the baseball player

"You ready?"

"Yeah, just going to bring some coffee along"

"You said leave by four?"

"Yeah. It's a three hour drive"

"It's ten after, we..."

"...I know, just going to fill this up and throw my shit in the back. I'm ready."

"Alright"

It's dark outside. My body is tired but I'm not. We get in the car, it starts, and we leave. My shit is a green duffle bag. It's in the back. It occurs to me that this is the first time in probably twelve years that I sat passenger side next to my dad. My last memory of this is when I was fifteen years old and he would take me to school two hours early so I could work out. He still drives the same speed, but in a different car.

"Are you hungry, we can stop for something on the way?"

"Not really, but if you want to stop, feel free. I'm going to be gone for a year, so I could give a shit if I'm ten minutes late. Maybe for something to drink."

Everything is quite. My dad never listens to music when he drives. He didn't when I was young and he still doesn't. I do. The talking sounds like an echo, something I'm listening too, although not a part of. But everything is peaceful.

"I saw a Cubs game with your uncle Bob last week"

"Yeah..."

"He's coming up for a Brewers game pretty soon"

"Tell him I said Hi"

"Bobby is turning into one hell of a ball player. Just hitting the skin off the ball"

"How old is he now?"

"Twelve, He's going to be a hell of a..."

"Bob must be pretty excited about that"

"Oh he is, and I saw him play...Bob says he's going to be..."

I like quiet roads and morning fog. I like drizzled settings and long drives. I hate waking up early, but scenes like this are a worthy consolation. I just want to be silent. Just think. My dad is usually the same way, but he wants to talk. We have periods of silence while I watch the quiet city pass. The day hasn't started yet.

"So what did your mom have to say?"

"I don't know...not much, just usual. She was embarrassed to see you last night, that's why she left right away"

"How's she doing?"

"She has a ways to go"

"I would have liked to have said hi to her"

"I know. But she wanted to go"

"I hope she's doing well"

"She has a ways to go"

I'm wide a wake but I'm not even sure if I have a beating pulse. I feel so calm. No worries, no concerns, just distant thoughts. The buildings are being replaced by trees but the day still hasn't started.

"Did I ever tell you about your grandfather and what he did in Germany?"

"Yeah, he was a forward observer"

"He was a forward observer"

"Oh yeah"

"how you would like that job? Someone says to you "Hey take this radio and crawl into enemy territory and then call us back and tell us what you see"

"That's crazy"

"There's a long history military service on that side"

"Does he know I'm getting deployed?"

"Yes"

"What did he say?"

"He said "well, that's what happens..."

I once told Amy, my closest girlfriend, that if we ever went to war that I would probably join the Army. She said she wouldn't let me. That was eight years ago. I remember that and the Sun's is coming up.

"So how's Jessica?"

"Fine I think"

"Are you still together?"

"We broke up a few a months ago"

"Do you still talk to her?"

"Not really, random text messages here and there, but not much"

"Does she know your leaving?"

"Yeah"

"What she'd say?"

"...not to be a hero and that she would think of me "always""

"So what happened?"

"Different lives"

When we dated, Jessica said she didn't want to think about me being deployed. So I never talked about it, even though I knew it was going to happen. She once said she'd wait for me. I didn't believe her.

"Your grandparents are watching your dog?"

"Yeah, I couldn't imagine a better place for him. I tried taking him for a long walk last night before we left, but it rained earlier, so he wasn't interested"

"That's too bad"

"No big deal, we've been walking constantly over the last few weeks, I think we covered it all"

I'm thinking about the life I've separated myself from, the things I've either left behind or let go of. I'm already thinking about what I'll do when I get back. What happens in the mean time doesn't matter.

"So you got everything taken care of that you needed too?"

"Yeah, all set. Everything I'm keeping is already in your basement, everything else I either threw out or gave to Nathan"

"What are you doing with your Blazer?"

"Grandpa is selling it for me?"

"You should be selling that motorcycle"

"I should be riding that motorcycle"

"How'd your company take the news?"

"Fine, not much they can say. I rushed to get the things done I could, but didn't quite finish it all"

"Are you going back there?"

"I can, but I don't think sales is my thing. I'll probably look elsewhere when I get back, I'll have that luxery"

"Like what?"

"Construction again, only this time the white collar side of it. I'm thinking project management, I want to get into developments"

I've cut lose so many things, and I'm looking forward to replacing them all when I get back. I already haven't been feeling like the person I was, but I'm feeling more the way I'm suppose too.

"Have you heard where you'll be stationed?"

"Nope, and take the next exit. It's still a mystery, apparently. We hear different things but nobody knows"

"How about what you'll be doing?"

