Whiskey in my life

I've heard Whiskey is currently experiencing a popularity boom unlike ever before. It probably has something to do with me coming to enjoy it.

I've always loved whiskey. Long before I ever drank any alcohol. Maybe because it originated in Ireland, I'm not sure. No one in my alcoholic family ever drank whiskey. It was always my default idea of alcohol.

I'm not going to go all wikipedia, or drink expert here, I just want to lay out my opinion on the matter.



The first whole glass of liquor I ever drank was some Jim Beam. I was 21 years old, it was about the end of 2003 and I was in Stockton on leave from the Navy. I had never been drunk before so I told my dad I wanted to see what it was like. He let me drink his Jim Beam, but it was only about a glass and it didn't actually get me drunk. I wouldn't have another sip of alcohol for 2 years.

I love the process of making whiskey. The charred oak barrel aging is actually where most of the flavor comes from, though whiskey is never distilled to pure alcohol, so it retains the flavor of its grain origin as well. Like pretty much everything else on earth, there are hundreds of ways to make it, and many variants. I would like to note one in particular, Bourbon, which I recently learned, is found in almost all major foreign bottles. Scotland, Ireland, Canada, etc? get their barrels from Kentucky (namely Jim Beam) and reuse the barrels, so most Irish, Scotch, and Canadian whiskeys have a certain percentage of Bourbon in them (and it isn't as little as you might think). Now how can you get snooty knowing that?

Coming in usually around 80 proof (40%) whiskey is mid range in the liquors, above the girly drinks, and below the mixers.


I'm going to list here most of the whiskeys I'm rather familiar with, with a snippet of opinion and rating.


Good Whiskey

Glenlivet I drank this for the first time a little over a week ago. Tony got me to go to a boring party in Ukiah, which was a 4 hour drive, I should do a blog about that. In fact, I will. It was the first single malt I've ever had, and it was very fine. It had a burn to it, so It's not as miraculous as I oddly assumed single malts were, in fact, tasting it, let me know single malt doesn't necessarily mean anything at all. I enjoyed it neat and that's about as good as it gets for me and whiskey.


Jameson This may be my second favorite whiskey, purely by its taste. Jameson sure doesn't have what Budweiser calls "drinkability" it has a harsh burn to it, but it does taste and smell very good. It also isn't anywhere near as syrupy as most whiskeys, which makes it easy going down. I like Jameson because it lets me get drunk very quickly. When I was in San Diego I did security for about 8 months. Work started at 5am, and I had no vehicle. So I would go to my ship the night before and sleep there. The thing about not having a car and being stationed on a ship on Coronado is you have to walk a lot. I have literally walked the entire length of Coronado many times. It's over a 20 minute walk to the ship just from the front gate of the base.

So each night before work, around 8-9pm, I would go to my freezer, pull out my bottle of Jameson, and drink straight from the bottle for awhile. Enough to guarantee I was drunk. Then I would begin the long bullshit process of getting to my rack. I had to walk to 5th avenue from my apartment, then I'd get in a cab, ride to the front gate of Coronado and walk to the ship. By the time I got to the ship, I'd be sober again. It took that fucking long. I'd usually be just buzzed enough to sleep soundly, which was important for having to get up at 4 am with 6 hours (max) sleep.




Jim Beam I already said this was my first drink. It was also the only time I ever had Jim Beam. My dad taught me how to drink whiskey correctly, and this alcohol didn't fail, if drunk right, very little burn, decent taste.








Knob Creek This is a premiem Bourbon by Jim Beam. It is 100 proof, so it is exceptionally more alcoholic than most other whiskeys. You can smell it in someone's glass, especially if they've mixed it with soda. I bought one bottle a few weeks ago thinking it would have a premium taste. with 50% alcohol, it is a little much for a sipping whiskey. It has a good flavor, but neat is less enjoyable than mixed with coke.


Mediocre Whiskey


Jack Daniels Oh I know I'm breaking the heart of every frat boy wannabe from the 90s until 2015 with this, but Jack is mediocre, and you know it. That's why you always put it in coke frat boy wannabe. Or you're just a tool. Either way, the stuff has a good flavor, but it actually tastes watered down. I can't explain that.




Johnny Walker Red This is the only Johnny Walker label I've had, so I can't say anything about the better ones. Red is their bottom of the barrel label, their "stuff got mixed in this and we're not sure what, but it's only been aging since you put your swim shorts away for the season so who cares" quality brand. It burns, it smells awful, and it tastes worse. It is possible to drink though. So it stays here in mediocre land.


Absolutely Vile (aka Canadian whiskey that comes in plastic jugs)


Canadian Mist It wasn't until I was long out of the Navy, long out of spending money. Long into retreat and no longer caring about anything but getting drunk, when I decided to purchase this liquor, based on price. Oh good lord. You can buy the shitiest vodka, and you're still somewhat safe for mixing, but this taught me a serious lesson. Whiskey can be offensively bad. This smells like vomit, it tastes like vomit. If you mix it with anything, it can lose alcoholic potency in dilution, but its stink, itsdisgusting flavor will never go away. Let it be a great testament that this shit sat unfinished in my poor kitchen for months before one particularly desparate day I chugged it and had to forcefully prevent myself from blowing it all back up.




Black Velvet After Canadian Mist, I swore to never buy cheap whiskey again. Give the story a few months and Danny comes over to eat drink and be merry. He brings as "gift" a mostly drunk bottle of Black Velvet. It is exactly as bad as Canadian Mist.









Great Whiskey


Chivas Regal This is my absolute favorite. Maybe it's just my subjective good memories of drinking this in foreign lands with my friend Sean (it was his favorite) but Chivas does have a lot going for it. It tastes great. I usually drink it room temperature, neat. I like to smell it first, just sticking my nose in the glass and swirl it around. It is so smooth and delicious, I pour some in my mouth and swish it around and smack it and taste and taste and oh jesus. It's seriously good. If you can't imagine a whiskey so smooth that you can drink it this way, you haven't had any good whiskey.

Department of Homeland Security and Mafia Wars

I got drunk last night and started applying for federal jobs. I'm usually more outgoing and motivated when I'm drunk, but this was a first. One of the jobs I applied for was Bond Specialist for the Department of Homeland Security. I blame the usajobs.gov website primarily. They have these simplistic brief job descriptions and then when I get to the meat and potatoes of the application I realize I'm completely unqualified. But at that point I don't care, and I complete the application anyway. I did this a couple times. One of them really tricked me. It was a job for the park service, tending historic maritime museums and/or locations in San Francisco. The entire job description made it seem like they wanted an intelligent well versed historian and orator. I could pull that off in spades. But as soon as I start the real application I'm bombarded with carpentry questions. Asking if I know how to build an exhibit? What the hell? The Federal Government is obnoxiously inefficient. How are real people supposed to get jobs from them? They can't obviously. But maybe that's the point.

