Hello there.
My hour of mountain ascension rapidly approaches - Hump Day is over, and the hours tick by slowly but surely. Words cannot express how much I'm anticipating the enjoyment of another three weeks in the land of beer, mountains, and irresponsibility. Beards shall be grown, scotch shall be bought and consumed, guns will be shot and partying will be had. As always, lives will be ruined by my disproportionately destructive influence upon the Northern Colorado region - Fort Collins in particular. I refuse to apologize.
I seem to have bought myself a proper truck, something I've been hunting for a long time. One important thing I've learned from my old man is that when life presents you with a ridiculously good deal, you must pounce. Anyway, a family friend happened to be selling his low mileage mid-90s Dodge 2500 4x4 with the 5.9l Cummins Diesel and 5-speed manual, appropriately rigged out for both off-roading and towing. Its only two negatives are its configuration (single cab long bed) and the color (black), but it'll still make a great hunting/rednecking/fishing/snow plowing/off-roading pickup. I'm excited, anyway... never owned either a truck or a diesel before, so this is entirely new territory for me. Let's hope I don't become obsessed with still more vehicle modifications, but don't hold your breath for that.
Well, life is good. This time next week, I'll be chillin' at my old man's new mountain house in the middle of Bum Fuck Nowhere with one of my favorite people, doing absolutely nothing productive and flipping the bird to society at large. It just doesn't get any better than that.
Hope y'all are enjoying life as well!
Deuces
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
As Per Usual...
...my busy life is preventing me from updating as much as I'd like to. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.
Life's good at the moment. Hectic, but good. I'm a little under two weeks out from another extended visit to Colorado, where I intend to retreat to the new mountain house and grow my beard for awhile (since beard growing is such a strenuous activity).
All for now.
Life's good at the moment. Hectic, but good. I'm a little under two weeks out from another extended visit to Colorado, where I intend to retreat to the new mountain house and grow my beard for awhile (since beard growing is such a strenuous activity).
All for now.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Happy Landsnatching Day!
Just kidding, kind of.
It's an American tradition to list off shit we usually take for granted, but shouldn't. So here's mine.
My mom. She's cool as hell, takes me places and buys me stuff. We've traveled fairly extensively together and didn't want to cut each others' throats; there are very few people I can say that about. Thanks mom.
My old man, who's also my best fishing and drinking buddy. After having a shitty relationship for years, I'm glad we got it straightened out. Also, he has a kick-ass house in the mountains which is more or less my own personal resort.
My brother, who is my sounding board for all my (generally terrible) ideas and often the anchor of reason on my family's ship of retardation.
And, of course, my many, many great friends scattered around the country and the world. Despite our constant disagreements, my perpetual assholery, and the hangovers we have the next day like clockwork, you all still put up with my moronic behavior and my challenging personality. It'd be a lonely world without y'all.
I'm thankful for Me, and the fact that I still exist. I've realized that pretty much any day you wake up breathing is a good day - even if the actual day's activities are less than desirable. I'm thankful for the many interesting, trying, often shitty experiences I've had; I am better and stronger because of them, and they have altered my life perspective in a positive way.
I'm thankful for the friends/brothers I've trained and fought with, and the fact that we live in a country where such men will literally sign their lives away for their fellow countrymen. God bless all of you.
Most importantly, I'm thankful for the vodka mixed into this orange juice, because I felt like absolute shit before I started drinking this.
Happy Thanksgiving, you animals.
P.S. - To all my boys who spent this day in Trashcanistan: A: sorry for the shitty DFAC food, and B: you're in our thoughts, get home safe and soon.
It's an American tradition to list off shit we usually take for granted, but shouldn't. So here's mine.
My mom. She's cool as hell, takes me places and buys me stuff. We've traveled fairly extensively together and didn't want to cut each others' throats; there are very few people I can say that about. Thanks mom.
My old man, who's also my best fishing and drinking buddy. After having a shitty relationship for years, I'm glad we got it straightened out. Also, he has a kick-ass house in the mountains which is more or less my own personal resort.
My brother, who is my sounding board for all my (generally terrible) ideas and often the anchor of reason on my family's ship of retardation.
And, of course, my many, many great friends scattered around the country and the world. Despite our constant disagreements, my perpetual assholery, and the hangovers we have the next day like clockwork, you all still put up with my moronic behavior and my challenging personality. It'd be a lonely world without y'all.
I'm thankful for Me, and the fact that I still exist. I've realized that pretty much any day you wake up breathing is a good day - even if the actual day's activities are less than desirable. I'm thankful for the many interesting, trying, often shitty experiences I've had; I am better and stronger because of them, and they have altered my life perspective in a positive way.
I'm thankful for the friends/brothers I've trained and fought with, and the fact that we live in a country where such men will literally sign their lives away for their fellow countrymen. God bless all of you.
Most importantly, I'm thankful for the vodka mixed into this orange juice, because I felt like absolute shit before I started drinking this.
Happy Thanksgiving, you animals.
P.S. - To all my boys who spent this day in Trashcanistan: A: sorry for the shitty DFAC food, and B: you're in our thoughts, get home safe and soon.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Thanksgiving Road Trip
Just finished packing for a four-day weekend in NY, courtesy of Turkey Day. Road tripping up there with a buddy from my squad who grew up in the area.
Assuming we have no surprise guests, it'll be just the mother and I. It ought to be very food-and-drink oriented (since we're both total foodies) followed most likely by about a six hour coma. She can make a hell of a Thanksgiving dinner.
Other than that, I also get to go car shopping for the mother... she wants something exotic, which I'm obviously not opposed to. I have a few things in mind, but I'll just see what she falls in love with that fits the budget and meets my approval - it's like the world's most difficult and subjective Venn Diagram. Anyway, more to follow eventually.
Peace
Assuming we have no surprise guests, it'll be just the mother and I. It ought to be very food-and-drink oriented (since we're both total foodies) followed most likely by about a six hour coma. She can make a hell of a Thanksgiving dinner.
Other than that, I also get to go car shopping for the mother... she wants something exotic, which I'm obviously not opposed to. I have a few things in mind, but I'll just see what she falls in love with that fits the budget and meets my approval - it's like the world's most difficult and subjective Venn Diagram. Anyway, more to follow eventually.
Peace
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Hungover Scribblings
Greetings ladies and gents,
I've been neglecting this site lately due largely to my hectic schedule and my recent inability to focus. I'm reasonably certain that the Army has made me substantially dumber than I used to be. Such is life. Fortunately, I'm now sitting here with a pretty heinous drunk-over (hungover but still pretty drunk) and drinking a PBR to recover, so my fingers feel nimble on the keyboard.
I spent most of the week moving into my new room - our leadership decided to reorganize us barracks rats so as to keep company/platoon consolidated. This is a terrible idea, as my platoon is full of alcoholic d-bags like myself. Last night was proof of that... fun though.
The room I've moved into was inhabited by some barely-functioning form of human trash who clearly enjoyed living in squalor. I will never understand how (and more importantly, why) anyone would choose to live in filth and darkness. Sure, cleaning is a bit of a pain in the ass, but it certainly beats the alternative. I fear for humanity when we've reached the point that we're too lazy or preoccupied to pick up after ourselves... maybe it's a cultural thing?
Vanessa's running like a champ these days, despite an annoying belt squeak that I seemingly can't be bothered to fix. With traction control off, first gear at full throttle is a hang-on-and-pray-for-forgiveness experience... which is why, anymore, I leave it in full safety net mode for most applications, and will put it on Competitive Driving Mode if I'm about to engage in illegal activity or just happen to be feeling rowdy.
In said Competitive Mode, I put an SRT8 Dodge Challenger properly in its place this week. Got lucky and snagged front seats to a red light next to this thing. Eased into first, as always (I hate breaking parts), nailed it once I got rolling and speed shifted into second, which always throws me a bit sideways. By the end of second, he was literally in the rearview mirror. So I gracefully braked and took the next turn, sparing him the embarrassment of post-race conversation. I'm nothing if not a gentleman.
What else is new... hmmm. Going up to NY for Thanksgiving. The mother will cook, I will eat and drink, and we shall have fun. Another few weeks of block leave rapidly approaches, and I'll be heading back to Colorado for Christmas. I'm seeing an End Of The World As We Know It party happening on 12/21/12 in the mountains... holler if you want an invite.
Well. Time to start my day. Be good, kids.
I've been neglecting this site lately due largely to my hectic schedule and my recent inability to focus. I'm reasonably certain that the Army has made me substantially dumber than I used to be. Such is life. Fortunately, I'm now sitting here with a pretty heinous drunk-over (hungover but still pretty drunk) and drinking a PBR to recover, so my fingers feel nimble on the keyboard.
I spent most of the week moving into my new room - our leadership decided to reorganize us barracks rats so as to keep company/platoon consolidated. This is a terrible idea, as my platoon is full of alcoholic d-bags like myself. Last night was proof of that... fun though.
The room I've moved into was inhabited by some barely-functioning form of human trash who clearly enjoyed living in squalor. I will never understand how (and more importantly, why) anyone would choose to live in filth and darkness. Sure, cleaning is a bit of a pain in the ass, but it certainly beats the alternative. I fear for humanity when we've reached the point that we're too lazy or preoccupied to pick up after ourselves... maybe it's a cultural thing?
Vanessa's running like a champ these days, despite an annoying belt squeak that I seemingly can't be bothered to fix. With traction control off, first gear at full throttle is a hang-on-and-pray-for-forgiveness experience... which is why, anymore, I leave it in full safety net mode for most applications, and will put it on Competitive Driving Mode if I'm about to engage in illegal activity or just happen to be feeling rowdy.
In said Competitive Mode, I put an SRT8 Dodge Challenger properly in its place this week. Got lucky and snagged front seats to a red light next to this thing. Eased into first, as always (I hate breaking parts), nailed it once I got rolling and speed shifted into second, which always throws me a bit sideways. By the end of second, he was literally in the rearview mirror. So I gracefully braked and took the next turn, sparing him the embarrassment of post-race conversation. I'm nothing if not a gentleman.
What else is new... hmmm. Going up to NY for Thanksgiving. The mother will cook, I will eat and drink, and we shall have fun. Another few weeks of block leave rapidly approaches, and I'll be heading back to Colorado for Christmas. I'm seeing an End Of The World As We Know It party happening on 12/21/12 in the mountains... holler if you want an invite.
Well. Time to start my day. Be good, kids.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Hello Charleston
I'm in Charleston with my mother for this Veteran's Day weekend, since she has a conference down here. The weather is absurdly beautiful - 70 ish and sunny all day, with higher temps inbound for the next few days. Loving it.
Driving down here was rather nice until I hit Charleston proper. I've driven in New York, Chicago, Denver, Raleigh, and a lot of other cities, but I've never driven my car in such a nightmarish maze of one-ways, alleys, roundabouts and go-fuck-yourselves. When combined with traffic, pedestrians, unfamiliarity, and the horrible visibility from a Corvette coupe, it is genuinely awful.
We're staying at a hotel that is entirely too classy for douchebags such as myself - they clearly didn't run a background check on me before allowing me a room here. They probably have a surprise or two in store, if they keep feeding me alcohol.
I'd also like to point out the fact that I'm wearing a Patek Phillippe Calatrava ref. 5120 right now. It's stunning.
Later
Driving down here was rather nice until I hit Charleston proper. I've driven in New York, Chicago, Denver, Raleigh, and a lot of other cities, but I've never driven my car in such a nightmarish maze of one-ways, alleys, roundabouts and go-fuck-yourselves. When combined with traffic, pedestrians, unfamiliarity, and the horrible visibility from a Corvette coupe, it is genuinely awful.
We're staying at a hotel that is entirely too classy for douchebags such as myself - they clearly didn't run a background check on me before allowing me a room here. They probably have a surprise or two in store, if they keep feeding me alcohol.
I'd also like to point out the fact that I'm wearing a Patek Phillippe Calatrava ref. 5120 right now. It's stunning.
Later
Monday, November 5, 2012
Colorado Kool Aid
(That's a Coors heavy, for the unenlightened. They're pretty good for shitty beer. $14 for a case, tax free!)
On my way up to Raleigh today, I may or may not have raced a new 5.0 GT Mustang at a red light. Now, keep in mind - they're rated at 412 HP and 390 lb-ft of torque from the factory; a muscle car by anyone's definition. Let's just say that he was in the rearview mirror by the time I shifted into third, after he launched on me while I eased it into first without slipping a wheel. I crushed him soundly, to the point that I almost felt bad for him... if that was my car, I'd go trade it in and get a real sports car. Why is it that the only people who ever want to race are people who don't stand a chance? I'm praying that one day, an F430 will roll up next to me at a red light. Le sigh.
In other news, when did blue jeans get so goddamn expensive? I blew almost $250 on TWO pairs of Lucky jeans at the mall in Raleigh. I damn near had a heart attack when she told me what they cost. However, they're more comfortable than my pajamas, so I won't complain. They also have plenty of room to tuck my Glock 29 or Springfield TRP into, unlike my other pairs of Lucky's. These things are important.
Anyway, back to my Kool Aid.
Peace.
(P.S. - anyone want to go see Skyfall at midnight on Thursday? I don't have to be in Charleston until mid-afternoon on Friday...)
On my way up to Raleigh today, I may or may not have raced a new 5.0 GT Mustang at a red light. Now, keep in mind - they're rated at 412 HP and 390 lb-ft of torque from the factory; a muscle car by anyone's definition. Let's just say that he was in the rearview mirror by the time I shifted into third, after he launched on me while I eased it into first without slipping a wheel. I crushed him soundly, to the point that I almost felt bad for him... if that was my car, I'd go trade it in and get a real sports car. Why is it that the only people who ever want to race are people who don't stand a chance? I'm praying that one day, an F430 will roll up next to me at a red light. Le sigh.
In other news, when did blue jeans get so goddamn expensive? I blew almost $250 on TWO pairs of Lucky jeans at the mall in Raleigh. I damn near had a heart attack when she told me what they cost. However, they're more comfortable than my pajamas, so I won't complain. They also have plenty of room to tuck my Glock 29 or Springfield TRP into, unlike my other pairs of Lucky's. These things are important.
Anyway, back to my Kool Aid.
Peace.
(P.S. - anyone want to go see Skyfall at midnight on Thursday? I don't have to be in Charleston until mid-afternoon on Friday...)
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Block Leave Recap
Just thought I'd share a few highlights of my trip to Colorado, now that I've had a bit to collect my memories.
- My dad and I fly fishing for three days on the North Platte and various other waters, which was predictably slow but nonetheless enjoyable. We caught some nice fish, and had a great time.
- Three of my friends joining me for another two days of fishing on the Platte. All but one of us caught fish. The slow pace of the fishing was compensated for by my ever-present backpack full of beer. Win.
- Watching the Broncos win. Go Broncos!
- Rolling around Fort Collins with Uncle Wade (no relation) in his beater work truck which is without a stereo system. Instead of installing a system, Wade has a ghetto battery-powered CD/cassette player (a boombox, if you will), and a shitload of old country and rock tapes. Wade finds it funny to roll down his window and hold up his stereo with an old Garth tape cranked up, yelling at girls on the street to ask, "HEY GIRL, YOU LIKE THE WAY I DANGLE?"
- Generally, girls do not like the way he dangles, but some at least have the courtesy to laugh.
- Halloween party. Costume parties are always insane, and this was no exception.
That's all I really should post, but if you were there, you know the rest. Never a dull moment!
I'm back on the grind now, though. So be it. Got another two weeks of leave coming up for Christmas, and I'm seriously considering spending it in Colorado again. We shall see.
All for now.
- My dad and I fly fishing for three days on the North Platte and various other waters, which was predictably slow but nonetheless enjoyable. We caught some nice fish, and had a great time.
- Three of my friends joining me for another two days of fishing on the Platte. All but one of us caught fish. The slow pace of the fishing was compensated for by my ever-present backpack full of beer. Win.
- Watching the Broncos win. Go Broncos!
- Rolling around Fort Collins with Uncle Wade (no relation) in his beater work truck which is without a stereo system. Instead of installing a system, Wade has a ghetto battery-powered CD/cassette player (a boombox, if you will), and a shitload of old country and rock tapes. Wade finds it funny to roll down his window and hold up his stereo with an old Garth tape cranked up, yelling at girls on the street to ask, "HEY GIRL, YOU LIKE THE WAY I DANGLE?"
- Generally, girls do not like the way he dangles, but some at least have the courtesy to laugh.
- Halloween party. Costume parties are always insane, and this was no exception.
That's all I really should post, but if you were there, you know the rest. Never a dull moment!
I'm back on the grind now, though. So be it. Got another two weeks of leave coming up for Christmas, and I'm seriously considering spending it in Colorado again. We shall see.
All for now.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Back in 'Nam
Well, despite the best efforts of Sandy, the weather was suitably decent for travel and I made it here without any delays. A haircut and a shave later, and I look like a 16-year old paratrooper versus my previous mid-20s vagrant.
That was without a doubt the best block leave I've had yet. I'm blessed to have such wonderful friends (and of course my family) who enjoy my shenanigans and create some more of their own.
Anyway, morale is very low right now. Returning here after a stretch of leave is the single hardest part of my job. Two more years, Jack, just two more years...
That was without a doubt the best block leave I've had yet. I'm blessed to have such wonderful friends (and of course my family) who enjoy my shenanigans and create some more of their own.
Anyway, morale is very low right now. Returning here after a stretch of leave is the single hardest part of my job. Two more years, Jack, just two more years...
Life.
I have to go back to work tomorrow.
I have to shave my awesome homeless man beard tomorrow.
This is seriously fucked up.
I've had nothing but fun and done some fantastically, unmentionably awful things since I've been home. The only redeeming part of heading back to Braggdad tomorrow is that I get to hop behind the wheel of my land rocket, Vanessa. It'll feel nice to drive a vehicle in which I know I dominate my landscape. What I've been piloting lately has glacial acceleration, which does not at all suit me.
Anyway, sorry about my stream of drunken consciousness. In eight hours, I'll be leaving the greatest place in the world (which happens to be filled with most of my best friends) and rolling back to fucking Fayettenam... what the fuck, over.
Peace
I have to shave my awesome homeless man beard tomorrow.
This is seriously fucked up.
