The Widely Disregarded Opinions of Walt Carr

More Silly Bullshit

2022-05-26T23:40:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted in a while, I know. I've been pretty busy, and when I wasn't busy, I was lazy. Plus nobody pays me for writing this shit, so lay off. Anyway, I decided to do something a little different with this one. Sort of a photo-essay/bitch session thing.

It's no secret that the military has a lot of weird rules. When I first joined, I just accepted a lot of these seemingly arbitrary rules as a necessary evil, or thought that there must be a good reason for them that I was just too inexperienced to grasp. But it's been more than 24 years now. As I spend more and more time in the Marine Corps, the more I am becoming aware that there often isn't any good reason for the rules. This is further aggravated by trying to explain to civilians why I behave the way I do sometimes. Read the Monkeys, Menswear, and Marines post to get an idea of what I mean. This time, I'm looking mostly at rules posted on signs, usually at places on base that are run by government-employed civilians. I'm convinced most of them just come out of the minds of the hundreds of petty tyrants that our bureaucracy has produced, and ought to be eliminated. To illustrate my points, I took a series of pictures at Camp Lejeune, NC and Quantico, VA. These are actual snapshots taken with my cell phone. Enjoy.

Above is an example of a good, logical rule. This is at Onslow Beach in Lejeune. I understand why this one exists. I am in favor of it being enforced and I'm glad this sign is here.

Another example of some great advice being delivered in sign form.

Okay, this one seems like common sense to me, but still good advice.

Important thing to be aware of.

Not sure what we're supposed to do with this information, but it's good to know, I suppose.
(Full disclosure: I didn't take this picture. I meant to go back and take one, but never got around to it.)

Now, let's get more negative. The pictures below were taken after I spent a good 15 minutes driving all around the medical clinic at Quantico looking for a place to park so I could go in and get one of the many shots they are always making us get. Lovely things, like bubonic plague, yellow fever, smallpox, and dozens of others I can't even recall. If those conspiracy theorists are right, I'm due to catch autism any day now. But back to my point: Reserved parking spaces for high ranking officers.

For those uninitiated in military lingo, an O-6 is a captain in the Navy or a colonel in the other services. The "full bird" colonel it's called.

A "flag officer," as these signs are for, means you have to be a general or an admiral to park here. There were six of these spaces in all. How many colonels and generals are possibly going to go to this little medical clinic simultaneously? Add these to the eight or so handicapped spaces, and a big portion of the lot was empty.

The reason I got pissed off and broke out my camera at the time was because as I was driving past all these empty spaces for the senior officers, I saw a very pregnant young woman with two very small children parking all the way across the street and trying to walk through the whole parking lot to the clinic (strolling through at least 12 empty spaces for handicapped people and generals on the way). I don't want to attack the Americans with Disabilities Act, at least not here, but the spaces for generals thing just pisses me off. Aren't these the very people who are supposed to take care of the junior troops? And it's not just at the medical clinic, either.

Here they are at the gym. The spaces that is, not the generals. These spaces are almost always empty.

Seriously, there are only a handful of generals on the whole base. Do they all really need their own space at every facility?

Here we have the PX at Quantico. They don't restrict reserving spaces just for generals. They throw in a few spaces for the high ranking enlisted as well. about 14 in all. I think the message here is, "Screw the junior troops." The words "abuse of position" come to my mind.

But this post isn't supposed to be all about parking spaces. It's supposed to be about arbitrary rules delivered via signage. So let's now take a look at the new multi-million dollar football stadium and track at Quantico.

Pretty nice.

Of special note here is rule #7.

The CFT referred to in that sign is the Combat Fitness Test, which all Marines must take every Fall. It consists of several events, including an 800m run, an agility-type course on the football field, and an overhead lift. Some dipshit decided to spend the taxpayer's money to make this little football field into an astroturfed multi-million dollar facility so that the tiny little Quantico High School football squad would have a place to play that's nicer than where the Redskins play. That's pretty wasteful, but the part that really bugged me was that they had the audacity to prohibit MARINE CORPS TRAINING on the field. I guess they don't want the expensive turf to get damaged, so they outlaw the whole reason they needed a track to begin with. Who's in charge around here, anyway? It seems they might have forgotten why the base exists. Hint---it wasn't to facilitate a high school freaking football team. It's kind of hard to listen to speeches about austerity and how we need to cut back on training ammunition and such while walking around this expensive track with an astroturf field. How much ammunition could we pay for with what this field cost? But I digress...

Let's walk back over to the Quantico Gym for a moment, and see what we find along the way...

There's this example of a sign I agree with completely.

And here's another that seems pretty stupid, at the entrance to the weight room area. No gym bags allowed in the gym? Instead you are supposed to carry your towel, your lifting belt, your wrist wraps, notebook, and what nots loosely around with you. No shit, that's what the attendant told me when I asked him.

Good sign usually, but the floor actually wasn't wet, and the only real trip hazard around was the sign itself. But I'll give that one to them, since maybe it was wet when they put it out there. Two weeks ago.

DON'T WEAR A HAT IN THE GYM, OR WE'LL LOSE THE GODDAMN WAR.
I like the way they reference the Marine Administrative message, like they are quoting scripture.

There are lots of rules for going to the gym. Notice that "boots and utilities" are outlawed. This is the Marine Corps UNIFORM for crying out loud. I asked why, and was told that the boots would tear up the mats...

But you already can't wear shoes on the mats. Can't you also take boots off?

Rules for playing raquetball

There are even rules for going outside.

Want to run outside in the fresh air? Better wear a reflective belt. It's noon and sunny? We don't give a shit.

Judging from the number of signs, this is the most important rule of working out in the gym on base. I brought this up in a discussion with another officer, and he told me he agreed with this sign. When asked why, he said because it's insulting for a man to wear his hat indoors. This same man admitted that he wears ball caps indoors off-base all the time. WTF?

Apparently spitting on the floor is frowned upon. Urinating on the floor isn't mentioned, so I guess that's fair game.

Take off your damn hat! Do you want the terrorists to win or something?

So why does any of this stuff matter? Why am I wasting my time taking pictures of silly stuff like this? Because I think it is an important indication of how much restriction we put on young Marines. Some would say that heavy regulation and strict discipline is to be expected in the Marine Corps, and so it's fine. I agree with them. The problem is, when you have so many silly rules that it seems impossible to obey them all, and you can discern no reason for their existence in the first place, you are prone to start breaking them. When you get accustomed to breaking the rules, then the rules themselves lose their power. That means there is less discipline when there are lots of silly rules, not more.

Lots of First Sergeants are probably going to chime in and say that what we need is more people enforcing these silly rules. They call it having "moral courage" to go up to a Marine who is choosing to do physical training on his own time and give him shit for wearing a baseball cap or a watchcap. Maybe it is courageous to stand up for a rule and insist it is followed. I am all for having rules and regulations, provided they are for a good reason. I'm also for ruthless enforcement of those types of regulations.

But I think that every time a leader is forced to impose a rule that makes no logical sense, he loses some of his credibility with the led. So when we make people wear reflective belts in broad daylight and other such nonsense, we make people feel juvenilized and resentful, and we actually are reducing the discipline of the troops.

So my message is this: 1) Have only the rules you need to have, and then enforce them. 2) Eliminate old fashioned and nonsensical rules. 3) Watch discipline improve.

The Fellowship of the Hole

2018-12-02T15:23:00.007-05:00

The original members of the Fellowship of the Hole.
I'm the ridiculously handsome one on the left.

Hello again, Dear Reader. It’s been a while. You look great! Have you lost weight? Just kidding, we’re Americans, so you probably haven’t lost weight… As for me, I find myself in Iraq. Again. I’m on what we call an “individual augment” or “IA” for short. That means they pluck you randomly and out of the blue from whatever life you thought you were leading and stick you somewhere else where the quality of life sucks. It wouldn’t be so bad if they sent me someplace exciting, you know like with bullets whizzing by in a hot LZ. But alas, they sent me to another boring staff job, just now I live in a dismal little trailer-type thing with brown linoleum walls. Being sequestered in Mesopotamia as I am, my usual diversions in life are greatly reduced—I’ve been here 2 months now, and I’m starting to get a little stir-crazy. So, I felt it might be a good way to pass the time to start writing silly blog posts again. And here we are. I’m also trying to learn the ukulele, if you can believe that. More on all of that later. What I want to do today is tell you another Marine Corps “sea story,” as we call them, mostly to remind myself of why I still do this stuff.

The Fellowship of the Hole

When I’m not getting IA’d to butt-fucking Iraq, I have a job in the Pentagon advocating for the combat engineer community in the Marine Corps. It’s actually an interesting job, and has landed me in some unusual places to watch things explode a few times, which I find most enjoyable. Almost exactly a year ago, in December of 2017, I had just such an opportunity. There was to be a huge exercise on the West Coast and as a part of that exercise, 1^st Combat Engineer Battalion (at the time commanded by a good friend of mine, Chris Haar) was going to conduct live-fire amphibious rehearsals with Assault Breacher Vehicles (ABVs), Amphibious Assault Vehicles (AAVs), and armored bulldozers on San Clemente Island, off the coast of California. For the lay-person, that means they were going to land on the beach in tanks and other big armored vehicles and set off really big explosions and do other manly shit. The Marine Corps has been so preoccupied with chasing little guys in man-dresses around the Middle East for the last 15 years, that we hadn’t really tried this out for real in a very long time—like since 1992. So it was all very exciting. I was going to fly out there and observe the exercise, feel the explosions, perhaps remember what it was like to be a real Marine again.

The combat engineer community is relatively small in the Marine Corps. As such, we all tend to know each other, or at least know about each other by reputation. In this case, I knew personally several members of the staff of 1^st CEB. A certain couple of officers in particular, I don’t want to embarrass anyone so I’ll assign them aliases—let’s call them “Nate Knowles” and “Eric Spalla,” both of whom I had known for years and had been their instructor twice—once at the Marine Corps Engineer School and once at Expeditionary Warfare School. Nate was the battalion operations officer (OpsO), and Eric was the executive officer (XO). They told me everything was going to be taken care of. In fact, I spoke to Nate on the phone, he said and I quote, “We have a squad bay barracks locked on, so it’s going to be fine. All you need is your sleeping bag. Don’t worry about anything else. I got you, sir.” This last sentence should have been a huge red flag. I mean, this is not my first rodeo. But I was so excited to get away from the Pentagon and go watch explosions and hang out with old friends, I totally fell for it.

So I flew to San Diego, got a rental car there, and drove up to Camp Pendleton (By the way, San Diego—I love you, but you gotta do something about the rental car situation at the airport. Seriously. Who wants to ride a bus for 20 minutes just to begin to get a rental car?). Once at Pendleton, I got on a Marine Corps plane. Not just any plane, but a VIP transport plane, like a Gulfstream IV. Traveling like a rockstar. So far, this trip was working out great.

Straight Pimpin'

After a short flight, we landed at a tiny airfield on the northernmost part of San Clemente Island. Now I had never been to San Clemente Island before, but I ‘Google-Earthed’ it, and knew a little. It’s a long thin island, owned by the US Navy and used mainly as a range for naval gunfire. It’s just south of Santa Catalina (you know, as in “the fuckin’ Catalina wine mixer”). Then the truck arrived to take me to the SHOBA, short for Shore Bombardment Area, where the battalion commander was. We drove along for about 30 minutes, and all was well until we entered the gate to the SHOBA, and then the road turned from nice, flat, normal pavement into an absolute nightmare trail. It was hilly, eroded, and very slow going. When we started out it was maybe about 3:45 PM, and we entered the SHOBA about 4:15 PM. It took at least 45 more minutes before we actually arrived at the battalion’s location, a distance of maybe 2 additional miles, so it was now quickly growing dark.

I got out of the truck, still in a good mood, and found Nate and after some handshaking and friendly greetings, I said “So where’s this squad bay?” He looked at me and said, without even the slightest shame in his voice, “There is no squad bay, sir.”

I said, “Surely we aren’t driving all that way every day?”

He said, “No sir, we’re staying here,” and gestured around at the collection of two man tents in the area. “The squad bay up the hill is over-run with rats, so it won’t work. Here’s your flak jacket and helmet.”

I said, “You are a terrible human being, Nate.”

To translate, a squad bay is a type of barracks with one big room filled with bunkbeds. It sort of sucks, since you share the room with a bunch of dudes who are expelling MRE farts and foot odor everywhere, but it’s at least INDOORS. I am now totally homeless, in a strange land, and it’s dark. All I have with me is a steel thermos, some sunflower seeds, a long underwear shirt, a sleeping bag, and an IsoMat (a thin foam rubber mat). Oh, I also have a pocket knife, some civilian clothes, a cell phone, and a laptop computer. Unfortunately, there is not even a hint of a cell phone signal down here in the SHOBA, so the phone became only a camera and the laptop wasn’t much good except as part of a pillow.

I get the idea you are not appreciating the position I was just finding myself in… Let me elaborate.

First off, it’s December and it’s at least 20 miles out into the Pacific Ocean. And crazy windy. Like hard-to-stand-up-straight windy. Everything is rocky and uneven. And let’s not forget the bombs.

This range is the only place remaining where the U.S. Navy can practice ship-to-shore fires, and has been in continuous use as such for about 80 years—since before WWII. So there’s a LOT of dangerous junk left around everywhere as a result of this. Things like the expended cases of rockets, shrapnel, flare parachutes, etc. And let’s not forget the random shell or bomb that failed to detonate, what we call UXO, or unexploded ordnance. EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) technicians say that roughly 10% or so of explosive projectiles malfunction in some way. I’ve always thought that estimate to be a little high, but even if it’s only 1%, you can imagine how many that might be in a range this old. These are things that were meant to explode, and for whatever reason didn’t. You can also imagine how hazardous that is. They (EOD techs) periodically go through the range to try to clear out the majority of the UXO, but it’s very difficult to find them, even when they are on the surface, which they may or may not be. High-velocity naval gunfire shells or even aircraft-delivered bombs that don’t detonate tend to burrow into the ground. They sometimes do a “porpoise” maneuver, meaning they pop up out of the ground at a seemingly random place away from the point of impact, and just lay there waiting to murder you.

Caution has never been my strong suit.

As if that isn’t enough, the island is also absolutely COVERED in cactus. Like 15 different species of cactus, all of which have evil little spines just waiting to find their way into an unsuspecting toe or finger. Also, as I would soon discover, it is also home to about a billion mice. And foxes that chase them. Neither of these two have much exposure to humans, and thus do not always keep the usual respectful distance that I have come to expect from wildlife. Everything that lives on this island can either bite you, stick you, or stab you.

I wasn’t alone in my predicament. Some other guys from various places in the Marine Corps had come too, with the same level of preparation as me. They all came a few days earlier though, riding the ships and landing craft there with the engineer battalion. So they had the lay of the land already.

After arrival the first night, after talking for a while to all my old friends, I just did the only thing I knew to do. I found a relatively flat spot, kicked as many rocks and cactus away as I could, spread out my IsoMat and sleeping bag, and climbed in. That night was pretty miserable. For one thing my flat spot was not very flat, and angled toward a good-sized cactus. The wind howled all night long, and when my bladder roused me at about 4 in the morning, I realized that it had blown my backpack down the hill about 20 yards. The problem was that my boots and trousers were inside that pack, and I was in a field of cactus. So I climbed down the hill in my underwear and socks (it’s maybe about 45 degrees, by the way), picking my way very carefully and very unsuccessfully through the hazards, to retrieve my boots and then to relieve my bladder. Afterwards, I spent about an hour removing cactus spines and trying to get warm again in my sleeping bag before the sun came up.

That next morning, I was complaining to my friends about the wind, and that’s when they told me about the hole. Of course I had seen the hole the night before, but I didn’t realize that’s where everyone else with no real gear or tent was. Going down the steep sides was out of the question in the pitch dark of the night before, anyway. But it offered a little protection from the wind, and best of all had a dozen or more concrete slabs, each about 4 feet by 8 feet in size. Concrete is not usually the first choice as a sleeping surface, but at least cactus can’t grow there. So I moved in, and thus began The Fellowship of the Hole—the group of seven of us poor souls who wound up living here for a while.

