Tiger vs 2 yr old

A tiger got loose and came face to face with a 2 yr old. And nothing happened. They said that he getting loose was a series of accidents. And I would like to think that no one being hurt was the same. The tiger, while maybe he was riled up, didn't seem to be pissed enough to attack the first thing it came across. Also, it obviously wasn't too hungry. And being raised by humans, wasn't aggressive. And a 2 yr old was not a big threat and wasn't that close (they said she was about 15 feet away) and then her mom showed up and scooped her up and out. So the tiger, as one official said, probably knew he was a in a place he shouldn't be. I am glad that no one got hurt. And hopefully the tiger will not be hurt, as he didn't do anything except escape.

When that girl grows up, she is going to have a reputation. I would like to think that God watched over her. Also, that a tiger knew she was not a threat, he wasn't hungry and she, as a baby probably thought that was a big kitty cat. But since we do not have access to their thoughts, thats the best we can come up with. Again, thank God no one was hurt.

Commercials and Wal Mart

If you watch Hulu at all, you grow to hate some of those commercials. You can't change the channel and they repeat those same a lot of the time, no matter what you are watching. Geiuco being one of the bigger ones to do that. Don't get me wrong, they are neat commercials, just not every time.

In any case, Wal Mart has an interesting one, as I agree with the message about helping people. It was a bout a young boy who was waiting for someone as he was a Reading Tutor, and all he knew was that this person needed help with his reading. When his student shows up, its an older man. A voice over explains they are thanking those that make a difference.

Since I believe the written word is THE most important invention of mankind, I love this commercial. Its simple, has a good message and a twist. By far the best I have seen in a long time.

I Don't Get Women Like That

For some reason those words "I Don't Get Women Like That" I have always wanted to write an article, book, song, whatever about them. It could be taken 2 ways - another Lady and the Tiger scenario.

In one case: It could mean I (meaning me) don't get (actually to have) women like that (A certain type of woman).

or it could mean:

I don't get (to understand) women like that (a certain way)

It could be a combo of both. But the idea has been rattling around in my brain. I see exceptionally hot women out; dresses that barely cover their waist, with high heel pumps and make-uped to the nines. No one is sure if they are tease, or are really looking for something. In either case, it wouldn't matter to me, as A) I don't play those kind of head screws. And B), I am not their type. So to view from afar.

I know; the counter for my argument is, they don't know anything about me and would be missing out and second, anyone who doesn't play head games are either really crazy themselves or the old 'if you don't play you don't get game.' In either case the result is the same. Zero.

But before this sounds too much like a pity that's not it. I know a lot of women, who without makeup and the right dress you wouldn't know how hot they look. As for the inside of a woman. Who truly knows their other sex of a species? We don't. Thus my comment, I don't get women like that.

I think a good article of a song would do well with this particular turn of a phrase. But that's just me.

Reality Shows Suck...except

Ok.. I hate reality shows. Not 'dislike' not anything other than hate will work. Survivor and American Idol are two of my utmost. Men and women talk about deal breakers. If a woman I was interested loved them and wanted to watch, more power to her. As I am sure either sci fi, fantasy, horror or war movies may not be her thing. I won't make her watch those, don't make me watch them. I will do something else.

One of the very few that I liked, for obvious reasons was "Boot Camp." Early series in 2000; never made the cut. The only other one I really like is: (drum role) Dating In The Dark. Part of it, is something that I have always had to rely on, as I didn't get the second helpings of looks, was my personality. And it also proves that women, sometimes more than men, are wanting the good looking guy. I don't care. You have a tall, well built, blond haired, blued, tanned, yoga instructor, who says she wants a nice guy, sweet, romantic, takes her seriously, treats her nice, etc. I am sure that's what she wants. You don't hear the last part when she says, "and looks like Brad Pitt." I have seen episodes where the couples were connecting in the dark room, had high compatibility scores and then when the reveal comes around, you can see their face fall faster than watercolors in the rain. The image they had or hoped for was not the reality that was standing right in front of them.

