The Most Wonderful Day of the Year

10th Annual Winter Solstice Story

I vowed that I wasn’t going to do this, that I just didn’t care anymore, that I wouldn’t rip my guts out putting my usual huge effort into it. Alas, I am weak. I can’t let you, my dear friends, acquaintances and people who intensely dislike me confront these dark winter nights alone. I must once again face the daunting task of fighting off the cruel intentions of life in the northern latitudes. I must weave yet another story around the Winter Solstice, if not for you then for myself.

This year’s has been called one of the nicest summers and falls ever experienced by we long suffering Minnesotans – and well deserved if I do say so myself. Long days and short nights with whispering breezes across our backyard. Idyllic days wasted on the dirty, rotten, expensive, frustrating game of golf . . . (Uh, sorry, disregard that last part.) Anyway, it was a marvelous year yet it is time to once again, as we do every year, say, “so what?” We still arrive back at this same meteorological – and metaphorical – crappy place in time as with every other year. A time of cold so penetrating (usually) that it obliterates our soul like a fair and balanced blast from Fox News. A darkness so long and endless that even a nanny state Democrat turns into a snarling, unforgiving animal. (Okay, okay so far winter has been really wimpy but this IS Minnesota and winter WILL come!)

This year instead of offering some amusing tale about the solstice itself or confirming that winter will indeed end I will take a more practical approach and provide advice on how to survive these long months of gloom and frigid boredom. 

Up to now, as far as I can tell, there are only two ways to get through our shared misery. First, (and this is one that I subscribe to) is to drink heavily. After all, with darkness coming so early shouldn’t we therefore take advantage of the early happy hour it provides? Everyday? Of course! The other major distraction from our pain is to embrace the cold! Enjoy the outdoors! Go skiing and skating and . . . whatever else weirdo’s do during the winter. (I leave this option to those of you who are more courageous than smart.)

This year there is another option: the upcoming presidential election. This offers us whole new opportunities to grind through the winter. We can play election games that will offer the distraction we need so that we won’t break into tears every time we crank up the furnace or pull on heavy coats or fall on our ass climbing over giant snow banks PLUS enhance our knowledge of the candidates.  So here we go!

How about election Jeopardy? 

Category: Great Communicators: For $100 and a weekend in Baudette MN, which candidate said “Yes, those are my emails – what does that have to do with a guy named Ben Gazi?” Remember answer has to be in the form of a question!

Bonus round – Category: Transportation: For $500 and an all expense paid trip to Hoboken, which candidate (hint- heavyset governor) said, “Tunnels?  There are tunnels to NYC from Jersey? Who knew?!” 

  

Or Wheel of Fortune. For a chance to win a set of snow chains for your tires, complete the following Jeb Bush sentence, “I_  my bro _ _er  _asn’_  such an i _ i _t   I’_  st  _ _ l  be a viable can_i _a _ e!”

Let’s Make a Deal. Come on down! We’ll give you Bernie Sanders and a $1000 tax increase or you can trade for the secret prizes behind the doors (Pssss – one has Rand Paul and the other has Rick Santorum.) Guess wisely!  

How about Science Bowl? Toss up question: How old is the earth? Ring! Yes, Dr. Carson? “Precisely 6321 years ago” Bzzz, nope.    Yes, Sen Cruz? “Who cares, that’s just a gotcha question by you liberal scientists and media!”

Dating Game - Carly Fiorino: "Candidate no. 2, would you sing to me? Behind the curtain Donald Trump says, "Of course, I have the greatest voice in the world! and starts singing "That face, that face that . . . interesting face."  

How about "Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me."  Oh, never mind, that’s for the effete, NPR listening, erudite, leftie elites among you; snobs who think you’re better than the rest of us because you’re so called “well informed.” We KNOW who you vote for!

(Can’t answer any or most of these questions? Fear not, you have almost another year and countless lies to endure until the election so plenty of time to catch up.)

Anyway, see how much fun this is - and we barely did half the candidates! You can while away the hours with the kids or grand kids AND do your civic duty. Best of all? You can drink while doing this! In fact, I think the game gets better with a cocktail or two. Hopefully it will get you through to that distant but always looming sad day in June (when we can also update our games.)

So enjoy the Solstice, the happiest day of the year! No, please don’t thank me, it was my duty and pleasure. Happy Solstice, Happy Kwanza, Happy Festivus, Happy Holidays - Merry Christmas for you non-politically correct folks out there - and I hope it was a Great Hanukkah too. Now it’s sure to be a happy New Year now as well!

PS if you don't own the album pictured above get it ASAP - it's an oldie but you will play it forever.

D Roger Pederson, Your Winter Warrior

An excerpt from "Bad Moon Rising: Thailand 1972" by D Roger Pederson, 2015. 

Bad Moon Rising: Thailand 1972

Young Men Never Die.

Twenty-four hours a day they walk the line

Living up to the reputation.

Assuming the swagger, the hard line,

Their casual indifference to death

 “Young Men” Curt Bennett 

                                  

Young men never die. Even young men at war (and it is always young men who fight our wars.) I know that’s counter-intuitive but that really is how young men think; they’re just wired that way. We (yes, I was a young man once) know that people die but it’s always some other person; someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing or isn’t fast enough or strong enough or smart enough – or gets some terrible disease. (I suppose our country’s leaders, who need us to fight their wars, depend on this belief too.) The rest of us don’t die. Until we do.

