Cha, Cha, CHA, CHANGES

February 2009.
Starting to feel really pukey. Mild fevers and nagging pain in lower abdomen. The doctor orders blood samples. A trained phlebotomist was required. They cannot use the subclavian catheter, that I wear continuously, because it might be infected. Plus the chemotherapy deteriorated my veins, and a regular nurse was completely unable to draw blood. When the results come back, I had another infection. The letters UTI Has been my nemesis. Rather than just start a new round of antibiotics, the doctors agree and give me a CAT Scan. Yes I know what that stands for (Computer Aided Tomography). Results, show; Stones in the kidneys. Antibiotics will not work! Stones may have been colonized by the bacteria. Recommended procedure: insert stint, large enough to pass the stones, into lower right kidney. And surgically remove the Stag-horn calcification in the left kidney. One is an outpatient procedure. And the latter is inpatient.
When I arrived at the stint appointment, I asked the physicians assistant if this procedure was painful? The reply was "all pain is relative". So I said "relative to having a sledge hammer dropped on your bare toes, where does this pain lay?" He told me that he had done approximately 90,000 of these procedures. And the vast majority only experienced slight discomfort. So I said lets get started. He came at me with a device about the size of a pool cue in diameter. He was going to slide that up my urethra and into my kidney, and place the stint. This was a new pain experience. It was isotropic (seemingly originating from all directions at once). And on a scale of 1-10, this was a 40. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. Even when I'm not jagged up on narcotics. But this was like having a little person inside my stomach, lighting matches.
I screamed. I screAMED, and I SCREAMED. I was watching the clock and at minute 13, the doctor said "Why don't you try cussing?"I was surprised. In all my life no one had ever asked to hear me swear like a drunken sailor on shore leave. So I glared at him with a puzzled look in my eyes. And he said yes, really! Try it.
If this had been a thumb strike with a hammer, or stubbed toe in the dark I was sure to have had many things to say about the hammer's or the coffee table's illegitimate ancestry. But when ever I opened my mouth to unleash a string of blue profanities. All that came out was "Oh sweet Jesus. Mercy please. Mercy and relief."
After several repeats, I bit my tongue and tried again and this time it was finally different. This time I screamed as loud and as hard as I could and said. "Dear God please take this away from me. But your will not mine. Please." I tried to cuss. I wanted to cuss. But for the first time I was at a loss for colorful language.
This pleading continued for another 35 minutes and then was done. I was exhausted. But the pain was gone and I dreamed no dreams that night. Two days later I went to the OR to have the massive calcium build up in the left side kidney removed. A few hours later, I was back in my room. Pain was on the threshold of bearable. And after a days rest I returned home again.
Four weeks later I was having pain similar to the pain that started the whole situation off a few weeks earlier. A sonogram showed kidney stone in both kidneys again. But this time they were small enough to pass on their own. But what on the sparkling pacific could cause kidney stones o form so fast? I drink at least 10 glasses of water everyday. Or 10 glasses of liquid everyday. OK a 2 litre bottle of Diet Mountain Dew every day. Doctor H recommended stopping the DEW. I agreed to cut back. And a week later I passed my first stone. The next day and upto today I don't do the DEW. I never was a coffee drinker. A serious standout for a senior enlisted man onboared ship where free coffee is available 24/7. I can't stand the taste. If it tasted like it smelled, I would have been all over it.
I have no medical facts to support the DEW; Kidney Stone connection. But I have had no new stones since quitting. I get occasional no-caffeine headaches. But that's a pretty good trade over kidney pain...
Next time:
ARE YOU EXPERIENCED.

A play on words. Or playing with words.

