That’s Sarah, on the right (with Jessie, about 5 years ago).  I’ve done a tribute to Jessie and EJ, so now it’s Sarah’s turn - my beautiful 23 year old, college graduate and mother of one (big boy, Lenny, 19 months old)!  Sarah’s mom, Debbie (another alumni, except that she defected to FSU!) and I remain good friends and have never argued or disagreed about anything.  That said, Debbie did most of the work, and Sarah didn’t get the same level of involvement from me in her early years as did my other two daughters).

Fortunately, for me, Sarah hasn’t held that against me (as far as I know).  Some of my best life experiences - those coming of age awareness issues, you might say - originated with Sarah.  The obvious one now is the whole grandparent concept, which I’m still coming to terms with.  Another stellar example was when Sarah started to become aware of herself, her development into a woman - trading in the glasses for contacts and getting those glamour shots.  Man, was that a wake-up call….. she suddenly emerged from her 14 year old cocoon to resembling a 22 year old - scary!  And I remember the child in her slowly vanishing, but never really leaving completely.

There are so many other “areas of enlightening” I could share, but I don’t want to embarrass Sarah, especially when it involves things like driving, sex, alcohol and fake IDs, not particularly in that order.  Rather, I want to thank her for all the great discoveries I’ve had as a result of her presence.  So instead, I’ll share a story that not even Sarah knows completely:  The origin of her name!          

That’s right, Sarah Jane was named after a Genesis song, absolutely a favorite of her mother’s.  And once she shared it with me, I became a huge Genesis fan.  And you all know how I am about music.  Here are the lyrics:

All by yourself

And now I’m standing on a corner
Waiting in the rain
But then in sunlight without warning
I invent a name,

Me and Sarah Jane
We had a special thing going
Me and Sarah Jane

It was a time of love and laughter
It wouldn’t come again
We had our round of joy but after
Then began the pain

Me and Sarah Jane
We had a special thing going
Me and Sarah Jane
Sarah Jane

Searching for a clue
Traces on the sand
First I’m flying, going round round round
Then I’m sliding going down down down
Doesn’t matter where I start I always end up
Crawling through those same old crowded rooms

Me and Sarah Jane
We had it coming
All the pain
Walking down the streets
And finding nothing is the same
And now the city lights are dimming, one by one
It costs too much money to keep them on

Me and Sarah Jane
In silence walk along the shore
Tears of joy and mocking laughter
Words lost in the wind
The tide was rising
But there we stayed
We had no fear of dying
We weren’t afraid

I always thought of “Me and Sarah Jane” as a happy song, though the words seem to lead you down another path, one of remembrance over something lost.  I rarely hear the song on the radio any more, but it never really received a whole lot of air play - that’s one of the reasons we liked it so much.  Every once and a while, I’ll pull out some of that early ’80’s stuff (i.e., IPOD) that informed so much of my being, and (of course) I always play this song.  Great memory, Sarah!  Here’s what I found in an old Rolling Stone article:

  

  

  

Wow, Iraq just got poured on for two straight days!  Wonderful change of pace.  And wonderfully muddy.  I’ve been coming to this country for 22 years, and I’ve never seen rain here before.  And with the downpour comes chaos…. vehicles adrift along the roads, walls and bridges collapsed, and strange animals appearing from who knows where. 

No one seems to have ever seen these little desert foxes before, especially during the daytime (not that I see much during the daytime, either), but they have come out in multitudes.  And they seem hungry - they walk right up to you, and nibble on your granola bar or banana.  I feel like I’m in some concrete children’s petting zoo.  

Just thought you all would like to know.  I don’t have much else right now.  Need sleep.  And another shower.  I’ve been traveling again, so I’m just getting settled back in here to “Mortaritaville”.  Wish I could say more, but you know how it goes (I suppose)…. the 3 of you who are reading this, that is!  I continue to be amazed by Fox, CNN, etc. (all those guys), and how quickly and readily they seem to get the “news” - and what’s true and what is not true.     

