TSA & Backscatter XRay

Think about it for a moment. A radiologist must undergo years of training, certification, constant professional continuing education, and renew their license to operate the machinery on a yearly basis.

Before they became part of the Great American Theater Troop that masquerades as nationwide airport security, the most often heard phrase from TSA screeners was "You want fries with that?" These are the folks running the backscatter XRay machines. 50,000 slovenly, uneducated, feckless, untrained minions whose collective IQ struggles to rise above single digits.

One need only look at the failure rate Upwards of 70% of TSA screeners when it comes to simply looking at scanned bags, to be concerned with their ability to not only operate, but interpret backscatter images. One security "expert" claims that "it's simply human error." Really? Human error? 70%? Sorry, human error is 10% or less. Seventy percent is incompetence on a massive scale. TSA's new director even admitted "Every test gun, bomb part or knife got past screeners at some airports" during random, covert testing.

Yet, the government wants Americans to stand idly by and let these gommies repeatedly zap us as we stand, arms in the air? Sadly, thousands of traveling sheeples will do so, wholeheartedly believing they are being protected and kept safe.

No thanks...If my choice is to have some untrained former fry daddy relentlessly radiate me or one of his spado buddies play with my junk; I choose the latter.

Try It - You'll Like It

Jones Sausage & BBQ House. 2827 Martin Luther King Drive, San Antonio, TX. Tuesday-Saturday 1100-1900.

A small, little red cinder block joint that served up the most fantastic sausage and ribs I've ever eaten. If you find yourself in the area, don't let the looks or the location fool you. These folks know and do serious Que!

As the sign on the outside of the bldg says..."If it's sausage you want, the name to remember is Jones."

The Great Winchester Street Tree Massacre

Dominion Virginia Power came through the neighborhood last week to conduct their once every 3-5 year tree massacre. Dominion is allowed, by right, to trim back trees that pose a threat to their overhead power lines. I have no issue with keeping trees trimmed in a manner that keeps uninterrupted electricity, phone and cable to the house.

What I find offensive is Dominion's careless and blatant mutilation. In the course of a couple of hours, the teams came through and hacked the living crap out of a number of trees; leaving us with the offensive and monstrous "V" shape on the interior. You know what I'm talking about. You have the main trunk of the tree and a couple of large limbs to either side, forming a deep, wide "V" where the lines pass through. There appears to be no care, logical or rational approach to the "pruning" by Dominion. Pruning...Sure, whatever you say Dominion. Come in, hack, expurgate, mutilate and destroy any aesthetically pleasing design to the tree and label it pruning.

I fired off an email to both the City and Dominion indicating my displeasure. I asked that someone come out and survey the work to see if it was done properly. The City sent their arborist and the "pruning" was given a thumbs up. It appears that not only do I have to endure the insult that the trees were properly pruned, I also have no choice but to accept the resulting visual disfigurement.

Why do they do this? It's simple really. Not only does Dominion not give a damn they don't want to be bothered with the trees in the neighborhood for another 5 years. It's all about profits. Why come through every couple of years and properly trim the trees and leave something beautiful to look at, when you can save a few bucks, cut up, deface and mangle them in one fell swoop and not have to worry about it for half a decade?

Dominion gets to beat their chests and exclaim they are doing their part to keep everyone on the grid, while residents are left with these mangled and bastardized eyesores of nature, courtesy of the planets most dangerous animal, the human biped.

In five years I think I'll just ask them to cut the damn thing down and put both the tree and myself out of our misery.

235 YEARS

To each and every one of the Marines I call friends, acquaintances and brothers....Happy Birthday! 235 Years today.

Semper Fi wishes from the US Coast Guard!

TOTAL EYE - Grand Opening

Total Eye, Family & Medical Eye Care held its Grand Opening on Saturday, 06 November. Located in Culpeper, Virginia, Doctors Brad Church, Myron Wasiuta and Sandra Grossett are dedicated to their mantra; "A personalized approach to vision correction" something rarely found in medical practices these days. Be it general eye care, low vision specialties, emergency eye care or nutrition, their patients are first and foremost. The doctors and staff take the time to ensure the best in eye care for everyone who walks through their door.

A good time was had by all. Two moon bounces were provided by the folks at Here Comes Fun for the kids; popcorn, food, a raffle, door prizes and other goodies as well as free vision screenings for the community. Local chamber of commerce members were in attendance as was WJMA 103.1, the local radio station.

An official ribbon cutting ceremony was held to close out the days activities. Check out pictures from the event.

Total Eye of Culpeper (540)-825-8220). My personal and I readily admit, blatantly biased opinion; you won't find a more dedicated group of doctors and staff for all of your eye care needs in the Culpeper and Fredericksburg regions.

Restore Sanity/Keep Fear Alive

This past Halloween weekend, the Rally To Restore Sanity/Rally To Keep Fear Alive was held in Washington, D.C.

Unable to attend, I nonetheless, greatly appreciate the fact that EVERYONE at this event, at least knows how to spell.

Rally Signs

Halloween

My favorite holiday (well not a holiday really) of the year. I love carving pumpkins. The stranger the better.

Three or so years ago, I came across Extreme Pumpkins. A strange, macabre and generally warped site devoted to carving pumpkins in an entirely new way. I was mesmerized. Here were the pumpkins that I dreamed of, but my imagination somehow couldn't bring to life.

In these intervening three years, I've carved many pumpkins I've found from the site. Kids and parents alike stopping by for tricks or treats comment on them all.

Here's to the folks at Extreme Pumpkins and all of their contributors; who submit their gourd creations for consideration in the yearly contest. Until such time that my own warped imagination can come up with a suitable masterpiece of its own, I'll continue to borrow your ideas and give credit where credit is due.

Carve on!

2010 Halloween Pumpkins

Consideration (or Lack Of)

While down in the Outer Banks recently, we headed north towards Duck for a bit of lunch and wandering. We saw the signs notifying us there was road construction ahead. No information on what type of road work, just road work. As we approached, I saw the above sign. It was planted right where the pavement ended and the gravel began. There was no warning for motorcyclists (or anyone for that matter with less than four wheels on the ground) prior to this sign, that upon leaving the pavement, you would be greeted with 3+ inches deep gravel.

As it was, when the front tires of the car met the gravel, they dug in. Had I been on my 1200GSA, there is a possibility that I'd have lost the front end of the big BMW as it met the gravel and been the recipient of what I affectionately refer to as "an unplanned get off."

This road work is yet another example of just how clueless, unthinking or simply inconsiderate most State Department of Transportation entities are. When they think roadwork, they think "Oh this won't be a problem for anyone on four or more wheels." They never give consideration to the affects their work will have on that small segment of the population that doesn't travel in a cage.

I've sent off a strong, but polite email to the North Carolina Department of Transportation, asking that they post additional signs, approximately 1/2 mile in both directions from where the pavement turns to gravel, giving motorcyclists ample warning of the impending danger which lies ahead.

I don't hold out a lot of hope that it will garner any response.

UPDATED 11/01/10 - A reply from NCDOT says they will endeavor to take two wheeled vehicles into consideration when conducting future operations.

Fear Mongering (aka National Security)

The card has been played.

Not surprisingly, by none other than Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf himself; the genius behind the Cordoba Initiative.

The initiative is a plan to build an Islamic Cultural Center and Mosque two blocks from the September 11, 2001 Ground Zero site. This has, not surprisingly, created a firestorm of protest here in the United States.

The Cordoba Initiative has a number of goals, one of which is the professed "Improvement of Muslim-West Relations." I prefer to call it like it is - "The Improvement of Muslim Domination Over The West." First, the initiative is designed to establish a monument, commemorating the victory over America on September 11th. Make no mistake, Muslims saw the attacks on the World Trade Center towers, their subsequent collapse and the death of thousands of Americans as just that, a victory over the Great Satan. I personally will never forget the worldwide images of Muslims cheering and dancing in the streets as the towers crumbled. That is the face of mainstream Islam. The argument that persons of all religious denominations, including those of the Islamic faith, died that day, means little to me. Fellow Muslims were merely collateral damage; having died for a twisted cause. One need only look at the sectarian violence that exists in Iraq and other countries where Islam is the dominate religion, to realize that Muslims have no regrets about killing one another.