I deeply regret that I started writing this story so long after the events, over forty years in fact. It was a story that I was aware of when I served in this air force unit shortly after they occurred but somehow time, as it usually does, ran off with both my youth and my memories. (I arrived in Thailand in late summer 1973. It was actually my second trip to South East Asia ironically having been sent to Vietnam in 1972 on another mission when this squadron was enduring the terrible year of this account.)

 As I think about it now, my year in Thailand was just one out of my 28 in the air force and only one out of a lifetime - so far relatively long and healthy - so perhaps it was inevitable that some things might slip away to the quiet, unvisited corners of my mind. In all honesty, I think most of the guys I served with would agree that much of what we did when we were there wasn’t particularly pleasant. Don’t get me wrong, I was in much less danger than those that this story is about but I don’t think many of us enjoyed the mission and duties. Certainly not as much as we enjoyed our comrades and Thailand itself; a paradise for young men with money . . . and who would never die.

An Epiphany – or Dumb Luck

Recently, in my constant internet wanderings, I stumbled upon a website called Spectre Association, a site dedicated to the men – and now women – who have flown in the AC130 gunships from their early beginning in Viet Nam to the current time and including every conflict since. (Hat tip to Bill Walter and PJ Cook Web Design for a terrific website.) As I read the various histories and stories, things started to come back to me that I hadn’t thought about in a looooonnnng time including the subject for this story, the brutal year of 1972. Then, as if some minor god insisted that I pay attention, I was stunned when there in one of the many Vietnam-era photos, was a picture that has hung on the wall in my office for over forty years. (You see, I may have forgotten some things but who can turn down an opportunity to keep a picture of their younger self around.) It had been posted by a fellow crewmember who clearly had a better memory - he even remembered me (or so he claims!) when I contacted him. 

 Who is that handsome, young blond dude embracing the “big gun?” (Please, no phallic jokes.) 

  

Crew 29 – Ubon Thailand 1973/74

 Photo courtesy of Michael Amira at Spectre Ass’n

But back to my dilemma. After all this time it’s hard to find the people I need to talk to in order to write the story I wanted to write: some don’t want to be found; some, like me, are sort of anonymous waiting to be found (but only through hard work or serendipity) and some, of course, have passed on to the great airfield in the sky.

The story I wanted to write – and maybe still will with some luck – is about how individuals dealt with the loss of friends and crewmates in a combat unit that had been fairly fortunate over the years. What were their personal stories and thoughts as they went out on missions as the terrible year of 1972 wore on?

Alas, without more personal stories I can’t complete that now.

The part that I CAN write – based on some interviews, articles by fellow gunshippers and the terrific information at the Spectre Association site as well as publicly available information – is nearly as interesting and in ways perhaps more so. It’s about the ironies of war, the tragedy of combat losses viewed from a different perspective; you might say a view through the lens of many years past and many other wars.

Mostly, however, it’s about one of the key things that many of us don’t consider nearly enough: that so much of our lives dangle from the tenuous strings of luck, good and bad, like Marionettes of the Gods.

I hope you enjoy the information or perhaps simply gain an even greater appreciation for what a tiny minority of American men – and women – do for everyone else in the country when they are called by the dogs of war.

  

1972

I see a bad moon rising

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightening

I see bad times today

“Bad Moon Rising,” Creedence Clearwater Revival

Assuming you were alive then, what were you doing in 1972?

It was a time of great music like Steely Dan, Doobie Brothers, Neil Young and America.

And 1972 was the longest year ever – really. It was a leap year which is when a second is added - except in ‘72 TWO seconds were added making it the longest year by actual time ever. (For some young men those two extra seconds maybe proved to be too little – or perhaps too much.)

The first inklings of the Watergate scandal were starting to trickle out of D.C.

And the war in Vietnam was still struggling on.  The Nixon Whitehouse was having all sorts of secret negotiations with the North Vietnamese trying to figure out how to slowly back out the door of the morass that was the war in South Vietnam; the count of combat troops was down to around 24,000 from over 500,000 a few years earlier. After over ten years and 58,000 (American) men and women lost it seems that we had had enough.

Yet as the politicians tried to tip toe out the front door they needed to leave someone behind to guard the backdoor. Among them was the U.S. Air Force including the men of the 16^th Special Operations Squadron (16thSOS).  

 Somewhere over Laos

“Pilot’s in the sight, arm the guns” the pilot calmly said. That’s the required response as the AC130 gunship prepared to fire at a target below. He was peering into his gunsight that showed the target on the ground eighty-five hundred feet below - but only in a mass of symbols; it was pitch black outside. Using one of the sensors onboard the aircraft with the Call sign “Spectre,” moving in a lazy pylon turn above the target, it had identified a North Vietnamese convoy of trucks carrying supplies to their troops in South Vietnam and was about to rain death upon them from the dark night skies like the Old Testament God. The North Vietnamese may be winning the war (of that there was little doubt) but the gunship crew had to continue to do their job which was to stop this flow of men and supplies on the infamous Ho Chi Minh trail which wandered from North Viet Nam to South Viet Nam through nearby Laos.

The gunship was based at Ubon Ratchathani Royal Thai Air Force Base, Thailand, only a few hundred miles west of the trail here in Laos. Unknown to this crew and the other members of the squadron, the year 1972 would prove to be annus horribilis for them.

