War Story Wednesday: A Few Good WOMEN

For today's installment of War Story Wednesday, I wanted to address another disturbing occurrence that I personally observed: the treatment of women in the military (and the Marine Corps, specifically). Now, I have some specific anecdotes I could share...but I got distracted from writing my post, and now that the day is going on...I don't feel up to getting into it.

Rather, for now, I wanted to point out a couple of non-personal items relating to women in the military:

1. First, I hope everyone out there understands that the nature of the two recent 'wars' has necessitated the involvement of female service members in an unprecedented way. Due to the quick overthrow of the governments in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the resultant lengthy and turbulent occupations, women served on the front lines in a direct way like never before. Many of these brave women were near the action so that they could be close at hand in the event that a female Iraqi/Afghan needed to be searched. 
2. Unfortunately, this was because of the enemy's willingness (sometimes even preference) to use women as suicide bombers. Although, I think that this was a rarer occurrence than it was hyped to be.  For example, there have been over 160 suicide bombings in Israel since the year 2000, only 8 of which were women. In Iraq specifically, an intelligence report showed that female suicide bombers were mainly used to assassinate specific individuals.
3.  As a result, female Marine Corps officers will be attending Infantry Officers Course at Quantico, for the first time ever. One of my college professors, himself a former Marine officer, expressed his mixed feelings on the matter to me. His hesitation, shared by many, is the potential danger of female soldiers and Marines serving on the front lines being wounded or killed. Before you fly off and call him a condescending patriarchal male control freak and declare that women should be able to decide for themselves, it isn't simply the 'patriarchal male protective instinct' skewing the opinions of guys like him. It is the idea that most decent men are instinctively more protective of a wounded female than a wounded male, and, are more likely to freeze up or break down at the death of a female than a male comrade. My professor's hesitation was especially aimed at the idea of infantry units being under the command of a female officer; again, I know it sound patronizing and bad, but let me explain a bit more on his behalf. He was worried that a unit under the command of a woman would be much more likely to fall apart if their female commander were wounded or killed. At the risk of inviting feminist wrath onto myself (a statement that itself is likely to incite said wrath - sorry ladies, it's true), I have to say that I agree with him to a point. I know that there was only one female operating from my base in Iraq who was killed, and I spoke with her exactly once, but when I heard about her death...well, I was totally shaken. I remember her name: PFC Steele, from the Army National Guard. I don't remember the names of any of the guys from my base who were killed, even though there were 8 from my own battalion and several more from a supporting unit serving with us. Okay, I guess that is sexist? Go ahead and tell me how I am part of the problem...
4. To end the list on a positive note, I recently discovered the facebook group "U.S. Marine Corps Females". I am a huge fan, because it isn't an exclusive group only for the Women Marines themselves, it just celebrates the idea of women being Marines, and the Marine Corps in general. Semper Fi, my sisters!

Overall, I have the utmost respect, pride, and brotherly/sisterly love for my comrades of the female persuasion. There are just a lot of problems that go along with it, though yes, the majority of the problems are spawned by indecent men. The kind of jock-bro men's men who view their sisters-in-arms as merely a less-capable soldier/sailor/air(man)/Marine, placing them at risk with their girlie-airheaded incompetence, good for little else than sex - "but she'll probably claim it was rape just to be a bitch." I think that prejudiced assholes like that should be made to serve on a "don't-ask-don't-tell" policy; I won't ask you if you're a total dickhead, and you don't act like one. 

Maybe next time I'll actually get a little more into my personal examples...

Friday Unrelated Information: Choose Wisely

This Friday night, there are no less than three (3!) events competing for my attendance:

1. The violinist from Genre Zero has taken up with an additional band, the gypsy ensemble "Juana Ghani". They are playing a show tonight at Fats Grill. Support our fiddler! And also, maybe, ask her about that certain alt-rock band that she plays in...

2. I've been volunteering on weekends with a friend, Angela Romero, who is running for the Utah State House of Representatives. Tonight, she is hosting a fundraiser/birthday party, with a 'roaring twenties' theme. The theme was explained to me as stemming from the fact that her home district is #26, so throw on your best zoot suit (isn't that from the twenties? Or more like the thirties? Oh well), shiny dancing does, and tear it up with SLC's moving-and-shaking young democrats. At the Frida Bistro/Rico Warehouse. 

3. It's the 'First Friday' of the month, and that means that the monthly community gathering is going on in the garden under the billboard, AKA Urban Growth Community Garden. This is probably where I will actually end up, as it is just a few blocks down the street. Also, I am curious to see if those hooligans will come back!