I've had nothing but fun and done some fantastically, unmentionably awful things since I've been home. The only redeeming part of heading back to Braggdad tomorrow is that I get to hop behind the wheel of my land rocket, Vanessa. It'll feel nice to drive a vehicle in which I know I dominate my landscape. What I've been piloting lately has glacial acceleration, which does not at all suit me.
Anyway, sorry about my stream of drunken consciousness. In eight hours, I'll be leaving the greatest place in the world (which happens to be filled with most of my best friends) and rolling back to fucking Fayettenam... what the fuck, over.
Peace
Sunday, October 28, 2012
An Open Letter
To a very beautiful blonde girl at the bar in downtown Fort Collins:
I don't remember your name. I didn't get your number, which I am kicking myself for. But that was by far the most fun I've ever had making out in a public place. So if you by chance end up seeing this... get a hold of me somehow.
All for now. Back to work in 24 hours or so. Please shoot me.
Out
I don't remember your name. I didn't get your number, which I am kicking myself for. But that was by far the most fun I've ever had making out in a public place. So if you by chance end up seeing this... get a hold of me somehow.
All for now. Back to work in 24 hours or so. Please shoot me.
Out
Monday, October 22, 2012
Insomnia Sucks
0200 Monday morning. Can't sleep. Fuck this.
Just poured myself about four fingers of The Macallan Cask Strength. Perhaps I'll be more inclined to sleep if I'm a bit in the bag...
I'm on leave in Colorado right now, so other than my inability to shut my eyes for an extended period of time, life is great. I haven't shaved in ten days, and look vaguely homeless as a result. I know this, and I'm okay with it.
I've been at the mountain house for just shy of a week now - fishing, shooting, chilling. Got to hang out with my old man a bunch and had a few friends up for the weekend, which was fun. We drank way too much, but so be it. Saturday night my friends and I consumed enough alcohol to literally kill most people, consisting of tons of microbrews, scotch, a bottle of Evan Williams Single Barrel (best whiskey in the $25 range, arguably) and whatever else we found. Totally emptied the fridge, which was no small feat. Anyway.
Back to Fort Collins in a few hours... good thing dad's driving, because this aviation fuel mislabeled as scotch is very intoxicating. Normal people use $70 single malt to go to sleep, right? Fuck it, I'm not interested in being normal anyway, so why bother pretending?
Whiskey's gone. Time to watch the inside of my eyelids for awhile. Deuces.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Work's Overrated
So I'm going fishing tomorrow.
I considered watching the debates online tonight (since I don't have cable) but elected to do something productive instead - drinking and playing video games.
The stupidity of the presidential campaign continues... posturing, name-calling, and not much else, unless you believe everyone's lies. Elections are proof positive that people in general have a short memory - has any successful candidate in history ever lived up to even half of their campaign promises? If you actually buy into their self-promoting claims of brilliance and understanding, you might be a dipshit. Same goes for anyone who thinks that anything other than the economy is an important issue at this point; that goes for both sides of the political spectrum. Shame on you people. Anyway, I'll stop.
So. Driving Vanessa to the Smokies tomorrow, and Knoxville the next day. I really would like to post pictures of her, but my camera is incompatible with Mac OS, making life difficult. Thanks, Panasonic. Let's just say it'll be a loud and acoustically pleasing road trip. Silently praying for a ZL1 or GT500 to try and run me.
Well, I have PT in like 8 hours, which is complete bullshit.
Deuces
I considered watching the debates online tonight (since I don't have cable) but elected to do something productive instead - drinking and playing video games.
The stupidity of the presidential campaign continues... posturing, name-calling, and not much else, unless you believe everyone's lies. Elections are proof positive that people in general have a short memory - has any successful candidate in history ever lived up to even half of their campaign promises? If you actually buy into their self-promoting claims of brilliance and understanding, you might be a dipshit. Same goes for anyone who thinks that anything other than the economy is an important issue at this point; that goes for both sides of the political spectrum. Shame on you people. Anyway, I'll stop.
So. Driving Vanessa to the Smokies tomorrow, and Knoxville the next day. I really would like to post pictures of her, but my camera is incompatible with Mac OS, making life difficult. Thanks, Panasonic. Let's just say it'll be a loud and acoustically pleasing road trip. Silently praying for a ZL1 or GT500 to try and run me.
Well, I have PT in like 8 hours, which is complete bullshit.
Deuces
Friday, September 28, 2012
Holy Shit.
I just went for a little test drive - in the rain, sadly. Even though I couldn't really get past 1/4 throttle, I can already say with absolute certainty that it is the fastest car I've ever driven. Can't wait to see what she'll do.
I might have gone a bit overboard. But sweet newborn infant Jesus, it's beautiful.
Pictures/videos to follow tomorrow, if I find time.
I might have gone a bit overboard. But sweet newborn infant Jesus, it's beautiful.
Pictures/videos to follow tomorrow, if I find time.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Teaser
...more to follow of the finished product wrapped in rubber, after I get to NY tomorrow night! For now I'm going to drink my Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPA (good shit), play Skyrim, and contemplate how fun it'll be to drive the fastest car I've ever been in.
Life sucks sometimes.
Monday, September 24, 2012
'Murrrrca
Got stateside last night... ahh, freedom tastes good (and so does beer). I tied one on with a bit of Glendfiddich 12 year and several Fat Tires in celebration, much to my chagrin this morning. Anyway, I managed to sweat the hangover out so no harm, no foul.
Project: Vanessa is more or less finished at this point. Kooks long tube 1 3/4" headers flowing through a catless X-pipe into Borla's ATAK (read: loudest) exhaust... should sound pretty wicked, but not annoyingly loud or drone-y. My wheels are powdercoated and going on tomorrow, wrapped in new Continental rubber of the all-weather variety, since I got damn near 30k out of my last set - and they perform incredibly well, somehow.
Definitely ready to get behind the wheel this weekend. I haven't driven anything smaller than an MRAP since June, so a 500+ horsepower land rocket should feel like sex. Hopefully I can keep my foot out of it!
Project: Vanessa is more or less finished at this point. Kooks long tube 1 3/4" headers flowing through a catless X-pipe into Borla's ATAK (read: loudest) exhaust... should sound pretty wicked, but not annoyingly loud or drone-y. My wheels are powdercoated and going on tomorrow, wrapped in new Continental rubber of the all-weather variety, since I got damn near 30k out of my last set - and they perform incredibly well, somehow.
Definitely ready to get behind the wheel this weekend. I haven't driven anything smaller than an MRAP since June, so a 500+ horsepower land rocket should feel like sex. Hopefully I can keep my foot out of it!
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Patriotism...
Today marks the 11th anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. The world is a very different place because of that day, and I hope we may continue to keep it alive in our collective memory - not only to honor the fallen and the sacrifices of our nation's finest, but to learn and grow from the experience as well.
----
An important thing to remember about patriotism: mindless flag waving gets you nowhere. No, the most patriotic thing you can do, and the way you can best honor the memories of our dead, is to be a politically informed, historically learned, VOTER, bound by logic and reason.
Do that, and we may progress as a nation, instead of continuing our decline into economic irrelevancy.
The next step is learning not to force your politics down everyone's throats, and to tolerate differences of opinion... I won't hold my breath.
Jack
Friday, August 31, 2012
Project Vanessa Update
Well, I was forced to abandon my Borla headers due to another 2 week extension of their arrival time. For the record, the people at Summit Racing were very cool about canceling my order... totally not their fault that Borla couldn't deliver. But I digress.
A phone call later, the people at Maryland Speed (same place I got my axle-back exhaust from) were kind enough to give me an absurdly good deal on a set of Kooks 1 3/4" long tube headers and catless X-pipe, with free same-day shipping to boot. Can't beat that deal. The Kooks are en route to the mad scientists at the previously mentioned coating shop... along with a new set of wheels. More on those another day.
Happily, it looks like she'll be finished before I'm stateside again.
Peace
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Modding the Vette.
What, you thought I was just going to leave her stock? Not a chance.
With my additional pay and no bar tabs to spend it on, I figured now would be the perfect time to make some improvements. They are as follows:
The centerpiece is a pair of Borla long-tube headers, flowing into a matching catless X-pipe. I'm having the headers ceramic coated by an acclaimed shop local to my mother's house. For the uninformed, ceramic coating greatly improves performance by reducing heat soak, thereby increasing scavenging and flow. It also keeps the surrounding parts cooler.
Those will mate up to a Borla ATAK rear section for maximum flow and the optimal noise level (holyfuck) and improved acoustics. Suck it, neighbors!
This will all be managed by a custom dyno tune, again done by a well-known local shop. I'm expecting 500-ish HP at the crank, or around 440 at the rear wheels. Torque gains will be substantial as well.
Additional mods include an MGW short-throw shifter, a fresh set of tires and some cosmetic stuff that will remain undisclosed until I can provide photos.
To say that I'm excited would be analogous to calling the ocean wet. It's going to be glorious.
Heroes, Inspirational Figures, etcetera.
As the years roll by, we continue to hear about the passing of the heroes and idols of the 20th century. Today's news told of Neil Armstrong's death at age 82, and the world is an emptier place without him.
This prompts me to ask: who will take their places? Who do we, as a society, have that can serve as honest, no-bullshit inspirational figures - people who we'd want our kids to idolize?
Our political leaders surely are not the answer, and if you disagree please do us all a favor and swan-dive into a running wood chipper immediately upon finishing this sentence (or at your earliest convenience). NASA is a gaunt, starved shadow of its former glory, and offers us no heroes. Popular culture consists (with few exceptions) of talentless, soulless corporate puppets producing meaningless feel-good noise as fast as you Top 40-consuming sheep will waste your money buying it. No dice there, either.
So what's to be done? Our military is certainly admirable for a variety of reasons, but I wouldn't want my offspring (spawn?) dying in some shitty desert hellhole for no clear reason.
I haven't thought all the way through this yet, but I suspect we're fucked in this regard.
From the Middle East, with indifference,
Jack
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Still kickin'
Well, it's been awhile since I've been on here... sorry. I do have excuses and good ones at that (shitty internet with limited access, crappy computers, not enough time, laziness, distracted by Afghan midgets, etc.), but still.
Anyway. Not much to report, and certainly nothing that can or should be posted in a public place such as this. Let's just say I'm looking forward to going home.
In general terms, this country is beautiful - scenic mountains, high plains, expansive deserts, etc. Without its political problems, it'd be a kickass place for some ski resorts, maybe some ranching and hunting operations; it's a lot like the American West in that regard. My current location is actually almost a dead ringer for North Park, CO, except there are wild camels in place of Pronghorns.
Want my theory as to why everything's so fucked up? Too bad, you're getting it anyway. The problem with this country is the lack of alcohol.
Let's be honest here. A modern society runs on alcohol. It is the catalyst which enables us to unwind, to communicate, to function as normal humans. When alcohol was banned in the US, what happened? Think about it.
Wish I had time for more... biscuits and gravy are calling my name from the midnight chow line.
Will follow up later. Deuces.
Anyway. Not much to report, and certainly nothing that can or should be posted in a public place such as this. Let's just say I'm looking forward to going home.
In general terms, this country is beautiful - scenic mountains, high plains, expansive deserts, etc. Without its political problems, it'd be a kickass place for some ski resorts, maybe some ranching and hunting operations; it's a lot like the American West in that regard. My current location is actually almost a dead ringer for North Park, CO, except there are wild camels in place of Pronghorns.
Want my theory as to why everything's so fucked up? Too bad, you're getting it anyway. The problem with this country is the lack of alcohol.
Let's be honest here. A modern society runs on alcohol. It is the catalyst which enables us to unwind, to communicate, to function as normal humans. When alcohol was banned in the US, what happened? Think about it.
Wish I had time for more... biscuits and gravy are calling my name from the midnight chow line.
Will follow up later. Deuces.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Ramblin' Man
Sorry for the lack of posting, I've been doing a lot of traveling lately. Many long flights and several government-provided Ambien later, I've reached a location that's rather hot but mercifully dry. My final destination should be substantially cooler, which is mostly a good thing for me. I'm not at all built for hot climates - the heat just completely drains my energy, rendering me essentially worthless.
Anyway, internet service will be spotty for the next several months, as my adventure tourism (so to speak) leads me to remote, desolate, and generally shitty parts of the world. I'll post as much and as often as I'm able... and keep my head down.
Deuces,
Jack
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Comin' Home
Off to Colorado tomorrow morning for a few days. I can't express how happy I am to be spending my last weekend stateside with my family and friends. It'll be bittersweet, but that's the nature of my job, I guess.
Time to get a few hours of sleep before my flight... see y'all in the morning, CO.
Out
Time to get a few hours of sleep before my flight... see y'all in the morning, CO.
Out
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Nothing Quite Like that New Watch Feeling
In case you're unaware, I'm a bit of a watch fanatic.
I've got six or seven of the things, but only two ever get worn - my quartz Hamilton field watch, which is essentially disposable, and my Blancpain AquaLung Hundred Hours automatic, which is a rather rare and fragile piece that's created in small numbers by little watch elves in Switzerland and costs more than some cars. Both are limited in their usefulness, particularly since I shattered the crystal on the Hamilton.
Me being me, I'm always looking for an excuse to pick up another timepiece, just as I would another gun or any piece of gear, really. So when I found out I was going to be doing a bit of, err, traveling, I started looking for a good quality indestructo-watch to accompany me.
Now, I could have taken the obvious route and gotten a Casio G-shock, except for two things: I HATE digital watches, and everyone and their boyfriend has one. Not for me. That left me with pretty much one choice: the German watch manufacturer Sinn, specifically their 856 model.
The 856 UTC (universal time zone) is a shock-resistant, antimagnetic, waterproof workhorse manufactured out of tegimented stainless steel, which is 5-6 times harder than normal stainless. The lightly modded ETA movement is housed inside an iron core, hence the anti-magnetic properties. The bracelet, which is like $500 by itself, is also tegimented stainless and has a very solid deployment clasp with a built-in dive extension. Inside the case is a replaceable copper-based "pill" to absorb water from the movement area, preventing rust. The extra time zone will either be set to Zulu (GMT) or to home time, depending on my needs. Long story short, it's as close to being bombproof as a proper (mechanical) watch can get, with the added bonus of being quite rare in the states. I love it.
Anyway, here's a crappy cell phone picture with one of my other new acquisitions, an ESEE 5" fixie.
I do enjoy my toys.
I've got six or seven of the things, but only two ever get worn - my quartz Hamilton field watch, which is essentially disposable, and my Blancpain AquaLung Hundred Hours automatic, which is a rather rare and fragile piece that's created in small numbers by little watch elves in Switzerland and costs more than some cars. Both are limited in their usefulness, particularly since I shattered the crystal on the Hamilton.
Me being me, I'm always looking for an excuse to pick up another timepiece, just as I would another gun or any piece of gear, really. So when I found out I was going to be doing a bit of, err, traveling, I started looking for a good quality indestructo-watch to accompany me.
Now, I could have taken the obvious route and gotten a Casio G-shock, except for two things: I HATE digital watches, and everyone and their boyfriend has one. Not for me. That left me with pretty much one choice: the German watch manufacturer Sinn, specifically their 856 model.
The 856 UTC (universal time zone) is a shock-resistant, antimagnetic, waterproof workhorse manufactured out of tegimented stainless steel, which is 5-6 times harder than normal stainless. The lightly modded ETA movement is housed inside an iron core, hence the anti-magnetic properties. The bracelet, which is like $500 by itself, is also tegimented stainless and has a very solid deployment clasp with a built-in dive extension. Inside the case is a replaceable copper-based "pill" to absorb water from the movement area, preventing rust. The extra time zone will either be set to Zulu (GMT) or to home time, depending on my needs. Long story short, it's as close to being bombproof as a proper (mechanical) watch can get, with the added bonus of being quite rare in the states. I love it.
Anyway, here's a crappy cell phone picture with one of my other new acquisitions, an ESEE 5" fixie.
I do enjoy my toys.
Monday, June 11, 2012
A Sad Day
Well, it finally had to happen. I took a one-way road trip in the 'vette this weekend, again up to my mom's house in NY. There she sits, garaged and covered, low on fuel and ready for summer hibernation. I'm taking an extended adventure tourism trip pretty soon, so she needed proper storage in the absence of my loving care.
Anyway. Without going into details, I saw some friends I hadn't seen a long time, drank some good drinks, and generally stayed under the radar. Low-key was the name of the game. Also may or may not have consumed half a bottle of the Glenmorangie while cooking at about 103 degrees Fahrenheit in the new hot tub - my independent research suggests high levels of stress relief with this technique, provided you don't slip into unconsciousness and drown, in which case you will most likely die happy.
Posting activity is going to all but cease in the next few weeks or so due to limited internet access and a hectic work schedule... it'll pick back up when my life calms back down, whenever that may be. I'll keep this thing alive as well as I can until then.
Later
Anyway. Without going into details, I saw some friends I hadn't seen a long time, drank some good drinks, and generally stayed under the radar. Low-key was the name of the game. Also may or may not have consumed half a bottle of the Glenmorangie while cooking at about 103 degrees Fahrenheit in the new hot tub - my independent research suggests high levels of stress relief with this technique, provided you don't slip into unconsciousness and drown, in which case you will most likely die happy.
Posting activity is going to all but cease in the next few weeks or so due to limited internet access and a hectic work schedule... it'll pick back up when my life calms back down, whenever that may be. I'll keep this thing alive as well as I can until then.
Later
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
D Day.
I'd just like to say that I'm extremely proud to be a descendent of the legacy of some of the baddest motherfuckers to ever walk the earth - the paratroopers of the 82d Airborne Division during World War Two. Those mindblowingly bat-shit crazy individuals jumped blindly into a country they'd never seen full of well-trained Nazi assholes firing Flak cannons at them in the middle of the night. (Holy fuck, how scary is that? I damn near piss myself on training jumps.)
Legend has it that after they landed, during the battles in the French bocage, the paratroopers' assault positions were often given away by the sound of their giant, solid brass testicles clanging together in the silent darkness - forcing them to kill everything in their path with a hail of .30 cal gunfire, thereby inconveniently dirtying said paratroopers' weapons and, worst of all, angering their NCOs.
When it was determined that the paratroopers had sufficiently softened up resistance (read: exterminated the enemy) in their current area of operation, higher ups would find another suitable location for them to earn their combat jump pay; whereupon they would repeat said extreme violence upon the enemy until victory was achieved. Rinse, repeat, repeat, repeat.
