Ok, enough of the self disclosure writing for now. Here's another NATO sitrep from a retired Naval Intelligence guy who can't put the pen down yet.

**

Russian military exercises, the latest in a series across the country, have taken on a threatening posture. While the most recent installment is not the largest exercise Russia has conducted, the areas involved and the forces included seem to have been deliberately chosen to send a warning to NATO; the exercise itself seems to simulate a full-scale confrontation with NATO through the forward deployment of nuclear armed submarines, theater ballistic missiles and strategic bomber aircraft. Strategic weapon systems, including assets that are part of Russia's nuclear capabilities, have also been deployed to locations near NATO's borders.

Analysis

According to Russian statements, the snap exercise, which was not announced before it began March 16, will last five days and will involve some 45,000 servicemen, around 3,000 vehicles, more than 40 surface vessels, 15 submarines and 110 aircraft. The more notable systems involved are the Iskander mobile theater nuclear missiles (Iskander has a warhead of 40 kilotons and is accurate within 15 feet of target. Russian avionics have come a long way) and fighter aircraft that are being deployed to Kaliningrad, Tu-22M3 long-range strategic/nuclear bombers that are being deployed to Crimea, and ballistic/nuclear missile submarines that have been sent to sea with protective escorts.

The initial statement on the exercise focused on the role of the Northern Fleet, saying the main purpose of the drill was to test deployment times to Russian positions in Novaya Zemlya and Franz Josef Land. Russia has increased its military presence in the Arctic, with its massive, proven yet untapped oil/gas fields and the exercise highlights Russia's plans for possible seizure of the Arctic fields. This part of the drill seems to be playing out in a rather straightforward way: Russian forces are being airlifted to Russia's Arctic bases and several naval exercises are taking place, including anti-submarine operations and mine sweeping procedures that typically precede the snap sorties of nuclear armed submarines in times of crises.

Actions Are Stronger Than Words

However, though the stated focus of the exercises is in the Arctic, operations have expanded to include military activities along the Finnish border, the deployment of strategic weapons systems to Kaliningrad and Crimea, and positions across the Baltic Fleet, Black Sea Fleet, and in the western and southern military districts. This combination lifts the exercise beyond a simple deployment of ground forces and naval exercises in the Arctic and forms a nuclear narrative. They're practicing.

The forward deployment of theater ballistic missiles and bomber aircraft are provocative indicators of possible pre-emptive action against NATO. Given Russia's military actions in Ukraine, the possibility, however unlikely, that the country could expand operations cannot be dismissed. For that reason, and because Russia has intentionally designed the drills to mimic a potential conflict with NATO, the exercises are cause for alarm in Europe.

By deploying Tu-22M3 strategic aircraft, Russia is also openly invoking the threat of nuclear confrontation. Considering Moscow's statements about a potential deployment of nuclear weapons to Crimea, Russia is clearly connecting the Ukraine crisis and its intentions in the Arctic to the impressive nuclear deterrent it possesses.

Geographic Size Sets This Exercise Apart

The large geographic area this drill covers places it outside the usual pattern of other snap exercises conducted by Russia. It also puts it in the same areas where NATO has been conducting its exercises, including in the Baltics, Romania and Hungary. NATO's most notable drills have been conducted under the U.S. Operation Atlantic Resolve, which has seen the rotation of a brigade-sized U.S. Army force and the arrival of armor and helicopters to support that deployment. Russia has noted increased U.S. surveillance flights over the Baltics and the expanded Baltic air policing operation that NATO conducts there.

An exercise including parts of the Russian military stretching from the Northern, Baltic and Black Sea fleets through the western and southern military districts is notable. Russia has conducted even larger exercises in the past. However, those have tended to focus on a particular military district or fleet, or a combination of closely related ones. Conducting this single exercise in the area stretching from Norway to the Baltics through Poland and into Crimea is clearly angled straight at NATO.

Considering the military tensions surrounding the Ukraine crisis and its fragile cease-fire, these exercises are an aggressive signal, particularly since they immediately follow Putin's mysterious disappearance last week. Russia has an interest in flexing its heavy military muscle to remind everyone of the incredible havoc it could wreak and to dissuade anyone from taking radical action in Ukraine. The United States has been careful when it comes to Ukraine, even delaying the deployment of 300 U.S. troops to western Ukraine as part of a training exercise. The United States maintains, however, that this deployment is still an option and could order it as early as April.

