Diary of a FAO

Driver License, part VII

Sat, 11 May 2013 22:57:43 -0400

Surprisingly, New Jersey wasn’t too difficult in unscrewing my suspended driver’s license. All I had to do is to send them a proof that my vehicle was insured in Spain, and they unsuspended my license the same day. I thought to myself: “Hey, maybe NJ does not have such a shitty DMV after all?”

I do have to admit that my heart was biting faster towards the end of my customary two hour wait for my turn at the Virginia Department of Motor Vehicles. My number gets called, and with my knees a little shaky I walk towards the service window.

There was an older guy sitting on a dais behind the window, and his accent seemed to be of Indian or Pakistani origin.

- Hello. I am here to take my driver’s test. Here is my permit. – I blurt out on one breath.

- Good. Thank you. Where is your student form? – The Pakistani/Indian guy asks.

- Student form? What student form? – I reply feeling that I am about to get very upset.

- You know the verification of your driving skills. – The guy explains.

I stare at him blankly. He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a form to show me. I study it for a second. It has twenty maneuvers such as turning, backing, or parking, and a place for a “verifier” to sign and put down his or her driver’s license number. I am at loss of words. Why, for heaven’s sake no one informed me of that form during my past five visits to this damned place???

- I didn’t know, no one told me about this form, I don’t have it. – I explain

- Then I am very sorry, but you can’t take your driver’s test today. – The older guy replies.

- But who is supposed to sing this? – I ask in a desperate voice.

The older Pakistani/Indian guy looks at me and tells me politely.

- Your mommy or daddy can sign this if you want.

I had to leave the window immediately because I felt that I am about to blow up. After I calmed downed I looked at the form with 20 maneuvers that had to be verified by someone unlike myself, licensed to drive.

Thank God that my wife had telepathic signature ability, because a couple minutes later the form had twenty signatures. I was finally ready to take my driver’s test!

Word of the Day

dais \DEY-is, DAHY-, deys, noun:

a raised platform, as at the front of a room, for a lectern, throne, seats of honor, etc.

Some spoke to the man on the dais and were sent through the door behind him and up a turnpike stair.

— George R. R. Martin, A Feast for Crows, 2005

It was set upon a dais that Jemma was quite sure hadn’t been there the day before.

— Chris Adrian, The Children’s Hospital, 2006

The sense of dais as a platform entered English from the modern French word of the same spelling. An earlier sense of the word as a “raised table” briefly entered English from an Old French word, but the more modern definition has become the predominant sense.

Driver's License, part VI

Fri, 10 May 2013 16:59:40 -0400

Special Announcement: A friend of mine Wladyslaw Zdanowicz, is a Polish military writer. I had come upon his book in Iraq, after hearing great things about it from re-deploying Polish troops. His book was really funny, it was about a Polish Soldier who was just a magnet for bad things in a war zone. To be honest, his book inspired me to start writing the Word of the Day where I write about my own misadventures.

I talked him into releasing his book in English. It has finally arrived on Amazon’s kindle. So please support my friend and buy his book for $2.99. The book is titled: “Misadventures of a Polish Soldier in Iraq”

***

So, two months have passed by since I have been issued a learner’s permit. It was a bit embarrassing I admit, for a thirty seven year old man to drive on a learner’s permit, so it is understandable how eager I was to finally get my driver’s license.

The day has finally arrived. I promptly report to the Virginia Department of Motor Vehicles. I grew to hate that place by then. There was not a single instance when I went there and did not have to wait a minimum two hours for service.

However, I could hardly contain my excitement when it was my turn. My driver’s license odyssey was about to be over!

- Hello. I am here to take a road test for the driver’s license. Here is my permit. – I start out before even reaching the window. The guy takes my permit and starts to punch numbers to his computer. He frowns.

- But is says that your New Jersey driver’s license is suspended. I am afraid you can’t take a road test in Virginia while your driver’s license is suspended elsewhere.

- But, how come? Why??? – I started to quibble, even though I knew it was pointless to argue with a DMV official.

- Well, it says right here that you have failed to maintain a liability insurance on your vehicle last year.

- But, but I was overseas last year! My vehicle was insured in Spain! – I blasted out loud.

- I am afraid you have to contact the New Jersey DMV and explain that to them. – He said as he was handing me back my thrice cursed learner’s permit.

This was my sixth try to get a driver’s license, and I should have learned by now that nothing comes easy when you deal with the Department of Motor Vehicles…

Word of the Day

quibble \KWIB-uhl, verb:

1. to equivocate.

2. to carp; cavil.

noun:

1. an instance of the use of ambiguous, prevaricating, or irrelevant language or arguments to evade a point at issue.

2. the general use of such arguments.

3. petty or carping criticism; a minor objection.

Don’t quibble. You’re in deep enough now, young man.

— Kurt Vonnegut, Welcome to the Monkey House, 1968

I didn’t quibble about the price. No man can say that. I just wanted peace; I paid them their price without quibbling.

— William Faulkner, Light in August, 1932

Quibble is related to the more common word quip. They both come from the Latin word quibus meaning “indeed.”

Driver's License, part V

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 18:02:31 -0400

Eager to forget about my bad experiences at the New Jersey Department of Motor Vehicles office I went to the Virginia DMV just a couple days after I came back to the States from Spain.

I was really impressed with the organization of the DMV here at first. As soon as I walked up through the main door, a guard greeted me and pointed me to the help desk. There I got a number, and all I had to do is to wait for the number to be called. Really smooth operation.

I waited over an hour to be called, but there were a lot of people there, so it was understandable. An hour at the DMV wasn’t too bad. It was my turn, finally.

- Good morning. I would like to get a Virginia driver’s license. – I said as I walked up to the window.

- Do you have a permit? – The lady at the window asks.

- What permit? Why would I need a permit? – I ask.

- In the state of Virginia you have to have a permit to get a driver’s license. – She explains.

- Well, in that case I just want to trade my New Jersey Motorcycle license for a Virginia License. – I say as I hand over my license. The lady studies it for a second.

- Please take a number for the test. – The lady points me towards the help desk.

- What test? Why would I need a test? – I insist.

- In the state of Virginia you have to take a road test before you can get a license. – Lady explained to me.

I wanted to say something else, but I kept my mouth shut, because I was afraid that I would use profanities. I took the number. Two hours later it was my turn to take the test. I passed. Then the guy tells me to take a picture. “Right on!” I think as I see the flash. Then the guy says;

- You will get your permit in approximately a week.

- Permit? What permit? I was supposed to get a license! That lady over there told me I would get my license. – I insist.

