Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Soccer Hall of Fame in US to Close

This is a sad day for soccer fans.  The US Soccer Hall is closing.  Of course that the hall is in Oneonta, New York did not help matters. 

Reading about the closing I began to wonder why isn't it in a place associated with soccer like, oh I don't know, Portland, Or. (Disclaimer I lived there for 11 years).  Portland is billed as Soccer City, USA.   If the Hall didn't want to go that route, why not locate in a major city.  It is bad enough-at least to those of us who played and are fans-that soccer gets the short shift as a fan favorite here in the States.  Being in Oneonta, I am sure it is a fine city with fine people, does not contribute to the development of soccer or a fan base in the US.  That they spent millions on new buildings and fields is a shame.  The money would have better spend hiring moving vans. 

The sad thing is the Hall knew that being in Oneonta wasn't the best place for it.  How else to explain the Why Oneonta? link on the About Us page.

The story about fan exuberance leading to someone asking about the location of the US Soccer Hall of Fame after Oneonta State University won the 1977 NCAA Division I National Championship, is emblamatic of soccer's place in America.  A big game is won and much excitment surrounds the celebration.  Big talk about how great the game was, and how it will lead to great things for US soccer, or Oneonta, as the case may be, begins.  Soon plans are under way and yet, the great things never materialize.  Sure a grand musuem was built and is surrounded by pitches, or fields, but how many people showed up?  Obvisiously not enough people showed up. 

It is a shame that the Hall is being closed.  But until I read the news of its closing, I wasn't even aware of the existance of the Hall.  The sad part of that is I am a fan of soccer. While I am not a super fan like my cousin, I am not a band-wagonner, either.   I played for years and played some in high school and junior college.  I watch matches all the time. And yet I was unaware of the US Soccer Hall of Fame.  Perhaps instead of a grand building in an out of the way place, a little PR would have been in order.  That and locating in a more soccer friendly place could have done wonders for attendence. 

 



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Saturday, September 19, 2009

The Socalist Are Here! The Socalist Are Here!

Are you concerned about the Socialist direction this country is taking? Then here is the perfect letter to sign and send to members of Congress, and local media.

Though from the look of things I think it is too late.

I, ________________________, do solemnly swear to uphold the principles of a socialism-free society and heretofore pledge my word that I shall strictly adhere to the following:

I will complain about the destruction of 1st Amendment Rights in this country, while I am duly being allowed to exercise my 1st Amendment Rights.

I will complain about the destruction of my 2nd Amendment Rights in this country, while I am duly being allowed to exercise my 2nd Amendment rights by legally but brazenly brandishing unconcealed firearms in public.

I will foreswear the time-honored principles of fairness, decency, and respect by screaming unintelligible platitudes regarding tyranny, Nazi-ism, and socialism at public town halls. Also.

I pledge to eliminate all government intervention in my life. I will abstain from the use of and participation in any socialist goods and services including but not limited to the following:

* Social Security

* Medicare/Medicaid

* State Children’s Health Insurance Programs (SCHIP)

* Police, Fire, and Emergency Services

* US Postal Service

* Roads and Highways

* Air Travel (regulated by the socialist FAA)

* The US Railway System

* Public Subways and Metro Systems

* Public Bus and Lightrail Systems

* Rest Areas on Highways

* Sidewalks

* All Government-Funded Local/State Projects (e.g., see Iowa 2009 federal senate appropriations)

* Public Water and Sewer Services (goodbye socialist toilet, shower, dishwasher, kitchen sink, outdoor hose!)

* Public and State Universities and Colleges

* Public Primary and Secondary Schools

*
Sesame Street

* Publicly Funded Anti-Drug Use Education for Children

* Public Museums

* Libraries

* Public Parks and Beaches

* State and National Parks

* Public Zoos

* Unemployment Insurance

* Municipal Garbage and Recycling Services

* Treatment at Any Hospital or Clinic That Ever Received Funding From Local, State or Federal Government (pretty much all of them)

* Medical Services and Medications That Were Created or Derived From Any Government Grant or Research Funding (again, pretty much all of them)

* Socialist Byproducts of Government Investment Such as Duct Tape and Velcro (Nazi-NASA Inventions)

* Use of the Internets, email, and networked computers, as the DoD's ARPANET was the basis for subsequent computer networking

* Foodstuffs, Meats, Produce and Crops That Were Grown With, Fed With, Raised With or That Contain Inputs From Crops Grown With Government Subsidies

* Clothing Made from Crops (e.g. cotton) That Were Grown With or That Contain Inputs From Government Subsidies

If a veteran of the government-run socialist US military, I will forego my VA benefits and insist on paying for my own medical care

I will not tour socialist government buildings like the Capitol in Washington, D.C.