Beyond Ukraine, Russia is also responding to military exercise dynamics in Eastern Europe, where the Ukraine crisis has reverberated. A general increased tempo of Russia military activity (both in the sense of long distance strategic flights and large-scale military exercises), an increase in NATO presence and more exercises in Eastern Europe have resulted in a back and forth of military posturing reminiscent of Cold War shows of force.

In that context, Russia's exercises serve as threats to the opposing forces, demonstrating competent capabilities and suggesting intent. But they are important military tools to the Russian military as well. To maintain readiness, actually executing operations or deployments through exercises is a must. Beyond that, Russian military planners need to have a realistic understanding of the capabilities of Russian forces. There is no better way to gain this understanding than to let those forces run through operations, or parts of them, to determine the basic parameters that are feasible. Also, Russia is closely watching NATO responses to this by using their own SIGNIT to capture any and all US/NATO communications. Their military planners will decipher and conclude just what NATO's response would be.

As Russia tests its own capabilities, it shows the rest of the world the type of operations and the military districts it considers key in its strategic planning. The message they're sending is clear enough.

Sixth Sense

Paul Simon singing El Condor Passa, Click and Watch to Get the My Story Here. 
(and by the way, this is one hell of a song to be singing to five year olds on Sesame Street)

“Away, I'd rather sail away. Like a swan, that's here and gone.”

I was talking to a friend about a particular recording of this song, on Paul Simon's Live Rhymn'. In this version, Paul thoroughly belts out the line, “Away...I'd rather sail away. Like a swan that's here and gone.” There are such subtle variations, wavers and changes he puts into just singing that one line that hit me when I first heard it and still does. He sings it so plaintively that it sounds terribly sincere. I've wondered why I was so struck by it.

There are two reasons, both personal and one of them was so personal that I resonated to it. The first was that I was savoring the then younger Paul's ability to sing like that. When you're young (and well trained), your vocal chords and everything else works smoothly without any breaks, misses or mistakes. I was admiring his capability and sophistication at singing. I then came to realize I was luxuriating in the youthfulness of his singing. To distill it down even further, youth with it's promise, enthusiasm and fire.

“To tell the truth” I said to my friend “I'm just plain adoring the fresh and just ripening skill. I know why now older guys in the stands go nuts for young football, soccer or basketball players. Their skills remind them of what they could once do, and can relive it, if just for a few moments. There's no difference between that and me cheering on a young Paul Simon.”

Here's the second reason and this will be a confession.

I had bought the “Live Rhymn'” CD back in 1996 and played it quite a bit but wasn't stuck with any epiphanies. To me then, it was just good music and well sung. That until about a week after my mother had died when that line I mention above, hit me like a brick.

It was a Sunday in February 1996, about a week after the funeral and all the bustle of that had finally ended. It was time to go back to my regular life of working full time and school full time. Since I had been so busy, I had very little time to myself and any hour I could grab for myself, I did. It was a grey overcast early morning, probably around 5:30 AM and I was listening to this song on my favorite stereo of all time, a Sony STR-AV 560, with the Simon cd playing before it was time to head to school.

This was my favorite stereo to date. The components I have now beats it into the ground but like cars, there is always one you fell in love with, even though a later model you own is faster, tighter and better all around. Still, it doesn't beat the way you fell in LOVE with that ONE car you once owned years ago. I married this stereo.

“Away, I'd rather sail away. Like a swan, that's here and gone.”

Like most insights, they strike like lightning. The speed, clarity and accuracy of a new realization cannot be denied. The sprouting new idea is TRUE.

The song had brought forth a dusty, unkempt thought from my unconscious. That I wanted MY life to live, MY hopes and dreams, MY efforts for MY future, not someone else's. For years, I had been propping up my own mother as her health waned. I became that pillar of strength when her's faltered. I spent my vitality on someone else...and I was pissed off about it. I hated it. I had put on hold, in many instances, my own life for hers. My investment into keeping her up and alive, was huge...probably so huge I didn't realize at the moment of the currency I was paying out. 

I never glorified in some fact that I was a selfless Mother Theresa. It was just a another job a family member does for another. You do it because it was needed.

