This and that.

--I got a minor promotion the other day. No big deal.


--I am suffering greatly from trees and grasses and ragweed having sex. The quantity and distribution of phlegm is suboptimal. (Not quite enough to kill me. Too much to be at all comfortable with.)

--I went with my dad last night to Cabella's to pick up a new set of electronic earmuffs. I had a first generation set of Peltors from 16 years ago, which gave up the ghost. It's stupid not to have a set or three, given the importance of being aware of your surroundings when shooting. My preference is for using the thinner electronic muffs, turned to high volume, over foam earplugs. I note that this pair came with a standard 3.5mm headphone jack, so that I can jump my phone or iPod or whatnot to it. More importantly, though, I can jump my 2-way radio mic to it while responding to an active shooter on duty. I'm going to keep in with my go-bag at work. I probably need to get a second set.

--I haven't been to the gym in two weeks. Not good.

--Our okra plants are tall and beautifully-leafed, and very green... and are bearing almost NO okra. Anyone have a suggestion for what nutrient we're missing?

--The temperature finally broke this week, and we finally have highs under 90 degrees. It's glorious.

--October is my favorite month. It has my birthday, and the birthdays of some very nice friends of mine. It is the month when the weather is the best in North Texas. It is associated with Oktoberfest, which includes two of my favorite things-- malty beer and German sausages. Halloween's okay, but it shouldn't account for the whole of the month.  October is when I join up with my friends on the range in Colorado, and we shoot a bit by day, and gather around the campfire by night.

--I look forward to seeing my friends, next week.

--I caught the pilot of Blue Bloods on Netflix the other night, and have since binge-watched the entire first two seasons on Netflix. The show is ridiculous. It is over-the-top pulp fiction in its plots and procedures. We basically never see more than about 6 cops in a 36,000-man police department, and evidently one Manhattan ADA handles every major case in the city of New York. They mention paperwork after an officer-involved shooting, but seem to be back on the street faster than Crockett and Tubbs were.  Only one guy in the family (Donnie Wahlberg's character) speaks with a New York accent. The detectives cross the ethics line on a daily basis, with illegal searches yielding somehow useable evidence, warrantless arrests, physical intimidation and assault during interrogations, etc, etc, etc. Donnie Wahlberg's grip on his pistol is amazingly low, with an inch of space above the web of his hand. His partner, in true Hollywood style, wears her holster between 1:00 and 2:00 o'clock.
But the show is cast very well, with Tom Selleck playing the respectable patriarch of the cop family, who happens to be the second generation of police commissioner for the PD. The interaction between the family is very attractive, and tugs at the heart a bit. It is shot very well. It is silly [melo]drama which I'm going to end up watching every minute of.

--I got  to work and found a voicemail from a senior district attorney, the other day. He said that he was working intake, and had just reviewed a felony DWI case that I had submitted, and that he wanted to compliment me on the good work that he found there. That was it. He didn't have any questions, and didn't need me to provide him with any information; he just wanted to let me know how much he appreciated the quality of the report and the investigation. I've only gotten a few of these calls over my years, and I will tell you that they mean a lot to me. He certainly didn't need to do that, and DAs are busy people. But nothing motivates me more than praise. (Note to self: remember that with the guys you lead.)

--We're about to outfit me with a new patrol car. I've never driven a brand-new one, but my car is getting tired. We're looking at getting a Ford Police Interceptor Utility, which runs about $10k less than the Tahoes we've been getting lately. The Ford P.I. Utility is based on the Explorer, so of course I'll call it Dora. Interestingly enough, the Explorer now shares the same unibody base as the Taurus. When it started, the Explorer was based on the Ford Ranger pickup. I'd noticed that the Explorer has gotten a lot more car-like over the last few years, but I hadn't realized that they had gone that far.

--Seriously. It's gorgeous outside. My wife and I are about to go for a walk.

--My elder daughter is competing today for UIL choir. She lucked out that this was a bye week for the football team, so she didn't have to lead the band last night before leaving at 06:15 this morning (Saturday) to head out to the vocal competition. As of now, it's 17:49, and they're not back, yet. Hope they fed her.

--My younger daughter is enjoying school more than she ever has. I was worried when she dropped band (it had really been good for the elder daughter), but she took up art and choir. She was a point under the cut-off to get into Pre-AP Algebra, so she wrote an appeal, and got in. She's in honors English, and just signed up to do the Creative Writing competition. I had my misgivings about her schedule this summer, but 7 weeks into the school year, it's clear to me that, with good grades and a happy 13 year-old, it was the best decision. I'll give up quite a bit for a happy kid who doesn't dread school.

--Our kitchen cabinet project eeks along at a snail's pace.

--I bumped Skills Week for my EMT class to November. I need to study.

--I need to build a fence this month.

--We now have a boutique shop in our small town which sells a variety of coffee beans by the pound. The price is high, but I appreciate the local service, so I give them my patronage.

More coffee. The high-end stuff.

After my last post, Old NFO sent me a pound in two packages of Kona coffee. I reiterate: NOT "Kona Blend", but 100% Kona.

I have been making it in the French Press, with filtered water. I have shared it with my family but little.

My wife tilted her head and squinted and asked "Why are people sending you coffee?" I smiled and told her that it was because I'm such a big deal, which made her roll her eyes. In truth, I don't know why I'm blessed to receive such blessings, and I know that I don't really deserve such friends and friendly gestures.

[Raised cup] Here is to you, Old NFO. Until the next time that we can share a pot of coffee on the range or at our friends' place.

Coffee in the round-about manner.

My wife and I went into Town to the large local pizzaria-and-bar, and sat with Dad and Holly and friends, to play trivia. It's fun, not least of all because our table pretty much always wins. It seems that our family and friends are frickin' huge repository of knowledge of questionable use. The restaurant is always full on Trivia Night, so there are a couple of dozen tables in play. I want to say that I think that I contributed one or two answers to our table's win, but I may have also negatively influenced some answers, too. 

Toward the end, Holly waved from the other end of the table and said that she and Dad had a package for me. The package was one sent to me care of Phlegmmy, who had transferred it to Dad and Holly, who held it for me to come by and pick up. 

Next day, I went to their house, and opened a box with three packages of coffee from The Roasterie, sent to me by ZerCool. I immediately ground some Kona, and Dad and I consumed a pot of it while discussing his new (to him) coach gun and his new (to him) S&W M27-2 (P.&R., natch).  

Now friends, I don't know what YOU did with your Wednesday, but an afternoon drinking fresh coffee, eating ripe peaches off the tree and talking guns with JPG happened to be exactly what this man needed. You are welcome to be a little jealous. 

That bag of Kona went fast, but I found that the Kansas City Dark Blend, ground fine, makes an excellent light espresso, and that the "40 Sardines" blend makes another good cuppa. 

I think that ZerCool sent that CARE package about 6 weeks ago, but it was timely-- I was out of coffee again. 

Thank you, brother. There is nothing more pleasurable than finding an unexpected gift in the post. 

Thursday morning Randoms.

