Life and Death—The Boredom, Dispatch 5

Thank you for reading about my continuing exploits on my quest.  I’m trying to fill my holiday season with actions that are productive and/or meaningful to me before I go back to working at the job I love.

Catch up with Dispatch 1 , Dispatch 2 , Dispatch 3 , and Dispatch 4.

Sunday, Day 17 of The Boredom, was spent mostly with family. Still, I dedicated more than a few hours to peaceful solitude in front of the glow of my computer screen.

Not gonna lie, playing The Lord of the Rings Online has become one of my favorite pastimes.  It’s an epic role-playing video game and the designers created worlds that allow me to explore and learn more about the regions and peoples written about in one of the greatest literary masterpieces of Western civilization.

Day 18, Monday, was mostly spent working on manuscripts and doing research, both for building my business and for a future writing project.  The academic research has been for the purpose of writing a multi-volume history of the Vietnam War, entirely from a libertarian perspective.  So far I have seventy pages of notes typed out on the computer, single-spaced and 12-inch font.

In the evening I attended my Civil Air Patrol (U.S. Air Force Auxiliary) squadron meeting.  Our guest that evening was an Air Force colonel who happened to be the staff director for the Fourth Air Force at March Air Reserve Base.  He spoke with us in the headquarters board room—really a section of the squadron’s double-wide, walled off by chalk boards on one side and bookshelves on the other—and I managed to get an interview before the end of the meeting.

I take pride in having volunteered in the Air Force Auxiliary.  I originally joined to have a joint activity with my nephew, whose old man was long gone and badly needed a structured program at the time, but I stayed because I truly enjoy the program.  Three years later, I’m a First Lieutenant and one of the most active public affairs officers in California Wing.  I take pride in my own accomplishments and in serving with this incredible, humanitarian manifestation of the “organized militia.”  Plus, it’s pretty badass that CAP sank two German submarines prowling our coast during World War II, with dozens more air-struck and damaged into retreat.

Day 19, Tuesday, I had my nose in books, smoked too many cigarettes, and then forced myself to go to the gym.  It seems like I’m only ever motivated to work out when I’m on base...  Oh well, at least I went.  The highlight of my day was finally getting in the mail my new green vinyl record of the Misfits' Project 1950 Expanded album—the entire thing is punk rock covers of oldies songs.  Listening to that was too cool!

Wednesday was spent doing more research, further work restoring manuscripts, and I managed to step into the sunlight to get some lunch.  In the evening I went to my older sister’s house to honor our tradition of, whenever I’m back from the desert, watching Modern Family as a family—myself, my sister, and my niece and nephews.

I don’t even remember Thursday.  I honestly don’t remember caring.  It was probably a pleasant day.

Friday, Day 22, I punished myself at the gym.  I did a full forty minutes of cardio, then migrated upstairs to do the bar dip for four sets of twenty-five suspended reverse sit-ups.  I followed that up with three sets on the horizontal chest-press machine—one set for my left arm, and one reduced-weight set for my stump.  I do my best to work out the right side of my torso despite my limb deficiency.  I’ve been lucky enough to reverse some of the muscular atrophy on that side.

Following the chest-press I grabbed a forty-pound weight bar and did four sets of squats, fifteen reps each.  While it’s been good for my thighs and tush, it’s been remarkably good for my right shoulder muscle (which is noticeably smaller than my left).  I finished everything off with another ten minutes of cardio—this time on an exercise bike—and in my time at the gym I downed another chapter of War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning.

Saturday, Day 23 of The Boredom, was as incredible day of days.  I got up at 0530 (not my finest of hours), showered, and put on my CAP uniform.  After picking up a Powerade, Red Bull, and a stick of beef jerky—the popular food of the modern warrior—I made my way to squadron headquarters by 0645.  The squadron departed for Riverside National Cemetery.

Our mission was to participate in Wreaths Across America, an event to place holiday wreaths at the graves of departed armed forces veterans, thus keeping their memory alive.  The event was very touching and moving.  The only part that weighed on me was talking with some of the Gold Star wives and mothers.  Whenever military family members see me, they see the crew cut and the missing arm and mistakenly do the math to think I’m a combat veteran.  I tell them I’ve never been in combat, but they don’t care—they already respect the uniform and they have things they need to get off their chest.  I have an obligation to these women who lost so much for their country, to listen to what they need to tell me.

