I have written a couple of articles that need to be corrected, modified or just added on to. No, it’s not about Tiger Woods not winning a major this year. That is written in stone and won’t need modification. And, it won’t be about Chad Ochocinco’s $10,000 bull riding experience. That was over as soon as it started. Ochocinco, the premier self promoter, stayed on a bull named Deja Blu for 1.5 seconds. It would have been shorter, but he flew in the air for a little while before he hit the ground.
I need to update you on my Infiniti with the dead battery. The one that had my golf clubs imprisoned in the trunk. I talked to my service guy (the one who had previously talked me into using $12 a quart oil – I’m an idiot) and he told me that he thought the back seat folded down. Well, I got out my owner’s manual and discovered that that little trick only works with the coupe, not my sedan. So much for that plan.
I had decided to jerry-rig my trunk so that a dead battery and no key would not stop me. I knew that the government (NHTSA) required all new cars to have a trunk release inside the trunk. This will help little Johnny when he locks himself in the trunk. The interest in saving lives outweighed the cost to all of us car buyers and the argument about upgrading the gene pool.
I figured out that I could tie a cord to the trunk release handle (which glows in the dark!) and slide the other end out through the hatch leading to my back seat. Then, if the battery went dead, I could slide into the back seat, pop open the hatch and yank on the cord opening the trunk. I wasn’t sure how the cord would look in the back seat, but I was committed to function over appearance.
I popped the trunk to locate the release handle. It was in the center of the lid towards the back of the trunk. I studied the location. If I got in the back seat and stuck my arm through the hole, could I reach the handle? I knew that Plastic Man and even Spider Man could reach it, but I wasn’t sure about myself. Only one thing to do and that was try.
I got in the back seat, popped open the hatch and stuck in my left arm. I couldn’t feel anything. I have a foot-long back scratcher with a little plastic hand on the end. If my real hand couldn’t reach it, I’ll bet my little plastic hand could. Then, my hand came to the end of something. It was underneath the back window. I hadn’t gotten to the trunk lid yet. So I stretched deeper and there it was, the handle. I popped the trunk. No need for an unsightly cord. No need to swap my sedan for a coupe. There may be another problem out there, but I don’t want to think about it.
On another matter, a while back I compared Gillette razors. I compared the new Fusion Proglide Power with the Mach3 Turbo and the existing Fusion Power. I stated that the Proglide was the only one with a light. I was wrong.
I still use all three razors (constantly comparing). The other day while shaving with the Fusion Power, I noticed a light on the handle blinking. I have had that razor for four years and this is the first time I had seen it blinking. How could I have missed it? As I am growing older, are my skills of observation growing stronger?
Pleased with myself, I tried to finish shaving. But, the battery went dead. I put a new triple A battery in the handle of my Fusion Power and guess what, the blinking light disappeared. I am going to give this matter some additional thought (using my enhanced skills of observation) and report back
Writter by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com
Monthly Archives: May 2011
The Judge Says – Judge Seeks ‘Respect’
Below is another article written while I was the Staff Judge Advocate at Fort Riley, Kansas in the early 1980’s.
May 2, 1982.
Rodney Dangerfield (I wonder if that is his real name. I would never name a child Rodney) says he don’t get no respect. The way he throws a bowling ball, he don’t deserve no respect. If he thinks things are bad now, he should try being a JAG Officer.
I went over to the Officers Club last Friday night for Happy Hour. The place was so empty there was an echo. Come back. There is no truth that there are MP’s roaming the halls with breathalyzers.
You don’t have to get drunk to have a good time and Friday night, after a long week, is a good time to relax. They also have free chow on Friday night. It’s a little overpriced, but the heartburn is also free. You have to eat the meatballs with a toothpick, because the sauce had been dissolving the plastic forks.
Again, back to the plight of the poor JAG. I’m standing in the chow line with my last two Tums clutched tightly in my left fist. There are two officers in the front of the line and one of them has a black lunch pail. After they fill up their plates and the pail, they head out of the club. One officer in line said, “I didn’t know we were providing carry out.” Then a lieutenant behind me in line announces in a loud voice, “they are probably JAGs.”
