Waylaid Warrior Poet

Ritual

2009-04-01T16:54:00.004-04:00

I'm not superstitious. Not even the least bit. Hell, I even consider the number 13 to be my lucky number because nobody else is using it. Oddly, here I sit thinking about something I've caught myself doing. I know where and when it started. It just made sense at the time in some strange way. What is worth sharing is how it sneaked its way into my combat zone.

I was standing on the runway in Fort Benning, Georgia facing a screaming beast of a military aircraft, a bundle of raw nerves bound tightly into a parachute harness, when I found myself doing it. I was apologizing to each and every person who would be impacted by my death. "I'm really sorry I died." Each step forward brought me closer to the bird and whatever fate awaited me. The hot exhaust of the idling C17 washed over me threatening to steal my breath and burn my skin. Each step was punctuated with another silent apology. As I entered the calm of the lee side of the aircraft fuselage at the rear ramp, I ran out of people who needed to hear from me. "Well, that's it...I reckon I'm as ready as I'm gonna be," I thought as I did what I figured was the only sane thing to do at this point. I planted a kiss on my fingers and transferred it to the frame of the ramp as I climbed aboard with one last thought, "Get me there safe...I'll take care of the rest." It all turned out alright. The bird got me to my jump point safe and I did indeed take care of the rest. Each and every time since where I have boarded a military craft, air or land, I've done the whole deal. With all the traveling which is done in the military, I've even extended the kiss part on to civilian aircraft.

I stand at the entry of my combat outpost in southern Afghanistan facing the blurry and sandy expanse of desert steppe, a bundle of raw nerves crammed into heavy body armor, and I find myself doing it. Each step forward brings me closer and closer to whatever fate may hold for me. The oppressive heat, confined armor, and weight of my equipment mirror the feelings of guilt my heart experiences as I snake around the barricades. Each step brings yet another apology to another loved one. "I'm really sorry I fucked up and died." I run out of apologies as I approach the last perimeter, "Well, that's it...I reckon I'm as ready as I'm gonna be." I bring the magazine clutched in my gloved, non-firing hand up to my face and kiss the top two exposed rounds, "Fly true for me...I'll take care of the rest." I slap the magazine into my rifle, pull the charging handle to seat the first round into the chamber, and step forward to meet whatever fate has in store for me this day.

If you manage by chance to observe a soldier engaged in their ritual, I just ask you recognize it for what it truly is. It is not a quaint good luck token. It is us making peace with the very possible failure of not being able to take care of the rest and the rough stop at the end which such failure implies. With that peace of mind we are able to jump into the screaming void, face what feels to be a certain doom, and accomplish what so very few others can. If y'all can take care of that much...we'll take care of the rest.

Believer

2009-01-11T14:07:00.005-05:00

I realized tonight, out here in the armpit of the world and freezing my ass off, why I always get sucker punched by romantic movies. Firstly, it isn't easy to watch any movie which isn't action, comedy, horror, or porn with this group of peers lurking about. It is only a matter of moments before somebody pops their head into your sleep box to check on the goings on with a, "Whatchya watchin?" Enough about all that though and back to the reason why I get clobbered by movies and stories of this general nature.

I am a believer. I am a true believer. You give me a good "happy ever after" fairy tale and I buy in lock, stock, and barrel. I've always believed in fairy tales. I've been teased and ridiculed...been called everything from a dreamer to deluded. I'm really glad strong faith, persistence, and hard work paid off for me. More on that in a minute though. I knew I was a believer a while back and it's not the big revelation. I remembered, as I sorted out my thoughts about it while walking across the FOB in the cold dark to make a phone call, I've already written something so much more eloquent about my believer-osity. My sleep depraved mind went into overdrive for a few seconds attempting to recall when and why. Aha! I remembered. I might still have it handy.

Back to the payoff and the real revelation. Believing wasn't enough to snag myself a piece of the dream. Speaking up about believing helped a lot. I even managed to find myself another dreamer, even if she didn't know she was a believer at the time. I wrote something for my wife while we were first dating. When I knew for sure she was the one for me but she still had doubts. It was straight from the heart. Written without the smallest bit of reservation. I was not afraid to boldly kick open the doors, saunter in, and announce, "Howdy...I believe in fairy tales and happy endings." I can't thank my lucky stars enough for allowing me to notice I had my happy ending right there in front of me. I can't appreciate my dumb luck enough for having stumbled upon my fairy tale. I am dumbfounded by the blind wisdom which granted me the strength to hold onto my happy ever after, allowed me to refuse to let go, and helped me ride out the storms. The happy endings get to me every time because I believe. They get to me because I found mine.

Hijacked, Bitches!

2008-12-03T17:08:00.003-05:00

While Soldier Boy is en route and unable to access his blog, I have successfully hacked his blogger account to put up this post. I will face the consequences later. (Teehee!)

On this day, thirty three looooong years ago, my darling husband (aka Soldier Boy; aka LostWarriorPoet; aka Schnookum Bear), was brought forth into this world of beauty, strife and wonder. He spent the first few years of his life as a lederhosen wearing German boy, before coming to America and eventually turning into the chaw chewin redneck that we all know and love today.

He is many, many things, some of them admirable, some of them annoying, but most of all, he is my heart and shares my soul. My life is brighter, happier and more peaceful because he is in it.

May his ability to find humor in the darkest of hours never cease. May our love continue to grow and thrive. And may we both see enough birthdays to be old and gray, sitting on our sailboat halfway around the world talking wistfully about the ranch bank home, remembering the good old days when our children were small, when we were poor and hopelessly in love.

Happy birthday, sweetheart.

Nastiness, Engaged

2008-11-29T06:38:00.002-05:00

Top this one y'all.

1 month, 10 days, and 7 hours.

Time elapsed in the bowl of moon dust since my last shower.

2

Number of uniforms I wore in the same period of time.

3

Number of times I changed my drawers and T shirts.

2,350-ish

Number of times I giggled to myself about bringin' a nasty lil surprise home in a garbage bag at the bottom of my duffel for sweet wifey.

The look on her face as she read this....priceless.

Coping

2008-09-30T03:32:00.002-04:00

Lately I've been in some kind of depression. I don't know what to make of it really. I'm always tired...but that's also a product of the environment. A strange bed and people trying openly out to kill you will do that to you. Rather, the real indicator is I always want to sleep. Sleep is my only respite from the constant pile of work which must be done. Most of this work I see as a total waste of my life and I hate every aspect of it. Sleep is my only time off from the responsibilities we all shoulder over here. Sleep is the only thing we often feel we have to look forward to each day. It seems my only to escape is to drift away to sleep. It is there where I can again know the joys of seeing my wife smile and hear her laughter unimpeded by thousands of miles of telecommunication. It is there where I can play with my children and watch them grow. It is there where I can enjoy moments of peaceful and quiet solitude fishing on the lake. It's a daily struggle. I have moments of victory over its oppressive weight. Some days are better than others. Hell, some moments are better than others. I find my lack of engagement with events and lack of enthusiasm with anything appalling. I don’t want to be like this. I think it’s just a survival mechanism. Just a way of coping with the pile of stress waiting to pounce me every time I open my eyes. My battle buddy and I came to grips about us being like this a few weeks ago as we sat on a wooden bench together talking after dinner. The two of us were just sitting in the dark talking about how much we were going to enjoy passing out later as we leaned against the concrete barricade behind us. I broke the settled silence that occurs often when you know what the other person is thinking 90% of the time.

“You know what this means, right?” I asked unenthusiastically.

After sighing, he absently replies, “yeah…I’m afraid so.”

“Fuckin’ depression. Kinda sneaks up on you don’t it?” I admitted.

Not breaking his glance from the dust-muted stars above, he slowly nodded his head and said, “Yup.”

Another several minutes of silence followed. I gave in first and casually surrender, “Fuck it, I’m going to bed.”

“Yeah, me too.” He replied.

As I begin to awaken each day, I look forward to the next time which I might again go back to sleep. Not really knowing when that might be, I hope it will be sooner rather than later. A good coma would probably do me wonders right around now.

PAgofuckyourselfO

2008-09-30T03:29:00.002-04:00

I've been assigned yet another of many additional duties I could give a fuck about. This official waste of my life is referred to as "public affairs." By assigned, I really mean I was told I was doing it despite the fact I vociferously hate this exact kind of shit. I wonder if they remembered about my lack complete absence of diplomatic tact. Maybe they need a fucking reminder. I have this uncanny propensity for telling damn near everyone where to stick it. I'm politically incorrect, blunt, brutally honest, neglectful of cultural considerations, quick to voice my thoughts, hot tempered, already fucking pissed about what I am tasked to do this deployment, and prone to not giving a fuck about what anyone else thinks or feels. I creatively use expletives like punctuation and have used “fuck” five different ways in one complete sentence. I’m probably one of 4 people in my unit that can identify a complete sentence. I am fueled by rage. I use caffeine like nitrous gets used by a suicidal, lead-footed speed freak running in last place. Sure, this is a perfect fit. To be truthful, the only reason I have this job is I can spell good (sic) and use big words. It also helps that computers don't confound me and I can type without looking at the keyboard between two index finger pecks. My primary task as PAgofuckyourselfO, write a stupid fucking article weekly to be posted on our higher unit’s website for our “extended family” to include photos. I already have an idea of what our first one will be. I’ll title it, “Chillaxin’ on the FOB, NATO style.” I’ll see how many times I can insult the overlords of all things NATO and I’ll include the photo referred to in #11 and #12 in Perspective. I think I’ll even pick a weekly themed virus to embed in my digital submission just to remind them why one doesn’t pick someone who is “smart with computers” to do this worthless crap. Yeah, this might just work out after all.

Perspective

2008-09-06T12:01:00.003-04:00

You hear a lot of weird shit around the FOB. Most of the following came right out of my piehole or was said in response to something equally crazy that I said. Some of it I overheard and did not observe directly, but it still made me laugh/smile. OK, maybe I'm the only one who instantly notices how hilarious out of place shit can sound when not in the context it was said. Contextual reference with troops who are bored, lonely, frustrated, horny, and/or scared usually implies standing in the speaker's boots. Strange things happen in a person's psyche in a place like this. Eh, it's all just a matter of perspective. Much like a joke nobody laughs at, but everyone can't stop laughing about it when their usual viewpoint is altered by recreational chemicals. Then again, it could just be I have a warped sense of humor which went spra-boing a long time ago and it's only in phase with people coping with the stress of armed combat.

" 'Guaranteed Bursting Test: 550 pounds' Huh, I guess I can eat MRE's until I am 550 lbs...at which point I will promptly burst."

"Fuck, there is POO all over this map." ¹
"Gotta give the French credit, they are still here and they haven't dropped their rifles yet. Not to mention the croissants in the chow hall are better than that Pilsbury shit"

"Holy shit, Sergeant! You were right...this is WAY better than recycling." ²

"Wow, the USO show is in town. Damn those shorts are gay." ³

"ATTENTION: They are now serving porn and brownies at the chow hall. No...not really but look at you fuckers bounce out of bed like something's chasing you." ⁴

"I'm bringing 'Howdy' back. I won't quit till I hear any random soldier from every nation here in NATO fucking say it."

"How come you're huggin’ your mom more passionately in this picture than your girlfriend in the other picture?"

"It's really not THAT big a deal. Sure they're trying to kill you, but...in all honesty...you are trying to kill them too. You just happen to be better trained at making it happen. At least they're up front and honest about it. Sure, they're trying to be sneaky about it. Back home, fuckers lie to your face about wanting to kill you and you have no idea who the fuck wants you dead. Here you know they're out there waiting. Here, it's pretty fucking easy...it's the dude's shooting at you or the fuckers running after the IED goes 'skadoosh.' "

"There's no need to stress about it...they're just trying to kill you. Not rob you, rape your girl, beat the dog, and burn the house on top of that. Too easy, right?"

"Dude, there's a sign over by the shit pond that reads, 'No Dumping!' I'm totally gonna get a picture of me trying to take a shit next to it."

"Check this picture out." (a few hours later)

"Someone pull Sergeant away from the Kiowa, I think he's getting a boner." ⁵

"We've got full accountability of our hand grenades. But, I think we're short a few safety pins."

"If you need a special washing station to wash your pussy when I can’t get a special washing station for my stank ass, then you best stay the fuck back.” ⁶

“I don’t want this room to smell like a fucking cafeteria. It should smell like a regular infantryman’s room…like gun oil, feet, and ass.”

I’m sure I missed a great deal more. These are all the ones I could think of at the moment. There’s still an awful lot of tour left over before we’re out of here, so I am sure there will be additions to the list. We’ll just wait and see what pops up. My soldiers are good at reminding me of the good ones I let fly and happen to forget about. In the meantime, y’all can pop back here where I provided some back fill for a lot of the lexicon we use. It will help with some of the terms I am bound to use and most likely not explain.

¹ POO( Point Of Origin) is where bad shit, like mortars and rockets, come from to hit a POI( Point Of Impact), which is where you don't want to be standing/sleeping/shitting/picking your nose free of sand boogers.
² Said basking in the glow of a 6 foot tall column of flame while burning paper & cardboard at a burn barrel at 0600 in the morning.
³ Said of the French uniform/combat spankee shorts on first sight
⁴ Said over a megaphone in a crowded sleep tent.
⁵ Kiowa Warrior: one badass helicopter. And yes, I think I was about to dry hump it right there on the airfield. And yes, I am still thinking about sneaking up there do touch the Kiowa again.
⁶ Said in response to a retarded request for a special “washing station” for “that time of the month” be available in a place where drinking water is rationed.

Dispatches v2.0

2008-08-29T20:48:00.002-04:00

There’s a bunch of things I’ve thought about writing something down for. None of them really come to mind right now as strong candidates. I guess it has been a really long time since I put pen to computer. It’s the whole time versus massive pile of other things I’d rather do conundrum. The material I see in the form of great little stories, inside jokes, spinning rants, and straight oddities are just all way too much for me to keep under wraps. Fuck, I’m being forced to write because this shit is taking up too much hard drive space in my nugget.

I know it’s been a really long time since last I posted anything so I don’t anticipate anyone actually reads this or feeds it. Stay tuned whoever happens across this for there are adventures in Afghanistan coming you don’t want to miss. The Piratical Eye Patch of Perversion, NATO Irony, Club Air Farce, and a great many deal more are lined up in the queue. For the time being I've provided 4 posts below this one for your enjoyment. Standby, it is all en route to your grid, LWP out.

Note: It’s been at least two weeks since I wrote this blurb in an effort to get the ball rolling. I have since then hacked out the following posts I’m dumping all in one fell swoop. Finding time for me to get commercial access to the unrestricted internet has basically boiled down to me posting at 0400 local. I’m not entirely inclined to do that often.

Desert Lessons

2008-08-29T20:46:00.000-04:00

1) Sun block is not sweat block and consequently cheap sunblock is equally effective as pepper spray

2) Black metal gets stupid hot in no time flat, which includes the black rifle you might be holding

3) It is best to breathe with your mouth closed while in an environment where talc-like dust is ALWAYS in the air

4) You really don’t want to know what that smell is...no matter how much you think it’s a soggy poodle being burned at the stake

5) If you flip your underwear inside out you can double their life before washing them. (Truthfully, I figured this out by 6th grade...the real epiphany was my wife isn’t here to call me a nasty hobo because I’m working this lesson to no ends.)

6) Don’t crap in a porta-shitter between the hours of 1000 and 1400...if the smell doesn’t get you the 15 lbs of POW-experience sweat you lose just might.

7) The desert doesn’t get partly cloudy, it gets partly sandy. When it gets all orange, dark, and you can’t see the sun anymore...it’s called a dust storm. There’s a reason why people don’t stay outside for the experience.

8) Don’t smile for a photo op in a dust storm...it does NOT end well.

9) Just when you get to where 120 degrees doesn’t feel like you opened an oven and climbed in...the overnight low of 60 feels like you are going to die because your balls will freeze and fall off.

10) Sand boogers when picked, don’t flick for shit.

