Egyptians don't do lines. They're into flocks and herds and clusters. Wait in line until it's your turn? Unheard of! Join the herd and see if you can out-shout your herd mates. If you holler loud enough - and the amount of currency you're waving wildly above your head is large enough - you may be called up to the counter next. Bribes and kickbacks spell corruption in Western countries. In Egypt and throughout the Mideast it's a way of life, business as usual.
This no-lines tradition extends to driving. The main drag heading into downtown Alexandria had 6 lanes, 3 lanes of traffic going each way. At stoplights, drivers who were several cars back from the front, boogied on over to the left and filled up the incoming lanes. And, across the intersection, oncoming drivers did the same.
So, 6 lanes of cars facing each other. When the light turned green it was one big game of chicken., horns blaring, drivers shouting obscenities at each other. Actually, I just assume they were shouting obscenities; I don't speak Arabic. Given the tone and volume however, I doubt they were asking to borrow a spoonful of Grey Poupon.
Another delightful habit was driving at night without headlights. It was considered rude to have your headlights on at night. This wasn't a problem in town where there was adequate ambient light to see oncoming vehicles, but in the country it was a different matter. The custom was to keep your lights off until you were a few hundred feet from the oncoming vehicle, then flash your lights on and off to alert the oncoming driver. Makes a lot of sense, huh? Suddenly blind the oncoming driver with your lights, scare the crap of him, proceed onward at a closing speed of 120+ MPH. Asinine!
Your average Egyptian driver appeared to have the emotional maturity of a 2-year old. Here's one for you. Heading downtown for a negotiation session with a City official one afternoon, we saw a small sedan bounce off the front right side of a fully loaded bus. The bus driver turned his steering wheel to the right and returned the favor. The little sedan reciprocated. And on it went. Mile after mile.
Another time I witnessed 2 cars meet, head on, in a narrow alley. They both sat there for several minutes, revving their motors, honking their horms. Finally, one guy turned off his engine, got out of the car, sat down on the hood and glared at the other guy. Other guy, not to be outdone, followed suit. Although I was curious about the final outcome, I didn't have time to hang around. I wonder if they're still there in the alley, glaring at each other until, finally, one of them keels over dead and reaps his 72-virgin reward.
Forgive me for bringing religion into it, don't mean to offend anyone, but haven't you wondered where they get all those virgins? Do the math: every day, thousands of believers die honorably. You'd need at least a million virgins in the holding tent at all times. Plus, you'd need several thousand eunuchs to guard the virgins from those who already have their 72-virgin quota, but were issued 6 dozen toothless old spinsters and want to trade up. And you know eunuchs, always bitching about their lack of career choices, cranky as hell. Talk about a major HR nightmare! Allah, I don't envy you your job.
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Friday, December 29, 2017
Dateline Egypt, part 3
We had a fleet of 30 cars for project-related use on work days, and for personal use after hours and on weekends. Engineers needed to inspect current and future job sites, surveyors were always in the field doing what surveyors do, other professional staff had frequent meetings with City officials downtown.
Expats who lived more than a few blocks from the office car-pooled, and could use the vehicles for shopping and such during off hours. During the week, spouses could take a bus or tram downtown but it wasn't a pleasant transport mode: crowded, dirty, slow, Western women ogled and pinched.
There was one Egyptian driver for each fleet vehicle. They knew the City, the quickest routes, alternate routes when traffic was snarled up by accidents or farmers delivering produce in donkey carts. The drivers had it pretty easy. On any given day, only half of them were needed. The rest would sit around all day smoking and joking and drinking Turkish coffee.
One of my responsibilities in my prior assignment in the Corvallis, OR company headquarters was fleet manager. We had roughly 500 company vehicles. My job was to negotiate deals and financing on new vehicles, dispose of old vehicles, establish maintenance and cleaning schedules.
When I arrived in Egypt in '82 I was thinking only 30 cars in the fleet, piece of cake. Boy, was I wrong! The cars were poorly maintained and disgusting, filthy inside and out. And there sat a dozen or so drivers, doing nothing all day. I wrote up a set of cleaning and maintenance guidelines and gave them to Hamid, my fleet supervisor. I expected a dramatic, overnight improvement in vehicle cleanliness. I expected in vain. Nothing happened. Cars still filthy. Drivers sitting around.
I gave Hamid the what for. Waited a few more days. And.............nothing happened.
Finally, Tarek, my accounting supervisor, took me aside. "Drivers won't wash cars because it's beneath them. Doing such a menial task would be degrading."
'When in Rome .........' So, I hired a guy, full time, to wash cars. Problem solved.
Egyptians were, most likely still are, extremely class conscious. We can thank the Brits for that, I think; they ruled the country for 74 years. However, clan/tribal/religious connections probably play a large part also.
I gave Hamid the what for. Waited a few more days. And.............nothing happened.
Finally, Tarek, my accounting supervisor, took me aside. "Drivers won't wash cars because it's beneath them. Doing such a menial task would be degrading."
'When in Rome .........' So, I hired a guy, full time, to wash cars. Problem solved.
Egyptians were, most likely still are, extremely class conscious. We can thank the Brits for that, I think; they ruled the country for 74 years. However, clan/tribal/religious connections probably play a large part also.
Thursday, December 28, 2017
Dateline Egypt, part 2
My prior post mentioned that I was in charge of housing. There were about 35 long term American staff on site, mostly married couples, several with children, and a few singles as well. Most were there for 1-3 years so there was a fair amount of turnover. We rented houses and apartments for the expats, close to the office if possible, so they could walk to work.
