Second Lieutenant Van T. Barfoot

This is a real medal of honor recipient:


This 1944 Medal of Honor citation, listed with the National Medal of Honor Society, is for Second Lieutenant Van T. Barfoot, 157th Infantry, 45th Infantry:

"For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty on 23 May 1944, near Carano , Italy . With his platoon heavily engaged during an assault against forces well entrenched on commanding ground, 2d Lt. Barfoot moved off alone upon the enemy left flank. He crawled to the proximity of 1 machine gun nest and made a direct hit on it with a hand grenade, killing 2 and wounding 3 Germans. He continued along the German defense line to another machine gun emplacement, and with his tommy gun killed 2 and captured 3 soldiers. Members of another enemy machine gun crew then abandoned their position and gave themselves up to Sgt. Barfoot. Leaving the prisoners for his support squad to pick up, he proceeded to mop up positions in the immediate area, capturing more prisoners and bringing his total count to17. Later that day, after he had reorganized his men and consolidated the newly captured ground, the enemy launched a fierce armored counterattack directly at his platoon positions. Securing a bazooka, Sgt. Barfoot took up an exposed position directly in front of 3 advancing Mark VI tanks. From a distance of 75yards his first shot destroyed the track of the leading tank, effectively disabling it,while the other 2 changed direction toward the flank. As the crew of the disabled tank dismounted, Sgt. Barfoot killed 3 of them with his tommy gun. He continued onward into enemy terrain and destroyed a recently abandoned German field piece with a demolition charge placed in the breech. While returning to his platoon position, Sgt. Barfoot, though greatly fatigued by his Herculean efforts,assisted 2 of his seriously wounded men 1,700 yards to a position of safety.Sgt. Barfoot's extraordinary heroism, demonstration of magnificent valor, and aggressive determination in the face of point blank fire are a perpetual inspiration to his fellow soldiers."

Fuck you Xavier Alverez!

Later,

obi

50 Years Slides Away

The 50th reunion of my high school graduating class was this past July. I didn’t attend, but I did send them $20 for the booklet containing a list of all the graduates, where they live and what they do for a living. Most of them are retired of course, but some of the self-employed ones are still dabbling at their real estate or accounting businesses.

One very striking fact is that since the last reunion five years ago, another 20 have passed away. In the 45 years before that, we had only lost 42. Hell of a jump.

I also got the group photo. Luckily they included a row-by-row listing of who was who. I only recognized two of them without the list. One because I’ve seen a recent picture of him and one because he hasn’t changed in 50 years.

But the thing that struck me more than any other – God…they’re all so fucking old.

Later,

obi

Yeah....I'm Pissed

I am one pissed off American right now. Yeah…I’m pissed off about illegal immigration; I’m a little less pissed off now that we’re finally pulling out of the war that never should have been (Iraq); but what I’m really REALLY pissed off about was on the NBC Evening News the other night, and also in the New York Times last week.

The Stolen Valor Act has been declared unconstitutional by the US Court of Appeals for the 9th Circuit in guess where? San Francisco, California. It was enacted in 2006 and made it a crime to lie about having received a military medal or service badge.

I’m all for free speech…I wanna say what I want where I want and to whomever I want. That includes telling the three-judge panel that declared the law unconstitutional, they are a bunch of dumb-ass motherfuckers!

Xavier Alverez has at various times claimed to be an ex-marine (not true); to have played hockey for the Detroit Red Wings (a lie); to have rescued the American ambassador during the Iranian hostage crisis (a complete fabrication); and to have received the Medal of Honor, the highest award that can be given to military personnel (the big ‘un.)

The judges claimed that his freedom of speech would be hampered if he wasn't allowed to say that he won the medal.

Lie about getting the Purple Heart? No problem…the government hands them out like candy. Lie about serving in Nam? No biggie…If everyone who said they were in Nam actually was, maybe we would have kicked some ass over there instead of leaving with our tails between our legs. But to say you have been awarded the Medal of Honor?