By God, what a bunch of fucking lunatics. May this country forever be blessed with paratroopers like them.
H-Minus, Airborne, All The Way.
Legend has it that after they landed, during the battles in the French bocage, the paratroopers' assault positions were often given away by the sound of their giant, solid brass testicles clanging together in the silent darkness - forcing them to kill everything in their path with a hail of .30 cal gunfire, thereby inconveniently dirtying said paratroopers' weapons and, worst of all, angering their NCOs.
When it was determined that the paratroopers had sufficiently softened up resistance (read: exterminated the enemy) in their current area of operation, higher ups would find another suitable location for them to earn their combat jump pay; whereupon they would repeat said extreme violence upon the enemy until victory was achieved. Rinse, repeat, repeat, repeat.
By God, what a bunch of fucking lunatics. May this country forever be blessed with paratroopers like them.
H-Minus, Airborne, All The Way.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Happy Birthday To Me
Dear Jack,
Well, it's your birthday again. It's been [redacted] years since you took your first breath in this world, gracing us with your presence. Having been there with you for nearly all of it, I can tell you that it's been a wild ride, and that barring unforeseen events, it is going to continue to be an epic journey worthy of novels or a Hollywood blockbuster.
Thanks for sticking around for another year. Without your charm, wit, and cunning intellect, this planet would be a duller place. I love your laugh, your handsome smile, your wild eyes. Being around you all the time is reason enough to keep breathing, just so I can see what you'll do next. May you continue to grow and broaden your horizons every day.
Sincerely, your best friend, your worst enemy, your biggest fan and your most vehement critic...
The Man in the Mirror
P.S. - sorry the watch I bought you hasn't shown up yet, it's still being regulated by weird little watch people in Boulder. Your Sinn will be here in time, don't worry.
Well, it's your birthday again. It's been [redacted] years since you took your first breath in this world, gracing us with your presence. Having been there with you for nearly all of it, I can tell you that it's been a wild ride, and that barring unforeseen events, it is going to continue to be an epic journey worthy of novels or a Hollywood blockbuster.
Thanks for sticking around for another year. Without your charm, wit, and cunning intellect, this planet would be a duller place. I love your laugh, your handsome smile, your wild eyes. Being around you all the time is reason enough to keep breathing, just so I can see what you'll do next. May you continue to grow and broaden your horizons every day.
Sincerely, your best friend, your worst enemy, your biggest fan and your most vehement critic...
The Man in the Mirror
P.S. - sorry the watch I bought you hasn't shown up yet, it's still being regulated by weird little watch people in Boulder. Your Sinn will be here in time, don't worry.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Things I learned this weekend.
Spent another weekend in New York raising hell and causing problems. Here's some lessons I picked up, in no particular order:
- I'm not allowed to be intoxicated in public places. This is in the best interests of you, me, my friends, and the world at large. Topping the list of places I shouldn't go is Manhattan during Fleet Week... I'm sure you can figure that one out.
- When drinking liquor in quantity, I actually grow in size and strength and then proceed to multiply. One shot, I'm still plain ol' me, just a bit more talkative. Three or four shots and I'm pretty sure I can take anyone in the room one on one. After six shots or so, I am a company-sized element, ready to stomp any faces that present themselves. Eight or more and I'm at least a full battalion of pissed-off paratroopers. In my mind.
- I'm pretty awesome at talking to cops, particularly when I'm a bit inebriated. This is good.
- People find my insanity interesting. Some people actually enjoy participating in it. I don't understand this either.
- Drunkenly shouting "I'M A GODDAMN PARATROOPER YOU DAMN DIRTY POGS!!!" at groups of sailors, Marines, pretty much everyone, on a rowdy Saturday night in Manhattan, is not a great way to make friends. Shocking, I know. (For you civilian types, "POG" (pronounced 'pogue') is an acronym for Personnel Other than Grunts, i.e. non-infantry. It's pretty derogatory.)
It's probably a good thing that I have to quit drinking for an extended period of time.
Deuces
- I'm not allowed to be intoxicated in public places. This is in the best interests of you, me, my friends, and the world at large. Topping the list of places I shouldn't go is Manhattan during Fleet Week... I'm sure you can figure that one out.
- When drinking liquor in quantity, I actually grow in size and strength and then proceed to multiply. One shot, I'm still plain ol' me, just a bit more talkative. Three or four shots and I'm pretty sure I can take anyone in the room one on one. After six shots or so, I am a company-sized element, ready to stomp any faces that present themselves. Eight or more and I'm at least a full battalion of pissed-off paratroopers. In my mind.
- I'm pretty awesome at talking to cops, particularly when I'm a bit inebriated. This is good.
- People find my insanity interesting. Some people actually enjoy participating in it. I don't understand this either.
- Drunkenly shouting "I'M A GODDAMN PARATROOPER YOU DAMN DIRTY POGS!!!" at groups of sailors, Marines, pretty much everyone, on a rowdy Saturday night in Manhattan, is not a great way to make friends. Shocking, I know. (For you civilian types, "POG" (pronounced 'pogue') is an acronym for Personnel Other than Grunts, i.e. non-infantry. It's pretty derogatory.)
It's probably a good thing that I have to quit drinking for an extended period of time.
Deuces
You know what's awkward?
When another dude's (very cute) girlfriend is way into you, and spends almost an hour talking about nothing but you. I'm not complaining - I love talking about myself, especially with pretty girls - but the situation just struck me as being very unfortunate.
Usually people don't find me that interesting... blah.
Usually people don't find me that interesting... blah.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
A Weekend in Westchester
Well, they finally let me escape for a few days and make the ten-ish hour drive up here to my mom's house in New York. Conveniently my mother's birthday was this weekend, so I got the added benefit of looking like a kind and loving person (a luxury I'm not often granted).
I 95 was the usual battle of Jack vs. Stupid Fucking Americans. If anything, it was slightly worse than usual. I'm not certain if everyone in Virginia drives like a complete and total ass hat, but from my limited and strictly non-scientific observations, the licensed Virginia population consists of approximately 85% idiotic cunts. Luckily for them, I have enough self control to suppress my inner postal worker.
Anyway, I've been having a very nice weekend consisting mostly of rampant alcohol consumption, getting spoiled silly with wonderful dinners out (thanks mom!), and straight up stone-cold chillin' with the homies. Life could be worse.
I have to head back to Braggdad tonight for reasons I can't disclose... shit's getting really real at work lately. Hopefully this will help with my current state of hyper-anxiety. Not knowing, combined with anticipation, can be really goddamn stressful.
Keep calm and drive on...
I 95 was the usual battle of Jack vs. Stupid Fucking Americans. If anything, it was slightly worse than usual. I'm not certain if everyone in Virginia drives like a complete and total ass hat, but from my limited and strictly non-scientific observations, the licensed Virginia population consists of approximately 85% idiotic cunts. Luckily for them, I have enough self control to suppress my inner postal worker.
Anyway, I've been having a very nice weekend consisting mostly of rampant alcohol consumption, getting spoiled silly with wonderful dinners out (thanks mom!), and straight up stone-cold chillin' with the homies. Life could be worse.
I have to head back to Braggdad tonight for reasons I can't disclose... shit's getting really real at work lately. Hopefully this will help with my current state of hyper-anxiety. Not knowing, combined with anticipation, can be really goddamn stressful.
Keep calm and drive on...
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
I Have Three Letters For You: PBR.
No, not Professional Bull Riding, although that is pretty kickass as well. I'm referring to Pabst Blue Ribbon, that cheapest, most wonderful concoction of water and agricultural sludge that some affectionately call Poor Boy's Remedy.
Okay, okay. It tastes like the horse they got it from has a UTI, but you know what? Fuck it. It's one of those things that you either emphatically love or completely despise, and I fall decidedly into the former camp. Let me list the ways in which PBR is awesome.
- It is a goddamn American classic. Been around since before the Civil War and won its namesake Blue Ribbon right around the time this country was still powered by trains and land snatching. 'Murrca!
- Presumably it has some trace amounts of alcohol in it, as evidenced by both the age requirement to purchase it and the fact that I'll work up a decent buzz after about half a case of them. As we all know, alcohol makes everything better.
- I can literally hydrate myself off of nothing but PBR. I really have no comment on that, except for the fact that human body is an amazing thing, with the liver being a particularly clever organ.
- In most places, PBR is substantially cheaper than energy drinks (which destroy your body, and don't get you drunk) and bottled water (which, again, does not get you drunk). At my local Post Exchange, you will receive a nickel back from a six dollar bill when purchasing a twelve pack of it. That's 49.17 cents per.
- PBR is available in both bottles and cans for the same low price. Cans are great because you can shotgun them (which is really just the epitome of class) before you crush them and spike them at your buddy's face in a declaration of manly awesomeness. Bottles, meanwhile, make excellent paper weights. Win-win.
- Tom Raper drinks it.
Pabst Blue Ribbon: if you don't like it, you're probably a freedom-hating communist.
That is all.
Okay, okay. It tastes like the horse they got it from has a UTI, but you know what? Fuck it. It's one of those things that you either emphatically love or completely despise, and I fall decidedly into the former camp. Let me list the ways in which PBR is awesome.
- It is a goddamn American classic. Been around since before the Civil War and won its namesake Blue Ribbon right around the time this country was still powered by trains and land snatching. 'Murrca!
- Presumably it has some trace amounts of alcohol in it, as evidenced by both the age requirement to purchase it and the fact that I'll work up a decent buzz after about half a case of them. As we all know, alcohol makes everything better.
- I can literally hydrate myself off of nothing but PBR. I really have no comment on that, except for the fact that human body is an amazing thing, with the liver being a particularly clever organ.
- In most places, PBR is substantially cheaper than energy drinks (which destroy your body, and don't get you drunk) and bottled water (which, again, does not get you drunk). At my local Post Exchange, you will receive a nickel back from a six dollar bill when purchasing a twelve pack of it. That's 49.17 cents per.
- PBR is available in both bottles and cans for the same low price. Cans are great because you can shotgun them (which is really just the epitome of class) before you crush them and spike them at your buddy's face in a declaration of manly awesomeness. Bottles, meanwhile, make excellent paper weights. Win-win.
- Tom Raper drinks it.
Pabst Blue Ribbon: if you don't like it, you're probably a freedom-hating communist.
That is all.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Small Miracles
Finally found my original set of dog tags that I lost sometime last year. I searched high and low for those bastards, too.
They were in the front pocket of my dress uniform jacket... tells you how often I wear dress blues.
They were in the front pocket of my dress uniform jacket... tells you how often I wear dress blues.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Thoughts On Mexico
So here's something I've been giving a fair amount of thought to lately.
What in the serious fuck is up with our neighbor to the south? More importantly, where is the news coverage/public outrage over this travesty?
Think about it. No one bats an eye anymore when multiple bodies (or parts thereof) are dumped in a major metropolitan area of Mexico (more here). Be warned, there are some mildly graphic pictures in that article. That took place directly across the border from the Texas city of Laredo, and has happened in several other border cities, notably Juarez. These types of atrocities have been occurring for a decade or more. (Edit: How did I miss this? "More than 50,000 people have been killed [nationwide] since the Mexican government began a crackdown on narco-trafficking in 2006.")
So here we sit as a country, spending billions upon trillions of dollars (not to mention the lives of our servicemen) to fight for democracy in not just another nation, but another continent... yet we allow extreme violence to become commonplace in a nation which shares nearly 2,000 miles of largely unguarded border with us.
This is a huge long term mistake - and here's why.
First, if you haven't noticed, Mexico has become one of the most (if not THE most) violent "at peace" nations in the world. It's a telling fact that the world barely notices as dozens of hanged/decapitated bodies turn up in a city that borders the US. Simply put, this kind of brutality has become commonplace as a result of drug cartels who, collectively, likely have more pull than their federal government.
Second, Mexico (as mentioned above) shares a very porous border nearly 2,000 miles in length with us. This border serves as an inlet for all types of horrors, the obvious ones being narcotics. However, since the drug cartels that control the border flow are simple profiteers, their travel routes are open to all. Oh, hey there, anti-American extremists! Welcome to our country.
Third, their violence has involved, and continues to involve, US citizens. Granted, American tourists are annoying as fuck, but I hardly think that warrants their abduction or murder.
Fourth, the Mexican government is unable to counteract this threat. Police/military leaders who speak against the cartels, often even their families are publicly assassinated without repercussion. Cartels have the all important aspect of fire superiority within their areas of operation, precluding anything but all-out military action - which the Mexican government will not authorize for fear that it will escalate into civil war, thus castrating their international standing as a free state.
Fifth... I was going to bypass this one, since it should be obvious to anyone with a pulse, but: if Mexico wasn't in the crime-driven economic shitstorm they're in, why would they illegally emigrate to the US as they are now? Problem solved, problem staying solved.
.......
So now that you've had a chance to absorb that - yes, my response is direct military action. Sometimes, war IS the answer.
A la Baghdad, in miniature: assault with a brigade per city (or several, depending on size), isolating the known cartel-controlled areas via fixed-wing, CAS, armor, arty, naval gunship if available - every asset we have. Send SOCOM sniper/recon teams in advance of the main elements to provide intelligence and covering fire. Breach, clear, rinse and repeat.
Just one dumb grunt's opinion, take it for what you will.
Stay classy.
What in the serious fuck is up with our neighbor to the south? More importantly, where is the news coverage/public outrage over this travesty?
Think about it. No one bats an eye anymore when multiple bodies (or parts thereof) are dumped in a major metropolitan area of Mexico (more here). Be warned, there are some mildly graphic pictures in that article. That took place directly across the border from the Texas city of Laredo, and has happened in several other border cities, notably Juarez. These types of atrocities have been occurring for a decade or more. (Edit: How did I miss this? "More than 50,000 people have been killed [nationwide] since the Mexican government began a crackdown on narco-trafficking in 2006.")
So here we sit as a country, spending billions upon trillions of dollars (not to mention the lives of our servicemen) to fight for democracy in not just another nation, but another continent... yet we allow extreme violence to become commonplace in a nation which shares nearly 2,000 miles of largely unguarded border with us.
This is a huge long term mistake - and here's why.
First, if you haven't noticed, Mexico has become one of the most (if not THE most) violent "at peace" nations in the world. It's a telling fact that the world barely notices as dozens of hanged/decapitated bodies turn up in a city that borders the US. Simply put, this kind of brutality has become commonplace as a result of drug cartels who, collectively, likely have more pull than their federal government.
Second, Mexico (as mentioned above) shares a very porous border nearly 2,000 miles in length with us. This border serves as an inlet for all types of horrors, the obvious ones being narcotics. However, since the drug cartels that control the border flow are simple profiteers, their travel routes are open to all. Oh, hey there, anti-American extremists! Welcome to our country.
Third, their violence has involved, and continues to involve, US citizens. Granted, American tourists are annoying as fuck, but I hardly think that warrants their abduction or murder.
Fourth, the Mexican government is unable to counteract this threat. Police/military leaders who speak against the cartels, often even their families are publicly assassinated without repercussion. Cartels have the all important aspect of fire superiority within their areas of operation, precluding anything but all-out military action - which the Mexican government will not authorize for fear that it will escalate into civil war, thus castrating their international standing as a free state.
Fifth... I was going to bypass this one, since it should be obvious to anyone with a pulse, but: if Mexico wasn't in the crime-driven economic shitstorm they're in, why would they illegally emigrate to the US as they are now? Problem solved, problem staying solved.
.......
So now that you've had a chance to absorb that - yes, my response is direct military action. Sometimes, war IS the answer.
A la Baghdad, in miniature: assault with a brigade per city (or several, depending on size), isolating the known cartel-controlled areas via fixed-wing, CAS, armor, arty, naval gunship if available - every asset we have. Send SOCOM sniper/recon teams in advance of the main elements to provide intelligence and covering fire. Breach, clear, rinse and repeat.
Just one dumb grunt's opinion, take it for what you will.
Stay classy.
I'd just like to take this moment...
... to congratulate everyone involved in this operation. Seriously, well done. But to whomever leaked the details:
Really, you fucking dolts? Anyone here ever heard of OPSEC?
If you're one of my weirdo civilian friends and haven't actually heard of it, it's an acronym for Operational Security. It isone of the single most important aspect of any military or clandestine activity. Basically - don't let the enemy know what you're doing. Simple concept, I know, but apparently it's difficult for some of us...
HAY GUYS WE TOTALLY JUST INFILTRATED YOU LOLZ.
Nice work sacrificing an incredible amount of hard work and potential future intelligence just to gain political advantage from this one minor victory. Dipshits.
Really, you fucking dolts? Anyone here ever heard of OPSEC?
If you're one of my weirdo civilian friends and haven't actually heard of it, it's an acronym for Operational Security. It is
HAY GUYS WE TOTALLY JUST INFILTRATED YOU LOLZ.
Nice work sacrificing an incredible amount of hard work and potential future intelligence just to gain political advantage from this one minor victory. Dipshits.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
You Can Tell The Same Lie A Thousand Times, But It Never Gets Any More True
"...so close your eyes once more, and once more believe that they all still believe in you." - Lamb of God
Despite the fact that you don't hear much about it from whatever bullshit news station you watch, our war in Afghanistan is still hot as hell.
Lately I find myself wondering - does the lack of media coverage have anything to do with the fact that it's an election year? No, I must be paranoid - there's no chance that the completely independent and unbiased news media in this country would ever suppress a story to protect the image of a favored candidate. That's madness, bordering on heresy...
It's also become a sad truth that the majority of the American people are entirely too occupied with themselves to give a fuck about another soldier dying in service to their country. I find it quite ironic that the blanket of freedom afforded to this country's populace allows it to completely disregard the cost and value thereof. Watching it happen in real time has been the single most disheartening thing I've ever witnessed - the word "disgust" comes to mind.
To my friends and brothers deployed in that pit of misery known as A-stan - stay safe, keep at it, and keep it warm for me. Your efforts are still appreciated by some of us back here.
- Jack
Despite the fact that you don't hear much about it from whatever bullshit news station you watch, our war in Afghanistan is still hot as hell.
