| California Trip |
[Aug. 8th, 2006|10:54 pm] |
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So on the way to seeing my cousins and grandparents in California, Gretchen Wilson (country music star) was on my Southwest flight to Las Vegas. After we left the plane, we both had connecting flights in a different terminal, so we rode the shuttle together. I chatted with her and her "crew" (manager, etc.). They barely caught their plane (our flight from Nashville was late) to Portland; I missed mine to San Jose. Then there were 5 good days in crazy California. It was good to see the fam again, and hopefully my youngest cousin will come to visit me at UT. |
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| So tired |
[Aug. 1st, 2006|09:41 pm] |
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Heat index around 100-105, humidity around 400%. Mulching yesterday. Pressure washing and painting today. Painting tomorrow. So tired. |
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| Yes, it IS 4 AM |
[Jul. 29th, 2006|04:05 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Bonus room | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  weird | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Blue Merle | ] |
I just got back from a crazy 30 or so hours in Murfreesboro. I went down last night at around 10 pm to the Boro, where Matt was attending a family reunion of his DAD's side. Originally, Matt and his brother were going to come up to Brentwood and visit, but I eventually called Matt and he said that his (slightly inebriated) relatives said, "Woo, tell him to come down here instead!" (or something to that effect). So I did.
Ok, so Matt has a pretty hot second/third/twice removed or something cousin (it's complicated) but she had a boyfriend. And she was only 17 (going to be a senior in high school), so it was an iffy situation. Still, she was as least nice to hang out with.
Also, another cousin of some sort brought a long a pretty hot friend. So at least it wasn't a sausage fest.
I got way too drunk last night. Matt, his brother, and I ran across highway 231 in Murfreesboro (a very large 4-lane highway) in order to get to the ultimate drunk destination: Waffle House. We had some glorious 3:30 AM breakfast food. We then returned to their sweet hotel, the Quality (ironic) Inn and got into the lukewarm tub. Well, I didn't bring a towel or extra underwear, so I was very cold and wet for a while. And today, while I was letting my boxers dry (unsuccessfully) I had to go commando... and when a guy wears shorts and goes commando, he has to make sure nothing falls out of place. So I am in the middle of the continental breakfast room, talking to all kinds of grandparents and great aunts and uncles and cousins of every stripe, trying to make sure that I sat correctly on my shorts and nothing was exposed. And all the while I have a pounding headache and am still a little woozy. For most people it would have supremely akward, but, then again, few people have ever hung out with Matt's MOM's family in a 4 bedroom cabin in the Maryland woods with 20 kids (most under aged 10), 10 adults, and a foot of snow to block any possible escape (craziest Thanksgiving ever).
Then tonight for dinner we went to Miller's Grocery in a small hick town outside of Murfreesboro. It was like a REAL cracker barrel (not a huge corporation). They even had a bluegrass band playing all of the bluegrass favorites, like... chirp chirp (can't name any except Rocky Top, which they did play). They even had frog legs, which actually tasted pretty good (yes, it was a lot like chicken). I got the fried food extravaganza, including: fried shrimp, corn nuggets (like fried creamed corn), hush puppies, cheddar cheese mashed potatoes (not as good as I thought they would be), and coleslaw (which only got half a forkful). They also had some delicious fruit tea. It was an awesome dinner.
Then we got back, played cards and everything for a handful of hours, went back to Matt's room and watched Family Guy on TBS. After that I decided to hit the road because waking up in Murfreesboro is kind of depressing (no offense to MTSU folks, but it is) and the traffic around the hotel is a bitch. Then when I finally got on I-24 at 3:15 AM, the speedometer in the Volvo starting freaking the hell out. I would be going around 70 mph, and it would randomly twitch, going up a couple times as high as 95 and as low as 40. Needless to say, I started asking myself if this was really happening or if it was just a late night hallucination. Thankfully, after I slowed down a bit the speedometer got its bearings, cleared its head, and resumed normal functionality. Then I drove on the best interstate highway in the country, 840, the huge connector loop going from I-65 to I-40, where you will be lucky to pass 10 cars on a 40 mile stretch. And, as is always the case in Brentwood, as I was pulling off onto Moores Lane, there was somebody stopped by a Brentwood cop. They are so predictable.
Goodnight. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 27th, 2006|02:03 pm] |
So it wasn't over-inflated tires, but we were close. We also thought it might have been the suspension or the alignment....
well it was the alignment of the suspension. The suspension on the back wheels was off, making it so that when we hit a bump the back wheels were trying to compensate for the front wheels. You can imagine that it was an ugly site on bumpy and wet roads in crappy Kentucky. |
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| Small concentric circles... |
[Jul. 25th, 2006|09:42 pm] |
Currently listening to: 90s Rock Mix (Goo Goo Dolls, Third Eye Blind, Oasis, etc.), Straylight Run (emo piano music), and Muse (sweet English rock band. If you have never listened to Absolution -- yes, the whole album --, you haven't ever actually listened to music. Sorry)
Another fascinating day in my life. I detailed my mom's minivan! Awesome!
My shoulder, which was hurting from tubing and kneeboarding this weekend anyways, is pretty sore right now because I was pressing so hard into the car, over and over again, in a circular pattern. And when it was all finished... the hood still looked like sh_t because the paint on the hood was already slightly damaged from before, from when leaves sat on there too long and sucked out the paint juice (or some similar chemical reaction) from the sparkly navy blue finish.
Make sure to check out Japanese boy band Yatta. If you have never seen this enjoyable (and enlightening? I dunno, it's always a good thing to learn about other cultures) music video then you are in for a real treat.
http://ebaumsworld.com/2006/07/yatta.html
I would have posted the YouTube link but it has "offensive" material that needed logging in or signing up or some such garbage. It's not even that offensive... I mean, they ARE wearing underwear and leaves over their crotches.
Ok, so I am officially ready to go back to Knoxville again. Except first I need to tell my apartment complex that I went to the hospital for an allergic reaction, probably to mold, so they can make sure that there isn't too much in my apt. or in the apt. above us (whose A/C broke and which consequently leaked into our apt. causing said reaction). After I get back from Cali (that's what my cousins call it) to see my cousins and grandparents, I will head back to Knoxville for another rousing fall of class, studying, peer mentoring, drinking, and, most importantly, football. Can't wait. Then after that, 4 and a half glorious months in the mountains of southwestern Spain in Granada! Not only that, but high school friends Kinsey and Sammy C will be in Paris, France, and Frieburg (sp?), Germany, respectively. We can show each other around "our" countries and it will be a grand time had by all.
Ok, this is getting a little long, as it always does. |
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| An Update, of course |
[Jul. 24th, 2006|10:00 pm] |
So in Indiana we went tubing, wake boarding, and knee boarding. I drank a lot the first night, drank a moderate amount the next day (spaced out), and nothing the next day because I was so freakin' tired and had to leave. I had a blast with the kids of my dad's frat bros from Miami. You can read all about it at http://zephryllis.livejournal.com at Meg's journal. She documented it pretty well.
A girl I worked with at Chili's last summer, Kelly, just called me cause she just tranferred to UT and is moving to Knoxville. She wanted to hang out but I couldn't because I am here in Brentwood. Oh well, it will just have to wait until August.
In other news, there isn't much news. I am very excited that school is starting, and I'm really excited for Kelley Teckman (Meg's sister) who just learned about her new roommate. I remember when I found out my roommate, and it was an exciting time. Kelley will be attending Miami just like our dads. Hopefully I can go up and visit because we had such a good time at the lake in Indy and I love Miami in the fall.
Later |
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| Another long period between entries. |
[Jul. 23rd, 2006|10:50 pm] |
I haven't written in a long time, etc. This happens all the time. I am a very unfaithful journal updater. We'll see how long this spurt lasts.
But I am writing in this however, because I just got back from Room 3 in Indiana and I was checkin' up on Meg Teckman's facebook profile and I started reading her profile and I thought I remembered that I had a livejournal account. And here it is.