At the begining of each job application it asked me if I was a "dislocated Federal employee". Does the Federal Government really have roving bands of employees that remain "employed" despite NOT HAVING JOBS? I want that job. I want some politician to decide my office shouldn't exist, shut me down, but for me to continue to receive pay from the government.

I've seen all these sweet useless jobs that I know must have required mountains of cock sucking to acquire. These awesome obscure jobs that just make my mouth water. A job that has no boss, only a duty. A job that I could excel at. Where I set my own schedule, and I run the place better than any other. Oh god. I saw it so much in the Navy. I saw how it worked. It's all a favoritism thing. It's disgusting. It's Atlas Shrugged shit. But I don't want the job to look good, I want the job because for once it will be something I can fix. Nearly the entire time I worked for the Navy I thought up ways of making things better, more efficient, more productive, more morally conscious, more enticing, more effective. But knowing how to make things better means nothing when all the people who have the jobs that can make differences are complete asshole douchebag morons. So many times I found myself in offices where I wasn't welcome, trying to pry a little bit of support from people whose sole job description was "supporting the fleet". Supposed experts, that when I turned to them in my hour of need would either a. blow me off, or b. start harassing me about shit that's neither hither nor thither. Entire buildings devoted to people who have the easiest cakiest taxpayer wastiest jobs just laughing and prancing. And when I step in for a fucking washer, a washer! I get nothing but crap. So many times, so many stories. I always wanted to make a difference in the military. I really wanted to have the freedom to fix things. But I was never afforded the opportunity. Only to maintain where they set the bar.

Every time I'd hear a Captain or an Admiril talk about how great the Navy is and how much we mean to them I'd fucking get all tear eyed and God bless America-y but around the literally thousandth time I'd be sweeping the same fucking floor, or wiping down the same clean bulkhead while forsaking actual necessary tasks I stopped caring, one way or the other, how things turn out. The people who work on shore to do nothing but process a couple requests and maybe stamp some products get paid premiums just for having to be on land in the locations I was forced to live at sea, and I received no such premium. Do you hear me? In some cicumstances people with the exact same job title and paygrade as me were paid $800 a month more to do less work and never go to sea. And fuck me if I should mention that military pay is a joke compared to Federal Civillian employee pay.

All I've ever wanted was to do something that I could feel proud to do. And there have been instances where it happened. And those were the best days of my life. But they make it hard. They certainly do. They make those times few and far between.

Sometimes I think only a government job could satisfy my thirst. But the bitter taste is still in my mouth. I started doing full days of manual labor at below minimum wage when I was 13. Don't even fucking start with me on an "honest hard days work" I was doing tedious manual fucking heat stroking finger bleeding clothes ruining back breaking work for years before I was in high school, or even legally allowed to. That's why I'm already half way to retirement as far as the Social Security Administration is concerned. I'm just tired of it. I don't think I'm too good for it, hell I've never turned a shitty paying time wasting labor job down, and I did plenty of manual labor in the Navy, I if I just want more. More. My brain needs more. And I can't have it. There's no purpose for me. I'm obviously not meant to ever have love or kindness around me. Even the deepest ditch digger can get a fucking girlfriend. No, I'm not meant to be happy. But satisfied would be enough. If I could just do SOMETHING that would make things better for people, then I would feel satisfied. Everything good I did in the Navy was made evil or nullified. I need something pure. I need something to mold.

As I spend a few minutes a day playing the meaningless void of a game called Mafia Wars here on Myspace, I think about who came up with it, and how much money it has made them. I think about how much it has boosted Myspace in the process. Such a sweeping change, so much, from so very little.

The Federal Government thinks they're too good for me (as most people do). They don't even have the decency to put up real information on their own hiring pages. Because they know exactly where they will hire from. There's an endless supply of happenstance soulless cocksuckers who are of a higher caste than me. They are born with money and friends and they will phone in their whole life. They will simply tell a friend, and the job will no longer be open. And when some poor bastard hard working scum employee lower than them walks in for a little help, they will fucking shit all over them.

It's all set in place. There is no free enterprise here. There is no capitalism in America anymore. There is no concept of individualism among the majority. Every viable political candidate must be a mouth. A product. And nothing more. Just like in Pink Floyd's "The Wall" That is America now. I have watched as the hearts and souls of thousands of individuals greater than I will ever be get crushed like dead leaves under the tanks of this system. What the fuck else can I hope for but a job working for the system and setting my own hours? Nothing sir. There is nothing more.

Going Back

I walk across the base. All my money is being sucked down a drain in Stockton, so I can't drive. I want to spend more time at home, so I don't ride my bike. 20,000+ people live and/ or work on this base everyday, but I am the only one who walks out the gate. I am the only one without a car or a boyfriend.



After several miles I am out. Walking into a rich neighborhood. I walk the busy road, alone. The cars tearing past don't know this neighborhood. I know this neighborhood, its past, its present, and its lives. I have walked every street. I have been to museum, the library, and the parks. I have read books; I have drunk with the locals. I have eaten all they offered. I have lain on their beach. I have been in the hotels and motels and dreamed of living out my days there. I walk this familiar neighborhood alone. I have corrected a taxi driver who thought the land owned by the Spanish decedents, because those were his primary customers. I explained to him that Coronado was built by 2 Americans. The Spanish and Mexicans had never used the land but for hunting jack rabbits. Jack rabbits that still control the night in North Island Jack rabbits that only I ever see. I the only one of 20,000 to walk the fields in the dark of the morning hours returning from ever fruitless efforts to obtain even the remotest human contacts, failing even the remotest rudimentary means of pleasure and satisfaction. I explained to the cabbie that those with money, do not ride cabs. I ride cabs, the Mexican servants he drives around may be dressed sharply, but only as a living. I walk the road until I come to the bus stop.



