Damn You Gary Numan

I keep hearing about quiche. I don't mind quiche, its pretty fucking tasty actually, but its beginning to freak me out.
Its like I live in a world where everyone thinks quiche is just the shit to mention. People are writing about it, referencing it on TV and it is a minor plot point in a book I just read.
This is insane. It is out of hand. It must stop. Light, fluffy, egg-based, pie-pastry-whatever-the-fuck foods should not be something that occupies my mind for more than the 7 minutes it takes me to eat them.

Happy New Year. See you in hell quiche.

Would You Look At Us

Getting slightly ever so nervous.

I Believe It Was MONS Beer

I was just now sifting through the random floatsam and jetsam of the internet and came across this picture.
This is a picture of the Chinese city Yichang, which is located in Hubei province. Its fairly out of the way and just about the only thing going for it is its proximity to the Three Gorges Dam. I know this because I spent two days there and there wasn't much to do but see the Dam.
Because of this I spent most of the second day waiting for a train to Beijing, but not being one to sit and wait around a train station when there is a perfectly good fucking huge river nearby my friend and I spent our time waiting on the steep banks of the Yangtze River tanning and drinking lukewarm Chinese beer. And as we sat and drank and got stared at we talked and caught up and shit. And its not that we hadn't been talking for the entire week we had been traveling around together, but there was something very normal about our time by the river. Something that was reminiscent about times we spent chilling in his basement or running around Nottaway or eating lunch outside at Madison. Here we were, literally on the other side of the world and we just sat and bullshitted like we always have. I've seen a lot of cool shit in my life, and I've had a lot of fun, but those handful of hours sitting by that river ranks up there when it comes to just plan simple joy. And seeing a picture of it randomly just kinda set it off in my head.

This Shit's Better Than A Slam-Dunk, A Punt-Return Touchdown, a Grand Slam and A Greatest-Into-Callahan Put Together

This may seem like its petty, and it may seem to contradict the honest and pure fact that I really don't care and I'm over and done with it, but I don't and I am.
Its just that I won. I won hardcore. I won so hardcore its like winning it more than once. Shit, I might have won this three fucking times over.
So without getting too specific; a list of my win:

Moral Highground: CHECK
Massive Improvement in Standard of Living: CHECK
Retained (or Won) Friends: CHECK
Got Something Better, Not Massively Worse: CHECK
Parted Situation With Cold-Heartedness and Finality: CHECK
Didn't Lose My Fucking Mind: CHECK
Got More Attractive 'Friends': CHECK

Wiener Cousins

I feel like I say and/or write this often, but who gives a shit.

The world is an amazing place. I'm blown away on nearly a daily basis by its beauty, complexity and magical feel. In the same way pretty much nothing any of us could ever do will ever really matter, every tiny little thought and action also has more impact we could ever conceive.

It seems to me to be pretty common practice the world over to view life in a linear way. We are born at the start, we die at the end and in between we run alongside other line-lives and have milestones (even the world milestone speaks to this straight line view) and events along that line.
But often I feel myself looking at my life as a web. I am the center of my web, and everyone else is at the center of theirs. And as I live and grow and learn and move and love and kill and work and drink and travel and think and write and run and as everyone else does the same our webs interconnect. We cross and separate and run alongside and diverge for a time and re-connect and get lost forever, however the case may be. In those tangled webs greater structures arise that in turn go on to connect us more deeply and with more people. And even after we're gone; moved or broken up or lost touch or died, the remnants of our web still remain. Who we are or were is preserved in what we did and the connections we made and the ripples that exist in our wake.

This web of ours is Life, and it is chaos. And the deeper you peer the more beauty shines out and when you are very lucky, when you have had just the right number of drinks with just the right people in just the right places with members of the opposite sex that are just the right level of attractive, every little thing falls right into place for a fleeting second. And this crazy mess of a web makes perfect sense.

It Always Gets Worse Before It Gets Better

So close.
24 hours until I'm back in Virginia.

So close.
5 months until I'm out of the Army.

So close.
Less than a year until I can make myself a home.

"Are you breathing?"
"Yes."
"Then you're ok. If you're breathing then you're ok"

Silvio Berlusconi Is Sorry For Partying

Silvio Berlusconi is the fucking man.

I'm sorry if this sounds dumb, (No I'm not. Fuck you.) but the man is a fucking P-I-M-P. Dude becomes Prime Minister of Italy solely so he can change the laws that would have sent him to jail for some serious white collar crime.
While in office he seems to have done very little, with the exception of maybe keeping Italy from spiraling out of control debt-wise (see Greece, Ireland, Spain et al.) and of course throwing massive hooker-filled parties with 18 year-old super models and blow on private islands at government expense.

He has been accused of Mafia collusion, massive violations of anti-trust laws, participation in prostitution rings and "spicy relations" (his words) with 17 year-old girls. He has has lost his job twice already and clawed his way back. And just today he survived a vote of no confidence in the lower house of the Italian parliament by 3 votes.

Now if it seems like Mr. Berlusconi is a complete and total dirtbag that might be because in any conventional way he most certainly is. I mean I'm a pretty laid-back guy and only judge people I know and don't like, but shit. I mean banging 17 year olds stops being ok once you pass 19.

However...

He is still the fucking man. Plain and simple, he is the MAN. I have to give anyone credit when they game the system, and no one has gamed the system like Silvio. He is a massive creeper, criminal, sexist and said he envies President Obama's "tan" but find me another world leader who can play hide-and-seek with the German chancellor.

And while I'm sure most people would disagree with me here, I like my world leaders to not take themselves (or their jobs) too seriously.

Oh Well...

I don't own a TV currently. I used to have a sexy 42" LCD that I got for the bargain price of $0.00 from my homeboy Valvar cause he didn't want it. But, of course, it was stolen from a storage unit while I was away in Iraq. Honestly I wasn't that angered because I didn't pay for it, I put it into a sketch ass storage facility, and as they say; easy come, easy go.
In the nearly six months since I've been back (fuck me times flies) I haven't purchased a new one for a few reasons. One is the cable company has blacklisted me for having yet to pay a bill from 2008. Still another is I'm lazy and with the exception of blowing my money on trips around the country and around the world I try and bank some scrilla. I eat Mac & Cheese, drink Miller High Life and Kamchatka vodka, steal toilet paper and dress like I'm homeless. But the most real reason I don't own a TV is that I like being the kind of guy who doesn't own a TV.

This is not to say I don't watch TV. Because I do. I go over to Scott and Cisco's room a few times a week to watch 16 and Pregnant, Its Always Sunny and some football games. And I will watch another few shows online from time to time. But there is a marked difference between watching TV and owning a TV.

When you own a TV you tend to watch more TV. You watch stupid shit, you watch news, you watch non-SVU Law & Order, you watch terrible late-night shows. You sit in front of it changing the channel, pissed off that you've got cable and HBO and there is still nothing on. I feel free of that.

I read mot days. I surf the internet. And yeah, while I Facebook-stalk JPo-style (creepin' while you're sleepin') and look at random memes and listen to the Bed Intruder Song for hours at a time I also read Hindu gospels and Bertand Russel and listen to the Beatles. I write. I goad people into discussing international politics and Miley Cyrus. I go running. And I also do all of the above while drunk.

Fat Bottom Girl

She comes home a month from Wednesday.
Do I get partial credit if when I make the same exact mistake a second time I know its a mistake and harbor no illusions as to the outcome? Or does that just make me really dumb?

Maybe 'Ole Krishna Was On To Something

"...for, to a warrior, there is nothing nobler than a righteous war. Happy are the warriors to whom a battle such as this comes: it opens a door to heaven.
But if you refuse to fight this righteous war, you will be turning aside from your duty. You will be a sinner, and disgraced. People will speak ill of you throughout the ages. To a man who values his honor, that is surely worse than death. The warrior-chiefs will believe it is fear that drove you from the battle; you will be despised by those that have admired you so long. Your enemies, also, will slander your courage. They will use the words which should never be spoken. What could be harder to bear than that?
Die, and you win heaven. Conquer, and you enjoy the earth. Stand up now, son of Kunti, and resolve to fight. Realize that pleasure and pain, gain and loss, victory and defeat, are all one and the same: then go into battle." -Sri Krishna (Bhagavad Gita, Ch. 2:31-39)

Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish

Have you ever had someone tell you that you were born in the wrong time? That they could see you in another era of history or something.
I knew this girl once that used to tell me that shit all the time. I am fairly certain she meant it as a compliment, or at least not as an insult but every damn time she said it I wanted to kick her in the face. I wanted to kick her in the face because it strikes me as a monumentally stupid thing to say out loud to another person. Honestly, what the fuck is it even supposed to mean?
Does it mean I'm old-fashioned? Does it mean I'm adaptive? That I'm stupid? I honestly I have no goddamn idea what it means. And to be honest I don't want to.

