Yes, every golfer knows about the Golf Gods. When you hit a screaming hook into the dense woods, it is the Golf Gods that decide whether to swallow the ball so it is never found, or to spit it back out into the middle of the fairway. I have never read this in a golf magazine, but I know it is not wise to anger the Golf Gods.
Golf is such a wonderful game. It doesn’t matter whether you are a scratch golfer or have never gotten under 100, you can have a good game or a bad game. It is a game where you are constantly learning. It truly is one of the puzzles of life. If, however, you should mention to a friend or your spouse those unforgivable words, “I think I’ve got it,” the Golf Gods will swoop down and crush you. They will have you questioning everything from your grip to your follow through.
That is my present dilemma. I am playing well. I play every Thursday in the Northern Virginia Retired Members’ league. And, for the last four weeks my scores have been great (for me). My scores are lower and my handicap has dropped three points. That means the Golf Gods have me in their sights. I am high on their victim’s list. Just writing that I am playing well may have inflamed them.
You can always get advice from those you play with. I have learned that after hitting a bad shot, never, never ask, “What did I do wrong?” One fellow will say, “You’re standing too close to the ball after you hit it.” Yuk, yuk. Another will say, “You’re swinging way too hard.” Wait a minute. Wasn’t that the guy who told me last week, “Just grip it and rip it.” If I wasn’t watching and someone asks me, I would say, “Your head came up.” You don’t have to watch to know that. The Golf Gods love for you to ask, “What did I do wrong?” That’s part of the slippery slope.
What about reading golf magazines? I’ve read those magazines like they were the bible. I’ve cut out articles and put them in files – putting, short game, sand shots, more powerful drives, strategy and probably most important, a file on golf exercises. I don’t think they have helped me. Many times they conflict with each other. I read one article on putting that said that on long putts, don’t look at the ball, look at the hole. I tried it, but I didn’t hit the ball solidly. I wonder how that happened?
Putting is such an important part of the game. I always keep track of the number of putts. A couple of weeks back, I had 41! Two per hole is 36. Get the picture? When your first putt goes twelve feet past the cup and you realize for the first time that it was a downhill putt, it’s time to regroup. I also can guarantee that your next putt will not get to the hole.
A TV commentator, a while back, said that Tiger Woods never hits a putt off line. I was amazed. That means that every time he misses a putt, he didn’t hit it hard enough or he misread it. When I make a long putt, I usually accept the fact that I misread the putt just enough to compensate for hitting the ball off line. Poor Tiger never gets that compensation. Of course, the Golf Gods are trying to set you up when you make one of those long curving putts. It doesn’t work on me. I know it was just dumb luck. Blind hog, etc.
I love the game and all its challenges. You have to accept that things will go wrong. Last Thursday, I was playing a par five at Mount Vernon Country Club. After two shots, I had 150 yards to the green. There was a substantial pond between me and the green. I was also in the light rough and had a downhill lie. I decided to choke down on my seven wood and move the ball back in my stance. So far, sounds pretty good. I factored everything in. Then, I hit my ball over the pond, but not by enough to clear the stone retaining wall. My ball swims with the fishes.
This Spring, I was playing on the golf course at Fort McPherson. This was part of the RAJA (Retired Army Judge Advocates) meeting. We always play golf. My partner was Allan Toomey. On the first or second hole, I hit my ball into a small creek that ran parallel to the fairway. I could see the ball, but I couldn’t reach it. I asked Allan if he had a ball retriever. He said, “I’m having it regripped.”
All posts by pajarice
Insurance for the Military (One of the Bennies)
I have written a couple of blogs recently on our indoor waterfall and the trauma surrounding water damage through the house. I now report that it is done. We may never be back to normal, but the house is.
The final anxious episode was dealing with the insurance company. You’ve all heard the horror stories. Well, in our case, it turned out to be a pleasant experience. I notified Armed Forces Insurance that we had paid out a little over $30,000 in bills and forwarded the receipts. We received notification from Jeanne Priddy, Senior Staff Adjuster, the next day that they were paying for everything (less the $500 deductible). The check arrived shortly thereafter. It is really a pleasure dealing with insurance companies dedicated to assisting the military.
