Monday, April 23, 2018


Here is a President. H/t timewaster.

and he delivered.


I have enjoyed Kurt Schlichter since he started writing. His latest Townhall piece was a rare treat for all the senses. He is retired military and now a lawyer and he takes to his current profession all the gritty steely determination you could imagine in such a combination. You really should read the link.

I don't tweet or look at tweets but I enjoyed reading what Kurt laid before my eyes.

I think President Trump is likely to find a judge disinclined to take any of the usual crap from the feds or from the DNC or from Hillary, and if discovery is granted they are not going to be stalled for year after year by howls of protest. They will be sufficiently woke to the consequences of that happening by the Fed's continuous rearguard defense of the indefensible and by the Steyn vs Mann goat rope going on in the  DC courts for the last 7 years. In short they'll find an adult court and an adult judge or the law is going to find itself coated in slime.

I am very much enjoying the prospect of President Trump launching a counter-attack in the courts against the massively corrupt and dishonest Department of Justice, FBI, DNC and Hillary. It is particularly enjoyable because not one of the so-called 'smart ones' thought about the utterly predictable outcome that comes from suing a man who has been tied up in law suits his entire adult life.

Friday, April 20, 2018


It has been many years since I saw anything like justice in our Department of Justice or in it's tributary organs of justice such as the FBI, ATF or DEA. They all seem willing to ignore injustice, practice injustice and ridicule those who seek justice. I found the actual words of James Comey to describe the crimes of Hillary Clinton and Cheryl Mills, and Hillary's body servant Humma Abadeen  to be pretty damning. In Comey's words from his book:
In Secretary Clinton’s case, the answer to the first question—was classified information mishandled?—was obviously “yes.” In all, there were thirty-six email chains that discussed topics that were classified as “Secret” at the time. Eight times in those thousands of email exchanges across four years, Clinton and her team talked about topics designated as “Top Secret,” sometimes cryptically, sometimes obviously. They didn’t send each other classified documents, but that didn’t matter. Even though the people involved in the emails all had appropriate clearances and a need to know, anyone who had ever been granted a security clearance should have known that talking about top-secret information on an unclassified system was a breach of rules governing classified materials. Although just a small slice of Clinton’s emails, those exchanges on top-secret topics were, by all appearances, improper. Put another way, there were thirty-six email chains about topics that could cause “serious” damage to national security and eight that could be expected to cause “exceptionally grave” damage to the security of the United States if released. The heart of the case, then, was the second question: What was she thinking when she did this? Was it sloppy or was there criminal intent? Could we prove that she knew she was doing something she shouldn’t be doing?
As Andrew McCarthy writes, the law on espionage is very clear.
There is no way of getting around this: According to Director James Comey (disclosure: a former colleague and longtime friend of mine), Hillary Clinton checked every box required for a felony violation of Section 793(f) of the federal penal code (Title 18): With lawful access to highly classified information she acted with gross negligence in removing and causing it to be removed it from its proper place of custody, and she transmitted it and caused it to be transmitted to others not authorized to have it, in patent violation of her trust. Director Comey even conceded that former Secretary Clinton was “extremely careless” and strongly suggested that her recklessness very likely led to communications (her own and those she corresponded with) being intercepted by foreign intelligence services.
and McCarthy again:
 As I have contended before, this claim is specious on multiple levels. Subsection (f) of the pertinent statute (the Espionage Act, codified at Section 793 of Title 18, U.S. Code) makes it a felony to mishandle classified information “through gross negligence” — i.e., proving Clinton was sloppy or careless (or “extremely careless,” to use Comey’s own description) could have been sufficient. But beyond that, Clinton willfully set up a private network for the systematic handling of her State Department-related communications, in violation of federal record-keeping requirements of which she was well aware, and under circumstances in which she (a former senator who served for years on the intelligence Armed Services committee) was a sophisticated longtime consumer of classified information. She was keenly aware that her responsibilities as secretary of state would heavily involve classified information — whether it was “marked” classified or “born classified” because of the subject matter.
It is irrelevant whether Clinton’s purpose was to transmit or store classified information on the private, non-secure server; prosecutors are not required to prove motive. The question is whether she knew classified information would end up on the server, and her set-up made that inevitable.
It is perhaps unimportant that we now know that Clinton's house maid in New York was ordered to print emails that showed up at the house and all of the emails to Clinton's server showed up at the house in New York and it goes without saying that the maid doesn't have any kind of security clearance and there is no way to know how many hard copies of the emails walked out the servant's door at the house in New York.