- I don’t know nothing about no licenses. I am only here to take pictures for the permit. – The guy shrugs off my concerns.

- So, how do I know get my license? – I get more frustrated.

- Here, go to the desk over there and take a number. – The guy explains to me patiently.

I really wanted to say something else, but I kept my mouth shut. I was afraid I will get arrested for making a scene. I took the number and waited another two hours for my number to be called.

- Hello, ma’am. Right here is the confirmation of passed exam. I would like to get my driver’s license now. – I am desperately trying not to show how frustrated I am.

- You have to come back in two months. – Lady glances over my paperwork.

- What do you mean two months? Why can’t I get my license now? – I insist.

- You have to have a permit for two months before you can get a license to drive a car. – Lady explains.

- But I don’t want to drive a car! I just want trade my NJ motorcycle license for a VA motorcycle license! – I try to maintain calm.

- In the state of Virginia you have to have a car driver’s license before you can get a motorcycle driver’s license. – The lady explains to me like I am an idiot. Then, I guess she felt sorry for her tone, and added more friendly – But if you only want to have a license for a motorcycle, after you pass your car road test just tell them that you don’t want a car endorsement and they won’t give it to you. – She added convinced of the validity of her logic.

“Son of ….” I thought as I was clenching my fists. I scuppered the shit out the dumpster outside to relieve my anger. It turns out that the Virginia DMV is even worse than the New Jersey DMV.

Word of the Day

scupper \SKUHP-er, verb:

1. Informal. to prevent from happening or succeeding; ruin; wreck.

2. Military. to overwhelm; surprise and destroy, disable, or massacre.

But what if Ira had tried to back out, threatening to scupper the entire thing?

— Mark Zuehlke, Hands Like Clouds, 2000

Last summer, Edward DeMarco, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac’s regulator, scuppered the White House’s plan to write down principal for half a million homeowners who’d fallen behind on payments, listing among his reasons that it would encourage others to stop paying.

— Tad Friend, “Home Economics,” The New Yorker, Feb. 4, 2013

Scupper first entered English as a nautical noun in the late 1400s. The verb senses did not enter English until the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Driver's License, part IV

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 17:56:33 -0400

So, discouraged by my misadventures at the New Jersey Department of Motor Vehicles, I awaited in fear my crash with the Spanish bureaucracy in order to get a Spanish driver license. I heard horror stories about European bureaucracy; I heard that they even have laws there that regulate size of cucumbers.

Turns out my fears were unfound. I turned in my New Jersey motorcycle license, and a week later I got my Spanish driver license. It was that easy! Almost like pressing the easy button at Staples.

Well, turns out nothing is easy in this world, and there is no such thing as free lunch. I get pulled over on my bike in Barcelona by a Catalan cop. I hand the cop my driver’s license, and he tells me that I need to give him my motorcycle driver’s license. I tell him that this is my Spanish motorcycle driver’s license, but it turns out that it is merely a verisimilitude; he insists that I am only licensed to drive a car.

Now, how in hell was it even possible that I turn my U.S. motorcycle license to the Spanish government and I got a car license in return, it beats me. But it is rather unfortunate timing to find out that you are not licensed to operate a vehicle that you have right between your legs while being pulled over by a cop for a minor traffic violation.

Well, the fine for riding a bike is 500 Euros which comes out to like $750 USD. No problem I think, I will straighten my small driver’s license problem with the Spanish government and then I can dispute that fine.

And this is when I did crash into a wall of Spanish bureaucracy. Apparently in Spain in order to be licensed to ride a “big” bike, you have to have two years of a “small” bike riding experience. I had like 20 years of experience riding, but I had no way to prove it, because the communist state of New Jersey shredded my driver licenses from Illinois and Hawaii, and gave me a NJ license barely a year earlier. And no arguments in the world were able to convince their DMV bureaucrats that I really have more than a year of riding experience.

But the only good thing is that the Catalan traffic fines are optional, since Cataluña doesn’t even to be a part of Spain any more.

Word of the Day

verisimilitude \ver-uh-si-MIL-i-tood, -tyood, noun:

1. the appearance or semblance of truth; likelihood; probability: The play lacked verisimilitude.
2. something, as an assertion, having merely the appearance of truth.

The intention of the unities is to enhance the verisimilitude of dramatic works by making the time the spectator is watching the performance coincide with the time in which the entire action takes place (unity of time)…
— Federica Brunori Deigan, Alessandro Manzoni’s The Count of Carmagnola and Adelchis, 2004

Todorov argues most persuasively that verisimilitude is not to be confused with truth in narrative, and indeed truth is dispensable while verisimilitude is not.
— Terry J. Peavler, Individuations, 1987

Verisimilitude comes from the Latin roots vērum + similis literally meaning “likeness to truth.”

Driver's License: part II

Wed, 10 Apr 2013 17:24:57 -0400

When you are a company commander people always need stuff from you. Your Soldiers need stuff from you, your battalion Commander needs stuff from you, the Commander’s staff needs stuff from you.

But when you are a Recruiting Company Commander it gets even worse. The civilians need stuff from you as well. And there are only so many hours in a day to take care of the plethoric needs of everyone.

That is why it was really hard for me to find time to go to the New Jersey Department of Motor Vehicles to get my driver’s license. I was really pissed when I found out that I have to take my driving test on a different day. But what could do? Being a law abiding citizen that I am, I could not just keep on driving without my car driver’s license.

So, in order not to lose too much of the valuable Company Commander’s time I showed up at the DMV like two hours before they opened. I wanted to be first one in line. And I was.

Then at 8 a.m. this blond lady dressed in black fatigues who was the driving instructor comes to my car and asks for my paperwork. I am all excited, because I think my test is about to start, but instead she looks at the empty passenger seat in my car and asks:

- Who supervised you driving here?

- Well, no one. – I answer surprised by her question.

- How is that possible? If you have a learner’s permit you have to be supervised by a licensed adult.

- Well, I am a licensed adult – I respond handing her my motorcycle driver’s license – I supervised myself, ma’am.

Well, the driving instructor did not find the situation funny. She told me that she will not test unless I am accompanied by a licensed adult.

“Son of a ….” - I think to myself. But then I got this brilliant idea. There was a construction site just around the corner. I pulled over there and offered some random worker $50 dollars if he sits in the car with me while I drive 100 yards to take my test. The guy was happy to oblige.

But that time there was line of like 25 cars to take the driving test. But I’ve been trained by the military to take initiative, so I drive around them and pull to the front of the line. A guy in black fatigues sees me and comes running to my car.

- What are you thinking you are doing?

- Well, I was in this spot at 6 a.m. today – I reply noticing that this guy has a Polish last name.

