tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-290819082024-03-14T14:21:10.876-04:00TroglodadIndie Author from Indiana
Blogging from the DadcaveUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger258125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-7215855092702554792019-05-14T12:30:00.000-04:002019-05-14T12:30:02.325-04:00Unlimited Warranties<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just once, I'd like to be able to use a lifetime guarantee. You know the kind I'm talking about: where a manufacturer promises to repair or even replace a product </span><i style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">forever. </i></div>
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Back in the late 80s, I briefly carried a ZIPPO lighter one summer. I didn't smoke, but I thought it was cool that ZIPPOs have a lifetime repair/replacement warranty. I carried it for several weeks, lighting fireworks that Fourth of July and lighting the ladies' smokes when the opportunity arose ... until it fell out of my pocket and I lost it. </div>
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A few years later, while stationed in Germany, I broke the tip off my folding Buck pocket knife, digging in some dirt. I had specifically purchased the Buck because of their lifetime guarantee. But, on base, there were no Buck knives available. I got a replacement Gerber and stashed the broken Buck away, intent on replacing it later, when I was stateside once more. Years passed, my Buck forgotten in a box of junk, until one day in the 2000s when I came across it while cleaning junk out of my basement. I contacted Buck and found out I couldn't get my replacement, as that model knife wasn't made anymore. </div>
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In 1997, I was carrying a Craftsman multi-tool, a present from my wife. I had asked for a Craftsman, as they had that same awesome Craftsman tools lifetime replacement guarantee. I think I carried it about two years before I broke it--snapped the pivot in the needle nose pliers trying to bend some wire for an emergency tailpipe hanger repair. When I went down to the Sears, I was told they no longer made multi-tools--there was no replacement to be had. I ended up getting store credit toward a new Leatherman multi-tool. I chose a WAVE. </div>
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If you're not familiar with the WAVE, let me tell that it is THE BEST multitool. I mean, it's so good, you'll see the Mythbusters using one in early seasons of their show. I think Les Stroud carried one in an episode of <i>Survivorman</i>. It's got more tools than you'll ever need: two different knife blades, a file, a diamond file, scissors (great for cutting fishing line), can/bottle opener, screw driver, pry bar, and even a removable bit driver--and of course, I bought the bit set for that. </div>
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I have carried my WAVE nearly every day, ever since its purchase. It's been useful around the house, the office, and on fishing trips. I thought it would never wear out or break. It's cut wire fence, belt and pulled nails, sharpened pocket knives... I once kept track of everything I used the WAVE for, every day, for an entire month. It was impressive just how useful this multi-tool really was. </div>
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Had my WAVE somehow managed to break, I could have gotten it repaired by Leatherman. While not exactly the no-questions-asked, walk-in-and-swap-it-out warranty of Craftsman tools I grew up marveling at (my father had an eerie ability to break unbreakable craftsman tools), their warranty is nonetheless impressive. What their warranty doesn't cover is loss. </div>
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My WAVE has been missing for weeks--vanished ever since a fishing trip with my daughter and father-in-law. At first, I thought my WAVE was misplaced in the house--I'd washed it in outdoors pants many times over the years (forgetting to remove it from a pocket), or laid it down in an odd place around the house during a project. I thought it might even have gotten kicked under a couch, or wedged into that annoying gap between seat cushion and recliner arm. I even checked my folded up fishing chair, and all my gear, thinking that maybe, on that last fishing trip, I'd tucked it away in the wrong place rather than my pocket, as I normally carried it. </div>
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Regrettably, I have to face the sad truth: I've lost my WAVE, forever. When we were bank fishing, I had set my kid and I up next to a faded, gray picnic table on the lakeshore. There we laid out all our gear and set out fishing. We ended up breaking the line on one of our poles. I recall that in my haste to retie and get a line back in the water, I laid my stainless steel Leatherman down on that picnic table.</div>
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We caught nothing that day--the water was too cloudy and probably too cold. We packed up our gear and headed back to the truck... and I apparently didn't see my WAVE on the table and left it behind. Hopefully, whatever angler eventually found it will get as much use out of this great tool as I did. </div>
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WAVE, wherever you are, my respect. You were an unbreakable tool. You shall be missed. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-27546607827552442572019-04-18T21:59:00.001-04:002019-04-18T22:01:12.356-04:00Thor's Day Rant: Never Tip Before the Meal is Over<p dir="ltr">One of the few things my father taught me before we parted ways, was that tips are a reward for a job well done--that good service, where a waitress goes the extra mile, should be rewarded, and that bad service, where they fail miserably to do their job, should not be. </p>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">This lesson came at one of my favorite childhood restaurants: Sizzler (a local steakhouse). Our steaks were not cooked the way we asked. We had to ask for drinks multiple times, and we were given dirty silverware. Our waitress was more reclusive than Howard Hughes once we actually got to eating our meals, only returning to bring us a check. My father rewarded her sullen attitude and pathetic service with an appropriate tip: one penny.</p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">This lesson stuck with me in life, far longer than my father did. I have frequently berated friends and family for not leaving sufficient tips when service has been good. By good, I mean that I never go thirsty (I get plenty of refills), and the waitress actually checks on us more than once.</p>
<p dir="ltr"> I look at it this way: I'm paying to not have to cook or do dishes. If I was at home, I'd be checking to make sure none of my family needed more to drink. I'd ask if they needed anything else. I'd make sure my family, or my guests, was having an enjoyable experience and not just shoveling sustenance into their maws like they were at school or in prison. When a waitress rises to that same level of care, I think it deserves a tip.</p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">On the other hand, when a pizza delivery man brings my pie to my door, that doesn't seem like going the extra mile, no matter how far he's driven--it's his job. I don't like to tip pizzaguys, but my wife berates me into doing so (but I only throw in a couple of bucks, not a 15-20%).</p>
<p dir="ltr"> Likewise, when I pick up a carryout order from a restaurant, I don't feel compelled to pay extra for the minimum service I'm receiving--but my daughters (often accompanying me for pickup) badger me into tipping. <br>
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Last night, I learned a valuable lesson about tipping.</p>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">I was feeling generous and eager to dine on a some Outback Steakhouse carry out--a spur-of-the-moment decision for a surprise dinner during the week (our family normally only eating out like this on weekends and special occasions). </p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">The curbside girl was young, about my eldest's age. The bill was $88.something. I had only twenties in my wallet, so I decided to let the kid keep all the change. We were brought our food, and went on our way, assuming everything was in the bag. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It wasn't.</p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">At home, we discovered that the plastic forks and knives we asked for (using the online ordering system), one appetizer, and one meal were missing. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Dammit. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The whole point of getting this carry out is that we happened to be near the restaurant and decided to take some food home. Now, we were a meal short--meaning I'd have to go back out, go hungry, or make something else at home for myself. <br>
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<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">I called the store to complain, asking for the manager. Remember, one meal and one appetizer, that's $25.00-- plus the $12 tip I didn't really want to give, and which turned out to be for sub-standard service.<br>
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<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">"Alex" as he claimed to be, sounded suspiciously young on the phone to be the manager. I would guess he is a millennial as when I explained the situation there was no "I'm sorry" but rather him wanting to know my name and look at my order. The <i>first</i> thing out of his smart-mouth should have been an apology--it costs nothing, and earns a lot. </p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">Alex continued to be of no help whatsoever, taking offense when I expressed that he needed to tell his d*mned staff how f*cking mad I was. His retort? "Oh, you want me to cuss at them like you're cussing at me?"</p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr"><i>Jesus Christ, you f*cking snowflake, I didn't realize Priests worked at Outback Stealhouse. So sorry to offend with my salty language when I've been defrauded. </i></p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">That would have been great to say, but instead I scolded "Alex" about how, as "manager", it was his job to take abuse from angry customers when his people f*cked up. I then told him to get a pen and paper, write down my name and address and mail me a check for my money. </p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">"We don't do things that way," Hilary Clinton's #1 Fan in Clarksville, Indiana retorted, no doubt adjusting his pussyhat.</p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">At this point, before I went full-on Hulk, got in my car, drove down there and gave the little punk ass bitch the thrashing his parents clearly never did, I simply cussed the sassiest alter boy and hung up. </p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">Yes, I tried social media shaming Outback--apparently they don't give two sh*ts about social media, as there was no response (unlike most companies that religiously monitor social media to try and win customers back). I also tried to reach corporate. There's no number to call (unlike so many other restaurants). </p>
<p dir="ltr">Say what you will, Chick Fila may not be down with gay marriage, but if a store f*cks up your order, you can contact someone about it. Even Pizzahut has a damned number to call. Not Outback. You have to fill out an online form that Mohinder Ganesh and friends no doubt spend all day trying to translate, and you never get called back. </p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">What did I learn from all this?<br>
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<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">1. Outback sucks. They used to be great, but like so many companies, quality and customer service are forgotten concepts once they reached a certain size. <br>
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<div align="left"><p dir="ltr">2. Never give a tip until you know the service has been good. </p>
<p dir="ltr">In fact, I may broaden #2 to "never give a tip at all". There are plenty of jobs out there that never receive tips for going above and beyond: the mailman who has to carry heavy packages to your door... the policeman who gets no respect and puts his life on the line daily... the cable TV installer, who brings all those great channels into your home... the soldier who volunteers to become what is essentially an indentured servant, risking life and limb so you can have the freedom to go to whatever restaurant you want... which, in my case, will never again be Outback. <br>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-40770451189137579942019-02-20T06:56:00.002-05:002019-02-20T06:56:49.941-05:00I can't even give this one away...Imagine if you will, that after years of reading paranormal stories, you sit down and write out all the possible experiences you've had, then publish them.<br />
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Imagine you have this digital collection set for free, so people can read the stories for free.<br />
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Finally, imagine you go to two different paranormal sites and announce the book is free. You do this not to make any money, but to share the stories.<br />
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You know what happens? You get banned on one site, and warned on another.<br />
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I find this ironic, as my books I write and try to sell for profit are always pirated. The one book I do just to share some interesting stories, I can't even give away.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-32185445640527631722019-01-20T20:33:00.001-05:002019-01-20T20:33:48.834-05:00Stranger than Fiction: This Book is Cursed!<div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: justify;">
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In November 2018, I released my first non-fiction book on Kindle: a collection of ghost stories and other strange tales I had heard and experienced over the past 50 years of my life-- <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KK1335Z">Stranger than Fiction: A Skeptic's Journey</a></i>. This very short book (100 print pages) took me about two years to put together, and, looking back over those two years, I have begun to wonder if the book doesn't just talk about the supernatural, but that maybe it is, itself, supernatural--cursed. </div>
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Before I go any further, let me preface this by stating that I am not a <i>true believer</i> in the supernatural. Rather, I am a <i>skeptical </i>believer. I believe, as a Christian, that the supernatural exists--it's in my Bible, after all. What I don't believe is that it is as common as so many television shows, documentaries, blogs, books, and websites portray it to be. I'm not just skeptical of these programs and so many dubious accounts of the paranormal--I'm skeptical of my own fantastical stories, have come up with much more rationale explanations for most of them, instead of just declaring them <i>supernatural</i>. That being said, however, I think this book really is cursed. </div>
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I got the idea for <i>A Skeptic's Journey</i> back in early 2017. I've been a fan of the Fortean for many years. From about 2000 on, I read about it on the internet on lunch breaks to take my mind off the real horrors of my job as an Investigator for the local Prosecuting Attorney. In 2012, I set out to combine my fascination with the fantastic with my desire to write, and began putting out supernatural thrillers on Kindle. I also redoubled my efforts to study and read this modern folklore, seeking out stories I could build upon or borrow from for my fiction. In 2014, I retired from the criminal justice career field, hoping to turn writing into a full time job while I switched to a less intense day job. That's when I began to listen to paranormal podcasts.</div>
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Over the past few years of listening, I have been struck by the number of people active in the paranormal community who express a desire to see a ghost, or experience something paranormal themselves. I reflected on this in early 2017, realizing that I have had a great many experiences myself that might fulfill the wishes of so many paranormal hopefuls. I sat down and made a list of these possible encounters and was surprised at the number--having always previously mentally filed them away as "maybes" that made for good story telling, but which I hadn't put much faith in. I then made a list of stories related to me by people I personally know, who themselves claimed to have experienced, first-hand, something strange and "unexplainable". There was enough material, from both lists, for a short book. </div>
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The road from concept to publication has been a long one, but not because of the mundane, every-day problems you might think. I didn't need to find a publisher--I self-publish on Amazon, Nook, Kobo, iTunes, etc. and have for several years now. Writing wasn't a problem either--I've done fifteen novels since 2012. Putting stories into written word isn't hard. Even finding the time wasn't that bad for this project--until a series of unfortunate events began cropping up in my life...</div>
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Bad luck is no stranger to me. I've had a number of dilemmas arise over the years with irritating frequency. But they're generally spread out over time, and vary in severity and ease of solving. But not this time...</div>
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In Early 2017, right after I decided to write <i>A Sketic's Journey</i>, my daughter was diagnosed with scoliosis at an annual physical check up. This sudden spine curvature was attributed to a phenomenal growth spurt over a one year period, but it definitely derailed my creative process and filled my thoughts with worry. </div>
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Soon after this diagnosis, my wife was in a car wreck. Again, it was a moderate problem--she wasn't severely injured, and our new car (that we'd bought only five months earlier) was quickly repaired. But getting our money from the insurance company (the other driver was at fault) made for a stressful few months. </div>
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During this time, my daughter had to start wearing a back brace. Then she had to start doing regular physical therapy with the hope that strengthening exercises might alleviate some of her spine curvature. Now, in addition to the stress of her diagnosis and my wife's accident blocking my creative process, I had very little time left to actually write.</div>
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By Fall 2017, I was finally getting back on track, once more taking notes and wracking my brain to remember all my best paranormal stories. Then it was time for our annual automobile problems. This time, it was our minivan, with a water leak that wasn't hoses, wasn't the water pump, but finally ended up being a cracked radiator--something that took me several weekends, many trips to the auto parts store, and a lot of money trying to figure out. Again, I didn't have time to write--I was too busy being a shade-tree mechanic to keep our minivan running. </div>
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Meanwhile, my bi-annual bronchitis and sinusitis episodes flared up. I attribute these to a scar in my lung I got back on active duty in the USAF many years ago--a result of a rough round of pneumonia. They're regular in my life, and nowhere remotely as serious as men and women who've lost limbs in service to our country. Still, they knock me down for a few days twice every year, and cost me money in co-pays and prescriptions. I decided to once again try and file a claim for Veteran's Affairs disability for my affliction. If you've ever dealt with the VA, you know that even if things go right, they're not an easy organization to deal with.</div>