One week after her death, one week, that song was calling me out, making me realize my own damn true self.  I learned and accepted that I was now free finally. Christ...I was free! The chains were gone!

To me, the way Paul sang the song, encompassed his and my longing desire for an affirmation of a future was indeed possible.

There now may be a guarantee, a goal that's attainable. I now can live MY life.

I had just turned 30 and was still young enough yet to do it. I was finishing up a degree from J&W and in the summer of '96, I was crawling through lava tubes of Mt St Helen's volcano. I found a girlfriend quick and was having a summer fling. (I had rarely dated for those last couple of years when I was too busy keeping my mom alive and giving her hope, any damn hope, that and full time work/school). That summer I was naked on a private beach on the south shore of Block Island with Nicole, who thought the sun revolved around me. I was ripping this house apart, updating it, throwing out damn near everything that spoke of illness or the past. I made it MY house.

Hell, I even bought a leather jacket for the first time in my life.

All in one summer. I got my life back.

That's what a song can do, tap deep inside you to wake you up.  After all these years, this simple song still strikes me. 

Propofol, Michael Jackson & Me

“Just keep talking to us...count the people in the room for me. Billy, start pushing it one to one, then the other at 200...and watch the BP monitor.” the Dr says.

“Ok, I see one....” ZONNNK...nighty-nite. I can't count past one person.

It's that quick. It's amazing how fast IV drugs hit your brain.

Either 10 seconds or 10 minutes go by, I can't tell. I come to and I recognize where I and and my mouth tastes like I have it full of nickles. My first concern?

“What did you put in my mouth?”

“You're tasting the IV drip...DON'T...get up, stay where you are.” Says some guy in what looks like an environmental suit.

“I feel fine...I can get up.” With that attempt I slump back down. Whoops...it appears I'm still stoned.

The guy says..”Stay DOWN...Do you remember telling us about your first bike? That green tricycle you had when you were four?”

“Uh..no.”

“Uh-huh...that's what you were telling us when you came to a few minutes ago...you're not out of the effects yet....just LIE there..by the way, the blockage is gone.”

I ought to knock wood, I made it 51 years w/o any real hospitalizations or kick ass drugs that flatten you in a second

You Can't Go Back. But You Can Still Visit It!

nos·tal·gia

/näˈstaljə,nəˈstaljə/

noun: nostalgia; plural noun: nostalgias

-a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations...

...which I am a complete sucker for. Google and Youtube can easily suck up an hour's worth of my life while I dig up old, obscure TV shows, pictures, cars and whatnot from the WayBack Machine that the internet can be. Ah so what, it makes me feel good.

I know our pasts weren't all rosy and filled with chocolate bearing bunny rabbits. I can point to specific times in my past I'd rather skip if I could. But there were the good times also. Those I can focus on with relish. I can time warp back and start to remember details I thought I forgot all about.

Here's a goofy story about nostalgia proving people are people all over no matter, what time or where.

A friend I have once traveled extensively in post war Germany. He avoided any touristy place as most of them were still bombed out or just the fact that touristy places are money vacuums anyway. He found various little beerhalls in the smaller unscathed towns and could speak enough German to get by. After a few beers and once the locals warmed up to him enough, they'd open up about their lives and thoughts and whatnot.

Since he was a history professor and based his thesis on WW2, he had particular interest in the various living makers of history as he found them. He found a few guys and became very interested in them at a beerhall in Berchtesgaden.

He found some veterans of the Deutsches Afrikakorps (Rommel's guys) who were enlisted men at the time of the great battles in Northern Africa. Think Eisenhower and Patton squaring off against Kesselring and Rommel. If you saw the movie “Patton,” the early part of the film is exsclusivly about Kasserine Pass and Northern Africa. The Germans eventually lost it all to the American and English forces in Tunisia and after that, Rommel was implicated in a plot to kill Hitler and that ended his career right quick.

So my friend has hit a gold mine of information, actual men who campaigned under Rommel. The problem was that most Germans right after the war, and to this day, are horribly embarrased to even admit the fact they had anything to do with the Nazi regime. They really prefer NEVER to discuss this with any American.

So, after more beers and more easy light hearted talk, my friend slyly slips in some old song he said he once heard of called “Erica.” He did this to see if anyone of those veterans would bite.