Second, eating our own. The initiative has polarized Americans, turned us against one another, tearing at each others throats; and I can hear Islamic universal laughter as it echos around the globe. With the freedoms afforded us by the Constitution and Bill of Rights (abhorrent concepts in Islam), what better way to further their agenda than our own infighting. They don't have to lift a finger. We're doing it all for them.

Rauf claims that if he'd known the protests would happen, he wouldn't have proposed the project. In his next breath however, he now claims that if the Center is moved, it will endanger national security. How so? According to Rauf "That would embolden radicals of all faiths and create security risks for the United States and Americans abroad."

I'm going to throw down the BULLSHIT CARD and state unequivocally that Rauf and his followers knew all along there would be protests and this is exactly what they want; they are the perfect devils advocate. Masquerade the attack on the chosen location for the Cultural Center, as an attack on the basic tenet of "Freedom of Religion," sit back and enjoy. However, and unfortunately for Rauf, there are those of us who aren't so easily fooled. With more than one hundred mosques already in New York, we know this has nothing to do with the right to practice their religion.

I will also state that this has absolutely nothing to do with National Security or the safety of Americans abroad. Rauf's claim that "Terrorism will end only when the West acknowledges the harm it has done to Muslims," is laughably specious. Anyone with two active brain cells to rub together is fully cognizant that there is NOTHING Americans can do to reduce the risk to themselves abroad. It's a way of life in today's world and it matters not one iota whether you are an aid worker, volunteer, missionary, or military; Americans are in the cross hairs of Wahabbists world wide, who have have shown they have no compunction in killing us.

Rauf says his "life has been devoted to peacekeeping." This sham is perfectly acceptable to the Islamic faith. Known as Tikiyya, it allows Muslims to deceive non-Muslims, if it helps and promotes Islam and Rauf is a master. Who, but a master of deception, could get the U.S. Government to fund a two month "goodwill" tour throughout the Middle East?

Not all of us have fallen into this trap. We see Islam for what it really is; a violent, intolerant, control every aspect of your life religion, whose end goal is total domination and subjugation of every human being on the planet.

Some will label me an Islamophobe. Label away. Having lived and worked in various countries where Islam is the dominate religion for more than five years, I have seen it first hand. When an "infidel" inadvertently lets a copy of the Qur'an fall to the floor and "peaceful" Muslims become incensed and demand the sacrilegious act be avenged by putting him to death, there's reason for concern. When caricatures of Mohammad and books criticizing Islam result in fatwas calling on all "good Muslims" to kill or help kill the offending person, there's reason to be phobic, very phobic.

Like all religions, there is a place for Islam in this country. Unlike all other religions, only Islam requires constant vigilance in order to ensure the continued and unwavering protection and defense of the freedoms and liberties we so cherish and Islam would so quickly destroy.

VRTP - A Dictator Rules

In 1997 I became Motorcycle Safety Foundation (MSF) certified Instructor. As a lifelong motorcyclist, this was my opportunity to give back to something I love. Teaching others the practical and responsible intricacies of safe riding. Any moron on two wheels can ride fast in a straight line. It takes talent to corner and brake.

Over the intervening thirteen years, by my count, I taught over 1200 people to ride. Be they pure novices who'd never been on a motorcycle or experienced riders coming in to polish/work on their skills, I've reveled and taken great satisfaction in watching them progress, improve and succeed.

While certified nationally by MSF as an instructor, in Virginia, we answer to the DMV's Virginia Rider Training Program (VRTP). Recently, we received notification on new requirements required to maintain our teaching certification in the Commonwealth. As Instructors we must teach a minimum of 4 Basic Rider Courses per year and attend 2 Professional Development Workshops. In the event that we fail to achieve these standards, in order to reacquire our certification to teach, we must attend a two day re-certification course and receive a Level 1 & level 2 Quality Assurance Report.

I have no issue with the annual 4 BRC/2 PDW requirements. What I take issue with is the way they were presented, the lack of adequate communication coming from VRTP and the absolutely ludicrous re-certification process one has to go through. Despite statements from VRTP that they've been talking about the new requirements since 2008, the recent announcement caught quite a few people, myself included, off guard. This was the first we'd heard of it. In my opinion, VRTP failed miserably in getting the word out.

Being one who wholeheartedly believes in accountability and transparency; I had the temerity to question VRTP. Where did the program get the authority to change the minimum standards required by the national certifying authority (MSF)? Produce the documents, laws and mandates. My response generated a rather lively discussion, with a number of instructors echoing my request for accountability, authority and transparency; while other instructors took me to task for doing so.

In response, VRTP showed its true colors, taking exception at being questioned by a mere Instructor. Suffering from what I refer to as the "Napoleon Syndrome," not only did VRTP completely ignore the many requests for accountability and suggestions on how to improve VRTP communication with its Instructors, they went directly into dictator mode. QUOTE "If you intend to continue to teach as a certified Rider Coach in the State of Virginia at a licensed training site, you will comply with the current standards and policies and procedures as dictated by the VRTP." UNQUOTE

Comply?! Dictate?! I readily admit, I despise dictators. They are lugubrious, plaintive, crocodilian, Punchinello's with an overinflated sense of superiority and self worth. VRTP fits the bill perfectly; believing they are affording us the privilege to teach in Virginia. QUOTE "From this point forward, let there be no misunderstanding: privilegeprivilege
privilegeprivilegeprivilegeprivilegeprivilegeprivilegeprivilege" UNQUOTE.

VRTP is under some delusional belief that it makes the safety program what it is. Nothing could be further from the truth. Motorcycle Safety Education in the Commonwealth is successful due to the efforts and dedication of the 300+ MSF certified instructors, not because of the VRTP. The VRTP is nothing more than a necessary evil, who's existence should be to serve as the focal point for Motorcycle Safety in Virginia, lead the program and be accountable to those both above and below them. VRTP has failed in all respects. With its "complying" and "dictating" stance, the VRTP believes they are above accountability and has, in my view, clearly demonstrated a distinct lack of even the barest semblance of leadership ability.

After calling the program out one last time for its lack of adequate communication to the Instructors, falsehoods and overall BS, I decided I could no longer be a part of Motorcycle Safety in the Commonwealth. I find it too personally repugnant and abhorrent; having to answer to any persons or organization that holds such contempt, disrespect and disdain for myself and my fellow instructors.

I remain passionate about Motorcycle Safety and will miss teaching. What I lament most however is the immense, personal satisfaction of watching my students progress from the basic, through the more advanced, to successful completion of the course and the ultimate celebration of their achievements.

Vivere est Cogitare

SEMPER PARATUS!

Happy Birthday to my beloved United States Coast Guard! 220 years old today.






-RM2 Scott W. "Squeaky" Olsen
-1975-1979
-USCGC CHEROKEE
-USCGC STEADFAST
-USCOGARDGRP ST. PETE

Myopia

The main thoroughfare of downtown Fredericksburg, Caroline Street, is a pleasant area filled with an assortment of interesting local businesses, restaurants, antique stores and dozens of junk shops masquerading as antique stores. The numerous side streets house additional stores, eateries and the like.

While pleasant, the main six block stretch of Caroline, from Lafayette Boulevard to Amelia Street is, a two lane, sometimes traffic clogged downtown street with parking available on both sides and sidewalks one could stroll down, once upon a time. Years earlier, when the fad of "outdoor, bistro" type seating became the rage, many of the restaurants jumped onto the bandwagon, setting up tables to accommodate those clientele; encroaching into the sidewalks, rendering them, for the most part, rather useless to walk along.

Efforts over the years to do away with or change parking along Caroline Street have been met with the wailing and beating of chests by local DRMA (Downtown Retail Merchants Association) who claim that closing the street would, in essence, take food out of their families mouths and most assuredly drive them out of business. Claims that are both sensationalistic and specious at best. The DRMA is, in my opinion, narrow minded and myopic; unable to fathom the big picture and advantages of turning Caroline street into a large pedestrian mall. It doesn't take a lot of imagination or foresight to envision the ease in which this can be accomplished and its ultimate success.

