Growing up a Geek

A lot of times I look around these days and think " Its easier being a Geek these days" as I watch the crowds of Goth geeks, Anime Geeks Game Cube Geeks and _______ the card game geeks run around in their little clicks. I don't think things were really that easy for us folk in the Olde Tyme days, Geek wasn't really excepted.

I started high school in 1979, and I was already a geek I didn't belong to any click and due to people moving away and my parents divorce, I think the only people I Talked to were at school. I had one "close friend" ( a geek also) but he being a couple years older and trying to deal with the trials of high school we weren't as close as we had once been.

Geekiness was to be hidden in those days, the last thing you wanted was for the Kids on the bus to find out that you played dungeons and dragons, the verbal assault alone would put a 1000 bomber raid to shame. I loved Star Wars, I made blasters at home, I drew Tie fighters and dreamed of X-wings, but this was something I kept to myself. Out of fear, I dreaded the day when my secret would come out. My first two years of school were tough, but eventually I found a sort of geek underground and two groups of friends.

The first was in the most unlikely of guises, a group of heavy metal, pot smoking beer drinking fantastic people who lived in my old neighborhood. These guys were great, we spent many a day playing D&D in their parents basement followed by watching " Centerfold" on MTV. They did make fun of me because I usually brought a six pack of Hawaiian punch to the "parties" ( still don't drink ) but they were great people.

The second group of people weren't necessarily geeks, but were the geeks age old allies, the nerds. They were the Honor students and computer nerds, basically our little group became everyone who didn't belong, theatre people, library aides the works. I wish I could let you see these people back them, One girl was a Cheerleader who loved Lord of the Rings, Two of the guys were so smart, they went on to be some of the early pioneers of computer gaming. We would do everything together, Two of them were brother and sister and there TV room became our sanctuary, their parents were, and are, held very close to my heart.

There was usually a lot of Geeky drama with in the group, I think at one point every male in the group had asked one particular female out and she had refused them all, Vans were "borrowed" with out permission and boyfriends disapproved of, but that all added to the color of this extended family.

It was through the second group that I came into contact with the Female of the species in a social atmosphere for the first time. In my geeky life I had not been exposed to them. I would eventually begin the dating thing but my first "Girlfriend" was actually someone I meet playing D&D at a local game store ( and I was a senior at the time).

Things were not always sunshine and fresh air, I can still see the Jocks plinking the ears of one fellow on the bus, and the verbal assault was brutal. The insults we suffered in computer class, Dailey, from two football players I sure has put some bricks in my wall ( One of them latter broke his neck in a game and was confined to a wheel chair). I was somewhat taller and broader then most of my friends so I think I was spared the worst but the old saying "Kids can be cruel" is so very true.

A old dead guy once said " what does not kill you makes you stronger" and I think he was right. I still don't like to admit to my Geeky hobbies ( except through the curtain of the internet ) I guess I still may fear those demons of the Jocks but I look around these days and I like to think that it is easier being a Geek in todays world, more birds of a feather sort of speaking. I look back at things back then, we survived, and in fact looking back at those times over 20 years on, when I think of them, I smile.

Vacationing in the Post Apocalypse

(Actually a old post from my Star Wars.com blog)

Sure you can be all doom and gloom about things, " The end is here!!!" " Father why have you forsaken us!" but I prefer to be a glass half full kinda guy when the Apocalypse comes. First off, lots of space, what with all the death and all I imagine property values will drop through the floor. Leather clad, crossbow wielding, Mohawk having Survivors will be able to have the finest homes. Think of it, you drive your "Last of the v-8 interceptor" up to your spacious skull cover mansion to be greeted by your hockey mask wearing wife...bliss. Second, and this sorta ties in to the first, No Traffic, you may have to weave in and out of the abandoned cars but besides the evil motorcycle gangs and megalomaniac wasteland lords, you should have the road to yourself. Third... Purpose, that's right, you know what you need to do, Find a ancient can of spam, loot that last drop of petrol or save the wild hair orphan children, you know what you needs to be accomplished. Fourth...Hopefully Paris Hilton won't make it....imagine... a world without Paris Hilton. Fifth...Making friends, that's right, you can look forward to participating in a bizarre ritual in order to befriend the poor farming community. Don't worry about your friends finding out, chances are they'll be wiped out in a few days by one of the nameless dangers of the PAW ( Post apocalyptic world...TM Clockwork Jalopy Inc). Sixth... If you're a guy, There are apparently a lot of scantly clad women in the PAW. They are all over the place. They are driving tanks, Riding motorcycles, Running towns and heading Gangs-O-Death so that's pretty cool. You have to be careful because apparently the Apocalypse has made them all mean, but they are there. Seventh... Meeting Quirky friends, sure you have you friends now a days, but they all look the same don't they? Don't they look just like the friends over there (points) and over there (points again). In the PAW you'll get to befriend the Nutty inventor guy, the cute little beast Boy or the half dissolved mutant with a heart of gold...think of the times you'll have. Imagine you a Mr Fibbs, the 6 foot mutant penguin, huddled around the wasteland campfire telling amusing limericks until dawn...Oh the times you'll have. Eighth... Super cool mutations, sure there is cancer and slow lingering death, but maybe, just maybe, you'll get yourself a Super Cool Mutation ( SCM ). You could be the desert wandering warrior who can breath underwater or the defender of Happy town that can dissolve into a puddle at will...Think of it!!! Keep in mind SCM's will sort of define you, every corrugated town you wonder into will want to see you shoot beams out your eyes or #### fire. Ninth... You don't have to dress up to go out. Old leather jacket set of beaten up shoulder pads and torn jeans and your set for most occasions. Gone is all that peer pressure as you can finally blossom into your own Grime covered fashion plate. You want to wear sequence boots, you wear sequence boots. Tenth... Thunder Dome...Two men enter, one man leaves...enough said.

A open Letter to the 21st Century....

Dear 21st Century,

Hey Hows it going? Hows your Mom? Hey I just wanted to drop you a quick “letter” ( check wikipedia) in regards to a few things....

1. If I am asked not to use or look at my Smart phone for X period of time I do not think the chronosphere will grind to a halt....in fact, I do not own a smart phone.... now I know those words used in that order mean nothing to you however... I don’t not use “Apps”, I do not name my phone and if I turn my phone sideways....it is just a sideways phone.

