Michael J. Geier Geier 1
Written communications
Mrs. Allard
04 December 2010
“There isn’t anywhere to go from here is there?” a question that somewhat humorously crept from Doris Lessing’s lips, as she received the box that would change her later life. In that box rested the golden face that we all know Alfred Nobel, and admire as the Nobel Prize. The eldest to ever receive this prize in literature, Ms. Lessing was known as one of the greatest British writers since 1945. The Grass is Singing was her first work that truly declared her a novelist. This tragic story of love and racial differences that could never be overlooked was only the beginning for this sensational and unique woman. She wrote of things that mattered, things that quite obviously gripped her heart. After her novel The Golden Notebook it became more apparent her audience’s hearts were equally entranced. This book was an unbelievable breakthrough, not just for Ms. Lessing, but for British literature as a whole. She reflected the thoughts of a woman named Anna Wulf who kept five personal journals of politics, men and sex, politics, Jungian analysis, and dream interpretation. Ms. Lessing looked to inspire that there are many perspectives to hold in life. These works are set in a list of more amazing stories, fiction and non-fiction, that Ms. Lessing poured most of her life into. What lies behind this daring, empowering female figure who has accomplished the near impossible? Let us dig deeper into one of the many incredible lives of a Nobel Peace Prize winner, Doris Lessing.
Doris Lessing was born in 1919, on the 22nd day of October. She was born in Persia, (what is now Iran). She was the daughter of British parents. Her father had served as Captain in the British army during WWI, where he lost his leg. He then transitioned to a job as a bank official. Doris Lessing's mother was a nurse. She was married rather young, giving birth to two children. A son and a daughter,
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John and Jean. It didn't take her long to leave that marriage, and get into another one. Four years to be exact. She married a German refugee named Gottfried Lessing. They had one child together. His name was Peter. They too were divorced in 4 years. Lessing then made a change, moving to what she called, “.. grubby, cold England.” (nobelprize.org) She soon took to writing. And she's never looked backed.
Lessing used her literature to address issues with government, as she was a member of the British communist party. She also used her literature to look at racial relations. Like in her book The Grass Is Singing, she looked at the interaction between a farmers white wife, and the black family servant. Her books tend to have a theme of liberation and emancipation, a joyous event, yet from a sadder point of view.
Doris lessing wrote book after book, using her literature to show the lifestyle inequalities. She also campaigned against nuclear arms and south african apartheid. These writings got her banned from the country for 39 years. It didn't take long for lessing to be banned from South Rhodesia for speaking out against their government.
Lessing got her first big hit with The Golden Notebook. It came during the feminist movement, and women saw it as literatures lead blocker, clearing a lane, creating an opportunity for the next female to step up and do the next big thing; weather in literature or not.
Fictional books can be used to paint a picture, a picture more dramatically set up than a true story. People tend to assume fiction to be true, or feasible. So in creating a compelling story that paints the picture you want, you can push an idea, win a people, or call for action; even if its only self-examination. This is a powerful ability, and in Lessing's case she used it for excellent reasons. Hitler on the other hand, would not have been so positively motivated, had he been a writer. Novels are very similar to songs. When written well, they can alter a persons mood, a persons train of thought. Bands have started cults with their music alone.
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It's rather comical, to me at least, that Doris Lessing is viewed as an amazing writer. Yet she never had any college education and dropped out of school at age fourteen. But she has written over 50 books, operas, and plays. Another comical thing she did, was trying to publish two books she wrote, using a different name, by her own publisher. She had already created a quite a name for herself, but she was looking to prove just how hard it is for a new writer to get published.
Lessing allowed her Nobel lecture to be published in a manner that could be used to raise money for children who have been affected by HIV/AIDS. (nobelprize.org) Thats a very honorable thing to do. It seems as though Doris Lessing has always been a very selfless individual, using her influence as a powerful writer, and national figure to help those who cannot help themselves.
One of the most interesting things about Doris was her nonchalant attitude about winning all of the prestigious awards that she has. When she found out about her winning of the Nobel prize she was quoted saying “Oh Christ... I couldn't care less.” (Nobelprize.org) She won a plethora of awards including, the David Cohen Prize, and the Palermo Prize. I don't believe that Doris really cared about the awards at all. I truly believe she wanted her voice to be heard and she wanted to advocate change.
Doris Lessing was a woman with an incomparable writing style. And she used this style to bring attention to many things. She used this style to empower women. During the feminist movement women looked to her for motivation and guidance. That is why Doris lessing won the Nobel prize, because she used her writings to lead people. Not a nation, not an ethnic group, not a gender, but a people.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
An unideal hero..
My friend Levi is 20 years old, but he is without a doubt the most best man I know. In this day and age, there is a difference between a man, and an adult male.
Levi works harder than anyone I know. Every morning he starts working before the sun comes up, and comes home to sleep well after 1am.
What makes farming so hard, is that the work is never done. There are no holiday vacations, and the milk check doesn't pay overtime. You are in the barn every day regardless of rain, snow; weather -40, or 120 degrees outside. And if you think it doesn't get that hot, you haven't stacked hay in a steel roofed barn. There is no calling in sick, there's no one else to rely on, except yourself.
He starts his own chores on his dairy farm before the roster crows. He milks 40 Holsteins near Norwalk. When he finishes up all of his chores; cows are fed, milked, and the barn is clean; he heads of to the other farm. Levi is a hired hand on another, bigger farm. On this farm he milks over 80 cows. He single-handedly runs this second farm on his own, as the owner is getting older, and can't offer much more than experienced advice. When Levi is finishes up his 3 hours of chores, on the second farm, his day isn't done. There is still two farms worth of field work and maintenance yet to be done. With all of the work to do, there is no time for a lunch. Maybe a soda, maybe a packed sandwich, but no time to sit down and relax. Levi is dedicated to the success of both farms.
Levi is constantly on the road between the two farms, he never has time to watch television, or eat his meals at a table. It isn't easy supporting a 2 year old, and her pregnant mother. But Levi does it.
Devoted father, and family man.
Levi and I used to go out and party quite often, we were almost insuperable. Now days, I couldn't pay him to skip going home and come out drinking with me. And for just cause. At age 18 Levi was expecting a child. Now he is expecting a second.
It isn't a lot of peoples ideal life plan to farm all day, everyday, to feed your daughter and her pregnant mother. Levi provides for a family, at a mere age of 20. Most 20 year olds I know, wake up at noon, to go to class, then party with their friends at night. It probably wasn't the life Levi would have chosen, had he had an option. Irregardless, he is up and at it everyday. He puts his nose to the grind stone, and does what he has to do, to ensure his family is taken care of. I can think of no greater motivation that that. His family is the force that drives him.
It isn't ideal to have two children, unmarried at age 20. But in a world where many men would have packed up, and jumped town leaving the women to raise the child on her own, Levi took up his responsibility like a real man should. Levi is loud, sarcastic, and even rude. The roughest cut hero imaginable, but he is a hero none the less. Levi is devoted to his family.
Everyday Levi makes it happen. He spends endless hours between two farms. He tirelessly works and cares for his family. He supports his family. He is a true blue collar worker, the back bone of america. His story is one of taking responsibility, and maturity. I know no greater man than Levi.
Levi works harder than anyone I know. Every morning he starts working before the sun comes up, and comes home to sleep well after 1am.
