Dear Reader,
As I perused the wares of the Big 5 camping store located directly across from the University Bookstore today I found myself face to face with a piece of equipment that was at the same time familiar and unfamiliar to me. A tent.
Being an Eagle Scout I am familiar with almost all types of tents. I've set them up in the rain, the snow, hail, even fair weather occasionally. Give me ten minutes with a completely unfamiliar tent and I'll have it set up in that time or shorter. So, while exploring big five it came as no surprise that all the tents were different versions of types I'd already dealt with. Big family tents, easily able to fit ten people, small backpacking types, one or two person, cramped. What was missing however, was my personal favorite, the medium 4 person jobs. Just enough room for 4 people, five if you're comfortable with your sexuality.
My most recent experience, and perhaps fondest memories, with these tents took place not in a Boy Scout setting however. No, my most recent experience was the camping trip the Fearsome Fivesome took together early this last summer. This was without a doubt the best camping trip I've ever been on, and one of the only ones where I was completely and utterly sad to have to go back to civilization.
So it was with some sadness and many fond memories that I stared at the tents in Big 5. I am often reminded of the gaping hole the absence of my friends has left in me. This seemed another wound on top of many, but unlike many of my other reminders, this one was more sweet than bitter. Some of my fondest memories of my friends take place on that camp out and I'm glad that we've all agreed it's going to be a tradition.
So Dear Friends, it is not with sadness but excitement that I look forward to the next Ride Of The Fearsome Fivesome, though it is months away. I miss you all terribly.
-Doug
"Dear Friends Dear Friends,
Let me tell you how I feel
You have given me your Treasure
I love you so."
-Dear Friends, Author Unknown
Monday, September 29, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Meghan: Changes
I can feel the changes whispering on the edge of my mind. Burning through my veins like a sip of fire. Nothing seems to matter, or is it everything? Every minute the mind flicks, flits, flips from thought to thought searching for the answer, trying to put these pieces together. Some pieces fall together only to be torn from their places. But it’s not the ever-shifting puzzle that I’ve noticed; the puzzle is life; it’s always there. It’s the changes that have caught my eye and my soul. Not bone-deep earth shattering differences, just little shifts. Like this person speaks a little differently and that person is a little more emotional and this person more gentle. Then I wonder, am I different? How can I be cast to the other side of the country amid complete strangers and remain untouched by it all? Maybe I’ll return speaking in the honeyed tones of the south and shocked by the scandalous things my friends do. (not likely) But I think and I wonder, and I miss those who would help me thrash out my problems (and who I could badger with my "deep and philosophical questions").
-MeghanDoug: The Well
Dear Readers,
I'm currently sitting in the balcony section of the college restaurant below my dorm, watching the sun burst through the overcast as though it truly were the Greek god Helios, tearing through the clouds with awesome purpose and divine power. The time is now 0830 in the AM. I have been awake for approximately three and a half hours. A massive plate of breakfast fruit and bread lies before me, waiting to be sacrificed to the black hole that has replaced my civilian stomach. And I'm so motivated that I would eat NAILS if I could just get ahold of them.
Today was the first day of Bulldog, which is when all the Marines in the unit get together to punish their bodies into submission. Navy pukes are invited to join in, and a few motivated ones do, but it's mostly Marines. This not only builds team unity among the Marines in the unit (of which our number consists of a mere 21) but also helps us train up for our far more hardcore Physical Training test. Bulldog takes place twice a week, Mondays and Fridays, in addition to Battalion PT, which is Wendsday.
What, you Dear Reader may ask, do we do at Bulldog? Well, it's now my personal pleasure to tell you...
WE WRECK SHIT.
Starting out with a few simple exercises, like Jumping Jacks (Side Straddle Hops) and some simple stretching, we limber our bodies up, prepare for the task we are about to preform. We then proceed to fall into two lines, do a right face and RUN. Now, I hate running, but I've been getting better at it, so I hate it less. I'm beginning to think that many things I don't like doing I simply don't like because I'm not naturally good at it. So we ran in two lines, led by our Platoon Leader, Midshipman Anderson, who seems to be in love with the mere thought of punishing his body, and the actual action brings him to tears of joy. We were also led by Major Crowe, our Marine Instructor.
