Outro 1
“Drill Sgt! Pvt. McPherson, the two most important men in my life told me I’d never make it in the Army, I’m just here to prove them wrong Drill Sgt.” After a few seconds that seemed like hours of DS Whigham giving me an appraising half-scowl, he nodded and said he’d help me prove them wrong. That’s it in a nutshell. I never had any thoughts of reenlisting, no desire to move up the ranks or be a lifer. One term was all I needed to look my father, my grandfather and myself in the eye and say, “Ha, I toldya!”
Outro 2
There, my plan was set, do one term in the military. Four simple years of keeping my head down, nose clean and mouth shut. I did that, I also put up with giving false respect based on what rank was on a guys collar and having my living quarters raked over anytime the cadre wanted to. I liked my time in the army as much as I hated it, but it was all worth it when I could look Dad and Pepere in the eyes and say, “I did it!” When that day came, they both said what I knew they would. “I’m proud of you, I always knew you could do it.”
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Intro 1
I was sitting on the tiled floor with sixty other young men and women. We were all probably thinking similar thoughts. ‘What the hell have I done?’ It’s the first day of basic training and we were getting our official rude awakening into Army life. Drill Sgt. Whigham was standing before us all shooting information at us in a very harsh rat-a-tat fashion when he asks; “Why are you here in my army? If any of you stand up and say it’s for the college money you might as well ring out now, you don’t join my army for college money.” Well, there’s the million dollar question. Why was I in this man’s army?
Intro 2
I spent four years in the Army, no more, no less. I knew I was there for one term only because that was goal I had for myself since age 12. That’s an odd goal for a twelve year old to have, graduate and do just one term in the military. I didn’t know any real facts about the army. Everything I knew about the army I’d learned on television or through stories my father had told me. But the stats and facts about the army weren’t important, I just had to do it. But why?
I was sitting on the tiled floor with sixty other young men and women. We were all probably thinking similar thoughts. ‘What the hell have I done?’ It’s the first day of basic training and we were getting our official rude awakening into Army life. Drill Sgt. Whigham was standing before us all shooting information at us in a very harsh rat-a-tat fashion when he asks; “Why are you here in my army? If any of you stand up and say it’s for the college money you might as well ring out now, you don’t join my army for college money.” Well, there’s the million dollar question. Why was I in this man’s army?
Intro 2
I spent four years in the Army, no more, no less. I knew I was there for one term only because that was goal I had for myself since age 12. That’s an odd goal for a twelve year old to have, graduate and do just one term in the military. I didn’t know any real facts about the army. Everything I knew about the army I’d learned on television or through stories my father had told me. But the stats and facts about the army weren’t important, I just had to do it. But why?
Reactions to ‘cause” essays.
‘Love Sucks’
The writing of the ‘love sucks’ essay seemed easy to follow and required very little back reading to pick up a lost point. I can even agree a little bit with the topic. When love ends it rarely ends well. I’m glad she is trying to better her grip on it. I liked the way she fired the final shot by saying the essay was going to be shown to her current mate.
‘Dancing Chicken’
Another one easy to read, it appeared to be in logical order. I’ve got no love for ballet or any dancing for that fact but I got the point of starting and quitting repeatedly. I used to be guilty of that, it’s always seemed easier to do when it was on Mom’s dime. I wonder if it has changed for this girl, assuming she’s now an adult and she has to pay for her hobbies. It’s hard to quit when you’ve got skin in the game.
‘Go Random Sports team.’
I can’t even tell you if I think this essay is well written. Any talk of sports and sports teams makes my mind glaze over and day dream about… not sports. It appears to me the graphs are too loaded but again I think the sentence, “The Sox are on”, involves too many sports related terms. One thing I did like was the ‘sound effects.’ I like to read “THWACK!” instead of, “The ball was hit and it made a loud cracking sound. But the over use of caps is one of my arch nemesis of the interwebz generation. The ending where it’s all a dream doesn’t set well with me. I was told by a high school English teacher when someone ends a story like that, it is because they didn’t bother to come up with a proper ending. I don’t know if that’s true but every time I see it that thought races through my head.
‘Double Time, March’
This one was so-so. I sure do understand the rush of being partnered up with a ‘crush’. The first three graphs were put together so it was mediocre to read. The last two seemed to switch gears and I got the impression there was a lack of supporting details.
‘Love Sucks’
The writing of the ‘love sucks’ essay seemed easy to follow and required very little back reading to pick up a lost point. I can even agree a little bit with the topic. When love ends it rarely ends well. I’m glad she is trying to better her grip on it. I liked the way she fired the final shot by saying the essay was going to be shown to her current mate.
