Miltary Justice

I should stop using the term “Get a rope” when I get upset with others who are just practicing their constitutional right of free speech. There are two sides to every coin, and listening to someone else’s prospective on life is just as important as expounding on mine own.

Of course, there are a few exceptions to the free speech concept. This is where the word civilized comes in to play. Is it OK to speak out against the country that provides you with constitutional rights protecting your free speech, like Jane Fonda did in Vietnam, even though it caused more torture and deaths of American prisoners of war? Her actions were despicable and certainly uncivilized, but she was not prosecuted because of her civil constitutional right of free speech. One consolation is that millions of service men and women hate her guts to this very day. I say, “Get a rope!” Oh, crap, my bad – I promised not to use my right of free speech in this case because it is uncivilized.

What about the WikiLeaks and U.S. Army Private Bradley Manning’s case? Let’s agree to at least one point. Private Bradley Manning swore an oath to perform his duties to his country as per the military code of ethics. I can assure you the ethics do not include leaking information of any kind to the media and especially in time of war. Is Private Manning entitled to free speech as spelled out in the Constitution? I think not. His military oath precludes everything, especially free speech. Loose lips sink ships and get people killed. Now, we must assume Bradley Manning is innocent until proven guilty. He does have that right, even in the Army.

There was no doubt of Jane Fonda’s guilt; after all, she flaunted herself in front of North Vietnamese cameras running her mouth the whole time. We so far have not seen any evidence that would indicate Private Manning is guilty of leaking secrete documents to WikiLeak. That revelation will have to wait for his court martial. In the meantime, the controversy will rage on and most of us will be able to say what we want because we have the right to do so. I know I have the right to say, “Get a rope,” but I will refrain from doing so in the future. I wonder if saying “Get a rope” infers that I am a vigilante of some kind; which, by the way, is certainly illegal in our country. Of course I am not a vigilante, and I do not support capital punishment. Now, that subject is for another blog…. I can feel the debate heating up!

I’m just saying,


Mittster

The Zoo At Our House

You should try to write a book while living in the zoo at our house. As I write, Pickles, the Meyer’s parrot, is screeching because he wants to be with me in the office so he can tear up everything in sight and then poop on it for good measure. He took a shower with me this morning, but no, that’s not good enough. I bought the little terror seven years ago for my wife’s birthday, but he bonded to me. She just had to have a parrot, and now I get to be married to both!

Then there is Mittsy the Pomeranian. We bought Mittsy in Michigan fourteen years ago. She is our oldest and is exhibiting some of the same behavior as my mother-in-law. That’s not to say I don’t love them both. I do, but not being able to control your bladder is OK for a human, but not so OK for a dog who thinks every rug in the house is a potty. She is so adorable and loving; it will be hard to see her leave the planet. Perhaps because she is half blind and losing her hearing, Mittsy can’t tell where the outdoors is anymore. Come to think of it, I have days like that too!

Annie is our long-haired Chihuahua – she is about eight years old and the real nutsoid of the family. We sort of rescued her from the vet because one of his customers couldn’t take care of her anymore. She is our Prozac dog and needs her fix two times a day. Without it, she turns into a nightmare with fangs and claws. None of the other dogs are safe when she goes off, especially Mittsy. She sleeps a lot these days, but is still terrified at the sound of rain, wind or thunder, and when she accidently bites herself. She also likes to sit in a corner and look and growl at what must be ghosts in the house. This doesn’t bother me much; I figure they (the ghosts) are too busy with her to bother with us. That works for me….

We do have a well behaved, short-haired, black and tan Chihuahua named Gonzo (named after the ex-baseball player for the Arizona Diamondbacks). We bought him in Arizona about seven years ago. What a little gentleman he is, tough, but always polite with his human pack. His idea of play is to grab a toy and stay just ahead of me, tail wagging, while I sort of run after him saying, “That’s my toy, Gonzo. It’s mine, it’s mine, and I want it right now.” Of course I never quite catch him and eventually he gets under the kitchen table and chews on his toy while I head back to the office to try and get some work done.

Last, but not least, is our white, short-haired Chihuahua named Taco. We rescued him a couple of years ago from a Prescott Valley, Arizona, rescue center. He was abandoned in the dead of winter by some unknown creep (you know who you are!). How he survived that particularly cold winter is anyone’s guess, but the important thing is that he is living with us and we will provide for him until it’s time for him to leave the planet. Taco is a Deer Chihuahua with extremely long legs, and he can run like the wind. He is our miniature sight hound and there is nothing better than watching him run at a dog park. He takes turns sleeping at night under the covers snuggled up to me or wifey, although I must admit he bonded to Sandy from the very beginning, but when she is not home, I get him all to myself.