If it weren't for the grey hair appearing at his temples, it would be easy to mistake Major Crowe's age at about fifteen years younger than it actually is. He is a tall man, well muscled, but in the proportional way, not the bodybuilder way. Unlike Midshipman Anderson, he doesn't seem to be in love with punishing his body, and the actions for him seem less like someone in love with pain and more like a warrior cleaning his weapon.
Regardless of ether's motivation, both stepped it out (began running) at a pace that left me immediately running at at least 80 percent of capacity. I was three runners behind Anderson, and thus in the front for much of the time. I soon found myself breathless, but not just at the run.
We began at Condon hall, a depressing building we're temporarily based at while we wait for our far more impressive, (and Hogwartsish looking) building is remodeled. Condon is the the Hall where many of the law school classes are taught, my father spent much of his time there when he was getting his degree. We then proceeded on a southeast heading towards Lake Washington, down a trail, past a few stop lights and into a neighborhood. Through the neighborhood and down towards what I would guess to be an abandoned or mothballed Naval emplacement down by the water. A old artillery weapon stood in a gravel circle in front of a building. We passed by too quickly for me to read the sign by it.
We then ran headlong into Neverland not pausing for one second. On Lake Washington there is a series of small islands connected by wood bridges. These bridges and paths on the island for what must be, at some sane hour, a running trail for civilians. Trees closed in on us at certain points forming a dark green tunnel broken only by the dark shapes running pell mell in front of you. It was as though we were running in a dream, beauty personified. A primeval forest all around us, I watched carefully for glimpses of dinosaurs, or unseen creatures of the forest.
We paused momentarily in a grassy meadow, broken only by a gravel path that led to a view of the lake. Our taskmasters did not allow us to stop, instead we ran in circles while the slowest of us caught up. Then we proceeded to to some push-ups. Then, back to running.
We followed the same path out. At the abandoned artillery gun, we were ordered to shed our shoes and run back out to a point midway along the bridge over the water. We followed our leaders as they unhesitatingly jumped into the lake water. Lilly pads to the left and right of our jumping point rippled at the intrusion.
It was like jumping into liquid ice. The cold water up here is fed by the ocean and rivers, which are in turn fed by snow melt off the Cascade Mountains all around us. My lungs constricted and I found for the first time that I couldn't breathed, even with my head out of the water. Fear as well as the cold clenched me. The Lilly pads, beautiful when out of the water, now seemed like carnivorous plants, their stems wrapping around my feet, trying to suck me under. I had never been afraid in the water like this before. It was as if my own mother had betrayed me. My body flagged and I began to sink. To sink in a situation like this is to die.
I gritted my teeth and shoved the fear down into The Well. The Well is an abyss, a black hole inside my mind. In it lies fear, anger, loss, sorrow, and pure unadulterated rage. It is my darkness, a super weapon lying inside me, waiting for it's chance to be used. There, almost drowning in the water, I touched The Well.
A weight lifted off of me. I found I could breathe again. Strength flowed back into my arms and legs and I stroked confidently for the shore. Terrible power filled my veins, feeling so powerful, so strong, so good.
I was neither the fastest nor the first to the shore, but I was among them.
Then we ran some more. Upon our arrival back to condon we proceeded to do a pyramid set of pull ups, doing twelve push ups on our breaks. a pyramid set looks like this:
1Pullup
12Pushups
2Pullups
12Pushups
3Pullups
12Pushups
4Pullups
12Pushups
5Pullups
12Pushups
6Pullups
12Pushups
5Pullups
...
Then we stretched, and were done.
I'm told the run was four miles. It seems like less. In the past I've had trouble running three. I've just done one of the hardest workouts of my life, and I'm still so motivated that everyone I look at shies back, perhaps at the mad grin on my face, perhaps because they sense something is... wrong.
Walking back to my dorm from Condon I saw all these people who had just woken up, going to class, doing whatever. I am different from these people. I did more work in an hour than they're going to do all day. My roommate was still asleep when I got back. I changed quietly and headed down here to eat. I ate fruit, for breakfast. Those that know me know that this is almost unheard of. I rarely eat breakfast, much less fruit.
But I am different now. This place has changed me. For better or worse, as the saying goes. I am what I am now.
The Well still whispers at the edge of my mind.
-Doug
"NO! You'll never be alone!
When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars!
Hear these whispers in the dark!"
