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1月7日 On the Battle of WillsIn AIT - the training after Basic - our instructor was a real ball-buster. She demanded the best of us, and we learned to be the best through endless pushups in the classroom. We respected her dearly, and beneath the hardnosed attitude, she was genuinely looking out for us.
Every block of instruction was followed by a test, with 70% being the passing grade. Half-way into training, I was sitting pretty at a 97% average, a full 7% ahead of the next closest soldier, and well on my way to completing AIT with Distinguished Honor Graduate accolades.
But that wasn't good enough for the ball-buster. While she gave us a full three-hours for the tests, I would turn mine in after a mere 20-minutes. It drove her nuts. A half-dozen times she lectured me that "If you would take your freakin' time, you'd ace every test." Instead, I preferred to take my 97% scores, and go outside to the break area, awaiting the rest of my classmates to finish the test and join me in the break area.
Near the end of the course, I made a significant error on a test, and score a miserable 87%. She called me into her office, and 100 pushups later, she felt she had made her point.
Suffice it to say, I was pissed. It wasn't the pushups, it was the principle. 87% would have been a good score for any other soldier, and I resented the higher standard she was holding me too.
So on one of our final tests a few days later, I finished the test in 20-minutes. We were allotted 3 hours, but it was a simple one. After finishing, I turned my test face-down and sat quietly, not turning in my test and going to the break area. Within another 20-minutes, with over 2 hours of time remaining, the rest of the class had finished and were sitting outside in the break area.
I remained, staring at the backside of my test, sitting rigid. As the 1-hour mark approached, she strolled past me a few times. I was well within my right, and she knew it.
An hour and a half, and I was singing country songs in my head, listening to the ticking of the clock. She had resigned from pacing the aisles. It was an empty classroom. Just me and her, and she knew I was being a little bastard.
Fuck her. If she wanted me to take my time on the test, I'd take my full fucking time.
As two hours approached, the school's commandant entered the room, exchanged some words with the instructor that were too soft for me to make out, and strolled behind me a few times. I remained stiff and rigid, staring at the blank backside of my test.
Two hours and fifteen minutes after the test began, I was running out of country tunes to sing in my mind. But I had committed to the endeavor, and I wouldn't break. I would make my point.
Afterall, my comrades were able to enjoy an extended break outside, joking and relaxing, and not doing pushups yet for the points they no doubt missed on the test.
Two and a half hours, and the commandant was pacing behind me with a ruler. I was reminded of my days at a Catholic school, half-expecting to get a swift smack for my resolve.
I was beyond singing country tunes, and into the theme song for every childhood cartoon I could recall. Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Duck Tales. The Smurfs. Inspector Gadget...
The commandant was having low words with the instructor again, and I could only imagine what they were discussing. Maybe they'd send me to see the shrink.
The final half hour passed slowly, but it was worth it.
As I rose with my test at 2:59:00 into the test, I approached her desk at the front of the room and turn it in. "You're a proud, stubborn shit, aren't you?"
Giving the school greeting, I grinned as I replied, "Army Pride, Sergeant [censored]".
"Tell the rest of the class to come back in. You better have aced this one."
It turned out I missed two points on the test, but the instructor didn't get on my ass. In fact, for the final few tests, she didn't dog on me whatsoever.
Several months later, I ran into another instructor from the AIT school. He laughed when he saw me, and shook my hand. "I don't know how you had the patience to sit there for two and a half hours."
It was easy. It was a battle of wills, me against her, and I won. 12月21日 On The Greatest Job in the WorldI've been told a few times that I seem bitter with the Army - that I have a chip on my shoulder. That's not the case whatsoever, and it's unfortunate I come across that way at times. My objective with this site has been simply to give friends and family back home a taste of the reality of Army life. That means the reality that the recruiters don't tell kids, for better or for worse, and the reality that isn't glamorous enough for Hollywood to package and sell.
Like any job, there are good days and bad days; good months and bad months; good bosses and bad bosses; good assignments and bad assignments. So, in an effort to dispel some of the notions that I'm a broken, bitter grunt, I'm going to outline 10 reasons why this is the Greatest Job in the World.
1. I get paid to work out. Sure, there are days when you want to sleep in, but the Army will never let me get fat.
2. I get paid to put rounds downrange. What red-blooded American doesn't enjoy firing 200-rounds at targets?
3. The holidays. This Christmas season, I will work 7 half-days over a three-week span.
4. The vacation. What other job gives you 30-days paid vacation a year?
5. I get paid to study abroad. Not only does the Army pay 90% of the price for my Masters Degree pursuit with the reputable Troy University, but "I'm studying for class" is always a valid excuse not to be doing real work.
6. "I wanted to travel to distant lands, meet ancient and unique cultures, and kill them." Well, I'm not killing anybody, but can a 24-year old bachelor really complain about being paid to spend a year in a foreign country?
7. The training. Civilians pay hundreds of dollars for a week of mini-boot-camp. I get paid hundreds of dollars to embark on some of the best training in the world.
8. I get to wake up every morning and put on a uniform with the American flag on my shoulder. "Patriotism" is pretty bullshit when it comes to people deciding whether or not to join, but it's definately a perk.
9. The adventure. I'm getting paid to experience things that people pay $7 to go see at a movie theatre, and watch as an escape from their monotonous 9-5 grind.
10. The job security. Face it, Americans would never allow my job to be outsourced to Pakistani's.
I could go on and probably come up with 25 good reasons why this is the Greatest Job in the World, but those are the top ten. And I think if you asked any given Joe, they'd share at least 5 of these top 10. 12月18日 On Getting SoftAs a civilian, I was soft. I was cookie dough. Waking up on little to no sleep was a beast, going to the gym and running 2 miles was miserable, and not having a Mountain Dew for 24 hours was agony.
