have spacesuit, will travel

Paint it Black (Reprise)

2012-01-15T18:12:00.002-07:00

Seeing random pictures on facebook of acquaintances, long since distant friends and family, I can't help but feel how profoundly...different...my life is. I've the sudden realization that my contention that sitcoms on folks my age are completely inaccurate is in fact wrong. People my age really do live like they're on How I Met Your Mother. It's just me that vacations for a scant few months in places like Colorado, while really living a strangely lonely life with a bunch of dudes in places like Iraq. My peers are much more likely to have a designated booth in some bar to talk about their love lives with a laugh track going off with every witty remark, than contemplate another deployment. I'm confused by the fact happy faces in wedding pictures are more foreign to me than living in a tent for a year. People who are ostensibly related to me my blood feel more like complete strangers than an actual stranger who has a rifle in hand in some far off land. In fact, on further reflection, even that familiarity is fading. Fellow soldiers come home to thier wives or to the barracks with the other kids, drowning the numbness with booze and countless opportunities for mistakes with girls in town. I fear I'm turning into someone who simply can't relate to anyone. Seeing the clock tick on the way to another deployment, I'm watching a shitty romcom. Watch one chick flick and that's all that shows up on my recommended list, thanks netflix.

And thanks, wedding pictures of people I may vaguely know. You made my day!

Why Bother indeed, Rivers Cuomo?

2011-12-04T22:41:00.008-07:00

Crazy, Stupid, Love is another one of those movies that ruins real life. Regardless, after this and Drive, I am feeling a completely hetero man crush on Ryan Gosling. I just want to be him, that's all. Really, movies like CSL feeds you a sweet message, but fills it all with unreal, beautiful, witty people. I'm sure that's a measured decision: some genius realized we don't find ugly--or perhaps even average--people interesting in the same way.

So blind dates in general are pretty nerve racking. And one would assume a blind date on the pretense of a double date would be a great way to cut that anxiety. But the problem with a double date is that it is a crutch. And here we are trying to heal the wound that is the meeting of strangers. Simple fact of the matter is, you need to be alone with a blind date to get that normal first date get-to-know-each-other stuff out of the way. The crutch won't let you do that. Conversation just goes along the axis of friends and those two nervous kids on the blind date get maybe a handful of exchanges of conversation. Where a normal first date would yield the simple information as job, family, goals, and touch on items which would get the ball rolling on gauging whether you actually want to spend time with this stranger...a double date halves those opportunities. So we're left with my not being sure of whether to move on to the usual second date. Because here I am with a comlpete feeling of...meh. And honestly it usually takes more to extend my effort into pretending to care, misanthropic as it sounds. I know it's just me, but geez, human interaction is draining. Talking? With a stranger? Pretending to be interesting? Ugh.

I can't help but feel guilty about that. Here I am, potentially handing out rejection in this world, where I should be the type that feels there's enough of it out there as it is. And, again, I'm of the opinion most everyone should get that second date. But if that absolute feeling of "meh" is so pervasive that it can't drown out my usual tendency to avoid even mild social anxiety..? Guilt can't help but gnaw at the fact there are girls that wouldn't give me a second date, and here I am deciding fate on the obviously stilted first impression of a handful of words over bullshit quesadillas.

I'm a ping pong here. If the immediate attraction isn't there, I can't help but feel so...tired. I want to WANT to get to know her better. The thing is, usually, if my gut check on "connection" yields a negative and my gauge on attraction is a negative, then the case is closed. Simple math that we all do. But that "connection" test is flawed in this case. What if it was a false positive? That question always lingers on any first date, but one in which we exchanged fewer words than we would have at some random party? Hell, I'm at a point in my life where even if the negative was true for both tests, I still feel bad about rejecting a human being. Through the night I had the feeling the "meh" was mutual, but here I am with a cell number I didn't have at the beginning of the night. The ping pong is still getting hit. And there's this bullshit feeling that I have an obligation to the friend that set this scenario up. What emotional ransom. All around.

And herein lies the problem with Crazy Stupid Love. Emma Stone would get that text, that call, becasue let's face it, whether or not I'd gotten a positive on that connection test, that attraction test would be pinging. But I'm not Ryan Gosling and she was not Emma Stone. Should I stop looking for Emma Stone, knowing this? Reason would say yes. But shit. Is this as good as it gets? Or do I have celuloid psychosis? After all, my zombe preparation is only half-ironic. Maybe. No, seriously. Kidding. No, seriously.

Spirit in the Sky

2011-10-07T20:17:00.006-06:00

Atheists: for folks with such a negative opinion on organized religion, they sure like to evangelize. They're like Prius drivers. Everyone's glad your Facebook status update, bumper stickers, documentaries, haughty lectures, and NPR contributions changed the world! Smug assholes who think the Jesus mothership is beaming them up will all be sitting around scratching their heads right beside the smug assholes who want to convert them, when the zombie apocalypse arrives.

There are plenty of people on this planet that I disagree with: vegetarians, Baptists, Democrats, Republicans, homosexuals (yep, I said it), drivers of Ford Expeditions, the list is nearly endless. But I do not want any harm done to any single one of the individuals in those groups. Those are all personal choices. As Americans--human beings--we all have the natural right to think and do as we please. And unlike many people who say it, I will truly defend that right with my life. Maybe it's just me, but I think we should adopt Don't Ask Don't Tell on all personal matters... Civilians made a big deal about the passing of DADT, not realizing it was a policy that in fact protected homosexuals. They really should have been celebrating the change in policy of disallowing homosexuals to serve, not the passing of the protection of keeping an individual soldier's private life private.

I was gonna end this with "Live and let live," as per my favorite zombie Jew. But I realized that that didn't actually come from the Bible. So. How about a greeting for all of the three Abrahamic faiths? As the Jews: Shalom aleichem; Muslims: As-Salamu Alaykum; us English speakers: Peace be with you. All from the same ancient Jew book.

Shalom, bitches.

All Apologies

2011-10-04T07:39:00.003-06:00

Saw a bicyclist wipe out in the crosswalk while I was waiting at a stop sign. Still feel bad that I didn't stop to help as he picked himself up and hobbled across the street. I try and justify it by pointing at the traffic behind me and the fact he didn't accept help from the pedestrians. But I still feel like I could have grabbed some of the bike parts still left on the road and asked one more "Are you okay?" He looked hurt. This is a haunting feeling.

Hot Rod Lincoln

2011-09-17T20:42:00.006-06:00

DRIVE is my favorite movie of the year. If Bullitt, Point Blank, The Driver, Heat, or even the recent FASTER, are anywhere on your list of awesome, Drive is brilliant. All of the above have the following characters: the Late, Great Golden State of California, cars in the hands of cool professionals, and the cool professionals themselves on a mission of violence. The omission of California (as a breathing character, not just a backdrop) is probably why movies like the Transporter or Drive Angry are failures in comparison.

The funny thing: I came into it with my eyes starting to roll. I stopped myself because I would hate to take it out on this movie for such commonly seen movie trope--I shouldn't fault merely the latest example I've seen. What trope? The whole "cool loner" thing. Hollywood, and any fiction for that matter, tends to not realize that that's an oxymoron. There are no cool loners. Loners, from personal experience, are either socially awkward or homicidal maniacs. Less Steve McQueen, more Ted Kaczynski. I kept that thought for the first half of the movie. Ryan Gosling is way too cool (his character in Drive anyway) to be such a loner, they don't exist in real life. They certainly don't look like male models. But then he starts going homicidal (justifiably, sure, maybe) and I went, "yep, there it is, now THAT's a loner who doesn't blink and rations out his words." He's the guy who stomps people's faces in. That threatens dudes in truckers hats that approach them at diners with a "I'll kick your teeth in and shut your mouth for you."

In fact, Carey Mulligan as a knocked up chick with a husband in prison? Yeah, um. Echo Park? She wouldn't be nearly as hot, or nearly as white. Try Mexican. And certainly not that soft spoken or seemingly intelligent. But I digress.

The soundtrack was awesome. Again, surprised. The hot pink script credits and synthesizers...I was ready to hate. But it worked awesomely. White leather jacket with a giant scorpion on the back? Again, strangely awesome. If you look up awesome in a thesaurus I don't think you'll get words that can fit in ways you wanted.

And man, the cast. Bryan Cranston, Carey Mulligan, Ron Perlman, Albert Brooks(!!!). Even the names I didn't know. And Ryan Gosling. Dude literally had scenes where he did. Not. Blink. For minutes. Again, came in thinking he was miscast. I was wrong. Awesome. I think Ben Foster (3:10 to Yuma remake, for one example), would have been cool as the driver as well. He's been homicidal and subtly relatable in roles before. Maybe not at the same time.

Anyway. Can't reiterate how much I love this move enough. I felt similarly after Faster. I believe this one's better. With Faster, I didn't expect much, and came out very satisfied. This one, I'm putting up there as a...Top 50? If you knew how many movies I cannot narrow down to a simple short list because they're tied in my category of "simply loved," that's high praise.

Last thought. I really wonder if there are any Hollywood stunt drivers that could believably moonlight as wheelmen. Somehow, I don't think Tanner Foust could be that guy. There's a set up for a Top Gear US segment...

In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida

2011-09-08T19:33:00.004-06:00

Been forever since I've posted on this. In large part, this is due to the over-saturation of the blogosphere--there's so much white noise in the last four years. It has made an individual blog a completely pointless project. But it's this idea of each internet user believing themselves "special," that leads into a ruminating thought. Go ahead and point out the hypocracy of my posting this on my own blog, but man, are we a self-important bunch.

Our grandparents were suffering through the Great Depression, through hardships of multiple magnitudes greater than ours today. They were literally standing in lines at soup kitchens when they decided to head to enlistment offices and aircraft factories.

Each time I hear someone parroting something about schools or entitlements vs "endless wars," as some zero-sum gain, I can't help but think about how far removed spoiled Americans have become after two generations. Seventy years ago, Americans decided to focus on nothing but destroying evil worldwide, and thus pulled themselves up. Americans today watch Jersey Shore, while complaining about their lack of entitlements. Facebook proselytizing complete :)

Combat Rock

2009-10-10T08:34:00.006-06:00

spaceCADETzoom is feeling sorry for himself, having seemingly hit a brick wall at Rucker and realizing he has no one to confide in but facebook. He's even typing in the 3rd Person.

To wit: he's reported in, signed a lease, and for all intents and purposes completed a costly PCS. But he has now received an email stating he has been dropped from the course, and rescheduled for 02MAY10. It is Columbus Day weekend, no one will be able to answer his questions until Tuesday. No explanations, save an automated email from ATTRS. Was it something he said? Self-absorbed-Captains-which-talk-to-themselves hit quota in the class he reported for?

Like all things in the last few years, he's conflicted. This reschedule, if taken for the word of an automated email, would have been beneficial BEFORE he PCS'ed. Does this mean he snowbirds for six months? He didn't even bring furniture. A year in TRADOC? A year from his home? Yet, this is a year from deploying, is it not? The gift-horse needn't open his mouth. But then, the horse is attached to a course (Aviation Captains Career Course) that is away from his rightful one (Maneuver Captains Career Course). He's already unnerved, slightly, by the aviators with their bro-ham Maverick haircuts, the Army-town that doesn't seem rundown or ghetto. A post that doesn't have deployable brigades of Joe Snuffies killing themselves on motorcycles or venereal disease.

Does he spend the next six months back at his home station, the four PCS moves be damned? Should he stay or should he go? Can the statements of a computer system telling him he has been rescheduled for a course six months away be taken as face value? Should he take this time to talk to branch and get him into Knox, knowing his spiritual home, the Home of Cavalry, is disintegrating as we speak--absorbed into crunchie-heaven Benning? Will all questions be answered satisfactorily on Tuesday?

And he is still an asshole who types in the 3rd Person.

Rooster

2009-07-16T10:00:00.044-06:00

Hurt Locker.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Here's the thing about Hurt Locker. Iwanted to like it. For the first part of the movie I completely ignored the glaring implausible situations because the action-movie junkie in me maintained that the movie portrayed the authentic "feel," rather than actual authenticity of situations. Guy Pearce, funny enough, felt the most "real" here. The main character, SFC James (played by the dude from 28 Weeks Later), also felt fairly "real." Ditto the younger EOD dude (save for one big caveat, where his real counterpart would have shot that triggerman immediately). Because of these great performances, as the movie progressed, I wrote the inaccuracies off as mere nitpicks. I can shape my viewing experience by agreeing to the idea that Hurt Locker is to EOD as Top Gun was to the Navy Fighter Weapons School. The absolutely impossible idea of an Iraqi taxi cab (they're the cars with orange painted fenders) getting through a cordon without getting hundreds of rounds ripping through the driver's body only elicited a slight eye roll, rather than the audible "bullshit" that it should have. I justified it through two reasons. First, the aforementioned suspension of disbelief for Hollywood. It's entertainment, and reality won't work in a 2 hour movie. Second, I justified the ridiculous situation (one of many in that 15 minute stretch alone) by the notion that the film makers relayed the very real fact that Iraqis sometimes do apparently shortbus-retarded things that cannot be written off as language barrier. Four out of five times the average Iraqi pays heed to the fact you have a weapon that spews half inch diameter bullets. That one out five, though...

And it's those little things that made me forget my eye rolls. There's that random hajji absolutely intent on practicing his broken English with you. The tiny speck of realism of "Mister, where are you from?" colored tidbits of everyday reality, counteracting the ridiculousness in everything else in this film. So I but my tongue. I understood that layman civilians find jittery camerawork and cusswords gritty and realistic. Who am I to shatter illusions?

Half way through the flick, though, it went from nitpicks about the wrong badges and the implausible/impossible, to walk-out-the-theater ridiculous.

So EOD are snipers now too, huh? That question broke the camel's back. It's the cumulative impossibilities, the cumulative WTF that kept drowning out the good stuff. From dudes randomly leaving their vehicles, to the three-man super EOD team wandering the city all by themselves. Questions, questions, questions digging a hole in my brain (you wouldn't leave your shitty Honda with its engine running on Main Street, Podunkville, why the fuck would anybody in the middle of fucking Iraq? Especially when that Honda of yours has a mounted .50 cal that sure as hell is a lot more expensive and useful than that ghetto tape deck). I couldn't simply write these questions off. I hated the next thirty minutes after super-EOD put on their sniper/spotter hats.

But then a funny thing happened. By the time the main character put on a hoodie and did some fucking one-man cop show, I let it all go. His renegade cop/loose cannon routine was Riggs from Lethal Weapon, not Band of Brothers. So that's what this is. It's Speed in Iraq. Or Blown Away in Iraq. Or, fittingly Kathryn Bigelow, it's Point Break in Iraq. Fine. Consider me half way entertained. The filmmakers could have saved me a lot of grief if they ditched the ACUs, if they ditched the pretense of the characters being an Army EOD team.

And so, that's where we were. Me and Hurt Locker came to an understanding. It does its thing, and I will turn off my brain. Detente. From implausible UXO cordons through super-EOD-sniper adventures, all the way to detective-work and Jack Bauer-esque Baghdad fun, the flick plods along in its wackiness. "Speed in Iraq," I promise to mutter instead of "bullshit." I can stomach it.

Until finally Hurt Locker goes on and changes complete directions. When we reach the supermarket, the movie suddenly clicks. When we see the last chinook land, I understand. The nitpicks of the fact we have chinooks incorrectly painted as Marine helos or that a SSG has velcro rank taped to his PC is only picked out moments later as the credits roll because they've been drowned out by how right the scene is.

Can you love a whole movie for the last ten minutes alone?

While a short list of movies/books have almost had me change my mind about it in its last ten minutes (i.e. seeing ICBMs fly and our veritable JC reluctantly keying the mic in Terminator 3), Hurt Locker is the only piece of work that has ever completely turned me around. Those few minutes have completely surpassed just any "war movie." That tiny percentage of film connected to me in a more solid way than anything in my recent memory. The juxtaposition of absolute over-the-top ridiculousness to the most authentic portrayal in recent memory, in ONE movie is simply astounding. Again, I come to the idea that maybe the movie pushes authentic "feel," rather than authentic plot points. The last few minutes would be out of place if not contrasted with the prior 90. Perhaps they needed to go over-the-top to convey the "feeling" of a deployment. Fittingly, like those first 90 minutes of the movie, I have been saying "bullshit" under my breath throughout my entire deployment.

Cynically, one wonders if that was planned. Did the filmmakers know the viewer would cry "utter bullshit" for 90 minutes straight, only to completely drop stone silent for the next ten? If so, genius. They've substituted frustration and the nagging unease of the situation that is a combat tour with the frustration and nagging unease of movie nitpicks. Then they substitute your unease and vague familiarity of a homecoming with your vague familiarity of Evangaline Lilly and supermarkets that seem a little off, unreal, in sharp contrast with what your life was for the last 12 months. You recognize the chick from Lost as someone you feel you should know but realize that you don't--that you have memories that are different from what you now see. If it's by pure happenstance, I can still say the last scenes of Hurt Locker are some of the most truthful I've seen in celluloid war. It gave me some things to ponder.

I can't get my feelings on coming home into words. I keep thinking I will get around to it, but I can't help feeling exploitative of my experience in Iraq. I can't put it all in a way that won't sound either self-centered or melodramatic. That's the big reason I haven't really posted anything I wrote down "over there."

It's not First Blood, it's not The Deer Hunter. But in ways, it is. Comparing it to that feels self-important--over dramatizing a whole lot of nothing. But a lot of what I'm feeling is a cold disconnect with everything and everyone here at what's supposedly "home." Satisfaction. Paint It Black. Rooster.

***

I find myself being short and testy, and carrying a scary sense of entitlement. You're making me wait in line for the cash register when I had a fucking rocket fly over me just last week? The DMV bitch is giving me the run around when I've led over a hundred combat patrols? The TSA is hassling me about too much electronic equipment in my carry-on when I had live grenades on my dashboard mere weeks ago? When I'm responsible for the lives of soldiers? When I've had fucking bullet holes in my windows? When I've woken to explosions and automatic gun fire cracking overhead? When I've secured caches with hundreds of EFP kits and live explosives? When I've explained to sheiks and Iraqi colonels on why we're going into this neighborhood or denying a request of some starving kid or amputee? When I've lived a real life, year-long National Geographic issue?

I find myself angry at the minivans and asshole drivers on cellphones--angry that they sent me to do things that they have no clue about. Angry at fucking soccer moms and fucking oblivious reality show stars and even the fucking pogues that stayed on a super-FOB for the last year, or the cheesedicks that have 7 month deployments. I find myself angry at the assholes that patronize me, that "want to know what it was like." I'm angry at all of the talking heads on TV. I'm angry at everyone carrying on with their lives, me knowing that for the last year they all drove their SUVs and drank their three dollar coffee obliviously. Ignorant. Absorbed. Unmindful. I'm angry at Katie Couric and Brian Williams and Charlie fucking Gibson, all telling me about the tragic death of fucking Michael Jackson.

I've not even broached the stupid things I find myself doing (I was looking for my weapon thinking I needed my carbine to go to Walmart. It took 30 minutes of angry searching until I felt foolish). I find myself avoiding things that serve as reminders. I've avoided war movies and even crap like Terminator Salvation gave me some very odd gut-tightening. I waded into Hurt Locker like a kid afraid of a cold swimming pool--dipping a toe first, slightly relieved to find initial inaccuracies ballooning into farce, but finding slight discomfort along the way. It's not that I'm gonna go into some cliche 'Nam vet flashback, it's just that I'd rather not be reminded about a year of suck. In all, though, I'm not too worried about reliving the year of purgatory, but I am instead alienated about the year ahead of me. The world seems like a different place. I rant about Twilight and scratch my head at all sorts of things that popped up over the last year because it's frustrating that I feel left behind. I feel like I've been on Mars for the last century finding an Earth that is different from what I remember.

How lame am I?

I feel like such a tool. How can I even compare my deployment with what other generations in my shoes have faced? I didn't even approach the things that others have seen and experienced. For me, war is ~~hell~~ purgatory. But I have an understanding that I didn't have 15 months ago and an understanding that others couldn't.

I don't want to sound like a whiny bitch. You could always tell which of the so-called milblogs were written by pogues. Some truck driver complaining about the food or some female complaining about how she has to carry her gun or those mean guys that are, well, mean to her. War is hell, indeed. Truthfully, the deployment wasn't nearly as bad as a lot make it out to be. Really, the only issue in a deployment is the fact you put your life on hold for a year. It's hard to illustrate that to others. No one does that outside of the US Army. People make trips, expeditions, go on sabbaticals. But none of them cut themselves off from recognizable civilization completely, nor for such a long period of time. Missionaries and aid workers still do not have the same experience as a combat arms Soldier deployed for 12-15 month stretches on isolated outposts rather than super-FOBs. It's different to build a school, eat with the teachers, and promptly throw your hands in the air dumping responsibility for the safety of everyone around you when assholes with AK-47s show up. Soldiers can't order that menu a la carte. Even still, the threat of death honestly didn't factor in that much. I wasn't a nurse or aircraft mechanic or truck driver or security guard--closing with the enemy is my chosen profession. Others pray to hear "here comes the cavalry." I am the Cavalry. Literally. And for the most part, the bad guys in 2008 were hired criminals, not committed terrorists, and certainly not professional soldiers.

But I still feel like a maudlin little fool. Much ado about nothing. I should mention that I'm not really this morose and one may get the impression that this is all the inane ramblings of a drama queen. I'm just letting the keyboard work out some thoughts, is all. Still, much ado about not-a-whole-heckuva-lot.

Nothing is over! Nothing! You just don't turn it off! It wasn't my war! You asked me, I didn't ask you! And I did what I had to do to win! But somebody wouldn't let us win! And I come back to the world and I see all those maggots at the airport, protesting me, spitting. Calling me baby killer and all kinds of vile crap! Who are they to protest me? Who are they? Unless they've been me and been there and know what the hell they're yelling about!

...Here they come to snuff the rooster...
...You know he ain't gonna die...

Dazed and Confused

2009-07-06T23:28:00.009-06:00

This place is dusty.

My "round to-it" got lost, so I've neglected to update this blog. It isn't that I haven't got stuff to write about. There's beyond plenty--from Army bullshit through...everything else. I'll eventually get around to it.

Among the things I'll get to putting into words: the state of sheer insanity I found America to be in, coming home from exotic Iraq (the crown jewel of Southwest Asia). Among the absolutely baffling hangups that ya'll have here back in the world: Twilight.

Seriously? When the fuck did this happen? Vampires. And High School? Seriously? Everywhere I look, it's this stupid combination. Vampires. Plus High School. Plus Angst. I can rant all day about this apparently new "Young Adult Vampire" genre. After actually seeing that Twilight movie (can't say I ain't open-minded), I will maintain my WTF. What a completely underwhelming movie. I concede one thing alone: Ashley Greene (I paused the movie to immediately imdb-stalk her) is the prettiest vampire ever (sorry, Kate Beckinsale).

For now, I have two questions.

If Twilight hipster, Volvo-drivin', sunlight glowin', slow-mo runnin' vamps go crazy at the mere smell of blood from a mere papercut...why would they be hanging around a fucking highschool where half the students regularly bleed a couple days of the month? I will gloss over why anyone that's, say, 150 years old would hang around a high school to begin with; but if you're a family of trendy vegan-vamps that abhor partaking in the sucking of human blood, why would you choose to go the Twilight route? The preview for the (sigh) sequel shows a papercut yielding a drop of blood that sends mr. paleface into a bloodlust. If that happens for an unforseen papercut, what happens during um...them lady cycles?

And... One other thing. Vampires can't...uh...be physically aroused. Right? No heart. No blood. No circulation. Uh..? Am I missing something? So, WTF? No one makes romance novels about other brooding eunuchs, do they?

Sloop John B

2009-03-30T03:51:00.026-06:00

You know the problem with this dog and pony show you call the military? Number one, TOO MANY DUDES.

It's something few will ever understand back home. See here, the mere voice of sirens will lead men to destruction. Mark it as another truth that I used to write off as literary invention, or plot device. Homer wasn't Tolkien giving us Lord of The Rings, he was Mike Wallace giving us 60 Minutes.

So it's been a few months now since an episode of 30 Rock found its way onto my HD. I got this external 1 TB that is completely full of movies and TV shows and games. Mostly TV shows. It's a pretty good alternative to an actual TV. Considering we don't have one out here. Yet another crazy thing I've picked up in this last year of Iraqi purgatory: I'm a complete digital format convert. So much so that I feel I can safely transition from my DVD-gluttony. I dunno why, but since DVD's came out I've had this obsessive compulsion to buy, buy, buy. I've noticed I'm not the only one. It's something that didn't occur with VHS tapes. If anything, DVD's came about with a heavier price tag. In hindsight, I realized that the DVD collection (it's boxes-, rooms-, closets-full) is less a product of need to archive/watch, and more a product of showcasing. "Check out my eclectic movie collection--wonder at my fine taste in movies!" Like house guests will have non-awkward conversations with me because they are impressed with my awesome Tarentino shelf.

So, 30 Rock. I'd have to say that that show and Everybody Hates Chris are two shows that are simply hilarious. Two shows that have completely slipped past my radar before being introduced to my computer. Two shows that I have never actually sat down and watched before Iraq. Two shows that I should have.

Anyway, I've written before on the fact that my first waking moment every morning has been along the lines of, "Man, I'm still here?" That's not entirely true. Mostly, I've had this twist in the gut that seems more like I'm in fucking jr high. I feel all warm and with an unshakable desire to see HER again. I remember her jokes, the funny way she walks, her cute little idiosyncrasies. I wake up remembering the last thing she said, and with the unshakable need to hear her voice and see her face.

Liz Lemon, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

It hurts when I remind myself that she's fictional.

I make a firm distinction that it's not a hang up on Tina Fey. I know nothing about Fey. Even if she had based the character completely on herself, the fact that she's married with children is certainly a turnoff, if not a, um, major hurdle to a relationship. Oh, and that she's a celebrity. That's certainly more unattainable than being... fictional. ...oh.

Aw, nerds.

I'm not in love with an SNL alum. Again, I know nothing about Tina Fey. I'm in love with the frustrated 30-something head writer of TGS. The one who has a fear of dying alone choking on a tv dinner in her apartment. The one who only suddenly realized that she deserved to be called the C -word. The one who berates co-workers for mixing up Star WARS with Star TREK. The one that always felt she was the nerd that was picked on in high school, but didn't realize she was actually the jerk until her high school reunion. The one that went to this crazy nightclub last week, called...Chili's. The one that's angrily frustrated with all the stupid people that don't know how nice and kind she is! The one who is the middle manager of a group of petty children that simply don't know the responsibility she keeps, or the stress she's under.

"And meeting someone new? eh. All the nodding, and smiling, and sibling listing? And what's the upside? It works, and you have to have a bunch of sex?"

"Lemon, what do you want? Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life?"

"No, I just wish you could start a relationship twelve years in. Where you really don't have to try anymore. And where you could sit around together and goof on TV shows, and then you could go to bed without anyone trying any funny business."

Blerg.

---

I'm a little disturbed by this, in retrospect.

God, I don't know if I need to see a shrink or a chaplain.

I dunno if I'm experiencing hormone craziness or wacky fantasy clinginess because of my extreme disdain of my current environment or sneaking realization of my age. I'm not a kid anymore and that certainly is slightly distressing. I do not understand the crap music that my joes are listening to. I am increasingly finding myself shaking a fist and yelling at those gay Jonas Brothers to get fucking haircuts and throw away those idiotic scarves.

I read another possible explanation for my Ninja Turtle outbreaks, my give-a-fuck attitude shifts and outright immaturity explosions. I read that a regression is a sign of a desire to let go of responsibility.

---

Everyone opines that they can't find women like that where ever they're at. And you know, I hate to make this another contest, but I got you beat. I certainly can't find women like that on FOB [-----] in the middle of fucking [---], Iraq. I'm not on a pogue-farm super-FOB. God, there's yet another topic digression: people back home don't realize a good 90% of the military are pogues who sit at desks or fill gas tanks or heat MREs in order to call themselves "cooks," or even yell at you for bringing dirty uniforms into their DFAC. Such places where said pogues are in legion are places far from me. Someone insisted only dudes get to kick in doors, but that someone didn't really think through the fact that those dudes would have to be celibate on 12-15 month tours away from anything resembling a female. Conan didn't worry about this, because he lived to hear ze lamentation of der womens.

This damn war keeps bringing me down. A costly foreign policy that has created vast discord across the globe, a staggeringly widening culture gap between mall shoppers and their demographically identical neighbors in uniform enacting said foreign policy, the economy, death, destruction, blah, blah, blah. Damnit, the real issue is how am I to solve late blossoming, quarter-age angst? I'm on a boat, tied to a fucking mast. Quit trying to kill me, and let me go home. I wanna go home. Why won't they let me go home? This is the worst trip I've ever been on.

Riding Dolphins

2009-03-07T16:11:00.017-07:00

Everyone hates their job? I call bullshit.

But, as of the last few months, I am firmly in the 'hates their job' category. I could say it's disillusion of faith in the organization, the mission, the way said non-mission is being handled. But I don't want any of that to be ammunition for the wannabe neo-hippies. Because when I say 'mission' I don't mean Dubya's crusade. I belittle it by the name, but in the end, I understand that most undeducated (or even over-educated sheep) don't give it credit for what it actually is. The foreign policy we have been enacting over the last few years is not--as the neo-hippies' simplifications insist--an act of evil by a cabal of super villains. Contrary to the intellectually-lazy, knee-jerk cries of being led by a 'dumb president,' the former administration did indeed hold a valid theory concerning a democratic Iraq bringing about a stable Middle East. A lynch pin of vague democracy in bordering Afghanistan and Iraq would certainly look interesting on an Iranian map. These aren't ideas borne of Lex Luthor's bald head. These are ideas of scholars and intellectuals and policy wonks, not the unclean masses. That would be the issue, though. [Correctly] Assuming the American public is too dense to understand a far-reaching, long-term solution that extends well beyond any sitting administration's stay, Dubya wrapped the whole thing under the 'WMD' excuse. Most (read: not Joe Sixpack) knew otherwise, understanding the sound theory--whether or not they agreed of its viability. So there's the rub: a policy that has a sound background, that was framed with something Joe Sixpack could understand. Unfortunately that frame fell apart. And the actual painting still had its detractors. Whatever, my beef still has to do with the leadership. A good leader gets people to do things because they want to do it, not because they are forced to do it. That administration didn't have the chops. Whether or not you, or history, judges the poilicy on Iraq as a long-term success is irrelevant in the case of the success of presidential leadership. If he were a great leader, the American people and its allies would have been behind it. I'm not saying it was easy, to make the understatement of the century. The media alone were a formidable opponent to any such intentions. Don't think I'm making a statement one way or another about whether or not this policy was correct. I'm not an apologist here. I only point out that the most vocal critics of it are knee-jerk 'tards that simplify things to 'Republicans evil' or 'war bad.'

Oh boy, that was a ridiculous side thought. What started off as a job rant turned into leadership analysis and my devolving to policy apologist. So. Yeah. I hate my job.

I have a list. One that I couldn't possibly enumerate in a satisfactory way. Let's start with mission. I'm not focusing on 2003, but here in the middle of [censored], Iraq as of 2009. I'll self censor again, here, but let's just say that the Army is the largest bureaucracy in the world. THe military is one big, dumb silverback gorilla. I say nothing about the organization's or individuals' level of competence and intelligence (Read: smarts). But the bureaucracy is completely incapable, it seems, to readjust battalions or brigades. If a battalion is not needed in one place, it cannot be flexed home. If a brigade shows up, completes its mission, and/or finds a mission that has dried up, there are no provisions for it to do anything about it. That's understandable on the grounds of the logistical and financial nightmare that it is to move something like a Heavy Mechanized Brigade Combat Team. But it doesn't mean I like it. Worse, a brigade set to deploy is deploying; there's no possibility, apparently, of a commander telling the powers-that-be that the replacement unit is not necessary, that they can stay home or go elsewhere. I do not know if this is on the part of individual links being powerless, the chain being powerless, or that the individual links see something I don't. Either way, I hate being jerked around on said chain.

I got here as a meat-eating combat platoon leader. Ready to kick in doors. Blow stuff up. And also to (truthfully) shake hands, kiss babies, calm shieks, build bridges. I'm a political nerd, a public policy grognard. I love the decisions, the process, and (on my immediate end) the enaction. Not to toot my own horn, but this deployment has given me more hands-on experience than the average policy wonk in Washington. Stuff that such analysts could only dream of: more on the immediate level than most diplomats to low-profile countries. And that is energizing.

But that was months ago.

Worse still, I hate the fact that I am spending more than a year living in a locker room. A bunch of sweaty dudes. Cussing, scratching, smelling terribly. I am tired of the same stupid movies, the same stupid conversations, the same stupid, filthy jokes.

I wake up every morning disappointed that I did not wake up out of a terrible dream. Every day is better than the next.

Of course, I used to be simply tired of the vague "them," rather than anyone specific. Unfortunately, I'm being tested, apparently. Enter [fake name] LT Franken. Take all of the terrible, terrible proto-Marxist distrust of Officers--i.e. them being know-nothing, meritless college brats whose family's relative social caste paid for their commission--and hyper-project it into a walking cliche. What's worse is that he's completely oblivious to his downright arrogance. To be fair, it's not a trait one normally associates with the bookish, froggy-voiced, bespectacled guy he is. But there's inherent jackassery when you go into a lecture about binary code or CD laser imagery (complete with dry-erase board diagrams), thinking it's a good conversation starter. "Yes, sergeant, listen, computers actually 'speak' in these following terms..." he says, picking up a dry-erase marker. Now, this seems alright in the context of a question asked. But how big of an asshole are you, that you so desperately go out of your way to bring us poor, useless wretches out of the pitch dark cave of idiocy you think we all live in? We're apparently so stupid that we need your daily lessons to be better people. Half of these lessons we know--which adds to how big of an asshole you look like.

"Oh, that's a song by this band called Cheap Trick."

"This Lay Mizerah-bless is a good movie. It's French for 'the miserable'."

"That sounded like it was 343.5 meters to our north. They train us that in artillery school."

And leadership tips? Thanks, LT. Led any um...people...of any kind, have you? Oh, no? hm. I guess your book knowledge trumps all of my book knowledge. Or even my--I dunno--actual experience? So apparently you can show up halfway through a deployment, make jackass remarks about how jaded you are and how much life sucks out here, not be in an actual leadership position with any actual soldiers under you, and throw on a fucking combat patch on your own arm because everyone else has one. Promote yourself while you're at it.

The thing is, I felt guilty about this a couple months ago. He has a personality that screams to be teased. I have defended him, telling others, "Aww, they're just personality quirks, he's a good guy." It was scary how much of myself I saw in him. Recently, someone told me, "See, XO, that's the thing. You're the nerd that played video games in highschool--the guy you got the cheat codes from, the guy you played Goldeneye with. The wacky, funny nerd. Franken, that was the one we beat up. The one that thinks he's smarter than you. The one that annoys everybody."

"Personality quirks," I say.

Flash forward to last week. "Hey, [spacecadet], can I have a word?" Oh. Maybe he wants some help with something.

"Sure," I say. We find somewhere away from the joes and NCOs that way I can help the kid out away from others so he won't be embarrassed.

"There's something that's been chewing away at me." Sure, ok, let's help you out, I think. But he continues into a counseling session on how he can see I can improve.

WTF? I didn't know whether to chew his ass, punch his face in, or simply walk away. I let him know that those were the reactions I was debating on. In perhaps the most lazy sarcasm produced in my lifetime, I offer him a thanks for the advice and a STFU. There was 'arrogant,' 'presumptuous,' and other such words I threw in there. It could have went worse. I'm not dickhead's peer, I'm his superior. A few minutes later I realized I simply didn't care enough about what he thought about me to make it a bigger issue than the STFU I left it as.

That's the big Eureka!, light bulb over the head moment. If I had a list of people I hated before this deployment it would sum up to a big zero. Somewhere along the way I learned to hate. How's that for a book title?

Individuals have surpassed simply getting on my nerves. There are a distinct few that have firmly established themselves under this new found emotion of mine, hate. I'm kinda disturbed by it. But then, I think it all stems from simple exhaustion. I am simply tired of it all. I talked about this to someone and he said it was that my give a fuck meter got broke (oh, and another endearing trait I picked up: the word "fuck." You'd think my "'give a damn' broke"--but no, it's now 'fuck this,' and 'fuck that.' Locker room). Makes sense. Inhibitions that come about from my trying to be pleasant default to simple apathy (in times past, I failed in that because of social retardedness--big distinction). Whatever.