Skillet, "Whispers in the Dark"
I'm currently sitting in the balcony section of the college restaurant below my dorm, watching the sun burst through the overcast as though it truly were the Greek god Helios, tearing through the clouds with awesome purpose and divine power. The time is now 0830 in the AM. I have been awake for approximately three and a half hours. A massive plate of breakfast fruit and bread lies before me, waiting to be sacrificed to the black hole that has replaced my civilian stomach. And I'm so motivated that I would eat NAILS if I could just get ahold of them.
Today was the first day of Bulldog, which is when all the Marines in the unit get together to punish their bodies into submission. Navy pukes are invited to join in, and a few motivated ones do, but it's mostly Marines. This not only builds team unity among the Marines in the unit (of which our number consists of a mere 21) but also helps us train up for our far more hardcore Physical Training test. Bulldog takes place twice a week, Mondays and Fridays, in addition to Battalion PT, which is Wendsday.
What, you Dear Reader may ask, do we do at Bulldog? Well, it's now my personal pleasure to tell you...
WE WRECK SHIT.
Starting out with a few simple exercises, like Jumping Jacks (Side Straddle Hops) and some simple stretching, we limber our bodies up, prepare for the task we are about to preform. We then proceed to fall into two lines, do a right face and RUN. Now, I hate running, but I've been getting better at it, so I hate it less. I'm beginning to think that many things I don't like doing I simply don't like because I'm not naturally good at it. So we ran in two lines, led by our Platoon Leader, Midshipman Anderson, who seems to be in love with the mere thought of punishing his body, and the actual action brings him to tears of joy. We were also led by Major Crowe, our Marine Instructor.
If it weren't for the grey hair appearing at his temples, it would be easy to mistake Major Crowe's age at about fifteen years younger than it actually is. He is a tall man, well muscled, but in the proportional way, not the bodybuilder way. Unlike Midshipman Anderson, he doesn't seem to be in love with punishing his body, and the actions for him seem less like someone in love with pain and more like a warrior cleaning his weapon.
Regardless of ether's motivation, both stepped it out (began running) at a pace that left me immediately running at at least 80 percent of capacity. I was three runners behind Anderson, and thus in the front for much of the time. I soon found myself breathless, but not just at the run.
We began at Condon hall, a depressing building we're temporarily based at while we wait for our far more impressive, (and Hogwartsish looking) building is remodeled. Condon is the the Hall where many of the law school classes are taught, my father spent much of his time there when he was getting his degree. We then proceeded on a southeast heading towards Lake Washington, down a trail, past a few stop lights and into a neighborhood. Through the neighborhood and down towards what I would guess to be an abandoned or mothballed Naval emplacement down by the water. A old artillery weapon stood in a gravel circle in front of a building. We passed by too quickly for me to read the sign by it.
We then ran headlong into Neverland not pausing for one second. On Lake Washington there is a series of small islands connected by wood bridges. These bridges and paths on the island for what must be, at some sane hour, a running trail for civilians. Trees closed in on us at certain points forming a dark green tunnel broken only by the dark shapes running pell mell in front of you. It was as though we were running in a dream, beauty personified. A primeval forest all around us, I watched carefully for glimpses of dinosaurs, or unseen creatures of the forest.
We paused momentarily in a grassy meadow, broken only by a gravel path that led to a view of the lake. Our taskmasters did not allow us to stop, instead we ran in circles while the slowest of us caught up. Then we proceeded to to some push-ups. Then, back to running.
We followed the same path out. At the abandoned artillery gun, we were ordered to shed our shoes and run back out to a point midway along the bridge over the water. We followed our leaders as they unhesitatingly jumped into the lake water. Lilly pads to the left and right of our jumping point rippled at the intrusion.
It was like jumping into liquid ice. The cold water up here is fed by the ocean and rivers, which are in turn fed by snow melt off the Cascade Mountains all around us. My lungs constricted and I found for the first time that I couldn't breathed, even with my head out of the water. Fear as well as the cold clenched me. The Lilly pads, beautiful when out of the water, now seemed like carnivorous plants, their stems wrapping around my feet, trying to suck me under. I had never been afraid in the water like this before. It was as if my own mother had betrayed me. My body flagged and I began to sink. To sink in a situation like this is to die.
I gritted my teeth and shoved the fear down into The Well. The Well is an abyss, a black hole inside my mind. In it lies fear, anger, loss, sorrow, and pure unadulterated rage. It is my darkness, a super weapon lying inside me, waiting for it's chance to be used. There, almost drowning in the water, I touched The Well.
