Euro 2004

Episode VI: A New Hope

Semi-finals for Euro 2004 will be played tomorrow and the day after, with the Final scheduled for July 4th. Deutschland hat verlosen, not making it out of their group. England lost in Penalty kicks at end of time against Hosts Portugal, a heartbreaker. The Netherlands won after Penalty kicks against powerhouse Sweden. Greece defeated France, and The Czech Republic rolled over Denmark three-nil. The Semi-final fixtures are as such: June 30: Portugal v. The Netherlands. July 1: Greece v. The Czech Republic.

Germany underachieved, England fell to the tournament hosts, and former World Cup Champions France fell to a nation that eats grape leaves. There is another hope: Oranje. Holland plays the most beautiful football in Europe, and has made it to the Semis. They may play the tournament hosts, but I think their style of football will prevail. My prediction: Oranje v. Czech Republic in the final. I will spend July 4th in my country not celebrating our independence from England, but watching the beautiful game. I'm stocking up on throat lozenges, Camille tea, and lemon wedges, as I will not have a voice until Thursday at the earliest.

The Motion Picture Western is dead, and this society is dying.

Fridays couldn't be better.

Mmmmm. Full belly. I went out and had a pleasant dinner with very pleasant company. Six months ago a Friday evening completely at my disposal was simply unheard of. I could get used to this. Wait, I already have. A Social Life. I thought that was one of those elusive things they did episodes about on The X Files.

I return home, get comfortable, and turn on the television. Scanning through the guide feature, I see something that makes me as giddy as a schoolgirl. Silverado. Sorry Ladies. My next two hours of life as I know it are spoken for. A truly great Western.

Why is the broadcast of this great Western, or any Western on television a very exciting thing? Because Western films no longer exist. They are extinct. No, scratch that. They are an Endangered Species, like the California Condor was in the Eighties when they numbered less than two dozen. The Western's population is even more dire. There have been a few magnificent modern Westerns, Silverado being one of them. Others of note are to be counted on one hand. Lonesome Dove, a great miniseries that should have been produced as a motion picture Western saga. Imagine what it would be like if Peter Jackson were to be a McMurtry fan and decided to do it in a motion picture format. I shudder. Dances With Wolves was another fine film. Those more conservative and politically jaded than me would say that it was revisionist history with the portrayal of the American Indian as a noble creature tormented by a unruly, uncouth, and unprofessional U.S. Military. I thought it was done fairly. A number of Louis L'Amour novels have also been brought to the screen in very well done made-for-television movies. My only regret is that they were not produced for the big screen. Crossfire Trail, Connagher, and The Sacketts were first-rate. In the last thirty years, however, this has been it. It is no longer a mainstream motion picture staple.

People change. Society changes. Taste in film changes. More film formats than the Western have met this fate. My gripe is that the Western has fallen out of favor because today's society and it's moral fiber cannot relate to it. Why pay money for a film that portrays lost morals and values that society no longer understands or gives any priority?

The Duke is Gone. America subsequently starts circling the drain. Story at Eleven.

The truly great Westerns, and the Western novel that inspired them, had a common thread. There was right and there was wrong. The hero lived by the code of right and the badman by the code of wrong. Two worlds collided, the hero came out on top in the end and got the girl. The motion picture Western doesn't attract a thriving audience because in this America all conduct, no matter if it is hands-down wrong, can be rationalized, spun, or defended judicially. More later. I'm just getting started...

My most supreme moment of non-political-correctness

The Filament Just Snapped

Just conversed with Warrant Officer E.R. Schoberg USMC. He is an Ordnance Officer fairly new to VMA-211, a harrier squadron based in Yuma, AZ.

Now, as a ground pounder, I have always shown outwardly a disdain for the Aviation community of the Marine Corps, and never hesitated to ridicule it's members. There is an intraservice rivalry between ground and air in the Corps. You see, the Air side is much more lax in discipline and practices, but never training. There is a reason for this; the ground crews for Marine aircraft are responsible for not only multi-million dollar aircraft, but the very lives of those who pilot them. You have a bad day as an aircraft maintainer, and a pilot dies and an aircraft is lost. So, without saying, Marines in the Air community are not stressed by discipline the way Ground Marines are. To a point. I have to make that clear. However, there is a distinct difference in the practices and discipline level between the two, and since a rivalry exists, ground pounders ridicule this. This is mere showmanship. I have been close to the aviation community and know what they are about, and all ribbing aside, deeply respect them. Can you say "Close Air Support"? Nuff said.