In the war in Vietnam, a total of 2460 American aircraft (USAF, US Navy and Marines – plus over five thousand helicopters) were lost in combat; hundreds of thousands of ground troops and thousands of pilots had been killed, wounded or taken prisoners in the long years of the war - it’s is one of the realities, despite our most optimistic hopes, that all men in combat are at risk of losing their life and many do. Yet somehow it only comes home to you when it is YOUR unit and YOUR friends that start to lose their lives. After several years of relatively few casualties it was the 16^th SOS’s turn to be bruised by war. It was sent reeling with four aircraft shot down, many others severely damaged and worst of all, some 40 men were lost.

Yet the war went on, it always goes on. 

These incredibly close knit men did very dangerous work under terrible conditions – as men at war have always done - but simply never gave in. Yet there is always a bill to be paid by such men and in 1972 the bill came due - and there was an inkling of the price in Nov ‘71.

 Prometheus  - The Sad, Strange Story of Balls 44

Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, nor breath nor motion;

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean

“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Who Killed the Albatross?

In the poem an entire ship and crew were doomed to ill fortune because of the actions of one man who, by killing an albatross, brought bad luck to the ship - or so the crew thought; their fate sealed by some unknowable force.

Superstition is still a powerful force even with us modern men. Perhaps it is nonsense, but one wonders: who brought the albatross’ curse to the 16thSOS – and the aircraft called Balls 44?

Aircraft tail number 55-0044 - Prometheus, to her crew chief and other maintenance folks - was a AC130A Gunship. (In an old custom, she was given a name which was painted on her proud nose. Even though a new commander had all nose art painted over, that’s who she remained for them.) She had a different nickname, however, for the crews that flew her:  Balls 44. (We aviators and our boyish sense of humor – 0 0 44. Balls? 44? Get it?). It was an older “A” model of the venerable C-130 transport, an airplane that was first in use in the early 50’s (and newer versions are still in use today.) Modified and armed with two 40 millimeter cannons and two 20 millimeter rotary cannons, she had various sensors that allowed her to stare in the darkness and see the enemy below. 44, and like her sister gunships, was a tremendously effective weapon.     

In November of 1971 she was cruising the notorious Ho Chi Minh trail, with her baleful stare seeking targets. The gunships were famous – or infamous depending on your perspective – for destroying the supply trucks by the hundreds. In fact, there was a bounty on the gunships and their crews by the enemy. Suddenly, however, she was no longer the hunter but became the hunted; in an instant she took a tremendous amount of damage from anti- aircraft artillery (AAA) to her right wing and numbers three and four engines – and both lost their propellers. In fact, she almost lost her entire right wing. In addition, a crew member was severely wounded.

Crew chief of 44, Tom Combs (one of two along with John Rhett,) has written eloquently about this starting with her departure from Ubon.

“I watched as my gunship roared away into the darkness just five minutes after midnight.  Soon, all I could see was a red glow from her open rear door. It rose higher as it slowly grew smaller. It looked like Triple-A in slow motion. We jumped into the line truck and sped away.

 “A couple hours later, Johnson and I were sitting in the crew chiefs’ lounge when the line truck came to a screeching stop right outside the door.  Sgt. Jarvis, a guy I had known back at Dyess, poked his head in the doorway and asked “Zero Four Four?”  “Right here,” I answered.  “Come with me,” was all he said as he disappeared from the doorway.  Johnson and I got up and followed him outside to the waiting truck.  Before I could ask, Sgt. Jarvis said, “Your gunship has been hit!  It sounds bad! They’re trying to make it back to Ubon.”

 We rode in heavy silence to the recovery area just off the main runway.  The fire trucks had already begun to accumulate at various spots along the airstrip.  An HH-43 helicopter carrying a bucket underneath filled with fire retardant was circling nearby.  Word came over the radio that two of our AC-130’s were just a few minutes away.  We waited and watched.  “There she is!” someone yelled. Two gunships, one high and one low were approaching the far end of the runway. The higher gunship banked to the right and broke away.  He had been flying escort. I could see that the landing gear was down, but the nose of my aircraft kept swinging left and right.  The gunship hit the runway hard and bounced up again.  As it came back down, it veered to the left then back to the right. As it came closer to our position, we could begin to make out some of the damage.  Flames erupted from the main wheel wells as the aircraft slowed then performed a ground loop before coming to a stop on the grass next to the runway.  We jumped back into the truck and sped toward the smoking aircraft.  The fire truck had already reached the plane and smothered the landing gear with foam. The crewmen were helping each other off the ramp as we arrived. Our driver parked the truck under the left wing. An ambulance pulled alongside.

Some from the crew were sitting on the grass now, away from the aircraft.  I walked over to the flight engineer and asked him what happened.  “Jesus!” he said, “Oh sweet, Lord Jesus,” he repeated.  I saw the rear scanner and walked over to him and caught part of his explanation.  “We started an orbit around a truck that had its lights on, but before anyone could say ‘flak-trap’ we got hit! We were just breaking back out of orbit when it slammed into us!  Pearson, man he got it bad!”  Pearson was the right scanner.

“The first explosion and shrapnel knocked the right scanner clear across the airplane and into the flak curtains.  He was hurt, but because he was down on the floor he missed the second lethal volley of shrapnel, which was centered on his window. Parts from number three engine’s prop and gearbox assembly had peppered the entire area around the scanner’s opening.”

