Me, A to Z

Accent: Midwestern, although some southern stuff is creeping in. For example, I don’t work in Norfolk, VA, I work in Nahfuk. A y’all or two creeps in now and then.

Booze of choice: Fuki plum wine. I often get a very odd look from the occasional waitperson when I ask if they have that particular brand. I call it the “Cocker Spaniel” look. Slight tilt of the head to the side, a bit of slack in the jaw, and an unsaid “HUH?”

Chore I hate: Trimming after mowing. A guy a couple of miles from here uses a herd of goats. I don’t think our homeowners’ association would buy into that.

Dog or Cat: Dog, but I’ve never owned one. My kids keep buying Felis silvestris catus just to torture me when I visit. Severely allergic.

Essential electronics: Computer, of course. How did we even survive without these infernal machines?

Favorite cologne: Hai Karate . . . kidding. Don’t use any.

Gold or Silver: Gold. The more, the better. I also take checks, money orders and promissory notes.

Hometown: Born in St. Louis, MO. Raised in Virden, IL. Lived in Peoria, IL; Omaha, NE; Overland Park, KS; Virginia Beach, VA.

Insomnia: Let me sleep on that one. I’ll let you know.

Job Title: Professional Engineer.

Kids: Three. One girl, two boys. All grown, married, and with kids of their own. All three are amazingly talented.

Living Arrangement: With my wife, in a subdivision surrounded by an Arnold Palmer golf course and about five miles from the Atlantic Ocean. Oh . . . and our tax assessment went up 56% this last year. That’s fiftyfreakingpercent, folks, which raises a question: WHY is the local government entitled to a windfall profit just because of supply and demand in the housing market? Virginia Beach’s needs haven’t increased just because people are willing to spend more on housing.

Most-admired trait: I am trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent. At least, that’s what Robert Stephenson Smyth Baden-Powell asked me to be. I can’t believe I still remember that.

Number of Sexual Partners: Fugeddaboutit. As if anyone needs to know.

Overnight Hospital Stays: Several. The worst was a knee repair. The medial collateral was repaired, but the Dorktor removed my anterior cruciate. Yep, I meant to spell it that way. The oddest was a week I spent in Memorial Hospital in Springfield IL while in the 2nd grade. I had no idea why I was there, and no one seemed to want to tell me. Over the years I forgot about it, then one day when I was about 30, I asked my Mother about it. It seems that our local doctor thought I might have Polio. I didn’t.

Phobia: Clostro- and acro-. No airplane window seats for me.

Quote: "There are 10 kinds of people in the world. Those who understand binary, and those who don’t."

Religion: Christian/Presbyterian.

Siblings: One, a younger brother. He’s retired, and I’m not. Where’s the justice?

Time I wake up: 0420.

Unusual talent/skill: Sewing – by hand and machine. I made all of the drapes for our new house. I have also made reproduction Civil War era uniforms and clothing - like the greatcoat to the right.

Vegetable I refuse to eat: Asparagus, rhubarb. Yeah, that’s two, but I absolutely hate them both.

Worst habit: I think it’s procrastination. I intend to look into that someday, but I keep putting it off.

X-rays: You could compose a full-size, semi-transparent rendering of me if you combined all of my X-rays.

Yummy foods I make: Scratch-built lemon pie with a raspberry custard layer on top and real meringue. Sounds odd, but it is really, really good.

Zodiac sign: Capricorn. I share it with, among others: Tycho Brahe; Kit Carson; Ava Gardner (she of Post Office fame); Cab Calloway; Rod Serling; Rudyard Kipling; Simon Wiesenthal & Herman Goering (obviously God has a strange sense of humor); Joseph Stalin & Mao Zedong (It’s kind of creepy sharing any kind of sign with two of the most prolific killers of all time.) In the Chinese zodiac, I’m a horse (water.)

Getting Stuffed . . .

. . . into an MRI tube, that is.

The following is a reprint of an After Action Report (AAR) I wrote a few months ago.

I recently had a recurrence of headaches that plagued me when I was a teenager. Since it has been several weeks since I was in my teens (somewhat over 2230, to be exact,) I decided to have an MRI and MRA an my skull to see if, in fact, it was as empty as some of my friends and co-workers have claimed.

The tidewater area (that's Virginia Beach/Norfolk, VA to the geography impaired) is apparently stuck in the 1980's and does not have any open-sided MRI machines, so I was looking at being stuffed head-first into a high tech sewer pipe. Claustrophobe that I am, my M.D. wrote an Rx for three 10 mg diazepam tablets. With a 1645 appointment, I took one at 1415, one at 1515 and one at 1615.

