I heard that a long time ago as a kid - some TV show trying to explain to a kid why his mom (or dog) died. Your Grandmother used to think books and TV shows about death would help me understand why my dad died when I was 8. And, at the time, it kinda helped to accept the futility of death. When it happens, you chalk it up to shit happens. Or Insh'Allah. Or whatever. Mourn the loss, but know that God had to do it.
However, tonight is a little tougher. Tonight, while you sleep and while we enjoy the riches of a cool house on a hot summer night, a little boy named Adam lies under a respirator, while his heart pumps through the miracle of modern science. You met Adam when you were seven, playing little league. He was on your team and yes, he hit better than you (which isn't saying much as he got two hits and you only got one - but you could field better than he could, if that helps) Yes, I was embarrassed for you, until I remembered that I sucked at baseball too.
Adam has had a tough life. His father ducked out when he showed up a few months early, underweight, and not likely to live beyond the first days. But he did. He was slow to develop physically, and because he had spent so much of his time under the protective shield of the medical establishment, was just getting into the social aspects of childhood that you have enjoyed for years. Adam had few friends, but you were among them (and probably his best friend).
Unfortunately, Adam isn't doing well. His heart doesn't seem to want to work, and for the second time in as many weeks, he was found unconscious and in just a horrible way. His brain was being deprived of oxygen, and his little body was frankly just pissed at working so hard to stick around. When it happened last week, he came around, but he wasn't the same - He couldn't remember how to put on his shirt. And when it happened today, it doesn't look like he will wake up. The doctors can't find a cause and so if he does wake up there is a high likelihood that this will happen again and again, until his body just says it is time to rest.
Unfortunately, that TV show didn't tell us why God kills kids. I look at you, and I cannot imagine the pain that Adam's mom is enduring. She is a strong woman, but Hercules can't sit at the bed of his dying son and let go easily. Watching a friend's son slip slowly into the black is hard enough, but the TV show didn't talk about dying kids. Because when God kills kids, frankly it just sucks. And there is no reason on heaven or earth why God does it. No reason. This just sucks.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Mentorship
So lad, I left tonight for another trip to another city. This time it is Tampa, and who knows where is next. A kiss on the cheek and I was gone, this time leaving you with the mandate to build a fortress on the planet Hoth, using all of your Legos. As I left, you were explaining that you had made a dinner table, and the little 1x2 brick was a napkin. I envy your perspective – On the battle for Hoth, I am sure there was a dining facility – probably not as nice as the one I ate at in Qatar, but the rebels probably did their best on the frozen, hostile planet. And I am sure they needed napkins to keep their hands clean for the impending invasion by Imperial forces. I am just taking off, and I already can’t wait to get home to see what abstract battle position you have created. This weekend is BrickLink in DC – A two day convention for Legos. When you finally can read this, I hope you remembered us sneaking out and leaving Mom and Zoe at home.
Last night, we left a party for my nephew Rob, who just graduated high school at 17. Next year he is off to college, and then into the working world. It was a lovely event, and when we left you were ground into powder by running with the big kids all day and night. You fell asleep in the back seat 5 minutes after I started the engine. I was left to think about the young man who kind of watched over you all night. He was a friend of Rob’s and a really great kid.
When I first met him, it was the night of Prom, and the kids had all come to the beach for the next day. He is a pretty typical 18 year old – knows he wants a future but doesn’t know what that future is, or how to get there. When we met after Prom, the boy had no college acceptances, while all of his friends were planning their Freshman year. He had no real plans, and no idea how to even develop a goal. Until this week.
Somehow this young man walked into the Recruiter for the Marine Corps, having seen the ads on television, and heard of the escapades of brotherhood, honor and patriotism. And while all of these traits have my respect, and I hope that some day you will experience even a few minutes of any of these, I was left to wonder how many young men and women, make this decision, without any sort of mentorship.
When this young man – I will call him Jughead – told me of his decision, I was split down the middle – I was thrilled for him – he has made a commitment – a decision, like so many of us. He was swayed by the sound of the guns and the romance of the danger, and he swore that for at least the next 4 years, he would protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and that he will obey the orders of the President, and the officers appointed above him, so help him God – By the way, that was from memory – I suspect I may have missed a word here or there, but overall it says “Welcome to the ”. We all take this oath, and in turn, the US owns us for 8 years. And I was proud of the kid.
But I was also pissed. I know this is going to sound insane, but a big part of me was angry. This young man signed the most important document of his life – and had no idea what he was signing up for. The world of the military offers training in every imaginable field – from shower repair to missile repair, from firefighting to firing cannons, and from medical corpsman to mortuary affairs. The opportunities are boundless, and many of these jobs train you in a field that provides experience which has real value in the civilian sector. Medics leave the Army as EMT or paramedic equivalents. Network engineers leave with certifications in network security, network management and many others. Name a field and you can find a civilian equivalent. Even Combat Engineers. They learn basic construction and advanced demolitions, which can pay well as you level old stadiums. All of these train real skills, except Infantry. From personal experience, I can tell you that when you go to the college-military liaison (Yes, most schools have these), and you tell them what you did, they offer you a handful of credits in Physical Education, and send you on your way, while the other veterans get Computer Science, Biology or other credits for the smart work they did. My point is – Jughead doesn’t even know what job he has yet, but he still signed on the line. And so I was pissed. I wasn’t pissed at Jughead – I was pissed that no one he knew cared enough to tag along with him as his advocate for when the recruiter was dripping honey into his ear.
