Gender: Male
Status: Single
Age: 25
City: Seattle
State: Washington
Country: US
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[07 Nov 2008 | Friday]
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Current mood:  argumentative
Category: News and Politics
http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog....
A touching and insightful post by an intelligent friend from High School who has the poise and grace to lovingly differ from her husband in politics. An interesting discussion in the comments ensues, including my own two cents.
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[07 Nov 2008 | Friday]
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Current mood:  amused
Category: News and Politics
http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog....
Some interesting thoughts from my friend Sunny-D, which I for the most part echo. Kudo's to him and an encouraged read.
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[07 Nov 2008 | Friday]
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Current mood:  amused
Category: Blogging
http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog....
An interesting set of thoughts from my friend Sunny-D... Take a read if you have time.
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[08 Oct 2008 | Wednesday]
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The somewhat huddled heads thunderously echoed my top-of-my lungs calls from under the cover of their muddled green and brown camouflage patrol caps. There was a slight drizzle which made everyone sort of huddle under our wet weather gear which didn't really keep us dry because the water just ran down our necks past our unused attached hoods. The gear didn't let our body's breath, so we felt like we walked in a perpetual sauna. Wet weather pants were always sized a bit too big to fit over our uniforms so they rubbed as we walked. This added a brush-on-snare sound to the other percussion of the march. The sound of the left boot step, with its thud, followed by the wet slurp of the right as it left the pavement, then the brush-swish of the wet weather gear and the thud of the right boot. It was over this rhythm that I bellowed, "Eighty-Second…" to the thunderous choral echo. "Patch on my shoulder," my baritone rang out and was answered in the timely cadence. "Pick up your ropes and follow me!" I sang to the reply, "AIR ASSAULT infantry" I emphatically finished. From behind me in the formation, a rather thin man with a brown round campaign hat jauntily tilted forward on his head, barked "you don't know nuthin' 'bout no Air Assault. Now step it out!" Nodding, I added inches to my stride and picked up the tempo.
Drill Sergeant Harris had been there and done that. He was a no-nonsense Sergeant First Class who on the first day of training had sat the forty of us in third platoon down on our four foot square blocks of white tile in our bay of the barracks and said, "Before all you Privates start botherin' me for a story of what Iraq is like, let me tell you this. I have killed people; in fact I've killed more people than are sitting in this room. That's all I'm going to say, SO DON'T ASK!" He then continued on with whatever other routine administrative business he had which is what he always did when he sat us on our four square tiles. But our attention was elsewhere. We stared at him in awe and wonder, our mouths slightly agape. It was like our seventeen-year old big brother had just told us thirteen-year olds that he'd just gotten laid. We were proud of his accomplishment as if we had something to do with it just by our relationship to him. There was an almost universal set of thoughts in the air; we all thought DS Harris was a badass, accompanied by the questions, "What was it like?" and "I wonder if I can do that." We all thought in unison of how it would go down and imagined ourselves there pulling the trigger.
If there was any theme to be pulled from training, it was that uniformity was paramount. It didn't matter if an action was right so much as it was a question of whether everyone in the formation was doing it. It would seem like this would be an easy accomplishment as we did everything together, at the same time, at the same place and in the same way. We ate together, went to train at the same time, used the latrine in the same place and went to bed the same way at the position of attention. Anyone who didn't do what the rest of us were doing stuck out like a sore thumb and immediately attracted unwanted attention. DS Harris scowled, "So we have an individual!" and half-strutted, half marched over to the individual in question, placed the brim of his brown round several millimeters from their face and proceeded to berate, admonish and insult them at a seemingly impossible volume and unmatched vocabulary. The individual, the title became nearly an epithet, was then put through a series of exercises that undoubtedly improved their physical fitness and reminded them to never make that mistake again.
As training progressed, the uniformity didn't change but it became more self-determined. In the second to last phase of the training, DS Harris gave us the freedom to choose a bay leader, a leader among equals who would be the go to person for questions around the bay like "Which squad has latrine detail?" and "Why do we always start on the right side of the bay for fireguard?" Essentially this was to keep us from continuing to annoy DS Harris with what he termed "inane bullshit." So with our collective implicit trust in the Army and its rank structure, we chose the highest ranking among us to be our bay leader.