It is more than Clinton that should be prosecuted and jailed for crimes she committed. Anybody who sent classified emails to that server are listed on the emails the FBI has in its possession and those people also knowingly violated the espionage law by knowingly sending Top Secret and Secret information to an unclassified domain. They should go to jail too.

Why is there a special prosecutor for the complete non-crime of collusion but nobody is doing anything about actual criminals?

Thursday, April 19, 2018


There is just something about the Air Force these last 40 years. I don't know what did it but if there was ever a Service that had been subjected to a humorectemy it has to be the Air Force. They don't see the humor in anything and any attempt at humor is blasted with the anti-humor equivalent of the MOAB. It brings to mind a passage from Anton Myrer's book, Once An Eagle.
Damon said: “I never had the advantages of West Point.”
Krisler glanced at him a moment—then grinned his gleeful, face-cracking grin. “Yeah! Isn’t that the truth. But the worst part of the place was the stony-dungeon humorlessness. Not one West Pointer in fifty has a real sense of humor. Jesus, they all think a joke is a long story that has a dog in it with a man’s name.”
Damon laughed; he decided he liked Krisler a good deal. “You must have had a bumpy time of it there.”
“The upperclassmen considered me unsound. Frivolous, they called it. ‘No plebe can afford to be frivolous here, Krisler. We are taking it upon ourselves to see that you rid yourself of that odious characteristic.’ Why in hell do they always think they have to talk like Dr. Johnson? I made the mistake of telling one of them that, once.”
“You lasted four years up there with that attitude?”
“Three. Our academic careers were cut short so as to fit us into the grand conflict. I was just as happy, to tell you the truth.” His jet black eyes glinted, his jaw flexed; and Damon saw there was a lot of steel under the headlong bravura. “It became a game after a while—a grim, methodical kind of game. They threw it all at me—I eagled and dipped and braced and walked my punishment tours hour by lonely hour … but every evening I looked in the mirror at my ugly phiz and told myself: ‘You have not lost your sense of humor.’ And it worked.” He watched a pretty French girl at a nearby table for a moment with eager interest. “Well—I take that back about all Pointers. Colonel Caldwell’s got a sense of humor, all right. Nothing seemed to be happening that night, and I couldn’t find anybody that knew anything, and when I saw Caldwell I ran up to him and said: ‘Colonel, my orders are to take command of the Third Platoon, C Company, First Battalion.’ He gave me a really marvelous look and said, ‘Thank you, Lieutenant—I shall return to my duties with a lighter heart.’”
In the Navy reenlistments are pretty much per the whim of the Petty Officer who is re-enlisting. I've re-enlisted sailors at the top of the forward mast on a Spruance Class destroyer, on the very bow of the X USS Midway, atop one of the caissons holding up the Coronado Bay bridge after climbing up it out of our zodiac which was tied alongside. I've heard of sailors re-enlisting in just about any way possible and although I'm pretty sure none have tried a dinosaur puppet, I wouldn't be surprised to be wrong.

I put in 2 years as an AFROTC student before seeing the light and joining the Navy. There wasn't a spec of humor to be found in the Air Force back then. Years later, I remember the Air Force forced me to spend the night in McGuire one night enroute to the middle east. I sent a junior officer straight to the phones when we arrived at the terminal to get rooms at the visiting officers quarters. He was halfway across the terminal when he turned and shouted a question at me. "What do I tell them if they aren't familiar with navy ranks?" I replied, "we're the equivalent of a Lieutenant Colonel and Major." A hand tapped me on my shoulder and a clearly irate LtCol said to me, "Lieutenant, I don't think that's very funny."

Humor is a lubricant. There's enough friction in war that a little lubricant goes a long way to make it easier to get over the hurdles one runs into after 17 straight years of war.

The Colonel was shot at dawn the following day and the sergeant was busted to 2nd Lieutenant.


