The media reports the strangest things. The heartbreak of the world is brought to you by the news. Every syndicate tries to get the better story, the craziest affairs, and most shocking visuals. They all fail to do one thing though. That's to bring truthful, accurate reporting. The worst of the propaganda that is our news outlet, is that there isn't a contestant for the truth. For the real story. For the boring world that we live in. There is only the shocking, the horrific, the mortifying news that is usually blown out of proportion and inaccurate. A travesty to news, a success to entertainment.
You would think with so many news outlets, so many media sources that the truth would come out sooner. That there would be organizations that could discredit the ones that spread rumors across the globe. The most truthful thing in a newspaper is the advertisements. My eyes have been opened to this fact after arriving in Iraq, and seeing that it is not what is reported. That whether it's the liberal media wanting the war to end that just doesn't report the full going-ons or the military wanting a resolution to this conflict and using the media as it's best weapon for that. Public opinion and poll.
There is so much wrong with the media and it's attempt at trying to educate, sculpt the minds of the people that have to follow it for some kind of outside source. We are at the mercy of producers and directors to force us into some kind of way to thinking. Looking on the internet, seeing more about Kanye West than about what Iran is doing, makes me sick. It makes me sick to think that we are not up in arms about the injustices in the world. We certainly act like we care about the starving and the hungry. We slap those lovely Save The Whales and Free Tibet bumper stickers on our SUV's along with adding our Green-Thumb support apps on Facebook, and are always ready to debate with strangers and friends our passion and devotion to such causes. Using any tactic to drown out the other sides opinion in an attempt to make ourselves feel better.
We recycle. We have 37 Thousand different trash receptacles for everything that can be reused again. We spend extra money on smog emission devices that make our atmosphere cleaner. We fret and worry about all of this. We are willing to toss paint on fur coats. Because it's what's right. We believe it. We are influenced, and told that it is the right thing to do by the media. Right in between this murder and that East Asian earthquake that we send out 5 dollar donation to. We are helping. It's the all profits go to the troops ice cream cone bought. Who see's that money? It's a false feel good. It's the easy way, the short trip to a feeling of selfless service. The best feeling is to help someone else out of their problems, or stand up for what is right. And the quicker you can do that, the easier it is to feel good, the 5 dollar donation, or heated argument. Feels good to be behind the right cause.
We get so caught up in the idea that everyone should have the right to be free. To do as they want, but as long as it's right. As long as it falls in line with your ideas, the one's that they made a movie about helping. The bandwagon freedoms. Slow the evil global warming. These things are easy to do, to change, they make everyone fill like they have a part in it. Recycling, easy to do, involves everyone. You feel good that the media informed you of something you could do. The charity you could donate to, the injustice to the Everglades they made you aware of, and the name on the check you can make it out too. You keep watching the news network that is doing such good for the world. They report the atrocities, the realities that make your life seem better. They have you fooled, that you are making a difference. Certainly you are, there ratings are up. Entertainment with viewer involvement. We all want to be a part of something successful right?
Iran. North Korea. Cuba. The tough foreign issues. They have no clear answers, no charities to donate too. No easy involvement to make the viewer feel good about themselves. They are a turn off. Violence, something we're all on the bandwagon against, till Saturday and Sunday football, or the Caesars Palace Boxing match up on pay per view. We know it's not right. Everyone sees what's going on. The media does their best to report quickly, and with the sense that it will just pass over. Reality TV, but real is scary. It's not the self struggle anymore that we can all just be a part of. Sleep easier at night knowing that we did our part. We have no one person contributors in righting the wrongs of these countries. They're unpredictable. They don't have rules or guidelines. They can cause chaos. Go against the plan. Scary concept, one that we'd rather just ignore than face head on.
We have a United Nations that will help to control the dictators in places like Iran. The Kim Jong Il's of the world. They have no real power either. They don't follow their sanctions. They don't back their words. They call for more troops in Afghanistan. France doesn't send troops. Germany doesn't send troops. Britain, the smallest country out of the world powers, sends some troops. Spain, sends no one. The U.N. tries it's best to enforce the laws they've put down, but can't even get compliance from 90% of it's own members. America steps in, over steps our own boundaries. They call for Iran and North Korea to stop working on Nuclear programs. Iran and North Korea agree to the sanctions at their face value of nothing, and continue doing what they want. We once again, attempt to protect our freedom as well as the worlds. Over step our boundaries, because no one will even step up to theirs. We take the worlds judgments as well as our own people's opinion and try to please everyone. On the fence, if we do not act, and try and enforce the UN's policy we are to blame when the bad happens. When Iran bombs Israel, or an American Embassy with it's long range missiles. It's a juggling act of the right time to act. If we take action, in the best interest of ourselves and the world, it's viewed as a bullying affect. We take the grief of everyone for the decisions we make.
How do you allow a world leader to stay in power when he cares not for the nation to his left or right? We recycle, decrease harming gases in our atmosphere. We try our best. We don't have all the answers, we are still figuring them out. Other nations, they test fire missiles, and care nothing of pollution. They don't have the time to fret or worry about such things. They are to worried about expansion and destroying their enemies. They don't worry about oil spills or emission levels. They only care about themselves. They are the question on the test skipped over. Hoping that it doesn't affect our score too badly, and that we can make it up on the next test, with their next leader. Sometimes you just have to narrow it down and take your best guess. Wait till your test gets graded. Take that leap of faith in at least trying, rather than just doing nothing. If the question isn't put on the test, than the answer is to hold the teacher, the controller of the media present, accountable for not teaching, not informing us with all the facts.
Why do we allow countries that have such a threat to our freedom, to our safety and that of our allies. Even to the safety of the world, to continue to break the rules. To go against benefiting the world. Maybe more importantly, why do we not know all the facts? Why are these stories the small excerpts on page 6, and rarely the front page spectacle. The wake up call is coming. The swift kick to the balls. We already had one, which we soon forgot about. On that day, I won't want to tell you I told you so, but I'm sure you can turn on the news, they'll have the update, and the evidence proving that they tried to point it out to you. That they are at the front, the top, the entertainment you deserve, and since you are a follower, intertwined in their networking of brain wash and propaganda, well then you knew too. After all, it feels good to be on the winning team, even if you only play cupcakes.
California's alright, somebody check my brain- William DuVall
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Bearing-Uncharted Waters...Great Scott!
It's much the same for every generation. The truth that we continue to evolve not only as people, but as a society. Every decade different than the last, every generation's fingerprint smudging the record of time, leaving our own vandalism and graffiti to mark the fact of our existence in it. Even if not leading the pack, or being the shepherd, we can always look back on the then from now and exclaim our position as the sheep. Making fads popular, remembering gossip, and relationships formed and destroyed in that time. I'm sure my grandpa probably asked the same question when he was my age, of what are the next ten years going to bring? I know we are 90 days away from the new year approximately, but it's never to early to start wondering what the 2010-2020 decade will bring for us. Imagination is fun to use, especially in consideration of the future, and the pipe dreams that it can hold for us, personally, or as a society.
My first inclination of the future is always one I have seen before. Michael J. Fox is a part of it, on a skateboard that hovers, running from the school bullies. The Back To The Future trilogy is one of my favorites of all time. It seems to convey the most basic truth about the time line of history, and that is that history will repeat itself. Possibly the most important message that can be displayed. Technology, music, media, clothing, skateboards all changed from the 1955 to the 1985 to the 2015. All three time periods portrayed in the movie. 60 years of separation, and all that's changed is the conditions around which we live in. Sure it's a fictional movie, but the point is that in 1955 Marty McFly is chased by Biff and his crones which on skateboard, and the actions are exactly the same to the 2015 Marty McFly being chased by Griff (Biff's grandson-doppelganger). Time will change, but we don't necessarily. Fad's come and go. Milkshakes turn into Tab's or Pepsi-frees. The Four Aces turn into Huey Lewis and The News, but the bullies always end up in the manure.
As a way to cope with the changing of times, we consider any new millennium, any new century or decade as it's own entity. All with sub-entities, but as a general description of what was going on. The 80's, 90's and Double Oh's, the only three I've been a part of. A lot has changed in just that short time, and yet so many people are the same. But just like the fads that have come and gone, the small changes of our society, we have all changed slightly too. To subtle to recognize year to year, but put into the decade entity, those small changes have added up. It's not just the movement of ridiculous color schemes in clothes. Vocabularies are more diverse, not with vocabulary words, but vulgarity. The biggest transition that has shaped the way we communicate, technology. We don't hardly even speak to each other. A phone call is an inconvenience, even though we now carry our phones conveniently upon our person. But a text message is less contact, more comfortable, and more convenient. Takes the small talk out of the game, straight to the point.
The Internet, phones, PDA's, have all changed everything from 30 years ago. And tomorrow the newest iPhone will change all that too. We haven't adjusted even remotely to the progress of all this technology. It's not the slow moving industrial revolution, where a car that was built in 1916 is still very similar to a car built in 2006. The first cell phones are in no way even close to the ones that are out now. The technological revolution has moved so fast that we can't keep up. Even from when my older brother was in high school, to when I went through high school, some much had changed. He had a pager for the parents to keep tabs on him. I had a cell phone. Landlines still existed in his day. Hip-lines were my day. And we weren't a decade apart. It makes me fret a little about the future.
Disneyland's Tomorrow Land should no longer be the image that the 1950's of the future had put out. When the industrial revolution was nearing it's plateau, and the ideas of flying cars were a realistic idea of the next 50 years. Our idea of the future should be less human interaction. In 50 years I don't even see people leaving their own houses. Not for groceries (that can be purchased already on the Internet). Vacations will be simulated through some kind of crazy holographic room, like something out of Star Trek. That's not really imaginable in the next ten years. So what is?
Just a few small things that are already happening are going to become the 'norm' two-thousand teens fad that is already kind of recognizable with this decade. Internet dating. After high-school and college boys and girls will no longer have face to face contact. They will no longer have to meet in places like bars, or disco parlors. The have their place to meet, over the internet. They might not even meet face to face before they start dating. It's somewhat of a false relationship, built on what a picture can relate for physical attractions, and well thought out messages. But with 37 million mega pixels in every camera, I guess that's more accurate portrait than a face to face can produce. Are my kids even going to go on a date to a place like a coffee shop? Or bowling alley? It's much more convenient to just get on Skype for a face to face, and play a bowling game across the internet. My kid won't have to get a job, because a date like that is free. Won't have the need for an income for ventures with the opposite sex. Courting is already taking on a new persona, and is only scarily increasing in its own trend. Sailing blindly into uncharted, but imaginable ones that are not necessarily the best for our own society
It makes life so much easier. Especially the courting of women. The internet, though ultra high speed, isn't instantaneous as real life. Doesn't have inflections like your voice would have. It's plain text, and taken at face value. A question is asked in a facebook message, that can be thought about for the 'best' answer, not the truthful one. A sarcastic remark can be taken seriously. I think about how many stupid things I have said to women while trying to 'pick them up' face to face, that could have been entirely averted if I had had time to think about what I was going to say, instead of being put on the spot. The internet allows that buffer zone. It allows the right thing to be said. Even the right thing to say researched, quickly and conveniently. But that's where our society is heading. Convenience. It's not about putting in the hard work, or taking the time out of our all too busy schedules. We can't even decide to either watch House or Heroes, so we create a system that can record one, or both to be watched at a later time. We can continue living in both dream worlds for the time being. And I can still watch ESPN's top 10.
Of course we won't know what kind of real affects this sort of thing actually has on society, till it's too late. We're all to caught up in the moment of it all. The joy of being at the front of a fad. We jump on the train and ride it out like the mullet haircut. Then we look back at pictures of ourselves with mullets and neon green and yellow shirts, and say, how stupid and unaware we were then. We are embarrassed of ourselves to an extent, but always have the best scapegoat to use in such cases. 'It was the 90's.' 'It was the cool thing to do.'
I guess we never pay attention to the lines we cross. Not till it's too late. Not till it's too late to stop what we've started, to finish our race. To cross another line, and only look back at the race we just won or lost, and finally reflect, on whether the race was worth the run or not. Again, though, 3009, will they be looking at the smudge on history we've made? Is there going to be anything significant that next millennium they will remember us for? Do you know what was going on a millennium ago? I hear that One-Strap Goat Skin sandals by Dior were all the rage.
There's that word again: heavy. Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there a problem with the Earth's gravitational pull?- Doc Brown
My first inclination of the future is always one I have seen before. Michael J. Fox is a part of it, on a skateboard that hovers, running from the school bullies. The Back To The Future trilogy is one of my favorites of all time. It seems to convey the most basic truth about the time line of history, and that is that history will repeat itself. Possibly the most important message that can be displayed. Technology, music, media, clothing, skateboards all changed from the 1955 to the 1985 to the 2015. All three time periods portrayed in the movie. 60 years of separation, and all that's changed is the conditions around which we live in. Sure it's a fictional movie, but the point is that in 1955 Marty McFly is chased by Biff and his crones which on skateboard, and the actions are exactly the same to the 2015 Marty McFly being chased by Griff (Biff's grandson-doppelganger). Time will change, but we don't necessarily. Fad's come and go. Milkshakes turn into Tab's or Pepsi-frees. The Four Aces turn into Huey Lewis and The News, but the bullies always end up in the manure.