1. I do not Text nor do I tweet, to be honest I have replied “Yes” or “No” a few times...but it took me forever to put in on my stone number pad

1. I may not check my emails every 5 minutes....you may have to wait for a day or two for a answer.... I know, just breath.... I have not been abducted by a cult or the like. and if it is really really that important... I have had the same phone number for over 20 years...and I have a ancient relic called a answering machine (+3/+5 against surveys).

1. While we are on the subject.... stop asking me for my Cell phone #. I prefer you call my house. Our phones there are....again, use wikipedia....attached to the wall by wires yet still manage to work. If the world is coming to a end...by all means call my cell phone.

Hope there is no love lost 21st Century, just wanted to level set.

Is Ben Stein right?

Ben Stein.... yes the Guy from Farris Bueller.... was on some morning program today playing in the Cafeteria at work (When you work for “Cable Town” they have tv’s everywhere) and he began talking about how unemployed americans think they are to good for lower paying jobs.

I was sort of in this boat, lost a well paying job, then was unemployed for...basically...ever then took a big ol bite of humble pie and took a lower paying job. It could be much much worse and I truly thank the lord every day for what we have, but it is a lot lower on the ladder.

Is Ben right, are the majority of unemployed Americans simply thumbing their noses at what job opportunities there are out there.... Maybe.

But there is .... in a clockwork opinion .... a tails to this heads, could it be that we expected more jobs in the fields we left to open up eventually. I never thought that finding work would be as hard as it was... I should have started looking as soon as I was let go instead of taking time off but that is water under the bridge. The fact of the matter is I never truly expected the economy to go this wrong for this long.

Businesses do not hire people who are not employed... or more correctly, you are more likely to find work if you are employed then if you are unemployed. I didnt know that then but know it now. I have learned the hard way that the Economy truly truly sucks...for some people.

Is life fair...rarely... did I expect it to be, no, but you know what...It could be worse. I have 2 Children and a great wife that just thinking of make me smile, fantastic friends and .... for better or worse... a job. If I have any words of wisdom for my Brothers in the trenches... its take what you can get, its easier to climb the ladder when your at least standing on it.... even if its the bottom wrung.

Star Wars: The Force unleashed

Ok....So I am slow.... almost short bus slow... almost. I recently picked up “Star Wars: Force Unleashed 2”, not the newest game out there but it was cheap on the used rack and well... as Kyle says “It Had Star Wars on it” so I picked it up.

Now over the last few days I have plowed into it, handicapped as I am by this strange button laden, two stick having uber controller that the kids use now a days and I am loving the story. I absolutely love the Character of Starkiller and some of the stuff you can do is amazing and for a Fanboy... down right giggle inducing.

The game does have its week moments... This General Kota the Jedi guy...ok, was he absent allot from Jedi School?? Cuz, Starkiller is a clone and he’s like...hacking his way through the galaxy and ol Kota keeps getting pinned down with a million rebels with him.

The other thing that burns my buns is the shear frequency of the “Super Mario” Moments, those hoppy jumpy times that are designed specifically to through the aged into fits. There is one time, when you return to Kamino that I actually said “If there is a giant ape at the top of this fiasco I’m killing lucas”.

But all and all The game really has got me and sparked the embers of the fanboy within. If you are a Star Wars fan give it a look.

Addendum to the Best Adventure ever….

I almost forgot one of Monday’s highlights in the heady times after the great quake, for that I apologize oh gentle reader and I shall attempt to make things right.

As we were stuck in “mystical” Grid lock on 495 (couldn’t have been more then a mile or two past the 95 split) I notice Assly Mcspeedsalot on his crotch rocket 9000 weaving in and out of cars. He was not to be held to our concept of lanes and traffic patterns, or even laws for that matter for he was a DC Mcspeedsalot.

I went back to my business of barely moving in traffic when, out of the corner of my eye, I notice Assly slam into the back of a monster pickup truck that had to slam on his brakes because someone cut in front of him. As I watched, Assly (just Assly, not his bike, arms Akimbo) must have flown 10 feet straight up, certainly he went up higher then the cab of the truck. I said “Oh my God!” maybe a little to alarmed as Kevin ask to know what was going on, I explained that I had just seen a Motorcycle crash into the back of a Truck and hoped the guy was OK.

As we ever so slowly pulled past, there was Assly and the driver of the truck picking the Motorcycle up and moving it out of the street and he seemed fine. I thought that the Truck driver deserved some Props for helping.

And I thought that would be the high point of my Trip.

The Best Adventure ever....

Early Monday morning, as the late summer sun peeked over the forested Delaware horizon, My trusty adventuring companion (and eldest son Kevin.... my Philippe Cousteau) loaded up our Honda adventuremobile and headed to the environs of our Nations Capitol. Little did we know at the time, that the unforgiving gods of Adventure had some shenanigans planned for us.

First, the great mystery of 495, the beltway triangle. After making fantastic time, we hit traffic about 10 miles north of the 95/495 split. We did about 5 mph for ever, even when we got on the belt way...then.... for no apparent reason... traffic vanished. We werent by a exit, there was no accident, it just went from fender to fender, barely moving to 55mph in 10 feet...WTF!

Notes for foreigners in regards to 495.... Turn indicators are only used during the holiday season to add to the festive atmosphere. The guy in the Audi IS more important then you and IS allowed to drive like a full fledge Jackwagon and there is no reason why the guy is doing 45 mph.... he just is and you should deal with it because he is about to drop down to 25mph in the middle lane of a major interstate because his god demands it.

Note to the Government of whomever....That toll road to Dulles, loved it, as I was the only one on it...but....Coin baskets??? I spent a hour try to explain them to my son and frankly I expected to see Sonny’s bullet riddle car parked by the toll booth to 28.

Our first stop was the Smithsonian’s Udvar-Hazy center, in one word, Incredible. The layout, the Facility, the exhibits themselves are all fantastic. I was let down that I wasnt able to jump the rail and sit in the Sparrowhawk and play for hours, but I’ll look past that. They have that darn german Dornier with the propeller in the front and back, I built a model of that as a kid and fell back in love with it this Monday. All the rare German planes were fantastic. In the refurbishing area I think they are going to start working on a Helldiver and what could be a Japanese fighter. The P-40.... A plane I have been liking since the flying tigers special on the Military channel...is totally lathered in pure unrefined cool. There was a huge plus for us...a Mcdonalds... it made Kevin a happy camper. I could have spent all day there but we had a train to catch...literally.