The Hole

In defense of Nate and Eric, there actually was a squad bay. There was an abandoned observation bunker complex up on another hill overlooking the area. We didn’t use it because it was absolutely over-run with mice. It had showers and toilets, but the running water wasn’t working. I know all this because I went there. It held the only phone that worked, so I and the rest of the Fellowship had to go up to it and take turns on the phone to change our flights when the timeline got screwed up. The whole place smelled like a hamster cage. The air was so thick with mouse pee that my sinuses were up in arms for hours after that. One of the other guys told me a story about trying to take a nap here when they first arrived and waking up to find a rat sitting on his chest. Ordinarily I don’t put much stock in stories like that, but in this case I believe him.

This is the one phone that works, in the rat building. Doesn't look that bad, but be thankful we can't send smells over the internet yet.

During the day, we would go down to the cliffs overlooking the landing beaches and observe some truly remarkable combat engineer stuff, including everybody’s favorite—the MICLIC, short for Mine Clearing Line Charge. That's 1,750 pounds of C4 in 3-pound bricks all along a 100 meter rope, fired with a rocket. This thing is like porn for combat engineers. The blast it produces has to be felt more than seen to really understand its erection-inducing qualities. Here are a few pictures to give you an idea.

Tell me that's not cool...

I was just enjoying the show.

And a YouTube video that shows it a little closer up.

But those blasts had long intervals of nothing in between, and with cell phones out of commission, what we did most was talk. To an actual living, breathing human standing right next to you who was actually paying attention. We talked about anything and everything. We talked about everything from the texture and odor of our latest poops, to war stories, politics, women, religion…you name it. Nothing was really off the table. And in a world where you can’t post a funny cat video on social media without some asshole making it into either a Pro-Trump or Anti-Trump statement, it was quite refreshing. I mean, guys would still say fucked-up things, but it was to your face, and you could argue back in real time. And you actually had to sort of listen to the other side in order to participate. And you also always knew that the other guy might just punch you in the face if you went overboard. These factors (especially that last one) allowed a certain civility to be maintained during even highly contentious discussions. A vast improvement over the state of affairs in the anonymous virtual world.

The thing I discovered is, your smart phone has been cheating you out of some things. First of all, you never have to be truly bored. You can play solitaire, or candy crush, or look at Facebook, or Insta-Twit or any number of a thousand other things besides talking to the guy beside you. If some crazy person tries to engage YOU in a conversation, you can just sort of smile at them and go right back to your little electronic buddy until they go away. This lack of boredom seems like a good thing, and it is, but it’s an essential ingredient for things like reading, the arts, story-telling—virtually all forms of admirable human endeavor. These things are much more rewarding than candy-crush or Clash of Clans or whatever else, but they are on the other side of boredom , and boredom sucks. These types of games and apps are interactive and engaging enough to keep you occupied, sort of, but don’t result in anything useful at all, apart from filling the time you have until your inevitable death with random noise. As I type all this out, I am fully aware of how smug I sound. As though I figured out the meaning of life and I’m just letting all you poor dolts in on it. I also recognize the irony that I’m using those very electronic devices to tell you about this. If it makes you feel any better, the very instant that internet connection returned, I was right back on my smartphone with the rest of the herd. I’m like a junkie telling his junkie friends about the time he went to rehab for two weeks and got clean, while in the act of tying off his arm and searching for a fresh vein.

Like crack cocaine, but harder to quit.

Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that I actually talked to these guys. A lot. And I listened to them too. We didn’t agree on a lot of things, but there’s just something about shared hardship and tall tales that brings men together in a way that is difficult to describe. Camaraderie is just not a good enough word. I guess it’s the reason I am still hanging around in this Gun Club, long after I thought I would.

By the way, I was supposed to be there for a couple of days, but a combination of weather and Nate being a bad human caused me to have to wait and ride the LCAC back to Camp Pendleton with everyone else instead of getting another ride in the pimped-out VIP plane. Actually, it’s really not fair to blame all of this on Nate. I’m just doing that to be an ass. He totally promised me we were sleeping indoors though, so he’s not off the hook. It’s really just the way things go in the Marine Corps. We call it getting fucked by the “big green weenie.” This time it resulted in another night or two in the hole, but also in these cool pics. And another good story. So thank you, Big Green Weenie.

LCAC coming in for a landing.

Damn, I'm handsome...

What Freedom Sounds Like

2016-12-10T12:01:00.000-05:00

We've been arguing about symbols a lot lately. Colin Kaepernick took a knee during the national anthem. President-elect Trump made a comment that flag burning should be illegal. The cast of Hamilton gave Mike Pence a bit of a condescending lecture. And every time, social media lost its damn mind.

Mike Pence had the very best line, however: "I nudged my kids and reminded them that is what freedom sounds like."

My biggest reaction when I saw this?
That hairstyle means he doesn't expect to have to wear his helmet.

You might not of guessed by my demeanor on this blog, but I am as guilty as anyone of indulging in social media. But I have an unusual perspective, I think. I grew up in the rural South, but now I have lived for some time in the D.C./Baltimore area. I have family and old high-school acquaintances back in Georgia, and I have made several liberal friends. My personal political philosophy resides somewhere in the middle with the wacky Libertarians, so I don't completely alienate either side into "unfriending" or "unfollowing," the blackballing of the modern age. Because of this, the stories and articles shared on my Facebook feed are both red and blue, and increasingly, they are more angry on both sides.

Look at some of this stuff I found:

NOW who's throwing out racist stereotypes, Lefty?
Hello pot? This is kettle.

You're doing it again...

And Righty weighs in...

And there's the ultimate guilt trip.

I'm no stranger to hyperbole, as this ridiculous blog clearly illustrates, but it seems to me that maybe everyone took the actions of the second-string quarterback for the 49ers just a little too seriously. People I know to be reasonable and upstanding citizens IRL started calling for his head online. They posted all sorts of things, but the main tenet of their argument is that Mr. Kaepernick should be forced to (not) kneel before the symbol because VETERANS.

But--I'm one of those vets. I know this much--I've been serving a good long time now, but I didn't go anywhere or fight anybody so that I could force an American citizen to pay homage. That's not the sort of country we are. Is Colin Kaepernick kind of an asshole for choosing to protest the national anthem? Yes, kinda, but what sort of country would we be if it was the LAW that you had to bow to the government? I when I joined the Marines, I swore an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States, not the flag, or the president, or even the Marines. Among the very first rights protected in that document is the right to free speech.

Then, just when you thought it was safe to go back on Instagram, Giant Douche, full of confidence after his upset win over Turd Sandwich, sent out this tweet:

Nobody should be allowed to burn the American flag - if they do, there must be consequences - perhaps loss of citizenship or year in jail! — @realDonaldTrump

This old guy obviously doesn't get the whole "freedom" thing.

The constitution protects the speech that people DON'T like, because the speech they do like doesn't need any protection. It also protects the speech of the people who want to point out that Colin Kaepernick picked a shitty way to protest, or that flag burning is inflammatory and offensive. Never mind the fact that the Supreme Court has already addressed this issue (and recently), and found that flag burning is symbolic speech, because--well, because of course it is.

Apparently, the First Amendment isn't as important to some as the second one is. Silly me, I like them both.

Gotta love the beauty of the three-part harmony of America--seldom do all three lose their way at the same time. Here's Justice Scalia talking about that very case:

https://youtu.be/fHO6IeBOiNE

Cinema Wine

2016-10-12T18:49:00.001-04:00

I have a confession to make. I know this may come as a shock, but sometimes I bring external beverages into the movies. Not just any beverage either, but wine. Jesus Juice, as Micheal Jackson put it. Cougar fuel. Nectar of the gods.

It doesn’t matter if the glass is half empty or half full.
There’s clearly room for more wine.

I know, I know, it's shameful of me. I'm supposed to buy a half-gallon of Diet Coke at the snack bar for $17, and therefore I'm cheating the movie theater out of much needed revenue. Well, I say that the movie theaters should be ashamed of themselves, selling fountain drinks and shitty popcorn at a 10,000% mark up. But the truth is, I usually still get that giant barrel of Diet Coke, along with my illicit contraband. It's win-win. It also means I spend the last 30 minutes of the movie doing the seated pee-pee dance.

The fatal flaw in my plan.

Some movie theaters sell booze now, so I don't pull my little smuggling game all that often anymore, but sometimes I still do. It's just so fun for some reason. I think it's the danger. Sneaking it past the sharp eyes of that pimply-faced guy who takes your ticket and tells you which theater your film is in takes nerves of steel.

It's so thrilling to stare such grave danger in the face and get away with it. I don't know, maybe I'm just an adrenaline junkie. I mean, it's either this or learn how to skydive in one of those wing suits. Not only is it super fun to do, it greatly improves the watchability of some movies that I have been tricked into seeing. Bridget Jones's Baby springs to mind. Ugh.

The actual sneaking of the wine isn't rocket science, but I have learned that every method has its pros and cons. Some sort of obvious basics: no corks--only screw caps, you'll also need plastic wine glasses (only alcoholics drink wine from the bottle), and you should wait until the previews start and the lights are lowered before you start breaking out the booze.

Toilet Wine

They sell wine in cartons these days, easy for sneaking and disposable--but it's usually some sort of ass-wine that tastes like it was funneled into the carton using the butt-crack of a sweaty water buffalo. A pretty big negative.

Some brands sell single-servings in cute little glass bottles, but then you're left trying to walk in with these little bottles clinking against each other. Also, the wine gets warm quickly in these bottles, and I'm a very discerning sneaky boozer.

This turned out to be a very useful gift.

A really good method I have used requires a good coffee thermos and a female companion with a large purse. I've carried it in myself in my jacket, but that's a pretty risky move, because a dude that looks like me with a large metal object hidden under his coat looks a little bit threatening to some people. I suppose I could carry a purse, but I just don't think I could pull that look off. On the plus side, it keeps the wine perfectly chilled and comes with its own cup. The bad news is you still have to sneak it back out.

My current favorite smuggling method is to pour a bottle of wine into a nalgene water bottle. It still gets a little warm after a while, but much more slowly than the little bottles. Also, it looks a little less incriminating, and makes less noise.

So there you go. Wine Smuggling 101. I just spent two hours explaining drinking wine secretly in movie theaters, and it was great. Didn't think of the dumpster fire that is our presidential election once during that entire time. I actually wrote this a week ago, but didn't publish because...I guess because who gives a crap? Anyway, if you're reading it, I think we both need to get out more.

Maybe we could go to the movies.

Charmed by Charm City

2016-10-11T20:08:00.000-04:00

I live in Baltimore, and I like it. Yes, that Baltimore. The one with the riots. Remember the TV show The Wire? The setting of The Wire is now where I live. They call it "Charm City" here in town. I used to find that funny, but I've come around to a different attitude.

The Marine Corps sent me here to work at a reserve battalion headquartered in the city. I wasn't crazy about it, but the Marine Corps calls them "orders" for a reason, so here I am. It's a command position, and I was happy to get it, but still.

For some reason, I had the idea there might be violence.

I mean I'd driven through the city a few times, while living in Virginia. I even had a previous girlfriend who tried to get me to like it, but I was having none of it. I found it dirty, crowded, and noisy. So when I found out I was moving to this dangerous and dirty place, I had a bit of a bad attitude about it. When I saw the riots on TV (two months before moving), I developed an even worse one.

The approach most previous Marines in my position have taken is to just avoid the problem by commuting to Baltimore and living someplace else, and this was the path I intended to take as well. But then there was this little niggle... I was a country boy from the Deep South. I have never lived in a big city. The Marine Corps was offering me an adventure, and I would be a real fool to pass up an experience like that by living in the freaking suburbs. So I did it. I rented a row house in the Canton neighborhood with a rooftop deck, and proceeded to fall in love with Baltimore.

One of the two pistol bullets
I found on my deck.

It wasn't all rainbows and unicorns, I'll admit. There's a police helicopter that flies overhead constantly. There's a couple of seedy bars frequented by ancient alcoholics nearby, so sometimes they'll decide to pass out on your front stoop, leave an empty bottle of Wild Irish Rose on the steps, shuffle slowly down the center of the street, or some other such hilariousness. Once a drunk, scrawny old geezer with no shirt and a carpet of dirty gray chest hair pounded on my front door at 2 in the morning demanding that we "fight it out." I hear gunfire, every once in a while. I try to convince myself it was fireworks, but I've been in the Marines for 26 years, and I know damn well it's gunfire. I even found a 9mm pistol projectile on my rooftop deck. Twice, that's happened, actually. My truck has been broken into several times, and it was stolen last Thanksgiving. It was recovered a few weeks later, with an empty gas tank, a partially used box of condoms, and some baby socks (not kidding). Visiting the Baltimore City impound lot is an experience, by the way. Not an experience like at Disney World, either.

60 acres of sadness.

Condoms and baby socks?

At least they left my safety glow belt behind.
Thank God.

But even with all of this, I have to admit, I like living here. I have a great rooftop deck, with views of the whole eastern part of the city, all the way to the harbor. I have never much enjoyed jogging, but I do it now because I can run from my doorstep along the waterfront and it's just beautiful. Unless you look closely at the water of course, where there's often so much trash floating that I can't stop picturing the old crying Indian commercial from the '70's.

But even the trash has a silver lining. I learned about a thing called Mr. Trash Wheel, a funny little invention that picks up the trash from the water and is just as charming as shit. I was so charmed I donated a bunch of money to the fund to build a second one in my neighborhood, and those of you who know me know how rare that is. So then there I was, being a part of things...

Mr. Trashwheel
I mean, whoever thought of adding the eyes--GENIUS.

This new job I took in Baltimore, it's working as the Inspector-Instructor of a reserve Marine battalion. The Marine Corps Reserve is pretty well known for its Christmas charity, Toys for Tots. Perhaps you've heard of it.

It's a pretty popular charity and a lot of businesses and civic groups donate to it. When they hold their big publicity events, they all want a few Marines in dress blues to show up. So we get inundated with requests for Marines to do all sorts of terrible duty, like going to NFL games, attending parties, etc. Of course at those events you're treated like a celebrity, with free drinks, lots of female attention, etc. But believe it or not, I have a hard time finding enough Marines to cover these events. Anyway, it came to pass that I finally got on one of these difficult assignments personally--judging the Parade of Lights in Baltimore's Inner Harbor, which if you've never heard of it, is when a bunch of people decorate their boats for Christmas, get drunk, and drive around the harbor. Yes, it's as fun as it sounds.

I'm the really attractive one.

My job was to show up at the Polish Home Club in my dress blues, mingle with some old Polocks, and then to go out and stand on a little boat while all the drunks come by in their boats, dancing and singing and being drunk. A unique experience, I think.

The most handsome judge of lighted boats.

I drank hot cider spiked with rum, I gave my completely unqualified opinion vis-à-vis boats decorated with Christmas lights, and had a great time. So, Baltimore was starting to win me over.

There's also a festival every time you turn around in Baltimore. There's HonFest, The Running Festival, the Baltimore Whiskey Festival, SpringFest, Beer, Bourbon and BBQ Festival, Saint Patrick's Day (big here), Fells Point Pirate Festival, Kinetic Sculpture Race, Wine Festival...the list goes on and on. Add to that an almost total lack of the kind of douchebags that DC is overrun with--You know the guys I mean--the ones in salmon-colored pants and popped collars.

If you see me in salmon pants,
please kick me in the balls.

Baltimore scares these kinds of people away, I think. And for that, I thank you.

Couple all of this with the many great restaurants where you can always find a table, that an Uber shows up at my door 3 minutes after I order it, and the fact that I can walk to something like 50 bars from my house, and Baltimore succeeded in winning my heart, in spite of my prejudices (and the grand theft auto).