"Not that either. There have been some rumors of this and that, but again, nothing certain"

"How about training, what kinds of things will you be doing?"

"Convoys, weapons, security, check points, physical training, it's all standard stuff. They prepare pretty much everyone for that"

"How long will it last?"

"About two months or so, until we clear all the training"

I don't know what to expect. I don't know where I'm going or what I'll be doing. I've imagined it all. I don't know what to expect and I don't care.

"Where too?"

"Take a left at the light, then the next right and pull into the parking lot. You'll see it, there will over a hundred soldiers standing around waiting for a formation and saying good bye"

I remember this town. I went to college here and Jessica is still living here.

"Where should I park?"

"Right here is fine"

"Do you need help with anything"

"No"

"Well take care Son, I'm proud of you."

"Will do...thanks for everything"

"Good bye"

"Good bye, Dad"

We shook hands and he turned right around and drove the three hours back to the other side of the state. That was the morning of July 5, 2005 and now the day has started...

My dad is a good man. I always felt we could have talked a bit more than we did, not just that morning, but others as well. I didn't have much to say then, and we'll usually talk about the same things anyway, but sometimes, he really makes sense. And he loves to do that, to make reason of things and talk in anologies. So I do the same.

One of the strongest connections we had was "baseball." It sounds simple enough, but there's more to it. He used to play ball when he was younger and his enthusiasm became my enthusiasm as I grew up. One the most powerful things he was able to do for me was to make me feel like I was the best twelve year old baseball player on the planet. Of course this wasn't true and eventually I realized that I wasn't the glove wielding hero that I thought I was, but what did occur to me, eventually, was the power of influence that a parent has. He was able to make me beleive in something that is more than what's there. That's powerful. So naturally, one day my kid will also be the best 12 year old baseball player on the planet (or dancer, depending on whoever shows up).

~Rolligun

My next post will be from home.

this 'n that

I have since completed a “draft” of my graduate essay. It was done almost a week ago, but it’s not very good. I hate this draft and managed to not create anything of interest or insight by any stretch of an elastic imagination. It bothers me to know that, but it is what it is and its time to move on.

I had to relive a part of the DCS briefing today. My thoughts on this have not changed. But on a positive note, I made some extraordinary advances in facial dexterity. I was going to publish my results, but decided to look into scientific patents first.

I leave the desert very soon! All of our missions ended and I’ve since been re-attached to my old unit. I’ve been very successful in still maintaining operational distance from my old unit, otherwise known as being in command of myself; however that has since come to an end. So for the last remaining days my time will be eaten up with erroneous tasks and I will also be responsible for eating the time of the people under me. With equally non-sensical bullshit. That’s how the chain of command works. So it is.

But I do have matters of great importance to discuss, so if time is not of any value, feel free to read on or maybe duplicate my advances in facial dexterity.

~Rolligun

ToothPastE

I like brushing my teeth. True it’s about hygiene but it also serves as a temporary “mindless task” which helps to aid in moments of reflection. Plus, I always feel like I’m racing someone or maybe I’m being timed. It’s fun. As is counting, but interestingly enough, alphabetizing isn’t. Eh, subjects for another time. Back to “toothpaste.” Another reason I like brushing is because I usually do it in the shower, this adds to my pleasure, and it’s safer, but I’ll come back to that. Anyway, to my knowledge, I have never been beaten in this event. Another interesting note is that I never brush my teeth the same way twice. I’ll start in different parts of my mouth and, without warning, will spontaneously switch to another location. My teeth are never prepared for this. My hand barely even knows what to expect. It keeps everyone honest. Sometimes I’ll employ a circular motion or maybe, for no reason whatsoever, decide that I’m adamantly concerned about one particular tooth and will proceed to violently scrub away at that one single spot. Not because of an assigned punishment, more than likely it’s because of a clot in my thought process, which serves to stunt my active behavior. In any case, it’s different every time, with no one brushing the same as another. Kind of like snowflakes.

However, there is a dark, unpredictable side to brushing. An erratic nuisance for which I have not determined a mechanism to avoid it. It’s called a “toothpaste stain” or something to that effect. I’ve always thought there was more serious name for this type of occurrence, but when I asked other people what they call it; they gave me weird looks that said “get out of the sun.” So as not to cause further alarm, I quickly started talking about weapons instead. They obviously don’t feel the same way I do. Anyway, we’ll call them toothpastes stains for lack of a better term.