There aren’t that many of them still alive. In fact, the network news anchors report whenever one of them dies…that’s how important to our history these guys are. and what they did to get that medal was normally some off-the-wall heroic shit.

Alverez needs to have someone give him, at the least, a swift kick in the balls.

If he actually has any, that is.

Later

obi

Year # 2

Happy Anniversary to me – Happy Anniversary to me – Happy Anniversary to me...eee –

Happy Anniversary to me...and many more.


Haven’t sucked on a cigarette in two…count ‘em two whole years.


Later,


obi

CSI

Like I said a few weeks ago, I'm not much of a daytime TV watcher. My wife, on the
other hand, has the tube on all morning while she plays on the computer.

Normally, while I have my usual late breakfast, a program called "CSI Miami" is
blaring in the background. I usually don't pay much attention to it because I think
it sucks. The acting is terrible and the female cops are all too attractive - not that that's a bad thing - but check out your typical female law enforcement personnel sometime. No comparison. And, if they have boobs at all, they're covered up, not like the bimbos on CSI who walk around with them hanging out - again, not that it's a bad thing.

A few days ago my least favorite character on that program, Horatio, was rolling "Code 3" down a Miami boulevard in his Hummer. Full out lights and siren Just when I looked up at the TV screen, he was passed by a station wagon.

See what I mean?

Later,

obi

Rednecks

I wanna start this out by saying that I can use the "R" word - I've lived in the south for 35 years. I'll never be a southerner, I wasn't born here, but my daughter was so that helps.

But I digress.

I can use the "R" word in much the same way that blacks can use the "N" word. We're fucking entitled - so there.

Anywaaaay....I've been pet/house sitting this week while my daughter and her husband are on vacation, and I've enjoyed every minute of it. As long as I stayed in the house. My baby girl lives just outside Atlanta and it's been in the high 90's every day this week with the heat indices over 100. BRU-tal.

Needless to say, I have not ventured out too often or for too long a period of time. No washing the truck or playing catch with the dog. Mostly sitting inside reading, playing on the computer or watching TV.

I'm normally not much of a daytime TV person - sometimes one of the Judge shows - but that's about it. Well, I got me an edjucashun this week, and I've made a very serious discovery.

I'm gonna share it with you now so get ready - fasten your seatbelts - batten down the hatches.

If it wasn't for rednecks and trailer trash we wouldn't have all those "redneck engineering" emails; the "people of WalMart" pictures wouldn't exist; Maury Pouvich and Jerry Springer would be out of work.

End of the day's enlightenment, grasshopper.

Later,

obi

Remember me?

Damn….it’s been almost a year since I posted anything. Time flies….I guess.

In the “what’s new” department I’m still not smoking – it’s been 23 months! And

my youngest son (middle child) completed the family trifecta and got married in June in Durango, CO. My daughter (his half-sister) attended and sent me photos. My ex-wife (his mother) sent photos. My ex-sister-in-law (his aunt) sent me photos. His brother (my oldest child) sent me photos. Even though I wasn’t invited (discouraged from attending, in fact) the photographs almost made me feel like I was there. I assumed that my ex-wife had influenced the non-invite and negative response when I asked my son if I would be welcome. Once again, I was wrong. My ex asked my daughter why I wasn’t there. I have since corresponded with her (the first time in about 25 years) and found out that she was never asked her opinion on the subject - it was my son’s decision. That hurt a lot more than if she had influenced the final outcome.

Enough of this semi-negative shit! Let’s get on with the fun stuff.

I received a letter last month inviting me to serve as a jury-person on July 7^th in the year of our Lord, 2010. Of coursed I accepted the invitation and asked if I could bring any snacks. “Don’t be a wise ass,” I was told. “Just be here at 9 am, sit down and shut the fuck up!”

I arrived at the county courthouse at 8:15, having over-compensated for the traffic into our megalopolis. Coffee and water were provided, and a soda machine was available on-premise. My stomach, however, was alerting my brain that it thought my throat had been cut since no solid food had yet been forthcoming. Coffee apparently was not going to suffice.

