TOP TEN signs that Spring has come to Wisconsin

After another long winter in Wisconsin, smart Cheeseheads know to look for the Top Ten signs that Spring has come again to Wisconsin:

10. The long rows of snow fence lining the highways disappear and are replaced by long lines of orange traffic construction barrels .

9. It's 80 degrees out today. Tomorrow, it's going down to 34 again. No big deal.

8. You've brought out your T-shirts and shorts, but don't feel like putting away your heavy coat just yet.

7. By the same token, your patio furniture now shares the front yard with your snow shovels.

6. The glacier-sized piles of dirty snow are gradually receding and reveal dead, brown grass beneath ... not to mention hundreds of frozen dog turds.

5. Migratory birds have returned to the trees outside your house. So have the mosquitoes.

4. You are nearly blinded by the light reflected off of the fish-belly-white legs and arms of your now shorts-wearing neighbors.

3. It's only April, but you're already pestering your building's property manager for news of the pool reopening.

2. Even though I work in a windowless building, I'm actually starting to CARE what the weather is like outside.

And the Number ONE sign that Spring has come again to Wisconsin is (drumroll!):

1. I went and took my Trek Series 7200 mountain bike out of Winter storage. (Can't wait to ride!)

Republicans vs Democrats: Enough already ... run the government!

"In a mature society, 'Civil Servant' is semantically equal to 'Civil Master.'" Author Robert Heinlein, The Notebooks of Lazarus Long

Heinlein, one of my favorite curmudgeon authors, commented often that democracy ain't perfect and it surely ain't pretty ... but it's better than anything anyone else has come up with so far. But, jeez, it can be irritating to watch our politicians and civil servants behaving like spoiled children, can't it?

Show of hands now: Who really thinks that, if the government shuts down in a few days, anyone of us is really going to notice right away? Didn't think so. (Frankly, I'd kind of welcome the peace and quiet for a short while.)

I for one am sick and tired of hearing the spoiled children we elect to state and national office pointing fingers at each other, and threatening to hold their breath unless the other side relents.

These politicos of both stripes always seem to forget, once they're elected, that MOST of their constituents live quite happily in the political middle. Despite that, once these people make it to Congress or the Statehouse, they spend most of their time positioning themselves against each other and moving as a group towards the political extremes... INSTEAD of actually representing us and doing the peoples' work.

I mean, wouldn't it be nice if, instead of attaching ideological manifestos (disguised as amendments) to a simple budget bill, these politicians actually grew a "set" and fixed social security? Balanced the budget? Came up with genuine national healthcare?

To any of my handful of younger readers note this: I'm going to start collecting Social Security this Summer and in all likelihood I'll get it and my Navy pension until the end of my days. You guys? Maybe not so much.

It is the decided best interests of anyone NOT a Baby Boomer, anyone who may NOT have Social Security to fall back on, to get busy and hold your elected official's collective feet to the fire. They won't quit having these political temper tantrums in office unless WE make them!

And as for the Wisconsin public workers' unions, I say, respectfully, "Having been one of you, I value your work and honor your work ethic. But all other unions have already had to give back tone in this rotten economy in order to save their jobs. Now it's your turn. Get over it and get back to work."

Where am I going? Why am I headed downhill and why am I in this handbasket?

It's official. I'm old and getting older, and it's scary as shit.

Have you ever noticed how we humans tend to look at milemarkers in our lives since we tend to have difficulty focusing on the totality of our existence? Well, a couple of weeks ago, I passed a huge milemarker and I'm now officially bound for scary uncharted waters ... old age.

You see, a couple of weeks ago, I filed for early Social Security benefits, and told my supervisors at work that I'm only going to work part-time, once the benefits arrive in June. Scary, right?

I always knew S.S. was there (for us Baby Boomers at least ... God knows what my kids are going to do if politicians don't grow a set and fix this.) But S.S. was something my grandparents relied upon. My mom lived on her benefits and a small pension from her job as a credit manager. Social Security checks are what we associate with widows and wizened elders, as they slowly make their way to the bank to cash their checks. For many, the monthly check means the difference between eating groceries and eating dog food.

OK ... I really hope it won't come down to that! With a Navy and a small City of Milwaukee pension, I ought to be OK if I keep working part-time, and if Kathy and I can carefully manage expenses. (crossing fingers, here)

But jeez, do I really want to go there? Do I really want to quit working full-time and depend on an unreliable government to take care of me and Kathy?