I don't give a fuck.

Anyone can relate to an ad. That's what makes one successful. But, I can one-up you in this game.

Hate going to work? Check.

Coworkers don't respect you? Check.

Always wish I was somewhere else? Check.

Cry constantly? Umm...I'm still anonymous here, right? Check...

Daydream of punching small animals? Definitely, CHECK.

Sit next to THAT guy? God, yes. Check.

Make loads of money? I guess better than if I were laid off...

But my cubicle is in Iraq. I still get shot at, can't sleep in my bed every night, and that guy who you sit next to? I sleep next to him. I couldn't even see that fucking commercial until I spent weeks trying to get it to load on youtube. And this 'interwebs' luxury is the porcelain toilet for a caveman. It don't flush 100% of the time and it just got installed.

Sorry. Rant. I read somewhere that it was a rookie move to apologize on your blog. STFU. Geek cred: I've been doing this shit since honeyz be wearin sasoon.

Paint it Black

2008-11-05T16:54:00.003-07:00

Truthfully, I am loathe to talk about what I've done in Iraq. For reasons I can't quite satisfactorily describe in words. People wonder why I find their going to the store or seeing their family infinitely more interesting than my daily grind. Well, words fail me. I will say though: anyone who feels they have a firm grasp on Middle East policy or this war without having lived, slept, and ate with Iraqis--without potentially getting killed alongside of, in defense of, or even directly because of the actions of Iraqis--you do not have a clue. I don't say this closed-mindedly, but dejectedly.

A few months ago I thought I had a new perspective on this place, only to realize I never really had an actual perspective on it. Not before I became the de facto neighborhood American diplomat. It absolutely staggers the mind a little Lieutenant--a small unit leader--is viewed by these people as an agent for medical care, criminal investigations, job security, and all the minutiae of daily living for the local population. There are old men--sheiks, Iraqi Army colonels, city council members--that somehow have serious conversations with me: the commissioned official. It's frightening that they don't know I got a B- in a West European Policy class. It staggers my mind more that in an Army with officers with degrees in engineering, English Literature and “Kinesiology,” stupid me is actually among the better qualified [yes, “kinesiology” deserves ironic quotes]. There's only so much you could read. None of it is sufficient to actually form a proper opinion on all of this.

And maybe that's why there's so much interest. They want to “understand.” But the problem I get is that every single person I've talked to only wants to shape second-hand experience into their own world view. They're not interested in so much about what I've seen or experienced. They're interested in how my experiences can justify their opinions. Succinctly, you don't know shit. I'm a fairly liberal (read: classically liberal) person (some would say radically so), with a firm belief that any citizen's opinion is as valid as any other. But I suddenly realized that issues on policy like this are well beyond the scope of what you can get out of an episode of Frontline or even peer-reviewed policy journal. I've had suspicions in the inherent close-mindedness of humanity: push for degradation of the 2^nd Amendment has largely been from those who have a fear of mere tools that they are not familiar with beyond violence. Everyone always votes to tax “the other guy.”

My experiences the last few months make me want to tell all academics, laymen, celebrities and pundits to STFU. I see no constructive way that one could bridge this gap.

This leaves me disturbed, frustrated, and disillusioned with the ability for the political process to function in spheres beyond the decision maker. I do not know the answers. But I know that the pundits certainly can't begin to. I question the ability of the political process to decide policy. I question my ability as a nominally politically informed citizen to form any sufficiently valid opinion on issues beyond my experience. If you can't understand the actual ramifications of Iraq policy on Iraqis, the Middle East, the American soldier, how can I truly understand the minute details of political thought in farm subsidies? You can lampoon him all you want, but how can you understand the problems of Joe the Plumber? [we just got our satellite TV dish to get a bit of the last debate, I did not realize how intrusive this meme was until I got home for R&R] There's too much talking over each other in politics and I am disappointed to realize sympathy and open-mindedness is bordering on wishful thinking.

Punching Timecards and Ninja Turtles

2008-11-04T14:05:00.032-07:00

Well, I don't even know how to approach updating anyone on what I've seen and experienced in the last five months or so. Uh...you know I'm in Iraq right? I would apologize to the reader for being away from this for so long, but who am I kidding? Most anyone reading this is reading this blog for the first time. And will promptly click on to someplace else. S'ok. Putting it down is for me. If anyone gets anything out of it, even better. I would have kept all of my inane ramblings on the hard drive (I swear I don't have a pink notebook with heart and unicorn stickers on it, hidden under a dresser). But some actually have gotten something out of it, over the years, so on the off chance it connects with anyone else again...

Snippits of the last few months. Cliché, I know, but rollercoaster, folks. This post will only be about one particular talky subject. If you're lookin' for “war stories,” I can entertain you another time.

***

[...]I've noticed it has affected us in different ways. Some people deal with the incomprehensibly high pile of bullshit by just giving up. Turning in the shoddy product. “You know, this is bullshit, my work isn't getting anywhere. Why worry about shit I can't change? I'll be here, 'leading' this clusterfuck, do my job, whatever.” This is where we do the minimum for mission success.

I think part of me gets thrown into this group. Of course, for most, having assholes try to fucking kill you kinda shakes you up some. IED goes off and the Magic 8 Ball is shaken, message pops up. Something along the lines of, “Hey knucklehead, wake up, this shit's serious.”

I can see the differing leadership personalities among the LTs. Myself, I tried to be as true to the textbook I could when it came to the “real” stuff. By “real” I mean the potentially getting shot at and blown up stuff. It's amazing that so many leaders treat walking down the street as walking down the street. Dude, it's not. There are literally terrorists wanting to kill you mere feet away from you. It's not simply walking down the street. They're not abstract “enemy.” So by textbook, the planning process was deliberate. One of the big things that struck me upon commissioning and leaving the TRADOC side and entering the “operational” side of the Army was how from-the-hip everything was.

NCOs were a wonder for me. At the risk of sounding gay, I am in love with the US Army noncommissioned offiicer. They simply make things happen. Nothing would function without them--officers could all disappear and the Army will still have the ability to carry out tasks. That was probably the biggest shock I had coming into my unit as a platoon leader for the first time. On the enlisted side, you know that they're indispensable, but you never truly knew how dependable and vital they are.

That said, I've been in the Army for a couple years before I became a platoon leader. As much as it opened my eyes to the greatness of the NCO, the perspective shift showed me just how much our leadership isn't as on-top of all things as young junior soldiers often feel it is. When I showed up at Fort Hood in 2007, almost all of my Army experience was textbook, schoolhouse. Officers did this, this, and this so that soldiers could do that in order to accomplish mission. By the time I was leading missions with real soldiers rather than classmates, I realized shortcuts that I would get reamed for in TRADOC were actual close to necessary in the “real world.” But it still never sat well with me. I still didn't like how much was left to luck or practice. And the Army NCO is complicit in this--often diminishing the role of the officer, who, apparently, just gums up the works.

I won't go too far into the absolute fact that most people have no clue on the responsibilities of officers (even among officers themselves!). But unless you've had the distinction of having both stripes on your arm and a gold bar on your collar, I don't want to hear a word from you that officers don't do anything. We've seen first hand what “officers not doing anything” actually looks like. It looks like a clusterfuck. NCOs, the backbone of the Army, whose experience is relied on for anything happening, cannot be depended on for everything. Ignorance notwithstanding, decisions are made and reasons are factored beyond the scope of the faithful and competent sergeant. Officers still need to do their job. It's a shame so many have not seen “what right looks like” in this regard. It's even worse that ignorance downplays what an officer (especially LTs) are supposed to do.

Anyway, yeah, different personalities. [I'm throwing in fake names from here on out, by the way] LT Dahl is the type who knows how right kinda looks like. So he knows things are just screwed up. [I've edited out our specific reservations and misgivings here] Ultimately, Dahl has no faith in the ability [censored]

A command climate survey summed up my feelings when I wrote in the following regarding my misgivings of [censored]. “There are too many chiefs, not enough Indians. The chiefs are too disconnected from reality, in their sweat lodge. And the Indians are throwing their efforts into individually making their own fires.”

I won't go into much more detail about the misgivings. Such things affected us LTs, the line managers, if you will, in our own ways. Corporate was acting wonky. The boss was incompetent. But my little cubicle farm will make it through this. Dahl initially pounded on tables and made noises. [...edited out]

I've read about introverts having different personas according to role. This came as a surprise to me at the time. I was having a problem reconciling my introversion with the way I acted at work. Why do I act this way on the job, but regular social situations cause anxiety and/or impatience? Anyway, irrelevant. I only bring it up because I am: One. Wacky. Officer. I devolve to immaturity and get hyper. I bounce off walls like a five year old, cracking jokes about all things taboo. In reflection, it's probably my way to deal with frustration. On some occasions the wackiness is a hindrance to my authority. I'm wacky so often now that many ask if I'm being serious. It'd be difficult to even give an “direct order” anymore.

In the end, some leaders are great by action. Some are great by sentiment. Some are “almost” great through effort. Many are disillusioned and punch timecards. At least one [ahem] jumps around and makes jokes about your face [...]

***

Lots of rambling. Almost all of it you probably find irrelevant or poorly discussed. Lo siento.

Next episode: Explosions! Guns! Bad language! Senseless violence! Gratuitous nudity! Tune in next time.

I'm So Excited

2008-05-16T11:33:00.024-06:00

I bought another car. I really need an intervention.

Anyway, I'm in California. Block leave. Long story, short: I sold the RX-7. It was in a fender bender and when it was being repaired, the shop couldn't continue the work because they discovered the front end of the frame was warped and heat treated into place. That salvage title from the previous owner, rearing its head. For liability reasons, they didn't want to fix it. They said more unscrupulous shops could fix it, but it'd cost an arm and a leg. I sold it...to much inner turmoil. Honestly, you should try and find a 3rd gen RX-7 out there that hasn't been molested by Vin Diesel wannabes. In its factory form, the finest sportscar of the 90s (one of the finest of all time) and one of two perfect things that ever came out of Japan.

So I needed a replacement. Someone who's merely fond of cars, and not truly addicted as I am, would wait until after deployment, right? Well, like I said, that ain't me. I set to buy another 240z. Regretted like hell selling my first one. And it is the other perfect thing that came from Japan. Really, if you're contesting this, you need to look into more of your automotive history there, bud.

Anyway. The one I was tracking on craigslist managed to be sold a day before I got back to California. It was a perfect red thing, if I could believe the pictures and the words of the seller. It's no use to lament the situation now...

The next car I looked at was in Palos Verdes. It lived in a quintessentially California home overlooking the ocean. 50s style architecture and the seller was a tall, middle aged man with longish gray hair and was supremely laid back (and evidently rich). He spoke in the casual manner people do when they live near the beach. His cluttered garage had a classic Ducati being worked on, the curb housed a Porsche Boxster under covers, a surfboard hanging from a wall. The man was in board shorts, an unbuttoned shirt, sunglasses, and stood on bare feet. We approached him as he was on the phone and was in the process of cleaning another of his cars. When I rounded the corner approaching the home of the seller, my heart honestly skipped a beat. It was the most beautifully 240z I had ever seen. It drove like a dream, through the narrow seaside roads which wound and curved around the neighborhood. Its engine rumbled to a perfect note of bass. The paint was perfect, the interior like it came from the factory. The body straight, the engine bay gleaming.

But I couldn't buy it. The rust. The salt sea air gave the poor car syphilis rashes on her perfect model body. The most beautiful girl in the world looked to be a tad promiscuous with the wrong kind of people. You couldn't see it from mere feet away. But the disease was there. I was disappointed to leave the car. But my true sense of mourning was saved for the fact such a beautiful specimen was struck with such a terrible affliction.

The next car was in Aliso Viejo. I won't wax poetic about that trip. It looked good, but it was incomplete. I wanted a turn key car for this purchase.

I beat myself up over not getting to nab the Z that was sold before I was able to get to Cali.

My eye wandered to another. She caught my eye before, but the timing was never right. She's cute, she's British and she has the most beautiful accent.California. MGB's. Nuff said.

That's What She Said

2008-04-27T09:22:00.019-06:00

srry just got msg. Im tired. Not feelin Austin 2nite. cu@work

Texted that last night. Guess I texted it because I didn't want to be talked into going.

Fellow LT asked if I wanted to go to Austin for Saturday night again. Went last week. This week, not really feeling it.

Still looking for a date for the ball. I've already resigned myself that that's a no go. But there's still that underlying nagging in my head that I should have gone out.

Spent all of Saturday riding. Came back home, exhausted, napped a 15 minute power nap, then went out on the roads again in the Boxster S. I'm actually fulfilled coming out of Saturday. I love riding. Have a buddy that had his bike stolen. Near suicidal. Myself, the Ducati is my release. It's a hassle, at times, to get on it. It's not like a car, where I can just go. Riding takes a slightly more involved prep with putting on the jacket, gloves, helmet, then taking it all off again realizing I can't put anything on fully, with my gloves inhibiting dexterity. And I wear my regular GI Joe boots riding, because MotoGP-esque riding boots seem silly in jeans, and big, bad biker boots similarly so. All in all, it feels like it takes hours to just get the bike rolling. And apparently I'm impatient. By that time, the Porsche is tempting. I get almost as much a thrill in it, with the top down. And all I need are the keys. Often, it wins out. But the days I do get on the bike are just...great. I really need a Thesaurus. Or a better vocabulary.

We're getting really close to deployment! Right. Anyway, the BC was telling us all to let our joes loose and go home as soon as possible. He insisted that a couple months from now we're not gonna look back and say “Man, I wish I had stayed in the office a while longer and completed more paperwork.” Instead, we're gonna say, “Man, I wish I had spent a few more hours with my family.” True enough. So he insisted we go out and spend some time with the wife, the girlfriend, the kids. "Oh, for you single guys, uh...work on your hobbies.” I didn't feel dejected by this, as I would assume. Truthfully, I'm gonna miss the cars, the motorcycle probably the most during the impending trip to Southwest Asia.

Rode for hours Saturday. Weather was perfect. We throw that around a lot. But I mean, perfect.

A tornado touched ground down the road from my house the afternoon before Saturday's perfect weather. Texas is weird like that. I don't know what is more disconcerting: earthquakes or tornadoes. I don't really find any anxiety from earthquakes. And when the “air raid” siren went off (later found out from a neighbor that it was a tornado warning siren), and I turned on the TV, I thought everyone was terribly nutty in their chicken little impressions. All sorts of emergency talk was on the TV. I thought for sure the Japs were attacking, with what the air raid siren still blaring. When they got around to letting me know about this tornado thing, I wondered which trailer park would be hit in some distant county. Then: “yes, it seems, the National Weather Service has declared a tornado touched down in Morgan's Point. If you are in the north side of Belton, anywhere near the lake, you really must be in your storm shelters now! We will stay with you. We will not leave the air.”

Oh shit. Really? Really? It's the promise to “stay with us” that sold it. It's touching down near the mansions! God must really have it in for us if he's avoiding the trailer park.

I don't have a storm shelter. The guy on TV answered back: “if you don't have a storm shelter, find the inner most room on the ground floor. Bathrooms are safe bets because of the piping lining the walls.”

Thanks, bud.

Electricity blinked out for a while. I was in the laundry room. Loud noises. Still unsure about how excited I should be. It kinda felt silly. Hail the size of baseballs. Tornado touched down near “firestation 2,” says talking head on TV. That's right down the street!

Anyway. I survived. Scratching my head, still. Tornado knocked over part of a tree in my backyard. Got a call form one of my NCOs asking if I was ok.

It is really difficult for me to make friends. I've grown up debilitatingly shy. Over the years, I 'd just lived with it. For work, as an officer, supposedly leading Soldiers into battle, I overcome it. It's a professional thing. And I talked about it in earlier posts, but I get empowerment in the position I'm in. Someone could probably tell that I overcompensate at work, at times. Many guys can't tell that I'd ever be considered “shy” or “reserved,” if judging from my “work persona.” Awkward? Most definitely, yes. Shy? Yeah, right.

Anyway, E called and asked if I was alright. Made me feel good that someone cared enough. In the Army, fraternization gaps aren't nearly as wide as they are in, say, the Navy. Us officers on the green side don't have separate shipboard staterooms and officers mess halls. We aren't served by enlisted stewards and our workplace isn't away from “joe.” Particularly on the combat arms side of the Army, we eat, live, and sleep with the Privates. We need close relationships in order to rely on each other. It is also unlike being a fighter pilot, where the officer goes off on sorties like some mounted knight and all of his enlisted personnel are support and left on some aircraft carrier—our enlisted guys aren't relegated to nailing horseshoees and shining our armor. The taboo of fraternization, for us, isn't about mere association between the Marxist classes of officer/enlisted. It's simply limited to unfair favoritism, and the obvious limitation of empowered demands, romantic liaisons, etc. And most of that is irrelevant for us anyway, considering we're all male in the combat arms.

That aside, I would consider this sergeant a friend. In other places, the vaguely Marxist borders would be at play. My friends from work should be the likewise white-collared officers. My fellow LTs. But it just doesn't work that way for me. I'm with my guys more often.

Concurrently, there's the “individual” equation. The other LTs, like most LTs, are Type-A personalities. I am painfully not. Great guys, that I can vaguely consider friends, or at the very least much more than vague acquaintances. But would I be friends with them in college? Would I have been friends with them in any environment if we had not been lumped together by profession? No. I don't think so. These are guys that are “corporate” in the world of The Office. They're off in New York. Or perhaps they'd more embody Jim. I am firmly within the walls of Scranton. As a mix of Dwight and Michael. I am...quirky...and often fall into the “tool” traps that the boss falls into. I can't help my Steve Carell impression, at times. Add a smattering of Jim, simply because I am self aware. Outside of work, I'm more Tobey.

I've talked to E about this once. I don't have any misgivings about tactical competence. But I do submit that other Type-A personality officers are better LTs than me. People follow said Type-As moreso than they do Michael Scott of Dunder Mifflin, Scranton. I'm only a capable leader because of that bar on my chest--the commission that places me legally in my position. He said I was off my rocker. I'm a great LT, says he. The others are cheesedicks. I dunno what that means.

Anyway. Austin. Hours of awkwardness. Being “the other guy” when the Type-As are schmozing into a bachelorette party. That guy that doesn't know what drink to get because he can count the number of times he's drank anything other than a beer, on one hand. That guy who is the worst wingman ever. That guy who shakes his head in mortal fear at being pushed to talk to some nameless girl.

Yea, thanks, I'd rather carve some roads.

That Crazy Old Wizard

2008-04-12T11:29:00.013-06:00

So the Boxster S is leaking coolant. Noticed it the other day after driving it moderately hard. Part of my trip to work is this little stretch of chicanes and mini-switchbacks. Not even minutely as entertaining as Tujunga, Angeles Crest, or even my old standby: quaint little Carbon Canyon...but for Texas, it'll do. Like Carbon when I was in grad school, I drive it everyday to and from work, so I do get to warm the tires a tiny bit.

I was about to digress into blathering about driving bliss...but I do that enough. Suffice it to say, I love driving. Said it again.

Anyway. Sucks finding coolant pooling under your car. Sure, it shelves sportscar time...but it's worse for the single guy I am. Brings up one of the infinite ways choices are different for me than they are for some married shmuck. To that guy, he could just drop the car off at the shop; he has a ride to and from. Myself, I have to bother my nonexistent list of friends...of the few I could call, they're off doing stuff with their wives or living it up as a socially-busy single. Either way, lifestyles are incompatible with the loner like me.

I find it funny that in the movies the loner is always this mysterious, cool guy. He's a maverick, he's Wolverine. In reality, most loners are the folks whose minds instantly flashed an image of yellow tights and Adamantium claws and cigars, with my reference to Wolverine. The loner is Fat Comic Book Nerd...

While I am nothing like him physically, nor am I repulsively snide, or live with my mother, I'm closer to Fat Comic Book Guy than James Dean.

[In reflection, I got the Boxster S because of its lineage to the 550 Spyder. Porsche has expressly made a modern 550 out of the Boxster. When I originally bought it, I was looking at a 550 replica kit car, but bought the Boxster for sake of practicality. The color I picked was the closest I could get to Dean's own Little Bastard (the car he died in). I dunno what that says. I digress.]

Back to car woes. I was about to call up a shop. Eventually, I just tinkered with the car myself. I'm not a gearhead. I love cars. I love engines. I love machinery. I do not like endlessly maintaining them. I love driving cars. I love collecting cars. I can even love doing minor stuff like oil changes and spark plugs. Initially, I can even get into diagnosing problems...but eventually my inherent laziness kicks in. The decadent American I am tends to throw money at problems to fix'em.

But here's me being cheap. As much as it takes effort to combat the lethargy, I've done all of my car work myself this last year. It's a little bit of both--penny pinching and lifestyle. At the end of the day, my options have limited me to doing it myself.

I've lived alone before. As an undergrad. But it was college...there was always someone around. Paths diverge at my age, as everyone gets married. Or cling to living like those college kids. I'm doing neither right now...so I'm out of sync. I'm not a part of a couple that goes out and does things with other couples. I'm not the "single guy" either--who frequents bars and/or commits to his frat boy imitation that's years past due.

Right now, I'm liking my life. Part of me wonders if I am merely justifying loneliness. It's cliche to note that I know "the difference between being alone and being lonely." I know I love being alone. I am unsure if I am lonely. 95% of the time I am confident I am not. I would simply tear my hair out if there was anyone else in this house bothering me while I was tinkering with the car or reading a book. I love coming to a quiet, empty home from a day (or months, if we're doing some silly Army thing) of "people interaction." I do not want to watch Sex & the City, or have my radio set to some pop station. I do not want anyone taking down my robots and throwing out my Darth Vader bobblehead for some floral arrangement. I do not want to go into a debate or negotiation at every piddly decision from what to eat to where to go. I want to get in the car and just go...nowhere. I contemplate while on the interstate. I do not need Avril Lavigne suddenly interrupting my thoughts, or my passenger asking me if I want to play tennis with Hank and Lisa (or Bill and Stacy, or Jon and Janie, or...). I do not want anyone else in that car as I navigate hairpins--that girl would be voicing reactions or spewing asinine talk. Sportscars aren't for passengers!

bleh. end rant. Truthfully, I can see other times I wonder how it could be different. After cooking myself a meal and sitting at an empty dining table. There are single times out of thousands that I do wish I can live in a 50's sitcom and say "honey, I'm home." But those are times few and far between.

I know I am hiding the fact I am socially inept. That I am burying my head in the sand by telling myself that I like being alone. I know that loving solitary activity is simply saying I hate interaction with people. That I am avoiding what I am painfully awkward at.

I know I don't want an uncle telling his adopted son that I'm a crazy old wizard. That I don't exist anymore. That he should just go and wipe the droids' memory a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. But, I am just fine twirling lightsabers in the here and now. I rather like being Ewan McGregor flying spaceships, rather than Alec Guinness living in a cave.

It's funny how time lines shift. There was a time when I'd call it at 30. But right now, I'm telling you I wouldn't want to be a lonely 40 year old. I like being alone in my mid twenties, though.

Crown Moulding

2008-04-10T20:39:00.015-06:00

Watching House Hunters on HGTV right now. They got an Austin episode (I insist I'm "near Austin," rather than Waco, which is technically closer by a smidge. Guess why). It's the reason I tuned in--saw the description on the channel guide thing. Me browsing the guide makes it sound less like I routinely watch the show. Because I don't. That's gay.

It amuses me to no end that all of the houses she's looking at suck compared to mine. BWAAAHAA...I measure my penis size by how much my house rawks. Spelling it "rawks" is pretty gay. I meant rocks. I find it even funnier that I am measuring manhood in a way that is supremely estrogen-tied.

Really, I never thought I'd be in this position. I still feel like a kid. Never thought I'd own a house. Part of me wonders if I'm being way too self-important...a four bedroom, 1950 sq. ft. house and .67 acres for an asshole who does not have a wife or kids. A guy whose chief concern was garage space finds himself in a house that he's actually proud of. Had some people over the last couple months. All of them pretty much note the lack of feminine touch. The robots and stormtrooper painting over the fireplace can't be placed by a girl, apparently.

Anyway, yeah. Never thought I'd be watching HGTV. I hate the way every asshole under 30 has all the same IKEA furniture. Random fact: got a Cali expatriate theme going on. Got wall deco that includes prints of the Bear Flag, Bixby Bridge, and the Pacific Coast Highway. Makes me feel better. Still trying to combat the hipster/ikea/yuppie/crap vibe I'm afraid my home gives. But oh well. We all can't start underground fight clubs and make bombs out of soap. Or run amok of drugs in Scotland. I choose life...

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose...

Pictures, eventually. Gushing...at a minimum. But I love this house. If that was out loud, I just sounded flamboyantly gay. It's a good thing I don't read the stuff I type aloud. Much. So far, all I got...took when it snowed one morning back in February:

So I'm still watching HGTV. Apparently, they're doing a whole week of first-time homeowners. Just watched a show called Property Virgin. There's this dude with a silly little growth on his chin and his parents are with him. It's his chin growth that's funny. My parents actually closed for me, with Power of Attorney--you stupid tax payers insisted I spend November in the Mojave Desert at NTC committing "simulated" war crimes. Bleh, I digress. ...Just watched a show called My First Place and theres this blonde chick. Interesting. I can't say it's hilarious. Or funny. I find this odd. While I am feeling a lot of empathy from watching these people my age doing the same stuff I'm doing, I still find it absolutely baffling that I find it at all interesting. This first time homeowner marathon HGTV's doing is great. And I just realized I've been watching it for two hours. Shit.

Why does Suzanne Whang spell Wong, "Whang"? I mean, really.

Shoot'em Up. Part Deux.

2008-04-10T19:07:00.016-06:00

There's this discussion going on in an internet forum I frequent. In this thread, the original poster relates a story about a retired Marine being politically opposed to him owning a gun. The former-Marine is against private gun ownership. Yep, the ol' gun control debate. Anyway, the original poster called the conversation "surrealistic" [sic], because, obviously, Marines have to believe in the Second Amendment. Well, I had some extra change in my pocket. So the following is the two cents I put in.

The guy being a Marine is irrelevant because there's absolutely no connection between being in the military and opinion on domestic public policy. On one hand you're talking about being a tool of foreign policy (being in the military). On the other, you're talking about DOMESTIC policy. A Marine's opinion on domestic issues is the same as the opinion of any other citizen's. It shouldn't be weighted because he's in the military. You're on the slippery slope of "qualifications" on opinion. Maybe you're saying my opinion on policy should be greater than yours because I am a Cavalry officer? Thanks, slightly flattered...but that's really silly.

[Another thread contributor, "marinepilot81," has a ranting post about how all "Marine leadership" he knows are evil "liberals" who want to go door-to-door and take away your dad's shotgun. BTW, nothing says 'cool' like having a screen-name that is your job. It's like introducing yourself as "Maverick," and calling yourself a "Naval Aviator," when approaching girls at bars, even though your name is really Pete Mitchell).]

And as far as marinepilot81's comments on Marine "leadership." It's a good thing that in the representative democracy that is America, the military is run by the popularly elected civilian government. I don't know what silly world we'd be in if some general (a marine general, no less!) dictates domestic public policy. This isn't a banana republic. Moustached men with mirrored sunglasses and epaulets and cords and medals on their chests don't tell everyone what to do here. I hold appointed office as a Cavalry Officer. I have no authority over anyone but soldiers, sailors, marines, etc. My mom doesn't salute me. She could still tan my hide--no matter the fact grizzled Command Sergeants Major salute me. My opinion that every American should be able to buy whatever gun they can afford with no government intervention is just as relevant as any other citizen's opinion on the matter. It matters not one bit that all of the marines you know are "evil gungrabbers."

Besides, all the disconnect of using a gun in the course of one's job versus an individual's right to bear arms has been talked about in all of the posts above. some are closing their ears to it, but I'll say it again: it is entirely plausible that a trained worker who has his duty gun SEVERELY regulated would have the opinion that "guns shouldn't be in the hands of 'mere' civilians." The military does not even let its own servicemen have guns without draconian rules. If you're joe private, your POW (privately owned weapon) must be kept in the company arms room. It must be approved by your commander. 99% of the time when you're not deployed, even your duty weapon is locked up away from you. And when you do have it, it is UNLOADED without magazines. A soldier stateside only has a loaded weapon .000001% of their time in uniform. True story: any given military installation, citing they're federal government facilities, is guaranteed to have less loaded guns on the streets than your average rural town or big city. Today's "force-protection" military is the epitome of the nanny-state that many Americans dream of: from guns, to motorcycles, to cellphones--it's all regulated for the "safety" of the individual soldier. The deck is stacked against RKBA if you're forming your opinion within the military [RKBA: Right to Keep & Bear Arms--it's what us real gun nuts call it...you're not cool unless you throw in acronyms]. Anyone who has a strong opinion FOR the RKBA has formed it BEFORE the military.

Opinions on RKBA is the same in the military as it is in any other field. These opinions should weigh the same as it does in any other field as well. Unless you think that servicemen are somehow better than every other American... hate to burst your bubble, but we're not.

[another poster chimed in with the following:]

There was a fellow Lt. in the training battalion at Ft. Knox who said he didn't like guns, "Because they hurt people." I asked him, "What branch do you belong to?" He replied, "Field Artillery". I asked him, "What branch kills the most people on the battlefield?" "Artillery", he replied. I asked him, "You belong to the branch that kills the most people on the battlefield, but you claim to not like guns 'because they kill people'; can you reconcile those two?" After a pause came the reply, "No..."

[I replied:]

To play devil's advocate, here...if your redleg buddy had any actual convictions he could have easily argued that HE's trained to use those guns and has the authority to employ them against the enemy. The peasant...erm...average American has neither the training nor authority. THis is the same tripe that's being spewed about on this thread. Somehow because he fires 155 downrange, he's a more "qualified" citizen. Somehow a marine "should know better" than to argue against the 2nd Amendment. That's all baloney.

The marine is just as ignorant (sometimes even moreso) as any other American. Look at this thread: how many times have you seen "liberal" misused by Marines? It's extremely illiberal to desire a government to regulate the purchases of the individual. But like any other American who takes cues from Limbaugh, or Michael Moore, etc, we spout what we hear. Marine, baker, nurse, construction worker, school teacher, clown, engineer, housewife, celebrity--all of these opinions should have the same weight...they're all equally flawed :)

Anyway.

Honky Tonk Women

2008-04-06T16:42:00.015-06:00

Scary to think...but having two CTCs under our belt, my brigade is the best-trained deployable BCT in the US Military right now.

Got back from JRTC on Wednesday. Been vegging out since. Honestly, I have been an absolute glutton for isolation since then. Living with the stink of showerless Soldiers for the last month does that to me. You know in those prison camp movies where solitary confinement is the uber-terrible punishment for that rebellious prisoner? I never understood that. Maybe I'm anti-social. No, I know I am.

I don't have a baseball like Steve McQueen, but the TV and internets serves me better. Battlestar Galctica is back. I'll save you my nerd analysis. Downloaded Lost (and other TV shows) eps. Save you my nerd talk there, too.

Yeah, I saved you from nerd talk. But now prepare yourself for wussy talk. Went to Target. Caught a smile from a pretty girl. That made my day. Yeah, means nothing to the "normal" guys (read: those not possessing the social skills of a 12 year old). But it made my day. I'm either not as repulsive as I thought, or she was just being friendly. It felt different than a "smile at the stranger" smile...but maybe I'm just feeling the effects of a month without much seeing any females.

When you're a combat arms soldier, they keep you on isolated FOBs for...well...combat arms stuff. The Super FOBS (the ones we AREN'T on) have the level2/3 CASH sites and all of the females. I don't think most people get how that feels. Unless you're in a prison or monastery, I doubt you've lived for any length of time without even hearing a female voice. Few know what that does to the mind.

On one mission we had EOD attachments. And one of them was a female sergeant. We got to the point where we were trying anything just to get the sound of a female voice on our nets. Our traffic, outside of the actual official stuff, became painfully asinine...just to try and get a radio response from that alluring siren. After weeks of separation, just a female voice is so comforting.

For Full Spectrum Ops, my platoon became the de facto battalion QRF. Ended up doing convoy escorts with little sleep. It's a pogue job, really for MPs...but whatever. On one occasion we escorted a convoy to a "female" FOB. It felt like some Amazon paradise. None of us had seen a girl in weeks. I asked for directions to the TOC from a passing fellow officer. I waved a group down. The one that stayed to talk was a female LT. We talked a little bit. I am not sure if she was truly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, or I had my field goggles on. Probably the latter. But she may as well have been Helen herself. I think she was a nurse or med service (I hate that we lost our branch insignia on our ACUs). She smiled at my questions, apparently I'm more charming in situations of drought. Or I have the memory of a drunk.

Do I grow confidence when I'm in uniform? I'd never stop a beautiful woman I don't know for anything, in the real world. Probably the effect of station--I'm supposed to be a platoon leader--briefing and leading my soldiers is different than making friends out of strangers. As the cavalry officer, I'm supposed to be the convoy commander, no matter who's mission it is I'm escorting. Authority, no matter the source, is empowering, I guess. The self-confidence I force into myself when throwing on my "game face" carried over into the brief interaction...

Found myself at this FOB's TOC. Found myself in front of a pretty female captain. Again, I can't describe how at ease I felt at her mere presence in light of such a long separation.

It wasn't until later that I beat myself up for having field stink on me...and needing to mow the lawn growing on the top of my head. I know I didn't leave an impression. But it made my day.

Anyway, back in civilization. Girl at Target looked like a college student. Smiled at me as she exited and I entered the store. Made my day. (College girls at Target) > (fat moms at Walmart).

Garryowen

2008-03-09T23:31:00.008-06:00

It may surprise the random online migrant that stumbled their way onto this site that this blogger wears a black stetson for a living. In the course of the duty day, I do indeed wear the same hat with the same accoutrement that Robert Duvall did while searching for that perfect wave, smelling that napalm. Robert Duvall's LTC Kilgore was not some cartoon character that was purely a product of imagination nor was he a character that was created from mere exception to standards. The US Cavalry still retains our black stetsons and crossed sabers. The same Cavary that wiped nations off the face of the planet is alive and well, trained to perform the same historic mission. While it still maintains certain horse-mounted color guard, our mounts today are split between tanks, HMMWVs, and Strykers. The mission is the same: scout for information, fight for that information, or strike with overwhelming shock effect on the battlefield. I'm leaving out the minutiae of missions like raids, screening, interdiction, etc, but you get the point: we're doing the same exact thing that John Wayne has done in the movies when the beleaguered wagon trains let out with an exasperated breath of relief, "Here comes the CAVALRY!" And seeing horses, sabers and carbines thunder over the hill toward static pickets of scared men with muskets, is just as awesome as "Ride of the Valkyries" booming over the thumps of helicopters over a village, or tanks over a desert sand berm, crossing onto city intersections blocking traffic and making that hiding terrorist question his dedication to the cause.

All Cavalry troopers, upon their death, make their way to a place called Fiddler's Green.

Halfway down the trail to hell
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped
Near a good old-time canteen
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddler’s Green.

Marching past, straight through to hell,
The infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marine,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.

Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen,
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.

And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge or fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green.

My grandmother, as mentioned in my weak attempt at archiving snapshots of my family, found herself in Manila in 1945, looking for her younger sister. As bombs dropped, her world was suddenly plunged in darkness. Awakening to pain, she found herself in the rubble of a hospital that had figured into her search. She was bleeding and couldn't get back on her feet. A passing GI, a Cavalry trooper, found his pants leg being tugged by a frail hand near the rubble that he crossed. I do not know who that young man was, but with a degree of certainty, I can be sure that he was a trooper of the 7th Cavalry. That young lady would much later have a grandson that is a 7th Cav trooper himself. While my current regiment would be among the most famous in history for dubious reasons (yes, that 7th Cavalry), my specific battalion has distinguished itself through the Indian Wars, from Manila, to Vietnam, to Iraq. I know that someday I will be able to shake the hand of that very trooper, that fellow trooper at our common final destination.

Or I'm just being gay. You hear violins? Shutup, I thought there was literary symmetry to it. Okay I'll stop. God, I fear the day when I somehow become a field grade officer. I had one long winded speech at my commissioning ceremony...someone told me it was longer than the guest speaker's, a Brigadier General. I do not know how many "blowhards" and "fags" I will hear under ineffectively-disguising coughs as my career continues...

That said. I still think it's cool. We reflagged to 2-7CAV. Go read We Were Soldiers Once...And Young. Good half of the book is about my very battalion. The mildly-lame Mel Gibson movie only focused on 1-7CAV, though I guess with all the flick's hokiness, that's ok.