The major issue with toothpaste stains is that they are temporarily un-removable. I don’t know why, and I have thought about it. But before I examine that topic any further, I want share the reasons for which they occur. This, I think I do know. I’ve determined that toothpaste stains are the result of one of three factors. The first two were mentioned in the beginning. One, I believe, is an inability to coordinate my motor skills. This happens when the neurons in my head are firing to fast for the messenger pony’s to deliver the instructions. For example, when attempting to switch to a new position in my mouth, the orders to prepare and execute are not received on time, and inevitably, you have a toothpaste stain. The second is when my distant but concurrent thought process I employ during brushing, stalls on one particular issue. I refer to this as a “clot.” My thoughts on this random query begin to gather and gather and eventually the puddle of thought is to much for the given moment and, yes…you guessed it, my thoughts spill over in the from of a toothpaste stain. I usually swear loudly when this happens, but it doesn’t help. The last way, is what I call an equipment malfunction. For example, I recently started using a new toothbrush. It’s one with the flexible head. Looks like a slinky. This toothbrush SUCKS. I feel like I’m brushing my teeth with a broken finger. It has soft bristles and I hate this toothbrush. I started using it because it was available and I change toothbrushes fairly often. But it’s a very misleading device and I have no idea why the research and development people from Hasbro, were hired on to develop dental tools. But they were, and with them came dated toy technology. This kind of toothbrush doesn’t work, but it looks like it would. Its lazy head causes problems similar to those that my leisurely messenger pony’s are accused of. That being poor coordination. However the pony’s have no control over this. This leads to lots of toothpaste stains on account of its slinky type design, which is erroneously marketed as a flexible head. Foolish consumers. Anyhow, those are the three main causes. I still have yet to figure out what it is about toothpaste stains that make them impossible to remove, but they are definitely a badge of idiocy that cannot be eliminated. I suggest you make no more mistakes for the rest of the day, because between the two of them, you are likely to never be respected again. So be careful.

I have one more hitch to add. This occurred to me when discussing the R&D developments in the toothbrush industry. It has to do with bristle tension. See, I prefer the ones with hard bristles. Although I’m not convinced they exist. I’m led to believe that a “hard” setting is available, but frustratingly enough, the hardest bristles I’ve seen on market are designated as “medium.” This suggests there is a hard option, but I’ve never seen one. The problem is further complicated by availability of a “soft”, but still no hard. I wish they would just say that no such toothbrush exists so I can save my self the immeasurable journey. However until they do, I will keep using the medium ones while on lookout for the elusive and most likely non-existent “hard” bristled toothbrush.

That’s pretty much covers the highs and low’s of brushing my teeth. Sometimes the things that are important to me are of no importance to others. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me and life is simply too hard. I won’t bother you with these troubles anymore.

WAIT…yes I will…

I have one other issue of major consequence that I think we should devote some time too. It happens when I prepare to transition my clothes for the “laundry process.” You see, when I get undressed, I have this habit of ripping of my clothes in reverse fashion, resulting in an abundance of inside out clothes. This is especially troublesome when it comes to socks. Now the short term gain is completely cancelled out when it comes time to putting my clothes back in wearable form. This is after removing them from the drying machine. This means that I have to re-invert every single article of clothing before I even start “folding”, as they say. This is a VERY time consuming and an unnecessary burden in life. But I fight like hell to keep myself from balling everything up and stuffing it into my dirty clothes bag. (It’s green with white draw strings.) The only thing that keeps me from doing that is the very likely possibility of me complimenting my wrinkly shirt with a large and unforgiving toothpaste stain. That would be completely unacceptable and would exceed the allotted number of blunders I’m afforded in any given day. So it is.

I think I started taking care of myself at too early of an age.

~Rolligun

It's not you...It's me

Ah Ha! I finally got the chance to be the one to say it.

But in this case I'm referring to a self-imposed blog suspension. This suspension of duty is here by contingent on my completion of a grad school application. I've been in clear avoidance of this endeavor with a certain determination to do anything but. I am here by required to write an essay and otherwise complete at least one application in order to release myself from this compulsory ruling.

Rolligun

Rolligun
13 July, 2006

So until further notice, I will be suspended from blogging.

I'm not anticipating a long suspension, but do know that I have a contingency plan in case this one doesn't work. The contingency plan will include such consequences as forbidding the use of my pillow, required listening of country music, mandatory waiting in lines or a reduction of simple pleasures such as my shower time.

I'm not happy about any of this, but the clock is ticking so it's time to make something happen.

I'm sorry that things had to come to this, but as I said before...it's not you, it's me.

The DCS Briefing

*Warning –- if there is anything else that you could possibly do instead of reading this post…Do it!!! And I mean when was the last time you checked the length of your toenails? If they need trimming, then do that instead. I’m about to relive an Army briefing in the following post. Don’t hold on to anything because this post is going nowhere…it’s an Army Briefing.