- That is just too bad. Once you leave the line you cannot come back. – The guy was just being a dick. So much for the idea of the Polish connection…

- Sir, that blond lady over there told me I can come back – I said while struggling to maintain cool.

The guy goes to consult with the blond lady in the black fatigues. Then, grudgingly, he comes back, tells the construction worker to leave and sits in the car with me. He looks around the car:

- Where is your emergency brake? – He asks sternly.

- Right here, under my left foot. – I respond.

- That is just too bad. I can’t test you unless you have an emergency brake that I can reach and pull. – Yup, the guy was definitely a dick, I think.

- So, what I am supposed to do? Buy a new car just to take a driving test? – I feel that I am going to blow up really soon.

- That is not my concern. – The guy opens the door to leave the car. – This is the state law – he adds putting the stress on the word “law”.

“Son of a ….” - I think to myself. I am really glad that my steering wheel was made out of a durable material, because I kept pounding it until my anger went away.

***

plethoric \ple-THAWR-ik, -THOR-, PLETH-uh-rik, adjective:

1. overfull; turgid; inflated: a plethoric, pompous speech.

2. of, pertaining to, or characterized by plethora.

He is a plethoric sleeper: literally a sleeper having an excess of red corpuscles in the blood (the opposite of anaemic), suggesting “unhealthy repletion”, but here a “heavy” sleeper.

— Arthur Conan Doyle, The Return of Sherlock Holmes, 1903

And I did these things, not that I was an egotist, not that I was impervious to the critical glances of my fellows, but because of a certain hogskin belt, plethoric and sweat-bewrinkled, which buckled next the skin above the hips.

— Jack London, “The Dignity of Dollars,” Revolution and Other Essays, 1900

Plethoric came to English in the late 1300s from the Greek plethore meaning “fullness.”

Driver's License. Part 1

Tue, 09 Apr 2013 21:43:06 -0400

Illinois is a great state to live in if you are military. They love the military over there. If you are a veteran the state will pay for your university. You don’t have to pay any income taxes. And if your driver license expire, it is still good as long as you have a valid active duty military ID.

So when my license expired in Hawaii I didn’t bother to renew it. Unfortunately military is not as forgiving as Illinois if you are a military, so they said I won’t be able to take my motorcycle on post if I keep riding on an expired license.

So I got a motorcycle license. I now had two licenses; one for driving a car from Illinois, and one for driving a bike from Hawaii.

I had this qualm every time I pulled out my Hawaiian driver license adorned with a beautiful rainbow. No man should have two licenses, I thought to myself.

So, I decided to make things right when I moved to New Jersey. I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles office and decided to turn in my both licenses to get one from the New Jersey.

Lady at the window at the DMV office was really nice. She was a bit surprised when I showed her both of my driver licenses. Then she looked at my Illinois license from up close and said with even more surprise in her voice – “But your license expired five years ago!”

I started to explain to her: “You see, in Illinois there is the law that….” My train of thought was interrupted by this unnerving humming noise that sounded a lot like a shredding machine. ..

- Excuse me, ma’am, what did you just do?

- Oh I shredded your old driver license. It was expired.

“Son of a ….” I thought to myself. I struggled to put a smile back on my face and asked her:

- How am I supposed to drive back home?”

- Oh don’t worry. I will issue you a learner’s permit once you pass your written exam. It is good for a month.

***

Word of the Day

qualm \kwahm, kwawm, noun:

1. an uneasy feeling or pang of conscience as to conduct; compunction: He has no qualms about lying.

2. a sudden feeling of apprehensive uneasiness; misgiving: a sudden qualm about the success of the venture.

3. a sudden sensation or onset of faintness or illness, especially of nausea.

A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his backbone, increasing.

— James Joyce, Ulysses, 1922

“Uh nuh nuh nuh,” Bosco told her, wagging a finger as if she’d spoken this rogue qualm aloud.

— Jennifer Egan, A Visit from the Goon Squad, 2010

The etymology of qualm is uncertain. It may come from the Old English cwealm, which means “torment,” “pain,” and “injury,” but scholars believe there is not enough evidence to assume a direct connection between these terms.

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

Fri, 05 Apr 2013 22:12:40 -0400

There is this major here at the office that has a Polish last name. We chatted a bit today about what it means to be Polish; apparently this major’s father did not find out he was Polish until his 18th birthday, when he was enlisting in the Army. His mother simply hid the fact that he was Polish from him, and she allowed him to live a pseudonymous life under a generic American last name.

Can you imagine getting a better gift for your eighteenth birthday than a gift of Polishness? I mean, this is a gift that just keeps on giving. What is the better heritage to have?

Not that I am being impartial, because I am not, but if you think about it, if it wasn’t for the Poles, the Teutonic knights would still be in Prussia, Lithuania would still be pagan, Europe would be Muslim, Britain would be German, Jamestown would not survive on its own, America would be British and people would still think that it was the sun that revolved around earth! What is even worse, we would not have croissants and bagels for breakfast. Yup, world would definitely not be a place I would like to live in, if it wasn’t for the Poles.

Word of the Day

pseudonymous \soo-DON-uh-muhs, adjective:

1. Bearing a false or fictitious name.

2. Writing or written under a fictitious name.

I did a lot of pseudonymous writing during this period.

— Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

Unless Ollivier was playing a doubly pseudonymous game, the cipher was no good.

— Paul La Farge, Haussmann, or the Distinction

Pseudonymous actually predates the more common word pseudonym which was coined in the early 1800s. The longer adjectival form of the word arose in the 1700s directly from the Latin word pseudonymus meaning “falsely named.”

Post Office

Thu, 04 Apr 2013 23:36:15 -0400

Pentagon is a one huge office building. I mean, there is like 23 thousand people working here. It is like a small city. No wonder that the Pentagon has its own police department, its own Department of Motorized Vehicles Office and even its own post office.

So, yesterday I went to the post office, because I wanted to mail a couple packages overseas. I got really busy at work, so I left my desk in a real swivet just to get to the Pentagon Post Office merely five minutes before closing.

The post office was empty. The lady at the register was enjoying a blueberry muffin. I didn’t mind that, because I know how important it is to snack while at work, so you can provide your body with the much needed energy to deal with the stress. I mean, everyone has to eat sometimes, right?

The lady motions for me to come to the register, her cheeks are still stuffed with the delicious blueberry muffin. I point at the packages and say to her that I would like to mail those overseas. Then the lady starts to say something to me in an aggravated tone of voice, but I honestly could not make out a single word; her voice was muffled by the muffin in her mouth.