But training makes you hard. Training makes you a big fucking grizzly bear. You come out of AIT, having so embraced sleep deprivation and the stale MRE chow that you don't know anything else.
You train for SFAS by running 20-40 miles a week, hitting the gym for an extra hour while the rest of post sleeps, and embarking on 20-mile ruckmarches on the weekends.
You're chiseled, lean, toned, and tough. You're a big fucking grizzly bear.
But then the commodities take hold. You start to taste the nectur of Playstation 2 again. You start to relax in a break in your Masters Degree courses. You start to enjoy the flavor of Taco Bell.
Slowly but surely, you become soft. And you hate yourself for it.
You want nothing more but to get to the gym at 4am and run 5 miles on the treadmill. But you've lost your edge. You aren't being pushed, and you don't have a goal to push yourself towards. And at 4am, a bed is so warm and comfortable, while December Korea is so frigid and harsh.
A week of sleeping in until 5am turns into two, and then three. And suddenly you look around and realize you're slowly losing that alert, toned edge of your physical endurance and mental drive. All the booze and video games and DVDs and have replaced the bottled water and ruckmarches and late nights in the office going the extra mile.
Excuses start to be made. "It's a holiday weekend, I'll hit the gym Monday morning". "I'll cut the Christmas cookies out of my diet after the holiday". "I'll harden my feet again on roadmarches once they salt the ice on the roads".
Being a big fucking grizzly bear is more than a part-time objective, and once you let the toys and luxuries start stealing you're time, it's a downward spiral. And while you're still tougher than any civilian, you're not that big fucking grizzly bear - each day more lean than the previous - that you were.
But with Officer Candidate School and a marathon on the horizon, I have to once again find that drive to get back in the saddle. Excuses of knee rehab and frigid weather and the holiday season need to be banished, and the big fucking grizzly bear embraced.
I'll get there again. But not until tommorrow, I'm going to watch a DVD tonight... 12月5日 Comment FeedbackComment Feedback!
On Excuses
Sully - Cast or Tab, hooah? Maybe we can modify that to "knee brace and crutches or tab"? Although there were over 360 candidates down there, I'll probably saw you at one point or another. Quite an experience, eh? You're going to have to let me know how you did.
On Fort Bragg
Brett - Alcohol works wonders? Amen. It's been emotionally tough to have poured yourself into training for something for several months, only to bust out of it - but I'm getting back on track. I once heard, "It isn't what we accomplish that defines us, it's what we accomplish in the wake of failure." Even if I can never run again, it'll have been worth it. At least I can say I took my shot. It's tough to hang your head when you know you poured your heart into something.
Previous Update
Army Wife - Your husband is in Yongsan? I'd probably recognize him. I understand that you don't agree with my evaluation of "Army chicks", but most females don't. Ask your husband, however, and I'm sure he'll admit that I'm fairly accurate in my description. As an "Army Wife", you're not exactly in the "Army chick" category, if that makes you feel a little less offended.
Where in Minnesota are you from? I grew up in the Twin Cities and went to college in Duluth. Don't get me wrong on the "Army being a dissapointment" - I love the Army, I chose to do this full-time. If I come across otherwise, that's my shortcoming.
On Holidays
Brett - You asked for me to post the shot of my xmas tree. So it has been done. I'm here to serve, bud.
Jennifer - So you're another one of the 10 people who check this site out. Glad I could provide you a few minutes of entertainment with the last entry. It's always flattering, and motivating, to hear that I'm not entirely wasting my time here. I hope I can continue - if even only on a weekly basis - to give you something entertaining and insightful to read.
11月23日 On HolidaysHolidays are always a tough time to be away from home, no matter where you are or what you're doing.
Last year, I spent Thanksgiving in a chow-hall at Fort Jackson. It was decorated, and we actually had real silverware. The training officers wore their dress uniforms and served us generous portions of turkey and lobster. It was the best meal the military ever fed me, we were allowed to take our time and have little trivial conversations, and it was the first time in my life I had lobster.
Christmas we were able to take Exodus (leave) for a week from training to be with our families. I spent a day with my family, and the rest of the time shitfaced with my buddies pledging our allegiance to one another, destined to return for the final 3 weeks of training and receive the honor of Distinguished Honor Graduate, and the accompanying medals and fanfare. How I passed the Uniralysis (piss test) is a blessing - what does the Army think a bunch of Joes are going to do when they return home for New Years Eve after being sober for over 2 months?
This year, I will be spending Thanksgiving at the private residence of a Marine officer, with a handful of the top Korea branch officers, as the token enlisted. Everyone without families in Korea will be getting together to stuff ourselves and try to take the sting off the distance from home.
The unit celebrated by having a officer vs. enlisted football game in the place of physical training this morning. The office had a 40-person Thanksgiving pot-luck, in which we deep-fried a few turkeys and ate a combination of traditional Turkey Day dishes and Korean foods. I don't think our Korean counterparts quite understood what we were celebrating, and when one asked, I told her, "Killing all the Indians". I don't think she understood my dry sarcasm any more than she understood why we chose a random Wednesday to eat like Gods and slack-off around the office.
This Thanksgiving, I am thankful though. I'm thankful not to be one of those poor bastards in the hot desert, eating an MRE. But I'd still trade places with them in a heartbeat if it means another guy could spend the time with his family.
Holidays are difficult. As much as we try to replicate the festivities with our military family, it only reminds us more of the families back home. A plane ticket to the United States is about $1500 round-trip from Seoul, but I'd pay that and more for a single day with my parents and relatives on such a difficult reminder of the loneliness. The loneliness of being surrounded by other miserable bastards who you are only united to by the mutual understanding that if 'lil Kim decides to incite a war, we're going to be the ones to hear each other's last utterance of, "Oh fuck, this sucks..."
