The shifting battleground.

Yesterday being the celebration of Memorial Day, I was thinking about our nation and those who live in her embrace and yet despise her. For one thing, as I've said here in the past, it's become abundantly clear that Leftists only admire Americans who fight other Americans; there is no place in their admiration for Americans who fought foreign enemies. How can there be? If all foreigners are superior to us in this blighted country, there's no foreigners that we should defeat. 

That calculation seemed to start as defending the Native Americans, then moved on to others who were believed to have been unjustly at the sword point of the American military -- the Mexicans, the Spanish, and so on. Pretty much anyone who could be classified as Not White fell under that umbrella. Certainly we should not have been fighting the Vietnamese; it's not like they attacked us! That worked backward as well, that in retrospect we shouldn't have been fighting the Koreans. 

Admiration for the Confederates was swept away early, but then for the Union military too, as they most assuredly were not fighting to end slavery but for some selfish cause. The military in World War I were suckers and eventually dropped beneath notice. 

Holding out to the very end were the American warriors of World War II, and they mostly hung by a thread because of Pearl Harbor and the Final Solution. But Hiroshima eventually made us turn on America's fight against Japan, and now apparently the Left hates Jews, so the Nazis are not as bad as they used to be either. 

Now we're able and encouraged to despise all American fighters, unless they fought America herself. What a relief it must be to no longer wonder if one would have had the sustained courage to go to war for the nation, the sheer guts to stand firm in the heat of battle! Discarding respect for America's military means you never have to look up to them for anything anymore.   

It's easy to do this kind of thing when you don't teach genuine history. The younger generations literally know nothing about anything other than what Leftists choose to teach, and they certainly don't want to teach anything that shows America in a good light. 

But that's not even what I wanted to write about. I set out to write about the American Dream and how the idea has been mangled, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. 

Family.

Maybe I've mentioned it before, but I don't know of a single member of my family on either side that died fighting for the United States of America. A lot us only got here recently -- like, in the last century or so -- and since then we've all been either too old or too young when a crisis broke out that was beyond the capacity of the standing forces. One of the men was 4-F with asthma, though he tried to enlist; another was old enough to join in World War II only as it was coming to a close; another did die while serving, but at home, in peacetime, of natural causes. 

The most recent miss was 9/11. But I was too old, too out of shape, and had absolutely no skills that the military would have deemed necessary enough to waive my lack of youth and vigor. Being able to translate English into... better English is not something they care that much about.

But I hope that I'm not presumptuous to claim a familial loyalty to those who loved America enough to put their lives in danger, to face the possibility of the ultimate sacrifice, although mine is a loyalty far less tested than theirs proved to be. I hope everyone who loves the United States and the principles upon which it was founded -- principles that we seem so far away from now, alas -- can find the feeling of brotherhood with those who died in service for all our benefit. 

We salute our honored dead on this Memorial Day weekend. We should not and shall not ever forget. The blood is far too strong. 

Purple Hearts and others.

I regret that I have only discovered that the National Purple Heart Hall of Honor is here in the lovely Hudson Valley, on the non-insane western side, at New Windsor. I don't get over that way often, but I did last week. Unfortunately I was driving Izzy to an animal hospital at the time for his pernicious eye infection (still not gone entirely at this writing) and could not stop to have a look. 

Picture courtesy of the American Legion

"The mission of the National Purple Heart Hall of Honor is to collect, preserve and share the stories of all Purple Heart recipients," says the hall’s site, and I hope a lot of people will want to visit on this Veterans Day. They do have special events today, of course. If you are or know someone who has earned the Purple Heart, check out the online search feature for inductees. 

I don't think it's a particularly large facility, and is not affiliated with the government or run by the US military or its branches, not even prominent veterans' groups like the American Legion or the VFW. It's administered by the New York State Parks Department’s Recreation and Historic Preservation squad, which would make this one of the exceptionally few really good uses of my state tax money that I know about. I've been threatening to flee this dumb state, but before I do I want to go to the hall to offer my respects. 

Closer to home, or my home, is a much smaller monument but another of interest. Even people who live around here may be unaware that the Missing in Action flag, the familiar black MIA flag, was first flown in the village of Harriman, New York, on 1974. I stopped by to have a closer look. 

The American Legion post mentioned in the marker still exists, right around the corner. The spotlit flag is right next to the marker in a little memorial area fenced by wrought iron. I’m sure the flag has been replaced many times since 1974. I wonder if the Legion post still has the original.

For the whole background about the MIA flag, check out this Veterans Affairs page. 

Two years later after the first MIA flag flew, the town buried a time capsule for the Bicentennial, to be opened in fifty years. Four years from now. Geez, what fun is that? Still plenty of old farts around that could tell you (whether you want to hear it or not) about America in 1976. 

