About a third of the way though The Era of the Business Idiot I was reminded of the Master Sergeant who was brought in to replace our own who had recently retired. It should have been a near-seamless transition. Rank (at least at the enlisted level) is divided into three categories, junior enlisted, non-commissioned officers (NCO); and senior NCOs - broadly the proletariats in this system. junior enlisted (rank E1-E4) is tiered as specialization fields - each level is a mastery of a specific craft. Please keep in mind I spent the majority of my military career as an E4, never becoming an NCO myself, as this may skew my perspective.

Specialization levels out at E5, where addition managerial responsibilities come into play - being responsible for the development and training of junior enlisted - they still know their craft, but are also in a position to teach it to others, and lead junior enlisted. Where this diverges is in the senior NCO ranks (E7-E9). Senior NCOs are (generally) considered to be managerial positions, and I'm not arguing against the need for managers given the complexity and diversity of these systems, but the idea is that at certain ranks, people-managers are interchangeable as such - it flattens the stovepipes of specialization allowing for a greater pool from which to draw for manpower.

At least that's the idea.

I argued at the time that ascension through the ranks based on specialization was key to creating effective people-managers within specialization fields. I never struggled with conceptualizing, "every job in the military is important" simply that every job in the military shouldn't? be managed identically. This was driven home when they replaced our Master Sergeant who had risen to that rank working intelligence with one who'd spent his career on the flightline. It shouldn't have mattered at that rank according to the meta, as they were both people-managers and managing people is globally interchangeable. At least in theory. Unsurprisingly perhaps, it didn't work out well for anyone involved. But it was really only after my disastrous experience in being assigned to the strategic intelligence field after years in the tactical intelligence field did I understand how important a history of knowledge in a specific field managing those who are highly specialized play into being an effective manager.

Dreamed last night I used to own a full-track, armored personnel carrier. It was just one of those things I thought would be fun to own. It was cold-war era with a side entrance and a narrow drivers cupola. I could remember many details about having driven it to Fort Worth when I was a government contractor with USDA. I remember it having astonishing acceleration despite being powered by a rear-engine diesel V8. It looked quite similar to G.I. Joe’s Wolverine driven by Cover Girl, but gun-metal gray replacing the olive drab. And while I remember all these details of having owned it, driven it, and remembering it, I couldn’t find any evidence that I had ever actually owned it. Was it possible these very real memories were just a dream? I found the thought fascinating and began wondering if there were other events in my life which were nothing more than fabricated nocturnal hallucinations.

I decided to Google pictures of this APC to jog some link to my memory and was shocked to find that a retro-80s version of the (then) “upgraded” APC existed - a brightly lit computer-driven vehicle filled with green monochrome CRT monitors and furnished with a hot pink and turquoise interior as befitting its time. It was built by Apple Computer and as fascinated as I was at this fantastic discovery, the longing for any evidence of my own APC outweighed it. Still, I couldn’t help but now compare the two in my mind; my fast, rugged, minimalistic APC which I adored, or this new, sleek, computerized version.

I was completely baffled that my subconscious dream-state could implant the feel of the tracks over the highway, the deep, visceral rumble of the exhaust preceding the physical sensation of acceleration, not to mention the sheer joy of owning and driving one of these magnificent machines as well as pining the loss that none of it was ever real.

I was back in Germany, or Korea, with some old co-workers who were still in uniform explaining how I actually drove my APC to work on rare occasion - that it wasn’t just a garage queen showpiece. But without proof, and the mounting evidence that all this was just a dream both fascinated, and saddened me.

Dreamed I was attending a fast-paced Noom physical assessment/boot-camp for people in high-stress jobs. There was an impressive panel of celebrity instructors on the stage, but they were the ones acting as if they'd seen a famous idol - my senior manager! He was sitting in the first row taking notes in his leather-bound planner, being attended to by The Architect who always attended all the training events. Curiously, my senior manager was wearing a purple K-State polo in place of his usual Texas A & M. He must have been trying to go incognito, but it wasn't working.

Everyone was already seated and filling out paperwork as the first celebrity instructor was at the podium giving everyone one of those rapid-fire, nonsensical motivational screeches. I was late, trying to find a seat, and had no paperwork to fill out. In fact, I was still standing in the middle of the aisle when they announced a surprise celebrity instructor for the duration of our week-long physical conditioning course, straight from Lufkin, TX, CHUCK FREAKING NORRIS! As he pushes past me down the aisle with his entourage, my heart swelled because it was good to see my uncle Pat again. I was surprised more people didn't know my uncle Pat was Chuck Norris. He was wearing his signature olive drab uniform with matching cadet-style flat-top cap. He looked good, I'd missed him of late.