The suicide rate in the Army increases eight-fold from Thanksgiving through Christmas. Apparently the pathetic attempts to celebrate the holiday are too much a reminder of the loneliness for some Joe's to handle. The reminders of the ex's with new guys feasting with their families; the memories of their mother's cooking; the prospect of spending the next holiday season in the desert; the kids back home who are going to develop recollections of the holidays being a time when Daddy wasn't around...
But the world goes on back in the States as if we were never there, and we do our best to pick one another's spirits up. While we pay homage to the holidays, we subconsciously try to repress the occassion to just an extra day off work.
One thing I know for certain: they can take my rank and my pay, but I'm going to be wearing a Santa hat in place of my beret on the 25th of December. Maybe I'll even go out and steal a nice little shrub from outside the General's office for a makeshift Christmas Tree in my barracks - complete with compass, glow-sticks, and spent ammunition as ornaments.
11月14日 Site UpdateAs you can see, I've put some time into tweaking this site a bit. Hopefully you'll enjoy the changes:
1. Movies that Rock. I'll probably end up doing a few "Movie Review" entries to justify this list. If you haven't checked any of them out yet, they're definately worth your time. Like with any of my lists, they're a work-in-progress, so feel free to post some feedback on a candidate for any list.
2. Say These Movies Rock and I'll Stab You in the Chin. My opinion on these is final. Akin to Movies that Rock, I'll probably end up justifying why these blow.
3. Photo Album. I've given up some of my "annonymity" for the sake of letting you bastards see my ugly mug. The shots include my final unshaven civilian days, drinking in Seoul, hanging with some of my boys from Minnesota here in Seoul, a chance I had to meet with the legendary Henry Rollins (photo and story also made the Stars & Stripes, East Asia edition), and a tattoo that only the guys in the showers get a chance to see. On the Soundtrack"All Along the Watchtower" is a classic. Hendrix, CCR, Morrison, Dylan, and the rest have all been immortalized by Hollywood as the soundtrack of the military.
But it's bullshit.
When you're running 15 miles with a 45-pound pack, there is no soundtrack. There is no "Fortunate Son" to make it seem glamorous. There's just the steady sound of boots on gravel.
And when you're sitting in a rainy foxhole starting at the blackness of the South Carolina 3am night on your 2-hour guard shift, there is no "Riders on the Storm", just the patter of rain on your helmet.
Jake Gyllenhal, in JarHead, lamenting the lack of originality in the Rolling Stones, cursed, "This is our war, why can't we have our own fucking music?"
At 4 in the morning my roommate and I crank System of a Down to pump ourselves up for 2 hours of physical training. But 15 minutes later, out in their soccer field, there's no Armenians singing 100,000 hungry children die every hour while you build bombs raining death showers of destruction, there's just the sting of sweat in your eyes and the grunts of the Joes around you.
If somebody hasn't already made some deep, profound, philosophical quote about the lack of a soundtrack in life, and Army life in particular, they damn well should. 11月11日 On How to Lose a Good SoldierHave a soldier out there who busts his ass every day? Have a soldier who does A+ work on every task you give them? Have a soldier who is ambitious to serve for 20-years? Here's how to destroy their morale in 11 easy steps!
1. Make them do trivial tasks that insult their intelligence and abilities.
2. Never thank them for perfect completion of said trivial tasks.
3. Reward their perfect completion of trivial tasks with additional trivial duties.
4. Subject them to group-punishment when they were the only one NOT fucking shit up.
5. Do not recommend them for promotions or boards - yet expressed feigned support when Special Forces recruits them.
6. When they get injured during said Special Forces recruitment, fail to provide adequate medical treatment.
7. Reward their perfect completion of trivial tasks with additional trivial duties.
8. Exploit their unit loyalty, work ethic, and devotion to duty for the sake of easing your own personal burden.
9. Fuck up the paperwork for their finances so their paycheck takes 6-months to unfuck.
10. Fuck up their leave so they are charged valuable Annual Leave for a standard weekend.
11. Reward soldiers who snitch, lie, and cheat their peers in pety efforts to get ahead. 10月29日 On Fort BraggIt's the 29th, not the 11th of November, which is when SFAS ends.
I won't spoil the story of my dismal failure just yet, suffice it to say I fly back to Korea for an MRI on Monday, and go from there.
I was, however, fortunate enough to spend Friday night through tommorrow morning here at the Home of the Airborne, Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
I arrived in the shitbag hotel and had the impression that a 16-year old crackhead prostitute would have completed the room. Such was the dilapidated, miserable stank of the place. No sooner had I showered and shaved, though, than I began the trek to get a case of Coors. Amazing how an entire case in the states costs as much as three "import" Coors bottles in Korea.
By 1800 I had a few in me and, to my disgust, wasn't as much of a lightweight as I had hoped. [Censored] was an old friend of mine from AIT stationed here at Bragg, so I looked him up, and he stopped by to dig into the case of beers in that seedy hotel. He's a good shit - one of the only guys in AIT who had as many vices as I did and I knew I could therefore trust. Like me, he somehow had a halo around his head in AIT, and between the two of us - the top two students in our class - we could get away with murder.