It has now been over an hour since I got off work. The sun is setting. It is past 7. I sit on the bench waiting to pay $2.25. The cheapest I can pay without going it on my own. The cheapest I can pay and return home before late night. I once rode the distance. The ferry that ever eludes teased me and I sought vengeance. I kept riding. I rode off the base. I rode the peninsula. Cars screamed past me at 70 miles and hour, and I rode in the dirt next to restricted areas for miles with no place to stop. One long strip of dirt and cars. I kept riding. Until the bay turned to piles of salt, salt several feet deep as far as I could see in that direction. In another, Mexico; if not by name than by all other means. I kept riding past the highways up the hill and down again, for miles through cities I had never seen before. I moved until in the depths of the barrio I could see tall buildings on the horizon. I rode until I was home. But I have no bike now. I could try to take the ferry. It is about a dollar more, but it is more consistent. The bus comes rarely.

.. ..

I sit and wait for the bus. On the bench I see the same faces. I see them everyday, and they see me. They look at me, knowingly. They know I do not belong. I listen to my iPod. I play games on my phone. Music that helps me avoid the silence of loneliness. Terrible overpriced under-programmed games on a phone just to look like I have something to do with a phone.

.. ..

Sometime in the evening a bus arrives. I get on and hope to have a seat. I have been awake for about 16 hours now, and 12 of them I was on watch wearing a gun and a bullet proof vest. The people on this bus are always different and new. I find I hear a new language being spoken each time. Korean, Japanese, German, Spanish, some kind of north European language I couldn't identify. I don't know why these people are on this bus. I don't know where they spent their day. I ride it over the bridge and into the city. It takes the barrio path to 12th. I get off surrounded by bums and tourists and cops. I am across the street from the ball park. I am a block from the convention center. I walk away from that and up the street. There are homeless masses in the streets and on the grass and in the alleys. Every time I wonder my fate, but only in passing. Up I walk past the half way homes and low cost housing and retirement home. At Albertsons I stop and purchase alcohol. I purchase food, and drink. Usually a jar of that Pom tea, usually a pizza, usually some meat and various TV dinners. I ride the elevator up to my room. The weight of my purchases tearing into my hands. I quickly enter my apartment. It is now around 8pm. I put on the TV, I turn up the AC, I make up some food and I drink. I drink. I drink until I am no longer coherent. Then I get in bed and sleep for a long time. Eventually I wake. Eventually I move around, eat, go out, drink, and make the day. Eventually. But soon that is over and I must return to work. I want to spend as much time as I can at home, so I don't ride my bike. I wait until it is 7 or 8 I start chugging whiskey straight out of the bottle for awhile, and then I walk to 5th avenue I live on 14th so this isn't too far. Eventually there is a taxi. I pay to have them drop me off at the gate, and I walk across the base.

.. ..

This was 8 months of my life. Save the girl, I did not.

Crimes and Obligations

I am now unemployed. I am running out of money fast. I am now like a normal person I suppose. I have unpaid tickets, I'm just going to assume there are warrants out on me. I'm still very much living in an apartment I've already paid to leave. In fact I paid more money to buy out my lease than I even have left. There's this one me that knows all this, and he doesn't care. There's the other side of me who is playing video games all day and is thinking about 3 things showers, food, and sleep. I've almost beat Suikoden 4. I've had the game for about 4 years and I've finally gotten around to playing it. I used a walkthrough so I could get all 108 stars of destiny.

This last year was the easiest of my career. But maybe only because I remained aloof. When I left Japan, I left a place that was painful and challenging for me, but it was real, it was life, and it wasn't all bad, I had people well, if you've read my blogs from back then. Anyway.

This is what I strived for, and this is what I got. Mediocrity.

I'm thinking about this life I'm tailoring for myself. I'll take full time classes at Delta College, I might be on unemployment, or some part time job. I'll be staying in my father's house. In a room previously occupied by my brother, until he was kicked out. I shouldn't be there for too long, convenience will fall to sanity. My relationship with my father is much better when we are not actually within shouting distance.

I will take classes, I will work, and I will watch tv. That's it. My understanding of the world, my ability to reason and develop and problem solve, my experience, I will abandon this. I can't imagine ever telling anyone that I ever served except on a resume. I can't imagine ever admitting to people that I've left Stockton. I'll just say I had this or that job. Hell I could just say I apprenticed as an electrician, didn't like it, and leave it at that.

I can never be accepted by Americans. I will always be repulsive, and a freak. I can at least pretend to be normal again. No more globe bouncing, late nights in long seas leaning against various war machines speaking casually about every little detail of every aspect of life. Now is the time for discretion. Time to casually stand by and watch all the beautiful people steal everything from me and keep me in their pen with promise of a gift. The gift of being a stone in a pyramid. I can rest now. Rest in my mind and complain about this or that while everything every decent man has ever worked for is used to further destroy everything every decent man ever valued. Come along mediocrity. Sell me out.

Bush

On the eve of my departure to the harsh wastelands of Northern Illinois as my father drove me to my fated life, we listened to Mr. Bush give his first State of the Union speech, it was full of promise about how we will get the terrorists in Afghanistan and begin our War on Terror. I was fresh and young, I still had college thoughts in me, bike rides, swimming, great shape, great friends. I was motivated and ready to help fight for America.

6 years later, tonight, on the eve of my departure from the Navy, Mr. Bush once again speaks of Afghan Terrorists and more. It has become much worse. I am leaving the Navy a failure. Unable to stop terrorists. My greatest triumphs slammed in my face by my superiors as my greatest defeats. I have been shamed, humiliated, and left broken and alone. These 6 years have taken nearly everything from me. I could not listen to tonight's speech, because I am so disgusted by this government. I had lost all faith in it, save this trumpeting of my dead soul in the form of Ron Paul, but this too seems fleeting and expensive.

I won't go home tomorrow. I will simply try to get some rest. I've been sick for days, and I haven't slept right in weeks. I haven't felt alive in years.

Guns and guns and guns and bullets

I shot the M240G a few days ago at Camp Pendleton. It's a belt fed machine gun. I was really almost excited to do it. Not many people in America are even legally able to have that experience. I yelled out "Get some!" as I poured the bullets into an old car about 500 yards away. I'm going to shoot the M9 pistol tomorrow. I've already qualified "Expert" on it twice. You can't get a higher rating for shooting. I'm really good at shooting yep. Though my time in the Navy has never involved a need to shoot anything other than inanimate objects.

On October 1 I go to SRF A school. I will run around with real guns shooting quite painful simrounds at mock terrorists. I will be running around getting shot by painful simrounds by mock terrorists. The instructors are all war vets. It may be a lot of fun.



