What a weird year

This was a weird year for me personally. Emotionally, I've been on the extreme end of both sides of the scale for time periods that exceed the healthy limit. I'm fairly certain that the seething anger I had for the first six months of the year shortened my life span by at least a little while.

New Year's Eve last year found me in New York City, the heart of it all. It was the first and only time I've been there and I walked around with my head craned upwards and around. Thousands of memoirs and novels have drooled on about the awe that New York City inspires in its newest arrivals and I've nothing to add to it other than to say that the feeling hasn't changed much. We were at Madison Square Garden at a Wilco concert when the year ended. I felt part of the world for once, not like I was watching it on TV. We wandered through the city, stopping at bars and getting stuck at Penn Station until 6am when the trains started running out to the 'burbs again. The next day we saw Twelve Angry Men on Broadway, watched a movie at the AMC in Times Square and rode the subway all around town in the futile search for MOMA (turns out that there are FIVE of them and the main one is not in Queens).

But I was sad. This was a few weeks after being informed that I would be in the army an additional 15 - 21 months beyond the end of my contract. Those college acceptance letters were no good. Those plans I had for travels in Europe, road trips across the U.S., fabulous punk rock shows in basements... all gone. I was going back to the middle east with leadership that hated me, no hope for advancement or a pay raise, and all for no reason. Any unhappiness I expressed, I was told, was not because I was being royally screwed, but because of my negative attitude. This trip to NYC was filled with over-the-top greatness, but it seemed to me like a steak and lobster dinner before my execution.

The rest of that first half of the year was a serious of pretty good things on a backdrop of shittiness. I met a wonderful boy who was actually nice to me. I went to a few great concerts - Flogging Molly, Reverend Horton Heat, the Supersuckers. I went to Montreal, and Washington D.C. Parked my car on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean.

I was also a little ball of rage that fought bitter and hopeless battles against the people that considered themselves leadership. I lost nearly every single one of them, but I learned to feel good about it. They were bad people and thus if they said something bad about me, I saw no reason to not take it as a compliment.

April through June I was involved with running a training exercise on how to search Enemy Combatants. Together with a team Military Police we were to teach the entire brigade. And when I say "we" I mean the MPs were teaching - the rest of us were human training devices to be exampled and tested on. Every female in the brigade got the opportunity to shove my face in the mud, put her knee in my back and twist my limbs at extraordinary angles. The male MPs thought this was great entertainment and would come up with a new procedure everyday, usually involving searching the bra area. I hated them. This was, by far, in a career of humiliating experiences, the most degrading detail I had ever been assigned to. It was so spectacularly bad that I couldn't even be mad at my platoon sergeant. I mean, shit, that's impressive!

Then one humid day in July, my platoon sergeant called me into our caged "office" (a corner, surrounded by chicken wire fence, in a concrete room ) and informed me that I wasn't going to Iraq. And just like that I pulled my stuff out of the quadcons and moved units. I left the army the day after they left for Iraq, taking that nice boy I mentioned earlier with them. That was also a strange feeling. I had invested so much hurt and bad feelings into that group that NOT going to Iraq seemed like kind of a letdown.

The rest of the year I've set about doing nothing strenuous, stressing or the least bit army. I wandered around Britain and Ireland for awhile, spending all kinds of money I didn't have on grocery store sandwiches and Murphy's Stout. I drove from New York to Oregon and visited a few National Parks along the way. I stepped on a moutain goat on a trail in Montana. I watched thunderstorms come after me in Minnesota, hoping they didn't decide to become tornadoes.

I now have, for the first time in my life, a place to live that I don't share with anyone else. My boss doesn't live down the hall and can't come in and tell me to clean my microwave or he'll dock my pay. In fact, I don't have a boss at all. Or a job. I have no furniture, hardly any utensils, and no real desire to change that. Occasionally I go grocery shopping and pay the rent.

Ya know what's really awesome? I have no idea what's going to happen next year!

Double Free!

Gretchen and I walked down to Border's this morning to use our Christmas gift cards. She thinks I live in a bad neighborhood. I'd be a little offended, but during the walk I noticed all sorts of things that I never had before - the homeless camp built on a small stream next to the sidewalk (why ON the stream? there's got to be dryer ground around here), the lone car parked behind the abandoned building (most likely up to no good), the creepy old men staring. Usually I only notice the birds - the giant seagulls patrolling the sea of an abandoned parking lot, hunting for small children; the ducks drifting down the dirty canal (right next to the newly-discovered bum city!); the towhees and jays that squawk at me. Maybe I do live in a bad neighborhood. It could explain the police cars outside all the time.