We shared laughs about the misery of AIT, and the Army in general. We tipped back warm Coors as he recollected the time we returned from a weekend pass, and pounded disguised liquor in the barracks all night on Sunday, then showed up to formation piss-drunk on Monday morning. A week out from graduation with top and second-to-top honors, the young company LT (officer) saw us and, rather than destroy our Army careers, took us on a devastating 3-mile run in under 20-minutes. The pace would have killed us sober, but being shitcanned from a long weekend of booze that started Saturday afternoon and ended at sunrise on Monday, we were utterly decimated. We poured a pull of beer on the shitty carpet for that LT and that day he made us curse alcohol.
A case of Coors in us, and by 9pm, we were running to the Class Six to buy another and go play some Dominos with a few of [censored]'s 82nd Airborne buddies. I liked [censored] because as the conversation went along, we shared our mutual disgust for being stupid enough to subject ourselves to a life of boots, when we could be out drinking and fucking and cursing every night like all our buddies back home who were smart enough or rich enough not to need this shit.
Unlike most of my peers and AIT classmates, [censored] never tried to impress with how "high-speed" he was. He is the only one of us who went Airborne, and yet he only uttered a few curses about how overrated it is. For my part, I didn't bother trying to give him my resume either. The mutual contempt for our peers who try to have the dick-swinging contests over how great a soldier are went unspoken.
We finished that second case with the help of a couple of guys who names I can't remember, but they worked in a hospital and loved me for paying for $20 worth of Pizza Hut. We slapped each other across the face and cursed the Army and cursed ourselves for being stupid enough to spend time here. I like [censored] because he has as many vices as I do, and he probably likes me because I'm old enough to buy the beer and aren't as immature as most guys he deals with.
By 3am this morning I was back in the seedy hotel, having shaken [censored]'s hand farewell but saying only, "See you later man". We didn't need to get sappy. I polished off a few half-empty beers that were hiding in the corners of the room and stared at myself drunk in the mirror, cursing myself.
In the back of my mind I knew I was still cut, but the pizza and beer and cursing and tobacco had me feeling like an ass, so I did pushups until I vomited in a trashcan.
I woke up this morning at 7am, put the trashcan out in the hallway for the cleaning ladies, and came down to an Internet Cafe to blog about my miserable existence, the shame of not completing SFAS, and the alcoholism that somehow makes it all feel okay. 10月14日 ExcusesExcuses suck.
No two ways around it. They're made to avoid taking blaim, and 95% of the time, that blaim would be well-placed on the individual rather than the excuse. Nobody wants to hear an excuse, they want to hear "I completed the task".
That said, I'm going to prove the depth of my hypocricy and make one:
I've been negligent in posting on here because I've spent the past two-weeks working overtime to prepare for SFAS.
I leave 15 Oct 05 for a month at Fort Bragg. A month of hell, sweat, misery, and, probably, a few tears. But at the end of the day, win lose or draw, I'll have had a great experience, and I'll be a better soldier for it.
I'm sure this adventure will give me ammunition for weeks of material for this site. So stay tuned, and rest assured the North Korean's haven't kidnapped me - I'm just at Fort Bragg, probably wishing they had.
EDIT: "I leave 15 Oct 05" previously mistated as "I leave 15 Nov 05". 10月1日 Comment Feedback & UpdateCOMMENT FEEDBACK
And Update!
UPDATE 1 Oct 05
After taking the PT test this morning, my paperwork has been entirely completed with an A+, and I will be departing Korea for a temporary assignment to Fort Bragg, North Carolina for Special Forces Assesment and Selection (SFAS). I will be leaving this Kimchi-stinking penninsula back to the States in about 2 weeks, and returning around mid-November. God Willing, I will be selected and have to return to Korea for the final 6 months of my tour before embarking upon a grueling 18 additional months of Special Forces training.
SULLY - Comment Feedback
You mentioned you're going to SFAS as well. As I updated above, I'm going to be in the October 17th class. Let me know if you're going to be there. I love your "Cast or Tab" philosophy. That's the kind of Warrior Ethoes and determination that will get us through the 24-days sleepless training.
DESERT PHEONIX - On Psychology
I'm sorry to hear that you're pretty banged up. Fortunately, my knee is about 90% right now, and I have a marathon Monday that will be a good test of it's endurance. Obviously, I have quite a bit of contempt for the "Profile Warriors", and it seems that the people who abuse it create a negative stigma for those with a legitimate problem.
DESERT PHEONIX - On Army Kids
You were an Army brat yourself? Awesome. So, tell me, do you agree that it set you years ahead of your peers in terms of maturity?
BRETT - On Awards
You questioned about whether or not the Army has cracked down on officers being involved with enlisted. In my experience, those sort of relationships are and have been extremely forbidden, with career-ending consequences for the officer. But that seems to add a "taboo" appeal to some females, and simply makes officers more secretive about it.
Much more frequently it is the case that a Private (E1) is sleeping with her Sergeant First Class (E7). A month later, that Sergeant is completing a waiver to get the Private promoted. Although it's generally forbidden within units, it doesn't tend to be much more than a slap-on-the-wrist.
I know one female in particular who is utterly incompetent and lacks any leadership ability, and yet has been promoted to Sergeant (E5) at an accelerated rate. Meanwhile, three superior NCOs have been reprimanded for having "improper relationships" with her, and she has fraudulently completed several documents to attain the "points" necessary for the promotion. It's utterly disheartening. 9月30日 On AwardsOn Awards
Like the loving, caring, people-person organization that it is, the Army loves recognizing individuals and giving them "atta boys". They come in a number of forms.
In training country, awards come in the form of a "pass-upgrade", which means instead of being limited to three-hours at the bowling alley on a Saturday afternoon, you may get three-hours wherever you want on post.
In Basic Training, 5-minutes on the telephone is a much-coveted reward. In the "real Army" (which means anything outside the warped reality that is TRADOC), there's the "three day pass". This is probably the most substantive, because it essentially gives you leave without burning up your annual accrued leave.
