Gettin' all reflective

Its about 12:30 on June 2^nd. I was just sitting here in my room reading, when I realize I could probably spend this time more productively by writing.

Back in October right before I left I invested some money in presents for myself. I bought this really kick-ass new watch, but I left that back in Nebraska so it wouldnt get thrashed here in Iraq (of course it got a little beat up during our first two months at Camp Shelby, but then so did I). Without a doubt however the best investment I made was my Ipod, and the time I spent pulling as much of my CD collection as I could onto it. So Im sitting here tonight, reading some half crappy fantasy book, but listening to songs that were taking me back to different times in my life. Something about late nights, hard days, and music can really bring about incidences of reflection.

Green Days album Dookie. That was around 1994. I was working at TGI Fridays (37 pieces of flair) and trying to go to school at the university. I can remember driving around campus in that beater little VW diesel blaring Green Day and The Offspring.

The Cult, Electric. Fun album for me. It was autumn of 1987, just months before I left for basic training. My friend Bill and I were regulars at the teen nights and clubs around Lincoln. Bills tastes were very pop, and I fancied I had some sort of pretentious college radio preferences. But The Cult and Georgia Satellites with their odd blend of southern rock, and a bit of metal, pop, and new wave flavors really appealed to me.

R.E.M. , Lifes Rich Pageant. One of my all time favorite albums. I was listening to it constantly the first time I was in college. I was so damn young, just seventeen when I started, and I had a seventeen year olds conviction that I was right, and knew everything. These were of course magnified by the fact that I was both somewhat bright, and somewhat lazy.

U2, and the Boy album. A bit tougher to pin down, but I always link I will follow to running somewhere on a cold day. I can hear Larry Mullen's amazing drum work, and at the same time I can see my breath in front of my face as I huff and puff through some obscure place going nowhere.

The Cranberries. Spain, 1992. I had the time of my life there. I was involved in community theater stuff (amazing since I lacked any actual talent in that arena), riding my motorcycle all over the place, and dating one beautiful Spanish woman after another. The song Dreams makes me think of three different girls whom I chased around at various times; Inma, Mercedes, and Paloma. Why did I ever leave there?

The Violent Femmes. This album is timeless. The Femmes, and the B-52s made some of my favorite music during my high school years. The Femmes actually swore, and talked about masturbation and stuff in their music! Add to that, their lead singers slightly whiny voice could easily have been mine.

Pantera, Vulgar Display of Power. Spain again, 1991. Running around the beach with Tony, going rock climbing, have I mentioned that Spain is a country absolutely packed FULL with beautiful women?

I also want to examine a little more what a 37 year old office working, YMCA going, pseudo-geek is doing as an infantry sergeant in combat. Well, the combat itself hasn't actually materialized, but I certainly volunteered and trained with the knowledge that it was the most probable outcome. The consensus of most of my brothers here is that once the bullets start flying we hope we'll continue to function effectively as we've been trained, but we still remain uncertain. At the same time few people Ive talked to have any real desire to court violence. Few people want to be shot at, and I'm not one of them. So why war as an avocation? Its certainly atypical when you examine the population as a whole. I think some of it stems from my fascination with military history, and hoping that my experiences with give me some kind of street-cred in my probably life-long study of politics, and politics by other means (war). I think there's some truth to this. I can think of a soldier standing under Hancock or Pickett, Patton or Peiper, Xerxes or Leonidas and understand a bit of what made them who they are. Better than a historian whose sole study of military history is confined to logistics, maneuver, and intelligence.

I had to go over to the east side today to take one of my soldiers to a soldier of the quarter board. While we were waiting around for the board to convene I got to sit at the internet, and surfed around for a bit. I found a blog sponsored by the journal star (Lincoln's daily newspaper) called the catty girl's something or other. At first I thought it was funny, then the triviality of their subject matter sort of pissed me off, then I thought the photos of one of the writers was pretty hot and looked a little deeper. Who am I to get pissed off because someone elses values dont match my own? Theyre doing no damage to me or anyone else. 99% of any person's life is made up of triviality, which is oxy-moronic if you think too hard about it. The moments that really matter are, for most people, few and far between, and often their importance isn't even realized until years later.

Im not sure I can look back right now and decide on the five most important moments in my life.

Well, it's 1am and I need to get up and fetch laundry tomorrow (there's a place on post that washes and folds it for free). So I'll sign off for now. Hopefully I can find this muse again, and maybe put some more important things on paper (ok, on electrons). The thing is, will I ever let anyone read it?

We'll close this up with The Screaming Trees Nearly Lost You. Its on the Singles soundtrack (my first Cameron Crowe movie). It was the end of 92 beginning of 93, and I was in Norfolk, VA. Carrying on a torrid affair with Debbie (who was just a wonderful woman), and waiting to separate from the Navy. Grunge was big, and I bought into it with a vengeance.

More to come