As a way to cope with the changing of times, we consider any new millennium, any new century or decade as it's own entity. All with sub-entities, but as a general description of what was going on. The 80's, 90's and Double Oh's, the only three I've been a part of. A lot has changed in just that short time, and yet so many people are the same. But just like the fads that have come and gone, the small changes of our society, we have all changed slightly too. To subtle to recognize year to year, but put into the decade entity, those small changes have added up. It's not just the movement of ridiculous color schemes in clothes. Vocabularies are more diverse, not with vocabulary words, but vulgarity. The biggest transition that has shaped the way we communicate, technology. We don't hardly even speak to each other. A phone call is an inconvenience, even though we now carry our phones conveniently upon our person. But a text message is less contact, more comfortable, and more convenient. Takes the small talk out of the game, straight to the point.
The Internet, phones, PDA's, have all changed everything from 30 years ago. And tomorrow the newest iPhone will change all that too. We haven't adjusted even remotely to the progress of all this technology. It's not the slow moving industrial revolution, where a car that was built in 1916 is still very similar to a car built in 2006. The first cell phones are in no way even close to the ones that are out now. The technological revolution has moved so fast that we can't keep up. Even from when my older brother was in high school, to when I went through high school, some much had changed. He had a pager for the parents to keep tabs on him. I had a cell phone. Landlines still existed in his day. Hip-lines were my day. And we weren't a decade apart. It makes me fret a little about the future.
Disneyland's Tomorrow Land should no longer be the image that the 1950's of the future had put out. When the industrial revolution was nearing it's plateau, and the ideas of flying cars were a realistic idea of the next 50 years. Our idea of the future should be less human interaction. In 50 years I don't even see people leaving their own houses. Not for groceries (that can be purchased already on the Internet). Vacations will be simulated through some kind of crazy holographic room, like something out of Star Trek. That's not really imaginable in the next ten years. So what is?
Just a few small things that are already happening are going to become the 'norm' two-thousand teens fad that is already kind of recognizable with this decade. Internet dating. After high-school and college boys and girls will no longer have face to face contact. They will no longer have to meet in places like bars, or disco parlors. The have their place to meet, over the internet. They might not even meet face to face before they start dating. It's somewhat of a false relationship, built on what a picture can relate for physical attractions, and well thought out messages. But with 37 million mega pixels in every camera, I guess that's more accurate portrait than a face to face can produce. Are my kids even going to go on a date to a place like a coffee shop? Or bowling alley? It's much more convenient to just get on Skype for a face to face, and play a bowling game across the internet. My kid won't have to get a job, because a date like that is free. Won't have the need for an income for ventures with the opposite sex. Courting is already taking on a new persona, and is only scarily increasing in its own trend. Sailing blindly into uncharted, but imaginable ones that are not necessarily the best for our own society
It makes life so much easier. Especially the courting of women. The internet, though ultra high speed, isn't instantaneous as real life. Doesn't have inflections like your voice would have. It's plain text, and taken at face value. A question is asked in a facebook message, that can be thought about for the 'best' answer, not the truthful one. A sarcastic remark can be taken seriously. I think about how many stupid things I have said to women while trying to 'pick them up' face to face, that could have been entirely averted if I had had time to think about what I was going to say, instead of being put on the spot. The internet allows that buffer zone. It allows the right thing to be said. Even the right thing to say researched, quickly and conveniently. But that's where our society is heading. Convenience. It's not about putting in the hard work, or taking the time out of our all too busy schedules. We can't even decide to either watch House or Heroes, so we create a system that can record one, or both to be watched at a later time. We can continue living in both dream worlds for the time being. And I can still watch ESPN's top 10.
Of course we won't know what kind of real affects this sort of thing actually has on society, till it's too late. We're all to caught up in the moment of it all. The joy of being at the front of a fad. We jump on the train and ride it out like the mullet haircut. Then we look back at pictures of ourselves with mullets and neon green and yellow shirts, and say, how stupid and unaware we were then. We are embarrassed of ourselves to an extent, but always have the best scapegoat to use in such cases. 'It was the 90's.' 'It was the cool thing to do.'
I guess we never pay attention to the lines we cross. Not till it's too late. Not till it's too late to stop what we've started, to finish our race. To cross another line, and only look back at the race we just won or lost, and finally reflect, on whether the race was worth the run or not. Again, though, 3009, will they be looking at the smudge on history we've made? Is there going to be anything significant that next millennium they will remember us for? Do you know what was going on a millennium ago? I hear that One-Strap Goat Skin sandals by Dior were all the rage.
There's that word again: heavy. Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there a problem with the Earth's gravitational pull?- Doc Brown
Sunday, September 27, 2009
America, the Brutiful
I'm actually excited tonight. My heart is pumping a little faster than usual, and I haven't even lapped Sgt. Purvis in PT. Today was actually filled with a lot of let downs, but not the one that mattered.
As I hastily threw my kit on and raced downstairs to answer the call of an attack on another platoon, I checked the clock, and who had the ball. Minnesota, with 89 seconds to go. I left, assuming that like the previous missions we were supposed to do today, that this one would probably be canceled too. I wasn't let down, and we executed our rare view of the outside world of Baghdad. The safest place next to possibly Disneyland. No longer confined to the inside of the impregnable concrete walls, we were out running around allowing the blood to pump a little. I thought that the Vikings would probably just roll over and die to their four point deficit. After all football season is upon us, and it's more American to think of such things before worrying about my own safety, or that of my own country.
I came back, surprised to find that Vikings had won on a miracle pass and catch to the back of the endzone. Allowing them VICTORY in a great come from behind, last play of the game, exciting beyond every satisfaction-fashion. I'm a huge fan of sports in general, and though this isn't the main focus of my blog, sports that is, I do appreciate writing about them. But you can read post story about this game or any other game in your Monday morning coffee, or ESPN web download. So I'll spare you the details. I do however want to point out how American the sport of football has become.
We are not necessarily involved with this, but bigger wigs like to schedule their business around the schedules of games. So that they can watch the live feeds that we get here in Iraq at midnight plus. They hog the couches, and get the cooks to pop out jalapeno poppers and chips, soda and near beer. They enjoy always, for the most part. Their is still work to be done, and we do it, but hope to catch a quarter or a drive, an exciting play or fantastic score. We get reports sent to the guard positions with score updates from the Sergeant of the Guard. Places like COP 763, where we lived previously, did not have any kind of AFN programming until football season was upon us. Then, AFN SPORTS. Right in time for kickoff.
Perhaps this is only one demographic. The meat head, Alpha Males of the world. Not always the sharpest tools in the shed, and predisposed through natural selection and evolution to enjoy spectacles of smashing, crashing, and vulgar collision. Football. 22 men trying to pull each others heads off. The strategy isn't too complicated to pick up or understand, and therefore easily watched and enjoyed. Action is a constant and there is never really any room for anything but eating chips and drinking beer. The new American past-time, Football.
Today, my Platoon Sergeant, asked who was a bigger baseball fan than football fan. Out of the near twenty of us present, only three had their hands raised. It's not that people are just a bigger fan of football than baseball, it's that they actually despise sports like baseball. Find them extremely boring. We are adrenaline junkies, and pride ourselves on being tough. Usually you get two responses when you ask what don't you like about baseball. The first one is that it's boring. The next response you will get is that it's not a 'contact' sport, and therefore shouldn't be watched by real men. GRUNT GRUNT GRUNT!!!! As with almost everything, the reasoning behind it is purely and simply ignorance. Lack of paying attention. I hope that it's purely the demographic of the Infantry that sees it this way. Because I think sports like Baseball and America's tie to it are a direct correlation to a more civilized nation. The understanding of the sport shows how truly civil we are. It's okay to enjoy spectacles of brutality like football or boxing. But to just like them because they are 'contact' sports and the manly American thing to watch is an obvious example of the simplicity of those who cannot follow the more intricate sports. Those that require extra thought, finesse and often times brain over brawn.
I enjoy football. Actually love watching it. I enjoy watching MMA. They are physical sports, even more so than Baseball. But when you have the ill-informed telling you that there is nothing to baseball, and no contact involved, you can't but double take to make sure that they've entirely evolved, no longer having a raised uni brow and knuckles to drag on the ground. I've had this debate and it's always a failing one, because after all, arguing with an idiot you most certainly lose every time. They will pull you down to their level and beat you with experience. But no matter how 'manly' they pretend they are, they've never accepted the challenge of standing 60 feet away, and allowing me to throw a fastball into their side. But that doesn't hurt, it's only baseball right?
I don't think I have to point out the 'class' of both sports. But in the sport of good debating, or persuasion, it's only fair that I should. Baseball is currently in it's darkest era. There are huge scandals and grand jury investigations into steroid use and abuse throughout the game. Yes, this is a horrible thing, and even counts of purgery have been thrown at some of the games greatest to ever play. Where this is a terrible slight on the name of baseball, it is really dwarfed, or at least should be dwarfed in comparison to the atrocities that happen almost on a weekly basis in football. These are athletes that are supposed to play with the same class as any professional in any field. But, a lot of them are thugs. Yes, I said it. Thugs. There are two names right now that I'm thinking of that jump out as huge, because they are so worshiped in the annals of football, even despite their crimes to humanity, to brethren. Michael Vick. Plaxico Burress. These are both big time football players, who have committed crimes that are way beyond those of taking steroids. Which is a problem in football too. Both of them are negative members to society. And yet, they are praised, for being 'hard.' Essentially we are praising the dumb for being stupid. It's the new American way. I could name more, PacMan Jones (really, your name is PacMan?), half of the '96 Cowboys team, and Terrell Owens. Yes, I know Terrell Owens has technically not done anything against the law. But what a douche! Are you trying to get biggest douche of the millennium award? All I'm saying, is bring a little class to the game that you play. You are on the pedestal, the fans and media have put you there. Time to start acting like a role model. That applies to all sports, not just football or baseball. We should hold our athletes accountable for their class. I'm pretty sure if I made 4 million a year, that would be enough to keep me from having any 'off field' issues. I guess that's why they get paid so much, not for their performance on the field, but for their fines off.
Have you ever get ran into at home plate? There's no contact in Baseball. Ever.
Baseball is the belly of society. Straighten out baseball and you'll straighten out the rest of the world. -Bill Lee
As I hastily threw my kit on and raced downstairs to answer the call of an attack on another platoon, I checked the clock, and who had the ball. Minnesota, with 89 seconds to go. I left, assuming that like the previous missions we were supposed to do today, that this one would probably be canceled too. I wasn't let down, and we executed our rare view of the outside world of Baghdad. The safest place next to possibly Disneyland. No longer confined to the inside of the impregnable concrete walls, we were out running around allowing the blood to pump a little. I thought that the Vikings would probably just roll over and die to their four point deficit. After all football season is upon us, and it's more American to think of such things before worrying about my own safety, or that of my own country.
I came back, surprised to find that Vikings had won on a miracle pass and catch to the back of the endzone. Allowing them VICTORY in a great come from behind, last play of the game, exciting beyond every satisfaction-fashion. I'm a huge fan of sports in general, and though this isn't the main focus of my blog, sports that is, I do appreciate writing about them. But you can read post story about this game or any other game in your Monday morning coffee, or ESPN web download. So I'll spare you the details. I do however want to point out how American the sport of football has become.
We are not necessarily involved with this, but bigger wigs like to schedule their business around the schedules of games. So that they can watch the live feeds that we get here in Iraq at midnight plus. They hog the couches, and get the cooks to pop out jalapeno poppers and chips, soda and near beer. They enjoy always, for the most part. Their is still work to be done, and we do it, but hope to catch a quarter or a drive, an exciting play or fantastic score. We get reports sent to the guard positions with score updates from the Sergeant of the Guard. Places like COP 763, where we lived previously, did not have any kind of AFN programming until football season was upon us. Then, AFN SPORTS. Right in time for kickoff.
Perhaps this is only one demographic. The meat head, Alpha Males of the world. Not always the sharpest tools in the shed, and predisposed through natural selection and evolution to enjoy spectacles of smashing, crashing, and vulgar collision. Football. 22 men trying to pull each others heads off. The strategy isn't too complicated to pick up or understand, and therefore easily watched and enjoyed. Action is a constant and there is never really any room for anything but eating chips and drinking beer. The new American past-time, Football.