A turn of a phrase. A picture painted with words, rather than a canvas and tinted oils. I have been enamored of the English language and all of it's varied nuances for as long a I can remember. And just like any other artist,to be successful you must master all the different mediums to be proficient. It takes time, practice, study, discipline, dedication and hard work to be a master of any one. The paint-brushes you use to put pictures into the mind of your casual friends is not the same one you would use when warning someone of the dangers associated with persisting in their current aggravations. Like telling your mother "Mom, you really have pretty eyes." But when trying to describe your girlfriend's eyes or your wife's eyes, it is time for a different set of brushes. For example "the sparkle of diamonds in your eyes has pierced my heart."
It is not a case of just laying it on thicker. It's an entirely different technique. Similar to "Mos def, glints slimmy." would work in a highschool dance . But would only draw a blank stare from the principal's secretary.
Yes English is complicated. But it isn't hard. 2 year olds do it all the time. Consider that Slim Chance, and Fat Chance mean the same thing. No chance. Or some awe is a good thing. But full awe is bad. As in awesome and awful. For every occasion there is another word or phrase that will be more succinct or accurate or appropriate to the situation. There's even a big word to describe using big words. Sesquipedalian! Literally one and a half feet long. Try telling an adversary you are going to defenestrate them and while they are trying to figure out what you just said, you will have time to get started, throwing them out a window. Groucho Marx was a master of the English language. Find one of his books and read it. He makes Mark Twain sound like a tongue twisted illiterate. Some of his more famous lines "I shot an elephant in my pajamas...", and "Any club that would have me as a member... " are famous quotes that survive today. My particular favorite "Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana" still makes people think twice. There's even a word for this type of saying. Paraprosdokian. Don't take my word. Look it up! I read the dictionary and I have total recall.
Another humorous way to use language, is as a tool for knocking people off guard. Next time someone is introduced to you, while shaking your hand they say "Nice to meet you." refuse to play along and ask "Oh really, why is that?" It is certain to make an impression. But be ready to not be offended when they say "Well maybe I'm not, then." Or when someone sees you in the hall and says "How's it going?" Instead of nodding and responding "not much." tell them how your kids are doing. Or how your motorcycle is acting up. One thing you must always do is to tell everyone you love, that you love them. Because you never know when your last chance to do so, was really the last chance. I have had several chances in my life when my last I love you, was absolutely the last. I am comforted by the fact that everyone I love, knows it. So when I leave this world no one left behind will wonder if I loved them. People will never know what is in your heart if you never let it out. But another good advice would be "If you can't say something nice, keep your cake hole shut."
Some people try to portray meaning or emotion in their digital communications with a short hand called "Emoticons." :) or :=) is a smile. ;) is a wink. I invented one. I gave it the name "Christ's love". Feel free to use it and spread the word. There's no copyright and I love you.
<°)}}}><

Information Security Specialist

After a lifetime of distrust, a career in the military and a bachelors degree in computer science security is my current profession. I have spent my life trying to find my way around the rules. Couple that with my love of computers and my intense curiosity and you have a hacker waiting for a place to happen. The old saying goes "it takes a thief to catch a thief". Exchange the word "thief" with the word "hacker" and you understand why I am successful. I am not now or ever was a thief or a criminal computer hacker. I knew I could get into systems. But I never felt a need to prove my skills. It doesn't take an Einstein to be a hacker. It might help. But it is really a way of living. Pushing the envelope. Looking for ways around the rules, without breaking them. Loop-holes in the system. The best way to never get caught breaking in; is to never break-in. It just takes an incredible amount of self confidence. Something the Lord filled me with.
For 10 years I was a security expert for a large Southern California city. I was responsible for protecting a computer network of immense proportions. It covered a metropolitan area 372.1 Sq. miles(963.6 Km2) in geographical size. With 10,000 users and literally thousands of servers and more printers than anyone could count. During that time we only suffered one breach of security. And it was an insider job. Our perimeter was under constant probing and entry attempts. 1.7 million per day, on average. I would watch intrusion attempts from places like, South Korea, France, Germany, The peoples Republic of China and various universities located in ther USA. It got to the point where I could guess the source location, just by the sequence of intrusion methods attempted. So I have felt a need to help others know what I know. And today's lesson is "PASSWORDS"
Every one has a password. Some good. Some not so much. Hacker groups will try everything to gain your password. Brute force guessing, Dictionary, lexicons, and rainbow file comparators. The list goes on forever. The single most recognized hacker is Kevin Mitnick. A little known fact is that Kevin had no real computer hacking skills. He was, what we call in the business, a Social Engineer. He would call the CEO's Secretary and pretend to be someone in the It department that needed the bosses password to fix a problem that the boss had called in about. He knew the boss was out of the office because his/her email was set to auto reply that the CEO was on vacation. How did he find out the CEO's email address? Good question. It shows you are paying attention. The CEO's address was posted along with a phone number on the corporate web-site. If the admin assistant protested, he would just make a subtle threat saying "Well you tell the boss why he/she can't read their email while out of state." This was all he ever needed. You don't need any computer hacking skills if you know the password.
So, How do you make a password the can't be cracked, guessed or brute forced and still easy to remember? Easy! Don't use a pass-WORD. Use pass-PHRASE. For example; pick your favorite biblepassage. Mine is the 23rd Psalm. But you can't use the whole psalm. it won't fit. Pick a part of it. "Shadowofdeath". (Since I have posted this on the Internet I highly recommend not using this exact phrase). This is an easy to remember, hard to crack, but still easy to guess password. Now lets make it impenetrable. Change a vowel to a number! lets change the "o" for "0". That's change the oh's for zero's. Shadowofdeath, becomes Shad0w0fdeath. If you want to be trickier, change all of the vowels. Shadowofdeath, now becomes Sh@d0w0fd3@th.
Easy to remember. Impossible to crack. And completely unguessable. But if you tell it to anyone even your assistant, it is not "YOUR" passphrase anymore. change it every 90 days just to be sure, and compliant with most corporate security policies (Yes, I said comply with the rules). And when you change it you may have to find a new favorite bible verse. And reading the bible, for any reason, is a good thing.
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Joined the Navy. Saw the World...