At that point, they could have stood me naked in the parking lot and taken photos with a Polaroid. I could have given a sh** less. However, they dropped me on the sliding table and pushed me inside like some meat-filled cannister into the Yamato's front turret, center tube.

Operator: "You have two tests. The MRI will take about 30 minutes. The MRA will take about 35 minutes." At least, that's what I think he said. I didn't hear too well over the little voice in my head that said: "Are you crazy? Get your *$! the *$@% out of this sewer pipe!

Operator: "How're you doing?"
Me: "I don't like this much!"
Operator: "You want out?"
Me: "No. Get on with it."

Next thing I hear, which seems like five minutes later, but was actually more than an hour: "You're done." I opine that Valium apparently creates a temporal anomaly, and conclude that Einstein's time/space theory is essentially bullbleep. They unload me, send me out the front door, and I find that 30 mg of Valium also affects the way I walk. The shortest distance between two points is generally impossible. This was confirmed by a brief shopping trip on the way home through the local Farm Fresh. My path through the store could have been drawn by Jeffy (of Family Circus fame.)

For those concerned about the possibility of me operating a vehicle in that state, please be assured that my fair wife was behind the wheel of our vehicle, ostensibly (and actually) to keep me from being convicted of driving while terminally loopy. Good thing, that, and excellent planning, I might add.

No results as yet. Chapter two to follow in a week or so.

Upon reading my AAR, my son the ER doc commented: "30mg of PO Valium and you were still breathing, huh? I thought Dr. Kevorkian practiced in Michigan or something."

Fast forward two weeks . . .

The MRI shows that I have nothing either growing or crawling around in my skull. The doctor said it was "normal" which, I assume, will be a great surprise to many of my family, friends and co-workers.

What the heck is Hampton Roads?

No, it has nothing to do with highways, interstates, streets or alleys. “Roads" in nautical terminology means a place less sheltered than a harbor where ships may ride at anchor.

You may remember an English gentleman who, with a few of his friends, dropped in to this place less sheltered after a wee bit of a boat trip from Merry Olde in 1607. If you slept through it in history class, maybe you remember the Disney Movie.

Then, there was the little dust-up in 1861-65, where some folks in the U.S. had a disagreement over that peculiar institution. I can see the site of one of the more historic engagements of that disagreement from a spot where I eat my lunch on nice days. This swoopy little cruiser wreaked havoc on March 8, 1962, sending the USS Congress and the USS Cumberland to the bottom along with 240 sailors.


The crew was looking forward to another successful day on March 9, when someone figuratively stuck a broomstick in their spokes. Another graceful vessel, with the appearance of a tuna can on a surfboard showed up. With much maneuvering, shooting, smoke, and sturm und drung they banged at each other all day with little result - finally withdrawing with no clear victor.



These days, Hampton Roads is the home of the world's largest navy base, Naval Station Norfolk, home of the U. S. Atlantic fleet. Ships like this Nimitz class supercarrier call Hampton Roads home.

I also call it home, but that's another story.

An email from my boss popped in to my inbox this afternoon . . .

Following are my comments on the Project:

Paragraph 9: "Hangar" is mispelled (capital sin!)

Paragraph 11: "Requirement" section discusses a schedule with a "must fund" required date of FY09. Is this still accurate? Did the schedule change any? If this was a must fund in FY09, what is the impact of deferring funding until FY10? Should that be discussed somewhere?

Paragraph 12: Need to update the site approval status/date

My response:

Once there was an African king who lived in a hut woven of sawgrass gathered from the plains. He sat upon a throne carved of beautiful ebony wood. To his good fortune, diamonds were discovered on his property, and he became very rich. Wanting to show his great wealth, he bought a large gold throne, and stored his old ebony throne in the attic. On the very first day he held court, he was sitting in his new gold throne receiving the tribe's nobles. Suddenly, the old ebony throne came crashing through the ceiling. It landed directly on the king, and killed him instantly. There are two morals to this story:

1. People who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones, and;
2. Mispelled is misspelled.

I fixed the rest.

No, I'm not fired. We simply have an ongoing joust concerning English usage, grammar and spelling. I'm currently ahead on points.

Yes, I realize I have not introduced myself. However, I will eventually do that . . . assuming the mood strikes me.

Maxima enim..patientia virtus