Stetsons, spurs and sabers. Shiny.

Drop in the Bucket

2008-02-09T09:27:00.000-07:00

Oh holy crap, I haven't written in this for more than a year. I've been meaning to. But, you know that feeling that you wanna tell your buddy or your parents or somebody about something that's incredible, but don't really feel up for it just yet because you don't feel like you can give that event the proper awesomeness it deserves? No? Okay, just me.

Anyway, I think I just give up. Feels bad, but oh well. I cna't even begin to describe everything that went on in the last year. I realize that postponing, or otherwise feeling lazy about posting, actually makes things worse than posting about what happened in smaller, though unfulfillable (to me) intervals. But oh well.

In list form: finished OBC, reported to my unit, and have since been platoon leaderin'. Such few words for such great changes. I'm rereading some of the stuff I wrote before and am absolutely in awe at how much things (and I!) have changed. ANyway, I'll write more later. Oh! I bought a house, too. Crazy.

Laziness kicking in. Since finishing OBC, I have increasingly found that I have less and less time for doing anything but work. Sucks. I feel the grind.

Lot of great stuff too. Overall, I feel old, semi-fulfilled, and not as lonely as my life would seem on paper. I don't know how to feel about the idea that I might be in slow acceptance of my perhaps anti-social self.

The above tidbit of nothing information serves as the catch-up of a ridiculously eventful year. Sorry.

Can't Stay Mad At You

2007-01-04T11:10:00.001-07:00

Yeah, my last post was a rant on the inane laws in California. But right now I'm counting down the hours I'll be home. I realize I won't be seeing California for months.

When I got off the plane at LAX the week before Christmas, my first meal was Tito's Tacos. The last couple weeks have been me catching up with an old friend. Everything from Yoshinoya, Tommy's and In-N-Out. I was sitting in Cincinnati at a Steak-N-Shake (which was curiously named). It turned out to be kinda like a Johnny Rockets. Only with much better shakes. But much worse burgers. And I don't even like Johnny Rockets.

I have come to the conclusion no other state in the union has any Mexican food, Japanese food, Chinese food, or burgers. They've got approximations that they call similar names though.

I've been a gluttonous sloth for a few weeks. So I tried running around a few days here and there. I'm running in 70 degree weather, in shorts.

The first thing I did when I got home was take the Boxster S out for a spin. God. I get mocked for the fact I have too many cars. I've got three. Yes, three. My RX-7 is stored in my grandmother's garage, covered. My Vehicross is my daily-driver. The Boxster S is at my parents' home. People say sports cars are compensating for inadequacies and are ostentatious, pretentious, and are extravagant wastes. The people who say this drive Hyundais. Is it so hard to understand that some people, maybe, LIKE to drive? Most people, I guess, purchase and use automobiles to get from Point A to Point B, or worse, to show off material wealth. I do not.

Carving a single lane canyon road in the Boxster S made me smile. The top was down. It's the end of December. But I'm in California. I couldn't do this in Oklahoma or Kentucky or 48 other states. I'm not a lit major, not a writer or poet...I cannot put into words the joy, simple joy of driving sports cars. Particularly roadsters with the top down. The Boxster S is unlike any other convertible I've driven. Driving it through narrow winding canyons, swinging that wheel back and forth, wheels stuck to the ground like a slot car's--the experience is simply rapturous, blissful, euphoric. I believe a lot of the dismissal of "phallic symbols" like a "porshhh" are from people who simply haven't driven one. From people simply ignorant that not all cars drive like Honda Civics. The RX-7 feels even more visceral when pushing it...it is simply uncompromising in it's sports car rigidity. That's its negative aspect as well. The suspension is stiff enough to feel the difference between pennies and dimes that you happen to drive over. That said, it's even more peppy than the Boxster S, has perfect 50/50 weight distribution and simply feels like a go-kart. But the Boxster S is fun at all speeds, and it being a roadster simply makes it the perfect vehicle. Again, don't knock what you haven't experienced. There's nothing ostentatious about having FUN in a car that probably cost me LESS than your shiny new Honda Accord, that has gas mileage just as good as your Toyota Corrolla. Your ignorance, not mine.

Anyway. Digress, much? Actually, the last few weeks would have been less blissful had the top been up--which would have been a necessity in any place outside of sunny Southern California. It's January! Where else can you go to the beach, SCUBA dive without a drysuit, go snowboarding, skiing, dirtbiking...all on the SAME January day?

The food alone. I simply do not understand why Americans are so fat outside of California. With the food you all have--soggy tortillas masquerading as tacos, factory fried smashpatties posing as hamburgers, whatever it is you have that's imitating sushi. There are countless "Authentic Chinese Cuisine" signs all over the US. But I've yet to find any good Chinese food outside of California. And no, Bubba, you can't get fucking sushi at a fucking Chinese buffet. It's like bizzarro world when it comes to food outside of California. Case in point: Sonic's lack of a competitive footing in California, and its rabid spread accross other states. Sonic is indeed here, contrary to Californians not seeing many (there's one in Fullerton? I don't remember on which side of city lines it was on). That drive-in chain is just fine for Oklahoma, but it's pushed aside by pure shame in the shadow of a Tommy's Chili cheeseburger or In-N-Out Double-Double. What? Are you going to try and laud White Castle? Yeah, argument over.

And two more words: FISH TACOS.

So, California. Outside of your people's nasty habit of over-legislating their lives, I love you.

There's a sense of me not wanting to "go back." I wonder how slackers--children of rich, nonjudgmental parents--live. I contemplate thier lives. I have relatives that are past 40, living in thier mother's spare room. Oh, somtimes I hate this "fullfillment" or "Self worth" thing. Being a lazy bum is so easy. I'm at a weird place. I'm straight psyched to go, get to them TANKS. But I'm feeling a major sense of loss in that I'm leaving the last few weeks behind. I think my trepidation of "going back" is a fear that the next few months will be more bullshit like BOLC II. I am optimistic it won't be. Honestly, I am pretty certain the next few months will have little in common with the last few. It's just the nature of the courses. That said, I think the Mars Rover paints the best picture of my journey the last few months. It's uncanny. OVERPRICED SPACE-ROOMBA AWAITING MORE BULLSHIT ORDERS.

Catch ya later, Cali. I got some cool shit to do for the next few months, but I'll be back.

Kalifornia

2006-12-22T21:12:00.000-07:00

I'm in California for Christmas. So I was at Big 5 today. By pure chance I saw they had a model 1894c in .357mag/.38 special. I've been looking for just that combination for the last year. I wanted a Marlin. If you've held both the Winchester 94 and the Marlin, I don't see how you could possibly choose the former over the latter. Almost all the Marlins I've seen were in .44mag or .30-30. I don't hunt, so the .30-30 wasn't my bag, and I just prefer .357 to .44. I also wanted the "cowboy" model, which has an octagon barrel and smooth (rather than checkered) wood.

I've seen very few since (as mentioned) they mostly come in those other calibers. Of the ones I've seen in the caliber I want, they've been over $450. Just never got around to shelling out that cost for it.

Anyway. I was at Big 5. The crowd seemed to part and glorious light from heaven on high directed my attention to an 1894c. It was in .357 and was perfect carbine length. It was on sale. $334. (!!!)

Ralphie found his Red Ryder dual carbide-action range rifle with a compass in the stock...only this Ralphie is fully grown with a paycheck all his own. I asked to see it. The clerk took it from behind the counter, handed it over. I looked it over for a total of 3 seconds. "I'll take it."

My Nevada drivers license comes out.

The clerk informs me California gun dealers can't sell to out-of-staters.

WTF

I can buy rifles in all 49 states. With my Nevada license, I can buy rifles in Arizona (which I have done), Oklahoma (where I've been the last 3 months), Kentucky (where I've been last and will be for the next 4 months), and any damn other state in the union. But California refuses to sell to its own native son because of my drivers license (I am a third generation native Californian fer Pete's sake). I inquire about my active duty status, but remember my orders place me in Texas, not California, so the federal rules for servicemen can't save me.

Okay. Fine. I got my parents over. My mother still has a California Drivers License. I point the rifle out. We get help. Clerk says he'll be right with us. Spends some time in the back. We wait. I look around. Buy some new running shoes. We wait. We wait some more. Clerk comes out: "let's talk over here." We get ushered to the side. "I can't sell this to you, sir." WTF.

"But you're not selling it to me, you're selling it to her."

"I'm sorry sir, it's not personal."

"Okay, but even if so, what if it's a gift from my mother to me?"

"I'm sorry."

Okay. I understand the rules against straw purchases. But this is an 1894 lever action carbine. Marlin's sole customer base for said carbine is those active in Cowboy Action shooting and other cowboy nuts like me. I'm not gonna be robbing stagecoaches. I swear. THis is not a handgun. Not even a full rifle since it shoots pistol cartridges. It is not semi automatic, it has no detachable magazine, it has no "evil" black parts. It's as innocuous as Ralphie's own Christmas wish. It even LOOKS LIKE IT. I am not a felon whose crack whore girlfriend is making a straw purchase for. I was trying to buy one of the most fun plinking toys ever made, a replica of a derivative of the "gun that won the West." I took a deep breath when they basically told this Ralphie "I'd shoot my eye out." So, my mom tried to buy me--a full grown man with a Master's Degree and who holds appointed office--a gift. California said no.

People's Republic of Kalifornia. I have defended you too many times to count. Just three weeks ago, some platoon-mate o mine tried to tell me about this state's oppressive, draconian, Nazi regs on guns. I note New Jersey, Massachusetts, Hawaii, and New York are worse. I note the Orange County gun show (formerly Pomona Fairgrounds) is still the largest by far...with the best selection, best people, etc.

But we come to today. I already internalized the waiting period (!) for a 19th century technolgy rifle, the mandatory extra expense for trigger locks, etc, that's forced on me by California state legislators who've only seen guns before in action/horror movie du jour. But I held my breath at the fact I found one of my long sought after prizes at an unbelievable price.

Fuck you California. You have made one of your native sons ashamed. It took a lot.

Dispatches From Trashcanistan

2006-12-18T23:44:00.000-07:00

Someone dropped a note in my facebook commenting on my BOLC II thoughts. I realized I didn't even scratch the surface of my thoughts on the Bend Over LT Course II. I also had other questions from soon-to-be-students on what to expect.

So, yeah, I didn't write even HALF the thoughts or experiences I have on BOLC II. I dunno why, but now that it's behind me, I keep thinking a lot of it was good. But while you're in it, it's just BS. Not the "this is hard" ranger school type BS, just the "this is inane" BS. Anyway. Again, I think a lot of it is the lack of standardization. BOLC II experience is drastically different between platoons and companies. Cadre seems to have a lot of latitude. We all thought a lot of the crazy crap at BOLC II was just so inane that comments on it being "gay" were nonstop. BOLC II is full of "jackassery." Too many other vocabulary definitions were invented. In all, there were a lot of gripes on cadre, but more importantly BOLC II seemed to be overly...Inefficient. Take the overall "hurry up and wait" standard of the military, and multiply it by 10. It surprised everyone from OCS grads who've only been in the Army for 8 months, to prior service NCOes with 12 years service. We've never seen so much jackassery. True story: we had an impromptu class from one of the 91W (medics)--he was tapped to "teach them something" while the cadre cleared a range for us to start on. He was a veteran SFC and after talking a little about a syringe, we went into this pseudo-IG survey. This medic said "I know you LTs are getting jerked around" and noted that a lot of the cadre seem to be just in it to screw around with the butterbars one last time before they get to be platoon leaders. None of what he said was inaccurate, it just took us back that a non-student made those observations. IN a way, it was a sense of validation that we weren't just being whiny bitches. I know the picture cannot be painted without specific instances. But it tires me to even think of the subject. Just be prepared.

Beyond the jackassery gripes, I think I was taken aback by the fact I couldn't trap lightning in a bottle. I was truly blessed at LDAC by being with some great peers that I managed to click with. For BOLC II, everyone around me was great...but we really didn't have anything in common. All were great people that were friendly and funny...none of them really turned out to be my buddy, is all. I spent as much time by myself on weekends as I did hanging out with my platoon mates (against the "orders" on always being with a battle buddy). My dad never threw me a football, I have no clue on my opinion on the New England Patriots. I just felt most conversations with me outside of "work" were forced. Through no fault of anyone but perhaps my own. They didn't download episodes of Battlestar Galactica or spend hours at gun stores, and I didn't spend hours at sportsbars or working out at the gym. If there's a leadership lesson in there...it's that I can't use the idea that "I'm not with my best buddies" as an excuse for poor performance. I passed BOLC II. But unlike any previous evaluations, I was merely "center mass."

The best stuff at BOLCII is like patrolling at LDAC, only multiply the intesnsity and add all of the planning on your shoulders...the cadre WILL let you sink or swim all your own. The addition of vehicles alone in your missions makes things 100 times more complicated. Patrolling at LDAC is with merely 2 squads (a section) and for two days.

At BOLC II, missions are all by full platoons (that's 3 rifle squads, and a weapons squad). I was squad leader for point reconnaissance at LDAC. Set up an ORP, went to the objective, set up an RP, sent off my R&S teams, finished mission, simple as cake. At BOLC II, I was Platoon Leader for an area recon. I planned the route of our vehicles (two LMTVs) from the FOB to the two objectives (trip took an hour to get there), set up the blackout point, dismount points, pickup points, contingencies, etc. I cannot explain the involved nature and comlicated state of it all. Where cadets are used to having an R&S team of 4 from a squad of 8-12 accomplishing a point recon, you have to quickly get used to how to employ vehicles to deploy 32 soldiers without the enemy detecting you on a road that's easily seen from the vantage point you're trying to recon. We had two dismount points. I had 1st squad dismount at dismount pt 1 to recon objective 1 two km away, while both vehicles left us and continued on to dismount pt 2. I accompanied 1st squad for command & control while the PSG went with the vehicles. At dismount point 2, 2nd squad dismounted and went its 2km or so to recon its objective. Vehicles with the PSG and the weapons squad and 3rd squad in reserve continued to a designated pickup point between the two objectives. Each recon squads separated into three R&S teams and 3 observation points around thier objectives. We had trouble communicating intersquad, but also with company, who kept "bothering" me (another platoon is conducting reconnaissance elsewhere...it's not notional, and there is coordination involved with that other platoon). 2nd squad got in a pickle and had to be picked up at an alternate point, and there were more problems from there. Overall, such situations are not completely dissimilar from anything you've gotten in your pre-commissioning sources, it's just added with more...everything.

Which brings me to another gripe. As noted above, experiences differ between platoon/company. But worse still, there seems to be uneven responsibilities among students in general. Some BOLC II grads have had nothing more than squad leader leadership positions. Contrary to what I thought was a graduation requirement, some students squeeked by without any tactical leadership evaluations. It seems there are plenty of cracks to fall through as I, for example, was a garison platoon sergeant, a garison 1st squad leader that became de facto platoon sergeant, a convoy route recon squad leader (tactical), and a tactical area recon platoon leader...where some never had any platoon level leadership garison, tactical, or otherwise. Some never taught one class. Some never conducted one PT session.

More about Lawton. There are no gun stores in Lawton. There are a lot of pawnshops which happen to have guns. But they're pawnshops. With guns. The closest shop is in Duncan about 30 miles away. Murfs Guns. Oklahoma City has several good stores. ONe in particular is standout. H&H Guns off the I40 is a well organized store, clean, with a good selection and good prices. Overall, Oklahoma is a hunting state. THey don't have much interest in Evil Black Rifles. Arizona or Nevada this ain't.

I wasted 10 dollars on a gun show in OKC. It was really a "beef jerky and beanie baby show," not a gun show. Orange COunty still has the best gun shows in the nation. Even though they lack EBRs, the overall size and relative lack of old crusty ladies in knitted american flag sweaters selling beanie babies is outstanding. I thought that crappy Cashman Field thing they have in Las Vegas periodically was terrible...(Kentucky, by early indications, is an OUTSTANDING gun nut state. Knob Creek!)

As noted, the service in Lawton generlaly sucks. THey have an excessive nunmber of buffets, and more specifically CHinese buffets. OF them, I'd reccomend HOng Kong Buffet, but in general would suggest just to stay away from all of them. It's odd that their mongolian BBQ is never up and running at Hong Kong Buffet. It's like the people of Lawton are too stupid to understand how it works (or too gluttonously fat to wait for thier food to cook) and the proprietors just stopped manning it. When I instisted on getting in the mongolian bbq line (of one), they acted surprised.

Do not trust "Mexican" food in Oklahoma. At least not if you're from California. Atlanta Bread Company seems like a rebadged Panera Bread. YOu'll find it filled with LTs and laptops. THey have okay soup/sandwiches...but more importantly the wireless internet is free. I've come to a good rule of measure on whether or not an area is a good place. If it has a Target and Best Buy, you're ok. Lawton is devoid of either. It has two WalMart SuperCenter. Stay away from the one on Sheridan. Ghetto. THe one on Quannah Parker HWY is fairly nice, clean, and not as crowded.

Stay away from the movie theater in the mall. The one on Cache is much better. I'd reccomend watching matinee times...it gets ridiulously crowded.

Ft SIll museum ain't bad, with flexible hours. There's a nature preserve and other such things around. All not bad. Oklahoma City I won't talk much about. It's great, nuff said.

I do not understand all the tolls on the highways. Especially on the fucking INTERSTATES. Where the hell does my tax money go? Oh, BTW, all highways outside of California are designed by 12 year olds, with offramps in the left lane, merge lanes wherever-the-fuck-they-want-em, etc. If they had half the traffic Los Angeles has, they'd cease to function.

I think it's telling I've spent hundreds and hundreds on books, graphic novels, DVDs and video games while there. THey were my only cathartic release from the mindnumbing natureof BOLC II. Hastings is a great store. It's like a poor man's Virgin Megastore. In some ways, it's better. YOu can rent stuff there too.

Okay, here ends my random thoughts. Overall, I hated BOLC II as a student, but found it tolerable in hindsight. But I also feel like I'm sounding more of a whiny bitch than I mean to be. In the end, course was completed, and I understand the "why's" of some of it...I just have a lot of gripes (not unfounded ones, BTW). I have loved training up until this point, I'm ashamed to dorkily say, I just believe BOLC II has some teething problems in the last year or so of its inception. In all, I didn't feel like I was "there" or in the right state of mind or with the right motivation through it all. Blame is on the shoulders of this individual as well as institutional issues of the course itself. Any more specific questions, send'em.

The Gangs of Lawton

2006-12-18T19:29:00.000-07:00

Yeah, just finished BOLC II. My thoughts on the course feel way too lengthy and varied to put into words. Before I continue, I'd like to thank, once again, anonymity.

Looking back, I don't really know why I hated the last 7 weeks so much. In hindsight, a lot of it was pretty cool. BOLC II really feels like the official "stormtrooper academy." Most of it was specifically geared toward the world today and the things new LTs are facing out there. A good lot of it was LITERALLY kicking down doors. Cordon & knocks, cordon & searches, cordon & kicks, outer cordons...I really felt like a stormtrooper. Basically it all revolved around cordoning off buildings and...kicking down individual doors. Performing a search for a mullah, I had the sneaking suspicion the next thing out of the mouth of the guy I had cuff tied would have been "these are not the droids you're looking for" (accompanied, natch, with Jedi hand wave).

Much of BOLC II had me carrying the SAW. Okay. I am literally the smallest guy in the platoon. The girls are bigger than me. Fate has a sense of humor. Clearing rooms and buildings kinda hurt shouldering that thing. The stock was too long for my length of pull. And raising the muzzle to cover high windows and second floors kinda sucked...which I had to do a lot of being the number 4 guy in my fire team during MOUT. We had breaching tools for doors, but mostly I like kicking them in.

Most weeks I had to draw both the SAW and my carbine. Why? Because we qualified with the M4. For the live-fires (i.e. convoy live fire), I had to shoot the carbine. But I also was issued the M249. Spare barrel included. That's an extra 25 lbs or so, with all the belts of ammo, maybe more. Did I mention that humorous fate? I also carried a radio manpack. Add another 15 lbs or so. All that stuff was MORE than what everyone else carried. Everyone had their IBA (interceptor body armor) with SAPI plates in...add 30 lbs. Ruck? 35 lbs. I carried more than 75 lbs for the 16km ruck march we had.

Speaking of which, I think that was the highpoint, though it didn't feel so at the time. Had a week of 24 hour operations. Missions, FOB security, etc. I thought the FOB security would be chill. Turned out being on missions was better...at least it kept you warm. Rotated between QRF (Quick Reaction Force), tower and gate duties. No sleep, save moments for QRF when things weren't happening. Of course, arty sims love being thrown about by cadre. Anyway, at the end of the week, with no sleep for 48 hours or so, we go on a lil hike in the middle of the night. Full battle rattle. 16km (10 miles). It honestly wasn't bad. Pace was slow. But my extra weight didn't help. I actually got a few "You carried the SAW the whole march?!" with a lot of awe. I thought to myself, "uh, no, dumbass, I should have just dropped it in the woods somewhere." I wasn't hurting as much as the guys in the weapons squad...they had full on M240B's and tripods to carry. But they switched off, and I think people expected it cuz they're all like twice my weight and height. Lil me? notsomuch. Anyway, I got a lot of "tries 110%" in my peer evals. I get that a lot. At LDAC someone wrote...I'm quoting..."For a little guy with little legs, he sure can ruck." Honestly, I don't think that comment would have been made if he knew how close I was to the edge of utter exhaustion back then.

Oh yeah, back to the "high point." So we march. (heh, that reminds me of 300...can't wait for the movie. The book's opening scene starts with "we march...for glory...we march...etc"). We were briefed that would be the end. the end point was the billets for PLDC (actually, its now named WLC...warrior leaders course...where they send new sergeants for "leadership" training...the Army likes renaming things to sound more gay...BOLC, etc). Anyway we were briefed we'd have access to their billets because the WLC students were gone and graduated and we'd have "full amenities." Alright, warm rooms, no snow, beds. Yeah, almost all of the PLT dropped the cold weather sleep system from their rucks before the march, placing it in duffels that would be transported via LMTV. The Army issues us a great sleep system in a space-age collapsible bag. It consists of 3 parts: a summer sleeping bag, a winter sleeping bag, and a bivy cover. You use combinations of it all to adapt to weather conditions. a bivy cover with poncho liner is great for stuff down to maybe 50 degree weather.

Well we finish the march, the WLC students were still there. We slept in the snow with bivy covers and poncho liners. Someone got smart and built a fire. We got yelled at. We had another fire in a barbecue stand. Not nearly as effective...but there it was...30 LTs looking like winos around a burning barrel.

Anyway, immediately after the ruck march, we're straight into missions. We set up a patrol base and had counter-reconnaissance missions going through the night. Basically we played OPFOR for the other platoons of the company. Our PLT was the guerilla band paramilitary types. Platoons 3, 4, 5 conducted their marches and went into recons of our positions. All night. Mostly we were just supposed to provide something for them to recon after setting up our patrol base. But it was cold. the best way to warm up is to run around and shoot things. Our patrols made contact and wiped out some of their recon missions. "You're dead! You're dead...and you too!" says their cadre.

By daybreak, the plan was for PLTs 3,4,5 to attack us and overrun us. As a SAW gunner, I set up a position. And waited. And waited. I watched my snot freeze. Literally. My spit turned into ice as it left my mouth. I am not exaggerating. I got tired. We set up patrols...we weren't supposed to. We got cold and bored, so we hunted them. There were some 'mountains of Afghanistan' moments. Our patrol base was on a little pond/lake thing, nestled by rocky mountains (hills)...(I didn't even think they had hills in flat Oklahoma). We had small squads of us going up and down rocks on those mountains, cutting off their attacks. I had an MGO on my SAW which was neat as it was the first time it came into actual use as I was spotting tired students crossing open fields 800-900 yards away. BRRRRP, BRRAAP. Machine guns are cool.

Mostly I have come to realize fairly early in BOLC II that experiences vary greatly between students of different platoons and companies. Our company was in the field 3 times longer than the other, we drew our weapons much more (meaning we can't easily leave post or rooms or anywhere without weapon accountability) and my platoon did more PT. One PLT, thankfully not mine, set up patrol bases in the snow more than the rest when we were in the FOB (Fwd Operating Base). Week 1 of BOLC II is in processing. Week2 is combatives. Ok for two days. But five? It summed up my feelings about a lot of the last 7 weeks: BS.

So, combatives. Brazilian jujitsu, where we can't punch, or do anything else that comes natural in real life "fighting." How's that helpful in the "real life" situation that we'd potentially find ourselves in that that's supposed to train us for? That’s why I kept telling all these assholes that weigh twice as much as me that I'd never be without my carbine. End of the problem.

Anyway, one nugget that had me nodding. Army hand-to-hand combatives wasn't taught for the purpose of being able to kill others with your hands. They asked: "who wins in a fight between two hand-to-hand combatants: the black belt or the guy that has twice as much of muscle?" The real answer? The guy who wins is the guy who's buddy with the gun shows up first. In effect, combatives is purpose-built to hold off your attacker from killing you outright until your battle buddy can get to you. Fine. I still don't get the "stay on your knees," and "no punching" type of rules in this wrasslin' they teach us.

So anyway, there was this one "game" we played. We split the platoon up into two. One line on one side of a sparring mat, the other on the other side. We send in one fighter from one side, and another from the other. They wrassle, whoever taps out is out, the other guy stays. The next in line from BOTH sides come in after a specified time, regardless of who else is in the ring. So. Funny thing. I was like 5th in my line. Everyone ahead of me tapped out. So. Did I mention how small I am in comparison to the others? It was actually funny when they're counting off the time for the next two to enter. The guy ahead of me finally taps out. The clock is ticking for the next two to enter. There are four guys on the mat, from one team, about to be joined by another buddy, waiting for an opponent from the other side. Everyone looks over at the next in line. They see me. A few chuckles, a few incredulous stares, a lot of big eyes. Hehe.

Final thing we did for combatives was a one-on-one match in front of everyone for bragging rights. Our platoon cadre mentor gave us a pep talk. It consisted of three words, which we all repeated out loud together in a huddle. "Don't Fuck Up!" Anyway, after my match, people joked that I don't tap out, I just pass out. Which was kinda true. They stopped my match. I definitely didn't tap out. Ref says I was about to black out. I says "about to" ain't blacked out. I felt jipped. It was actually a pretty long match and the other guy (who was 40 lbs heavier, BTW) seemed to be getting frustrated that none of his holds or submissions were "working." Still feel jipped.

Week 3 was weapons stuff. Everything from regular ol BRM (Basic Rifle Marksmanship), to ARM (Advanced RM). Got some brief familiarization with all the US weapons...M2 .50 cal, M240B, etc. The MK19 automatic grenade launcher was funny. you can see the round move through the air...like its in slow mo. Whump Whump Whump. boomboomboom.

Week 4 was convoy stuff. Funny thing this week was that the post practically shut down when it snowed alla sudden. THey left us stranded in the FOB. Kinda funny what happens when us LT students are all alone. Lord of the Flies stuff. hah. I have some funny pics on facebook. Snowmen. One snowman was doing something with a snowwoman.

Week 5 and 6 bled into each other. MOUT, urban stuff, kicking down doors, stormtrooper stuff.

All in all, I'm looking back and think a lot of it was cool here on paper. But through it all I literally kept saying "bullshit." I am not cynical when it comes to training. All I have done prior to BOLC II I am slightly embarrassed to say I loved. I'm that guy who others say STFU to when they gush about the cool things they did and how they thought the Army is cool. BOLC II was different. I honestly kept thinking "I should have joined the Air Force." Watching a screen 100 ft underground in a missle silo in North Dakota seemed better. So much rigor it takes to make an Army officer. Navy and AF officer training seems so countryclub. Jets fly overhead on occasion and I curse my eyes for barring me from my fighter pilot dreams. Anyway, I'm done. In the end, I have no sense of accomplishment. Just check the box.

They kept warning us about lawton, ok. They got gangs, and crime. Always travel with a buddy. A LT got killed a few months ago, apparently shot by a woman who stole his money after spending the night with him. Spending time there, I realized it's all prolly true. I scoffed initially. It's fucking Oklahoma. Around the second shoplifting-in-progress I saw, I realized Lawton is friking ghetto. GHETTO. I saw shoplifters getting tackled. Our PLT cadre said each of thier homes have been broken into. Almost all the restaurant's service is crappy. Lawton sucks. Which is in stark contrast to teh rest of the surroundings. Oklahoma City is GREAT city...it really ranks up there IMHO. Wichita Falls is an alright town. Duncan and the rest are quaint in their own ways. Lawton...bleh.

I left Ft Sill. I actually stopped by Toby Keith's "I love this Bar & Grill" on the way from Oklahoma. I've spent many weekends up in Oklahoma CIty, but never actually ate there. They offer a free meal (a cheeseburger and fries) to soldiers. I didn't take them up on it, though, because I wanted a steak. Overall, I love Oklahoma City and would love to visit it again. Ft Sill and Lawton, not so much.

I got into Ft Knox. Tanks everywhere. I feel like Maverick riding on his motorcycle pumping his fist at the F-14 zooming by off the runway to his right. FT KNOX IS HEAVEN ON EARTH. All these tanks just make me wanna get up and kick a badguy in the head. Makes me love my life and love the Army. Think about it. When a tank rolls by, you either think "man, I shoulda been a tanker," or you're running away thinking "oh shit! it's a fucking tank..!" Either way, if you don't know what I'm talking about, you've never seen a tank before. I cannot believe how much just the deactivated tanks all over pump me up. If I ever become a billionaire, I know what'll be on my front lawn.

Oklahoma!

2006-10-28T19:18:00.000-06:00

It took me 18 hours to get to Lawton, Oklahoma. I wanted to make it a better road trip but I just kept hitting gas stations and whenever I saw a motel or rest area I wasn't terribly tired.

I think I went past my Monster drink limit. I don't recommend it. I'm feeling jittery. Overall, it was a lost opportunity. The trip was nice enough. Good scenery.

Nothing to write. I'm at the Marriot "Spring Hill Suites." Swank room. It's a business suite with a couch, microwave, fridge, internet hookup, etc.

Ate in Flagstaff, like right outside the Northern Arizona University campus. The girls are moderately good looking (that sounds like a slight, I don't mean it to be--they're pretty, but not ridiculously gorgeous...which itself is much more alluring, imho. I think I get in trouble for not being terribly enthusiastic--I think they're more attractive than IE or north OC girls..and most south OC girls too...is all. Ok...I'm stopping this digging before I get any deeper). All of New Mexico was in the dark as I drove by past midnight. No prob, I've seen it before, and it's a whole lot of nothing. I'm from AZ, not NM. NM always seemed like a giant indian reservation to me...

Every time I'm around indians I am flabbergasted at how uncannily my dad looks like one.

Texas bled into Oklahoma. Seen it before, but I'm always amazed at how untouched it seems. It looks like Chino only times 100. The dairy portion of Chino has these long straight roads crossing long fields and cows. There's much less cattle here in TX just milling about, and they're smaller cows...but the fields are infinitely bigger. In Chino, a lot of it has been gobbled up by Wal-Mart’s and houses. But it still looks familiar, if just in macro terms. Chino Hills, of course, has hills. Rolling green hills. This flat land in TX makes the sky truly look bigger.

They don't have SciFi channel in the room. I'll have to download the next Battlestar Galactica episode.

::fast forward 24 hours:::I am now writing this on Saturday evening. I report in on Sunday. Been here since Friday. I called Jason P from college. He and Robert K are still in OK as they've PCSed here for both BOLCII and FAOBC. King of Battle! They have an apartment off post. Anyway, called them this morning. Some groggy dude answers and goes "who's this?"...told me to call back later when they wake up. I call Ray, old GBR-buddy and BOLCII grad and he tells me the story (he's already in Georgia for Signal OBC). Aparently those wild and crazy Korea-bound classsmates of mind like spending late nights in OKC, hence the "call back later." Well. I kinda feel like I wasted my time in Lawton. It's not the city. I'd be this way in ANY city I don't know, with no friends. Oh well.

I find myself, again, terribly annoyed I didn't get to go to BOLCII sooner in the year. My classmates all finished and are in thier respective OBCs. It's like I am running in thier footsteps. The footsteps they left behind. And I am slightly anxious at meeting the type of 2LTs that have BOLCII this late. Are they all Guard LTs? Ray tried saying that they'd be studs because they're more likely so late to reporting for BOLCII because they were asked to stay and be GBRs. That doesn't necesarily make me feel better. Having extraordinary squadmates is great...but you don't want to be in the position where it's to the point I'm holding them back. Eh. "quit feelin' sorry for yerself." Roger.

About Lawton. There's an inordinate amount of buffets. Sure, there are plenty of buffets in middle America. But is a chinese buffet on every block really necessary? HOnestly? no exageration. And dude, KFC here has all-you-can-eat buffet lunch lines. Gluttony to the extreme!

The people seem nice and friendly (save the one guy who yelled through my window "som'bitch--slow down asshole, this ain't caleeeforn-eye-a."). The girls have cute accents.

I must say somehting about the local car culture. I find riced up civics in California laughable. I find riced up eagle talons and scion TCs in Oklahoma even moreso. I should have brought my Porsche Boxster S (yes, the "s" is necesary in my description--if you've driven both you'd agree). It's slightly jarring coming from southern CA, where every other car is a BMW. Everything here is a TOyota or a Chevy 1/2 ton. I stick out like a sore thumb in my Vehicross.

So I drove around and found a mall. I was about to park and went WTF? I hate malls. Why would I go to one in Lawton, Oklahoma? Consumer zombie. I guess I was bored and lonely (shutup) and was seeking something familiar. Eh. Came to my senses and jsut went back to the hotel. Overall, I really like Lawton. I just don't like how I don't know a soul in a thousand miles (well, a soul that's not asleep after a night of partying).

I went to DepotUSA on the behest of a buddy who made mentioned of these l33t boots...Altama Exospeeds. I was orignially gonna buy these odd sneaker lookin boots that are all the rage. Oakley, 5.11, Altama, Bates, even Converse (!) have these 'tactical' boots that are as light as thin air and feel like sneakers. It's ambigious in my mind as to thier status on authorized uniform items. Ranger Kim was on HRAP and was hometown-recruiting sporting these Oakley sneaker-things. THis guy was stacked and I asked if he was prior-enlisted. Nope...silly know-nothing butterbar like me...he just had plenty of time between schoolin to finish up airborne, ranger and get his EIB. Hasn't even reported to his first unit yet. Anyway. Lot's of greeat things came from him: "If you get a chance to sham, you HAVE to sham. You won't survive Ranger school if you don't." heh. Anyway, he's the one who brought my attention to these boots. I found out they sell some at DepotUSA. I saw em on sale at a lot places online the last few weeks I was looking for a spare pair of boots but ended up buying boots that are more traditional looking. But I was talking to Ray today and he said it was kosher at BOLCII. I was happy to find they have a local DepotUSA in Lawton and dropped by today. These boots! I shouldn't tell anyone else about these. You can fucking ruck like you were running in these. Heck, you CAN run in these. I'll take pictures and post em on facebook.

Anxious. Report in tomorrow morning. Your prayers asking for me to meet some chill fellow LTs would be greatly appreciated. I was blessed, truly blessed at LDAC. But everyone I know says they met total nozzles. Pray that's not the case now.

APFTs always make me nervous. I'm not really in a position to fail...but this must be how dumb people feel during academic tests. Anxious. I remember LDAC. 100 lb weight was lifted off my shoulders after day 2...the second I passed that APFT. More prayers are welcomed. God probably doesn't like me using him as some totem voodoo lucky charm. I promise I'm not. I'm really asking for strength and a relief of anxiety. And that my peers won't be douchebags. kidding. not really. no, kidding...

Two nights in Oklahoma. And Rodgers and Hammerstein were full of shit.

Worst. Songs. Ever.

2006-08-19T01:56:00.000-06:00

One of my friends keeps making fun of me. Doesn't particularly like my music. Been taking some road trips this summer, and as rules go, driver is DJ. My stations are on the classic rock, country, alternative, and rock dials. His are firmly in the "top 40" stations. He's not digging my eclectic mix of CCR, Eagles, Linkin Park, Beastie Boys, Dwight Yoakam, infinium ad nauseum.

Gnarls Barkley. OK. I get it. Catchy. Overall, ok song. If you've ever turned on a radio in the last month it's either that or Nelly Furtado and "Timbaland" (I'm sorry, I have to put up the silly ironic quotes...timbaland? c'mon. seriously.) "Promiscuous Girl" song.