The DCS briefing is, like all army briefings, a box to be checked. They’re a consequence of the great thinkers in the world who somehow believe information is retained at these gatherings. They are usually conducted by other soldiers who, oddly enough, have the natural stage presence of bedroom furniture. This inspiring display of energy is usually complimented with the public speaking savvy of a grade school George Bush. Needless to say, the table is set for a scholarly delight. How it could be anything but?

The main idea behind this briefing is “re-deployment” so that should at least gather some positive esteem for the event. However, all is lost before we even enter the door. I was scheduled to attend this briefing with a mock platoon of soldiers from my old unit. There was some troops I haven’t seen in awhile. In some cases I cared and in others I didn’t. The Sergeant First Class, who was in charge of the group, took his responsibilities very seriously. I wasn’t under the impression that a “senior leader” was needed for this event and as far as I could tell the only responsibility available was in taking attendance. In any case, the SFC decided we needed to assemble an hour before hand and proceed to our destination in a ridiculously early manner. Seven minutes later were standing like a herd of idiots outside the building only to be told that we can’t enter for another 53 minutes. Keep in mind it’s about a 115 degrees outside, mid-day and there is what I believe to be four different colored suns in the sky. I’ve been up most of the previous night, I have sweat comfortably puddling in the corners of both my eyes and the only words I can eloquently assemble for the guy next to me are “WHAT in the fuck are we doing here!?!?!” So much for the positive esteem I had been preparing.

I had already been given several pieces of paper that, among other things, describe who I am both physically and numerically and otherwise serve purpose as to my admittance for the event. Well armed with these pieces of paper, I was still asked to fill out several others with information that is eerily similar to what’s included in the one’s I had presently been carrying. I offered to trade in the papers I already had, relieving myself of two burdens, but my offer was abruptly declined and instead I was directed to “sign here” and “move on.” Eventually everyone was seated and the briefing began.

(Note: I hate sitting for long periods of time and I’m not what people would refer to as “patient”)

The bright side is the chairs were comfortable and the building was air conditioned. This was a pleasant improvement from our pre-mobilization briefings which took place in a very old wooden church with very old wooden benches and one large iron fan, which had been agreeably aimed at exactly 1/5 of the audience. The large iron fan was similar to those you may remember from the hallways of your old elementary school. The fans didn’t work back then and they certainly didn’t improve with age. Anyway, that was last June. Despite any comfort the new amenities provided, the subject matter itself did a brilliant job of balancing the situation by instilling a never ending sensation of stabbing discomfort. Topics of interest include finance, JAG, medical (w/interview) and of course an all-embracing dissertation from the Chaplin. The total estimated time for the briefing is four hours; however the total estimated time index is believed to be 2012.

The first part of the briefing was finance. This part of the briefing included a run down of certain allowances and credits that were to be expected from serving overseas as well as a complete description of the common financial obligations one might expect when returning home. Things such as paying bills or saving money. Apparently, the Army believes these concepts, to include counting, will need to be re-learned. I think that many soldiers already know this stuff and those who don’t, but care, will ask. Now, I’m sure there are those who weren’t able to determine their financial position over the course of a year and perhaps forgot how to count, however I don’t think any new enlightenments were afforded to them on this day either. But there was financial advice, such as “open a savings account” if you don’t already have one, or maybe open second one if you already do. Or something to that effect. So there could have been some benefit. In any case, several pieces of paper were handed out regarding these matters.

The second part of the briefing was J.A.G. For those of you unfamiliar with what that is, it’s basically the legal arm of the military. I knew the guy giving the briefing, he’s a civilian lawyer from Illinois and I had briefly served with him earlier in the year before we both got re-attached someplace else. We still talk and I had actually met up with him a few days earlier. Anyhow, he managed to cover all issues legal (relative to soldiers) both military and civilian, in matter of eleven minutes. He was the most extraordinarily efficient and therefore the best presenter I had ever seen in all my days of military service. Simply fantastic. Eleven minutes and only one piece of paper. I don’t know what else I can say about this. He was the best.

We took a quick break at this point. Initially, I stood up and started to turn a little, but then I realized that I have nothing to do. So I scratched behind my ear for a bit, completed my circle, and sat back down.

The briefing continued when everyone returned. I’m not sure what could possibly have been more important than “getting through this” but apparently people had some ideas. Either way, the briefing started back up with a couple of other speakers and topics that were not expected -- by me. I thought I had a complete understanding of what the briefing was going to entail but somehow more subjects managed to sneak their way into the briefing. I tried to find there scheduled appointments on some sort of “agenda” but curiously enough, an “agenda” was not among the pieces of paper that had been handed out. So with nothing to base my argument on, I was forced to sit in continued silence and listen to the surprise information. Something about press releases, employer programs, more security and so on. I spent most of this time comparing my right hand to my left, but if you have any questions, feel free to address them in an email. I can always find the answers for you in the additional pieces of paper that I received from them.