"Disco! What a disaster! The Big Bus came out that year too. And you know what else happened in 1976? 'Muskrat Love,' that's what!"

Within walking distance of this capsule is a town park, a pleasant spot with a picnic area, baseball diamonds, basketball hoops, and Canadian invaders. 

It also has another flagpole.

This one also has a plaque at the bottom: 

I wish all our veterans a day of honor, with the thanks from their country for their service. 

Veterans Day has been leaking its public due a little more every year as we get further from the time when military service was not only universally respected but almost universal. Parts of our society would love to see this day forgotten. They only like Americans who fight other Americans. Businesses have long treated it as a "floating holiday," and every year seems to bring more such days aboard to jostle with time and space in our national consciousness.

Don't let them do this to Veterans Day. God bless our veterans, and God bless the United States of America.

Valor.

Valor is a word one doesn't hear much anymore, not even in connection with those who have demonstrated it unquestionably. Funny thing, isn't it? 

Courage may be in short supply these days, but it isn't one of those virtues (like chastity or temperance) that have been diminished to ridicule in popular culture. What it has been diminished to is badassery. The badass is the kind of hero we celebrate now. 

"Well, Fred," you probably are not saying (because you're not a dummy), "the badass and the person of valor are both fearless in the face of opposition. Ain't no difference."

Oh, yes, my fine straw-filled person, there is a huge difference, as we shall see. 

Valor, according to Merriam-Webster, means "strength of mind or spirit that enables a person to encounter danger with firmness : personal bravery." Badass, however, is defined as "ready to cause or get into trouble : MEAN," or "of formidable strength or skill." This is a world of difference, the difference between the men who manned up (yes, manned up, sue me) who stormed Omaha Beach and the Mary Sue of fiction, who is never really in danger because she's such a badass no one can lay a glove on her. Slay KA-WEEN!

The badass in modern nomenclature may not be mean, but definitely knows how to pick the right targets, generally those constrained by law or integrity from pulverizing them. The valiant, on the other hand, have little say in what targets they will strike, and many of them will be remembered today because the targets turned out to be unassailable. The badass, then, is little more than a kid putting on Hulk gloves and trying to beat up Daddy, while the valiant are able to steel themselves in the face of death itself.

But even more important than that, the badass is usually only fighting for his own interests. It’s always about one’s own glory, never about being part of something more important. To the badass, the self is the most important thing.

P.J. O'Rourke wrote:

I have only one firm belief about the American political system, and that is this: God is a Republican and Santa Claus is a Democrat.

God is an elderly or, at any rate, middle aged male, a stern fellow, patriarchal rather than paternal and a great believer in rules and regulations. He holds men accountable for their actions. He has little apparent concern for the material well being of the disadvantaged. He is politically connected, socially powerful and holds the mortgage on literally everything in the world. God is difficult. God is unsentimental. It is very hard to get into God's heavenly country club.

Santa Claus is another matter. He's cute. He's nonthreatening. He's always cheerful. And he loves animals. He may know who's been naughty and who's been nice, but he never does anything about it. He gives everyone everything they want without the thought of quid pro quo. He works hard for charities, and he's famously generous to the poor. Santa Claus is preferable to God in every way but one: There is no such thing as Santa Claus.

And for that matter, the fallen heroes of America that we mourn today exist, while the badass, in all his or her movie and TV glory, does not. 

And that's the is it way.

NOW, THE NEWS

DATELINE: AUGUST 13, 2020

ALL THE PRINT WE NEWS THE FIT

(huh?)

WASHINGTON, DC -- Big Dipper Declared Racist

In a stunning announcement this morning following President Trump's speech outdoors in Virginia yesterday, the asterism known as the Big Dipper has been declared racist by the activist group People Endowed with Superior Tolerance (PEST).

"The president remarked last night how beautiful the Big Dipper was in the sky," said PEST leader Cheryl Snorch. "Aside for the obvious siziesm contained in the preference for the larger of the two Dippers, it is clear that the president intended this to be a dog whistle to his followers, who know how similar the path of the star cluster is to the infamous Nazi swastika."

President Trump, when asked about this at a press conference, said, "I don't care what anyone says, the Big Dipper, or Dipper of Large Proportions if you will, is the finest, the best constellation, really terrific, and everyone should go out and see it. It's just tremendous, believe me."

PEST has alerted its many followers that the Big Dipper should be disbanded and no longer recognized as a unified group.

📰📰📰

ALBANY, NY -- New York Hospitals Expand Definition of COVID-19 Deaths

Howard Zucker, MD, JD, Commissioner of Health for the State of New York, today announced that hospitals in the state would resolve the confusion about the number of deaths due to the novel COVID-19 virus by renaming all patient deaths as due to COVID-19.

