And This Is How It Goes

The day to return to Oklahoma approaches- though sad, I'm hopeful for the future. Things are definitely different this time. It's not a question of coming back, planning some far-off wedding, and worrying about Tabatha. Well, okay, I'll still worry about her, and always will. But I feel like I have a purpose, and have a plan at this point, instead of wandering through life, or waiting for things to fall into place. It's a question of getting things in order, and of doing what needs to be done. The most difficult part about this is not leaving the past behind- it's leaving the future on hold. It seems like my life is here, in Connecticut. Yet I've built a career in the Army, and rebuilt a life. Then again, where did I think this was going? I knew going in sooner or later I'd wind up seeing some action, and I'm glad my time has come. Beats hanging around Fort Sill for another year!
Beyond this, longer-term, things look bright. I know perfectly well I'll come home safe, and look forward to picking up this life where I left off! Maybe even expand the family- who knows? But this is the way it has to be- events happen for a purpose. On a probably-related note, we've begun to set up a family altar- looks pretty cool so far! I have a bunch of stuff to send up here to CT also. I've had a little more time to put one together, and it developed in the best way an altar can be put together- organically, growing over time. The result probably makes little sense to anyone but me, but everything there has an explanation and a purpose. I notice that each witch and each site like that has a kind of vibe to it- each one kind of carries the unique signature of the person who created it, or the people who gave it energy. Tabatha herself is a pretty potent witch-what you'd call a natural witch. Meaning simply that she was born with her abilities, thus giving her a distinct vibe. But that's neither here nor there. I dedicated an area for an altar in our apartment, which went pretty well! It has a good charge running through it- whether or not that's because of a pre-existing vein running through it or because of me, I don't know- I figure the results are about the same. But it's reassuring to know I can call upon these resources when I need them.
So long story short, married life is good! I'm glad I can be able to take care of Tabatha and the rest of my family- whatever the future holds, I know it'll be more than one page in the history books- and one of the more colorful chapters. And as always- don't drink the Tenafly Viper!

The End of An Era

I kind of feel like this is the end- that what needed to be done has been done, and that we've come to the end of this chapter of life. It'll be some time before this blog can be updated, but hopefully it will endure for a long time to come. As long as it remains rambling, irrelevant and largely random, I think the Internet will always be a welcome venue for my ramblings. But this is it; I managed to finally get married, finally managed to do what I set out to do.
The wedding was yesterday, in a barn. We set up a circle, as per usual, and performed a handfasting. Facebook will no doubt soon be inundated with pictures, which is good. The handfasting was a success, and I learned a few interesting things- first, that originally the handfasting was meant for a year and a day. After that, the couple would come before the person performing the handfasting again, and they would be asked whether or not they wanted to go again- renew their commitment to each other for another year and a day. It's a funny coincidence, but that's a little longer than the time until I'll be back here in this corner of the globe. We're thinking of celebrating a one-year anniversary all over again, which would be very cool. The vows we took say we'll remain together 'as long as love endures', which it always will. I learned that the sword we opened and closed the circle with absorbs all the good energy put out into the energy and gathered into that circle, and becomes a powerful symbol. It does seem to be a powerful symbol of our commitment. I know as time goes on that symbol will grow and gain deeper meaning, and will hopefully endure throughout generations.

So from the wilds of New England, the newly married Chipmans say thank you for all the love, support, good advice and patience. From here, to greatness.