Today, my Platoon Sergeant, asked who was a bigger baseball fan than football fan. Out of the near twenty of us present, only three had their hands raised. It's not that people are just a bigger fan of football than baseball, it's that they actually despise sports like baseball. Find them extremely boring. We are adrenaline junkies, and pride ourselves on being tough. Usually you get two responses when you ask what don't you like about baseball. The first one is that it's boring. The next response you will get is that it's not a 'contact' sport, and therefore shouldn't be watched by real men. GRUNT GRUNT GRUNT!!!! As with almost everything, the reasoning behind it is purely and simply ignorance. Lack of paying attention. I hope that it's purely the demographic of the Infantry that sees it this way. Because I think sports like Baseball and America's tie to it are a direct correlation to a more civilized nation. The understanding of the sport shows how truly civil we are. It's okay to enjoy spectacles of brutality like football or boxing. But to just like them because they are 'contact' sports and the manly American thing to watch is an obvious example of the simplicity of those who cannot follow the more intricate sports. Those that require extra thought, finesse and often times brain over brawn.
I enjoy football. Actually love watching it. I enjoy watching MMA. They are physical sports, even more so than Baseball. But when you have the ill-informed telling you that there is nothing to baseball, and no contact involved, you can't but double take to make sure that they've entirely evolved, no longer having a raised uni brow and knuckles to drag on the ground. I've had this debate and it's always a failing one, because after all, arguing with an idiot you most certainly lose every time. They will pull you down to their level and beat you with experience. But no matter how 'manly' they pretend they are, they've never accepted the challenge of standing 60 feet away, and allowing me to throw a fastball into their side. But that doesn't hurt, it's only baseball right?
I don't think I have to point out the 'class' of both sports. But in the sport of good debating, or persuasion, it's only fair that I should. Baseball is currently in it's darkest era. There are huge scandals and grand jury investigations into steroid use and abuse throughout the game. Yes, this is a horrible thing, and even counts of purgery have been thrown at some of the games greatest to ever play. Where this is a terrible slight on the name of baseball, it is really dwarfed, or at least should be dwarfed in comparison to the atrocities that happen almost on a weekly basis in football. These are athletes that are supposed to play with the same class as any professional in any field. But, a lot of them are thugs. Yes, I said it. Thugs. There are two names right now that I'm thinking of that jump out as huge, because they are so worshiped in the annals of football, even despite their crimes to humanity, to brethren. Michael Vick. Plaxico Burress. These are both big time football players, who have committed crimes that are way beyond those of taking steroids. Which is a problem in football too. Both of them are negative members to society. And yet, they are praised, for being 'hard.' Essentially we are praising the dumb for being stupid. It's the new American way. I could name more, PacMan Jones (really, your name is PacMan?), half of the '96 Cowboys team, and Terrell Owens. Yes, I know Terrell Owens has technically not done anything against the law. But what a douche! Are you trying to get biggest douche of the millennium award? All I'm saying, is bring a little class to the game that you play. You are on the pedestal, the fans and media have put you there. Time to start acting like a role model. That applies to all sports, not just football or baseball. We should hold our athletes accountable for their class. I'm pretty sure if I made 4 million a year, that would be enough to keep me from having any 'off field' issues. I guess that's why they get paid so much, not for their performance on the field, but for their fines off.
Have you ever get ran into at home plate? There's no contact in Baseball. Ever.
Baseball is the belly of society. Straighten out baseball and you'll straighten out the rest of the world. -Bill Lee
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Double A's and Maroon Berets
It's been a little while since I've blogged. Over a week actually, which is not very consistent with the way that I usually write. Especially not the way I've been writing the last two months. The majority of it is partially due to the fact that we have been a little extra busy, and I haven't the time or energy to sit here for twenty minutes and pump out a blog. That aside though, the only excuse that I can muster is that I have just been too lazy, and without topic. Still without topic, should make this blog very interesting.
The last week has actually flown by. Actually the last two months have disappeared into the annals of time. I couldn't tell you what I did last Saturday, except for watch some college football. I guess that's why it's nice to have things like that, television shows and weekend traditions that help to regiment the time, so that it doesn't all just flow into one big long day of the year. As a kid time never goes by fast enough. The school year drags along, but summer can fly by. As you grow up, time seems to move faster, and you need the weekly football games, and change from green to browns to help remind you that the globe is still turning. Usually those seasons change a little to fast, without a good tracking of the time. That's life as an adult, time management.
The course of growing up has certainly been spurred with a sharp kick to the side and an increase of speed in my last two years of life. Army life. Of course, it should be expected, certainly during war that there is a calling to 'grow up' and assume responsibilities not because of want or desire to be 'grown up' but simply out of the necessity that if you don't step up to handle those kinds of stresses, you are only putting your life and those around you, lives on the line. An obvious point, but sometimes forsaken and not pointed out often enough. But there is still that struggle within. With the greater responsibility, you still find yourself wanting the easy life. Un-adulthood. There are those of us who try and hold on to it as long as possible, with childish endeavors like video games and playing the drama games of a high school prom queen election. But then again, I don't know if we ever outgrow somethings.
I find myself knowing more about myself and less about the world around me, at a seemingly staggering pace. My eyes have been opened up to some harsh realities of life. Not that just nature is brutal upon mankind, but that we as mankind have yet to learn how to live with each other. It's our nature though, our part of evolution that we are at now that has determined that we cannot get along. We are all still swimming around trying to eat, and occasionally we bump into one another. I think though we probably feel as every civilization has felt, that we are beyond all of this pettiness and that peace should be such an easy thing. I guess growing up, and seeing other cultures, even as diversified a childhood as I had, you realize that we are all so different. And yet we are all so much the same too. The people here in Iraq you would assume would have it down. The cradle of life, the oldest civilization known to man came from right where I write this blog. But they are still worrying about getting their heads lopped off over such petty, and if not petty at least selfish, things as religion. I mean, we only have to worry about if skim milk is going into our coffee or not. You can pray to Buddha, and you might be the butt of a joke or two, which you can rightfully punish someone through our judicial system for doing so, but your head will never be cut from your body in America for praying to a different God than the one I pray to. I hate talking about religion, but sometimes there aren't any better examples. The cause of almost every war is religious, and without religious difference we wouldn't have places like America in the first place. So to utterly and entirely ignore that it exists even if I offend you, is kind of my right. So don't cut my head off.
This blog is right where it should be, a rant, unfocused and perhaps not all quite thought out. If thought out at all. But damn it, it's a blog, I don't get paid to write it, and isn't that kind of the point?
Back to focusing. This week has flown by. We even did some fun things outside the wire. Like cutting and climbing under a chain link fence with barbed wire atop. Then to one up that, we did some real infantry, Vietnam style stuff by walking through a swamp. It wasn't really a swamp, more like stagnant poo water. Another thing that is not worried about anywhere in America, except perhaps in a sewer. We also did one of those nowadays Army bullshit. Before I totally rip into the stupidity of this, and the lack of common-sense that something like this takes, let me just say this; I'm not against doing physical training. It's an important part of our job, and should be taken as serious as firing a weapon or practicing any other skill necessary for the art of war. That being said, let me say one more thing; Institutionalized, some guys just need to be kicked out. They still live in yesteryear's Army, and not the one of today. VIETNAM ended in the 70's!
This is a garrison term, and should be treated as such. Company Run. This is where all the individuals in an element the size of a Company, which in the military is between 80-140 men. We had closer the lesser number running. The idea is that in a rectangular formation, as an interval of 30 inches from each other, in columns of four, we run an indiscernible distance, singing cadence with the idea of building unit cohesion and increasing morale. I'm not sure at what point in time that this sort of thing did either. The Iraqi's seem to think it's cool, and I guess for that matter if you are not in the military, it's kind of nostalgic and uncommon, therefore interesting and cool. However, when you're 10 months into a deployment in Iraq, it tends to have a near opposite effect. The other side of it, being in Iraq, is that it is extremely dangerous. Especially with the 'security' that our bases have. We are a joint station, with Iraqi Federal Police officers the majority of the base protection. We do our part, but are fairly handcuffed. Not that we are afraid of someone breaking into the base per say, but these police are not exactly the NYPD. They are ex-criminals, or in Saddam's Army. They were once enemies, now counterparts... 'friends.' You certainly keep your eye on them, and if you don't then you are asking for the cap in the back of the head that they will almost certainly do without hesitation. Other than the AK wielding Iraqi guard, you also have to worry about 'indirect fire.' This would be something like a rocket or mortar attack. As close as we are, the dispersion isn't enough that a direct hit from such indirect fire would most certainly cause a mass casualty situation. I know that's a stretch, that there is an enemy here that still wants to kill Americans. Then again we wear reflective belts to be more visible, so I guess the argument will most likely fall short.
That's not even the worst of it though. The rank in our run didn't exceed more than one first sergeant and occasionally the picture taking, all too happy to be out with the Iraqi's, light colonel. A round of indirect hitting would've only killed us expendable characters. In the sense that the leadership of the company, the battalion would still be intact. But go back a day. Our entire Battalion leadership was here. All company commanders and first sergeants. They did a run together like this. The rank a lot more concentrated, and not as spread out as at least our 80 man run was. This was only approximately 20 guys, all bosses and bigwigs. One perfectly placed round of indirect fire could've taken out our entire chain of command at the head. That easily. One suicide bomber could've broken through the gate and detonated himself right in the middle of the trotting formation, and that would've been it for our leadership. Perhaps their eye pro would've saved them. That's why you don't put the President and the Vice President together during high level threat possibility. But we are only in Iraq. Baghdad. We checked all of the common sense at the door when we slapped on those double A's and maroon berets. Then we jumped out of an airplane. How's that for practicality. And the eye pro thing... I don't even want to get into it. But I will anyways, as to not leave you in the dark.
You would call eye pro, sunglasses or Oakley's. We 'have' to wear eye protection any time we are outside of a building. Just as at night you must wear a reflective belt to be more visible. I thought our objective was to be not seen. But I digress. The Eye Protection that we always wear whenever we go outside, not just on mission, but to take a piss or wash our clothes, the idea behind it has never been explained. Or it has, and it was just too stupid to remember. What else is new? The only thing I can think of, the only reason we are required to wear it, and that it is a standard, is that if indirect fire comes in, and blows up to where you only get the shrapnel wounds, that your eyes will be saved from the damage. Which common sense would dictate that indirect fire is expected. And if it is expected, then common sense would dictate not to gaggle around one another in close proximity where an incoming round could take out more than just one person, but produce a mass casualty situation. Or worse, kill an entire battalions chain of command. At least you will be able to see them, and their eyes will be saved. It's times like this where I wish I had an off button on the brain. That I was more ignorant and less intuitive. Ignorance is bliss. And even if it's not, at least it's not a headache.
This blog wouldn't be what it is if I didn't add something else that was just as off the wall as everything else that I've said. Alice In Chains releases a new album in a few days. Their first in 14 years. It's already leaked across the internet, cause what ship on the internet doesn't have holes? I've given it a few listens, and despite no longer having the deceased Layne Staley as the band's cover man, the soul of Alice In Chains is still left with lead guitarist Jerry Cantrell. It's a great album and if you're a rock fan, you should at least give it a listen. A little sample... Alice In Chains: Black Gives Way To Blue
I guess growing up just makes you realize that everything is fucked up. And the only way to fix it, is to do something about it yourself.
At what point do we get rid of the Kevlar helmets and strap on our Berets? It's only Iraq after all.
The last week has actually flown by. Actually the last two months have disappeared into the annals of time. I couldn't tell you what I did last Saturday, except for watch some college football. I guess that's why it's nice to have things like that, television shows and weekend traditions that help to regiment the time, so that it doesn't all just flow into one big long day of the year. As a kid time never goes by fast enough. The school year drags along, but summer can fly by. As you grow up, time seems to move faster, and you need the weekly football games, and change from green to browns to help remind you that the globe is still turning. Usually those seasons change a little to fast, without a good tracking of the time. That's life as an adult, time management.
The course of growing up has certainly been spurred with a sharp kick to the side and an increase of speed in my last two years of life. Army life. Of course, it should be expected, certainly during war that there is a calling to 'grow up' and assume responsibilities not because of want or desire to be 'grown up' but simply out of the necessity that if you don't step up to handle those kinds of stresses, you are only putting your life and those around you, lives on the line. An obvious point, but sometimes forsaken and not pointed out often enough. But there is still that struggle within. With the greater responsibility, you still find yourself wanting the easy life. Un-adulthood. There are those of us who try and hold on to it as long as possible, with childish endeavors like video games and playing the drama games of a high school prom queen election. But then again, I don't know if we ever outgrow somethings.
