Running Brainwaves into the Grinder

hi jeff
thanks for the pretty flowers and yummy fruit
grandma thinks your a very thoughtful person
i think so toooo
jeri has gone home, should be landing any time
that's good
i enjoyed her being home, she spent more time with us then usual
and she cooked for us
she could be better at cleaning, but i'll take what i get
she bought a book for you, i'll send it off tomorrow along with stuff
i think a lot of our friends, jeri's starting to realize that they aren't going to do anything in life
that they have been doing the same thing since high school
and where that's all great
we are growing up
and you don't surround yourself with people like that if you want to be successful
consciously or sub
anything you want
um
i dont know
you are right about surrounding yourself with people with like interests
that is why parents try to steer kids away from others they feel will not be a positive influence
yea
but you can't do that, it has to be recognized by oneself, is what i've realized
also remember that there are two stages of adolescent growth.
the second stage is where you are at, and can take you to age 25-28
life is what happens while your planning it
my favorite saying
besides the lemonade thing
i took some cool pictures of tonights patrol
sounds neat
where are you patrolling
we aren't really patrolling
we are moving barriers from the roads
the sides of the roads
per maliki's order
siobhain's friend's kid charlie is going back to iraq next month
to come do nothing
and still be blown up
he is in the marines, and will help with the last of the soliders there
i forget what she called the group
yea, i thought that too
we lost two guys the other night, some nasty girl unit from oregon
i think maybe nptt
national police training team
pronounced nippit
his older brother committed suicide recently
this will be hard on his mom
wow
i can imagine
i guess
hard to understand when one has not experienced the actual events
not unlike us here and you there
right
i find myself becoming filled with rage, when i think about everyone in the united states
siobhain told me that she is fed up with eun ji, and going to look for another job
rage because?
lack of understanding?
yea
officers who don't get it
that and...
just because they have no idea that we are over here
no people in the united states
it's not the 30+ crowd
it's my generation
they are so unaware
and have no care
i think that we are having a war, and there is no sacrifice on a personal level
not like in wwii,
right
i wrote a blog about this
people did without to support the effort and not go into debt
that generation wwii are very giving
mine is want want want
and no hard work
we have this sense of entitlement that we haven't earned
if you ask them for 5 or 10 dollars to support a project, they do it
right
i've been reading, and need to finish, about poverty...
because it's the easy road
there's no personal sacrifice in that
entilement is part of that culture
and you are right
but if you dwell on it, it makes you nuts
perception
different for everyone
right
and it makes everyone around me nuts
or they think i'm a jackass
i hate when people tell me, thanks for all you do for this country
i really hate it
i understand
because it's just like giving me 5 bucks for a project
i think alot of that comes from the viet nam era
hate for the war was vented at soldiers
no one wants that to happen
even when they don't agree with the action, they appreciate that you signed up
but at least those people cared
i'd rather people punch me in the balls
and spit on me
then give me empty thanks
because then they would care
its not empty - more like they don't know what else to say
they wouldn't be apathetic, because that's what they are by saying thanks for all you do
its like when someone dies
and you tell the family your in our thoughts and prayers
they don't know enough to make a true personal comment
so that is the social acceptable
thing to say in lieu of
i think when soldiers are seen, and many of those people have family and friends serving
they want to acknowledge you and your sacrifice
but not a lot of people have family or friends serving
1.6 million are in the armed forces
1.6 million
that's a tenth of the population of los angeles
many do or know someone in the office that has
like i said, they don't know what else to say, since they don't know you personally
since glenn went through police academy, i feel different when i see someone in uniform
weird
right
you understand a piece of the sacrifice and commitment
there was also a time when society when thru the process of seeing police in a more positive light
similar to seeing a uniform for military
right
but because of big government
that light is getting smaller
because more and more people are becoming anti government
even when you feel it is not a proper comment, try to understand that people want to acknowledge your commitment
i don't feel that people are anti government
i know there are factions that exist
they should be
our government has become to powerful
with it's censors of free speech
but it is not like at one time with the black panther movement
right...?
always true - we think that might is right
a bully of sorts
the more complex a society, the more restrictions get applied
i learned that in anthropology
they more regulations on reproduction -
on everything
the more lost an individual can be within the society
i think the biggest problem is we've turned into a society that allows the weak to survive
and actually thrive
and punish the strong by giving them the burden of those who do no contribute
tribes used to kick individuals out of their tribe if they were greedy or self fish
but now they just cling to the strong, and let them do all the work
and yet there is evidence of ancient tribes who took care of individuals with disabilities
if they could contribute in some way
i understand what you are talking about - it cannot be denied
creating a way for individuals to earn what they get is the right way
right
that is why it is so important for government to create job, encourage employment for people
another thought
our society is becoming more stupid
and make things like unemployment, and welfare extremely difficult to get approved for
stupider*
is or are?
i'm only joking, i know what you mean
we have too many things to help us with our everyday work
by not having to develop more skills, we are less able to do more
using calculators
buying meat
not hunting
not willing to learn math
not to mention spell check that automatically fixes things
computers
researching papers, as easy as wikipedia
it all comes down to self esteem
and ethics
which is poor because of the media
you need to do what is right because it is right
and morals, don't forget morals
that is a learning process
and must be taught
so how can we fix all of this? reverse the direction?
be a leader in the community
be like the man who threw the star fish back into the sea
one at a time
many people feel like you feel
sounds like the old song -
what's the matter with kids today
i think that i have made some small differences to individual people
but recently, i feel that i don't make any difference at all
the best i can do right now is take care of family
and myself
back to the balance of life - seven areas
social, personal spiritual, financial, health, family,
i think i need to review my notes
as an individual, one must pursue personal growth
this goes on always
and brings us back to your original comment
surround yourself with good people
people who have good goals and similar goals

and if that's not interesting sidebar between my dearest mom and i... these pics are pretty cool





could almost be LA, but too many english speakers in this city to confuse the two



if that's not tactical steel wire cutting, i don't know what is



Stugil Liche! I know it looks like german, but that's how it sounds too
GET TO WORK CHILDREN is the rough arabic to english translation


The LT talks to the National Police, and let's them know the ridiculousness
that we and now they are a part of!

the local national
cranes doing their work while we pull security for them... worth our lives


LT Dan and the Terp, Bob


Me being a jackass



This was a few weeks ago. this is damage to the backside of the barriers
from an efp blast.


that's the hole in the concrete wall the efp charge made... some good they do...
they do a good job of hiding bombs, that's for sure


I have just lost all faith in the good people to do good, as all my energy combats the weak and dumb. The overwhelming feeling of failure not just as a society, but as a human race is astonishingly present.

Iraqi Autumn, California's Fire Season. It's All Just Deja Vu

Tonight was yet another glorious mission among the men of AT 4, as we removed ugly American concrete barriers from the sides of streets here in the beautiful city of Baghdad, in the gorgeous country of Iraq. They really need to invent a sarcasm font. Strolling around, following the coat tails of my most illustrious boss while we encouraged the local nationals to work harder and faster at removing such eyesores as our barriers, to at least reveal the beauty of piled up trash and roadside bombs, I noticed one very uplifting thing, other than Bob yelling at his own people, working them like slaves and saying Zinzizzle. And that's, Summer is over.

It's still in the 100's, and probably won't cool down dramatically fast, but the end of the hottest days are over. Not that it really matters, because we are vampires who only venture out when the sun is no longer in the sky. That being said, the way I was able to tell it is the end of summer here, was a reminiscent of the end of summers home.

After walking around in my 100 pounds of kit, during a warm night, I noticed that the persperation was not collecting in it's usual thickness, running down my forehead in some kind of choreographed routine of annoyance. This sweat instead was nice. Just enough to give the skin a little glaze of moisture, and lay still as if trying not to be detected. The cool wind blowing across the moon and star lit desert, cooling the face and neck a little extra. Infiltrating the ends of my sleeves, softly allowing my arms some cool comfort. I stare at the half moon, surrounded by tiny specs of bright white light and the back and forth of dancing palm trees. The wind passing over the palm frans, delicately swaying them from right to left, letting off the soft moans of swish-swash with melodic and soothing sounds, nearly putting me into meditation. I close my eyes, and am playing basketball in the driveway during those autumn nights in California.