Counting Down

Today is the day we'll more than likely go get a marriage license, which is a useful thing to have for getting married. Seems like we've come such a long way, plowing through countless obstacles, overcoming everything else and finally coming to this final juncture of events. Where do we go from here? Well, Tabatha's going to need a new car, or need her current one repaired. She bought it second or ninth-hand, and, as seems to be the trend with cars built in the later half of the 20th century, it experienced catastrophic collapse. Someone once mentioned this to me- that after around say, 1960 or so, a seeming change occurred in the automotive industry. Cars began to have a finite life span; they were designed to live up to a certain point, then beyond that it becomes impractical to repair them, rather just replace them and junk the old one. Though I'm far from an expert mechanic, I do love to see an older car that's been maintained, and taken from its humble roots and made into something exceptional. At any rate, a great deal of the problems with her car stem from virtually no maintenance being done on this vehicle in its prime. Parts have failed and stresses show due to the fact that none of these things were properly addressed when they should have been. But Tabatha needed a car, and the van, with its then-unknown issues, was within her price range. Well, live and learn. No fault of Tabatha's I think, save a faith in humanity.
Which brings me to an interesting point. I've noticed over time that she has an independent streak; she doesn't like to rely on other people. Which is admirable, though sometimes it's quite all right to ask for help when you need it. She just doesn't want to be dependent on other people all the time, considering it a sign of weakness. This isn't as black and white as she seems to think; there are more factors to consider than simply just whether or not you need help with something. Can't make the rent this month because you spent all the rent money on pot and hookers? This is one thing. Finding yourself in extenuating circumstances, and you're not sure how to proceed? That's another entirely. It took me a long time to learn this too, to ask for help when you need it. But she can't seem to get out of the mindset of us being separate entities- and this is true, to some extent. However, part of getting married is that we share the burdens in life. I'm all too happy to help,and trust her completely. But Tabatha wants to do it on her own- not just because she's stubborn (well, okay, maybe that too), but because it's probably a habit at this point. I'll keep on reminding her, however- she's not alone, and we have a common goal throughout this. If I need to sink some funds into a car, no sweat. What are husbands for, after all? I know it'll all work out in the end, though. Just sometimes the here and now can be a major bitch. I'm wondering if it would be easier to send my car up here and let her use it. It's not exactly a Rolls, but it runs and will possibly be big enough for the dogs. Either way, I'm planning on keeping up payments, then possibly using it for a trade-in when I get back from this deployment. But the problem is, that's a lot easier on me than it is on her, in some ways. See, I'll be overseas, with no need for a vehicle. Tabatha will be here in the states. Though not getting shot at (I hope), she faces a whole different set of challenges. The main sticking point here is figuring out how to get Tabatha into a better position. Being married, the "all for one, and one for all" rule definitely applies, but beyond that, I need to come up with a more coherent plan; this may sound silly, but I find it useful to sit down, write or think it out, and devise steps to take. Whatever works, I guess.
The good news is, the wedding is fast approaching! There's a few preparations still to make, but everything's definitely coming together. What lies beyond that next bend in the road? Can't wait to find out.

Go Winding Down

There's not much left to do here except count down the final few hours till I get on a plane and go back to Connecticut. I've gotten everything I can packed, loaded or otherwise secured, and there's still a few hours to kill. Sleep isn't going to be a big issue, seeing as I have to leave the house at around 2 to allow plenty of time to get to the airport. Probably more time than I'll need, but it's better to be early than face the wrath of my soon-to-be wife. This upcoming Saturday, actually one week from today, is the date slated for the wedding- the general consensus seems to be about damn time among the members of our two families. And no, it didn't take me going to Afghanistan to finally ask her- we did agree, however, that it's best to make it official beforehand. That way, she'll have a good deal of say in my life back here. Never assign a power of attorney to anyone you don't trust- luckily, I trust her completely. Other weird things we're planning on doing- having matching tattoos done. Kind of an old-fashioned romantic notion, I know, but what the heck. Further advice- never get a tattoo unless you're sure of its meaning, both to you personally and to the rest of the world. Now, as if all this wasn't mushy enough, I'm planning on getting it done over my heart- a claddagh, with a pentacle on the center of the heart. The one on the claddagh, I mean, not the one in my chest. Tattooing that would be a challenge indeed. At any rate, we picked this symbol because first, Tabatha is Irish, (wow, would never have guessed that one, ha ha) and secondly, because it has personal meaning to the both of us.

