Murphy's Law

Well, there is a school of thought that says "just because things aren't going well, don't believe for a moment that they can't get worse." I lost my wallet (see last post) at the end of November, and had to replace the contents, which has been a little trying. The credit cards weren't ordered and El Jeffe and I had to call them, although to be fair they were with us within 48 hours following the second request. The ATM card was the same. The bank failed to order a new card, even after both El Jeffe and myself had asked them to do it. I finally recieved a card today, 19 days after reporting the loss. DMV were pretty fast considering their reputation. Worst of all, though, was the Green Card. It's a cool $260 to replace that, plus a trip to Maryland's Eastern Shore to get new fingerprints done. Why my fingerprints would change is beyond me, but there you go.

And just when it all seemed like an expensive mistake, what should happen? Yep, you guessed it, El Jeffe found my wallet. It was in a box in the garage. Needless to say the $260 can't be refunded, so I feel pretty wretched about the whole episode. It's almost like I'm being taunted by my own absent-mindedness. At least I won't have to drive to the Eastern Shore for the fingerprint session.

On a lighter note, I found the kayak I want to build. I looked at a number of designs and chose the Chesapeake 17 from Chesapeake Light Craft. The plans won't arrive until after Christmas, but I'm in no hurry. I'm collecting tools. Incidentally, I did some bargain hunting and managed to get 2 Black & Decker Workmates, an orbital sander, and 14 one-handed spring clamps for around $80 at Lowes. That's what I call a good deal. I priced them up in English Pounds and back home in Britain that lot would have been around $250 or so. Hooray for Uncle Sam is all I can say.

El Jeffe's Christmas present arrived this week. I bought her a German language course. She lived in Germany as a teenager, and loves the place, and we'll go there on vacation as soon as we can afford it. Meanwhile she wants us to learn German so we can talk about people without them knowing. I bet she learns the rude words first.

Thought for the day - things can always get worse. Night, all.

I Left My Wallet In El Segundo

Well, not actually in El Segundo. I left my wallet somewhere. I borrowed a kayak and went paddling on the mighty Beaverdam Lake at the weekend, and managed to lose my wallet. I think it fell out when I was looking for my truck keys after the trip. It hadn't been handed in the following day, so I've cancelled my cards just in case.

What a pain. The bank cards and credit cards, well they are easy to replace. But my drivers license has gone, and that cost me a morning at the DMV, which is about as much fun as one person can have without taking off their clothes. Worse still, my Green Card was in there, and that really will be a pain to replace. The INS want $260 just to process the replacement form, plus a trip to my local INS office, 40 miles away. Oh, and an additional visit to the Biometric Data Collection office so I can give them another fingerprint and retinal scan, all very high-tech. Wonderful system, shame the British government don't implement it. Trouble is, the Biometric Data Collection Center is conveniently located halfway up Virginia's Eastern Shore, which is a 4 hour drive even from mainland Virginia. I suppose if I get there and they are really peeved at me for losing my card they'll just drive me off the Eastern Shore into the Atlantic. That'll teach me to be more careful.

I had a nice trip on the lake, though. It was unseasonably warm for December, about 78 degrees, and sunny but windy. The lake was choppy, and covered in ducks, geese and the occasional heron. In fact, I liked it so much that I'm going to build a kayak. Buying one would be easier, I know, but where's the fun in that? Also, it'll be too cold and rainy to go on the water for about three months now, and I need a project to keep me out from under the feet of El Jeffe.

Thought for the day - rain drops, work stops. Night, all.

Happy Thanksgiving

Well, it's Thanksgiving Day, and I'm so full I can barely reach across my groaning belly to type. We've had a steady stream of people here eating this afternoon, and El Jeffe has sent every one of them away fat & happy. My mother-in-law arrived first, with the younger brother-in-law at around 2pm. B.I.L upset Tater a little - Tater is only six months old, and he's a bit shy around people who get too close too quick - but then my father-in-law turned up. Tater likes him (he looked after Tater for a week when we first got him home) so things quietened down a lot. Never one to miss out on a good pud, my other brother-in-law, together with his wife and two daughters turned up some time later, notwithstanding the fact that they had already eaten one Thanksgiving dinner at her parents' house earlier today.

The food. My God, the food. To say El Jeffe is a good cook is like saying Michelangelo was a decent housepainter. Let me list it all for you. We had turkey; prime rib; stuffing; creamed spinach; Southern style green beans (put'em in water with a slice of bacon and boil the living daylights out of 'em for 45 minutes); gravy; potatoes mashed AND potatoes timbales; corn pudding; yeast rolls; cranberry and walnut relish; pretzel and strawberry salad; and banana pie. Was it all home-made? Why, yes it was. Magnificent.

Being English and all, I am still unfamiliar with Thanksgiving dinner, although judging by today's display of abject gluttony I could get used to it pretty fast. We don't do it in Britain, but do a similar thing at Christmas. Up around 8am, off to Church, then home by 10am. Eat at around 1pm - and I mean eat - to finish around 2.45, leaving plenty of time for the Queen's Speech on TV at 3pm. Then we can lie around in a turkey-induced haze while the big Xmas movie comes on, and you can bet it'll be either Ice Station Zebra, The Poseidon Adventure or The Great Escape. Sounds a lot like Thanksgiving, doesn't it?

So I'm doing my best to fit in with all yall's celebrations, with help from El Jeffe, and I think I'm doing a pretty grand job too. Now if you'll excuse me a moment, I'm going to see if I can make room for just one more piece of banana pie.

Thought for the day - be thankful. Night, all.

Brunhilde goes under the knife

Well, I had to leave my beloved Ford Expedition, Brunhilde, at the menders tonight. The dreaded 'service engine' light came on this morning, which means it's something complicated, and probably expensive. Usually I can do my own repairs on mechanical stuff. I spent many years running cheap cars with no money to spend on them, and so I learned to fix them myself. Also, I had a couple of old motorcycles that I restored to good condition in my garage and shed, which taught me a lot about vehicles.

