Interesting Military Quotes - Courtesy Mike West (7th Mar '08)

'If the enemy is in range, so are you.'
- Infantry Journal
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'It is generally inadvisable to eject directly over the area you just bombed.'
-   U.S.  Air Force Manual
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'Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword obviously never encountered automatic weapons.'
- General MacArthur
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'You, you, and you ... Panic. The rest of you, come with me.'
- U.S. Marine Corp Gunnery Sgt.
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'Tracers work both ways.'
-   U.S .  Army Ordnance
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'Five second fuses only last three seconds.'
- Infantry Journal
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'Any ship can be a minesweeper. Once.'
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'Never tell the Platoon Sergeant you have nothing to do.'   - Unknown Marine Recruit
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'If you see a bomb technician running, follow him.'
-   USAF  Ammo Troop
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'Though I Fly Through the Valley of Death , I Shall Fear No Evil. For I am at 80,000 Feet and Climbing.'
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'You've never been lost until you've been lost at Mach 3.'
- Paul F. Crickmore (test pilot)
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'The only time you have too much fuel is when you're on fire.'
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'If the wings are traveling faster than the fuselage, it's probably a helicopter -- and therefore, unsafe.'
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'When one engine fails on a twin-engine airplane you always have enough power left to get you to the scene of the crash.'
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'Even with   ammunition, the  USAF  is just another expensive flying club.'
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'What is the similarity between air traffic controllers and pilots? If a pilot screws up, the pilot dies; If ATC screws up, .... The pilot dies.'
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'Never trade luck for skill.'
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The three most common expressions (or famous last words) in aviation are: 'Why is it doing that?', 'Where are we?' And 'Oh Shit!'
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'Airspeed, altitude and brains. Two are always needed to successfully complete the flight.'
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'Mankind has a perfect record in aviation; we never left one up there!'
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'Flying the airplane is more important than radioing your plight to a person on the ground incapable of understanding or doing anything about it.'
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'The Piper Cub is the safest airplane in the world; it can just barely kill you.'
- Attributed to Max Stanley (Northrop test pilot)
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'There is no reason to fly through a thunderstorm in peacetime.'
- Sign over squadron ops desk at Davis-Monthan AFB, AZ, 1970
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'If something hasn't broken on your helicopter, it's about to.'
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'You know that your landing gear is up and locked when it takes full power to taxi to the terminal.'
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As the test pilot climbs out of the experimental aircraft, having torn off the wings and tail in the crash landing, the crash truck arrives, the rescuer sees a bloodied pilot and asks 'What happened?'.   

 The pilot's reply: 'I don't know, I just got here myself!'
- Attributed to Ray Crandell (Lockheed test pilot)

New Equipment for the RAF - Courtesy Mike West (16th Jan '08)

Gordon Brown has announced a large order of these aircraft for the RAF.

But, don’t get too excited until you see all of the pictures and open them in order.

The four builders are shown in the image above. Colin Straus, the owner, is at the nose of the aircraft.

This 1/9th scale radio-controlled C-17 model was built in the United Kingdom. It was built as the centerpiece of a 15 program television series produced in the U.K. for the Home and Leisure satellite TV channel.

Built with the aid of three friends, it took one year to build and is powered with 4 Jetcat P-120 turbines with a total thrust of 108 lbs. The model weighs over 250 lbs fuelled, and carries 12.5 litres (3.3 US gallons) of 95% kerosene and 5% turbine oil fuel. Other details include 5 Futaba PCM receivers, 16 battery packs (93 cells), 20 Futaba servos, on board air compressor, electro/pneumatic retracts, etc. Wingspan is 20 feet 8 inches, and the top of the fin is 74 inches (6 feet 2 inches) above the ground. Takeoff weight is 264 lbs.

The rear cargo doors open and they drop an r/c jeep on a pallet, as well as 2 free-fall r/c parachutists.

The model also has smoke systems on both of the inboard turbines, and uses a 2.4 GHz dat a link to provide real-time data to a laptop computer on the ground while in flight. This data includes airspeed, turbine RPM, EGT, fuel consumption, etc. Built mainly from balsa and ply, with many glass and carbon fibre mouldings to reduce weight. It is covered in fibreglass and epoxy resin. Complete with retractable landing gear and pneumatically operated flaps.

This C-17 Globe Master III is one of the largest jet models in the world today!

Now this is what I call a real Bitch (11th Jan '08)

Just received this from from a "friend" who will remain anonymous to protect his good name. But he lives in Mandurah and is married to my fourth daughter, Anne. Thought you mike like it and might be able to learn from it if you really have to send a "bitchy" reply.

Dear Mr. Barlow,

It has come to my attention that you are not answering my e-mails!   Now I fully appreciate this could be caused by various situations, some of which may well be beyond your control, such as the failure of the electrical grid or the takeover of the northern extremities of the UK by terrorist insurgents.  Alas, I feel it’s more likely to be less serious.

You could for example, be hitting the bottle to such an extent that the computer screen has just become a blurred kaleidoscope of colour, or perhaps you’ve sat on your glasses and those hawk like eyes that used to watch so diligently over the shoulders of shuddering flight engineers are no longer able to focus on the letters of the key board.  On the other hand, living in that frigid climate, on the outer limits of civilisation as it’s known to man,  those poor, fragile hands wrapped in strips of cloth to protect them from the winter’s chill, are at last incapable of operating the key board.    Just to think, in the years gone by when you played the 747 Engineers panel like a concert piano and were known as ‘Magic Fingers’.     Indeed, a very tragic picture!

Mind you, I may have this totally wrong and you could be seriously ill, God forbid!  You could even be suffering from a runny nose, or runny bowels, or perhaps even a combination of both with a constant demand for tissues both in the northern and southern hemispheres, so to speak!   I trust this is not the case.

My most serious concerns centre around that distasteful term ‘racialism’.   Whilst it’s unthinkable from my perspective, I have to face the fact that people unfortunate enough not to live in God’s Country may just consider themselves to be racially inferior and hesitant to make contact with those muscle toned, bronzed beasts of manhood, strutting around in the midday sun wearing nothing but a Colgate smile and Budgie Smugglers !  

As the Queen once said, “it’s sad, but we can’t all be queens, we have to have someone to form the kingdom”.   But then again, with the current change in the world’s sexual preferences, perhaps she’ll be proved wrong.  However I’m getting off the track here.

Seriously, and this is most difficult for me as a grown man, but I sincerely hope this lack of two way communication is not simply another of your little temper tantrums!   As embarrassing as it is, I know you’ve been prey to these character destroying traits on the odd occasion, I trust this is not one of them.    For the life of me, I have no idea what would have triggered such an event, but Dr.Phill tells us the inner child works in mysterious ways which may not always be evident to the casual observer.  Yes I know, it’s scary but the truth often is!

Well, I’m afraid I’m at a complete loss for further words.  I live in eternal hope that whatever it is that ails you soon passes and that cheerful, bubbly, mischievous little Scotsman that we all liked, comes bouncing back real soon.

Best Regards,

Undisclosed Sender

P.S. In case it’s another nationalistic trait that has you concerned, perhaps I should point out that e-mails are free!

A Flight of Fantasy, by BJ. (5th Jan '08)

Departure is delayed an hour and we’re issued with meal vouchers. It’s not the best way to start our trip but as we all know, these things occasionally happen. Anne and I wander the huge terminal complex in KL Malaysia, looking for somewhere to have a snack. We don’t feel like eating much so Hungry Jacks fills the bill.

After a gate change and a replacement aircraft we board and settle in, staring at the bulkhead immediately in front of our row of seats. The two seats next to me are occupied by a woman with a young child and a baby in arms, the child apparently fixated on becoming Jack in The Box. Behind us a screaming young brat refuses to behave, kicking the back of my seat in a temper tantrum. This is going to be just great !

And then further delays, but this time we’re kept on board. After some time, the soothing tones of the Captain announces a 40 minute delay whilst maintenance workers attempt to fix the problem. Oh sure, I’ve been here before, but I mustn’t be cynical.

Time drags on and on. The kid keeps kicking, the baby will not settle and cries constantly whilst her brother thrashes about in the seat next to me.

Another announcement, this time proposing to swap aircraft yet again, but first we’re to be served dinner on board ! It’s absolute chaos as Cabin Crew try to maneuver food carts up the narrow aisles whilst passengers refuse to sit down, cueing at toilets, opening lockers and retrieving computers and other personal effects from their cabin baggage. It’s a circus, but there’s nothing funny about it.

Eventually, with meal trays cleared away, we’re herded off the crippled aircraft and onto our third for the night. Everything goes like clockwork and were soon charging down the runway and up into the night sky, some 6 hours late.

It’s midnight and I try to settle down for a sleep, but it wont be easy. A bassinette has been attached to the bulkhead in front, half of it protruding across in front of me, it’s young occupant still exercising her lungs, refusing to be quiet whilst Jack in The Box franticly competes for his mother’s attention. The monster behind appears to get some sadistic pleasure from using my seat back as a football every time I try to get comfortable, despite my irritated glares over the seat at him and his parents.

“You mustn’t do that Darling”, the mother bleats to him, pathetically.

Restrain him, get the handcuffs, leg rope him , do something I pray but it’s just not going to happen. He keeps kicking.

I try half a bottle of red and pop a valium. Eventually I drift off into a form of unconsciousness ……

“Seat 23B and enjoy your flight”, says the angel at the desk as she hands me a boarding card. I move through the long silver tube of the Air Bridge, arriving at the aircraft door to be greeted by another angel, tall, with long blond hair and steely grey eyes that seem to look right through me.

She glances down at my two children and immediately steps into the center of the doorway.

“I’m sorry Sir, but children aren’t allowed in the Cabin”, she says with a soft but firm voice, the tone of authority plainly evident and unquestionable, but I try.

“They’re with me”, I plead.

“It’s OK”, she says, “we’ll look after them”, reassuring me with a smile that would melt icebergs. A figure appears from the gloom, attaches tags to my kid’s arms displaying our destination and gently ushers them away.

As I pear through the aircraft window at the tarmac below, I can see lots of kids all wearing tags grouped together next to the baggage trolleys. One at a time the kids are placed onto a long , moving conveyer belt along with the baggage and delivered up into the cargo hold. The peace and tranquility of the aircraft cabin is overwhelming…..

In the Arrival Hall, the baggage carousel kicks into gear as the first of the luggage appears from underground and slides down the short ramp onto the moving belt. Children also appear from the underground void, interspersed with the bags, some silent, some squabbling, others playing with electronic games. Mothers reach out and pluck them from the moving carousel as they pass by, loading them on top of their luggage and hurrying off.

Outside, the Hotel Shuttle bus is parked at the kerb, a line of adults climbing on board. At the same time children are being loaded into the baggage trailer hooked on the back. It’s peaceful, there’s no noise, no argument, just adults going one way, children the other.

“Room 2801 Sir. I hope you enjoy your stay. We’ll have your bags sent up right away.

The Hotel Clerk catches my concerned glance at my children standing off to the side.

“Don’t worry about the children Sir, we’ll look after them” she says, knowingly.

A Bellhop appears, tags my bags with my Room Number and attaches labels to the kids. “Kids Floor” the labels announce in big red letters on stripped yellow and black tags, just like the old crew tags we used to display on our baggage.

“Excuse me Sir, Sir, excuse ….”. The hostess is gently shaking me as she struggles to wake me from my drug induced sleep. “We’ll be landing shortly, please put your seat upright ……

I glance at my watch and realize I’ve managed a good 4 hours of sleep. The tiny, sleeping bundle in front of me is being transferred to her mother’s arms whilst Jack in The Box appears to have broken his spring. The monster behind me has somehow been transformed into a picture of pure innocence.

I struggle upright in my seat trying to clear my befuddled brain, looking around the cabin, somehow hoping to catch a glimpse of the blond angel with the steely grey eyes. But reality crashes back into focus as we thump onto the runway.

It’s been a flight I’ll not soon forget, in more ways than one.

Miller's Musings - The 12 Days of Christmas (4th Dec '07)

One Kestrel eagle, five turtle doves, four crested mynahs, one monitor lizard, 185 land turtles, and . . .