First: The simple task of changing the traffic flow on Sofia Street to One Way towards the Chatham Bridge, coupled with the already One Way traffic flow on Princess Anne Street, towards Lafayette would easily route traffic in one large loop around the area.

Second: Closing off George, Hanover, Charlotte, William and Wolfe Streets, one block North and South of Caroline would keep vehicles from mistakenly making turns and having to back out. It would also add additional pedestrian walking area to augment the Caroline St. zone.

Third: The city built a three story parking garage a number of years ago. Although in the heart of downtown, it is sorely under utilized. The garage would provide more than ample parking to compensate for the loss of spaces along Caroline St.

Fourth (and possibly most importantly), blocking off the six block area, bricking it over (or better yet, exposing the cobblestones beneath the asphalt), putting in benches and the occasional fountain would allow individuals, couples and families to safely stroll, sit, stand and socialize along its tree lined streets without fear of being run over by vehicles or having their senses assaulted by the straight pipe and thumping stereo crowd.

All of this would most certainly bring in more visitors and residents to the downtown area. More people means more business. The idea that some national chains might also open stores downtown is not far fetched. It's been known to happen in other towns. More/new businesses means more revenue for both the merchants and the city.

Sadly, many of the businesses are family owned and have been that way for generations. They are stuck in a 1960's mindset. They shout that Caroline St has ALWAYS been the main thoroughfare through the downtown shopping area! They've ALWAYS had parking outside their establishments! How can you even THINK of proposing this terrible idea? With these folks at the helm of the DRMA, new ideas are often times met with contempt. The "We've never done it that way and we're not gonna start now" mindset rules the roost.

Of course, these same merchants also loudly complain the city isn't doing enough to promote them. I say the merchants do little to promote themselves. Most are closed up tight before 6 PM every night because they don't want to be inconvenienced. They graciously offer one whole weekend where they are open late for the holiday shoppers. WOW! One weekend a year!! "Shop when we want to be in our stores, not when it's convenient for you, the consumer!" What a smart approach to marketing your business!

Fredericksburg has a cornucopia of history. Between the Revolutionary and Civil Wars, George Washington's boyhood home right across the river, the city has much to offer visitors, history buffs and residents alike. It could offer so much more, be more successful, more profitable and more welcoming, if not for the shortsightedness of those merchants so opposed to change.

The Village vs Central Park

Recently, Spotsylvania Mall has undergone a face lift. It has slowly transformed into the Spotsylvania Towne Center. Behind the new town center is an area known as The Village. A superb assortment of new eateries, upper scale shops and an entertainment complex that is very tastefully and logically done. The village allows customers to park either within or just outside of its confines and casually stroll the area. There are sidewalks. There are bricked over traffic circles. The Village is a smaller version of Reston Town Center in Northern Virginia. The key here is that customers can WALK from business to business.

Contrast this with the abomination directly across RT 3 known as Central Park. Hundreds of stores amassed on acres of concrete and asphalt that was once home to the Shannon Golf Course. Construction of this 310 acre nightmare was begun in 1995 by the Silvers Company. Initial plans presented to residents and city government indicated a similarity to Reston Town Center. Pleasant and walkable. Due to the "economy" those plans were shelved, never to be seen again.

Nowhere in Central Park is it safe for customers to simply park their vehicle, walk and shop. To do so is to, put it mildly, take ones life into their hands. Try simply crossing any road and you're fair game for every idiot with a vehicle. There is nothing pleasant, enjoyable, appealing or customer friendly about this mecca monstrosity of the retail world. One goes there to shop or eat and then gets the hell out as quickly as possible.

The developers had the grand idea of creating "Uptown" Central Park. A more exclusive section of asphalt mimicking the art deco era of the 30's with neon lighted buildings designed to draw the crowds in a hopeless attempt to "polish the turd" as we say. Two words...abject failure.

The next grand idea to spew forth was the Silvers magnanimously offering Central Park to the City as a new "venue" to celebrate the annual 4th of July fireworks show. Let's see, you take thousands of people, thousands of vehicles, disperse them across 310 acres of asphalt and concrete that have been baking in the Virginia summer sun for 12 hours and tell them to "enjoy the show." Smart!

The Village is an idea whose time has come and arrived. While for years, I avoided Spotsylvania Mall like the plague due to its crappy stores, having visited the reinvented Towne Center and The Village numerous times in the past few months, I find myself doing more shopping, dining and spending dollars there. My hope is that The Village will ultimately be a resounding success. They appear to have learned from the Central Park approach to retail, on what not to do.

The Meaning

Always on the lookout for the strange, abnormal or the just plain weird, every now and again I am rewarded with one of those moments that I am able to capture with a picture.



While walking around Fredericksburg yesterday evening, I came across this house on Lafayette Blvd. I stopped, looked and pondered the meaning of that before me.

Let's see, we have a Driving School, a Podiatrist and The Union Branch of the True Vine. What did it all mean? Ok...I wasn't driving and I don't have any outstanding tickets or warrants out for my arrest relating to motor vehicles. Scratch that off the list. I was however walking. Did I need a Podiatrist? My feet didn't think so, but one never knows. What was this UBTV? Some type of church? As a non believer, I was after all on my evening walk. Was God, in an ever so subtle manner, trying to tell me that not only did he exist, but also that my feet would soon be in need of attention? Kill two birds with one stone type thing? Have my feet looked at and find belief in God! What could be more convenient?

My mind reeled. Yet I somehow couldn't get my head around some imaginary, man contrived deity sending me, of all people, signs. I stared at the house and gave additional thought to the Union Branch of the True Vine.

Maybe the UBTV was a new vintner in town proclaiming their grapes to be some unique hybrid, divined (pun intended) from the mating of two or more different varietals which came together at a Branch. Forming the one and only "True Vine" of grapes, resulting in an extremely rare and exquisite vintage, reserved for the Gods and unattainable by mere mortals. I could almost picture some carny hawker standing there screeching to passersby "Step right up ladies and gentlemen. See and witness the True Vine of the grape! All others are blasphemous and the work of Satan! Hurry! Hurry! Accept no substitutions! Pray to no false grapes! Only one thin dime! Step right this way!"

As I stood and pondered, traffic along the street slowly slipped by, paying me no mind. I pulled out the Kodak and snapped the picture. Drawn though I was, I could not stand there all night. I was due home to cook dinner. Still, I stood, rooted. I polled the other seven voices in my head; "What did it all mean?" Strangely, they were silent. What good are you guys if you aren't around when I need you?, I asked. Continued silence. BAH!

I turned my back on this mysterious residence, crossed the street and continued on my way. One foot in front of the other (still no issues), I wandered down Sunken Road and eventually found my way home.

As I lay in bed last evening, waiting for sleep to overtake, it finally hit me! The answer I was looking for!! This residence I'd snapped a picture of, on which I pondered for many moments, was simply an old house which had become home to a Driving School, a Podiatrist and a Church. An odd combination to be sure, but then again, we live in an odd world. There was no unusual meaning to their being together in this one place, no signs from God, nothing strange. Somewhat disappointed, I fell asleep with the realization that in all likelihood, there was no hidden gem of a vintner breeding hybrid grapes in the confines of the building either.

Damn! I was so hoping to at least get a sip of a wine, fit only for the Gods.

"You've Got Mail" UNSEND! UNSEND!

In one of my former lives, I was both a White Hat hacker and an Information Systems Security Manager. I lived and breathed Information Security (INFOSEC) my entire government career. I sweet talked, cajoled and sometimes beat my head against the wall, trying to teach folks how to stay secure in the electronic world. Especially as it pertains to E-Mail. At one time or another, we've all wished there was an "unsend" button on the damn computer.

As an ISSM, one of my biggest fears were data spills. A data spill is when someone inadvertently sends information across the wire to another person or persons who have no business or reason to have that information. Trying to "recall" that information after it's been transmitted in nothing but an effort in futility. Attempts are made to have people ignore and delete the message, but in reality there's no way to ensure that happens. One must rely on the ethics and integrity of the recipients. In most cases, I'd say Good Luck with that.

