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On The Road Again. The Tat Here I sit in the grip of a very unpleasant bout of insomnia brought on by a bad case of jet lag, wondering if I’ll ever get another eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. One thing insomnia is good for is that it affords you the opportunity to watch the news in peace. All the news. That allowed me to see this particular story about a guy who paid about 100 pounds to get a tattoo. It was three Chinese characters, which he was told, meant "Love, Honor, Obey." The young man was very proud of his new body art acquisition and proudly displayed it as he went to his favorite club. At one point during the evening, a couple of acquaintances of Chinese descent marveled at his tattoo. They questioned him as to why anyone would do that to himself. He proudly declared that this was something he felt strongly enough about that a tattoo seemed the appropriate medium to display this sentiment. The acquaintances asked him if he understood what it meant and he replied with what he had been told by the tattooist. The Chinese friends laughed and informed our poor hapless lad that the characters unfortunately did not say that. Our hero proudly proclaims himself to the world… "Stupid white boy." (Literally translated, "White Stupid Man.") So, how did I end up jet lagged? "Messed up, down on Bourbon Street…" (Grateful Dead, Truckin’) Well, two weeks back in the good ol’ USA. First stop, New Orleans! What a city! The hotel was right on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. I quickly forgot the miserable flight I had to take to get there. Word to the wise: Delta Airlines is by far the worst and most uncomfortable US-flagged airline I have ever had the misfortune of flying with. I would rather fly across the Atlantic in a C-130! Anyway, easy walking distance to some of the finest restaurants, blues bars, and strip joints. The first night of the conference, the sponsors threw a private "VIP party" at the House of Blues. All six hundred conference attendees were invited. I figured, what the hell, the sponsors and vendors threw together about six grand and we got free admission. I never imagined that there would also be an open bar! Yeah, baby, free blues AND free booze! I was in heaven! Over the course of the week, I managed to sample lots of the local cuisine. I got to experience true Cajun and Creole cooking at its finest. I tried everything from fried alligator to chicory coffee and beignets. I had the best gumbo I have ever tasted (I wish I could remember the restaurant’s name, it was either the Blackened Fish or the Remoulade on Bourbon Street and had an all-you-can-eat buffet for lunch), the best jambalaya I ever had in a restaurant (The Orleans Café), and the best muffaletta on the planet (Central Grocery). I ate conch fritters and drank margaritas at Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville, and even had a "Lucky Dog" from one of the street vendors. Yes, it was quite the culinary adventure. Remember, the secret to eating crawfish is, "Suck the head, kiss the tail." Cattle Country On to Omaha. In life there are very few absolute truths. My dad told me one that I have yet to disprove. He once said to me, "Son, you can’t get a bad steak in Omaha. You can get a bad lobster but never a bad steak." In my own experience, I have found that, at worst, you can get a slightly better than mediocre steak in Omaha. Then there is Omaha Steaks. This mail order beef company with its way overpriced steaks, burgers, and other items truly lives up to its name. Having experienced their latest cut of beef, the "Flatiron Steak," I join the ranks of those fools who are parted from their $25 for four 6-ounce steaks. And I do it willingly. I have yet to have a steak or a burger that I can say tasted better than the ones I tasted from Omaha Steaks. I got to visit my Mom there in Omaha. That was very nice. I even cooked dinner one night for my Mom and my brother and his family. Sausage and peppers served with penne pesto. Simple, yet tasty. I had a couple of free days there so I spent one just browsing around in stores like Menard’s (a big Home Depot-like hardware store) and Wal-Mart Super Center. Ah, yes… the American shopping experience! I concluded my business there, said goodbye to Mom, then it was off to Virginia. At 4:30 am. The Longest Day I am definitely NOT a morning person and very early on I could see that this was to be a very long day. I was told that my suitcase was seven pounds overweight so I had to adjust and cross-load into my carry-on. As an added bonus, I was selected by the computer to be searched thoroughly. I was not allowed to touch the bag after the search so I had to rely on the packing skills of the security inspector. Needless to say, there was glass breakage when I arrived in Virginia. Having got my bag checked finally, I proceeded to the security checkpoint where I was again searched, and headed to the gate. Finally, the flight was called for boarding. As I headed for the gangway, I was yet again selected for a "random" search. This happened on all three legs of the flight prompting me to ask the security personnel in Washington, D.C. if I fit some kind of profile. When I told my wife about this and she just said, "See? It’s that moustache! You need to shave it off!" I finally arrived in Charlottesville, Virginia. Seventy-five degrees, one hundred percent humidity. It felt like ninety. While there I did manage to quench my hankering for a Wendy’s and a Hardee’s meal as well as for some Krispy Kreme doughnuts (I even managed to bring a dozen back to the UK). I went Krogering and shopped in the local Food Lion, both southern traditions. With my business concluded I managed to spend a couple of hours reminiscing with my old army buddy, Bulldog. We talked of fallen comrades, we toasted the Fifth Special Forces Group and the great things they are doing in Afghanistan. We laughed about the team that charged into combat on horseback, envious just knowing they were to become Special Forces legends. Then it was time to head home. Home Again Back in the UK just in time for a bank holiday weekend celebrating the Queen’s Jubilee. Back to work scanning through hundreds of emails, trying desperately to get over this jet lag. One thing about England... when I left there were maybe ten leaves on the big tree in my back yard (or garden as the brits call it). When I returned, my yard looked like a tropical rain forest. Now the one thing I really do not like to do is gardening. It's one thing to grow your own herbs and vegetables but I detest all the weeding and stuff that goes along with your decorative gardening. This is mostly due to the fact that I can't tell a weed from a flower except in few cases. In the three and a half years that I have lived here, I have determined that there are basically three types of weeds here. They are: The Creepy-crawly kudzo-like weed that wraps itself around everything and will not die, the ambiguous weed that flowers kinda nice but is sucking the life out of the rest of your garden but you're afraid to kill it because you're not sure if it's a flower or a weed, and then there is the weed of pain. This one is obvious by its inch-long spikes on its stem and its leaves that just stare you down with a look that says, "Go ahead, sissy. Try to pull me out." Gardening here is further complicated by about twenty different varieties of stinging nettles that will get you even through the heavy-duty work gloves. I really miss just mowing the lawn, spraying it with Weed 'n Feed, then drinking a few beers and calling it a day. Anyway, once, when we first got here, I tried to kill the weeds with some weed killer that I purchased at the local gardening shop. First I sprayed all the creepy-crawly stuff then put a couple of drops in the center of the weeds growing in the grass. Three days later, I noticed that the weeds in the grass were dead... along with a three foot ring of grass around them. I also noticed that the evergreens along the back fence were now ever-browns. So, I retrieved the bottle of weed killer from the shed and read the active ingredient. Paraquat. Yep, that's right. Paraquat. I had just sprayed Agent Orange around my yard. Well, it took a couple of years but my evergreens are healthy again. The sad thing is, that damned creepy-crawly weed is still healthy as well. And this is where I came in. Oh, and the flight back? Let's just say that compared to Delta, United rocks! They did, however, lose a couple of points for switching from Coke to Pepsi products. In the meantime, life is a sandwich. What you put between the slices of bread is up to you. Eat up! Mike |
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