It used to be that working on cars, and bikes, for that matter, was relatively simple. Not exactly easy, mind - it was still hard, dirty work, usually costing me some skin and blood - but it was something your average hump with a little sense could do. Breakdowns meant exactly that - something had either worn away or broken, and it was a matter of taking off the old part and putting in a new one to get things running again. Sometimes it wasn't even as hard as that - one of my cars, a 1976 Triumph Dolomite, had sills (rocker panels to you, Uncle Sam) that were made mostly from concrete and chicken wire. And while I've never actually replaced a broken fan belt with a pair of nylon hose, as in the urban legend, I can vouch for the 'raw egg in the radiator' trick to get a car - a 1978 Mini 1000 - drivable, so it can limp home to be fixed properly.

But technology has moved on since then. I first experienced this with my first 'proper' car, a 1989 Toyota MR2. Fantastic car, 40mpg, looked like a little Ferrari, handled like a go kart, and fast, for a 1.6 engine. The speedo went to 140mph but I could never get more than 134 out of it. But to work on it ? Worse than the Mini. No room in the engine bay (it was behind the seats) and it was so low you couldn't get the jack beneath it.

Likewise my Expedition. Everything on it is so damned BIG !!!! I had a flat on it a couple of months back, and the spare was so heavy I could barely pick it up. The hood is level with my chest. And that engine (wonderful engine by the way, V8 5.4 litre, smooth, bags of torque) is tucked right down beneath the bulkhead, safely away from the owner. Apparently, Ford recommend that if their mechanic needs to work on the cylinder heads, it's easier to raise the body - yes, to detach the entire car from the chassis and jack it up a bit - than to remove bits and pieces to get access to the engine.

So my Brunhilde is spending the night at the repair garage. Yes, I know modern cars are cleaner and more efficient, and it's easier to have the car talk to the computer about OBD codes and all that jazz, but I do miss the smell of hot metal and Castol R sometimes.

Thought for the day - the whole can be more than the sum of the parts. Night, all.

Tykes on a plane...

Well, I see from the news that those brave souls in charge of protecting our airports and aircraft from attack have been a little to zealous again. The newspaper 'Emirates Today' details an event at Dubai Airport, in which Suhail Saleh,a two-year-old boy was prevented from boarding a United Arab Emirates plane bound for Turkey. Apparently his name appeared on an arrest warrant. Not only that, but his eye colour and hair colour also matched those detailed in the warrant. The newspaper neglected to mention if the suspect's estimated height, weight or age were also close matches to those of little Suhail. Fortunately, a 'probe' into the circumstances satisfied officials that the tiny terror was indeed merely a tourist, and fears were eased further when it was discovered that he was travelling with his Dad, Abdullah. The little feller was allowed to fly at last, but the potential threat had been noted - a possible security procedure update will alert airport staff to detain for questioning anyone acting suspiciously and trying to board a flight wearing a vomit-stained romper suit.

Tater and Poppy have gotten quite used to sleeping on our bed, and at a combined weight of around 115 pounds, they take up a lot of room. So El Jeffe and I have come up with a solution. Make them sleep on the floor ? Not on your life. We're buying a king-sized bed. I just hope the dogs like the mattress - the salesperson in the bed store wouldn't let them try any beds out.

Thought for the day - you can't be too careful. Night, all.

Drop Sam Colt, cowboy !!

Well, it's almost time for the mid-term elections, and I won't be sorry to see the end of the campaigning. There are four candidates in Virginia, and they've all been running campaign ads on TV for what seems like months now. Trouble is, they're all so negative. We have Thelma Drake - Phil Kellum is the Devil's doughboy; James Webb - George Allen wears Beelzebub's sports bra etc. etc. And so it's been every evening for weeks. Come on, people, we need to see some positive campaigning. I mean, I'm not going to vote for you just because you tell me Thelma Drake eats live babies, or that Phil Kellum is Satan's spawn or whatever. Where do you stand on, say, immigration, or education, or (dare I say it) foreign policy ? Alright, I can't actually vote anyway as I'm not a citizen yet, but please, let's have some grown-up politicking on things like taxes, or law & order, not this mud-slinging competition.

Speaking of law and order, El Jeffe and myself celebrated Halloween last night with Poppy & Tater. El Jeffe bought them an outfit each to go trick-or-treating in. I personally think that dogs wearing clothes is very, very wrong, but there you go. And it has to be said, the Boy did look cute in his sheriff's outfit.

Thought for the day - people in glass house shouldn't throw stones. Night, all.

Open Sesame

Well, the dedicated X-ray suite at the orthopedic surgeon's offices which everyone has been waiting for is now open, finally. I was meant to start work there in the first week of August, but due to problems with construction, installation, commissioning and power outages the project has dragged on until now. But, as of 8am this morning, we are, as they say at NASA, "good to go."

It has to be said that so far it seems to be a decent place to work. The building has recently (within the last year) been fitted out, and apart from a few spots where the roof has leaked it looks pretty good for a doctor's office. My X-ray machine seemed to function fairly well all day, although all the preset kVp/mAs settings are gone after the power outage, so I have to set my own (that's where I decide how much radiation you get, whether I'm just tickling you to get through your finger or blasting the living daylights out of you to get through your entire chest.) I had a quick look at the manuals for it and I think I may be able to program the thing myself - after all, how hard can it be ?

As luck would have it, a sales rep from a drug company came up to 'educate physicians on new development within the company product range' or, more precisely, to peddle drugs. Legal ones, of course. One of the sales rep's duties is to buy lunch for the staff, and not to be cheap doing it. Unfortunately the best Gloucester has to offer is Applebee's so I settled for Santa Fe Chicken Salad. When I was on clinical training at Oyster Point the grub came from a very expensive restaurant called Christaldi's, but beggars can't be choosers I suppose.

Tater is a thief. I made a peanut butter sandwich tonight, and was reaching for a plate to put it on when he leapt up from behind me and stole it. I chased him into the living room, but he'd buried himself in the sofa before I could catch him and bitten a huge chunk off by the time I prized open his jaws. Bad lad, he's meant to be on a wheat-free diet. I think this is the canine equivalent of falling off the wagon.

Thought for the day - if someone's gonna pee, have them in the tent peeing out, not outside the tent peeing in. Night, all

Don't fence me in...

Well, Poppy has gotten out of the yard. Again. After El Jeffe and I spent twelve hundred bucks and hours of hard work erecting a six-foot fence, then dog-proofing it, or so we thought, by burying rebar 3 inches apart to a depth of about 2 feet along the entire fence line, she just appeared in the street outside my window. She's been out for around 10 hours now, and shows no sign of returning. Not that she's gone far, mind. I can hear her barking playfully outside as I write this. She sees it as a game, and won't come in until she's bored, or tired, or hungry, or wet.

