A Knight To Remember

Okay, I don't get it either. But it strikes me as a bad idea, both the poking badgers part and the advertising to the general public that you do in fact poke badgers.
I read Tabatha's blog, and how she thinks things have changed- how I don't talk as much, and how things seem different.
It's true, it seems like I'll never get back to Connecticut, but not for lack of trying! That's a part of it, that it seems like whenever I have time to go, no money- when I have money, no time! But I know what it means to her, and want to be back there. In fact, I kind of like the idea of rolling into town, 220 lbs of muscle and guts, and show the people I once knew what happens when you begin to stop doubting your own potential. Like I said before, the NCO board awaits. When, how and where, I don't know. But soon. I want to make a positive difference, and besides, someone needs to lead the 696th to their rightful place in the vanguard of this post. Actually, myself and the other members of the First Platoon get drafted for a lot of missions and details. Why? Because they want to overwork us and see us fail? Well, maybe. Regardless, (and I think this is a more likely explanation) when they call on my platoon, we get it done not only to standard, but above and beyond. So part of this change is simple fatigue- I come home and collapse, as usually my work day is followed by a trip to the gym. We are infinitely adaptable to changing circumstances and demanding jobs, but at the end of the day we're pretty much dead from the neck up.
Another part of it is that I know that Tabatha wants to see me again, and I want to propose to her. (don't worry, didn't give away any big surprises there- fairly certain she knows that). However, what she doesn't know is the where, how and when. I have to continue to push through the swamp of this divorce, which turns out to be ever more costly and time-consuming. And time is the one thing I have a great deal of, but would rather use it in different ways- like working towards a new life and a new marriage, getting my own place, all that good stuff. My roommate is the coolest guy I know, but at the same time, I figure I should invest in my own place when I can do that. But I also need to get back to CT, and guess what? Airfare is about the same amount as a security deposit would be on a decent apartment. Unfortunately, unlike me my financial resources can't do everything at once. So I feel bad about this, as I need to do more. I can't see how, but am certain a solution is there, I just haven't realized it quite yet.
Well, hopefully this clarifies things, although it leaves a great deal of unanswered questions in my own head. In time, perhaps, understanding will continue, and things will become easier. I can only hope.

Life In The Army

Things are proceeding about as normal here. Hard to believe that it's only Wednesday, though. Next week we go back to doing PT in the afternoons, which I think is kind of a dumb idea. I liked to do it in the morning, when I first wake up, and haven't had breakfast or anything lately. I'm not sure why that makes a difference, but it does. However, my section has the OK from higher up to conduct PT in the morning as well. This was actually originally my plan, as I was planning on using the schedule change and the subsequent change in time to continue working out on my own. Regardless, it would be cool to do it with someone else.
In other news, I'm still trying to track down a copy of the promotion board study guide- I know what book I'm looking for, just not where to find it! The places on post, oddly enough, don't seem to carry it. But I'll ask around, see where I can find a copy.
So, as I continue to study for the board, I notice a few useful rules to know- here is a partial list:

