It is now the last day of 2005 and what a glorious day it was. The sun was shining bright. The temperature was in the mid-70s and I picked up two DVDs for my sensationally boring New Year's Eve plans. I have a nice bottle of Sonoma Valley red to consume with snacks while I watch two tales of horror starring some Hollywood hotties.
Nice.
Horror films seem quite appropriate considering I have but one resolution to consider every year - "I won't do that stupid shit again." Then I fill in the blanks with the considerable number of stupid things that I remember doing and pray that other forget.
This day makes me recall many things:
Favorite film - "Black" with Mr. Bacchan and Rani Mukerjee.
Favorite book - "Imperial Grunts" by Robert D. Kaplan.
Favorite CD - either of the Black Eyed Peas CDs
Favorite moment - seeing the "Welcome to New Jersey" sign in my rear-view mirror. I don't hate the place (as some in my acquaintance do), it is just that I wither away there. Hoboken will proudly remain my hometown.
Favorite news event - UN Oil for Scandal. This is the largest documented scam in human history and most folks know ungatz about it. It isn't that the info isn't there. It just appears that few care to care. My suggestion is that we free up that prime NYC real estate and put those corrupt bastards someplace else. Alacatraz Island is a thought. Nova Scotia has lots of land if they have to stay on the East Coast. Skip that. I like Nova Scotia. Pick a smaller island.
To be fair, this is not just a 2005 story. It has become a perrenial.
Enough of that crap...
On a high note - two of my best buds just returned home from Baghdad. They had both re-upped and volunteered to go in the first place. They're not the youngsters in uniform that I remember back when but ya gotta love the balls and sense of duty and pride. I'm a lucky man to have such pals. Cool thing was that i got to kibbitz on a regular basis.
Kinda lost my sense of place here...started this one way and got caught in a slipstream.
The hell with it. The sun is setting. I can smell the ocean. I have a legit cup of hot masala tea and a full packa smokes. Life is grand.
I imagine it would be a lot better if I quit the smokes.
Perhaps I should reconsider the resolution thing?
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Looking for Clues
The time was May 1989.
I could hear the whining of the hydraulics that let the back drop down on the C-5 aircraft. Light was filling the darkness inside the cigartube full of grunts. Humidity hit the interior of the plane like a hot barber's towel on the face.
Beautiful blue skies, mountains, ocean breezes, lots of automatic weapons. So this was Panama.
I would be missing my last certified PADI dive that weekend, as well as a closing on a house I made an offer on.
Instead, I got to take part in a mechanized convoy from Howard Air Force Base - the first American armored vehicles on that road in quite a few years. Cameras? Check. M-16? Check. A fucking clue? Ummm. Ahhh. Uhhhh.
This was a first for me. I grew up learning to go in the other direction when I heard gunshots. This time I had to be prepared to look, document and, if need be, return fire.
Nice.
Noreiga's perceived mandate was to force the American presence out, or if that failed, make them complient to his mini-mafia rule of that key Central American country. Our job was to change his mind, or if that failed, fuck his world and make him cry.
The Panama Canal was sovereign U.S. territory for nearly 100 years. There was a stretch of land on either side of the canal, running from the Pacific Ocean to the Caribbean that was legally the same as Miami or Dallas - American soil. It was like a Kipling tale told in Spanish.
The point arrives when I hear the ... I'll spare the jargon here ... situation. Panama is on the precipice of war. In fact, a defacto form of violent coercion was already the law for most folks. Macho-bullshit between armies was constantly at play. Individual soldiers with RPGs (rocket propelled grenades) were making the pucker factor high for Americaan military personnel.
There were Personal Movement Limitations for US forces. PMLs. Alpha was "everything good to go." Bravo was " watch your ass, but don't freak outas yet." Charlie was "your ass is on the line at a moment's notice but it ain't official yet." Delta was "lock and load."
All I want for Christmas is a tight shot group.
I had arrived in Panama under PML Charlie and my world has never been the same.
I could hear the whining of the hydraulics that let the back drop down on the C-5 aircraft. Light was filling the darkness inside the cigartube full of grunts. Humidity hit the interior of the plane like a hot barber's towel on the face.
Beautiful blue skies, mountains, ocean breezes, lots of automatic weapons. So this was Panama.
I would be missing my last certified PADI dive that weekend, as well as a closing on a house I made an offer on.
Instead, I got to take part in a mechanized convoy from Howard Air Force Base - the first American armored vehicles on that road in quite a few years. Cameras? Check. M-16? Check. A fucking clue? Ummm. Ahhh. Uhhhh.
This was a first for me. I grew up learning to go in the other direction when I heard gunshots. This time I had to be prepared to look, document and, if need be, return fire.
Nice.
Noreiga's perceived mandate was to force the American presence out, or if that failed, make them complient to his mini-mafia rule of that key Central American country. Our job was to change his mind, or if that failed, fuck his world and make him cry.
The Panama Canal was sovereign U.S. territory for nearly 100 years. There was a stretch of land on either side of the canal, running from the Pacific Ocean to the Caribbean that was legally the same as Miami or Dallas - American soil. It was like a Kipling tale told in Spanish.
The point arrives when I hear the ... I'll spare the jargon here ... situation. Panama is on the precipice of war. In fact, a defacto form of violent coercion was already the law for most folks. Macho-bullshit between armies was constantly at play. Individual soldiers with RPGs (rocket propelled grenades) were making the pucker factor high for Americaan military personnel.
There were Personal Movement Limitations for US forces. PMLs. Alpha was "everything good to go." Bravo was " watch your ass, but don't freak outas yet." Charlie was "your ass is on the line at a moment's notice but it ain't official yet." Delta was "lock and load."
All I want for Christmas is a tight shot group.
I had arrived in Panama under PML Charlie and my world has never been the same.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Falling Off the Planet
As was done before...
I left the cares and worries of the blogosphere to the professionals. I had issues that I, to this day, have not resolved or reconciled. But so it goes with most of us. I could not muster up the interest or discipline to do it. I simply could not.
It is not that I couldn't give a rat's ass (albeit that was my rationale at the time). It was merely a matter of not wanting to put effort into discussing/pontificating on any given matter when I had bags o'crap to contend with in a non-e-world.
I would like to think I could do this on a regular basis. I would like to think I could get some traffic and discussions/comments going. I would like to think...period.
This spleen-venting is quite nice, I'll admit. I consume much of the multi-media world. I used to be part of it, in fact. I loved seeing my words in print. This is, in part, one of the reasons I like to do this. Perhaps it is merely ego. My vanity is what it is. I do, however, also believe that in a Camus-free world, this takes the place of a shrink and I still retain relative mental-health.
Cheers!
I left the cares and worries of the blogosphere to the professionals. I had issues that I, to this day, have not resolved or reconciled. But so it goes with most of us. I could not muster up the interest or discipline to do it. I simply could not.
It is not that I couldn't give a rat's ass (albeit that was my rationale at the time). It was merely a matter of not wanting to put effort into discussing/pontificating on any given matter when I had bags o'crap to contend with in a non-e-world.
I would like to think I could do this on a regular basis. I would like to think I could get some traffic and discussions/comments going. I would like to think...period.
This spleen-venting is quite nice, I'll admit. I consume much of the multi-media world. I used to be part of it, in fact. I loved seeing my words in print. This is, in part, one of the reasons I like to do this. Perhaps it is merely ego. My vanity is what it is. I do, however, also believe that in a Camus-free world, this takes the place of a shrink and I still retain relative mental-health.
Cheers!
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