Erica was an old song sung by German soldiers who were pining away for their girlfriend's back home. The Wehrmact was comprised of regular, drafted soldiers who were more civilian vs straight military. The scary images of German armies you see promoted on TV are the SS divisions, which is a totally different animal. The Werhmact armies were young men who were taken away from home and longed to return. They were your regualar day to day schlubs trying to make a living.

So my friend sings a few lines, badly, in order to soften up these guys who won't speak of their time in Africa. Since they are now good and drunk they all start to sing “Erica” correctly and one guy starts to tear up and finally has to break the Code of Silence.

“How do you know this song?” the surprised veteran asks.

“I learned it, somewhat, back home in the US around 1939 from a german family that lived near us.”

This was a complete lie my friend told. He knew it because he's a rabid history fan of anything of WW2. He can sing a great version of the British WW2 love song, “Vera Lynn” too. He probably knows all those WW2 loves songs that long to see their best girl once more after the war is over.

So, imagine a table full of fat, balding ex Wehrmact guys with one American singing away. Finally, the sentimental veteran leans over, puts his drunken arm around my friend and says:

“Ah, you're a good American...you understand!”

After that, the guys start spilling their guts about their time in the AfrikaKorp under Rommel. To which, my rabid history friend is gobbling up like mad. They also spoke of their defeat and deportation to American POW camps in Georgia and Missisippi. But even then, as very young men, some of them had great memories of America.

People are people...you open them up about their youth and they'll go on and on and enjoy the hell out of it. I will too if you don't shut me up in time. I'll tell you all about 70's Pawtucket till you're bored silly!

(In a Yoda voice) Tightfisted, You Must Be!

Dads loving dispensing advice to their kids. Mine did it when we were alone driving around in his 14 foot Impala. Whatever guidance he may have been giving me, it was usually tied up in the end with a “Do you understand?”

Half the time I learned to parrot this answer back. “Yes.” Because if I didn't, I'd get a whole other quizzing about what I didn't know and then another education on that. I just wanted to hang my hand out the window and play with the breeze as we sped down 95.

But, it wasn't all gibberish or at least I understood at least half of what he said.

“All transactions in the marketplace are adversarial.” I was told when I was...ready? Five years old.

I'm not surprised now that that advice came from him, he was a CPA and steadily climbing the ladder of success. Plumbing fathers give plumbing advice to their kids. Corner store owner Dads give corner store guidance to their kids. I got financial information.

But what's weird about that advice, he had to eventually dumb it down to where I could understand it and since then, I have held it close to my heart.

“Ok, you're at Mr. Brodeur's store (aka. Jimmy the Toad..that'll need an explanation for later) and you're buying candy. Now Mr. Brodeur would like nothing better than to sell you Atomic Fireballs for $10 a piece. You on the other hand want the entire box of them for free...right?”

“Yeah!” I said.

“Good...that's a good start!” he said, knowing I wanted them for free.

Dad goes on...

“But Mr Brodeur..he has bills to pay, support his family and make money off of YOU to do it...and he'd like nothing better would be to make a lot of money FAST...off of YOU! He wants YOUR money to enjoy his life. How should you take that? What do you think?”

I don't remember exactly what he said about Mr. Brodeur's problem of money and Dad answered it before I could, but his advice equates to common motto from today:

“Not my problem.”

“Mr Brodeur's need for money...don't YOU support that too easily for him! In fact, it's your job to get him to support you instead. Bargain him down!”

He managed to hammer that lesson home to me various times and in various ways. I suspect having a parent who was a Depression Era kid had a lot to do with my learning that lesson by heart. Money was giant issue to him and my Mom. You don't forget what it was like when there was no money and to top it all off, nothing to buy either in 1937. Things were that dicey.

**

Fast forward to this afternoon.

I'm filling up my trunk with goodies from Market Basket and I shut the trunk, but the lock makes an odd noise and I notice the hood ain't really closed. So I lift it up and shut it again. Still not locked. Again I lift it up and slam it down harder and I hear an even louder odd noise from the lock and I think, “What the fuck now...”

I look at the lock. All I see is a lump of plastic and some strangely shaped metal inside. I jimmy the thing, move it around and try shutting it again. Still no click.