I was sitting at home the other evening when my Blackberry buzzed. I looked at the clock and wondered, who in their right mind would be sending me email at this time of night? Curious, I fired up the email client and discovered I'd been forwarded correspondence from a company that specializes in senior level executive search and assessments. Well this was certainly interesting. There was also an Excel spreadsheet attachment.

Still curious, I expanded the email trail and upon further reading determined that what had come across my inbox was business confidential, rather sensitive and had somehow, mistakenly, been routed to me. Of course the disclaimer "This email may contain confidential information. If you are not the intended recipient, you should notify the sender & delete the email & any attachments." was a dead giveaway too.

I started data mining. In less than fifteen minutes and a handful of keystrokes on a couple of professional websites, I discovered who was who. Interesting. One CEO, one VP, a Managing Partner and one Managing Director.

Never one to pass up a "learning moment" such as this (as well as being the sardonic smart ass that I am), I hit the "reply" button and began to compose my response to the sender.

Upon establishing my bona fides, I advised them their email had most likely been misrouted and quickly summarized what I'd discovered about all of the other addressees; who they were, who they worked for, where they were located and what their positions were.

I closed by assuring them, their confidential documents had not/would not be compromised, had been deleted and asking they take my reply in the humorous vein with which it was intended. Then I sat back.

It didn't take long. A few minutes later the reply arrived. I would have given almost anything to see the look of abject horror on their face and the frantic muttering of "Nonononononono!!!...Please, please, please tell me I didn't really do this...oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!!" as they called up their sent mail file. After all, it's not like I haven't seen or heard it before.

The reply was very nice and the sender appreciative. As they say...All's well that ends well. The email was deleted, never to be opened or compromised and if I'm not mistaken, I heard a huge sigh of relief emanating from up North someplace.

"UNSEND." Now that's a button that could make BILLIONS!

PC Revisionists

For those who don't know, the Battle of Fredericksburg was one of the more bloody conflicts of the American Civil War. From December 11-15, 1862, approximately 170,000 men engaged in a one sided conflict that decimated Union troops and for all intents and purposes halted the Northern campaign against the Confederate capital of Richmond.

Recently Muvico opened a new complex in Fredericksburg. One of the amenities is the Chatterbox lounge; whose theme is centered around the history Fredericksburg, which naturally includes the Civil War. An artist was hired to paint a mural on the outside of the complex. The mural which consists of both the Union and Confederate flags, coupled with an American Eagle and surrounded by ornate laurel, including whiskey barrels, was found to be "offensive" by employee Shawn Vena.

According to Mr. Vena, when he complained to a manager, he was told to "shut up and go back to work." Mr. Vena then promptly called on the trusty NAACP. Never ones to miss an opportunity to cry racism and attempt to rewrite history, a representative was quickly dispatched. Upon gazing upon the image and being interviewed by one of the local TV news outlets, said representative pronounced the mural offensive. To quote: "What would it be like if that was a Nazi flag up there for the Jews who live in this area? Would they permit that to happen? Absolutely not! So then why should we?" By "we" I'm presuming she means folks of African heritage, because this lady and her organization certainly doesn't represent me, although I am a person of color. Oh wait a minute, maybe I'm mistaken and white isn't a color.

I have serious doubts the NAACP bothered to talk to Kris Knox, co-manager of the Chatterbox. However, the TV news team did. Mr. Knox clearly and cogently explained the reason for the choice of the mural, which was to "Represent the ultimate union between North and South" after the war.

None of that appears to have mattered one iota to Mr. Vena, the NAACP representative or the black couple who returned their prepaid tickets because the woman was offended and didn't see where the mural "represented her." Let's see, two flags joined together, representing unity after a bitter Civil War, which was fought to make this lady's ancestors free and she feels it somehow doesn't represent her? Were it not for the ignorant, the world would be a very boring place.

Sadly, Muvico has bowed to the revisionists whose only reason for existing is to spend their lives attempting to wipe away any history that doesn't fit into their neat little world. The mural will, sadly, be replaced with the flag of Virginia which, per Mr. Knox, "still kinds of tells the story a little bit." Sigh!

The Civil War was the most wrenching episode in our nations, to date, short lived history. America, as a nation, walked right up to the precipice of annihilation and came terrifyingly close to stepping off into the abyss. Brother against brother, neighbor against neighbor, it was bloody, it was ugly and the ultimate outcome changed this country for the better by abolishing slavery. What no one can deny, despite their best efforts, is that the Civil War happened.

Had Mr. Vena or the NAACP taken the slightest initiative to remove their blinders, do a little something called research and insert a bit of common sense and logic before succumbing to the automatic knee jerk reaction to use the broad brush of condemnation to anything associated with the Confederate flag; this whole stink could very well have been easily avoided. Instead, they each chose to play the part of the righteous, pious victim, which automatically negated any credibility they may have possessed.

Alright, maybe using common sense and logic is a little to much to ask of them.

Cito fit quod dii volunt

What The Gods Want, Happens Soon

He was delivered into my world, fifteen years ago. At the tender age of 1, he made an entrance into my life. As I opened the door that chilly March morning in 1995, motorcycle gear in hand, preparing to to leave for work; I was minding my own business. There he was. Sitting right outside the door. As I stepped out, I almost stepped on him. I looked down and thought "Who the hell are you and where did you come from?" He wasn't one of the neighborhood critters. He simply looked up at me and without a word, yet with all the familiarity of someone who's been around for years, walked right by me and into the house. Now what? Hands full of jacket, helmet, gloves and briefcase, I quickly tossed it all in, on or around the BMW and hurried back inside. He disappeared around the corner. Casually strolling, occasionally stopping to sniff. I can still picture the day. He'd scoot just out of reach as I bent to gather him, saying "No, you can't live here. I don't have time for animals. I travel far to much and am away from home for weeks/months at a time. There's no one here to take care of you. Come HERE you little bastard!" As if he understood this babbling, bald biped in the first place.

After about 3-4 minutes of wandering, smelling and looking around, he walked back into the front room; promptly sat down in the middle of floor, looked up at me and said "Why yes, I think this will do nicely. I will live here."

"Oh no you don't. I've already told you, I don't have time for you. Now get." I picked him up and unceremoniously dropped him outside on the porch. "Go live someplace else. Shoo...shoo. Go away."

Stupid cat.

Three weeks later, after a visit to the vet and an official okey-dokey bill of health; after much effort by both myself and all of our neighbors to find his owner/find him a home, after a plea from my teenage daughter "Daaaaaad....can't we keep him?", Osh-Kosh became a permanent part of the family.

He was her cat. Cut, dry, pure and simple. Her responsibility. Well, right up to the day she left for college that is. After the first year, despite her visits home, he morfed into being our cat. My wife's and mine. At times he was a pain in the ass. With me, I'd "shusssh" him and he'd never make a sound. Sandy would say "he's scared of you." I'd say "he respects me." The minute Sandy opens her eyes, he's up, loud and obnoxious. She'd try and shusssh him, which would only encourage him to be more vocal. I simply laughed at them both.

For a stray, he was the perfect animal. He never clawed furniture. Never sprayed. Once and ONLY once did he make the mistake of jumping up on the counter. He was a lap cat. Always, always, he had to be between us. On the couch, in bed. If we were sitting alone, up he'd come, purring, head butting a hand or an arm in order to make his presence known. "Scratch me, brush me, pet me you silly human. That's what you're here for."

Over the years, we'd get other visitors. Other strays that somehow found their way to our front door. Sylvia, Lucy, Olivia. Osh would hiss, hide, pout and make his general displeasure with the interloper, quite clear. I'd chastise him for his behavior. "Have you forgotten how YOU came to be in this house you little four legged turd? Stop it!" Nothing doing. It was his domain and he wasn't going to share it with anyone else. No way, no how. We found fantastic homes for all the others, but our place was a one cat house.