Here's my list of recent worst songs ever. Just of recent note. I'm sure you can add plenty more...just the stuff that has recieved too much airplay in the last year and resulted in me to pull hair out.

"My Hump" Black Eyed Peas
"Promiscusous Girl" Nelly Furtado/"Timbaland"
"Hollaback Girls" Gwen Stefani

Dude. "bananas?" Seriously? This song is bananas. holy crap i just threw up a little.

Promiscuous girl
You're teasing me
You know what I want
And I got what you need

Can you suffocate on your own vomit?

Dude. Wanna listen to that crap, fine. But are you seriously having a problem with my music when you're insisting on defending 'promiscuous girl'? Seriously?

"Man, it's a good song. You're way too critical."

Elvis, the Beatles, U2, Johnny Cash, Michael Jackson, etc, etc. Pop culture icons that have shaped the music world and whose individual repetoires run the gamut from catchy kitsch, to cemented historical pieces, to simply classic. People may/may not love each, but they are all talented in thier own right. More important to this conversation, they are huge pop acts that have remained in the realm of "talented," rather than success at the gunpoint of marketing blitz. Are you seriously gonna put "promisuous girl" with "With or Without You," "Don't take your Guns to Town," any Michael Jackson catchy pop, or any of the Beatles' throway pop to mature pop...? Seriously. Twenty years from now will you seriously be listening to promiscuous girl, or will you hang your head in shame for having ever heard it? I like pop. All of those names above were huge giant, ridiculously popular acts.

Worst. Song Ever. If you disagree, I'm sorry, you're wrong. The world is round, terrorists suck, and 'promiscuous girl' is crap.

I like pop. But forgive me if I tend to put more stock in talent rather than whatever is being pushed by the media marketing gods. Pop du jour might be ok, but it isn't necessarily. Forgive me if I like hearing instruments being played and songwriters, well, writing.

"You listen to country?" my buddy asks as the station is flipped to a random Kenny Chesney song. Disgust is on his face.

I'm sorry I'm not close-minded and prejudiced. How can you make an opinion about an entire genre if you don't listen to it? Marketing is a completely random thing that the media numbercrunching eggheads figure out. The logic they use to decide on what station to throw thier guy on is arcane. I don't mind Michelle Branch and Kid Rock showing up on country stations...they're talented and just because you haven't heard thier song becasue of the station it's on...well, who's the idiot? Why are both ok if they're on a top 40 station? Why is Jewel or Chris Issak OK? It's not my fault you didn't realize they're no less country than some of the stuff on country radio.

Or are you gonna throw in the racist bent? I listen to country...? Why not rap? I listen to everything. But I've been to more rodeos than drive-by's. Is country really further from "my reality"? I have only seen this among urban Californians and New Yorkers... virtually everyone else in the nation is perfectly fine with country, no judgments. WHy? Who's really ignorant here? Country is as inoccuous as oldies to most Americans...why is that different to my buddy, an Asian from north Orange County?

Urban California is an odd place full of prejudice and misonceptions. Ironically, diversity has given rise to segregation and a dismissal of immersion that's a postive aspect of being an American. Urban California high schools are sgregated by race--not an uncommon thing, sure...but imagine a more well rounded upbringing where the "ruling council of minoroty group 2" was not powerful enough to release the official SOP memo. In places with super minority groups, there is a tendency for strict delineation of ethinic lines that is mitigated in other places where immersion is the norm.

I was drinking with some guy of Vietnamese decent. We mentionned it was funny Koreans and other Asians love thier Heineken...they drink that or Corona. He says the "Americanized" asians drank stuff like bass ale or newcastle. I look down at my mug of newcastle. WTF do you mean by that? WHy the heck should I not be "Americanized"? I AM a third generation American. Of course, it's revealed he means "white." It's the old sellout argument. Somehow I'm less of an Asian if I don't follow his stereotypes. I mustn't have gotten the official memo of the proper ASian association.

Carlton on Fresh Prince of Bel Air is a sellout because of his love of Tom Jones. I applauded the show once when he stood up to some militant black guy who questioned his being black. Will and Carlton were pledging a fraternity. They like Will, but one guy in particular sees Carlton as a sellout and rejects him. Carlton initially cheerfully endures the humiliation thinking it part of the fraternal brotherhood of belonging. But after unfair hazing and a genuine singling out, Carlton stands up for himself:

You think I'm a sellout. Why? Because I live in a big house or dress a certain way? Or maybe it's because I like Barry Manilow? Being black isn't what I'm trying to be, it's what I am. I'm running the same race and jumping the same hurdles you are, so why are you tripping me up? You said we need to stick together, but you don't even know what that means. If you ask me, you're the real sellout.

What's anti-black by being studious, successful, and good-natured? Why can't a black American be a fan of Tom Jones? Phillip, the dad, is angry at the news of what's happened to Carlton:

You know, this really irritates me. I have worked very hard to give my family a good life, and suddenly, somebody tells me there's a penalty for success? (to Carlton) I'm sorry you had to go through that, son. When are we going to stop doing this to each other?

I was raised in Arizona, though am a third generation native Californian. Moving back here to California, I remember having to "closet" my normal music taste and affront a purely "urban" rap/r&b one. Since when must Asians listen to rap? We can't listen to country because "you're not white." By that logic, I'm not black... Umm, dude, ignorant much?

I'm not a music snob. I'm not an ignorant ass either. Big & Rich and thier Musik Mafia, IMHO, tend to have more misses than hits in thier batting average...but they got it right: music without prejudice.

Chicago

2006-08-12T23:23:00.000-06:00

Okay. Haven't written in here a while. Been supremely busy. But worse still, I've gotten slightly disinterested in opining like a 12 year old girl in some heart-stickered diary.

So how long has it been? A year? This blog was originally made to keep a very small number of people up on my happenings. That purpose has dwindled with the dwindling number of people that I've kept in contact with. Nothing I can't keep the few relevant people updated through an email or phone or face-to-face.

The main reason the blog is up is to express some things that are on my mind that I regret having not expressed. This here's a place to put down what I'd regret having lost...snippets of thoughts, expressions, and opinions. Everybody has snapshots of ideas that they do not even know they wish they kept on to.

But I got distracted and bored.

I'm reviving this here blog for two reasons. The first reason is to rekindle the above. There are just too many things that I regret having forgotten. Unfinished thoughts, et al.

The second reason is one very humbling comment I found recently posted by a visitor.

I want you to know that you have probably saved my life ... to what end, however, I don't know.

I'm a lot older than you and I haven't lived your life, but what impressed me was the fact that you are perfectly willing to live your life, for better or worse, till death do you part.

I was/am at a very low ebb in my life. I have a terminal illness called old age and it's getting worse. I got on the internet and googled 'Forgetting Failure' and your blog came up. I laughed my ass off! Somehow, you have come up with the eternal truth, that each of us lives a different life and no one has a life any more important than that of anyone else. Take what you have and go with it.

I am truly impressed by you. In fact, I'm going to vote for you for President. No, what a waste that would be.

Go on with what you are doing, and keep writing your blog. [...]

I was taken aback. It's been years since I first enlisted in the Army Reserves. I've since accepted my commission and gone active duty (this still boggles me: me in appointed office, no less). It's been a while, but I still feel really, really warm about people (absolute strangers) stopping me to say "Thank you for your service." I get offers to have restaurant bills taken care of, litteral pats on the back, and all sorts of things like that. To each of them I still respond with an awkward "umm...thank you...no problem..?" I never really am sure what to say. I feel great and inspired...but burdened with unwarranted attention.

To the guy who left the comment, and all of the well wishers just mentioned, I really do want to thank you. And I really do feel unworthy of such sentiment. Even so, like Daniel LaRusso from Karate Kid...I can hear Chicago's chorus..."You're the inspiration..." Okay, subtract all the love stuff because that would add a whole other context that's pretty gay. Oh wait. I'm acting like a 12 year girl with a diary again, aren't I? crap.

The Poor Colonel

2005-11-23T14:28:00.000-07:00

My dad's a Tyrone Power fan. My own favorite movie of his was The Long Gray Line (in fact it's one of my favorite movies, period...the idea of an NCO who spent a lifetime helping to create Officers, connecting to the long gray line as if they were his sons...seeing cadets grow into officers, year after four years, famous names among them...what a great movie, among the very few that actually brings a tear to my ridiculously sentimental self). It's really hard to find on DVD. My dad imported it from Korea, like Bogart's Sahara, among other classics that have somehow been skipped in pressing into DVD. There are so many great John Ford movies, for example, that would seem critically absent in DVD format...it's a crime...but a rant for another time.

Anyway, watching the Long Gray Line again, its mention of the USMA class of 1915 struck my curiosity. As most know, West Point's class of 1915 has been regarded as "the class the stars fell on." Of it, 59 out of 164 graduates rose to the rank of brigadier general or higher, three to the rank of full general and two to the rank of general of the army. Among the most recognizable cadets graduating in 1915: Omar Bradley and Dwight D. Eisenhower.

There was also a brief mention in the movie about Vicente Lim. I know of him, as most do, but really didn't know too much of his story other than the significance of him being the first cadet from the Philippine islands. Anyway, one thing I dug up:

Lim, nicknamed "Cannibal" as a cadet, was the first Filipino graduate of West Point. He became a general in the Philipine Army, ably defended his sector on Bataan, and was captured. Released by the Japanese along with other Filipino soldiers, he promptly joined the underground and remained active until mid-1944 when he was captured again. Tortured in prison, he was finally shot by the Japanese some time between November 1944 and January 1945.

"Cannibal" was probably a pre-PC nickname derived from views of the Philipine Islands at the turn of the 19th century when we were engaged in its pacification and stabilization during the Philippine Insurrection. Anyway, neither here, nor there, just thought it was funny.

I just found the further stuff about General Lim as wholly fascinating. Particularly, his contribution to Officer professionalism. Like most people, I tend to have a view of backwardness in the militaries of third world nations. And since our release of the Philippines as an American territory/protectorate/province/whatever-it's-called, I just had this rather superficial view of it having a largely corrupt military, as any other such nation. To a large degree, this is true. But it is not through design, or the efforts of true heroes.

Lim was one vocal proponent of our constitutional system of a professional military. Something many Americans don't get. This isn't some banana republic where the military should be a political entity. It is one which is commanded by civilians, as it should be. I've talked about this in length before, but there's something striking about the ideal being alive in places where it's least obvious (like a post-Martial Law Philippines).

One retired Officer writes:

I refer to your article Officer corps issue of 15 November 04 in the Daily Inquirer. you are perfectly right when you wrote, and I quote “It is tragic to see how views like General Lim’s evolved into the adventurist and alarming mentality that lead officers to believe that they are the praetorian guards tasked to ‘save the nation’ from itself.”
It was not that way once upon a time. I am a member of class 1944 of the Pre-War Philippine Military Academy, an academy envisioned by your grandfather, commonwealth President Manuel L Quezon, to produce an elite corps of highly principled regular officers and gentlemen of our Armed Forces, steeped in the tradition of honor, dedicated to the service to and sacrifice for the country, imbued with courage, loyalty and integrity, completely apolitical and committed to the principle of supremacy of civilian authority over the military [emphasis added]. While we did not take a vow of poverty, we were trained to disdain the accumulation of material wealth, as it was beneath our dignity to be filthy rich. The military was supposed to take care of our economic well-being, so that we could direct all our efforts in our profession of arms. To make sure that we remain apolitical, your grandfather even denied us the right to vote and decreed that the Secretary of Defense was always a civilian to emphasize the civilian authority over the Military.
It is, therefore, a great disillusion to us veterans in the twilight of our years to see that the military ethics we value so much have been replaced by an ethos of graft and corruption and politicization brought about by the Martial Law imposed
on the Filipino people by Mr Ferdinand Marcos.
Surely, there is a need to re-structure our Armed Forces. More importantly, there is in urgent need to restore the moral and philosophical imperatives in our officer corps if only to disabuse it of its praetorian mentality.
I met and knew General Vicente Lim well. His son Vicente JR was my PMA [Philippine Military Academy] classmate and we bunked in the same room before he left for West Point.
Cristobal Irlanda
Colonel, AFP Retired
(source http://www.quezon.ph/blog/?p=267)

I do not directly know anyone in the Philippine military, but indirectly know I do have family in it. There is often talk of "poor Colonels." The term is derived from the idea that most officers in third-world militaries are sickeningly corrupt and corpulently rich, living like nobility, on the blood of peasants. YOu know the stereotype: mirrored sunglasses, funny mustaches, flamboyant uniforms with hanging cords and overflowing medals... A "poor Colonel," on the other hand, is one that is uncorrupted, has no palacial hacienda or bodyguards. The picture of it is so foreign to the third world stereotype that it deserves it's own ironic label. No such term exists here in America, because all Colonels here don't have the banana republic stature. All Colonels here are "poor," in thier average, bourgeois homes. Colonels in other countries are aristocratic, blue blood via corruption. (interesting side note: "blue blood " comes from the Spanish, where peasants, with darker skins from equal parts being in the sun all day and mediterranean lineage, noted aristocracy had fairer skins with visible veins of "blue blood.")

I'm related to "poor Colonels," one graduate of the PMA, one with bourgeois background, one with a working class one. I have cousins that are poor Colonels. Anyway, I just want everyone to think twice about having a military where it can decide what wars to fight--a miitary fused with politcal decisions. At the end of the day, our military is a tool of you civilians. It shouldn't overstep its bounds. Take Heinlein's example, where active soldies were barred from voting until retirement or honrable discharge. I'm such a proponent of a professional Officer corps that I would back such an idea.

On the very excellent blog of 1LT Prakash, there was some guy in the comments section who has apparently seen too many Vietnam movies. He was advocating soldiers to desert--the sadly common idiotic argument for soldiers to spit on thier oaths and reject the "fraud" of a President. He asked if our oath was to the constitution or the "Commander-in-thief." I responded:

hey HUMAN,
we didn't take an oath to the commander-in-chief. We took an oath to uphold the constitution. You should read it sometime, it says the Pres is our commander, and we jump when he says so. YOU elected him. YOU elected congress. YOU sent us. As John Rambo said, YOU ASKED US, we didn't ask you. :)
This isn't some banana republic where the power is in the military. My America isn't one where a general or joe riflemen can decide on when/where to go. You civilians do that. Guys with guns being political and deciding on what orders to follow leads to juntas and coups. Maybe that's what you want. As a soldier, I do not.
10:41 PM
...I made a little comment on the professionalism of a military that doesn't get political (hint: go to africa if you want warlords deciding what joe riflemen should do, ya nut, because MY Constitution won't let them here)...

Keep public policy out of my military. As it is NOW. You voters made your bed. Sleep in it. Don't blame anybody but yourselves. I don't care who's in the White House. He is my COMMANDER. I am a professional. Any LAWFUL order I get, I will jump (i.e., killing babies isn't lawful, ya hippie). I'm not a robot which blindly follows orders (such a robot isn't a professional either)...but I will use my brain, judgment, and intelligence to lead soldiers into battle to the best of my ability and training. I'm not a teacher, a cop, or any other shill that can complain on TV during election time or advocate a candiate or tell you where I want to be deployed.

General Lim, class of 1915, has lessons to impart.

Ideally we should admire our officer corps; as Gen. Vicente Lim, hero, martyr and first Filipino graduate of West Point, wrote to his sons, "No matter how crooked, how weak the next President is... as long as the army is strong, honest, and free from politics, the nation will stand. The Army has always been the backbone of all nations, barring none in the world." Gen. Lim felt that without a principled and competent officer corps, the Philippine Army would count for nothing."
source: (http://www.tribo.org/history/praetoria1.html --a good read on "Praetorian tradition," a very fitting name)

If a military of the current third world, based on the military of our own, can notionally ascribe to this, why are so many here ignorant of such an ideal?

The Long Gray Line is full of memorable scenes. Among them, our protagonist NCO and a West Point instructor, Martin Maher (Tyrone Power), has a discussion with a visting VIP:

[Gov]:"Did it ever occur to you, as an American citizen with a vote,that a place can be so overgrown with tradition that it loses touch with reality?"
[Marti]:"Uh. How was that again, sir?"
[Gov]:"I'm talking about tradition. Why, those same silly uniforms have been worn for over a hundred years. Now it's time for more realism here and less tradition. We're at war. Boys are dying in battle."
[Marti]:"Pardon me sir, but how old are you?"
[Gov]:"why...42. I'm the youngest Governor in the United States."
[Marti]:"You don't say so, sir...youngest governor..."
[Gov]:"I do..."
[Marti]:"Well, who do you think is leading our men in battle? I mean leading them. Standing there under fire saying 'follow me.' Where else would the West Ponters be when there's dying to be done? And who's making the plans? Directing the war? Eisenhower, that I'd say. Douglas MacArthur, Joe Stillwell, Omar Bradley and Georgie Patton. You think Generals like that just happen? I do not. They are made. they're made, Mr. Alderman, or tax-collector! They're made right here at West Point!"
[Gov]:"What's your name?!"
[Marti]:"Marty Maher!"
[Governor storms off]
[Marti]:"And you'll find my name in the book!"

Officers are commissioned as leaders and professionals. In a world where we inflate the word "professional" by putting it in front of janitors, teachers, cops, basketball players, and anyone else that does anything for livelihood, few actual professionals exist. Hint: PROFESSIONALis not interchangable with CAREER. Doing one's job very well, or solely, is not an indication or definition of professionalism.

The US military, unlike other countries (even free Western democratic ones--even among the G7 nations), is run wholly by civilians, as it should be. Furthermore, our military is NOT separate from our civilians. We do not have a separate warrior caste, one which can grow haughty in its provision of defense--again, unlike even established Western democracies. We, exceptionally, foster citizen-soldiers. Don't forget that and don't change that. As a profesional, I live by it. As an American, I depend on it.

WWJWD

2005-11-20T17:42:00.000-07:00

Stetson and spurs, here I come.

Branch results are in. I got my first choice: Active duty, ARMOR. I requested Ft Hood as my first duty station, and hopefully I timed it right as 3ACR (3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment) moves from Ft Carson. We'll see if luck holds for that, as well. I originally had Ft Carson as my first, but found out about the upcoming move. Regardless, I hope fate lands me with the 3ACR for symmetry's sake, the affiliation served me well during LDAC. Either way, I picked Ft Hood because I thought it gave me my best chance at what I want: M1s and Cav (Ft Hood's home of the 1st Cavalry Division). I won't have stetson and spurs (and saber!) until I actually get actual Cavalry, but armor, by definition, means I still have that fine, fine lineage behind me.

I'm really lucky I got it. Armor (AR) has the biggest rejection rate, according to a spreadsheet I dug up (outside of Finance, FI, which doesn't really count as they only accept like a handful, and a double-handful wanted it). Not bad for someone who ranked merely above-center-mass on the national OML (order of merit list). There are roughly 3838 officers being commissioned through Army ROTC for the 06 fiscal year, by the way. Just a funny figure, I thought...3838 little LTs. I won't discuss the breakdown of branches. But if you put Transportation (TC) anywhere in your top 5, it looks like they threw you in it. TC had 100% branch "satisfaction" (hah! what an ironic word choice!)...AR with the lowest, outside of FI, as I noted earlier: around 40%. That means 60% of the guys who put AR as their first choice didn't get it.

One thing I find funny is the bizzarro reversal between West Point and ROTC cadets. (I've also discussed before the larger attrition rate of ringthumpers--they resign at O-3 in larger numbers--they seem wooed by the good school and education, caring less about the Army...it's a big blanket accusation that is not completely supported, but the image is there--they're snobby and self-important, anecdotally and through token experience) Ringthumpers don't find Infantry (IN) as the big prize. They label the crossed rifles of the IN branch insignia as "idiot sticks." On the other hand, ROTC cadets seem to be a hooah bunch...perhaps naive...(for example, 3ACR, where I want to go, ain't moving to Ft Hood from Ft Carson until they get back from Iraq, where they currently are now--we were saluting with "brave rifles" at Ft Lewis this summer, complaining about sleeping in the rain or eating MREs, while the real 3ACR was getting shot up in Tel Afar at that very moment). 442 of us non-ringthumpers put IN as our first choice, the largest first choice branch BY FAR. AR came in with 252. They're accepting a larger percentage of IN comissionees, though. AR is still the most competitive...

Oh, a little about the Armor Branch Insignia. For those who don't know. The crossed sabers in the picture above comes from our cavalry lineage, and the superimposed tank is an M-26 Pershing tank. Below is the armor coat of arms. Yellow denotes Cavalry, red artillery, and blue infantry. Superimposed is the track, denoting mobility, the cannon for firepower, and the thunderbolt for shock effect.

Well, I still count my lucky stars. Sorry I don't write much. Busy. I only write this as I have Thanksgiving break. I'll try to write more, I have plenty to write about. For example, the other week I was the only "leg" in sight on a jumpday with a LRSD (Long Range Surveillance Detatchment--tough hombres). A point in fact that I did not hear the end of for the whole day. When I let loose that I wanted to branch armor (wasn't branched yet): "Why would you want to do that? I guess that's alright if you want to hang around the motor pool with the fat soldiers." You don't wanna hear the things they say about darn dirty legs. And what do they say about mech units? Boy, oh boy. There was honest condescension. (which is funny since the 40th Infantry Division--namely, the CA National Guard--is mechanized) hah. Anyway, I got plenty more of neat lil happenings the last few months. I'll get to posting some of it...

Until then, I'd like for a day when I can hear say "here comes the cavalry" and have them literally mean it. That would rock. What-Would-John-Wayne-Do, indeed.

Rewind Button

2005-08-22T23:41:00.000-06:00

I feel like pounding my head into the wall. There was never a point in my life that I have ever wanted a cosmic rewind button until today. Even after all my feelings of regret, almost everything in my past I am content with...or at the very least can look forward and not feel bad about.

But I would honestly give ANYTHING for that button now...

And it's for something so stupid and everyone else would say is for something so ridiculously inconsequential. I would agree...but I still want that rewind.

I had some simple stupid errands to run this morning. Well, first I did PT (first PT of the semester and the BN is quite literally mine this year, though that will all be for another post). Took a shower and changed, and headed to do this short errand of obtaining an "excess units" form at the Admin & Records office. Anyway, long line, bureaucrats behind desks telling me to go to other lines. I've done this virtually every semester. The school caps you to enrolling for no more than 15 units (or is it 18?) during registration to avoid idiots from enrolling into too much workload and dropping weeks later leaving students who genuinely needed that class in the cold when they were unable to add that very class because it was full (because of the overstretched over-enroller). Anyway, suffice it to say, I always go past this cap and I have generally needed this excess units form to enroll for "excess units" so the department can sign off that it's ok for me to do so (I have to justify to them my being able to adjust to an impacted workload).

So I'm waiting in line and there's this girl with a French accent asking on her cell about what seemed to be an enrollment issue. I think she was talking to her mom. (the words spoken seemed both French and English, but I wasn't sure as I wasn't trying to eavesdrop...the accent just drew my ear) Anyway, I thought she was cute. But like always, I just lumped her into the millions long list of other girls that were cute and equally out of my league. I've gotten used to it and they don't occupy my thoughts save the second or two I see them. She put the phone away and a few minutes later, she started asking questions to people around her. I overheard something about if extra units beyond the cap costs extra tuition. I heard the girl giving advice that it does. I thought, "As a genuine habitual excess unit taker, No, it definitely does not." It was here that I got a closer look at French-accent girl as she got closer to me in line and I thought holee moleee she's the most beautiful thing ever. I bit my tongue--way too much a dork to answer her question (even if she wasn't a pretty girl, I don't tend to interject myself in exchanges between others). She asked someone else and her voice was clearer and I thought holee molee that's the most beautiful accent ever (right now I'm thinking holee molee I gotta stop thinking stuff like "holee molee" and ban myself from saying the word "ever" in such context).

The one nerve of confidence I had unexpectedly slapped my geekiness away for a split-second and I chimed in with the information she wanted. We briefly talked over the whole thing, and I gave more information about the entire process. All the while I admired her beautiful eyes and face, alternating, naturally, to the floor and my shoes. She was very thankful...kept saying "thank you" and I dorkily kept saying "uh huh..." (unable to get out the "no problem" or "you're welcome" like a NORMAL person) She said thanks a few times and I got the feeling I could have continued the conversation. But just like on any football field you'll find me on, like a dork, I dropped the ball. This is where the normal guy drops the ball by putting his foot in his mouth. Nope, not me. I merely...don't...continue...the conversation.

"So...thanks again," she says. For the sixth time.

"Uh...uhuh." I smile.

WTF

I think the guy in the next line over was about to slap me upside the head. I wouldn't have blamed him.

I am not particularly attracted to...for lack of a better word...foreign girls (she didn't seem French-French...yes, I've been to France...while there was the accent, English did seem to be at least one of her first languages...less Paris-French and more likely Quebec-French). But there was just something that clicked on all signals with her. Her clothes, her smell, her accent, the way she talked. And I am not even close to eloquent enough nor have the mastery of the written language to even describe how intoxicating everything about her was. She looked like the girl next door, I am always a sucker for sweet, and the accent also gave her something extra too. Simply, I've never been more attracted to anyone before.

Dude. God was so throwing me a bone. And I threw it away. I've done too many dorky things in life to mention...most of them in front of pretty girls. But today was different. As far as the situation alone: if you knew how rare that happens to me (read: literally, NEVER), you'd want to kill yourself too. And the girl herself, that's more rare than never. I couldn't think for the rest of the day.

I promised myself I would never ramble about stuff like this on this blog, in incriminating written words. But the very fact I am, can tell you how I feel I royally screwed up my only opportunity I have ever gotten in my entire life. I would have settled for just a simple conclusion of a simple, normal conversation. If it ended there, in that line, I would have been content. But I didn't even do that.

In something completely unrelated, The 40 Year Old Virgin opened over the weekend. That Steve Carrel is a funny guy.

War. What Is It Good For? Movies.

2005-07-28T00:11:00.000-06:00

I just finished watching the premiere of Over There, a TV show on FX that's supposed to be a war drama about some Soldiers deployed to Iraq. I'm disappointed.

It used the formula:

Incompetent LT? Check.

Sergeant who's only volume level is 'screaming'? Check.

Joe Rifleman from Texas who loves the Army (portrayed as blissfully naive, of course)? Check.

Angry black guy who says he was "raised in a combat zone"? Check.

The obligatory "Don't call me 'sir,' I [work] for a living" ? Check.

Cheating soldier's wife in context of a message home? Check.

Ending scene even has a helicopter silhouette flying off into a sunset, sans sound, accompanied with a slow guitar-song of some guy singing about someone dying "over there..."

The dialogue is childish, and squirm-inducing. "We didn't come for your oil, we came to kick your ass."

It seems it was written with war movies as the subject, not actual war. Kinda like Pearl Harbor. The problem I had with that train wreck was the nagging feeling that it was less a movie about World War II, and more a movie about clichéd World War II movies.

It's not accuracy that's key. Stargate SG-1 is a fun show, even with its zoomies shooting at English-speaking space aliens. No lawyer crashes as many planes, foils as many terrorist plots, and investigates as many murders as the main character of JAG did. But "Over There" pretends like it's more.

I sat through the countless hours of The Thin Red Line on its opening weekend. It, too, had major pretentiousness going on. I watched it all the while knowing real Soldiers don't analyze things like that, talk like that, think like that. Artists do. As a recovering artist myself, I'd like to think I know both. Anyway, at least Thin Red Line did it competently.

I didn't like We Were Soldiers because of its hokiness (the book is a lot better, by the way). Actually, if it had a different director, I think could have been better. Anyway, while I didn't necessarily find fault in Over There in the same spot, I find it even more grating.

I want to like it. I do. Part of me wants to overlook its...flaws...just because there's something entertaining seeing "army tv."

But go watch Gunner Palace, instead. Go watch A Company of Soldiers. Try and find China Beach if you want the soapy drama. Go watch Three Kings...a really great, funny movie. Well directed, well acted, well scripted. All of these shows/movies are better than Over There. All of these are closer to the feel I get of real Soldiers.

In fact, there was a great episode off ER last season that was almost entirely set in Iraq. It centered on that one young black doctor who's name I forget, who was deployed the last year. That episode was a bilion times better than Over There. ER had become boring a long time ago...and when Goose died of cancer, that was the nail in the coffin. But that one episode was some great TV.

And obviously, go watch all the war movies you immediately think of. All better than this.

Heck, Erik Palladino, an unconvincing soldier here, played a believable sailor in U-571. But that movie didn't pretend to be something it wasn't.

That Black Hawk Down videogame has a commercial that played on every station break while I watched Over There. Like that game, Over There comes off as exploitive and cheap. A lame imitation that is nothing like reality, but is instead a vision of reality from the people who's only view of the subject matter is through war movies. The subject matter runs the gamut from WWII propaganda/drama to post-Vietnam self-important cynicism. Either way, we've seen it. We've seen it done better.

Over There. Keep it away from me.

On a side note, I recently watched this one movie I had never heard about. I picked up the DVD because of the cover. Saints and Soldiers. Turned out to be a really great war movie. It really dealt with a Soldier's reaction to war--"shellshock," to use a WWII-era term--in an interesting way. And it honestly gave me chills and a slight feeling of...fear...that no war movie has given me (you'll know the spot). And not fear in the way you may think. It has its flaws, but I think in one instance it really went in a direction I haven't seen before with war movies.

Skookum Bait

2005-07-18T22:24:00.000-06:00

No, I haven't dropped off the face of the planet; the last six weeks or so I've been at Ft Lewis (Strykers everywhere!) for LDAC.

[SFC "M" thinking happy thoughts about the cadet (me!) shooting a picture in the position of attention, in formation.]

I'll post more about my experience at another time...I'm exhausted.

Quickly, I'll say this. While almost all Army officers won't say LDAC/NALC/Warrior Forge (or whatever else it's been called over the years) was the most difficult event in thier lives, it ain't necesarily a cake walk either. No, wait I take that back...from what I understand two years ago they only spent 2 days in the field. Pussies. They keep increasing it...we spent 11 days straight in the rain, in the mud, in the heat (I was a heat casualty...mmmm, yummy hydration salts), in the freezing cold, in the humidity (it alternates). We spent a little more time in the field, but the single contiguous stretch was that 11 days. Now, this wasn't a normal FTX-like time in the field. We were doing up to six missions a day. Non-effing-stop. Again, no Army officer will tell you LDAC was the toughest ever. But it ain't summer camp either.

I stayed up in the Seattle area visiting some friends after LDAC. I will say this about Ft. Lewis: the weather and environment ain't too sucky if you ain't sleeping outside sans shelter with your kevlar and rifle and your ruck.

Anyway, despite it all, I will say I had a blast. Every single person I've talked to in different platoons and regiments hated it. Your squad and platoon will make or break you. There's a leadership lesson in there that I'm too lazy right now to express via keyboard. Later.

1st PLT, A Troop, 3rd (Armored Cavalry Regiment). The best damn platoon ever activated for LDAC. Pirates. Arrrgh. (I honestly mean that. We dominated the troop, and the regiment. Our guidon was stacked--we got ALL the streamers save one. It was sad how the other PLTs had no streamers... even other Regiments paled in comparison...staying behind in WA, I attended 4th Regiment's graduation...their honor platoons sucked)

"We're worse than Privates. We're cadets."

"You're the closest thing to the platoon from Stripes I have ever been around in my entire career in the Army." The MAJ mentioned though, that Bill Murray and company got Honor PLT in that movie, too. We made him laugh. All the while, we got results.

The funniest thing I heard came from an IG survey as a cadet from another platoon (not a Pirate!) complained about his evaluator, a senior NCO who said to him:

"If you were my LT, I'd shoot you."

hehehe.

Here are some pictures I took of my last days of LDAC. I regret having not taken my camera with me throughout it all. I left it with my civilian stuff. So no Vietnam shots of us with 7.62 belts around our shoulders and the Pig in our arms. No killer shots of lighting stuff up with a SAW. No shots of me calling for fire...needing no adjustments; "Drop 20, FIRE FOR EFFECT!" I coulda had some great shots of us doing our air assault mission. "We call it the Mog..." ha. I also wish I actually had some shots of myself. Most of the shots are of my pals in the best dang squad in the regiment, 1st squad/1st PLT/A troop:

As far as the pics. Some suck. Some aren't half bad. Some I like a lot. All of them were taken with a cheap crappy camera...and some were on the wrong settings. Chalk it up to the camera and the cameraman. I can spend moretime photoshopping them....but I'm much too lazy for that (remember I have 3 years of art school under my belt...all of whichserved to make me completely sick of the craft). Most of the pics may not be of terrible interest to those of you who weren't there with me, so I apologize for that...

Anyway. I'll ramble some more later.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

2005-05-22T23:20:00.001-06:00

Even though it says I'm a grad student on the right there, I don't read too much in the academic rags. Outside of research, I don't keep daily track of scholarly political science. Most of my research is in trends, goings-on with scales larger than what you'd see in current events. Obviously, there are current events in my head floating around somewhere (in greater frequency than, say, within the head of a millionaire basketball player), it's just that it's probably in the same level of specificity as it is within anyone interested in the world around them. That is, it's relatively cursory in detail, in comparison to that of someone's who's doing specific policy analysis. That, and I'm generally dumb and lazy.

That said, I found it funny I'm not the only one finding my political outlook being torn. I've known there's been an undercurrent of similar sentiment, it's just intersting to see an entertaining article on the subject in a light magazine. It's like reading a movie review that has the reviewer hitting the same points you would have.

Beyond this interesting trend regarding the libertarian/Republican divide that I've been observing the last few years, it also touches on an oft-mentioned point in this here blog: the fact that I'm a "liberal," and by definition not a Democrat.

Jeffrey Tucker of the Ludwig von Mises Institute has argued that “conservative” as a term for those who love liberty has gone the way of “liberal”—hijacked by statists so that it now means precisely the opposite. “We lost the word liberalism long ago, and only adopted the term conservative with the greatest reluctance. It is time to give it up too, neither describing ourselves as such nor allowing others to do so. We don’t take our marching orders from neocons. We don’t believe what we see on TV. We do not love the GOP. We are not nationalists. We believe in the idea of liberty. We are libertarians …”

Anyway, here's the full article: "Conservative Crack" [opens in a new window]

On the topic of classical liberalism, here's another interesting, short summary: The Current Civil War And The Demise Of Liberalism [new window]. Here, a blogger has some fairly accurate discussion of "liberal" labeling, though I myself am not nearly as critical (or angry) as he seems to be. This blogger also interestingly does not apparently subscribe to the idea of the libertarian divide outlined in the "Conservative Crack" article above.

Also, I found some rather amusing assumptions on a blog maintained by a fellow Army cadet out there who thinks libertarians (or perhaps big-L- Libertarian party members, of which I am not) advocate something akin to anarchy--society sans traffic laws, et al. This kid thinks libertarians advocate allowing child pornography, and other outright examples of the absence of legal restrictions. HAHA. Anarchism, a valid form of political thought that is not as simple as many think it is, is not libertarianism...or even liberalism. I respect folks with serious thoughts on anarchy (not stoners or idiots with no thought outside of dissolving government for the sake of chaos--that isn't true anarchism either), but it isn't what libertarians ascribe to. Even the Libertarian Party (of which I am not a huge fan of) doesn't ascribe to those ideals. It's a topic for another time, but suffice it to say, libertarianism is classical liberalism by way of Locke, rather than Hobbes or Rousseau. It is elementary liberalism. Ronald Reagan is often academically defined as a "classical liberal." For non-fans, don't let the name repulse you, I just threw it in as an example of the fact libertarian ideals are not completely unpalattable. Keep knee-jerk assumptions to yourself regarding the guy... he was just an example, and chances are, the criticisms you have of his administration are probably not part of the "classical liberalism" component I talk of. Just focus on his ideas of the government not being the answer, and the lip-service paid to government reduction in services, but increase in defense. Those aren't neocon ideals...or of today's Republicans.

This is all about belonging. You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same...

By the way, I avoid politics on this blog when it comes to candidate support and overt partisan displays. It doesn't mean I abstain from discussing trends and my inner thoughts. I just won't tell you "Dubya is a blanety-blank," or "Clinton did such-and-such a terrible thing to this country."

Battle Drills

2005-05-22T19:15:00.000-06:00

I came across something that scared me.

http://www.liveyoung.com/shyness.htm

In preface, I am grateful, by the way, of the anonymity blogs provide.

Anyway, I've pretty much always been shy. But over the last few years I had thought I had out-grown most of it. After all, I reasoned, I do fairly well in leadership positions. And in the military environment. (side note: if you think the military and military leadership is about yelling and joe riflemen listen to the 21 year old LT because of that shiny goldbar, you watch way too much TV).