However, it is tough to be 18. Everyone has advice, and you think you are old enough to know better than everyone else. You are healthy, you are strong enough, and the government tells you that you can vote and selective service tells you that you are old enough to serve at arms. You can lease a car, if someone believes you can afford it. You are indestructible – Just ask all those kids who die racing cars after a couple of beers, like my old friend Dave O’Dell did. But the reality is – and this is a real news flash - YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT. I was there – I thought I knew it all. Off to college, in a major I didn’t understand, because I was told to. I flunked out and dropped into the Army. I didn’t know shit either.
I was lucky though – I had an old salt of a sergeant in my life at the time – close to 30 years of service behind him, and he coached me through the process – I would talk to the recruiter and then talk to Sergeant Franks. And Franks would tell me where I was jacked up and set me back on course. All the way through until I was shipped off to Basic Training – With Franks laughing his ass off at me for choosing Infantry, just like he had 30 years before. And while I loved it, and many do, the reality is that the career field provides nothing except a lot of good stories and real character building. That’s what they call carrying heavy gear for long stretches at a time with limited food and water – Character. And someday when I see old Jim Franks in Valhalla, I assure you I will buy him a pint, smash him in the jaw and then hug him.
My point is that I had a mentor. And my lesson to you is - pick a mentor as well. Hopefully by then I will have helped you enough along the way that you will pick me, but I will understand if you don’t. Parents are tough, and by then, I will have helped you become a young man and probably pissed you off along the way. I will have taught you where I can, let you fail when you need to and picked you up by the belt and dragged you across the line when it requires. I will always be there for you, but its ok to get advice from others you respect – just don’t give away the respect to those who haven’t earned it. I do promise that if you pick me, and you want to do something that I know nothing about, I promise to tell you that I don’t know anything about it, and help you find someone who does.
And when you get to that life’s decision, and you have someone to talk to, make sure you shut up and listen – Even I can do it when it counts. Listen to both sides (Ask old President Nixon what happens when you don’t). Give credence to both sides, mitigate those who argue from a position of emotion, and listen most to those who did what you want to do – especially those who share both the positives and the negatives. Poor Jughead only has seen the best of the picture now, but the recruiter probably didn’t show him the picture of the soldier holding his trooper after he lost his father to cancer hundreds of miles away. Or the picture of the soldier whose wife had their baby while he was 7,000 miles away. There are lessons in the words of these veterans of life that you cannot ignore, whether it is joining the Marines or starting a family or even starting a business. Shut up and listen. And someday, when your son comes to you to talk about joining the Army, shut up and listen to him too. And then give him the number for the Air Force.
Jughead finds out what jobs he is eligible for on Tuesday. I gave him my number - if he doesn’t call Tuesday, I will be home late, as I will have to detour through Sewell, New Jersey for a little impromptu woodline counseling. In the meantime, I will sit back, and wait to see how you defend the Planet Hoth, remember fondly Jim Franks, who is probably already waiting in Valhalla, with some booby trapped plastic spoons (a great trick he taught me), and a pint for me.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The Root of Your Happiness
Today I find myself flying high above the Midwest in a Boeing 737 on a Southwest flight (I hope they are still around when you are flying on your own – they are the model of customer service, and control of your destiny.) You broke a board in Tae Kwon Do (you call it Karate) and we are about to pack up and move again – you are the model of flexibility.
Last night, I had a great dinner and a better lesson. I met up with an old colleague and friend in San Francisco. We went to a place downtown, called Eddie Rickenbacker’s. Eddie Rickenbacker was an American hero flying in defense of our nation in World War I and World War II, and served our country bravely despite overwhelming risks. He is now “honored” by this restaurant. The bar and restaurant has been on my comrade’s list of places to go, because the interior is uniquely decorated. The interior has an old upright piano that is moderately out of tune but supports the college girl who plays for tips and a modest wage. She is no Billy Joel, but far easier on the eyes. The piano is stained with years of water rings from the pints that have rest upon in, and the audio is nothing short of horrendous, but her voice resonated through, and kept the bar (or at least me) in good spirits.
The restaurant’s tables were definitely antiques from their years of service to diners and drinkers alike – Dark brown inlays on heart pine table tops, long fading as their protective finishes had been sanded off by plates, elbows, and silverware. But they brought character to the place, reminding the patron they were there before we were born and will likely be there after our carbon has been recycled.
However, that simply wasn’t enough. The bars plaster ceiling, paint flaking from its surface, holds even more history. From this plaster surface are dozens of antique motorcycles – the kind you don’t see on the road as their value is high and their ride is far too uncomfortable. They sit in cable slings hooked to the ceiling and walls, and float lightly in the air like a Knievel over the Snake River (or as you might think of it, like Indiana Jones and his father in the motorcycle chase).
The motorcycles are magnificent representations of the motorcycle culture over the decades and nations it spans – Moto Guzzis from Italy, Triumph from England and Indians and Harley Davidsons from here in the US. There was even a motorcycle that was built by the predecessor to the Schwinn bicycle company – truly an exhibit to behold and on each motorcycle was a brief history as well as a rough value to show the onlookers of the wealth the owner had.
But that wasn’t truly the centerpiece of the establishment. In the front corner of the bar was a well cushioned and well-used love seat upon which sat a lump of a man. Age and fatigue and years of cigar smoking and hate have formed Lump (his real name is Norman Hobday, courtesy of Google) into an oxygen sucking mass whose role has become to shift positions on the couch while overseeing his establishment. On the dining table in front of him, is an ashtray with a well chomped cigar, and some plates with an assortment of foot scraps. Between him and the table is an old orange tabby cat whose proportional weight is matched by this lump of a man, and I suspect one is racing the other to their grave.
Beside the man are two more modern devices – a television running mysteries on A&E with subtitles and volume roaring over the din of the crowd, and below that is a little pump that seems to pull in air and convert it to oxygen which connects via a hose to Lump’s nose. Beside the pump are a series of askew oxygen tanks that lie dusty and either ready to step up, or recently exhausted.