So gracias, Baltimore. I'm gonna hate to leave.

I Can't Breathe

2014-12-18T10:15:00.000-05:00

This post isn't very funny, I'm afraid.

Ferguson, MO, New York City, and many other cities in America are seeing lots of protests lately, and if you listen to the news reports on television and the radio, it's all about racism. Except it isn't, not really. I'm not about to attempt to defend the actions of the police officers in these particular cases. I am not informed enough to do that, and what's more, it doesn't even matter, not really. The question isn't what happened in a few particular cases, it's what has happened over a period of time to the social contract between our society as a whole and the police forces of this entire country.

Many people are making accusations that the police in much of America have a bias against black Americans. I can't deny it. I not only don't deny it, I actually believe that it exists, though there is no real way to prove it or demonstrate it in a definitive way. Just to be clear, I am a white man, and I was raised in the Deep South. I would have to be either a liar or incredibly naive to think that racism isn't a real thing. I have heard examples of racism from people at all levels of society, both white and black, for my entire life. I have no "post-racial America" delusions. Lots of white people think that most criminals are young angry black men and that young blacks celebrate being gangsters and thugs. Some young black people ARE that way; but certainly not all of them, or even most. Lots of black people mistrust white people and believe that white people unfairly judge them based solely on the color of their skin. Again, plenty of white people DO think that way, but not all, or even most.

Racism exists in our society, and we should continue to try to educate people to break down the barriers of fear between us. No doubt about it.

Probably better get your taser ready, officer.

Here's the thing, though... It's not illegal to be a racist. Racism is the belief that all members of each race possess characteristics or abilities specific to that race, especially so as to distinguish it as inferior or superior to another race or races, according to Google. I accept this definition, as Google has never lied to me before. But the important portion of this definition for the purposes of this discussion is "the belief." A belief is what someone thinks inside their own mind, and it’s not necessarily dependent upon facts. You can't make people's private thoughts illegal (even really unpleasant ideas), and you can't really police them, either—at least not in anything that resembles a free society. Even if we come up with a mechanism to detect the inner thoughts of our citizens, I don’t think we’d want to use it. Not really.

The Thought Police warned about in George Orwell's 1984 are not here just yet. Until they do come up with a way to read people's minds, then you aren't going to get rid of racism. I know that I’m a nutball libertarian. Hell, I’ve read 1984, and now I’m referencing it on a blog. That’s right up there with quoting Atlas Shrugged like it’s the Book of Revelations, isn't it? But that doesn't mean I’m wrong.

Hmm… the Thought Police are policing the thoughts of the police. Badum tish. Thank you very much, remember to tip your waitress.

Here’s another thing--everyone has prejudices. Everyone uses stereotypes. It’s human nature, and not only that, it’s very useful for navigating through the world safely. Observing the world around us and grouping things that are similar together is just the way we are wired. There’s no changing it.

Sometimes you should go ahead and judge that book by its creepy-ass cover.

So, for all the speeches and all the self-righteous rants on NPR about how being a black male in America isn’t fair, it won’t be able to solve the problem. Because the police are human beings, and as such are going to have prejudices, biases, and all sorts of other human faults. You can’t force people to believe things, not without getting REALLY Orwellian. The best you can hope for is to drive it underground. Which will do precisely zero to change the way the police and black people view each other.

More likely, mobs of black protesters rioting and throwing flaming bags of shit at policemen on television will cause even more of a divide. Add in the images of those policemen arresting black people in droves, hitting them with tasers, tear gas, pepper spray, and good old-fashioned billy clubs, and it gets even worse.

There's another thing that's been going on with police forces over the last 20 years or so. It's been called “militarization," and usually people are referring to the acquisition of military equipment, but it might also be called “aggressive policing,” meaning that the focus is on an in-your-face, intrusive, confrontational style.

Here's a good book about it...
Seriously, read this book. It's a bit politically partisan, but he tells the story well.

Militarization is more than just tanks and guns and ninja outfits. It's a mindset. It's the idea of incremental escalation of force, until compliance is obtained. It was this mindset that was applied by the Police in Ferguson, Missouri during the initial protests over the shooting of Michael Brown.

Interestingly, I think some of this tendency by some policemen to resort to violence more quickly is actually enabled by the new "non-lethal" tools most cops carry these days. Things like tasers, pepper spray, and stun guns are supposed to be making us all safer by giving the officer a choice less severe than a firearm, but I think that they actually serve as a sort of "gateway drug" for using violence, with less consequence. The cop has a few tools in his tool chest to use to incrementally escalate the violence in the situation, and so that's the way he views his options. This is a very different paradigm than one of de-escalation, where the idea is to calm everyone down.

He's just trying to get the protesters to calm down.

Radley Balko, author of Rise of the Warrior Cop, talks about police militarization in the video below. Notice that this discussion took place in 2013, a year before the current situation. He's talking about SWAT teams doing "no-knock" raids on people who are sleeping in their homes to serve warrants, which I find much more alarming. He points out that even in examples where completely innocent people are hurt and killed in their own homes, seldom is a policeman charged with any wrongdoing.

Click to view Radley Balko video

This is where I think the real problem is. I think the cops in America have, in general, for a variety of reasons, gotten more aggressive towards EVERYONE, and they don't seem to be being held accountable for it. The police themselves, or perhaps the district attorney, get to decide if an officer's actions were appropriate or not. And they often aren't all that public about the process. THIS is the real problem--innocent citizens by the hundreds of all races and creeds are being attacked, humiliated, wounded, and even killed by the police--and then the police themselves seem to get to arbitrate any complaints. If any complaints ARE entertained, it's only later, after the damage is done.

It's this lack of accountability and transparency that is really at the heart of people's anger these days. If people feel oppressed and mistreated, with no way to find justice, then they will become angry, no matter what race they happen to be. So let's stop clouding the water. The underlying issue is one of the accountability of police departments to the communities they serve, and the respect the citizens and policemen show for each other. If an injustice like this exists, then it will manifest itself most vividly in minority communities, but don't let that distract you from the fact that this kind of treatment shouldn't even be allowed at ALL.

We have given up too much liberty for the sake of safety. Politicians play on our fear, fear of non-tangible ideas like "crime" or "terrorism," in order to win elections and gain power. They've done this for many thousands of years. It's exactly what the framers of our constitution were trying to protect us from.

Ignorance

2014-02-25T14:35:00.000-05:00

"It is very difficult to find a black cat in a dark room," warns an old proverb. "Especially when there is no cat."

I was passed a book containing that quotation by a colleague recently. The title of the book is Ignorance, by Stuart Firestein. I'm not sure what made my friend think of me, but I tried not to be too offended.

Maybe he thought of me because of the science.

Anyway, remember that when I say "colleague," I mean another Marine Corps officer who, like me, is now suddenly thrust into a position that is essentially identical to being a college professor. Except we run through the woods sometimes and do pull-ups. And shoot pistols. And all our students do too. So, other than that, pretty much just like any college campus.

Maybe there are some subtle differences.

For the most part, it's not that different.

This place is just like any graduate-level school.

Okay, sometimes we make bombs. But only once or twice a year.

It usually looks more like this.

Or this.

This is more difficult to explain.

See? Just like a regular school.

Getting back to my point. So this book, Ignorance, How It Drives Science, is pretty intriguing. The underlying thesis is that it is the things we DON'T know that drive science, rather than the things we already know. And furthermore, we don't know a lot more than we DO know. Facts, data, and accumulated knowledge serve mainly to show us where the dark rooms are, where those black cats may be hiding. The book takes it a bit deeper, talking about uncertainties and the "unknowables" in life. Heady stuff.

Donald Rumsfeld makes a clumsy attempt to explain it:

My job, at the moment, is to teach Marine officers to plan operations. We try to teach them to think, essentially. Again, I'm not exactly a professional educator. But I've been pretending to be one for three years now, and I'm thinking that the way we approach our military education programs could benefit quite a bit from this line of thinking.

Many of my superiors and even my peers might view it differently. They might think we are showing them HOW to do something. That we have this amphibious warfare and military planning thing pretty much figured out. Just follow the recipe, and--Voilà! One perfect military operational plan. The truth of the matter is that this isn't even remotely the way planning works.

I'm certainly not against studying history. There's nothing new under the sun, as they say. It's cool in the military these days to brag about how much military history you read. General Mattis said he was trying to build a 5,000-year-old mind, so that way you aren't surprised. There's some value to that, I admit.

But this idea that the important thing is finding and embracing ignorance is so much more exciting! And so applicable to today's Marine Corps. We have new equipment, newly developed tactics and procedures, and lots of new challenges. I think many of our problems stem from the fact that we want to behave as if we know exactly how these things can and should be used. As though we have it all worked out, and the young captain needs merely to read and follow along in the manual.

The problem is, this is not in the manual.

If combat taught me nothing else, it definitely showed me that most people are completely full of shit. There are plenty of things we don't know, plenty of problems that need solving. And the best Marines are the ones who can come up with a way around the unexpected, rather than the Marines who can recite the manual or who know the names of the most Civil War generals. Let's empower those young minds and see what they can come up with.

As Yogi Berra, the famous philosopher and baseball player said, "It's tough to make predictions, especially about the future." The good news is, we don't need to.

Hell Is Other People

2013-11-13T10:46:00.002-05:00

It is so simple.

In the words of Jean-Paul Sartre, "Hell is other people."

As I drove into work this morning, I was stuck behind an old lady in a new Mercedes sports car, going 55mph in a 65mph zone, right next to a dump truck going the same speed, which was slowly passing some kind of Sanford-and-Son jalopy pickup in the right lane. I was not alone. There were dozens of other vehicles right behind me, desperately trying to maneuver around this little clump of stupidity, to no avail. Words cannot express how enraging that is.

The Slower Traffic Keep Right Campaign

Traffic Jams Mostly Caused By Complete Assholes

Slow drivers frustrate the rest of us

It is a very, very simple idea. Move right, let the faster traffic pass. And why would you buy a fancy sports car if you are going to drive it like that, you jackass? Hey law enforcement, here's an idea. Start ticketing these assholes. It is a posted traffic regulation, you know.

I don't really have anything else this morning. I just had to vent. Enjoy your day, Dear Reader. Just remember to move the fuck over to the right lane.

The Euphemism Treadmill

2013-10-25T13:52:00.000-04:00

I've had about enough with being told that I can't say this word or that word anymore. The First Amendment guarantees freedom of speech, not freedom from being offended. I don't intend to go off on some weird Tea Party-esque diatribe about free speech, so don't worry. I'm just trying to figure out why we are so afraid of offending people these days. Left-leaning people seem to shudder at the thought of accidentally offending almost any vocal minority, or at least those that are popular with the Democratic party, such as black people, gay people, or Jewish people. Offending rednecks and religious people is apparently encouraged, however. For the record, I'm neither religious nor a redneck.

Okay, there might be just a smidgen of redneck in there.

Well, I'm not religious, anyway.

I'm also not one to be politically correct, as I'm sure you've already picked up on. I fact, I tend to offend somewhere in the neighborhood of 80% of all human beings I come into contact with. Some who've never even met me have already determined they hate me (on reputation alone, I assume--though perhaps they read my blog). So I'm not afraid of upsetting folks, but I find it disturbing that I can suddenly alienate vast swaths of people for using the wrong language, with no real reason given for it, apart from the whim of the Cult of Political Correctness. There's something basically wrong with that... I mean, it's the ideological equivalent of trying to follow a flock of blackbirds.

Let me show you what I mean. First, let's just try to nail down what IS politically correct. What are the socially acceptable phrases of the day?

It's hard to keep up with. For instance, gay people apparently don't like the word "homosexual," or so I've been told by my liberal friends. They now prefer the word "gay" or the "LGBT community". That's the initialization of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transexual community, in case you aren't up on the latest in PC speech. I was completely unaware of it myself, and was walking around referring to people as homosexuals, and actually was feeling pretty good and proper for not using any of the purposefully offensive slurs, like "queer" or "faggot" or the like. I understand fully why those types of words are considered improper; they were meant from the beginning as insults. The thing I don't get is the adoption of a former slang term (gay), and the rejection of the scientific term (homosexual). Who decides this shit? It just makes no sense.

Race is another PC minefield. Black people have changed labels at least three times in my lifetime, from Black to Afro-American, back to Black, to African-American, and now presumably back to Black, since African-American has too many damn syllables. That's not counting the old-fashioned labels of negro, colored, and such. Again, these earlier acceptable words were not meant to be insulting; on the contrary, they were considered the civilized, proper, and non-offensive monicker. I completely understand the rejection of the dreaded "N-word," as it was meant from the very beginning to be derisive. I'm trying to wrap my head around why words originally intended NOT to be offensive suddenly are verboten.

It's an endless cycle it seems. Let's look at the word "retarded" as a case study:

There have been people with mental handicaps for basically as long as there have been people. All sorts of unfortunate problems and accidents can cause people's brains to not function as well as most. We have words for this, because it is a thing that exists, and that's what language is. They used to call kids with intellectual disabilities "slow," "feeble-minded", or "simple." The actual medical terms for various levels of low-IQ scores at the time were "idiot," "imbecile," "cretin," and "moron." Guess how kids started using those words.

This seemed a little harsh to folks after a while, so they decided to come up with some less hurtful words. The terms "mental retardation" and "mentally retarded" were invented in the middle of the 20th century to replace the previous set of terms, which were deemed to have become offensive. The idea was that these new words would imply that the people were not stupid, but that their mental development was just delayed. Thus, we manage not to insult anyone, right?

Somebody went full retard anyway...

The problem is, the words still mean the same thing. Pretty soon, these words were being used as playground insults. See, no matter what you call the "special" kids at school, the other kids will learn that word and will then use it to insult each other. The process is called the "euphemism treadmill," which is an excellent term for it.

So now the word "retarded" is being phased out. The Sarah Palin Journal is insisting that it be referred to as "the R-word." She is an authority on this because she has a son with Downs Syndrome. I've got bad news for you, though. Even if no one ever again uses the word 'retarded' in a sentence, your child will still have Downs. That's the harsh truth. No matter what euphemism you dream up, it will become the new insult.

The root problem in this case obviously isn't the poor souls who have intellectual disabilities. It isn't even the mean kids on the playground who are insulting each other. I think the problem lies in the self-indulgent people who appoint themselves as the high priests of language. They seek to control people by making them feel guilty, by bullying them with their indignation over common words.

What's the moral here? I think it was to point out that words are tied to a meaning, and even if you change the word, the underlying meaning will remain. Getting upset at the word itself is just—retarded.

"A rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet," as Juliet put it.

A Turd By Any Other Name

2013-09-10T00:58:00.001-04:00

Full Video

This is a video of Secretary of State John Kerry addressing the Senate Foreign Relations Committee on September 3rd.

He was hoping to convince Congress to agree with President Obama's request to conduct strikes against Syria. I am a Marine, so I do not let myself get emotionally involved in the political leadership's decision-making process. Even if I did, I certainly wouldn't comment on it here. But I did hear a few people saying some things that were disturbing. The most glaring example came from Mr. Kerry as he scolded Senator Rand Paul:

John Kerry telling Congress he wasn't talking about a war...

The phrase he used that raised my eyebrows was, "The president is not asking you to go to war. He's not asking you to declare war. He's not asking you to send one American troop to war." I heard that and I nearly dropped my glass. How can this highly educated and experienced man, a former senator, a presidential candidate, himself a veteran of Vietnam, think for one second that what he said is true? Of course that is what the president is asking! He is proposing launching cruise missiles and air strikes against another sovereign nation because that nation's government has done something the government of the United States finds intolerable. That sounds like a war to me. Maybe not a big one, but a freaking war nonetheless.

I'm not saying if it's right or wrong; as a Marine, it's not my place to do so. I do believe there is such a thing as a Just War. I guess I better believe that, given my vocation.

War is just an extension of politics, after all.
Thank you, Uncle Carl.