I'm thrilled to be alive right now. These are intense fucking times we live in and I for one am glad to be around for them. And not just alive, but young and dumb and aware and involved and invested.
I'm not old and wizened and wise, sitting in a rocking chair judging all I see and thinking I know everything because I know something. I'm not middle-aged, having to worry about my future and the future of loved ones and the world as a whole. And I'm not a kid anymore either, I'm not blissfully ignorant of the world around me.
I'm full to the fucking brim with piss and vinegar. I don't know anything and want to learn it all. I've got huge reserves of blood and sweat and tears ready to be put into any enterprise. I've got a strong back and a hard head with enough scars to prove it but not enough to teach me a lesson. I'm smart enough to know I'm not invincible and dumb enough not to care.

And when I look around at this world I've inherited; this beautiful cluster-fuck of a world, it makes me smile like a fucking idiot.

I Would Run A Marathon Sponsored By Beer

The 5th Annual Michelob Ultra El Paso Marathon
March 6, 2011

I have 12 weeks to get my ass ready. Hardcore training starts Monday.

Oh How I've Missed You BBC

I am starving to death for lack of intellectual stimulation.

A List Of Things Currently Stressing Me Out

The fucking wind that will not stop blowing. Ever.

Work.

Trying to figure out how to file for:
Veteran's Disability
Post-9/11 GI Bill (Thank you Sen. Webb)
Online classes with a University whose credits will transfer to a real fucking college.

Getting into a real fucking college.

Getting old.

Christmas music. I hate Christmas music.

Stupid people at work who seem to think we will be invading North Korea sometime this month.

Knowing I still have 11 days until Christmas Leave.

The total and complete failure of any retail store on the East Side, Far East Side or Downtown El Paso in selling hand-held GPS systems.

Chaplain Kim.

Attempting to quit smoking.

The douchebag in the room next to mine and his stereo, which is always on, always loud and always playing shitty fucking music.

And of course, Bitches.

Bring On The Gays

This might just be the finest article I've read about the repeal of DADT.

This guy knows what he's talking about and he's right.

For the most part all of us who serve have very little in common. We are all races and religions and both sexes and all kinds of sexual preferences and we do what we do for more reasons than can ever be written down or understood by anyone.
But we all are grown ass men and women. We have proved to ourselves and the rest of the world time and time again through our actions everyday.

And the idea that some of my fellow brothers and sisters in-arms can't be who they are because of know-nothing, god-fearing, hate-mongering, reactionary, ignorant, scared, superstitious little bitches, most of whom have never worn a flag on their shoulder much less had someone try and fucking kill them because of it pisses me the fuck off.

Maci Had Her Shit TOGETHER

This second season of 16 and Pregnant has lost something. It fails entirely to capture my interest, despite my giving it every opportunity to do so. Every Tuesday I come home from work. I shower, read, maybe clean up a little. I make some dinner and then I go over to Scott and Cisco’s room with some beer. We tune in every Tuesday night at 8pm Mountain Time. And by fifteen minutes in I’ve lost interest.

Now some people may say that it has something to do with the fact I’ve already seen 16 & Pregnant and the seminal follow-up Teen Mom. I’ve gotten my sick gratification of watching teenagers attempt to deal with unplanned pregnancy and in some cases trying to raise their child. Some may say that because the novelty is gone with it goes my enthusiasm. Not so. There are droves of retarded reality shows I could give two shits about in spite of their novelty.

Case in point Jersey Shore. Fairly groundbreaking idea (for reasons I shan’t make clear right now but if you doubt me I am more than willing to defend my stance) but ask me if I gave one fuck about it for any point in time (except for a fairly solid Jersey Shore theme party I went to once) or even watched it.

No I loved 16 & Preggars because the young men and women it followed were allowed to develop. They were shown as more than just stupid teenagers, in spite of the fact that they could very easily be called that by all the rest of us who managed to have sex as teens and not have a child. But this second season is doing a garbage job of making these guys and gals in any way approachable. Part of it may be the hasty way in which this season was rushed into production. Part of it may be that they start every episode off solidly into the 3^rd trimester and go at least a month into the birth as opposed to focusing on solely the pregnancy as with the first season. Part of it may be that real, worthwhile human beings whose lives would make more than just cheap thrills are probably reluctant to have their personal lives plastered all over MTV for some second season run of a show panned widely by most people with brains.

All I know is (and this is just my opinion here) the four girls and their respective male counterparts from the first season and Teen Mom were trying. They might have been fucking crazy (Amber) or spoiled rotten by their crazy parents (Farrah) or technically step-siblings (Caetyln), but damnit if they weren’t trying their fucking hearts out. They were trying to go to college, have jobs, raise their kids and cultivate meaningful relationships with significant others, friends and family members. There was more to them then being teenagers with a baby and no money. I just plain can’t think of anyone shown on this season that has a more compelling story than; we’re broke. And even when it seems like they aren’t as broke as they could be it is obvious MTV is making it seem like they are because some fuckhead thinks that’s why the show was a success before. But what did I expect from the channel that canceled Clone High and How’s Your News and Nitro Circus but kept Bully Beatdown.

Things I Am Thinking About

Its cold. Its not supposed to be cold in El Paso.

Wish I hadn't fucked up college.

Part of me would love a war with North Korea, part of me would hate it.
Rationale: It would give me something to do and they got it coming and maybe this country would remember how to work together if we had a real full-on go-for-broke war. But its really cold and they might glass the South and when I say cold I'm talking like fucking cold.

I despise Christmas music.

If drinking High Life on my lunch break is wrong then I don't want to be right.

I should be running more. And yoga. I think maybe I should do yoga.

New prospect on the horizon?

Happy 22nd Birthday Sid. Wish I could be there for that party.

16 & Preggars is on tonight. SCORE!

I am waking up early tomorrow and going for a fucking run in the fucking freezing cold. No bitching out this time.

Dorothy seriously knows everyone, and who they're fucking.

What do you call your brother-in-law's sister?

There Goes All My Eggs.

I was informed via letter yesterday that VCU will not being admitting me for the Spring 2011 Semester. While they are thrilled by my interest I can go fuck myself.

Is this a bummer? Yes it is.
Does this mean I'll be in El Paso until May? Yes it does.
Am I somewhat worried about my prospects for college in the Fall of 2011? Yes I am.

However I'm proud to say I did not let that sour news, nor its possible future implications spoil my time in NoVA. I can say with confidence I fucking raged and it was glorious. The simple fact that VI breakfast, sketch karaoke with lesbians and spending time with people that you truly love and that truly love you cures pretty much all ills.
And I found out someone wrote a poem about me that was published, in spite of the fact my sweaty feet were a somewhat prominent factor.

I guess I can't complain.

Let He Who Is Without Something, Something Something...

I know I should quit smoking. The list of reasons why is long and valid and I have no desire to get into it now. Honestly half the time after I get done smoking a cigarette I feel somewhat sick.

But its hard. Its not just hard because of the addictive properties of Nicotine. Its not just hard because it has become a habit and something of a mental addiction. Its not just hard because its an outward manifestation of my inner self-destructive tendencies. And its not just hard because smoking gives you something to do when you're standing there with your finger up your nose looking like a jackass.
Its hard because there really is something to it. If there wasn't I wouldn't do it, 1.22 billion other people wouldn't currently be doing it, and pretty much everyone awesome/noteworthy/famous/infamous from history wouldn't have done it.

I'm not defending smoking from a health standpoint. I'm not saying anyone who is not smoking should be smoking. I'm not saying people who smoke a little should smoke more. I'm not saying children should smoke. I'm not saying just because other people have or do so should anyone. All I'm saying is I wish I was not banished from polite society for my use of tobacco.