There's the "coin". For some reason, command believes soldiers are enthralled by shiny, colored circular objects. I have a handful of these useless trinkets, and I normally just mail them to friends and family. "Nice work during that exercise, soldier, here's a shiny metal coin with the unit crest and my Command Sergeant Major rank on it!". Sorry if I'm not overjoyed. After all, I was just doing my job, and happened to be in the right place at the right time doing it.
Some soldiers, however, make grandoise displays of their coins; the assumption being that a vast display of coins is an impressive array of the soldier's resume for all to see. Others, like myself, see them as the symbolic pat-on-the-back from a commander for doing nothing particularly extraordinary, but having been noticed by the chain-of-command nonetheless.
Then there's the "medal". This is a far more formal award, though not altogether more respectable. In some units, an Army Achievement Medal is awarded simply for having spent a year (or less) with the unit - irrelevant to performance. In other units, Army Achievement Medals require months upon months of a standout performance. And sometimes, the Army Achievement Medal is given out simply for enduring an exercise as short as two weeks.
And yet, there are soldiers who believe the quantity of medals on their uniform is a mark of what makes them a good soldier. They compete for these medals, and boast of them.
Finally, there is the "promotion". This happens when the stars allign properly and you have reached your time-in-grade (seniority), "points" (resume), and your chain-of-command see's fit to give you the higher rank. Too frequently, a soldier is promoted simply due to seniority, cheating and outright fabricating documents to acquire "points", and sleeping with or kissing ass on their chain-of-command. The soldiers who are the ones you would want to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with when the bullets are flying are rarely promoted as fast as they should be.
Of all the primary forms of awards, none of them have ever appealed to me. This is not to say I have not had all of them thrown at me, but simply to say that I don't consider any of them deserving. If I did my job, good, treat me with the degree of respect a competent soldier deserves, but don't insult me with the presumption that I do my job for the sake of passes and coins and medals and promotions.
I'll take my reward in the form being able to sleep well at night knowing I maintained my professionalism as a soldier. All I ask in return is that you don't waste time I could be accomplishing my mission with public ceremonies to pat soldiers on the back. 9月25日 The Back of Your HandThe Back of Your Hand
Dwight Yoakam
When you give it up for gone,
but you're still digging in the mud,
and you're staring out the window,
sayin' everything will be just fine,
in keeping with the whole affair,
every word seems out of line,
no matter angle you get,
it's polished, till it shines.
Take a guess, where I stand,
pick a number, one or two,
take a look, at the back of your hand,
just like you know it, you know me too.
When you say, who the hell am I living with,
what just went down?
Where did this come from,
Why are all my colors faded brown?
When did he change,
What's with the rage?
Who's the guy with the extra song,
the verse, the line, the chapter, the page?
Take a guess, where I stand, pick a number, one or two,
take a look, at the back of your hand,
just like you know it, you know me too.
You think your lost, without any place left to go,
like you need one of those kisses, long and slow,
first glance, it's not what it seems,
but there's some things that I just know,
like you take two sugars, with a splash of cream.
Take a guess, where I stand,
pick a number, one or two,
take a look, at the back of your hand,
just like you know it, you know me too. 9月21日 On the Psychology of InjuryOn the Psychology of Injury Alarm already? Fuck. Bad dream, strange fucking dream. Get moving, lazy shit, it’s already 0441.
Take off the glasses to shave…no, better leave them on, don’t need to cut myself again. Christ I’m moving slow this morning.
Throw on the BDUs. They’re so soft since I washed them. Dammit, it’s gotta be close to 5AM already, why am I moving so slow today?
Out the door. I can check the time on the high school’s digital sign. Just a few quick stretches and I can get running.
Down the same stinking steps and past the same rotten dumpster. Fuck this country stinks. Left, right, left, right, left, right…The routine is so mindless by this point, it passes in a groggy haze.
0515 already, shit. Gotta move faster. Gotta get out of these BDUs and onto the treadmill. So much for 5-miles on the treadmill before PT, but I can still get 4 in. Move faster, lazy shit, gotta move faster.
I’ll set the speed for 8.0, that’ll let me get in 4 miles in a half hour. Put on these headphones and I can sleep through this run. Something isn’t right…
The knee is sore. FUCK. I sprinted a mile in less than 6 minutes yesterday, this 7:30-mile pace should be nothing. Why am I lumbering along like a 3-legged horse? FUCK.
Half a mile only? Christ, don’t panic. The knee has been sore for two weeks since that fucking basketball game, I’ve run on it plenty since. It’s never been this tender, though. FUCK.
A mile? Jesus. I have to stop. I can’t keep this up. FUCK. I’ve never quit a run short like this since I got picked up for SFAS. FUCK.
Just walk it off. It’ll be fine. Still a couple weeks until the marathon. Still a week until the physical. I’ll be fine. Stretch it out. Loosen up. It’ll be fine for the run with the unit in a half hour here.
The unit arrives, and it’s the same mindless routine of stretching. Nothing goes through my head. I’m a zombie, operating like a machine without pleasure of pain, oblivious in the fog of routine.
PT on our own? Christ. Every fucking time there’s a drop of rain, they cancel PT and let everyone slack off and hang around the gym doing fuckall. I suppose North Korea is going to cancel the war if it rains, too? Fuck them, I can get back on the treadmill now.
8.0 speed, a 7:30-mile pace. Knee is feeling loose, I’m strong as a grizzly bear.
FUCK! STOP! JESUS FUCK! I smack the “STOP” button a second after I broke into a running stride.