I moved off to have a look at my aircraft and was stunned at what I saw. Number 3 and number 4 engines were half gone!  There were no props, just a mess of twisted metal with wires and hoses hanging in all directions. I looked at the right side of the fuselage and noticed numerous holes. One of the gunners came up and said “I think I xxxx my pants man, xxxx I just don’t believe it!”

 

The story continues as the ground crew moved the aircraft from the grass where 44 had come to rest to a revetment for its repairs.

Outside lights provided me some illumination once I reached the flight-deck. Now, sitting in the semi-darkened flight-deck of 044, I had no power, no lights and certainly no brakes.  I was of little value up here other than following the checklist and doing things by the book. Tonight, this provided me with the luxury of reenactment.  It was just minutes ago this very aircraft was hit by anti-aircraft artillery and by miracle and fortitude arrived home intact....mostly. I could feel the vibration of the nights’ events... as if I were there.  Of course hearing what happened by the crewmen I had by now a vivid account of the action. But now sitting alone in the very same flight-deck that moments ago emanated with danger, confusion and life saving decisions in the middle of battle, I was awe-struck. It was ...spiritual.  I don't think I am able to explain the amazing feelings coursing through my body at this time.

Finally when power had been restored on the aircraft, “I moved around the two 40 mm. guns and past the booth.  There was blood everywhere!  I almost choked.  The side scanner’s position had numerous holes around the opening.  My toolbox below the scanner seat was covered with blood.  The floor was streaks of red interrupted by boot prints.  There was a small pool of blood near the flak curtains where the scanner had lain.”

All that damage, pain and drama yet the pilots, Captains Baertle and Skinner, brought her back to Ubon with one of the finest demonstrations of airmanship most of us might ever see.

Balls 44 battle damage, Nov 1971                

Photo Courtesy of John Schrawder at Spectre Association site

The crew chiefs, Rhett and Combs, (and Tom’s role in our story is not yet done nor is that of 44) and the entire maintenance team at Ubon worked for over two months repairing the damage to Balls 44 including an entirely new right wing and four new engines and in Jan, back to work she went.  

Premonition?

The damage was also noticed, however, by some of the crew members who went out to the flight line when they heard the plane was coming in very damaged.

 “The aircraft landed and after it taxied to the ramp we were amazed at the battle damage. It wasn’t just the props that were gone but most of leading edge of the right wing. There was damage to other parts of the aircraft as well – which I recall included one of the engines on the left wing. It was the first serious incident since most of us had been there. My reaction was probably pretty typical – impressed (and somewhat assured) that the AC-130 could survive such extensive damage, but also somewhat shaken by the reality that we were playing a very deadly game.”

As if to show the intricate dance of irony and fate in the affairs of men these comments about 44 were written by Capt. Gary Chandler who, with these words, unknowingly had acknowledged that the albatross was still out there somewhere and perhaps waiting for him as well.

Next, you may ask, where on earth did we find a weapon like the gunship?

To receive the balance of this article please request it by email to: dpeders2002@gmail.com. It will only be provided upon request. Thanks for reading. 

A View Askew

(Or: Did the Dinosaurs See the Comet?)

        Dec 2014                                                                                                Issue Last

                                From this . . .                                                                                                                       

       



Ah the beauty and bounty of fall                                                                                                

   

                                                                                     To this . . .

The desolation and heart attack inducing hell that is winter

. . .To bossy clubs?                                  

  Only Six More Months til Spring! 




View Askew News

Thank you for wasting your time over the last year with me. Enjoy this last issue.  

Mini Thoughts on the World

Health Care: That will be $38,000 - Please Pull Up to the First Window to File Bankruptcy
(Yet Another Thing  Obamacare will not Help)

The wife of a friend of mine had a hip replacement recently. (All went well, thankfully.) Anyhoo, they, of course, received a number of invoices and were shocked to see that the bill for the surgery was $38,000. Of course they didn’t pay that much. In fact, nobody pays that much – UNLESS you don’t have insurance. The insurance company paid something on the order of $12,000. So why was the bill for $38,000? Because the hospital and doctors pulled the amount out of their butt! In America it’s legal for health care providers to charge different people different amounts for the same care. It’s like if two people, a white guy and a black, went into a car dealer and they double the price of the car for the black guy. The black guy is you if you don’t have insurance!

As if you need more convincing that something is seriously rotten in Denmark (and not too great here either) the GAO had some people pretend to be customers and called some providers here in high quality Minnesota to get a price for a hernia operation and a colonoscopy.  Price range for hernia? $2970-9625, Colonsoscopy: $1733-5500. Any other business would be embarrassed to have pricing like this (or envious.) And, of course, this is why 60% of all bankruptcies filed in America are due to healthcare bills.

Luckily, our health care system has no conscience so it’s okay.

This Land Is My Land, This Land is No One’s Land

Follow up on Election Participation in the Last View (where Mr. DJ Tice wondered who is or should be voting, the informed or the uninformed (read: dumb.)

Continuing the historical pattern of (even) lower voting in non-presidential years, nationwide:

38% of voters showed up at the polls. Voters were 75% white, 12% African American, 8% Latino (actual eligible population 63% white, 13% African American, 16% Latino)

Voters were 37% over age 60, 12% under age 30 (actual eligible population 26% over 60, 22% under 30)

It was an election generally dominated by older white folks who showed up at the polls (as is usually the case). I have no idea which part of the electorate these voters represent, the informed or uninformed (I was one of the old white guys and I don’t even know which I am!) In any event, it seems pretty obvious that our democracy is kind of running on fumes though.

