All posts by pajarice

Random Thoughts

Jigsaw Puzzle Therapy for Frigid Days

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My goodness it has been a cold winter.  A miserable winter.  We have been in the Washington, DC area for twenty-four years this time and I can’t remember a winter this cold.  I keep waiting for Al Gore to explain this phenomenon.  I’m sure he can explain it.  I’m also sure it is just part of the big picture.  I’m just too damn cold to see it.


We stayed in the DC area after we retired because we had been here a long time and the winters really weren’t that bad.  I would explain to people how the storms that hit the Midwest usually missed us.  It had to do with the “ski board” effect of the Blue Ridge Mountains.  I was the only one exposing this position and I hoped I would be discovered and receive some kind of an award. There’s a lot of stupid people out there giving out awards. However, I think this winter has substantially reduced the chances of my theory catching on.

It was 15 degrees and we still had eight inches of snow on the ground and the bird feeders were almost empty (two were empty and the third was down to the nub).  I gave that a lot of thought.  I could fill the three bird feeders in about 12 minutes.  So I wouldn’t be outside too long.  I bundled up layer on top of layer and headed out to the shed where I keep the bird seed.  Nikki loves the snow and was nipping at my heels (a now useless sheep dog skill).  The shed had an 18-inch snow bank around the door.  So back to the house for the shovel. Nip, nip, nip.  Twelve minutes turned into a half an hour.  I’ve decided in the future to firmly apply a 27 degree wind chill factor rule. To hell with the 12 minute crap.

So what do you do when you are retired and it’s too cold and snowy to go outside?  Let’s see, you can make an idiot out of yourself on Facebook or you can watch TV.  I got a Facebook account so I would know what the grandchildren were doing.  Let’s just say it was a mixed bag.  They don’t get on Facebook to communicate with ole Grandpa.  And, do I really need to see You Tube stunts that didn’t make it?

Well a week ago I decided to drag out a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle of the castle at the Magic Kingdom.  It’s a lovely picture done by Thomas Kinkade.  We have been to Disney World a lot and this puzzle is a picture that Carole has taken over 50 times.  Her pictures have a lot more definition than Kinkade’s painting.  Except for part of the castle and the sky, all the pieces were a dark brown (including a lot of the lower castle) or dark green (water in front and the surrounding trees).  After I did the border and the top of the castle, I spent a lot of time wondering why I started the stupid puzzle.

I am now going to set out some basic rules for doing a jigsaw puzzle.  First, you need lots of room.  The puzzle may be less than three feet by two feet, but you need twice that amount of space for laying out the pieces.  You also need good light.  I had to set up in the dining room to have enough space, but the lighting in that room wasn’t so great.  So I’m sitting there with a flashlight looking at the pieces.  After five minutes, the pieces started getting darker. The flashlight batteries were heading for the battery graveyard. New batteries and I was good to go, just looking stupid.

Once you get enough of the pieces placed, you can look for odd shapes and then try to locate the piece with that shape.  I found a location with a very distinctive shape and looked through all of the pieces left with absolutely no luck.  I looked again.  Same result. And, of course, all the pieces left were some shade of gray.  My conclusions was that there was a piece missing.  That was crazy because I had broken the plastic seal on the bag with all the pieces tucked inside.  That bag had been approved by Inspector # 4.  He or she was not going to get away with this.

After you have spent twenty minutes looking for one piece, it’s time to move on to another part of the puzzle or quit for a few hours.  I quit for the night mumbling about Inspector # 4.

The next day (my sixth), I was down to less than 75 pieces and I knew they would fall into place very soon.  I had eight pieces assembled to each other, but not yet attached to the main puzzle. And quite frankly, I was running out of room.  Something had to give.  While trying to figure out where the eight-piece group fit, I noticed one piece attached to the wrong place.  You’re right, it was the piece I had spent 20 minutes looking for the day before!  I rapidly finished the puzzle.

While puzzles are a good way to spend a cold winter day, please remember that jigsaw puzzles, like chess, can become a form of sickness.  Limit your playing time or find a support group.  And, if by chance, you are Inspector # 4, I apologize.

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Random Thoughts

Is There a Right Way to Worry?

I think we spend too much time worrying.  And the vast majority of things we worry about are out of our control.  I worry about no peace in the Middle East, but I can’t do anything about it.  I worry about John Kerry coming up with some treaty that just make matters worse.  That I can’t help worrying about.  But the bottom line is I should probably use my worry time in a more constructive way.  Like my health.  That’s closer to home and I can do something about it.