Aircraft ground support, everyone who maintains the aircraft and supports the squadron, are technically working in non-combat roles. Aircraft are maintained in "non-forward" areas in combat operations. Put that non-forward bit in BIG quotation marks. It isn't on the line, but more often than not, hairy enough. Harrier squadrons on the ground in Iraq are still getting shelled by mortar fire daily as we speak. Sound "non-combat" to you? Me neither.

Let's broaden the scope a bit, shall we? This is the Marine Corps we are talking about. Every Marine is a Rifleman first. That does more than suggest that every role in the Corps is a Combat role. At any time, in any conflict, in any place on Earth, there is a possibility that a Coronet player in The President's Own Marine Corps Drum and Bugle Corps can find himself in a fighting hole in some faraway land. Not likely, but I've heard stories of Division Band members becoming Casualty Replacements during Desert Storm. The very heart of the Corps thrives on a concept Robert A. Heinlein described in a VERY controversial novel about a ficticious modern military. "Everyone fights. No one quits."

Getting to the Point

Gunner Schoberg lamented to me in our conversation that he just had a young enlisted Marine check into his Squadron, and into his Ordnance division(he is going to rail me for using the Navy term, but I have to break it down in easy terms for the masses, all four of you.) This Marine has undergone Recruit Training, A school(where you learn your occupational specialty, ie. Aviation Ordnance) and has just checked into their first permanent duty station, or, if you will, has made it "to the fleet". This particular Marine checked into the duty station with a medical condition precluding them from deploying with the squadron for the next fifteen months. This Marine has been in the Corps for no more than a year, is all trained up and ready to work with a real active Marine attack squadron, and can't deploy with the squadron if it is called up for deployment and or combat operations, a very real possibility, as they have ramped up for one deployment to the sandbox this year, only to have their DepOrd rescinded on the last day before they had to spool up.

My Rant

The medical condition that precluded this Marine from deploying with the unit for the next 15 months? Pregnancy. This Marine got pregnant. And for that lapse in judgment, or even deliberate attempt to start a family, that Marine Attack Squadron loses an ordnanceman for the next fifteen months. She'll be a part of the unit, and with the ordnance shop, and not be able to do a thing, least of all deploy.

Here is where we come to the statement I will make that will piss the whole world off. Just remember, I think and put my thoughts together rather well, and am arguably the best pistol shot in the western hemisphere, so whether it be a verbal, written, or physical attack to come in retaliation to this statement, I think I have it covered. Center Mass, Failure to stop drill.

Women Should Not Be Allowed In The United States Marine Corps

There. I said it. ME. No Way. Not in the Corps where EVERY role is a combat role. Fact: women are physiologically different than men, any way you cut it. That difference does not lend itself to combat. Women cannot compete with men on the battlefield, period. If you are a woman, can you answer this question in the affirmative: "Do you think that on the battlefield there is anything you can possibly do to prevent me from running right over the top of you?" That, combined with the inherent female characteristics, ie. Gestation of new members of the species amongst others, makes a female not suitable for the Marine Corps, where units deploy constantly and always with a readiness and intent to be placed in a combat zone.

Here is where I feel genuine remorse for making this statement. I have known tough as nails, hard charging female Marines totally capable of sustaining a fight on the battlefield, even though they were in "non-combat" roles. I will rattle them off by name, to give myself credibility, and to throw genuine respect their way. If I list their first name, it is because I know them or knew them personally. 1stSgt Deborah Pejack (man, what a hard ass), Cpl Tonia Graham (heart of a tiger, and never fell below the physical level of her peers), SSgt Holt, Sgt Carla Padilla (member of SRT, that was our SWAT to you kids) and SSgt Falco (I never, ever passed her on any run. Her status as poster Marine gave her a Cameo in Rules of Engagement, with Sam Jackson). These totally capable women make my argument hard to garner weight, but it is sad to say that for every one of these women, there are twenty who don't cut it. These women were shooters, and physically as capable as their male peers. Experts in their fields and Marine all the way. They were the exception.

