I'm all settled at my FOB. I have an address and a room and a bed. We go on missions at least once a day. I get time to go for a run around the helio-pad sometimes. I get at least one meal a day. Its not that bad. Its not that good either. But then again what is?

Its cold here. Not freezing, just cold. And sometimes the wind blows and it makes me think of December in NoVA.

Choose Life?

I had a debate with Scott the other night at dinner. It was about the Zombie Apocolypse. I was saying how fucked we'd be if it came while we were in the Army. (This is due to the military's painfully slow reaction to any event previously unplanned for.) I said that this FOB would go to hell in minutes and "Zach" would be crawling over the T-walls in no time and we'd be dead within the hour. Scott claimed he would not.

See his plan involves grabbing some ammo and getting the fuck outta dodge. Mine involves getting ammo, standing on the wall and being torn apart by zombies.

I find Scott's plan morally reprehensible. Why? What will dying on the wall acomplish? Admittidely not much, if anything, other than peace of mind for myself. It might just be me, but I don't think you should run from an enemy when running and staying to fight end in the same result.

I, unlike many of my peers, have no wish to live in a post-apocolyptic world. I like sleeping in a bed and hot food. I like electricity and Facebook. I like getting drunk and playing frisbee. I like sex and music and movies and my friends not dying. But most people, when they imagine the Z.A. gloss over those parts. The think how great it would be to have the world as a playground, forgetting that it would be devoid of the things they love best and full of terrible apparitions that serve only to remind them of what has been lost. Not to mention a vast majority of them have few, if any, of the skills needed to survive even a week once everything goes to shit.

So Scott et al. can flee to the hills to fight another day, but I plan on buying my farm with my machine gun in hand, screaming like a madman as they tear me limb from limb.

Spin It Back

Some days I miss you a lot.
I guess I just got tired of trying, I guess I still am.
I guess I shouldn't have written you that letter, I guess I said some things that were stupid.
I still have the letter you wrote me, I brought it to Texas and I brought it here to Iraq. I don't know why.
I don't know why I didn't just throw it away or leave it tucked in some drawer.
I don't know why you felt the need to run away.
Maybe I should though, I ran away too. I'm still running.
Maybe you could give me some pointers 'cause it looks like you figured your shit out.
Maybe we weren't as good friends as I thought. Maybe we were and it just wasn't enough.
Sometimes in airports I look for you. I think about what I would do if I saw you.
I wonder what you'd do if you saw me first. A part of me thinks you'd just keep walking.
And even though it has been years since we talked I know how you'd act if I went up to you.
I know what you'd say, I know how you'd say it. I know you'd hug me. And I know that I wouldn't say a damn thing about how you ran away like you tried to do so many times before.
I wouldn't say two words about it because I know you. I always knew you.
I guess its suprising who you become friends with, and how important that friendship becomes.
Some days I miss you a lot.

Here We Go Again

I've been fucking busy. Kinda.
As with everything else in my Army career nothing is ever how it is said to be, nor supposed to be. I'm in Iraq, but not to my end distination. I might not get there for two fucking weeks and I'm not pleased. I can hear gunfire from my rack and I am itching like a man with crabs to get the shit out there.
In other news the Game is afoot. I've been at least partially on the bench for a long time now and while the timing sucks donkey dick it feels good to be playing.
Which might explain why AC has been poping into my mind for the first time since Summer leave. Hmmmm
Great things to be thinking about with a war litterally on my doorstep.

She Could Run Like The Wind

Oh wow.
I am way drunk.

For the record:
The first time I heard G. Love & the Special Sauce I was In M. G.'S car. It was me and Vingato and for the record it blew my fucking mind.

If I Had A Rocket Launcher...

Listen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dGNDUdtNh8

"Lovers in a Dangerous Time" by Bruce Cockburn

What does this song mean? I think it means a lot to a lot of people. Fuck it was written in the early '80's it can't be that deep.

However in this fear-mongering post 9-11 world it takes on a very literal connotation. Me and Ms. Another Soldier are technically, though I loath her, lovers. And we are both faced with the very real possibility of being blown the fuck up. I mean how can this god-fucking-damn song get more real?
For us it is a very dangerous time...

Live Fast Die Young

Smoking.
It has a long and storied history. People have been doing it for roughly 7,000 years. And I fucking love it.
I am a non-smoker myself, though I have tried many different things in my day. I suppose I could be best described as a Second-Hand Smoker. When others take smoke breaks I go with them, sometimes I even take a short or two myself, but I could never really get into it.
Don't start with me. Don't even start to conjure into your brain the health aspects. I don't fucking care. You can show me, or anyone else for that matter. as many horrible pictures of cancer and diseased lungs and rotted away jaws as you want. It won't change a damn thing.

And that's what I love about smoking. It is Practical Nihilism. Everyday people, living their everyday lives, yet making a conscious decision to say "Fuck it". They just don't care.
When I had to take a government mandated substance abuse class the speaker said every cigarette takes and hour or a day or some such off your lifespan. In response to this I heard a man ask; "Is that an hour off like the middle or towards the end?" to which the speaker replied "I guess the end when you're old and your lungs and heart are failing." It was at that point the guy sat down and lit a jack. He had the right idea.
In Europe the EU has mandated that all packs of cigarettes carry in bold lettering SMOKING KILLS on the front and SMOKING CAN CAUSE A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH on the back. As if we didn't know.
I do not think I am being pessimistic in the least when I say that we are all dying slow and painful deaths.
The idea that a life has to be long to be full is just bullshit that has weeded its way into our subconscious and I don't like it one bit.

It Is

I know I've said before that I'm trying to be more positive and I acknowledge that I am doing a terrible job. Lets be honest though, I don't have a ton to be positive about. But forget that. I've decided on a compromise.
Every time I want to dwell on all the shit in this world I am going also to keep something awesome and positive in mind. Because there is some sweet shit out there.

Like scientists. They are always doing off the wall shit. Right now smarter people than I are perfecting a bra that harnesses the power of boobs. Yeah, kinetic energy from boobs. THIS WORLD IS AWESOME.

Until It Doesn't

I am an atheist. There is no cognitive higher power, no "unmoved mover" nor moved mover. We simply are and that's that. I am sure of that.
However these are the only things in this world that make me think someone somewhere knows what the fuck is going on:

Girls
Seriously. They blow my mind. They are soft and pretty and smell nice and drive me (along with half the population) insane.

Cows
How can so much delicious food be derived from one animal? Milk, Cheese, Butter, Ice Cream, Steak, Ground Beef, ect, ect. The list is damn near endless. They are magic animals meant to be eaten.

Alcohol
"Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to prosper" -Willy Franklin


Strangely enough these three things go together. Kind of.

You ever wonder what heaven is like? I mean can you ever think of the happiest you have ever been? (I assume heaven to be akin to that.)
I can't.
I can think of plenty of times when I was happy, but never so happy that it beat out the others. Conversely I can't recall my most miserable.
I can think of times where I really, honestly wanted to off myself, and I can think of times where I was so happy I could die. Yet neither one holds the spot of best or worst time of my life. How do you pick a high or low point? It seems terribly depressing to think of any time being the best because then what's the point of continuing on?
If you've already peaked then you're really just going through the motions. And if you can assign a moment in your life to be the worst than that's simply hubris on your part. I mean unless your family was just murdered in front of you while you were raped and the people that did it were your best and truest friends and you just found out you have AIDS and cancer and you're on fire then ok, chances are you have set the bar for Worst Moment in Your Life. But barring that, well it could get so much worse.
I suppose this is a roundabout way for me to explain that heaven (were it to exist) must get boring as hell. And hell must also be boring. Because it is human nature to adapt and roll with the punches. The worst thing ever, if it lasts long enough, becomes background noise. As does the best.
For instance: I enjoy sex. Sex is very fun and I like it pretty much unequivocally. Yet if I was humping for eternity I would become bored pretty rapidly. Yet were I to switch to another pursuit I would soon tire of that and once again wish for sex.
I dislike nothing more than being gassed. Getting gassed once I joined the army was absolutely terrible. Yet toward the end of the minute or two I was in that chamber sucking in VX I found that while I couldn't breathe easier and my body was still reacting forcefully my mind had calmed down and I was no longer panicking. I mentally became accustomed to the idea of the terrible experience going on indefinitely.
We are more powerful then we give ourselves credit for. Nothing is really that big of a deal, because life goes on and on and on.

Dust To Dust

Today they kill the DC Sniper. I don't recall his name, John Allan Mohamed I think. Isn't really worth the effort to look it up in my opinion. My feelings toward him mirror my feelings toward Cho and that Major: Fuck 'em.
I don't like to deal with absolutes and as far as I am concerned the world is made up of many, many different shades of gray. But some things are simply and truly right while others are absolutely wrong. Killing unarmed civilians is mostly wrong. Killing children is always wrong. Rape is always wrong. Raping children is more wrong than anything. Genocide is the apex of wrong.