With introspection, though, I find the clinical definition rings true for me. That debilitating phantom is still there.

Shys have an "ON STAGE" personality that allows them to "shine" when they have control are in charge or when they are on the "high ground."

It would explain my different personality in academic classes…my confidence in training meetings, briefings, battle drills…the fact that all of my friends (super-acquaintances, really) are all from the military…while most of my academic peers do not know my name.

Shys make excuses and rationalize their behavior so as to avoid the pain of accepting the pain of criticism by others.

Every single one of the clinical definitions on that site rings true.

What brought this up? The battalion dining-out brought back awkward memories of high school. "Where's your date?"

Then there was another social situation a week or two later (yesterday), of which I felt rather…dizzy…about.

Shys have severe feelings of self-consciousness in social situations.

Shys worry constantly about small issues, especially where they perceive they have made mistakes. They have 20 or 30 thoughts for every thought that a Non-Shy will have, e.g. the hurts, the loves, the hates, the ins, the outs, the ups, the downs, the lusts, the everythings. They obsessively "Count the Angels Dancing on the Head Of A Pin."

I suppose I've tended to downplay it all, the last few years…especially in light of the aforementioned examples of my apparent "getting over it." In certain very select few environments, I can be loud, opinionated, assertive. Besides, much of the last few years have left me really fairly busy enough to avoid social situations to begin with.

I'm 24 years old. I thought it was debilitating before…but I'm beginning to think it is something that will be (is) a severe hindrance. It's an incapacitation, an injury on the level of a lost limb. I've realized a lot of others don't get it. They don't analyze simple reactions. They don't replay conversations in their head. They don't review a dialogue before picking up the phone. They don't know that I do.

Shys are often misunderstood and are often thought to be "moody," "quirky," "cold," "distant," "stuck up," "selfish," "neurotic," "odd," "aloof," "poised,"-- and worse!

This is lame. One big thing in the Army that can hurt more than a bullet in the gut is feeling sorry for yourself. Joe Snuffie falls out of a run, someone yells to Joe to "quit feelin' sorry fer yerself…" We Soldiers tend to believe that "feeling sorry for yourself" is the ONLY thing that will block a Soldier from his goal (that, and dehydration! BEAT THE HEAT). It's the only thing keeping someone from jumping out of a perfectly good plane, from getting up to outflank an enemy machine gun, or from exposing oneself to fire that AT4 on an enemy bunker.

So here I am. That RPK in that bunker is lighting us up. The AT4 is good to go. Back blast area is clear.

But it's not that simple. I'd rather face that bunker.

From Galactic Republic to Bear Republic

2005-05-22T10:30:00.000-06:00

I watched Star Wars, Revenge of The Sith. Twice. I'm on the fence. It had some of the greatest scenes of all the Star Wars movies. Portions of it also had the worst dialog I have ever heard in a Star Wars movie (which is saying a lot).

Biggest offense: "You're breaking my heart, Anakin."

Holeee crap.

It's not that Natalie Portman or Samuel Jackson can't act...they are probably the most accomplished actors on the prequels' casts. But maybe they just don't know what to do with bad lines. Ewan McGregor does outstanding. Real class act. Really felt his performance. Ian McDiarmid is above and beyond some of the best stuff I've seen in these movies...he makes terrible lines really iconically great. And he delivers great lines in great scenes...

"Are you threatening me, Master Jedi?"

The last 45 minutes are outstanding.

"You were my brother!"

I do have a problem though with some scenes that were completely superfluous. Great opening space fight, but why the seemingly-hour long crap with those silly robots trying to destroy Obi-Wan's starfighter? Why teh hour long giant-iguana/Greivous chase? It felt like the crappy tacked on droid factory scene in the last Star Wars flick, Attack of The Clones.

One last nitpick, though.

Anakin: "You're either with me or my enemy."

Obi-Wan: "Only the Sith deal with absolutes!"
[ten minutes later] "Palpatine is EVIL!"

hah. Palpatine has some very interesting lines throughout the movie. And I have this long, involved theory of the propoganda aspect of the light/dark divide of the Force on the Jedi side. It's a topic for another post, but suffice it to say, I think only the Jedi are throwing around "absolutes" when it comes to the definition of good/evil. It is the Jedi which holds itself morally superior and elite above "the uncivilized." It is the Jedi which supresses emotions like love and passion. It is the Jedi which has an authoritative censorship bent. It is also the Jedi which thinks its unelected, undemocratic Jedi Council can decide what's right for the entire Repbulic. And it is the Jedi that were seriously considering an outright coup against the elected Senate even before learning the truth of Darth Sidious. Palpatine's evil? Sure. Jedi much better? Morally, maybe...functionally? Ultimately not much different.

Side rant.

The OC. I've torn my hair out about that crappy primetime soap a few times here online. It's just that some other non-Californian was talking to me the other day and mentioned some of this crap he got from that shitty show as gospel. Okay...let's get on the record. The problem with the OC isn't that it's inaccurate. Of course it's inacurate...it's TV...its purpose is to entertain. The problem with the OC tv show is that it's stereotypes are ALL wrong. Take 90210. It was obviously not a documentary or anything. But at least it took the stereotypes of Beverly Hills and ran with it. The OC on the other hand...it's like setting a show in Phoenix, filming it in Seattle and focusing on the fact it rains all the time...in Phoenix. Uhhh...good stereotype of Seattle...but it ain't effing Phoenix.

THE EFFING GENERALIZATIONS ARE EFFING WRONG. I don't know the writers or the creator of the show. But it is painfully obvious none of them are from California.

Of course Newport Beach got the good deal. Now non-Californians actually think it's a rich city (it most certainly is NOT...there are rich parts of Orange County...but most of Newport definately ain't it). So its residents are largely ok with the "rain-in-Phoenix" manufactured stereotype. But Chino got the shaft. In the show, it's the ghetto. In reality...its cows outnumber gangbangers 500 to 1. CHINO IS THE EFFING DAIRY CAPITAL OF CALIFORNIA. IT HAS AN EFFING RODEO EVERY YEAR. ITS RESIDENTS DON'T GO ON DRIVE-BY's BY WAY OF COW-TIPPING! Chino is the western anchor of the Inland Empire...the 909. THe stereotype is El Caminos and mullets. THe NRA and confederate flags. It is home to California's NASCAR track. No californian has ever thought Chino was ghetto. Redneck...sure.

(side note of quasi-relevancy: Chino Hills separaed itself from Chino proper and incoporated as a city in itself in 1991. Chino Hills has a higher median income than Beverly Hills and Newport Beach.)

Newport? The show is actually a stereotype of Malibu or other LA OR VENTURA COUNTY spots. Certainly not Newport Beach. Most of you dang "foreigners" think there's nothing to get pissy about. But imagine if they made your backyard a soap and got it completely wrong. I'm not talking about inaccurate...I'm talking about the stupid writers manufacturing there own damn version of a city and slapping real names on it. Calling Seattle Phoenix...

This isn't a problem with filming on wrong locations. I readily accept all the alien worlds of Stargate SG-1 or the Kansas fields of Smallville are really a wet, overcast Vancouver. But imagine if they had Clark Kent, in Smallville, Kansas, pick up a surfboard and surf every afternoon. That's inane and silly. The OC's transgressions are inane and damaging. The stupid show is broadcast to hundreds of countries. I wouldn't doubt effing Osama watches the crappy soap. I swear, the next one of you dang non-Californians come up to me and tell me about my neighborhood and call it "the OC" (we most certainly don't call it that) I'm gonna kick you in the face.

Call the damn show Malibu. Or better yet, make up your own damn fictional county.

Johns Hopkins

2005-05-04T11:02:00.000-06:00

House is a great show.

Dr. Wilson: So you went to Hopkins for undergrad and med school?
Dr. Long-haired Interviewee (DLHI): That's right.
Dr. House: He's in a band.
[...]
Dr. House: Dude. You are so hired.
DHLI: really?
Dr. House: Not a chance.
DLHI: why?
Dr. House: Tattoo.
DLHI: Wow. I thought you'd be thae last person to have a problem with nonconformity.
Dr. House: Nonconformity. Right. I can't remember the last time I saw a 20-something kid with a tattoo of an asian letter on his wrist. You are one wicked free thinker...
Want to be a rebel? Stop being cool. Wear a pocket protector like he does and get a haricut, like the asian kids that don't leave the library for twenty hour stretches--they're the ones who don't care what you think...
Soyonara!
[...]
Dr. Wilson: So should I go through all the resumes looking for asian names?
Dr. House: Actually, the asian kids are just probably responding to parental pressure...but my point is still valid.

haha.

Steve Gutenberg Would Be Proud

2005-03-19T23:28:00.000-07:00

Honestly. When was the last time you saw a guy with dreadlocks on the next lane at the shooting range or out there plinkng at beer cans? Maybe you've seen a lot of black urban males hunting deer?

Here's one of the funniest videos I've seen in a long while... (RIGHT-click and pick "Save Target As..."). Here's a mirror that opens a new window, where you can stream the video (if right-clicking is sooo draining for your tired finger). The internet is so full of funny stuff, but every now and then I get to something that's just classic.

I love how the kids have enough sense at the end of the video, yelling to keep the rifle away from "the professional."

[by the way, there's no such thing as a "Glock 40"...there are Glock 23s that shoot .40s&w...but there's nothing in the Glock product line called Glock 40...that is, if those silly things float your boat to begin with. Red blooded Americans stick with 1911s] :)

Hint for the kids in "the hood" or gun-shy suburbs (even the cops): TV (or even apparently the police "academy") doesn't make you an expert in anything. It doesn't take a "professional" to safely use a gun. All it takes is familiarity and some sense. But let's not get on the slippery slope of "qualifications"...the video's "professional" would have you believe only cops can safely and legally own guns. I think mr. professional just illustrated idiots come in all packages...badge or no. A gun needs a professional as much as the car does (read: it doesn't).

You can safely leave your car keys in front of your 10 year old kid with no fear of him taking the SUV for a pedestrian killing spree. Ditto for the Ruger 10/22 (a squirrel gun) in families where the kids were raised with them. If, on the other hand, you fill the kid with nutty ideas (i.e. from TV) that amount to reducing the gun to the role of a phallic substitute (ahem, thanks action movies), while at the same time also treating guns as some evil forbidden fruit...guess what you get. There isn't a rash of kids that go dirtbiking with their families who also take thier dads' motorcycles on non-supervised joyrides on public highways knocking down mailboxes, raping and pillaging.

Do some focused research. Honestly. The accidental deaths of kids picking up guns--how many of them were from households where the kid in question was absolutely familiar with the gun, and frequently went plinking with his parents? In such cases, we have kids finding a gun in a hiding place--often with the kid having never even been told the parent kept a gun under the matress, or in a dresser, or on an out-of-reach cabinet. The gun can even be under lock and key in homes with tragic gun related accidents. But the parents are no less guilty in such homes. Replace shooting with swimming. You can have a gate around the swimming pool with the 15 year old kid under the direct instructions to never go near the pool, and keep the kid from taking swimming lessons. In such a case, the kid has never even swam in any body of water before.

"Stay away from the pool, Billy. Swimming is dangerous. Pay no attention to the pool in the backyard...and stay away from any other body of water you see because you might accidentally drown or a murderer can try and drown you." If you cannot bridge swimming with shooting sports, you are hopeless.

Funny as it sounds, doesn't a family that shoots together stay together?

There is this amazing disconnect between cars and guns. There are way too many of you out there making brash generalizations and "moral" conclusions on morally-neutral inanimate objects using only TELEVISION as your sole source of input. If you live your life having never seen (let alone operate) a car before, while hearing anecdotes of dead jaywalkers, and watching Death Race 2000 over and over again, your viewpoint on cars would be similarly irrational. Raise your hand if you know anybody injured or killed in a car accident. Now which of you have had someone killed or injured by a gun. That's right, the number of Americans killed with guns is DWARFED by the number of Americans killed with cars on a daily basis.

Think: Geena Davis is apparently accomplished with the bow and arrow, as a competitive archer. Charlton Heston and Tom Sellick shoot guns. Who's the villian? Real answer: none of them.

For those of you insisting on living in your ignorance: leave my gun cabinet alone. Especially you elitist "professionals." This isn't some top-down dark-ages absolutist society or some anti-liberal dictatorship where only "professionals" in the government are allowed to own things. We can put this "professional" thing in better context with a word from our pal Heinrich Himmler in 1935 Nazi Germany: "Those who wish to use firearms should join the SS or the SA - ordinary citizens don't need guns..." And here's presidential candidate Wesley Clark: "folks who want to use them [guns] should enlist."

I was orignially going to discuss the implications of certain cultural changes over the years. I was gonna examine the ramifications of a disturbingly rising number of fresh recruits showing up to basic having never seen even a .22 squirrel gun before. I've touched on the "expertise" gleaned from rap videos and action movies that a lot of urbanites get their "knowledge" on "evil" guns from...and I was going to explore this further...

But it'll have to wait for another time. Just laugh at the "professional" in the video. Good times.

Subject Matter Expert

2005-02-26T11:04:00.000-07:00

This week was pretty much devoted to my academic studies. This semester in particular seems to be the most demanding I have had and I am starting to feel the pressure as the semester is getting up to full steam. Overall, I believe I have one "safe" course, PS 456: "National Security Establishment." Looking over the syllabus, it is less demanding, work-wise, compared to the other classes I have. The professor of it I have had before and we know each other well enough. I understand his standards and expectations. Perhaps there is something to be said about that, with regard to "leadership." I, as a student (and de-facto follower), am more comfortable and confident when I know what to expect, know what standards I am held to.

Anyway, this "National Security Establishment" class is also on my "safe" list because the subject matter is fairly engaging. Obviously, such a class would have very topical relevance to ROTC and the Army. On a slightly divergent topic, sometimes we get classmates, peers and coworkers that sort of raise your eyebrow. I don't dislike anybody on this planet—so I won't go as far as saying I dislike this particular person—but, at the same time, certain actions people make garner your attention. Anyway, this one classmate is an older individual (most of my classmates in these graduate level courses are) and he tends to chime in as a "subject-matter expert" in a lot of the class discussion. He says he was in the Army, deployed to the Gulf in the Gulf War, among other things. It is this air of smugness about him that is what is off putting. He acts like an expert and makes others know it. I'm not sure why he was bragging about having "seen" the LA riots and was mobilized (I saw them too…a very different perspective, I assure you). Anyway, the topic shifted into Abu Ghraib and torture. I don't recall the exact train of conversation but he ended with saying, "I have some psyop guys I can get you in contact with." He was talking to another student in an example of real "grittiness" in the operational military. There was a heavy implication of torture as an established standard and that psyop was a part of it. Of course, I couldn't just bite my tongue here…I eventually mentioned I was drilling with a psyop unit. It is funny how quickly topics and "expertise" shifts when one realizes someone else in the room may have a nugget (emphasis on nugget) of knowledge in the subject. I later asked who exactly he knew, perhaps I knew these very same soldiers, or at the very least know someone who does. He became dodgy after this.

I never implied there were embellishments being thrown around. I just raised an eyebrow when all of a sudden folks get tight lipped when there should be some sort of familiarity. I asked what he did in the Army, and other such questions. I am not sure why such routine breaking-the-ice questions would all of a sudden get sidestepping responses, especially when there was nonstop disclosure of the "wealth-of-knowledge" he had until this point. Again, things seemed less forthcoming now, than they did earlier. I am not sure why. There have been several veterans in my classes over the years, many with anecdotes that shed light on topics and tidbits of information that contribute to class discourse. But this individual seemed different. I don't necessarily doubt he did indeed serve in the Army. I just think there is something to be said about a free reign one feels they have when they think they are the sole experts. This guy hoarded "inside knowledge" like Scrooge McDuck did his gold coins (and whether or not this "inside knowledge" was even first-hand remains to be seen). Of course, there is a slight reference of poker hands here: he probably thought I may have had a lot more experience than the nothingness that I actually have. A know-nothing cadet really knows nothing.

Anyway, I am not sure what brought up that divergent story. I guess I'll just close this up by saying most of my week was in similar graduate seminars and discussions. Likewise, research and writing took up most of my out-of-class time.

I've been running daily, as per routine. I am worried about my physical ability. I couldn't have put it better than SFC "C": running has indeed been the "monkey on my back." I'll keep working. I seem to have hit a wall at the 16 minute mark. I am of the opinion this is a mental thing. I have to break that barrier in my head. I could probably lose some weight, too…

I am a believer of mind over matter…as silly as it sounds. The problem is: just because you recognize there's a mental block to achieving a goal, it doesn't mean that the block is easily broken. My task is simple enough: push harder.

I had two other posts that have managed to vanish. I typed them up spontaneously on a computer on campus, but I cannot find the electronic copies of them. Oh well. I thought they were fairly interesting...if I remember them correctly. I don't remember what exactly I wrote about, but they each encapsulated a week of mine. Shame. I've been writing up short mind-cleansing recollections at the end of each week lately. That sounds like some very froofroo new-age hippy crap, don't it? hah.

Uncle Sam Ain't Released Me Yet

2005-01-10T12:31:00.000-07:00

I'm doing fine. Last couple months have been great. My unit is great...

I love the Army. Hooah. :) Been busy. May elaborate later. Feeling keyboard lazy now.

School's great. GPA 3.76, got a B. Suck.

Sold my Z. Cried like a baby. That was the first car I ever bought. Needed something with more room...and 4wd Low for rock crawling. [insert evil bwwaahaha]. Bought an Isuzu Vehicross. Look it up. It's badass. I've seen it towing out jeeps and climb rocks like a billy goat. All that, and ON-road it emphasizes the sport in SUV...handles like a sportscar, only slightly feeling a truck's center of gravity. Here's a dose of testosterone. And here's a shot I'm shamelessly linking, from another guy's site. Here's another. I'll get around to taking pics of my own. It's silver. For someone skeptical of Jap cars, I sure seem to buy alot of 'em. heh.

Armchair Commandos

2004-11-30T17:40:00.000-07:00

CPT Jason Van Steenwyk, of COUNTERCOLUMN, had an interesting post that reminded me of one of my own posts from a while back. On CPT Van Steenwyk's post [opens new window], he notes there are some folks out there that would disagree with him on one point he made in an even earlier post. Concerning the video of the Marine shooting the unarmed, wounded EPW... CPT Van Steenwyk said he would have aired the tape the same as the imbeded reporter, Kevin Sites, did. [countercolumn, by the way, is a great blog by an Army CPT who was an infantry PL in Iraq the last year...used to be called IRAQNOW...just in case you don't know]. I agree with the CPT, I would have aired it too. the CPT's critic, on his own blog, somehow thinks the reporter should have turned a blind eye or something. I'm not sure of this critic's background, but from indications he has never been in the military before...

This reminded me about my post on Abu Ghraib...my conclusions are the same here. I find Jason's critic to be the very same SUV driver with the huge flag on his car, "supporting" the troops. Please read my very topical post here.

Oh. Yeah, I haven't posted a while. sorry. By the way, concerning my questions in my last post...I'm officially SMP now. Still an Army cadet, but now also a reservist in a local USAR unit. I haven't gone to drill yet. We'll see. I'm honestly excited. Touch of anxiety... dunno how the LT I'm shadowing will be...or how I'll fit in...

Quarter-Life Crisis?

2004-10-16T14:49:00.000-06:00

Yep. Haven't posted in quite a while. I've been really busy the last few weeks with school. The grad students with full-time jobs, I haven't a clue how you all do it.

Virtually all of my cadet class is doing SMP (Simultaneous Membership Program). We are all Army cadets (contracted and paid by your lovely tax dollars), but SMP folks are simultaneously in the Guard or Reserves (taking even more of your lovely tax dollars...don't get me started on those of us on full-ride scholarships). Folks in SMP are in a Guard or Reserve unit normally shadowing an LT. In a lot of cases, though, they are the de-facto LT. It might scare you how many platoon-leaderless platoons are out there. heh.

SMP folks are in the E-5 paygrade, and still have to devote the weekend a month, two weeks a year training with the unit (on top of cadet classes and training, and obviously over thier normal, non-Army undergrad stuff...save gluttons like me who are grad students. Most of us have civilian jobs too...some have wives and families..! Some of our plates are more full than others'...I've heard of folks dropout, ending up paying back Uncle Sam mucho dinero and forced into paying off obligations as enlisted. I digress...). But ROTC training takes precedence, so if there's an ROTC FTX or summer training, for example, you go with ROTC. SMP cadets are also not-deployable while in school.

I'm seriously considering it. Puts some extra cash in my pocket, and best of all it would give me some experience before I receive my commission.

I have avoided SMP until now because I was under the mistaken impression one would have to go with the Guard or Reserves after commissioning. I want to go Active after graduation. I was wrong...you're only attached to the Guard/Reserves as long as you are a cadet.

One thing I'm pondering is either Guard or Reserve. Heh...funny thing is, apparently if I want to be in a combat arms unit during SMP, I ought to go Guard. Apparently, there are no combat arms Reserve units around, as they've performed terribly under expectations in the last few decades (i.e. in the last Gulf War). As such we have mostly civil affairs and logistics, ordnance, etc. left as Reserve. A couple of my classmates are SMP in a local Reserve medical unit. One is in a psyops unit...Apparently he's gonna be the defacto LT, as well, because his unit is short a platoon leader.

National Guard, on the other hand, is mostly combat arms, especially here in California (40th Infantry Division). I'm really interested in a local cavalry unit. Another of my classmates is looking into SMP for this cav unit. One classmate of mine was trying to get into an aviation unit in the Reserves, but apparently our local ones are all in Iraq right now, so she's looking into Guard.

Any one out there have any advice? I'm not sure if SMP is even for me...like I said, I've been pretty darn busy as it is with my class load and current-Army stuff. I just feel an intense itch to do something. Too much? I do think the experience will be extremely beneficial though.

I'm thinking of selling my Z. I wanted to get a pickup truck before I graduate, something more practical. I'm keeping the 7 though...something for the chicas, after all. hah. right. The sad thing is, the only folks who stop me at gas stations or find thier heads turning with my Z are car guys. Thumbs up from the 40 year old, or the mechaninc, or the guy with fond memories of the first gen Z. I probably get more compliments from my 240Z, but the RX-7 gets more looks from periphery-car-folks (i.e. chicks who like how it looks and wonder what it is). 3rd Gen 7's, again, are relatively rare...most don't believe mine's a 93 model.

Ok. Now, you all can't say I haven't posted. Here I am.

The Passion of The Geek

2004-09-16T14:41:00.000-06:00

There's a funny cosmic coincidence that I stumbled upon the other day. There's another guy out there that has a blog also named "have spacesuit, will travel," and from a lot of indications has way too many similarities between his life and mine. Politically similar, interests similar. He's even my age. It's the little things that creep me out. He listed Honda Prelude in his profile. I had a 92 Prelude in highschool... (see his and my comments here and here. His profile here)

Anyway. One divergent point though is that he is an atheist.

Lemme get this out of the way. No one who knows me would consider me a Bible thumper. I am not a church goer. I tend to be sinfully irreverent in matters of God. I find WWJD or cross bumper stickers terribly tacky and downright tasteless when I find them on minivans and SUV's that cut me off on highways. It sickens me seeing middle fingers wave from said cars in said instances.

That said, I do have faith in the Creator.

I do not understand this crusade (apt term) by atheists to "disprove" God or discredit the qualifications of faith. Like any faith, belief in God can't be disproven. You either have the faith, or you don't. End of story. I don't think you are evil if you don't believe, or even particularly ignorant. Folks without the faith merely don't see something I do. There's no problem with that...that's your issue, not mine. I understand the historical significance of being weary of folks in the guise of the cloth. Terrible things have been in the "name of God": the Church acted with the Spanish Inquisition, American Protestants acted with Salem witch trials, and there's today's nutty terrorists calling themselves true Muslims. But I am not a jihadist, a televangelist, or even a door-to-door apostolic.

Lemme go into a silly example about faith. Little Billy has a deadbeat dad. His father and mother divorced years ago. Billy, despite having been estranged from his dad for years, still has faith that he will show up one day on his birthday and bring him to Disneyland. The dad never sends Billy gifts, no notes, has never had contact since he left. The mom says the dad is a deadbeat, will never show up. Historically, scientifically, rationally, the dad is a deadbeat dad. Billy has a faith that defies logic, rationality. The scientific method of hypothesis, experimentation, observation, would yield that Billy's dad will not show up. But it does not mean Billy is WRONG. He is being "irrational," according to science. The mom could bring this up. But at the end of the day, is Billy wrong to believe?

I've heard a variation of this, the source I can't recall. When you were a kid and went to sleep, did you have one eye open at night checking to see if your parents would leave and abandon you in the middle of the night? Of course not, you had a trust they would be there in the morning. You have faith they love you. We know the sun will rise, the earth will spin. We have faith in patterns--this is the basis of rational, scientific thought. By the same token, can folks not have faith in something other than the scientific method?

Faith is not lacking in atheists. They have faith everytime they use controlled explosions to propel their 2 ton mass of steel they call a car. We have faith when we stand on a sidewalk, inches away from traffic going 45 miles an hour. We have faith that a chair will support our weight. A Christian has a faith in something else, too. Who's anyone to say another's faith is wrong? We're not talking "the world is flat," stuff here...at the end of the day faith in something as complex as God can't be explained away by science. Not when the God of faith created the science; we monkeys only started noticing science relatively recently.

I've heard this math professor of mine as an undergrad try to explain there is no Creator because according to the Big Bang theory, nothing could have existed in the path of the "Big Bang." That is, the universe was formed with the bang from the center out...nothing could have existed preceding this wave (or, if it did, it would have been destroyed). Interesting conclusion. But at the end of the day, that conclusion would need one to have faith in the Big Bang theory to begin with. It is a theory...it cannot be proven. So in this case, we have a man disproving a faith with the faith in another. It is also trying to prove something with the idea that everything (even a "mythical" Creator) must follow the rules of science (this would be an assumption--or faith--in and of itself).

We have faith in textbooks. Few of us have split an atom. But we take words written in such books with unquestioning acceptance. I mean, we have faith that such things can be replicated...but have we tried? How many conspiracy theorists are there out there that think some results are faked, or that conspiracies exist to keep the status quo? We don't test everything we read. We have faith in the media. We have faith in our senses. We have faith...

Figures, charts and scientific equations are not answers to debunking faith. Neither is it answers to "proving" the objects of your faith. Faith is about putting trust in something--nothing more, nothing less.

Furthermore, isn't it a little arrogant of us to think we've mastered science? That is, we all use it as a tool to disprove something like God, when in fact science is changing everyday. My political philosophy professor once was arguing about the "science" of politics and philosophy. He argued that the "hard" sciences can be just as "soft." The sharpest minds had thought cells were the smallest parts of our bodies. Even "laws" of science have fuzzy caveats and loopholes. Is it possible, merely possible, that there's stuff we don't know scientifically?

Of course, this all goes the opposite direction, as well. It makes me cringe everytime someone brings up the Bible when arguing about homosexuals or whatever topic is at hand. You have to realize that not everyone shares your faith, not everyone agrees that the Bible (in this case) is of any merit. It certaily isn't in rational, science-based discussion. You can't have it both ways. We can live like the Bible says, sure. But we certainly cannot use a matter of faith as matters of fact.

Anyway, I never post about religion. Hm. I thought that was a rule too. I was gonna title this post "Hey Zeus." But I settled for the more self deprecating one.

The World of Tomorrow, Yesterday

2004-09-11T22:13:00.000-06:00

I mentioned before how I really hate questions like "What's your favorite (blank)?" I often find it hard to chisel down my answers to one. It's not that I'm indecisive--I'm far from it. It's just that when you talk about movies, for example, I tend to love way too many to list. I still stick to that. My true "favorite" is a long list. But thinking back right now, I must say The Rocketeer is my favorite movie of all time.

It did terrible when it came out. Many people say it was because it was the summer of 1991. Terminator 2 and Kevin Costner's Robin Hood demolished it. Myself, I have a theory. I just think there's a boxoffice curse around 30's/pulp/serial/radio sorta movies. Only George Lucas can pull it off commercially (Star Wars is so ridiculously successful that people even forget its serial/pulp base...less so Indiana Jones). Remember the Shadow? the Phantom?

I'm sorta apprehensive about what will happen to Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, opening this coming Friday. The commercials are even downplaying the 30's vibe.

I remember watching the Rocketeer at a drive-in. It was an easy sell...

Why I love the Rocketeer. Let me count the ways. California. Aviation. The California aviation industry (if you know California, which is something Californians rarely do themselves, you'd realize "California aviation" is a redundant term...aviation is bleeding here now, but California and aviation was like Detroit and Automobiles). G-men and gangsters shooting at Nazis. Errol Flynn...I mean Nevelle Sinclair. The ratatat of Tommy guns. Newsreels. Propaganda reels. Howard Hughes. GeeBee race planes. Beeman chewing gum. And did I mention aviation?

The Rocketeer is a closer link to my love of aviation than Top Gun is. When it came out, I said to myself the makers of this move "get it." I got the same feeling reading The Right Stuff and Michener's Space. Joe Johnston, of the Rocketeer, also directed October Sky--another movie that "got it."

Speaking of The Rocketeer's California-ness, I went in a short rant the other week about California. On a friend's blog, a commenter was jokingly criticizing the blogger's using "Californian" as his title...where he called the others in his anecdote a Brit and a Canadian, he called himself a Californian. The snippy reply was that "California's not a country." Lemme post what I said in response on this comment's board:

If you've spent much time to the other states, you'd realize Mark's not that far off in delineating himself as a Californian. The individual states of the US are not equivalent of provinces of Canada or Lands of Germany. They're often described as that for the sake of simplicity. In reality, they're closer to the relationship of Scotland, Wales, etc, in the UK. Only in the UK, their overall government is much more inclusive. The analogy to the nations of Britain is closer in culture/history differences among our States of the US.

The big spat we had over this whole thing was the Civil War...but up until then, and in many ways still now, the States of the Union are separate entities.

You try telling a Texan he isn't a Texan. That's the extreme example: Texans are proud of their history and culture. Californians probably have the least amount of deference to their history and culture because the majority of its residents are immigrants. I'm not necessarily talking about folks from China or Korea or Mexico...plenty of displaced Nevadans, Arizonans, et al, all make their home here. As such, most don't have an affinity for Yosemite Sam as a "Californian" character, for example.

There was a vote a while back on the design of our state quarter coin (you know how each state is having its own quarter?). The big winner was some silly non-specific, ahistorical depiction of waves. Evidently too many of us watched too many surfer movies. The big loser was the depiction of gold miners and bears, etc...most didn't realize what such things had to do with California.

It's telling. Texans all know who Sam Houston is and what the Alamo is. Do all Californians know who John Fremont or Robert Stockton are? Or let's even go with an easy one: how about Howard Hughes? You'll get blank faces.

The Rocketeer was such a California movie. A movie that could have only been from the fertile mind of a native Californian. There's faux-California dreck that's blatantly penned by non-Californians. The most excruciatingly obvious of this is Fox's crappy primetime soap, The OC.

The Rocketeer was California in the orange groves. It was California in its illustration of the of 30's A-list nightclub and a dusty air circus. It was California in the vernacular, in the scenery. It was California in its icons and geography.

So was the Karate Kid. So was the War of the Worlds. So was LA Confidential. So was...

You know, I had originally intended to discuss the boxoffice "curse" of 30's/pulp/serial/radio-type movies. The commercial failure of movies with classic sci-fi or golden-age undertones. The opening of Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow...

But, as usual, my stream of consciousness has hijacked this train. heh. sorry...

Honestly, though, there is a tenuous bridge here. Perhaps the commercial failures of such nostalgia-tinged movies are indicative of our growing disdain for anything mildly historical. I remember watching MTV the last year somewhere on campus (every damn TV is stuck on that channel on college campuses...I'm enough of a conspiracy theorist to believe there's some money being handled that sees to this). My classmate was complaining Gwen Stefani had too much makeup in the "It's My Life" video. The whole video's homage to the era of femme fatales, silver screens and the like, was lost on this poor child. Maybe she didn't get the "old" cars or "dressy" clothes either?

To Be Continued. Tune in next time, for the next exciting chapter..!

I Ain't Got Time To Bleed

2004-09-09T12:25:00.000-06:00

My last post I discussed a certain faux-Ranger. This all reminded me of my dad, the salty sailor (as depicted in an even earlier post).

Every now and then he hears someone say he was a Navy SEAL, or something like he was in the Special Forces. My dad rolls his eyes and says, "Is every asshole in the Navy now a Navy SEAL?"

"I must have been absent that day when they were passing those badges out," he notes with a disappointed act.

"Sunovabitch...I must have been the only damn sailor in the damn Navy. How the hell did we leave port if everyone was a dang SEAL?"

It's like those Navy commercials now. Showing that you, too, can serve in the Navy...as a Navy SEAL!

Seriously, though, my dad does recall the day in basic training where the Chief yelled, "Who here wants to be a Navy SEAL?" A few folks stepped up. Big mutherf-ers, so says my dad. An impromptu weeding-out process was drummed up...pushups. 100's were done 'till these big motherf-ers dropped to exhaustion. No candidate SEALs here. Heh.

My cousin's husband (who, like my father thirty years before, had served on the same USS Saratoga during the Gulf War right before she was decomissioned) also recalls his Navy SEAL run in. These filfthy, bearded sons of guns were laying around and got in a tussle with a crewman. Long story short, this 250 pound, obscenely fat sailor was inches off the ground, held up by the fist of an irate wooly-bearded SEAL.

My sister, if you remember, is a fresh butterbar Ensign in the Coast Guard. Her cutter was in San Diego. They were in port. All of a sudden these dang ninjas with submachine guns start running around and yelling and jumping all over the place. Such is my sister's brush with Navy SEALs. They were screwing around, practicing their Underwater Demolitions on this fair cutter, and decided to board and mess with the coasties, apparently. heh. Actually, you can see them in the water all the time, she says. When the cutter was underway, she saw those poor miserable souls swimming..."Gee, that's far," my sister noted. She laughed and waved at thier miserable faces. "Man overboard! Call the Coast Guard!" she yells from the railing of a 378' emblazoned with the distinctive red stripe.

My sister's friend, actually, has a dad who was Green Beret. Myself, I'm waiting for some guy to put a knife to my neck screaming out something about Charlie.

Crummy post. No point. Just a quick jotting of notes. Bye!

Captain America

2004-09-07T02:20:00.000-06:00

I am a comic book geek. This is no state secret—I fulfill virtually all the stereotypes of dorkiness. I've been getting into Trade Paperbacks/Graphic Novels (issues collected in anthology) over the last few years as individual comic books have been getting unjustifiably expensive. I remember when comic books had a cover price of $1.00. I remember complaining when they got to $1.95. They now, on average, have a cover price of 3 bucks. Many comics charge more. This is for 32 pages! A lot of this is indication of the idea that comic books are not a lucrative field in a post-videogame world. The industry is doing decently now, though not near its height. It's doing better than the near death it had a few years ago. Comic book stores were near extinct, for example.

Anyway, I was on a buying binge the last week or so. I was at a bookstore and picked up Dark Days and Powers: Anarchy . Dark Days is the sequel to the excellent 30 Days of Night. The Powers book I got is a chapter I haven't read yet in what is now one of my favorite series of all time (written, illustrated, comic or otherwise). To set it up: imagine a typical cop/detective show. Only throw in the caveat that in this world folks with capes and superpowers are real. In Powers, we follow two detectives (ordinary Joes with ordinary badges and ordinary guns) on a beat which involves investigating homicides of actual superheroes with extraordinary abilities.

Another one of my other favorite series right now is the Ultimates. This, too, takes an interesting "real world" take on the whole superhero thing. In it, we have a retelling of the old Avengers. This time, it's a team of superpowered beings, organized and funded by the US government. One interesting aspect of the series is that this team has two "branches": one, the PR friendly, on-camera super-superheroes, and two, a shadowy, counter-terrorist side. This PR side has in its ranks the billionaire industrialist, womanizer Tony Stark (as Iron Man, in his high-tech suit). Also, the reanimated supersoldier from a long forgotten WWII genetic program: Captain America himself.

Anyway, I've rambled plenty…let me get to the discussion that this all had me thinking about.