Have a great weekend, and be sure to check back next week for the return of "War Story Wednesday"!

War Story Wednesday: It's Not so Simple...

For this week's installment of War Story Wednesday, I wanted to elaborate on my previous description of the small-mindedness and naked aggression often present in the military, and to offer a counterpoint to some of the responses I received. The feedback I received regarding the write-up from last week, while thankfully free of any hateful personal attacks against myself, was entirely one-sided and also overly simplified. I would hope that by offering my (few) readers a deeper insight into my own wartime experiences, and by extension the military culture and lifestyle in general, they might be inspired to engage their peers in an informed dialogue. This same hope was one reason why, during my street performances this summer, my guitar case displayed a sign reading: "Iraq War Veteran Musician - ON TOUR - tips greatly appreciated!" The other reasons for the sign were more selfish in nature, namely the possibility that pedestrians who might otherwise pass by would see the sign and instead stop to listen, and perhaps be more willing to leave tips. The sign worked: one listener, who I can only assume was a veteran himself, left me a $12 tip! However a rival busker, already upset that I had arrived early and taken "the best spot in town", saw the sign and seized on it as a point of contention. I had the suspicion that he was just trying to run me off, but he was a Vietnam-era veteran himself, and he hostilely questioned me as to what being a veteran had to do with music. I tried to explain to him that my identity as a veteran is just as important to me and as relevant as the identity of being a musician; many of my songs are specifically inspired by either my own service (such as my love-letter to the stateside base where I spent most of my enlistment), the inspirational service of others ("Folded Flag", an older recording of a song written when my friends were deploying yet again while I was left behind), or the aftermath (the previously mentioned tribute to Dan Lessig). He finally left in disgust, calling me "low" and "shameful". In the moment, shocked by my accuser's bitter recriminations, I forgot to tell him what I have said here - that I aspire to keep the cost of the recent wars in the public consciousness, to keep the dialogue going, and to help people better understand the veterans that they know.

What I am trying to get across with the story of the accosting busker is an illustration of the intent behind these long-winded, emotionally exhausting, and sometimes scathing posts. What I am not trying to do is merely glorify myself, show off, say "look how cool I am and look at all the bad-ass stuff that I did". Honestly, I didn't really do anything 'bad-ass'; I was a truck-driver, and not a very good one. When I told the story of preventing the beatings that my fellows desperately wanted to mete out to civilian detainees, I wasn't trying to put myself above anyone, nor was I fishing for compliments or sympathy. Rather I was trying to present my view of what happened, how I handled it, and how it continues to effect me.

Further, while I did not condone and certainly continue to oppose unnecessary violence, I do understand where the anger was coming from. My deployment was fairly representative, I think, of what the vast majority of our troops experienced during the majority of their deployments. That is, long periods of boredom punctuated by short periods of extremely grueling and physically demanding work, all under the shadow of seemingly unending mortar and rocket attacks and the looming unseen threat of roadside bombs. Of the entire reenforced battalion stationed at our forward base, only a handful of Marines ever even laid eyes on a known insurgent who was actively engaged in hostilities. Rather, mortars land inside the wire, the Quick Reaction Force rolls out to investigate...and find abandoned mortar tubes, if anything. Convoys and combat patrols range the freeways night and day, often without event, sometimes spotting IEDs which Explosive Ordnance Disposal comes out to defuse, and sometimes they miss those IEDs...usually with no enemy to retaliate against. Intelligence operatives spend weeks gathering information and cultivating informants, only for the raid mission to inadvertently search the wrong town.

So...I fully understand the anger and frustration, the ceaseless fear and stress, and the feeling that here they are, we have them...this is the enemy! We've finally got them in our grasp! Only most of the time, it is just not that simple...

Echo-Four-India, out

Friday Illogical Ideations

1. I believe in ghosts, but not in the way you might expect. I think that when we actively remember a person who has passed, the chemicals and electricity in our brains making up the thoughts and memories related to that person form the 'ghost'. When we are faced with a decision and contemplate how the deceased would have handled it, or draw upon an inspirational person who is no longer living, that is the ghost 'speaking' to us. I know, kind of strange, but I am a strange person I guess. One of the songs I do, Shut Your Mouth, is my abrasive tribute to a fallen classmate and fellow veteran whose death was mocked and used as fodder for gossip by many of our more immature and insensitive peers; I like to think that live performances of this song are a kind of seance.