Too bad for them. I know looks are fleeting; and a personality can add those 10-15% to help push a person over the top into giving that person a chance.

I know all the reality shows are shown on an endless loop somewhere hot, as that is hell to me. I know the next big singer may come from Idol; and you know what, I can live with that and I can live WITHOUT that also. Radio and the music industry decides for us what is good. Screw 'em. I know what I like and what I don't. I have had the rare privilege of knowing some musicians who, in my opinion, should be raking in the bucks for their music. The ones who make it are the ones who sacrifice; and I am not talking about 1 season to get to the finals of Idol. I mean years of sacrifice and what they went through to get where they were so as to be able to be ready when their time comes.

So check out Dating in the Dark. Season 2 just started. I wish they could do Dating in the Dark, in the Midwest and for the older ones amongst us who could use it. Would I want to be on DitD? Maybe. But if I wanted to do that I just go online. I would rather be the host/producer of DitDS show of the mid west. And come up with ways to do things to keep it fun and fresh. I though adding the roommates was neat.

Only The Ghosts of Kemper Knew This

At Kemper we had the Officer of the Day. That was one cadet, usually an officer or high ranking NCO who was in charge of an NCO of the Day and two Pvts of the Guard. They were the main cadets, besides the cadet leaders, responsible for making sure Kemper ran. If someone needed to be found, they were the ones to do that. They answered calls, rang bells, and were responsible for a lot of what happened at Kemper. Later, under different administrations, Kemper streamlined that with automatic bells, and etc. I thought that was bullshit, as being an OD, you had a lot of responsibility.

I got picked to be a Pvt of the Guard early on at my time at Kemper. One of the few good thing when you are a Pvt of the Guard, is you didn't have to brace or sit up, as you were too busy.

But one of the bad things, you usually got one of the crap shifts at night. You see, OD Duty ran for 24 hours straight. Usually the OD would take the early or late shift so he could get some uninterrupted sleep. The Sgt would usually get the next best one. So being one of the low men on that totem pole, you got either the 12-2 or 2-4shift. When you got off duty you could go back to your room and sleep until it was your turn to be up and then someone woke you up. You could have stayed in the OD office, there was usually a bunk bed there (which I thought was a good idea), but usually someone else had claimed them. It wasn't so bad duty, unless you were new, and couldn't exactly remember which was your room. A dark hallway with all the rooms looking exactly the same didn't help. They didn't issue flashlights (which is the one thing I thought they should have. That was one of the first things you ordered from the Cav store when you could; a goose neck OD flashlight with the different filters) and you didn't dare turn on any lights. So what do you do?

If you are a scared, homesick kid, you wander around the admin building, as it was deserted. What some would call an 'honor hallway', to us was just halls with pictures of famous alumni on it. It had wooden benches there and it was all wood and very old school. Talk about being connected to the school. The Admin building was the oldest building on campus, so it was the true heart and soul of the school. All cadets at one time or another was in that building.

In any case, there were some lights left on, so it was dimly lit. I remember finding the picture of my grandfather there (he had been a State Representative for Missouri at one time, besides being a big to do farmer). I remember trying to curl up and cat napping there, waiting for morning so I could see better, find my room and then take a shower and get back to duty (OD duty ran 5pm - 5pm).

As I sat there in the semi darkness, the faces of Kemper's past sons looking down on me, I felt an incredible sense of security and peace. Some might call it being protected. Yeah kinda. But they way they say 'protected' is not exactly the way I mean. Yes, the ghosts of Kemper past would have protected me against something bad, but not in the sense that I couldn't fight my own battles.