I pledge to never take myself, my family, or my children on a tour of the following types of socialist locations, including but not limited to:

* Smithsonian Museums such as the Air and Space Museum or Museum of American History

* The socialist Washington, Lincoln, and Jefferson Monuments

* The government-operated Statue of Liberty

* The Grand Canyon

* The socialist World War II and Vietnam Veterans Memorials

* The government-run socialist-propaganda location known as Arlington National Cemetery

* All other public-funded socialist sites, whether it be in my state or in Washington, DC

I will urge my Member of Congress and Senators to forego their government salary and government-provided healthcare.

I will oppose and condemn the government-funded and therefore socialist military of the United States of America.

I will boycott the products of socialist defense contractors such as GE, Lockheed-Martin, Boeing, Northrop Grumman, General Dynamics, Raytheon, Humana, FedEx, General Motors, Honeywell, and hundreds of others that are paid by our socialist government to produce goods for our socialist army.

I will protest socialist security departments such as the Pentagon, FBI, CIA, Department of Homeland Security, TSA, Department of Justice and their socialist employees.

Upon reaching eligible retirement age, I will tear up my socialist Social Security checks.

Upon reaching age 65, I will forego Medicare and pay for my own private health insurance until I die.

SWORN ON A BIBLE AND SIGNED THIS DAY OF __________ IN THE YEAR ___.

_____________ _________________________

Signed Printed Name/Town and State

So please copy, sign and send to your family and friends. Perhaps there is still time to turn back the tide of Socialist programs, and entities which seem to permeate this great Country.

Corporations! What are they good for?

Here is an article from Devilstower at dailykos.com. It is an interesting look at corporations, Wal-Mart in particular and how the business model of corporations has placed us in a race to the bottom. While at the same time exploiting natural resources and leaving most of us not the masters of the universe in a sort of modern equivalent of serfdom. Interesting read. I look forward to reading the book



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Monopoly not just a kids game.

Monopoly's Hidden Maps Help World War II POWs Escape - ABC News
I came across this story and thought it was a good diversion from actually sitting down to my morning writing. Also, I love obscure historical events and trivia. This story delivers.

For me the best part is towards the end of the article. The writer quotes someone from the British producer of Monopoly as saying about 10,000 prisoners used maps, tools, and local currencies hidden in the games in their successful escapes to allied lines.

Of course this tidbit of info leads me to wonder how many allied prisoners were unsuccessful in their escape attempts?





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Saturday, July 25, 2009

Coming Home

I don't know who said a person "can never go home again", but I am about to find out the truth of this claim.

I had been gearing up to go to India. I longed to see the Red Fort, and ride camels through the desert of Rajasthan. I was excited by the idea of exploring abandoned cities, temples dedicate to monkeys, rats and sex. The curries called to me across the Pacific. I practiced eating Indian style. Slowly, I steeled my mind to find a place where I could ride any train in the Subcontinent, without losing my mind, nor my luggage.
I made plans to get an India Rail Pass. I wrote out places to see and calculated travel times and days touring the sites.

Originally I planned to meet many beautiful India ladies but then I taught ESL in China and meet the beautiful Fanbin
we made plans to marry. I moved back to the states to earn better money and start a business. The business fell through, and for a time I was crushed.

Then last year, just before summer my step-mother went into coma. She has been sick for many years, but this was something new. The doctors were not sure if it was diabetic coma, or a dehydration induced coma due to the flu she had at the time. She came out of it after a week or so. But it really seemed to shake my father.



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Sunday, January 25, 2009

Perhaps the Pants Piddlers Should Have Read This List

Over at lyved.com they have a list of 9 ways to deal with fear.  Now if only the NeoCons, and other officals of the former administration had read this, perhaps we wouldn't have had all the fear driven piddling in our officals pants.  In turn we may not have had all the law breaking.  Nor would we have had all the spying on innocent citizens and peaceful groups.  Maybe, just maybe, there might not be a problem of what to do with the current involuntary inhabitants of Gitmo. 

