It’s been a weird couple of weeks for me because of work stuff (mostly delegated), hanging out with eccentric friends and when not with them, with kids and grandkids, which is always very nice. This a mishmash of different thoughts based on recent stuff. The coming week, it’s back to Latin America and all that charm.
Your Thought for the Week:
To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit the target.
What a Wimp
Because this is your Sunday Sermonette, the “Lordy” comment is as close as I can get to being profound. James Comey is one of the more inept FBI Directors in history from all indications. I don’t know whether or not his successor will be any better. Since light travels faster than sound, some people appear bright until you hear them speak.
Living Off the Grid
I have a friend who lives off the grid. He’s lived off the grid as long as I’ve known him. We met under circuitous circumstances that are best left unexplained. A long time ago he and a small squad were trained to assassinate Fidel Castro in Cuba, but that op never moved beyond the training and planning phases. My kids know him as Uncle ___, who kept a pet rattlesnake named “Loser”.
The first name I knew him by was the name of a dead man, killed in a deniable USGOV action in Peru a long time ago when the government was chasing Sendero Luminoso (The Shining Path).
On September 12, 1992, Peruvian police captured Guzmán and several Shining Path leaders in an apartment above a dance studio in Lima. That essentially ended the revolution – but I’ve heard that it more recent years it’s picked up again.
The reader’s digest version is that USGOV betrayed its own operation in the Upper Huallaga Valley to the Maoist Shining Path and my friend is the guy who wasn’t killed. He made his way to the US Embassy in Lima and was exfiltrated through circuitous means. Taking the name of his dead friend, he dropped off the map officially, though he is one of very few masters at Savate
, and competed well into his 60’s.
I mention him because he only deals in cash, pays cash for clunkers that he drives, lives in a warehouse, rented under another name, works for cash and so forth. He does not and has not owned a computer, has no credit cards. He only uses ‘burner’ telephones. He’s paranoid – but just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that they’re not out to get you. He’s also been in trouble from time to time and I’ve been able to get him out of it – though now, pushing 80, I tell him he’s too old for trouble. Even so, he’s going to roller skate through Death Valley in high summer once again. (he’s in excellent shape)
Most people can’t live off the grid. It takes a lot of effort and requires a lot of sacrifice. He called me a few weeks ago and said that he was in town. We had breakfast and talked of old times. He has a girlfriend, half his age, who lives about fifty miles from me and was visiting her.
I’ve always liked baseball. Now I have a seemingly endless series of baseball games to attend as my oldest grandson transitions from the regular Little League season to the summer season (All Stars).
The older three grandsons (from two daughters) wanted me to take them to see a new film that just came out…Captain Underpants.
Synopsis: It’s a cartoon in which two fourth-graders hypnotize their principal in order to transform him into Captain Underpants, the superhero from their homemade comic book. The trio soon battle a new teacher at their school, who’s secretly a mad scientist. It’s funny to boys between 5 and 10…
Naturally, I filled the boys with sugary drinks and treats before returning them to their mothers… It’s my job.
Last week I was in Arizona, doing similarly dastardly things to my granddaughters (spoiling them rotten). They went through half a tub of that red licorice that is sold at Costco. It’s more addicting than potato chips, but is better for the movies than the stuff sold at the concession stand, and about 1/10th the price.
While in AZ last weekend, a Cessna 172 crashed downhill (like 30 miles down hill) from the White Wolf Mine. The Payson Airport has a cafe and a lot of Phoenix people fly up for breakfast.
Both pilot and passenger (two brothers about my age) walked away from the crash with only scratches and bruises. The smoke plume brought people to check it out. The pilot missed the runway by a few miles, which goes to show that you should leave the mimosas for after you land. But who am I to judge?
The plans for the shack are still with Coconino County…patience is called for, and I’ve never been particularly patient. The Raptor no longer gets angry glares from the locals since it has an Arizona license plate on it.
Soon to be a Best Seller?