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| well well |
| 10.06.04 (2:57 pm) [edit] |
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The Editors Course is super-fine. Our class is around eight people, which means we get done with things pretty quickly. I can't say I care for the two civilian ladies in my class too much. They complain that the military cats are too loud and that our use of profanity is not appropriate. WTF? It's the military. We kill people. What is there to not cuss about?
Sensitive people freak me out. Go back to being paid way too much for doing barely enough to get by.
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| another absence |
| 09.26.04 (4:38 pm) [edit] |
I'm off to Washington, D.C., to attend a military course on editing and managing a newsroom. I'll try to update this thing as I can, but no word on how available internet will be.
Later everybody!
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| it's the simple things |
| 09.20.04 (3:23 pm) [edit] |
There is much in the world.
The enormity of reality can cloud a soul’s eyes. Passion and ideals are muddled and quenched by the soaking sadness of a million sorrows, echoing from the imagined borders of the world.
I am a storyteller—a recorder—a scribe. I speak in written words and clauses to weave syntax and diction into recounts of terror and courage. I am a squire to a virtue embodied in a nation. Those for the cause fight with valiant and stalwart hearts.
Yet much is lost. There is no victory. Hope fades.
I’ve been a broken man, peering through the haze. Early last September, I ran for my sanity and left the war—the damned war. My heart was cramped with ache from writing the terrible weeping of the world. Early last September, I set out and left it all.
There are those that say our Eden is lost, but I found the garden, tucked away on a quiet road in the shadow of a city. A type of painter abounded, crafting pictures in their innocence, with colors long forgotten by riders of the storms. The grays of my epitaphs could pave the sky with streaks of bitter recognition and recollection, but the subtle hues of a slower pace spoke tomes to my worn circumstance.
One morning, my friends came together and shared a meal. It was simple, pure, and without expectation. That’s what made it special. That is what made it remarkable. Lives were mingled.
I looked beyond what men do and into what they are. What was there?
Love.
And the understanding that love shared will sew a stronger bond—one to mend a long, lingering sorrow.
The building light warmed my heart, but soon faded into life. I will remember.
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| the pale extraordinary |
| 09.19.04 (4:48 pm) [edit] |
My soldiers are young and single. Like many young and single men, high-performance vehicles are necessary for social status. Unfortunately, this type of transportation is often unreliable and requires occasional trips to the shop.
Thus I become, on occasion, the official chauffeur for my soldiers.
And it was on one such occasion, during a trip to the PX, that I ran into a shadow of greatness, something extraordinary, but pale.
The sign near the Post Exchange had been updated with a happening, "Book signing 'Baghdad Butcher' Wed-Sun 3-7."
We walked in to the lobby, on our way to pick up something-or-other, when I noticed a small table, set up in the entrance of the store. There a man sat, white hair, thin, but a paunchy belly, a McDonald's employee dress shirt of too-thick stripes, and a stack of "Baghdad Butcher" books arrayed about him like a sort of literary monument.
He stare was vacant. Not a soul was around him. I remembered the sign. 3 to 7, I thought...authors sign books in shifts? The cover of the paperback was two-color. The book itself was of typical novel girth, filled by an editor from a publishing company that knows just how much length to give a target demographic. On the front, a picture of Saddam, in black half-tone dots, swam in a gaudy page of blood red, a bull’s eye printed over his head. So was the 'Butcher' trying to kill Saddam? Was Saddam the ‘Butcher’? I didn't get it--
"It's an action-adventure novel with military characters," barked the author, looking up to me from his folding chair.
Admittedly that froze me in my tracks. Did I ask about the book out loud? He was smiling, waiting for me to ask a question. What the hell just happened--
"It's an action-adventure novel with military characters," he barked in the exact tone to the group of potential PX customers entering the store behind me.
In the confusion, I escaped to a nearby Halloween costume isle, ducking behind a large plastic tombstone, eyeing the strange new mercantile predator, stalking consumer prey in my regular grazing grounds.
The soldier that I had brought to the store was laughing, and we swapped some jokes about the guy. While on the prowl ourselves for whatever trinkets we needed that day, through the din, the familiar description would make its way to me. The poor bastard was saying the same line to everybody that walked in.
