Thinking Out Loud:
a blog of sorts
This is more of a running commentary on life than a blog. It is my chance to editorialize with no limits and no editors. I can even say sh*t, if I want to, but I won't. Well...not often.

Who Is Budd Davisson? A blog bio

NOTE: If you want to tell me I'm full of crap

(Take note that this is a Temporary posting while I rebuild the site to make it faster and cleaner - Dec 2014)

25 Jan 15 "Manspirin" to the Rescue
As I’m writing this, a few miles east from where I sit the Barrett Jackson car auction is having its biggest day of the week. It’s covered on Discovery Channel during the day and Velocity TV at night. However, if there’s one thing that should be understood about the BJ car auction it’s that it’s not an auction. It’s an “experience.” Yes, a lot of high and low-buck cars cross the auction block, and a bazillion dollars changes hands but that’s not a reason for attending in person.

First an apology: my main computer was down for three weeks, so this is late and this is a little out of date. Amazingly, although my start-up disc was a terrabyte in size, I filled it too full and it took major surgery to get me back on line. My total storage is now five terrabytes, three in the start-up disc. Amazing!

Now, back to Barrett-Jackson:

The last couple of years we haven’t gone and, to be honest, I’ve been in some sort of pressure-funk for the last couple of weeks courtesy of a newly overhauled, 80-hour airplane engine that had to go back to be rebuilt again. Although they found nothing wrong, it still needed to be flown a minimum of three hours a day, every day, to break it in again before inbound students show up tomorrow (Sunday). Plus, magazine deadline alligators were cruising the moat around the house. So, the thought of fighting our way through crowds versus making headway on stuff that absolutely had to be done, didn’t appeal to me. Which, by the way, pissed me off. How dare the world allow making a living become an obstacle to having a little fun! Damn!

The Redhead, however, had other ideas. She got on my case and I soon found myself gritting my teeth as we pulled into the Barrett-Jackson parking lot. I was not a happy camper and was possibly the only person on the huge site with a tension headache (except for car sellers, you just know they were anxious).

Then the experience of being at a major event built around a much-loved interest began to work its magic.

Barrett Jackson covers a site that’s about (this is a guess) two blocks by three blocks and that’s not counting the really remote parking lots. At least half of the main area is under tent. It is frigging HUGE!! The atmosphere is a cross between carnival, circus and a car lover’s wet dream. You name it and you’ll find it in the five large storage/display tents where the cars to be sold are stored and then cycled across the stage in the huge arena where the actual auction takes place. How about a smallish, 1950’s school bus restored to the smallest detail except that it sits about four feet off the ground on a four-wheel drive chassis pushed by a blown big block of some kind. Or how about the 1966 Super Snake, the 427 Cobra Carroll Shelby had built for himself. Phoenix uber-collector Ron Pratte paid $5.5mm (that’s MILLION) for it a few years ago and this year he decided to dump his entire collection.

The 140 car Pratte Collection included stuff I didn’t know he owned. This even though his hangar and museum is just across the runway from where the maintenance on my airplane is often done. Among other oddball items he had was the Beverly Hillbillies movie car that just sold for $275,000. A porcelain and neon Harley-D sign went for $86,000! Money came out of the woodworks by the truckload.

While the BJ cars are super interesting, after a while you get “car blind:” you’ve seen so many you actually start to lose interest in them. They have to be something really out of the ordinary to catch your eye. You can only see so many $100,000 ’57 Chevy convertibles and sports cars so exotic you can’t identify half of them. It’s not long before you become overwhelmed.

I was drawn to an Austin Mini station wagon that was towing a finely finished mahogany hydroplane. Also liked some of the oddball trucks folks had restored and were hoping they’d make money on, which, usually wasn’t the case. I saw lots and lots of cars sell for prices that were about half of what it would cost to acquire and restore or modify the car. There were definitely some deals to be had on the field. If a guy had $20-$25k to burn, he could do quite well.

Truth is, we go to BJ as much for the exhibitors as we do for the cars. At least half the tented area is a swamp of exhibitors hoping to cash in on the herds of high rollers that were cruising the grounds. There was zero ticky-tacky stuff being sold, but there was more non-car stuff than there was automobilia. Want 40 acres of land so high in the Rockies that your only neighbors would be mountain goats? How about $10,000 adjustable beds? Lots and lots of folks were selling workshop benches that were chromed and painted so nicely, you’d have a hard time not feeling guilty the first time you got them dirty.

I broke down and bought a fairly inexpensive throatless metal shear that I could probably get cheaper at Harbor Frieght, but it was there, I had the $120, and they’d deliver it to the house for that, tax included.

The net result of rubbing shoulders (and everything else) with the sweaty masses who were attracted to the car spectacle was that I was in a great mood. Of course, it’s impossible to feel funky, if you’ve just bought a tool. That’s a guaranteed “manspirin.” bd

4 Jan 15 2015: So far, so good

Here it is, the fourth day of the new year and so far nothing catastrophic has gone wrong. At least not in my world. I have, however, decided I’m not sure I like having our two major holidays on Thursday. I found myself reacting strangely to four-day weekends.