Between Armed Forces Insurance (AFI) and United States Automobile Association (USAA), military personnel have great insurance available to them. I have my house and personal property with AFI and our cars with USAA. Granted, I don’t have a gecko working for me or a goofy woman named Flo, but when I’m in trouble, AFI and USAA are definitely on my side.
I think this is only the second claim we have filed with AFI. Previously, back in the Seventies, we had two ceramic elephants (BUFEs -pronounced boofies) stolen off our front porch in Charlottesville, Virginia. By driving to the pottery “plant” in Vietnam with my boss, Joe Conboy, we were able to pick up BUFEs for practically nothing. After they were stolen, Carole took some pictures of the BUFEs to the local department store and got a quote on replacement costs. We made so much money on the stolen BUFEs that we seriously considered putting two more out on the porch.
My first experience with USAA was when I was assigned to Goeppingen, Germany in 1966. I am reasonably certain that our 64′ Chevy Impala Super Sport (bright yellow with black interior) had rough handling at the Bremerhaven port (like it was dropped). On the ride home, I found a tire bubble that indicated to me that the tire had been pinched during a short drop. Then, on my first trip to Nuernberg, while driving down a cobblestone road, my rear window shattered. What a mess.
I notified a Mr. Schwartz, with USAA in Heidelberg. I told him I was driving to Stuttgart to the Opel dealer to get my window replaced. He told me I probably wouldn’t have much luck and when I got tired of trying to find my rear window in Germany to notify him. He said he would find it and ship it to a local auto repair shop. I tried for three weeks, then contacted Mr. Schwartz. My replacement glass was flown in from Denmark. I doubt whether any other auto insurance company would even have an agent in Germany.
What did I do with no rear window? No problem. The Army solves all their problem with green tape! We cut a piece of clear plastic and slapped it on with green tape. The Army used green tape for every conceivable purpose. It would stick to almost anything. There was only one problem with my car. When I took the green tape off, it took the yellow paint pigment with it. Powerful stuff. I had a pale white strip around my rear window.
On my second tour in Germany, we were on vacation and I was driving the entire family from Munich to the Neuschwanstein Castle. I hit some black ice and ran into a tree. The car was totaled. We all survived and USAA paid us for the car. A good samaritan German assisted in getting us back to Munich. No Neuschwanstein, no vacation. That’s not covered in the insurance policy.
When I started working at Arent Fox, I had to park in the garage under our building. Driving around support posts was not my strength. I kept scraping the side of my car. USAA kept putting new doors on my car. As you would expect, my insurance rate went up, but they never deserted me. I wonder if some of the cheapo insurance companies would have put up with me. I’ll never know, cause I ain’t switchen.
We have an expression, “The Army takes care of their own.” But, if the Army can’t, there’s a good chance that military insurance will cover it nicely.
Winning Isn’t Everything (Unless You’re in Mortal Combat)
When I was a little kid, I couldn’t stand to lose. If losing was inevitable, I would take my bat and ball and go home. Crying all the way. By the time I got to high school, I didn’t cry as much, but I was still a fanatic about winning. I believed if you treated winning as a life or death struggle, you would seldom lose. I still believe there is a modicum of truth in that statement.
In high school, I played basketball with the same intensity as I played football. An albino kid from up state was trying to go by me on a fast break. I tried to plant a block. But as he slipped by me, I slipped my hip into him. My attitude was, if you don’t know how to fall, you have no business on the floor. Well, he didn’t know how to fall and we had to delay the game until he woke up. By the time he woke up, I was on the bench. It was the only time my dad ever told me that what I had done was bad. I was stunned. My best supporter. It was bad enough being booed by my home town crowd.
Today, I still try to win. I want to win very much, but I try to do it without making an ass out of myself. This is quite an improvement over high school.