In national news, it looks like Washington's credit rating has dropped. There are credit ratings used in the stock market to indicate the solvency of a given financial institution- the larger and stronger the organization, the better rating they get. You would figure the government, long considered one of the most stable entities and least-risk entities in the entire free market, would be untouched by this. Actually, I always figured the same thing. This is because, at least on paper, the government has unlimited powers of taxation- thus, it will always have money to meet its obligations. At least, I'd like to think so... What has happened here that caused the credit rating to drop is that the government no longer has the financial resources to meet its debt obligations. In other words, the government owes more than every single working person in this country can be expected to pay. Exactly where this came from is an interesting point. I've heard it said, and I kind of agree, that a President can be best judged by what happens after he leaves office. The prior President ran us into a quagmire of a war, and guess what? Wars don't come free. Equipment, vehicles, logistics, and supplies come with a price tag- yet the government spent money as if they were free. Not that, in my opinion, our current President is a whole hell of a lot better- at the time when the country needed a no-BS leader to smack the executive branch upside its collective head, our fearless leader prevaricated and bickered. I'm rapidly becoming of the opinion we should just stick a circus tent over the whole mess and call it the freak show that it is. Thomas Jefferson once said how the tree of liberty must sometimes be refreshed with the blood of patriots and tyrants. He didn't say anything about damn fools, but I think that would work just as well. I'm also reminded of Thoreau-to paraphrase, he was big on the idea of a social contract- government has its obligations and priveleges, and we have ours. In this case, I'm guessing it's something along the lines of we pay taxes, don't revolt, and follow the laws, and the government in turn provides order, stability, and takes care of the people. We do pay taxes, revolt within the confines of the law for the most part, and generally follow laws. How then, does this allow for the gross misconduct of the government? True, I'm bound to follow the orders of the President, but throughout the Army, it's always encouraged that we speak up and say what's on our minds. There's usually an explanation, or failing that, things can be modified. This would be where many of the new military vehicles you see today came from- and probably why we're not rolling around in mule-drawn carts to carry the artillery in. But holding onto a system that doesn't work is a mark not of democracy, but rather of tyranny. Just for the record, I propose nothing- merely observe. (CYA applies to more than just mortar attacks, ha ha). The rift between the governed and the governors grows greater and greater- it seems to me it has never, in the history of this country (not of this land, of our actual nation) been greater than it is as of late. It's an interesting time to be here, and will hopefully prove another turning point in history.

The Way We Weren't- The Chronicles of Arkham

Voices echoed under the bridge. Dimly lit by the streetlights on the highway above, nonetheless shadows crowded the tall concrete pylons. The air thrums from the continuous rush of traffic above. The river, little more than an oily suggestion just past a narrow catwalk, murmurs to itself, reflecting snatches of moonlight and headlights above. Following this catwalk, we find a turn, and a secondary tunnel running into the bank, and underground. Water flows through a vaulted concrete corridor, dark with age and accumulated grime. After a distance, we find three small boats tied to a larger platform. All three look designed to move in and out of these narrow tunnels, with powerful engines weighing down the rears.

Through a darkened doorway, we see a room seemingly forgotten- pipes and valves line the walls, green and brown with rust and the accumulated dampness of years. A single bulb overhead illuminates four figures within the room, bent over a table. All wear strange outfits, and all of their faces are covered in some way. A tall man at the corner wears a black trenchcoat and fedora, a black scarf pulled up just under brown eyes that flash with intelligence. On his right stands a woman wearing black fatigues and a strange veil over her face, and next to her, a man with a purple-and black wrestling mask and similar black fatigues taps the table with seeming impatience. On the other side of the table stands the strangest figure of all- hunched over the table, he looks every bit of his 72 years. His lower face is covered with a mask painted to look like the lower half of a human skull, above which cold eyes look down at a map of the city spread on the table between his large, scarred hands. Though by far the oldest of the four, he projects an almost regal air, and one of unquestioned leadership. His hand does not quite obscure the words ARKHAM, MASS. written on a corner of the map. He points at a corner, and addresses the trenchcoated man-

"Shade- I want you on the northwest quarter of the city tonight. We don't have any indication that tonight will be anything other than a routine patrol, but keep your eyes open. You know what we're looking for, especially around the harbor."

"Got it," the man called Shade replies in a slightly gravelly voice, without taking his eyes off the map.

The man turns to the woman. "Nyx, I want you and the Mason on the south tonight- here," he points to a section of the map, "and here." I'm going to trust the police to actually do their job for the rest of the city. Keep your radios on and your ears open. Again, there's no reason to expect anything but the same petty shit you guys can handle on your own. Use the river, but keep as out of sight and far apart as you can."