BTW, do any of you know where the word “news” comes from?  My grandmother used to tell me it was derived from “North, East, West and South” - sounds good, but I’m not so sure.  Here’s what Oxford says: “The original sense of news was ‘new things’; this is long obsolete.  Since the 15th century it has been used to mean ‘tidings, the report of recent events, new occurrences as a subject or report or talk.’  The adjective new goes back to Old English. “   Whatever, I’m going to bed!

If you purchased $1,000 in Delta Airlines stock one year ago, you would have $49.00 today.  And, if you purchased $1,000 of shares in AIG one year ago, you would have $33.00 today.  Now let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that you purchased $1,000 of shares in Lehman Brothers a year ago, well then you have $0 today, right?

But, if you had purchased $1,000 worth of beer one year ago, then drank all of the beer, and turned in the aluminum cans for a recycling refund, you would have received approximately $214.00.

Based on the above information, the best short-term investment plan is to drink heavily & recycle.  This is called the “401-Keg” plan.

BTW, a recent study found that the average American walks about 900 miles a year.  Another study found that Americans drink, on average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year.  This means that, on average, Americans get about 41 miles to the gallon.  Makes you kind of proud to be an American, eh?!

Contributed by Mason, BFFWRNTGL*, of course!

*BFF who really needs to get……

la deuxieme partie! 

Well, all of that came to a sudden halt when two of our helicopters crashed in the middle of a Sadr City COP (Combat OutPost) on October 4th.  Even that info is dated at this point, but at least I can post it now - it made the press (quickly) and the investigators have now left the theatre.  See the details of my story below (and the photos), but first:

Jesus, I am laughing my ass off!  I’m just now realizing that you all posted the photos on my site from the college reunion I missed (last weekend?)  Debbie Jo, I know you were the ringleader!  I’m glad “Flat Greg” made it to the event!  I AM NOT WORTHY (I’m on my knees, giving praise….oh wait, Flat Greg doesn’t have knees!).  For any of you who haven’t seen the photos, check out what a good time I had!!!

Anyway, here’s what you all missed on my end.  I still feel like a drug addict due to lack of sleep, which (BTW) is really not a bad sensation.  The last couple of weeks, though, were pure hell.  I had returned from AFG and PAK, only a few hours before our helicopters went down.  I got down to the site pretty quickly (via helo, then humvee), and we got the crews out the same night.  That was the easy part. 

Keep in mind, Sadr City is still a bit crazy, and these Army guys who “own” the place (commonly refered to as “the Battlespace owners”) have been there for more than 11 months.  They had to take this place by force last Spring - it’s no real prize - and they are still losing people at an unacceptable rate.  Imagine being in the worst f%$#ing slum where everyone in the neighborhood has a weapon and you stand out like a sore thumb (see photos of “Flat Greg”) - “that guy owes me money!” - in the middle of this open compound. 

So, “there I was, ya see”…..  I’m the only person who’s not really moving in “double-time”, and I keep seeing these little geisers of sand shoot up from the ground.  I realize these pricks are taking pot shots at us from neighboring rooftops.  Now these bastards know they’ve got us by the short hairs - we’ve got two downed helos laying in the pit, and the sun is coming up soon.  They’ve just been waiting for their chance to hit this block-size compound - not to mention that there are now dozens of pieces of rotor blade strewn out over a two block radius and one Iraqi is dead - these people are really pissed.   

The Army (about 115 of them) is holding them off while we (I say “we” only because I was there, when essentially “I” didn’t really do anything) are erecting this barricade around the helos and simultaneously attempting to dismantle the ECP (Entry Check Point) - a two day process - just so we can get a crane and 2 flatbeds in there to get the choppers out. 

These Army guys quickly became my heroes (of course, about 20 Marines would have worked just as well).  These guys had been at it here for a long time and, as soon I showed up, it was like, “these helos belong to THAT GUY” - I felt like I was on the wrong side for a few minutes.  But I quickly discovered that my battle was their battle. 