We scoured the immediate area for appropriately-sized units, find 2 or 3 possibles and show them to the new arrivals. We then negotiated the rental terms on the dwelling of choice, and determined what was needed to 'Westernize' the living area.
Alexandria's climate is similar to San Diego, very livable, but occasionally quite hot, and in the winter months, sometimes quite chilly. Central heating was unheard of so we installed wall-mounted heat/cool units. We also installed washers, dryers and refrigerators, and sometimes plumbing and lighting fixtures. Although the rentals were furnished (by Egyptian standards), additional furniture was often needed, especially beds and chairs.
We chauffeured the newcomers around town to purchase bedding, towels, cookware, silverware, all the stuff needed for everyday living. We chauffeured them around again, this time to various suks to purchase food. There were no supermarkets, just suks (souk, suq), most of them the size of a large closet. One suk for dry goods, one for meat, one for fresh produce, etc.
When I arrived in the City, I selected a 4th floor walk up, across the parking lot from the office. It was summer, pleasant weather, so installing the heat/cool unit wasn't a high priority. I'd lived there a couple weeks before the crew got around to the installation. They started at 11 AM, bashing a hole in the wall, and were half finished when I went home for lunch at noon.
As I approached the front door, I noticed water running down the hallway, obviously coming from my apartment. What the hell? I entered the apartment, water all over the floor, a steady stream flowing out of the bathroom. Looking into the bathroom, I saw one of the guys dumping a wicker basket of concrete debris into the toilet. The toilet was merrily overflowing but he kept flushing it over and over anyway, dumping in more debris between flushes. Unbelievable!
I grabbed Hossam, my housing crew chief, and read him the riot act. Hossam was bright, well educated, spoke excellent English, but was apparently oblivious to the proper care and feeding of flush toilets. I gave him a short course in basic plumbing, told him to clean up the mess and come back the next day to finish the job. Sans flush.
The scene of the crime was actually a half bath. Luckily, there was also a full bath, so I avoided using the half bath, not wanting another flood. I suspect the other building occupants had plumbing issues after the incident, especially those on the first floor.
We scoured the immediate area for appropriately-sized units, find 2 or 3 possibles and show them to the new arrivals. We then negotiated the rental terms on the dwelling of choice, and determined what was needed to 'Westernize' the living area.
Alexandria's climate is similar to San Diego, very livable, but occasionally quite hot, and in the winter months, sometimes quite chilly. Central heating was unheard of so we installed wall-mounted heat/cool units. We also installed washers, dryers and refrigerators, and sometimes plumbing and lighting fixtures. Although the rentals were furnished (by Egyptian standards), additional furniture was often needed, especially beds and chairs.
We chauffeured the newcomers around town to purchase bedding, towels, cookware, silverware, all the stuff needed for everyday living. We chauffeured them around again, this time to various suks to purchase food. There were no supermarkets, just suks (souk, suq), most of them the size of a large closet. One suk for dry goods, one for meat, one for fresh produce, etc.
When I arrived in the City, I selected a 4th floor walk up, across the parking lot from the office. It was summer, pleasant weather, so installing the heat/cool unit wasn't a high priority. I'd lived there a couple weeks before the crew got around to the installation. They started at 11 AM, bashing a hole in the wall, and were half finished when I went home for lunch at noon.
As I approached the front door, I noticed water running down the hallway, obviously coming from my apartment. What the hell? I entered the apartment, water all over the floor, a steady stream flowing out of the bathroom. Looking into the bathroom, I saw one of the guys dumping a wicker basket of concrete debris into the toilet. The toilet was merrily overflowing but he kept flushing it over and over anyway, dumping in more debris between flushes. Unbelievable!
I grabbed Hossam, my housing crew chief, and read him the riot act. Hossam was bright, well educated, spoke excellent English, but was apparently oblivious to the proper care and feeding of flush toilets. I gave him a short course in basic plumbing, told him to clean up the mess and come back the next day to finish the job. Sans flush.
The scene of the crime was actually a half bath. Luckily, there was also a full bath, so I avoided using the half bath, not wanting another flood. I suspect the other building occupants had plumbing issues after the incident, especially those on the first floor.
Wednesday, December 27, 2017
Dateline: Egypt, part 1
Alexandria, Egypt. November, 1983. I'm half way through a 30-month assignment with WWCG (Wastewater Consulting Group). It's a consortium of 2 US and 2 Egyptian companies, doing the engineering/design for an expansion/upgrade of the City's wastewater system.
My job is finance/admin manager, in charge of support services: facilities, housing, purchasing, shipping, customs clearance, transportation, accounting, word processing, communications and so on. In the military, I'd be called the DLJO - Dirty Little Jobs Officer. My staff is all Egyptian, about 200 in total.
We occupy the first 4 floors of a 12-story office building. The top 8 floors are vacant, due to a building permit issue that's been brewing in court for 7 years. Things move slowly in the Mideast. Although I've been aware of the permit problem for some time, it doesn't impact our operation so I'm not concerned about the outcome.
The issue: the builder got an initial permit for 5 floors. Later, a permit was issued for the top 6 floors. 5 + 6 = 11. But, the building has 12 floors.
I'm both flabbergasted and amused when the court decision comes down. What was the court's decision? Remove the 6th floor!