--While I agree that we should absolutely brook no foolishness, and should arrest judges and cops alike for DWI --as apparently has been happening in Broward County, FL to three (!) judges this year-- I am impressed at the foolishness of Public Defender Finklestein's comments:

Finkelstein said he doubted Judge Rosenthal’s claim of the Ambien CR affecting her. “I have a little bit of experience with drugs. That is not from an Ambien at 10 o’clock at night,” Finkelstein said. “The fact that she refused the urine and the blood test is gonna keep people wondering.”

Way to get all prosecutorial, Mr. Public Defender! Hope you don't find yourself on the judge's blacklist...

--While watching an old Magnum P.I. episode (Look, don't judge me.), I see Magnum checking his load in his Government model while in the middle of a gunfight in a dock warehouse. He drops the magazine, and we see that he has two rounds left in the magazine. More importantly, we see... that it's a 9mm!  No! Say it ain't so!

In almost the next scene, he's firing, and you can clearly see the muzzle is not a .45.
So disillusioned. This of course is why he almost immediately gets shot and spends the rest of the episode in "Limbo".

--Wait-- Jeff MacKay is dead? But, he was the best sidekick!

--Wait-- Zsa Zsa Gabor is still alive? At 97, she's still ki-- er, ticking. (She lost a leg a couple of years back.)

--My patrol car suffered hail damage last month. The state insurance agency has totaled the car, for minor peens on the top surfaces, which didn't even crack the paint. Yeah, the car has some years on it, but it runs great! I understand the insurance company's math (the cost of refinishing the surfaces costs more than they reckon the car is worth), but this does NOT work out well for the department. The check that we get will nowhere nearly get us a new patrol car.  I wish we could take back the claim. But we can't. The insurance is dropped. That car will never run another patrol. Honestly, I'm thinking about following up on where the insurance company sells it; it's a good vehicle.

--I shot a police pistol match on Friday with my newly-issued Generation 4 Glock 31, shooting our new duty ammo, 147g Hornady XTP .357 Sig. It shot very well. I put the ski-jump big grip swell on the backstrap, and it felt good, so I'm leaving it on. I plan to purchase the Gen 3 Glock 31 that I carried for 7 and a half years. Interestingly, the Glock-branded steel tritium night sights were dead-on. As I have complained for years about the lack of quality of the Glock factory sights, let's hope that this kind of sight quality is the new standard. No scores from the match yet, but I didn't completely cover myself with shame. (At 30 seconds a miss, I shot slow.)

--I'm putting off taking my car in, now that I've cleaned it out to be turned in. Heck, I even threw a little Armor-All on the dash.

--Measles cases are at a 20 year high in the U.S. Jenny McCarthy and Andrew Wakefield can choke on a bowl of oversized phalli.

--You know that crazy woe-is-me narcissist who killed people at UCSB? Two observations:
1. When you show his videos and pictures and repeat his manifesto and say his name, you're putting out sugar for the ants (other people with issues who want to go out in a big enough blaze of glory that they reckon will make you HAVE to say their name.).
2. It was people with guns who stopped the rampage. Wouldn't it have been nice if someone had shot at him even earlier? Keep in mind that the shots at the bad guy don't have to kill him. This guy got hit in the hip, and then shot himself in the head.

--I finished The Watchmen, after having slowed my reading to about a chapter a night (well, maybe just a little faster). It was interesting. My brother was excited that we had something to talk about, and wants me to get into Daredevil. I don't see why not. But I'm not buying this over-priced thing.

--We are out of coffee. Except for that canned stuff, which doesn't count. Friday afternoon is payday, when I get more. (We've been paying huge surplus payments to our standing debt, to make it go away, which means that I suddenly long for Friday.)

--The weather is FAR better than what we usually get in late May. It's not even in the 90s. Blue skies with the odd fluffy white cloud for decoration.

--My daughter was inducted to the National Honor Society last night. Lots and lots of good and great kids are NOT so inducted. But I will say that of those NHS members on stage last night, none of them were regular "customers" of mine. Good kids all. I can be pretty glad that my kid is a member of their little local chapter.
 

The beginning of 2014.

--This day-by-day map depiction of World War II in seven minutes is fascinating. I knew that the Axis started to really begin falling in early 1944, but this map shows how the Allies stopped their forward momentum in November of 1942.

--A friend and hunting buddy this morning announced that it was 6 times warmer than it was yesterday, by virtue of the fact that his thermometer showed 12 degrees Fahrenheit today, and just 2°F yesterday. Thinking that he was joking, I mentioned that his quantities might be off. He asked why. (This guy is VERY smart. He's a paramedic and a computer whiz. So no slamming him.) I responded:
 "Well, degrees Fahrenheit don't actually measure absolute heat. However, degrees Kelvin *DO*. Fahrenheit set "zero" on his scale of temperature as being the lowest temperature that he could achieve, using ice and salt. He set 100 at what he thought was the human body temperature. (Look, it was the late 17th century. Cut him some slack.) Kelvin uses centigrade units above absolute zero. Zero degrees Fahrenheit is actually 255.37K. When it was 2 degrees Fahrenheit yesterday, it was 256.483 Kelvin yesterday. At 12 Fahrenheit today, it is actually 262.039 Kelvin, which is 1.004358... times warmer than yesterday, relative to Absolute Zero."

My buddy made a rude noise.

--It staggered me, the first time that I found out that there was a temperature below which nothing could go.

--And I didn't know until today that the Triple Point of water is used as part of the scientific definition of the Kelvin unit. ("The kelvin is defined as the fraction 1⁄273.16 of the thermodynamic temperature of the triple point of water (exactly 0.01 °C or 32.018 °F).")

--Every year, my wife and I hold off on giving each other Christmas gifts, and then agree together to buy something that we both want in January or February. Well, this year, she broke the agreement, and surprised me by unilaterally purchasing a Rancilio Sylvia espresso machine. I've owned small consumer espresso machines before, but they were the sub-$100 sheet metal stamped variety that turned out indifferent results. This thing is superb.

When you turn it on, it will build up the pressure, and then turn out the light like a waffle iron to tell you that you're good to go. You then punch the switch for espresso, and the double spouts will begin to push out dark rich espresso with a bit of crema atop it. Hit the switch for foam, and open the valve and vigorous foam makes milk magical. Flip the switch to hot water, and you get water perfect for tea or to add to your espresso for an Americano. 

It weighs a young ton. 

It takes up very little counter space. 

There is a bit of a learning curve to pulling a perfect shot. 

It's the nicest thing that I've been given in a long, long time. 

We're going through about a gallon of milk a day in this house, now. 

--I have yet to have built a "Gay Cynic Special": 8 shots of espresso served over ice. Even in Seattle, the barrista's eyes widened at that order. 

--In terms of style and distinctiveness, I think that the other states envy the Texas flag. Well, Arizona, New Mexico, and Alaska don't. And probably not Tennessee.

--What's the deal with the crescent moon on the SC flag? 

--One of our cats two went missing 6 days ago. We've since had several sub-20 degree nights. I suspect that the neighbor shot it. I have not approached him; I cannot be objective. He told my colleagues that he threw out a firecracker to make the cats stop fighting at night. Semi-outdoor cats run a risk, and we knew that.  My younger daughter, who had a serious cat crush on that animal, wakes up crying and saying that she dreamt that he was on her bed. I've had offers of a new cat. I can't. I don't need another creature in my heart, or in my daughter's heart. I need a break.  