Actually, looking back over the holiday weekends, here I am, just a few days after New Year’s eve and I don’t remember any of the holidays having happened. Somehow, everything being on Thursday left that uncomfortable Friday gap where I felt guilty, just as I did in highschool when I was ignoring my homework. I just knew a term paper was due and I wasn’t working on it. Which definitely wasn’t true.

With no kids in the house, Christmas comes very close to being just another day with a big dinner at the end of it. However, for some reason, knowing that most of the world is taking the day off and unlikely to call me, I seize on the morning and most of the early afternoon to do something that lets me know I’m getting ahead. In this case it was writing an entire EAA article, a fairly complex one, in one sitting.

Being able to write something beginning to end is almost unheard of in our house because of constant interruptions in the form of phone calls and business e-mails. However, the only way that happened this time was by turning off my e-mail, because so many other gray dog friends were in the same boat. Dozens of them were sitting at their computers chatting back and forth because, it seems that after a certain age, Christmas morning is pure dead time. No ball games yet. No kids. Dinner isn’t until mid afternoon. So, many default to the computer, as most of us do, when life slows down.

I had seen the two four-day weekends coming and I was determined to dedicate every available hour to making massive progress on The Roadster. So, with that in mind, I spent most of December getting all my articles done, getting Flight Journal finished and generally clearing the slate so I could indulge myself. However, as things slowed down on Christmas, and then New Years, eve, I quickly found I couldn’t force myself out into the shop. I’m apparently not very good at indulging myself. After nearly 45 years of self-employment, I, like most people in my position, feel as if free time has to be earned. And it is earned by TCB (taking care of business). So, at least four to six hours of every day of both holidays were spent cranking out future articles, pitching publishers for new articles and planning out 2015. That however put me out in the shop by around 11 o’clock every day feeling as if I had earned it, so, yes, I did make, what to me, is huge progress on the little car. I’m definitely closing in on putting it on the road.

New Years Eve here is always a traditional event: Marlene buys more clams, crab legs, shrimp and scallops than any ten people can possibly eat, fixes them and we spend the evening gorging ourselves. Then we struggle to stay awake long enough to watch the ball come down in NYC (2200 hours our time). We doze on and off in front of the TV for another half hour or so and then go to bed. Not terribly exciting but very comfortable and satisfying.

I think it’s interesting that, once you give up going out on New Years Eve, eventually a lot of us wind up starting our year on New York time, not local time, and watching that silly ball come down. Every year it’s almost painful watching people standing around Times Square freezing their butts off so full of enthusiasm and hope. It’s also amusing watching 20-somethings in their ridiculously skimpy dresses with boobs overflowing while braving the temps in hopes of getting face time on national TV. Oh, well, you’re only young once.

New Years day is a recovery period for most people, but it’s a tradition with me to roll into the office no later than 0530. That’s when I attack all the tiny, inconsequential stuff I’ve let slide (answering e-mails I’ve ignored, packing books for mailing that I have let pile up, clean my desk, etc.) and generally clear the decks for the new year. After about four hours of that, I’m even with the World and a load of guilt is off my back. But, having a Friday after that is awkward. I tried working in the shop but it felt unnatural, so I gave up and made it into a normal workday and didn’t hit the shop solidly until Saturday. That felt right.

Anyway, even though I barely remember the holidays, as we’re standing here on the brink of a new year, I’m painfully aware of the way time is running away from us all. We have to make it all count in every phase of our lives. This includes nurturing and rebuilding family relationships where it’s needed. Then we need to keep a watchful eye on our futures and prepare and plan so we’re not caught unaware. This includes keeping track of what our leaders are, and are not, doing on local, state and national levels. However, we need to do this in a way that doesn’t include self-induced heartburn. In that area, we’re often our own worse enemies.

The New Year in every life is a clean slate and it’s up to us to write on it and make it read the way we want it to. bd

27 Dec 14An Honestly New Year

How was your Christmas? And how does the New Year look to you? Graydog Christmases don’t have kids running around and being the focus of everything, so, the day is basically just a day. In some ways that sucks. But, not totally.

We’ve pretty much stopped giving gifts to each other primarily because all of us, from my wife to my own kids, have pretty much anything any of us can ask for. My daughter, however, ignored that dictum and stole my day with two fairly simple gifts. One was a little 50-page photo book she created through in which four-year-old Alice acted out the 12 Days of Christmas in pictures. Besides being a major piece of production work, it showcased a granddaughter that we don’t see nearly as often as we wish or should. It was absolutely killer and really showed The Alice personality and The Jennifer creativity. I love it so much I ordered two more. One for my office and one for my older sister.

The other gift gives me the ability to say something not too many fathers can say: “My daughter gave me a stuffed bat for Christmas.”

I opened it (it has it’s own glass, display bell) and start laughing immediately. Marlene summed it up perfectly with her first comment, “Well…she really knows her father.” And, even though we have our differences, she does, indeed, know that aspect of me well. So, now I have two bats in my office. Doesn’t everyone? I feel so blessed! J

As for the new year, it’s so unpredictable, I don’t even know what to say on the national/international level. Between Putin, ISIS, our Administration and the administrations of just about every other country, the possibilities are endless. However, for whatever reason, I don’t see any of them having catastrophic results here. Probably the most dangerous thing here is the way OPEC is countering the Dakota’s oil shale effect by dropping prices to the point that the US oil boom might go into the red. Yeah, we’re getting cheaper gas but it may cost us much more in the long run. This, however, I’m certain will sort itself out.