When I was appointed as Chief Counsel at the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA), I discovered that we had a softball team. The Chief Counsel’s Office would play against other NHTSA teams, Rulemaking or Plans and Policy or Research and Development. The second game I played, I almost got in a fight with one of the players from Plans and Policy. We made up the next day, but I felt terrible. Here I was, a high level government official and acting like a jerk.
I had a meeting the next afternoon with all my teammates (they all worked for me). I told them I had some good news and some bad news. I told them the good news was that as people got older, they relaxed and were not as intense as they were when they were young. The bad news was that I had already passed through that stage and what they saw yesterday was the more relaxed, less intense guy. Some of them shuddered.
I apologized and told them it wouldn’t happen again. My new mantra was, if you can keep from getting hurt and not show your ass, then, by all means, win. I have had good luck with this new approach.
Now days, in some leagues for younger kids, they don’t keep score. Of course, the little kids do keep score. They just have to figure it out in their heads. Who are these characters who have decided its bad to keep score. I don’t believe losing teams will be scarred for life. I’ll bet the people who decided not to keep score lost a lot of games when they were kids.
Vince Lombardi wanted his team to win, and they usually did. But somehow it has become politically incorrect to say the most important thing for this team to do is to win. Everyone knows it is important. Coaches get fired when their teams don’t win.
Coaches now say, “I just want my boys to go out and have fun.” Go out and have fun? How do you go out and have fun? If you get your butt kicked, is that fun? What if you outplay the other team, but they get all the breaks and beat you? Is that fun? Can you think of any scenario where you lose the game, but you have fun? I’ll tell you what I think. I think “having fun” is a code word for “winning.”
Picture this. A team just lost a heart breaker, but some of the guys are joking around in the locker room. Having fun! The coach comes in and says, “What’s going on?” The players say, “Coach, we’re just having fun.” Then the coach says, “Of course, what was I thinking? Please have some fun. Don’t mind me. I’m just going into my office and cut my wrists.”
The 100th Blog – Lessons Learned
This hasn’t been a good month for blogs. July is almost over and I believe this is just my second. I have lots of excuses. The water damage drained me. We spent ten days on the road visiting loved ones. I have taken on additional duties in my golf association (doing anything for the first time is time consuming and unnerving). And, the dog ate my computer. Now, you have to figure out which of the above statements is not accurate.
This is my hundredth publication and I gave a lot of thought to the subject. I believe that 100 blogs should qualify me as a grand blogmeister. I figured at this time on my path to blogtopia, I would be much wiser. I am not. But, I have learned some lessons which I would like to pass on.
First, running a website hasn’t made me a computer wizard. I thought that I would continue to pick up neat things that I would add on to expand the excitement of the site. I was certain by now I would be posting pictures. I made myself a promise that it would happen by last March. It did not. Go Daddy runs my website and I suspect if I go back to them and tell them I want to be able to post pictures, they will make it happen. They have been very supportive.
I suspect to get what I want I will have to spend a few bucks. That won’t be bad. Right now, the site costs me practically nothing. No unkind comments please. The good news is that the site doesn’t run on gas!
I’m a one man marketer and when anyone is foolish enough to ask me what I am doing with my retirement, they get a three-minute pitch on my website. Then, I give them one of my old business cards with the blog site hand written across it. I even changed my Virginia vanity license plate to “RICEQPS” (you only get so many letters). While pumping gas, a fellow asked me about my license plate. Out comes the cards.
Another lesson I learned is that even good friends who take my card and tell me they will visit my website don’t. I used to pout. Some close friends told me they would subscribe, but they didn’t. I pouted some more. Then, I realized that these people have a life of their own. Not visiting RICEQUIPS.COM doesn’t make them evil or even bad. It just makes them busy. So, I forgive them in absentia. Since they aren’t reading this, it will have to be in absentia.
Of the hundred blogs, I think some are really good and some should be deleted. I don’t plan on deleting any, but I need to develop the site so people are pointed to the better ones. The three postings that have been read the most are: TV Commercials – Can You Hear Me Now?; My Green Visor; and The Indoor Perfect Storm. If you have read this far and are not familiar with those three, you might want to check them out.