--One of these days, some boy will make my daughter this sad. And I'll have to deal with my initial reaction there, too. 

--Here's a well-rendered map of the contiguous continental United States yesterday, showing that the average temperature was 14 degrees Fahrenheit. I like how they put clear delineations at the freezing point of water and at zero degrees F. 

Random thoughts in mid-December.

--It's finally bright and sunny today. The last of the ice has crept back into the darkest northern shadows, 10 days after our big ice storm. Someone brought up on the radio that this is the coldest stretch of weather for this past 20-something days for this area since 1899. Water still drips from the melting ice in the trough on my roof. I know you northern types giggle at my amazement, but I many times was not dressed inappropriately when I went out to play with my Christmas toys in a T shirt and jeans. Heavy ice lingering from early December is unusual for us in North Texas.

--Speaking of heavy ice, I have again been reminded that I was born and reared in the wrong period. I wish I had been born in, and had the means to take part in, the Heroic Age Of Antarctic Exploration. Just to think that such an era was named (and is Wikipedia official!) is something. Like the Golden Age Of Flight (Which apparently is NOT Wikipedia official.) (What are your favorite "Golden Age Of _____" eras?)

--I started thinking about the HAOAE when I came across these amazing color photos taken by Frank Hurley whilst aboard (and cast away from) the Endurance when it became icebound in on the Weddell Sea of the Antarctic coast in January of 1915. The ship wash crushed in October and sank the next month, and the crew weren't rescued until August, yet none of the party under the leadership of Sir Ernest Shackleford perished. I believe that I shall be purchasing the story right now. Why hasn't a movie been made of this?

--I spent 5 hours this morning early working on paperwork at the office, off-duty, trying to meet my goal of catching up completely by Christmas. 90 minutes of that was on the phone with Tech Support over a computer issue, finally deciding that I needed a new optical drive. When's the last time you had one of those crap out on you? Strange.

--I was just now trying to figure out why I felt tired and kind of sick. Then it hit me: Coffee. I hadn't had any all day. To the French press! I ground some Community Coffee beans (hey, when the sealed pack of whole bean is marked down for $1.99 a 12 oz pack, you'll buy five pounds, too.), and filled that chambourd right up. I'm feeling much better now.

--While getting my dopamine back in shape with caffeine, I thought of when I recently invited my dad to join me for a cuppa at a coffee shop run by a privately-run religious-based self-enrolled halfway house. The coffee there is excellent, and I shot this picture of my pot of French Press with my camera phone while I waited for Dad to join me. When he arrived, Dad took a puff of his vapor cigarette, and was told by one of the staff there that there were no drugs or addicting substance allowed. I had just ordered my second pot of French press for us to enjoy. They didn't seem to see the irony in this.

--I'm ordering on Amazon as fast as I can. I know that I've put stuff off a bit too long, now.

--Man, the caffeine is really kicking in. I'm typing faster than I was at the beginning of this post by a factor 1 : 1.5.

--Apparently, I'm going to take part in a CO chili cook-off next year. I seriously need to step up my game over what I brought this year. Sure, 25+ lbs (or was it 30lbs?) of chili all sold, but it wasn't the right texture, and frankly, it was a tad bland this year. I was experimenting with pork and a new kind of red chili paste (way better than powder, BTW). Foolish. Go with what you know. Dad contributed the pork for that, BTW, with that big sow he shot this April with his .45-70.

--Funny thing: when Dad and I were picking up some items at WalMart during our duck hunt this November, a lady saw Dad wearing that same British smock jacket, and asked about where she could get something like it for her husband, whom she was shopping for a gift for. We were in Weatherford, TX, which isn't too far out in the wilds or anything, but Dad and I laughed and responded that the only other one like that for 50 miles or more (most likely) was being worn by our friend Stephen, who had just flown it in with him from London for the purpose of hunting, and he wasn't selling it, as he needed it the next morning.  (You can also see Dad wearing it here, just before I sniped a passing Gadwall that was about to leave us for good after having passed by three times without landing, despite what a certain Ambulance Driver may say about premature shooting.:) )

--I give my friend A.D. a lot of hell, both here and to his face. But he's one of my dearest and trusted friends.

My desk.

I don't recall if I had mentioned it, by my friend Rabbit gave me one of my very favorite cups, recently.

I'm betting that it confuses 'em her at the office.

Let them wonder. :)

Don't cubbyhole me, part n + 1

I was visiting Texas' capitol city, Austin, for the second time this week. The first was to see my close friend be sworn into service as a Texas Department Of Public Safety State Trooper.* This second time, was to visit family.

Saturday, while my wife and kids went shopping, I went to get a cuppa with an online friend/old high school acquaintance. In the Austin fashion, I got a hug coming and going.  The coffee at the White Rabbit Coffee House was very, very good, and I asked them about their roaster. They sent me to Texas Coffee Traders, at 1400 E 4th St.

That's a rough part of town, but sometimes, the rough parts are where the innovation is...

...and this was definitely the case, here. I arrived, and found them busy, but not too busy to help me. Ron showed me around, and even gave me a quick tour of their roasting facilities. I got to see how they load up 66 lb batches of green coffee beans,

...and put them into one of their hot-air roasters...

...to make perfectly roasted beans.

They even have some awesome museum pieces, that look ready to be put into service. Note the old drum roaster:

Also, check out the old high-volume coffee grinder:

Honestly, these would need a fair bit of cleanup to get to the standards that they have. But I'll bet that they could do it.

So I bought a pound of their excellent Ethiopian Sidamo and half a pound of Costa Rica Cafe Monteverde each in water-processed and "Natural".

I also picked up some coffee-making/bar supplies (stirring spoons, measuring glasses), and was pleased to be rung up by their nice staff.

With my brown paper bag full of incredible-smelling goodness, I headed out. I stopped to take a picture of the front of the place, and apologized to a customer whom I captured petting the shop cat. I asked if if it was okay to put the picture on the blog. She laughed, said it was fine, and invited me to sit with her boyfriend and herself for a bit, at a table in front of the roast house.

After an hour of chatting, Jessica and Vincent and I were treated by RC (the business owner) to some holiday caramel popcorn before he locked the gates. During the last hour, I had explained that I didn't actually have anything against the independent businesswoman who had attempted to open negotiations for her private itinerant business. I listened to their personal views of the world, and found them quite loving. I learned that they were both artists and musicians. When my wife called to tell me to remember to find a "White Elephant" gift for the family exchange, Vincent ran to his car to bring me some art. I said, "I couldn't give fine art as a white elephant." He laughed and said "this isn't very good art, though!"

One piece? It was so completely inaccessible to my narrow brain, that I absolutely had to give it as a white elephant. Another, I'm putting up on the mantle. It's pretty damn good. Come by my house, and I'll show it to you. Vincent is actually a pretty eclectic, capable artist. I don't know about his rapping. It's not a genre that I'm a huge fan of.

We talked about the pleasure of making the days of strangers, and I thanked them for inviting me to join them. I mentioned an occasion (witnessed by Don Gwinn) where people gave me free cupcakes in the streets of downtown St. Louis. Vincent asked what I was in St. Louis for, and I told him that I was there for an NRA convention. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed.  There had been a similar statement when they learned what I do for a living.

We went our separate ways with hugs. I took my art, and was smiling.