This isn’t happening. What the fuck is wrong with my knee? Why the fuck can’t it just be like the other one? I’M GETTING FUCKING SICK OF THIS BULLSHIT FOR THE PAST TWO WEEKS!
It has to be worse. I’m not limping around like I was that first day it happened, but I’ve never had to quit a run before. I need to go sit down.
I should go to the hospital and get a doc to look at this. No. I can’t. I have that physical in a week. If I see a doctor about this, it’ll be paperwork, and questions, and exams, and more exams, and I won’t see SFAS until 5-years from now when I get all the paperwork cleared up over a goddamn sprain that I couldn’t gut-out. Besides, it’s the Army, they’re just going to tell me to take Ibuprofen and rest for a few days.
No time to rest. Clock is ticking on SFAS. Need to get in shape. That asskiss-slut is doing PT and I’m sitting here on this fucking bench stretching my knee. FUCK. Get up, get moving, can’t look weak, can’t be weak.
That obese sergeant is on the bike. I can at least get my ass on a bike. FUCK. Why’s it so fucking tender today? WHAT THE FUCK!
Maybe that old Colonel was right when he talked about injuries…no, I can’t buy that shit. I’m only 24, that isn’t too old, is it? I should heal quick, shouldn’t I? I’m too young for being past my physical prime. I have at least a few more years until I’m over that hill, don’t I?
Christ, I should go to the hospital and get this looked at. FUCK. This is high school hockey all over again.
I can’t go to the hospital or give in to the pain, because I’ll lose my edge and miss my shot. But I’m flirting with the danger of making an injury worse by not healing. FUCK.
I’ll sit in the corner and stretch. Christ I look like a slacker. They’re all going to think I’m faking just to be lazy, like the rest of them. I should find a corner out of view. FUCK. If they find me, they’ll really think I was trying to dip out of a workout.
“Morning, [censored]!” “Morning, sir.” Christ, that’s all any of these officers is asking lately. “They’ll schedule me once I finish my Phase II physical, sir.” “Well let me know once you find out.” Fuck, he shakes my hand? What the fuck? I’m supposed to be standing at ease for him, not shaking his hand.
Jesus, thanks for the pressure, asshole. Okay, wait till he’s out of sight, wait, wait…Now, okay, sit back down and stretch the knee. Message that exterior tendon. Loosen it up.
I’m not going to see a doctor today. After my physical, yes, after my physical, if it’s still a problem, I’ll get it checked out. Until then, I’m not going to run anymore today, and if it’s sore tonight, I’ll take tomorrow morning off too.
But not too much time off. Every minute I’m not training is another minute that I may regret if I don’t make the cut. I'm not going to be one of these disgusting fucks who hide under a profile. I'm not going to use anything as an excuse to be less of a soldier.
In spite of not being able to navigate up and down stairs without doing a retarded little hop-step, and in spite of not being able to break into a run, there’s no way I’m going to see a doctor. Army doctors will just give me some Ibuprofen and stick me with a profile, and I’ll be stuck walking during PT with the sham-artists and fakers.
I refuse to see an Army doctor until the pain in my knee is so incapacitating and intense that it is greater than the pain of admitting defeat. 9月20日 On Army KidsOn Army Kids The common phrase for the child of someone in the military is “brat”. They follow their parents from assignment-to-assignment, rarely staying in the same state for more than a couple of short years. With the recent increase in deployments to the Middle East, it has been particularly hard on children of professional soldiers, no doubt.
Along the way, it is not unusual to see a 4-year old tike wearing his dad’s oversized Kevlar helmet and boots, marching up and down the sidewalk, saluting every soldier who walks past.
When I met a new superior NCO for the first time at the PX, his two young boys were cranky from the 20-hours of travel coming to Korea. The NCO barked, “Lock it up!” at the boys, and they instantly snapped to Parade Rest (an Army position of rigid attention). I couldn’t help but grin at the discipline of the 5 year old boys as they remained stiff and silent for five minutes while their dad and I were shooting the breeze.
Outside the PX, I’ll often see a frustrated soldier-father trying to reason with two or three children. “We’re not buying the Super Soaker 3000, because last time we bought it, Julie filled it with sand. You are not responsible enough for that toy.” The tone and bearing almost identical to the way the father likely briefs fellow soldiers before a mission.
Army brats learn young. A soldier-father standing in line at Taco Bell explains to his three-year-old “We can’t buy that wading pool you saw, because we are making our PCS move back to North Carolina in two weeks, and we are not allowed more than 500 pounds.” Few civilians who what a PCS is, yet this kid was being lectured about it before he could even pronounce the word acronym.
It never ceases to make you laugh when you consider a soldier may be in command of dozens of loyal and disciplined subordinates, but is frustrated when the same leadership approach is ineffective with their five-year old children. A toddler has no concept of rank.
I don’t know if I would ever have children while in the Army, and I know many people avoid service for that very reason. Families are always a retention consideration, and the Army puts significant financial resources into family programs. However, it is undeniable that Army brats mature at a far younger age than their civilian peers, for better or worse. And just seeing them around a post can make another soldier smile. 9月17日 On the National GuardOn the National Guard
My own experience with the National Guard lasted about two-and-a-half years. I enlisted in the Army National Guard because it would give me the opportunity to complete my college education, meanwhile serving the armed forces. Unfortunately, it was a sour experience.
Drill weekends in the Guard consisted of the senior leadership conducting meetings while the junior soldiers tried not to look too flagrantly idle and bored - which we were. Rarely was there any training, and there were certainly no standards or expectations of anything that resembled professionalism. A wrinkle-free uniform, shined boots, and crisp haircuts were all foreign concepts to 90% of the soldiers in my unit. Of course, there was the exception of a select few soldiers who held themselves to a professional standard - there always are exceptions.