2. I've been struggling lately to find a good balance between promoting my music and being a pushy, tiresome, overly zealous used car salesman. On the one hand, if I do nothing to 'push' the tunes on people, no one is going to hear them. On the other, I have had a fair amount of people on the dreary facebook get upset at me for inviting them to all of our shows, and especially for posting about the shows on their profile. Ashlee"Pay attention to my blog that's all about promiscuous sex and my eating disorder so I can feel better about myself"Raggle even called me an internet troll and un-friended me because I 'shared' a couple of our show pages on her facebook wall. It's my belief that as an artist I have a bit more leeway that the average huckster. That is what I consider my music - art. I do like to have a good time when playing, and I hope the audience does, but I go to great lengths to write meaningful lyrics, and I aspire to write interesting, creative, worthwhile music as well. For me it is about something very different than just shaking asses, impressing babes with swagger, and getting free drinks.

3. In the same vein at the previous item, I have often been accused (lately even more so) of taking myself, life, and generally everything too seriously. I am constantly being told to lighten up, take it easy, get a thicker skin, not to worry about things, to stop making a big deal out of it, et cetera, etc. There have been some situations that were supremely frustrating, because these were things that I felt really deserved to be 'taken seriously', yet my carefree companions kept to their lackadaisical disposition and continued to encouraged me to do the same. A prime example: several months back while on a weekend shooting trip, the guys were doing several things that violate the four basic weapons safety rules, and when I stopped them to give them some instruction, they kept interrupting me with funny anecdotes about shooting accidents...all while they continued to wave their guns around with fingers on the trigger (although I had made them unload prior to my safety lecture). Now I am not trying to lay judgement on those dudes, I certainly wasn't trying to ruin their fun, and one of them did eventually speak up on my behalf and helped to reign in the others. But it was my strong impression that when I insisted on shutting down the shooting to give them a safety talk, they were thinking something like "Oh god, here he goes again. I've handled guns a lot before, why can't he just lighten up?" But seriously - that is how people get accidentally shot! Oh well...I am probably just over thinking all of this and taking it all too seriously.

War Story Wednesday: Still Catching Hell...

I was up at the VA Medical Center yesterday, and while waiting to see a doctor who was unfortunately unaware of my appointment, I struck up a conversation with a fellow Iraq veteran. For the most part, our chat followed the typical model for these kinds of casual introductions: what branch did you serve with (mine is of course the Marines, his the Army), what was your Military Occupational Specialty (MOS - mine being motor transport/LVS operator, he claimed 'recon'), where you deployed, etc. However, when he initiated the obligatory trading of war stories, I was painfully reminded of why I don't generally seek out my fellow veterans or have many veteran friends. What with his being infantry, and belonging to a scout platoon, he had much more exposure than I did to actual combat. Or, at least he claimed to - I'm not trying to call the man a liar, but, when I meet younger veterans from the Army they all claim to have been some kind of sniper, ranger, special forces, or otherwise deadly bad ass. Where are all of the Army truckers, cooks, and engineers? I know that the Army is big, but, they certainly aren't all snipers...

Anyway, in an attempt to find common ground, I truthfully stated that most of the 'action' I saw was in the form of raids - missions to seek out and capture potential enemies or disrupt suspected insurgent activity, based on either human intelligence (i.e. information proffered by informants), or less frequently as the result of hostile behavior observed first-hand by friendly forces. The Army vet happily volunteered that he had been a party to many raids, taking many prisoners, and was also quite happy to share the brutal manner in which he and his unit handled said detainees:

"Yeah, we'd lock 'em down, zip-tie and blindfold or bag 'em, kick the shit out of them - a little or a lot, you know it depends man; maybe get our translator to interrogate 'em some, if we thought they were lying we might kick 'em in the ribs or maybe just slap 'em around a little. Then we'd pile all their dirty asses in the back of a humvee..."

Now, I would have been mildly appalled by his description, except that I've been 'over there' and seen this go on myself, many times. One of my earliest missions was a late-night raid to an isolated homestead that was suspected of producing Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs). Now, I'll admit that it was kind of cool and very exciting the way our vehicles swept down and surrounded the compound, an assault team breaching the door and tossing in flashbangs (stun grenades, for the uninitiated) before securing the main house. Word flew quickly that we had indeed found what we came for: a whole bomb-factory setup. However in reality the search had turned up no guns (save one pistol for which the owner produced a license) and no bombs, but, a substantial length of wiring. The 'wiring' uncovered in the search consisted of a spool of telephone cord and a box of cut and crumpled wires, loose wiring terminals, and phone jacks. I want to stress that this is not something that came to me after the fact as hearsay; the infantry platoon commander had me setting up my truck to transport detainees and so I was right there when the results of the search were relayed to him. I saw the single pistol; I saw the box of wires. I was right there when the interpreter questioned the compound's head Iraqi male, who stated that he and his family had been wiring their house for phone service.

