Two Days in Meat Camp

After Paying the Stupid Tax

A few days ago, my nephew (and Godson) Conor graduated from Appalachian (app-uh-LAH-chin) State University in lovely Boone, North Carolina. I was in attendance, as when I left the Navy sixteen years ago, one of the promises I made to myself was that I would “show up” more often, and I think I’ve done a fair job pulling it off.

Boone is a college town, and if it isn’t in the middle of nowhere, you can see the middle of nowhere from it. Surrounded by incredible scenic beauty, you’re looking a probably at least sixty miles of travel on winding two-lane roads no matter which direction you approach it from, once you leave an interstate. The route my car’s navigation system took me treated me to nearly ninety miles between I-81 and Boone, essentially the hypotenuse of a right triangle except it was a meandering hypotenuse. Had I stayed on I-81 longer, there were several other options with 1) better roads and 2) less time on them. I chose one of these alternate paths on the ride home.

Conor is the son of my sister Kelly and her husband David, two of the very best people I know. They and son #2 (Rory) rented an Air-B-N-B for the weekend, and I was invited to bunk with them. This was a spectacular decision on my part for any number of reasons, which included 1) free 2) David is a gourmet cook and 3) the house was located in a place called Meat Camp, North Carolina, which is a few miles north of Boone. I saw a sign or two for “Meat Camp” on the drive in, but by that time I was so exhausted (more on that later) that I figured there was some cooking school nearby or something like that.

After waking from my nap and joining the others for dinner, I became aware of the fact that the house I was living in was in an actual town called “Meat Camp”, and I simply could not stop making “Meat Camp” allusions in conversation for the next full day. I have been home in Maryland for 24 hours, and I cannot get the fact that there is a town in America called Meat Camp.

Conor and me

Conor is a fine young man. He is in my will if for no other reason than he occasionally calls me “Godfather”. He’s taller than I, but I grabbed strategic ground for the picture to bring us into a common plane. I would be lying if I told you that I knew what he majored in—or more to the point, what his degree was granted in—but I do know that it involved the production of video and audio content and that he will likely go to work in local television somewhere as a start. If you are in television or video content production, Conor’s your man, let me tell you. He is somewhat of an expert in the Boone environs, and he was happy to give me some of the history of Meat Camp. I need to find a T-Shirt with “Meat Camp” on it.

My trip to Meat Camp, Boone, Appalachian State University etc. played out far differently than I’d hoped it would, and for that, I wound up paying The Stupid Tax. The Stupid Tax was introduced to me by a guy I used to know, and in a nutshell, it means that when you are inconvenienced/waste money as a result of your own stupidity, the proper reaction is to suck it up and move on. No bitching. It’s nobody’s fault but your own. My travel schedule last week had me flying to California on Sunday afternoon evening, red-eyeing back to Dulles Airport landing at 0520 on Thursday, driving over to Reagan National, switching suitcases, and then hopping a 1000 flight to Greensboro NC with rental car transport the remaining two hours.

My first sense that something was wrong—was very wrong—was early Thursday morning on the people mover at Dulles, when I checked my boarding pass and it said something like boarding was in sixteen hours. I figured this must be a relic of having downloaded the pass the day before and thought nothing of it. When I got to National, I looked for my flight—and it wasn’t there. There was a flight to Greensboro at 0837, and so I figured that it would post when that flight boarded. At no point in this scenario did I wonder if the 1000 hrs. flight was actually a 2200 hrs. flight. Until I did. then I looked really closely on my boarding pass and yep—I had made the flight for that night, rather than that morning.

I still had time to go catch the 0837 flight, as it was just 0700 or so. I went over to AMERICAN AIRLINES Customer service intending to change my ticket to the earlier flight if there were room on it. When I approached the two (unencumbered) ladies at the desk, I stated my problem.

“Sir, because your change is a “day of” change, you’ll need to change it on the AMERICAN AIRLINES app.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes sir. You need to try and change it on the app.”

“But I am here. With you. A human being. Why would I go to the app if I have you sitting right there?”

“I’m sorry sir, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Well, can you check the status of the flight I want to get on and see if there is room?”

Which she did. “No sir, it is full”.

So I walked away. And I paid The Stupid Tax. I walked back out to the garage, hopped in my car, and drove 393 miles to Meat Camp, arriving two minutes after the Air-B-N-B was available to us (stopping along the way at Cracker Barrel for “Chicken Fried Chicken” and biscuits, America’s finest meal). And then Saturday morning I woke up at the crack of Meat Camp and drove 468 miles back home.

The thing is, I enjoyed it. Well most of it, Thursday afternoon’s ninety miles of switchbacks took the piss out of me. But I was able to reconnect with my fine young nephews, participate in an important ceremony that marks a huge accomplishment, and hang out with my sister and brother-in-law, two people who have been carrying a massive load in our family as my parents individually attempt to live forever, with one still in the running.

I’m glad I paid The Stupid Tax and went to Meat Camp.

National Commission on the Future of the Navy

I’ve written here before of my nomination (by the Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, Rep. Mike Rogers (R--AL) to a National Commission on the Future of the Navy, which the Congress created in the 2023 National Defense Authorization Act. The Commission was to begin its deliberations within 90 days of the act being signed, which would have put its first meeting on March 22, 2023. The Commission was required to submit its findings to Congress by 1 July 2024 (six weeks from now).

Over the weekend I learned that all eight members had been appointed, only a little short of fourteen months late and with only six weeks left in the mandate. The Act requires the Commission to meet within 30 days of all eight members being nominated, so I suppose the clock is ticking on that first meeting.

There is talk of bi-partisan and bi-cameral agreement that the Commission should have its mandate extended, and it falls to others with greater legislative backgrounds than I to explain how a Commission legislated into existence with a “sell by date” of 1 July 2024 can be extended without additional legislation. I hope everyone is able to slap the table and make this happen (an extension) because 1) I consider the work of this Commission to be among the most important things I have been a part of and 2) the Navy (and the country) would benefit from the attention the Commission brings to many of the big challenges it faces. More to follow.