We grow catnip. He'd lay in it and get high. Suddenly out of the blue, TURBO KITTY would appear. He'd tear across the house like his tail's on fire. He'd pounce on his toys, batting and chasing them under every piece of furniture and then look around with that "Well?...Are you going to dig them out for me or not? I obviously can't reach under there to get them?" Sigh!

Stupid cat.

Sandy tried to kill him once. We fed him dry food exclusively. Sandy didn't want to mess with wet food. He never was a big drinker of water. He ended up with a major feline urinary tract infection. Sandy felt really guilty. No more dry food. All wet food from now on. We discovered that 98% of the pet food out there is made of crap. We searched and searched. He became a Tiki Cat kitty. All natural/organic. Fit for human consumption food.

He had a routine. Up in the morning. Eat a bit, go outside. Come back in, sit next to the cupboard and vocalize his desire for treats. Feline Greenies were his favorite. He'd scarf a small handful of those and then back outside for the day. In the evenings, more Tiki Cat and then his "evening" treats before settling in.

Now and again, Jungle Kitty would make a kill. He'd hide in the Mondo grass and Liriope, patiently waiting for a bird to land. The remains proudly presented, more often than not, to Sandy as an offering to "The biped that loves me most." I'd get the call. "He killed a bird. It's gross. You HAVE to take care of it when you get home." Yea, yea...ok.

CICADA CAT LIVES!!! I thought he had gone rabid or mad. Sitting there, his mouth started to buzz and twitch uncontrollably. Scared the crap outta me. "What the hell?" It stopped as suddenly as it started. "Wow...that was weird. Must have had too much caffeine this morning." Then it happened again. "WHAT?!!" Finally notice the large bug sticking partway out of his mouth as it begins to buzz again and his whiskers twitching all over the place.

Stupid cat.

Every year, his visit to the vet. Every year, "He's fine. Growing older but not up" as Jimmy Buffet said. A couple of teeth removed three years ago. A bit of a limp. Bought him some kitty steps so he didn't have to jump up/off our king size bed. Cataracts building on his eyes. Still in good health overall. He started to slow down. More naps on the front bed or on his bench in front of the window. Complain loudly when it was cold outside. Bask all day in the sun when it was warm. Terrified of thunderstorms. Loved laying in front of the fireplace.

He ALWAYS has to be touching. Didn't matter that he was right up against you, one paw was out making contact. The claws would extend and retract just enuff to make his presence known. That would drive me nuts. "Can't you just lay there and be happy next to us? MUST you claw?" That "You're kidding, right?" look on his face. He'd claw a bit deeper, causing me to jump and I'd thump him. "Stop it! NOW!" That lasted all of 3 nanoseconds. Sigh!

Stupid cat.

Sandy noticed his breath was really bad. An unscheduled visit to the doctor. He's down 2 lbs. Scrape the built up tarter from his teeth and notice an anomaly with his tongue. "I don't like the look of that. Let's keep him overnight, take a sampling and do a biopsy. Scott, this probably isn't going to be good, but let's wait and see. I'm seeing more and more cancer in cats these days. In the meantime, if it is cancer, here's what we can do...."

Cancer? He can't have cancer. I call Sandy. She asks all the questions of me, that I couldn't or didn't know to ask the doc. I can't answer her. She and the vet talk the next day. We go and pick him up. He's a little out of it from the meds/narcotics. Couple days later he seems to have his kitty back. He's eating pretty good. Having taken part of his tongue though, he's having some difficulty, but it doesn't appear insurmountable.

The call comes. It's Squamous Carcinoma. I've kind of prepared myself for this, but it's still devastating. There's treatment, but it won't do a lot of good. Sandy and I have zero desire to put him through chemo and radiation. They'll most likely have to take even more of his tongue. No, no no. A cat's tongue is their everything! He'll have trouble eating, grooming, etc.

When I chastise Osh, Sandy would say I didn't love him. I'd facetiously tell her she was right, I could take or leave him and we should find him another home. Truth is, he always found a welcome place in my lap or next to me. There was always a hand ready to brush or unconsciously scratch him for hours on end. I called Sandy with the prognosis. I could barely control the tears.

Stupid cat.

We discuss it and decide that as long as he doesn't appear to be having too much trouble eating, isn't in any apparent pain, maintains his weight and has his "kitty," we'll continue to soldier on. In the event he begins to deteriorate, we'll put him to sleep. Neither one of us will prolong his life for our benefit.

That lasted all of about two weeks. We kept a close eye on him for any signs of change. He stopped eating. No matter what we put down for him, hand feed him, chop up into really, really, really small pieces, he can't eat. We are facing the reality that this creature, who decided fifteen years ago that Casa 1310, despite my protests, was going to be his home, is dying.

We put him down yesterday. I held him close, rocking him for the majority of his last minutes. He stopped breathing with my hands stroking the length of his body and tears flowing. He had a good, comfortable, spoiled life. I'm lost. He wasn't between us last night purring and he didn't greet me at the top of the stairs at 5:30 this morning, complaining because his food bowl was somehow, mysteriously empty. A few toys remain out and about. The pot of catnip seems to have grown exponentially overnight as if to say "Osh where are you? Come to me...I am here for you." Reminders that this cat; who gave us unconditional, love and affection, an animal with a brain the size of a pea, had a profound impact on our lives. His absence, has reduced this supposedly rational, intelligent, mature, thinking human biped to a sobbing, sniffling, runny nosed wreck.

Stupid Cat. Damn I miss you.

A Sad State of Affairs

Five students at Live Oak High School in Morgan Hill (California) caused an uproar this past Wednesday, Cinco de Mayo, when they had the audacity to wear T-shirts with the American Flag to school. The students were asked to turn their shirts inside out, so as to not "offend" their fellow Mexican-American students on this, one of their supposed holidays.

There's only one problem. Cinco de Mayo is NOT a Mexican holiday. It is a celebration of the Mexican Army's defeat of the French at the Battle of Puebla on May 5th, 1862; celebrated primarily in the Mexican state of Puebla but is of little importance to the rest of the country. In the United States, it's yet another reason to drink.

Yet, the Mexican-American students felt disrespected and slighted. Biana Coreas, a sophomore, expressed her dismay: "We respect them on Fourth of July. We don't go with our Mexican flags waving it up that day, so why can't they respect us too?" They respect "them?" Why can't "they" respect "us too?" Wait! What??? THEM?!! US?!! Ms. Coreas, young as she is, gives clear voice and definition to the problem before us. She and those of her ilk; those who aren't of the WASP denomination, do not consider themselves "Americans." They only see themselves as Hyphenated-Americans. Still, I have to throw down the Bullshit card here. I posit that Ms. Coreas, and the vast majority of Mexican-Americans are ignorant as to what Cinco de Mayo really represents.

The five students chose to go home rather than submit to the unreasonable, mephitic and intolerant demands of Principal Nick Boden and his racist Vice Principal, Miguel Rodriguez. It should come as no surprise that the parents of the students and many others around the country are incensed at the actions of the school administration; and rightly so.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with being proud of and celebrating your heritage. It's the conglomeration of cultures that makes the United States great. Where else in the world can you go and experience hundreds of different cultures in one country?

This incident however, is simply more evidence of the massive chasm that exists between people and their cultures in this country. Hyphenated-Americanism has taken over and its tentacles of poison have had an almost irreversible, ruinous affect on the the country. The onus to rid ourselves of this curse; to reverse and eradicate the menace falls primarily onto the hyphenated peoples/cultures themselves. Until such time as they make the conscious decision to primarily become an "American" first, the chasm will remain.

There is no room in this country for Hyphenated-Americanism.

Demo Rides

Twice a year, I volunteer my time to work the demo ride portion of the open house at my dealer, Morton's BMW. I and three other intrepid experienced riders, lead a group of 8-12 riders on a 25 mile, 45 minute loop as they demo ride the entire line of BMW motorcycles. F650's, F800's, GS's S1000RR's, GT's, K-Bikes; are all available for rides.

BMW is the only marque that I'm aware of that makes the complete line of machines available for rides to anyone with an M Endorsement on their license at anytime. Other marques offer some of their machines for rides during open house events, but unlike BMW, you can't simply walk into a dealer, point to a bike and take it for a ride.

