Random Semicoherent Thoughts – Volume 57

Arbitrary geographical boundaries fascinate me. I’m not talking boundaries established on a river or mountain or even a tree that may not even exist anymore. I’m referring to boundaries where you start at a line and a certain amount of miles later draw another without the least bit of concern about what lies in between. It’s not so much the drawing of the boundary that I find so intriguing, but the decisions that are made and/or the circumstances that evolve because of that line.

When I was growing up, there was a bar on the side of the road in the middle of a swamp five miles from the nearest town and within walking distance of maybe ten people – it was the text book definition of the middle of nowhere. Why? It sat just past the county line. The nearby town was dry and the bar – called The Swamps – was the closest place to legally drink.

I once rode my bike over twenty miles to The Swamps and back. Why? To paraphrase Sir Edmund Hillary (who himself borrowed the phrase from George Mallory), “Because it was there.”

Four Corners? Yup, I’ve been there. Put an appendage in each state at the same time? Absolutely!

Wagah, Pakistan is on my bucket list. Why? This. If you’re going to have an arbitrary line, you might as well make a big deal out of it. Please remember as you watch it that these are two of the largest countries in the world, both of whom have nuclear weapons to defend themselves against the other. You’ll notice a shaking of hands during the ceremony, that nicety came only after years of posturing and gesticulating in an aggressive manner that wasn’t just for show. Yes, Partition and all that has come after it have been terrible, but it makes this boundary no less fascinating. According to Wikipedia, we’ll never know why this boundary was drawn where it was because the papers were intentionally destroyed.

The 38th Parallel? North and South Korea? You bet I’m fascinated with that whole part of the world. Unlike Partition where you draw a line where Muslims go here and Hindus go there, two ‘allies’ pick this arbitrary line to divide control of a country and basically end up splitting one people and one culture into two. Yes, I’d visit the DMZ given half a chance just to try and appreciate the true scope of the difference made by this decision.

My subdivision is in one law enforcement jurisdiction. If I leave my subdivision, take a left, and drive my car into a ditch on the right side of the road, I’m in another jurisdiction. If I get myself out of the ditch, continue driving straight and stop at the police station a quarter mile away on the left side of the road, they will tell me they can’t help me because they cover yet another jurisdiction. Want to see grown men with guns have a squabble? Get into an accident where two or more jurisdictions come together and ask them to write a report.

Firefighters possess almost the opposite mentality as their public safety brethren. Until recently, the full-time firefighters at one department could sit and watch a parade of five fire trucks passing in front of their stations with lights and sirens for a fire before being asked if they’d like to come along and help. That fire department protected that side of the line and just could not be trusted to fight fires on this side of it. This changed recently when the firehouse was shut down and moved… even closer to where to the area on the wrong side of the line… where they’re still not invited to the party, but at least don’t have to watch the parade.

My bucket list of geographic oddities grows as I get older. National Geographic raised my curiosity regarding Point Roberts, Washington many years ago. On the opposite end of the line that creates this oddity is another one I’d love to visit – the Northwest Angle of Minnesota. While I would enjoy a drive through the Saatse Boot – the only place you can enter Russia without a visa – I’m definitely NOT interested in stopping. It’s sad to say, but Whiteclay, Nebraska is another place I’m fascinated with despite the very sad social dynamic it used to represent. Bir Tawil would be a hard ask, but you just have to wonder what makes a place so that no country wants to claim it.

Random Semicoherent Thoughts – Volume 56

Ms. Boss and I recently took one of those personality tests from a website that we recently discovered on a podcast. My test revealed that I am a ‘maven’ – defined as someone who love learning for the sake of learning. My secondary trait is ‘scientist’ – defined as a person who lives to solve problems. Adequately intrigued with subject matter, Ms. Boss bought the book (Sparked – Discover Your Unique Imprint for Work that Makes You Come Alive by Jonathan Fields) to take a deeper drive. She discovered that mavens can get ‘lost in learning’, a phrase she – and me – found to be a very apt description of me. (For the record she is an ‘adviser’ and a ‘sage’ – no wonder I lean on her so often for good advice.)

As you might expect, the internet will consume a significant portion of my day if I let it. I clicked my way into deep, deep rabbit holes more times than I could ever possibly count even before smartphones rolled around making it so much easier. Just today I ended up clicking my way towards ever increasing knowledge about how air traffic controllers work. Even doing dishes today didn’t stop me. The miracle that is the internet brought audio from planes and controllers near my house right into my ear as I was scrubbing the mashed potato pot.

It should surprise no one that I took an interest today in listening to air traffic controllers do their work. As a radio system manager (among other things), I spend lots of time listening to the radio and always dissecting how people communicate. My father was also a pilot in the military and spent quite a bit of time flying when I was growing up. I guess you would call it a flare up of intersecting past interests.

The process of becoming a Bhuddist monk was a rabbit hole I explored earlier this week. For one particular sect that thoroughly outlined the process, I have just missed the cut off of fifty years of age. Apparently, the physical rigors are more than a man my age can handle. It’s yet another thing that I have ‘aged out’ of in my adult life. The first thing I discovered I aged out of? Being an air traffic controller – you have to be thirty or younger to start that process to guarantee mental sharpness. It was slightly soul crushing when I first found that out.