Ok I had the scariest event of my life happen on I-65 near Elizabethtown, Kentucky because the roads in Kentucky suck... a lot. Dave and I decided that it is probably because his tires were over inflated... on his second new car in 2 months. So... it started raining near Bowling Green, which is about 23 miles from the Tennessee border. It was raining really hard with lots of wind and lightning but we held up fine for a while. After finishing some Dane Cook on the iPod (and after a few small hydroplane slips) we pulled over to check on the tires, which, in the pouring rain, seemed fine. So eventually the rain let up a little bit, making it easier for the water to puddle on the road. We hit a bump, fishtailed to our right, then I guess Dave turned the wheel slightly to the left and since we were hydroplaning (is that even a word?) the car overreacted and we did a 180, facing the wrong way on the interstate, gliding along at the same speed as if we were on ice, so it was actually kind of cool. We gradually drited (backward) toward the median, spinning out in the grass. We continued on, yadda yadda yadda, and we got there eventually.
I'm too tired to keep writing. So little sleep this weekend. Pardon poor syntax, usage, spelling, etc. Sooo tired. |
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| Virginia Party Time |
[Jul. 30th, 2005|11:57 pm] |
Kristina Jones-Scott came to pick me up last Friday at 11:30 a.m. We drove the three hours to Knoxville to pick up Harb and Bowles. On the way there we got to know each other pretty well (or I got to know her pretty well, she didn't ask a whole lot about me, but that's ok, I'm not a big talker). We hit traffic on the way there, which sucked because there was no discernable reason -- rubberneckers, probably. After picking up Harb and Bowles at the Crew Boathouse in K-Town we headed northeast toward our destination, Churchville, Virginia. We played some sweet music and stopped for some sweet dinner on the way. That drive took 5 hours. On the way I talked to Matty Matty Matt Matt a couple times to make sure that he would indeed be coming Friday night, like he said he would. No dice. He told me that he would actually be coming up on Saturday afternoon, which was acceptable, if disappointing.
We got there at about 10:30 p.m. eastern time, where Edwin, the resident of the farm, greeted us, drink in hand. I pitched my tent near 3 other tents and cracked open the bottle of Captain Mo's that I brought. Then I played a game of beer pong with Stew and we slaughtered TJ and Jessi, two attractive sisters from Annapolis (Edwin's former neighbors). I decided to head over to the house to use the restroom, and I met TJ and Jessi on the way. They also had to go so I let them go ahead of me. While they were walking in front of me I witnessed and incredibly revealing and hilarious conversation. I don't remember the details of the dialogue but I do remember that it pertained to TJ having butt sex. Jessi said something like, "You only did it that one time, it's not like you do it all the time". I was cracking up, just 5 feet behind them but they paid me no attention. I got pretty fun that night and tried to go to bed around 3 a.m. in the tent but I couldn't because I was feeling sick. So I kinda walked around the camp-party-tent area in my boxers for another half hour, trying to hold off any kind of physical reaction to the alcohol. I went back to my tent to sit there and think of a way to eat up time without getting sick, but I fell back in frustration. Next thing I know I'm on my air matress and I smile cause I fell asleep and didn't get sick.
I wake up around 7 a.m. and start getting pissed because it is so frickin' hot. I had a rain cover over the tent but it backfired because it trapped all of the hot air inside my tent. So I got up with my dob kit in hand and walked all the way over to the house and wandered around for a while, looking for a decent bed in which to sleep. I found a wide couch in one of the two air-conditioned rooms and really enjoyed my stay there.
The next day was very uneventful but cool. We just kinda hung out, eatin some food, drinking lots of water. Matt called Kristina while we were on the way to the Family Dollar and I knew it would be bad news. Her phone started ringing and I said, "He can't come". I was right. He [you] couldn't find a ride, despite having weeks of prep-time to take care of it. I didn't get very inebriated that night; instead I just enjoyed my time in such a serene, calming setting. No work, all relaxtion. I went to my couch-bed in the air conditioned room at 1 a.m. but didn't fall to sleep until 3:30 or 4.
The next day we set out for K-Town and Ca$hville at 10 a.m. Harb let me start reading Harry Potter and by the time we got to Knoxville, I was already totally absorbed. He let me borrow it until I see him again in August. By the time I got home I was halfway through the book. I finished it the next day. It is a sensational and tragic story. Can't wait for the next one. |
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| Classic day at work |
[Jul. 15th, 2005|03:18 pm] |
Today is a perfect example of how my job sucks sometimes. I was leading, which means I stand behind the board with all of the tables on it and I decide where to put who and when to do it. A party of ten called ahead at 12:13, which is just as good as being there, as long as there is a wait, and I told them the wait would be about 30 minutes. About 20 minutes later a girls basketball team came in. They were a party of 12 and there was another party of 4 with them. Eventually we were able to seat the 8 girls in our 8 person booth and 4 of the other folks in a four person booth. The party of 10, which had called ahead, then came in. However, only the woman who called came into the lobby to get the pager, so it wasn't obvious to anyone else in the lobby that a big party had shown up. The party of four, which had come in with the basketball team, included a little girl in a wheel chair, so it wouldn't have been possible for them to sit at a booth, which is what all of the smaller parties who came in after them did. Eventually two tables came available, so I sat the party of 10 at those tables. The alpha male of the party of 4 saw them come in. What he didn't realize is that they were waiting outside, talking and waiting, so he thought we just put them ahead of his table for whatever reason. Eventually he came up to me and asked what the deal was, asking why everyone was coming in and being put ahead of them. I explained that the party of 10 called ahead so they were first, and all of the smaller parties coming in sat at booths. Then he started complaining about how this happens every time he's at Chili's. A minute later he and his wife started complaining again to Meaghan (a hostess)and me, so again explained that we were waiting for a table to come open for them. I tried to offer a seat in the lounge, which is the smoking section, trying anything to placate them, but the guy goes, "Naw man, just look!" and he pointed at his daughter, like I am supposed to know that her condition made it impossible for her to breath smoke. Then the wife asks, "Don't you have handicap accessible seating???", and of course we do, they are the tables, which we just told her a second before. Then the husband started freaking out again about how bad this was and by this point Meaghan and I were really starting to get pissed (not visibly, but we were talking about it later). They again accused us of not having handicap accessible seating and Meaghan said, "But we have tables all around this half of the restaurant!" Then she left and called for a manager to come up to try to help the situation because she couldn't handle it anymore. Dean, one of my managers, came up and basically repeated what I said, which was that the party of 10 called ahead so they were first. I don't know what these people's problem was, but they couldn't seem to process what we were telling them. That or they were just raising a scene to try to get seated faster, which didn't work. The reason why I think that may have been the case is because between rants, they went back to joking and smiling with each other then back into super pissed mode when talking to us.
When a table eventually got up, they went to it and went back to happy-go-lucky mode. At their table Dean gave them a number for our regional manager, Jason, so they could get some freebies or something and complain and blah blah blah. But what is the very worst part to me, the part that pisses me off more than anything, is that they sat within the time they were quoted. It's not as if they had to wait extra time because of their handicapped daughter. Instead they felt that they were entitled to extra attention because of their daughter's disability. Stuff like this happens ALL the time.
Can't wait till school starts. |
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| State of the Summer Address |
[Jul. 5th, 2005|09:27 pm] |
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My parents were gone every weekend the past 3 weeks, so I had people over to drink/party each of the last three weeks. Every time was pretty successful; no permanent stains, no breaks, no cops. There hasn't been much going on at work. Hosting at Chili's is really quite an easy job, but I feel like it's a waste of time. I want to live my life to the absolute fullest and this summer is full of crap and so is most of the school year. The meat and bones of life is enjoying it with others and I don't feel like I do it enough. This is mostly coming out because I just watched A.I. which is mediocre in many respects but very good at provoking thought about what it means to live a full life with people you love. At the end of the movie David brings back his "mother" for one last day together. It got me thinking about how Michael's mom just died and how if my mom died I don't know what I would do with myself, and how incredible it would be to enjoy just one more day with her. What would you do with your mom if you only had one more day? |
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| A Crazy/Fun Day |
[Jun. 21st, 2005|11:03 pm] |
During the party at my house last weekend, Kinsey, Ryan, Fredi, Robby, and I decided to go out on the lake today to go tubing. At 10:30 today I found out that Kentress and Danny B (D Bass) would be joining us. That's 7 people for a 5 person boat. That's 1250 pounds for a boat that holds 700 pounds. After spending an hour in Brentwood, getting lunch and working things out in town, we headed for Percy Priest Lake off of I-40. The trip only took about 20-30 minutes, even with a boat in tow.