We headed to 66 then to the Vienna Metro station, you know, if your nice to those guards, they are nice right back to you, as he advised us since we were going to make multiple transfers we should get passes and even hit the buttons for us...and they worked great as we headed boldly and without fear, towards the National Zoo.

The National Zoo is certainly unencumbered by such things such as animals, As noted by my son, most of the exhibits seemed to be empty. We did see the Panda’s, Guerillas, a single elephant a single lion and a single Tiger. The small mammal house had some cool critters and the reptile house was appropriately creepy but all and all not the best zoo my son has visited. I did note the the natural flow of the zoo seemed to take you to the bottom of a hill then said “thats it....have fun climbing back up the hill to go home” as sort of a bad joke.

Note: I will say that Connecticut Ave was kind of cool.

After the zoo we headed back to Vienna and searched for a Hotel, we soon pulled into the Fairfax Econo-lodge which wasnt to bad....providing you don’t like to take showers, as it seems when they refinished the bathroom they neglected to put in any device to activate the shower head. Our dinner was a disappointment (outback) and we were both asleep by 9:00 PM.

Tuesday

Early morning, we headed back to the Metro station....

Note for non-metroids: You can’t use passes until after 9:30, so if you want to get into the city early buy a one way card as well.

.... And headed into our favorite Station, Smithsonian. It was early but luckly the Castle opens at 8:30. We went in and viewed some small exhibits, Kevin got a great picture of Franco Harris’s Helmet and we went to grab a bite at the little cafe they have and can I say we had the best doughnut in the world, that thing was fricking god like, the smithsonian should have a Museum of Doughnuts with that one as the cornerstone exhibit, Im not joking...that was a great doughnut.

(Once again I will say, if you treat the guards and police politely, they are really nice guys, Kevin wanted to know what one of the buildings was so we politely asked a guard out front and he was very nice “Its the department of Justice, also called the Robert F. Kennedy building”)

The Spy Museum was our first real stop, a Totally awesome place. Kevin is to young to do the one Spy experience thing they have so I have never seen that but would love to go back and give it a try. We had been before but it was wall to wall people it was perfect today and everything Kevin wanted to do, he could.

After the Spy museum we headed to the Smithsonian American History Museum. A great place with a great Military exhibit, though I will say I am shocked by how brief the WWI section is... but hey, most people think numbered world wars began at 2. Kevin really didnt enjoy this museum as much as he had the last time we were there but was a good sport. We decided to head over to the Air and Space Museum so we headed out the front doors to the mall.....thats when the Earthquake hit.

The Earthquake...(BTW Great weather for it)

We had just crossed the street to the mall proper and were crossing under the trees, there was a smash of glass and Kevin said “Dad that lamp just broke” I turned to see one of the Brown lamps that line the mall swaying back and forth with part of its glass dome broken on the ground. I remember thinking “What the _____! is this the haunted lamp post of DC?” as we hadn't noticed anything else and we started across the mall.

We began to notice that all the people from the Smithsonians were beginning to assemble on the mall but didnt make any connection, I got a voice message but couldn't get anything but a busy signal, the woman on a bench by us with her kids had Verizon and she couldn't get anything either. Then somebody who was on the interwebs with there smart phone said, we had a earthquake.... as soon as he said that sirens began to be heard in all directions, Fire trucks and police cars were actually passing each other going in opposite directions.

All of the Museums had been emptied onto the mall by now and there was a mass of people. A helicopter was circling down by the washington monument at one point very close to the ground. We could see lots of emergency lights up by the capitol and sat down in the shade in front of the Air Space Museums.

We had some chats with some other tourists, including a family from Germany as we waited. Kevin seemed a little worried but we talked and he was soon himself. We soon saw people heading into Air and space so we decided to head in and to our surprise, we were allowed in. I should have taken the worried guy in a tool belt looking up at the planes hanging from the ceiling as a sign but we covered the WWI, and Aircraft carrier exhibits and headed around to finish the 2nd floor, as we did a guard said “2nd floor is closed...everyone goes to the first floor” so we obeyed and went to the escalator, as we descended the intercom blared “The Museum is closed...please exit the Museum”.

We asked a guard if they were going to be reopening today and he said no so Kevin and I decided to start our way home....or as it shall be called... “The Exodus”

The Exodus

We walked down towards the Smithsonian Station but it was Closed, or was supposed to be but people were forcing their way down the up escalator. So Kevin and I politely asked a park Ranger where we should go....these people must not deal with respectful people to often in the day because once more a expression of disgust turned into a helpful demeanor as she not only explained that we should “head up the orange line out of the City Center”, she gave us a map to help us.

We didnt have to go to far as we soon reached Federal Triangle and it was open, though it looked like the lifeboat deck on the titanic as many of the buildings had sent people home early. Kevin and I made our way down and he suggested that we should wait a couple of trains to let the people clear out...so we did.

Note too the guy in the Boy Scouts of America hat: If you ever bump into a person like that again and dont say excuse me, I’ll shove that hat down your fricking throat, I dont mind you being a total ass, but dont do it in a BSA hat. ( it wasnt us but the nice old woman we were talking to)

The platform did clear off... that is until people up the track realized they had a better chance of getting on a train if they came down to our station. We were reminded every 5 minutes that the Orange line had been damaged and that was only operating with one track up by new Carrolton and that the trains were only going about 15mph.

After a patent wait we managed to get on a train, we had to stand but we were on one and with some Old Metro hands who filled us in on this and that. At every stop, dozens of people would literally just try to cram themselves in, in their defense more sardines did get in the can but they just pushed people around. on guy got on and it was like he was the only person in the world as he didnt just grab the bar that Kevin and I were holding, but laid his whole sweaty arm against....over Our ( and several other peoples) hands and just didnt care. Apparently one Driver actually had people clear her train because they werent listening to her about people forcing their way on.

