An Officer and an Officer

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you're certainly aware that Libya is in the throes of violent revolution, this in the wake of similar organic protests and revolts having broken out across the Middle East in what is now known as the “Arab Spring.” These protests are purportedly for greater democracy and freedom for the common people, but your faithful editor is skeptical. Notwithstanding my desire for everyone to enjoy the benefits of free, fair, and open elections should they actually result from these movements, I think it’s a bit much to expect people who have known nothing but tyranny and oppression their entire lives to make good choices, assuming they even have good options. I mean really, look at the kind of people we elect, and we’ve had generations of experience with democracy.

Too deep, Bruck, let’s talk about something funner.

Okay, today we'll discuss is an issue tangential to the aforementioned unfolding of history, something that’s been bugging me, and I’m sure you haven’t given it a second’s thought until now: (1) are there any General Officers in the Libyan army, and (2) if so, is Col. Muammar Gaddafi compelled to salute them and obey their orders? And BTW, (3) what about Colonel Sanders?

Col. Gaddafi has ruled Libya since achieving power in a 1969 military coup. Although Libya under Gaddafi has supported, directly or indirectly, numerous acts of terrorism since that time, Gaddafi didn’t show up on my personal radar screen until the mid-80’s when Libya was implicated in a bloody terrorist attack on a nightclub in Berlin, following which the US retaliated with a daisy cutter in his tent. Unfortunately, he survived, having been tipped off (Bruck believes, by the Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkeys^TM) beforehand. He went on to support several other terrorist acts, most prominently the 1988 bombing of Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland.

In recent years, Gaddafi morphed into a somewhat more responsible world citizen, forging tenuous diplomatic agreements with western democracies and coughing up restitution for the victims of some of the terrorist acts he sponsored. However, despite his efforts to improve his world image, he must have some shortcomings on the domestic front, as current events in Libya attest.

Meanwhile, you may be wondering, why the title Colonel? And for that matter, how did Harlan Sanders attain that distinction?

Prior to the 1969 coup, Gaddafi had achieved the rank of Captain in the Libyan armed forces. Following the coup, he accepted a ceremonial promotion to Colonel, and retained that rank. In 1976, he is purported to have been promoted to Major General, but accepted this only on paper and continued to use “Colonel” as his title, for tradition's sake.

Harland Sanders, aka Colonel Sanders, in case you were wondering, is a real person. I should say was; he departed for the great fryer tub in the sky in 1980 at age 90. Sanders' white-haired and -goateed, bespectacled visage still adorns the packaging and signage of the restaurant chain he founded, KFC, formerly (and for the most part still) known as Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Sanders' attainment of the title Colonel is entirely honorary; it was originally bestowed upon him by Kentucky Governor Ruby Laffoon (nephew of US Representative Polk Laffoon) in 1935. Sanders was “re-commissioned” in 1950 by the less absurdly-named Governor Lawrence Wetherby.

Speaking of random Colonels, another one comes to mind: Colonel Tom Parker. Parker is best known for managing Elvis Presley's career, and is largely credited with his commercial success. He also was something of a lightning rod for criticism, for demanding an overly large share of Presley's earnings, and for standing passively by while Elvis drank, drugged, and ate himself to death. To wit: Elvis is purported to have consumed two “Elvis Sandwiches” nightly in his later years. The recipe for said sandwich:

1 medium-sized loaf of white bread

1 jar of peanut butter

1 jar of jelly

1 pound of bacon, cooked.

Cut the bread lengthwise, core out some of the middle of the loaf, evenly distribute peanut butter, jelly, and bacon within.

I get heartburn just thinking about it. But another part of me wants to, just once, make one and see how much of it I can eat. I once watched a video of a fellow on a food/talk show trying to eat one – he could barely even bite off a piece of it, and succeeded in downing less than a quarter of the monstrosity. And Elvis ate two of them. Every night.

Louisiana Governor and country/gospel singer Jimmie Davis honored Parker with the rank of Colonel in the Louisiana State Militia in 1948, in exchange for work on his election campaign. (I wonder how the real Colonels felt about this.) Parker permanently retained this appellation, and was known in later years simply as “The Colonel.” BTW, Parker was a Dutch national who resided illegally in the US, having actually passed up several opportunities to attain legal citizenship, adding a touch of irony to his sobriquet.

So... 3 Colonels (I know, I promised 2, but that last one just sort of slipped in): one fighting for control of his country (and currently losing badly), one a world-renowned fast food icon, and one a somewhat ignominious illegal alien responsible for the career of the most prominent pop star on the planet (at the time – Justin Bieber hadn't been born yet and Madonna was still a virgin). The question for my faithful readers (aside from those who are actively serving in the military and therefore have a formal rank): where do you fit in? To what unofficial rank do you aspire?

Help me out, Bruck!

At your service, sir/madam. First, an overview of the US military ranks:

There are three main categories of service personnel in the various branches of the US military: Enlisted, Warrant Officer, and Commissioned Officer. Most branches have 9 levels of Enlisted rank, 5 ranks of Warrant Officer, and 10 ranks of Commissioned Officer.

The top four ranks of Commissioned Officer are Generals, or in the case of the Navy and Coast Guard, Admirals. Commissioned Officers in the drier branches also include Colonel, Lieutenant Colonel, Major, Captain, and First and Second Lieutenant; corresponding ranks in the salty services are Captain, Commander, Lieutenant Commander, Lieutenant, Lieutenant Junior Grade, and Ensign. The Army/Air Force/Marines rank of Captain being a few notches lower than that of the buoyant branches does produce the occasional moment of confusion and consternation. Likewise, a nontrivial measure of ambigusion is provided by the overloaded term “Lieutenant.”

Warrant officers are a bit less confusing – from the bottom up: Warrant Officer, Chief Warrant Officer 2, Chief Warrant Officer 3, Chief Warrant Officer 4, and Chief Warrant Officer 5.