The boat was so small that I decided to leave my back pack in Kinsey's car, and while I was away Kinsey rammed the boat into the dock. He said, "I was confused on what to do so I gunned it". Makes sense to me, I guess. All 7 of us piled into the boat and we struggled across the water. Kent and Ryan took the tube first, and Kinsey gunned it for the first time on open water. We hit about 15 miles per hour and it was pitiful. Eventually Kent and Ryan decided to stand up and fall backwards, so that was sweet.
We all decided that we had way too many people on the boat and that some needed to be dropped off, so we found an island and Kent and Ryan swam to it with a bottle of whiskey in hand, after an excellent Kinsey throw. To cut out a lot of the details, Kent got drunk, Ryan got wasted, Robby got a little drunk, Danny B got a little drunk, and Fredi, Kinsey, and I didn't drink at all; I had the best wipe out (and stayed on the longest).
Kinsey, Fredi, and I towed a father and son from Hendersonville whose SeaDoo had broken down. It took forever because the boat could only go 10 mph with a heavy tow like a SeaDoo.
After that we went to a cliff in what we thought was public property. After 6 jumped a guy came by and told us to get out because it was private property. Everyone was climbing the cliff side so the only way to get down was to jump and he yelled at us for that too.
Kinsey yelled, "What the f*** are they supposed to do?"
Five were in the boat and Fredi and Dbass were being towed. About 200 yards out I heard, "1...2...3... F*** YOU!!!" from Robby, Kent, and Ryan. Very mature, I thought. Not 2 seconds after they said that, the boat stopped. I started wondering if I was in a movie, or a reality TV show, perhaps, because of the uncanny timing. I was waiting for the dude to come out with a sniper rifle and pick us off one by one for being such dicks. After all, he did have his binoculars out to check the license number on the side of the boat, so this dude was serious. The lake cops never came, but 20 minutes later Ryan and I decided to try to swim the boat back in -- my reasoning: well I haven't worked out yet today, so I'll do it. With Ryan and me on the front of the boat, holding onto a rope, the boat kicked on and Ryan and I started screaming. Ryan let go and I started straddling the front of the boat, wondering if I was about to be cut up by the propeller on the engine. Kinsey cut the engine, though, and we were safe.
We got back to the dock and tried our best to put the boat safely back on the trailer. Something was wrong, I knew, but it looked pretty secure. Right after getting onto I-40 West, Kinsey declared that the boat was definietly loose. We decided to pull over and secure it -- on the side of I-40, just east of the airport. This is a very, very busy road, especially seeing as it was rush hour. I figured out the problem and we took off again. Forty minutes later and Ryan and I got to his house.
We swam and hot tubbed it for a while. His dad came home, driving a 2006 Corvette, which isn't even available to the public yet (his dad works for GM, so he gets some sweet hookups). He let Ryan drive the two of us around his neighborhood. It can't be described. 505 horsepower, 7.0 litre, all the amenities. Will retail for $70,000.
Matt, I am sure you are very jealous at this point. You should be.
Today was great. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 10th, 2005|09:56 pm] |
My carefree days had been waning since my first day at West Point. I came back a different person. I knew that many of the people I met at West Point would die way before their time, in battle. It is one thing to sit at home and watch the news and see pictures and names of dead soldiers on TV. It is another to meet and be commanded by some who will actually die (it is a statistical certainty, a fact that we had to come to terms with).
After that I was different, but I still had a shred of innocence. Don't get me wrong, I can still have a good time. I'm not exactly a big partier or anything, but I can let loose. Now everything is in a different perspective.
Yesterday Michael "Chops" Leppert called me and asked me if I would come to his house and sing for his dying mother, Margie. I knew her... not as well as most of my friends' mothers, but we definitely knew each other. Michael was in Sonshine Choir at Brentwood Methodist, so he called around for other kids he knew that were in town that could also come sing for her. Including myself, there were 11 former Sonshine singers at his house.
We hung out in his kitchen for a while. We could hear his mom screaming in pain from the effects of breast cancer. We went out in the street and practiced. Eventually she was ready to see us. We filed into Mr. and Mrs. Leppert's bedroom. Margie was laying in a rollaway bed close to the window. It was about 6:45 pm, so there was still plenty of sun. It was a beautiful evening; the temperature was cooling off from the low 90s, the humidity slowly lifting from the air.
She layed mostly still, her gray face drained of life. She wore a blue bandana on her head, undoubtedly to cover up her hairless head. Michael knelt to her side, telling her that everyone was there to sing for her one last time. She gasped, "I want to see everyone who came", so we shifted so that she got a better look at us.
Michael put the first CD in the little boombox by her bed. The other ten sang "Isaiah 43" while I just stood there, trying not to look at her, trying not to break down. Since I am two years younger than the rest, the year I was in choir, we didn't sing Isaiah 43 - I didn't know the words or the tune. I kind of hid behind AC's back, not looking. Michael's brother, dad, and relatives stood behind us, crying. Between concentrating on the lyrics of the song --which were very appropriate for the situation-- and listening to the chorus of sniffles behind me, I did everything I could to not run out of the room. But I came to help the Lepperts, to help comfort a dying woman in her last hours.
Michael changed the CD. The last song for Margie Leppert's life was "May the Peace of the Lord", which is a short benediction. On choir tour we always sang it at the end of the concert. The lyrics go:
"May the peace of the Lord be with you,
May the light of the sun shine bright,
May the peace of the Lord go on within you,
and go with you from this place.
And the peace of the Lord goes on and on,
and the peace of the Lord goes on and on,
and the peace of the Lord,
and the peace of the Lord,
and the peace of the Lord (goes on and on, on and on),
on and on.
May the peace of the Lord be always with you,
and go with you from this place."
She died last night in her sleep. My mom put it best, "You did the right thing. You sang her into Jesus' arms." |
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| D-Day plus 61 |
[Jun. 7th, 2005|07:51 pm] |
I haven't edited this story so there may be typos and such.
June 6th, 2005. I didn't realize it until today that it was the anniversary of D-Day.
I woke up at about 1 pm in Matt's basement. Sleep was very comfortable. We got up and got a delicious cream of crab soup at a seafood market near Matt's house (he lives near Annapolis, MD). I wanted to leave his house by 4 pm because my flight from Baltimore/Washington International Airport to Cleveland left at 6:23 pm.
We got to the airport on time and I did the automatic check in at Continental's portion of the termnial. The machine printed my boarding passes and I entered the security screening area for gates D and E. I took off my belt and took out my phone and put them in the bin because I knew they would set off the alarm. I got through easily. Next thing I know I smell smoke. I walk a little farther and my vision is cloudy. I hear rumblings of "fire". I walk a little farther down the gate and I look out the window. Firetrucks are racing down the tarmac, sirens blaring. This was the first raindrop in a shitstorm.
I finally got to my gate, D15. The flight was delayed from 6:23 pm to 8:34 pm. Considering that my flight from Cleveland to Nashville was at 8:15, I would miss my flight home unless the flights in Cleveland were also delayed. I went to the nearest Continental desk to ask for help. The lady at the desk didn't seem to want to look me in the eye. It was probably because she gets yelled at all day, every day. I was pleasant, however, and got some much needed help. There weren't any other flights to Cleveland that night on Continental or their partner airline, Northwest. They wouldn't pay for my hotel because the delays were due to weather, and obviously there isn't anything they could do about that. She rebooked me for the same two flights the next day, leaving BWI at 6:45 am. This was undesirable, to say the least. She suggested that I buy tickets on Southwest because they still had three flights that night that went straight from BWI to Nashville. I left gate D, dreading how much a ticket would cost at the last minute.