Incidentally, I think it’s almost comical what appears to be happening over the Sony cyberattack: it now appears it may not have been N. Korea, as the FBI swore it was, but a pissed-off Sony employee. Oops!

Certainly one of the more upsetting trends is the anti-cop thing. The flames here are being fanned by the media and various organizations and……..

Dammit! You know what? I don’t want to talk about this kind of stuff any more! I’m bone tired of it! There is so much BS floating around that it makes me feel as if I’m wading through quicksand, unable to make any headway because of all the stuff that I’m letting bog me down. That’s simply not the way I want to start my year.

I don’t know if you noticed or not, but Thinking Out Loud is now downloading much, much quicker than it has been in the last year or so. That’s because I built a new, corruption-free file and have been slowly populating it with blogs from the last year. I’m only a little way into that, but, in picking through the blogs to put up, I’ve found they are overwhelmingly political and down beat. They’re not fun to read. And they’re sure as hell not fun to write. Some of them are basically depressing and reading them is hard work. And, as has been pointed out by my kids and friends, I appear angry. And I don’t want to be that way. I don’t want 2015 to be an angry year for me. And, it’s going to be, if I continue on this track.

I need to start thinking about me, my life, my family and my friends and less about oh-my-God stuff that’s over the horizon. I’m wasting the years I have left worrying about stuff I shouldn’t worry about and I’m preaching to a choir that already knows every single thing I can possibly say in those areas. I want to go back to being happy, crazy and full of fun.

There are lots of good things happening in the world, but I’m letting the politics and media blind me to them. And, if it’s happening to me, it’s happening to others. In fact, I think dwelling on the negatives has become an unhealthy national mindset and it’s easy to see why: spend a few minutes surfing the news channels and see how many upbeat stories you see being covered.

I’VE HAD IT and the resolution I’m making for 2015 (being mindful that I never make resolutions) is to try to focus more on the good and less on the bad.

So…picture me smiling!

There, don’t I look better and don’t you feel better?

See, I knew it would work. Have a good one! bd

21 Dec 14 –Solstice Sensibilities

It’s 0430 on December 21. Today the winter solstice occurs and I feel the need to sacrifice something to celebrate: ‘must be that my English heritage includes a little druid. So, as I’m typing this, I’m sacrificing an open face turkey sandwich. Does that count? Will the Gods look favorably on that? ‘Hope so because they’ve been screwing with us of late.

We’ve had a two-week run of semi-overcast days. Some barely getting above 60. Gloom in the desert is not becoming. My newly overhauled, and very expensive, airplane engine continues to exhibit varying degrees of sickness requiring a mechanical physician’s attention about once a week. Both of my kids have essentially disowned me because of what I’ve said in blogs. Marlene was standing on a plastic stool that died right at that moment, dropping her on to the driveway and chipping a bone in her foot, so she’s hobbling around in a big boot thingie. Deadlines are eating me a live timewise so the Roadster no longer recognizes me.

Super minor things, when measured against the big picture, but aggravating nonetheless. So, I decided to dedicate this sandwich’s life to the Gods of Nuisance on this, the winter solstice, in the hopes of getting some respite. Then, I made the mistake of Googling “winter solstice” and realized I knew even less about my world than I realized and my sacrifice was probably in naught.

Stonehenge, the Mayans and many other ancient civilizations that have miraculously constructed temples where two windows line up with the sun right at the moment of solstice, are basically full of crap. Winter Solstice in the northern hemisphere is when the sun is at its lowest point and, because of the Earth’s 23.5 degree tilt and changing orbital speeds, it almost never happens at exactly the same time. Moreover, it doesn’t even happen on the same day every time, which was real news to me. So, the ancients weren’t holding a celebration and sacrificing turkey sandwiches at exactly the same time, same day every year. There were probably herds of them sitting around in the grass, playing poker or whatever, watching the sun creep up on their Windows 1.0 sundial thingie and, whenever they saw the sun line up in the windows, someone blew a rams horn or threw a spear into the air and everyone started drinking, screwing everything in sight, yelling and screaming and generally behaving like a frat house.

Considering that I’m a pilot and an engineer, I’m a little embarrassed that I assumed the solstices (summer and winter) always happen at the same time every year. I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it, but, when you do, you realize it only makes sense that the exact time wanders around a little. Oh well, at least I’m not too old to learn something that’s obvious.

Just FYI, here in Phoenix, the solstice will happen this afternoon, Sunday 21, 2014 at 4:03 pm. Do I have to eat another turkey sandwich at that time to make the sacrifice count? FYI-you can forget about using those times as any kind of guideline because next year it’ll happen at 9:48 pm. The real head wrecker is that in 2040, it’ll happen a day earlier, on the 20th at 11:33 pm. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be worrying about sandwich sacrifices for that one. Go to, so you know how to time your local sacrifices.

Incidentally, for those who have thought about sacrificing a politician to the Gods, don’t bother. Those never count because “sacrifice” means you’re giving up something you value. I value a turkey sandwich. Politicians, not so much.

So, while you’re out there gleefully engaged in whatever pagan ritual befits your life style, just know you’re probably doing it at the wrong time.