Anyway, free things! I picked up a couple of books and handed the guy at the counter my gift card and a credit card for the excess. "You still have $5 left on here, no need for that," pointing at my credit card. It sounded fishy. Turns out he didn't charge me for the Kurt Vonnegut book! Yay!!! And he gave me a coupon. As my sister said, "Screw 'em. They're a huge corporation, they deserve it."

Then we walked to Starbucks and got free coffee with our other gift cards. Our extended family knows us well. Either that or they're great gift guessers.

Ooo boy, guests!!!

Apparently I have the attention span of a gnat. Just last night I had to turn down an invitation to go snowboarding because my sister is coming to my house this evening. 12 hours later I'm drinking a beer at McMenamin's and my phone rings. This surprises me for a couple of reasons: I have a new ringtone that I put in THIS MORNING and yet had already forgotten about, and my sister was phoning. What on earth could she want? "Uh, hi. You never gave me directions to your apartment." I frown at the phone. "Ohhhhh yeah," it dawns on me, "You're coming up here tonight." There's a slight pause on the other end and I can almost hear her thinking, Ummm, yeah, didn't have this conversation several times already?

So I give her directions, finish my beer and food and start to walk home. I step outside into a DELUGE. "Ughhh. Oregon," I mutter to no one in particular, as no one else is dumb enough to attempt walking anywhere in this climate. I trudge over to the nearest Starbucks (not to worry, there are Starbucks approximately every three feet in the northwest) and get a free chai latte (my aunt gave me a Starbucks gift card! How cool is that?). I'm sipping away doing puzzles on my phone when, once again, it occurrs to me that Gretchen had called about something... an hour and a half ago. I rush home.

It's been two hours and she's yet to appear, but as it's Friday night rush hour and the roads are flooded I'm sure it's just slow traffic and nothing disastrous has happened. I suppose I should be cleaning or something, but then again Gretchen's really not here to visit me, so much as to lodge her bird and maybe herself if she gets desperate enough. I'm really just a launching pad for her fabulous nightlife, apparently. So here I am, old and boring, waiting for my sister and her bird.

And my latte is cold.

Sigh.

Update for Diane S.: She's here, huffing and puffing all the way. Took her out to eat and stuff. Her bird keeps racing across the room to bite my toes. Hmpff.

Hooray!

I'm back, hungry and bored. Hooray! At least I've gotten to change clothes, shower and sleep a bit. Oh, and I found my Reverend Horton Heat t-shirt that I thought was gone forever! This gives me hope that my Guinness tee will pop-up somewhere around here, too.

Off to spend some Christmas money.

Ugh, I'm in Washington

Yes, it's raining, and yes, I got lost in horrible traffic. I should be back in civilization in a few days.

Yawn

Hope everyone's Christmas is going well. I am bored out of my mind. I really think that once the presents are opened life should move on. Thankfully, we no longer do my mom's tradition of opening the presents on Christmas Eve (she tells me it's a German thing) or there would be absolutely nothing to do the entire day!

Once again, happy Winter Solstice!

Thank God! Or..... something

It's the shortest day of the year! That means everyday after this will have at least a little more time of grey gloom before it becomes blackness. It was pitch dark by 5:00. I remember high school as four straight years of darkness. No wonder!

We (my older younger sis and my dad) almost got arrested at the liquor store. After a robust debate about what we were going to buy, we made up our minds and went to the counter. Evil redneck wench asked ALL of us for ID. Older-younger sis, being under 21, backed out and said she didn't have ID. Note that you aren't required to carry ID as a citizen of the US. Note also that it did not say on the door that ID will be required of children of the booze-buyers. "How do *I* know she's your daugher?" redneck wench asked. "Because I said so!" says my indignant dad. "Well, she doesn't look anything like you!" Thus getting to the real reason we were all carded: she didn't like the way we looked. That's all there was to it. What if a five-year-old was in there? Would he/she have ID? Of course not! And she/he wouldn't be required to have such, either! Redneck wench saw my sister and I and decided to card us before we approached her. If we had shown ID and my sister proved underage she wouldn't have sold us the booze, despite the parental influence (and the fact that it's LEGAL to serve and consume alcohol as a minor in one's own home under parental supervision.). Since she didn't show her ID she acted as if it were illegal to not have such identification. In the end, Gretchen went outside and redneck wench sold us the booze with the admonition, "only because it's Christmas." Well, lawdy gee mastuh, ain' we lucky! Dad steamed for at least five hours. "I'm never giving another dollar to this godamn redneck town! They can kiss my ass!!!!"