Tim McGraw had a song out entitled, “My Next Thirty Years.” The idea was that he would try to do better in his next thirty years. Well, I plan to do better in my next 100 blogs.
No Saturday Night Lights
No, it wasn’t a dark and stormy night. As a matter of fact, last Saturday was a pleasant evening – a little on the warm side, but nothing to complain about. But, this has been a crazy Spring and Summer. And like so many other times, a storm cell located itself right over our neighborhood and cut loose.
Where it had been light out, all of a sudden it was dark (and stormy), and it was pouring down rain. Then, some lightning and thunder and all of a sudden, we lost our power.
This was about the third time this Summer. I grabbed my flashlight and headed for the big candles. These are big brass candles that I picked up out of a catalog when I was in Vietnam. The brass stand is three feet tall and the candles add two additional feet. They are so tall that you can actually talk to them. Their wicks are also big and thick and if you are not careful where you place them, you may find a black soot spot on the ceiling. I always tell them not to leave a black spot.
The last time we used them, Carole suggested I shorten the wicks. I did, and now I couldn’t get one of them lit. Too short a wick and/or too much wax on it. I carried the troublesome candle over to the one that was lit. I figured I could light it with the large flame from the other candle. I never got it lit, but I managed to pour hot wax all over my hand (I really talked to that candle).
Whenever we lose our power, I always call our electric company. You never talk to another human being, but I want the iron lady to acknowledge that they are aware of the fact that I am sitting in the dark. Finally, after being transferred from one iron lady to another, I was told that there was a “widespread power outage” in my area and that a thing-a-ma-jig had gone out at a substation. I was informed that our power would be back on by 11:00 PM. That was only two hours from the time I called so things were looking up. I was asked if I wanted a call back when the power came back on and I said OK (closing the loop).
Carole dug out a couple of clip-on lights and we both settled down with our books. My clip-on light kept getting weaker. I thought my eyes were giving out. Then, it to went dark (but not stormy). Using my flashlight – which keeps going and going – I checked out the clip on. It needed two triple A batteries. Carole, who some time in her childhood must not have had the battery she needed, has at least 20 of each kind. I was back in business.
In the past when the power company said 11:00 PM, it really meant 10:30 PM. I was convinced that they always put in a fudge factor to ensure they would be on time. Well, 10:30 came and went. Then, 11:00 came and went. No power. At 11:15 PM, I again called the Dominion Power Company to see what went wrong. I ran the iron lady gauntlet again and was told that my outage had already been reported and they didn’t need anymore information from me. Me? I wanted information from them. None was forthcoming.
At 11:30, we went upstairs to bed. No air conditioning, no ceiling fan, and it was too hot and muggy to open a window. Nikki, our eleven-month-old Sheltie knows she is not allowed in bed. But, with everything so screwed up and under the cover of darkness, she made two attempts to bunk with us.
At two in the morning, the house lit up. I got up and went downstairs to turn everything off. And since I was up and Nikki was staring at me, I took her outside. Finally, I climbed back into bed to get some sleep. I conked out right away. Ah, and yes, at 2:30 AM, I got my phone call from Dominion Power advising me we had electricity. Closing the loop at 11:00 PM works, but at 2:30 AM, I was feeling pretty stupid.
Yesterday, I had a nice chat with both of my candles and they seem to be working just fine.
Just Another Day in Paradise (The Storm Continues)
It had been a little over two weeks since all the water damage. The house was dry (and it didn’t smell funny). Nothing was growing inside the walls. A new ceiling has been put on in the kitchen and many of the wall holes have been patched.
I told Carole, putting everything back together would be just like a PCS (permanent change of station). We had done lots of them and they were no fun, but we got through them. I wanted to compare it with something she was familiar with. After a week, she would stare at me and say, “PCS?” It has been much worse. Everyday, very early, workers, noise and dust. Steve’s crew (Donovan and James) have been superb, but its hard to find anything normal when you are dealing with workers, noise and dust.