I won't go into detail the enlisted ranks as things get really complicated, especially in the Navy, where Petty Officers (the briny equivalent of Sergeant) take on a dizzying array of titles based on relative ranks and occupational specialties. I suspect it's a game they play on us – once we figure them out, they change the rules again.

Fortunately, things are a bit simpler when informally addressing holders of these ranks. All four levels of General are referred to verbally as “General,” likewise for Admirals. Lieutenant Colonels and Colonels both answer to “Colonel,” and Major and Ensign, plus the various levels of Lieutenant, Captain, and Commander are referred to as such.

I don't have any experience with referring to Warrant Officers, but in a pinch would simply say, “Warrant Officer [surname].”

References to enlisted ranks are a bit simpler as well – Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Master Sergeant, Sergeant Major, Seaman, Airman, Fireman, Petty Officer, Chief, and Gunny should cover most of your needs.

Of course, we’re not limited to US military ranks – some additional ones, past and present, from other English-speaking countries include Field Marshal, Brigadier, Subaltern, Cadet, Cornet, Commandant, and Commodore. While many such countries also use Lieutenant, they often pronounce it “Leftenant,” causing us immediately to wonder what the “Right-tenant” is up to, haha I slay me.

Okay, Bruck, so basically you've given me a bunch of military designations that I can apply to myself in order to appear more authoritative, intelligent, interesting, and capable, or otherwise try to get some point across. But what do they really say about me? How do I choose?

General: authority, seniority, wisdom, but can also have some negative connotations such as overbearing, or possibly pushing the image a little too hard.

Admiral: similar to General, but with an endearingly archaic, crusty edge – I picture an old English naval officer with an untidy mustache, smoking a huge pipe.

Field Marshal: The grand-daddy of all titles, commanding respect from all comers. Care should be exercised in using this title, however; if you don’t actually merit the implied respect, you’ll come off like a Liberian warlord or a moronic, pot-bellied member of the Michigan Militia.

Colonel: Respectable and genial in a southern US sort of way, with just a hint of tyrannical, bloodthirsty dictator. Seems to be the honorary title of choice for a wide variety of users.

Captain: Similar to Colonel, but a bit saltier, but could possibly indicate mild derision.

Commander: I think a civilian would only use this in specific circumstances of leadership, but it wouldn't make a very good honorary title.

Commandant: A bit too Argentinean Nazi-sounding for my taste.

Commodore: Similar to Admiral, but more English; may invoke images of furniture or toilets.

Brigadier: Strength and authority, no-nonsense leadership, but could also be a good brand name for malt liquor.

Major: Not bad overall, somewhat authoritative and yet down-to-earth with a slight, but discernable flamboyance. Could be used as a superlative for something negative, however, so be careful. I once met a Major Dyke; fortunately at least he was a he.

Lieutenant: Although perfectly respectable in the military world, Lieutenant carries a gangster-like connotation in society at large; therefore I would not suggest using it unless that's what you intend.

Leftenant: Respectable, English-sounding, implying medium-level authority with a degree of wackiness.

Cadet: I don’t recommend the use of this title by non-Girl Scouts.

Subaltern: Don’t use this. It will make people thing you’re lower than an altern, whatever that is.

Cornet: Miniature trumpet. Don’t use.

Ensign: A little too specific and not carrying much import. Brings to mind “Gofer,” the character played by Fred Grandy on the penultimately cheesy Love Boat TV series.

Warrant Officer: Not a very good honorary title. Most people have no idea what they even are, and would assume you’re here to serve them a summons.

Private: Connotes humility, respectful obedience, but with an unfortunate twinge of half-assedness.

Seaman, Airman, Fireman: These can also refer to female soldiers and sailors, but in the civilian world have very specific connotations which render them useless as honorary titles.

Corporal: Not real impressive, and further ruined by association with the fabulous Corporal Klinger on the TV show M-A-S-H. Definitely don't use this if your last name is Punishment (slapping knee).

Petty Officer: This might draw some respect within military circles, particularly among those who swab decks for a living, but outsiders would tend to focus more on the word “petty” than “officer,” and therefore I proscribe its use.

Chief: Short for Chief Petty Officer, so a bit higher than same on the Bruck perceptron, but recommended only for those who sleep in conical tents.

Sergeant: Connotes working-level authority and experience. Instills confidence in a non-threatening way.

Gunny: Short for Gunnery Sergeant; an improved version of Sergeant, but may cause non-Marines to subconsciously append the word “sack.”

Master Sergeant: Although a step above Sergeant on the perceptual ranking structure, it's a bit cumbersome and may convey a bit of conceit.

Sergeant Major: Combines the perceptual effects of Sergeant and Major, but with the slight inconvenience of multiple words.

What's your new title? We can't all be Colonels, you know! Does Sergeant Major Bruck have that certain ring to it? Have some fun, but don’t get carried away like the late Uganda Dictator Idi Amin, who, despite having declared himself King of Scotland, preferred his official title: “His Excellency, President for Life, Field Marshal Al Hadji Doctor Idi Amin Dada, VC, DSO, MC, Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Seas and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular.”

Amen!

Why Do I Have to Chuse?

The US national elections in November 2010, which chused the 112^th Congress, resulted in a historic change in the power structure in Congress. The Democrats lost their 236 to 198 seat advantage in the House of Representatives to the Republicans, who claimed 239. Likewise, the Democrats' “veto-proof” majority in the Senate was weakened to a simple majority. But regardless of your political affiliation, I'm sure you found it as gratifying as I did, when new Speaker John Boehner (pronounced BAY-ner), upon receiving the gavel from the gracious former Speaker Nanci Pelosi, summarily pummeled her with it. Don't believe me? I have video evidence:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pipyvVQ6nX4

As a gesture symbolic of the new leaders' intent to govern "by the book," representatives kicked off this year's legislative session by reading the entire US Constitution into the record. Predictably, this was met with cheers of approval and howls of derision, depending on the political persuasion of the commentator.