I noticed my old boss DRP and his gaggle of geese were also there. Good. Lots of ex-military and some active duty which according to their uniform specialty badges all looked like they were working in the intelligence field; this was absolutely my group of people and I felt right at home. I keep looking for a seat while the introductions are being made on stage and spy some hot chick I'd like to get to know better, so make my way to her row. Just as I sit down, however, a heavier-set chick wearing...county jail attire? sits in the empty seat between us. Ugh. No matter, I'm already so far behind on whatever it was I was supposed to have done ahead of time.

The first assessment exercise starts with a targeted stretch - sitting straight up in the (now pews), hands on knees, and feet flat on floor. Its not bad, not at all. In fact, its so comfortable I look down and notice while everyone else's feet are flat, mine are pointed out straight. I'm doing it wrong. I'm the only one doing it wrong and discover its because I'm laying down, not sitting in a pew. I decide that makes it an excellent opportunity for a nap, and take a little snooze.

When I awake everyone is mingling in the aisles on a short break. I try to catch up with old friends and co-workers. I overhear some of the celebrity instructors talking amongst themselves and ask if I can assist. They were less impressed I was related to Chuck Norris and more impressed I knew our senior manager. Apparently he was well-known for being strict on security and access, causing the celebrity instructors to revamp their intelligence protocols - he was something of a legend, and they were geeking out he was attending their boot-camp only they didn't know which attendee he was - no one has ever seen my senior manager, so I gladly pointed him out, still curious why he was wearing K-State garb.

With the break over, absolutely everyone else returned to their seats and began meditating. I couldn't find my seat, and I didn't know why we were supposed to meditate, or even how everyone knew it was meditation time. I sat down somewhere else when I get a call. I pull out my little flip phone - it was a loaner - my iPhone had broken so I turned in for a replacement. IT showed up with that replacement and retrieved the loaner flip phone as I was on it speaking to them still. They handed me two bibles, one written in Hebrew, the other an abridged King James Version. I looked at them in what could only possibly have been abject astonishment. What the actual fuck was I supposed to even do with these? As it turns out, employees at my level don't actually get iPhones (long story), we don't even get flip phones. We get an untranslated Tanakh, and an abridged KJV. I couldn't even. People were starting to furtively peek over at the commotion.

I never got with the hot chick, but the other girl turned out to be totally cool, her choice of garb notwithstanding.

After conference, Dorian and I went to live with my daughter's boyfriend's parents. The mom was working some long-game elaborate money-making scheme which may or may not have involved circumventing either current narcotics laws, current security and exchange commission laws, or both. I agreed to take over the cable bill to help with the short term pinch. We all agreed cable was a necessity. Except Dorian. She didn't think we needed cable. The dad had just purchased a classic BMW for a restore project - it was pretty sweet. So sweet in fact, he often stood outside, barefoot in the snow, beer in hand, just to admire it. I don't know why the mom and I were conspiring in this money-making scheme without him, but I wanted to admire the rusty yellow BMW also. I tried to get Dorian to conspire with the mom but she was still going on about the cable not being a necessity, no one knows why. I had the cable in my pocket - it was on a thumbdrive - everything was fine.

It was bright in my room when I awoke, and I was thrilled the dream's conclusion coincided with daylight, indicating another full night's sleep. Immediately thereafter I woke up in r/l and it was dark in the room, momentarily clouding my reality. I asked Alexa the time, and it was far earlier than I would have liked, but having already woke up twice, back-to-back, I assumed it a harbinger of my day and simply got out of bed, slinking to the coffee maker.

Think I'll cut back on the melatonin before bed.

Dreamed I was a pilot of experimental fighter jets. I had two, at my house; one-fifth sized F-16's which could take off and land on their own. Often, I would call them, like Alexa, into my wrist-communicator: "Jets, meet me outside." Often they would try to take the quickest path - out the front door, but the frame was too narrow to accommodate their wings, so they'd have to back their nose out, open the automatic roof to the house, vertical STOL up and over, and land adjacent one another on the front lawn so I could get into the cockpit. They were awfully fun to fly, but there always seemed to be some national emergency I had to take care of.