Also, even us heathens recognize Christmas on the 25th day of the 12th month and, although we may not buy into the religious aspects of it, I, for one, am very glad the religion and the celebration around it exists. Anything that gives mankind a code of exemplary conduct and brings the family together is worthwhile.

So, go to Merry Christmas for our best wishes to all of you. bd


14Dec 14 –Ashes to Ashes

I’ve been sicker’n crap and working my butt off for nearly two weeks. A miserable combination. There, that’s my excuse for missing last week. In the midst of all this Marlene and I somehow started talking about what to do with our ashes, when this whole deal is done. That’s a weird topic that brought up some unanswered questions that I’m betting a lot of folks think about.

The first question for us was one you don’t hear often in these kinds of conversations: “Do we include Meezer?” Meaning, do we include his ashes with ours, the way we will the rest of our furry kids? We both said, “sure”, he finally came around.

Meezer is a big Siamese that we inherited from Marlene’s oldest and was a first rate gangster initially. He would have nothing to do with anyone, showed a ton of attitude and absolutely brutalized Smoki Joe, the huge, soft-hearted, gray that has zero self confidence. Meezer was a Siamese through and through. However, the more he saw the love that blanketed the other cats, little by little he became more human and now is constantly begging for scratches, insists on sleeping on top of us and leaves Smoki pretty much alone. Just shows that enough love conquers even the most sinister of characters.

We’ve always said that we want our ashes mixed together along with those of all the loving, canine/feline kids who have shared our life with us. I don’t believe in heaven, but eternity is out there and we can’t imagine spending eternity without all of those little characters that have made our life what it is. Each one of them has a corner of our collective heart and we want to hold them close forever.

There are, however, other thoughts that surround the above, the first being what do we have done with the ashes? Marlene and I don’t see eye to eye on this one. She thinks everyone should leave something that marks their having been here. Specifically, a tombstone others can visit. I disagree.

Marlene’s brother, Tom, has a tombstone here. He died in the most improbable form of accident you can imagine while in the Army (flew Snakes in VN, but died from peritonitis when a litter fell and pierced his fresh appendectomy incision here in the states). He has a widow and a kid or two locally, however, Marlene is the only one who ever visits him. It’s a Memorial Day ritual with her.

My folks and brother are buried back in Nebraska and, whenever I’m there I visit, but that’s only about every five years.

I have no one locally who cares enough to visit and I absolutely guarantee that neither of my kids will visit even once. Grand kids neither. So, why spend the money on a tombstone or plot? As for leaving a mark that you’ve been here, I figure my students and my words will have to be my legacy. A marble slab isn’t needed.

I originally had high ideals about where my ashes would go, including a pinch being mixed with the smoke oil in a Pitts doing a show at Oshkosh. Seems fitting and I’d still like to see it done. Otherwise, I’d just as soon I was spread out over the Arizona high country, preferably over an Indian ruin. Spirits meeting spirits and all that.

Also, there’s the thoroughly practical side of the combined-ashes thing: will a cemetery even let two people’s ashes be buried in a single plot? Will they let animals be buried in their sacred, but very expensive, ground? I’m betting they wouldn’t be too crazy about a stone that reads:

The Davisson Family: Eternally United
Smoki Jo

And the list is bound to get longer.

I’m fairly confident it’s going to be a decade or so before anyone will have to make any of these decisions, but I’m the king of worrying about things that don’t need to be worried about. Just part of my wiring. I was also an Eagle Scout at a time, when that meant something, and our motto was “Be Prepared.” So, just bear with me. bd

30 Nov 14 –Thanksgiving got the Crap Knocked Out of it

You know what? Just being alive in America is really tiring me out. It seems as if once a week (sometimes twice) we have a new crisis to deal with. It didn’t used to be this way. Yes, we’d have problems here and there but our news channels weren’t delivering an almost daily offering of new stuff that to most of us makes no sense and can be pretty damn upsetting. This has been one of those weeks.

Between BHO’s new immigration Executive Order (EO), also known as a monarch style mandate, and Ferguson, both of which appear to be specifically designed to further dismantle the USA, my brain is ready to explode. Thanksgiving came and went almost unnoticed. It is, however, so very American that news of Black Friday shopping (how did that get past without being branded racist?) knocked some of the other crap off the news channels…temporarily.

About Ferguson, let’s get something absolutely straight: if a 6’4”, 290 pound, 18-year-old “kid” roughed up a cop while he was sitting in his car and then appeared to be charging him (according to the more valid witness statements), he’d be dead regardless of what color he was. No one, cop or otherwise, would have behaved any differently. Ferguson-the-event wasn’t about race. It was about dealing with a “perceived threat” that was the result of questionable physical behavior.

It’s an absolute tragedy that a kid died, but, Brown had 80 pounds on the cop, who was also 6’4”, and, if he hadn’t been stopped, it was going to end badly for the cop, I don’t care how well trained he might have been. I’m guessing that anyone reading this would have reacted the same way in the same situation. And the color of the assailant would have no bearing on the outcome.

Incidentally, reading the trial transcript you have to wonder why perjury charges weren’t brought against some of the witnesses, some of whom changed their statements, because they were out-and-out lying. Especially the “shot him in the back while standing over him”, type that forensics didn’t even come close to verifying.