Oh Fuck Thirty

2008-08-29T20:45:00.000-04:00

I make my bed every morning at 0400. It’s partly to present a neat and tidy appearance. It’s partly to set an example to the soldiers I lead. It’s partly to make sure no critters get in my stuff. Hell, who am I kidding...the only reason I really do it is because my wife always made the bed at home and it somehow makes her feel all the closer. Except she always managed to keep it from looking so half-assed. Cut me some slack, Angel. You try to make a bed while drop-dead tired and confused in the dark at oh fuck thirty.

Deployment Lessons

2008-08-29T20:42:00.000-04:00

1) Prep a freshly changed porta-shitter before you drop that 5 lb turd or your ass is getting a wet, blue surprise.

2) Do not sit across the table from your battle buddy while he is sick or you will most likely get infected while you have a spoonful of food suspended in front of your open mouth when he coughs and/or sneezes in your face.

3) It is an interesting shift in perspective when you still consider yourself pretty well off after #2 happens just because you didn’t have any snot or food particles from his mouth land in yours.

4) Romanians are assholes.

5) Aussies are freakin’ awesome.

6) Canadians are French who have a fetish for hockey (even without the ice or skates), Tim Horton’s donuts, and nasty back bacon. But at least they speak better English, eh?

7) Americans truly are loud, ignorant, and obnoxious.

8) NATO is generally for pussies.

9) It doesn’t matter how bad shit is, it can always get worse. By that reasoning, even if shit is shitty, fucking enjoy the shit because it’s most likely gonna get shittier.

10) I’m not the only one who uses a 2 or more alarm clock system to guarantee my ass gets out of bed in time. (Dear wife of mine, I found someone who uses no less than 4 different alarm clocks.)

Dusty

2008-08-29T20:40:00.000-04:00

This place is covered in this fine talc like dust. When you step into a good sized pile it feels softer than snow as it puffs up around your boot. It’s just like flour. It gets into everything, including your ass crack. Delicate equipment, air filters, laptops, machinery, and weapons have to be cleaned on a daily basis. This stuff also happens to find its way into your nose, throat, and lungs. I guess eating it isn’t too bad. The worst part of inhaling it is the sand boogers, this rubber cement-like snot which clings stubbornly to the side of your nose. When you finally get a hold of one right and pull, it almost feels like you are lobotomizing yourself with each tug to free the bastard. The proud victor of this mucous tug of war, holding a 3 inch string of snot and sand out in front of him, beams in victorious pride. Nature has such a way with providing perspective.

Overhaul

2007-07-15T19:15:00.000-04:00

I am sick and tired of the standard operating procedures of our government. I have come to the point where I do not feel aligned to either of the two parties who have a stranglehold on power in our country. I've been a Republican since before I was able to vote. For the last few months, I've come under the conclusion while I feel I am still a conservative, I am no longer a Republican. I've watched the fields of nominees in both major parties with a measure of disgust and resignation. It comes back to the whole South Park issue of whether to vote for a turd sandwich or a giant douche (if you don't know what I'm referring to, it's an excellent satire on the failure of democracy in our nation-albeit with raunchy humor). I hate feeling like I have to vote for the lesser of two evils. I hate feeling like there are only two sides to any issue. I hate feeling like there is only two solutions to any problem. I know better and I can smell bullshit when I step into it. The nation for which I serve and fight is being strangled by greed. Ever since I heard how presidential elections were conducted, I thought the concept of the electoral college was horse shit. All elections should be won or lost on the popular vote, period. You want to convince people their vote really matters. Make it matter. If you don't like the turd sandwich don't vote for the turd sandwich. If you don't like the giant douche, don't vote for the giant douche. I have felt very sickened over the field of choices for the next presidential race. Candidates of the Democrat and Republican parties have filled me with such a sense of dread and dreary pessimism I feel literally sick to my stomach when I look to the future. There has to be somebody better than what is offered by two wings of the same damned bird. I have finally come to the conclusion our two party system is fucked up and in need of a severe overhaul. If any of this rings true to anyone out there, follow me. I'm registering as independent tomorrow. Fuck the turd sandwich, fuck the giant douche, and fuck P-Diddy too.

Barriers

2007-03-25T00:24:00.000-04:00

There's only one thought I could squeeze past all the laughter. You have got to love the clumsy coincidences of language barriers. Enough said.

Backstory: My best friend from highschool and I were out clothes shopping in Seoul for our respective wives when we found this. Yeah, we're both sweet and secure in our masculinity like that. The Koreans watching us were quite confused as to why we were laughing hysterically while taking pictures of this display. I'm sure they most likely thought any burly American man out dress shopping must already be a bit unstable to begin with.

Resolve

2007-03-21T07:39:00.000-04:00

Thanks. I'm at somewhat a loss of words and all I can really come up with is "thanks." I'm proud of my fellow citizens for having stood up against the anti-war minority. Your message was received loud and clear. We'll keep up the fight on our side. Thanks for giving me my resolve back.

Patriots.

Trepidation

2007-03-19T08:22:00.000-04:00

I've been doing a lot of research. Wife calls it planning. I call it good common sense and professionalism. The more I dig the more I am filled with a creepy sense of trepidation. I'd go into more detail about some of the complexities of what I've found. I do have to put it out there though. The main stream outlets don't know much of shit about the situation in the sandbox, not like I ever expected them to figure it out. I feel like the masses are running to make decisions based on bad intel (pun intended). If you could only see some of the things I'm discovering, maybe you wouldn't feel so certain and rushed to pull the plug on the whole Iraq idea. On another note, I now have a good one liner for the cowardly, tree hugging, hemp loving, "can't stomach a commitment/have you hugged an insurgent today" crowd.

"Damn straight we need to pull out of Iraq. We have Iran and Syria to annihilate next."

'But'

2007-03-17T11:47:00.000-04:00

SisB IM’d me with a blog post she wanted me to read. Before I get too much of a chance to get too deep into it, I get asked, "Do you think I support the soldiers if I am against the war?" Trying to focus on what I was reading I fire back an almost instinctive response, "No." At this point, I could almost feel my angel’s lip kicking out in a very wounded manner. "I don’t think it’s completely supportive when you use the word ‘but’ in your statement," I quickly added. "Sweetheart, let my try to explain where I’m coming from," was followed with a couple of situational examples which I tried to further illustrate my point of view in a more accessible way. I don’t criticize the support I receive from my wife in my endeavors in government service. I just accept she understands why I do what I do and she supports my reasons for having volunteered. She has been wonderfully supportive, forgiving, loving, and committed to our relationship. She has done so the entire time even though she has reservations about certain aspects of how our military is being committed to deal with the cancerous growth of terrorism. What follows, is a more formal defense of my perspective (in response to this) using comparative examples similar to the ones I used in my conversation with her.

Imagine, if you will, you are a politician. You may have your own personal reasons for doing what you do. Some of them may be noble and selfless. You may even have a few which are not. Either way, you have your own reasons for running for a particular office. You also have a party to whom you are affiliated. This party most likely endorses your nomination to the office for which you endeavor to be elected. This party also has reasons they’d like you to be elected. These reasons may or may not coincide with any of your own reasons. Now, let’s take a look at your supporters. Amongst them, whom would you consider to be a 100% certain they will vote for you? Would it be those who support your personal reasons for office and also support your party’s reasons for nominating you? Would it be those who profess their support of you while they openly criticize the party which put you there? When handling something as intricate as splitting your vote, it might be best not to allow the person who is counting on your vote know you may have issues with why their party has them running in the first place.

Imagine, if you will, you are an assistant prosecuting attorney. You have a spouse who supports your reasoning for such a civic position, noble as they may or may not be. Your spouse claims to provide you with 100% support in your purposes for being in that county’s courtroom. Every day, you have gotten up out of bed knowing your spouse doesn’t think the tasks you are about to perform this day are unsubstantiated or intrinsically wrong. Now, let’s introduce a particular case into this scenario. This case is something your spouse has strong opinions about. Your spouse feels this particular defendant whom you are about to prosecute is being wrongfully accused. Imagine how you would feel if your spouse were to voice this opinion. Imagine what would happen to your resolve to perform your duties to the best of your ability. How undermined and uncertain would you feel if they were to voice this opinion often and publicly? Right or wrong, would you feel very supported? How much would their total support of your purpose for doing your job matter while they condemn your boss’ reasoning for trying this particular defendant? While it is difficult to perform contrary to popular public opinion, it’s a great deal more challenging to discharge duties contrary to family opinion. When you are closer to the subject of what you criticize, it might be best not to allow the person who counts on your support get the memo from their loved ones before going into work.

Imagine, if you will, you are a soldier at war. You are like the average age of most soldiers, 19 to 24. You have a generalized view of politics and the larger scheme of life. You have your own personal reasons for having volunteered to put your life and limb at risk. You also serve a government which has its own reasons for the same exposure to risk for thousands who serve with you. You may or may not agree to any particular extent with these reasons, but ultimately you know the nature of your relationship with your leadership requires a certain element of trust. Basically, you trust your leaders will make the right decisions before they have made them and hope it wasn’t the wrong decision after you have performed your duty in the mission. There is neither the luxury of time nor the benefit of healthy debate while near the enemy. These conveniences are best left for those who are not in imminent danger of being vaporized. You are unsure of the morality of war. You have simplified armed conflict to its lowest level: "If I don’t kill them first, they will kill me or my buddies." Your tolerance for violence has been overwhelmed by all you have seen and the brutality enacted by all involved. You are in a constant struggle to justify to yourself each moment what must be done with every mission. Now, let’s introduce some "support" from the home front. Every little gesture of support means multitudes more while far away from home and in danger. This also works with the other edge of the sword. Every word of criticism hurts multitudes more while far away from home and in danger. If the criticisms come from someone whom you deeply respect and/or love the damage is increased exponentially. The simplicity of your existence does not allow you to recognize the complexity of any statement including the word "but." Things are very cut and dry in your world, as circumstances require they be, to prevent any hesitation in your actions. Reservations will get you killed or kill those around you. When you need a clear, firm resolve to keep your every action quick and purposeful, it might not be best to accept conditional support which could cloud your sense of purpose.

You state you support the troops yet, you use an exclusion in your statement. Your wavering resolve rings louder in the mind of a soldier than your words do to your own ears. Those whom your government has ordered to kill others on your behalf do not benefit from the wavering of your resolve once committed to the field of battle. When the nation gave its support by majority to start this fight, it also committed itself to support this effort to completion. It should not be so hard to see how splitting the hair of one’s support can muddy the waters of resolve, purpose, and motivation. There are certain times and places where this doubt of purpose can lend to a more examined, fair, and balanced performance. For a soldier, the only place this is acceptable is someplace far away from the frontlines. Someplace like retirement. I think my wife’s thoughts on the matter are constitutionally valid and I would expect her to voice her concerns with the government like any other legal citizen. While this may be the case, I also know I will find myself receiving fire somewhere, trying very desperately to forget about anything my wife and the public has had to say about what I’m endangering my life for that day. I will force myself to focus only on the mission at hand and, to a lesser extent, my purposes for having volunteered to be there in the first place. I’m a bit older than your average soldier is so I might succeed in keeping my mind focused. Unless, my personal purposes also happen to fall under attack by those who "support" me.

Note: I never claim my wife is wrong in her opinions about the decisions and actions made in war thus far. She is entitled her opinion and the ability to speak it freely per the Constitution I swore to defend and uphold. I will always support her decisions to do what she thinks is right and provide her my perspective when asked. I don’t pretend to know what is the "right" thing to do with sticky situations like this. My only goal in attempting to see my perspective understood is to illustrate the negative potential open criticisms could have towards the purpose, motivation, and resolve of soldiers. It not only impacts the soldiers currently serving but also influences soldiers who have already served and those who have yet to serve. I’ve been taught the only place where a soldier can criticize the government is in the voting booth or on the walls of the Porta-Potty. Either way, they remain anonymous yet heard.

Service?

2007-02-28T08:25:00.000-05:00

I hate you America. I am tired of all the bullshit squabbling about the most stupid and inane things. I have to worry about how I can see my wife and kids in the few weeks I will get this year while you debate whether American Idol is rigged to include at least one sex scandal each season. Do you even realize how many soldiers read the headlines of what is considered important "back home?" Your priorities as a nation are fucked up. I didn't understand at first why every TV in a chow hall so far away from home was ALWAYS set to play sports. While it smacked of "company store" flavored brain washing, I thought all the usual American commercials were replaced with Department of Defense PSA's due to the remote location more than anything else. I realize now I was wrong. It's all to protect us, the service members, from you. Protect us from your flippant views, your twisted hypocracy, your detached indifference, your skewed priorities, and your general lack of understanding or concern.

Yes, it was my decision to volunteer to serve my country. Yes, I did it even though I thought being in Iraq was most likely going to wind up looking like a bad idea gone out of control. Yes, I know I was going to be giving up damn near my entire concept of what a life was like and supplanting it with a DoD approved version. Yes, I did it knowing I would most likely lose a limb if I was lucky...my life is I was not. I thought what I was doing would be worth something to someone. I thought there would be certain concessions which could be made since I have no qualms about serving in the box. I'll never bitch about being deployed to war, this is why I am here...this is my duty. What did I get instead for my willingness to help? Over a period of 5 years, I will have been allowed only 10 months with my wife and daughters, under permission, broken into 2-3 week chunks, requiring enormous effort to obtain, and very rarely when I was actually needed by my family to be there. Service? Fuck no! This is more akin to indentured servitude. I like what I do and used to feel proud to do it. At this point, I am ashamed and appologetic to everyone who needs me in their life. I used to entertain the likely possibility of continuing my service to the country so long as there was a need for my skillset. When the time comes where a representative of the Army will ask me if I will stay in the Army and present me with a good number of incentives, I will drop all of my military bearing and tell him, "Fuck NO!" Y'all can go fuck yourself, I'm going to start taking care of what is really important in my life...my family, not this nation, not its leadership, not its foreign policy, not its fucked up priorities. Other than myself, nobody else seems to care about them. My leadership, the people responsible for my orders, my congressional representatives, and a great many others don't give a flying rat's ass about my family or about any other servicemember's family. They certainly don't care they have sent me to places where I cannot either bring my family or be with my family. They have shot down my every effort to have family life co-exist with military life. They definitely don't care enough to do anything other than say, "I'm sorry, that sucks."

We do know and appreciate the very small minority of people who do everything they can to help us. We also know the majority of these people have or had a direct tie to military service. Ultimately though, it's but a band aid on an amputated stump. Go back to watching your retarded prime time circus, America, we'll just do what we've always had to do as servicemembers...take care of our own, suck it up, drive on, and hope we will survive to see our family someday.

Saluuuuuuudin

2006-09-26T07:25:00.000-04:00

It was probably one of the hardest decisions she and I will have to make in a very long time. It's a sacrifice we are still paying the cost for and will continue to pay for at least another 3 years. While she most likely does not dwell on the worst case scenario, I often do. When my sense of responsibility made me question my reasons for not having volunteered, she was my biggest reason to stay. When presented with the details of service, the benefits, the stories, and the contract, she was my only reservation. When it came time for me to make the decision, she was the only person with whom I felt the need to consult. Ultimately, it was our decision to be made together. We talked about it often over the course of a month, what it would mean for us, what it would do to the time we share, why it was important I proceed, and what impact our sacrifice would have to those I would help. She was only two months older than 3 when she said in a serious tone, "Daddy, es OK for you to go to the Armies to help all the other daddies come back home to their babies." Wickedly smart that girl is. She never ceases to amaze me with her capacity to understand what is going on. I called my recruiter the next day with my dot sitting in my lap. I told him, "I have somebody here with me who wants to tell him something important." Dot took the phone from my hand, hugged my chest with her free arm, and rested her head on my shoulder as she said, "Hi! My Daddy can go en da Armies. I say es OK." It was all I could do to maintain my composure. I politely excused myself from the phone call and promised a return call to initiate the appropriate paperwork later that day. I have no doubt my girlie knew what she was doing when she said those words.