Next up is the Chaplin’s briefing. The Chaplin is invited, to what I conclude to be, every single Army briefing known to man. Now the Chaplin did speak about some issues that are important. Things that could be considered hard to hard to make fun of, however, I will do my best. Until recently, I thought the name “Chaplin” had in fact been a family name and not a job title. I had simply thought it to be some bizarre family custom where the surname was given first. The rationale for my flaw in reasoning was that everyone I ever met named “Chaplin” all seemed to have the same character traits in common and therefore must have been family relation. As far as I could tell, all Chaplin’s were exceedingly soft spoken, consistently jovial yet frighteningly calm and all told excruciatingly unfunny jokes. Plus of course there’s the common belief system they all seemed to share, although I’m so completely uninvolved during that part of their speeches that I wouldn’t even know how to begin describing it. Anyway, they were clearly related and clearly different from me, which explains both my apprehension and confusion surrounding their family background. (I’m not sure if these are the type of people I could comfortably leave my child with). Whatever the case may be, Army Chaplins are related in spirit, not genealogy. O.k. back to the briefing. The most important thing the Chaplin spoke of, as far as I was concerned, was regarding the transition from serving in war to serving in a household. He spoke about the differences in roles, changes in expectations and the psychological effects on younger children. He talked about marital problems and I do remember one thing he said which I thought was worth remembering. He said if there were family problems before you left there will be family problems when you return…”distance doesn’t solve problems, people solve problems.” That wasn’t novel to me but I appreciated his brevity. I don’t have a family, not in the sense he was referring too, but I thought this was the part of the briefing that served to benefit others. Fortunately for me, I didn’t leave anyone behind. I was the perfect person to be deployed. But so many soldiers here do have families so I did like this part. Also he spoke of suicide rates and how they rise both towards the end of a deployment and during the summer months. Maybe I should get back to singularity of Army Chaplins. Either way, I received more papers which included words assorted in inspirational order, casual reading about family issues, and contact information for people who will undoubtedly have more pieces of paper to give to you.

The last part of the briefing (which reminds me, I really think we need to define what sort of criteria constitutes a “briefing”) was the medical. This was the exact same presentation that was given to us last summer as well as in the fall. The exact same one. It included knowledge about various geographically specific skin disorders in addition to other forms of illness that had befallen soldiers from past conflicts. Such as uranium exposure or post traumatic stress disorder. I did take a personal moment to once again applaud myself for refusing to get vaccinated for anthrax. You see last summer we were strongly encouraged to get a series of vaccinations (six shots total) that had been “temporarily” approved by the FDA. Now I don’t remember how exactly they phrased it (they didn’t use the word temporary), but the message I got out of it was someone got pressured by someone else to approve a drug that will stop one thing but has a wait see approach when considering future side effects. I did personally expand on their explanations regarding the vaccine, but why take that chance? Anyhow, this opens the door wide open for discussion, but I’m going to skip that topic out of respect for the “time index.”

About two-thirds of my unit went on to take the shots despite my unprepared attempts to lobby against it. Either way, I quietly congratulated myself once again for that decision. Once I was done accepting my personally appointed medal for valor, I reluctantly rejoined the “briefing.” However, I wasn’t there for long. The medical person went on and on about god knows what and I became fixated on using my fingers to stretch my eye lids as well as practice other kinds of facial skills such as pulling my bottom lip over my top lip. Finally I snapped out of it by dropping all of the pieces of paper I had accumulated all over my feet. This was a fascinating development in its own right, because not only did valuable time pass on the account of how long my scattered retrieval took, but also because I never took the time to notice how exactly someone could print so many pieces of paper with such a non-distinguishable font. In fact, if I had never taken the time to observe how an elderly person reads, I never would have known to use both hands and place the paper immediately in front of my eyes in order to figure it all out. This was truly amazing and kept me well occupied for the remainder of the briefing.

Eventually the medical briefing was over and one by one each person in attendance went to speak with the physician where they were asked to disclose any health related issues over a series of questions. This was finally the part of the day where we were able to speak casually with the person next to us, however I didn’t like the person next to me and I was still very much busy with the investigation. My research was halted on the account that it was my turn to speak with the physician (my findings remain inconclusive). Naturally, I entered the room fully prepared to answer “no” to everything single thing I heard, but my plan was quickly derailed when the physician I saw was (same word backwards) the same one I saw about my broken ear. This led to casual chatting and thus broke my defiant concentration on the word “no.” Now the ear injury I suffered was in no way a war related injury. In fact, it wasn’t even honorable by “jackass standards” but it was an injury and was documented. Also, my mission was noted as some sort of default setting in the paper work. I really need to concentrate harder in the future.