We started our trip home at about 3:15 and got to our Truck on the roof of the Vienna Parking garage at about 6:30. Our trip home down 66 to 495N then to 95N was surprisingly traffic free and we got home about 9:00PM

All and all it was a fun, eventful and exciting 2 days....what the heck am I supposed to do to top it?

The Harry Confession

My son, the young sage that he is, turn to me one day and said “Dad, you know the guy who plays Ron in the Harry Potter movies?” I said yes and he continued “ He gets uglier in every movie”. The comment in its self may not seem like much but the fact is it relates directly to one of my darkest secrets... I do not like Harry Potter.

Thats right, I have never even read a entire book, I have seen one or two of the movies and they did not suck, but neither did they do anything for me. Its strange, the series is Englishy and Magicy, two things that someone would assume would appeal to me....but it never has. Maybe the blame can be set entirely on my children’s shoulders neither of them have had much interest, though Kevin I believe has seen most of the movies, When I tried to read him the first book it just didnt seem to take.

I’m not a “I hate Harry” kind of guy, Hell I can even name some of the houses and remember some of the stuff from the movie, It just never grabbed me...not like the way “Game of Thrones” did or the first 3 Star Wars films ( to be precise Episodes IV, V, VI). I can’t explain this oddity, I want to be a Harry geek, lining up to see the last movie wearing my Hufflepuff scarf... but I just can’t.

My wifes family is full of Harry fans, I have friends who adore the series and from these people I beg forgiveness for my lack of enthusiasm....but then again, I will probably not see them in line for “Captain America: The first avenger” ( He did not just plug Captain America in a Harry Potter post? ..BAM!!... Oh yes I did) on Thursday at Midnight either.

It ain't the heat...

I truly believe that, Its the humidity. I go out side and its 96 with a breeze blowing and low humidity... thats ok in my book but when its 96 with the average Delaware Humidity of say 3000%...that gets old quick.

When I was young, it just didnt matter for some reason, we were outside playing no matter what, it never seemed to bother us (plus we could always hop in the creek). I can’t tell you when it began to be noticed but at the grand old age of Fluuffelnuffelflurf It begins to matter.

Why isnt Delaware covered with jungle? I mean It seems we get the heat and humidity but not the bananas and the monkeys...we got jipted. Why aren't there vine covered Ziggurats in Middletown? How about one bit of Delaware folklore about a Claymont boy raised by apes... there has to be some sort of pay off.

People who have moved away or live in other parts of the countries think i am exaggerating but I tell you, people who live in Jungle ridden countries complain about the heat and humidity here in Delaware.

I like to think its a Jersey generated Suck vortex that draws the moisture from the rest of the east coast, but then I blame Jersey for everything.

Part III "Jesus Wept"

It was always the wait that I hated, once you scrambled over the top and into the twisted moonscape that was no-mans land you had to much to think about, but in the minutes before the attack, as you all stood on the duck-boards staring at the ladder leading up to your possible death, your mind had fields of fear to frolic in.

It was in these moments before the attack that I envied the new guys in their ignorance. One guy, Meyer I think his name was, knelt trying to re-tie his puttee while two others cracked wise about who would get the better souvenir. “Souvenir” my inner voice said “Who would want a memory of this place” I promised my self my life would begin the moment I got this uniform off.

The veterans all stood quietly immersed in their own thoughts, some muttered prayers, others smoked one last pre-made like a man going before a firing squad. Hoyt, the BAR gunner from 3rd platoon lovingly wrapped a rag around the breach of his weapon in a bid to keep mud from it while Urbanski, 2nd squads Sergeant, ran his bolo knife over a wet stone a few more times.

Owens stood like a statue, not moving, one foot and one hand on the ladder as the other hand held up his pocket watch up to his scared face, illuminated only by the moon light. He had said all that there was to say, he had beat it into the squad leaders and assistant squad leaders that they were to head towards the “Devil’s Elbow”, a terrain feature at the base of Carrion Hill and from their they would utilize Two of the old communication trenches to get to the top of the hill. He made sure I understood that I was to be on the right flank and make sure that 3rd squad and its new Sergeant, Turner ( My former corporal, and good steady guy from New Hampshire) found their way to the elbow.

My mind raced through every type of death that awaited me, I saw visions of my pop and Mom getting the news but the worstof all was when my mind would take me back to the dream and the grim visage of death hovering over me. My hands shook a little and I grasped my springfield a little tighter to steady them as I tried in vain to look the part of a grizzled marine to inspire the men.

It being november, the night was cold and crisp, The moon broke through the clouds every now and then though I would have preferred no moon at all but hey... I wasn’t calling the shots.

Suddenly, Owens hand shot up into the air, the ready signal, and all fear vanished. I began to whisper reminders, “Follow your NCO’s” “Stick to the assault lanes” (They were paths cut through the wire that were supposed to be known only by us) “make sure your safeties are on” as I climbed part way up the ladder in front of me, just far enough that my head didn't raise above the lip of the trench “and above all....no noise!”

Owen’s up raised hand shot forward and I saw him spring up his ladder but then I was to occupied to notice much else. We emerged like the warriors of hell spewing from a crack in the earth.

The moon lit landscape before us was beyond description, how do you tell a rational man about what a field looks like that has been shelled, gassed and bleed upon for 4 years, It is a surreal visage of shattered equipment, unburied corpses and a cratered landscape where what remained of trees stretched out to the sky like the decaying bones of the earth. Yet it was a fitting canvas to reflect the madness of this war.

It was into this macabre scene that we moved, I tried to keep the pace to a jog in order to keep everyone together as we began exiting through the maze that was our own wire. I saw a Marine get tangled up not far from me and moved to him. He was beginning to panic and the sound of his struggle and cussing started to grow in volume. “Knock it off you Ape!” I whispered harshly as I grabbed the shovel on the back of his pack and used it as a handle, not only to free the man, but to steer him along as he let me know he didnt appreciate me ripping his pants like that.

Once we made it through the wire, we obliqued to the left and moved from shell hole to shell hole towards Carrion hill and the feature at its base known as the Devil’s Elbow. When the clouds parted and the pale fall moon shone through, you could make out the hill, it seemed to be waiting for us.