Specialist Cruz was older than most of us at 24 and had a college degree, which is why he was given his rank from day one while the rest of us were Privates and Privates, First Class. He was also the son of the United States Ambassador to some tiny country in Micronesia or somewhere and had a sense of entitlement to match his disrespect for civilian authority. A personable guy amongst us troops, he did well for the first week of his tenure, but following a Friday night hotel party, a two thousand dollar booze budget and several underage soldiers, Cruz found himself staying overnight in the local jail and removed from his position of leadership.
On Monday morning, we assembled at the front end of the bay next to the two-man room to attempt to choose a new bay leader to replace Cruz. For some of us, our trust in the rank structure had slipped and the shackles of conformity so rigidly clapped around our minds and hands by DS Harris had loosened ever so slightly with our newfound freedoms. So we discussed a democratic selection process, only to get hung up on whether or not to have secret ballots, who should be nominated and other details. The part of the platoon that still trusted the rank structure and suggested that leadership should go to the next highest ranking individual, argued that "It's not our fault Cruz is a shitbag." The discussion got heated and just before the entire process seemed like it would take a very "Lord of the Flies" turn, something happened that made us forget all about the subject at hand.
Our barracks bays met the basic needs of shelter very well. Each soldier had the top or bottom bunk on a set of bunk beds with a vinyl encased mattress covered in simple white cotton sheets and a wool army blanket. We each had a drab beige sheet metal wall locker in which to store our uniforms, gear and personal effects that clanged whenever you opened or shut the door. The bunks and wall lockers were each arranged in a perfect line aligned with the lines in the floor tile and evenly spaced so there were exactly three tiles between a soldier's wall locker and bunk and seven tiles between one row of bunks and lockers and the next. This was the only furniture on the highly polished floor. Our shower shoes, running shoes and boots were perfectly aligned under each bottom bunk with laces tucked in. On one end of the bay were the latrines; a row of stalls, urinals, sinks and a separate room for equally uniform shower stalls. On the other end was the two-man room in which the bay leader had the privilege of sleeping, separate from the rest of us. Overhead, the ceiling is composed of acoustic ceiling tiles with a vague resemblance of cottage cheese and fluorescent light sets with flimsy frosted covers, running in a perfect grid. Often, some individual would think they could outsmart the drill sergeants and hide contraband up above the ceiling tiles, but arrangement and order was perfect down below with everything on-line and dress-right-dressed.
A ceiling tile popped up and a black hole appeared above me to my right, mostly unnoticed by the rest of the platoon which continued to argue over who should lead and how someone's marksmanship or physical training score is no basis for a system of leadership. A white streak flew down from the ceiling, landing on only to jump off of the bald pate of the soldier next to me, bounced off his arms that were crossed over his chest and flew under the closest bunk.
"HOLY SHIT"; "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!" and a smattering of other obscenities and exclamations careened from our surprised crowd. It was a rat. A very large rat and in after a moments tacit deliberation, we collectively decided we'd been invaded by the enemy and must engage them in close combat. "GET IT!" someone yelled and everyone moved on the offensive, reached for the closest weapon, swung, kicked or swatted at the white blur that danced and skittered from under one bunk to the next. The formerly neat and ordered footwear flew at it in a spray-n-pray tactic. Bunks were pushed aside and bodies scrambled under, over and around each other to be the first to get a confirmed kill. This was it. What we'd been trained for. All the chants of "Blood, blood, blood makes the grass grow" and every stab and thrust with our bayonets that had been punctuated with "KILL!" poured out of us in a pell-mell rush to be the one to draw first blood.