When people do things that a vast majority of the population throughout human existence have deemed to be wrong, they are no longer people. They fall short of being something that we can or should identify with. They become animals and should be put down like animals. Not with cruelty or the intention of pain in mind, but with a manner of cold determination and finality.

Killing those kinds of people has not to serve any second-tier purpose such as vengeance, retribution or waring. It is merely the appropriate action to take when a person decides to cross a line that should not be crossed.

Tonight's Agenda: Watching TV On My Computer

7 Days until I leave for Iraq. I am so not ready. Mentally I'm ready, but I haven't packed a fucking thing. Like NOTHING. Haven't washed my clothes, read the packing list, cleaned my locker, cleaned my room, canceled my cable/internet, stopped my phone, taken down my posters or sent my TV home.
I am the King of the Unprepared, bow before me and marvel how I procrastinate preparations for a yearlong combat deployment!
I AM YOUR GOD!!!

Since I'm speaking Army:
Fuck that Major who went postal in the SRP at Ft. Hood. It doesn't matter what religion he was or why he did it, he was just another motherfucker who couldn't deal and decided to take some others with him.
After the Tech shooting I was talking to a friend of mine who also went to college out of state. She (like the rest of us) was wondering how and why these things happen. I didn't know then and I don't know now. I just know it sucks, and the closer you are the more it sucks.
Tech shook me because it wasn't just people dying, it was my people dying. And my compatriots overseas die everyday, and it sucks when I see their faces on the Casualty page. But they died doing their duty, small consolation I know, but its still something. What happened at Hood shook me because while soldiers die often it should never ever be like that.
Those soldiers were processing in or out of deployments, getting shots and signing paperwork, crossing the T's and dotting the I's, packed in like cattle and ready to go the fuck home. Then the familiar sound of gunfire and everything goes straight to hell.
Sometimes I don't understand this world. Most of the time I hold little hope for it.

I Will Also Miss The Rains Down In Africa

On the subject of my rapidly approaching combat deployment I have been fairly quiet. After some reflection I suppose because I am ambivalent toward the entire thing. Its going to happen, it has been going to happen, it will be happening and that just the way it is.
I'll miss home and booze and women and personal space and trees and grass and the internet and shit, but life goes on.

I thought I had more to say about that, guess not.

We're Going Down Swinging

Sometimes it feels like every moment of existence is worthless. Sometimes nothing in the whole fucking world fucking matters.

NEWSFLASH!!!!!!!!!!!!

It does.

Never ever ever ever think that a single second of your life doesn't matter. Anything you do, everything you experience is worth something.
It might not be awesome or terrible or noteworthy, but it in someway somehow affects you as a human being. We are terribly holistic creatures. There is no part of life that is interred by just one facet of our lives. That is to say nothing can be disconnected from anything else.


This world, this horrible terrifying world is a journey we all undertake. Along the way there are so many things. There is school and birth and t-ball and soccer and baseball hats and breastfeeding and sex and history and petting zoos and music and snowballs and computers and dinosaurs and spelling bees and Power Rangers and art and jean shorts and electricity and drugs and books and music and pictures from high school dances and so many other things.

In The Spirit Of Full Disclosure I'm Drunk Right Now

I write drunk too much. Or so I think. Maybe that's my thing. Maybe I'm not as smart as I think I am. Ever since I was a little kid my parents and my teachers have been saying shit about I'm smart and just never apply myself and you know what? Since they started saying that shit I've been terrified that it isn't true. I have a huge fear of failure because everyone has some expectation of me to be smart and together and do better than I have been doing.
So there. That's out there. Let's move on.

Some people don't think Hemingway is one of the best American writers of all time. Far be it for me to criticize the critics, but I shall. I have a feeling that those who would deride H-Dog are:
A. Feminine
B. Wealthy
C. Happy, and/or
D. Boring

This is just something I think so don't get bent outta shape or anything, but to quote a girl I know; come the fuck on... . The man was first and foremost a MAN. And sure, I've read the speculations that he was 'inadequate' in certain departments but I don't see any evidence to support that theory. He fucked as much as anyone else and fathered as many children as was fashionable at the time.
Hemingway expressed in terse and accurate prose how any American male feels during part or all of his life. And what's more, he didn't just write it, he fucking lived it. I do not know another person who won the Bronze Star, the Pulitzer and the Nobel for Literature but if there is drop me a line. He felt the ennui and disenchantment that a man has to deal with throughout his life and found a way to convey that in writing that could be understood simply.
One has to look no farther than The Nick Adams Stories to understand the angst that plagues so may of us in ways we can't say or show. Mr. Hemingway spoke for literally millions of men who couldn't speak for themselves. And his writings continue to speak for us.
Us uncounted masses who, even in this forgiving modern time full of hugs and softness, can never bring ourselves to have an Oprah-couch-moment.

100% Pure Florida AWESOME Juice

I have been pouring over this stuff and it is awesome and I can't keep posting it on Facebook.
This is why being smart is awesome.

http://eco-comics.blogspot.com/2009/10/economics-of-love-as-told-by-t-rex.html

http://www.topatoco.com/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=TO&Product_Code=CG-WAFFLEHOUSE-PRINT&Category_Code=CG

http://www.topatoco.com/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=TO&Product_Code=CG-HITSONGS-PRINT&Category_Code=CG

http://www.topatoco.com/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=TO&Product_Code=CG-MISSEDCONNECTIONS-PRINT&Category_Code=CG

http://qwantz.livejournal.com/112122.html

West Side Story Is On TV, So That's A Plus

Dear World,

Where are my clothes? I blackout often, as you well know, and have woken up in many different places under many different conditions, yet even in situations where I awake without my clothes on I know where they are. Beside a bed or next to a hot tub or hanging off a lamp or whatever is acceptable World. But waking up in my own bed alone without any sign of my pants is not cool.
Please take steps to ensure this kind of thing doesn't happen again.

Love,
Nappi

The Only Grenades I Jump On Are Made By Mikey's

Every so often you hear about some family member of a soldier or sailor or airman or Marine that has been killed in battle and takes it upon their self to "find an answer" to why their son is dead. They protest or petition congress or make websites or blame someone.

Fuck them.

I'm sure they think they're doing the right thing, saying America shouldn't be sending soldiers to die wherever it is we're sent to die and demanding answers. And I imagine that having a family member die in a war you don't understand is just about the most terrible thing that can happen. But we haven't had a draft in 40 years and everyone knows what they're getting into when they sign the paper and raise their hand. These people who say the president or congress or the military killed their son are just sad and selfish. And I hope they don't believe in heaven, because if their sons could see them parading around looking for someone to blame they'd be ashamed. The guy to blame is either the man who pulled the trigger or the guy who signed his life away. No one else.
And I hope that if I die no one will be mad at anyone but Hajji for blowing me up and at me for being such an ass that I got myself blown up.
Because that's it folks, the buck stops there.

"One Day This War's Gonna End..."

It is a widely studied fact that olfactory memory is one of the strongest types of memory in human beings. (This is the part where I would reference studies to you right now, but since I'm not a college student nor a pompous ass I won't.) I have found this to be abundantly true in my own life.

A perfect example is the memory about Italy I wrote about just the other day, which was brought on by the smell of a beer. One whiff and it wasn't just a memory, but a feeling that was recalled to my mind.
Another very particular smell reminds me of a certain girl and certain things we used to do to each other years ago, and when I smell that smell; her smell, it drives me crazy.
And just now walking into my barracks room I smelled another. The smell of fall that comes through a window left open at night when its just a little too late in the season for windows to be left open. I don't know how that smell found itself all the way down into this hellish desert, but I'm glad it did.
It makes me think of waking up late at night when I was in middle school and lying with my head as close to the window as I could get it until I fell back asleep. It makes me think of coming back from college to find that my house wasn't Home anymore, and even my room wasn't My Room anymore. It makes me think of getting home late from work at the restaurant and sitting on my bed feeling cold and tired and alone, confused by everything that had happened.

I know those memories might not seem like very fond ones but they're strangely comforting. I don't really know why.

Damn You Walt FREAKING Whitman!!

Yes, I was inspired by that commercial. But this is a great fucking poem.

Pioneers! O Pioneers!

COME my tan-faced children,

Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,

Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?

Pioneers! O pioneers!

For we cannot tarry here,

We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,

We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you youths, Western youths,

So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,

Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted?

Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas?