Last Tuesday, a second crew showed up to rip up the hardwood floor in the kitchen and put down a new one. I had a 7:30 tee time. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I don’t know if it was guilt, but I couldn’t hit the ball worth a damn. On the 8th hole, I called Carole to make sure things were moving along. She told me that the house was full of dust and she was having trouble breathing. This was very inconsiderate of her, because her comments were impacting on my golf game.
I’m just kidding about her comments being inconsiderate. She has a breathing problem and this was just too much. I made my excuses to the rest of the players and headed home. I found more workers, more noise and more dust. There was a big pile of ripped out hardwood floor in the driveway and the kitchen was a disaster.
I saw a worker coming in the front door and I thought I would kid with him. Knowing full well they weren’t, I said, “You done yet?” He pointed at his chest and said, “Jorge, you?” I decided that “you,” pretty well exhausted his understanding of the English language and pointed at my chest and said, “Jack.” Then, we smiled and went about our business. Maybe one of the other workers was named “Doneyet.”
Before the day was over, the new hardwood floor was in place. We are going to try to be somewhere else when they sand, stain and seal. I don’t mean a golf course. I mean out of town. Perhaps an out-of-town golf course.
We had a wall paper border around the kitchen wall right at the top. I suspect you know that the border would be right at the top, but just in case. When the ceiling came out, so did the border. So, on our own dime, we decided to put up some crown molding. It was on the floor for a few days before it was put up. Our eleven-month-old puppy, Nikki, thought it had an interesting taste. By the time Carole figured out the noise (from all the other noises), a couple of the boards were an inch or so shorter. As the fan blades for the kitchen ceiling fan were also on the floor, I’m glad her taste ran to crown molding. I’m glad she couldn’t get to the seasoning.
The idea that adversity makes you stronger is a bunch of crap. I feel wiped out.
My View on the Election (and More)
It’s an exciting time, with a racehorse pace,
A presidential election, who will win the race?
Obama or Hillary, both with a strong voice,
I picked Hillary, but she wasn’t my choice.
Of course, I was wrong, I’ve been wrong before,
Now, I predict Obama, I may be wrong some more.
I will support McCain, he is his own man,
He’s strong on the military, and I’m part of that clan.
As for the Democrats, they’re weak on defense,
And from where I stand, it doesn’t make much sense.
I’ve watched through the years and it’s not very funny,
When the Democrats are in power, the Army runs out of money.
I’m not a lock-step Republican, Rush would not be happy,
I think some GOP policies are just downright crappy.
The right to bear arms is in the Constitution,
But semi-automatic weapons seem like a convolution.
I’m not opposed to abortion, but parental consent is a must,
Letting a 15 year old decide, leaves the family in the dust.
I’m not a right-winger, but I’m not on the fence,
I’m a fiscal conservative and strong on defense.
I believe in free trade, and am reasonably green,
I stand for states rights and all that should mean.
I’ll support whoever’s President and hope for the best,
We have a way of succeeding and that is the test.
We’ll survive Obama and maybe be smarter,
We came out on top when we dumped Jimmy Carter.
It’s a well-meaning country, with genuinely good folks,
We enjoy working hard and laughing at jokes.
When the election is over, we’ll put it aside,
But, new radical ideas, will not abide.
My hope and my vision is we’ll come together,
There are forces out there to cause foul weather.
But, when they hit, and our enemies foment,
We’ll bond together, without any dissent (and succeed)!
God Bless America
Ye Olde Budget Book
Carole and I have now been married 49 years. I tried, but I couldn’t find a happy 49th wedding anniversary card. Wait till next year. But, each month for the entire marriage, we have prepared a budget.
The first thing we did was purchase a very nice, substantial ledger book. This adds significance and formality to the drill. Picking up that formidable book and carrying it to the kitchen table was part of the ritual. That’s important when you don’t have any money. A budget is most important when you are managing very little money.