The day I was to leave came faster than we wanted. I remember the goodbye, as I remember all the goodbyes ever since, like it had happened just yesterday. My Dot was very upset. I was very upset. She was mad and hurt she wasn’t going to be coming with Daddy. You see, apparently, she figured she was coming with me on our crusade. She thought she was joining "da Armies" as well. She was mostly interested in going to Airborne school and jumping out of airplanes with her Daddy. I can’t blame her, it’s incredibly fun and a mind-bending experience. We worked out a compromise where she could be with me through all my time in the Army. I would carry her favorite picture of herself close to my heart everywhere I went while she couldn’t be with me…especially when I would be jumping from aircraft. To this day, I still carry that photograph.

The next time I would see her would be at my graduation from Infantry School in Georgia. Only three months had passed, but we were both very eager to catch up with each other and share just one more "Daddy-Dot-En" day together (this is what she called our Daddy and Dot dedicated days). While she patiently waited for the ceremony to start, where she would put my newly earned blue shoulder cord on my dress uniform, she posed for this picture. According to what my ex-wife told me, she would strike this pose every time I was mentioned around home. It would almost always follow the mention of my name. "Is Daddy gonna get to call dis tonight?" POSE. Nobody could figure out what she was doing with this odd pose where she would flex her left arm in a muscle pose, outstretch her right arm with fingers extended, and touch her cheek to the shoulder of the extended arm. She would just giggle when they asked her and not respond any further. She was vocally and physically exhilarated to see me when her opportunity came for her part in the ceremony. While the rest of my party was scanning the formation of soldiers looking for me, she knew right where I was to be found. Dot was making a direct path for me and dragging her 10 year-old half-brother along by the arm. She was very serious and attentive while she grasped the blue braided cord from my hand. She paid very close attention to what she was doing as I knelt before her and she ran my hand through the center of the loop and brought it up to the appropriate place on my shoulder. She waited as patiently as she could, bouncing in place with her hands clasped before her, while her brother fastened the button on the epaulet of the jacket to seal the awarded cord in place. Then, very seriously, she struck the pose. "See, that’s what she’s been doing every time she or anyone else talks about you," my ex-wife and stepson echoed. I stood up, came to the position of attention, and rendered my Dot a crisp salute. She dropped her pose with a gigantic grin. I drop mine and scoop her up into my arms. I turned to my ex-wife as my daughter and I cried openly. "She’s saluting," I explained to dismiss their confused looks. Dottie pulled her tear-wet face out of the crook of my neck to exclaim, "Yep! Saluuuuuuudin!"

Tradition

2006-06-16T00:00:00.000-04:00

I've heard about it and thought it was most likely isolated and pretty well extinct. I had it happen to me in Airborne school when I graduated and received my jump wings. At the time, I didn't mind and took it as a badge of honor. It didn't seem like such an abusive thing and I was proud to have the sharp posts of my newly earned wings pushed through my uniform into my flesh. Blood pinnings. You see, they are supposed to be banned by military law. Apparently, the noncommissioned officers(NCO) who keep this unprofessional act alive don't care if it is against the rules. They have the divine right to select which standards they enforce and which ones "really don't matter." I see the way it's being done here in my new unit every time a soldier gets promoted and it pisses me off. Other soldiers will approach the newly promoted and punch the collars of their victim. There isn't anything polite about the way it is done either. The pinned will have bruises on their collar bones simply from the blunt force of the strike. Blood cakes the T-shirt of their uniforms. This act goes on for a few days after the promotion ceremony. If the newly promoted joe happens to have placed the protective backing of his rank back on and encounters someone who missed their opportunity, it's fair game to have the joe get pinned all over again. I spoke up against it one day, calling the act ,"bullshit."

The NCO who was in charge of the formation that day said one of the most reprehensible things I've heard to date in the Army, "It's tradition. Are you going to go against tradition?"

Maybe it's just me, maybe it's just my age showing, and maybe it's having been around a more professional class of soldier for the last year...but I still think it's bullshit, traditions be damned.

The social climate around these events are sticky. I'm in a position of minor influence as a team leader. The next step for me in the ladder provides much more sway. If it's one thing the Army has taught me it is every place of promotion and power is all about the politics. Speaking up against tradition around here could wind up halting any forward progress I had established in the two months I've been here. My sense of right and wrong wouldn't let me keep my mouth shut about this. As NCO's, we are entrusted with the training, safety and well being of our men. This is not negotiable. I would be remiss in my duties if I stood by and just watched it happen. I would be remiss as a peer if I didn't say something to the NCO's allowing it to go on. Their careers are at stake. They could face criminal charges. The other NCO's, not directly involved in the occurrences I've seen, have all heard my thoughts. I did not see any support coming from them. I went ahead and told my platoon leader, a young lieutenant, who had no idea it was going on as it's never happened in his presence. I have yet to see what fallout this is going to bring, hopefully my LT can be discreet in handling this so as not to bring any attention to me.

Capris

2006-06-06T04:00:00.000-04:00

All I have to say about the Capri Pants is, "What...The...Fuck?" I never understood them. Some bastardized half-breed of shorts and pants. Come the fuck on. Even skorts make sense to me in some wierd, "sympathize with women's fashion trends," kind of way. Capris never made sense. My ex loved them from the moment she laid her eyes on them. They aren't even short enough to provide any kind of relief from the heat. They're not long enough to keep the cold and snow off of half your calves come the winter. They don't show enough skin to provoke any kind of sexual intrigue. On a final note, what the hell was the innovator thinking? Oh wait, I know! "I found a way to cut our material costs a smidge and sucker millions of mindless trend followers with the same fell stroke, muahahahahaa!"

Communists

2006-05-04T13:00:00.000-04:00

Yeah, the people most the free world loves to hate. I grew up fearing the destructive hazard them red commie bastards could visit upon the world. They were right across the fence from me during my earlier years living in West Germany. I can't explain how weird it still feels not to include the word west when I refer to my first home. My wildly eccentric first sergeant, as they all seem to be (I guess it's a product of their level of responsibility coupled with near 20 years of service in the Army), here in my unit in Korea seems to respect the fact they're close at hand. He once said, "You know what I love about commies...they have nukes!" when speaking about the constant state of readiness for combat our unit must maintain because of our proximity to the DMZ.

While still pretty new to the post and its inner workings, I was pretty much floored when I looked into a bus I was about to board which shuttles troops from one end of the post to another.

"Holy shit! Kim Jong Il is my fucking bus driver!!!"

Ok, I'm pretty sure at this point it really isn't Kim Jong, but damned if he didn't have me fooled. Apparently, his haircut was, at one point, a stylish one by Korean standards. This white-gloved driver is a spitting image of the dictator sans the khaki jumpsuit. I guess the big square rimmed glasses were also a Korean fashion statement at some point. This particular bus driver happens to also rule his bus with a similarly flamboyant iron fist which his North Korean double rules the peninsula north of the 38th parallel. Apparently, I've discovered the counterpart of Seinfeld's Soup Nazi with this Commuting Communist in a twisted neo Axis comparison.

"No bus ride for you!"

I guess the good news is he can't have his finger on the "nuke world" button if his hands are busy driving a bus.

Soju

2006-04-27T05:00:00.000-04:00

Ok, I finally gave in and tried me some of the local variety booze. I've heard from a great many people who were in the know about Korea to watch out for one in particular. Stories ranging from complete blackouts, to uncontrollable nausea long after sobering up, to unrestrained acts of druken debauchery. I've heard stories about it getting mixed in with soda, fruit juices, and even kool-aid...the victims just a keep a guzzlin' the stuff down and weren't aware of how much liqour they were consuming. Yeah, this stuff sounded like bad news every time it was brought up. I'd made the decision to avoid it before I even left the US. The only problem is, it is really EVERYWHERE here. Shit, you find it every dining establishment. Hell, even Mommy from the Mommy Store sells it. I can't say I didn't think it was inevitable I would wind up trying it. Two nights ago, I was invited out to dinner with two of my bosses and every Korean soldier from my platoon (the party was 15 people big, in all). Far be it for me to ever say no to some authentic Korean chow. I gotta admit, I saw it coming. Thank goodness we were drinking the stuff straight, you could hardly taste the alcohol. This stuff reminded me of tequila, with a much smoother finish. I guess it was the experienced drunk in me who told me to watch out and count shots. I stopped at 6 and had only two shots of some really banging raspberry wine. I sure didn't feel too bad off sitting there on the floor. Yeah, all was fine and dandy until it was time to get up. This wicked stuff had me in a completely new way and I thought I'd seen every kind of drunk possible from alcohol. I was coherent and my thoughts weren't muddled like usual, but holy shit I was feeling like I'd been beat with a sack of hot nickels. It was like my body was trashed but my mind was still in charge. The trip home was a riot. Ahhhh, my new friend soju...you kicked my ass.

Equilibrium

2006-04-23T19:40:00.000-04:00

The scene was a complete menagerie. Loud music pumping out of the overhead speakers, the dull roar of dozens of voices in varying levels of loudness, the rattle of plastic against plastic, the clanking of thin metals, and the occasional shrill cry, "HEY! That's not faaair!"
Walking into the play village, I had to take a step back as a roving tricycle gang came peeling around the corner. Their high pitched voices almost drowned out by the growl of plastic wheels upon textured concrete. Some of the gang are wearing uniform's as are other children running to and fro. I saw police, robbers, princesses, firefighters, soldiers, and fighter pilots. Several dozen story lines unfolded before my eyes as my daughter led me to her preferred destination. Some of these stories had elaborate systems of props and some had only those requiring the imagination of a child's mind. Anything which appeared organized was thinly so. Everything else was sheer and beautiful chaos. I snickered as I listened to the music. Anna Nalick, Britney Spears, and Shakira blaring over the speakers. These kids were throwing down with a party of legendary proportions, in their eyes. The entire place smelled of sweaty children and musty feet. I had to admit, I was totally enjoying the caucaphony and chaos. The little kid in me was jumping up and down just begging to get a turn to play.

My daughter and stepson are explaining to me all the attractions as we pass in a hurry to a destination my daughter has chosen as priority one, the sandbox. I know, she's strange for a little girl. She prefers her mud, sand, and rocks before her dresses and dollies. I think she'd found a good equilibrium for herself though. She'll get her dress on, grab her dollie, and head straight to the sandbox. I'll give her good credit for today though, this sandbox was something completely different and well worth the hurry. It was set back in a sculptured imitation of a cave. This sandbox was nothing resembling a box. This thing looked more like an indoor beach inside a cave complete with a sculptured dinosaur skeleton sticking out in the center. Sweet. I wish I was small enough to schuck the responsibility and climb in there with her and have at it. The truth was, I wish I'd taken enough caffiene to just say, "to hell with it!" and done it anyway. After her lust for dirt and dust had been sated, she leads me to her next priority, the veterinary clinic. I couldn't help but be touched watching her demonstrate her personality freely in this venue. Watching those dirty little five year old fingers take care of the stuffed animal patients. She would "encounter" every kind of ailment from fleas to broken bones, colds, fevers, allergies, headaches, grooming disasters, and even births. She and her assembled team of veterinary specialists handled each and every case with professionalism and compassion. Every time there was a disagreement about diagnosis or treatment, it was handled in a manner which should be the model of professional interactions in the adult world.

I recognize this social model for what it is as I watch my daughter play amongst the other children. Watching children in action as they play, unfettered by the more complex rules of adult society, is really amazing. You gotta watch really closely and pay attention. You can't rationalize why they do what they do. You can't place your expectations of them over your eyes like tinted 3D glasses. Don't even make any effort to explain any of what you see or hear. Just watch. Listen. Shutup. Absorb the experience and feel. These are children in their natural state of chaos, barely reigned in by the golden rule. It really works. I know this for a fact. I've seen it with my own eyes. An entire village inhabited, more or less peacefully, by people shorter than 4 feet.

Ajima

2006-04-19T18:00:00.000-04:00

I was cruising through a particularly seedy neighborhood/burrough here in Korea when I spotted this gem of a store front. Now, it's not to say that all of Korea or even any amount of it worth mentioning is seedy like this area. I personally think this is a byproduct of proximity to military. Apparently, the more opportunistic enterprises have a strong desire to get as close to the gates of a military base as they can. These include a slew of clubs, overpriced electronics and clothing stores, and prostitution. This isn't just something which happens in foreign countries, I saw basically the same thing in North Carolina. There also happens to be a good dollop of restaurants and food carts tossed in for good measure. This is where I discovered the "Mommy Store." It's not exactly apparent as a dining establishment from it's name. It took reading the menu on the front window to figure it out. Now, while this all brought a big smile to my face, it wasn't until I took notice of one particular item on the menu I really broke out into giggles. Cheese ramyun. Ohhhh I just knew SisB would be looooving on the fact I found me some spicy cheesy ramen substitution. I tooootally love my nacho cheese ramen noodles in a cup, much to her health food peddling disapproval. I was almost beside myself when I noticed another item on the menu. There is a rice wine here with a nasty reputation. It is supposedly more insideous than sake. It is flavorless, colorless, odorless, and highly potent. It's soju and Mommy apparently thinks it's a good idea to serve all day long. Here's to you, Ajima...for hooking me up with some nacho cheese ramen and booze all with one stop convenience.

Ajima, the Korean term closest to Mrs. in english, is a polite reference for older women.

Thanks

2006-04-14T10:00:00.000-04:00

I'm proud of what I do in an effort to improve this world. When our efforts get recognition, it always winds up being a relatively emotional collision which draws us closer to complete strangers. It draws our community together into a tighter family. We do what we do because it needs to be done. I dropped a lot of my life to volunteer. I never expected or sought recognition or even open appreciation for what I've done. Like I said...it just needs to be done. I'm just carrying my fair share of the load.

I'm fueling my truck at my neighborhood gas station on the way back from work. My uniform is muddy, wet, and sweaty from a good, long last day of training in the field. I'm lost in a fume and exhaustion induced reverie, reflecting on my evening to come. I start taking notice of a conversation going on from the other side of the pump from which I am fueling.

"Why dont you come out here and do it yourself? I know you can and I'm sure he'd really appreciate it, honey," the man speaks into his van while he waits for his tank to fill. I can't quite make out what the response was from within the confines of the van.

"If you really want me to do it, I expect you to speak up if it's that important to you," he responds to whatever muffled reply was issued from the confines of the vehicle.

"Excuse me...sir?" he asks tentatively. I'm still lost a bit in my own thoughts and I don't quite realize he's talking to me.

"Sir, excuse me," he repeats.

"Uhh, yeah," I reply with guarded reservation, having just figured out he and the unknown person from within the van must have been talking about me. I step around the corner of the pump to adress him.

"It's nothing bad, don't worry," he assures me as he pats the air in front of him with both hands as if there was a waist high table before him. "My daughter just has something she really wants to tell you." He turns to speak into the opened driver's door and speaks into the rear, "Ok, honey. tell him what you wanted to." As he backs out of the way and a young girl of about 8 years of age with tightly braided pig tails pokes her head out between the front seats.

"Umm, hi!" she states emphatically. "I just really wanted to say thanks. Thank you for what you're doing. I think you soldiers are doing a really good job and you are very important."

There were tears in her eyes when she finished her thanks to me. Her father's eyes were welling up with prideful tears. Hell, even my eyes were getting a little wet, I was so moved by the gesture. After a few moments spent recovering from my initial urge to just run over and hug them both, I manage to squeeze out my reply past the frog in my throat.

"Thank you... it means a lot to us that you care. We're all doing this because we know it's important. It makes a huge difference to us knowing that you care and appreciate what we do."

I still think I should have run over to them and shared a hug.

Aside: During a layover in Japan on my flight over to Korea, I had the pleasure of being thanked a total of five times in the relatively short walk from my arriving gate to my departing gate. Might I add, the majority of those thanks came from older people. All of them were either Korean or Japanese. As moving as vangirl's thanks was, there was something a little more oddly stirring about hearing thanks in broken English and seeing it punctuated with respectful bows from people who aren't even from the US. I smile everytime I remember their words, "Tankyou fo fweedom."

