Guilty as Charged!

I’ve really learned a lot this week. I think we all have, at least those of us who don’t cruise public restrooms in search of anonymous gay sex. I guess I’ve pretty much always known that some public restrooms are used for that activity, but it’s something that you try not to think about, kind of like what goes on in the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant. The less you know about some subjects, the better. What I wish I still didn’t know was how gay sex encounters are initiated, namely by loitering outside a stall, touching another patron’s foot with yours, reaching under the stall to make hand signals, etc. I’m sure there’s more to it, but please don’t educate me any further; I’ve really learned enough for one week.

This all came to light earlier this week as the press broke the story of Senator Larry Craig (R-Idaho) having pled guilty last June to disorderly conduct following his arrest for soliciting an intimate encounter with a police officer in a men’s room in the Minneapolis airport. Apparently this was a reduced charge (reduced from what, I don’t want to know), reached in a plea bargain, and apparently Mr. Craig mistakenly believed that the charges would not be publicized. I wonder if that’s the first time he’s been lied to?

Apply directly to forehead!

Apply directly to forehead!

The story has been all over the papers, radio, and cable TV news all week now, and what gives it legs is that it leaves so many topics open for debate:

Is he really guilty of a crime?
Do you believe his “explanation?”
Was it a sting or entrapment?
Is Craig a hypocrite for his political stance vs. his personal habits?
Would he have been treated differently if there were a “D” after his name?
What on Earth do those “apply directly to forehead” commercials mean?
How was lunch, Bruck?

The answer to the last question is, not very good. I had a pretty dry pre-packaged submarine sandwich. The convenience store right outside my office must be trying to clean out its inventory before the long weekend, so it was slim pickins. But on the other hand, I only paid $6.00 for it, aaarrrggghhhh!

As if trying to put out the fire by throwing gasoline on it, Craig called a press conference and issued a rambling statement about how he made a mistake by not telling his wife about it, he’s not gay, he should have consulted a lawyer, he’s not gay, he’s respectable and doesn’t do that sort of thing because he’s not gay. It sounded like a Saturday Night Live parody.

Then the following day I listened on the radio to the tape of a conversation between Craig and the poor policeman who apprehended him (can you imagine a less appealing job? I hope he gets a promotion out of all this). You could probably find the transcript on the web somewhere to see the content of this pathetic interchange, but you would miss the tone of voice. It sounded like a kid arguing with his mom after getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Basically, they wrangled over whether the respectable senator’s foot was too far into the officer’s stall (he claims that he has a wide stance and needed more room), why he lingered outside the stall door (he claims he was waiting for a stall to vacate), why his hands were in the policeman’s stall (maybe he was asking for extra TP in sign language), and on and on.

What convinced me of Craig’s guilt is not so much what was said but what wasn’t said. Now (hetero guys) picture yourself being accused by a vice cop of making a pass at him. What would you say? My defense would be something along the lines of, “Get your hands off of me you filthy pervert, I have no idea what you’re talking about! I dare you to arrest me, I’ll own you and your entire department,” etc. etc. etc. Actually I probably wouldn’t be as polite, but I’m trying to keep this blog reasonably family-friendly. Instead, the honorable senator quibbles about the details of playing footsy or not playing footsy with the cop, why he was reaching under the stall, etc., tacitly indicating that he knew full well the homo mating rituals and was trying to weasel his way out of being caught engaging in them.

Still, other issues surround the hapless senator’s actions:

Why did he say anything to the policeman w/o a lawyer present?
Why didn’t he retain counsel?
Why did he make a plea bargain based on what appears to be pretty flimsy evidence?
Why did I pay $6.00 for a dry submarine sandwich?

So anyway, it appears that Senator Wide-Stance is on his way out the door, and I think I speak for the entire human race when I say good riddance. Next case? Navy Captain Lisa Nowak, our friend the homicidal, diaper-wearing astronaut, is purportedly going to plead guilty by reason of insanity to charges of assault and attempted kidnapping of her love rival. She supposedly is competent to stand trial, but here’s her psychiatric diagnosis, abridged for clarity, at the time of the alleged assault:

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
Partner Relational Problem
Major Depressive Disorder, Single Episode, Severe
Insomnia
Brief Psychotic Disorder with Marked Stressors
Interactions Producing a Mixed Manic and Depressive Like State
Asperger's Disorder
Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder
(I think we should cut her some slack on the Asperger’s Disorder - she is an engineer after all)

Mind you, Navy Captain is a very high rank, just under Admiral, which is the Navy equivalent of General, and she was/is an astronautess, and held a security clearance and an amateur radio license on top of that. Yikes! Those “apply directly to forehead” commercials are starting to make sense!