I began to worry that we were starting to spread out to much, I could see the MG crew that had been assigned to us drifting back and sent a runner to tell them to get the lead out. We were just over halfway there and things seemed to be going our way, some random flares had gone up and bathed the landscape with their redish white glow, but the boys had frozen well and I began to think we had pulled one over the huns... then it happened.

It was a kid from the MG crew, bent over by the weight of the big tripod on his back, that had set the events in motion. While climbing out of a shell hole he had tripped and stumbled. He was new, he wasnt hard yet, he still thought like a civilian and when he came down face first into the rotting carcass of a German who had been killed maybe two weeks ago... it was to much for him, and he began to scream.

The kid wouldn't shut up, he just kept screaming and screaming, Everyone hit the dirt, everyone prayed that the Germans were deaf tonight but with each horrific syllable, as the boy tried to scrape the guts off of him self, drifted towards enemy lines every marine could feel fears icy grip begin to squeeze their stomach. In the moon light I could see the #1 gunner rise up over the kid, raise up a box of ammo and bring it crashing down on the kids head...a moment of silence followed where everyman was afraid to even draw a breath. Did the heines hear us?

Time slowed as I looked over towards the german lines, it was like a lightning storm was busting loss over the horizon, quiet little flashes of light. “Get up you Mugs!!! Move it!!! get the lead out!!!” came a shout from the Lieutenant and at once I was aware, with growing terror, what was happening, it was german Artillery.

You didnt hear the report of the guns, no, as we scrambled towards the devil’s elbow as fast as we could run, it was the the shells slicing through the air that you heard then physics and rational thought stopped to hold sway over the world.

To me, it seemed the barrage lasted a hour, 60 minutes of air and earth mixing with fire and shrapnel. I saw guys simply vaporize, one minute they were there then boom, nothing. Little Marcus Jenkins lay against a tree, missing his legs, his screams unheard by men whose ears had been deafened by the blasts of shells. I think I saw some of second squad moving along together but they didnt look to be moving in the right direction. I became confused, was I even moving in the right direction? All I could do was act as if I had a clue and began to move off, grabbing up a couple of guys as I went, hopefully heading towards the Elbow.

We ran, I would like to say we moved with purpose and determination but the truth is we ran for our lives, when a shell exploding in front of us we moved immediately into its crater, from one to another as fast as our legs could take us through the shaking and erupting landscape. I could feel blood coming out my nose and ears but I still kept going, trying to drag along anyone that was at hand.

At one point I looked over to my left and saw Corporal Madison with a few fellas peering over the lip of a crater, I shouted out to him to follow me, I saw him rise up and put his hand to his ear but before I could shout louder... there was a explosion. I was blown back by the concussion and when I scrambled back up to the lip of the trench to see how Madison was, I saw a Helmet. It was lying right in front of me, a Helmet with its chinstrap still around the head of Corporal Madison, staring right at me. I ran for my life.

Suddenly I was tumbling down into a trench, landing hard on the shattered muddy boards of its floor, some bodies tumbled in behind me through the apocalypse beyond. I was no longer capable of telling one shell from another, it was just one long roar. We pulled our selves against the wall of the trench and huddle together under its illusion of protection and I was oddly comforted by the thought of when the time came...I would not be alone, and there we waited for the end.

Some time passed and I began to be aware that the barrage had ceased. My head began to clear as I looked about me. with me were two other marines, Urbanski and a guy name Gross from 2nd squad who had lost his rifle. Urbanski wiped the dirt from his face and looked over at me, he let out a long shaky breath that sounded as if he had been holding it through the entire barrage while gross shaky hands try to pull a Lucky Strike out of its tin. “Are we it” whispered Gross, his voice quivering with nerves.

Just then a shower of dirt pored down on us as three more men slipped into the trench. I began to raise my rifle, thinking “what if they were Huns” but I could make out our distinct helmets on the figures. Then he was there, his cold dark eyes locked on mine, Lt. Owens.

“You made eh college?” he whispered “Aye Aye sir” I stammered “But I only have Urbanski and Gross with me.” He looked around the trench at the men there, the two that had come with him were breathing like they had just ran a race. “I got Hoyt and Doc Stoltz. Good job getting to the elbow Sergeant”. I nearly laughed, through all the hell and confusion we had moved through fate had delivered us exactly where we were supposed to be. “ Gross!” Owens suddenly snapped “Where the Sam Hill is the Rifle the U.S. Navy was letting you use” he growled, even in the dark his eyes bore holes into the shaking private “I...” he began “I dropped it sir”. Owens seemed to visibly steam “you did what?” he took a breath “If you live Gross, and I highly doubt you will, you and I are going to have a long talk” and he looked towards me. “Ok college we’ll take 5 minutes then start up the hill, Urbanski first then me, Hoyt, Doc, Gross and you”

I was stunned “we’re going up?” I whispered and as it left my lips I wished I could have recalled it as Owens turned slowly on me. I tried to quickly add the missing “Sir” but it was to late. “I am sorry if the whole war is a inconvenience to you your lordship...” he spat “but we plebs here in the Marines got these things called orders see, and we follow them see, because thats what we do, the skipper didnt say nothing about coming back if you got a bloody nose so as long as one of us moves, we climb this hill...” his face got closer and closer to mine as he talked and I swore I could see skulls in his eyes as he finished “You Savoy college?”. I drew a breath “Aye Aye Sir” and Owens withdrew.

I had Hoyt give Gross his .45 ( As I had grown to love mine) so the kid would have a weapon. I had my Rifle and pistol, Urbanski his rifle, Hoyt his BAR and Owens was carrying his pistol and a Shotgun he had picked up during the barrage. These weapons, together with a handful of grenades and knives represented all we had to complete this mission. As we began to move out up the hill, I could hear Dock Stoltz some up my feelings and probably everyone else's as he whispered “Jesus Wept”.

Part II "Bastards in Brassards"

Battalion HQ was like a ant hill of activity, that is, if the ants all wore drab army uniforms and tin hats. Owens and I shouldered our way to the area the MP’s had said the oldman was waiting for us. I should have known something was not quite right then and there as the closer we got to our destination the fewer people we saw till finally, after passing one more Check point, it was just Owens and I.

He stopped right before the curtain which was indicated by the MPs we had to pass through. I was behind the man and couldn't see his face but he seemed to pull himself up straighter (if that was even possible for someone with a ram-rod backbone already) and tilted his head from side to side as if he was trying to get a read on the room beyond... and wasn't succeeding.