The arena of combat isn't a social or political laboratory. It is a testament to the survival of the fittest. The ones who are physically not fit to master the trade, die. And when they die, they create a void of support that causes others to die. So if and when VMA-211 deploys, and Iraqi insurgents conduct a sally on the flightline, maintenance, or billeting area, there is one fighting position possibly left short, in this case. You can see how I take this personally.

Using the "C" word in mixed company

The Pact

Years and years ago, my best friend and I swore each other to a murder suicide pact. One that is still binding to this day.

On a sidenote, while I have no doubt as to my own resolve, I have misgivings about his ability to carry out his end of the deal. You see, on a memorable Christmas I gave him an eight hundred dollar Beretta which he owns to this day, but does not keep ammunition for it. If ever I go on a Cocaine induced bender, charge through the house, and barge into his room I expect to be drilled in the head like I deserve. Not going to happen with the situation as it is, so the pact comes into question.

The terms of the pact were simple. If, ever, one of us were to see the other wearing a cell phone on his belt, we were bound to execute the other on the spot, then turn the pistola on ourselves to avoid prosecution. If the suicide part was hard to take to task, then suicide by Police Officer was acceptable, though I could never point a firearm at a cop. That's just rude, and very scary to the cop.

New Terms

I am calling for new terms to the pact; an addendum, if you will. These terms go one way. If he commits this transgression, I do nothing. If I ever do this thing, I call it open season on myself for him. What is this thing? The use of the "C" word. Zero Tolerance.

Not THAT "C" Word. The other one. "Carb". If I ever use that word in conversation in relating to my own health, I deserve to be double-tapped in the melon.

Has this world gone completely bananas? Here is the proverbial straw to this camel's back. A very large vitamin supplement company is now marketing a Low Carb friendly multi vitamin. And how about Low Carb Coca Cola?! People, this is insane. I am a reasonable man, but this craze is absolutely out of control.

First of all, the Atkins diet and it's spinoffs and copycats WILL KILL you. Ask any nutritionist. Say this to yourself: "For breakfast, I'd like six strips of bacon, two pork sausage patties, and a fried egg." Now say it every morning. Now say "I'll take angioplasty and a vascular bypass for a thousand, Alex". Get the picture? I do.

Lastly, why does America feel the compulsion to go overboard on every new popular health issue? Oh, that's right. I just answered my own question. "America". It's to make a buck.

Here's my diet. Feel free to follow it. Eat what you want. Make sure it's not too much of any one thing. Open your mind to those vegetables you hated as a kid. You are an adult now, try them again. You might be surprised. When was the last time you ate a piece of fruit? Order a steak, I recommend the 8oz filet. Make sure it isn't a filet wrapped in bacon. Butchers do that to hold together an inferior cut of beef. Make sure some green food comes with it. I recommend blanched asparagus. How about garlic mashed potatoes instead of that baked potato loaded with butter and sour cream. Enjoy it, you've earned it. We all have. We work, very hard, and more often than not for a company that has gotten to big for it's own good and has lost touch with the employees who got it there. Now, lastly, Get up off your ass and take a walk. Go find something fun to do that gets the pumper going and DO it. Thank you for your time.

Now I think I'll go and rustle up a mashed potato sandwich and a large side of farfalle pasta...

Content on a Sunday Morning

The Documentary

Documentaries have been produced about all manner of subjects by all manner of filmmakers. Lately, most of them have had a political agenda. The genocide in the Republic of the Congo, the fight by Chechen Muslims against Russian control, and the borderline homeless in North Hollywood have all been documented recently. The most controversial and politically vile piece of work recently is Micheal Moore's "Farenheit 9/11" Super double ungood bad. This man needs to be double-tapped, pronto, but I digress...

In the wake of the films depicting and produced by Man at his worst, a film has been distributed in the last year to the U.S. Market. This film will renew faith in the planet Earth.

