Dear Readers,
Imagine, if you will, a man pouring gasoline on himself, bystanders watching curiously, unaware. It's 1300, in the middle of the week, in the main square of some campus, somewhere. People are everywhere. One of them figures it out all of a sudden, and makes a suicidal lunge towards the man but slipps on the spilled gas. Then the doused man lights a match.
He is instantly engulfed in flame, the man who tried to stop him rolls away, barely in time to avoid being immolated himself. Bystanders freeze for a second as the human torch erupts in front of them. Then a reaction, instantly jackets and sweaters are taken off and the man is attacked from all sides by samaritans, all trying desprately to put this man out, to save his life. One is so dedicated that he takes off his pants and tries to use that. All of it to save a life that seems determined to take itself.
Police arrive on the scene some time later. Ambulances clean up the mess. A crowd of well over two thousand people watch. I watch, and think.
A man killed himself yesterday. Publically. I missed the actual event by a total of maybe two minutes. What I did see was the body. What I smelled was burnt hair and skin. What I tasted was that awful lyme taste that fire extinguishers somehow leave in the air. Face and arms charred black, steam and smoke still rising from the shit they tried to put him out with. A small prayer circle formed near me, people who didn't look like they'd prayed in their lives joining in. I glance at that, then return my eyes to the scene.
Distantly, Intellectually, I know that I should care. I should be freaked out. I should be alight myself with empathy and sympathy for the charred corpse. But I'm not. I could care less that this man was so emotionally and mentally disturbed that he felt the need to burn himself to death in public. The stench didn't bother me, the sight didn't bother me, the taste of the fire extinguishers in the air annoyed me.
I'm not in shock. Because it doesn't shock me. People are fucked up. People kill themselves, people die in awful ways all day, every day.
I do feel something though. I feel proud that my fellow students didn't just let him die. People tried to save him.
I don't care about this man's life. He's made no statement by killing himself, merely scarred my school and left an emotional bloodstain on my classmates. He forfieted any rights to any sympathy when he made his pain public in that manner. I don't care for him, but I care about those he harmed, and those that tried to save him.
Interestingly enough, I think I would have cared a year ago. I probably would have felt really bad that this guy killed himself. Six years ago i might have cried about it. I was a sensitive child. Now i focus on important things. Half an hour after the incident I'm in Soc, and my biggest concern is that my professor is going to fast for me to take notes. Others around me are still disscussing the burning man. One kid next to me appears shell shocked. I nudge him. "Move past it man."
"How can I move past it? The guy just burned himself alive. How do you move past that?" he looks at me, "How are you feeling?"
I eyeball my weaker friend feeling bad for him, "I just don't care man. Guy was an idiot."
I wonder if I'm becoming more apathetic or my sense of Justice is changing. Maybe I'm a cold hearted bastard. Maybe it's part of my training as a Marine. I could see that.
I've been trained to push away fear, fatigue, sadness, sorrow, pain. I've been trained to care only about my teammates and the mission, never myself, never those not inside my circle. The only emotions I'm allowed to feel are agression and fierce loyalty.
Is it my training taking hold or something else? I don't know. I do know this though. I am focused, and I'm very sure that in an emergency situation I wouldn't freeze, and that's one of the things I wanted to learn in the Marines.
I'm learning these things. But sometimes I wonder at what price?
-Doug
"Come on, Come on, Put your hands into the fire."
-Into the Fire, Thirteen Senses
Friday, October 31, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Jasmine: WARNING! Dreams of bliss can not be realized :-(
WARNING SPOILERS UP AHEAD! IF YOU HAVEN’T READ FRANKENSTEIN AND YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW THE ENDING DON’T READ THIS!
Ok, I’ve warned you. Nothing more I can do about it. Here it goes. I’m not sure how it’s going to sound. It’s late and my brain is a little foggy. But I had the urge.
“He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in the darkness and the distance.” Alas I with sadness say I have finished Frankenstein. I’ve read the book, I’ve written the essay. There is nothing left there to keep me coming back apart from my own blasted admiration. Mary Shelly is a God, or Goddess , or whatever. She wrote this masterpiece when she was eighteen. Admittedly she did a hell of a lot of editing on it when she turned thirty and it was republished. But it was still written when she was eighteen. I’m eighteen. I can’t even turn out a passable novel much less a masterpiece of these proportions. Though that isn’t to say I haven’t tried.
For a little background on the piece that most of you probably already know. The inspiration here came from a little get away at Lord Byron’s house. Yes the Lord Byron. Yes he’s a vampire. If you don’t believe me talk to Jordan Krummel, she’s got the goods. Any ways she, her husband (who she ran away with while he was still married, his first wife then killed herself), and her stepsister (who was sleeping with Byron and had a child of his), all went to spend a few months with him. But the weather was acting up and they were forced to spend a lot of time indoors. Byron came up with an idea, a sort of competition of sorts, for them to each write a ghost story. Both Byron and Percy (he husband), started to write, but quickly grew bored with it. However she and Polidori, Byron’s physician went on to finish their stories. Polidori wrote The Vampyre. Something I haven’t read but need to. She came up with Frankenstein, a piece inspired by a dream she had sometime after the challenge was made.
Ok, I haven’t seen the movie. But from what I understand the movie presents Frankenstein’s monster as somewhat of an idiot who accidentally kills a girl and is then hunted down by society. I’m probably wrong on a lot of that, but I’m right when I say they got him wrong. The creature is not stupid. He’s more intelligent than most people. He’s also physically more agile, and stronger than humans. Dr. Frankenstein sought to create something better than a human, and if you don’t mind looks, he did. But intellectually, he learns French by watching a family, he reads dante’s inferno, paridise lost, and another book I don’t remember, but haven’t read so I can’t relate to it. The monster is articulate and has more love for humanity than it has for itself… at first.
There is no accidental killing of a girl by the lake. There is a sort of accidental killing of a boy, Frankenstein’s little brother. But no remorse at first, only opportunity. After killing the boy he quickly plants evidence pointing to an innocent who is killed for the crime. Later on he kills first Frankenstein’s best friend. Frankenstein is blamed for the murder and spends several months in prison. He gets sick again. I will express my opinions of his ability to get sick later on. Then when Frankenstein gets married, he kills his wife on his wedding night. Lastly he kills Frankenstein. Then he heads north to kill himself at the top of the world. There is no bumbling fool monster. The monster is most calculated in his murders, and very aware of their affects on people.
As for Frankenstein. He pisses me off. Ok, yeah, he’s amazing. He figured out the secret to life by staring at corpses and thinking about it all. But he’s a weak creature. He gets sick all the time, and takes months to recover. He freaks when the thing he’s been trying to awake actually does awake. He is freaking out, becoming sicker and sicker, because that’s what Frankenstein does when he’s emotional, he gets sick, but does he try and fix what he’s done. No he flees. Weak sauce! Admittedly he does devote his life to revenge, which, while stupid, I can admire… sort of.
Oh, and by the way, THERE IS NO ASSISTANT! Sorry Igor fans.
Anyways I loved the book, and I can’t remember if I have anything else to say about it. Actually I know I do I just can’t remember what that was. Not a good sign. The book’s amazing. I want to read it again. And again. And again. Kind of the way I fell for The Count of Monte Cristo. Hmmm. Maybe I should write an amorous blog about that book. I sort of love that one the most. My thoughts have become scattered. I need sleep. I’m not going to get it. I have to wake up early to edit my essay and then do a whole lot of other homework I didn’t do because I was busy procrastinating. Tough stuff that procrastinating, very time consuming. That is if you’re good at it. I am.
Hmmm. Good night.
Oooh this was Frankenstein studying the dead. But it’s a fine example of how he declined.
“I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of death succeed the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm inherited the wonders of the eye and brain.”
Ok, I’ve warned you. Nothing more I can do about it. Here it goes. I’m not sure how it’s going to sound. It’s late and my brain is a little foggy. But I had the urge.
“He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in the darkness and the distance.” Alas I with sadness say I have finished Frankenstein. I’ve read the book, I’ve written the essay. There is nothing left there to keep me coming back apart from my own blasted admiration. Mary Shelly is a God, or Goddess , or whatever. She wrote this masterpiece when she was eighteen. Admittedly she did a hell of a lot of editing on it when she turned thirty and it was republished. But it was still written when she was eighteen. I’m eighteen. I can’t even turn out a passable novel much less a masterpiece of these proportions. Though that isn’t to say I haven’t tried.
For a little background on the piece that most of you probably already know. The inspiration here came from a little get away at Lord Byron’s house. Yes the Lord Byron. Yes he’s a vampire. If you don’t believe me talk to Jordan Krummel, she’s got the goods. Any ways she, her husband (who she ran away with while he was still married, his first wife then killed herself), and her stepsister (who was sleeping with Byron and had a child of his), all went to spend a few months with him. But the weather was acting up and they were forced to spend a lot of time indoors. Byron came up with an idea, a sort of competition of sorts, for them to each write a ghost story. Both Byron and Percy (he husband), started to write, but quickly grew bored with it. However she and Polidori, Byron’s physician went on to finish their stories. Polidori wrote The Vampyre. Something I haven’t read but need to. She came up with Frankenstein, a piece inspired by a dream she had sometime after the challenge was made.
Ok, I haven’t seen the movie. But from what I understand the movie presents Frankenstein’s monster as somewhat of an idiot who accidentally kills a girl and is then hunted down by society. I’m probably wrong on a lot of that, but I’m right when I say they got him wrong. The creature is not stupid. He’s more intelligent than most people. He’s also physically more agile, and stronger than humans. Dr. Frankenstein sought to create something better than a human, and if you don’t mind looks, he did. But intellectually, he learns French by watching a family, he reads dante’s inferno, paridise lost, and another book I don’t remember, but haven’t read so I can’t relate to it. The monster is articulate and has more love for humanity than it has for itself… at first.
There is no accidental killing of a girl by the lake. There is a sort of accidental killing of a boy, Frankenstein’s little brother. But no remorse at first, only opportunity. After killing the boy he quickly plants evidence pointing to an innocent who is killed for the crime. Later on he kills first Frankenstein’s best friend. Frankenstein is blamed for the murder and spends several months in prison. He gets sick again. I will express my opinions of his ability to get sick later on. Then when Frankenstein gets married, he kills his wife on his wedding night. Lastly he kills Frankenstein. Then he heads north to kill himself at the top of the world. There is no bumbling fool monster. The monster is most calculated in his murders, and very aware of their affects on people.
As for Frankenstein. He pisses me off. Ok, yeah, he’s amazing. He figured out the secret to life by staring at corpses and thinking about it all. But he’s a weak creature. He gets sick all the time, and takes months to recover. He freaks when the thing he’s been trying to awake actually does awake. He is freaking out, becoming sicker and sicker, because that’s what Frankenstein does when he’s emotional, he gets sick, but does he try and fix what he’s done. No he flees. Weak sauce! Admittedly he does devote his life to revenge, which, while stupid, I can admire… sort of.
Oh, and by the way, THERE IS NO ASSISTANT! Sorry Igor fans.
Anyways I loved the book, and I can’t remember if I have anything else to say about it. Actually I know I do I just can’t remember what that was. Not a good sign. The book’s amazing. I want to read it again. And again. And again. Kind of the way I fell for The Count of Monte Cristo. Hmmm. Maybe I should write an amorous blog about that book. I sort of love that one the most. My thoughts have become scattered. I need sleep. I’m not going to get it. I have to wake up early to edit my essay and then do a whole lot of other homework I didn’t do because I was busy procrastinating. Tough stuff that procrastinating, very time consuming. That is if you’re good at it. I am.
Hmmm. Good night.
Oooh this was Frankenstein studying the dead. But it’s a fine example of how he declined.
“I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of death succeed the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm inherited the wonders of the eye and brain.”
Friday, October 24, 2008
Doug: I Swore I'd never do this.