I walked a mile from Gate D to Southwest's ticket/check-in area and was called after a just a couple of seconds (now that just about everyone does auto-check-in, the lines aren't nearly as bad as they used to be). I told the woman behind the counter of my situation and I called my dad to make sure he would pay me back for the ticket. The 6:45 flight was still on time. She had my I.D. but asked me how old I was. I told her that I was 19 and she seemed surprised. She said, "Well your ticket will be $131.20. It's more if you over 21, and I thought you were!"
I said, "Well thank you, that makes me feel good."
She responded, "You carried yourself so well and you were very mature. Just yesterday I had this girl, and I wanted to reach over the counter and slap her face."
I told her that people in the airline industry have more patience than anybody else and that she did a great job. My new flight was at gate A8, a new section of the airport, and another mile away. Because I bought my ticket right before the flight, the Southwest lady warned me that I would go through some additional security screening. When I got to this security checkpoint I thought that it might actually be better this way because a huge group of 6th graders got into line right before me. I got the star treatment, let me tell ya.
They directed me to the VIP security line. We got our own X-ray/whatever-technology-they-use-now machine and 6 of our own personal security staff. I didn't bother taking off my belt and taking out my phone this time because I knew that they would use the wand on me anyways (I have been given the "star treatment" at least 5 times before), and that it was all part of the procedure. I beeped, of course, and was told to sit in a hard plastic chair. The guy who was in charge of me was a white guy, 6' 4", with a buzz cut and a nerd-lisp (as opposed to the gay kind). With the speed and lispiness of his voice it was kinda hard for me to follow what he was saying. First he made me take off my sandals. He brought over a some kind of high-tech kitchen utensil. It looked like a spoon with a hole in it, and there was a piece of cloth in the middle of the head. I suppose that it detects chemicals. The sandals checked out, thank goodness. Afterall, Old Navy is notorious for putting C4 explosives in their footwear.
While he was surveying my sandals, the X-ray attendant alerted my guy that my bags needed to be searched. At this point I thought, "What the f***? I've already been through security once today, without incident. I am a young white male wearing a polo shirt and blue polo khaki shorts. Maybe they are trying to balance out the racial profiling ratios." Before they brought my bags over to be searched, however, I needed to be wanded. While my guy was waving his big wand around me he found my phone (beepbeepbeep) and my belt (beepbeepbeep). I took out the phone and undid the belt buckle.
[Try to imagine the lisp here...]"Shhir, I'm gonna have to assshk you to unfashhen your belt." He felt the ends of the belt to make sure there weren't any blades, I suppose. "Shhir, now I am going to ashk you to peel down the front of your waisht band." He felt the front rim of my shorts. No knives, good news. "Shhir, now I am going to pat down the front of your stomach with the back of my handzh". He felt my developing six-pack (yeah, that's right, I'm trying). It was a little close for comfort, but what the heck, it's for our nation's security. I didn't catch what he said next because it was very quick, lisped, and seemed uncomfortable for him to say. I asked him to repeat. "Shhir, now I am going to pat down the front of your crotch with the back of my hands. Would you like to do this in a private area?" At this point in the day I was too tired for that so I just said, "No, I don't care, just do it here." Who is it worse for? The guy caressing a stranger with rubber gloves many times a day in front of his co-workers or the passenger standing in the middle of a busy airport having his crotch patted with hundreds of busy travelers looking on? Okay, the worst part of the patting was done now. Now he just patted down the remainder of my body and I was done, right? "Shhir, I am going to ashk you to shtep back through the X-ray machine and put your belt and phone through the conveyer belt." At this point I went back through and put the two items in a bin , holding up the rest of the VIPs behind me, all waiting to get similar star treatment. I went back through the metal detector and I passed through without a problem, like I should have done the first time.
I sat back down in the hard plastic chair and they brought my bags over. My backpack had my shoes, DVDs I just bought, and my dob kit. My guy looked through my dob kit which has some personal things. He opened my glasses case to make sure I didn't pack my switchblade in there. A short black woman went through my one piece of luggage, fairly quickly. This was okay except that yes, my bag was searched on the way up to Maryland. They had left a piece of paper on top of my clothes saying that my bag was searched by the TSA either in Nashville or Cleveland (who knows where it was). So now I know that unless Matt sneaked his 9 into a side compartment, my luggage didn't need to be checked.
Let me recap my security situation so far: I went through security in Nashville without a problem on my way up. Somewhere on the way up they searched my bag (which I checked on the way there). My first time through on the way back I went through without a problem. My second time through I was frisked and groped and both of my bags were searched.
As if things weren't bad enough, when I was finished being groped and probed and went over to get my phone and belt, they fell out of the bin because all of the bins were piled up (due to me taking so long). Finally finished with security. I semi-rushed over to gate A8 because I just wanted to get to my gate and chill out in a comfortable leather seat. I got an apple juice and a snickers bar. I called Dave to tell him that someone needed to pick me up at about 7:45.
Let me summarize the rest of the night because at this point, you just want to know how long it took me to get home.
Flight 835 from BWI to Nashville was pushed back from 6:45 to 7:30 (not bad).
Flight 835 from BWI to Nashville was pushed back from 7:30 to 9:00 (okay this sucks).
Flight 835 from BWI to Nashville was cancelled (what the f*** am I supposed to do now?)
Passengers from flight 835 can transfer to another flight, flight 670 from BWI to Nashville, taking off at 7:35 (not much time left to get over there).
So I rushed over to gate B17 (another mile away).
Flight 670 from BWI to Nashville was postponed indefintely because storms all up and down the east coast are preventing flights from departing. The plane that was supposed to take me home was coming to BWI from Providence, RI.
Flight 670 is on it's way from Providence to Baltimore (yay!).
Flight 670 has diverted to Norfolk, Virginia, until conditions in Baltimore improve (boo!).
Flight 670 has finally landed at BWI (cheering from all passengers).
I was the first person in my queue (line, for you americans) because I was not about to miss a seat, just in case they overbooked flights. I sat next to a pretty 29 year old woman. She is a doctoral student at Vandy. Married. She was the first person I talked to all day that didn't work in security or at an airline or on the phone. We sat at the end of our runway for another 30 minutes because air traffic controllers needed to space planes out for safety reasons. It is now 12 am and we take off. I couldn't sleep, so I listened to music and thought of last semester (good times and bad). I land at 1 am, Central Standard time. I go to bed and sleep from 3 am to 2 pm. |
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| Crazy Summer Night |
[May. 22nd, 2005|05:22 pm] |
I was watching Training Day by myself last night, resigned to a night off from the usual summer festivities, when a friend called me. She has never called me before but it's cool because she, Andy, and I hung out for a while. We chilled at the scenic overlook, high school style, stoking fond memories and reminiscing with the best of them. Eventually we had to take Andy back to his car, which was at Taco Bell in Maryland Farms. So she and I just sat in her car talking for a while when I got a phone call from Ryan "Roomie" Black.
"Dude what are you doing right now?"
"Just chillin in the Taco Bell parking lot with a friend."
"Come to ____ [no reception] there's ______ party!"
"What? There's a party?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"______ [silence]". His phone cut out.
"No! There's a party. I gotta find out where it is."
So I called him back and he said there were like 100 people at D Walk's.
When I got there it was more like 30 people max, but that's beside the point. It was the biggest get-together I have been to this summer, so it was fairly exciting.
Next thing I know Brit Brat comes in screaming, "Ya'll! Ya'll! The cops are coming!"
It was classic conservative white kids freaking out about nothing. Cappadona had been pulled over by the cops in D Walk's neighborhood, Brent Meade, because he was a stubborn asshole and wouldn't let his sober passenger, Luke, drive his car for him. Daniel and Jessica passed this scene on their way out of the neighborhood, and because they are the non-drinking type they called Brit Brat to warn her that Cappadona had been pulled over and might rat out the party. This is extremely unlikely but warranted concern nonetheless because the cops were just a block away in the neighborhood.
Here the party split into two camps. The first camp included myself, Anthony, DBass, a couple (a cute girl named Drew and some guy,"Dude"), DWalk, and about 7 other drunk/noncaring people who figured that it just wasn't a big deal or knew that the cops wouldn't really do anything. Our main reason for not leaving was that the cops would rather have us stay and not drive drunk than flee a party of underage drinking, which is isn't a big deal in the first place.