The two figures nod, and turn from the table. "So, nothing new on the radar tonight?" says the man in the wrestling mask.

The old man sighs. "What do you want? Some great chance at glory? Or just to be a dead hero? We're vigilantes, Mason. I remember my own days, going back and forth, night after night, stopping poor people from killing other people, while the real problems in this city go unchecked. This isn't a movie- you die out there, you get hurt, you reveal this organization, we don't get a second chance. Out of all the people in this city, you three were chosen because you were the only people who cared enough to do something about the corruption here. You had done a great deal on your own- but our strength comes from unity. Until such time as this organization ceases to exist, either due to being revealed, or you dumb fucks getting yourselves killed out there, you will follow my orders."

"Gee, thanks for the pep talk, boss", murmurs the woman, glaring at the old man.

"We make a difference. Always remember that." answers the old man, looking up.
The man closest to the door, Mason, turns on his heel and walks out. "Let's get this party started, already!" he says, vanishing through the door.

It's going to be a long night, Nyx thinks but doesn't say aloud. There's enough dissension in the ranks already. Maybe it's the same old complaints that have plagued the city since time out of mind- corrupt officials, lack of public services, and the mysterious financial crisis the city always seemed to be in, despite the infusion of tax money and the usual federal support.

Moving out of the tunnel into the slightly brighter evening, we get our first glance of Arkham. A sprawling city breaks apart the cloudy skyline, buildings towering over neon- lit streets, storefronts promising liquor, food and entertainment, others boarded up and silent. People walk along the streets, some dressed for an evening out, others simply going home after spending a day trying to work out a living in the city, lacking the will or know-how to simply just up and leave. And here and there, in an alley, behind a boarded-up storefront, the real lifeblood of the city can be seen- drugs, weapons, explosives, prostitution- a very profitable and much-denied underground exists. One would wonder how things became this way, until we glance a uniformed beat cop receiving a bulky plastic-wrapped package, a wooden crate marked MACHINE PARTS at his feet and a small-framed man with a narrow mustache and a black suit standing in front of him. The two are meeting in an empty storefront, the wide glass front long since smashed and replaced with haphazardly nailed-up boards. This transaction has the feel of an old ritual, each party knowing exactly what was expected of them. Tonight, however, things were to be different. The wooden panels gazing blankly in at the illicit exchange suddenly splinter inwards, revealing a slender feminine figure in the newly made jagged opening. Both the officer and the man freeze, staring confused at the intruder for a moment- this was not supposed to happen, and their minds seemed unable to comprehend that someone was actually interfering. However, their stunned silence is short-lived. The officer grabs for a large pistol at his hip and aims it at the woman, preparing to fire. With a seemingly casual gesture, the woman extends a hand and a length of chain snaps the pistol to the floor, while the officer swears profusely and clutches a hand already beginning to drip a thin line of blood. The black-suited man charges forwards, thinking to get in past the reach of whatever his target is carrying, when the woman suddenly has something in her left hand- a slight hiss, and a line of whitish fluid strafes across the man's eyes and nose. The effect is immediate- the man skids to a halt, and grabs his face, offering colorful speculation as to his attacker's origins, and probable outcomes for the future.

Nyx glares at the two, then steps into the room, snapping her chain across the shins of the policeman when he takes a tentative step forwards. He falls to his knees, yelling incoherently. She walks over to him, stepping over his companion, who has stopped cursing, and is now attempting to clear his eyes.

"It's wasp spray. For pests like you," she mutters. "Get to the hospital." She stands over the police officer and pulls him to his feet. "You," she says, and we can almost see her lips curl under the veil still covering them, "get out of here. This is your warning. If I ever see you here, or anywhere else in my city, doing anything but writing goddamn parking tickets, you'll be begging me to use a chain on you by the time I'm done with you. Got me?"