"Winged Migration"

The film was shot over a period of three years and initially released in 2001. Shot and produced by a French filmaking team, it covers the patterns and actions of birds on all seven continents. From the Arctic, to West Africa, to New York City, the film shows the trek north and south of a myriad of species of birds.

This film is mesmerizing. The cinematography is breathtaking. The filmmakers use lenses in a way to make you feel you are right along side a gander of geese traveling overland in one scene, and then pan out to show the vast and beautiful land they travel over and give you not only an idea of the distance traveled but the actual speeds these birds fly. Voice narration is at a bare minimum, and every so often there is text on screen giving statistics on the birds. That is it. The rest is a quiet but powerful look at all manner of magnificent birds doing their thing. I love this film, and that is saying a lot knowing it was produced by cheese eating surrender monkeys. They can't fight, but sure as hell put together a great nature documentary.

And now the ranting begins...

If Cosby can speak out on black youth fashion trends, I'll cover the caucasion ones.

1.) Can someone PLEASE explain the reason young males around here wear a pair of jeans and a perfectly good polo shirt, then tuck the shirt into the jeans only at the part where the belt buckle rests?! Was there a boom in lead based interior paint about nineteen years ago? How freaking stupid and sloppy looking is that? And to think we were finally over the jeans down so that the ass hangs out and the baseball cap turned sideways. To what avail? Another moronic trend.

2.} I swear the next time some kid walks by me wearing sandals or flip flops and drags his feet, I'm going to stab the little slouch in the freaking neck. Nothing snaps the filament in this kid's bulb like bad posture and dragging feet.

3.) I am biased, as a U.S. Marine, but somebody PLEASE buy these young men a pair of hair clippers. If it is long, fine, mine was too as a young man. Tie it back. But for the love of everything dear and holy please, oh, please cut out this not-long-not-short-shaggy look. Yes, the whole world's male population should wear a high and tight, in this kid's opinion, but that's not going to happen. Just please, oh, please make this shaggy look go away...

4.) Did congress pass a law declaring every Saturday this summer National-Dress-your-15-Year-Old-Daughter-Like-a-Prostitute-and-Send-Her-Out-Shopping Day? Here is the anguish I feel on the subject: I am learning to accept my inner scum-bag. I realize I have already had my Hell Ticket punched, and am waiting for the express train. But do you realize how dirty I feel when a little hottie crosses my path and I think about what it would be like to treat her like a three ring circus knowing, KNOWING that she is young enough to be my daughter? Granted I'd still nail her, but I don't have to like it...

In summary, pop fashion today, from as far as I can tell, is right at the drooling, crash helmet wearing, eating applesauce with a straw level. Hurry up kids, that fifteen foot long school bus is stopping...

Saturday afternoon cranial vacuum.

Self Mutilation: I finally get it.

It is toute la fureur to mutilate one's self this day and age. We see body piercing becoming acceptible in the workplace as well as gratuitous application of tattoos on the body. Where five years ago it not only was unheard of to have parts of the body other than earlobes pierced and visible in my workplace, it was downright against the rules. Five years later I see employees in my workplace with various metal artwork protruding from every place on the visible body imaginable.

Don't get me wrong. It is not my lot in life to judge, just to observe. This was fast. Years and years faster than it took for the thong panty to catch on, but I digress. However, this is not about whether or not it is acceptible, or even whether I like it or not. It's about putting the practice into terms I can understand and appreciate. After all, I am the most important person in my world and it is the world's responsibility to make me understand how it works.

Now, when I ask metal clad people about the practice, I am met with various motives for having oneself pierced. A common answer I have gotten is "It's about the act of piercing itself. The Piercing itself is the motive, and the result is just a perk." This tells me we are becoming a society of masochists, albeit not the self torture kind, just the trendy kind. This is what I never could understand. I have a high threshold for pain, given my life experiences, but to actively seek out ways to put myself into pain just doesn't seem logical or sane... till now.

