High Speed, Low Drag 10 November 2009

"I'm telling you, man, if you go officer, you're gonna hate your life, though you'll get paid more. If you stay enlisted, you'll get to do all the fun stuff" Q talked to me about how it would be, being with the operators. Me with my expensive college degree, wasted on the conventional Navy, would perhaps set me apart and make me noticed within the world of Special Ops. I'm tired of being surrounded by children, fat, lazy people with superior rank to me, and the general consensus that coming in to work at 0730 and leaving at the end of a normal work day after sitting around an office, processing seemingly effectual paperwork will somehow amount to something (dare I speak of improving national security) - it's driving me nuts.

Smart Weapons.

*Sitting there with my 45 on my lap. I chamber a round. I rack the slide and watch the hollow-point land on my bed. Again. Again. I do this until the weapon is empty, and I'm holding the H&K USP in my hand with the slide back, innards showing.

"My wife died five months ago."
"Wait, what?"
"my wife died five months ago. Yeah, she died of an embolism in her brain. Her brain filled with blood and she died in my arms before the paramedics could arrive."
(Unholy fucking shit!)
"Shit.... that's terrible..."

I know you're out there Gerry. I know you're a warrior, a policeman and hero to the core of your being. I know you've seen much death and despair and misery throughout your time. You are one of the best men I've ever met, and your service to God, country, and community are beyond comparison to that of mortal men.

*Sighting the three white dots together, my brain flashes to the range, and how accurate the USP was. Turning the weapon to the side, I narrow my eyes in careful inspection of the crisp lines and dark, handsome features of the hand gun.


He counseled DJ on K's alleged rape:
"My first question to her would be" why haven't you gone to the hospital yet? If she goes to the hospital, they'll take her and start collecting evidence immediately."

On Aisha's shooting:
"All the women shoot bullseyes and then they start to gravitate lower; they think 'yeah, I'm not gonna kill him, I'm gonna hurt him for life!'"
(We all chuckle)

On Aisha's attitude:
"what's with the defeatist attitude with this one? Sailors, sheesh, I tell ya..." (he says with a grin and twinkle in his eye)

Turning the hollow point round over in my hand, feeling the hexagonally-shaped head of the round, my mind flashes statistics and scientifically recorded information. Free of the sterile environment of magazines, laboratories and over-exaggerating gun nuts, the weapon and ammunition become real. Here I am, 29, and now, finally, it's all real.


---------------------------------------------------------
It is my humble opinion, that there will never be enough Gerry's in this world, and that we, the American people, or any other people for the matter, will always want someone as giving and ever-loving as he. He is a man that emanates hope, patriotic chauvinism, and love for his fellow man. God bless you, Gerry.

Self-Medicating...

So here I am, sitting in front of my computer after a day's work and effort. Waking at 6, getting to work and diligently searching and hammering away on a computer. There was no PT this morning, nor was DJ off in time to join me after work. Come to think of it, he hasn't yet sent me a text or a missed call in response.
I could've pursued so many different paths in life, as so many other people have probably thought at one time or another (though perhaps less than you or I think). I was always attracted to the military, and yet I couldn't tear myself away from my fascination of it; the giving of self to the higher ideals of preservation of society and our current and future ways of life, international travel (hopefully) for professional reasons, and the hopes of doing something truly worth remembering - if not utterly historically significant.
I could have pursued my fascination with firearms and gone into metallurgy and weapons research, or taken that same love of materials and man-made machinations and gone into the aerospace industry.
I can still go into international relations at a higher level, at some point earning my masters in IR and doing something more with myself with respect to the State Department or something of the like later on. I do love computers, and, Lord willing, I will stay in or around the field for some time longer.
I can still transition, and go into the business field, somehow, someway. Perhaps I can ripen my chances with an MBA? Eh, I dunno. I get a warmer fuzzy from the previous short paragraph.


I think it's good that I can recount my strengths, seeing as how weaknesses and reasons to dislike, despise, and doubt myself can seem more plentiful than the positive aspects against them. I'm 29, and though I could be much better of than I am right now, well, hmmm. I don't think I can really see myself any worse off. Damnit. Without a degree? Without a job? Without a clean legal record? Without my mind, myself, or any honor at all? Well there I go, combating the bad with the good again. Perhaps I've won this time? It's good that I have options for the future.

Cityscape Entry 2

Random Terms of Ass-kickery

1.molly-wop
2.bush-whack
3.donkey-punch
4.curb stomp
5.beat-down
6.destroy
7.annihilate
8.ravage
9.savage
10.stomp
11.own
12.clock
13.spank
14.roll
15.deck
16.lay-out
17.evicerate

21 August 09

Oh Caitlin

One fateful night my freshman year at USC, I went for a bike ride to visit my buddy from calc class at the nearby eatery he was working at, just across the street from campus. As I was heading down the street, I suddenly noticed there was police tape along the road, prompty followed by some round and surly LAPD officer telling me to get on to the sidewalk. I did, and as I arrived to the little diner, I noticed an ambulance on the other side of the road, on USC campus. And then I saw the two paramedics. And then I saw the body of a kid, no more than 17, being placed into a body bag. He landed on the paved ramp leading out from the four story parking garage, apparently, to prove that he loved his girlfriend more than life itself, and that without her, this world wasn't worth it.
Aren't we brave in our youth?


