It’s been a day spent caring for my girls. Kelly and Hallie spent the week fighting illness. Yesterday morning, my throat began to feel a bit scratchy and I was added to the “sick list,” too. I spent the day mostly caring for Kelly and Hallie, though Hallie is probably the healthiest of us all.

Kelly seemed to be on the mend yesterday, but woke up today feeling pretty bad. It wasn’t until after noon that she began to seem herself again.

I’m thinking my throat scratchiness will be as far as mine goes, though I’m extremely tired (Kelly wound up coughing all night). We could all be out of the woods by tomorrow morning, hopefully!

Its possible that we’re subconsciously reliving the pure hell we went through this time last year, when we had an uninvited guest fall through the roof after the ice storm.

I visited my buddy and former shipmate Matt this week. When Matt first met me, I had terrible taste in music. Hair bands and the like. Matt turned me on to the world of music not available on those shitty AOR (album-oriented rock) stations I’d been listening to up to that time.

After seeing him for the first time in years, the topic of music naturally came up. Matt bemoaned the fact that he’d not seen many good bands in his new home of Palm Desert. At this point in the conversation, I wanted to mention some of the good music I’d heard lately. The funny thing is, though, I didn’t have much to say. It’s been months since I heard a band that really thrilled me.

Part of the reason for that is that most radio stations in this area are run by the the devil. The other issue is that most music is produced by the devil. Both devils have done nearly everything they can to piss me off and make me never want to be their customer again.

So what’s the alternative? There are still some local stations which care about music. Then there are some great college radio stations here. I’m still considering a subscription to Music Choice, if I can get it without putting money into Time-Warner‘s pockets.

As for what the record industry calls “product,” and I call “compact discs,” there is some hope. I found a search engine today which can tell you if the CD you’re thinking of buying is part of the evil empire which is trying to oppress you, or if it is from a customer-friendly independent label.

Give a visit to the RIAA Radar page. And, please: support independent labels whenever you can. Together, we can make music fun again.

I spent the early part of this week in familiar territory, the beautiful city of San Diego. I was there to watch the final moments of service the USS Elliot (DD-967) would provide to our country, as it was being decomissioned. I’d been on a recent kick to revisit my old haunts, so naturally I could not miss the opportunity to say goodbye to a home which stirred more emotion in me than probably any other.

This mass of steel was where I lived and worked for three long years. For three years, it sheperded me around the world, always bringing me safely back to this great country. Walking its decks, I learned what I was made of. Standing at its rails, I watched some of the planet’s most breathtaking scenery. Many nights I spent captivated beneath the nighttime skies, billions of stars above me. My soul leapt the surf with visiting dolphins, their skin glistening in the sun as they raced the bow, and glowing eerily as they weaved through the nighttime wake. I toiled with zen-like serenity through countless hours spent buffing decks and shining brass.

The crewmembers came and went, each with their role to play onboard. Though each officially went by rank and last name, I prided myself on knowing almost everyone’s first name, though there were often close to 400 crewmembers.

It was also where I learned a lot about leadership. Once the gangway is removed and the colors are shifted it quickly becomes apparent who is deserving of respect and who is not. At sea, there is no place to hide. There is no faking; no doubts about who you are. When bounded by miles of ocean, your real self rises to the surface.

For some I had looked up to, the initial aura of respect unraveled. For others, it began to shine. Regardless of who you worked with, though, you had to get along. Because if you couldn’t, there could never be more than 563 feet of separation.

The shipmate I visited Tuesday was one of the guys I looked up to. Paul Wilkes was a second-class petty officer when I knew him. Now he is a “mustang”: an enlisted sailor who has climbed the ranks to officer. Mustangs are the strength of the fleet. They rightfully command respect from every level of the chain of command. Paul wears the mustang label quite comfortably. Knowing him from my time onboard, I am not surprised he got where he is.

Paul has always been a straight-shooter, often a rare thing in a military where the CYA (“cover your ass”) rule runs rampant. He is honest to a fault, which is why his commanders always trusted him. And his watch teams. It wasn’t always easy, though. Paul didn’t care if it was easy, he cared that it was right. I learned early on that when Paul decided on some decision or fact, it was usually the correct decision.

Another influence was my first captain, Timothy LaFleur. I knew then he was destined for greatness and my hunch has proved correct. He now wears stars and commands the entire Pacific surface fleet: hundreds of ships. LaFleur was “squared-away.” He commands respect and is a natural leader. If you didn’t have your shit together, you got the dressing down you deserved. Conversely, he rewarded achievement generously.

One early morning, I neared the end of a midwatch with a senior petty officer as the watch supervisor. The watch sup was supposed to deliver the captain’s morning intelligence report after revilie. This particular morning, the watch sup refused to go, deciding his current activity was more important.

Foolish choice. You don’t keep the captain waiting, especially before he’s had his coffee.

As requests for the report from the bridge became more insistent, I pleaded with the watch sup to deliver the report. It was no use: he wouldn’t budge.

Taking matters into my own hand, I grabbed the tardy report and headed to the bridge, knowing full well I’d be walking into the firestorm of a furious commanding officer. Sure enough, as I arrived at the captain’s chair he let loose with tirade about his missing report. I stood there respectfully, my hair being blown back from the force of his anger.

“Why is an E-3 bringing me my report?!” he roared.

I gulped, scared as hell. “Because, sir, no one else would,” I replied.

With that, he looked me over for a moment, turned around, and quietly read his report.

From that point on, the captain respected me. I’ll never forget it.