Lately I find myself wondering - does the lack of media coverage have anything to do with the fact that it's an election year? No, I must be paranoid - there's no chance that the completely independent and unbiased news media in this country would ever suppress a story to protect the image of a favored candidate. That's madness, bordering on heresy...
It's also become a sad truth that the majority of the American people are entirely too occupied with themselves to give a fuck about another soldier dying in service to their country. I find it quite ironic that the blanket of freedom afforded to this country's populace allows it to completely disregard the cost and value thereof. Watching it happen in real time has been the single most disheartening thing I've ever witnessed - the word "disgust" comes to mind.
To my friends and brothers deployed in that pit of misery known as A-stan - stay safe, keep at it, and keep it warm for me. Your efforts are still appreciated by some of us back here.
- Jack
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Cinco De Mayo
Happy Tequila Day. More importantly, happy birthday to my good friends Balls and Sarah... many more to ya.
I had a few shots of some Sauza Reposado in honor of this horrible, evil holiday. I counted three before calling it quits, since a large dose of tequila will generally have particularly nasty effects on my personality and/or ability to make rational decisions. There are enough scars on my body as it stands. For those who have not been blessed with its inebriation, here's how you count to four with tequila shots:
One tequila
Two tequila
Three tequila
Floor.
...
Goddamnit, it is absolutely pouring outside. It never fails: it is guaranteed to rain within 48 hours of me washing my car. Least she's got a good coat of wax on her. Shouldn't be too difficult to clean.
Ah well, looks like a good excuse to stay in tonight and order a pizza.
Adios
I had a few shots of some Sauza Reposado in honor of this horrible, evil holiday. I counted three before calling it quits, since a large dose of tequila will generally have particularly nasty effects on my personality and/or ability to make rational decisions. There are enough scars on my body as it stands. For those who have not been blessed with its inebriation, here's how you count to four with tequila shots:
One tequila
Two tequila
Three tequila
Floor.
...
Goddamnit, it is absolutely pouring outside. It never fails: it is guaranteed to rain within 48 hours of me washing my car. Least she's got a good coat of wax on her. Shouldn't be too difficult to clean.
Ah well, looks like a good excuse to stay in tonight and order a pizza.
Adios
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Hot Weather Blows.
I'm really not built for this crap. 90 degrees and humid is completely out of my comfort zone, especially when I'm stuck in uniform all day. To add insult to injury, the air conditioning in the barracks won't drop below about 75... as a result, I've begun acting as if pants were never invented while I'm off duty.
In comparison, my dad's mountain house got snowed on last weekend. I can't even fathom what 20 degrees would feel like right now. Probably amazing, particularly since it provides an excellent excuse to fortify oneself with copious amounts of single malt and be unproductive.
Le sigh. I can't wait to get out of the south and back to Colorado for good.
~ The mountain man, missing his mountains.
In comparison, my dad's mountain house got snowed on last weekend. I can't even fathom what 20 degrees would feel like right now. Probably amazing, particularly since it provides an excellent excuse to fortify oneself with copious amounts of single malt and be unproductive.
Le sigh. I can't wait to get out of the south and back to Colorado for good.
~ The mountain man, missing his mountains.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Things I Do After Work
That's actually a Sierra Nevada Pale, but I love the glass.
And, of course, SigForum.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Listen Up If You Like Drinking Games
This game is called Titties. Like Samuel Jackson, it'll get you drunk. This shit ain't for amateurs. Make sure you have fucktons of beer on hand before you begin. You'll still run out, but that's okay.
Game starts with the dealer calling out a suit. He deals around until someone draws a card of that suit, at which point they drink the number on the card, as counted out by the other players. So, let's say the dealer calls Spades, and deals until Player 3 draws the ten of Spades. Player 3 begins drinking, while Player 4 starts the count with "one", the next continues with "two", and so on and so forth. This continues until the count is over. The drinker then calls a suit, sets his beer down, and the game continues. The counters can count at whatever pace they desire, and the drinker can drink at his own pace.
Now here's the catch: if the drinker finishes his beer before the count is over, whoever missed the count has to take his place. Let's use the above example to explain this. Player 3 is drinking for a count of ten, while players 1, 2, and 4 count. Player 2 says "eight", as Player 3 finishes his beer and slams it to the table. Because Player 4 didn't count, he then assumes Player 3's place, and starts the count anew - he has to drink for a count of ten. This can theoretically go on forever.
The other rules:
Whoever draws a 2 is the Two Bitch until someone else draws a 2. Being the Two Bitch means drinking anytime someone else has to drink. You cannot set your beer down until they have set theirs down. The Two Bitch cannot slam on anyone, and must continue drinking with whoever is the designated drinker until another 2 is drawn.
If you mess up the count, you take the place of whoever is drinking. That means starting over from their original number.
If you forget to call a suit before setting your beer down after a round of drinking, you must repeat your turn.
This game will ruin everyone but the most experienced drinkers. I personally witnessed two fairly accomplished alcoholics vomit from it tonight... though I'd been drinking for twelve hours prior to the start of it, I managed to avoid that fate. I am, however, very, very drunk.
Anyway. Try it if you need something to do. It's fun.
-Jack
Game starts with the dealer calling out a suit. He deals around until someone draws a card of that suit, at which point they drink the number on the card, as counted out by the other players. So, let's say the dealer calls Spades, and deals until Player 3 draws the ten of Spades. Player 3 begins drinking, while Player 4 starts the count with "one", the next continues with "two", and so on and so forth. This continues until the count is over. The drinker then calls a suit, sets his beer down, and the game continues. The counters can count at whatever pace they desire, and the drinker can drink at his own pace.
Now here's the catch: if the drinker finishes his beer before the count is over, whoever missed the count has to take his place. Let's use the above example to explain this. Player 3 is drinking for a count of ten, while players 1, 2, and 4 count. Player 2 says "eight", as Player 3 finishes his beer and slams it to the table. Because Player 4 didn't count, he then assumes Player 3's place, and starts the count anew - he has to drink for a count of ten. This can theoretically go on forever.
The other rules:
Whoever draws a 2 is the Two Bitch until someone else draws a 2. Being the Two Bitch means drinking anytime someone else has to drink. You cannot set your beer down until they have set theirs down. The Two Bitch cannot slam on anyone, and must continue drinking with whoever is the designated drinker until another 2 is drawn.
If you mess up the count, you take the place of whoever is drinking. That means starting over from their original number.
If you forget to call a suit before setting your beer down after a round of drinking, you must repeat your turn.
This game will ruin everyone but the most experienced drinkers. I personally witnessed two fairly accomplished alcoholics vomit from it tonight... though I'd been drinking for twelve hours prior to the start of it, I managed to avoid that fate. I am, however, very, very drunk.
Anyway. Try it if you need something to do. It's fun.
-Jack
Good Morning Whiskey, Good Morning World
Well, it's not yet 9am on this wonderful Saturday morning, and I'm already down a few beers and possibly a glass or two of whiskey. However, I've also already cleaned my room, unpacked my gear (to be cleaned), and done a couple loads of laundry, so I don't feel too bad about my drinking.
After getting off work yesterday around 1pm, I made it until about 6 before giving in to the sleep that was calling me. Evidently I woke up for a phone call or two, and long enough to downgrade from jeans and polo, but I don't remember any of that. I finally woke up on my own around 6:40 this morning. Anyway, I've had a little time to reflect on my life over the past two weeks.
That field problem was one of the worst experiences I've ever had. Without a doubt, that was one of the lowest points of my life. Allow me to explain.
I was out with my platoon, many of us humping around way more weight than is safe or reasonable, rucking from place to place over long distances. Day one, and everyone's feet, back, and knees were already crying out in pain... a great way to start. In addition, we were running on next to zero hours of sleep, a trend that would continue over the next week or so. So anyway, we set up a patrol base (woods camp with security) around 2:30 one morning, exhausted from rucking, and hastily set up our shit before attempting to sleep.
And then came the rain. Biblical motherfucking rain. Rain that plowed its way through our paltry hooches, through our "waterproof" bivouac bags, into our sleeping bags, clothes, and every ounce of gear in our ruck sacks. Into our very existence. There was nothing except for the rain, and us.
None of us were prepared for the giant shitstorm that crushed our souls over the next three days. No one escaped the rain, nor did any of our gear. Ever tried sleeping outside in 40 degrees of windy thunderstorm, in wet socks, wet uniform, a wet sleeping bag inside a wet bivvy sack, under a wet goddamn poncho? Well it's not very fucking comfortable. Attempting to get our allowed two-to-three hours of sleep per night in those conditions was, shall we say, absolutely and totally pointless.
I mentioned wet socks. I also mentioned that we were rucking everywhere we went... the curse of the light infantry. Well, as it turns out, soaked boots/socks/feet, when combined with long walks under heavy weight through sandy jungle, equals pain and misery. The soles of my feet will need some time to recover from that particular horror, and I didn't even have it as bad as some of the guys.
During the course of these events, I managed to get myself fired as the platoon's RTO (short for radio-telecommunications operator). That may sound like a bad thing. Let me assure you that is not the case. Why? Let me explain. First, I get to go back to a rifle squad, which means I get to bust down doors and shoot things/people again - the entire point of being an infantryman. Second, I no longer have to carry (or jump!) an extra thirty pounds of radio shit in my ruck sack. Third, I no longer answer directly to my glorious, brilliant platoon leader and incredibly friendly platoon sergeant, which is reward enough in and of itself. Fourth, I'm no longer responsible when the weather/location/equipment/company RTO/supply guys/commo gods/Satan conspire to provide poor communications capabilities.
God, I fucking hated that job. Words cannot express how excited I am to be back as regular Joe Douchebag, wielding an M4 against the evil Green Plastic Men who conspire for tactical and strategic control of our shoot houses. Or, if we ever deploy, against the hostile populace of whatever country we happen to invade that week.
Anyway. I'm drunk enough that I should stop writing, lest you people get more than you bargained for. I'm not getting paid for this, after all.
Carry on, you animals
After getting off work yesterday around 1pm, I made it until about 6 before giving in to the sleep that was calling me. Evidently I woke up for a phone call or two, and long enough to downgrade from jeans and polo, but I don't remember any of that. I finally woke up on my own around 6:40 this morning. Anyway, I've had a little time to reflect on my life over the past two weeks.
That field problem was one of the worst experiences I've ever had. Without a doubt, that was one of the lowest points of my life. Allow me to explain.
I was out with my platoon, many of us humping around way more weight than is safe or reasonable, rucking from place to place over long distances. Day one, and everyone's feet, back, and knees were already crying out in pain... a great way to start. In addition, we were running on next to zero hours of sleep, a trend that would continue over the next week or so. So anyway, we set up a patrol base (woods camp with security) around 2:30 one morning, exhausted from rucking, and hastily set up our shit before attempting to sleep.
And then came the rain. Biblical motherfucking rain. Rain that plowed its way through our paltry hooches, through our "waterproof" bivouac bags, into our sleeping bags, clothes, and every ounce of gear in our ruck sacks. Into our very existence. There was nothing except for the rain, and us.
None of us were prepared for the giant shitstorm that crushed our souls over the next three days. No one escaped the rain, nor did any of our gear. Ever tried sleeping outside in 40 degrees of windy thunderstorm, in wet socks, wet uniform, a wet sleeping bag inside a wet bivvy sack, under a wet goddamn poncho? Well it's not very fucking comfortable. Attempting to get our allowed two-to-three hours of sleep per night in those conditions was, shall we say, absolutely and totally pointless.
I mentioned wet socks. I also mentioned that we were rucking everywhere we went... the curse of the light infantry. Well, as it turns out, soaked boots/socks/feet, when combined with long walks under heavy weight through sandy jungle, equals pain and misery. The soles of my feet will need some time to recover from that particular horror, and I didn't even have it as bad as some of the guys.
During the course of these events, I managed to get myself fired as the platoon's RTO (short for radio-telecommunications operator). That may sound like a bad thing. Let me assure you that is not the case. Why? Let me explain. First, I get to go back to a rifle squad, which means I get to bust down doors and shoot things/people again - the entire point of being an infantryman. Second, I no longer have to carry (or jump!) an extra thirty pounds of radio shit in my ruck sack. Third, I no longer answer directly to my glorious, brilliant platoon leader and incredibly friendly platoon sergeant, which is reward enough in and of itself. Fourth, I'm no longer responsible when the weather/location/equipment/company RTO/supply guys/commo gods/Satan conspire to provide poor communications capabilities.
God, I fucking hated that job. Words cannot express how excited I am to be back as regular Joe Douchebag, wielding an M4 against the evil Green Plastic Men who conspire for tactical and strategic control of our shoot houses. Or, if we ever deploy, against the hostile populace of whatever country we happen to invade that week.
Anyway. I'm drunk enough that I should stop writing, lest you people get more than you bargained for. I'm not getting paid for this, after all.
Carry on, you animals
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Field Work... Out of Comms
Been shitbagging about this site lately - field training ops got me workin' my little RTO ass off. Be back eventually.
Stay classy
Stay classy
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Funny How a Song Can Fuck You Up
The only song that can drop me to my knees is Eric Church's "Springsteen". Just makes me completely fucking useless. It brings up amazing memories of a girl I was truly in love with, who then proceeded to totally shut me out of her life.
I'm listening to Brad Paisley's "Whiskey Lullaby" on repeat, and it's not at all helping my outlook on anything.
Unresolved issues eventually rise to the surface. Note that.
I'm listening to Brad Paisley's "Whiskey Lullaby" on repeat, and it's not at all helping my outlook on anything.
Unresolved issues eventually rise to the surface. Note that.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Back to Work, Then.
Well, it's the last day of my very relaxing, very worry-free four day Easter weekend. Which means I have to go back to work tomorrow. Fuck.
The highlight of my weekend was Sunday, which was, of course, Easter. I took the "day of rest" thing to the extreme by literally never setting foot outside of my room or putting on a shirt or pants (other than my stripey PJ pants, they don't count). My accomplishments yesterday were measured not in any real or meaningful way, but instead tallied in empty beer bottles and Skyrim quests completed. Hell, I didn't even find out my hot water was working again until like 1800. Truly a glorious day of being absolutely worthless.
Still, I would much rather have gone to New York for the weekend and done things like, I don't know, maybe see some people I actually care about. Fuck it, there's always next time. Definitely missed some good times though.
I dropped like $120 on one (just one!) new set of ACUs this weekend. I kept trying to put it off, or hold out for the promised-but-highly-unlikely resupply, but it was time. You can only listen to "Hey dude your name tape's falling off" so many times in a day before you start randomly punching people in the dick, just because. I FUCKING KNOW MY NAME TAPE IS FALLING OFF, GUY. Maybe it's because the Army relies on goddamn Velcro (correction, hook-and-pile tape) to secure necessary shit onto a "combat" uniform. That's roughly the equivalent of attaching body panels to an Indy car with duct tape - that shit's coming off, one way or another. Mercifully we're now allowed to have our tapes, badges and rank sewn. Cue $20 in said additions and sewing. Hoo-fucking-ah.
Anyway. That's my little rant for the day. I'm going to go cry while I shave my scruffy five-day beard. Seriously can't wait until I never have to shave again. Not only do I hate the physical act of shaving, but it screws up my skin as well. Gross. There is also the main issue, which is that I just enjoy having facial hair - it's fun to play with, it looks boss as fuck, chicks dig it, and your mustache always tastes like Scotch. At least mine did... maybe that's just me though.
Deuces.
The highlight of my weekend was Sunday, which was, of course, Easter. I took the "day of rest" thing to the extreme by literally never setting foot outside of my room or putting on a shirt or pants (other than my stripey PJ pants, they don't count). My accomplishments yesterday were measured not in any real or meaningful way, but instead tallied in empty beer bottles and Skyrim quests completed. Hell, I didn't even find out my hot water was working again until like 1800. Truly a glorious day of being absolutely worthless.
Still, I would much rather have gone to New York for the weekend and done things like, I don't know, maybe see some people I actually care about. Fuck it, there's always next time. Definitely missed some good times though.
I dropped like $120 on one (just one!) new set of ACUs this weekend. I kept trying to put it off, or hold out for the promised-but-highly-unlikely resupply, but it was time. You can only listen to "Hey dude your name tape's falling off" so many times in a day before you start randomly punching people in the dick, just because. I FUCKING KNOW MY NAME TAPE IS FALLING OFF, GUY. Maybe it's because the Army relies on goddamn Velcro (correction, hook-and-pile tape) to secure necessary shit onto a "combat" uniform. That's roughly the equivalent of attaching body panels to an Indy car with duct tape - that shit's coming off, one way or another. Mercifully we're now allowed to have our tapes, badges and rank sewn. Cue $20 in said additions and sewing. Hoo-fucking-ah.
Anyway. That's my little rant for the day. I'm going to go cry while I shave my scruffy five-day beard. Seriously can't wait until I never have to shave again. Not only do I hate the physical act of shaving, but it screws up my skin as well. Gross. There is also the main issue, which is that I just enjoy having facial hair - it's fun to play with, it looks boss as fuck, chicks dig it, and your mustache always tastes like Scotch. At least mine did... maybe that's just me though.
Deuces.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Happy Easter, Bitches
Hope everyone is doing their little tradition thing, whether you're religious or not. It's the spirit of the holiday that counts.
Me being a heathen, I'm rather hammered, in my room, alone. I would have gone up to see my mom and my friends for the four day weekend, but I got fucked out of a pass. Thus I sit and brood.
Having this much free time is strange and foreign to me. Without the hatred that emanates from me as a result of my workday, I am lost... a dog with no master. It's an uncomfortable feeling. Alcohol to the rescue!
Tonight a buddy loaned me the entire series of The Pacific on Blu Ray. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, it's an HBO miniseries about the Pacific campaign in World War Two, with U.S. Marines squaring off against Imperial Japan. It's a lot like Band of Brothers, but sadly not as good for two reasons: A., it all seems frivolous given how we ended the campaign, and B., there is an alarming lack of paratroopers on screen. And as we all know, a WWII show without a paratrooper is like a stripper with A cups. Pointless.
Anyhoo. This is the first four-day weekend I've spent on Bragg since I've been in the Army (true story), and I'm completely at a loss. So unmotivated. Not a fan.
Me being a heathen, I'm rather hammered, in my room, alone. I would have gone up to see my mom and my friends for the four day weekend, but I got fucked out of a pass. Thus I sit and brood.
