Bill Grenard is a high school friend.  That would not seem unusual until you realize that after graduation, we both moved away and didn’t see each other until our 50th high school reunion.  In fact, we didn’t hang around much in high school because he was a brainy kid and I was a jock.  About the only thing we had in common was being math wizards.

Well, as you do at reunions, we spent some time catching each other up on what had happened in the last 50 years and found that we had quite a bit in common.  We have kept in touch over the last three plus years.

Shortly before Christmas, he told me that rather than have family members provide him with traditional gifts, he was asking them to write twenty or so questions.  These are not questions to be answered.  He got the idea from a book by Padgett Powell entitled, “The Interogative Mood: a Novel?.”  The book is made up entirely of questions.  He provided me with examples from the book and then provided some questions from him.  I told him I would send him twenty questions for Christmas.

Below, you will find some of Powell’s questions, some of Bill’s questions and my Christmas gift to Bill.  If this inspires you to comment with twenty or so questions, great.  If you decide it is a stupid idea and pass, I will understand.

I liked Bill’s questions better that Powell’s.  And, to no one’s surprise, I liked my questions best of all!

Some of Powell’s questions: 

Do you do yard sales?  Are you happy with your teeth?  Do you in general trust or mistrust earnestness?  Do you attend parades?  Do you gamble?  Do you like pull candy?  Have you any weapons on you at the moment?  Would you buy a pearl choker?  Are you important?  Do you have any skin disabilities such as eczema or psoriasis?  Can you envision saying seriously to someone, “You just holler for help, and I’ll come arunnin’ “?  Do you like to use terms like “triangulation” and “extrapolation” when not speaking mathematically?  Are you bold, would you say?  Can you count in languages other than your mother tongue?  Would you like for your life to be more, or less, dangerous than it is?  Have you ever experienced any sort of hernia?

Is baseball all it’s cracked up to be? Do people stink, mostly?  Is there life on other planets, or after death on this one, as it were?  Do you like stalling for time?  Can you lob a grenade accurately, would you think?  Are there interstices in your character?  Is it hard for you to resist the demands of whiny people?  Have you ever wound an armature for an electric motor?  Do you know precisely what a chilblain is?  Do you bite your tongue or grind your teeth at night?  Have you ever witnessed any credible sign of ghosts?

(I think that is enough.  As I said, I thought Bill’s questions were better.)

Some of Bill Grenard’s questions:

Do you think that the older a person is, the better judgment they have, or does each person exhibit about the same level of good or poor judgment throughout the adult life?  What does the word deuteronomy mean?  Do you think people who live in a hilly area are in general more mentally unsettled than those that live in a flat area?  Have you ever used the word “morsel” conversationally?

Seeing that the latest mountain bikes have 24 or 27 speeds; do you think this is just about right, overkill, or would 48 or 54 speeds be even better?  Do you find that you take pleasure in the successes of underlings, but successes of your peers make you feel bad, at least for a brief time?  Would you rather have a parakeet or a turtle for a pet?  What would change you mind on that?  Would you rather be a cross-country truck driver or a cross-country bus driver?

Do you think there is, in aggregate, a greater amount of talented, high-quality TV programming now that we have 600 channels than when we had just a dozen or so?  Doesn’t it seem that Eeyore is clinically depressed and Pooh is suffering from early-onset Alzheimer’s?  How much do TV sets playing in grocery stores enhance your shopping experience?  If you think that people living in hilly areas are more unstable mentally, do you think it is because mentally unstable people tend to move to hilly areas, or is it just that living in a hilly area provides a dimension of variability that people in flat areas don’t experience and that makes them a little less stable?  If you lived in a flat area and wanted to ride around the neighborhood, how many speed would you want on you bicycle?

If you think people have about the same level of judgment throughout their life, should we lower the minimum age for President to 21?  Do you feel that people are subjected to more distractions, say ten or fifteen years ago, and if you do, how do you square this with reports that productivity has continuously increased over the time period?  Do you feel that if the Eeyore character had been a regular on Mr. Rogers, the show would have been much too depressing for small children to watch, or would the children who watched it have just turned out to be very quiet and sort of whiny?

My Christmas present questions:  (You will notice that I write shorter questions and don’t go through the folly of deciding what constitutes a paragraph.)

