Meet the .45%

A common theme heard in the No One household, as you can imagine, is how unbelievably, mind-bogglingly and stupendously spoiled some of “The 99%” sound when compared to the 1% who serve in the military.

Via my hubs, via his FB friend, via a random and completely adorable West Point cadet comes the must-buy fashion for the season:

The 0.45% T-Shirt.

The folks at that website, www.rangerup.com, included an anonymous essay that will knock your socks off.  I hope they don’t mind if I paste a large chunk here:

“I remember the day I found out I got into West Point.

My mom actually showed up in the hallway of my high school and waited for me to get out of class. She was bawling her eyes out and apologizing that she had opened up my admission letter. She wasn’t crying because it had been her dream for me to go there. She was crying because she knew how hard I’d worked to get in, how much I wanted to attend, and how much I wanted to be an infantry officer. I was going to get that opportunity.

That same day two of my teachers took me aside and essentially told me the following: ‘Nick, you’re a smart guy. You don’t have to join the military. You should go to college, instead.’

I could easily write a tome defending West Pont and the military as I did that day, explaining that USMA is an elite institution, that separate from that it is actually statistically much harder to enlist in the military than it is to get admitted to college, that serving the nation is a challenge that all able-bodied men should at least consider for a host of reasons, but I won’t.

What I will say is that when a 16 year-old kid is being told that attending West Point is going to be bad for his future then there is a dangerous disconnect in America, and entirely too many Americans have no idea what kind of burdens our military is bearing.”

The essay continues at length, so go read it.  And buy a shirt!  Looks like your ol’ blog bud Linda has just figured out half your Christmas shopping for you.

You’re welcome.

Oh, and read about the three guys behind Ranger Up–pretty awesome.  Internet searches did not reveal a prior source for the .45% essay.  Perhaps one of the three guys is the ‘Nick’ featured in it.

Oh, the internet searches did reveal that at least three other bloggers beat me to the punch, and they deserve a visit too, if’n you’ve got the time:

A Soldier’s Perspective, where blogger CJ speaks truth to power:  “You know, I get fed up with the Occupy Wall Street idiots. I’ve been going around and around with some of them on Twitter and am convinced that this has nothing to do with corporate greed and everything to do with individual greed.”

CJ is kindly and patiently suffering a fool in the comment section.  Anybody up for a game of whack-a-troll?

Eric at Threedonia will be proudly annoying liberal coworkers with this t-shirt on casual Fridays.  Ha.

And newish blog The World through the Eyes of a SheepDog scooped me too, dadgummit.  Good thing I like dogs now.

 Have a great weekend, everybody!

UPDATE:  They have it in women’s sizes too.

So, Do You Like Stuff?

Homeschooling is going well.  I need to get cracking on that Star Gazing Club I’ve agreed to organize for the base homeschoolers, and oh dear, my house is in a state.

But anyway, we’ve got stuff to share.  The internet supplements any curriculum quite nicely.  The other day we were covering science.  Both boys learn from the 4th grade book, because the 1st grade book is almost, but not quite, entirely useless. 

Really.  One of the recent 1st grade assignments is an “inquiry activity:”

You need:  rock, plant, water, clear bin.

What to do:  Look at a rock and a plant.  Write about how they are alike and different.  Put the rock in a bin.  Water the rock and the plant for a week.  What happens?

At least we got a good laugh.  Nothing says “inquiry” like watering a rock for a week.

Anyway, we were learning about inherited traits, and how farmers can breed larger pumpkins by using the pollen from big-pumpkin-bearing plants to pollinate other big-pumpkin-bearing plants.  They couldn’t remember seeing a truly giant pumpkin, so to Google we went.

This video captivated the boys.  They watched it, giggling, over and over . . . .

 

Another assignment (I forget which subject), made reference to a “jack-in-the-box.”  My younger asked, “what is a jack-in-the-box?”  The internet search landed us slightly afield, but it was well worth the trip:

 

We’ve enjoyed delving into some classic fairy tales, too.  Missy S. warned that the stories in our curriculum may be quite watered down.  I realized she was right.  I would have no idea whether it was the case, being almost, but not entirely, ignorant of the classics myself.  So to start, we’ve obtained a 1963 publication of Hans Christian Andersen tales.

These tales are wild, unpredictable, and violent.  I’m telling you, they are as violent as Southpark.  Heads get chopped off, schemers get away with schemes, and innocent lasses are left heartbroken.

No surprise, then, that the boys are thoroughly entertained.

I’m just as entertained, since I have no idea how the story will end, or whether the bad guy will get his comeuppance.  Sometimes I’m wondering exactly who the bad guy is, because it’s hard to tell.

Big Claus and Little Claus is a favorite.

Finally, the boys want everyone to see Sussie begging.  So I’ve uploaded her onto YouTube.  Have a good one, ya’ll.