We bought tequila and rum, neither of which I'm the hugest fan of. Perhaps tomorrow when I'm out buying Asian spices for them, I can talk dad into funding another bottle of Bushmill's or Jameson. I think I've already talked him into funding a trip for the Irish pub in Portland, what with the samplers of all that whiskey - Scotch and Irish - that he can't afford to buy, not to mention the Guinness chocolate cake.

Other than that, home has been as boring as usual. It's too rainy to go for a walk, so the five of us have been fighting over the one (dial-up) internet. Sigh. Is it Christmas yet?

And so it begins

Clothes are packed, presents in the car, dishes in the washer, laundry done, trash taken out (3x), TV unplugged, bathroom cleaned, boxes stuffed in closets, heat off, I'm showered and scrubbed and somewhat presentable. All I need now is to pick out the traveling CDs, sweep the kitchen and I'm off! Back home, down the soggy I-5 to the land of fog, more rain, good food, pets, sisters, crackling cedar in the fireplace and football on the TV (both kinds).

I do have to tag along for the extended family visit up in the Seattle/Tacoma area. Best brush up on my Afghanistan war stories and definitely my Euro backpacking adventures. Sigh.... Holidays are stressful....

Oh, rub it in why don't you!

Earlier tonight I had to make a quick run into Portland to get my sis her Christmas present. At some point in downtown I suddenly realized that there were entirely too many people on board. And I noticed that they weren't the typical train riders. In fact, they bore a striking resemblance to the aforementioned Volvo-driving, latte-sippers and they all seemed to know each other. This fact wasn't significant in itself as it just furthered my theory that I'm the only person in Portland that doesn't know every other person in Portland. But certainly these people didn't have business in NE? Gangland was no place for this crowd.

"Rose Garden!" someone near the door excitedly shouted, echoing the intercom system. They lined up to get out and I questioned one woman as to what exactly was happening at the Rose Garden. "U2," she replied. I threw my head back, "Ugh, I'm jealous!" I had tried to get a ticket over a month ago. It was sold out, but the ticket price still remained for display: cheapest tix, $90.

After an hour at the mall, I thought I had escaped the concertgoers. Unfortunately, I had run into the early crowd before and now another group was heading in. These guys were all awash in the last time they'd seen U2, how it was "the best concert ever" because it was the last stop of the tour, which tonight was to be as well, and how, "the encore went on and on." When we pulled up to the Rose Garden again, there were people outside, clapping and singing... perhaps the same people who had gotten off earlier and had enough boozing to be this rambunctious.

I got home, depressed that I missed the show and put my playlist on random. Apparently, "random" means 20 straight goddamn U2 songs plus a few other things thrown in at the end. My computer hates me.

What became of rebels who sang for you and me?

--Flogging Molly, "The Seven Deadly Sins"

I was driving around recently, listening to the Dubliners. I like the Dubliners because they can sing the glories of good beer in one song and about serious events of history in another. When I was a kid living in Gettysburg, PA we used to sing old Civil War songs. I've forgotten most of them, but I do remember how they made me feel and the things they made me think about. I wanted to be there, among the canteens and cannons, to sing during the long marches, to fire at those stinkin' slaveholding confederates. You can get places with music that detailed history books can't.

While I was driving a song came on called, "James Larkin" (of whom you can learn all about somewhere else, maybe Wikipedia for a start). This is the line that caught my attention:

And last of all of the seven heroes

I'll sing the praise of James Connolly

The voice of justice the voice of freedom

He gave his life that men might be free

We have no heroes today. Even with all of the blatantly stupid shit going on with our country, there is no one to stand out, to stand up, to lead us all against the tyranny. Yesterday, our president stood in front of the TV cameras and told the world that he broke the law; there was no apology, no remorse and no plan to cease. A little bit more of our national dignity was flushed down the toilet.

So who is it going to be? Who is going to be the one to shout, "ENOUGH!" and take our country back? Are we ready for this? What songs are our grandchildren going to sing?

To go back to the title of the post, I'm not a poet. Dave King of Flogging Molly certainly is, however. What took me four rambling paragraphs to spit out, he summed up in one line, all the while invoking romanticized visions of pirates, Joe Strummer, and merry bands of freedom fighters with their fists in the air, struggling to their last breath for truth and justice. For you. For me.