What makes farming so hard, is that the work is never done. There are no holiday vacations, and the milk check doesn't pay overtime. You are in the barn every day regardless of rain, snow; weather -40, or 120 degrees outside. And if you think it doesn't get that hot, you haven't stacked hay in a steel roofed barn. There is no calling in sick, there's no one else to rely on, except yourself.
He starts his own chores on his dairy farm before the roster crows. He milks 40 Holsteins near Norwalk. When he finishes up all of his chores; cows are fed, milked, and the barn is clean; he heads of to the other farm. Levi is a hired hand on another, bigger farm. On this farm he milks over 80 cows. He single-handedly runs this second farm on his own, as the owner is getting older, and can't offer much more than experienced advice. When Levi is finishes up his 3 hours of chores, on the second farm, his day isn't done. There is still two farms worth of field work and maintenance yet to be done. With all of the work to do, there is no time for a lunch. Maybe a soda, maybe a packed sandwich, but no time to sit down and relax. Levi is dedicated to the success of both farms.
Levi is constantly on the road between the two farms, he never has time to watch television, or eat his meals at a table. It isn't easy supporting a 2 year old, and her pregnant mother. But Levi does it.
Devoted father, and family man.
Levi and I used to go out and party quite often, we were almost insuperable. Now days, I couldn't pay him to skip going home and come out drinking with me. And for just cause. At age 18 Levi was expecting a child. Now he is expecting a second.
It isn't a lot of peoples ideal life plan to farm all day, everyday, to feed your daughter and her pregnant mother. Levi provides for a family, at a mere age of 20. Most 20 year olds I know, wake up at noon, to go to class, then party with their friends at night. It probably wasn't the life Levi would have chosen, had he had an option. Irregardless, he is up and at it everyday. He puts his nose to the grind stone, and does what he has to do, to ensure his family is taken care of. I can think of no greater motivation that that. His family is the force that drives him.
It isn't ideal to have two children, unmarried at age 20. But in a world where many men would have packed up, and jumped town leaving the women to raise the child on her own, Levi took up his responsibility like a real man should. Levi is loud, sarcastic, and even rude. The roughest cut hero imaginable, but he is a hero none the less. Levi is devoted to his family.
Everyday Levi makes it happen. He spends endless hours between two farms. He tirelessly works and cares for his family. He supports his family. He is a true blue collar worker, the back bone of america. His story is one of taking responsibility, and maturity. I know no greater man than Levi.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
I have an issue that I would like to address. I don not want to insult anyone, so if this pertains to you, or your boyfriend/husband, brother or whatever, blame them not me.
American males are becoming more and more irresponsible, and immature. I see men wearing skinny jeans, mistreating women, and walking out on their children everyday. To be quite frank, that pisses me off. I'm not saying that every man has to work on a concrete team and deer hunt, but he should have some self respect.
I see men dressing like women. I have recently noticed more and more men wearing jeans so tight, that they cannot be pulled up to fit over their hips. I'm all for free style, and self expression. But please do it in a way that doesn't make you look like an idiot.
I also see men with pants so baggy, that the belt loops are down below their buttocks. That doesn't look cool, it looks stupid. When your pants hang so low that you can't walk straight and are forced to waddle around, you know its time for a change. I don't care how cool your boxers look, I don't want to see them.
I know of a couple of guys who have made children with girls, and do not talk to them anymore. Nor do they help support the baby with money, or even efforts. That is ridiculous. Absolute garbage. I don't care how much you may hate the mother, you slept with her, you got her pregnant, now you need to sack up and take care of the child as well as the mother. I couldn't fathom why you wouldn't want to be around.
What ever happened to cliches like manning up, taking it like a man, or being a man about it. You are a man. You are an American man. You are looked at as the most capable, best opportuned person in world. For heaven's sake act like a man.
American males are becoming more and more irresponsible, and immature. I see men wearing skinny jeans, mistreating women, and walking out on their children everyday. To be quite frank, that pisses me off. I'm not saying that every man has to work on a concrete team and deer hunt, but he should have some self respect.
I see men dressing like women. I have recently noticed more and more men wearing jeans so tight, that they cannot be pulled up to fit over their hips. I'm all for free style, and self expression. But please do it in a way that doesn't make you look like an idiot.
I also see men with pants so baggy, that the belt loops are down below their buttocks. That doesn't look cool, it looks stupid. When your pants hang so low that you can't walk straight and are forced to waddle around, you know its time for a change. I don't care how cool your boxers look, I don't want to see them.
I know of a couple of guys who have made children with girls, and do not talk to them anymore. Nor do they help support the baby with money, or even efforts. That is ridiculous. Absolute garbage. I don't care how much you may hate the mother, you slept with her, you got her pregnant, now you need to sack up and take care of the child as well as the mother. I couldn't fathom why you wouldn't want to be around.
What ever happened to cliches like manning up, taking it like a man, or being a man about it. You are a man. You are an American man. You are looked at as the most capable, best opportuned person in world. For heaven's sake act like a man.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Yesterday North Korea bombed South Korea. To most of us, it doesn't mean much. But to me, and my Marines in 2/24 Golf CO, I'm predicting a field trip. No word has been passed, as this just happened yesterday, but I'd bet my best dollar that the United States Marines, followed by the United Nations will be taking a trip to North Korea. It is the duty of Marines, as well as Americans to fight for those oppressed. I have a biased opinion on this matter. I say lets go get some. I know every other Marine wants to do the same thing. I believe the president wants to as well. The question is, will the american public back another war?
It is my belief that wars, help boost the economy. It creates jobs, there are people lined up trying to getting the military. All branches of the military turn people away everyday. Most of them for things like tattoos, or underage drinking tickets. Those people then get pushed to the wayside, not wanting to go to school, unable to join up. These people then fall into the working class, and often into below the poverty line.
Lets do it, lets take it to North Korea, because weather you know it or not, we have tier one military operatives in the country already. MARSOC has been there for years. Its just a matter of being announced, or active.
It is my belief that wars, help boost the economy. It creates jobs, there are people lined up trying to getting the military. All branches of the military turn people away everyday. Most of them for things like tattoos, or underage drinking tickets. Those people then get pushed to the wayside, not wanting to go to school, unable to join up. These people then fall into the working class, and often into below the poverty line.
Lets do it, lets take it to North Korea, because weather you know it or not, we have tier one military operatives in the country already. MARSOC has been there for years. Its just a matter of being announced, or active.
Monday, November 15, 2010
WTC is killing me..
I'm going to address several issues I have with Western Technical College.
Number one, I buy a $90 parking pass from the school, and I don't even have anywhere to park. That is ridiculous. Its completely ridiculous that I should have to buy one anyway. Include it in my tuition, god knows I pay enough to come here.
Number two, Printing fees. The school probably gets paper and ink for free or extremely discounted. They charge me a dime per printed page? That is absolutely horrendous. If I didn't have to print anything out, I wouldn't. But my teachers make me, in order to stay in their classes. Thats stupid, again include it in my tuition.
Number three, food. Cheese curds in the cafeteria, that probably cost $1.00 to make, sell for nearly $5.00. If that isn't the definition of inflation, please tell me what is. I ought to open my own restraint on campus and charge a fair price for food. Again, I have a feeling that our college gets their food rather discounted, or on some special kind of government program.
Number four. What would it take to get the library to extend its hours? If they did, they could have more students on a work study program, creating jobs, and cheaper education for students. Most students that I know work right after class. Usually until 9 or 10pm. Then they go home to do their homework, because the library is closed. We all know that its very hard to concentrate on homework, in the distracting comforts of your own home.