So – I hope I paint the picture. In the meantime, our piano singer continues to bang at keys singing a tune and showing no formal training, and waiting for salvation through either a job that pays better than tips or an emir from the Gulf region to buy her and take her away for sexual slavery that would be sweet release from the pseudo-job she has today. The bartender and the waitress are periodically beckoned to the lump who now sits behind me at my seat at the end of the bar. I believe these are their names – waitress, bartender – as this is how he refers to them. There is a loathing in his voice that stems not from any incompetence on their part, but from years of a life spent likely wasted as he erodes into his tomb.
These women – these heroines – come to his aid, lifting his lethargic legs onto the comfy but worn love seat, or to prop pillows under the hot dogs of neck fat that roll off of the back of his head. They do so with some compassion or some distinct affection for a man who only treats them with contempt. Remarably, each woman here is lovely in their own right – a little punky, but certainly more normal than not (that morning I saw a 6 foot tall tranny (7 feet with the heels) crossing the street – so who is to say what normal is here or anywhere else anymore).
So my friend and I began to chat with the staff as the bar cleared out and learned more about the scene – but certainly far from all there was to say. Many of the young women were friends and had gotten each other jobs – and bartending paid well for summer work. But they knew of our lump's personality quirks. The one girl told us her name was Charleston, after her home town, but she suspected Lump didn’t know her real name. Bartender stood next to me and wrote “I’m not gay” on a cocktail napkin. When I asked her what the hell that was about, she simply replied “[Lump] likes people to know we’re not gay”. She continued to write on the napkin, adorning the text with shading of different colors and preparing it to be worn proudly. Though you know she didn’t like it, she accepted it as part of her work there, and well, you know, it pays well. Soon the other two women were wearing the signs, and showing off their hetero-pride and perhaps a little humiliation.
We also learned that Norman is alone. And he will die like this. Oh Norman has family – all of whom seem to have walked away or been walked away on. The story is that he has 2 children he never sees, and brothers and/or sisters who have long since shunned him. I suspect that this bar is all he has (plus some mansion paid for by the bar’s revenue, or a shanty above the inn, where he lays on a bed of hay, I imagine). But Norman will die soon, leaving an empty legacy and a bar that will go for sale with all of its contents at auction to pay for his soon to be growing medical bills.
And so we sat there for a few hours, sipping cold beer and I enjoyed a great filet mignon, some potatoes and little corn and peas with a great flavor, and I enjoyed watching this scene unfold. But I am sure by now, you are asking yourself, “But why would you stay.” A fair and good question – I consider myself open minded to all sorts of people. (Except for people with two colors of eye – they freak me out). I think of myself as someone who doesn’t take part in homophobia (I mean seriously, I have a gay friend, so I must be tolerant, right) or this sort of anti-people behaviors. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t like a lot of people – but not because they are gay, or black, (I know a black guy or two) or Catholic (I even married one of them) or whatever. I have long had friends of many backgrounds. But the people I don’t like are in this category because they don’t contribute, or they aren’t open minded to change or because they push their views on me, without respecting my thoughts on things.
However, Norman was an interesting slice of reality, and he was dying. And I think that when you are dying, you get to live like you want to live – I just hope that when I am dying, I am surrounded with friends and not customers, and people and not things. Moreover, I hope that my things I do have bring me joy and not bitterness that transforms into hate and insecurity where I keep them on shelves to be watched instead of using them to bring the delight for which they were designed. The reality is that the pale horse will ride into town for Norman soon enough, and when Norman rides out with Death, I think it would be better, as we bounce along on the ass of the horse, tied to the saddle, to look back smiling at those left behind and not with a dead stare and anger and all of the things he should have done right.
The compassion of the women who worked there was remarkable – they knew Norman was dying, and much like the nurse who helps a criminal on his death bed, these angels helped Norman through his disease, and tolerated his behavior to pay the bills. And once out of earshot, which for Norman was measured in inches, they would lean over to the customers and let them know that behavior that would humiliate most, was tolerated to help keep the lights on, and to give an old, dying man a perception of control. Their eyes belied a sadness – but not for themselves – it was for a man whose hair dropped in clumps to the floor covered with orange cat fur and spilled beer and who would soon leave here and leave a legacy of a great bar with a great environment, and with Norman Hobday’s name written in a foot note buried beneath names and years of the hundred motorcycles, the age of the building and even the color of the paint on the walls – for after Norman dies, he will just be dead.
I also think that if you serve a damn good steak, and a cold pint, it might be worth one night of my life. Besides, my tab probably bought him another cigar and another tank of oxygen.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Coming home again.
Son,
I have missed our talks - it has been far too long. I suppose the toughest part of the blog is the commitment - it truly requires constant feeding and care, and I have ignored it. My failure has likely resulted in some deep chasm in your learning, but you are sharp - I am sure you will overcome. Sometimes life simply gets in the way of what is important. And sometimes, what is important takes precedence over writing notes which won't get read until you are older and have already begun ignoring my advice.
Much has changed in our lives, but I suppose you have seen that - you have a little sister now, cherubic and rotund as all healthy babes are. She is the image of your aunt Hannah but lesser educated folk will tell you she looks like your mother. I suppose time will tell. And you have handled it brilliantly. Rather than be a snotty brat, chomping for attention, you have found attention comes when you are attentive and you exemplify the protective brother in every way. I could not be more proud.
A week after she was born, we uprooted you and moved you to New Jersey - I promise - it wasn't as bad as it sounds (the move, or living in New Jersey). You handled it well, and today, I joined you for lunch at school, and you were surrounded by a room full of kids - all of whom looked like they had known you for years. I was too proud. But in the coming weeks, change is on the horizon again - another move, another town, and another school. I am sure that this comes with its own pains, but I know too that your mother and I will make more out of it than you ever will. You are a champ and soon you will have a room all your own again, strewn only with your clothes, your toys. So clean up will you?