I dropped by the HEB grocery store, and stopped to sample some ham presented by Tamara, a nice lady. I asked about where the jalapeno dip was, and she shut down her booth to take me to it. We chatted along the way, and she told me that I was a blessing to her day. Well, hell, she was to mine, too. I hugged this woman and was damned happy for it.

Tamara, whom I requested permission to blog.**

She and Vince and Jessica, and Kendra-- they made my day. Hell, they might have made my Christmas, whatever that may mean.

Love your neighbors, friend. They're Real People. You can be the best part of their day.

___________________
*More on that later.
**NOT Tamara K, referenced here often.

Day of pictures, stream of consciousness.

I woke up this afternoon to find that my younger daughter had made a mocha:



Somehow I just knew. Don't ask me how. A father knows these things.

Then I made a run with Dad to Ray's Hardware in Dallas for speedstrips and other stuff. Ray's is really a gunshop. Legend has it that, back in the day, Ray's took in a .22 in exchange for a washtub, and sold the rifle later that day for a handsome profit. This caused more swapping, then dealing, then an FFL, and now they're about three generations into it. Their selection of ammo is pretty wide in cartridge calibers, but not so wide within each caliber. For example, they had about 10 boxes of .41 Long Colt when I checked (I always do, for my buddy LawDog. Sorry  bud-- though it was that same Winchester white box stuff from that run that they made in the '70, I couldn't go $85 a box.), but only two brands of .357 Sig, and only ONE flavor of .22 Hornet.  I got a box of Remington Express.38 S&W 148g LRNs, the only flavor of that caliber they had in stock.

Ray's has a bumper sticker that is seen around Dallas that says "Follow Me Across The Bridge To Ray's Hardware!" It has a picture of the catenary arch central to the Margaret Hunt Hill Bridge in the middle, which is visible from the front porch of Ray's on Singleton. After we left, we drove across the bridge, and I took a picture of the new-ish structure, built across the Trinity River in 2007. I daresay that it's destined to be thought of as an identifying characteristic of the Dallas skyline. It's pretty striking:



When I got home, Dad gave me one of his Bianchi Speed Strips, some .357 Sig ammo that he had graciously brought for me, and the .38 S&W ammo that he had bought while I was looking at MTM boxes. I gave him all the MTM boxes I had gotten. (two 50-round .38 boxes and two 100 round boxes.)  He had gotten the .38/.357s, and also the .44/.45 type speedstrips.

This of course made me combine my acquisitions:



The result is adorable.

Reaching in my pocket just now to pull out that strip of ammo, I found something in my pocket, a momento from taking my younger daughter shooting:

When I asked my younger daughter if she wanted to go shooting last week, she wanted to grab three things: Her rifle, her hearing protection, and her last remaining Barbie. I guess she wanted to be like her big sister. I found this in the trash yesternight, and grabbed it out to look for holes. The hair is matted from bullets pulling at it, but the head had popped off from a neck shot.

Oh yeah, that reminds me. She got to shoot her grandfather's 1928 Thompson submachinegun. Here's her first burst:

 

Then she set to rolling a milk jug.

Which reminds me, I need to get milk for my wife's coffee in the morning.
Maybe she'll make a mocha.

Random Wednesday Thoughts. Day after V[F]D.

--I'm older than I've ever been. And now I'm even older.

--There was a "BuyCot" yesterday, as you may have heard. Folks wanted to boycott Starbucks on Valentine's Day for going hands-off on gun-carriers and refusing to impose more restrictions than the state laws already did. Gunnies around the web decided to show support for Starbucks by giving their business. When I went in to get my wife a Great Big 'Un* coffee drink and myself a pound of coffee, I noticed a couple of middle-aged guys sitting about the place wearing vests, and unwinding with their coffee. I'll bet good money that I wasn't the only armed guy in the joint. While Starbucks reports their shares were "flat" yesterday, I'll bet that their revenues for the day took a little jump. But I don't expect them to volunteer such information. If I were Starbucks, I'd be of the exact same position that they've been taking, lately: "Look, we make and serve coffee. Don't drag us into that battle." That's all I want.  

--Valentine's Day was yesterday. I heard more backlash over it ("It's just a corporate-induced holiday to sell things and make the fat cats money!", "It's a damned quid pro quo by the women, who expect the man to do something for them if they expect the women to be physically affectionate!") than I ever had before.

--My 13 year old daughter came home with two carnations yesterday. One was from her girl friend, but another was from a boy. She insists that he's "just a friend," and it's true that he hangs with her circle of girl friends a lot, but still, it's her first flower from a boy. She reported that another one of her friends received from her boyfriend a necklace with a diamond and ruby pendant on it. These kids are in 8th grade. I explained to my daughter that if she received such a gift from a boy, she would be returning it.

--My 13 year old had made home-made chocolate truffles in four flavors to give to her friends at school. She then made cute origami boxes with separators and lift-off lids to give them in. That kid's got skills.

--My 9 year old daughter made dinner last night. She pulled out her Mollie Katzen cookbook the other night and  reported that she was making the meal, and we were all expected to attend. So, after school yesterday, she set about to making a hearty soup (she modified the vegetable soup to be vegetable beef soup, because she likes meat), a Mediterranean salad, and a rich chocolate desert. She then set our table thusly:

That kid's got skills, too**. Very good soup. I am told that the soup was better this morning, but I was not left so much as a bite.

--I didn't get to finish my bowl of soup. I got a fire page during dinner. It was an alarm at an apartment complex, and those can be nothing, or very, very nasty. I got up and said, "I'll probably be right back," I said. "No, you won't," my wife said. "But go, anyway." She smiled at me. I got there in time to gear up and jump on the engine. This was the first time that I had ridden in what is traditionally the Captain's seat, front right. As I got in, the air horn went crazy. The driver mildly informed me that I was stomping on the horn button on the floor. I moved my foot off in a hurry. The mechanical siren cranked up, LOUDLY, with us still in the firehouse bay. I had moved my foot to another button. How many buttons were there, anyway? (Three, it turns out.) Given the size of my fire boots, the best thing for me to do was to try to tuck my feet up under my seat, which is how I rode to the call. At each intersection, I called out traffic conditions to my side, and tapped the air horn briefly. It was only as I arrived on scene that I realized that I had forgotten to put on the headset.

The fire alarm was inconsequential. It was my first run.

--After going home and getting the girls to bed, I got toned out for another pair of calls. I went back to the station, and found that most of the apparatus and all of the crew were gone to the calls. I checked in on the radio, and was advised to stand by at the station, in case we received another call. I hung out with a lonely brush truck for an hour, while the other guys worked a wreck several miles out of town, and staged for a police call just out of town (but in our fire district). Here I was: a guy that barely knew where the bathroom was (literally, I had to ask last week. I just hadn't needed to use it before, there), and yet I was the sole guy with the penultimate piece of apparatus in the city (there was also a tanker) there to answer fire calls. I laughed at myself (I know I've got a LOT to learn, and don't take myself too seriously). But it made me feel good to be there for the city, if something DID happen. Like a gun of minor caliber ready in a closet or a drawer. Not ideal. Probably not even adequate. But serviceable, and a hell of a lot better than nothing. This is why I volunteer.