Once all the prospective jurors had arrived, we were shown a short film outlining how the court system functioned and what would be required of us should we be selected for a jury. Then we waited.

I read for a while, then started scanning my fellow jurors.

The guy sitting in front of me, one chair over to the left, had to be an off-duty cop…I hope. When he crossed his legs and his pants cuff rode up a little, I could definitely see an ankle holster. That meant he was either a cop or one of those really, REALLY upset family members who kill the trial’s defendant because they had messed with the juror’s daughter. I was getting ready to report him to the court clerk when I saw he was reading a “cop” magazine on guns, ammo and taking prisoners safely.

Directly in front of me was a thirty-something male of East Indian heritage. Dark hair, dark skin, a nice gray suit and…….a page-boy looking collar on backwards and held together by a large, gold stick-pin. I was trying to figure out if maybe the whole collar arrangement was actually holding his head on when he turned around. I assume he was some sort of priest because he was wearing a sort of silk shirt with no real collar, just the white thing I had seen before.

Alan Harper from “2 ½ Men” was there too. Actually he was just “super” prepared for a lengthy stay. He had his laptop, earphones, cell phone and his lunch (in TupperWare containers.) A plaid, short-sleeved and button-down shirt completed the “Alan” look.

We also had a flagrant dyke (they seem to be in fashion here), multiple retirees (we have the time), one man who had a perpetual smile on his face (I’m assuming it was simply a nerd smile and not a plastic surgery error), and one guy who Judge Judy would have had a field-day with.

I was concerned about wearing jeans to court, so I wore chinos. This “dude” had on cut-off jean shorts, flip-flops and a gray T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Judy would have reamed him a new asshole right before she cited him for contempt.

At about 11:30, the clerk turned off the flat-screen 40+ inch HDTV, and informed us that the civil trial that we were supposed to hear had been settled without our assistance and the only other trial on the day’s docket was a non-jury affair. We were free to go…see you in a minimum of two years.

I feel like I accomplished something…my civic duty has been done. Even though I didn’t do anything but read and people watch. Good deal!

Later,

obi

Free at Last - Free at Last

I’ve been paying off medical bills for 5 ½ years – each and every month.

It all started with my unscheduled flight on the relatively unknown carrier, Plywood Airlines, on November 28, 2003.

The ambulance ride, the x-rays, the surgery that night, the hospital stay, the second surgery in December and the 3^rd surgery in February ’04, plus all the miscellaneous add-ons (physical therapies, braces, and all the charges inherent to surgical procedures) came to over $25,000.

Admittedly, the hospital did write off a good portion of their charges after my shitty insurance company had paid their pittance. I also explained to them that since my company had laid me off due to the injury, I had absolutely NO income. I guess they felt sorry for me.

So, everybody got what I could pay them every month. The payments were small, but I never missed a month.

Then in April of ’06 I had another short flight, this one on the regional carrier, Ladder Airlines. It was only about 10 feet or so, but it did manage to break my cheekbone and my wrist, plus it shattered the sinus on the right side of my face. This is what I looked like the following day.

More fucking medical bills, but not nearly as much. Only about $1100 that time, but it still felt like I was taking one step forward and two steps back.

But as of today, August 12th in the year of our Lord, 2009, it’s all fucking over. By writing a check for $67, I have freed myself from the medical community (at least for now). All bills paid ~ thank God they didn’t charge me interest.

Later,

obi

Smoking

OK. It has now been one FUCKING year without tobacco of any kind.

It's been a bitch ~ I still think about picking up a cigarette every God damned day!

But I don't do it.

How long will it be until I forget that I smoked those fucking things for over 50 years?


Later,

obi

It's my 6 month anniversary today, so I thought I'd offer a link to Quitnet, a site that offers support to those of us who wish to ditch cigarettes.