“Ah, I'm going home, the trunk will stay put for that.” I think

At home, I continue to play with the lock, move the parts around, shut it...and get infuriated at it as it still isn't working. There's two reasons why I'm pissed. One is that I can't really fly down 95 with a unlocked hood as God Knows what wind currents will flip it that way and this, add to that sucking in all that nice carbon monoxide from the tail pipe. Secondly, and thanks to connecting everything to a car's computer, the dashboard will forever light up “Deck” as a warning to me. The problem with that is it'll drain the battery. I've been through it before...a dead battery due to the silly not-quite-closed trunk drawing power all night long and alerting the computer.

I once said before I'm not so damned courageous when it comes to learning something new. The reason why is, “What is the real cost to the learning curve?” I won't add dormers to my own house as I know precious little about roofs, joists or carpentry on that level. That's way to large a mistake to make on a “first try.” Those mistakes cost huge $$$. If it's something smaller and if I screw it up trying to learn it, then the cost ain't so bad.

I had the very same thoughts when I first used a table saw. The costs of fucking up with a circular saw blade were way too huge. I don't ordinarily go stampeding towards a goal when I know full well my ignorance might cause me to lose my hand. You go slow...real slow when you learn something new and that dangerous/costly.

So, I'm still fidgeting with the damned lock. I finally hear a voice in the back of my head say, “Take it off!” That thought comes more forward when I realize that this is just small item and it's broken anyway...and so what if I'm no locksmith. I get the tools I need and manage to pop the mechanism off from the inside of the trunk. Now I can see the problem.

A spring has come off it's hold down point that's inside the weird parts and thingys. Jesus H. Christ. That's all it was...a damn spring. So I reattach it after a few minutes of having to use a toothpick as the tiny quarters inside that lock piece were frustratingly hard to navigate in. I put the mechanism back on and close the trunk with a satisfyingly loud and solid CLICK.

The thought I had when it clicked? Dad came back to me:

“HA! I WON! Screw you Mr Body Parts man! Up yours Mr Mechanic! Take a HIKE Mr JunkYard Man Who Would Sell Me A Used Part! None of you will make a DIME off of me today! I won!”

Am I a greedy little miser? You betcha!

And why? Not because money buys happiness (it can but it's always very fleeting and I know that lesson) but because money can alleviate a shit-ton of problems when they occur. Problems like massive toothaches. Problems like when your roof is leaking. It helps to have the assets around to fix those. How do keep assets? One way is to try and not to spend them where you don't have to. That's not always easy to do but I am forever alert to that. Also I am lucky enough to have some level of mechanical ability to fix things...on the cheap!

Lesson learned Dear Ol' Dad!

Now if I could do my own dentistry...

Chauvinistic, Misogynistic, Sexist...

“The Japanese have six faces and three hearts. A deceitful heart in their mouth to show in public; another heart in their chest that only friends and family get to know; and at last their real heart that nobody knows and that remains hidden in an undisclosed location.”

from James Clavell's book, Shogun.

You probably don't remember the TV adaption. It was soo long ago back in September of 1980. It was a mini-series depicting Richard Chamberlain as an English explorer who finds himself shipwrecked in medieval Japan that was undergoing civil war. Various daimyos were happily killing one another to become the supreme ruler of Japan, the shogun. Chamberlain finds himself becoming a sort of consiglierie to the daimyo Lord Toranaga.

There were other Europeans there vying to play Japanese politics and one Portuguese captain warns Chamberlain, “Beware Pilot Major! The Japanese man has six faces.”

“Huh?” I thought.

After thinking about it, with all my 15 years of experience, I figured it meant being “two faced.” But being that young, I really didn't understand the subtly and nuances of political chicanery, until I really began to associate with and learn about women.

And that's what this story is about, women. Gossip, cliques and that ugly talent they have for bewildering you. (Before half the race goes ballistic on me, not ALL women are backbiting, lying, jockeying little sneaks...some are though...some could win a gold medal too). I admit men can be gossipy but for the love of God, I've seen women relish it, go hard at it like they're storming Normandy beach.

I have seen it countless times since I was a young man. Women who revel in that game of gossip and using it to create new alliances or to bust up ones they now hate. Or women who seek to feather their nests via that route as well. It's a game of King of the Hill. Toss a piece of dead, red meat near a pack of said women and they go at it like hyenas.

