Haze Gray & (Almost) Underway

Not bad for a line-rat, knuckle dragging ABH, eh? I should totally be an MC.

Well, today has gone right past bad and straight to downright ugly. A couple of bad decisions on my part.

Today, my grandfather passed away.

I am not sure I will ever know everything that he accomplished in his Naval career. He graduated from the Naval Academy at the close of World War II, spent time on the ground in China, worked on the Navy's dirigible (blimp) programs, the TACAMO communications systems, the OMEGA Stations (a precursor to modern GPS) and flew the old flying boats that the Navy called seaplanes. He raised two sons in the Army, one in the Navy (an Academy grad himself) and saw his youngest and only daughter married to an aspiring Naval aviator who had just graduated from the Virginia Military Institute. And before he passed, he would see the child of that pair, one of his grandsons, enter into the Navy himself.

Two weeks before he passed, he called me, for what would be the last time I ever spoke to him. He offered me his well-worn and time-honored copy of the Blue Jacket's Manual, the source of all the knowledge a fleet sailor needs to be 'ship shape and squared away.'

I told him I may have use for it someday, but not right now.

So far, I haven't found anything a book could teach me about being a sailor that CDR Wesley H Schmidt hadn't shown me many times over.

I headed to the library (got a hair cut along the way) after work today, finally stopping by with a letter in hand as "proof of address" so that I could sign up for a library card.

Picked up two books from the painfully small Sci-Fi section of the Charlestown Public Library. They're both fantasies. This should give you an idea of the kind of library we're talking about. One that didn't have a single Orson Scott Card book, but DID count the entirety of Richard Marcinko's Rogue Warrior series (which is a blurred mix of fictional stories and the decidedly non-fiction autobiography of Marcinko, who is a former Navy SEAL) among their Sci-Fi titles. Oi vei.

Anywho, the two books are Phoenix Guards and Five Hundred Years Later, the two books of The Khaavren Romances by Steven Brust.

I'm hooked a dozen times over. I started in about an hour ago, so I'm a little over 150 pages in. The books are presented as the translation of a historical folio and is written from the perspective of historians who have created a nearly complete treatise on the lives of the four main characters. They are written in an extremely tight language that I am definitely appreciating, where the dialogue is full of formalities and there are contests of honor every few pages due to the slightest slip of the tongue. The four characters are new members of the Imperial Guard, at a time when the Orb has just passed from the House of Arytha to the House of the Phoenix and a new Emporer has been crowned. I highly recommend it for anyone who enjoys Terry Goodkind, or Dave Duncan's Sky of Swords novels.

Also, I chanced on a passage that struck me as fitting...

"Darkness was just falling, and those whose work ended with the light were beginning to trickle in. It seemed to Khaavren that this was an odd place for a lady of the House of the Phoenix to request a meeting, but perhaps, if she wished for privacy, just such a place would be her best. it was only then that he was struck with the realization that the day's activities had temporarily driven from his mind-that is, the thought that soon he would be meeting her, Illista, whose voice had already imprinted itself on his mind, whose bright narrow eyes and delicately molded features swam before his imagination, and if, in his imagination, she looked at him with an endearing expression that she had, in fact never bestowed upon him in real life, who can fault him for this? It is our prerogative to imagine in one we love all of those gentle feelings that hope can supply, and to continue to do so until harsh reality intervenes with its war-chariots and spears, with its broken assignations and revealed deceptions, crying "Here I am! You must face me whether you will or nill!" Is there one among you who has never built such imaginary worlds for yourself, even though, like Khaavren as we observe him with his wine and his dreams, his mocking smile and the slow shale of his head, you may chide yourself for your illusions?

For we know that now and then, here and there, it may happen that the dreams become real, and that our love is returned, and the one we love may bestow that very look that we have imagined. And, though rare that is may be, it is still that knowledge that allows us to continue to hope..."
--The Phoenix Guards, p138

Now, I completely empathize and could never claim innocence from the claim in the first paragraph. I am a notorious daydreamer, especially of fair beauty and kind words and that someday I might be on the receiving end of such graces. And even though I know they are just dreams, sometimes, just every once in a while, a dream might become real.

