We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
In the late 1800s, yacht clubs were established along the northeast coast of the US with a dual purpose in mind: yacht-racing, and making sure there were enough sea-wise people to fill the ranks of naval officers in the event of need. Thus these old yacht clubs functioned as an informal naval auxiliary, as does the excellent US Power Squadron.
That is the reason that these clubs are commissioned each spring, and de-commissioned each fall; that is the reason for the para-military uniforms worn by yacht club officers on formal occasions; that is the reason such clubs always have a "Ship's Surgeon" and a "Fleet Captain," and that is the reason the chairmen of yacht clubs are titled "Commodore" - the lowest rank of Admiral in many navies.
My club, which was my parent's and grandparent's club, founded in 1880 in Westchester County, NY, held its commissioning last Monday. It's always a stirring event (for the non-terminally cynical), and always the same, complete with dressed ships, cannon fire, the national anthem, the first raising of the flags for the year, state and local dignitaries (no Hillary), representative officers from other Long Island Sound yacht clubs within drinking-and-driving distance, a long prayer, recognition of members who died over the past year, recognition and appreciation of the devoted club staff, speeches, etc. Then dinner. It's an unspoken rule that every member shows up in blazer, tie, and good cheer - or have a good excuse not to ... plus the pre-ceremony cocktail hour is "free."
Image: That's the fashionable north shore of Long Island in the far distance, where the anorectic women with their fancy horses, and their tall, elegant, seemingly-diffident husbands all speak Locust Valley Lockjaw - aka Connecticut Lockjaw - about 6-7 miles across Long Island Sound. The green spot just offshore is just some little island with a huge egret colony - but of no military significance!
You do not live in reality. You would not know reality if it hit you on the head. Your games are pathetic. You should try living in one room with a light bulb and no job, and then tell me about your dinners and your cocktails. When we Dems take over in November, your ilk will be the first to go down. Count on it - plan for it. You people are in deep trouble.