Your faithful editor had another reaction altogether: guilt. I realized that despite my implicit assertion of the primacy of said document as an anchor and guide for national legislation, I had not actually read it since high school, and even then, I don't exactly think I was paying attention.

So I got a copy and read it, cover to cover. Having read, or been otherwise exposed to parts of it over the years like the movie It's a Wonderful Life, I must say that there were few surprises - I pretty much already knew what was in there and what wasn't, but one thing that stuck me for the endearing genuineness: misspellings.

The Constitution was written by hand in 1787 without benefit of even a backspace key, much less cut-and-paste, spellcheck, or the smiling Microsoft paper clip. During that time, English usage was not exactly what you would call consistent either, so misspellings, alternate spellings, and outright innovations were the order of the day. Although the English language, particularly the American version thereof, is constantly evolving, a snapshot of it at any particular time will show a pretty good level of consistency in spelling, grammar, and convention. So the Constitution's malaprops look a little silly today. My favorite example is the word "chuse," which appears in Article I, Section 2, Clause 3, and other places in various forms.

To me, even more striking than the writing style, however, was the underlying theme. The Framers were in the process of wrestling themselves out of the tyrannical rule of England, at the same time drawing up the rules for a brand new country, one in which they could impose their loftiest ideals and vision. They could have gone in many directions, but they chused a path of individual freedom under a constrained government. It certainly wasn't perfect (27 amendments passed, out of many thousands proposed), but applying the Costanza rule (do the exact opposite) to that of King George III seemed to be a good start.

But even freedom wasn't exactly spread evenly. Slavery was still legal, or at least not illegal, and of course slaves had no constitutional protections or privileges. Women couldn't vote either, and endured various restrictions to legal and property rights. Fortunately, through amendments and other legal processes and instruments, we've pretty much cleaned up those inequities, at least from the constitutional standpoint.

But are we really free? Comedian Chris Rock avers, with confident assurance reinforced by his audience's hearty agreement, that a man in a relationship "is only as faithful as his options." Of course there are men to whom this axiom does not apply, but none can escape the cruel hand of the Bruck Corollary: a man is only as free as his resources permit.

I don't have $400,000US in liquid assets, and I certainly would have some difficulty convincing a financial institution of my ability to satisfy the terms of a personal loan for anywhere near that amount. Therefore despite its complete and utter legality, I am not free to buy a Lamborghini. There are plenty of things that it is illegal for me to buy at any price, such as Wyoming or Diane Keaton, but for practical purposes, we may as well just add Lamborghinis and the Aaron Speling mansion to that list.

But Bruck, you seem to have no shortage of BBQ meat or radio equipment, and you take lavish whitefish-sodden vacations on the shores of the greatest of the Great Lakes, so what are you complaining about? Not complaining, just making the observation, repeating it actually as it's been made many times before, that even those things that you are free to chuse almost always require you to forgo something else. Those of you who have visited the house of Bruck may have noticed the dearth of large screen TV, or vehicles over $5K in Blue Book value, or furniture that we've actually bought retail. So even though we have a great deal of freedom in the legal sense, resource limitations dictate that we must make decisions.

Speaking of the Constitution, here's something that's not in it: the two-party system. Although it's legal, and for the most part works, it's not actually prescribed in the document. In fact, in the unamended version, the selection of President resulted from the candidate having the largest number of electoral votes, with the runner-up given the office of Vice President. Picture that happening nowadays!

Although I'm not proposing any kind of political overhaul at this juncture, the two-party system does have its drawbacks. What if you don't like either candidate or platform? You can vote for whomever you want, but at least in the national or state contests, if your candidate isn't R or D, you've pretty much wasted a trip to the local schoolhouse. I'm independent myself, so everyone argues with me, but in the spirit of full disclosure, I usually end up voting R due to my opposition to recreational abortion (this unfortunately being a largely symbolic gesture), and the general lack candidates with actual human DNA running on the D ticket. And I'm usually holding my nose while doing so. Some years ago, on the local amateur radio freq. in the Detroit, MI area, a fellow ham asked how I was going to vote in the upcoming elections (we usually stay away from politics and other religions on the air, but this was an exception). I replied that I was planning to vote for the party that's trying to destroy our country more slowly. "Me too," he replied, "straight Democrat!" Not exactly what I was thinking, but I get it.

What's the point, Bruck? No point, really, just exploring the nature of freedom and what we do with it. So please join Willie Nelson and me in the following chorus which pretty much sums it up:

Why do I have to chuse?

And see everybody luse?

Walk around and sing the bluse?

Well darlin', I refuse

The House of the Rising Sun

The death of Jack LaLanne really caught me by surprise. My first thought: hasn't he been dead for like 30 years? Seriously, I remember his TV show from when I was a child, and he was old then! Nope, he lived to the ripe old age of 95 and finally hung up the gloves on January 23^rd of this year.

Of course the dead fitness guru I was thinking of is Jim Fixx, the running pioneer who died in 1984 at age 52, and who was also a fellow progenitor of the fitness movement. Fixx's untimely death of heart failure produced some controversy, causing many to question the value of jogging and cardio fitness in general. This skepticism was short-lived, however; numerous studies plus common sense upheld the relationship between longevity and fitness. Fixx's premature assumption of room temperature was attributed to genetics—his father suffered a similar demise at age 43.

And of course with Jack LaLanne, who lived a few standard deviations beyond average life expectancy, there was the usual dry humor about how he worked so hard at staying in shape and still died.

So, let's talk about something else then: The House of the Rising Sun. Not the New Orleans whorehouse or casino or women's prison, but the song.