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Claim #1 was closed overnight, while I slept. I had indicated I wasn't done with the online claim and needed to upload more documents. The VA decided that they didn't need to see these documents, and closed the claim while I slept. It was infuriating, particularly given the VA had, in past years told me I hadn't presented evidence of an ongoing problem. With everything else going on, I decided to put this on the backburner for a while. I focused on my daughter, my day job, and every day life. My writing languished for several months.</div>
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By March 2018, in between a day job, taking my daughter to physical therapy, and trying to write, I again set out to try and file for disability. Needless to say, four months later, I was still butting my head against the government wall and getting nowhere. </div>
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Then we got really bad news: my daughter's spine had progressed, and she was going to have surgery. </div>
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All creative process was gone at this point, and all my writing projects stalled out. I was sick to my stomach most days, worrying about 12 year old daughter and this major surgery she'd be having soon (a spinal fusion). </div>
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June eventually rolled around, the VA was still throwing up walls of red tape in front of me, and my kid had her surgery. Now began six months of helping her recuperate. Again, I had no time, or interest, in writing. But I pressed on anyway, using my lunch hours at work to hammer out short snippets of my paranormal tales. </div>
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July rolled around, and with it, my daughter's 13th birthday. While the surgery had been successful, it was a somber occasion, as our little girl was still recuperating and needed a lot of help at home. The special day came and went, not much different from most other days since the surgery, save for a cake and presents. But to top off the lackluster milestone, three days later, our dog died. </div>
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Our dog, Sunnie, was like our third child. We'd gotten her at about 10 weeks old, and showered her with affection for all of her 9 years with us. She too, had a rough life, going blind in 2015 from a mis-diagnosed thryoid condition, and then developing anxiety that meant we had to treat her daily with doggy prozac. Her death couldn't have come at a worse time as we were already on eggshells, hovering over our daughter as she recuperated. </div>
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Things eventually began settling down. My daughter was able to go to school, we adopted a new dog, and I turned once more to writing, intent on an October 2018 release for <i>A Skeptic's Journey, </i>to monopolize on the Halloween hype<i>. </i>But, life got in the way again, a great many little things popping up here and there, and I missed my self-imposed deadline.</div>
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Eventually, the book finally was done and I dropped it on Kindle on November 23, 2018, Black Friday, the day before my 51st birthday. I sent out a round of emails to paranormal podcasts, hoping to spread the word about my collection of stories as I'd heard so many authors do on so many podcasts. </div>
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I was fortunate enough to get mentioned on one podcast, then landed an interview on the December 30th, 2018 episode of <i><a href="https://www.podcastone.com/episode/Stranger-Than-Fiction">Beyond the Darkness</a> </i>with Dave Schrader and Tim Dennis. </div>
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While I hadn't priced <i>A Skeptic's Journey </i>to make me any real money, I had hoped to at least share this collection with many people. As of this writing, that plan has failed. In limited Kindle release (free for Kindle Select readers), and priced at $.99, <i>A Skeptic's Journey </i>appears to have been read by less than 100 people. By far, it is the least successful of any book or short story I've previously released. </div>
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Is the book cursed? Was fate/destiny/the darkness trying to keep me from writing it? Or did I just have two exceptionally unlucky years completely unrelated to my writing? Or maybe nonfiction is considerably less popular (on Kindle) than fiction? I don't know, but I'm glad this project is over. I'm ready for my luck to change. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-38534166897561616742018-11-20T17:00:00.000-05:002018-11-20T17:00:10.486-05:00Stranger than Fiction: The Phantom Aviator<i style="text-align: justify;">Stranger than Fiction is a series of excerpts from an upcoming non-fiction collection of the strange and unusual encounters I, or people I know, have had, gathered into one collection. Look for <a href="http://amzn.com/B07KK1335Z">Stranger than Fiction: A Skeptic's Journey</a>, Black Friday, 2018...</i><br />
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<u><span style="font-size: large;">PHANTOM AVIATOR</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After Germany, I was assigned to McClellan Air Force Base, in Sacramento, California. A repair depot for A-10s, F-117s, and occasionally other aircraft, McClellan was home to a Coast Guard Squadron of C-130 weather planes, and an Air Force Reserve Squadron of KC-135 refueling planes. The base was primarily manned by civilians, who all went home at night. As such, when the sun went down, McClellan just about shut down itself, with no traffic on the runways and little life on the base. It made for really long, quiet shifts—perfect for ghost stories. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of all the spooky tales I did hear at McClellan, my favorite was told to me by another SP who had formerly been stationed in England. As the story went, an Airman who’d crashed and died on the base in World War II hadn’t moved on, but would regularly return to the base and try to get back on the runway. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This spectral pilot, reportedly burned alive when he crashed, would return periodically, at night, approaching a gate shack, in outdated, period-correct uniform, and present his ID card. The ghostly airman didn’t appear ghostly, though—he looked as solid as anyone, and his ID, while not current, was tangible as any ID card. Of course, when a confused airman would take the card, then turn to his radio or gateshack’s phone to call in the strange visitor, when thy would turn back, the visitor would be gone, without a trace—save for the ID card left behind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I scoffed at this story when I first heard it, angering the Sergeant who was telling it. My pal, Cooper, or “Coop”, as we called him, insisted it was a true story. He insisted this not because he’d seen the spirit, but because he’d personally seen the ID.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">According to Coop, one night, while he worked as the Security Controller for the base, one of the gate shacks called in they had a suspicious person stopped. A patrol was sent out, but the Airman on duty reported that when he looked away to call it in, his visitor vanished without a trace. Coop didn’t believe it until the ID card was brought to him and he had to start making calls to report the unusual occurrence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">More intriguing was the fact that when Coop called the local on-duty Agent for the OSI (Office of Special Investigations, the Air Force’s version of the FBI) to report the incident, they weren’t skeptical or surprised in the least. They came out, got the ID, and reported they’d “put it back in the safe”.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Perplexed, Coop had asked what this meant. The Agent taking receipt of the I.D. nonchalantly reported that this was a regular occurrence at the base—the spirit would appear, hand over an ID, then vanish. The ID would be locked up at the OSI office, but would vanish overnight, only to once again be presented to another gate guard a few days later. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Coop was more than convinced this was a real event—like most SPs, he’d heard a great many ghost stories at his various duty stations. I was more than a little skeptical.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Night time training exercises were a big part of the Security Police. We regularly staged them, notifying everyone ahead of time we were going to do a scenario. These ranged from fake bombs on cars to see if the gate guards could find them during vehicle inspections, to people climbing fences or entering secure areas without permission. It was all a way to test and train us on how to respond to these threats. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For any exercise, the Desk Sergeant or Security Controller were well aware of what was going on—they made the alerts over the radio, and they logged the training events in the nightly log. In Coop’s case, he’d had no such warning. I suggested this had been to test him--that OSI was in on it and had dressed up like a WWII Airman and presented the replica ID. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Coop did not share my skepticism. </span></div>
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<i style="text-align: justify;"><br /></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-43074640038962087262018-11-07T17:00:00.000-05:002018-11-19T13:19:44.130-05:00Stranger Than Fiction: Circle in the Woods<i style="text-align: justify;">Stranger than Fiction is a series of excerpts from an upcoming non-fiction collection of the strange and unusual encounters I, or people I know, have had, gathered into one collection. Look for <a href="http://amzn.com/B07KK1335Z">Stranger than Fiction: A Skeptic's Journey</a>, Black Friday, 2018...</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"><u>The Circle in the Woods</u></span></div>
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A lot of people into that sort of thing like to accuse the Air Force of hiding alien bodies and spacecraft. But in the four years I served in the USAF, I met precisely two SPs with stories involving unidentified flying objects.<br />
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One evening, while relaxing in the dorms, several of us were sharing stories of how new guys got hazed in the Security Police—a tradition of pranks that included things as simple as sending someone to supply to collect a thousand yards of “flight line”, to elaborate pranks like stuffing the vents of a patrol car with confetti and leaving the vents on full, so that when started, the driver got a big surprise. </div>
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For my pal Dean, the prank was a little more sinister. Before Germany, Dean had been assigned to Woodbridge Royal Air Force Base in England. There, one of the SP rites of passage for security there was to go out on one of the patrol roads surrounding the base, but outside the perimeter fence. In one secluded spot of the woods, well off the patrol path, any vehicle you drove would suddenly die, the engine stalling out and all electronics ceasing to work. This was typically done well after midnight, to spook new guys.<br />
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Dean had been pranked and it confused the hell out of him. He swore his radio wouldn’t work and the car did nothing when you turned the key. Anything within this circle that was electronic became completely inoperable: flashlights, radios, etc. The only way to get your vehicle running again was to physically push it out of an unmarked area. It would then start up again, with no problem.</div>
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The prank was finally put to end when the base fire department tried it themselves—with a truck that was a little too big to be pushed by hand out of the strange circle. It had to be towed out of the "circle". Base command was not pleased. </div>
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I was amazed by this story, and asked my friend if it had anything to do with the Rendlesham UFO sighting in the 1980s. He just looked at me blankly, with absolutely no idea what I was talking about. </div>
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<br />
If you’re unfamiliar with the story of Rendlesham, it goes something like this: In late December 1980, there were a number of UFO sightings near Rendlesham Forest, near Suffolk, England—the first just outside of RAF Woodbridge. Witnesses, including Deputy Base Commander Lieutenant Colonel Charles I. Halt, claim to have seen bright lights moving in the forest, and possibly landing.</div>
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I was shocked that Dean hadn’t heard about Rendlesham—I’d been watching UFO and Paranormal TV shows for years and was familiar with the story, even if I couldn’t recall which base it had taken place at. </div>
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Dean just shrugged this off. He didn’t really care what the origin of the mysterious circle was, he just thought it was a cool effect. </div>
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<i style="text-align: justify;"><br /></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-52012306413445994492018-11-05T09:00:00.000-05:002018-11-19T13:19:33.065-05:00Stranger than Fiction: The Black Boar<br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>Stranger than Fiction is a series of excerpts from an upcoming non-fiction collection of the strange and unusual encounters I, or people I know, have had, gathered into one collection. Look for <a href="http://amzn.com/B07KK1335Z">Stranger than Fiction: A Skeptic's Journey</a>, Black Friday, 2018...</i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><u><span style="font-size: large;">THE BLACK BOAR</span></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
summer of 1990, I shipped out for Basic Training in the USAF, eager to begin a
career in law enforcement as a Law Enforcement Specialist in the Security
Police—the Air Force’s equivalent of the military police. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Today,
they’re called Security Forces, but I don’t imagine the mission has changed
that much from what it was in 1990: to provide security to airbases,
controlling who comes in, guarding aircraft and priority resources on the base,
and patrolling the base, providing basic law enforcement services. In
television and movies, SPs (as we were called then) are often in the
background, with little real dialogue or explanation—just blue beret-wearing,
armed Airmen that come running when there’s a problem, or checking IDs at
gates. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">After
technical school, my first duty assignment was with the 435th Security Police
Squadron, at Rhein Main Air Base, in Frankfurt, Germany—a base that has since
been turned back over to the Germans. The air base shared, and was to the south
of, the runways of the Frankfurt International Airport. Frankfurt lies to the
south of the Main River. To the north side of the river is the bulk of
Frankfurt. The city is a great central location in Europe, with Paris several
hours to the West, Berlin several hours to the East, and Switzerland several
hours to the South. The A5 Autobahn runs north and south, right beside the
Eastern end of the airport. East and South of the Air Base was a lot of rural
area. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Being
an SP at Rhein Main wasn’t all about driving around in a patrol car, responding
to disturbances or writing tickets on base. There was also the mundane, boring
jobs of Installation Entry Control and even security foot patrols. During
Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm, we worked twelve to fourteen-hour
days, providing increased security for what was the main air hub in Europe for
U.S. forces going to and from the Persian Gulf to fight Saddam Hussein and
liberate Kuwait. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Night
shift was often long and quiet, with little activity once you got away from the
runways. As such, a lot of us told stories to stay awake or pass the time. A
lot of the guy I served with had been to many bases around the world: missile
bases, bomber bases, even bases at or near former World War II sites. As such,
there were a lot of good stories to share. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A grand tradition in the SPs was to haze the new guys. My personal favorite was the fenceline sensor test—where you’d
send a gullible young airman out to a remote corner of the base to test the
fence sensors. This meant having him pull on the fence, radioing in his
position. Back at either the Law Enforcement Desk or Security Control, a
dispatcher would advise him if the sensors were working. Of course, there
weren’t any sensors, and the joke was seeing how long, and how hard, you could
get an Airman to pull and push on a chain link fence to “trip the sensor”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">At
Rhein Main, they a slightly more sophisticated prank that involved the
red-eyed monster. Young Airmen were warned about the red-eyed monster early
after arrival. This warning included a dissertation about ho there were a
number of wild boar that lived in the woods around the base and airport, and
that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">maybe, </i>that’s what people were
seeing. But, sure enough, once the Airman got his first posting alone on night
shift, a pair glasses, fitted with red plastic lenses were used to scare him
from the darkness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
can personally attest to the existence of the wild boars—they did indeed come
out at dusk, and could be seen outside the base fence. At an off-base storage
area we patrolled, I even managed to catch a pair in daylight, and my partner
for the shift and I enjoyed feeding them and video taping them at length. My
partner, Travis, was from Texas and was an avid hunter, who warned me that
despite these pigs barely being knee-high, they were fairly dangerous and could
hurt you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Some
months later, I found myself assigned to a seldom-used vehicle gate in the
southwest corner of the base—a gate that blocked an access road that led to the
new control tower for the International Airport. The forest south of the Air
Base just reached this area, and a lone gateshack was set up to monitor traffic
going back and forth from the Airport to the base. During daylight hours, the
gate was kept open, but at dusk, it was closed and locked, as virtually no one
used the road. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As the sun was about to set and I was growing tired of listening to
Armed Forces radio after having secured the gate, I looked up from my gateshack
and saw a couple of small boars run out of the woods from the south. They were
just outside the perimeter fence and followed it to the gate before turning and
going back. They were the typical, skittish boars I had seen countless times
before, and even smaller than the ones I had videotaped off base. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A
very short time later, another boar emerged from the woods. This boar was like
none I had ever seen in Germany. For one, it was easily three times the size of
the other boars I’d seen. It’s back was at least as high as my waist and it
surely weighed several hundred pounds. Unlike the mixed brown, grays, and
blacks of the smaller boars, this huge specimen was all black, save for a
single tuft of white hair sticking up from between its shoulder blades. It was
enormous—bigger than any of the hogs I’d seen during summers in my Uncle’s farm
as a kid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
big boar wasn’t running about like the smaller boars had. It trotted along
slowly, clearly unafraid of anything. It too followed the fenceline, but
instead of turning back at the gate, it just snorted and crossed the road,
eyeing me as I stepped out of the gateshack to watch it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the dimming light, I could see the individual hairs on the pig’s hide. I could
see big tusks and little, dark eyes glaring at me. I have to admit, it’s the
only time in my life I’ve been afraid of bacon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Once
across the road, but still outside the perimeter fence, the boar continued to
watch me as it leisurely made its way North, passing within thirty feet of me.