So I apologized to her, and said that I did not understand. Then the lady got really upset at me; she pretty let me know that she does not appreciate me showing up five minutes before closing with packages that will take more than five minutes to mail. Keep in mind that the blueberry muffin still had occupied the larger part of her mouth cavity; as she was showing her displeasure with me, it came out in a spectacular shower of crumbs and blueberries.

I felt really bad for her. Not only I interrupted an afternoon snack that the nice postal lady was having, not only I made her work a couple minutes overtime, but I also got her upset. That’s three strikes during one visit at the post office. Way to make new friends.

Word of the Day

swivet \SWIV-it, noun:

a state of nervous excitement, haste, or anxiety; flutter: I was in such a swivet that I could hardly speak.

This sent her into a larger swivet, but its ferocity now didn’t faze Susan. She now knew the deal.

— Douglas Coupland, Miss Wyoming, 2010

Benny had warned Patsy about this; the mother, he said, was in a swivet about the plea.

— Michelle Huneven, Blame, 2010

Swivet is of unknown origin. While American English speakers started using this term in the late 1800s, it didn’t cross the pond to the UK until the 1920s.

The British Conspiracy

Wed, 03 Apr 2013 17:36:01 -0400

I had this God awful dream at 4 a.m. today. I dreamed about the British Foreign Secretary Hague. He was acting all splenetic, and I was desperately trying to find the right piece of information to please him. I woke up drenched in sweat, and I could not fall asleep after that.

I honestly think that the British government is conspiring to take over my life. It seems like I cannot pick up a rock and throw it anywhere without hitting a Brit. I mean, there is a British guy who kicks my ass in CrossFit in the mornings. My toddlers play with a British toddler at their childcare center. I could swear I even heard a British accent when they gabbled recently. There is this British guy here at work, and my desk is next to his. I have to register every time I hunt with a British lady that works at my military base. A British landlord takes my money for rent every month. Even my GPS speaks to me with a British accent, for crying out loud.

I should have started seeing indicators that this was bound to happened back in 1998, when I saw real Brits for the first time in my life. They were the instructors at the British Interrogation Course that I attended, and I could not understand like 90% of whatever they were saying. You see, I had been only speaking (American) English for six years at that point of my life.

I will never forget the final exam at that interrogation course. We were to do a complete interrogation, from the start to finish. We were to interrogate our instructors, so they can properly evaluate our tradecraft. A complete interrogation always starts with a full body search. When I told my “detainee” to drop his pants so I could search him, it turned out that he was wearing thong underwear, and the front part of it had a happy elephant face. I am talking, the elephant was complete, with a long trunk, at the end of which there was a little cute jingle bell. And it is not even that my British instructor was some handsome chiseled Secret Air Service guy, because he wasn’t; he was a middle aged male with a prominent Guinness belly. I think I have been traumatized for life that day.

Word of the Day

splenetic \spli-NET-ik, adjective:

1. irritable; peevish; spiteful.

2. of the spleen; splenic.

3. Obsolete. affected with, characterized by, or tending to produce melancholy.

noun:

1. a splenetic person.

You see, she stoutly maintained the belief that beneath this splenetic and ogreish exterior there beat a heart of gold, though this I imagine was something she had to do, the idea that her father was splenetic and ogreish all the way through being just too grim to contemplate.

— Patrick McGrath, The Grotesque, 1989

It is true, when the wind is easterly, or the gout gives him a gentle twinge, or he hears of any new successes of the French, he will become a little splenetic; and heaven help the man…that crosses his humor.

— Washington Irving, Samalagundi, 1807

Sharing its root with spleen, splenetic entered English at the turn of the fourteenth century, and comes from the Proto-Indo-European splegh-.

Power Point

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 18:59:14 -0400

I honestly thought I know PowerPoint and PowerPoint production process. My 15 months in Iraq revolved around PowerPoint, and I doubted that there is anything about this devious MicroSoft invention that revolutionized the American War Fighting Machine that could still surprise me.

Apparently I was basking in the rays of my own ignorance…

Last couple days I was able to experience the Power Point production process, the Pentagon way. First I made a slide, a short one, ten sentences maybe. It actually took me a quite a few hours to write these sentences, something like 45 minutes per sentence. You see I wanted my writing to be just perfect before sending it away to my colleagues who are really smart people. I did not want them to think I was a fool, you see.

So my colleagues reviewed the fruit of my creation and came up with many suggestions to make even more perfect. I incorporated these suggestions and sent it my boss. You see this guy is not really my boss, but he is when it comes to PowerPoint. Let’s just say he is my Power Point boss and whatever he says about the slide goes.

So my Power Point boss reviewed my slide, marking it up with all kind of dyslogistic comments, and sent it back to me for corrections. A couple hours later I was able to nail down his corrections that made my slide more perfect than ever. Then my Power Point boss and I went to see his Power Point boss, who offered even more wisdom and more corrections to my humble slide.

As soon as my slide was corrected and super perfect all of us went to a meeting, where The Boss got to review my slide. It was pretty much a murder board, The Boss had three of his underlings present whose main job is to rip slides like mine apart and recreate them in the image of perfection.

As soon as my slide had all the corrections it needed it went to the Reviewer, who made sure that my already perfect slide could walk on water. At that time my job was done, for a few hours that is, because at 0330 the next day I was to report to work to confirm that my slide was perfect and that it could walk on water.

Then at 0500 we went to see The Boss of The Boss, whose wisdom had graced my slide that I erroneously thought it could walk on water, with even more perfection. The end effect was simply amazing. My slide was just Perfect, Profound and Awe-Inspiring.

Word of the Day

dyslogistic \dis-luh-JIS-tik, adjective:

conveying disapproval or censure; not complimentary or eulogistic.

She had forgotten for the moment the Captain’s invidious and dyslogistic employment of the Greek alphabet.
— Michael Innes, Appleby’s Answer

One answer lies in a less well-known but equally important countertradition, the dyslogistic school of memoir written by former officials who present themselves as disillusioned innocents.
— Jacob Heilbrunn, “Not My Fault,” The New York Times Sunday Book Review, June 22, 2008

Dyslogistic grew to prominence in the early 1800s, by applying the negative prefix dys- to a (eu)logistic expression of praise in speech or writing.

Are you all right?

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 18:56:15 -0400

So, I have this British friend. Sometimes we work out together, sometimes we eat together. He is a happy person, that Brit. He is always smiling and he is always in good mood. Whenever he sees me, he always greets, me with “Are you all right, mate?” Well, he doesn’t exactly say it like this. It sounds more like “Ya ah right, mate?”