“oh well” he grumbled “Damn the torpedo’s, eh College?” I simply muttered “Aye Aye Sir” as he pushed aside the curtain and the dim golden lights beyond filled the dark tunnel we had emerged from.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust but when they did I felt some what out of place, in the room were about 5 of our Battalion Staff officers, The Major, Our skipper (company commander) and these 5 Limey officers who looked all spit and polish with there red and green brassards on their arms. They stood around the map table on which lay a map, certainly not one of ours (might as well just given us blank sheets of paper instead of those damn French maps) but a amazingly detailed one with some photo’s from airplanes scattered about.

“Lt Owens reporting as ordered with his Platoon sergeant sir!” growled the scarred Owens as he smartly saluted Major Dupree. The Major gave a casual return salute “at ease Lt. hope you and your boys are rested because we got a stunt for you tonight...Mack?” he looked over to our skipper, Captain Curtain, who looked every bit the man who had to break bad news.

Curtain looked across the table at Owens and began “Sorry Joe but this one comes from the gates of heaven itself...” he looked over at the brits then he pointed at the map, when his finger landed on a rise in the middle of no mans land my blood nearly froze in my veins, we hadn’t been in the line long, but we sure as hell knew that hill, like the Brits we called it carrion hill and for almost 4 years it was a place that people went to die. “we need you to take your platoon out and get up to the top of Carrion Hill, The Limey’s lost some people there this summer when the heines launched their big pushes and they are more then a little interested to find out what happened to them. You’ll go over at 10:00 Pip Emma we think surprise is the best bet so.....”.

“Excuse me sir?” said Owen’s, his voice sounding like sand paper being drug across gravel, so ominous did it sound that every noise in the room stopped and even the Brit officer’s seemed to lose their look of boredom. “Yes Lt?” The Major asked, for a moment it looked like the Major was trying to intimidate Lt Owen’s, but when he looked up at the Major with that face and those dark eyes...it was the Major who blinked. “You want me to take my live men, out looking for their Dead men? I ain’t a college man but Im going to venture to say they are beyond the carrying of modern medicine, why risk our boys on this sir?”

The room seemed to grow colder, not a sound could be heard, our staff officers seemed to be studying their navels as the major and the Captain slowly looked over at the Limey’s in the corner. All of them had mustaches and uniforms that looked like they had come from the finest tailors in London, but one had a slightly grander mustache and it was he who spoke up.

“Fair question old man...” he took a drink from a flask and studied the room, his eyes taking the measure of each person in the room. “Now this is all “Hush-Hush” stuff you understand but we had a chap up on the hill, a Dr Norbert Clive, real Tom Swift kinda fellow, helped design your gasmask. Dr Clive was in the process of developing a new gas, real devils own stuff, supposed to make everything before it look like cheap french cologne. Clive and his team were placed on the hill to give it a go but the day before the test, The hun took us totally by surprise, we never had a chance to get him and his lads off the hill.” he paused and once more looked around the room as he pushed the end of his mustache with his riding crop. “Now this is the sticky part, one day, maybe sooner then we all think, this war will end, and we need to know before then if the Hun has any idea what we were up to on this hill” he indicated Carrion Hill with his Riding Crop “ Thats why you and your chaps are going to climb that hill, ID any British Bodies you find and bring back any “material” that may be related to Clive’s research” again he paused to let it sink in “now... rumor has it that you Marine chaps are good at following orders... well follow them.”

I could feel Owens tense up, like a spring that was about to snap, I could almost smell his desire to pound this limeys face into one to the ceiling braces but all he said was “Aye Aye Sir.”

The Captain continued with the plan, laying out pass words, flare singles and additional personnel to go with us ( 3 extra Corpsmen and a MG crew) and the time table. I wrote in my orderly book like a demon trying to get all the details straight and frankly did a A-OK job at it to but Owens was a distraction, he only ever answered “Aye Aye Sir” or yes and no, he was like a boiler about to explode.

After we were dismissed, and we started back to the Platoon, I had the privilege of listing to one of the longest strings of uninterrupted obscenities ever witnessed on earth up to that time. There were english cusses, french swears, colorful phrases in chinese and spanish, even a brief discourse on why the British made the Navy look like geniuses and when we came to two of our guys Skylarking in one of the communication trenches, he tore into them like a dog into a new bone.

As the afternoon wore on, Owens and I saw to everything needed for the attack, Squad leaders were briefed, extra ammo brought up and the 10%, those men chosen to remain behind so the Platoon was never officially “wiped out” were picked.

I was nervous, I had been Platoon Sergeant for only a matter of hours and now i was going on a Stunt, my hands shook as I secured my gear and cleaned my Rifle and pistol. Before the war I hadn't been very religious, and maybe I still wasn't, but then and there I prayed that I wouldn't let Lt Owens down and I cursed all Bastards in Brassards.

Part I "try to look like a Marine and you might just survive"

November 09, 1918

“Old man wants to see you” the runner said as he kicked me awake with his hobnailed shoe “Easy mack, what were ya in civilian life a field goal kicker or something?!” I snapped back trying to shake the images of the dream from my head. I looked around, in the firing bay of the trench, Turner stood watch, his eye glued to the trench periscope peering across the blasted waste of no-mans land as the rest of the squad lay sleeping on the firestep, except Hoyt who was lovingly cleaning the new Browning Automatic Rifle he had been issued, happy to be rid of the French abomination known as the Chauchat that had been trying to kill him since July.

The afternoon Sun tried to fight its way through the gray clouds, I became aware of the distant artillery (the percussive accompaniment of this war) pounding away at some sucker some where, someone not me and god forgive me, I was thankful.

My folks back home in their brownstone would never understand us laying around in the middle of the day, Dad would say we were lazy but the truth is, most of the war, Patrols, Raids, Work parties and the like, all happen at night. During the day you just tried to survive and somehow remember you were human.

“best square your self away Sergeant... Scuttlebutt has it you and he may be taking a hike to Battalion” quipped the runner, a short Irishman named O-something or other. I have to admit, I still thought of myself as the atypical Yankee College kid who had joined the Marines on a lark (alcohol may have been involved), being called “Sergeant” just didnt seem to sit right... but the last 4 months had made allot of opportunities for advancement in the corps.

