Felony stupid

When you have a suspended license and your friend has a felony warrant, don't go asking the park ranger for a jumpstart.

Just some practical advice for the criminally retarded.

My favorite line of the whole incident was mine. "Quit squirming or you're going to the ground." Alas, it worked, so there was no need for a takedown or a tasing.

Molasses

Some of you may remember that two months ago I applied for a job at Denali National Park. Two months ago! Before I got on the SRT team, before I got a date for SWAT school, before I signed up for my ground fighting class and bought my plane tickets to Asia.

I hadn't received any of those annoying letters telling me I was qualified, but not enough for my name to be forwarded to the selecting official (every NPS employee knows those letters). Nor had I received anything saying I was qualified.

Last night I finally sent an email to someone at Denali asking about the position. Had they filled it?

Coincidentally, today I got an email (from someone else at DENA) asking if I'm still interested. It was a mass email that described the TWO positions they'll be filling. Apparently, I am qualified! They just took a really long time to get their act together. That whole thing I read in the vacancy announcement about them filling the job within a month of the closing date was bogus, an overly optimistic goal.

My life is of course, more complicated now if I were offered the job. I'd seriously have to think about it. But, after thinking I'd been forgotten or that I somehow hadn't qualified for the spot, the email I got is REALLY COOL. I am qualified and I'm one of the people being considered, they just move really slow. Since this is the first and only job I've applied for since I got back from FLETC, it's gratifying to know I can make the list. How awesome would it be to work at DENALI?!

Dysentery

I recently got some friendly advice from a frequent traveler to Nepal: don't touch anything.

...Without immediately cleansing my hands with purell. He told me that whatever else I do, I should under no circumstances touch my face or I will get sick. Great.

That was yesterday and all last night I was trying to be conscious of what my hands are doing. I figure if I can make no-face-touching a habit now, I should be OK when I get to Nepal. But my hands seem to move all on their own with no thought at all from me. I didn't give them permission to rub my eye, but there they are, creeping their sinister way to my face against my will.

I signed up for a "Ground Fighting Tactics" class at the Cambridge Center for Adult Education. It's really fun (the I like to get my butt kicked and be sore for two days afterwards kind of fun)and last night was my second class. It's at a jujitsu dojo and I think I'll keep going there after the class is over. I really like the Sensei and the other people there. Even the girl who popped me in the nose. My first class I came away with finger-tip shaped bruises on my bicep, red, swollen knees, and mat burn on the tops of my feet. Last night I jammed my big toe into the wall (thankfully it's a mat-covered wall) and got thwacked in the nose. I was grappling with a girl who told me she's got a black belt in Tae-Kwando. That's a martial art that involves a lot of kicking. I think she was upset to be confined to her knees (since it's a ground fighting class we start everything from our knees). In retaliation, she popped me in the nose with the back of her hand. My chin was tucked, but she slinked her little hand down below my face and BAM! Got me. My eyes teared and I was saved from having to whup her butt in response when the Sensei yelled, "Switch partners!" Despite my whining about bruises and stuff, "Ground Fighting Tactics" has got nothing on Officer Response Tactics at FLETC. I had such fantastic bruising, I felt the need to take a picture. But I digress...

Almost 24 hours later, my nose still hurts. Why? Because I keep touching it. I rub the sides of it, the top of it by my eyes, the end of it... I can't escape. If it wasn't painful I wouldn't even realize what I'm doing! How on earth am I going to survive Nepal?

I looked up dysentery on Wikipedia. Not only do the immediate affects sound horrendously inconvenient, but I could come away with a permanent lactose intolerance! It could change me into someone who can't eat ice cream! Or drink milk. Or CHEESE!!!! NO!! I must eat cheese! How could I live without gouda, cheddar, provolone, and creamy havarti?

Here's what Wikipedia says:

Dysentery (formerly known as flux or the bloodie flux) is frequent, small-volume, severe diarrhea that shows blood in the feces along with intestinal cramping and tenesmus (painful straining to pass stool).[1] Additional symptoms frequently associated with dysentery include fever and malaise.

Symptoms include frequent passage of feces/stool, loose motion and in some cases associated vomiting. Variations depending on parasites can be frequent urge with high or low volume of stool, with or without some associated mucus and even blood.
A long term complication of amoebic dysentery is lactose intolerance to dairy products, which usually lasts a few weeks but occasionally may be permanent.