Foreigners had reported the pet shops of Kartimar selling endangered species, so the National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) and the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) had set up a buy and bust operation. In charge was Alma Balasfin, chief of the Protected Areas and Wildlife Bureau (PAWB).

As you will see, the operation was part of the Complete Responsibility Action Program (CRAP).

"Get ready," Officer Balasfin whispered into her walkie-talkie. "Go!" Gerardo Cabreros, DENR Special Concerns Director, crossed Libertad Street in Pasay City, and went into one of the many pet shops of Kartimar. "I'd like to buy a crested mynah," he said. "What's that?" asked the shopkeeper. "You know, a mynah. I want a coloured one." "You mean a black one?" "No, a coloured one, a male ... a young one." "Lemme get this straight - you want a young black male minor, is that right?" Director Cabreros put a 500 peso note on the counter. "A coloured one," he said. "Are you some kind of child molester?" the shopkeeper shouted. "We don't keep minors here - get out before I call the cops." "You don't understand, I am a cop."

The raid on the pet shops netted only: one Kestrel eagle, five turtle doves, four crested mynahs, one monitor lizard, 185 land turtles, and . . .

"It's not what we expected," Alma Balasfin said. "Where are the rest?"

The rest had long gone. The Inquirer reported: "Pet shop owners ... knew there was going to be a raid because a radio reporter announced it on the air two hours before the DENR agents arrived."

Miller's Musings - A Jolly Good Jollibee (4th Dec '07)

     (Note: Jollibee is a Philippine fast food chain similar to KFC.)

Jamie put the plates on the table, and using tongs carefully lifted a sandal from the frying pan and placed it on a plate. He then placed a sandal on each of the other two plates.

"Come and get it kids, it's on the table," he called. "Coming Daddy," Little Billy answered from the next room. A few moments later Little Billy and Janet entered the room and sat at the table. Little Billy giggled and started poking the sandal on his plate with a fork.

Janet pointed at the sandal on her plate. "Daddy, is this some sort of sick joke?" she asked.

"No my dear," Jamie replied, "this is a new breakfast product from Jollibee. Look, there is the Jollibee trade mark." He pointed to the Jollibee mark on the sandal - a bee's head smiling and wearing a white chef's hat. "See, it's the real thing."

He ladled rice onto the sandal and topped it with a splash of tomato sauce. "Ok kids, dig in. Should be yummy."

                                                                                                               *****

November 28, 2007, the Philippine Inquirer reported:
MANILA, Philippines -- First to become a Pinoy (Filipino) favorite was Jollibee Yum Burger, followed by Jollibee Chicken Joy and then came -- Jollibee shoes? Not so fast.

A man who put a mark and logo similar to that of the popular fast-food chain on his footwear products is facing the maximum prison time of five years for violating the Intellectual Property Code.

In its Nov. 19 ruling, the appellate court said the "Jollibee" mark on the shoes and slippers sold by Chua was almost identical to the "Jollibee" of the popular fast-food chain. The logo of a bee's head found on Chua's footwear "practically duplicated" the one used by Jollibee.

The close similarities between the mark and the logo on Chua's footwear and the ones used by Jollibee might confuse the buying public, it added.

Miller's Musings - Hot Diggedy Dog (29th Oct '07)

The Philippines has once again failed to gain the recognition it seeks. It has had recognition of course, but of the wrong kind: volcanoes, earthquakes, typhoons, politicians pillaging, and mayors shooting dead bodies, but nothing very positive. But then someone got an idea - get the Philippines into the Guinness Book of Records. That's the way to fame, and perhaps fortune. And the Philippines needs some fortune. After all, the World Bank must surely read the Guinness Book of Records. What better way to get the economy moving?

Then the plan. Brilliant. And so simple. Just create a world record. A hot dog. A big one. How about a two and a half kilometre long hot dog? How? Easy - make heaps and heaps of hot dogs and tie them together. Arrange the fanfare - the world must know - photographers, journalists, TV reporters. Make it big.

It was big. Two and a half  kilometres of hot dog. A world record. Hot dog after hot dog tied to its fellow with bits of cotton, string, knitting wool, rubber bands, whatever . . . But two and a half kilometres . . . that's about one and a half miles. How to display it? Can't trail two and a half kilometres of hot dog in the dirt, especially Philippine dirt. Enlist the schools. After all, this is a national event. Having gone to all that trouble it would be imprudent not to protect it - call the police as guardians.

In February 1994 the great day arrived. History in the making. Fame and fortune. The national debt to be repaid. The economy saved. Kids lined the streets and with scrubbed hands held their part of the Philippine salvation waist high. Cameras clicked. TV cameras whirred. Politicians arranged teeth into smiles. Bands played. Parades paraded.

Success was almost there - but for one thing. Someone forgot to feed the kids. They got hungry. And what were they holding in their sterile little hands but lunch. And dinner. And perhaps even breakfast. It was too much to resist. The police moved in. But what the heck - policemen have to eat too, right? And they did.

Miller's Musings  The Pants Job (29th Oct '07)

The Pants Job

Hernandez and Moreno peered into the Senator's office from the ceiling trapdoor. "How we gonna get down there?" Hernandez asked. "Easy," Moreno said. "I'll just swing down and move the table. You wriggle your fat ass through the trapdoor and land on the table. Watch me." Moreno lowered himself through the trapdoor, swung by his arms for a few seconds, then dropped quietly to the floor where he hauled the Senator's desk over until it was directly under the trapdoor. "OK," he said. "Your turn." Hernandez sat with his legs through the trapdoor, then rolled over onto his stomach and slowly inched his way down. He was through to his waist when a ceiling beam broke. There was a crash of falling tiles, a cloud of dust, and he found himself swinging, holding on with only one hand. "S***, Moreno, I can't hold . . ." He fell heavily onto the desk, feet sliding on the slippery surface, his body crashing into the computer and knocking the monitor onto the floor. He lay across the computer gasping for breath, Moreno trying to lift him. "You OK Hernandez?" Moreno asked. It was a few moments before Hernandez could answer. "Oh s***! Brilliant. How we gonna get out now?" "Don't worry, we'll think of something. Let's get what we came for. You search the desk, I'll do the cupboards." A few minutes later Moreno came back holding a pair of trousers. "Look what I got. Gotta be worth a fortune," he said. "What? A pair of pants?" Hernandez said. "Not just any pants - these are Senator's pants. Without you dressed properly you can't get into the Senate. He'll pay plenty to get these beauties back. What you got?" "I got the Bulls*** Book. You know, the one that has all that Senate mumbo-jumbo. Without this he's stuffed." He held out a red covered book titled "In the Presence of My Enemies." "Great, let's get out of here." At the office door Moreno said, "It's locked. We'll have to use the window." "Oh s***, not again," Hernandez said.



On May 22, 2003, the Inquirer reported:

Suspected burglars broke into the office of Sen. Robert Barbers Thursday, the third reported robbery at the Senate in a month. Barbers said that whoever broke into his office stole a pair of pants belonging to the office janitor, and a copy of the book "In the Presence of My Enemies," written by American missionary and former Abu Sayyaf hostage Gracia Burnham. Senate sergeant-at-arms Jose Balajadia said a member of Barbers' staff discovered the burglary. The culprits were able to enter Barbers' room through the ceiling, as shown by hand prints the suspects left on the white walls of the office.

Chat Sites - Beware. Graham, (3rd Oct '07)

I was sent this, by email, by my daughter Gail and it gave me much food for thought. I doubt many of us have young children (due to out advancing years - sorry) but many of us have young, even teenage grandchildren. You may have come across it before, so sorry in advance. If, however, you have not read it, perhaps you should and pass it on as appropriate.

EVERYONE NEEDS TO READ ALL OF THIS and HAVE CHILDREN READ IT TOO!

After tossing her books on the sofa, she decided to grab a snack and get on-line. She logged on under her screen name ByAngel213. She checked her Buddy List and saw GoTo123 was on. She sent him an instant message:

ByAngel213:

"Hi. I'm glad you are on! I thought someone was following me home today. It was really weird!"

GoTo123:

"LOL You watch too much TV. Why would someone be following you? Don't you live in a safe neighborhood?"

ByAngel213:

"Of course I do. LOL I guess it was my imagination cuz' I didn't see anybody when I looked out."

GoTo123:

"Unless you gave your name out on-line. You haven't done that have you?"

ByAngel213:

"Of course not. I'm not stupid you know."

GoTo123:

"Did you have a softball game after school today?"

ByAngel213:

"Yes and we won!"

GoTo123:

"That's great! Who did you play?"

ByAngel213:

"We played the Hornets. LOL. Their uniforms are so gross! They look like bees. LOL"

GoTo123:

"What is your team called?"

ByAngel213:

"We are the Canton Cats. We have tiger paws on our uniforms. They are really cool."

GoTo1 23:

"Did you pitch?"

ByAngel213:

"No I play second base. I got to go. My homework has to be done before my parents get home. I don't want them mad at me. Bye!"

GoTo123:

"Catch you later. Bye"

Meanwhile.......GoTo123 went to the member menu and began to search for her profile. When it came up, he highlighted it and printed it out. He took out a pen and began to write down what he knew about Angel so far.

Her name: Shannon Birthday: Jan. 3, 1985 Age: 13 State where she lived: North Carolina

Hobbies: softball, chorus, skating and going to the mall. Besides this information, he knew she lived in Canton because she had just told him. He knew she stayed by herself until 6:30 p.m. every afternoon until her parents came home from work. He knew she played softball on Thursday afternoons on the school team, and the team was named the Canton Cats. Her favourite number 7 was printed on her jersey. He knew she was in the eighth grade at the Canton Junior High School. She had told him all this in the conversations they had on- line. He had enough information to find her now.

Shannon didn't tell her parents about the incident on the way home from the ballpark that day. She didn't want them to make a scene and stop her from walking home from the softball games. Parents were always overreacting and hers were the worst. It made her wish she was not an only child. Maybe if she had brothers and sisters, her parents wouldn't be so overprotective.

By Thursday, Shannon had forgotten about the footsteps following her.

Her game was in full swing when suddenly she felt someone staring at her. It was then that the memory came back. She glanced up from her second base position to see a man watching her closely.

He was leaning against the fence behind first base and he smiled when she looked at him. He didn't look scary and she quickly dismissed the sudden fear she had felt.

After the game, he sat on a bleacher while she talked to the coach. She noticed his smile once again as she walked past him. He nodded and she smiled back. He noticed her name on the back of her shirt. He knew he had found her.

Quietly, he walked a safe distance behind her. It was only a few blocks to Shannon's home, and once he saw where she lived he quickly returned to the park to get his car.

Now he had to wait. He decided to get a bite to eat until the time came to go to Shannon's house. He drove to a fast food restaurant and sat there until time to make his move.

Shannon was in her room later that evening when she heard voices in the living room.

'Shannon, come here,' her father called. He sounded upset and she couldn't imagine why. She went into the room to see the man from the ballpark sitting on the sofa.

'Sit down,' her father began, 'this man has just told us a most interesting story about you.'

Shannon sat back. How could he tell her parents anything? She had never seen him before today!

'Do you know who I am, Shannon ?' the man asked.

'No,' Shannon answered.

'I am a police officer and your online friend, GoTo123.'

Shannon was stunned. 'That's impossible! GoTo is a kid my age! He's 14. And he lives in Michigan !'

The man smiled. 'I know I told you all that, but it wasn't true. You see, Shannon , there are people on-line who pretend to be kids; I was one of them. But while others do it to injure kids and hurt them, I belong to a group of parents who do it to protect kids from predators. I came here to find you to teach you how dangerous it is to talk to people on-line. You told me enough about yourself to make it easy for me to find you. You named the school you went to, the name of your ball team and the position you played. The number and name on your jersey just made finding you a breeze.'

Shannon was stunned. 'You mean you don't live in Michigan ?'

He laughed. 'No, I live in Raleigh It made you feel safe to think I was so far away, didn't it?'

She nodded.

'I had a friend whose daughter was like you. Only she wasn't as lucky. The guy found her and murdered her while she was home alone. Kids are taught not to tell anyone when they are alone, yet they do it all the time on-line. The wrong people trick you into giving out information a little here and there on-line.. Before you know it, you have told them enough for them to find you without even realizing you have done it. I hope you've learned a lesson from this and won't do it again. Tell others about this so they will be safe too?'