I think maybe if I make it out of this, I might enjoy to some extent reading these blogs that I write. Most of them while trashed. I don't look anywhere anymore.

North Island Jack Rabbit

Back before North Island was a military base, the only reason people came to North Island was to hunt Jack Rabbits. Funny thing is, they're still here. I see them every night. Dozens of them. Just this night I chased about 6 or 7 of them around a baseball field. I can see their underground lairs everywhere, the entrances leave huge piles of uprooted grass and dirt. They only come out at night, which may be a local adaptation to avoid humans and cars, as I've seen plenty of Jack Rabbits out in the day in other parts of California. I seem to be the only person who knows about these rabbits. The simple reason being, I'm the only loser on this fucking base who has to come back to the ship on a nightly basis and whose only means of transportation are his legs. I might catch one of these beasts to have it studied, or eaten, or both. I think others might be interested. Jack Rabbits used to exist all over Coronado, I know this because there's a story that the reason Orange Avenue doesn't have any Orange trees on it is because the Jack Rabbits dug up the roots. There's still Olives on Olive, and Palms on Palm, but no Oranges on Orange. I've been out on Coronado at night and I haven't even seen a hint of Jack Rabbits. The North Island Jack Rabbits are smaller than the typical California Jack. I've stood next to Jack Rabbits whose ears went above my waist. Whereas the NI Jacks look like little bunnies until you get close enough to see the distiguishing characteristics (long feet, ridiculously large hind legs and long pointed ears.) Once I get a decent camera I'll get some photos.My last camera didn't seem to make my trip to San Diego from the north.

Time

I went ice skating yesterday. I'm still sore and wobbly. I push it to the limit! Though some fucks through my book onto the ground, and the ground was all wet so my Ayn Rand was damaged. I think its awe ing to think about the world the way it really is. That most human minds are kept in bondage. Bondage by all the bullshit philosophies.

You know why Hotmail sucks? Because MSN bought it (this was a while ago), and fucking threw it in their big bag of shit they own. Why do I have to write "@hotmail.com" when I'm already there? Why do I have 120 emails in my inbox, and nothing worth opening? Because fuck Hotmail.

You know why sports suck? Because the players get paid millions to kind of go at each other. The rules just keep getting pussyier and pussyier. You'd think in this supply and demand World I could see a guy get injured for life making $23000 a year.



Out of time

That's why the Navy sucks.

7 Minutes

I will stop at 1035.

I am now resurfacing oh I wish. As the time counts down and the problems remain the tension builds. I am not quite feeling it intensely enough, I only think about it almost all day. There is too much. In this week I will have received a medal higher than any medal I've ever received and I'll probably get the Warfare qualification they've been torturing me to get. None of it makes me happy. I'm numb to any kind of positive aspects. I'm completely on the defensive now. Now is the time. I hold my shield close and I run in swinging. Those strong enough to not get cut down by me will stay close. Those I fell will never know. I will die, or my enemies will. I am an extremeist I know.

waiting waiting acting failing. Only NOW? I get close now? No. This is bullshit. Where am I going? She haunts me. It's like she knows and is hovering like a vulture. Waiting for me to pass. FUCK YOU MEGAN. YOU HAVE ALREADY FORGOTTEN ME. YOU WILL NEVER REMEMBER WHAT I MEANT TO YOU. WHAT YOU FELT. I have to. It's all I have. You can block it out. Your life is easy like that. You so happily kill everything that was good. Fuck my time's up/

My Mother's Funeral

I cried uncontrollably for about 20 or thirty minutes after reading a message from my sister that my Mother had died. The people on the ship were great about getting me on emergency leave. I flew into Oakland, got picked up by my Father and had him take me to my sister in South San Francisco. I went into the living room of a house I used to live in and hugged her awake. I then had her ride with me. We ate lunch at Bay Pastry, a Dim Sum restaurant in San Francisco we'd always go to after school, then went back to Stockton.

I rented a car that day with my Grandma, I don't really need her anymore to get the car, but she's always gone with me to get one.

I wore my uniform to my Mother's funeral. It was in the Castro district of San Francisco. That's the gay center of San Francisco if you didn't know. I only got one "Hey Sailor" which was enough. At her funeral I got trapped looking at her. I hadn't seen her in so long, and in the days prior I had avoided thinking about it. Looking at my dead Mom I couldn't hold myself together. My sister came up and hugged me and I talked to her up there for about ten minutes. I met a lot of people I didn't know, and some I hadn't seen in a long time. There I met a very aware and interesting little girl, my youngest cousin, Tara Dillon. I so wanted to spend more time with them all. I am very glad that I am going back in October.

When I was at my Uncle's I got to ride his $5000 road bike. I took a path along the American River all the way up to Folsom Prison. On the way I passed up some old guy, he managed to catch up with me later. Rather than face humiliation I turned off onto a foot bridge that leads into Folsom City. He followed me, but I had stopped on the bridge. He stopped too. I noticed some really cool rocks in the river, so I went down to see them. My Uncle John had told me to keep the bike close to me no matter what, so I carried it on my back down the rocky bank. It was about 20 feet down. I was wearing those bicycle shoes that lock into the pedals and they have no tread. I made it to the bottom and walked out onto the rocks. They were boulder sized and flowed into the river. I was able to stand on one that was surrounded by water that was at least ten feet deep. They were very slippery from the algae. The water was freezing my barefeet. I only had to take two steps to get back to the bank and I managed to slip on the second one. I didn't get too wet, or ruin my 4th iPod. Then I went back in the other direction so that old bastard wasn't on my trail. There were nothing but old people out biking then, my Unlce pointed out that its probably because the time of day I was out there most people have jobs.