And this weekend, I too am coming home, in some ways. This weekend is the closing of the Armory where my National Guard unit met for one weekend a month. Located in the heart of North Philadelphia, between some tough neighborhoods, and LaSalle University, the Armory was never much to look at, but inside it housed a history of stories that shall never be repeated. And from these stories, I learned a great deal about life - its value and its bonds with others. Not all of the stories were good, but everything had a story to it.
There are too many to tell here and many are still likely to get some old friends divorced, killed or jailed, but suffice it to say, I will miss that place after it has been bulldozed (after the EPA cleans up the oil leaks and asbestos which no doubt floats through that place.) The musty smells of the basement, the scent of gun oil in the arms room, and even the stench of the urinals that never seemed to be clean will all stay with me forever. I remember coming in for drill one weekend to find a drug addict sleeping in a wrecked car in the parking lot, and I remember taking your cousin CJ on a tour of the tanks and machine guns inside the fenceline. Tonight, I can even remember back to my first drill weekend at the armory after returning from Basic Training - I was late because no one told me what time to be there, I got my first counseling statement from Tony Gray (you will meet him someday, I promise), and I met my Platoon Sergeant, Ted Stowell, who taught me more about being a man than anyone I ever knew. Some day I will even tell you about Kevin Hall - a story too long for any blog, but one which is exemplified by the statement (about your mother) "Damn, Sergeant Port, your wife got a phat ass". (I think she secretly liked it) While many of my ramblings will apply to your sister as well, I suspect that she won't appreciate this like you will.
Since I left in 2004, much has changed. Many of these men are out of service now, or have come and gone to Iraq, Afghanistan, Egypt, or some other country long abandoned by civilization or Gods. I am going back these weekend to see these folks for perhaps one last time, before I etch my service into my memoirs, but that place will never be forgotten even after it has been replaced by condos, or projects or a supermarket. The camaraderie that comes from a crew of guys who have no one else who appreciates their stories is unlike anything else you will ever experience and it is not soon forgotten. I hope you experience it and I hope those friendships last you as long as mine have. For me, my relationships in high school, grade school, college and beyond, pale in contrast to the brotherhood I was so fortunate to build in that old building in North Philadelphia.
I have missed our talks - it has been far too long. I suppose the toughest part of the blog is the commitment - it truly requires constant feeding and care, and I have ignored it. My failure has likely resulted in some deep chasm in your learning, but you are sharp - I am sure you will overcome. Sometimes life simply gets in the way of what is important. And sometimes, what is important takes precedence over writing notes which won't get read until you are older and have already begun ignoring my advice.
Much has changed in our lives, but I suppose you have seen that - you have a little sister now, cherubic and rotund as all healthy babes are. She is the image of your aunt Hannah but lesser educated folk will tell you she looks like your mother. I suppose time will tell. And you have handled it brilliantly. Rather than be a snotty brat, chomping for attention, you have found attention comes when you are attentive and you exemplify the protective brother in every way. I could not be more proud.
A week after she was born, we uprooted you and moved you to New Jersey - I promise - it wasn't as bad as it sounds (the move, or living in New Jersey). You handled it well, and today, I joined you for lunch at school, and you were surrounded by a room full of kids - all of whom looked like they had known you for years. I was too proud. But in the coming weeks, change is on the horizon again - another move, another town, and another school. I am sure that this comes with its own pains, but I know too that your mother and I will make more out of it than you ever will. You are a champ and soon you will have a room all your own again, strewn only with your clothes, your toys. So clean up will you?
And this weekend, I too am coming home, in some ways. This weekend is the closing of the Armory where my National Guard unit met for one weekend a month. Located in the heart of North Philadelphia, between some tough neighborhoods, and LaSalle University, the Armory was never much to look at, but inside it housed a history of stories that shall never be repeated. And from these stories, I learned a great deal about life - its value and its bonds with others. Not all of the stories were good, but everything had a story to it.
There are too many to tell here and many are still likely to get some old friends divorced, killed or jailed, but suffice it to say, I will miss that place after it has been bulldozed (after the EPA cleans up the oil leaks and asbestos which no doubt floats through that place.) The musty smells of the basement, the scent of gun oil in the arms room, and even the stench of the urinals that never seemed to be clean will all stay with me forever. I remember coming in for drill one weekend to find a drug addict sleeping in a wrecked car in the parking lot, and I remember taking your cousin CJ on a tour of the tanks and machine guns inside the fenceline. Tonight, I can even remember back to my first drill weekend at the armory after returning from Basic Training - I was late because no one told me what time to be there, I got my first counseling statement from Tony Gray (you will meet him someday, I promise), and I met my Platoon Sergeant, Ted Stowell, who taught me more about being a man than anyone I ever knew. Some day I will even tell you about Kevin Hall - a story too long for any blog, but one which is exemplified by the statement (about your mother) "Damn, Sergeant Port, your wife got a phat ass". (I think she secretly liked it) While many of my ramblings will apply to your sister as well, I suspect that she won't appreciate this like you will.
Since I left in 2004, much has changed. Many of these men are out of service now, or have come and gone to Iraq, Afghanistan, Egypt, or some other country long abandoned by civilization or Gods. I am going back these weekend to see these folks for perhaps one last time, before I etch my service into my memoirs, but that place will never be forgotten even after it has been replaced by condos, or projects or a supermarket. The camaraderie that comes from a crew of guys who have no one else who appreciates their stories is unlike anything else you will ever experience and it is not soon forgotten. I hope you experience it and I hope those friendships last you as long as mine have. For me, my relationships in high school, grade school, college and beyond, pale in contrast to the brotherhood I was so fortunate to build in that old building in North Philadelphia.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Lessons Learned
Son,
I have rarely found a description of what "Army Life" was like better than this one. Pull this article out someday when you are considering flunking out of college, or looking at skipping class in the 11th grade. If you can do items 1-50, I will let you drop out and sign up. Otherwise, get your ass back to work, or get into the Air Force.