The second camp included Ryan, Meagan, Robby, Kent, Kallyn, Lyndsey McCartney, Jordan, Michelle, and a couple other people I think. Lyndsey, Jordan, and Michelle left for good. Kallyn, Ryan, and Meagan camped out nearby and watched Cappy do all of the DUI tests. Robby and Kent left for Kent's house to park their cars elsewhere. Everyone started freaking out about having all the cars in the driveways, so everyone moved theirs. We turned off all the lights and basically pussed out for an hour. Needless to say, I was pretty disappointed about the 180 degree turn that just occured.
After an hour and a half or so Robbigail and Kent came back and Ryan, Meagan, and Kallyn weren't far behind. Then the mierda hit the fan.
Meagan came down to the basement obviously upset. Cyrus had pulled her aside and groped her upstairs. Eventually Cyrus, Anne, and Cicero started to leave. Ryan pulled Cyrus aside to talk to him about the garbage he had just pulled. He never actually apologized for what he did and was talking around the situation (according to Ryan). Cyrus' phone kept ringing and he said that he had to go. I'm not sure what exactly was said but Ryan wasn't finished talking to him and Cyrus was trying to escape unscathed. Ryan pushed him and Cyrus retaliated by trying to tackle him. A scuffle ensued and somehow Ryan smashed Cyrus' face against the floor, creating a huge cut on his nose. DWalk came out of his room and had the classic line of the evening, "Hey I don't care if you guys fight... but you could do it outside?"
Ryan hit Cyrus once and the blood on his face went flying EVERYWHERE in DWalk's foyer. Brit Brat cleaned it up while everyone else stood around and talked about it. I was cleared to leave DWalk's by like 2:30 (I only had two beers and had them very quickly), but I wanted to be there for Ryan, and especially for Meagan. Ryan's new nickname isn't "Roomy". It's now "The Pummeler". |
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| Recent Events |
[May. 18th, 2005|07:41 pm] |
I came back to Brentwood on Thursday, May 4th.
I got a job at Chili's soon thereafter (today they wouldn't hire Meagan because they didn't want to take anymore college kids - I was one of the first people to be hired). It is opening up on June 16th, 2005. Be there.
Dave and I went to Murfreesboro a couple of times to see old friends from church. They are hot sisters, and they have hot friends, so I can only hope something happens with that.
I've been to the pool a lot.
I mowed the lawn once.
My old friend from my Cincinnati days, Brad Dittoe, who runs track for Arkansas, came and visited. We had a cookout, and another old friend from Cincy, Kevin (who goes to Belmont and I see more often) came with his gorgeous girlfriend, Ashley.
On my way back from Cozymel's (Big Burrito, refried beans, water, chips) I ran over a squirrel. I felt so bad, but I couldn't avoid it without killing myself. |
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| R-Day part one |
[May. 7th, 2005|12:34 am] |
This is the first part of R-Day. I am not finished with it yet because it was an incredibly long day. You'll see what I mean. Again, ignore the crappy format, I wrote it in MS Word.
R-Day
[From this point on, anytime I use all capital letters LIKE THIS it is because the speech given is similarly intense. I hate using caps when I don’t have to, so trust me, it is only because I feel it necessary in order to express the dialogue correctly.]
I looked up at my alarm clock. 3:53. Next thing I know, the radio is on. And so began Reception Day at West Point. Wandering down to breakfast somewhere in the Hampton Inn, I started getting excited. Adrenaline is an incredible stimulant. It will wake you up twenty times faster than caffeine ever imagined. Breakfast, however, was disorganized and unsatisfying. I think I had a carton of milk and a muffin. That would be my body’s fuel for the next eight hours.
I went back up to my room after breakfast to take in one last breath of civilian life, the morning news. At 5:50 I decided to come down to the lobby and join everybody in line for the busses. But there was nobody in the lobby. The four full-size tour busses full of Cadet Candidates were waiting for me outside. Yikes. There were 188 young men and women and a dozen Army officers waiting on me for permission to leave. I went to the first bus in line, and I got some looks from the officers, but nothing more. In a way, they did more damage than help to me. If they had “corrected” me I would have been better prepared for the day’s festivities. Unfortunately, however, the weak looks just buttressed my belief that it wouldn’t be as bad as I had heard.
We pulled up to Eisenhower Hall, the first mile in the marathon to follow. There was a pair of local news teams doing the annual R-Day reports. West Point and the town right outside of it, Highland Falls, are economically dependent on four thousand students, its employees, and the tourist opportunities offered by the national landmark that is USMA, so R-Day is always a biggie. In fact, two days before R-Day there is a mock run-through of R-Day with the local townspeople acting as Cadet Candidates so that the upperclassmen are prepared for their duties. The upperclassmen, actually, have to perform much better than the new kids because they have already had two or three years in the system. Everyone is evaluated during Beast, and upperclassmen are no exception.
We got out and got in line (just wait for all the lines, you’ll see). There were three arrival times that were dictated by little colored postcards (grey, white, and yellow) which we got in our pre R-Day preparation packets. The three times were 7:30, 8:30 and 9:30. I had the middle slot, but one could arrive anytime after the hour printed on the card. It was about 8:50 when I checked my watch for the first time.
There were parents everywhere. The parents of McMinnville showed up. They were surprisingly attractive (his mom was quite hot). I still don’t understand why they didn’t all just ride up together, but that’s McMinnville for ya. These kids were still holding on. I detached myself the day before at the airport. From where I stood the line was about a half a mile long, winding its way down a hilly street, onto Ike Hall’s sidewalk, down a large set of stairs, around a patio, and eventually into the inside of Ike Hall. Being the end of June, it was pretty warm… for a morning in New York. It was sunny and about 65 degrees. This would increase about 12 or 13 degrees by the end of the day (not killer, but enough to have an effect).
There were hundreds of kids in line at any given time. Lots of them had sports equipment on hand. Many were wearing the same black dress shoes as before. They were extremely goofy, wearing black shoes with white socks and normal shorts and shirts. Everyone had a duffle or travel bag of some sort. When I finally got down to the patio I noticed an NCO (non-commissioned officer – sergeants, etc) with a camera and microphone, interviewing kids before they got into Eisenhower Hall. He was asking them, “Why did you come to West Point?”
“Ya know, I just wanna, ya know, serve my country.”
“Lead troops into battle.”
“Become the best leader I can be.”
The NCO asked me if I wanted to be interviewed. I declined. What would I say? If I answered like everyone else, it would be full of lies, and I wasn’t prepared to start my West Point career like that. While in line I befriended some guy. I don’t remember what he looked like, except that he was white and looked like a wrestler. Eventually we got up to the doors. The cows (juniors) standing outside the doors were very pleasant because there were parents around. They directed a group of about 20 of us into the main theatre of Eisenhower Hall.
I sat next to the wrestler. The parents sat next to their kids. We were nervously joking with eachother because we knew that this was it, that the rest of the day would be hell. An officer came up to the gathering and gave a rundown of our class statistics. Lots of Eagle Scouts, class/student body presidents, average SAT score of 1300 something, you get the idea. Then he said,
“You have thirty seconds to make your final goodbyes then the cadet candidates will be escorted down the aisle and into another room.”
“Uhh, bye buddy. Glad my parents aren’t here so I can’t turn around now.”
“Yeah me too”.
The shit hit the fan.
“PUT YOUR BAGS INTO YOUR LEFT HAND AND FORM A SINGLE FILE LINE!”
Here it goes, I thought. We went through double doors into an covered patio between sections of the building.
“GET INTO ONE OF MY LINES!”
We went into one of four lines, divided by masking tape. We were told to put our bags to our left side.
“Now is the time to give up any items that you are prohibited from having during Beast. This is the amnesty box. If you have knives or other weapons, non-prescription drugs, cell phones, or things that were not listed in the paperwork that you received before you got here, you can turn them into the amnesty box and you will not be penalized whatsoever. If you do not turn these items in now but are caught with them later you will punished to the fullest extent possible. Get these items out now.”
We were led back inside, to a ramp. At the top of the ramp was a box mostly full of non-prescription drugs like Tylenol, Cough Syrup, and foot powder. I didn’t put anything in there because I didn’t feel like opening up my bag and searching for the bag of medical goodies that mumsly packed for me. I would just deal with the consequences later if necessary.