'It's a promise!'

That night Shannon and her Dad and Mom all knelt down together and thanked God for protecting Shannon from what could have been a tragic situation.

Miller's Musings  The Philippines: 22 June 2007 (22nd Sept '07)
 

Through the Eyes of a Child

Many years ago Captain Dave Richards, the father of Diddie, told me that you can't put an old head on young shoulders. I used to think that was a pity; now I say - thank God! But I have just found a way to put a young head on old shoulders - thank God again!

I have been reading Ray Bradbury's "Zen and the Art of Writing" - "Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spend the rest of the day putting the pieces together. Now it's your turn. Jump!"

And, "Zest, Gusto, Curiosity. These are the qualities every writer must have . . . ."

About half way through the book I had a revelation; suddenly I realized why I love this place, the Philippines. It's because here I see everything though the eyes of a child. Others would look at the shanties and call them slums; I see them as through the eyes of a child. Those shanties are amazing; almost magical. There children live in poverty and yet they are happy. They have no toys so they invent them out of sticks or stones as I used to when I was a kid.

I look across the water to the headland and see the little shade huts, not as humpies but as places strange, places that don't exist in Australia. I see the banca boats as if for the first time even though I have known them for over 30 years. I cross the end of the runway and am amazed at the little goats following their mothers. I walk past the junk yard and delight in the smile and the wave of a 2-year old girl with her mother who encourages her to say hello .

And the runway workers who wave and say hello whenever they pass. And the guard who sits in a lookout near the end of the runway and who always waves and calls "hello" and asks if I am going to Bali Hai.

Whenever I take a tricycle or a jeepney there is always something I see that touches my little child - it could be a sign, a chicken, a child, a bamboo fence, a shack - there's almost nothing that doesn't awaken the child within me.

It is like being born again and growing up again, always with new things to plan and to look at. Right now I'm sitting in Sunset Bay Resort looking at the headland. I know that beyond that headland is the bay where Jacko-Smith and I, along with my sons David and Gwam, arrived in the yacht Apocalypse back in 1985. And I know the red lights on the headland will flash all night tonight. And I know I love those lights as I love the sound of the waves I hear now.

And I can hear the twittering of birds - what sort of birds I don't know, perhaps just little sparrows. Now there's the sound of a helicopter, a Huey by the sound it makes - a regular thump thump thump - that takes me back to Vietnam in the '60s.

I see a fisherman waist deep in water casting his net in a huge circular pattern then wading out to see if he has a catch.

And I look out at the rocks showing above the water and can see my daughter Jennifer paddling there when she was 2-years old. And I can see her looking out over the restaurant railing, or standing under the shower by the stairs that lead to the beach.

If you think this is just a second childhood all I can say is that it should have come years ago. But unfortunately it will disappear when I get back to Australia.

Later . . . back at the house in Baccuit:

I look out the back window from the kitchen and see a huge caribou with its calf. The calf is paddling in a pool of muddy water that is surrounded by chickens. From the front I can see another caribou, this one is dragging an old-fashioned plow through a paddock with the farmer walking along behind giving orders. There is a faint smell of caribou poo but it doesn't bother me. In fact it reminds me of the days when I had to collect buckets of moo-poo for my Dad's garden.

And I'm re-reading the book "How to Write with the Skill of a Master and the Genius of a Child" by Marshall J.Cook. He, like Bradbury, emphasizes seeing the world through the eyes of a child, seeing with wide-eyed wonder, seeing with zest and gusto and curiosity. There is no better way.

Thank you Ray Bradbury.

***

I earlier mentioned that I look out for signs. Here are a few I have seen recently:

Pls keep surrounding clean.

Pls throw your garbage at the garbage drum.

Please throw your garbage properly.

On the back of a car: Drive with care - Please give God a rest.

Another: No swerving. Keep foot from evil. God is in control.

Second Coming Auto Repair Shop.

A sign in a Manila restaurant's toilet: No squatting on the toilet. If you need potty training please see the manager.

And the best of all:
Vendors are not allowed inside . . .the management.

Miller's Musings - Police English (18th Sept '07)

 

The Judge turned to the Prosecuting Attorney. "You may proceed Mr. Guinto," he said. Mr. Guinto walked to the witness stand and looked at Police Officer Tingting. "Officer Tingting," he said, "where were you at the time of the alleged shooting?" Officer Tingting scratched his head and said nothing. Mr. Guinto waited but still no reply. "Officer Tingting," he said again, "where were you at the time of the alleged shooting?" Officer Tingting shrugged his shoulders and looked at the Judge, but still said nothing. The Judge leaned toward the witness stand, and tapped his gavel lightly. "Officer Tingting," he said, "you will answer the question!" Officer Tingting scratched his head again and said, "But I no understand." "You don't understand what?" Mr. Guinto asked. "That word you said - 'allege' or somefin'" "Oh, that word. It means 'declared but not proved.' Is that clear?" "Well, no," Officer Tingting said. "What don't you understand about 'declared but not proved?" "All of it." "All of what?" said Mr. Guinto, now clearly annoyed. "All of that stuff you said," Officer Tingting replied. "You know, that stuff about 'declare' and the other stuff." The Judge leant forward again, and this time slammed has gavel so hard that the noise made Officer Tingting jump. "Officer Tingting," the Judge shouted, "You are wasting the Court's time. Are you playing games? Do you find this amusing?" Officer Tingting shrugged again. "What's mean 'amusing'?" he asked. The Judge swallowed hard, his face now a reddish hue. "Officer Tingting," he screamed. "Just tell us in your own words what you saw that day." "Oh that! Now I know," Officer Tingting said. "I seen the man doin' it wiff mine own eyes. Dey stuck somefin in da safe when it all wen orf wiff a big banger and ya shouda seen the smoke 'n shit it was every which where and I couldna even see wot they was doin after dat they not bein good boys so I said to 'em, jus stan up and done be doin that sortta stuff and then they got their guns and started shootin at me an lucky there was so much smoke cause they missed me but got the manager or teller or somfin anyways they -" The Judge banged his gavel again. "Thank you officer Tingting," he said and turned to the Court Interpreter. "Miss Lalane, did you get all that?" Miss Lalane looked up and flushed. "Well Judge," she said, "I found Officer Tingting's English very hard to understand. What does 'wiff mine own eyes' mean?" The Judge groaned. "Court is adjourned," he said. "And send for an English teacher."

*

On January 5, 2005, the Philippine Inquirer reported:
Cops need to brush up on grammar, too.

POLICEMEN will be made to undergo a six-month English grammar course to improve their communication skills, Philippine National Police Director General Edgar Aglipay said Wednesday.

Professors from the Ateneo de Manila University and the De La Salle University will teach the grammar classes at the Philippine Public Safety College (PPSC), Aglipay told reporters in Camp Crame.

The improved language skills of policemen will prove useful in their work, especially when they present their cases before the courts. . . .

Miller's Musings - Fire Trucks Of Hell (18th Sept '07)

The fire truck loaded with kerosene drove slowly down Edsa. High up on the tank MMDA chairman Bayani Fernando sat behind a bulletproof shield looking down at the street vendors and their stalls. As the fire truck drew level with the first stall a vendor stepped onto the road and threw a bottle. It bounced harmlessly off the shield and smashed onto the pavement. Other vendors joined in, throwing bottles and rocks while chanting:

MMDA go away We have a right And we will fight MMDA go away!

Bayani Fernando readied the double-barreled hose then opened the valve. Twin high-pressure jets of kerosene engulfed the vendors, their stalls, and their wares. The vendors fell back against the storefronts screaming and wiping their eyes. The fire truck continued down the street still spraying kerosene. It stopped at the intersection and Bayani stood up. "Have a cigarette," he called as he flicked a lighted cigarette onto the pavement. There was a flash, a roar, then a wall of flame swept down the street. He called to the fire truck driver, "Back to the station Lito - time to celebrate."

On November 11, 2002 the Philippine Daily Inquirer reported:

Facing a bleak Christmas, vendors again sought a dialogue with the Metro Manila Development Authority chairman (Bayani Fernando) on Monday to dissuade the agency from carrying out its tough sidewalk clearing campaign. . . . Fernando said he is ready to spray kerosene on the vendors' goods and is only waiting for an opportune moment to do so.

"I'm now considering using kerosene so that our work would be easier and violence could be prevented," he told reporters. He explained that with the spraying of kerosene, there will be no need for physical contact between the MMDA personnel and the vendors, and patrons of sidewalk vendors will be discouraged from buying the kerosene-soaked wares as well.

Just got this one from David Baker, It's great (6th Aug '07)

Did not know where to put it, Humour or Articles, but this seems fine - G

This has got to be one of cleverest E-mails I've received in a while. Someone out there either has too much spare time or is deadly at Scrabble. (Wait till you see the last one!)

DORMITORY:
When you rearrange the letters:
DIRTY ROOM

PRESBYTERIAN:
When you rearrange the letters:
BEST IN PRAYER

ASTRONOMER:
When you rearrange the letters:
MOON STARER

DESPERATION:
When you rearrange the letters:
A ROPE ENDS IT

THE EYES:
When you rearrange the letters:
THEY SEE

GEORGE BUSH:
When you rearrange the letters:
HE BUGS GORE

THE MORSE CODE :
When you rearrange the letters:
HERE COME DOTS

SLOT MACHINES:
When you rearrange the letters:
CASH LOST IN ME

ANIMOSITY:
When you rearrange the letters:
IS NO AMITY

ELECTION RESULTS:
When you rearrange the letters:
LIES - LET'S RECOUNT

SNOOZE ALARMS:
When you rearrange the letters:
ALAS! NO MORE Z 'S

A DECIMAL POINT:
When you rearrange the letters:
IM A DOT IN PLACE

THE EARTHQUAKES:
When you rearrange the letters:
THAT QUEER SHAKE

ELEVEN PLUS TWO:
When you rearrange the letters:
TWELVE PLUS ONE

AND FOR THE GRAND FINALE:

MOTHER-IN-LAW:
When you rearrange the letters:
WOMAN HITLER

Yep! Someone with waaaaaaaaaaay too much time on their hands! (Probably a son-in-law.)

Bet your friends haven't seen this one!!! DON'T FORGET TO SHARE THIS

Miller's Musings - Hong Kong Glimpses Part 2: A Journal, March 3 - March 6, 2007. (22nd April '07)

I am back in Ockerland again after an expensive trip to Hong Kong. Hong Kong continues to amaze me. I wandered around for days and was constantly surprised. Talk about a city of change!

The main reason for my trip was to apply for the new Hong Kong Smart ID Card.

I got to the issuing centre at Elizabeth House, Causeway Bay, at 7:33 only to find a queue outside the lifts that snaked around and down every corridor. It seemed to go for miles. But someone eventually opened the lift doors and carefully counted the allowed number of passengers - I think it was 15 per lift. My ticket number for walk-in applicants was 53, and up on the 6th floor I found myself again in a huge queue. But by 8:03 I was at the counter where a bloke took my details and told me to be back at exactly 8:45.

At 9:10 I walked out of Elizabeth House having completed the entire process. It was a very efficient process considering the number of people they were dealing with. One thing surprised me and that was the number of old people queuing up. There were no young people at all. Then it dawned on me - the application process is done by age groups and all those old fogies were about my age. What a terrifying thought! It was good to get back to Wanchai and walk down streets filled with young people.

Later that day I returned to Wanchai and during my walk down Lockhart Road I was dragged kicking and screaming (a slight exaggeration) into one of the many girlie bars where I was entertained by a bevy of beautiful young Thai girls. That came to an end when the bar was suddenly overrun by sailors from the US Ronald Reagan, supposedly the world's largest aircraft carrier. Brilliant timing - it reminded me of Hong Kong in the 60's when it was overrun by visiting US forces on R&R from Vietnam.

I had lunch at Jimmy's Kitchen in Ashley Road. At least Jimmy's is still there as is Ned Kelly's Last Stand. But even Ned Kelly's has changed. The smell of stale beer and rotting wood has gone as has the old Chinese waitress who called everyone "Darling." But the new waitress is nice - a very attractive and friendly girl from Nepal.