For the record, I don't know who wrote this - It isn't mine, but damn is it funny.
How to Simulate Life in the Army
1. Dig a big hole in your back yard and live in it for 30 days straight.
2. Go inside only to clean the house. On weekends, you can eat in the house, but you can't talk.
3. Pour 10 inches of nasty, crappy water into your hole, then shovel it out, stack sandbags around it and cover it with a sheet of old plywood.
4. Fill a backpack with 50 pounds of kitty litter. Never take it off outdoors. Jog everywhere you go.
5. Every couple of weeks, dress up in your best clothes and go the scummiest part of town, find the most run down trashy bar you can, pay $10 per beer until you're hammered, then walk home in the freezing cold.
6. Perform a weekly disassembly and inspection of your lawnmower.
7. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays turn the water pressure in your shower down to a trickle, then on Tuesday and Thursday turn it up so hard it peels skin. On Saturdays and Sundays declare to your entire family that they can't use the shower in order to keep it clean for inspection.
8. Go inside and make your bed every morning. Have your wife tear the blankets off at random during the day. Re-make the bed each time until it is time to go back outside and sleep in your hole.
9. Have your next door neighbor come over each day at 5am, and blow a whistle so loud that Helen Keller could hear it and shout "Get up! Get up! You are moving too slow! Get down and do push-ups!"
10. Have your mother-in-law write down everything she's going to do the following day, then have her make you stand in the back yard at 6am and read it to you.
11. Eat the raunchiest Mexican food you can find for three days straight, then lock yourself out of the bathroom for 12 hours. Hang a sign on the bathroom door that says, "Unserviceable."
12. Submit a request form to your father-in-law, asking if it's ok for you to leave your house before 5pm.
13. Invite 200 of your not-so-closest friends to come over. Have them all dig holes in your yard to live in. After 30 days, fill in the holes and wave at your friends and family through the front window of your home as you set out for a 25 mile walk and After-Action-Review.
14. Shower with above-mentioned friends.
15. Make your family qualify to operate all the appliances in your home (i.e. Dishwasher operator, blender technician, etc.).
16. Walk around your car for 4 hours checking the tire pressure every 15 minutes. Write down on a piece of paper everything you want the shop to fix the next time you bring the car in. Give your wife the list to throw away.
17. Sit in your car and let it run for 4 hours with the windows down before going anywhere. Tune the radio to static and monitor it while letting the car run. If it is cold outside, don't run the heat. Sleep on the hood or roof of your car.
18. Empty all the garbage bins in your house, and sweep your driveway 3 times a day, whether they need it or not.
19. Repaint your entire house once a month. Paint white rings around all the trees in your neighborhood. Paint all curbs yellow. Paint all rocks red.
20. Cook all of your food blindfolded, groping for any spice and seasoning you can get your hands on.
21. Use eighteen scoops of budget coffee grounds per pot, and allow each pot to sit 5 hours before drinking.
22. Have your neighbor collect all your mail for a month, read your magazines, and randomly lose every 5th item.
23. Spend $20,000 on a satellite system for your TV, but only watch CNN and the Weather Channel when you are inside to eat. Tune the tint on the TV to green.
24. Avoid watching your green tinted TV with the exception of movies which are played in the middle of the night. Have the family vote on which movie to watch and then show a different one.
25. Have your 5-year-old cousin give you a haircut with goat shears.
26. Sew big pockets to the legs of your pants. Don't use them.
27. Spend 2 weeks sleeping in holes in your neighbor's lawns and call it a deployment.
28. Spend a year sleeping in holes in your local area and call it world travel.
29. Attempt to spend 5 years working at McDonalds, and NOT get promoted.
30. Ensure that any promotions you do get are from stepping on the dead bodies of your co-workers.
31. Blast heavy metal music on your stereo and conduct Ranger PT, grass drills, and sprints on your front lawn after your neighbors have gone to bed.
32. When your children are in bed, run into their room with a megaphone and shout at the top of your lungs that your home is under attack, and order them to man their fighting positions. Don't let them eat or sleep again for two days.
33. Make your family menu a week ahead of time and do so without checking the pantry and refrigerator.
34. Post a menu on the refrigerator door informing your family that you are having steak for dinner. Then make them wait in line for at least an hour. When they finally get to the kitchen, tell them that you are out of steak, but you have dried ham or hot dogs. Repeat daily until they don't pay attention to the menu any more so they just ask for hot dogs.
35. When baking a cake, prop up one side of the pan while it is in the oven. Spread icing on real thick to level it off.
36. In the middle of January, place a gate at the end of your street. Have your family stand watches at the gate, rotating at 4-hour intervals.
37. Make your family live with you in your hole for 6 weeks. Then tell them that at the end of the 6th week you're going to take them to Disneyland for "block leave." When the end of the 6th week rolls around, inform them that Disneyland has been canceled due to the fact that they need to get ready for Individual Skill Certification, and that it will be another week before they can go back into the house.
38. In your hole (refer to #1), with 200 of your not-so-closest friends (see para. 13), get the flu.
39. Sleep in a thicket of blackberries or rose bushes. Tie a string to your foot that runs to the house. Have your wife yank on the string about 3 hours after you go to sleep. Crawl out of the bushes and go to the house to see what she wants. She should then shine a flashlight in your eyes and mumble "Just making sure you're okay."
40. Do not sleep from 1:00 a.m. Monday mornings until 3 p.m. Wednesday afternoons. Tie a branch around your neck and chew on sand to stay awake.