It wasn't till I was employed in social services, which tends to employ women far more than men, that I saw this in action and my complete experience with it.

I forget the original reason, but two women, Ann and Nichole wanted to knock down a third, Traci, by building a groundswell of opinion to get the manager to “write her up” over what I don't know. The problem was that they needed another “vote” and someone else who wasn't part of the clique to legitimize it all. I was was the one they targeted.

The leader of this pack of wolves, Ann, was jealous as hell over Traci as she was living the life via richer boyfriends who owned boats and was partying like a sorority sister on the weekends. Ann on the other hand was fast tracking to becoming a housewife. Being a baby-laden donkey to a husband wasn't her idea of the “good life.” Ann's background included barely making it as her Dad repaired farming equipment in backwoods Minnie-ZO-ta. Ann, simply, was envious of Traci.

Ann knew of a past relationship I once had with Traci. She seemed aware that she should steer well clear of digging information up on that, instead, she asked about her current life now, as I did know it. My answers seemed to fuel her resentful feelings on Traci.

“What!? She called out last weekend to go to Block Island with What's-His-Name?!”

“Yeah...she told me she did.” I said.

When Ann was pissed, she would have a slight pout and grit her teeth.

Traci hadn't grown up yet really. She still had a lot of that teen girl conformity in her, add to that also a shallow view of herself and the world in general. Her career hopes aimed at scoring a Golden Nugget of a husband. Traci was a gold digger and was earnest in her bid to win over her latest find, who by the way, had a net worth of about $2 million. In her own way, Traci herself, was into political chicanery. I once overheard the rich boyfriend occasionally call her a “spoiled brat.” So it wasn't just me who thought this. By the way, the rich boyfriend traded Traci in eventually for a newer model when Traci became “too old” at 24.

So, for about two weeks, the wolf pack slyly tried to get me to give an opinion on Traci and use that as the final piece in their puzzle to wreak havoc on her via the manager. I was aware of this as some of the attempts were blatant. I can see when a train is coming to me at full speed. So they changed tactics.

One by one, they quietly came to me, using their best womanly skills to get me to talk about Traci's newer relationship and to open up about my past one with her. Of course, you ask simple, non-threatening questions, ones that don't raise suspicion. Like a fool, I answer them. But that's what you do in a seemingly open and breezy conversation. Add to that lying, twisting your words behind your back, using people you think are benign to crack you open for information then scurry back to report it. It's a whole list of interrogation tricks the CIA would be jealous of to use.

As they suspected, I too thought and agreed that Traci was a brat but it's from a male perspective, and it's not always a lousy trait to have in a 20 year old when she's your summer fling.

“Ron, don't you think this place (our jobsite) is like high school? You know, the gossip and such...the manipulation?” I was asked.

“Yep, at it's worst...this could be Ponaganset High” I told them.

She goes on. “It's so immature...like that time you left Traci behind because she was going to test your loyalty to her or that Pink Floyd concert...you told me she was deliberately late on the pick up and you left her at home because it was starting at 8PM?”

“Yep, when it came down to her or Roger Waters...I naturally chose Roger. I told her she was to be ready for the ride up to Foxboro come hell or high water.”

“She's like that here, isn't she? She's a brat, wants things her way...” I was asked.

Too late. I was on a roll when they got me to speak openly about my true feelings.

“Yeah, she is. But I'm used to that. I know her well.”

The next day Traci wanted my head on a pike and the high school clique that was gunning for her was sufficiently fulfilled.

Of course, since I innocently divulged the fact she was immature, that I provided the final judgment, a male one, amongst a den of women, the manager saw fit to sit Traci down and read her the Riot Act. I then was mistakenly put into that clique and thought a dire enemy of Traci, who in the parking lot after all of this hunts me down and says:

“You PRICK! You're with THEM?”

“Huh” I thought. That's a clueless, male-brained response. Of course it is, I and most of us guys don't give a crap about twittery gossip and games.

“You chose them over me? I heard that you said 'I was a brat!'”

“But your are.” I say. Whoops. Never speak the truth in certain situations!

I took me a week to convince Traci I was deftly managed into talking about her. She finally saw that the other girls of that workplace clique used every trick in the book to crack me open.