Interestingly enough, one of the pieces of information that wasn’t covered was “what does DCS stand for?” The Army loves acronyms. Unconditionally loves them. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to ascertain the meaning of those letters and had unsuccessfully solicited their meaning from the others in attendance. In fact, I didn’t even receive an answer either of the times I asked. I simply received the non-verbal message that says “who fucking cares?” So, I don’t know what DCS means. But I do have a small tree’s worth of informative papers, so maybe it’s in there somewhere. If only I could read them.

~Rolligun

Just turn the handle and push...

There are exactly two things left for me to do in the applying for grad school process. Everything else is taken care of. I’ve studied, scheduled and took the GMAT. I contacted people who I didn’t keep in touch with and was still able to arrange some letters of recommendation. I’ve filled out papers, chosen schools (pseudo decided), and mailed transcripts. All that’s left, aside from applying stamp and envelope, is to cut a check and write the admissions essays. That should not be a big deal. The tasks which I originally figured would transpire into a headache were the rec. letters and the GMAT. But for some reason I’m dragging my feet on completing the essays. (Note: the only obstacle to writing a check is finding my checkbook).

If anything, this whole application process just got a lot easier on the account of a free education if I stay in Milwaukee, meaning fewer schools to apply to, and therefore fewer choices. I’m not exactly sure how I feel about that, a financial gain but I'm well limeted geographically. But how could you make the choice to go someplace else and pay $30,000 plus when I wouldn’t have to pay anything otherwise. However, I’m not even that far yet. I don’t seem to be able to actually complete any of the essays. The deadline isn’t until September 1, but I wanted to have everything completed and submitted by, well, seven days ago.

I have zero enthusiasm when I begin the essay scribbling process. I’ve only made two attempts total and this should be so easy. Just explain the following…

Why pursue graduate studies (why this school/program)?

What are your experiences? Your skills? Your interests and goals?

What can you offer the program?

Who are you?

How hard is to answer these questions? It’s not and I have no idea what my problem is. All I have to do is write with some sort of thought process, develop my ideas to at least the age of infancy and show a level of enthusiasm that’s something on par with buying ice cream. For whatever reason this seems to be a major challenge for me.

My attempts have been mild at best and every single day I wake up with intentions of using my down time to write the essays. But I keep finding other things to do. I don't know what the deal is? I’m starting to think that I won’t believe the things I would say. Maybe I'll find out I don’t know what I want or why I want it. Then again, I have a habit of making things more complicated than they need to be. I'm hoping for the latter.

I use to think I knew all this shit.


~Rolligun

A Post Alternative

The other day I was writing to another blogger who had written to me about blogging and writing for a blog, not only as a blogger but also as a writer.

That was a confusing sentence, wasn’t it?

That’s probably because I kept using the same word throughout the whole thing. Or maybe it was the truly hideous display of grammatical reasoning. In any case, it’s the former that I’m concerned with, the need of having to use the same word multiple times. See, this problem occurred to me when I was returning the email and had to use the word “post” several times and for several different reasons. I was annoying myself and god only knows what my unchallenged reader must have been thinking. I don’t think this guy reads. I could be exaggerating the number of times I actually used the word “post,” but the impression I had remains the same.

So listen: My conclusion is this…I no longer like the word “post.”

I mean, I’m at the point where I don’t feel as though I’m prepared to answer a question such as…

“So what do you write?”

“Well, I don’t write stories, and I don’t write essays or anecdotes, what I write…are posts. Yes, I write posts.

I try to offer a little bit of variety in the things I write or rather that I post. Some of my posts are serious, some of them reflective, others are bit of searching and the rest of them, are apparently nonsensical, such as this. I could maybe handle lumping all these themes under a single generic term such as “post” but I’ll be damned if I have to introduce the generic noun with its generic cousin, even in the form of a verb. Example…

Yesterday, I posted my post.

See what I mean?

There will be no more writing posts and there will certainly be no more posting of posts, for me.

Some may think I’m inflating the seriousness of the matter or they might assume the role of mordant problem solver and therefore suggest a thesaurus. But I’m not and don’t be an asshole. If you don’t believe me, then let me demonstrate the range of the problem. I’ll continue on with my example from before.

Yesterday, I posted my post. I wrote the post, while on post, at my military camp, otherwise known as a post. Since I had been guarding my post while writing the post, I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t even pretend like I was supposed to be posted someplace else because the place I was posted was marked with a post that had been posted by the post commander.