See, what a lot of people never understood about being a New Boy - every Old Boy had to do the same thing. Didn't matter who you or your family was, what color your skin was, what religion you were. You were a New Boy. A piece of worthless shit, lower than whale shit. You got shoved around, screamed at, scared shitless. You cried into your pillow at night and prayed that God would take you away or that this was a mistake or some terrible dream. And guess what? You woke up the next day and had to grow through the same thing. But you weren't alone. Your squad, platoon, company was there. You drew strength from them; you felt that bond between you grow like vines between each other. And when something bad happened, it tested those vines. More often than nought, the vines held and grew even stronger until they were no longer just vines, but steel cables that connected you to a group of people that nothing could ever break. How can you describe that to the people in your life who weren't there and don't understand? How these people, these few, these precious few, are bounded to you in a way that no parent, no lover, no spouse could ever be. Men and women in combat understand that. You stand alone, but together.

Like The Corner's Of My Mind

When I was at Kemper, in Doyle's English class, we wrote, often. And I loved when Becko would write his stories! Was in contact with him not too long ago, hes a reality producer in California. Saw some pictures of him; still looks the same. And I bet he still has that voice of his.

In any case, I had written once about the year at Kemper. What special weekends were going on (Parents, Old Boy's) vacations, etc. Even now I can almost tell you what was going on during any month. And I remember stories of things that happened. Things that happened to me. Friends.

Yeah I want to write them down. But, whats my motivation? In the article of Why Men Love War, (previous post) there was a part about a soldier trying to describe war; he said something about word overload. Or failure to understand the point the writer was trying to get across. I can tell the story of what happened, but understanding?

I could start off by talking about my first memories of Kemper-my dad taking me over there to shoot. The mess hall incident. I even remember meeting Gen. Blakefield as a civilian (I was a typical kid at that time I remember, definitely NOT sitting up straight in my chair). Or I could tell how when my dad helped me with my trunk and I saw a little black kid getting help with his dad, and he wasn't upset (I was already homesick). And my dad pointed out that he wasn't carrying or anything. And then he gave me some money. Or I could tell how my dad "sweet talked" James Parker Dowling, on the Officer's Porch to get me a better room; one that didn't look into the court but looked out onto the street. I remember that view; the light coming on at night-the one that worked that was on the drive into Kemper. Or how my dad slung his arm around a tall black cadet's shoulder and told him to keep an eye on me.

See-I just did all that in a paragraph. I can ad sights, sounds, what I was thinking then and what I am thinking now. But so? Everything was hyper there at that time; my first year. Sights, sounds, smells, memories. They are engraved into my soul like someone had used a knife and carved them. I can bring forth memories of how buildings looked, the sounds, the smells, the way you could look through one of the vestibule's windows coming down from 3rd floor B barrack and see the president's house and how they always left that light on over the stove at night. Talk about latching onto something and deriving comfort from it. But I did. The same thing every night.

Ok, that's enough for now.

A Perfect Blog Idea Ruined, Sorta

I thought I had a good idea for a blog. Its still good. Thought about it all through dinner, what to say, etc. But as I logged in and saw some replies from Facebook, some pictures from first year at Kemper floated across my screen and to say I didn't tear up...well I'd be lying. There were pics of a time that words would not do justice. For those who were there, no words are needed. For those of you who weren't there, you can not comprehend. Neither could parents or other loved ones; unless YOU WERE THERE. In any case, I digress.

These pics showed people I know...I knew then. And its a good lead in to what I had been thinking about.

As I sat in my new favorite Chinese restaurant I had to smile as I thought, Holmes would have loved this. Have you ever known someone that was a combination brother, friend, warrior and many other terms. Someone who you met and somehow it felt like you had known them forever? Holmes was that person.

At Kemper you make friends for life. You know their secrets as they know yours. No, I'm not talking about your virginity or anything as mundane as that. I am talking about, you have lifted up a part of your soul and have shown them what you are made of-and they have done the same for you. They can't lie to you nor you to them as THEY KNOW. Its something, again, that can not be explained. Some may say you have that. Oh really? In 30 years tell me how many of your friends you are still in contact with from that time. And would do almost anything to help you. You may say you can count them on one hand. Hmmmph. One hand. Is that all? That doesn't even take me out of the "A"'s of my first year.