41. When there is a thunderstorm in your area, dig a trench into your hole so that it fills up with water. During the worst part of the storm, get out of your hole and go for a 12 mile walk.
42. Don't change your socks for a week. After they disintegrate off with pieces of your feet, put on an unbroken pair of new boots and go for a 12 mile walk.
43. For mechanized infantry or armor types: leave the lawn mower running next to your hole 24 hours a day. When you get an opportunity to sleep in your house, put lube oil in your humidifier and set it on high.
44. Have the paperboy give you a haircut.
45. Set up a port-a-potty in the corner of your yard. Once a week, have the service truck back into your yard and pump it out. Make sure the wind carries the smell into your neighbors house. Ignore his complaints.
46. Every other month pull every single possession you own out of your house and line everything up on your lawn from smallest to largest, front to back. Count everything and write it down to file with your insurance company. Give your wife the list to throw away.
47. Lock wire the lug nuts on your car.
48. Buy a trash can, but don't use it. Store the garbage in your hole.
49. Get up every night around midnight and stroll around your yard to "check the perimeter."
50. Run the garden hose to your hole and turn it on. Set your alarm clock to go off at random during the night. Jump up and get dressed as fast as you can. Run out into the backyard and get in your hole.
51. Once a month, take apart every major appliance in your home and put them back together again.
52. Build a scale model of your yard. Make your children draw sketches of it including little arrows indicating what they are going to do when they go out to play. Post these sketches on a bulletin board for reference.
53. Remove the insulation and widen the frames of your front and back doors so that no matter how tight you shut the door, the weather will still get inside.
54. Every so often, throw the cat in front of your hole and shout "Enemy in the wire! Fire Claymores!" Then run into the house cut off the circuit breaker. Yell at the wife and kids for violating security and not maintaining good noise and light discipline.
55. Put on the headphones from your stereo set, but don't plug them in. Hang a paper cup around your neck with string. Go sit in your car. Say to no one in particular "Lost-One, this is Lost-Three, are you lost too, over?" Sit there for three or four hours with the engine running. Say again to no one in particular "Negative contact, Lost-Three out." Roll up your headphones and paper cup and place them in a box
I have rarely found a description of what "Army Life" was like better than this one. Pull this article out someday when you are considering flunking out of college, or looking at skipping class in the 11th grade. If you can do items 1-50, I will let you drop out and sign up. Otherwise, get your ass back to work, or get into the Air Force.
For the record, I don't know who wrote this - It isn't mine, but damn is it funny.
How to Simulate Life in the Army
1. Dig a big hole in your back yard and live in it for 30 days straight.
2. Go inside only to clean the house. On weekends, you can eat in the house, but you can't talk.
3. Pour 10 inches of nasty, crappy water into your hole, then shovel it out, stack sandbags around it and cover it with a sheet of old plywood.
4. Fill a backpack with 50 pounds of kitty litter. Never take it off outdoors. Jog everywhere you go.
5. Every couple of weeks, dress up in your best clothes and go the scummiest part of town, find the most run down trashy bar you can, pay $10 per beer until you're hammered, then walk home in the freezing cold.
6. Perform a weekly disassembly and inspection of your lawnmower.
7. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays turn the water pressure in your shower down to a trickle, then on Tuesday and Thursday turn it up so hard it peels skin. On Saturdays and Sundays declare to your entire family that they can't use the shower in order to keep it clean for inspection.
8. Go inside and make your bed every morning. Have your wife tear the blankets off at random during the day. Re-make the bed each time until it is time to go back outside and sleep in your hole.
9. Have your next door neighbor come over each day at 5am, and blow a whistle so loud that Helen Keller could hear it and shout "Get up! Get up! You are moving too slow! Get down and do push-ups!"
10. Have your mother-in-law write down everything she's going to do the following day, then have her make you stand in the back yard at 6am and read it to you.
11. Eat the raunchiest Mexican food you can find for three days straight, then lock yourself out of the bathroom for 12 hours. Hang a sign on the bathroom door that says, "Unserviceable."
12. Submit a request form to your father-in-law, asking if it's ok for you to leave your house before 5pm.
13. Invite 200 of your not-so-closest friends to come over. Have them all dig holes in your yard to live in. After 30 days, fill in the holes and wave at your friends and family through the front window of your home as you set out for a 25 mile walk and After-Action-Review.
14. Shower with above-mentioned friends.
15. Make your family qualify to operate all the appliances in your home (i.e. Dishwasher operator, blender technician, etc.).
16. Walk around your car for 4 hours checking the tire pressure every 15 minutes. Write down on a piece of paper everything you want the shop to fix the next time you bring the car in. Give your wife the list to throw away.
17. Sit in your car and let it run for 4 hours with the windows down before going anywhere. Tune the radio to static and monitor it while letting the car run. If it is cold outside, don't run the heat. Sleep on the hood or roof of your car.
18. Empty all the garbage bins in your house, and sweep your driveway 3 times a day, whether they need it or not.
19. Repaint your entire house once a month. Paint white rings around all the trees in your neighborhood. Paint all curbs yellow. Paint all rocks red.
20. Cook all of your food blindfolded, groping for any spice and seasoning you can get your hands on.
21. Use eighteen scoops of budget coffee grounds per pot, and allow each pot to sit 5 hours before drinking.
22. Have your neighbor collect all your mail for a month, read your magazines, and randomly lose every 5th item.
23. Spend $20,000 on a satellite system for your TV, but only watch CNN and the Weather Channel when you are inside to eat. Tune the tint on the TV to green.
24. Avoid watching your green tinted TV with the exception of movies which are played in the middle of the night. Have the family vote on which movie to watch and then show a different one.