I went to the Sheraton Hotel intending to go to Someplace Else where the plaque outside used to read something like, "On this spot in 1859 - nothing happened" I have always liked Someplace Else and have been going there for years. Imagine my horror when I found it had closed - for good. It was like a slap in the face. I have no idea what they are doing - the whole area is boarded up.

Rick's Cafe used to be in a basement opposite The Stag's Head in Hart Avenue but then moved to Kimberley Road, but it has also gone forever.

The Kangaroo Pub at the end of Ashley Road closed several years ago and re-opened in Wanchai, Now another one has opened in Chatham Road just south of the Park Hotel. They are both in basements and rather difficult to find because they are poorly signposted, but the atmosphere is much like the old one.

And of course the hotel where I often stayed, The New Astor, has been gone for ages. In fact that whole block bounded by Hanoi, Carnarvon, and Mody Roads has been demolished and an enormous high rise is starting to appear.

A couple of trips ago I noticed the Hyatt Hotel had been boarded up. Someone told me that it was being converted into an office block. "Converted" was hardly the right word - demolished would be more accurate. The entire hotel has gone and in its place is rising something gigantic - God knows what.

I took the Star Ferry to the Hong Kong side and when I got off I had no idea where I was! That both amazed and disappointed me because I have happy memories of the old Hong Kong Star Ferry Pier. Later, on the morning I left Hong Kong, I was on the 47th floor of One Exchange Square and I looked out over the harbour to where the old Star Ferry Pier used to be. The manager of the office told me that the big Hongs are planning to reclaim the whole area from Exchange Square to the Convention Centre. God - if they keep that up there won't be any harbour left!

And the weather has changed - for the worse. The pollution was dreadful! During the four days I was there I didn't see the sun once. Not because of cloud cover - there were some clouds - but the culprit was pollution, like a thick blanket of smog that lasted all day and all night. And it was very cold for March - people were walking around with overcoats and scarves.

I stayed at the Regal Kowloon Hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui East, quite a long walk to the Tsim Sha Tsui MTR. But there is something else new - a pedestrian subway with moving walkways that take you all the way. And there are off-shoots from the main subway to the KCR stations, to the New World Building, to the Cultural Centre, and other places. Amazing!

It is almost 17 years since I left Hong Kong. However, in order to maintain my ID card I have been back at least once every year, and as long as I am able to afford the air fare I will continue to return. It is the city of my youth, the city where my dreams came true, the city that will always feel like home.

Cheers Hong Kong!

Miller's Musings - Hong Kong Glimpses: A Journal, March 2 - March 8, 2003. (15th April '07)

Hong Kong hasn't changed much by the sound of Alans article. Not for shell like ears but no doubt true. - G

The Holiday Inn Golden Mile. A room similar to the one I had back in October '01, smaller, but with the same view - the arse end of Chungking Mansion with pigeons crapping on the window ledges. I feel instantly at home.

Walking around Tsim Sha Tsui and taking in the smells. Not like the smells of Manila - smells of urine and filth - but smells of Chinese cooking, so varied and so tempting. I'm hungry already.

Even Ned Kelly's Last Stand has its old familiar smell. My daughter-in-law, Nicole, said it was the smell of stale beer and rotting wood and she's probably right. At least it's consistent. And so is the old Chinese waitress with the Aussie accent who calls everyone "darling."
*
Unlike the Philippines where the dogs and the roosters wake me every morning at three, nights here are quiet. When I get back to OZ my priority will be to find a quiet environment.
*
Pommie in the Kangaroo Pub, well groomed, hair brushed back, grey glasses, posh accent, dark suit, white shirt with tie, condescending attitude. He wags his finger at the waitress, "No, no, no, no," he blabs. I don't know what he's on about but the waitress walks by me and whispers, "He's an arsehole."
*
Walking down Haiphong Road toward Silvercord when I sense my wife and daughter who are back in the Philippines. I'm across from the Ornamental Garden Park where they used to play on the swings and the slides while I was seeing my bank manager. I'm suddenly lonely and wish they were here now.
*
Rick's Cafe: sitting here, the only person in the place, ignoring the music but looking at the faces on the posters - Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Marilyn Monroe and others. And James Dean with blond hair brushed back, eye to eye contact, a stern "don't dare me" look, red '50's jacket, holding a cigarette in his right hand with finger pointing left and left hand indicating his crotch. Trying to paint my own reason onto those faces long gone. It's like this every time I come here - the song playing now, "Move Your Body Real Close" is appropriate - even though those bodies have long gone, although in this place they seem to have been resurrected. Weird but true. It also takes me back so many years to the old Rick's Cafe that my sons, Dave and Gwam, used to frequent. While thinking about the old days comes the song, "Oceans Apart" - how true - so lonely, and as miserable as the weather - cold and wet.
*
The most annoying things about Tsim Sha Tsui are the Indian touts. I had the same problem last time. They are everywhere. If they're not trying to drag you into their tailor shops they are trying flog you fake watches. I usually make no eye contact and ignore them, but once in a while I am forced to say something like, "Piss-off rag-head." "Ah, but I am not wearing a rag head I am telling you." "No, it's between your ears."

The next most annoying thing is the number of Americans and their loud mouths.
*
The Kangaroo Pub: The American Bunch - a woman speaks, "Heart pounding and couldn't breathe - knew from the first time I saw him I would jump his bones." Shrieks of laughter. Serial bullshit with each trying to outdo the other with their romantic and "funny" stories. Peer pressure gone mad - and these are supposed to be adults - a scene right out of the worst of American soaps.

A guy from the other side of the bar comes over. "I believe you're the Pink Panther," he says. He's Garry Standen who later introduces me to another Cathay pilot, Kev Beech. Kev reckoned that I did his final command check. He said that on the final sector to Hong Kong I went back to first class and didn't reappear until just before touchdown. How's that for confidence?
*
Early afternoon in Wanchai. Stop for a beer in The Old China Hand. It's changed and now has an open front with a street view. Boring. Reminds me of an Aussie public bar. Go to a new place called the Mes Amis. No draft Carlsberg so I order a bottled one. Forty nine Hong Kong dollars for 330 millilitres! That's over 10 Aussie dollars! At Bali Hai in the Philippines I can buy almost 12 bottles for that.

Crossing the walkway to the Wanchai Star Ferry and look back at the Luk Kwok Hotel, the hotel that was used as the model for the film "The World of Suzie Wong" and I'm instantly back in 1960.

In 1959 when I was working for Qantas in Port Moresby I read Richard Mason's book, "The World of Suzie Wong." I didn't realize it at the time, but that book was to change my life. I had a weeks vacation and decided to give Hong Kong a look. I looked, I liked, and I stayed - and I have lived in Asia ever since.
*
Crossing from the World Wide Plaza to the Peninsula Centre and have to walk through the corridors of a building that is under renovation. The walls are decorated with some of the best photographs I have ever seen. All of Hong Kong, tightly cropped, each with a specific depth of field, and each conveying its own message. Reminds me of some of those my son took back in October '01. If I had a camera I would photograph the photographs.
*
Rick's Cafe: 18:10 - freezing with strong smell of disinfectant. Eyes watering and nose running - pew! No DJ and I'm the only person here again - I wonder why.

The DJ arrives, plays a few songs that mean nothing, but then, "I Still Have The Blues For You." Suddenly my mood is changed and I'm back as part of the place as I used to be.
*
The P&O cruise ship Aurora docked yesterday. Today the QEII docked, dwarfing the Ocean Centre. Item in the South China Morning Post says that the Ocean Centre is not big enough to take the P&O Queen Mary and it won't be coming to Hong Kong.
*
Red Lion Inn: At the bar. He lights a cigarette. Bald, glasses. "My girl friend here is Bavarian," he says to the bloke perched at the bar next to him. From what I can see he means barbarian: she smokes, is fat and bloated, hair like a floor mop dyed red, and wears dirty grey running shoes. Back to the bloke - Aussie accent, dark shirt and trousers with flip-flops - a real class act.

About 10 Thai girls work here and they are all expert "under-the-table gropers", much to the amusement of the passers-by, since the door is always left open. Innocent customers off the QEII looking for a quiet drink get quite a shock. So do their wives!
*
The plaque reads, "On this spot in 1859 nothing happened." This is Someplace Else in the Sheraton Hotel where Jennifer, my 5 year-old daughter, lost her balloon. Now I'm seated at the balloon table next to a Yank - he's on his mobile with a loud, high-pitched voice - "That would be so wonderful, yes, yes. Oh, nice! You are so kind." His meal arrives. Set down. "Oh perfect, perfect, how can I ever thank you?" Later gets up and minces up the stairs. A raging poof.
*
When I arrived on Sunday the temperature was about 20 with a little drizzle. Now, four days later, it's down to 10 with a strong NE wind. Just bought a pullover but the wind simply rips through it. This is the coldest I have been in 13 years. It's almost too cold to go out for a beer. Almost.
*
It's my last day and I still haven't seen a Chinese girl I would call beautiful. To me they have several problems: their rat's-tail hair cuts, their unsmiling faces, their lack of eye contact, and their rush to get someplace unimportant.
*
Back in the Philippines:
The L.A. Cafe in Ermita, Manila, on the site of the old Rosie's Diner. It's mid afternoon and already the place is packed with hopefuls, prostitutes, and poofs. A girl in a red dress comes to my table. "Hello," she says. We make small talk and when she figures she isn't onto anything she goes out the front door. I can see her through the window checking her chances. She comes back. "Hello," she says as if she had never seen me before.
*

Note: to be continued as Hong Kong Glimpses Part 2, March 2007

Courtesy David Baker - Fancy a Wild Ride - Read This (9th April '07)

F-22 (Raptor) takeoff, Sounds like a rocket.
                                                                                                        
I'm sorry to bother you people with this technical stuff, but I was so impressed with the capabilities of our new line fighter I had to share so you will know what you are buying. The planes I was lucky enough to fly would only gain about 10-12 thousand feet if you went straight up. So read and I hope you will enjoy.

"OK - my first chance to let the F-22 loose on takeoff. I was the last IOT&E pilot at Edwards and it was only a few months before I was to move to Langley. The test folks were nice enough to still let me fly there occasionally, and they had a perfect mission for me. It was a single ship, no test support (control room) required, and I had my own tanker. All I had to do was takeoff and fly around for 2 hours collecting data from the MLD's (missile launch detectors). In other words it was a free sortie with a lot of gas available and I had the airspace to myself since it didn't matter what I did during the sortie, in fact more maneuvering was better to get data.

Having never had a chance to really see what the jet would be like on takeoff, and since I had a tanker to keep me full of gas, I decided to do a max performance takeoff and let it go straight up to see what it would do. Edwards has that 15,000 foot runway, and an unlimited ceiling since it sits in a restricted airspace. So on taxi I asked for a max climb out to 25,000 feet, the controller said, 29,000? I said, sure that'll work. I really had no idea what I'd end up with and with my Eagle time I figured I'd be lucky to get to 29,000. So I let it go to about 570 or so which was prior to the end of the runway and started a pull, not too much g, maybe 4 or 5, and went to 90 degrees nose high. I wasn't really paying attention to the airspeed or altitude because I was really enjoying the view and the ride, it was amazing. I started to feel a little buffet and looked inside to see what the deal was, expecting that I was starting to slow down to the point where I was getting the same kind of buffet you feel as the jet slows down and a little alpha starts to build on the wings, that's how it goes in a Eagle too. Well, there's also a little buffet in the Raptor when your about to go supersonic, and to my surprise, and I started laughing, the jet was at .99 mach and trying its best to punch through to supersonic flight, straight up, passing about 18 or 19 thousand feet or so, it began a slow deceleration as I stared in awe at the HUD mach indication and at .94 mach I realized I was at 25,000 and was going to blast way through my altitude, so I rolled and started a 4 to 5 g pull to level out, which of course didn't work and I leveled at about 31,500 feet at about 330 knots (don't know why those numbers stick in my head but they do). Now for you pilots out there, you know when you pull g, especially at higher altitudes and heavy weight, it's a fairly energy depleting event.