Is Chap Stick a necessity?  How does my dog always know what time it is?  When are the Vietnam veterans going to be welcomed home?  Why do the American people believe candidates who make outrageous promises and then ignore the fact when they don’t keep them?  Can you dress for success on a nudist beach?  Is a stitch in time better that receiving a penny for you thoughts?  Is Tiger making his own decisions or is he receiving wise counsel and ignoring it?  Why is it difficult for people to admit that they like fruit cake?  Is golf a game or a sickness?  What’s so great about a White Christmas?  What ever happened to Pong?  Why did the lower enlisted man in financial trouble have a color TV, when I couldn’t afford one?  Who are the Jones anyway?  Would there be more or less strife in the world if everyone spoke the same language?  Why should anyone select the  cartoon character Snoopy to be their hero?  Is chess a game or a sickness?  Is there any reality in a reality TV show?  If there is water on the Moon, will the cheese go bad?  Why do they make tooth paste containers so that you can’t get the last of the tooth paste?  Would Yo-Yo Mah be such a memorable cellist if his name were Joe Schwartz?

I guess every young boy has vivid memories of his dad.  I remember my dad climbing up a large Sycamore tree in our front yard.  There weren’t special boots or safety ropes back then.  Or, if there were, he didn’t use them.  He just climbed from limb to limb until he was way up there.  I think he trimmed some dead branches and then, he scurried down.  I was fascinated.  I thought Dad could do anything.

I also thought he was indestructible.  When I was four or five, my dad was laying on the living room floor wrestling with my brother, Bill, and me.  Bill was three years older and putting up most of the fight.  I would dive in and Dad would toss me away and continue wrestling with Bill.  After several unsuccessful ventures, I looked around and saw our set of encyclopedias.  I pulled out the letter “M” book, sneeked behind Dad and whacked him over the head.  Playtime was over.  He might have been able to handle the letter “F” book, but there were too many words that started with “M.”  I didn’t knock him out, but I definitely hurt him.  He couldn’t understand why I hit him.  And, I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t think it would hurt him.  It was a tough lesson

One of the things I loved to do was watch Dad shave.  When he would come home from work, he would usually shave before dinner.  Shaving then isn’t like it is today.  Then, it was an elaborate procedure which started with stropping the straight razor.  Back and forth he would draw the razor over the razor strap.  Then, there was the shaving soap and the shaving brush.  No cans back then.  He would lather up the brush and cover his beard with soap.  Then, he would carefully bring the razor to his face and shave away.  Knicks were commonplace back then, but Dad was good and seldom drew blood.  I suspect Dad was performing for me and he definitely had an enraptured audience of one.

Later, Dad brought home a Rolls Razor, made in England.  The container looked like an oversize sardine can.  Inside the container was a razor that could be sharpened inside its metal box.  He would open one side, lift up the handle and slide the blade back and forth against the bottom of the container.  The bottom was a red leather strap.  The handle would slide back and forth on tracks.  Or, he could seal it up, flip it over and then the bottom was a gray honing stone.  It took ten to 15 minutes just to sharpen the nickel plated blade.  Shaving then followed the same ritual – shaving soap – shaving brush – strokes over the face and knicks.

Some time in the late Forties, Gillette came out with its Super Speed twist-to-open model.  When the blade was no longer sharp, you threw it away and put in a new blade.  The dawning of a new era.  While I no longer watched enraptured (I already knew he wasn’t indestructible), Dad kept me informed regarding each improvement.  I still wasn’t shaving, but it was great to see how everything worked.

In 1950, Gillette came out with the Blue Blade.  It was stainless steel and seemed to be the consummate safety razor.  Dad very seldom cut himself.  I started shaving in the 50’s and learned it wasn’t as easy as it looked.

I should probably say that there were other companies out there making good safety razors, but Gillette, in my mind, was a family tradition.  Even after I left home, Dad and I would discuss the latest shaving technology.  Trac II came out in 1971 with two blades.  We liked it.  In 1977, the Atra came out with a swivel head.  We liked it.  Let’s face it.  We were easy.  After shaving with a straight razor, Dad was fascinated with each improvement.