The following items cannot be requisitioned through your quartermaster or supply sergeant:
-Blood
-Organs or other body parts
-Animals intended for sacrificial purposes
-Illegal drugs or alcohol
-The souls of other soldiers
-Other soldiers
-Explosives, with the reason that "It looks cool".
- "Princess" is not a military rank, either for myself or any other soldier
-Especially your commanding officer
-In the case of commanding officers, "Crackhead" likewise is not considered a proper address
- "Are you f**ing nuts?" is not considered a valid response to an order.
-The supply sergeant's name is not "Sugar Daddy".
-The medic's name is not "Dr. Feelgood", nor is it "my connection".
-Camo body paint is not in itself a uniform.
-Pants are not optional.
-The fact that the uniform is camo does not make you invisible.
-Nor does it enable you to fly.
- "Clean your boots" does not involve the pressure washer in the mechanics' bay
-There is not an atheist chaplain, and I am not him.
-I cannot promote myself to chaplain of my own religion.
-I am not authorized to fire anyone.
-Including my chain of command.
-Sock puppets can neither take command of the post or countermand my orders.
-Pets do not entitle me to separation pay
-Nor do imaginary friends.
-MPs are not amused by the phrases "You don't need to see his identification." and "These aren't the droids you're looking for."
-Room inspections are not a chance to display any "collection" you may have.
-Bayonets do not belong on any of the following places:
-Crew-served weaponry
-Artillery or long-range guns
-Helmets
-The front of any military vehicle
-In the post commander's tires
-The DOD forms that are currently in use cannot be added to, altered or replaced by me.
-No matter how funny it is.
- No maneuver in a military vehicle should immediately be preceded by the phrase, "Hey guys, watch this", or "I saw this on TV/in a movie/in a cartoon".
-Vehicles have safe operational limits. This is not a personal challenge.
-Vehicles are not capable of any of the following:
-Flight
-Assembly into a giant robot
-Making margaritas
-shooting fire
-New soldiers should not be told this, as they'll believe just about anything you tell them.
-Do not encourage mentally ill civilians in their beliefs that the CIA, aliens, Elvis or any other voice, person or thing is talking to them.
- I am not authorized to arrest anyone.
-Don't sell or trade weapons you were issued, no matter how cool the car is.
Well, hope you enjoyed this little list of do's and don'ts. In case you couldn't guess, we get pretty bored in our down hours. And incidentally, for everyone not in the know, Tenafly Viper is a fictional bum wine from the '80's horror film Street Trash. If you haven't seen it, don't. It's extreme even by my warped standards, and besides, you'd have to hunt all over the place for it, as it's comparatively rare. The wine is discovered by a liquor store owner, and is found to be expired. (how this happens is unclear, but it is). Said owner sells it anyway, where it becomes popular amongst the local bum population. The only problem is, instead of getting you messed up, it causes rapid decomposition and destruction of the human body, in some pretty spectacular special effects sequences. Tenafly Viper resembles nothing so much as the pint bottles of Mad Dog also popular among the less affluent drinkers in our society, or for those who occasionally like to "slum it", or are too hell-bent on getting drunk to worry too much about its questionable and colorful chemical composition. At any rate, hence the recurring and lame joke- don't drink/stay away from/avoid the Tenafly Viper- meaning, there are things in life that may seem easy, but be mindful of the future, and be aware of where you find yourself. (Wow, I managed to make that sound intelligent and philosophical! I should go work for BP!) At any rate, do stay away from the Tenafly Viper, both real and metaphorical, and remember, at the end of the day we all hang our hats up the same way.

The Ice Cream Man

Of all the tyrannies that affect mankind, tyranny in religion is the worst; every other species of tyranny is limited to the world we live in, but this attempts to stride beyond the grave, and seeks to pursue us into eternity.
-Thomas Paine

Monsterpants? This movie could be worth checking out. At any rate, thought the picture was funny, even more so than Photoshopping those creepy-ass Chick tracts. Way back in the archive is my own demented work, took me a good month of reading those hellish things to put a good one together. Anyway, it's out there somewhere, because supposedly once you put something on the Internet, it never truly goes away.
At any rate, I think between Satan and Jack Chick I trust Satan more- at least you know where you stand.

Here at Fort Sill, it's about the same old story, except that I didn't have to get up at 3 AM to go to work. I did, however, have to get up at 5, meaning I actually got a decent night's sleep. Amazing what a difference a few hours makes! At any rate, now that that's all over, I'm trying to get back in the habit of working out every day, most likely after work, although this week I have evening missions that I don't mind at all, but do kind of cut into gym time. Luckily I have a block of time off in the afternoon to go to the gym, then come here and goof around and write my various inanities. As usual, I find myself wishing I could run faster- there's nothing physically wrong with me except a tendency towards anemia, which is easily corrected with iron pills. Perhaps it's the extra muscle mass; the heavier the body, the more energy needs to be expended to move it. Or maybe I need to change the way I train, though at this point I'm not positive how.

Nicknames seem to follow you- though I guess you can encourage the ones you either like or don't mind. Everyone in my platoon is getting a nickname, it seems- here's the complete list so far, with actual names excluded for obvious reasons-

- Monica

- Steel Trap

- Jeff (as in Jeff Foxworthy)

- Young Blood

- Crusty

- Water Dog

- Reaper (as in Don't Fear The Reaper)

- Ice Cream, or Ice Cream Man (mine). How this came to be is a long and complicated story, but the explanation I'm going to give here (which is actually cooler than the real story) is that I'm cold and smooth, and a comfort to the ladies, ha ha. (Okay, I made up that last part). It always puts me in mind of cult-movie hero Reggie Bannister, who appeared in the Phantasm movies, and was originally an ice cream vendor by trade. Later, when the Tall Man, villain of the movies, (played by the incomporable Angus Scrimm) shows up, he turns monster-hunter, and creates one of the most patently impossible pieces of weaponry ever to grace the screen- a four-barrelled sawed-off shotgun. While this is feasible, the problem is that the barrels are cut at an angle, resulting in the four barrels forming a point. The problem with this is that theoretically this could work with buckshot, a single projectile would exit the barrel on one side sooner than the other, creating either a flat spin, or the round going off who knows where- definitely not towards anything the weapon was pointed at, at any rate. Sawed-off shotguns are notorious for short range, as would be the case with assault shotguns. (Characterized by a pistol grip and pump action, Mossberg makes several models common among law enforcement personnel.)