Number five. Toilet paper. It is a necessity, and bowel movements are a part of nature. So, why do we have to be supplied with one-ply, rough-n-ready TP? Why can't WTC splurge a little bit on some more comforting toilet paper? It wouldn't be that hard to switch, and the student moral would shoot through the roof.
Obviously these are my opinions, and I haven't done any research to support them. But I have been blessed with intuition.
Number one, I buy a $90 parking pass from the school, and I don't even have anywhere to park. That is ridiculous. Its completely ridiculous that I should have to buy one anyway. Include it in my tuition, god knows I pay enough to come here.
Number two, Printing fees. The school probably gets paper and ink for free or extremely discounted. They charge me a dime per printed page? That is absolutely horrendous. If I didn't have to print anything out, I wouldn't. But my teachers make me, in order to stay in their classes. Thats stupid, again include it in my tuition.
Number three, food. Cheese curds in the cafeteria, that probably cost $1.00 to make, sell for nearly $5.00. If that isn't the definition of inflation, please tell me what is. I ought to open my own restraint on campus and charge a fair price for food. Again, I have a feeling that our college gets their food rather discounted, or on some special kind of government program.
Number four. What would it take to get the library to extend its hours? If they did, they could have more students on a work study program, creating jobs, and cheaper education for students. Most students that I know work right after class. Usually until 9 or 10pm. Then they go home to do their homework, because the library is closed. We all know that its very hard to concentrate on homework, in the distracting comforts of your own home.
Number five. Toilet paper. It is a necessity, and bowel movements are a part of nature. So, why do we have to be supplied with one-ply, rough-n-ready TP? Why can't WTC splurge a little bit on some more comforting toilet paper? It wouldn't be that hard to switch, and the student moral would shoot through the roof.
Obviously these are my opinions, and I haven't done any research to support them. But I have been blessed with intuition.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
narrative, finalized
If you were to look at my left hand, you would notice an unsightly scar. It is a pink creased line in the shape of a lightning bolt, or maybe even a “T”. Its more than just an ugly scar, it’s a story. It was a life changing event for me.
Rewind now to a month after my senior year, and high school graduation. It was the day after my graduation party; I had a headache, a few empty kegs, and a plethora of my friends lying in the grass around me. I was the first awake, and the sun was beating down on us relentlessly. I woke my friends, and conned them into another adventure. A week in the woods! No food! No water! No phones, chew, cigarettes… nothing! We would take guns, and knives. Anything we could hunt we would eat. It took a lot of convincing, as my friends aren’t as adventurous as myself. Yet, they agreed, and it was off to the forest we went. We were soon skipping under the canopy that was my parents’ woods. I led the team of scouts, hooting and hollering, to a place I had already decided on. A dry river bed, with a 5 foot waterfall. It was perfect. We would use the rock of the fall as the back wall of our shelter. If we were going to be staying a week, we would need a shelter, and a good one at that. I knew I had to be the one to build it. I took to the project like a pig to mud. I sent my good buddy Matt up a tree. It was a rather small tree, and the perfect one for the front entrance of our shelter. He hung onto the tree top, and pulled it down to me. I quickly tied the end to the ground, and began creating our new home. I was using a rather, or better yet, unnecessarily large knife to knock the branches of from this tree. This step was necessary in our building plan. I had my fist balled tightly around the tree, almost as if I was holding a beer. After a few good whacks on the branches, I began getting arrogant and careless. It didn’t take long for me to make a mistake, and a costly one at that. I swung the sword sized belt knife too hard. It went right through the branch, and into my balled fist. It hit my left index finger at a 45-degree angle, spraying my face with blood. I looked down to see my bone severed, and a rubber band looking tissue severed as well. That was my tendon. I quickly began swearing. Not yelling, or even cursing, just a few swear words at a time. I quickly took my shirt off, carfully as not to rip the skin that was now connecting my finger to the rest of me. I quickly wrapped my dangling finger in the shirt, before putting it under my armpit. I kept it tightly squeezed in my underarm to keep a good amount pressure applied, as this prevents bleeding. I grabbed a buddy, and ran the mile and a half obstacle course back to the house.
When I got to the house, I regained my composer, sensing this as a good opportunity to make a joke around my mother. It was a perfect set up. She was snoozing on the couch, and in the sun, like an outstretched cat. I woke her. “Mom, do you want to go to town?” “What for?” She rebutted in a groggy state. “To sew my finger back on? What do you think?” That is when I showed her. She was surprised, to say the least. She took me to the hospital, where I had 20-some stitches in my finger, and more in the tendon to reconnect it as well. I was put in a cast to stop my all my fingers from bending, as one bending can put stress on the other. To understand the rest of the evening’s events, you would almost have to know me on a personal level. Otherwise you might just think I’m crazy. After leaving the emergency room in an arm cast, and arriving home, I went back to the woods, to link up with my friends. Much to my disappointment my return to the woods was not a pleasant one. - I had brought one cigar, for myself. I am not a usual smoker, but I wanted to have one while enjoying nature.
My friends had smoked it. All that remained was a rubbed out- stepped on-dirt covered butt. I was almost in tears. We didn’t remain in the woods long though. Frog legs, a delicacy in some places, ended our night. My pal Matthew decided to boil one in beer, and eat it. This was nearly the end of him. He was quick to begin vomiting. Apparently, under cooked, beer boil frog legs, can cause food poisoning. Weird, huh?
All of this happened on a weekend. When Monday rolled around, and I received my usually check in call from Ripon head coach, Coach Ernst. I told him the situation I was in with my hand and finger, and all about my upcoming surgery. He made it clear to me that being in a cast, missing the upcoming summer camp, and preseason workouts wear going to cost me my spot on the team. He made it known that being unable to participate, would result in the early termination of my connection with Ripon football. I was done.
I didn’t see this injury as a life changing event, but plenty of others did. I cut my left index finger nearly off. I severed tendons, and bone. I was supposed to spend the next 3 months in a full arm cast, and attend physical therapy. What the doctors really meant was, that they wanted me to sit idly by, and watch my dreams sink away.
The cast didn’t last long, but the dreams are no longer a possibility. This is when I realized, I would no longer be a college athlete. I wouldn’t get my chance to play college ball, as my eligibility had started, and it was too late to get on another team. Besides, what team wants to chance it on a kid with a hand that might not function?
I, being the person that I am, did not miss a step. I simply told Mr. Ernst how good my foot would look, protruding from his backside, and hung up. Then I called the next person on my list, Sgt. McAdams United States Marine Corps. I chose a new goal, right then, right there. Not necessarily what I had hoped for, but what I was going to do.
He told me that by law, I would have to wait until my cast is off, for me to begin talking of enlisting. That was easy, I got it wet, and slipped it off with a Buck knife. I told him my story, and we conceived a way for me to get in without lying, yet without disclosing the gravity of the injury I sustained.
In just a few weeks, I was well on my way to becoming a Marine, it wasn’t what I had wanted, but in a way, I was still going to be a profession athlete. Someone who is paid to stay in shape, and whose athletic performance can mean success or failure for his team. In this case, failure means death.
It wasn’t the glorious dream I been having about football. Hell, it wasn’t even close. Football was pretty, with shining lights reflecting off from the helmets, girls lined up to cheer you on, fans in the stands shouting your name, hoping you do well. No the marines were different. It is dirty, and foul. At times seeming like a punishment, that I had chosen to endure. Though, the completion of each day brought about a sense of success, and bond to the other Marines that even football could not compare to. In the end it, it wasn’t my boyhood dream filled, it was my new adult dream, made a reality.