For an idea how Americans feel differently about the government - and which may account for why we're so divided - take a look at this chart of spending by age group: 

                                         (Courtesy of Barry Ritholtz, Big Picture Blog)

I say listen to the younger folks – what about you?

(Surprisingly, the Star Tribune ran my letter on this very subject – who’d a thunk it?!)

Generational Warfare?

The local west side fish wrap (per the Commmon Man) had an article in the Variety section which was essentially a bitch session by some Gen Xers (folks born 1965-1980) lamenting how they are being ignored or forgotten because of societies focus on us babyboomers (1946-1964) and the new darlings, the Millennials (1981-1995). These folks pointed out that they are kind of the Dirty Harry generation (my analogy) because they are always getting the poopy end of the stick.  

They do make some great points. They were the first generation to have the institution of marriage kind of self destruct around them; they were among the hardest hit by the “Great Recession;” they are the main taxpayers now (to the benefit of us babyboomers and the Millennials) and the first generation to not do as well as their parents. They were even described as “America’s neglected middle child.” Now that struck a chord with me. You might remember a few Views ago I talked about a book called “The Fourth Turning” which described how generations repeat themselves over and over through the years. Our gen Xers, according to the authors, are called the 13^th Generation. More importantly, they are also the repeat of “the silent generation” (born 1925-1942.) The characteristics of their lives and experiences are remarkably the same even though separated by some 40 years. Listen to this description of this earlier generation: “They came of age just too late to be war heroes and just too early to be youthful free spirits. Midlife was an anxious “passage” for a generation torn between stolid elders and passionate juniors.” Except for the current Xer’s declining living standards relative to their parents, this describes them to a tee. Keeping in mind the book was writing almost twenty years ago it’s pretty scary. (And their prediction for the mid-00’s credit crisis, economic crash and terrorist acts were almost eerie.)  

So what does this all mean? Damned if I know. I guess it proves there’s always some generational friction about which we can do nothing. It also seems to prove that the authors of that book kind of knew what they were talking about – it will be interesting to see how their predictions for what happens next turn out.       

But Gen Xers Revenge - Millennial’s Can’t Talk on Phones

In yet another article in the paper, we find that maybe the Gen Xer above can take some satisfaction from this little yarn. Apparently, some millennials are having some difficulty with old fashioned skills. For example, talking on the phone.  A young guy who was working for a commodity firm was shocked to learn that he was being fired because . . . he didn’t have any telephone skills (which were vaguely important since he was supposed to talk to the clients on the phone.) Go figure.

I am not making fun of this young man. I’d be willing to bet a lot of folks who were great on the telegraph weren’t too good on the phone when it took over either so there’s that. I think what’s important to note though is that this is just one of those skirmishes in the battle of the generations. I suspect in ten or twenty years there won’t be a lot of phone conversations and the young guy in this story will be the grizzled boss who gets mad because the new generation can’t text, they can only write and speak in full sentences.

It’s a brave new world out there and I, for one, support it (now that I no longer inhabit it!)    

What do Galileo and Creationism Have in Common?

The Pope!   You might recall how the Catholic Church and the Pope made a criminal out of Galileo for suggesting that the earth revolves around the sun? Well recently the current Pope stated that people should believe that evolution and science are not anti-religious:  Pope Francis  God is Not a Magician. In essence he said that creationism is nonsense, a stance – perhaps the only one – which I share with him. I’m not so sure about papal infallibility but I think the old boy is right on this one! 

On the other hand, it’s bad enough that a bunch knotheads are trying get creationism taught as science in school (including public schools) but unfortunately a few knotheads have also managed to get themselves elected to congress. It’s a small group (I hope) and I hate to say it but it’s mostly Republicans that hold these odd views (and please don’t peg me for a damn liberal unless you think believing in science and facts is a liberal cause.) In any event, there are congressmen and senators (including at least one presidential hopeful) who not only do not believe in evolution, they really don’t believe in science – period. And even that’s okay, I suppose – in America you can be as ignorant as you want and even vote - but unfortunately, several of these men (and as far as I can tell it is all guys, and white guys at that) sit on congressional committees for science and technology like this doofus for example:  No science for me! Paul Broun R-GA    What in the name of Ronald Reagan are we coming too when we allow people who apparently didn’t get through 7^th grade science to not only get elected but to sit on committees for things which they don’t even believe in? I know these guys don’t represent the whole Republican party but it makes me just a teensy bit nervous that the party that wants to run the whole government has people like this in positions of power. Let’s hope the sane Republicans can sit on these guys . . . or we might all have to convert to Catholicism!  

You know, if the Commies were still around I’d say it was a plot by them to make us all look stupid to the rest of the world (as if we needed any help.)

I got your separation of church and state right here!  

Some More Generational Irony - Money Can’t Buy Happiness . . . But Old Age Can?