From there were directed into a garage that had two long sections of tables with a lot of pens and tags. I was the first person into the second set of tables, so I went to the end, right next to a Cow. When everybody got in place the insanity really set in.
“Pick up one of my tags and one of my pens and write your name, home address, and phone number on the tag and tie it securely to your bag. NOW!”
You would not believe how hard it was to do this simple task. My handwriting was even worse than usual. I was trying to write quickly and I even forgot my address and phone number for a second. The cadre (upper class cadets in charge of Beast) were literally breathing down our necks.
“WHAT IS TAKING SO LONG CADET CANDIDATES? DO YOU NOT KNOW YOUR OWN ADDRESSES?”
Then I tied the tag to bag a couple times. I finished before most other people and the cadre noticed.
“PUT… MY… PEN DOWN CADET CANDIDATE!”
This is when I noticed the first of many hesitations of by the cadre. They tried and tried and tried to be hardasses, but they are just a couple years older than us, and most of them are harmless. I could tell that he wanted a reason to yell at me, but he didn’t have one. I almost laughed it was so obvious. The insanity of the situation, however, kept me in line. I knew that the worst thing to do during Beast would be to smile.
From there we went were led out of the garage onto a platform where were split into four more lines. Go to http://www.usma.edu/Class/2008/rday/rday04.htm and check out image 3 for a close up shot of an example. Check out image 21 and you will see me for real. I am third in line in the background, wearing a green shirt. You can also see the garage door.
Obviously (if you checked out the pictures) the next step was the bus ride.
“GET IN MY BUS!” You are starting to get the picture.
“EYES AND HEADS STRAIGHTFORWARD. NO TALKING. DO NOT MOVE AN INCH.” Just check out image 5 for an example.
I looked next to me because I was next to a girl. I wanted to see if she was hot. She wasn’t, but I didn’t get caught so it was worth it. After five minutes of staring into a mole-plastered neck we arrived at Thayer Hall, the building most of our briefings would be in and the primary academic building on post.
Inside we were led around in a thousand different confusing directions (to disorient us, no doubt). Imagine the lines at a roller coaster. They go back and forth, many rows deep. In one part of the hall there was a similar partition, about 3 rows deep. Because of its structure, I had to go back and forth, but because there was no one in front of me it was not slowly. As I got to one end an NCO shouted “WALK WITH A PURPOSE!” Since it was three rows deep I got to come back to the same end and get greeted with another pleasantry, “Keep your shoulder against the wall at all times!”
When I finally caught up with the cadet candidates in front of me I found them reading a piece of paper. I didn’t have time to read it because a group of fifteen of us was shuffled into a classroom.
“Everyone take a seat and relax for a minute. I am a JAG [judge advocate general, aka lawyer] in the U.S. Army. Here is where you will sign the agreement officially making you a member of the United States Army. After this you will be known as “New Cadets”. Please take thirty seconds to read the sheet in front of you. If there are any questions please ask me.”
I didn’t have any questions because I had read the same sheet three times at home. The agreement entailed four years at West Point, followed by at least five years of active duty in the Army, and three years of reserve duty after that. It also had some basic legal limitations to starting a cadet career at West Point: cadets cannot be married, have kids, or be younger than 17 or older than 23 as of June 28, 2004. I knew that the real agreement comes to years later in the form of the Cow Commitment. The first class in a junior’s first day of school he or she signs the real deal. After that, if he backs out he must either pay the school back for the time, education, and training he experienced or go to military jail (Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas). So I knew that heck, if the place really sucked, I would know way before junior year.
We went upstairs to the next phase of R-Day, the clothes distribution. This is where I got my green flight bag that some of you may have seen. I use it as my laundry bag these days. Thanks West Point.
I got bags and bags of socks, undershirts, BVDs (tighty-whiteys), white gloves, ARMY PT shorts, and the like. They were given to us at a frantic pace by local civilians who work for the Army. There were actually many of these Army employed civilians – interesting to see where your tax dollars go, no? The last piece of clothing was a sample PT shirt. It has the school crest but no name. After a lot of this stuff we were led into the main auditorium in Thayer Hall. We were told to get out our black dress shoes if we weren’t wearing them already, or to keep wearing sneakers if we didn’t have them. We also needed black socks, a white undershirt, the ARMY PT shorts, and the quasi-jock strap that didn’t have a pocket for a cup… yup, just piece of cloth over our crotch.
There was a large screen across the front of the stage in the auditorium. When the group of 24 before us finished whatever they were doing, we were confronted with the challenge they just faced. They told us to get totally naked and put on the jock strap. This wasn’t a problem for me because I have been naked in front of other people before, but lots of the other guys [at this point girls were separated from guys] tried some classic tricks for covering themselves up. There were two rows of chairs on the stage behind the screen, facing the curtain. I was in the back row. When the Captain in charge told us to get naked, the guys in front of me were embarrassed and turned around to try to avoid having everyone see their packages. Since I didn’t feel the need to do the same, I was three feet away from about 4 guys who turned around to flash me their front sides. I suppose they didn’t have the foresight to imagine that turning around would be even worse than facing forward.
When we were all changed into our jocks army personnel and cadets came by and inspected us for scars, tattoos, and piercings. A fifty year old black captain came up to me and gave me a quick once-over. I had a zit on my ear for some reason. The captain noticed it and asked, “What’s tha–“
“It’s a zit, sir,” I interrupted. Okay, he didn’t freak out, but never again would I interrupt a person in a superior position. Acne is fairly embarrassing as it is, so I am sure he understood. I checked out and got dressed into the outfit that they told us to get ready. The “R-Day Special” was a white undershirt tucked into ARMY shorts, black shoes and long black dress socks.
Then we went back into the main hallways of Thayer. The next stage was a series of medical checkpoints, including immunizations of all types. I had gotten all of them before I came so skipped down the hall and around the corner to the next hall. Here is where I picked up my TEDs – Tactical Eye Devices… Get it yet? It’s an acronym for glasses. Only in the military will they make an acronym that takes longer to say than the original word. For example, New Cadets certainly couldn’t call them “Teds” like multiple guys named “Ted”. Or even “T – E – Ds”. New Cadets are made to use the phonetic alphabet for any acronym – and there are lots of them. So if one wants to say “glasses” he/she actually says “Tango Echo Deltas”. I asked if I could just take out my contacts for a second and try them on to make sure they fit. I couldn’t because they didn’t have anywhere to put the contacts. And onto my face went the gaudiest glasses I have ever seen.
Soon after the medical-checks portion of the day we were divided into our companies. Let me break down the structure of Beast. It is pretty simple compared to how the school is structured the rest of the year. There are 8 companies – Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, and Hotel. There are four platoons in each company. There are four squads in each platoon. I was put into Delta Company. They gave me a tan tag with a big “D” on it. Other companies had different colors. We were like different types of meat in a slaughterhouse. The momentum of the day forced me back into the hallway where there were eight classrooms partitioned for – you guessed it – each of the companies.
I went up to the wall next to Delta’s room and hilarity ensued. Since I was in the back of a line of four guys, I didn’t attract much attention. I mostly went along for the ride during this particular episode. There were two lines against the right wall, facing forward. At the front of the lines and to the side, facing us was a small Asian man. He had two stripes on his shoulder. He quickly went through some easy designations, “Two stripes on the shoulder means the cadet is a junior, you will address him or her as ‘Sergeant’. Three stripes on the shoulder means the cadet is a senior, and you will address him or her as ‘Sir, Ma’am, or Lieutenant’. Four stripes on the shoulder means the cadet is a senior and is addressed as ‘Sir, Ma’am, or Captain’. Two stripes and a diamond means that the cadet is a junior and you will address him or her as ‘First Sargeant’ and ‘First Sargeant’ only. Are there any questions as to what I just said?” He said it so fast that I only caught the gist of what he was saying. I didn’t catch more than a few words of each sentence. This was the first part of R-Day for which I was not prepared. Needless to say, I was a little worried.