We're still unsure exactly how she's getting out, so this time I've been pumping Tater for information. So far the little stoolie has been very unhelpful, but we have made some progress:

They dug three tunnels, Tom, Dick and Harry;
Tom went from under the kitchen window into the next door's yard under the East wall;
Dick went North from beside the garage side entrance;
Harry went the deepest, and ran from beneath the deck, straight under the fence to the South and 200 yards into the trees beyond;
The dirt was hidden by eating it, then pooing it out onto the excercise yard;
When it looked like the plot would be discovered, they stopped Dick & Tom and concentrated solely on Harry, barking at night to cover up the sound of the digging.

That's it for now. I'm planning to put Tater in the cooler for a week to see if that softens him up. Although I doubt he's been making fake Luftwaffe uniforms by sewing old kibble sacks together - he hasn't got any thumbs to hold the needle. I just hope I don't look out of my window to see Poppy trying to clear next door's garden fence on a stolen motorcycle.

Thought for the day - you can't polish a turd. Night, all.

You shall have a fishy when the boat comes in...

Well, I went deep-sea fishing on Saturday. I drove down to North Carolina's Oregon Inlet on Friday night and met up with my 2 fathers-in-law, my brother-in-law, his wife and some of their friends. We woke at 4am Saturday (goodness me, these boat people like an early start) and were on the dock for 4.45am. McDonalds was shut despite assurances from the hotel desk person that it wouldn't be, so breakfast was coffee and muffins at the dockside store. Not that it mattered, because the journey out to the fishing grounds was rough, with a 7-ft swell, and my breakfast ended up in the boat's head. In my defence, though, my father-in-law was also sick, and he spent 40 years in the Navy. Once i'd voided my breakfast, however, I was fine.

Dawn on the ocean was beautiful, and after a cold start the weather couldn't have been better. Forty miles off shore we found a school of tuna and were soon hauling them in, hard work if like me you've never done it before. The First Mate was working hard to keep all the lines straight and gaff the tuna as we pulled them in, and by lunchtime we'd caught our limit of eighteen fish, each weighing around 35lb.

The Mate told us a couple of intersting things about the Nag's Head area. Firstly, it got the name in the 1700's when local people would tie a pole and a spinnaker to a horse and lead it through the dunes during a storm to lure ships into the shallow coastal waters, where they would wreck and the locals would plunder the cargo when it washed ashore. Secondly, the people would know if a ship had foundered in the night when bananas would wash up onto the beach in the morning tide. Hence, it's bad luck to bring bananas onto a boat.

Back at the dock, we had the guys at the packing house to gut our fish (a very messy business; we were glad to pay them handsomely to do it) and headed home. I spent an hour or so chopping the fillets into 44 inch-thick steaks for the freezer. Our friends and neighbours had some, and of course Poppy and Tater tried some and liked it, and we still have enough tuna to make us grow fins eating it !! Next time I go, I hope El Jeffe can come too.

Thought for the day - if I can't take it with me, I'm not going. Night, all.

Disturbing the peace...

Well, big news in the Gloucester-Mathews Gazette this week, a possum broke into the ABC store (that's the off-license to us Brits) and wreaked havoc among the booze. Apparently, he was heard by a passer-by, presumably during a particularly noisy frenzy of drunken havoc-wreaking, and the police were summoned to investigate. They opened the store and swamped the building with armed officers, clearly concerned with the possibility of real civil unrest. An eye-witness told this write "The possum was totally enraged. It was surrounded by empty bottles and was staggering around, growling and waving its paws menacingly. I was terrified."
Fortunately, the combined forces of Gloucester and Mathews Police Special Response Squads were able to subdue the beast, who was taken to jail straight from the scene, to be arraigned after it sobered up the following day. "My men took control of the situation, using nightsticks and stun grenades to overwhelm the criminal," said one senior Gloucester officer. His counterpart with Mathews police "We employed justifiable force with the mace and tazer. You can't be too careful these days." The owner of the ABC store was unavailable for comment, but the Night Manager was concerned with the legacy of fear following the incident. "I just want to know who will protect us once he's out of jail. Possums have long memories. It's like crossing the Mafia - you mess with one, you mess with them all."

Thought for the day - you shouldn't drink if you get nasty. Night, all.

The Cone Of Shame

Poor Tater!! The Boy hasn't had a good week at all. he's been scratching for a fortnight or so, and the vet says it's an allergy, probably to something he's eating, which to be honest doesn't really narrow it down much. So he's on a diet, the Science Diet Lamb & Rice Puppy Formula. He's not allowed to eat normal dog food, which pretty much means that Poppy 's on the same diet. No treats, no eating food from the table, no nuthin'. I even saw El Jeffe feeding the poor thing carrots this evening, and he was wolfing them down like they were chicken legs. He's also had a steroid shot, which calms the itch for 4 days or so but makes him pee like a racehorse. We're awake 3 times each night just to stop him flooding the kitchen. Worst of all, though, he has to wear The Cone Of Shame. Oh, the ignominy of it, such a handsome little chap, forced into public ridicule. I asked him if he could get BBC America on it. He wasn't amused. Poppy thinks it's hilarious, especially because Tater can't see past the edge of the cone and bumps into stuff until he just sits, grumbling and refusing to move. Oh, and he's hurt his shoulder, so he can't go on long walks for a month. Or chase stuff. Or go swimming. Nothing to do but eat carrots and bite Daddy. Life's hard for a little dog. And until his sharp little puppy teeth are gone, it's not great for his owners, either.

Thought for the day - Dogs have owners. Cats have staff. Night, all.

Starry, starry night

Well, I've been looking at horoscopes recently, more out of boredom than anything else. I went to Britain for 10 days (hence no recent posts-more about the trip later) and read newspapers on the flight to alleviate the boredom on the flights to and from. And what I discovered was astounding.