For the next 4 months, a bunch of Egyptian laborers, armed with sledge hammers and wicker baskets, methodically demolish and remove everything on the 6th floor. Everything but the columns supporting the upper floors, that is. Day in, day out, these guys pound away on the concrete block walls. Chunks of concrete rain down on all sides of the building, bounce off the A/C units, threaten anyone standing near the building.
All the debris was hand-carried in wicker baskets. They'd load up the baskets, bring them down in the elevator, tromp through our first floor offices, out the front door, dump the baskets, tromp back to elevator. For 4 months!
Gotta love the Egyptian legal system - and the thoroughness of the permitting system as well.
Friday, December 15, 2017
Cat Tale
There were 4 of us milking that afternoon, my Dad and 3 of his sons: Larry, Gerry and yours truly. It was the 50's and we were still milking cows the good 'ol fashioned way. Squeeze. Squirt. Squeeze. Squirt. Each of us had our own little milking stool and our own 3 gallon pail.
It took about and hour and half to milk the 2-dozen-odd cows. We'd dump the milk into 5-galllon pails after each cow, these larger buckets in a holding pattern, waiting for the milking to be done, after which the milk would be run through the separator.
After the milking, we'd pour some milk into a shallow container for the cats. Barn cats. Not spayed. Not neutered. Not fed anything other than milk. They were expected to live on rats and mice and anything else they could catch. They did alright in that regard, never saw a skinny barn cat.
The brothers had just finished milking, and Dad was just finishing his last cow. He came striding up the walkway behind the cows, his last pail of milk in hand. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed one of the cats up on its hind legs, drinking milk out of one of the 5-gallon buckets. Not an unusual occurrence, we frequently had to shoo the cats away from the buckets.
It seems Dad was in no mood for shooing that day. Without breaking stride, he lofted that cat into the air with his foot. The cat screamed, "ROWR!" It flew five feet through the air in a perfect arc - and landed, dead center, in another full 5-gallon pail of milk. Cat grenade! Milk explosion! Cat's in the bucket, panicked. Rowr! Rowr! Rowr! Clawing at the sides of the bucket, trying to escape, milk flying everywhere - and we 3 brothers laughing so hard we could barely remain standing.
After a couple failed attempts, Dad managed to grab the cat by the scruff of the neck and set it aside without getting too badly scratched. The cat took off like greased lightning, not to be seen again that day, and never to be seen drinking out of a bucket again. Dad finally saw the humor in it, chuckled, "Pretty good shot, huh?"
It took about and hour and half to milk the 2-dozen-odd cows. We'd dump the milk into 5-galllon pails after each cow, these larger buckets in a holding pattern, waiting for the milking to be done, after which the milk would be run through the separator.
After the milking, we'd pour some milk into a shallow container for the cats. Barn cats. Not spayed. Not neutered. Not fed anything other than milk. They were expected to live on rats and mice and anything else they could catch. They did alright in that regard, never saw a skinny barn cat.
The brothers had just finished milking, and Dad was just finishing his last cow. He came striding up the walkway behind the cows, his last pail of milk in hand. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed one of the cats up on its hind legs, drinking milk out of one of the 5-gallon buckets. Not an unusual occurrence, we frequently had to shoo the cats away from the buckets.
It seems Dad was in no mood for shooing that day. Without breaking stride, he lofted that cat into the air with his foot. The cat screamed, "ROWR!" It flew five feet through the air in a perfect arc - and landed, dead center, in another full 5-gallon pail of milk. Cat grenade! Milk explosion! Cat's in the bucket, panicked. Rowr! Rowr! Rowr! Clawing at the sides of the bucket, trying to escape, milk flying everywhere - and we 3 brothers laughing so hard we could barely remain standing.
After a couple failed attempts, Dad managed to grab the cat by the scruff of the neck and set it aside without getting too badly scratched. The cat took off like greased lightning, not to be seen again that day, and never to be seen drinking out of a bucket again. Dad finally saw the humor in it, chuckled, "Pretty good shot, huh?"
Sunday, December 10, 2017
Plunk Your Magic Twanger, Froggy!
Folks in their 70s may recall Froggy the Gremlin. Froggy was a naughty little fellow who constantly played tricks on guests of the radio show, Smilin' Ed's Gang, in the 1940s. The show was one of several 'cereal serials' aimed at kids, although this particular show was sponsored by Buster Brown shoes instead of cereal. "I'm Buster Brown, I live in a shoe. That's my dog, Tige, he lives there too!"
Ralstson-Purina sponsored the Tom Mix Ralston Straight Shooters radio show. Tom Mix, a famous cowboy actor, starred in hundreds of silent movies, always wearing a big white hat. The bad guys, of course, all wore black hats. Mix himself was never heard on the radio show because his voice wasn't good enough, the result of a bullet wound in the throat and a broken nose.
Sergeant Preston of the Yukon was another popular kids radio show. Preston was a mounty, who with the aid of his lead sled dog, Yukon King, pursued evildoers in the frozen north. It was sponsored by Quaker Oats.
Yet another show, Bobby Benson and the B Bar B riders, was set in Texas. Bobby was an orphan who inherited a large ranch, and rode along with his cowboys in pursuit of rustlers, thieves and other miscreants. It was sponsored by H-O Oats.
On Saturday mornings in the late 40s and early 50s, I listened to all these shows, plus a few more. And I, like millions of other kids, pestered my parents to buy the advertised cereals so I could save box tops and send them in for assorted worthless junk. The cereal companies raked in the profits.