Meet the Rogue Operator

Have you guys run into this blogger yet?  If not, pay a visit and behold some serious awesomeness.  Yep, Big ‘Ol Blogger Me is once again wielding her tremendous blogospheric sway over tens–nay, teens– of readers.  Insta . . . trickle?

The analysis in Oslo Killer Ruffles Feathers in Ostrichotopia is top-notch.  Here is a snippet to get your interest piqued:

“The problem . . . is that the left is intentionally provoking reaction with its classic pushiness and government overreach.  There literally are no bounds to leftism as a ‘freedom-clearing’ destructive force, and cultural marxism has worn down its resistors with political correctness, multiculturalism, and moral relativism.  Cultural marxism has caused two interrelated phenomena to occur and both are explosive.”

 My favorite posts so far, however, are the satirical ones:  Democrats Propose National “War on Death” and America Under Siege by an Axis of Stupidity.

Good stuff.

Hopefully I’ll generate some good stuff of my own soon.  Right now, the summer sun is interfering with my LCD tan in a major way.  Darn kids, with their swimming and biking and cavorting.  And have I mentioned how Sussie’s frequent vet visits have resumed?  Stupid dog glaucoma.

In the meantime, just remember:  link love pads the blog.

Happy Dog

We’re all moved in.  Mostly unpacked.  Mostly still in disarray. 

I’ll be back to the blogging soon.  Got to do some more un-disarraying first.

In the meantime, here’s a photo of Sussie.

Happy Dog

Bits and Bobs

Okay, well.  We’re in Kansas now, and I’ve realized something.  Geography will dictate my Halloween costume this year.  Too bad Sussie won’t fit in a basket.

Things are moving fast.  As in a total blur.  We arrived last night and toured the available housing today.  We chose place number four, an on-base condo unit.  With new address in hand, we rang the storage company.

With typical “you-don’t-pay-us-the-military-does” brusqueness, the storage employee gave us a choice:  receive our belongings in two weeks, or tomorrow.

Tomorrow it is.  Gulp.

Meanwhile, the Time Warner Cable fellow can’t hook us up until Saturday.  So here’s some bits and bobs while I enjoy the hotel WiFi for one night.

First, Instawife’s post How to profit from “death panels” is well worth reading and bookmarking.  As you know, Dems stick like superglue to The Narrative:  ”death panels” are a fictional product of right-wing fear-mongering.  Yet, Dr. Helen runs smack into this frightening monster whilst fulfilling her continuing education requirements.  Sure, the article she encountered deals with psychiatric issues–not life-or-death per se–but the implication is clear to anyone who values life and liberty:  when healthcare is rationed, there might not be enough medication for Granny.

Next, in case you are not a comment-scroller like me, I am reposting all of Eric’s comment to Dr. Helen’s post.  I have heard the “healthcare is already rationed by insurance companies” argument aplenty, and this response is spot-on:

Telling Dr. Helen that there is already rationing is to commit the equivocation fallacy.

Rationing is generally understood as a finite amount of something which is then split up amongst the population desiring it. So, if you have 10 meals and 20 people, you have to ration the meals.

Currently, in the United States, there is healthcare for everyone. No rationing required.

Just as there is water for everyone.

It doesn’t mean everyone gets health care, nor does it mean everyone gets water. Someone stuck out in the desert may not have access to water unless they can afford to have it brought to them. This in no way means the water is rationed.

Don’t let supporters of Obamacare pretend like healthcare is rationed and it will be rationed under Obamacare just like it is rationed now.

It’s not. It’s a lie. There is plenty of healthcare in the United States, just as their is plenty of water.

Under Obamacare, there will not be plenty of healthcare for everyone for various reasons. Healthcare will become scarce. Just as water would become scarce if we did the same thing to water that we’re doing to healthcare.

Just as gasoline became scarce when Jimmy Carter was president and gasoline had to be rationed. It wasn’t that suddenly oil vanished from the face of the earth. It was government intervention that caused it to be rationed.

In the same way, your healthcare will go away.

Water, gasoline, healthcare, these things are not rationed under our current free market system. And it takes a fallacy to argue that it does.

Moving on to item number three:  you gotta watch these Croatian dudes, Stjepan Hauser and Luka Sulic.  Innocent Bystanders posted the duet’s version of “Smooth Criminal” a few weeks ago.  That’s right, Michael Jackson’s song.

I enjoyed it, but didn’t share it.  Now the Innocent Bystanders have posted a newer video, Welcome to the Jungle.  That’s right, Guns and Roses.  It’s a must share:

BONUS JUST FOR DAD:  I know you won’t fancy the vid above, so here they are playing Shostakovich:

Fourth and finally:  Veronique De Rugy speaks more truth to power, this time about the Alternative Minimum Tax.  But that’s not what I want to share.  I want to share another nugget of gold from a comment section.  Level Head, there’s another poet lurking in the blogosphere.  I hope you enjoy his verse as much as I did:

Tax the Rich! Tax the Rich!
The fat sheep flee the herder!
Call your Senator! —sire or bitch—
They’re getting away with murder!