"This seems the simplest way to resolve any disputes about the number of deaths due to the European COVID infection," said Dr. Zucker to reporters. "We feel that the infection rate of this unprecedented disease is so high that we might as well just assume everyone has it, and everyone died of it."

When asked whether that would include, for example, someone who perished in an automobile accident who just happened to test positive for the antibodies, Dr. Zucker said, "Of course. How are we to know that the effects of the virus did not in fact cause the accident? Better be safe and call that one a COVID death as well."

Dr. Zucker did, however, note that corpses were not going to be tested to see if they actually did have antibodies or other signs of infection. "Why put the great hospitals of this state to the expense?" he retorted. "It's not like the deceased can be treated at that stage."

In a closing statement, Dr. Zucker added that expanding the definition of COVID deaths to include everyone who actually dies is perfectly reasonable and has nothing to do with the false allegations of financial incentives to overcount coronavirus deaths, nor hospitals trying to get their hands on "those sweet, sweet Benjamins."

📰📰📰

WASHINGTON, DC -- Edible Camouflage Revealed

The Pentagon announced today the latest advance in military science for U.S. troops -- edible camouflage.

"Members of the infantry have to carry a hundred pounds or more in the field," according to the statement. "But now, by having camouflage made of delicious American-manufactured cheese, it will relieve them of much of the weight of comestibles. If they get hungry, they can eat some camo, and the load will be even lighter."

The statement mentioned that trials had been held using Colby and Monterey Jack for desert missions, blue cheese for water missions, and "moon" cheese (cheese that had gone off) for jungle work.

The Pentagon's statement concluded, "We are proud to know that we can take time from our usual missions, like transgender policy and white fragility, to make our soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines, and whoever else we have out there safer, in whatever it is they're supposed to be doing."

-30-

Little triumphs.

It was an absolutely spectacular weekend here in the lower Hudson Valley, wonderful for the graduation ceremonies at West Point. And on my little patch of paradise as well. Some may have complained that it was too cold -- 47 degrees Sunday morning -- but that was because the humidity was so low. I loved it, my wife was a fan, and our hairy dogs thought it was an early Christmas gift. Remember, we had snow suitable for making snowballs five weeks ago, so this was plenty warm enough.

Did I get a lot done? Kill the weeds, clean the fridge, repair the front walk, and all the rest on my to-do list? No, I did not. But I had my little triumphs, and in the current conditions of the year I am happily blessed for those. Here are some:

1) Watermelon! As you may recall, the last time I brought a watermelon into this house, carrying it up the cellar stairs from the garage, it turned into the worst fumble since Jeremiah Castille ruined Earnest Byner's day in 1987.  So this time I put the big ol' fruit in a paper shopping bag with handles and carefully carried it up, bracing the bottom to prevent sudden tears. It is sitting on my counter, waiting for the knife. Triumph!

2) Tomatoes! Last week I planted tomatoes in a large pot on the porch. I've done this several times since we lived here. The deer and other pests won't come on the porch, and there's a good mix of sun and shade. I've had lots of luck with red peppers, too. But since we got dogs, who famously like to dig, I have avoided putting temptation in their way. Well, my wife misses those home-grown cherry tomatoes, so I said I would try -- but I got a late start. I set up the pot on Saturday. And less than a week later....

They're growing a lot faster than my hair is from my home haircut. Triumph! (I did have to put a barrier around the pot because junior varsity dog Nipper could not tear himself away from it -- sniff sniff sniff. And we all know the sniff is the father of the dig.)

3) Mass! Saw a great Mass online. That was not what we'd hoped to do; the churches have reopened, but the restrictions for Mass are exceptionally tough to prevent a resurgence of the Chinese Death Virus. So the Archdiocese says there's still no obligation to attend Mass in person. Indeed, most of us can't; with the crowd restrictions, the church is only allowed to have about a quarter of the usual attendees. I count it as a little victory that we exercised caution and were rewarded with a wonderful homily for the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ by Fr. Mike Schmitz of Ascension Presents.

4) Speech! I mentioned above the commencement at West Point. A friend a mine, lifelong Democrat, called yesterday and said he was very impressed by what he saw of the president's commencement speech on the news. I was obliged to check out the speech, and I have to agree. Very moving, very powerful. A few classic Trump flourishes, but that's our president for ya. I loved his mention of the Great Chain at West Point that saved the nation from British invasion from Canada in the Revolution -- a chain whose links we touched on our visit in 2018 -- and used it as a metaphor for the army itself, "a great chain reaching out from this place — one made not of iron, but of flesh and blood, of memory and spirit, of sheer faith and unyielding courage." That's a great chain, indeed.