Dear Readers,
First off, congrats to Sarah on the Miss New Mexico thing, that's too cool for school. Meaning you should drop out of college and become a model. Cause that would be cool, and probably more profitable than helping starving refugees in bora bora.
Now, on to today's topic. Love.
We've all seen people on TV "In Love". These great little packaged romances always start off with the two lovebirds at odds with each other, and in the end they're all over each other. This is TV love. TV Love is fun, easy, simple, and most of all, it always works out in the end.
Everyone wants TV Love.
Well. News flash, that doesn't happen.
Next, We've all seen friends and family in love. I know a couple that has been together for more than five years now. I'm absolutely sure they're in Love. For some people it's like that, they just know, and have always known. But it's not like that for most of us. Another example is your parents. I'm not necessarily talking about your biological parents necessary, but your parental role models. Those people you look up to for advice and comfort.
My folks are happily married, and have been for like, twenty years now. That's kind of cool. My grandparents, Grandma Jeannie and Grandpa Stan, were happily married for well over fifty years, since Grandma Jeannie was 18 and Grandpa Stan just a few years older. My Aunt and Uncle dated in high school, sepeated for college, and then got back together and got married after. They have two kids and are the most successful family I've ever seen. They're locked on. All three of these groups are in Love.
Now here's the kicker. I don't know how they've done it.
As you all may or may not know, I've been in a few serious relationships. I've said, "I love you" to people, and they've said it back. And most importantly, I've believed it. Well, I believed it on one, and was just saying it for the other. I wanted to believe it for the other. Want and do are two different things.
But I wasn't. Or if I was it somehow turned off.
So I'm a little leery of the words. And of relationships in general.
But I'm not here to talk about relationships. I'm here to talk about love. A lot of my friends, people I consider family, are all tied up in this thing right now. Love is either sending them to heights of unimaginable joy, or choking them to death on their own words. This is just how it is. I've decided that to be in Love, is to be in a Hell of your own creation, but to be so thouroughly pleased with your creation that you don't realize it, and you stay in love as long as you are enthralled with the monster you've spawned.
That sounds pretty negative. It is pretty negative, I'll try and define it positively this time:
Love is giving all of yourself, and expecting nothing in return.
Love is the willingness to die, to cease to exist, for those you love, and have no regrets.
Love is screaming, and yelling, and fighting, and misery, but in the end it doesn't matter, because you can't live without that person.
Love is walking when you can't run, crawling when you can't do that, and when you can't do that... the people you love will carry you.
Love is Falling, and Trusting those you Love to catch you.
Love is placing your heart in somone's hand, and trusting, no, knowing, they won't squeeze.
Love is Cruel.
Love is Kind.
Love is...
Undescribable. Beautiful and terrible at the same time. A terrifying glory, a white light that somehow heals and destorys at the same moment. Joy so great it feels as though it might shatter your soul, and despair so wonderful that even in darkness your light shines through.
Dear Reader, if you are in Love, really in love, hold onto it, because this world has a way of taking good things away from people, and no one should just let that happen.
Fight for what you Love, fight until you can't, and then fight some more, because, if you can't do that, you're not really in Love.
-Doug
"Love is a many splendored thing!
Love lifts us up where we belong!
All you need is love!"
-Ewan Mcgregor, Moulin Rouge
"Please don't start that again."
-Nicole Kidman, Moulin Rouge
First off, congrats to Sarah on the Miss New Mexico thing, that's too cool for school. Meaning you should drop out of college and become a model. Cause that would be cool, and probably more profitable than helping starving refugees in bora bora.
Now, on to today's topic. Love.
We've all seen people on TV "In Love". These great little packaged romances always start off with the two lovebirds at odds with each other, and in the end they're all over each other. This is TV love. TV Love is fun, easy, simple, and most of all, it always works out in the end.
Everyone wants TV Love.
Well. News flash, that doesn't happen.
Next, We've all seen friends and family in love. I know a couple that has been together for more than five years now. I'm absolutely sure they're in Love. For some people it's like that, they just know, and have always known. But it's not like that for most of us. Another example is your parents. I'm not necessarily talking about your biological parents necessary, but your parental role models. Those people you look up to for advice and comfort.
My folks are happily married, and have been for like, twenty years now. That's kind of cool. My grandparents, Grandma Jeannie and Grandpa Stan, were happily married for well over fifty years, since Grandma Jeannie was 18 and Grandpa Stan just a few years older. My Aunt and Uncle dated in high school, sepeated for college, and then got back together and got married after. They have two kids and are the most successful family I've ever seen. They're locked on. All three of these groups are in Love.
Now here's the kicker. I don't know how they've done it.
As you all may or may not know, I've been in a few serious relationships. I've said, "I love you" to people, and they've said it back. And most importantly, I've believed it. Well, I believed it on one, and was just saying it for the other. I wanted to believe it for the other. Want and do are two different things.
But I wasn't. Or if I was it somehow turned off.
So I'm a little leery of the words. And of relationships in general.
But I'm not here to talk about relationships. I'm here to talk about love. A lot of my friends, people I consider family, are all tied up in this thing right now. Love is either sending them to heights of unimaginable joy, or choking them to death on their own words. This is just how it is. I've decided that to be in Love, is to be in a Hell of your own creation, but to be so thouroughly pleased with your creation that you don't realize it, and you stay in love as long as you are enthralled with the monster you've spawned.
That sounds pretty negative. It is pretty negative, I'll try and define it positively this time:
Love is giving all of yourself, and expecting nothing in return.
Love is the willingness to die, to cease to exist, for those you love, and have no regrets.
Love is screaming, and yelling, and fighting, and misery, but in the end it doesn't matter, because you can't live without that person.
Love is walking when you can't run, crawling when you can't do that, and when you can't do that... the people you love will carry you.
Love is Falling, and Trusting those you Love to catch you.
Love is placing your heart in somone's hand, and trusting, no, knowing, they won't squeeze.
Love is Cruel.
Love is Kind.
Love is...
Undescribable. Beautiful and terrible at the same time. A terrifying glory, a white light that somehow heals and destorys at the same moment. Joy so great it feels as though it might shatter your soul, and despair so wonderful that even in darkness your light shines through.
Dear Reader, if you are in Love, really in love, hold onto it, because this world has a way of taking good things away from people, and no one should just let that happen.
Fight for what you Love, fight until you can't, and then fight some more, because, if you can't do that, you're not really in Love.
-Doug
"Love is a many splendored thing!
Love lifts us up where we belong!
All you need is love!"
-Ewan Mcgregor, Moulin Rouge
"Please don't start that again."
-Nicole Kidman, Moulin Rouge
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Meghan: Lovely interpretations
I don’t like it.
I wish I could start a blog with rainbows and unicorns and other such happy things, but, well…sorry, that’s just not how I roll.
What don’t I like?
It all started when a group of friends from Taekwondo and I went to dairy queen a few hours ago, and for some stupid reason we decided to partake in friendly debate (haha friendly debate among opinionated college students, that’s funny)
We argued about McDonalds v Burger King, Led Zeppelin v Iron Maiden, karate v taekwondo, embryonic stem cell research v adult stem cell research, etc.
Eventually (I don’t know how) we started on the topic of love. The preacher in our group (it’s north Carolina, they’re everywhere don’t worry about it) asked us if any of us could define love.
Oh God, how in all hells do you answer that one? Well he gave us his answer (somehow delivered using spoons for diagrams):
“Love is when you tolerate someone else no matter what.”
I looked at him, staring, unbelieving that he could make something so wonderful sound so boring and mundane. Love=toleration? That’s it? That was so…the very thought was rejected by my mind as soon as I heard it. Maybe the definition made sense in some corner of my thoughts but the shining swirl of light that was love wasn’t toleration. Toleration was the thing that I did with people I didn’t like but couldn’t kill; so I just had to live with them. I don’t even ‘tolerate’ people I like.
I tried to beat Mark over the head with my ideas but he was so utterly convinced with his ideal love that I couldn’t convince him of anything. The closest I got was when I said in a frustrated voice, “There’s no possible way you can describe love, it’s just love.” He looked at me and said, “You’re close.” Thank you, I feel so much better. I will keep my interpretations and you can keep yours, and may you find love with them.
"Not a shred of evidence exists in favor of the idea that life is serious."
Brendan Gill
-Meghan
That guy: Observations
Of a sort. More like complaints.
#1. Pickles smell bad.
#2. A room with pickles stagnating for a whole day in room temperature smells worse.
#3. Walking down the street with lots of beer leads to bums asking for one.
#4. Saying no is really funny.
#5. People from Tuscon blow. Like, fucking hardcore. They are terrible people.
#6. I understand El Paso is a border town, but it's on the American side. The least you could do when you call me is have the ability to speak English or someone who can. My spanish isn't good enough to hold a conversation with you about making copies of stupid mexican things.
#7. People from Tuscon suck. Like a $10 prostitute.
#8. I had no idea I would be meeting the CEO when I woke up this morning. Boy was I wrong.
#9. People don't take you seriously unless you're over 22.
And I'm gonna limit myself to 10.
#10. People from Tuscon need to die.
Hugs and drugs to the homies!
#1. Pickles smell bad.
#2. A room with pickles stagnating for a whole day in room temperature smells worse.
#3. Walking down the street with lots of beer leads to bums asking for one.
#4. Saying no is really funny.
#5. People from Tuscon blow. Like, fucking hardcore. They are terrible people.
#6. I understand El Paso is a border town, but it's on the American side. The least you could do when you call me is have the ability to speak English or someone who can. My spanish isn't good enough to hold a conversation with you about making copies of stupid mexican things.
#7. People from Tuscon suck. Like a $10 prostitute.
#8. I had no idea I would be meeting the CEO when I woke up this morning. Boy was I wrong.
#9. People don't take you seriously unless you're over 22.
And I'm gonna limit myself to 10.
#10. People from Tuscon need to die.
Hugs and drugs to the homies!
Doug: A Storm of Swords
Dear Reader,
This morning I woke up late for drill. Under normal circumstances, this would result in me earning a new asshole, courtesy of one of the Marine Seargents but today the patented Doug Wood luck won through again. Now I'm having breakfast in the resturaunt below my dorm, five floors above me a sword sits in my room, and I've just been promoted to Commander of the Sword Arch.
I don't know how I do it. Maybe it's just because I'm too awesome for words.
Several weeks ago I was selected to be in the sword arch for the Navy Birthday ball. This is no real problem to me, because I've done something similar for four years in the Marine Corps ball in JROTC. This morning was the first practice. I showed up late, but they were doing sword drills that I already knew. So I just grabbed one an jumped in line.
A few snappy movements has the Seargent's attention in no time. "You! You've done this before!"
"Four years in JROTC Seargent." Normally even mentioning JROTC will get you in trouble, JROTC is considered in the same way Cub Scouts is considered to Boy Scouts. A joke. Today it was an asset.
"Excellent! Johnson, you're off command, Wood, you're on it."
Great. Just Great. You had to open your mouth. You had to show off. Idiot.
So now I'm in command of the Sword Arch.
Fantastic.
-Doug
"Dammit Wood, why'd you have to show up? I was in command."
-Johnson
"You want to be the one they yell at when something goes wrong?"
-Me
"Point."
This morning I woke up late for drill. Under normal circumstances, this would result in me earning a new asshole, courtesy of one of the Marine Seargents but today the patented Doug Wood luck won through again. Now I'm having breakfast in the resturaunt below my dorm, five floors above me a sword sits in my room, and I've just been promoted to Commander of the Sword Arch.
I don't know how I do it. Maybe it's just because I'm too awesome for words.
Several weeks ago I was selected to be in the sword arch for the Navy Birthday ball. This is no real problem to me, because I've done something similar for four years in the Marine Corps ball in JROTC. This morning was the first practice. I showed up late, but they were doing sword drills that I already knew. So I just grabbed one an jumped in line.
A few snappy movements has the Seargent's attention in no time. "You! You've done this before!"
