Gunfighter: A Modern Warrior's Life

I'm A Little Busy....

Because, dude, I have  some senior Senate staff members coming to my range to play with guns instead of passing healthcare legislation for a firearms demonstration.  I also have remedial shooters, and have to qualify some freakin' mucketymuck from Headquarters.

I'm going to be too busy to post anything worth talking about, so I will leave you with the following topics for discussion instead:

Morning traffic, heading into Washington, DC from Virginia.

Or!

(Taken at SeaWorld, Orlando before the Killer Whale show)

The total saturation of social media in all aspects of our daily lives. 

Discuss... I'll be back later... probably in a highly agitated state.

Happy Hanukkah!

In the second century BCE, during the Maccabean revolt, Hebrew rebels  ousted the forces of Antiochus IV from the Temple, but discovered that there was only one container of oil that was still sealed by the High Priest. 

There wasn't much oil, and it was expected that there would only be enough to keep the Temple lamp lit for one day. 

Miraculously, that oil lasted eight days.

A Modern Warrior's Life extends best Hanukkah wishes to all of our Jewish brothers and sisters.

(and what would Hanukkah be for a Goy like me, without this)

 

 

 

 

Reflections on Turning 46 (with Addendum)

Simply put, being 46 is pretty cool.

Although I am now closer to 50 than I am to 40, I like to look at this from a particular perspective, and here it is:

Turning 46 today, beats the crap out of stopping the clock at 45, because that would mean that I was taking a dirt-nap, and I am in no great hurry to be finished here.

 

I'm Living (note the capital L) baby!

Thanks to all for the well-wishes!

GF

 

 

****Late Night Addendum!****

 

Many thanks, once again, for the well-wishes! 

 

It was a great day!

 

After church (Lutherans in the house!), we went to lunch, and then we did another one of my favorite things:  We went to the Barnes & Noble bookstore at Tyson's Corner Mall.

 

When we finished at the mall, we made a briefstop at Wegman's for some wine, and then came home for some play-time with Charlie, before our dinner of baked spaghetti (and presents).

 

I spoke to my parents, my Grandmother, & my oldest daughter (away at school), then retired to the man-cave to watch Terminator: Salvation.

 

It was a great day, made that much better by my pals in my congregation, on Twitter, Facebook, and of course, the folks (old and new... Hi Deb!) that read my blog.

 

God Bless you all!

 

Thank you!, and Good Night!

A Brief Note To Motorists

Please.  Please!  Could you possibly refrain from driving on the Interstate while socializing on the telephone?

Could you please not drive ten miles below the posted speed limit, while in the left lane, while chatting on the telephone and adjusting your makeup?

Please?

An Angry Black Man

I wrote this post on July 20th, 2008, and I never posted it to my blog.  I don't remember what sparked the tirade, but reading, I have to admit that I still feel the same way about what I wrote, so here it is... Straight, with no chaser.  (If you are sensitive, close your ears)

 

I’m a little pissed off today my friends. 

I’m going to talk about something a little different today.  

You see, I have spent a large amount of my adult life being considered a “sellout” by a large segment of my own community.  Since many of you who read this are white… and many from outside the United States, and may not be familiar with that term, I'll explain it.

In the black American community, to be considered a sellout is the same as being called a race-traitor.  Yeah, stupid, I know, but it’s true. 

Here’s the deal.  Many black Americans consider someone a sellout for the following reasons (taken either together or separately):  Maybe she talks “white”.  He might listen to “white” music, some of her friends are white, he is married a white person, she has a “white” job, he dresses “white”, she doesn’t like basketball… You get the picture, right?  Anyway, I have dealt with this most of my life, but have never let it bother me too deeply (at least not outwardly), but today I am not going to try to justify myself to anyone.  I like my life, and the only people I have to answer to about the way I live it are my family and my creator when I face the judgment (and I don’t think that almighty God gives a rat’s ass about the fact that I still play a rockin’ air guitar to “My Sharona”, or that I am listening to The Proclaimers as I type this). 

No, today, I am going to call bullshit on the true race traitors that abound in our land:  Black men and women that are part of the problems in our homes and our schools and throughout or community.  Those buffoons and minstrels that continue to foment the stereotypes that my people labor under are the target of my wrath today.