Regardless, this thing wouldn’t have blown up the way it has were it not for 1) on-site aggravations in the form of professional race-baiters like Sharpton. He is doing the black community so much more harm than good that it’s hard to believe. The input of the DOJ didn’t help either. And 2) the presence of news cameras, which, in some cases changed the “protest” into violent kabuki theater where the attitude was, “You wanna see violent? Watch this!” Not once do I remember seeing footage of those protesting peacefully and, believe it or not, there were plenty of those.

Most of what went on wasn’t protesting. You only have to watch the footage of the market/liquor store being trashed to know that those involved weren’t protesting anything. They didn’t even appear to be angry about anything. They were having a great running off with bottles of booze and anything else that wasn’t nailed down. They weren’t protesters. They were looters, criminals-at-large doing nothing more than taking advantage of the situation.

Incidentally, why weren’t storeowners standing in front of their businesses with shotguns? I’d heard rumors that the police had told them not to do that, but that was never verified. And a few business owners did mount a guard and it worked out well for them. Looters will always take the low hanging fruit and are never going to mix it up with even the most fragile form of guard detail.

And then there’s BHO’s immigration executive order and some unintended consequences hidden therein. At least I “think” they were unintended.

In essence, one of the things the new EO does is give business owners a $3,000 incentive to hire illegals who are being granted work permits over US citizens. This is because it will now be legal to hire an illegal immigrant, but, since they don’t qualify for Obamacare, the business owner can’t provide them health coverage AND the company won’t be fined for not doing so. If they hire a US citizen and don’t give them coverage, they pay a $3000 fine for each. If they hire an illegal that’s carrying a nice, new work permit they avoid the $3,000 fine AND the cost of health car. THIS IS NUTS!!

Further, even though the EO supposedly applies only to those parents of legal permanent residents or citizens (their kids were born here) and have been in the country illegally for five years (this is a reward for being crafty enough to successfully avoid being caught for that long) it’s not going to work out that way. There are already well-established underground businesses that produce difficult-to-spot phony rent receipts, utility bills, etc. So, as it stands now, someone has only to make it across the border to one of these document factories, waltz over to the INS and declare “Hey, I’ve been here five years and can prove it. Give me my work permit.” If you don’t think that’s going to be a HUGE magnet to future immigrants, you’ve been drinking the Kool Aid too long.

And then there was Thanksgiving and just a little respite from reality. It was in the low-80s here in Phoenix (about 5 degrees above normal) and I had the back garage door open, a little breeze coming in and classic rock and roll coming out of the shop radio. I was whittling out little parts for the roadster (steel grommets for where the shoulder harness comes through the rear bulkhead). And I couldn’t have been more relaxed and satisfied if I tried.

Regardless of the tons of BS coming down and an overall lack of trust in the government, we, as a nation and as a people, have a HUGE amount to be thankful for. So, I guess the best we can do is periodically turn off the news and glory in the lives we each have built, love our family and friends, and soldier on. One way or the other, we’ll survive. bd

23 Nov 14 –On Surviving a President

Oh, Gee: I wonder what Budd’s going to talk about this week? Could it be the weather? Could it be Syria and/or Iraq? Hmmmm! Do you think he’ll touch on Obama’s little Wednesday night message to the proletariat (us common folks) over which he rules? Damn straight Budd will. He/I can hardly ignore it.

First, let it be said that as much as I’d like to be able to wave a magic wand and have every illegal person in the US magically transported to their homeland, that just ain’t gonna happen. The reality is that the numbers are too big to be dealt with by deportation. It is logistically impossible. 11 Million people would be the equivalent of shipping the combined populations of 12 states (WY, VT, DC, ND, AK, SD, DE, MT, RI, NH, MN HI), out to a wide variety of destinations. If illegals wanted to really screw with our heads, they should all just show up in the Washington Mall agreeing to be deported. What a mess that would be!

At the same time, there’s no way in hell we should be giving them a short cut to citizenship any more than we should be giving them benefits for just being here. Let’s not forget: they broke our laws to be here and we are, if nothing else, a nation of laws. We don’t reward people for breaking them. Further, we are a “republic” not a democracy, which means we have this do-not-disturb guidebook called the Constitution that pretty much spells out how everything should be done. Or at least it did until Wednesday night.

I have to admit something right up front: I was prepared to ignore the speech and not watch it because I figured it would be so much BS. But, it turned out to be so much more. At first, I was taken by BHO’s ability to appear to speak from the heart and some of the content of the speech. Like providing a pathway for the parents of kids born here at least five years ago (citizens by birth…we’re one of only two or three countries that allow that), to first get working papers and then work their way towards citizenship. Bring them out of the shadows, as he put it, and make them tax paying contributors. He stopped deportation on that class of individuals. An estimated 5 million people.

Then he said deportation would only be aimed at felons and other bad people. In fact, under his program people with skills that could contribute to the national well-being would NOT be deported, regardless of when they arrived. A theoretical mathematician could wade across the Rio Grande tomorrow and be guaranteed of staying. So we’re going to have thousands of people streaming across the border claiming to be theoretical mathematicians. BHO had it pretty much worked out who he would deport and who he wouldn’t.

As he talked I heard myself saying, “Hey, some of this makes sense. It’s a beginning on sorting out the immigration mess.”