From Bookwormroom a show and tell of what Paris is today. The last time I was there was the summer of 1989. Go to the link and see what Paris has become and will remain for the rest of time. It's beyond sad and it is happening to all of western Europe.

Tuesday, April 17, 2018


Ordinarily when a ship gets a hole in it you can guess what happens next. Well not this time.

Srsly, who ever heard of puncturing a ship's hull and letting the water out? H/t gcaptain.

Monday, April 16, 2018


I found this lurking in somebody’s side yard today in Easton, Maryland.  I’m sure it could be restored to its former glory by the right owner. If only there was someone familiar with the aircraft... The rest is probably in the garage getting painted.

Monday, April 9, 2018


As I read more about how Facebook, Twitter, Google/YouTube behave it strikes me more and more that they are the worst combination of Joseph Goebbels and the worlds created by George Orwell. The leaders and followers in the organizations named above all follow the same drumbeat and it is the drumbeat Orwell described in both Animal Farm and in 1984. They are Big Brother and it becomes more and more obvious every day. If they decide that they don't like your message? They make it vanish like it never was. If they don't like you because of your politics or views? They make you vanish like you never were.

These weasel fellows have been practicing what they perceive to be the height of civilized behavior by doing the same thing on campus. If they don't like what you wrote and published they hound the publishers and editors no less thoroughly than the SS hounded those they hated and despised. They don't like the messenger? They refuse to let him/her speak the message aloud in ANY venue.

I think it's passed time to break these things up and/or to put an external board of control in charge to end this charade and long fall into the shards of a glittering sharp night.

Sunday, April 8, 2018


I caught a less serious one of JP'S inspirational videos at somewhere tonight but I like this one better.

They are wonderful sincere send ups of some of the things that irritate the hell out of normal people and I write that after living on and off in SOCAL for 30 years.

Friday, April 6, 2018


It appears to be the new policy of the Association of American Medical Colleges to make all future candidates taking the MCAT answer deeply personal questions about their background, upbringing and personal experiences. What a crock.

Given that this is exactly the kind of unethical game the left plays all the time and that they also encourage and justify letting people self-identify as women or black or whatever they feel like, why not have a new company, sort of like Kaplan Test Prep Courses, that will prepare all MCAT candidates for getting through the MCAT successfully even if progressive treasures like Dr. Darrell Kirch politicize the living hell out of the test and the process for selecting future doctors in America.

It's pretty simple, everyone taking the test self-identifies properly for whatever benefits them the most. There's even an example from our past.

Friday, March 30, 2018


My mother's grandmother came over when she was sixteen. A long time ago. They got lucky in many ways, They came over almost a half decade before the Titanic set sail. We crossed the Atlantic on the Queen Mary 2 and one of the speakers who entertained us had a real animus against the White Star Line. He was Executive Vice Director in Charge of the Cunard in charge of blacking the name of White Star (currently owned by another firm) and he despised White Star. You should too.

The funny thing for me was that there was a cute young lass (two to be honest) on the DC deck as we left the ship in Southampton and I talked to her. We both did. The little placard in front of her identified her as the representative of the White Star Line who, handles luggage and baggage for passengers on the ships of the 'not' White Star Line. I really could not walk at the time and I was a little worried at outrunning Southampton's overpopulation of rats on the way to dinner.

One of the other amusing things about the ship was the captain. I would gad about and every place I went, there he was, in the spa, in the lounge, in the office the bookstore, the library, every where I went. The grace of my life met him for the first time at the Captain's dinner.

She has a blog post of a pencil that appears to be rolling back and forth in the gale force winds we enjoyed the entire trip. 80 knot winds. It's on her blog. I was maladroit and pointed out that the pencil wasn't actually moving. 90,000 tons of ship with giant underwater wings was actually moving under the pencil.

A long time ago, the people the navy used to call OS (God only knows what they're called today) thought they'd amuse themselves at my expense as we sailed to Diego Garcia with massive storms off the coast of India. Their clever plan was to dangle a tennis ball on a string from one of the pipes in the overhead in combat and point out the same relative motion thing to me.