Since it's now the 'fall,' that means in California, one thing... Fire Season

Returning from mission, turning on my laptop, and checking the Dodger game score, I refreshed a page that I had left up, about the fires in California. This of course is not any new thing for California during Fall, our Fire Season. When we left for mission, the fire was still aways from my house, in La Canada. When the page refreshed, my heart immediately started pounding. The fires had made quite a lot of progress in the five or six hours I was gone, and unfortunately progress right towards my house.

Last year was a devastating year for my family during this season. November, during the Sylmar Fire, my Grandparents house was one of the thousands that were lost to mother nature. My parents house is in close proximity to my grandparents house, and nearly caught on fire to. Actually probably would have, as the Birds of Paradise in our backyard went up in flames. Our neighbor, hood had stayed after everyone evacuated, had been putting out spot fires on ours, and his property. This blaze was too much for him, and as he was losing, a man on a motorcycle rode into our property, grabbed a hose and helped to squelch the fire from it's exsistant. To this day that stranger is unknown to us, but we are greatly thankful.

After the damage was done, my grandparents house destroyed, they've spent the better part of this building a house on the acre sized lot my parents own. They just recently finished it and moved into their new place. I'm crossing my fingers more for that fire to be contained, than I do when we are driving down dangerous roads here in Iraq. I'm worried for my family, who usually does all the worrying for me. I guess, maybe I need to ask Lt. Dan to go to Cali and stay at my parents place so that he can protect it with his bubble of beauty, our safety net here in Iraq.

I put some images of last years fire, being the actual picture, and the map just below. See how it compares to this years map of the fire that is still blazing in the Glendale area, just east of my house, and east of last years blaze. That picture is from where my grandparents house used to be.






Zinzizzle

Lou's Road To Perdition

Now being at a 'hub' base, I've been given the opportunity to run into friends across the battalion. Those outside of Delta Company who have been stationed at other various bases around this area. There is a lot of heartbreak and sacrifice that goes into not just this deployment, but every deployment. This one really no different than any from the past. The divorces that will ensue after we return to home. The relationships already destroyed are somewhat of a travesty. Even the loss of brethren for apparently no purpose and without justice is close to comparison to the worst tragedy of this deployment. Our chain of command.

I'm not talking about the intermediate chain of command, I'm talking about the top of our chain. The men who make the big decisions. The liars, the politicians, the ego-maniacs. They run a good campaign. They really do. They even had us all fooled from the day they arrived. We believed what they said, and they even attempted to convey it. Family first. The preached it all year. Got us days off before deployment to spend time with family. They told us what they wouldn't stand for, that we wouldn't be treated like second class citizens. That this deployment, they were going to keep us out of harms way and this that and every other lie that hasn't come to be true. Despite all the lies, and the politics that should be left out of the military, last night I heard the most heartbreaking story about the lack of care for us the soldiers our chain of command has. Even though they say they do.

I ran into my old section leader, now a part of Alpha Company, no longer a Misfit of Delta. His mother passed away from pancreatic cancer during this deployment. The events leading up to it, almost as tragic as his loss.

His mother was in remission, with one chemotherapy treatment. My friend, we'll call him Gary, had been home on leave while she was doing well. Because of how well she was doing, she told him to enjoy himself, to go on vacation with his girlfriend and see his kids. He obliged his mothers wishes, and didn't visit her. Things took a turn for the worse after he had already returned from his leave, and was back in Iraq. When his mother went into the emergency room because of complications in her basic life support systems, a red cross message was sent, requesting his presence. This is the process of getting a soldier home to family. An emergency Red Cross message. Usually, whether it's a death in the family, or a heart attack, or stroke, it's always something where the family wants the individual there. It could be the last chance they have of seeing that person, or perhaps it's the time they need to take care of their loved ones state of affairs. Whatever it is, usually you're given ample time to deal with it. 15 days.

Gary's case was not such. He was granted 5 days for leave. Granted isn't the best term. The men at the top, our battalion commander, and sergeant major, reluctantly let him take 5 days days, after they interrogated him, and even doubted that his mother was actually sick. Their reasoning for 5 days, because if he took 15, they wouldn't be able to allow him to take leave later on when she died. I've seen it before from our sergeant major, back in the rear. I received a Red Cross message while on Battalion Staff Duty. He was quite the detective, trying to figure out if it was an individual trying to get out of deployment. Had me call Red Cross, to confirm that the case number was real or not. Doubted that this guys Dad had died. Refused to believe that it could be something tragic and not just some guy trying to go home. I could believe it when I heard this coming from Gary's mouth, yet I still shuddered. He smudged his leave to say 7 days instead of 5, because those five days don't include 'travel days' which is basically a two day process to get stateside from here.

Not wanting to spend just three days with his dieing mother, he arrived home to find that it was much worse than he thought. She refused to stay in the emergency room, wanting to rather be surrounded by family, at home when she passed. The doctor let them know she didn't have more than a week to live, that her body was shutting down. The organs failing. When Gary called his chain of command, to request a leave extension, he was denied. Not by his First Sergeant or Company Commander, but by the Battalion sergeant major and battalion commander. He pleaded and pleaded. He was denied and denied, and even told that he was a grown man and to do what he thinks he should. Reluctantly he returned to theatre, fearing AWOL wouldn't settle well in his career he's established in the Army. Especially with years remaining on his contract. Two hours after he arrived in Kuwait, his mother passed away. The timeline of that, from flight stateside to here, he probably only needed another 2 days to be with her while she went. One of her last dieing requests to have him present.

After dealing with the run around of getting another Red Cross message sent, and another leave form approved, Gary was back stateside to handle the affairs of her state. After returning for a week home, he was called by his chain of command, them telling him that he was going to be considered AWOL. That our battalion commander didn't approve him the week that was on his leave form, and only another five days. After returning from the states again, with this ordeal finally behind him, Gary had a face to face with the battalion sergeant major. The face to face, was uncomfortable to say the least, because after all this is a rank that deserves a lot of respect, but the man wearing it who deserves little. After Gary was able to bite his tongue after some insults thrown at him, the battalion commander walked in the room. Instead of being the 'Lou' he wants us to believe he is, he took one look at Gary, no condolences or sorry's, and maniacally said, 'Oh, you're back.'

Gary's girlfriend was even harassed later by the sergeant major, as he called her at 4 in the morning stateside to wonder if there actually was a funeral, and what it was like. Not believing that there could've been a death. If any of you have loved ones over here, you know that a call at that time in the morning, from an individual that high in the chain of command, usually only means one thing. That they are dead. Instead it was an un-trusting man, who has little to no support for his troops. The battalion commander is another story. Gary has spent five years in the battalion. He's come down on orders twice, only to have the cancelled so that he can deploy with what was a beloved and good 2 Panter.

The insensitivity is not an uncommon thing in an Infantry Battalion, but the level that was displayed by those who are supposed to be the utmost professional, those who set and enforce standards, was such an extreme, and in such poor judgement, it's a wonder how they are 'in command' of us. The idea that these two individuals are in charge of so many paratroopers, that they've allowed paratroopers like SSG Bauer, and SGT Duffy to perish here in vain, along with causing even more hardships, stresses, to the soldiers still alive is nothing short of evil. They send us out on missions that only endanger our lives, have no real purpose but to help to advance their own careers. The selfishness, egotistical commanders who are in charge of your loved ones, don't give two shits about us. They are the worst politicians, working and striving towards personal achievement and advancement even if it's at the cost of my life, or your sons.

We are taught the Army core values, and even punished severely if we do not exemplify them on a day to day basis. Loyalty, Duty, Respect, Selfless-Service, Honor, Integrity and Personal Courage. A simple break of one of these for someone like me, could me demotion, pay taken away, and days of extra duty. Yet, because of rank, which doesn't give privilege, these power hungry individuals are running around freed and unchecked. Some people deserve nothing less than divine punishment for the evil that they put on us. I know I'm not alone, even talking to an E7 who's returned from where I was in basic training, said that this isn't the way it's supposed to be. It's a mutual feeling throughout our battalion from brand new private, to 20 year veteran Sergeant First Class', and yet through the undiplomatic Army we have no power to stop it. I won't shake the hand or look in the eyes of men like Lou or Herb, only their rank earns any respect. They are despicable individuals who deserve nothing less than perdition.


The man who promises everything is sure to fulfil nothing, and everyone who promises too much is in danger of using evil means in order to carry out his promises, and is already on the road to perdition. -Carl Jung

A Legend In My Own Wright

I'm not too sure what path I'm going to lead you down during this blog. I'm not even too sure of the destination. But since Inspirado has left me the last few days, I decided it's time to do it on my own, and at least get something on 'paper.'