Oh, and the next line? "Grapplin' with their demons in the search for liberty."

THIS is the shit that keeps me up at night.

Ach, insomnia

It's 5:19am and I haven't slept at all and not for lack of trying, either. I tossed and turned for hours. Dunno if it was the ominous wind rattling the apartments or the chocolate chip cookies I ate at midnight. I didn't burn the kitchen down making them, either! That's one whole week without setting off the smoke alarm! Hooray for me!

You will notice that I have added an email address on my profile. This is in the off-chance that there are shy lurkers about who wish to say something, but would like a more discreet outlet than the comment box. But I will say that if you send me anything mean or hateful, I will do my best to publicly humiliate you, including posting your email address for all the world to see (and the four people who might actually read this).

All I Need is a Volvo

I've really stepped over the line musically. I was toeing it when I discovered that I actually like U2. But yesterday I went and downloaded some Bob Dylan. And I liked it.

Let me explain. Corvallis, OR, the town I was born in and after some moving around, the area I graduated high school in (ok, I did the HS thing in a neighboring logging town) is populated by upper-middle class ex-hippies who drive Volvos, listen to NPR and sip lattes. Fairly nice people, but just way to blase for my aspiring punk rocker taste. Gimme boots, a mohawk and a beer.

I hated U2 with a PASSION from the age of 9, simply because my parents (who, by the way, were/are not upper-middle class, ex hippies. nor do they drive a Volvo. Or listen to NPR for that matter.) and their siblings loved them. Bob Dylan was a staple of the old Corvallis crowd. Even the hippy kids spoke of him in reverance. "None of that, dude! I'm not gonna turn out like you! Turn up the fucking Bad Religion, man!"

Earlier this year I was innocently walking around a bookstore in Kingston, Ontario when a U2 song came on. "Man, I love this song! Why don't I have any U2 CDs? I need to buy one!" And so I did. It was only during the drive home did I realize what had just transpired. "Dammit, I'm getting old!" But I let it go, because, well, they ARE pretty good.

I don't know what happened with Dylan, honestly. Yesterday I read a quote from him and then suddenly I was downloading songs. And I'm sure everyone knows that "Masters of War" has all sorts of applicability for today's issues, so I won't go on and on about it. But DAMN that is some poetry!

It occurs to me that I listen to NPR on occasion, too. And I looooove fufu coffee. But you're not getting me near Burkenstocks! No way! I WILL die with my boots on (or my old Chucks, or a pair of Vans for that matter)!!!!!

Yay for cities of books!

There's this bookstore in Portland - Powell's City of Books, to be exact - that takes up an entire city block. Supposedly, it's the largest new and used bookstore in the world. It's big enough that they offer a map of the place when you walk in.

When asked for a Christmas list, my youngest sister replied, "a book that you like." Great. It's flattering, but also a little daunting. What if she didn't like the book? Isn't that kind of a reflection on me, since I read it and liked it? I really didn't like the implications, so I got her a book that I haven't read. It's something I've wanted to read, but never gotten around to. A lot of important people say it's good. And it was on sale.

Oh and I got myself something, too. There is a pile of books on my shelf that I haven't yet read, so I figured I'd get something that's supposed to sit on a shelf unread: an action figure of Anne Bonny, the pirate. Yeah, told you it was a cool bookstore! She's got removable pistols, a sword and an axe!

Wow, so I woke up at 2 today. Yeah, that's 2pm. I do feel slightly guilty over sleeping in when I know everyone else in this apartment complex works their asses off and I just kinda bum around. But hey, most of these people didn't have to dodge rockets in the year 400 either. (I'm convinced Afghanistan looked exactly as it does now in the 5th century, possibly even earlier.)

Yesterday was pretty damn cool. Portlanders, accustomed to gloom for 9 months of the year, become a little strange when the sun comes out for a whole day in December. First, there was a family wearing kilts on the train. Then, while taking the meandering long way to the bookstore, I turned the corner to face.... who? Darth Vader and a couple of storm troopers. And they were heading right for me. I never thought until that moment that TV really had much of an effect on me as a kid. But something must be programmed deep inside, as I actually did a little fake step dance move in an attempt to run in the opposite direction. Once I regained composure, I thought it was pretty neat. That's a costume someone really could pay me to wear. There was also a parade (mostly union workers), and a man making giant bubbles.