Three hard days and nights later, with their compound completely vulnerable, and they never once bitched or moaned, they just got the job done.  The guy in charge of the unit is 27.  The guy who got us out in the convoy while “bad guys” threw garbage cans at us and rolled dumpsters in our path is 23, and he led the charge out of Sadr City hell like a pro, never once hesitating to take appropriate action.  You could give him a medal, but he wouldn’t give a shit.  Amazing.

Then we had this 2 day convoy ride north, out in the open, with these slow-ass trucks on this shitty-ass road.  Am I using too many expletives?  And we had to set up a gunship overhead (Close Air Support) the whole way home because the broken helicopters were such a lucrative target.  Anyway, I was totally fried upon return.  I really am too old for this shit.  And I needed a shower real bad.  And I was tired of eating food from a box.  And, besides, I used all of my bullets.  Yet, my experience only lasted a week.  My Army brethren are still there.  Criminy, good thing I didn’t have to throw any jujitsu moves or any fancy shit like that! 

1.  IT’S HARD TO KISS THE LIPS AT NIGHT THAT CHEWED MY ASS OUT ALL DAY

2.  HOW CAN I MISS YOU, IF YOU WON’T GO AWAY?

3.  I LIKED YOU BETTER BEFORE I GOT TO KNOW YOU SO WELL

4.  I’M STILL MISSING YOU, BABY, BUT MY AIM’S GETTIN’ BETTER

5.  I WOULDN’T TAKE HER TO A DOG FIGHT, ‘CAUSE I’M AFRAID SHE’D WIN

6.  I’M SO MISERABLE WITHOUT YOU, IT’S LIKE YOU’RE STILL HERE

7.  IF I HAD SHOT YOU WHEN I WANTED TO, I’D BE OUT OF PRISON BY NOW

8.  MY WIFE RAN OFF WITH MY BEST FRIEND, AND I SURE DO MISS HIM

9.  SHE GOT THE RING, AND I GOT THE FINGER

10.  YOU’RE THE REASON OUR KIDS ARE SO UGLY

*Contributed by my BFF from High School, Tom “T-Bone” Feahr, the Fearless Wonder, who absolutely despises country music.

1.  Your house plants are alive, and you can’t smoke any of them.

2.  Having sex in a twin bed is out of the question.

3.  You keep more food than beer in the fridge.

4.  6:00am is when you get up, not when you go to bed.

5.  You hear  your favorite song in an elevator.

6.  You watch the Weather Channel.

7.  Your  friends marry and divorce instead of “hook up” and “break up.”

8.  You go from 130 days of vacation time to 14.

9.  Jeans and a sweater no longer qualify as “dressed up.”

10.  You’re the one calling the police because those #@! kids next door won’t turn down the stereo.

11.  Older relatives feel comfortable telling sex jokes around you.

12.  You don’t know what time Taco Bell closes anymore.

13.  Your car insurance goes down and your car payments go up.

14.  You feed your dog Science Diet instead of McDonald’s leftovers.

15.  Sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt.

16.  You take naps.

17.  Dinner and a movie is the whole date instead of the beginning of one.

18.  Eating a basket of chicken wings at 3:00am would severely upset, rather than settle, your stomach.

19.  You go to the drug store for ibuprofen and antacid, not condoms and pregnancy tests.

20.  A $4.00 bottle of wine is no longer “pretty good shit.”

21.  You  actually eat breakfast food at breakfast time.

22.  ”I just can’t drink the way I used to” replaces, ”I’m never going to drink that much again.”

23.  90% of the time you spend in front of a computer is for real work.

24.  You drink at home to save money before going to a bar.

25.  When you find out your friend is pregnant you congratulate them instead of asking “Oh shit, what the hell happened?”

Bonus:  You read this entire list looking desperately for one sign that doesn’t apply to you and can’t find one to save your sorry @$$!

*Generously contributed by my wonderful ex-wife, Elizabeth, who love to send me “old guy” shit!

For those who don’t know much about history, here is a condensed version.

The two most important events in all of history were:

                  

                  

1. Liberals
2. Conservatives

Once beer was discovered, it required grain and, hence, the beginning of agriculture emerged.  Neither the glass bottle nor aluminum can was around yet, so while early humans were sitting around waiting for them to be invented, they just stayed close to the brewery.  That’s how villages were formed.

