Underachiever

Today I was called an underachiever. I’ve always been as proud of this label as; misfit, outcast, nerd, dork, geek or misanthrope. You see, to me they all mean the same thing. An unwillingness to submit to the machine (or wall if you prefer Pink Floyd’s analogy) and it’s singular ability to strip humans of not only their individuality but often their soul as well. In the case of the term "underachiever", to the average everyday Joe that has succumbed to the machine, it means that an individual has achieved in life, less than their potential. It can also mean anyone that performs to less than their potential. Potential what? I always get a kick out of that. Does that mean some semi-retarded yokel has less potential then me? Why? Isn’t this just another way to discriminate? I know lots of people dumber, uglier, crude-r, slower, fatter or hairy-r than me that have achieved some cultural defined greatness. Did they over-achieve? Maybe it was their fate? Take Tiger Woods (not that he falls into the above categories) some people think he has achieved greatness. Ha! Now that is funny! Greatness? At what exactly? Don’t misunderstand, I applaud and envy any person that can make a great living at a sport or a hobby. It is the post ‘70's American dream, after all. But greatness? Tiger Woods? Great at a game, but c’mon, it is a game. How about Teddy Roosevelt or Sir Richard Burton? The average WWII vet? Were they over or under achievers? My only point in all of this is to show how silly the term "underachiever" can be. All of us make our choices. Some are shit on more than others but ultimately we still decide which directions to take. Now, I have meandered around the real point of this blog. The person whom called me an underachiever is my dear team leader Harley Garvidson. Here is a man that is a few years younger than me and actually finished his degree. He has been complaining over the past two years about not being able to progress in his career field. He is literally a half of a step (not a whole but a half) above me in the corporate ladder that is the Stardust Hotel & Casino. He is bitter, petty, frustrated and shallow. He lacks professionalism and has no clue how to deal with subordinates or build a team. He is a poor motivator and alternates between playing the parts of Eeyore and Tigger. (Yes he probably is bi-polar) Karl Bakla and myself believe he may also be a closeted homosexual as he spends too much time, A.) Trying to convince Karl and I that we are gay and B.) Is homophobic. He is also a fairly talented singer and amateur voice artist. Here comes the punch line... Now, with all this in mind, has he over-achieved or underachieved?

Military Memoir

Very recently a friend asked, after almost ten years invested, why I left the military. It was an honest simple question and one I was asked before. I answered with honesty, but strangely I didn’t even understand my entire answer. It made me think about that point in my life. I mean, I was about halfway to retirement. At the time (and still today) I felt as if I had nothing left to give the military and the military had nothing left for me. Yet, in it all, I was paid to do something that I love very much. No, not be a soldier, I hated that. Very much in fact. What I love to do is hike and enjoy nature. To be out in the natural world alone (or at least with only a few people) and just being. Essentially, my last couple of years in the military I was a section sergeant in charge of a LRRP and LP/OP team for an OPFOR unit somewhere in the deep desert. What does that mean? LRRP = Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol. LP/OP = Listening Post / Observation Post. OPFOR = Opposing Force. Hope that clears it up a bit. Anyway, before any more confusion arises. This was in the nineties, three full years before 9-11 and all the crap afterwards. My job essentially was, once a month or so, my team and I (2-4 men total) would be dropped off (by some vehicle or another) out in the desert. We would hike several miles to a hill or small mountain top with all of our gear. Find a good place to watch a given area and wait around for the attack (wargames) and then report enemy positions and movement. That was it, and those memories are some of my fondest in the military. My other job was very administrative and was about 75% of military life. I hated it and had been hating it for two solid years by that point. Ironically (yes ironically not coincidently, or is it?) these are some of the worst memories of my military career. I distinctly remember considering, upon my separation from active service, joining the National Guard and feeling physically ill at the prospect of continuing to wear my uniform. Yes, I had the distinct physical sensation of having to vomit. As I stated, I strongly felt I had nothing left for the military. Why do I dredge all of this up? You ask as you sit there snidely judging me. I really only want to understand why also, because I don’t. Is it my gypsy blood (yes my masculine genetic donor was a gypsy, my real father is the one that adopted me) that curses me to forever need to roam? Is it my artist’s personality that feels it must constantly try to experience to things? Is it some weird sense of preeminence about my future (that’s yet to happen)? Honestly I don’t know. This blog is simply one of those examinations of myself. However pompous that may seem, I don’t really care. I do know this. I have some really fantastic memories of how beautiful the deep desert can be. The morning sun slicing across the landscape, creating shadows that highlight every detail of the terrain. Kangaroo Rats scurrying about over my gear and boots as if we weren’t even there. How a full moon can make that stark desert ground bright with eerie blue light and a visibility, similar to twilight except for the black sky, for miles. Observing packs of coyotes stream from their holes and move in a haunting choreography as they run. Seeing the stars blaze in a moonless night and truly understanding how the Milky Way earned it’s name while also comprehending why ancient astronomers found such fascination and mystery in the night sky. These memories I will always cherish and I realize I may never experience again (at least not to that level of immersion). When I stop and try to feel it all. Truly let myself feel what it meant to have left the military. It’s not the practical things I miss. It’s not the discipline nor the pay nor chance for a retirement check. It’s those lonely desert nights, staring up at the stars in awe. Flipping through my battered little star chart guide which my great love had bought me, just for those nights. I existed there on those hills, full of life yet empty and clean. It was as if I was as close to God as I would ever get.

Quick Hit: Fiction or Reality?

I was listening to NPR today (well, everyday actually) and one of my favorite shows, Fresh Air with Terry Gross was on. Terry was interviewing Charlie Savage regarding his new book: Takeover. I‘ll let you click on it to learn more. The frightening things is... At what point did our nation become part of a plot in a Space Opera Fantasy film? I mean, what the hell is going on here? Anyway, you could just watch the movies, probably be quicker anyway. Now, part of the idea of the book is to make the office stronger from now on and into the future. My only question is why? But, why, however, is for another blog...