Since the mainstream death of comics, the industry has grown increasingly farther away from mainstream entertainment. Many folks would be surprised to find the lessening display of heroism (i.e. Superman's upholding of "the American way of life" with humility, sacrifice and valor). Increasing, on the other hand is "smart" cynicism, irony, skepticism…all hallmarks of the overeducated Gen X (or late babyboomer) writers the books are now vehicles for. This in itself is not disturbing. But overall, there's been a growing apparent claim that comic books have become the haven for leftist sentiment. Imagine if "smart, poignant," independent movies have risen to the forefront of all movies. Such is the case in today's comic book industry. This again, isn't so much an issue, and the two exemplary series that I have mentioned above are products of this fresh thinking in the field.

The problem lies in egos, as in any other medium. There's a growing sentiment that left leaning cynicism is the rule—is the norm—for comics now. There are superstar writers, surrounded by likeminded folks, who seem to think their ideas are what's typical and obvious. The typical pretentious claim that such ideas like "heroism is nonexistent," is linked to intellectual thought.

I was continuing my buying binge from the bookstore to online retailers. I've missed plenty of comics in the last few years or so that I haven't been reading them. I found a lot of good things said about the Authority. I didn't much like the book when I first became estranged from the industry a few years ago. It was one of the biggest examples of the growing trend I mention. On my research to become reacquainted with the comics world, I found plenty said about a series called Stormwatch: Team Achilles. It featured a character, Benito Santini, who I remembered from several separate books from way back when. A fleshed out character that was very endearing to me. So I was interested in the book and was just about to buy as many of the back issues I could get.

The synopsis of the series is that it involves a military group, jointly run by several nations (think Rainbow Six). Echoing the "real world" threads that I so liked in Ultimates and Powers, this group's purpose is to police the superpowered beings of the world. Imagine, if Superman were flying around the world: would we mere mortals be truly okay with such unchecked power (barring any information regarding his apple-pie Americanism)? Stormwatch: Team Achilles is a group of "regular" soldiers with a lot of scifi sorta equipment tasked with keeping an eye on superbeings (villain and hero alike).

Interesting premise, no? I read an interview with the writer, who himself was a Ranger for four years. Was deployed to Panama during Operation Just Cause.

I thought, wow.

I ordered those books.

I looked up his name for more interviews, for his website, for more background on Micah Ian Wright. Turned out he was a big fat liar. Not only did he use his background to sell his books, he used his lie to push his political agenda. He was a never a Ranger. He was never in the Army.

Beyond the lies he told to validate his fiction, he used his fabricated "veteran" status as moral authority regarding his anti-war sentiment. He emphasized, flat-out argued with others, claiming his opinion on the matter was more valid as he "saw combat." I understand the anti-war argument. I accept it as a valid, well-reasoned argument. I can even agree with it. But this… Claiming to be a Ranger no less. Furthermore, he recieved pats on the back. A true-blue American hero is sayin' what I want to hear, says the overeducated privelleged intellectual. Let's all laugh at this righteous interviewer and his war hero interviewee.

I cancelled my order for those books.

The masquerade was far reaching. He has had interviews with the Washington Post, published a book with an introduction by Kurt Vonnegut. Pushed Stormwatch: Team Achilles as a topical, "gritty," illustration of soldiering. He even went as far to say some characters were based on real fellow soldiers.

Funny enough, I actually do know a Ranger personally. I know a Ranger that actually did deploy for Operation Just Cause in Panama. He has a long career as an 11B, was a drill sergeant, and is, as we speak, cultivating the future officer corps of the US Army. He is my instructor. He is nothing short of an outstanding American. And he spends too much money on videogames.

The sad thing is Wright, the self-rightious comic book writer, says his "experience" was Army ROTC in college.

That probably angers me the most. Not only did he sully the industry, make a farce of Rangers and use it all to push a political agenda, he disgraced me personally by association. He claimed to be a Ranger--I was never one, but know at least one exemplary individual who is. Wright pointedly though still asserts he was a cadet. I felt sick with those "soldiers" at Abu Ghraib. I felt ashamed. Oddly, by direct association, I suppose, I feel even more ashamed now with this pompous comicbook writer. While he was apparently never a contracted cadet, the mere idea that he could even be associated with the program sickens me. He may not have been officially among our ranks, but the stink of association is there.

Wright's behavior extends to apparant narcissism. This incident is indicative of a whole character (it's funny how this whole thing has blown up into six degrees of separation for me). In then end, that's what we have here in the catty limos, the posh celeb fund raisers, the celeb political endorsements...all displays of folks who are so self-righteous in thier convictions that everything has become thier platform. Thier medium, be it award shows or comic books, has become staging grounds for impassioned rhetoric because what they say is important, darnit. Entertainment, shmentertainment...I am a right (Wright) thinking individual, darnit. I understand public discourse. This ain't it. Monopolizing a mic or even a comic book script is not equal debate. Worse yet, with Wright's case, there are now concoctions made to justify moral authority on such matters.

Comic books are a medium as any other. I suppose I have to deal with this new, self-righteous trend of egotistical comic book writers. There's this righteousness that certain superstars hold, that which makes them feel they are always right (yes, redundant). I guess it gets to me because this whole thing throws dirt on several different things in my life: comic books, blogging, the US Army. It all leaves a bad taste in my mouth…all the taint of association. Whilce Portacio, one of my favorite artists, was the illustrator for Stormwatch: Team Achilles. I champion the comic book as a great medium. Rangers are in Afghanistan as we speak, I personally know a Ranger who deployed in Panama. Most importantly, I am an Army cadet.

I referred to the following before. I refer to them now, yet again. And I will refer to them in the future. It is perpetually topical.

The Cadet Creed

The Soldier's Creed

[UPDATE] After posting this all, I found out that someone else already typed up a very exahustive discussion of politicization of comic books. A lot of the conclusions I concur with. Namely, having political beliefs is one thing...but believing there are no repercussions from a silent customer is downright silly. This isn't to say, though, we ought to be boycotting products whose creator is controversial. After all, Mark Millar, someone who, by all indications, has nothing in common with me in beliefs, wrote the Ultimates (that which I raved about above). GOOD READ HERE.

My Recruiter Told Me A Lie

2004-08-30T12:01:00.000-06:00

There's been some folks who've been (unjustly) critical of SGT Missick's blog. Folks who were so set on the gritty "real" aspect of CB's now-defunct blog have thrown some pretty hostile comments on how Missick is some kiss-ass or some-such thing. He's a signal soldier, not a Stryker-mounted infantryman, says they. This SGT, whose main sin is fashioning himself Dudley Doright, has been target of some pretty...mean...comments. Much the same as how black folks who don't speak ebonics are somehow "sellouts," Missick has been slammed for being the same. He's dorky, uses big words (not always correctly), and sees service as sacrifice. Some snobs say signal soldiers aren't really "sacrificing." I might gather my thoughts on the issue in a later post.

That said, lemme give you all a disclaimer. Here I am, folks: I am an Army cadet. I am not a highspeed 11B that eats terrorists for breakfast. I'm not some wooly-bearded SF dude with a necklace of ears around my neck. Do not read any further if you are expecting "real" and "gritty" action about how I stormed an enemy fighting position, pulling grenade pins with my teeth. My accounts will range from installing a clutch slave cylinder on my Ducati, to thankfully passing APFT's. You'll get the occasional FTX experience (i.e. a ruck march, digging holes, using MILES gear to annoy OPFOR, or zeroing an M16), but that's pretty much it. You won't be reading anything remotely John Wayne here for at least two years. I am leaning to branching Armor or the old family trade, Field Artillery. There's been only one honest-to-goodness "commando" in my family...and he got a Japanese bullet in his butt for all his trouble. Though, I did have another uncle who was an infantryman--an NCO who spent as much time in the TC hatch behind a .50 on an M113, as he did asleep--but that's another story.

I don't know but I heard tell
Airborne Rangers come from Hell
They are big and they carry a gun
Kill us KAYdets just for fun

But, yeah, I haven't posted for a while. The semester has started.

Much of our cadre has been replaced over the summer (in fact, all of the Officers). I have seen them off the last few months, but it's still funny not seeing some of them anymore. I miss my former teacher. I feel like a kindergarten kid who just graduated, never to see that kindergarten teacher ever again. One of our new Officers is a full-on Special Forces CPT. Not all of the cadre positions have been filled, we're still waiting for some replacements, and we have one interim MAJ on loan as acting Professor of Military Science.

PT's doing well enough. We had a battalion run Friday (we were running pretty darn slow because there are new folks to contend with), and I sounded off fairly decently calling cadence...if I do say so myself.

I was surprised to learn I'm not the only grad student in my cadet class. The other guy is a teacher and studying engineering, if I recall correctly. So we were introducing ourselves (like a dork, I screwed up my intro), and it's really interesting to hear some of the new folks' backgrounds. We have three Guard folks. One guy whose MOS is something carpentry related came out and said he wanted to contract (as a cadet) as soon as possible because he was getting deployed soon and didn't want to go. A lot of raised eyebrows. Some groans. A few giggles (yes, we giggle). Sergeant C (one of the only two in the cadre who ain't leaving us) didn't seem to know what to say...he left it like "that's not right..." For lab, the potential cadet didn't repeat the same introduction...so it was probably a terrible joke he made in class about getting deployed.

He didn't pass the PT test he took on Friday (insert National Guard weekend warrior joke here). So he couldn't contract. He didn't show up to PT today. I have another guy, one of my dang squad leaders, not show up today too. I'll set my platoon sergeant on it. Oh, I'm a platoon leader for the time being.

So I've been running all summer. While everyone else was going to camp, Airborne School, or Air Assault school, I was finishing off my BA and running like a track horse by myself. Funny thing is, the two (three, actually) separate folks who said they'd run with me never showed up. To be fair, the CPT I mentioned in my terribly maudlin post started me off on my plan and ran with me twice before she left. The other guy, who's a Cav Scout and in the Reserves or Guard, got deployed, from what I hear. It's funny because he missed a lot of last year for getting deployed then, and when he came back I joked he'd get deployed again. He assured me it wouldn't happen. Oops.

Anyway, back to those introductions. We have another prior service guy from the Guard who stated as one of his reasons for coming into the program was because he wanted 2LT in front of his name instead of PV2. heh. More laughs than the "don't-wanna-get-deployed-guy." Statistically, we seem to have less prior enlisted folks in my class than they did in others.I don't think any of ours are 11B's (which is okay, we already have more'n enough PT and tactical studs in the battalion). Our resident 19D, again, ain't with us right now...apparently deployed. The last 19D was comissioned last year.

I haven't told you all much about how my non-Army semester's been shaping up. Grad classes are...different. Better, I guess...but different. heh. Check this kid out. I feel a little like that now...Though, I think my first day as an undergrad was closer to her's there. You don't feel like that on your fourth undergrad year as much. It kinda rebounded back into that with my first day, last week, of grad school. But not so much. I'm a little more intimidated. eh...

So I'm really liking this MSIII year of ROTC so far. As far as "learnin' to swim" goes, it feels like they really do sorta throw you in the pool. There wasn't nearly as many responsibilities as a 2nd year cadet. But here I am in the meat & potatoes of the program. Wish me luck. Got a PT test on Wednesday.

Sorry to bore you all again. Pile this under the "crummy" posts.

Meanwhile, here's something to chew on.

I am an American Soldier.
I am a Warrior and a member of a team.
I serve the people of the United States and live the Army Values.
I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade.
I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills.
I always maintain my arms, my equipment and myself.
I am an expert and I am a professional.
I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies of the United States of America in close combat.
I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life.
I am an American Soldier.

Take care, all. Wish me luck, again. I can always use good luck myself, so here's mine to you.

Bodies Bleeding Bodies

2004-08-20T17:18:00.000-06:00

Terrorists. We haven't had an attack in the United States since 2001. Where are all the terrorists? Try here.

On August 9th, the insurgents...kidnapped the two Iraqi National Guard battalion commanders within the city subsequently killing at least one of them. [...] The Iraqi National Guard battalion commander that was killed was Lt Col Sulaiman Hamad Ftikan. We knew him as Sulaiman. He...is actually from the local Falluja area. He was kidnapped and murdered because he had finally gotten his battalion to stand up to the criminals...who have had their run of the city all these months. (Ibid.)

Why have we sent our troops there? Why aren't the terrorists here? Think.

There are terrorists killing Iraqis. If these are Michael Moore's "minutemen," freedom fighters against the oppressive yoke of American imperialism, who are the Iraqi National Guard? Who are the Iraqi volunteers assasinated by Syrians, Al Qaeda, or otherwise foreign mercenaries? Eighty percent of the current Iraqi National Guard troops, by the way, are former civilians (source). Who are these Iraqi National Guard volunteers killed on joint patrols with coalition troops? Perhaps you believe these Iraqi policemen and National Guard volunteers are merely stooges or collaborators of evil imperialists? Who, then, are the Iraqis treated or interred in hospitals, victims of Improvised Explosive Devices planted by Moore's "minutemen"? Who are the Iraqi interpreters helping coalition forces, themselves civilian volunteers?

...she wanted to help, so she quit her job teaching english and became an interpreter for us. We'd talk for hours about politics, Iraqi culture, books, customs, she even taught me a lot of Arabic. One day I stopped seeing her around the FOB [Forward Operating Base]. So I asked the other terps what happened to her, and they told me that they found out that she worked with the Americans, so they killed her sister. Shot her to death with AK gunfire while she was driving to go pick her up from work. I haven't seen that lady since. (source)

Why are those "oppressive" American soldiers dying "over there," you ask? Maybe you should ask why, again, aren't the terrorists here.

I went over my family's experience in World War II. They've seen babies impaled on bayonets. Now ask yourself: what were your grandparents doing from 1941-1945? Specifically, those who did not go to Europe or the Pacific.

Only continental Americans had the luxury of using the reverse-euphemism, "home front." While most of our "home-front" grandparents were rationing sugar, donating nylon for parachutes, or riveting airplane wings, other "home front" grandparents were avoiding firing squads, getting dragged away by Gestapo. Japanese soldiers were smoking cigarettes at local cafes. Not in New York. German stormtroopers were swimming in local beaches. Not in California. School children and church goers were dodging Luftwaffe bombs. Not in Kansas.

Today, what's happening "over there" isn't happening here. There is a reason for this. It's something to think about when we become cynical about the cause. It's something to think about when you start to buy the idea that what we're doing in Iraq isn't connected to protecting us...in our air-conditioned SUV's, when we're arguing about the November election, or dismissing the "annoying" terror alert of the week. Feel free to lament the evil miscalculations of the current administration in the nice comforts of your suburban home.

"Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many by so few" -- Winston Churchill

Don't Tread On Me

2004-08-20T11:12:00.000-06:00

There has been an interesting discussion going on in the comments section of this particular post on the blog I noted earlier (CBFTW's "My War"). It is regarding how we tend to view things as Americans and how different viewpoints exist for others. Plainly, the debate has centered around materialist/post-materialist views on the tangibles versus the "fuzzy." Do we value ideals more than things like security, economy, etc? The materialist/postmaterialist divide has been illustrated by political scientists as the growing trend for citizens to favor protections of ideals and the like (i.e. "Liberty" or "the environment") as they become post-materialist. Materialists tend to value economic stability, security, etc. This idea segues into the divide, I think, between those who commit themselves into protecting the ideals or the tangible. The divide is not a liberal/conservative one. Indeed, it certainly isn't a liberal/conservative one in America especially--"liberals" here are certainly not Liberals by definition (Liberal is more akin to Libertarianism). Thus, references to "left" below is not about welfare programs, or any other such topics the Democratic party has taken up (in fact, left-wing, in the below discussion, is the direct opposite of such stances).

Anyway, the debate centered around these two, Robre and Paul Edwards, posting in the comments section. For the sake of staying on topic, it's better to read the clippings here, rather than going into that link I gave you above. The board was full of separate topics and separate commenters. The following has been edited.

Robre said...
...It is hard for me to read the Iraqi constitution because it basically abandons social contract theory and grants the people of Iraq rights as privileges that can be taken away by law. The idea of a constitution is that it is supposed to be the contract between the citizens of a nation and its government. The Iraqi constitution totally abandons this when every clause of its "bill of rights" is ended with the phrase "under law." The people have the right to peaceably assemble "under law." Well then, they don't really have the right to peaceably assemble at all then, do they?
7:28 PM
Paul Edwards said...
So you mean Iraq is the same as every other country in the world (including Australia), with the sole exception of the US? As an Australian, let me assure you that you are completely correct. I quake with fear every time I step outside, knowing that my fascist government is about to take away all my rights, and there's nothing I can do about it. If you ever visit Australia, you'll feel the fear the moment you step off the plane. In fact, you'll be so scared yourself that you end up hopping straight back on the plane to the good old US of A, the only country in the world where the only thing stopping 14 year old girls from being hit by sniper fire is, well, nothing really. Anyway, you keep doing things your (correct) way, and we, and the Iraqis, will continue to suffer under our oppressive fascist governments. Of course, if we ever wanted to do things your way, all we need is a referendum to get passed with a 50% majority. But the people here have all been brainwashed so much that we actually enjoy being oppressed. We've heard about the wonderful freedom that the Americans have, and sometimes we wonder if we should probably have a constitution just like yours, so that we too can be totally free. But most of us do nothing about it, since we all assume that it's someone else's job to worry about how to overthrow the fascist Australian constitution and replace it with the a glorious revolutionary US-style constitution. You'll probably understand it better if you come and visit. You'd be amazed. When you go to order a beer, you have to look under the counter to place your order, because the bartender is invariably cowering under the counter, hiding from his fascist government. It's an amazing place. Seeing is believing.
8:58 AM

Edwards, above (with much sarcasm), goes into the differences that we Americans tend to take for granted. We (Americans) are free by natural law. We, through the government, limit this freedom as part of our social contract to cooperate for certain protection and efficiency. This is for utility, though we have a natural right to revolt should we feel the government is not just. We are not limited in purpose or desire by government, it merely exists--by our own hand--for efficiency to function as a group. We enter a social contract, by choice, by abiding by speed limits and stop signs, with expressed trust that others in our society follow suit. In such an example, a stop sign at a 4-way interesection would be useless if all the drivers going through it did not have a contract with each other that they'll stop. We follow this rule to get to our destinations in quicker, more orderly manners. This is all rather Lockian. In other points of view, governments are there for the possible purpose of utility but we are born into it. That is, there is no choice, necessarily, to abide by the "rules," and they are forced upon you by government.

Of particular note is the difference Edwards has brought up regarding these rules. From certain viewpoints outside my own, our morality stems from law written by government. On the contrary, the general notion of us Americans is that we have laws to punish actions. That is, when someone intentionally plows a car through a crowd, that person, if convicted, will be punished because he broke the social contract he had agreed to. We human beings (Americans?) avoid running pedestrians over because we choose to, in deference to common sense and inner morality. We don't refrain from plowing over little old ladies crossing streets because some Queen, court or parliament has made a law making it illegal. Edwards sees law written by the government as the sole thing keeping us from killing each other. "Big brother" government, by such measures, is all that is keeping us from hell.

Contrary to Edwards' apparent assumption, killing a 14 year old girl is wrong by natural morality and the laws of the US government. This is true whether the weapon in question is a car or, as Edwards' example, a "sniper" rifle. Murder itself, regardless of the tool, is "illegal," if that's what Edwards inflexibly needs to "protect" himself.

Robre said...
"It shall be lawful for the Queen, with the advice of the Privy Council, to declare by proclamation that, on and after a day therein appointed, not being later that one year after the passing of this Act, the people of New South Wales, Victoria, South Australia, Queensland, and Tasmania, and also, if Her Majesty is satisfied that the people of Western Australia have agreed thereto, of Western Australia, shall be united in a Federal Commonwealth under the name of the Commonwealth of Australia. But the Queen may, at any time after the proclamation, appoint a Governor-General for the Commonwealth."

God save the Queen.
9:12 AM

Paul Edwards said...
Robre, "God save the Queen"

In the year 2000, Australia had a referendum, to replace the Queen with a president. I voted in favour of doing that. Although a majority of Australians wanted a republic, they couldn't agree that the model being put forward was the one that they wanted. So it was voted down (basically out of spite). But I'll be voting down their alternative (because their model sucks).
However, had Australia got the 50%, the Queen would be history. You know it. I know it. And the Queen knows it. In fact, the British offered no opinion on the subject at all. They all said "If I were an Australian, I would offer an opinion".

As such, if you think that America has more freedom than Australia, based on the fact that we have a ceremonial Queen, you are lying to yourself, and it is nothing more than the same cultural bigotry that makes Europeans walk around with their nose in the air with regards to Americans.

You know it. I know it. And the Queen knows it. But keep repeating your folklore if it makes you feel superior. Personally, my heart goes out to the 14 year old American girls who have to face snipers just walking to the local shop. But whatever rocks your boat. You have a democracy too, and I know as well as you do that if you want to make 14 year old girls safe from firearms, it is in your power to do so. As such, since it is your democratic choice, go for it. Although with so much indoctrination on the matter, it is probably hard for you to ever make a sensible choice. But regardless, the freedom of speech and freedom of thought are available to Americans. If you can't get over your neurosis, that's just bad luck for 14 year old girls.
3:34 PM

The discussion shifts slightly to military deployment, and how Australia (as part of the commonwealth) fits into it all. Remember, we uppity Americans are in a funny club of colonies owned by the British; only, because of our little Revolution, we're not in the same category as Canada and Austrailia...

Robre said...
You think that Britain can't apply any pressure on Australia, but all you need to do is look at WW1 and WW2 propaghanda posters and see that it has happened in the past only 60 years ago.

A colonial constitution for a colonial nation in both Iraq and Australia.
4:44 PM

Paul Edwards said...
Do you have any idea at all as to why Australia is part of the coalition in OIF? If you go to www.newspoll.com.au and search for Iraq, you can see at the time of war, public opinion reached 57% in favour of going to war, 36% against. Any idea at all? Is it because Australia is a colony of America? Is it because Australia was pressured by the US? Is it because we were fishing for a Free Trade Agreement? Is it because we were scared that if we didn't do something, we'd be attacked?

The main reason Australia goes into these things, is a feeling of solidarity with the rest of the free world. That is why we turned up to help Britain in 1939 while you were hiding under your bed. That is why we turned up to Vietnam when Britain was hiding under the bed. It's not that we're after anything in return. It's because we are the epitome of freedom. And anyone who touches another free country has to do it over us. An attack on one is an attack on all. The smarmy Chinese dictators who massacred those children in Tianamen Square were OUR DAMN CHILDREN. That is why our Australian PM at the time, who incidentally is an atheist, literally cried in parliament.

So, if you want to treat Britain as some sort of imperial arsehole who you look down on your nose at, go right ahead. To us, they're part of the free world, and damned if they're going to be bombed by Nazi Germany. And recently, Australia has spent a LOT of effort trying to get to the top of Osama Bin Laden's hit-list. Quite frankly, I'd rather he attacked us than you.

But if you don't have a feeling of solidarity in return, don't worry about it. It's presumably a concept unique to Australia. If you think we get "pressured" by Britain or the Queen, just go right ahead. We do it out of a spirit that is obviously alien to you. No problem. You want to look down on us as a colony, go right ahead. You'll probably find surprised looks if you actually ask any Australian how they feel about being "pressured" to obey the British though, being a colony and all. ROFL!

BTW, this action was responsible for the forces of freedom creating a whole damn country (Israel): http://www.ezydvd.com.au/item.zml/3671

Most Australians haven't even read our bloody constitution, and are blissfully unaware that according to whacky American folklore, we are allegedly inferior. What a joke. Have you ever actually personally met any of these inferior Australians?
5:23 PM

Robre said...
Congradulations,most Australians haven't read their constitution. This makes anything it contains a "myth" even though it is THE document that defines a nation's system of government.
So you're saying it really doesn't matter if a government violates the principles of a social contract because no one cares about a constitution. Everybody should just drink and be friends and have "solidarity" and everything will work out in the end because you, Australia, will always be able to tell the right side of any conflict even if the right side always ends up being the British side. There is no need for silly things like laws and proceedures to evaluate the governments chosen course of action. I mean look, you were responsible for the formation if the state of Israel! That has worked out so well for the world. Why should a government ever be held responsible for its actions to the will of the people?

You should realize that I am not speaking of American ideas. Please read this: http://etext.library.adelaide.edu.au/r/r864s/

5:47 PM

Paul Edwards said...
... if you really want to go down the left-wing route, Australia is a defacto colony of Britain, and Britain is a defacto colony of America.

Personally, I consider it to be insulting to all 3 countries to say things like this. Trust me, we're not controlled by Britain, and no-one here gives the Queen a second thought. If a policy is not the way we want it to be, we know damn well that it's the arsehole sitting in the next cubicle who is responsible, so we'll vent our anger on them for being such dickheads. The Queen never enters the thought process. Nor does retaliation from the US, or the CIA, or anything like that. It's purely a debate amongst the population as to what is the best course of action, mainly from a moral point of view.

Unfortunately there are idiots in Australia who consider the UN to be some sort of "moral arbiter", and there was about 20% extra support waiting for UN approval for OIF. No attempt was made to explain to these people why the UN is a morally bankrupt organization, because the PM doesn't need public support to actually go to war. Nor does he need the GG's approval or the Queen's approval. However, this year the PM gets to pay the price for that decision. And the really big problem is that the Iraqi people weren't grateful enough for being liberated. I was expecting something like 90% to be overjoyed. It didn't happen. It is a bit of a shock to the pro-war side that people could not appreciate their freedom.

I wonder if it's because it isn't "true freedom", ie where the constitution doesn't have "under law" that is upsetting the Iraqis so much? Maybe if we got rid of those clauses, to be the same as the US, the Iraqis would suddenly start being happy? Worth a shot?
6:09 PM

The quotes, by the way, are comments left by others which Paul Edwards is responding to.

Paul Edwards said...
"most Australians haven't read their constitution. This makes anything it contains a 'myth' even though it is THE document that defines a nation's system of government."

It's not a myth, it's just not important to us. In actual fact, if they hadn't gone to a lot of effort to tell us the name of our first Prime Minister during our centenary year (2001), no-one would even know that either. What matters is our freedom, not some complicated fine print/theory that they teach in America (and that you posted a link to). That freedom is not threatened by our government, nor is it threatened by the US. Our freedom, or that of our allies (basically we don't really draw a distinction), was threatened by Germany, by USSR and now by various Arabs/Muslims. There is no concept of a threat from our own government, and even if there was, the Army would not stand for it. There is no concept of requiring arms to defend against our government. Which incidentally is just more US folklore. Modern wars are won in the air. If the US army ever goes up against the US population, it is the US army that will win. Exactly the same as happened in Iraq in 1991. The peashooters they allow the public can't actually penetrate a tank. And that glorious revolution against the British is more folklore. It is more like the Northern Alliance having a victory against the Taliban. The French heavy-lifting in the revolution was as important as the US air support in Afghanistan. Even the numbers are similar, the Northern Alliance being a MINORITY.

umm...about this US "folklore," and the idea that modern war is "won in the air." (Edwards has obviously never been in the military--at least not in the "thinking" part) With such a claim, he neglects Vietnam, where the VC and NVA had virtually NO air assets, and was the backdrop to some of the largest bombing campaigns of the US military: Operation Rolling Thunder, Operation Linebacker, etc.

I've heard this argument constantly on how privately owned small-arms alone aren't capable of taking on tanks. To that, I must emphasize: they're not meant to. I'll go into that argument another time; suffice it to say, partisans and revolutionaries rarely have anything more than small-arms. And while their track-record has been shoddy at best, they fight not in brute strength, but in the power of swaying opinion or dertermining fortitude. Heck, we can even use Edwards' own example: would the French have helped if we didn't use our citizen-militias and light the match of the Revolution? Indeed, the militias fared terribly against the redcoats...it was the Continental Army that was far more effective in the war. So does that mean those citizen-soldiers--those minutemen with privately owned firearms--did not play a role in the Revolution? It takes but a spark to start a raging forest fire. And a fire takes desire to put out. The British could have extinguished the Americans--they did not want it bad enough.

I'm sorry for the digression. Edwards continues:

"So you're saying it really doesn't matter if a government violates the principles of a social contract because no one cares about a constitution."

Britain and New Zealand don't even have constitutions. They're not as important as you think. We've got one, but no-one cares about it. We simply vote for whoever we want. And if neither party is suitable, we simply start a new party up. It's not that complicated. That's all that's required for freedom. You get a chance to kick them out every 3 years. What more do you want? The solution to any complaint is "go and start your own party if you don't like it". Everything is changable
6:29 PM

Robre said...
Okay, really I doubt London could force anything onto Australia but Australia and G.B. do have a very close relationship.

However my comment about Iraq was made about a brand new nation. I think the intentions of a nation's establishing force can be easily determined by the constitution they develop. The truth is that no one in Iraq really cares about the constitution legally right now at all, but the language of the constitution seems to show that the intention of the occupation and its government is not to provide liberty and soverignity to the people of Iraq. Because there are problems in the language of the law it is indicative of a larger problem of intentions.Australia was founded as a colony so it has a colonial constitution. This is historical fact.Iraq was not founded as a colony. We claim that we are staying in Iraq to give them liberty and soverignity. Are we really?

"The United States goes not abroad in search of monsters to destroy. She is a well-wisher to the freedom and independence of all. She is the champion and vindicator only of her own. If the United States took up all foreign affairs, it would become entangled in all the wars of interest and intrigue, which assume the colors and usurp the standard of freedom. She might become the dictatress of the world. She would be no longer the ruler of her own soul."
--President John Quincy Adams

This is what I am afraid of.
6:43 PM

Robre said...
Every republican government has a constitution, even New Zealand and Britain. How would a government function without developing a method of governing?

The collected works of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Thomas Hobbes, and John Locke are not "complicated fine print/theory that they teach in America." If you think this then I guess your country was struck by "soviet psyops" more than you think you think.
7:09 PM

Paul Edwards said...
Actually, we have a closer relationship with the US. We also have a defence treaty, ANZUS. We have no such treaty with Britain. Although there is that embarassing Commonwealth thing where theoretically we're meant to care about a whole lot of tinpot African countries. We don't.

"Iraq was not founded as a colony. We claim that we are staying in Iraq to give them liberty and soverignity. Are we really?"

Yes. They have it already right now. It doesn't get any freer, legally, than Iraq right now. They don't even have speed limits on the roads, unlike Australia. No restrictions on pornography, unlike Australia. These are the only two unfree things I can think of about Australia. For the US, I would add prostitution is illegal, unlike in Iraq.

"The United States goes not abroad in search of monsters to destroy."

Australia does not have this nihilistic hangup. We're quite used to traipsing around the world telling people what they can and can't do.

"This is what I am afraid of."

Nothing to be afraid of here. To fight a war properly, you need to do it globally. Your enemy certainly will. If you want to look for some US mistakes, take a look at Egypt. Britain and France, members of the free world, had taken it over. The US chased them away. How was this repaid? Nasser the Nazi aligned with the USSR, turned Egyptians into racist Arabs and bigotted Muslims, incensed them with the supposed Israeli and US crimes, frustrated them with dictatorships so that they couldn't express their desire to wreak havoc, and so they instead turned to terrorism, and you got 9/11.

In hindsight, that territory (Egypt) should not have been effectively handed over the the USSR in the middle of the Cold War. It is US's obsession with independence that hurt everyone basically. In fact, it was the thought that the US might have been an imperial power in Vietnam that made the US abandon South Vietnamese allies, frogmarching them off to communist gulags against their will.

The US started its democracy by only allowing nominally educated people to vote. As did Britain. When you allow uneducated people to vote, they vote for communists, because they don't understand modern economic theory. Most of these nasty dictators would have been better off as colonies. They were let loose too soon. If you speak to educated Indians, they realise this too. They wish Britain had delayed independence.

The US is currently taking a gamble by allowing a politically immature Iraq, just finished 35 years of indoctrination of lies, to take a step into the abyss. My peronal opinion is that the Iraqis are sufficiently educated to at least be able to tell the difference between a moderate and a demagogue, which will give the breathing space required for modern education, and freedom of speech to have its effect. But it really is a gamble. Of course, there's always the fallback of simply reinvading. But I don't think the US has the political will to do this. Japan was done in 7 years. Germany in 5. Iraq is being compressed into 2. My guess is that circumstances are so different post-Cold-War that it is going to work anyway. Certainly interesting times!
7:29 PM

I was really intrigued by Edwards' comments on Vietnam in particular. I leave it at that.

But, I summed it up:

spaceCADETzoom said...
Paul Edwards,That is a very interesting viewpoint about our penchant to Liberalism and our (US) "obsession with independence that hurt everyone basically." I think that's the crux of the controversy, though, no? We Americans tend to be deeply enamored with John Locke and ascribe to *ideals*. Such is the case with our "silly" private gun ownership. Truly, Americans are indeed swinging towards the direction you espouse...the last defenders of that "silly" 2nd amendment of ours are idealists willing to accept our gun realted crimes for liberty.

Maybe it does hurt us in the end...and from many outsiders (and indeed, many Americans), we ouught to give up the ghost and go completely into an ends-means game. To many, we sould adopt the complete utilitarian route that shuns "outdated"
notions of liberty for the sake of security.It's a valid argument. I accept the point of view...I don't necesarilly agree with it, but it is supportable.

I too share a certain fear of things that you don't have. You've enumerated them...our government, or in RObre's John Quincy Adams example, the US getting "entangled in all the wars of interest and intrigue, which assume the colors and usurp the standard of freedom." You value more tangible aspects like security rather than deals like "liberty".

I don't mean to make it a loaded equation...I truly accept your point of view. I'm often on the fence about this myself.

But I think that's where the divide lies. We should simply accept the different points of view...I don't think it would benefit anyone much more to make the case for either direction.

(by the way, to American readers, by Liberalism I mean it in the classical sense...not the social-Democrat sorta sense that we tend to call "liberal" today)
9:43 PM

It is an interesting divide. I think I'll just close it up though, with a not-so fence-sitting quote:

"They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." -- Benjamin Franklin

Angst

2004-08-18T12:05:00.000-06:00

So Lucas is on AMC right now. I know it's part of the cliche that is a teen movie, but it really pisses me off how Corey Haim is lusting after that chick from the Goonies not realizing Winona Ryder is right there lusting after him. I mean, really. I never really understood that overrated Molly Ringwald pining after Jake Ryan, hoping that "someway, somehow" he'd drop the cheerleader and look at her...when she won't dang look at frikkin Anthony Michael Hall the same damn way (yes, I know the irony of what happened between the two beyond the sets of John Hughes movies). I mean, if her damn standards or so damn high, why the hell does she expect someone else's to be low?

Hell, the cliche doesn't even work in Lucas. Winona Ryder is hot. And her character is sweet. Not that the Goonies chick is bad (and her Lucas character is sweet and well-intentioned as well)...I'm just saying, if dang Winona Ryder is throwin herself at you...

...I wonder where that Goonies chick ended up. I looked her up on imdb. She kinda didn't do much outside of these two movies. She's probably a soccermom now. For all I know she lives on my street.

We know what happened to Corey Haim...

You know, this post sucks. I rant about cliche, all the while sidestepping the fact that this very rant is of the same tree...eh.

Service And Sacrifice Via SUV

2004-08-16T15:35:00.000-06:00

John of ARRGHH! has posted a quick note concerning the treatment of the Darby family after the whistle blowing of the Abu Ghraib problems. He links the ABCnews story here (all links in my posts open a new window). SPC Darby (now SGT) was the soldier who blew the whistle. His family has been harassed by neighbors since the incident.

Obviously, the jerks messing with the Darby's are a buncha idiots. SGT Darby did the right thing, he should be applauded. Most sane soldiers would agree with that...

The backlash against his family, I would suspect, are from the "well-meaning" couch commandos and armchair generals that wave flags on their cars (or SUV's) and thus think they've "done their part." Those folks don't realize they're worse than the nuts calling soldiers "baby-killers." What, the American fighting man shouldn't be held to high standards? We should look the other way when gross injustices like Abu Ghraib are committed? Those idiots screwing with the Darby family think they're "for" the troops...not realizing how patronizing they are.

What SGT Darby did was what was expected of him as an NCO in the US Army (even if he wasn't officially one at the time). What the harassing neighbors don't realize is that the US Army is the most potent, powerful fighting force the world has ever seen. But it is also the most compassionate, and professional. Aberrant behavior as that depicted by the sickos at Abu Ghraib should not be tolerated. And as an enlisted man in this professional fighting force, it was Darby's duty to not tolerate such crap. It's like the oft-heard honor code cadets recite: future officers do not lie, cheat, steal, commit any act of intentional dishonesty, or tolerate those who do.