Not that I believe much, if any, of what I read. I mean, who really knows if Fate is controlled by a Supreme Being, or by God, or by skyblue pink spacemonkeys. Well maybe David Icke does, but for the rest of us it's a mystery. What I do know is that whatever is driving the existential bus, it is unlikely to be communicating with the human race by telling Mystic Meg or whoever to put the future on page 34 of The Daily Blurb. However, a lot of people would disagree, so to quench the fire of their anger at my scepticism, I've decided to commune with the Cosmos and see what I can come up with myself. Here goes...

Aquarius - beware the Ides of March, and steer clear of orange for the next few days. Perhaps a spell as a transvestite would help show you the way.

Cancer - you are vindictive with your claws and pincers. My advice is, do unto others as they woud do unto you. Only make sure you do it first.

Capricorn - Tuesday next could hold a cathartic experience for you, so make sure you take some clean knickers to work.

Pisces - get a tattoo, your Mum will love it. Preferably somewhere pink and delicate where your Mum hopefully will never see it. Also, if you swallow metaphorical chewing gum, it will wrap around your metaphorical heart and kill you. Metaphorically, of course.

Aries - proud of your horns, are you, Mr Ram ? Well, the Pennsylvania Dutch have a word for what you have, taken from the Low German dialect. It's 'Arschnoedel.'

Taurus - you are such a stud, you could have any starsign you want. Just make sure it's not Hernia, the Contortionist, or you might end up at the Clap Clinic by next weekend.

Gemini - twins, kinky...

Leo - hear me roar, baby. You'd get on well with Gemini.

Virgo - stay away from Gemini. And Taurus.

Sagittarius - if you love someone, set them free. If they don't come back, hunt them down and kill them

Libra - the scales. Stay out of McDonalds of you don't want to be mistaken for Collosus, the Pie-Eater.

Scorpio - my advice is this: never hit your Mother with a shovel, it leaves a bad impression in her head.

See? With a few moments of quiet contemplation and a friend at the local newspaper office who owes you a favour, you too can have you own horoscope column.

Please note, this blog neither agrees nor disagrees, nor indeed understands, the views and opinion of David Icke, and any resemblance of the Author to a member of the alleged lizard-headed master race is entirely incidental.

Thought for the day - it's a long way to the top if you want to rock'n'roll. Night, all.

An ill wind...

Well, we've survived Hurricane Ernesto, albeit with some clearing up to do. By the time it reached Gloucester County, Ernesto had been downgraded to a Tropical Depression (although he looked like he was still in his Manic phase to me.) We had very high winds - I was working at the hospital during most of it, but El Jeffe was at home, and she said there was debris flying. My in-laws down in Yorktown had a tree down behind the house, but fortunately it missed their house, and the neighbours' house. We all had power outages, Yorktown is still out as I write this, but we had our power back by yesterday at around 4pm. Sixty percent of Gloucester County, and all of Mathews County was blacked out for a while, but our house is on the same grid as the Hospital I work at, so we're usually among the first to be fixed.



The water is a different matter. In the two years we've lived here the water has never come so close to the house. Beaverdam Creek, the little waterway that crosses our yard, is usually about 4 feet across and maybe one foot deep in parts. Tonight it's about 40 yards across and has risen around seven feet, coming alarmingly close to the house. Now we know why our mortgage people made us buy flood insurance for a house on a bluff. Also, the creek is full of beasts, including snakes. El Jeffe is terrified of them. I'm not scared of them but I sure don't want to get bitten. We've seen blacksnakes in the yard, and there are cottonmouths in the area. Tater and Poppy haven't been allowed near the water because of the snakes, and Tater isn't big enough and Poppy can't be trusted not to run away.

Well, that's about it - just lots of clearing up debris in the yard today. The hospital was hopping yesterday with car accidents all over and the ER bursting at the seams.

Thought for the day - life's a trip. Bring a paddle. Night, all.

Chicago, (not) My Kinda Town

Well, I see in the press (AFP) that a certain US city has decided to pass some laws to raise the bar where ethical food is concerned. Foie Gras, a French delicacy made from goose liver, has been banned on the grounds that the production process is inhumane. The decision to ban it means that Chicago has joined a growing number of jurisdictions, some European countries, and California, in prohibiting the stuff, made apparently by forcefeeding geese, then killing them just before their livers burst. I suppose I can see their point.

But where does it end? Pigs, for instance, start life as cute little piglets. As soon as their teeth appear, they are clipped - that's snapped off with some pliers, not filed ot extracted, mind - in a move, we're told, to stop the pig's nipples being bitten by the piglets. Goodness knows how wild pigs, or any other animal with teeth, ever managed to suckle it's young for millions of years. So that's bacon, ham, sausages, hamburgers, franks gone for starters. Ever been in a chicken farm? Baby chicks are sexed by squeezing them so hard the poop comes out of them, to look at their hineys & tell boy from girl. That's eggs and chicken out the window.

The other thing is that Chicago has lots of restaurants, but nowhere that actually makes foie gras. So what effect will the ban have on the geese? Very little, because they all live in Canada, France, or New York. At least the ones that get turned into foie gras do, anyway. That's like saying that banning cars in Central London will stop oil production in the Arab states, or China, or indeed the US.

So why the ban? Well, I think that someone has been elected to the city council, and, drunk with power, has done this to get back at all the restaurants that wouldn't accept his cry of "I'm a Councilman, put it on my tab!" The poor Chicago Public Health Department, tasked with enforcing the ban, have told restaurant owners not to worry, they won't be clamping down too hard on them. Even the Mayor has pleaded with the City to repeal the law, calling it "the silliest law they've ever passed." Good luck to him, I think he's in for a wait. The Commonwealth Of Virginia has, since the 1700's, had a law in place that makes it an offence to tickle women. I'm off to tickle El Jeffe and see if the State does anything about it.

Thought for the day - the law is an ass. Night, all.

The County Fair

Well, El Jeffe and myself went to Gloucester County Fair today. It was hot, but not so hot you couldn't go out in it. Gloucester County is fairly rural, about 10000 people live in the county but most of it is farmland and estuary. The largest town has around 3000 people, so things are usually pretty sedate here. The nice thing about the place is that you see a lot of people you know - the hospital I work at sponsored a lot of the fair's attractions, and provided the 'cool truck' which tours the fairground giving out cold water and fans to the hot and the weary.