Here is where it starts to get a little disturbing.

Deciding to err on the side of caution, all of the males except one old man were to be detained and taken back to our base to be questioned more thoroughly by our battalion intel shop and the Human Exploitation Team (HET), so those males not already zip-tied and blindfolded were prepped and loaded into my truck. Two of the infantry Marines were chosen to ride in the back with the detainees, the platoon commander explaining that there had been instances of prisoners escaping by jumping out of moving vehicles. The infantry Marines chosen were somewhat upset by their assignment, expressing their concern over the filth and stench of the Iraqis and worried that they might 'get pissed on'. Someone, I don't remember who exactly, assuaged their trepidation by encouraging them to deal with their discomfort by beating the detainees. Further, I was instructed by the two infantrymen to make it a rough ride. Having finished the loading, our vehicles assembled and drove back to Camp Korean Village. I am ashamed to say that I went along with the excitement of my assistant driver and gunner, hitting every pothole in the road, slamming on the brakes when the convoy slowed, and making abrupt jarring turns...while we guffawed like madmen and cracked jokes about the pathetic natives that were our cargo. When we arrived, the situation turned from unpleasant to downright awful.

The rest of the vehicles from the raid proceeded to the 'fuel farm' to top their tanks while I drove my truck over to the camp's small detention center. We were met by the detention NCOIC, a Staff Sergeant that I didn't know, who showed the guards who had ridden in back and myself how to get the detainees down from the truck bed; MTVR 7-tons are rather large and even without being handcuffed and blindfolded one can have difficulties dismounting. We unloaded the first detainee by having him sit on the edge of the bed while a Marine on either side supported his legs and back and lowered him to the ground. The Staff Sergeant then demonstrated proper detainee handling: with one hand on the zip-tie cuffs and another firmly on the arm, the detainee is sort of 'pushed' along, given a nudge to indicate any steps up or down. However, this Staff Sergeant took twisted pleasure in his job: he guided the first detainee to the detention center steps, but didn't nudge him in preparation, letting him fall on his face as he tripped over the step. He helped the detainee up, but at the next step, gave him a vicious knee to the back of his thigh, yelling "STEP UP!"directly in the man's ear. Upon reaching the detention building, the Staff Sergeant purposely tried to shove the detainee through the doorway off-center, ramming the man's left arm into the door frame. He did this repeatedly, each time screaming at the detainee "GO THROUGH THE DOOR, STUPID! GO THROUGH THE DOOR, STUPID! YOU'RE TOO FUCKING DUMB TO EVEN WALK THROUGH A DOOR!" The infantry Marines on guard detail found this highly amusing, each rendering their own variations of the Staff Sergeant's performance, further humiliating and battering the Iraqis - who each emerged from my truck with conspicuously fresh blood and bruises not present when I had loaded them in. When we had unloaded about half the detainees, the Staff Sergeant approached me with a maniacal grin, asking me enthusiastically "hey, you wanna take this one?" as we lowered him down out of the truck. I obliged, but I did it the right way: with a firm grasp to maintain dominance and discourage resistance, but without brutality. After I had escorted the Iraqi into his cell, the Staff Sergeant actually berated me for not being rougher with the "terrorist rag-head". I passive-aggressively refused to help after that, with the excuse that I badly needed to take a piss. When the unloading was finally, mercifully  over, the infantry Marines and my gunner left the assistant driver and myself to return the truck to the motor pool. As the assistant driver walked out in front of the truck, guiding me back to the staging area, I started to cry...until I sucked it up, pushing those thoughts waaaay down and out of my mind; better to bottle it up for later than let it overwhelm me in the present, when I still had the majority of my deployment to muddle through. It was then, as I wiped the tears away and choked down the sobs, that I started to acquire the hard resolve that results in the fabled "Thousand-Yard Stare".