Through the years, I have made some very small life changes to make myself more “healthy.”  I switched to skim milk (you can call it “fat free,” but it still tastes the same).  I drink a lot of milk, so I figured that would help.  Hey, after 15 or 20 years it no longer tastes watery.  But, if I continue to drink Nestle Quik ice-cream floats, I’m not sure the skim milk is going to save me.

Back in the early Eighties, I quit drinking coffee.  This was no big sacrifice because I probably didn’t like coffee.  What I liked was all the sugar I dumped in my cup.  And my hand was shaky and someone told me it was from drinking coffee.  I had trouble holding my sugar spoon steady!  So this little life change eliminated about nine spoonfuls of sugar from my daily diet.

I switched to tea.  I still had to sweeten it, but with tea, I could use artificial sweetener.  Then all I had to worry about was the warning on the pink Sweet’N Low packet.  It advised that the use of Saccharin (the sweetener in Sweet’N Low) had caused cancer in rats.  I couldn’t imagine what kind of rat put Sweet’N Low on their cheese.  Anyway, around the year 2000 the warning went away.  I think it had been decided that people were different than rats (at least most people.  I keep getting this picture of former Congressman Weiner nibbling on sweetened cheese.)  But, by then I had moved on to Equal in the blue packet.

The sugar industry was unhappy that the artificial sweetener companies were getting a free ride.  So, The Sugar Association contracted with Duke University to study the impact of Equal and Splenda (the yellow packet) on rats.  The University determined that rats that ate Equal got fatter.  But, even more significant, after 12 weeks of eating Splenda, the rats “exhibited numerous adverse effects.”  There was a reduction in beneficial fecal microflora and an increase in fecal PH.  I clearly don’t understand what they are talking about, nor do I give a rat’s ….  The only thing I took away from this study is don’t be upset with your job; you could be spending you day examining rat feces.

Am I concerned that the study said rats eating Equal got fat?  No. Whenever you evaluate a study, the first thing you need to do is see who paid for it.  In this case, The Sugar Association.  And, gee, the study was unfavorable to artificial sweeteners.  And they say you can’t trust a lawyer.

I ordered tea at a roadside diner not too long ago. Our table had a bowl containing pink, blue and yellow packets of sweetener.  I fished around and found two blue packets.  After I emptied them into my tea, I noticed that they were not Equal.  It may have been NutraSweet but I’m not sure.  What I am sure is that the blue packets were identical to the pink and yellow packets.  The company had something for everyone.  Then again, if the biggest thing you have to worry about is being duped on your sweetener, life’s not half bad.  I am passing this along merely as a public service announcement.

You know, I don’t drink beer or spirits (only on special occasions like Friday or Saturday) and now, people are telling me that Coke is bad for me.  What a bummer.  I thought Coke was somewhere up high in the food pyramid.  So now, I try to limit myself to one Coke a day.  I don’t drink Coke in the morning, so that helps.  But, if I drink one in the afternoon, I am a goner.  I think I will worry about the Middle East and have another Coke.

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Sporting Daze

The Hapless Redskin Plight

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It’s OK to kick me.  I’m a Redskin fan.  Bumps and bruises come with the territory.  We have to have a good memory to remember our Super Bowl victories.  The last was the 1991 season.  But, having a good memory just makes it that much worse to suffer through the Danny Snyder era.

Snyder bought the team in 1999 and has made lots of money off the team.  But, marketing the team to make lots of money isn’t the best way to build a winning team.  Signing a big name player, like Donovan McNabb in 2010 may be great for selling jerseys, but the team was six and ten that year.  McNabb played 12 games and threw 14 touchdowns and 15 interceptions.  He was a Viking the next season (his last).  While Mike Shanahan was the coach with final authority on all football matters, no one will deny that it was Snyder who caused McNabb to come to Washington.

My frustration is that I don’t think we will ever have a successful team as long as Dan Snyder is the owner and I can’t see him selling the team.  He’s like a kid with a gigantic Tinker Toy set.  He can build whatever he wants and then tear it up just for the hell of it. We have seen him do time after time.

Now that Mike Shanahan has been fired (24 & 40), Bruce Allen, our invisible General Manager, steps forward and states that he will interview and select our next coach.  Does anybody believe that? First of all, I accept that the owner has the right to select his coach. The coach is one of his Tinker Toys.  But why have Allen step forward and announce that he is going to make the selection? More smoke and mirrors. 

I am not going to relive some of the stupid, idiotic things that Snyder has done.  Let’s leave it that in 15 years we have won 104 games, while losing 136, and we are now looking for our eighth head coach during the Snyder follies.

