As I drew back the curtains to let some sunlight into my dank, smelly man-cave this morning, it occurred to me that in my most private moments, I am a decidedly strange individual.
For starters, I frequently anthropormorphize inanimate objects, animals, thin air, and the occasional passing stranger. Stepping forth from the newly-lit abyss that I loosely term a "bedroom", I planted my foot firmly into a damp patch of carpet that smelled suspiciously of dog piss. This invariably led to a two-minute tirade of curses directed primarily at my half-chihuaha/half-demon mutt Toby; but of course as he was napping quite peacefully, my wrath was quickly redirected at nearby furniture and kitchen appliances.
After this lovely wake-up, I stepped outside to enjoy the sunlight and my morning coffee, and managed to set my bare foot in yet another one of my two dogs' lovely little presents. They're so thoughtful. Naturally, this caused another storm of foul language that happened to be overheard by a passing group of small children on their way to school (whose mothers I'm quite sure will later thank the kind stranger who so enriched their childrens' vocabulary).
Irate at the way my morning had been going, I engaged a nearby squirrell in a polite conversation about how stupid my dogs are. Though he seemed rather quiet at first, when I turned our conversation towards the brisk morning weather, he began to chitter away quite merrilly. Apparently weather is more than just small talk to tiny little mammals, as he seemed to gesticulate rather animatedly in the general direction of the sun and then shivered visibly.
Now let me set something straight for a moment here. I do not in any way, shape, or form, believe that animals can talk back to me. I hold no Thornberry delusions, here (ten coolpoints for those who got the reference). It's simply a great way to vent my stresses, seeing as animals can neither comprehend my woes, nor point out how sadly petty said woes happen to be. Basically, squirrells are the perfect therapiists.
Anyways, after this delightful exchange, it dawned on me that had I been in the company of other people, I would never have shouted at thin air, or cussed at inanimate objects, or attempted to hold a conversation with a squirrel. It's not that I'm crazy (although if I were to be honest with myself, I am a wee bit off my rocker), it's simply that there are things that people don't do in polite company.
Farting, for one. Which I think is absolutely ludicrous, seeing as it's perfectly acceptable to burp and say "excuse me" or sneeze and say "bless you", and these are just two other quite disgusting bodily functions in their own right. But I digress.
It made me wonder what things other people do when they're alone. I honestly believe that everyone has one (or several) little idiosyncracies that don't reveal themselves in the company of others. And it made me realize, we are never truly and completely ourselves unless we're alone. Because no matter how close you can get to another human being, there will always be those things that you do when alone that you would never do in front of any other person. We all have our own private, crazy little quirk. For me, it's conversing with animals and toasters.
So the question I pose is this: what's yours?
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Who the hell planned this country, anyway?
The Hindu Kush are a very large, cave-riddled mountain range that juts into the northern part of Afghanistan from the China/Tajik/Pakistan border. It houses a whole host of naturally dangerous predators: from the deadly cave camel to the ferocious deep-mountain woolly goat, the Hindu Kush are a veritable viper's nest of vicious and ruthless killers.
[A reference, for those who have no idea where the hell Afghanistan is, or why there are mountains in a country that is mostly desert. It doesn't make sense to me, either.]
This is a brief video summarizing my thoughts on the noble, majestic mountains that were my daily companions in the struggle against boredom for freedom:
[A reference, for those who have no idea where the hell Afghanistan is, or why there are mountains in a country that is mostly desert. It doesn't make sense to me, either.]
This is a brief video summarizing my thoughts on the noble, majestic mountains that were my daily companions in the struggle against boredom for freedom:
Bacon, Boxers, and Bad Decisions
Hey, all.
Alright, so here's the deal. This is the very first post, so I'll try to get you guys up to speed on what's been going on. Here's a brief synopsis of my life so far:
>grew up in Michigan 'till I was 15
>forced to move to Texas halfway through Freshman year of high school
>"MY LIFE IS OVEEEEER"
>meet new friends in Dallas, move into bigger house
>"MY LIFE IS AWESOOOOOOME"
>leave Texas, move back to hometown in Michigan right before Senior year
>Rip Van Winkle ain't got shit on me
>meet awesome girl
>go off to college
>drop out of college
>lose awesome girl
>join Army
>become a medic
>move to Fort Drum in upstate New York
>spend 1 month doing paperwork
>get handed an M16 and some tourniquets, spend a year in Afghanistan
>come back to U.S.
>start blog
Any questions? Excellent, moving on, then.
So I just got back from deployment last week, and I've gotta say, things have been pretty weird. It's almost unreal to be back in the first world after having spent so much time living sans basic comforts. I find myself being surprised by really small details, these days. For example, being able to cook my own bacon.
Most soldiers, when asked, will tell you that the very first thing they want to do after a year-long deployment is to either a) drink copious amounts of alcohol; or b) sleep with as many willing partners as they can find in a 20-mile radius. Often, they'll tell you they want to do both.
But not me. See, me, I like bacon. Bacon doesn't make you throw up in the morning. Bacon will never sleep with you and not call you again. Bacon will always be there for you. Plus, it's gender-neutral, and thus enjoyable by all the boys and girls.
So what's the first thing I did when I got home? I went to Wal-Mart, bought myself a frying pan and a pound of delicious bacon, stripped myself of pants (I hate pants--we'll get to that later) and began filling my room with the sweet, musky aroma of sultry bacon strips.