We have to look at this objectively, though. How would the United States view a similar attack, if we were on the receiving end of it? You don't have to merely imagine it. It has already happened in history. On December 7, 1941, the Japanese conducted a precision naval air strike at Pearl Harbor to degrade the United States naval forces in the Pacific. We seemed to take that pretty seriously then. From what I've read and seen on the History Channel, America got more than a little upset and wound up inventing a whole new type of super-bomb to get revenge on Japan with.

Would the Syrians be less angry?

How about just 12 years ago, when guided missiles in the form of hijacked airliners struck at financial and command and control targets on September 11, 2001? Did that seem like an act of war? Damn right it did. We were justifiably pissed, and the perpetrators got way more back than they bargained for. They wanted the United States out of traditional Muslim lands, and instead wound up with thousands of Americans running about the entire Middle East, blowing things up and playing country music. I was one of them, and I was glad to be there, if for no other reason than that my very presence was a thumb in the eye of those who dreamed up the 9/11 attacks.

I'm the really good-looking one.

What am I saying? I'm saying that war is war. Calling it something else doesn't change its nature. It's terrible and it's unpredictable. It is messy. Innocent people will be hurt and killed. Things will happen we didn't intend. Chaos is the only thing we can count on. War is sometimes necessary, but we should never be so naive as to think we can completely control it. We should at least be honest enough with ourselves to call it what it is.

It is our pride that gets us into trouble, our hubris. It is the most intelligent and accomplished among us who are the most susceptible. We start to feel so superior that we believe that we can strike other nations with impunity. We can't. People are very, very inventive when it comes to hurting each other.

We should all know better by now.

Where's the Innovation?

2013-06-29T12:17:00.000-04:00

If there is one thing that we Marines are good at, it's believing our own press releases. There's actually a lot of good in that. Young Americans will do amazing things, as long as they believe in themselves and in each other.

USMC Video

But senior officers need to stay a little more realistic. Believing in yourself is good. Fooling yourself isn't.

When I joined the Marines, 20-something years ago, I was made to memorize a long list of facts about the Corps. Or at least I accepted them as facts at the time. It went something like this:

A drill instructor asks a question, and the whole platoon of recruits recites the answer back at the top of their lungs:

"Who is the Grand Old Man of the Marine Corps?"

"Sir, the Grand Old Man of the Marine Corps is Archibald Henderson, sir!"

"Who is the father of Marine Corps aviation?"

"Sir, the father of Marine Corps aviation is Alfred A. Cunningham, sir!"

"Where did the Marines earn the name 'Devil Dogs'?"

"Sir, Marines earned the nickname Devil Dogs from the Germans at the Battle of Belleau Wood in World War I!"

These stories of the Corps are mostly at least sort of true, at least I think they are. Over the years, I heard these stories repeated, over and over, to the point they became a sort of a dogma, almost a religious scripture, something that was beyond question. It doesn't matter if it's bullshit or not.

They aren't all that open to the idea of debating things at Parris Island...

One of the big things that we Marines tell ourselves is that we, as a service, are very innovative. Some examples of this innovation are below. There is an underlying truth in all of these, too.

The close integration of fire support from aircraft with ground maneuver during the "Banana Wars" in the 1920's. This resulted in what we call "close air support" today.
The first use of helicopters to deliver ground forces in a combat maneuver (called vertical envelopment) during the Korean War.

U. S. Marines of the 1st Marine Div. Reconnaissance Co. make the first helicopter invasion on Hill 812, during the renewed fighting in Korea. September 20, 1951. T. G. Donegan. (Marine Corps)
The development of amphibious armored vehicles (now called AMTRACs) that can deliver troops to shore and then move inland on land.
The use of personal body armor ("flak jackets") for ground troops, also in the Korean conflict.

Marine holding the shrapnel stopped by his body armor in Korea.
The development of amphibious assault doctrine in the 1930's, just in time for World War II.

The most significant thing from that short list of examples is the last one: amphibious doctrine. It saved the world's bacon in the 1940's, in case you don't realize that. Amphibious doctrine is the how-to guide for delivering land forces to a hostile shore by ship. It integrates naval gunfire and air support. It describes in detail how to load ships, how to organize the landing craft, and how to allow for logistics and resupply. What it did, in effect, was to analyze the disastrous Allied amphibious assault in WWI at Gallipoli, and then it solved all the problems through planning processes and new technologies.

Not sure how they failed, given that they had Mel Gibson with them.

This new doctrine, after some tweaking early in WW2 at places like Guadalcanal, became wildly successful. It allowed for some of the most famous American victories ever: Normandy, Iwo Jima, Okinawa. Perhaps you've heard of them.

The most famous photo of all time...
"This guarantees a Marine Corps for 500 years"
-James Forrestal, Secretary of the Navy, 1945

All of this success during World War II most definitely went to our (meaning the USMC's) heads. The Corps transformed, almost overnight, from a small, specialized force of 17,000 Marines into an amphibious force of more than 500,000. We had generals and bases and funding. The public loved us.

But we had become too big for our britches, it seemed. During the post-war drawdown, there was a serious attempt by some to dissolve the US Marine Corps, on the grounds that it was a redundant capability, essentially a second land army. Furthermore, nuclear weapons had made major amphibious landings obsolete, or so it was said.

“Large-scale amphibious operations will never occur again.”
-Gen Omar Bradley, US Army, 19 October, 1949.

US Marines landing at Inchon, Korea on 15 September, 1950.
This landing reversed the course of the Korean War, and saved America's bacon. Again.
Take that, Omar Bradley.

The Marine Corps survived this period of infighting amongst the services, but we developed an intense institutional paranoia about people trying to get rid of us. The "graybeards" of the Marine Corps at the time understandably wanted to hold on to this impressive force they had developed. Furthermore, the idea of keeping a large amphibious force ready at all times seemed vindicated by what happened in Korea. In fact, there was so much protective love for the Marine Corps, that Congress codified the minimum size and composition of the Corps in 1952 in an amendment to the National Security Act of 1947. The Marine Corps still clings to this mission, large-scale amphibious assault, as its raison d'être. Many still quote the National Security Act of 1947 as if it were sacred scripture. But what if Omar Bradley was right (read the article in the link)? Then what?

When Major Pete Ellis was dreaming up amphibious doctrine in the early 1930's, the Marine Corps was facing a fiscal strain and looking at an uncertain future. The Corps' missions up until then had been what we would call special operations today, but then we called 'small wars.' In fact, at the same time that they were busily developing amphibious doctrine, other Marines were writing the "Small Wars Manual," which is still highly regarded today, from the experiences of the Marines in the interwar years. But World War II was on the horizon, and small, specialized operations was not where the action was going to be, and the Marines damn well knew it. So they reinvented themselves into what was needed for the time.

Well, the world has turned a few times since 1945, and the Marine Corps once again faces an identity crisis during a fiscally tight period. Technological advances in sea mines and anti-ship missiles have undercut some of the traditional ideas in how we might conduct an amphibious forcible entry operation. The ways of the past are out-dated. It's time to reinvent ourselves again.

But what passes for innovation in the Marine Corps today is really just clinging to the past glory of World War II. Our developments are not really revolutionary, they are evolutionary. Our new technologies, like the Expeditionary Assault Vehicle and the MV-22 Osprey are really just new technologies that help us to accomplish a landing that would look very much like the one at Iwo Jima nearly 70 years ago. We aren't thinking up new ways to provide a useful service to our country in the modern world, we are busy cramming a square peg in a round hole, trying to justify our existence. Another thing--I'm tired of listening to people use the requirements of O-Plans (contingency plans developed in advance by DoD) as justification for a certain number of amphibious ships and the appropriate size of the Marine Corps. Those plans were made to use existing capabilities, and using them in turn as as a source of what our requirements ought to be is circular logic, and is guaranteed to stagnate our thinking. The plans should be adapted to the forces fielded by our nation, not the other way around.

It isn't all bad, though. Some of our new technologies, like the MV-22 and the LCAC hovercraft, actually do provide some amazing capabilities to the amphibious world, but they go far beyond their use in a traditional large-scale amphibious assault. But these new capabilities haven't made much of an impact on our roles and missions, because we remain dogmatically locked to the past.

LCAC - Landing Craft, Air Cushion
It's a hovercraft, and it's really fast.

So I ask you, Marine Corps, where is the innovation? Where are the forward thinkers? Where are the new ideas? With no money available, we aren't going to technology our butts out of this one. We are going to have to really think.

Those of you still reading this far down the page who aren't Marines, may not realize the absolute heresy of my even saying any of this, especially in a public forum. I may end up like the ending of another Mel Gibson movie if I'm not careful...

Like this one.

Or like this one...

Our True Heritage

One of the things that some Marines will tell you is that large amphibious assaults are our heritage, our service identity, our tradition. I disagree. That's only a part of it. Our true heritage is our adaptability. Our true heritage is in small wars and independent actions, at least since the end of the age of sail. There is the previously cited example of the Banana Wars in the Caribbean, but also think about the actions in China between the world wars, and even many of the smaller landings during World War 2. We are the original American Special Operators. In fact, I think that the development of the modern SOCOM community was necessary to fill the void left by the Marine Corps' transformation into a conventional force in the 1940's.

So there's one idea for you. Return the Marine Corps to its true roots. Make it an amphibious arm of the special operations community, like a seaborne version of the Rangers, but with the heavy equipment that being on ships allows. Using the MV-22 Osprey and the LCAC, our reach is enormous, and we can completely bypass most types of beach defenses and obstacles. We could shrink the Corps and the amphibious fleets drastically, while raising our training quality and increasing our interoperability with SOCOM forces. This would drastically reduce the size and cost of the Corps, while increasing the utilization of Marines in real-world operations.

When Special Operations Command (SOCOM) was created in 1987, the Marine Corps stiff-armed it in disdain. The Corps didn't want to lose control over its best Marines to some outside command. The Marines are too small of an organization to survive this kind of talent bleed. Also, the whole Marine Corps considers itself elite, and doesn't like for some Marines to think they are better than their brothers. That kind of thing really damages Esprit de Corps.

I'm not talking about MARSOC the way it is now, which is exactly what was worried about. I don't mean a few "operators" or some dudes who think they are badasses jumping out of airplanes. I mean the entire service of the United States Marine Corps falling under SOCOM. That removes the big problem right at the source. I mean completely redefining the missions and roles of the Corps; actually I mean redefining the roles and missions of all the services. It's damn sure time for it, too. The organization of the Department of Defense is a bureaucratic nightmare scenario, which defies the understanding of many career military officers, including Yours Truly. It's wasteful, unwieldy, and bloated. And it wishes mainly to preserve itself, above all else.

I'm no Pete Ellis, but this seems like an idea to me. Our current organization was codified early in the Cold War, a war that has been over since 1991. I think two decades is long enough to wait for someone to take another look.

You don't like my ideas? Let me hear some better ones then, Marines. I'm just wiping a booger on the wall to see who notices.

The Perils of Not Dying Young

2013-04-12T13:24:00.000-04:00

Let me warn you up front--this post is going to be gross. Some material may not be suitable for all ages or dispositions. Reader discretion is advised. This means you, Mama.

Are you still reading? Well, then let me tell you a little bit about my butthole. My asshole is much like my personality: angry and irritated. Or at least it was a few months ago. I'd like to share with you the tale of my tail-end because, well, it's kind of funny. Also, several people have advised me against it, so it must be good.

I'm talking about hemorrhoids, of course. Another of the many problems I'm having to learn to deal with because I failed to die before now. It's probably a result of all those times I ate nothing but MREs for a week and only pooped once. I used to see the constipative effects of the "Meal, Ready to Eat" as a positive thing, a way to delay the inevitable until I was in a location with a good place to shit. (Is constipative a word? Spellchecker doesn't think so, but I think it is.)

You never think about things like this when watching Game of Thrones, do you?

Some Marines think they can go through life eating MREs all the time with no ill effects, but sooner or later, you must pay the piper. And the later it is, the worse it's going to be. I once went 11 days on a diet of only MREs and this weird sort of pita bread they used to give us. I don't remember exactly what it was called, but "long shelf life" was written on the wrapper. They should have written "You will not shit for two weeks if you eat this" on the wrapper instead, because that's the effect it has. At the same time that I was eating this constipation-maximizing diet, the MEU (Marine Expeditionary Unit) I was with was ashore on the island of Sardinia. We had about 10 port-a-johns to share among about 2000 people, so those things were completely ruined pretty much immediately. To make matters worse, some dude put an MRE-bomb in one of them, right into the poop-well. It exploded and absolutely coated the inside of the port-a-john with liquid shit. I naively walked right up and opened the door, not even wondering why there was no line for this particular shitter. Big mistake. So, I consequently gave up all hope of using those things. We were also expressly forbidden to poop anywhere but the port-a-johns (port-a-shitter in Marine-speak), lest we ruin the delicate ecosystem. Ordinarily, I don't let rules like that influence my behavior, but Sardinia has precious few trees or even tall brush to hide behind. I'm a private pooper, as I've said before. So I just held it.

After the training exercise was over, we all got back on the ship, where there was plenty of fresh fruit and coffee. I had a belly full of both, smoked a cigarette, and then it was time to see a man about a horse, so to speak.

Click this link to set the scene: Randy Takes a Crap

It was horrifying. I would have sworn that they had been hiding broken bricks and shards of glass in that extend shelf life bread. That crap was taken in 2001, over twelve years ago, but I still remember it. That's how bad it was.

But I digress. The point is that over the years, things had gotten out of sorts in my nether regions. My butthole was angry, and wasn't coming around. I tried every home remedy the Internet had to offer, to no avail. I kept winding up on websites about various terrible diseases. I really didn't want to go to the doctor, though. I didn't want to have to show my brown starfish to some stranger. But the Internet was being very scary, and I really didn't want to die of butt cancer. That's what took Vince Lombardi out, you know.

I'll bet his turd cutter was much tougher than mine,
and look what happened to him.

I told you all of that to tell you this story...
I finally had enough of my ass hurting, and decided to go to medical to get it looked at. While I'm stationed here in Quantico, I use the medical facility at Officer Candidate's School (OCS), which as far as Navy medicine goes, is pretty good. They do tend to have a lot of very junior people working in there, however. And so it came to pass that after I checked in to sick call, I found myself in an examination room with a 19 year old young woman describing my anus. To her credit, she didn't so much as crack a smile.

This young Navy Corpsman took my blood pressure, asked me if I had any allergies, all of the usual jazz, and then she left me alone to go get the doctor. After a good long while, she returned with another young woman, this one a lieutenant, junior grade (LTJG) medical officer. For those of you unfamiliar with the sea services, a LTJG is an O-2 in the Navy, one step up from an ensign, the lowest officer rank. It is also the rank immediately conveyed on a medical officer upon graduation from school. She couldn't have been more than about 26 or so, and looked younger--a brand new graduate of the Navy's medical program, in the Navy for only a year or so total. And so, now I was discussing the in and outs of my sphincter with TWO very young, fresh-faced ladies. Everybody was so serious, too. It was hilariously awkward, like a sit-com come to life.

I need to lay off the Mexican food for a while...

This female version of Doogie Houser, M.D. asked me if I had hemorrhoids, or anal fissures, or what. I told her that I had no idea, since I find seeing my own asshole challenging, even with a mirror. She told me that if I had fissures, I would know because it would hurt like hell. I told her that I wasn't in that exam room because I felt a tickling sensation. My butthole was hurting, bleeding, and inflamed. And itchy! I had been scooting around on my rear-end like a dog on the carpet for months. Besides, shouldn't she be the one to make the diagnosis? She's the one who went to medical school, after all. Wasn't there a class on anuses? (Is anuses the plural of anus? I'll have to look that up later...)