Quitting full-time work is committing myself to this new life. I officially surrender my status as "relevant" in this cash-and-credit-driven society. I officially become one of those old codgers I always used to pity whenever I saw them in the stores. I always hoped I'd never be one of those old guys who had "nothing to do."

I've already surrendered half my worklife identity by retiring from the Navy. No more can I tell people that I'm a Lieutenant Commander and a Combat Cameraman. Now I have to tell my customers I'm a "retired" Navy Combat Cameraman. But having a full-time job at least partially related to photography (selling cameras) entitles me to a certain amount of status in others' eyes, I think.

Now having only a part-time job officially makes me an old dodderer. Hell, what's next? Greeter at WalMart?

And yet, I am reminded of the quip that "No one, lying on their death bed, ever wished they'd spent more time at the office."

I remind myself that my "Bucket List" is calling to me. I really DO have places to go and less time to go there than I used to have.

I also am reminded, especially after watching my wife beat a life-threatening disease (You go, Girl!), that life and old-age won't wait for me to get over myself.

I also am reminded of the soreness and pain that comes from standing on a sales floor for eight hours a day. As my knees daily remind me, I'm simply not 26 anymore.

On a more positive note, I LOVE the fact that I'm going to have time to work on some of my long-back-burnered projects. (Kathy, Sweetie, I apologize in advance for doing things like putting up shelves in the mailbox, carpeting the ferret cage, and alphabetizing your sock drawer.)

Finally, I've always prided myself on facing scary shit and not letting it rule me.

For instance:

* I'm scared shitless of the deep, black water churned up by the ship's screws, as I imagine myself falling overboard and falling forever into the deep, cold blackness of the ocean. Always have been. So what did I go and do? Joined the Navy and learned SCUBA diving, 'natch.

* I've got a bad case of acrophobia. Being up in tall buildings weakens my knees. So what did I do? Asked for Aircrew training as an aerial photographer, whose job it is to literally hang out of helicopters on a gunner's belt and shoot aerial intel photos.

Come to think of it, as scary as old age and irrelevance are, maybe I can do this after all.

Right before his death at age 97, television show host Art Linkletter authored his last of several books, titled, "Old Age is not for Sissies."

Amen, Brother!

Football is a game, not a religion ... except maybe in Wisconsin

OK, I admit it. Never was into football much. I guess I never did get it ... the adoration we as a nation heap upon these millionaires who make a living chasing a ball around a field. I mean, they play a GAME for a living ... a game ... like checkers ... or (better yet) Monopoly.

Frankly, I get it even less now. Allow me to elucidate.

I live in Wisconsin, where the state bird is the mosquito, the state symbol is the orange traffic construction barrel, and the state motto is "Go Packers." The Packers' arch nemesis, the Evil that Dwells in Chicago, (just about an hour's drive south of the state line,) must never be named aloud without also adding "Da Bears Still Suck."

There's something about Illinois in general, and Chicago in particular, that is just awful in the eyes of most Wisconsinites. One of the most oft-heard jokes up here is: (Q) What's the difference between a Cheesehead and a Dickhead? (A) The Illinois state line.

(OK, I realize this isn't all that unusual. I recall serving in Cuba with some soldiers from the Rhode Island National Guard. Some of the soldiers were from neighboring Massachusetts, and were generally referred to as the "Masshole Contingent.") But then again, Massachusetts and Rhode Island don't wrap themselves around two archrival NFL football teams like we do.

So the Packers beat the Bears yesterday and are on their way to the Superbowl.

Who cares?

Am I the only one who thinks that all this drunken celebration is unseemly in the midst of two wars? Am I the only one who thinks that few, if any, of these millionaire jocks are worth of all this adulation? How many of these millionaires show the same loyalty to US that their fans show them? (Once upon a time, we in Wisconsin actually BELIEVED that Brett Favre was loyal to his fans and would never leave. Hah!) How many of these NFL players have ever taken their massive wealth and truly helped helped others? Then again, how many of these steroidal behemoths have prison records?

Are they really worth all this? How have they helped improve the human condition?

You want some heroes in your lives? You need look no further than:

* the public school teacher who wonders how she can afford to purchase school supplies -- or even coats! -- for her impoverished students;

* the firefighter who, in defiance of all instinct and logic, rushes INTO a burning building;

* the solder, sailor, airman or Marine who's shivvering in a fighting position and can't remember the last hot meal

Heroes are all around us, and really deserve adulation. Damned few of them play football for a living.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell 'Cause it's None of My Business

OK ... the Senate has gone and done it, and perhaps we'll all survive. But kindly allow me to weigh in on the matter, and to opine on why doing away with Don't Ask Don't Tell is not such a great idea after all.