It's something I've always been curious about, but never curious enough to sit down and take a look. That's where my name came from. Wright. I remembered during my fifth grade year, my sister and I became celebrities at our school, because we had a school presentation about the original 13 colonies. In the presentation was our name, Wright, in a catchy song that connected it to things like ship and wheel. I learned then what my name meant. Kind of.

It's supposed to be someone who makes something. Hrudey here tells me that it's an archaic noun meaning, maker or builder. That it's also old english spelling is wryhta. It's not only English surname but an Irish one as well. Explains the bad teeth and the drinking problem then right? And where that is all very interesting, what does it mean for this lot? aka, me. What am I to do with a name like Wright? What are the precessing expectations on my life now. That I have to do better than the lineage of my name. Especially in the position of life that I'm in now, where a step could be in any direction, up or down, left or wright, what can help me determine what I need to strive to be, at least. Perhaps looking at myself, within myself, and my heritage can help me to determine, at least some basic principals or goals to live by.

When I first think of my own name, Wright, automatically the first famous Wright to pop into my head is two of them. William and Orville Wright, the 'Wright Brothers.' They were of course most known for being 'The First In Flight.' You can of course read this on the license plate of any vehicle in North Carolina, which just so happens to be where I live stateside. Coincidence? The next Wright that comes to mind for me at least, is Frank Lloyd Wright the famous architect. His buildings are distinguished and recognizable. He's even famous enough to have a Simon & Garfunkel song written about him. So Long Frank Lloyd Wright.

Other than those three gentleman, the name Wright isn't very famous, though probably pretty common. The only famous person with the same name as me, Jeffrey Wright, is an actor which you might know, but probably couldn't point him out in a crowd. Even though his name was with the likes of Clooney and Damon in the movie Syriana, you still probably wouldn't know him. Other search results come up with various athletes, mostly English Football players and more architects, toy and video game designers. Upholding the Wright name even in the 21st century.



The search of my last name yielded some scary results however. With famous and infamous people. From 'Lesbian American Murder,' to the famous 'Welsh Cyclist.' Rick Wright, the keyboardist for Pink Floyd is about the only other interesting Wright I could find. The various athletes don't really amount to much, and there are no presidents with the last name Wright. My name apparently is rarely meant for greatness. But in that consideration, what is greatness? What is success? We try and think of these things as great feats of life. Climbing K2, or building an Airplane. Becoming President, or winning an NFL MVP award. Yes, these things are all great, and wonderful successes in life. But don't discredit the feats that we Wright's have done.

The three generations of Wright's I know, and that I'm a descendant of are successful in the game of life. They are hard workers, filled with common sense, and a caring for matters of the world, and neighbor. Let me tell you about the successful Wright's I know, and that I strive to be a little more than the pipe dreams of US Senate. Though that is an option.

My grandpa Elbert Wright probably yields the most respect of anyone else in my life. He was born like me, with a twin sister. Raised in Colorado in a very small house. His growing up through the great depression was very hard, where the only food for his family was rice. A food he got so sick of, he won't even eat it to this day! Even when us grand kids try and trick him, or tease him about it. After joining the Navy in World War II, Grandpa Poop as we affectionately call him, worked for the Los Angeles Unified School District for 35 years before retiring. Raised a family of three boys, to include my dad. His life has been filled with adversity and uncertainty, all which he overcame, perceived and even lived the successful life of a middle class, blue collar American, with a wife of 50+ years of marriage, and the raising of three boys, all successful in their own Wright. Even though a fire traumatically burned down his and my grandmothers house last year, the physical reminders of pictures, paintings, sawdust, and pigs lost all gone, there are still an overwhelming amount of memories of the success' that my grandfather made for himself in his life. His workshop setup or his Raggedy Andy/Ann paintings he painted when he found his artistic side. All in all Grandpa, you've been successful in your life in all but one area... retaining the hair on top of your head! Love you.



The other successful Wright's? For starters my Dad and my Uncles; Dennis, Roger and Brian. My uncles in the second half stretch of their successful careers also in the LAUSD. My dad able to support my brother and us kids while we grew up. And even after we've grown up, helping to send my sister to college. With an Opera-good voice, that he displays about once a year at Los Angeles Lakers games, and a golf handicap of under 10. So other than Dennis, my dad, my sister Jeri a Cal Berkeley graduate this year, and my brother Glenn graduating from the Los Angeles Unified School Police Division, you have the adopted Wright, my mom Edith. The hardest working person I know. She also works in the LAUSD, so I'm thinkin it's in the Wright gene to do so.

My family, the Wright's have are ups and downs like probably anyone elses family has, but the thing that makes a Wright a Wright- LOVE. Our family gets together on every holiday, everyone gets along. We all are friends and support for the other family. We've never allowed any little disagreements to get in the way of our love for one another. It's really a miraculous thing to be a part of. I'm sad that more people don't know the unconditional love we all have for each other. So maybe I'm not going to be the first astronaut to walk on Mars, or the first President to bring world peace. Perhaps I'll just work as a teacher in the LAUSD, supporting a wife and kids through life. But isn't that in itself a great feat of life?

I'm not always correct, but I am always Wright.




MENS SIBI CONSCIA RECTI
The Minds Conscience of its own Rectitude

The Army Athlete, and F-ing Ramadan

Today I was reminded about an idea I had before. It's kind of weird when someone expresses the same opinion as you, with neither you nor them being inspired by each other. I know there's a word for that, but my vocabulary isn't tracking. The idea I once had thought about, on more than one occasion, was provoked again as our platoon was learning knowledgeable information about Crossfit. The idea that was said aloud by my LT, was that being a soldier you should be at the same level of fitness as professional athletes in any other major or even college sport.. I really wanted to leave college sport out there, because it will only make the point I'm going to try and make harder. Here I go.

With the job of an Infantryman, or Airborne Infantryman we should be considered nothing short of professional athletes. Perhaps our job could even be considered a sport. It's demands are even higher than most or possibly all other sports. Apparently even Golf. There are a lot of similarities between our job and the jobs of athletes in sports like baseball, football, rugby, hockey, etc., etc. But there are things that separate the us and them. And this is partly where the college thing makes it hard. We don't get paid the big bucks. Not like Peyton Manning, Tiger Woods, Manny Ramirez, or any of those other athletes. College players don't get paid with money sure, but if they perform to a certain level can make up for all of that in two words. Signing bonus. Not too mention that they get college paid for, and don't have to start life in the hole of debt, even if they don't turn pro. The other thing that kind of separates us, is the public eye. We are both in it. We are just the jersey though, the uniform. In professional sports, you have a lot of individuals, going from team to team, recognizable not for the name on the front of the jersey, but the name on the back. Unless you personally know me, if you were to see me in a bar, you wouldn't know I was in the Army unless I was in uniform. You certainly would recognize Terrell Owens in a bar if he wasn't wearing his Bills uniform.

There are still other things that separate us from the big time athletes and sports, but combat is a sport, and Infantryman are the athletes that play it. It is that they know their game time, the playing field they're going to play on. They usually even know their enemy too, in the form of another team. We don't get to know when or what field we are going to play, so our training has to encompass more variables to counter this. We don't get to choose. It's like the Colts preparing to play the Steelers, and then they step out on the field and the Patriots are there waiting.

There are tons of similarities for all sports and ours, especially along the lines of team sports. We all have a place, a position on the team and we all have to perform that said position. The better each of us performs and works together, the better chance we have of winning, living. And like a pitcher sent to pinch hit, we sometimes have to pick up the slack for our teammates. There is however, a greater price to pay for either winning or losing in our job. Even sometimes the ultimate price.

We have to do a lot the same though. Dieting, conditioning, training in specific skills. We have to be in top physical shape to perform our job, play our sport. I know the idea that life and death shouldn't be considered a sport, that we've transgressed as a society from that idealism of Roman Gladiators fighting to the death as a sport in the present day. That we try and think of sports now as something more leisurely and fun, all in the name of entertainment. But there really isn't any difference from our routines to that of an athlete. We practice the skill-sets we need to perform our job, to win. Spending time at the shooting ranges. Working on our posture to shoot when we do ready ups. Just as a basketball player who spends hours shooting free throws. We learn maneuvers and placements of everyone on our team. Where everyone will be when a play is called, we practice it and get the precise movements down. Just like a quarterback and receiver we need to know where the other is going to be, so we can throw that no look pass. Not too mention that we have the stresses, the duress of a situation to handle during all of this. It could be an injured buddy we're carrying. Or perhaps we've just ran 1 kilometer in our gear, and still have to perform the best that we can. For our own lives, and the lives of our teammates. It's not a Super Bowl ring, but it's pretty damn good incentive.