Oh, yeah ~ and WAY TO GO STEELERS!!!! One for the other thumb.

Later,

obi

Phil and Tina

Anyone who reads this blog with any regularity at all knows that my dog’s name is Tina ~ Tina Turner. She was given that moniker by my wife (who is a huge Tina Turner fan) because we had seen the original Tina T. in concert not long before we got the dog.

That and the fact that both Tina’s have about the same color hair.

Regular readers also know that I walk, or drag, our Tina twice a day – every day.

On Christmas afternoon we were taking our second drag of the day down Hemlock Street. One of our neighbors was hosting a family gathering and several people who I didn’t recognize had come outside to have a smoke.

“Oh, what a pretty puppy,” a young woman said. What’s her name?”

“Tina,” I replied. “Tina Turner.”

The young woman’s jaw dropped almost down to the asphalt.

Pointing at her male companion she said, “Oh my God! His dog is named Phil Collins!”

I think we need to get them together for a duet.

Later,

obi

Update

Just thought you might like to know:

Time Smoke-Free: 83 days, 3 hours, 57 minutes and 17 seconds



Cigarettes NOT smoked: 2495


Lifetime Saved: 19 days, 1 hour


Money Saved: $435.75

Later,

obi

Two months

8 weeks smoke free!!!!

8

8

8


8

Later,

obi

This Was The Week That Was (TW3)

So, Monday afternoon our water goes off. I know, they’re working on the water and sewer lines in the neighborhood, but still – I did get that letter from the water department last week saying our payment was late.

I knew the bill had been paid, so I went online and checked out my bank statement. Sure enough, the check for my water bill had cleared. So I called the water department to bitch.

“I’m sorry, sir, but your last payment was recorded in July, not September.”

“But I have the check I mailed to you clearing my bank last week. Lemme bring up the check image. Oh, SHIT. You’re right. You never got that check. Looks like it was stolen.”

I began exploring my online bank statement in depth. To date I’ve found three stolen checks, all of which were put in my mailbox for pickup on the same day. The total amount of money lost was a little over $300.

What I can’t understand is this: all three checks still had the original payee listed on the “Pay to the order of” line. The dip shits who stole them simply wrote over that and put in the name of our local supermarket chain. YOU CAN STILL SEE THE NAME OF THE ORIGINAL PAYEE! And the dildos at the supermarkets cashed them.

So anyway, my water, car insurance and cable bills are all late. No big problems, but it’s just a royal pain in the ass. Had to call the bank’s main office, go to the Sheriff’s Department, get an incident report, take that to my local bank branch and, of course call all the companies affected. The cable and insurance companies just doubled up my bills for this month, but I need to take a check into Asheville so they don’t cut off my water.

The bank says I’ll get my money back, but it may take up to 90 days.

I almost forgot: Monday morning there was a note taped to my front gate from Animal Control. A neighbor had complained that my dog was running loose in the streets. That’s my 9 year-old, overweight BLIND dog, that never leaves the house except for the daily drags up and down the street. We call them exercise walks and I administer them twice daily.
So, this has been one of the strangest weeks in recent memory. Since all this shit is now straightened out, I hope things are on the upswing.

Later,

obi

Blahhh

My life has been pretty much blahhhh lately, but two things stand out from all the other crap. I was reminded of the first of them last night as I watched the beginning of Saturday Night Live.

I don’t think I’ve enjoyed that program for about 25 years, but the opening skit with Tina Fey as Sarah Palin was hilarious.

That skit reminded me that I had a dream about Sarah Palin earlier in the week. I don’t normally remember my dreams, and in a million years I’d never imagine that I’d have a dream with her in it. She scares me. I wouldn’t want her anywhere near “the button” if she was having a bad day.

But here’s the dream ~ I’d gone back to work at McDonald’s in Jersey after being out sick for an extended period of time. I had been guaranteed my manager’s job back by the head of HR. But, when I returned to work, my new supervisor was Palin and she made me a grill person.

She smelled good, but shit was she a bitch.