Who was this cat? The name wasn't familiar. The book seemed like pretty standard stuff. There wasn't a publicist nearby, stroking the author's ego at the sparse turnout. The book was obviously catering to a military audience, and that would explain why the Fort Knox Post Exchange was hearing this man's proclamations.
But what were the merits of this particular book? Hell, my life was an action-adventure novel with military characters. I just needed to get the girl and I'd have it all wrapped up.
The journalist in me started firing through questions: Who are you? Was it your dream to write a book? How did you wrestle with the editor? Did the plot survive the culling of production? Was Fort Knox suggested to you, or do you have some sort of sentimental connection? Were you in the military? Why Baghdad? Did you have a run in with Saddam?
But all that would come back to me was "It's an action-adventure novel with military characters." What a tragic thing to have accomplished something and have it not matter one bit.
My soldier and I finished our business at the PX and began to leave. The author, too, was heading out, carrying a full box of signed books. Our paths crossed, and I again waited to hear his taciturn blah-blah summation of a healthy chunk of his creative life. Instead he waited at the door for us to move past, "I'm tired. I don't move fast."
Damn.
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| disqualified life |
| 09.08.04 (5:21 pm) [edit] |
This entry does not count. I am about to enter sleep and do not have the capacity to form a proper blog. By the end of the month, I may be in our nation's capital, attending a service school to learn to make our paper better. Tremendous stuff. There's much to do.
I had a talk with my father again today about my desire for spiritual profession. He still is very hesitant. I don't need his approval, but it would be nice.
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| if not bush, then who? |
| 08.29.04 (4:05 pm) [edit] |
I just finished reading the headlining story on CNN.com about the tens of thousands of protesters in New York. Each of the featured protesters were quoted as being against Bush (obviously), and against the Iraq war. "No to the war!" "Choose another course!" "No to the regime change!"
Are all of these cats going to vote Nader? Because he's the only candidate that is pledging to pull out our troops after taking office. Kerry is an anti-Bush on several aspects, but even he realizes troops will be in Iraq for quite some time.
I was just curious if any of these zealots had any idea what the hell they were talking about.
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| so...anyone? |
| 08.28.04 (7:53 am) [edit] |
Being an editor for a newspaper can be a drain. The staffers have their own needs and wants, and the editor is like a paladin, vehemently defending the virtue of sacrificing all for the cause--in this case, publishing a newspaper once a week. There is always one more story--one more late night, and one more weekend that can be spent writing.
There is no reconciling the two stances, and I wouldn't think there would be. If ever there were a staff of nothing but journalistic zealots, then I'd shudder to think what that would look like. Just like offensively polite airline attendants turn the stomach with their unnatural desire to serve, a newspaper of supremely eager journalists, plodding through town meetings and award ceremonies with never-ending enthusiasm, would seem more like a troupe of demonic pawns, not to be trusted.
Thus, I am left holding out the assignment list, "Who wants to come in Saturday? ... Common guys! It'll be fun."
The fact that the room is scarce of volunteers is a boon, actually. It means I have sanity among my staff. Bravo shirkers and shamers, you are what keeps it real.
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| oh yeah...that whole thing |
| 08.16.04 (2:33 pm) [edit] |
Hey, I'm getting promoted on Sept. 1. How about that? The Army lowered it's cut-off scores to my score, meaning they saw me hanging out there and decided to let me into the club.
Cool stuff.
I know I probablly sounded like I was crying myself a river a couple posts ago, wondering what the hell I should do with myself.
The funny thing was, that even before I found out my "plan" was back on track, I came to the conclusion that I still wanted to rock out with the military chaplain thing.
Oh yeah, did I ever say that? I'm going to be asking to be released from service early so I can go to seminary. Afterwards I'll apply to come back in as a chaplain.
Yessir, it's the spiritual life for me. Don't think of me as too much of a prude, I've earned my scars and lived my life, but God and good is true and just, and I'll keep it real for my peeps to show them the better path.
Word.