On this particular day, I was armed with a Beretta M9 pistol. Law enforcement
duty often meant just a sidearm. Unlike the Army’s MPs, Security Police
actually carried live rounds in Germany. But that was little consolation to me
at the time. The big, black beast was considerably larger than me, and I
doubted that my handgun would be able to stop it if it decided to charge. I was
particularly glad for the heavy steel gate that had blocked the boar’s path
onto the base.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">When
the boar had reached a point fifty or so feet up the fenceline from the gate, I
breathed easier and reflected on the closed gate and the probable inadequacies
of my sidearm. On my side of the fence, bushes and brush almost obscured the
fence from view. There were a few trees, but they thinned out and faded away
another fifty or so feet on. I was about to lose sight of this incredible
creature, but was very thankful it was outside the fenceline, and that my gate
had been closed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Immediately
after I thought this, the boar stopped. He was barely visible now, the brush
growing on the inside of the fenceline casting long shadows in the fading
light. But I could still see the boar, and watched, stunned, as it turned to
its right, and began walking toward the base—passing through the fence with
ease. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My
hand went to the pistol on my belt as the boar vanished from sight, swallowed
by foliage and shadow <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">inside</i> the
fenceline. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen. No brush grew outside the
fence—if it had continued to follow the fence, I could have seen it. But it had
turned and walked right at the fence then passing through it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
stood there for several moments, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
At last, I came to the conclusion that there must be a break in the fence—and that
the enormous boar had slipped through and was now on the base, nor far from me.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
went back into my gateshack and called for a patrol for a restroom break. I
nervously watched the woods north of my gateshack, waiting for the big boar to
come rotting out and over to me. When the patrol finally arrived, I related
what had happened, and asked for them to spot me for a few minutes: I wanted to
go find that gap in the fence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As
foolish as it sounded, I was actually concerned about a hole in the fence big
enough for a boar to pass through without ducking, rattling the fence, or
digging. And even though I was probably under-armed, I wanted to find that
hole. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">needed </i></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">to find that hole. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My
relief would have none of it. If I wanted to go to the bathroom, that was fine.
But they weren’t hanging around while I looked for a hole in the perimeter
fence, that was Civil Engineering’s job—I could log it in the book back at our
dispatch when I got off duty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">For
many years, I would look back on this event and wonder about the strange boar
I’d seen, never thinking it was anything other than some really big, wild bacon
that crawled through a hole in the fence and vanished into the underbrush. It
wasn’t until recently that I came across the stories of black animals—mostly
dogs—sighted around the world and have begun to wonder… was there really a hole
in the fence back in 1992, or did I see something more than just a wild beast?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-66738625406529857542018-11-01T22:57:00.001-04:002018-11-19T13:18:52.308-05:00Stranger than Fiction: That Time I Saw A Ghost<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After a little over five years writing <a href="http://www.amazon.com/C.E.-Martin/e/B0089W99VC">supernatural thrillers</a>, it occurred to me the other day that some folks might be wondering what my fascination is with the genre. To that end, I set out to catalog the many experiences I've had, and the stories I've been told by people I personally know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Coming November 24th, I'm releasing these tales as a non-fiction book, <i>Stranger than Fiction: A Skeptic's Journey</i>. Leading up to that release, I'll be posting some of my stories here, twice a week. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To kick things off, here's a story of spookiness that might have you wondering, why is he still a skeptic...?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was 1988, and I was in a dysfunctional relationship with a young lady I'll call "Rhoda". Rhoda lived with her grandparents, who had adopted her when she was very young. The trio lived in a large house with two upper floors, a walkout basement, and a sub-basement, and which, according to Rhoda, was haunted. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">While I didn't believe the house was haunted, I did believe that Rhoda and her grandmother were scared to be alone when the grandfather went out of town on business, so I often agreed to spend the night on the weekends, sleeping in a guest room. On one of these nights, I got a little more than I bargained for, in the form of a spectral visitor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: justify;">On this particular night, Rhoda's grandmother had already gone to bed, leaving us alone to watch late night
TV. Rhoda had acquired several puppies that summer, and they slept outside in a
miniature barn of sorts near the house. This night, the puppies were being very noisy, barking and yapping without end. I assumed they had seen a deer in the large field behind the house, but Rhoda insisted I go check on them. </span><span style="text-align: justify;">I grudgingly went outside with a flashlight to see
what was wrong.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
mini barn was a fair distance from the house, and the back side—the side with
the stalls—was unlit. It also faced out to a large field, nearly football
field-sized, that had a forest on the other side. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As
I stood at the stall door, looking down at the dogs and checking each one to
make sure they weren’t injured, I felt a cool chill on my right side, facing in
the same direction as the house. The chill rapidly moved across my back, then all
up and down the lefthand side of my body, then vanished. It was as though a
wind had whipped up, but without the movement of any air. I had never
experienced anything like it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As
I stood there, confused, noticing there was no wind, something out of the
corner of my eye caught my attention, and I turned to the left. Behind the
house and stalls, right in the middle of that large field, there was a single tree. Behind
this tree, someone was watching me—someone dressed all in white, from head to
toe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As
a very young child, I remember making “ghosts” in school. We took little balls
of tissue, then draped another tissue over them, putting a rubberband around
the neck, to create a little ghost. This is actually what the figure I was
seeing looked like: a person, draped in a white cloth, tight around their neck
and hands. And, I could see through the shrouded figure—they were translucent.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As
soon as I saw them, my observer reacted. They seemed startled, then dove
forward, as if to go prone on the ground. Only the translucent figure didn’t
just land on the ground, they passed into it, vanishing from sight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
stood there for a moment, shocked. Had I just seen what I thought I’d seen? I
struggled to play the memory back in my head. Surely, I was seeing things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">For
one, I was having a problem believing it was a spirit I’d just seen. But I was
also having a problem with where who, or what, had gone. I mowed that field
regularly, and there was no depression or hole next to that lone tree—nowhere for
anyone to go unless they actually passed <i>into</i>
the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
turned my head slowly from side to side, thinking that just maybe some light
had played across my glasses, creating the illusion. Try as I might, several
times, I couldn’t replicate what I had just seen.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: justify;">I
bid the dogs a good night and hurried back into the house.</span> </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-40123243729964001872018-09-12T09:00:00.000-04:002018-09-12T09:00:00.856-04:00TOUR GUIDING 101<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Recently, some folks I know from out-of-town came to the Louisville area, and I had the good fortune to be able to take them around town for an afternoon of paranormal and historical sightseeing. In my hasty preparations for this 4-hour tour, I learned a lot about the area, and about what you actually need to do to get ready for such a mini-trip. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Staycations are nothing new for me. My small family has done them for years, normally on spring break, taking our two daughters to different area attractions every day, always returning home by night. As over-prepared as I've always been for those wife-and-kids trips, I found myself woefully unprepared for my friends' trip. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>Lesson #1, clean your vehicle.</b></u> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Prior to my visitors' arrival, I had told my eldest (18) to go and get her junk out of the minivan. If you have kids, you know they always leave things like straw wrappers, empty water bottles, and, in the case of girls, hair brushes and other beautification products in your backseats. My kids also have a penchant for leaving empty cups from drivethroughs in the van, as well as pencils, paper, school stuff, and even articles of clothing in the back of the van. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When it came time to drive my visitors around, I was embarrassed to see that my teen did not do as she was asked--her back seat collection of what is basically trash was still there. Argh. Lesson learned: clean your vehicle yourself, or at least supervise your kids when you make them do it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Lesson #2, stock up on travel supplies. </u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have carried a case of bottled water in my van at all times, for about seven years. I started doing so back when my eldest played Tennis in middle school, and I would see so many of the girls show up for matches with no water. A case of Deerpark (my personal favorite) is something like $5. Always having water in the van has come in handy so many times, and has added to what I like to call my van's state of always being drive-in ready (folding seats, blankets, tarp, plastic ware, cups, etc. etc). But wouldn't you know it, the one time I drive a couple of folks around town, showing them the sights, and the van's supply of water was exhausted. I might have noticed this if I sat in the back, where the water is kept, but I never do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Lesson #3, Plan your route</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Having lived in this area nearly my entire life (I was away for only 4 years when I was in the USAF), I know where most things are. When it comes to taking my kids around, we just go where they want, or where we think they'd like, and spend hours at each location. Touring the area, jumping from place to place to place, with a few moments here and there... a planned route would definitely have maximized the <i>number</i> of places I could have taken my guests. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And, planning a route isn't just to save time and get the most sight-seeing spots in that you can. It's also time to figure in bathroom breaks and snack stops. My tour followed a big lunch, so my guests nor I were particularly hungry or thirsty in the four hours that followed, but as I headed home from a day of touring, my blood pressure medicine was kicking in and I began to hear the siren song of the water closet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Lesson #4, It's All about the story</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Louisville, or <i>Kentuckiana,</i> area is chock full of 150+ year old homes and lots of history. But telling someone "they say this house is haunted" isn't enough. You need the story to go with it. I'm fortunate that after two decades in local law enforcement, I knew quite a bit of stories, paranormal and otherwise, for the many locations around the area. The boring anecdotes I usually tell my kids, and which I've told dozens of people before this impromptu tour, captured the attention of my guests far more than I would have guessed. If you're taking people around your town, do some research, learn some local history. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Lesson #5, Sharing the Experience</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The most amazing thing about taking folks around town though, was the learning experience. I had only a few days to come up with a list of places to go and turned to Google to refresh my memory of locations I drive by on a regular basis without a second thought. In the process, I learned, and re-learned, a lot of local history myself. And my guests, also keen to find cool places to stop, had found stories I wasn't even aware of. All in all, this was a learning event for all of us--not just my visitors. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">No matter how long you've lived somewhere, odds are, there's some cool trivia or stories you've never heard of, because you've never looked for them. Get out and see some local history, you'll enjoy yourself and be pleasantly surprised what's been there all along. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-44358636629811028872018-07-31T12:53:00.001-04:002018-07-31T12:54:23.060-04:00Farewell, My friend<div style="text-align: justify;">
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She was supposed to be me wife's dog--something to help her cope with the death of her grandmother. I had been asking my wife if we could get a dog for years: we had a fenced in back yard, and our girls (then 4 and 9) had both been wanting one. </div>
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When we got our little mixed breed, Australian Shepherd + something home, she was barely 8 weeks old. She was full of energy and as girly-looking as possible: 95% white, with just a few black spots, a pink nose, and the weird "ghost eyes" of the Australian Shepherd breed. My three girls gave her the girliest name possible: Sunshine Blossom. </div>
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Those first few days were rough. Sunnie, as we called her, didn't want to be away from us. She cried and barked at night in her training crate, to the point no one was getting any sleep. I laid on the floor in our then-carpeted living room, beside the crate, putting a couple fingers inside for the little puppy to lick on. I know that probably wasn't the best move to make, but it calmed Sunnie, let us all sleep, and I think, indelibly imprinted her on me as surely as if she was a baby duckling and I had been there when she hatched. </div>
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For her nine years of life, Sunnie followed me everywhere around the house and never wanted to leave my side. I fed her in the mornings, took her outside, and (until the last few years of her life, when my teenager began helping with doggy duties) fed her and took her outside in the evenings. I attempted to train her, with poor results, both due to my her innate stubborness, and <span style="background-color: white;">inexperience with dogs. I took her to the vet, often holding her in my lap as she shivered with anticipatory fear of the annual shots each visit ended with. </span></div>
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Sunnie wasn't my first dog. My first dog was an Australian Cattle Dog-mix, named Missy, that my parents had when I was a toddler. Missy was attached to me as well, and I'm told they eventually had to give her to my mother's mother as the dog would knock me down, push me into cabinets and otherwise inadvertently hurt me as she tried to lick on me and play with me. I don't remember this. What I do remember is the poor, dirty, outside dog at my Mammaw's when I was growing up. Missing an eye (after having gotten out one day and getting struck by a car), Missy was always eager to see me when I went to my Mammaw's house. When I finally asked why around age 7, I then learned she had once been my dog. I felt terrible, and often feel guilty even now that I didn't spend more time with her. </div>