Anus Class in medical school

She asked me a battery of additional asshole-related questions, and then she asked if I would like her to just prescribe some medications--that maybe we didn't need to do an examination. She obviously did NOT want to do the exam. There was no way on earth I was about to let her off the hook that easily, though. No, Doc. It's time to EARN that medical school scholarship. I told her that I had waited a really long time to come in, and there was no way I was going to turn back now after all of the embarrassment of spending a half-hour describing my "problem area" to them. Nope, she was going to look at my butt, and that was that. I did ask that she refrain from sticking a finger up there, since that seems to be what they teach doctors to do whenever they see a human anus. She assured me that it wouldn't be necessary.

They (the young enlisted girl was still there for some unknown reason) then pulled a curtain around the exam table and told me to remove my trousers, and they stepped over to the door to wait. Once I was disrobed, they pulled the curtain back, and both came back in. I didn't get that. What's the point of the curtain if you are just going to come in once I'm naked? And why was the corpsman still there? It appeared to be only curiosity, as she didn't really do anything the whole time. Maybe they thought it would be more humiliating if they had more people in the room.

So anyway, we finally get down to business. The doctor puts on her rubber gloves and looks at my butt for about 3 seconds. Then she tells me that I have one "tiny" hemorrhoid at about the six o'clock position. I'm not joking about that, she called my horribly painful hemorrhoid tiny. I was sort of upset by that. Made me feel like a wimp. I went in there that morning assuming that I was going to have to have surgery or something. Also, I'm a little hazy about the 6 o'clock reference, as if it was an enemy fighter plane or something.

My butthole hurts

After I pulled up my pants, the young LTJG wrote me out a prescription for some hydrocortisone cream and some suppositories. Everybody was really uncomfortable and awkward (they had both just peered into my nether-regions, afterall), so I struck up a conversation to ease the tension. I asked each of them how long they had been in the Navy. We discussed the LTJG's path through medical school and how my son wants to go to medical school. She told me all about the program she attended med school on. I also talked to the young corpsman about her experiences so far in the Navy. But we all knew it would never be right between us. They knew too much.

After enduring the Navy's blessedly impersonal automated pharmacy, I took my new medicine home and applied it right away. I don't know if you have ever tried to use a suppository before, but it's no small feat. My rear end is unfamiliar with the idea of it being used as anything other than an exit. I must have gone through about four of those things before I got one to stay in there. I kept putting one in, waiting a few seconds, and then the instant I moved my finger, firing it out of there like a bullet. They would ricochet off the side of the toilet and make a pinging sound, no kidding. Eventually, however, I was successful, and the medicine worked like a charm.

Zing!

So, the moral of this story is to just go to the doctor. It won't be as bad as you think it will, and they might be able to do something to help you. After years of having them just give me a Motrin and tell me to drink more water, they finally came through with some good stuff. Now I have a butthole like a 10 year old boy. A Protestant boy, not a Catholic one, of course. Thank you, Navy Medicine.

Those Kids Today...

2013-03-01T15:13:00.000-05:00

My alarm clock goes off at 5:00 AM every day, and it is set to play the radio. This morning, one of the DJs was talking about the latest prank to hit YouTube, something called the "gallon smash." Here it is as presented by Good Morning America on ABC television. The question I have is how such a retarded video got 3.1 million hits in a few weeks. It isn't even very clever.

As you can see in the video, it's a few teenage boys doing what teenage boys do. Namely, acting obnoxious and being ridiculous. It's not particularly funny, and it's pretty stupid. But it's certainly not national news, ABC. Here's the whole video:

The radio DJ (the female half of the morning duo) seemed to be really concerned that other people would try to copy these pranks, and that some of the kids would get hurt. This comment of hers really set me off. She's worried that idiot teenagers might hurt themselves? Really? Because I think that them really hurting themselves would be just the thing to turn that prank video from barely watchable to HILARIOUS. If you are new to this blog, read THIS to get my feelings about safety for idiots.

Don't expect me to feel sorry for some dip-shit who splits his head open flopping around on the floor and acting like a fool. I might giggle, but I won't feel a moment of sympathy. I hope one of them whacks his head on the linoleum and gets a concussion, so he winds up getting coloring books for Christmas for the rest of his life. And his mother has to explain to everyone how it happened, while he drools and gives everyone clumsy high-fives.

If only karma were a real thing.

Also, don't expect me to get all up in arms because some kids are being inconsiderate when pulling their dumb pranks. Inconsiderate teenagers are hardly a new phenomenon. YouTube didn't cause this, it just gave an outlet for the little retards. Old people have been lamenting over the antics of unruly youngsters for as long as there has been the language to permit it. Hell, even animals that can't talk get annoyed with younguns:

Yeah, you saw that right. I put a kitten video in my blog. What of it? I'm secure in my manhood. You can put up football replays in your blog, if it makes you feel more macho.

The PFT Story

2013-02-04T21:17:00.000-05:00

It's February, and that means my birthday is coming up. AGAIN. Getting older really, really sucks. I suppose it beats the alternative, but it still blows. I guess I never really believed it would happen to me, so any time I run into an indicator, such as an ear hair (I didn't even know that was a thing), it chips away a little at my soul.

The weird thing is, I don't feel any different. I still look pretty good, too. I have all my hair, it's still brown, and I haven't gotten fat or anything. I think of myself as the constant--it's the world around me that is changing, including that asshole in the mirror every morning when I shave. I know that's not really the case, at least intellectually. For the little guy in my head watching the movie of my life, it just looks like everyone else is starting to look really young. I saw a state trooper the other day that looked about 11 years old, for instance.

Some disconcerting facts:

Let's talk about this.

My son is now older than I was when he was born. When I was his age, I was actually bringing my second child home from the hospital.
I say things like "When I was his age..." all of the time now.
I have been in the Marine Corps for longer than many Marines have been alive.
My knees make a sound like I have a bag of gravel in each pocket when I climb stairs.
The doctor now sticks his finger in my asshole when I have a checkup. This is a highly effective deterrent to checkups, by the way.
I heard an instrumental version of a rock song that was popular when I was in high school while in the waiting room at the doctor's office (That's before the finger. After the finger, I just went straight home.)
Nose hair is relentless.
I find that I hold my breath and make weird grunting noises when I pick something up off the floor.
The two hairs that I used to pluck from the back of my shoulders have begun to recruit reinforcements.
The guys on the Viagra commercials are my age.

All of these facts, when added together, can begin to soak through even the thickest layers of denial, and crack even the most bloated of egos.

The PFT Story

Here's a little story about when I first began to realize what was happening.

Every year, I am required to take a physical fitness test, or PFT, for the Marine Corps. This test includes doing pull-ups, sit-ups, and a 3 mile run. I am excellent at the first two, but I hate running. While I was never exactly a speed demon, lately it has been getting much worse. My performance isn't horrible yet, just not very good, but it now takes a monumental effort for me to be mediocre. Keep that in mind as I set the stage for the rest of the story.

This was about a year and a half ago, while I was a student at the command and staff college. It was a bright and sunny May day in Virginia, maybe about 65 degrees, light winds. A wonderful day to be outside. We started with the pull-ups. Like I have said before, my two main talents are doing pull-ups and pointing out the shortcomings of others, so I quickly and easily knocked out the 20 dead-hang pull-ups required to get a maximum score, even though my shoulder had been bothering me, and was making some weird popping noises. I also had little trouble with the abdominal crunches that pass for sit-ups in the Marine Corps these days. Then came the run.

I wasn't particularly worried about the run, though I knew it would suck. I figured it would all be over in twenty-something minutes or so, right? I stretched a little and waited for everyone to get ready to start. I had worn a warm-up jacket in that morning, and I stashed it next to a tree by the starting/finish line, putting my car keys and cell phone inside the pocket for safekeeping. A few nervous seconds standing at the start waiting to go, and then the time keeper says "Go!" and we're off.

I felt fine. I started my own stopwatch to keep track of how slow I was running, and fell in right behind one of the front runners. I always do this. I am an Alpha male. My ego kicks in, and I decide suddenly that I just won't let any of these scrawny little runner-punks pass me. So I don't, and I'm hauling ass. This lasts about a half-mile or so before the realities of weighing over 200 pounds and being over 40 years old kick in. I start getting out of breath and my heart rate climbs, and I basically feel like shit for however long it takes me to run the next two and a half miles.

That is the usual way I run these things. I was actually doing pretty well, and made it nearly three-quarters of a mile at a blazing fast pace before reality kicked in. This time however, it wasn't just the normal amount of suck. Something strange began to happen. I began to realize that my arm was starting to ache, and that my hand was numb. I thought, "Oh, shit."

Heart problems definitely run in my family. My father had his first heart attack when he wasn't much older than me, and he wasn't running 3 miles when it happened, either. You read about this kind of crap all the time in the Marine Corps. Some 42-year-old dude who is the picture of health all of a sudden drops dead, usually while running. I really didn't want to be one of those guys. But I still had another mile left to run for the PFT. If I stopped right then, I would have to redo the whole test from the beginning, and I really hate taking these things. So I decided to ignore it. That's how stupid I am. I think I might be having a heart attack, and my decision was to ignore it.

Well, it wouldn't be ignored. The pain began to get worse and worse, and seemed to spread across my chest and even up to my neck. I was gasping for breath. Now I was becoming very alarmed, but the finish line was now less than a half of a mile away. So once again, I decided to ignore what I was now absolutely convinced was some sort of cardiac event and just keep running. Well, jogging at least. I did slow way down. Like I said before, I'm an idiot.

So, I crossed the finish line and walked straight over to the Navy Corpsman that was in attendance for the event and told him my symptoms. I told him I thought we should get into the "safety vehicle" that was staged there and go to see a doctor. He offered me a small paper cup of water. I became somewhat more spirited in my request to go see someone who had actually attended medical school. He suggested that we should wait for the PFT to be over, since he was supposed to be there in case anything happened. I suggested that he should drive me to the medical clinic before I decided to pull his scrotum over his head. He found this line of reasoning to be most convincing. And so we left.

Now upon arriving at the Navy Medical Clinic aboard MCB Quantico, I walked up to the young petty officer at the desk and explained my symptoms. She was very polite, and entered me into the computer she was sitting at. Whatever she typed into that thing must have been some sort of code word for "middle-aged man having a heart attack" because they kind of freaked out after that. They put me into a wheel chair and swooshed me into the back. There they transferred me to a gurney and started attaching wires all over me. Suddenly there were about ten people in the room. Someone was pulling at my shirt, and then the next thing you know, they had cut it off. Then somebody cut my shoelaces and yanked off my running shoes. They wheeled in an EKG machine with even more wires and started trying to get an IV started in my arm. A nurse put two aspirin in my mouth and told me to let them dissolve. Try that sometime. It's nasty. I went from being somewhat concerned to being scared shitless.

The Navy Medical Clinic in Quantico doesn't have any emergency services. They have to call for an ambulance to take any emergency cases to the hospital in Stafford, a few miles away. I guess that explains somewhat why everyone was so excited, and maybe why they had such a time with the IV. The people working on me were all of pretty high rank, so I guess they were the senior doctors in the clinic and didn't do IVs a lot. They finally gave up after the ambulance crew showed up, but not before stabbing me about 12 times or so in both arms. Once they released me to them, the fat ambulance guy got one going in about 45 seconds. The next day both of my arms were covered in bruises. I'm still a little pissed about that.

This was the first time I had ever been in an ambulance that I can remember (I was in one many years ago, but was passed out. A story for another time.), and I was now quite thoroughly upset. The fat ambulance guy asked me about my pain in my arm and chest, asking me if it was the same. I realized that no, it was getting a little better. My fingers were still kind of numb, but the aching pain in my shoulder and chest was not as bad. He told me I was fine and stable, and that it looked like I was fine. I realized that he was probably right, and started to not feel as scared. Then I just felt foolish.

We made it to the hospital in just a few minutes, and they wheeled me straight into the emergency room. I told the doctor that I was feeling better, though my arm still ached quite a bit, and they did a blood test to see if I had had a heart attack. I had not. To make this long story a little shorter, I got an MRI on my shoulder, and the diagnosis was that I had torn the labrum in my shoulder during the pull-ups, and it had swelled, putting pressure directly on my brachial nerves, causing the pain and numbness. Talk about feeling foolish. I didn't even know I had a labrum. I thought that was just the ladies...

So anyway, they discharged me from the hospital in Stafford. They brought me a phone to call someone to pick me up. Here's the problem. I couldn't call anybody. You don't really know anyone's phone number these days. Your cell phone knows all the numbers. And my cell phone was rolled up in my spiffy USMC running jacket next to a tree at the PFT starting line. I went from feeling foolish to realizing that I was a freaking idiot. I had to look up the base operator and get the number to the Command and Staff College, which meant I had to talk directly to the second-in-command at the college, a full colonel, to arrange my ride back from my little freak out. Got into a little trouble from my girlfriend too, when she realized I couldn't remember her phone number.

So that's how I came to be sitting outside the hospital in Stafford, Virginia, waiting for a ride from one of my classmates, in only my green PT shorts with no laces in my shoes. Not my finest hour.

What's the moral to the story? I'm not sure... Maybe it's to memorize your emergency phone numbers. Maybe it's a precautionary tale about getting older and not being too tough to get checked out. Maybe it's that you should ignore all of that heart attack nonsense, because it's probably just your labia, you big pussy.

More Gun Control is Bullshit

2013-01-28T23:29:00.001-05:00

More Gun Control is Bullshit

I know, everyone is very emotional about the recent school shooting in Connecticut. Click the link if you happen to have spent the last several weeks in a cave somewhere and don't know what I'm talking about. This tragedy has energized the left to attempt a return to a failed policy of the Clinton administration, the Assault Weapons Ban of 1994. I'm obviously against it. Don't worry, I'm not going to go all "Fox News" on you, but as a Libertarian, I feel the need to speak out on why I think this particular debate is way, way off base.

My going-in position, when unsure which way to go, is almost always to side with more freedom, not less. That is true on all the divisive issues in America today: abortion, marijuana, guns, gay marriage, etc. I find no comfort in federal government control of almost anything. They never fail to make the situation worse than it was. Case in point--Prohibition. So, I think the burden of proof lies with the side that wishes to restrict something, not with the side that tends toward liberty.

Assault Weapons?

So now some people in the government are saying that we peasants are not allowed to own assault weapons. Those are to be reserved only for the government's own use. As you know, I'm usually pretty upset whenever the government tells me I can't have anything, especially something that the constitution says I have as an inherent right.

"...the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed."
Ring any bells?

But what, exactly are they trying to outlaw? Assault weapons? What the hell is an "assault weapon?"

What is an Assault Weapon, Anyway? The link will take you to an article describing what congress defined it as in 1994 under the Clinton administration. Most of the definition has to do with what the gun looks like, not how it works. Just so you know, defining a weapon this way is idiotic.

I'm not uneducated when it comes to guns. But I don't know what an "assault weapon" is. I know what an assault rifle is. It is a rifle, firing an intermediate cartridge (bigger than a pistol bullet, smaller than a full-sized rifle bullet), that offers select-fire. Select-fire means that you can switch it from either semi-automatic (one bullet at a time) or fully automatic (more than one bullet with each pull of the trigger). It was meant as a hybrid between the submachine gun and the battle rifle.

Submachine Gun (Automatic, small bullet)

Battle Rifle (Semi-automatic, large bullet)

Assault Rifle (Select-fire, medium-sized bullet)

Battle-rifle cartridge, Intermediate cartridge, Pistol cartridge.
See what I mean?

It is the option of switching the weapon to automatic fire, and a bullet small enough to control in automatic fire that makes it an "assault rifle." The pistol grip and carrying handle are not really the things that make the weapon what it is.

Select-fire and fully-automatic weapons have been under tight control for decades. If you want to own a true assault rifle, you already have to abide by some very, very tight regulations. These rules were established in 1934, under the National Firearms Act. The purpose of this legislation was to regulate what were then called "gangster guns," such as the infamous Tommygun and the Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR). Most of these restrictions remain to this day. We can debate the constitutionality of the 1934 NFA another time, but the point I'm making is that true assault rifles are already tightly restricted. The 1994 Assault Weapons Ban restricts weapons that look like assault rifles. The actual abilities of the weapons described in the ban are not much different to any other firearm, making the ban seem both ridiculous and ignorant.