When I decided I wanted to be in boots on a full-time basis, my unit lost sight of their overall mission. Too concerned with retaining one of thier better soldiers, they fiercely resisted releasing me to active-duty. Only after my Congressman became involved and demanded to know why, amid recruiting shortfalls, the National Guard was preventing a willing and able soldier from serving full-time did my unit cave and release me.
Recently, a few thousand reservists came to the Korean penninsula for a classified operation. I was working directly with five of them. After being told that "We have a no salute policy in our unit", I kindly reminded them that the rules were "really strict" in Korea, trying to hide my sarcasm, and we were in fact required to salute superior officers. During the weeks the reservists were here, I found them to be among the most unprofessional individuals I had ever worked with in my military career, though the details would require pages upon pages.
Ironically, during the "exercise", Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans. When the National Guard was sent in, the American public seemed to be cheering. If only they knew the depth of the National Guard's incompetence and lack of professionalism. Although the civilian eye may not notice, the images of the National Guard the media was broadcasting were appauling.
Soldier wore not the standard and required BDU shirt, but simply the brown undershirt with a flak-jacket. Although most carried hot weapons, few were similarily wearing the required Kevlar helmets. There were a handful of soldiers wearing the soft field cap - backwards! They looked like a ragtag militia. Is it any wonder the thugs of New Orleans took potshots at soldiers who clearly had no standard of discipline or professionalism?
The media touted these National Guard soldiers as "battle-hardened Iraq veterans". If that is the case, with their backwards hats and bare arms, it is no surprise the National Guard and Reserve units in Iraq are suffering higher casualties - even though they're not facing the direct combat.
On top of that, some have the gall to decry deployments, making statements about "I just joined for the college money, not to go to Iraq" in the media. God forbid they are asked to step up to their end of the contract they signed with the U.S. Government...
Of course, there are exceptions. There are no doubt National Guard and Reserve soldiers who do their time with a sense of duty and professionalism. However, in my experience, and the evidence in the media, most are lacking the fundamental elements of Warrior Ethos, and simply want to feel like John Rambo without actually having to put in the work. And then they wonder why the Regular Army doesn't give them the respect they feel they are entitled... 9月13日 COMMENT FEEDBACKYou know how every few years, a sitcom will run an episode where all the characters just reflect on the past - and the show ends up just being a highlight reel from the past few seasons? That's what happens when the Hollywood writer's can't come up with a good idea for that week.
Comment Feedback is, similarily, my cop-out for not having the time or motivation to post an original entry.
Brett - On Spineless Commanders
From what I know, you're in the final stages of getting your OCS packet together. It appears many officers are simply desperate for respect - my current CO certainly is. But I wouldn't sweat it, if I were you. You are humble enough about it, and doing it for the right reasons. Remember that your NCOs are the ones with 15 years of experience and they know how to run a unit - you're merely a supervisor. And always fight for your soldiers - don't let one of your soldiers get bent over your bosses desk just so that you can look good. Nine-times-out-of-ten, your commander will respect you more if you go to bat for your soldier, even if it means you risk your own ass. I am entirely confident you'll succeed and be "one of the good guys" in the officer corps. Hopefully we'll end up in the same theatre somewhere down the road.
Desert Phnx - On Special Forces
Thanks for the encouragement. Selection for Special Forces at SFAS is a longshot due to the high drop-out rates, and the level of competition. My goal is simply to give those 11B and Ranger pricks a run for their money. If I can post afterwards saying, "I wasn't selected, but I laid everything I had out on the line, and I'm not gonna hang my head". As my chain-of-command here is saying, it'll be a good training experience, regardless of outcome.
Goddess Nora - American Media Rant
You asked about my reading list, and I tend to read contemporary political science more than anything. I read much ancient philosophy - Plato through Neitzsche, et al - as an undergraduate. I also covered alot of the political-science fundamentals - Paine, Clauswitz, Huntington. It's been quite some time since I've read a fictional novel, mainly because I don't have time anymore. I'm currently enrolled in a Masters program for International Relations, so recently I read whatever the hell the professors tell me to. But what really gets me going is political theory. The Ann Coulter's and Michael Moore's are so much propaganda and slant that they're utterly worthless, and you are literally more ignorant for having read it. But Huntington and Friedman on the other hand? That stuff gives me a hardon. 9月7日 On High-SpeedOn Being High-Speed
Most everyone in the Army wants to be high-speed. High-speed is good. It’s milspeak for being a capable, disciplined, motivated soldier. On second thought, everyone in the Army wants to think they’re high-speed.
In AIT, 18-year old coozes shouted “Oh yeah oh yeah! Drill Sergeant Whoever pumps me up!” in an obnoxious shriek. They believed that was motivation, and it made them high-speed. Here in Korea, we have a soldier, SPC [censored] who always makes the obnoxiously loud “Oh yeah!” as frequently as required to appear motivated.
What these fucks don’t understand is that anybody can make an obnoxious shriek, and it’s not reflective of motivation. Motivation is waking up an hour early to run an extra couple miles before the standard unit PT. But the leaders of the Army don’t see that, so they go on nodding approving as their “high-speed” soldiers make obnoxious shrieks.
In AIT, we had people who spent 2 hours at night shining their boots. Now in Korea, soldiers pay $2 to odeshi (Hungul for “uncle”) to shine their boots for them. They believe having boots that look like glass makes them high-speed. Absurd. Paying somebody else money to make your boots have an artificial gloss doesn’t say dick about your soldiering skills – the ability to shoot straight and perform in the field (something these people were grossly lacking) does say something about the caliber of soldier you are.