Maybe I should find a new team to cheer for.  That’s tough when I have been a Redskin fan for so many years and I live in the Greater DC area.  Maybe I should move to someplace like Jacksonville or Oakland.  I picked those places to encourage me to stay.  Our daughter, Missy, lives in Jacksonville and we felt sorry for her cheering for the Jaguars.  But it turned out that they won more games than the Redskins!  When you have a really miserable year, you then are rewarded with a high draft choice for the next year. But our first round draft choice belongs to the St. Louis Rams, just as it did last year and will also in 2015!  We should at least get a thank you card.

Maybe it’s the indian curse because of our name.  Maybe it is a conspiracy between Obama and the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Then I realized that they are both way to screwed up to come up with a successful plan. And, of course, the dissenting indians were beating their drums outside the stadiums while the Redskins were inside winning Super Bowls.

I think the answer is for me to buy the Redskins.  I will need a lot of money.  Please send me a lot of money.  If I am unsuccessful, I will notify you from my villa in the Bahamas.

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
My Military Daze

Miranda Rights Booby Trap

Life was good.  I had just gone Regular Army (career) and the Army had kept its promise and sent me to Presidio of Monterey to study German.  Each morning I would get up, look out the window of my Fort Ord quarters and see Monterey Bay (or fog).  When I finished the language school, I would be on my way to Germany for a three-year tour.  I was being assigned to the 4th Armored Division in Goeppingen, 30 miles east of Stuttgart.

Then I received my welcoming letter from the 4th AD Staff Judge Advocate, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Cates.  He hated me. Fortunately, at the time, he did not recognize my name.  He would as soon as he saw me.  He had been one of our instructors in the JAG Basic Course in Charlottesville, Virginia.  Colonel Cates had many idiosyncrasies.  And, at our class’s final banquet and party, I was part of the entertainment and had been introduced as Colonel Kiss-Me Cates.  I mimicked all of his little quirks.  Afterwards, he sought me out and told me that he enjoyed my performance.  I thanked him, but neither of us was very convincing.  I had never planned on seeing him again.  Duh.

So how did I last 28 years and end up as the Commandant at the school where Colonel Kiss-Me Cates had taught.  I was just lucky. When I arrived at the 4th Armored Division, Colonel Cates had departed three weeks before.  It reminds me of what Brigadier General Ron Holdaway told one of my JAG Graduate Classes many years later.  “To make general officer, you have to be good and lucky.  But, if you can only be one, be lucky.”

I arrived in Germany in 1966 about the same time the Miranda decision was being handed down by the Supreme Court. As most of you know, it requires that before law enforcement officials can take a statement from a suspect, they must advise him or her of his or her’s right to remain silent and right to an attorney. Practically the first case I was handed was the retrial of a murder case originally tried in 1964.

Back in 1964, Private Mayberry left his barracks in Erlangen and caught a train to Nuernberg.  He partied at his favorite gasthaus and then went with a prostitute back to her trailer.  After a couple of hours, he announced he had to get back to his unit or he would be AWOL.  They argued and she put a cigarette out on the Private’s privates.  He then strangled her.  He then took her wallet (she no longer needed it) and caught a cab back to the train station.  The cab driver observed Mayberry going through the wallet, emptying it of money and then throwing it out the window.  A bus driver saw the wallet fly out of the window, stopped, picked it up and turned it into the police.  The cab driver identified Mayberry as the one who threw the wallet.

It didn’t take long for the military police to latch onto Mayberry and he confessed that he killed the prostitute (I’m sorry I can’t remember her name).  He pleaded guilty to second degree murder and the stipulation of facts laid out that she had burned him with the cigarette.  The Army Court of Military Review, on appeal, determined that Mayberry, being burned by the cigarette could have put him in such a “heat of passion” that the crime committed was only manslaughter.  So they did not approve the conviction, but sent the case back to Germany to be retried.  I think the appellate court could have reduced the case to manslaughter and reduced the sentence and we all would have been fat, dumb and happy.

So, I’m designated the Trial Counsel (prosecutor).  We still have Mayberry’s confession, but we don’t know if it is admissible.  My position was that it is hard to give a Miranda warning before the Supreme Court decides the Miranda case.  A few years later, the Supreme Court decided that such confessions, as Mayberry’s, were valid and admissible.  But I had to try the case in the nether-nether land.  My trial judge decided that Miranda was the law of the land at the time of this retrial and the confession could not be used.