Too little, too late

The next point I want to make is that the sheer number of weapons already available in the United States makes a ban impossible to enforce. According to the internet, the number of privately-owned firearms in the USA is between 300 million and a bazillion. And I can't imagine the internet would lie to me. That makes government control, or even government knowledge, of all America's guns pretty much the same as pissing in the Pacific Ocean. It will make you feel better, but it won't make any difference at all.

It may make you feel better,
but it isn't going to make any difference at all.

Right Wing News: The Assault Weapons Ban Didn’t Work Then and It Won’t Work Now

My next point is the most upsetting. It is the one you don't like to hear. Are you ready? Here it is:

First-graders are really easy to kill.

Nobody likes to think about it, but small children just cannot defend themselves against a determined adult, even if they take Taekwondo classes. Almost any able-bodied man can wreak havoc in an elementary school classroom with nothing more than garden tools. A nut with a machete could do an awful lot of damage.

Imagine how much damage this mouth-breather could do.

I don't even want to think about mixing samurai swords, weirdos, and ADHD drugs.

Maybe we should think about that a while, and consider controlling who gets their hands on those too. It's actually already been done: Ban on Assault Machetes

Massacres of defenseless children are shocking and terrible, but they are hardly a new phenomenon. They certainly pre-date the invention of firearms. If you attended Sunday-school in your youth, you may have heard the story of King Herod, for example. The key ingredient in mass killings is craziness, not firearms. Maybe we should look at applying our money and attention towards recognizing and treating mental illnesses before they make the evening news. But that's just my opinion.

Maybe more guns do mean more gun-related deaths; but do fewer guns mean that there are fewer homicides in total?

Here are some articles by people who certainly think so:

Washington Post Blog: Twelve facts about guns and mass shootings in the United States

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-katz-md/gun-control_b_2431686.html

Here's another guy who thinks otherwise:
http://www.theblaze.com/stories/the-media-isnt-being-honest-about-this-oddly-enough-the-data-in-this-viral-vid-has-been-left-out-of-the-gun-control-debate/

Here's the rub:

Private ownership of weapons is guaranteed by the Second Amendment to the Constitution of the United States. It certainly doesn't mention in that amendment that the weapons owned by the people should be inferior or antiquated. Therefore, any attempt to restrict this right to inferior or antiquated technologies is not in keeping with the constitution.

That is not to say that this cannot be changed, however. If the people really do want to restrict gun ownership (as the left avows), then there exists a mechanism to do so. Amend the constitution, overturn the 2nd Amendment, and get it ratified. Click here to see how. Otherwise, shut up about gun control.

Sisters in Arms

2012-12-10T21:52:00.001-05:00

Female Marines in Combat

I guess that today's submission is a little more serious and a little less funny than most, but it's something I have thought about a lot, and it's come up in the news lately. I read in an article recently that four female service members are filing a lawsuit against the Secretary of Defense on the grounds that the policies of the Department of Defense unfairly prohibit women from serving in certain occupational fields in the military.

Lawsuit (click the link to see the actual document)

The lawsuit contends that this prohibition inhibits the careers of women in the military, and violates their right to “serve on equal footing in defense of the nation.” The further contention is that women “do not receive credit” for their actions in combat (referring to promotion and retention purposes). I’m not exactly sure what this particular part means, since women can receive combat fitness reports the same as men do, but that’s what’s on the table.

S.W.A.N.

CBS News: Women Slowly Advance Into Combat Jobs

Christian Science Monitor: Women In Combat

Marine Corps Gazette: Women and Combat Can Mix

Now in recent history, there actually was an outright U.S. law against women in combat roles, that has been down-graded into a wish-washy admonition by Congress that the military must justify changing any policy to allow women in places where they have not traditionally been.

U.S. Code

So, it seems to me that the lawsuit wrongly addresses the blame for the policy onto the Secretary of Defense, rather than on Congress. To me, this lawsuit smacks of trying to legislate from the bench, and that pisses me off a little. Congress actually controls the military, in this little democracy we have here, by writing the laws that the military must follow.

The Way We're Supposed to Change Laws In This Country (click the link to see a bill actually being put forth in the congress about women in combat)

As the title of this blog indicates, I am probably going to hit you with my opinion. Here it is (drum roll...): My opinion in this case is—fine, let women serve in any job within the military, under the condition that the standards be exactly the same as they stand now for men. There should not be a reduction in the physical performance requirement, and there should not be a separate physical standard for women.

Here’s where the militant feminist types get upset. They would say that requiring women to do the same physical tests that men do is unfair to women. To which I say, “Who cares what you think?”

This isn't about being fair. The United States Marine Corps doesn't exist as an organization to make sure that its members get plenty of job satisfaction and opportunity for advancement. It doesn't exist to uphold the moral high ground. It exists to win battles. Period.

I get upset when people speak of the Marine Corps, or of the military in general, as if it is some sort of jobs program, or when they think it appropriate to push whatever social agenda they have. We are here to protect democracy, not to practice it. If a citizen brings something to the fight that helps us win, then we welcome him or her. If not, then we squeeze him out.

Women have played a vital role in accomplishing the mission for decades. More like centuries. I do not want to downplay their contribution in any way. Women have been present on the battlefield since ancient times. Plumbing is not the most important factor in determining a person's worth in combat.

But we have to be realistic, as well. The military cannot afford to live in a make-believe world where we pretend that there is no difference between the sexes. It is obvious to anyone with half a brain that there are some pretty important differences between men and women. For instance, men are 100% less likely to get pregnant than women. That's a scientific fact. Go look it up.

Viva la Difference

The tendency nowadays is to equate an acknowledgement of gender differences with racism, and that is just ludicrous. It is a completely valid point to say that that the differences between an Asian man, a black man, and a white man are just superficial It's only skin deep, as they say. But the difference between a man and a woman goes all the way to the bone. It is apparent at a very early age, and it is pretty much undeniable to any honest observer.

An article that takes a pretty drastic stand on just that point:

Why Modern Feminism is Illogical, Unnecessary, and Evil

If a woman is strong enough to do the job, exactly the same as a man, then I agree completely that it is sexual discrimination to outright bar her from performing such work. This is completely logical, right? Not only is it logical, but women are already in combat areas. They just aren't allowed in the direct combat units, like the infantry.

Lioness : Female Search Teams

It is logical to go ahead and take the next step, to put women in the infantry. But sometimes, something called common sense must intervene. Let's take a look at an example, the USMC Physical Fitness Test (PFT). The minimum standard for a male Marine is that he perform 3 pull-ups, run 3 miles in 28 minutes, and perform 50 sit-ups in 2 minutes. This is the minimum, and a Marine actually fails the test if he only gets the minimum score in all three areas. Let’s focus on the pull-ups for a second. Not many women I know, except for some pretty darn fit ones, can do many more than 3 dead hang pull-ups. This is the minimum score, the amount that keeps the man from being thrown out of the Marine Corps. You aren't impressing anybody in the Marines by doing 3 pull-ups. A Marine that consistently was only able to muster 3 pull-ups would be labeled a shit-bird and would attract all sorts of negative attention. He would be lucky to survive boot camp, and if he did, the next four years would be some long ones. Not to mention he would be hard-pressed to do some of the physical tasks he would be expected to do if he were assigned to the infantry. Things like climbing through a window wearing all his battle gear, for instance.

Marine Officer: Women Shouldn't Be In Infantry

This pull-up test is the requirement that some people will tell you is unfair, citing the obvious difference between the relative average upper body strength between men and women. And they are RIGHT. That fact is the thing that shoots their whole argument down. The argument is that there is no reason why women
shouldn’t be allowed to serve in the infantry, since they are as capable as their male counterparts; then in the next breath, they will explain that the same test cannot be used for both, as it would be unfair. Someone please explain this to me. Maybe I don’t get it because of my crude educational background. I did graduate from a junior college with the word “agricultural” in the title (true story).

Marine Lieutenant in Infantry Officer Course

Female Lieutenants Flunk Marine Corps' Fierce Infantry Training

IN DEBATE OVER WOMEN IN COMBAT, TRUTH IS THE CASUALTY

Let’s look at another very physically-oriented occupation— professional football. There is no rule or provision keeping women out of the NFL, that I know of. It is not against any section of U.S. Code, nor is it against any state law. Yet, how many women play in the National Football League? The answer, of course, is zero. And why is that? Two reasons— #1: women, on average, tend to be smaller and weaker than men, and #2: women, on average, aren't interested in playing football. The exact same forces are at work in the military.

Most women graduating from high school and college are not daydreaming of trying to lead a bunch of smelly dudes up a mountainside while wearing 100 pounds of gear, shitting in a hole they dug, and going a month without a shower. Of those that do daydream of such a thing, many cannot meet the physical demands. Many men can't either. Those with both the desire and the ability, however—I personally have no qualms at all about allowing them opportunity. Just don't act so surprised when women don't run out in droves to take the positions.

I can't imagine why this isn't more popular with women...

Twenty years ago, I had a different opinion. I used to be against gays in the military back then too, but I changed my stance. You see, there is another factor at work here, and it is the most powerful one of all—the self-image of the 19-25 year old American male. We need for these young Americans to see themselves as tough, dangerous, and bulletproof. We need our possible enemies to see them the same way. If men from that demographic can feel macho and manly about their job in spite of the presence of known homosexuals, then it really won’t matter that much if they are there. And the attitudes of that demographic change over time, along with society. Such was the case with allowing homosexuals to serve openly—it just ceased to be the huge deal it used to be. When you talk to the individual Marines at the small-unit level, they were much less concerned with the idea of homosexuals than the high-ranking leadership was. Don't get me wrong, it still caused some people to feel uncomfortable, but it didn't shatter the good order and discipline of the Marine Corps the way some thought it would.
(A little free advice: When writing about gays in the military, DO NOT do a Google image search of 'gay military.')

Maybe the same could happen with women in the combat arms, but only if we make damn sure that we don’t water anything down for them. Any time you try to social-engineer like that, you invite resentment. Take a look at this paper, written by a male Marine, as proof.

The Marine Corps PFT: Not Equal, Not Fair

If we are going to do this, we will need to recruit some seriously bad-ass women. I know there are women who have this kind of strength. If they want to do it, then more power to them. But never get the idea that you or anyone else has the RIGHT to be in the military in whatever job you desire. You don't. You SERVE in the military, in the capacity that your nation requires, according to your aptitudes and abilities. If you lack upper body strength, whether due to your lack of testicles or just due to unfortunate genetics, then maybe the infantry isn't for you.

Atlas Ate the Twinkies

2012-11-30T14:39:00.001-05:00

Occasionally, you hear about something on the news, and it seems like you are watching a bad movie. That happened for me recently, with the death-rattles of the Hostess baking company, makers of the beloved Twinkie and several other well-known tasty treats. In case you haven't heard, they had to go out of business due to a union strike. The union, the Bakery, Confectionery, Tobacco and Grain Millers Union (BCTGM), declared a walk-out after the company tried to implement a wage cut to try to prevent bankruptcy.

Click the link:

Spare the Twinkie, Hostess

This is a very disturbing development. After all, Twinkies and cockroaches were supposed to be the only things to survive the Apocalypse. When the Earth is covered in mushroom clouds and everything is being dusted with a layer of radioactive fallout, there was supposed to be a final shot of a cockroach eating a Twinkie, so you could know that life will go on. Now what am I supposed to hang my hopes on? Diplomacy? Please.

Of course, the whole thing is just an urban myth anyway. It turns out that the supposed indefinite shelf life of a tasty Hostess Twinkie is really only 25 days. I kind of wish I'd never researched that fact. Ignorance is bliss.

Nothing Lasts Forever (click the link)

Be that as it may, the Hostess Baking Company has been making these little creme-filled delights since 1930. They never really survived a zombie apocalypse, but they survived the freaking Great Depression. They had a pretty solid product line that has stood the test of time. Ever hear of Wonderbread? Ho Hos? Of course you have. This stuff is an American icon.

So what brought this wonderful piece of Americana down? Was it our increasing awareness of the dangers of trans-fats, processed flours, and sugars? Please. Americans were not about to abandon Twinkies. Take a look at these pictures:

You don't develop back boobs like these from obsessing over food labels.

I'm guessing he probably enjoys Twinkies.

No, it probably wasn't the nutritionally savvy American shopper that killed the Twinkie. It was good old-fashioned collectivism. Just the kind of stuff Ayn Rand writes about.

Some examples:

*$52 million in workers’ comp claims in 2011, according to bankruptcy filing this January.

*372 union collective-bargaining agreements, requiring the company to maintain 80 different health and benefit plans, 40 pension plans, and a $31 million increase in wages and other benefits for 2012.

*Union work rules required cake and bread products to be delivered to a single retail location using two separate trucks (cake in one, bread on the other).

*Drivers were not allowed to load their own vehicles. The workers who loaded bread weren't allowed to load cake.

I'm sort of amazed they lasted this long.

It would seem that the workers killed the golden goose. They forgot that they were on the same team as the management and owners. They were so obsessed with getting what they saw as their "fair share" that they cut their own life line. What's more, they don't care.

Twinkies bakers say they'd rather lose jobs than take pay cuts

"I'd rather go work somewhere else or draw unemployment," said Kenneth Johnson, a worker at Hostess for 23 years. Wow. That says it all right there. He would rather destroy the company altogether than accept a personal hardship. Keep in mind that nothing at all was stopping him from quitting that job and finding one somewhere else. Now there is no job at all, not even a low-paying one. Good going, Kenny.

What Twinkies teach us about labor relations

It's a little reminiscent of Atlas Shrugged, though instead of railroad rails made of Rearden Metal, it's tasty treats made of enriched wheat flour and high-fructose corn syrup. The important message is still the same. We are all dependent on the producers in our economy. If you squeeze them too hard, they just might stop producing, and the next thing you know, you're all out of Twinkies.

Who Should I Vote For?

2012-09-18T14:11:00.002-04:00

The Democrats are clearly not my party...

Democratic Party Platform

Just watch this "Party of Inclusion" video...

I am a white male, a hunter, and I own guns. Clearly my vote is not being courted there. I'm not gay or Hispanic or poor. I don't believe in big government or in the progressive tax (where your tax rate increases as your income increases). On the other hand, President Barack Obama is an eloquent speaker and the party is protective of individual rights and freedoms (except the one to own guns, strangely).

An awesome SNL video... Obama vs. Romney Cold Open

The Republicans are clearly not my party...

Republican Party Platform

I think evolution is a valid theory, I don't care if homosexuals get married or not, I think reproductive decisions belong in the hands of the individual, and I don't trust anything Paul Ryan says after the 2-hour marathon comment. On the other hand, Mitt Romney came closest to winning my vote with his comment that 47% of Americans act like victims, pay no taxes anyway, and he has no hope of reaching them. It is little moments of clarity and truth like that that make me trust a candidate. The media thinks he should hide it. I think he should shout it from the mountaintop.

Romney tries to get on track after video remarks

Are the Libertarians even running?

Apparently, there is a guy named Gary Johnson running on the libertarian ticket. I had to google it to find that out. Is voting for this guy the same as not voting at all?

Libertarian Party Platform

On the other hand, this is sort of convincing...

This is actually a pretty damn good commercial...

I'm the guy you're after, politicians. The undecided voter. And you aren't exactly blowing my skirt up. I have no idea who I should vote for. I have a buddy who says he'll write in Ron Paul, but that sounds very similar to not voting to me. Somebody help me, or I'll be standing in the booth for a long time come November...

I'll Still Say What I Want

2012-09-18T10:18:00.002-04:00

My last post was about the tendency of the Arab world to blame the United States for everything, no matter who does it. My example was the outrage over the Muhammad Film on YouTube the other day. I had a few of my more liberal friends try to explain to me that I am generalizing too much, that I took my combat experiences too personally, even that I am prejudiced or even racist. Well, maybe so. But I have at least been to the Arab world, and I have spoken to these kinds of folks one on one. So excuse me for forming a opinion.