Rewind now to a month after my senior year, and high school graduation. It was the day after my graduation party; I had a headache, a few empty kegs, and a plethora of my friends lying in the grass around me. I was the first awake, and the sun was beating down on us relentlessly. I woke my friends, and conned them into another adventure. A week in the woods! No food! No water! No phones, chew, cigarettes… nothing! We would take guns, and knives. Anything we could hunt we would eat. It took a lot of convincing, as my friends aren’t as adventurous as myself. Yet, they agreed, and it was off to the forest we went. We were soon skipping under the canopy that was my parents’ woods. I led the team of scouts, hooting and hollering, to a place I had already decided on. A dry river bed, with a 5 foot waterfall. It was perfect. We would use the rock of the fall as the back wall of our shelter. If we were going to be staying a week, we would need a shelter, and a good one at that. I knew I had to be the one to build it. I took to the project like a pig to mud. I sent my good buddy Matt up a tree. It was a rather small tree, and the perfect one for the front entrance of our shelter. He hung onto the tree top, and pulled it down to me. I quickly tied the end to the ground, and began creating our new home. I was using a rather, or better yet, unnecessarily large knife to knock the branches of from this tree. This step was necessary in our building plan. I had my fist balled tightly around the tree, almost as if I was holding a beer. After a few good whacks on the branches, I began getting arrogant and careless. It didn’t take long for me to make a mistake, and a costly one at that. I swung the sword sized belt knife too hard. It went right through the branch, and into my balled fist. It hit my left index finger at a 45-degree angle, spraying my face with blood. I looked down to see my bone severed, and a rubber band looking tissue severed as well. That was my tendon. I quickly began swearing. Not yelling, or even cursing, just a few swear words at a time. I quickly took my shirt off, carfully as not to rip the skin that was now connecting my finger to the rest of me. I quickly wrapped my dangling finger in the shirt, before putting it under my armpit. I kept it tightly squeezed in my underarm to keep a good amount pressure applied, as this prevents bleeding. I grabbed a buddy, and ran the mile and a half obstacle course back to the house.
When I got to the house, I regained my composer, sensing this as a good opportunity to make a joke around my mother. It was a perfect set up. She was snoozing on the couch, and in the sun, like an outstretched cat. I woke her. “Mom, do you want to go to town?” “What for?” She rebutted in a groggy state. “To sew my finger back on? What do you think?” That is when I showed her. She was surprised, to say the least. She took me to the hospital, where I had 20-some stitches in my finger, and more in the tendon to reconnect it as well. I was put in a cast to stop my all my fingers from bending, as one bending can put stress on the other. To understand the rest of the evening’s events, you would almost have to know me on a personal level. Otherwise you might just think I’m crazy. After leaving the emergency room in an arm cast, and arriving home, I went back to the woods, to link up with my friends. Much to my disappointment my return to the woods was not a pleasant one. - I had brought one cigar, for myself. I am not a usual smoker, but I wanted to have one while enjoying nature.
My friends had smoked it. All that remained was a rubbed out- stepped on-dirt covered butt. I was almost in tears. We didn’t remain in the woods long though. Frog legs, a delicacy in some places, ended our night. My pal Matthew decided to boil one in beer, and eat it. This was nearly the end of him. He was quick to begin vomiting. Apparently, under cooked, beer boil frog legs, can cause food poisoning. Weird, huh?
All of this happened on a weekend. When Monday rolled around, and I received my usually check in call from Ripon head coach, Coach Ernst. I told him the situation I was in with my hand and finger, and all about my upcoming surgery. He made it clear to me that being in a cast, missing the upcoming summer camp, and preseason workouts wear going to cost me my spot on the team. He made it known that being unable to participate, would result in the early termination of my connection with Ripon football. I was done.
I didn’t see this injury as a life changing event, but plenty of others did. I cut my left index finger nearly off. I severed tendons, and bone. I was supposed to spend the next 3 months in a full arm cast, and attend physical therapy. What the doctors really meant was, that they wanted me to sit idly by, and watch my dreams sink away.
The cast didn’t last long, but the dreams are no longer a possibility. This is when I realized, I would no longer be a college athlete. I wouldn’t get my chance to play college ball, as my eligibility had started, and it was too late to get on another team. Besides, what team wants to chance it on a kid with a hand that might not function?
I, being the person that I am, did not miss a step. I simply told Mr. Ernst how good my foot would look, protruding from his backside, and hung up. Then I called the next person on my list, Sgt. McAdams United States Marine Corps. I chose a new goal, right then, right there. Not necessarily what I had hoped for, but what I was going to do.
He told me that by law, I would have to wait until my cast is off, for me to begin talking of enlisting. That was easy, I got it wet, and slipped it off with a Buck knife. I told him my story, and we conceived a way for me to get in without lying, yet without disclosing the gravity of the injury I sustained.
In just a few weeks, I was well on my way to becoming a Marine, it wasn’t what I had wanted, but in a way, I was still going to be a profession athlete. Someone who is paid to stay in shape, and whose athletic performance can mean success or failure for his team. In this case, failure means death.
It wasn’t the glorious dream I been having about football. Hell, it wasn’t even close. Football was pretty, with shining lights reflecting off from the helmets, girls lined up to cheer you on, fans in the stands shouting your name, hoping you do well. No the marines were different. It is dirty, and foul. At times seeming like a punishment, that I had chosen to endure. Though, the completion of each day brought about a sense of success, and bond to the other Marines that even football could not compare to. In the end it, it wasn’t my boyhood dream filled, it was my new adult dream, made a reality.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
American Media Trends
Tomorrow marks the 235 birthday of my United States Marine Corps. That makes the Corps older than the united states themselves! The Marines have a rich, tradition riddled heritage. Started in 1775 November 10th, at Tun Tavern Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
But you didn't know that. America doesn't know that. I turned on the radio today, and all I heard about was Conan O'Brien new show, and the NFL. I think that their are more important things for our country to take from our media than the first lady accidentally getting a handshake. Men die everyday for one another in Afghanistan, but the news will not tell their stories of honor. Men have won the medal of honor, the navy cross, other various awards, and it isn't radio time worthy? that's bullshit. It really makes me mad. Is it that people don't care about our Military? I don't know what to think about any of it.
This man is up for the medal of honor for his actions in Afghanistan in 2009. But I'll bet you never heard his name before. Here is his story..
“Meyer was recommended for his actions on Sept. 8, 2009, near the village of Ganjgal in Kunar province. He charged into a kill zone on foot and alone to find three missing Marines and a Navy corpsman who had been pinned down under enemy fire for hours by about 150 well-armed insurgents. Already wounded by shrapnel before braving enemy fire, he found them dead and stripped of their gear and weapons, and carried them out of the kill zone with the help of Afghan soldiers, according to military documents obtained by Marine Corps Times.” (Marine Corps times online, para 5)
Is it that the news reporters are afraid to talk about the war, for fear of depicting it in a negative manner?
Thursday veterans can go and get a free meal at a few restaurants here in town, for veterans day. One day a year? Come on now. I as a restaurant owner, could not accept money from a man who lost his leg in a war for my country.
I just think that America needs to look at what is really important, and what isn't before they start putting things on the news.
But you didn't know that. America doesn't know that. I turned on the radio today, and all I heard about was Conan O'Brien new show, and the NFL. I think that their are more important things for our country to take from our media than the first lady accidentally getting a handshake. Men die everyday for one another in Afghanistan, but the news will not tell their stories of honor. Men have won the medal of honor, the navy cross, other various awards, and it isn't radio time worthy? that's bullshit. It really makes me mad. Is it that people don't care about our Military? I don't know what to think about any of it.