Michael and his wife: I left Carmichael, slept at my Dad's house, then went to see Michael when I woke up. I was kinda late in leaving so I was going a good 90 MPH when I got pulled over. Somewhere halfway down the San Joaquin Valley I got a ticket, my first ever! Michael and his wife, mmmhmm, ok I think its cute that they are physically incapable of not making out every 3 to 5 minutes. BUUUUT I don't need to be there. Michael and I went to the Charger's Stadium where they were setting up for the Street Scene concert. we walked right in, me in my fine atire, to look for three people spending time in a porta-potty trying to get tickets to the concert. I couldn't even remember what radio station was doing it, and there were way too many porta-pottys. So days earlier I had only one shirt, a shirt I got in Guam. I bought another at Ross in Stockton. It was a little too small for me, but it was cool, a ratty old brown "Red Stripe" beer shirt that read "Stubby and proud of it" I wore that for about 5 days striaght, including while at my Unlce's so I took advantage of Mission Valley shopping and went to all the malls I went to back in '04 during the brief period I was stationed there. I bought some really fine clothing. I was a total pimp with a bad ass hat. I tried to tell them. We went to dinner and the "seating" girl said she really liked my hat. Michael's wife Allison said she was just being nice, and that my response to the girl, "Hell yeah!", was inapropriate. I told her she was wrong. That she can get as preachy as she wants but I wasn't the one getting all drunk and high when I was 15. That's cause I am a fucking douche, and I say those things to my best friend's wifes. Perhaps I didn't say it so harshly but when we were leaving and the "seating" girl once again said how awesome my hat was, I rubbed in Allison's face for a good twenty minutes. She's a great person by the way. If anything goes wrong with their relationship, I'm going to blame Michael. I think about how cool Allison is, and I pretty much lose all hope of ever having a good relationship. I certainly don't deserve a woman like that.

Winding down. There is so much unresolved. My Mother's boyfriend is all fucked up. My sister is all fucked up on her own. We have to deal with a house, some insurance, and a business. I left all that. I came back to Japan. Now I have unresolved issues in two countries.

I don't know what the hell is going on right now. I am seriously engulfed in something. Hearing Caitlin say "Columbian Woman", watching Michael and his life. Seeing my sister fighting, clinging to what isn't. My life. Jesus. What have I done?

Josho vs. Rum

Perception. Your eyes lie to you. How's that for a begining? Rationality has to be founded on one's perception, but what we perceive isn't exactly right to begin with. It's the butterfly effect and the stampede is me at a picnic seeing Ian alone and quiet. It's seeing her. When I see her I don't see a person, I see issues. I see an unresolvable conflict. These perceptions. So Sean show me a nice way to enjoy rum with Sprite. I had about 4 glasses, then decided I wasn't nearly drunk enough. So I slammed the bottle, literaly I chiped a tooth doing it. I just kept drinking it. I drank it like water. I drank it empty. I hoped it would kill me. I still wasn't drunk enough because it hadn't hit me yet. I hoped I'd at least pass out. I grabbed a beer and drank that too. Then I played some Weezer and did the dishes. I went to bed around 9:30. At some point in the night I found myself opening the door to my other bedroom. I don't know why or how I was there. Sean asks me if I'm ok, I say I'm really drunk, he says "Yeah I saw wht you did to that bottle." I go back to bed, and notice two huge piles of vomit on my bed. I sleep until 5:30 a.m. and get up for duty. I'm still drunk, I tell Sean about it. I shave drunk, I clean up the vomit, mostly. I notice at some point in the night I had gone downstairs grabbed my iPod and took it back to my room and recharged it. Aparantly I'm a very productive drunk. I tell Sean not to go into my room, he says that the only time he'd ever been in there was the night before to make sure I wouldn't choke on my own vomit in my sleep. I tell him I don't care if he goes in my room, but it's mass casualty in there.

I drunk bike to the base. At the main gate I get paranoid, I stop ten feet from the gaurd and try to get my ID card out of my pocket. I look at him, and I'm sure he knows. He says, "You dropped your money." I loudly say;

"Yeah it's just a Yen." I reach down and pick it up. I think he knows now for sure, because I should have said 'one Yen' not 'a Yen' or maybe 'a Yenny' if I were hip. I go through and drunk bike to my boat. I see the gate gaurds and I'm sure they know, but we don't talk. I get to the ship and I'm sure the OOD knows, but he says nothing. I drunk iron my uniform, because I had remembered to bring it. Then I go to muster, and afterwards I sleep most of the day. I have a dream that two guys, Misty Stokes, and I are burglars (only two of you could possibly know who she is, to you I say, I haven't a clue why, I never dreamed about her before).

It was more than 15 hours before I started feeling sober again, more than 24 before I stopped feeling sick. The whole time I was drinking I was thinking about Sasebo, Kagoshima, Hong Kong, her. I thoroughly distorted my perception, just for a momentary release from this hold on my soul.

Steal the show, and don't follow through

I went with Ian to Sakuragicho, the McDonald's was located at the end of one of the most beautiful night time walkways I have ever seen. You walk along a wooden bridge over a lake surrounded by life. The tallest building, the ferris wheel, the masted ship, lights and buildings, and music and dancing until you reach an impressive mall. This was the second McDonald's I've been to in Yokohama that had unique and amazing architecture. The other one is on the other side by "Jack" Mall. The girl we had quested for was learning the register. I got a Teriyaki McBurger and a Coke. She wasn't "hot" as Ian had said, I don't think. She looked 14. I'm not really down with that. I know she was 19, but numbers aren't so important to me. Ian says nothing, I say nothing. We sit and eat. Next to us are 4 really cute obviously rebelious America loving high school girls. 3 of them had their hair bleached to as blond as black can get. Two had extensive peircings. They were all dressed in what American's would call "punk" not the dark Goth style, but the frayed anti color coordination style. Seeing as how neither Ian nor I were to talk to this girl we had quested for, I chose to shamelessly hit on these girls.

I didn't have to do much. My skin color gave me instant celebrity status with these girls, and with Ian's help, I actually managed to understand them a bit. They all used fake American names, Lisa was really Mari, Michelle had some incomprehensibly hard to pronounce name. Anyway, it is always nice to have 4 hot high school girls paying absolute attention to you, and laugh hysterically in joyous exhaltation. I had no intention of a follow through. One of them said she wished she could see me again, I ignored it. Another asked if I would remember their names, I remembered Lisa, and Michelle, then made fun of them, "Ahh, Anata wa Amerikajin desu." ( Ahh, you are Americans) they loved that. It was like when Dave Chapelle did that skit where the blind black guy thought the ghetto white kids were black. Anyway. Every guy I have told this story to told me I should have gotten their numbers, or given mine. Ian made a good point though, if I had met them again, there is really very few legal things I could do with them. I wouldn't understand them, and they wouldn't understand me, so it would break down to me buying them liquer and fucking them, they were like 16, so no thank you. These girls had enough issues, let them be cute American posers without some douchebag American sailor contributing. Though the prospect is intriguing. I must say. So there. I turned down 4 cute Japanese girls in one night. I think that gives me free reign to tell you I am capable of moral conviction. That this isn't a issue of oportunity. These girls wanted to party, it was 9:30 on a Monday, and they wanted an excuse to not go home.