I've walked into the other local dealers, Extreme Power Sports and Fredericksburg Motor Sports and asked to demo a bike. The folks at Extreme told me they "weren't sure" the SV650 I wanted to ride, would make it through a 30 minute demo. They were more than willing however to let me sit on any/all of the bikes though, in order that I could get a "good" feel for it. Really? How generous of them. FMS flat out said the only bikes they make available for demo's are a couple of the cruisers. No sport bikes, no dual sports, just the cruisers. I asked the salesman if he's ever bought a car without first test driving it? The vapid look on his face told me he hadn't missed the meaning of my question.

To a certain degree, I can understand why the UJM dealers don't do demo rides. Liability. The vast majority of bikes they produce are geared towards to 20 something squids (squirrley kids); who don't have the slightest idea how to do anything but ride in a straight line, and they can barely do that. To offer up these 150+ hp bikes to this demographic for demo purposes would be nothing short of insane. However, I'm not a 20 something squid. I'm recently into my 50's, an MSF Instructor/Rider Coach, and IronButt Rider, have more than 750,000 miles under my belt and am looking for a fun little machine.

I pushed the issue of a demo ride a bit harder, throwing out my creds and even offering up my GS as collateral. Nothing doing. Too bad, as I was really looking to add another ride to my stable and everything I've heard/read about the SV650 is that it's a great little platform.

I wandered around for a bit longer, closely inspecting the SV and sitting on a couple of dual sport machines. The dealership was primarily geared towards squids, so I decided I'd seen enough. As I was leaving, the salesman stopped and asked if I was going to buy a motorcycle. I said I was and his eyes lit up. I told him I'd be back in a couple of days and he gave me his card.

I did return; four days later. I was on a BMW 650 X-Challenge that I'd just picked up from Morton's, not a mile down the road. I wandered in, the salesman recognized me, walked up and started chatting. I told him I'd decided on a dual sport machine and he started walking towards the Suzuki's, chatting away. I stopped him and said, "Come with me for a sec." We walked to the front door. I pointed and said "I just wanted to show you my new dual sport. Bought it from Morton's, just up the way. It had 2 miles on it when they gave it to me to demo ride after I left here the other day. It now has 165 miles on it. They simply said to put her through her paces. I took and tested her out; returned and bought it. A really, high fun-factor bike." The expression on this poor bastard's face was priceless. He was slack jawed and I swear, looked like he'd been hit with a rock. "You boys really should offer demo rides. You mite actually sell some motorcycles. Thanks for your time." I opened the door, walked out, climbed on and rode off.

EDA, City Council and Three Card Monte

What’s Wrong With This Picture?

In 2008, Kalahari Resorts announced its intention to build one of their “Authentic African Themed Resorts” at Celebrate Virginia. The resort would include an 832 room hotel, four restaurants, a 100,000 sq ft convention center, a 200,000 sq ft. indoor waterpark, a full service spa, a 100,000 sq ft indoor theme park, and 10,000 sq ft of retail shopping. Fredericksburg City Council voted to return to Todd Nelson, owner of Kalahari Resorts, 47.5% of their annual local taxes, in order to snag this project. The buzz phrases used to incite uncontrolled salivation for Fredericksburg residents and their elected officials, then and now are “economic boom” and “major tourist destination.”

Although touted as “shovel ready, two years later, not one single spade of dirt has yet to be turned.

However, two years later, we find Mr. Nelson, back in front of the Economic Development Authority and Council with his hands out, asking for more concessions.

I have this nagging feeling of Déjà vu.

Mr. Nelson just announced (Que Shock!) that he would also like to do a taxable municipal bond issuance through the EDA for $200 million. Yet Mr. Nelson and his financial team have declined to reveal the specifics of the municipal structure regarding the bonds. Unashamedly (although it should come as no surprise), Mr. Nelson has the temerity to demand the EDA waive or reduce its fee for both the tax-exempt and taxable issues, calling the $25 million dollars the city would receive for the taxable portion of the bonds and ostensibly use for economic development; “ridiculous and unnecessary.” Let me repeat that; $25M dollars to the City of Fredericksburg is “ridiculous and unnecessary” per Mr. Nelson. All of this despite the fact that Mr. Nelson has access to $25 million in Recovery Zone Facility Bonds from the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act and the probability of another $10 million.

To top it all off, Mr. Nelson isn’t even sure he can sell all of the taxable bonds. However, it is his “hope” that this will happen by the end of 2010. Hell, I “hope” I win the lottery this year, but I don’t plan my financial future around it! Couple that with an evaluation of costs to decide whether or not the project is doable. Doable? A 47.5% rebate on local taxes and two years later and Mr. Nelson still hasn’t decided the project is doable? “DANGER WILL ROBINSON…DANGER!”

My only surprise is that Mr. Nelson didn’t use the sorry state of the “economy” for putting his hand out. Then again, how can he, when he himself touts his parks as “recession resistant.”

Fredericksburg has been in this position before. We saw it with the Silver Companies and Central Park; and with the now infamous Slavery Museum. City Council gave up concession after concession to these two entities. What did we end up with? The asphalt abomination that is Central (Hell) Park and former Gov. Wilder’s dead-on-arrival, Slavery Museum.

While there will be jobs associated with Kalahari, the vast majority will be in the service industry and of little "career" value. The city of Fredericksburg and the surrounding counties are rich with history; ranging from George Washington to the Civil War. The region can become a major tourist destination with more regional cooperation and savvy marketing. We do not need to give up the farm to another Three Card Monte artist, yet again. City Council and the EDA should blink two or three times in order to clear the vision of fleeting dollar signs from their eyes, remove their rose colored glasses and send Mr. Nelson and Kalahari packing.

Lesbian Panic (No...It's not the name of a Rock & Roll Band)

It would appear that the vast majority of the parents and their little snowflakes who attend the Itawamba Agricultural High School are bigots and homophobes. The Itawamba County School District decided to cancel the High School prom, rather than allow the attendance of lesbian student Constance McMillen and her date, after the ACLU sued on the students behalf Prom Canceled.

Or so it would seem.

No. There was a prom. Well, two of them actually. The families of the students decided to sponsor a private prom and the judge who heard the original case was left with the impression that Ms. McMillen would be invited. All was well. Problem is, when Constance tried to learn the particulars about the prom, she had trouble garnering any details. She was told there would be a prom at the local country club in Fulton and she, along with her date were invited to attend. What they didn't know was that it was a "fake" prom.

Yes, you read it right. A fake prom.

Unbeknownst to Constance, there was a well planned, well executed, highly coordinated end-run around the judges ruling contrived by the families of the schools students. While Constance and her date were at their prom the rest of her class partied at a secret location where the "real" prom had been organized.

When Constance arrived, it didn't take her long to figure out that something was amiss. There were a total of seven students at the fake prom. Two of whom had learning difficulties. Also in attendance at this swaray were the school's Principal and teachers, serving as chaperones; leading anyone with half a working brain cell, to conclude that these folks were complicit in the charade.

I am aghast at the lengths the "god-fearing, good, tolerant, understanding Christians" of Fulton went to, in order to pull this off. These pious, bigots and hypocrites have proven that no matter how hard Mississippi tries, they will never move out of the dark ages. One can not really be surprised. I posit the lives of the overwhelming majority of parents involved in this sham, peaked with their own High School prom. They now live, sadly and pathetically through their children, trying desperately (but futilely) to come up with some meaning and reason for their insignificant existence.

Through all of this, Constance McMillen has shown herself to be far more educated, tolerant and wise than any of her peers or their parents. McMillen said of the learning disabled students who attended the prom with her, "They had the time of their lives. "That's the one good thing that come out of this, [these kids] didn't have to worry about people making fun of them [at their prom]."

Run Constance! Run! As far away and as fast as you can from Itawamba county. Leave and never look back.

Energy Independence

President Obama has just proposed a major expansion of offshore oil and gas drilling. Sadly, the President either doesn't have a clue, or has succumbed to political pressure on how to make the United States truly energy independent.