All the way down the bay, the rodent held us at bay, dodging fists and feet and finding cover from boots, sandals and books. It desperately sought refuge and found none on the glassy floor. It rounded the corner at the latrine end of the bay as someone had the foresight to cut off its avenue of retreat and forced it back up the other row of bunks and lockers. We gave it no quarter. Finally someone grabbed a towel and scored a hit, enveloping the vermin in a shroud of olive drab terry cloth. As it was scooped up and captured alive, we let out a cry of collective triumph at the capture of our prisoner of war. We were successful and had emerged victorious and all hail the glorious conquers. Like conquers, we immediately departed down the stair to the main company area to display our prize trophy, the towel wrapped rat. The troop holding it lead the way, like Caesar leading the legion back into Rome.
As we headed down the stairs, DS Harris was charging up them. Apparently our battle had not gone unnoticed. "WHAT IN BLAZES IS GOING ON HERE?" he bellowed as he eyed each of us, finally resting his gaze on the small squeaking rodent. "DEATH FROM ABOVE, DRILL SERGENT!" I hollered ecstatically, which was echoed by "Air assault" and "Hooah!" from various other places in the mob. DS Harris looked me carefully and I saw something I'd never seen before in his eyes. A depth that was unfathomable; the loneliness of an experience that only he would know and would be unable to fully share with anyone, even those he'd been there with. As he turned to walk away, I saw the look in the Iraqi's eyes as SFC Harris had pulled the trigger on his weapon.
The Screaming Eagle on his right shoulder above the American flag flexed its claws and shook its head. In an instant it explained to us, "You think you've seen combat? You think you know what it's like now? Now that it took forty of you to catch a fucking rat. Good, you're ready to go, even if you're not ready to get there."
Not many men have had as much impact on my life as DS Harris. He shaped and molded me in ways that I can't even begin to explain to a civilian, taught me about motivation and team work, and fascinated us with his impeccable image, lean, mean and green in his Class A uniform on graduation day, set off by his perfectly flat campaign hat, shiny Air Assault badge and Combat Infantry Badge amongst a deluge of other ribbons, awards and badges. Each of us with our two little ribbons and single marksmanship badge went to him and thanked him for being our drill sergeant and all he taught us. He gruffly accepted our thanks and wished us "Good luck. You did well" with a small glint of pride as he shook our hands, but as he walked alone back to the barracks, I couldn't help but remember the look in his eye and what the eagle had said.
Drill Sergeant Harris would forever be an individual.
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[29 Sep 2008 | Monday]
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Current mood:  artistic
Category: Writing and Poetry
(A piece of fiction written for my English 101 class) The last time I saw my dignity was about three drinks ago. I think it left with my coordination because I saw a yellow cab from the curb and then head north to the express way. Maybe that's what I should be doing. It's not like I blame them. I mean three Tanqueray and tonics and a few cheesy pick-up lines would make just about anyone wrap it up and call it a night, especially considering the bad outcomes. I think the breaking point was when I spilt Barbara's Cosmo all over her chest, staining her white blouse, when I bumped into her. She was pretty, blond, about five foot six, a perky C-cup and a slight overbite and seemingly detached from the two friends she came with. She came to The Aqua, like we all did; dressed to impress and out for a good time. In the back of her mind, she thought that she might just get lucky. Not get laid, though she might come to that, but lucky in the sense that she could find a half-way decent guy who could hold a conversation and maybe, possibly, incredibly, keep around for a long term relationship, take home to her mom and dad in Idaho Falls, get-married-have-kids-and-grow-old-on-the-front-porch with. Right after she reflected on that thought, pushed it to the back of her mind and paid the bartender for her drink, she turned to return to Sarah and Kate in their booth, scoffing at her nostalgia. As the cold vodka seeped into the fabric and images of Oceanspray cranberries came to mind, she thought to herself "Great, just great!" As my face matched her blouse's rapidly blossoming color, I stammered "I'm-m so, so sorry…" gesturing helplessly in front of my own chest. I reached out towards her; only to stop a few inches from her as my alcohol slowed brain realized I was reaching towards a very personal area of her body. I pulled back a few inches, but then in desperate attempt to do something, anything to try and help, reached out again. After several iterations of realization of personal space and desperation to help, my hands slumped my sides and I let out a defeated sigh. "Is there anything I can do at this point to seem like a drunken idiot? I mean, not seem like a drunken idiot" my buzzed brain finally manages to put together and somehow muttered. The sense of defeat in the moment and the night in general crystallized as the bartender offered a bar towel to clean up the remaining dribbles and drops from our bodies, a slight chuckle under his breath. The rest of the club continues to move, converse, dance, cavort in its usual rhythm and chaos as we stand there staring at each other like two ocean piers in the middle of spring storm. "You can start by buying me another drink," she utters after what seems like forever, breaking the thunderous silence. "Oh. Yeah. Sure, I'll pay to have that cleaned too… if you want." She stares back rather incredulous but a slightly amused smile at my attempts to dig myself out of my half-Chinese hole emerges as some of the stress and emotion slides from her shoulders and she inhales. "Yeah… sure… thanks." A word to the bartender and another round in hand, I pass her martini glass to her, offering my hand to her, "I'm Ryan by the way…"
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[02 Mar 2008 | Sunday]
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Current mood:  contemplative
Category: Life
Translation: I think, therefore I am.