Ohh, hmm. Now if that girl behind the counter were all cute and punked out, I'd have been all over her. 19 is slightly different than 16ish. hmm. You know you're judging me. Judge away.

How I feel

Sliding on my ass at the bottom of a snowy hill, the fun is over, but the ride hasn't stopped. Waking up after 2 hours of sleep, and spending an entire day sitting around. Wasting an entire day playing video games that I've already beaten. Standing watch. Red streaks of silk flash by and a sword enters my stomach, but it is just a dream and I move on and never remember it. I was 4 years old and he hit me in the head with a pipe. I was 12 and I stood in a field, a boy told me she had a crush on me. I have stood on a cliff facing the wrong direction. Sunday morning. Every day of December. After 4 ejaculations, and 5 hours of sexual activity, all the while thinking. Watching a opossum die on the side of a road, only 5 minutes into a two hour bike ride. The rear bumper of my Grandmother's Ford. Greyhound station at anytime of the day except 9:45 pm. Stale Dorritos out of a freshly opened bag. The same t-shirt, 4 days in a row. Never at the beach. Never in the forest. Never on a mountain. Never by a river. Swenson Park, on a weekday. My Mesquite tree. Recess after 5th grade.



I want to apologize to someone I shouldn't forgive. I want to leave someone I should kiss. I sit on a pedastal I made them build, if I stand, I will be higher than them, but I am content. I am so out of sorts, this is truly the closest I can come to speaking about how I feel.

On the 7th Week, Josho Rested

My fan base consists of only two people, the girl I loved, and the boy she loves. How's that for a kick in the nuts? I just set the filter to friends only and neither of them will read this. The girl I loved can't read this anymore, because she is a slutty alcoholic piece of shit, and the Navy recognizes this. The boy she loves is obsessed with me because he is a fucking moron. Here is a song I wrote after having to spend 5 hours with Boozy McDrunk Bitch.



Sunshine and Sparkles



I fell in love, and she fell apart. She's passed out, and I've a broken heart.

My sister sells Meth, my brother's a drunk. My Dad did coke, and my Mom tried to kill me.

Demo, ii desu, daijabu. I have a woman I can do anything to.

My friends are in jail, I quit my job. I'm being blackmailed, and I've become a slob.

Demo, ii desu, daijabu. I have a woman I can do anything to.

6 weeks straight of drunken debauchery. The edge has curved. I have fallen, I have risen, I will come all over my Thai woman.

BeruBot is on TV, he demands I drink more Asahi.

Demo, ii desu, daijabu. I have a woman I can do anything to.

BeeruBot ga hoshi desu

I had almost the perfect day today. I had the 2-7, I got to regale legends of the sea with a man from Saipan. This was fun because he told me he was from Sacramento, then asked me about Saipan. After about 5 minutes of shit talking the dirty little island, he told me where he grew up. So I asked him what "Hafa adai" meant, he said it was "welcome", but I have been pronouncing it wrong. It is supposed to be pronounced like you are saying "Half a day". Then I was free, I gave Tony the Playboy Masion game book so he could get the music. Then I went with Sean to my place and watched Jack Bauer stomp everyone's shit. I left it off where he finally killed the woman who killed his wife. Then I went to Tokyo and made sweet love to my woman. We watched Blade Trinity and I started acting like a vampire, biting her and the such, I thought it was cute. After we were all done, we watched Japan stomp Korea's shit in baseball, just like Japan had rocked China's world a couple days ago. Thats when I saw it... The Asahi BeeruBot. He fucking whips out a cold one, breaks it open and pours a glass. I told Ai that I wanted the BeeruBot. She laughed and asked me why, I dont even drink beer, I told her I could substitute with Coke. I dont understand enough Nihongo to figure out how to get one from the commercial, so I asked Ai, How do I get a BeerBot? This paused her on two fronts, first she didnt know how the word "how" was being used, and second, I had to explain the concept of calling some plastic thing I saw on a commercial a BeeruBot. Yeah good times. I ate some pork and curry for dinner at the Shinagawa eki and I got back to Yoko about 9:30.

Last

My last day in Hong Kong
I don't think I'll be going back. Not in the Navy anyway. My last day in Hong Kong I was on duty, I had shore patrol, and I wrote the previous post. Our SP group consisted of Ens. Kirk, STG2 Schlittler, OS1 Means, and me. We were supposed to be out from 1700-0200. We didn't get off the fleet landing until 1830. A quick walk through Wan Chai showed that there were no sailors getting plastered just yet, so we went to a restaurant in a little district I never heard of, Lan Kwai something. Anyway we sat around for an hour listening to a couple drunk Limeys talk about business. At about 2000 we went back to the "Wanch" as alcohol swilling sailors who love Yokos "Honch" district called it. We went into a strip club that claims to be the first in Hong Kong, and was featured in the James Bond movie "The Man With The Golden Gun." The owner said it was closed until he realized we were Navy and wanted to know when our ship was leaving, apparently he thought we were already gone and he had let his strippers go for the evening. Next we went to a horribly noisy night club called Neptune II Disco Club. They played mostly Lil Jon, and their in house band stank it up every hour or so. Ms. Kirk decided we would post here, and she went to sleep. I got bored and started talking to the people at the bar. I met a man who used to be an EM in the Navy and he was there with his wife and daughter. He kept trying to offer up his daughter to me, and pondering about my drinking only Coke unitl he realized I was on duty and such shenanigans were for another night. Another guy I talked to was from Stockton! He said he owned a restaurant on March in the Venitian Plaza back in '83. He pointed out that the whores that filled this club were all hot and weren't frowned upon because everyone around here is Buddhist. They figure things are the way they are and that's that, whether the girl next to you is a prostitute or a bartender doesn't matter. I hadn't realized all the women there were prostitutes, but I knew some had to be, you just don't get rows of beautiful women standing around for hours doing nothing any other way.One by one the prostitutes got picked up by well dressed older men, they danced and drank. We just sat there. We left around midnight and checked out the other bars, all the sailors had left if they had been there at all. Normally there would be most of the ship getting drunk at Joe Bannanas but this was the last day and E-5 and below had to be back onboard by 0100. We did manage to find a group of Junior officers who were quite trashed, they were all in a festive mood, festive enough for STG2 to get several entertaining photographs. My favorite line from one of the JO's ramblings was "That Ensign Areola chick really knows how to grind." They apparently weren't done partying so we all went back to Neptune. Shore Patrol stood around and watched them dance. I was in the back just aching to go to bed and some prostitute thought I needed attention, so she grabbed me by my cheeks and made me smile. Of course the smile didn't last, even if I did find standing around watching drunk sailors dance entertaining, I was more sleepy than could be countered. This didn't deter her and she kept whispering stuff into my ear. She even tried to get me to drink her liquer, not my own glass, her mostly drunk one. She aimed the strw at my mouth and had me against the wall, so I obliged. It was so watered down it makes me believe she was more of a "Buy me a drink girl." Maybe the club gives watered down drinks to the prostitutes and rips off the guys buying the drinks, I guess it makes sense, that way the prostitiutes are welcome to hang out in the club to pick up men, the guys can act like they are picking up real women, and just getting lucky, and the club makes lots of money from this. Around 0130 we left and went back to the ship.