This begs the question, if we do all of these things, train year round to be physically, mentally, tactically prepared to do our job, why don't we get the glory that a major athlete does? You can argue that we don't do it for the glory, that we do it for the name on the front of our uniform, not on the back. And you'd be right, we don't do it for any personal glory, the majority of us anyways. But as exciting of a sport as we play, one that's for all the marbles you could say, with explosions, door kicking, sky diving, climbing walls, running, hand to hand combat, shooting shit up, gator wrestlin'; I could go on and on with all the variables, the endless amount that you can face in our job. Which is why I'm kind of surprised that the American public hasn't demanded demanded a TV show covering everything that's going on in a war zone. That the Army doesn't have a minor league system. That you don't get signing bonus' of millions of dollars to join the military. This is as elite of sport as any of the rest of them. Think about watching a sport where literally anything could happen. The rules are few, and where the playing field is so expansive that it covers the globe, doesn't exclude anyone and has the 'big play' excitement value that a Devin Hester kick return for touch down has. You'd watch. You'd probably even want to play. It's somewhat imitated in paintball and air soft arenas.

I'm not trying to say that people don't want to be soldiers. That we aren't looked up too. In World War II we were maybe even more romanticized than now. More of a celebrity. People do dream of being soldiers, of doing the high speed stuff you see on television shows like the Unit. I was one of them, digging holes in the backyard, climbing trees, playing little soldier. There are still people who dream of this job, who do want to do it. And they do. The guys I went through basic training with, a lot of them top class athletes, playing at division colleges. There are people in the army, who played soccer at UCONN, who played baseball at Mississippi State, or linebacker at UCLA. It's not a game, and I think we all understand that. We are professionals as well as professional athletes. Someday we'll be treated as such.

There's already a start to the league, a couple of teams already set up. Names like or Black Water or Triple Canopy. These are actual organizations, mercenary groups that get paid the big bucks. They make the money along with the sacrifice. And I know at this point I must sound like a war monger, but all competition wouldn't necessarily have to be on the field of battle. About the only thing that you'll see on TV about the military's endurance and physical fitness is the Best Ranger Competition. I'm almost positive you could take the top athlete in any of the major American sports (i.e. football, baseball, basketball, hockey, rugby) drop them into the Best Ranger Competition, and expect them to compete at that level. They wouldn't just not be first, they probably wouldn't be able to complete the event.

Am I expecting the Army, a Federally ran business to start advertising with Coke or Pepsi slapped across the hood of our humvees? I don't. I don't really expect anything different to happen, or for us to be treated any different.

I'm not exactly sure where I was headed with all of this anymore.. All because our opponent interrupted my blog thought process by trying to blow someone on my team up. Good ol' Ramadama Ding Dong! I guess I'll stop rambling and just let you decide..


Mahalo

Sweatin With The Oldies. You've met Same Old and Same Old?

I've lost twenty pounds over the past few months. Some people would consider that a good thing. I'm not so convinced for me it's best. I'm already skinny to begin with, and though I'm still 2 lbs above the weight I was when I deployed in November of last year, I'm starting to fear taking my shirt off in front of people. I tried to think of the factors that are currently causing me, along with the majority of the platoon to start to exhibit the appearance of Auschwitz survivors.

The first that obviously came to mind, was that we were no longer getting our three meals a day like we had been at FOB Loyalty. We now have the two meal with half a scoop of this or that, but not the only substance for the day, as we munch on all the goodies sent from home. The tuna and power bars, candy and s'mores. All packed up with time and care, not to mention money, to be sent here to help us out, and without them, perhaps I would have lost 30 pounds by now. I guess if I could make a facility that would include all of these factors, I could sign up those in America, probably just about everyone, looking to shed a few pounds, and put them on a three month cycle through it. The COP 763 Diet, it's war. That might sell.

I doubt it's the lack of food that really is doing it. Because though it's not quite everything we were getting back at Loyalty, like the dessert bar I so dearly miss, the food is sufficient enough for me not to be losing weight. Now after dinner we just eat from the desert bar. I would attribute it to the bout of depression and constant anxiety I've been feeling over the last month because I know that a symptom is weight loss. But usually it has to do more with the unwillingness to eat. I have been eating every meal I can, and trying to get fat on whatever junk food comes our way.

As I was thinking about it here on the computer, looking at baseball scores and checking emails, I found our situation kind of perplexing. It really didn't make any sense, until it hit me. Literally hit me. Not hard, or soft, but wet. The sweat making it journey down my forehead, connecting with my eye brow, holding their for a second, cooling while catching it's breath. It clings, hesitates, and then leaps from the safety of the hair, falling to it's metamorphosis from a drop in the air, to a splatter on my leg. I'm sweating profusely, and it's 110 degrees in this room. Some internet cafes have coffee, or pastries. I think we one upped them, ours internet cafe is in a sauna.

The computer room isn't the hottest place in the building of the COP. The hallways is actually a lot hotter, with all the exhaust fans of a thousand air conditioners blowing their hot air into the communal space. The funny thing is, that the majority of the fans don't work, or at least don't work right. I've been constantly sweating. Literally wake up in the middle of the night drenched in a puddle. I've been sweating for three months. The towers we stand in for guard, hot. The outside Iraq, hot and smelly. Even our own room is hot despite having three air conditioners blowing into it with all their effort. This must be the reason why I'm losing weight. I'm sweating.

Along with this, I guess some consolation. We might be soon living somewhere anew. Actually somewhere we've been close to before. The move will be nice in many respects, if it does actually happen. Better food, more plentiful at least. And certainly better A/C. We stayed a night at our possible new home less than a week ago. The room we were given, ice cold. Too cold to even sleep. That will probably be the best part if we end up making the move. And the possibility of gaining back some weight. I'm looking forward to the possibility that it might happen. I'll keep you informed. You know how the Army is, it's already changed 30 times.


John Stamos loves Ellen Degeneres

Dark Butterscotch, Complete

I've spent the better part of the last month trying to write my blogs with better quality. Validate, if not to you, to myself that I have a knack or perhaps niche for writing. I even broke a few rules that I thought I had about posting blogs. The whole experience has been a great way to get my ideas on paper. To express my feelings. I guess somewhat of a pseudo-journal, but open to the public and with feedback and discussion.

I never thought that after I decided to write more seriously, composing sentences and paragraphs better, that I would also take on a more serious tone within my writing. It's not all serious, and you certainly wouldn't consider me a fun Nazi, but the last couple of blogs I wrote, were very uncharacteristic of me. I'm kind of quirky and funny, with jokes that usually are carried with a positive attitude. It has definitely been carried over into my blogs, as my writing style always leaves me looking for the hilarity in anything, and exploiting it.

With that being said, or typed, I am happy to know that I can write seriously, and taken as such, even to be taken serious enough to inspire, or irritate. Today's blog, after this explanation of course, will be something of a hilarious situation. Well maybe just too us, halfway across the globe, in the armpit of hell, COP 763.

If you don't have a very strong stomach, you don't need one for this story so don't worry. But it is kind of sick, and crude, but perhaps you'll still find it funny. Today is our force protection day, or as we refer to it, Forced Probe day. It involves our two shifts of six hours apiece and then it's over, usually only sacrificing a bucket full of sweat, and the concentration a cat gives to a light emitted on the wall. The guard shacks that we are in, are about the size of the computer chair you're sitting in, to the computer and an arm lengths out to your sides. The air conditioning does work in them, but rarely. On top of your claustrophobia and sweating, you are alone.

The shifts usually go by slow or fast, there's no real discrimination towards either. It all depends on the conditions, and the radio conversation, the only liberation of it all. The bullshit we talk about, the opinions and topics are always colorful. They at least keep you awake with constant radio-chatter BS. The end of our shift certainly was the most exciting it had been. I guess I'm kind of coming up short of the bar on the standard I set for myself on this blog, but if you're twisted and kind of have a sick sense of humor, you might enjoy.