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| a long awaited movie |
| 08.14.04 (8:38 pm) [edit] |
***Some minor spoilers for Alien vs. Predator***
I'm a big fan of the Alien and Predator movies. I'm a sci-fi nut, and enjoy the freedom that fantasy worlds afford storytellers. You don't hear "that couldn't happen" too often, and I love where that can take an audience.
"Alien" was a wonderfully unique horror movie. The alien was so, well "alien," that it terrified and exhilarated everyone who watched it. I had nightmares for years afterwards. Amazing.
"Aliens" took things a step farther. Whereas the original was built on stark terror, James Cameron decided on a more suspenseful action film. He also added a new dimension to the "Alien" lore. It wasn't just one creature that the cast faced; it was a seemingly endless horde. One was enough in the original, now there were hundreds.
The other "Alien" movies were so-so, and I won't get into them here.
The "Predator" movies started another interesting idea: a hunter that used Earth as a sort of safari venue. The original introduced us to the creature, while the sequel added a new dimension to the story, including a scene where we saw that the hunter also used "aliens" as his prey. I jumped when I first saw that skull in his trophy room. Promises of a verses movie spurred rumors for a decade.
Both individual franchises spurred on countless books, comic books, toys, and excitement. I enjoyed all the grizzly gore.
The 1990 Dark Horse Comic's Alien vs. Predator book was the first story featuring the whole face-off business, and although there are dozens of subsequent takes and approaches on the match-up, the new Alien vs. Predator movie (hereafter AVP), just released, decided to create yet another "what if" and re-invented the wheel.
I was thoroughly surprised at how awful the movie was.
Now, I expected a summer fluff movie. Hollywood has been out of original ideas for years. What I wasn't expecting, was a movie so amazingly clichéd and contrived, that it could ruin the suspense and excitement from two of the most horrifying creatures in film history.
If AVP used any more clichés, I'm sure it would have violated some sort of copyright.
The movie opens with various scientists and "experts" being rounded up from around the world. A rich executive offers to fully fund their digs, and expeditions if they drop what they're doing and come away with him to a remote island. Jurassic Park, anyone?
The site of interest is a pyramid in Antarctica, two thousand feet below the ice. A drilling team is put together to bore down to the right depth. I'm surprised they didn't get Bruce Willis, Ben Affleck and the rest of the “Armageddon” cast to crew the drill.
Cheap scares abound and a few cheap laughs are put in to elicit shallow affection for the cardboard characters.
Once the action starts, the pyramid "configures" itself like a giant, shifting maze, every 10 minutes. Anyone who has seen 1997's "Cube" will wonder where the AVP writer got that idea.
I won't "ruin" the movie for anyone who hasn't seen it, but the film looses ideas halfway through and resorts to using former scenes and lines from previous “Alien” and “Predator” movies. No, it's not cute, it’s pathetic.
The action scenes were so overblown and over-the-top, I laughed out loud. And, for the record, just how many movies can feature a never-ending-runing-away- from-the-monster-who-is-j ust-behind-you-nipping-at -your-heels scene?
The movie eschews most of the established Alien and Predator lore for the sake of quick shake-n-bake action. There's no suspense; there's not a hint of terror.
And there's a huge opening for a sequel, like we need more of this trash.
Uuugh. Go find the original 1990 comic, or any of the other AVP stories out there. They are worlds better than this crap.
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| and with that... |
| 08.11.04 (6:58 pm) [edit] |
...there came a knock on the door of my mind. Putting down my book of ways to spend a year without moving, I rose to see who had come.
Snapping back to reality, I realized it had been days and days since another blog. Truth is, I'm still on the whole figuring-out-what-to-do-w ith-myself phase.
But now, a thought. Pardon me, brogonzo, for repeating a rant I uttered earlier today.
People use the word "literally" far too often in conversation. What literally, literally means, is to actually BE the thing you're speaking of. I literally found a fly in my ointment means there was a nasty bug in my goop. It's not symbolic, metaphorical, or otherwise figurative.
You see friends, figurative speech and literal speech are two ends of a continuum. Now that people are mis-using literal references, who knows what tragedy will befall our poor, poor society. Dogs and cats will live together. Total chaos will ensue.
What am I rambling about? Today on the radio I heard a snippet of conversation that is indicative of the dilemma I'm railing about.
