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.
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.
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