To be honest, that question is always making me a bit uncomfortable. You see, when I came to America I did not speak any English, and my High School counselor would stick me in classes that were more hands on, like Woodworking, Small Engines and a CPR class. In the CPR class I met Annie the manikin. I got to know Annie very well, I mean my mouth was all over her mouth, my hands were on her chest, and my fingers were inside her mouth quite frequently. One thing I remember about Annie, was that before I would put my hands on her I would always have to ask her “Annie, Annie, are you all right?”. My teacher was pretty strict on the greeting part, and would fail me in a heart bit if I did not greet Annie before slobbering all over her plastic mouth.

In the Army I got really close and personal with another manikin, his name was SGT Snuffy. I know his name because the name tag on his uniform said so. I met him in my combat lifesaver course. Sometimes SGT Snuffy had a sucking chest wound, sometimes he would be poisoned, sometimes his intestines were out, and sometimes he was just in plain, boring shock. Regardless of what his injury was, I would always greet him “SGT Snuffy, are you all right?”

That is why I cannot bring myself to greet my British friend the way he always greets me. I don’t have enough inner strength to throw the “Are you all right, mate?” back at him. I think about Annie who was laying there, lifeless and not breathing on the table in my classroom, and I think about SGT Snuffy, with his guts hanging out, and I just can’t ask him “Are you all right?”. I hope that he doesn’t think it is because I am insouciant.

Word of the Day

insouciance \in-SOO-see-uhns; Fr. an-soo-SYAHNS, noun:

the quality of being insouciant; lack of care or concern; indifference.

He kept dropping an Indian club and picking it up with forced and scowling insouciance.

— John Banville, Eclipse, 2007

Gleason gave me a warning or two about the possible dangers into which my insouciance might yet lead me.

— Gore Vidal, Death in the Fifth Position, 1952

The Latin root sollicitaire coupled with the negating prefix in- literally means “to not disturb or agitate.” This adjective entered English in the nineteenth century, shortly after the noun form insouciance started being used by English speakers.

Joint Staff

Fri, 15 Mar 2013 22:30:51 -0400

So, I started a new job. I work at the Joint Staff now. It is a pretty big deal, there is a lot of brass here, and I got to be at my best behavior at all times. It is going to be a tough year.

I did not want to be late on my first day of work, so I left home very early on my bicycle. On mile eight I got a flat tire. I could not repair it, so I had to find the nearest Target store and wait until they open. Result? I was late on my very first day, which is just a fantastic way to make a good first impression on your new boss.

I did not want her to think that I am a truant, so I figured I will make up for being late by looking my sharpest. The Joint Staff has a pretty cool badge. I asked for one, and found out that due to the sequestration I will probably get mine about a year from now. That is a long time to wait to look sharp, so I decided just to buy one at the store.

So, I am pretty proud of my new badge, I put it on immediately and I go to show it off to my coworker. I say to him: “Hey, I just bought myself a joint badge.” Well, my new boss was standing right behind me, and I don’t know if it was my Polish accent, or if I said the word “badge” too quietly, but judging by the look on her face, I am pretty sure that the only thing she heard was “a joint”.

Word of the Day

truant \TROO-uhnt, noun:

1. a person who shirks or neglects his or her duty.

2. a student who stays away from school without permission.

adjective:

1. absent from school without permission.

2. neglectful of duty or responsibility; idle.

3. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a truant.

verb:

1. to be truant.

Ozcma hath no hold on my heart, in the way thou fanciest — never had, beyond a passing and truant inclination.

— James Fenimore Cooper, Mercedes of Castile, 1861

He thought of his coming trip to Spain, and then, catching sight of her looking out towards the town and ocean, bit the truant thought back.

— Pico Iyer, Abandon, 2007

Truant comes to English from the Old French word of the same spelling meaning “beggar” or “rogue.” The noun form of truant entered English in the late 1200s, though it was not until the 1500s that English speakers started using this term as an adjective.

Bikes and Brits

Thu, 14 Mar 2013 20:50:59 -0400

I have this British friend who is the British Army. I got him into CrossFit, and we kind of compete against each other. You know, a good d**k measuring contest has never hurt anyone.

OK, I take it back. It really does sucks to consistently come out short when you measure yourself against your peers. That particular guy is very yare, he is into biking, and he rides his bike for to work every day. It shows too, because so far he has kicked my butt in every run we did together.

He tried to get me into biking too, but when I measured the distance it came up to ten miles. It was a bit too much for biking to work if you were to ask me then, so I decided to stick with the public transportation. Turns out I was way off. It was not ten miles; it is thirteen miles of biking for me to get to work. It takes me an hour, and I love every single minute of it. How could I ever not bike to work, how could I be so blind to the truth???

Well, I felt pretty good about myself until that British bloke hooked me up on Strava. It is an app that measures and quantifies your biking experience, and allows you to enter into d**k measuring contests with your buddies all over the world. You can’t help but to constantly compare yourself to others. Well I figured out that the British bloke is about 20 minutes faster than me. I keep telling myself that this is probably because he has an awesome racing bike and was probably raised eating quality racing horse meat in England, but unfortunately that doesn’t help to raise my male ego.

Word of the Day

yare \yair, adjective:

1. quick; agile; lively.

2. (of a ship) quick to the helm; easily handled or maneuvered.

3. Archaic. a. ready; prepared. b. nimble; quick.

I reckon I was hopin’ it would take us to the landin’. She looks yare to me.

— Jo Goodman, Crystal Passion

Faith, then, up foot! be yare, or, by the mass, I may forget that I am in some sort your captain and in some your debtor! Go!

— Robert Louis Stevenson, The Black Arrow

Yare was used in Middle English before the year 900, but its Old English progenitor gearu meant “ready” or “prepared.”

Girls from Montenegro

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 20:45:32 -0400

So, last couple of weeks the Army sent me to take classes at the department of state facility. You know the place where American diplomats get their training before going overseas.

I was pretty much the only army guy there, so when a department of state guy sitting next to me confessed that he did a few years in the army back in the days, I felt like I established an instant rapport with him.

I started a small talk with him on one of our breaks between classes:

- So, do you know where are you going yet? – I asked in effort to start up a conversation.

- Yes, I am going to Montenegro! – He could hardly contain excitement in his voice.

- Oh, I heard it is beautiful over there! – I replied – Are you taking your family with you?

- No, I am single – he replied.

- Oh man, you gonna love it! – I continued jokingly – I heard the girls in Montenegro are quite pretty!

Not that I have ever seen a girl from Montenegro in my life, nor do I care how they looked like. It just seemed like the thing to say at the moment. He got quiet. I looked up at him, and I saw his eyes filling with tears.