Way back when I was in high school, I had a friend who fancied himself a Rock and Roll historian of sorts, mainly because he had bought and read a large tome on the subject. He regularly shared his arcane knowledge with us; one of his “facts” was that the song “House of the Rising Sun,” popularized by Eric Burdon and The Animals, was based on a poem penned by Beat Generation personality Allen Ginsburg, and first recorded as a song by the Detroit band Frijid Pink, later to be covered and popularized by The Animals.

This proved to be wildly incorrect. Armed with some scant wisdom of age, I no longer associate accuracy of information with the vehemence or confidence with which it is asserted, but as a tender youth of 17, I pretty much believed everything I heard, and probably repeated the incorrect information multiple times over the years.

The authorship of the original poem or song is lost to antiquity, but Alan Price of The Animals claims that it originated in 16^th century England, and was written about a Soho brothel employee. English settlers purportedly imported it to America, where it was adapted to portray a denizen or patron of a New Orleans brothel or prison, depending on the telling. Wikipedia has a fascinating article on the song, which I will not attempt to repeat here; interested readers are encouraged to look it up.

Versions of the song have been recorded since the 1930's; the closest thing to its modern version was recorded by blues legend Leadbelly in the 1940's, and later adapted as a folk song by Bob Dylan in 1962. Until then, it was sung in first person from the perspective of a young woman drawn into a life of prostitution or other crime by her gambling husband. The Animals reworked it as a folk/rock ballad in 1964, and altered the lyrics to reflect the perspective of a self-destructive young gambler following in his father's footsteps, to make it more politically correct (this was the pre-Madonna era after all). They also shortened it considerably to facilitate airplay. It was their biggest commercial success, eclipsing the version by Bob Dylan, who, to his profound chagrin, was himself informally accused of plagiarism, despite the precedence of his recording.

Frijid Pink recorded a rock and roll version in 1969, also a commercial success, in fact their only one. The band wagon being rather large, a survey of YouTube reveals that myriad pop, rock, folk, and even country stars have recorded it, including Dolly Parton. Personally, I like the Dylan version best.

Accordion to his website, Jack LaLanne, at age 45 in 1959, did 1000 pushups and 1000 chinups in 1 hour, 22 minutes. Then at age 60, he swam, handcuffed and shackled and towing a 1000 lb. boat, from Alcatraz to Fisherman's Wharf. Apparently he didn't do any heavy lifting in the intervening 15 years. Well, okay, he was growing his fitness empire (which later evolved into Bally's), writing books on nutrition and exercise, and starring in his own exercise TV show.

As the old saying goes, you can tell the pioneers by the arrows in their backs. Although the importance of exercise and nutrition for health and well-being are fully understood throughout the civilized world, this is a relatively recent phenomenon. LaLanne spent much of his career at odds with the medical establishment and other so-called experts who claimed that weight training would cause a man to be musclebound and suffer heart attacks, and had even more dire predictions for the women who LaLanne was encouraging to exercise.

LaLanne is dead now, may God have mercy on his soul. But his influence lives on. On the day he died, under the “workout of the day” (WOD) on our CrossFit whiteboard at the Air Force gym, someone posted his WOD for age 45: 1000 pushups and 1000 chinups. Of course, although they fully appreciated his awe-inspiring level of fitness, the under-40 crowd had to be educated on who he even was.

Also dead from today's story, in addition to the genetically-disadvanged Jim Fixx, are Leadbelly, Allen Ginsburg, and Euell Gibbons. Bob Dylan and Eric Burdon supposedly are still alive, but recent pubic appearances might cause one to question this. Maybe they should eat some pine cones and do more WODs before it's too late!

Wrap Your A$$ in Fiberglas™!

A tribute to power of advertising, I read that phrase once and only once over 30 years ago, and it's stuck with me ever since (the sign used S's rather than dollar signs – just my small concession to maintaining some semblance of family-friendliness in our favorite blog). I was a young teen or pre-teen attending a swap meet or flea market of some kind in the Detroit, MI area, and saw that slogan above a booth. I remember feeling a combination of indignation and pity that the business proprietors would (1) presume to display such an rude, off-color slogan in a “family” venue (I had much higher standards back then), and (2) as full-grown adults—they were in their 20's after all—had so little class as to display same.

A headliner at this venue was one Lynda Carter (Wonder Woman from the 70's), signing autographs. I remember that I should be thrilled but wasn't exactly. Incidentally, Lynda Carter purportedly lives in the next county over from me in northern VA, along with Robert Duvall, and shoots skeet at Bull Run, one of my favorite shooting galleries.

BTW, in case you're one of my 10 or 12 regular readers, mea maxima culpa for the dearth of VOBs lately. I've been home for some weeks now, but for the preceding half year, I was in the middle east, working for Uncle Sam, about 12 hrs/day, 6 or 7 days/wk, with little time for much besides, including writing. “Happy Groundhog Day” was a standard greetings among my co-workers.

I have no idea what they were selling or what aspect of the Fiberglas™ business they were in, so maybe their advertising wasn't all that after all. I assume it was automotive or nautical, given the locality. I also assume it wasn't undershorts, as the most literal interpretation of the slogan would imply, and I'm further assuming it wasn't caskets, but if it were, I might be interested in doing some business with them some time in the future.

The Father of Bruck (FOB) is in pretty good shape for his age, and he's not in any danger of passing on from “natural causes” any time soon, In fact, if not for his sailing proclivities, he might well outlive yours truly. Y'all may recall a couple of previous VOB dispatches: Taming Lake Superior and Sailing Lake Superior, an Update.

