My Brother is Missing

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Just In Time

I’m on Attu Island in Alaska as I write this. How insane is that? I’m 1,100 miles from mainland Alaska and I can still play poker and blog on the Internet. It is, admittedly, rather choppy Internet . (It's no worse than Maine in similar weather.)

The weather is awful!!!!! This place routinely sees 50-80 mph winds this time of year. At one point their records showed over 170 mph within the last year. I fall asleep each night to the sound of a freight train outside my window. I have not stepped a single foot outside since walking over from the runway last Wednesday. It’s not that it is that incredibly awful, it’s just so very intimidating. I keep waiting for an Imperial Walker to walk around the corner when I look out of the window. Hell, the windows! Half the time they’re plastered with snow from the drifts!

And yet I’m terribly pleased to be on this trip. It’s only a two week stay on the island. Well, IF the C-130 can land, it’s only two weeks. LORAN stations are the first step in the process of cutting the Coast Guard budget. Since I’ve been here they’ve already shut down their major signal. By next year this LORAN station and many (all?) of the other LORAN stations will be shut down permanently. Attu Island will return to Population Zero (as it probably should be considering how inhospitable it is). I’m glad I was given the opportunity to make it out here, even if the only pics I get are on my way back to the C-130 next week. :D

'Aint Right Again

If my prognostication record were a batting average I’d be in the Hall of Fame. That’s even in this Athletes Juicing and Media Acting Surprised Era. However, I miss a lot. I’d say that, if you take away every 10 point spread offered each week of the NFL season, I’d be .500 or less. That means I miss more than I hit.

Sometimes I get a feeling. As a poker acquaintance of mine says (quite often) if you’ve got a hunch, bet a bunch. Of course he’s really saying if you’ve got a hunch, call a bunch. That’s not the same as a bet. Nevermind.

I am not a gambler. Okay! Stop laughing! I like poker a lot. I also enjoy participating in football “office” pick contests. But I simply do not gamble. My poker I see as an investment. I purchase books related to the topic and I study them. I pay attention at the table to the players around me and I study them. I record situations in my brain and play them back over and over and over again and I study them. The end result of all of this studying is a consistent upward trend in the amount of money I have won over the long haul.

As far as football picks? I haven’t put my money where my mouth is since the Ravens won the Super Bowl. And I don’t play that stupid fantasy football crap (not even for fun). I just can’t handle it emotionally. I mean, what if Tom Brady were the next best QB in the draft and ended up on my team? I can’t then root for him. It won’t happen. I’d rather draft Jim Harbaugh and ask him nicely to come out of retirement.

So sometimes I get a feeling. Part of the reason I don’t gamble is that I won’t hesitate to run with the feeling I have. There’s a lot that goes into a feeling. In poker I could get the feeling that hunch-bunch is chasing a flush draw. There’s a lot of visual evidence and past experience that feeds that feeling. In any given situation my feeling is a probable truth that needs to be considered.

Sometimes feelings are driven by emotions and desires. If I have four hearts in Hold’em with two cards to come, whether I feel it or not one time in five that fifth heart is coming on the next card. Acting on the feeling that the fifth heart is coming by calling a bunch is always a mistake (even when that heart comes!).

I had a feeling the Colts would win the Super Bowl. I also had a feeling the score wouldn’t begin to approach the over/under of 56.5. One feeling had a lot more evidence feeding it. The other had mixed evidence and mixed emotions and desires feeding it. Can you guess which?

Congratulations Saints. I didn’t expect that your superstars would outlast the superstars of the Colts. I am happy for you and your fans (especially the three or four real fans that I know). I’m also happy for your 30,000,000 fans that you started picking up last year. Where were they ten years ago?

Welcome To Kodiak

It’s been 12 years and some months since I moved out of the last “Squad Bay” I ever lived in. I guess it’s not terribly fair to call this a squad bay. It’s more like a very privacy-be-damned barracks room for three with minimal furnishings and amenities. I have a rack, a locker, and a desk. There is one couch by the door, but it looks old and dank so I haven’t risked it yet. Attached to the space is a head with two of everything.

I’m sharing the space with a just-graduated non-rate on his way to the Munro, Kodiak’s 378’, and an SNET(?) en route to his PCS duty station in Attu. I should know him rather well after two days here and two weeks there.

There are two doors leading into the squad bay. The one to the left of my rack (which is in the middle of the room) leads to a hallway and stairs that get me to the main hallway. I have no idea where the door on the right goes. However, this morning someone waltzed in through said door to talk to the new guy to my right. When they left together, they went out through the right door (door on right?) and magically appeared in the dining facility while I was eating breakfast. My guess is you can get out that way.

I am so glad that I spent three months in St. Paul and not in this room. Attu should be a cake walk.