- That wasn’t the plan. – He responded in a very sad tone of voice. – My wife just recently passed away. …

Dear God. Since I could not recant what I just said, all I wanted to do is to hide under a rock for a couple of hours.

Word of the Day

recant \ri-KANT, verb:

1. to withdraw or disavow (a statement, opinion, etc.), especially formally; retract.

2. to withdraw or disavow a statement, opinion, etc., especially formally.

In the circumstances, Mr Badby, I feel that I can offer you a pension in return for your decision to recant.

— Robert Nye, Falstaff

It was the only part of it they really wanted me to recant, as a sign that I was getting well again.

— Stephen King, Skeleton Crew

This Reformation era word entered the lexicon in the 1530s from the Latin cantāre meaning “to sing.” Thus recant literally translates as “to sing again” or “to sing back.”

Dunkin Donuts

Fri, 01 Mar 2013 09:17:22 -0500

My last training session, necessary for me to become a full fledged employee of the Agency lasted three weeks. My classroom was right next to a Dunking Donuts shop. We are not talking about right across the street, or in the building next door. We are talking about down the hallway, just a few steps away from my classroom.

Yet, I was pretty good about not giving up to temptations. Whenever I looked at those delicious, boiled in fat, covered in sugar, made of bleached flour devout of any sort nutritional value, fat pills, it took a lot of self control for me just to order a sugarless coffee. My voice usually trembled when I placed my order, but I doubt that the clerk had ever noticed that.

It wasn’t until the last week, when I was buying my late afternoon coffee. As I was placing my order, my attention got captivated by the sight of those cute little “minibites” miniature round donuts. I struggled on the inside for a split second, and then I asked: “How much are those?” The clerk answered: “twenty five cents, do you want one?” I said sure. As he went to grab the brown bag to put my lonely little “minibite” in, he asked: “We have this buy one get one free deal, do you want your second minibite?” To be honest, I was wasn’t planning on having two of those, but what the hell, might as well, free is free, right? So I said, “Sure I will have two.” The clerk confirmed my order: “So you want two minibites, and you get two free, right?” Now, I knew for sure that I did not want to eat four of those awful and unhealthy things, but by that time I felt that my mouth started to salivate at a thought of imminent ecstasy of sweetness and empty carbohydrates, so against my will, I said “Sure!”

Now, I have to add that Dunking Donuts was closing at 3pm, and that the time was about 2:50pm. I just realized that as I watched in horror as the clerk just started shoveling the minibites straight into my bag. One shovel, second shovel, third shovel, filling it out to the top. He smiled as he was handing me the bag, like he played a good joke on me.

And the joke was on me. I planned to have a one small little zakuska with my sugarless coffee, but I ended up pigging out on donuts.

Word of the Day

zakuska \zuh-KOOS-kuh, noun:

an hors d’oeuvre.

“Do you have anything for zakuska, Tractvanna?” Oleg took stock of the table: boiled potatoes, bread, canned peas and sardines, a clove of garlic.
— Marina Sonkina, “Tractorina’s Travels,” Lucia’s Eyes and Other Stories

I drink a shot, take a bite of marinated mushrooms in sour cream. Humankind has yet to invent any better zakuska. Even Nanny’s half-sour pickles can’t hold a candle to this.
— Vladimir Sorokin, Day of the Oprichnik

This Russian word for a snack, zakuska, entered the lexicon in the mid 1880s as a derivative of kusát meaning “to bite.”

Vet's Story, Part V

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 22:27:31 -0500

Here is the next installment of my Soldier’s story.

Vet’s Story, Part V

I went back to Beaumont Texas, where I was staying with another girl. I had no idea what to do; it was the worst part of my life up until now. I was lost, confused, angry, and worried for my son.

I knew Louisa, I knew that she is a good person and a great mother and I trusted her. That helped me. It helped a lot.

Now that I was no longer AWOL I was able to get a job. I started working at Carinos Italian restaurant. Oh, by the way, don’t eat there.

It was all right, it was just a job, you know? The restaurant there in Beaumont was actually ok, my coworkers and managers knew my story.

I and my roommate, who also worked at this restaurant, were doing ok, bills being paid on time.

I still didn’t feel good though.

One of her friends had called from San Antonio. She said that she and her boyfriend needed help. We packed our things and left for San Antonio.

What they needed help with was, well it was life, really. I am not sure on all of the details but it was something like he was fired and she was lazy, they couldn’t pay the bills and were being evicted.

The four of us got an apartment; I and Stefani, the girl I had been staying with, transferred our jobs to the Carinos Restaurant in San Antonio, so we were able to begin working.

Four people that really don’t understand each other and don’t really care about each other really shouldn’t live together.

Things took a bad turn and the other two just left. The bills got harder to pay.

I didn’t like this Carinos in San Antonio at all; they where stupid and if you are stupid I will tell you that. They didn’t like this and I didn’t like them. I had a lot of anger in me. I quit working there to avoid any further issues because the things there seemed to be getting progressively worse.

Now it was just her paying the bills; an impossible task.

She had decided to leave me and went back to Beaumont.

So there I was; no job, no family. I had nothing but hate and anger in my heart. I tried to kill myself.

My “father” came to the apartment; Stefani had called him to come and check on me. However, he found me trying to kill myself.

I not trying to make anyone fell bad for me right now, but if he came just a few minutes later, I would have been dead

He didn’t know what to do and I don’t blame him for that.

He took me to the V.A.; it’s the only place he knew that would take me. They took me in as an inpatient.

Word of the Day

lagan \LAG-uhn, noun:

Anything sunk in the sea, but attached to a buoy or the like so that it may be recovered.

But hear what your Grace does not know. In the sea there are three kinds of things: those at the bottom, lagan; those which float, flotsam; those which the sea throws up on the shore, jetsam.

— Victor Hugo, The Man Who Laughs

“Wreck” shall include jetsam, flotsam, lagan, and derelict found in or on the shores of the sea or any tidal water.

— Harry Newsom, The Law of Salvage, Towage, and Pilotage

Lagan is not as well known as its contextual brethren, flotsam and jetsam. The word comes from the Old Norse word lǫgn which meant “a net laid in the sea.”

Vet's Story, Part IV

Tue, 19 Feb 2013 22:56:42 -0500

Here is the next part of the story. I am sorry for not starting it with a cute short story in which I sneak in a Word of the Day. It just did not seem appropriate.

Vet’s Story, part IV

Right after Christmas I left for Germany. It was probably the worst mistake I’ve ever made. At first everything was ok, but the people above me just didn’t seem that smart.

I felt bad for the new guys the guys that hadn’t deployed yet; I was scared for them not like in Afghanistan, scared that something bad could happen. I was worried that the leaders had no idea what they were doing, even before we ever left Germany.