(It was the Fall of 2000. And so began my time at USC.)

We are all brave. We all love life (well, most of us).

I went and talked to a first class of mine, a PO1 B. B worked the digital analyst mission out in the green zone in that other sand box in the Middle East for Spec War operators. All that aside, ramp detail, as he laid it out, was a fact of life, and something that didn't change. It didn't end, and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it, outside of performing his mission as best he could.

This is one of those intense experiences. Learn from it what you can, and do you job. Please keep that bright smile shining onward. Write your thoughts down, please exercise, and keep your mind moving; it is your best friend, though I know it can also be your worst enemy. You are so strong and wonderful. Just know that life is a wonderful thing, and that the freedom in this nation is equally as beautiful, and that you are there, and their sacrifices are in the name of keeping it all intact. There are indeed great evils in this world, and Lord knows these boys and young men are fighting against those who would do worse to us if they had the chance. Stay strong and wonderful Caitlin; it's who you are. You are gaining wisdom and experience, and remember to breathe.

I just watched Wall-E tonight, the Disney movie. Afterwards, I went out and looked at the stars. I'm such a softy.

One Year Plus: the more things change, the more they stay the same

SO here I am, this evening of July 29th, 2009. I arrived at Norfolk one year and twenty-seven days ago, determined to serve my country to the best of my ability, or to the extent of which I could through my current command. Unfortunately, the fulfillment of my desire to serve my country has been left sorely wanting: I fel that I have not contributed to defending my nation, or the free world in the "Global War on Terror" (if a more ambiguous name can be given to the thwarting of terrorists and rogue factions within foreign lands is out there, I'm all ears) very much, or at all. I feel that the activities I have been involved in have only served to be band-aids in the eyes of naval and military bureaucratic leadership at best, and at worst, will serve to validate the more totalitarian, omnipresent approach of constant surviellance of government facilities.

Finally, finally, finally I have submitted my Navy OCS application after eight long, tiresome, arduous, patience-breakign months, only to now be sitting here thinking that I have made a mistake in taking the steps to further my stock within the Navy. Personally, I think I am a man of far more physicality and action than what much of this naval service presents. Outside of the SEAL and EOD Teams, I think that young men seeking action and looking for patriotic glory amidst the officer ranks will find it elsewhere outside the Navy.

That being said, I put in for the Navy Supply Corps. That's right, the supply corps. "Supply Corps", you ask? Yeah, the supply corps, I begrudgingly reply. But, in it's own defence, it has history, it has prestige, particularly the Navy supply side of things. Moving supplies and logisitics is fundamental to ALL warfare, because without supplies, their can be no war, no defence. It is indeed the currency of warfare. Throughout history, campaigns have been won and lost on account of the reliability of supplies. If I were to go through with this and become a Navy Supply Corps officer, the "best" of the supply corps within the US Armed Forces, and by far it's most diverse and most widely deployed, I could come out with some kind impressive resume. The page her on wikipedia is impressive enough: **

Even though, what wouldn't be impressive with Army OCS, Ranger school, and leading men in the ultimate acid test of human ability and survival?


Right. Need to re-edit this one at a later time.

Fashioned Steel in Time

So here it is in mine own hand, the 9" of laser-sharp SOG Togershark bowie knife. It is the first combat knife I've ever held, and ranks amongst the most impressive. I was only a little lad, somewhere in my ealry teen years in middle school. (Cue flashback sequence)

One fateful Halloween, Chris Cs, the man of the house next door to my family's, had allowed me to enter into his home to share his prized tactical gear fopr the purpose of turning little Savage D into the most stoked little soldier-man EVER. He piled it on - I was a fully loaded super-secret soldier; black garb head-to-toe, with all manner of high-speed vests and gear hanging off me. I was in heaven.

*I had discovered a friend, and learned quickly that he had the -coolest- new and interesting toys*

Some time later (months? perhaps year?) I was over at the Cs' residence after allowing myself in, and overstaying my welcome. I found my way back to Chris' private lair where he would sharpen his knives with his bandaged, amputated arm. Pushing the blade, the other hand gripping said lethal device by the handle, he would perform this meditative act periodically, and I loved to watch. This time, however, he was not there. It was early evening, with the sun very low and the light outside turning a faded blue hue on the outside world for all the surfaces too low to directly see our star. And there it was - a large, wicked device - powder-coated to divert the prying and revealing rays of light, yet long and svelt and lanky. It's edge was bright and reflective, like the edge of a mirror not spacious enough to show more than a hint of sight; an Edge of dancing light, of living flame...

