Self Absorbed Scribblings
While my brother has been more forthcoming in some aspects of his life, it turns out I have not. While I have no illusions that any aspects of my life could possibly be fascinating to the 5 or 6 regular readers of this blog, it can’t hurt to put a somewhat more human face to the mysterious ‘DCE’.
I am a Yankee, through and through. Born in Connecticut, and schooled in Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania (an anomaly, I know, but my parents insisted that I move with them -- after all, I was only 10 years old), back to Massachusetts, then Connecticut, and finally New Hampshire. Somehow I survived the trials and tribulations of childhood, adolescence, and adulthood to become what I am today – a somewhat surly curmudgeon of the type that only northern New England welcomes and encourages.
I finally made the move to New Hampshire on a permanent basis back in 1980. Except for the occasional business trip or trips to England to see my then fiancée (now my ex-fiancée), I pretty much stay close to home (‘home’ being the entire state of New Hampshire). I still get over to England from time to time. I really like the people, but the driving still scares the hell out of me!
My sisters live in Massachusetts. My parents live in Connecticut, though they are planning to move up here once their place in Connecticut is sold. From my dear brother’s postings, you know he recently escaped from the People’s Republic of Massachusetts and now resides here in the ‘Live Free or Die’ state.
I have been accused of being a raconteur, but I have to admit that many of the stories I tell I stea…uh….borrow from better storytellers than I. That doesn’t change the fact that I can tell ‘em pretty well, including the downeast Maine “Can’t get there from here” kind of stories. I’ve got a million of ‘em.
Some parts of my life I have no desire to remember, let alone relate, but let me just say that my luck has been abysmally poor when it comes to the opposite sex. If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. It isn’t that I’m an ogre: I bathe daily; I’ve got a great personality (which, as everyone knows, is the Kiss of Death when it comes to meeting a friend of a friend); a somewhat twisted and perverse sense of humor (or humour, as they say in Jolly Olde); good manners (my parents would not allow me any other kind); and my visage is not unpleasant to look upon (at least when I walk down the street, mothers don’t pull their children closer to them and say “My god, what is that thing?!”). I admit to the occasional short-term membership in the He-Man Women Hater’s Club, but I like women too much to stay mad at them for more than a week or two. One thing I will share with you -- The worst experience I ever had (that I am willing to mention) was watching the woman I loved more than anyone in the world marry someone she didn’t love. Talk about ripping your heart out.
My girlfriend is moving out of state, as her job demands it. Not that she minds leaving New Hampshire (she really hates it here), but she’s a Southern gal and she wants to head back down to the Carolinas where she feels she fits in better. She knows I won’t fit in down there (I’m too much of a Yankee), so she didn’t even bother asking because she knew what my answer would be.
I don’t know what it is about me, but I always seem to hook up with women that are workaholics and live too damn far away. Too many of them feel they’re slacking if they aren’t putting in at least 70 hours a week at work. What is up with that? When I do meet them, I meet them here, but they’re always from someplace else! I’m beginning to wonder what I need to do to find a local woman willing to put up with me.
My parents despair of me ever settling down again. It’s not like I’m not trying.
By profession, I am an electrical engineer. I work for a small fiber optics test equipment manufacturer located in the beautiful Lakes Region of New Hampshire. I also put in 20 years in the defense industry, plying my trade at Raytheon, working on many different defense systems. Some including phased array radar like PAVE PAWS, missile systems such as Sparrow, Sidewinder, AMRAAM (the ‘Slammer’), Patriot, Hawk, and other projects I could tell you about, but then I’d have to kill you.
By avocation, I am a writer. I write a lot. Too much of it is for work as it appears that I am the best writer they’ve got, hence I get to do much of the scut work such as writing up evaluations of equipment or new electronic devices, rewriting technical papers for one or two of the Ph.D.’s at work (their native language isn’t English, and their second language is Bad English), some technical writing (Engineering Design and Test Specifications….one of my favorites *yawn*). But I love writing for myself, either for the blog, or for my books. I’ve written two books so far and am working on a third. There are also quite a few short stories out there written under my nom du wordprocessor. My worst writing is for the blog. My best is for the books. Writing for work is somewhere in between.
None of my computers is store-bought. With one exception, every computer I’ve owned I’ve built myself. The exception was a machine that is still being used in an extreme environment, built by a friend of mine. Mostly, I use Windows 2000 at work and home, but I also have a Linux machine and an older Pentium machine running Windows NT and OS/2 Warp 4, a vastly underrated operating system. (It’s my opinion that if IBM had pushed OS/2 Warp, we’d be saying “Windows what?” these days. It was far superior to Windblows 95, 98, and maybe ME, but Microsoft did the marketing and IBM didn’t. Too bad.)
In an earlier post, I mentioned that I live on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee. It’s not that I’ve got loads of cash, but I was fortunate enough a find a place that was very inexpensive in comparison to all of the other residences on the lake. The house is a Victorian with a wonderful wraparound porch. Unfortunately the house is slowly lapsing into genteel decay, but the owners don’t seem to care. What a shame. The view is nothing to brag about as the house overlooks the southern end of one of the bays, which happens to be the home to not one, not two, but three marinas. I get to see lots of very expensive boats heading out in the morning or coming back in afternoon or evening. There are boat slips along the edge of my back yard. I wish I could say that one of the boats docked there belongs to me, but I can’t. That doesn’t stop me from getting out on the lake throughout the summer, but I end up renting a boat for the day. In the long run it’s a lot cheaper than owning. As the old saying goes, a boat is a hole in the water that you keep pouring money in to. I prefer to rent the hole, not own it.
Well, I figure that’s enough about me for now. There’s no need to bore the 5 or 6 of you out there with any more details for the moment.