The second not-so-bright spot in the last week was on one of my credit card statements. When I got it Friday morning, it had a notation that I had not made my last payment and that all my interest rates (some of which were as low as 4.99%) had all been jacked up to 18.99%.

Was I pissed? What do you think?

Called customer service and after about an hour had the situation resolved. Thank God for online bank statements. I printed out the cancelled check with the date that it had cleared, gave her the information and we were good to go. She’s sending me some forms to fill out and that will finish it.

But Saturday morning at 8:15 I got a call from their collections department. Righty doesn’t know what lefty is doing. Another 30 minutes on the phone with that jack-ass and I think we’re straight.

Oh, well. It might have been a pain in the ass, but it sure gets the blood pumping.

Later,

obi

Smoke 'em if Ya Gottem

I’ve been a cigarette smoker since you could buy smokes in a machine for .25 a pack. If you bought regulars, not the new “king” sized killers, you even got three pennies back in change. They were under the cellophane on the side of the pack.

My first brand of choice was Camel unfiltered. I wandered through Lucky Strikes and Pall Mall before taking a mini hint and switching to filters a long time ago.

I’ve gone through many bouts of pneumonia, bronchitis, shortness of breath and chest colds. I even collapsed a lung back in ’74. But I continued to light ‘em up at every opportunity.

Until four weeks ago.

I’d been waking up every morning at about 4 a.m. unable to breathe. If I sat up, I could get more air, but it was still scary. One night I even slept in my recliner because it put less pressure on my lungs.

That decided it for me. The following morning I bought nicotine patches and have been wearing them ever since. I still have a nagging cough, but I can breathe!

Hopefully, this time it will take. I’ve tried and failed many times before, but I need to quit. Hell, I should have quit countless years ago.

Shit ~ I should have never started.

Later,

obi

Dick Cheney: Comedian

Our esteemed vice-president, Dick Cheney, is not known for his raucous sense of humor. Shooting people while hunting, maybe – but not telling jokes.

This past week he not only told a joke, but he managed to piss off the entire state of West (by God) Virginia. It was something about his wife researching the family tree and discovering that she had forbearers named Cheney. Dick’s response was something to the effect that they weren’t even from West Virginia.

Not bad for ol’ straight-laced Cheney. But we need to delve deeper into the mystique of the “Wild and Wonderful” state. I grew up in Western Pennsylvania – Pittsburgh to be exact. Since it’s only about 60 miles from there to the West (by God) Virginia border, we had no love for the ridge runners to our south. I was appalled, in fact, that my cousin would lower her standards and attend the University of West Virginia.

But I digress.

On the West Virginia Turnpike there is an attraction at exit 45 called “Tamarac – The Very Best of West Virginia.” It’s a collection of crafts made in that state – and it’s all very loosely packed into one small building.

Some other interesting facts about West (by God) Virginia:

Where was the toothbrush invented?
West Virginia. If it had been invented anywhere else it would have been called the teethbrush.

What’s the best thing to ever come out of West Virginia?
I-77.

Enough – enough – enough.

Gotta go.

Later,

obi

A Message From God

Sunday was Barbara’s birthday and as usual I had no idea what kind of present to give her. So I asked her what she wanted. “Just take me out to dinner,” she said.

Cool. That took me off the hook and I knew she’d be happy.

“Where do you wanna go?” I asked. Believe it or not there are a number of very good restaurants in and around Asheville, NC.

“Let’s go to Hooters,” was her reply.

After I picked myself up off the floor I asked, “Why?”

“They have steamed clams,” she said.

We may have good restaurants here, but being 400 miles from the coast means that the fresh seafood joints are practically non-existent. We do have a Red Lobster, but I’ve never really enjoyed a meal there.

So, Sunday night at about 7 we headed into Asheville to find the local Hooters. After only two wrong turns, and nearly hitting a young black man who was walking up the road with a white towel over his head, we were safely ensconced in their nearly empty parking lot.