Speaking of weaponry, this weekend some damn fool went and got in major trouble for pointing a firearm at their spouse- this is the extent of anything I know about it, just that one person pointed a weapon at the other, managing to violate pretty much all known laws of firearm safety. So we had to go get a briefing on it, the sum total of which is, don't keep illegal firearms and don't keep firearms where they're not supposed to be, like in the barracks, as a for example. Did we really need a briefing for that? Last time I checked you get weapons safety drummed into your head from basic training onwards. Nonetheless, though I am quite capable of using one to good effect, I don't like firearms. I think they are ugly and terrible things, existing only to kill. Though this is an occasional necessity, still, it's one of the more unpleasant ones in life. Nonetheless, firearms can be dangerous in the wrong hands, and I'm prone to agree with the pro-gun people, that education and familiarity are the best safety measures. Experience tells me that when you know what a weapon is capable of doing, it gives you a good deal of respect for it.

Well, the evening mission will be rolling out sooner rather than later, meaning time to report back in for me. Today I get to drive the nicer, newer truck! Sometimes it's the little things that can make your day. So stay well, and don't drink the Tenafly Viper! Don't drink and drive, either.

Watch Out, Here They Come

Because a true classic never goes out of style. The weekend was pretty uneventful, marked by yet another arguably useless safety standdown, (I had staff duty, so it didn't matter in the slightest) wherein we discussed firearms safety. Personally, I'm more of a bladed or percussive weapon type of guy, though to be honest I'm not sure when I would need a weapon. Of course, I know about firearms, being a soldier and all, and know not to screw with them. They are most useful machines, but there's a mile and a half of red tape involved in keeping one on post, not to mention the fact that they don't come cheap. So speaking solely for myself, lacking a hunting license, I figure it's a sight more trouble than it's worth. If I need to kill someone or something, the day-to-day environment provides more than adequate weaponry for disposing of any threat. I like to go ninja style- "There are 124 things in this room I can kill you with, including the room itself".
At any rate, today is also the 4-Town Fair, up in Ellington. This is very cool, unfortunately I am hell and gone from Ellington. Connecticut contains numerous farms, so the Fair is always an exciting event. I was told Max, my son, won a ribbon in the corn-eating contest. I'm proud of that boy! Though that surprises me not at all, where food is concerned I would put money on Max if I was a betting man. That guy is skinny as a rail, and never filled up! But then again, I was the same way when I was his age- I think in both cases, we required considerable fuel reserves to power our awesome intellects. Max is a reader, I also know. He loves books, and loves to read them. I can relate, as I love books too. It's often a nice retreat from the day to day stresses of life, though sometimes I tend to think I'm over-imaginative, and need to keep in mind, there's a real world and the dream-world- though the brain responds the same to both sets of stimuli, one has consequences, the other, less so. Seems I also am getting the knack of what I've heard called lucid dreaming- that is, you can manipulate the dream world, objects in it, and all that stuff to suit your own whims, though I have yet to find a practical purpose for this yet.

The most recent dream I had was interpreted by Tabatha, with surprising accuracy. I'm still puzzled about the old black Oldsmobile, though. Well, at any rate, I would have preferred an old Mustang, but that's ok. There were two kittens in this dream- I held them both, afraid to set them down, as they were newly born and I wasn't sure what to do with them. I kind of got the impression it fell to me to keep them safe and warm, so that I did. It also fell to me to feed them, I think mama cat didn't make it, sadly. Again, weird things in dreams! At any rate, these two kittens were interesting specimens, one a pale orange and white tiger stripe, the other also striped, but black and gray. It also fell to me to feed the two newly orphaned kids, which proved a simple if painful task. See, these kittens weren't interested in milk- they required blood to sustain them. So it was that four sharp fangs sank into my fingers, and they nursed happily away. It hurt like hell, even in the dream, but I realized these poor little devils were just trying to survive. I remember waking up, and feeling a phantom pain in the fingers of my hand.
At any rate, Tabatha pointed out her nickname, that I use often- Kitty. The colors of the kittens, she said, seemed to be more or less opposite. True, I thought. Therefore we would have a light side and a shadow side. How very Jungian. At any rate, I felt responsible for these two little terrors, and to put them down or deny them blood would surely mean their downfall. So it was that I sacrificed something really not that demanding for them, and they thrived. Does this mean that I resent Kitty in my life? Well, if I do, I'm positive it's not consciously, and I have strong doubts about subconsciously.