"Four years in JROTC Seargent." Normally even mentioning JROTC will get you in trouble, JROTC is considered in the same way Cub Scouts is considered to Boy Scouts. A joke. Today it was an asset.
"Excellent! Johnson, you're off command, Wood, you're on it."
Great. Just Great. You had to open your mouth. You had to show off. Idiot.
So now I'm in command of the Sword Arch.
Fantastic.
-Doug
"Dammit Wood, why'd you have to show up? I was in command."
-Johnson
"You want to be the one they yell at when something goes wrong?"
-Me
"Point."
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
That guy: has an idea
Ladies and gentlemen.
I am giving up guitar. I am giving up exercise. I am giving up all that I can. I believe that this will give me enough time to work on my new project.
I'm going to go back in time! It's gonna rock.
I am giving up guitar. I am giving up exercise. I am giving up all that I can. I believe that this will give me enough time to work on my new project.
I'm going to go back in time! It's gonna rock.
Monday, October 20, 2008
That guy: Fucking fucking fucking fuck (Warning: Profanity ahead)
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Friday, October 17, 2008
Doug: Laptag is for Pansies
Dear Readers,
On this august morning of October the Seventeenth in the Year of Our Lord 2008, I, Midshipman 4/c Wood, have discovered something. Something so amazing, so awesome, that I have been forced to reevaluate my worldview.
Many know that I was and still am an avid player of the game of Laptag. For those of you that don't know it, I'm not going to explain it, merely know that it is both violent and amusing. Now, I once thought Laptag was the supreme game, second to none among the myriad of games that you can play with your friends that involve physical activity.
I was wrong.
My Marine brothers have introduced me to something both strange and wondrous to me. A game that is both challenging and unique. What is this game you ask? How does it capture my soul and mind? Well, dear friends, let me tell you.
Incidentally, and in true Marine fashion, this game is called Murderball.
Murderball is a lot like rugby, only instead of running the ball around, you have to play on your hands and knees. you have a field, with two end zones. you try and get a five pound ball into the end zones. Here's the best part: Use any means necessary.
Just wait, it gets better: stop the other team: using any means necessary.
Naturally, all out punches and actually killing people is discouraged, but you can grapple. And grappling in the mud is the shit. Come to think of it, anything in murderball is the shit.
So, during bulldog we played. and that made me exquisitely happy. I handled myself well, and only had to tap when one of our former marines tried to squeeze the life out of my windpipe. I made a few others tap as well. There was a former Lance Corporal who was way too much fun to grapple with. Basically, we messed each other up in the mud. And our team won.
So, Dear Friends, when we get home from our journey... Murderball anyone?
-Doug
"Come on you apes, you wanna live forever?"
-Starship Troopers
On this august morning of October the Seventeenth in the Year of Our Lord 2008, I, Midshipman 4/c Wood, have discovered something. Something so amazing, so awesome, that I have been forced to reevaluate my worldview.
Many know that I was and still am an avid player of the game of Laptag. For those of you that don't know it, I'm not going to explain it, merely know that it is both violent and amusing. Now, I once thought Laptag was the supreme game, second to none among the myriad of games that you can play with your friends that involve physical activity.
I was wrong.
My Marine brothers have introduced me to something both strange and wondrous to me. A game that is both challenging and unique. What is this game you ask? How does it capture my soul and mind? Well, dear friends, let me tell you.
Incidentally, and in true Marine fashion, this game is called Murderball.
Murderball is a lot like rugby, only instead of running the ball around, you have to play on your hands and knees. you have a field, with two end zones. you try and get a five pound ball into the end zones. Here's the best part: Use any means necessary.
Just wait, it gets better: stop the other team: using any means necessary.
Naturally, all out punches and actually killing people is discouraged, but you can grapple. And grappling in the mud is the shit. Come to think of it, anything in murderball is the shit.
So, during bulldog we played. and that made me exquisitely happy. I handled myself well, and only had to tap when one of our former marines tried to squeeze the life out of my windpipe. I made a few others tap as well. There was a former Lance Corporal who was way too much fun to grapple with. Basically, we messed each other up in the mud. And our team won.
So, Dear Friends, when we get home from our journey... Murderball anyone?
-Doug
"Come on you apes, you wanna live forever?"
-Starship Troopers
Thursday, October 16, 2008
That guy: First things first
First things first.
There is a song.
This is a pretty ok song. Maybe a 7 out of 10. But there is one part of it. This part will blow out your eyes. One of the greatest solos of your life. Of our time. In the cosmos. And so on.
I've been spinning through some of my 'older' cds to try and create a set of songs that shall make the greatest workout mix ever. It's a work in progress. But during the process, I stumbled across a song by a band I like, and they're a good group for working out to. Angry, violent, bonecrushing; they fill the catagories I look for. The guitarist, Dr. Dan Donagen, has a PH.d and doctorate. The phd is in Awsomesauce, and the doctorate is in kicking ass. He is taking a stay-at-home course on blowing your mind. And passing with flying colors.
Check it out. The song is 'Forgiven' by Disturbed. If you're interested, the solo starts at 2:43, or you could just listen to the whole thing. It's not a bad song. Just make sure you have a few extra pairs of underwear nearbye. I forgot to mention that Dan originally went to school for Panty Melting. I sure as hell know mine burst into satanic flames when my ears started bleeding.
And now that that's out of the way, more random stories for your entertainment, or, if you really don't enjoy them, hire someone to read and record them, and use them to help yourself fall asleep at night. Like, self-hypnosis or some shit.
I bike home after work. It's late. It's dark. There's strange people all over the place. Drivers aren't paying attention. It's colder than Dick Masterson at a Bulimcs Anonymous meeting.
There are several things nicer at that point.
-Grocery shopping. There is no one except stockers and one or two running the register. It's quiet, calm, and you get the freshly straightened shelves to destroy by yourself.
-Subway. The one on San Mateo doesn't close till 1:00 am. Nothing, I repeat, nothing, is better than a hot, fresh sub, with crisp, cool veggies at 12:58 in the morning.
But I digress. I want to talk about the people. Who's out and about at strange times?
There's the usual bunch. People walking out from the movie theater. People outside of the bars. For some reason, the cops like to hang out at Subway from around 9:30 till 11 or so. Do you think there's a force discount?
Every now and then, there's someone who wants to talk. Why not? Amongst the thugs, cholos, dustheads, barhoppers, lateworkers, and such, it might be nice to find someone who's willing to listen to you.
Tonight was not the case.
As I was biking down San Mateo, in the light of the street, I could see a shiny vest. One of those reflective ones that crossing guards wear. I figure, 'Eh. It's some dude who wants to make sure he can be seen.' Probably about 40 feet out, I can read it. SECURITY is emblazzened across this guy's chest. I'm like.......... ok. What's this guy doing out here? He looks like he wants to be jumped. I get closer and do a double take. As I pass by him, I realise, I just passed by the white version of that guy Zeus, from No Holds Barred. For those of you who don't know, Zeus is played by Tommy 'Tiny' Lister. More recent point of reference. He was the HUGE black convict in The Dark Knight, who throws the bomb remote out the window on the prison boat. If you still cant remember who that is, here's a picture for you.
http://www.tommytinylister.com/photos.phtml?viewphoto=photos/scan0011.jpg
Keep in mind, he's taller than Doug. By several inches.
And this security guy I passed by looked like him, except white, and armed to the teeth.
My thought process went from, 'Why's he here?' to 'Nothing in the world is more secure than whatever he's securing."
Just walking down the sidewalk.
That's all.
P.S. If you had seen No Holds Barred and could tell me that the main character was Hulk Hogan, 50 man points.
If you can name something other than Pro-Wrestling, No Holds Barred, and that stupid show on MTV or VH1 or whatever that Hulk Hogan has been in, 50 man points. No internetting, now.
If you can name something other than No Holds Barred and The Dark Knight that Tiny Lister was in, 50 man points. Still no internetting.
Good night.
There is a song.
This is a pretty ok song. Maybe a 7 out of 10. But there is one part of it. This part will blow out your eyes. One of the greatest solos of your life. Of our time. In the cosmos. And so on.
I've been spinning through some of my 'older' cds to try and create a set of songs that shall make the greatest workout mix ever. It's a work in progress. But during the process, I stumbled across a song by a band I like, and they're a good group for working out to. Angry, violent, bonecrushing; they fill the catagories I look for. The guitarist, Dr. Dan Donagen, has a PH.d and doctorate. The phd is in Awsomesauce, and the doctorate is in kicking ass. He is taking a stay-at-home course on blowing your mind. And passing with flying colors.
Check it out. The song is 'Forgiven' by Disturbed. If you're interested, the solo starts at 2:43, or you could just listen to the whole thing. It's not a bad song. Just make sure you have a few extra pairs of underwear nearbye. I forgot to mention that Dan originally went to school for Panty Melting. I sure as hell know mine burst into satanic flames when my ears started bleeding.
And now that that's out of the way, more random stories for your entertainment, or, if you really don't enjoy them, hire someone to read and record them, and use them to help yourself fall asleep at night. Like, self-hypnosis or some shit.
I bike home after work. It's late. It's dark. There's strange people all over the place. Drivers aren't paying attention. It's colder than Dick Masterson at a Bulimcs Anonymous meeting.
There are several things nicer at that point.
-Grocery shopping. There is no one except stockers and one or two running the register. It's quiet, calm, and you get the freshly straightened shelves to destroy by yourself.
-Subway. The one on San Mateo doesn't close till 1:00 am. Nothing, I repeat, nothing, is better than a hot, fresh sub, with crisp, cool veggies at 12:58 in the morning.
But I digress. I want to talk about the people. Who's out and about at strange times?
There's the usual bunch. People walking out from the movie theater. People outside of the bars. For some reason, the cops like to hang out at Subway from around 9:30 till 11 or so. Do you think there's a force discount?
Every now and then, there's someone who wants to talk. Why not? Amongst the thugs, cholos, dustheads, barhoppers, lateworkers, and such, it might be nice to find someone who's willing to listen to you.
Tonight was not the case.
As I was biking down San Mateo, in the light of the street, I could see a shiny vest. One of those reflective ones that crossing guards wear. I figure, 'Eh. It's some dude who wants to make sure he can be seen.' Probably about 40 feet out, I can read it. SECURITY is emblazzened across this guy's chest. I'm like.......... ok. What's this guy doing out here? He looks like he wants to be jumped. I get closer and do a double take. As I pass by him, I realise, I just passed by the white version of that guy Zeus, from No Holds Barred. For those of you who don't know, Zeus is played by Tommy 'Tiny' Lister. More recent point of reference. He was the HUGE black convict in The Dark Knight, who throws the bomb remote out the window on the prison boat. If you still cant remember who that is, here's a picture for you.
http://www.tommytinylister.com/photos.phtml?viewphoto=photos/scan0011.jpg
Keep in mind, he's taller than Doug. By several inches.
And this security guy I passed by looked like him, except white, and armed to the teeth.
My thought process went from, 'Why's he here?' to 'Nothing in the world is more secure than whatever he's securing."
Just walking down the sidewalk.
That's all.
P.S. If you had seen No Holds Barred and could tell me that the main character was Hulk Hogan, 50 man points.
If you can name something other than Pro-Wrestling, No Holds Barred, and that stupid show on MTV or VH1 or whatever that Hulk Hogan has been in, 50 man points. No internetting, now.
If you can name something other than No Holds Barred and The Dark Knight that Tiny Lister was in, 50 man points. Still no internetting.
Good night.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Meghan: Burned
I hate being helpless
When there is nothing I can do
There can never be nothing, there always; always HAS to be something, anything I can do. This is what my mind tells me when I’m not raging against the unfairness of it. But then the thought starts to creep;
What if I couldn’t do anything to fix it?