Pox

2006-04-12T08:00:00.000-04:00

Oh yeah, I've got it. Holy dammit sumabit I got it bad. What, might you ask? This itchy annoying rash which is driving me almost completely out of my damned mind. No, it happens not to be the chicken variety of the malady. I have myself a raging case of the smallpox. Thank you, Mother Army. Oh, as if the insult of having my ass flung clear across the Pacific Ocean wasn't bad enough, to a country I had so dead last on my list of places to visit it only comes above Afganistan and Iraq. They had to add injury to insult by jabbing me for the umpteenth time with a coctail of innoculations (Hep A and Hep B among them) and then a few days later jabbing me with the pox. Oh, I won't get into the fact the damned female medic nicked a vein two days earlier when she punched the needle into my left shoulder, producing a good amount of blood running out, and then she had the nerve to make it sound like it was my fault by proclaiming ,"We've got another bleeder!" Bitch. I know damned well I'm not a bleeder. I've shot my own IV lines in larger veins while suffering from heat exhaustion and made about the same mess you did. Oh, yeah. The dumb cow decided to put the smallpox on the same bruised shoulder. The average incubation period for smallpox is between 14-21 days with a decent sized list of symptoms popping up somewhere between hours of infection to 7 days later. I guess I'm right on target because I'm definitely suffering from one of the main symptoms. Itchin' like a motherfucker. I spotted the telltale bump of the infection starting to take hold the other day. It's still relatively small but I'm told it should get no bigger than the size of a dime. I'll spare you some of the more gruesome details of how I'm supposed to deal with this as it progresses, but let's just say scratching this damned thing is the LAST thing I should do. This stuff can spread to all kinds of interesting places and the Army has Power Point slides to prove it. I'm still giggling about the poor soldiers who got it in their eyes, nostrils, and penis (all seperate cases I would hope). I remember when I was a kid, I spotted a horrendous looking battle scar on my childhood hero, my Dad. I asked him where the elliptical pocked crater came from and he told me it was from a smallpox immunization. He elaborated as I questioned him further, it was done by poking the skin with a more harmless version of the virus. Now, to a young child this sounds like a horrible ordeal to undergo. I imagined in my weird twisted way, yes even as a child I had a warped mind, this process was done with a coffee stirrer/straw. I know, it's totally wierd. Cut me a damned break, I was only 8 and I have a vivid imagination. It was the only explanation my mind could come up with at the time for the size, depth, and texture of that scar on my father's invincible left shoulder. Seeing the complete shock in my face, he assured me I most likely wouldn't ever have to get one as the disease had been virtually eradicated from the face of the planet before I was even born. I counted myself greatful this held true through the years. And yes, I've thought about it since...coffee stirrer and all. Well, Pops, so much for that theory, huh. At least they didn't come at me with a coffee stirrer, otherwise I'd have broken out into a giggle fit. I guess I am becoming more like you every day. I sure miss having you around even though it's been 11 years since your death. In the meantime, Pops, thanks for not mentioning how this itch was going to drive me into rubbing my shoulder up and down against trees, walls, doors, and even carpet (like some dog who just passed an itchy turd).

Hiatus

2006-04-11T07:00:00.000-04:00

Well, a lot has happened since I last seriously wrote here. I've got an abundant amount of material I told myself, "I am so totally going to blog about this." I'm sorry about my self-induced hiatus folks. I know I've had a hanful of faithful drive by the place to see if I've decided to drop some more lines on the blog. Again, I am sorry. I've been dealing with a huge amount of to-do's that come with trying to compile two separate households in two states seperated by some 2,000 miles, trying to bring together people who care about me so they can all have juicy conversations about me while I'm gone, and dealing with a military move to another country. A country, might I add I had no intention of ever wanting to visit before this relocation. I've been wrestling with a depression about work and long distance relationships with the people I love for well over three months now. Don't fret for me, I'm a survivor and my attitude is improving about the whole deal as the days pass. I'm making the best I can with the lemons I've been dealt. While I'm not in the mood for lemonade...I think if I tweak things right, I might be able to swing a lemon meringue pie. I've even started to pick my camera up while I'm here. In the meantime, as my sense of permanence here increases you'll be seeing a lot more of me back here on the outpost of the Waylaid Warrior Poet.

***As I'm still in a transitional state in country with work, I have yet to be assigned my permanent living quarters and therefore internet is kind of a pain as it involves going to the WiFi spot. It's a shame, really...I do indeed like the view from my fourth story window in the room they have me occupying right now. For those who care, it's 8 PM Tue night here in Korea.

Ouch

2006-04-01T07:26:00.000-05:00

It's been a pretty painful week of moments of truth. Firstly, I am getting pretty damned tired of saying goodbye. More appropriately I'm getting tired of feeling like I may never see the people I say goodbye to again. Korea thus far has been very interesting to say the least. I'm entirely intrigued by the culture here. There have been many many things I've seen in the first three days here I've said, "I'm so totally gonna blog about this." (shoutout to my angel for implanting this catch phrase in my skull) I need to keep this post kinda short because it's almost 10pm here local time, I have a formation coming up soon, I really need to take a dump (my first serious experiment with Korean food), and I just promised SisB I would call her soon in an email I'm sure she's already read. The internet access here is relatively restricted but the time we are allowed to access is the real limiting factor. I'll be better equipped to post decent blog entries when I'm set up in my long term duty position instead of the temporary one I'm in for the next week or so. On a side note, kimche is not so good on eggs...but it ain't half bad on a hamburger. Oh, and as for the Korean entree I had for lunch which I won't even attempt to spell at this point even if I could remember what it was I had: I pray, when I dash to the latrine here in about 60 seconds, will spare my backside from the fiery revenge super spicy foods tend to extract. C'mooooooon ice cream!

** I think I'll leave the timestamp with Eastern time US and just mention it's 9:35pm local time Saturday the 1st of April.

OPFOR

2006-02-04T12:30:00.000-05:00

Well folks, I'm headed back out to the woods for another week of wall to wall elements of nature and fun with bullets. This time, I get to play OPFOR (Opposing Force). Basically, I'm on the crew that gets to play the bad guys. Yup, you got it. I'm on the robbers/indians/ninjas team. While this means we are inevitably supposed to lose, this does allow us to take the training we have received and get really creative with it. Something absolutely liberating about the realization we aren't getting graded on our efforts. Technical perfection goes out the window to be replaced with desperate ~~insanity~~ creativity. There've even been times when firefights have broken down to something resembling more of a bar brawl. Ohhhh, and I've been looking at all kindsa really fun booby traps and snares for just such an occasion. They say necessity is the mother of invention. I believe necessity is more like a second cousin. I think the mother of invention is desperation, with elements of head injury, hypothermia, and a severe desire to humiliate the opposition thrown in for good measure. Either way, hopefully I come back sometime next weekend with all my fingers and toes attached...coming back without a broken nose or blackened eye would be cool too. Y'all have a righteous week, I'll see you on the other side.

Ideas

2006-02-03T12:05:00.000-05:00

Ok, here's a recent interchange between my angel and myself concerning ideas for her 3 year old son's impending birthday party.

SisB: ok, i really need to get planning
SisB: and preparing
InnocentLWP: ok
SisB: i'm thinking we need more playdoh
InnocentLWP: without a doubt
InnocentLWP: and bubbles
InnocentLWP: and water guns
SisB: tonight after he goes to bed i'll make a banner
InnocentLWP: and SILLLY string
SisB: oooh oooh ooh bubbles
SisB: no water guns, too cold out [Note: I wanted to fill them with hot sauce because it's cold out]
SisB: all kids love bubbles
InnocentLWP: hes just a year too young to introduce him to fire
SisB: lol yes, probably so
InnocentLWP: but next year...firecrackers and lighter fluid allll the way
SisB: i think not, love
SisB: too bad you'll be deployed then and won't be here for THAT party
InnocentLWP: he needs to get apprenticed into the ways of manhood(and coincidentally LWP-ness) I'll just let him watch while I blow off my eyebrows
SisB: you're too funny
InnocentLWP: I miss the flammable silly string
SisB: it's not flammable anymore?
InnocentLWP: you could shoot the stuff all over someone and after they have a nice base layer hold a lighter up to the still shooting stream and give em a fireball headed their way
InnocentLWP: sigh, the good ole days
SisB: there's a boy coming who has a peanut allergy, so no PBJ's
SisB: you're right
SisB: i'm thinking popcorn (LittleBoy loves popcorn)
SisB: pretzels
SisB: ooh ooh ooh!
SisB: i found a firetruck cake i can make
InnocentLWP: I say we break out the slip and slide and some spray on Teflon
SisB: rofl
InnocentLWP: then hook up the little wall of mist thingey at the end of it with some propane or pressurized deisel fuel...this way they can slide through a blazing ring of fire...wow that sounds like fun
SisB: ok, you're not in charge of party planning
SisB: i think that's the point you're trying to make anyhow
InnocentLWP: and just imagine...nobody will need to get their hair cut for months...well, at least till the blistering has gone away
InnocentLWP: noooo, I'm totally the RIGHT guy for party planning. This would be a birthday that everyone remembers and would relate often, most likely during years of subsequent therapy sessions.
SisB: yes, you're definitely vying to get out of party duty
InnocentLWP: look it's not like my idea of giving them all paintball guns and vague directions as we stuff them into a closet or anything
SisB: omg
SisB: ok, he's going to go outside for awhile
SisB: i'll call you in a little bit
InnocentLWP: ok..I'll just come up with some more ideas...I'm definitely starting to gravitate towards the "do not attempt this at home, folks" activities
SisB: you do that, sweet
InnocentLWP: I love you
SisB: i love you

Ok, maybe a little part of me really didn't want to plan too much of the party. Seriously though, I thought all of my contributions to the planning were very viable and downright fun. I know I would have loved doing any of these events when I was a(n) ~~heathen spawn of satan~~ impressionable youth. Maybe it's just me, but I think my generation had waaaaay more fun when we were growing up than any subsequent generation is being allowed. There's lots of educational value in garage alchemy and rapid (violent) oxidation which produces energy in the form of heat and light.

HNT #8

2006-02-02T00:00:00.000-05:00

Geek Exhibit #2 HNT(aka-SissyB's Wish):

Chemistry, physics, and engineering...oh, my! When I saw this sweet piece of science gear in use by the professor, I just had to have me one of my own. I had a really cool image in my mind of a Dr. Frankenstein, "muah hahahahahaaaa," type mad scientist look. I think it wound up being more of a totally geeky, "anyone got any cheeeeese," fashion statement. I'm not a doctor, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn. Click the pic for more. What do y'all think?

Steer your naughty asses over to Osbasso's blog for more Half-Nekkid insanity which will have you driving all over the information stupor-highway with one hand on the wheel and the other in your britches. C'mon, you know you want to! Click the link on the left with your free hand for the rules.

Previously on HNT: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7

Serenity

2006-01-29T21:00:00.000-05:00

Ben and Jerry's pistachio ice cream is the cat's ass.

Colors

2006-01-27T21:02:00.000-05:00

Very few of you know exactly what I do in the Army. Sure, I've left enough hints for some, by means of personal proximity, to be able to figure it out. If you have, most likely you can be trusted with the information and most likely were former military yourselves. Basically, I feel compelled to remain relatively vague because of my sworn allegiance, security clearance, and OPSEC (operational security) standards. The Dept. of Defense has placed under scrutiny every form of internet publishing done by their employees. The insurgencies and jihadists use the internet to collect and disseminate intelligence on our efforts worldwide. It's relatively inprecise as to exactly what I am allowed to say, so I keep everything pretty generic. Please bear with my somewhat vague references here, as well as throughout my blog when I talk about work.

Allow me a moment to set the scene. The environment was isolated and we had no really good idea where the hell we were exactly. The vast majority of us weren't from around the area so it only added to the confusion and sense of detatchment with the rest of the world. We, all 430 some strong, had earned the privilege of a job interview of sorts. A month long, twenty-four seven process of testing our physical, mental, and social abilities for a very select few positions. This place was serious business. There was precious little time to accomplish a large amount of testing. All applicants displayed no rank, unit affiliation, or name. We were only referred to by the numbers written in permanent marker on white strips of nylon sewed onto our uniforms. I had trained for 8 hard months, every day spent in preparation, to succeed with this trial. Many of our number had waited years for the opportunity to test. We would be under observation all day, every day. The stack of feats we'd be doing were intimidating and exhausting. The challenge of the moment was a ruck run (65 lb strapped to our backs in full combat uniform, combat boots, water, and rifle). It needed to be completed in a certain time frame. The interesting twist was we never knew how long it would be until they told us we were finished and we didn't know how fast we should have been until our evaluation at the end of the month. Even then, all you found out was if you had passed or not. We were basically told, "Do the best you possibly can." Which equated to running as fast as possible for as long as possible, a pretty desperate situation considering one never knew where the finish line might be.

The morning is pre-dawn and very cold. We've been rushed out of our spartan housing in a hurry. The anticipation is thick in the air over our orderly and hushed formations. Our evaluators decide it is time for a spot check and announce it over their bullhorns. The item chosen for the moment...underwear. Yes, you read correctly, under britches, underoos, brownie-tighties, unmentionables, drawers, underpants. What we were instructed to bring in our monthlong isolation were neutral colored briefs or boxers. This meant nothing fancy or brightly dyed. No compression shorts, athletic synthetics, or stretch anything would be permitted. Most of us chose to "go commando" in our fatigues, to put it bluntly. As awkward as being instructed to drop our pants, face the rear, and lift our tops revealing our bums was, it illicited more than a handful of nervous giggles and incredulous looks. "Hell, this is the Army," I thought. This isn't the strangest request I have had to comply with. As I sat there, facing the rear, wondering how much longer I am going to have to wait, I heard this wave of laughter pass over the formation which sounded like it had originated from the group of evaluators on their elevated wooden platform in the center of our 3 sided square formation. Seeing several men with their pants down around their ankles laughing hard and pointing to one particular position in the formation drew my attention to the true spectacle at hand. This is not to say, in any way, seeing some 430-ish men's asses at this ungodly hour wasn't a spectacle in itself. There, at the center of the front row of the formation bent 90 degrees to mine, was the cause of all this commotion. One soldier was proudly displaying the colors with his fists on his hips and his wide, beaming smile. He was actually wearing boxers which looked like they were cut from an American flag. Now, THAT was ~~a dumb mistake~~ patriotic I tell you. His boxer shorts absolutely seemed to shine brightly amid the sea of camoflage and bare asses. They even appeared to be proudly flapping in the nonexistent wind like they were snapping at the top of a flag pole. I didn't know whether to just keep laughing with my pants down around my ankles or salute the loyally displayed flag. In the end, I just kept laughing.

Note: I don't think "flag shorts" made the cut in the long run. Only 120 men of the 430 applicants were selected to continue at the end of the assessment, fortunately I was one of them.

HNT #7

2006-01-26T00:00:00.000-05:00

A set of buns in protest:

I'm tired folks. I am tired of all the boobs and ass all over HNT and just can't take it anymore. So I offer this weeks HNT as an alternative to all the smut being displayed everywhere else. Tell me about da rabbits again George.

Note: Fuck you if you can't take a joke. I am joking. Of course, I love boobs and buns as much as the next testosterone amped perv. It's been a really rough week and it doesn't look like it's going to be any easier. SisB is in the fight of her life against the flaming ass sperm donor of her baby. Fuck yo couch!
Steer your naughty asses over to Osbasso's blog for more Half-Nekkid insanity which will have you driving all over the information stupor-highway with one hand on the wheel and the other in your britches. C'mon, you know you want to! Click the link on the left with your free hand for the rules.