Anyway, there were some animals there, an alpaca which I'd never seen, some sheep, goats, minature ponies, a huge turkey and a sweet little calf. I'm glad we didn't take Poppy and Tater because they would have upset the animals.
There was also a tent, in which the various competitions were being judges - the best ear of wheat, the nicest tomatoes, the largest gourd etc. You don't see stuff like that coming from a big town like I do, and I think it's a shame. I remember the local newspaper last year had the 7-year old winner of the 'Best Looking Chicken Competition' on the front page during last year's County Fair.
Here's a picture of some of this year's entries.

El Jeffe and I are not what you'd call hellraising party animals (although it has to be said that I have had my moments, and El Jeffe with a couple of Margaritas in her is a wondrous sight to behold) and perhaps that's just as well. Here's a picture of the rules of the Fair - and there was me hoping to see an authentic cussin'and spittin' contest. I mean, Profanity, well OK there are children around so I suppose we should mind our language, but just look at this sign. bare feet!! In public!! Wouldn't that just jar your Mother's preserves. Or maybe it's supposed to apply to your pets.

Anyway, all in all, a good day. Oh, I almost forgot - here's a picture of El Jeffe and myself with none other than a Congressional candidate who's name escapes me. El Jeffe says he's a Democrat anyway. But at least he had his shoes on.

Thought for the day-I been rich, and I been poor. And I tell you, folks, rich is best. Night, all.

Come, friendly sleep, and shroud me in thy purple cloak...

Well, it's been three weeks since we brought our new puppy home, and true to form he's completely rotten. We might have gotten maybe four hours of sleep last night what with peeing, biting, wriggling and barking (and that's just El Jeffe and myself) so as you can imagine we're all a little tired and cranky. I've started getting forgetful - I walked down to the Emergency room at the hospital today and had to telephone a colleague back in X-ray to ask her why I'd gone down there. El Jeffe, too, is becoming increasingly erratic due to lack of sleep. Fortunately little Tater seems to be slowly getting the idea that he has to pee & poop in the yard so we should be getting some more sleep by Labor Day, or more likely Thanksgiving. If he's still not behaving by then I'll glue some feathers on him, poke some stuffing up his hiney and serve him up with carrots and collard greens.

Something that has started to worry me - I'm due to go to Britain on the 12th of September, and what with the discovery of the terrorist plot in Britain I think I'm in for a rough trip. I'm not going to get all political, at least not in this part of the blog, but I do feel that life as we all knew it changed irrevocably on 9/11/2001. I'm not a politician, or an activist, or even particularly knowledgable about the various political situations across the globe, yet I have an uneasy, creeping feeling that the world at large needs to be on it's guard. It's not enough, apparently, to claim to be a blissfully unaware innocent. We may not be involved personally, or have ever been to any of these countries, or indeed even know anyone from them on a personal level, yet we have all become targets, pawns, somehow representative of everything that is supposedly wrong with our society, and I just think it's a shame that our children won't be able to preserve their childhood innocence in the way that we were.

I'm going to leave that subject for now. Tater has just preserved his own puppyhood for a little longer by 'assuming the position' beneath my desk. I'm going to take him out to pee. Then I'm off to buy collard greens and glue.

Thought for the day - money is just something you need in case you don't die in your sleep tonight. Night, all.

What a result!!!

Well, I received my ARRT result in the mail today. I passed with a surprisingly good 97%. I was expecting about 85 or thereabouts, so as you can imagine I'm over the moon. Now please, don't talk to me for a while, I'm feeling too smug for words. It won't last, though. Tater (see last post) produced yet another huge chairleg of a turd and I'm still gonna have to clear it up, 97% notwithstanding. But not just yet - I'm still feeling just a bit too smug to clear up dog turds.

Thought for the day - no, sorry, still too smug. Maybe tomorrow. Night, all

Enter, young Jedi

Well, I passed the Registry (see earlier post 'The Registry Looms') and that means no more school! I called the ARRT today to see why I hadn't received my result in the post, as some of my colleagues got theirs Monday. It's on it's way, but might be a few days, as it's a big packet and our post goes through Richmond, not locally through Newport News. But they were able to tell me I passed and am now 'Registered' although my actual score must remain a secret until I get it in writing. It's like joining the Masons, or indeed becoming a Jedi. Very mysterious. Kind of 'we could tell you, but then we'd have to kill you.' Anyway, the main thing is I'm home and dry. El Jeffe was as pleased as I was, bless her.

Other news: one of our dogs, Poppy, caught a groundhog over the weekend, and apparently it's died just outside our garden fence. It's been very hot the last few days, like 105 degrees hot, and humid too, and that groundhog is ripe. The stench in the back yard is enough to knock you over. I'm hoping the buzzards will come and eat it or at least fly off with it, but I doubt they could stand the smell. Poppy and Tater, of course, think it's fantastic having rotten carrion around.

Speaking of Poppy & Tater, I have some pictures of them.
















My, they're cute, ain't they? We just laugh and bill and coo when the big one (Poppy) escapes at 11am one morning and remains at large (although within sight of the house) until 5am the following morning. We found it almost loveable when the little one (Tater) peed into one of the air conditioning vents. Oh, the joys of dog ownership. But I wouldn't swap either of the for anything.

Thought for the day - No matter how little money you have or how few posessions you own, having a dog makes you rich. Attrib. Louis Sabin. Night all.

C'mon, baby, light my fire

Well, it's over. I sat the ASRT exam on Wednesday and graduated from radiography school Friday, and to be honest I'm glad it's all finished. The exam itself wasn't that hard (although I still want to see that pass-mark in writing, obviously.) I start my new job tomorrow,and I'll be in the hospital diagnostic department for a couple of weeks - my new office isn't quite ready, meaning that the X-ray equipment isn't installed, there's no lighting and the walls & ceiling need boarding out, the water isn't turned on, the floor needs screeding and there are no doors to any of the rooms except my examining room - but I'm told everything will be fine in two weeks. We'll see.

Graduation was, how shall I say, a little overdone. There was us Radiographers, the School of Professional Nursing, the Surgical Technologists and the Licensed Practical Nursing graduates, all sweating away in cap-&-gown in a local school hall. All the big cheeses from the Hospital medical training school were there, the VP, the Dean, the Director of Paper Clips and a few I didn't know, and they all had plenty to say. Then we went first, shook the hand, took the certificate, had the photo. Then we watched while everyone else did the same. The LPN awards were accompanied by some hootin' an' hollerin' and the announcer for the School of Professional Nursing was particularly snotty, but then I understand she's always been that way. Then the 'piece de resistance' - the candlelit recitation of the Oath of Professionalism. Yes, folks, one hundred or so people, in a cramped hall, in the dark, wearing billowing polyester robes and holding candles. Can you say 'conflagration?'