We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the past we leave behind,

We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world,

Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

We detachments steady throwing,

Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep,

Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling,

We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within,

We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Colorado men are we,

From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus,

From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

From Nebraska, from Arkansas,

Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental blood intervein'd,

All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

O resistless restless race!

O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all!

O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Raise the mighty mother mistress,

Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress,

(bend your heads all,)

Raise the fang'd and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon'd mistress,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

See my children, resolute children,

By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter,

Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

On and on the compact ranks,

With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly fill'd,

Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

O to die advancing on!

Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come?

Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill'd.

Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the pulses of the world,

Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat,

Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Life's involv'd and varied pageants,

All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work,

All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the hapless silent lovers,

All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,

All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

I too with my soul and body,

We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way,

Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions pressing,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Lo, the darting bowling orb!

Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets,

All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

These are of us, they are with us,

All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait behind,

We to-day's procession heading, we the route for travel clearing,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you daughters of the West!

O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives!

Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Minstrels latent on the prairies!

(Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your work,)

Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Not for delectations sweet,

Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious,

Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Do the feasters gluttonous feast?

Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock'd and bolted doors?

Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Has the night descended?

Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged nodding on our way?

Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Till with sound of trumpet,

Far, far off the daybreak call-hark! how loud and clear I hear it wind,

Swift! to the head of the army!-swift! spring to your places,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Dr. Malone Was Right; I Have Been To China

Today I went to the Shoppette (which if I haven't explained to you/you're not a military savvy person is a gas station with all kinds of liquor they sell tax-free 24/7) and wanted to buy some good beer to sip on. I went with some Rolling Rock, some Heineken and on a whim I grabbed a deuce-deuce of Stella Artois. When I got back to my room I popped it open and the smell opened my head up.

See I bought it because I hadn't had it before. I recognized it but have never bought any for whatever reason. So when I smelled it I realized I had drank Stella before, I'd just forgotten. It was in '06 in Milan when I went there with Ralph. I drank lightly all day, everyday and more in the evenings. I had such a great fucking time wandering around the city with a buzz, poking my nose into strange old buildings and nearly getting ran over by pretty ladies on Vespa's. And I guess my nose remembers what the rest of my head has forgotten. Nothing so profound, just a simple joy from life that has eluded me for a little while.

When I have my own place to live it is going to have a porch. Not a deck or a balcony or a stoop, am honest to fucking goodness porch. And I am going to sit on my porch on sunny spring and fall days and breathe the fresh air and drink good beer and watch the whole damn world do whatever it is they think is so important all day long.

Hard Times In New York Town

It seems to me heroin would be awesome. I know its not; anyone who has spent time around your run-of-the-mill scag addict knows this. But I still think that a complete and utter detachment from all earthly concerns with a high that makes sex seem like a chore would be an interesting thing to try. I have decided that should I make it to 80-ish, or develop a terminal disease I'm going to try it.

After reading that I wonder what that says about me. The part about wanting a detachment from reality I mean. What would a psycho-analysis show? What would a shrink say? But the more I think about it the more I don't care.

Who are they to judge me? They have their lives "together" and shit so they are in a position to speak as to my mental well-being? That's bullshit. What makes a person better able to judge another person? Wealth, personal happiness, responsibility, contributions to society at large, the ability to look at themselves in the mirror and be satisfied, or a portmanteau of all these things?
I don't know and anyone who says they do can shove it. Anyone's life is more complex and beautiful and fascinating than anything fiction can come up with and outside judgment just falls flat.

I might not be that rich or beautiful or successful or smart or fast or happy as someone else, but I'm me. And I'm pretty sure that's enough.

Maybe No One Ever Truly Sells Out

One time I was discussing the novel 1984 with some people. (Granted I have discussed this book more than once. In fact I spent weeks on it in school but this was at Cardinal Hill. I was still a lifeguard and we were in the office. I was in one of the low chairs. My memory is fucking flawless.) And we were discussing the end of the story; the part after Winston buckles and lives his life in shame and the very last page, the very last paragraph where everything falls into place.

Well this one comrade of mine, she said that she always thought that Winston, in his last second of life, might have still truly hated Big Brother. When I heard that I was blown away. Because that is so obviously not the case. I mean that's a fucking pipe dream. Orwell wrote in black and fucking white that he loved Big Brother.

And yet... Well as plainly wrong as that idea is I love it. I love the idea that no matter what, we stay true to who we are. That deep down inside, even after we have done terrible things and betrayed the people and ideals we thought we never would we still can hold them close to our hearts.

"Fuck Me In The Shit! Fuck Me In The Shit!"

So today I was lectured about my drinking. My Team Leader told me that he thinks I'm depressed because I'm an alky. Or maybe I'm an alky because I'm depressed. He wasn't too clear. He's an fucking alcoholic too though, and he admits it. If anything that makes he assessment more valid in my eyes than someone else's. Let's be honest here folks; how can you know anything without having done it?

This is exactly why I very rarely trust people who don't drink, fuck, fight or do drugs. These things are generally looked down upon when taken in excess, and yet I find that people who abstain from them are hardly worth the trouble of knowing. It has something to do with the idea that when a person indulges in these activities they become less of a man. (I don't mean man as masculine, I mean man as in human.) It is best put this way:
"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man."
I suppose that if a person doesn't need to escape into the refuge of sex or violence or mind altering substance then that person is fairly well adjusted. And I can hardly think of any well adjusted person who has done a fucking thing that anyone gives a shit about.

Anyone worth knowing is mad. They are unstable, angry, possessed and tortured. They are prisoners to their own weakness and failing. They have a fire that burns all the time and they can't stop it.
I fucking love these people. I surround myself with alcoholics, sociopaths, junkies, malcontents and sexual deviants because they are interesting. Ask them about their day and you get a story the likes of which you'll repeat for months. Ask someone with a 9-5. (Not to say 9-5's equal a worthless life. I know many people who burn just as bright, they just have to dim the lights during those hours. Just as I know many people who have great opportunities for greatness in their everyday lives and let the occasion pass daily.)

And it might be our lot in life to surrender to the Combine. Maybe we can't help it and anything we do is just an exercise in futility. I mean if Russel M-Fing Jacobs works a desk job with Interior Designers then what hope do any of us have? If we can't do whatever it is we should do, than the next best thing is to inspire while we still have that fire. To make other people see that even if the war was lost long ago, the battle still needs to be fought.

Smart Money Says She Ran Distance

Have you ever seen someone and fallen in love with them? Not met, or talked to, just seen. Not wanted to fuck or thought was hot, fell in love with. I have.

I suppose I didn't love her really, but I can't think of a different word for it.

It was at a rest-stop along the Jersey Turnpike. I was with Dan and Karen and Patrick and we were headed home from visiting the Lower Nappi's in northern Jersey. I suppose Liz and Ralph stayed to hang in the city or some shit. It was winter and Patty was maybe a year old. Karen and Dan were buying food or in the bathrooms or something and I was just kicking it with Patrick at a table. I think I was holding him and I was wearing a Mad XC sweatshirt.
Anyway I look around and I see what appears to be a high school track team enter the rest-stop from a big charter bus. They break into small groups and head to different places to eat or whatever and one girl looks at me. She had light brown hair, a red XC hoodie that said some school name and one of the prettiest faces I have ever seen. Her hood was up and her hair was coming out on either side of her face. She had these blue eyes...
So she looked right at me, and I looked right back at her. I don't know how long we just sat there and looked at each other, four seconds maybe. She had this look in her eyes... I can't put it into words. But the look in her eyes was how I felt. Tired and sad and confused and overwhelmed by life, but holding it together because that is what strong people do, and we were strong people. Then her friends said something to her and she looked away. Karen and Dan came back, we ate dinner and left.
That was it. But I thought about her for the rest of the trip home. And after. Fuck here I am years and years later, a different life than I ever thought I'd live and she just popped back into my mind for some fucking reason. I wonder what her name is, if she still runs, if she's happy, if she's alive, if she ever thinks about the guy she stared at at a rest-stop on the Jersey Turnpike and if she's still strong.
I hope she is, because I still love her.

Sober Sundays Are Always A Good Idea

I'm thinking about maybe being a teacher after college. It seems like a decent job, and I think I'd do ok. Like teach History or Government or some shit. The pay wouldn't be great I know, but I'm not so fiscally driven as other people. Plus I already have a little saved up. And I'd get summer's off. How can you not love that?

We Are Such Stuff

I had an awesome dream last night. I had forgotten about it until just now, and I don't know what made me remember but I'm glad that I did.