Well, there you have it – a writer’s nightmare it would seem. The truth is that I couldn’t write without the zoo in our house. I can’t imagine living without our pets, and in fact, we both require their companionship and love. They force us to stay home much of the time, but in today’s world, that isn’t such a bad idea. I do miss wifey not going on long distance book signings with me, but we both understand the commitment pets require and we lovingly succumb to that commitment.

Write on,

Mittster

See No Evil

What is it with women now-a-days? It’s like no matter how hard a guy tries to please them, they get bored and want to move on to something more exciting. Look at Sally in the picture; she just had to have Marvin, but now she is bored out of her skull and can’t wait to dump the poor slob. I don’t really feel too sorry for Marvin though; he knew full well the risk he was taking when they hooked up.

Now, I’m not saying that a makeover wouldn’t help to save Marvin’s relationship – you know, some dental work, possibly have the ears pinned back, maybe a manicure and pedicure, along with clothes around the private parts. All this and more could, but probably won’t, save the big ape from some lonely days and nights in the near future. The look on Sally’s face tells me Marvin is doomed.

Oh, well, it’s no skin off my footpads; perhaps Marvin could find someone else who shares his interests, like picking off bugs, licking private parts and swinging in trees. Having something in common with your partner really does help in the real world. I can see on Marvin’s face that the lovemaking was great, but only for him. Perhaps he should see a therapist and learn some restraint. He will need it in the coming months of being without a partner.

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Two years ago the bottom fell out of our economy. I know, tell me something you don’t know. My thought then was that this would be an opportune time to write a novel. I ended up writing two novels and two e-books because the recession lasted longer than anyone could predict or even imagine.

I looked around at the devastation the recession was causing middle and poor America, with homes being foreclosed on at record rates and jobs disappearing at even faster rates, I wondered how in the world people were going to pay their rent, utilities, car payments, or even feed their children. I remember in my younger years going though recessions when construction was D.O.A. in Arizona, but I was able to travel to other states to keep my family fed and a roof over their heads. This time was different indeed; there were no construction jobs anywhere in the country.

While writing my books, I kept up to date on job prospects through Monster.com and other Websites. After about eighteen months, I started to notice more and more construction jobs offered on line. In fact, there were even more construction jobs offered in the Phoenix newspapers, which had been devoid of any real opportunities and the few companies who did offer jobs were inundated with resumes.

Recently, I was offered a consulting position with an out-of-state contractor who wants to expand into Arizona. Now this was the sign I was looking for, not just because it meant employment for me, but also because I believe we are coming back from the brink of a depression!

No, I am by no means an expert on the subject of recessions, but I am an expert on how to survive hard times in the construction industry. I know the signs of recovery when I see them and that is exactly what I am seeing. In any case, my optimism should encourage everyone to be positive and start looking for work opportunities again in earnest. In the meantime, I will blog any news about constructions positions as I hear of them.

Write on,



Mittster

Grey Hair Rules

I ask myself, “Are you ready for your 50th high school reunion in May?” I talk about being able to look into the mirror and like what you see on my blogs, but the mirror I will be looking into at the class reunion has bright, natural lighting. Everyone there will be a reflection of me—and there will be no denying that we are all pushing 70 like a bulldozer on steroids.

This whole reflection thing started yesterday after I broke down and finally booked a hotel room for the festivities, knowing that if I didn’t, there would be a possibility of sleeping in my truck. I sat there afterwards reflecting on the Internet picture of Escondido High School. It brought back a flood of memories; some good, some not so good, but wonderful memories nonetheless.

Last night I dreamt that I was at the reunion having a ball with all my classmates, even the ones who have passed, and we were all the same age as when we graduated. It was a wonderful dream and it all seemed so natural and real, until I awoke and reality flooded in where fantasy had been. It’s OK though as everyone there was happy and old high school rivalries, jealousies and grudges were conspicuously absent. Perhaps there is a message in the dream?

I am hoping that when the remainder of The Class of ’61 meets we can travel back in time and be joyous in the knowledge that we made it to this point in time with dignity, love and happiness. What a life it has been, and I for one look forward to celebrating my life with the lives of my classmates. They all have stories to tell and I can’t wait to hear all about them.

Yes, we will all be young at heart again, dancing to rock & roll music, and just plain acting kooky, just like when we were teenagers. Elvis Presley will be there along with Ricky Nelson and Chuck Berry, just to name a few, singing again to the squealing delight of all the classmates. To the young we will look like a bunch of silly old folks, but to us we will look and feel like the teenagers that still live in our hearts. I wonder if I will be able to dance to rock & rock at our 60th reunion? Not to worry—I’m sure by that time science will have bionic body parts to replace our old ones. Let’s rock!

Write on,