But if the dreams are never born into this physical world, I will never regret having had the dream. Some find it a source of sorrow, to imagine how good things could be and then never to reach it. I am not one of them. I am nowhere but here, today, now, in this moment. The sun will rise tomorrow and I will go to work and I will PT and I will laugh and smile because I love my job and I will brood deeply and furrow my brow as I try to find some direction for the future. I am, for one of the first times in my life, fairly at peace with the world.

And if I can bring peace to someone I care about, I'll do whatever I can to make it so. But if I'm not the man for the job, then then I understand, and I hope I can keep offering friendship for as long as I can.

The thought of all this disappearing doesn't phase me, because in the end, I know that I never really deserved to have it in the first place. The thought of you was too fantastical for a guy like me to hope for, so for now, I tell myself it must be a dream.

And if it it all disappears with tomorrow's sun, then I'll just be grateful for your memories.

My roomate left this morning for three days TAD up at NAS Brunswick to get some OJT in his rate. That means I have a space to myself for the next three days. The last time I had a few days alone was the first weekend I was here in Boston, when most of the command was gone on the ski trip. Not exactly my most fondly remembered time. This may lead to brooding.

I earned my first 'legitimate' coin today.

Challenge Coins are an institution among military circles. There's a great wikipedia entry giving the complete whole backstory on their origins, but the short of it is that in modern times, every command and every person who thinks themself distinguished enough to have a personal one (major commanding officers, flag officers, chiefs and such) has a challenge coin that is traded or gifted to other such persons and commands as deemed appropriate. The more senior officers and enlisted men can have amassed collections of challenge coins that require substantial display space, such as the three cases full that Senior Chief has in his office here aboard Constitution.

Now, there's a little game that military men play with Challenge Coins. When going to a social engagement, you tuck away what you believe the be your highest ranking coin - the coin which carries the most prestiege or comes from the highest ranking person you've encountered. While out drinking with your shipmates, someone will produce their coin and place it on the bar. Immedietely, all others in the vicinity must produce their coins and he who holds the highest coin then drinks for free - the lowest coin has to buy a round for the rest. Now, the one I earned today isn't going to earn me any drinks - it was the personal coin of a MAC who I gave a Spec Tour to, along with her family. But you know what, it was the first one I really earned the old-fashioned away - palmed into my hand when her husband (a Senior Chief) gave me a handshake after the tour was done. I've got two other coins, one from working as a photographer for Gov. Bob Riley's inauguration in 2007 (the custom of coins has passed over to the civilian world as well) and one I recieved back in boot because I was one of the award winners from my training group. I'm sure theres a list floating somewhere around there that definitively ranks the heirarchy of Challenge Coins. I wonder where the Commanding Officer of Recruit Training Command ranks. Wherever it is, its below the coin that the guy a few doors down from me has - he has VP Cheney's coin from when the former VP sailed aboard the ship during the 4 July 2008 turn around cruise. We don't do the challenge game when he's around.

This post has more comma's per word than should ever be allowed.

Also, my ABH/ABF/PO2&3 NRTC manuals arrived today, so I sent about an hour or so after work making flashcards from the first chapter of the ABH manual. I know it keeps changing with every week, but I was talking with NC1 (formerly ABH1) about it today and I told him I think I want to take the ABH exam this September instead of the ABF exam.

Hmm...I'm trying to put together a playlist for working out. I'm trying to base it around songs that have well-defined bass rhythms and melodic lyrical lines. Its definitely a very narrow genre I'm looking for. So far, I've only found a few definite winners.

1) Paper Planes - MIA
2) Damn It Feels Good To Be a Gangsta - Geto Boys
3) Handlebars - Flobots
4) All By Myself - Haystak
5) The Bartender Song (Nashville Cut) - Rehab
6) Hands Held High - Linkin Park

Anyone out there have any suggestions that would match those songs?

You know, if they let me be on duty every day, I would do it.

Seriously, getting to hear myself talk all day? This is without a doubt the second-gratest job I can imagine. Tours were great today - I got more "War Eagles!" today than in all my other tour days combined, including the Senior Chief who was visiting with his son (son was an AU grad.) Got a bunch of laundry done (though there's still more to be folding sitting in the dryer right now), the weather was great, and when I got back to my room after finally getting off the ship at about 1900 there was a card sitting on my desk that said "Sideboy" on it. I'd volunteered to be a sideboy from a retirement ceremony erlier today and appearently the retiring officer had left thank-you notes for all of us. Thank-you's that also had $20 bills in them. Sweet. Finished off with evening colors and then went out to the smoke deck and had a cigar with Ricket, who has come up with the idea that she wants to make a preview for a horror film set on the Constitution and try to see if we can't make it go viral.