Not all these li'l triumphs had anything to do with me, beyond my willingness to participate, but it's not all about me. How was your weekend?

Fred's Book Club: Cold War.

Wednesday is Hump Day, so it's time for our Humpback Writers feature, with no actual humps involved. Although today's book does have a very famous Bulge.

As it is the week of Memorial Day, I thought it would be good to look at a terrific history of one of the world's greatest battles, the third-deadliest ever involving American troops, the horrific last-ditch fight of the Third Reich to break the advance of the Allies and cut their troops off from supplies.

The attack was to be made through the Adennes on a sixty-mile front between Monschau (twenty miles south-east of Aachen) and Echternach (a similar distance north-east of Luxembourg), with an initial object of seizing bridgeheads over the Meuse between Liège and Namur, thereafter aiming for Antwerp. Randstedt and Westphal both pointed out after the war that there was almost no planning for the phase beyond the Meuse to Antwerp, and none whatsoever following the port's capture.

Peter Caddick-Adams's Snow & Steel: Battle of the Bulge 1944-45 is one of the best military history books I've ever encountered. I found its history of the battle, from the top of the leadership chain to the grunts in the snow, to be completely compelling. Its description of the bizarre and deadly winter of 1944-45 (that actually began in autumn) could make you feel cold while sitting on the beach in your shorts.

I am not sure I had enough conceptions about the battle to even have misconceptions, but I guess I had the thumbnail sketch most of us had: Hitler, back against the wall, took advantage of terrible weather to launch a huge surprise attack and try to snap the Allies' race across Western Europe. That much is true, but Caddick-Adams makes a couple of things clear up front:

1) Hitler was not as nuts as he would be later, but he was still nuts;

2) The Allies were caught with their pants down because they were too optimistic.

First, about old Adolf, he writes that Hitler was trying to relive the triumphs of the past in this attack, not just the Blitzkrieg that rolled west, but earlier than that:

Hitler was obsessed with his Reich retaining the military initiative, which all knew had been surrendered since Normandy; grand, proactive offenses were part of his psyche, as he'd revealed far, far earlier in Mein Kampf. There is no doubt that in 1944 he intended to relive the early, heady days of the March 1918 offensive in which he personally took part....

Second, having broken out of Normandy, the Allies were outstripping their own supply lines. They were sick with a terrible case of victory fever:

The Allied intelligence failure over Arnhem would precede the much more serious one before the Ardennes, both shortcomings made for exactly the same reason. Due to the prevailing victory fever, which affected all levels of the Allied governments and military chains of command, Montgomery (and Lieutenant-General "Boy" Browning of the First Airborne Army) displayed a worrying tendency to disregard unwelcome intelligence. 

That supply problem was no small thing, especially with the early onset of a devastating winter.

Some historians have alleged that winter clothing was sacrificed to male more room for gas and ammunition, but this is nonsense -- winter clothing was not ordered or requested from the US because the Allies expected a victory before the winter of 1944-45 arrived. 

American troops were also facing some battle-hardened Germans from the Russian campaign who retained excellent winter gear.

Caddick-Adams gives credit where it is due, to military commanders on both sides (including natural politicians like Ike) having to fight in terrible conditions with the end of the war in sight. Did Hitler's staff know he was losing touch with reality? Was Patton really a genius? Was Montgomery an overbearing pest? Find out inside!

I can only do a little justice to the book with a few quotes, but I found the author to be very good at some of the popular historian's tougher acts -- describing memorable personalities in brief; setting the place to bring the reader in rather than just reeling off dates and map points; letting the causes and effects unwind as only hindsight can unwind them. The book is also full of fun ordnance facts, like:

The new American proximity fuse, which detonated a warhead when near, but not on, the target was also felt to be a hugely important innovation. Prior to the Ardennes the device, known as a VT (Variable Time) fuse, had only been issued to anti-aircraft units for fear the Germans might retrieve one and learn its secrets. Devastating against unprotected infantry, where the fuse could be set to explode a shell as an airburst fifteen to twenty feet above ground, it soon became the US weapon of choice against the Volksgrenadiers.  

In the end, it was a tremendous Allied victory, but at a cost of 89,500 Americans killed, wounded, or missing.

As you see, I do recommend this book for anyone interested in military history, Western history, 20th century history, or just interested in interesting things. I picked it up because of research I was doing for another book, and I'm glad I did.

In memory eternal.