‘Dancing Chicken’
Another one easy to read, it appeared to be in logical order. I’ve got no love for ballet or any dancing for that fact but I got the point of starting and quitting repeatedly. I used to be guilty of that, it’s always seemed easier to do when it was on Mom’s dime. I wonder if it has changed for this girl, assuming she’s now an adult and she has to pay for her hobbies. It’s hard to quit when you’ve got skin in the game.
‘Go Random Sports team.’
I can’t even tell you if I think this essay is well written. Any talk of sports and sports teams makes my mind glaze over and day dream about… not sports. It appears to me the graphs are too loaded but again I think the sentence, “The Sox are on”, involves too many sports related terms. One thing I did like was the ‘sound effects.’ I like to read “THWACK!” instead of, “The ball was hit and it made a loud cracking sound. But the over use of caps is one of my arch nemesis of the interwebz generation. The ending where it’s all a dream doesn’t set well with me. I was told by a high school English teacher when someone ends a story like that, it is because they didn’t bother to come up with a proper ending. I don’t know if that’s true but every time I see it that thought races through my head.
‘Double Time, March’
This one was so-so. I sure do understand the rush of being partnered up with a ‘crush’. The first three graphs were put together so it was mediocre to read. The last two seemed to switch gears and I got the impression there was a lack of supporting details.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Person
Assignment on proper graph construction. Slap/Goodies/Slap
I wonder if people who are complete pricks wake up in the morning and decide, I’m going to be arrogant and rude to everyone I meet today. Or is it a severe chemical imbalance and they don’t even realize they are lowering the happy factor of the entire human race? Chuck T. is one such prick and because I hate him so much I decided in his case it’s a choice. Chuck was the crane tagger and rigger on the shored vessel we worked on and his job was to make sure the crane loaded and unloaded materials for the crews to work with. All the time he did this, he made it a point to make ignorant comments to the crews, talking shit about how they were doing their jobs, how he’d have done it better, making fun of peoples clothing or tools. Even when people where nice to him he responded with venomous disdain and condescension. I never spoke to Chuck because I didn’t need his services. The one and only time I did was because a very young and simple co-worker of mine was trying to make Chuck’s job easier by sorting materials for off load into groups. He asked Chuck where he’d like the plywood stacked and Chuck’s response, “Put it in the scale pan you fucking retard!” I blew my top and got right in Chuck’s grill and stated, “Listen F#$K-bag, I don’t know who the f#$K you think you are but this kids trying to help you in case you didn’t notice. Now either get a glass stomach or dig your head out of your ass because the next time I hear you giving shit to anybody on this deck I’ll gladly lose my job by laying you the f#$k out!” Chuck tried to reply but I’d had enough. “No, shut the f#$k up. Go tell your boss, my boss or God himself that I threatened you. If you ain’t gonna do that, then just shut up and do your f#$king job!” That’s where we left it and the last time I heard news on Chuck T. he’d been fired when he was made to shave to enter a wood boiler and he dumped the clippings on the bosses desk.
Assignment on proper graph construction. Slap/Goodies/Slap
I wonder if people who are complete pricks wake up in the morning and decide, I’m going to be arrogant and rude to everyone I meet today. Or is it a severe chemical imbalance and they don’t even realize they are lowering the happy factor of the entire human race? Chuck T. is one such prick and because I hate him so much I decided in his case it’s a choice. Chuck was the crane tagger and rigger on the shored vessel we worked on and his job was to make sure the crane loaded and unloaded materials for the crews to work with. All the time he did this, he made it a point to make ignorant comments to the crews, talking shit about how they were doing their jobs, how he’d have done it better, making fun of peoples clothing or tools. Even when people where nice to him he responded with venomous disdain and condescension. I never spoke to Chuck because I didn’t need his services. The one and only time I did was because a very young and simple co-worker of mine was trying to make Chuck’s job easier by sorting materials for off load into groups. He asked Chuck where he’d like the plywood stacked and Chuck’s response, “Put it in the scale pan you fucking retard!” I blew my top and got right in Chuck’s grill and stated, “Listen F#$K-bag, I don’t know who the f#$K you think you are but this kids trying to help you in case you didn’t notice. Now either get a glass stomach or dig your head out of your ass because the next time I hear you giving shit to anybody on this deck I’ll gladly lose my job by laying you the f#$k out!” Chuck tried to reply but I’d had enough. “No, shut the f#$k up. Go tell your boss, my boss or God himself that I threatened you. If you ain’t gonna do that, then just shut up and do your f#$king job!” That’s where we left it and the last time I heard news on Chuck T. he’d been fired when he was made to shave to enter a wood boiler and he dumped the clippings on the bosses desk.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Unique
I guess I'm a bit of a riddle even to myself. Sure I'm unique but probably not as special or peculiar as I may think I am. I sure am eclectic. I'm kind of a rough cut hill-billy in my appearance, with my scuffed up work boots or gum-rubbers, dirty tattered jeans, my pocketed tee and work shirt. I'm almost never seen without a dew rag on my head, or a hat if the situation calls for it. My face is usually scruffy and unkempt and a nice little battle scar across the bridge of my nose. It's rare to find me without my trusty Swiss army knife and a pen clipped to my tee-shirt.