To expect anything less is to not accept that our US Army is indeed the finest display of service in the world. A brief anecdote I remember hearing (I think I saw it on the History Channel), recalls a tanker in the TC hatch of an Abrams rolling by destroyed Iraqi vehicles during the first Gulf War. Iraqis had dropped their weapons and had their arms in the air.They were screaming and begging, "Don't shoot me! Don't shoot me!" waving white flags and wearing soiled uniforms. The tanker said perplexed, "What? We're Americans...we don't shoot our prisoners."

Have atrocities been committed under the American flag? Sadly, yes they have. But in any way should they be tolerated or even written off as "normal" stuff that happens in war? Not in this Army.

I remember another article I was reading in the LA Times a month ago or so. I'm sorry I don't have the specific reference. But in it, there were soldiers being prosecuted for pocketing large sums of cash. In a Three Kings-esque episode, the soldiers had found ammo boxes filled with millions of American dollars in several buildings after the road to Baghdad. Apparently they had stumbled onto a large money cache of Saddam's. Everyone was joking, throwing around the loose bills. The platoon leader and First Sergeant came by (a fresh college-grad LT and a company's veteran NCO, respectively). A soldier threw a wad of cash at the LT and joked, "Here ya go, sir..." The LT and First Sergeant themselves did not pocket anything, but joked along and generally turned away at the suggestion cash be pocketed.

Higher had the ammo boxes of cash rounded up, though it was revealed there were missing ones. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were pocketed. Certain cans were buried to hide evidence. Thoughts of mortgages, car payments, and babies on the way had filled these soldiers minds. But it is argued that Saddam's cache of millions was obviously stolen, if indirectly, from the Iraqi peoples. Later, a soldier, now stateside, out of Iraq and consumed with guilt, confessed. Several soldiers were prosecuted. The LT and First Sergeant were among those disciplined. As an upstart 21 year old middle management type, would you have had the fortitude to step up and take control in such a tempting situation? It is expected in the role of an average platoon leader. It is prosecutable if he fails in this regard. Leadership, as shown in this case, is different than management.

Or let's take this beyond leadership: as a young family-man with a wife and a newborn baby, would you have confessed to pocketing the cash of a despotic dictator? Knowing full well it was a prosecutable offense, and that your sole household income was the average junior enlisted man's yearly base pay of less than $18,000 a year?

In a related note, there's been numerous cases of DEA and police corruption in the "war on drugs." In one example, of countless others: on average, half of all cops convicted as a result of FBI-led corruption cases between 1993 and 1997 were convicted for drug-related offenses. (source)

Yet, have you ever asked yourself why there hasn't been one such case within the US Coast Guard? The US Coast Guard, for one example, seized 55,000 kilos of cocaine in 2000 (and it has increased in recent years). (source) This branch of the US military has acquitted itself professionally--from the enlisted men and NCO's boarding ships, to the commissioned officers leading the way. I mean, imagine: they fight pirates. Pirates! In the 21st century! Despite such novelty of purpose, their professionalism is held to standard. The Coast Guard, the small, under-funded, red-haired stepbrother of the Armed Forces, holds the line. Know that its professionalism isn't something to be necessarily applauded...it is to be expected of them, as with any branch of our US military.

I think, again, this goes into the divide between civilian and military that is growing in our world. It is not necessarily one borne of animosity, but is detrimental in ignorance as well. The flag waving "Rah, rah rah!" types can be just as guilty as the "baby-killer" finger pointers. This also ties into my professionalism/officership discussion from before. Similar in illustration, when my grandfather was a "Third Lieutenant," he was responsible for his men, even as the quasi-officer he was (see my family stories post: The Great American Novel). When things were dire, when every thing was disbanded and the realities of Japanese occupation were solid, the "Third Lieutenant" walked home straight from the battlefield, after addressing his men.

What SGT Darby did was what other NCO's and officers failed at in that MP company. Many see the idea that the Abu Ghraib problem as "institutional" or a case of "bad apples" as mutually exclusive arguments. They aren't. But unlike what some would lead you to believe, the breakdown in the "institutional" side wasn't because of the evils of the US Army, but that of the failure of this specific chain of command. The problem was that these bad apples also had bad leadership--in the US Army, the leadership is responsible for it all. The "task, conditions and standards" were not in place. The task was not emphasized. The conditions were incompetently bereft. But most of all, the standards were not set. This was all a failure in leadership. And, yes, every 21-year old, fresh college grad LT in the US military is responsible for this.

The CO in this MP company had a history of "conduct unbecoming" an officer (in few other fields outside the commissioned officer corps is such a thing legally prosecutable: can you lose your job for adultery, lying or even fraternization?). Yet beyond the disgraceful conduct of this CPT, while PFC England was posing with naked prisoners, where was the platoon sergeant? Where was the LT? All of these are/were prosecuted, even if they weren't present. Indeed, there were NCO's present in the damning pictures themselves. Darby, a specialist, not even an NCO at the time, stood up and did the right thing.

Duty is not easy. Sacrifice is inherent in service. And there are high standards in our US military that civilians often do not understand. Don't fault SGT Darby, the one American soldier who did his job.

I Was Born, Six-Gun In My Hand

2004-08-14T10:00:00.000-06:00

There's been a debate going on about the relevance of videogames. Recently, in CBFTW's blog (I don't think I need to tell you about that site. It's very popular, and one of the most interesting viewpoints of any war ever put in words), the author remarked on his surprise about a computer game that simulated the events of a particular firefight he was in. There were comments made concerning "disrespect" of videogames, et cetera. It offers some interesting discusion:

spaceCADETzoom said...
kumawar [the game in question] has been around a while now. The original idea was to release mission/levels periodically to mirror "real life" events. But the game engine sucks, and it is genertally seen as a failure.

This debate about "disrespect" of videogame topics has been around for a while now too. How you look at it really depends on how you look at interactive media. If you respect it as an artform, you realize it's no different than movies based on real events. No one saw Saving Pricvate Ryan as being dirsrespectful...but did anyone feel guilty when their adrenaline was pumping when Tom Hanks stormed the beach? The audience was living vicariously through a celuloid character in an event that really happened.

The problem in interactive media is if you see the medium as childish and imamture. But remember, movies themselves were (and often still are) considered lowbrow and for the uncultured.

I don't want to bore you all with statistics...but the average PC gamer is well into his 20's or 30's, and has a bachelor's degree. Hardly the whiny 8 year old who dpeneds on soccormoms to buy thier pokemon game. The console market (ie playstation, et al) is another story, though...

True, there are a lot of childish video games out there, targeted for kids. But there are also childish movies...Please don't lump together all forms of interactive media as childish or irrelevant.
11:39 PM

spaceCADETzoomsaid...
Oh, in case I was too ambiguous...kumawar sucks...and they're rippin you off if you try and buy anything from them.

I don't necesarily doubt the makers are armchair-generals, with not a one veteran on the dev team (there could be, but statistically, there probably aren't). Overall, the kumawar example is a shoddy product, and many have complained it's exploitive.

That said, there are also plenty of couch-commandos that are products of seeing the Blackhawk Down movie, or reading too many Tom Clancy novels. I don't think Spielberg was being exploitve with Saving PVT ryan, but there are game developers out there that are similarly respectful, as well.
11:50 PM

The comments piled up, until there was one relevant comment by a poster named Bane:

BANE said...
CBFTW, I didn't get an impression as to whether you enjoyed the game, or whether you thought it was crap. I can't play a war game myself, until they allow collateral damage and the full-on craziness that goes on. The 'Black Hawk Down' game was totally worthless, because it penalized you for shooting civilians...heck, we stacked em up like cordwood.
8:13 AM

I replied, and the conversation continued:

spaceCADETzoom said...
Bane,You've just single-handedly destroyed my argument about maturity in interactive media. heh.

Of course, what I said about couch-commandos and armchair-generals, though....

Thanks.
9:35 AM

BANE said...
space, don't you get it? If you want to have a realistic WW2 sim, and you leave out the fire-bombing, the ovens and camps, and the A-Bomb, you're just playing 'Mario With A Machine Gun'. If you go all PC, then you can't call it a sim. My son who is a Marine recruiter, shows his prospects dread-violent video from the 'net to scare them off. If they can hang, THEN they talk. The Marines only need a few Good Men.
10:57 AM

spaceCADETzoom said...
Bane,
That's a sound enough argument. But you were complaining about getting "penalized for shooting civilians" in the Black Hawk Down game. Did you somehow think that shooting civilians gets you a pat on the back in the real world? I can assure you the penalty is much more than "reducing one's hi-score," but there's a penalty all the same. There are games out there that simulate your fire bombing and A-bombs. One of the finist simulations of all time, Steal BEasts, simulates the M1A1 Abrams on the battlefield. It's all rather sterile...there aren't any body parts flying through the air, no babies to shoot your coax at. In fact, I don't even rememebr seeing any dismounts in the game. Is this game politically correct, in your opinion, not worthy of your approval? Granted, tank warfare has changed some in the urban streets of Iraq, for example, but by and large, COld War era tank battles are sterile by your standards...

When I was talking about maturity or accuracy in interactive media, I wasn't necesarilly talking baout the Medal of HOnor series, or Black Hawk Down. Judging from your comments, I think we can agree Black Hawk Down the game wasn't that great a game. I found it fairly immature (but certainly not for the "civilian penalty" you noted). Interactive media isn't limited to run-and-gun gameplay. Novalogic's Black Hawk Down game is the equivalent of Rambo or any summer-action flick...not the book it took its name from. Medal of HOnor games are the equivalent of Dirtty Dozen or other action movies *set* in WWII, not documentaries about WWII.

Maybe you're thinking war is always like Full Metal Jacket or Platoon. Or maybe all conflicts end up like My Lai. But they're really not most of the time. ANd we certainly shouldn't applaud and feel cheated when we can't shoot the civilians in games. Because in the real world, at least in our military (yes, even Marines), we can't go shooting civilians either...

Your son shows potentials a violent video? Well, I'm sorry, sir, but it takes a lot more than being shown violent video to make a fine rifleman. I'm sure your son will attest to that.

Thanks for the discussion. I don't mean to be confrontational, it's not my intention to be argumentative.
8:07 PM

spaceCADETzoom said...
Oh, oops, I left you on the hook there about games that feature A-bombs and firebombing, huh? Sorry. For the A-bomb, there's a relatively recent flight sim out theere whose name I can't think of right now. Again, it's rather sterile, if you're looking for blood & guts...well, it's basically drop the bomb, high-tail it out of there, big flash...

As for firebombing, pick up any ol' WWII flight sim. There was a Mighty 8th B-17 sim a while back that has held up nicely to today's graphic standards. It's certainly tough, and gives you some respect for those bomber crews. You can be a gunner, the pilot, bombadier, etc.

One of my favorite games of all time was 1942: Pacific Air War. It was this game that took my ambivalence towards Geroge HW Bush (senior) and made hime one of my fave presidents...anyone who piloted a torpedo bomber in WWII has my respect. Try and find 1942, get yourself in a seat of a TBF Avenger and take off, navigate, and line-'er-up to a Jap carrier...great game.

All in all, you're not gonna find "frebombinbg or a-bombs" in first-person shooters...in run-and-gun gameplay. A-Bombs are certainly not close air support options. If you see an A-Bomb dropping, umm...I think it's safe to say you are "danger close". heh.
8:27 PM

I think overall, interactive media ain't quite there yet in the eyes of many. As long as those soccermoms are buying up Pokemon or whatever thier brats find fashionable nowadays, those soccermoms will consistently believe that it is crap. Every once and awhile they'll buy little Timmy the latest iteration of Mortal Kombat or Doom, be utterly shocked about the violence, and complain to CT's own fine Joe Lieberman...but that's another story. Violent...games...must fight urge....to blow away my classmates....arrgh. Bad company, 'till the day I die. All and all, heads up asses...

[UPDATE 4:54PM] Bane has responded further on the comments section of CBFTW's blog. Here's the exchange:

Bane said...
You may have misread me. Marines (all the ones I know, anyway) pass around photos and videos all of the time to each other, PC to PC. The author of this blog mentioned the cameras they all carry, and there is quite a collection of gore and war building up out there. My son shows these videos to his more gung ho prospects who may have never seen a db and wondered how the heck so much blood could be in there, or had someone talking to them with a mouth wound pouring out a constant stream down their chin. We've seen that, but these kids haven't. He never lies to them, and they are joining up in bunches. My son makes a relationship with their families, too. He is brutally frank and honest, and I would like to think the glimpses of war he's shown some of the less stout hearted kept someone from going in who couldn't hack.

As to games, and the 'shooting civilians' bit, if some gunner rips a civilian by accident in real life, does everything stop? That's what I meant...and the line between civ and combatant is pretty fucking thin in the sandy parts of the world.

And I've pulled triggers as an 11B and as a cop...cop games suck, too.
12:21 AM

spaceCADETzoom said...
Fair enough, bane.

...but...you will realize I am slightly frightened by the your "shooting civilans" bit with reference to your claim that you were were a cop. I'm particularly frightened you've noted you have "pulled triggers" as a cop. umm... :)

And I've also read some stuff on your blog (it's linked to your profile). I hope you don't think I'm some PC pussy or anything, but boy...you were a cop, you say?

Forgive me, I tend to be paranoid. Got a crazy gun-nut in me that stocks up on .45 and .223 (cops in certain states tend not to like us uppity civilans carrying rifles that shoot itty-bitty .223). So don't mind me if I'm scared silly of cops who are ticked they can't shoot civilans in videogames...

Peace be to you, brother
4:24 AM

Bane said...
Son, I am very drunk at this moment...dude, there are people in your neighborhood you would pay me big bucks to shoot...tonight. If you read their rap sheets and knew what they have been CONVICTED of already...you wouldn't let them watch your dog, let alone live within 50 miles of your kid. Trust me.
9:00 AM

I'm not quite sure what to make about being keen on pictures about death. Though, I can understand the Marine recruiter's actions trying to dissuade the gung-ho types that may not actually want to see the realities of war.

But about the cops lamenting they can't shoot noncombatants...that's kinda creepy, no? I think this goes into my discussion about guns in a previous post. At the end of that post I make reference to the idea that we ought to be scared of madmen, not guns necesarily. These madmen could have axes, chainsaws, anthrax, be behind the wheels of cars, or...have guns (or even have a police badge). It ain't the gun itself (nor, I guess, the police badge).

I don't care if I'm some squared away steel-chested tanker or SF officer in the future, cops like that scare me. I'd rather get AK's shooting in my general direction than find a cop pissed they can't shoot digital civilians. Bad company, 'till the day I die, sure...but you'll forgive me if I see trigger-happy cops and run scared like a sissy.

Professor X

2004-08-10T12:37:00.000-06:00

I found a comment in my An Officer And A Gentleman post from an interesting individual. He is a professor (though, maybe he isn't truly a "professor," and in fact he meant the moniker in an unofficial way…I'm truly dense, so I'm not sure). Anyway, he has one post on his very interesting blog that got me thinking.. . He begins the post with:

Welcome back. I see the rows are still empty, but thankfully, this is a lecture that others can come back to review prior to any exam.

I've always wondered if Profs actually do realize I'm not there. I've often wondered if the lectures are the same between those in empty auditoriums or packed classrooms. Do you college professors feel hurt, ambivalent, proud, happy or sad when you have all the seats full or empty? Are the lectures more engaging if the Prof feels the class is insterested? Does he care? I find my undergrad classes over the years have been rather impersonal. I wonder if they take it personally when we students don't show up. We often don't show up because we have the notion that the professors don't notice. Obviously, this can be taken to an extreme…it boggles the mind how blatant some undergrads are about having never shown up an entire term and wondering why they have poor test scores. (of course, I've seen the opposite as well…folks passing with A's in courses they've never been to. This is more possible in freshmen classes: I've literally been to only one lecture in a Biology 101 class…finishing off with an A in the course)

Well, the Bryan Singer movies have catapulted the X-Men to mainstream (read: non-comic geek) appeal, so I feel alright in discussing the following in an open forum.

I've always wondered what Professor X's background was. Really. Here's Professor Xavier, the big cheese at some New England prep school. Sure, the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters has extracurricular programs regarding those spiffy superpowers, but the basis of it all is a solid education. Graduates have gone on to colleges and universities and so forth. But what were Professor X's degrees in?

Charles Xavier must have had an interesting time as a student. He's the world's most powerful telepath. I've often assumed this was the basis for the fortune and technology that his X-Men rely on…how can the most powerful telepath not be rich? I'm not necessarily talking about nefarious maneuverings to unfairly become rich…but surely, the reading/controlling minds thing must have had some play in bankrolling the neat costumes, facilities, the hypersonic jet that launches from an underground runway. Tuition of a hundred or so odd kids (plenty of them from non-rich families and thier tuitions waived or from some financial aid program) can't possibly go that far, can it? Telepathy and idea "borrowing" had to have been in play there, no?
I mean, it's a hypersonic jet that has stealth capabilities, can outperform F-16s and carry a boatload of people at the same time(!).

So what were Charles Xavier's school years like? I don't think he was a cheater…it's not in his character. Plagiarism is one of the most serious crimes in academia…and I'm sure that's not a road the future pusher of the "peaceful coexistence of Homosapiens and Homosapiens Superior" dream would have taken. But one wonders how such an ability to read minds played out then.

According to the movie's continuity, Jean Grey is a doctor (Not in the comic books! I was this close to walking out the theater in a huffy geek fit). I'm not sure if she's a medical doctor or that of something else. It's implied she has some genetic background, though. Anyway, she went through Xavier's school, and went off to higher learning. One would assume that's what Xavier's contribution is: helping young mutants adjust to the often hateful world and become productive citizens (outside of the fighting evil thing, of course).

Anyway, what am I getting at? Well, here's probably the most frightening professor of all time, Charles Xavier…HE CAN READ YOUR MIND! I don't think I'd like to be a student of his… Though, I have found experience of tenured professors has often been adequate enough for them to rather "telepathically" know things about thier students. Then again, perhaps this is a gauge of the individual professors. There are profs that you like or dislike, ones that are detatched, ones that are engaging...ones that grade way too easy ("I pulled off an A? What? Does he realize how stupid I am?")...Anyway. Some Professors rock. Some, not so much. But like Professor X, they are "helping young mutants adjust to the often hateful world and become productive citizens (outside of the fighting evil thing, of course)."

Maybe I'm talking about teachers in general. Or maybe it ain't that idealistic. Particularly in higher learning academia and specifically the research universities. But the effect is there.

Okay, now that I have totally and completely nerded out your computer screens…

The Long Gray Line

2004-08-09T07:36:00.000-06:00

I stumbled by an interesting blog yesterday of a young lady from North Carolina. The girl is dating a West Point cadet. She's keen on Z28's too...rock on.

I posted previously on my Annapolis aspirations. And as much as us "other" cadets would say we made the "right choice" and may even find ringthumpers particularly snobby...I must say there is still a tinge of envy. Envy is too strong a word. But it is there. Then again, maybe the Brown or Harvard students who're ROTC cadets don't see it at all. heh.

By the way, I said this in my officership discussion below...but it holds particular relevancy to the topic at hand as well: You should really go read Absolutely American by David Lipsky. I could say it's about West Point, but that would describe the book in smaller terms than what it is actually about. Even if you're not interested...read the book anyway, it's a great book regardless of what any preconceptions you may have about it. If you really look at it, it isn't about the military at all. It says some stuff about officership and leadership, but it also says plenty about life in general.

Anyway, it's pretty common knowldedge the military has had retention problems of its officers at O-3 levels. It's also pretty common to find West Point grads having the highest attrition rate among these separations. ROTC grads have a significantly smaller attrition rate and OCS folks even less. This isn't all too surprising. I have my theories.

For one, ringthumpers (don't worry, my sister is one as well, so this ain't coming from thin air) can have a tendency to be all hooah'ed out by graduation. They've spent 4 years in garison, and unlike any other garison-time the world over, one can superficially conclude it's all terribly frat-like at these Academies (I'm sure it ain't, but hey, such are outsider conclusions). Regardless, there seems to be a higher cynic rating in the process. ROTC cadets, on the other hand, are "normal" college kids. Outside of PT, we probably wear a uniform once a week. We only really have one big summer exercise the four years (unless you wanna go to Airborne school, et al.), an FTX or two per semester, and training pretty much one day a week. We have a chance to refresh, and get away for a while from the military thing. Even the operational, non-cadet Army isn't as structured in one's personal life as the Academies. Academy kids, for 4 years they live military. Though life-encompassing and much more exhaustive in its complexity, thier experience is like basic training...only cadets are cadets for four years.

What I find funny is that MI has pretty high consistent atrition of its O-3's. Also, Field Artillery. heh. You want my theory on FA attrition? I think it's because it has all the tough work that the other combat arms have...but less of the glamour and esprit de corps. It's still got more esprit de corps than most the other branches of the Army, but combat arms is a particularly taxing field (get deployed plenty, get the boots muddy more often, separated from the family more, etc). As for MI, I think most intelligence folks have BA's in government or business or other such fields. They get wooed easier by the private sector as they're the talkers...they think they can get jobs easier. That, and plenty branch MI thinking it as a stepping stone into civilian-sector stuff like the CIA or Gestap....errr....I mean FBI. The private sector is a siren call for the sharp kids and consistent high school high-achievers (i.e. Academy cadets). What surprises me is the high retention rate of AG and Chem Corps officers. heh. My guess? Private sector ain't so receptive to these folks.

Anyway, OCS folks, particularly in the Army, are very often folks with years as prior enlisted. Thus, they're a different kind of dedication.

You know, I wanted to discuss this further. With particular emphasis on my thoughts on West Point (flattering, I assure you). But i think my ADD is kicking in. Or ADHD. Or whatever it's called. I think maybe the folks who made up the title of Attention Deficit Disorder/Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder were a bunch a nuts who couldn't makeup thier minds. heh. Later.

il Mostro Rivisitato: Mio Padre il Meccanico Grande

2004-08-08T20:12:00.000-06:00

So I ordered that clutch slave cylinder for my Ducati Monster that I mentioned the other week. The installation was simple enough. But the bleeding was a bitch. I've never bled a clutch before, and the instructions that came in the box wasn't the best in the world...it kinda assumed anyone who'd buy an aftermarket clutch slave cylinder must be some gearhead and thus doesn't need clear instructions on bleeding. My father helped me out. Actually, he pretended he knew more than he did, generally made a mess, cursed profusely and was in the process of quitting. I fixed it. He pushed me aside again, and now says he fixed it himself. God bless my pops, and all the great dads out there.

The pressure wasn't strong enough. The problem was that we missed a simple little bolt tightening. I caught it pretty quickly, but pops...well, idiot sons can't possibly know more than thier fathers.

It turned out well enough.

I bought a Garand last year through the CMP. It needed some cleaning and whatnot when it arrived in the box...

By the way, if you want a piece of history, I highly suggest you all look into the Civilan Marksmanship Program for thier M1 Garands. You can choose to get an actual WWII issue Garand. The surplus rifle you get may very well have had played a role in liberating the world from Fascism. All you need is to be a member of some shooting club (the NRA doesn't count...but there are clubs out there you can get in for free). If you're a veteran or currently in the military (DD-214 or even an active military ID will suffice as proof) you can waive the target shooting activity requirement. Otherwise you can simply go on down to a local range, ask around about any target shooting...In fact, the club you join would probably have information on how to get with fellow members and put a couple rounds of .30-06 in some paper for you to qualify. The Garand is only around 500 bucks. A great deal considering Springfield Armory has one for over a thousand bucks (it's a ripoff, you ask me...even thier M1As...I wish the CMP sold M14's). And those Springfield Armory's ain't got the history. Nutcases and felons need not apply, but the CMP sends the Garand to you straight to your doorstep...no need for an FFL or even a Curio & Relic license (background check still done, obviously). Not to bore you, but the CMP was created way back when by the government to keep the skills up of us citizen-soldiers. I'm trying to save up for an 1903 Springfield, as they sell those too.

Anyway, pops "helped" me out cleaning it too. Guess whose cabinet the Garand is in now. Hint: it ain't in mine.

eh. What are you gonna do?

It was a good day. My mom says I'll probably look back fondly on this day ten years from now or so. heh.

An Officer And A Gentleman

2004-08-05T21:02:00.000-06:00

This ain't a political blog. I've refrained from telling you all to vote for a particular candidate not because I have some deep commitment for balance or have the all-too-American ideal of political apathy. I just don't think I'll change anyone's mind is all. And I'm not arrogant enough to think I'm the guy to be telling you anything...I'm not some star of some movie, or anything. heh. Honestly though, the following is not a strike or cheer for any of the candidates. I'm not making a statement on the issue of the election in November. Enough text has been typed about that worldwide. (Besides, my relationship with the Army, or rather specifically, my continued future relationship with the Army would preclude me from such overt political displays of endorsement) This discussion is merely on "officership." And responsibility.

That said, there's been plenty debate about the whole Kerry swiftboat stuff. If you don't know what I'm talking about, skip this post and continue onto another post of another date below (I promise you'll be entertained somewhere beyond today's...I'm particularly fond of my family stories post and top gun post)

I think John of ARRGHHH! on his blog has a very interesting viewpoint of the whole thing, that is definitely worth a read. (Go ahead and read it first. The link opens up a new window. I'll wait. I swear.) I've visited his blog for a while now. It doesn't hurt he's got a Field Artillery background and that he's a gun-nut like me (I guess that's being redundant, huh?) hooah. King of Battle!

Also take a gander at the comments section of the link I provided...he has some interesting things about the Bush's Air Guard time that I've always had but never got around to voicing. It's uncannily verbatim of what I've said in the past, aloud. Some choice stuff:

What does it matter if Bush went to combat or not? Most people in uniform, did not. Draftees were over-represented in the combat elements, to be sure. Still, most people in uniform did not see much, if any combat. He joined the Air Guard. He learned to fly a dangerous aircraft, the Convair F102 fighter, which, by the way, carried nuke missiles, the Douglas MB-1 Genie. I know something about nukes, having been in nuke-capable artillery units and in the 'special weapons' business. Slugs don't stay in the PRP, the Personnel Reliability Program.

The F102 is I believe the only aircraft Bush was signed off on to fly. It's an aircraft that was designed to get up fast, go high fast, and nuke incoming Soviet bomber formations. It's not a fighter as we think of fighters, much less a fighter-bomber. It's mission (and this is why the Guard had most of them) was the air defense of the United States. The AF experimented with either the F102 or it's follow-on, the F106, and found them useless in Vietnam-style warfare. You don't just hop from the cockpit of an F102 into an F4, and go bombing in the Central Highlands. There is at least a six-month transition phase between aircraft of those types - as the pilots not only have to learn how to fly the new aircraft, they have to learn how to use it, tactically. First in straight pilot stuff, and then in two ship formations, then in larger formations. It's not a simple process. At the same time - believe it or not - the war was winding down, the AF had all the F4, Skyhawk, Skyraider, and Thud-drivers it needed. The mission to defend the US was still considered important. The AF is looking ahead to an impending draw-down. Okay, so Bush didn't get to go to combat, even if he asked - the AF simply didn't need him badly enough to want to spend the effort to retrain him. The situation is analgous to an Army Air Defense Artilleryman. There was no credible air threat in South Vietnam. Does that mean the Duck Hunters are somehow tainted for not 'getting into combat'? No. Last I heard, no nuke submariners served in combat positions during Vietnam. They were too busy stooging around under the polar ice caps. Chicken? I don't think so.

Another point - not everyone who asks for a combat billet, gets one. I sat out Desert Storm because the Chief of Staff, Army, decided that the Observer-Controllers at the National Training Center were too valuable in their current capacity than adding them as 'padding' to the deploying force. All requests for assignment overseas were denied. I tried working a few angles. It didn't work. I am also getting tired (because I apparently just don't get it) at the DID NOT SERVE and DID NOT SEE COMBAT theme.

[...]Most people in uniform did not see combat. Less than 3% of the total population of the United States was in uniform, and maybe 30% of those saw sustained combat. In the target population of draft age, what, 15% actually got called to the colors?

This ain't up for you all to give three big cheers for Bush or anything. I'm just tired of folks who've never been in the miltary talk about the Air National Guard like it's somehow not the Air Force. I'm sure there are vets out there that may have stuff to say about it all, but I find, most often, the opposite kind of folks comment on this most viciously. You see some Marine in Oceanside walking down the street...do you spit at him because he's not in Iraq at this very moment? Or, let's go on over to Los Al...there's a "weekend warrior" past the gate...he's not a "real" soldier, right?

John of ARRGHHH! has brought up some interesting issues that have been bugging me about the bigger issue at hand. I posted a comment in another person's blog in which I defended the ideal of comissioned officers in the US military. A very many people are ignorant about what a comission is, and many confuse it with simple soldierin.' In my very very first post (you'll have to wade down thorough it) I went off on the whole military/civilian growing divide. One issue is that people confuse what an officer is. I think there's a bit of word inflation going around that is contributing to the confusion (i.e. police "officers", et al.). Thus true comissioned officership is not held in high regard by the ignorant. Among the ideas of inherent professionalism in the officer corps ("Professional" is seeing quite of bit of word inflation as well, by the way), John of ARRGHHH! notes:

In this republic and in any republic that does not want to be a banana republic, the officer corps of the military must be as deferent to the civil authority as law and custom provide. Which means, we don't get to pick our wars, and just go home when we want to. Or serve when we want to. We go when we're sent. Where we're sent. For the reason we are sent...(Ibid.)

He goes on into stuff that's irrelevant to our discussion. Folks don't especially understand this one point John has made about officer's duties and responsibilities. I said something like that before also. I swear that guy is channeling (down to the "banana republic" line...are there bugs in here?). But, I posted the following comment in another blog where folks were commenting on the whole Kerry swiftboat issue:

spaceCADETzoom said...
I got nothing to contribute about this debate. I don't care one way or another about these swiftboat vets "outing" Kerry. For the purpose of this comment, I am not for or against Kerry or Bush.

But I take note with rab's comment. rab said: "Even if I believed that Kerry committed war crimes when he was following orders as a United States soldier...the fact that he came back to congress and testified about it and marched against the war would and should override it."

Kerry wasn't a merely a soldier. (He was a sailor...but semantics ain't the problem). He was a comissioned officer. "Following orders" may fly if you're a private or seaman (emphasis on *MAY*), but it certainly doesn't stand for jack as an officer. 21 year old ensigns (or 2LT's) are responsible for thier men. Everyone from generals to 0-1's have responsibilities beyond themselves or thier peers. Non-military folk don't get the whole "responsibility" thing involved with officers. Comissioned officers can be prosecuted for things they did, things they didn't do, things they didn't prevent, and things they didn't even know about, but should have.

Read up on Japanese war crimes. With specific examination of the fact those prosecuted were almost without exception officers. Even if it was enlisted soldiers doing the specific crime in question...the officers had responsibilty. Even the specific crimes my great-aunt was a sworn witness to in the trials...an officer was prosecuted, not necesarily the Japanese soldier who comited the act. (I had a huge post about old family stories on my blog the other week)If Kerry was part of some war crime, he should be sent to jail. Protesting war after the fact doesn't "override" anything. He doesn't have to be prosecuted for taking part of a crime itself, but if he knew about it, as an officer in the US Navy, he had a responsibilty to do somehting about it. *That's* prosecutable itself

I'm not saying he was involved in any war crimes (in fact, I doubt he saw one).

I guess it's hard to explain what comissioned officers are. I'm sorry if I'm not clear. Just, please, don't go off spouting about what negligible and/or criminal acts are permissible or what can be "overriden." It cheapens it all, and is ignorant in general

Thanks. No disrespect intended to you.

This all goes into responsibility. And tellingly, for example, a comissioned officer's responsibilities to his soldiers does not end when the whistle blows. Is this the way middle management works in the corporate world? Of course not.

"Rab," the person who I was addressing, responded. I replied to his response. I post it below.

Rab said, "I take back what I said about 'following orders'...because a war crime is a war crime...and there is no absolution for the low men or the high men on the totem. [But] just because Kerry was an officer...doesn't mean that he didn't follow orders during the war. How absurd. Do you really think each and every officer determines their own war plans?" [emphasis added]

spaceCADETzoom said...

I didn't say that. Re-read please, and lose the defensiveness chip on your shoulder. I wasn't tearing into Kerry. I was tearing into misconceptions of officership.

Shooting civilians is not "war plans". I think you think that officers are somehow incapable of making moral decisions...when in fact, that is thier job. If some 4-star general were to say "shoot that baby." The 21 year old Lieutenant platoon leader is responsible if one of his privates does so. (as is the general, et al.) There was nothing "absurd" in officer responsibility other than your ignorance of it.

Keep in mind I never said Kerry comited any war crimes. My contention was in your wrong conlusion "if he had".

Rab, to make use a better hypothetical example:

A 22 year old 2LT platoon leader is on trial because one of the soldiers in his platoon killed a baby. For the sake of illustration let's make the killer a 30 year old sergeant named Doe. The defense attorney for the officer (the LT) has limited choices in defense. One defense: the LT was incapable of knowing or preventing the act. This would require the LT to be completely new...having just rotated in, and is new to the platoon...for example, he just got to the platoon as the act was taking place. "Captain so-and-so, the company commander, said to kill the baby," is NOT a defense for this LT. Neither is an adequate defense that "SGT Doe killed the baby without my order." Indeed, even the "new to the platoon" argument may not work. Japanese General Yamashita was hung even though most of the atrocities that he was prosecuted for happened *before* he arrived.

If the LT *should* have been able to prevent the crime, he is guilty. Such is the responsibility of officership.

Furhtermore, cases like that have happened. To keep using the Japanese examples...young 20-seomethings, Japanese junior officers, were sent to jail for the beheading of American POW airmen. Even though they were "ordered" to. There are cases where junior officers in the same position, having been ordered to behead a POW, being sent to jail even if they hadn't the stomach for doing the beheading themselves. Some MAJ or COL wanted a beheaded POW, the LT doesn't want to do it...some NCO does it. The LT is still cashiered as a criminal all the same.

You should really go read Absolutely American by David Lipsky. I could say it's about West Point, but that would describe the book in smaller terms than what it is actually about. Keep your eye on LTC Keirsey in the narrative for this "responsibilty" ideal, in play. Even if you're not interested...read the book anyway, it's a great book regardless of what any preconceptions you may have about it. If you really look at it, it isn't about the military at all. It says some stuff about officership and leadership, but it also says plenty about life in general.

Anyway, all of this, again, wasn't about Kerry or Bush necesarily...but more about the military. I just think the whole topic is fascinating and most are just ignorant of it all...the growing and lamentable divide. This wasn't the first, and this probably won't be the last time I ramble on about it.

I don't think I have to go into too much why this is important to me. It has implications in a lot of the ignorant things I've heard about "what's wrong" with the military in regard to Abu Ghraib and My Lai. Though, this topic holds the most importance for me because, if you recall, I am an Army cadet.

I am an Army Cadet. Soon I will take an oath to become Army Officer committed to defending the values which make this nation great. Honor is my touchstone. I understand mission first and people always.

I am the past -- the spirit of those warriors who have made the final sacrifice.

I am the present -- the scholar and apprentice soldier enhancing my skills in the science of warfare and the art of leadership.

But above all, I am the future -- the future warrior leader of the United States Army. May God give me the compassion and judgment to lead and the gallantry in battle to win.

I will do my duty

Crap. Here comes Richard Gere in his dress whites and goldwings (dang fighter pilots, they get all the chicks). Now, cue the 80's soundtrack....

Love lift us up where we belong, Where the eagles cry On a mountain high Love lift us up where we belong, Far from the world we know, Up where the clear winds blow...

Darn you naval aviators! I got that crap song in my head now. (Yes, I know I'm a dork. Stop making fun of me, I can hear you)

Branson, MO

2004-08-03T17:40:00.000-06:00

So there's this guy I knew from high school that took a job in Japan. I was reading some of the thoughts he put down in his blog and he made the coment on something about the place being: "Peaceful. Beautiful. Quiet. Too quiet."

I know someone else currently in Europe. I've known a handful of people who've gone to Europe. It's the over-educated, privaleged thing to do. I'm not demeaning the idea of going abroad. But I can't help but feel there are so many of us rich kids out there that are so keen on going out there, seeing the world, seeing something exotic, that we forget how truly sheltered a lot of our lives are (ironically and paradoxically). It seems in this elitist quest to broaden our horizons, many fail to realize they haven't even explored thier own country let alone another's. It's this snobbery that one must partake in...to experience culture one must look at another's. The irony is there's this urban California bubble. "This culture," in such eyes, is north Orange, LA culture. These folk don't even know all of California, let alone America.