Fortunately, no-one fell over their robe, or set themselves or anyone else alight, so in that respect the night could be called a success. All my in-laws turned up, which I really appreciated, and El Jeffe was very proud of me. The Riverside School of Health Careers staff were genuinely sorry to see us all go. Hugs, kisses all round - even the irrepressible Mrs P managed a tear or two.

Oh, one more thing. We have a new family member, an eight-week-old Chesapeake Bay Retriever named Tater. Damn, he's cute, but Lord does he have some teeth on him. We should have called him Gator instead. He doesn't sleep much, and when he's not asleep he usually wants to bite something, and/or pee on something. He has a peculiar liking for the gusset of my underpants, and he's chewed the lining of my shorts as well, when I am using the smallest room in the house, shall we say. He's also bitten the contents of my shorts more than once, which is even less funny than it sounds. But he's still very cute.

Anyway, that's it for now. I'm off to put some Band-Aids on my cojones.

Thought for the day - you can bite the hand that feeds you - but JUST the hand. Night, all

Absolutely Hank Marvin

Well, I had a preliminary mock X-ray Registry test today, in preparation for the real thing next Wednesday (see previous post "The Registry Looms"), and it was an early start. I left home at 8am, and by the end of the test I was very hungry, or as we English would say, "Absolutely Hank Marvin" (starvin'). The Registry is a test of brain power, logical reasoning, memory, intelligence and rational thought. All these things I find very taxing, so I'd worked up a raging and fearful hunger by the end of it.

So off we went, getting to a decidedly Proletarian biker bar called Hoss's Deli about 11.40, and promptly ordered drink and food to be brought out without further ado. A glass of tea went down, no food. Another. Nothing. Waitress refilling drinks and muttering darkly about food delays. Some of my friends were drinking beer, naturally, and by 12.30 there were as many pitchers on the table as there were people around it. Things were turning ugly.

By 1pm we were getting desperate. We hadn't eaten for hours, you see, and the low blood sugar wasn't reacting well with the alcohol for some people. Unfortunately, Hoss's Deli is kind of greasy and seedy, especially Hoss himself. We briefly considered leaving in a huff, but doing a runner from Hoss's is not like haggling over the bill in IHOP. The regulars were starting to look over and gnaw on their beards.

Anyway, the food turned up, and it has to be said that it was first-rate, especially for somewhere as rough as Hoss's - I mean, there's a sign asking for patrons to refrain from gambling or touching the waitresses without paying first (I kid you not - I'd love to see the place on a Saturday night) and the menu includes both steamed and grilled hooker. I'm married, so I just went for grilled chicken and crab meat sandwich.

So all in all, quite an experience. I'd definitely go back (although I doubt El Jeffe would like it.) If you're ever looking for somewhere different to eat on the Virginia Peninsula, you could do worse than try the hot steamed hookers at Hoss's Deli, although you might want to bring a snack.

Thought for the day - wake up with a smile on your face: go to bed with a coathanger in your mouth. Night, all.

God bless the DMV

It's not been my day at all. Let me set the scene.

When I came to the USA in March 2004 I was required, quite rightly, to show a lot of documentary proof that I was who I said I was, and my move across the pond was all above board and kosher. I produced passports, birth certificate, medical records, immunization records, bank records, employment records and evidence for a lack of criminal records. I completely understand the need for this - indeed, if the government of Britain, my mother country, demanded these things of people entering from overseas, a lot of illegal immigration, poverty, homelessness, violent crime and quite possibly terrorist activity would be avoided. So please don't think that I begrudge the INS or the DHS at all. After all, the let me into this wonderful, if misunderstood country of yours, let me train for and find a good job and allowed me to marry my beloved wife, and for that I am forever grateful.

But the DMV, now there's a different matter. It took me about six months back in 2004 to get the to allow me, as a legal resident in the USA, and with a British driving license that allowed me to drive in the USA for a limited time, to apply for a Virginia driving license. They finally gave in, and I took the theory and practical tests and passed. They gave me a license, which was to be renewed in July 2006. Today, in fact.

So off I went to the DMV, with my documentary evidence clasped in my hot little hand. They looked at the documents, and nodded. They asked me to look into the box and read the letters out (I need glasses to drive), and smiled as I reeled them off. Then it happened.

"Are you ready to take your test?" chirped the desk person. I didn't quite understand, after all I'd passed my test in 2004. They repeated the question. "Not really," said I. "I thought I'd already passed it once and didn't expect to have to do it again." Not so, apparently. My original work authorization, used to obtain my original driving license, ran out in April 2006 and was returned to the INS for replacement with my current one. Apparently this meant that my driving license not only had to be renewed, they wanted me to redo the whole test. Something about having to do a parallel park before I am allowed to wheel a hospital gurney down a corridor without an adult, or somesuch nonsense.

To be fair, the desk person did consult in the back office before giving me the bad news. Apparently that DMV doesn't get many foreigners and I suppose I put them into a bit of a tizzy. But anyway, they made me redo the test, both theory and practical. I passed, and they sent me on my merry way. Hopefully that will be it for a few years, although I'm willing to bet I have to do it a third time when my chicken pox vaccine needs doing again in 2013. I'm just relieved they didn't ask me to drop trou, bend over and cough in the DMV waiting room.

Other breaking news - El Jeffe has sprained her ankle. She was walking our purebred Middle Peninsula Turd-eating Hound, Poppy, and trod in a hole. She was so grumpy after being laid flat with an icepack on her leg for 2 days, and I got her a walker to hobble around on (El Jeffe, not Poppy.) I must admit, I enjoyed poking fun at her, although I suppose I shouldn't do it too much. I hear Paul McCartney lost half his fortune to Heather Mills beacuse he poked fun at her for only having one leg. Probably he played "This Boot Was Made For Walking" or "Blue Suede Shoe" once too often. I think it was because when she called him at the office and was put on hold, the hold music was Danny & The Juniors "At The Hop."