Now I’m reasonably sure I could find an ample number of appropriate substitutes to be used in place of the word “post,” but where I fall short, is when finding a way to classify the things I’ve written for this blog. That in addition to desribing the process of putting those posts {dammit} on the screen.

So I’m prepared to look for my replacement.

I’ve started by assembling a list of suggestions and then giving them a trial run with the first words that come to mind, just to see what each term evokes.

Here goes.

Composition ~ Here is my composition Professor Handel, it can either be read or it can be sung, either or.

Umm, that’s too much and I don’t write things that can be sung.

Script ~ Playwright.

Nevermind, I’d never be allowed on a stage. Ever.

Column ~ Yes, I have a weekly column for the Daily Post {wtf} where I explore the, ugh-urh-ahk-ahh, -- Sorry, I have this unfortunate habit of talking with a pencil in my mouth and then choking on it.

No, I’m not a journalist either.

Feature ~ Here is my feature. Would you like to see my feature? No No, don’t run…I mean read it, I mean read my feature. Shit.

Uhh, too ambiguous.

Editorial ~ See the guy with the pencil.

Article ~ If I ever achieve the rank of article writer, that means I’m getting paid to waste people’s time, so until that day comes, I don’t think I’m entitled.

Story ~ Too limiting, this means that every time I want to write about one of my daily fascinations, such as gravel patterns, I have to somehow insert a character into it.

Essay ~ Oh god, I’m not researching shit!

Piece ~ O.k., I’m thinking drugs, sex or puzzles (which reminds me…I haven’t posted about puzzles yet)

Examinations ~ No, to much like essay, and I’m getting a headache just thinking about the word

Text ~ I already yammer long enough in my….uhh, posts, I don’t need any encouragement.

Chronicle ~ You’ve traveled long and far my son, but have you retrieved the lost chronicles?

What’s going on here? Is this an adventure?

Passage ~ No this tells me that I just graduated from puberty and I'm now prepared for manhood or perhaps I have a new journey to embark, but not so much a literary mark.

Message ~ 7:00 Don’t forget!!!

Nothing to do with writing, just obligations.

Letter ~ Is there such a thing anymore?

Note ~ Do you think I’m cute? Check yes or no.

Those never worked.

Alright, I’m out of ideas. I have absolutely no idea how to solve this problem. I was hoping to write a piece that included an examination of the possible alternatives of my post problem and eventually saunter my way to a conclusion. That didn’t work and this turned out to be an extremely unsuccessful narrative (hmm…nah). I think I’ll just call this an absurdity, but then I still have no other choice but to post it. What else would I do?

So If anyone has any suggestions, do share them. Otherwise I’m destined to imagining myself bopping up and down on the back of horse for as long as I blog.

~Rolligun

Smile for the Camera!

I’m not really one for having my picture taken. It usually takes some amount of prodding and pushing and that’s only after my attempts to quietly duck out the back prove unsuccessful. Then someone will notice and inevitably start waving their hands. Thus the prodding begins. I’ll usually give in after the second, maybe third attempt, because I’m also not interested in gathering a bunch of attention over my refusal. So fuck it, I’ll get in the photo and manufacture a smile. My other line of defense is to volunteer to be one holding the camera. Sometimes that works. Other times it doesn’t, but I’m sure to let everyone know that I’m well qualified for such a task. See, I use to wait tables at the type of restaurant where people get really dressed up and go out to celebrate shit. So it goes with out saying, that occasions such as that always presented a photo opportunity for those in attendance. Typically, they would solicit their server for the assisted fun. That would mean me. I’m not a real big fan of this, but I do like lending a hand to those who are having a good time. So I oblige. Not that I actually had a choice and besides, it could always be worse. For example, they could ask me to actually be inside their photo, which happens or even worse, I could be asked to take a photo, to be in a photo AND to round up the dinning troops to sing a celebratory song! Which also happened. (I still remember that song and every time I sang it I secretly wished someone would start throwing food at me). But back to the matter at hand, I will always avoid having my picture taken if I can manage it.

The other day we had a visit from a three star General. This is a man of extreme rank and extreme importance. He takes orders from Rumsfeld. Anyway, he came by our operation more or less to thank us for what we do and to pat our backs. It was a good thing and I was proud to have both his presence and his approval. I genuinely am. However that doesn’t mean I necessarily want my picture taken. At the conclusion of his visit, we (all of about ten people) gathered in front of the American flag to have a group photo with the General. O.k. no problem I can do this. Now one way or another I managed to end up directly beside the General. This was not by design. I’m perfectly happy off to either side, but I couldn’t direct myself to that location this time around.