Two separate articles with a twist only a devious mind like mine could enjoy! One from the business page (Lee Schafer, Success is about more than what you own.) Reviewing several different studies Mr. Schafer arrives at something that most of us know but seldom admit – unless, of course, one doesn’t have much in the first place – and that is that more money and things does not make us happier. Most revealing is that in several studies it showed that the more money people had the more likely they were to be . . . dinks. People with cheaper cars tend to respect pedestrians in crosswalks; people more expensive cars tend to ignore them 46% of the time. In a lab test the more affluent the person, the more likely they were to take candy marked “For children” (the bums!) Getting more and more stuff and more expensive stuff only temporarily makes people happy and then we start pursuing more stuff (The Lexus Effect.) Ha – I knew that!

In a separate article, “Happiness is U-shaped … which explains why the middle-aged are grumpy” by Stephen Adams, we find something that is kind of counter-intuitive; it’s not money that brings happiness, it’s . . . getting old. Huh. To quote the article, “While young adults are carefree and full of hope for the future and the over-50s have come to terms with the trials of life, the research indicates that those in the middle feel weighed down by the demands on them. The study found "a substantial dip in happiness during the middle of people's lives is the equivalent to becoming unemployed or losing a family member." Oddly, other research shows that old age happiness can last all the way up to your 80’s (to me that could be the result of drugs but that’s another story.)

Okay so let me get this straight: money and things - which most people pursue with a vengeance, especially in their middle age – do not bring more happiness but simply getting older – which as far as I can tell requires very little effort - does? In fact, making more money and getting more stuff can turn us into a horse’s ass?

Seems like yet more irony handed to us humans by life; start out happy, get grumpy because we can’t ever really have all the things we think we want and then get happy again when we figure out that even if got it we can’t take it with us so what the hell. (And also get all the Prosaic we want!)

Or maybe it’s just because the kids aren't living at home anymore (hopefully.)

You pick your ending and I’ll pick mine.

  And Finally . . .

Musical Bookends

As I was mucking around on the internet looking for various old songs for this section (one of the truly great things about Google) I managed to tumble back over forty odd years in one fell swoop. Surely you can spare me a little reminiscing time (Yeah, yeah I know: no you can’t and stop calling you Shirley!)

My first big trip (called a TDY in the parlance) in the AF as a 2nd Lt navigator was across the cold, dark Atlantic in 1971 and ended successfully with a landing at Mildenhall AFB in England and not without a little luck, thank God - there wasn’t any stinking GPS or fancy stuff. (I know, I know  they landed a rocket on a comet after 10yrs and 4 billion miles but give them a C130 and sextant and see how smart they are. In fact, I wasn’t very far from using the same tools as Magellan and Columbus!). During our six weeks of pounding around Europe and as my ancient pilot (he was 28 at the time) taught me the art of drinking martinis and generally how to act like a boorish aircrew member, this song,  Maggie May Rod Stewart , was playing nonstop on the jukebox (how quaint!) at the Officer’s club which in those days was a place where people went to drink and party, not a library populated by octogenarians like they are today. Great sigh. Anyway, it's maybe not the greatest song ever but it just sort of became seared into my soul and came to represent, for whatever reason, the air force portion of my life.  

Now fast forward (and I do mean fast!) 27 years and a very wonderful, terrible, difficult, delightful part of my life ended with my retirement; a 22 year old kid goes down the gullet of the giant Blue Creature and a 50 yr old geezer is pooped out the other end (yuck!) – but guess who had a song out just for me. Yup, good sir Rodney. OoH La la   Rod Stewart  - "I wish I knew what I know now, when I was younger, I wish I knew what I know now, when I was stronger . . ." Even without the ironic lyrics, having a Rod Stewart song just seemed . . . symmetrical. 

Thanks, Rod. And I do wish I knew what I know now when I was younger. (Maybe not, I would have just got into that much more trouble.)   

I hope you can spare a few minutes to take a jog down memory lane. Who knows maybe you’ll enjoy it and come up with memories of your own.

Did the Dinosaur See the Comet?

There has been a huge groundswell of requests to explain what I mean by the phrase “Did the Dinosaur see the Comet.” (Well actually, 2 people asked but that passes for a groundswell with me.) As much as I’d like to tell you I’m afraid you will have to wait for the book to get my answer. As I mentioned before, this will be my last regularly scheduled View Askew. Disclaimer: If something really juicy comes up and I can’t help myself from comments on its apparent stupidness or irony then I will give you the opportunity to ignore me.(And I will do my best to not comment further on texting while driving or jeans and sneakers – but no promises.) Otherwise, I am going to spend whatever free time I have putting together my book. (Free time – hmmm. Is time ever really free? Doing one thing means not doing something else and in any event it’s time that is forever lost. Yikes - makes a person stop staring at the microwave timer!) But I digress.

Like a lot of hack writers I really wanted to write a novel, one of those books with a great story and characters that provides some timeless lesson like “Heart of Darkness” or “Crime and Punishment.” Alas, I have neither the skill nor patience to write such a book. So instead I am going to try to weave together little essays like I have written here into some larger narrative (hopefully - I’ve already been told that books of just essays don’t sell.) I have written a LOT of stuff over the years that I hope to update and include and, yes, I might very well pull some of “greatest hits” from past Views and throw them into the hopper.  I am going to give you some teaser at the end on the kind of things I hope to write about.

I am almost certain that it will be an ebook rather than a book book. It breaks my heart because I love book books, but it isn’t financially practical. I have been assured, however, that it should be available for download from a number of popular ebook sites. We’ll see. (It also breaks my heart because I won’t be able to include pictures – and I love my damn pictures!)  

Soooo Speaking of Pictures . . .