B-man and I have a favorite Port-O-Shitter. The seat is the most comfortable to our preferences. The way it smells, the graffiti on the inside, the way the door creaks open and closed are some of the factors that help it to be number one in the hearts of B-man and I. The portable bathrooms, which were manufactured in Wisconsin, are under lock and key here, because we share our base with Iraqi National Police. We sign a key out from our 'front desk' and unlock them when we individually go down, do our business and lock them back up so that the Iraqis don't crap all over the seats. It really happens, believe me. Apparently the idea of toilet seat hasn't come to the far east yet. I guess the Crusades failed to get the message and real meaning across.

It's getting towards the end of shift, and I've been having the bubble gut feeling for too long. I'm holding and waiting though. I could've done the deed like the New Jersey mafia, and wrapped it in a black trash bag to toss in the river later, but I wanted to hold out till the end of shift, to the serenity of shitter three. Not too far after I made my decision to hold what I had, did I hear B-man announce across the radio, that he too had to use the bathroom. I knew the race would be on because B-man has a pension for Shitter #3. He also has to use it, and we even have the same barber cut our hair. My haircut is slightly better though.

I made the challenge official, by letting him know that I also had to utilize the latrine, and that key 3 was mine. At this point, the race beginning, the only leg up is that your relief for guard arrives first. The distance is approximately the same from opposite side of the building guard towers we are in, to the stairs and ramps that lead out of this burned out noodle factory. Duffy, my relief got to me first. I dropped my gear, and thankful to have it off grabbed my rifle and started running for the first obstacle of my descent. The stairs.

The stairs are probably the most dangerous. The are precariously positioned, locked into the cement at the top of the stairs kind of mysteriously. Maybe the ghosts that haunt it hold it up. As I reach the top, I can hear the pounding footsteps of B-man coming behind, with his Screech like voice not far behind. For good sport, I stand at the stairs for a moment and let him see me. Then I rush down the treacherous steps that I can't see because of the dark, and reach the floor below, all while yelling insults and challenges. Whooping like an Indian. Or as they are preferred to be called, Alcoholic Bingo Specialist.

I run down the first ramp. One of three in our building, which could make you think of it as more of a parking structure, and not a noodle factory. This brings you to the Iraqi Police floor. I nearly slipped on the banana peels and urine that they've cleverly placed as traps, their most simplistic guerrilla warfare against us. I stay ahead of him. He's of course being hampered by his panties bunching up. I get to the next ramp, and down it I rush, with the front desk in sight. B-man behind me, I sign the key out as he watches. I have rued the day! Key three is mine!

I don't really know how to end this one. I won, bottom line, should be end of story. Though it's probably not the best blog, but if it were a highlight on ESPN, it might make the top ten. But using that just as a segway, the kind you write on not ride on, in my jealousy of ESPN announcers, I'll at least try out my ambition to do as they do. You probably won't get this, especially if you don't watch Entourage or ESPN, but if you do, try and follow...

Key Three, one before Four, Four is the Number of Brett Favre, Brett Favre is now a Minnesota Viking, Viking like Viking Quest, Viking Quest starred Johnny Drama, Johnny Drama's famous line from that show...VICTORY!

I know, kind of a stretch, and for what? Maybe just to say I could. Even if not for that, at least I had fun doing it, and I've got my fist tight and pumped in the air. So don't blow a gasket you robot! Oh, and by the way, you can certainly tell we are American. No TV the whole time we've been out here at the COP. Football season begins, welcome AFN! It's about damn time!


Tom has a long mustache...

Inglorious Bastards

If you look at this title and expect the beauty of Brad Pitt to be involved with the excitement and romanticism of killing Nazi's to be in the post, you will be sorely disappointed. Our story, the last three days of hoop jumping we've endured, has been exactly that word. Inglorious. Perhaps worthless and moronic could fit suit as well, but with it not being our choice or decision, please don't label us as such. But to discredit all of the Army, or at least our chain of command for the title of ignoramus-arragonous-moronous would most certainly be ludicrous. Almost as crazy as those words I just made up. You get the picture.

As rare as it is for us to actually get a mission, it is even higher up in the rarefied air to be assigned a mission that makes any sense, and doesn't endanger our lives with great publicity and a no-sense time agenda. We are still in the cities of Iraq. We are most certainly in Baghdad, which is why I laugh when the media reports that we might be reinserted into the cities to quench the sectarian violence, but I digress. Our mission, the one that should have only taken maybe a maximum of four hours, started the night of the 18th, and we still haven't RTB'd. (Return to Base)

We left our wonderful home, the haunted, burned out noodle factory in our preparation for possibly the dumbest mission I have ever been on in Iraq. The purpose, to pick up Iraqi detainees held at the notorious Abu Ghraib. We would then escort a bus load full of them back up to an Iraqi JSS close to our sector, and release them. The terrorist rehabilitation program. That doesn't sound too hard though, because all of these things are less than 20 miles away. The process, three months ago would've taken less than four hours, and no more than eight. But with today's laws, on how we can operate in the cities of Iraq, since we aren't in them, have made things a nuisance, and certainly at the very least more dangerous.

First part of the mission, our very Tour de Baghdad because it was going to be done in stages, was to reach a base not very far from us in order to facilitate that we could be set up in a better position for later movement into the Green Zone, to pick up the terrorists for release. Two and a half years of military experience allowed me to write that last sentence. We arrived the early morning of 19th, team Discovery Channel now had to wait another 24 hours until we could move further towards the center of the city, the Green Zone. The day spent at a place like FOB Loyalty, the now ghost-town that's half the size it was when we were stationed there at the beginning of deployment, still offers a wide variety of luxuries that the platoon took advantage of. Mainly it was the soft and comfortable beds and cold A/C. But three meals, to include dessert were also among the small luxuries that we no longer get to enjoy.

Night time came around again. The only time the Vampires of AT-4 are usually awake. The only time we ever go anywhere. We had to wait for wonderful route clearance. These are the guys who drive around, utilizing all of the vehicles the Army has ever made, and all of the lights from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, in order to 'clear' the roads for safe travel around Iraq. We were sat around waiting on them to drive by and link up with us. Traveling in Iraq now you must have an Iraqi Security Force escort, which we did, but it still didn't allow us the freedom of movement it usually does. Hours, literally, rolled off the clock before route clearance hooked up with us. We followed them at a sloths pace down close to the IZ (international zone), before we split off from them, and made our way to the midway point of our mission. Prisoner pickup, over 24 hours after this catastrophuck started.

The prison wasn't the easiest to find, and when we did find it our mission was supposed to be nearly done. We walked into the holding facility, down hallways that looked strangely familiar, and to the internment holding, where our 38 prize A, American killing rehabilitated terrorists waited. We searched, blindfolded, and zip-cuffed their hands together. Although what's the point of blindfolds when you zip cuff the hands together in front? We then put them on the buses for transit to freedom.

We told them to hold tight, that it wouldn't be too long. I had thought of something while we searched them earlier. These people years ago, only knew what being arrested was like under the reign of Saddam. FOB Loyalty, the grounds of the Saddam, Ba'ath Party Governments Ministry of Intelligence, used to be the most feared place in Baghdad. Where you were taken if you were arrested. Then tortured, and killed. Our terps tell us that if you went inside the walls that surround the area we now occupy, you wouldn't come out. This is all going through my mind, blindfolding, fondling, and smelling the dirty Iraqi's who reek. They probably think we're going to execute them. But as we tell them that they will be free shortly, turned over to the National Police for their release, their biggest concern is that we leave them alone with them. That they will just be arrested again and held for ransom.

It must have been a blessing to be held by America. Especially after the incident at that very prison. They were well fed, and taken care of medically. Prosthetics given to those with amputations. Inhalers and insulin given to those with asthma and diabetes. Better treatment than they probably have ever gotten in this hell hole of a country. They probably didn't want to be released, especially with the fear of now being in the hands of corrupt police.

The whole mission was one uncoordinated, unplanned chain of events. It ended with us getting into JSS Beladiyat at around six this morning. Two hours later than our target time, but nearly on time for the prisoner release. 38 terrorists, with profiles from safe to high security threat, released back into the anarchists playground. We now have to be concerned with that. Not too mention, that we are stuck in Beladiyat today, before we can ascend back up to our home, a crappy one in comparison to our last two places of rest. COP 763, where the bastards of 2 Panther live ingloriously.


Always be wary of a man who owns a pig farm...