We found a table in their smoking section and perused the menu. Not only did they have steamed clams, but they also offered oysters-on-the-half-shell. I was in heaven – until I checked their beer selections. I won’t drink Bud or any of its derivatives – that shot half the menu – likewise with Coors and Corona.

When our surprisingly small hootered waitress finally arrived I ordered an MGD. “A what?” she said. “A Miller Genuine Draft,” I answered. I should have been warned. Barbara ordered a mixed drink and we scanned the menus for a main course selection.

Ten minutes later, our distinctly non-Hooters type waitress returned with Barbara’s drink and a message for me. “We don’t sell MGD anymore,” she said.

Grab the beverage menu one more time. “OK, I’ll have a Killian’s Red.” It was the only other beer on their mostly domestic menu that I would drink.

After another 10-minute wait for the bartender to open a beer bottle, “Little Miss Push-up” sheepishly returned. “You’re not gonna believe this,” she said. “We’re out of Killian’s.”

Barbara and I just looked at each other, dumbfounded.

“OK, just bring me a Jack on-the-rocks.”

As she walked away she said, “You want Coke in that?”

“No, just Jack and ice. That’s all. No Coke, no Sprite, no water! Jack on-the-rocks.”

We’re getting on 30 minutes now, and I still didn’t have a fucking drink. This was not gonna be my night. But that’s OK. It was Barb’s birthday, not mine.

As I waited, parched, for something to drink, the young black man who had been walking up the road came in, with the towel still draped over his head, sat down at a table next to the wall and promptly fell asleep on the table.

Another 10 minutes passed before our red-faced waitress returned. “OK. This is getting weird. Our liquor shipment didn’t come in on Friday – we’re out of Jack Daniels.”

I looked up at her and smiled. “Just bring me an ice-water,” I said. “I know you can’t be out of that.”

Then I realized that this was God’s way of telling me – “Don’t drink and drive.”

Later,

obi

Texas

Here’s a news flash – Texas is a very big state. I know that sounds idiotic, but let me explain what I mean. You can look at a map of the US and say, “Gee, Texas is a big state.” But you cannot grasp its enormity until you drive across it.

While I was driving a big truck, I spent a lot of time in the Lone Star State. Much of that time was spent sitting in a drop-yard waiting for my next load, but most of it was spent traversing the Interstates and two-lane highways that slice through the state.

At our allowable speed limit (60 mph) and the maximum number of hours we could drive per shift (10) I could cross most states in eight hours or less.

If I were to drive across Texas, through Beaumont, Houston, San Antonio and El Paso following I-10, I would virtually cut the state in half, north to south. It would also take me fifteen hours to drive that distance.

That’s not saying that there’s a lot in Texas, besides land. Everything is just very spread out. You could probably take everything else in Texas, including the people and put it in an area about the size of South Carolina.

You would not lose anything important.

Later,

obi

I Can Die Happy

My life is now complete. Barb & I saw Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band live last night at Bobcats Arena in Charlotte.

I've seen a number of concerts in my life (beginning with the Beatles in 1965) but never one as great as this one. He started at 7:30 and went through to about 11 or later (I don't wear a watch) without a break! Not only was there no intermission, but most of his songs went straight into the next one with only a "1-2-3-4" screamed by Springsteen.

He sang shit from his first album all the way through his latest.

And the Band - oh my God - the E Street Band. Clarence wailed on sax; Little Steven and Nils rocked on guitars; the female he has touring in place of his wife Patty played a magnificent electric violin; the keyboard player and the pianist who sat in because Danny Federici died last week were phenomenal and Max Weinberg must have lost 15 pounds pounding those damned drums.

Federici had been with the band since the beginning. He just passed away about 7 days before the concert and they started the show with a song Springsteen had written about him. The stage was completely dark and photos of Federici ranging from the earliest days through his final ones with the band flashed on the big screens.

I knew this would be a great show, but it surpassed anything I could have imagined.

WOW!

Later,

obi