--If you're shocked to read that a rookie volunteer firefighter would be given such a responsibility, don't be. That's how lots of volunteer fire departments are. By area, most of our nation's land is served by VFDs

--I've made a vow to myself to be the slowest, most careful apparatus driver in the department.

--I'm waiting for the mail. I have a small paper presentation due in class today, and the text book that I'm referencing for it, which I ordered a week ago, hasn't arrived. I know that it's been en route for two days. If it doesn't arrive by the time I finish this post, I've got to download it on my Kindle, and effectively pay for the same book twice. That galls me. My fault, though. My class starts in three hours. Better hurry, Matt!

--Just checked the mail again. The book has arrived. (And Matt is again rewarded for procrastination, which might not be best.) Got to run.





_________________________________
*I refuse to use their silly terms for size. A big iced mocha is served in a cup that is closer to a quart than to twenty ounces, so "vente" is just stupid. As a bonus, I got to watch the barrista flinch when I said it. I liked it so much, I ordered a second one. Damn, but those things are tasty. My bride liked her afternoon coffee pick-me-up  more than the two dozen tulips that I brought to her office.

**Yes, I see the error in the place setting. No, I didn't see it last night. Not sure I would have said anything.

Coffee. Make some.

The crucible of my coffee roaster broke.
We ran out of coffee.
Time to roast some.

Start with the stove-top popcorn popper. Turn on the vent-a-hood over your stove. Turn the fan to HIGH.

 Heat slowly. Crank that crank.

 Crank it.

 Really, you should probably not stop to photograph it. You'll burn some beans.You're hearing the beans popping now, as the chaff pops loose from the bean.

Darker. That's not poor focus; that's smoke coming off the beans. Crank it fast. Put down the damn camera! Cranking faster, you're knocking the hulls off the beans.

 At this point, dump the beans out into a colander.

Shake the beans to cool them, and loosen the chaff. Blow on them to blow away the loose bean hulls. Once they're cool, pour them into your burr grinder. Grind away some beans while you filter some water for your coffee maker. Make coffee right away.

Note: If your vent-a-hood isn't professional strength, you're probably going to want to cook this outside. It makes your house smell like there was a fire at the coffee roasting plant for a day or two afterward.

Climate vacation

I was caught at a weak moment.

My wife and I had been talking about where we were going to go for our vacation. Somehow we had managed to get the same 10 day period off in July. We had talked about how we didn't have much money. We had talked about maybe taking the kids up to the foothills-called-mountains up in northeastern Oklahoma and western Arkansas.

I got distracted from finishing this conversation, when I was returned to it abruptly whilst in an attic.

Attics in Texas are not very fun places to be, in the mid-summer. In this one, I had just finished blowing insulation into it, and was cutting a hole for a gable vent. Because I was doing this in the morning, the temperature outside was still just under 100 degrees. The temperature inside the attic was a little hotter.

*Ring* [I scrabble to get my cell phone out of my pocket.]
"Hello?" [Sound muffled by my air filter.]
"Matt? Is that you?"
"Yes."
"It doesn't sound like you."
"It's me." [Getting a little annoyed, and trying not to fall through the ceiling from the joists that I can't see, buried under blown-in insulation. Finally, pulling up the filter and taking a gasp of dusty, insulation-enriched air.] "Now, can you hear me?"
"Yes. Better. So I've been thinking about where we're going for our vacation."
"Do we have to do this now? I'm in..."
"Yes. Now. Our elder child's in band camp that week, and our younger child can stay with your mother, and..."
"What?"
"I want to drop the hammer on tickets for you and me to Seattle."
"What's the price?" She told me.
"What about a car?" She quoted me a price for a rental with unlimited mileage.
"What's the weather doing up there?"
"Highs in the 60's. Unseasonably low temperatures."
"Do it."
___________

A week later, we were both moist in the face from our dash to the gate. (The remote lot that we had first gone to turned out to be full.) It wasn't dawn, yet, it was 81 degrees Fahrenheit. Today was going to be warm.

We finally landed in SEATAC airport at about 3:00PM their time. It was 64 degrees. I checked back home, where it was 5:00PM: 105. More than 40 Celsius. I felt no regrets for coming.

After getting our car and assuring the lady at the desk that we did NOT need the spacious luxury vehicle or the satellite radio, or the GPS, or the upgrade in insurance (good lord, the upgrades would have been double the price of the car rental), we headed south. I was a bit tired, so we stopped in Tacoma for a cuppa coffee.

Friends, they drink gooood coffee, up there. And the barristas know the name of the guy who roasted their bean. And the latte art is amazing. My wife laughed at herself for getting her mocha iced, out of habit. No need. It was cool out.

In Portland, we stayed at a friend's house. She was actually not there, but had left a key. She also had left a tiger trap. It seems that she'd been looking at replacing the wooden (!) grate over the updraft floor vent. I walked to the window to look at the view, and fell through, with my legs dangling into the basement. A small and ultimately unnecessary patch of skin the size of Montana was removed from the love handle covering the crest of the right ilium. As I flailed, I managed to chicken-wing my right elbow into a ceramic pot (RIP) and its brass stand (RIP). I like to think that they slowed my descent, ultimately caught at the right armpit and left leg.

Ever had the floor just fail to be where it should have been? You feel rather shocked and unable to explain yourself as you stop your descent. In this case, the crashing sound of me going through the sheet metal below the vent (removing about a yard of unnecessary skin on my right shin) made me terrified that I had oafishly broken the 1920's vintage Gibson banjo hanging on the wall about one foot from where I had fallen. I notified my friend (en route to a music festival), and she responded, "Holy crap! You're there for five minutes, and you're already breaking stuff!" I informed her with a sniff that, in my defense, I had actually been there for eight minutes.

Ibuprofen cures many ills, friends.

We continued south to Eugene, Oregon, and stayed with dear friends of my family, and ate like kings. Blake characteristically was cooking for his neighbor's wedding, which my wife and I were invited to. It was held outdoors. The groom wore walking shorts, and the bride wore a sun dress. The music was performed by a band of kazoos. As a man who's played a little kazoo in his time, I sat in with the band. The vows were moving. House finches played in the hemlock. We ate Texas barbecue. It was a great wedding, and I had only met the bride and groom 2 hours before the wedding. May they always be happy.

The next day, my bride and I went with friends to the Oregon Country Fair. This is not like a little local county fair, like I had grown up with. It's a gathering of hippies. Honestly, it's fun to step into their world, and see what they'd like to believe the world can be like. It was very clean. People were very friendly. They wore amazing costumes, or nearly nothing at all. (A cache sexe was required.) The food was good, the music was good, and the art was good. The weed was smoked only in designated places. No alcohol was served. Great coffee was. I met a friend from my youth (my best friend's little brother), just strolling around the 40,000 people, 1900 miles from home.

We came back to my friend's house tired and happy, and my friend Shannon brought out some GREAT local wines. (May I suggest the 2007 Gold Note Zinfandel?) We ate locally-caught grilled fish of four varieties. I had never eaten grilled sturgeon, and was surprised that it was every bit as good as the grilled tuna steak. Who knew? The salmon and the haddock were both good, too. My friend Shannon and her parents fought over who got to host us that night. That's a mighty hospitable position to be in, friends.