Now picture this scene: you have just returned from a 48-hour journey from a country where half the people want to kill you, and the other half want to sell you something. You're carrying a year's worth of possessions in a rucksack, a duffel bag, and a backpack. Fighting both mental and physical exhaustion, you trudge your way up the stairs of a strange new barracks building and swing your head hopelessly from one corridor to the next, searching for a sign pointing you towards your room. After a few minutes of fatigued and aimless wandering, you stagger to your door and fumble out your keys. As you finally manage to heave your bedraggled body through the entrance, you are greeted by a profoundly strange sight: a rather tall bald man, wearing nothing but his boxers, holding a scalding-hot frying pan with several strips of mouth-watering, greasy, delicious bacon.
This in and of itself would have been strange enough for my poor roommate. But he had the misfortune of scaring the living piss out of me. This promptly caused me to drop the pan on my (quite exposed and sockless) foot, burning myself and spilling piping-hot bacon grease all over the floor. This in turn caused me to erupt in a constant stream of foul words and curses, accompanied by much one-footed hopping and pained howling--in addition to the grease-slicked floor and my state of undress.
Yet throughout all of this, my roommate merely unslung his rucksack, pulled out some (rather conveniently available) paper towels, and cleaned up the mess. Then, without a word, he left me standing half-naked and scalded, and trudged dutifully over to his room, where he dropped his packs, lay down on the bed, and immediately passed the fuck out.
And that's how I met my roommate, Turbo. Timmy Turbo, to be exact.
(I know, right?)
So there I was, stunned and scalded, my bacon gone and my boxers slightly singed by splatters of searing hot grease. And the whole scene made me realize just how much I'd missed the little things in life during this past year.
Like cooking bacon in the buff.
Alright, so here's the deal. This is the very first post, so I'll try to get you guys up to speed on what's been going on. Here's a brief synopsis of my life so far:
>grew up in Michigan 'till I was 15
>forced to move to Texas halfway through Freshman year of high school
>"MY LIFE IS OVEEEEER"
>meet new friends in Dallas, move into bigger house
>"MY LIFE IS AWESOOOOOOME"
>leave Texas, move back to hometown in Michigan right before Senior year
>Rip Van Winkle ain't got shit on me
>meet awesome girl
>go off to college
>drop out of college
>lose awesome girl
>join Army
>become a medic
>move to Fort Drum in upstate New York
>spend 1 month doing paperwork
>get handed an M16 and some tourniquets, spend a year in Afghanistan
>come back to U.S.
>start blog
Any questions? Excellent, moving on, then.
So I just got back from deployment last week, and I've gotta say, things have been pretty weird. It's almost unreal to be back in the first world after having spent so much time living sans basic comforts. I find myself being surprised by really small details, these days. For example, being able to cook my own bacon.
Most soldiers, when asked, will tell you that the very first thing they want to do after a year-long deployment is to either a) drink copious amounts of alcohol; or b) sleep with as many willing partners as they can find in a 20-mile radius. Often, they'll tell you they want to do both.
But not me. See, me, I like bacon. Bacon doesn't make you throw up in the morning. Bacon will never sleep with you and not call you again. Bacon will always be there for you. Plus, it's gender-neutral, and thus enjoyable by all the boys and girls.
So what's the first thing I did when I got home? I went to Wal-Mart, bought myself a frying pan and a pound of delicious bacon, stripped myself of pants (I hate pants--we'll get to that later) and began filling my room with the sweet, musky aroma of sultry bacon strips.
Now picture this scene: you have just returned from a 48-hour journey from a country where half the people want to kill you, and the other half want to sell you something. You're carrying a year's worth of possessions in a rucksack, a duffel bag, and a backpack. Fighting both mental and physical exhaustion, you trudge your way up the stairs of a strange new barracks building and swing your head hopelessly from one corridor to the next, searching for a sign pointing you towards your room. After a few minutes of fatigued and aimless wandering, you stagger to your door and fumble out your keys. As you finally manage to heave your bedraggled body through the entrance, you are greeted by a profoundly strange sight: a rather tall bald man, wearing nothing but his boxers, holding a scalding-hot frying pan with several strips of mouth-watering, greasy, delicious bacon.
This in and of itself would have been strange enough for my poor roommate. But he had the misfortune of scaring the living piss out of me. This promptly caused me to drop the pan on my (quite exposed and sockless) foot, burning myself and spilling piping-hot bacon grease all over the floor. This in turn caused me to erupt in a constant stream of foul words and curses, accompanied by much one-footed hopping and pained howling--in addition to the grease-slicked floor and my state of undress.
Yet throughout all of this, my roommate merely unslung his rucksack, pulled out some (rather conveniently available) paper towels, and cleaned up the mess. Then, without a word, he left me standing half-naked and scalded, and trudged dutifully over to his room, where he dropped his packs, lay down on the bed, and immediately passed the fuck out.
And that's how I met my roommate, Turbo. Timmy Turbo, to be exact.
(I know, right?)
So there I was, stunned and scalded, my bacon gone and my boxers slightly singed by splatters of searing hot grease. And the whole scene made me realize just how much I'd missed the little things in life during this past year.
Like cooking bacon in the buff.
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