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My second dog was a tiny Dachsund, a "weiner dog", who's name I can't recall. I had this little guy for two weeks when I was about 4 years old. My dad became frustrated at his inability to paper train the little peeing machine, and he was given away to another family. </div>
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My third dog, Mark, was a miniature schnauzer--the "Monopoly dog", that I was surprised with on my 5th birthday. He was filled with energy and constantly jumped all over me. He also hated cats, and chased my mother's Pomeranian, Tammy, around the yard constantly. My parents had chosen Mark for me, since a local TV clown "Presto" had a similar dog and I was so fascinated it. But, as my parents couldn't control Mark, presto, he vanished from my life, only a few months after I got him. </div>
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My fourth dog, Buttons, was a Pomeranian like my mother's dog. He too was full of energy and was always climbing all over me, licking me and wanting to play. He also had a propensity for chewing--furniture was his favorite. He signed his deportation order one weekend while we were out. We came back and found that he had been trying to escape the laundry room my father had locked him in (to spare the furniture further chew marks). In our absence, he had chewed a hole through the drywall and was working on gnawing a hole on the other side, so he could escape to the basement. Buttons was sent away. </div>
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My parents divorced shortly thereafter, and Tammy became my dog. Some time after the divorce, after my father got custody of me, he decided that keeping Tammy in an apartment all day wasn't fair to her. I still remember taking her to the people we had given Buttons to a few years prior. </div>
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I didn't have any more dogs for many years. In the late 1980s, after high school, I got my then-girlfriend a dog: a husky mix she named Britta. The little puppy became very attached to me, angering my girlfriend, and I had to get her another dog. Britta became unofficially mine, but lived with the girlfriend, who lived with her grandparents in a big house with a field and woods behind it. Despite breaking up several times, sometimes for months, every time I went back to that house, Britta remembered me and came running, excited and jumping all over me. </div>
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Sunnie, my wife's dog, out-attached every other dog I've ever had. I often called her my shadow, or my own personal groupie. I don't know how I formed this bond with her, but my wife and kids grudgingly acknowledged it. Sunnie became <i>my</i> dog. </div>
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At the shelter where we got her, eight week-old Sunnie was described as being blind and deaf. We found neither to be true, testing her at the shelter before we adopted her. She was the last of her little of "double merle" collie-mixes. Later, when she passed 80 pounds, we guessed that she wasn't part-Collie, after all, but part Pyrenees (and Australian Shepherd). We didn't care that her near-albino, all-white state probably meant she had congenital defects. We all fell in love with the feisty little ball of fur the first day we saw her. </div>
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As she grew, Sunnie turned into a big, fluffy dog who, despite her size, always wanted to get up in my lap, but who, due to an off-center pupil in her left eye, was unable to follow me down the basement stairs--instead laying in the living room, above wherever I was in the basement, occasionally growling to let me know she was there. </div>
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She was great fun, even if I was often the only one allowed to pet her when I was in the room. She loved chasing her little silver, Radio Control car, or her laser pointer dot. She amused us all nearly every day. </div>
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Sunnie wasn't perfect. In addition to being a notorious chow hound who I often declared would eat herself to death if given the chance, Sunnie was more than attached to me: she was possessive. Often, she would nip, or even bite at anyone trying to pet her while she sprawled across my lap. She laid on the floor beside the bed, beside me, at night. She would pull my socks out of the laundry hamper and hide them with her toys under the bed--when she wasn't using them as pillows. It often seemed like an unhealthy attachment my dog had for me. </div>
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Several years ago, Sunnie lost her vision due to what we later learned was a thyroid problem. Our goofy, always happy dog who loved nothing more than running back and forth in our big yard (and food), suddenly became a much more timid animal. She adapted well, but never regained the confidence to run in her yard again. I would still indulge her in wrestling matches, but a great deal of her exercise evaporated with her vision. They were sad times, particularly when we'd give in to her daily begging for table scraps, which she had difficulty finding on the floor where we dropped them. </div>
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Over the past year, Sunnie developed a compulsion for licking herself. The veterinarian prescribed Prozac, and while it did calm her and end her nipping, it didn't solve the bouts of incessant licking. We did our best to stop this behavior, scolding her, or squirting her with a bottle. I almost had her trained to stop this unhealthy behavior: snapping my fingers twice, rapidly (something which worked about half the time). We declined further medication, not wanting to have our dog too drugged when she was only 8 years old.</div>
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This past weekend though, Sunnie's system finally had enough. She began to vomit up her food on Sunday--something she often did when she got hot. We cooled her down, hosed her down, and gave her own fan while we confined our beloved yakster in the kitchen as we always did when she was sick. I made the decision to take her to the vet the following morning. </div>
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Monday, July 30th, I awoke to a horrible sight. Sunnie had begun throwing up feces. I knew from my reading this was a sign of an intestinal blockage. It meant she had to go to the vet--right away. We quickly carried her outside--she was too weak to even stand--and hosed her down to cool her off. I tried to pour some water in her open mouth, but she couldn't even drink it. </div>
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As I sat with my beloved, overly-girly dog, she began to have problems breathing. I knew she wasn't going to make it to the vet. I laid down on the wet ground beside her, and tried to comfort her. She began to have leg spasms. Her breathing turned very shallow. She gasped several times as I petted her and told my best friend goodbye. Then her breathing stopped and she passed, her blind eyes staring forward blankly. My best friend was gone. </div>
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Farewell, Sunnie. With no insult to any dog I've owned before, you were the best friend I ever had. This is the best I can do with words to tell you how much I'll miss you, and how much I loved you. I hope you realized that when you were still here.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-40345046193376502582018-04-09T21:49:00.002-04:002018-04-09T21:49:40.421-04:00Fortean A to Z: Ghosts or Spirits?<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What is a ghost?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes called an apparition, haunt, phantom, poltergeist, shade, specter, spectre, spirit, spook, or wraith, ghosts have generally been considered to be the spirit of a dead person in modern times. But are they?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looking at the origins of the word <i>ghost, </i>one can trace it all the way back to the Latin spiritus--a word meaning "breath" and which referred to a non-corporeal being. Spiritus is distinguished from the Latin <i>anima</i> which meant <i>soul</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Turning to one of our oldest books on the subject, the Bible, we learn that ghosts and spirits abound in ancient times, and were accepted as real. But they were not the souls of the departed. In fact, the Bible is quite adamant that the dead do not return:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>As the cloud disappears and vanishes away, so he who goes down to the grave does not come up. He shall never return to his house, Nor shall his place know him anymore</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--Job 7:9-10</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the living know that they will die; But the dead know nothing, and they have no more reward, For the memory of them is forgotten. Also their love, their hatred, and their envy have now perished; nevermore will they have a share in anything done under the sun.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--Ecclesiastes 9:5-6</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When his breath departs, he returns to the earth; on that very day his plans perish.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--Psalm 146:4</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While these verses tell us that spirits are not our former loved ones, other passages warn us that the immaterial are indeed very real:</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And when they say to you, ‘Consult the mediums and the spiritists who whisper and mutter.’ Should not a people consult their God? Should they consult the dead on behalf of the living? </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--Isaiah 8:19</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Give no regard to mediums and familiar spirits; do not seek after them, to be defiled by them: I am the LORD your God.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--Leviticus 19:31</span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-1" id="en-KJV-24366" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And they came over unto the other side of the sea, into the country of the Gadarenes.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-2" id="en-KJV-24367" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And when he was come out of the ship, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit,</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-3" id="en-KJV-24368" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no man could bind him, no, not with chains:</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-4" id="en-KJV-24369" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because that he had been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces: neither could any man tame him.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-5" id="en-KJV-24370" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And always, night and day, he was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cutting himself with stones.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-6" id="en-KJV-24371" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But when he saw Jesus afar off, he ran and worshipped him,</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-7" id="en-KJV-24372" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And cried with a loud voice, and said, What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of the most high God? I adjure thee by God, that thou torment me not.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-8" id="en-KJV-24373" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For he said unto him, Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-9" id="en-KJV-24374" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-10" id="en-KJV-24375" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And he besought him much that he would not send them away out of the country.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-11" id="en-KJV-24376" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now there was there nigh unto the mountains a great herd of swine feeding.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="text Mark-5-12" id="en-KJV-24377" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And all the devils besought him, saying, Send us into the swine, that we may enter into them.</span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And forthwith Jesus gave them leave. And the unclean spirits went out, and entered into the swine: and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea, (they were about two thousand;) and were choked in the sea.</span></i></div>
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--Mark 5:1-13</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, spirits were very much real in the old world. W</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hat were these spirits reported around the world, for all of recorded human history? Again, the Bible offers us an explanation:</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So the great dragon was cast out, that serpent of old, called the Devil and Satan, who deceives the whole world; he was cast to the earth, and his angels were cast out with him. </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--Revelation 12:9</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But what of the many reports of ghosts--the dearly departed--communicating with the living?</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light. It is not surprising, then, if his servants masquerade as servants of righteousness. Their end will be what their actions deserve.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--2 Corinthians 11:14-15</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In our modern day and age, many believe in "ghosts" but not necessarily in evil spirits. Is it because they are clinging to the hope of an afterlife? If so, why not believe the Bible and the afterlife it promises, not here, but somewhere better?</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-996345661099364692018-04-06T22:21:00.000-04:002018-04-06T22:21:47.399-04:00Fortean A to Z: Frauds of Fortune<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupUOcfh_G8X-WCEnLQcPJng0Bj712rAvVTqTdTk3QpQe8OpmrhvXqWPWC1eGHNotyvVgQqoj1sxfbhfsSdmeDqaZgR9U2DSzkKj3QePBVokHImFXtdqchRMFDjrDjQi2VcQK9/s1600/Fraud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupUOcfh_G8X-WCEnLQcPJng0Bj712rAvVTqTdTk3QpQe8OpmrhvXqWPWC1eGHNotyvVgQqoj1sxfbhfsSdmeDqaZgR9U2DSzkKj3QePBVokHImFXtdqchRMFDjrDjQi2VcQK9/s1600/Fraud.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Regard not them that have familiar spirits, neither seek after wizards, to be defiled by them: I am the </span><span class="small-caps" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">Lord</span><span style="background-color: white;"> your God.</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--Leviticus 19:31</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Bible is a great source of daily wisdom, spiritual growth, and historical accounts. In it are a lot f surprising things: dinosaurs, ghosts, and witches. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the verse above shows, there were indeed "psychics" in the past. I say were, because while there still may be some authentic speakers-to-the-otherside these days, in fact, most so-called mediums are actually Extra Large Frauds. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the old days, mediums chatted up unseen spirits, or submitted to possession, to gain special knowledge of future events. As time went by, however, the "profession" changed. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1990s, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Youree Dell Harris started working for the</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Psychic Readers Network. YOu might remember her as "Miss Cleo". Harris appeared as an </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">infomercial</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">psychic, claiming she was a mystical shaman from </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jamaica</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. PRN also claimed on their website that she had been born and raised in </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trelawny</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, Jamaica. </span></div>
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If you don't remember how it worked, callers dialed up the PRN and had pschic readings <i>over the phone</i>. That's quite a leap from palm-reading or holding hands in a dark, candle lit room as so many did in the 1800s. </div>