This man is up for the medal of honor for his actions in Afghanistan in 2009. But I'll bet you never heard his name before. Here is his story..
“Meyer was recommended for his actions on Sept. 8, 2009, near the village of Ganjgal in Kunar province. He charged into a kill zone on foot and alone to find three missing Marines and a Navy corpsman who had been pinned down under enemy fire for hours by about 150 well-armed insurgents. Already wounded by shrapnel before braving enemy fire, he found them dead and stripped of their gear and weapons, and carried them out of the kill zone with the help of Afghan soldiers, according to military documents obtained by Marine Corps Times.” (Marine Corps times online, para 5)
Is it that the news reporters are afraid to talk about the war, for fear of depicting it in a negative manner?
Thursday veterans can go and get a free meal at a few restaurants here in town, for veterans day. One day a year? Come on now. I as a restaurant owner, could not accept money from a man who lost his leg in a war for my country.
I just think that America needs to look at what is really important, and what isn't before they start putting things on the news.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Shot dead.
A woman was shot dead, after returning home to her husband. She was just returning home after a Halloween party late in the morning, around 4:30am. She was found dead in her Atlanta home.
Her husband, the murderer, was arrested after the police found him walking naked in the local park. He had just turned 29. The weirdest part about this story is, the two had been married only a few days. The tied the knot on Oct. 10th, of this year!
The wife, 25 year old Madison Mclester, was shot several times. The husband was charged with murder, and is yet to be sentenced.
This is messed up. You get married, and 10 20 days later kill your wife? I can't say I'm shocked.. but the man had to know what marriage was going to be like before he said 'I do.' haha I'm joking, (kind of)
Either way though, this is odd. The police said they don't yet have a motive for the killing. If drugs are not involved, that man may be physco. If it was me, I'd say the spirits of Halloween got to me, and I thought she was a monster so I fired controlled pairs into her chest, until all of my weapons ammunition had been discharged.
Halloween would be the perfect time to pull of a murder, expecting to get away with it, pleading momentary insanity. Its a tense holiday, lots of scary eerie feelings in the air. Not to mention the new movie paranormal activity 2? Scarryyy.
I'm unsure of the whole story here. Maybe she was out cheating on him, maybe she came home and scared him. Maybe he just didn't want to be married anymore. Who knows.
Her husband, the murderer, was arrested after the police found him walking naked in the local park. He had just turned 29. The weirdest part about this story is, the two had been married only a few days. The tied the knot on Oct. 10th, of this year!
The wife, 25 year old Madison Mclester, was shot several times. The husband was charged with murder, and is yet to be sentenced.
This is messed up. You get married, and 10 20 days later kill your wife? I can't say I'm shocked.. but the man had to know what marriage was going to be like before he said 'I do.' haha I'm joking, (kind of)
Either way though, this is odd. The police said they don't yet have a motive for the killing. If drugs are not involved, that man may be physco. If it was me, I'd say the spirits of Halloween got to me, and I thought she was a monster so I fired controlled pairs into her chest, until all of my weapons ammunition had been discharged.
Halloween would be the perfect time to pull of a murder, expecting to get away with it, pleading momentary insanity. Its a tense holiday, lots of scary eerie feelings in the air. Not to mention the new movie paranormal activity 2? Scarryyy.
I'm unsure of the whole story here. Maybe she was out cheating on him, maybe she came home and scared him. Maybe he just didn't want to be married anymore. Who knows.
Political commercials are all over the news. They are on the television, they are on the radio, they are everywhere! Every single one sounds exactly the same. Some one stole money, to pay personal debts. Some one said this, some one is going to say that. Billy Bob will raise taxes until hell freezes over. To be quite honest, I don't even know who is running, all that I know is who ever gets elected, will have broken the law, stole money, taken illegal funds, or something down those lines.
There is no such thing as an honest politician. All of the politicians are in it, to win for themselves. You and I would have to be crazy to believe that someone wants to spend millions of dollars to run for senate, or congress, just so they can help us. People may want to help, but they are not going to spend that kind of money, or put in that kind of and effort just to do so. If they wanted to help people so bad, why don't they volunteer at the soup kitchen.
Whatever happened to an honest America? A place where you could look someone in the eye, shake their hand, and know that whatever they said was exactly what they meant? What happened to people being straight forward, what you see is what you get; no one trying to sneak anything past the next guy?
Are those things of the past? Do Americans only care about themselves? Where can a guy go to make an honest days pay, doing an honest job? Or pay an honest price without having hidden fees?
It seems like everything in life now is about money. Anytime I have a job done I always have to ask, "Is that the total cost? Is there more to it than this?"
I shouldn't have to ask what the final price is a hundred times. Everything in our society could stand to be a lot more truthful. It used to be, if someone called you a liar, you could kill them right there. No questions asked, just pull out a gun, and shoot them. I wish it were still like that. I also wish we could carry concealed weapons here in Wisconsin. People would think twice about adding hidden fees, when your standing there with a .45acp under your jacket.
America needs to toughen up, as well as buck up. No more fancy Hollywood BS, its time for America to return once again to its original state of true blue, hard working concerned citizens.
There is no such thing as an honest politician. All of the politicians are in it, to win for themselves. You and I would have to be crazy to believe that someone wants to spend millions of dollars to run for senate, or congress, just so they can help us. People may want to help, but they are not going to spend that kind of money, or put in that kind of and effort just to do so. If they wanted to help people so bad, why don't they volunteer at the soup kitchen.
Whatever happened to an honest America? A place where you could look someone in the eye, shake their hand, and know that whatever they said was exactly what they meant? What happened to people being straight forward, what you see is what you get; no one trying to sneak anything past the next guy?
Are those things of the past? Do Americans only care about themselves? Where can a guy go to make an honest days pay, doing an honest job? Or pay an honest price without having hidden fees?
It seems like everything in life now is about money. Anytime I have a job done I always have to ask, "Is that the total cost? Is there more to it than this?"
I shouldn't have to ask what the final price is a hundred times. Everything in our society could stand to be a lot more truthful. It used to be, if someone called you a liar, you could kill them right there. No questions asked, just pull out a gun, and shoot them. I wish it were still like that. I also wish we could carry concealed weapons here in Wisconsin. People would think twice about adding hidden fees, when your standing there with a .45acp under your jacket.
America needs to toughen up, as well as buck up. No more fancy Hollywood BS, its time for America to return once again to its original state of true blue, hard working concerned citizens.
Friday, October 22, 2010
The NFL has recently cracked down. No more helmet-to-helmet contact. This rule is great in theory. It would save the players health, as a helmet-to-helmet shot, can really rattle a person’s brain. It can hurt you neck, and cause serious concussion. It brings about a personal foul, 15 yard penalty, with a monetary fine, and sometimes suspension.
Though the idea of safer football sounds great, it will never work. Football is a sport televised to entertain. People, myself included, love big hit. I like to see helmets fly off, blood running from the nose and players wobbling around after a hit. People love violence, and professional athletes are our modern day Roman gladiators. Big hits like these, tell me the player is playing with emotion, the way the game was meant to be played.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLXJy3dap3o
He’s playing to win. He’s not trying to kill anyone, but he’s sending a message. If you send someone my way, he’s going to get smacked. There’s more to it than that. Receivers who are scared to get hit, (most likely because they’ve been hit hard one already that game) will be less likely to catch passes over the middle, or go up in the air after a high pass. They get scared and won’t catch passes, making their offense less productive.