Yet every Joe and Jane walk around with a smug little “I’m so highspeed” attitude.
And the most disheartening aspect is how the Army rewards it. Promotion Boards and Soldier of the Month boards prove the incompetence of the Army selection system. Essentially, you stand before a panel of senior leadership – whom, incidentally, already knows which soldier is the best lay and therefore who is going to win – and are given a brief interview.
“SPC [censored] reporting to the Board.” “Stand at ease, soldier.” “Thank you, Sergeant.” “What is the prepatory command for the move you just executed?” “Stand at, Sergeant.” “Very good. What is the Army GJSUFGE program?” “Sergeant, I do not know, but I will find out.” A disapproving shake of the head. Fuck them, they aren’t going to select me because I didn’t know a trivia question that is entirely irrelevant to completing any mission. “What does the third paragraph in page 17 of the AR 27-10 state?”
“Sergeant, if I wanted to know, I’d look it up. You see, being a soldier isn’t about memorizing the Army’s version of Trivial Pursuit, and it sure as shit ain’t about paying somebody else to shine my boots. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you now?
“Being a soldier is about the motivation to wake up early each day and do your job with a sense of duty and commitment that exceeds the expectation. But you don’t care about how I do my job, do you? You just care if I spent 3-hours measuring the exact 1/100th of an inch on my uniform medal placements, and if I happen to know whatever trivia question you feel inclined to ask today.
“Put me on a rifle range. Put me at a desk. Give me a mission. I will show to you that I can get the mission done, because that’s what the Warrior Ethos are all about. Always place the mission first, never accept defeat, never quit, never leave a fallen comrade. But these little grabasses we both know are going to win this board and get promoted don’t know anything about that, because they’re too busy telling their chain-of-command, I’m a 27D, I can’t do that job, that’s what 42L are for!
“So you just go right on ahead and mark your little clipboard that I’m not high-speed. But you put me toe-to-toe with one of these other self-absorbed fucks in Ranger training, or any other goddamn mission, and we’ll see who is the better soldier. If they spent half the time they do kissing ass to look high-speed just focusing on doing their goddamn job, they wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
I’ve never said that at a Promotion Board or a Soldier of the Month board, but I’m going to. And by the standards of the fucks I’m stuck working with now, they’ll take me up on my offer to mark me as ‘not high-speed’ and promote the girl who is fucking her leadership.
But when it comes time to complete a mission – rather than just take credit for having completed a mission – those who’ve got credentials outside an air-conditioned office know who to look to. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be getting a shot at Special Forces, and I’d have to sell-out to the ass-kissing appearance of high-speed. 8月31日 American MediaAmerican Media Makes me Dry Heave
In another departure from my normal routine, I'm going to break to vent a complaint. I absolutely loathe the American media, and here's three good examples that summarize it...
1. Natalie Halloway.
According to the U.S. Center for Missing Children, approximately "a shitload" of Americans go missing every year, give or take. Somehow, though, this cute, blonde-haired girl has dominated headlines for the past several weeks. Am I the only one who doesn't understand how this is "national" news?
Just like when Elizabeth Smart and every other kid goes missing, all I can do is pretty much look at the few people around me to see if one of them is her, and that's it. Seeing as I'm not in Aruba - and presuming most American's aren't - the story effects all of about 20 people who knew Natalie. Aside her family, and probably hometown, it has virtually no effect on anyone's lives. Unlike the neglected North Korean 6-party talks - which are pushed to page 7 - the Natalie Halloway story doesn't make a difference in the national landscape.
Yet the media continues to cover it, and somebody is apparently watching. I'm sorry, but it isn't national news, it's a hometown media coverage issue at best. And the most disgusting part is how the media is giving the family the opportunity to demand the sovereign nation of Aruba to change it's domestic judicial policy - and potentially create a genuine international crisis.
Lost in the coverage are the simple facts that Natalie was a) touring a foreign country with a handful of teenie-bopping friends, b) shitfaced off her ass, c) running around with random Aruban men. Am I the only person who thinks that perhaps she set herself up to be a victim, and it sure as hell shouldn't matter to the rest of the country?
2. Cindy Sheehan.
This is the other story that has dominated headlines. The only interesting thing here - aside from my previous tear of this loon - is that there's nothing "new" about it anymore. There's no "news" to report, so the media simply regurgitates the fact, "Cindy Sheehan is now in day X of her vigil at the Bush ranch!" The media wet itself when something happened, after weeks of coverage, and Cindy went to visit her ill mother. Interestingly, Cindy demanded "privacy" for this trip to her mother's side, after weeks of reveling in the media spotlight. It simply speaks to her arrogance that she believes she can have media coverage when it advances her self-righteous cause, and turn off the coverage when she wants some privacy.
There's nothing new to this story, and yet it remains national headlines. The media is desperate to turn Cindy into a "tip of the spear" for a Vietnam-style anti-war movement, but to their frustration, it simply isn't happening. The networks, hoping for the ratings a Vietnam-style anti-war movement would create, must be frustrated. After all, the media has invested weeks trying to prop her up into a ratings-machine.
3. "Killer" Katrina.
FOX News described the hurricance as "Apocolyptic!" the day before it broke land. CNN had 24-hour coverage of "Killer Katrina!" The adjective-monkeys in the back rooms of the networks were working overtime to personify the storm.
"With New Orleans in the evil clutches of Killer Katrina, we can only hope the damage will be less than cataclysmic!" a CNN reporter said on Aaron Brown's show.
Again, the American media let out an audible sigh of dissappointment when it was only a Category 4 storm. This could have been "The Perfect [ratings] Storm".
The American media is a ratings-thirsty machine, that is so far detached from the values of journalism it makes me dry heave. |
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