Here is the list… be advised, if your name appears here, you will be liquidated after the revolution that leaves me as the supreme dictator of the North American Union:

Jimmie “JJ” Walker

Jay Z

Flava Flav

DMX

Bobbie Brown

Fifty Cent

Kanye West

Snoop Dogg

Any rapper whoever used the words bitch or "ho" in their “music”

Diddy, P Diddy, Puffy, Puff Daddy, or whatever that f***ing douchebag is calling himself these days.

Any black man who has worn his jeans pulled down over his ass.

Any black man that has children whom he does not support financially, emotionally, educationally, or morally (you bastards are FIRST!)

Any educated black person that consciously tries to talk “black” when around other black people.

Any black person that wears that stupid-ass “buckwheat” clothing (you know what I’m talking about).  This applies doubly if that black person owns or lives in a six hundred thousand dollar house.

Any black woman who has made a career of shaking her scantily clad ass in a music video.  (What kind of message are you sending our daughters?  How can you live with yourselves?)

Any black person that thinks that it’s alright to get angry when a white person says nigger, but walks down the street calling his own people nigger.

***Note*** the word is nigger, not “N-word”  What are we… nine years old?

You see, my friends, the people that are truly selling out their people, are the ones that spend their time engaged in counterproductive or destructive behaviors.  Criminals, drug dealers, pimps, thieves, hustlers (including race hustlers, do you hear me Al? Jesse?) of all sorts are the causes of so many ills in our communities.  We, the responsible, have to be on guard against them, and provide a counterweight to their influences.  The reason that I listed so many so-called celebrities is because many of the people that I listed have aided and abetted those who perpetrate these social crimes… they have made obscene amounts of money by glorifying these destructive behaviors and the people who engage in them.

It’s time that we as a people stop listening to this filth.  It’s time to stop listening to radio stations that play this garbage.  It’s time to stop dressing like you are a dressed up sharecropper or prison inmate. 

It’s time to stop impregnating anyone you can without regard to the consequences, it’s time to stop shagging guys who won’t wear condoms, it’s time to stop glorifying crime and immoral sexual activity, it’s time to stop being our own worst enemies.

It’s also time to speak standard American English. 

It’s time to take education seriously.

It’s time to be good parents.

It’ time to set an example.

Look, friends, you who have been reading me for a while, know that I go on about this stuff from time to time, but some things are worth saying and worth repeating.  I won’t ever turn my back on this fight, and I won’t. Give. One. Inch.  Look at the tag line of this blog.  I have been a warrior for my entire adult life… I have been continuously trained in the ways of battle from the time I was a teenager.  I don’t quit.  Ever. 

I am calling all of you to do battle with me now.  Join me, won’t you?  It doesn’t matter if you aren’t black.  It doesn’t matter what country you come from.  It’s a safe bet that no matter what your ethnicity or nation, you have people that influence your children and their future with destructive behaviors.  Join me.  Fight them.  Use all of the tools at your disposal.  Use the power of your writing talents.  Use your words.  Use your art.  Use your wallets. 

Look, there are fights that are difficult to win, there are fights that you may never win, but that doesn’t mean that those fights shouldn’t be fought.  The right thing to do is to fight them because fighting them is right and worthy.

Again… I’m calling you out.  You.  Yes, YOU.  If you are reading this, you have to do something.  Whatever you do, don’t sit quietly.  If you do, you are complicit.

You know what to do, now, go get on with it.

30-20-10-0

30: 1979

• I was was about to turn 16, and about to lose my virginity.
• I was in my Junior year of high school.
• We lived in Vauxhall, New Jersey, on May Terrace
• I lived with my mom and my brother, as my sister had recently left for college..
• My father and stepmother lived in Baltimore, Maryland.
• I hated my life and wanted to be out of that town.
• I rode my bicycle everywhere.
• I was in the Air Force Junior ROTC.
• I was in the Chorus... Mr C. was our teacher.
• I collected comic books.

20: 1989

• I was nearly 25.
• I was married.
• I drove a Hyundai Excel.
• I was in the last year of my enlistment in the Marine Corps.
• I was stationed at Camp LeJeune, North Carolina.
• I drove to Forestville, Md every weekend
• We had a pet rabbit (I know.  I know)
• I drank WAY too much
• I used to go to watch live jazz at The Saloon, in Georgetwon.