Well, Hooyah for command PT.

Our new Command Senior Chief has dropped a 5050 from on high that decrees "Thou shalt PT, as a command, three times a week, T/W/R from 1430-1530." The first session was yesterday, but I was on duty giving tours so today was my first day. Senior Chief used to push boots so it was a fairly intense (but completely survivable) session. My roomie though just passed out after collapsing into the easy chair. As were were finishing out sustained run around the old Marine barracks, Matt from the museum came by to heckle us. Matt was a Marine officer in his day and now heads up the museums "1813 Marine Corp."

Also, the USO has hooked us up with race tickets to see the Lennox 301 (yes, 301 - "The Extra Mile" is the race's tagline) at the New Hampshire Motor Speedway on Sunday the 28th. MC2 and I ended up with side by side tickets, so the two biggest photo nerds in the command will be keeping each other company by completely ignoring one another and watching the race through the lenses of our D80 and D70s, respectively.

Scratch what I said about my roommate being passed out in the chair. He tried to get up, his knees immedietely cramped from all the squats, and he hit the deck. Hard. He's laying on the floor now, and I'm feeling like a bad person for laughing as we try to stretch it out.

You know, I thought of something earlier today that made a few of the old synapses fire off and turned a mental gear or two a few creaky paces.

I thought to myself, "I should write about that later."

Hell if its not 'later' and I can't remember what it was.

Being the sucker I always am, I sounded off when DC2 was running around earlier today scrambling to get volunteers for funeral detail tomorrow. Then about 4 hours later and entirely too late in the day to take it back, I realized I had just put my dress whites into the cleaners. Merde. So, since my roomie has overnights from 4-8, I told him to shake me awake when he goes out on watch so I can muster up my backup set.

Robert Anson Heinlein continues to be a man whom I could not respect more.

"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."

The Douglas Adam's fans among us should know where this post is going.

I spend a lot of time trying to come up with answers. I think, constantly, about the world around me and about the world within me. But, just like the more-than-famous "Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything!", I'm going to find myself in a predicament if someday, in a blinding flash of inspiration, I figure it all out only to find that I don't really know exactly what I was trying to figure out in the first place.

So instead, I tried to come up with some questions in my life that need answers These are what I found...

What do I believe I have the most talent/potential in?

What am I willing to sacrifice everything in the pursuit of, even if I don't achieve it in the end?

What accompishment would gain me the most respect from my peers?

What weakness most holds me back?

No important questions have easy answers, so for now, it is back to chasing shadows.

I have always hated leaving the beach, but its never been this hard before.

The single greatest flaw in the functionality of the spoken word as a language is that there is simply no way to express in my fairly limited vocabulary exactly how listening to the music on a bright morning makes me feel.

There's possibilities, there's probabilities, there's abilities and there's passion for all of them.

"Lifes waiting to begin..."

This feeling makes me wish I could do magic. Heh, it sounds silly saying it out loud. I want to CREATE! Art or music or a sculpture or even just a flower for a pretty girl.

Like a character ina cartoon, to cast my hands before me and for there just to be.

Two simple letters that make what is sometimes the most powerful verb on the planet. One small sound that encompasses the far more complicated existence. I want to use the strength of being and change the world.

When the music plays, the horizon is just a step away and the future isn't too far beyond that.

But what about when the music stops?

At just past 2100 last night, I took my headphones off, powered down my PSP, turned off my phone, rolled over, and settled into the sheets.

And tried not to have some kind of panic attack.

I know exactly when it started. It was very, very early Thanksgiving morning, 2005 - about 0400. I was woken up by a phone call no one ever wants to get...

I haven't been able to 'take the phone off the hook' ever since, because I am honestly scared, to the point of disability, that someone will need me and they won't be able to get in touch with me.