An interviewer was speaking of Bush and his efforts to ensure victories in states where he had trouble in 2000. Speaking of New Mexico, the interviewer noted that Bush had won by literally a sliver.
A sliver? Of wood? There was a sliver of wood in his hand? And that helped him win the state's electoral votes? A literal sliver would mean a physical portion of something.
Now a figurative sliver could mean many things. Taking the same statement, Bush winning by a sliver could mean he barely had enough votes to carry the state. Herein lies the true meaning of the word. It wasn't literal at all and was, in fact, completely figurative.
Who cares? I do, dammit. What's the point of using a word for effect? Does saying something literally make it more dramatic? In some cases, perhaps, but most of the time, plain old figurative uses of words are not only more creative in that they allow us to use flourishes in our descriptions of the mundane, but grammatically make far more sense.
Thank you, and goodnight.
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| a quick revelation |
| 08.01.04 (12:47 pm) [edit] |
Change comes from action. There are no conservative heroes.
booya booya!
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| life change part 1 |
| 07.30.04 (9:17 pm) [edit] |
Well gang, it's time to re-align the ol' priorities.
So there I was, a scant 30 days from promotion. Sergeant Salmons would have been my title. I was to have a larger room, less duties, more pay, more respect, and most importantly, more responsibilities.
I was looking forward to these responsibilities. When you step out and become a sergeant, you are looked to in order to take care of soldiers. You make sure they're living conditions are good; that they're getting the right training, and that they're doing all right emotionally. You're a mentor.
I like doing that sort of stuff for people.
The Army has a system where you amass points that count toward promotion. Awards, performance on marksmanship and fitness tests, college classes...all these count as points.
Each job has a different "cut off" score for reaching each rank. It's a way to control how many sergeants and staff sergeants are running around. If you have too many, you raise the "cut off" and that eventually cuts down the number as the existing sergeants are promoted further or get out of the Army.
Anyway, the points for my job (journalist) were set by the Army at the absolute minimum, and had been for several years. This meant that you basically just had to serve your minimum time as a specialist, and then step up for sergeant whenever you wanted. I went and did all the boards and things necessary to get my new rank. All that was left was to wait 60 days for the paperwork to "clear."
Then, just a couple of days ago, the Army announced a new "cut off" score. It went from the minimum points to the absolute maximum. Now, instead of being one month away from sergeant, it will take me four or five years.
That's uncouth. I can't just sit on my laurels that long without making some sort of progress.
So now what? I'll delve into that next post.
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| my anarchy pitch |
| 07.25.04 (8:31 pm) [edit] |
Day 8692
I mean to do a lot of things, but never get to them. All that I never did adds up to one big whoops—one big missed opportunity—one big swing-and-a-miss—one big missed train. Is there any fixing it?
Should I begin to mend the ache from things I haven’t done? Do I even start to maintain the bridges that are there already? What makes it worth the time? What’s in a built bridge?
To a lone traveler, the road stays lonely. What is the consequence of a kept path? Miles of “Adopt a Highway” pass as do the orphaned.
Who picks up the trash? Is it an inmate? It is a volunteer? Some old lady, trying to give back to her community, passed by thousands who hardly know her heart?
Are deeds worth doing if nobody sees? Should a tree still crash when without a listener? Does any of it matter?
Would drivers choose trash-laden streets? Would the filth mark their attention—catch the eye? Would some say, “Jesus God, this road is a wreck!” Wouldn’t that make easier conversation by the water cooler? Does difference urge discussion?
Years, hundreds of years, thousands of hours, and days of blood, sweat and tears, are fought to maintain an expected status quo. Nothing ever changes.
The same expected standard is everywhere: cleanliness, showering, laundered clothes, shaving, watching weight. If someone looks half like anyone, they’re never noticed. It’s when a sacred rule is broken that a person sounds a note.
Few know how to react. The note startles and stirs anger, but that’s from fear. It’s the automatic response of “this person is different, they must be bad, they must be a foreigner, an alien, a deviant, a filthy whatever.” It’s fearful rejection, but the difference is what’s special—it’s the difference that matters.