He told us to pick up our bags and put them in our left hands. Put them down and do it all at one once. Don’t look behind you to see if everyone else is doing it. Pick them up again. DO IT AT THE SAME TIME. DON”T LOOK BEHIND YOU! I wanted to laugh so hard because this guy was a head shorter than I, and I am a short guy at 5’8”. Imagine four guys picking up and putting down their bags at different times, trying to follow not only each other, but the cadence of a pissed off little man. It’s the stuff that alums talk about decades after graduation – not only as the scared New Cadets, but as the laughing upperclassmen as well. He sent about six of them into Delta’s room. The guy in front of me and myself moved up and to the right, against the wall. Now we waited for some more people to come and fill in the lines. I got the benefit of hearing the spiel again, about the stripes and whatnot. When I met up with the First Sergeant for the first time, I had totally forgotten, but that was hours away.
He sent the guy in front of me into the room. Thrity seconds later he sent me in behind him. I was introduced to Sergeant Iten.
“What is your name new cadet?!?”
“Stephe–“
“Address me as Sergeant!”
“Yes sir–Sergeant! Uhh–“
“Uhh! Uhh!” He started smiling because he was messing with me; I knew it, and he absolutely knew that I knew it too. I started to crack a smile too.
“Are you smiling New Cadet?”
“No sergeant!!”
“Good. Where are you from New Cadet?”
“Nashville, Tennessee sergeant!”
“Nashville? I like Tennessee New Cadet. Know someone from there.” I didn’t know how to respond to this. I wanted to say “Thanks” but that would have been awkward. Instead I just-as-awkwardly didn’t say anything at all.
“When you pass a superior member of Delta Company you will greet him or her. When you greet you will say, ‘Steadfast and loyal!’ Do you understand New Cadet Ellis?”
“Yes Sergeant!”
“Then let me hear it!”
“Steadfast and loyal.”
“COME ON! LOUDER!”
“Steadfast and loyal!!”
“POP OFF New Cadet”
“STEADFAST AND LOYAL”
“Come on New Cadet, you are embarrassing me.”
“STEADFAST AND LOYAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Move on to the next station where you will read the items on the blackboard and put the appropriate items into your green flight bag. Do you understand New Cadet?”
“Yes Sergeant!” And so I moved turned around and moved 10 feet away to the wall. There was so much shouting going on in the room that I found it hard to concentrate on the things written on the blackboard. There were things like underwear, stationary, deodorant, razors, and 20 other things including a picture of your family. I didn’t get the chance to put the picture of my family in my bag for a couple of reasons. First, the craziness of the situation in general. Second, I caught the tail end of a big crew of people leaving the room so they made me join them. I totally missed the third station of the room, which was the “Four Responses” (Yes sergeant/sir/ma’am, no sergeant/sir/ma’am, sergeant/sir/ma’am I do not understand, no excuse sergeant/sir/ma’am) but it was OK because I was already familiar with them. |
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| Move Out Day |
[May. 5th, 2005|08:10 pm] |
Today was my last day the University of Tennessee this year. I had mixed feelings. Who doesn't? I am really glad that I met some great new people, including but not limited to: Matty Matty Matt Matt, Gordon, Katie, Lacey, Tanya, Lauren, Kristina, Amy, Stew, Bailey, and Erin.
Earlier I was helping Lacey move her TV to her car -- there were disastrous results. I insisted on using the elevator because the TV was slightly heavy but very unwieldy. We went from her room down to the elevator on Humes' Second Floor. It wasn't working. Perfect. The one day that the elevator was not functioning was the day that most people move out. I knew I was doomed. Even after getting down 2 and 12/13ths flights of stairs I knew I wasn't safe. I put my foot down to get to ground level. I quickly discovered that I had only go down 11/13ths of the final flight. My balance was thrown and I tripped, sending the TV against the wall with a bounce and a skid. As my sexy frame came tumbling down with the TV, my neck decided to cushion my fall. I also acquired a pretty nasty skinned knee. I have battle scars all over. I hear that women love a good battle scar. My first concern was that the TV was OK. With a bigass frog in my throat I said, "I think the TV will be OK." It's funny the things people say when there's a crowd gathered to watch an accident. I felt about 5 pairs of eyes on me at the time (not including Matt and Lacey) and my first comment was about the dadgum TV. Then Lacey, like a true friend, said, "I don't care about the TV. I just wan't to make sure that you're OK". That warmed my heart.
*** Update ***
I just got off the phone after taking a survey. It was fun, actually. It was conducted by a nice sounding girl based in Fredericksburg, Virginia. We definitely had a good rapport going. She was too embarrased to ask me about the adult website questions (it was a survey about internet use). When she got to the first question about porn she goes, "Haha oh man, I can't ask you this... do you ever look at adult themed websites...?" And I responded, "I am NOT answering that". She then says, "Haha it's ok. This is my first time doing this one, I'm sorry". Then she asked another one and I guess she clicked on the "No response" option for both questions. When she asked, "How old are you?" and I told her 19, she exclaimed, "Wow! Me too!". It was sweet. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 4th, 2005|02:13 pm] |
I am detailing my account of my time at West Point. It is more so I can write it all down before I forget than for any other reason. I am writing it in Microsoft Word so it doesn't transfer very well to this format, but I'll do my best to edit it. It won't let me put spaces in the beginning of new paragraphs/quotes, so just try your best to ignore it.
Prologue
It is Saturday night, June 26th, 2004. It is my last night at home, in Brentwood. I can’t remember what I did that night until I met up with some friends at the Brentwood Baptist parking lot. It was around 11 p.m. or so. I pulled up, hoping for lots of friendly encouragement, something to really boost my confidence.
“Hey man, Van Horne’s not going.”
“Hmm? He told me that he thought he might have mono or something wrong with his liver and the doctor would get back to him. I guess he did have it then, huh?”
“What? No. He just quit. He decided that he’s not going to go at all.”
And so disappeared my only connection to home. I had met some nice people from Centennial and Brentwood Academy who were also going, but I would never actually talk to them in my time at West Point. The only glimpse I would get of either Amanda Molyneaux or Greg Simpson would be at the Fourth of July celebration at Trophy Point Amphitheatre.
Ian Van Horne and I had both strode up valiantly to the Lieutenant Colonel at the scholarship presentation. We were the pride of Brentwood High School. Coming from a school with only one previous Academy attendee (my friend Brad Echols at Air Force), it was fairly momentous. (Right now all of my friends from high school are saying to themselves, “What? Not really”, but that’s how it felt to me). The colonel prepared a nice little speech, similar to the one that was given to Echols the year before.
“…They will attend the academy for four years, graduate with a Bachelor’s degree in Science, then serve in active duty in the Army for five years…they will have state of the art classrooms and facilities, computers and equipment…in total, their education will be worth about FOUR HUNDRED THOUSAND dollars…I am proud to present these certificates to Stephen Ellis and Ian Van Horne…”
That speech and the attention of the junior and senior classes at the presentation were two of my reasons for applying to West Point.
The next day my mom, dad, and I went to the airport. We waited in the terminal for half an hour, spending as much time together as possible. Like a hundred times before, my mom asked, “Now what I am I going to write when you write home, telling me that you want to leave?”
“Gahhh, mom! I am not going to leave.”
“Well I just remember when you were a little guy at Summer’s Best [summer camp of my youth], and you just hated it there.”
“Well that was different. That place was supposed to be fun. This place is supposed to suck.” I was really just trying to ignore any qualms I had developed since sending in my acceptance post card, declaring that indeed I, Stephen Micahel Ellis I, was ready to be a cadet at the United States Military Academy.
I met a couple of guys at the airport. One was from Bowling Green, Kentucky. The other was from McMinnville, Tennessee. I would encounter both of these boys later. The Kentuckian was a pretty typical-looking guy. The kid from McMinnville, however, was a little off. He had shoulder length hair and glasses. He was lanky, in a computer nerd sort of way. All of three of us were reading the required book for Beast. It was a very poorly written and edited book about leadership, authored by a (surprise, surprise) West Point grad. I finished the book on the flight to New York.