We went back north, ate pie and drank more great coffee with tiger-trap owner Meredith, and had her give us a tour of downtown. We went to the local Chinatown, and then couldn't resist an hour in Powell's. Don't know Powell's Bookstore? That's a shame. It's several stories on a city block, of what a used bookstore should be.

We continued on to Olympia, Washington, to visit my friend Billie Jean at her new house. It was cool and wet, and after an incredible dinner prepared by her boyfriend, I borrowed a jacket (forgot to pack one) to go for a walk with the dog with them. Olympia is a lot like Austin used to be-- small, friendly, easy to get around, and still the state capital. Austin, alas, is now overgrown and is hard to negotiate.

The next day, we visited my wife's neice in the oddly-named Sedro-Woolley, and held her new baby. Then we continued north to Canada.

The crossing was easy, as I had no weapons other than a Spyderco that John Shirley gave me for Christmas. We exchanged some money, and were shocked to realize that the U.S. dollar is now worth $0.95 Canadian. All my life, our dollar has been worth a fair bit more than the Canadian dollar. Now? Theirs buys more. Sad times, friends.

We stayed in Vancouver, and found it to be an interesting city. The Asian population there seems to make up half the city, and our hotel was in the Asian district. We had some congee soup. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good. Probably my last bowl.

We took the ferry to Vancouver Island to Swartz Bay.

These things are huge. Large trucks on deck level with the water. Passenger cars above that deck. Passengers in the decks above. The three lowest surface decks load at the same time. 30 miles for $15 isn't bad for passengers ($2 for your bike), though $60 seems pricey for a car. We left our car and cruised at 21 knots to Swartz Bay, and took a cab to Butchart Gardens. I can't do justice in explaining this place. It's a theme park for gardens. Each garden is like a ride. They do things there with flowers and color that I've never seen before. Good lord, it's lovely, and worth the trip. People come from all over the world to see these gardens, with good reason.

Well, for example, check out this view as you come through a tunnel in the trees to the Sunken Garden, a former limestone quarry that the owner's wife had started fixing up after it played out back in 1907:



It got better. My little Sony CyberShot literally could not process the depth and pop of the reds of some of the flowers, as witnessed by this washed out pic:

I cannot describe the fragrance. Intoxicating.



We bussed to Victoria, and found it to be a very pedestrian and bike friendly city. We stayed outside of downtown, and just walked in the next morning. We went to an organic bakery and coffeeshop and ate and drank things the likes of which I'd never had before. I demanded to speak to the baker, to thank her. The night before, we giggled when we saw the weather forecast, where they literally apologized for the cold weather, but reminded us that it could be worse: we could be in Texas, where it was 41 degrees (C) or hotter. I'm not kidding.

We bussed back to Swartz Bay and took a bigger ferry back, through the San Juan Islands, in what is now called the Strait of Juan de Fuca, lately called "The Salish Sea."

This trip is worth it for the sights to be seen on it, in its own right. Though it was chilly (64 degrees, humid, and with at least a 22 knot wind) out on the observation deck, it was worth stepping out to see the sights there.

Wear a sweater or a windbreaker.

We arrived back at the Tsawwassen ferry port, and drove back to the U.S. We coordinated on the way, and met up with Gay Cynic, who directed us to a fantastic seafood place (Duke's) where he took us to dinner. He let me buy dessert at a place on Capital Hill that he described as being like "a gay Denny's." We ate very, very well. He then showed us a very nice view of Seattle, where I stretched my camera's capability of taking night shots.

(Okay, okay-- the reason it's tilted is that I sat it on a post to take the timer shot.)

The next morning, as we were leaving the motel in Renton, my wife pointed up at a cellular tower over the motel parking lot. A nesting pair of osprey were flying to and from their giant nest of sticks built atop the tower.


I waited until I got the picture that I wanted:


We boarded our plane back to the heat of Texas very unhappily. We had ended our climate vacation.

We landed back in Texas just before midnight. It was 83 degrees. Back to life. Back to reality.

The next day it was 105 degrees again. That's 40.5, to you Canadians.

House Party XLIV

I turned in a request for 24 hours off this weekend, to burn some of the 400 hours of vacation and 80 hours worth of holiday time. I feel bad about having another guy work for me, but it's use it or lose it, y'know? Then too, there's the issue of where I went, and why.

Phlegmmy threw a bit of a shindig at her house for our beloved LawDog.

The food was rich and very plentiful. There was a case of Nerd Beer for LawDog (written on the side: "LawDog's! No Fraudulatin'!") And a case of Nerd Beer for the rest of us rabble.("Fraudulate all you want.")

The stories were thick and well-told. The weather, on Saturday evening, was shirt-sleeve-worthy. Christina, Vine, Old NFO, FarmGirl, Jennifer and EvylRobot, me and my wife, Phlegmmy, LawDog, Ambulance Driver, my dad and his bride, and others all chatted freely.

Old NFO (whom I cannot believe was not linked here. What the heck?!? My shame is boundless. I had him on my Favorites that I would click directly to him on my browser. Fixed.) handed me a couple of interesting pistols. There were grins when I double-checked each pistol before handling it. Apparently, this was something of a theme of the evening: EVERYONE multichecked each gun before handling. If only it were understood how common that action is among responsible gunfolk. I don't mean to say that it's absent-minded. I just mean to say that, when handed a firearm, I have the sudden urge to check the status of that gun that is as strong as the urge to pee after having a triple-iced-tea lunch.

Old NFO handed me a like-new S&W 637 that he's been talking about just flat giving me. I could not possibly accept such a generous gift without recompensing him with something, yet I couldn't afford to give him what it was worth. He kindly accepted a promise of a mere pittance from me. I later found out that Dad and Holly covered half of that! My heavens, but the generosity of the friends and family around me is amazing. Thank y'all. More on that gun in a later post.

EvylRobot brought his home-roasted coffee, which I incorrectly declared to be too darkly roasted, but which LawDog used his fancier French press to produce utterly superb coffee from. I restrained myself to only about 25 cups of that coffee. We reloaded the french press approximately 20 times during the weekend. Note to self: trust EvylRobot.

Ambulance Driver had called me earlier and asked if I wanted to go in with him on a nifty gift to LawDog: a signed first edition of Elmer Keith's hardcover book "Hell, I Was There!" I kicked in along with others (I'm sorry; I've forgotten), but this was all AD's idea.

My own meager contribution was a fair bit of good loose tea for LawDog, and some muslin bags to make teabags with on the run, and a couple of bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon for the the house, to belatedly celebrate Phlegmmy's housewarming.

As the air chilled and the hour got late, several of us retired to a very nice inn that was just two blocks away from Phlegmmy's house, and found our underpriced quarters to be very pleasant. We planned on going shooting in the morning after breakfast.

Come morning, a front had moved in. Shooting just didn't sound that fun. We broke our fast at a joint with heavy smoke coming from the barbecue pit. Note: ALWAYS choose the smoked meats at such a place. We camped at our tables until lunchtime, then moved back to the house, where we hung out into the Sunday evening. Phlegmmy fed us yet again with a very rich dish, of which I was only able to get two or three bowls* down.

I was glad to introduce my own wife to some people she had not met before, part of the tribe that I've become part of. She, ever the introvert, said little. She said she liked it.