And so seventy-year-old women wept in front of me for the husbands they lost in Vietnam, and forty-year-old women wept for the sons they lost in Iraq and Afghanistan.  What particularly disturbed me was the Vietnam War widows—forty or fifty years later and the grief still hits them hard.  It always stays with you and doesn’t go away, just like Abe’s death in Al Anbar province hasn’t gone away from me after ten years.

I got off duty just in time to drive across Riverside, where I made it just in time for my friend’s wedding.  One of the senior NCOs in my unit—we’ll call him “Job,” after the Biblical figure—was getting re-married.  Since he’s been through emotional hell and back in his life—long story, you don’t want to know—and he’s become a mentor to me over time, I wasn’t going to miss his wedding for the world.

Three amazing things happened that afternoon.  First, I saw my friend truly happy for the first time in years.  Second, an important bond was strengthened.  I noticed several tables had reserved seating; one was reserved for the bride’s family—a thriving, bustling table—and another reserved for the groom’s family.  The latter was empty; the entire groom’s family has since passed away.  I asked “Job” if I could eat my meal at his family’s reserved table and he said, “Yes, I consider you family.”  And I made sure he saw me eat at that table.  The third wonderful thing that happened was that I met an intriguing older woman—one who’s kind, classy, sexy and smart.  We shot the breeze for hours and had a ball.  Phone numbers were exchanged.

After I got home from Riverside I had a nice hour-long visit with my older sister.  She and I are very close and I consider it a blessing that one of my siblings is also my close and true friend.  Following the visit that primarily consisted of laughing and talking smack about psychotic relatives, I picked up my good friend Midshipman.  He and I had gone up to Big Bear and Holcomb Valley together two weeks ago.

Midshipman (right) and I (left)

We sped over to the American Legion hall in Azusa, California, to join my friend “Shark” for his birthday celebration—SharkFest 2014.  Let me just tell you, SharkFest was AWESOME!  It was seriously the best party I’ve been to in months, if not longer.  A cemetery and a wedding in one day are a bit much, especially after talking with the war widows.

Shark is a Navy veteran who saw combat in Afghanistan.  Nowadays he’s a student at Mt. San Antonio College.  I met him through the San Bernardino County Libertarian Party, he was always supportive of my writing, and we’ve been friends ever since.  We were celebrating his 31^st birthday that night.

It was such a relief to shoot the breeze and swap stories with veterans and fellow current reservists my age.  The special bond between veterans that you read all the clichés about, then mentally discard, is real.  I hadn’t realized the extent before, but I did that night.  I realized that I’m not a 19-year-old FNG—f***ing new guy (a liability)—in a shiny new uniform, amazed by everything going on around him.  I’ve been a weekend warrior for seven years, added to three years of extra duty with the Auxiliary, and another two years as a contractor embedded with the regular Army.  I’ve done my share, endured both the outdoor elements and the bureaucracy, and it was great to be around other guys and girls who actually knew what the hell I was talking about!

Gotta love Vietnam vets!

Better yet, the party wasn’t great just because I met solid people and partied hard with my buddies.  Other than making a host of new friends, I danced with some of the prettiest girls in the San Gabriel Valley, civilian and veterans!  One girl, currently a student, was the prettiest woman Marine I’ve ever seen—seriously, I’m a sucker for dark brown hair and green eyes.  Better yet, she’d been “downrange” (military slang for the wars), which made her a badass.

The entire night was therapeutic, and the entire day was an incredible ending to my week.

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CAP historical painting courtesy of CAPhistory dot org.  All other images are by the author.

Underground Punk Rock and Spontaneous Order—The Boredom, Dispatch 4

I woke up as the sun’s rays began to brighten the inside of a beat up Ford F250.  I was folded up in the back seat while Midshipman occupied the front.  He looked like a bear coming out of hibernation.  We both climbed out of the truck and quickly ran out of the shade and into the warmth of the sun.

We got to the edge of the lower meadow when we realized the sunrise over the mountain valley was breathtaking.  Midshipman and I split my last two cigarettes and stood smoking in silence as we took in the sun.  It was a deeply reassuring feeling becoming one with nature.