Never mind what ‘it’ is, think of your own ‘it’. What if I tried and I fought to fix it, bashing myself senseless against this unmoving, unrepeatable wall, only to prove the thing impossible to accomplish. Not out of self-pity, not out of weakness or failure, just…just a fact. A cold hard fact of life that I can’t do anything about.
Impossible
But I am me after all. These cold, facts that feel no pity for me can be beaten into me again and again and I won’t learn. I will run to the barriers; clawing, ripping, fighting the senselessness, trying to find a door whether there is one or not.
Is that stupid? I don’t know yet. In some ways, it’s the most foolish thing I could do; and in others it’s the most brilliant, the only thing that keeps me going.
like the child that touches the fire and is burned, but thinks that it’s beautiful enough to risk being burned
again, and again, and again
"Arguments are to be avoided; they are always vulgar and often convincing."
Oscar Wilde
-Meghan
Monday, October 13, 2008
Doug: The Game
Dear Reader,
This is going to have to be a quikie, sorry, I know I don't normally love you and leave you, but I have class in an hour and I still have to print out an essay. And a few other things. And start a land war in Asia, but that's another story.
Today we had Bulldog, which definitely started my week in the right manner. Bulldog is, as usual, fantastic. We got introduced to a hill we are apparently going to become great friends with. I greeted my new friend with a smile, and at our parting, spit on him to show my affection. It wasn't just spit, it was nasty sick spit too. You can tell the affection I have for this hill. Maybe I'll buy it flowers. Because flowers are just like my affection.
BTW, Flowers DIE.
That being said, if you're a girl and I buy you flowers, it means something else entirely. It's a symbol of my love, not my affection. Which are two different things entirely.
So, after the hill I'm pretty much beat, and not motivated for the further running we have to do. But I do it, and it's not terrible. I am comforted with the knowledge that I'm at least getting something out of this workout. But then something amazing happens. We run back to Murser field and MIDN Um pulls out...
A deck of cards.
The Game. Oh Gods yes The Game. I start hyperventilating in excitement, or maybe that's the fact I just ran four miles.
For those of you that don't know The Game, I'll give you the quick rundown. The Game is played with a deck of cards. Numerical values indicate how many of and suit colors determine what kind of exercise you're going to do. Hearts are pushups, diamonds sit ups, spades lunges, and clubs are squats. This sounds like fun, but there's a reason marines call this exercise "The Deck of Pain."
I'll give you a hint. Because it fucking HURTS.
It's the best game ever. And I came out of bulldog motivated, once again, for the week.
And then came Commander Henderson's class. And it was all I could do to stay awake, because that man has the gift. He knows how to make anything, even killing and death and destruction, boring.
We should send him in to lull the enemy to sleep.
That is all.
-Doug
"Do I make you nervous?"
Gunny Sgt. Hartman "Full Metal Jacket"
This is going to have to be a quikie, sorry, I know I don't normally love you and leave you, but I have class in an hour and I still have to print out an essay. And a few other things. And start a land war in Asia, but that's another story.
Today we had Bulldog, which definitely started my week in the right manner. Bulldog is, as usual, fantastic. We got introduced to a hill we are apparently going to become great friends with. I greeted my new friend with a smile, and at our parting, spit on him to show my affection. It wasn't just spit, it was nasty sick spit too. You can tell the affection I have for this hill. Maybe I'll buy it flowers. Because flowers are just like my affection.
BTW, Flowers DIE.
That being said, if you're a girl and I buy you flowers, it means something else entirely. It's a symbol of my love, not my affection. Which are two different things entirely.
So, after the hill I'm pretty much beat, and not motivated for the further running we have to do. But I do it, and it's not terrible. I am comforted with the knowledge that I'm at least getting something out of this workout. But then something amazing happens. We run back to Murser field and MIDN Um pulls out...
A deck of cards.
The Game. Oh Gods yes The Game. I start hyperventilating in excitement, or maybe that's the fact I just ran four miles.
For those of you that don't know The Game, I'll give you the quick rundown. The Game is played with a deck of cards. Numerical values indicate how many of and suit colors determine what kind of exercise you're going to do. Hearts are pushups, diamonds sit ups, spades lunges, and clubs are squats. This sounds like fun, but there's a reason marines call this exercise "The Deck of Pain."
I'll give you a hint. Because it fucking HURTS.
It's the best game ever. And I came out of bulldog motivated, once again, for the week.
And then came Commander Henderson's class. And it was all I could do to stay awake, because that man has the gift. He knows how to make anything, even killing and death and destruction, boring.
We should send him in to lull the enemy to sleep.
That is all.
-Doug
"Do I make you nervous?"
Gunny Sgt. Hartman "Full Metal Jacket"
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Meghan: Glory
screaming screaming screaming
Love, why don’t you just accept it?
She touches my hair, stroking and twirling the locks between her pale fingers
Get OUT! Get the fuck out of my head! I sob hysterically
I can’t sweet
one white fist clenches on a slim chain that trails from a collar around her neck
Besides
She grabs a hold of my hair and snaps my head back, blue fire staring into my eyes from inches away
Would you kill me if you could?
A sigh,
No
Painted lips smile
No?
No
A whisper ghosts across my skin
Let me out, love
I curl up into myself
No, no, no—
LET ME OUT!
Heat blisters along my skin; I can feel the rage the need—
NO!
Hissing like a snake, chords stand out in her arms and her neck. Golden hair ripples in flames and eyes blaze
She’s not so pretty now
You will not get out of me,
I know what you can do
She laughs
Because after all,
You’re me
-Meghan
"And since you know you cannot see yourself,
so well as by reflection, I, your glass,
will modestly discover to yourself,
that of yourself which you yet know not of."
-William Shakespeare
Jasmine: I wrote this a while back
This is something that I wrote some time ago while at work. I was watching the shrimp at the time. You see Petsmart sells these feeder shrimp tiny little translucent suicidal things. We keep them outside the main fish system in a critter carrier filled with water because they can’t handle it or something. Anyways, trapped in this cage they fling themselves at the surface of the water sticking themselves to the tank above the water line. Then they die. If one happens to be bored, as I was, you can sit there and slosh them back into the water. Doubly bored I began to write in a tiny notebook I brought to work just because I knew I would get bored. Among other things this is what I created. I don’t know why I’ve waited so long to use it, but on a whim I edited it up this morning and tacked on some quotes. I like it, it entertains me, have fun.
You feel the confusion writhing inside you. It’s feels like a disease you picked up in some foreign country, like Togo, or Bolivia. That’s exactly what this is, a Bolivian river parasite. It crawls inside you, or maybe you ate it along with a papaya or something. Either way it is now inside you. It heads for your brain, control center of all motor function, origin of all emotion, base for who you are. Once there it quickly assumes command of you. Quite suddenly you will develop an urge to be near some random person for no tangible reason whatsoever.
It disrupts brain-to-mouth filter function causing you to say out of character things at exactly the wrong moments giving the impression that you’re infatuated with this stranger. But you’re not. It’s just the Togo monkey worm forcing you to do this. You see yourself in these situations and you wonder what has possessed your body, your mind, but the curiosity is fleeting, the Siamese fighting virus wipes the dissension away.
It makes you doubt everything. What you wear, they way you smell. It causes you to go over completely insignificant events and then it misinterprets them just to stress you out. It continually flips you around, playing with you till you feel like you’re at the end of all patience.
And once you’ve go ne through this whole song and dance and it has you utterly convinced that you do indeed care and feel for this stranger, the Mongolian bird mite compelled you to take a liking to, it leaves you and you’re stuck with someone who may or may not have been infected themselves. And you have no idea how you both got into this marriage, but you don’t exactly mind caring because that Yugoslavian nematode has left behind all these warm and fuzzy feelings and you don’t even want to get rid of them. Instead you live out the rest of your lives in manufactured bliss.
So beware people. Love real? Ha! It’s just a Bulgarian liver beetle telling your brain that it needs someone to live beside for the rest of its life.
And for the quotes, I know that there are a lot of them, but this type of subject does inspire the masses, so I thought I would represent my quotes proportionally to how many were made of each topic. Not really, I got a little over excited, and these are just amusing:
"If you love somebody, let them go. If they return, they were always yours. If they don't, they never were."
-Anonymous
"...if the beginnings of love and amorous politics are equally rosy, then the ends may be equally bloody."
-Alain de Botton
"Are you ready to cut off your head and place your foot on it? If so, come; Love awaits you! Love is not grown in a garden, nor sold in the marketplace; whether you are a king or a servant, the price is your head, and nothing less. Yes, the cost of the elixir of love is your head! Do you hesitate? 0 miser, It is cheap at that price!"
-Abu Hamid Al-Ghazzali
"One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving."
-Paulo Coelho
Being always overavid, I demand from those I love a love equal to mine, which, being balanced people, they cannot supply.
-Sylvia Ashton-Warner
"The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved -- loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves."
– Vicotor Hugo
Oh love will make a dog howl in rhyme.
-John Fletcher
Love is the delightful interval between meeting a beautiful girl and discovering that she looks like a haddock.
-John Barrymore
"Love - a wildly misunderstood although highly desirable malfunction of the heart which weakens the brain, causes eyes to sparkle, cheeks to glow, blood pressure to rise and the lips to pucker"
-Anonymous
It is remarkable how similar the pattern of love is to the pattern of insanity.
-The Matrix - Revolutions, character Merovingian
Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get--only with what you are expecting to give--which is everything.
-Katharine Hepburn
I learnt that men were moved by a savage egoism, that love was only the dirty trick nature played on us to achieve the continuation of the species.
-W. Somerset Maugham
Love is staying up all night with a sick child -- or a healthy adult.
-Sir David Paradine Frost
True love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about and few have seen.
-La Rochefoucauld
In the absence of love, there is nothing worth fighting for.
-Elijah Wood
You feel the confusion writhing inside you. It’s feels like a disease you picked up in some foreign country, like Togo, or Bolivia. That’s exactly what this is, a Bolivian river parasite. It crawls inside you, or maybe you ate it along with a papaya or something. Either way it is now inside you. It heads for your brain, control center of all motor function, origin of all emotion, base for who you are. Once there it quickly assumes command of you. Quite suddenly you will develop an urge to be near some random person for no tangible reason whatsoever.
It disrupts brain-to-mouth filter function causing you to say out of character things at exactly the wrong moments giving the impression that you’re infatuated with this stranger. But you’re not. It’s just the Togo monkey worm forcing you to do this. You see yourself in these situations and you wonder what has possessed your body, your mind, but the curiosity is fleeting, the Siamese fighting virus wipes the dissension away.
It makes you doubt everything. What you wear, they way you smell. It causes you to go over completely insignificant events and then it misinterprets them just to stress you out. It continually flips you around, playing with you till you feel like you’re at the end of all patience.
And once you’ve go ne through this whole song and dance and it has you utterly convinced that you do indeed care and feel for this stranger, the Mongolian bird mite compelled you to take a liking to, it leaves you and you’re stuck with someone who may or may not have been infected themselves. And you have no idea how you both got into this marriage, but you don’t exactly mind caring because that Yugoslavian nematode has left behind all these warm and fuzzy feelings and you don’t even want to get rid of them. Instead you live out the rest of your lives in manufactured bliss.
So beware people. Love real? Ha! It’s just a Bulgarian liver beetle telling your brain that it needs someone to live beside for the rest of its life.
And for the quotes, I know that there are a lot of them, but this type of subject does inspire the masses, so I thought I would represent my quotes proportionally to how many were made of each topic. Not really, I got a little over excited, and these are just amusing:
"If you love somebody, let them go. If they return, they were always yours. If they don't, they never were."
-Anonymous
"...if the beginnings of love and amorous politics are equally rosy, then the ends may be equally bloody."
-Alain de Botton
"Are you ready to cut off your head and place your foot on it? If so, come; Love awaits you! Love is not grown in a garden, nor sold in the marketplace; whether you are a king or a servant, the price is your head, and nothing less. Yes, the cost of the elixir of love is your head! Do you hesitate? 0 miser, It is cheap at that price!"