She is who she is, just as I am who I am. And the green grass, as they say, grows all around. Perhaps this was just a dream about hemophagous kittens- sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. The hour, however, grows late, and there's laundry to be done. As always, stay away from the Tenafly Viper- it may be cheap, but the hangover is pretty nasty.

Zen Again

It's a game, I'm glad I'm in it
'Cause there's one born every minute
-Voltaire, When You're Evil

Seems somehow we've made it to Thursday. This would generally be a good thing, and I'm actually kind of looking forward to the mission tonight, as going on mission is a pretty cool time, though occasionally stressful. Although to a large extent, I've learned to laugh at it- some of the monumental inefficiencies we have to deal with and general snafus can be pretty amusing in context, and when I'm stuck waiting on someone else, it's a good time to catch up on some sleep. The chow hall likes to do this, I'm told- mess with our schedules as a kind of petty revenge for the fact that they have to work nights and weekends. Kind of like I do, lately. Looks like another chunk of my weekend is missing, as I have to pull guard duty again this weekend. Why do they hate the puppies? Well, it's an evening shift- if it had been a morning shift I would have said no way. Getting up at 3:15 every morning is all well and good, but it's beginning to wear on me, as it is all of us, as is babysitting the artillery batteries. Though it would be cool to watch one of their live-fire exercises- it done blowed up real good like.
Tonight is another chow mission, which I actually kind of enjoy. We're always cracking jokes on the radio, (in addition to maintaining the convoy, obviously) and the drive is an interesting one, often filled with new sights. A couple nights ago I was driving a buddy back to the barracks, when holy smokes! There were seven deer in the field on the side of the road! I had never seen that many deer before! I also saw an eagle, circling low to the ground, no doubt having found something tasty to catch. And I had to confirm this one, but apparently I actually did see a couple spiders about the size of tarantulas in the road- managed not to hit them, they seemed to be trying to cross the road. Are there tarantulas in the South? I've heard they favor warm dry climates, but really don't know. There are some pretty hefty specimens out there, large brown spiders I've heard called grass spiders. Huge, but apparently not overly dangerous. Brown recluses are also present, though not as large, and prone to run away from people rather than bite them- most spider bites come from people accidentally getting one in a tent or sleeping bag- they bite when threatened, but in the wild are not aggressive.

And then there's the truck I drive, a 5-ton with cranky steering and a messed-up air filter, that for some reason purges with a blast and a hiss every minute or so. After a while it either drives you nuts, or you tune it out. (depends on the day and how pissed off I am). I kind of miss my old four-axle HEMTT, though, especially the all-wheel drive and transaxle differential, allowing it to do everything but climb trees, and it'd no doubt do that with a winch on the front. I'm going to have to try that sometime...

I can recall convoying through the Missouri wilds behind one Sergeant who was a slight bit crazy (pretty much as all of us 88Ms are to even take this job in the first place) who led us through various and strange terrains, including over downed trees, through deep water, transverse to steep slopes that left my co-driver wondering why we didn't roll the fool thing over. Because, was my answer- I'm just that good. And all talent aside, I feel a strange affinity for these huge rumbling steel beasts, and seem to have a knack for driving them, and have ever since I first climbed behind the wheel. The only thing that continues to throw me is the automatic push-button transmission. To be honest, I'd rather take the old ten- or seven-speed transmissions like you see on commercial semis, liking the greater degree of control over the vehicle this affords, at least in the warped way I drive. Besides, the problem is in the heavier vehicles it tends to lurch forwards when it shifts- you need to kind of factor this in when doing delicate maneuvers, and when your co-driver is getting out of the truck. Apart from that, the Detroit engines and Allison transmissions make a pretty formidable combination pretty much anywhere you might find yourself driving- and the military provides some pretty interesting ones.