10: 1999

• I was nearly 36.
• Ihad been remarried for 5 years.
• Soccer Girl was nearing her first birthday, Fast Pitch was almost 10.
• We lived in Woodbridge, Virginia.
• We took Soccer Girl to Disney world for the first time.
• We had a retired racing Greyhound named Duncan.
• I had been working with my previous agency for two years.
• My mother went to rehab.

0: 2009

• I am 45.
• Soccer Girl will be eleven next week.  Fast Pitch is tewnty, and in her third year of college.
• Mrs Gunfighter and I have been married for nearly sixteen years.
• I'm getting a new dog this week
• My hair is turning gray
• All of my irritating aches hurt like bloody hell now.
• I teach Sunday School
• My Mother, Grandmother, and brother have all survived cancer.
• I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering when cancer will strike me.
• I'm middle aged.  Where did the time go?.

Happy Sunday

I'm sorry, but, I don't have any pithy comments to make tonight.  As a matter of fact, I am in quite the zone at the moment, with a belly-full of tasty home-made soup and Mrs Gunfighter's dulcet tones ringing in my ears from downstairs as she talks to her monster mother on the phone.

I am also teetering on the edge of sleep and wakefullness, as I seriously need some extra shuteye right now..

Do you know what I did last night?  I went to the annual chili cook-off at my church and won third place.

I'll tell you something cool tomorow.

"Sweeeet Caroline!  (bum bum buuuuum!) The good times never seemed so goood.

I've been inclined to believe they never would!"

Oh, sorry... I was listening to the Glee soundtrack.

Yes, I know this doesn't make any sense, and no, I'm not drunk, I'm just not really with it tonight. 

Happy Birthday, Marines!

On November 10th, 1775, the Continental Congress of the fledgling nation that would become the United States, authorized two battalions of Marines to serve our fleet during the American Revolution.  We Marines consider this date the "birthday" of our Corps.

Beginning with a recruitment drive at Tun Tavern, in Philadelphia, Captain Samuel Nicholas, our first commandant began filling our ranks with most dedicated men (and later, women) this country has produced, from his time to ours.

Today is a day that Marines old and new, young and old, greet each other with handshakes and a hearty "Happy Birthday, Marine!"... it is a day where we tell old stories from places that we served, and people that we served with.  It is a day of joy, as much as it is a day of sadness.

Whenever Marines get together and tell their stories, we remember our whole history and our record of combat service to our nation, from Providence, The Bahamas to Chapultepec castle; from Tripoli to Haiti; From  Iwo Jima to Khe Sahn; and from Grenada to Fallujah.  In our stories we remember our heroes... famous men like John Basilone, Chesty Puller, Dan Daly, and Smedley Butler, as well as men most of you have never heard of, like Nicholas Manoukian, who is pictured here, and remembered here.  Those fallen Marines are our brothers, every bit as much as all Marines are brothers (and sisters).

So, today, while I go about my business, and greet the many old Marines that I work with, and those I meet in the course of the day, I will remember our history, take pride in our accomplishments and dedication to service... and I will remember, solemnly, the sacrifices made by so many that have gone before.

Semper Fidelis

Gunfighter (USMC 1981-1989)

Inspiration from Facebook

A friend of mine who is also a fellow parishioner at our church, posted something on Facebook today that was so fitting and so right, I decided that I wanted to post it myself.  I won't credit her by name, because I am not sure she would appreciate it.  Anyway, this lady said that she...

"thinks that people that throw cigarette butts out the window are tools.  That's right.  Tools."

Man, talk about brevity!  Talk about getting right to the heart of the matter!  She hit the ball completely out of the park with this short statement.  I am in complete agreement with her, of course... people who throw cigarette butts out of their car windows are some of the biggest polluters around.

Go ahead, fill your lungs with that crap... I'm not going to lecture you about it.  Go on, knock yourself out, but do you have to pollute the streets while you are polluting your lungs?

What a bunch of tools.

 

Thanks, M!