Whenever I hear about a straight razor, I think about the story my Uncle Bob would tell.  When he was young, he would get his hair cut at a barber school.  Barber students who were learning how to cut hair would practice on brave souls like Uncle Bob.  The price was great, but not necessarily the results.  Anyway, this young student was starting to shave around Bob’s ears.  A teacher walked up and said, “If you ever feel the razor slipping in your hand, don’t grab for it or you’ll cut his ear off.”  I told Uncle Bob, if I ever saw him looking lopsided, I would know what happened.

By the time the Gillette Sensor came out in 1990, with its spring-loaded blades, Dad was in his late seventies and not focusing much.  Sometimes he remembered and sometimes he didn’t.  I wish I would have mentioned shaving to him.  I’ll bet that would have all come back to him.

Dad was gone when the Sensor 3 came out in 1995.  I bought it and guess what?  I liked it.  I have purchased every new razor Gillette has brought out.  But, I’m about ready to stop.  First, I have a terrible time buying the right blades for my Gillette Fusion Power.  I have brought home the wrong blades twice.  I have thought about tattooing “FUSION POWER”  on my knuckles, but what happens when the new model comes out.  Then, I still have my old Mach 3 Turbo!  Fortunately all of my mis- purchased blades work in my Turbo.  I think I like the Mach 3 Turbo better.  It doesn’t vibrate, but at my age, that’s probably good.

At Christmas time in 2005, I bought my son the latest Gillette model.  I was disappointed when he wasn’t excited about it.  It was dumb on my part.  He didn’t know the history and quite frankly, even the throw aways today probably do a pretty good job.  I guess you had to watch the Old Man use the straight razor to be wildly impressed.

Only in America can somebody cut holes in a blanket and have the audacity to sell it as a “Snuggie.”  “One size fits all.”  You bet.  When an item has no shape, of course, one size fits all.  And you can talk on the phone without having to throw off your warm blanket, because you are wearing it.

It is also perfect for people on a diet who like to cheat, but don’t want to get caught.  You can hide a box of chocolate and a turkey leg inside the Snuggie and no one will be the wiser.  They have now come out with a leopard skin patterned Snuggie.  This is for the style conscious purchaser.  And, with Veterans Day right around the corner, they should come out with a camouflage Snuggie.  Hey kid, get your camouflage Snuggie and you will never have to go to bed on time again.  Your parents won’t be able to find you.

Snuggies need to steal the Bud Light punch line.  “Snuggies are so popular, because they have snuggability.”  Not too light, not too heavy.  That’s snuggability!

I don’t think Snuggies have pockets.  I don’t know why.  It doesn’t seem like such a leap to put a pocket or two on the Snuggie.  Maybe this will come out for Christmas.  With a pocket, you could take your Chia Pet with you.  I have already figured out that the nuts who are buying Snuggies are the same nuts who already own a Chia Pet.  Those are the pets that you water and grass or clover or something grows out of them.  How about a Snuggie that when you water it, something — No.  Never mind.

Anyway, I went on line to see if Chia is still selling their pets.  They are.  They will now even sell you a bust of Homer Simpson where you can water his hair and green stuff will grow.  Wait.  There’s more.  You can also purchase a bust of President Obama.  Again, you water and he grows green hair.  I think this was personally approved by his environmental Czar.  For $19.95, you get the bust, seed packets for three plantings, a plastic drip tray and instructions.  It goes on to say that the teleprompter is not included.

That’s right, I can’t stand Consumers Union (CU).  Through their Consumer Reports magazine, they judge products and decide what the American public should buy.  But, what if they are wrong, or worse, what if they have a bias against a particular product?  Who sits in judgment to determine whether CU was correct?  The answer is no one!  And, believe me, they do have biases.

That is exactly what happened when they killed the Suzuki Samurai.  All they needed to do was hold a press conference and declare that the Samurai “rolls over easily” and that then sparked the sale of their next Consumer Reports issue that declared the Samurai sport utility vehicle (SUV) was “not acceptable.” 

The product liability lawyers who financially support CU love such issues.  They immediately started suing Suzuki.  The news media, who never questions CU carried the CU/Samurai story and all of the evening news channels were showing the Samurai up on two wheels.  Sales for the Samurai dropped from 81,000 in 1987 to just 5,000 two years later.