I sail. Boats and motion are part of me since I was 10. I nudged the Chief as I came into CIC and bummed a cigar off him and told him I was tired of the the damage they kept doing to the Countermeasures Washdown Piping in CIC. They were a big part of the people that tried to make my life miserable by saying there wasn't enough air conditioning or blaming the DCA's pipes for leaking on them. In February all 18 AC machines were fully functional. The OS had "cut down" on their 'maintenace' requirements by pulling the inline steam heaters from the air conditioning vents and throwing them overboard. They threw them overboard so they would no longer have to clean them.

I ran all 18 AC units......and it is still, the Persian Gulf. I had the temperature in there down to 42 degrees. I was utterly deaf to complainst from anyone. I also created the hole in the Ozone layer but you're supposed to forget that. We're talking about an awful lot of freon.


A totally unexpected vampire blood sucking day. I don't think I'll die of my wounds today but the day is young. This author did a magnificent job of giving the history of both stand-off and defeat. It's been that kind of a day.


I don't think I heard them anywhere after I left Seattle. Heard them tonight. There is this girl who does the "just look at me and do what I do" thing where we now pool. I heard tonight she is 25. She looks 17 and she does what she does. I've seen her twice and heard her when she thought she was mostly in private. What she is is a dynamo. No, I've never seen one either. This girl went for an hour and after just half an hour watching her I was utterly exhausted. Mind you, I wasn't doing the stuff she was, it was just my eyeballs watching her. It took me almost an hour to think who she reminded me of. It was this young lady.

Thursday, March 29, 2018


As I think about it, that's a staggering number of times I held my hand and didn't blog. On the gripping hand, my daughter, who is of very tender age, now knows about this place.

I saw today that the Penningtons are blogging. I'm glad I kept the link to Buck alive all these years.


We actually watched that on West Wing. For me? I dug out the journals, found the last one and wrote in it just now. I had to make an important note. I have 4 of those books. They cover 1984 through 1999. Tonight was the first entry since 2016 and before that the entries ended in 1999. It's funny. That predates 9/11 and getting married and a daughter and getting not married. One would almost think making a note was important. On the gripping hand, some things are remembered.

The last thing I would do at night was write in those books but after I got back from the Persian Gulf I stopped. I need to write more. To a little girl and a man I never ever thought of us as the old man.

We went to an Estate Sale. We go to see the houses and I go to read the books. I regret leaving one book to the book whore of metroparkcentralis. It was the lady's diary and she talked about meeting her friends and neighbors when they took a steamship to Paris and they bumped into each other. One almost can't do that anymore. I was standing there in the bedroom reading a day from 1963. If you write it down accurately, it happened and the instant can be recalled by the reader.

I am, at the end, a man who reads history. Close readers may have noticed.


I was sitting and looking at emails from the last 2 days and nights. My eyes closed and I started to dream. In the dream I went through every variation of possible outcome from the mail and then I woke up. Dream over. It was wonderful while it lasted but dreams end.

Wednesday, March 28, 2018


It was called to my attention by the person who didn't swim 142 laps yesterday and who can barely raise his arms. I have sore muscles on muscles I never had before. 

I think I'll add Ace of Spades to my blogroll since he writes things perfectly and gets all the important stories I otherwise miss since we don't watch the news and if it's not in the Wall Street Journal we are both prepared to never hear it.

I greatly like the story in the Orange County Register. They were one county north of the good county and well south of the hellholes created by democrats along the coast. Every ten years or so, in my experience the county is just barking mad and so it appears again today where they told California kleptokrats and all the other NAZIs to just fuck off.
The Orange County Sheriff’s Department, whose leadership opposes the new California sanctuary law that limits cooperation with federal immigration officials, announced Monday that it is now providing public information on when inmates are released from custody.
As of Monday, March 26, an existing “Who’s in Jail” online database includes the date and time of inmates’ release – a move agency officials say will enhance communication with its law enforcement partners.
And then Ace had this guy who somehow manages to be both a very convincing NAZI and a Borg.

The first Captain I had in the Navy was a member of the Hitler Youth. He and his mother were on the last ship to leave Danzig before the Russians rolled over it. They were White Russians and I can practically here the voice, "so, if we're being attacked by commies and nazis, who do we shoot first? Slap, "business before pleasure! Shoot the German.