Back to my conversation with the Army vet: I actually didn't relay the above story to him. I told him about a later raid wherein we drove through the night to search an entire small village, but upon arriving shortly after dawn, the Captain in command of the mission realized we were about fifty miles too far north and consequently at the wrong village. Figuring that we had lost the element of surprise, and that the time it would take to drive the fifty miles to the correct village would allow insurgents there to flee or otherwise cover up their activity, he decided to go ahead and search to village we were at anyway. It was an all-day affair, the women and children separated from the men, and the men questioned one at a time. While the infantry searched each building, and the intel boys interviewed each detainee in turn, us motor transport Marines were tasked with keeping vigil over the males awaiting their turn to be questioned. I told the Army vet (omitting the previous story above and how the barbarous handling of civilians had so impacted me) that my fellows had wanted to brutalize this set of detainees, but that what with it being the wrong village, I intervened and stopped them. To which he replied, with an incredulous look:

"Why the fuck did you do that? They're all the same over there, fucking scum. They all deserve a beating..."

 While he halfheartedly accepted my reasoning that the village was not our intended target and the search revealed no contraband, I could tell from his expression and the changed tone of our conversation that he had lost any respect for me. This isn't the first time I've ruined a fellow veteran's perception of myself with this story, but, at least this guy didn't call me a faggot or a pussy. So I can be thankful for that. 

Still, it discourages me from being involved with my veteran peers when I am still catching hell for behavior that they perceive at best as simply 'being soft', or at worst as 'aiding the enemy'. I want to make the distinction, though, that 'detainees' are NOT the same thing as 'prisoners'. A detainee is a civilian who is, for whatever reason, merely detained for some period of time so as to be questioned - comparable to the difference between one who is taken in for police questioning and one who is sentenced to prison. In both the raids I've described, no outright damning evidence was found to incriminate the Iraqis, nor were they captured whilst involved in an action against friendly forces. In the case of the earlier raid, with the telephone wiring, I found out later that further investigation confirmed their account of wiring the house for telephone service. In fact, most of the phone cables found in their compound were a type not really suitable for wiring artillery shells into IEDs. The second raid I described, on the wrong village, turned up no weapons, no explosives, and no practical intelligence. None of the males that were questioned were further detained - everyone was released at the end of the day as we left the village. Imagine how we would have turned that village against us if, in addition to disrupting their day, we had beaten and brutalized them? 

It is not "scared little bitches," as I've been formerly derided, that give the military a bad name - it is overly zealous, prejudice, indiscriminate meat-heads like the Army vet I spoke with yesterday. And one last idea along that point: it has been my experience that people who eagerly present themselves as "recon" or "S.F." or "sniper", who indulgently talk up how many they've killed, and like to use words like "bitch," "pussy," and "faggot" to describe everyone who doesn't fit their idea of 'manly'...they are probably lying. Everyone I've known that is legitimately some form of warrior elite is haunted by the lives they've taken, speaking about it only with great difficulty, with the purpose of illuminating the horror of war rather than glorifying their own person. 

But who knows, maybe that Army vet from yesterday isn't a liar...maybe he's just a sociopath?

Monday Methuselahn Musings

So I've mentioned my affinity for Vampires before, from reading about them in the novels of Anne Rice to role playing them in Vampire: The Masquerade. What I have not revealed until now is that in my strange brain, the mythical immortal bloodsucker functions as a great analogy for how I perceive myself and my close friends in relation to all of the human masses. Sounding weird? It goes like this:

• Vampires are forever mourning and trying to reclaim their lost humanity, to the point of becoming 'more human than human', loving more deeply and feeling loss more keenly than mere mortals. While I have not (yet) been accosted in a dark alley, drained of my vitae, and doomed to a life of eternal hunger and darkness...I have experienced a few major tragedies which have left me feeling, at times, distant from the happily well adjusted masses.
• Preternatural senses are usually attributed to vampires, ranging from merely heightened human sight and hearing all the way up to near god-like omniscience via telepathy. I have often been accused of being hyper-sensitive, usually with a negative connotation, but I believe this to be one of my greatest strengths and the source of my artistic insight.
• Another common ability of vampires across folklore and fiction is the ability to hypnotize or otherwise influence humans. This is a bit of a stretch, but I feel like I sometimes 'hypnotize' (or at least thoroughly confound) people with my music, or more simply when I turn on the charm.
• Being powerful immortals, fueling their great power by literally sucking the life out of others, these are creatures possessed of great physical strength. While I am not going to win any weight-lifting contests, in moments of distress or anger I am able to summon up a level of strength far beyond what my small body would suggest. Just ask my friends: you are probably only going to snap me with a towel or engage in some other variation of 'grab-ass' with me once, because doing so will bring down my altogether frightening and surprising wrath.
• Finally, vampires are usually depicting as being very well dressed, albeit in an old school way. While I am not clinging to the styles of old in an attempt to stay connected to a former existence in a bygone era, I do embrace the classics of style, and look with disdainful pity on those who get swept up in the passing trends.