To all my liberal friends, please do me the dual courtesies of believing that I'm a good person at heart, willing to listen to a good argument, and that I have what I believe are the best interests of our Armed Forces at heart.

Settle in... this is gonna' take a moment.

We in the Service (notice my use of that word ... we almost never say we're in "the Military"...) live in each other's hip pockets. When we enlist or join, we voluntarily sign away some of our constitutional rights. The right to privacy, the right to peaceably assemble and petittion for redress of grievances, the right to a trial by a jury of our peers, freedom of speech, all become parts of our civilian pasts when we join up. We know this going in and are OK with it, mostly, because we believe our civilian leaders won't use and abuse us ... and we believe(d) that MOST of them have shared our uniformed lot in life once or twice in their non-political pasts.

OK ... that last one has already gone by the boards. A vanishingly tiny percentage of our political leaders have ever worn their country's uniform, probably have NEVER slept in a barracks or berthing compartment aboard ship, and have NO idea what our lives are like. And yet they loudly proclaim that they know what is best for uniformed service members.

Let's take that last idea and explore it, shall we?

On some ships and in some posts, we live in open-bay compartments, crammed cheek-by-jowl ... 50 men to a room. We live together, we eat together, we shower together. We have utterly surrendered any expectations of privacy in government quarters. (Our lockers can be opened by any officer on duty who feels an inspection is in order.) Some barracks don't even have doors on the toilets! The very LAST private facet of our lives that we don't surrender is our sexual identity.

Yet we find ways to make this fishbowl existence work. We don't look, and we hope no one is looking back.

Ever been to Japan? It may surprise some to know that in such a conservative country, they nevertheless practice communal bathing. They make it work, I am told, by drawing a mental curtain of privacy about themselves and telling themselves, "It's OK ... no one is looking." Life in a barracks MUST of necessity be like that! It only works when you can tell yourself "No one is looking."

Repealing D.A.D.T. tears that mental curtain asunder.

Next, to those who say America's Armed Forces must reflect American Society, I agree ... BUT, I remind you that the American military is NOT some sort of social laboratory! We exist outside of society's norms and outside of part of the constitutional rights you all take for granted. (Right to trial by a jury of your peers? HAH! Ever look at the composition of a Court Martial? Those colonels and generals sitting in judgement are hardly the peers of the corporals and sergeants in the dock!) We fight when we must (mostly) for each other! Anything that in any way hinders or curtails that unit cohesion must also curtail that unit's fighting ability.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, D.A.N.T. is a working principle! At no time has our national ability to wage war ever been hindered by this! (I don't doubt that we've lost some good soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines due to this over the years, but our national warfighting ability has remained solid.)

And to my gay friends in uniform, whose identities I never knew, I honor your service. But can't you see that the moment you stand up and say, "Look at me! I'm gay. I serve in uniform and it's OK" you commit the cardinal (military) sin of taking everyone's eyes OFF the unit and the mission and calling attention to yourself? THAT VERY ACT CURTAILS UNIT COHESION!

I remember when women were first being recruited into the Navy in once-male career fields, such as aviation electronics and engine mechanics. I remember walking around my squadron's hangar, seeing all the Playboy and Penthouse centerfolds hanging on office and maintenance bay walls, and wondering, "Hmmm, now that women are here, aren't we all going to have to keep our sex lives more private?"

And so it came to pass. Sexuality (rightly) has no place in a hangar, on a ship, in a squad bay or in any sort of military environment anymore.

Keeping your sexuality -- straight or gay -- to yourself is just good manners in a crowded barracks ... NOT the same as "living a lie."

So, just as my sexuality is none of your business, yours is none of mine. Don't ask ... Don't tell.

Things I learned today while firing my 1943 Mosin Nagant for the first time

Today was the day I set aside for me and my Mosin Nagant. After hours of painstakingly cleaning and restoring this WWII firearm, I took it out to the rifle range for the first time. As an advocate of lifelong-learning, I can report that the rifle range at Eagle, Wisconsin, became a learning lab for life lessons in short order.

To wit:

1. Take your time, 'cause you're going to need it -- Rapid fire on a bolt-action Mosin Nagant approaches the speed of muzzle-loading musketry. With my AR-15, I can empty a 30-round clip in a matter of seconds. With the balky action of the MG, I average two rounds a minute.

2. Bring heavy tackle in your range box -- The bolt action is renowned for actually tightening up as you shoot, instead of the other way 'round. By the end of my range time, despite pounding several boxes of ammo downrange, I was having to pound on the bolt lever with my fist to cycle the next round. (I now have a lever-shaped bruise on my right fist). Next time, I'm going to use my truck's bumper jack.