Having this much free time is strange and foreign to me. Without the hatred that emanates from me as a result of my workday, I am lost... a dog with no master. It's an uncomfortable feeling. Alcohol to the rescue!
Tonight a buddy loaned me the entire series of The Pacific on Blu Ray. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, it's an HBO miniseries about the Pacific campaign in World War Two, with U.S. Marines squaring off against Imperial Japan. It's a lot like Band of Brothers, but sadly not as good for two reasons: A., it all seems frivolous given how we ended the campaign, and B., there is an alarming lack of paratroopers on screen. And as we all know, a WWII show without a paratrooper is like a stripper with A cups. Pointless.
Anyhoo. This is the first four-day weekend I've spent on Bragg since I've been in the Army (true story), and I'm completely at a loss. So unmotivated. Not a fan.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Boredom.
Status: Drunk. Very drunk. Watching Blackhawk Down on Netflix, laying in bed with lots of booze on my nightstand and/or filtering through my liver.
I know it's been a bit since I've posted. I'M FUCKING SORRY. Been remarkably busy lately, which is un-goddamn-cool. Though I should be blackout drunk with my buddy Wes in New York right now, I'm instead stuck here in America's b-hole due to some bureaucratic nonsense... c'est la vie.
Regrettably, I am actually seeing double so we're done here. More to follow as time permits.
Out.
I know it's been a bit since I've posted. I'M FUCKING SORRY. Been remarkably busy lately, which is un-goddamn-cool. Though I should be blackout drunk with my buddy Wes in New York right now, I'm instead stuck here in America's b-hole due to some bureaucratic nonsense... c'est la vie.
Regrettably, I am actually seeing double so we're done here. More to follow as time permits.
Out.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Coffee Therapy
So I'm sitting here at the local coffee shop, drinking a double latté (not bad, by the way) and recovering from my night of debauchery. Some highlights:
- Bro date at the strip club
- Jabba the Hut's female human-hybrid descendant in a pink shirt, sitting in a dark corner watching the girls by herself.
- Both of us attempt to photograph this visual atrocity. Photography intercepted by security, verbally warned.
- Follow random skank to house party in the boonies. I am glad I'm armed, in case they decide they need my kidneys. Or my car.
- No one attempts to steal my organs or primary mode of transportation.
- Watch buddy vomit violently out my window. Most of it ends up on my paint and/or door panel.
- Clean vomit (my favorite!) at 4am in barracks parking lot, much to the amusement of passers by. Assholes.
Average night, really.
I'm going to go buy a new PS3 game and hide in my room all day. Carry on.
Edit: bought Skyrim... finally. Goodbye social life, see you in a month or two.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Forgive My Slacker Tendencies
I guess I can't really be bothered to post lately. Between work, drinking aggressively, and sleeping like it's going out of style, it's just not happening. I need to step my game up, clearly.
More to follow tomorrow, probably... I'm sure twenty four hours of battalion Staff Duty will twist my mind in some entertaining way.
Carry on
More to follow tomorrow, probably... I'm sure twenty four hours of battalion Staff Duty will twist my mind in some entertaining way.
Carry on
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Feeling Like Alice
I definitely feel like I've fallen down the rabbit hole. I barely recognize this place with all the changes in leadership and doctrine lately. All that acid I took earlier probably isn't helping, either.
My only saving grace right now is my injured status, which precludes me from doing 95% of platoon activities - including 'corrective' training, i.e. getting my balls smoked off for someone else's fuck ups. I never thought I'd say this, but... thank God I'm crippled right now. Otherwise I might lose it. Hell, I might lose it anyway. This place has seriously gone to shit recently. I've reached the point where, if this was a regular civilian job, I'd start looking for another job, put in my two weeks notice, and never look back.
Since that's not an option, I'm going to start boosting the stock prices of my favorite microbreweries, grab a straw, and suck it the fuck up. And complain. A lot.
Looks like I'm going to hitch a ride with Nasty Nate this weekend and head west to his house in the Smokies. Mercifully, my right arm is uninjured so I ought to still be able to fly fish - may be a bit awkward at first, but I'll make it work. My sling-arm might even make a good beer holder. Hmmmmm, yes, this shows promise.
Driving the 'vette these days is a bit scandalous, it being a 6 speed and all. My two options are to unsling and use my left hand on the wheel (which hurts like crazy) or to stay slung and drive and shift with my right hand. I usually take the latter option and skip gears as much as possible - generally 1-3-5 or 2-4-5 depending on the circumstances. Honestly, it's torquey enough that I could just leave it in third the whole time, but I don't like roasting my clutch or getting shitty gas mileage.
What else... my sleep patterns are all fuckered up these days, what with my pulling crazy amounts of CQ and Staff Duty shifts (24 hours on, with the next day off to recover). Today was my recovery day and I slept from 0900 clear through to 1800. I needed it, but I'm still ready to sleep more. Guess that's the curse of having a giant open wound - my immune system's going crazy trying to keep me up and running, and it's wearing me the fuck out. Most of the time I'm a near zombie. It definitely doesn't help boost my already record-low levels of Give a Fuck. Then again, neither does being shit-housed on Vicodin all the time, but so be it.
All for now. Airborne, All the way, H-minus, re-enlist 82nd, etc.
My only saving grace right now is my injured status, which precludes me from doing 95% of platoon activities - including 'corrective' training, i.e. getting my balls smoked off for someone else's fuck ups. I never thought I'd say this, but... thank God I'm crippled right now. Otherwise I might lose it. Hell, I might lose it anyway. This place has seriously gone to shit recently. I've reached the point where, if this was a regular civilian job, I'd start looking for another job, put in my two weeks notice, and never look back.
Since that's not an option, I'm going to start boosting the stock prices of my favorite microbreweries, grab a straw, and suck it the fuck up. And complain. A lot.
Looks like I'm going to hitch a ride with Nasty Nate this weekend and head west to his house in the Smokies. Mercifully, my right arm is uninjured so I ought to still be able to fly fish - may be a bit awkward at first, but I'll make it work. My sling-arm might even make a good beer holder. Hmmmmm, yes, this shows promise.
Driving the 'vette these days is a bit scandalous, it being a 6 speed and all. My two options are to unsling and use my left hand on the wheel (which hurts like crazy) or to stay slung and drive and shift with my right hand. I usually take the latter option and skip gears as much as possible - generally 1-3-5 or 2-4-5 depending on the circumstances. Honestly, it's torquey enough that I could just leave it in third the whole time, but I don't like roasting my clutch or getting shitty gas mileage.
What else... my sleep patterns are all fuckered up these days, what with my pulling crazy amounts of CQ and Staff Duty shifts (24 hours on, with the next day off to recover). Today was my recovery day and I slept from 0900 clear through to 1800. I needed it, but I'm still ready to sleep more. Guess that's the curse of having a giant open wound - my immune system's going crazy trying to keep me up and running, and it's wearing me the fuck out. Most of the time I'm a near zombie. It definitely doesn't help boost my already record-low levels of Give a Fuck. Then again, neither does being shit-housed on Vicodin all the time, but so be it.
All for now. Airborne, All the way, H-minus, re-enlist 82nd, etc.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Nothing to Report
I think my painkillers are sapping the creativity out of me, 500mg at a time. Anyway, I have work in like two hours so I'm just saying Fuck It and pulling an all nighter. Gonna be a rough day tomorrow!
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Happy St. Fatty's Day
...may you manage to avoid arrest, scars, and fat chicks.
I'm in recovery mode and taking it pretty easy. Wish I could see all you great friends around the world tonight.
Stay safe y'all.
-Jack
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Coffee, Drugs, and Books
So apparently spring is here. How do I know? Because when I walked out to my car this afternoon, I was greeted with a nice, thick layer of neon-green POLLEN. Fucking pollen. Everywhere! Goddamnit! As if it wasn't hard enough to keep that dang car clean.
Then, of course, I also have seasonal allergy problems. They don't get that bad in Dixie, judging from last year, but it's still going to be a sneezefest for the next couple months. Fuckin' hate that.
Anyway, right now I'm simultaneously high as shit on Vicodin and sweating from this giant triple latte. It's an interesting combination (I wonder if this is how meth feels?). Been awhile since I've had any good prescriptions... I think the last time was in '09 when I shattered the bejeezus out of my lower radius, again via an impromptu meeting with a concrete slab. (Seems we need to rubberize the world if I'm expected to remain uninjured for any length of time.) That time they gave me so much Percocet that I became nearly immune to its effects - wonder I didn't get properly addicted to it. God knows I needed the stuff after having my lower arm replaced with a giant titanium rod, held together with an entire hardware store full of screws. Curse my accident-proneness.
In other news, evidently "proneness" is an actual word. Sounds wrong, you know?
I was going to try and finish Outlaws, Inc. today but I can't seem to figure out what I did with it. Looks like I'll test my virtual DUI skills in Gran Turismo 5 instead. I also picked up one each of Chris Kyle's American Sniper and Tucker Max's Hilarity Ensues, which are autobiographies of the most lethal U.S. military sniper in history and the biggest douchebag in U.S. history, respectively. Interesting role models I have.
I guess I'll stop rambling now... deuces
Then, of course, I also have seasonal allergy problems. They don't get that bad in Dixie, judging from last year, but it's still going to be a sneezefest for the next couple months. Fuckin' hate that.
Anyway, right now I'm simultaneously high as shit on Vicodin and sweating from this giant triple latte. It's an interesting combination (I wonder if this is how meth feels?). Been awhile since I've had any good prescriptions... I think the last time was in '09 when I shattered the bejeezus out of my lower radius, again via an impromptu meeting with a concrete slab. (Seems we need to rubberize the world if I'm expected to remain uninjured for any length of time.) That time they gave me so much Percocet that I became nearly immune to its effects - wonder I didn't get properly addicted to it. God knows I needed the stuff after having my lower arm replaced with a giant titanium rod, held together with an entire hardware store full of screws. Curse my accident-proneness.
In other news, evidently "proneness" is an actual word. Sounds wrong, you know?
I was going to try and finish Outlaws, Inc. today but I can't seem to figure out what I did with it. Looks like I'll test my virtual DUI skills in Gran Turismo 5 instead. I also picked up one each of Chris Kyle's American Sniper and Tucker Max's Hilarity Ensues, which are autobiographies of the most lethal U.S. military sniper in history and the biggest douchebag in U.S. history, respectively. Interesting role models I have.
I guess I'll stop rambling now... deuces
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Cripple Staff Duty
Well, a few of us broken fucks are sitting here at battalion on a 24 hour shift, twiddling our thumbs and attempting to stay awake at all costs.
The MPs came when some weirdo from the extra duty group found a half-smoked blunt in the parking lot. Naturally, they thought it was his, as he was on this detail specifically because he'd gotten caught smoking the ganj. Anyway, it was obviously dirty Mexican schwag, but somehow still qualified as weed according to the instant THC test.
I've still got nearly twelve hours left here, followed immediately by an orthopaedic appointment for my broken self. Then I get to find a DMV so I can help my buddy get his ID back... but then I will sleep for hours upon end, and it will feel wonderful.
For now I'll stay awake courtesy of my very interesting book about the arms/drugs/humanitarian aid smuggling trade around the world (Outlaws, Inc. by Matt Potter, if you're into these things, I highly recommend it), interrupted occasionally by the crackle of my radio.
- one bleary eyed paratrooper
The MPs came when some weirdo from the extra duty group found a half-smoked blunt in the parking lot. Naturally, they thought it was his, as he was on this detail specifically because he'd gotten caught smoking the ganj. Anyway, it was obviously dirty Mexican schwag, but somehow still qualified as weed according to the instant THC test.
I've still got nearly twelve hours left here, followed immediately by an orthopaedic appointment for my broken self. Then I get to find a DMV so I can help my buddy get his ID back... but then I will sleep for hours upon end, and it will feel wonderful.
For now I'll stay awake courtesy of my very interesting book about the arms/drugs/humanitarian aid smuggling trade around the world (Outlaws, Inc. by Matt Potter, if you're into these things, I highly recommend it), interrupted occasionally by the crackle of my radio.
- one bleary eyed paratrooper
Monday, March 12, 2012
Stupid Hurts.
I don't want to talk about how it happened, but my left arm is in a pseudo-cast right now and slung up. Took a nice little spill on some concrete and broke my fall with my elbow. I'm a dumb ass. Pretty sure I lost at least a quart of blood. If I took my cast thing off, you could see the bone and a bunch of little tendons and things. It's bad.
Anyway, I'm in constant pain and feel like vomiting. The only redeeming thing about this injury is that I can still fish. Thank God for that.
I could really, really use a sympathy BJ right about now.
Anyway, I'm in constant pain and feel like vomiting. The only redeeming thing about this injury is that I can still fish. Thank God for that.
I could really, really use a sympathy BJ right about now.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Two Beers Down, Lots to Go.
Yes, I'm downing a twelve pack of Fat Tire to my face. No, it's not quite noon yet. Judge me.
We got back from the field around 0200 this morning, haggard as fuck, slightly delirious, and eyes bloodshot, shuffling through the company and up the stairs like so many hungry zombies. Unlike the undead, however, we paratroopers craved only sleep and a shower (and maybe a whiskey bottle) rather than human flesh. Most of us had four hours at most per night and worked our asses off during the day (the line guys much more so than myself, but still, I was fucking beat) and eaten little but MREs and shitty field chow. Needless to say, we were highly disgruntled about the whole situation - and being greeted with hours of weapons maintenance, orders not to shower or change, and a mere two hours of uncomfortable sleep on the company's concrete floor did nothing to brighten our collective mood.
Other than the fact that I'm broken, tired, and pissed off, this week's training did have a few fleeting enjoyable moments. I got to pitch a few frag grenades, which are always fun because I love explosives. I was the only guy (out of about thirty) to sink a practice frag into an ammo box from around 35m. That was supposed to net me a late call on Monday, but naturally that's not happening. Congratulations Jack, you win absolutely nothing! Ah well, at least I can add another bullet point to the list of things that I'm better (or luckier) at than other people.
Anyway, besides playing with frags and some other items that go boom, I spent most of the week playing with my radio and generally doing my best POG impersonation. Shot my issue carbine a bit and played with ("tested", ha!) another new rifle for awhile. I'm still pretty good, but I could definitely use some more trigger time... much of my loss in speed can be attributed to exhaustion, but maybe next weekend I'll take my AUG to the range for a good workout anyway.
Well, these Fat Tires aren't going to drink themselves. More later, maybe, if I get around to it.
We got back from the field around 0200 this morning, haggard as fuck, slightly delirious, and eyes bloodshot, shuffling through the company and up the stairs like so many hungry zombies. Unlike the undead, however, we paratroopers craved only sleep and a shower (and maybe a whiskey bottle) rather than human flesh. Most of us had four hours at most per night and worked our asses off during the day (the line guys much more so than myself, but still, I was fucking beat) and eaten little but MREs and shitty field chow. Needless to say, we were highly disgruntled about the whole situation - and being greeted with hours of weapons maintenance, orders not to shower or change, and a mere two hours of uncomfortable sleep on the company's concrete floor did nothing to brighten our collective mood.
Other than the fact that I'm broken, tired, and pissed off, this week's training did have a few fleeting enjoyable moments. I got to pitch a few frag grenades, which are always fun because I love explosives. I was the only guy (out of about thirty) to sink a practice frag into an ammo box from around 35m. That was supposed to net me a late call on Monday, but naturally that's not happening. Congratulations Jack, you win absolutely nothing! Ah well, at least I can add another bullet point to the list of things that I'm better (or luckier) at than other people.
Anyway, besides playing with frags and some other items that go boom, I spent most of the week playing with my radio and generally doing my best POG impersonation. Shot my issue carbine a bit and played with ("tested", ha!) another new rifle for awhile. I'm still pretty good, but I could definitely use some more trigger time... much of my loss in speed can be attributed to exhaustion, but maybe next weekend I'll take my AUG to the range for a good workout anyway.
Well, these Fat Tires aren't going to drink themselves. More later, maybe, if I get around to it.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Fishing > Work
Pretty much how I feel right now. This work shit is seriously overrated.
Heading back into the field tomorrow for a few days. Maybe I'll actually get to shoot something this time, but I doubt it will be much. At this point I'll just settle for decent weather and a minimum of political bullshit from higher up (ha! not likely).
This past weekend was another excellent few days in the Carolina mountains, despite the extremely pissed-off rain gods. I went fishing for an afternoon and caught one pretty nice Brookie on an Elk Hair Caddis, wonderful dry fly that it is. Sadly, I also discovered that I hate my 3-weight Sage, so I promptly handed it to one of my fishing compatriots and rigged up my old standby 5-weight. Anyone want a 9 foot 3-weight Sage? Ha!
Got a little too aggressive in my wading attempts and nearly met my maker as a result... I must be more careful about that. The current was much stronger than I anticipated due to the heavy rains the night prior. Anyway, no broken rods, limbs, or hearts, so all's well that ends well. The only casualty was my left index finger which ended up becoming very friendly with the aforementioned Elk Hair Caddis - pretty sure I made up some new words while pulling that bitch out with hemostats. Fuck, that hurt.
It looks like I'll be spending a few days in the Carmel, CA area in July for my cousin's wedding. I was offered an all-expenses-paid vacation with my own personal room at a very beautiful resort. I'm no rocket surgeon, but I know when something is entirely too good to pass up - and the timing happens to be solidly within my projected block leave dates. The gods want it to happen, and so I shall let it.
All for now. Stay classy.
Heading back into the field tomorrow for a few days. Maybe I'll actually get to shoot something this time, but I doubt it will be much. At this point I'll just settle for decent weather and a minimum of political bullshit from higher up (ha! not likely).
This past weekend was another excellent few days in the Carolina mountains, despite the extremely pissed-off rain gods. I went fishing for an afternoon and caught one pretty nice Brookie on an Elk Hair Caddis, wonderful dry fly that it is. Sadly, I also discovered that I hate my 3-weight Sage, so I promptly handed it to one of my fishing compatriots and rigged up my old standby 5-weight. Anyone want a 9 foot 3-weight Sage? Ha!
Got a little too aggressive in my wading attempts and nearly met my maker as a result... I must be more careful about that. The current was much stronger than I anticipated due to the heavy rains the night prior. Anyway, no broken rods, limbs, or hearts, so all's well that ends well. The only casualty was my left index finger which ended up becoming very friendly with the aforementioned Elk Hair Caddis - pretty sure I made up some new words while pulling that bitch out with hemostats. Fuck, that hurt.