Besides the slight chance of transforming into a wan, pale, non-cheese consuming shadow of myself, the consequences of coming down with dysentery in Nepal could be quit severe. I have hiking to do. There aren't going to be convenient places to crap every 50 feet in the Himalayas. My tour packet says that we have to be in shape enough that we can hike 10 miles a day. How can someone hike any miles a day with severe diarrhea? Will I be left behind? Fodder for the... I don't think there are any large predators in the areas where I'm hiking, but maybe the snow leopards will come down for a sickly white meat snack. Or if I'm beset with dysentery while I'm on elephant back in Royal Chitwan National Park maybe I'll be left behind and the tigers will eat me. Weakened from dehydration I don't think I'd put up much of a fight.

Or will they throw my limp near-corpse on the back of an overloaded Sherpa? Will they drag me with the group or leave me along the side of the trail like the big chest that bogged down the oxen as the covered wagons moved west? Will my abandoned skeleton be added to the somber collection of other dysentery-stricken westerners who weren't able to keep up? Will Montezuma's revenge be my fate?

My only chance is Purell. Lots and lots of Purell.

Pee on the seats

I have to admit that I was surprised by the response I got from one tiny email to my boss...

When I got back from FLETC I found that my women's restroom had been taken over by the guys. They'd made a sign to hang on the outside of the door warning that men were using my shower. That's right, mine. The guys have an identical shower in their men's restroom, but they wanted to use mine. Why? Because the men's restroom smells like pee. Of course they don't want to shower in there!

I was gone for 8 months and I guess they felt they could walk all over poor Tracey by invading the bathroom she was using. Imagine my surprise when I came back. I was a bit affronted and I asked Steve what was wrong with the men's shower? Steve explained that the guys who were showering didn't like rubbing elbows with all the men who'd come in to use the toilets and urinals. I could see Steve's point and I decided I didn't mind. They wanted privacy while they showered and with only two women to inconvenience it wasn't a big deal. I honestly didn't mind them using my shower. They don't get in my hair anyway, I work nights. The guys that shower are the dayshift, mostly. Except for the time Ed left the sign up long after he was done showering and I waited... and waited, it hasn't bothered me.

But the pee on the seats...

First I noticed that my bathroom smelled like pee. One day I walked in and my poor nose was assaulted by the rank smell of stale urine. With just two of us, the women's restroom doesn't see a lot of use. So when someone doesn't flush, it may sit there for several days. The water in this old building is kind of yellowish anyway, so it's hard to see pee in the bowl. But I could smell it and when I looked I could tell which toilet it was in. And there wasn't any toilet paper in there with it. So it wasn't Tracey and it wasn't me. Some man had peed in my toilet and hadn't flushed. Very rude, but I was willing to overlook it.

Then Tracey told me about finding pee on the toilet seats on several occasions. Not only that, but she'd brought in a bottle of cleaning stuff and it had been stolen from our bathroom. And the thief couldn't even be bothered to clean the toilet seats first!

Tracey wasn't going to complain, but I had no problem doing so. I wrote a polite email to my boss. I told him the guys using my shower is fine, but I'd like my toilets (I have three) to be left alone.

The very next time I saw my boss he told me that not only would no men be using my toilets, they wouldn't be using my shower anymore either. Not only that, a contractor was scheduled to come in and clean both restrooms. They've also earmarked some money for expansion of the men's room so the guys can have a little more room during the high traffic times.

Wow! All for a little pee on the seats! If they'd put the seats up before they peed, they'd still be merrily showering away in the women's room. I feel a little guilty to have caused a bigger reaction than I ever intended. However, I also think it's nice that they're going to all this trouble (the contractors even painted the stalls) so appease the women who work here. I guess that's the kind of thing bosses worry about. Not that I would know, but I think we've come a long way. I am very far from feeling that I am discriminated against in the workplace, in fact, I think they over-reacted. I wonder if it's just the Park Service? I'm not complaining, of course. The guys at work are much more disgusting than the two guys I share a bathroom with at home. And now that the women's shower is clean and free of man germs, I might just use it now and then after I work out. ;)

New Glock sights

It's decided

I emailed the Gwalior Children's hospital and I'm going. If you feel that you would like to help out, please go to my site.

http://www.justgiving.com/rizzo

I know what you all might say. Gasp! My identity. But dang it, it wouldn't let me be anonymous.