So what did I have (if you think I am going to be the hero and somehow get a conviction, forget it.  Sometimes you play the hand you are dealt)?  I had fiber testimony, testimony from the gasthaus that they left together and the wallet.  The fiber evidence was extensive.  It was taken from Helga (I had to give her a name), Helga’s trailer (blanket, etc), and Mayberry’s clothes.  The University of Erlangen had used their forensic lab and tied Mayberry and Helga in a knot.  One example should suffice – fibers from his socks were found inside her bra.  Now, just use your imagination.  I had lots and lots of fibers and lots of connections.

The cab driver still remembered Mayberry and him throwing Helga’s wallet out the window.  Even though the wallet had been kept in an evidence vault during the intervening years, the bus driver insisted it wasn’t the same wallet!?

The defense put on only one witness who lived in Helga’s trailer park and testified that someone had been sneaking around the trailer park that night.  Probably the one-armed man from the “Fugitive.”  The bottom line was I could put them together in the trailer, but without the confession, I had no evidence that he killed her.  The military court acquitted Mayberry.

Then to add insult to injury, I received a whopping bill for the forensic support from the University of Erlangen.  I talked to my Finance chief and he told me that I should have gotten authority before I authorized the contract.  “Authorized the contract?” Whatever happened to German-American Friendship?  I thought we were walking down this road together.  It really shook me up.  As a young Captain, I couldn’t afford to pay the bill.  For about three months in a row, I received the bill.  My friend in Finance had his hands full because his boss was a drunk and he was trying to hide him out.  The good news was that higher headquarters found out about the boss and shipped him home.  They brought a young Lieutenant Colonel over from VII Corps to run the Finance Office. When I asked him about my Erlangen problem, he said, “Oh, we’ve got funds up at VII Corps to dispose of such matters.”  Free at last, free at last (be lucky)!

I later found out that it was none other than Kiss-Me Cates that had insisted that Mayberry plead guilty to murder rather than manslaughter.  So, maybe Cates got me after all.

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Poems

Christmas the Year After – – 2013

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As many of you know, I post a Christmas poem each year.  This is the year after Carole’s surgery and it has been a good year.  We take set backs in stride and have for many, many years.  Enjoy.



 

Christmas the Year
After – – 2013

 

It’s time
to report, for the umpty-umpth time,

For a
status report, done with a rhyme.

Report on
the family and the National scene,

The
Country’s screwed up, but we’re peachy keen.

This
year’s about recovery, from last year’s bout,

Carole’s
surgery had us down, but definitely not out.

 

We
started the year normal with our Disney World trip,

And golf
lessons for Jack, maybe this time they’ll stick.

We’ve
been there so often, we love it just the same,

But it
gets quite embarrassing, when the characters know our name.

(“Hi Carole, Hi Jack” — “Hi
Mickey”)

 

Jack’s
now the President of the Fort Belvoir Golf Fuds,

You can
be the President, while not one of the studs.

His
scores are a tad better, but the ball has no zing,

But
everyone does comment, he has a lovely swing.

 

We saw
this cruise, Osaka to Alaska to Vancouver,

It
excited our fancy, such a wide sweeping maneuver.

A great
time was had, but April was chilly,

Visiting
Adak and Dutch Harbor was downright silly.

The bad
news was Carole came down sick,

She was
hospitalized in May, ain’t that a kick.

(We missed RAJA)

 

July
brought the girls, Becky early, Missy late,

They’re
so sweet to come, with so much on their plate.

We took
Becky to Lancaster, for a short break,

Shared
Kitchen Kettle Village and some funnel cake.

Took
Missy to the Eastern Shore, the day was so drab,

But we
stopped at Kent Narrows and ate lots of steamed crab.

 

Good
things happened, things that were fun,

Like
Tyler graduating, Summa Cum Done.

Brandon
got married on a cold Flagstaff day,

Lovely,
with frostbite, but hey, what the hey.

It was
beautiful, romantic, it made us feel young,

But to be
starting over, I rather bite my tongue.

 

Paul and
Sandy have moved, it’s a great fix,

Much
closer to us and away from the sticks.

Still a
deputy warden at a very different facility,

With all
women “guests,” there’s little to no tranquility.

Jack’s
grown up fast, he seems very bright.

An
athlete, a diplomat, he’s such a delight.

He’s
scary thoughtful, he makes us nervous,

He called
Grandpa on Veteran’s Day and thanked him for his service!

 

A cruise
in September and, surprise, a golf theme,

Old
friends joined us, it was like a dream.