Some people and the media and the government seem to revel in the passing of judgment on me because of a habit I have. They say I'm stupid and dirty and inconsiderate. They say I bow to 'peer pressure' and savvy ad campaigns and I'm somehow less than a contributing member of our society. Even people who smoke weed somehow consider themselves able to preach at me from the moral high ground. And while I don't think think pot is a harmful, nation-destroying drug I'll be fucking damned if some spacey burnout motherfucker thinks he or she can look down on me for smoking non-psychotropic substances allowed by law.

All I would like is acceptance. Acceptance that we are all subject to certain failings and dependencies. We all have our opiate, our comfort. Cigarettes or sex or God or Xbox or alcohol or weed or Xanax or weight lifting or coke or any number of other things. These are the things that help every one of us through every one of our days. Our sine qua non. What do we stand to gain by demonizing each other? Where does it get us?

For The Record This Has To Do With Two Very Different Females

Dear Penis,

I know its time for another trip, but please, oh dear fucking holy gods above, below and on the sides DO NOT do what you're thinking about doing. ITS NOT WORTH IT.

Love,
Brain

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Heart,

You, Penis and I had our shot a long time ago. We blew it. I've been doing really good about her for a long-ass time. Shit, Penis moved on (and on and on...) like, 3 years ago. We would like to be friends again, but that can't happen if you get all twisted over dumb shit.

Love,
Brain

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Brain,

Fair enough. I promise to lock it up, but I can't be held responsible if we get drunk with her. That shit's on you.

Love,
Heart

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Brain,

GO FUCK YOURSELF. I ALREADY TEXTED HER. SHE IS DTF! HAHAHAHAHA

Love,
Penis

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Penis,

Please wear a condom this time.

Love,
Brain

$100 To The Person Who Figures This Out

You were just what I needed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5-rdr0qhWk

At Least France Knows They're Bitches

Not to toot my own horn here, but I'm pretty awesome.

As you read this I'm 6 deep in Four Loko's. I've puked twice and my ight hand is swolen. I'm typing bad and my mind has entered another plane. But I'm proving a point toninight. Point is you can't tell us what to do. You can't hold back awesomness and you can't shackle the selfdestructive nature of humantiy.

Fuck you FDA. Fuck you long and fuck you hard.

I don't believe you know what's best for me. How the fuck could you? You think a good life is long and healthy. You want me to work produce until I'm 60 and die when I'm 70. I want to consume and burn a hole in your charts for as long as I can. I want to kill and maim and destroy profit margins. I want blood and rock & roll.

I fought and bled for your stupid asses , and you repay with me banning Four Loko?
Home of the Free indeed...

Box 'O Wine Anyone?

The world is like Pop Music.

It sucks, but there is something about it you cannot deny. Try as you might, say what you will but you're a god damn motherfucking liar if you say its not catchy as shit.

The world in which we live is sucking right now but things are better right now then ever.
So how about we all calm down and relax.

Happy Veteran's Day

Cappa Nappi
Grandpa Disser
Andoe
Aubrey
Co-Moe
Car-Car
Jones (RIP)
Hauser Sr.
Hauser
Reed
Davis (RIP)
Dillinger
Chester the Molester
Cassidy Chase
Moracco (RIP)
Big Zach
Sheenna (RIP)
Cousin Tim
Hannah
Guy Whose Name I Don't Know (RIP)
Steve, Tony and James the 'Terps
2nd Platoon (Dirty Deuces) Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 37th Armored Regiment, 1st Brigade, 1st Armored Division, III Corp, US Army
And everyone else who has taken it upon themselves to protect our country and the lives of those within.

Dracula's Lament

I know it makes no sense. I know when I drink my writing suffers. I know that right now I'm doing a little too much stream of consciousness. But I honestly don't give a fuck.

I don't know why other people write/blog. (PS I still fucking hate that word.) But I do know why I write. I write for me. I say (almost) whatever it is I want/need to say. And then I toss it out there into the ether and it feels kinda good. I'm not sorry and I'm not ashamed and I'm not embarrassed and I'm not worried.

In the words of a Mr. Joey Comeau: "We're all going to die. I intend to deserve it."

Usually I Don't Do This

This may be the great night I just had talking (READ: booze & broads) but the R. Kelly's "Ignition (Remix)" is really catchy.

I was on my bus home from Madison freshman year on a Friday in the spring the first time I heard that song. Little (Hot As Shit) Britney and Fat Mackenzie (Pre-Lipo) were bumping it on portable speakers connected to someone's CD player.
And I almost hate to say it but honest to fuck the lines that stood out to me:

Sippin' on Coke & Rum
I'm like "So what I'm drunk"
Its the freakin' weekend
Baby I'm about to have me some fun

I'm Winning

I'm fucking happy as balls right now. There isn't much rhyme or reason to it insofar as I can tell, I'm just happy.

I had a good day at work that was productive but not stressful, I have nothing that needs doing that I haven't already tended too and I got a fridge full of good beer and cheap liquor.

I'm heading to Atlanta in the AM for a few days, next weekend I'll be Ruidoso, NM for some gambling and drinking and then back to NoVA for Thanksgiving. It'll be an action-packed few weeks to be sure but honestly right now I'm just enjoying the moment.

Not to mention the fact that I'm winning right now. Its really rare that I'm winning what I'm winning at, but I am.

Fully Unrelated: I have an American flag hanging over my bed right now. Its the same flag I had over my bed in Iraq and the same flag I stole from some poor SOB's porch almost two years ago during a round of drunken shenanigans. Now I know how to fold a flag all proper (thank you CH) but I never got around to doing so with this flag. So its all wrinkled from its travels. And just this moment I wondered if its ok to iron a flag. As in would that be considered disrespect.
Because I don't really want to treat Old Glory with disrespect. But then I think that maybe it doesn't really matter at all what someone does to the physical flag. Maybe what matters is a body's intention.

Maybe more on this later. Right now, this second there is a fairly pretty girl in my kitchen asking me why the fuck I'm not shotgunning a beer with her and I have no good answer. Flag philosophy can wait.

At Least No One Is Trying To Kill Me

Well I screwed the pooch on this one. Guess who sent in their Mason application for FALL 2011 instead of SPRING 2011.

Fuck. My. Life.

Looks like I just put all of my getting-out-of-the-Army-early eggs into the VCU-basket. It could be worse, I mean I wouldn't mind in the least going to VCU. I just wish I wasn't so fucking stupid.

And while I'm on the subject, fuck college admissions. There are very few things in this world that can make me feel like I'm 17 again, but damned if waiting for an acceptance or rejection letter from some smug application processor isn't one of them.

4-6 Weeks to process all my shit. Goody for you taking your damn sweet time VCU. 4-6 weeks from the 1st of this month is DECEMBER. I NEED TO KNOW PRETTY DAMN FUCKING SOON TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE IN JANUARY. Which in and of itself is nowhere near a done deal. I need a god damn Two Star's signature for that shit.

I got stress coming from all sides right now and I just decided to make my first attempt at quitting smoking.

Damn You Bruce Cockburn

She's coming back soon. Does this matter to me? Well it must if I'm sitting awake on Sunday night writing about it.

I don't know why I'm tripping off this shit. I haven't talked to her in months and months. I can barely fucking stand her. And by 'barely' I mean I can't unless my BAC is over .12.

And who knows what her deal is now. I'm sure she has other shit going on. Do I want her to have other shit going on? Or do I want her? Or do I want someone to want me, even if I fucking despise them?

Fucking fucking FUCK.

"Of Course I Was Asleep.It's 3 In The Morning. Well I'm Awake Now..."

I guess I'm the guy to call at 3am. Not that I mind, mind you. I just find it funny that I've got call-waiting beeping at me in the dead of night while I'm chatting with a drunk friend. I go to answer and its another drunk friend. 15 minutes later a third, and so on into the night.
I'd love to claim massive popularity, but I think maybe I'm the only guy who answers his phone in the dead of night.

He's An Alright Writer Though

Never ever ever EVER listen to anything by Chuck Klosterman on audiobook.
The man has very deft and insightful things to say, but when he reads them out loud his voice will make you want to beat his smart ass to death. I swear to fuck, he is the whiniest little fuck in the world.

If I Had A Baby She'd Have Sauce

Its noon on a Friday. I have the day off work, a bottle of vodka and some OJ. I'm looking forward to a relaxing day, sippin on screwdrivers and napping. But then of course I listen to "Gimme Some Lovin'" by G. Love and Special Sauce. Now all I can think about is sex.
Damnit.