But first, since I'm writing this part on Christmas Day, let me share with you some of my early Christmas memories. At the tender age of 3 or 4, old enough for abstract reasoning, but young enough to still “believe,” I had some serious concerns about Santa Claus:

1)How does he fit down the chimney? I knew that the chimney was only about 6” thick (I looked), far too narrow a needle for anyone with a “bowl of jelly” midsection to thread. I also could see that the chimney vents were only about 5” square at the top, but I just assumed he removed the crown before descending and replaced it upon completion of his delivery.

2)A related concern was, if Santa can get into my house via the chimney, wouldn't it also be vulnerable to robbers, thieves and other nefarious characters? We did, after all, once have a raccoon enter the house this way. On the other hand, if we ever locked ourselves out, we'd have a non-destructive way to get back in.

3)For that matter, certainly there were some good children who lived in houses without chimneys – how does Santa deliver presents to them? “He just uses the front door,” answered the Mother of Bruck to my query. Well, thought I, why the F doesn't he just use everyone's front door?

4)I had no problem with the concept of flying reindeer and pulling a sleigh (I sort of equated that with whatever magic airplanes used to stay aloft) , but I was concerned about landing on the roof. Virtually all of the roofs with which I was familiar were sloped, so how would they land there without sliding off, particularly with the standard picture postcard blanket of snow thereupon? I figured that they could achieve equilibrium by straddling the peak, but that also struck me as a rather tedious thing to do on the roof of nearly every single house containing good boys and girls.& like the front door issue, why didn't they just use the driveway?

5)I had my own set of rules about Santa, one of which was that we had to be in bed and asleep for him to come, and in particular, if we came home and surprised him in mid-delivery, this would somehow ruin things.. . somehow. One snowy Christmas Eve, riding home up Woodward Ave. from Aunt Hazel's apartment in Detroit, I remember urging my parents to hurry up and get home so we could be in bed before Santa got there. My folks tried to reassure me by confidently speculating that he was probably doing other rounds right now and would get to our house later. They failed. I didn't relax until I got home and verified for myself that he hadn't gotten there yet.

So, a pretty friggin' neurotic little tyke, wouldn't you say? No wonder I went into engineering.

Back to sailing: this past summer, the FOB and his sailing friends up in the Birch Point region of eastern Lake Superior arranged the first of what they hope to be annual “We Gotta Regatta” wherein local sailors either race or just sail in a cluster across the bay, about 5 miles, and back, and then party down. They didn't really put much thought into liability issues, but probably will next year; one sailor went over and had to be rescued, exhibiting symptoms of advanced hypothermia. He came around soon thereafter.

I had a great idea the other day. At least _I_ thought it was a great idea. I heard that my sister-in-law-in-law (SILILOB) – that would be the fine, upstanding wife of an equally exemplary mountain-climbing brother-in-law of Bruck (FUWOEEMCBILOB) – voluntarily jumped out of a perfectly good airplane not too long ago. A number of my friends and relatives have gone skydiving in the past, but it's appeal is completely lost on me. That is, until an epiphany hit me. I recently netflixed The Fight Club (a strange, strange movie, not recommended for viewers under fifty). It occurred to me that skydiving would be infinitely more interesting if you could stage a fight inside the airplane, both contenders having been fitted with parachutes beforehand. The winner would be the one who succeeded in throwing the other one out the cargo bay door. We'll call our new game “skythrowing.” Then the next contender would enter the ring for similar grappling, and so on until all participants for that flight are exhausted, whereupon the final winner may jump out the cargo door at his or her discretion. Now THAT would be fun! I might even give that a try.

And I think it would be a bit safer than sailing on Lake Superior.

The summer of 2010 witnessed a continuation of the disturbing pattern of mature sailors on eastern Lake Superior not respecting the forces of nature and coincidentally racking up big insurance claims. And in case you were wondering, miraculously, aside from the guy with hypothermia, nobody was injured.

In July, 2010, the FOB and a few friends went sailing in two boats in the eastern end of Lake Superior. The FOB had one passenger and the other pilot also had one. Against Einstein's warnings (you will recall this being a root cause in previous mishaps), the FOB turned the helm over to his inexperienced passenger who promptly upended the craft. Unforch, the architecture of said craft is not conducive to righting after capsizing, therefore they just drifted toward shore. Meanwhile, the other pilot headed back home to call the Coast Guard, who collected the sodden sailors and delivered them to CG station in Sault Ste. Marie, MI, where they were picked up and brought home by the wife of the other pilot.

Once again, the FOB and his passenger escaped injury but the boat's fate wasn't so happy. While they were drinking warm brandy, the wind and current dragged the boat across the rocks in the shallows of the next bay to the east, damaging the hull beyond repair.

Why I recommend not owning and insuring a boat in Michigan: you'll be sharing the risk pool with these guys. The insurance company covered the boat as a total loss, and allowed him to keep the wreckage for spare parts. The other boat in the above misadventure was similarly lost, covered, and scrapped out later in the summer – it was beached and battered in a windstorm.

So, what's this all got to do with wrapping one's a$$ in Fiberglas™, you may ask? Well, I got to thinking: as we discussed previously, the FOB seems to have a penchant for ignoring danger with aforementioned anatomy planted in a Fiberglas™ hull. Well, I'm thinking, when he eventually goes to that great breezy bay in the sky, whether of natural or lake water-induced causes, a suitable and lasting tribute would be to send him on his way in a Fiberglas™ casket – for one last time, wrap his, well I think you get the picture.

And for my former co-workers still toiling away in the cradle of civilization, Happy Groundhog Day!

The Cradle of Civilization

The famous director Federico Fellini (how come I've never heard of him, Bruck?) once observed that there are two things that always look good on film: trains and snow. He's right of course, and so whenever I see a movie scene with a train muscling through a snowy meadow or cityscape, my first thought is, there's a cheap stunt! Well, along those same lines, a notable blogger once observed that there's one topic that always works well in a VOB column: toilets in a foreign country.