LawDog, an introvert his ownself, was at home. He was among people that had come a fair distance to see him because they love him. He was at his home, with a lovely lady who admires and revels in him. I've seen the 'Dog stressed, and I've seen him happy. I don't think I'm speaking out of turn to suggest that he was happy, this weekend.

I hope my own 44th birthday is as good and filled with good cheer.

Happy birthday, friend.





_______________________
*Large bowls.

Giving a little something.

Look, I'm a poor man. And, I'm a pragmatist. I've got mine, you know?

But I'm sitting here in my climate-controlled sun room, drinking decent coffee out of a clean glass, typing away on my magic elf box. My stomach is full, and I'm about to register for Spring 2010 grad school.

I may be a "poor man," but I ain't really hurtin'.

And, if you're reading this, neither are you. You're reading this on your computer or your super phone or your netbook or your cybertronic feed or whatever. You're probably seated comfortably. You probably aren't too worked up about where you're going to get your next sip of clean water.

I just sent $10 to the Haiti earthquake relief effort, and it was about as easy as I could imagine. Open your cell phone. Text ""HAITI", and send this message to phone number 90999. Press "Send." This goes to the Red Cross.

The text is free (as in, you'll not be billed for making a text). Your phone bill will be charged $10. You'll get a (free) text message asking you to text "Yes" to confirm that you really want to. You reply "yes." Then you get a text confirming that they got it, and offering you the chance to cancel.

This is about as easy as it gets.

I'm about to do it again.

Here's an interesting video of before and after satellite pics of Port-au-Prince. It appears that, if we get some dozers and earth moving equipment in quick, and clear the roads, real relief could happen quite suddenly.

____________________
EDIT:
Here are some other organizations you can donate through.

EDIT:
There are some hoaxes out there, I understand. This is NOT A HOAX. I researched it thoroughly before I did it, and before I posted this. I wouldn't steer you wrong, friends.

"Execution."

Since the murders in Lakewood, WA the other morning, the news stories have been filled with silly references to "execution-style murders." What they're referring to, one supposes, is that the actor intentionally went into a coffee shop, and methodically shot and killed three police officers before having to wrestle the fourth and killing him, too.

Merriam-Webster's first definition of "Execution" is "the act or process of executing: PERFORMANCE." Well, that's kind of vague, and basically means that every action is an execution. That would hardly be newsworthy, would it? Second definition: "A putting to death especially as a legal penalty."

Webster's Online's first definition of "Execution" is "Putting a condemned person to death."

Okay. "Legal penalty." "Condemned person." These are key terms. A true execution is a legal action. It is in fact an extension of the legal process. Whether or not you believe execution to be a moral act, in a real execution, the condemned person is being put to death by persons who are acting in good faith that they are serving out the law, and technically serving the will of the people.*

This does NOT describe the multiple-shooting of police officers in a coffee shop. No, not even the "premeditated" part does that. Actually, that's a component of the traditional definition of murder: "with malice aforethought." The thug was a murderer, not an executioner.

Now, who was the thug?

Well, his name was Maurice Clemmons, and he was a convicted felon, out on bail for child rape and assault on a police officer. How do we know that now? Because he just got taken down by Seattle cop** early this morning. Clemmons was in possession of a stolen car, and a gun that he had taken off of one of the fallen officers. Still more damning was the torso wound that Clemmons carried, given him by the last cop to die at the coffee shop, who had fought with Clemmons even after being wounded, and wrestled the murderer out of the coffee shop before being killed.

At this point, we're not being told the name of that fourth police officer who died while fighting. That's a shame, because "Tina Griswold," "Gregory Richards," "Sgt. Mark Renninger," or "Ronald Owens" are easier names to say than "The Lakewood cop who died fighting," while lifting your glass in toast. That's not to condemn the other officers. They were shot in the head, and any one of us could be taken down by a determined adversary. We can shade the odds a bit, but the truth is, beating the drop is very, very hard.

When you go to your favorite Third Place with your buddies, consider who's watching the door and the counter. If you must, demand the seat with your back to the wall, and appoint yourself that guy. But know that you're playing catch-up if the balloon goes up, especially if you pin a target on your suit. That's just part of it.

But if you are hit, and realize that you are hit, then you can probably still fight. If you must, avenge your own death. But at the very least see to it that the last action that your enemy saw you make was one of aggression toward him.

That fourth officer in the coffee shop was just lucky enough to have received a wound that didn't instantly incapacitate, and then he went on the offensive. Sadly, he didn't win. But he died fighting, and rendered a wound to his opponent that helped identify the bad guy and those who helped him. There are worse deaths. I raise my glass to you, Fourth Officer, until such time as I learn your name, so that I may say it properly.
# # #

A word about the Seattle officer. He found a stolen car, and sat on it until Clemmons arrived. He then challenged Clemmons, and recognized Clemmons as the murder suspect***. He shouted for Clemmons to stop, and shot him when Clemmons refused to. Clemmons was mortally wounded, and died later.

Under Tennessee v. Garner (1985), police can no longer shoot fleeing felons simply for being fleeing felons. We must have probable cause that the suspect represented a danger to the officer or others. Certainly Clemmons fit this description perfectly. He had killed, he was armed, and there was a warrant out for his arrest, which gave the officer good faith with regard to the probable cause. Nothing has been said about Clemmons "going for his gun." If nothing in world can convince you that the Seatle cops are retelling the incident without embellishment, then this should. It would be so easy, so neat and tidy, to have the officer best Clemmons as Clemmons went for his gun. But that's not how it went down. If it were, they would have told us that, right away. And I can respect that.

I expect nothing less, but I mention it for those foolish oxygen thieves who would yet again --and more flagrantly, this time-- misuse the term "execution."

__________________________________
*And let's have no nonsense that most Americans would stop execution, because that's patently false. Want to stop executions in your state? Become governor, and commute every death penalty. Enjoy your single term. Or better yet, have the Amnesty International Party field legislation to outlaw the death penalty. Why don't you do it? Because you don't have the votes to.

**Who will never have to buy his own drinks again.

***Doubtless, he had memorized Clemmons' mugshot and name, as a lot of us North Texas cops did after the "Texas Seven" murdered Aubrey Hawkins, back in 2001. I carried around an array of their mugshots on my clipboard.

Back from Belize.

Back from Central America, that is.

I discovered a few things, to my pleasant surprise, about Belize:

It's not a Latin American country; it's a Caribbean country. Yeah, a goodly number of the people (especially in the west) speak Spanish, but EVERYONE speaks the Caribbean Creole that is based on English, but which most English-speakers will not be able to understand until it's been slowed down and repeated three or four times. Think Jamaican accent, spoken very quickly and with lots of contractions.

Like many tourist-friendly countries, it's a dichotomy of very nice houses and accommodations, against complete abject poverty. But then you go west to Guatemala, and learn that in fact the Belizians have it pretty good; even the poor ones.

The Belizian dollar is fixed to the U.S. dollar (which I'll bet they're questioning the logic of, now), at a rate of $2 BEZ to $1 US. All of the Belizian money has Queen Elizabeth II on it, though Belize has been fully independent since 1981. The Belizian dollar is a a thick coin that reminds one of an octagonal English pound coin, but has no writing on the edge. The Belizian quarter dollar is the same size and shape and color as a U.S. quarter, but the locals call 'em shillings.