Last night, though, was only so-so. The pipers only played for 20 minutes and then the other band started up again. They might have played another set later, but I didn' stick around. The place was packed and no one talked to me. Well, one guy did ask if I had to show up at noon to get my seat. I'd have glared at him, but I was so happy for the communication that I didn't bother. I had to get off the train on the way home to use the bathroom. The US isn't big on public restrooms, so this is usually a challenge. I got off at a fairly built up stop and found a security guard. He informed me that the restrooms were closed, but upon giving him my most desperate I-have-four-pints-of-Guinness-sitting-in-my-bladder look, he reluctantly opened them up for me. When I got home I attempted to cook something involving potatoes and almost instantly set off the smoke alarm. I'm sure my neighbors love me.

Oh, horribleness!

My internet went out last night! It was terrible. I started doing crazy things, like trying to organize my CD collection, clean out my closet and empty storage bins - ALL AT THE SAME TIME!!!! Of course none of it got done so there's stuff scattered throughout the house. Jeez. AND THEN I decided to take a well-deserved bath. A real bath. See, I haven't had a real bathtub in five years. I was saving this occasion. Turns out the FUCKING DRAIN DOESN'T PLUG.

This morning I woke up to a wrong number from the Ft. Drum area, rolled out of bed and immediately smashed my toe right into the storage bin I had been putting my CDs. Cursing, I hopped out of the bedroom to find that.... THE INTERNET STILL WASN'T WORKING!!!

"GAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" I screamed. Then I called the cable company. It took thirty seconds to fix. The mess? Still on the floor.

But I did find a subway pass for Seoul; a bag of things labeled, "STRAP, RETENTION, EYE"; a zeroing target for an M16 (all shot up and shit! yesss!); a year's supply of baby wipes, ziploc bags, spiced chai mix, foot powder, and listerine; and a raisin. Ok, I found a lot more than that, but those were the highlights. See, I was planning on going to Iraq and I was planning on that being a lot like Afghanistan - a year-long camping trip hours from a grocery store. Tony tells me I'd have been better off packing hangers and a set of linens. Spoiled motherfuckers. I lived in tents and mudhuts! And those were the good days!

Plus, I was so stressed out about the lack of connectivity that I totally forgot about White Trash Wednesday at the Cheerful Tortoise! So much for cheap pitchers of PBR. Oh well, tomorrow Kell's has a soccer game on TV and pipers on stage so maybe I can get some rowdy Irish guys to buy me some real beer.

*grumble*

Update: Ugh, nevermind, the game is at 7 *AM*. Forget that.

Update II: Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!! I can't even read a calendar right! Both the game and the pipers are TOMORROW NIGHT. *throws things* The band tonight wasn't all that bad - a few Pogues covers and some traditional songs - but they weren't pipers and the crowd was mostly college students. I realize that I'm soon to be a college student, but I'm older than most. They make me angry these young, spoiled things. And for no reason, either! I need to mellow out... and drag some friends out with me.

*more grumbling*

A Special Kind of Stupid

Gene of Borscht and Kimchi fame has an entertaining post up about pulling guard duty in Korea, the battle of Chosin and the wimps he currently works with. :P He and I were in the same unit together a few years ago and although I wasn't there for his wintry gate-guarding adventure I had my own later on.

A few years ago some army dudes driving a bridge-layer accidentally ran over two little Korean girls and everyone was up in arms about it. Even by Korean standards, though, the protests were going a little over the top; one camp had molotov cocktails hurled over the gates, and at another camp a guy climbed over the barb wire fence and up a tower where he set an American flag on fire.

Ordinarily I could have given two shits about any of this, but the army being what it is demanded that something be done. In the case of Camp Humphreys, "something" meant a bunch of lower enlisted soldiers patrolling the perimeter armed with whistles and flashlights. Seriously. Some smartass (and it might have been me) asked just what exactly we were supposed to do if we did see someone trying to break in, whistle them to death? Nope, see the whistle is a warning and then.... and then....... well, the plan kind of fizzled out there. World's most powerful army, at its finest.

Did I mention that it's cold in Korea? REALLY REALLY cold? Well it is. And someone hadn't been issued her cold weather boots yet.

My friend Kate and I managed to score the twelve hour night shift! Weren't we happy! As predicted, not a damn thing happened. We did meet a Korean security guard whose shack was in such remote corner of the post that he might not have EVER seen another person out there. Especially not Korean-speaking American girls. We brought him some coffee a few hours after discovering him and I learned about three new ways of saying thank you. I've never seen someone so excited over coffee! Poor guy.