Edward Dickinson Baker, senator from the newly minted state of Oregon, was the first member of Congress to not only address the chamber in full military uniform, but to resign his seat to lead his regiment to war. He believed in Constitutional order; he loved the United States, and had served in the Mexican War. Sadly, his career in the Union Army did not last long, as he was killed less than three months later in the Battle of Ball's Bluff: "Lightly schooled in military tactics, Baker gamely led his 1,700-member brigade across the Potomac River 40 miles north of the capital, up the steep ridge known as Ball's Bluff, and into the range of waiting enemy guns. He died quickly—too soon to witness the stampede of his troops back over the 70-foot cliffs to the rock-studded river below. Nearly 1,000 were killed, wounded, or captured."

Colonel Baker was hardly the only intelligent man caught fatally by the change of war tactics in the Civil War. The Gatling gun, invented in 1861, came as something of a shock too, although it was not as commonly used in the war as I had been led to believe in history class.

I had heard that disease killed more men than either the Blue or the Grey, and that is correct. In fact, it's more lopsided than I thought. The National Park Service Civil War site lists these figures:

The 642,427 total Union casualties have been divided accordingly:

·         110,100 killed in battle

·         224,580 diseases

·         275,174 wounded in action

·         30,192 prisoners of war

The 483,026 total Confederate casualties have been divided accordingly:

·         94,000 killed in battle

·         164,000 diseases

·         194,026 wounded in action

·         31,000 prisoners of war

Baker was in the distinct minority, as the Union disease deaths were two to one over battle deaths.

In these Chinese Death Virus times, we remember that those who put on the uniform in war are resigned to the possibility that they will never take it off, whether by enemy action, accident, or illness. God bless them, and God rest the souls of our war dead.

The man without a face.

When I was in college I had my only regular customer service job. Yes, I know, in a way all jobs are customer service jobs, as various enthusiastic vice presidents like to say, even if the customer is just the person in the next department. But I consider them to be jobs like McDonald's cashier or postal clerk or gas station attendant, where people arrive to make a commercial transaction and the kid is the person they see. I only ever had one job like that, in senior year.

There was one line, snaking up to the windows, and whichever clerk was free would call "next" to help the next person in line after we finished with the current one. You had to be on your toes, because you never knew what the next customer would want, but most of the time I liked the job well enough. The time went quickly. I would have hated the thought of doing it my whole life, but that's why I was in college.

One Tuesday when things were slow I looked up from finishing paperwork from the previous customer and noticed that the other clerks around me were all doing busywork at their stations, even if they had not had a customer recently. Some of us were quicker than others, but no one was a slouch. There was one person on line, standing quietly, and when I saw him I knew why no one had called him. He was the man without a face.

He had some face, but not much. He had one eye, most of the left side of his jaw. Where the right side of his face should have been -- eye, cheek, jaw, the whole nose -- was a white patch, about the size of his a man's hand, or a bit bigger. It flapped when he breathed. It was terrifying.

"Next, please," I said, bracing myself.

"Good afternoon," I said when he arrived.

He came up to the window easily, placing a pile of papers with instructions on the counter. I followed his directions meticulously, glad for something to do with my eyes, but a small part of me wanted to gawk like a child. I said nothing more until I had completed his requests, then handed him his receipts and said, "Thank you," as always. He nodded -- I  think -- and gathered up his papers, and I never saw him again.

That was a long time ago. Of the hundreds who went by my window that year, I remember four -- the guy who was mad because I was taking so long, the guy who tipped me five bucks when I caught a $20 error (it was not a business that expected or really allowed tipping), the lady with the counterfeit $100 bill, and this man.

I couldn't think of a way to ask any of the other employees about him without sounding like I was accusing them of ignoring him, so I didn't. I have always wondered whether he had suffered some horrible accident, some flesh-eating disease, some horrendous criminal act.

Or was he a veteran, someone whose war took his face.

Whoever he was, he lived in New York City and had a life harder than just about anyone I could imagine. Yet he still made it around, did what he needed to do. He clearly knew when the bank was likely to be empty. He probably spent his life knowing when things would be empty. How did he eat? Communicate? Did he live alone? Did he come back from war to a horrified family? Did he have regular medical help? What was under that bandage? Oh, God, do not let me find out. But I have certainly seen some U.S. military veterans who have suffered awful injuries, and am amazed how they carry themselves still with honor.

In the end, I have no idea if my customer was an injured veteran, but he was a human being and deserved respect, and I'm glad I gave it to him.

I wish that all our veterans will get the respect on this Veterans Day that they deserve. And if you are a United States veteran, I thank you for your service.

Space Force!

Did you get yours? I got mine.

Amazon has about a million "Space Force" inspired T-shirts since the president announced the plan to create a new outer-space-centered military service, but I got the one recommended by Instapundit. So you know it's for reals! And it happens to be a well-made, comfortable shirt, at least so far, which is more than you can say about a lot of shirts purchased online.