Now, I want to be clear - I am not delusional, I don't desire to consume blood, nor do I (ultimately) believe that I am really all that different or better than anyone else. Rather, I believe that The Vampire is a relatable monster...a character with which I am able to consistently identify. At least the sexy, stylish, beautifully-tortured-soul kind, lamenting each kill while simultaneously acknowledging that nature is a far deadlier mistress.

Bored; Need Bombs

Well, I've been busy living the Tucson nightlife; band rehearsals, bar-hops, the Geeks who Drink Quiz. MadMatt has been kind enough to drive me around in his Volkswagon Bus-o-Awesome, Stella. Of course, my main man G Money has been carting me around plenty as well, and we've been practicing the songs at least once a day. Also, I wrote a new song about life on the road and it is inspired by all of my dear friends. It has been so deeply inspirational, humbling, and motivating to see so many of my closest and best people, even though we're now scattered across the country. Also, I have met a lot of really great people through my friends...and now we are all cross-country friends with each other!

Here is one of the old-gang reunion photos:

This already made the rounds on facebook, but, who knows...I might have to delete that again if I get too excited! You can see Matt's bus behind us.

 Also this week, Matt took me around showing me some of the best graffiti art around town. Tucson is pretty spectacular in that there are large swathes or town where you can't go a single block without seeing a psychedelic mural, a graffiti collage,  or some other excellent piece of art:

I really like how the artist used the decaying bricks as teeth! We're trying to put together a video (!!) to show off a bunch of the cool public art in Tucson, so keep your fingers crossed...

The Tourist

 A very lovely day in Lincoln yesterday! While I had been downtown Tuesday night, I went back in the daylight and played tourist a little bit. I've explored a lot of the downtown area already, which is surprisingly large, with the University of Nebraska - Lincoln, a kind of bar district, the state capitol, a lot of eclectic shops. It is very vibrant, too - when I was going around Tuesday night, the bar was full, if not somehow over fire code - overall the feel here is small town mixed with downtown, west mixed with east.

I got some decent pictures of some cool older buildings. The first is the YWCA, according to the stone over the door, and the second was really cool and probably ten stories tall:

I also walked down to the Nebraska state capitol building:

It was really cool inside, although I think I went too late in the day, and I got thrown out of the big tower. I made a cool $8 busking downtown yesterday; not to make excuses, but it was a bad time of day. For the time of day, roughly 2-4 PM, I think I did very well. Also, not one, but three or four other musicians ended up stopping by and jamming. Two of them were even young teenagers, and we formed impromptu three person jams for a song or two before someone had to scoot on their way. When I left to re-connect with my friend at his job, a just-back-in-town singer/songwriter type guy and a girl from a local band were still playing!

It's a really cool atmosphere here, but I am just passing through...

Lincoln, Nebraska

I survived 21 hours on two buses, arriving in Lincoln Tuesday evening. The roommate of the friend I am staying with was nice enough to take me out to downtown - we got pizza and drinks at "Ya-Ya's" (a local institution here, it seems), then moved to the bar/club "Duffy's, where we chatted and played pool. Eventually, we were picked up by my long-time buddy on his way back from playing a successful show with his group: Bolzen Beer Band.

Yesterday was the 4th, or Independence Day if you will, and we spent it with a group of very cool Lincolners. Guess what - there are lots of garden nerds up here, too:

I was able to meet a lot of cool people, the main group of which lived in two nice, old, turn-of-the-century houses; very reminiscent of SLC! 

Also: everyone in Lincoln goes crazy for fireworks! So today I am off to hang out downtown, do a little busking, and get some more pictures. The show is tomorrow night!

War Story Wednesday: PTSD Misconceptions

Okay, Universe. I think it's time that we cleared up some of the false ideas that have been floating around the public regarding Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Here are two good articles that get the point across better than I probably can, with statistics to back them up:

An article from the Department of Veterans Affairs

A write-up from a police officer suicide-awareness website

Some of the interesting facts from these articles:

*Despite being "trained killers", combat veterans (even those suffering from PTSD) are statistically much less likely to commit any violent crime than general laborers, construction workers, and gang members, who represent the three largest 'groups' to which violent offenders belong.

*As a group, Veterans are less likely to commit a murder than service workers and students.

*There is not a single piece of research to link PTSD to violent behavior; here is a quote from the second article:

"While anger and agitation are common symptoms of PTSD, these feelings tend to be turned inward, contributing to making it the terribly painful disorder it is. Combined with depression, it is not unusual for the sufferer to become suicidal. But a diagnosis of PTSD, in itself, does not make a person violent towards others. Again, the concern should be more that they will be a danger to themselves, not others."