I usually tend to come off real gruff and alpha male, but I'm a lot more complex and open than that. I enjoy all your manly-man activities; building, destroying, burning, drinking, fighting, cussing, welding. However I also like to read and study religions and cultures, I love animals to a point and the same goes for kids. I love music and comedy as much as I love silence and a good heated debate or argument. I'm not openly religious but I believe in a very strict moral and ethical code that has no religious foundation at all, it's just what makes sense to me.
My lifestyle and diet is attrocious. I don't take care of myself very well and my diet consists of coke, coffee, beer, smokes, and what ever the microwave has to offer. But when I get the chance to sit down to one of my wife's meals it's like heaven on Earth.
I love to do hard labor but I hope it pays off with a future job at a desk or in a classroom. I don't want to work hard till I die, I want to work hard now and less later. On the topic of work. I work hard most days but I get hit with a major case of the 'lazies' from time to time and make no excuses. I actually call them 'Shane Appreciation Days'.
Am I unique? Yeah I'm unique, just like everyone else.
I usually tend to come off real gruff and alpha male, but I'm a lot more complex and open than that. I enjoy all your manly-man activities; building, destroying, burning, drinking, fighting, cussing, welding. However I also like to read and study religions and cultures, I love animals to a point and the same goes for kids. I love music and comedy as much as I love silence and a good heated debate or argument. I'm not openly religious but I believe in a very strict moral and ethical code that has no religious foundation at all, it's just what makes sense to me.
My lifestyle and diet is attrocious. I don't take care of myself very well and my diet consists of coke, coffee, beer, smokes, and what ever the microwave has to offer. But when I get the chance to sit down to one of my wife's meals it's like heaven on Earth.
I love to do hard labor but I hope it pays off with a future job at a desk or in a classroom. I don't want to work hard till I die, I want to work hard now and less later. On the topic of work. I work hard most days but I get hit with a major case of the 'lazies' from time to time and make no excuses. I actually call them 'Shane Appreciation Days'.
Am I unique? Yeah I'm unique, just like everyone else.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Inventory of my 30”x12’-6” work bench, shadow board and lower shelf excluded.
End to end blanket of wood dust.
Left to right: 6x6” steel box filled with stubs of welding tungsten,
Upside down hard hat filled with flapper wheels of various grits,
Stack o’ books: electrical wiring, wood working, plumbing, more wood working.
4x12” bin filled with tapes: electrical, friction, teflon, duct, rubber, masking/painting.
Stack of sand paper in varying grits
Four mini-sledge hammer heads and one RP shovel head in need of new handles,
Four empty Budweiser tall boys and one empty Bud Light can with evidence of cigar ash on top
Plexiglass case of router bits
Two sets of “small bits” organizing units filled with small nuts, tacks, wire nuts, molly anchors, alice clips, grommets, washers, screws, drill bits, alan wrenches, small sockets, etc.
A standard 12” bench vice, and flat, sliding bar vice.
An almost completed shelf, for the bathroom, with holes in it for girly hair tools.
Series of old Folgers cans filled with, random screw drivers, socket drivers, rasps, files, chisels, punches, nail sets, drift pins, carving gouges.
Stack of leather blanks for various sizes, thickness, and animals.
A jigsaw with the chord almost detached
A coiled up extension cord with the male end severed.
A belt sander, 3x18”
Scroll saw, band saw, drill press, and an archaic frame used to turn any power drill motor into a drill press.
A ceramic plant pot filled with old door hinges and pins
A terracotta green man pot filled with Romex connectors, and steel outlet boxes.
A leather stretching clamp
A glass mason jar with welding/plasma tips and an old slag/dross hammer
A small pile of basswood and whitewood.