I needed a good night's sleep last night. I was up late the night before, we'd been up and on the road to Mystic at the crack of dawn yesterday and walked all around the harbor all day, so I was tired to begin with. Then, I'm on duty today and I have to try to a) stand my watches b) completely retype and update the Captain's social roster as my first assignment in PAO c)give my tour to three tour-board members, all by close of business today. It's going to be a long and busy day.

But the fact that the last paragraph started out with the words "I needed" makes me feel like a horendously selfish person. It gave me a sick feeling in my gut..."What if something happens in the night? What if someone needs me?"

Nothing happened...this time. I slept like a baby, and yes, I had a message or two when I woke this morning. Listening to the first one gave me the added bonus of getting to hear that voice first thing in the morning. All the second one was a former co-worker / boss / drinking buddy / mentor-in-all-things-unsavory from the flightline calling to question my manhood, insult my dignity, intelligence, and odor, and wish me the best.

Its all a case of cognitive dissonance. If someone else told me they had to go off the line for a while and take care of his or herself, I'd support them fully.

But I completely expect that if I ask the same for myself...then I'll be letting down everyone around me. "I tried to call him and he didn't answer. I needed him tonight and he wasn't there."

I have to be there. I always have to be where I can catch anyone who slips. Because if they fall once and I'm not there to catch them...then someone else will and I'll be alone again.

...I'm dealing with things that are for too serious and emotional for such a beautiful morning.

I have been told I need one of these...



...but if it detected dreams of you, my roommate would become helaciously annoyed.

There I was, standing in front of a board of one Senior Chief and three Chiefs. They'd grilled me about my military knowledge, my Orders of the Sentry, my rank and recognition, and had me sound off my Sailor's Creed. Then they threw the curveball - "So, recruit, whats your favorite food?"

"Senior Chief! Anything that someone else has made for me, Senior Chief!"


We've all heard the phrase, 'it's the thought that counts,' and that has never held more true to me personally that with food. When it comes to just the pure enjoyment of food for the sake of food, I'm not much of a gourmet. I mean, everyone appreciates good tasting food to some level, but usually I am solidly in the quantity-over-quality side of things. I had an oven-baked BBQ and Onion pizza over at Old Ironsides grill the other night, and while it was delicious, on the whole I'd rather have spent $5 at CiCi's and had all the cheap pizza I could stomach instead.

But it's different when you're talking about food that someone else took the time and the care to prepare for you.

I can make a passable imitiation as a chef, but its a long, slow process for me. I used to wake up at about 0500 when I worked at the flightline and I'd spend almost an hour cooking breakfast. It was a complicated dance in the small corner of my apartment that was labeled the kitchen. About 2 square feet of counter space, a range and stove and a toaster oven was all I was working with. First came the biscuits - Pillsbury Southern Style, with brown sugar and cinnamon brushed across the dough with melted butter. I'd throw a few into the toaster oven, and as they cooked I was getting out the eggs and turning on the range. A big skillet for the hot cakes and a small skillet for the eggs sat on the electric eyes and simmered, waiting. I always made the pancake batter a few days in advance - I'd make a whole box worth and leave it in the fridge since I only made a few each morning. So onto the big skillet went the hissing batter and into the mixing cup went the eggs and the milk and I'd whisk away in a furious race to have the eggs ready to pour before my pancakes burned.

Pour the eggs, flip the pancakes, ding-ding the biscuits are done and the water for the coffee is starting to whistle. Pull off the kettle, set it aside, toss the pancakes on the plate and turn the biscuits down to warm - now the eggs are getting tough so pull out the fork and scramble away. Kick the eggs down to warm and pull out the butter and the syrup. Butter up the pancakes so the butter will melt, toss the skillet in the sink and grab the french press for the coffee. Add the course ground beans, fill the steaming water to the top and set it aside to brew. A glass from the cabinet, the OJ from the fridge, pour one into the other and put the OJ back. Now the eggs on the plate, the biscuits come out of the toaster oven and get cut up into pieces and tossed on top. Then the final touch - a spoonful or three of apple jelly across the top of all of it.

It was so delicious, but so much work, and then its all over in about 15 minutes. Families will spend all day cooking up Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, and then when the family finaly gathers for the feast, its a blink of an eye before its done.

Preparing food for someone, truly is a labor of love.

Also, a quote that is well beyond true:
All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast.  ~John Gunther