Because of the books, we could all tell where we were going, so naturally we struck up a conversation. The McMinnville kid – his name escapes me – was flying up to West Point like a big boy, but his parents were driving up there to meet him on R-day. Aside from his queer nuances while speaking (you know the type – little flicks, twists, odd voice modulation, etc.), the content of his conversation was equally puzzling. I immediately began to wonder if most of my classmates would be like this. After all, many of West Point’s cadets are from small towns like McMinnville.
When we got off the plane at Newark International Airport, we banded together to look for the baggage claim area. After we picked up our bags, we searched for the train to the bus staging area. From there the busses would take us to the Hampton Inn Newark Airport. Outside we waited for our bus.
On the sidewalk there were about 20 nervous eighteen year olds. All of these people have clues indicating that they too were going to West Point. Some were wearing the dress shoes that we would be required to wear so often during Beast. Others had their paperwork in their sweaty little mitts, fondling the pages like a teenage boy with a girl for the first time – apprehensive but still excited. I must note that as soon as we got outside, the three Nashville flyers disbanded. Later I would see Bowling Green during church ceremonies and around post (West Point’s name for campus) a few times, but he either did not recognize me, or he feared the retribution that would accompany a simple nod to a comrade. McMinnville, on the other hand, would play an incredibly important role in my disillusionment with West Point weeks later.
I cut through the crowds and boarded the first bus to the Hampton Inn. I had to stand because all of the other seats were occupied by cadet candidates (except for, perhaps, three older passengers). These kids were ugly. The three girls were thick and athletic with acne-ridden faces. One girl was from Idaho. Another was from Michigan. Neither girl was from a notable city in either state. The gentlemen didn’t fare much better. It was hard to believe, but, for the first time, I thought I might actually be the most attractive person in a group of at least fifteen teenagers. It was historic. Maybe my prediction about my classmates wasn’t so absurd, after all.
When we got to Hampton Inn there were Army personnel all over the lobby. There was a line formed to register for and receive the keys to our rooms. This would be the first line of many lines. The first wait of an uncountable number of waits. The black female sitting at the table was a Captain (two silver bars). She was flirting with her black male First Lieutenant counterpart (one silver bar), who had been walking around, trying to look busy. These two people were very nice, I thought, and maybe Beast wouldn’t be so bad with reasonable people like this in charge. These two officers, however, were part of the West Point Garrison, the unit in charge of running the basic Army functions of the military post of West Point, as opposed to the school.
I got my key and called mumsly from the pay phone at the hotel. The rest of the night, however, I had no plans. I lounged around the hotel lobby for a while, schooling some newbies at Euchre, talking to a couple people. There were, indeed, many kids from no-name small towns. There were not nearly as many suburbanites as my parents and I had imagined.
I ventured up to my room around 9 o’clock on Sunday 27 June 2004. My hotel roommate was a kid from some beach town in California. Neither of us really had much military background. Both had grandfathers who fought in World War II. I would also see this guy later, but, like Bowling Green, he would deny me acknowledgement. My goal was to hit the sack around 9:30, and to hopefully fall asleep within an hour or two. I knew that there would be some nerves that I would have to get over.
Fast forward about seven (7!) hours. I am lying in bed, still not asleep. I tried a couple different techniques for tricking myself to sleep. None worked. The combination of the 4:30 wake up time, one hour time zone difference, and more anxiety than you can probably imagine contributed to my sleeping approximately thirty minutes the night before the hardest day of my life. |
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| I'll Take My Chances |
[May. 2nd, 2005|01:52 pm] |
Last night started out innocently enough. I was not going to study much for my Spanish exam (which was easy, by the way) and I did not feel like studying for history, but if I had no other options, then I was going to force myself to do so. As I was brushing my teeth after my dinner of A & W Cream Soda and Teddy Grahams, my brother Dave called and invited me to a dinner proper at Calhoun's. This was hard to resist, as I have heard many praises about said restaurant.
As we arrived it was still semi-sunny, so we decided to eat outside. Mistake number 1. Because of our choice to eat outside, we were limited to the outside dinner menu, which consisted primarily of flash-fryable food and beer. I ordered chicken tenders because there was such a limited selection of appealing food. Mistake number 2. We moved in after a few songs from the night's band, "Generic Bluegrass String Band". A friend of my brother, Ely, was not our official waitress, but she was bringing free beer for the gentlemen in our party (I passed because I had drank the last two nights -- albeit not that much). She was telling us about her experience with a party of fat people that she had to serve just before we came. They were complaining about all of their food, "obviously trying to get a free meal", she said. Despite the seemingly false nature of their accusations, they did end up with one genuine complaint. Ely brought one of the porker's potatoes to the table and it was rotten. I did not heed this warning. Mistake number 3.
We went over to Andy Bryant's/Brian Powers' to watch the Family Guy season premiere. It was good times, as I am sure many of you know. In the middle of American Dad, however, I knew something was wrong. My insides felt sad. I rushed to the bathroom. We left and I came back to my room. As I took my seat and attempted to study for Spanish I had the same off feeling. Something was wrong. I ignored it and went to bed around 1 AM.
I awoke an hour and half later. I had a sudden urge to rearrange my sheets. In my just-woke-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night stupor I thought that my discomfort was caused by my sleeping under the blanket and the comforter. Surely going back to my usual just-under-the-comforter approach would solve my woes. Whoa, wrong. I dashed out of bed and into the bathroom. All I had to do was pee, though. Curious, I know. As I made my way through the obstacle course that is my room, I came to the conclusion that I, indeed, was sick. I went back to the bathroom to try to vomit whatever foul virus was making me feel so icky. No dice.
I went back to my bed feeling just as bad as before, though I knew that I wouldn't get very far into sleep before something else exploded inside me. So I awaited the inevitable. This time I knew it would be double-trouble. I took the trash can with me into the bathroom just in case both ends decided to punish me for splurging on overpriced chicken tenders. The A & W and Teddy Grahams said goodbye in the traditional manner, but the chicken and fries held on. Thirty minutes (seriously) later, I decided that this chicken was not going to come out in the light of the bathroom stall. It would wait until I went back into the dark of my room. Then it would strike. So I rearranged myself in bed to get ready for the coming onslaught of vomit -- you know, not on your back because you don't want to choke, and not on your stomach because your stomach already feels like crap. No dice.
I sat up and wrapped myself in my Army-issue field blanket -- if you have ever spent time in my room you know how much I treasure that thing. I sat up, taking deep breaths to try and force it out of me. I heard gurgling. I felt upswelling. My lungs cut themselves off from my esophagus in preparation. No dice.
At 5 am I decided to call it quits. There would be no vomiting unless it came on its own (my gag reflex is too strong [or is it weak?] for that to work, trust me). I told myself that I would take my chances in sleep. If I really needed to throw up, I would wake myself up naturally, like when you have to take a D or P. So, after two and a half hours of the battle of the bulging stomach, I came out semi-victorious. I would have rather just gotten it over with, but my baddass stomach wouldn't let me quit. Thanks, man. |
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| The Last Saturday |
[May. 1st, 2005|02:06 pm] |
The Last Saturday of the school year I did nothing all day but eat, sleep, read, and watch TV.
The Last Saturday of the school year was the least eventful day of my life.
The Last Saturday of the school year I thought I was going to get my ass beaten by a jealous boyfriend while delivering an ironing board.
The Last Saturday of the school year was cold and rainy, the perfect way to cap off a cold and rainy last week.
The Last Saturday of the school year I was a designated driver to a party across the damn river.
The Last Saturday of the school year I went to a party that consisted of 99% Crew members, 1% not (hello).
The Last Saturday of the school year I chugged a Sparks energy drink/alcoholic beverage that tasted like a RedBull with a bad case of diarrhea.
The Last Saturday of the school year I dreamt of getting ass beaten by aforementioned boyfriend then making up with him and becoming buddies.
The Last Saturday of the school year I also dreamt of being at West Point, again... this time I was drinking a beer in the middle of formation and the officer in charge was not pleased.
Your Seduction Style: Ideal Lover |
You seduce people by tapping into their dreams and desires.
And because of this sensitivity, you can be the ideal lover for anyone you seek.
You are a shapeshifter - bringing romance, adventure, spirituality to relationships.
It all depends on who your with, and what their vision of a perfect relationship is. |
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