Everyone is friendly there. Wear a hat, because the sun is outrageous, and because you'll need it to tip to everyone you pass on the street. If you don't want to exchange pleasantries with strangers, do me a favor and don't tell 'em you're from the U.S.-- they are very courteous, and I like to think that my wife and I acted as responsible ambassadors while there.

Cabbies there, who are courteous, helpful, and honest, are clinically insane as soon as they sit behind the wheel of their vehicles. Several cab trips involved me spending several minutes shaking blood back down into the knuckles of my hands after reaching our destination.

On Ambrgris Caye (pronounced "key"), a can of tuna can run $5.00 US/ $10 BEZ in the grocery store. Find out where the locals shop, and you can maybe get that cost down to just under a dollar for your cat-food-worthy tuna.

In San Pedro, Ambergris Caye, 90% of the traffic is in golf carts. The streets are narrow and usually sand, so they sport knobby tires. Gasoline carts are most common, and they sport full-sized license plates, front and back. Traffic laws are completely ignored, except that people drive (generally) on the right. Strangely, on the second half of the month, they swap sides of the street on which to park. I have no idea why.

Caye Caulker, which is halfway between Ambergris Caye and Belize City, is slower, less populated, and more laid-back. It's more of a backpacker's destination, and is your weed-smoking headquarters. Or so they say. I never saw a single joint smoked, though I saw a LOT of people who are tokers and make no bones about it. I'm so square-looking, I was never offered drugs in 8 days, while my wife was offered drugs 2 or three times. Wearing a backpack seems to help you get offers, if you're into that sort of thing.

The second largest barrier reef in the world is about a mile east of the coast of Belize. You don't have to be a diver to enjoy it; I'm not, and did. It seems like everyone's a snorkeling guide there, and you'd be amazed at how easy it is to intentionally lose yourself, kicking two to 20 feet above the corral reef, among stingrays, conch, nurse sharks, grouper, blue tangs, sea cucumbers, tuna, barracuda, and (once for us) manatees. I saw all types of physiques and ages doing this. Our last trip, on an old Rastafarian sailboat, I assisted an older man with his strong right arm in a sling, in getting back up into the boat at each location. While in the water, he had no problems.

At the Mayan ruins of Xunantunich, I observed well-camouflaged soldiers with rifles up among the trees that grow among some of the mounds. Seems they've had some problems in the past with bandits robbing the tourists, so they hide up there to try to pick 'em off as they storm out of the jungle. My guide was very uncomfortable with my question about them, preferring to ignore them, but I just wanted to know: A: were the guys hiding in the bushes with guns on our side, and B: what was the likelihood of exposure to the bandits. He assured us it had been a year since the last such robbery there. As I carried nothing more than a small-ish Columbia River lockblade in pocket, I didn't figure to do more than find a hidey-hole for my wife and me, should festivities erupt. We of course carried a bit of cash in our pockets, with our passports and main cash and checks hidden elsewhere on persons.

Everything in Belize is made of mahogany. If you would use pine for it here, they use the hardwood there. Thus stair risers look delicate and insubstantial, because the hardwood is much stronger than the softwood that we use to build, here. Bathroom doors on outhouses are even made of the beautiful rain forest wood.

Belizian sewage technology hasn't advanced enough to handle paper. There are signs everywhere reminding the tourists to dispose of paper in trash cans provided. That said, Belizian bathrooms, on the average, smell better and are better cleaned than American public restrooms. They are not open to the public, though. Want to use the potty at a Belizian restaurant? Better buy a drink. TANSTAAFL. I'm actually cool with this, because:

The beer of Belize is Belikin. It comes in four basic styles: regular, served in 9.5 oz bottles that are very thick-walled and look like 12-oz bottles, Premium, that tastes a little different but gives you a full 12 oz bottle, Lighthouse, which is I think a cream ale in 7.5 oz bottles, and Stout, which is sold in the same 9.5 ounce bottles as the regular, but has a blue cap instead of the green one. Belikin beer is good. All of it is good. My wife and I preferred the Premiums, though, because of the value. ($3 BEZ at a bar.) Belikin also is licensed to bottle and sell Guinness Extra Stout, strangely. There is some Heineken found in Belize, in little cans. I drank a LOT of Belikin on this vacation. In Belize, they think nothing of drinking beer on the bus, or on water taxis, or before breakfast. It's hot-- have a cold beer. The drinking age is 18.

The local rum in Belize does not seem to make you go blind, which is the best thing that I can say about it. Oh, and it's cheap. But I didn't price it against their local paint thinners, where you might get a better deal. When there, be sure to call for a brand of rum that tastes good.

Coconut palms, which are not indigenous, are everywhere there. They are picturesque, and useful. After seeing several locals do it, I finally had to try getting a drink myself, by knocking down a brown coconut, smashing it once against the tree trunk, and drinking long from the several ounces of coconut water that drains out of the nut. The locals swear that it is a secret to longevity, and I have to admit that I routinely under-estimated ages there. In fact, the average coastal Belizian, especially on the cayes, is very good-looking, and typically in good physical shape.

The local fruit is fantastic. Bananas picked ripe from the tree are generally 5 for a dollar (BEZ), and limes are about 10/$1 BEZ. The limes are so sweet that you can eat them alone, like oranges. There are mango trees everywhere.

Every restaurant seems to serve ceviche. I was indifferent to the conch ceviche, but the shrimp stuff, made with lots of fresh cilantro, is out of sight. Never tried it made with snapper.

Belizian food that the locals eat is good, but it's hard to get it in the resorts. We finally got adventurous enough to hit the street vendors on their bicycles and the street stalls. Fantastic tamales made in the Yucatan style, made flat and steamed in banana leaves, were all over. The standard Belizian dish is beans and rice (more rice than beans), sold with your choice of meat (usually chicken), with the incredibly hot local habenero sauce for condiment. Sometimes this would come with a fried plantain atop the rice. This stuff was cheap, filling, and plate-licking good.

At the border with Guatemala, the guards carried cruiser-stocked Mossberg and Remington pump shotguns and belts with extra shells. In a jungle environment, this made since. Then, further into the country, I found that the Guatemalan country seems to have gotten a real deal on pistol-gripped shotguns; they were everywhere. Soldiers had them. Police had them. Guards had them. The guys at the ticket counter at the Tikal Mayan ruins had them. They guy who came to take our ticket in the jungle had one.

Upon return to the main park from the walk among the ruins in Tikal (Guatemala), I noticed also a couple of guys in beige t-shirts with chromed or polished-stainless round-butt K-frames either stuck in their waistbands or discreetly in their laps. I stopped to chat with one, who admitted that he was with the Guatemalan national police.

The only cops in Belize that I saw openly wearing sidearms were either customs types at the airport, or were wearing the enormous British-style sergeant's stripes on their khaki uniform shirts. They carried Hi Powers.

They don't serve fresh coffee there. Everyone makes instant. Strange, because they grow it there. Who knew?

Okay. Gotta run shave off my vacation beard to go testify in court. More later. Sorry for the Vacation Chat, but I'm really kind of doing this as a travel journal for myself. Hope it's not too boring. Many more pics later, some from underwater film that I took.