I graduated in 1993 into the weakest job market (to that point) since World War II. With the prospect of moving into my parents’ basement looming very large on the horizon, my father the pilot suggested air traffic controller as my avocation. He knew I enjoyed dispatching the police and felt I might get the same amount of thrill ‘pushing tin’ for a living. I actually thought it was a great idea. When I found out the local regional airport was having and aviation career fair, I went to explore the possibility. Dressed in a brand new suit with resume in hand I went to the fair and made a beeline for the air traffic controller recruiter when arrived. I was soon told that the likelihood of embarking on that career path in 1993 was minimal. Bill Clinton had just hired back all the controllers Ronald Regan had fired. They would not be hiring for years. The only reason they were there was to fulfill an obligation. I ended up in my parent’s basement any way until my full time career in public safety communications started three months later. Other than two small stints lasting just over a year, I’ve been there ever since.

Random Semicoherent Thoughts – Volume 55

I’m flying as I write this. My employer is sending me to a conference for four days. If something is less than ten hours away, I’ll drive every time. The conference is at least a seventeen hour drive, so I’m flying… and not loving it.

Ms. Boss played the part of chauffeur this morning driving me an hour to the airport after making sure I had everything I needed. She embraced me tightly and sent me on my way. She travels much more than I do. The Bosslets say I do nothing but mope when she’s away. They’re not wrong. Here’s hoping her moping is minimal. I look forward to the hug on the other end of the trip.

Ms. Boss insisted I borrow her backpack for the trip saying it made carrying a laptop and tablet much easier. I, of course, agreed with the more seasoned traveler and did so, but began having doubts as I was navigating through the airport. It began to be quite a challenge keeping it on my shoulder and I kept having to readjust. I then came to a realization – I was carrying it like I did in college when two straps was dumb and one strap was cool. The second strap is there for a reason. As you might expect, putting on the second strap solved my problem. One strap is dumb, two straps are cool.

I remember the first time I ever flew. How long ago? Let’s just say i was wearing a leisure suit at the time and leave it at that. Those were the days when traveling was an event, something you got dressed up for. The majority of the passenger manifest today lies far from that standard. Some made sartorial choices today that I would not make… on a dare… ever.

I will say that one passenger on this flight is dressed for ‘old time travel’. Wearing a pink linen sport coat and white pants, I first noticed the older gentleman standing at the bar of a bourbon place. I instantly passed judgement that 5:15 on a Sunday morning was way too early for anyone to drink bourbon even if you needed a bit of Dutch courage to get on the plane. I then saw the bartender go over to the coffee pot and pour a cup. By going to the bar to get coffee, he managed to skip the huge lines at McDonald’s and Starbucks and get something that I did not end up getting this morning. I saw him talking with the gate attendant just before boarding. While I didn’t see him when I boarded, I suspect he landed himself in first class. Maybe instead of passing judgement, I should take a few notes.

Take a 6’3”, 310 pound man who hasn’t flown in a bit, squeeze him into the middle seat between a woman who does not open the window to allow spatial reference causing disorientation and a man who seems to be praying every time the littlest thing happens and unsettling me just the teeniest bit. Turn off the air conditioner while waiting at the gate to make it nice and stuffy to get him good and uncomfortable. Then hurtle him down the runway. Will he survive the ordeal? Stay tuned!

I have just popped my ears for the umpteenth time this trip.

The beverage cart is making its way down the aisle. Today’s choice will be ginger ale. Why? My mom had me drink it during my leisure suit days. In a closely-related circumstance, a barf bag was always nearby in those days as well. Drinking ginger ale today, no barf bag necessary.

Out of curiosity, I checked for a barf bag in the seat in front of me. It says ‘waste’, no mention of barf, vomit, puke, emesis, upcheck, hurl, or even sick – all words that might place that evil little thought into your conscious. ‘+1’ to the marketing department for that move.

I got a whole can of ginger ale! That’s what I’m talking about! No cost-saving measures on this trip! I also got a bag of pretzels which were also pretty tasty. The best part of both? I got to take my mask off to consume both of them. I am looking forward to the same experience on my connecting flight.

The woman next to me ordered ginger ale after I did. I’m hoping that it’s because I’m an influencer or because she also has an affinity for ginger ale and not because she needs to… waste. Perhaps she should open the window so we can orient ourselves?

The end of my first leg ended with quite the thump on landing. Had the woman next to me had the window open, I might have been a bit more prepared. I, like others, gasped a bit. After taxiing what seemed like forever, we pull into the apron and skid to a stop. The captain did not exit the cockpit and greet the passengers afterwards. It’s not hard to understand why.

I changed planes at DFW. I had twenty minutes from the time the plane door opened until boarding was scheduled for my next flight. I was in Terminal B, my connecting flight was in Terminal D. Ms. Boss’ attempt to properly hydrate required a small stop on the way. Moving quite quickly, leaping into the SkyTrain as the doors were closing, moving quickly when the people move wasn’t, I made it in time for boarding… only to be told that the flight would be delayed.