I find myself knowing more about myself and less about the world around me, at a seemingly staggering pace. My eyes have been opened up to some harsh realities of life. Not that just nature is brutal upon mankind, but that we as mankind have yet to learn how to live with each other. It's our nature though, our part of evolution that we are at now that has determined that we cannot get along. We are all still swimming around trying to eat, and occasionally we bump into one another. I think though we probably feel as every civilization has felt, that we are beyond all of this pettiness and that peace should be such an easy thing. I guess growing up, and seeing other cultures, even as diversified a childhood as I had, you realize that we are all so different. And yet we are all so much the same too. The people here in Iraq you would assume would have it down. The cradle of life, the oldest civilization known to man came from right where I write this blog. But they are still worrying about getting their heads lopped off over such petty, and if not petty at least selfish, things as religion. I mean, we only have to worry about if skim milk is going into our coffee or not. You can pray to Buddha, and you might be the butt of a joke or two, which you can rightfully punish someone through our judicial system for doing so, but your head will never be cut from your body in America for praying to a different God than the one I pray to. I hate talking about religion, but sometimes there aren't any better examples. The cause of almost every war is religious, and without religious difference we wouldn't have places like America in the first place. So to utterly and entirely ignore that it exists even if I offend you, is kind of my right. So don't cut my head off.
This blog is right where it should be, a rant, unfocused and perhaps not all quite thought out. If thought out at all. But damn it, it's a blog, I don't get paid to write it, and isn't that kind of the point?
Back to focusing. This week has flown by. We even did some fun things outside the wire. Like cutting and climbing under a chain link fence with barbed wire atop. Then to one up that, we did some real infantry, Vietnam style stuff by walking through a swamp. It wasn't really a swamp, more like stagnant poo water. Another thing that is not worried about anywhere in America, except perhaps in a sewer. We also did one of those nowadays Army bullshit. Before I totally rip into the stupidity of this, and the lack of common-sense that something like this takes, let me just say this; I'm not against doing physical training. It's an important part of our job, and should be taken as serious as firing a weapon or practicing any other skill necessary for the art of war. That being said, let me say one more thing; Institutionalized, some guys just need to be kicked out. They still live in yesteryear's Army, and not the one of today. VIETNAM ended in the 70's!
This is a garrison term, and should be treated as such. Company Run. This is where all the individuals in an element the size of a Company, which in the military is between 80-140 men. We had closer the lesser number running. The idea is that in a rectangular formation, as an interval of 30 inches from each other, in columns of four, we run an indiscernible distance, singing cadence with the idea of building unit cohesion and increasing morale. I'm not sure at what point in time that this sort of thing did either. The Iraqi's seem to think it's cool, and I guess for that matter if you are not in the military, it's kind of nostalgic and uncommon, therefore interesting and cool. However, when you're 10 months into a deployment in Iraq, it tends to have a near opposite effect. The other side of it, being in Iraq, is that it is extremely dangerous. Especially with the 'security' that our bases have. We are a joint station, with Iraqi Federal Police officers the majority of the base protection. We do our part, but are fairly handcuffed. Not that we are afraid of someone breaking into the base per say, but these police are not exactly the NYPD. They are ex-criminals, or in Saddam's Army. They were once enemies, now counterparts... 'friends.' You certainly keep your eye on them, and if you don't then you are asking for the cap in the back of the head that they will almost certainly do without hesitation. Other than the AK wielding Iraqi guard, you also have to worry about 'indirect fire.' This would be something like a rocket or mortar attack. As close as we are, the dispersion isn't enough that a direct hit from such indirect fire would most certainly cause a mass casualty situation. I know that's a stretch, that there is an enemy here that still wants to kill Americans. Then again we wear reflective belts to be more visible, so I guess the argument will most likely fall short.
That's not even the worst of it though. The rank in our run didn't exceed more than one first sergeant and occasionally the picture taking, all too happy to be out with the Iraqi's, light colonel. A round of indirect hitting would've only killed us expendable characters. In the sense that the leadership of the company, the battalion would still be intact. But go back a day. Our entire Battalion leadership was here. All company commanders and first sergeants. They did a run together like this. The rank a lot more concentrated, and not as spread out as at least our 80 man run was. This was only approximately 20 guys, all bosses and bigwigs. One perfectly placed round of indirect fire could've taken out our entire chain of command at the head. That easily. One suicide bomber could've broken through the gate and detonated himself right in the middle of the trotting formation, and that would've been it for our leadership. Perhaps their eye pro would've saved them. That's why you don't put the President and the Vice President together during high level threat possibility. But we are only in Iraq. Baghdad. We checked all of the common sense at the door when we slapped on those double A's and maroon berets. Then we jumped out of an airplane. How's that for practicality. And the eye pro thing... I don't even want to get into it. But I will anyways, as to not leave you in the dark.
You would call eye pro, sunglasses or Oakley's. We 'have' to wear eye protection any time we are outside of a building. Just as at night you must wear a reflective belt to be more visible. I thought our objective was to be not seen. But I digress. The Eye Protection that we always wear whenever we go outside, not just on mission, but to take a piss or wash our clothes, the idea behind it has never been explained. Or it has, and it was just too stupid to remember. What else is new? The only thing I can think of, the only reason we are required to wear it, and that it is a standard, is that if indirect fire comes in, and blows up to where you only get the shrapnel wounds, that your eyes will be saved from the damage. Which common sense would dictate that indirect fire is expected. And if it is expected, then common sense would dictate not to gaggle around one another in close proximity where an incoming round could take out more than just one person, but produce a mass casualty situation. Or worse, kill an entire battalions chain of command. At least you will be able to see them, and their eyes will be saved. It's times like this where I wish I had an off button on the brain. That I was more ignorant and less intuitive. Ignorance is bliss. And even if it's not, at least it's not a headache.
This blog wouldn't be what it is if I didn't add something else that was just as off the wall as everything else that I've said. Alice In Chains releases a new album in a few days. Their first in 14 years. It's already leaked across the internet, cause what ship on the internet doesn't have holes? I've given it a few listens, and despite no longer having the deceased Layne Staley as the band's cover man, the soul of Alice In Chains is still left with lead guitarist Jerry Cantrell. It's a great album and if you're a rock fan, you should at least give it a listen. A little sample... Alice In Chains: Black Gives Way To Blue
I guess growing up just makes you realize that everything is fucked up. And the only way to fix it, is to do something about it yourself.
At what point do we get rid of the Kevlar helmets and strap on our Berets? It's only Iraq after all.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Powerfully Peaceful Nights in Baghdad
The early morning force pro shifts are usually the toughest. You're usually tired, sweating, and hold some reservations about the oncoming heat of morning which rapidly approaches. I took on my shift at a quarter to four in the morning, right in the middle of a lightning, thunder, rain, and dust storm. The rooftop was already wet with rain, and directly above me there were no clouds. Revealing the stars with an open curtain of clouds, and a soft cool breeze. The storm was still all around, on every side enveloping the scene with flashes of distant light and reverberations of Thor's magnificent voice, thunder. Everything in serenity right in the eye of the storm, to include the peace brought to mind.
The lightning was striking all around, on every side. The thunder was rare, but powerful, and I did something I haven't done in a long time, relax. The long deep breath allowed by the cool breeze and the rain purified air allowed it for the first time in 10 months. How wonderful an experience, of a lightning storm here in Baghdad. As powerful as it was, as many strikes that lit up the night it was surprisingly peaceful. It wasn't a southern storm that came in with fury and took out everything in it's path. It strode strongly, but tread softly on the land. Although it was observed that perhaps Thor had finally figured out how horrible a land this was, and subsequently just was launching lightning bolt after lightning bolt until he could yield no more from his massive quiver. The night seemed to be constantly lit with a flash coming from any and all directions.
The peacefulness of the storm was just a mask for it's destructive power. Further north an American helicopter crashed due to the storm, killing one and injuring twelve others. A horrible reminder of the power of mother nature. Not knowing that at the time, I enjoyed the serenity that the storm had brought last night. But, much like a night-out with much sin and awesome feeling of power, the morning after can always leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.
Being such an amateur photographer, I tried my best to capture the awesome might of the storm, but only ended up with a few photos of the prize, the Gods bolts. My camera being that of a caveman's, it was a tedious task of snapping pictures. The 3.2 MP Canon I have is still a marvelous camera, even being as old as it is. Despite the few pictures actually capturing any lightning, the ones that I did capture were simply amazing, and purely coincidental. Lucky. There is only four pictures that I'm putting up on here that are different. There are other ones that I skewed colors, contrast and exposure of, because it is simply the most amazing thing I have ever seen, or at least taken a picture of. The photos to follow are of a dual bolt that I caught luckily zoomed in on the initial point from the clouds. You can actually see the electricity arcing in a smooth pattern trying to touch from one bolt to the other in their close proximity. The first photo is untouched, and the rest to follow have been only altered to give a different feel for every picture. Enjoy.
This is the untouched one. Glorious Purple Pride
This is a close up of the arcing between the two bolts. So smooth, so purely electric!
Black and White
Affectionately named: Meat Hammer
Thor's Awesome Power
Thor came upon the land of Baghdad and realized the disgust and hate that all should share for this desolate land. His distaste for the land a choking feeling to the lungs and eyes. And so he reached into his quiver of bolts and let out with a fury of his strong arms, throws that would punish the land with an awesome and deadly fury.
The lightning was striking all around, on every side. The thunder was rare, but powerful, and I did something I haven't done in a long time, relax. The long deep breath allowed by the cool breeze and the rain purified air allowed it for the first time in 10 months. How wonderful an experience, of a lightning storm here in Baghdad. As powerful as it was, as many strikes that lit up the night it was surprisingly peaceful. It wasn't a southern storm that came in with fury and took out everything in it's path. It strode strongly, but tread softly on the land. Although it was observed that perhaps Thor had finally figured out how horrible a land this was, and subsequently just was launching lightning bolt after lightning bolt until he could yield no more from his massive quiver. The night seemed to be constantly lit with a flash coming from any and all directions.
The peacefulness of the storm was just a mask for it's destructive power. Further north an American helicopter crashed due to the storm, killing one and injuring twelve others. A horrible reminder of the power of mother nature. Not knowing that at the time, I enjoyed the serenity that the storm had brought last night. But, much like a night-out with much sin and awesome feeling of power, the morning after can always leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.
Being such an amateur photographer, I tried my best to capture the awesome might of the storm, but only ended up with a few photos of the prize, the Gods bolts. My camera being that of a caveman's, it was a tedious task of snapping pictures. The 3.2 MP Canon I have is still a marvelous camera, even being as old as it is. Despite the few pictures actually capturing any lightning, the ones that I did capture were simply amazing, and purely coincidental. Lucky. There is only four pictures that I'm putting up on here that are different. There are other ones that I skewed colors, contrast and exposure of, because it is simply the most amazing thing I have ever seen, or at least taken a picture of. The photos to follow are of a dual bolt that I caught luckily zoomed in on the initial point from the clouds. You can actually see the electricity arcing in a smooth pattern trying to touch from one bolt to the other in their close proximity. The first photo is untouched, and the rest to follow have been only altered to give a different feel for every picture. Enjoy.
This is the untouched one. Glorious Purple Pride
This is a close up of the arcing between the two bolts. So smooth, so purely electric!
Black and White
Affectionately named: Meat Hammer
Thor's Awesome Power
Thor came upon the land of Baghdad and realized the disgust and hate that all should share for this desolate land. His distaste for the land a choking feeling to the lungs and eyes. And so he reached into his quiver of bolts and let out with a fury of his strong arms, throws that would punish the land with an awesome and deadly fury.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
How Sweet The Suite, Sugar
We all have dreams. Aspirations and desires. We live our lives to the fullest, hopefully, to bring such dreams to a reality. Most of the times we dream high and realize low. It could be because we've found that we can be content with living a certain way, and once reaching that level, we see no desire to putting any more hard work into advancing our careers or achieving our dreams. We all have dream jobs. The only thing that can make the dreams a true reality is relentless effort and determination to achieve such goals. Everything you do, must have a helping hand in achieving your dreams if you do not want to 'settle' for less. I have many dreams, and aspirations of future jobs and careers that even if I'm sidetracked here or there, I still try to make a positive out of everything I'm doing in order to give myself the necessary tools to achieve any of my desires. All of what I want to do is varied. From college, to athletics, owning and running small businesses, to writing a book, to being a positive member within my community. But my most desirable dream, and one that's not necessarily the hardest to achieve, is to be a beer and wine connoisseur that travels the country and the world in search of the best in fire waters. It could be as easy as the endorsing of a magazine.
I've heard the saying, that's somewhat inspirational, that goes something along the lines of that if your life was a book or a movie, you should try and make it one that people would read or watch. Though I have my self doubts, I've always been able to overcome them with the help of my family and friends, along with my grand since of self-pride and respect. Nothing in life that's easy I have ever found worthwhile. Part of living for me is overcoming the adversity to be successful at whatever it is you're doing. I don't think that my dream job of traveling around the country from state to state and city to city tasting at small wineries and breweries would be a career job. In fact I hope it would not be one, because something so selfish should only be enjoyed in moderation, just like the beer and wine to be tasted. This is the perfect kind of job to have though during college summers, or in my pursuit of establishing myself towards some career field, whether or not I keep one job in said career.