Why did I get it? Well, my favorite T-shirts have a lot of stains and holes. But also, because I thought that the Space Force was a good call by Trump. I noted last month that NASA has become kind of embarrassing in that the guys who put the first American in space, in orbit, and on the moon now can barely get a human off the ground. So it's important for the United States to keep working in human/space technology, and if NASA has other plans, the military can take action.

But that's only part of it -- NASA is a civilian organization, was formed purposely to be one and must remain that way. (Ike was a fan of rockets for military use but didn't think the military branches would be effective for space exploration.) But we are naive if we think that our international competitors are not weaponizing space, or planning to. So, we can yield the orbit of the planet to China and Russia and anyone else who can get past the exosphere, or we can fart around and pretend we're not doing the same thing they are while doing it, or we can say, hey, we're going to have a military space group and you'd better keep up, pilgrim.

I think it's a winner of an idea. Then again, I liked Reagan's "Star Wars" back when all the smart people were sneering that you couldn't "hit a bullet with a bullet," and the Russians were sweating bullets over it. So I expect others to think my T-shirt is either evidence of Trumpmania or is being worn sarcastically.

But no, I think the time for Space Force has come. The name comes across as silly, and will probably be changed to something dull like the U.S. Trans-Orbital Military (Major TOM!). But everyone will call it "Space Force."

"Space Force" seems a little Hanna-Barbera-ish, but the idea is as serious as nuking from orbit. If we want to be safe, we must be vigilant.

I'm sure these guys would agree.

Memorial Day.

Briefing the dogs.

Me: All right, men -- that is, dogs -- before we go out on this morning's mission we need to get a few things straight. I have received orders from upstairs and I want to impart them to you before we begin. Yes, corporal?

Tralfaz: Sir cud we pleaz go pee now i gotta go

Me: At ease, corporal. We'll be out that door in a jiffy. Now, men, it has come to our attention that the camp has been invaded by a number of ticks over the last few weeks. This, it should be clear, is not acceptable. As you go about your duty, be watchful for these invaders. If you see a tick, do not engage. Repeat: Do not engage. Report the position of the tick and any distinguishing characteristics to your CO. Yes, private?

Nipper: wassit look lik

Me: The tick is a small arachnid ranging in size from a pencil eraser to a pencil point. The smaller ones are more likely to carry disease, but all of these are disgusting.

Nipper: wassa pencil

Me: This is a pencil. [removes and displays pencil from pocket]

Nipper: ken i chew it

Me: No. Now, on the matter of your duty, or in this case, doody, specifically regarding deer. If you see anything looking like brown M&M's or Raisinettes in the field, do not eat them. These are not food. In fact, even if they were brown M&M's or Raisinettes you shall not eat them as they would not be food for you. Either way you could end up quite ill. Consume nothing that is in the field. You know the rule...

Nipper: no frelanss snakking

Me: Correct. Yes, corporal?

Tralfaz: ok tanks for the info cud we go pleaz now still gotta pee

Me: Just hold on, now, corporal. We still have some points to address. It's also come to the attention of our commanding officer --

Nipper and Tralfaz: momy

Me: Yes, your mommy -- that you're rolling around in the dirt on rainy days.

Nipper and Tralfaz: yay

Me: No, "yay" is an inappropriate response. She and I understand that you will by necessity get damp, even dirty, but insists that you take steps to keep it to a minimum, and behave with decorum when getting dried off. No funny business with the towel. Looking at you, private.

Nipper: nutz

Me: Furthermore, there will be no barking or charging of the following: school buses, schoolchildren, joggers, old people walking, garbage men, garbage cans, mail carriers, UPS guys, or FedEx couriers.

Tralfaz: Fedex guy is up to sumthin

Me: Your mommy told me he gave you a treat the first time he met you. You worked yourself into a frenzy when he delivered a package next door yesterday.

Tralfaz: Hes up to sumthin

Me: Like what?

Tralfaz: he din com over to gimme a treat yesterday

Me: We weren't getting the package.

Tralfaz: he coulda come sed hi

Me: All right, that's enough. Standing orders remain as follows: No fighting, no attacking skunks or wasps, no fraternizing with deer or turtles. Do you understand?

Nipper and Tralfaz: yah

Me: All right, soldiers, let's go outside and pee.

Nipper and Tralfaz: too late

courtesy U.S. War Dogs Association

Memorial Day 2015.

Went to one of the local Memorial Day parades this weekend. Most towns have some kind of tribute to our fallen men and women, but nothing really big. In fact, this one has dropped off quite a lot in the last ten years.