I was somewhere kinda strange with my unit, not particularly hostile, but we did have our weapons. It was an urban setting with wide streets and green grass. The central thing was a park/zoo in the middle with a wrought iron fence around it and some classy brick buildings. We were set up on two corners just watching cars and people go by when I had to go down to one of the other corners. So I headed down to the street to do whatever and when I got to the next corner the soldiers there were British Army. They had their weapons too but no gear and were just chillian. They had their berets tucked into those shoulder strap things other military's uniforms have.
Anywho, I'm walking by and I look over and see that standing with them is a friend of mine. And she's in uniform. And it just so happens I haven't seen this friend in a while so I go over and say something and she looks up and sees me.
We hugged and started talking and shit was cool.

I don't know what that dream means, and I know I did a piss poor job of describing it. But I do know it was one of the nicest dreams I have had in a long time and I had to write it down before I forgot about it again.

Once Again The Media Has Lied To Me

Anyone who thinks life is not absurd has never been hit with a chair in the face.
Saturday night I was hit with a chair in the face. My buddy swung a chair, and hit me in the face. On purpose. We're not sure why.

It knocked me out for a while, and opened my forehead up something good. I have some stitches, and since I refused to go to the hospital the night it happened (going so far as to sprint barefoot away from the party, while still gushing blood) it will scar.

I'm not really mad about it, these things happen I suppose. Could have been worse, if the chair hit me lower on the head it might have taken my eye, or knocked out some teeth. I just want to know why he hit me with a chair. I mean a single punch would have knocked me out half as well without all the hoopla. On the plus side though I don't have to do PT for a while.

"Crazy Uncle Nappi's Nautical Fun-Time Adventure" Is A Great Name For A Boat

It's time to be more positive. Never thought I'd say that but there it is. Life's not so bad.
I'm young and healthy and working. I have some money in the bank and I have a rough plan for the future. I have a nice place to live and good food to eat. And as I've said before I have people who love me.

Sometimes I'll get a glimpse of my tattoo from the corner of my eye and I have to do a double take. Then I laugh. How could I not laugh? Who stabs "KILL" into their arm with a safety pin and India ink? I used to be somewhat self-conscious about it. I've always been proud on one level; I mean raise your hand if you tattooed yourself while drunk and it came out even... thought so. But I suppose on my last trip home I realized why I did it.

I did it because I can't tell my future. I don't know if I'ma grow up and work some desk job and sell out Past Me or if I will go and Find My Passion like Frodigh said. And if I do sell out than I suppose I'll be happy, but I will not forget the road that I took to get there. This retarded mark on my arm is a permanent reminder to me of who I am right now . So years from now I will still be explaining why I have this and everytime I do I will be reminded of me.

I don't know if anyone understands, but I guess that doesn't matter anyway.

On another note: California in like 2 weeks. FML

I Need A Shave Badly

I'm not sure how I feel about my life right now.

I just got back to El Paso yesterday and I have work in the morning.

I need to stop glossing over the bad parts of memory and loosing myself in nostalgia. There were/are reasons behind nearly all actions I have taken in my life. I need to trust Past Me, he did and ok job and I have to remember that.

I need to get this chip off my shoulder. I need to stop getting mad at the people that love me.

I need to do the dishes.

If This Is Growing Up I Want To Go Back To Stolen Airline Bottles of Grand Mariner And 7am Summer Practice

I have forgotten my roots. I have forgotten my past and lost myself in a haze of bullshit and bitch drinks. I got complacent, I got lazy and I lost that hunger, that fire.

Tonight I found myself again. I remember running all day and taking straight shots all fucking night. No beer, no shitty mixed drinks. Crown Royal, 99 Apples, Smirnoff Trip. Distilled, Bacardi Silver and Cap Morgan to the face; straight. I have grown fat and lazy of a steady job and an unlimited supply of booze. I've lost my skill at drinking games and my ability to drink handles of cheap vodka 1.5oz at a time. I'd probably throw my brains up if I tried to beer bong 8 shots of Vlady right now, and I'm only about 5 drinks in.

Whiskey Sours, Gine & Tonic's, Cuba Libre's and James Madison's (Pepsi and Vodka) are done as of tonight. I'm heading back to chasing hard liquor with water or Gatorade. Keeps you hydrated.
I'ma run a sub 12 2-mile.
I am going to carpe the fucking hell out of every diem. Orders came down last Friday ladies and gents. Iraq, 12 months, leave November. And they don't let you drink or run in War Zones anymore.

Might as well see how high I can get my BAC and how low I can get my 2 mile time before then...

And Fruit, I Can Eat Fruit Too.

I've decided to become semi-anorexic. I'm only going to eat Lunch, and that's all.
Problem is I like food...
I wonder how long I can do this for.

These Are Their Stories...

So I'm watching Law & Order: SVU right now. Plotline: Straight A high school student drinks self to death at a party. They try to charge the people who had the party.

Now to me this seems fucked up. I mean sure people should have helped her or called the ambulance or whatever, but they're not culpable for her death. Now this might seemed fucked up, but at the concept that you or I have any responsibility to help or assist any other person is itself fucked up. If I see a person in distress on what grounds do I have an obligation to help them?

Now if you would say that I should help them because they are a fellow human, Christian, or whatever fine. But the second it becomes a legal matter rather than moral one something is wrong. If a citizen has never volunteered to become legally responsible to assist and/or protect his fellows, how can you fault him for failing to do so? I took an oath to protect the Constitution, this country and its citizens. I stood up and raised my hand and swore to do so, and in return I have been compensated. So are police and firemen and paramedics and shit. But the man on the street has not. He has nowhere along the line agreed to assist anyone at anytime. He also likely had no to little choice in the matter of a law being created to say that he must do such a thing.

Now he didn't get a vote to say that killing people should be illegal, but that law does not require anything of him, merely forbidding him to do something. Unless your default state of being is to murder as opposed to not murder than this is a law that forbids something. Most laws are the same way. They tell you what you cannot do, they rarely make you do something. But in the case of mandating assistance to those in need a law is telling you that you must help someone.

I doubt I am making much sense, and I am sure I am sounding callous and mean, but I don't think I am. If I can help someone I will. I also think you should too. But I don't think that if you don't you should face legal prosecution. Just because a person might be a piece of shit doesn't mean they are a criminal.

Suck Out All The Marrow Of Life=Party Like Its 1845

This time tomorrow I'll be on a plane. Or maybe I'll be sitting in an airport on one of the 3 stops I have to make over my 12 hour journey to get home. Point is I will be on my way.

I haven't mentioned it because I haven't really been thinking about it. I've just been so busy these past few weeks, and honestly these past few months, I haven't had too much time to think about home in a concrete sense.

But I just talked to Digger and Action Hero who are drinking in Arlington with TP. Action Hero is heading to Europe tomorrow, but Digger has stated his intention of coming to DC and getting smigity with me. This makes me happy. Just a kind of elevation of the soul that helps in the same way as a drink itself or a fond memory.

I cannot recall which philopher said it, but he maintained that the only pure happiness is expectation. That no matter how wonderful and good and happy you are in any given situation the expectation of it was always more pure. I recall debating this one time, affirming the concept. I don't know if I believe it or not honestly. Right now just the idea of the possibility of the fun to be had on the 4th of July is so pure and pleasurable.

It's like sex I suppose. The climax is short but downright powerful. Whereas the build-up (in any of its forms) last so much longer, but by its nature fails to acheive the intesity of the climax.

So which is better? Or is it that one isn't better than the other? Maybe they must be taken together to achieve a completely full experience (Pertaining to both sex specificly and a fun experence in general.)

In any case I am once again gifted with 4 days in VA.

Considering

Alright, the time has come for me to attempt to address something that has been scratching around in my head for some time.

Am I crazy?

Are the things I do not normal? Are the words I say strange? Are my thoughts things that other people don't ever have?
Sometimes I think they are, sometimes I think everyone feels the way I do.

On an unrelated note, The Patriot is on TV and I have to get something out. I think those old school dresses are fucking outstanding. They are classy and make female's breasts look huge. Tell me, are there two better things in this world?

My Liver Hurts.

Have you ever had the terrible realization that you could kick you hero's ass?
It sucks. I only mention it because I thought of the Tom Robbins syndrome today and as of this writting when I take a sharp breathe my inside hurts

To Clairify; When I Say "Mourn" I Mean He's My Excuse For Getting Shitty Tonight

MJ's dead.

Now calm the fuck down kids, I'm not like totally broken up about it. I never knew the guy, never saw him perform, never even was around for his hey-day. But I remember his trial and when he sold Wonderland. I remember when I was a little kid and I saw Free Willy which he had like the title track from. I loved that fucking song and when I told Karen that Michael Jackson was my favorite singer she told me that he was creepy. She did admit that he was a good singer, but also really creepy. Obviously she was right.