-Abu Hamid Al-Ghazzali
"One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving."
-Paulo Coelho
Being always overavid, I demand from those I love a love equal to mine, which, being balanced people, they cannot supply.
-Sylvia Ashton-Warner
"The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved -- loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves."
– Vicotor Hugo
Oh love will make a dog howl in rhyme.
-John Fletcher
Love is the delightful interval between meeting a beautiful girl and discovering that she looks like a haddock.
-John Barrymore
"Love - a wildly misunderstood although highly desirable malfunction of the heart which weakens the brain, causes eyes to sparkle, cheeks to glow, blood pressure to rise and the lips to pucker"
-Anonymous
It is remarkable how similar the pattern of love is to the pattern of insanity.
-The Matrix - Revolutions, character Merovingian
Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get--only with what you are expecting to give--which is everything.
-Katharine Hepburn
I learnt that men were moved by a savage egoism, that love was only the dirty trick nature played on us to achieve the continuation of the species.
-W. Somerset Maugham
Love is staying up all night with a sick child -- or a healthy adult.
-Sir David Paradine Frost
True love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about and few have seen.
-La Rochefoucauld
In the absence of love, there is nothing worth fighting for.
-Elijah Wood
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Doug: MIDNIGHT.
Dear Readers,
So, it's well past midnight here. it's actually 1 am. I got a call from someone about an hour ago, but that doesn't matter, because I was already up. Why was I already up you ask? Because I'm stupid, it tends to happen when you're in the state I'm in. (only two people will get that, deal with it.) But the fact is, I got a call at midnight, from a person 3 states away.
Now, I love this someone to death, and I love the person they're fighting with to death too. And, well face facts Doug, you love just about everyone who would trust you enough to call you in times of distress. So yeah. I'm not irritated about it, just a little sleepy.
So know this, friends, lovers, brothers, sisters, those that I love:
You can call me anytime. Day, night, hurricane, The Change (if you can get a phone to work during this then there's no way in hell I'm NOT answering it), Alien Space Bats landing, whatever. I'll always answer that phone. Unless I'm dead or Pting, and I'll call you back after pt, even though by then I'll be wishing I'm dead. So, bring me your problems, your fears, your hopes and desires. Your dreams, your nightmares, your loves, your heartbreaks.
I got your back.
-Doug
"To sacrifice yourself for someone, without their ever knowing... that is powerful."
-Rachel Weiz, "A Scanner Darkly"
So, it's well past midnight here. it's actually 1 am. I got a call from someone about an hour ago, but that doesn't matter, because I was already up. Why was I already up you ask? Because I'm stupid, it tends to happen when you're in the state I'm in. (only two people will get that, deal with it.) But the fact is, I got a call at midnight, from a person 3 states away.
Now, I love this someone to death, and I love the person they're fighting with to death too. And, well face facts Doug, you love just about everyone who would trust you enough to call you in times of distress. So yeah. I'm not irritated about it, just a little sleepy.
So know this, friends, lovers, brothers, sisters, those that I love:
You can call me anytime. Day, night, hurricane, The Change (if you can get a phone to work during this then there's no way in hell I'm NOT answering it), Alien Space Bats landing, whatever. I'll always answer that phone. Unless I'm dead or Pting, and I'll call you back after pt, even though by then I'll be wishing I'm dead. So, bring me your problems, your fears, your hopes and desires. Your dreams, your nightmares, your loves, your heartbreaks.
I got your back.
-Doug
"To sacrifice yourself for someone, without their ever knowing... that is powerful."
-Rachel Weiz, "A Scanner Darkly"
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Doug: Futures
Dear Reader,
Grand Admiral Thrawn could spend an hour studying the art of a society and then immediately come up with a battle strategy capable of not only defeating the enemy, but routing them soundly.
General MacArthur was known as one of the greatest egotists alive. When he was driven out of the Philippines by Japanese expansion he vowed he would return. He did, three years later, even though it was outside mission parameters, and at the cost of many lives and much equipment. But MacArthur was a key organizer of the campaign that took back the Pacific.
General Rommel was known as a tactical genius to both his own Nazi forces and to his enemies. He was known to seem to be everywhere, and lead from the front. He suffered with his men, fought with them, ate with them, joked with them, treated them as equals. They loved him for it, and would fight to the death for him. He was only driven out of Africa when he was outnumbered and outgunned, but never outfought.
I've had a long day. I PTed this morning, which wasn't hard, just tiring. I had class, I did laundry, I did homework and now I'm staring at a degree audit system, wondering, what college degree can turn me into anything close to these men? What education can make me a leader of note?
Marine Corps Major Douglas Zembiec is a personal hero to me. He, like Rommel, led from the front, fought with his men, ate with them, bled with them, cried with them. He once climbed up on a tank in the middle of a firefight to tell the gunner where to shoot. He graduated from the Naval Academy in 1995. He's the reason I wanted to go there. He, like Thrawn, used unconventional tactics to take victory from the enemy on the battlefield. He was respected by every Marine he led, and especially his enlisted men, and their opinion, the opinion of the grunts, is what really makes the measure of the man. He, like MacArthur, had no fear of the fight. He was known as "The Lion of Fallujah" for his personal leadership during the assault on the the Iraqi city of Fallujah.
Perhaps the greatest example of the loyalty inspired by this man was evidenced after his first tour in Iraq, when he was assigned a stateside job at Camp Pendleton, California. His parents visited him on base, and were stopped at a checkpoint. At the checkpoint a young marine asked the elder Zembiec if he was the Major's father. When he replied that, yes, Doug Zembiec was his son, the young Marine replied with: "He was my company commander in Fallujah. If we had to go back there, I would follow him with a spoon."
You can't order that kind of loyalty. You have to earn it.
So now I sit here, and I wonder: What classes can I take to make myself more like this man?
More History? More Philosophy? Construction Management??? Nothing seems like it would fit. Perhaps nothing here will make me more like this consummate leader of men. Perhaps it has to come from within, this desire, this strength. I hope I've got what it takes.
In the meantime, I gotta get through this college thing.
-Doug
"Be a man of principle. Fight for what you believe in. Keep your word. Live with Integrity. Be brave. Believe in something bigger than yourself. Serve your Country. Teach. Mentor. Give something back to society. Lead from the front. Conquer your fears. Be a good friend. Be humble and self confident. Appreciate your friends and family. Be a leader, not a follower. Be valorous on the field of battle. Take responsibility for your actions."
-Maj Z. KIA May 10, 2007. Baghdad, Iraq.
http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/dazembiec.htm
Grand Admiral Thrawn could spend an hour studying the art of a society and then immediately come up with a battle strategy capable of not only defeating the enemy, but routing them soundly.
General MacArthur was known as one of the greatest egotists alive. When he was driven out of the Philippines by Japanese expansion he vowed he would return. He did, three years later, even though it was outside mission parameters, and at the cost of many lives and much equipment. But MacArthur was a key organizer of the campaign that took back the Pacific.
General Rommel was known as a tactical genius to both his own Nazi forces and to his enemies. He was known to seem to be everywhere, and lead from the front. He suffered with his men, fought with them, ate with them, joked with them, treated them as equals. They loved him for it, and would fight to the death for him. He was only driven out of Africa when he was outnumbered and outgunned, but never outfought.
I've had a long day. I PTed this morning, which wasn't hard, just tiring. I had class, I did laundry, I did homework and now I'm staring at a degree audit system, wondering, what college degree can turn me into anything close to these men? What education can make me a leader of note?
Marine Corps Major Douglas Zembiec is a personal hero to me. He, like Rommel, led from the front, fought with his men, ate with them, bled with them, cried with them. He once climbed up on a tank in the middle of a firefight to tell the gunner where to shoot. He graduated from the Naval Academy in 1995. He's the reason I wanted to go there. He, like Thrawn, used unconventional tactics to take victory from the enemy on the battlefield. He was respected by every Marine he led, and especially his enlisted men, and their opinion, the opinion of the grunts, is what really makes the measure of the man. He, like MacArthur, had no fear of the fight. He was known as "The Lion of Fallujah" for his personal leadership during the assault on the the Iraqi city of Fallujah.
Perhaps the greatest example of the loyalty inspired by this man was evidenced after his first tour in Iraq, when he was assigned a stateside job at Camp Pendleton, California. His parents visited him on base, and were stopped at a checkpoint. At the checkpoint a young marine asked the elder Zembiec if he was the Major's father. When he replied that, yes, Doug Zembiec was his son, the young Marine replied with: "He was my company commander in Fallujah. If we had to go back there, I would follow him with a spoon."
You can't order that kind of loyalty. You have to earn it.
So now I sit here, and I wonder: What classes can I take to make myself more like this man?
More History? More Philosophy? Construction Management??? Nothing seems like it would fit. Perhaps nothing here will make me more like this consummate leader of men. Perhaps it has to come from within, this desire, this strength. I hope I've got what it takes.
In the meantime, I gotta get through this college thing.
-Doug
"Be a man of principle. Fight for what you believe in. Keep your word. Live with Integrity. Be brave. Believe in something bigger than yourself. Serve your Country. Teach. Mentor. Give something back to society. Lead from the front. Conquer your fears. Be a good friend. Be humble and self confident. Appreciate your friends and family. Be a leader, not a follower. Be valorous on the field of battle. Take responsibility for your actions."
-Maj Z. KIA May 10, 2007. Baghdad, Iraq.
http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/dazembiec.htm
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Meghan: Chocolate Festival
I think I’m going to die.
There’s no way that someone could eat as much chocolate as I have in the past hour and still live, it’s just not possible.
And I type this as I lick curls of fudge from my spoon. I’m seriously going to be the death of me someday. (Ah, the irony)
Today was our school’s annual Chocolate Festival. Upon hearing of its occurrence I was so excited, I planned to get tickets and gas the place with nitrous oxide so that I could just take it all…
But then I forgot. Because I’m an idiot with the memory of a goldfish. And so, one fine day the floor of our dorm was doing a little group-bonding session and visiting the solar house, when some of my suitemates started talking excitedly about the choco-festival signup. I expressed my excitement for the sweets that I was sure to plunder and they looked at me with the sad look that said, ‘Meghan, you idiot.’ So I ran to my mentor and pleaded with her on a bended knee to let me sign up late. I swear there were tears in my eyes. She did (thankyouthankyouthankyou!) and I danced around with my ticket clenched in a victorious fist while onlookers stared in confusion.
And so, days passed. And on the bright sunny day of a Chemistry quiz (today), I was sitting on a table a minute before class, typing absently on my laptop, when two of my friends came up with pink boxes balanced in their hands. One of them is in a sorority, so I thought it was some sororo thing that I did not hear of or understand, but I asked anyway.
“What’s if the pink boxes?”
They smiled happily, “Chocolate Festival.”
I stared at them for a heartbeat. Then I stared out at the stairs which I would have to run down to sprint to the building where the Festival was. Then I stared at the Chemistry room where the quiz was to be held. Stairs. Chem room. Stairs. Chem room. Chocolate or quiz? Oh, fuck that.
“WATCH MY STUFF!” I yelled before I took off down the corridor.
It wasn’t just a simple matter of stairs. First I had to go down the stupid elevator, then I went down the stairs, then I ran through the free expression tunnel, up some stairs, down a street, down some stairs, into the building, up more stairs, then I was at the stupid place. Once I was in I soaked in the aura and forgot my imminent quiz, taking a little pink box and some ‘how to perform your own breast examination’ pamphlets from the nice people at the front. Oh, did I not mention? It wasn’t just free chocolate; it was a way to lure in women to be forced to learn about breast cancer. These people were smart. We couldn’t resist such a well-laid trap, and they knew it. But I didn’t have time so I just sort of grabbed the papers and walked very quickly around to the different tables, picking up samples and having my card stamped. There were fountains of chocolate, giant cakes, platters of cookies and brownies (and blondies, what are blondies?). I hope they had medics standing by in case anyone suffered a stroke or heart attack.