Four words: It's Natural Gas, Stupid!

This country has practically unlimited, lifetime supplies of Natural Gas. Why then are America's efforts to achieve energy independence not concentrated on building the additional infrastructure to support this resource?

Five words: It's The Oil Companies, Stupid!

What is first required is an infrastructure to support a nation of CNG vehicles. Couple CNG with electric vehicles (the development of a 300+ mile, at highway speeds electric car remains in the distant future) and hybrids, and America could, in all likelihood, be on the brink of total energy independence in less than a generation.

In parallel, continue with the development of wind and solar energy and it is a slam dunk that this country would be energy independent across the board. Imagine if you will, the freedom to tell all of our Middle East "friends" to go pound sand (pun intended).

The belief that we, as a country, can drill our way to independence from foreign oil, is a fallacy that is wholeheartedly supported and pushed by the oil companies. The answer does not lie in a rapidly dwindling, finite resource. Sadly, far to many politicians buy into this belief for the short term gain of popularity and approval ratings.

Virginia Gov. Bob McDonnell, who is just as clueless as the President, immediately released a statement in support of the decision, saying in part: "The President's decision to allow energy exploration off Virginia's coast will mean thousands of new jobs, hundreds of millions in new state revenue and tens of billions of dollars in economic impact for the Commonwealth. It will also help our nation take a further step towards energy independence."

Note to Gov. McDonnell - Expanding an infrastructure in support of natural gas would also mean thousands of new jobs and billions in new state revenue. However, unlike drilling for oil, it will not help America take "just a step" further towards energy independence, it would guarantee it.

The answer to long term energy independence is Natural Gas. Sadly, I do not see any politician stepping up to the plate to champion this cause. That would not only require Leadership, but the fortitude and courage to take on the oil companies, and frankly, when was the last time there was ANY politician with fortitude who we could really call a leader?

It has been two full generations since America first felt the noose of foreign oil dependency cinch tight around her neck. Sadly, we've learned nothing. Investment in America's energy independence will not be inexpensive, but to not invest, to not cut the bonds of dependency on foreign oil, will be priceless.

Straight Pipes, Fart Cans, Thumpers and Squids

I am a lifelong motorcyclist and a Motorcycle Safety Foundation certified Instructor/Rider Coach. I teach my students safety and responsibility. My marque of choice is BMW, however I will ride anything on 2 wheels if afforded the opportunity. I've ridden/owned touring bikes, sport bikes, standards and dirt bikes. Riding is a passion and my freedom to ride is something I defend vigorously against all enemies, foreign, domestic and stupid.

Spring is in the air, the onslaught has begun and the stupid are running rampant. While wandering downtown Fredericksburg Thursday, I was treated to no less than five cruiser type motorcycles, six assorted Japanese coupes and three Squids (Squirrely Kids) on crotch rockets rolling down Caroline Street, proving to one and all that their straight pipes, fart cans and throttle blipping are poor substitutions for the inadequate equipment they possess in other areas of their lives.

Now, I readily admit, I am prejudiced against the majority of cruiser type riders. Most are nothing more than sad poseurs, whose only concern is trying to look like the "big, bad lone-wolf" type. ATTENTION K-MART SHOPPERS: There are millions of you clowns puttering around. You've failed. Move on. Get a life.

To add to this image, they outfit their motorcycles with straight pipes and fly the righteous banner of "loud pipes save lives." When challenged to provide any shred of scientific or empirical data to support their position (which of course does not exist), they pull the old shuck & jive and piously claim their loud pipes are a right.
Sadly, these pathetic excuses for motorcyclists, who unfortunately have the right to modify (albeit illegally) their bikes, don't consider ear splitting exhausts to be the single biggest impediment to true motorcyclist rights. They never think for a moment that the driving public is a much larger voting block than we are and the impression they leave is lasting and negative. Their only concern is trying to look cool and be as obnoxious as possible.

My disdain for the sport bikers almost equals that of the loud pipe crowd. Squids on crotch rockets using the roadways as their own personal race track. Throttle blipping at traffic lights in order to prove...well...something to someone; although it escapes me as to what. I love the contradiction these kids provide. Shorts, flip flops, a tank top and a $500 helmet. I mean...WTF? I tell my students "At least they'll look pretty from the neck up, inside the casket." I do not begrudge them the way they dress for they unknowingly provide endless entertainment with their comedic antics. Sadly though, they are the second biggest impediment to motorcyclist rights. Oblivious to the damage they cause, concerned only with impressing their fellow Squids and the vapid girls who happen to look their way.

The Fart Can crowd has also emerged from their Winter slumber. What is a fart can you ask? It is the over sized tail piece on the muffler of cars (usually some Japanese import) whose 20-something crowd owners, revel in the belief that loud exhausts, a stupid looking spoiler and a plethora of racing stickers on their windows, equates to some type of bad-assed Speed Racer cool image. The reality is oh so different. They are fodder for mockery, ridicule, disdain and never ending jokes.

Spring is not yet officially here, yet the signs are all around. Pollen, fart cans, flowers, straight pipes, mulch, squids, co-eds in shorts and pot holes. The only thing missing are the Thumpers. The gaggle of stereo cruisers that share their music with everyone within 300 yards. Guess the weather isn't quite warm enough for them yet. Soon come though. Soon come.

It is my sincere hope that the local constabulary will pull each and every one of these clowns over and write them a ticket. The more time they spend in court fighting (or paying) their tickets, the less time they spend on the street assaulting city residents.

A Bratmeister Is Born

I cook as a hobby. The kitchen is where I enjoy spending a good majority of my time when home. My forte' is Italian, but I'll try anything. Asian, Mexican, Regional American, French, etc. I'm adventurous and every new recipe is something of a challenge. I also love making bread. There's something satisfying about seeing dough rise and knowing there's Brioche, a batard, baguette or loaf of Tuscan peasant bread waiting at the far end of the effort.

While at Olde Towne Butcher in downtown a couple weeks ago, there posted on the door was a sign "Sausage Making Class, Tuesday March 9th." I've always loved sausage and had this idea in my head that there was some type of mystique that went along with making it. After all, there are all types of sausages in the world and one has to have some special talent in order to make it...right? Here was an open invitation to enter the renowned world of Bratmeisters. Heck, if they were going to give away the secrets for a mere $40, I was in!

The group of would be sausage makers totaled approximately twenty. Lee and his team went through the cuts of meat used for making various types of sausage, the types of spices, acceptable fat content of the meat and of course the casings. He also addressed hygiene and the importance of keeping the meat cold while creating. We broke into three groups. One group cutting up the dead pig, one group mixing spices and my group, already taking the end product and making links. This was pretty cool.

After learning how to twist, cut and stack links, I moved over to the machine used for filling the casings. The "sausage tube" looks like a small funnel, is attached to the machine and the casing slides on. Casings come in 27ft lengths, but can be cut down to almost any size. Put the ground meat mixture into the machine, apply a bit of pressure to the underside of the casing and step on the pedal. Holy crap! I'm caught somewhat off guard. This is an industrial machine and the sausage comes flying out of the tube, into the casing and before I realize it, I've filled 10ft with a red wine and sage mixture. I pick up the filled casing, take it over to the table and promptly drop it in front of the new crew learning to make links.

Turn around and I'm now watching another group mix up the "Fred Red" concoction. Pork, spices and a large bottle of the local brew. That done, they move on to create a spicy Italian mixture, changing out the blades to produce a coarser grind.

In what seems like the blink of an eye, 90 minutes has gone by. We've turned out 40-50lbs of three different sausages. We all walk away with about 5lbs total of the three (Fred Red, Italian & Red wine/sage), a book on sausage making and a catalog of equipment. Fortunately, I already have a heavy duty Kitchen Aid with the food grinder attachment. I simply need to buy the sausage stuffing attachment in order to begin practicing. This of course doesn't stop me from paging through the catalog and dreaming of new toys for the kitchen.

As soon as we go through the sausage we have, I'll be buying a couple of pork butts (which I learned comes from the shoulder of the pig...not his hind parts) and trying my hand at sausage making. Sandy says we can buy it, which of course we can, but what fun is there in that? Now that I have an idea how to make it...I certainly shall do so. New adventures in the kitchen await.