I don’t know anything about accounting. I took beginners accounting in college and learned to line everything up neatly, but that was about it. The only thing I know for sure is that debits go in one direction and credits go in the other. But, I don’t know which is which. I review my daily activities at Wachovia Securities on line. Some numbers are in red and some are in black. Then, some numbers appear twice, both in red and black. I don’t have a clue. I haven’t tried too hard, because I can tell that the bottom line is where it should be.
We started off married life with me going to law school. Carole worked as a secretary, first for the University and then with the law firm of Smith and Lewis in Columbia, Missouri. I vaguely remember that she cleared somewhere around $180 a month and my dad sent us $50. So we budgeted $230 a month.
Almost everything in the budget was a necessity – no hair and nails or golf account. We budgeted for rent, groceries, utilities, the car, household expenses, insurance and $3.50 for each of us for clothing. After three months, we would have over $10!
For the first few months, I tried to make things add up, but it was too hard. So, we just went through the process of writing down what we were spending. Then, we would look and see if we were spending more than we were making. It’s not very sexy, but I recommend it to anyone trying to live within their means.
Of course, we didn’t have credit cards, so if you didn’t have it, you couldn’t spend it. I guess life was simpler. No tickee, no laundry – no money, no spendee. Our budgetary key was to find at the end of the month as much money in our check book as we had in our budget accounts.
There was no perfection in our system. I will leave the accounting perfection to the DC Tax Department. They kept superb books, while they were stealing $50 million! They just paid out tax refunds to themselves and to bogus companies they had created. Fifty million. That’s a lot of designer purses. The patients were running the asylum.
In my system, I would move a lot of money among the accounts. If we took a vacation and exhausted our vacation account, I would take money out of “car and gas” and “entertainment.” That’s not much of a stretch, especially if we drove. But, I also might take money out of the “linen” account. Why? Because there was too much money in the linen account. So sue me. There is no auditor to keep me honest and Bed, Bath and Beyond will never know.
In the early years, I would run an account in the red for a few months. But, in some accounts, the red number would just keep getting larger. We would them have an executive meeting (Carole and me) at the kitchen table and decide to put $10 more in the particular account. “The ayes have it.” Then, we would write off the red number and start over. I think my budget process is more an art form than a science, particularly that portion of the process where I manipulate the numbers.
There is a fine line between being cheap and being frugal. For most of the early years, we straddled the line. By doing so, now if we want to, we can go crazy (but of course, we don’t).
The Indoor Perfect Storm
It was Saturday morning and I had half a blog written on the exciting subject of keeping a household budget. It’s kind of neat the sly ways I can manipulate the family budget. After all, it is our money, so who is going to complain?
We ran out to the commissary, and the house and garden to pick up some roses. It was a typical Saturday morning. When we got home, Carole went in the house and I opened the trunk to get the groceries. We have eleven recessed lights in the kitchen area (don’t tell Mr. Monk), and the first thing Carole saw was water pouring from all of the light fixtures. It was the morning from Hell.
She screamed. I thought someone had died and raced into the house. Then I raced downstairs and shut the water off. After the water was turned off, it just kept coming. I went upstairs to locate the problem. In the master bathroom, I found the toilet tank hose just hanging there. It turns out that the hose had a sophisticated shut-off device in the line and it ruptured. The irony and humor are there, but it’s hard to appreciate while standing in two inches of water. This definitely got me out of my promise to vacuum the downstairs drapes.
We had water on three levels of the house. We immediately called Steve Norwood, our contractor and friend. He told us to call the insurance company and then he came right over. The emergency insurance agent told us to find a water extractor and gave me a list of names for our area. Unfortunately, the Northern Virginia area had had tremendous storms the week before and no one was available. Can you imagine sleeping in a house full of water? Neither could I. I can’t even stand to watch one of those stupid music videos where it is raining inside the house. After about three hours, Steve located someone who could come out. Then, there was an accident on the Wilson Bridge, so it took him forever to get to our house. I was feeling like Joe Bfstplk, the Li’l Abner character who always had a black cloud over his head and bad luck followed him.