I like to be involved and to help others around me. Beer and wine tasting is merely a hobby, and though we all should personally want to do something we love, I also have a love for effecting others in a positive way. I would have an effect on the situation of where to get a good micro-brew pub or where to do some extravagant wine tasting, but in the terms of bettering our society, that priority is fairly low on the list, and seemingly without purpose. But apropos, you might say alcohol has served as a huge part in our American history. Although The Star Spangled Banner wasn't adopted as our National Anthem till the 1930's, it's sung to the hymn of an olde English Gentleman's society drinking song. Alcohol was a big factor in one other great forming of the nation, that being in a drunken stuper we wrote our constitution and claimed independence from the most powerful country in the world at the time! If it hadn't been for alcohol, we never would've gone to war with England, over something as simple as tea. True Fact. Thanks Wikipedia.
Since I started years ago being a drinker of good spirits, I already have a leg up on the competition. I LOVE BEER and LOVE WINE. I also have an undeniable love for the establishments that these are served in. Their history and nostalgia, along with the interesting characters and bar backs to met alike. I have a true passion for trying all kind of brews, and experiencing every different ale house or vineyard due to the satisfaction of their individuality, all having their own tastes and personalities. I'm absolutely positive that I am not the only one that feels this way about BEER and WINE, but I'm of the new generation of man. The rough exterior grown up man who no longer has to shun the 'finer' things because they would be socially unacceptable to that part of society. This is no longer the case. Let the world know it's not 'gay' to enjoy these fine amenities that have been so wonderfully disposed upon our society in the form of splendidly bittersweet concoctions of barley-wheat-hops or fermented grapes. You have to start somewhere though, right? This is my first attempt... unedited.
I've heard the saying, that's somewhat inspirational, that goes something along the lines of that if your life was a book or a movie, you should try and make it one that people would read or watch. Though I have my self doubts, I've always been able to overcome them with the help of my family and friends, along with my grand since of self-pride and respect. Nothing in life that's easy I have ever found worthwhile. Part of living for me is overcoming the adversity to be successful at whatever it is you're doing. I don't think that my dream job of traveling around the country from state to state and city to city tasting at small wineries and breweries would be a career job. In fact I hope it would not be one, because something so selfish should only be enjoyed in moderation, just like the beer and wine to be tasted. This is the perfect kind of job to have though during college summers, or in my pursuit of establishing myself towards some career field, whether or not I keep one job in said career.
I like to be involved and to help others around me. Beer and wine tasting is merely a hobby, and though we all should personally want to do something we love, I also have a love for effecting others in a positive way. I would have an effect on the situation of where to get a good micro-brew pub or where to do some extravagant wine tasting, but in the terms of bettering our society, that priority is fairly low on the list, and seemingly without purpose. But apropos, you might say alcohol has served as a huge part in our American history. Although The Star Spangled Banner wasn't adopted as our National Anthem till the 1930's, it's sung to the hymn of an olde English Gentleman's society drinking song. Alcohol was a big factor in one other great forming of the nation, that being in a drunken stuper we wrote our constitution and claimed independence from the most powerful country in the world at the time! If it hadn't been for alcohol, we never would've gone to war with England, over something as simple as tea. True Fact. Thanks Wikipedia.
Since I started years ago being a drinker of good spirits, I already have a leg up on the competition. I LOVE BEER and LOVE WINE. I also have an undeniable love for the establishments that these are served in. Their history and nostalgia, along with the interesting characters and bar backs to met alike. I have a true passion for trying all kind of brews, and experiencing every different ale house or vineyard due to the satisfaction of their individuality, all having their own tastes and personalities. I'm absolutely positive that I am not the only one that feels this way about BEER and WINE, but I'm of the new generation of man. The rough exterior grown up man who no longer has to shun the 'finer' things because they would be socially unacceptable to that part of society. This is no longer the case. Let the world know it's not 'gay' to enjoy these fine amenities that have been so wonderfully disposed upon our society in the form of splendidly bittersweet concoctions of barley-wheat-hops or fermented grapes. You have to start somewhere though, right? This is my first attempt... unedited.
HOW SWEET THE SUITE, SUGAR
The instant intimate atmosphere is the biggest draw. It's not the retro-style deep red pleather wrap around couches that sit cozily under the watch of the smoky covered mirrors. Round-a-bout couch nestled just around a ceiling hanging fire place, is about as close to the amount of style as the contemporary bar top has. The list of peg board birthdays is an eyesore, along with the lit up dart boards and new-age touch screen jukebox that seems the only chink in the nostalgic setting. The lights even seem to hold back their proper amount of light as to not show the imperfections of old carpets, and false wood against the wall.
This is the hole in the wall dive bar. It's old, dated furniture that has been well manicured. It's tight spaced and doesn't even run kegs through for beer. It has a fully stocked bar that's top-shelf Vodka is Absolut. It's density and close quarters of the constant stranger or local bumping into you regardless if it's a busy night of four or five patrons, or slow one of four of five patrons, the romanticism of it is still amazing. This is the place to be, because of all this. It's not the best place, with the plush leather couches and only Imported Beer catalogs. It's the tree house in the backyard that you share with your friends. It has it's dirty mags and stories of nights spent. It's not so commercial, or so posh, or so chic, it is so personal.
Though it's local is some kind of anomaly of bar status, even for a dive, it's what help to go against the grind, to stay so unique. The heart of the Knollwood Plaza, right smack in the middle between grocery marts, liquor stores and dry cleaners that have some kind of business in being in such a concrete ocean, the Sugar Suite is perhaps the only place that has no belonging. It's neon sign, it's cocktail flag of blue and red, alone late at nights, despite prevailing past the suffocating halogens.
The front door is certainly medieval in appearance. Stark black against a concrete-stucco wall. It's only break in the monotony of it all is the small head height window that wouldn't allow a parakeet escape through it's close bars. After a timid opening of the outside door, you're inside the castle and transported from medieval times to western ones, as you push back the saloon doors that allow final entrance into the low lighted room. Shady eyes will glance up from their bourbon conversations and whiskey talks. Their eyes, only questioning for a shift of an ice cube in their tumblers, and the snap of a snare drum bellowing out the sound of the saloon hinge squeal. Then you're in, welcome and accepted even without a three timed knock and strike of a match.
It's not glim or glam, hocus or pocus, but it is always a good time. It's perhaps the only bar in the Los Angeles area, and certainly Granada Hills, that opens at the crow of the roosters call, 6 AM. It's fun, small and always a good time. It's the perfect spot for any and everything. The pre-game prep, or the down the stretch catch. The perfect place to end or begin, or perhaps just stay all night.
It would be something to that affect...
NEVER DO A GORILLA-FART (shot of Wild Turkey 101 and a shot of Bacardi 151 together. like drinking Robert Downey Jr.'s Blood)
This is the hole in the wall dive bar. It's old, dated furniture that has been well manicured. It's tight spaced and doesn't even run kegs through for beer. It has a fully stocked bar that's top-shelf Vodka is Absolut. It's density and close quarters of the constant stranger or local bumping into you regardless if it's a busy night of four or five patrons, or slow one of four of five patrons, the romanticism of it is still amazing. This is the place to be, because of all this. It's not the best place, with the plush leather couches and only Imported Beer catalogs. It's the tree house in the backyard that you share with your friends. It has it's dirty mags and stories of nights spent. It's not so commercial, or so posh, or so chic, it is so personal.
Though it's local is some kind of anomaly of bar status, even for a dive, it's what help to go against the grind, to stay so unique. The heart of the Knollwood Plaza, right smack in the middle between grocery marts, liquor stores and dry cleaners that have some kind of business in being in such a concrete ocean, the Sugar Suite is perhaps the only place that has no belonging. It's neon sign, it's cocktail flag of blue and red, alone late at nights, despite prevailing past the suffocating halogens.
The front door is certainly medieval in appearance. Stark black against a concrete-stucco wall. It's only break in the monotony of it all is the small head height window that wouldn't allow a parakeet escape through it's close bars. After a timid opening of the outside door, you're inside the castle and transported from medieval times to western ones, as you push back the saloon doors that allow final entrance into the low lighted room. Shady eyes will glance up from their bourbon conversations and whiskey talks. Their eyes, only questioning for a shift of an ice cube in their tumblers, and the snap of a snare drum bellowing out the sound of the saloon hinge squeal. Then you're in, welcome and accepted even without a three timed knock and strike of a match.
It's not glim or glam, hocus or pocus, but it is always a good time. It's perhaps the only bar in the Los Angeles area, and certainly Granada Hills, that opens at the crow of the roosters call, 6 AM. It's fun, small and always a good time. It's the perfect spot for any and everything. The pre-game prep, or the down the stretch catch. The perfect place to end or begin, or perhaps just stay all night.
It would be something to that affect...
NEVER DO A GORILLA-FART (shot of Wild Turkey 101 and a shot of Bacardi 151 together. like drinking Robert Downey Jr.'s Blood)
Forgotten Bookmarks
Having the amount of 'free time' that we normally have, when days go on end without any interruption (in that rarity that it is to have ample time), I find myself reading books and spending more than a little time on the internet. I could watch a movie or try and find something other than sleep to pass the time, but internet surfing I've found can be very... Interesting
I came across this person's blog at the beginning of this month, and found it very intriguing. His blog is called Forgotten Bookmarks. The title isn't some kind of mystery puzzle that you have to put together, it is exactly that. Bookmarks that people have left in books, and forgot about. He finds the books, and photographs the bookmarks along with the book in which he found them, and then posts it on his blog. He captures the images very well with his photography, and admittedly I have spent a good deal of time looking at all the very interesting bookmarks that have been left by people over the years.
I am one of those who uses whatever it is around as a bookmark. Airline ticket stubs, playing cards, or anything else that is in reach and can mark a page in a book. I sometimes even go to re-read books and find bookmarks that I had left in them. My memory entirely forgetting that I had not finished reading the book, or that I hadn't retrieved my mark out of it once I finished the last pages. There are so many other people that have done the same thing, and this guy has a decent documentation online and stored in his house somewhere of all these connections to the past, to stories.
I suppose that's what I find most intriguing about reading his blog, is that all these pictures are not elaborated on, or have any kind of story behind them. They are just a book that was checked out of a library or owned by someones ancestor who used whatever they had on them to mark the last spot they read. You see pictures, credit card stubs, pressed-flowers, post-cards, and letters used to mark the pages. All these things having their own stories, their own processions and reasons for leaving being left behind. For being forgotten. But since they are so vague, it allows your own imagination to run wild with what could've been going on in their lives. Who gave them the book? What was their purpose for reading that book? All kinds of wonderful avenues of endless imagination are opened up. The saying is 'A picture is worth a thousand words.' But perhaps for the pictures that are taken of these links to the past, right in the beginning, middle or end of life's plots; the saying might be better, 'A bookmark is worth a thousand adventures.'
I remember going through all the possessions that my anal retentive grandparents had in their house after my grandmother past away. Books were a large portion of the 'junk' that had collected around the house in the many years. Some of the books had been cousins, or owned by distant relatives that had been basically cast off to my grandparents. But the majority were dated, factual learn-how books that had been published sometime before the great depression. I didn't flip through much of them, and we sold many of the one's with less sentimental value off to strangers at yard sales and church bazaars. Branching some unknown history, and endless imaginable adventures to those who bought the book for it's old aesthetic covers, or wonderful sounding titles. A good mantle piece or coffee table conversation outlet is now in someone else's house. The brittle condition that most of the books were in, too include a book published about the civil war the year after it ended, never allowed for much flipping through pages or reading of these books my grandparents had collected over the year. I wonder now, though what links to my family's past could be in them, and what interesting stories can be told with small pieces to puzzles. I can't quite get my mind right enough to write about the semblance that these forgotten book marks share with events of real life, of forgotten stories. But I feel it, and you probably all who love this site, the creator included feel.
It's rare that you can be inspired to pick up a hobby that is more than just self-worthwhile. And while this man, or anyone who now is a bookmark searcher (as people post links of one's they've found on his facebook or blog), is not going to cure cancer through this hobby, it can build bridges to paths and family history that is all too forgotten. The nostalgia in itself is a great reminder of the beauty of American style all through the years. Can't wait to get home, and spend some days flippin' through old books searching for the forgotten stories of my ancestors past.
You goin back, Jack, and do it again...
I came across this person's blog at the beginning of this month, and found it very intriguing. His blog is called Forgotten Bookmarks. The title isn't some kind of mystery puzzle that you have to put together, it is exactly that. Bookmarks that people have left in books, and forgot about. He finds the books, and photographs the bookmarks along with the book in which he found them, and then posts it on his blog. He captures the images very well with his photography, and admittedly I have spent a good deal of time looking at all the very interesting bookmarks that have been left by people over the years.
I am one of those who uses whatever it is around as a bookmark. Airline ticket stubs, playing cards, or anything else that is in reach and can mark a page in a book. I sometimes even go to re-read books and find bookmarks that I had left in them. My memory entirely forgetting that I had not finished reading the book, or that I hadn't retrieved my mark out of it once I finished the last pages. There are so many other people that have done the same thing, and this guy has a decent documentation online and stored in his house somewhere of all these connections to the past, to stories.