The officer stares at her, dumbfounded. He scarcely notices his companion edging towards the opening, eyes red and face swollen. She shakes him, and he cringes. "I said, got it? A simple nod will suffice, given your apparently limited capacities. Why else would you try anything near as stupid as what you were doing?"
The officer finally nods.
"Now get your sorry ass out of here while I'm still in a forgiving mood," she says, kicking the pistol out of reach and into a corner of the room. "Don't do anything you might live to regret." she adds. The officer turns and runs out through the hole in the wood without a backwards glance.

Nyx sighs and looks around the room. Fuck, I hate this, she thinks. Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a superhero. Now look at me. Cleaning up the scum of humanity. Ought to just let them kill each other. She turns, winding the length of chain back around one wrist, and walks back into the street.

(Note of more-or-less explanation: There actually is a lady superhero called Nyx; the description provided here is more or less accurate, except for her weaponry. There was formerly a superhero known as the Stonemason- the man in question, now going by the name Anonyman, runs a civil relief organization in Canada called Saskatonian Relief. Pretty much everything else is made up, though the location is based in part on Lawton, Oklahoma and the Hartford-East Hartford town line in Connecticut, marked by a bridge spanning a section of the Connecticut river that flows past the city. And, of course, a healthy dose of comic-book gloom and doom. But there's a hero in each of us, I think. Besides which, the whole reason I wrote this was a dream I had last night of tunnels running below a huge city, where costumed would-be heroes gathered to go out and fight crime. Remember, heroes are everywhere- just look in the mirror.

Interlude

I'm not a slave to a god that doesn't exist

I'm not a slave to a world that doesn't give a shit

-Marilyn Manson, Fight Song

It's hot. That about sums it up. The last couple of days have been kind of a madhouse around here, first with running around clearing the ENTIRE arms room- an arms room contains weaponry of all shapes and sizes, from pistols to Mark 19 grenade launchers (prolonged exposure has been shown to result in exponential increases in testosterone levels). All weapons were accounted for, inventoried, cleaned and returned. We're now on a first-name basis with every last piece of equipment in that arms room, and today was a little more laid back- I wound up back in the same place I was Monday, tracking down a few scraps of paperwork, most of it redundant. I needed a copy of my insurance record, showing who gets the 400 grand should I die, and yet another copy of my contact information- who gets the remains should the aforementioned death occur. I suppose this has made me a little warped and morbid, though granted, I was kind of out there to start with. I also put in my final will and orders for medical disposition- basically, if I'm not going to pull out of whatever medical tailspin I find myself in, go ahead and let me crash. Better to go out quick and easy than drag it on, I figure. But this is, of course, when an attending physician and a second physician have determined that everything medically possible has been done to save me, and further treatment will be ineffective. Not that I plan to use this for quite some time, I'll be around flirting with the nurses for many years into my old age. Which likewise, is not for a long time. I'll not see 20 again (thank the gods for small favors), but I'm going to spend a long, happy time on this mortal coil.

I found it somewhat interesting that you can specify what, if anything, you want to donate on your body after death. I decided against donating certain organs- I myself can't quite assign a rationale to it, perhaps just superstition. Pretty much everything can go except brain, eyes and heart. However, the dura mater covering my brain, as well as cerebral fluid, are fair game, so to speak. Why these organs? First, because my brain contains a lifetime of memories, not all of them good, but nonetheless, the one thing I can truly claim as my own. My heart, for largely superstitious reasons. It's said to be the seat of the soul, and again, though anatomically it's just a chunk of tissue, I guess it's still ultimately my own choice. My eyes, for largely the same reason, apart from the fact that they don't work all that well in the first place. As I sat there I realized a weird parallel to the inexcusable Blood Diner, another prime example of '80's horror films. Two inept brothers, with the guidance of a dead uncle's brain in a glass jar, try to resurrect some demon/goddess creature, with arguable success. But if anyone keeps my brain in a glass jar and expects it to talk and give you instructions, well, good luck with that. Besides, my final instructions say cremation, not imitate the movies. There are somewhat limited things you can do with dead bodies, also. The law is rather strict on what you can and can't do with human remains. I can recall a weird photo that was debunked by this fact- a man supposedly kept his dead wife, preserved, in a large glass coffin-like apparatus, in his living room, where she served as a coffee table. The photo, (credit where credit is due) was absolutely ingenious- it turned out to be a clever makeup job and a very large fish tank. The possibilities of home decor on Halloween are mind-bending.