The Feedback Which Inspires

I'm not really sure why I started this blog anymore. It's certainly not for the same reason that I write today. I used to believe that it was to help me understand myself better. After my last post, I got a lot of feedback, from a lot of different people. Close to 30 emails from mostly strangers with mostly the same consensus. A common one, that what I had said rang true, even if it stung a little. But there was also opposition in some forms, which absolutely I'm inspired by. That my readers, aren't a robot and decided to stray outside the flock of sheep. It made me realize, when I opened up my gmail and saw so many emails from unknown people, that my blog is more widely read than I ever thought, and that it apparently isn't just for myself. I then also realized that though I provoked some response from people, I think I might have not construed the point precisely or clearly enough.

I don't want to revisit my opinions quite so early, but I feel the need to let you the reader know that I'm not all the fire and brimstone that I was in my last post. It seems the most common generalization I got back from my readers is that I think all of America is crap. I don't think this, but we have tons of problems. One's that can be fixed, even without a magic potion or a charasmatic leader to unite us all. I know there is a lot of people who are ignorant, and lazy, and simply don't care to do anything or to change that. But I also know that there are plenty of good people in America. It might even be a majority who agreed wholeheartedly with me on this topic, and who indeed do care about what are nation is doing everyday. It's certainly not anyone in the media though. These people are the same who recognize the problem and do help to try to make our situation in America better. But the voices of those have not been heard. And even if they have been, they certainly are not loud enough.

Some people even asked me what I would do if I was in their situation. Because they want to do something, they just don't know what it is too do. I don't have all the answers, I'm never going to claim to. There are smarter people out there in the world than I. The one thing I do have as a leg up is courage, and the knowledge that we need a catalyst which will change the way we think, and our overall priorities as a Nation. It's the courage to stand up for our unalienable rights of Liberty and Freedom that should ultimately prevail. If I were in your situation, I'd turn off the news. I'd boycott it in fact. CNN and Fox, and any other news network is full of shit. Newspapers aren't much better. Neither is the internet.

The next step I would take, after trying to force the media, the news to actually report things that matter, is to cause some havoc, put some pressure on the Government. The government should fear it's people, but as of now, that is certainly not the case. They've, we've, allowed such censors to be enforced and such penalties that have even somewhat denied us our First Amendment rights of the Freedom of Speech.

It's time to take back control. Organize people at your work, public transportation, city jobs that allow society to function normally; stop working. The government has stopped working for our best interests, so stop working for theirs. This will cause the chaos that needs to happen for good people to be heard. For the minority who's in charge, to realize that they have no power. Don't just do it for a day. Do it for weeks, make the sacrifice needed to make them realize that this is something they should take serious. If there's anything the government is afraid of, it's people using their powers of democracy, something we haven't used correctly in years.

I don't know if it's the right answer or the wrong one. But it's an action, and that is better than inaction, right or wrong. I sometimes think about this idea that I've learned while being the military, and how much it makes since. Inaction in my line of work kills. This in it's most basic form applies to the American public in the matters of voter turn out. It's kind of funny to think about how we are pressing the idea of democracy into the hands of people who don't understand or deserve it. Yet our voter turnout is barely 50% of those eligible. Do we even deserve it? Maybe we should allow a tyrant to take over, and limit all those freedoms that we're so used to having. Then we'll see how many people become 'active.'

Like I said, I don't know the right answers. But I know that sitting and complaining about it, not doing anything is certainly not the right answer. Obama tricked everyone with his prom queen antics. He promised a lot without telling you how or why. But the ideas sounded good, but with no solid plan, he assumed office and found that the political process is hard. His inexperience shows. But really, is it Obama's fault that he hasn't provided for America's needs. It's our inexperience at using our democratic power that has really failed this nation. A democracy is a government for the people, by the people. We don't just pick a candidate, who tells us his plan, and then after the election is over it's up to him to make everything happen. We aren't off of the hook that easy, we can't just point fingers and pick scapegoats. We can make changes during the 4 years of a Presidents term, even without his help. We are to blame as much as anybody.

I guess I know the reason that I now write my blog. Not just for a better understanding of myself, but to try and teach others that there is more going on than we think about. Than we care about. I want to challenge my readers, maybe not to change their minds, or make them change their lifestyles even, but to make them think. Think about every day they take for granted. The liberties and freedoms that are so underrated everyday, that might be gone tomorrow. If we stop caring about the things that affect us, the most certainly will. So become more aware, think about how you live your daily life, and how much better it could be. Strive to make a difference in your own life, as well as others. Don't sit on the sidelines and watch what so many of our ancestors worked so hard for with blood, sweat, and tears just go down the drain. I want my kids, and their kids to know what it's like to live in a free world. I fear that they won't know that if we continue to bow to the demands that ignorance and apathy bring.

Thank you to all for reading my blog, taking time out of your day to just read it, and to respond personally, by giving me your opinions and letting me know honestly what you think. I appreciate any and all feedback, positive or negative. I always try and take everything into consideration, try and see every angle. If I can't do it myself, I thank you for helping me, opening my eyes to other views, and challenging me. I'll always listen and ponder your opinions, and be most appreciative of them.


The political process in the form of revolution is swift. -Me

America's Apathy; The Who-Cares-Gen

Educate and inform the whole mass of the people, they are the only sure reliance for the preservation of our liberty.- Thomas Jefferson


I usually write my blogs not trying to offend anyone. I write my most opinionated ones usually after I've thought about things, tried to see every angle, and tried to be objective as possible. Perhaps though in the past, my opinion has offended you, or pissed you off. But I never wrote it with that intention. This blog is going to be different. If you're an American citizen, especially one of my generation, this blog is meant to do exactly that. It's an attack, a punch in the nose, a kick in the balls. Because you need to hear what I have to say, and also because I know you most certainly will not fight back.

I deployed here to Iraq to fight for my country. Win for democracy. Keep the evils of the world far from the shores of America. My ideas changed with my experience. Not that I was ever really decided to begin with. This whole war started years ago, when I was in High School. I didn't understand the reasoning's for it then, but I certainly do now. First hand. We started this war under the Bush White House administration. It was somewhat successful at first, as we were targeting Al Qaeda and the most wanted WMD's. And though this was the actual beginning of our invasion of Iraq, it really started before all of this. With ignorance. Not the governments, but the peoples. The War changed drastically from year to year, having a new reason for why we are in Iraq. From finding the Weapons of Mass Destruction, to bringing down Saddam while bringing democracy and freedom to the people here. Even for fighting for the rights of women, so that they are no longer oppressed in this part of the world.

We elected President George W. Bush to White House, even if it wasn't a 'majority' that did it. I don't think that he was necessarily the evil 'master-mind' of a President he was accused of. Who knows if he was even at least a 'mind.' But this didn't change the fact that his cabinet was filled with very smart and capable people who could possibly have had, and apparently did have, hidden and dark agendas. After he assumed command, and started this war, even with a lack of public support years later, he still managed to trick everyone into getting re-elected. But instead of picking up the pieces and working at making things under the Bush administration better, because after all the People have the power and we had failed to use it, we just sat around for another four years bickering at one another, and discussing how horrible things were.

I thought that President Bush had ignited something in the American people that we hadn't seen since the 60's. War protesters picketed again in places like Berkeley. Stop the War! But that's all it was, just a show. A fad. It's 'cool' to be against war, so lets go hella protest for awhile, and then after we can smoke a J, and get some pizza at Blondie's. This isn't the hippie protests of the 60's. It's some bull-shit I want to believe in this, and say it, but don't want to show you that I'm virtuously committed kind of thing. Just like everything else in our generation, it's a false front. The Vietnam War was different from this one. In fact every American war has certainly been different from this one. They all at least shared something in common. Interest by Americans. Even if it was forced. Even if it was positive or negative, at least the People cared.

Everyone was affected by the Vietnam War. That's why so many people fought for it to stop. Why they had sit-ins and burned down building. They didn't just say what they thought they meant. They acted on what they said. Even if you were drafted, a War protester, or even fled to Canada to draft dodge, you were affected by the war. It divided our Nation, but gave everyone something to fight for. But even if in opposition of ourselves, we are more closer to one another than if either side simply doesn't care. Today's war is just a back page in the newspaper. Maybe a short sentence on the bottom line of a 24 hour news network. America really doesn't even know that we are still in a war. It's still too focused on Ugly Betty, or what outrageous things Paris Hilton is doing. Never in any war this country has ever been in, has such a MAJORITY been so apathetic.