See without fear we, as a nation, might have treated the people currently in custody as criminals.  Instead, fear drove our leaders to make them in to martyers and heroes of what madness they espouse, and fear drove us citizens to allow our leaders to do this.  I think we as a nation need to take the advice of item number three which is to Face Fear Directly, to heart.  One of the ways to do this is for us 'to stare (fear) right in the face and smell its stinky breath.'  The other action I might suggest, we as a nation do, is realize that the problems we face today are no worse than problems we, as a nation, have faced in the past. 

Our grandparents dealt with the Great Depression, the rise of Fascism and Communism, relativily at the same time.  Our parents dealt with Vietnam, the struggle for Civil Rights, and Riots in Watts, and Chicago, relativily at the same time. 

We are Americans.  We meet changes with grit, humor, love, tears, strength of character, moral courage, and with the belief that the ideals our Founding Fathers gave to us are right.  They are ideals worth fighting for.  They are worth dying for.  They are worth holding on to, no matter what the world brings to our door.

So here is not being afraid anymore.  Here is to standing up for our Nation's ideals.   


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How Many Strange Foods Have You Eaten?

The folks over at independenttraveler.com have a list of their top seven strangest foods. 



Here is a picture of one of them: blood pudding.  A favorite of the Irish for breakfast.  Now I have tried some of the items on the list, such as, the blood pudding.  A little trick I used to make it taste better was to cook it longer and pepper the hell out of it.  Of course, we were staying with relatives and they let me jump into the kitchen.  All the Americans visiting were quite thankful for my "improvements."  Though Father Aaron, the relative we were staying with, didn't seen too keen on having the pudding overcooked. 

I have also had the head cheese.  My mother use to have it around whenever my Grandfather, her father, visited.  I had it once and puked it up.  Of course when ever he visited we also had pickled pigs feet and pig knuckles.  Which were both hard as hell to eat with any sort of decorum.  On the plus side, I didn't have a huge shock while living in China. 

Often friends would order pig's feet, or pigs knuckles to see what I would do.  The only trouble I had was with the nail, of course I had trouble with the toe nails on the chicken claws, as well.  It didn't matter how the claws were prepared, bbq'ed, fried, boiled, pickled, roasted, seasoned, or vacuum packed and sold by Walmart; I had trouble with the nail.  Surprisingly the claws didn't taste like chicken.  I don't know what the nail tasted like, as I never ate one.  I just bit it off and spit it out, like a lugee.  In my defense the Chinese people did the same thing, perhaps with a little more grace and a more pleasant facial continence than I could muster.

Also living in China gave opportunity to eat, fish head, fish cheecks-very tasty, pig brains, cow stomachs, pig and cow intestines, pig ears, pig noses, cow tongue, camel-ka-bob, dog soup, fried star fish, and fried crickets, ants, grubs, worms, spiders, as well as scorpion-with the stinger on, no less.  None these foods were particularily painful to eat, though many of the fried ones tasted like burnt french fries.  This was especially true for the star fish which i ended up throwing away after three bites.

So what strange exoctic foods have you eaten, or would eat, if given the chance?  Eat on.       


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Is This the End of Big Software Companies?

Now I am not the most technologically advanced guy.  I have never rushed out for the gadget or application du jour.  But I am tired of sub-standard Windows' products, the crashing of my computer due to said product, as well as being vulnerable to computer hacks, phishing attacks, viruses, and malware.  Yet, lacking the savvy to venture into Linux land, I am stuck with whatever fiendish operating system the boys from Seattle put out. 

I know that Linux is more stable; but I am not comfortable using it.  Or attempting to install it.  I know how to work with XP and Vista.  And with all the open software out there I have upgraded to better products.  For all that, I would love to try Linux.  Now maybe I can.

Matt Asay
over at cnet news has written about Novell's Suse Studio which allows "both standardization and customization of a Linux distribution."  If I am reading this right, what I believe this to mean is that people around the world can basically make their own operation system using Suse Studio and Linux and distribute it.  Now I won't be one of the multitude who will untake such a project.  But I am one that, as time goes by and the problems are hashed out and super smart people put super great products on the market, will try it.