The weather was great, and attendance was meh. Not just along the streets; also in the parade itself. Past years have seen military trucks, police in dress uniform, pipers, Freemasons, you name it. None of them made it this year, except for one old Army Jeep. Thank God for the Boy Scouts. Maybe the others got a better offer from another parade.

Of course, we're tired of endless war, but it looks like radical Islam is tireless in bringing it to us and everyone else around them. We don't always have a choice in whether we want to fight. It's a hard lesson, and one that all too many Americans willfully refuse to learn. We do, however, often have a choice in whether we want to win.

When we left Vietnam in 1973, we were not whipped dogs; nor, whatever they say, had we gotten our heads handed to us in the Tet Offensive of 1968. The South Vietnamese were prepared to hold off the North, with the aid we promised to send. That aid was cut in a political move by Congressional Democrats, and Saigon fell in 1975.

When our military barracks in Lebanon was bombed and 241 servicemen killed in 1983, President Reagan chose to leave---a decision I suppose I will never understand, a decision that has encouraged terrorists for the last 32 years.

President Obama utterly wiped out our victory in Iraq by pulling out our troops lock, stock, and barrel in 2011, letting the nation fall into the hands of ISIS. Ramadi was captured last week, in case you couldn't hear the news over the rest of the blather on TV. Boy, that Letterman sure had quite a run, huh?

The bloody sacrifices made by our servicemen in these and other conflicts were completely undermined by politicians, pandering to the most panicky or deluded in our population. Our nation could never have won its independence, survived civil war, or beaten Hitler with this kind of bizarre combination of foolishness and self-serving.

Our phony-medal-throwing creep Secretary of State John Kerry once famously asked, "How do you ask a man to be the last man to die for a mistake?" Here's one for you, Secretary Asshat: How do you ask a man to be die for a cause when he knows the jackwipes in Washington will make sure it means nothing?

Another mess for Captain Kirk.

To: Captain James T. Kirk, Starship Enterprise

Stardate: 6235.9

From: Lt. Allison Sneeburn, Federation Logistic and Compliance Officer

Re: Health and Rations

Capt. Kirk:

Contrary to your previous starmail, oh, yes, there is great cause for concern about the issue raised, and your so-called explanations of the rapid consumption of mess supplies have hardly been satisfactory. “Probably Tribbles” is clearly flippant, for one thing, as we know that no ship can have just “two or three of the little bastards” for long. Clearly something has caused unusually high ration consumption from your account, and Tribbles are not it.

Let’s look over some of your other “explanations,” shall we? 

1. I might find it plausible that you had to eat double the normal amount of food for a period of time as you were split in two by a transporter accident on 1672.1, if I could find it plausible that you were split in two. Besides, if that happened, wouldn’t each of you have half the mass of the original, and need just half the rations? 

2. An android duplicate of you ate a ton to prove he was human on 2712.4, did he? But no one saw him do it? A bit contradictory, no?

3. A duplicate of you from an evil dimension turned out to have “the appetite of a Janus VI miner.” Really. And there was a whole duplicate of the ship and everyone on it too. I wonder if that Captain Kirk takes requests from Federation seriously?

4. A guy called Sargon took over your body on 4768.3 and “ate everything in sight.” That having been "without a body for like a zillion years, he’d probably worked up an appetite.” I see.

5. You were “accelerated” by the Scalosians on 5710.5, moving faster than the eye could see, so you would up having 32 meals in 24 hours. I hope you worked all those calories off, moving so fast.

6. Garth of Izar impersonated you on 5718.3 and raided your food account. This one seems plausible, as the actions of Garth at that time are well documented. Still, going by the records, he must have been extremely hungry, and enjoys the same kind of Denevan knockwurst as you.

7. And then we have Dr. Janice Lester taking over your body with her own personality in 5928.5. My, everyone seems to want to be you, don’t they? “She turned out to having a big-time eating disorder” is interesting, but there's no evidence that she has said disorder when in her own body, and your Lt. Sulu let it slip that this idea probably came from The Man with Two Brains, one of your favorite 20th-century films. 

Let’s be frank, Captain; it is on record as far back as 1512.2 that your ship’s doctor had put you on a salad regimen to get you to lose weight. I agree that the new blouse is unflattering to most starship captains, but word is you have been filling it out pretty thoroughly. 

And the stories you send back to the Federation are---well, I don’t want to use the word “fabulistic,” but in a short period of time you claim to have traveled through dimensions, almost altered the twentieth century and the subsequent time stream three times, met ridiculous numbers of alien beings with preposterous powers (including highly advanced intelligence, whom you nevertheless always outsmarted), met Nazis and Romans and Chicago mobsters and Abraham Lincoln (!) and Zefram Cochrane (!!) and Apollo? I would like to remind you that in his 37 years of service as captain of various starships, the most exciting thing that ever happened to Commodore Ty Sanchez was when he found the Walking Viruses of Canton XI, and following the Prime Directive just tagged the planet for observation. You’ve been a busy boy, eh, captain? 