I Wish I Was A G6

There are a few hard parts about living life with a go-for-it always attitude and balls to the wall intensity. One big one is burnout. It takes a lot out of a person to never stop running around and only slow down only long enough to catch their breath.
Another one is planning for the future. Its hard to justify spending time on long-term plans if those plans don't dovetail with carpe-ing every ounce from every diem.
Which brings me to my current block; deciding what it is I actually want to do.
I have some free time, a perfect amount for a jaunty trip to Hipster City, or Las Vegas, or anywhere in North America really. And I have the money of course, but I don't think my hearts in it at the moment. I'm tired and I'll be heading down to Atlanta in a few days anyway. My bank account could use a breather and I'm sure my liver could too. Not to mention the idea of being stuck on another series of planes across the country abhors me.
So I suppose I'll just take it easy here in the big ELP this weekend and try not to think of all the fun Ill be missing everywhere else. I just hope I don't wake up Saturday morning kicking myself in the head.

You'd Think With All That Whiskey Hemingway Would Have Been A Worse Writer

I find that when I get distracted during writting I lose focus.
I just wrote a pretty decent 10 paragraphs but couldn't remember the ending I had in mind when I started. Oh well.

Meet The New Boss, Same As The Old Boss

Election Night in A-MUR-ica. Smells like democracy at work. Yay!

What does that mean? Well right now it means the Rebublican party will take control of the House, the Democrats will probably have control of the Senate and I'm gonna be hungover as shit tommrow. See on election days I have a few traditions.
First comes is not voting, then baiting people to harrass me about my responsibility as an American to vote. Nothing makes me happier than someone lecturing me on civic responsibiliy. Call me crazy but I feel like I fufill my civic duty by defending the body politc at large, while those that love to lecture tend to not. Is this a jerk-ass thing to do? Yes, yes it is. Ask me if I give a fuck.
Then I sit around work and find out exactly why it is any given person identifies with their chosen politcal party. This is super-fun in the Army where no one understands anything other than Rebublicans=Yay Army, Democrats=Yay Black Presidents. (I swear this is really how it is.)
Last comes getting wasted and watching CNN while talking politics to other drunk people. As far as I've seen its just about the only way any of it matters is if you're an idealist or drunk. And the only way I can converse with the former is to be the latter.
So I always wake up the first Wednesday in November with a wicked hangover and a re-affirmed conviction that Pete Townshend is neck-and-neck with Tom Petty and Bob Dylan insofar as being a lyrical genius is concerned.


(For the record I am a registered voter in the Commonwealth of Virginia. I maintain the ability to vote, but choose not to.)

He Also Enjoys Hitting People In The Face With Chairs

Today a co-worker said something along the lines of; what would you do if you had a boatload of money. As in after you bought a few cars and a big house and whatever. He said you'd be bored as fuck after a while. When people disagreed he asked them what they did over leave. He said we had 30 days off work and a few paychecks, and after two weeks at home or off work we were bored.
I laughed at him because I wasn't. Oh sure some afternoons around the house I did get kinda bored, but pretty soon Patty would come home or I'd go out and meet friends after work. But more so than that, when I had the time and the money I went to China. I took a bite out of life in a way that just doesn't occur to people like my coworker.
Guys and gals like him are just too practical I think. They just don't understand how you can just "go to China". And its not like he had a lot of other things to do. He has no kids, he's not in debt and he had the time off. Maybe he doesn't want to go to China (or wherever) but he also doesn't want anything like that. He wants to work 5 days a week and go party on the weekends He wants to drink some beers while watching a football game on Sundays. He wants to see his family at Christmas and sleep with his girlfriend every night.
I'm not saying there is anything wrong with any of those things. I want some of them too. But that's all he seems to want. He doesn't want to travel, he doesn't want to jump out of a plane or hunt boar with a sharp stick and a buck knife. He has no desire to go backpacking or hiking or camping in strange ass places. He doesn't want to read philosophy or see The Pillowman preformed on stage. He doesn't give a shit about those kind of things I suppose.
To me that's alien. I want everything, all the time. I want everything I said and more. I want a home and a girl to love. I want to have a purpose in life too. But I also want adventure. I want good adventure and bad adventure and funny adventure and scary adventure. I want to be an old man that you can tell has done just about everything and I won't mind at all if it shows. I'll take facial scars and leathery skin and bad knees down the road for to see and do the things I have seen and done. And the greatest thing about it is I'm just getting warmed up.

Its Bed Time Anyway

Another long weekend, another trip. Another day spent sitting in various airports. Another entrance into my empty room. Another Sunday night back in my own bed.
My own bed. Its mine, but its not. I haven't had a bed that I felt right in in a long time. My El Paso bed is too firm, my sheets too coarse, my single pillow too flat. The bed at Ralph and Karen's house has a down mattress pad that makes my legs hot and sweaty and the 30 pillows Karen has thoughtful stored there take up half the damn thing. My Iraq bed was just plain nasty as fuck and the bed in my old room was lost to my brother along with the room and half the shit in it.
In a way I've been homeless since I lost that last bed. I always have a bed, but never one that makes you feel how your bed should feel. I don't know exactly how to express it, but its a feeling I had once. I think everyone has it, or at least everyone who has a home, not-just-a-house type thing going on.
I've slept in other's beds and I could tell they felt it. In a few of those beds I felt it a little myself. Not just comfort, but safety and familiarity. Its like your bed is a loved one to some extent.
Maybe that's why letting someone sleep in your bed can sometimes be more awkward than fucking them; sex is sex, but having someone sleep in your bed is something else.

I am considering not posting this because honestly its shit writting. That is to say its worse than the usual shit. It sucks so bad because I'm failing at explaining the point in any meaningful way. I have a few coherent thoughts on what makes the bed I sleep in My bed verus the bed I sleep in, but I have a lot of feelings about it.
I know the feeling of having a bed and I know the feeling of not. I know how it feels to share a bed with someone you love like family and how it feels to share a bed with someone you love-love. And I know the weird feeling of sharing your bed with someone that you kinda feel shouldn't be sleeping in your bed (or you in theirs) no matter what the two of you just did in/on that bed.
I feel it, I just can't figure out how to say it.

5 Cigs

Sometimes I still get the shakes.
Sometimes I'm still spoiling for a fucking fight.

I just went out back to have a before bed smoke and I heard the POG ass motherfuckers who live next door shouting shit at one and other in their hick accents and all I wanted to do was go over there and punch one of them in the face. Fuck them. Fuck them.

I'm getting better. I smoke less and I fight less and I fuck more and drink a little less and I let more shit go then I used to. But I still hate them. I hate their asshole innocence.

I am getting a little better. I don't drink at all on Sunday and I don't get drunk on Monday and I limit myself to 5 beers on Tuesday. But its Wednesday and I'm drunk and I'm just spoiling for a fight.

Fuck them.

"Rosalita" Might Be The Best Song Ever Written

It's hard being a big brother. When you're little it means being the first one to fuck with your younger siblings and the first one to make sure no one else does. "No one fucks with _____ but me!" You get into a few fights for your brother and you beat him up a few times. Simple shit.

But as you get older it gets harder. You have to walk a fine line between teaching them not to make the same mistakes you made and blowing up their shit. Everyone has to be able to learn from other's fuck ups and be free to make their own mistakes at the same time.

Yet before you know it they're asking your advice. Someone wants your help figuring out their life when you just barely have a hold on your own. And honestly what advice can anyone give anyone else? I know me and my life. I know the shit I've been through. I know how I feel and how I think and that's just about it. The rest of it is a craps shoot.

So if you want my advice it boils down to this:

Go for it. Always, always al-fucking-ways go for it. Put 5 g's on Black. Raw-Dog it. Marry her. Take the last ride in. Play Russian Roulette. Eat spicy foods. Beer-bong 12oz of cheap warm vodka. Buy that plane ticket.

If its something you're gonna antagonize over, then go for it. I don't believe in any gods or post-mortem consciousness. If you ask me when we're done, we're done, then that's it; we're done. Sleep without the everlasting dreams and so forth. You got nothing to lose and anything to gain. GO FOR IT.
However;
should I be wrong then I see it this way:

I'll still have my memories. Send me to the highest cloud in heaven or the lowest cave in hell but I'll still be me. And I will always know the words to "Piano Man" and what that means to me. And I'll always know the panic of thinking you're about to be dead. And I'll always know the taste of a woman and how that makes me feel. And I'll always know the smell of Stella Artois in the spring and the feeling of being drunk in Europe. And I'll always know the bottomless feeling inside my belly when I fucked up real bad. And a million billion other little tiny bits of being alive.
If my 'soul' survives after I'm dead and gone then it's gonna have to know those feelings and a fucking trillion others. Otherwise it won't be my soul. And if it ain't my soul then who gives a fuck?