Q-Tips

2006-01-19T21:30:00.000-05:00

I hate old people. Rather, I hate the self-entitled, absent-minded attitudes they exhibit as they hobble about their daily routines. It borders on infuriating arrogance. They'll get into the express lane at the grocery store with a cart filled so high, the wheels groan under the load. They'll feign ignorance, poor eyesight, and/or mental illness to dismiss the complaints and murderous looks from the line behind them. It's all I can do to keep from beaning them in their white, poofey, granny 'fro with canned goods when they break out the freaking coupons, bicker about the pricing or whip out the damned change purse with the intention of picking through it to find the pennies. My brother informs me they call them "Q-tips" in Florida because all you can see of them past the seat when they drive is this poof of white hair like the tip of a cotton swab. Here's a short list of other irritating elderly behaviors which stir geriatricitic urges:

patronizing non-bargain eateries and tipping like cheap miserly bastards, then have the nerve to regular the place
dropping ass bombs into their depends while in a crowded enclosed area
conducting umpteen various time consuming transactions at a bank during the lunch/closing rush
the aforementioned bank attrocity while in the drive through lane
breaking out the fucking bifocals to order in the drive through for fast food
whipping out the damned 6 inch thick family photo album for some share time with the store clerk or post office employee
driving in an ultra-slow state of conservative paranoia where maintaining the speed limit is like violating a law of physics
blocking doorways, freezer/refrigerator doors, and aisles at stores for whatever ungodly reason and fuck forbid to read labels or fish out coupons
shopping for addresses and/or street names by slowing down to a crawl to thoroughly investigate each possibility
relating another single mind-numbing, slowly paced "in my day..." anecdote

So, the next time you hear an engine revved up and discover a big truck barreling down at a blue haired maven who had chosen to enter a crosswalk with her tennis ball clad, squeeky walker after the sign had changed to "Don't Walk," Please look the other way...because I'm on a crusade. "Gramma, you're BITCH ASS is GOIN' DOWN!"

Disclaimer: For any of the seasoned birthday veterans I have managed to offend I have only this to say, "It's the long pedal on the right, chickenfucker!" Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

HNT #6

2006-01-18T23:39:00.000-05:00

Geek Exhibit #1 HNT(aka-Kalani's Wish):

Yes, I have my own bowling gear. I'm money like dat, crackah! At least I no longer have all my AD&D books, but it will be a cold day in hell before I even so much as contemplate getting rid of my dice.

Steer your naughty asses over to Osbasso's blog for more Half-Nekkid insanity which will have you driving all over the information stupor-highway with one hand on the wheel and the other in your britches. C'mon, you know you want to! Click the link on the left with your free hand for the rules.

HNT #5

2006-01-12T00:00:00.000-05:00

Half-Assed HNT:

Unlike what you might have thought I meant by half-assed I've already shown half of my ass here and here. Feeling too lazy to take a new picture this week I relied on one Sissy took for me a few months back. Tough shit, I think my calves were looking bitchin'. Meow, chickenfuckers.

Steer your naughty asses over to Osbasso's blog for more Half-Nekkid insanity which will have you driving all over the information stupor-highway with one hand on the wheel and the other in your britches. C'mon, you know you want to! Click the link on the left with your free hand for the rules.

Purple

2006-01-06T22:45:00.000-05:00

When it comes to crazy, I know I'm purple flavored. I'm "eccentric," the type of crazy which does not scare others into calling the local looney bin, but into keeping the number handy on speed dial, "just in case." It's really a polite way of telling someone, "they ain't right in the head." I admit, I tend to generate most of this with clear cut intent. What can I say? It amuses me greatly to have people nervously wonder about my mental stability. So, FUCK the plum tree in the courtyard, I'm going to McDonald's to find my 2x4 and AK47 ammo! Anyone else love the taste of lithium and duct tape? Meow, bitches, meow.

HNT #4

2006-01-04T23:40:00.000-05:00

Army-style hamburger:

Here is the result of 5 weeks of non-stop marching through the woods with an excess of 120 lbs strapped to one's back. Not to mention tons of rain, mud, and yummy black quagmire water. I tried to estimate the number of miles we covered in that time. The best I could figure was somewhere around 130 miles.

**It's been commented I should have used moleskin: trust me that shit is useless with the stuff we do. The only way to keep it on your foot in my work environment is to glue the crap on with either super glue or tincture of benzoate. Either way the stuff isn't coming off any time soon(weeks). Road march, hell no...that stuff is for sissies. We don't march, we run...combat equipment and all. In the case of this trip to the field we were conducting combat foot patrols around the clock in the woods. This meant a lot of distance traveled without being on a single road or path. I don't usually get blisters my feet are used to wearing boots as I used to be a general contractor before the army. These beauties showed up somewhere near the end of the 4th week after I changed boots to a looser pair(and more dry). The one nearest my achilles tendon was actually a blister ON another blister. These pictures were taken 2 weeks after they popped up. Medic Trick: Don't pop your blisters until the skin underneath has healed. Let them drain naturally on their own and then cut off the dead skin much later. They only hurt for about a day when they first show up and they won't get infected this way(or start bleeding).
Steer your naughty asses over to Osbasso's blog for more Half-Nekkid insanity which will have you driving all over the information stupor-highway with one hand on the wheel and the other in your britches. C'mon, you know you want to! Click the link on the left with your free hand for the rules.

Craaaaaaaaaaaaaap!

2006-01-03T15:48:00.000-05:00

Ok, so "craaaaap," really wasn't the phrase I found myself turning quite often through my visit. I used much more colorful vernacular. I think everything which could have gone wrong did and did so in a nice sequential fashion so as not to crowd all the cursing into a small hunk of time. Because I find myself a little too lazy to write a nice flowery narrative here is a partial list of what went wrong:

**Forgot cell phone over at SisB's place and had to turn around for it dissolving on time start to trip
**Forgot keys to storage lock in CO in the glovebox of my truck back in NC
**Plane gets delayed 3/4 hour in Philadelphia
**Luggage gets lost in Phillie and I don't find out until after I had waited an hour eagerly eyeballing the baggage carousel in Denver--about 20 of us on this flight had either lost or badly damaged luggage
**Alamo sales lady thinks its really cool that I am a soldier so she offers me a "big" hookup to upgrade my full-size car rental to an SUV for a "really good price." I'm finally on the road $164 later. Nice discount lady...I felt had, not helped.
**It was snowing like a mofo(which I happen to like) and the wiper fluid zonks out 30 miles away from the airport. Wiper blades are shot to boot. This made the long drive even longer and I had my mother and my dot calling me in relays to complain about how long it was taking me
**Had to stay with emotionally manipulative/abusive ex-wife because mom was leaving to Germany 4 days after I got there(I got to cuddle with my dot every night so this kinda worked out as a draw)
**Storage place tells me it'll cost me $50 to get into my storage after having originally told me I could just cut the lock for free
**Roomate is leaving town for another base on short notice stiffing me with higher bills and having to work out a budget while on vacation
**Laptop dumps its brains out leaving me completely out of touch with everything internet
**Emotionally abusive ex lives up to her title
**I get to the snowboard rental place 5 minutes too late to get my brother his gear and my dot some boots so the whole trip has to be rescheduled for the next day. The advaced ticket sales place won't refund my money which I handed them less than an hour prior for my brother's lift ticket, because now he can't go.

There was a lot of this kind of crud going on the entire trip. I was overcharged everywhere, received the crappiest customer service, was whined/bitched/nagged at, guilt tripped, and had my plans get rearranged constantly. On a lighter note, Panera Bread is the maaaaad bomb, yo.

Ninjitsu

2005-12-23T12:40:00.000-05:00

I am a holiday ninja. Santa's samurai, if you will. I am good a my job. I wasn't always as enthusiastic about it as I have become over the years. Many a times was it my mission to stealthily place brightly wrapped gifts under a dazzlingly lit tree without being seen or heard. Often times these packages were heavy and/or bulky. There have also been occasions where an innocent child slept peacefully a mere handful of feet away from my labors. I've assembled bikes, dollhouses, and various action sets in very little light without the right tools. I've dropped armloads of gifts off at the doors of people(who wouldn't expect to receive any), loudly knocked on their entrances, and disappeared quickly to a vantage point to monitor their confused excitement. All this has been done without my existence having been discovered or suggested. I am nothing more than a figment of the imagination. I don't exist because I've never been seen and have never left evidence of my passing.

It is my highest honor to maintain the holiday pantheon with my efforts. This includes swapping out shiny change for teeth under the same pillow a child was resting their head after negotiating a dark obstacle course of playthings strewn recklessly about the floor. This includes placing upwards of five dozen brightly colored eggs in hiding places of varying degrees of height and likelyhood of discovery, while in the starkly cold early morning of Colorado in April. Keen senses, stealth, cat-like reflexes, misdirection, and cunning are the tools of my trade. If I am ever to be discovered, I must induct those who've discovered me into the ranks of the holiday ninjas. By nature of the job, ritual suicide is not an honorable option. I must train them in the art of holiday ninjitsu. As I've said before, I am good at my job and it is one of my highest honors to protect and preserve childhood traditions.

Friendship

2005-12-19T17:21:00.000-05:00

Friendship means a great many things to a great many people. Where is it we define friendship? Was it in kindergarten where the social boundaries of what a friendship entails was defined? Was it earlier than that? Where does a child learn who a friend is and what a friend does for another in the name of friendship. Who is it that teaches them? Would it be their first friend or would it be their parents. Could it be their very first friend or could it be their siblings? I really don't know and that's just fine with me. I know it is a concept which is refined over time and from the outcomes of multiple relationships with a great many friends. I came to think about all these things as my daughter nudged me out of my daily revery with a hunk of her infinitely enlightened child's wisdom. She asked me point blank one evening, "Daddy, guess who my best friend in the family is?" I have to admit, as I thought about how anyone would consider members of their family to be anything else other than just what they are by their defined roles, I was a little lost. I figured little girlie would have chosen her older sister or her older brother. At the very least, I figured she was talking about her toddler neice or her bunny rabbit Caramel. I admitted defeat to her with a cheerful ,"I dunno hun, who," as the possibilities seemed to keep stacking up. Her response truly humbled me.

"Daddy, you are my best friend in the family."

Little dottie is good at what she does. She knows my heart very well and is wise well beyond her years. She does this a lot.

Aside: Since having come back out to Colorado to visit with my dottie for the holidays I've read her entries on my blog referring to her and her brother. She gets all a twitter about what daddy has to say about her and the fact I am showing her off to the world. Oh, Oh, Oh!!! Brico, BTE, Honk, and Sasha, even my 4.5 year old daughter was able to giggle and recognize those pics as "daddy's butt."

Homebound

2005-12-19T17:15:00.000-05:00

I used to think I knew were home was. Home isn't quite what I thought it was before. Home was Germany for a while. Home had been Colorado for a large part of my life. The army has taken any concept of home and turned it on its' ear. Home is and isn't North Carolina for me right now. I call the small bachelor's pad in Spring Lake home when I am there during the workweek and when I am not either deployed or in the field training. I call my angel's house home on my days off and when I think about going someplace safe, warm, inviting, and comfortable. I've called a hootch home. I've called a survival shelter home. I've called various run-down barracks home. I've called a tent home. I've called a patch of muddy turf in jungle like woodlands home. I've even called an entrenching hole dug six feet into the ground and concealed with camoflage home. You can see how relative the concept of home becomes. Sure, there will always be particular places which will always be more home than not, but it's not a static reservation in my heart. As I return back to Colorado to see my dottie, it will feel different to me, almost alien. There will, of course, be some familiarity as I've been fortunate to visit roughly every six months the last two years. It just seems the more time passes the less like home it feels. Natural part of life, I'm sure. Defense mechanism for someone employed with the armed services, could be. I'm not lamenting, don't get me wrong. This thought process will make it much easier for me to float about the world, far away from anything I called home, and the only thing I will miss about "home" will be the people I leave behind. Eh, either way, I'm headed back to Colorado to reconnect with my poor dottie who has had her father shipped across the country to do what we agreed I would do on her behalf. I won't feel too upset if it doesn't quite feel like I'm home.

As a small aside folks, I'm not too certain as to what kind of internet access I'll have while I'm out in Colorado. Most likely, I'll be playing the wireless hotspot game at the local coffee house/bookstore. As such, my blog posts may become a bit erratic in timing. I won't even contemplate what I'm going to do for further HNT installments.

Logic

2005-12-16T20:00:00.000-05:00

My angel has this fuzzy way of thinking which I can't help to admire, if not at the very least for the sake of the laughter it brings me. Allow me to illustrate an example we came across not too long ago.

We call this story the "refrigerator logic scenario." You see, she is very crunched for time and has stretched herself frightfully thin. This means a good many domestic chores and such smaller "to-do's" have fallen through the cracks. I try to do my best as her partner in crime to help when I am at home on the weekends, otherwise I do what I can by politely reminding her about certain things which need to be done. One particular morning as I was rummaging through the fridge, I was halted by her as I reached in for a gallon of milk I had intent to use. This milk was well past its expiration and the thought hadn't crossed my mind to check for freshness. Here is the exchange which followed.

"So if you knew the milk was bad a while ago, why did you just stick it back into the fridge and buy a new 1/2 gallon?"
"Because I wanted to wait to throw it into the trash outside when I pull the trash on the curb on trash day."
"Ok, that makes sense in a really wierd way. But, aren't you forgetting a tiny little flaw in your plan?"
"Oh really, what might that be?"
"Don't you usually forget to take the trash out to the curb?" (sly giggling)
"Oh yeah!" (accompanied with giggles)
"So your reasoning was, you'd remember to take the soured milk still hidden in the fridge on the same day you'd remember to take the trash to the curb and somehow have the time available to remember and accomplish all this. Sounds like the workings of a small miracle to me. I'm thinking, I should so totally blog about this."

More mirthful laughter ensues as we both enjoy the eccentric though process behind her plans. I was laughing so hard I had to put my head down on my arms as I crossed them on the counter, in part to hide the jovial tears starting to form in my eyes and in part to support my knees which were growing weak from all the glee. I really had to fight the temptation to refer to the whole deal as the "fuzzy logic scenario," as (in all defense) there wasn't any furry green floaters in the milk. I love being able to laugh with her about silly little things like this.

HNT #3

2005-12-14T23:56:00.000-05:00

Run, Forrest, Run!:

Quick as a flash and twice as half-nekkid. This is what happens when one moves while a picture is taken without a flash and the invariably mandatory slower shutter speed.

Steer your naughty asses over to Osbasso's blog for more Half-Nekkid insanity which will have you driving all over the information stupor-highway with one hand on the wheel and the other in your britches. C'mon, you know you want to! Click the link on the left with your free hand for the rules.

Entrust

2005-12-14T01:00:00.000-05:00

World, I bequeath to you today one little girl in a pretty new dress, with bright eyes, an infectiously happy laugh that spreads all day long, and a batch of light brown hair which bounces in the sunlight when she runs. I entrust you to treat her well.

She's slipping out of the backyard of my heart this morning and skipping off down the street to her first day at school. Never again will she be completely mine. Proudly, she'll wave a young and independent hand this morning, say goodbye, and walk with little lady steps to the nearby classroom. Gone will be the chattering little mischief-maker who lived only for play and gone will be the delightful little imp who roamed the yard like a proud princess with nary a care in her little world. Now, she will learn to stand in lines and wait by the alphabet for her name to be called. She will learn to tune her little girl ears for the sound of school bells and deadlines. She will learn to giggle and gossip...and to look at the ceiling in a disinterested way when the little boy across the aisle sticks out his tongue. Now, she will learn to be jealous, she will learn how it is to feel hurt inside, and she will learn how not to cry. No longer, will she have time to sit on the front porch steps on a summer day to play in the mud and dirt. She won't have time to pop out of bed with the dawn to kiss tulip blossoms in the morning dew. Now, she will worry about important things like grades, what dresses to wear, and whose best friend is whose. Now, she will worry about the little boy who pulls her hair at recess time, staying after school, and which little girls like which little boys. The magic of books and knowledge will soon take the place of the magic of her blocks and dolls. She'll find her new heroes. For five full years, I've been her sage and Santa Claus. I've been her pal and playmate. I've been her parent and her friend. Now, she'll learn to share her worship and adoration with her teachers. No longer will her parents be the smartest, strongest, most capable, and greatest people in the world. When the first school bell rings today, she'll learn what it is to be a member of the group, with all its privileges and its disadvantages, too. In time, she'll learn proper young ladies don't laugh out loud, or keep frogs and bugs in pickle jars in bedrooms, or play in the mud and dirt, or keep an enormous collection of rocks.Today, she'll begin to learn for the first time all who smile at her are not her friends. She'll learn "the group" can be a demanding mistress. Today I'll stand here and watch her start out on the very long journey to becoming a woman.