Saturday, December 2, 2017
Cattail Cove State Park
We, and 3 other RVing couples from LHC, just returned from a very enjoyable 3 days at Cattail Cove State Park, which is about 30 minutes south of LHC. The beach picnic area is shown above and below. Those tiny figures in the center of the lower picture are Tom and Louise, part of our group, getting a kayak ready to launch.
The campground area of the Park with our 4 rigs grouped together, lower left. Lisa and Elaine are approaching each other, prior to sitting down at a picnic table for a morning chat, lower right.
The kayak group launches at the Park. Trish, Elaine and David in foreground, Louise and Tom behind. Tom was having trouble getting his pedals seated properly. They all have Hobie pedal kayaks. David and Elaine's are inflatable; the others are traditional hard shell types.
They spent 2.5 hours on the Lake, then Terry and I took the trucks down to Havasu Springs to pick them up, and join them for lunch.
Thanks to David for bringing the firewood, and providing the evening ambiance. Thanks to Trish for the s'mores makings. Thanks to all for the delicious snacks and desserts, and the enlightening conversation about converters, inverters and extroverters!
Finally, congratulations to Lisa who finally had her groping fantasy fulfilled.
Saturday, November 25, 2017
Tempe, AZ
Tempe's Desert Botanical Garden gets my vote for best of breed in desert-themed public gardens. It was started in 1939, covers 140 acres, and has 55K desert plants from all over the world. The pix below was taken at the entrance, a living mosaic of little cacti.
Also near the entrance are the glass sculptures pictured below - by none other than the famous glass artist, Dale Chihuly.
We're in Tempe for Thanksgiving, hosted by fraternity brother Al and his main squeeze, Jan. We alternate hosting the event, so it's our turn next year.
The following pix include several large ceramic heads by Jun Kaneko,a famous artist I'd never heard of before. I don't get out much.
Little woman, BIG cacti!
Above and below, sitting on the edges of the walkway, those tan rectangular things are luminaries. There are 8,000 of them in the Gardens, each with its own wax candle. On Las Noches de las Luminarias, all those candles get fired up. Super speedy sprinters compete for the honor of lighting the candles. The winner has 30 minutes to light all 8K candles. If he fails, leaves any single candle unlit, he's tarred and feathered, and then thrown into the Salt River.
Obviously, I'm clueless on the candle lighting. Was curious about it but couldn't find anything on the website. Gotta take hundreds of people.
Kaneko also did the critters below, calls them raccoon-dogs. Raccoon-dogs? I don't think so. How about pig-bears?
Tempe, population 182K, is the home of Arizona State University, the largest public university in the US, with 72,000 enrollment. The Phoenix area has 5 campuses and there are 4 regional campuses, including the newest one in Lake Havasu City, my home town, started in 2012.
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
Something to Cry About
"Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" Is there anyone who hasn't heard that one? I surely did. Here are some more sayings from my childhood.
Between male siblings:
"Did you fall in?" Shouted through closed bathroom door.
"Should I throw you a rope?" Ditto. (1 bathroom, 8 people.)
"Nice play, Shakespeare!" Any screw up.
"NSDT" (No shit, Dick Tracy) Stating the painfully obvious.
"You're cruisin' for a bruisin.'" Oops, too much smart mouth.
"Your voice is changing but your breath smells the same." Fart.
"Useless as tits on a boar." Didn't do it right - or not at all.
"Gag a maggot." Nasty food, smell, whatever.
"Puke a snake." Ditto
"Your barn door's open." Unzipped fly.
From Mom to us kids:
"You're a naughty piece of cheese." When being mischievous. Never heard that one anywhere else, no google results. Huh?
"You're gonna have a lot to answer for." You did something bad and your purgatory time just got extended. Again. Oh, well.
"Kids in China are starving." Okay, ship it over there, I hate it.
"What's the rating?" Couldn't watch any movie not approved for kids by the Catholic church.
"Go wash your mouth out with soap." Said a bad word. Yuk!
"If it was a snake, it'd bite you." Look again, dummy.
"Go soak your head." Actually did that once. Didn't help.
"You could grow potatoes in there." Dirty ears en route to church, followed by spit bath. Ew!
From Dad to us kids:
"Are you cracked?" Did something stupid.
"I said so. That's why!" No explanation needed.
"Sit there and be quiet." He invented 'time outs.'
"Were you born in a barn?" Left the door open.
Personal favorites I still use occasionally:
"People in hell want ice water."
"Go suck an egg."
"We went to different high schools together."
"10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag."
Between male siblings:
"Did you fall in?" Shouted through closed bathroom door.
"Should I throw you a rope?" Ditto. (1 bathroom, 8 people.)
"Nice play, Shakespeare!" Any screw up.
"NSDT" (No shit, Dick Tracy) Stating the painfully obvious.
"You're cruisin' for a bruisin.'" Oops, too much smart mouth.
"Your voice is changing but your breath smells the same." Fart.
"Useless as tits on a boar." Didn't do it right - or not at all.
"Gag a maggot." Nasty food, smell, whatever.
"Puke a snake." Ditto
"Your barn door's open." Unzipped fly.
From Mom to us kids:
"You're a naughty piece of cheese." When being mischievous. Never heard that one anywhere else, no google results. Huh?
"You're gonna have a lot to answer for." You did something bad and your purgatory time just got extended. Again. Oh, well.