The CU report came out in 1988.  And, believe me, no investigative reporter was digging into how the testing of the Samurai was conducted.  Eight years later, when Consumer Reports, in an anniversary issue, celebrated the demise of the Samurai, George Ball, General Counsel  for American Suzuki decided to sue CU for defamation and product disparagement.  George took over in 1993 when the company was being devastated by Samurai law suits.  All the expensive pretrial discovery was done and then the cases would be settled.  George told me, “Jack, we are being raped by the plaintiff attorneys and fondled by the defense attorneys.”

George decided to fight back.  He assembled a strong defense team which would take certain selected cases to trial.  I was fortunate to be part of the team providing advice on National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) issues.  Of the four Samurai  cases Suzuki took to trial, they won three of them.  Cale Yarbough, a NASCAR champion, testified that the Samurai had excellent stability.  In fact, he had one he used on his farm.  The plaintiff lawyers moved elsewhere.  It became too expensive and time consuming to sue Suzuki.

So in 1996, after suing CU and going through discovery, Suzuki finally found out how the Samurai was tested and how CU got it up on two wheels.  CU went into the testing convinced that the Samurai would fail.  Many of the CU VIPs came out to the track to watch the Samurai fail.  The problem was it didn’t.  It reminds me of the Northern aristocrats who brought their basket lunches out to watch the North rout the South at the
first Battle of Bull Run.

CU’s two professional drivers drove the little SUV through CU’s accident avoidance course (the same course they had used to test previous SUVs).  The Samurai preformed outstandingly!  All 37 test runs were successful.  The professional test drivers gave the Samurai high scores.  The CU leadership was frustrated and allegedly comments were made about the need to tip up the Samurai.  Then a non-professional executive for CU, David Pittle, got behind the wheel.  His first nine runs went smoothly.  Then, on his 10th run, Pittle took one turn too wide and in trying to get back on course, the Samurai tipped up on two wheels.  Later watching and listening to the video tape, it was easy to hear those present cheering.  Needless to say, that was the end of the testing for the day.

The CU staff then studied how Pittle (I pronounce it, Piddle) got the Samurai up on two wheels.  They saw where he made his mistakes.  Then, taking that information, they modified the obstacle course so as to insure the Samurai would fail.  I said they gamed the test.  George Ball said they rigged the test.  Whatever you call it, it was despicable.  Then with the “modified accident avoidance course,” they ran the Samurai to its preordained tip up.  It took a number of runs to tip it up, but they got it there.  And, that was what everyone saw on the evening news.

The Center for Auto Safety, which has obvious links with CU, petitioned NHTSA to have the Samurai declared defective.  NHTSA turned them down.  NHTSA also mentioned that CU’s so called “accident avoidance maneuver” test did not have a scientific basis (we subsequently learned that in spades) and could not be linked to real world crash avoidance needs, or actual crash data.

Now you know why I have no use for Consumers Union or Consumer Reports.  I think what they did was corrupt and no one would have ever known if Suzuki hadn’t sued.  How many other Samurai cases are out there that no one knows about?  How did the law suit come out?  It went on for years.  The trial judge kept dismissing the case and the Federal Appeals Court (in California, no less) would reverse and reinstate the case for trial.  It eventually settled.  I am not privy to the terms of the settlement.  If I were, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.

So because of my strong contempt for Consumers Union, life is more of a struggle.  I can’t use  Consumer Reports as a crutch when I need to buy a new toaster or ice cream maker.  I will probably survive.

I was playing golf the other day and my partner asked me, “Jack, now that you are retired, how are you occupying your time?”  It took me too long to respond.  I finally mentioned golf and my blog.  But, any of you who keep track of my blog know that I haven’t been spending a hell of a lot of time on it.  So, I decided to give some serious thought to this weighty issue.

I decided I feel pretty busy, but I know I’m not.  I’m just letting the meager tasks I have fill up my time.  Can you imagine how little pressure I feel?  It’s great!  Am I capable of doing more?  You bet.  But, deep down inside, I would resent having to shift gears.

I read a lot.  Once in a while, I read a worthy book, like Collin Powell’s “My American Journey”, or “1776” by David McCullough.  But, not very often.  I would rather read about Western heroes taking on incredible odds, like Louis L’Amour Sacketts, or Detectives like Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch catching the bad guys at great risk to life and limb.  Oh, and I want a happy ending – none of this Message in a Bottle crap where the hero dies in the end.  If I want heartache and sorrow, I’ll pick up the newspaper.  I read terribly slow, so reading is a commitment and my effort deserves a happy ending.