This all having been said, world, I bequeath to you today one little girl in a pretty new dress, with bright eyes, an infectiously happy laugh that spreads all day long, and a batch of light brown hair which bounces in the sunlight when she runs. I trust you to treat her well.

HNT #2

2005-12-08T17:00:00.000-05:00

Straight passed the fuck out:

Ok, Ok...I admit it. I let SissyB do all the work for me this week. I was tired and REALLY comfortable. What can I say. Ok, and I wound up being too lazy to post a comment on Os' blog mentioning I was posting because I figured my angel would go ahead and take care of it for the both of us.

Steer your naughty asses over to Osbasso's blog for more Half-Nekkid insanity which will have you driving all over the information stupor-highway with one hand on the wheel and the other in your britches. C'mon, you know you want to! Click the link on the left with your free hand for the rules.

Gig-pit

2005-12-06T14:57:00.000-05:00

Just hearing the word "gig-pit," makes my skin crawl. It's basically a place of administrative punishment used to deter just about any infraction, large or small. It really doesn't even matter if you were guilty of the infraction or responsible in any way. Any one single person in your platoon screws up and the whole group gets the pit. I spent my 29th birthday in there, twice, for a total of 5 hours in the one day. The instructors march the whole formation of soldiers over to the pit and boldly call out, "Ground everything you don't want to get wet." They have this arrogant smirk on their face as they do this, most of them truly enjoy using the pit. We don't just slosh into the knee deep water and stand there. We conduct physical training in there. You name the exercise it's been done in the pit. Everything from push-ups (face in the water), to jumping jacks, to flutter kicks (lots of tasty splashing), to mule kicks, to sit-ups, to crawling about, and to swimming (laps would involve going under the little bridge with 3" of clearance off the water). The water has this bright green sludge which would float in impressive octopus-like patterns on the surface when the water was still, which was rare. To put it mildly, this water was scummier than anything you would find in a swamp and stank twice as bad. I remember looking out the dark bathroom window in my barracks late one friday night to watch two drunk instructors laughing and slapping each other on the backs as they urinated in the water of the pit. Somehow, I'm sure that wasn't the only time this had happened. I was afraid to speculate what other substances had found their way into the black water. There were multiple cases of MRSA infections in fellow soldiers linked to being in this water. MRSA is a flesh eating bacteria which would enter through open wounds. I've seen guys get infected from wounds like minor scratches, bug bites, and even razor burn on their faces. This stuff is so vile the medics would use multiple strong antibiotics to fight it. Treatment would usually involve first cutting open the infection site and then scraping out the hardened cellulitous and squeezing out large portions of pussy fluid before flushing the wound with sterile saline. Scary stuff indeed. I've spent hours exposed to this bacteria and thankfully have never been infected. Cold weather, you ask? Cold weather doesn't imply one won't see the pit. Even when the water was covered in a sheet of ice 3/4 inch thick, I was in there. After the ice was forceably broken to expose the freezing water, the pit was used in its' typical fashion. I heard at one point, a higher ranking officer from another unit saw soldiers being "corrected" in the pit on a very cold day earlier that winter and raised such a huge clamor about the inappropriateness of its use as a training aid, the instructors were forced to discontinue its' use. This was done just long enough to erect the black tarp screen, backed with concertina wire, and iron barricades to prevent any such further observation in the future. It was said one cannot contract hypothermia in under 7 minutes, even while wet. This was the limit of time used when the weather was cold. We'd spend 7 minutes in the pit and move to an adjacent sand pit to continue for a few minutes before being sent back into the water for another 7 minutes. The water was often so cold as we'd lay back in it up to our chins all we could do was loudly inhale a lungful of air in shock and shiver violently, unable to exhale from the force of the cold. I remember well the horrified look of shock on my buddies' faces and only imagined what grimace mine was contorted in. The Friday of my birthday December of last year I remember doing flutter kicks in the icy water with my entire platoon of 25 men, with our hands planted below us in support of our weight on broken shards of ice submerged in the water. I quietly sang 'happy birthday' to myself as the cadence for the exercise was counted out loudly. To cap off a really good session, we'd get marched into our 1920's era barracks to continue exercising. This would bring an inordinate amount of water and mud into our living area, completely drenching the floors and our belongings. Usually, this was done on the second floor so the mess could drain down below to the first floor, ensuring a lengthy and difficult clean-up as the mess would pour out of our uniforms and boots. There were times we were told to get the mess entirely cleaned up and be changed into new, dry uniforms within a rediculously small amount of time (5 minutes). The price of failure? You guessed it. Right back into the water and we'd start the whole process over again. We were lucky if we could change into a dry uniform. There was one time I remember being told to form up, grab our equipment, and head onto the tarp covered trucks. We were trucked 1/2 hour away to the woods for our training that day. Not that being wet really mattered that day, it was raining when we got there anyway. The instructors told us the day we arrived our lives would suck, get used to it. The pit was just a small part of the price for admission.

You can see many of the details mentioned in my description of the pit in the pictures. The security veil to hide events from passers-by is in the backdrop behind the vertical stack of sandbags. Those white buildings adjacent to the pits are the actual barracks we used. The sandpit used to alternate out of the water to avoid hypothermia is visible in one picture. On the wide shot of all three pits, you can see the ice forming on the pit in the foreground. The closest building on the right of that same picture was my barracks and the bathroom window, ground floor, faces the pit in the background.

Filler

2005-12-03T11:40:00.000-05:00

I'm told by SisB to have everyone wishing me a happy birthday on my HNT post of my ass was most likely in poor taste. I just giggled about it saying, "I like having everyone write on my ass-muffin." And yes, my cherry blasting debut HNT post was of my "ass-muffin." I couldn't help myself. Firstly, I am the very last thing from shy. Secondly, I'm a closet ruthless porn lord. I always thought I would kick ass at making pornos, problem is I don't want to ever become disinterested with sex in general and I've seen too many of them(sic) blooper scenes. Anyways, this entry is more to serve as filler because I haven't got the 5 other entries in my queue prepared to post juuuust yet. I know how y'all drop by looking to see if I've dropped any more wisdom/smartassy sassy. I guess I'll just go ahead and get a little cliche as this is my 30th birtday and mention some general observations I have about life at this moment. Eeeegads, this means I've now become a 'seasoned' birthday veteran.

1) EVERYTHING is funny...or can be made fun of at the right time.
2) Timing is everything and therefore critical.
3) You are only as old as your youngest child. Those of us with a little more talent can stretch this and work it over to no end. So I'll be 4 1/2 for the next 30 years.
4) The minute you think you are 'too old' for anything, you've become too old for everything.
5) That whole "men reach their sexual peak at 18," thing is bullshit. I'm still at my peak and that's been going strong for 12 years now with no sign of becoming anything other than stronger.
6) Getting the shit scared out of you is fun and coincidentally, funny for everyone else watching.
7) Treat every day like a gift and like it'll be the last one you'll ever see. It just might very well be -- nobody knows for sure.
8) Never take life too seriously. Remember: nobody gets out alive anyways.
9) If you are going to run with the ball, be prepared to get the shit knocked out of you. Just never forget how much fun it is just to run with the ball.
10) Always bear in mind, at the end of the game, the king and pawns all get returned to the same box.

There you have it, just a small dabbling of observations from a waylaid warrior poet. I'm still wandering the path of life like a tourist. Ohh'ing and Ahhh'ing at the passing scenery as I pause to take my snapshots and wandering away from the group to find myself lost every here and there. Oh, by the way, if your buddy ever says, "Hey y'all, check this out! " You'd better run over and watch, it may very well be the last thing you ever see them do. Everyone have a wonderful day, I'm going to go stir up some trouble.

HNT #1

2005-11-30T23:32:00.000-05:00

Shoutout to my anatomically challenged blogbro Brico:

Don't try to burn out too many braincells trying to identify this one Brico and don't forget to double check the voicemail box ID before you go leaving any messages about it and please take your hands out of your pants.

Just keepin it reaaaaahl in the Half-Nekkid Thursday tradition. We all have Osbasso to blame/thank for this.

Mud

2005-11-29T19:04:00.000-05:00

Children love mud. There must be something magical to it. They completely dig the stuff. They like to play in it, dig in it, get it on their clothes, get it in their hair, eat it, throw it, build with it, and cover any number of things with it. Coincidentally, this also includes a wide array of "things" which aren't their own like the side of the house, the dog and/or cat, the new car in the driveway, the entire porch, the newly cleaned kitchen floor, other children, mommy(ok, I admit that was my idea), and generally anything sparkling clean/new. Maybe it's in their genetic coding somewhere. If so, it has to develop in the womb at some point. I mean, they come gunning out of the birth canal and as soon as they can crawl they are reaching for the brown squishy mortar of natures goodness. Then why (and when) do they wind up losing interest in this fun medium of carefree art. At what point does it become just something "dirty" and "messy?" Who is it taking that joy away from our children. Don't look at me, I didnt do it. I not only encourage the practice, I participate with reckless and gleeful abandonment. It's been raining all day now, if you need me...I'll be out back playing in the gooey puddle of youth.

Cheerleader

2005-11-28T11:20:00.000-05:00

This is my dot. My one person cheering section. Just about any time anything really cool was accomplished, she would be there to provide me with the appropriate props. Everytime I would jokingly say,"Who's yer daddy," in celebration of surmounting mundane challenges and frustrating tasks like the household plumbing, she would cheerfully chime in with, "YOU are, daddy!" I think everyone should have their own personal cheerleader (and NO I don't mean it THAT way...bunch of savages in this town) to provide that extra little push when things seem rough and grim. This cheerleader would notice all the small things you do that should matter to the people around you, but usually go unnoticed. Said cheerleader will also be pulling for you to win as the clock ticks dangerously close to the end of the game and all the other fans have already started making their way to the parking lot in retreat to a loss for the home team. Here's to you dottie, for always believing daddy has all the answers, knows the right thing to do, comes to the rescue in time, and saves the world from destruction everyday.

Lexicon

2005-11-20T12:15:00.000-05:00

I made a promise to myself before I joined the Army almost two years ago.

"Whatever you do, do NOT allow them to change the way you talk or modify your vernacular."

I realized the other day as I was returning to my vehicle after another useless formation where not much of anything was accomplished, I blew it. I've had a large variety of terminology sneak its' way into my lexicon. Allow me to share some of what I've observed.

ate up: when one is so screwed up from exhaustion or lack of sleep they can't do anything right
smoked: conducting a physically strenuous activity to the point of muscle failure and/or exhaustion; one can be smoked or smoke another
torqued: see smoked
broken: injured
broke-dick: one who is injured or persistently claims to be injured
sick call: there is no such thing as calling in sick, only sick call; unless one is near death, work is inevitable; one learns to love ibuprofin
squared away: well prepared, set to go, in perfect compliance
tree: the appropriate communications enunciation of the number three
roger: understood, acknowledged, and accepted
check, check: checked and double checked as if on a list
copy: message received
WTF, over: inside joke, like the standard What The Fuck with communications protocol added
that's that bullshit: inside joke, typically used when one isn't surprised by a negative event but wishes one could be
time hack: what time one currently has, used to synchronize timepieces
leave: vacation
pass: permission to exceed certain mileage limits on days everyone else gets off, technically we work 7 days a week, weekends are a privilege
LES: Leave and Earnings Statement; paystub
beat your face: push ups
PT: Physical Training; the Army's version of exercise, performed daily, can include very odd concepts of what would be considered exercise; sometimes borders on torture
latrine: restroom
pull security: to maintain watch over an area
scan: visually search an area looking for the bad guys
chow: meal; ie: breakfast chow, chow time, etc.
move out: leave for another destination
extreme sense of urgency: exactly what it usually means, just over-used
motivation: exactly what it usually means, the way its used in the Army you'd think it was the Force or magic pixie dust
shit bag: somebody so completely useless you'd wonder if they laid in the road would they be able to even act as a speed bump successfully
fuck: use of this word is mastered in the Army; can easily be used 6 different ways in one sentence
civilian: the rest of the free world, term never used pre-Army
joe: generic term for a soldier, reference to a soldier without responsibility
jodie: someone who sleeps with a soldier's wife or g/f while he is away, knowing they are spoken for
pogue(POG): Personnel Other than Grunt, anyone who isn't combat arms
hard time: deadline or no later than time
soft time: time prior to the hard time you are actually supposed to be ready and waiting by
execute: perform an action
double time: run
march: walk
affirmative/negative: yes/no
shit storm: when everything comes unglued and bad news is like air, all over the place
shit soup sandwich: sloppy disasterous mess, more bad news
clusterfuck: much like a shit storm, but involves incompetence and direct responsibility
BOB: Bright Orange Ball, the sun as it takes its sweet ass time rising to warm us up or not
behoove: perfectly normal word, but used entirely too much(ad nauseum) in the Army

This is, by no means, a complete list of terms. Definitely a long list, but not everything which has slipped past my guard. I think it's safe to say I missed the goal of my promise. We'll just call this exhibit A in the case that this isn't just a job...it's a lifestyle. Matter of fact, it replaces what one thought was their life with a whole different version of one approved by the Department of Defense.

Shamarai

2005-11-17T20:57:00.000-05:00

Recently, Cindy's blog had an entry about slacking, which encouraged me to publish (for the first time) the complete core rules of the Shamtastic Shamarai in a comment I left her. These rules and terms have all been kicked around verbally to no end at work. To those not associated with the Army or working for the Army outside of an office, I'll clarify a few key terms so everyone is up to speed with the concepts.

sham (v): painstakingly taking efforts to intentionally avoid work
shammer (n): what a supervisor or boss calls those who sham
Shamarai (n): what a person who actively shams calls themself
shamtastic (adj): a Shamarai's version of the word fantastic
Camp Shamalama (n): a clandestine location where Shamarai rally to collectively engage in shamming, limited only by imagination and accessability ie: Burger King, the back of a humvee or other transport vehicle, hidden spot in the woods
grand sham (n): a complete and successful day of shamming where absolutely no work was completed

Those terms should bring everyone up to speed enough to get the general idea of what all is involved and the serious effort involved in shamming. There's even a theme song, it's Bob Marley's song "Jammin" redone to substitute the term shammin'. Without further ado, I present to you the core rules of the Shamtastic Shamarai:

1. Why stand when you can sit
2. Why sit when you can lie down
3. Why lie down when you can sleep
4. Why work when you could be sleeping
5. If it is between you and your buddy, make sure it isn't you getting volunteered
6. Always make sure you have someplace better to be even if you aren't going to be there
7. Always make sure you have something better to do even if you aren't going to do it
8. Why do something today someone else can do tomorrow
9. Never stand next to someone who is productive or volunteers a lot
10. Disappear quickly and never look back, he who lingers gets volunteered

Victor-Eight

2005-11-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

Recently, I've found myself hopelessly addicted to Spicy V8. The sad part is, it's healthy which means there isn't a single reason why this addiction is necessarily a bad thing. Well, I am drinking about three of the big bottles (more than a gallon) a week so it might look weird to everyone else that hasn't accepted the tangy good-ness that is my new spicy addiction.

I'm not the type usually associated with eating much in the way of health foods. Ok, I'm not the type to even consider eating what would be labeled health food. I like my sugary cereals, greasy fast food, and red meat. I think salad is just something to keep you busy so you don't notice how long the steak and dessert are taking. I'm pretty sure the vegetables and potatoes are on the plate just to keep my meat from sliding off. I have these dramatically sweeping mood changes when I get caffiene and sugar in my system(or better yet BOTH). I think Captain Crunch, Frankenberry, Count Chocula, Sugar Bear, Tony the Tiger, Dig'em the Frog, Cooookie Crisp Burglar, Lucky the Leprechaun, the Trix Rabbit, and the Cheerios Bee are not just my dealers of sugary happiness...they are folk heros. You get the general picture.