This was Sunday morning—Day 10 of The Boredom.

After an indeterminate amount of time we piled into the truck and took a rocky dirt road over to the upper meadow, a mile or two away.  There was a turnout on the road, trimmed by a ranch-style minimal wood fence that fed into a path.  At the end of the path which took me a short way into the meadow stood a lone cabin.

The cabin was built there in 1859.  William F. Holcomb and Ben Choteau, prospectors from Bear Valley, found gold in 1860 while tracking a bear in the next valley north.  The discovery triggered a gold rush in San Bernardino County and by 1861 “Belleville” (the town named after the first child born in the valley).  However, the boom quickly busted and Belleville was virtually a ghost town by 1864, and literally a ghost town by 1870.  I suspect the folks there got caught up in the drama of the Civil War, which even affected California.

Breakfast consisted of leftover pizza from the night before—Midshipman heated up over the engine.  We ate our pizza and let the warm sun and cold wind confuse and torture our bodies.  Despite the elements being harsh up there, it was invigorating just being exposed to them.  By 10:30 we began the bumpy trek down the mountain.

What a hell of a weekend it had been!

Monday, Day 11, was largely uneventful.  I wrote and I worked on manuscripts, and I made excuses not to go to the gym.  I put a metaphorical gun to my own head and wrote the third dispatch for The Boredom, which was published to the Rants blog later that evening.

I did attend my weekly Civil Air Patrol squadron meeting—the first Monday of the month is always Commander’s Call and awards ceremony.  I took a ton of photos of CAP members just going about their business.

Chartered by Congress, Civil Air Patrol is the U.S. Air Force Auxiliary, a civilian volunteer organization authorized to wear paramilitary uniforms and carry out search-and-rescue and disaster relief missions on behalf of the Air Force.  I’ve been an auxiliary airman for three and a half years, on top of my two years as a military contractor and seven years in the state guard.

I spent the morning of Day 12, Tuesday, editing and preparing the photos from Commander’s Call for uploading to the squadron Facebook fan page.  I spent a few solid hours working on manuscripts and an hour or two slaying orcs on The Lord of the Rings Online.  Good times!  Later that evening I prepared the thirtieth installment of Five Libertarian Ideas for next-day publication on the Rants blog.

Wednesday/Day 13 I went to the gym and worked out like a fiend.  My body and mind equally needed it.  While doing cardio on the machines I started a new book—War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning, by Chris Hedges—as if I needed any more books to read.  I still have a pile I either haven’t started or haven’t finished.  Each and every one is outstanding, and I can’t put either of them down, at least until I find the next one.

That night I linked up with one of my close friends, Aqua Bat.  He’s been a friend since childhood, from Scouting, and we really started hanging out a lot after high school ended.  Aqua Bat is an interesting character.  He’s a new-school stoner with a love for punk and ska music.  His preference for Converse shoes, shorts, and brightly knitted Baja jackets and beanies give him the look of an orphan rescued and raised by a Peruvian flute band.

We drove down into a seedy-looking industrial area of lower Pomona—we were south of Holt Avenue and east of the 71.  Our objective was the VLHS warehouse, an amazing little place tucked away in between shipping warehouses and welding garages, far out of ear shot in its location at this time of night.  It’s the ideal place to hold a concert, throw a party, get wild, you name it!

VLHS—named after the show producer’s high school—is DIY (do-it-yourself) punk at its finest.  As a matter of fact, this is full-on underground punk rock.  There are no permits, no insurance, no mass-posted flyers letting anyone know the shows at this location are approved and open to the public.  There is only a private lease paid in cash between the show producers and the property owner.  The shows are promoted by word of mouth and Facebook, to a very limited extent.

The shows at VLHS are technically illegal.  We don’t care.  For us it’s about freedom of assembly, freedom of expression, and voluntary association.  Spontaneous order happens every night there’s a show at VLHS.  It’s BYOB, and everyone’s either holding a beer can, a bottle of liquor, cigarettes (for your non-drinkers), and the harder stuff people are encouraged to do inside their car or on the other side of the building.

The “donation” is paid at the door, and all participants are aware that this is private property.  Moreover, the DIY punk rockers and supporters here police themselves.  Serious drama involves the cops, and the police typically frown on untaxed, unpermitted, unregulated concerts.  So everyone solves problems between themselves and no drama ensues.