I suppose its just the fact that Michael Jackson was, for lack of a better word, a constant. He could always be counted on to do something that we found newsworthy. Be it making Gold Records, molesting children, being tried for molesting children, buying the rights to Beatles songs, holding his own children over balconies, or selling his child-molesting playground and declaring bankruptcy, MJ was always there. His life provided a wonderful counter-current to our own. And he did it with such ups and downs that we couldn't look away.
And extending from that time in the Green Monster in the parking lot of Tyson's when I told Karen I liked Michael Jackson because of that song from fucking Free Willy until literally right now his life has ran parallel to my own. MJ did his thing and I did mine, and every so often someone on TV or radio would let me know what was new in his life. Maybe I'm fucking insane (I get told it enough to where it might be true...) but Michael Jackson was a comfort to me. And that is why I mourn his death.

Sorry I've Been So Depressing Lately

Happiness should be a commodity. We should trade it like stock & bonds. Or at least like shit on the futures market. You know, the place where they yell shit like PORK BELLIES all the time.
Is there something wrong with the idea that I like puppies and I drink straight bourbon? Does it not make sense that I want to rip out a man's windpipe with my teeth but I have the song "Mmmbop" by Hanson on my iPod? Is it possible to be a degenerate drunk and a child's role model at the same time? Can a man burn with terrible rage inside but still want a hug?
Welcome to my soul...

Who The FUCK Is "They" Anyway?

They say before you buy it you ask for three things: your mother, god, and forgiveness.
I've heard that from Iraq vets, Vietnam vets and a World War II vet. They said it wasn't everybody, but just about. They said that it happens while you bleed out, or after your lungs deflate and you're gasping for breathe but none comes that you cry out for Mom and god and forgiveness.

Not me. Call it pride or hubris or ignorance or whatever the fuck you want to I don't give a fuck. I won't say shit when I buy it. Sure I love my life, and sure I'ma be sad when its gone. But I don't believe in god and as much as I love my mother the last thing I would want is her near me when I die. As for forgiveness... well I've done some bad things and I've hurt some people and I'm sorry for that. And I suppose that if anyone I feel I've wronged is around I should tell them I'm sorry if I feel that way.

But I have already lived a decently full life I suppose. I've loved and I've lost, I've been punched in the face and I've felt the indescribable feeling of my own hand crashing into another man's jaw. I've been camping in the woods and I've seen the sunrise in the desert with no living man within earshot. I've had vag juice all over my face on the way to Christian Work Camp and I've partaken in the sacrament of Confession. I 've seen the Green Flash over the edge of the world and I've been to Europe. I've stood in a Cathedral and pondered over the meaning of life. I've sat by fast-moving streams and one time (when I was young) I jacked off into one. I've been arrested and I've been a felon. I've been stabbed and I've stabbed. And there are still many many things under this sun I don't know the slightest thing about.

But if I'm gone tomorrow know that I had fun today.

There Will Be Blood...

I remember playing Foosball in College Park 36. The 'Goats were all there. I recall very clearly that when you played on the side nearest the doorway you put your beer on the corner of the table against the wall. And I remember that I was also so paranoid that when the table shook my beer would fall. Why spilling my beer worried me so much I will never know. I mean I puked on the keg my first time in 36, so a spilled beer wouldn't have been a huge embarrassment.

I remember running around the deck at CH with a wet umbrella poll during a thunderstorm. I was temping fate in the most outrageous, boisterous way. Lighting is, after all, pure energy. It makes no choices, it follows the natural laws that say it will ground itself wherever convenient. Nature wouldn't have minded that the most convenient place was my body holding a 4 foot metal rod. And at the time I wouldn't have either. I wasn't suicidal, I just felt the need to shove Fate a little. To show myself and the universe that I was not the kind of guy who could be pushed around.

Sometimes I just like to write things I remember. I'm afraid I'll forget them. I'm not super-macho or anything but I am not afraid of much. But I am terrified of forgetting the experiences that have made me who I am. Everything I have ever done is part of me and I do not want to take for granted or forget those experiences.

Word on the street lately is when my Brigade goes over in the fall we will be replacing 3 brigades. If you don't understand that I'll make it simple. 3,500 troops (my brigade) will be responsible for the real estate that 11,000 troops (the 3 brigades we are replacing) used to hold. We're gonna be spread thin and despite what CNN and the newspaper says Iraq is not a done deal. The President's withdraw plan has as much chance of succeeding as the ill-fated three-some I was nearly a part of. (That I do not want to talk about.) I hope I'm wrong, but odds are we're going to get ate the fuck up. And I'd hate all my wonderful memories to die with me.

I'ma Need New Shoes

So I've started running again. I suppose I haven't stopped running since I joined the Army because our PT is mostly running, but I don't really count that. If you are/were a runner you understand what I mean. Think about everything you love/loved about running; PT is the opposite. I have to stay in formation, I don't set the pace, I have turn around for the fall-outs, people talk shit to the fall-outs, talking is not allowed, there are no girls and I don't set the route.

To put everything simply for any non-runners out there; running= freedom, pure and simple.
PT running= tyranny & oppression.

Now we're clear, I haven't been running much since... well since I left Ship. I didn't run a ton over the summer after, I didn't have time to run when I was at NoVa, and then I was in Basic. Since I've been here I haven't. I say I'm too tired, and I have to admit I don't have the time or energy I used to, but those are just excuses.

The only thing I can't get past is the terrain here is terrible. Today when I was out I almost choked when I ran through a sandstorm. There is nothing out there but dust, and nothing to look at. And there are people. I don't like to run in busy places where I see people, I don't like to run in public or on main roads. Just isn't my style I suppose. And what's worse half the people I see are higher ranking, and even if I'm out of uniform I can be caught up for something.

In any event I am a happier man when I've been running, not to mention I don't feel bad about drinking as much when I work for it.

Doomed?

Does a relationship have to last until death to be considered successful? Does a break-up equal failure? Why do we look at romantic (or possibly platonic) relationships like this? Who set that standard?

If two people enjoy their time together, even for only a short while, does their separation define the entire history of the relationship? Are all the good times wiped out by the pain of the break up?

Can't we look at each experience in love not just as failures building up to something greater, but as great experiences that are worthy of our remembrance and consideration based upon their own merit?

Yet Another Reason Soldiers Marry Strippers...

Have you ever listened to OutKast's song Hey Ya? I'm sure you've heard it it; otherwise you spent 2003 under a rock with earplugs in. But I mean have you ever truly listened to it?
The upbeat rhythm and the hook (which is more contagious than syphilis) belittle the meaning behind the lyrics.
The words in the song very explicitly tell a story of a protagonist who feels insecure about his current relationship. CORRECTION: He is secure in his relationship to the end that he knows his woman is not cheating on him, but he feels her lack of infidelity is not for lack of desire, but merely a fear of destroying the comfortable relationship that has become the status quo.
As the song progresses our protagonist searches in vain to understand why two people stay together when they clearly are not happy with one another.
The best answer I can think of is that most people would rather be unhappy with someone else than be solely responsible for their own happiness.

How terribly depressing...

Wolverines or Mahdi Militia?

For what follows it is best understood if you have seen the film Red Dawn.
If you haven't had the privilege of this film I recommend it. Basically its the mid-Eighties, Patrick Swayze, Jennifer Grey, Charlie Sheen and the kid from E.T. are teenagers who start an insurgent resistance against the invading Russians in the mountains of Colorado after the start of World War III.
The film is violent and dark, but also awesome. It has the appeal that is analogous to that of the Zombie Apocalypse; everything in your life turns upside down and you get a chance to be a hero.

While discussing that film (which I have always loved) this morning I came to a startling realization: I'm one of the invading Russians. The men and women I will soon be fighting are the scrappy insurgency of young people whose lives were turned upside-fucking-down by a superior military power invading.

In the first scene of the film Russian paratroopers land on the school football field and when a teacher goes to see what is happening they shoot him down in cold blood. They then shoot up the school and kill some students.
While discussing that scene this morning I realized that in real life they would not have done that. I mean most soldiers of nations, be they Communist, Capitalist, Nazi, Ultra-Nationalist or whatever are not murderers. To any soldier I have met our job is just that; a job. Sure we believe in what we do, but no one thinks its ok to kill unarmed, non-threatening old men or children. Sometimes accidents happen, things get mistook and shit gets out of hand, but soldiers do not take pleasure in massacring civilians.

Yet in the film the soldiers do that, mostly to show that they are 'EVIL' and justifying beyond reproach what the protagonists do in retaliation. The retaliation takes the form of hit-and-run attacks, roadside bombs, rocket and mortar attacks, raids and assassinations on/of high-value targets. Sound familiar? That is because Hajji does it to us.