Boston to
Montreal, to see the Autumn splendor,

But how
many colors can you see when facing a bartender.

 

So the
year’s wrapping up, but there’s still lots of pressure,

The
Christmas Party looms, would you like a refresher?

Our last
attempt was 2009, that was the year of the blizzard,

The snow
was as high as an elephant’s eye,         
                                     

We’d have
had to be a wizard.

 

It’s a
great time of year, Missy may come to the party,

Then
Paul’s family for the holidays, good times will be hardy.

To all of
our friends, we wish you love and good cheer,

And a Merry
Christmas to all, and a Happy New Year.

 

                                Carole and Jack


Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com

class=”MsoNormal” style=”text-align: left;”>Copyright 2013


Random Thoughts

The Petting Zoo All Over Again!

I really like to watch commercials.  I know that sounds stupid, but I do.  People get paid good money for putting those 30 seconds together.  Once I have seen most of them, I would rather not see them again.  And if they come on again, which they always do, I feel no obligation to watch.

There doesn’t seem to be any correlation between whether I like the product and whether I like the commercial.  I don’t like beer, but I love Budweiser commercials.  How can you not love horses and dogs?  But the Coors commercial where these guys are climbing all over this frozen mountain to deliver two bottles of Coors is a little flaky.  It’s a big bar full of music and people and they deliver two bottles of Coors.  I wonder if everybody else is drinking Bud. 

The Super Bowl makes for an exciting, but difficult day.  I don’t want to miss any of the game, nor the commercials.  There is no time for a comfort break.  I guess the problem will solve itself when I can watch it all on my wrist.

One commercial that really gets me going is a group of young parents sitting around and someone inquires whether anyone has done anything regarding setting up a college fund for their children.  Only one couple has and it’s the Gerber Life College Plan. And, the wife says, “It’s an insurance policy too.”  And, I’m thinking, you mean if my child kicks the bucket, I have a pay day? I don’t know.  That seems a little cold.

My favorite commercial at the moment has a mother at the mall with her two small children.  She stops to tell them that they only have a short time to find Daddy the perfect gift and they really need to focus.  She tells her son (age 8 or 9) that he is her rock and asks if she can count on him.  He gives her the thumbs up.  Then, she turns to her daughter (age 6 or 7) and says, “Sally, look at me. I need you to step it up.  We don’t need the petting zoo all over again.”  The little girl looks at her mom and says, “I can’t make any promises.”  I just love that  We can only guess what happened at the petting zoo.  The bad news is that while I love the little episode, I don’t remember which smart phone the commercial is trying to sell.  And I think that is probably important.

I probably don’t watch shows that advertise Mr. Clean and Tide, so I guess I have to exclude those commercials from my evaluation. I guess I watch TV shows where they are trying to sell beer and cars and Snickers.  I like the Snickers’ commercials where famous actors like Robin Williams and Roseanne Barr are out of control. Then after they eat a Snickers Bar they turn into normal people.  I loved it when Roseanne Barr got whacked by a big log in the lumber yard. Maybe it’s because I can’t stand Roseanne Barr. Robin Williams is playing a high school football coach and during a time out, he encourages his team to “win the game for Mother Russia.” After eating a Snickers Bar, the real coach returns and sends his charges on to the field for victory (but not for Mother Russia).

I said there was no correlation between whether I liked the product and whether I liked the commercial.  But, I guess there is one exception.  If you look under the category called “The Fox,” you will find a blog entitled, “Why I Will Never Buy an Audi.”  As you will see in the blog, I have nothing against the vehicle, just the executives that run the company.  So every time I see an Audi commercial, I can’t observe it impartially.  There’s the commercial where the woman with an Audi is getting ready to put diesel in her car and everyone is trying to stop her.  One young man yells, “Hey lady, that’s diesel.”  She smugly looks at him and says, “I know.” Then she and her male companion (probably an Audi executive) nod at each other, silently saying, “We are surrounded by idiots.” Then, there’s the scene where Santa is ringing the Salvation Army bell outside a department store.  An Audi drives by and everyone who sees it, drops their car fob in the collection kettle.  Most of the donated fobs have a Mercedes symbol on them.  I think the advertising company for Audi is as arrogant as the Audi executives. But, of course, I’m not impartial (and never will be).  If someone asked me what I took away from the commercial, I would say that people who drive Mercedes are very generous people.

While getting gas at the Fort Belvoir Exchange, a woman drove her Audi up to the diesel pump.  I really tried not to say anything, but my impulses got the best of me.  Finally I said, “Hey lady, that’s diesel.”  She immediately understood, gave me a pleasant smile and said, “I know.”