Finally, with all due respect, I reject the charge that this is “harassment” or “nitpicking,” and your further charge that “Bones put you up to this, right?” is baseless. In my position I act in concert with the ancient health laws known as the M. Obama Initiative and with concern for cost overruns for food supplies. And no, I will not send you a “more casually dressed” picture of myself. In the Federation offices, as you well know, women prefer to wear trousers, unlike on your ridiculous ship. Just cut back on the gravy and muffins and we’ll check back with you in six months. 

AS

Song for our veterans.

I wish our nation were more worthy of the sacrifice made by our men and women in uniform. By that I mean I wish we were as appreciative as we should be of our freedoms and what they are for, and more grateful for the many blessings we enjoy.

These days the only freedoms anyone seems to care about are those involving sex, drugs, and nudity. These are interesting, no doubt, but that’s not what builds up the strength of the people or ensures a proper political system.

But election day’s over, so put that aside for now.

 

I was able to get to last year’s Veterans Day Parade in Manhattan, at least for a little while, and enjoyed hearing some of the military bands. I’ll take a military or school marching band any day over a dancing musical act or a bunch of people singing to prerecorded crap. Not just because nine times out of ten “Imagine” will be on the crap sound track, but that is a consideration.

That got me to thinking about the great songs of our armed forces: “Anchors Aweigh,” “The Army Goes Rolling Along,” “The Marines’ Hymn,” “Semper Paratus,” “The U.S. Air Force,” and of course “Heave Ho! My Lads, Heave Ho!”* These are pretty awesome. I got to wondering if the guys ever got into bar fights over who had the best anthem. Well, I thought, it’s not like these guys are drafted to be music scholars: “Your fight song sounds like atonal weasel farts composed for Castrato!” “Oh yeah? Well, your song is as Prestissimo as you guys beating cheeks con moto when the shooting starts!” And then things get all fisty.

Of COURSE they get into fistfights over who has the best anthem. These guys get into fistfights about everything. I once knew a former Navy man who’d been stationed in San Diego for some time, and every weekend they’d get into fights with Marines. “F---g jarheads don’t get their stripe until they beat up a f---g swabbie,” was how he put it.

So on this Veterans Day I salute our guys, and ask please, don’t fight each other today, all right? We need you all, and not with friendly-fire beer-blasted bone breaks or in MP-issue cuffs. You can start punching each other again on Wednesday. You all have excellent songs, really, so fight over something important, like football.

*United States Merchant Marine. Yes, really.

Memorial Day.

When a man like me reads about D-Day, or the Battle of Midway, or Gettysburg, or the Hundred Days Offensive, he cannot help but be astonished by the courage shown by the Americans involved, courage I have never needed or probably ever will need. The worst injury one person has ever inflicted on me was a kick to the solar plexus in sixth grade. It hurt. But no one has ever shot at me.

Not yet, anyway -- you never know -- but if they do it will be one insane person who got mad at wasting time with my knock-knock jokes, not hundreds of thousands of them.

I have a number of veterans among my acquaintances, and they rarely talk about their war experiences. Not to me, anyway. Why would they? Some people have experiences so outside our ordinary day-to-day blah that to describe them would be like speaking Latin to an Aleut. (An Aleut who doesn't speak Latin -- yes, don't be funny.)

It's almost hard to be properly grateful when you can't even understand the sacrifice. It ties in with my old Wonderama Theory of Human Sympathies.

You zygotes don't remember Wonderama, but it was a kids' TV show that ran for more than 20 years on Sunday mornings. There was one segment where kids from the audience would get up and sound off on things they hated. I remember one kid talking about getting bitten by an animal and having to go through rabies shots, something like eight big needles in the stomach in those days, very painful and quite frightening. The audience just looked at him. The next kid complained about how much he hated peas, and everyone went crazy cheering. No one had had rabies. Everyone hated peas.

When Hollywood wants to make a film about the military these days, the guys are either madmen, victims, or jerks. Hollywoodites have to filter everything through the lens given them by their Vietnam-dodging college professors. When so many of us were in the military or lived with people who had served or buried loved ones who had sacrificed everything, we could understand it. Now it's like a lost culture to us, mysterious as the early Etruscans.

I'm glad that I never had to serve. I'm glad most of us don't have to. But by abandoning our knowledge of war, we have lost something crucial in the understanding of those whose sacrifice allows us to be so ignorant. I often pray that our country may be more worthy of that sacrifice.