Reject the norm, and face rejection. It's the only way anything is accomplished.
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| martha martha martha |
| 07.21.04 (4:14 am) [edit] |
I realize the sentencing of Martha Stewart was a few days ago, but I have only today had a spare moment to blog about it.
By a jury of her peers, Martha Stewart was found guilty of several charges including obstruction of justice and fraud. It was not some personal vendetta. It was not some individual judge's maniacal vision.
Under federal sentencing guidelines, the sentence she received was the absolute lowest in terms of jail time. The judge could not have given her any less. Most thought she'd get at least 10 months, if not 16.
So there it was: five months in prison, and five months of house arrest (her house being far more luxurious than most vacation resorts.)
Still she bitched. She bitched about how it was a shame for her, her family, her company, and her employees. She railed on about how this was simply a personal matter that was blown way out of proportion.
Personal matter taken out of proportion? I'm sure Stalin could have claimed the same if he had come to justice over his purges.
The fact is, dear, dear Martha, that several individuals were convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that you acted illegally. They already had dismissed the most heinous of charges: insider trading, and left you with a paltry five months at a minimum-security-vacation jail.
Still she said how she had been wronged. "I won't go quietly." "I'll be back." These were the statements of a purported political prisoner, not those of a convicted fraud.
Then she blew my mind on Larry King Live when she stated, "Good people have gone to prison--just look at Nelson Mandela."
For the love of the most high God, I plead with you, Martha, not to equate your greed with the righteous struggles of a selfless fighter of injustice and apartheid.
A woman wanting millions and a man fighting for the freedom of millions do not balance out, my dear.
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| the mike moore film, parts 1, 2 & 3 |
| 07.18.04 (7:26 am) [edit] |
[b]Part 1[/b]
I went to see Fahrenheit 9/11 with [url=http://brogonzo.tblog.com]brogonzo[/url] yesterday. Our NCOIC, destined to ship out to Baghdad in three months, also came along. He doesn't watch too many politically minded films, and so was a [i]tabula rosa[/i] of sorts. I was interested in what both thought of the piece.
I personally wanted to see it, as I had heard so much about it. Some had said what a wonderful rallying cry it was for justice; some had said it was a slanted, anti-American spool of $#!^.
One repeated critique of the film is how Moore chooses very carefully whom he talks to and what he shows to best buttress his argument. Choose evidence to best support his case? Is that so strange for someone making a point? I see that from both sides of the political war every day. "Fair and balanced?" Please. No one gets the gold star for that one.
I will concede that he did go overboard when he tried to show a Saddam-ruled Iraq as a paradise of children flying kites, playing on playgrounds, women laughing in the street, and everyone completely happy. After a montage of glee is over, America invades to decimate the country with the track "Let the Bodies Hit the Floor." Ok, a little extreme on that one. Effective in painting the American military as storm troopers of the Nazi Wehrmacht, but a little out there.
Brogonzo hated the film. My NCOIC was simply scared of the film's images of bomb and bullet-torn bodies that he'll be seeing very soon. Bro is an ideologue of a political system. My NCOIC assimilated the film on a personal level, not caring too much for the politics, but concerned with the humanity involved, namely his.
Both are very different, but valid reactions. I didn't know how to respond to either.
[b]Part 2[/b]
I am a sort of social and political chameleon, changing and molding myself to better interact with those around me. Some may call the practice duplicitous in that I seemingly change sides, but that's not my purpose.
Discussion, not argument, is crucial. Leading others to determine their specific course of action is my mantra. Staking out a side serves only to alienate a large segment of individuals who don't harmonize with your chosen chord, while attracting similar notes to form a bland melody. What I do is no different than what a guitar player does when he changes keys.
When with conservatives, I encourage their views; when with liberals, I try to court their thoughts. It frustrates some who want me for their team. They don't want me, per se, but want someone else to validate their thoughts.
For me, sharing time with someone is what's important. Everyone loves to speak his or her mind. It's American to be individualistic, each and every person with a half-formed worldview that exists like the fossil record, freestanding but with vast gaps of missing information.
Our society is in love with being alone. It's the American way to not need someone. No wonder no one feels like they belong anywhere.