Now, don't get me wrong. I have started eating more healthy due to the influence of my training program at work and my peers. It's nothing I've gone to overboard with. My angel has innocuously convinced me that high fructose corn syrup(HFCS) and hydrogenated oils(trans fats) are poisons only to be used if you want to kill yourself slowly from the inside. I'm generally going along with this because she has this proclivity towards being right and I do feel better not eating this stuff. I've even found myself buying milk that wasn't taken from cows who've been treated with a cocktail of chemicals, eggs from happy chickens who've been fed nothing but grains and vitamins, beef from happy cows without steroid addictions, and a bevy of foods with shorter ingredient lists. I'm going to miss my heydays of caffiene, sugar, preservatives, fats, and gleefully unadulterated consumption of hollow calories. Oh shit, I've become a healthfood eating activist for better living. It's a good thing I refuse to wear sandals still, otherwise I'd be worried about looking like a left-wing, tree-hugging hippie.

Yeeehaw!

2005-11-09T16:57:00.000-05:00

It was a bitter cold morning. The winds are a relatively calm 5-9 knots at ground level and much more sporty at our jump altitude of 1200 feet above ground level. The pilot wouldn't say for sure but the look on his face tells the story well enough. It's going to be a rough ride down. This is always the worst part of every parachute jump, all the damned waiting. The best part, by far, is the ride down under the canopy of the parachute. It's like flying. I have a love/hate relationship with jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft. It is a completely unnatural act that scares the shit out of me every time I do it. I am always surprised my legs hold out long enough to see me out of the aircraft without faltering. I love every moment of it. Today's jump is going to be dicey. Higher winds, cold thin air, full loadout of combat equipment, and a machine gun strapped to my side will guarantee a much faster and rougher fall than usual. This is going to be a wild ride and my eyes are wide and alert in anticipation. I'll be the first trooper out the rear door of the first pass over the drop zone. The airplane is a much smaller bird than I'm accustomed to, so small the pilot only has to cock his head and yell at the 10 of us in the rear to be heard. Yeah, this is going to be a rush. As we take off, I'm wedged down on all sides in a press of bodies and equipment which makes one wonder what's the point of wearing a seatbelt. I can see the runway zip by the open side door from my seat at the rear of the bird. This view is really impressive as we lift away from the earth and bank into a hard turn that faces the door almost straight down at the disappearing ground and runway. There I sit, like an idiot, smiling a big toothy grin. Now there is only one way off this flight for me and it won't involve the plane. The trip to the dropzone is quick, we barely have time to claw our way standing and go through the mandated checks and processes required for every military jump. I'm standing at the threshold of the small rear door, staring out at the blurred landscape as I wait the command to exit the craft. The craft is getting pummeled by the wind. Shifting from side to side, climbing and dipping. It's become a little bit of a challenge just to remain standing with all the extra weight. I'm no longer scared at this point, just numb from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. It's simple, really. All you got to do at this point is walk out the back into open air. Well, loaded down with a little over 200 pounds of extra equipment makes it more of a waddle and then a rocketing plummet. I was right, the ride down was rough and really fast. Steering my canopy to avoid the looming treeline the wind was pushing me quickly towards, I had to hurry and shift between controlling my heading and preparing my equipment for the landing. The landing was good and brutal. I hit the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes. Nothing I couldn't handle, I've had my fair share of hard hits with the ground over my life as a snowboarder. As I defiantly stand back up to place my machine gun into service, I crank out a "yeeehaw!" in a true Colorado cowboy manner. This is part of my jump ritual. I do it every time I find myself alive and uninjured after a jump. I give the soft and silky canopy a kiss in thanks as I pack it up into its kit bag. That's also part of my ritual. I grab my 100 pound heavy rucksack, get it on my back, stack the parachute bag and reserve parachute on top before I snatch up my machine gun to head to the assembly area almost a kilometer and a half away.

I think about a lot, as I sit there at the assembly area now laying in the prone (on my stomach propped up on my elbows) in a defensive position waiting for the other 5 passes to drop the rest of the company. This particular moment I had pictures out of my loved ones before me and next to the butt stock of my machine gun as I tried hard to stay warm in the cold morning. I find myself thinking of my angel and how much I miss her. This is the middle of my fourth week away from her in this hell hole. I find myself thinking of the first time I heard her tell me those three little words. I remember what that felt like and I come to a very simple little epiphany. I wrote the words down for her the first chance I had.

"Hearing you speak of our love, the look in your gorgeous eyes as you do, our lovemaking, your touch, your kiss, your smile, and your laughter all bring me such huge thrills... jumping out of a plane is just a cheap 'yeehaw' by comparison."

It's a good thing she hasn't seen first hand what these jumps are like or she might just really understand the depth of what I feel.

Shiner

2005-11-08T19:41:00.000-05:00

It shouldn't have happened, really. There were controls set in place. Sure, this is a violent game we play and we are all supposed to be men capable of visiting attrocious violence on those who would wish our citizens harm. The excercise was for training only. We would spar with our brothers-in-arms, our buddies. We always get a little rough and somebody always gets at least a little hurt. It's usually not a big deal, like I said, it's a rough game we play and a full contact sport. Me, I'm typically a calm gentle soul. The last person one might expect capable of any brutalities. My partner at that moment got out of hand. I understand it's early, 6 in the morning isn't conducive to concentration. I know the instructors are pushing for more force of action to increase the reality. My partner is a superior enlisted man, he blew off the first safety in the exercise. Control your force of action. I was bent over in an armlock generated from an elbow break which was step one of the martial form. His soccer kick came screaming in at my hand and forearm held out to parry the blow as a second safety. His shin forced my hand back and rolled right past my fingers. I watched the combat boot come screaming in right at my face as it connected with the left side of my face. He hit my face so hard it rocked my head completely back even against the pressure of the arm lock. He'd cut my lip, caused some trauma to my sinuses, and hit my eye so hard I saw a white line in my vision from where it had been creased by the boot. He immediately released his grip on my wrist and arm as I fell backwards from the force of the blow. I stood up, shook my head to clear my vision, and drilled him right square in the face with my punch. My fist dropped his ass to the ground and broke his nose.

"Sargeant, control yourself or next time I won't," I calmly state as I stand over him clutching his nose.

My eye was so badly bruised it's taken almost 3 weeks to heal. His nose was reset on the spot with a stainless steel rod. The assembled group of soldiers now knows I'm just as capable of violence as the best of them. The instructors are still slapping each other in the back and laughing over the display of force like prideful alpha males. I took the shiner with pride and stood my ground with honor.

Debacle

2005-11-08T17:54:00.000-05:00

I thought I knew well the sting of defeat. Anyone who knows my unabridged story knows full well I've seen my share of crushing loss. I was wrong. With as many of my dreams as I've seen fall apart into shattered pieces at my feet, I thought I'd become a seasoned veteran of such events. I couldn't have been further from the truth.

Holy shit it is dark. It's been raining on and off for the last four hours. Good, the wet cold will keep us all awake as we all lay on our stomachs in wet uniforms under some natural camoflage hastily arranged over our profiles. It was a little past midnight as I checked my watch, peering at it around the edges of my night vision optics. Careful, don't let the backlight glow to where it would either blind me through my optics or give away my position to anyone else out in the darkness using them. The hit was supposed to have been in place a half an hour ago, the Captain fucked that up pretty good. I did my best to fix things. Holy shit, what a huge mess he made of this simple little operation...damned idiot, Sir.

The hit went off almost too late. What the hell happened to strong side security? They fall asleep on the damned ambush? Shit! Fuck it, better late than not at all...Sir was the one who initiates things, this isn't on my back. Nice volume of fire. Good, the claymores all detonated. Cease fire! Silence of the dead...nothing is moving in the killzone. Call the assault you dumb bastard and let me do my fucking job! Good, he fucking came to his senses. I'm up on a knee yelling at the left half of my assault line to reload and report. Good, right side now. I stand up to start the frantic dash to the edge of the road with the left half of my line. Holy shit! Incoming! Sir, for fucking out loud call the fucking withdrawal it's fucking artillery! You idiot, you fucked the pooch on this so damned bad you brought arty on us. Perfect, at least he got the withdrawal right. We're out of here, screw searching the bodies, let the arty spread more gore all over the killzone. At least tonight, it won't be me or my guys. We just disappear into the night like ghosts.

That sure as hell didn't go as planned. This ought to be really good. I did what I was supposed to, maybe I'll be spared the ass reaming I know the Sir is going to get over this. My thoughts are racing as I ruck back near the end of the column with the other team leader. Wait, hold on. Something is REALLY wrong here. We're marching right past the damned road we hit. Oh, damn. This can't be good. I fucking knew it! I told the Sir this couldn't rationally be the right road. Even in the complete and total darkness provided by the unilluminated sky, I could tell the road was much too small. I'd argued with him at length about it, why didn't he listen to me? Ok, maybe this won't be so bad. I mean, I did what I was supposed to, right? I did all I could. In the end, the decision is the Sir's to make and not mine. They can't really blame me for that right?

I look at my watch again for the first time since the hit. Almost 1 AM. Damn, I haven't slept in almost 36 hours now. Well, that's if I want to count an hour and a half of unconsciousness as sleep. Ok, time to hear about what went wrong. Good, I already have a long mental list in my mind. If the proctor puts it out to us for our own evaluation of tonight's performance, maybe I can save a little face and my score by demonstrating at least I knew what needed to be done, even if the Sir didn't comply. Damn, not so lucky. The litany of offenses keeps growing. The hit was on the wrong fucking road. Holy shit, we were off by over 100 meters. The road we are standing on now as the proctor furiously paces back and forth was the right size. Damn he's pissed. Well, I would be too if I wasn't feeling so sick and numb. Yeah, this makes a lot more sense than the one the Sir had pegged for our objective. Shit, I knew it. The blue glow of the chemlight stick starts to illuminate my downturned face of humiliated defeat as it nears my position on the line. Shoulders slumped, I grab it from the guy next to me and pass it over to the guy standing on my other side to prove I am awake and listening. This was a total rout. A complete debacle. My efforts were a complete wastful nothing. I watch and listen as I progressively grow more sick to my stomach, watching my score being thrashed as hard as the Sir's. Yup, that's it...it's over. Three weeks of the hardest work I've seen in my life completely wasted by a retard of an officer. No, it's worse than that. This is the terminal result of over a year and a half of every effort my body, mind, heart, and soul could muster. This is the crushing of one of my dreams. It's happening right here in front of me and I am completely numb and defenseless. The sky suddenly opens up in a deluge so furious it feels like I just had someone dump a truck full of water on me, I'm soggy wet almost instantly. Yeah, this suites the mood just right. Now I'm cold, wet, and miserable. This is perfect. I've never felt so completely defeated. Now, all I need is to get struck with lightning and it'd be complete. My stomach and broken heart sit in a drenched mess at my feet. It's ok, I don't feel anything anymore, not my hands or face, not even the cold and wet of the storm, not even my broken heart. Get our gear and get on the truck. The week of furious testing is over and my ruck feels like it weighs three times more than it has all week long. Yeah, it must be the pile of humiliation I just packed in it on top of the wreckage of yet another dream, before heading to the truck. At least tonight I can be dry again.

Decompression

2005-11-07T23:41:00.000-05:00

I'm back. I wish I could fake the bravado it would require for me to say we had a good time. To be honest, it was an ordeal to be survived. This training isn't the standard field training seen by the majority of our armed forces. It was a test...a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week, 5 week nightmare. When we return from such an event, the period of time required to return to a normal state is referred to as decompression. It's time spent coping with the thoughts and memories of what has happened. It's time to try to fit back into "regular" life. It's a nasty cocktail of numbness, jetlag, and culture shock. Bear with me folks, I may physically be back...but there are parts of me that got a little lost in the layover and have somehow found their way to Barbados.

Ceasefire

2005-10-01T17:49:00.000-04:00

An unfortunate requirement of my profession is an exorbitant amount of time spent "in the field." This is where the vast majority of continuous training occurs. Those three words aren't always implying the same place on a map and they definitely don't refer to anything resembling a field. It most recently has reflected something more akin to a jungle. I'm not exactly sure just how much I am allowed to talk about in regard to my training with the anonymous strangers of the blogoverse. Let's just suffice it to say my training is very intense, professional, painful, stressful, and lengthy. If we hadn't volunteered for this it would constitute torture. When it is all said and done, it is expected only 5% or less of those who started this training and testing will remain to see completion. I've already beat the odds thus far and stand in the successful minority, roughly 25% of the starting field.

With all this said, I bid thee all a momentary farewell as I venture back out to the field for some more fun. I will be completely out of contact with the civilized world for the next 5-10 weeks. I'll be back then with some wildly amusing stories, I'm sure. I'm not permitted to bring my camera so I can't play photographer and share my perspective outside of the typed word. As Cartman puts it all too aptly, "Screw you guys...I'm going home."

Sacrifice

2005-10-01T05:23:00.000-04:00

An excerpt from a now nearly two year old journal entry:

"There are a lot of fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, brothers, and sisters out there that could very well likely rely on the assistance I might bring. To ask them to sacrifice of themselves so dearly while I do nothing didn’t seem like a very honorable or ethical decision. I did not like feeling as if I was avoiding one responsibility in favor of another. Service to my country is just as important a duty as being the best daddy I can be for Angel Dot(AD). I’ve sacrificed long enough on AD’s behalf and now both she and I need to sacrifice for the greater good. As cold and harsh as that may sound, AD agrees with me that I need to go help all the other daddies so they can come home safe to their little boys and girls. When the need is apparent to a 3 year old…it should be just plain obvious to everyone else."

She and I knew then, in an effort to improve the world in our tiny way, we were going to have to make many sacrifices. My daughter is wise and intelligent beyond her handful of years. She, more than any other adult who "knew" me, understood exactly why Daddy was marching off in combat boots to protect her tomorrows.

Daddy & AD sacrificed:
-Daddy & Dot days(our name for the time we spent, just her and I)
-Dot's 4th and very soon 5th birthday
-Two snowboard seasons(she learned snowboarding when she was 2)
-Two fishing seasons(boy howdy that girl can cast)
-Dot's 1st day in karate, her first stripe, several more, and her first promotion
-Dot's 1st day at school
-Several projects in our workshop(she, like Daddy, loves tools and hard work)
-Water gun duels, mud pie baking, hikes, and trips to her mountains
-Way too many hugs, kisses, I love you's, cuddly naps, and tickle matches

I am sure there will be many more to add to this list as time continues to pass. We talked at length, over several weeks, about what our decision would mean for the both of us. I had thought we'd covered it all and I had glossed over the sacrifices which would be mine alone to make. They were and still are small in comparison to those AD and I share. Maybe some day soon I'll fill everyone in on them, just not today. Daddy loves you Angel Dot.

To backfill some information: AD's Mommy and I have been separated now 2.5 years. Earlier in AD's life I would affectionately call her "daughter" or "my daughter" in direct reference when I would talk with her. IE: "Come here daughter and we'll go change your stinky diapey." AD's Mommy didn't like the reference at all and called it callous and cold hearted(something she knows a lot about by perfecting the method on me). So in an effort to appease Mommy and keep things amicable I changed it to Dot/Dottie. The Angel reference comes from her birth, where the doctor commented about her difficult passage into this world being on account of her angel wings getting a little caught on her way out. My ensuing nervous, yet genuine, laughter alerted my Dottie that Daddy(that guy with the really goofy laugh she loved to hear while in the womb) was right there. This is when she first opened her eyes to transfix mine. Time stopped dead in its tracks in that moment...and so did I.

Seamanship

2005-09-13T12:46:00.000-04:00

Ok, ok. In a totally sweeping departure from the typical topics I post, here is a much lighter entry. While I have and will continue to have internal conflicts with what I currently call work, I respectfully submit exhibit A for the case of "why I love being in the Army." Memories like this one and the shared experiences they represent will make the trials and horrid moments to come all the easier to navigate. Might I add as well, September 19th is the "National Talk Like a Pirate" day. Arrrrgh ye scurvey warf rats will be keel hauled fer shhurre.

