of attending Non Commissioned Officer Leadership school at Minot AFB down the road also in North Dakota, in the middle of winter of course. In the Air Force there is a saying “Why not Minot? Freezen's the reason.” Corny yes, but it was a way of passing along that this wasn't a choice assignment. My school was 6 weeks of concentrated training on how to supervise, and handle subordinates. We had an inspection every morning, and we had to sort of march on the ice to the classroom. It didn't take long for me to be pegged as a funny man, and the instructor who couldn't pronounce my name dubbed me SSGT La La. Some of the material was pretty dry and I did my best to keep them entertained when I could. To tell you quite honestly it was one of the best experiences of my life.

Grand Forks wasn't all fun and games, and my job was deadly serious. Working around B-52 bombers loaded with nuclear cruise missiles meant having to go through checkpoints where if you forgot your password you ended up on the ground with your face in the snow with the barrel of an M-16 pointed at your head. You always performed work in pairs and if your partner started sabotaging the plane you were required to take them down with any force possible. Simply working around aircraft is hazardous, especially large ones. One of our bombers exploded, and burned to the ground with four people inside after an electrician pushed in a circuit breaker that had popped to a fuel tank boost pump. I remember going out to retrieve a portable radio out of the small pickup truck that had melted in front of the plane with a pair of tongs; a chard winter boot had been tossed into the bed of the toasted truck.

The cold war is now over, the nukes are gone, and the base no longer hosts a wing of strategic bombers. The base has a different mission now, serving as a squadron of in-flight refueling planes. In many ways I really miss my time at Grand Forks, I think the harsh weather and the semi remote location made everyone closer, but I don't think I would really want to live through those winters again. I still communicate with a few people I knew then in a group on Facebook. I keep looking for the drunk that sailed his boat across the Atlantic, maybe some day I will get a surprise and he'll turn up alive.