Once I had my spiffy box full I had to walk quickly back to class (no more tearing through the crowd, dodging the people). Luckily the quiz was at the end of class and Meghan lived happily ever after. Except that she’s going to die of chocolate overdose. But that’s such a good way to go…
"It is unbecoming for young men to utter maxims."
-Meghan
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Doug: Knowlege
Dear Readers,
Is is better to know or not to know?
I've recently come into some knowledge, well, a series of knowledge, that while not rocking my world certainly caused me to rethink myself and everything I thought I knew about some people.
For example, I've often found myself in love with the strong silent warrior ethos. His past is always a mystery, his emotions rarely visible beneath a brooding, silent strength. He's not talkative, and rarely reveals things of himself, and then only in bits and pieces. He is the ultimate Hero.
And then there's this girl. And she's great, she's really something. She gets under his skin. Sees him for what he really is. And while he never opens up to her, not really, she doesn't care, it doesn't matter to her. Because she loves him, more than life itself. His past doesn't matter, not to her.
And this is where it kind of goes off the deep end. You see, you can't kill your past. I would know, I've tried. It just comes back to haunt you. Sooner or later, you can't hide from the things you've done. His past, your past, because you are the Hero, comes back. And it takes her away from you.
And then you've got to fight to get her back, because you realize that even though you thought you were tough, that you were strong, that you could shoulder your burdens for the next thousand years or more, that if you lose this one thing, this girl, you won't be able to live another day.
And now you're really screwed.
Nothing about this little story is true. This is not what I found out tonight. This is not something that means anything at all. Do not look for anything in this. But do know this. You are the Hero, and he, she, whoever you fight for, by God, the Devil, and all their angels. If they're worth everything you give up, every dark moment you have, your lifeblood, your very soul, you will have them.
-Doug
"Go to bed."
"Miss you"
"I know"
-I'm not telling you who this is.
Is is better to know or not to know?
I've recently come into some knowledge, well, a series of knowledge, that while not rocking my world certainly caused me to rethink myself and everything I thought I knew about some people.
For example, I've often found myself in love with the strong silent warrior ethos. His past is always a mystery, his emotions rarely visible beneath a brooding, silent strength. He's not talkative, and rarely reveals things of himself, and then only in bits and pieces. He is the ultimate Hero.
And then there's this girl. And she's great, she's really something. She gets under his skin. Sees him for what he really is. And while he never opens up to her, not really, she doesn't care, it doesn't matter to her. Because she loves him, more than life itself. His past doesn't matter, not to her.
And this is where it kind of goes off the deep end. You see, you can't kill your past. I would know, I've tried. It just comes back to haunt you. Sooner or later, you can't hide from the things you've done. His past, your past, because you are the Hero, comes back. And it takes her away from you.
And then you've got to fight to get her back, because you realize that even though you thought you were tough, that you were strong, that you could shoulder your burdens for the next thousand years or more, that if you lose this one thing, this girl, you won't be able to live another day.
And now you're really screwed.
Nothing about this little story is true. This is not what I found out tonight. This is not something that means anything at all. Do not look for anything in this. But do know this. You are the Hero, and he, she, whoever you fight for, by God, the Devil, and all their angels. If they're worth everything you give up, every dark moment you have, your lifeblood, your very soul, you will have them.
-Doug
"Go to bed."
"Miss you"
"I know"
-I'm not telling you who this is.
Jasmine: Walking home
Tonight I walked home from Sarah’s dorm having for once completed all the homework I needed to do the next day. You have no idea how infrequently this happens. Though if you know me, maybe you do. I procrastinate, it’s one of my charms. I delayed as long as possible before leaving my beloved Sarah, but not because I enjoy her company so much, though I do, I wanted to wait as long as I could because I’d left my sweatshirt back at my door and it was freaking cold outside. It had pissed me off earlier so I left it behind. I don’t know why I thought waiting would fix this, I knew it would only get colder, but for some reason my mind refused to accept this, until I was forced to leave by my own need to write, not this, something else which I will start once this is finished.
I got outside and my expectations were rewarded. It was so freaking cold I could feel the hairs on my arms raise beneath my shirt. Yesterday it rained you see. The wet draws out the cold like a lover whispering across the bed sheet. And today the cold was here. But I didn’t realize what it meant until I was about a hundred feet away from Sarah’s building. I was just rounding some couple cuddled together for warmth or other things when I started to laugh. I was laughing because, it’s autumn. It’s autumn and that fact didn’t hit me until just now.
That burning cold, the wet, as I passed by some more dorms I caught a whiff of a burned out fire, some dorms have open fire pits outside, and yet another memory caught up with me. Do you know what they reminded me of? Not autumn, they reminded me of winter. But it wasn’t quite cold enough, it wasn’t quite wet enough to be exactly winter yet. But that’s what autumn is, the almost winter.
It is the almost all life gone from everything smart enough to pull out in time. Whether that be a tree or a goose. Humans are strange creatures who will slog through drifts of snow pretending that the weather doesn’t touch them, or that it can’t. Why? Because we’re human and we decided.
Anyways, this didn’t really have any meaning, I just had this feeling and I wrote it. In a few days it will get warm again, if only for a little while, because this is what New Mexico, mainly Albuquerque does. This winter’s going to be a long one though, a long, cold, wet one. And I live in the dorms furthest from everything, awesome. I might need a better coat. Hope you enjoyed my run-on sentences.
I got outside and my expectations were rewarded. It was so freaking cold I could feel the hairs on my arms raise beneath my shirt. Yesterday it rained you see. The wet draws out the cold like a lover whispering across the bed sheet. And today the cold was here. But I didn’t realize what it meant until I was about a hundred feet away from Sarah’s building. I was just rounding some couple cuddled together for warmth or other things when I started to laugh. I was laughing because, it’s autumn. It’s autumn and that fact didn’t hit me until just now.
That burning cold, the wet, as I passed by some more dorms I caught a whiff of a burned out fire, some dorms have open fire pits outside, and yet another memory caught up with me. Do you know what they reminded me of? Not autumn, they reminded me of winter. But it wasn’t quite cold enough, it wasn’t quite wet enough to be exactly winter yet. But that’s what autumn is, the almost winter.
It is the almost all life gone from everything smart enough to pull out in time. Whether that be a tree or a goose. Humans are strange creatures who will slog through drifts of snow pretending that the weather doesn’t touch them, or that it can’t. Why? Because we’re human and we decided.
Anyways, this didn’t really have any meaning, I just had this feeling and I wrote it. In a few days it will get warm again, if only for a little while, because this is what New Mexico, mainly Albuquerque does. This winter’s going to be a long one though, a long, cold, wet one. And I live in the dorms furthest from everything, awesome. I might need a better coat. Hope you enjoyed my run-on sentences.
That guy: Story Time!
There will be no deep signifigance in this blog. That is for the others. My deep thinking happens in the shower or on the toilet. It also tends to stay there, because I forget it.
With that being said...........................................
It's STORYTIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(In order for this to work, you need to picture LeVar Burton saying all this. Not 'Geordie LaForge' Burton, but Reading Rainbow Burton. Think smiley and sappy.)
Todays story is a fun one written by a group of malajusted teens out for a good time.
(Cue cheesy theme music. Fade into scene.)
Cut to -
Driveway. The setting is an upper middle class house. A white Jeep sits in on the double car side, engine on, obviously waiting for someone. The front door slams open and closed. A greasy looking teen comes running out, dressed in grungy clothing, obviously glad to have escaped the inside. He is greeted by the two memebers already occupying the vehicle.
'Girlzilla' - Girlzilla is a monstrosity. Tallest motherfucker you've ever met. She is well toned, very athletic, very attractive, and did I mention she's freaking tall? She is the driver, and steps out to hug the teen charging towards the car.
We'll call her Tara, because Girlzilla is obnoxious to type 17 billion times.
'Redneckstrocity' - Although dwarfed by Tara, he's pretty freaking huge as well. He's much broader than Tara, and also unlike her, he has a bit of pudge on him. This doesn't detract from how built he is. He has no definition and bulging muscles to speak of, but he's strong. The size helps, too.
We'll call him Joe, for reasons the same as above.
Joe is less active, but pleased to see the teen, who we'll call Abe, heading towards the car. He eagerly shakes hands, and does the half back-pat, half hug, all man kinda greeting.
They get in the car and drive off, with a night of plans being laid out.
Part 1: The Game.
Joe, Abe, and Tara are friends for strange reasons. They don't really click on a whole lot. They all participated in ROTC together, in which the two males really ended up challenging each other on various physical activities. Joe and Tara never had a thing, but Joe really liked her, and because of that, he invited her to spend time together. He never had the sack to do anything about it, and for that reason, it never went anywhere. I think she's in his top 4 on Myspace, and that's about as far as it landed. Joe and Abe spent a decent amount of time together outside of school. Technically it was on the school's time, but when you're going through the best years of your life, who wants to spend it in a classroom. They ditched often, leaving right after ROTC, and hustling over to Joes truck, parked on the curb in the dirt for an easy escape. Often, they would invite various females to come along. Some would drive, some would hitch rides. There was only one consistancy. What to do when ditching.
That's where the game takes effect. It requires focus, a high level of energy, intense spurts of physical activity, and it often lead to Joe, Abe, and the random groupies all smoking after the fact. Yes, ladies and gentlemen.....................................................
DDR.
Abe was easily the master, and gladly assisted Joe whenever he needed it. They both grew in skill, and became known by name due to the frequency of these trips.
Tonight, however, was not during school. And it was later than usual. The sun was just starting to set as Abe was picked up from the house. Tara drove well, and they trio made it to 'The Locale de Partay' in no time. The game began.
Joe and Abe had a very set list of songs to be played. This list was often repeated several times. They both had different tastes in some songs, but for the most part, it all worked out. Tara wasn't a player of the game, and chose to sit and watch. What single, attractive female wouldn't want to watch two sweaty, friendly males play with each other?
This went on for a couple of hours. The guys could have gone forever, but tokens were running out, and Tara needed to get home at some point. She had basketball practice or something. Being chivalrous, kind-hearted gentlemen, Joe and Abe decided to end the game, because they had no interest in walking back. Rather than smoking to celebrate, the guys convinced Tara to join them in something much healthier.
1,000,000 oz. sodas.
The gas station on the way offered a bucket of drink for under a dollar. Joe and Abe often took advantage of this, negating all health benifits of playing DDR. The situation was different, however. Instead of being a really big guy, and a well built but small guy, the group was now a really big guy, a well built but small guy, and the hugest person ever to walk the Earth. It changed how things would work forever.
The terrible trio walked into the station, and walked over to the drink machines. This is where things went horribly wrong. Tara, Joe, and Abe, all trying to squeeze through a tiny walkway didn't work out. Tara lifted Abe over her head, WWE status, spun him around untill he was nothing more than a blur, and launched him into a shelf display full of Corn Nuts. The combined density of Abe's awsome muscles, and power of Tara's grotesque size caused what, if caught on film, would have been shown as stock footage of a nuclear mushroom cloud.
Not really.
Tara bumped Abe into a shelf of nuts. It fell down. It was an accident.
But it's more fun to tell it the first way.
Anyways, the three re-assembled the shelf, got their bathtub sized drinks, piled back into the car, and all promptly drowned due to the amount of soda that was simultaneously placed into the Jeep.
Another not really. They started driving back towards Abe's house. They were driving along, and there was almost no traffic around. This lead to the jostling and jiving of Tara, who was driving the speed limit. Joe and Abe, whenever together, never obeyed it. In fact, in order for Abe to get to a Speech and Debate tournament on time, Joe was doing 25 miles over the speed limit on residental streets, PAST A POLICE MOTORCADE. Needless to say, Abe got where he was going on time. Because we don't give a damn, we don't give a fuck.