"Kids in China are starving." Okay, ship it over there, I hate it.
"What's the rating?" Couldn't watch any movie not approved for kids by the Catholic church.
"Go wash your mouth out with soap." Said a bad word. Yuk!
"If it was a snake, it'd bite you." Look again, dummy.
"Go soak your head." Actually did that once. Didn't help.
"You could grow potatoes in there." Dirty ears en route to church, followed by spit bath. Ew!
From Dad to us kids:
"Are you cracked?" Did something stupid.
"I said so. That's why!" No explanation needed.
"Sit there and be quiet." He invented 'time outs.'
"Were you born in a barn?" Left the door open.
Personal favorites I still use occasionally:
"People in hell want ice water."
"Go suck an egg."
"We went to different high schools together."
"10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag."
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
Frisbee Golf
When we were in Grand Junction, CO, we took the dogs to a large off-leash park in nearby Palisade. The park has a Frisbee golf course, and there was a state tournament in progress, dozens of 4-person teams. We'd seen a few of these courses in our travels but rarely saw people playing the game, had no idea it was such a big deal. A state tournament? Really? Who knew?
The players were mostly 30-ish guys, each with 20+ discs stuffed into a rectangular duffel bag mounted on a miniature refer dolly. We chatted up one of the foursomes and hung with them for awhile, got a little education. One team member, tall guy, nailed a hole in one from about 500'. Unbelievable! He had us sign his Frisbee, as witnesses. Holes in one are as rare as they are in regular golf; the guy was ecstatic.
The discs have various weights and are labeled like golf clubs: driver, midrange, putter, etc. The player stands on the concrete tee-off pad, eyeballs the course and obstacles - there were lots of trees in the park - selects the appropriate disc, does whatever style of approach he/she has developed, and wings it down range hoping to miss all the trees and get within putting distance of the goal.
There are over 5K courses in the USA, and it's played in 31 other countries also. There's even enough prize money in the larger tournaments to generate a few professionals. I've used the term 'team' above but I think it's the individual's score that counts; I suspect the foursomes are put together in a random manner.
The players were mostly 30-ish guys, each with 20+ discs stuffed into a rectangular duffel bag mounted on a miniature refer dolly. We chatted up one of the foursomes and hung with them for awhile, got a little education. One team member, tall guy, nailed a hole in one from about 500'. Unbelievable! He had us sign his Frisbee, as witnesses. Holes in one are as rare as they are in regular golf; the guy was ecstatic.
The discs have various weights and are labeled like golf clubs: driver, midrange, putter, etc. The player stands on the concrete tee-off pad, eyeballs the course and obstacles - there were lots of trees in the park - selects the appropriate disc, does whatever style of approach he/she has developed, and wings it down range hoping to miss all the trees and get within putting distance of the goal.
There are over 5K courses in the USA, and it's played in 31 other countries also. There's even enough prize money in the larger tournaments to generate a few professionals. I've used the term 'team' above but I think it's the individual's score that counts; I suspect the foursomes are put together in a random manner.
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
Frostbite Falls
Most readers of my vintage know that Frostbite Falls is the name of a fictitious town in northern Minnesota. It was the hometown of TV cartoon characters Rocky and Bullwinkle. That's them below; some of the other main characters are pictured also.
Having grown up in northern MN myself and surviving (barely) its frigid winters, I find the name appropriate as well as humorous. I left MN at the earliest opportunity but still take a wicked delight in namedropping FF with family and friends who still live there.
Recently, I stumbled onto the history of the name, found it intriguing. The creator of the series, Jay Ward, lived in Berkeley, CA, but for some reason became a great fan of the Golden Gophers from the University of Minnesota. His favorite Gopher was Bronko Nagurski, a star football player who hailed from International Falls, MN. I-Falls was sometimes called 'The Icebox of the Nation' owing to its dubious honor of frequently having the lowest temps in the country. That tickled Jay apparently, inspired him to come up with the FF name.
The cartoon series was at once both silly and delightfully clever. Puns ran rampant. I loved it.
In 2000 a Rocky and Bullwinkle movie was released. Despite having major star power (Rene Russo, Robert DeNiro, Randy Quaid, John Goodman, et al) viewers weren't impressed. They preferred the cartoon characters.
Having grown up in northern MN myself and surviving (barely) its frigid winters, I find the name appropriate as well as humorous. I left MN at the earliest opportunity but still take a wicked delight in namedropping FF with family and friends who still live there.
Dudley Do-Right
Recently, I stumbled onto the history of the name, found it intriguing. The creator of the series, Jay Ward, lived in Berkeley, CA, but for some reason became a great fan of the Golden Gophers from the University of Minnesota. His favorite Gopher was Bronko Nagurski, a star football player who hailed from International Falls, MN. I-Falls was sometimes called 'The Icebox of the Nation' owing to its dubious honor of frequently having the lowest temps in the country. That tickled Jay apparently, inspired him to come up with the FF name.
Snidely Whiplash
The cartoon series was at once both silly and delightfully clever. Puns ran rampant. I loved it.
Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale
In 2000 a Rocky and Bullwinkle movie was released. Despite having major star power (Rene Russo, Robert DeNiro, Randy Quaid, John Goodman, et al) viewers weren't impressed. They preferred the cartoon characters.
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Duct Tape
Ever heard the Duct Tape song? No? It's a must-listen.