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My first job after highschool was as a paid killer. A professional Assassin, if you prefer. I was 6'3" tall. 210 pounds of attitude, feared by men and loved by my mom. I had shoulder lenght sandy blond hair, piercing ice blue eyes. A 34 inch waist and a 53 inch chest. No one was surprised by my choice of employment. In fact most of my friends would have told you I was cut out for the job. The pay was not fantastic. But the work was invigorating. It seemed I had found my career path. At a local Extermination company. Rodents were my forte. But most of my hits were against serious subterranean termite infestations.
My first trouble in the business world arose when I was confronted by one of the managers about the length of my hair. Apparently customers in rural North Carolina in the early 1970's were picky about who they let crawl under their house, through muck and mire, to kill pests. The ultimatum: Either get a hair cut or get lost. I was making the company look bad. Covered in mud and grass stains. Reeking of sweat and death. And my hair made them look bad?!? It was a political statement. The hair was a statement of my views. Not an ego thing or some flower power hoohah. I had fights in high school with the BOYS FROM THE AG SHOP, on more than one occasion over my hair. This job wasn't gonna change me. So I grabbed my check and left the office for good.
The weekend was unmemorable. But on Monday morning I went to the Unemployment office to file for benefits. When my turn came around I sat down beside the desk of a very disinterested woman. She loaded the triplicate documents in to the Smith-Carona. She aligned the margins and began asking questions. She never even glanced at me or acknowledged me in any way. The gauntlet had been thrown down and I willingly accepted the challenge. This person was going to notice me if i had to set myself on fire to do it. Her litany continued and I answered all the questions in order.
Name? Age? Address? SSN? High school Graduate? Last position held? She typed my answers as fast as I spoke them. And still she didn't look my way. Then she said "Type of employment you are looking for?" There was my opening. I said and she began to type, "Viking or part time buffalo hunter." Half way through the task the clack, clack, clack of the keys against the platen went silent. And in one smooth motion she grabbed the top of the document, jerked it clear of the typewriter, wadded it into a ball and dropped it into the trash. Without so much as a blink she turned to me and said "Why don't you try the navy? That's like being a viking isn't it?"
I said "Okay! Where's the Navy?"
She said "out the door, turn left. Third door on the left." She had brown eyes. And I had succeeded.
Two weeks later I was on a plane to bootcamp in Great Lakes, Illinois. The recruiting motto in those days was Join The Navy; See the World. And they weren't joking. On 23 February 1973, I began an adventure that would last for 21 years five months and eight days. The map above shows the places I went around the World. The Homes in the US I lived in were: San Diego California. Key West, Florida. New Port, Rhode Island. And Charleston, South Carolina. With a 3 1/2 year home port assignment to Yokosuka, Japan. In 21 years of active duty I spent 16 of those years at sea.
Sailors belong on ships, and ships belong at sea. And a day in port is a day wasted. All 16 of those years I celebrated my birthday in a foreign port. With the exception of my last birthday celebration in the Navy, when I had duty on board overnight. I loved every minute of it. You cannot do anything for that long and not like it! If I had to do it over again, I would not hesitate. And by the way, I ended up getting a haircut anyway.
I had always had a problem dealing with people in positional authority. Politicians, and elected officials, Corporate executives, police officers, some school teachers, and most school administrators would all demand respect without earning it. Yea,Yea, I know. You kissed a lot of butts to get where you are now, and I have to respect you for it. The military was different back then. I was surrounded by heroes and war vets every where I looked. I had people to look up to and they cared if I succeeded. In fact their careers were affected by the actions of the people assigned under them. My life depended on them knowing and doing their jobs. And their lives depended on me knowing and doing mine. There is a feeling of brotherhood that exists no where else. The French call it "Esprit de corps."everyone in the military experiences it, and understands it, even if they cannot explain it.
This was a backdrop to my quandary. With my wife's assistance, she did all the typing, writing and mailing, we filed papers with the VA for compensation. Almost every other day of the next two months, the VA requested more paperwork. Copies of my discharge papers, military medical record, civilian medical records, copies of driver's licenses and Social Security cards. The list seemed endless. About three months later we received the official response. It said that the VA was aware that benzene exposure could cause the kind of cancer I had. And they believed that I had cancer and had been exposed to benzene. But because I had never actually stated that my cancer was caused by my exposure. My claim was denied. ????!!!!???? The forms and paperwork never had a space for causation! They never asked for my opinion. We had dotted every I, and crossed every T. What to do next? The denial letter said we had 180 days to appeal their decision. So out of frustration and a bit of desperation, we asked Dr. "H" to please write a letter to the VA on my behalf. She agreed, and we submitted our appeal. The cycle began again! More requests for documents. This time rather than submit the documents ourselves we signed paperwork giving the VA permission to request documents from the original sources. A few months after that we received another letter. With no hope other than the promise of our God to provide for our care, we read the letter. They agreed with the Dr.'s summation and granted me a 100% service connected disability. I was now an official Disabled American Veteran. There was no Purple Heart. I had not earned one. I didn't want one. This country and it's citizens owe me nothing. The VA's official recognition of my sacrifice was enough. The last benefit I hope to collect is my military funeral with the appropriate honors. But I don't expect that to happen soon. Thank you for hanging in so far.
Respectfully,