But going back to our story. Joe and Abe were giving Tara a hard time because there wasn't a car in sight, and she was driving the speed limit on a very long, relatively straight street. After about 20 seconds of this nonsense, Tara gave up, and started to push her foot on the accelerator. Not 15 milliseconds after she started, a screeching wail came out of no where. A police cruiser was flying down the road, heading straight towards them, lights spinning, siren screaming. Cursing her head off, Tara started to pull to the side of the road, with a hysterical Joe and Abe laughing uncontrollably.
As she pulled over, reaching for her registration and such, the cop car goes flying past, on its way to a real something.
This causes Joe and Abe to crack up harder. Tara turns and begins flailing on both Abe and Joe, who continue to laugh. It turns out that going exactly the speed limit with intent to maybe, possibly go faster isn't a crime, and cops can't detect that with their radar.
Anyways, Abe was dropped off. Then Joe. Tara went on to win the Worlds Freakin Tallest Smashing People Into Things Award.
It was a good time.
(Cue sappy end music.)
Fade out to -
LeVar Burton
"See you next time kids!"
Fade out to -
Mr. Rogers
"Goodbye, neighbor!"
Fade out to -
A Scotsman on a horse.
The end.
With that being said...........................................
It's STORYTIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(In order for this to work, you need to picture LeVar Burton saying all this. Not 'Geordie LaForge' Burton, but Reading Rainbow Burton. Think smiley and sappy.)
Todays story is a fun one written by a group of malajusted teens out for a good time.
(Cue cheesy theme music. Fade into scene.)
Cut to -
Driveway. The setting is an upper middle class house. A white Jeep sits in on the double car side, engine on, obviously waiting for someone. The front door slams open and closed. A greasy looking teen comes running out, dressed in grungy clothing, obviously glad to have escaped the inside. He is greeted by the two memebers already occupying the vehicle.
'Girlzilla' - Girlzilla is a monstrosity. Tallest motherfucker you've ever met. She is well toned, very athletic, very attractive, and did I mention she's freaking tall? She is the driver, and steps out to hug the teen charging towards the car.
We'll call her Tara, because Girlzilla is obnoxious to type 17 billion times.
'Redneckstrocity' - Although dwarfed by Tara, he's pretty freaking huge as well. He's much broader than Tara, and also unlike her, he has a bit of pudge on him. This doesn't detract from how built he is. He has no definition and bulging muscles to speak of, but he's strong. The size helps, too.
We'll call him Joe, for reasons the same as above.
Joe is less active, but pleased to see the teen, who we'll call Abe, heading towards the car. He eagerly shakes hands, and does the half back-pat, half hug, all man kinda greeting.
They get in the car and drive off, with a night of plans being laid out.
Part 1: The Game.
Joe, Abe, and Tara are friends for strange reasons. They don't really click on a whole lot. They all participated in ROTC together, in which the two males really ended up challenging each other on various physical activities. Joe and Tara never had a thing, but Joe really liked her, and because of that, he invited her to spend time together. He never had the sack to do anything about it, and for that reason, it never went anywhere. I think she's in his top 4 on Myspace, and that's about as far as it landed. Joe and Abe spent a decent amount of time together outside of school. Technically it was on the school's time, but when you're going through the best years of your life, who wants to spend it in a classroom. They ditched often, leaving right after ROTC, and hustling over to Joes truck, parked on the curb in the dirt for an easy escape. Often, they would invite various females to come along. Some would drive, some would hitch rides. There was only one consistancy. What to do when ditching.
That's where the game takes effect. It requires focus, a high level of energy, intense spurts of physical activity, and it often lead to Joe, Abe, and the random groupies all smoking after the fact. Yes, ladies and gentlemen.....................................................
DDR.
Abe was easily the master, and gladly assisted Joe whenever he needed it. They both grew in skill, and became known by name due to the frequency of these trips.
Tonight, however, was not during school. And it was later than usual. The sun was just starting to set as Abe was picked up from the house. Tara drove well, and they trio made it to 'The Locale de Partay' in no time. The game began.
Joe and Abe had a very set list of songs to be played. This list was often repeated several times. They both had different tastes in some songs, but for the most part, it all worked out. Tara wasn't a player of the game, and chose to sit and watch. What single, attractive female wouldn't want to watch two sweaty, friendly males play with each other?
This went on for a couple of hours. The guys could have gone forever, but tokens were running out, and Tara needed to get home at some point. She had basketball practice or something. Being chivalrous, kind-hearted gentlemen, Joe and Abe decided to end the game, because they had no interest in walking back. Rather than smoking to celebrate, the guys convinced Tara to join them in something much healthier.
1,000,000 oz. sodas.
The gas station on the way offered a bucket of drink for under a dollar. Joe and Abe often took advantage of this, negating all health benifits of playing DDR. The situation was different, however. Instead of being a really big guy, and a well built but small guy, the group was now a really big guy, a well built but small guy, and the hugest person ever to walk the Earth. It changed how things would work forever.
The terrible trio walked into the station, and walked over to the drink machines. This is where things went horribly wrong. Tara, Joe, and Abe, all trying to squeeze through a tiny walkway didn't work out. Tara lifted Abe over her head, WWE status, spun him around untill he was nothing more than a blur, and launched him into a shelf display full of Corn Nuts. The combined density of Abe's awsome muscles, and power of Tara's grotesque size caused what, if caught on film, would have been shown as stock footage of a nuclear mushroom cloud.
Not really.
Tara bumped Abe into a shelf of nuts. It fell down. It was an accident.
But it's more fun to tell it the first way.
Anyways, the three re-assembled the shelf, got their bathtub sized drinks, piled back into the car, and all promptly drowned due to the amount of soda that was simultaneously placed into the Jeep.
Another not really. They started driving back towards Abe's house. They were driving along, and there was almost no traffic around. This lead to the jostling and jiving of Tara, who was driving the speed limit. Joe and Abe, whenever together, never obeyed it. In fact, in order for Abe to get to a Speech and Debate tournament on time, Joe was doing 25 miles over the speed limit on residental streets, PAST A POLICE MOTORCADE. Needless to say, Abe got where he was going on time. Because we don't give a damn, we don't give a fuck.
But going back to our story. Joe and Abe were giving Tara a hard time because there wasn't a car in sight, and she was driving the speed limit on a very long, relatively straight street. After about 20 seconds of this nonsense, Tara gave up, and started to push her foot on the accelerator. Not 15 milliseconds after she started, a screeching wail came out of no where. A police cruiser was flying down the road, heading straight towards them, lights spinning, siren screaming. Cursing her head off, Tara started to pull to the side of the road, with a hysterical Joe and Abe laughing uncontrollably.
As she pulled over, reaching for her registration and such, the cop car goes flying past, on its way to a real something.
This causes Joe and Abe to crack up harder. Tara turns and begins flailing on both Abe and Joe, who continue to laugh. It turns out that going exactly the speed limit with intent to maybe, possibly go faster isn't a crime, and cops can't detect that with their radar.
Anyways, Abe was dropped off. Then Joe. Tara went on to win the Worlds Freakin Tallest Smashing People Into Things Award.
It was a good time.
(Cue sappy end music.)
Fade out to -
LeVar Burton
"See you next time kids!"
Fade out to -
Mr. Rogers
"Goodbye, neighbor!"
Fade out to -
A Scotsman on a horse.
The end.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Doug: Culture.
Dear Readers,
Last night I had two very opposite cultural experiences in the space of about three hours. At around 1700 last night I was facing what promised to be a rather dull evening. I was even considering getting some homework done. Yeah. That didn't happen.
My first call was from a girl up here, "Charity". She and a group of others that I know were planning on dinner in the restaurant below where I live. I eagerly agreed to meet them there, seeing as I didn't and still don't want to do homework. But, as it happens, they were delayed, and just before my lonely meal, I received a call from my brother.
This is not an unusual occurrence on a weekend, but was still a pleasant surprise. I like hearing from my brother. He had an interesting proposition for me. To go see a ballet. Apparently through a series of unfortunate events the people he was supposed to go with ended up canceling on him and the first person he thought of was me. I quickly agreed, for two reasons, one, my friends weren't eating with me yet, and two, they hadn't told me they were going to see Eagle Eye later. 'Cause they don't tell me shit.
So, naturally, my brother and I hastened to see this ballet. He came to pick me up from my dorm and I quickly shrugged on my suit. Now, allow me to talk about my suit for a moment. Because my suit is a world of pleasure unto itself.
The suit was picked up early on in my Junior year of high school. It was a suit specifically designed to make me look good in every possible manner. This was insured by the presence of my girlfriend at the time, who told me that it made her want to tear it off me right then and there and get down to business in the middle of the suit shop. Yeah, it's a good suit.
First, it's pinstripe, and this is the only portion of the suit that I personally would have insisted on, and did. I think pinstripes are awesome, because guys like Tony Soprano wear pinstripe suits. And guys like Tony Soprano are some legit shit.
Next, it has suspenders. I don't know why, but suspenders drive girls wild. Take note guys, wearing a suit with suspenders makes getting girls almost too easy. Like taking candy from a baby, and then eating it. The baby, not the candy.
Heh heh.
The shirt that goes under the suit is variable. I personally favor either a solid black or a solid white. Solid white reinforces the mobster subliminal messaging, but solid black makes you look like Johnny Cash, who is quite possibly the most awesome man ever. Likewise, a tie can either be worn or ignored, depending on how much you want to dress up. I tend to favor black ties, but have been known to dabble with silver and green.
Lastly shoes. I love dress shoes. I love having to shine them for some reason, perhaps because it would be the one thing on my suit I actually have to put work into to make it look good. My dress shoes are black leather, nothing else is particularly exceptional on the exterior, but don't be fooled by the unexceptional exterior. In the soles are gel packs, just a three inch by two inch rectangle in the soles, but during dances or anytime you have to stand a lot these things save lives. Everyone else bitches about how their shoes are uncomfortable, I can stand around for days on end in my shoes and still smile like a saint when others are in tears. My shoes are the shit.
Now the ballet. Jordan and I were almost late, but we arrived in time to find our seats and bullshit a little before the lights went down. Our ears were immediately assaulted by the powerful and enchanting sounds of Johan Brahms while our eyes were drawn to pirouetting figures dancing all over the stage to music. Their outfits were the bastard stepchildren of medieval minstrels and traditional ballet dress. The actors, fourteen of them, pranced around the stage in ever increasing complexity, again and again impressing us with their flexibility and strength.
As I watched them move, lithe grace and fluidity propelling them through the air, several specimens caught my eyes, and my brother's as well. The women were all beautiful, no contest about that, but their skill level all seemed to be about the same, and i found myself while not unimpressed with them, more impressed with the males. Two stood out in particular.
The first, a tall Asian man who was the lead for the whole act, exhibited perfect form as he twirled his partner, a stunning beauty from Brazil, around the stage in a dance that, while not sensuous, certainly impressive.
The other was medium height African American, and while his skills were impressive, what attracted the most attention to him was his musculature. He was MASSIVE, but not in an obscene way, but while most of the other dancers seemed slight, he seemed like a tank next to them. His fluid muscles allowed him to toss his partner around with seemingly less than minimal effort. One would think that since he was all muscle that he would be clumsy, perhaps too strong for this delicate dance.
Wrong, it was like watching water flow. This incredible specimen showed almost everyone else up with his flexibility and grace and at the end the cheers for him were nearly as loud as those for the lead couple.
The ballet was organized in three acts. The First was Brahms, the next another composer, the music wasn't as exceptional as Brahms, but the story was interesting, it was of a man who had become addicted to drugs and in vocal silence, but a torrent of emotions and sound, the characters in the ballet described with great feeling and complexity the last days of this poor man. It was perhaps one of the most emotional experiences of my life, watching this ballet, and all this without a word being said.