Thought for the day - driving is a privilege, not a right. Especially if you've had the measles in the last 5 years. Night, all.

Gad, it's hot

Gad, it's hot. The heat index yesterday was a roasting 105, which is just about enough to make me cry. I was out yesterday morning mowing the lawn, dying in the broiling sun, with El Jeffe bravely following up with the weed-whacker. I then went to the dump, and burned my butt on the car seat. The wheelie-bin was so hot by the time I got there it was going soft and pliable. Even the flies at the dump were just lying there, gasping at each other.

I'm not at all acclimatized to the summers here in Virginia - I've only been in the US since March '04, and I'm used to the temperate English climate. Last summer, for instance, a friend rang me from England to tell me about the heatwave there. "It's 86 in my garden," he wailed. I scoffed indignantly, explaining that it was hotter than that at night in my garden in Virginia. He was too hot and weak to argue further, and we chatted politely (as we English are wont to do) about the weather, cricket, the weather, the Royals and the weather. I could hear him panting as he struggled to raise a cold glass of gin & tonic to his parched lips. What a pussy.

So it's 4th of July, and everyone is on vacation. Except me, it seems. I'm in the hospital, x-raying the sick, the hot, the unlucky, the clumsy. But only until 3-30. Then it's away for a quick bath, then out tonight for a slap-up meal with my brother-in-law, and then on to watch the fireworks at Yorktown Beach. That is, if I can stand the heat. Gad, it's hot.

Thought for the day - don't let your dogma get run over by your karma. Night, all.

Big Brother is watching...

Well, El Jeffe has finally managed to demonstrate her superiority by tracking my every move. She asked me to go out to the store to fetch some French bread to go with the spaghetti bolognese we were having.

So I went to the store near our house and found the bread. I waited in the queue to pay (getting angstier as I waited - I hate queueing for anything) and just as I reached the checkout the store's telephone rang. I waited some more, as the checkout person chatted on the phone, writing little things down, smiling and doing the 'wait a moment' thing by raising her index finger at me (and doesn't that just make you want to drown someone). Then she put the phone down, looked me straight in the eye, and said "You need to get some garlic as well."

Here's the thing: how did she know it was me? I mean, she didn't ask who I was, my name, or anything. She just knew. Apparently, my wife had told her what to look for. 'Short, holding some French bread' was the description I got, although it probably included 'bald, talks kinda funny' too. Whatever. The point is, El Jeffe tracked me down to the store herself, then used one of her undead minions to identify me and pass the message on.

Anyway, now we have cellphones. Or rather El Jeffe has a cellphone. I have a homing device that I can also use to make telephone calls with. Maybe she should have just fitted me with OnStar. Or LoJack.

Thought for the day - just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not watching you. Night, all.

All work & no play...

Well, it's been a busy week (hence no post since last Saturday) and I've had enough of X-ray for a bit. Which is unfortunate, because I'm going in from 3 to 11 today. I'm going in from 8.30am to 11pm tomorrow, too. Oh, when will it ever end? Well actually it will end in August, because I'll be done with school and the Registry exam on July 26th (see earlier post regarding Registry) and it'll be time to kick back & relax a little. I'm planning to visit Mum in Britain as she is leaving hospital for the first time in eight long months. I'm planning to go to Nag's Head with my delightful wife too, if we have time. Then it will be back to work. Only this time, I'll have a full-time job which actually involves a REDUCTION in my hours spent at that hospital - no clinical training, you see. No nights, no call, no working for nothing for 7 hours in the day, then going to work in the evening or night-time work. No bowel studies (flouro-filming barium being poured down throats and/or up butts) or voiding cysto studies (flouro-filming people peeing onto my X-ray table) hopefully, either - I'll be doing orthopedics Mon, Wed & Fri, and Emergency/Trauma cover every other weekend. A pay rise. Benefits. Sick pay. Holiday pay. 401K available. Healthcare. Oh, joy. Oh, bliss. Did I mention the pay rise? El Jeffe will be so pleased, what with her birthday coming up and all...

Thought for the day - take time to make time. Night, all

The road to recovery

Well, my mother is finally going to get to go home from hospital. It's been eight months since she went in and we're all glad it's over. What started out as backache turned out to be a meningeal cyst, needing surgery and some top-notch antibiotics to clear. Meanwhile, pneumonia, MRSA and a lingering kidney infection set in. Now Mum is pretty debilitated from lying around for so long and has to build up some strength. But she's a tough old bird and with luck she'll recover to a point where she can do most, if not all, of the things she used to do. I'm just glad that she has recovered this far-when she first became ill there was doubt that she would survive. I'll be going to Britain to visit in August or September.

Thought for the day - tomorrow never comes. Night, all.

Cruising along

Well, my wife & I had a bit of a tiff. We both need a vacation (see profile) and she has been very keen on going on a cruise to Europe, probably down the Rhine or the Danube. I'm not too keen on the idea, and I think we ought to try a cruise somewhere here in the US before we go all the way to Europe. What if I don't like it?

I must admit that I do have a rather jaundiced view of cruise vacations, which is odd, really, seeing as I've never been on one. I just keep getting these images of that Caribbean Cruise advert with the old people watching a stage show, eating in the ship restaurant and shopping for jewellery and aftershave for ten days. But she is adamant that we're going on one, and to be fair, she wants to go on one where you get off the boat and do stuff every day.

So it appears that El Jeffe has won and we're going to book one up for later this year, or possibly next Spring. She wants to go to Europe, although I quite fancy whalewatching and visiting the frozen wastes of Alaska. Or Southern Chile & Antarctica. Or maybe somewhere really remote, like the Galapagos Islands in the footsteps of Darwin, or Easter Island (now there's a thought. I've always wanted to see those giant stone heads.) And you never know, I might just get a taste for it.

Thought for the day - beatings will continue until morale improves. Night, all.

Wrestling with demons

In a move to save some cash, I've decided to do my own car maintenance for a while. I used to think that those greasemonkeys down at Bodgit Exhaust & Tyre Centre or wherever were a rip off. Having had my radiator drained and not refilled by an actual dealer shop, and had my oil drain plug chewed up and thread-stripped once too often by a supermarket lube shop I shall call Tram-Law for legal reasons, I still do think they are a rip-off. But those places that actually do real work on cars, where people with cherished classic cars might take them to be fixed, make no mistake, they are miracle workers.