At one point I was in the house with my father, who was perplexingly Scott Bakula, and in an identical olive drab flight uniform when there were a pair of sonic booms over the house which startled us both. That's when Dad's wrist-communicator went off - it was headquarters wanting him to report to base immediately so he could ascertain the threat level in his alert fighter. I knew he didn't have that kind of time, so I offered one of my two fighters: "Jets, meet me outside." They tried to get through the front door again *facepalm*

Once on the lawn, the cockpits slid open like a colonial Viper Mark II, but with the jagged edges of an F-117 Nighthawk, so that was pretty cool. I leaned into the cockpit of the second plane and announced, "Follow the voice commands of...Doctor...Brahmen...en...son?" I couldn't remember Scott Bakula's character name or why I didn't just say Dad's name, but he seemed unconcerned and I was wondering if I had placed him in a Clint Eastwood's FIREFOX type situation (...think in Russian). I dunno, I'm pretty sure I woke up just as we were streaking through the sky at classified supersonic speeds toward the bogeys.

Dreamed I had to work from the office - like, drive into the plant and work from my old desk. My computer was still there - an ancient Sun Ultra 5 churning away. I couldn't quite remember all the shortcuts on it I'd created over the years. And it was dark in the compute center; the lights were down low and everything was hushed. Over in the Engineering section they were playing video games with these wired helmets which lit up over certain parts of your head depending on what was happening on screen and tracking the areas of the brain for warfighter support.

I turned to my coworker who wasn't quite my coworker. She had been replaced with someone who looked similar to my old coworker, but I didn't know her. She was working on her brand-new Sun workstation. That's what I get for working from home the last 10 years. When she left her desk I sauntered over to have a look. Appalled and amazed I discovered it was indeed a shiny new Sun setup; bright cream with purple highlights, but it was a thin-client? Connected to her old Sun Ultra 10? Wow.

Of course now I'm in uniform. Another National Defense issue which requires all-hands on deck. An old AF co-worker comes over to taunt me. She has a cup of coffee in her hand and sits down adjacent me, mock-berating me for a litany of perceived injustices. I excuse myself and head to the water fountain. When I return she's watching a video on my computer of myself and a contractor buddy after a night of drinking. There, I am, asleep in the corner, but the girl he is with takes her top off. OMG THIS IS MY WORK COMPUTER HOW DID THAT GET ON HERE?

Then I'm back in sunny Ellinwood tying to replace the dozen or so HVAC filters to lower my electric bill, and of course the Ex shows up to help.

Had far too much fun playing with all the pics I took of the McConnell Douglas F4-D "Phantom" in Emporia, KS Veterans Day weekend:

It was night, and we were all in lawn chairs watching a 3D-realistic battle of Star Wars and Battlestar Galactica ships and robots hunt one another, twisting in the sky and on the ground with up-close, right-in-your-face simulated explosions around the buildings and on the stretch of grass on base in Kaiserslautern. I was there with my GF and other members of the 495th RTG circa 1990.

Which is why I was surprised to be approached by an old high school classmate, Susan Plowman, who I haven't thought of in 27 years. She was modeling some revealing clothing for me, wanting some sort of validation, yet obviously embarrassed her small kids were nearby. That's when she asked if my GF would be interested in visiting with her about lingerie and the like. I assured her my GF would love that interaction, but we couldn't do it next week due to the air show at Sembach Air Base down the road.

And I got a Johnette Napolitano song I'd never before heard confused with someone who was decidedly NOT Johnette Napolitano. That was embarrassing.

Sunday we celebrated Bill's 91st birthday. Yes, there was cake. Then the tornado came:

In Wichita, Kan., a tornado touched down near Mid-Content Airport on the city's southwest side shortly before 4 p.m., knocking out power to thousands of homes and businesses but bypassing the most populated areas of Kansas' biggest city. The Wichita tornado was an EF1 on the enhanced Fujita scale, with winds of 110 mph, according to the weather service.

Sedgwick County Emergency Management Director Randy Duncan said there were no reports of fatalities or injuries in Kansas.

We were luckier than those in OKC.

I was TDY to USCENTCOM at MacDill AFB in Tampa, Florida when [I think it was Emily] was heading toward the East Coast. I called my longtime friend photogoot on the phone and he explained they were having a Hurricane Party...in my room.

"Why my room?" I asked, appalled.

"We can't have it in my room because I'm on the first floor and it might flood. We can't have it in Leslie's room because its on the third floor - what if the roof blows away? Your room is on the second floor - perfect!"

Sometimes that's all you can do.

And at 91, Bill is living proof.