Then, he droned on and on about how compassionate he was and how the country had a long history of compassion and how this affected a kid he knew, yada, yada, yada. If he had shut up right after making his points it would have taken longer for me, and so many others, to realize that we’d just been had. He is so good in front of a teleprompter that we were taken in like every one else, when it was just more of his super-slick, condescending rhetoric.

It was during the rambling, sophomoric closing that a a brilliant neon sign lit up in the theater of my mind that said, “Just a damn minute! He can’t do the things he just suggested! The Congress can, and, to one degree or another, probably should, but he can’t.” He was altering and making laws even as he stood there staring into the teleprompter that surrounded the camera. He was talking like a king making decrees that he was certain would please the most mentally challenged amongst us.

He was on camera less than 15 minutes, and, in the process. proceeded to absolutely shred the Constitution. He stood up in front of the American people and, in so many words, said that he wasn’t going to follow the rules. He wasn’t going to respect the governmental framework of checks and balances that insured no single branch had enough power that they could do what they wanted. Every branch (executive, judicial, legislative) could reach out and slow the others down. But, not him. He was going to write his own rules and run his own game.

Never mind what he said about immigration. The focus should be on the way in which he plans on putting those ideas into motion. People continually point out that both Reagan and Bush used executive orders (EOs) on immigration matters. What virtually none of them realize is that in both cases Congress had already voted on the issues and presented a law that the presidents were expected to put into action, which is the President’s job (something BHO mentioned dozens of times in recent times). So, an EO put those versions of amnesty into action. BHO quite literally ignored the process and acted as if Congress had no say in the matter.

“They” also say that the Senate passed an immigration bill several years ago but the GOP House refused to vote on it. However, according to the Washington Times, Monday, Nov 17, that’s not the whole story.
Senate Democrats keep own immigration bill from House, urge Obama executive action By Stephen Dinan -
Senate Democrats say Republicans could head off President Obama's immigration plans by passing the Senate's own immigration bill — the only problem is the Democrats still haven't sent the measure to the House for a vote. Known as S.744, the 1,200-page bill has been bottled up by Majority Leader Harry Reid, Nevada Democrat, in a bit of legislative gamesmanship that has clouded much of the debate over the past two years. Now, that bill has become the centerpiece of last-minute chiding as Democrats say they have exhausted all alternatives except for having Mr. Obama go it alone.

Again, ignoring what he says he’s going to do, think of the motivation behind his actions. Why do it now? Why do it in such an arrogant, even petulant, manner? He looks as if he’s spoiling for a fight and is sticking out his chin inviting us to swing the first blow, thereby becoming the bad guy. I pray that some of the GOP hotheads don’t take the bait. We have an opportunity here to make our case stronger or destroy it completely and it’s going to require balancing on a razor for two years to make it work. He is obviously going to go out of his way to make the GOP’s life even more miserable than it is already and the challenge to the GOP big wigs is to prove to us that they are as smart as they think they are. And are smarter than BHO gives them credit for. Some serious blows need to be dealt but somehow they have to appear to be hugs and caresses aimed at making the Country better.

BHO’s speech was nothing more than the opening gun in what is going to be an unbelievably nasty, complex, drawn-out battle. The way in which it is handled is going to decide which party wins the golden apple in 2016. Unfortunately, I don’t have a good feeling about any of this. I hope I’m wrong.

At the very least, it’s going to be interesting and will provide a true WTF moment for future historians to ponder. bd

16 Nov 14 –The Hotrod Gene

Yesterday was Good Guys car show day: a gathering of those individuals who, like me, see everything mechanical as something to be modified to our personal taste. In this case, the final result is rods and customs, vehicular genres totally unique to America. And, I think they are indicative of some kind of specific gene that exists in only some people.

First, let me say that much of what I’m about to say is based on my own feelings about “stuff,” especially mechanical stuff. Which is to say that there are very few things I can look at without seeing how I would change them. Or how I would build something similar from scratch that would better suit my specific tastes. This applies to firearms, guitars, knives, etc., etc., but especially cars and especially older ones. BTW- “Older” is defined as something from the ‘80’s on back with pre-70’s cars being of particular interest and pre-48’s reigning supreme. But the same thing applies to just about anything I’m associated with, not just cars.

Let’s take rifles as an example: for $500 I can buy something new, like a Mossberg MVP that is reputed to be a tack-driver right out of the box (although some apparently aren’t). But, as much as I admire highly accurate rifles, I can’t just buy one. I have to start with something inferior and worn out. Generally it’s something ex-military and old. I’ll totally rebuilt and modify it and, even though I know it’ll cost at least twice as much as something I can buy over the counter, will take several years to complete and it may not be as accurate as the store bought version (accuracy is often elusive no matter how much you spend), I’ll do it anyway. I can’t even begin to explain why I have a lifetime of the foregoing. It makes absolutely zero sense. But, right now I have about a dozen M98 Mausers of many varieties (WWI and WWII), all of them basically junk rifles (non-original) going all the way back to 1900, awaiting custom barrels, stocks and all the other hotrod goodies that will make them into rifles that reflect my taste.