Beemer Engineering (A Rant)

I freely admit, I love my Beemers. While I've been riding an assorted stable of BMW's since the 80's, Airheads, Oilheads, KBikes, etc; in 2001, after twenty-four years and over a dozen different styles of machine, I finally found my niche. The GS Gelände/Straße (German: off-road/road). BMW's big bore, dual sport machine.

I also like to wrench my own bikes. Give me a technical manual and there's little, if anything, I won't try to fix or repair myself. It's a challenge to try and disassemble, repair and reassemble without any spare PAA (Parts After Assembly), something engineers have taken such pains to create.

The GS is BMW's number one selling machine in the world. Almost since its inception in 1980, it became the premier Round The World (RTW) touring machine. The GS has taken riders where few motorcycles dare to tread and returned them safely. With this in mind and the fact that repairs will need to be done, most likely on the side of a road in foreign far away lands; I am left to wonder just WHAT THE HELL WERE THEY THINKING??? when they designed the bike.

I recently received a number of Touratech goodies for my R1200GSA. One of which was a heavy duty bash plate for the underside of the bike. In order to install the plate, I had to remove the OEM plate that came with the bike. Now, there are four nuts/bolts that hold the bash plate in place. Usually no big deal. There was only one small problem. Between the four nuts/bolts, there are THREE DIFFERENT SIZES!!!, requiring not only three separate sockets in order to remove it, but two different styles to boot. I mean, really, WTF are the BMW engineers thinking? Are they thinking?

I gazed skyward, imploring the Motorcycle Gods to enlighten me as to who in their right mind would design a machine of this caliber, knowing full well it will be ridden to hell and back, all over the world, with these types of incredibly stupid flaws? Does common sense have no place in the universe anymore? The God's, being Gods and thus having little time for mere mortals, chose to ignore me. Space is at a premium on a motorcycle as it is. The last thing a RTW Adventure Rider wants to deal with is having a pack a toolkit the size of Wisconsin just to effect repairs somewhere on the road. Why could the four nuts/bolts for this plate not be one uniform size?

I aim to try and find out.

Hyphenated Americanism

I recently read a thread on favorite Presidents. While thinking about my favorite, I had no difficulty identifying one President that I despise; Bill Clinton. Clinton ushered in the age of Political Correctness in this country, giving credence and support to what was once a derogatory (and well deserved) slight...The Hyphenated American. In the course of a few short years, Americans no longer considered themselves Americans. They decided the only way to give their lives any real meaning, and in order to play the discrimination/racism cards to the hilt, was to hyphenate themselves; thus placing their Americanism on the second rung of the ladder of identity. Hispanic-Americans, Asian-Americans, Italian-Americans, African-Americans...the list goes on ad-nasuem.

I am an American. No embellishment necessary. American. Period. I am also a no-nonsense type of guy, much like my favorite President is Teddy Roosevelt. He was a hard charging, take no prisoners, carry a big stick type of man. His speech on Americanism to the Knights of Columbus in 1915 says it all:

"There is no room in this country for hyphenated Americanism. When I refer to hyphenated Americans, I do not refer to naturalized Americans. Some of the very best Americans I have ever known were naturalized Americans, Americans born abroad. But a hyphenated American is not an American at all... The one absolutely certain way of bringing this nation to ruin, of preventing all possibility of its continuing to be a nation at all, would be to permit it to become a tangle of squabbling nationalities, an intricate knot of German-Americans, Irish-Americans, English-Americans, French-Americans, Scandinavian-Americans or Italian-Americans, each preserving its separate nationality, each at heart feeling more sympathy with Europeans of that nationality, than with the other citizens of the American Republic... There is no such thing as a hyphenated American who is a good American. The only man who is a good American is the man who is an American and nothing else."

Which begs the questions, What is it about my fellow countrymen today and their inability to accept being truly American? Why did simply being an American become a bad thing and what part of being an American do they not get?

It's All About Communicating

The City of Fredericksburg appears to have a major disconnect when communicating with its citizens. During the recent record breaking snowstorms, the salting and plowing of neighborhood streets was spotty and a number of them, simply overlooked. I concluded that city representatives were most likely receiving quite a bit of hate mail because of the situation.

Despite extensive searching of the city's website, I was unable to find any mention of snow removal efforts or the trials, tribulations the city was going through. There was an after action report from the December storm, but nothing on the current efforts. My search for communication continued. I presumed the Mayor, Vice Mayor and each council member would have some sort of blog/website in order to communicate with their constituents about the situation. In this I was wrong. While one councilman has a website, I found nothing on it about the city's uphill battle with the snow & ice. Another council member pointed me towards a FredTalk site that discussed snow removal. It was buried (no pun intended) in the Fredericksburg Community forum.

My point? City representatives need to be more communicative with residents when incidents like this occur. Residents were/are screaming for roads to be plowed. What they don't know (and I only recently learned) is that city plows have rubber tipped blades. These are good only for small to moderate amounts of snow and protect the tarmac better than steel blades. Well, we've had something slightly more than "small to moderate amounts of snow," thus the plows can only be effective to a point. Had this small tidbit of information been forthcoming, I predict much of the venom from residents, may have been ameliorated. Even if council members are unable to do anything, the perception that they too are experiencing the same frustration, pain, heartburn and inconvenience, earns them some capital, understanding and tolerance from their constituents.

I personally would like to see all of our elected representatives with some type of Blog or website. Not only to communicate with the residents of their specific wards, but to all residents. Providing individual views and insight; good, bad or indifferent, on not just major events such as this seasons snowstorms, but on all matters pertaining to the city. Sure, we can read about their positions in the local paper; but that naturally contains a journalistic slant, selected sound bites and rarely provides the whole story. Most people appreciate getting their information, unfiltered. Heck, I know I do. While I may not agree with every position of my elected representatives, they earn my respect for being forthright and allowing me to hear/read it in their own words.

Missed Opportunities and Frustration

I previously wrote about the joy of living in a real neighborhood. A place where we all come together to help one another. With an additional 18" of snow received over the course of last weekend, we once again emerged from our homes to begin digging.

One of the first things we noticed was that the City had not yet come through to plow or scrape. Not one pass on the street. I understand the need to put resources towards the main roads and keep them clear during the storm. As of this writing, almost 48 hours after then final flake has fallen, the City still has not shown its face on Winchester Street. We now have 4-6" of hard packed ice. Both Sunday afternoon and today the City missed, in my opinion, opportunities to do additional clearing, not only here but on the main roads as well. With temperatures in the mid 30's and bright sun, the snow is melting. A heavy slush that would have been much easier to remove. Instead, it will refreeze with the low of 16 degrees for tonite, create havoc for drivers and serve as a hellacious base for the next round of winter weather that is to begin tomorrow afternoon.

Where is Public Works to scrape the streets and massive ice ruts that exist? More importantly where is City Council to oversee the situation? I'm sure there are streets in the same state and residents all over the city, asking the same questions, however, I really don't care about them. I care about the folks in the 5 blocks that make up the length of Winchester St.

The Neighborhood

One of the benefits of living where we do downtown, is the fact that we live in a honest to god neighborhood. We've helped raise each others children, we hold block parties, we come together at random to grill, chill and socialize. We look out for one another. We are intimately attuned to our environment so that when someone or something is out of place, it stands out like a sore thumb. We are a mix of homeowners and renters.

So, this morning, with the sun up and the road having been plowed only once after 10 inches of snow, we came together. A small army dug out all of the vehicles, cleared sidewalks and even drove one of our slightly limping neighbors to his job.

We do not live in some sterile subdivision surrounded by people/families we barely know or even more rarely, acknowledge. There are no HOA Nazis or yearly fees to pay. No one tells us we can't fly the American flag, what color we can paint our houses, how to decorate our front doors and we certainly don't need anyone's permission to put up a fence or dry our laundry on the line outside.

No, we are a neighborhood. A rare microcosm in today's society and there isn't a single one of us who would trade it for anything else in the world.