But I digress, as usual. All this is just a precaution, but a good one. I'm planning on being back from this little jaunt across the pond in one piece, and spending many more years enjoying the condition of being not dead. I'm very much certain of this fact, though I can't put my finger on exactly why. Tomorrow is another day, and one which I won't get too much sleep. That's okay, one of the useful abilities we soldiers develop is the ability to sleep virtually anywhere. The reason for little to no sleep is because I have to report in at 3 AM, to get my happy self down to Fort Hood, deep in the heart of Texas. I'm not driving, and it's a five-hour ride, so that means a five-hour nap. The reason for going to Texas, apart from flirting with Texas gals, is to secure equipment for the deployment. The Army is going back to a different camouflage pattern, which I for one think is a good move. It's kind of halfway between the old BDU/tiger stripe camo we saw until the late '90s and the camo after that, the green-gray digitized camo. I think it's a good change, though I'm more concerned with the durability and functionality of the armor than keeping me concealed. We get to go wear our 'civvies', though- what we wear on our days off. Most everyone else is going on leave either Friday or Saturday, so looks like it'll be an empty house for me the remainder of the time I'm here. Then I go on leave, and the coolness around battalion drops by a factor of 10 or so, ha ha. But I'm glad that we have the chance to take leave, and that everyone gets to go see their families and loved ones, even if it is just a little down time- sometimes those can be the most memorable.

We also had a resiliency briefing today- what does that mean? Basically, it means don't let it get to you. Sure, there are long hours, you occasionally get your ass chewed by superiors, sometimes things go wrong, and on top of that people are trying to kill you on occasion, and there's a kind of low-level stress constantly thrumming beneath the surface, but there are ways to deal with that. One is simply the fact that there is a bond between people who spend a lot of time together, for love or hate. Soon you learn that you can talk to people about things that are on your mind, without fear of judgement or ridicule. Another aspect of this has a great deal to do with your mindset- what do you see your problems as? One huge shit storm coming at you, or maybe not exactly as good as that time you kissed the really hot girl you took to the dance, but ultimately manageable. Again, ask for help when you need it, but never hesitate to tackle problems head on. Good advice, and some that I need to keep in mind! The most difficult thing for me so far has been learning to trust other people- they've got my back just as much as I've got theirs- they trust me, and the last thing I would want to do is disappoint or hurt these guys. Strange, and no doubt this is why we need reintegration training- pretty much what it sounds like, it's a post-deployment 'quarantine' of sorts, where we re-learn to do things in an environment where our lives are not at stake. But I knew the job was dangerous when I took it, unlike parenthood. (that was a joke- I love my kids, they are the coolest, smartest and most rocking kids the east coast has ever known.)

The heat continues to increase- every morning on my drive in I hear a new high temperature, "...which breaks the record, set in 19__". This is from a Wichita Falls station, about 40 minutes south of Lawton, incidentally, not that weather patterns are that localized. So some things never change. This is getting a little excessive- the sergeant giving our brief today, the eternal optimist, said "Yeah, I talked to the weather man- had him turn the dial up for you guys, so you can get acclimated to heat for when you get to Afghanistan." Gee, thanks. At least in Afghanistan it snows once in a while. Signing off from the south, I hope to be back in New England safe and sound, in time to see a great couple getting married!