So go figure, I'm FULLY loaded with fuel at takeoff, ALL of the weapons bays were loaded, so I am in my combat configuration, in a regular line jet, no tweaks, no special modifications, no weight taken out (as in the Streak Eagle or MiG 25 flights, etc.), nothing, just a line jet any old pilot could step to and fly. So I talked to the engineers and with some quick math they guessed I could have topped out in the low 60 thousand numbers. That wasn't flying a special profile like other jets have either (Rutowski profile - misspelled?), it was just a pull to the nose straight up.

This...jet...is...a...monster!!"

-Marc

Miller's Musings -The Dead Fred Saga (19th Feb '07)

In June 1991, after lying dormant for 600 years, Mt. Pinatubo erupted with a violence that shocked the world. The eruption threw debris 50,000 feet into the atmosphere, covered 100,000 hectares of agricultural land with lahar, made over 650,000 people homeless, and killed another 650. Fred was one of those killed, although at the time he was just another nameless victim.

Pilots from Subic Bay Naval Base found him during a routine chopper patrol. He lay embalmed in lahar on an upper slope of Mt. Pinatubo, an arm and leg pointing skyward in a final gesture.

The pilots were looking for a navigational marker, but the countryside, covered in lahar to a depth of 10 feet, showed a uniform bleakness as if a giant cookie cutter had set down a chunk of lunar landscape. Fred was the only identifiable object for miles around, so the pilots selected him as a nav aid, marked his position on the charts, and called the coordinate "Dead Fred".

Two members of the US Navy drone team, W/O Don Welty & Chief Mike Baumann, kept the Bali Hai regulars informed of Pinatubo chopper operations and Dead Fred. Dead Fred, they said, was a reliable and popular marker. But then the rains came, and with them mud slides, and slowly Fred sank into the lahar until only his outstretched arm was visible.

A few days later a young navy recruit announced “Dead Fred is no more.” By then Fred had become more than a marker; he symbolized the tragedy of Pinatubo. But the Bali Hai PT Safari Club refused to let Fred die, and organized the first Dead Fred Memorial Celebration. Special guests included the chopper pilots from Subic who first found and named him.

Many PT Club members claim to have had encounters with Dead Fred, usually late at night in the Bali Hai bar. The late Ray Clarke, Patron Saint of the PT Safari Club, claimed several discussions with Fred, although he was unable to recall them in detail.

The PT Safari Club adopted Dead Fred as an Honorary Life Member, and each year on the first Friday of June, hold a Dead Fred Memorial Celebration. This year, in the Bali Hai bar, club members will raise their glasses to Dead Fred, a man who did more than most to coordinate the Pinatubo relief operations; a man who became more famous in death than he was in life.

Cheers Dead Fred.

Learn Chinese in 17 Easy Steps (15 Feb '07)

We are all encouraged to be learning Chinese these days ..

Velly basic, ah don no foh sua, but maebe can come in useful Won Dae. 

1)  Great..........................................................Fa Kin Su Pah

2)  Are you harbouring a fugitive.......................Hu Yu Hai Ding

3)  See me ASAP............................................Kum Hia Nao

4)  Stupid Man................................................Dum Fuk

5)  Small Horse.............................................. Tai Ni Po Ni

6)  Did you go to the beach?............................Wai Yu So Tan

7)  I bumped into a coffee table....................... Ai Bang Mai Fa Kin Ni

8)  I think you need a face lift...........................Chin Tu Fat

9)  It is very dark in here..................................Wao So Dim

10) I thought you were on a diet.......................Wai Yu Mun Ching

11) This is a tow away zone.............................No Pah King

12) Our meeting is scheduled for next week......Wai Yu Kum Nao

13) Staying out of sight.....................................Lei ing Lo

14) He is cleaning his automobile......................Wa Shing Ka

15) That is not right..........................................Sum Ting Wong

16) Your body odour is offensive.....................Yu Stin Ki Pu

17) Michael Jackon's lover..............................Sum Yung Gaai

Miller's Musings - Letter to the Teacher (10th Dec '06)

Ms Wynne Bushnell, Principal

Private Primary School

Port Macquarie

NSW 2444

1 December 2006

Good Morning Wynne,

I have noticed that several recent school letters contain phrases like, "Due to the fact that these times impact on," and, "in order to maximise the acquisition of all learning outcomes." Such phrases remind me of two books[1] your teachers may find useful if they are to successfully teach the Official Prose Style of English. Oops, sorry, let me rephrase that:

These official documentations would initiate an ongoing educational facility that would systematise a responsive incremental acquisition towards a reciprocal throughput accelerating the organizational unit in which the students are currently employed.

There - much better don't you think?

Once these learning acquisitions have been maximized your English lessons would impact with resultant optimization as follows:

The English Lesson

Teacher: Now George, some new words today: The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

George: The efficacious brush tail with brunette integument characterized by celerity vaults heavenward over the motivationally dispossessed slothful non-human animal companion of the canine species.

Teacher: Not quite - try this: The Cat Sat on the Mat.

George: The feline Manx postured upon the Wilton.

Teacher: No George, it's: The Cat Sat on the Mat!

George: A hedonist of the sloth family attitudinized upon the moquette.

Teacher: Oh shit!

George: Excremental fecal substance.

I have an indirect request that you may procure a joyous yet functional solemnisation of this festal occasion during reciprocal merriment festivities that occur during this annual time-phase.

(In case you are not quite up to this level of Officialese I offer a translation: "I wish you and the staff a Very Merry Christmas and a Super Happy New Year.")

As a Christmas gift, and to assist your teachers[2] toward this goal, I have attached the Systematic Buzz Phrase Projector, an invention by  Philip Broughton.

Cheers . . . Allan Miller

Systematic Buzz Phrase Projector

This Buzz Phrase Projector will add a new resonance and authority to your teachers’ prose. It will also act as a multiplier, increasing length and weight, and piles of instant flapdoodle. Here’s how to use it:

Ÿ         Rules:

1.      Think of any three numbers and use them to produce a phrase.

2.      Invent a sentence for the phrase.

3.      Write a paragraph that invents a “reality” around the sentence.

Ÿ         For example:

1.      The numbers 747 produce “synchronized digital projection.”

2.      Stuff  it into a sentence and you get: “A procedure that leads to synchronized digital projection over a period of time.”

3.      Now roll that up into Official Style peanut butter prose: “The organizational, procedural, technological, and support arrangements all point towards a procedure that leads to synchronized digital projection over a period of time.”

Ÿ         A more sophisticated example:

This paper deals with the splitting of the components of production and the logistic resources to the other essential dimensions and groups of relations among the constituent components in order to determine the allocation of identifiable objective compatible options. When this balance is achieved, and a refinement of relations among logistic resources can be resolved, compatible with monitored hardware enhanced performance, an intent statement will be developed.

To this end, through trial-revision, management will allocate the determination of personnel assignments and third generation concepts, toward which effort will be directed until it accomplishes its penultimate task, or total contingency, whichever development occurs first.

Bullshit, baffle, and enjoy . .

Miller's Musings - The Mayor (29th Nov '06)

Butuan City Mayor Dansy Splatza was holding a press conference. "Mayor Splatza, is it true that you have shutdown the Mindanao Baywatch newspaper?"

"Definitely not," Mayor Splatza replied.

"Well, can you tell us why it hasn't been published for the past two weeks."

"Probably because I had their printing facilities removed."

"So you did shut the newspaper down."

"Don't be impertinent. I have already told you I did not. It's not my fault if they can't print without a printing press."

"And what about the Bombo Radyo dxBR that has not broadcast for two weeks. Did you order its closure?"

"Definitely not," said Mayor Splatza.

"Yes, but the station manager said that you have confiscated the antenna."

"I am a mayor, not a radio engineer. If he can't broadcast without an antenna that's his fault, not mine."

"Well, did you have the antenna removed?"

"Yes, but what's that got to do with anything? Please ask sensible questions."

"Yes, Mayor. Is it true that both the newspaper and the radio station had been critical of you?"

"Critical?" the Mayor screamed. "That's the understatement of all time. They ..."

She choked into silence trying to think of how she could express the hurt she felt.

"Mayor, what specifically did they say about you?" the reporter asked.

"They said ... they said ... oh my God, it's too terrible to even think about. They said ... well, bad things. That's all I can tell you." Mayor Splatza dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, turned abruptly, and stalked back into her office.

The Inquirer, February 5, 2002, reported that "Mayor Dansy Splatza has ordered the closure of Bombo Radyo dxBR here for alleged violations of city ordinances. Splatza issued the order after shutting down last week the printing facilities of the Mindanao Baywatch newspaper, which, like the Bombo Radyo station, has been very critical of her administration.

"In her statement, Splatza said her decision was prompted by Bombo's alleged unfair treatment of her.

"Some 2,500 people, including church members, students, squatters, Bombo supporters and residents staged an anti-Splatza protest on Friday after Splatza ordered the closure of the Cristal Press. The Mindanao Baywatch has been running stories about the mayor's alleged corrupt practices and misdeeds in public office.

Foggies Cure-All (12th Nov '06)

Foggie, my faithful antipodean supplier of dodgy joked, some unprintable, sent me this. I've not tried all of them but they sure are an interesting mix.

WD-40 Well, Who Knew...?

I had a neighbour who had bought a new pickup. I got up very early one Sunday morning and saw that someone had spray painted red all around the sides of this beige truck (for some unknown reason). I went over, woke him up, and told him the bad news. He was very upset and was trying to figure out what to do probably nothing until Monday morning, since nothing was open. Another neighbour came out and told him to get his WD-40 and clean it off. It removed the unwanted paint beautifully and did not harm his paint job that was on the truck. I'm impressed! WD-40 who knew?

Water Displacement #40. The product began from a search for a rust preventative solvent and degreaser to protect missile parts. WD-40 was created in 1953 by three technicians at the San Diego Rocket Chemical Company. Its name comes from the project that was to find a "water displacement" compound. They were successful with the fortieth formulation, thus WD-40. The Corvair Company bought it in bulk to protect their atlas missile parts.

Ken East (one of the original founders) says there is nothing in WD-40 that would hurt you.

When you read the "shower door" part, try it. It's the first thing that has ever cleaned that spotty shower door. If yours is plastic, it works just as well as glass. It's a miracle! Then try it on your stovetop... Voila! It's now shinier than it's ever been. You'll be amazed.

Here are some of the uses:

1) Protects silver from tarnishing.
2) Removes road tar and grime from cars.
3) Cleans and lubricates guitar strings.
4) Gives floors that 'just-waxed' sheen without making it slippery.
5) Keeps flies off cows.
6) Restores and cleans chalkboards.
7) Removes lipstick stains.
8) Loosens stubborn zippers.
9) Untangles jewellery chains.
10) Removes stains from stainless steel sinks.
11) Removes dirt and grime from the barbecue grill.
12) Keeps ceramic/terra cotta garden pots from oxidizing.
13) Removes tomato stains from clothing.
14) Keeps glass shower doors free of water spots.
15) Camouflages scratches in ceramic and marble floors.
16) Keeps scissors working smoothly.
17) Lubricates noisy door hinges on vehicles and doors in homes
18) It removes black scuff marks from the kitchen floor! Use WD-40 for those nasty tar and scuff marks on flooring. It doesn't seem to harm the finish and you won't have to scrub nearly as hard to get them off. Just remember to open some windows if you have a lot of marks.
19) Bug guts will eat away the finish on your car if not removed quickly! Use WD-40!
20) Gives a children's play gym slide a shine for a super fast slide.
21) Lubricates gear shift and mower deck lever for ease of handling on riding mowers.
22) Rids kids rocking chairs and swings of squeaky noises.
23) Lubricates tracks in sticking home windows and makes them easier to open.
24) Spraying an umbrella stem makes it easier to open and close.
25) Restores and cleans padded leather dashboards in vehicles, as well as vinyl bumpers.
26) Restores and cleans roof racks on vehicles.
27) Lubricates and stops squeaks in electric fans.
28) Lubricates wheel sprockets on tricycles, wagons, and bicycles for easy handling.
29) Lubricates fan belts on washers and dryers and keeps them running smoothly.
30) Keeps rust from forming on saws and saw blades, and other tools.
31) Removes splattered grease on stove.
32) Keeps bathroom mirror from fogging.
33) Lubricates prosthetic limbs.
34) Keeps pigeons off the balcony (they hate the smell).
35) Removes all traces of duct tape.
36) Folks even spray it on their arms, hands, and knees to relieve arthritis pain.
37) Florida's favourite use is: "cleans and removes love bugs from grills and bumpers."
38) The favourite use in the state of New York WD-40 protects the Statue of Liberty from the elements.
39) WD-40 attracts fish. Spray a LITTLE on live bait or lures and you will be catching the big one in no time. Also, it's a lot cheaper than the chemical attractants that are made for just that purpose. Keep in mind though, using some chemical laced baits or lures for fishing are not allowed in some states.
40) Use it for fire ant bites. It takes the sting away immediately and stops the itch.
41) WD-40 is great for removing crayon from walls. Spray on the mark and wipe with a clean rag.
42) Also, if you've discovered that your teenage daughter has washed and dried a tube of lipstick with a load of laundry, saturate the lipstick spots with WD-40 and re-wash. Presto! Lipstick is gone!
43) If you sprayed WD-40 on the distributor cap, it would displace the moisture and allow the car to start.