Perhaps the behemoth software companies won't go the way of the North American Passenger Pigeon, however I believe this make them put out better products and maybe lower their prices.  Also, I believe it will lead to more people, at least, trying out Linux.  As my parents taught me trying new things is almost never a bad thing.


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I Am Not Sure Which Fool to Suffer First.

First there is Chris Hitchens blaming regular, everyday American citizens for any, and all torture that may have been carried out by the Bush Administration (Hat tip to Eli at HuffingtonPost).

Second up is Phil Bronstein bemoaning how mean everyone has been to former President Bush and we should all just leave him alone to ride off into the Texas sunset.

As Eli points out if We citizens were demanding that terrorists be tortured, why did the Bush administration deny the US tortured over and over.  Why did the Bush administration jump through such tortured linguistic, pretzel shaped hoops when it came to the issue of prisoner treatment?  They called it "putting them in stress positions", or enhanced interrogation techniques or "rough interrogation" or "alternative set of procedures."  Paging Mr. Orwell.  Your dictionary of of "Double Speak" can now be updated for the 21st Century.  Well at least the examples for today's readers could be illustrated with headlines and journalistic copy from the last 8 years or so. 

I am certain that some Americans supported the use of torture, probably many could be found in the 20+ percent which hold the former president is high esteem.  But more of us spoke out against it and, or supported efforts to end it. 

I hope the thing Hitchens pulls from his nether region next is not an affront to those of us who didn't piddle our pants after 9/11.  I hope it is not an affront to those of us who thought we should treat the master minds, supporters, agents, and others as the criminals they are, and not turn them into war heroes and martyrs.  Perhaps with this first step Hitch can eventually work his way to actually speaking and writing with some intelligence.  I am sure we will have a new President before some thing like this actually taking place.

Then there is the curious column Phil Bronstein posted on huffintonpost.com; in it he castigates those individuals, who took glee in the repudiation Prez 44 laid on former prez 43.  Of course that repudiation hurt some feelings as Bronstein tells us.  He quotes Bush loyalist and former aide Karen Hughes as saying, "[T]here were a few sharp elbows that really rankled and. . . (the incoming Prez was) not as magnanimous as the occasion called for . . ." 

Well Boo F-ing Hoo Karen.  As we heard from your corner after the 2004 match-up "elections have consequences." This election, like the one in 2006, was a strong repudiation of Bush and most of his policies. 

And then after Bronstein goes into a back and forth between the two sides, before declaring, [T]he Bush dynasty is probably done. Let it go."  We, the people should just forget all the torture committed, all the illegal spying, the politicization of the Justice Department, and that is just the stuff we know about. 

As some one pointed out in the comments and I am paraphrasing, we were suppose to forget Prescott Bush trading with the Nazi's after Dec. 11th 1941-hint Germany declared war on the US that day.  Then the nation was suppose to forget the destruction rought by Joe McCarthy and his show trials.  We are then suppose to forget Nixon and Watergate and all the other illegal activites, such as spying on American citizens without cause or warrent.  Of course then we got Iran-Contra, and once more the leaders implored us, the American people, to forget it ever happened.  Pardons were issued in order to better help us, the American people, move forward and to look ahead.  Then many of the minor players from Nixon/Ford White House go on to orchestrate the grand tragedy which we now find ourselves emeshed in.

As I am writing this I just noticed that every single item involves a Republican or Republican Administration.  I know the Dems are not Saint.  But why does America consistantly finding it must move on for the good of the country after Republican Administrations?  Perhaps the Republicans should clean up their act before they can govern.  But I digress.

I for one do not want "to move on for the good of the Nation."  The Nation will not be better off if we move forward.  The Constitution and our laws will not mean anything if we don't stand up for them, and hold those who harm them accountable.  Our Founder's efforts and sacrifices to build a Nation of laws will not be honored, if we walk away.  Nor will this Nation stand long for those ideals for the next generation, or for the world, if we allow people to walk away with out answering for what they have done.  For the good of the Nation, we must persue all illegal activities and war crimes; we must have a full accounting of those activities and those who perpetrating them on this Nation and the World.  It won't be easy and it won't be pleasant, but it is the best thing for the Nation.

Well I guess I figured out which fool I will not suffer.    





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Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Basket-Brawl?