You see, there is this mom and pop Buffalo Wing restaurant nearby. They have a strong clientele because of the quality of their food. They serve wings in just about any style one could want. For the daring, they serve three varieties of ultra spicy wings. They are as follows, from least damage caused to worst: (Remember, these are above the 'hot' varieties.) 3. Suicide Wings 2. Texas Heat Wings 1. "I'm Stupid." Now, the first time I ordered the latter, the police officer standing behind me in line and a total stranger to me, actually leaned in and asked me "Are you freaking brain damaged?". Bad Sign. Words cannot describe the excruciating and lingering pain these things inflicted on me. Absolutely shattering, but I just could not stop consuming them. A wing-from-hell eating automaton I was that day. I embraced the fire.

Now after that, how can I question why someone would want to pierce themselves all over the place? I get it. But after 20 "I'm Stupid" wings, I can safely say body piercing is likely to be child's play...

Shooters, you may commence firing when your taaaargets appear...

If you have ever been to one of the only two places in the United States of America that start with M.C.R.D. you will have, so many times during your tenure as a card carrying member of Uncle Sam's Gun Club, heard that phrase before. For the uninitiated, those are the last words you hear from the P.A. system on a rifle range before the range goes 'hot', and rifle rounds are sent down range to their targets. I think it is a fitting title to this kid's foray into the world of the online journal.

How Ironic.

The Republic of Vietnam is putting into place strict rules of censure, and directing it's individual state governments to root out, and deal swiftly with, the origins of protest of the Vietnamese government disseminated on the World Wide Web from within it's own country. Here is the interesting thing: The U.S. left Vietnam in 1975. For all the myriad of reasons, both there and here, Vietnamese Communists won their civil war. Now, the Vietnamese government is scared enough about it's position to go on a witch hunt for people discontent enough to protest government actions and policies over the Web. In the event that the Web turns out to be an instrument of change in that country, toppling the Communist government under the weight of free speech, here is the Ironic part. The researcher who tied in all the internet fragments into a uniform web, by creating HTTP, was, yes, a card carrying Finn. A researcher from Finland, that strange long country in the Baltic which, aside from exporting a mediocre Vodka, is noted for being strongly socialist and had very close ties, albeit initiated by an occupation, with the former Soviet Union. He created HTTP while the Soviet Union was still a Union and was still influencing it's satellite states.

60 Years

Years ago, when I, at that time, was a Corporal in My Beloved Marine Corps, I had a girlfriend who's family lived in Detroit MI. One summer her brother got married and we were invited to fly up to Michigan from San Diego to attend the wedding. Her Mother insisted that I attend the ceremony in my Dress Blues. I did this. On the day of the ceremony I suited up. Dress Uniform with Award Ribbons (two and a half rows including my recently awarded NAM) and Marksmanship Badges (seventh award expert rifle and fourth award expert Pistol; being a Primary Marksmanship Instructor for my Battalion got me out to the range for qualification more often than the required once a calendar year.) I knew I looked good. Pressed uniform, a hard Marine underneath, visible proof of my accomplishments and tradecraft thumping on my chest. In a very rare moment of non-humbleness, I knew I looked impressive and felt seven feet tall. My girl and I left her mother's home for the church. Since we all arrived at the church well ahead of the scheduled time of the ceremony, we all milled about in the parking lot for the wait. At this time cars started pulling in filled with ceremony attendees. Out of one such car a couple exited their vehicle and started their slow, careful walk to the church from the parking lot(they were in their seventies). When the gentleman saw me, he parted from his wife and made a bee-line towards our group in the parking lot and introduced himself. He told me it was always good to see a serviceman in uniform in that area, squeezed my shoulder in kinship, and commented on my achievements by noting the awards, service ribbons, marksmanship awards, and very newly aquired service stripe for four years active service sewn on to my lower sleave. I felt very proud, and very pleased that a total stranger would come over and make such a scene about a total stranger being a U.S. Marine. By the way he talked, I could tell he was a former serviceman, and warmed to him with respect as we chatted. He then said this to me, still squeezing my shoulder, and looking at me with a shared sort of kinship. "I wore the uniform a long time ago, although I wasn't a Marine. Army, son. Long time ago I wore the uniform going ashore to what they called Omaha Beach." I then felt a strong bond and deep respect for this man, and no longer felt seven feet tall.