P. S. The basic ingredient is FISH OIL

Miller's Musings - On Again Off Again (2nd Nov '06)

The Inquirer, Thursday June 8, 1995: "Fickle weather played tricks yesterday on the education department, causing its two top officials to make contradicting announcements on the holding of classes."

5:00 AM

Education Secretary, Ricardo Gloria, draped a sleepy arm over the alarm clock. Through the rain spattered window he could see grey clouds. Great, no school, back to bed.

He picked up the phone and dialed a local radio station: "DZRX? This is Education Secretary Ricardo Gloria. Please announce no school today. The weather's unsuitable. Thanks."

Secretary Gloria hung up the phone and flopped back into bed.

5:30 AM

Education Director, Nilo Rosas, second in charge, was wakened by the phone.

"Radio station DZMB? No school today? Hang on, let me check."

Director Rosas pulled back the curtains. Through the breaking clouds he could see the sun rising behind Makati." He went back to the phone.

"It's going to be a fine day," he said. "School as normal."

5:45 AM

He answered the phone again. "DZRX? No school today? Of course there's school. The weather? Take a look out the window . . . what? My boss called? Five AM? . . . Oh, shit."

5:50 AM

He called Education Secretary, Ricardo Gloria.

"Good morning boss," Director Rosas said. "Did you announce no school today?"

"Yes, look out the window, the weather's lousy."

"But boss, it's a beautiful day-"

"Listen Rosas, if I say it's a lousy day then it's a lousy day. You got that?"

"Yes sir," Director Rosas said as he heard the phone slam.

6:00 AM

He phoned back radio station DZMB. "About school today. It's off. The weather's lousy . . . what do you mean look out the window? If I say it's a lousy day then it's a lousy day. You got that?"

11:45 AM

Outside his office under a clear blue sky Education Secretary Ricardo Gloria held a press conference. He wiped his face with a handkerchief. "It's not our fault if the weather can't make up its mind," he told reporters.

"Secretary Gloria, do you have any plans to stop this happening again?" a reporter asked.

"Yes, the department believes it would be irresponsible to allow the children to be rained upon."

"Really? How do you plan to keep them dry?" "Simple.

The department proposes to move the opening of classes from June to September. You know . . . to avoid the wet season."

The Inquirer said: "He has ordered . . . a task force to look into the feasibility of the proposal (to move the opening of classes from June to September) and come up with a recommendation before the end of July."

Here kids take their summer holidays from March through to early June. But from March through to September . . . ?

The calendar shows 58 school days between June and September. The argument to move the start of classes is based on an average of 20 school days lost during this period because of "fickle weather." It doesn't take an Einstein to figure the proposal will result in a net loss of 38 school days.

If the education department can't get their add-ups and take-aways right, what chance do the kids have?

Incidentally, the wet season doesn't end until December.
 

How To Forward Emails (23rd Oct '06)

Courtesy Ann Lovegrove. You may be using this procedure already but if not, It’s well worth a read.        

For years I’ve been receiving forwarded emails loaded with numerous previous     senders email addresses. Just recently I had to click on eight prior message pages to get to the original.  And for years I’ve intended to write something in an effort to help people forward emails correctly. Now I find that someone has done it for me - read on: The     following comes directly from a system administrator for a corporate system. It is an excellent message that ABSOLUTELY applies to ALL of us who send e-mails.  Please read the short letter below; even if you're sure you already follow proper procedures. (NOTE- I’m also sending this to the people who already know how to forward emails so they can forward this great advice to their friends who don’t.)        

Do you really know how to forward e-mails?  50% of us do; 50% DO NOT.  Do you     wonder why you get viruses or junk mail?  Do you hate it?  Every time you forward an e-mail there is information left over from the people who got the message before you, namely their e-mail addresses & names. As the messages get forwarded along, the list of addresses builds, and builds, and builds, and all it takes is for some poor sap to get a virus, and his or her computer can send that virus to every E-mail address that has come across his computer.  Or, someone can take all of those addresses and sell them or send junk mail to them in the hopes that you will go to the site and he will make five cents for each hit. That's right, all of that inconvenience over a nickel! 

How do you stop it?  Well, there are several easy steps:

(1) When you forward an e-mail, click the "Forward" button and then, before you click “Send”, DELETE all of the other addresses that appear in the body of the message (at the top).  That's right, DELETE them. Highlight them and delete them, backspace them, cut them, whatever it is you know how to do.  It only takes a second. You MUST click the     "Forward" button first and then you will have full editing capabilities against the body and headers of the message.  If you don't click on "Forward" first, you won't be able to edit the message at all.

(2) Whenever you send an e-mail to more than one person, do NOT use the To: or Cc: fields for adding e-mail addresses. Always use the BCC: (blind carbon copy) field for listing the e-mail addresses. This is the way the people you send to will only see their own e-mail address.  If you don't see your BCC: option click on where it says To: and your address list will appear.  Highlight the address and choose BCC: and that's it, it's that easy. When you send to BCC: your message will automatically say "Undisclosed Recipients in the "TO:" field of the people who receive it.

(3) Remove any "FW:" in the subject line. You can re-name the subject if you wish or even fix spelling.

(4) ALWAYS hit your Forward button from the actual e-mail you are reading.  Ever get those e-mails that you have to open 10 pages to read the one page with the information on it? By Forwarding from the actual page you wish someone to view, you stop them from having to open many e-mails just to see what you sent.

(5) Have you ever gotten an email that is a petition?  It states a position and asks you to add your name and address and to forward it to 10 or 15 people or your entire address book. The email can be forwarded on and on and can collect thousands of names and email addresses.

A FACT: The completed petition is actually worth a couple of bucks to a professional spammer because of the wealth of valid names and email addresses contained therein. If you want to support the petition, send it as your own personal letter to the intended recipient. Your position may carry more weight as a personal letter than a laundry list of names and email address on a petition.  < /SPAN> (actually, if you think about it, who's supposed to send the petition in to whatever cause it supports? And don't believe the ones that say that the email is being traced, it just ain't so!) 

One of the main ones I hate is the one that say that something like, "Send this email to 10 people and you'll see something great run across your screen.”  Or sometimes they'll just tease you by saying “something really cute will happen.”  IT AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN!!!!!  (Trust me; I'm still seeing some of the same ones that I waited on 10 years ago!)  I don't let the bad luck ones scare me either, they get trashed. (could be why I haven't won the lottery..)

Before you forward an 'Amber Alert', or a 'Virus Alert', or some of the other ones floating around nowadays, check them out before you forward them. Most of them are junk mail that's been circling the net for YEARS! Just about everything you receive in an email that is in question can be checked out at Snopes.  Just go to www.snopes.com.  It's really easy to find out if it's real or not.  If it's not, please don't pass it on. So please, in the future, let's stop the junk mail and the viruses.

The Licence, by BJ - You couldn't write about it !!! (6th Oct '06)

Western Australia has long been the most 'unregulated' State in Australia, but times are changing.

To be in charge of a Pleasure Vessel (deviates should read "boat"), an Operator's Licence has never been a requirement in W.A. regardless of the size or speed capability of the craft. Anything from a 3 meter skiff with a 5 HP Outboard to a 25 meter ocean going, twin diesel monster could be legally Captained by absolutely anyone !

But with the introduction of the Skipper's Ticket, effective 2007, responsibility is now coming to W.A. boating…..

The mail arrives and with it a letter from the Marine Safety Department recognizing my ownership of a vessel for the past 10 years and on that basis alone, grants me an exemption from the Practical Test for the new Skipper's Ticket. So it would appear as if simply owning a boat for a period of time automatically ensures one's practical skills are adequate. Hmm… how interesting.

Perhaps I can get an exemption on the Theory as well, based on the Hong Kong Pleasure Vessel (boat) Masters Ticket I hold. It's worth a try.

Finding I still have a copy of that little red book "Safety Afloat", the syllabus for the Hong Kong Ticket, I bundle everything together and present it to the Marine Department for assessment…..

The phone rings. "Hi, it's Bill here from the Marine Department, just wanted to check on a few things with regards to your Hong Kong Pleasure Vessel (boat) Licence."

"Sure, no problem" I tell him, "how can I help you."

"Just what kind of Test was involved to get your Hong Kong Licence ?" asks Bill.

I tell him about the 50 question, multi choice type exam.

"Oh" says Bill, "you mean there was no practical test?"

"That's correct, but I'm only applying for a Theory exemption. I already have an exemption for the Practical".

"No, I'm sorry" says Bill, "if there was no Practical Test to obtain the qualification it doesn't qualify for a Theory exemption."

"What ! Say that again, slowly,"

Bill repeats his judgment and I sit in stunned silence, fuming at the stupidity of bureaucracy.

"Hello, are you still there ?" enquires Bill.

Speechless, I just hang up.

Miller's Musings  (4th Oct '06)

THE SOLDIER WHO SAVED VIGAN by Allan Miller

It's a town where chipped balconies overlook horse drawn carriages clip-clopping along narrow cobblestone streets. A town where wooden doors huddle in the shadows of old Spanish archways. A town where time has stood still for 420 years.

No, it's not in Europe. It is Vigan, the third oldest Spanish settlement in the Philippines, and the best preserved. Established in 1574 by the conquistador Juan de Salcedo, it lies on the West Coast of Luzon about 400 kilometers north of Manila.

But our trip to Vigan was more than sightseeing. We were looking for Captain Eddie Donato, a Filipino World War II veteran. Captain Donato, I heard, had prevented the shelling and bombing of Vigan during the liberation of the Philippines.

Captain Donato used to live in Vigan. We had never met him-we didn't even know if he was alive, and if he was, whether he was still living in Vigan. The whole trip could easily be a wild goose chase. But even if we couldn't find Captain Donato, we would at least get to see Vigan. Buoyed by this logic we resolved to enjoy the trip.

At San Fernando, La Union, we boarded the air-conditioned bus.

Beyond San Juan the towns spread out and gave way to small villages. A typical village had a dozen grass roofed huts surrounded by a sea of tobacco plants. The tobacco plants, with leaves like broad spinach, were growing up to five feet tall watched over by square sectioned silos with open A-frame roofs.

Along the coastal plain the hills melted away and tobacco fields gave way to rice paddies. By the roadside a water buffalo dragged a wooden sled-an irrigation pump moving to a new paddy field. But farther north, in Ilocos Sur province, the tobacco fields and silos returned.

Tobacco in this region has a history going back to 1782 when the Spanish established the Tobacco Monopoly of the Philippines. Under that monopoly each farmer was given 40,000 plants to raise-quota shortages were penalized; surpluses were burnt. This monopoly lasted 100 years until abolished in 1882, but tobacco remains an important crop.

We sped past the towns of Bangar, Santa Cruz, and Candon-all carbon copies: the same schools built parallel to the road with white painted statues in the playground, the bamboo tree-houses in the town square, tricycle bedlam in the town markets, and of course the churches-the gleaming Iglesia ni Christo churches all built to the same design, and the older traditional churches with domed roofs and crumbling, vine covered masonry.

Images flashed by: tethered goats, chickens scratching in the gravel, bamboo poles stacked like teepee's, A-frame chicken huts arranged in rows-open ended and knee high, glimpses of the South China Sea through a blur of palm trees, yellow rice drying on tar-like mats, a girl staring at a dead chicken on the road.