Going to the Good Guys car meet is delving into another, but better recognized, orgy of modification. The Good Guys meets are held all over the country and each will attract over 3,000 cars, trucks and whatever. Every single one of those vehicles has had far more time and money invested in making it unique than is rational. Yet, not one of the tens of thousands of spectators on the grounds questions the rationale behind the cars they’re viewing. Even though the majority of attendees wouldn’t even dream of devoting so much of their lives to creating/re-creating a vehicle, they nonetheless admire the result. They understand the need to modify, to re-create something that matches the image someone has in their own mind.

What got me thinking about the modification gene was a comment my current Pitts student made. He’s a car guy (and airplane guy, obviously) from England and he said, “…however, I really prefer to see cars restored to what they were when they came out of the factory.” And I couldn’t disagree: I very much admire fully restored cars. But, I can’t do it myself. And I think I’m typical of that part of the car culture, the hotrod/custom part, that seems uniquely American.

Lately, because my airplane was down for two months I’ve had weekends off, so I’ve gotten a HUGE amount done on the roadster. In fact, I thought I was going to have it ready to go to Good Guys in an unfinished form. Unfortunately, the pressures of making a living intervened, when the airplane came alive again. But, I’m close. In the process of working on it, from time to time I literally grin, when I hit an snag, search around the shop for a piece of this or that, that I can cobble together and solve the problem. I love solving problems and I’m free to do what I want to the car at any time in any way.

In restoring a vehicle to original, there are basically only two problems, both of them potentially huge: beating rust and finding original parts. Hotrodding, original hotrodding where you take something you’ve found in a junkyard or ditch, not in a catalog or website, and make it perform a new function, shares the common enemy of rust. However, there is nothing that constrains us to use any specific part in any application. We can do it any damn way we please. There are no rules and few conventions.

These days, even the conventions that sometimes vaguely dictate the style of a given class of hotrods, e.g. highboy and low boy street roadsters, are being ignored courtesy of the rat rods and rat rigs (funky, modified big trucks). And I love it! While I could never bring myself to discard craftsmanship in favor of oddball creativity, as with rat rods, I enjoy the hell out of them. I enjoy that you just never know what a rat rodder is going to build.

As I typed that last sentence, I realized that some part of my rifle-building brain is that of a rat rodder. Years ago I bought a badly beat-up Mexican built 7mm Mauser (M98, small ring) that had a really long barrel and the much-abused stock was broken clean through right under the action. I glued it back together and shot it some because I admired its tenacity: it had obviously lived a hard life, which the barrel unfortunately showed. But it had survived. And I can’t bring myself to destroy the patina and signs of struggle by restocking and refinishing it. So, right now I’m getting ready to put a new, long barrel (26 inches) on it and leave the funky, I’ve-been-there look alone. But, the new caliber 6.5 x 55 is a tackdriving round and I’m installing a super accurate, but well worn, receiver peep sight on it and a finely tuned trigger that will be invisible from the outside. To complete the image, I’m finishing the barrel to look old. My goal is to take a crappy looking rifle that will group at less than 1 inch at a hundred yards to the range and amaze people. It’s kind of a rat rifle that will make absolutely zero sense and not be worth a dime to most people. This is okay with me. It’s just something I’ve built to match an image in my head. And that’s all that matters.

Sometimes, when it comes to things mechanical, change for change’s sake is impossible to avoid. It’s in our genes. bd

7 Nov 14 –Let The Mouse Do it

Other than handing the Democrats their asses, what else went on this week? Quite honestly, I can think of almost nothing because my life has been eaten up by watching political coverage (actually, I think I just like Meghan Kelly) and dealing with a newly overhauled airplane engine that refuses to behave. Oh, and one other thing: I discovered what I think is a way we can save our country.

Last Friday I worked and flew my butt off then jumped into my car and rocketed to LA. By 0700 the next morning I had met my daughter and granddaughter at our Disneyland hotel, checked in and was standing at the gates of Walt Disney’s orgy of organization, creativity and fun. Because we were staying in a Disney hotel, we could get in at 0700, an hour ahead of the common folk, the sweaty, unwashed masses, which usually includes me. Looking through the gates at a totally empty, seemingly abandoned amusement park made me feel as if I was Clark Griswald and I’d just arrived at Wally World not realizing it was closed. Eerie! What I didn’t know was that I was about to become part of a mouse-driven machine that would impress me at every turn. This started right at the turnstile going in.

A sweet, middle-aged lady ask me for my hotel key and a photo ID. She ran the key through a card reader and clicked what looked like a cell phone in my face. From that point on, every time we changed parks or went through some sort of Disney-guest-only function, they’d take a second (no longer) to scan the key and my face would pop up on their little handheld card reader verifying that I hadn’t strong-armed some pink-haired old lady out of her room key. This process didn’t come close to slowing anything down. It was totally seamless. The system would work perfectly for voter ID. If, of course, that wasn’t racist. Same thing could be tied to credit cards to cut down credit card fraud.

From that point on, every time I turned around I saw overwhelming evidence of the Disney organization’s ability to do things right and make monstrous amounts of money in the process.

First, my two-day pass was about $190 plus $40 (I think it was) so I could hop back and forth between the two parks. That was a choker for me, but, as I looked around there were tens of thousands of folks that just looked like normal working stiffs from the area. There were also a huge percentage of kids, 17-22, I’m guessing, that were there having a helluva good time. I was astounded at how many normal-looking families were there with multitudes of kids, each of which cost a fortune to support for the day. Who knows? Maybe the economy actually is recovering. However, you couldn’t prove that from my personal point of view. Of course, these could also be people either living up their foodstamp money or they’d given up, said “screw it” and are having one last fling.

