A Political Discourse of Sorts

As a government employee there are limits as to what I can say publicly.  In other words, by having a job where I protect and defend the Constitution I have to give up some of my Constitutional Rights. The same is true for all other government employees as well as every person in uniform. Having been at this for a while, I understand the rationale and it really does not trouble me too much.  I consider the trade-off to be worth it.

At this point as we look at the severe ramifications of sequestration I am compelled to speak openly regarding my feelings concerning who I feel is responsible and alternatives that would prevent the furlough of almost 1,000,000 civilian employees in the governmental workforce:

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Someday, after I retire, I will say that out in the open.  Did you notice the way I also solved world hunger, obliterated poverty, and brought peace to the Middle East? 

Learning something new

When I returned to my last trip and the kennel was returning Falkor, I met the new grooming person that they had on staff there. She had just clipped him as a teaching tool (I really like the new haircut). The groomer told me that he had been misidentified as a Maltese and that Falkor was actually a Coton de Tuléar. So, with that piece of information I went in and pulled up on Wikipedia and based on what I read there I believe it. [Link] 

Falkor's persona is almost exactly as described in Wikipedia, right down to his greeting people by standing on his hind legs and making all sorts of funny sounds when he plays. Of course the defining characteristic is the softness of his hair (he has hair and not fur) which feels just like soft cotton.

I tried speaking French to Falkor (the language of his Madagascar origin) and he just looked at me funny. Of course, he never reacted when I tried speaking Portuguese to them either (the language of Malta).  That's okay, he seems to understand American just fine or I guess I should say he understands this American just fine.

Jumping into the Way-Back Machine (Easier than getting the DeLorean up to 88 MPH)

My first trip to Kuwait was as an Air Force Reservist just after the first Gulf War in the early 90s. My unit was assigned to something called Southern Watch which was designed to keep an eye on Iraqi forces.  Because I was part of an advance team,  I flew into the international airport rather than on military transport. At that time, I was assigned a visa number by Kuwaiti immigration.

Fast-forward to last Monday when I arrived back from Oman and processed through the airport. I did not realize it, but when I came back to Kuwait a year or so ago the number of was given was the same number I'd been provided more than a decade before. From what I can tell, they assign the number forever as a personal identifier. I gave my identification to immigration person behind the counter and she proceeded to look me up in the system.

When she handed my ID back she said that she was the one who originally assigned my visa number all those years before. I was surprised, and she explained that when she called up the record it showed the person who created it and it was her.

I suppose we could've shot the breeze since we hadn't seen each other for a long time, but I just thanked her and went on into the customs area. I probably should have said that she didn't look any different – – it wouldn't have really been a lie because I had no memory of her due to being so jet-lagged the first time I processed into country.

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