Finally, Tasers hit the streets!

The NPS Taser policy came out ages ago. Well, actually it was September 15, 2006. Since then my park has been slowly trudging along. Someone was able to convince the Superintendent to allow the tasers in the first place. I wonder how long that took? Our park policy was signed in March 2007. Then they had to find the money to buy them and get people trained as instructors. But they finally delivered. Ours are just like the picture, except they're yellow. I think the yellow is a great idea so they aren't mistaken (by other officers) as guns.

Last night I was the first Ranger at my park to strap on an "Electronic Control Weapon." I realized that I am not allowed to loose any inches from my waist. If that were to happen, the handle of the taser would interfere with my ability to retrieve my second pistol magazine. If I need the second one I have no time to farf around with the taser.

So tonight I hunted in vain for lawbreakers of the feisty variety. Never fear, I will find them. The next guy who wants to wrestle with the park rangers will be in for quite a shock. Ha ha ha.

I appreciate the work that all the bosses put in to getting the Tasers here. And Dave, who got us all trained and who signed my cartridges out to me last night. Anyone up the chain of command could have decided that they didn't want us to have them. It would be easier for them not to deal with the media frenzy that will result when we tase the first unlucky suspect. Since we're the only agency in this area carrying tasers, it is bound to bring an unhappy spotlight on our park. But the Chief and the bosses decided that they would rather take that than forbid us a tool that can possibly keep us from getting hurt. It can also give us an option besides bullets. Despite the negative things you may have heard on the media about tasers, I am happy to have such a neat tool available. And I feel like Batman; my belt is so crowded with gear.

7 Days in India

http://www.bandhavgarhnationalpark.com/

Do I spend the week in Bandhavgarh? Staying in a lodge for $20 a night, going on safari in the mornings and evenings? Photographing wildlife and riding elephants? Canoeing with crocodiles?

http://www.gwalior.hospital.care4free.net/gwalior.html

Or do I spend the week volunteering at Gwalior children's hospital? Helping orphans and kids that are so third world poor I, as an American, can't even imagine what it feels like? We can look at the pictures, but we can't really know what it is until we're there.

Do I spend the week having fun or should I do something that will undoubtedly change me forever?

I'm leaning towards Gwalior. Why not? They say they could use paramedics, so I'm sure they can put this little EMT to work. It'll cost me $300 plus any money I can fund raise (I have no idea how to do that). They ask that volunteers try to raise money beforehand, but it's not required. Other volunteer opportunities charge hundreds more and I'm suspicious of where all that money goes.

And what topic keeps coming up in church? Charity, the pure love of Christ. And service. We feel charity when we serve others and when we have charity, we are more like Christ. And the more like Christ we are, the more we build our character into something extraordinary. The reason I'm here on earth is to test my character and to make it into something. I should take this opportunity to serve others. I know my week of work won't make much difference to the poor of Gwalior, but it will make a huge difference to me.

Dreams

Most of the time I don't remember my dreams. But when I do, they're usually entertaining. There was the time I infiltrated Al-Qaida as a spy, watching an execution I narrowly avoided having to preform, and the time I was weightless in a plummeting elevator. Or when I was hanged in my living room or swam down a flooded stairwell.

Last night I dreamed I was on a sandy beach in the summertime. There was a man floating face down in the surf and I thought for sure he was a corpse. He was naked and his hairy white butt was floating above the waves. I didn't want to go in the water and get dead person goo on me to drag him out. Then I noticed another naked man in the waves nearby. The second guy was standing in the water. Then the first guy, who I thought was dead, stood up to.

For whatever reason I scooped up a handful of wet sand and shaped it into a ball. It behaved like wet snow. I then threw it at one of the naked guys and I yelled something about them needing to put clothes on. I threw another sand ball at the second guy. Then, not surprisingly, they started yelling at me. They said something about my weight; they said I was fat and that I must weigh 200 pounds. I responded that it was all muscle and I'd prove it by kicking their butts (I don't really weigh 200 pounds). You know how dream people move from place to place without actually taking the time to cover the distance? Well, there they were in my face suddenly. And then there's the way dream people can instantly change clothes or appearance? They were suddenly dressed to. One of them took a swing at me, which I dodged. I grabbed his arm and took him face down into the sand. I knelt on his back and grabbed his buddy around the throat, tucking his head into my elbow. There was some wrestling around and then... an annoying beeping sound. I woke up ready to rip my alarm clock apart with my teeth.