Tuesday, March 27, 2018


I believe that one has to have a personal relationship to really climb the summit of hate and rage.These days if one writes anything it lasts forever. I'm sure there are quite a few people roaming the planet and muttering please please please hit the internet with a nuclear weapon and EMP blast that will wipe out the words I just wrote. Not me. OTOH, there are two days missing out of my journal because I decided I didn't want that documented and ripped it out a few months later. I can't recall what it was, which I find humorous.

Memory isn't a weapon and nobody should treat it so. If I let them, my right hand fingers can still dial the phone numbers for Mine Group ONE in Seattle everytime they get near the phone. I called them a lot and usually at times of great stress. I called them almost everyday and told them that I was ready willing and able to report aboard any mine sweeper in the Persian Gulf in any job and they explained as how there was a long line ahead of me and to wait my turn.

I remember a man, he was a brother, who went around the house and kicked in every single window. He wasn't shy or bashful and when I asked what the hell he was doing he told me. His girlfriend had made a decision and taken action without informing him. It was a matter of life and death. Since the child was his, he thought he should have been consulted. She was a pretty blue eyed blonde who played first violin in the orchestra and I never laid eyes on her again.

That was the first time I saw literal rage and hate. I am sure that if I give it another hour or two the feeling will pass. I hate dealing with evil and there is no other name for it but evil.

Monday, March 26, 2018


It has been many years since I watched Winnie The Pooh but this has been the first blustery night since then. I remember her as she was and now she is almost 15. I don't remember growing up so fast. I think I stayed young for eons. It felt like forever.


I see that my old home town has a squirrel problem. Darn squirrels. My mother's family had an active hatred for them. I don't know why. The old house had 5 doors to the outside and by every one there was a rifle. When I visited and stayed with one of my uncles he had rifles by the front and back door. This was the uncle who despised bow hunters. The first time I visited his new house outside of Carlisle there was a leg sticking up out of the ground out back by the river. A bow hunter had put an arrow in a deer but didn't follow it up and so the deer suffered to death on my uncle's land. His neighbor had a machine for digging holes, plowing snow, defeating Martians and so on but the water table is so high they couldn't get the entire deer under ground. Some remained above.

We went to his 80th birthday party and it was a family reunion. All the brothers were there, and their sister and an awful lot of their kids (pushing 50) were there with their kids. The rifles were not in evidence. I think his daughters hid them for the 2 day party since there were an infinite number of little kids dashing around and rifles are damned near irresistible.

On my first ship we had a captain. He kept an M14 on the bridge with 5 or 6 fully loaded magazines and he would step out on the expanisve bridge wing to shoot sea snakes. National Geographic had a story about how sea snakes have no natural predators. We sent them a picture of Captain Julian shooting them. One of the perks of being Officer of the Deck was taking the rifle out and shooting sea snakes which the Persian Gulf had in great abundance. Any job where shooting a rifle is a perk is a damned good job.

Sunday, March 25, 2018


I spent some time looking on the web for a man I used to know. My blog features pictures of me and Lex and Dave. Lex went west long ago but I thought I could find Dave again if I looked.

Saturday, March 24, 2018


I stepped aboard, cautiously. It belonged to a young couple and their daughters. It was moored at the dock near mine. Mine was a wooden ship of ancient time. It had a hull number of 464. The cement boat was bound for Mexico and maybe Tahiti. It was the young lady who invited me to step aboard. I had never been aboard a cement boat before. What I remember is the laundry. Full size washer and dryer.

On 438 we washed our own clothes. Tucked away there in the starboard side aft behind the Chief's mess was a washer and dryer. There was a hundred guys doing wash but never the CO or XO. I used to call the skipper off the bridge to relieve me in Combat so I could shift my clothes into the dryer.

Friday, March 23, 2018

Thursday, March 22, 2018


This was taken at one in the morning. There was no moon. I was amazed that there was so much light in the dark. And no, the streetlight we have is leaning Marxist-Leninist and seldom lights up the dark.


We are watching the West Wing, again. Because we like it. I get a kick out of the little tricks they play with apple. In the show, somehow, the apple is always shown upside down. I think they have some sort of animus for apple. Heaven knows why. Still, it took some effort on somebody's part to keep showing the apple upside down on different laptops.