I can see a movie several times, because after seeing it for myself, I still love to watch it [i]with[/i] other people. I want to experience it [i]with[/i] them. My own opinion doesn't matter very much; any more than one voice in a chorus of millions is specifically essential.
I instead am trying to become a conductor of sorts. I want them to realize their song. Sure, I've seen it, but what do you think? I want to rise above the arguments of the day and glean some harmony from the chaos.
[b]Part 3[/b]
So, did I like F 9/11? Did you like it? I'd rather hear about that.
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| the camera fiasco |
| 07.16.04 (4:13 pm) [edit] |
I've been thinking of buying a camera recently.
Well, I decided on one and did some research on where to get a good price.
I've learned a couple of things.
1) Beware of online merchants that offer really cheap prices. They probably sell gray market items (purchased in Europe, sold in the U.S., which voids the warranty, forcing you to pay through the nose if it breaks).
2) Read online merchant reviews and forum comments. Avoid companies from New York--high pressure, rude, shady bastards.
3) Use credit cards over debit cards. If there's a problem with a charge on a credit card, your company will fight for you, since you haven't sent them a check yet. Debit card companies could give a rat's ass since it was just your money that was lost, not theirs.
These "Abes of Maine" jerks pushed and pushed me on the phone to buy pricey accessories for this camera I wanted. After saying "no" a few dozen times, we wrapped up our conversation.
The next day they call me, saying they can't verify that my work number is a place of business, and demand more contact information. By this point I'm fed up and say to cancel the order. It hadn't shipped, and I figured just to be done with it. It was a good price, but was probably a European import camera anyway, which would be a pain to fix.
They charge my debit card anyway, hours after I cancelled the order! Now I'm out $1,000 and my debit card company says there's not much I can do other than to officially contest the charge, which will take months to get my money back.
Unbelievable!
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| justified war? |
| 07.15.04 (10:48 am) [edit] |
There was some good bloggin' over at [url=http://brogonzo.tblog.com]"Brogonzo's little corner"[/url] over the past few days.
We went back and forth over this and that, but the subject of Iraq not being a "justified" war kept coming up.
I didn't want to bog down his blog by continuing the banter there, so I thought I'd start something up myself.
Ok. Time for Salemonz’s version of history.
[b]What war has been justified?[/b]
I mean common, America has helped engineer every major war it has participated in.
America united is a terrible force, and our country has a nasty habit of fabricating rallying cries to capitalize on our ability to utterly destroy an enemy.
The sinking of the U.S.S. Maine led soldiers into Cuba during the Spanish-American War. Spain's power was waning, Cuba wanted independence, and we wanted to become a world power...one sunken Battleship and a few American deaths later, we had ourselves a convenient cause to fight. Spain lost, we won. Horray!
WWI had ground to a halt. American isolationism kept the public from wanting any part of the European conflict. The Lusitania, with several Americans on board, was operating with its lights out, something ships with war materiel did to avoid German vessels. Germans saw the shrouded ship, sunk the passenger liner and we have a convenient cause to fight. It still took some time and other factors contributed, but the public grew pissed enough to support the war.
Nazi Germany was decimating Europe. Even France surrendered, leaving England to fight alone. After illegally seizing Japanese financial assets in the U.S. and refusing to sell oil to Japan, the Empire sent a fleet of ships to Pearl Harbor. Knowing air power would be the key to victory in this new war, we pulled our carriers out of the harbor and let the Japanese inflict enough casualties to outrage another apathetic American public. Japan attacks, we vow revenge, and go fight the Germans in North Africa, now having a convenient cause to fight. We eventually get to Japan, but Germany was our real enemy.
Even the most recent "war," the War on Terror, seems awfully reminiscent of our old tendencies to ride a public outrage to military conquest.
Remember the Alamo, Remember the Maine, Remember Pearl Harbor, Remember 9/11...enough remembering, let’s start learning that war sucks.
All right, let me have it!
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| an impulsive, hasty decision |
| 07.11.04 (9:13 am) [edit] |
At times, I get the notion to do something fairly big.
I decided on my college in one afternoon.
I ran off to Michigan after graduation to help with a company I didn't have a position with.