Like awakening from the sleep of one who is completely exhausted, I am reviving my mind and thoughts. I had forgotten the satisfaction of thinking and thinking hard about a subject. Some people don't understand how thinking and discovering are satisfying. It boils down to a difference in pleasures. Not like the difference between a roller coaster ride and a first date (2 entirely different experiences), but like the difference between a 5 year old enjoying a lollipop and someone with a cultured palate enjoying a glass of magnificent wine(The same experience, taste, but on one hand a sweet tooth and the other a sublime appreciation of a wondrous complexity). It's not that its more expensive (the wine could be home-grown in rural California and the lollipop from a NY boutique) or just because its "high culture" (some of the most thoughtful men rejected most of society), but being thoughtful, having a philosophical approach, literally being a student of thought, knowledge and wisdom causes every pleasurable moment to be even better, more complex. Jokes are funnier when they have multiple layers of meaning; epiphanies and discoveries that much more sublime when they tie together not just 2 concepts but intertwine with the answer to 20 questions (while provoking 40 more) and experiences immensely more rich when highlighted and contrasted with the vast array of human experience connected by the critical thinking mind.
So I reverse Decarte's argument for the moment and broaden it to my entire audience who reads this - "You are, therefore THINK!" Only then is life more than a collection of years, but rather your interjection and comment in the great dialog of ideas from those who have thought before and those who shall think after.
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[01 Dec 2007 | Saturday]
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Current mood:  pensive
Category: Parties and Nightlife
"Alcohol; the cause and solution to all the world's problems." –Homer Simpson The more time that I spend at the bar the more I begin to see the social lubrication that alcohol provides. I once talked to some friends about how ever culture has its social activity that its community revolves around – coffee shops in Seattle, hookahs in the Middle East, chai in Central Asia and Yerba Mate for South American cultures. I think when we were talking about it, at a conservative Christian school that didn't allow alcohol; we underestimated the culture and society that revolves around booze. It seems to transcend geographic boundaries as well, making me think that the "dive" bar is a ubiquitous social fixture in most alcohol tolerant cultures. Be it ales in the pubs of England, vodka shots in east of the Urals, ouzo in Greece or soju in Korea, ever geographic locality has its "poison" of choice. Wikipedia mentions that "Intoxication frequently leads to a lowering of one's inhibitions, and intoxicated people will sometimes do things they would not do while sober, often overlooking social, moral, and legal considerations." A major factor in the social lubrication aspect of alcohol, as the first inhibitions to go by the wayside would be the loosely held fears of social rejection. Admittedly, the further you delve into "liquid courage, " the more you begin to sacrifice more solidly held convictions until moral and legal considerations with their attached ramifications soon find themselves going out the window. Case in point, guy drinks until his social inhibitions decline to the point that he no longer fears rejection from the pretty girl at the bar, but soon drinks so much that he no longer fears the legal ramification of lewd conduct in public. The first portion could be seen as having a positive effect on society in a day and age in which our self-esteem and perception is frequently compromised by the media continued injection of what men and women are "supposed to be", there is something to be said for lowering our fear and feelings of inadequacy which are in large part artificial. However, I think that we also see the negative backlash, due to the freedoms we seemingly develop while intoxicated, leading to a cyclical process of divorce of ourselves from our convictions and, at least in our drunken brains at the time, the consequences which underpin those convictions. All too soon we forget the legal and physiological results of our activities, including the primary activity, drinking. I think this cyclical effect is partially to blame for the rapid increase in binge and underage drinking. Very few sober people would suggest drinking until one passes out is enjoyable, but yet it happens. When in the midst of the moment, your inhibitions based on the fear, pain or legal consequence are overcome by the substance that your imbibing to lowering your inhibitions, you should be considered and consider yourself drunk.