It didn’t take the lieutenant long to find out that they weren’t, but that I was. I think he also lost his appetite. The whole thing really gets me. It was a cheap shot. So, if we seem a little defensive at times, humor us.
Once in a while we do good work. My legal assistance attorneys are really hotshots when it comes to protecting the consumer rights of our soldiers. They have a zeal that is really exciting.
They found out about a gas station downtown which was charging $10 per bad check, plus $1 per day until the check is redeemed. Now nobody wants the GI bouncing a bad check, but fair is fair and that ain’t.
One GI bounced three checks for a total of 28 bucks and he ended up paying $70 in service charges. The Soldier didn’t have the money for the service charge so he had to wait till payday, and each day cost him another buck.
We took our best shot at the gas station trying to convince them to change their policy. They seemed concerned and were willing to make some token offer in this one case, but they refused to change their policy.
So my legal assistance office has now brought in the horsepower of the Consumer Protection Division of the Attorney General’s Office. And we have every reason to believe that the gas station policy will be struck down because it is unconscionable (that’s a fifty-cent word meaning it stinks).
Written by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com
My Day Stunk, But It Was Better Than Tiger’s
Thursdays are match days. We at Fort Belvoir are members of the Northern Virginia Retired Mens Golf Association. So almost every Thursday starting in late March and running through September, we play a golf match with one of the Northern Virginia country clubs.
I start getting ready on Wednesday. I assemble all my gear (clubs, bag, shoes, etc.) and put it in the trunk of my car. Two years ago, I arrived at the golf club without my clubs. So now, I do it on Wednesday.
This Wednesday was out of sync. We had a crew spring cleaning our yard. I had both cars parked in the street so they could dump mulch in the driveway. The clean up went well, but as they were leaving, I went down the back steps to make sure the gates were closed. I didn’t make it. I was pretty close to the bottom when I started falling. This may sound stupid, but I believe there is an art in falling and not getting hurt. I consider myself a master.
On this occasion, I was out of control. But still I was twisting and turning. When I finally bottomed out, I had scraped my head, shoulder, elbow, knee and butt; not necessarily in that order. I lay there for about a minute gathering myself. When I finally got up, I assumed my golfing stance and took a practice swing. I may have been hurting, but if I could swing a club, then all was well. All was well. Another bullet had been dodged. Following orders, I dutifully sprayed Bactine all over my body.
The next morning at 7:30, I marched out of my house for my 9:00 match. My car would not start. The battery was dead as a door nail. I raced back upstairs. Carole was getting a permanent at noon time, but she told me I could take her car. She would hitch a ride with a neighbor. I went back to the garage to move my clubs from my car to hers. Then I realized that with my keyless 2009 Infiniti, if the battery is dead, you can’t open the trunk. My clubs, my shoes, my golfing glasses were locked in the trunk. I climbed into the backseat with a flashlight. I knew there was a hole about the center arm rest. I found the hole, but could do nothing with it.
Carole suggested finding my starter cables and jump starting the car. Great idea. After searching for ten minutes, I concluded that my starter cables were in the trunk with my golf clubs.
Carole then reminded me that I had a lot of extra clubs in the basement. Another great idea. I called my team Captain, Peter Huhn, and told him I would miss the 8:00 check in time, but I would be there for the match.
In the basement I found my Ping G-2 driver and my Ping nickel ISI irons. I was happy with those clubs. The grips were a little slick, but who cares. I had three putters and selected two of them. Then, I decided to take only one so as to be decisive. I selected an old reliable Acushnet Bulls-Eye putter. My problem was fairway woods. As I bought new fairway woods, I gave my old ones to my son, Paul. The only clubs I had were 1970 vintage. These were not metal woods, but wood woods with persimmon heads. The 3 and 5 wood heads looked tiny and the shafts were stiff as iron rods. But that was my fate.
I made it to the club with 35 minutes to spare. I saved time by not putting on golf shoes, or changing glasses because I had none. I raced out to the driving range to get accustomed to the clubs. The driver worked. Nothing else was comfortable. Then I went to the putting green and nothing worked. My regular putter is a Scotty Cameron mallet head and has some weight in it. The old Bulls-Eye was exactly the opposite. What a dummy!