It looks like I'll be spending a few days in the Carmel, CA area in July for my cousin's wedding. I was offered an all-expenses-paid vacation with my own personal room at a very beautiful resort. I'm no rocket surgeon, but I know when something is entirely too good to pass up - and the timing happens to be solidly within my projected block leave dates. The gods want it to happen, and so I shall let it.
All for now. Stay classy.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Off to Ze Mountains Once More
Well, it's time for another training holiday so I'm off to the Smokies again. Thanks, taxpayers.
Finally went to sick call today to find out why my ankle's been in excruciating pain lately. Apparently I sprained it fairly badly on my last jump (three weeks ago), and it turns out that running five miles a day isn't the best way to heal it. Who would have guessed? Anyway, got me a big ol' sketchy bag of pills and a three week medical profile. Fortunately, my profile says absolutely nothing about wading through streams or boulder hopping, so it's time to get my line wet this weekend! Giggity.
Deuces
Finally went to sick call today to find out why my ankle's been in excruciating pain lately. Apparently I sprained it fairly badly on my last jump (three weeks ago), and it turns out that running five miles a day isn't the best way to heal it. Who would have guessed? Anyway, got me a big ol' sketchy bag of pills and a three week medical profile. Fortunately, my profile says absolutely nothing about wading through streams or boulder hopping, so it's time to get my line wet this weekend! Giggity.
Deuces
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Why You Should Clean Out Your Fridge
You know that quart of milk you buy and forget about? You drink half of it, but it gets shoved into the back of your refrigerator behind the beer and your leftover Chinese take out (don't judge me, I'm a bachelor), and you look three weeks later and it's still there?
Yeah. This evening was that "three weeks later" part for me.
Instead of taking the sensible route by throwing the unopened container away in a dumpster (or the Jack route and chucking it out of a moving car, thereby creating a Milk Molotov), I decided I'd dump it down the sink and avoid having to put on pants. Ahh, laziness, sometimes you fuck me good.
Until you've experienced that particular smell, you can't quite imagine the sight of me coughing, gagging, and laughing hysterically at my own stupidity as chunks of spoiled milk slopped into the sink. Chunks. Of milk. I had to wash them down the drain with hot water. I'm not going to be able to drink milk for awhile after that... seriously traumatized.
Anyway. That's my PSA for the day, I guess. Back to your regularly scheduled programming.
Yeah. This evening was that "three weeks later" part for me.
Instead of taking the sensible route by throwing the unopened container away in a dumpster (or the Jack route and chucking it out of a moving car, thereby creating a Milk Molotov), I decided I'd dump it down the sink and avoid having to put on pants. Ahh, laziness, sometimes you fuck me good.
Until you've experienced that particular smell, you can't quite imagine the sight of me coughing, gagging, and laughing hysterically at my own stupidity as chunks of spoiled milk slopped into the sink. Chunks. Of milk. I had to wash them down the drain with hot water. I'm not going to be able to drink milk for awhile after that... seriously traumatized.
Anyway. That's my PSA for the day, I guess. Back to your regularly scheduled programming.
So Dental Work Sucks
I have a wicked kind of headache from getting a filling today... feels like someone drilled into my skull and then did a bunch of welding. Weird.
Still better than being at work, though.
Still better than being at work, though.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
I Have Issues
I think I'm getting full-blown addicted to fly fishing again, except more so than I used to be. This is dangerous territory.
I've already reconned and planned out a likely trip for this three-day weekend; back up to SMNP but on the North Carolina side. The weather forecast is decent, the water looks great (and there's a damn lot of it), I've found a suitable fly shop nearby, and I'm buying my NC annual license today after work. The roads are all accessible by Corvette, so no worries there. My gear is ready to throw in the car and just go. In addition, if I go I have a free place to stay and access to the local female populace. There is no end to the perfection of my plan...
Apparently the [name withheld for fishing OPSEC] Creek where I'll be starting is one of the least fished stretches of water in the entire park, but has some of the biggest Browns and Rainbows in the region. Nice, open water for most of it - I'll be throwing lots of line, which always feels sexy as hell because I'm quite good at it. Regardless, there likely won't be anyone there to observe my awesome skills, but that's nothing to complain about. Quite the opposite. I despise having some gaper all up in my AO flailing a stick about like a retard with a paintbrush. Anyway.
I'm super excited about this trip, in case you missed that. This place does have some redeeming features after all!
Ah hell, back to work for me. All for now.
Edited to add: Went to [strip club] last night for military appreciation night. Got to see a possibly pregnant near-midget stripper (!) and a girl dance to a super-bass remix Brokencyde's Freaxxx, which is just so... fuck, words don't quite do it justice. Youtube that shit. Let's get fuckin' freaky now.
I've already reconned and planned out a likely trip for this three-day weekend; back up to SMNP but on the North Carolina side. The weather forecast is decent, the water looks great (and there's a damn lot of it), I've found a suitable fly shop nearby, and I'm buying my NC annual license today after work. The roads are all accessible by Corvette, so no worries there. My gear is ready to throw in the car and just go. In addition, if I go I have a free place to stay and access to the local female populace. There is no end to the perfection of my plan...
Apparently the [name withheld for fishing OPSEC] Creek where I'll be starting is one of the least fished stretches of water in the entire park, but has some of the biggest Browns and Rainbows in the region. Nice, open water for most of it - I'll be throwing lots of line, which always feels sexy as hell because I'm quite good at it. Regardless, there likely won't be anyone there to observe my awesome skills, but that's nothing to complain about. Quite the opposite. I despise having some gaper all up in my AO flailing a stick about like a retard with a paintbrush. Anyway.
I'm super excited about this trip, in case you missed that. This place does have some redeeming features after all!
Ah hell, back to work for me. All for now.
Edited to add: Went to [strip club] last night for military appreciation night. Got to see a possibly pregnant near-midget stripper (!) and a girl dance to a super-bass remix Brokencyde's Freaxxx, which is just so... fuck, words don't quite do it justice. Youtube that shit. Let's get fuckin' freaky now.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Back To Reality
... damnit. Another few days of that would have been really nice. Not sure I can afford another couple days of bar tabs like that though - hot damn did I drink a lot. Whiskey will be the death of me.
I did get to spend Saturday on the water; not on the Clinch but on some smaller mountain streams in beautiful Smokey Mountain National Park. The water there is clear as a Sapphire and Tonic, the fish are wild and skittish. Catch and release only, naturally. It is as close to "pure" fly fishing as one can get and presents quite an enjoyable challenge to those willing to learn. Though the fish are small compared to many bigger waters, catching them holds its own reward - and there are some big Browns hiding in places, though few ever catch them.
It's a very different environment than I'm used to. Instead of meandering through a high mountain hay meadow, these creeks cascade rapidly down narrow canyons, choked on either side by brush and trees waiting to entangle your fly on a careless back cast. I was glad to have the 9' 5 weight that my dad built on a Sage blank, as its stiff backbone makes roll- and side-casting a breeze compared to smaller rods. Still looking into getting a dedicated Smokeys rod. I'm thinking a 7'6" 4 weight will do the trick nicely - maneuverability being the objective there. Perhaps I can pressure my dad into building me one, as I'd much prefer that to something factory-built. It will certainly cost me a very nice bottle of single malt, however.
Well look at me getting all poetic here... must be the exhaustion catching up with me. My drive back was actually fairly pleasant, much nicer than my usual I-95 hatefest going to/from New York. If you've never driven I-40, there's 30-40 mile stretch (if that) which crosses the NC/TN border and the Smokey Mountains. It is damn hilly and windy, though not quite like the famous Dragon which parallels it approximately 20 miles to the south (note to self: take the detour next time). Anyway, I'm fairly certain that I never dropped below 75 mph for that whole stretch, even with traffic. I was watching my G-meter (yes, my car has a G-meter, suck it) and I never even broke .60... I'm convinced that, under ideal conditions, this road can be done at speeds of no less than 90 mph. Conservatively. For the record, I've gotten the meter to nearly double the aforementioned number - 1.15g is my best, or at least the best when my retinas weren't in the process of detaching, thereby preventing me from reading said gauge. I do love the twisty roads.
My clock informs me that I have work in approximately seven hours. Suppose I had better have one last Fat Tire, fold my laundry and get some rest. Cheers.
I did get to spend Saturday on the water; not on the Clinch but on some smaller mountain streams in beautiful Smokey Mountain National Park. The water there is clear as a Sapphire and Tonic, the fish are wild and skittish. Catch and release only, naturally. It is as close to "pure" fly fishing as one can get and presents quite an enjoyable challenge to those willing to learn. Though the fish are small compared to many bigger waters, catching them holds its own reward - and there are some big Browns hiding in places, though few ever catch them.
It's a very different environment than I'm used to. Instead of meandering through a high mountain hay meadow, these creeks cascade rapidly down narrow canyons, choked on either side by brush and trees waiting to entangle your fly on a careless back cast. I was glad to have the 9' 5 weight that my dad built on a Sage blank, as its stiff backbone makes roll- and side-casting a breeze compared to smaller rods. Still looking into getting a dedicated Smokeys rod. I'm thinking a 7'6" 4 weight will do the trick nicely - maneuverability being the objective there. Perhaps I can pressure my dad into building me one, as I'd much prefer that to something factory-built. It will certainly cost me a very nice bottle of single malt, however.
Well look at me getting all poetic here... must be the exhaustion catching up with me. My drive back was actually fairly pleasant, much nicer than my usual I-95 hatefest going to/from New York. If you've never driven I-40, there's 30-40 mile stretch (if that) which crosses the NC/TN border and the Smokey Mountains. It is damn hilly and windy, though not quite like the famous Dragon which parallels it approximately 20 miles to the south (note to self: take the detour next time). Anyway, I'm fairly certain that I never dropped below 75 mph for that whole stretch, even with traffic. I was watching my G-meter (yes, my car has a G-meter, suck it) and I never even broke .60... I'm convinced that, under ideal conditions, this road can be done at speeds of no less than 90 mph. Conservatively. For the record, I've gotten the meter to nearly double the aforementioned number - 1.15g is my best, or at least the best when my retinas weren't in the process of detaching, thereby preventing me from reading said gauge. I do love the twisty roads.
My clock informs me that I have work in approximately seven hours. Suppose I had better have one last Fat Tire, fold my laundry and get some rest. Cheers.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Dear Knoxville, TN
I love you. I never want to leave. Will you be mine?
For real, this city rocks. I'm drinking quite well for pretty cheap and the weather is beautiful. I got my car very nicely detailed for $20, and gorgeous girls are honking and blowing kisses at me. I feel like a fucking stud right now. The possibilities for this weekend are looking good.
Yours,
Jack
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Canadia, Fuck Yeah
Wooo! Got some more bling for my ASUs - Canadian Airborne wings. Bad ass.
Had all day yesterday off as compensation for our jump on Sunday. It went pretty well, except for the part where I knocked myself slightly unconscious... shit happens when you throw yourself from moving aircraft. I was lucky enough to get a ride in the Cadillac (C-17) with a Canadian Jumpmaster - hence the new swag.
Spent that night out in a field in 21 degree weather with nearly constant winds, wrapped in nothing but my snivel gear, a poncho, and liner for said poncho ("woobie", a silky lightly insulated blanket, for you civilians). That was very nearly the coldest I've ever been. Sleep was fleeting and miserable. Between the cold, C-17s landing and taking off about a click away, and nearly getting run over by an armored HMMWV, I probably got somewhere around an hour of actual shut-eye. And some nice pneumonia-like symptoms to boot.
Well, my gear's ready and my bags are packed for my upcoming four-day weekend in Knoxville. I haven't been this excited to go anywhere in quite awhile. Hopefully the fishing will be halfway decent, but I'll be content just to throw some line out and get back into the swing of things. The forecast calls for unseasonably pleasant weather, so either way it should be a nice, relaxing weekend! Can't wait.
Hopefully my next post will contain pictures of some giant fish next to my fly rod on the bank. It's either that or some good fish stories!
Deuces.
Had all day yesterday off as compensation for our jump on Sunday. It went pretty well, except for the part where I knocked myself slightly unconscious... shit happens when you throw yourself from moving aircraft. I was lucky enough to get a ride in the Cadillac (C-17) with a Canadian Jumpmaster - hence the new swag.
Spent that night out in a field in 21 degree weather with nearly constant winds, wrapped in nothing but my snivel gear, a poncho, and liner for said poncho ("woobie", a silky lightly insulated blanket, for you civilians). That was very nearly the coldest I've ever been. Sleep was fleeting and miserable. Between the cold, C-17s landing and taking off about a click away, and nearly getting run over by an armored HMMWV, I probably got somewhere around an hour of actual shut-eye. And some nice pneumonia-like symptoms to boot.
Well, my gear's ready and my bags are packed for my upcoming four-day weekend in Knoxville. I haven't been this excited to go anywhere in quite awhile. Hopefully the fishing will be halfway decent, but I'll be content just to throw some line out and get back into the swing of things. The forecast calls for unseasonably pleasant weather, so either way it should be a nice, relaxing weekend! Can't wait.
Hopefully my next post will contain pictures of some giant fish next to my fly rod on the bank. It's either that or some good fish stories!
Deuces.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Mommas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Airborne
My ruck weighs approximately 70 pounds... sans ammo. Note to self: kill self.
Not looking forward to jumping into 2-3 days of miserable weather with this bitch strapped to me. Not to mention my 10 lb radio, M4, etc, etc. Then we get to walk back! Air fucking borne.
I'm incredibly butthurt about this whole situation, as you can tell. Gah. Should've been an intel analyst. Live and learn.
Five days til Tennessee and (hopefully) some good fishing... and maybe a little 'shine, if I'm lucky. But for now...
GONE PARATROOPING
Not looking forward to jumping into 2-3 days of miserable weather with this bitch strapped to me. Not to mention my 10 lb radio, M4, etc, etc. Then we get to walk back! Air fucking borne.
I'm incredibly butthurt about this whole situation, as you can tell. Gah. Should've been an intel analyst. Live and learn.
Five days til Tennessee and (hopefully) some good fishing... and maybe a little 'shine, if I'm lucky. But for now...
GONE PARATROOPING
Thursday, February 9, 2012
One Week Til I'm In My Happy Place
My happy place being knee deep in a trout stream, 5-weight Sage in my hand, fly in the water, and halfway through a flask of single malt. I'll be taking advantage of our four day President's Day weekend and heading up to Knoxville, TN to fish the tailwaters of the world-famous Clinch River with some great old friends. I've basically spent my entire life fly fishing the high mountain streams and lakes of Colorado, so I'm looking forward to a new experience in some unexplored territory. Supposedly the Clinch is very technical due to the volume of attention it receives, so it'll be light leaders and tiny nymphs for the most part. May the fly fishing gods grant me patience and precision.
Last time I put a line to water was... October 2010, when I pulled a 23" Brown out of the Roaring Fork of the North Platte River.
I shall burn in fly fishing hell for not getting out more.
Last time I put a line to water was... October 2010, when I pulled a 23" Brown out of the Roaring Fork of the North Platte River.
I shall burn in fly fishing hell for not getting out more.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Woo Super Bowl. Almost As Cool As My New Phone.
I'm really hoping I'll get to see Tom Brady cry like a little bitch. Not tears of joy, either - I want to see those six year old, my-puppy-got-hit-by-an-18-wheeler tears. Cruel? Bitch I might be.
Been playing with my new phone a lot lately. It's pretty amazing. If you're in the market for a new smartphone, I'd definitely check out the Razr Maxx. Sure, it's kinda giant, but it's also incredibly fast, light, and tough. The battery life is insane in the membrane - just unbelievable (21 hours of talk time, or 15 hours of video. That shit cray). Full HD video formaking amateur porn recording yourself doing idiotic things, and 4G service to speed said idiotic footage to the internet! You'll be making yourself look like an asshole in no time!
This, of course, invites the inevitable comparison to Apple's market-dominating iPhone. Razr Maxx > iPhone 4s, no contest.
I prefer Android's user friendliness and customizability (is that a word? google says no, but I'M THE GODDAMN CAPTAIN ON THIS SHIP, not google) rather than the iPhone/iPod's dumbed-down and seemingly forced functionality. Maybe it's just me though. What about Siri, you say? Who gives a fuck, ever heard of the internet and voice to text? If I wanted a female voice to go everywhere with me, bitch constantly and give me unwanted advice, I'd go buy a girlfriend.
I also got the extra-douchey windshield mount for it so I can land nav like a pro... or turn it sideways, activate said full HD video camera, and record me raping and pillaging whatever idiot thinks he can take me in his Mustang. Muwahahaha. This can only end well.
So uh, go Giants, etc
Been playing with my new phone a lot lately. It's pretty amazing. If you're in the market for a new smartphone, I'd definitely check out the Razr Maxx. Sure, it's kinda giant, but it's also incredibly fast, light, and tough. The battery life is insane in the membrane - just unbelievable (21 hours of talk time, or 15 hours of video. That shit cray). Full HD video for
This, of course, invites the inevitable comparison to Apple's market-dominating iPhone. Razr Maxx > iPhone 4s, no contest.
I prefer Android's user friendliness and customizability (is that a word? google says no, but I'M THE GODDAMN CAPTAIN ON THIS SHIP, not google) rather than the iPhone/iPod's dumbed-down and seemingly forced functionality. Maybe it's just me though. What about Siri, you say? Who gives a fuck, ever heard of the internet and voice to text? If I wanted a female voice to go everywhere with me, bitch constantly and give me unwanted advice, I'd go buy a girlfriend.
I also got the extra-douchey windshield mount for it so I can land nav like a pro... or turn it sideways, activate said full HD video camera, and record me raping and pillaging whatever idiot thinks he can take me in his Mustang. Muwahahaha. This can only end well.
So uh, go Giants, etc
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Why I Don't Go to Gun Shows
Dude.
If you've never been to a gun show, it is, well... an experience. If you have, you know what I'm talking about.
For starters, the "people" that inhabit these strange places are, to put it delicately, fucking weirdos. Okay, that wasn't delicate at all. But it is accurate. Ever seen a CLEARLY (read: fat shaggy fuckstick) non-military guy walking around in full ACUs poorly bloused into black combat boots, admiring Nazi memorabilia? Because I definitely witnessed that today.