I study and play chess.  I have some great books on chess openings and even some kind of an on-line study program.  I am the proud owner of three computer chess games.  Each one is more sophisticated than the previously purchased one.  There lies the rub.  I hate to lose.  One chess computer I can beat almost all the time.  One I can beat about half the time, and my most sophisticated chess computer beats me like a rug (even at its lowest level).  It is also impossible to play head games with a computer.  But, it plays head games with me.  I take 3-5 minutes to make my move and bam!  It answers in two seconds.  Why couldn’t they have sent me one with a defective knight?

I am careful  about playing chess.  I think chess can be a sickness like drugs or alcohol and you can end up doing nothing but playing chess and dribbling out of the corner of your mouth.  Bobby Fischer is one of the basket cases I can cite.  So, I play intensely for a couple of weeks and then I step away (probably because I have lost two or three in a row).  I hate losing

Have you noticed a theme?  Never lose, happy endings.  It is something to strive for.  How about never getting sick?  That’s too much to ask for.

Being retired also provides us with the time we need to take care of our medical problems.  It takes me a certain amount of time just to organize my pills for the week.  Then, if I could just remember to take them.

The only special project I have taken on is fighting to keep 36 holes of golf at Fort Belvoir.  Some three-bags-full bureaucrat decided 27 holes were enough.  As you might know, the Army is going to position the Army Museum on the front nine of our Gunston course.  I devoted a number of hours to shooting down the Army’s first draft environmental assessment.  We are about due for the revised draft EA.  I’ll get another shot at this one, but I’ve already written about this before (The Army is Gobbling Up Golf Courses at Fort Belvoir), so I’ll pass on.

The bottom line is that if tomorrow someone asks me how I am occupying my time in retirement, I will probably pause too long in responding.  But, I won’t be concerned.  I’m having too much fun.

I seem to be dreaming more.  Maybe it is because I am sleeping more.  The retired life doesn’t require as many 0-dark-30 mornings.

My dreams are really stupid, but at least they aren’t scary anymore.  I think we have all had that dream where someone or something was after us AND we could not move.  You want to run, but you can’t.  Usually, when you wake up, you find that your legs are so tangled in the sheet that you can’t move.  On one occasion, I kicked off all my covers defending myself.  My bunk mate is still nimble enough to avoid my arms and legs when the war is on.

I think my favorite dream is when I can fly.  I just lean in a certain direction and up I go.  I don’t accomplish squat, but it’s pretty cool.  My dreams are so short and choppy that I can’t remember much about my flights.  Don’t know where or when.  I am always disappointed when I wake up and find myself grounded.

I spend a lot of time in my dreams losing things.  I can’t find my car or my golf clubs or suitcases.  I go back to where  they were and they’re not there.  On the way, I bump into old friends who are no help in finding my stuff.  I also spend a lot of time trying to find my room in hotels.  It’s like a Harry Potter movie where all the stairs shift.  For some reason I always think I know where I am going, but I never get there.  Hotel elevators take me strange places, but never to the floor where my room is supposed to be located.

The good news is that when things really go South, I tell myself, “this has got to be a dream.”  Yes, I do!  And, I wake up.  Isn’t that neat?  When your house is about to be consumed by flames and the fireman says, “You have to leave now.”  And, I say, “I think I’ll just wake up.

I don’t think I have ever had a dream worth evaluating.  There was the one where our President told us that under his health care program we would all live to be 150 years old and never be sick a day.  Maybe that is why it will cost less.

I’m trying to think if I was ever on a plane in one of my dreams.  I really don’t think so.  But, who needs a plane when you can fly?

For our 50th Wedding Anniversary, we were taking our kids and grandkids on an Alaskan cruise.  We had been planning the event for over a year.  Coaxing, encouraging and mildly threatening all to attend.  Talk about herding cats.  When children are grown and have their own families, interests and obligations spiral in many directions.  That’s why we started early, coaxing, prodding and even playing the guilt card.