Now I'm not some ignorant prick; we haven't only killed Bad Guys. We make mistakes, civilians die, bad soldiers rape and murder, our government tortures. And looking through the eyes of a young Iraqi would someone saying sorry or telling you you're now 'free' help the pain of loosing your friends and family? Accident or not if someone killed anyone I care about I would do my best to see them dead. So how can I blame Hajji for wanting me dead? He's just doing what anyone with a sense of honor and balls would do I guess.

I'm not saying that I understand religious extremism, or flying planes full of innocents into buildings, or whatever. But I do understand how that maybe when we hurt Hajji and he feels the need to fight us, and someone else is standing there with a Koran in one hand and a vest full of C4 in the other Hajji might not give a damn about the particulars; he just wants to make someone else hurt too.

I hope I'm making sense, because until know I didn't have a lot of respect for the enemy. I lumped everyone who wanted me dead into one category. That category being people who stone women for adultery, fly planes into buildings and bomb embassies, people who hate secular education and music, and are not only willing to kill themselves for their beliefs, but everyone else too. Now I think maybe the guy who plants IED's is just mad at me for dropping a bomb on his girlfriend and kicking in his front door. He doesn't care about Sharia law or being a martyr. He liked Arabic pop music and soccer, he was all about pre-marital sex and Baywatch. But now we hurt him so he's gonna hurt us.

So through Red Dawn I now have some respect for some of my enemies. Never would have guessed that, would you?

Whose Sex Is On Fire?

Ok this might be a little weird, but here it goes anyway:
Sometimes when I'm watching TV or out in a public place or whatever I wonder what people's faces look like when they have sex.
I mean this sounds sorta creepy I think, but I dunno... It's not like I'm trying to get my rocks off when I think about it; half the time they aren't really attractive or anything, just normal people.
I also see a family and I think like the mother and father had to have sex to make that kid. Those two people fucked at least as many times as they have kids.
Maybe this makes me sound obsessed with sex, but think about yourself before you throw stones. Who among us doesn't like sex? Who doesn't want to have some sex right now? Ok maybe you don't want to get it on this second, but you know you wouldn't mind some in the next hour.
Sex is a fairly personal thing with most people, and maybe that is why I wonder about strangers doing it. Like if you asked them about it they'd freak the fuck out, but you still know they do it without knowing anything about them.
Sorry, I just felt like writing that.

I Was Never One of Those Bastards Who Wished They Were 21 (Excepting the Advantage of Alcohol Purchasing)

I just watched a video on Facebook of the Madison Men's 4x400 from the 08-09 Winter Track season. My younger brother was the first leg, I don't know 2nd and 3rd and a kid whose initials are M.S. ran anchor.
It is almost indescribable to see with my own eyes the track where I used to run and to hear the cheers I used to hear and to realize I was not a part of it.
I cannot put this feeling into words right now but I felt an obligation to write on the topic before the feeling goes away.
I remember that place and that race. I remember waking up balls early to catch a bus to Episcopal. I remember walking in with a boom-box playing "Listen to Your Heart (Dance Remix)" by DHT and laughing lustily at the looks thrust upon us. Those fucking assholes and their bleary eyed stares meant nothing. We were young, dumb and full of cum. We were hung over and pumped up. We knew everything there was to know and we still laughed when we saw the street sign for Balls Road. We were never the fastest, we were never the most dedicated, were weren't even the most spirited, but god dammit we knew what was up.
Sometimes I catch myself wishing I was 16 again. Then I remember how much shit I had to deal with back then and I stop myself. Then I remember that night when I was 14 and I swore to myself I would never be one of those people who idealized their youth. I swore that the person I was at 8 I'd be at 16. The person I was at 16 would be the person I'd be at 21. The person I was at 21 I'd be at 30. Ect, ect.
I don't live everyday like it was my last. And if I had the chance to do some shit different I would. And no matter how much my day-to-day life seems to suck sometimes I realize I do love it.
I love everyday in its own Cerebral Palsy sort of retarded way.

I Can Have Cookies For Fucking Dinner, Hot Dogs For Breakfast and Soda at 1A-Fucking-M.

Regardless of how much Army Life sucks sometimes; i.e. bullshit rules, being treated like a child, shitty hours (I got off work at 4am on a Saturday morning this week), the very real/imminent risk of bodily harm/death on a frequent basis, ect, ect... sometimes I love it.
I have met some great people, I have done some great things. I have learned a lot about the world and how life is not just so much more than the NoVA upbringing we all know and love. I mean I knew that there was much more to this world; I think we all did, but this is something else. Suffice to say that if you come from where I come from and you are on the path that many of us walk you will never understand.
And what's more, I like knowing that I have a place to sleep every night. I like knowing that I have my own income and that I work very fucking hard for every penny I get. And when I am not On the Job I don't have to answer to anyone. I am responsible for me and the buck stops there.
I am Master of all I Survey, King of my Domain.

Thanks For Making This Country Worth Defending

So today someone thanked me for "Defending Our Country". I mean I guess I do, more so than most citizens and more than those fucking cooks I guess I do. But it still feels funny. I mean we don't think about it that way and I venture to guess that most soldiers now and in the past didn't either.
This week I have been out in the Field and I got back late Thursday morning. Because its Memorial Day weekend we have a 4 day weekend and Thursday ended the work week. While I was eating in the DFAC for lunch (my first meal indoors for a week) they put some shit over the PA system. It was some voice talking about remembering the sacrifices of the brave men and women who have given their lives in defense of this country and whatnot. Now do not mistake what I say; I do honestly and truly appreciate them. And I know more than one of those brave men who have died.
However I couldn't help but be... well disappointed. I mean that while I (and those around me) understand that we serve a larger purpose we don't really keep that in the front of our minds. Patriotism and selfless service are not what get us up every morning for PT. Keeping America Free doesn't offer much solace when its 100 degrees and you have to run a 5.2 mile Platoon Attack lane for the 3rd time in a day with 3 hours of sleep. And maybe it makes bleeding out on some dusty road in some bullshit country a little easier, but for some reason I don't really think so.
So my disappointment at the playing of this pre-recorded bullshit is that I thought we had risen above the need of the brain-washing. I thought that that kind of crap was over when we all left Basic Training and the harsh realities of out lives as soldiers was thrust upon us. I hope it was mandated by some fag-ass POG officer motherfucker who thinks that shit helps with morale. Because if I buy the fucking farm Over There the last thing I want it some POS memorial rock or a 2 minute remembrance in the chow hall.
I want my friends, my family, my battle buddies and any random GI to have another drink, kiss another girl and realize that we all only live once, so fuck the bullshit.

So Little Booze, So Much Time

As much as I would like to bring everyone along with me and watch over them through good times and bad I know deep down inside that we all have our own path to follow.
We all must make our own way in this world. The best I can do is wish all well and protect them best I can.
That being said everyone will taste pain and loss and unhappiness. I can not protect them from that. All I can do is be here when it happens and try to offer what solace I can.
This solace may take the form of slashed tires, a sympathy shot, sage advice, drink recipes or a shoulder to cry on. I honestly wish I could do more but I can not.
Such is life I suppose...

Who Sucks At Writting? THIS GUY

Three times I have tried to write this and three times I've failed. I have tried to be subtle in the introduction and broaching of the subject and I have failed. Fuck the scalpel, its time for the tire-iron.

I am glad that other people appreciate some of the shit I do. I am glad that my endless pursuits of ways to bring fun and adventure into this life have not all been in vain. I am glad things like NTD's Beer Olympics, CHP's, Mustache March, the NDF, Senseless Roadtrips and so forth have not been complete failures. I am glad to hear that people who I do not talk to on a daily basis, people that I do not think about or see anymore still remember fondly the things I, that we have done. I suppose that it is vain, but fuck it.

I've been having a rough time lately and its nice to know that maybe the shit I try and do now will be remembered in the future by someone.

Never Thought I'd Miss It This Much, Live And Learn I Guess

"easiest way is just take the turnpike pretty much the whole way, get off when you get to the shippensburg exit. the only part that sucks is the toll is up to $11.25 . not much going on cause it's a small town but pretty much anyone you meet can guide you towards the bars"-- ez

"Maybe Yes. Maybe No. Maybe Go Fuck Yourself"

There are times when I want to drunk dial. I want to call someone up so I can bitch and whine and make no sense and blame it on the drink.
Yet I do not. To be fair sometimes I do Drunk Dial, yet I find myself catering to another person's problems, as I often do. I guess I can't help it, I'm just that kind of person.

But fuck that.