In Through The Nose, Out Through The Mouth

I bought my plane ticket for Friday this afternoon. Cost me a bit of dough, but I think it'll be worth it. I'm heading home to attened the Jon Stewart/Steven Colbert Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear on the 30th.
I have to say from the moment I heard about it I was in. I mean how can you not be? If there's one thing this country needs right now its more sanity. I think a ton of people out there just need to step back and take a deep breathe. Sure I know things are kinda tough right now, but that doesn't mean America is falling apart or China's about to be a superpower or the End Times are around the corner.
Everybody just needs to chill out a little and step back in from off the ledge. Gather some friends or family and sit on a porch somewhere. Go fishing or hiking or to a football game. Have a beer or some cider and just enjoy the day.
Trust me, it helps.

For The Record I'm Not Going To Go On A Shooting Spree

Dear Shippensburg University,
Please stop fucking with me and send my god damn transcripts. This shit is insane. Why would you put a hold on my account, when I haven't attended Ship in almost four years? And what the fuck is the hold for? You sent my transcripts to NOVA back in '07 without any fucking hassle. So what the hell have I done since then to warrent this?
I mean honestly the only thing that comes to mind is when I ran around naked at the Fall Classic in '08. But it was like 2am and I knew everyone.
For whatever reason this absurdity persists I want, I need it to stop. Because if you don't send my transcripts then I don't get in to college for the Spring semester. And if I don't get into college for the Spring semester then I don't get out of the Army in January. And if I don't get out of the Army in January then I stay until May. And if I stay until May I may lose my fucking mind. And losing one's mind is bad, but its worse when one has access to automatic weapons and ungodly amounts of NATO 5.56mm link.

Love,
M. Nappi

You Know Who You Are, You Uncouth Bastard

I bought a candle the other day to improve the smell and ambiance of my rooms. "Garden Rain" is the flavor or smell or whatever. It smells nice, but I wish it was a bit stronger. I mean if I buy a god damn candle I want that shit to make the whole room smell like a garden after a rainstorm. Or whatever.

Some people are of the opinion that candles are girly. This is somewhat wrong. I say somewhat because candles are kinda girly, but only certain types of candles and/or excessive amounts.

A couple of cheap ass candles from Wal-Mart with scents having to do with rain, the seasons or clean laundry is fine. Shit that smells like pie is ok, but only if you really like that kind of pie. Fruits are pretty much off-limits unless its a really random or manly fruit. EXAMPLE: Melon-type fruits. Berries are a big no-go, citrus is on the line and any fruit combination will not fly. Goofy-ass shaped candles are not cool, nor are candle holders of any sort. Groupings of candles with various heights is a no-go and more than 2 candles in a room is suspect. And all candles must be used; that is to say any candle serving a decorative purpose qualifies as femine.

If those basic rules are followed then candles in a man's domicle are just as gender-neutral as proper cooking equipment. Anyone that says otherwise is a classless boor whose abode smells.

College 2: Electric Boogaloo

Who has two thumbs and stands a real chance of getting out of the motha-flippin' Army 5 months early?

THIS GUY!!!!!

Redheads Not Warheads

For those of you keeping score at home today was a major victory in the war for Nappi Becoming A Real Person

It was my first day back at work (shoot me in the face) and it took me damn near fifteen minutes to remember how to put on my pants. (Not to say I'm stupid, I was trying to imply that I'm out of practice with the whole uniform thing. Also my Army pants have a button fly, and like who the fuck has a button fly anymore? You ever try and open a button fly when you're drunk? If its your fly you're gonna end up pissing yourself, if its someone else's fly they might get fed up with the whole thing and second guess letting someone as dumb and drunk as you unbutton their pants. Moving on...) But I got the hang of it and pretty soon the numbing boredom set in and the day progressed like so many others.
When work ended though I knew I needed to go to the store. I was tempted to just go back to my room and get drunk on the half-handle of rum I left in my cabinet before leave then go to bed. BUT I DIDN'T! This is a pretty impressive coup for me.
Instead I went to Wal-Mart and bought food and soap and a new lamp and bedsheets and a candle. And beer. Then I went to the mall and bought new shoes that I have been in need of for about 18 months. After those shennanigans I came home and CLEANED. I cleaned the shit outta my rooms. Then I put my lamp together. Then, and only then did I have a beer.

Reading over what I wrote this appears to be just a boring re-cap of my day. It appears that way beause that is in fact what it is. But its also a big step toward handling my shit. I'm making large steps away from the post-Iraq, binge drinking and personally destructive activites and toward getting my shit together. So go me.

Next Up: Applying to College For The Third And A Half Time In My Life

'Cause I'm Leavin' On A Jet Plane

My month of leave is winding down. Today's Friday. Tommrow's Saturday. Then comes Sunday and one last trip to the airport. Monday morning will find me back at work for the first time in a month.
I suppose it has to happen. And I'm sure it'll be fine. 'Cause as fun as this month has been I never forgot that I don't really live here anymore. Granted I don't live anywhere anymore, but I'm working on it.
Often in life we spend a lot of time looking towards the future, waiting for things to happen. And just as often we look back at the past and things that have already happened. And sometimes in doing so we miss where we are now. But its also possible I think to walk the fine line in the middle.
I'll never forget my past and I'll never stop reflecting on it. Just as I'll never stop looking towards tommrow and my hopes for the future. But I also think I do a pretty alright job of carpe-ing some fucking diem.

Old Crow > Crown Royal

I want to like whiskey. I really, truly do. I want to sit and sip Scotch or Bourbon on the rocks and not even give a fuck.
But I can't.

Whiskey fucking kills me. Kills me fucking dead. I grimace, I choke, I need to use a shot glass. I get into fights or morbidly depressed or punch holes in things I should not punch holes in. But still I persist.

I can drink vodka all day and all night and all the next day. I can drink it cheap and warm or expensive and chilled. I can drink it with boiled shrip and caviar or a Big Mac. It always goes down smooth. I can swig gin from a coffee mug leaning halfway out a fourth story window and hurl fruit at people all in good fun. I can do shots of Everclear and I can face 50/50's of 195 proof moonshine/Redbull from a Nalgene bottle. But fuck me running if Jameson's doesn't make me want to rip out my own throat.

One day though... One day I'll triumph over whiskey. And while I'm sure this sort of thing isn't what schoolteachers and parents mean when they tell kids to set goals for themselves I can't help but feel this qualifies.

New Goal: Drink whiskey.

Why Is Everyone I Know Asleep At 3:30am?

Its quarter to 5 in the morning so of course I'm awake. I've been awake all fucking night. Four hours of sleep, that's all I get a night. Maybe six if I get pass-out drunk and had a long day.

I suppose its partly jet-lag. If you think about it actually I really haven't stopped moving for very long in the past few months.
I don't really mind the lack of sleep though. I mean sleep is over-rated most of the time and its not like a nice comfy bed anyway.

Besides if I don't sleep then I don't dream. I used to never dream but I do a lot now. The dreams aren't really bad, they're almost never nightmares. They're just odd. I dream about normal shit, which is weird because its normal shit that has happened. My dreams are pretty much just memories, some good, some bad. I guess what I'm saying is if I have to dream (and I'm told it is inevitable though I wish it wasn't, I hate dreams) I'd like my dreams to be awesome. Or at least like crazy. I don't want to dream about sitting at work with Hauser or playing in the park with Patty or sitting in the Dallas Airport. Even my sex dreams are just re-plays of me having sex with girls I've already had sex with. Where's the fun in that? I want to nail models and fly through the air and fly a spaceship or something in my dreams.

Maybe when my dreams get more awesome I'll start sleeping more. But until then its Law & Order re-runs and pepperoni sandwiches until dawn.

Its Like A Sorbet For The Soul

I think I'm alright. I'm doing better. I'm happy. Its been a while, a pretty long while since I was really happy.