I'm currently stationed in the middle east, the exact location and some of the circumstances which compel my presence to be divulged upon my return to the blue mountains of VA. But for now, here I am toiling away in the hot sun (in the chilly air conditioning, actually) and enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells that this austere corner of the world has to offer.

Those of you with a modicum of cultural awareness probably already know that in Arab cultures, the left hand is considered “unclean,” and all business and personal contact, including eating, is to be conducted with the right hand insofar as possible. There may be some superstitious and/or religious reasons behind this, but the practical reason is that the left hand is used for personal hygiene following the act of dropping friends off at the pool. The exact mechanics of said hygiene I may never learn, but the limited information I have is that outdoors, it involves a flat stone, and indoors, it involves a hose and sprayer attachment. And no toilet paper in either place.

That's right, no toilet paper. Unless you're in an establishment that caters to westerners, you won't find TP in the restroom, so the prepared traveler brings his own. But there's always a water sprayer. Again, I don't know what the actual mechanics of using a sprayer are, but somehow it always results in the entire closet, including the toilet, ending up wet.

Another reason why I may never attain any insight into the process of laying cable and succeeding hygiene is that it appears to be an extremely private affair. Each toilet, even in the most remote camel trough, has its own fully-walled-in closet. So we'll never know – just how does one use a sprayer to clean the nether regions? What do they do about stubborn klingons? And does one just let one's pants soak up the excess water? Enquiring minds, you know!

So Bruck, when are we going to get to the toilets themselves? Any odd configurations or unusual features? Well no, not really, and this is a cultural observation in and of itself. What passes for civilization came late to this part of the world, so the pertinent apparatus pretty much went straight from flat stones to western-style commodes, with no intermediate species. But dig, not American-style ones. No, they had to go with the European style bowl, which does not sink the digestive products beneath a layer of water, preserving a path for activated methane molecules directly from said products to the olfactory nerves.

...which compels a courtesy flush, not so much for courtesy to fellow restroom patrons, but for one's own health and welfare. And this brings an aspect of the solids elimination experience that I'd wager has never mattered to you, or even crossed your mind: the temperature of the water in the bowl.

It's not quite summer yet, but the daily highs are consistently above 105 of late, and often above 110. And since it never gets anywhere near freezing all year, plumbing on the outside of a building is a common construction practice. So... a little science class here – with the hot desert sun beating down on the exposed pipes all afternoon, the water gets much hotter than ambient, which is already pretty toasty. So you're sitting there with the fresh water coursing in beneath your booteus maximus, when you realize, dang, it's really getting hot down there, and not in a good way!

I think it's important that we denizens of the western world endeavor to understand our eastern neighbors, and for those of you who have not already been here, a “hajj” to the middle east would be a highly advisable addition to your bucket list. But unless you plan to bring your own bucket, my recommendation is to consume enough Kaopectate prior to arrival as to ensure that you will never actually complete any digestive processes until you're comfortably back on home ice. As Salamu Alaykum!

Charlie Bit Me

I didn't feel too bad this morning. Maybe I'm actually getting in shape. Either that, or I've grown so accustomed to waking up in the morning feeling like I've been hit by a train that I don't even notice it anymore.

Here's yesterday's Crossfit “Workout of the Day” (WOD):

1-1-1-1-1-1-1 Clean and Jerk, at or near 1-rep max.

That's it, just seven single reps of Clean and Jerk. As you can see it was a strength workout. Crossfit workouts foster fitness in several areas including: cardio, strength, flexibility, endurance, agility, speed, coordination, and balance, ...but not all at the same time. I did 175#, which puts me at the low end of those in my class who reported their score. The previous WOD was:

5 rounds of:
10 Burpees
10 Kettlebell swings
N Hang Power Cleans, where N=(6-round #) * 5, i.e., 25 in the first round, 20 in the second, etc. Definitions of the exercises are below. Young David, son of Bruck, did it with me at home. We don't have a kettlebell so we improvised.

This was more of a combined endurance, strength, and cardio workout.

To see the typical workouts that Crossfitters do, check out WODs at crossfit.com

Crossfit is a holistic fitness training regimen that merges concepts from Olympic weightlifting, gymnastics, aerobics, and basic calisthenics into short, high-intensity workouts using basic gyms and equipment. It was started in Santa Cruz, CA in 1995 by former gymnasts who at the time were on contract to train police personnel in that city. Over the past few years, Crossfit popularity has exploded; there are now approx. 1700 official affiliates worldwide, and many more unofficial affiliates and household/neighborhood gyms.

Our gym is located on the Air Force Base where your faithful editor works. Three classes meet each weekday, two before work and one at lunchtime, and the student body is comprised of service members and DoD civilians (who else would be there?). I've been doing workouts with this group since September '09, so for about 7 months. I thought I was in pretty good shape prior to that, as I regularly worked out with free weights, exercise machines, and racquetball. My first Crossfit workout informed me otherwise. It was about three days before I could walk upright and raise my arms above my shoulders.

Things have gotten better since then. Just ask the long-suffering Mrs. Bruck. I started out doing, or attempting to do Crossfit on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. My daily whining was at about 70 decibels and lasted for up to an hour at a time. I now do Crossfit every weekday, schedule permitting, and sometimes do some ad hoc workouts on the weekend. My whining is down to under 30 decibels and only last for several minutes. Some days it's barely audible.

Fortunately, there are more objective ways to quantify performance and improvement. Crossfit exercises and workouts are all designed to be measurable in some way, either in reps, duration, weight, or some combination thereof. For example, a workout may be to do as many rounds as possible (AMRAP) within a specified time interval, of a certain sequence of exercises. In this case, your “score” would be the number of rounds you completed. A component of the score may also be how much weight you used, if that applies. A more common workout is to do a set sequence of exercises, in which case your score is your total time required, with a weight dimension where applicable. And in some cases, for strength-only workouts, your score is simply the weight you were able to lift for one, or for a small number of reps.