The NFL has a rich history full of big hitters. Look here at Ronnie Lott.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVKVHvMJKT8
Famous for his “hard-ass” style, he cut off his mangled and broken pinky finger at half-time, to come back and finish the game. He was also a feared hitter. What made him such a great hitter, and player, was the time and day. Back then, helmet-to-helmet were not just encouraged, they were taught. If you wanted to be on a highlight reel, you banged your helmet off from the helmet of an opposing player, risking life, and limb, in an all out, 110% effort. My point here, is that in the old days, the players were let loose. Able to go out and play with all the passion in the world, nowadays it isn’t so.
Though the idea of safer football sounds great, it will never work. Football is a sport televised to entertain. People, myself included, love big hit. I like to see helmets fly off, blood running from the nose and players wobbling around after a hit. People love violence, and professional athletes are our modern day Roman gladiators. Big hits like these, tell me the player is playing with emotion, the way the game was meant to be played.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLXJy3dap3o
He’s playing to win. He’s not trying to kill anyone, but he’s sending a message. If you send someone my way, he’s going to get smacked. There’s more to it than that. Receivers who are scared to get hit, (most likely because they’ve been hit hard one already that game) will be less likely to catch passes over the middle, or go up in the air after a high pass. They get scared and won’t catch passes, making their offense less productive.
The NFL has a rich history full of big hitters. Look here at Ronnie Lott.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVKVHvMJKT8
Famous for his “hard-ass” style, he cut off his mangled and broken pinky finger at half-time, to come back and finish the game. He was also a feared hitter. What made him such a great hitter, and player, was the time and day. Back then, helmet-to-helmet were not just encouraged, they were taught. If you wanted to be on a highlight reel, you banged your helmet off from the helmet of an opposing player, risking life, and limb, in an all out, 110% effort. My point here, is that in the old days, the players were let loose. Able to go out and play with all the passion in the world, nowadays it isn’t so.
"Spice" and My Marine Corps
The United States Marine Corps has recently banned the use of ‘spice’. Spice is synthetic marijuana, obviously smoked to achieve a feeling of intoxication, or buzz. From my understanding, it is a chemical smoked blend of herbs, intended to be burnt as incense; and not for human digestion. That’s what makes the risk so high with spice. Since it isn’t intended for human consumption, no human testing has been conducted. So you never know what is really in it, or what it is going to do to you.
The chemicals are almost undetectable on routine urinalysis test, but its detection will get you punished under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and/or kicked out of the military. It is illegal in Europe, yet remains legal in the United States.
The problem with spice, as I see it, isn’t that its necessary bad for you. The problem arises when you have men with loaded weapons, and impaired judgment. Marines or military members in general are often put into situations where the man to their left or their right, is placing his life in their hands. I wouldn’t want to place my life in the hands of a Marine acting as Cheech or Chong. If I’m going to have to trust someone, I’d like them to be thinking clearly without obstructed judgment. You wouldn’t want to in battle drunk, so why would you want to be high? One wrong call over the radio can have mortars dropped on your location killing your whole platoon. I could not call the mother of a man whose life my mistake has taken, and say it happened because I was ripped on some spice.
Marines are often put in situations where they have to react immediately, and without hesitation. Those reactions need to be hasty, and effective. It is these reactions that mean life, or death.
The Military, and the Marines, more specifically are supposed to be Americas role models. Not America’s deviant sons. What kind of a message does it send to America, but also the rest of the world if U.S Marines are high? A bunch of dope smokers are not intimidating, and do not convey the message that they mean business.
In the end, I think that spice has no place in the military, much less my Marine Corps. It doesn’t go along with the upstanding reputation the Corps, and we know for a fact, that Chesty Puller wouldn’t stand for malarkey like that. The real way to look at it is, what good can come from Marines being allowed to smoke synthetic marijuana? I see none.
The chemicals are almost undetectable on routine urinalysis test, but its detection will get you punished under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and/or kicked out of the military. It is illegal in Europe, yet remains legal in the United States.
The problem with spice, as I see it, isn’t that its necessary bad for you. The problem arises when you have men with loaded weapons, and impaired judgment. Marines or military members in general are often put into situations where the man to their left or their right, is placing his life in their hands. I wouldn’t want to place my life in the hands of a Marine acting as Cheech or Chong. If I’m going to have to trust someone, I’d like them to be thinking clearly without obstructed judgment. You wouldn’t want to in battle drunk, so why would you want to be high? One wrong call over the radio can have mortars dropped on your location killing your whole platoon. I could not call the mother of a man whose life my mistake has taken, and say it happened because I was ripped on some spice.
Marines are often put in situations where they have to react immediately, and without hesitation. Those reactions need to be hasty, and effective. It is these reactions that mean life, or death.
The Military, and the Marines, more specifically are supposed to be Americas role models. Not America’s deviant sons. What kind of a message does it send to America, but also the rest of the world if U.S Marines are high? A bunch of dope smokers are not intimidating, and do not convey the message that they mean business.
In the end, I think that spice has no place in the military, much less my Marine Corps. It doesn’t go along with the upstanding reputation the Corps, and we know for a fact, that Chesty Puller wouldn’t stand for malarkey like that. The real way to look at it is, what good can come from Marines being allowed to smoke synthetic marijuana? I see none.
(Draft) Life Has a Way of Working Itself Out
Michael Geier
Written communications
September 29, 2010
Have you ever seen your own bones? Have you ever seen them sticking out of your skin? Have you ever severed a tendon? And watched one of your digits hang helpless, connected only by skin? I have, and it changed my life forever.
I didn’t see it as a live changing event, but plenty of others did. I cut my left index finger nearly off. I severed tendons, and bone. I was supposed to spend the next months in a full arm cast, and watch my dreams sink away. The cast didn’t last long, but the dreams are no longer a possibility.
I played high school football, competitively. I played every down. I was an I had been all-conference for four years, and led the state, division six on defense. From my first day off pee-wee football, I told everyone I wanted to play for the packers. While this goal is seemingly unrealistic, I had my mind set. From pop warner on, everything I did was to help promote my dream of being a professional athlete.
I wrestled from an early age as well. I was, by no means a bad wrestler. It was fun, and it kept me out of trouble. Wrestling s a lot of work, and it isn’t always a whole lot of fun, but I ground it out and made the best of it that I could. Wrestling was a good sport for me, as a football player, because it taught me and awful lot about leverage, coordination, and how to get every bit of my weight to work for me.
I also began lifting weights when I was young. I started around age 14. I worked out for hours at a time, often the only person in the gym. I lifted before school, and sometimes after as well. My football coach had coached at NDSU, and worked with me on strength, as well as speed, agility, and coordination. I went from football camp, to football camp, traveling the nation. I was on the right path.
It wasn’t until my junior year of high school that I began getting letters from colleges. I had opportunities that many kids do not, as I had wrestled in the state tournament that year. I had the option, I could write my own ticket. Did I want to wrestle in college? Or play football? The choice was not a difficult one for me. It was my dream to play football, and that’s what I was going to do. After narrowing it down, I was either going to Ripon College, or NDSU like my coach had. At Ripon I would play fullback, in their single back offense, I good fit and an exciting time. At NDSU I would play linebacker on their explosive defense.