Camouflage Barbie

It is nearly impossible to live where I live and not see and extraordinary number of military personnel.  Living in such close proximity to the Pentagon, Fort Meyer, Henderson Hall, The NAvy Annex, Marine Corps Base Quantico, and Fort Belvoir (among many others), you can't help but see folks of all of the armed forces, all of the time.

Seeing as many military people as I do, and being a veteran myself,  it is easy to spot the differences in military dress uniforms or service uniforms at a glance.  The military branches being so different one from the other, you didn't have to think twice about the guy in the white uniform... he was clearly in the Navy.  The woman in blue was either Air Force or Coast Guard (and you only needed an extra half-second to figure out which it was).  The Marines and the army, despite the fact that they both wear green, are as different as night and day (the army uses a different shade of green than The Corps), the army wearing light green shirts, The Corps' shirts being khaki.  Simple, right?  Well, maybe not so much.

In the early 1980's, most of our armed forces began to adopt camouflage uniforms for use in the field, or in combat.  The army started the ball rolling, with the Marine Corps right alongside... then followed the Navy, and thern, God help us, the Air Force.

In an effort to keep costs down, the services were all using the same "woodland" pattern material... indeed, all of the services we wearing the same camouflage  uniform, the only distinction being the insignia.  Well, times have changed a bit.

In the early part of the Iraq war (I refuse to call it Operation Iraqi Freedom, because Iraq isn't free, it just has new masters), the Marine Corps adopted a new camouflage pattern.  It is a sort of digital print that is very similar to the then-new Canadian armed forces pattern (called Cadpat), the Marine Corps, not to be outdone, calls their pattern Marpat.  The United States Army, trying to keep up with the Marine Corps, got rid of the old woodland pattern, and the "chocolate chip" pattern desert uniform, as well as the more recent desert pattern, and came up with their own pattern called "ACU" (Army combat uniform).

OK, you know something?  I get the whole "let's have a uniform distinctive to our own service" thing.  I do.  Having different uniforms certainly goes a long way to establishing military identity... being a veteran of the service with the best looking uniforms AND best combat record has taught me that, but I digress.

Where was I?

Oh, right.  Distinctive uniforms.  Anyway, the US Air Force, not wanting to be left behind (not a reference to that Tim LaHaye crap), decided the it, too, needed a distinctive camouflage pattern. So, what they did was....  What?  What did you say?  Did you say "Why in the world does that Air Force need a camouflage uniform?"  Is that what you said?  Well, fair enough... you know that I like to answer questions when my readers have them.  I'll take a whack at it, ok?

Some (albeit very few) members of the Air Force have very good reasons to wear camouflage.  For instance, Combat Air Control teams, and Tactical Air Controllers have every reason in the world to wear such uniforms, as they usually operate with army units and spend their time directing forward air strikes and managing air traffic around the battlefield.  These men operate wherever the fighting is.  They need whatever protection camouflage can provide.  Make sense?, good, here are two more great examples:  Air Force Para-rescue operators (also known as PJ's):  These men are combat rescue operators.  They are inserted by helicopter, sometimes by parachute, often in enemy territory to recuse downed aircrew.  it is a hard but honorable job.  Camouflage is also needed by Air Force Security Forces:  These men and women protect air bases.  Most importantly, they protect forward-deployed airbases that are still subject to ground attack, they too need the extra protection (not as much, maybe, but there you are).

OK, so the Air Force has some reasons that some of it's personnel should wear camouflage, but this is where it gets sticky and brings me to the point of this post:  Most people in the Air Force have no bloody reason to wear camouflage uniforms.  I mean, really, I have a neighbor, a lovely young woman, who is a budget analyst for the air national guard, and every time I see her in her freshly starched camouflage uniform (with desert-tan boots) I want to scream.  Not that she isn't impeccably turned out (she is), but this is a person who, through her whole career hasn't held a gun, much less gone anywhere near anyone who has fired a shot in anger.

I'm not writing this to rag on my neighbor, but do you have any idea how much it costs you and me to pay for this knee-jerk reaction to what appears to be a shift in military fashion?

There are even MATERNITY camouflage uniforms for the army and air force.  Now, I ask you:  What kind of sense does that make?, because try as I might, I can't come up with a good answer.