Some men spent their days tracking and killing animals to barbeque at night while they were drinking beer.  This was the beginning of what is known as the Conservative movement.

Other men, weaker and less skilled at hunting, learned to live off the conservatives by showing up for the nightly barbeques and doing the sewing, fetching and hairdressing.  This was the beginning of the Liberal movement.

Some of these liberal men eventually evolved into women.  The rest became known as girlie-men.  Some noteworthy liberal achievements include the domestication of cats, the invention of group therapy and the concept of Democratic voting to decide how to divide the meat and beer that conservatives provided.

Over the years Conservatives came to be symbolized by the largest, most powerful land animal on earth, the elephant.  And, of course, Liberals are symbolized by the jackass.

Here ends today’s lesson in world history.  It should be noted that a Liberal may have a momentary urge to angrily respond to the above.  A Conservative will simply laugh and be so convinced of the absolute truth of this history that it will be forwarded immediately to other true believers and to more liberals just to tick them off.

*Contributed by my sportsman friend from Michigan, Dan Winkle, who’s son, Alex, is the best damn fishing trip chef we ever had!

So, where was I?  OK, hold your horses - I’ll get to the bat story.  First, back to that glorious old centennial farm on Moscow Road.  You have to imagine my old man getting us all primed for that great salt-of-the-earth, DITY adventure!  He’d been telling us stories from these Foxfire books for months - the hunting, the camping, the sportsman/boy scout lifestyle - when you’re 13, that shit is exciting. 

I mean, it was all just a pipe dream, we thought, until the day we actually pulled up at that old farm and started moving in.  We couldn’t wait to go exploring, both inside and out - man, this sure beat that old weed lot next to the freeway in Detroit!  And, I finally had my own room!  (Hell, we all did - the place was big.)  The first few weeks went by pretty quick.  It was early Summer, no school; we were finding our way around, buying animals, hitting the feed store, planting crops….. roughing it. 

Of course, we quickly learned that there was a lot of work to do.  But my old man even had that figured out, combining true socialism and capitalism into the perfect kid friendly package.  He developed a chart, with all the daily and weekly chores listed.  And each chore, at least a hundred various tasks each week, had an associated “allowance” (we later learned these were actually “credits” that we could “redeem” for other shit….. like a new pair of jeans, etc.).  You can just imagine the little dollar signs flashing before our adolescent, entrepreneurial minds.  

Every Saturday morning, like clockwork, we would rotate around the table, picking jobs until every one of them was taken.  And if you missed the “family meeting”, you were shit-out-of-luck; you got whatever was left.  Shoveling “insert choice” (horse, cow, pig, sheep, chicken, turkey) shit was no fun, even if it paid a whole buck a week.  Being the oldest, I always got to start the selection process first.  

The first chore I picked every week was testing the electric fence, a quick and easy buck, and another chance to demonstrate my rebellion to the old man.  This chore proved to be even easier if I had one of my younger brothers with me.  I’d grab their hand just as I touched the fence - they got most of the jolt, I got the dollar. 

Alas, when you’ve got some sort of mundane task like this to do every morning, you tend to get creative.  What if I touch it with both hands at the same time?  What if I just grab hold of it tight in my hand?  What if I hold the dog’s tail?  Once - and only once - I figured I could kill two birds with one stone by taking a quick squirt on the wire.  For about a week after that, I thought my little pecker was going to fall off it was so numb.  Oh, the things we learn the hard way, especially in those early teenage years.

Anyways, by the time the school year rolled around, we had the chores down to a science.  Except that now we had to get up at 4:00am to do some of them.  Breaking up the ice on a horse trough at 4:00am in January or February was no fun.  But, getting that electric fence test out of the way first seemed to make everything else go faster.   Man, we busted our asses before AND after school; harvesting, baling, feeding, shoveling.  But there was a lot of fun, too - horsebackriding, hunting, building killer hay bale forts in the barn, among the stray cats and occasional rats - you know, farm boy antics.