Actually, there are several duct tape songs. I've only listened to a few but this one stands head and shoulders above the others: the Duct Tape Madrigal in C Major.
Here you go: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmaBPAldQEE
If this little ditty doesn't make you smile, better call the undertaker, "He's dead, Jim."
Actually, there are several duct tape songs. I've only listened to a few but this one stands head and shoulders above the others: the Duct Tape Madrigal in C Major.
Here you go: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmaBPAldQEE
If this little ditty doesn't make you smile, better call the undertaker, "He's dead, Jim."
Friday, September 29, 2017
Hotshots
Hotshot: a talented and successful person : someone who is successful or skillful in a showy or flashy way.
One rarely hears the word used that way anymore. Nowadays, hotshots are men and women who fight wildfires, either full time or seasonally.
On the Burning Edge, authored by Kyle Dickman, himself a one-time hotshot, is a book that tells the story of the Yarnell Hill wildfire and the men who fought it. Yarnell is a small AZ town, about 50 miles southwest of Prescott. The book was a random pick from the Arizona section of the LHC public library - an excellent choice as it turned out. I was especially intrigued by the story because of my own brush with wildfires when I worked for the Forest Service in the mid 60s. More on that later.
The Granite Mountain hotshots, based in Prescott, AZ, consisted of 2 10-man crews. Several were veterans who had served in Afghanistan and Iraq. In 2013, when the story takes place, most of the men had already spent a few seasons fighting fires, although a few were newbies who had recently completed the grueling training required of all would-be hotshots.
Granite Mountain had proven themselves in several wildfires around the country, and were well respected for their ability to get the job done. The job was mostly building fire lines to contain the blazes, setting backfires, and so on. Their arsenal included chain saws, pulaskis, axes, shovels. And sweat. Lots and lots of sweat. Despite their training and experience, 19 Granite Mountain men were killed in the Yarnell Hill wildfire - the worst wildfire fighter disaster in 80 years. Miscommunication and freakish, constantly-changing, 50+ mph winds were mostly to blame for the tragic loss.
The movie Only the Brave will be released in theaters next month. It tells the story of the Yarnell Hill wildfire, and the Granite Mountain crews
In the Forest Service, I was engaged in blister rust control, but was also trained to build fire line and do mop up work after a wildfire was contained. We, mostly college students from all over the country, prayed for wildfires because they meant more money. You got bonus pay - hazardous duty or per diem or whatever - and you worked long hours.
In late July, 1964, we were rousted at 3 AM to fight a fire in the 7 Devils wilderness of northern Idaho. We were bused from Pierce, ID to Orofino, ID, where we boarded a DC3. We were in the air about 45 minutes when the plane made a U-turn: turned out we weren't needed after all.
The following summer, I was promoted to crew chief. In early August, my crew and I (9 of us) were trucked to a remote location where a lightning strike had started a small fire on a hilltop where timber had been harvested several years prior. We packed in 3 miles, carrying food and water for 2 days, sleeping bags, and the tools of the trade: pulaskis, shovels, axes and jack-off backpack tanks.
As wildfires go, this little blaze didn't amount to much. It was only about 5 acres, had no tall trees and not that much brush. Still, building the fire line was no picnic. Nor was the mop up - a dirty, hot, nasty job. The fire line completed, and all hot spots taken care of, we packed out again after about 36 hours on site. Our filthy faces would have made Al Jolson proud. Although my wildfire experience doesn't hold a candle to what today's hotshot crews endure, it gives me an understanding of what they're up against and the deepest respect for these tough, brave men and women who put themselves in harms way, over and over.
One rarely hears the word used that way anymore. Nowadays, hotshots are men and women who fight wildfires, either full time or seasonally.
On the Burning Edge, authored by Kyle Dickman, himself a one-time hotshot, is a book that tells the story of the Yarnell Hill wildfire and the men who fought it. Yarnell is a small AZ town, about 50 miles southwest of Prescott. The book was a random pick from the Arizona section of the LHC public library - an excellent choice as it turned out. I was especially intrigued by the story because of my own brush with wildfires when I worked for the Forest Service in the mid 60s. More on that later.
The Granite Mountain hotshots, based in Prescott, AZ, consisted of 2 10-man crews. Several were veterans who had served in Afghanistan and Iraq. In 2013, when the story takes place, most of the men had already spent a few seasons fighting fires, although a few were newbies who had recently completed the grueling training required of all would-be hotshots.
Granite Mountain had proven themselves in several wildfires around the country, and were well respected for their ability to get the job done. The job was mostly building fire lines to contain the blazes, setting backfires, and so on. Their arsenal included chain saws, pulaskis, axes, shovels. And sweat. Lots and lots of sweat. Despite their training and experience, 19 Granite Mountain men were killed in the Yarnell Hill wildfire - the worst wildfire fighter disaster in 80 years. Miscommunication and freakish, constantly-changing, 50+ mph winds were mostly to blame for the tragic loss.
The movie Only the Brave will be released in theaters next month. It tells the story of the Yarnell Hill wildfire, and the Granite Mountain crews
In the Forest Service, I was engaged in blister rust control, but was also trained to build fire line and do mop up work after a wildfire was contained. We, mostly college students from all over the country, prayed for wildfires because they meant more money. You got bonus pay - hazardous duty or per diem or whatever - and you worked long hours.