KrippledWarrior. STGCS(SW) USN Ret.

Are you a 2%er?

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Before you can accurately answer that, you must know what a 2%er is. Back in the day when motorcycle clubs were relatively new the American motorcycle Association (AMA) made a publicity statement that said "99% of all motorcyclists are law abiding people." In direct opposition to that statement members of the outlaw clubs, thier name will not be mentioned here, coined and adopted the phrase 1%er. They had patches made and added them to their colors As a badge of honor. Proudly displaying the fact that they were nonconformists. Antiestablishment. Society's laws did not apply to them. I have had friends, very good friends who were members of 1% clubs. There's a certain mystique about that life style that is attractive to rebellious youths. I never joined, I was never big on joining, and I found it easy to get in trouble all by myself. However, in 2003 I felt a calling to use my motorcycle for more than just a means of transportation. While riding my motorcycle I was meeting many people, who were seriously in need of God's love and salvation. I prayed about this and I found a group on the Internet that attracted my attention. Bikers for Christ motorcycle ministry. A group of brothers with two things in common. First, they are all on fire for the Lord. Secondly, they all love motorcycles. After that, their stories and backgrounds are as diverse as any other eclectic group. These people go where others either don't, can't or won't go. All in an effort to spread the good news in places where most Christians could not go. More than a few of them are ordained ministers, with seminary backgrounds. On my sideboard is a picture of the backpatch or colors we wear. One of the statements on the web-site you will read says, "We want to run a rescue shop within a yard of hell." We wear our spiritual armor and wage spiritual warfare in front of the enemies gate.
So alright already!~ "What is a 2%er?" you ask patiently. It is estimated that only 2% of Christians will share the word of God with people they don't know (I told you my head was full of little known facts. But I did not say it was useless information). Every one of us are 2%ers. Check out our website. We are an International ministry. Wave to us if you see our colors going down the road. We don't bite, very hard. If you see one of my brothers in a public place, introduce yourself, tell them Kurt from the Dago chapter said "hi." You will be blessed by the experience.
And be on the lookout for Motorcyclists on the road. The life you save may be someones pastor.
Kw