25. Have your 5-year-old cousin give you a haircut with goat shears.
26. Sew big pockets to the legs of your pants. Don't use them.
27. Spend 2 weeks sleeping in holes in your neighbor's lawns and call it a deployment.
28. Spend a year sleeping in holes in your local area and call it world travel.
29. Attempt to spend 5 years working at McDonalds, and NOT get promoted.
30. Ensure that any promotions you do get are from stepping on the dead bodies of your co-workers.
31. Blast heavy metal music on your stereo and conduct Ranger PT, grass drills, and sprints on your front lawn after your neighbors have gone to bed.
32. When your children are in bed, run into their room with a megaphone and shout at the top of your lungs that your home is under attack, and order them to man their fighting positions. Don't let them eat or sleep again for two days.
33. Make your family menu a week ahead of time and do so without checking the pantry and refrigerator.
34. Post a menu on the refrigerator door informing your family that you are having steak for dinner. Then make them wait in line for at least an hour. When they finally get to the kitchen, tell them that you are out of steak, but you have dried ham or hot dogs. Repeat daily until they don't pay attention to the menu any more so they just ask for hot dogs.
35. When baking a cake, prop up one side of the pan while it is in the oven. Spread icing on real thick to level it off.
36. In the middle of January, place a gate at the end of your street. Have your family stand watches at the gate, rotating at 4-hour intervals.
37. Make your family live with you in your hole for 6 weeks. Then tell them that at the end of the 6th week you're going to take them to Disneyland for "block leave." When the end of the 6th week rolls around, inform them that Disneyland has been canceled due to the fact that they need to get ready for Individual Skill Certification, and that it will be another week before they can go back into the house.
38. In your hole (refer to #1), with 200 of your not-so-closest friends (see para. 13), get the flu.
39. Sleep in a thicket of blackberries or rose bushes. Tie a string to your foot that runs to the house. Have your wife yank on the string about 3 hours after you go to sleep. Crawl out of the bushes and go to the house to see what she wants. She should then shine a flashlight in your eyes and mumble "Just making sure you're okay."
40. Do not sleep from 1:00 a.m. Monday mornings until 3 p.m. Wednesday afternoons. Tie a branch around your neck and chew on sand to stay awake.
41. When there is a thunderstorm in your area, dig a trench into your hole so that it fills up with water. During the worst part of the storm, get out of your hole and go for a 12 mile walk.
42. Don't change your socks for a week. After they disintegrate off with pieces of your feet, put on an unbroken pair of new boots and go for a 12 mile walk.
43. For mechanized infantry or armor types: leave the lawn mower running next to your hole 24 hours a day. When you get an opportunity to sleep in your house, put lube oil in your humidifier and set it on high.
44. Have the paperboy give you a haircut.
45. Set up a port-a-potty in the corner of your yard. Once a week, have the service truck back into your yard and pump it out. Make sure the wind carries the smell into your neighbors house. Ignore his complaints.
46. Every other month pull every single possession you own out of your house and line everything up on your lawn from smallest to largest, front to back. Count everything and write it down to file with your insurance company. Give your wife the list to throw away.
47. Lock wire the lug nuts on your car.
48. Buy a trash can, but don't use it. Store the garbage in your hole.
49. Get up every night around midnight and stroll around your yard to "check the perimeter."
50. Run the garden hose to your hole and turn it on. Set your alarm clock to go off at random during the night. Jump up and get dressed as fast as you can. Run out into the backyard and get in your hole.
51. Once a month, take apart every major appliance in your home and put them back together again.
52. Build a scale model of your yard. Make your children draw sketches of it including little arrows indicating what they are going to do when they go out to play. Post these sketches on a bulletin board for reference.
53. Remove the insulation and widen the frames of your front and back doors so that no matter how tight you shut the door, the weather will still get inside.
54. Every so often, throw the cat in front of your hole and shout "Enemy in the wire! Fire Claymores!" Then run into the house cut off the circuit breaker. Yell at the wife and kids for violating security and not maintaining good noise and light discipline.
55. Put on the headphones from your stereo set, but don't plug them in. Hang a paper cup around your neck with string. Go sit in your car. Say to no one in particular "Lost-One, this is Lost-Three, are you lost too, over?" Sit there for three or four hours with the engine running. Say again to no one in particular "Negative contact, Lost-Three out." Roll up your headphones and paper cup and place them in a box
Thursday, November 19, 2009
A friend in need -
Looking for Land
My wife, Timi, and I, Chris Pieretti, are looking for a little underutilized land. We are researching the development of a food service. You grow it; you cook it. It’s called Kitchen Harvest. Think you can’t afford organic food? If you have a little space, yes, you sure can! You can grow it yourself. The idea is to help communities naturally grow their own food and prepare it simply, deliciously and elegantly. One of the most basic key components to this venture is the ability to efficiently amend our soil types to successfully grow a variety of crops. Our soil amendment would be the richest and most naturally nutritious compost around! The compost would be a mix of natural waste products from the community like leaves, coffee grounds and vegetable waste. It requires some science, some labor and a little land to rapidly produce such fertile compost. I’ve got the science and the labor, but I need the land. Our ¼ acre home lot is plenty for us and our garden needs, but to service a larger community I need a bit more space. A 30’ x 30’ square would be a great start.
I would be completely responsible for all permitting and other legal requirements for the use and operation of a small composting facility in accordance with the Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) and all other relevant governing organizations.