Then there’s the erectile dysfunction commercials.  They say it may just be a blood flow problem.  I agree.  I don’t think the blood is getting to the brain.  I love what the golf industry has done with this issue.  Polara golf (they make golf balls) says that when the ball doesn’t go where you intended it to go, you may have projectile dysfunction.  Their ball can correct projectile dysfunction. There was also a golf company who claimed their driver would cure projectile dysfunction.  I thought the company was Cobra or Cleveland, but I can’t find anything on it now.  And believe me, if you go on the internet and can’t find anything, it causes grave doubt as to whether it ever existed.

Now, we tape a lot of our shows on TV and we fast forward through the commercials.  I’m afraid that commercials may go the same way as buggy whips, green eye shades and Blockbuster Video.

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com




The Judge Says

The Judge Says – In Time of Crises

I wrote the below article shortly after President Reagan was shot back in 1981.  It brought back horrible memories to many of us and I felt the need to say something.


April 3, 1981

I’m going to try to say something serious (emphasis on the word “try”). It will probably be in the next paragraph because this one has already gotten out of hand.  Being serious is not easy for me.  However, I have had some difficulty in finding material since Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman went off the air.  But, as a young trial attorney, I found that saying something silly would confuse the other side, and the judge and sometimes the jury.  And when your client was observed committing the crime and then confessed, the only thing you have left on your side is a hope for confusion.

I took leave this week and was coming back from Herington, Kansas when KJCK interrupted its regular programming.  It announced that while the facts were still sketchy, it appeared that President Reagan had been shot. Those of us who lived through the 1963 President Kennedy ordeal surely relived horrible thoughts and memories.  That terrible, helpless feeling of again not knowing.  In the next few hours, the radio and TV announced everything from the President had not been hit, to the other extreme that the doctors were gearing up for open heart surgery.  Again, that helpless feeling of just not knowing.

At times like this there is a great desire to do something.  This just fuels the frustration, because it seems there is very little that any of us can do. But, at the same time, think about these things.

First, we are a constitutional government that will continue regardless of what tragedy occurs.

Second, in order to ensure that continuation, the United States must be strong.  This strength is transmitted to other nations in many ways, but probably the most significant is by our military power.

Lastly, we who wear the uniform of our nation have the ability on a daily basis, to do our utmost to make this great Army better.  Our military community, which includes the civilian work force and all family members, also has the ability to contribute.

So, when that helpless feeling starts gnawing, keep in mind that serving our nation at a time of crises is nothing to take lightly.  Everyday, your effort and energy is doing something toward making this nation’s Army a little bit better.

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
My Military Daze, Random Thoughts

They Don’t Make Halloween Like They Used To

I truly don’t know the history of Halloween and I can’t push myself to find out.  I may be better off not knowing.  It’s a time when kids can dress up in costumes and race around the neighborhood collecting candy from their neighbors.  This is very important to the economy.  All the grocery stores, drug stores and Walmart make lots of money selling candy to people who have no choice but to buy it.  That reminds me, I saw a cartoon in the Washington Post where Obama was on the television saying, “If you are happy with the candy you collected on Halloween, then you can keep it.”  The little kids in front of the TV looked horrified!

I don’t remember dressing up when I was in college.  But I guess it’s a problem, because the University of Colorado has put out rules as to what students shouldn’t wear.  I think they went overboard. They don’t want anyone to wear a sombrero or to dress up like a cowboy or an Indian.  What in the world are they doing?  They said you shouldn’t have a theme party where people dress up like “white trash” or a “hillbilly.”  I’m not an expert on political correctness, but I think it is quite insulting to call a group of people “white trash.”  So I don’t think the PC people at Colorado University should be referring to this group that they are trying to protect as “white trash.”  Just as I have refrained from calling the CU PC people pretentious jerks.

When I was a kid, “trick or treat” had meaning.  We all had a bar of soap (or paraffin), and if no one opened the door, we decorated their window.  Now the kids don’t even go door to door.  There is something called “trunk or treat.”  Parent drive their vans and SUVs to the school or church yard and open up their “trunks” and the kids, hopefully not dressed like a cowboy or “white trash” get treats out of the trunks of the cars.  I’m concerned as to where this will lead. What if the parents have a small economy car?  Kids will be saying, “Gee, he doesn’t have a very big trunk.”  This could lead to trunk envy.