The girl's basketball teams here in Sanming City, deep along the south east coast of China, play an interesting brand of b-ball. It is rough and tumble, full of mindless violence, like a brawl or riot, without the over turned cars or torn out store fronts. The teams move as packs around the ball, swirling around it like the dirt and horrid smell twirls around Charlie Brown's friend, Pig Pen.



I often see the girls from my ESL Classes practicing. Their coaches, usually some boys from the P.E. Department, try to get the girls to execute basic skill drills. And for the most part the girls do OK with the drills. Well, they do well as long as they are simple lay-ups or fast break drills. Otherwise, it is pandemonium, and the practice becomes an 8* person stampede to capture the ball.



At game time, it breaks down into anarchy, with nary a foul called. Of course, it fouls were called with any consistency, the game would never be played. Well it would never be played in a fun, meaningful, way. Rather the game would consist of the opening tip-off, a foul, free throws, and either a mad scramble for a rebound or an inbound pass, either of which would result in a foul. Repeat these steps-without tip-off-until time runs out or all the players foul out.



Seldom is a girl far from the pack. If a girl is alone, standing away from the violent horde, it is because one team is about to score and she is setting up to either start the fast break, or try to stop it. Just as likely she is taking a respite, gathering a moment of peace, away from the flying elbows, dagger like hand strikes, or the bone crunching slaps; all of which are intended to secure the ball, force the other team to relinquish control, or just as likely to add to the violence of the scrum. She will stand there breathing heavy, eying the riot. Perhaps she is regarding her chance of success if she reenters the swirling madness. Perhaps she waiting for the optimum opportunity to pay back whom ever launched themselves into the pack last. Or maybe she seeks to avenge her inglorious spill on to the concert
floor of the semi-covered outdoor court. And if in the process, she knocks the ball loose or wrestles it away, then all the better.


Often times before the lone girl decides to crash into nucleus of sweating, writhing bodies, a teammate spots her and attempts to launch the pill through flailing limbs and the twisting mass of hands, faces, hair and bodies. The ball is pushed up and over the throbbing mass. Sometimes the rock makes it to the intended destination. Just as likely it is to fall short and be re-consumed by the mob.



If the lone girl does get the ball she makes a mad dash towards the basket while trying to remember to bounce it. Sometimes she is able to enact the lay-up she has spent weeks practicing. Yet, more often than not the mob catches her and the ball before she makes it half way to the basket. It envelops the girl, moving like a swarm of some supernatural menace in a bad horror flick. This madness continues until the game is over.



Through out the game, I am yelling at the refs to call fouls in my bad Chinglish. And after awhile I give up wanting them to call fouls for my team, I find myself begging for any foul to be called. For the love of humanity, for the sake of the girls' health, for all that is good and Holy, call a foul. Yet they seldom do. The girls end up with black eyes, bruised limbs, scraped knees and lips. And I end up horse and thankful I don't have to play against my students. And the students don't mind when I get horse, that means they get to watch movies in class. I don't mind that myself.

Driving in China


Drivers in China need skills beyond the basic driving one: Buddha-like patience, eyes in the side of the head, and reflexes like a cat, a super hero cat-just to name a few.
The traffic comes from everywhere and all at once. There are so many starts and stops, it seems impossible to reach one's destination. Traffic is passing on all sides, and some fool-driver is passing a vehicle which is already passing another vehicle. People are stepping into cross walks, and jumping out of alley ways. Old women, with bamboo carriers holding dangling baskets of chickens, veggies, sand, eggs or some such things, barrel into cross walks with nary a traffic checking glance.
If the driver is a cabbie, mini bus or moto driver, he or she needs to keep alert for potential fare pick-ups. These drivers will whip a u-turn with no concern for laws, traffic, animals, or limb. And that is after they pick up a fare. Or they will stop in front of the bus stop and harrass folks-honking, heckling, and staring at people until someone gives in or the driver gives up. Why even a shake of the head no is enough to earn an extra 5 or 10 seconds of bedeviling. I found the safest spot to be, when a cabbie spots a fare, is indoors. And whenever I found myself in a cab, or other vehicle driving through Chinese towns or countryside the safest option was to close my eyes.
Of course I could have grown eyes in the side of my head, honed my super hero, cat-like reflexes and taken up driving. But I would either still be waiting to make a left handed turn, or waiting for the tow-truck and probably the ambulance.

How would you like to cross this street?