He was probably the worst I saw, but seriously, I have no idea where these things hide when they're not at gun shows. What do they do? What do they eat? And why do they walk and talk like us? Daddy, I'm scared.
Then there's the random assortment of shit for sale. Not just the absolutely absurd prices and horrible quality of firearms, but the stuff that just rings that little WTF? alarm in your brain. The aforementioned Nazi memorabilia is fucking weird, creepy, and inappropriate. Fucking ninja swords and shit? Really? Airsoft... okay, I guess. Coins? Pretty sure those have not a goddamn thing to do with guns. Beef jerky and hot sauce get a pass just because, well, it's beef jerky and hot sauce, and if you don't like those then you're probably a freedom-hating terrorist. I can't even think what other random crap there inevitably is (because now I'm thinking about beef jerky... mmm), but it's definitely well inside "full retard" territory.
On the plus side, I did score some hard-to-find ammo for a pretty decent price. Got some of my carry loads for my 1911 (Win PDX-1 bonded HP .45 ACP, if anyone cares) and some Remington FMJ range stuff for my 10mm Glock.
There were a couple things I would have purchased if funding was no issue. First was a mint unfired '70s Colt SP1 AR15 for $1650... useless, but a solid investment. Some guy had a very nice Ithaca 37 Deerslayer 12 gauge for like $450, which would kick ass at dealing with any home intruders. Finally was a Rock River 1911 - a truly beautiful and completely handbuilt work of functional art, set up exactly as if I'd built it myself... if I'd had the $2700 for it, I'd be posting pictures of it right now.
All for now. I'm going to go drink now. Stay classy.
If you've never been to a gun show, it is, well... an experience. If you have, you know what I'm talking about.
For starters, the "people" that inhabit these strange places are, to put it delicately, fucking weirdos. Okay, that wasn't delicate at all. But it is accurate. Ever seen a CLEARLY (read: fat shaggy fuckstick) non-military guy walking around in full ACUs poorly bloused into black combat boots, admiring Nazi memorabilia? Because I definitely witnessed that today.
He was probably the worst I saw, but seriously, I have no idea where these things hide when they're not at gun shows. What do they do? What do they eat? And why do they walk and talk like us? Daddy, I'm scared.
Then there's the random assortment of shit for sale. Not just the absolutely absurd prices and horrible quality of firearms, but the stuff that just rings that little WTF? alarm in your brain. The aforementioned Nazi memorabilia is fucking weird, creepy, and inappropriate. Fucking ninja swords and shit? Really? Airsoft... okay, I guess. Coins? Pretty sure those have not a goddamn thing to do with guns. Beef jerky and hot sauce get a pass just because, well, it's beef jerky and hot sauce, and if you don't like those then you're probably a freedom-hating terrorist. I can't even think what other random crap there inevitably is (because now I'm thinking about beef jerky... mmm), but it's definitely well inside "full retard" territory.
On the plus side, I did score some hard-to-find ammo for a pretty decent price. Got some of my carry loads for my 1911 (Win PDX-1 bonded HP .45 ACP, if anyone cares) and some Remington FMJ range stuff for my 10mm Glock.
There were a couple things I would have purchased if funding was no issue. First was a mint unfired '70s Colt SP1 AR15 for $1650... useless, but a solid investment. Some guy had a very nice Ithaca 37 Deerslayer 12 gauge for like $450, which would kick ass at dealing with any home intruders. Finally was a Rock River 1911 - a truly beautiful and completely handbuilt work of functional art, set up exactly as if I'd built it myself... if I'd had the $2700 for it, I'd be posting pictures of it right now.
All for now. I'm going to go drink now. Stay classy.
The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves
So any form of hard alcohol has been banned in my barracks, time: 2100 last night. Reason? I've not confirmed this, but completely believable sources inform me that division's had five (5) suicides over the 24 hour period leading up to the ban.
Yes, five out of ~22,000 paratroopers independently decided that yesterday was their day to take their own lives. Here's some other interesting statistics: As of Thursday, 2 Feb, my corps (~50k people) had experienced six (6) suicides and 25 cases of domestic violence for the calendar year.
Yet somehow we're the "best corps in the entire U.S. Army" (CO's words, not mine). Right. This place is so amazing that when people go home from work, they beat their wives and kill themselves at an absolutely staggering rate.
But back to the alcohol ban. Instead of this being a wake-up call as it should be, it's being swept under the rug and given the same old tired and ineffective blanket policy approach. "Oh, they're killing themselves at a pace that would make cultists blush? It's obviously not anything we're doing here... it's gotta be the booze. Yeah, that's it. Gotta be the booze." Face, meet palm.
What NEEDS to happen is that someone needs to give even half a fuck about the welfare of our soldiers and recognize that changes must be made in the way we approach issues like anger and depression. Suicide and domestic abuse are symptoms of a larger problem, especially when they occur at such dramatic rates. While alcohol certainly will exacerbate the situation, alcohol alone is not to blame for someone suck-starting their pistol orputting a hoe in her place abusing their significant other.
Fuck this place. Fuck this place so hard.
I'm going to the gun show... may post something there from my new super pimp dope-ass phone (Razr MAXX). Seriously, this thing is amazing.
Yes, five out of ~22,000 paratroopers independently decided that yesterday was their day to take their own lives. Here's some other interesting statistics: As of Thursday, 2 Feb, my corps (~50k people) had experienced six (6) suicides and 25 cases of domestic violence for the calendar year.
Yet somehow we're the "best corps in the entire U.S. Army" (CO's words, not mine). Right. This place is so amazing that when people go home from work, they beat their wives and kill themselves at an absolutely staggering rate.
But back to the alcohol ban. Instead of this being a wake-up call as it should be, it's being swept under the rug and given the same old tired and ineffective blanket policy approach. "Oh, they're killing themselves at a pace that would make cultists blush? It's obviously not anything we're doing here... it's gotta be the booze. Yeah, that's it. Gotta be the booze." Face, meet palm.
What NEEDS to happen is that someone needs to give even half a fuck about the welfare of our soldiers and recognize that changes must be made in the way we approach issues like anger and depression. Suicide and domestic abuse are symptoms of a larger problem, especially when they occur at such dramatic rates. While alcohol certainly will exacerbate the situation, alcohol alone is not to blame for someone suck-starting their pistol or
Fuck this place. Fuck this place so hard.
I'm going to the gun show... may post something there from my new super pimp dope-ass phone (Razr MAXX). Seriously, this thing is amazing.
Monday, January 30, 2012
I Am Invincible, Kind of
Seriously, that's the only explanation.
If you haven't gathered by now, I enjoy my vices. A lot. Smoking, drinking, late nights, little sleep, and endless coffee. I'm sure it'll all catch up to me one day, spear-tackling me into my grave (and probably spilling my Manhattan in the process), but for now, the perks of my wicked ways outweigh the looming consequences.
In the meantime, I can keep living large while still waking up at 0530 every morning, running five miles, and then working another ten hours. It's good to be young and bulletproof.
...
Some douche in a GTO tried to get me to race him on post today. I ignored him, because I've seen that movie before, and it ends with me getting my balls smoked off and the other guy getting a horrible speeding/reckless driving ticket.
Besides that, GTOs are slow, so what's the point?
If you haven't gathered by now, I enjoy my vices. A lot. Smoking, drinking, late nights, little sleep, and endless coffee. I'm sure it'll all catch up to me one day, spear-tackling me into my grave (and probably spilling my Manhattan in the process), but for now, the perks of my wicked ways outweigh the looming consequences.
In the meantime, I can keep living large while still waking up at 0530 every morning, running five miles, and then working another ten hours. It's good to be young and bulletproof.
...
Some douche in a GTO tried to get me to race him on post today. I ignored him, because I've seen that movie before, and it ends with me getting my balls smoked off and the other guy getting a horrible speeding/reckless driving ticket.
Besides that, GTOs are slow, so what's the point?
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Cheetohs and Beer?
My life seems to be a Shakespearean drama lately. Seriously, what the fuck.
Well... at least I have these wonderful all natural Cheetohs to keep me company. I feel like a fat girl.
Sorry. I can't really disclose the details of my incredibly complicated life right now, for a variety of reasons. Sigh.
Well... at least I have these wonderful all natural Cheetohs to keep me company. I feel like a fat girl.
Sorry. I can't really disclose the details of my incredibly complicated life right now, for a variety of reasons. Sigh.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Jack's State of the Union
Hey guys! Shit's fucked up! So we're going to take more of your money and redistribute it to an ever-growing legion of shitbag federal employees who will make sure you get absolutely no return on your involuntary investment. Haha, fuck you all!
Just kidding. Seriously, though, we're all fucked.
Just kidding. Seriously, though, we're all fucked.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Only In Fayetteville...
... could last night have played out like it did.
I can't say much due to potentially impending legal action (not against me, fortunately), but let's just say that any reasonably sane and marginally intelligent human would stay away from those pits of despair and misery known as gentleman's clubs. However, some of us (myself included) lack those traits, so we go anyway. Last night is the result of such actions.
I can say that there was a very, very attractive girl working last night that wanted me to come home with her, and I was not at all opposed to the idea. Sadly those plans got placed on hold when the aforementioned clusterfuck happened (homeboy got a free ride in the backseat of a cruiser... with my car and house keys in his pocket). Sigh.
Probably the most tragic result of last night is that my clothes and favorite jacket now smell strongly of stripper. It's quite pungent. Off to the laundry, then.
That was enough entertainment for one weekend... deuces
I can't say much due to potentially impending legal action (not against me, fortunately), but let's just say that any reasonably sane and marginally intelligent human would stay away from those pits of despair and misery known as gentleman's clubs. However, some of us (myself included) lack those traits, so we go anyway. Last night is the result of such actions.
I can say that there was a very, very attractive girl working last night that wanted me to come home with her, and I was not at all opposed to the idea. Sadly those plans got placed on hold when the aforementioned clusterfuck happened (homeboy got a free ride in the backseat of a cruiser... with my car and house keys in his pocket). Sigh.
Probably the most tragic result of last night is that my clothes and favorite jacket now smell strongly of stripper. It's quite pungent. Off to the laundry, then.
That was enough entertainment for one weekend... deuces
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Feeling Uninspired.
Maybe it was all the bullshit I put up with this week, or the lack of sleep, or this incredibly depressing weather, but I just don't feel any creativity right now. Maybe a few drinks will inspire me to write later tonight or tomorrow.
Until that time... stay classy
Until that time... stay classy
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
How to Not be a Giant Douchebag on the Road
After my drive today, I realized one thing:
All of you fucking people suck at driving. Seriously.
So, despite the irony of me offering advice on how to NOT be a complete prick, I'm willing to offer up a few free lessons on a subject I am truly an expert on - highway driving etiquette. Welcome to the introductory level course.
The biggest thing is to not start a Mexican roadblock in the passing lane. If you are in the left lane, and several cars are riding your ass or vehicles are passing you, you are fucking wrong. Solution: while gripping the steering wheel, extend your left middle finger until it finds the turn signal switch. Raise said finger 1/2" or until the switch locks, causing your blinker (yes, you have those on your car, I swear) to indicate a right lane change. After checking to make sure you aren't going to run anyone off the road (actually look over your shoulder, you lazy piece of shit), move your car smoothly into the right lane. And stay there. BAM. You have just completed the hardest test of highway driving 101. I now grant you permission to continue breathing, which requires slightly more effort than the maneuver described above.
The next thing is somewhat advanced... if your IQ is equal to your shoe size. It's known as passing. So, let's say you're in moderate traffic, with drivers moving at speeds varying from 68-80 MPH - very realistic for a highway with a 70 MPH speed limit.
So you're doing 72, and you think, "Oh, I'm going above the speed limit. I can chill in the passing lane!" WRONG BITCH. While you're doing 72 on the way back from your grandkids house to cash your social security check, the rest of us with jobs actually have places to be. Like Yours Truly, who has to drive ten fucking hours each way just to get a break from work, and has to get back before he's reported AWOL. So. Traffic's moving, you've got your cruise control set at 72, and come upon a truck going 71. This truck has other vehicles in front of him. You get into the left lane to pass. At this rate, it will take you several minutes to overtake the two to three vehicles in front of you... in the meantime, those of us with said jobs and/or radar detectors (they're cheap and effective!) are stacked up behind you, wondering whether we need to call 911 and report that the dipshit in front of us is having an aneurism behind the wheel. Lesson here: if you are passing someone at 1-2 MPH above their speed, and even 1 or 2 cars stack up behind you, it's time to hop on the accelerator (it's the pedal on your right), gain a little speed, pass, and get back into the right lane - all before the rest of us die of old age. At this point, you may go back to your highly risky and/or scandalous 2 MPH over.
Another thing. I always hear people, who are inevitably pussies, ask why anyone would need to go faster than the limit - "after all, that is the speed LIMIT." Yeah, well speed limits, like all laws, are designed to compensate for the lowest common denominator in society; that being you. Speed limits are in fact a realistic minimum. So jog off.
Oh, and you don't have to slow down to 10 MPH under the limit every time you see a cop on the side of the road. I promise, they don't give out extra points for brown-nosing. And half the time, they don't even have their radar on; they're just sitting there because they know all the idiot sheep will slam on the brakes at the mere sight of them.
Hope you got something out of that class. Night.
All of you fucking people suck at driving. Seriously.
So, despite the irony of me offering advice on how to NOT be a complete prick, I'm willing to offer up a few free lessons on a subject I am truly an expert on - highway driving etiquette. Welcome to the introductory level course.
The biggest thing is to not start a Mexican roadblock in the passing lane. If you are in the left lane, and several cars are riding your ass or vehicles are passing you, you are fucking wrong. Solution: while gripping the steering wheel, extend your left middle finger until it finds the turn signal switch. Raise said finger 1/2" or until the switch locks, causing your blinker (yes, you have those on your car, I swear) to indicate a right lane change. After checking to make sure you aren't going to run anyone off the road (actually look over your shoulder, you lazy piece of shit), move your car smoothly into the right lane. And stay there. BAM. You have just completed the hardest test of highway driving 101. I now grant you permission to continue breathing, which requires slightly more effort than the maneuver described above.
The next thing is somewhat advanced... if your IQ is equal to your shoe size. It's known as passing. So, let's say you're in moderate traffic, with drivers moving at speeds varying from 68-80 MPH - very realistic for a highway with a 70 MPH speed limit.
So you're doing 72, and you think, "Oh, I'm going above the speed limit. I can chill in the passing lane!" WRONG BITCH. While you're doing 72 on the way back from your grandkids house to cash your social security check, the rest of us with jobs actually have places to be. Like Yours Truly, who has to drive ten fucking hours each way just to get a break from work, and has to get back before he's reported AWOL. So. Traffic's moving, you've got your cruise control set at 72, and come upon a truck going 71. This truck has other vehicles in front of him. You get into the left lane to pass. At this rate, it will take you several minutes to overtake the two to three vehicles in front of you... in the meantime, those of us with said jobs and/or radar detectors (they're cheap and effective!) are stacked up behind you, wondering whether we need to call 911 and report that the dipshit in front of us is having an aneurism behind the wheel. Lesson here: if you are passing someone at 1-2 MPH above their speed, and even 1 or 2 cars stack up behind you, it's time to hop on the accelerator (it's the pedal on your right), gain a little speed, pass, and get back into the right lane - all before the rest of us die of old age. At this point, you may go back to your highly risky and/or scandalous 2 MPH over.
Another thing. I always hear people, who are inevitably pussies, ask why anyone would need to go faster than the limit - "after all, that is the speed LIMIT." Yeah, well speed limits, like all laws, are designed to compensate for the lowest common denominator in society; that being you. Speed limits are in fact a realistic minimum. So jog off.
Oh, and you don't have to slow down to 10 MPH under the limit every time you see a cop on the side of the road. I promise, they don't give out extra points for brown-nosing. And half the time, they don't even have their radar on; they're just sitting there because they know all the idiot sheep will slam on the brakes at the mere sight of them.
Hope you got something out of that class. Night.
Monday, January 16, 2012
My Life Is A Country Song, And Other Lies
So I'm sitting here at my house in New York, drinking my fourth(?) glass of this delicious Pure Kentucky single barrel bourbon, contemplating the shit drive I have to make tomorrow so I can go back to work. Not excited, but whatever.
The drive is nine-ish hours of I-95, Jersey Turnpike, and GSP. It sucks, but it's worth it, and it also gives me a chance to be alone with my thoughts for awhile. I'm down - between work and social life, I rarely get more than a few minutes to myself at a time. Of course, exploring my brain for hours at a time can be a very scary activity, but it is at least interesting. During the drive up, I came to the conclusion that one could write an excellent country song (or album) about my life. Check it out:
Work long hours at a shitty job for shit pay? Check, check, and check.
Drive a long-ass way to see loved ones? Yup.
Drink to an extent that would literally kill most people? Most days.
American country boy? You'd better fuckin' believe it.
Is generally an asshole? For the most part, yes.
Run and/or drink moonshine? No comment.
etc.
I ran out of brain power there. I swear I had a whole long list, but anyway you get the idea. I haven't determined whether it's profoundly depressing or somewhat inspiring that I can relate to so many country songs on such a personal level.
The cold weather today (~20-25 degrees F) meant that my tires were basically frozen all day, meaning I can do on-demand first and sometimes second gear burnouts just by hammering the throttle. Nothing quite like it. That car makes me so irresponsible.
Well, I'd better get some sleep... long drive tomorrow.
The drive is nine-ish hours of I-95, Jersey Turnpike, and GSP. It sucks, but it's worth it, and it also gives me a chance to be alone with my thoughts for awhile. I'm down - between work and social life, I rarely get more than a few minutes to myself at a time. Of course, exploring my brain for hours at a time can be a very scary activity, but it is at least interesting. During the drive up, I came to the conclusion that one could write an excellent country song (or album) about my life. Check it out:
Work long hours at a shitty job for shit pay? Check, check, and check.
Drive a long-ass way to see loved ones? Yup.
Drink to an extent that would literally kill most people? Most days.
American country boy? You'd better fuckin' believe it.
Is generally an asshole? For the most part, yes.
Run and/or drink moonshine? No comment.
etc.