Letter the Editor! show your spleen!
Let’s stop this vile unfairness!
Boost their percentage to heights unseen,
(Be damned to fiscal awareness!)

Tax the Rich! Tax the Rich!
Demand a committee hearing!
With your percentage a chronic itch,
The fat sheep need more shearing!

For 92 years it is safe and sound,
Well known to Pol and staffer;
That “revenue lost” is patronage found
(Be damned to Arthur Laffer)

Tax the Rich! in your envy lies
The key to this populist racket.
While productivity brings; “surprise!
You’ve moved to a higher bracket!”

Be a careful chump in demanding who
And where a levy exacts,
Soon little old you will be subject to
The Alternative Minimum Tax.

Ya’ll have a good week.  I can’t respond to comments for a few days, but your thoughtful contributions are appreciated.  Hopefully, the spammers won’t hit too hard before the cable guy gets me my fix.

Trauma Dog

I’d wish everyone a great Memorial Day, but such wishes seem inappropriate when there may very well be a specific person you are remembering.  If this is the case, please have my heartfelt sympathies.

It’s been a long week of organizing, packing, feeding movers, saying goodbyes, and cleaning our base housing to meet regulation.  Tomorrow we hit the road.  We’ll have the trusty laptop, but no eye-phones or fancy-schmancy stuff like that.

On the way to Kansas, we’ll spend a week at Aunt Clara and Uncle Jimmy’s in Tennessee.  They have no internet connection, so my currently erratic blog rounds will dwindle down to nought for a while.

I’m trying to prepare for the withdrawal symptoms.

As always, leaving good friends is a sad affair.  Yet, I would not have met the latest group if I had not left the previous ones.  If I have a gypsy’s heart, it’s the product of experience.  This move is my 10th in the last twenty years.

The dog, on the other hand.  The move is this shelter-rescued dog’s first with us.  Hoo boy. 

The day we started shifting things into the garage, she got worried.  When we took wall hangings down and suitcases out, she started to fret.  Worry gave way to serious distress when the packers showed up.  Then.  When truck-loading necessitated her imprisonment in the back room, she lost.  Her.  Mind.

She may need therapy by the time it’s all over.

In the last three days of “camping” in our place, Sussie has stalked me from empty room to empty room as I cleaned.  Every fiber of her little canine being screams out:  Mommmyyyyyyyy.  What’s going on?

When she tires of following Mommy, she curls up in whichever carpeted corner affords the best view of my activities, and she watches dolefully.

Poor girl. I’ve tried to tell her not to worry.  That she is coming with us.  All she hears is “blah blah blah Sussie.  Blah blah blah Sussie.”

If I put a “donate” button in the sidebar, all proceeds will go to Trauma Dog’s therapy bill.

Happy Trails, folks.  I’ll be back to posting and commenting before you know it.

The Dog

You may already know that we have a family dog.  We got her from the shelter last autumn, after a solid year of all-out begging that you can’t even imagine. 

I don’t regret getting her.  She is a good and sweet dog, and after four years of a presumably hard knock life, she is mild-mannered and grateful for anything and everything (and most especially for bacon).  Of course, while I call Sussie the “family dog,” you and I both know whose dog she really is.

An inevitable consequence of my role in life, and also the prime reason why it took a whole year of begging to wear me down.

I don’t want a dog.

I’m a cat person. 

Not just a regular, run-of-the-mill cat person, but a dog hating cat person.

Why the devil didn’t she just get a cat then?

Well.

I grew up with cats in the house.

I also grew up with a runny nose.

Over time, my allergy has worsened.  Now, this dog has me for an owner.  Breaking me in has been a right tough job.  Countless days, hours and minutes spent following me through every room in the house, stealth-licking whenever my face is within reasonable striking distance, and standing a tireless vigil over every minute spent in the kitchen.

But break me she did.  I can pinpoint the exact moment I began to love the big, dumb, stinky, old beast.  On the way home from her eye surgery, I reached my right hand to pat her as I drove home.  Rather than let me pet her, she rested her chin on my forearm and closed her eyes. 

I drove the rest of the way home one-handed.

As the ache in my arm slowly increased, and the numbness began creeping in, I knew why I didn’t pull away.

I love the damn dog.

Ode to Sussie

A shove with all my might,

to get you out the door.

Go, dog, go.

Is it really that bad?

Is it really so hard?

I shovelled a path for you.

You’re not that delicate, beast.

I know you have to.

Just go.

Make the yellow snow.

For an animal that likes to rub on dead things, she sure can be a wimp.  Luckily for Sussie, annoyance is quickly overpowered by the Supreme Cuteness of those big, soft, fwoppy ears.

The power of the fwoppy is strong with her.