I'm just like you fucks. I'm fucked up in the head. I have problems of my own. And unlike you I do not ask for help. It's 3am El Paso time and I won't call/text someone I want to. She probably wouldn't mind, but I would. I already left a voicemail with someone else and I regret it. I do not do that kind of shit. I am the guy who others do that too.
I am a fucking man. Men don't bitch and whine. Men keep their shit to theirselves. Men suffer in silence and just fucking deal with shit.
And if after reading this you think that I'm fucked in the head, if you think that I'm wrong, if you think that I hold old fashioned and outdated ideas about what makes a man a man and if you think I might just flip the fuck out one day soon...
Well you might be correct, or you might just want to go ahead and fuck yourself.
It is as simple as this:
A Man Handles His Shit and does the best he can.
End of Story

fall

It is strange how sun-drenched photos from 9 months ago will make you tear the fuck up and wish you were far back in the past.
Maybe in a short time from now, in a land far away, I will find my skin warmed by the sun beating down over Cardinal Hill, or the Lake (PA or Disser style) or some island banana farm populated by friends of the past,
When that happens I will fear no more, because I am in Elysium.

I Could While Away The Hours

It has been six months since the last time I rested my head in Virginia and I must say June can not come soon enough.
And as the last time I returned home there will be so much to do and so little time to do it.
I have Liz's wedding and spending time with all of my extended family, VI and CH and DC and Evan's Porch and DRod's Going Away Party and all manner of other Northern VA things.
However this time I think I can contain my eagerness to return better than before. Its not that I don't miss home as much, or that I like El Paso any better than before, (I can barely stand it these days) I just think that I am learning how to move on and live my life one day at a time.
That being said: Get Fucking Ready, because when I get back its Game On

Nicknames: The King of Scouts; He-who-sees-in-the-dark; Fred

Is there any more adventure in the world? I mean honest to goodness fucking adventure. It seems to me there is not. I joined the Army during a time of war to look for some, and all I've found is disenchantment and all I've done is further my burgeoning drinking problem. (This may be a bit harsh but I don't care.)
I read articles and histories and see men and women described as "adventurers" and "world travelers" as if that were a job description. I read their bio's and wonder how such things were ever possible in this world. I mean these people strike out on their own before they're fucking old enough to shave. Imagine watching your family killed when you're 8, at 11 years old making your own way in the world, becoming an Indian Scout at 14, getting married to an outlaw and having a kid at 16.
Shit like that was commonplace in these people's lives. When I was 8 my Alamo was refusing to learn Cursive. (Which I am embarrassed/proud to say I still cannot read or write.)
When I was 14 all I wanted out of life was to touch a booby and my biggest worry wasn't getting scalped, it was asking a girl out. These people had killed a man with their bare hands around the same time I raiding Ralph and Karen's fridge for Wine Coolers.
And while I am jealous of these long dead G's I take solace in the fact that they never played Wizard Staff. They never speed down 81 doing 90 mph in the Green Monster with the windows down and The Who blasting. That kind of shit I would not trade for anything.
What I want is to combine the two. I want adventure and danger and infamy, but I also want Beer Pong, Facebook and personal hygiene.
Is there a space for a modern day adventurer? Or has the West been Won, the Last Frontier tamed and all the blank places on the map been filled in?

202 Times

I will not spear other soldiers.
Why you ask? Well because today I threw a metal spear/javelin dealio at Chandler. It was awesome/funny and he wasn't hurt because we were wearing our body armor. However, at the moment I released my spear my Commanding Officer (who is a Captain) came around the corner.
I got a new asshole torn, so did Chandler, so did my Sgt. Now I am writting 'I will not spear other soldiers.' 200 times.
Lessons Learned:
Do not throw spears.
Do not yell when throwing spears.
Do not damage body armor.
How body armor works and why it is 'fragile'.
Think before you act.
and most importantly:
Look around before you act to see who may be watching.

I Am Sober

I've been thinking a lot. I always think a lot, but today I thought more than I usually do for a Saturday because I didn't get drunk today. Drinking helps with the thinking, so does work sometimes, and sex, and television and books and all manner of things. It dulls the edges of the thoughts and makes them manageable. But today I didn't mind. I rocked a Shower Power Hour for over an hour, which was relaxing to say the least and the whole time I was thinking.
When I come home again it will be June. CH will be open. I have not been to the Hill in so long it makes me very sad to think about it. August '07 was the last time I was there.
Reminds me of the last time I saw someone. It wasn't as long ago as '07, more like January '08. That was the last time I saw them, and the last time we talked. Its been over a year and I still remember what was said. A lot has changed since then. I would like to think maybe I've become a little bit more grown up, and maybe they have too. I doubt it matters though, we're still the same people. They did what I knew they would do, and instead of doing what I always did I just let it be. And I don't know how they feel about everything now, but I know that I miss being friends with them. So when I come home I'll do what I should have done a year ago.

If This Was Hard To Follow I'm Sorry, But I'm Monday-Night Drunk

I have been thinking a lot recently about what I will do after I leave the Army. I am taking (or trying to take) online classes through the Army and I plan to head back to real college when I get out. I mean its not exactly a detailed plan but that the farthest ahead I've looked in my entire life.
My plans aside however I wonder more often about what my Army-Family will do.
(For clarification purposes my Army-Family is Hauser, Aubrey and Kegge.) I wonder what they will do when they leave the Army. I know Kegge won't stay in, I doubt Hauser will and its a 50-50 shot about Aubrey. (This is just my assessment personally, nothing has been said one way or another.) So its funny to think about them in a non-Army setting. Will Hauser impregnate a nice Italian girl and end up overweight and with 4 daughters? And what Kegge will do once he leaves. Will he get a job managing some store? Party it up for another couple years until he is forced to settle or become that creepy old dude at the party. Aubrey? Will she get married and have kids too?
Basically I wonder once we are all done how much will our time here influence who we are? Will we tell our children we used to be soldiers? Or is that one of those things that just sort of pop up in conversation. You know, your parents are talking about back in college or how they met or when they moved to where you live now or some old friend of theirs is over to dinner and the story comes out about how they met. And its like you (their children) have lived your whole life (which is about 16 years at this point) without ever knowing this part of your own parents' lives and it is so shocking.
Bringing it back to topic: how will my Family's current lives affect their future lives slash future (biological) families? How will I affect them? How will they affect me? How will what I have done/will do here affect me and those close to me?
Does anyone else out there think about this type of shit?

Nitro Circus, Planet Earth and Braised Salmon

There are tons of sayings about how important family is. Shit about how they'll always love you and whatnot. And about how you can choose your friends, but not your family. My issue is mostly with the sentiment of that last one. The idea behind it is that because you have no choice in the matter those people somehow become more important? I mean I just don't understand that. I would have to think the opposite. That is to say if I choose someone to be my friend, and I am under no obligation (be it situational or societal) to spend time or give a fuck about someone or group of someone's then isn't my bond with those who I choose to spend time with stronger? I mean that's the basis of marriage and starting a family of one's own; the idea that you pick someone to create your own family unit of your own volition.
I mean it might be just me, but I have a habit of building families. I mean I'm not hating on my biological one, but throughout much of my life they have been inadequate. Oh they have done a great job being my family and putting up with my shit, and I know they want me to be happy and blah blah blah, but there has never been any real communication. And that is really the basis of a family unit. So to make up for this lack I have built myself family units.
I don't think of each member as a mother or father or sister or whatever, those have stigmas attached oftentimes that do not carry over well. I try more just to consider these people as just that, people. People whom I love and care about, people who I do not judge, people who I will go to great lengths to help and simply put; people who I want to talk to and spend time with.
I just got done with Family Dinner, which is something I have instituted here. The concept is very simple: I get the people I care about here together and we eat a home made meal and watch TV and relax on a Sunday night.
I stole this idea in part from another family that I am not a part of, but were circumstances different I would gladly have been a part of. But before I got the idea from them deep down inside I already knew about it. In fact I wrote about it, more than 18 months ago. It was down in the RVA and some members of my family were there. I made chicken and we sat at a table and enjoyed the company of one and other. I have not forgotten that simple feeling of contentment, and that is why I am trying to recapture it here.

"Maybe that’s all family really is: a group of people that miss the same imaginary place."