Perhaps I lacked enough examples to make my case properly. Here are some more.

Point #1- This isn't isolated, and there are plenty of them.

The Philippines:

Marawi Muslims burn US, Israeli flags

This one is ironically funny:

Pakistani man dies after inhaling fumes from burning American flags at anti-Islam film rally

This one is in Turkey. Read the link to see a timeline of the violence.

How outrage against anti-Islam film unfolded

Sudanese demonstrators attack the U.S. embassy in Khartoum.

Photograph by: BAZUKI MUHAMMAD

Muslim demonstrators shout slogans and carry Malaysian flags as they march to the U.S. embassy, protesting against an anti-Islamic online video, in Kuala Lumpur.

This "Terrarist" has bad spelling.

Here's an article in the Christian Science Monitor that is taking the usual tactic of the United States these days, arguing that the demonstrations and attacks of the last week or so are the work of radicals, a small minority of the Islamic world. This may or may not be true, but I will tell you this--the Islamic world includes almost two billion believers. That's a ""2" and eight zeros. A small minority of a number like that is still a giant problem. Also, if there are so many more "moderate" people in these countries, why don't they get a handle on this crap?

Point #2- Their logic is stupid.

Sudan Embassies Attack: Protesters Target British, German Embassy In Khartoum

This film was made by immigrants to the United States from Egypt. It was not made by an American or Israeli film company. If it was, it would have been a shitload better and more clever. It certainly doesn't involve freaking Germany. Here's a mental model for you-- a retarded Spanish kid comes up and tells me I'm ugly and my mother dresses me funny. I get my feelings really hurt and I go set fire to a dumpster behind the Chinese embassy and burn a Pakistani flag. Wouldn't that be random and kind of stupid? Well, that's what these protesters are doing, only more violently and with less provocation.

Some more examples:

Photograph by: MOHAMMAD ISMAIL

Nato soldiers arrive at the site of a suicide bomb attack in Kabul September 18, 2012. Afghan insurgent group Hezb-e-Islami claimed responsibility on Tuesday for the suicide bomb attack on a minivan carrying foreign workers that killed 12 people including eight South Africans saying it was retaliation for a film mocking the Prophet Mohammad.

Photograph by: STRINGER

Lebanese Islamists wave Syrian Opposition flags to express solidarity with Syria's anti-government protesters as they burn an Israeli and a U.S. flag to protest against a film they consider blasphemous to Islam and insulting to the Prophet Mohammad, in Tripoli, northern Lebanon.

Photograph by: OMAR SOBHANI

An Afghan protester shouts slogans near burning tyres during a demonstration in Kabul September. Thousands of protesters took to the streets of the Afghan capital, setting fire to cars and shouting "death to America", in a demonstrations against a film mocking the Prophet Mohammad.

I'm sorry, but it is difficult to have respect for people who think like this. What they are really attacking is our very FREEDOM. That's what blasphemy laws are all about--making it illegal to speak out against religion. That is the polar opposite of freedom of speech. The fact that we allow people to express themselves is what offends these people. That is what they are really protesting. They think the American government should control what you say, so that you don't say anything that offends them. Fuck that.

I also heard the argument that the anti-Muhammad film protesters are no different than the "tea-party" groups in the USA. To that I say--BULLSHIT. They may be just as angry, and even just as religious, but they don't set fire to any embassies or murder any ambassadors. I'm no teabagger, but let's be honest.

The Daily Show's take on it...

And this one...

I'll Say What I Want

2012-09-15T13:33:00.000-04:00

All over the Middle East this week, violent Muslim extremists are protesting at embassies and storming consulates and attacking diplomats. They are burning cars, throwing rocks, and even murdered an American ambassador. This is happening in Libya, in Egypt, in Yemen, and in Indonesia. It is far from an isolated incident, sparked only by a few radicals. These people are indeed radical, but you can bet that they aren't few.

Explain to me how peaceful and understanding you are again.

Why did they get so upset? Because of this ridiculous video that was posted on YouTube:

Now, if you were able to withstand the horrible special effects, the abysmal writing, and the nearly unbearable acting, you would see that the film is pretty unflattering to Islam in general, and to Muhammad in particular. But the most offensive thing about the movie is its horrible production quality.

The film was made by a radical Coptic Christian man living in California. What is a Coptic Christian, you ask? Why, that is a sect of Christianity that formed in Egypt. As such, Egyptian Christians view themselves as Copts, or Coptic Christians. For a more detailed description, click these words.

So what does that mean?
It means that the makers of the film are freaking EGYPTIANS. Think about that for a minute. Why are the crazies storming the U.S. embassy, when the people behind the film (directed by a man called Nakoula) claim to be Coptic Christians? Riddle me that, Cairo.

This is Nakoula Basseley Nakoula. Or The Shadow.
I'm not 100% on that one.

Sure, the guys behind the movie moved to California, and have become American citizens. But this was hardly a production of the American government, or even of an American religious group.

This really means that these wacky radical groups are just anti-American, and that no amount of "cultural sensitivity" will make them behave peacefully. Apologizing to these assholes is exactly the wrong way to go.

This guy wasn't teaching kindergarten before the evil video made him crazy...

The U.S. government has exerted a ton of effort to convince me and a lot of other people in the military, the state department, and other agencies that we should be more sensitive to the viewpoints of Muslims, and that then they wouldn't be so motivated to attack us. Basically, we simultaneously adopted the Bush Doctrine of preemption and the practice of apologizing to everyone for offending them with our freedoms. This makes no sense.

So our policy is that if you harbor terrorists, we will come and destroy your country, but we will carefully tiptoe around your religious leaders and mosques. That way we can still be friends, right? Wrong.

Since when is it such a big deal to offend people? I'm offended by some things, too. I don't like the treatment of women in many of these countries, the use of medieval punishments for minor crimes, the wearing of man-dresses, etc. But I take the position that different people view the world in different ways. Live and let live, right? If my little blog offends you, don't read it. If your shitty you-tube video is insulting, I won't watch it. Simple.

I find man-dresses offensive.
Let's storm the Sudanese Embassy.

What makes these guys terrorists is that they don't argue against the video's ideas, and point out how terrible it is. Instead they try to scare people with their craziness to prevent behaviors they don't like. Why should we try to placate bullies like that? Because they say they are religious? Bullshit.

These guys used a lot of religion in their platform, too.

The ironic thing is, if all these protesters hadn't made such a huge stir, I would never have watched that little silly film. Even if I'd stumbled onto it on the internet, I wouldn't have made it more than a few minutes watching that piece of crap, and wouldn't have ever even seen the offensive parts. Now it has like 5 million hits, thanks to you guys making such a big deal about it. Way to go.

Jihad!!!

That is all beside the point, however. The real point is that here in America, we have this thing called the constitution. Perhaps you've heard of it.

This is why YouTube shouldn't pull the video,
and it's why the White House shouldn't ask them to.

The thing is, the constitution doesn't just protect the speech you like. That speech doesn't need protection. The constitution is there to protect the speech you hate.

If reading the constitution is too hard, you can watch this movie...

In order for a society to remain free and open, it cannot allow its freedoms to be restrained by intimidation. It is very important to remember that the kooky Egyptian guy in California didn't hurt anybody. Some assholes in Egypt did, and what they did isn't understandable or pardonable just because they were offended.

Vegans Suck

2012-09-13T15:01:00.001-04:00

Devilishly Handsome
Red-blooded American Omnivore

Skinny-fat Vegan Sissy-boy

Today I met a vegan, and I believe he may have been the most misinformed and stupid person I have ever met. He observed me eating my lunch, which was a leftover flank steak that I grilled last week. I was eating it cold, out of a plastic sandwich bag, without the aid of utensils as I often do. Caveman-style, if cavemen had had plastic sandwich bags, that is. It was delicious, but apparently this guy thought it was pretty offensive, which actually accentuates the flavor to me. He began talking to me about the dangers of red meat consumption, the horrors of the livestock industry, and the wonderful benefits of the vegan lifestyle. He did this with complete sincerity, even though he looked to be suffering from some sort of rickets or scurvy or some other major illness. I don't want to brag, but I'm a pretty healthy-looking guy. I lift weights, and can generally hold my own in most physical endeavors. I'm pretty sure that in an arm-wrestling contest with this particular vegan, I could rip his arm completely off his body and stick it up his sanctimonious ass. Which is what I fantasized about the entire time this little vegan spoke to me.

You may wonder why my musings suddenly turned so violent. Well, let me explain why I hate vegans so much. First of all, vegans are almost always hippies, and you know I hate hippies. Second, veganism is more than a choice they have made to not eat meat or use animal products. It is a philosophy that they have adopted that is, frankly, retarded. They also almost always choose to then project that stupidity onto me. That's when I get upset. If you want to go off and eat a weird diet of bean-sprouts and kale, go ahead—knock yourself out. But don’t try to ruin my lunch, you anemic little turd.

I like to examine both viewpoints...

I can respect vegetarians. They are wrong, of course, but all they are doing is choosing not to eat meat, and I respect people's personal choices. You can choose to live off a diet of nothing but Twizzlers and Cool-Ranch Doritos if you want. Just keep it to yourself. It’s like being gay—it’s fine with me, as long as you don’t try to make me be gay with you.

MMM...Fortified soy alternatives.
That sounds delicious.
Read this guy's blog...

How do I know the vegetarians are wrong? Because you have teeth in your head that are called canines, and they wouldn't be there if you hadn't evolved to eat meat, dumbass.

Canines are the pointy ones.
The ones that wolves and bears also have.
You know who doesn't have canines? Cows.

The Circle of Life.
Simba knows what I'm talking about.

Just how exactly do you suppose that people got by in the days before farming? Before we had corn to make into Doritos and Twizzlers? If you think people wandered around in the Stone Age finding berries and melons under every bush, you are very mistaken. Go out into a forest sometime and take a good look around. Take a close inventory of everything you find that you can eat. It isn't going to look like the produce section at Wegmans, I promise you. If you are lucky, you might find a grape vine or a nut-producing tree, maybe a rotten log full of grubs (those are animals too, by the way) but that's about all. There's lots of grass and leaves and acorns, stuff like that, but you can't digest it very well, even if you cook it. But you know who CAN digest that other stuff? The insects can. The deer can. And your digestive system is perfectly designed to digest the deer. You can eat nearly every single part of that delicious little bugger. And you know how to make weapons to kill the deer. See my point? It's the friggin' circle of life, for goodness sake. Watch The Lion King sometime. This is how people lived for eons until they learned how to farm about 10,000 years ago, which is just about a heartbeat in evolutionary terms.

Explain to me again how the banana is spiritual.

So, like I said, even though it is obvious that vegetarianism is fundamentally wrong, and our ancestors evolved to eat meat and animal products as the primary source of calories, I can respect the views of other people. I will not force them to eat meat. I may make fun of their skinny-fat appearance and general weakness, but I won't make them eat dead animals.
-----------Now, as if that's not dumb enough... Vegetarian Spiritualism...Follow this link for proof that I'm not just making this up. Apparently they think you can taste the cruelty in your food. If you can, I must think it is yummy.

Doesn't he look absolutely delicious?
Just imagine how tender the meat must be.

I have never really gotten the basic idea of vegans, or of vegetarianism. I mean, if you are against the killing and exploitation of living things, why is it okay to kill plants? Are they not living things, too? If your argument is based on self-awareness, I would say that a shrimp or an oyster (or a chicken, for that matter) is not too much more intellectual than a cabbage. Can we eat the stupid animals? What is the maximum IQ for being considered edible? Do you hear how stupid this sounds?

Nice tattoo.

The fact is, we as human beings are consumers in the food chain. Do you remember that from your science class in middle school? We have to get our energy from food, and that food is made from other living things that are either producers, or other lower-level consumers. You must kill another living thing and eat it, or you will die. This is the way the world works. So unless you are going to learn to photosynthesize, you better get used to it. I for one did not fight my way to the top of the food chain to eat lettuce.

The main reason I hate vegans is because they are almost all very militant about their weird dietary choices. As if they are saving the world. They think this is the Holocaust and they are Schindler. I guess the cows are the Jews.

This is a real cartoon I found on a vegan website.
I think it is pretty offensive to equate farming with murder and rape.
Not to mention how incredibly naive it is...

Bacon makes the strongest argument.
Mmmmm....Bacon.

Poop Volcano

2012-09-10T22:27:00.001-04:00

I haven't written in a while, I know. I actually have a job, though, even if it is working for the government, so cut me some slack. Anyway, one of my co-workers, a civilian charged to help the Marines overcome their writing disabilities, heard me telling some sea-stories a while back and has been after me to write down one of them in particular. So here you go, Wounded Knee.

The United States military is the most advanced, best-trained, and best-funded force in the history of Planet Earth. It is also the most expensive. People are constantly going on about military spending.

These things are pretty pricey, after all.

If you are a member of this force, however, you would get the impression that we are constantly on the edge of going bankrupt, or that we aren't getting any funding at all. The Marine Corps in particular is always behaving as if it is on a shoe-string budget.

Considered a luxury...

For instance, in Twenty-nine Palms, CA at the main camp for training units, Camp Wilson, everyone lives in metal huts with uneven dirt floors, no A/C, and worst of all, no partitions between toilets in the bathroom. How much could a few sheets of plywood have possibly cost? I get it that the Marine Corps wanted to make us tougher by making us deal with "expeditionary conditions," but I fail to see the training value of having to watch some hairy dude take a shit. Then again, I'm a private pooper, so maybe I am more sensitive to that sort of thing.

This should be illegal.

Not a lot of good pooping spots here.

Here's a story: Several years ago, when I was doing some training at the base in 29 Palms, we did what we called a "leader's recon," where the officers and Staff NCOs would go out to the live-fire ranges a few days before a big exercise to get the lay of the land. It would just be a small group in a couple of Humvee's, out in the vast training area in the Mojave Desert, which is only slightly more inhabited than the freaking moon. Anyway, there's this particular terrain feature there called the "Gator," which is a little finger of a hill that sticks out into the valley that has some old tank hulks and piles of tires that serve as targets for air strikes. We took our MRE lunch break at this particular location, and I became aware of a certain intestinal requirement that could not be postponed. The Gator is covered in big craters from the bombings, which just so happen to provide perfect hiding places for a private pooper such as me, so I counted myself lucky to have such a place available in this treeless wasteland. I announced my intention to everyone and grabbed my e-tool, my pack of baby wipes, and my modified shitter-stool (fashioned from a 40-lb shaped charge stand-off stand), and I climbed the hill, finding the deepest bomb crater I could, and I prepared to fire one off.

Now, let me set the scene more completely for you, Dear Reader... I was in 10-foot deep bomb crater in the impact zone of a live-fire range in one of the most deserted training areas of the largest and least-populated base in the Marine Corps, which also happens to be in the doggone MOJAVE DESERT. Think of the creepest parts of The Hills Have Eyes. I felt very much alone. So imagine how mad I was when the young lance corporal who was driving my Humvee crested the top of my private bomb crater, pulled down his trousers, and assumed a squatting position about five feet away and directly in front of me. I was furious. I was in mid-shit, but even so I started grabbing all the rocks I could reach and throwing them as hard as I could at that moronic devildog. What kind of jackass does something like that? This happened more than ten years ago now, but it still pisses me off.

No dog poop sign in Israel. I just find this hilarious.

But I digress...
I didn't start this off intending to write about shitting in the desert. I was going to tell you about shitting on a Navy ship. Or, more accurately, about one particular unexpected hazard of shitting on a U.S. Navy vessel at sea. It relates back to my earlier statement of how the military is always pinching pennies on the little things.