By the fourth night there was a foot of snow on the ground. We had done about two hours when the shift NCO shows up with the van and takes us back to the office. "Look guys, this is a special kind of stupid. No soldier is going to freeze to death for the sake of retardation if I have anything to do with it. I'm putting on a movie." About the time the bigshots were due in we hopped in the van, drove in circles and pretended like we had patrolled all night. The rest of the week continued the same, with said NCO covering for us the whole time. He was one of the first, and unfortunately, one of the last senior NCOs I met that still had one of those backbone things.

Boy, thanks for the memories, Gene. I knew I did something that year other than drink stout at The Wall.

HAA! And yes, I'm laughing at YOU.... Specialist!

A former enemy of mine and a current pain-in-the-ass for Tony has been deeee-moted! AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! And at the same time, Tony got his Sgt stripes, so yay for him! That plus some other incidents are shaking things up in my former company. The bad men (and women) are finally starting to get what they deserve! haaaaaaaaaaahahahaha!

Ya know... I never used to be the vengeful type. Thanks, Army!

Ok everyone

Walk the Line is fucking FANTASTIC. The concert scenes were just incredible. When they ended I would blink and wonder, "Wait a minute.. where am I? How'd I get here? Movie theater? I was just at a concert!" Joaquin Phoenix has totally redeemed himself. Where did he go wrong, you might ask? Well, he didn't. It's just that the first role I saw him in was the sniveling son of the emperor in Gladiator and he did it so well that I just could not shake my image of him as an effeminate, slightly weird, pretty boy. Johnny Cash? No way! "He'll ruin him!" I told my mom, who is very much in love with Joaquin. "Ugh, but he's so gorgeous! I don't see what you have against him." I explained that he looks like he's wearing eyeliner. He's skinny. He IS hot, but in a sweet and sensitive I-have-pretty-eyes-and-write-poetry kinda way. But ya know what? He was Johnny Cash. He was dead on. I don't think Johnny Cash coulda played Johnny Cash any better. AND they did all their own singing! Seriously! Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon sang all those songs!

BTW, I almost didn't get a parking spot and it was only 1:20 in the afternoon! Don't these people have jobs? Ok, *I* don't, but that's beside the point. My particular room wasn't crowded and it had mostly old people. A few of them had a grandkid sitting by their side and occasionally you could hear some explanations going on. I hope this spurs a whole new generation of Johnny fans. Maybe then when they grow up they'll pick up an acoustic guitar and bang out some heart felt tunes. This is a cycle I like to see happening.

A dark day

Ok, I'll admit it, my creativity didn't die. It was suppressed. By me. And by "creativity" I mean the creative alignment of words and expressions - the topic itself is too fucking real. It's something I've avoided for a over a year now and despite yesterday's best efforts, it came roaring back to me today.

Yesterday, while innocently checking in on the music schedule in town, I came across a website for a celtic punk band from Corvallis who are insanely popular around here. At first I was peeved. Nothing cool ever happened in Corvallis when I was there! Not fair! So I browsed their history and found out that they had played at Eric's funeral. The funeral I didn't go to. Witnesses say it was a good one, if that's possible. So I downloaded some of their music and thought about Eric. I considered writing, but found errands to run and beer to drink and bars to drink more at later.

This morning I woke up hungover and slightly depressed over the weather. So I sat down at the computer, read a few blogs and let the playlist run. The band came on and I knew, just knew, that this was one of his favorite songs. And then I realized there were fat ugly tears dripping on my keyboard. I put my head down and cried for a good long time.

After that and some furious pacing I sat down and hammered out the thoughts that needed to be thought. The results I don't think I'm going to post. Certainly not today and maybe not ever.

But I will say that Eric did not "fall" in Iraq as people so politely like to put it. He was blown to fuck by a madman and he died 7,000 miles from home.

Eric, I miss ya buddy.

Arrr, thar's a mutiny, cap'n!

Some good bloggin' going on today. Snag, Charlie, and of course, American Short-Timer all have good posts up. Go check 'em out!

I had a good blog abrewin' yesterday, but then I wasted 2 hours of my life at the post office and the motivation went *woosh* right out of me. Really, I heard it. So did the people standing in line with me. They thought it was just a sigh, but it was actually the sound of creativity dying.