Well, having said that, it's getting on near time to pop smoke and roll out, and find out what the mess hall has devised for our hungry buddies in the field- no doubt something quite edible- we may occasionally give them flack, but we have one hell of a crew of cooks!

As always, stay well, and avoid the Tenafly Viper!

Atomic Annie Takes A Ride

Today was another day running missions, at 4 in the morning. Luckily, I have a chunk of the day off- I'm thinking about just using it to sleep, then run evening missions. They take a little longer, but that's ok. The missions consist of delivering fuel and supplies to the artillery batteries in the field. Exciting? Well, sometimes. Also very demanding, which is ok too. It looks like we're tasked out on this for the next two weeks, which I can live with. The search for an apartment continues, although eventually I'll be getting divorced, then be eligible to move back into the barracks. This is hunky dory, yet I find myself asking the question- do I really want to? I'm staying with a friend now who was kind enough to sublet to me, and things are going very well. We have most of the platoon wondering, as our occasional casual references to the "meth lab" seem a little too deadpan to be jokes. Here we see the fine art of BSing- making people believe the most outrageous statements, if you say them with a straight face. Just for the record, I don't know how to make meth, and probably wouldn't if I did- I hear it's not only extremely toxic, but also tends to explode. Generally stuff exploding in my immediate vicinity I like to avoid if at all possible.
So at any rate, there I was, energy drink in hand, tooling down scenic Ft. Sill Boulevard, not far from the Artillery Museum. On a side note, I highly recommend it if you happen to be in the Fort Sill area- it's very interesting, with some pretty impressive pieces. And be sure to stop and say hello to Atomic Annie, one of the largest guns in the museum. But back to the road. There I was, waiting at a traffic light. On Fort Sill, this is a common practice enjoyed by many, often for long stretches of time. I was headed to the library, to write this, among other things, when who should appear but one of the civilian police. Said civilian police (not to be confused with Lawton PD- these guys are on-post only) pulled halfway into the four-way intersection, blocking the two lanes of oncoming traffic, but leaving my own lane and the lane next to me open. Okay, I thought., is the light not working? Surely this guy's there for a reason. So out steps one of Fort Sill's less-than-finest, and wanders off behind the truck. If you haven't guessed yet, I have little respect for Department of Defense-employed civilians, but I'll get to that in a minute. He appeared to be (unsucessfully and unnecessarily) directing the movement of a large truck, on the back of which was a ponderous piece of artillery. It was a big gun, designed to fire a big shell over a big distance, and in fact one of the pieces from the artillery museum- truly a sight, this. However, something appeared to be amiss- either that or the light had turned red, as the truck stopped at (not in) the intersection, the driver and passenger dismounted and moved back to both sides of the trailer, apparently with the aim of securing or re-securing the gun. So there we sat, waiting for something to happen, or for the cop to give us some traffic direction, seeing as he saw fit to block the intersection. Generally when there's a police vehicle sitting in the intersection with lights flashing, experience tells us there's likely a policeman there to direct traffic. No such luck this time, I'm afraid. So, after sitting through a cycle of the light with no clear indication of what we were supposed to do, and the price of gas being what it is, the driver in the lane next to me looked over- we exchanged a blank look, a shrug, and proceeded through the intersection on the next green light. This sent the until-recently absent cop running back to his radio. But by this time we were long up the road. Did we break the law? Perhaps, though in our defense we evaluated the situation and proceeded as best as could be determined.
But this is why I have little respect for the Fort Sill PD, (not the MPs, or Military Police- they are an Army-wide organization charged with keeping law and order on a military post, and making sure the laws are obeyed.) The Fort Sill PD excels at two things, as demonstrated above- writing tickets and wasting our time. Now, I wouldn't mind this, except they seem to share the same mentality prevalent among many DOD civilian employees of treating soldiers like dirt, despite our frankly much more advanced qualifications. Range control, central equipment issue, police... the list goes on. Why, you may ask, don't we mind the MPs? Because they are soldiers, and show other soldiers respect. I'm not saying let's get into that whole patriotism and support-our-troops can of worms, but a little common courtesy, notably lacking among our civilian personnel, seems strangely lacking.
Actually, contrast this with the chow hall personnel. Some are civilians, some are cooks. It depends where on post you go, and with the gas station cashiers. Also civilians, also technically DOD employees. They are generally very agreeable people, and that fact is not lost on me- I've been in discussions about everything from chili recipes to atomic fission, and found that it's only natural to grow in respect and cooperation with these people.
But anyway, the ineffectual cop was funny as hell.