I just have so many I want to share but I’ll leave it at these few.

                Self Explanatory – politician

        

                                                                                     Men, so predictable – giving dogs a bad name                                                      

                    

                                            

   Hurry up and get'em off, I'm on the tee! 

                                         Your Russian  date eez here for vinter party -  pass wodka!                                                                                                                                  

                                                                                                                                          

What?! Babes love my expensive man purse and suspender.

                                                                                                                                          

                         Found in Rev. Pat Robertson’s Office - just kidding (Maybe)

                 

      Boy, this just doesn't seem right . . .  

                                           Walmart fun . . . and floor cleaning?

                                                             

                                      

                           Eeeeew!  

                                                                                               

                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

                                                                              








                                                                                                              What YOU lookin’ at?!

                                                      

                                                                                     

                                            God, I crack myself up!

                                  Ending on a melancholy but somehow positive note . . .

 

                Would that we humans had the attributes of a dog - especially Loyalty

Big Things That I Think About 

Elections . . . and other Entertainment

I do not like to comment on politics or government (except to demean them) but I thought, given the amount of excitement (or depression depending on your leanings,) I should say something about the most recent national elections. Here’s what I say: who cares? Yes, I am a known cynic. Yes, I am a known smart ass. And yes, I’m a known know it all. For all those reasons I still say, who cares?

This sort of back and forth has gone on for as long as we’ve had elections. (In fact in EVERY election since WWII the party with the White House has lost seats in the sixth year – and well deserved this year!) Has anything changed? Nooooooo. Obama has been a terrible disappointment as president, saved from total mediocrity only by his good fortune to follow possibly the worst president ever. (A president whose policies, to a large degree, Obama continued – irony, thy name is politics!) Again, so what? The Republicrats have taken over all of Congress with much sound and fury signifying . . . nothing (sorry, William.) They may even take over the presidency in 2016. In fact, I hope they do because that will guarantee that they will do just as the Demlicans did: try to put their worst ideas to work . . . and will be voted out of office in a few years starting the whole sad cycle over again. (The exact thing happened in 2006. The vote was totally anti-Bush policies but the Democrats thought that they were receiving the people’s blessing for their dumbest ideas. Ha ha ha!) 

I am of the opinion that the entire federal government is not only totally corrupt but is immutable and unchangeable like the ocean. Both parties, and by extension the government, are owned by the big moneyed interests. (Yes, I am a populist - if you can believe a guy who hates jeans and sneakers can be a populist.) Don’t take my word for it – check out the amount of money spent and, more importantly, where it all came from. Keeping the federal dollars flowing to those interests IS the business of America. The big banks, big labor, the military industrial complex, the agriculture industry, the Education industry, the healthcare industrial racket – you name it, they run the government with ruthless efficiency (for their benefit, of course, not ours.)

Both parties talk about the change they want to bring about: quaint ideas like smaller government or a healthcare system that works? Forget it! When confronted with the reality that the American people don’t really want change (which would, of course, require some sacrifice) they just want to bitch about change, the ideologues in either party seem to take over and try to get their dumbest ideas passed so that it seems like they are actually doing something (at least for their political base.)

So what great ideas did we get when the Demlicans came in? Obamacare, Fast and Furious and not much else to write home about. Ultimately though it's about Obama and what is clearly - at least to me - a failed presidency (and perhaps the third straight failed one? See my earlier post about  babyboomer presidents - ugh.) He became a symbol of real (and  imagined) government over reach – and in the end people were just pissed off in general. (I happen to think it was because Obama and the worthless Congress did way too much for the rich guys and not enough for the average Joe but that’s just me.)

                                               Damn golf elitist - a lefty on and off the course!

So 38% of the voters decide to throw the bums out and in with the new (old) guys! 

What should we expect if (when?) the worst ideas of the new old lot take hold? I think it’s fairly predictable.

An even more cynical person might add:

- No more funding for science, repeal evolution now!

- More prayer in schools! (Christian, of course)

- More F35 fighters and invade Iran; less Medicare and Social Security!

- No more death panels (end of life counseling) or hospice!                   

                                                                                                                        
                                                                                                                                                                      
And thus it goes.  (I have a whole, larger theory about this but modesty and space restrains me. Maybe in The Book.)

Does this seem cynical and pessimistic? Not at all! In fact it’s kind of optimistic (in a sad sort of way.) It means that in a larger sense the federal government doesn’t really matter that much to the lives of average Americans. We’ll do what peasants citizens have done for thousands of years and just muddle through. We get to play with our smart phones, watch football and drink craft beer; the only thing missing is the Coliseum and artisan bread – no, wait we have that too! You would be much smarter to pay attention to your school board, city council and state government than worry about the feds (until, of course, Homeland Security comes knocking on your door one night.)

You won’t believe this but I desperately hope that I will be proven wrong in my dyspeptic view. If we could go through six or seven election cycles and actually see big money interests being ignored and real work getting done I will be terrifically happy. In the meantime, go ahead and vote, it’s your right and obligation. Think of it as a form of entertainment - very expensive entertainment - but entertainment nonetheless. I’ll see you in about 6 years when Democrats will look like saviors again. 

Speaking of peasants, if you want a REAL debate about government watch this!

Monty Python Forms of Government

Oh Yeah, One Last Thing About Politics

This is a part of a larger thing that I will go in to in the Book: Do your friends assume that you think about politics the same as they do? Look no further than your forwarded emails to find out! (Personally, I have found that spam filters are a wonderful invention.)