I sold a laptop COD to a woman in California after one phone call (ended up getting sent a very good counterfeit money order for $2,300...whoops).
I first entered an Army recruiter's office and shipped out for basic training in the span of three weeks.
...all that to say I can be very impulsive with life-altering choices. I would never think to be so brash if I was with someone, but as a single guy, I'd rather not be caged (ironic that I'm in the Army, eh?).
Now I want to buy a digital camera--not as immense of a problem as the whole "becoming a soldier" phenomenon, but still a good chunk of cash.
I need some advice from any photographers out there. I'm leaning toward digital (sorry to the purists), am looking to spend around $1,000, and need as much control over exposure as possible. I use a Nikon D1H at work and am spoiled, so anything comparable would be fantastic.
Does anyone have any interchangeable/integrate d lens experience?
Oh, and it's good to be back.
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| short-n-sweet |
| 06.29.04 (5:30 pm) [edit] |
Why does God make people hot and popular who have no business being hot and popular?
That's it. The high Salemonz has spoken.
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| sports--slavery |
| 06.28.04 (11:27 am) [edit] |
From time to time I need to rant against American Consumerism. All this is unsupported and unsubstantiated, although I could get some stats and make it a pretty decent essay. It’s just my own stuff for now, for eliciting discussion.
Athletes are the new American slaves. Bribed into thinking they matter with millions of dollars and fans, they serve only to line the pockets of those who own their teams. They are used like a paper cup, tossed away the moment they are crumpled or don’t make money.
Fans are addicts, spending hundreds on tickets and trinkets to get their fix, pining for inky scribbles on a jersey, which is just another advertisement.
I spoke at an inner-city Detroit high school about the option of joining the military. It’s not for everybody, but it can help some make something out of their lives. Save it, most said, each and every kid was destined for the NBA or NFL. All dream for what only one or two will have. The rest become bitter.
What is left is an entire segment of the population, largely black, sadly, who chases after this lottery-ticket life. One in how many chances? Out of how many people? Even if someone “makes” it, they’re just working for some rich white dude, anyway.
It pisses me off, dammit. I’m not jealous. It’s not like I wanted it and didn’t land it. I’m just torn apart that so many hopes are pinned on something that, at best, will put them in bondage, and at worst, will leave them to starve.
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| so many damn weddings |
| 06.28.04 (10:41 am) [edit] |
Another weekend, another wedding.
This one went off well. They were both friends of mine and one of those couples that were individually unique and independent, and wonderfully complementary--not too lovey-dovey.
From those attending, I learned of couple after couple pairing off and diving into the marital haze only perceivable by the de-flowered. They would withdraw from normal emails and phone conversations into the realm of yearly Christmas "updates" and family photos--dead to the non-married.
The bachelors among the group, all five of us, were placed at one table. It was done with good intentions, as we all knew each other, but added to the very obvious fact that we were without better halves, and incidentally without dates.
The DJ started calling out special dances: one for the bride and groom, one for the sentimental mother/son, father daughter combo, then for the oldest married couple, the youngest, and then just married couples all together.
Lord have mercy, I didn't get to dance for a good hour into the reception, and only then because they fired off a Congo line. Could you make it any more clear that I was a complete looser for not having a wife? And sorry for the no date option, but 14 hours there and back isn't my idea of an exciting outing for a casual girl friend.
My bachelor friend talked about wedding after wedding he's recently been to, partly because he misses our friends and mostly because they all are within reasonable driving distances. I returned to Fort Knox to find an email inviting me to yet another wedding this weekend.
Enough. Elope. I'm at my wit's end on this.
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| go east, young man |
| 06.23.04 (3:59 am) [edit] |
Today I head east to a small town in Amish Ohio named Sugarcreek. It's about seven hours from Fort Knox. I will have to start the drive after the workday, which is fine, as I enjoy night driving. You get more sleep when you drive at night :wink:
A good friend of mine is marrying his seven-year girlfriend (not seven years old, mind you). He is the oldest of five: two brothers and twin sisters.
His father died of cancer when he was in the ninth grade, and his mother works 80+ hours a week as a nurse to keep things going.