Well, it worked, and with a couple of months to go, everyone had made their plans and had their passports.  Becky and Eddie and the two grown kids were driving from Prescott Valley, Arizona to Vancouver.  Paul and Sandy and their two kids were flying in two days early from Roanoke, Virginia, to see a little of Vancouver.  Missy and Terry and their two kids were flying in the day before the cruise from Jacksonville, Florida.  We were also flying in the day before from Springfield, Virginia.  It turned out that we were scheduled to be on the same plane with Missy and her family from Chicago to Vancouver.

One of the basic rules of flying is avoid Chicago during the summer.  Well, Carole and I eventually did.

Our United flight was to depart from Reagan National at 9:30 AM to Chicago.  Our philosophy is we would rather get to the airport early and wait, than have something go wrong.  Our neighbor, Jim Vancini, graciously gave us a ride to the airport.  We arrived at 7:15 AM and checked in.  We had used frequent flyer miles to upgrade.  We were informed at the counter that we were flying Ted, not United, to Chicago and there were no first class seats on Ted.  Our first class seats from Chicago to Vancouver had also disappeared.  Then the plane was delayed until 10:24 AM.  As we only had one hour to make our connection in Chicago, it looked like we would miss it.

I am usually an optimist  and I figured if our flight was late, maybe the flight to Vancouver would also be delayed.  Missy and family (minus one), who had arrived in Chicago, confirmed that the Vancouver flight had been pushed back.  Tyler, Missy’s son, had a last minute mandatory university obligation, which dropped him from the trip. 

After we were on board and in the queue to take off, the captain came on the intercom and told us they had “weather” in Chicago and we had been put on “hold.”  We sat for 30 minutes and then the captain came on again and advised that they had shut down the Chicago tower because of a possible tornado.  What a helpless feeling.  We couldn’t get back to our gate because it was occupied by another plane.  So, we sat.

A little before noon, we taxied back to the gate.  I had spoken to a flight attendant about our 50th wedding anniversary cruise and they were concerned.  One of them said they would talk to an agent about a flight from Dulles to Seattle which might help us.  When the plane got back to the gate, a very helpful manager hooked us up with an agent.  The Seattle flight had already departed.  BUT, Air Canada (an affiliate of United) had a flight to Toronto where we could connect to Vancouver.  While it took an hour and a half, the crew actually got our luggage off of the Chicago flight.  The flight to Toronto  departed at 5:45 PM, so, again, we had plenty of time.

We picked up our luggage, checked in with Air Canada, had a leisurely lunch and went back through security.  We were getting good at many of these tasks.  We could see the light at the end of the tunnel.   And, from then on, everything went relatively well.  In Toronto, we sat on the plane for over an hour waiting for connecting passengers and then the push-back vehicle wouldn’t work.  I had visions of something getting broken.  But by 9:30 PM, Carole and I were in the air, destination Vancouver.

Missy, Terry and Kristin had not been so fortunate.  Our last call from Missy told us that all flights out of Chicago had been canceled.  They had been booked on an early flight the next day to Denver with a connecting flight  to Vancouver.  The next morning when they got to the airport, they found out the Denver flight had been delayed so that they could not make the Denver to Vancouver flight.  Did I earlier mention helpless feelings.  It is a helpless feeling when you can’t get from here to there.

Terry went up and talked to a United agent about their plight and the next thing he was frantically waiving to Missy and Kristin.  It turned out that because of all the canceled flights the day before, United had put on an additional flight from Chicago direct to Vancouver!  They were seated in the first class section and away they went.  Of course, their luggage was still waiting for the Denver flight.  But, we all made the ship.  Missy’s last suitcase showed up two days later when we docked in Icy Straits, Alaska.

The anniversary cruise was everything we planned for and expected.  There were only two mandatory formations, the life boat drill and the family photo session.  That will be this years Christmas card – no not the life boat drill.

I’m trying to figure out what’s happening.  When I was on active duty, I used to write columns for the Post newspaper and even in the local town paper.  After I retired, I missed not being published.  So, here I am, a blogger.

If a blogger blogs and nobody reads it, does it make less noise than the unheard tree falling in the forest?  Deep huh?  Well, my webmeister is GoDaddy.Com.  They help me out by keeping statistics on how many hits I am getting (and even which articles are most popular).

I check the stats all the time and about four months ago, they changed their statistical format.  The new system is called “new statistics tool”.  But, they haven’t done away with the old system.  They now call the old system “classic statistics tool”.  Does that sound familiar?  I think that is exactly what Coke did.