I ran out of brain power there. I swear I had a whole long list, but anyway you get the idea. I haven't determined whether it's profoundly depressing or somewhat inspiring that I can relate to so many country songs on such a personal level.
The cold weather today (~20-25 degrees F) meant that my tires were basically frozen all day, meaning I can do on-demand first and sometimes second gear burnouts just by hammering the throttle. Nothing quite like it. That car makes me so irresponsible.
Well, I'd better get some sleep... long drive tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Back to NY Tomorrow
So this morning around 1000 I put in my pass to drive up to NY for our upcoming four day weekend. None of us were expecting it to get approved, for a variety of undisclosed reasons (OPSEC, bitches). Lo and behold, it comes back to me five hours later with the CO's signature on it! Fuck yeah.
As soon as we get off work I'm bailing out this bitch. Already packed up and everything, just need to grab my bags and roll. That is, of course, assuming I can get my car back tomorrow morning.
Anyway, looking forward to a very worthwhile ten hour drive up the Eastern seaboard to chill out for a few days!
As soon as we get off work I'm bailing out this bitch. Already packed up and everything, just need to grab my bags and roll. That is, of course, assuming I can get my car back tomorrow morning.
Anyway, looking forward to a very worthwhile ten hour drive up the Eastern seaboard to chill out for a few days!
Monday, January 9, 2012
The Boring Details of My Life, and Thoughts On Politics
This weekend was just what I needed after that intense week. I drank a fair amount, slept in til noon every day, and was generally worthless. Some excellent shitbagging.
I was pleasantly surprised to watch my Broncos beat Shitsburgh in OT yesterday. Now on to New England... won't say what my predictions are for that game, but they aren't good. We shall see.
I went down to the local Chevy stealership today to schedule my 30k service on the 'vette. Fuckers want $450, but it needs to be done, so she's going in Wednesday morning. Seeing as I'm probably going to keep that car for awhile, I figure it's worth it to keep her running like a Swiss watch. Much like a high-end watch, it does need regular and expensive servicing but will run nearly forever if properly maintained. Speaking of which, I need to send my Blancpain in. Is it odd that service on my watch is more expensive than the 30k on my car? It's the price of having nice things, I guess. First world problems for certain.
I'm getting everything ready (namely my finances) to start some moderate modifications to my car. First up is an off-the-shelf tuner from Diablosport, which should net me 30-40hp with my current intake and exhaust. After that will be a set of Borla XR-1 long tube headers and X-pipe which, combined with good tuning, should get me to a little over 500hp at the flywheel, so maybe 475-ish at the wheels. It's going to be a bit loud due to removing all the catalytic converters (not at all street legal, but she's emissions exempt so it's all good), but the wonderful sounds emanating from my car will make girls moist for miles around. Which is, obviously, the desired end result here. What, you thought it was just a hobby?
Tomorrow marks one year in the Army. It's certainly been the most interesting year of my life thus far, though not the most enjoyable by any stretch of the imagination. I don't really know how I feel about it. It is somewhat calming to know that I'm roughly 25% of the way done with my contractual obligation to Uncle Sam. The civilian world seems like a lifetime ago, yet the past year has flown by faster than any preceding it. Sometimes there are moments where I look around and think "How the FUCK did I get here?", but there are days when I wouldn't trade this life for anything (okay, anything except piles of money). Anyway.
I was considering not writing about this, but I can't let it go. Disclaimer: I'm neither a Republican or a Democrat, and despise both parties equally for various reasons.
I'm convinced the Republican National Committee is led either by halfwits or by Democrats (not mutually exclusive, but I digress). What other explanation could there be for the quality of candidates they're presenting to challenge O's reelection bid?
-Mitt Romney, who will inevitably win the nomination, is a borderline socialist and truly a Republican In Name Only (RINO). On top of that he's heavily anti-gun, which is a HUGE no-no for an R candidate and will turn lots of people (like myself) away. In addition, and I hate to badmouth someone's faith since I like to at least pretend I'm a tolerant person, but have any of you actually taken the time to research what the Mormons believe? [this section redacted, it was too offensive even for me] Let's just say this: if the Bible is a work of creative nonfiction, the Book of Mormon is Alice in Wonderland. On mushrooms.
-Michelle Bachmann, who is mercifully out of the race, makes Sarah Palin look brilliant by comparison. The fact that she was taken even remotely seriously by the RNC is a fucking slap in the face to everyone, everywhere.
-Rick Perry, same, but not nearly to the same extent. He at least has a Texan's charisma. Again, overplaying the faith card.
-Rick Santorum. Motherfucker just looks like he wants to molest you, me, and maybe a farm animal or two. Seriously, he gives me the creeps. Not exactly a scientific analysis, I know, but I'm just being honest here. Plus I fucking HATE government interference in my personal life (aren't conservatives supposed to be for small government?), and his voting record shows an alarming trend of faith-based government regulation on our personal lives. Hell with that, I should be able to sin if I so please, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone. This is America.
Man, I need a cigarette after that... I got angry for a second. Time for a smoke followed by a night of Sons of Anarchy on Netflix.
Adios
I was pleasantly surprised to watch my Broncos beat Shitsburgh in OT yesterday. Now on to New England... won't say what my predictions are for that game, but they aren't good. We shall see.
I went down to the local Chevy stealership today to schedule my 30k service on the 'vette. Fuckers want $450, but it needs to be done, so she's going in Wednesday morning. Seeing as I'm probably going to keep that car for awhile, I figure it's worth it to keep her running like a Swiss watch. Much like a high-end watch, it does need regular and expensive servicing but will run nearly forever if properly maintained. Speaking of which, I need to send my Blancpain in. Is it odd that service on my watch is more expensive than the 30k on my car? It's the price of having nice things, I guess. First world problems for certain.
I'm getting everything ready (namely my finances) to start some moderate modifications to my car. First up is an off-the-shelf tuner from Diablosport, which should net me 30-40hp with my current intake and exhaust. After that will be a set of Borla XR-1 long tube headers and X-pipe which, combined with good tuning, should get me to a little over 500hp at the flywheel, so maybe 475-ish at the wheels. It's going to be a bit loud due to removing all the catalytic converters (not at all street legal, but she's emissions exempt so it's all good), but the wonderful sounds emanating from my car will make girls moist for miles around. Which is, obviously, the desired end result here. What, you thought it was just a hobby?
Tomorrow marks one year in the Army. It's certainly been the most interesting year of my life thus far, though not the most enjoyable by any stretch of the imagination. I don't really know how I feel about it. It is somewhat calming to know that I'm roughly 25% of the way done with my contractual obligation to Uncle Sam. The civilian world seems like a lifetime ago, yet the past year has flown by faster than any preceding it. Sometimes there are moments where I look around and think "How the FUCK did I get here?", but there are days when I wouldn't trade this life for anything (okay, anything except piles of money). Anyway.
I was considering not writing about this, but I can't let it go. Disclaimer: I'm neither a Republican or a Democrat, and despise both parties equally for various reasons.
I'm convinced the Republican National Committee is led either by halfwits or by Democrats (not mutually exclusive, but I digress). What other explanation could there be for the quality of candidates they're presenting to challenge O's reelection bid?
-Mitt Romney, who will inevitably win the nomination, is a borderline socialist and truly a Republican In Name Only (RINO). On top of that he's heavily anti-gun, which is a HUGE no-no for an R candidate and will turn lots of people (like myself) away. In addition, and I hate to badmouth someone's faith since I like to at least pretend I'm a tolerant person, but have any of you actually taken the time to research what the Mormons believe? [this section redacted, it was too offensive even for me] Let's just say this: if the Bible is a work of creative nonfiction, the Book of Mormon is Alice in Wonderland. On mushrooms.
-Michelle Bachmann, who is mercifully out of the race, makes Sarah Palin look brilliant by comparison. The fact that she was taken even remotely seriously by the RNC is a fucking slap in the face to everyone, everywhere.
-Rick Perry, same, but not nearly to the same extent. He at least has a Texan's charisma. Again, overplaying the faith card.
-Rick Santorum. Motherfucker just looks like he wants to molest you, me, and maybe a farm animal or two. Seriously, he gives me the creeps. Not exactly a scientific analysis, I know, but I'm just being honest here. Plus I fucking HATE government interference in my personal life (aren't conservatives supposed to be for small government?), and his voting record shows an alarming trend of faith-based government regulation on our personal lives. Hell with that, I should be able to sin if I so please, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone. This is America.
Man, I need a cigarette after that... I got angry for a second. Time for a smoke followed by a night of Sons of Anarchy on Netflix.
Adios
Saturday, January 7, 2012
"Don't Smoke Bowls in the XO's Office"
...direct quote from this afternoon's three-day-weekend safety brief. Words to live by...? Kinda seems like a no-brainer to me.
Anyway, my crazy week of range time is over at long last. Some notes:
- I could really use some more range time and competent instruction. I'm pretty damn decent, but I could be a lot better and a lot faster.
- I absolutely loathe being told how to shoot by people who know less than me. Seriously, check the group size before you open your mouth about my technique. When I'm printing 1" controlled pairs, quickly, center mass at 25m, I think my recoil control is just fine, thank you.
- Sprinting 50m back and forth on a lane (in full kit) during a stress shoot while you wait for the guy in front of you to correct his never ending weapon malfunctions fucking sucks. Now with Iron Mikes mixed in, for added fun! My quads feel like they may explode at any time.
- A semi-broken M4 will still run as long as you oil the shit out of the bolt and bolt carrier. Yes, my weapon finally broke... think I jinxed it with that last post. My bolt carrier is falling apart and some of the replaceable parts are well past their service life. I'm quite sure it'll never actually get fixed.
- My body has learned to hydrate itself when I feed it cheap beer. Honestly, I can drink PBR/BL/KL and wake up more hydrated than I was the day before. Real beer (IPAs, stouts, etc), however, still require a chaser of water if I expect to be able to run without dry heaving the entire time.
That's about it for that. What else...
Did a little racing with a buddy in his moderately modded SRT-4 earlier tonight. We did several from a roll (35, 45, 50) and he was remarkably able to keep pace up to about 60 mph, at which point he'd have to shift while I still had 15 mph left in second gear. We knew the outcome before we began, but it was fun nonetheless and I was rather impressed with that thing's quickness.
Note to self: turn off traction control when attempting a 4k clutch drop launch. Amateur hour. Still won that one, though.
Jokingly raced two pretty attractive strippers in a red '08 convertible. I gave her half a length on the roll and maintained that until we backed off... not bad, considering the LS3 is rated to have 30ish more HP than my LS2 does. Hooray for bolt-ons. For the curious, how I know they were strippers: Nate and I were rolling with these girls, then I pulled off at a gas station while she went on her way. When we got back in the car, I voiced my opinion that they were quite obviously strippers just due to the car, the attitude, the neighborhood and the fact that it was 0100. Sure as hell, we get like 1/4 mile down the road, and low and behold said red 'Vette parked right next to the front door at [redacted] gentleman's club. Go me.
Well, it's long past my bedtime. I'm going to sleep until like noon tomorrow (today?) and attempt to wash and detail Vanessa - god knows she needs some TLC, the poor thing. Maybe another coat of wax is in order if I'm feeling especially motivated.
'Night
Anyway, my crazy week of range time is over at long last. Some notes:
- I could really use some more range time and competent instruction. I'm pretty damn decent, but I could be a lot better and a lot faster.
- I absolutely loathe being told how to shoot by people who know less than me. Seriously, check the group size before you open your mouth about my technique. When I'm printing 1" controlled pairs, quickly, center mass at 25m, I think my recoil control is just fine, thank you.
- Sprinting 50m back and forth on a lane (in full kit) during a stress shoot while you wait for the guy in front of you to correct his never ending weapon malfunctions fucking sucks. Now with Iron Mikes mixed in, for added fun! My quads feel like they may explode at any time.
- A semi-broken M4 will still run as long as you oil the shit out of the bolt and bolt carrier. Yes, my weapon finally broke... think I jinxed it with that last post. My bolt carrier is falling apart and some of the replaceable parts are well past their service life. I'm quite sure it'll never actually get fixed.
- My body has learned to hydrate itself when I feed it cheap beer. Honestly, I can drink PBR/BL/KL and wake up more hydrated than I was the day before. Real beer (IPAs, stouts, etc), however, still require a chaser of water if I expect to be able to run without dry heaving the entire time.
That's about it for that. What else...
Did a little racing with a buddy in his moderately modded SRT-4 earlier tonight. We did several from a roll (35, 45, 50) and he was remarkably able to keep pace up to about 60 mph, at which point he'd have to shift while I still had 15 mph left in second gear. We knew the outcome before we began, but it was fun nonetheless and I was rather impressed with that thing's quickness.
Note to self: turn off traction control when attempting a 4k clutch drop launch. Amateur hour. Still won that one, though.
Jokingly raced two pretty attractive strippers in a red '08 convertible. I gave her half a length on the roll and maintained that until we backed off... not bad, considering the LS3 is rated to have 30ish more HP than my LS2 does. Hooray for bolt-ons. For the curious, how I know they were strippers: Nate and I were rolling with these girls, then I pulled off at a gas station while she went on her way. When we got back in the car, I voiced my opinion that they were quite obviously strippers just due to the car, the attitude, the neighborhood and the fact that it was 0100. Sure as hell, we get like 1/4 mile down the road, and low and behold said red 'Vette parked right next to the front door at [redacted] gentleman's club. Go me.
Well, it's long past my bedtime. I'm going to sleep until like noon tomorrow (today?) and attempt to wash and detail Vanessa - god knows she needs some TLC, the poor thing. Maybe another coat of wax is in order if I'm feeling especially motivated.
'Night
Thursday, January 5, 2012
My Face Hurts
Seriously. My face really fucking hurts. Another full day in the wind, no bueno... probably doesn't help that I passed out for like an hour facing the sun for warmth. I look pretty ridiculous right now.
Didn't do shit today except qualify with my carbine - another score of 39/40, continuing my trend since basic. Sigh. One day the planets will align, range control will actually mow the goddamn waist-high grass downrange, the computer scoring system will work correctly, and I'll shoot a 40.
We did another night shoot through NODs (night vision) with our infrared laser sights (only visible through said NODs), which would have been fun except for the general icy numbness of my various extremities, including my brain. As per usual, my trusty M4 came through for me and I was dropping targets like it was my job (ha ha), which brings me to an interesting point:
I love my M4. There, I said it. I love the shit out of that thing. See, in various circles, notably those populated by wannabe tacticool blowhard fuckfaces, the M4 gets a ton of hate. This is not entirely without reason, since it is a bit outdated and slightly underpowered, but it is still a hell of a weapon. Both of the M4s I've been issued have been well worn, shot endlessly, and looked like something you might pay 300 bucks for at some back-alley pawn shop. The trigger is inevitably shit, the upper and lower receiver are looser than gorilla pussy, and it's kind of a bitch to clean. But despite all that, both of mine have been absolutely unfailingly reliable and murderously accurate. My current one is often mistreated: dumped in the sand, dropped on hard surfaces, given an "I-really-don't-fucking-care-right-now" cleaning after a long day at the range, et cetera - but put a few drops of CLP on the bolt carrier and feed it with PMags and green tip, and that bitch will run all day without a hiccup and kill everything it's pointed at. What more could a man ask for?
That's supposed to be a rhetorical question, smartasses. I KNOW, the answer is free beer. Obviously.
Speaking of beer, as I write this I'm finishing a glass of Great Divide's Titan IPA, and it's heartbreaking because that was my last one. Next up is a pirate's favorite beer... P B Arrrrggggghhh (Pabst Blue Ribbon, for the unenlightened). $5.95 (no tax) for a 12 pack at the PX! Suck it civilians - and stock up while you can, paratroopers! I don't think I've paid under 50 cents apiece for any drinkable beer since high school... that's assuming Key Light is, in fact, beer. I have my doubts.
On a completely random note, did you know that on the list of ingredients for Goldfish, it starts out with "MADE WITH SMILES AND..." What the hell? I don't want your smiles in my food, guy. Go smile-rape someone else. Creeper.
'night
Didn't do shit today except qualify with my carbine - another score of 39/40, continuing my trend since basic. Sigh. One day the planets will align, range control will actually mow the goddamn waist-high grass downrange, the computer scoring system will work correctly, and I'll shoot a 40.
We did another night shoot through NODs (night vision) with our infrared laser sights (only visible through said NODs), which would have been fun except for the general icy numbness of my various extremities, including my brain. As per usual, my trusty M4 came through for me and I was dropping targets like it was my job (ha ha), which brings me to an interesting point:
I love my M4. There, I said it. I love the shit out of that thing. See, in various circles, notably those populated by wannabe tacticool blowhard fuckfaces, the M4 gets a ton of hate. This is not entirely without reason, since it is a bit outdated and slightly underpowered, but it is still a hell of a weapon. Both of the M4s I've been issued have been well worn, shot endlessly, and looked like something you might pay 300 bucks for at some back-alley pawn shop. The trigger is inevitably shit, the upper and lower receiver are looser than gorilla pussy, and it's kind of a bitch to clean. But despite all that, both of mine have been absolutely unfailingly reliable and murderously accurate. My current one is often mistreated: dumped in the sand, dropped on hard surfaces, given an "I-really-don't-fucking-care-right-now" cleaning after a long day at the range, et cetera - but put a few drops of CLP on the bolt carrier and feed it with PMags and green tip, and that bitch will run all day without a hiccup and kill everything it's pointed at. What more could a man ask for?
That's supposed to be a rhetorical question, smartasses. I KNOW, the answer is free beer. Obviously.
Speaking of beer, as I write this I'm finishing a glass of Great Divide's Titan IPA, and it's heartbreaking because that was my last one. Next up is a pirate's favorite beer... P B Arrrrggggghhh (Pabst Blue Ribbon, for the unenlightened). $5.95 (no tax) for a 12 pack at the PX! Suck it civilians - and stock up while you can, paratroopers! I don't think I've paid under 50 cents apiece for any drinkable beer since high school... that's assuming Key Light is, in fact, beer. I have my doubts.
On a completely random note, did you know that on the list of ingredients for Goldfish, it starts out with "MADE WITH SMILES AND..." What the hell? I don't want your smiles in my food, guy. Go smile-rape someone else. Creeper.
'night
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