(As an aside, by "rich" I'm not referring to silver spoons necesarily...we Americans have a funny scale of things. Everyone assumes they're in the middle class. Not true.)

I was in a politcal philosphy class and the topic is not relevant to our discussion, but along came the everyday "flyover country" quip so often heard in the halls of academia. "I don't vacation in Branson, Missouri," laughs the professor.

How many of those kids backpacking in Europe have been to Branson, Missouri? I know Californians who've never been to Stockton or Bakersfield (these aren't "small towns" by any stretch). There are Californians who've never been to Yosemite, or even our own capitol, Sacramento. Heck, in a previous post I made a passing self-depricating remark about the common conception that we have a predeliction for IROC Z's and El Caminos in the Inland Empire. There are Californians who scoff at flyover country, not realizing "foreign cultures" that they've traveled halfway around the world for have been in thier backyards all along. In many ways, there are American folks out there that would be more lost in Montana than Luxembourg.

A lot has been said about the red state/blue state divide. Heck, I've written a handful of undergrad papers about it myself. But are the opposite sides of the red/blue wall so terribly far apart that we dismiss each other? Maybe it's not both ways. I've seen plenty of tourists from Podunk in Times Square. Have you seen many Manhattanites in Podunk?

There seems to be a lack of acknowledgement of it all. Maybe it's just me. There are American folks that find the concept of plinking at cans with a .22 on open land as foreign as eating a Japanese pizza that has squid as a topping. There are Americans that watch the bull fights in Spain, but have never been to a rodeo before.

I've been to Europe. As a spoiled college kid myself (backpack and all). I liked it immensely. The people, the cultures, the sights. The history. It was all different, and was an experience I would trade for little else. But I've also been on a road trip that brought me from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Those are memories just as memorable.

So back to this guy I know in Japan now. He's living in a house outside the city. He said it was all "Peaceful. Beautiful. Quiet. Too quiet." I find it funny that he had to go halfway around the world, to a nation that is virtually 100% urban, crowded, overpopulated and congested, in order to find an unsettling "quiet." In a nation that is virtually 0% agrarian, he found a "rural" quiet. California has a world class farming industry. The city we come from alone is the dairy capital of southern California (we have a rodeo every year). All of this is lost on the foreigner in the strange land of "rural" Japan.

il Mostro

2004-07-31T23:31:00.000-06:00

Okay, I just got finished telling you all in the previous post that I love my m750 Ducati Monster. But I now covet another...I just got back from the dealership, because my sister was interested in a bike. We didn't quite find one she immediately liked, but my heart has been stolen by another. It's still a monster, so maybe it's not really too bad. I was lookng at the 2004 monster 620ie. Yes, it's a smaller engine. My M750 is a 2001...the very next year ducati intorduced fuel injection to all the monster engines. The next year after that, all the engines got upped. At the time, 600's couldn't be found in California (our bikes are litterally different than other states' bikes....our emissions standards see to that...as such, many makers don't introduce certain models to CA...for example the retro-cool Kawi ZRX1100 wasn't initially here either). I got a 750. But the dry clutch is a bitch. It's been a couple years, and I still think it's a bitch. It's heavy as hell. You need to be some super forearmed freak to think nothing of such a heavy lever. It really makes the bike not as fun to ride as it should be.

The 620ie is fuel injected...and its performance is almost identical to my 750. The wet clutch is smooth and light. The one I saw was a yellow standard model. Mine's a "dark." Meaning it's sans fairing, seat cowl and shiny paint. I like the 620ie I saw. It looks sleek, shiny. The seat cowl and bikini fairing just make it look faster. But there's somthing badass about the flat primer black that my m750 is in. I'm torn aesthetically. But I like the 620 in ride. Oh well, I have no money anyway.

But I still hate the clutch. I hear I should go get an aftermarket slave clutch cylinder...it'll make the lever a lot lighter. But it doesn't sound like something I can easily install. eh.

Sorry for boring you. This post sucks, I know. I still have that paper to write...and a powerpoint presentation to accompany it. eh. I still blame naval aviators.

Steampunk

2004-07-29T11:42:00.000-06:00

Yes, I said I wouldn't post for a while because of schoolwork. This post says I lied. A wise man told me once that "If you wait until the last minute to do something, it will only take a minute."

A friendly visitor posted a comment (in the Great American Novel post) concerning that picture of my Para-Ordnance P-13 over there on the side, as my blogger avatar. The comenter was relieved I didn't turn out to be a lunatic. I posted a reply:

well, I don't shoot *people* with that gun. heh. Just stray dogs...defenseless animals...that sort of thing. No, I'm kidding. Really. I don't kick poor old ladies down stairs, either. I think the previous picture I had up there in its place was creepier.

I used to have a self portrait up there. Someone asked what happened to the "artsy" self portrait after I had replaced it. I have a growing boat-load of pictures that I have been taking like a madman since I got my digital camera a few months ago. After art school, I had decided I would never pick up charcoal or guoache ever again. One early picture I took that I liked was that one you see to your right.

I don't want to come off as an even bigger nut than I truly am. But I like machinery. The lines, the idea of human ingeneuity. I ride a ducati monster. it's a "naked" bike, meaning the engine is exposed, as opposed to those spiffy riceburners and the like with the fairings. It's naked because everything is exposed--the engine, the trellis frame. If you've ever seen a ducati monster you'd know what I was talking about. 999's get all the attention--and yes, they are better bikes. But there's something very beautiful about bikes like the monster. Something flat out attractive about the fact it doesn't try to hide the hoses, the cylinders, the pipes. My dad rides an Indian. A big honkin' American cruiser (he likes to call my little bike a "pasta burner"). I can sit there for hours just staring at that shiny v-twin. The exposed push-rods, gleaming exhaust. I like the forms. There are sharp lines. There are long smooth, curving lines. There are relfections of faces, of the environment. There are flat areas which seem to absorb light. Parts are scalding. Other parts are cool to the touch. Cruisers and naked bikes revell in the breaking of the lines. They both embrace and shun the speed form. It's beautiful. It's mechanical.

Poets greater than I have commented on the firearm as "the great equalizer"--that which is the culmination of brains over brawn. In times past, the bigger, stronger, faster caveman dictated all. The big, hairy giant of the group chose where to sleep, where to go, when to eat. To the victor the spoils...and the victor was the man who could swing the club better, throw the spear farther. Skill became part of the equation, but it was all still based on physical ability. Later, the cultured nobleman who afforded fencing lessons and cultivated the art of swordsmanship, was always the superior over the peasant. Swords required greater skill and practice than the average joe could afford. The industrial, mechanical instrument in projectile-throwin' changed that. The firearm paved way for greater egalitarianism. Armored knights, landed gentry, no longer had the monopoly on power. The backpacker could brave wilds, venture off self-sufficient. Such things ultimately allowed a backwards, uncouth, upstart of a nation like ours to forge ahead, to make a mark, to set a place among the lineage, brawn-driven old world powers. (As an aside, though, they often easily counter with the idea that our "brain" isn't necesarily intellectualism)

But all of that is beside the point of my fascination.

There's something very...beautiful...of mechanical objects to me. I went on a very short rant somewhere below on how there are plenty of engineering students nowadays that have no passion for the art (and it is an art). There is a generation of engineers that are merely white collar number-crunchers. They seem so completely indifferent to it all.

The Para-Ordnance on the right is a derivative of a design by John Moses Browning, a Mormon from Utah. In fact it is mechanically identical to Browning's original Model 1911. It wasn't the first self-loading pistol in existence, but it is arguably the finest design to have been machined. Better writers can translate the mechanical into words. I sadly can't--and will have to leave this as a "take my word for it." I'm fascinated in the same way by those old steam engine locomotives. And radial-engined biplanes. And the sprockets on a bicycle. It goes beyond the classic or historical nature of it all (though I love that aspect as well)...it's the sounds, the sights. It's the fact that, yes, internal combustion engines should drip oil. The fact that there's something neat about seeing a carbeurator in action, and not fuel injectors buried under plastic. I like the chiseled, definite forms, the shapes.

I like the ingenious nature of harnessing the escaping gasses building pressure, pushing back the 1911's slide. This in turn is ejecting a spent cartridge out and loading a fresh one on its way back. I like the idea that during the controlled explosion of the whole process, a simple little metal link is all that's keeping the pressure bleeding off slow enough to prevent the slide from simply flying off into an operator's face. I like the heft of metal. I love the arrogance of us simple monkey-like beings--how we don't simply accept that we weren't born with a sabretooth tiger's claws, a bird of prey's talons. I like that we don't accept that water must flow this direcetion or that we cannot live in a dry desert like the spot Los Angeles sits in. I like the process, the reasoned thought in the culmination of design. I like the ability to take problems and solve them through Rube Goldberg methods of interaction. But I also I like the specific simplicity of operation. The effeciency of every action having a role in a process.

I'm not someone who craves violence or anything. I have some misgivings of branching a combat arms branch when I graduate...so I'm not one of those folks that wants to "killl, kill, kill," or anything. I'm not against it though (a big part of me would count myself lucky to branch something hooah like Armor)...I just don't want the impression out there that being fascinated by something like a gun is necesarily linked to the desire to hurt. It isn't. I've never shot at anyone. I've never been shot at. I don't hurt small animals. I don't want to rob a liquor store. When someone cuts me off on the highway, I have never considered pulling out a gun and blowing them away. I wait in the same long lines at the DMV as you do. I am frustrated all the same. Maybe there's a lot of projection going on. People think they themselves would go postal. But no one has ever been frightened that a disturbed driver on the highway would intentionally plow into a crowd because he was cut-off. The object in that equation is a car. The gun (irrationally?) has a different connotation to a number of folks. But when is an object an object? We're not talking "destructive devices" here. They are not volitile in nature as virgin explosives are. A gun can't spontaneously shoot a bullet without an operator's usage or negligence. It simply cannot.

I like cars. I like bikes. I like guns. I even like raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Don't get me started on brown paper packages tied up in string, I just might go into a song and dance.

The Gods Are Angry

2004-07-28T09:43:00.000-06:00

I posted the following in a response to some comments in the previous post. Just to let you all know, but...

I may not be posting as much the folowing days. I got a medium-sized paper to write that I've procrastinated on (as always). It says 'grad student' over on the side there....but I'm actually finishing up my very last undergrad class at this very moment. There's so much of me that just wants to say screw the paper and hope for a C. I hope i didn't jinx anything by writing that. eh. I'm not superstitious. I don't think. But then again, maybe I'm tempting the superstition gods by saying I'm not superstitious. Like, "AHA! That young man is not in fear of us! We shall teach him a lesson!"

The Great American Novel

2004-07-27T12:35:00.001-06:00

So have you read this particular one of my previous posts below: Forgetting Failures? That's the direct link (it'll open a new window), though you can simply scroll down, I posted it up on Saturday. You really should read it. Anyway, about that Army CPT in that post. I was curious and typed up her name in google. (I do that a lot. Strangers and acquaintances alike, beware!) It seems she wrote a book and published it via instantpublisher.com. It seems to have been a graduate school project. I was thinking of buying it. I think I would have bought it immediately, if it wasn't for the fact instantpublisher is a self-selling sorta site. If you publish via instantpublisher, you basically buy quantities of your own book, so that you can in turn sell it yourself. Which means I'd have to go through the writer. What if she asks, "Hey, how'd you know I wrote this? What's that, you looked me up on the internet?" That seems creepy. It would seem fairly stalkerish to me. I wonder if stalkers ask themselves if they're being too stalkerish.

Anyway. I've always been looking into selfpublishing and stuff. I figured it was neat. Not that I think I'm ready to write anything like a book or anything (my skills as a pro writer are obviously lacking)...I just like the anti-elitist idea of it all: how any joe can go publish a book. Neat. So, I'm from a storytelling family. We carry on the oral tradition. Particularly on my father's side, accuracy is no obstacle to a great story.

I think it's why I liked Big Fish. It's my favorite Tim Burton movie. Well, I always had this idea to take down all the stories of my grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, etc. They'd all together make an outstanding picture of the American experience. My mom said I really should do this...frankly, my great-aunts, great-uncles and my last grandmother aren't going to be around another 30 years.

My great-uncle, Uncle Jesse, brother of my father's mother arrived in California at the age of 15. Sometime in the 1910's. He was by himself. He was 15 years old and sailed an ocean to work in some foreign field. Uncle Jesse alone had stories to fill books. He has been in prison for stabbing someone. He was a bootlegger. He's been a driver for...unscrupulous types...in Chicago. He was a "commando" (his words!) in the Army during the war, though spent much of it in a hospital (he loves telling his shot in the ass story...apparently, everyone has those). He vividly remembers the depression. He finally settled in Stockton, where he had first spent his early years in America (look up California history to see why Stockton has a significance). No one seems to know what happened to him the last two decades...but we still have plenty of second hand accounts.

My Uncle Frank on my father's father's side, also came to California on similar accounts. But by most measures that's where the similarities end. He had leading man good looks, by classic movie standards: litter ally tall, dark and handsome. By most accounts, he was a matinee idol. Oddly enough, uncle Jesse, completely unrelated, and unaware his sister married my grandfather halfway around the world, knew this "guy named Frank." There's a certain timeless clash between leading-man-types and rough-and-tumble-types. Uncle Frank eventually married a white woman, no easy feat considering people could get killed for interracial courtship at the time.

My grandfather spent the war years in the Philippines. He hadn't seen his older brother Frank since they were both children and he left for California. My grandfather was sorta drafted on December 7. He was visiting a friend on post, and well...the Japanese attacked. Remember on December 7, Japan was bombing Hawaii, but around the same time was invading the Philippines. (There are some ignorant folk that don't remember the Philippines was our little experiment with extra-continental imperialism...it was a territory of ours until 1947). Anyway, my grandfather, a newlywed and merely 21, found himself a "Third Lieutenant" in the US Army. He had some college under his belt and they figured he'd be an okay quasi-officer. He recalls images of Japanese grenades being rolled down hills to chilling effect. A commander callously yelling to advance. Filipino conscripts huddling in fetal positions.

When things basically went to hell, everything was disbanded. My grandfather told his men to disperse, evade, and try and get to their homes safely. My grandfather then walked home himself. My grandmother took his uniform and threw it in a burning house. Women were yelling that the Japanese were killing anyone in a uniform. The Philippines was occupied territory. I have relatives that continued the fight, as insurgents. My grandfather's youngest brother, Pedro, was killed by the Japanese as a guerrilla. He was 17.

My mother's father was too young to play the partisan or soldier. He recalls selling cigarettes to Jap soldiers.

My grandmother on my mother's side was looking for her young sister near the end of the war. She was still calling her name when she found herself near a hospital and bombs were dropping. She was hit, fell and lie there bleeding. She eventually got to safety by tugging on the pant leg of a passing GI. She still has a sliver of shrapnel in her lip.

My great-aunt, this grandmother's older sister, was lined up in front of a firing squad. She dropped like dead weight when she heard the shots. She does not know how she survived. The Japanese had even bayoneted the piles of bodies. Miraculously, she survived this as well. She was an eyewitness in the war crimes trials. She testified to this, as well as the often heard story that Japanese soldiers threw babies in the air and caught them on bayonets. She was a first-hand witness.

Near the end of the war, my grandfather was reissued his US Army uniform. They were training to take the fight to Japan, and the units were getting reorganized. They were expecting plenty of casualties, but were training hard with the tactics learned throughout the war. He was in the middle of training, committing plans to memory, when the bombs were dropped.

Uncle Frank, having not been in his native Philippines in more than ten years, visited his brother, my grandfather. He was a visitor in his American uniform. My grandparents thought he was some spit-and-polish, dashing white man when he pulled up in a jeep. Imagine their surprise.

My dad and his siblings had a remarkably "To Kill a Mockingbird" like upbringing in the relative-boonies. He used to go hunting with his dad and the best darn hunting dog in the world, Kelly. He used to play in the fields and jungle, once finding old rusted Japanese Arisaka rifles and a samurai sword. My aunts have stories of beating up bullies that picked on their younger brother, my future dad--the same man who would later clear my closets of boogeymen. My aunts and uncle have stories of ghosts and monsters haunting the roads and fields. My father recalls my grandfather waiting on the front porch all night in a rocking chair with a shotgun across his lap. The neighbors swore they had seen an evil, though beautiful, apparition of a woman in white at night. My grandfather wanted to see for himself. He was angry the following morning when he never saw anything.

My grandfather was a professor at the university and was well respected. The zoo had lost a crocodile. My grandfather, the best shot in the province, put a bullet straight through its eyes while it was crossing a road. He was also in the reserves, so every so often he'd go drill. The Muslim problem in the southern Philippines has been around before the Spanish got there in the 1400's. The 1950's was no different. But my grandfather, a man not afraid of anything, the best shot in the province, the sharpest professor at the university, and an officer in the reserves, was well respected by Muslims and Christians alike.

My grandfather had written a letter to President Johnson asking for citizenship, citing his service in the US Army. The response, signed by the president, is still framed, one of my grandfather's prized possessions.

My father went to high school in central Los Angeles at Belmont High. The name would mean something to you if you are southern Californian. It wasn't the greatest of schools.

He enlisted as a 17 year old in the Navy. He wasn't even a US citizen yet. My grandfather had to sign a waiver, as he wasn't 18 yet either. My grandfather disagreed with his decision, but couldn't dissuade his stubborn son. He was his father's son, after all. He was an airman in the V-4 division on the Saratoga (the purple-shirt guys running around on the flight deck). On the Vietnam cruise, the Saratoga swung by the Philippines, and my dad visited my grandmother and aunt(immigration is a piece-meal deal; folks across oceans can't simply run across borders, and they were a generation borne before the deluge of illegals post-Marcos). My father, the visiting "American" in the uniform, was almost as unrecognizable to my grandmother as her brother-in-law, Uncle Frank, had been so many years before. My aunt told him to be careful because of the war. My grandmother, in a rather amusing spontaneous lack of sense, said, "War? What war? The Japs are long gone..." As part of Operation Linebacker II (pick up a book), certain V-4 sailors aboard the Saratoga, in an unreported near-scandal, were getting antsy having not eaten for more than 24 hours. My father single-handedly, though probably unintentionally, averted a mutiny.

In college, using his GI Bill, my father was sitting at the student union at Cal State LA. They were looking for extras for MacArthur. In the film he had a closeup, firing an antiaircraft gun, right before getting blown up by a Jap bomb. He and his pal "Greg" Peck hit it off (ok, that was surely exaggeration). He was part of the Screen Actors Guild, until they kicked him out for not paying dues. He was an Air Force reservist in an air refueling squadron for a while. The flight sergeant would often call to ask if he'd show up for drill "this week."

My grandfather was a teacher for the LA Unified School District. He taught in a pretty rough school. Everyday, with a terrible accent, he'd proceed to tell his math classroom filled with angry black kids that they were "idiots." One day, my father brings my grandfather his reading glasses to this classroom, because he had left them at home. My grandfather stopped the class, and introduced his son, "the engineer." "He goes to college, unlike the rest of you idiots...he is very intelligent, my son here, Junior." My father, embarrassed, left the room.

My grandfather died estranged from my immediate family. He was close to all my aunts' and uncle's families. But my father, my grandfather's very own oldest son, was never the same to his dad after a bitter divorce. My grandfather was a womanizer even as a senior citizen. My grandfather's own "Junior" was the sole person angry among his siblings. My dad remembers his dad bringing him to register for high school. He remembers the first pair of American pants and shoes he got, bought by his dad at a Sears in downtown LA. He remembers the dad that picked him up from the airport after leaving the Navy. But he also couldn't forget the dad that left his mother in another country. He would remember the dad that cursed when he found his would-be-ex-wife there in America; as a "surprise" from his adult children, they paid for a plane ticket for their mother. He remembers, though, the dad that was so happy at his first American-born grandson's birth. He remembers the dad that got drunk with his son's father-in-law at the hospital handing out cigars. He remembers the veteran, the man not afraid of any neighborhood apparitions, the best shot in the province, his first hunting buddy, the dying old man in a nursing home.

My father's family was a relatively "off-the-land" type of people. My mother's side was decidedly urban bourgeois, not quite blue-blood. When my mom came to America she wasn't particularly fond of the move. She had a perfectly alright life where she was, she figured. Before California, they had two maids. And a driver. She recalls a haughty fit when she was very young where she asked her parents why the maids didn't call her "senorita." As a very young kid, my father remembers painting his shoes because they needed to be black for a formal affair.

They met in college. Truth be told, had both my parents been Filipinos and not the Americans they were, they probably would not have married. Class distinctions as it is. Imagine, a simple provincial boy who went fishing in his backyard, with a city girl who went to private schools her entire life. My mother remembers a trip to the province as a very young girl where she took a ferry and felt mildly sorry for the folks on the deck roasting in the sun. They smelled. Her family had a stateroom. My father, as a youngster, took a similar boat, possibly at the same place. He was on the deck with his brother and sisters. Lord knows if they were there at the same time, same place, by some funny twist of fate.

My father was from central LA. My mother from West. He was loud and uncouth. She was quiet and shy, though studious. My father's first car was a Dodge Colt in which he had to use his hands, hanging out the window, to wipe the windshield in the event of rain. He had bought the Colt in lime green, with the money he saved from several jobs and from what he gained from selling his little Honda dual-sport motorcycle. With the car, my mother wasn't relegated to clinging for life behind my father on the back of a tiny Japanese bike.

My mother considers herself the "Jan" to her older sister's "Marcia." This Jan was the overachiever, the good student which every teacher adored. Marcia still came out ahead in attention, though. My mother's younger sister suffers from Down's Syndrome and is thus still the baby. She's still my grandmother's "special child." My mother's brother was the favorite—beneficiary of college cars and allowances. He could get away with murder, so says my mother. My grandfather taught his children to drive stick going up and down a single road in west Los Angeles. My mother remembers the 8-Ball shifter.

My mother's father was a disciplinarian. Though he was a loving father, he had a stern demeanor. He died in his 50's, an American for merely a handful of years. Though he lived a relatively healthy life without cigarettes, lung cancer consumed him barely past 50. He would be there to give away his daughter, my future-mother. He died the very year I was born, the first and only grandson he would know. We lived in their home as I was a newborn. He had worked feverishly to complete a fireplace and wood & mirror wall, desperately hammering with a delicate touch to avoid waking the baby. They picked out a grave, he lay on the ground where he would rest for eternity. He taught my grandmother to drive, she had never driven a car before. He drove himself as per routine for chemotherapy, until my mother insisted he was too weak. He died in his sleep.

Stories actually weave here and there. Relatives that weren't relatives at the time had crossed paths and so forth. The stories told are countless and it's really too bad this American son is too lazy to put it all down.

Semper Paratus

2004-07-26T20:43:00.000-06:00

So I wrote before how my sister went to school at the Coast Guard Academy. I just find it really neat that my little sister is a fresh little butterbar ensign. Big woolychested chiefs call her "ma'am." heh. Imagine that. All 5 foot 2 of leadership excellence (oh, wait...that's AROTC's motto).

I wanted to get her a present before she went off to her first cutter. I wanted to get her a stuffed parrot, eyepatch and plastic "wooden" peg leg. I settled for a book. But I like what I had in mind first.

"ARRGH!" says she.

"Welcome aboard, ma'am," says aforementioned woolychested, 6 foot 5, 250 pound, head-to-toe tatooed Chief Petty Officer. He'd be just at home on an 18th century whaling ship.

"Hop on one leg, ye blisterin' sea dog!" yells the little ensign--a cute as a button 21 year old, commanding authority (because of the wooden peg leg...don't you watch pirate movies?).

"...uh....ma'am?"

"I said ONE LEG! Petey, me parrot, don't take kindly to yer wasting my time!"

"Aye aye, ma'am." See 6 foot 5, 250 pounds of tatoos hop on one leg.

Ok, I'm not some salty newenglander. I'm a Californian. As you can tell we don't sail much here. We like cars. And surfboards, I guess. But I'm from the Inland Empire. So, if you listen to the folks from Orange County (not "the OC." Don't parrot anything you hear on TV) or Los Angeles, us folks in the Inland Empire hang out at WalMart, in between cruising around in our El Caminos (only because my IROC Z is up on blocks in the front yard). That's all, of course, only if there ain't a NASCAR race on.

To many, what the Inland Empire is to the rest of southern California, the Coast Guard is to the rest of the US military. It's too bad the Coast Guard has kinda been the poor red-haired stepchild of the Armed Forces. Poor thing. It doesn't get the groupies that the Marines get. (They get male groupies, even. It scares me. the next time I see someone say something how Marines are 7 feet tall and can blow fire from thier asses, I'm gonna throw a manly hissy fit). The Coast Guard doesn't get the ridiculous amounts of female enlistees or cushy posts that the Air Force has. The Coast Guard doesn't get the street cred that the Navy has with massive air wings of fighter jets, nuclear powered aircraft carriers or balistic missile submarines (Tom Clancy's wet dreams don't include the Coast Guard...wouldn't be interesting if Jack Ryan hitched a ride on a cutter...378' or otherwise). I'm not even going to compare it to my beloved Army.

All that said, I'd like to take the time to note the Coast Guard could probably wipe the floor with any NAVY that any single other nation can put to sea. All this is unsubstantiated and highly the product of boastful imagination, but in my opinion the US Coast Guard could single-handedly kick the ass of the British Royal Navy (please see disclaimer at top of page). Up until relatively recently, the high endurance cutters were armed with Harpoon anti-ship missiles. How's that for bad ass? They still got point defense phalanx guns (I don't remember what they call'em...that's what the Navy called them), so they can shoot down incoming missiles. The 378's got Mk92 Fire Control Systems, with good ol' fashinioned 76mm guns (they replaced the old 5"). They got all that and a whole lotta gumption!

No really, though. I really think the Coast Guard is neat. And it doesn't get the attention or respect it deserves. They participate in all our wars, get shot up as well as the Navy does, and contribute in proportion that dwarfs their actual size. Rememeber Saving Private Ryan, all you folks who must link everything to experiences from movies? Guess who drove most of those Higgins boats? Heck, go ask an in-the-know (fire-spewin' even) Marine about Signalman First Class Douglas Munro. Concerning the Marines he was protecting with his own body, his last words were, "Did they get off?" The Coast Guard is in Iraq. They've had boots on the ground (they're not somehow just floating around in the Gulf). It's had its reservists deployed--pulled from the same American families and civilian lives as that of any highspeed 11B's. Consider the scrappiness of the little service: the New York Fire and Police Departments combined is bigger than the entire US Coast Guard. The Coast Guard's not nearly as well funded as its higher profile DOD brothers are, and what little attention it gets is in the idea that they save folks caught in storms. Yes, they do that...but they do a whole lot more.

Monkeys

2004-07-25T18:29:00.000-06:00

I was exploring this blogspot thing further today. I left the following comment on another person's site.

I happened by because I clicked "John Denver" on my "music" list on the blogger profile thing...just to see if there are any other folks out there that would admit it. [...] It creeps me out you listed Jim Croce and John Denver, consecutively, in the same order as me. I was looking at other people's profile pages and it amazes me to no end that that wasn't the only coincidence I found. Who'd have thunk (yes, not a word) that folks could list stuff like skynyrd, linkin park and gordon lightfoot together as well. They're actually out there. Imagine my surprise. Maybe it's not much of a coincidence...more like monkeys pushing random keys...I guess it just shows I'm not a real music fan...merely eccentrically eclectic.

Forgetting Failures

2004-07-24T20:41:00.000-06:00

I'm a pretty slow runner. Granted, since high school, I've gotten a lot worse. I'm at my peak, so far, at the moment...but it was a long road to regain this ground.

I wanted to be a fighter pilot since as far back as I could remember. Every asshole says this...but I meant it. I live and breathe aviation. I had a plan and it consisted of Annapolis and eventually goldwings. Somewhere along the way my eyes didn't get the memo. My prescription right now is absolutely terrible. I think in the end, I sort of sabotaged myself subconsciously in high school because I knew I'd never be a pilot (for the military anyway). So my grades were pretty sucky. (I graduated with a 3.10 GPA...but that's only because AP classes were weighted). I got my nomination from my congressman, but I still think it's only because the Naval Academy guy on the review board liked underdogs. It didn't surprise me when I wasn't accepted by the school. (I got on a wait-list for the Merchant Marine Academy, though) Looking back, I guess I could have tried for NAPS (prep school)...but I think I just felt rejected by it all.

So I went with what I was good at. I went to art school. I think it worked out well enough, but someone forgot to tell me that talent is only half the equation to be completely successful in art. Passion is paramount. Engineers can get by without it. Biology majors, etc. But not art. So I got plenty of C's and I wasn't terribly happy with it all. (not because of my grades...they were only indicators)

Anyway, I ended up at Art Center College of Design (in Pasadena). Great school. The service bug never left, though. Heinlein saw to that. He's influenced me since I was 10. After about 2 years of art school, I tried calling up USC's Air Force ROTC detachment. They couldn't cross-enroll me, though, from the school I was attending--so I figured I'd just apply for Air Force OTS after college.

Then September 11 happened. I think I wanted to hasten my involvement. I transferred to the nearest public university so I could cross-enroll for ROTC. (I posted about this before somewhere below) I decided to drop art because I just came from the best dang art school in the country only to find myself in a mediocre one at a public university. So I finished off a BA in political science instead, because I don't write half-bad...and I have a bigger passion for government and politics than art. Guess I should have started with Poli-Sci to begin with. I figured at the time I was a better artist than writer. heh.

Anyway. I was just about to call up USC's AFROTC detachment again when I noticed they had ROTC on campus at my school. But it was Army. eh.

Traditionally, my family has had ties to the Army. Most guys in my family had served in it at one capacity or another. But I never figured it for me. Mainly because I was intimidated by the running.

My first PT test I ran a 25 minute 2 mile (again, I slacked off immensely after high school, and it had been 3 years since I had run any distance). People can walk faster than that. Retarded folks can walk backwards faster than that. I think my one mistake was not signing up for PT my first semester. It ain't mandatory if you're not contracted, and at the time I was just testing the waters. I finally passed a PT test just a couple weeks ago. Oddly enough, my score actually decreased, because my grader was being a lot more picky about my pushups.

I still have a long way to go. My score right now is only 214. It's out of 300. The APFT consists of a 2mile run, pushups and sit-ups. Each event is 100 points possible (though, there is an extended scale for the PT studs). My last score was actually 224. But it wasn't passing because a score under 60 in any one event is failure. Even if you get 100 in, say, pushups and sit-ups each, yet only get 59 in your run (that's 259 total), you will fail. Technically you can pass with 180 points by getting 60 all around. My first passing score was 214...a full 10 points under my highest score (which was failing). heh.

Anyway. My running still ain't where I want it to be...but it is where it needed to be. I want enough of a buffer so that even on a terrible day, with a dang bone sticking out of my skin, I can pass a PT test.

I remember the final APFT during the spring I felt so terrible that I failed. The funny thing is, I felt terrible mostly because I let down my teacher, an Army captain, who helped me during the semester. She was also the enrollment/recruiting officer in addition to being cadre member and instructor of my class. Furthermore, she wrote a letter of reference for me in my graduate school applications. I felt bad I failed myself, but worse (absolutelygodawful) that I let her down. She had run with me during the semester and paced me during the actual test. She was leaving us this summer. That was my last chance.

It was the final APFT, and the CPT was running alongside, pacing me. Every once and a while I slowed down along the 2mile route, and she'd slow to quicktime, making me realize I was "running" slower than her walking.

"Damn it, let's go...Push. Make it hurt."

"Keep up with me."

"You need to want this."

This went on for a good fourteen minutes. Until finally:

"Start running like an officer in the US Army."

As a I crossed the finish line and heard the time called out, I wasn't sure exactly what it meant. The time keeper was calling out seconds. What minute was it? As I was trying to focus and regain enough strength to not vomit out everything in my system, I found out. I failed. I was short 20 seconds.

I'm probably never going to see the CPT again. The move wasn't a normal Army change-of-post thing. She was leaving the Army altogether because, in a seriously poetic irony that only fate could think of, she married a Naval Aviator.

I finally passed another test a mere week after she left. She will probably never know. I felt good that I finally passed the other week, but I can't shake the idea that the last test she would see me run I had failed.

She won't remember me years from now, I'm sure I'm just one of the infinite number of people that have been filtered through her eyes. But I think my failure will stick with me. Hauntingly, she will stick with me. I will never forget her.

Vroom...Vrrrrooom.

2004-07-24T09:44:00.000-06:00

Spike TV (the channel) has nonstop car-related TV shows on Saturday and Sunday mornings. (sidenote: I'm shocked that Saturday morning cartoons have lost thier allure on me...I'm not sure if it's whether today's cartoons just suck, or I'm "growing up." I think it's the former. I've been just as likely not to pick up anything when I drop by Toys R Us the last few years. I'm spending more money picking up old toys on ebay. I think toys, like cartoons, suck now too. Poor kids these days...they got crap).

Anyway. Cars. There's this show called "redline tv" and I was watching it and there's this Japanese guy "teaching" us Americans how to "drift." He said somethin like we Americans are progressing and we're "almost" to the level the Japanese are. I can't help but think this would be like some Brazilian telling us that we're "almost" as good as them in soccer. Well...duh...red blooded Americans couldn't give a rat's ass about soccer.

I'm exagerating. I don't want homebrewed soccer-hooligans showing up at my house. (aww...how cute...an itty bitty American soccer hooligan).

Anyway. I hate Vin Diesel. It's his silly movie that brought the whole Honda fixation back. I'm from California...at the time that silly movie came out, the whole "I-can-take-a-Jap-four-banger-and-play-pretend-muscle-car" thing was already on a a slight fad-ish downturn (at least to the average non-fanatic). bleh.

I had a Honda Prelude in highschool. I wasn't delusional about what it was...a Japanese econobox. As an undergrad, I was looking into something british...I was thinking Triumph or an MG. They were cheap, and looked spiffy. And the history. The Datsun 240z was an impulse buy. $2500 of all the cash I ever had in my entire life. What better car to get than the one that pretty much served the death knell to the British car industry in America? A timeless sportscar that rivaled anything of its day, for the price of the best Europe had to offer, without the unreliablilty burdened on anything British.

I've always loved the Z. I was never a fan of what happened post-1973 to the line...they just got uglier as the generations progreessed. There's something timeless about the original 240z--and something dated about all its offspring. Even the 300zx, by most measures a great car, will be perpetually stuck in a 90's rut. Look at it. It can be argued its an atractive car, but I don't think you can argue its a timelss car. I think the 350z will be dated in a few years as well. It looks tied to today's lines.

So I was selling my dad's truck on ebay last year (actually, a few months ago). I had listed it at just shy of $2k to get bidders inteerested...I was already getting calls about it and interest was decently high. My dad earlier agreed to let me sell it and keep the proceeds...he just didn't want the truck anymore. Well, I wasn't around and he picked up the phone one time only to find a potential buyer on the other end. Long story short, the next time I came by the house, the truck wasn't there anymore. Pops had sold it. For $2000. I had bidders up past $5000.

I've never seen my father genuinely sorry for anything. He's the stubborn, decisive type. God bless him for it. But here he was, after I told him, near tears. Sorry.

Anyway. Guilt is funny. I got the proceeds of $2000...coupled with about $3000 of previously hoarded cash. By impulse (coupled with guilt) I found myself the owner of a 3rd gen RX-7. It had cost $10k, a steal because it had a salvaged title. As far as we could tell the seller was honest when he said it was a salvage "theft"--rather than it being totaled or anything. Pops put up half of the price. I found myself the owner of 2 cars. Me, a fulltime student without a job...two gas-guzzling sportscars. (Most of my cash came from my student loans...I was surprised to learn that you get checks sent to you concerning the balance of the loans past tuition. heh. I used your taxpayer subsisized federal student loans on a silly sportscar)

I could go on into 3rd Generation RX-7's, but I'll leave that off for another day. Suffice it to say, they're damn beautiful (yes, in a timeless way). They're relatively rare. They could beat the Corvette c4's of thier day...probably even the ZR1's. Sucker handles like slot car.

God Bless America

2004-07-23T23:51:00.000-06:00

Okay, maybe everyone has seen this already, and I'm hopping on this bandwagon way too late. But darn it all to heck if this ain't one of the funniest things I've seen. I really love being American...especially after seeing this. (click the picture)

This Land...

While we're on the topic of neat stuff that you've probably already seen...

Here's somthing else brought to my attention a long while ago. Check out one example showing that our schools are just stifling genius. This kid is genius, truly genius. I'm not even being sarcastic...do you realize the thought it takes to make someone laugh like this? I present, El Nino. CLICK HERE

Tears me up seeing such untapped potential...