The “classic” tool and the “new” tool never jibe.  Their techs have explained to me that “hits” and “views” are different.  OK, I guess it is better to get a view that a hit.  Before writing this, I decided to make it my quest to understand the difference.  Now, I understand more, but I am sorry that I do.  It appears that the “new statistics tool” does not include visits to my site “from web crawling bots.”  I had no idea that web crawling bots were looking at my blog site.  If I write something funny, will a web crawling bot laugh?  For that and other reasons, I am going to be more careful what I write.  I wonder if the web crawling bots are anything like the critters in The Matrix.

As I mentioned, I can keep track of how many hits I get each day and also, what blogs people are reading.  If you Google “green visor,” Ricequips comes up.  And, I have a lot of hits from people trying to find the elusive green visor.  Then, I published a poem about Wayne and Marie Alley.  You may not know who they are, but, I guess there are a lot of people who do.  I get a lot of hits on Wayne and Marie.  I suspect they come from real people.  I don’t think Wayne and Marie know any web crawling bots.

In February, 2008, I wrote a blog entitled “Bomb Threats at Washington Square.”  It’s filed under The Fox.  It tells about a maddening summer back in 1997, when crank bomb threats were called into our building.  We would evacuate for hours, three to four times a week.  I thought it was a cute story, but I’m not fair and impartial (like Fox News).  Well, here it is over a year later and all of a sudden, I’m getting over 50 hits each day.  What’s going on?  Are these people or critters?

I know with the search engines out there, titles are important (that’s why I worked so long and hard to get this one just right).  For example, if I mention in the title, “child seat safety,” there would be a large number of well-meaning consumer groups who would scrutinize every word.  Now, I mentioned “bomb threats.”  Are terrorists interested in that?  I doubt it.  What really scares me is that our Government may be interested in people writing about bomb threats.  That’s all I need.  “No, no, not the water board again!”

I’ll bet the answer is less sinister than I have conjured up.  I mentioned my old boss, Jerry Curry and how, at that time, he was running for President.  Maybe the Curry fans found the blog.  Then, there is also the possibility that I have finally been discovered by someone other that the web crawling bots.

For a limited time, you can still subscribe to Ricequips.com for FREE.  Just what this country needs in this time of economic strife.

It was 1974 and I was teaching at The Judge Advocate General’s School, which is located on the grounds of the University of Virginia in Charlottesville.  Students were no longer protesting the Vietnam War.  For all practical purposes, it was over.  So how were these students, many away from home for the first time, to expend their energy.  The answer was streaking.

Streaking became quite popular on campuses across the nation.  It didn’t matter whether there was an athletic event or the outdoor meeting of the Ladies Horticultural Society, some young dude, naked as a jaybird, would go streaking through the event.  One of our Basic Class Graduations was interrupted by a streaker (and it was indoors).  No one seemed to get too upset.

The levity of the situation caused me to sit down and write the following letter to the editor of the Daily Progress newspaper.  They published it under the title, “After Streaking, What?”

Dear Editor:

Rah, Rah, Raw for the streaking streakers of this wonderful country.  No one should really complain.  Youth has always had an overabundance of energy and it must be expended.  So why not streak?  Just keep in mind that three years ago, some were expending their energy making bombs and burning down ROTC buildings on campus.  Bless their streaking streaks.

However, I am concerned about the longevity of streaking.  While streaking is great for comfortable spring days, I fear that the heat of the summer will have a deterrent effect upon even the heartiest of streakers and that the sport will wane.  In short, streaking will soon be out of season.

I submit that those of us who advocate harmless frolic are compelled to bring forth an acceptable substitute.  After some careful thought, I believe that gargoyling is an acceptable substitute.  This practice would consist of the student climbing up on the outside of a university building in the nude and assuming a position on the facade as a gargoyle.  Our society has long accepted the appearance of weird looking gargoyles on buildings, so it would be inconsistent to object to gargoyling.

While university students have competed to see which could gather the largest group of streakers, gargoyling, too, can have its competitive aspects;  for example, most gargoyles on campus, or the highest gargoyle on campus, or the weirdest looking gargoyle.  The ultimate contest could be gargoyling for the longest period of time.  Any student  who could hold his pose for over four hours would definitely be a contender.  By then, he would surely be subjected to fatigue, the campus police and those nasty birds.