Getting off the plane in Dallas for leave, the old vets and people waving flags and shaking hands, that's a really nice gesture. But it's a minority of people, and those who have already served and understand the sacrifice. It's only one small place. If this was World War II everyone would be involved with the War Machine. No one was left out, it was a countrywide effort. Men in the military were thought of, loved and in the mainstream of societies thought process. We weren't utterly forgotten about.

The military now is an after thought. Sub-society. People said after Vietnam that they would never turn their backs on the troops again. So you bought your bumper stickers, your 'Always Remember 9/11' and your 'Support the Troops ribbon magnets.' Sure you're not spitting on our faces. You're not punching us in the balls, but buying those things you're certainly not helping. At least those Americans who spit in the face of war Vets, who might have even been sent to the jungles against their will, at least they took a stand and cared for what was going on. But buy your Mocha Frappuccino and discuss who won Big Brother, we'll still be over here dieing.

Even if you're on the other side, the pro-war young republicans holding rallies on your college campus. You're not any different then the bumper sticker slapper, part-time patriots or anti-war show boaters. There are recruiters offices in every city. ROTC's at almost every college. Why not put down your pickets and join the fight. 1.6 Million Americans are in the Armed Forces. That's barely over a 10th of the population of Los Angeles. How much of America is fighting this war?

What does our Generation do? I'm reminded of a scene in Monty Python's Life of Brian, where the Jewish rebellion is talking about their plans to over throw the Roman government that his been set in place. They have a great strategy, and tedious planning. But when it's time to execute, all they do is sit back down and continue to talk about what they are going to do. By God, take a stand and ACT!

Everyone did when they got caught up in their momentary-Patriotism. They were actually blinded by it. The Twin Towers fell, and we were after blood for justice. We went after Osama and Al Qaeda in Afghanistan. Then we were fooled enough to go into Iraq. Maybe just to finish Daddy Bush's job a decade before, but just like the gambler who made you pay for your ignorance, you saw it all in hindsight. 20/20, perfectly clear. You complained and complained, and changed nothing. You could've joined the cause, or made a bigger stink against it. Picketing and crying apparently wasn't enough. Instead you let those who were willing to fight, go over seas again and again racking up four or five deployments in the process. Getting stop-loss'd and dieing. You still picketed.

The war has drawn out, on and on. Contracts were bought by the US Government from companies like KBR, a Haliburton company. Doesn't Dick Cheney have a hand in that? Make some kind of profit from Haliburton? The longer the war, the more money. Money paid for with American blood. No one did anything. No one has done anything. No sit-ins, or protests ending with flipped police cars. The failure to act has caused even further American deaths. Yet you blame the scapegoats and let yourself off of the hook, guilt free. You've done nothing, and that you should be most guilty for.

Then the shining White Knight appeared, in black armor. Barack Obama, our savior. Our hope. Maybe our last one. He promised to pull the troops out of Iraq. Which like every politician to have ever been, he had successfully pulled the wool over your eyes. Here's a timeline for getting the troops out. Cause apparently we still give more of a fuck about these people than we do our own. 2011, no one will be in Iraq. This created policies for 'deadlines' to be met. Requirements that we, the United States military, needs to see from the Iraqi Security Forces showing that they are ready for the transition. We're on a time line though, so even if they're not ready, we'll say they are. July 1st Security Agreement, for example. If he was really the savior that he promised he would be, I would already be home by now. We would be out of Iraq, just as every other Nation who was here, has done.

But surely the politics don't effect the military. They still look out for their own. The higher-ups have become as complacent and apathetic as the rest of America. They put us in danger day in and day out with not a care for our safety or health. My platoon found terrorists, American GI killers. Dirty Iraqi-fucks that had American blood on their hands. We took the necessary procedures to capture them along with evidence that would prove their guilt. Only to hand it over to higher-ups who don't care, or don't act on the intelligence. Letting the guilty, American killers go free. And mocking those who still do care about attaining the justice and revenge of a fallen comrade with open criticism. "Still trying to win the war...hahaha"

Our Generation. Pitiful. Disgusting. Lazy. Tragic. Back-boneless. We don't work hard, and want everything. We expect to be given a lot for just being born. Liberties and freedoms are always taken for granted, if not abused, and certainly never earned. It makes me sick to think that I deployed to this country, half a world a way to protect the country that I love so much, only to find out that I despise the people in it, and the direction they're allowing it to go. The self-degradation is vile. But the fact that you don't even care is far worse.



I don't think anyone could say it better...

Every generation needs a new revolution...

Every government degenerates when trusted to the rulers of the people alone. The people themselves are its only safe depositories...

It takes time to persuade men to do even what is for their own good...

-Thomas Jefferson

Sextilis... It's Latin

I'm coming to find out that August is my favorite month. I'm not really sure where to even point the finger to why. Perhaps it's just a gut feeling. I do know some history about August that really has nothing to do with my decision. That being that it was originally a 29 day month, and was known as the Latin Sextilis. It's name on the Roman calendar before around 10 BC. The change of name was due to of course Augustus, or Julius Caesar's nephew and successor Emperor, formerly known as Octavian. His career took a considerable rise to power through his stunning accomplishments that took place during this time of year. After he felled Alexandria, in the month of Sextilis, he felt he had the right to name the month after himself. Sextilis, now August. Because of his vanity, he decided that 31 days were far better than 29, so he stole two days from February. Although this is some history about the month of August that I've retained since a 7th grade history class, I doubt it's the reason that it's my favorite month. I kind of wish it was still called Sextilis.

August isn't filled with any holiday. Not celebrated by the US, although the 5th, International Beer Day, is celebrated by the world. Unlike Augustus himself, the humility of this month in not having a holiday is kind of an oxymoron. The weather in August is usually not the best, as it's the peak of summer. The hottest month of the year. This does though bring the long afternoons of summer that I, farmers, and surely everyone loves. The heat, and sweat can always be combated with an ice cold beer, or a dip in the pool or perhaps even the Pacific Ocean at none other than Zuma's tower number 7. And though these are something of my not so recent past, I can still reminisce about them, and look forward to them in the future. In fact my last few August's have been absolutely horrible.

A few years back, I was in the most challenging, difficult Army school offered. The attrition rate is staggeringly high during this 24 day suck fest, called SFAS. The Green Beret summer camp. I lost eighteen pounds over the course of those two dozen days. It sucked. The next August wasn't much better, as I spent it in the 'asshole' of America; Fort Polk, Louisiana. Louisiana might not be too bad anywhere else, but an Army base, during the middle of August down there, is certainly a taste of hell. There's two states I will now never go to again unless forced to. Louisiana, and Georgia. Probably Alabama and Mississippi would probably fit that category of undesirables too, but thankfully I've only driven through them, never actually lived in 'em.

This August is certainly no different than the last two. Being in a War Zone, Baghdad, Iraq is probably in fact worse than the previous two August's. It's certainly a lot hotter here, with temperatures that destroy the ones at Camp MacKall, or Fort Polk, which even with humidity only crept up past 120. Whereas by 9 am here, it's already above 120, with it creeping up in the 140's in the direct sunlight by afternoon. Not too mention the roadside bombs and rocket attacks that seem somewhat imminent. But all and all, Hiroshima and Nagasaki were hotter this time of year, circa 1945.

So why the hell do I like August? I guess it dates back to my pre-military life. It's the last month before school starts. It usually leads to a brand new wardrobe. But also leads to a push, to live it up and 'party.' Have fun before a return to the confines, the prison of school. It's that last camping trip of the summer, that one last hooray. It also entails the preseason of football, and the homestretch of baseball. A beginning with his anticipations. An end with drama and magic. Both very exciting, filled with tons of drama along with enough nail biting and and panicking to allow any sports fan excitement and heartbreak.

I think back on those hot days in August, surrounded by friends, drinking a cold beer poured from the keggerator. Playing darts and guitar hero in a house with no air conditioning. The Dodger game on the big screen, just loud enough to hear the crack of a bat, or the pitch of Vin's voice. All of these things have the connotations of a worried free life. One where only fun, unplanned and unknowing adventures can come from.