The last was a compilation of almost ballroom dancing to nine Frank Sinatra songs. Frank Sinatra, in case you didn't know, sings about love. I think this was my second favorite next to the story of the man who died of his addiction. I love Sinatra, and his music and the accompanied dancing was way too much fun to be allowed at a formal event.
After the ballet, my brother dropped me off at my dorm and I changed clothes to go hang out with my friends. When I reached the dorm they were hanging out in, a dance party was in full swing. I literally froze for a moment, culture shock nailing my feet to the ground.
I had just gone from Johan Brahms to 50 cent and Ludacris in the space of less than an hour. At first I wondered about the state of our culture, how young people could spend their time grinding up against each other at a dance party while things like ballets were going on.
Then I got into the music, and when I had time to think again I realized that I had had a good time at both events. That both the dance party and the ballet had things to offer me, and I enjoyed both of them almost equally.
I think this speaks if not well then honestly for our culture. On one hand, we can appreciate the subtleties of the complex ballet, but we can change gears and cut loose in another moment. I know I had a good time at both, and am looking forward to other culture shocks.
-Doug
"Cause we came here to set this party off
Right let's bounce tonight,
And if they won't let us in through the front,
We'll come in through the side."
-Eminim, "Curtains Down"
Last night I had two very opposite cultural experiences in the space of about three hours. At around 1700 last night I was facing what promised to be a rather dull evening. I was even considering getting some homework done. Yeah. That didn't happen.
My first call was from a girl up here, "Charity". She and a group of others that I know were planning on dinner in the restaurant below where I live. I eagerly agreed to meet them there, seeing as I didn't and still don't want to do homework. But, as it happens, they were delayed, and just before my lonely meal, I received a call from my brother.
This is not an unusual occurrence on a weekend, but was still a pleasant surprise. I like hearing from my brother. He had an interesting proposition for me. To go see a ballet. Apparently through a series of unfortunate events the people he was supposed to go with ended up canceling on him and the first person he thought of was me. I quickly agreed, for two reasons, one, my friends weren't eating with me yet, and two, they hadn't told me they were going to see Eagle Eye later. 'Cause they don't tell me shit.
So, naturally, my brother and I hastened to see this ballet. He came to pick me up from my dorm and I quickly shrugged on my suit. Now, allow me to talk about my suit for a moment. Because my suit is a world of pleasure unto itself.
The suit was picked up early on in my Junior year of high school. It was a suit specifically designed to make me look good in every possible manner. This was insured by the presence of my girlfriend at the time, who told me that it made her want to tear it off me right then and there and get down to business in the middle of the suit shop. Yeah, it's a good suit.
First, it's pinstripe, and this is the only portion of the suit that I personally would have insisted on, and did. I think pinstripes are awesome, because guys like Tony Soprano wear pinstripe suits. And guys like Tony Soprano are some legit shit.
Next, it has suspenders. I don't know why, but suspenders drive girls wild. Take note guys, wearing a suit with suspenders makes getting girls almost too easy. Like taking candy from a baby, and then eating it. The baby, not the candy.
Heh heh.
The shirt that goes under the suit is variable. I personally favor either a solid black or a solid white. Solid white reinforces the mobster subliminal messaging, but solid black makes you look like Johnny Cash, who is quite possibly the most awesome man ever. Likewise, a tie can either be worn or ignored, depending on how much you want to dress up. I tend to favor black ties, but have been known to dabble with silver and green.
Lastly shoes. I love dress shoes. I love having to shine them for some reason, perhaps because it would be the one thing on my suit I actually have to put work into to make it look good. My dress shoes are black leather, nothing else is particularly exceptional on the exterior, but don't be fooled by the unexceptional exterior. In the soles are gel packs, just a three inch by two inch rectangle in the soles, but during dances or anytime you have to stand a lot these things save lives. Everyone else bitches about how their shoes are uncomfortable, I can stand around for days on end in my shoes and still smile like a saint when others are in tears. My shoes are the shit.
Now the ballet. Jordan and I were almost late, but we arrived in time to find our seats and bullshit a little before the lights went down. Our ears were immediately assaulted by the powerful and enchanting sounds of Johan Brahms while our eyes were drawn to pirouetting figures dancing all over the stage to music. Their outfits were the bastard stepchildren of medieval minstrels and traditional ballet dress. The actors, fourteen of them, pranced around the stage in ever increasing complexity, again and again impressing us with their flexibility and strength.
As I watched them move, lithe grace and fluidity propelling them through the air, several specimens caught my eyes, and my brother's as well. The women were all beautiful, no contest about that, but their skill level all seemed to be about the same, and i found myself while not unimpressed with them, more impressed with the males. Two stood out in particular.
The first, a tall Asian man who was the lead for the whole act, exhibited perfect form as he twirled his partner, a stunning beauty from Brazil, around the stage in a dance that, while not sensuous, certainly impressive.
The other was medium height African American, and while his skills were impressive, what attracted the most attention to him was his musculature. He was MASSIVE, but not in an obscene way, but while most of the other dancers seemed slight, he seemed like a tank next to them. His fluid muscles allowed him to toss his partner around with seemingly less than minimal effort. One would think that since he was all muscle that he would be clumsy, perhaps too strong for this delicate dance.
Wrong, it was like watching water flow. This incredible specimen showed almost everyone else up with his flexibility and grace and at the end the cheers for him were nearly as loud as those for the lead couple.
The ballet was organized in three acts. The First was Brahms, the next another composer, the music wasn't as exceptional as Brahms, but the story was interesting, it was of a man who had become addicted to drugs and in vocal silence, but a torrent of emotions and sound, the characters in the ballet described with great feeling and complexity the last days of this poor man. It was perhaps one of the most emotional experiences of my life, watching this ballet, and all this without a word being said.
The last was a compilation of almost ballroom dancing to nine Frank Sinatra songs. Frank Sinatra, in case you didn't know, sings about love. I think this was my second favorite next to the story of the man who died of his addiction. I love Sinatra, and his music and the accompanied dancing was way too much fun to be allowed at a formal event.
After the ballet, my brother dropped me off at my dorm and I changed clothes to go hang out with my friends. When I reached the dorm they were hanging out in, a dance party was in full swing. I literally froze for a moment, culture shock nailing my feet to the ground.
I had just gone from Johan Brahms to 50 cent and Ludacris in the space of less than an hour. At first I wondered about the state of our culture, how young people could spend their time grinding up against each other at a dance party while things like ballets were going on.
Then I got into the music, and when I had time to think again I realized that I had had a good time at both events. That both the dance party and the ballet had things to offer me, and I enjoyed both of them almost equally.
I think this speaks if not well then honestly for our culture. On one hand, we can appreciate the subtleties of the complex ballet, but we can change gears and cut loose in another moment. I know I had a good time at both, and am looking forward to other culture shocks.
-Doug
"Cause we came here to set this party off
Right let's bounce tonight,
And if they won't let us in through the front,
We'll come in through the side."
-Eminim, "Curtains Down"
Friday, October 3, 2008
Doug: GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!!!!
Dear Readers,
Fridays are turning into my favorite days of the week. There are many contributing factors to this, the fact that I don't have class on Friday, the fact that I get to regularly sit down to a plateful of fruit and a massive homemade rice crispy treat, the fact that in all likelihood I'll soon be hanging out with my brother, or my two lovely cousins and aunt and uncle. These are all contributing factors as to why I like Fridays. But the main reason, the overriding reason is this: Fridays are Bulldog.
I love Bulldog.
Today we did a shipboard workout, which is really just a whole bunch of exercises with weights and, (Abe you'll love this) we FIGHT each other. I'm not talking about balls out punches to the face, although we did do some of that, with pads and other safety devices. What I am talking about is getting the other person on the ground and keeping them there, submission holds, pin holds, anything and everything to incapacitate the opponent. And here's the best part, you can't quit, the sergeants, MECPS, won't let you. Of course you can tap out of a position you can't get out of, but there aren't any breaks, you're out and a second later you go at it again, exhausted, sweating, barely able to keep fighting. It's great. I love every second of it. My body screams at me that it needs rest, that I should go puke or something, anything to give it a break, but my mind tells me to keep at it, that I've never had this much fun in a workout before.
After this frenzied fighting and calisthenics, during cool down stretching, we MECPS and and Marine Options stare at each other, predatory, exhausted grins on our faces. We all know, intellectually, that normal people don't do this, they don't grapple with each other until their arms want to fall off, they don't throw their friends to the mat and try and twist their bodies into submission. Normal people don't want to fight, they want to talk about their problems and have a nice cry and maybe some hugging.
We also know we're not normal.
I once overheard a conversation stating that someone had to be a little insane to join the Marines. Well, yeah.
-Doug
"I'm mad fuckin' dangerous!
More deadly than a stroke of an axe!
Giving bystanders heart attacks!"
Wu-Tang Clan, "Bring the Ruckus"
Fridays are turning into my favorite days of the week. There are many contributing factors to this, the fact that I don't have class on Friday, the fact that I get to regularly sit down to a plateful of fruit and a massive homemade rice crispy treat, the fact that in all likelihood I'll soon be hanging out with my brother, or my two lovely cousins and aunt and uncle. These are all contributing factors as to why I like Fridays. But the main reason, the overriding reason is this: Fridays are Bulldog.
I love Bulldog.
Today we did a shipboard workout, which is really just a whole bunch of exercises with weights and, (Abe you'll love this) we FIGHT each other. I'm not talking about balls out punches to the face, although we did do some of that, with pads and other safety devices. What I am talking about is getting the other person on the ground and keeping them there, submission holds, pin holds, anything and everything to incapacitate the opponent. And here's the best part, you can't quit, the sergeants, MECPS, won't let you. Of course you can tap out of a position you can't get out of, but there aren't any breaks, you're out and a second later you go at it again, exhausted, sweating, barely able to keep fighting. It's great. I love every second of it. My body screams at me that it needs rest, that I should go puke or something, anything to give it a break, but my mind tells me to keep at it, that I've never had this much fun in a workout before.
After this frenzied fighting and calisthenics, during cool down stretching, we MECPS and and Marine Options stare at each other, predatory, exhausted grins on our faces. We all know, intellectually, that normal people don't do this, they don't grapple with each other until their arms want to fall off, they don't throw their friends to the mat and try and twist their bodies into submission. Normal people don't want to fight, they want to talk about their problems and have a nice cry and maybe some hugging.
We also know we're not normal.
I once overheard a conversation stating that someone had to be a little insane to join the Marines. Well, yeah.
-Doug
"I'm mad fuckin' dangerous!
More deadly than a stroke of an axe!
Giving bystanders heart attacks!"
Wu-Tang Clan, "Bring the Ruckus"
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Meghan: Ice
She pounds her fists against his face
“Answer me you bastard!” she weeps
Crying, she’s always crying. Isn’t that how it is?
But not even tears can melt this ice, this rock that stops her fist; blocks her rage
Her knuckles are broken and bleeding but she keeps on striking; maybe she can break it?
No, her blood just runs in crimson rivers to pool uselessly at her feet
She draws delicate fingers across the rocks face, smearing aside the gore to peer into the ice
Inside the lover sleeps
Does he dream?
Is he happy in an angel-graced place far from this hell she is locked in?
She splays her fingers on the dripping crystal that encases his body from head to food and leans toward him to examine his face
Long lashes fall against pale cheek, his mouth is quirked up at one side like the beginning of a smile
“What’s so funny?” she whispers, pressing her lips to the bloody rock
Tasting her own blood; remembering, remembering…
Screams, fire, pain,
Ice
“It’s your fault!” she screams, “How could you do this? How could you make me—“
She pounds her bloody fists against his face
Wretched, ephemeral race, children of chance and tribulation, why do you force me to tell you the very thing which it would be most profitable for you not to hear? The very best thing is utterly beyond your reach: not to have been born, not to be, to be nothing. However, the second best thing for you is: to die soon.
Aristotle, Eudemos
-Meghan
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