I pulled on my gear, grabbed my gas mask, helmet and rifle and started out down the trench with the runner in tow. It was a short way to Communication trench that led to the platoon command post, They call the section of trench Kensington Street, apparently the limeys named it, them and the french had been fighting here for 4 years before the Germans knocked them out during their summer pushes and here it was November and we allies were back in them, net zero. We hadnt got around to changing the names and I hoped to god we wouldn't be here long enough to do it.

As we pounded down the duckboards I thought of the Platoon. The platoon, that was a laugh, we had been patched up so many times since june I hardly knew anyone outside my squad. Most of the old Marines had bought a piece or a hospital bed and even the replacements for the replacements had been buried in the big graves around France. The new guys, I have to smile, They stick out like sore thumbs in their Marine uniforms. You see General Pershing hates us, he refuses to ship any new Marine uniforms to france so we have to make do with these brown army suits, they look like crud and are as comfortable as a stone sweater...I’m putt’n a match to these duds the minute they sign my discharge.

There was one thing that made me hate the new guys... and that was there faces, they reminded me of us when we first got here, faces that hadnt seen it...that indescribable horror that was modern war and I hated them for it. Even their fear was born of a naive innocents that had yet to be ripped apart by the Maxium gun or tangled in the barbed wire.

As the runner and I turned down Kensington we passed Doc Marvel doing a boat inspection... inspecting peoples feet for trench foot. Doc was a Navy hospital corpsman that had been with us since forever and because of the nature of his job, we loved him and over looked the fact he was navy. “Hey Doc” I nodded as we shouldered by “better take a look at Myer” I joked, seeing Corporal Meyer sitting shoeless for the examine “I here he is just back from Paris”. The men laughed as Myer fired a back something about my lice raiding a near by farmhouse, “You leave my lice out of it you gob! I’ll not have you tarnish their reputation in mixed company” I returned, pointing at Doc, the soul representative of the Navy, the parent service of the Corps, as we cut the corner to the CP. It was good to here the boys laugh as Doc’s retorted with the age old insult “Tell it to the Marines” as their laughter faded in the distance.

The Platoon CP was a bunker and was unique in that, at one time or another, it had been occupied by the forces of half a dozen nations. The Rats were even said to all be polyglots. Each occupant had left their mark, but it was the Heine’s that had made the most recent improvements with the addition of a deeper sleeping bunker complete with stove, not that we got to see it. The entrance was labeled in French, English, German, and Portuguese, but it was the last entry that had brought a smile to me, it read simply “Paris Island (Annex)” with a well drawn Globe and anchor over it.

As we stopped at the door, the runner shoulder past me, I could hear some chatter inside and then “Get in here College”. Through the blackout curtains I went and down a short staircase into the darkness. As my Eyes adjusted I saw our Platoon officer standing in front of a mirror shaving. It was almost hypnotic, the way he made slow passes with his straight razor scrapping off the days growth but then, in the reflection of the mirror, I saw him turn his face and he began to carefully navigate the hideous scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to the back of his jaw with the razor carefully moving over the raised areas that the sutures had left and through the sunken valleys left by a German trench knife. The scar almost gave the impression of hideous gritted teeth. I thought of my dream.

“They call them razors” he growled through the undamaged side of his mouth “Thought you college kids knew all about them... best introduce your self to one when we get back” he said turning as he wiped his face clean of the soap “If your going to be my platoon Sergeant”.

I must have looked as stunned as I felt, “Platoon Sergeant? Me?” my head screamed. I had only had a squad for two months. I should never have mentioned I had taken ROTC courses in college. My stomach was gripped by fear, fear of the responsibility. I was soon brought around by the old man talking.

“Sergeant Blevens is down with the Flu” he said as he pulled on his Forest Green tunic “and that left the choice between you and a monkey...” he turned and fixed his Dark emotionless eyes on me. Ice ran down my spine as I thought of my dream and the reflection of the skulls. “...and I seriously considered the monkey”.

The old man had been our Platoon Sergeant, but he was made a officer when he had returned from the hospital. For a week he had soldiered on with his wounds, Doc had stitched his face together under a poncho with a flash light and a needle and the old man hadn't even flinched. But it was his hand that had done him in, doc had tried to clean it and bandage it, he cut the rest of the pinky off but infection had set in and finally the skipper himself had to drag him to the First aide post to be evacuated, 20 days latter he was back and a fresh new 2nd luey with a horrific sneer scared into his face and pinky side of his left hand missing (they had to cut it off on account of the infection). It was a common practice in the Corps, they even had a term for it, “Mustangs”, officers promoted from the NCO ranks.

Since then we had 4 Platoon Sergeants, Gunnery Sergeant Hawks being the longest stint, but he went batty during a barrage and got sent down the line to see if they could put him back together. Now it was me...A two year Marine, before June some fellas had been Privates for 20 years... now I was a Platoon Sargent.

“Best batten the hatch there College” he said indicating my gapping mouth “I didnt make you Emperor of China...” he finished doing his collar dogs, and turned to me and with a slight movement of his dark eyes, down to my neck then back to my face, indicated that I had better do mine “...Kid, you’ll do fine, your smart...” he looked like he needed to qualify that “well...you arent a idiot at least, you’ve seen the beast...” (the beast being his term for war) “...and you can fight, Just remember, let the Sergeants run the squads, you run the Sergeants, they get out of line, you take them somewhere private and set them straight, with your hooks if you have to, but dont do it in front of the men”. He took a deep breath and for a moment, a brief click of the clock, he looked weary, “Look, I know your turning in your sea legs the minute this dance is over” (he knew I had enlisted for the duration) “but until that time remember you belong to the Corps, your back is stamped “Department of the Navy, Property of” so just Sail straight and keep your lines from fouling and you’ll look great strutting down Broadway with your medals on your chest on decoration day”

He turned and began to, as Shakespeare would have said, gird himself for war. There were no half measures for the old man, no allowance made for the mud of France. His Sam Brown Belt went on first, sort of a joke really, the Brown leather belts with its single shoulder strap were required wear for all officers of all nations in france, the thought being that a ape in the french army may not know what a captains bar looks like but he sure knew only officers wore Sam browns. Then he pulled on his Rig, made of woven canvas (except the holster for his 45) with eyelets, everything he required in war was fastened to it and like the illustration in the manual...he wore it perfectly parallel to the ground riding above the flaps of his lower pockets of his jacket, not slanted downwards like some bizarre gunslinger. Then came, not one, but two respirators in case of gas attack, The british Boxed respirator was secure on his chest while a french mask hung from his side. When he finished with his gear, he smoothed out any creases in is jacket, as i watched him something inside of me said simply “squared away”.