And we always had this odd, hippie sort of element in our midst, usually involving an array of relatives.  It was all very communal.  My dad’s twin brother, Bob (”Uncle Bobino”), was the most regular live-in.  He hadn’t been quite right since he got out of the military.  In fact, I’m not sure he was ever really right.  My grandparents used joke that he was born a few minutes after my dad, and that he had suffered from oxygen deprivation.  He never really looked much like my dad, and he had that thing where his eyes went in different directions, so it seemed quite plausible.

So we had this big walk-in attic, about the size of a barn loft, all unfinished with rafters across the top.  At the far end was a bell tower with a great old metal bell that we used to round everyone up for chow.  And there was a good size opening to the outside that more or less provided an easy entry point into the house and all the way down the back stairs to the pantry.  Every once in a while a bat would find it’s way in there.  As kids, we would dare each other to go in there, flashlight in hand, and try to make it out the other side, bats flying around in the dark. 

But my mom had this thing about snakes and rodents and the like.  One time, she was out hanging clothes on the line, with my baby brother, Nate, rolling around on the grass nearby.  Then she heard this hissing sound near my brother and frantically let loose, picking up a shovel and just swinging it every which way as she snagged clean clothes off the line.  I can just imagine this short, Lebanese woman slicing the air with her weapon of choice as she hysterically screamed for help. 

When we got home from school hours later, she was in the house, still crying, with all the doors locked.  She wouldn’t open the door, either, until she was sure the snake was gone.  Fortunately for us, that proved easy to demonstrate, when we found 6 or 7 pieces of the chopped up snake in the yard by the clothes line.  By dinner time, my pops was making a soup with the meat.

Anyway, you can just guess what my mom would have been like with a bat.  And that attic was right above the kitchen.  So she heard this flapping and rustling sound up there, and she sent my Uncle Bob on a mission.  Suddenly, his big chance to outshine my old man.  My mom was preparing dinner, so Bobino was well lubricated by that time, all full of vim and vigor.  He bolted up the back stairs, tennis racket in one hand and a roll of duct tape in the other.  (I’ve discovered over the years that most of the world’s mechanical problems can be solved with duct tape.) 

It was good hour later when he finally came bounding down the stairs like a great white hunter returning from safari.  He emerged, all dusty and speckled white, carrying this big, old wooden picture frame over his head, with the bat stretched wide across the length of it, mounted atop a canvas of duct tape, the entire display spray-painted white for adherence, I suppose, or effect.  

Bobino never missed an opportunity to impress my mother - he definitely had a thing for her - and he had the greatest laugh; it was jovial and devious all at once.  My mother swatted at him with a broom, yelling, “Get the damn thing out of this house!”  And dinner was on, just like that.

I discovered sometime later that my Uncle Bob had taken over one of the old buildings out by the barn.  He had some old furniture out there, an icebox, etc, and he had set up a little museum of sorts, exhibiting all of his obscure trophies.  The “batwing” was, of course one of his favorites, and he would often retell the story about the time he landed the vicious vampire bat. like it was anybody else’s fish story.

When he got to the part in the story where most people would use there hands to say, ”It was this big,” he’d reach under his shorts and - I gotta tell this part, ’cause it’s true, and some of you already know where this is going -  he’d grab his scrotum sack and stretch in out in the shape of a batwing, veins showing through and all, and then he would just let loose with that big-hearted raspy laugh of his.  As a kid, it was a kick to see the surprise on a newcomer’s face when Uncle Bob pulled out the batwing.  I guess you had to be there.  I don’t know, we just figured everybody had an uncle like that.  I had 3 of them. 

Do you want more of this?  ’Cause until I run across another “guest contribution” or get someway or another inspired to write something else, I’m gonna keep rolling with the family heritage stuff.  BTW, I’m out in the field for 3 or 4 days or more at a shot, with just a laptop, and my weapons and shit.  l try to stay about a week ahead and preset the stories to publish on specific dates.  There’s lots more to come….. I’m only up to about 1973!