*PTSD is primarily "fear" based, not "aggression" based. Put another way, the negative manifestations of PTSD are:

1. Flashbacks
   
2. Withdrawal / Isolation
   
3. Emotional Numbing
   
4. Hyper-arousal
   

Flashbacks, contrary to their portrayal in film, are not a psychotic break wherein the person loses touch with reality and believes they are back in combat or re-living their trauma. Flashbacks are much more subtle, and usually consist of a sense-memory (e.g. a smell or sound) that was present at the trauma unexpectedly intruding into the brain. Withdrawal and isolation are feelings of being distant or cut off from other people, be they close loved ones, or society in general. Here there again exists a big misconception, that this feeling of distance and disparity equates to viewing other people as 'the enemy'. Emotional numbing is not like the lack of remorse often equated with sociopaths; rather than feeling little or no empathy, the traumatized person feels too much, and will attempt to either avoid emotional situations entirely, to numb themselves with drugs or alcohol, or to choke their emotions down and ignore them. The traumatized person is not an unfeeling monster, they avoid feelings as a defense mechanism. Finally, hyper-arousal is a state of being constantly on guard, easily startled, tightly-wound...again, it is fear based. The person suffering from PTSD is on guard because they are afraid.

I think that as a generalized "class" or "group", traumatized veterans have much more in common with rape victims than with dangerous criminals. I am not saying that I am a victim; I chose to serve, and I volunteered for many dangerous missions. I am trying to say that my prolonged exposure to danger and my difficulties coping have led me to avoid violence and distress, not to seek it out. I am an even more peaceful person now, trying to diffuse anger and aggression, not create it.

To sum it all up, we veterans risked our lives to protect the ones we love. We gave up a part of our freedom, exposed our bodies and hearts to mortal peril, so that our fellows could live free and unafraid. Some of us never came home, and some of us that did are still struggling to understand and move past what we saw, what we did, what we lost. I would never presume to speak for all of my brothers and sisters in arms, but I served this nation and the Marine Corps with the highest virtue I could summon and the purest of intent, and I believe that my brother and sister Marines did the same. We believed in the Marine Corps motto: Semper Fidelis, meaning 'always faithful'. I did not give so much to shield you all from harm, to keep your lives free of danger and fear, just to come back and be perceived as a source of danger and fear. I am not an aggressor - I have always been, and shall always remain, a faithful defender.

Gaming

I used to be a pretty big-time gamer. All you have to do is go look at my early posts on this blog to see me nerding-out over my Warhammer 40k models, posting reports on the battles I played at the friendly local games store. I haven't worked on a 40k model in, gosh, probably two whole years. I've been thinking I might start a few, just to pass the time, and because I have an affinity for things that are real and tangible.

I've lost most of my interest in console and computer games. I played a few levels of Halo with Frog last week, and while it was still fun, it just seemed like a waste. Sure, maybe a new game would be exciting for a while, but I also don't want to get caught up in gaming all the time like some Mountain-Dew addled teenager. I played Starcraft II for several hours this weekend; that was pretty fun. However, I've gotten myself to the final level of the campaign and it is hard. Hell, even just playing against a computer opponent in a custom game is pretty rough on any difficulty but easy. I used to play Warcraft 3 online with my buddy Dustin, Sergeant in the Air Force. We would even play in team tournaments and stuff every weekend or so...fun times!

Of course, Dustin is married with a new child recently arrived (Congrats, buddy!). Maybe less gaming is a functioning of growing up and maturing? Naw, I don't think so. Maybe just shifting interests? I think it is intriguing how in less than the past five years, women have suddenly become the majority of gamers...rocking all kinds of games on their phones, i-Pads, etc. That is pretty cool...if I had such a digital device, I would most likely be playing those kinds of games a lot. Back in the day I got a PDA when I started going part-time the community college (this was, like, 12 years ago now), and I actually wore it out over about 8 months of playing its couple of card games constantly.

I prefer games that get played in person, even if it is just something like Poker. Of course, I can always dream that I'll either make some friends who are way into Warhammer 40k, or convert some of my existing friends "to the hobby". Actually, what is more likely is that I will find some new hobby that involves finely crafting tiny pieces of metal...