But Holmes. He was my first assistant squad leader. He was an Old Boy. At that time it meant he was just short of Jesus. No blasphemy there, again, I can't explain so I am going to stop trying. In any case, we became friends, which was not something that you did at that time. He was a corporal. We had the same initials and similar interests, and both small town kids. Big difference was that I was the home sick kid that had two left feet that didn't know a column from a flank.

Even today I can see him, I know him, I know how he sounds. I can see him in uniform, that grin of his, some acne and everything else. He is frozen in time. As he stopped aging in 1979 when he died.

I kept in touch with his parents for a long time, but after about 15 years, that fades. Nothing on them, they are real nice folks, but I was their son's friend.

In any case, I used to call forth his image and have imaginary talks with him. Granted, I think my ego would "say" what I think he would say. Still, he has never been far from my thoughts; as if there was one person who I knew had my back, I knew inside as I felt the same way, and who I could nudge at a restaurant and nod to a pretty girl, it would be him.

I have many many many good and dear friends; any of them I would lay down my life for, or if they needed me I would be there. I can laugh with them as we have cried together at funerals for ones who have departed this mortal plane. I thank the Lord for their friendship, and it has always been an honor to have lived besides these men and women. You tell me if you can talk with someone who you have literally not seen or heard from in 25 years and its like no time has passed. There are no fake smiles or over indulgent stories. Just a simple recap of what has happened since we last saw each other. A de-briefing if you will. And then its Continue the Mission.

Also, you show me a place where you can talk to someone who went there 20 years later and you are bounded with them. The history, the tradition, the stories.

I did it again; this didn't turn out the way I had imagined. But then, what in life does. I could and may re-write this someday. Expand on it. As I have always wanted to do; write a book about my time at Kemper. Others have encouraged me. And I know Others have thought about it also.

Part of me really wants to. But at times I feel ashamed that my words will not do the times there justice. Also, I know others want to forget their past or re-write for their loved ones and kids today. 'No, daddy never did that.' Sorry guys, I was there. I know what happened. From "Sugar" to playing Rat Patrol in Theresa's car to someone lighting Bunch's door on fire, I remember.

I have friends who do a great job in putting words to paper. I even know professional writers; and a writer has always been a dream of mine. Right up there with being a soldier. In fact, Writer's Digest was the only subscription I had longer than my Soldier of Fortune one. And since I failed to go after that one, maybe I can try this one. I was told that ol' Sam Clements dog ran across our dog's path. Translation: I am somehow related to him. But as I have dug into my family tree, after I shooed away a few dogs who were using it...I can't seem to find a connection. Just another one of those 'folksy' tales.

The memories I have are more precious than anything I have. And I know as time moves on, the pictures and words are fading like ink on a page exposed to the sun. I can only hope that in the end, when I too have left this plane, that the memories return; like music on a CD, it lasts longer than an 8-track or cassette. And I know that not all the memories are good, and you know what? That's ok. That's life. That's what makes us who we are.

I had always thought that I wanted certain things like what I saw. Example: When our Corps Commander got promoted to full colonel, they had taken and engraved his sword. I had thought that was neat. But you know, that and other times, never seemed to happen to me. A part of me always wanted it too. But you know what I have finally figured out? It couldn't be done. I wasn't him. I didn't go through what he went through to arrive at that spot in that time.

No, I was the guy who got 'tricked' into coming back to his room because someone had told me my tuba was broken. And then got thrown in the shower. I was the guy who was having a bad day and one of my best friends said something and I did a spinning roundhouse kick at him. And had he not backed up I would have connected. But because I didn't I ended up falling on my ass and he jumped on me, still playing and cooled me down. I was the guy who, when they were reading off promotions at Christmas Corporal dinner, locked eyes with my squad leader when they announced my name from Phase I to Phase II, and hoped that I had worked hard enough to get his respect. I am the guy who still wonders about that today.