I remember dancing, underneath strung up lights and the glow of fireworks, to melodic Japanese drum beats in those hot nights of August. Eating sugary baked goods, looking at Bonsai trees. Spending time with friends, and experiencing the cultural that only the Buddhist holiday of Obon can give. I guess all these things, every last one of them remind me what August is all about. It's a powerful month. One I enjoy. Whether with drinking beer with friends or sweating at 'work.' I've seen my funnest time in the Army, during my first August in the service, those 24 days of pain and suffering that I enjoyed every minute of. And I've seen my worst in this most recent one in Iraq. But without seeing the worst, I could I even appreciate the good that I've done in August. It's an ideal I'm beginning to really grasp as a truth of life. You can only gain a deeper sense of self awareness and knowledge through such pain and suffering.

But I don't just like August because it's a powerful month with tons of history. It did see the birth of Napoleon. Even having an International Beer Day is not the reason why. Along the terms of the month history, it was host to a pair of the most prolific and deadliest atrocities to have happened to mankind. But it was also not just a witness to the destructive power, but also played host to the power of peace as it witnessed the end of World War Two, with Japan's surrender to the United States. And even in a diluted, round about, full circle kind of way, something even perhaps ironic, August even witnessed Hawaii becoming the 50th State of the United States. This years after the state had been bombed by the Japanese, bringing on the repercussions of the killing of hundreds of thousands.

I still don't know why I prefer this month to the others, I just do. Why I always look forward to it. And if that's not good enough for you... It might have to do with all the reasons that are above. The only thing I know for sure is, I'm not fond of poppy's or sardonyx, so that's probably not the reason. And it's probably not that I'm somewhat of a Rome history 'buff' either. I guess in the end, I can only truly say that it's my favorite month for one reason, a bullshit one. I hate to end any blog, or any kind of writing with a cop-out, but I really don't know why it's my favorite month. But I can't just leave you, the reader hanging, so here's my cop-out. August is my favorite month because; Every regular or 'common' year (this not including leap years), August starts off with a different day of the week than any other month will start off with. Even in leap years, the only other month to start with the same day is the one August, Augustus stole from. It's kind of like February's retributive revenge. The cold beer, the hot summer nights, these are just attributers, a helping hand to why August is so great. The real reason I love August, is because the 1st of this month, this year was on a Saturday. No other month started, or will start on a Saturday the rest of the year. That's pretty damn unique.

New York.


If you want to visit Paris, the best time to go is during August, when there aren't any French people there. -Kenneth Stilling

Get Yourself Some Milk Son!

Catch your breath, wipe the sweat off of your brow. Allow the sharp daggers stabbing your throat and lungs to lose their sting. Take the tape off your hands as you read, because this story is only going to take nine minutes and twenty-seven seconds to tell. But it will feel a lot longer.

Prepared

Our most illustrious and motivated LT decided that today we do an exercise that is a standard among cross-fitters, like Lieutenant Dan. For those of you are who unfamiliar with Crossfit, it's a work out style that's gained popularity over the course of the last few years, as it encompasses the entire body during most or all of it's workouts. I'm no subject matter expert on Crossfit, but I understand the basic principals behind it. It's a cardio, endurance, and strength building work out regime that's all inclusive of every muscle group. It's really been adopted by agencies like the Army, Law Enforcement, and the Marines because it's exercises that are practical. Something we find important in our lines of work.

The practicality of it is the best part. It's not quite weightlifting, where you do an isometric movement that focus' one muscle group, making that stronger and more pleasingly bigger. The idea is that you can take the movements, the exercises that you perform during a Crossfit workout and apply them to something that you might do, in our case, out on mission. Like scaling a wall, or lifting an object. So the change comes in what kind of exercises you do. As in a pull-up is no longer just straight up and down, you do more of a 'kipping' motion. Whereas you almost have some kind of full body seizure, swinging back and forth giving you momentum to help you lift your head above the bar. This correlates, because if we were scaling a wall, you don't just do a dead hang pull up to get over it, you use any momentum, legs, chin, anything that can help to give you an advantage to gaining the crest of that object.



There are tons of workouts in Crossfit. They all are made up of a series of different exercises, or Olympic lifts (i.e. Squats, Cleans, Push-presses, etc.). They get your heart rate and blood flowing to every extremity of your body. You can scale these exercises back to allow you complete them if you are not in great shape, or not physically capable to meet the requirements. Certain exercises are renowned due to their difficulty along with their ability to make the cross-fitter feel that they got a good work out. That they might have even met Pukie the Clown, the mascot. There are none that are so well known, or considered more the pinnacle, the standard of Crossfit, than FRAN.

Pukie the Clown


Fran is a terribly difficult workout that is done to a 'best' time standard. It's three rounds of workout, including two different exercises in each round. The first round is 21 repetitions of each exercise, the first being 'Thrusters' and the second being 'Pull-ups.' The second round is the same two exercises, but now at a 15 repetition set. The last and final round is only a 9 rep round of the same two exercises. Concluding that you've done 45 thrusters, and 45 pull-ups. A good time for someone in great shape, who does the daily Crossfit workout, is sub five minutes.

A thruster is a weighted front squat. This is where you have a weighted bar (for Fran it's a total of 95 lbs.), starting across the top of your chest. You squat down to bring your legs past the parallel to where your butt is below your knees, and come up into a standing. At the top of the squat, you do a push-press with the bar, elevating it to where your elbows are at a locked out position. You then bring the weight back down to your chest and repeat the process. After you finish the first set of 21, you move onto your set of 21 pull-ups. The time doesn't stop, and you're pushing as hard as you can.

Thruster, at the bottom

The thrusters are only part of your problem. Even though they work nearly every muscle in your body, specifically your largest ones in the form of your thighs, pull-ups can prove to be a bigger problem. They were for me at least. If you don't have the technique down, a 'kipping' pull-up can be a difficult thing. The swinging back and forth to create a momentum up is not an easy thing to learn in your first time. I did more of a dead hang pull-up, using a lot more energy and strength to finish every repetition.

Straight, suckin'

Although I have heard about everything to do with Crossfit, and even occasionally done it, with guys like Brian Reed, I simply have not bought into it as much as maybe I even want to. This was my first introduction to the exercise known as, Fran.

The first set I blew through during my thrusters. I even slowed myself down a little bit to try and better control my own breathing. The non-ventilated, affectionately named Junkhouse Gym might be some hindrance of exercise. Especially cardio. It's very stuffy, with a lot of dust filling the air. It's also very hot, and due to the lack of air circulation, perspiration is an immediate regardless of any exertion. The pull-ups were the ones that caught me, almost immediately after I started. I tried to figure out the 'kipping' I had halfway learned less than an hour earlier. I couldn't figure it out, and burned a lot of energy doing the 21 pull-ups with pure strength.

At this point, the second set, you're muscels are already burning. You're breathing hard, sweating, and seeing black in the sides of your eyes. It's more of a mental game than anything, because even trying to rest and catch your breath, you never really seem to. I struggled through the second set of both, but found the 'kipping' a little easier. Not because it was anything I was consciously doing, but because you naturally find a rhythm that helps you to overcome the bar with your chin.

The last set is not as tough as the second one, because you can see the finish line. Not only is your LT yelling in your ear that when you get finish you stop the clock, but every burning sensation in your body is begging for you to stop. Asking that it all be over. You're dizzy, sick feeling, and certainly wanting it all to be over. Just nine left. The last set I don't really remember. I remember the voices around me, encouraging me, letting me know that it's almost over. I finish the last pull-up and drop down. My lungs hurt, my legs and arms are asking for forgiveness. My throat coarse as if I had swallowed sandpaper and razor blades. The snot running down the back of it. I'm coughing hard.

The eternity of all of that, only 9:27. It left me winded, and wanting to curl up and die. Pouring water on my head and back, trying to cool off. I've worked out before for hours on end, seeming to never quite exert myself even when pushing my hardest. In this short period, less than ten minutes, I experienced more pain during a workout than I had in a long time. The feeling afterwards, after I realized I wasn't dead, or even going to die, is nothing but a feeling of triumph. Even with my time being somewhere in the middle of the platoons, it is still something I can feel pride for, because it's not easy. I pushed myself hard, and Fran seemed to push me back even harder.

Kirk's hands after Fran

Fran, that bitch, that prescribed 45 thrusters at 95lbs. and 45 pull-ups we write as Rx; she tore open hands, made hearts explode, broke down dreams, and built up goals. Fran, you bitch, you slut, we love you, hate you. But damn it we love you.





Get on the bar! Stop the time, stop the pain!-Delta Four-Six