Bruck, How Was Your Little Vacation?

Lovely, thank you.

Mrs. Bruck and I just returned from about ten days on the road, during which we drove to the Detroit area, spend a couple days there, proceeded to northern MI, back to Detroit, and then back to VA. In all, we put about 2200 miles plus a few scratches on “Big Blue.” It was a fun and interesting trip – boating, campfires, visiting with friends and family, overeating, and expanding the Bruck Empire.

There are some things we miss about MI following our move to VA last year - people, favorite restaurants, etc., as followers of this blog have been apprised. A few more surfaced during this trip, underscoring Joni Mitchell’s timeless adage, “you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone!”

Speed

Michigan driving is the best you can find anywhere, including Naples, Italy, and Naples, FL. Did I tell you about the guy I saw in Naples, Italy, driving a scooter with four passengers who appeared to be his wife or girlfriend and three kids? I didn’t? Well, I once saw a guy in Naples, Italy driving a scooter with four passengers who appeared to be his wife or girlfriend and three kids. And in Naples, FL - well, just don’t drive in Naples, FL if you can avoid it. Michigan driving is better than all that. And I’m not just saying that because that’s where I learned to drive – well, maybe I am. Anyway, toward the end of the first leg of our trip, when we were passing through Detroit, cars and trucks were whizzing past me on both sides. I was initially taken aback, until I realized that I was in a 65 mph zone and only going 70. Home again! It didn’t take me long to get my groove back. On the way back south through MI on the last leg of our trip, I noticed a highway speed limit sign with 3 speeds: 70 for cars, 60 for trucks, and a posted minimum speed of 55. In other words, don’t even think about driving below what used to be the upper limit during the Ford and Carter administrations!

Flat Land

VA is very beautiful with its forested mountains, rolling hills, lush valleys and rivers… okay, Bruck, we get the idea. But one thing I’ve found to be a little disorienting is the complete lack of flat land here in VA. Every square inch of unmolested real estate has some kind of grade. It’s not the kind of thing one would expect to long for, but having lived most of my life in a planar world, I sort of miss being able to just walk without climbing, descending, or straddling a hill. Granted, it’s not that big a deal compared to the global war on terror and homicidal astronauts wearing diapers, but it was really nice back in MI to look out over farms and streets that were flat as far as the eye could see.

Shooting Venues

Despite technically being a “blue” state, MI is pretty “red” when it comes to firearms and limitations on the use thereof. Shooting on private property is okay, subject to local ordinances and minimum distances from occupied dwellings, and the sky’s the limit for shooting on public hunting grounds, particularly outside of hunting season.

Venue 1: The Pit

“The Pit” or “The Gravel Pit” is part of a public hunting area north of Lapeer, MI. No actual hunting goes on there, but it’s a regular haunt of the southeast MI gun aficionados. A row of large rocks separates the parking area and shooting positions from a large, open field of weeds and dirt surrounded on either side by treed hills, and to the rear by a 50’ rise of sand and gravel about 90 yards back. The field and backdrop are scattered with numerous random objects delivered and perforated by previous shooters – a “target rich” environment in the literal sense. I think few would disagree that this is a perfect place for recreational shooting, with the possible exception of those unfortunate nearby residents who are not deaf.

I brought a couple of my favorite medium-caliber toys there, as did a friend who joined us, including his .223 carbine and .357 Sig. He also contributed a target in the form of an old laptop computer. With the Sig, we were able to hit a tire on the back wall (90 yard accuracy with a pistol is no mean feat), and with the 223 we rendered the computer inoperable.

Venue 2: Behind Ron’s Store

In northern MI, Ron, the owner of a local IGA, lets us use his “back 40” for target and skeet shooting. Like “The Pit,” it’s a pretty safe place for shooting, with a 15’ rise for a backdrop and treed, elevated land on either side. It is also full of old building materials from his recent store renovation, so there are plenty of things to put holes in, and which can be configured to provide audible and visible feedback, further enhancing the shooting experience. Unfortunately, the road back to Ron’s ad hoc shooting gallery is a bit overgrown with scrub trees, so Big Blue has a few new scratches we’ll need to rub out.

Okay, fine, but what about the Bruck Empire?