While I realize that gargoyling, like streaking, suffers from the malady of being seasonal, those of us who are organizing the Society for the Encouragement of Harmless Frolics are already concerning ourselves with the selection of a winter sport.

                                                                    Sincerely,

                                                                    P. J. Rice

The twelfth year of my life should have been a good one.  I was learning how to pitch.  My Dad, who caught professionally, was really excited about the way I was throwing the ball.  I was playing “B” League baseball (ages 10-13) in East St. Louis and no pitcher could be 13.  So, this was my year.  The sky was the limit.

Early in the summer, a bunch of kids were taking their bicycles out Bunkum Road and so, I raced home to get my bike.  On my way to catch them, a dog started chasing the bike.  I decided that if I just ignored the dog, I would be OK.  What a dumb idea.  The dog bit me on the calf.  It wasn’t a bad bite, but it broke the skin.  I went home and my Mom took me to the doctor’s office.  We waited all afternoon and when we saw the doctor, he gave me a tetanus shot and told us we needed to find the dog.   Well, we tried, but we never did.

The moral of the story is if you are ever bit by a dog, don’t loss sight of the mutt.  I was bit again while in Vietnam and my earlier experience paid off.  I found the owner of the dog and when the dog died (that was scary), I practically lived with the veterinarians until they let me know that the dog did not have rabies.

At age twelve, I had to take the rabies shots.  Doc Stein explained that they were given one a day for 14 days and they needed to be given in the lining of the stomach.  After each shot, I had to lay down for about 15 minutes.  I felt like I had been kicked by a horse.  Doc Stein was out of town for shots 13 and 14.  So, his father, the elder Doctor Stein gave me the shots.  He explained that there was no absolute requirement that they be given in the stomach.  He gave me shots in the buttocks and thigh that were both painless.  I just checked, and today the rabies vaccine consists of four shots and they are given in the arm, like a flu shot.  What a rip.

I had my last shot on Wednesday and started getting sick on Friday.  I was weak, miserable and throwing up.  Mom took me to see Doc Stein on Saturday and he gave me some cold medicine.  We finally got him to come to the house late Sunday afternoon (Yes, they really did make house calls).  I was rushed to the hospital.  My white blood cell count was out of sight.  I had an appendicitis.

When they operated Monday morning, it turned out my appendix had ruptured and gangrene had set in.  I found out later that Doc Stein could not complete the operation and that another doctor stepped in and saved me.  I was one sick puppy.  Thank goodness for penicillin.  Every four hours, I would get a penicillin shot in my bottom.  I got to where, during the night, I could roll over and get the shot without even waking up.  My bottom looked like a pin cushion.  They left a long drainage tube in me which required my bandages to be changed every day.  Every few days, they would pull out a little of my tube and cut it off.  Now there is a strange sensation.

I was in the hospital for about three weeks.  My pitching career was over.  About a month after I got out of the hospital and while still under Doc Stein’s care, it came out in the local newspaper that Doc Stein and his wife were both addicted to morphine.  This made a lot of things fall into place.  That’s why he couldn’t finish the operation.  That’s why he had to wait until his wife got home with the car to come see me that Sunday, when they had three cars.  I also remember his secretary telling me how fantastic he was with an hypodermic needle (lots of practice).  The only good news was that office visits took less time.  He was only permitted to care for patients already under his care.

In the fall, I went out for junior high football.  I made it through the three tough weeks of preseason ball, but when the doctor showed up for physicals, I knew I was in trouble.  The hole where the tube had been had healed, but not properly.  The doctor told me that he would not approve my physical, but if I could get my doctor’s approval, I could play.  I went to see Doc Stein and he cut the skin tissue over the hole and let it drain.  I remember him saying, “This shouldn’t hurt.”  Maybe he was referring to himself.  It hurt like hell.  I healed up fine, but my 8th grade football season was over.  What a helpless feeling.

No one will ever convince me that the rabies shots in the stomach weren’t the cause of my appendix going bad and rupturing.  I have never gotten a doctor to agree with me.  They can’t tell me what caused my appendicitis.  They would just blow me off.  But, these are the guys who used to put leeches on people.