Fast forward now to a month after my senior year, and graduation. It was the day after my graduation party; I had a headache, a few empty kegs, and a plethora of my friends lying in the grass around me. I was the first awake, and the sun was beating down on us relentlessly. I woke my friends, and conned them into another adventure. A week in the woods! No food! No water! No phones, chew, cigarettes… nothing! We would take guns, and knives. Anything we could hunt we would eat. It took a lot of convincing, as my friends aren’t as adventurous as me. Yet, they agreed, and it was off to the forest we went. We were soon under the canopy that was my parents’ woods. I led the team of scouts to a place I had already decided on. A dry river bed, with a 5 foot waterfall. It was perfect. We would use the rock of the fall as the back wall of our shelter. If we were going to be staying a week, we would need a shelter, and a good one at that. I knew I had to be the one to build it. I took to the project like a pig to mud. I sent my good buddy Matt up a tree. It was a rather small tree, and the perfect one for the front entrance of our shelter. He hung onto the tree top, and pulled it down to me. I quickly tied the end to the ground, and began creating our new home. I was using a rather, or better yet, unnecessarily large knife to knock the branches of from this tree. This step was necessary in our building plan. I had my fist balled tightly around the tree, almost as if I was holding a beer. After a few good whacks on the branches, I began getting arrogant and careless. It didn’t take long for me to make a mistake, and a costly one at that. I swung the sword sized belt knife too hard. It went right through the branch, and into my balled fist. It hit my left index finger at a 45-degree angle, spraying my face with blood. I looked down to see my bone severed, and a rubber band looking tissue severed as well. That was my tendon. I quickly began swearing. Not yelling, or even cursing, just a few swear words at a time. I quickly took my shirt off, and wrapped my dangling finger in it, before putting it under my armpit. I held it there tightly to keep pressure applied, grabbed a buddy, and ran to the house. It was a kilometer walk, but it felt like forever.
When I got to the house, I regained my composer, sensing this as a good opportunity to mess around with my mother. It was a perfect set up. She was sleeping on the couch like a cat, and I woke her. “Mom, do you want to go to town?” “What for?” She rebutted in a groggy state. “To sew my finger back on? What do you think?” That is when I showed her. She was surprised, to say the least. She took me to the hospital, where I had 20-some stitches in my finger, and more in the tendon to reconnect it as well. I was put in a cast to stop my all my fingers from bending, as one bending can put stress on the other.
All of this happened on a weekend. When Monday rolled around, and I received my usually check in call from Ripon head coach, Coach Ernst. I told him the situation I was in with my hand and finger, and he made it clear to me that missing the upcoming summer camp, and preseason workouts wear going to cost me my spot on the team. He made it known that being unable to participate, would result in the early termination of my connection with Ripon football. I was done. This is when I realized, I would no longer be a professional athlete. I wouldn’t get my chance to play college ball, as my eligibility had started, and it was too late to get on another team. Besides, what team wants to chance it on a kid with a hand that might not function?
I, being the person that I am, did not let this get me down. I simple told him how good my foot would look, protruding from his backside, and hung up. Then I called the next person on my list, Sgt. McAdams United States Marine Corps. I had set my sights on a new goal. Not necessarily what I had hoped for, but what I was going to do.
He told me that by law, I would have to wait until my cast is off, for me to begin talking of enlisting. That was easy, I got it wet, and slipped it off with a Buck knife. I told him my story, and we conceived a way for me to get in without lying, yet without disclosing the gravity of the injury I sustained.
In just a few weeks, I was well on my way to becoming a Marine, it wasn’t what I had wanted, but in a way, I was still going to be a profession athlete. Someone who is paid to stay in shape, and whose athletic performance can mean success or failure for his team. In this case, failure means death.
Written communications
September 29, 2010
Have you ever seen your own bones? Have you ever seen them sticking out of your skin? Have you ever severed a tendon? And watched one of your digits hang helpless, connected only by skin? I have, and it changed my life forever.
I didn’t see it as a live changing event, but plenty of others did. I cut my left index finger nearly off. I severed tendons, and bone. I was supposed to spend the next months in a full arm cast, and watch my dreams sink away. The cast didn’t last long, but the dreams are no longer a possibility.
I played high school football, competitively. I played every down. I was an I had been all-conference for four years, and led the state, division six on defense. From my first day off pee-wee football, I told everyone I wanted to play for the packers. While this goal is seemingly unrealistic, I had my mind set. From pop warner on, everything I did was to help promote my dream of being a professional athlete.
I wrestled from an early age as well. I was, by no means a bad wrestler. It was fun, and it kept me out of trouble. Wrestling s a lot of work, and it isn’t always a whole lot of fun, but I ground it out and made the best of it that I could. Wrestling was a good sport for me, as a football player, because it taught me and awful lot about leverage, coordination, and how to get every bit of my weight to work for me.
I also began lifting weights when I was young. I started around age 14. I worked out for hours at a time, often the only person in the gym. I lifted before school, and sometimes after as well. My football coach had coached at NDSU, and worked with me on strength, as well as speed, agility, and coordination. I went from football camp, to football camp, traveling the nation. I was on the right path.
It wasn’t until my junior year of high school that I began getting letters from colleges. I had opportunities that many kids do not, as I had wrestled in the state tournament that year. I had the option, I could write my own ticket. Did I want to wrestle in college? Or play football? The choice was not a difficult one for me. It was my dream to play football, and that’s what I was going to do. After narrowing it down, I was either going to Ripon College, or NDSU like my coach had. At Ripon I would play fullback, in their single back offense, I good fit and an exciting time. At NDSU I would play linebacker on their explosive defense.
Fast forward now to a month after my senior year, and graduation. It was the day after my graduation party; I had a headache, a few empty kegs, and a plethora of my friends lying in the grass around me. I was the first awake, and the sun was beating down on us relentlessly. I woke my friends, and conned them into another adventure. A week in the woods! No food! No water! No phones, chew, cigarettes… nothing! We would take guns, and knives. Anything we could hunt we would eat. It took a lot of convincing, as my friends aren’t as adventurous as me. Yet, they agreed, and it was off to the forest we went. We were soon under the canopy that was my parents’ woods. I led the team of scouts to a place I had already decided on. A dry river bed, with a 5 foot waterfall. It was perfect. We would use the rock of the fall as the back wall of our shelter. If we were going to be staying a week, we would need a shelter, and a good one at that. I knew I had to be the one to build it. I took to the project like a pig to mud. I sent my good buddy Matt up a tree. It was a rather small tree, and the perfect one for the front entrance of our shelter. He hung onto the tree top, and pulled it down to me. I quickly tied the end to the ground, and began creating our new home. I was using a rather, or better yet, unnecessarily large knife to knock the branches of from this tree. This step was necessary in our building plan. I had my fist balled tightly around the tree, almost as if I was holding a beer. After a few good whacks on the branches, I began getting arrogant and careless. It didn’t take long for me to make a mistake, and a costly one at that. I swung the sword sized belt knife too hard. It went right through the branch, and into my balled fist. It hit my left index finger at a 45-degree angle, spraying my face with blood. I looked down to see my bone severed, and a rubber band looking tissue severed as well. That was my tendon. I quickly began swearing. Not yelling, or even cursing, just a few swear words at a time. I quickly took my shirt off, and wrapped my dangling finger in it, before putting it under my armpit. I held it there tightly to keep pressure applied, grabbed a buddy, and ran to the house. It was a kilometer walk, but it felt like forever.