It was good to see my shipmates Paul, Matt, and Joey; LaFleur, my old “old man;” and the officers who also had an impact on me: Dan Haggarty and Frank Slattery. Seeing how high those leaders had risen who were so influential in my development gave me pause to think “what if?” My thoughts drifted back to the same ones I had when I first arrived: that one day I would wear khakis. In some time shift out there, I do today. I savored that thought for a moment, and then let it go.

I smiled as the image faded. How things change.

It was then time to say goodbye to the place where I became a leader: the ship I alternately cursed and loved. The one I couldn’t wait to see disappear when I walked away almost twelve years ago but has never left my thoughts since.

I watched in silence as the band played, the colors were struck, and the last crewmembers filed onto the pier. Soon I found myself alone: an empty ship in front of me, and a world of memories behind me.

The USS Elliot has been decomissioned. It will sail my memories forever.

I see from Slashdot that Microsoft is demanding royalties for the use of the FAT filesystem in products such as flash cards and digital media devices. Who would have thought Microsoft would generate business through lawyers?

While it is their right to pursue licensing for their technology, I’d say that they missed the boat when it comes to FAT. It’s everywhere, unlicenced and free. How do they reign it in now? Isn’t the cat already out of the bag?

What about the products which don’t depend directly on FAT? Once upon a time, software was distributed on these quaint things known as “floppy disks.” To use these “floppy disks,” one had to first format them with the FAT filesystem. Under these licencing rules, would these software firms be liable for royalties for using these “floppy disks?”

Man, Microsoft just makes me puke sometimes.

Joe McGoneagle, retired USA Chief Warrant Officer and star of the STARGATE remote-viewing program, will be speaking in Durham Friday night from 7-10 PM at the Rhine Research Institute.

Joe has had incredible success in his career as a remote viewer, sometimes gleaning details about a target that would make your jaw drop. He’s a rock star in the world of remote viewing, or anyone interested in the untapped powers of the mind.

I’d do anything to get a chance to meet him or hear him talk, but unfortunately I’ll be just getting home from my California trip and don’t feel I could extend my stay away from home any longer.

If you happen to be in Durham and don’t mind donating $15 to hear a mind-bending three-hour discussion, drop by the Rhine Friday. And if you do, please give me the scoop afterward!

I started the day in 80-degree sun. I’ll be finishing up my trip in sleet, it looks like. The forecast calls for sleet tonight and possibly this weekend as well. If jet lag wasn’t enough to deal with …

Snow is the topic of my most recent poll, on the right of the page. Enter your guess for snow amounts this winter!

I’m in San Jose now, after a long day which was originally planned to be fairly slack. I drove from meeting my friend Paul and another former shipmate, Joe, in San Diego out to Matt’s house in Palm Desert. The drive was over 2 and a half hours long. All told, it seemed to go by quickly.

I hung out with Matt, Daniella, and Angus last evening until way too late, and then had breakfast with them this morning. It was good seeing Matt and Daniella again, and to meet the famous Angus. Matt and I quizzed each other on the whereabouts of our former shipmates and complained about those who tormented us while we served together.

The whole time I’d been living in San Diego, I’d never gotten out to see the desert. Today was my first view of it in the daylight. Not long before I woke, the sun rose above the mountains near Matt’s home. The craggly mountains presented a stunning view, with the millions of shadows each carried capturing the attention. I was also amazed at the number and variety of birds around his home. Though the desert seems a forbidding place, there is a simple beauty to it which becomes apparent once one takes a closer look. I didn’t have nearly enough time to explore, so I’ll have to take Matt up on his suggestion of getting invited out again. The fact that it was 80 degrees and gorgeously sunny there while back in Raleigh it was cold and rainy also makes Palm Desert attractive.

As I walked around the Palm Desert mall, I couldn’t help but notice all the retired folks there. The place has a huge population of senior citizens. Nothing wrong with that in the scheme of things, I suppose, though it did make me feel weirdly out of place. I wondered if some of these folks were pretending to be young again. Then I thought, what’s wrong with that? When I’m that age, I’d sure as hell love to be out playing tennis or golf or whatnot, rather than sitting around a retirement home staring at the walls. I should be so lucky to have that option.

Driving back to San Diego sucked royally. I wound up spending more time at Matt’s house than I expected, and thus the non-rush-hour window for getting back almost slipped away. It was nerve-wracking threading my way through Los Angeles traffic, but I managed to make good time back to San Dog and only hit slowdowns once I was close to my destination.

The San Jose airport is a “cluster,” as we used to say in the Navy. To get out, you navigate a maze of twisty little passages, all alike. I thought when I finally got out of there, I’d pass a big piece of cheese or something.

I’ve got lots more thoughts bouncing around my head, but sleep calls, and a busy day tomorrow awaits. TTFN.

I slept well last night and didn’t wake up hungry, as I suspected I would. This hotel, the Misson Valley Residence Inn, is amazingly quiet. Nice to have that for a change, since the past few hotel stays I’ve survived were noisy affairs. The full, hot breakfast was just what I needed, too. I piled on a plateful of eggs and ate them with reckless abandon. Ya gotta get the hair of the dog that bit ya, ya know.

I’m going to be seeing my old commanding officer today at the decommissioning ceremony of my old ship. He’s now a three-star and will be speaking there (Elliot was his first command). I hope to put the bug in his ear about network security, as I know it was on his mind recently (within the last year, at least). Then I’ll be catching up with my old shipmate Matt before meeting with another shipmate, Paul to discuss business and reminence. Should be worthwhile.

I’ll be out of access for most of the day until checking in tonight at Matt’s house.