A stack of might putty blocks.
Wow, this guy has an odd view on “organized”, items seem to be corralled into loose groupings but there’s almost no real work surface. He probably has to spend equal time cleaning a space off as he does doing the intended project. And speaking of projects, with the pile of tools that need attention, he probably doesn’t have a lot of time to spend on them. However he certainly does cover the spectrum of crafting and repair, everything from metal working to wood carving, electrical and leather work. It is a bit disturbing though, to see the empty beers and ash. It’s 2010, doesn’t he realize; A) the dangers of power tools and alcohol? and B) how explosive wood dust can be. He’s either invincible or foolish. He does make good use of those old coffee cans, but I wonder if his wife knows about the pottery he’s using to hold his brick-a-brack. Judging by this partially complete shelf, he does good work, I wonder if that’s pre beer or post beer. Any way I guess I know who to call if I need a metal-leather-wood, book case with accent lighting.
End to end blanket of wood dust.
Left to right: 6x6” steel box filled with stubs of welding tungsten,
Upside down hard hat filled with flapper wheels of various grits,
Stack o’ books: electrical wiring, wood working, plumbing, more wood working.
4x12” bin filled with tapes: electrical, friction, teflon, duct, rubber, masking/painting.
Stack of sand paper in varying grits
Four mini-sledge hammer heads and one RP shovel head in need of new handles,
Four empty Budweiser tall boys and one empty Bud Light can with evidence of cigar ash on top
Plexiglass case of router bits
Two sets of “small bits” organizing units filled with small nuts, tacks, wire nuts, molly anchors, alice clips, grommets, washers, screws, drill bits, alan wrenches, small sockets, etc.
A standard 12” bench vice, and flat, sliding bar vice.
An almost completed shelf, for the bathroom, with holes in it for girly hair tools.
Series of old Folgers cans filled with, random screw drivers, socket drivers, rasps, files, chisels, punches, nail sets, drift pins, carving gouges.
Stack of leather blanks for various sizes, thickness, and animals.
A jigsaw with the chord almost detached
A coiled up extension cord with the male end severed.
A belt sander, 3x18”
Scroll saw, band saw, drill press, and an archaic frame used to turn any power drill motor into a drill press.
A ceramic plant pot filled with old door hinges and pins
A terracotta green man pot filled with Romex connectors, and steel outlet boxes.
A leather stretching clamp
A glass mason jar with welding/plasma tips and an old slag/dross hammer
A small pile of basswood and whitewood.
A stack of might putty blocks.
Wow, this guy has an odd view on “organized”, items seem to be corralled into loose groupings but there’s almost no real work surface. He probably has to spend equal time cleaning a space off as he does doing the intended project. And speaking of projects, with the pile of tools that need attention, he probably doesn’t have a lot of time to spend on them. However he certainly does cover the spectrum of crafting and repair, everything from metal working to wood carving, electrical and leather work. It is a bit disturbing though, to see the empty beers and ash. It’s 2010, doesn’t he realize; A) the dangers of power tools and alcohol? and B) how explosive wood dust can be. He’s either invincible or foolish. He does make good use of those old coffee cans, but I wonder if his wife knows about the pottery he’s using to hold his brick-a-brack. Judging by this partially complete shelf, he does good work, I wonder if that’s pre beer or post beer. Any way I guess I know who to call if I need a metal-leather-wood, book case with accent lighting.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Worst Teacher 9/1 assignment
Worst Teacher
If I close my eyes and think real hard I could probably envision myself back in Mr. B’s class room. But I’m not going to do that. Why bring such discomfort and irritation upon myself? In my humble opinion Mr. B was and most likely still is a horrid human. Granted, I wasn’t the role model student, just a long haired skater punk with my fair share of attitude and angst. However, I did pass in my assignments on time and kept my mouth shut and head down for the most part. But for some reason Mr. B took an immediate disliking to me. Was it the hair? The tar-scuffed Jncos? Maybe he just needs a focus for his anger every year and I was it.
I could almost smell it in the air when he and I were going to have it out. It would usually start after he’d given his speech and instructions for the day and open the floor to questions and comments. He knew how to get it started and foolish I always bit. “Did you get it McPherson or do we need a picture today?” The other kids even my good friends would chuckle. I don’t blame them, I probably would have too were the name McPherson switched out and replaced. But I didn’t chuckle, like I said before I always took the bait. I would come back at him with a juvenile retort, along the lines of “No, B I don’t get that but I did get your moms last night”. Like I said, very juvenile but that’s what I and my peers were so it got the class hooting and gasping. Like a check list, the next step, B’s face went through the five shades of red and then he’d verbally blister me and escort me down to the main office where I’d spend the next half hour.