Aqua Bat and I hadn’t been to a VLHS show in nearly a year. It felt good to be back among familiar sounds and familiar faces.  I love punk rock, not just the juxtaposed simplicities and complexities hidden in the chords and lyrics, but for its spirit of rebellion and a determination of individuals not to be ruled.  Not bad for a Wednesday night!

Thursday was a blur—I went to bed late on Wednesday night and paid for it with a late morning.  I shambled off to the gym, got in a decent work out, and reflected on Chris Hedges’ philosophical essays on war.

Day 15, Friday, I spent most of the day fine-tooth combing through some texts on the Vietnam War for a writing project that’s been slowly developing over the last few months. I’m nowhere near ready to announce this, but this project will be one of my proudest scholarly achievements. 

Friday night saw Aqua Bat and I return for another show at VLHS.  Punk rock women are some of the most attractive on the planet.  There’s just something about the way they pull off leather and black without going full Goth  Then their off-beat hair (usually dark with a neon highlight or two), and the whole mysterious persona they wear along with their torn jeans…  Life is good.

Day 16, Saturday was an obnoxiously early start.  It wasn't yet 6 AM as I tore myself away from sleep and started shuffling into my Army Combat Uniform.  I picked up a large jerky stick, a Powerade, and a Red Bull and made the 45-minute commute to the National Guard armory I drill at once a month.

It was December drill, cut short by the usual annual family-friendly barbeque banquet.  The banquet was at noon, so morning-time had a lot of ridiculous standing around.  Whatever.  I was at all the places I needed to be and I got my tasks done.  Better yet, I had time to coach some junior enlisted soldiers about a few career matters involving the uniform.  I find it ironic as hell that the majority of soldiers in the state guard are in their 40s and 50s—it’s Title 32 militia, after all.  Then here I am, 25 years old, outranking dozens of people.  I guess I really have been in 7 years!

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All photos used in this post are the property of the author.

Five Libertarian Ideas #17 - Civil Air Patrol, Boy Scouts, Activism, Cold War

Air Force and Coast Guard Auxiliaries

I've seen conspiratarian blog posts making the Civil Air Patrol and Coast Guard Auxiliary out to look like the Waffen-SS. That couldn't be further from the truth!

Both CAP and CGA are consistent with the non-aggression principle. Though they wear military uniforms and carry out missions on behalf of the military, both organizations are privately funded, relying mostly on member dues and charitable gifts.

Furthermore, they engage not in armed campaigns but in search and rescue operations, disaster relief, local community service, and education. Both organizations are the most benevolent manifestation of the organized militia. -4/27

Boy Scouts of America

Almost time to continue teaching Citizenship in the Community merit badge tonight. The Boy Scouts in my troop will get OUR worldview on civil rights and the true role of government. It's not just about activism; education is just as important. If the fight for liberty takes 20 years, we'll need new, young voters already on our side. -4/30

War in Ukraine

38 people are dead in an arson fire in a trade union building in Odessa in south-central Ukraine. The fire is believed to have been caused by Right Sector radicals but so far that's only speculation. It looks to me as if a greater emergency is being manufactured, and the Russians will use this to justify a full-scale invasion. -5/2

The embargo on Cuba

Wealthy joy riders in Havana; modern cars are rare in Cuba

The embargo on Cuba is damning proof of the futility of sanctions, since Fidel Castro still lives a life of wealth at the expense of the common people. I want to end Communism in Cuba by ending the embargo. I WANT Cuba to be flooded with American capitalism. I want the average Cuban who lives on $15 a month to be overwhelmed by drunk FSU students with fistfuls of money to spend, and realize in one day that Castro bamboozled Cuba for 55 years. -5/4

Liberty Letdowns and Pickups

It's been a privilege being a part of the liberty movement. Some people have chosen to be my brothers and sisters while others in the movement chose to remove me from their lives. They let me down, but the staggering amount of patriots who surround me with warm acceptance is always medicine for the soul. -5/6 

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Civil Air Patrol logo courtesy of CAP and in the public domain. Havana photo by "russavia", used via CC BY 2.0 license and obtained from Wikimedia Commons.