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[21 Nov 2007 | Wednesday]
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Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities
If you haven't looked at Zeitgeist - The Movie, 2007 yet, you should. I completely disagree with the conclusions of section one, but two and three are very interesting if you can keep an open mind. I still don't buy the conclusions that the writers/directors of two and three, but they at least raise some interesting points that should be explained and haven't. It is a film and therefore is fundamentally one sided, but I think the raw events portrayed sequentially put them in a veiw that the regular public doesn't see. Toss that in with a bit more legitimate, though Hollywood-esque, "Bones" on Fox has a running story arc of a serial killer, who kills members of the Knights of Columbus, thinking they are an ancient secret society. Togather, I have been contemplating how secrecy works. More to come on the implications of secrecy and truth.
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[16 Oct 2007 | Tuesday]
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Current mood:  nostalgic
Category: Life
When was the last time that you took a deep look at your friends list? Looked and remeniced about when you may have first met these people... In my case, I moved in the middle of high school and left behind a lot of friends that I had shared laughs, birthday parties, Science Fairs, classes from first grade through sophmore year and far too many other special experiences to list. I joined a group of friends who had shared that and I felt deprived and didn't know what to do or how to compensate for that "lost time". Knowing myself the way I do now, I have never been a "social" person. I have always been hindered by an inability to understand my peer's thoughts and feelings implicitly. I am what some call " mind blind" and for some of you who I hope read this, that little fact may fill in some of the blanks of our shared youth (the books, the scientific exactness, the vocabulary and complete lack of social understanding). Back to the friends list; being that I am mind blind, it is tremendously enlighting to see what makes you, fair reader, come alive in life. Many different people have choosen many different paths. To be blunt, I am jealous of so many of the opportunites that have, travel, marriage, kids. Some of you have chosen similar paths to mine, including the military and moving out of CA, others have choosen traditional routes and are now entering sucess as post-college student young adults with careers, lives and loves. Now I know there is a falicy endemic to my observation in that I am observing MySpace and we only post things we want to on MySpace resulting in only an understanding of the "gloss" of one's life, put out for the world to see. Transparencey is a a hard thing to ask for in an face-to-face relationship, let alone posting your own hurts, wants and tears on a website. All this to say, friend, I am proud of you and the person you have become. Continue to push forward and embrace it for all you can get. Strive to see, feel and know the True, the Good, and the Beautiful.
 | Currently listening: Grace By Jeff Buckley Release date: 24 August, 2004 |
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[12 May 2007 | Saturday]
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Current mood:  ecstatic
Category: Life
Yep, thats right... I am getting married. I proposed to Janie on the 26th of April on the beach at the West Point Lighthouse here in Magnolia at sunset. (Me= hopeless romantic) Looks like December 15th for the wedding, bring on the choas and anarchy of wedding planning!
On a humorous note, I think God had something to tell me after I proposed. In my Tues., Thurs., and Friday night Bible studies, we've been focused on Eph. 5 for the last 2 weeks. Yep that 6 Bible studies, in a row, on the role of the husbend and wife... the week after I get engaged. Providential anyone? Read Eph. 5 if you haven't recently or don't understand the sheer magnitude of the events unfolding around us.
Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers during this time as we seek God's will in our lives and enter the choas that is wedding planning!
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