My wife shipped out to basic and her advanced NBC training. After she graduated, she came out to Germany. Although we were married, we lived in separate barracks and in separate bases. My wife and I did get to spend a few months together, around three, I think.

I knew I was deploying when I first got to Germany; they already had orders for us to deploy to Iraq. So in June we deployed to Iraq.

Iraq sucked from the time I arrived. From what I got from the soldiers who already have been there, we just made things worse.

I spent the first few months in Southern part of Baghdad. At that time the word on the street was that there was a sniper problem. It was more than just a rumor.

Honestly I had no idea what we were doing. I mean I knew what the mission was for any given day, I knew who we where raiding where we were patrolling, but as far as an overall goal I don’t think we had one.

My wife was now a mother; my newborn son’s name is Jahred. My mom was trying to take my son, yes, while I was in Iraq.

She told my wife that she wanted to make up for her mistakes. Really, I have never thought I would have to protect my son from my own mother. I always knew that I had to protect myself from her but not my son. Any trust we had soon faded.

So now I didn’t feel good. People where getting hurt mainly due to incompetence of people above me. I told them we were gonna get killed doing this stupid shit; of course they would never listen to me.

As a result of all the events surrounding me, I developed an attitude. Well, actually I already had one, now I was just pissed off as well.

So, they were “nice” enough to send me to the Green Zone. I was supposed to work in the Detention Center along with the MPs.

I took the night shift. It wasn’t what I was used to, but not difficult at all.

I learned a lot from them not just from the MPs but from the Iraqis as well. They had time, it’s not like they had anywhere else to go, so we talked.

It was a few months before I was sent back to my unit. Soon I went on leave after 13 months in that country.

I never went back. I’m not the kind of person that plans anything. Deep inside I know why I did it.

I didn’t know what to do with my son. I didn’t know what I was doing. All I knew was that I had to be there for my son.

I didn’t go back to Louisa or any family, I didn’t trust them. I mean I trusted Louisa, just not anyone else.

I had NO idea what I was doing, I really didn’t. I can only honestly say that the final reason for me not returning to war was my son. I know it after all these years.

So, for the first two years of his life he didn’t have his daddy. They did find me though.

They were actually really cool about the whole thing. In just a few weeks I was cleared out of the army. Still I didn’t go home after all. I think my wife hated me at this point. I understand why. I hated me.

Word of the Day

gorgonize \GAWR-guh-nahyz, verb:

To affect as a Gorgon; hypnotize; petrify.

Shorten it, then, to what is functional, direct and bluntly, derogatorily descriptive. Of his awful power to horrify, to gorgonize, to chill.

— Christopher Rush, Last Lesson of the Afternoon

Mortimo Planno could gorgonize foes with a stony stare, but his deep baritone voice was seductive and unexpectedly disarming.

— Colin Grant, The Natural Mystics

Gorgonize is the verbification of an ancient Greek mythological figure. The Gorgons were three sister monsters commonly represented as having snakes for hair, wings, and brazen claws. Their eyes turned anyone looking into them to stone. Thus to gorgonize someone is to turn them into stone.

Vet's Story; Part III

Thu, 14 Feb 2013 16:15:43 -0500

If I might say so in the epexegesis, here is a third part of the Veteran’s story. suggested to the guy that he starts a blog, he is good with words, and has a writing style that just pulls the reader into his world. His story deserves to be heard, wouldn’t you think so?

Vet’s Story, Part III

My year long tour in Afghanistan came to an end and I returned to Hawaii where I spent another year. I wanted to go home. Finally, on my 21st birthday, I was waiting for my flight home.

They say everything happens for a reason I am a firm believer in this. I do wish that right there and then I would have realized that I didn’t have a home. I was already home.

Stupid me.

I went to San Antonio, Texas. Life was difficult. I still had some money left, but I had no idea where to go or what to do. I was completely lost.

I stared drinking. I drank a lot.

I met a girl who is now my wife at the bar. She was working there.

I didn’t really want to talk to anyone, but we started talking and we hit it off right away. We started dating. Sure, it wasn’t the “perfect relationship” but who has one anyway, right?

She quit working as a bartender and I had no job, no education, and no civilian training. I had nothing. This is when I proposed to her, and of course, she said “yes”.

Times got harder as you can imagine; we couldn’t pay any bills and soon our electricity and water were cut off too.

With nowhere to go, my father-in-law took us in. What a great guy.

I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing any longer. Well, I guess I could, but it didn’t feel good on the inside.

So I did the only thing I knew I could do. I joined the Army, again.

I told my wife what I was going to do, and I guess she thought it was great. We talked for awhile about it. She always wanted to join too, so she went with me to talk to the recruiter.

It was a lot easier for them this time, not much really to do, just sign right here and we will put you right back in the uniform. I had to even convince them to let me stay until Christmas. They agreed.

My wife had to go through the whole enlistment process but she was not alone like I was a few years back.

When I got to the MEPS in San Antonio, they actually gave the choice of where I could go.

Anywhere, really. Anywhere in the world where the US Army had infantry brigades.

The recruiter just made a list of all the places I could go and I thought it was pretty cool that I got to pick. I was a master of my destiny for once, not merely requesting and hoping that my request will be approved.

After talking to my wife who was also at the MEPS with me at this time, I decided I would go to Germany. Both of my parents were in the Army when I was growing up and I spent a lot time in Germany. My wife hadn’t been in many places. I really wanted to show her something “new”.

Word of the Day

epexegesis \ep-ek-si-JEE-sis, noun:

1. the addition of a word or words to explain a preceding word or sentence.

2. the word or words so added.

But you did establish personal contact? In epexegesis or on a point of order?

— James Joyce, Finnegan’s Wake

One of the most striking peculiarities of colloquial speech in Dutch, and of natural free talk in general, is what is called epexegesis.

— Jan Gonda, Selected Studies

Epexegesis, a late Renaissance word, is derived from the Greek epexḗgēsis meaning explanation.

Vet's Story; Part II

Thu, 14 Feb 2013 16:12:00 -0500

A friend of mine asked me yesterday why I am doing this, why I am writing these Words Of The Day. For me writing is therapeutic, I love to fill blank pages with my writing, it helps me feel better. I also try to learn a new English word each day, hence the Word of the Day. Once I write something, I like to share it with my friends.

But the story below is not my story. Please don’t see it as a pseudepigraphy, I am not claiming a credit for it. I do think that the guy who writes it is a natural; I honestly can hardly stop reading the stuff that he sends to me. It is really good.