How to Ruin North Korea

How to Ruin North Korea




History

Many historians believe the reason the Japanese surrendered wasn’t because the U.S. nuked them, but because the Russians were about to invade.



The Japanese knew exactly what would have happened if the Russians took over. They had seen what happened in Europe, they had seen what the Russians did to the Koreans, the Koreans weren’t even the Russians enemies and tales of mass murder and raping and pillaging made its way across the sea.



The Russians weren’t the only ones fighting in East Asia, and America got its piece of the Korean pie too. So began the salvation of the South, and the destruction of the North.



Stalin took a liking to Kim IL Sung. They went to parties, drank vodka, killed people, Stalin was the master, Kim the apprentice. When Stalin finally released Kim into the North, it was with the knowledge that Kim would re-unite Korea under the Red Flag.



Relying heavily on Russian and Chinese money, goods, weapons, military, and man power, the North Koreans tried to fulfill their greatest goal, enslaving all the people in the Land of the Morning Calm. America stepped in and General McArthur stomped the North with a powerful push from Pusan and an amphibious incursion into Inchon. McArthur spilled the gut of Kim’s force, and then pushed north until North Korea was defeated. Alas this was a war for Socialism, and the Chinese and Russians pushed back.



Despite America’s great military prowess, her politics are that of a beaten dog and when McArthur said, ‘Let’s go to China’, America said, ‘No let’s just puss out instead.’



So the ground they had gained was lost for fear of hurting the Chinese government’s feelings.



Pussy whipped, the liberating force became the defensive force and fell back to the south. There the frontline stayed.



Today North Korea is an exemplary Socialist state achieving the greatest level a Socialist country can have, utter poverty, and barely maintaining life only through massive amounts of donations from Russia, China, and quite sacrificially, South Korea and the U.S.



Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime, unless the man is a Socialist, in which case he’ll proceed to keep asking for more fish.



I have a solution, to ruin this great Democratic People’s Republic of Korea without firing a single shot. Send in the Mexicans.



“I will not initiate the use of force”



Of course the US military could annihilate North Korea in a day, well two days, one to get there, the other to do the whole “taking over”. Here is a plausible log of this hypothetical day;



0700 FIRST CONTACT WITH NORTH KOREAN PATROL BOAT.

0701 DPRK SONG-JU PATROL BOAT SUNK.

0706 SIX FISHING BOATS WITH BOW MOUNTED MACHINE GUNS DO

SUICIDE RUNS ON THE USS JOHN S. MCCAIN.

0715 SIX FISHING BOATS SUNK.

0720 DPRK FRIGATES, NAJIN AND SOHO ALONG WITH ROMEO AND

WHISKEY SUBS DISEMBARK FROM THEIR PORTS.

0725 MIG-29S AND SU-7S TAKE OFF.

0745 THE FRIGATES AND SUBS THAT DIDN’T SINK FROM RUST HOLES

GET SWISS CHEESED BY CCSG5.

0750 USS KITTY HAWK SINKS (OPERATOR ERROR).

0800- 1000 F/A 18S OFF THE NIMITZ LAY WASTE TO PYONGYANG AS

WELL AS GROUND RADAR FACILITIES AND COMMUNICATIONS

SITES.

0900-1500 AIR FORCE BOMBERS FROM OSAN TURN EVERY DPRK

MILITARY INSTILATION INTO GLASS PARKING LOTS.

1545 CARRIER PIGEON FROM KIM JONG IL REACHES HIDDEN NUCLEAR

SILO.

1630 2 TAEPODONG IS, AND 1 TAEPODONG II LAUNCH.

1700* THE FIRST TAEPODONG I IRONICALLY DESTROYS THE

RUSSIAN /REDLIGHT DISTRICT OF PUSAN, BUT FAILS TO

DETONATE ITS NUCLEAR PAYLOAD

1710 SECOND TAEPODONG I FROM ITS COURSE AND SINKS A

CHINESE SUB THAT WAS SPYING ON JAPAN.

1655* THE TAEPODONG II INTENDED FOR TOKYO WAS PROGRAMMED

BY A KIDNAPPED JAPANESE SCIENTIST. IT PROMPTLY AND

QUITE SUCCESSFULLY OBLITERATED THE ONLY OTHER SILO IN

NORTH KOREA.

1900 THE LOCAL POLICE FORCES SHOOT ARROWS FROM BOWS AT THE

ARRIVING TANKS.

2000 THE MIGS AND SU-7S (WITHOUT FUNCTIONING RADARS)

FINALLY LOCATE THE STRIKE GROUP AND TRY TO LAUNCH STYX

MISSILES HALF THE MISSILES DETONATE BEFORE THEY

LAUNCH, THE OTHER HALF ARE DEFEATED WITH CONFETTI,

CONFETTI BLOWING IN THE WIND FROM A MILLION HAPPY

KOREANS.

2100 KIM JONG IL FLEES TO RUSSIA.

2200 KOREA IS ONE.



Of course none of this would happen because American politics wouldn’t allow it. This is why I propose ruining North Korea.



Viva La Raza



Step 1: Arrest every illegal Mexican immigrant in America and ship them via Carnival Cruise in San Diego, to Juneau, Alaska. There they will be given a choice, be a US government agent for minimum wage, or be let free into Canadia.



Step 2: 100% of the Mexicanos join and are C-130’d to a secret yet useless cryptologic facility in Hokkaido. Once there Navy CTIs along with actual Koreans teach the Mexicanos the Korean tongue.