A weight lifted off of me. I found I could breathe again. Strength flowed back into my arms and legs and I stroked confidently for the shore. Terrible power filled my veins, feeling so powerful, so strong, so good.
I was neither the fastest nor the first to the shore, but I was among them.
Then we ran some more. Upon our arrival back to condon we proceeded to do a pyramid set of pull ups, doing twelve push ups on our breaks. a pyramid set looks like this:
1Pullup
12Pushups
2Pullups
12Pushups
3Pullups
12Pushups
4Pullups
12Pushups
5Pullups
12Pushups
6Pullups
12Pushups
5Pullups
...
Then we stretched, and were done.
I'm told the run was four miles. It seems like less. In the past I've had trouble running three. I've just done one of the hardest workouts of my life, and I'm still so motivated that everyone I look at shies back, perhaps at the mad grin on my face, perhaps because they sense something is... wrong.
Walking back to my dorm from Condon I saw all these people who had just woken up, going to class, doing whatever. I am different from these people. I did more work in an hour than they're going to do all day. My roommate was still asleep when I got back. I changed quietly and headed down here to eat. I ate fruit, for breakfast. Those that know me know that this is almost unheard of. I rarely eat breakfast, much less fruit.
But I am different now. This place has changed me. For better or worse, as the saying goes. I am what I am now.
The Well still whispers at the edge of my mind.
-Doug
"NO! You'll never be alone!
When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars!
Hear these whispers in the dark!"
Skillet, "Whispers in the Dark"
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Jasmine: The girls in line for the bathroom
Two days ago I walked across Johnson field and it looked normal, you know… um, grassy. But tomorrow, there will be a shape burned into the grass. Not a shape that anyone would understand, but the shape a fire makes on the world when the wind throws her to the ground and takes her from behind like a dirty wench. She flails about, fighting against her would be master, throwing up sparks and smoldering ashes. But try as she might she cannot defeat the mighty wind, he who ripped her into such a short life, takes from her what she doesn’t have to give until it’s all gone. She lies alone, too low for the wind to touch her, everyone screaming her name has turned back to the darkness and left her behind. Slowly she smothers and dies.
So, UNM apparently has this ritual where before our, I think, first game with State, we burn an effigy of their mascot. It is a kind of ritual sacrifice meant to bring us strength and unity through fire. What it did was bring together thousands of students to watch something that resembled a lynching.
The effigy was basically human shaped, I’m not sure what the actual mascot of New Mexico State University is, something called an agie or an agy, but it looked human, and we burned it.
The progression of the burning could basically be followed by the head. Before burning, obviously the head was at the top, then almost immediately the paper burned away from it and skull like carapace was left behind. This lasted for a few minutes, but slowly the wooden pile the body was propped up against began to weaken and crumble and the head started its decent. It tilted to the side and slid downwards with the fire until finally all that was left were glowing coals.
This has been our tradition, I don’t actually know how many years, I just know that we did it last year. But it was ours. State has now decided that they need a new tradition to bring themselves together for this upcoming game. They are burning a giant paper wolf. Yeah, thanks for the compliment guys.
Tonight is September 25th, four days after the 21st, also known as the autumnal equinox, or Mabon to wiccans. Thousands of years ago Druids would build a man made of branches to symbolize the vegetative spirit, and they would burn him as a prayer for good luck, and to signify the first day of autumn. Julius Caesar saw them doing this and claimed that druids sacrificed humans, but all he saw was a bit of burning wood. Today neopagans build a “wicker man” to honor the old days.
I spent maybe only fifteen or twenty minutes watching this wicker man die, but it made my evening. I watched the fire and it warmed me, and inspired me. I looked into and felt a deep connection with the world, and felt again that I have a purpose. That purpose might not be good, it might not even be bad, because I have no idea what it is.
“The girls in line for the bathroom
The girls in line for the bathroom
The girls in line for the bathroom”
Repeat unto infinity
-unknown rap artist at the burning
So, UNM apparently has this ritual where before our, I think, first game with State, we burn an effigy of their mascot. It is a kind of ritual sacrifice meant to bring us strength and unity through fire. What it did was bring together thousands of students to watch something that resembled a lynching.
The effigy was basically human shaped, I’m not sure what the actual mascot of New Mexico State University is, something called an agie or an agy, but it looked human, and we burned it.