So we take the photos. Now sometime during this process, someone suggests doing individual photos. The General was all for it. After all, he was here to show his support and respect for what we do. We finished the group photo and the General, a very busy man, was eager to continue with event so he could be on his way. So he say’s “who wants a photo” and before I’m given the chance to make way for someone else, he puts his arm around me and everyone else happens to clear the way. Alrighty then. So rolligun gets an individual photo with the General. There wasn’t much I could do to avoid it, it’s not like I was going to excuse myself from the situation. What would I say?...

“Oh that’s quite alright Sir, I’d love to share a photo, but I really must be getting back to my counting of the holes in the wall”

And so it goes.

“Counter Column, March”

Today turned out to be a rather shit day. It started off so well and it was even my day off. So I didn’t see any of thist coming. For starters I was really looking forward to an email from an old friend. I couldn’t get to it from the camp I was at so I had to wait until we traveled back to were we came from. I was very much looking forward to this. Also, there was a “Support the Troops and build morale” kind of visit from the girls of WWF or WWE or wherever. Now I couldn’t care less about that kind of wrestling. In fact I hate it and never watch it. I use to compete at the actual sport of wrestling, so I cringe at the thought of all this fake uncompetitive theatre. But then again it’s just entertainment and I was actually interested in seeing a female that wasn’t wearing the same thing I was. Normally, I don’t even go to these things. The only other show/visit I can remember going to was “Dave Attel” back in October or something. But I awoke in good spirits and besides they were doing the “Meet the WWF girls and have a picture” thing in the gym, which is where I was going anyway. Yes, that’s right…I said “picture.” At the risk of sounding like a complete hypocrite I did enter the gym with the small possibility of actually getting involved in the event, meeting one of the girls, and even, gasp, doing the picture thing (I have a friend who loves these girls so I planned to do the “HA” thing and send evidence of my encounter). But long story short I quickly abandoned that plan as soon as I saw the line of soldiers who were waiting. Despite my high spirits and slightly higher than nominal interest in meeting the semi-celebs, there was no way that any of that was strong enough for me break my golden rule of never waiting in a line, unless I absolutely have too! So I skipped the photo ops. and went to straight to working out. Since everyone and their brother was on the other side of the gym, I had a pretty good workout. Didn’t have to wait for anything and was able to do all my exercises in their preferred order.

Just as I was finishing up I happen to run into one my old soldiers that use to be on my team, when I was with my old company. He was thrilled as hell to have been there and had gotten his picture taken with ALL of the girls. Also individually. God knows how long he had to wait for all of that, but hey, to each is own. He’s a really good soldier and a good guy in that goofy harmless sort of way. He was actually the subject of one of my very first posts. Something about issues with his old girlfriend. For whatever reason he seemed to think I had a clue about that sort of thing and an even bigger mystery to me was I thought I had the temerity to actually help him. Anyway, he got his photos and showed them to me. He was smiling. We chatted for a bit and both of us coincidently enough, happened to be doing “really good.” After the mutual determination he cut our meeting a bit short with the words, and I quote…

“Sorry Sarge, I’m leaving. I can’t wait to go jerk it”

How funny is that!!!

I was happy for him and wished him the best of luck in his endeavor.

He left and he was smiling.

Unfortunately that comment was probably the highlight of my day.

How frustrating is that?!?!?

Afterwards, I quickly finished the rest of my workout and eagerly moved on to the reading of my “email” which I had so greatly been anticipating. Of course my excitement was deferred while I waited to get on a computer. Hate waiting…but it’s unavoidable sometimes. Eventually I was seated and comfortably ready to read my new message. This didn’t turn out to be what I was hoping for and quickly sent my day spiraling into habitual torment. After that, I went back to my tent. The A/C was out again. So I went back the gym.

In other news, there is this guy I serve with, who is only in his late thirties; however he looks to be the age of 64. We haven’t been seeing eye to eye lately and I think the heat is perpetuating both of our issues. Naturally, mine our more important. But with out getting into details, were just not getting along. Plus he has this habit of thinking he’s John Wayne and talking to the soldiers like the camera is rolling and he has fucking cigar in his mouth. This just drives me nuts and John Wayne is exactly one more comment away from ME BEATING HIS ASS!!! The bright side is we haven’t spoken in about five days, so that’s good.

At any rate, my time is finishing up fast. I can not wait to go out with my friends and hit a bar and forget about all of this SHIT. (This is what I would have done instead of returning to the gym). I can’t wait to get my life back. And I really can’t wait to walk my dog again! As shit as this day turned out to be I’m finally getting to the point where I'll start saying fuck you to everything. As angry as that sounds, it’s actually a good thing. It means progress.

Whatever. By next month, I’ll be walking my dog!

~Rolligun

(This was a ranting post…I’ll be changing my literary course very soon.)