I met this kid in college and although he was every bit a 13 year old for his just turning 26, he felt a strong duty to help his family the best way he could.
So, even when job offers came in for him to be a graphic designer in London, San Francisco, and beyond, he turned them all down, electing to return to small-time Sugarcreek, Ohio, and work for a leather company.
It really impacted me that someone would be honorable enough to sacrifice so much for the sake of others. It was a very noble thing.
So I started thinking about joining the Army. I could have done a dozen things myself; perhaps not as exotic as Europe or SoCal, but they would have been good jobs none the less.
Now I'm in the Army and damn glad I am, despite what a lot of people might say. This friend is the main reason why I joined, so I'm very psyched to be close enough to go.
I'll be all gussied up in my uniform and everything. It's the least I can do for the guy :wink:
Don't have the foggiest idea what to get for a present...
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| do they ever leave? |
| 06.20.04 (6:57 pm) [edit] |
A short personal history...
1) Spent senior year of high school in Ashland, Kentucky -- 1998
2) Attended 2nd college in Ohio -- 2000-2002
3) Helped start business in Grand Rapids, Michigan -- 2002
4) Joined the Army -- 2003
5) Sent to Kentucky (See the world eh? Yeah, right.)
As fate has it, I'm stationed just a few clicks down the road where I spent a couple years of my adolescent life. My sister flew in from Oregon to visit some friends in Ashland. Things worked out so I didn't have any assignments this weekend, so I trucked down there to spend some time with her.
And I found the same people, working the same jobs, with the same girlfriends/boyfriends. Do they ever leave?
There are some exceptions, some have flown away to other things, but it's disturbing how much stays the same. I suppose that's the allure of small towns: they hold fast to what they are.
I'm not sure how to feel about the whole thing. On the one hand, I'm happy that some of them have found a little piece of happiness doing their part in the tapestry of Americana, but most of me wonders if they haven't died to what they were supposed to be.
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| sex friends, anyone? |
| 06.18.04 (9:02 pm) [edit] |
I reside in a barracks. It's much like a college dorm. Everyone is in various states of hooking up. She with him; he with her, but sometimes with her...stuff like that.
It floors me how much effort goes in to trying to get laid.
You have people constantly putting on sweet threads, various colognes/perfumes, spending hours at the mirror, plucking, pruning, clipping, shaving, worrying, flexing, posing. Clothes are tried on, thrown down, taken back, borrowed, given, whatever. Friends team up in trucks, cars, and vans.
Then everyone hits the club, bar, restaurant, picnic, movie, party, get-together, baseball, football, volleyball, strip, park...on and on and on.
They hang in their rooms, along the walls, sipping beer, ogling whatever passes. Some laugh, some talk, some sit quietly, all hoping to get theirs.
Good god, what's with all the drama! Why don't we just cut the bullshit and start shagging? It doesn't have to be everybody. You can pick and choose, but let's stop spending millions upon millions of dollars and hundreds of hours a year dancing around the issue of "will you f*** me" and just do it.
The Japanese have these sorts of cliques. There are groups of friends that keep each other clean and just go at it. All it takes is a phone call, email, page, passing glance and they pair off, ready to rock out. There's none of this making small talk for three or four hours before getting to the point, it's there, right smack dab in the middle of the encounter. In fact these sex friends don't interact on any level other than getting their swerve on. There's no chatting, no dating, no "quality time", both parties know what the hell they want and just keep it real.
What's keeping us from doing that?
And don't feed me that "it's more than sex" BS. I've spent the better part of my teenage/adult life as a careful observer of human interaction. Outside of the desire for marriage, it's for the sex.
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| everyone's doin' it |
| 06.18.04 (9:54 am) [edit] |
I've seen lots of these grammar quiz things--actually, I've seen lots of these find-out-what-you-are quiz things.
Anyway, I thought I might try my hand at the grammar deal since I work with this &$#^@! up language every waking minute.
You are a GRAMMAR GOD!
If your mission in life is not already to
preserve the English tongue, it should be.
Congratulations and thank you!
How grammatically sound are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
That's a good one for the ol' ego. Now I just need a flashy car, a movie-star girlfriend, and a yacht.
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