When I got to the house, I regained my composer, sensing this as a good opportunity to mess around with my mother. It was a perfect set up. She was sleeping on the couch like a cat, and I woke her. “Mom, do you want to go to town?” “What for?” She rebutted in a groggy state. “To sew my finger back on? What do you think?” That is when I showed her. She was surprised, to say the least. She took me to the hospital, where I had 20-some stitches in my finger, and more in the tendon to reconnect it as well. I was put in a cast to stop my all my fingers from bending, as one bending can put stress on the other.
All of this happened on a weekend. When Monday rolled around, and I received my usually check in call from Ripon head coach, Coach Ernst. I told him the situation I was in with my hand and finger, and he made it clear to me that missing the upcoming summer camp, and preseason workouts wear going to cost me my spot on the team. He made it known that being unable to participate, would result in the early termination of my connection with Ripon football. I was done. This is when I realized, I would no longer be a professional athlete. I wouldn’t get my chance to play college ball, as my eligibility had started, and it was too late to get on another team. Besides, what team wants to chance it on a kid with a hand that might not function?
I, being the person that I am, did not let this get me down. I simple told him how good my foot would look, protruding from his backside, and hung up. Then I called the next person on my list, Sgt. McAdams United States Marine Corps. I had set my sights on a new goal. Not necessarily what I had hoped for, but what I was going to do.
He told me that by law, I would have to wait until my cast is off, for me to begin talking of enlisting. That was easy, I got it wet, and slipped it off with a Buck knife. I told him my story, and we conceived a way for me to get in without lying, yet without disclosing the gravity of the injury I sustained.
In just a few weeks, I was well on my way to becoming a Marine, it wasn’t what I had wanted, but in a way, I was still going to be a profession athlete. Someone who is paid to stay in shape, and whose athletic performance can mean success or failure for his team. In this case, failure means death.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
learning.
I liked that video. It was pretty interesting stuff, it was neat to see those young kids creating things that I couldn’t. haha. The kids are learning useful things. Though they may never build a rollercoaster again, the learned how to use their hands, and put things together.
In the day, and age we live in, we don’t need to know anything. If you need to know something you can Google it. All of the world’s information is laid out right in front of us, on the web. So it doesn’t matter so much what kids are learning. What matters is that they are learning how to learn. Also, they are learning how to teach them selves. Some of the most important lessons a person can learn, are the lessons they teach themselves. Or, maybe these are the things they already know and are merely piecing things together. Like I said before, the context isn’t important, the skills are. When I say skills I’m referring to things like, problem solving, rationalizing, and critical thinking.
To be able to look at a situation, or be in a situation, and think rationally isn’t easy. It could be the one skill that defines a person’s life. Being able to make good decisions is first step to being able to make good decisions under pressure. Now this kid’s life has just changed. He went from being an accountant who lives at his parent’s house with his cats and his video games, to being a strategist in a United States Marine Corps infantry. Being able to make good choices under pressure is a skill all employers want to see. Weather he be in the military, a fireman, a cop, a lawyer, a businessman, it doesn’t matter. To be regarded as successful or highly skilled a person has to be ale to pull through when it counts. He went from writing notes to little Suzy, to saying something clever and funny to Sally, when Suzy wasn’t around. This kid has confidence because he can say the right thing at the right time. This kid can do the right thing at the right time. This kid is wonderful. Why? Because he learned to think critically and objectively at a rather young age.
This kid has now learned to think clearly, in his own way, and use his own hands to form something. You can tell a person how to rotate a puzzle piece to make it fit, but it is easier and faster if they do it themselves. My example child now thinks clearly, objectively, critically, applicably, handles high pressure situations with grace, speaks and portrays confidence, is successful at work; home, and in his personal relationships. The only negative effects that I’m imaging here would be a lack of high stress jobs. All of these kids running around motivated to tear it up, and they are all competing for the same jobs in the same fields, because everyone wants to be in the thick of things.
In the day, and age we live in, we don’t need to know anything. If you need to know something you can Google it. All of the world’s information is laid out right in front of us, on the web. So it doesn’t matter so much what kids are learning. What matters is that they are learning how to learn. Also, they are learning how to teach them selves. Some of the most important lessons a person can learn, are the lessons they teach themselves. Or, maybe these are the things they already know and are merely piecing things together. Like I said before, the context isn’t important, the skills are. When I say skills I’m referring to things like, problem solving, rationalizing, and critical thinking.
To be able to look at a situation, or be in a situation, and think rationally isn’t easy. It could be the one skill that defines a person’s life. Being able to make good decisions is first step to being able to make good decisions under pressure. Now this kid’s life has just changed. He went from being an accountant who lives at his parent’s house with his cats and his video games, to being a strategist in a United States Marine Corps infantry. Being able to make good choices under pressure is a skill all employers want to see. Weather he be in the military, a fireman, a cop, a lawyer, a businessman, it doesn’t matter. To be regarded as successful or highly skilled a person has to be ale to pull through when it counts. He went from writing notes to little Suzy, to saying something clever and funny to Sally, when Suzy wasn’t around. This kid has confidence because he can say the right thing at the right time. This kid can do the right thing at the right time. This kid is wonderful. Why? Because he learned to think critically and objectively at a rather young age.
This kid has now learned to think clearly, in his own way, and use his own hands to form something. You can tell a person how to rotate a puzzle piece to make it fit, but it is easier and faster if they do it themselves. My example child now thinks clearly, objectively, critically, applicably, handles high pressure situations with grace, speaks and portrays confidence, is successful at work; home, and in his personal relationships. The only negative effects that I’m imaging here would be a lack of high stress jobs. All of these kids running around motivated to tear it up, and they are all competing for the same jobs in the same fields, because everyone wants to be in the thick of things.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Labor Day Weekend
I spent my Labor Day weekend doing what I do best, having fun. I first went to Apple Valley to visit the family of a friend with whom I was stationed with in California. I spent a couple days in apple valley and let his family, and friends show me all around the big city, (as Apple Valley is a suburb to Minneapolis). although I enjoyed the city, and seeing things rather out of the ordinary for me, I was excited to come home.
The Minnesotans then came down to Wisconsin, hoping I could show them a good time. I invited 35 of my closest friends to a fire on my lawn. With the mini-dirtbikes, shotguns, and heavy beer consumption, it was rather difficult for me to focus on entertaining my guests. I hope they enjoyed their eventful stay in rural Wisconsin.
The Minnesotans then came down to Wisconsin, hoping I could show them a good time. I invited 35 of my closest friends to a fire on my lawn. With the mini-dirtbikes, shotguns, and heavy beer consumption, it was rather difficult for me to focus on entertaining my guests. I hope they enjoyed their eventful stay in rural Wisconsin.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
All about me
Hey,
My name is Mike, obviously. I'm from a small town no ones ever heard of, so it doesn't really pay to name it here. I like to be busy. Weather it be driving around with my windows down and my music playing above a healthy decible, or drinking a beer around a fire with my friends. I think the most important things in life are memories, and the people you make them with. I love to entertain people by making jokes and being the center of attention. That attention usually goes to my head, until I cross the line and say something dumb. That's really about all I have to say.
My name is Mike, obviously. I'm from a small town no ones ever heard of, so it doesn't really pay to name it here. I like to be busy. Weather it be driving around with my windows down and my music playing above a healthy decible, or drinking a beer around a fire with my friends. I think the most important things in life are memories, and the people you make them with. I love to entertain people by making jokes and being the center of attention. That attention usually goes to my head, until I cross the line and say something dumb. That's really about all I have to say.
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