Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Corpsman Chronicles XV: Seagulls gotta eat too
There's a scene in Crocodile Dundee (or maybe CDII, I forget) where Mick sics a big snake on the bad guys who were gathered around a campfire in the non-steakhouse outback. The bad guys scream like girls, with the exception of their Australian guide, who dispatches the snake and says, "It's just a python yuh big gurrl!"
I tried to find that clip but was unsuccessful. Ah well.
So anyway, I'm healing up nicely from my recent foot infection/surgery. Still a little gimpy but getting better every day. And only nine more days of IV antibiotics!
Unfortunately, I managed to catch the holiday cold that's going around. Cough and congestion, aches and pains, fever and chills, malaise and exhaustion. You get the picture. Five days into this thing and I'm miserable as hell. It's not nearly as bad as the last two winter cold/flu episodes I had, so that is a big plus. But I'm still feeling crappy enough to feel vewy, vewy sowwy fow mysef.
We had some very cold weather last week, with overnight lows falling to minus 20 and a three-day average temp of well below zero. The last few days have been quite balmy and pleasant with daytime temps nudging 50 and a good bit of sunshine. South and west of us the winds are howling but they remain fairly calm here.
Perusing my daily blogs I note that Sarge had a rough go-round with caffeine-fueled insomnia last night. I hate it when that happens. Which reminds me of a story from my youth.
Sometime back in the mid- to late-60's, a new winter beverage wave was sweeping the nation. I mentioned this to several people this morning and they all started edging away from me and preparing to run. But it was real, and really, really a thing. I have proof!
Well, out on the ranch we took note of Dick's recommendation, and on New Year's Eve Mom prepared a steaming cauldron of the stuff for to toast in the New Year.
I probably drank a gallon.
And didn't sleep at all that night. It was quite vexing.
Many years later I was in boot camp at RTC San Diego. Somehow I managed to be the academic honor recruit of the company. Myself and a pair of other company honorees were allowed two hours of on-base liberty the night before graduation. Which seemed like a really big deal at the time but which actually meant we had to hump it two miles to a gedunk stand (our only allowed "liberty" destination) and back within the allotted time frame, and somehow figure out how to have a fun, relaxing and joyous time.
Well, the gedunk stand had pop and candy bars and nothing else. I'm guessing we each consumed a dozen snickers and a dozen cans of pop. I was a Dr Pepper man so that was my poison. As you might imagine, we lingered as long as we possibly could at the gedunk stand, reveling in our pseudo freedom. We waited long past a prudent time to begin our return to the barracks, but we were young and fit and used to running our silly naval asses off.
We hadn't before had the opportunity to run with bellies full of chocolate, caramel, peanuts and frothing carbonated syrup though. We were really very nearly late, and decided to run across the main grinder (parade/marching ground) to save time. This maneuver, iirc, was strictly forbidden, but it was mid-winter and already dark out and the grinders were not well illuminated. We dashed across, despite the possibility of being caught and sent to Leavenworth.
Well, we dashed part-way across. In the middle of the grinder our stomachs finally rebelled at the abuse and we three pretty much simultaneously blew bubbling goo all over the asphalt.
With all that crap out of our systems we could run like deer and we returned to the barracks in the nick of time.
The next morning was graduation, with hundreds of newly-minted sailors marching in review in front of lots of brass and proud family members. For some unexplained reason, though, there were hundreds of seagulls flocking around three oval stains in the middle of the grinder.