The traffic in Sanming City, Fujian Province isn't as bad as the picture above, but it is no less challenging to cross.

Sanming City is a small, river city of about 500,000 people, give or take. The main streets are nice and wide and are flanked by good sized office buildings and apartments. Most street corners have a white iron fence projecting out about two feet from the curb. The fence is about 3 ½ or 4 feet high and it has an opening for people to step out into the cross walk, and it makes a sort of bike path so that bike riders don't use the sidewalk. Of course they use the sidewalks with great regularity. Car and small delivery truck drivers also use the sidewalk to pull up in front of stores and for parking. Motos, or as we know them mopeds, run up and down it as well, in the belief that the sidewalks are safer-true, for the drivers at least. And they think they will get to their destination quicker-debatable. Along with dodging these motorized terrors on the sidewalk , there are bikes, people and animals to contend with. The situation is compounded when it is time to cross the street.  

In America I look to the left before stepping into the street. In Thailand and other strangely British influenced places I look to the right; but here in Sanming I look everywhere. I check my left. I check my right. I check straight ahead, and right behind. No matter where I look it seems as if every contraption and person in a three block radius is moving in my direction.  

There are tri-wheeled bikes pushed along by tiny, silver-haired matrons. Their bikes' baskets haul fruits and veggies, or the delicious candy like snack made by the Urgur people, of Western China. It is like Snickers with out the chocolate. Moto cabbies sit off to sides of the street crossings, smoking cigarettes, ready to speed a body, or a package deep into the bowels of this river town. When they see me they shout out the three or so English words and phrases they know: “Hello”, “Hey You”, and “Very Good.” Invariability the men's “Very Good” becomes garbled as they excitingly shout, trying to get my attention. Soon it sounds as if they are shouting “Betty Goose” Before too long, they all seem to be shouting, “Hey You. Betty Goose. Betty Goose.” All the while they are waving at me, or motioning me over. Meanwhile old women walk along the streets; their faces shielded by weathered, conical hats, their backs bent under the harden bamboo carrier, brown hand woven baskets dangle from both ends; they are overflowing with chickens and ducks, or fresh eggs and swamp spinach. Beggars, kowtow on the flithy corners, pleading for money in the local dialect. They switch to sub-standard Mandarin when I pass by. The beggars' pleas are lost as hawkers conjole passers-by to buy fresh pineapple on a stick, or some cheap toy, or paper thin polyester socks.  

I do my best to acknowledge every person, but at the same time politely avoid them, as I make ready to cross the street. For I have learned that I must check all directions, as often as possible. The situation, events, my standing in the crosswalk changes micro-second to micro-second.  

Just when the way appears secure a pedi-cab comes ripping by and almost takes out a businessman stepping out into the cross walk next to me. He is trying to get home for lunch. A quick check to see if more pedi-cabs are coming finds a moto coming the wrong way down the bike path. Turning to the left there is a green taxi cab doing a rolling stop at the corner trying to catch a break in the on-coming traffic. The on-coming traffic is passing a young woman pedaling a tri-wheel basket bike. It is piled high with yellow apples, red grapes, and the brownish bitter fruit that is so beloved here. First to pass the lady is one of the city's big orange public buses, overflowing with school kids, going home for the noon hour rest. Then a black Volkswagen-very popular in this part of China-is passing the bus and finally a lone moto driver is attempting to out flank both the car and the bus. All three vehicles have gone into the other lane of traffic and completely filled it up. All the while every horn in every vehicle is being blasted. Some are blasting a warning, while others signify some body, or some vehicle needs to move to the side. A few of the horn blasts are coming from cabbies trying to get the attention of pedestrians laden with packages, or that of walkers who seem to have the air of impatience.
 
I have discovered a trick to safily navigate the dangers of street cross; it is to walk with an escort. Not that kind. Rather I find someone going my way and walk next to them. If it is a small child or lady I try to walk so I am shielding them from the insanity which rules the roads here. I find it is most helpful to walk with a group, or along side one of the many three wheeled bicycles transversing the city streets.  