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In 2001, Access Resource Services (doing business as Psychic Readers Network) was sued in Arkansas, Illinois, Indiana, Kansas, Missouri, New York, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, Florida, and by the Federal Communications Commission.</div>
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In 2002, the company was charged by the Federal Trade Commission (along with company owners Steven Feder and Peter Stotz) with deceptive advertising, billing, and collection practices. A settlement was reached wherein the Psychics erased $500 million of debt from gullible victims. ARS was also fined $5 million.</div>
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You see, Miss Cleo, along with her employers, was a complete fraud. She didn't have any psychic powers. No demonic creatures took over her body or whispered supernatural secrets in her ear (the one not pressed against the phone). </div>
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Cleo was actually born in Los Angeles and raised in a Catholic Caribbean family. She attended an all-girls boarding school. After marrying at age 19, she gave birth to a daughter, then divorced at age 21. She later had a second daughter. In 1996, she and a partner opened a theatrical production company in Seattle Washington. </div>
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Her final production in Seattle, in 1997, ended dismally, with some of her cast members claiming to have never been paid, and reporting Harris had claimed to have bone cancer. She even was alleged to have used her imaginary condition as an excuse for not paying anyone, claiming to have excessive medical bills. </div>
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Miss Cleo is not alone in the fraudulent fortune telling business. In 2016, in Mentor, Ohio, a psychic studio owner, Gina B. Miller, was indicted engaging in a pattern of corrupt activity, five counts of aggravated theft, six counts of grand theft, two counts of theft, one count of identity theft, 10 counts of telecommunications fraud and three counts of securing writings by deception.</div>
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Miller was alleged to have stolen more than $1.5 million from eleven victims. It was further alleged she had threatened her victims' families if she was not paid. </div>
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2002, California--two self-described psychics were indicted on Federal mail fraud charges after persuading people to pay them to be cleared of bad karma.</div>
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2006, Connecticut--two psychics tell a woman God was going to kill her unless she paid them to perform various rituals on her behalf.</div>
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2013, New York City--con artists running the <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fortune_telling_fraud">bujo scam</a></i> targeted Asian immigrants, infliting "curses" designed around Chinese folk religion on their victims. </div>
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The list goes on and on, but the point is clear: Fortune telling is more fraud than Fortean in our modern era. The idea of the fortune teller being a seedy criminal is so pervasive and long-lasting it continues to inspire works of fiction embracing the concept.</div>
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Despite the obvious evidence that these occult observers are more charlatan than clairvoyant, people will continue to flock to them, desperate to catch a glimpse of what the future may hold. And that is far more mysterious than any medium could ever hope to be. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-6095018271525989252018-04-06T21:41:00.001-04:002018-04-06T21:41:38.896-04:00You (Don't) Get What You Paid For<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="dgstv" data-offset-key="6850c-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="6850c-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">This is a lesson in bargain shopping on Amazon.com</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="78q56-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">So, last night, I spent hours shopping for a new holster for one of my handguns. I chanced upon a holster that can accommodate full-sized handguns made by a company called OneTigris. The price was right--that is, cheap, so I ordered one. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="d6qq2-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Now, keep in mind, I only needed this holster for range trips. It's for a handgun I don't carry around all the time, or I'd spring for a quality Bianchi or Uncle Mike's. But since this was for plinking, I decided to save some money. I also decided that since it was only a few dollars more, I'd forego the free "two day" shipping Amazon offers Prime members, and get next-day delivery, to ensure my holster would be here in time for my Saturday range trip. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="bqadr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Friday night, "by 8PM" came and went. No holster. I logged onto Amazon and found out that my delivery was "delayed" and shipping was expected for April 7th to 10th". Say what?</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="cj6o1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I called into Amazon.in, and spoke to one of their untouchables posing as an American. I explained my package hadn't arrived, and that I wanted my express shipping fees refunded. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="2v7ec-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">"Oh, I am sorry, sir, but we cannot do that. It is still friday. We cannot process your refund until tomorrow."</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5oi1g-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">That is complete horsesh*t. It not only shows how much of a scam Prime is, but it also reveals a lot about OneTigris, the manufacturer of the holster in question. I'd never heard of them before, but there were a lot of fake 5-star reviews up for the holster, which led to me buying it. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="8k09i-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">If a company can't manage to send something overnight in this modern day and age, then clearly, they don't know what they'r doing. It's a nylon holster, not a concrete block. How hard could it really be to Fedex that? </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="148i7-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Outsourcing to China to manufacture cr*p to save a few coins is one thing, but if you can't manage to ship your products out, then I don't trust you or your junk. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="daqa9-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Order cancelled, never buying from "OneTrigis" again. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-76616338164208532382018-04-05T21:15:00.002-04:002018-04-05T21:16:27.160-04:00Fortean A to Z: El Chupacabra<div style="text-align: justify;">
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By now, anyone in Fortean circles has heard of El Chupacabra. The creature has appeared on an episode of the X-Files, has it's on movie, and even has <a href="https://sunspot.bandcamp.com/track/el-chupacabra">a killer song dedicated to it</a> by the Wisconsin Fortean band, <a href="https://sunspot.bandcamp.com/">Sunspot</a>. </div>
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In March 1995, eight sheep were discovered dead in Puerto Rico, with three puncture wounds in the chest area, completely drained of blood. The legend of the <i>goat sucker </i>was born. </div>
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Over the next few months, the modern mythological creature's victims grew and an eyewitness, Madelyne Tolentino, had the first sighting of the creature in the town of Canóvanas. The creature has been described as a reptile-like creature, with leathery or scaly greenish-gray skin and sharp spines or quills running down its back.Estimated to be 3 to 4 feet tall, it is reputed to stand and hop like a kangaroo.</div>
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The creature's name, El Chupacabra, is attributed to Puerto Rican comedian Silverio Pérez. </div>
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In addition to Puerto Rico, incidents involving the goat sucker were reported in the Dominican Republic, Argentina, Bolivia, Chile, Colombia, Honduras, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Panama, Peru, Brazil, United States, and Mexico.</div>
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It should be noted that in 1975, long before the beast had its name, similar killings in the small town of Moca were attributed to El Vampiro de Moca ("The Vampire of Moca").These were at first blamed on a Satanic cult. Later, more killings were reported and many farms reported loss of animal life. </div>
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While many investigated El Chupa, the most significant events in the story of this strange cryptid happened in 2011, when the beast was <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/world/2011/07/20/chupacabra-caper-confounds-texas-town.html">shot and killed in Texas</a>. An examination of the corpse revealed what had actually been shot was a coyote with a severe case of mange. This has happened <a href="http://wtvr.com/2014/02/26/chupacabra-killed/">multiple times over the years</a>.</div>
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Benjamin Radford conducted a five year investigation of El Chupa sightings, documented in his book <i><a href="http://a.co/03QBqzA">Tracking the Chupacabra</a>. </i>Radford concluded that this was a case of life imitating art-- Madelyne Tolentino;s description bore an uncanny resemblance to that of the creature Sil from the science-fiction horror film Species, released in the same year. </div>
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University of Michigan biologist Barry O'Connor concluded in 2010 that all U.S. chupacabra reports were simply coyotes infected with <i>Sarcoptes scabiei</i>, the symptoms of which would explain the reported appearance of the chupacabra; little fur, thickened skin, and rank odor. O'Connor further theorized attacks on goats occurred "because these animals are greatly weakened, they're going to have a hard time hunting. So they may be forced into attacking livestock because it's easier than running down a rabbit or a deer."</div>
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<i>For a more indepth history of this modern mytholgical creature, listen to <a href="http://othersidepodcast.com/blog/2015/02/04/24-el-chupacabra-species-johnny-depp/">Episode #24</a> of the Fortean podcast "Otherside Podcast". </i></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-33486975968082965212018-04-04T21:14:00.000-04:002018-04-04T21:14:55.240-04:00Fortean A to Z: Dog-Faced Men<div style="text-align: justify;">
His name was Saint Christopher, and legend holds that he was a dog-faced man. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6fUprs32nW_uT_qmjt25ALzZMJYIaP-eth0ajENVrXjMcXgbI8iP0HHsoOLFnsuVyh00ybGeWBr1dME2SMwdarugWCKKWgeARNEXBYhw6Rig7EfjLBGmQTk4kfvcBeqXzT2Z/s1600/st+christopher.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6fUprs32nW_uT_qmjt25ALzZMJYIaP-eth0ajENVrXjMcXgbI8iP0HHsoOLFnsuVyh00ybGeWBr1dME2SMwdarugWCKKWgeARNEXBYhw6Rig7EfjLBGmQTk4kfvcBeqXzT2Z/s1600/st+christopher.gif" /></a></div>
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Venerated in the Catholic Church, the man who would one day become a saint was purported to have the head of a dog--a member of a race of giants who ate human flesh. During his time, it was accepted that several races existed in the world, including the Chananeans, a dog-headed people. </div>
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The German Bishop (and poet) Walter of Speyer told the story of how Christopher met the Christ child and regretted his former ways, accepting Baptism and receiving a human appearance. Christopher then devoted his life to Christian service, eventually becoming a Saint. </div>
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Does this mean there actually were a race of Dog-headed people in the world?</div>
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There was a widespread belief in cynocephaly (having the head of a dog or jackal) in the ancient world--and not just Anubis. The Greek physician Ctesias wrote in the 5th Century BC of cynocephali in India--the <i>Indica</i>. The Greek traveler Megasthenes also report a dog-headed people in India who lived in the mountains--barking and wearing the skins of wild animals. Herodotus reported claims from ancient Libyans of similar creatures inhabiting their eastern lands. The Buddhist missionary Huisheng described an island of dog-headed east of Fusang. Li Yanshou, a Tang dynasty historian, also spoke of a 'dog kingdom'.</div>
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These are but a few of the historical accounts of dog-headed men. There is also the legend of werewolves. And then there's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypertrichosis">hypertrichosis</a>: a condition that causes hair to grow from the face--all of the face. Sufferers aren't just footnotes in circus history: <a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-33978116">people today still suffer from the condition </a>that could indeed cause one to be mistaken for an animal. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-47761877280697938572018-04-03T22:27:00.003-04:002018-04-03T22:27:35.330-04:00Fortean A to Z: Champ<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis84wfRAkPCKx7PBgOipBlis1sSk0d_J2Dfy5L6iWsIwS4lvNJKIMwFjmVkxrvc5jfnZqQJnsAqkWKgB1_jdBwYDMt-FKAvE_YR9997MVN6_Gig7wv-l7X9qB_z-H5zHChMjWy/s1600/Champ+image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis84wfRAkPCKx7PBgOipBlis1sSk0d_J2Dfy5L6iWsIwS4lvNJKIMwFjmVkxrvc5jfnZqQJnsAqkWKgB1_jdBwYDMt-FKAvE_YR9997MVN6_Gig7wv-l7X9qB_z-H5zHChMjWy/s1600/Champ+image.jpg" /></a></div>
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When it comes to lake monsters, most people probably think of Nessie, the Loch Ness monster in Scotland. But there are actually a number of lake monsters around the world--like Champ. </div>
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Champ (also known as <i>Champy</i>) is the nickname of the Lake Champlain monster. Lake Champlain is a 125-mile-long fresh water lake between New York and Vermont. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8H-UKacXrY-wKCpdibV5GjhXakqHHaSMklfMNq8KuFkCqpcmSfVRh_N9qm7ShhP2fJgyKvrRpzQWjDfQ-T08qcNoEZRpsENjOWbxn8poHWWjXLaKLFmYvcwZjwsBLj9PuzFZ/s1600/Lake+Champ.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="228" data-original-width="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8H-UKacXrY-wKCpdibV5GjhXakqHHaSMklfMNq8KuFkCqpcmSfVRh_N9qm7ShhP2fJgyKvrRpzQWjDfQ-T08qcNoEZRpsENjOWbxn8poHWWjXLaKLFmYvcwZjwsBLj9PuzFZ/s1600/Lake+Champ.png" /></a></div>
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There have been over 300 reported sightings of Champ over the years. Legends of the creature(s) date back to Native Americans in the region--both the Iroquois and the Abenaki spoke of the creature; the latter calling it "Tatoskok".</div>
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The founder of Québec and the lake's namesake, Samuel de Champlain allegedly claimed to have sighted Champ in 1609. Champlain described it as a "20-foot serpent thick as a barrel, and a head like a horse." However, the accuracy of this story is questioned, and many believe it a fabrication to further the legend of the region's own lake monster. </div>
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In 1819 a "Capt. Crum" reported sighting an enormous serpentine monster estimated to be about 187-feet long. He further claimed to have witnessed it being followed by "two large Sturgeon and a Bill-fish". He described it as having three teeth and eyes the "color of peeled onions". He also described it having "a belt of red" around its neck and a white star on its forehead.</div>
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Today, the Champ legend continues, with the creature serving as a mascot for local sports team, and several businesses using an imagined image of the creature for tourism. </div>
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Just what is Champ? A prehistoric remnant, amphibious dinosaur? Or maybe an illusion?</div>
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One of the most common skeptical theories for lake monsters is misidentification. Sightings of long, sinuous creatures mving through the water are often revealed to be merely a wake caused by subsurface currents. Logs and other debris floating in the water can play tricks on the eyes, making an observer think they see something that isn't there. For this theory to hold true--that Champ is nothign more than an illusion--one would expect to see Lake Monsters around the world. Which is entirely true: Nessie and Champ are joined by Caddy (Cadboro Bay, British Columbia) and Ogopogo (Okanagan Lake, British Columbia). </div>