The Guns Of Brixton

Have you ever felt like you were truly, honestly going to die? I'm talking No Fucking Way are you walking away from this one. Fuck walking; you know its all gonna end with you on the ground in a pool of blood and twisted metal and/or a knife in your side. Maybe you have maybe you haven't, either way I don't have to tell you that feeling sucks. The only comparable feeling I have ever had is right after you almost die and you didn't have time to feel like it before. That feeling also sucks, worse I think because that feeling sticks with you. The first one is fleeting, like FUCK! wait... wait a second... NOT DEAD, YOU ARE NOT DEAD CALM DOWN. Then you feel pretty sweet because you just cheated death and now you feel badass. But that second one... man you are scared shitless because you now have all the time in the world to look back and see how you almost bought the fucking farm so fast you wouldn't even have seen it coming. You don't get the benefit of the adrenaline rush from your body when you mind tells you that you had better do something or you're toast. No the only feeling you get is that fucking pit in the bottom of your stomach that is physically painful because now you know that you are not even close to invincible.
Confronting your own mortality is a complex task. Depending on the way you do it you either end up feeling invincible or terrified. Strange how one experience can result in such polarized results, dependant only on timing.

http://redmarketer.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/holden.jpg

I feel nostalgic about a very many things in my life. I don't know/care if this is a god or a bad thing. What I do know is that as much as I look back I look forward. There are a great many things that I can not wait to do and there are just as many things that I am doing right now that I will miss once I can no longer do them.
But right now, for some reason, I am thinking about the days I spent at NOVA. Those days are when I started to publish online my writings, those days are the first that I had to realize that Life was/is not a game. Those days I was very busy. I was clearing 15+ hours of class and 40+ hours of work and I had to drive to Annandale and Reston every day. And yet... well me and Sid would have a man-date on Wednesdays to go smoke hookah. And we would drink a stolen beer or two in the back of the Green Monster while we played Mancala. We would talk about the too-few weekends we would spend down in Richmond or sit and plan out various NTD's. Other nights I would stay up until 3am just enjoying the feeling of being the only one still awake at such a late hour. Some nights I would take walks and soak in the moonlight; tracing the steps that I had taken on more purposeful adventures.
I can't do that anymore. There is no place here that holds meaning for me, and no one to scheme with. As I said before, in the future I will think back and miss sitting here and serving with these people, but right now I miss sitting around home and wasting time with you guys.

WTF=Wen, Thurs, Friday

I have opened up the "New Blog" tab 4 times today, stared at the blank whiteness on my computer screen and closed it. I don't know what I want to write. I mean half the time I don't know what I want to write, I just start and it flows out; oftentimes changing tacks and shifting purpose to the point where my original inspiration has been left long behind.
Recently I have been reading people who I do not knows blogs. These people are not well-known bloggers or whatever, just other people I find by random chance, hyper-link through hyper-link in the flotsam and jetsam of this strange thing we call the Internet. It seems that when they have no inspiration they either do not write, or talk about what they did 'today'. Since I can't not write without feeling some indefinable unpleasant feeling, I shall try and recount my day in a non-boring matter.

I woke up at 0540 and went back to bed until 0600. I was then awakened by my unnerving sense of time. I put on my PT (Physical Training) uniform and walked to work. I got to work by 0620. By 0643 I was back in bed because my platoon Sgt. was gone today and my Squad Leader didn't feel like doing PT. I awoke at 0830 and was back at work by 0851. From then until 1135 I worked in the Arms Room with Scar Face. (SIDENOTE: Scar Face is a nickname for a friend of mine. He has no scars on his face, but he does have a scared scalp. Scarred badly. I'm talking about 50% of the top of his head is fucked up. In spite of this I love the guy and whenever I have to work in the Arms Room I pick him. He is now my assistant.) (ANOTHER SIDENOTE: The Arms Room is where the weapons are kept. I am my platoon's Armorer, which means I am responsible for Aprox~ 35 rifles, 9 Machine guns, 27 Night-Vision goggles, 42 Scopes, 40 Sighting Lasers, half a dozen Thermal Optics, ect, ect... and all these come with unmeasured amount of bullshit and hard work that only Scar Face can/will help me with.) We filled out lots and lots of forms. From 1135-1205 me and Scar Face ate lunch and mused about how much we hate everyone/everything. From 1210-1255 I read, watched ESPN and masturbated. From 1300-1512 I sat around work and did nothing but make idle conversation and tell people why something they thought was fact was bullshit and why their analogies where incorrect. From 1515-1630 me and my squad pretended to do PT in the Gym, but in fact used all manner of weightlifting equipment to further our pastime of making homosexual innuendo. From 1630-1700 we stood in Formation and then were released. Since then I cut my hair, showered, watched TV had some drinks, ate Mac&Cheese, fucked around on the computer, read and that brings us up to speed.
If my day seems boring that is because it was. Granted not all days are like this. Last week I was firring live rounds 3 feet from my battle's chest, and he was doing the same. Next week we will be doing force-on-force close quarters paintball. By Thanksgiving I will be kicking it in the Projects of Baghdad. (EAST SIDE! WOOT WOOT!) So I guess I should listen to my Sgt. and 'treasure' boring days...

Sid Was Right, Little Wayne Sucks

This is maybe the most interesting thing I have seen on the Internet in a long while.

http://booksthatmakeyoudumb.virgil.gr/

http://musicthatmakesyoudumb.virgil.gr/

That is correct, SAT scores against the most popular music as listed on Facebook. I am still figuring out exactly how they got the info, but from what I can tell this info wouldn't stand up to harsh analytical scrutiny. In any case the information is very interesting. It can also be used to mock people who read The Bible and like Little Wayne. So its got that going for it, which is nice.

But take a little time to check it out, there are some surprises. Like the Book of Mormon is right in the middle of the bell curve, while the Bible rocks the left (or "Dumb") side. Something that surprised me at first was the prevalence of books such as Their Eyes Were Watching God and Fahrenheit 451 over on the left side. After some thought I realized that those books were ones that are mandatory in many schools and would likely be listed as "Favorite Books" by stupid people who felt ignorant that they never read any books that they are not made to read. Which would also explain a book like Lolita chilling on the far right side. If you are unfamiliar with that work it is an erotic novel that tells about a creepy older dude who fucks a 14 year old and blah blah blah. I wasn't too taken with it myself, but it is a classic that is often banned in many high schools due to its "graphic nature". This means that only those who really enjoy reading outside of the mainstream constraints of high school literature classes would ever even pick up the book.

Take a gander and let me know what you think about either chart.

Ohhhhhh Yeahhhhhhh

I have been thinking about memories quite a bit today. (Why stems from the fact that the film Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and it references good and bad memories a decent amount. And since nothing better has presented itself this Saturday afternoon I have been sitting on my couch drinking Vodka and Red Bulls and watching Harry Potter. Don't judge me. I mean I suppose you will, but I could give two fucks. I know who I am and I am proud of the man I have become. But the issue of Pride will be addressed in later writings. Back on track.) And thinking of memories raises some thoughts. What do I remember? What "good" things? What "bad" things? Do I remember the first time I ever did this that or the other?
And that raised more questions. What exactly is a good memory versus a bad memory? Oh I mean I'm not so deep and philosophical that I cannot judge some good experiences from some bad ones, but somethings may be more subtle. For example: I can remember how nervous I was the first time I asked a girl to Homecoming. At the time it turned out well, that is to say she said Yes. Then down the road a short while I wished I had not asked her. Now further along I can look at that memory with warm fondness. Maybe it is because as one is more separated by time from an event, the more one's mind wants to look fondly on that event.
And while Revisionism provides an easy, if cynical, reason for this mental phenomena it raises the question: why then do we antagonize over (perceived) embarrassments and failures from out past?

But an obligation will cut short my musings. This topic will be revisited.

Clever Titles Are Hard To Come Up With Every Single Post

There is a sandstorm going on outside. While this is nothing new out here apparently they will be more frequent for March and April. Rosy was telling me that the locales have some legend about some Indian lady who drowned her kids in the Rio Grande and their revenge is shitty weather in the spring. I don't know anything about that, but in my opinion the weather is always shit here. Weather aside I am getting more comfortable out here. I mean I suppose I would have to; I live here now. I guess if I wanted to be optimistic I could say that at least they didn't station me in Alaska, there was a chance of that happening. I prefer the heat to the cold any day, and after 10 months here 40 degrees and windy makes me feel like I am about to die. Plus the heat and dry air cured the case of pnemonia that I picked up in basic.
Unrelated: I like Bud Light more than Miller Lite, but I seem to be in minority here. I mean I drink Miller, I am right now, but Bud Light seems smoother to me. I also miss Natty Light. I am putting together Beer Olympics a week from today and it's BYOB, so I'ma track down a 13 dollar 30 rack of Natty Light and show these peeps how I do. For Beer Olympics I have 6 (7?) games already lined up. They are:
Beer Pong
Quarters
Mushroom (?)
Beer Ball
Beer Bong
Flip Cup
1/2 Case Race

Hopefully the day will be a success. To paraphrase the esteemible Mr. "EZ" Ernie: "We are putting all of our eggs in this basket... SHUT UP FINCH! ALL THE EGGS!"