When I was a kid in East St. Louis, our basement was lower that the street sewers. So when it rained hard enough for the street to flood (which was often), we had to race down stairs and screw a plug into the basement drain hole. If we were late, water would be gushing into the basement. With that experience indelibly etched in my skull, I have never purchased a house what wasn’t up quite high. “I understand that the bathroom is in the back yard, but I want to know how high are we above the century’s worst flood level.”
The next day, Brian Jennings, our water extractor, came out with his sophisticated moisture detector and before we knew it, we had holes in the ceiling and walls. The holes were like rabbits; they just kept multiplying. By Thursday, we were in great shape on the floors and rugs, but we hadn’t turned the corner on the walls. Off came the baseboards and Carole’s good humor.
Now, a week after it happened, I can still hear the professional grade dehumidifiers and super charged blowers grinding away on the first floor. I’m hiding in my second floor study. The minute I put down my pen and appear on the first floor, I will be pressed into service returning things to their original spots.
I have now been assured that we have turned the corner. The house is definitely drying and nothing nasty seems to be growing inside the walls. All we need to do is replace the ceiling and the hardwood floors. That won’t cause any dust, will it?
RAJA and The World of Coke
Last week, we were down in Atlanta for our RAJA meeting. As I have mentioned before, RAJA is the Retired Army Judge Advocate’s Association. We get together each year and tell each other how we saved the free world. The stories continue to get more outrageous.
Also, Major General Scott Black, The Judge Advocate General, came down and gave us a sobering view of the challenges facing the Army and the JAG Corps. After listening to Scott, it became apparent that he won’t be able to explain how he saved the free world until he has been retired and a member of RAJA for at least ten years.
One of the hosting couples was Rob and Bridgette Minor. He worked for me at Fort Riley when he was a captain. It would be a better story had he been a major. Then, he would have been Major Minor (as distinguished from Major Major in Catch 22). Anyway, we hadn’t seen the Minors in over twenty years. That’s what RAJA is all about. We expect to see them next year in New Orleans.
On my free afternoon, I decided to visit the World of Coke. I was advised that there were other things that were more culturally rewarding. I never wavered. I am a confirmed Coke drinker (but I would never drink one before Noon – that would be sick). I thrive on sugary syrup and carbonated water.
When Coach Frank Broyles came to the University of Missouri to coach football (he had previously been the backfield coach at Georgia Tech), he gathered the team together on the first day. He said, “Boys, I am a firm believer in Coke Cola and after every practice there will be an ice cold Coke Cola waiting for you.” Talk about a pep talk. He had me!
When Coke announced back in 85′ that they were changing the formula, I went into a 79 day funk. Then, when Coke announced they were keeping the old Coke and calling it Coke Classic, I felt reborn. This little historic vignette is tastefully presented at the World of Coke (that was culturally rewarding).
There was a long line to get in. I felt I was back at Disney World. When I got up to the front of the line, I saw the metal detectors. What has this world come to? Are they afraid terrorists will try to hijack the World of Coke? I thought Coke’s definition of a terrorist was some one who worked for Pepsi. They gave me a claims number for the small pocket knife I had in my pocket.
To sum the event up, I decided not to have my picture taken with the Coke polar bear; I enjoyed the 3-D movie; and, I made myself sick sampling all the different Coke drinks from around the world. Inca Cola should only be drunk in Peru if you are about to die of thirst. Beverly is something everyone should sample so they can appreciate whatever else they are drinking. My biggest fear was that I would be stuck to the sticky floor in the tasting room and never get out.
I did get out with my free eight-ounce Coke in the glass bottle. I brought it home, chilled it, and drank it the other night. It brought back fond memories of the nickel Cokes we had in college.
Now that I have visited the World of Coke, I don’t feel the need to go back. I will have my own little tribute to Coke each night when I pop the top. RAJA, however, requires a trip every year to ensure that the free world is still safe.