I suppose that's what I find most intriguing about reading his blog, is that all these pictures are not elaborated on, or have any kind of story behind them. They are just a book that was checked out of a library or owned by someones ancestor who used whatever they had on them to mark the last spot they read. You see pictures, credit card stubs, pressed-flowers, post-cards, and letters used to mark the pages. All these things having their own stories, their own processions and reasons for leaving being left behind. For being forgotten. But since they are so vague, it allows your own imagination to run wild with what could've been going on in their lives. Who gave them the book? What was their purpose for reading that book? All kinds of wonderful avenues of endless imagination are opened up. The saying is 'A picture is worth a thousand words.' But perhaps for the pictures that are taken of these links to the past, right in the beginning, middle or end of life's plots; the saying might be better, 'A bookmark is worth a thousand adventures.'
I remember going through all the possessions that my anal retentive grandparents had in their house after my grandmother past away. Books were a large portion of the 'junk' that had collected around the house in the many years. Some of the books had been cousins, or owned by distant relatives that had been basically cast off to my grandparents. But the majority were dated, factual learn-how books that had been published sometime before the great depression. I didn't flip through much of them, and we sold many of the one's with less sentimental value off to strangers at yard sales and church bazaars. Branching some unknown history, and endless imaginable adventures to those who bought the book for it's old aesthetic covers, or wonderful sounding titles. A good mantle piece or coffee table conversation outlet is now in someone else's house. The brittle condition that most of the books were in, too include a book published about the civil war the year after it ended, never allowed for much flipping through pages or reading of these books my grandparents had collected over the year. I wonder now, though what links to my family's past could be in them, and what interesting stories can be told with small pieces to puzzles. I can't quite get my mind right enough to write about the semblance that these forgotten book marks share with events of real life, of forgotten stories. But I feel it, and you probably all who love this site, the creator included feel.
It's rare that you can be inspired to pick up a hobby that is more than just self-worthwhile. And while this man, or anyone who now is a bookmark searcher (as people post links of one's they've found on his facebook or blog), is not going to cure cancer through this hobby, it can build bridges to paths and family history that is all too forgotten. The nostalgia in itself is a great reminder of the beauty of American style all through the years. Can't wait to get home, and spend some days flippin' through old books searching for the forgotten stories of my ancestors past.
You goin back, Jack, and do it again...
Friday, September 18, 2009
A Day In The Life
I was having difficulty in finding a blog topic until I chatted with my chief editor, and though she is busy with all of her projects, family and school included, she gave me one that i find irritating, but you might find interesting. That's what life in a day is like here in Iraq. Obviously with the 'war' slowing down to a standstill and with the restrictions, the handcuffs we have on, our last few weeks haven't been exciting. They've actually been somewhat irritating, and certainly crawling. I won't tell you specifically everything that happened today, or yesterday, but I'll give you a basic synopsis and some examples of what we've had to deal with since we got here, and more specifically since July 1st.
First get the idea out of your head that there is any kind of schedule or routine for us. There is, but to a very small margin. And as soon as you get comfortable in your schedule, or used to doing things the same, it changes. It's not always a bad thing, especially as it deters enemy attack if you vary and become unpredictable. But in saying that, our missions never seem to vary enough, while everything else seems to with some kind of dynamic strategy of forcing anxiety that isn't necessary. The biggest two things that are a constant change of regiment, are sleep and food. We've never really been on the same schedule with those two. We've missed a lot of meals, or had too many. We've lost hours of sleep or gained too much. All at varied and weird times that constantly seem to change. Another big thing, is our change of living quarters. Loyalty, 763, and Beladiyat have all been homes, along with minor stays at other places.
The variations in everything are inconvenient, preposterous, and even sometimes seemingly maniacal. It is the way of the Infantry though perhaps, and it prepares us mentally for... everything. A wise man told me once, that you can plan and plan and make the perfect plan, but as soon as the bullets start flying your plans turn into a big ball of fuck. But for something less serious than combat, the inconvenience and ridiculousness of not allowing wet clothes, or towels to hang up to dry. They must be folded and kept inside wall lockers. Or else. Uniform, room, personal and equipment cleanliness and standards are all part of the job though, and we can complain about them, but it's never stopped us from doing them. So we deal with it the best we can, even when it, better than a magician can do, boggles the mind.
We are a different generation than the war veterans that you know, or perhaps have talked too. We live with the Iraqi Federal Police. We work right along side them in order to facilitate a safer, more secure Iraq when we leave. We do everything, even mostly the same, but have to give all credit to the Iraqi, and are forced to work with even crooked or corrupt Iraqi personnel. This has just added another avenue of interacting with the Iraqi people. We can talk to them through our sights, at the end of our barrels. Or, more civilly, by conversing with them on the streets or sharing a cup of chai with them inside their homes. These have been more of the methods we have seen since we have lived here. Even when we lived with Iraqi's when we were at 763, we didn't interact with them much because we hated them and they hated us. Forging partnerships for the security of Iraq as best we could. Here at the headquarters of Federal Police Brigades, the upper echelon is here, and so their standards, along with ours are higher. We do things more jointly, even if we do a higher percentage of the task.
We have had our terp Bob, since the beginning of deployment. He's a teacher in computer science as well as working for us as an interpreter. It helps to connect with him because of his ability to speak our language. We have learned culture from dealing with him, and him telling us how things are here. How they were here before we kicked Saddam out. He's a smart guy, who's in his early thirties, and has become a good friend of nearly everyone in the platoon. He's not the only Iraqi we've dealt with, just the one we've dealt with longer. The language barrier is really no different from where I grew up. The Spanish speakers in my home town, with very little English skills are much like the Iraqi's here. Though at home there are always bilingual people standing near who can translate. Here we need a terp close, but it's not always the case.
The other day, down at our entry control point, where we work jointly with Federal Police, a buddy of mine and me had some good conversations with the Iraqi's who spoke barely any English, and our Arabic... well we only know shway shway. (little) The conversations were mainly the small talk that you learn in your Spanish class in high school. How are you, what's your name? Things like that. We asked where they were from, and they asked us where we are from. They know a lot more about America than we know about Iraq, but it didn't stop us from at least pretending. The language is mixed, and varied, and due to the exposure to it, I recognize certain words and phrases, along with hand gestures, that help to facilitate conversation. They're the same way. It's polite, and we can even joke in some professional manors, as we are both professional soldiers. We have that in common, along with Madam's and even religion. Yes, not everyone is Muslim in this country, and they don't all believe that Christians or Jews should die. That's a fallacy, and possibly American propaganda. As with every religion, every group of people, there are radicals, and we have them as much or more in America as they have them here. We've just transcended from the idea of being martyrs for the cause. The Muslim culture hasn't quite developed from that, but then again these Iraqi's don't even know where to dump their trash or dispose of their feces. The most amazing thing about the whole transition of power here, and our need to be allies with these folks, is ours and theirs power of observation. Possibly the greatest tool in bridging the gap between two cultures. That and having some respect for each other. We both have weapons, which is usually the limit of respect except for some individual cases.
Our days are sometimes long. They're sometimes short. Our free time, outside of guard duty, and missions, is usually spent on the computer or phone. Reading books, doing physical training, and keeping clean. We eat when we can, or are hungry, due especially to a large stockade of tuna and soups that are in a box of food accumulated from family and friends. We have a job, that's much the same as yours. There are easy days, and tough ones. There is good pay, and bad pay. There are sacrifices all around that must be made, and a team effort to be put forth. The only difference is, that where it's possible to not be efficient, or complacent, or ready to go home; these are the factors that even if performed at a high level, every time (which they aren't) could be the difference between life and death. Sometimes it's just luck, coincidence, or divine intervention.
The only thing we do somewhat similar to garrison life, or even training life, is our physical training. It's a job requirement to be in great shape. We are athletes, and war is our sport. People like to call us Warriors, and that's a fair assessment. We have to be strong enough to not only carry our own equipment that is mission essential, but that also of at least one comrades. We have to have the endurance and stamina to overcome physical exertion. At the same time we have to have the mental capacity to be able to overcome the mental side of physical exertion, with a never quit attitude. Our platoon is in good shape, we are all strong and have good cardiovascular endurance. We have to be. We have to be for our lives and yours. We are elite, and it's about the only small thing that we've been able to maintain over here. Everything else has changed. From our ideas and thoughts to our maturity levels and ability to deal with events that are overwhelmingly stressful.
Are schedule is always changing. Our interactions with individuals are always different and varied. A Day In The Life of an Infantryman in Iraq is probably incomparable to any other job in the world. We are always doing things on the fly. It's all similar, and there are experiences that you've had, difficulties and obstacles overcome that allow for the success of the unknown. The only way I can think of it, is that you work in the fast food industry, and today you have the 9-5 shift at McDonalds, but tomorrow you have the Midnight-4 shift at Taco Bell. Right when you get to bed, you're immediately called back to work, for the 6-10 shift at Burger King. It always varies, and never stays the same. Some days you don't work, others you're scheduled too and don't, or you're not and do. It's a constant hot route, and it makes us more resilient to.... everything. The stress levels are high, and the tasks we are given, regardless of purpose, are always completed as fast as possible, and to at least a minimum standard. The playbook is always wide open, and perhaps that's why we can deal with anything thrown in our path. Why we have been given a mission here that is so strange, so abnormal from our usual, and so different from what we prepared for, that we've been able to be successful at it.
I guess what a day in the life really is, is different. Different every single day. There is no one day the same. There's always something new, something different. To be in our shoes is to be able to cope, adjust, adapt, and overcome the different and varied obstacles we face everyday. Iraq has been a tough challenge, that I, and my platoon mates alike have been able to overcome, and even exceed the standards in most instances. There's more wisdom that's been imparted on me, and though it sounds like it's out of a Chinese proverbs mouth or a horrible 80's ballad, its that, change is not permanent, but change is.
We've got it! Now where too???
First get the idea out of your head that there is any kind of schedule or routine for us. There is, but to a very small margin. And as soon as you get comfortable in your schedule, or used to doing things the same, it changes. It's not always a bad thing, especially as it deters enemy attack if you vary and become unpredictable. But in saying that, our missions never seem to vary enough, while everything else seems to with some kind of dynamic strategy of forcing anxiety that isn't necessary. The biggest two things that are a constant change of regiment, are sleep and food. We've never really been on the same schedule with those two. We've missed a lot of meals, or had too many. We've lost hours of sleep or gained too much. All at varied and weird times that constantly seem to change. Another big thing, is our change of living quarters. Loyalty, 763, and Beladiyat have all been homes, along with minor stays at other places.
The variations in everything are inconvenient, preposterous, and even sometimes seemingly maniacal. It is the way of the Infantry though perhaps, and it prepares us mentally for... everything. A wise man told me once, that you can plan and plan and make the perfect plan, but as soon as the bullets start flying your plans turn into a big ball of fuck. But for something less serious than combat, the inconvenience and ridiculousness of not allowing wet clothes, or towels to hang up to dry. They must be folded and kept inside wall lockers. Or else. Uniform, room, personal and equipment cleanliness and standards are all part of the job though, and we can complain about them, but it's never stopped us from doing them. So we deal with it the best we can, even when it, better than a magician can do, boggles the mind.
We are a different generation than the war veterans that you know, or perhaps have talked too. We live with the Iraqi Federal Police. We work right along side them in order to facilitate a safer, more secure Iraq when we leave. We do everything, even mostly the same, but have to give all credit to the Iraqi, and are forced to work with even crooked or corrupt Iraqi personnel. This has just added another avenue of interacting with the Iraqi people. We can talk to them through our sights, at the end of our barrels. Or, more civilly, by conversing with them on the streets or sharing a cup of chai with them inside their homes. These have been more of the methods we have seen since we have lived here. Even when we lived with Iraqi's when we were at 763, we didn't interact with them much because we hated them and they hated us. Forging partnerships for the security of Iraq as best we could. Here at the headquarters of Federal Police Brigades, the upper echelon is here, and so their standards, along with ours are higher. We do things more jointly, even if we do a higher percentage of the task.
We have had our terp Bob, since the beginning of deployment. He's a teacher in computer science as well as working for us as an interpreter. It helps to connect with him because of his ability to speak our language. We have learned culture from dealing with him, and him telling us how things are here. How they were here before we kicked Saddam out. He's a smart guy, who's in his early thirties, and has become a good friend of nearly everyone in the platoon. He's not the only Iraqi we've dealt with, just the one we've dealt with longer. The language barrier is really no different from where I grew up. The Spanish speakers in my home town, with very little English skills are much like the Iraqi's here. Though at home there are always bilingual people standing near who can translate. Here we need a terp close, but it's not always the case.