The progression of the burning could basically be followed by the head. Before burning, obviously the head was at the top, then almost immediately the paper burned away from it and skull like carapace was left behind. This lasted for a few minutes, but slowly the wooden pile the body was propped up against began to weaken and crumble and the head started its decent. It tilted to the side and slid downwards with the fire until finally all that was left were glowing coals.
This has been our tradition, I don’t actually know how many years, I just know that we did it last year. But it was ours. State has now decided that they need a new tradition to bring themselves together for this upcoming game. They are burning a giant paper wolf. Yeah, thanks for the compliment guys.
Tonight is September 25th, four days after the 21st, also known as the autumnal equinox, or Mabon to wiccans. Thousands of years ago Druids would build a man made of branches to symbolize the vegetative spirit, and they would burn him as a prayer for good luck, and to signify the first day of autumn. Julius Caesar saw them doing this and claimed that druids sacrificed humans, but all he saw was a bit of burning wood. Today neopagans build a “wicker man” to honor the old days.
I spent maybe only fifteen or twenty minutes watching this wicker man die, but it made my evening. I watched the fire and it warmed me, and inspired me. I looked into and felt a deep connection with the world, and felt again that I have a purpose. That purpose might not be good, it might not even be bad, because I have no idea what it is.
“The girls in line for the bathroom
The girls in line for the bathroom
The girls in line for the bathroom”
Repeat unto infinity
-unknown rap artist at the burning
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
That guy: That girl
Because Doug is such a whiny little girl about me blogging, I shall.
Everyone has some sort of attachment.
There are the ones that mean nothing, like which ice-cream flavor is your favorite.
There are the ones that flicker back and forth, like a high-school crush.
There are the ones that will never leave, like the smell of a childhood blanket pressed to your face, breathing in every agony and joy your memory permits.
My track-record with women isn’t good. Hell, it’s downright awful. But there is this one girl. We’ll call her Windy.
My first contact with Windy was at the ripe old age of 2 weeks. She was brought to me in all her swirling, soothing, wonderful glory. Of course, I had no way to know who I was meeting, being that young. But I soon found out. As I grew older, so did she. Her being my senior never strained our relationship; in fact, it enriched it. I yearned for every time we met. It was such a learning experience! She had so many things to teach, to offer! I was like a puppy at a water dish, lapping up all I could.
We became so close, that I actually spent all of my time with her. Literally. For a three month period, I was with her 24/7. But the best laid plans of mice and men so often go astray, as the saying goes.
Things changed. My interests. Her loyalties. It was like a classic cinema. We were the two lovebirds, drifting apart, being torn from each other by life. While I grew, she grew and matured. The difference was staggering. I was still a bitter, broken child, becoming more so with every passing day. She would have none of it. So in my time of need, my darkest hour, she vanished into the wind. The downward spiral continued……………………..
We haven’t seen much of each other since. The occasional, awkward meeting. When either of us brought up the past, things always ended on a downbeat. It was strange. How someone so wise could fall victim to such horrors. But it happened. And there is no denying it. The violence and carnage in her name, and even those linked to her changed both of us.
Recently, I was given a chance. A rare occasion in my life. I was given time with her. By myself. This in itself was, I believe, all our relationship needed to come alive. All the previous times except for that three months, I had been with others, equally vying for her attention. Their connection had never been as strong, but being of a good heart, Windy found time to share with all who wanted. Except this time. The longest 40 minutes of my life took place that day.
People know about my food. I love it. To an unhealthy extent, sometimes. In particular, the attachment that means nothing. My favorite ice-cream flavor is plain-old Vanilla. In a pinch, vanilla bean. But there’s only one place that I truly enjoy vanilla ice-cream. As much as I love Dee-Dee’s, they could never, ever match up. And it just so happens that this tiny little Dairy Queen is in the area I was given with Windy. So naturally, we met there. I could tell the moment we met, things were different. They were back to how they should be.
We spent every single one of those precious 40 minutes together. We went to endless numbers of our hidie-holes. I was literally dragged away from her when our time was up. We had made our amends, and even though we had less than an hour together, it felt like our relationship was stronger than it ever was. And then I had to go. For the first time, in a very long time, I wasn’t ready to move on.
We get to see each other less and less with each passing year. And with our futures drawing us apart, but actually willing to remain together, things will change.
I love you, Windy.
“But if you really care for her, then you would n-never hit the airport, To follow your dreams, sometimes I still talk to her, but when I talk to herIt always seems like she talking about me.”
- Homecoming, by Kanye West feat. Chris Martin
Everyone has some sort of attachment.