To a lad of only thirteen or fourteen, this was burning mysticism, a connection between a man and his curious, fascinating devices that performed acts both great and terrible that I could not yet know or understand.

Years later, when I discovered the Navy SEALs and began to educate myself about America's most elite inter-personal killers and snake eaters, Chris brought out the US Army Special Forces (Green Beret) flash, a powerful emblem of an applegate-fairbarn commando knife over crossed arrows, all surrounded by an elegantly laid scroll.

I came over to the Cs' house to talk with Chris, as I would periodically do in some of the many free nights I had in high school. I presented him with Douglas C. Waller's _The Commandos_ and one of Orr Kelly's documentary books on the Navy SEALs, and he retreated back to his room to retrieve and present me with his own Green Beret Flash, which he was immensely proud of...

Whether or not he had earned it in truth, I didn't care. I looked up to that man, and I loved world that he seemd to be a part of. Rich with experience and character, stepped in heriosm, courage, and immeasurable fortitude and pride, he was the master of a realm, and a gate-keeper of his own unique, noble manhood.


Only later did things fall apart between he and I. He would loose patience with me; me with my constant curiosity, my prying eyes and eager questions. Sometimes I would ring the door and find that he would not answer, and others he would tell me to go away. Finally, around the age I was sixteen, one day he lost his Green Beret Flash. Unable to find it in his lair, he blamed me for entering into his private sanctuary and stealing it. In disbelief, I was unable to speak, and only later would tell my parents angrily that I didn't take it. Many months later, he emerged. I remember it clearly: I was finishing washing cars with my family when he came over to our house. He apologized to me, in front of my parents, that he had found his coveted metal trinket, and that he was sorry he had blamed me in his anger. I escaped to my room. Followed soon in by my mother, she haughtily chided with me at the silly amputee man who blamed her son for stealing his stupid piece of metal. I agreed, devoid of emotion, and after she departed, I closed the door and wept for the noble man I once knew and adored...


The Knife, is now mine...

Blue to Green? Or over the The Dark Side?

So here I am in the Navy. With the exception of the Navy SEALs and their supporting elements, I was never really all that interested in the Navy to begin with, aside from my father's brief involvement with it all during Vietnam.

I once met a former Marine scout/sniper that I had religion class with at USC. Jesse had the "Hunter of Gunmen" tooth (the HOG's tooth, a .308 caliber round with a length of cord through it) around his neck, an easy manner, and a handshake softer than befitting a young man of such "manly" accomplishments (undoubtably arosing from his supreme conifdence). He scored a 13XX on his SATs, back when getting a 1600 was a perfect score. He didn't stick with the Marine Corps, however. No no, he went to the Army, because the Marines simply didn't have the funding, nor did they have the schools.

There was a Staff Sargeant from the 10th Mountain Division on recruiting duty back home. He made the rank of Sargeant in the USMC before he transferring services, for basically the same reasons. In the Marines, in order to progress in rank in the enlisted community, you had to fill some billets before progressing onwards. Unfortunately for him, and perhaps for many other mid-grade enlisted folks, his upward progression was stifled by dozens of career-hungry Gunnys and so on who had taken up all the juicy wanted billets. In the Army, no such obstacles.

The 1stLt with my unit right now was a former amphib recon corpsman with a USMC radio recon battalion. He crossed over to "the Dark Side" and is infinitely glad he did so.

For the big picture:
Marines going to the Army because the USMC doesn't have enough to keep them.

The Marines now throwing around $30,000 to keep it's enlisted personnel, and to try to gain back those who've left.

A Sailor who spent his time with Marines, who never looked around at his other options, who 's now a Marine Officer.

I wanna do interesting stuff. The Army has it's whole massive host of special forces and special operations units and missions to be a part of, plus a massive amount of funding. Yeah, the Marines have their whole recon bag, and now they have MARSOC and such, though that's an absurdly small community within the already few and the proud, and hurting for money. The downside is, yeah, the Army needs soldiers. Really badly. The Marines do too, just not as badly.


I just wanna be somewhere special, where I can be recognized as someone able to do special things. But who doesn't, right?

I'm not giving up anything until I get what I want, come what may.

Entry #1

So here I am, finally caving in and starting my own journal to share with the web-verse. Give me your online attention, your asinine praise, and uplifting stupidity. Whatever; I need a place to record my thoughts, and I figured I'd share some pictures and such that tickle my fancy. That's right, I just used that phrase. 

Why Future Love Paradise? I took it from a Seal song that I've never stopped loving, about a glorious future of warmth and freedom, which people can pay lip service to, though methinks that there aren't enough people who can comprehend such a reality. There'll be beautiful city skylines, taken with someone's brilliant imagination and careful eye, perhaps pictures of friends and family, and anything that I deem worthy of being here. So ha.