Apparently, I'm very defensive about my weight.

I bought my tickets!

To Nepal and India!!!!

I was working with a travel agent who suggested I spend my extra week in Bangkok. I think she must get a commission with Thai Airways or something. She said, "Everyone flies through Bangkok." The best she could do was $2500 and she had me flying west. Boston to San Fran to Japan to Bangkok to Nepal. Back the same way. It seemed like an excessive amount of flying to me.

Instead, I bought three one way tickets and saved almost $500. Not to mention all those hours and plane transfers! But Bangkok had to go, it was just to spendy. I'll have to go to Thailand another time. I think this works out well anyway since when I was looking at the guidebook for Thailand I was accumulating more than a week's worth of activities.

So I'm flying from Boston to DC to Qatar to Kathmandu. Qatar is a small country in the middle east, heretofore unheard of (by me). I've got a 9 hour layover there, but I still manage to arrive in Kathmandu in less time than with my other itinerary. I'm not sure what I'm going to do for 9 hours. When I had an extra long layover in French Polynesia once I left the airport and wandered the streets. I found a place to eat. I failed to converse with the locals, none of whom spoke English (and I know about three words in French). I sweated something fierce in the horridly humid place, but I enjoyed my respite from a long flight.

I'm not sure if I'm courageous enough to venture forth alone in a middle eastern country. We'll see. I might spend 9 hours in the airport.

I get to Nepal and meet up with my tour group. I'll spend 16 glorious days trekking in the Himalayas and riding elephants in the jungle. Weather permitting I'll have a flight seeing tour of Mt. Everest. Here's a picture of some of the scenery on my hike (courtesy of the REI Adventures website). I can't wait to see it in person!

Then I'll hop on a 1 hour 40 minute flight to Delhi for 7 days of solo sightseeing. I don't even know what I'm going to do yet. If I weren't so embarrassingly inflexible I might take a Yoga class. I'll be visiting the Taj Mahal, of course. And I'd like to see the Ganges River (although I don't think I'll have any desire to drink from it like the Hindu pilgrims. I'm guessing it's pretty yucky). I'll eat lots of food and buy as much stuff as I can cram into my bag. Other than that, my schedule is empty. This weekend, I'll head to the library and see if the Lonely Planet India guidebook is there.

I am really excited. This is going to be an amazing trip. There is the possibility that I will be hassled in the airports with all my one way tickets making me look suspicious. I'll have to leave plenty of time for unexpected interviews in brightly lit back rooms and meticulous inspections of my baggage. I can hardly wait!... I mean, for the trip. This is going to be so cool!

My first ever...

Sword. Yes, a sword. A long, shiny, metal sword.

Dave had just finished putting my suspect into the car. Cuffed, searched, and stuffed. I wandered over to the suspects truck to take a peek inside (while trying not to lean against the puke on the running board. That's what I call a clue).

Imagine my surprise when I opened the back door. The first thing my eyes hit on was the large handle of a sword sticking out from under the back seat. My eyes stretched to dinner plate size. "Dave! Dave!" I hissed. I think... no, I won't try to hide it, I swore. Like a sailor, though I will spare you here. "He's got a sword! A sword!"

Dave came over, as calm as ever, and pulled the sword out from under the seat. It was at least three feet long. Well over the 2.5 inch blades that are allowed inside my parcel of federal jurisdiction. And it wasn't a little sissy fencing sword. In my excited state I thought, "Claymore! It's a dang claymore!" But it really wasn't big enough for that. No kilted Scottish clansman would've needed two hands to wield it. It was only a broadsword. Dave pointed out that it had no edge and apparently it wasn't just any sword, it was Excalibur. King Arthur's sword, if I'm not mistaken. What it was doing under the seat of the guy with the alligator shoes and three piece pimp suit, I don't think I'll ever know. But Dave's calm voice of reason assured me that it wasn't a weapon... it was a collector's sword. Not capable of slicing and dicing, just perhaps poking.

The suspect assured us later that he's no Highlander, we won't find any headless corpses lying around. Apparently he'd recently taken it out of his storage unit or some such nonsense. Next time I ask someone if they have any weapons in the car, I should be more specific. "Do you have any knives, guns, axes, explosives, ... swords." You never know what you're going to find.