3. Moose? Mule? Forget it! -- The Mosin Nagant is legendary for having a recoil like a (insert your angry wildlife of choice here.) Not even close. Even though I was prepared for it, the recoil physically knocked me back at the firing bench every time. Mule? Feh! Moose? Hah! This rifle kicks like a pissed-off pickup truck, and I loved every minute of it!

4. Perspective plays funny tricks on MG shooters -- I actually had the good fortune to stand inside Turret #2 on the Battleship Wisconsin when she fired her 16-inch, 66-foot-long cannons in a ferocious broadside barrage. I recall the dumpster-sized breach of the gun looking like a runaway semi-truck as the massive recoil sent it hurtling towards me. Today, with the steel bolt of the Mosin Nagant only inches from my eye, it had much the same look and feel (and sound levels)

5. Always check your pockets first -- When firing this rifle, always, ALWAYS go through your shirt pockets first. I didn't and now am sporting a bruise on my right shoulder in the shape of a Sensa all-aluminum ballpoint pen. A glance at the photo above will show me cradling, not only the Mosin Nagant, but also a wounded shoulder. After a full day at the range, your chiropractor is your new best friend.

6. The Mosin Nagant aims high ... real high -- The rear sights are calibrated out to 1,000 meters, and legend has it the bullet will actually travel that far and hit what you aim at. But the ungodly amount of power this round has cause it to aim somewhat high on a mere 100-yard rifle range. Thus this rifle would make a handy anti-aircraft gun -- if you could just figure out a way to get the aircraft to hold still long enough for you to cycle the bolt lever.

7. Zombies? Schmombies! -- Commonly held wisdom says that, when the zombie apocalypse comes, and the walking dead are shouldering the living aside for the best seats on the bus, we (the armed living, that is) should aim for their heads to put them down. Hah! All I have to do with my Mosin Nagant is aim for the center of a reasonably-sized group of zombies, and the bullet's shockwave will knock 'em all down like ninepins.

8. What's in a name(s)? -- My ancient rifle-shaped relic generated much good-natured talk out on the rifle range today. It's amazing how creative people can become when trying to pronounce a name that's half-Russian, half-Belgian. "MOH-sin naa-GANT," or "MOY-zeen no-GAUNT," or (perhaps attempting to attach some sort of Hebrew heritage to my rifle,) "MOH-ses NEW-gun" were just a few of the attempts. For the last time, it's pronounced "

MOH-zeen NAH-gone," or even, "This-goddam-sawed-off-cross-between-a-howitzer-and-a-railroad-tie."

9. Maybe the safest place to be is right in front of the targets -- After watching my fellow shooters, I reasoned that Wisconsin's nine-day Deer Hunting Season, which opens in a few days, is a great time to stay out of the woods. In short order, I witnessed: a nearby shooter staring down the barrel of his (loaded) rifle to see if there was a bullet in the chamber; a fellow shooter startled by his rifle's recoil, get knocked back and fire a quick second round through the roof of the range; and a third shooter cursing and swearing at his rifle (which was chambered in Winchester .30-30,) because it refused to chamber a round. A quick examination showed that he was attempting to load a .30-06 shell into the chamber. "Well, THAT wouldn't have ended well," muttered the range safety officer, walking away and shaking his head.

I quite agree.

"Peace is that brief glorious moment in history when everybody stands around reloading".

Veterans Day is here again, and a glance on the 'Net or in your local newspaper will reveal that most people think: (A) Memorial Day is a time to plan a picnic or barbecue, and (B) Veterans Day is a time for a sale at your local retail outlet.

I guess I'm sort of OK with that. Sort of.

To my fellow citizens, speaking as someone who is a veteran and who also happens to work in a retail outlet, I say, "Thank you for your ecomonic stimulus by shopping."

But I hasten to remind you also, take a look at your parents and grandparents and -- especially if they fought in WWII, Korea or Vietnam -- take a moment and thank them for their service to a country which all-too-often breaks its promises to military people. Then ask your parents and grandparents to share some military stories with you. (Don't expect too many combat stories. That's something not often shared.)

But there's a lot to talk about with them.

I hear that WWII veterans are leaving us at the rate of about 1,000-per-day, taking their experiences and their wisdom from our ken. Make SURE you and your families assemble an oral history of their experiences before it's all gone for good.

And to my fellow veterans, I would add: "It's OK that they don't always remember us. We got what we wanted...a free country."