I summarily reinforced my claim over the state of Michigan; I learned that I share sovereignty with my brother-in-law from Livonia, MI, according to the agreement described in this column on the subject. That’s fine - together we can help speed up the governor’s plan to return MI to its pre-colonial state. Localities within MI that are now part of the Bruck Empire include St. Clair, Royal Oak, and Superior Township. And did I mention that bodies of water may also be claimed in a similar fashion? Lake Superior, the largest body of fresh water in the world, the big lake they call Gitchee Gumee, the lake that never gives up her dead, is now part of the Bruck Empire, under a claim shared with members of my immediate family.

Epilogue – West Virginia

I was surprised to learn last year that WV is actually part of the north. It is technically, as it fought for the Union in the Civil War, I mean the War Between the States, I mean the War of Northern Aggression. It also is part of the north, according to the Pork Rind/Beef Jerky Factor, upon which I’ll expand in a future VOB.

We stopped at a Sheetz gas station/convenience store off the highway in WV as we approached home. The “no shirt no shoes no service” policy must have been abridged somewhat, as evidenced by some of the partially-clad clientele. Actually, one of the shirtless fellows had enough tattoos to make him appear to be wearing a shirt, but his abundant gray body hair negated the effect upon closer inspection.

In the restroom, I read some graffiti wherein an itinerant scribe penned the poignant phrase, “KILL WHITEY,” a challenge answered by a racially complementary and equally provocative rejoinder. And the multitudinous array of junk food boasted only one brand and style of pork rind, the dry, puffy kind, providing conclusive evidence that WV is a northern state.

Well Come to Japan

Friendly Readers: Sorry for the dearth of VOBs lately - get out the excuses log - I've been working on a rather involved entry on my favorite old town of Jackson, MI but it's not ready yet, and also another project has been consuming a lot of my spare time lately. I can't tell you what it is, according to strict instructions from a Chinese fortune cookie I got last time we visited Wu's Garden in Manassas, but let me just say this - if I'm not king of the world within 18 to 24 months, something has gone desperately awry.

For your reading pleasure, here's another vintage VOB which was originally published in June, 2001.

Well Come to Japan, Mr. [Bruck]

...reads the envelope containing the agenda for the week's meetings, provided by representatives from the host company upon our arrival in Himeji.

Your faithful editor has been off again to the land of the rising sun, enjoying the exquisite delights of a culture still reeling from centuries of isolation from the civilized world.

The vending machine at the end of the hall in our hotel is called "Joyful Time." It offers a wide selection of beer, cold coffee & tea, soft drinks, juices, and bottled water. Along the bottom, it reads, "We wish your tasty life present to refresh you."

But you were actually wondering how to use the high-tech toilet seat, weren't you?

One button "Operates the Bidet," according to the adequately translated instructions. This button is accompanied by a nonverbal of a woman sitting, with a water spray pointed at her jade garden (Japanese slang). Another button "Cleanses the Posterior." This one's nonverbal is a stylized gluteus maximus with a water spray aimed at it. I tried that one out. It doesn't really do much cleansing of the posterior. It just gets whatever you have there wet. I tried the bidet as well. I believe girls would benefit more from it. There are also some rather tortured instructions for the seat heater, including safety warnings, and an indication that none of the controls will work unless you're sitting down. And of course, the big red button "Stops the bidet and the cleansing of the posterior."

And while we're on the subject, Japanese people do not all look alike. Their names all sound alike, especially when they pronounce them for you, but their appearances are actually quite diverse. In our business meetings, I've found it helpful, in attaching faces to names, to write on their business cards rough descriptions, or people they remind me of. My collection includes, "Square Bangs," "Glen H.," "Peter Lorre," "Aunt Hazel," "Elvis hair," "Peter Lorre," "Rocky" (the flying squirrel, not Rambo), "Rimless Glasses," "Peter Lorre," etc. I had to quit using the fact that they reminded me of Peter Lorre, as it failed to serve as a distinguishing factor.

Lunch on Thursday was catered by Pizza Royal Hat, which advertises Fine Service and Good Taste. Our finely served, good tasting pizzas sported such innovative toppings as corn, tuna, asparagus, bonita fish flakes, eggplant, sausage (German, not Italian; and I have no idea where they might have gotten it), and baked potato.

Okay, here's the list of delicacies Bruck couldn't bring himself to eat

Boiled Fish Eyeball - nobody else wanted it either.
Little white whole fish with shiny eyeballs and intact antennae and whiskers.

Here are some of the delicacies that did go down the hatch (and stay down):

Fish Brains
Beef Sushi
A whole bunch of other sushis
Jelly donut that was actually filled with curry
Another innocent-looking pastry garnished with anchovy paste.

Gochiso Samadeshita, and Well Come to Japan!