Angels

2005-09-09T14:20:00.000-04:00

There have been points in my life where I have been, for lack of any good secular references, touched by angels. I don't refer to the creatures of myth and religion so dramatically glorified over the ages in tales both written and spoken. These angels are something quite different but do share many qualities. My mind, my heart, my inner being, and my life have all been altered in dramatic and positive ways from my encounters with them. They know who they are, even if they have yet to discover the extent of how they have touched me.

The first, AD, taught me much about the strength which lies in vulnerability. AD taught me the true light of sincere and unconditional love. I've come to understand my truths about mortality, altruism, my impact on the world, and my responsibilities to the world because of AD.

The second, BG, taught me much about how far I had truly strayed from the middle path, even as BG was unaware of the middle path at the time. BG taught me love does not imply attatchment nor a fear of loss. I've come to understand my truths about who I am in this delicate balance of contradictions I face daily being a soldier, a medic, a father, and a zen disciple, because of BG.

Both angels have touched and will continue to influence me. I am greatful beyond words for all they have shown me thus far and for what might yet be discovered in the moments to come. Thank you both for lighting my way and leading me to my truths.

Obligation

2005-09-05T20:46:00.000-04:00

Ok, for several who can't keep from noticing it has been forever since last I wrote a blog entry and constantly checking on me to make sure I am still alive: I'm trying a whole new concept in blogging. Write when you actually have something meaningful to add to the world.

That said, please accept my appologies that I haven't pushed myself a little harder into refining one of multitudes of thoughts worthy of posting here. Work puts me out of contact with the civilized world on a constant basis. Ahhhh the benefits of being an armed international conflict resolution arbiter for the Department of Defense, also commonly known as a small arms projectile distribution engineer. I keep mah pimp hand stroooooong, biyatch.

Reciprocity

2005-08-12T21:09:00.000-04:00

When you look at yourself in the mirror, do you ever stop to wonder who is that staring back at you? I'm not talking about the standard, skin-deep evaluation here either. It may always start out that way with thoughts of, "who am I really?" Eventually, this can continue to spiral if you really let it, which would definitely be a good thing in many people's cases. Do we see ourselves the same way everyone else does or is it like our voice? What we actually perceive our voices to sound like is distorted by its proximity to our ears inside our own head. If a similar perceptual trick is played on the strictly physical sense, how do they actually see us. What kind of person do they think I am?They can't possibly see all of me. Not the deep dark secrets of what I am capable...not the truly beautiful acts of compassion either. How come, with as much time as I spend with myself am I still basically a stranger to myself? How come with as much effort I take to pry at my own mind, heart, and soul digging for answers, do I still act surprised when I find a new and interesting corner yet unexplored and uncharted? What happened to the little kid that used to ask the mirror these same questions when he was 6? How come the answers aren't as forthcoming as he thought they would be after spending 23 years investigating the enigma? True, after much time spent I do know a lot more about myself than most. There is still so much more, because it is always changing. The duality of our souls also guarantees the quest will never be completed in our lifetime. If you spend enough time relentlessly probing the depths, be wary. You've hidden things in there so well when you do find them you will be shocked. It won't be what you expected to find....it won't even come close. You will find precious treasures and horrifying demons. The treasures will serve well to remind you of what you have done right in your daily adventures amid the ordinariness of life. The demons will remind you that for all the good you think you may harness there exists this dyadic darker side with the exact same potential in ways so vile it darkens your heart. They are both you. The combined effort is you. It is the you that cannot flee when you confront yourself long enough, battering down the fortifications you have built over the years to "protect" yourself.....from your true being. This duality makes the journey exciting and dangerous. Remember though, you are there to make discoveries and learn, not make judgements and catalog. If you go for the sole purpose of embracing your benificnet side, your arms will also be enveloping your iniquitous side as well. The two are inseperable as well they should be. This provides a balance of equal proportions in the equation that defines your soul. Those who claim to have mastered their deleterious half are only lying to themselves. Those who deny its existence entirely are truly without hope and severe risks to everyone around them. It is amazing what a simple piece of polished glass with a reflective backing can initiate if you give it the chance.

Convergence

2005-08-11T20:01:00.000-04:00

Does anyone ever notice there is a definite preoccupation in all interchanges with others about misery? It's like we truly enjoy feeling bad. Negative things are heard everywhere. People absolutely revel in sulking about the darker side of life. Why is that? We either enjoy suffering or watching others around us suffer. Why isnt there a fixation with the more positive aspects of life. It seems very unfortunate we are more concerned in identifying the potential negatives in any good thing and building defenses to protect ourselves from this potential to really enjoy it anyway. Anytime a bad story is related in conversation, some one will turn to relate their sad story to perpetuate the misery also. Great! Just what we needed to hear, another wretched sob story. Oh, they may hide this by attempting to use it as an example towards recovery. With the general obsession towards the despondent, I doubt this is the case. It is more of an extension in effort to empathize rather than sympathize with the other soul. We seem to enjoy relating our negative experiences with those of others...it makes one feel more important somehow. Completely loses the perspective on why the original story was being told to begin with, it wasn't about you....it's about them. You cannot share their sorrows and woes because your own plate is full of problems with more significance, how truly selfish. In sharing the load you truly assist the other. Advice is one thing, but must it always come with an example? And speaking of, when is the last time you spent the same effort and attention to detail with someone's happiness..which often tends to receive minimal response as acknowledgement alone before moving back towards a more suitably dark subject.

Attrocity

2005-08-08T23:44:00.000-04:00

Have you ever comitted an act so horrible and dispicable you were utterly shocked you were capable of it? The type of act that makes you physically sick, racking your body with painful and sobbing convulsions when you reflect on it later. It has you begging you could vomit out your soul for all the good it was to prevent it. It is almost as if it was comitted by some stranger who has taken control of your body by violent force and then you are left to deal with the fallout. The type of act that leaves you full of so much shame you'd do anything to end the pain and suffering you have caused... you cannot even look yourself in the eye anymore when you look in the mirror... self pity does not even enter into it for you can't even bring yourself to feel remorse for your own plight... you despise your every cursed breath. Worse yet, have you ever visited such an attrocity on someone you care very deeply for? A person with an astoundingly beautiful soul of such purity it brings a feeling of joy just to be near them...mourn for them having borne the brunt of your actions long before you mourn the twisted wreckage of your soul. Your feral acts tore into their heart like a ravenous pack of jackals... gleefully baying as they devoured the gory mess of a heart so pure it would bring tears to your eye. If this is how you have treated an innocent heart close to yours....may the gods show sweet mercy on your enemies and codemn you to a fate much worse than any death imaginable. Well.... my friends...... I have. I would eagerly have taken her place a thousand times than revisit that memory a single moment longer. I would take her place... instantly... without regret... for eternity... than have her live through it once... ever.

Truth

2005-08-08T14:00:00.000-04:00

Have you ever had truth stare you in the face...I mean really stare you in the face.....so deeply that you couldn't deny the validity with every breath in you even if you wanted to. It can't be rationalized away nor dismissed at all either. The type of truth that shakes you down to the core as if lightning had struck mere inches in front of you...the air is scorched with ozone...the hairs on the back of your neck are standing straight up...a tingly feeling coursing through your veins. Try denying that just once and you'll agree it can't be done. You'll soon see that truth is both a scalpel and a blunt weapon. You get broadsided with cuncussive force and cut deep to the core of your being by it. Here comes the truly frustrating part, you are able to recognize the truth all the time and don't...you just won't. The painfully ironic part comes when you recognize it after it is already too late to do anything about it. Now, if truth in this form can be so obvious to some...why do others argue to the contrary to it...why do they hesitate in the face of it...why do they refuse to see what is right there in front of them? Is it a blind acceptance of traditional thought that deters them from what new experience may lay right in front of them? Is it a fear that idealogy, no matter how obviously true, is naive and unless it is plotted out for them by social dogma it cannot happen...as if some law of physics might prevent a "happily ever after" from occurring no matter how much one might yearn for the dream.

Yes, I believe in fairy tales, shame on me. Yes, I have fallen flat on my ass many times because of this. Yes, no matter how many times I fall I will get back up again...pick up the pieces of my heart, mend them, wipe off the dust with my tears, and pick up my crystalline idealogy which, to this day, remains unblemished by the trials it has endured. I will tread forth once more holding true to the dream that someday will come soon enough and my persistence will prevail. Yes, I know my happy ending will come in due time and I will have my eyes wide open when it does. I will not question the timing...I will not question the person...I will not question the condition...I will not question myself, my heart, my soul, my mind, nor my conclusions. I will not think to myself, "Gee, this is happening really fast." I know what I want...I know the truth when it stares me in the face...I know now is ALWAYS the time to act...for tomorrow is never guaranteed to anyone. I will never take for granted what is right there in front of me no matter where I might be emotionally, spiritually, or mentally. I would do it five minutes after I have been devastated and would mend my heart on the run. If you ever felt like you have been cheated or robbed out of your someday...look behind you, you'll usually find you were the only one really to blame.

Fairy tales are too good to be true....what bumbling idiot came up with that one. Too good to be true? Say that several times...say it in the mirror and see if you really believe it....look in your own eyes when you do and seriously think this one through. Since when did anything good become a lie. Are we so caught up in our own misery and suffering that anything good and pure that comes our way must be a lie? Why would anyone in their right mind try to convince themselves anything good which might occur in their life is a falsehood. When you tear into this one you'll realize it is rife with bitter self loathing, dripping pessimism, and crippling victim mentality. Why would you rob yourself of a truly sublime experience by even thinking it was too good to be true. You probably don't even hate your enemies that badly to bash something too good from their hands...yet, look how eager you are to drop it from your own...shame on you. Fairy tales are never perfect...but that does not invalidate their existence...it does not tarnish their romantic allure...it will never prevent them from happening to ordinary people every day. The minute you stop believing they can happen at all or that you are somehow exempt from their sphere of influence is the moment you have betrayed yourself and turned your back on the world.

I have a dream I affectionately refer to as "someday." It takes shape in my mind, heart, and soul as something very akin to a fairy tale. Someday is very complex and yet, oh so very simple. There is the intrinsic beauty of someday...it is all about the normal, natural give and take we've come to expect out of life. Someday starts with a dream but incorporates true realism...not the stuff we've come to force feed our children into accepting. The only problem with someday is, it truly is ambiguous in reference to time and persona....someday could happen anytime...someday might include anyone...it most inevitably will be the very last person you would expect..will most likely occur when you least expect it...it will not be convenient...it will not fit in your schedule...it will not fit in your idea of what things should be...it won't even come close to your expectations of what it could have been...it will exceed them and it will scare the wits out of you. The cost of success is high and will require a lot of sacrifice...the cost of failure is even higher and will leave you utterly empty handed. Never be the one that looks back on your life in regret for all the missed potential. The question is: Will you open your eyes, dream while you are awake, take notice of the beauty that really is out there, trust with everything you have, love like you are dying, laugh like it's the last joke that you might ever hear, dance like the music will stop forever when the song is over, and believe? The minute you do these things...someday will never pass you by. It might not come anytime soon....but would you turn your back out of impatience or poor timing?

Wake up sleepers...someday your fairy tale will come true!!!
You'd better be alert when it does.

Wisdom

2005-08-08T13:15:00.000-04:00

There are times in my life where chunks of conversations, lines of literature, pieces of poetry, and heartfelt honesties return to reflect some pertinence on life at hand. Ranging from truly absurd to deeply profound, the uncanny coincidence lies merely in the appropriateness for such portions of philosophy and how easily they apply to the state of life and the pursuit of living. They serve to remind us all of the boundless wisdom, humor, and veracity which has been shared by so many souls to shine a light on what it truly means to be human. In a thought, what it means to co-habitate with our own living, breathing soul that shares equal capacities to leap with love and despair with darkness. I present to you a few that have recently been carried in my heart as I face my life at hand. I hope, in this sharing of my soul, a few things are accomplished. Primarily, I hope in some way this wisdom leant to me serves as good or better a purpose in your life as it has in mine and, more likely than not, in many lives before ours.

--Remember in life: If you are going to run with the ball…be prepared to get the shit knocked out of you…just never forget how much fun it is just to run with the ball.

--Don’t sweat the small stuff….it is all small stuff.

--Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars; and yet they pass by themselves without wondering.

--What is reality, anyway, but a collective hunch?

--We make ourselves up, fusing what we are with what we wish to be into what we must become.

--Peace is not something you wish for; it’s something you make, something you do, something you are, and something you give away! The very same applies for Love.

--Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words will break our hearts.

--It is not true, by the way, that mermaids do not exist. I know at least one personally. I have held her hand.

--It is the spirit that counts. The time may be long and the vehicle may be strange or unexpected. If the dream is held close to the heart and imagination is applied to what there is close at hand, everything is still possible.

--I won’t worry my life away.

Holy Sh!t

2005-08-08T12:54:00.000-04:00

There are times when I've wondered, "Holy shit! What have I done?" Don't try to act so shocked and offended. Realize we all have, to put it truthfully. Sure, the wording might have been a little gentler on the ear but the meaning was always there. The really amusingly ironic twist to the statement is it can mean so many things to so many people. It has been said in bitter disgust, shameful self-loathing, mild indifference, numb insesitivity, bewildered shock, giddy excitement, and sublime happiness. It has been said past tears and laughs. Ultimately, it is always said during a surprising moment of clarity and self realization. Holy shit indeed. It's been said after coming to realize one's own heart can be truly maliscious, selfish, and evil. It's been said after recognizing we can influence the world further than we can see with our own eyes. It's been said at life altering events and trivial moments alike...epiphanies and oopsies. It's been said after weddings... and births... and graduations... and trials... and executions... and funerals. If one stops to really think about it...it has been said at almost every event one can fathom. It holds the weight of the world and no weight at all, depending upon the case under consideration. It has been said all over the globe in every language imaginable since day one. Leaders of the world both past and present have said it. I'm going to speculate the signers of the Declaration of Independance said it, Truman said it when he ordered the atomic barrage, any leader responsible for change through time has said it...I'll even venture to say Ghandi may well have said it. I'm even pretty sure when man discovered the miracle of fire he grunted an approximation of it. Every advancement of science was accompanied by it. The advent of gunpowder most likely brought a chorus of holy shit's. Every time a new weapon or lifesaving technique was used for the first time you can be guaranteed someone in the assembled crowd said it. Ready for another ironic twist? It is uttered when we realize something which we already knew all along. Our actions carry consequences and they influence everyone and everything around us. Holy shit indeed. No matter how much one comes to accept and believe this very simple truth, we still act surprised when we stop to take note...as if, by some chance one day, it might just stop working. In all truth, it would be much more likely gravity would suddenly turn off and the laws of physics would become more suggestions than binding mathematical truths. As if, one day, everyone will suddenly be suspended in their own bubbles of isolated reality. If this ever were to happen, may I suggest the appropriate words? "Holy shit! What have I done?"

A Random Thought

2005-08-08T12:03:00.000-04:00

There are times where I wonder where the hell I went wrong in life... or, for that matter, where the hell did I go right. I've seen this channel switch back and forth a dozen times daily... I understand well enough this could be a trick of perception, based merely upon the spiritual soil I happen to habitate at the moment. If it were only that simple and easy. In my rare moments of serenity, everything always seems to lock back into place... right where it all belongs... the dreams I've long lost and the few I still clutch to fiercely -- for fear none shall materialize. All the pain endured, the fleeting moments of bliss, and the dreadfully long, lonely road still ahead. I feel my humanity slowly... painfully... sloughing off. Yet, I remain here stationary, not making the slightest attempt to flee the very inevitable outcome. The slight struggle that I might occasionally have the strength to muster is merely for show... just for the benefit of those few around me who still care. Oh, I am keenly aware I have much more travel left in my road. I am merely horrified by the potential me's that may complete the journey ahead. I may as well lament those precious portions of me I swore to keep... and so painfully surrendered on the road traveled thus far. I often find myself evaluating the remaining portions of me... at their odds of survival. What is the likelihood I will ever see a normal life? Have I just surrendered myself in resignation to a life as a warrior... detatched from society? A champion of... a defender of... a spectator of... but never again a participant of...... life.