In late July, 1964, we were rousted at 3 AM to fight a fire in the 7 Devils wilderness of northern Idaho. We were bused from Pierce, ID to Orofino, ID, where we boarded a DC3. We were in the air about 45 minutes when the plane made a U-turn: turned out we weren't needed after all.
The following summer, I was promoted to crew chief. In early August, my crew and I (9 of us) were trucked to a remote location where a lightning strike had started a small fire on a hilltop where timber had been harvested several years prior. We packed in 3 miles, carrying food and water for 2 days, sleeping bags, and the tools of the trade: pulaskis, shovels, axes and jack-off backpack tanks.
As wildfires go, this little blaze didn't amount to much. It was only about 5 acres, had no tall trees and not that much brush. Still, building the fire line was no picnic. Nor was the mop up - a dirty, hot, nasty job. The fire line completed, and all hot spots taken care of, we packed out again after about 36 hours on site. Our filthy faces would have made Al Jolson proud. Although my wildfire experience doesn't hold a candle to what today's hotshot crews endure, it gives me an understanding of what they're up against and the deepest respect for these tough, brave men and women who put themselves in harms way, over and over.
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Nails, Corn and Rocks
A couple days ago I stopped at Lowe's, getting supplies for various honey-do projects. My list included 4" nails. When our RV campsite is dirt, we lay a large synthetic rug on the ground, helps keep dirt from getting tracked into the RV. The rug is very lightweight, has loops at the corners and sides for securing it to the ground so it doesn't blow away; hence the nails.
The nails reminded me of my first introduction to same. Back in the day, back on the farm, the chores were endless, and we kids were 'volunteered' into the work force early on. One of my first chores was removing nails from old boards. And, there were always piles of old, salvaged boards, where they came from I haven't a clue. The nails were bent more often than not. So, straighten the nail, pound on the tip, use the hammer claw to remove it, straighten it some more, throw it into coffee can. Exciting stuff!
Another salad-years task was uncovering corn. Horse-drawn planters and cultivators weren't famous for maintaining a straight line. Cultivators were, however, famous for burying little corn seedlings. "Mike, I want you to uncover corn in the field I cultivated yesterday." Gee, thanks, Dad! Can't think of anything I'd rather do. I get my trusty forked stick and off I go, trudging up and down the corn rows all day. And the next day. And the next, liberating little plants from premature burial. Talk about tedious.
Picking rocks was another ongoing chore. Every time a field was plowed, a new crop of rocks appeared - not good for cultivators, harrows, discs, or other machinery. Hitch up the horses - later, the tractor - to the stone boat. grab shovels, pickaxe, 6' crowbar and off you go. We had several rock piles scattered around the farm, the largest of which was a good 300' long, 4' high and 12' wide.
Stone boat is a misnomer. They're not shaped like boats, doubt they even float. Don't recall ever seeing anyone water ski behind one. They're crude, sturdy, heavy, constructed of thick oak planks. Actually they're sleds, not boats.
I'm reminded of an old joke. This city slicker is driving through Minnesota, stops to stretch his legs beside a field where a farmer is picking rocks. Mr Slick decides to have a little fun with the farmer, asks him, "Where did all those rocks come from?"
"Glacier brought 'em," the farmer replied.
Slick: "Where's the glacier now?"
Farmer: "Went back for more rocks."
The nails reminded me of my first introduction to same. Back in the day, back on the farm, the chores were endless, and we kids were 'volunteered' into the work force early on. One of my first chores was removing nails from old boards. And, there were always piles of old, salvaged boards, where they came from I haven't a clue. The nails were bent more often than not. So, straighten the nail, pound on the tip, use the hammer claw to remove it, straighten it some more, throw it into coffee can. Exciting stuff!
Another salad-years task was uncovering corn. Horse-drawn planters and cultivators weren't famous for maintaining a straight line. Cultivators were, however, famous for burying little corn seedlings. "Mike, I want you to uncover corn in the field I cultivated yesterday." Gee, thanks, Dad! Can't think of anything I'd rather do. I get my trusty forked stick and off I go, trudging up and down the corn rows all day. And the next day. And the next, liberating little plants from premature burial. Talk about tedious.
Stone boat is a misnomer. They're not shaped like boats, doubt they even float. Don't recall ever seeing anyone water ski behind one. They're crude, sturdy, heavy, constructed of thick oak planks. Actually they're sleds, not boats.
I'm reminded of an old joke. This city slicker is driving through Minnesota, stops to stretch his legs beside a field where a farmer is picking rocks. Mr Slick decides to have a little fun with the farmer, asks him, "Where did all those rocks come from?"
"Glacier brought 'em," the farmer replied.
Slick: "Where's the glacier now?"
Farmer: "Went back for more rocks."
Tuesday, September 12, 2017
Trip Summary 2017
The highlights and low lights of our summer travels:
1. High: Love the new truck and RV!
2. Low: Constant alarm beeping in truck, along with "Check Trailer Wiring" notice for first 6 days of driving. Had RV checked at dealership: "Everything is okay." Sure it is. I just dreamed it was beeping. Silly me! Had truck checked at dealership: "Couldn't find anything wrong." What else is new? Bought a can of electric circuit spray, sprayed the hell out of receptacle and plug (the pigtail electric cord that connects truck to RV; it controls brakes, lights, other good stuff). Problem solved.
3. High: The electric fireplace. We thought it was a ridiculous feature. Wrong! Used it every morning in Bend. Much quieter than furnace, nice ambiance, no cost - uses RV park's electricity instead of our propane.