3: Mexicanos are shipped to Vladivostok, Russia and are immediately welcomed by their brother Socialists. Then they proceed by foot into North Korea, where they apply for low paying jobs at community markets. Granted some Mexicanos will become disillusioned and try to abandon their mission, but Russia is way too cold and the myth that Chinese food in China is better than Chinese food in California will quickly dissipate.



4: Initially the North Koreans will reject these new people as each Mexicano will do the work of two starving North Koreans for half the pay. They will be bused back over the border and dumped off, but as soon as the bus leaves, they will walk right back.



5: Eventually the North Koreans will begin to accept the Mexicanos and start teaching both Korean and Spanish in the classroom. The absolute incongruity of the Mexicanos crossing the Russian border will quickly be ignored when Vicente Fox visits North Korea and thanks Kim Jong IL for being such a humanitarian. The Mexicanos will become citizens and get menial jobs all over the country. The Mexicanos will drive out the poor unskilled starving Koreans, who will risk death fleeing to South Korea, and China. This will piss off the South Koreans and China. Russia will also be pissed, because nobody likes them.



6: With Russia, China, and South Korea pissed, all funding to North Korea will stop. The Mexicanos will keep coming and the Koreans will continue to leave. At this point Kim Jong Il will find himself a King amongst foreigners in a land of no fruit. He will abandon his country to live in Mongolia. The Mexicanos will take over.



7: Soon after the takeover, hard to pronounce cities like Chaeryong and Kyomip’o will become easy ones like Mesa Verde and San Hector. The capital, Pyongyang will be called “El Ciudad de Nuevo Mexico”. And in turn, Kaesong will be known to most as “TJ.” A bastardized version of Socialism will develop until the Mexicanos remember why they left Mexico in the first place. That’s when the McDonald’s come in, and North Korea becomes the 51st state.



The End

Heads up

In case you didn't notice, I am in the Navy. Not only that I am in the "Real Navy" which consists of never being in port for more than a month, and having more than 3/4 of each year spent at sea. The satellite Internet we receive is slow at times. On a ship we have few computers and I stand watch with a guy who insists on spending his entire watch trying to hook up with girls, even though he lives with his girlfriend. I am fairly important to my division, so all together I don't have a lot of time to write anything here. I assure you I have no intention of quitting on this blog. I like this blog, as my html skills slowly progress, and I can try them out, I can try out ideas, and communicate with all sorts of people. The internets nice like that, whereas I'm just as crazy in real life, most people act other than themselves (or lie as I call it) in the "real world". This is about where I would break off into a rant, but alas we are pulling into Hong Kong, and I have fucktons of maintenance and watchstanding to do, not to mention sweet sweet Dim Sum and the like to swell my gut, so until I think of something worth writing... read my old posts.

more like everyone else's blogs, as the posts go by

My ship is going to give us all Vaccina. Vaccina is the first vaccine ever made. It was developed by Louis Pasteur to be a vaccine for Small Pox. As you probably know, Small Pox no longer exists, except in two vials under the control of the U.S. government. And So, because the U.S. controls Small Pox, the Navy is afraid Terrorists will use it against us. I don't even want to get into how not possible or plausible or rational this scenario is. Small Pox isn't an airplane. Nobody gets to use it except "cleared" doctors who move it from one room to another. Even if Small Pox miracled it's way into terrorist hands, wouldn't they kill themselves first? Yes. Even if the "Terrorists" magically know how to handle a virus, that miracled it's way into their hands. Why would "they" use it? Releasing a virus hurts everyone. Flying planes into buildings, just pisses most people off. Sure some die, but Stalin killed more people, and Truman gave him a blowjob. My point is terrorists aren't trying to wipe out our species. Small Pox would kill billions. Anyway the real reason I'm pissed is, 1. I have to take this Cow Pox shot 2. It is guaranteed to make me sick 3. I "probably" won't die. Great. So I can rest assured knowing my violent vomiting, headaches, and blood and puss and weakness is only going to last a month. I'm glad they will give the whole ship the disease. So if we get attacked while underway (much more likely than getting Small Pox) we will all be so physically weak, the ship WILL SINK! I just don't want all the pain. The Navy thinks it should force me to endure pain now so I won't die at the same time as everyone else when the terrorists get their magic on the vials and use their magic to release it somewhere I'll be, even though I've been on one ship or another for over a year and the most dangerous place I HAVE EVER BEEN is Tijuana, and I was alone. We patrol peaceful waters surrounded by peaceful, quiet, sleepy nations, like Korea, China, and Russia. Sure things used to happen around here, but I can tell you everyone's asleep around here. Except the South Koreans, they are crazy paranoid, but that's another tale. So I who volunteered for the Navy MUST get sick. So I won't die later. My only value to the Navy is my ability to perform. If I VOLUNTARILY quit instead, they lose everything. I could just start acting like people around me, and not do anything, Objectivists would be proud of me. My point is, I am not the Navy's property. I may or may not get Small Pox. I will get Cow Pox, and get sick. I CAN just stop working and be worse than dead. My free will cannot be removed while my free movement remains. Fuck the Navy. Sure I sound like those bitches, who didn't want the Anthrax shot, but 1. Anthrax DOES kill people 2. What of it? The Navy will never "force" upon us random money to help us combat terrorism. I will never get to swallow any other pill except the one that makes me ill. This argument stems from the Navy's inherent socialistic structure. Except nowun ever scratches my back. I just work, get paid nothing, get money pulled out of my paycheck for "free" services, and work some more. I never get "benefits" I get no "Perks" I get only less than what I put in. I never get any "time off" just standard working hours. In three years I haven't missed one day of work, as far as these fucks are concerned I've been a very good Comrade. So all I want is to just not HAVE to puke for a month, to not HAVE to avoid contact with non virused people, to not HAVE to be careful to not touch the infected area so it doesn't spread. Oh well whatever, one more vaccine, or The Vaccine I should say. Vaccina, may you get me out of some late night watches! I'm a good comrade. The Navy knows this.

For those who don't have to dance

I am in Pusan, Korea. I don't speak a lick of it though, although I have a suspician that dong means "station" or aww fuck it I'll just go to Altavista. Anyway I am actually stationed on a ship in Yokosuka, Japan. But I don't speak Japanese either. I am in the U.S. Navy. I am from central California but I've been all over in the last 3 years. I am an objectivist. I am devoted to Capitalism, morality, justice. I practice what I preach. I see everything differently than most people. I don't care if you've heard this before, I don't care if you think you are an individual. May my life, and all that I do, say, and write be my proof.