Continuation of The Vet’s Story…

Eventually I was assigned to Charlie Company, 2^nd Battalion 35^th Infantry Regiment. I spent about a year on the island learning, training, and playing in my time off. It was a blast.

Then we received orders to deploy, at first I didn’t know if it was Afghanistan or Iraq but it really didn’t matter. I was scared not just for me but for everyone I knew. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who was scared. I didn’t have a family but some of the others did. I was afraid for them as well.

Afghanistan is where we ended up. Kandahar airfield greeted us with a wave of hot air, when the airplane opened its doors it seemed like you stuck you head into an oven.

The first few days i didn’t feel anything. I didn’t want to feel anything.

It was a slow start for us; the airfield was safe so we were able to get our stuff together. For the first few days we slept in big hanger right there bythe tarmac. Army is a small world they say; I came across a few friends I made in basic training. They were there with the 2^nd of the 22^nd Infantry Regiment from the 10^th Mountain Division. We were taking over their mission so they could go home. I felt bad for them; I left Fort Benning, Georgia and went to Hawaii while they came straight out here. I felt guilty in a sense, so I was happy that I finally got to theater, ready to do my duty. All I wanted is to take over their mission, so they can go home. I think that was the day I started to realize that we were ALL in this together one way or another.

I could probably talk for days about Afghanistan. It was the proudest time of my life.

I was just a private then, so I couldn’t see the big picture, but I knew always what we were doing. The more time we spent out there, the more I understood why we were there. I didn’t really care what the politicians were saying.

The Afghanis really needed our help, they probably still do.

We flew in helicopters; we walked through mountain ranges and we drove all over the desert. We visited farming villages, small towns, and even a city.

I sat there in my hummer and watched as the Americans brought them food, water, supplies, toys and school items: books, colors, pencils, and things like that.

We actually did more than just deliver these things. I watched as the contractors paid with American money built wells in the towns and villages that had no access to fresh water, as they built and repaired schools in areas when not too many people could read.

And I’m sure there was so much more that I didn’t even notice.

The best moment of my trip there, was the day when the local kids finally went back to school. They were so exited. I was excited for them.

To be continued…

Word of the Day

pseudepigraphy \soo-duh-PIG-ruh-fee, noun:

The false ascription of a piece of writing to an author.

But the apocalyptic seers were usually not content with mere anonymity; they generally practiced pseudepigraphy.

— Shaye J. D. Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah

Even this gimmick exactly parallels the ancient scriptural practice of pseudepigraphy whereby a later, undistinguished writer, would hide behind thename of a greater figure of the past, claiming venerable authority for his own innovations.

— R. M. Price, C. A. Smith, The Book of Eibon

Pseudopigraphy was first used in the 1830s, but a related word pseudepigrapha dates back to the 1600s. In Greek, the word epigraph meant “title, ascription to an author.” With the prefix pseud, it literally means “false ascription to an author.”

A Veteran's Tale

Tue, 12 Feb 2013 20:09:12 -0500

Today we will try something different. When I was in Afghanistan I had an honor of serving in the same platoon with a guy who wrote the following story. I strongly believe that a story like this belongs in feuilleton, that it needs to be published and heard so I got his permission to share it with you. Today is part I.

I am a combat vet. This is my story. Well I guess I will just start at the beginning.

I was born February 19, 1985. When I was young just a baby, my father shot himself. My mom was in the Army at this time. She remarried and he eventually legally adopted me. I think I was around 12 years old then.

Growing up my life wasn’t too difficult; I spent most of my time alone. It bothered me at first, but by the time I got to high school, I just didn’t care anymore. My grades dropped with every report card.

I remember I was in English class on Sept 11, 2001. We sat there in the classroom and watched it all live on T.V. Both my parents where in the Army and I was scared. They both had been to Desert Storm years ago when I was younger. As I sat in my room later on, I realized that my life sucked and I wasn’t heading in any direction.

Soon I dropped out of high school. I got my GED and then went to talk to an Army recruiter. I had a few job options to pick from because I scored well enough to get in on ASVAB.

I honestly don’t know why I picked the Infantry but I did.

On March 13, 2003 I set off for my new life. Ft Benning, Georgia is where we all go for infantry training. I arrived early in the morning by bus.

I had no idea what was going on. I just did what they told me to do. In a way I was scared, I wasn’t scared for my safety or my well being, it was a fear of the uncertainty of what the future holds.

At first I was at the reception battalion, I believe they call it 30th Replacement Battalion. I had been there for only a few days and I hadn’t received a combat uniform at this point, just an Army Physical Training uniform, when the drill sergeant came in banging on trash cans a little earlier then we had expected this morning. Everyone jumped out of bed and toed the line through the barracks.

He told us that we were at war with Iraq now. They had just started the air raids. We all already knew about the war in Afghanistan. Everyone got this uneasy feeling. Then the drill sergeant told us to back to bed, we were going to need the rest, as we were shipping down range the next day.

I can honestly say I enjoyed basic training. It was like my college, I had made friends, I learned so much about things I didn’t even know existed. We trained all the time, all day, and when I left that place I was in the best shape of my life even to this day.

I remember that my first road march was only 3 miles and I thought I was going to die. The last march we did was 12 miles and it just hurt.

Hawaii is where they told me I was going; that’s all I knew. I’m not going to lie I was so excited I always wanted to go to Hawaii. For the first time in life I felt like I was right where I was supposed to be. I couldn’t really begin to describe how I felt when I got off the plane. The cool fresh air, the bright blue skies, the beautiful flowers of every color made a real impact on me. This was just the airport. I just stood there outside breathing in my new life as an American Soldier. It was awesome.

I wasn’t the only new guy there that day; they had a non-commissioned-officer there waiting for everyone to arrive to give us a ride to Schoffield Barracks.

He took us on a nice ride from the airport to the base down by the beaches with the clear blue ocean that seemed to never end over the horizon and past the Aloha stadium. The stadium really stuck out in my head.

To be continued…

Word of the Day

feuilleton \FOI-i-tn, noun:

1. a part of a European newspaper devoted to light literature, fiction, criticism, etc.

2. an item printed in the feuilleton.

The editor is impressed by my work and says he will consider my feuilleton, if I submit it this afternoon.

— Selden Edwards, The Little Book

The novel in numbers is known with us, but the daily feuilleton has not yet been tried by our newspapers, the proprietors of some of which would, perhaps, do well to consider the matter.

— William Makepeace Thackeray, Jerome Paturot

Feuilleton originally referred to the light fiction or serial articles that commonly appeared in French newspapers in the 1840s after the fall of Napoleon. It is a diminutive form of the French word feuille meaning “leaf.”