The other day, down at our entry control point, where we work jointly with Federal Police, a buddy of mine and me had some good conversations with the Iraqi's who spoke barely any English, and our Arabic... well we only know shway shway. (little) The conversations were mainly the small talk that you learn in your Spanish class in high school. How are you, what's your name? Things like that. We asked where they were from, and they asked us where we are from. They know a lot more about America than we know about Iraq, but it didn't stop us from at least pretending. The language is mixed, and varied, and due to the exposure to it, I recognize certain words and phrases, along with hand gestures, that help to facilitate conversation. They're the same way. It's polite, and we can even joke in some professional manors, as we are both professional soldiers. We have that in common, along with Madam's and even religion. Yes, not everyone is Muslim in this country, and they don't all believe that Christians or Jews should die. That's a fallacy, and possibly American propaganda. As with every religion, every group of people, there are radicals, and we have them as much or more in America as they have them here. We've just transcended from the idea of being martyrs for the cause. The Muslim culture hasn't quite developed from that, but then again these Iraqi's don't even know where to dump their trash or dispose of their feces. The most amazing thing about the whole transition of power here, and our need to be allies with these folks, is ours and theirs power of observation. Possibly the greatest tool in bridging the gap between two cultures. That and having some respect for each other. We both have weapons, which is usually the limit of respect except for some individual cases.
Our days are sometimes long. They're sometimes short. Our free time, outside of guard duty, and missions, is usually spent on the computer or phone. Reading books, doing physical training, and keeping clean. We eat when we can, or are hungry, due especially to a large stockade of tuna and soups that are in a box of food accumulated from family and friends. We have a job, that's much the same as yours. There are easy days, and tough ones. There is good pay, and bad pay. There are sacrifices all around that must be made, and a team effort to be put forth. The only difference is, that where it's possible to not be efficient, or complacent, or ready to go home; these are the factors that even if performed at a high level, every time (which they aren't) could be the difference between life and death. Sometimes it's just luck, coincidence, or divine intervention.
The only thing we do somewhat similar to garrison life, or even training life, is our physical training. It's a job requirement to be in great shape. We are athletes, and war is our sport. People like to call us Warriors, and that's a fair assessment. We have to be strong enough to not only carry our own equipment that is mission essential, but that also of at least one comrades. We have to have the endurance and stamina to overcome physical exertion. At the same time we have to have the mental capacity to be able to overcome the mental side of physical exertion, with a never quit attitude. Our platoon is in good shape, we are all strong and have good cardiovascular endurance. We have to be. We have to be for our lives and yours. We are elite, and it's about the only small thing that we've been able to maintain over here. Everything else has changed. From our ideas and thoughts to our maturity levels and ability to deal with events that are overwhelmingly stressful.
Are schedule is always changing. Our interactions with individuals are always different and varied. A Day In The Life of an Infantryman in Iraq is probably incomparable to any other job in the world. We are always doing things on the fly. It's all similar, and there are experiences that you've had, difficulties and obstacles overcome that allow for the success of the unknown. The only way I can think of it, is that you work in the fast food industry, and today you have the 9-5 shift at McDonalds, but tomorrow you have the Midnight-4 shift at Taco Bell. Right when you get to bed, you're immediately called back to work, for the 6-10 shift at Burger King. It always varies, and never stays the same. Some days you don't work, others you're scheduled too and don't, or you're not and do. It's a constant hot route, and it makes us more resilient to.... everything. The stress levels are high, and the tasks we are given, regardless of purpose, are always completed as fast as possible, and to at least a minimum standard. The playbook is always wide open, and perhaps that's why we can deal with anything thrown in our path. Why we have been given a mission here that is so strange, so abnormal from our usual, and so different from what we prepared for, that we've been able to be successful at it.
I guess what a day in the life really is, is different. Different every single day. There is no one day the same. There's always something new, something different. To be in our shoes is to be able to cope, adjust, adapt, and overcome the different and varied obstacles we face everyday. Iraq has been a tough challenge, that I, and my platoon mates alike have been able to overcome, and even exceed the standards in most instances. There's more wisdom that's been imparted on me, and though it sounds like it's out of a Chinese proverbs mouth or a horrible 80's ballad, its that, change is not permanent, but change is.
We've got it! Now where too???
Thursday, September 17, 2009
American Alzheimers
I'm still infuriated. This is a continuation to my earlier blog, http://bensonjwright.blogspot.com/2009/09/renew-our-resolve.html
It isn't the same infuriating I feel for the swift justice for our enemies, or for the new resolve that this administration has promised, that we will soon-hopefully, see come to fruition. The thing that infuriates me, especially after a few media bound events, is our broken promise. We can't even make it a week from when the day of remembrance to have already forgotten the thing that happened 8 years ago, that isn't even over. There is still things going on because of that! Your freedom is still hanging in the balance, and you, the media and America still don't care!
We are in the month in which the incident occurred. I'm not saying we can't go on with our lives, and that we must grab tissues and cry in the corner in grievance, but we should give a fuck. We made a promise to never forget, one we've not even been able to hold together for 8 years. What does remember mean? That you buy a bumper sticker, and an American flag, and make a donation to a charity. That all makes my conscience clear (they really need a font for sarcasm). Those thousands of innocent people can now rest their souls, and we can go back to our Jerry Springer, and MTV. Then every time the 11th of September comes around, we can stop and think about it for the minute of silence and then continue doing the line of blow off a hookers ass and get on with it.
The worst part about all of this is that Kanye West is a bigger story than the thousands who lost their lives on that fateful day. Kanye West does something ridiculous, that is entirely socially unacceptable, at one of the pettiest things are society frets about and he's bigger than Osama Bin Laden, the man responsible for killing thousands of AMERICANS! We're out for Kanye's blood though, because we REMEMBER TAYLOR SWIFT! Down with Kanye with SWIFT JUSTICE!- I don't think that's what it's supposed to mean. Well a week from now, hopefully you will no longer remember the ridiculous, petty worries of an award show fiasco. You'll go about your life, and not care anymore, because that is apparently the way of life.
I heard someone tell me about Osama Bin Laden's new tape. Yes, Osama Bin Laden released a tape. America's #2 most wanted, right behind Kanye West. It was released on September 13th, the same day that Kanye made himself out to the Jackass he'd already proved to be a couple years ago during the Katrina situation. What a joke, and we praise him. I tried to research what the tape said, so I came back online, and searched on CNN for about 20 minutes until I finally found about a page long story on the situation. The tape was of Osama's voice, played over a picture of him, and a picture of New York sky line with the Twin Towers still up. It said things we already knew, but were a REMINDER of why they attacked us. It pointed out why Obama will fail in pulling out troops in Iraq, and tried to spread it's normal propaganda. Apparently Mr. Osama, Obama, the remembrance from the US isn't very strong. Perhaps you should hire Kanye to interrupt your speech to America Mr. Bin Laden and tell us all that Timothy McVeigh's Oklahoma City Bombing was better.
Maybe I don't think of the word Remember the same as you. As in this case I think I remember those who perished by trying to vanquish those responsible for their deaths as well as allow future generations to never have to experience the atrocities that our fore fathers had fought so hard to protect. Freedom certainly isn't free, or bought easily. Even if we differ in that, which is understandable, I don't think we as Americans differ in our thought of 'promise.' We've traditionally brought great vengeance upon those who have threatened our freedom. Those who have made us remember that they had the upper hand, that they won a fight. We have brought justice without mercy upon them in the past of our country, in it's birth to up until now. And yet, we are faltering, for the first time in America's history. I don't have to remind you of any of the things that we have so forthrightly defended in the pursuit of the freedoms and liberties in which all of us enjoy. Taxation without representation. Concord. The Alamo. The USS Maine. Pearl Harbor. They all have sayings, all have brought motivation to the justice of those responsible. They ring true in our history! In our statehood, all of these things had to have the repercussions of a win on our terms to allow us to live the way we do. Free?
I believe that we are a people that do not forget. That we are the strongest nation in the world, and we should take some kind of pride in that. We shouldn't apologize for everything we do, as we are not perfect. We make mistakes, and we also fix problems. The world might hate us, but they envy us too. We need to renew our resolve and finish this war, so that my son doesn't have to fight in it too. So that we can concern ourselves with Kanye West, and the Big Brother winner. But we should get our priorities straight, and concern ourselves with the bigger, more important task at hand, preserving our freedom.
Re-Remembering yet?
I thought terrorism was a word they made up after 9/11 happened. -We're still ignorant though, aren't we?
It isn't the same infuriating I feel for the swift justice for our enemies, or for the new resolve that this administration has promised, that we will soon-hopefully, see come to fruition. The thing that infuriates me, especially after a few media bound events, is our broken promise. We can't even make it a week from when the day of remembrance to have already forgotten the thing that happened 8 years ago, that isn't even over. There is still things going on because of that! Your freedom is still hanging in the balance, and you, the media and America still don't care!
We are in the month in which the incident occurred. I'm not saying we can't go on with our lives, and that we must grab tissues and cry in the corner in grievance, but we should give a fuck. We made a promise to never forget, one we've not even been able to hold together for 8 years. What does remember mean? That you buy a bumper sticker, and an American flag, and make a donation to a charity. That all makes my conscience clear (they really need a font for sarcasm). Those thousands of innocent people can now rest their souls, and we can go back to our Jerry Springer, and MTV. Then every time the 11th of September comes around, we can stop and think about it for the minute of silence and then continue doing the line of blow off a hookers ass and get on with it.
The worst part about all of this is that Kanye West is a bigger story than the thousands who lost their lives on that fateful day. Kanye West does something ridiculous, that is entirely socially unacceptable, at one of the pettiest things are society frets about and he's bigger than Osama Bin Laden, the man responsible for killing thousands of AMERICANS! We're out for Kanye's blood though, because we REMEMBER TAYLOR SWIFT! Down with Kanye with SWIFT JUSTICE!- I don't think that's what it's supposed to mean. Well a week from now, hopefully you will no longer remember the ridiculous, petty worries of an award show fiasco. You'll go about your life, and not care anymore, because that is apparently the way of life.
I heard someone tell me about Osama Bin Laden's new tape. Yes, Osama Bin Laden released a tape. America's #2 most wanted, right behind Kanye West. It was released on September 13th, the same day that Kanye made himself out to the Jackass he'd already proved to be a couple years ago during the Katrina situation. What a joke, and we praise him. I tried to research what the tape said, so I came back online, and searched on CNN for about 20 minutes until I finally found about a page long story on the situation. The tape was of Osama's voice, played over a picture of him, and a picture of New York sky line with the Twin Towers still up. It said things we already knew, but were a REMINDER of why they attacked us. It pointed out why Obama will fail in pulling out troops in Iraq, and tried to spread it's normal propaganda. Apparently Mr. Osama, Obama, the remembrance from the US isn't very strong. Perhaps you should hire Kanye to interrupt your speech to America Mr. Bin Laden and tell us all that Timothy McVeigh's Oklahoma City Bombing was better.
Maybe I don't think of the word Remember the same as you. As in this case I think I remember those who perished by trying to vanquish those responsible for their deaths as well as allow future generations to never have to experience the atrocities that our fore fathers had fought so hard to protect. Freedom certainly isn't free, or bought easily. Even if we differ in that, which is understandable, I don't think we as Americans differ in our thought of 'promise.' We've traditionally brought great vengeance upon those who have threatened our freedom. Those who have made us remember that they had the upper hand, that they won a fight. We have brought justice without mercy upon them in the past of our country, in it's birth to up until now. And yet, we are faltering, for the first time in America's history. I don't have to remind you of any of the things that we have so forthrightly defended in the pursuit of the freedoms and liberties in which all of us enjoy. Taxation without representation. Concord. The Alamo. The USS Maine. Pearl Harbor. They all have sayings, all have brought motivation to the justice of those responsible. They ring true in our history! In our statehood, all of these things had to have the repercussions of a win on our terms to allow us to live the way we do. Free?
I believe that we are a people that do not forget. That we are the strongest nation in the world, and we should take some kind of pride in that. We shouldn't apologize for everything we do, as we are not perfect. We make mistakes, and we also fix problems. The world might hate us, but they envy us too. We need to renew our resolve and finish this war, so that my son doesn't have to fight in it too. So that we can concern ourselves with Kanye West, and the Big Brother winner. But we should get our priorities straight, and concern ourselves with the bigger, more important task at hand, preserving our freedom.
Re-Remembering yet?
I thought terrorism was a word they made up after 9/11 happened. -We're still ignorant though, aren't we?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Newly Same Beginnings-Bitterly Sad Endings
We are now back in our original deployment home. Beladiyat. Actually living at JSS Beladiyat, rather than the Loyalty, the garden of Eden. This place isn't bad. In certain instances anyways. Moral in the platoon has been low, not because our food situation is better, or that there is actually cold A/C, but because of our having to deal with the 'flag pole.'
It was dark, and my flashlights dying batteries only allowed for enough light to show the breath turn into cloud in front of my face. I shivered, and my lips turned blue as I changed my clothes. I would've thought that I was in some kind of meat locker had it not been for the fact that I was standing at my wall locker changing. That and the fact that I'm not so delirious to think that I walked into a meat locker that now existed where my room once was. I guess it's just Duffy trying to acclimatize for his leave come December in Chicago. Damn it's cold.