As he reached towards a hook to take his helmet he turned back at me “We’ve been called to Battalion, some sort of stunt for tonight...” He pulled his helmet on a let it tilt slightly down over his eyes like a man looking for a fight “... just stand there and don't say anything and try to look like a Marine and you might just survive”.

My Zombie story.....

Taking a page from Aravan's blogook and "Just post it" mentality. I decided to try to write my Zombie story... based on something I wrote way back in the 90's....and for the record, I can't write, I can't spell and Grammar is on my enemies list.

Introduction

I am falling, sliding uncontrolled down the muddy sides of the shell crater. It is night and the images of a fall come to me in the flashes of lighting and the flickering of flares in the stormy night skies. My hands claw and rake at the sides but I can not stop my descent, mud oozes between my fingers, it is as if the world is made of liquified earth.

There is a splash, the world of noise, machine guns, the screams of men and the Artillery mixing with the thunder, fade to a muffled nothingness as I crash into the muddy pool of battlefield swill at the bottom of the crater. I struggle to stand as I become aware of the bodies that float around me, I begin to panic as my feet try to push against the soft mire below. There is a brief moment of hope as my head brakes the surface but it is cut short by the realization that I can no longer lift my feet, I am sinking.

Around me, the eyes of the dead, sickly cloudy orbs, gaze at me in expectation, wordlessly communicating to me that I am soon to join their ranks. I fight and strain as I sink to my chin, “Lord no!!” I scream “Not like this!” as my mouth sinks beneath the surface, I try to will my nose higher as my final moments approach and then... it is there.

It is like he emerged from the greek underworld onto the mortal plane, its dusty, dirty wings tucked behind his huge cloaked visage as his bone hand grasped the sickle he would use to sever the threads of my life, I beheld death himself. It is if the rain fears him as not a drop touches his horrible form. I can not scream, I can not run, I am at the mercy of he who has none.

Slowly his hand pulls back his hood and I stare into the void of his eyes, his skull face tilting from side to side trying to make sense of my predicament. With one sure footed stride after another he begins to descend towards me almost looking as if he were gliding down the slippery slopes.

He does not sink into the water, but crosses it like a man walking across his living room carpet. The nearer he gets the more panicked I become, my hands are thrashing, only my eyes and the top of my helmeted head remain above the surface, I can feel the last grains of sand falling from the hour glass of my life. He bends down towards me...and that is when it happens.

As the light of a flickering flare touches this horrible vision, it transforms...not all of death, just the portions touched by light. Confusion now mixes with my rampant panic as I see him the way he first appeared to me on that night in June in the woods west of Bouresches,as death becomes the form of Gunnery Sargent Owens.

He stood over me like he did that night, His cheek laid open from the corner of his mouth to his infected wisdom tooth ( that, in one of the ironies of war had stopped the progression of the Heine’s trench knife and at the same time removed Owens bothersome tooth) and now the flesh flapped open to reveal his bloody clenched teeth...his Forest green tunic turned brown by the blood that soaked it. His eyes...his dark eyes showing no sign of pain or any other emotion for that matter, seemed to take in the world around him. The world changed

No longer was I in the shell hole but I was once more in the woods, those horrible woods, tangled in the debris of a German Machine gun nest that we had just rushed. Collins was next to me with the Heine Entrenching tool sticking from his head and Rose lay nearby nearly ripped in half by a burst from the gun...and he, Owens, hovered over me, his horrible visage glaring down at me “You ain’t dead yet kid....lets go you ape, your on the clock” he grunted, barely audible, through his clenched teeth. He reach out with his left hand to help me up, and as I grabbed it, I realized that the pinky was dangling from it, blown off by a german luger. I looked up to apologies, it had to hurt, but as I stared into that ripped face....his eyes showed no pain and as the light from a flare caught in his dark eyes... they reflection looked like skulls of light.

Then I wake up... Its always the same, a unchanging nightmare.

A Aravan moment... (Spoiler Alert)

It is no secret that I am a super huge “Game of Thrones” fan, both the written and the HBO series. For the most part I have embraced some of the changes they have made to bring it to the TV screen, But last night I had a Aravan moment.

A Friend, Aravan, loves the written word, I believe it is because of the images that it brings to his mind make the work a calibration between the author and him self. He has in the past surprised me with his acceptance of changes but he does have his “Aravan moments” when he simply can not fathom a change or added scene.

Last nights GOT gave me my first true “Aravan Moment”, to level set, I still liked the episode...however... I was livid at what they did to Tyrion last night. For the first time it seems that they put in some stupid slapstick moment that in my opinion severely undermined the fantastic job they were doing with his character. To have him knocked out in such a silly fashion and then miss the entire battle, a battle in which he led his clansmen in the book, was ridicules.

not quite as major for me but a bother none the less was the scene with Drogo, for some reason I envisioned that all happening around dusk and night time with the shadows of the dead dancing showing on the walls of the tent. This could just have been a me moment but it bothered me.

Ned’s execution, so many things right yet the one wrong spoiled it for me, him telling the man from the Night’s Watch “Baelor”. What made that so cool in the book is that he saved her without being asked, despite his pledge to the Wall, he still rescued the girl. Having Ned say that....just marginalized the acted.

I have to say that besides a few scenes, last nights episode had some powerful stuff, I am surprised I have come to like Varys so much more then Book Varys and I was surprised I didnt hate Sir Walter Frey as much as I did in writing.

The one scene I thought was great was the scene between Rob and Aemon, but again the handling of Tyrion this week made me so angry that I couldn't enjoy it. After the credits rolled all I could see was the giant novelty hammer swinging at him.

Next week episode has allot of ground to cover, lets hope they come through.