Pocket Protectors Away!!

Please enjoy this random moment of dorkiness, brought to you by the fine people at Blogger. So don't divide by zero- that's my public service announcement. For some odd reason, you can't divide by zero, any more than you can square a number and get a negative. That's another fun little mathematical thing you can't do- find the value of the square root of negative 1. Remember a square root is the number you multiply by itself to get the answer- as a for example, 2 is the square root of 4, because 2 multiplied by 2 is 4. However, no number multiplied by itself produces a negative number. Yet every number has a square root, so why not this one? Actually, all we'd really need to do is find the square root of negative 1- anything beyond that, negative 2 and so on and so forth, would then simply be a multiple of the square root of negative 1. However, the fact that this number can't exist but does is one of those funny holes in modern mathematics.

Another one is the Riemman hypothesis, (assuming I spelled that correctly). I had some fun with this a while back, (I know, dork factor just shot way up there) though I didn't break any new ground on it. Simply put, the hypothesis states that for any given integer set, there is a pattern (and hence an equation or algorithm) that defines the sequence and placement of prime numbers in that integer set. In other words, there's a pattern to prime numbers- they don't just fall randomly into place. At first glance, this would seem obvious- mathematics is full of fun little puzzles like that. The problem is getting that pattern to hold consistent across experiments. One moment we see one algorithm, the next we see two others. Hold still, damnit! I'm trying to look smart!

Well, yelling at abstractions aside, it's an interesting puzzle for greater minds than mine. Yet instinctually, I think we all know the universe is actually an ordered place. Doesn't it kind of have to be? Even if that order arises out of chaos, which opens up a whole 50-gallon drum full of mathematical worms, it's still there. The system tends towards self-sustainment and equilibrium, indicating to me that there's actually a rationale behind it. Like DNA, which contains the code of the whole organism, every atom also contains a type of DNA, and the order of the universe in itself. Thus by extension, the interaction of any of any number of given atoms, molecules, structures and so on will also mirror that order. See how that's incredibly philosophically useful? Throw a God into the mix, and all that God would need to do would be first, to be able to understand and interpret that entire pattern, and second, manipulate it. As for the rest of us poor working stiffs, we can grasp a piece of the pattern, perhaps even a large portion of it. It does, however, seem unlikely that we can grasp the whole. There's always an element of seeming unpredictability- always a chance that some free-radical event can come crashing in and mess up the whole pattern. I say seeming unpredictability because even this falls within the scope of the pattern- however, we with our more limited perspectives are not quite able to see it. This is no reflection on us, just a question of not being able to see everything all at once. And so it goes, world without end, or at least not for a while. Don't drink the Tenafly Viper, don't divide by zero, and stay out of trouble.

Cynically Yours

Well, there's not a lot going on around here lately, so figured I'd do something I've been meaning to do lately- write stuff down. Not really in any particular order, or for that matter even entirely based off of reality- I guess I'll test the waters with this one, see where it goes. So, without further ado, this blog gets slightly more interesting- Still lacking a title, this is about the bulk of what I've gotten down so far, though a plot and character development are proceeding-



Knock, knock

The sound roused me out of a half-remembered dream. Turns out it was in the real, waking world after all.

"Detective Rains, are you in there?" a slightly shrill voice called from the other side of my apartment door. That would be Mrs. Pealey, my landlady. Eccentric as the day is long, but a nice woman all the same.
Damn. I had fallen asleep on the couch. A paperback book, one of an endless series that graced my apartment, lay tented on the floor beside the couch that I was on. I went to move, and found I had a charlie horse in my neck that could have run in the Kentucky Derby. Clearly, sleeping on the couch was not a good idea, intentionally or no.

But Mrs. Pealey was still at the door, no doubt growing concerned by the absence of response, and thinking perhaps of some pulp-fiction melodrama; she opens the door to find the body sprawled on the floor, a pen still clutched in stiffening fingers, having written one last clue to the riddle...

"Just a moment, Mrs. Pealey! I'm afraid you caught me dozing".

"Okay dear, just as long as you're ok".

Typical. I hate to disappoint, but no dying man. I've seen dead men before- not quite the romanticized version my dear old batty landlady might have in mind. But more on that in a minute. Time to answer the door.