If it wasn’t the out and out verbal arguments it was giving me lousy grades base on items that the other kids got passes on. Like handwriting , Obviously he could read my papers as he’d make comments on the subject matter , so my writing couldn’t have been unreadable. There were kids with far worse handwriting than mine. A lot of times he’d just hover over my desk for extended periods of time, trying to bird-dog me until I, again, bit and responded with anger.
The pinnacle and final showdown of M vs. B was the second to last day of school. After the school day my best friend and I were having a water gun war with our new Super Soaker 3k water cannons. On the street that ran by the school. Mind you, we were off school grounds by sixty feet or better, and not bothering anyone. B comes running out of the school and demands we hand out guns to him or he calls the police. I guess in my eighth grade mindset, threatening me with the police was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I informed him of my father’s three rules of fighting: “Can’t see-can’t fight, can’t breath-can’t fight, Can’t walk-can’t fight”. I know he wasn’t scared, I was 13-14 years old, and he would probably have squashed me like a bug. However for whatever reason he stormed back inside, we continued our gun battle, the cops never showed. The following day, (the last day of school), he blocked me at the door and wouldn’t let me in class without an apology to him if front of the class. He did not get an apology, what he got was me doing an about face, walking to the office, asking them to call my mother up here for an impromptu Parent –Teacher meeting. My mother (a very smart woman) came right up, listened to both sides of the story, and told B and the principal as a punishment for my crimes we were going out to lunch and ice cream for the day.
Mr. B, 18 years have passed and I hope life has treated you the way you treated me that year, every step of the way.
If I close my eyes and think real hard I could probably envision myself back in Mr. B’s class room. But I’m not going to do that. Why bring such discomfort and irritation upon myself? In my humble opinion Mr. B was and most likely still is a horrid human. Granted, I wasn’t the role model student, just a long haired skater punk with my fair share of attitude and angst. However, I did pass in my assignments on time and kept my mouth shut and head down for the most part. But for some reason Mr. B took an immediate disliking to me. Was it the hair? The tar-scuffed Jncos? Maybe he just needs a focus for his anger every year and I was it.
I could almost smell it in the air when he and I were going to have it out. It would usually start after he’d given his speech and instructions for the day and open the floor to questions and comments. He knew how to get it started and foolish I always bit. “Did you get it McPherson or do we need a picture today?” The other kids even my good friends would chuckle. I don’t blame them, I probably would have too were the name McPherson switched out and replaced. But I didn’t chuckle, like I said before I always took the bait. I would come back at him with a juvenile retort, along the lines of “No, B I don’t get that but I did get your moms last night”. Like I said, very juvenile but that’s what I and my peers were so it got the class hooting and gasping. Like a check list, the next step, B’s face went through the five shades of red and then he’d verbally blister me and escort me down to the main office where I’d spend the next half hour.
If it wasn’t the out and out verbal arguments it was giving me lousy grades base on items that the other kids got passes on. Like handwriting , Obviously he could read my papers as he’d make comments on the subject matter , so my writing couldn’t have been unreadable. There were kids with far worse handwriting than mine. A lot of times he’d just hover over my desk for extended periods of time, trying to bird-dog me until I, again, bit and responded with anger.
The pinnacle and final showdown of M vs. B was the second to last day of school. After the school day my best friend and I were having a water gun war with our new Super Soaker 3k water cannons. On the street that ran by the school. Mind you, we were off school grounds by sixty feet or better, and not bothering anyone. B comes running out of the school and demands we hand out guns to him or he calls the police. I guess in my eighth grade mindset, threatening me with the police was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I informed him of my father’s three rules of fighting: “Can’t see-can’t fight, can’t breath-can’t fight, Can’t walk-can’t fight”. I know he wasn’t scared, I was 13-14 years old, and he would probably have squashed me like a bug. However for whatever reason he stormed back inside, we continued our gun battle, the cops never showed. The following day, (the last day of school), he blocked me at the door and wouldn’t let me in class without an apology to him if front of the class. He did not get an apology, what he got was me doing an about face, walking to the office, asking them to call my mother up here for an impromptu Parent –Teacher meeting. My mother (a very smart woman) came right up, listened to both sides of the story, and told B and the principal as a punishment for my crimes we were going out to lunch and ice cream for the day.
Mr. B, 18 years have passed and I hope life has treated you the way you treated me that year, every step of the way.
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