There are the ones that mean nothing, like which ice-cream flavor is your favorite.
There are the ones that flicker back and forth, like a high-school crush.
There are the ones that will never leave, like the smell of a childhood blanket pressed to your face, breathing in every agony and joy your memory permits.
My track-record with women isn’t good. Hell, it’s downright awful. But there is this one girl. We’ll call her Windy.
My first contact with Windy was at the ripe old age of 2 weeks. She was brought to me in all her swirling, soothing, wonderful glory. Of course, I had no way to know who I was meeting, being that young. But I soon found out. As I grew older, so did she. Her being my senior never strained our relationship; in fact, it enriched it. I yearned for every time we met. It was such a learning experience! She had so many things to teach, to offer! I was like a puppy at a water dish, lapping up all I could.
We became so close, that I actually spent all of my time with her. Literally. For a three month period, I was with her 24/7. But the best laid plans of mice and men so often go astray, as the saying goes.
Things changed. My interests. Her loyalties. It was like a classic cinema. We were the two lovebirds, drifting apart, being torn from each other by life. While I grew, she grew and matured. The difference was staggering. I was still a bitter, broken child, becoming more so with every passing day. She would have none of it. So in my time of need, my darkest hour, she vanished into the wind. The downward spiral continued……………………..
We haven’t seen much of each other since. The occasional, awkward meeting. When either of us brought up the past, things always ended on a downbeat. It was strange. How someone so wise could fall victim to such horrors. But it happened. And there is no denying it. The violence and carnage in her name, and even those linked to her changed both of us.
Recently, I was given a chance. A rare occasion in my life. I was given time with her. By myself. This in itself was, I believe, all our relationship needed to come alive. All the previous times except for that three months, I had been with others, equally vying for her attention. Their connection had never been as strong, but being of a good heart, Windy found time to share with all who wanted. Except this time. The longest 40 minutes of my life took place that day.
People know about my food. I love it. To an unhealthy extent, sometimes. In particular, the attachment that means nothing. My favorite ice-cream flavor is plain-old Vanilla. In a pinch, vanilla bean. But there’s only one place that I truly enjoy vanilla ice-cream. As much as I love Dee-Dee’s, they could never, ever match up. And it just so happens that this tiny little Dairy Queen is in the area I was given with Windy. So naturally, we met there. I could tell the moment we met, things were different. They were back to how they should be.
We spent every single one of those precious 40 minutes together. We went to endless numbers of our hidie-holes. I was literally dragged away from her when our time was up. We had made our amends, and even though we had less than an hour together, it felt like our relationship was stronger than it ever was. And then I had to go. For the first time, in a very long time, I wasn’t ready to move on.
We get to see each other less and less with each passing year. And with our futures drawing us apart, but actually willing to remain together, things will change.
I love you, Windy.
“But if you really care for her, then you would n-never hit the airport, To follow your dreams, sometimes I still talk to her, but when I talk to herIt always seems like she talking about me.”
- Homecoming, by Kanye West feat. Chris Martin
Doug: First Day
Dear Reader,
I had my first day of actual college today. This kind of school I could get used to.
Well, let me clarify that.
I had two classes today, one, Naval Science 101, took place at 830. That one I was almost late to, and that was kind of scary. I wanted to wake up at 6, but ended up crawling out of bed at 745. I know, I'm pathetic. Fuck me right?
Our Naval Science instructor just happens to be the Battalion XO, meaning he's second in command next to the skipper. He's a chill guy, says um a lot, but that's fine. He's way cooler than Mrs. Coffee. But then, anyone would be. The class is going to be more organization based than any other course I've got, which is good, cause I need to get organized more. I'm staying above water, but it's got to become a habit.
My next class was at 1130, and it was English:Composition. Now comes the funny part. The fine print apparently said: British Romantic Poetry. So, I didn't know it, but I'm taking a class about romantic poetry. I'm about as romantic as a kettle. Flowers are like my affection, they die.
I'm excited for the class though, our professor is some guy in his late twenties. He's not short, but not particularly tall either. He opened the class by busting in and repeating John Keats's "Ode to a Grecian Urn" from memory. Not only was that impressive, but it was really quite moving as well. It's full of passion and provocative imagery.
He was sick too, and totally had the whole, "I'm artsy, so when I'm sick I carry around a handkerchief I can cough into" thing going for him. It reminded me a little too much about good ol' E.A. Poe and his fun with tuberculosis though.