Well into Ilocos Sur Province the old buildings took on a Spanish character, or was that just my imagination?

At Santa, the last major town before Vigan, the road climbed into a range of hills then down and around a bend to a long steel bridge over the Tineg river, wide and shallow with more gravel than water. Below men tended fish traps, kids swam, and a solitary buffalo squatted.

Vigan is about a mile off the highway. We left the bus at the terminal and asked a tricycle driver how much to Aniceto Mansion. Five pesos (about 20 cents US). The Aniceto was once a private Spanish home-wooden construction with windows of capice patchworked into wooden frames. It was dark and cool inside. Autographed photos of President Ramos decorated the far wall. Reception was a single table at the far end of the foyer near a wide wooden staircase leading to the guestrooms.

We asked the receptionist about Captain Donato. She had never heard of him.

We decided to have lunch at the Cordillera Inn. We walked down Mena Crisologo Street, a narrow cobbled street: old buildings with large wooden doors, shutters hanging on broken hinges, bricks and masonry showing through chipped and stained stucco, a funeraria with a horse drawn hearse outside. The Cordillera Inn blended into the houses on either side, and the only reminders that this was the 20th century were the air-conditioners on the first floor.

A January 1993 edition of the Manila Times had reported the Cordillera Inn as, "The setting that seems locked in time. The service is prompt and friendly; the staff, warm." The only staff we could find was a waitress asleep over a table in the dining room. She woke with a start and rushed off to get the manager. Yes, he explained, the dining room was open, but the kitchen was closed-the cook hadn't shown up. He offered to get us a meal from the Magnolia Ice Cream Parlor. We declined and asked who served the coldest beer in town. The Magnolia Ice Cream Parlor, he said. But of course!

We walked west down Burgos Street, past the Vigan Cathedral, to the Ayala Museum, a wooden two-story house in old Spanish tradition. Like most old houses in Vigan it needed renovation: the wooden walls were dry, the yellow paint chipped and peeling, the galvanized roof brown with rust. Opened as a museum in 1975, the house was the birthplace of the priest-patriot Father Jose Burgos.

Father Burgos was falsely implicated in the January 1872 Cavite uprising, which was little more than a public expression of dissatisfaction over Spanish rule. The Spanish, however, saw this as an opportunity to intimidate the Filipino clergy. After a mock trial Father Burgos and two other priests were publicly garroted on the 17th of February 1872. Today the museum serves as both a memorial to Father Burgos and a repository of Ilocano memorabilia.

We asked the curator about Captain Donato. She had never heard of him.

As we left the museum a kid on a bicycle called, "Good afternoon sir." I waved back. Then it sank in-"Good afternoon sir"? What a change from "Hi Joe," that GI legacy so common in the south.

We walked back along Burgos Street to the Cathedral of Vigan, one of the largest and oldest churches in the Philippines. Built in 1641, it replaced a wood and thatch chapel erected by Juan de Salcedo in 1574. The church was packed for the 3:30 mass, so we stood outside by the massive double wooden doors. A plaque set into the wall described Father Burgos's baptism here in 1837. On the same wall a poster advertised the opening of the Vera Cruz Skin Clinic on September 8, 1993. It looked strangely out of place.

At the south end of Quezon Avenue we found the cemetery chapel. It was closed, but the gate to the cemetery was open. We walked among the marble tombstones and wondered at the strange mix of religious symbols and graffiti.

A block away we came across another old house, also needing repair. A sign above the door said National Museum. The shutters were up and the wooden doors were bolted. No sign indicated when it would open-or, if it ever would. We asked a passer-by when the museum would open. She said, "Perhaps tomorrow." Our guide book said the Museum was mainly a tribute to "the good ole Marcos era."

Back at Aniceto Mansion I borrowed a local phone book. There was only one listing under Donato-an Edilberto Donato. I called. Yes, he was Eddie Donato. He would pick us up in half an hour.

He arrived punctually and we introduced ourselves. He could have passed for a prosperous Chinese merchant. His graying hair was brushed straight back; his face unlined despite his 74 years. "When you asked about my war record," he said laughing, "I thought you were from the CIA."

He drove at walking pace through the narrow streets before stopping outside an old wooden house. He ushered us through the kitchen into a living room that could have passed for a museum. He pointed to a portrait of a priest, "My son," he said. The walls were covered with black and white photographs and religious artifacts. In a corner, by a rocking chair, stood statues of Jesus and Mary.

He introduced us to his wife Pacita, a lively lady with sparkling eyes who went out to fix us drinks.

Vigan is an old town," Captain Donato said. "It has never changed. The people here are very conservative-mostly old families with land holdings who keep old family traditions and live in old houses like this one."

What about local industry? "There isn't any . . . well, there's a cigarette factory, but that's all. It's sad . . . the kids grow up and there's nothing here for them, so they leave. I have eight kids and they're scattered all over the world."

The Donato family has lived in Vigan for generations. Captain Donato's father installed the town's first electric lights, thereby dragging it a little closer to the 20th century.

Pacita returned with the drinks. "We've been married over 50 years," she said. "We were married during the Japanese occupation."

For the first time Captain Donato spoke about the war years. He was captured in Bataan. "I don't call it surrender," he said. "We were just overrun by superior forces."

Bataan's defenders' last days were filled with a sense of abandonment and false hope-rumors of "mile-long" relief convoys and supplies that never arrived brought despair to the American and Filipino troops. Lack of medicine and widespread malaria caused casualties to soar. Many suffered night blindness caused by lack of vitamin-A in their starvation diets-weeks earlier they had killed and eaten their last packhorses and mules.

April 2, 1942 marked the end of the battle, but not the end of the agony-ahead lay the "death march." General MacArthur delivered the epitaph, "No army has done so much with so little, and nothing became it more than its last hours of trial and agony."

Captain Donato escaped in Pampanga and made his way to Manila by "banca"-a small outrigger boat-and then by freight truck to Vigan where he was once again interned. "I considered myself lucky," he said. "At least I was home."

He spoke modestly, with simplicity and understatement. He made his escape sound matter-of-fact, and did not label it as an escape from the "death march." His manner reminded me of what Brendon Phibbs, in "The Other Side of Time," had written about people like General Lucien Truscott: "Having won, they're satisfied with the achievement; they're not driven to seek their value in the gaze and the wonder of others . . ."

We discussed the liberation of Manila. Despite General MacArthur's ban on the use of aircraft to bomb enemy strong points, damage was enormous. Instead of aircraft, the Americans used artillery to blast the Japanese out . . . building by building. When the city was finally taken on March 3, 1945, the Filipino capital lay in ruins-it was the most heavily damaged allied city after Warsaw.

But despite the liberation of the capital, the battle of Luzon was far from over. The greatest obstacle was the 110,000-man force of the Shobu group who held the north of the island. MacArthur had decreed that they "Be driven into the mountains, contained and weakened. . . ." Eventually American and Filipino forces pushed the Shobu group back into the mountains near Bontoc, to the southeast of Vigan, where they held out until the end of the war.

"But what about the story Major Wally Brooks told me?" I asked. Captain Donato's face lit up. "Wally Brooks, the old so-and-so," he exclaimed. "So that's how you know of me."

Yes, but why was Vigan spared the fate of Manila? Was it because he, Captain Eddie Donato, had managed to convince an American forward observer that the Japanese troops had pulled out? For a while he was silent. I waited. "I heard that a German priest convinced the Japanese not to bomb Vigan," he said. Then after a long pause, "But the Americans . . . well, I don't know . . . I didn't think I had that convincing power."

Did he know the forward observer? "Oh yes, I knew Sam Sarter," he said. "I first met him at Clark Air Base before the war. I was a reserve officer then and he was a Captain . . . I think he later became a full Colonel. After the war he came back here with his wife. The town gave him quite a welcome."

With typical Philippine hospitality Captain Donato invited us to spend a few days at his beach house, but we declined-we were leaving the next morning. After drinks he scribbled a brief note to Major Wally Brooks, and drove us back to the hotel. We said good-bye. "You should see Vigan in the early morning," he said before driving off. "The light is special."

The next morning we walked to the bus terminal. Quezon Avenue was coming to life-people taking down shutters, tricycles belching smoke and fumes, and buses jousting with jeepnies for a share of the road. We turned east down a side street and walked past shops with strange names-The Breadwinner Bakery and the New Born Hardware Store-back into Mena Crisologo Street.

It was suddenly quiet. Wooden doors huddled in the shadows. Then slowly the morning light, diffused by smoke haze, drove the shadows away and painted the old walls with gold. A "caretella"-a horse drawn carriage-clattered over the cobblestones. We had walked only two blocks in distance, but four centuries in time.

On the way back to San Fernando I thought of Vigan. We had found a town that straddled time, but not the soldier who had saved it . . . or had we?

THINGS YOU NEVER KNEW YOUR CELLPHONE COULD DO...(6th Sept '06)


These were passed on to me by a friend. I have not checked them out, but, they are interesting - G

There are a few things that can be done in times of grave emergencies. Your mobile phone can actually be a life saver or an emergency tool for survival. Check out the things that you can do with it: -

EMERGENCY

The Emergency Number worldwide for **Mobile** is 112 .* If you find yourself out of coverage area of your mobile network and there is an emergency, dial 112 and the mobile will search any existing network to establish the emergency number for you, and interestingly this number 112 can be dialed even if the keypad is locked.



Have you locked your keys in the car? Does you car have remote keys?

This may come in handy someday. Good reason to own a cell phone:

If you lock your keys in the car and the spare keys are at home, call someone at home on their cell phone from your cell phone.

Hold your cell phone about a foot from your car door and have the person at your home press the unlock button, holding it near the mobile phone on their end. Your car will unlock. Saves someone from having to drive your keys to you. Distance is no object. You could be hundreds of miles away, and if you can reach someone who has the other "remote" for your car, you can unlock the doors (or the trunk).


Hidden Battery power

Imagine your cell battery is very low , you are expecting an important call and you don't have a charger. Nokia instrument comes with a reserve battery.

To activate, press the keys *3370# Your cell will restart with this reserve and the instrument will show a 50% increase in battery.

This reserve will get charged when you charge your cell next time.


How to disable a STOLEN mobile phone?

To check your Mobile phone's serial number, key in the following digits on your phone:

* # 0 6 #

A 15 digit code will appear on the screen. This number is unique to your handset.

Write it down and keep it somewhere safe. when your phone gets stolen, you can phone your service provider and give them this code. They will then be able to block your handset so even if the thief changes the SIM card, your phone will be totally useless.

You probably won't get your phone back, but at least you know that whoever stole it can't use/sell it either.

If everybody does this, there would be no point in people stealing mobile phones.
 

The Licence, by BJ  (29th Aug '06)

Western Australia has long been the most 'unregulated' State in Australia, but times are changing.

To be in charge of a Pleasure Vessel (deviates should read "boat"), an Operator's Licence has never been a requirement in W.A. regardless of the size or speed capability of the craft. Anything from a 3 meter skiff with a 5 HP Outboard to a 25 meter ocean going, twin diesel monster could be legally Captained by absolutely anyone !

But with the introduction of the Skipper's Ticket, effective 2007, responsibility is now coming to W.A. boating…..

The mail arrives and with it a letter from the Marine Safety Department recognizing my ownership of a vessel for the past 10 years and on that basis alone, grants me an exemption from the Practical Test for the new Skipper's Ticket. So it would appear as if simply owning a boat for a period of time automatically ensures one's practical skills are adequate. Hmm… how interesting.

Perhaps I can get an exemption on the Theory as well, based on the Hong Kong Pleasure Vessel (boat) Masters Ticket I hold. It's worth a try.

Finding I still have a copy of that little red book "Safety Afloat", the syllabus for the Hong Kong Ticket, I bundle everything together and present it to the Marine Department for assessment…..

The phone rings. "Hi, it's Bill here from the Marine Department, just wanted to check on a few things with regards to your Hong Kong Pleasure Vessel (boat) Licence."

"Sure, no problem" I tell him, "how can I help you."

"Just what kind of Test was involved to get your Hong Kong Licence ?" asks Bill.