The quality of the parks, the quality of the thousands of employees staffing it, the overall complexity of the whole thing was nothing short of overwhelming.

Incidentally, I’ve been to Disney World in Florida probably a dozen times, when I was still living in the East. However, I hadn’t been to Disneyland since probably the 60’s. I’d forgotten how the entire thing is crammed into what amounts to a fairly small area so it took a lot of imagination and planning to squish everything together yet make it feel as if you actually had a lot of room. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at details like how the hand rails were constructed and the massive amount of planning, engineering and manufacturing, it took to build just one ride or amphitheater and there were dozens and dozens of everything.

I should also make mention of the fact that Disney REALLY hires to a profile in a lot of their positions, but it’s most obvious in picking the young ladies (and guys) who play some of their well known characters on the streets. They had to be some of the most beautiful, perfect behaving young ladies I’ve ever seen in one place.

Little by little, as I wandered through the never ending, overarching quality of the experience, I couldn’t help but think what a mess the country was in by comparison. Here was a massive, really huge, operation that was working like a well-oiled machine. However, virtually everything in which our government gets involved turns into an oversized, bloated, slow moving ox cart that continually breaks down and costs ten times what it should. It also almost always moseys aimlessly across the landscape and quite often winds-up moving in circles. But, I have a solution. Let’s hire Disney run America.

Here is a company that really has its finger on the pulse of America. They make it their business to really know and understand the population and what it wants because, if it doesn’t, it’s not going to make a profit. This, of course, is true of every business of any kind, from the local cupcake vendor in Keokuk, Iowa, to giants like Microsoft. They can only survive if they make a profit and they can only turn a profit if they read their market correctly and satisfy its needs accordingly. This is not true of a government.

A government is a business but it runs on other people’s money and doesn’t have to worry about a balance sheet, much less a profit. And, of late, they’ve apparently decided they don’t have to operate on a budget either. They seem to think taxpayers are a bottomless piggy bank that will always be there for them to dip into. It’s a mindset that would put them out of business in a heartbeat in the real world outside the beltway. If more politicians had come out of the private sector, rather than politics, the lawyer community or academia, they’d understand how a government is nothing more than a special kind of business and would recognize how important efficiency is to stretch the supposedly limited resources they have. But, of course they don’t.

The solution is to farm the country out to Disney. Let them run it and their pay would be a small percentage of any surplus created. They’d be constrained in terms of being given an exacting list of services they have to provide. Also, I don’t think we should let them put a mouse outline on top of either the capital building or the Washington Monument. Maybe put it on the five dollar bill or something. In my eyes, a Mouse is probably good for America.

So, now that the GOP is the temporary top dog in town and it looks as if BHO is going to dig his heels in and flaunt his power, what do we do? I think we’re in for the craziest ride we’ve ever seen in our history, in terms of a President running amuck while he still has a lame duck congress. And even more so for the next two years. TWO FRIGGING YEARS!! This is going to be nuts!

No matter what happens, it’s going to be hard to maintain our emotional balance. So, I suggest we all take a couple of days off and hit Disneyworld or Disneyland. Hey, it can’t hurt! If all the politicians were to go, they might learn a thing or two. However, neither BHO or Biden would be allowed to wear mouse ears. They’d be redundant. bd

7 Nov 14 –Alone

As I’m writing this, it’s 0800 and Marlene’s flight took off about 15 minutes ago. She’ll be gone for a week visiting her sister and I already feel incredibly incomplete.

This is really a strange feeling, mostly because I don’t think she’s ever been gone for more than three days since we got together 22 years ago (married 16). It’s even stranger considering that I usually hit the office around 0530 so on a normal day it’s at least three or four hours before I even know she’s in the house. Right now, however, I can sense her absence. Some part of me knows she’s not there.

It’s interesting how all mammals form some sort of psychic connection with another and often know when that connection is broken. How else do you explain the number of times a dog will sleep on his master’s grave? Or a child will know when a parent has died thousands of miles away? A wife subliminally senses when her warrior husband has departed this life?

On a more positive side, I’m guaranteed to choke up, or even have tears running down my cheeks, when I see some of the videos about men/women returning from overseas and surprising their mates at home or their kids at school. There is something so tangible about that connection that it touches us all.

However, I’m not sure which touches me the most, the human connections or the unspoken, hard to explain connections between dogs and their owners. We can easily enough explain the family connections between kids and parents, husband and wife (well, no, we can’t really explain that either), and between friends, but the bond between dogs and humans is simply unexplainable but so wonderful it adds a warmth to life that is unavailable from any other source. Even from a baby. Maybe it’s the unquestioning love and devotion a dog will show.

So, this week, it’s just me, Sháhn-deen and the cats. So, I won’t be alone.

But, you know that’s a lie, don’t you?

Watch the below and if you don’t get choked up at least a couple of times, drop me a line. I’m pretty sure I won’t get a single e-mail. bd

We were concerned enough about putting Marlene on an airplane, given the ebola situation, that she has surgical masks in her purse and, if she doesn’t like the situation, I’m certain she’ll use them. She’s already paranoid about everything she touches, thanks to the news coverage on the disease.