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Then again, maybe there is an undiscovered species of sea and lake creature heretofore undiscovered by modern man...</div>
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On March 21, 2018, it was reported across the internet that a strange creature resembling a prehistoric creature <a href="https://www.sciencealert.com/mystery-loch-ness-monster-washes-up-on-a-beach-in-georgia">had been found on a Georgia beach</a>. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmif1jgnVuwlj8XgDaK9laXWOFs7fWp1WBwGmO1BtyWHf9tIT9aZjOCv7k7QdX8Mfb26MhyR4iRv85JhkEimAsmoUXg_MwrjUqgd08WwkySFkRffInW84jlayeBmDzcc8jzkEC/s1600/what+is+it.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="334" data-original-width="773" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmif1jgnVuwlj8XgDaK9laXWOFs7fWp1WBwGmO1BtyWHf9tIT9aZjOCv7k7QdX8Mfb26MhyR4iRv85JhkEimAsmoUXg_MwrjUqgd08WwkySFkRffInW84jlayeBmDzcc8jzkEC/s320/what+is+it.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Was this an actual, undiscovered carcass, or a hoax? Only time will tell...<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-40389307644215403362018-04-02T09:00:00.000-04:002018-04-03T08:07:53.323-04:00Fortean A to Z: The Black Boar<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Among the many unusual things I've seen in my life that might fall into the Fortean category is the story of the black boar. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was 1991, and I was stationed at Rhein Main Airbase, in Frankfurt, Germany, serving as a member of the USAF Security Police. On the day in question, I was posted at a gate on the west side of the base--</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">possibly the most remote, and unused corner of the base.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I sat in the gateshack,
listening to Armed Forces radio one evening, I looked up and saw a pair of boars come out of the woods outside the perimeter fence. They were like so many other
boars I’d seen in the region: about the size of a medium-sized dog, maybe two
feet tall at the shoulders, if that. They were brown in color, and trotted long
at a brisk pace, crossing the road outside my locked gate, headed north, toward
the airport. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few moments later, after the
small boars had vanished into the thin patch of woods northwest of my location,
I saw an entirely different boar come out of the woods. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The black boar was three or four
times the size of any other boar I’d seen in and around Frankfort. He was jet
black, with a single tuft of white hair, several inches long, extending from
the highest point of his back—a point I estimated to be about three or even
three-and-a-half-feet long. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My jaw dropped at the sight of
the black boar—I hadn’t ever seen one like that before (not that I’d seen many
boars in my life). This boar didn’t hurry across the road like the smaller ones
a few moments before. Instead, he paced slowly outside the fence, walking
alongside the closed car gate, as if examining it to see if he could come on
base. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I tensed, more than a little
nervous, and put my hand on my holstered service pistol, wondering if my 9mm M9
would even be able to stop such an enormous beast. My apprehension was no doubt
due to one of my friends in the unit who had tried to impress upon me how
dangerous boars could be, and who had recounted many a boar-hunting story from his
native Texas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The black boar and I stared at each
other as it went by. The sun was behind the trees now, and there was just enough
light to make out details on the beast. It truly was jet-black, completely
unlike the mottled shades of brown and gray of the other boars I’d seen in the
area. I edged my way toward my gateshack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few more moments passed and the
black boar continued to follow the fenceline, entering the thin patch of trees
that grew outside of our perimeter fence, stretching north of the access road
from the airport. In the dim light he stood out boldly from the gray trees and
brush, a great, black shadow, sauntering along, unafraid of anything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I let out a sigh of relief,
thinking to myself how glad I was that the gate had been closed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Almost as if on cue, the boar
veered to the right, now about a hundred feet away—north-northwest of my
position—and passed through the perimeter fenceline. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I imagine my jaw dropped, as the
fencing around the base was supposed to be secure enough to keep even the
rabbits and other small game out—the Air Force is very serious about keeping
animals off the runways where they could damage aircraft. Yet this enormous
boar walked through the fenceline as if it wasn’t there. It took several more
steps, then vanished behind a particularly thick patch of brush on base, north
of my gateshack. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I retreated to the gateshack,
closing the door after me. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Try as I might, I could not see the boar at all. I wondered if it had been a trick of the light--and remembered how it hadn't appeared to walk through the fence until after I'd thought how glad I was there was a fence between us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Still, a hole in the fence was pretty serious. I called for a patrol to come relieve me for a
bathroom break. When the patrol arrived, I recounted my story and asked to go
check the fence out. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My request was denied, and after
I relieved myself in the nearby woods, the patrol left the area.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For many years, I have wondered
about this black boar, so unlike any other boar I saw in Germany, and about how
it silently passed through a tall security fence and vanished so completely
from sight. In the years since this incident, I’ve read about black dog
sightings near cemeteries, and I have to wonder if what I saw really was a
boar, or perhaps something else?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The beast had looked real enough--I could make out the black hair covering its hide as it went by. And I've since learned that <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hogzilla">boars can get much, much larger</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After experiencing this unusual animal first hand--something I was completely unfamiliar with--I can see how many times people see something and imagine it as something else. </span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-51508834132900895712018-04-01T21:58:00.002-04:002018-04-01T21:58:35.190-04:00Fortean A to Z: ALIEN BIG CATS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's one of my personal favorite topics when it comes to the Fortean field of cryptids: Alien Big Cats.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What is an alien big cat? It's not a little green kitty from another planet with an underactive thyroid and a penchant for cow meat. It's an out-of-place feline, sighted in areas where it just can't be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I first began reading about ABCs back in the late 1990s. As I looked into the very interesting sighting of large felines slinking around the UK, I was surprised to learn this was no Sasquatch search, but rather a series of very credible sightings--and even some trophies. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 1903, a Canadian Lynx was actually shot in Devon, and is even now part of the collection of the Bristol Museum </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 1980, a puma was captured in Scotland by farmer Ted Noble following several years of sightings. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 1989, 1991, and 1994, alien non-indigenous cats were confirmed (the animals' bodies found after death) in Shropshire, Norfolk and the Isle of Wight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Larger, black cats were photographed and capture on video throughout the 1990s, including the Beast of Bodmin and the Fen Tiger (Cambridgeshire).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Things took a decidedly darker turn when in 2000, when an <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">11-year-old boy in</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span>Monmouthshire<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">was attacked by a reported large black cat that left him with five long claw marks across his left cheek. </span><sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-BBCNEWSATTACK1_29-0" style="color: #222222; line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: isolate; white-space: nowrap;"></sup></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">In 2005, a South-east Londoner was attacked outside his home, leaving him with scratches all over his body. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">These and many other reports show that England does indeed have Alien Big Cats--and unlike Bigfoot, they're dangerous. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">So what exactly is going on?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Unlike the modern mythological Black Dog, ABCs may have a much more plausible explanation, and it involves the Dangerous and Wild Animals Act of 1976. In a nutshell, it became illegal to own </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">bobcats, caracals, cheetahs, jaguars, leopards, lions, lynxs, ocelots, pumas, servals, tigers without special licensing. The theory has been put forward that people owning these cats may have simply released them into the wild, where they could have mated and thrived, creating a small population of alien big cats that have become more and more common in news reports from around the country. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But before you breathe a sigh of relief that only our friends in the UK need worry, keep in mind that phantom cats have been seen around the world, including Australia and the United States. </span></span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-26506856297197118512018-03-08T12:00:00.000-05:002018-03-08T12:00:22.344-05:00THOR'S DAY RANT: How to fix the VA<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since the American Revolutionary War, there has been a history of providing for soldiers injured fighting for our country. In his second Inaugural Address, President Abraham Lincoln even declared </span><i style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow, and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.” </i></div>
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The phrase "To care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan" has since been adopted as the official motto of the Department of Veterans Affairs, and even hangs on a plaque at the Department's headquarters. But when was the last time you heard a veteran praise the VA for its care?</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a fundamental flaw with the VA, and <a href="https://www.military.com/daily-news/2018/02/03/va-wont-make-lincoln-inspired-motto-gender-neutral.html">it's got nothing to do with the gender of the soldiers described in Lincoln's motto</a>. It has to do with the basic ideology of those working for the VA. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I retired from the criminal justice system in 2014, switching over to the civil practice side of law, trading in my gun and badge for desk in a back room, working as a paralegal instead of an investigator. In my day job, I've been struck by the fundamental difference in the way things are done in civil practice, as compared to criminal justice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the Prosecutor's Office, we looked for ways to prove that a suspect committed a crime. In civil practice, the emphasis is on finding a way to show there is no liability on the part of our client. When it comes to the VA, and veteran's making claims for service-connected disabilities, it appears that the many civilian workers tasked with supporting those of us who served is much more in line with the civil practice of law: they search for ways to avoid having to provide care. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you file a claim with the VA, you aren't believed. You have to provide facts and even records to support your claim. The rationale behind this is to prevent fraud, waste and abuse. That might seem odd for an agency that in recent years has been exposed as a massive source of fraud, waste, and the abuse of taxpayer dollars with <a href="https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2016/10/28/more-bonuses-va-employees-despite-ongoing-problems-agency/92837218/">lavish bonuses</a>, expensive trips to <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2012/08/21/va-under-investigation-over-5m-conferences-featuring-patton-parody.html">conventions that seem more in line with Spring Break vacations</a>, and outright <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Veterans_Health_Administration_scandal_of_2014">dereliction of duty</a> by those in charge. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That isn't the case across the board though. If a veteran makes a claim about having been exposed to Agent Orange, the process is relatively simple: the claims reps confirm service in a theater or area where the chemical was used, and the claim is approved. No fuss, no muss. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why can't the VA do this for all veteran claims? Instead of looking for excuses to deny claims, shouldn't reps be looking for ways to help? That's the whole purpose of the VA: to help wounded veterans. There's no profits to be impacted by helping veterans. And, at least when I enlisted, part of that contract of service, was the promise that the US Government would take care of me if I was injured--a promise I'm still waiting for them to fulfill. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The way to fix the VA is simple: tell claims reps to <i>find a way to help</i>. They shouldn't be encouraged to deny claims, or rewarded for resolving claims quickly. They should be rewarded for helping America live up to its responsibility to care for those of use who served. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-80834337098573438102018-02-08T20:56:00.002-05:002018-02-08T20:56:51.748-05:00THOR'S DAY RANT: Money Down the Drain<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Cable networks, and retailers like Home Depot and Lowe's, would have you believe that doing repairs on your home is a simple matter, easily accomplished. But that's not always true--particularly if you're dealing with old, broken or worn things. Homes aren't shiny, new Lego blocks. What is supposed to be easy all too often goes from <i>DIY</i> to <i>BIY</i>: Break it Yourself. </span></div>
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Recently, our bathroom sink was leaking. A simple drip like I've fixed on sinks countless times before, by simply replacing a rubber washer. Not this time--this was a more complicated faucet I'd installed several years back. The whole valve stem needed replacing, and I couldn't budge the cap holding it in lace thanks to years of hard water build up. We decided that it was time for a new faucet--that was <i>Trip To The Store #1</i>. </div>
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Faucets attach relatively easy--threaded flanges fit down into holes in the sink and hand-tightened plastic nuts attach to them, locking the faucet in place. With a drop-in sink (mounted in a cabinet or vanity) this wouldn't be a problem. But we had a pedestal sink in our small bathroom. I just couldn't fit my hand up there to reach the faucet nuts. </div>
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Not a problem--I'll just pull the sink. That meant cutting the caulk loose that sealed the sink to the wall, disconnecting the water lines, and disconnecting the drain pipe. Unfortunately, when I lifted the sink up, off the brackets holding it to the wall, the lower drain didn't easily slid out of hte part still attached to the wall. Instead, the pipe coming out of the wall tore, like paper. Apparently, it was rotted and corroded and not quite eaten all the way through. </div>
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No problem, I'll just run up to the store and get a new drain pipe (<i>Trip #2</i>). Only the Home Depot, nor the Lowe's were open this late. That was because I stupidly tried to work on this after 9pm, when the kids were in bed, and wouldn't need the bathroom sink. </div>