One thing I did learn from the CU instructions.  I found out that “squaw” is an offensive word.  Some Native American woman explained it all on Oprah, so that makes it official.  I must have missed that show.  I’m just sitting here trying to figure out what we should call Squaw Valley.  How about Native American Woman Valley?

When I was stationed at Cooke Barracks in Goeppingen, West Germany, we had a Halloween party at the Officers’ Club.  About two weeks before the party we had an incident on post.  A brand new Second Lieutenant who was assigned to the Engineering Office beat up his wife.  He really did a job on her and she ended up in the Army Hospital in Stuttgart.  She didn’t want anything to happen to her husband and without her help, we were at a loss.

They even came to the Halloween party at the Club.  The Second Lieutenant came dressed as Dracula with blood on his fangs and the petite little wife appeared as a ghoul with blood dripping and her body wrapped in gauze!  After that, I quit worrying about the poor little damsel (I wonder if it is alright to say damsel?).

At the same party was a newly assigned major and his statuesque wife.  He came dressed as a special forces night fighter and his bride came dressed like Jeannie in “I Dream of Jeannie.”  If you are too young to remember Barbara Eden, it’s your loss.  Anyway, between ghouls and “I Dream of Jeannie,” it was quite a night.

The problem with writing a lot and getting older is that you can’t remember what you have published.  Carole thinks I have already written about being struck by lightning in Viet Nam.  I have used the available search engines on my site and I can’t find it. She is still probably right.  So, I’ll make this quick.  A few years after the Halloween party, special forces night fighter and I were assigned to the 1st Cav headquarters in Viet Nam.  Carole and “I Dream of Jeannie” were both spending the year at Schilling Manor in Salina, Kansas.

We got rocketed every night, but never twice a night.  The VC would set up, hit and run.  I never told Carole about the rockets. I truly did not feel threatened.  However, the special forces night fighter would tape messages to “I Dream of Jeannie” during the incoming. Jeannie told Carole and Carole wanted to know what was going on.  I tell her there’s about as much chance if me being hit by a rocket as being struck by lightning.  Three weeks later, I was talking on a poorly grounded telephone line when lightning struck the wire and knocked me across the room.  I survived!

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Random Thoughts

It’s Been Five Years. I Know You Are Out There.

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One of the inside jokes in the Army is “All Army programs are doomed to success.”  That’s a head scratcher.  But, if you think about it, it’s the only way the Army can get rid of a bad program. Declare it a success and move on.  For example, “Zero Defects” was a disaster. Any mistake was a defect and the Army was prohibited from having any.  Hey, let’s declare that mess a success and get rid of it.  

Then there was “McNamara’s 100,000.”  This was back in the Sixties. Secretary of Defense McNamara was convinced that the Army should draft 100,000 Category Fours.  Cat Fours were those we considered too intellectually challenged to join the Army.  That’s right, really, really dumb (IQs of 65 or below).  Well, the Army did it for three years.  They gave distinctive service numbers to the Cat Fours so they could be identified and tracked.  I guess there might have been a few success stories.  The program was run by a bunch of Army sociologists whose purpose was to make the program succeed.  It succeeded as all Army programs succeed.

My personal experience was to represent one of the 100,000 as he cut a swath through Deutchland.  I was a young Captain doing defense work for the 4th Armored Division in Goeppingen.  I was appointed his counsel after he got in a fight downtown and tore up a gasthouse.  Lieber Gott.  I think his name was Jake and I can almost see him.  He was not a big guy and looked harmless enough. He had a twinkle in his eye.  I think I got him off with an Article 15 (nonjudicial punishment).  From then on, it was like I had him on a retainer.  Later, he got into it with a German taxi driver.  It was always hard to understand him, but I think he decided he was being overcharged.  So he didn’t pay.  The cab driver produced a pistol and Jake took it away from him and beat him with it.  Jake was not good for German American relations. Because the pistol belonged to the cabbie, I had some success in getting Jake off.

The last time I saw Jake was when he came by my office to say goodbye.  He had his arm in a sling.  It appeared he had recently flipped a jeep.  His buddy was still in the hospital, but was going to be OK.  Jake was being reassigned to Viet Nam.  I thought long and hard about whether I should notify someone.  I wasn’t concerned about him hurting himself, but what about the soldiers in his unit?What about the cab drivers in Saigon?

If you are wondering whether all this is leading to me declaring this blog a success, rest easy.  I’m having too much fun. GoDaddy.Com manages my web site, so all I have to do is write and publish.  Plus, every time I go to GoDaddy.Com, I get to see Danica Patrick.