But now for something totally different . . .

What, you may ask, do these pictures have to do with each other? Read on.

2014 Solstice Prayer – A New Tactic (No, I didn’t forget you, my people)

 Don’t look now but daylight will be down to 9hrs and 25 min’s on Dec 21st. Doesn’t it make you pine for the 16hrs 37 min’s on Jun 21^st?! (Of course in Nome, Alaska the sun will rise at noon and set at 4:00 – now that’s a seriously short day.) But hope for us is just a blog post away! It is my sworn duty to assure that the sun hears our cries and begins its journey back up here to our cold, windswept tundra. 

For the past several years I have assumed the role of those earlier Druids who pranced around Stonehenge; the Mayans peering at the setting sun from atop a temple and the Romans drinking wine and celebrating Saturnalia (which is kind of the blue print for my own efforts) all of whom were begging the sun to halt its slide into the abyss. And apparently it worked.

As a part of my efforts, on the winter solstice it has been my habit to and build a fire in our chimnea and cook s’mores for the local kids. Parents are encouraged to bring their own adult beverages (for medicinal and warmth reasons only of course.) Much hilarity ensues. In this way I hope to assuage whichever gods are in charge of this horrible time of the year.

The Farmer’s Almanac, however, has called for another tough winter this year so I think I shall have to up my game a bit to assure success. And don’t be silly, I’m not thinking of actually sacrificing one of the kids (although a couple parents offered – that’s just wrong! )

I got to thinking (I know, a dangerous thing to start so late in life): what do our brethren in the southern hemisphere do? I mean everything is ass backwards down there with summer in our winter and vice versa. What do they do in June that we could do in December? Well, apparently, not much. As it turns out, Australia on Dec 21^st is really pretty hot so they kind of welcome the shorter, cooler days in June. (Goofs!)

But maybe the goofs are on to something. Maybe that’s a ruse and they kind of use indifference to shame old Sol into returning. You know, a reverse psychology thing: on their winter summer June solstice they say, “We couldn’t care less if you stayed up there in the northern hemisphere warming those pitiful people in Minnesota who have nothing to live for for 9 months out of the year – ha, just stay up there!” And here we are lighting candles, prancing around fires and generally making fools of ourselves.

Well I say enough o’ that! We’ll give that pack of piss ant prison descendants a taste of their own medicine this year! Instead of whining about the cold and the dark and parkas and ten foot snow drifts and dangerous wind chill and stalled cars and people pretending to enjoy winter sports . . . we’ll just ignore it. In fact, I might even praise the virtues of this god forsaken land as we shiver around the chimnea. The more I think about this, it really plays into the hands of we passive aggressive Minnesotans who are so great at fake friendliness. I believe I have hit upon the ultimate solstice ploy!

So I hope you will join me in doing nothing this year. I know, I know, it’s asking a lot but you can do it. Go outside on Dec. 21^st and urge the sun to just stay down there and then go back in and pretend like this is your favorite time of the year. You can do it!

Back up plan: In case this doesn’t work you could also play these songs over and over. (Won’t help but you’ll smile as you freeze your ass off.)

Land Down Under   Men at Work

Good Day Sunshine Beatles

California Sun Rivieras

So long, suckers, let me know if it works when I get back from Florida in April – ha ha ha!   

Amazed and Surprised!

Yes, You’ll be Amazed and Surprised by View Askew: The Book! Well, Maybe.

Among the things that I think I will talk about in the book, in no particular order (or cleverness):

The movie “The Matrix” is based on real life?      Collapse of complex societies       The Dunning-Krueger Effect   The myths and dangers of Patriotism           In praise of big government      Myths of the free market           In praise of small government    Why I’m a pacifist     The myth of diversity           Is there a God and if so, who cares?   More Wachowski bros       Mortality – pros and cons   Babyboomers pros and cons   More myths of time             Where there’s evolution there is devolution   

Without luck I’d be Rwandan         Music and Math     More “death of truth” stories      Time for humor and hope   Just killing time

I think there’s more but I’ll try to surprise you. (I may even delve deeper into my very fortunate life and share for more uplifting personal stories.)

Hopefully these will all tie together to accomplish what even Einstein couldn’t do – a Unified theory of Everything!

Later

D Roger P

New Songs for Old Farts

Music group of the year finalist . . .One Republic All the Right Moves

Poems for You Know What . . .

The Shortest Day

So the shortest day came, and the year died,
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive,
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, reveling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - Listen!!
All the long echoes sing the same delight,
This shortest day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, fest, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!!

Susan Cooper

Thanks for reading all this time, I hope you will stay tuned for View Askew the Book (in fact I hope there is a View Askew the Book!). And here’s also hoping I get my wish when I die: I always thought I wanted to come back as Ben Affleck. Now I think I’ll settle for just being a dog.

                                                                   It’s a girl dog so it’s okay (I think).    

So until we meet again . . .

 “Be a good citizen of your world . . . and don’t be a dope.”

Quote Du Jour

"As democracy is perfected, the office of president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron." 

 — H. L. Mencken

A View Askew is the sole property of D Roger Pederson, Mpls MN. You may forward without special permission but if you want to use anything here for your own purposes please send me a request at dpeders2002@gmail.com.

A View Askew