The ideal area of perhaps 900 sq. ft. would satisfy the following:
· Truck access for loading and unloading
· A well-drained area with a workable surface and a slope of 2-4%
· The working surface is firm, uniformly graded and dry
· Area is not located (DEP permit WMG017 for On-Farm Source Separated Composting):
o In the 100-year floodplain of waters of its Commonwealth
o In or within 300 feet of an exceptional wetland
o In or within 100 feet of a wetland other than an exceptional value wetland
o Within 100 feet of a sinkhole or area draining to a sinkhole
o Within 300 feet measured horizontally from an occupied dwelling unless the owner would provide a written waiver consenting to the facility being closer than 300 feet
o Within 50 feet of a property line unless the owner would provide a written waiver consenting to the facility being closer than 50 feet
o Within 100 feet of a perennial stream
o Within 300 feet of a water source unless the owner would provide a written waiver consenting to the facility being closer than 300 feet
o Within 3.3 feet of a perched, seasonal or regional ground water table
The compost pile would be free of offensive odors (unless you don’t like the smell of a forest floor), attractively enclosed on three sides and, if all goes well, perhaps twenty feet high. This land might be found in the corner of a school or church parking lot, the side of an underutilized city lot, the unused bay at a nursery or the small divide of a pasture. It is our intention to work along with nature to provide healthy food for our families, to responsibly nurture our environment and to reconnect to our Earth.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The bitter taste.
Son, as I write this, our nation's top lawyer is deciding whether to press charges against 5 people who helped plan the 9/11 attacks. Hopefully as you read this, the history books are written and this is a distant memory for your generation, much as World War II was for me. But for me, and millions of American's like me, this is not the case. This was our generations defining moment, much like Hitler of the 40's, or Kennedy's assassination in the 60's.
I remember that morning at work. Beautiful fall day in Philadelphia. I had ridden my bike to work. Blue skies. Perfect. After I got settled at my desk, your mother called me. She told me to get to a TV - and we had one in the lobby. I turned it on, and watched in disbelief as the 2nd plane hit the second tower. And I stood there as Katie Couric of the Today show tried to make sense of it. Ten minutes later, I was surrounded by co-workers all of whom were confused by the scene as we all were. The downside of an HD media - We were all getting it at once. And being 3 hours away, we all had friends living in New York City. And living in and around a city we all were wondering who was next.
By ten am that morning the air was void of planes, and our nation had suffered the worst attack of our generation. Within hours we were galvanized against the enemy, but within years, many had forgotten or the weekend patriots had gone home. By today, we have a new problem, which should have been handled long ago.
I believe in our Constitution, and especially in the 8th Amendments. I believe that all criminals deserve a right to trial. However, I also believe that those who organize into an equivalent nation state are not criminals but rather warriors, and these warriors of this new, threat nation state are not subject to our laws, our Constitution, or rights afforded to those who live within those constructs. In short, if you fly some planes into 5,000 innocent people, and if effects our country, you don't get to play the fair trial. And don't ask for anything other than cruel and unusual punishment. We are forever scarred by your actions, and you deserve nothing more than the most deviant, violent, and painful stuff I can imagine. And my imagination is vivid.
You see on that day, those men attacked my family. This country is a conglomeration of all types, but the nation is above all. We must protect it like our family and for those who attack the family, the response must be swift and metered to leave an impact which deters others from delivering similar blows. In turn, these 5 men, these warriors, deserve nothing but the same brutality, and callous disregard for the peaceful remainder like that which they plotted and delivered on 9/11.
But because these men plotted as a conspiracy against the United States and because they acted as represetatives of this nation, I am willing to turn away from the Constitution which applies to us and apply a more coarse, and more just law of land warfare, where enemy combatants are subject to trials for war crimes - where the punishments are more severe and the justice more swift. I hope that rage prevails this time, and that we get what this nation needs to put this behind us - and give us something to blame, and something to destroy. Let it be put to rest, and let's move on with the healing.
I remember that morning at work. Beautiful fall day in Philadelphia. I had ridden my bike to work. Blue skies. Perfect. After I got settled at my desk, your mother called me. She told me to get to a TV - and we had one in the lobby. I turned it on, and watched in disbelief as the 2nd plane hit the second tower. And I stood there as Katie Couric of the Today show tried to make sense of it. Ten minutes later, I was surrounded by co-workers all of whom were confused by the scene as we all were. The downside of an HD media - We were all getting it at once. And being 3 hours away, we all had friends living in New York City. And living in and around a city we all were wondering who was next.
By ten am that morning the air was void of planes, and our nation had suffered the worst attack of our generation. Within hours we were galvanized against the enemy, but within years, many had forgotten or the weekend patriots had gone home. By today, we have a new problem, which should have been handled long ago.
I believe in our Constitution, and especially in the 8th Amendments. I believe that all criminals deserve a right to trial. However, I also believe that those who organize into an equivalent nation state are not criminals but rather warriors, and these warriors of this new, threat nation state are not subject to our laws, our Constitution, or rights afforded to those who live within those constructs. In short, if you fly some planes into 5,000 innocent people, and if effects our country, you don't get to play the fair trial. And don't ask for anything other than cruel and unusual punishment. We are forever scarred by your actions, and you deserve nothing more than the most deviant, violent, and painful stuff I can imagine. And my imagination is vivid.
You see on that day, those men attacked my family. This country is a conglomeration of all types, but the nation is above all. We must protect it like our family and for those who attack the family, the response must be swift and metered to leave an impact which deters others from delivering similar blows. In turn, these 5 men, these warriors, deserve nothing but the same brutality, and callous disregard for the peaceful remainder like that which they plotted and delivered on 9/11.
But because these men plotted as a conspiracy against the United States and because they acted as represetatives of this nation, I am willing to turn away from the Constitution which applies to us and apply a more coarse, and more just law of land warfare, where enemy combatants are subject to trials for war crimes - where the punishments are more severe and the justice more swift. I hope that rage prevails this time, and that we get what this nation needs to put this behind us - and give us something to blame, and something to destroy. Let it be put to rest, and let's move on with the healing.
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