I tell him about the 50 question, multi choice type exam.

"Oh" says Bill, "you mean there was no practical test?"

"That's correct, but I'm only applying for a Theory exemption. I already have an exemption for the Practical".

"No, I'm sorry" says Bill, "if there was no Practical Test to obtain the qualification it doesn't qualify for a Theory exemption."

"What ! Say that again, slowly,"

Bill repeats his judgment and I sit in stunned silence, fuming at the stupidity of bureaucracy.

"Hello, are you still there ?" enquires Bill.

Speechless, I just hang up.

Millers Musings - The Round (25th Aug '06)

The Duck Inn, Edinburgh, 01:22 am.

Sandy Gilchrist looked up from a near empty glass of beer and asked, "Who's round?" A man sitting at the bar to his left said, "It's your shout Sandy."

Sandy lent across the bar and banged his glass, "Miss, miss, bring more piss!" he shouted.

The barmaid at the other end of the bar did not look up and went on chatting with a customer. Sandy stood up and shouted again, "Miss, miss, we want more piss - a round fer me mates." He banged his glass on the bar again, this time so hard that the glass shattered. Someone to his right shouted, "Hey Sandy, you've wasted three drops." Someone else said, "Sandy, that dis'nae work - now you've nothing to spew in."

The barmaid advanced on Sandy. "Mister Gilchrist," she hissed, "Look what you've done. Those glasses cost money. And how many times have I told you - it is now illegal to buy a round in Scotland."

There was a sudden silence. The bloke to Sandy's right said, "Dae ye ken what she's on about Sandy? Illegal to buy a round?"

"Some politician's idea. Ah'm gettin' right scunnered wi' it too. But he cannae stop me buying eight beers for meself." Sandy looked at the barmaid, "OK miss, forget the round, just give me eight beers for meself. That should keep me busy for a while."

The barmaid look confused. "Well-"

"Don't give me any of that 'well' stuff - this cannae be a round, it's for me, and there's nothing wrong wi' that is there?"

The barmaid nodded, "I suppose not," she said, and went to the glass rack. Moments later Sandy had eight beers lined up in front of him. "OK fellas," he shouted, "my shout - help yourselves."

                                                                                                               *******

On August 15, 2006 The Herald reported: "Executive 'is now trying to ban buying a round in pub'."

Publicans yesterday accused the Scottish Executive of trying to outlaw the age-old tradition of buying a round of drinks. In a new campaign, designed to develop a more responsible attitude to alcohol, adverts will ask people not to put peer pressure on fellow drinkers to have another alcoholic drink when they would prefer to have a soft drink or nothing at all . . .

But one leading publican condemned the scheme as nonsense. "This must have been thought up by the same person who suggested a maximum of three drinks in any one pub," said Colin Cameron of the Aberdeen Excise Licence Holders Association. "What will they come up with next? Rationing? If you drink your quota on a Monday night you won't be allowed out again until the next Monday?"

The controversial campaign was launched yesterday in Aberdeen by Deputy Health Minister Lewis Macdonald, who said it was intended to make people stop and think about what they are saying to others and consider the consequences.

(Sounds a bit daft, doesn't it. But, I can assure you the editorial is true. Nanny-Police-Nanny-Police-Nanny-Police State??? - Graham)

Millers Musings - Police Points (19th Aug '06)

 

Police Sergeant Peter McCluskey spoke into his 2-way radio. "Here comes a likely one. Get number plate WOZ376 - that's Whisky Oscar Zulu three seven six - a blue Holden Commodore."

"Understood," reported Constable Johnathan Cripper.

Two hundred yards down the road Constable Cripper stepped out from in front of an unmarked car parked by the bushes and waved a "Pull-over Driver" sign at the oncoming car. The driver of the blue Holden Commodore pulled over and smoothly braked to a halt on the road shoulder. Constable Cripper spoke into his radio, "Sarge, you comin' down to help. May as well both get the credits."

"Nah, won't bother. Just put me down for the same number of credits you score yourself. I'm off ter the pub for a pint or six."

"OK," Constable Cripper replied. He walked over to the Holden Commodore. Inside was a middle aged man dressed in a priest's frock. "Your driver's licence and rego," Constable Cripper said. He looked at the driving licence. It was in the name of Priest Marvin Mellott aged 42.

"What seems to be the problem?" Priest Mellott asked. "Just shut up and blow into this," Constable Cripper said as he handed a breathalyzer to the priest who blew long and hard into the bag.

"Yes, just as I thought - pissed as a rat. That's good for seven points. And we have you exceeding the speed limit, driving in a manner dangerous, driving without a valid licence, driving an unlicensed vehicle, driving an un-roadworthy vehicle, and failing to stop when so ordered by a police officer."

Priest Mellott looked dumbfounded. He started explaining, "Officer, that's ridiculous. Firstly, I don't drink. Secondly, I am on my way to conduct a wedding service and I'm in plenty of time so I wasn't speeding. Thirdly my documents are all in order and valid, and fourthly-"

"Don't pull that holy crap on me. Just shut up and stop your babbling," Constable Cripper ordered as he scribbled on his report pad. He picked up his radio. "Sarge," he said. "We just collected 45 interaction credits each. Reckon we can take the rest of the day off. See you in the pub."

January 2002, the Daily Telegraph reported:

"NSW police officers earn points towards a promotion under a new quota system that encourages fining more motorists.... members of the Endeavour Region highway patrol, encompassing much of inner-western Sydney, have been given a minimum daily number of duties to perform.

"Under the new scheme, points are awarded for issuing tickets for speeding, drink driving and other offences.

"The newspaper obtained a memo written by traffic services commander Senior Sergeant Paul Dillon that outlined a minimum daily benchmark of 19 'interaction' credits."

Millers Musings - The Prison Alternative (19th Aug '06)

 

The Chairman of the NSW Select Committee on the Increase in Prisoner Population, John Ryan, opened the meeting. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are a Parliamentary Committee meeting here today to recommend that the state of NSW abolish six-month jail sentences. I would like your comments."

Maggie Jeffries leant across the table and tapped her pad. "Well, we know that such short sentences are no deterrent and for this reason Western Australia has already moved toward abolishing such sentences."

Senator Rob Mangle chipped in. "That's true Maggie. Short jail sentences simply encourage crime. I mean who wants to work when they can pull a crime and get free board and lodging for six months.?"

"It's not just the free board and lodging, Senator," Raymond Barclay said. "It's also the free food, a gymnasium, a library, free computer access, visiting rights, and in many cases, weekends at home. What prisons offer the criminal these days is just too good to resist."

"Well, we are agreed then?" Chairman Ryan asked.

"Not quite," said Senator Betty Boswell. "I don't think the proposal goes far enough."

"I'm sorry Betty, I don't follow you," Chairman Ryan said.

"It's obvious," Senator Boswell said. "Look, if short-term jail sentences encourage crime then long-term sentences must encourage crime even more. I propose that we abolish the entire penal system. We would be the first country in the world to do so and think of the publicity we would get when the rest of the world saw our shrinking crime rate."

For a moment there was stunned silence. Eventually Senator Mangle chipped in. "That's brilliant Betty, but what about the unemployment when we close the prisons - you know, what about the warders and the guards for example?"

"I've thought of that," Senator Boswell said. "We make all prisons part of our National Heritage then open them to the public. We charge an entrance fee. The former warders will become guides and the cooks can provide paid-for buffet lunches for the tourists."

"My God, that's brilliant," Chairman Ryan said. After a little more discussion he said, "Are we agreed then. Those for the motion please raise your hand. Those against? Unanimous. Motion carried. Thank you ladies and gentlemen, I'll table this in Parliament tomorrow."

On the 13 Nov 2001 the ©AAP reported that a NSW parliamentary committee recommended abolishing six-month jail sentences. "The recommendation came out of the committee's report into the state's rising prison population which was tabled in state parliament today. . . . Mr Ryan said Western Australia had already moved towards abolishing six-month sentences as they did little to curb offender behaviour.

"He said people needed to get used to the idea that there were alternatives to jail."
 

The Tale Of The Squirrel and the Grasshopper - Courtesy Alan Miller (19th July '06)

Maybe, just maybe, this should be in the Humour page. On second thoughts, maybe not -G

REST OF THE WORLD VERSION (EXCLUDING THE U.K. AND ANY OTHER COUNTRY YOU CARE TO NOMINATE)

The squirrel works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building and improving his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks he's a fool, and laughs and dances and plays the summer away. Come winter, the squirrel is warm and well fed. The shivering grasshopper has no food or shelter, so he dies out in the cold.

THE END

THE AUSTRALIAN VERSION (AND ANY OF THE ABOVE)

The squirrel works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks he's a fool, and laughs and dances and plays the summer away. Come winter, the squirrel is warm and well fed.

A social worker finds the shivering grasshopper, calls a press conference and demands to know why the squirrel should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others less fortunate, like the grasshopper, are cold and starving.

The ABC shows up to provide live coverage of the shivering grasshopper; with cuts to a video of the squirrel in his comfortable warm home with a table laden with food.

The Australian press informs people that they should be ashamed that in a country of such wealth, this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so while others have plenty.

The Labor Party, Greenpeace, Animal Rights and The Grasshopper Council of Australia demonstrate in front of the squirrel's house. The ABC, interrupting a cultural festival special from St Kilda with breaking news, broadcasts a multi cultural choir singing "We Shall Overcome".

Bill Shorten rants in an interview with Laurie Oakes that the squirrel has gotten rich off the backs of grasshoppers, and calls for an immediate tax hike on the squirrel to make him pay his "fair share" and increases the charge for squirrels to enter Melbourne city centre.

In response to pressure from the media, the Government drafts the Economic Equity and Grasshopper Anti Discrimination Act, retroactive to the beginning of the summer. The squirrels's taxes are reassessed. He is taken to court and fined for failing to hire grasshoppers as builders for the work he was doing on his home and an additional fine for contempt when he told the court the grasshopper did not want to work.

The grasshopper is provided with a state-housing home, financial aid to furnish it and an account with a local taxi firm to ensure he can be socially mobile. The squirrel's food is seized and re distributed to the more needy members of society, in this case the grasshopper.

Without enough money to buy more food, to pay the fine and his newly imposed retroactive taxes, the squirrel has to downsize and start building a new home. The local authority takes over his old home and utilises it as a temporary home for asylum seeking cats who had hijacked a plane to get to Australia as they had to share their country of origin with mice. On arrival they tried to blow up the airport because of Australians apparent love of dogs.

The cats had been arrested for the international offence of hijacking and attempted bombing but were immediately released because the police fed them pilchards instead of salmon whilst in custody. Initial moves to then return them to their own country were abandoned because it was feared they would face death by the mice. The cats devise and start a scam to obtain money from peoples credit cards.

A 60 Minutes special shows the grasshopper finishing up the last of the squirrel's food, though Spring is still months away, while the council house he is in, crumbles around him because he hasn't bothered to maintain the house. He is shown to be taking drugs. Inadequate government funding is blamed for the grasshopper's drug "Illness".

The cats seek recompense in the Australian courts for their treatment since arrival in Australia.

The grasshopper gets arrested for stabbing an old dog during a burglary to get money for his drug habit. He is imprisoned but released immediately because he has been in custody for a few weeks. He is placed in the care of the probation service to monitor and supervise him. Within a few weeks he has killed a guinea pig in a botched robbery.

A commission of enquiry, that will eventually cost $10,000,000 and state the obvious, is set up.

Additional money is put into funding a drug rehabilitation scheme for grasshoppers and legal aid for lawyers representing asylum seekers is increased. The asylum-seeking cats are praised by the government for enriching Australia's multicultural diversity and dogs are criticised by the government for failing to befriend the cats.

The grasshopper dies of a drug overdose. The usual sections of the press blame it on the obvious failure of government to address the root causes of despair arising from social inequity and his traumatic experience of prison. They call for the resignation of a minister.

The cats are paid a million dollars each because their rights were infringed when the government failed to inform them there were mice in Australia.

The squirrel, the dogs and the victims of the hijacking, the bombing, the burglaries and robberies have to pay an additional percentage on their credit cards to cover losses, their taxes are increased to pay for law and order and they are told that they will have to work beyond 65 because of a shortfall in government funds.