I crossed the living room and opened the door. There was my landlady, in all her kindhearted glory- the print dresses she always wore, and the flat shoes she wore around the building, and the bobbed hair that seemed fifty years out of date, but nonetheless looked fitting on her. I always thought she picked a haircut from Casablanca, but of course kept this opinion to myself, as I liked that movie and my landlady, and didn't want to have that misconstrued and resulting in hurt feelings.

She peered past me into the living room- uninteresting walls, a painting made by a friend of mine, slightly worn carpet, and a couple couches. Nothing like what you read about in the books.

I'm a homicide detective by profession, so of course you'd expect the standard grungy apartment, overflowing ashtrays and empty whiskey bottles in the sink. Well, actually the only thing in my sink at the moment were two coffee cups, left there from this morning. The apartment, though a little old, was clean. I prided myself on not losing my ability to keep a place clean, even after I left the Army. But that's another story. Perhaps a little background will help. I live in the Beacon Hill neighborhood of Boston, and I'm a homicide detective for the Boston Police. Divorced for three years, no kids. I think that about covers it. The first thing everyone seems to say is, "I'm sorry". Well, to paraprhase the late great Madeleine Kahn, it's a question of life after death- now that our marriage is dead, I have a life.
But at any rate, back to the apartment. I live in an old brick building that was at some point in its past converted to apartments. What it was before that, I don't know. If I was really that curious, I could go search the moldering town records for some indication. The only thing I find strange about it is the basement- it's sealed up, the only door in the building's lobby bearing a liberal coat of paint over the gap between the door and the jamb. Mrs. Pealey had no key to this door, and knew of no one who had ever been down there. She herself used the attic for storage, and as long as the pipes didn't leak, she didn't really care what was down there. As for me, I was too busy dealing with people killing other people on a weekly if not daily basis to spend too much time worrying about basements, and as for the rest of the tenants, I couldn't say.

Creepy Green Light

Here it is Sunday morning, and about all I've accomplished today is to mop the floor, clean a bit, and go to the gym. Well, perhaps that's not too bad for a long weekend. A little slacking now and then does the soul good, I guess.
I got to talk to the kids and the family yesterday, which was good. Max, my oldest, tells me school is boring. In some ways that's a good thing, as it means he's keeping up with the subject material, but on the other hand, I don't want him to be overwhelmed with work. Us smart guys have learned- balance is important. Life is more than academics and scholarly pursuits. Likewise, it's more than physicality, if that's the right word. Seek the middle ground, I guess. But I know he's an exceptionally smart kid, and I can say that apart from the fact that every parent thinks that about their kids. Actually, he's a reading fool, much like his old man, and seems to enjoy learning for its own sake. My daughter, Emma also displays the same intellect, but has inherited her mother's stubbornness. In many ways, this is not a bad characteristic to have, though it could go in either direction, like many things in life.

At any rate, tomorrow I'm debating whether or not to go running in the great wilds of the Wichita Mountains. I'd love to get outside, as I too feel like I've been spending far too much time bent over books. I managed to do quite a number on the muscles of my lower neck a while ago, so had been somewhat out of the loop. It was a little below the cervical vertebrae, where the vertebrae grow larger, between the shoulder blades. Hurt like hell, too. But having healed up, I think I'm ok now. This did prompt me to try and look into some new exercises, not entirely because the ones I was doing managed to tear a muscle, but the fact that it's getting repetitive as hell. I figured that mixing things up a little could only improve the situation. And, hopefully by working muscles in different ways, minimize the chance of injury.

In other news, there's really not much going on in Oklahoma. Same old same old, pretty much. I stopped by the old Impact Zone last night to shoot a couple games of pool, and boy did I need to clean the cobwebs out! I hear the Butterfly Lounge just off of post (a bar) holds regular pool tournaments too, but I'm really not that good, and would just as soon avoid bars. Call it superstition, I don't know. I don't like being called a recovering alcoholic, not that the term doesn't apply, but I never liked defining myself by a mental/physical condition. When I meet people, I don't say, Hi, my name's Jake, I'm a former mental patient, and I need to take medication to keep my brain chemistry from going out of whack, but oh yeah, I was voted Hunkiest Patient on South Ward... Why? Because I don't define myself as mentally ill, or alcoholic. (Why I was voted Hunkiest Patient remains a mystery to this day). That doesn't make either of those less true, but I regard them as incidental. There is more to life than what you can't do, after all. Like the things you can do.
I finally got around to checking my mail, as well, and got a letter from Max! He told me about catching some pretty righteous fish, and going fishing for catfish in the Connecticut River. That sounds pretty good, actually. There are probably some pretty decent channel catfish down there. I may just need to pay a visit to the local soul food place tonight, as all this talk of ribs and catfish has got my mind (and stomach) going in only one direction. Apart from that, things are about the same. I'm hoping to meet the new addition to the family, Daisy, who is a boxer, when I get back up to Connecticut. And I'll be sure to pack a couple sweatshirts, I'm sure I'll need them in the great cold North.