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Walmart had a pipe, or, I thought they did. The 1 1/2" to 1 1/4" adapter set they had was reversed from what I needed. It turned a 1 1/2 wall pipe into a 1 1/4" bath pipe. Dammit. No sink overnight. And worse, while I was out, my wife decided to helpfully clean all the bits of caulk off the sink. In the process, she discovered a small crack in the sink, radiating out from the drain hole in the basin. New sink time.</div>
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The next morning, I set out, bright and early, at a quarter to 7 to go get a new drain pipe, and a new sink (<i>Trip #3</i>). Fortunately, they carried the same brand sink as we already had, so that meant I didn't need a new pedestal (the old one being perfectly fine). Boy, was I wrong. The new sink looked the same as the old one, but had been slightly redesigned on the underside. The old pedestal wouldn't fit it. Back to the store for a new pedestal (<i>Trip #4</i>). </div>
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Back at home, with the correct pedestal, I installed my new faucet in my new sink, then went to mount it on the wall. Crap. The new pedestal is two inches taller than the old--meaning the new sink sits higher on the wall. Meaning I had to drill new mounting holes.</div>
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Once I'd drilled the mounting holes and gotten the new sink on its new pedestal, with its new water lines connected (hey everything else was getting upgraded, why not those too?), it was time to hook all the 1 1/4 inch drain pipe pieces together... except they wouldn't fit!</div>
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Raising the sink 2" meant the pipe pieces I had weren't long enough! </div>
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And, unfortunately, I had run out of time. It was already 10AM, and I'd used up a couple hours of vacation time. I had to put the project on hold and dash into the day job, leaving our house sinkless for the time being...</div>
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After work, it was another trip out for parts (<i>Trip #5</i>). Finding the extension, and a tube of new caulk, was no problem. Raced back home so I could get back to it before the stores closed again. </div>
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This time, my luck held--after a couple hours of fine tuning to end leaks and get the sink mounted firmly to the wall with all plumbing intact, it was nearly bed time, and I just needed to run a bead of caulk. But that can wait another day--I need a break.</div>
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Morals of the story?</div>
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1. <i><b>Never put off for tomorrow what you can break today</b></i>. If I'd tried to fix this on the weekend, instead of doing the other projects I was working on around the house, I wouldn't have had to spend some vacation time later in the week. </div>
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2. <i><b>A part in the hand is worth two in the store</b></i>. Don't start projects after dinner time, because when you eventually need a part, the stores will be closed and you're screwed. </div>
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3. <i><b>Two parts are better than one</b></i>. Buy everything on the first trip. Even if you're not sure if you need (ala the new pedestal). You can always return it later--unless you like making multiple trips to the store for new parts. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-74985425592159339772018-01-23T12:43:00.001-05:002018-01-23T12:43:40.299-05:00PROJECT RPG<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: start;">Long before consoles, back when I didn't yet know the joy of sitting at home in a recliner in front of my wall-mounted "big screen" for hours and hours of console play, I embarked on adventures of the mind with my friends, armed with nothing but pen, paper, and dice. It was the era of the Role-Playing Game. </span><br />
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The 80s were filled with gaming for me. Instead of D&D, I played games like <i>Star Frontiers</i>, <i>Traveler</i>, <i>Star Trek: The Role-Playing Game, James Bond: The Role Playing Game, Car Wars</i>, and my favorite, <i>Marvel Super Heroes</i>. In the 90s, I joined the USAF and was shipped overseas. I discovered a game called <i>Shadowrun</i> and was hooked, despite the lack of many folks to play it with. By the late 90s, back home in Indiana, I tried to keep up my RPG habit, but eventually, all those manuals, modules, and dice got boxed up and put away, replaced by my wife, my kids, and of course, X-Box. </div>
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In the past two years, I've seen a number of RPGs rise from the nostalgic ashes, and it seems the pencil-and-paper/table top Renaissance is upon us. My youngest, now 12, a board game addict, has been very curious about just what an RPG is. </div>
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My first thought was to unbox the old stuff and teach her right. But then, I came up with a better idea: we're going to make our own RPG. What better way for a young lady to grasp the nuts and bolts of RPGing than to work on making a game from the ground up?</div>
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Many might think this is crazy, citing that developing a system from scratch would take too long--then they'd bring up the whole world-building aspect of RPGs. Well, that one is easily covered. Since 2012, I've been writing supernatural military fiction--I have over <a href="http://www.spectralops.com/">30 books done</a>, all in the same fictional universe. It's a wealth of material to draw from. </div>
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So, despite the fact I just don't have the time I once did for stuff like this, over the next few months, my daughters and I (we shanghaied the eldest into our nerdy cause) will be developing a new game system, incorporating features from the past, and all-new mechanics. It should prove interesting.</div>
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Our goal is simple: have a completed product done by October, in time for the Christmas shopping season--not that we really care if we sell any. This is a project for fun, but to do it right, we need to have the same goals any game designer would, and we have to take it seriously--at least until it's time to play and we can have some fun. </div>
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If you're interested in seeing what it takes to make an RPG, check back here for <i>RPG Updates</i>, as often as we can put them up. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-23229057983936858162017-11-16T12:24:00.000-05:002017-11-16T12:24:20.441-05:00THOR'S DAY RANT: Oh, Deer!<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's an old saying that lightning never strikes twice. But I am here to tell you that it does, at least in the form of misfortune--very specific misfortune. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I turn fifty in a few weeks. It doesn't particularly bother me, nor am I all that impressed. It wasn't hard to reach one-half century in age. I haven't outlived many people I know, as most of my friends and associates are still alive. I don't feel decrepit or unhealthy. It's basically just a number. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still, fifty seems like a significant number to some folks, so I decided that this year, for my fiftieth, I'd do something different, something special. I decided to treat myself to something I've never done before. I tried this back when I was about to turn 20. I saved my money for several months, planning on learning scuba diving--something I'd always wanted to do, despite living several states away from any ocean. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fate had other plans for me that year. I was laid off just a month before my birthday. My savings went to food and rent rather than weightbelts and snorkel, and my dreams of swimming among all those delicious fish got derailed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For 50, I could have chosen scuba diving again, but my interest in it has waned over the years. I suppose if I was on vacation somewhere, I might give it a try, but it just doesn't hold the interest for me it once did. No, for the big Five-O, I decided to try another failed birthday wish: hunting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been a fisherman all my life. One of my earliest memories is a family trip to Canada when I was 2 or 3, and fishing. I don't remember the actual fishing part, but I do vaguely remember the trip. Growing up, one of the few things I could get my father to do was take me fishing--he had a friend who lived on a private lake. We went out to her house often, and fished with Peggy and her husband. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My kids enjoy fishing, as does my father-in-law. We try and go several times a year to lakes in the area. Fishing is just kind of a regular thing for us, no more special than a trip to the movies or zoo. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hunting, on the otherhand, is something I've never gotten to try. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was fifteen, I traded in my sold off BMX bicycle and used the money to buy a nice compound bow. I became quite adept at archery over the following spring and summer. Unfortunately, my father was not a hunter, and had no desire to become one. But his brother hunted. My Uncle Tommy was an avid hunter. And, for my sixteenth birthday, he invited me to accompany him to Pennsylvania for a week-long deer hunting trip. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, it meant I'd miss a few days of school. My father kiboshed the trip, and my archery skills remained firmly in the realm of slaying paper targets for the next few years. Among the many things my father did wrong in my life, this is easily one of the top ten that still bothers me. I tend to think about it very often, even now, all these decades later. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So this year, I decided to change that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My planning began in early January 2017. In 2016, I had <a href="http://troglodad.blogspot.com/2016/06/project-ar-15.html">built my own AR15</a>--something I'd wanted to do for years. It was a fun project that involved buying parts here and there, stretched out over several months, then assembling my rifle and covering it in accessories and add-ons (scope, bipod, etc. etc.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For my hunting trip, I decided I needed a shotgun (Indiana doesn't allow hunting with a 5.56mm Armalite sporting rifle). I began shopping for a cheap .12 gauge--something I could use to hunt either Deer or Turkey. I planned on finding a nice, cheap, used shotgun, then rebuilding it, adding on bits and pieces much the same way I built my AR15. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then 2017 began to unravel. First, my wife had a car wreck in march. She wasn't seriously hurt, but it derailed a lot of our plans, including vacation. Then, my youngest was diagnosed with scoliosis and began wracking up medical bills and attending weekly physical therapy. By September, I hadn't done much of anything towards my fall goal of finally going hunting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I did manage to score a shotgun around this time--my father-in-law passed down a nice pump-action he no longer wanted. A .20 gauge. It seemed that Deer was off the list, and I'd be setting my sights on Turkey. Not a problem--my birthday always falls on or around Thanksgiving, so some delicious bird I killed myself seemed like a great idea to ring in the next decade of life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://stonesoldiersbooks.blogspot.com/2017/10/falling-into-fall.html">Then I fell down the stairs.</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a stupid accident--I wasn't watching where I was going, and fell down the stairs into my beloved basement. I didn't break anything, but I did rupture a tendon. In one literal, fell swoop, my birthday plans were dashed. I spent weeks in an immobilizing boot, then a brace, and now do physical therapy once a week. I can tolerate about an hour of standing or walking at best. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The only hunting of turkeys I'll be doing this year is in the freezer section at the grocery store. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And thus, lightning has struck again. For the umpteenth time. There are many other stories of birthday plans dashed I could recount--like when I turned 21 and instead of going out for free drinks with my friends got stuck in West Virginia for a week when my grandfather passed away. But I think I've made my point. An ironic point, actually, as one of the things I've always said is how being struck by lightning (and surviving) would make a great story to tell. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-5860262129525334342017-11-04T11:01:00.001-04:002017-11-04T11:01:23.682-04:00Halloween Memories: 1992<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">Halloween may be over this year, but the memories of it, and Halloweens past, remain. </span><span style="color: #222222;">Like the time I got kicked out of a German Castle for trespassing on Halloween.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was 1992, and I was stationed in Frankfurt, Germany, at Rhein-Main Air Base, a member of the 435th Security Police Squadron. I rarely went off-base--the Germans in Frankfurt made it painfully obvious they didn't like G.I.s--not even when I tried to speak their language, putting those GPA-killing three years I'd studied in High School to use. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This particular Halloween, one of our new Sergeants, who had been stationed in Germany years before, told everyone how we should, as a group, go out together and celebrate Halloween properly--in a haunted castle. Our Sergeant explained that yes, we could drive south, past Darmstadt, to "The Frankenstein Castle" where a big Halloween party happened every year, or we could go to a better castle he knew of with a slightly smaller crowd. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our Flight voted and agreed to go on this journey, those with wives or girlfriends bringing along their companions (I brought my camcorder). We chipped in and rented three big vans and managed to fit every one inside. And then, we set out into the night...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It had been years since our Sergeant had been to the castle we were seeking, so what should have been a quick drive turned into a several-hour excursion, full of narrow, dark backroads, wrongturns and lots of griping. But eventually, somehow, we reached our destination: an old German Castle tucked away in the middle of nowhere. But there were no signs of life: no party, or group of paranormal tourists gathered. So what do thirty or so liquored-up G.I.s decide to do? Why, we went exploring. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fortunately, we had brought two of our German Nationals with us--these were local Germans the Air Force hired to work alongside the Security Police, offering translation services for those of us who didn't speak the local tongue. And, as luck would have it, one of our Germans was a big history buff. He knew all about castles. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Somehow, we made our way around the exterior of the castle to some stairs leading up to an upper level. It was a broad landing, probably where archers had once stood, or maybe guys with vats of bubbling oil or something. As we stood around, talking, I happened to look over to the side wall--which had large windows installed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The castle was not deserted. It was full of people. People in very fancy clothes, all seated at tables, having some kind of fancy dinner. It was all very black tie, with what looked to be tuxedos, ladies in evening gowns, that kind of thing. And all of them were looking towards the unruly G.I.s outside with utter disdain. It was like we had stumbled across the awards banquet of SPECTRE or some other insidious, international organization of evil. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everyone laughed it off, several of us speculating that they must have turned the castle into some kind of restaurant or lodge in the time since our Sergeant had been here last. Several folks decided to go back to the ground level and find the front door to see if we could get reservations--dinner in the warm interior of the castle-restaurant sounded pretty good after our long drive from Frankfurt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rest of us split up into groups, spreading out to explore the exterior more. I ended up with several folks ascending stairs into a tower. I struck my head several times, commenting that my German ancestors must have been some tiny little guys. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once we reached the top, we actually found a shaft for pouring hot oil down--or so our local told us. It had been covered up with a metal grating. He gave us a long story about the defenses such a castle had and we descended down to the landing with the windows into the restaurant. Then we got a good scare...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Castlemeister, or whatever they called him, was furious and demanding we all leave. He was threatening to call Polizei (German police) and have us removed. This wasn't a restaurant, it was a private castle and we were not invited! (Reinforcing my theory this was a dinner for members of dastardly order of dubious origins, or maybe vampires or something). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And thus, ended our night, with our group rounded up, packed back into our vans, and facing another hour or so drive back to base. My alcohol was fully burned off by the time we got back. It was late, and I was tired and cold. While most of the group decided to set back out and try to make it to the Frankenstein Castle before the post-midnight activities died, I (and several others) just went back to the dorms to sleep off our disappointment. </span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-2459880798508105152017-10-30T17:01:00.000-04:002017-10-31T09:13:20.609-04:00The Best Band for Halloween: SUNSPOT <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPLHzQamf12Sqf6XdSeMP_j-f5ZEG9ke4Jl3kheA6VmNHhDQmVxu2WF3u_gBveQhoXV1ostXVJSUBrSKVD3L4gO4mvg893C8VgRfMJivlrNCSlxJo-tnglQL6N1IYKxhT79eYB/s1600/sunspot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="361" data-original-width="1200" height="96" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPLHzQamf12Sqf6XdSeMP_j-f5ZEG9ke4Jl3kheA6VmNHhDQmVxu2WF3u_gBveQhoXV1ostXVJSUBrSKVD3L4gO4mvg893C8VgRfMJivlrNCSlxJo-tnglQL6N1IYKxhT79eYB/s320/sunspot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /><br /><br />Every Halloween, many of us break out a string of scary movies to fill our October. A lot of those movies are ones we watch throughout the year. But what about music? What special tunes do you listen to for a scary Halloween or to build up to the spooky holiday? For sure, there's the low-cost Spooky Sounds-type CDs you can get at Target or your local CVS, but what about familiar tunes that just happen to be scary?<br /><br />You could spend hours compiling a list of your favorites, like "Monster Mash" and "Purple People Eater", but wouldn't it be easier if there was just one album, filled with great music, already put together and waiting?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Weirdest-Hits-Sunspot/dp/B0172782JO">There is</a>. <br /><br />The band Sunspot is Wisconsin's greatest contribution to the world of paranormal entertainment. With songs like "El Chupacabra" and "Hottie Illuminati" their songs cover a range of topics, from dinosaurs ("Archaeopteryx") to Ancient Aliens ("Chariots of the Gods"). With catchy tunes and clever lyrics, Sunspot cranks out tune after terrific tune--music that's suitable for any local radio station or for some of our favorite B Movies and Scifi Shows. <br /><br />But great music isn't Sunspot's only contribution. Drummer Wendy Staats and Vocalist/Bassist Mike Huberty also delve into the paranormal and supernatural in their weekly podcast, "<a href="http://othersidepodcast.com/">See You On the Other Side</a>". With interviews and college lecture-worthy discussions on various topics, they entertain and educate on a variety of subjects--and end every episode with one of their catchy tunes. <br /><br />I discovered Sunspot more than a year ago while searching for podcasts to listen to. I was immediately hooked and have become a fan of their music, adding their tracks to the same playlists I use when writing my own Supernatural Thrillers. They fit nicely alongside classics by the likes of ZZTop, AC/DC, and CCR, providing appropriate background music for whatever mood I need for different types of scenes. <br /><br />The best thing about Sunspot though is how genuine they are. They're regular folks who attend conventions, are obsessed with scifi/pop culture, and routinely engage with their fans. Listening to their work, one can't help but cheer on these amazing performers and eagerly await the day they finally land a tune in a Marvel Cinematic Universe movie soundtrack, or the latest episode of X-Files. They'd definitely be on the soundtrack if I ever got to do an adaptation of one of my books. <br /><br /><br /><br />Sunspot's offical bio reads: <i>With their uncanny lyrics, massive harmonies, and six-string fireworks, Sunspot has been touring the rock underground for over two decades. Just beyond the radio and just outside the mainstream, Sunspot sings driving electro-rock anthems that capture the fantastic and bring it back down to Earth</i>.<br /><br />But just who are Mike Huberty, Wendy Staats, and Ben Jaeger? <br /><br />Listening to the podcast, you can pick up a lot of details about the dynamic duo of Staats and Huberty. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In addition to Sunspot, Mike Huberty has founded a number of Ghost Walk tours. He's a big fan of the X-Files. He's also a bit of a card, dropping Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonations regularly during the podcasts--when he's not sharing his voluminous film knowledge. But I wanted to learn a little more and sent some interview questions via email...<br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>INTERVIEW WITH MIKE HUBERTY</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /><b><i>How did you come up with the idea to do "weird" songs?</i></b><br /><br />I think that’s been in our DNA since the beginning. Bands like Alice Cooper, Rush, and Iron Maiden were part of our original influences and they looked to science fiction and horror for some of their themes, it seemed a perfect way for us to differentiate ourselves.<br /><br /><br /><b><i>What's your favorite "conventional" song to perform?</i></b><br /><br />Our song, “Eat Out My Heart” because everyone has an ex.<br /><br /><br /><b><i>Have you ever watched a movie or TV program and thought one of your songs would have been a better fit for the soundtrack? What was it and what was the song?</i></b><br /><br />Easily John Carpenter’s <i>In The Mouth of Madness</i>, the Metallica ripoff at the beginning just doesn’t quite fit with the printing press opening. Our track, “An Indifferent Universe” would make a much spookier opener as well as be much more fitting to the Lovecraftian theme of the film. <br /><br />Also, the “Doctor Feelgood” homage in Highlander: The Final Dimension would much better be suited to our track “Neanderthal”, it’s way more intense and fitting.<br /><br /><br /><b><i>What's the most important part of storytelling in a song?</i></b><br /><br />Helping the listener bring the meaning of the song into their own lives. Finding the words and music that expresses a feeling that we can all understand. Or at least, finding a way to express something yourself and hoping it connects with someone else who feels the same thing.<br /><br /><br /><b><i>What instrument is most suited to playing a song that instills a scary, creepy vibe?</i></b><br /><br />The theremin!<br /><br /><br /><b><i>What's the scariest place you've ever played?</i></b><br /><br />Well, we’ve played plenty of dives that probably should be condemned. But the most supernaturally strange place must be the Fill-Mor Theatre in Wausau, Wisconsin. There was a piece of metal that fell from the ceiling and almost killed Ben out of nowhere, there were weird feelings all around the place, mysterious electrical disturbances, and plenty of ghost stories from the staff. <br /><br /><br /><b><i>Has there ever been a topic too strange, frightening, or otherwise disturbing to do a podcast on?</i></b><br /><br />I wrote a song called “The Choking Game” because I thought it seemed like just another teenage rebellion thing to sing about. But there’s someone not too far out of our circle whose kid have actually died from it, so we vetoed it as too raw of a subject to make fun of. And it was really just to push buttons, it isn’t authentic to our experience, so we switched it to something that was. <br /><br /><br /><b><i>After doing your podcast for so long, and meeting so many people, whats the craziest thing you've ever heard of?</i></b><br /><br />Sometimes it feels like the craziest thing to believe is that none of this stuff actually exists. Not just skepticism, but people dismissing all these stories as hoaxes and imagination. There are too many experiences out there for too many people. Some of them are hoaxes and some of them are imagination, but there’s more to it and I think just sweeping it under the rug as delusion does humans a real disservice. <br /><br /><br /><b><i>Scenario: Our alien overlords outlaw music--what art form do you pick to continue entertaining people, or do you give up the arts completely?</i></b><br /><br />Tap dancing! Nah, I’d probably just talk people to death with slam poetry or something. <br /><br /><br /><b><i>Scenario: Upon death, you have the choice to haunt a location or a musical instrument: which do you choose?</i></b><br /><br />I’d haunt as many saxophones as I could and try to prevent saxophone solos from ruining perfectly good rock songs. <br /><br /><br /><b><i>Scenario: You have the ability to incontrovertibly prove to the world ONE cryptid absolutely exists--which cryptid do you choose?</i></b><br /><br />Bigfoot, of course! Another hominid intelligent species would be fascinating to study and interact with. Plus, if more people knew how connected to primates we were, we might start treating them better!<br /><br /><b><i><br />Scenario: For one twenty-four hour period, would you rather be abducted by aliens, possessed, or transported to an alternate reality?</i></b><br /><br />Possessed. I already believe that aliens are out there, they have to be. Doesn’t mean they’re visiting Earth, but I already think they’re somewhere out there. Also, alternate realities might be cool, but I think that’s possible too. I don’t know if I believe in supernatural entities, getting possessed by one would be the proof!<br /><br /><b><i><br />Scenario: You are given the ability to resurrect any one TV show, including its stars at the height of their popularity, but while the show is in production, and first run, you have to give up performing yourself. Would you? And for what show?</i></b><br /><br /><i>Doctor Who</i> with Tom Baker and Louise Jameson, my favorite run of the show. I’d take a break from playing if we could see a couple more years of classic episodes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You can find Mike Huberty online at:</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29081908.post-48683132043605389422017-09-12T09:00:00.000-04:002017-09-12T09:00:02.775-04:00Lights in the Darkness<i>September is National Disaster Preparedness Month. Are you ready for a natural, or manmade, disaster?</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When the power goes out, the first thing you'll probably notice is the darkness. Maybe your computer screen is dark, or your TV. Or maybe all those electric lights we take for granted have switched off. Whichever it was, darkness is something we just aren't used to in the modern era, spoiled as we are by the power grid. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thankfully, when the power does go out, it's not something you're probably familiar with, since storms can routinely knock out the power. You've probably got flashlights and candles in your home already for those emergencies. But what about when the power is going to be out for days, or weeks, or even months? What are you going to do to bring back the light to reassure your family that everything is okay?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Long before Edison, people relied on candles for illumination at night. Today, candles are often scent-makers, coming in decorative jars and festooned with fancy bows or ribbons. But what about candles for emergencies?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The best option for an emergency is the tea candle. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_PLALQ6LuWv6gXJi0mvZ4qNDztFtl1uQ1Kn3Q1UXCc2W7oqobioqEmzgsb7nzlBqf4_okdJjsemGYXXAXVPfgh-RjwQKww46Uqq4MWskzOD53DXexBd1lXVBOYEZf6vXc0Up/s1600/teacandle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="425" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_PLALQ6LuWv6gXJi0mvZ4qNDztFtl1uQ1Kn3Q1UXCc2W7oqobioqEmzgsb7nzlBqf4_okdJjsemGYXXAXVPfgh-RjwQKww46Uqq4MWskzOD53DXexBd1lXVBOYEZf6vXc0Up/s200/teacandle.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Being short, there's little danger of a tea candle tipping over and starting a fire. Tea candles also come in a handy metal tin, meaning you don't need a fancy holder for it. Best of all, tea candles are very inexpensive. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Richland-Unscented-Tealight-Candles-White/dp/B001DIF3LO">You can get a hundred or more for under $20.00.</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If you want to be able to carry these tiny candles around, there are a variety of lamps and lanterns made to fit them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The one drawback with a candle is the need for an igniter--matches, or maybe a butane lighter. It won't do much good to have a few hundred tea candles stockpiled if your matches get wet, or you've misplaced them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Propane lanterns are considerably more dangerous than candles--they can put out fumes that in an enclosed space (like your fallout shelter) could prove fatal--but they put out a lot more light, and a bit of comforting heat. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Growing up, my family all loved kerosene lamps. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib3Ko6wU9IHD3SzgooMsm53CNpQYDb9TvHFvG_lQcY7zBIYFiWVlq42WL1tVnk7-ANxWzpfACX5WzFPINS4I5T7Sc-BiOWkQllw9QE4tGCCNFrj3vrhybOVSc2F3JrcHgqKe3z/s1600/Kerosene+lamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="358" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib3Ko6wU9IHD3SzgooMsm53CNpQYDb9TvHFvG_lQcY7zBIYFiWVlq42WL1tVnk7-ANxWzpfACX5WzFPINS4I5T7Sc-BiOWkQllw9QE4tGCCNFrj3vrhybOVSc2F3JrcHgqKe3z/s200/Kerosene+lamp.jpg" width="105" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Of course, kerosene fumes can build up over time, or just lain stink you out. There are alternative, cleaner burning fuels you can use, but like candles, but wick-and-fuel lamps do require igniters.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A modern convenience for illumination is the chemstick, or glowstick, once known as <i>cyalumes</i>. Simple plastic tubes, you just bend and shake and a chemical reaction produces light for hours. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGNlG3PAKenIIj4dchhHfgA3DDjfQxdRFNijFf-6Q4MuiPeQYZFQhbdMSOEGjAFNU6sarAtEiICltXyJZqID_2lo4jNAhS9HbRKv-WgpNcpWrtIG7oh7IAHUQ_R9X7bt_WLjp/s1600/cyalumes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="425" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGNlG3PAKenIIj4dchhHfgA3DDjfQxdRFNijFf-6Q4MuiPeQYZFQhbdMSOEGjAFNU6sarAtEiICltXyJZqID_2lo4jNAhS9HbRKv-WgpNcpWrtIG7oh7IAHUQ_R9X7bt_WLjp/s200/cyalumes.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We tend to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cyalume-Green-Glow-Sticks-SnapLight/dp/B071G34Z5Q/">order these in bulk</a>, buying a box of ten each spring to restock our storm closet. I'm not sure what the shelf life is, but we tend to rarely use them--although they are great to amuse kids with for late night events like trick or treating or trips to the drive in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The safest bet for disaster preparedness is an electric lantern. And not just the kind that use batteries. There are now l<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Super-Bright-Hand-Crank-Lantern/dp/B002I93ICS">anterns with handcranks built in</a>, so you can recharge them without use of a generator. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqde2t0iSoqKsTZufO5dGqpFP5ZnxYzl9wzRVfp1XdR0yfUOU7zqJM2Tyy0_v4RNQHX8QDqBdV9spGkZ-H1jUxiUv2vDawN_FY5bYiBWMXBweZ9AAxz774_pWiDO571gqLPojj/s1600/lantern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqde2t0iSoqKsTZufO5dGqpFP5ZnxYzl9wzRVfp1XdR0yfUOU7zqJM2Tyy0_v4RNQHX8QDqBdV9spGkZ-H1jUxiUv2vDawN_FY5bYiBWMXBweZ9AAxz774_pWiDO571gqLPojj/s200/lantern.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The best bet for any disaster preparation is to combine all of the above light sources--giving yourself a variety of choices in the event one of the technologies above fails. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Know of another emergency lighting choice not mentioned above? Add it with a link in the comments below...</i></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0