I keep waiting to get sick. I don't want to, but everything about this place seems a little unsanitary. Like, the not really washed dishes, and the lack of hand soap, and a million other things that keep me in the "I'm gonna get sick" mode. I've been washing my hands a lot, maybe I'll develop OCD, and have to count things for a living.
I've decided against getting a credit card. They seem too dangerous a temptation. Especially because of the trouble with my bank. Apparently they put a hold on one of my transactions. It makes sense, it was like, a thousand dollars. Normal people don't just transfer that amount of money without having some ulterior motive. Yep. It's true. I'm an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. heh. shield. The Avengers. I am Iron Man.
But it made it difficult to buy books. which I'm not okay with, books are totally my thing. Not being able to buy them is like holding my nuts hostage. With a baseball bat at the ready.
But so far, College is better than it was before. I'm excited now. But anyone who says I told you so will get punished, with baseball bat delivery to the gonads. Chuck Norris style.
And on that note...
-Doug
"Jebel Ali!
I Dream of God,
I Dream of Rain."
-Jebel Ali, Unknown
I had my first day of actual college today. This kind of school I could get used to.
Well, let me clarify that.
I had two classes today, one, Naval Science 101, took place at 830. That one I was almost late to, and that was kind of scary. I wanted to wake up at 6, but ended up crawling out of bed at 745. I know, I'm pathetic. Fuck me right?
Our Naval Science instructor just happens to be the Battalion XO, meaning he's second in command next to the skipper. He's a chill guy, says um a lot, but that's fine. He's way cooler than Mrs. Coffee. But then, anyone would be. The class is going to be more organization based than any other course I've got, which is good, cause I need to get organized more. I'm staying above water, but it's got to become a habit.
My next class was at 1130, and it was English:Composition. Now comes the funny part. The fine print apparently said: British Romantic Poetry. So, I didn't know it, but I'm taking a class about romantic poetry. I'm about as romantic as a kettle. Flowers are like my affection, they die.
I'm excited for the class though, our professor is some guy in his late twenties. He's not short, but not particularly tall either. He opened the class by busting in and repeating John Keats's "Ode to a Grecian Urn" from memory. Not only was that impressive, but it was really quite moving as well. It's full of passion and provocative imagery.
He was sick too, and totally had the whole, "I'm artsy, so when I'm sick I carry around a handkerchief I can cough into" thing going for him. It reminded me a little too much about good ol' E.A. Poe and his fun with tuberculosis though.
I keep waiting to get sick. I don't want to, but everything about this place seems a little unsanitary. Like, the not really washed dishes, and the lack of hand soap, and a million other things that keep me in the "I'm gonna get sick" mode. I've been washing my hands a lot, maybe I'll develop OCD, and have to count things for a living.
I've decided against getting a credit card. They seem too dangerous a temptation. Especially because of the trouble with my bank. Apparently they put a hold on one of my transactions. It makes sense, it was like, a thousand dollars. Normal people don't just transfer that amount of money without having some ulterior motive. Yep. It's true. I'm an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. heh. shield. The Avengers. I am Iron Man.
But it made it difficult to buy books. which I'm not okay with, books are totally my thing. Not being able to buy them is like holding my nuts hostage. With a baseball bat at the ready.
But so far, College is better than it was before. I'm excited now. But anyone who says I told you so will get punished, with baseball bat delivery to the gonads. Chuck Norris style.
And on that note...
-Doug
"Jebel Ali!
I Dream of God,
I Dream of Rain."
-Jebel Ali, Unknown
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Doug: I can't leave you alone for one minute...
Dear Readers,
As you may or may not have noticed, I've been kind of out of touch. During my absence into the wilds of ROTC land, many strange and portentous events have been taking place, and I feel as though I am the Hero, waiting patiently for the quest to begin after his training journey.
I've spent the last week and a half training, allowing my mind and body to be broken down and reforged; My body the sword, my mind the shield. I and others have been working since before light, and well into the night to make ourselves the best. The strongest, the greatest. We are still a long way off from being true warriors, but we are on the path.
Basically, we did a lot of hard work in a very little amount of time. We were yelled at, ordered around, and worked until our bodies collapsed. But we survived, and now we're stronger for it. That's all I'm going to say about it.
Now I just have to get used to college. I'm on my own now, taking care of myself. I never realized how much an established home and parents who helped take care of you helped your mental state. So, now that they're gone, I appreciate my parents more than I ever did before. that's pretty messed up.