Welcome September

The kids started school this week, which was pretty exciting- they're way up there in CT, hopefully having a great start to the school year. Apart from that, it's cooling off quite a bit. Fall in Oklahoma is always nice- not too hot, nor too cold. (That's for the summer and winter, respectively). It also brings us a month closer to October, which is my favorite month. Not because my birthday is in that month, but because there's always something about the weather in October- the leaves change color, the wind blows a little colder, and the nights get longer.
And besides, it's the month Halloween is in. I love Halloween, always have and always will. It's one of the odder celebrations, I've always thought, and one that has never shed its pagan roots. This might be why some churches and religious organizations don't like it. It's interesting that across cultures a day of celebration and rememberance of the dead is common. The date itself is said to be the point at which the barrier between the world of the living and dead is thinnest and most easily permeated, though of course there are people who can see into this world anyway. The Summerlands, as it's sometimes called.
At any rate, here are some odd customs I've heard about Halloween- I'll have to try out a couple this year!
- Burn new candles on Halloween- the candles you burn Halloween night should not be used any other time of year, and to burn new candles on Halloween ensures good luck the coming year.

- Similarly, if you light a new orange candle at midnight on Halloween and let it burn until sunrise, you'll have good luck that upcoming year.

- Don't look behind you on Halloween, as Death may be following you.

-Seeing a spider on Halloween is considered a good omen, as the spider is thought to be the spirit of a dead relative watching over you.

-To meet a witch, put your clothes on inside out and walk backwards on Halloween night. (Though there are probably easier ways to find a witch).

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."
-H. P. Lovecraft

The White Tree

As time goes on, I notice here at Ft. Sill that there are some pretty curious idiomatic expressions that keep coming up- some make sense, some don't, but all of them are pretty amusing. Here's a few of the more common ones-

Deuces- an informal goodbye, usually indicating haste to depart. This is commonly used after a formation, indicating a hurry to get the duty day over with so we all can go relax. Origins unknown, possibly related to the peace sign. Another explanation is that of the local Hoover St. gang symbol, though this is uncertain.

Lizards, also Lawton Lizards- Slang term for prostitutes in or native to the Lawton area.

Pop smoke- Leave or depart in a hurry, in an unnoticed fashion. Usually to get out of a meeting early, or some event when other appointments press on time. Refers to the use of smoke grenades, which are commonly used to conceal movement in the field.

Stroking the ricos- To put up with and comply with an order that has no clear purpose except as an ego boost to some commander or other. The order usually seems completely senseless, but of course we have to do it anyway. Origins unknown

11 Bang Bang- Slang term for an infantry soldier, usually ground troops. Refers to the 11B MOS, which is infantry.

Playing Sancho- Refers to an affair with a married person, usually during the day when said married person's spouse is at work. Also playing Jody.

Now that I've enlightened you all, I noticed something in a reading a while ago that I thought was worth mentioning, especially seeing as this image pops up frequently in my own readings. For some odd reason the 10 of Swords makes me think of Lord of the Rings, more specifically the city-state of Gondor. The White Tree was a symbol of Gondor, and was planted in a prominent place, outside the home of the Steward. Though dead during the course of the book, the Tree was symbolic of the strength and might of Gondor. Gondor in many ways represented the height of human achievement, though again, at the time it was waning. The men there were smart, organized and strong, and worked towards a common goal with surprising efficiency and ability. Their Steward could command the Palantir, or the seeing stones, no mean feat. So what does this have to do with the Ten of Swords? It has a picture of a man stabbed with ten swords, with blood flowing out onto the earth. It symbolizes defeat, and endings. However, the image I got (which doesn't actually appear on the card, but bear with me) was always of the roots of that tree being sunk deep in the bloodied earth, and from that blood the tree growing and putting out leaves. Why this is, I was never sure, but it seems to point to a rebirth- an ending leading to a new beginning, a new strength. So though there is an end, and loss, the promise of a new future is there as well. Again, that image doesn't appear on the cards, but at the same time, it seems to fit- the Tens represent completion, and in this case perhaps even a moving onwards.