Second flight? No ginger ale, no pretzels. Bummer. On a positive note, I did get a window seat. That @&$#% stayed open… the entire…time…

I made it. As soon as the wheels hit the runway, I text Ms. Boss advising that I have lived to see another day and prepared myself to tackle baggage retrieval and ground transportation to my final destination. Three things would have improved this little excursion – a car, plenty of time, and Ms. Boss – and most definitely not in that order.

Random Semicoherent Thoughts – Volume 54

I couldn’t sleep last night. Despite being quite tired at 10:00 and falling asleep right away, I woke up about 2:00 and was up for the better part of two hours. Two ‘kitty naps’ during the day made the ground fertile for insomnia, but the seeds of sleeplessness sprang forth from a litany of minor to moderate concerns. The air conditioner running on and on and on struggling to keep up with a warm humid night sprouted first, thoughts of my chartreuse green swimming pool came soon after. Work soon made an appearance in my mind courtesy of my reading emails filled with tales of woe despite the fact I’m on vacation. I got up and consumed some cookies and milk (definitely not on the diet) in an effort to put me in a food coma which started to work until the dog objected to Bosslet 3’s exercise of her newfound rights as an adult to come home at 3:00 in the morning. Sleep finally came (at least I think it came) with the recitation of random words as they came up in my mind. I’d give an example, but that’s probably too deep of a dive into my psyche.

I was afraid of the dark when I was young. I wasn’t so much afraid of monsters, but of some nefarious person breaking into the house. I had a nightlight in my room and there was another in the hallway, but my parents always kept the hall light on in our ranch-style home until they went to bed. Bedtime was 9:00 back then. I would generally hear them watch their 9:00 show and sometimes their 10:00 show as well. When I heard the local news come on at 11:00, I started to get anxious – the hall light would be going off soon. Panic would begin to seep in when I heard the theme for the Tonight Show come from the television. As soon as Johnny’s monologue was over, the light was going off. When the light went off, I toughed it out some days. Other times, only crying for mom could make things right.

I spent the overwhelming majority of my first twelve years of full-time employment working midnights. While I liked working at night, I did not enjoy the lifestyle of working at night. Early on, I found that one of two things happened with that schedule – I was either going to be miserable the days that I worked or the days I was off. Based on my nonexistent social life in the early days of that schedule, I chose to be miserable on my days off – sleeping during the day and finding some sort of something to do at night. In the days before widespread use of the internet, this wasn’t easiest thing to do. Sometimes I would drive around in the middle of the night for hours. Sometimes I would go to the casino and let them have all my money. More often than not, the answer was beer, lots and lots (and lots) of beer to pass the time and make myself sleepy and end up with some sort of rest through part of the night and some of the day. In hindsight, it really developed into quite a problem for me for a number of years. Perhaps I should have felt more ashamed over the looks people gave me at the convenience store when I rolled up to the cashier with a twelve-pack at 8:30 on a Tuesday morning? I happy to report that the ‘beer equals sleep’ days are behind me, it actually has the opposite effect on me these days.

By the time Ms. Boss rolled into the picture in my eighth year of working midnights, beer alone was not getting the job done. During the summer, my ten-hour shift started before the sun went down and ended after it came back up. What had been a minor annoyance during my younger years morphed into a definite impediment to sleep. Daylight streamed into my bedroom during my entire sleep schedule. My first attempt to combat this problem was sleeping in the only windowless room of the house – the bathroom. That worked like you would expect it to. I tried my walk-in closet. It tried the hallway with all the doors closed. I finally got somewhat smart and taped garbage bags over my windows with duct tape which worked well enough, but did not impress the future Ms. Boss at all the first time she found herself in that part of the house. Somehow, room darkening shades remained beyond the grasp of my comprehension (perhaps too much beer). What finally resolved this issue? moving to day shift two years after we were married.

As I mentioned previously, my twin girls turned eighteen years old this week. This means that the hardest time I ever had with sleep was eighteen years ago this week. The story of their birth is not my story to tell, but suffice it to say that the urgent situation we were face with lead to very little sleep in the forty-eight hours leading up to when they were born, four weeks before they were due. After seeing them enter this world and Ms. Boss moved to her room for the evening, I was ready to crash on the partner bed for a good night’s sleep… or so I thought. At 1:00 in the morning, the nurse rolls in with Bosslet 3 ready for feeding time (Bosslet 2, who needed some more intensive care for the evening, was handled by the nursing staff). A half and hour later, with that handled, I went back to sleep. At 4:00, Bosslet 3 returned for another feeding. At 7:00, both the twins arrived. It was a pattern that lasted for at least eight weeks – one hour of feeding, two hours of sleep, one hour of feeding, two hours of sleep. My government employer allowed me eleven weeks off, but it certainly was no vacation as I fed kids and did my best to help Ms. Boss recover. I was never so grateful as I was the first time both of them missed their early morning meal. The whole experience was exhausting. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.