Behind the businessman is an old man, skinny and hunched over; he is pushing one of these contraptions, empty. So I fall in next to him and his bike. I study him as I scan the traffic. He looks like he is swimming in the blue Mao jacket. His face is creased and and a deep brown. His matching blue pants are rolled up to the ankles and sway like a dress in the small breeze. I am almost caught out, looking the opposite way checking traffic when he boldly pushes the bike into traffic. Doing this causes the on coming vehicles to slow down, swerve, or speed up to avoid him. We make it ½ way across plowing through on coming pedistrians, and swerving motos, while blithifully ignoring any vehicle with four or more wheels. The situation looks aces.

I begin to move hoping to cover the next half of the journey quickly but safely. However, I notice the old man hasn't moved. I quickly check to make sure a speeding vehicle of any sort is not barring down on me, or rather us. Then I see a bus begin to pull away from the curb, ½ a block up; he is waiting for it to pass. As the big orange monster rolls by, the man lunges forward and the bike's three wheels groan in unison. As the bike slowly moves into the lane of traffic, he pushes hard into the handle bars, trying to make it move faster. He looks sort of like a linebacker digging in and shouldering on against a tackle dummy. 

We are almost across and the bike is about to hit the access ramp unto the sidewalk, when two pedi-cabs on the sidewalk make ready to hit the ramp and spill out into the street. Additionally there are three moto cabbies, two are staring at me and the old man and one is finishing picking up a fare and making ready to blast down the ramp, heading Lord only know where. The moto driver guns it and almost hits a beggar lying face down on the sidewalk, who is mumbling thanks, or curses to all who pass. The old man next to me either doesn't see all this before him, doesn't care, or has a death wish, for he doesn't slow down. I think he digs in harder, pushing harder, moving forward faster. As we approach the sidewalk, I hear a faint, but clear ringing; it is coming from the bell on the bike's handle bars. The pedi-cab's stop, or rather due to the great effort it takes to get them moving, the operators cease all efforts and it appears that the they stop. The moto honks and speeds up, swerving the front tire left and right. It shoots out of the space between the pedi-cabs, and into the crosswalk; the driver turns hard to the left, pulls back on the throttle and scoots down the street and is quickly swallowed by the afternoon traffic. The old man and his bike split the space the moto shot out of moments before, scattering pedestrians before them as if they were seagulls on a beach/ubiquitously. He works the bike to the left, narrowly misses clipping the beggar's bowl. The old man maneuvers around the beggars outstretched hands, before hopping unto the seat and continuing his journey.  

I turn to the right ignoring the call for alms. I ignore the screeches of “Betty Goose” and “Hey You”; I ignore the slack-jaw stares, and the giggles and pointing. I ignore the moto driver staring so hard at me he almost hits a mother and the stroller she is pushing. I dodge the flying spit and the fresh, stinky pool. I swerve around the man holding a small child, whose legs are drifting open. The slit in the boy's pants begins to part and the stream of urine spurts out behind me, and splashes against a anemic, leafless tree. I just keep walking, crossing streets as they come.  


Thursday, January 01, 2009

Researching My Grandfather's Service During WW II

I first started this project when I was living in China. There was little on TV and I had bought and watched all the bootleg movies I cared to. So I decided to begin looking into my grandfather's military service.

From stories my mother told me over the years, I knew he served in the Army Air Force. He trained as a Photographer at Lowery Field in Colorado and was stationed in the Pacific Theater of Operations.

And so from there I began my investigation. I discovered he could have served with either the 5th Army Air Force, the 7th Army Air Force, or the 13th Army Air Force.

However I didn't know for sure which unit he was with, and there were quite a few Photo Recon or Photo Combat Mapping units. So I put it aside until I got back State side.

UPDATE: I looked at the medals my grandfather left me, and I see he was awarded the PUC. According to information here and here only the 5th Army Air Force was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation. Of course I am pretty sure the 8th Army Air Force was awarded the PUC as well, but it is not listed. I will start with the 5th AAF and see where it takes me. If only I could find his discharge papers, but I lost them. I have sent away to St. Louis for his records and they sent me back a questionaire. And so I called to Cook County to see if he deposited his discharge papers, as many returning vets were encouraged to do this. I am waiting to hear back from the clerk.

UPDATE II: I have taken to looking through my family's old pictures and picture albums. I across his certificate stating that he completed Photographery School at Lowery Air Field. And I came across a picture of a plane. I think it is a B-24 or B-25. The name on the plane is BeBe Eyes. I am not sure if this is the plane my grandfather served on, but it must be of some signifigance for him to have taken a photo of it.
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