The Internet

I personally think that the internet is pretty fantastical and ridiculous. Instantaneous (almost) transmission of data all over the world? There are whole economies that exist only in cyberspace? Last night in one of my classes the entire chapter was about hacking and other malicious goings-on online. Then there are internet memes? Yes, there are...look at my vacbot posts. They fit this definition:

meme |mēm|
noun Biology
an element of a culture or system of behavior that may be considered to be passed from one individual to another by nongenetic means, esp. imitation.
DERIVATIVES
memetic |mēˈmetik; mə-| adjective
ORIGIN 1970s: from Greek mimēma ‘that which is imitated,’ on the pattern of gene.

I saw "I can has cheezburger" years ago, looked at lots of silly internet pictures, and recently made my own. So the internet has infected my body like a genetic disease? "I've gone mimetic!"

Like I said, fantastical and ridiculous!

Happy Easter

Well this is certainly a strange date for Easter...the first whole weekend of April? Seems a little soon. It makes sense in a way, though, because I think Easter is a fairly strange holiday. Like Christmas, the timing of the holiday is lifted from pagan nature-worship. However, it is celebrating the most unnatural life-after-death of the Christian namesake. I've seen some snarky talk on the internet calling Jesus a zombie...pretty funny stuff!

While I don't exactly self-identify as a Christian, I definitely believe in the best of the Christian values: forgiveness, charity, aspiring to love thy neighbor as thyself, not coveting your fellow humans' stuff or spouse or accomplishments. As a lowly human, it can sure be difficult living up to those values, but I do try.

Who wouldn't want to live the virtues of a water-walking, sick-healing zombie? I mean that as a joke, hopefully not in too poor taste...I have a lot of respect and appreciation for the good things religion brings into this world, even if I don't subscribe to a particular belief system. Have a happy Easter, everyone!

War Story Wednesday: Gentlemen VS Modern Discourtesy

In these modern times, with facebook and twitter serving as the means of communication for many young people, I worry about common courtesy going by the wayside. The symptoms are everywhere to be seen: people don't RSVP to events in advance, because who knows what kind of tantalizing text message might invite them to something better at the eleventh hour? Grown men have feeble handshakes and avert their eyes when being introduced because most of their introductions happen electronically. People don't know how to conduct themselves at a fine restaurant or a dinner party, because most of their meals are wolfed down hastily whilst watching television or checking their favorite blog.

Now, I won't claim to be an expert on these matters, nor will I attempt to outline all of the myriad rules and customs of courtesy. But I can offer some tips, and generally admonish the public to be more courteous to one another. So here is some helpful advice, bits I've learned from my father, Better Living and her cultured friends, and the Marine Corps:

• When meeting someone new or when you run into someone you haven't seen in a while, firmly shake their hand (but don't crush it; this does not demonstrate your manliness, it makes you an ass), and always look them in the eye. I cannot stress this enough; you should always look people in the eye. It not only displays your confidence, but shows your respect and that you are mentally present and engaging with the person.
• When you are going to an event that has been planned in advance, for god's sake turn your phone off and participate with the others present for the duration of the event. If you have to have your phone around, for an emergency or some such, keep it on vibrate. If you receive other calls, ignore them, and if your important call comes through politely excuse yourself and take your call in private. I don't care that everyone else is texting at the dinner table or in the middle of conversation; this is incredibly rude.
• Never point at people. It makes them uncomfortable, probably because it is a dead giveaway that you are talking about them to someone else. If you really need or desperately want to identify someone else from a ways off, gesture with your whole, open, flat hand. Get your hand ready to karate chop, then, with your palm facing up, sweep your arm in the direction of what you are trying to point out. I know this is a minute detail, but seriously, don't point.
  
• When someone goes out of their way to do something nice for you, hand-write them a thank-you note. Mail it through the postal service if possible, or hand deliver it otherwise. They went out of their way to help you, so you should go out of your way and go beyond an email to say thank you. A good guide to when and what to write can be found here.

Doing these simple things will get you started being a more courteous and thoughtful person. People will notice.

"From ancient grudge, break to new mutiny..."

Is there anyone out there who even reads this thing? Oh well. So lately I find myself thinking mainly in Romeo and Juliet quotes, specifically:

"What, are thou not drawn amongst these heartless hinds?"

"He who hath the steerage of my course, direct my sail."

"For now these days is the mad blood stirring..."

"The love I bear thee can afford no better name than this: thou art a villain."

"...be satisfied."

"They have made wormsmeat out of me."

"Oh, I am fortune's fool!"

and if it could only be this easy:

"Thus with a kiss I die."

Also, I find myself strangely haunted by this single line from MacBeth:

"...all my pretty chickens."