We've done quite a number of interesting and different exercises over the past half year. Here is a sample – some may be familiar to you and some will be new:

Box Jumps – jump up onto a sturdy stool or box, then jump or clamber back down. The boxes are either 20” (recommended for women) or 24” (men) high.

Pullups – just get your chin over the bar. There are also the more difficult “chest-to-bar” pullups, which are just what they sound like. Crossfit pullups are a bit unconventional; unlike gym class pullups, where most of your body hangs limp during the exercise, in Crossfit you're supposed to kick and swing your way up. The same amount of work is done, thermodynamically speaking, but there's less strain on the pecs and biceps.

Lunges, brought to you by the Ministry of Silly Walks™: Walk, touching your knee to the ground with each step. A challenging but rewarding variation is to do this while holding a weight plate over your head.

Kettlebell Swings – a kettlebell is basically a big iron ball with a loop handle. In this exercise, you hold the ball with both hands and swing it from between your legs up to about eye level in front of you, with most of the lift power coming from your hips. I'm not going to tell you what the coach compares this to. A variation is to do it with one arm at a time.

Situps – the Crossfit variation is to lie on your back with the soles of your feet together, and alternately touch your hands to the ground behind your head and to your feet. It's okay to use the momentum of your arms, unlike the way your phys. ed. teacher probably taught you.

Pushups – regular old chest-to-deck pushups. Sometimes they do pushups with your hands in rings hanging from the chinup bar, but this really messed up my elbows last time I did it, so next time “Ring Pushups” appears in the WOD, I'm going to sit in the bleachers and claim that it's my time of the month.

Burpees (should be named, “Barfees”): From a standing position, squat down and do a pushup, stand back up, and jump, clapping your hands over your head while jumping. Sounds easy? Tell me how you feel after doing 20 of them.

Wall Balls – while standing up from a squat, throw (2-handed) a medicine ball (20# for men, 12# for women) at a target line on the wall 10' up from the floor, catch it while squatting down again, rinse and repeat.

There are several more “calisthenic”-type exercises; a brief perusal of WODs will give you a larger sample.


Then there are the weightlifting exercises. Crossfitters don't use weight machines, per se, or even benches. Sometimes we use racks, but our coach calls us sissies when we do. Generally, the weightlifting exercises consist of all or part of the Olympic weightlifting events, namely the Snatch and the Clean and Jerk. Both of these exercises start with the weighted bar on the ground and end up with same over the head with one's arms straight; the difference is how you get there, and I won't go into that here - other websites can do a far better job of explaining it than I.

We don't actually do a lot of complete Snatches or Clean and Jerks, but we frequently do components of them, such as:

Dead Lift - bar on ground, pull it up to about mid-thigh (arms hanging straight).

Weighted Squats – squat and stand back up while holding the weighted bar, either over your head (Overhead Squat), across your shoulder blades (Back Squat), or across your collar bones (Front Squat).

Cleans – various exercises that end with the weighted bar up at shoulder level.

Jerks / Presses – exercises that take the bar from shoulder level (clean position) to over the head.

+ various similar exercises with other types of weights such as dumbbells or medicine balls.

The workouts: doing Crossfit is like being married to a crackhead – every day it's a different story! The WOD, chosen or designed by the coach, typically combines a number of reps of a number of exercises, configured to work a particular set of muscle groups or emphasize a particular fitness area. Over the course of several weeks, well-chosen WODs will achieve balance over the whole body and across all components of fitness. There's supposedly a lot more to the science of workout selection and physiology, but considering what you're paying me, let's just leave it at that.

Scalability

Sounds hard, Bruck! Well it is, but fortunately, most exercises are scalable, one way or another. For the weightlifting exercises, of course you can choose your weight, or just use the olympic bar (45#), or the women's bar (15#), or the PVC pipe. The calisthenic exercises are often “body weight proportional” but even some of them are scalable. For example, with pushups, you can do them off of your toes or your knees. For pullups, you can hook a foot in a “resistance” band, which is just a big rubber band, to reduce the effort required. Or you could do “jump” pullups, in which you push off of a stool with your feet to reduce the effort. For box jumps, you can do step-ups instead of jumps, plus there are a couple of different height boxes to choose from.

There are big advantages to this scalability. For one thing, it allows a group of people with widely divergent levels of experience and ability to do the same workout together (and believe me, it's hard to conjure up the motivation to do Crossfit alone!). Also, it allows you to build up your strength while exercising through the full range of motion, which is an important concept underlying Crossfit training.

Last September, when I started Crossfit training, I could do maybe one pullup on a good day. So I started with jumping pullups. Then I graduated to the green resistance band (~75# assist), and then to the blue band (~40# assist). By about mid-January, I was doing pullups unassisted. This was actually a pretty big deal – my classmates noticed and congratulated me profusely. I felt like it was some sort of fitness Bar Mitzvah. Colleague and workout buddy Tim “went strapless,” i.e., started doing unassisted pullups, about a month ago, and again, it was a big deal. He says he thinks he might have made the transition prematurely, but you know the old saying, “once you go strapless, you can never go back!”

Notwithstanding the fact that the workouts are eminently scalable to personal abilities, there are some broadly applicable standards. For one thing, it's expected that one does the entire workout if at all possible, and does each exercise properly, operating through the full range of motion as ability permits. Then there are “prescribed” (Rx) workout levels for experienced Crossfitters. The Rx generally takes the form of a recommended weight level (actually two – one for men and one for women). My personal goal, which I met, was to get up to doing at least some Rx-level workouts by the end of January of this year. Right now I do about half the workouts at the Rx level, and for the ones I don't, I try to get as close as possible. As a consequence, since there's generally a tradeoff between speed and effort, I usually finish pretty close to last in my class. That's OK, I'm also the oldest and richest.