The air conditioning is no longer a problem, obviously. We even unplugged one because of how efficient they are. The food situation isn't bad either. It's not the Loyalty robust food bar, with a following of deserts, but it's the usual three meals a day with no limitations on serving size that we didn't have up at 763. Football, and Super-Sized is the American way. We finally are living like it.
You are probably wondering why I mentioned that moral is so low if the standard of living is now so high? And standard is probably right word to use. In the military, there is much expected of you. Simple tasks, and difficult ones, and a mix of both. For instance, clean shaven every morning, physically fit, being on time and in the proper uniform are some of the easy ones. Difficult ones; carrying a wounded battle buddy, administering first aid, or running with 100+ pounds of gear into a 'fire-fight.' Text book they don't have too much that could be deemed difficult. However, you can't learn intestinal fortitude or courage in a book, which deems those things the difficult tasks.
We do our job very well, this platoon. Perhaps even the best within our battalion and further. Our personal standards are usually higher than those who we are colleagues with, and our mission preparation, determination and aptitude for succeeding are certainly higher, which all ego aside, leaves a chip on our shoulders that we don't mind having. We can do all this, we can go out and kick ass like we have all deployment. We haven't stacked bodies or killed babies, but we've done the task we've been given the entire deployment over here, and completed it to standard and even to above-standard. Our platoon in the process has alienated itself from the rest of everyone else. We like it that way in most respects. Because we are usually left alone, and have been all year. Showing up to a place like this, surrounded by those who only enforce the standards to those below them, who are cowards and hypocrites can certainly be a swift kick to where the sun don't shine. Seattle, Washington.
We've been busier, not because we have done anything wrong, or that we have any more of a force pro requirement, but because we have to play the 'game.' It's not the kind that Michael Douglas had too, but it might as well be. Standards in haircuts and uniform used to be more of a garrison issue. The lack of amenities and luxuries don't necessarily allow for barber shops, or washing machines or anything else that can allow a proper appearance like that in which you hold yourself to in garrison. This battalion seems to require the same regardless. Eye protection is a mandatory anytime you step outside of a building. Knee pads are required when in full kit, regardless of the fact that you are not going to take a knee, or forbidden to. Water has to be in a Camelbak, even if it's as easy to carry as a water bottle. It's all ridiculousness that in no way makes any sense. It's part of the Army, the main Army, the uniformity. Us gun bunnies and cows must be with the herd, and appear all the same. It only gets frustrating when you break out of the civilian mindset in which you come into the Army, and when it makes no logical sense. The logical sense part is even worsened when the reason to do it, is just to do it.
The standards of wearing a PT-reflective belt when it gets dark, so that you can be seen better at night (which we're in a war zone in cross hairs, so I'm not exactly sure why we do it.), are the kinds of things that just boggle the mind. To me though, there is nothing more boggling than adhering to ridiculous standards, demanded by possible lunatics, when they in no way shape or form seem to care about us. Perhaps only our appearance. If we look good in death, than that is acceptable.
We've been spending the day wiping down walls, and painting, making the appearance of this shit-hole building we are in look nice. It does look better, and we all take some pride in where we live. It's all to impress someone of a higher level. Does it impress you though... that there have been American deaths within this battalion that have been in vain. That have not been justified. It doesn't impress me that I'm held to a high standard of bullshit, and the things that really matter are held in such a low respect. Yes that's right, my life and your sons life are worth no more than a bowline knot on a weapon, or eye pro resting on my head. Impressed, aren't you.
We're back where we started. Only we're almost done with the deployment. The lack of common sense has never faltered over this 9 month span we've had here. It's about the only thing unchanged. Thanks 2P. We'll keep playing your game, without understanding the rules. I hope that in 10 years I can think back to this deployment and have some since of pride in what we've done here. I'm sure I can look back on our platoon and feel a great sense somewhere, but it's hard for me to imagine this battalion, which has had so much great history to include a member of it played by John Wayne, in any kind positive light. Thanks for the injustice, the depression, and the empty life void.
1944 2P6 Lt. Col. Vandervoot
as portrayed by John Wayne in The Longest Day
All those guys with their chin-straps unbuckled is ridiculous. That would NEVER happen in the battalion. But the Duke can keep his, simply because... just do it to do it.
It was dark, and my flashlights dying batteries only allowed for enough light to show the breath turn into cloud in front of my face. I shivered, and my lips turned blue as I changed my clothes. I would've thought that I was in some kind of meat locker had it not been for the fact that I was standing at my wall locker changing. That and the fact that I'm not so delirious to think that I walked into a meat locker that now existed where my room once was. I guess it's just Duffy trying to acclimatize for his leave come December in Chicago. Damn it's cold.
The air conditioning is no longer a problem, obviously. We even unplugged one because of how efficient they are. The food situation isn't bad either. It's not the Loyalty robust food bar, with a following of deserts, but it's the usual three meals a day with no limitations on serving size that we didn't have up at 763. Football, and Super-Sized is the American way. We finally are living like it.
You are probably wondering why I mentioned that moral is so low if the standard of living is now so high? And standard is probably right word to use. In the military, there is much expected of you. Simple tasks, and difficult ones, and a mix of both. For instance, clean shaven every morning, physically fit, being on time and in the proper uniform are some of the easy ones. Difficult ones; carrying a wounded battle buddy, administering first aid, or running with 100+ pounds of gear into a 'fire-fight.' Text book they don't have too much that could be deemed difficult. However, you can't learn intestinal fortitude or courage in a book, which deems those things the difficult tasks.
We do our job very well, this platoon. Perhaps even the best within our battalion and further. Our personal standards are usually higher than those who we are colleagues with, and our mission preparation, determination and aptitude for succeeding are certainly higher, which all ego aside, leaves a chip on our shoulders that we don't mind having. We can do all this, we can go out and kick ass like we have all deployment. We haven't stacked bodies or killed babies, but we've done the task we've been given the entire deployment over here, and completed it to standard and even to above-standard. Our platoon in the process has alienated itself from the rest of everyone else. We like it that way in most respects. Because we are usually left alone, and have been all year. Showing up to a place like this, surrounded by those who only enforce the standards to those below them, who are cowards and hypocrites can certainly be a swift kick to where the sun don't shine. Seattle, Washington.
We've been busier, not because we have done anything wrong, or that we have any more of a force pro requirement, but because we have to play the 'game.' It's not the kind that Michael Douglas had too, but it might as well be. Standards in haircuts and uniform used to be more of a garrison issue. The lack of amenities and luxuries don't necessarily allow for barber shops, or washing machines or anything else that can allow a proper appearance like that in which you hold yourself to in garrison. This battalion seems to require the same regardless. Eye protection is a mandatory anytime you step outside of a building. Knee pads are required when in full kit, regardless of the fact that you are not going to take a knee, or forbidden to. Water has to be in a Camelbak, even if it's as easy to carry as a water bottle. It's all ridiculousness that in no way makes any sense. It's part of the Army, the main Army, the uniformity. Us gun bunnies and cows must be with the herd, and appear all the same. It only gets frustrating when you break out of the civilian mindset in which you come into the Army, and when it makes no logical sense. The logical sense part is even worsened when the reason to do it, is just to do it.
The standards of wearing a PT-reflective belt when it gets dark, so that you can be seen better at night (which we're in a war zone in cross hairs, so I'm not exactly sure why we do it.), are the kinds of things that just boggle the mind. To me though, there is nothing more boggling than adhering to ridiculous standards, demanded by possible lunatics, when they in no way shape or form seem to care about us. Perhaps only our appearance. If we look good in death, than that is acceptable.
We've been spending the day wiping down walls, and painting, making the appearance of this shit-hole building we are in look nice. It does look better, and we all take some pride in where we live. It's all to impress someone of a higher level. Does it impress you though... that there have been American deaths within this battalion that have been in vain. That have not been justified. It doesn't impress me that I'm held to a high standard of bullshit, and the things that really matter are held in such a low respect. Yes that's right, my life and your sons life are worth no more than a bowline knot on a weapon, or eye pro resting on my head. Impressed, aren't you.
We're back where we started. Only we're almost done with the deployment. The lack of common sense has never faltered over this 9 month span we've had here. It's about the only thing unchanged. Thanks 2P. We'll keep playing your game, without understanding the rules. I hope that in 10 years I can think back to this deployment and have some since of pride in what we've done here. I'm sure I can look back on our platoon and feel a great sense somewhere, but it's hard for me to imagine this battalion, which has had so much great history to include a member of it played by John Wayne, in any kind positive light. Thanks for the injustice, the depression, and the empty life void.
1944 2P6 Lt. Col. Vandervoot
as portrayed by John Wayne in The Longest Day
All those guys with their chin-straps unbuckled is ridiculous. That would NEVER happen in the battalion. But the Duke can keep his, simply because... just do it to do it.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Someone Elses Words
I was going to write another blog today, but was mulling around the internet when I stumbled across this. It was a letter written years ago. I don't know if I 100% agree with everything being said, but a good point is made none-the-less whether or not I fully am for or against it. I'm not your moral or ethical compass, so I won't give you anymore opinion or answer, and let you decide for yourselves on this one.
I know it's a little reminiscent of the speech that Gary gets from the Bar Drunkard in Team America World Police, but even in all of that's ridiculousness, it still held a heavy weight of truth.
"Amateurs talk hardware. Professionals talk software. It doesn't matter what's in your hand or between your legs. It matters what's in your heart and in your head." - Lt. Col. Dave Grossman
- This letter was written by Charles Grennel and his comrades who are veterans of the Global War On Terror. Grennel is an Army Reservist who spent two years in Iraq and was a principal in putting together the first Iraq elections in January of 2005. It was written to Jill Edwards, a student at the University of Washington, who did not want to honor Medal of Honor winner USMC Colonel Greg Boyington. Ms. Edwards and other students (and faculty) do not think those who serve in the U.S. armed services are good role models.
To: Edwards, Jill (student, UW)
Subject: Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs
Miss Edwards, I read of your "student activity" regarding the proposed memorial to Col. Greg Boyington, USMC and a Medal of Honor winner. I suspect you will receive a bellyful of angry e-mails from conservative folks like me. You may be too young to appreciate fully the sacrifices of generations of servicemen and servicewomen on whose shoulders you and your fellow students stand. I forgive you for the untutored ways of youth and your naiveté.
It may be that you are, simply, a sheep. There's no dishonor in being a sheep - as long as you know and accept what you are.
Then there are sheepdogs and I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf. If you have no capacity for violence, then you are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What do you have then? A sheepdog - a warrior - someone who is walking the uncharted path - someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed.
We know that the sheep live in denial; that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen - which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms, and fire exits throughout their kids' schools. But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kids’ school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep's only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard and so they choose the path of denial.
The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf; he has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, cannot, and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheepdog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way - at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.
Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn't tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go "Baa." Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog.
The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students and, under ordinary circumstances, they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them.
This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door. Look at what happened after September 11, 2001 when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be.
Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: he is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser but they move to the sound of the guns when needed, right along with the young ones.
Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come but the sheepdog lives for that day.
After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep - that is, most citizens in America - said, "Thank God I wasn't on one of those planes." The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, "Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference." You want to be able to make a difference. There is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, but he does have one real advantage - only one - and that is that he is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population.
There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory crimes of violence: assaults, murders, and the killing of law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior, and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself. Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs.
But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I'm proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs. Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator at United Airlines about the hijacking. When they learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd and the other passengers confronted the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers - athletes, business people, and parents - from sheep to sheepdogs and, together, they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground.
"There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men." ~ Edmund Burke.
Here is the point I like to emphasize, especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature, the sheep - real sheep - are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way and so are wolves. They didn't have a choice.
But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision. If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust, or love.
But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior's path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip, and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.
This business of being a sheep or a sheepdog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-sand sheep and, on the other end, is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11, almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously.
It's okay to be a sheep but do not kick the sheepdog. Indeed, the sheepdog may just run a little harder, strive to protect a little better, and be fully prepared to pay an ultimate price in battle and spirit - with the sheep moving from "baa" to "thanks."
We do not call for gifts or freedoms beyond our lot. We just need a small pat on the head, a smile, and a thank you to fill the emotional tank which is drained protecting the sheep. And when our number is called by the Almighty and day retreats into night, a small prayer before the heavens just may be in order to say thanks for letting you continue to be a sheep. And be grateful for the thousands - millions - of American sheepdogs who permit you the freedom to express even bad ideas.
I know it's a little reminiscent of the speech that Gary gets from the Bar Drunkard in Team America World Police, but even in all of that's ridiculousness, it still held a heavy weight of truth.
"Amateurs talk hardware. Professionals talk software. It doesn't matter what's in your hand or between your legs. It matters what's in your heart and in your head." - Lt. Col. Dave Grossman
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