Since I got back things have been hard. Failing relationships, boredom, loneliness, unrest, lack of sleep and heroic amounts of solo drinking were the cornerstones of most of my time. But spending time back at home relaxing, seeing old and true friends in the RVA, Madison and China has done wonders. Meeting new and interesting people while searching for whatever it is I lost has done wonders. Getting a peak at some of the most beautiful sights this world has to offer, like a smile on a beautiful girl's face, or watching the sunrise over the James River after drinking 24 bottles of Andre, or my little brother's face when he tells me a story, or some of the most senic mountain vistas on the planet in Hunan Province has done wonders.

Thank you everyone who has been a part of these last few months.

I'm Also Gonna Drop Mad Scrilla On PBR

So I'm heading to China on Tuesday. Kinda mind blowing when I stop and think about it. Not so much that China is in and of itself mind-blowing. I mean its just a country after all.

Its just wonderful that this is my life right now. I'm just about as free as a body can be and I'm doing something to realize that freedom. This is the upside to being without a real home. This is the upside to having all that money I whored myself out to get. At least until Oct. 17th I can go where I please and do as I please and have the resources to do so.

All too often I get caught up in missing a stable life. I miss having a home and a group of people around me that I love. But I also forget the responsibilities and mundane-ness that go hand in hand with the comfort and security.

And so for the near future I'm going to do the best I can to enjoy my transient life. I'm going to live out of the bag on my back, drink whatever's presented, sleep on whatever couch is offered, kiss which ever pretty girl will have me, bathe whenever possible, hop any train, plane or boat at hand and not stress about anything.

Home Front Update:

Got visa for China trip. (CHECK)
Drunk moonbounce.
Bought clothes. (CHECK)
Gave self head injury. (FAIL)
Day drank with JPo

Fucking A I love NoVA

Sometimes Love Don't Feel Like It Should

Once when I was younger than 10 Ralph, Liz and I were driving in R-Unit's car. We were heading down 123 toward home, near Westwood listen to an Oldie's station and a Mellencamp song came on. It was "Jack and Diane". Almost out of nowhere he asks Liz if she thinks its a happy song. She listens for a second and he asks me. I ask him what he means by 'happy song' and right then Liz answers in the affermative.
She says she thinks its a happy song because Jack and Diane are doing the best they can and love each other and some other retarded shit.
I damn near hopped over the seat and hit my dear sister. It became so horribily clear to me after 30 seconds that J&D was one of the most depressing songs ever written. It says in plain black and white that life goes on even after the thrill of living has gone. Then says to hold on to 16 as long as you can. Its a lament to lost youth and the irony of being young. We all want to grown up and move on, yet once we get there we kinda want to go back.
Of course I know Mellencamp is not of the same caliber of the Boss or many other bards who say the same shit in different ways. But he has his own charm. Kind of a Dollar Store feeling that is so blatent (sp? I'm drunk) in its meaning you can't help but love it.

To Answer Your Second Question: 'Love' Is A Bit Strong Of A Word

My youngest brother just started Kindergarden at Westbriar. He was born when I was 17 and a Jr. at Madison. I love him to death, but its a bit of a trip to have potentially had a kid of my own years before he was born. I guess that's my way of saying that Paddy make me feel a bit old.
I started at Westbriar when I was in the 1st Grade. I can remember parts of it so clearly it scares me. Here I am at 22 and I still have the same two friends as I did 16 years ago.
And maybe 16 years isn't such a long time. Maybe after a while, after you get married and you have kids of your own 16 years goes by really fast. But I feel like the 16 years from 1st grade through turning 22 might just be the most eventful 16 years of a person's life. Maybe eventful is the wrong word; perhaps formative might be better.
In any case it just blows my mind to look down at Paddy and see something of myself. He's a real, growing person and if he's as lucky as I've been he'll meet some great friends that will always be there.

Who Can Say No To A Personal Letter?

Dear World,

I would really like it if you would please stop being such a bastard. Don't get me wrong, sometimes you're really great. I mean you provide us all with beer and sunshine and boobies and Teen Mom on MTV. But the whole giving-me-something-while-taking-away-another is really pissing me off. I get that we can't have it all, but maybe you could work on giving me things that go well together as opposed to not.
Its like a game of Scrabble. You keep giving me vowels, which are needed, but most of the time they're pretty useless without a consonant or two. Ease up on the E's and toss me a few S's or T's.
Honestly World, am I so bad to you? I try not to litter. I don't drive a car or dump toxic waste in the ocean. I attempt to apreciate your roundness and infinite mystery. I'm against another World War. I liked Pluto, but if you think that little asshole with an elipitcal orbit just isn't in the same category as you then I'm with you, World. Fuck Pluto!
So please with all due respect, back the fuck off and stop fucking hassling me.

Yours,
M. Nappi

It Looks Like A Background From Micosoft Power Point

Say what you want about El Paso; its hot, dusty, dry, boring, isolated, hostile, dangerous, ect. but damned if right around sunset it doesn't get a thousand times better.
The sun fades behind the Franklin mountains to the west while the clouds and the wind roll in from the south. The breeze is dry, but cools things off while the clouds give off lots of lightning but no thunder. The western sky always turns all kinds of pink and red and orange, silhouetting every peak of the whole range.
Come around sunset its always perfect weather to sit outside and have a beer, smoke the day's last cigarrette and relax in the breezy air.

I often miss the warm, wet summer nights at home. The air is like blankets, smothering sounds and giving everything a steamy feel that makes you want to have sex outdoors.
I often miss the freezing winter nights of Shippensburg where the air cuts your lungs and stings your face and smells so clean. Its so quiet you can hear nothing moving, no one awake for miles.
I often miss the sunrise out in the empty, flat desert where the sun breaks over the horizion in a split second all at once. Grey pre-dawn gives way to glaring sunlight in the space of a single breathe and shoots rays of light right into your eyes.
And I suppose when I've left this god damned place I'll find myself missing the wonderful sunset that always seems to be a fitting end to whatever kind of day I've had.

Being A Real Person List Ver. 1

• Drink less
• Sleep more
• Smoke less
• Run more
• Get a car?
• File tax returns
• Apply to college
• Pay cable bill from last year
• Less head trauma/fall down less
• Spend money wiser
• Buy clothes
• Do laundry
• Plan things more than 48 hours in advance
• Figure out what to do with my life

Seems like a pretty good start.

I'm On Fire

You ever read a book or watched a movie or listened to a song that you wish would just keep going? Not keep going forever, but just last a little longer. Two more chapters, one more scene, thirty more seconds. Anything to keep it from being over right then.

For me it happens most often in music and it takes one of two forms. Either the song is slow and understated and you never understand how so much was conveyed in so short a time frame. You expect some epic ballad of Led Zepplin/Journey length that is five minutes minimum, but instead you have a Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers sort of thing. Short and sweet and leaving you wanting another verse or two.
On the other hand, and more common, is an explosion of big sound that goes for the throat from the first beat and ends just as quick. Often with guitars being smashed and someone bleeding. Think the Ramones or Fight Like Apes; masters of delivering a severe musical beatdown in two and a half minutes that leaves you jonesing worse than a meth-head the day after rehab.

Maybe that's what makes those sort of things so great; they leave you wanting more. They never drag on or overstay their welcome. They show up, say what needs to be said and head for the door.
But maybe not. Maybe in a perfect world we get to keep the things we love and they never grow old. We never have to move away or break up or lose touch. We never come back to find that everything we knew is different and while we weren't looking the world went and spun around a few times on us.

Either way though the best thing about books and films and music is you can always rewind your favorite part, re-read your favorite book and set your iTunes to repeat.

Hell Of A Time To Cut Back On My Drinking...

Booze is really great at getting me to not think about things. Pretty much anything can be kept a bay with a bottle of gin, at least for a while. So this whole new sober-weekdays idea is getting a trial by fire. Damn it damn it fucking damn it.
Now I want to break something.

It Doesn't Matter Where You Been, As Long As It Was Deep

I honestly think Sid is wrong about things this time. Granted I thought Sid was wrong about it last time, when he was actually pretty much spot on. But (and no disrespect to my dearest Sidney) I feel safe in knowing Sid being correct about this type of shit is an abberation. Simply stated; there is no way he's right twice in a row.
I suppose however this is my fault in the end anyway. Linds seems to think so. How the hell am I supposed to know? Or is that just a bullshitting lie. Do I really know but just ignore the signposts? I also prefir Lind's alternate take; the gods hate me.
But here I am again, thrusting blame away from myself with both hands. At least I'm sober today...
Anyway what am I whinning about? I had a great weekend and I go home for a whole month on Friday. That's more time off than I have had since ever. Suck it up and move on, self.