GoDaddy also keeps stats on how many visits I get.  When I started out, I got very few visits.  Of course, I had very few blogs up.  If I got a hundred hits a week I was delighted.  Now, I have over 230 blogs/articles and I have had my site “visited” over a thousand times in one day.  GoDaddy has assured me that none of these visits to my site were from web crawling bots!  What in the world is a web crawling bot?  All I can think of is in the movie, Matrix, there were all these mechanical bees that were always attacking.  Maybe they were web flying bots.  The only thing I know for sure is that if the web crawling bots visited my web site, they were not counted. Web crawling NSA?  I’m not so sure.

In 2008, I wrote a blog entitled, “Bomb Threats at Washington Square.”  Washington Square was the name of the building I worked in.  A disgruntled former employee of Morton’s Steakhouse, located in our building, called in 20 to 30 bomb threats over the summer.  Life was bad.  Anyway, I got an extraordinary number of hits on this blog.  I finally figured out it was our federal spooks checking up on me.  But, anybody dumb enough to put “Bomb Threat” and “Washington” in the same title deserves to be checked out.

Anyway, I know you are out there, but I would like to hear from you. I have a half dozen dear friends who send me comments and once in a while, out of the blue, I get an email from someone who liked something I wrote.  But, let me know you are out there.  I wrote a blog entitled, “It’s a German Thing.”  It was accurate, but not complimentary of Germans.  I got a comment from a German written in German using the “F” word.  Yes, they too have the “F” word.  The beauty of the system is that with one stroke I deleted the comment.  I wonder if he was a cab driver.

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Political Thoughts, Random Thoughts

Redskins Forever

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Things you can count on: Death, Taxes and someone complaining about the name of the beloved Redskins.  I don’t blame President Obama for raising the issue.  If I were the President and fumbling through my fifth year like a rookie, I, too, would be trying to divert attention to mundane matters like the name of the Washington Redskins.

Obama said, if he were the owner of the Redskins, he would think about changing the name.  If he were the owner, and ran the Washington Redskins the way he is running the country, he wouldn’t have to change the name.  The famous franchise would collapse faster than Solyndra and there would be no Washington Redskins.

Bob Costas used his two minutes of half-time, prime-time to say that the name Redskins was an insult and a slur.  Of course the Redskins have been around since 1933 and all the fans, including many Native Americans, have been honoring the team.  I’m sure Bob Costas has been referring to the Washington team as the Redskins on radio and TV for at least 30 years.  I guess it was alright for him to use that “insult” or “slur” for all that time and now, to become righteous. Hallelujah.  The scales have fallen from my eyes.

I will say that the term redskin can be used in a derogatory manner. So can Yankee.  Believe me, there are thousands and thousands of people in this country that use the name Yankee as an insult.  I’ve been called a Yankee when it was definitely intended as an insult, a slur.  What’s the rule?  If one person is offended?  Whoops, there goes the New York Yankees.  I never liked them anyway.

Owner George Marshall changed the name of his team in 1933 from the Boston Braves to the Boston Redskins (Shortly thereafter, the Washington Redskins).  This was done to honor and bring attention to their coach, Lone Star Dietz, who believed he was a Sioux.  He went to an Indian school in Oklahoma and then to the Carlisle Indian School in Carlisle, Pennsylvania.  He played football at Carlisle with Jim Thorpe.  If you don’t know who Jim Thorpe was, please go back to reading some tweets.  Later, questions were raised as to whether Lone Star actually was an Indian, but so what? Maybe he spoke with a forked tongue, but it is irrelevant to our discussion.

One TV show asked people to comment on whether they were offended by the name Washington Redskins.  One viewer wrote in and said the part of the name that offended him was Washington. When the Irish immigrated to this country, they were a minority that was known for heavy drinking and fighting.  So some people might think that calling a team the “Fighting Irish” is an insult or a slur. What do you think, Bob?  At one time, it probably was.

I’m sensitive to not insulting people.  If a group wants to be called something, I say OK.  I’ll call them that.  And, if a few years later, they decide for the third or fourth time, they want to be called something else, I’ll go along.  But for 81 years, we have been honoring the Redskins and for some politically correct numbskull to claim we are insulting somebody is outrageous. 

I’m not a big Dan Snyder fan and I blame him for much that has gone wrong during his ownership (I have written on this before), but I’m with him on not changing the name.  I hope he sticks it out. He is taking a lot of heat and for that one thing, I commend him.  I wish the PC crowd would move on to deciding what Chrysler should do about the Jeep Cherokee.  

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com