4. Low: Had to bag Grand Teton NP because RV water pump croaked.
5. High: Visiting with friends in Bend, Ketchum and Grand Junction. Plus: son Tod and wife, Char, joined us for an enjoyable week in Bend. Tod, when we're in Mexico, I'm gonna kick your butt in Spades!
6. Low: Bed platform hinge screws pulled out on one side (lower half of bed raises to access storage under bed). Faulty installation but easy (temporary?) fix: larger screws.
7. High: I played pickleball in 3 states; Trish cycled in 4.
8. Low: Wildfire smoke in several states, terrrible for T's allergies/asthma.
Stats: Towed the RV 3230 miles; put 6215 miles on the truck. Most of the difference, nearly 3K miles, racked by Ms T, heading out to kayaking venues, quilt stores, cycling venues. Seems she likes the new truck a whole bunch.
1. High: Love the new truck and RV!
2. Low: Constant alarm beeping in truck, along with "Check Trailer Wiring" notice for first 6 days of driving. Had RV checked at dealership: "Everything is okay." Sure it is. I just dreamed it was beeping. Silly me! Had truck checked at dealership: "Couldn't find anything wrong." What else is new? Bought a can of electric circuit spray, sprayed the hell out of receptacle and plug (the pigtail electric cord that connects truck to RV; it controls brakes, lights, other good stuff). Problem solved.
4. Low: Had to bag Grand Teton NP because RV water pump croaked.
5. High: Visiting with friends in Bend, Ketchum and Grand Junction. Plus: son Tod and wife, Char, joined us for an enjoyable week in Bend. Tod, when we're in Mexico, I'm gonna kick your butt in Spades!
6. Low: Bed platform hinge screws pulled out on one side (lower half of bed raises to access storage under bed). Faulty installation but easy (temporary?) fix: larger screws.
7. High: I played pickleball in 3 states; Trish cycled in 4.
8. Low: Wildfire smoke in several states, terrrible for T's allergies/asthma.
Stats: Towed the RV 3230 miles; put 6215 miles on the truck. Most of the difference, nearly 3K miles, racked by Ms T, heading out to kayaking venues, quilt stores, cycling venues. Seems she likes the new truck a whole bunch.
Friday, September 8, 2017
Zion!
Yes, Zion NP merits the exclamation point. Magnificent, multi-colored mountains with sheer cliffs. We're in Watchman Campground, just inside the south entrance. That's Watchman Mountain, below. Top picture was taken from inside the RV, while sitting at the dining table.
The Virgin River, which runs right by our campsite, is small, unimpressive - but it did one helluva job carving out Zion Canyon.
We took a 1-mile hike up the Virgin River to the point where the trail stops and you have to continue by walking/wading in the River itself, into The Narrows. Some of the Stick People continued upriver; we did not. Stick People are tour group folks. They carry walking sticks which have the names of the tour companies painted on them. The sticks aren't state of the art, just wooden dowels really, but hey, they do have rawhide thongs near the top to give those tenderfeet a real feel for the Wild West.
I was last here in 1987, was into backpacking and mountaineering at the time, did a whirlwind tour of Arches, Bryce, Zion. We (girlfriend and I) backpacked up Walter's Wiggles, past Angel's Landing, to the plateau above, camped there a couple nights. This picture was taken up top, Great White Throne in background.
The Virgin River, which runs right by our campsite, is small, unimpressive - but it did one helluva job carving out Zion Canyon.
We took a 1-mile hike up the Virgin River to the point where the trail stops and you have to continue by walking/wading in the River itself, into The Narrows. Some of the Stick People continued upriver; we did not. Stick People are tour group folks. They carry walking sticks which have the names of the tour companies painted on them. The sticks aren't state of the art, just wooden dowels really, but hey, they do have rawhide thongs near the top to give those tenderfeet a real feel for the Wild West.
Mule deer abound in the Park, nice rack on this one.
Hanging gardens, above and below.
Plants cling to sheer cliff walls where water seeps down from above.
I was last here in 1987, was into backpacking and mountaineering at the time, did a whirlwind tour of Arches, Bryce, Zion. We (girlfriend and I) backpacked up Walter's Wiggles, past Angel's Landing, to the plateau above, camped there a couple nights. This picture was taken up top, Great White Throne in background.
Sunday, September 3, 2017
Colorado National Monument 2017
We toured the Monument in 2015, starting at the Fruita, CO entrance. Did it again this year, starting at the east entrance.
We've looked at Mon from both sides now. Awesome, no matter how you look at it.
Sunday, August 27, 2017
Western Colorado, Cont.
After doing the Gardens, we sipped - and bought - some wine at one of the many wineries in the Palisades area, a few miles northeast of GJ.
Later, we strolled Main Street and viewed the Art on the Corner sculptures, some of which are permanent, some not. Below, the ant is eyeballing the giant apple core with a greedy look.
Later, we strolled Main Street and viewed the Art on the Corner sculptures, some of which are permanent, some not. Below, the ant is eyeballing the giant apple core with a greedy look.
Leader of the pack!!!
Shed' be even faster if both feet could reach the pedals.
Western Colorado Botanical Gardens
Havasu friends Terry and Lisa joined us in Grand Junction, CO for a couple days. We all toured the Western Colorado Botanical Gardens, which are located in the City, near the Colorado River.
Is the bear contemplating having Terry and Lisa for lunch?
Cute sculptures in the kid's garden.
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