Always Go To The Party. Always

I love un-spiced rum. It tends to make me reflective in a good way. Sometimes I envy people whose lives seem to have been filled with adventure and such. I feel they have really sucked the marrow from their time here and it shows. They have medals and memoirs and wrinkles and scars. They have stories and pictures of places and people most of us will never see.
But sometimes I realize that we all live amazing lives. Even trivial instances echo forever in our souls and make us who we are.
I never understood people who claim to live life like there was no tommrow. Its just not possible and that's ok, so why lie about it? I have made mistakes, some HUGE some (thankfully) less so. If I could go it again I'd change shit. But I really only have one full-on regret. The rest of my mistakes I look at this way:
I did the best I could. I made the choices I made with information I had and the feeling in my gut. I didn't know then what I know now, so why beat myself up about it? Just finding your way through life one day at a time is an acheivement worth note. Getting up and going out into the world is an adventure, because no matter what you're not quite sure how its going to end. That's why I always carry my passport and knife with me; you never know.
Life itself is an adventure.

Must Be Da Money

WE ARE ALL GOING TO BE ALRIGHT.

They Also Really Like Andre

I really like Richmond. Every single time I've gone down there, from my first visit through my most recent it has been nothing but kind to me. Great people, great parties, great chilling, great food, great shit to do, great porches, great music, and for the most part great conversations. Its a wonderful place and if it were a girl I'd finger it.

That being said...

Sometimes I find myself in the most insane conversations. And not really the good kind. The kind where someone tells me they "don't like water". They were being truthful. I swear to shit they said they did not like water.
Another time when I surveyed a pick-up truck full of girls what was worse; being an alcoholic or being a heroin addict, they all agreed that being addicted to smack was better than being an alky. Heroin. They would all rather shoot an opiate into their arm then get sucked into a bottle. They all came to this conclusion, I later found out, without ever trying heroin, nor ever meeting a scag addict. But they still thought it better than drinking. The stunner here for me was we were all riding in the back of the pick-up truck on our way to a lake to drink all day.

Now I don't really blame the RVA for this. I've had some stupid conversations all over this world, but I can honestly say no one is ever more earnest than in the River City. Which I suppose is a good thing. They don't equivocate or fuck around. They think something and stick to it. So good for them. I just hope they stay hydrated.

I Did Smoke Gummy Worms Once, But I Didn't Inhale...

I have not been a smoker for long. In fact I wouldn't really call myself a smoker at all, seeing as how I have no more than three a day, unless I get drunk. (We will ignore for now the frequency of that.)
Yet as anyone who smokes anything (dope, crack, meth, gummy worms wrapped in computer paper, ect...) even just socially can tell you Bic lighters have powers. They are gregarious by nature it seems, but hold no loyalty to those who purchase them. They hold no loyalty to those who painstakingly use their knives to remove the idiotic child-safety mechanism after one too many drinks. They hold no loyalty to those whose rescue them off the street or pocket them off the back stairs. No, a Bic lighter will jump ship on you at any moment, for any reason. And not even a good reason. They don't end up in the purse of the girl with the most cigarrettes. They don't end up in the pocket of the guy who has the weed. They don't leave you for greener pastures and funner parties. They just go, and you will never, ever, ever know to where.
As for them being inherently social, its true. To other Bic lighters. One day you look down into the cupholder of your car and you have five. A true goldmine of portable fire that could change the course of history if they were sent back in time far enough. But the second you remove one and begin to use it the integrity of your stash is lost. You will lose that first lighter and when you go to get another from your car the other four have disapeared into the either. Presumably to join their friend you have just lost.
Some people might just think that its the normal way of the world that small, cheap, oft lent out things have a way of disapearing. Those people should go to fucking hell. I'm not even fucking around here, go to hell. I want no part of your shenanigans. Point is something is going on.
Maybe they migrate to have sex and give birth to those tiny little Bic lighters. Maybe they are drawn on a molecular level to congrigate in out of the way places and rarely used purses. But fucking something is going on here and I want to know what.
If you have any information about this drop me a line please.

It's Not That Life Is So Short, It's That Your Dead For So Long

Off the cuff:
DC>Madison>Kemmerer>LA>Bejing>El Paso
Talk about the long way around...
Oct. is gonna kick ass.

Vervet Monkeys On St. Kitts. Look Them Up

I don't know the purpose of life. I don't know the point or even understand it. But I love it, even when it kicks my ass.
I used to know a guy, the Hon. Rev. Sludwig (I swear he was an legit minister.) who once told me he loved being hungover. At the time I thought he was insane, or at the very least a glutton for punishment. But now I think I get it.
A hangover is your body trying to tell you that alcohol is a poison. It is harmful and it kills you and you had way too much last night/afternoon/mid-morning (why should my state of inebriation depend of the time of day?).
Yet despite what some of us might say on Saturday mornings we know we're gonna do it again. We're going to head back into that breach once more dear friends and drink ourselves stupid. We're gonna drunk-dial and lose our keys. We're gonna charge 3 large security guards at Best Friends Day and we're gonna hook up with not-so-pretty people.
And that's what I love: that despite the overwhelming argument against drinking and drunkness starting with how stupid it makes you and ending with your body physically telling you to stop we just don't give a fuck.

Good Luck In The Navy

Fuck it. Make me the bad guy. I'll take it. Every fucking ounce. Forget what I said, forget what I meant. Hoist it onto my shoulders; I got this.

I become stronger in response to what I have to carry. I always rise to the occasion. Stab me, shoot at me, blow me up. Choke me, punch me, beat me the fuck down. Break my ribs and bruise my soul. I'm gonna be here. I might bleed on your carpet (sorry Finch) and I might be fall-down drunk (sorry Finch plus everyone I know...) but I'll be alive.

This Has Nothing To Do With Elton John

Nathan Lane just saved my life.
Super drunk. We're doomed...

Tuesday's Gone...

Thank you.
Thanks for the Mix CD's and the couches to crash and the booze. Thanks for listening and thanks for my shit. Thanks for the drugs that have been offered and good times provided. Thanks for forgiving me when I did not deserve it. And thank you for listening.
Thank you to anyone and everyone who trusts that one day I'll be more than what I am today.
I've been weak and I've been dumb, but I am going to do better and I will be better.
We all fuck up and we all have to deal with shit. If we're lucky we have people there to help us and forgive us when we're selfish bastards. And we have people to tell us that they love us.
I'm lucky. I'm very fucking lucky.

I'm too drunk to taste this chicken. But trust in those who you have always trusted.
M. Nappi is gonna be alright.

Captain Jack Will Get You By Tonight

Have you ever been homesick for somewhere you've never been? Instead of a place its more of an idea; a concept of a time and a place where everything is sunshine and roses, pizza and blowjobs.
In my mind I strive for someplace where everything is not just ok, but wonderful. When I was a child it was adulthood. When I was a teenager it was college. When I was in college is was Real Life. When I was in Iraq it was America. And now its college and Real Life again. Talk about a terrible cycle.
One day I'll find it. One day everything will be ok. One very fateful day I'm going to find that Bannana Farm we always used to talk about. I'll hack my way through the underbrush and appear into the clearing and there it will be.