A toilet on a U.S. Navy warship looks pretty much like a toilet at your local high school or stadium or any other large public facility. Nothing special-looking about it at all, except for one key difference--it flushes with sea water, not fresh water. There's a good reason for this. While the ship is floating on an unlimited supply of salt water, fresh water must be made by filtering and distilling the seawater before it can be used for drinking, cooking, and personal hygiene. It doesn't make a lot of sense to then crap into this limited supply. So, things like flushing toilets and fighting fires are done with salt water.

The Navy really knows how to make you feel special.

Flushing toilets with seawater does have some consequences, however. One is a weird and unpleasant smell, that I have never really found anywhere else. The other is a buildup of a hard calcium deposit, caused by the reaction of the salt water and human urine. This calcium deposit can, over time, restrict the flow of water through the lines and cause the toilets to back up. This is remedied by treating the lines with an acid solution and then flushing them out with more water, which the Navy calls "hydro-blasting." What that means is a few unfortunate sailors are hooking saltwater fire hoses up to the shit-pipes and flushing them out with massive volumes of seawater. This activity is something that used to take place when the ship was in for refitting, but in order to save money and reduce turn-around time, they began doing it at sea in the 1990's. This doesn't sound all that bad until you really start to think it through.

This never stops being funny.

When a ship like an aircraft carrier is at sea, there are a lot of people on board--somewhere in the neighborhood of 6000. Those people all poop. Even children's books are clear on this. Just read Everyone Poops, by Taro Gomi. So you can't just close down all the heads (sailor-talk for bathroom) at one time for hydro-blasting. You have to do it in stages. That means that when you are blasting the poop-pipes with fire hoses, some of the heads are still in use. That means there is fresh shit in the shit-pipe. A lot of it.

An American Redneck in London

2012-07-03T13:43:00.001-04:00

Recently, I took a trip to the United Kingdom to see a certain ladyfriend of mine at Oxford University, about an hour's drive or so west of London. So the title is a little misleading, but it's catchier, so get over it. Oxford is the site of the famous colleges, yes, but it is also the location of some amazing developments in literature, like Alice in Wonderland, Lord of the Rings, and of course, the Oxford comma. I had never been to England before, except as a layover on a flight to somewhere really horrible, so this was a new experience for me. I was excited to go to the homeland, but it was not as I expected.

This is the church where Winston Churchill is buried. I know that's not funny. I just think it's cool.

The shared grave of J.R.R. Tolkien and his wife

First of all, summertime in England sucks. It rained almost constantly, with temperatures below 40 degrees at night (Fahrenheit, of course--though there was no way to know that because the TV insisted on giving everything in Celsius, but who the heck can figure out if you need a sweater or not with that). It was downright miserable there. It was June, but it bore a strong resemblance to early March in Virginia. Apparently it had been sunny for three days in a row two weeks before I got there, and that was all people were talking about--the freak weather occurrence where the sun came out for more than five minutes. There was one day during my visit that it didn't rain for about 8 hours. It was magical. I'm convinced that this is why Oxford University was founded there. It was just too nasty to go outside, so they might as well stay in and translate the Bible or whatever. So every cloud has a silver lining, as they say.

It's raining again... I know, let's invent books!

Nice day, huh?

Isn't summertime great?

Second, they drive on the wrong side of the road. I thought I knew that already, and I would just remember it. But I didn't. As a red-blooded American citizen, I have spent the last 40 years or so walking up to a street and looking left first, because when people drive on the correct side of the road, that's where they come from. But not here in freaking Middle Earth. They come from the other way. Apparently bus drivers receive some kind of bounty for hitting pedestrians, because it actually seemed they were trying to hit me.

Yes, it's a double-decker, yes it's kinda neat, but it will kill you if you stand in front of it.

Now, like I said, you'd think you could remember that wrong-side-of-the-road business. But you can't because of a combination of my first point about the weather and the fact that there is a bar or pub about every 20 feet (or 6.1 meters). People drink at breakfast. I'm not talking about the guy outside wearing a garbage bag as a jacket either. I mean middle-aged ladies on the way to shopping or work or whatever. Drinking is the main pastime. They do this to help drown out how shitty it is there, I am convinced. Regardless, the effect it had on me was to keep me from remembering which way to look for oncoming traffic, so every intersection was a life-threatening challenge. Those drivers are a bunch of half-drunk, sallow-skinned homicidal maniacs.

Let me take your mind off of those pesky buses. And the weather. And your responsibilities.
And the fact that none of your teeth face the same direction.

An actual street sign. I took the picture myself.
I think it is intended to alert the bus drivers that they are in a target-rich environment.

The British seem to think this sign helps.

Now, this next comment is a bit cliche, but it's true. The food is not very good. In fact, it sucks. English people don't know what bacon is. They think they do, but they don't. If you order bacon, they bring ham. There is something basically wrong with that. They will bring you beans for every meal if you let them, even breakfast. They have "bangers," some kind of tasteless greasy sausage with no spices in it. Also, there is porridge on the menu. I was unaware that people actually ate porridge anymore. My stomach was not prepared for fairy-tale foods. I discovered something called "Marmite," a yeast extract that smells like a decomposing corpse, which these folks consider a condiment. You can't find any mustard, but this crap is on every table. There's Splenda sweetener, but it is in the form of tiny little pills. Strange indeed. Don't even bother trying to find the ketchup. You may find something that says ketchup on the package, but don't you believe it. You'll just ruin your sandwich.

It may be delicious. I was never brave enough to get past the odor of death.

Why on earth are there beans on my plate?

Not the least of my criticisms is this--for a country that supposedly spawned the language, nobody seems to speak it. Take a look at this Wikipedia page as an example. I tried to order a smoked salmon and chives omelette (it was on the menu, I didn't just make it up) at a restaurant, and you would have thought I was speaking in Chinese. I even pointed at it on the menu. We had a discussion about it, after which the waiter went to the kitchen and then returned to the table for another discussion. Lots of hand gestures and more pointing at the menu. The guy ended up bringing a smoked salmon sandwich with scrambled eggs on top of it. I realize I have an accent myself, but good grief.

Everything has a fake-sounding name, like Rabbits Warren or some such nonsense. But the cussing is fun. Words like bollocks, buggered, feck, and wanker are bad words there, but to me they just make the person sound ridiculous. The angrier they are, the funnier it sounds.

One more thing... I've made a couple of references to the use of the metric system in this blog, which would be fine if they actually stuck to it. I've been to other countries that used it, and it was different, but at least understandable. In England, they seem to use about ten or so different systems. For instance, in the bathroom there was a scale that tells me that I weigh between 14 and 15 stones, whatever that means. You buy gas by the liter, beer by the pint, and whiskey by the fifth. You get a peck of apples at the grocery store. Gordon Bennett!

It is a perplexing and remarkable mix of history and modernism. Everything there is at least a thousand years old, it seems. New College at Oxford was built in 1371, for instance. That's the new one. You have college kids doing crazy things like dumping ketchup on each other's heads when their exams are finished, but they are wearing some kind of weird tuxedo/judge's robe while they do it, and they are standing in a castle.

The original walls to the city, at New College

They sound weird, but they are still college kids.

That pretty much sums up my opinion of Oxford, England right there--it's as if modern life is going on right in the middle of a museum, or at least the set of Harry Potter. It's surreal.

Tattoos Are Stupid

2012-05-21T23:26:00.000-04:00

For certain.

I have been in the Marines for more than 22 years, and I have no tattoos. I know that is hard to believe, but it is true. Basically everyone I know seems to have at least one, but not me. I've sat in tattoo parlors while inebriated and considered the standard USMC and barbed wire versions, but my good taste always intervened at the last moment. Well, good taste and an alarming lack of funds. As a young man I had more children than dollars, a fact that also kept me from getting overweight. "The Poverty Weight-loss Plan" is what I used to call it.

The standard devildog tat...

In retrospect, I am thankful that my kids were bleeding off all of my discretionary income. I mean, the only valid reason I've heard to get a tattoo is that it is a means of self-expression, a way to set yourself apart as an individual. But if everybody is getting a tattoo, then how exactly is that going to set you apart? In fact, the opposite is happening--you are just another lemming following a fad.

I really get a sense of your individuality when you all do the same thing like that.

Now, I am a total go-your-own-way libertarian, so you may be wondering why I have a bug up my ass about such a silly thing. The answer is that my beautiful, innocent daughter wants one. She already got a nose ring (which I REALLY don't understand), and now she wants to write some kind of poetry indelibly on her body somewhere. She's 20, so she can do whatever she wants, but it does worry me a little. It's easy to be all libertarian when it's somebody else, but when it's your little girl, you tend to get a little emotional.

From a practical standpoint, the real problem with tattoos is that they are so damn permanent. The pretty little butterfly that you get when you are young slowly transforms into a terrifying pterodactyl when you get older. I suppose, philosophically speaking, nothing we do is permanent. If you wait another few years the degenerated butterfly-pterodactyl will be nothing but mush in a coffin, so what's the difference? That's a little too cynical even for me, though.

Even if you quote the Bible, it's still slutty.
And if you quote enough of it, it starts
to be stupid, too.

WTF is right, young lady.

Another point to ponder--what if the guy doing it can't draw, or is high on crystal meth, or something? You could wind up with something really awful, even if you pick something that sounds okay. A guy I was on ship with once had a terrible tattoo of what was supposed to be a snake with a "USMC" written across it. It came out like a worm drawn by a kindergartner with cerebral palsy. Remember the British roommate in the movie Bridesmaids? You could get a Mexican Drinking Worm tattoo.

You might want to put some frozen peas on that.

Sometimes there are no words.

Another real danger is the idea that tattoos are "addictive." Apparently, once you break the seal, you are powerless to stop yourself from becoming a total douchebag or douchette. This is bullshit of course, but what if it's more like losing your virginity? You know, the first time you are all reserved and shy, but soon enough you're hanging from the chandelier. You know what the body-modification equivilent of chandelier-sex is? Lady GaGa. Think about that for a moment, fathers with daughters. It's frightening.

I truly hope those things are glued on.

Please don't do this, Tina...

Bullshit Rules

2012-04-24T01:45:00.000-04:00

Dear Readers,

If you have been following this little blog for very long, you are probably well aware by now that I dislike unnecessary government restrictions. Recently I bumped into just such a restriction. There is a wildlife refuge nearby, and I sometimes go for runs along the trails of this refuge. Then one day I noticed a homemade sign taped to the window of the always unoccupied guard shack at the entrance that said “No Jogging.” This sign pissed me off.

I am often overwhelmed with the desire to do the opposite of whatever a sign says.

Now first off, I’m no great runner. I actually really dislike running. The Corps requires a certain level of proficiency at this, however, so I must engage in it fairly regularly. When I do, I try to do it at locations that will allow me to do it without being hit by an automobile.

I hate being hit by cars even more than I hate running.

There aren’t really that many such safe locations around here. See my previous post about the traffic, for example. So when I find a good one, I get a little upset when some bureaucrat tells me I can’t use it for no apparent reason. I especially hate rules being made when there isn't even anyone around to enforce them.

This time, I got so upset that I wrote them the following email on the comments link of the Occoquan Bay National Wildlife Refuge website:

I decided to go all "Leslie Knope" on their asses.

SUBJECT: No Jogging Policy

COMMENTS: Recently, I visited the Occoquan wildlife refuge and noticed a sign on the window of the gate station that jogging was not allowed on the refuge. I also have a friend who tells me that a ranger stopped her and told her she isn't allowed to run there. Can someone explain why this is the case? This restriction is not listed on the website, and it really makes no sense to me. Pedestrian traffic is allowed, in the form of hiking, so why on earth would I not be allowed to observe nature at a faster pace? Trail running is a valid means of observing and experiencing the wildlife on the refuge.

Please explain this unreasonable restriction of my enjoyment of MY National Wildlife Refuge. In what way is traveling through the park on foot incompatible with the goals and objectives of the refuge? And if traveling on foot is acceptable, then my speed of travel should not be an issue.

Thank you,
Walt Carr, Concerned Citizen

Maybe not my very best work, but I don’t think any of it seems all that unreasonable. Of course I never seem to think I’m being unreasonable, even as I tell someone they are an idiot, so maybe I’m not always the best judge of such things. In any case, I received the following reply a couple of days later:

Dear Mr. Carr,

I am writing in response to your email inquiry in regards to jogging on Occoquan Bay NWR:

Unfortunately, jogging does not support a refuge purpose, objective, or goal and would not benefit the natural or cultural resources present within the Refuge Complex. It is not identified as a priority public use of the National Wildlife Refuge System under the National Wildlife Refuge System Administration Act of 1966 (16 U.S.C. § 668dd-668ee), as amended by the National Wildlife Refuge System Improvement Act of 1997 (Public Law 105-57).

Foot travel is allowed on all established refuge trails so that visitors may experience the priority public uses of wildlife observation, photography, interpretation, and environmental education. Jogging is not required to experience these uses. Jogging may inconvenience visitors engaged in priority public uses by potentially disturbing wildlife that others are observing or photographing. Another potential conflict is that the typical trail width on the Refuge Complex may require joggers or the wildlife observers to step off trail in order to allow room to safely pass. This activity not only causes inconvenience to visitors engaged in priority public uses, but may also disturb vegetation and wildlife adjacent to the trails. Opportunities for jogging are available at other public lands and parks within a mile of each refuge within the Refuge Complex.

These documents were all released in draft for public review and comment. The 49-day comment period was from January 5 to February 22, 2011. An announcement that these documents were available for review was also published in the Federal Register (76 FR 582) on January 5, 2011, in a newsletter we distributed to individuals on our project mailing list and posted on our Web site, and announced at three public meetings we held on February 2 and 3, 2011.

No, the jogging restriction in not listed on our website. Instead the website focuses on allowable refuge uses. However, I will consider your feedback when redesigning the refuge website later this year.

**********************************************************
Amanda A. Daisey
Deputy Refuge Manager
Potomac River National Wildlife Refuge Complex
12638 Darby Brooke Ct.
Woodbridge, VA 22192

Apparently, this guy finds the idea of people exercising on public lands inconvenient.

Now, I am intelligent enough to know when I am being told off by a government flunky. This little note, when translated from legaleze to English, basically says “Screw you. We make the rules around here, and we saw you laughing at our funny ranger hats. Go find somewhere else to run.”

I get tons of chicks with this hat.

I reacted poorly to this, of course. At first I was pretty angry, but after a short cooling-off period and a little Duplin wine, I wrote the following reply:

Dear Ms. Daisey,

I appreciate your prompt reply to my question.

Your explanations do not make very much sense, however. You simply restated the unsubstantiated claim that running on a path is somehow harmful to the wildlife and other visitors. You have failed to describe any logical reason why running down a trail is any different than hiking down the trail. Neither activity is identified as a priority public use of the National Wildlife Refuge System under the National Wildlife Refuge System Administration Act of 1966 (16 U.S.C. § 668dd-668ee), as amended by the National Wildlife Refuge System Improvement Act of 1997 (Public Law 105-57). What is identified is that activities that allow the public to experience the wildlife should be facilitated, subject to such restrictions or regulations as may be necessary, reasonable, and appropriate.

My position is that your restriction on my rate of travel when on foot is neither reasonable, necessary, nor appropriate. Frankly, the potential conflicts you describe are ridiculous. People are allowed to drive their cars down many of these trails, and all are wide enough to allow vehicles to easily traverse them. Two pedestrians meeting on these trails would hardly be forced to trample any wildlife. For that matter, in all the times I have traveled those trails, I have never encountered more than a handful of visitors on the entire refuge. I also do not understand how you assume that a person doing a trail run is not engaging in wildlife observation, photography, interpretation, and environmental education. Running is not required to do this, but it hardly precludes it either.

I do not in any way consider this matter closed, 49-day comment period notwithstanding. I believe your policy to be an unreasonable and arbitrary restriction.

Thank you,

Walt Carr

This argument is only just beginning. I will keep you posted on how it goes. I fully intend to pester the crap out of these people, while simultaneously breaking this rule as often as possible. It actually almost makes running fun.