I don’t think you are up to a hole by hole accounting of my round. I would love to tell you I had a great round, but I didn’t. I would have had a decent round if it hadn’t have been for the putter. I missed at least six three to five foot putts. Toward the end, on a par 3, I had a straight three-foot putt for a par. I tried hitting it cross handed (I was desperate). I was on line, but left the three-foot putt short.
When the dust settled, Fort Belvoir had beaten the previously undefeated International Country Club 27-9. My partner, Art Brill, thanks to his great play, and I, defeated our opponents 2-1.
When you have a bad round, it is important to have an excuse. I had many. But if it hadn’t been for this experience, I might never have learned how to hit a knock-down driver shot.
When I got home, I found out that Tiger Woods shot a 42 on the first nine of the Players Championship and then withdrew citing knee and Achilles injuries. Karma’s a bitch.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Baseball’s Enigma (The Nats)
Yes, I’m a Washington National fan. Hey, I live here. I grew up in the St. Louis area, so the Cardinals are numero uno, but when the Nats are not playing the Cards, I’m a big time Nats fan.
I thought about entitling this article, “Nats Hit Like Gnats.” But gnats can be pesky so I threw out that line. There may be a team in the league that hits worse than the Nats, but I’m too lazy to look it up. OK. OK. I looked it up and the Nats are the second worst. As a Team they are hitting .225 and the lowly San Diego Padres are hitting .217.
I wonder if San Diego has three starters batting below the Mendoza line? In last night’s line up, we started Adam La Roche (.181) at first base, Jerry Hairston (.190) in centerfield and Brian Bixler (.100) at third base. Egads. Hairston was playing for Rick Ankiel (.221). Ankiel is a former Cardinal and a great centerfielder. I said that last night each time the Phillies hit the ball over Hairston’s head.
In the outfield with Hairston were Jayson Werth (.226) and Mike Morse (.234). Morse strikes out 31% of the time. Sometimes he swings, sometimes he watches the last strike. Well, at 31%, he is well above the Adam Dunn line. Dunn struck out 199 times last season. I wonder if he was going for 200 and the ball got in the way of his bat. Dunn’s on a 40% pace this year, so if he stays healthy, he should rocket past 200.
Who have I left out of the starting line up? Danny Espinosa (.219) at second base, Ian Desmond (.235) at shortstop and Pudge Rodriguez (.234) behind the plate. Opposing pitchers must love to see the Nats come to town.
The question I had is do the Nats have a batting coach? And, shouldn’t somebody put him on a suicide watch? I looked him up and his name is Rick Eckstein. He never played big league ball, but his brother, David, did. So much for nepotism.
The announcers for the Nats never say anything bad about the team. Last year the color commentator, Ron Dibble, complained about some of the players and their bonehead moves and Dibble was fired. So now, when Morse takes a third strike, the announcer will say, “I think he had something in his eye.”
Here is where the egnima comes in. The Nats have won about half of their games! I can’t explain it. Timely hitting? Good base running? Great pitching? Smart defensive play? Getting rid of Nyger Morgan? Just lucky? Take your pick. But, somehow they have scratched out a number of wins.
Do the Nats have any good hitters? Yes, Ryan Zimmerman was hitting .357 before he tore an abdominal muscle sliding into a base and requiring surgery. Don’t get me started on head-first slides. If God had wanted us to slide head first, he would have put spikes on our caps.
Then there is a super young catcher named Wilson Ramos (.351). He divides up the catching duties with Pudge. I don’t blame Manager Jim Riggleman for playing both of them. Pudge is a future Hall of Famer and great for the morale of the team. It is just that Ramos is out hitting Pudge by 120 points and he is a hell of a player.
You want to know the up tick? Almost all our players have higher career batting averages than what they are hitting this year. Things have got to get better. LaRoche (.181) and Werth (.226) both have lifetime batting averages of .270. Maybe, just maybe, we are a warm weather team. I got that gem from our announcers.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com