She Was A Cool Chick, Even Though She Lived In McClean

A few years back I was riding the Metro home from DC. It was a Sunday afternoon in late November, the sky was clear and sunny but it was cold. I had come from Union Station and before that Richmond. I had been in the RVA for Sid's 19th birthday, which was well worth the trip. It was around that time though I was teetering on making the biggest decision in my life: if I should join the Army. And as anyone who has stood on the precipice of life-altering choices can tell you it tends to occupy your mind. At the time I was well practiced in masking my thoughts when I had a mind and despite that fact that I was amoungst the closest people to me in the world there was enough going on (READ: Sex, Boose and Weed) to keep them from prying into my pysche; therefore my preocupation went unnoticed and kept at bay.
But on the trip back to V-Town reality set in with the strength that only lack of sleep and soberity lends. Thus I found myself lost in thought as I boreded the Orange line and slouched deep into my seat. It wasn't until halfway through the ride I noticed a woman noticing me. She was mid-to-late 20's, attractive in an elementary-school teacher way and was with an older woman. I can't say why but I could tell after five seconds the older woman was her mother. I made eye contact with the young woman (Which was risky I know. Eye contact on the Metro can be a form of assualt in some people's minds.) and she smiled at me. (Which could be interprited as attempted murder.) Before I could even manage a feeble, worn-down, hungover half smile she asked me if my sweatshirt said SHIP. I responded with suprise that yes it did, it was short for Shippensburg University in PA. She told me she knew it, she was an alum and we fell to talking. We talked about where we lived, how bad the football team sucked, how renovations were going and our favorite places to party. Her mother looked awkwardly on.
In the course of our conversation I explained how I was no longer a student there and when asked what I was doing now I gave a response I had never given before. I told this young woman, this stranger who knew all about the CUB and Bard and Maxie's and Naugle that I was about to join the Army. I told someone I didn't even know the name of something I hadn't ever said out loud before. Something I wasn't until that moment sure I was going to do. My family had no idea, my friends had no idea, my lady at the time had no idea and I spilled the beans first to a random woman and her mother on the Metro.
I don't know why I told her. I don't know why I didn't talk about NOVA and Culinary Arts. I guess it was because as much as I knew nothing about this random woman I did know some. She knew how Ship smelled. She knew Naugle was the ghetto and Richard St. had had a riot. She called me a ShipMate. For some reason right then shared experience counted for a lot.
In the end she and her mother got off at Falls Church East and I rode to Vienna/GMU. I walked the half mile to Nottaway where I'd parked the Green Monster and drove home as the sun went down. And as I walked up the driveway to the house that wasn't home anymore that held the family who would look with disaproval on my unkept and obviously strung-out appearience I wasn't as tired as I had been. I felt a little bit lighter and a little more certain of myself for the first time in a long time.

I'm Going To Lose Some Sleep Over This

They say Pride comes before the Fall. Or rather the Bible says that. While I concur that Pride can hurt you sorely, sometimes its all that matters. When a person takes pride in what they do, how they act, what they say and believe, this is not a bad thing. And when a person professes to be something, to believe in something and stand for something its a matter of pride that when push comes to shove that they do what they said they would do, they are who they claim to be.
Some people, many people I think, don't see it that way. They think that our only obligation is to ourselves, or at least our first. I don't know how I feel about that, but if you can't stand to live with yourself knowing you did nothing when you should have done something then maybe you are looking out for Number 1. What I mean is that if you do nothing out of fear or common sense or self-preservation or just about any old reason besides you think its the wrong course of action then how can you stand yourself? How can you look at yourself everyday knowing you failed in your obligations. Your obligations to others and your obligation to yourself to be the kind of human being you can respect.
I'm not saying we have to be perfect. Better than some I know how deeply flawed we are. What I am saying is that because we're all flawed its that much more important to do whatever it takes to be better. To have courage and strength and not back down when real shit is on the line.

As Dear JPo Would Say: "Shambles. My Life Is In Shambles"

I dislike how everything I write now stands in contrast to anything written before I left for Iraq, or during. I dislike the idea of periods in my life because they very rarely feel like periods when I'm in the midst of them. Its not until some silent and massive door swings shut behind me that I realize things have changed. And while I think its true of everyone's life I also know I have a penchant for burning bridges while I lament the fire.
In any event Life Goes On and so shall I.
I've been drinking a lot. SUPRISE! Its hard to describe how I am in full understanding that I drink too much, yet am not bothered by this revalation, but that's where I stand. All I know is that it helps.
When I'm bored it gives me something to do. When I'm tired but can't sleep it puts me down. When I'm beaten down by my own life it picks me up. When I feel like being anti-social and alone it sends me into conversation with rando bar girls. When I feel like shit it makes me feel like gold.
And some people (most people?) think that't not ok. Army therapists, R&K and so forth cast stones. I'm ok with that; cast away kids. We all only understand our own lives; our own shit. No matter what anyone thinks they know about me, or you, they don't. They know them and guess at the rest. And they may be right; they may know what works and what doesn't. They may have proof and numbers and rational thinking on their side, but who gives a fuck? Call me a product of my enviroment but I'm young, dumb, strong and American. And just like most of us I've got an underdog complex. We love Rudy and Rocky and grew up learning we were born as a nation facing the odds. We play the Lotto and don't give a fuck. We think anyone can be President, and we all can change the world. So who can tell me I'm an alky? Who can say I'll die of cirrhosis of the liver, or that when I do its a bad thing? Who can say that my life has to be long to good? Who the fuck can tell me that growing old, shitting myself then dying in my sleep is a better end then buying the farm while robbing a bank? Or driving a motorcycle or fighting in a war or a monkey knife fight?
Alright I admit I went a bit off the reservation just there. My point is society pressures me to be who they want me to be. Sober, well-adjusted, monogamous, responsible, ect. while all I want to be is me. And all me wants to do is what ever the fuck I want to. And as long as I don't drunkenly stab you (and you didn't deserve it) then who gives a shit?

Stick A Fork In Me

I would have never guessed being home would be this hard. Sure Iraq sucked and things happened and whatever, but I figured it was no big deal. I've been back for over a week now though and things just seem not-normal. Maybe I don't know what normal is, or I forgot while I was gone. Maybe my stomach always ached and my mouth always had this taste in it and I was always tired. Maybe...

We have had to fill out half a dozen surveys since our return. Checking boxes and filling bubbles rating how we feel and if we're likely to kill ourselves. Have we noticed we're sleeping less or drinking more? Are we less interested in things or on edge? Do sirens and loud noises startle us?
The part I have difficultly with when signing and dating and filling out my forms is simply that I don't know. I don't know if I'm not sleeping because I can't or because maybe I'm jetlagged from our 20-hour plane ride home. I don't know if I'm drinking more because I have barely been able to drink since NOVEMBER. I don't know if I don't enjoy the things I used to because I've been working almost every single day since I got back so I haven't had the chance to do them. And if I feel isolated and alone it might just be because I have been given ZERO chance to see the people I care about and the home I don't believe even exisits anymore.

So forgive me Big Army if I simply check all the NO boxes on a survey and UNINTENTIONALLY use very foul language when getting my pre-evaluation with a shrink. Its just when some asshole with a clipboard tells me to be honest and I tell her that honestly she's wasting my fucking time with this Mickey Mouse bullshit because OF COURSE I think about hurting other people, I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't, (MY JOB IS TO HURT OTHER PEOPLE) I get frustrated. I get angry and tired and fed the fuck up and I would really love a little leeway here. Its hard to know the status quo when you've been so far gone, and its harder when you're not so sure you ever really had a handle on it anyway.

I'll Always Have A Story To Tell

I'm a gambler. At first glance I don't look it, but who really does? I don't go to casinos much or have an afinity for the ponies. I abhor poker (especially Hold 'Em. I mean jesus fucking christ who wants to play a game where half the cards are face fucking up?) and can barely stomach Black Jack. Craps is just that and Roulette is for people who like shiny objects. Gambling for money just seems so blase to me because I don't like money much. If I loose then who gives a fuck and if I win then who gives a fuck. I'll never bet enough to really risk something and thus never risk enough to win anything.

But when it comes to unconventional things I'll take the bet. I'll play Plane Delay Poker. I'll step up to Stay-Up-All-Night-Drinking-Before-A-Test Roulette. I'll run around a pool deck in a thunder storm with an umbrella pole or gun an MRAP with no helmet on or cross the border with a little something extra in the trunk. Fuck lightning and snipers and Border Patrol, I do what I want.

Sometimes I lose. Sometimes I get caught up, I get beat-down, I lose. But it is always always worth it.
I'm about to set off on another gamble. A long-term, high-stakes deal with enough risk that conventional-thinking people tell me to use my god-damn senses and slow my roll. But as any of those people can tell you, that ain't gonna happen. I don't listen to reason and I don't let risk or fear stop me. This might pay off big or it might burn me, but at the end of it all I'll be able to take pleasure knowing I went for it.

1,975 Miles

Time to go home. Or something. Not home, home's gone. It snuck away from me somewhere between 2006 and Monday. Dirty bastard. Can't really blame home though, I knew it was happening and honestly who wanted to stick around with me anyway?

You can't go back, but what do you do when you can't go forward either? I can't. At least not for a few months. Time. Give shit time and it'll work out. Bullshit. Fucking stupid ass old person, Hippy bullshit. Not everything works out and not everything is worth it.

Times like these call for whiskey. And it just so happens that in the United States of America whiskey is abundant. And it abounds within my cabinet. Don't mind if I do...