So Bruck, that's just great, you're now able to leap over tall buildings and catch bullets in midair, but what of it? Well, being in shape has implicit rewards, particularly in the area of general health. In fact, according to Dr. Ray Strand, while the human body can withstand and even thrive under a wide range of severe stresses and pressures, the one thing it can't sustain is inactivity. As far as my personal health goes, I haven't lost much weight per se, but have redistributed it. I'm down a couple of belt sizes, from 6 months pregnant to about 3, and my suit jackets are all getting kind of tight around the shoulders and chest. My blood chemistry, which has been problematic throughout most of my adult life, is now as good as it's ever been.. And it is occasionally useful to leap over tall buildings and catch bullets in midair.

Okay, you've got my interest, how do I sign up? Well, the downside is this: unless you've got a free deal like mine thru the DoD (thanks, taxpayers, that's very generous of you), it can be a bit pricey. Prices in health clubs around here are in the $200-$300/month range, and that's in addition to your gym membership. But on the other hand, you could do what many “unofficial” affiliates do, which is to look up WODs on the web, or even invent your own WODs, and do them yourself or in a group in someone's basement or garage. But however you do it, I want to see you doing strapless pullups by December, Private!

Life is Beautiful, Let the Bastard Live

In the book of Isaiah, chapters 2 and 65, is described a world wherein peace prevails- no wars, no bloodshed, no violence. The lion shall lay down with the lamb, swords into plowshares and all that. It must be in the future, as I know of no point in history when this was the case, and it certainly isn't now. Presumably this better world will know no rape, murder, capital punishment, nor any aggrandizement of evil.

Paul Warner Powell is not a household name, at least not for households substantially outside of Prince William County, VA, and for this you should be thankful. Of all death row inmates, Powell is perhaps the least sympathetic character. Have you seen “The Green Mile?” Picture “Wild Bill.” There is no insanity or mental disability defense, nor any mitigating circumstance to reduce or remove culpability. Rather, his crimes represent the embodiment of unqualified evil. I won't glorify his actions any further by offering more detail than necessary, but for the record, what he was convicted of was raping and killing a 16-year old girl, and raping and attempting to kill her 14-year old sister, severely injuring her in the process.

Although appalling on the human side, his case is interesting from the legal perspective. He was initially convicted of the crimes, but the verdict was overturned by the VA Supreme Court. Following this, he wrote a profane, taunting letter to the Commonwealth attorney who initially prosecuted him, in which he basically admitted his guilt for the crimes, believing that his “double jeopardy” rights would protect him from further action. He was wrong; this time the trial went a little better for the people of VA, and he has been awaiting his appointment with “Ol' Sparky” ever since. If things go as planned, this appointment will occur at 9:00 p.m. on Thursday, 18 March. Happy belated St. Patrick's Day!

Like most death row inmates, Powell has applied for clemency from VA Governor Bob McDonnell, who, incidentally, argued for the people of VA during Powell's appeal process. Right now I'm thinking of a letter he wishes he hadn't sent. Although there is still time to change his mind, McDonnell, not surprisingly, has indicated that he does not intend to intervene. Meanwhile, Powell's legal team has been seeking some sort of injunction to move the clemency decision to another authority, citing conflict of interest on the part of the Governor. As for the likelihood of this happening, let's just say I hope Powell paid them in advance. But also, I hope they do fail. But Bruck, I thought you said you wanted him to live! I do, but not on a legal technicality.

Those of you who know me personally or have followed my rantings know that I am adamantly pro-life. I believe that there are just about zero excuses for killing another human, and revenge, punishment, closure, convenience, poverty, and population control are not among them. About the only circumstance in which I favor execution is where a convicted murderer shows a credible threat and propensity to keep killing. An example of this would be Ted Bundy. A counterexample would be Timothy McVeigh. I don't believe Powell rises to this level; in fact, I believe his fellow inmates would be a bigger threat to him.

I would like to clarify a couple of things: (1) I don't support commutation or parole for Powell. In fact, “breakin' rocks in the hot sun” for a few decades would be appropriate IMHO. In any case, he can't ever be free again. (2) I fully support and agree with the verdict and sentence handed down by judge and jury – Powell certainly earned execution.

So Bruck, why do you want the Governor to grant clemency? Well, if you think about it, and if you haven't, I suggest you do so now... okay, done? Mercy is the only productive response to evil. Love is the only way to quench hatred. Returning evil for evil is at best a stop-gap solution, applicable only to desperate, immediate circumstances, and even in such cases, who really wins? Evil begets evil. Where does it end?

In our society, there are very few actual opportunities to show mercy, legally, ethically, and practically. I'm not going to recommend self-destructive behavior, nor any substantial increase in risk or sacrifice on the part of myself or my neighbors. But we have before us just such an opportunity. And what would happen were we to capitalize on it? A life would be preserved, and with it a chance for redemption. I know this seems unlikely, but things could, and probably would, change over the next 20 or 30 years to allow just such a thing. OTOH, if events proceed as planned, another life will be ended, and, as indicated by Powell's lack of convincing remorse, the population of Hell is almost certain to increase by one.

Supposedly the execution will bring about closure for Powell's victims' family. To be sure, I doubt that any of us can imagine the trauma that the victims' family, and particularly the girl who survived, has experienced, and will undoubtedly continue to suffer. Certainly I can't put myself in their shoes, nor do I presume to influence their perspective. I'm just sayin'... I doubt that a dead perp vs. prison for life will make them feel any better.

So... to summarize, we have an opportunity to break one link in the chain of evil by showing mercy where none is deserved or expected, and in doing so, at least one person maintains the opportunity for redemption. Therefore my message to the Governor is:

Let the bastard live!