I just replaced a sway bar link on my Expedition. It's a long bolt, with a nut on one end, in a plastic tube. Cost me $7.00. You unscrew the nut, pull out the bolt, put the new one on, tighten the bolt. That's it. That accursed bolt took me 2 hours to remove. That's $140 plus tax at my local expert's shop and I would have gladly paid, had I known how hard it was to replace. It's 93 degrees here today and it's humid as well. I was sweating like a pedophile at a scout jamboree just getting the thing off. In the end I broke the plastic tube into pieces and used a hub puller (yes, for those in the know, it took a tool built for separating heat-shrunk flywheels from crankshafts to get that bolt out.)

No, I'm not going to pay a grease monkey to change my oil, grease my chassis, pour tap water into my radiator and change my wiper blades for ones that don't fit. But when it comes to real work, I'm taking my car to those in the know. They might say they fix cars, but believe me, those people wrestle with demons.

Thought for the day - the older I get, the better I was. Night, all.

Not now, Kato, I am in search of ze 'Oly Grail

Well, I've just been to see The Da Vinci Code with my wife, and to be honest I'm saddlesore. It's a very long film - 2 & 1/2 hours, so if you haven't seen it and want to, take a cushion. Other than that, it wasn't bad, as such, just a little preposterous. Tom Hanks does the quiet, clever, restrained thing he does so well (see Apollo 13 and The Green Mile). His lovely co-star Audrey Tatou is very French and feminine. Ian McKellern plays Gandalf in a plaid shirt. Paul Bettany has an almost comic turn as a psychotic albino monk, and Jean Reno plays a bitter French cop. The plot is pretty much a chase across Europe in search of clues, followed by an obsessive policeman working for the Pope. Think National Treasure meets The Pink Panther. The thing is, do we care enough to really enjoy the movie ? Well, some Catholics would have Ron Howard and Dan Brown burned at the stake for the postulations of the plot (that Jesus had a wife and that his bloodline ends with Audrey Tatou) but mostly it's a complicated, uneventful but entertaining cryptic chase movie. It's just a pity we didn't get to see Audrey Tatou extending the bloodline - although perhaps not with Tom Hanks.

Thought for the day - do unto others as they would do unto you. Only make sure you do it first. Night, all

Whistlin' Dixie

I see the Dixie Chicks are at it again, making a point of not apologizing for their comments about Bush & the war in Iraq. And why should they? After all, isn't the right to voice an opinion just one of the things that the War is about? Are we not trying to nurture the seed of democracy in the stony ground of a former dictator-state? I say, let 'em rant, let 'em rave, and let 'em refuse to apologize. However, let 'em also remember that we don't HAVE to buy the new Dixie Chicks CD. I, or my wife, probably will anyway, because we like their music. But some people won't, because they don't like the Chicks' politics. Or maybe their music, either.

No, I think democracy means you can express a view, even if you are a musician. But it also means the rest of us can vote with our feet - or our wallets - and choose not to buy the CD. Let's face it, you need to play to your audience, and if the audience is conservative, they may not appreciate a liberal stance. Voice your opinions by all means, but don't be surprized if we don't all agree. If you're a politician we stop voting for you and you lose your job. If you're a musician, we stop buying your music and you lose your sales stats. Or in the inimitable style of Larry The Cable Guy, "Them's pretty girls, and they sing some nice songs, but that little fat one need to learn when to shut up." Although I happen to think she's rather cute.

Thought for the day: When your in deep, stop digging. Night, all.

Bye Bye, Saturn

Well, we sold my wife's car tonight. She has had her Saturn station wagon about 3 years and it was time for a change. Her new Solstice has become the favourite, and the Saturn had to go. She's been on for about 3 months about what a piece of junk the Saturn was, but to be fair to it, gas consumption was pretty frugal (especially compared to my beloved Expedition) and it has been very reliable. I have to admit, though, that it was just about the nastiest, most uncomfortable car I've been in. I tell a lie - we borrowed a tiny old Toyota once, from a cousin, that had a plant growing in one of the cupholders and was so dirty that a trip through the car wash cut white-and green-tiger stripes into the algae and lichen growing all over the car. And I had a car once that had a realtor's sign pop-rivetted into the floorboard, and concrete and chicken wire in the rocker panels to hold them together. So maybe the Saturn wasn't that bad . It's all relative.

So that leaves us with one gas-guzzling behemoth for me, and a totally impractical convertible for my wife. But heck, she can get 30mpg in her car and I can get the dog in mine, so we can live with it. Things will be a little tight at the palace until gas comes down in price, that's all. We might have to fire another servant.

I just got back from walking our dog in the local park, and while I was there I picked up 2 empty drinks cans and put them in the bin. No, not walked over and placed them in the bin - they were so close to it I stood there and THREW them in. What is it with some people, they wouldn't throw empty cans in their own yard, would they ? Well, maybe they would. I don't know.

Thought for the day: Never let common sense stand in the way of a good time. Night, all

The Registry looms

Well here we are, I'm coming to the end of my X-ray Tech training, and it's been, how shall I put it, a choppy ride. I'm booked in to do the American Society of Radiologic Technologists exam on July 31st, and I'm starting to get apprehensive. I mean, I know I can pass the thing, yet the exam nerves are kicking in - and it's only May ! Still, 2 years' training, 300 questions, how hard can it really be ?
On the plus side, I've been offered a good fulltime job with the local hospital, 5 minutes from home, no call, no nights, Tuesday & Thursday off, with every other weekend - and I'm not even graduating until the end of July !! Things could be worse.
On the subject of the Hospital, someone drove up to the ambulance bay doors last week, produced a pistol, and shot herself in the head. Don't let anyone say that small provincial towns are quiet.

Thought for the day - how come you can buy a shotgun in Walmart, but you can't buy a bottle of sherry ? Probably for the same reason that you can get into a nightclub with a bag of cocaine between your butt-cheeks but you can't get in wearing a shirt with no collar. Night, all.

Phew !

Well that was a trip ! It's taken me a struggle to get this blog up to this point - computer savvy is one thing I'm not. I'll post something tomorrow, when I've recovered. Night, all.