Because of the ROTC thing I feel a massive disconnect with almost everything. My civilian friends often speak up getting up at 1000 as if they were getting up early. I consider sleeping in to be 0600. I see things different ways. I am looking for threats everywhere now, constantly tense, bracing for someone to call my last name and bark a command. I often have to fight the urge to call someone "Ma'am" or "Sir". When someone suggests a group activity, it's almost instinct for my mind to flash back to "Aye Aye Platoon Sergent!" Where I was once gregarious, I now shut my mouth, waiting for orders. It's like i have some toned down form of PTSD. But as they say in Australia, HTFU! I feel that I can find a balance between my civilian life and my military one, and will.
But enough of all this sappy self pity shit. I've been calling Jasmine a lot, because she's the only one who doesn't baby me about my feelings. She tells me to harden the fuck up.
Now. On to my real topic. You people. I cannot leave you alone for a minute!
Sarah! If you look at the progression of the blogs you'll see that yours actually come after mine! And just because my Internet creeper father likes to read and comment on shit doesn't mean you get to abandon us all on blogs! That's just unsat!
Abe! I know you work hard, but you gotta blog too bro. btw, send any packages for me to 1102 N. 49th St, Seattle, Wa, 98103.
Meghan! You'll get through college. I promise.
Jasmine! I have no complaints on your end. I've already talked to you a whole bunch.
All this being said, I miss you guys like Hell. Sarah, one of the only things that got me though the last few days is the little notebook covered in everyone's pics. I saw that one day and literally burst into tears. After I felt better than I had all week. I love you guys. And that's the one thing that no one up here can take away from me.
-Doug
"This one goes out to the one I love,
This one goes out to the one I left behind."
-R.E.M. "The one I love"
As you may or may not have noticed, I've been kind of out of touch. During my absence into the wilds of ROTC land, many strange and portentous events have been taking place, and I feel as though I am the Hero, waiting patiently for the quest to begin after his training journey.
I've spent the last week and a half training, allowing my mind and body to be broken down and reforged; My body the sword, my mind the shield. I and others have been working since before light, and well into the night to make ourselves the best. The strongest, the greatest. We are still a long way off from being true warriors, but we are on the path.
Basically, we did a lot of hard work in a very little amount of time. We were yelled at, ordered around, and worked until our bodies collapsed. But we survived, and now we're stronger for it. That's all I'm going to say about it.
Now I just have to get used to college. I'm on my own now, taking care of myself. I never realized how much an established home and parents who helped take care of you helped your mental state. So, now that they're gone, I appreciate my parents more than I ever did before. that's pretty messed up.
Because of the ROTC thing I feel a massive disconnect with almost everything. My civilian friends often speak up getting up at 1000 as if they were getting up early. I consider sleeping in to be 0600. I see things different ways. I am looking for threats everywhere now, constantly tense, bracing for someone to call my last name and bark a command. I often have to fight the urge to call someone "Ma'am" or "Sir". When someone suggests a group activity, it's almost instinct for my mind to flash back to "Aye Aye Platoon Sergent!" Where I was once gregarious, I now shut my mouth, waiting for orders. It's like i have some toned down form of PTSD. But as they say in Australia, HTFU! I feel that I can find a balance between my civilian life and my military one, and will.
But enough of all this sappy self pity shit. I've been calling Jasmine a lot, because she's the only one who doesn't baby me about my feelings. She tells me to harden the fuck up.
Now. On to my real topic. You people. I cannot leave you alone for a minute!
Sarah! If you look at the progression of the blogs you'll see that yours actually come after mine! And just because my Internet creeper father likes to read and comment on shit doesn't mean you get to abandon us all on blogs! That's just unsat!
Abe! I know you work hard, but you gotta blog too bro. btw, send any packages for me to 1102 N. 49th St, Seattle, Wa, 98103.
Meghan! You'll get through college. I promise.
Jasmine! I have no complaints on your end. I've already talked to you a whole bunch.
All this being said, I miss you guys like Hell. Sarah, one of the only things that got me though the last few days is the little notebook covered in everyone's pics. I saw that one day and literally burst into tears. After I felt better than I had all week. I love you guys. And that's the one thing that no one up here can take away from me.
-Doug
"This one goes out to the one I love,
This one goes out to the one I left behind."
-R.E.M. "The one I love"
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