Fire On The Mountain

Well, here it is, Sunday morning, staring down the barrel of another long week. But that's okay, do what needs to be done, I guess. I'm realizing how little time I actually have left here, though I know I'll be coming back home again. That, however, won't be useful information in the year I'll be overseas. Tomorrow is a long day of paperwork, all of which needs to be done before I deploy. Getting out of the lease isn't a big issue, and I can probably set up something for the car. I may end up just putting it in storage, assuming it'll be okay there. At this point, due to the volume of stuff I have to move, (admittedly not much, maybe a room full) I decided to go with a mover, if anyone will move that small an amount of stuff up to CT. Some of it gets FedExed, the rest seems either too heavy or too bulky to send that way. But things will get done, and at some point I'll need to get packed for leave as well- that part I'm actually looking forwards to! I'm noticing a couple gray patches in my hair when I look into the mirror, which isn't a big deal, I usually keep it shaved for the sake of convenience. It's also convenient, I suppose, that it covers gray hair, but I don't really care too much about that. Who do I have to impress, anyway? Besides, evidently I still look like I belong working the gate in a nightclub every time I put on a black t-shirt, at least that's what I'm told. I'm still quite the gym rat, not that I'm self-absorbed, just that there's really not much else to do around here! Except read books and watch movies, also both a good way to pass the time. I've been plodding through a couple uneventful novels, kind of journey-of-self-discovery type of things. Not bad by any measure, but not really that epic. Maybe my literary sensibilities are jaded, I don't know.

I did catch a very good movie this weekend, Insidious. It has shades of The Exorcist, except in a different vein. It was a good one, very psychological and creepy, not relying so much on blood and gore as it did genuinely weird stuff going on. A kid learns to astral project at an early age, not even aware that he's doing it since he does it in his sleep. He picks up a handful of astral nasties along the way, and a good movie ensues. Highly recommended, but very creepy.

There are more pressing matters in my life at present, though. There are boxes to move, and a trip down to Fort Bliss soon to get issued equipment- new armor, all that good stuff. Why are we traveling there, instead of sending the equipment we need here? Good question. There's probably some (unknown to us) rationale for it. Why do we need all this equipment? Well, first off it's a new, more effective camouflage, and more effective armor. Second, because it helps keep everyone on the same page as to what was issued and what was not. I for one need a first aid kit (that hopefully I'll never need to use), as well as various other pieces of equipment. I hear we're being issued M4 rifles rather than the longer, heavier M16s. With long arms, I find the M16 to be a little more comfortable to use, but I suppose by and large that's a matter of opinion. I'm not sure of the range on the M4, though a shorter body and shorter barrel do mean marginally reduced range- the M4 is better designed for close combat, not the sniper shots you can get off with an M16. There are also M9 9mm pistols, though I don't think these are issued to anyone but officers. Why that is, I don't know. Curiously, the pistol does not have the same long-range capabilities of either the M4 or 16. Like most things in the Army, there's probably a reason for it. I've never fired one, and friends of mine who are much more knowledgeable about handguns than I am recommend a larger caliber, however. I don't own a gun, and seeing as the only time I actually use one is training or combat, I guess it doesn't matter. For home defense, I guess a large enough kitchen knife would do, or a tactical knife, perhaps even a Kabar. Call me old-fashioned, I think the psychological effect of a well- wielded knife cannot be overrated.

But anyway, it looks like in the world of politics, it's the same old story. What's going on with this? I found myself thinking, if we displayed that type of incompetence at our jobs, we'd be court-martialed. We draw salaries from the taxes people pay to do a job- are we not expected to perform that job? Yet our elected 'representatives' draw a salary in largely the same way- and have continuously and consistently failed to accomplish their jobs! I can't speak sedition due to my position, but can disagree with the President's decisions. I do, however, have to follow them. I think Capitol Hill has become little more than a circus- nothing gets done except wasting our time and money. These people are behaving like a bunch of fools, while nothing changes. What is it that the government provides us to warrant us continuing to support them? At the risk of getting in real trouble, I'll put out something a former drill sergeant once told me- words to the effect of that we have the weapons and the training- if there's going to be a revolution, we'll be in a pretty good spot to negotiate. We to a one have sworn allegiance to this country, and to the Constitution, and to obey the orders of the President. Our loyalty does not lie with a corrupt and useless government- rather it lies with the people we are sworn to fight for and defend, and the leader of those people. However, said leader needs to get it in gear and start doing what he too took an oath to do- lead, support and watch out for the people of this nation. Oath-breakers are not looked upon kindly in any walk of life. But at any rate, that's about all the news from this corner of the continent. I'm looking forward to somewhat cooler temperatures and down time in Connecticut very soon. Stay well, and be sure to beat the heat! Stay hydrated, don't get sunburned, and don't drink the Tenafly Viper! I'd avoid the Thunderbird too, but that's something of a matter of opinion.