Violence in the Workplace

Goverment is stupid

2009-01-30T14:35:00.002-05:00

I believe that we all recognize that government is a stupid entity. However as I times goes by I am consistently floored by the degree to which government is stupid. Lets take the TARP that we just so recently got. They set aside 700 Billion dollars to buy up bad assets of the banks so that the banks could go on about their business of lending money to people again. The government in turn would hope that those bad assets would eventually turn good, or at least better, and they wouldn't lose too much money on them. This was an admirable plan.

The reality was that this money was used to buy stock in the banks. What the hell. The thing is that the banks don't need more money. The problem with banks is that they made bad loans, these bad loans are weighing in on their solvency. WE CANNOT PUMP ENOUGH STRAIGHT CASH INTO THESE TROUBLED BANKS TO MAKE THEM SOLVENT. This is a fact.

The reason that we did not buy the bad assets that are destroying the banks solvency is that they were going to be to cheap. We would have purchased them for about 20 cents on the dollar. For that price the banks go out of business. If the government pays more for these assets it artificially inflates them and is essentially creating inflation. If the banks take the money they right down the costs until they are broke.

So we recognized that the TARP (Troubled Asset Relief Program) wouldn't work the way we wanted it to.

What do we do next? That's right we come up with a Bad Bank program. Basically the Bad Bank program would purchase all these bad assets that the bank has that is crippling them and making it so that they aren't able to lend money to people... wait a second. Isn't that what the TARP was? No that couldn't be right. We couldn't possibly be coming up with the exact same program, we already wasted 350 Billion bucks on this how could we set aside a different 900 Billion to do the same thing that we already recognized wont work, that would be silly.

But anyway, what about this stimulus plan. Seems like a good idea right. That seems like it ought to help us fix the underlying issues that are affecting us in this recession. You see the reason that we are in a recession is that the house prices fell out the bottom, which dropped the value of the loans the bank had, which made lending difficult to do when the banks recognized that they wouldn't be able to make current big loans, which meant that companies couldn't get loans for payroll, which meant that people would have to get laid off, which drops the GDP because people tend to spend less money when they don't have income.

So the stimulus plan which will help us get out of this recession- sod the lawn. Wait what was that, what does sod the lawn mean, that must be a metaphor, that we will sod the lawn of the american industry hoping that with time and appropriate moisture it will take root and our economy will flourish again. No they are going to literally sod the lawn of the Washington Mall.

What the hell.

Oh that ought to fix the root problems that stem from the problems in the housing area. $980 Billion dollars of spending for contraceptives, yard work, food stamps, and various and sundry other solutions that DO NOT address the problems we face today. Thats like loading up on tea and honey during an influenza out break rather than vaccines. Lets address the symptoms of the problem rather than the cause, shall we? Thats all I got.

PAX

It has begun...again.

2009-01-29T22:31:00.002-05:00

So here we are. Its the new year and I am placing my first posting upon the virgin internet of 2009. I have decided to begin working on my novel again, I spent way too much time away from it and have only been doing a little bit on it here and there, and almost nothing for the last six months. My decision is that to keep myself fresh I am going to make sure that I write something everyday, and when I work on the novel I will be sure that I write three pages on it at a time, at that rate I should be able to finish it in the next six months. Of course just because its finished doesn't mean that I will be done working on it. I still have to go over it a few times, makes sure the grammar and language are appropriate and make any changes to the story that need to take place.
Additionally I have not been involved in doing anything to exciting recently. I think thats a lie actually. I have been working pretty hard at Edward Jones for the last 9-ish months. Talking with people who have been in this industry for a while and they have told me with a great deal of certainty that this has been the most difficult market that they have ever experienced. That being said I have managed to meet the goals that have been set for me and from time to time actually exceed expectations. I would have to say that I did the most work during the month of December, and interestingly that was the month that I had the least amount of results. When January came around I reaped the rewards from last months work.
I don't really have very much clever insight to provide on any of the various and sundry topics that I usually like to write about, but I will have to make sure that I come up with some clever and witty prose with which to spill upon the empty screen before me. Additionally I am going to try and type on this ol blog here from time to time. With that I bid you Adieu.

Baby booties

2008-11-03T19:56:00.002-05:00

I find that we, at the Crozier household, seem to have a lot of discussion about Jacobs bottom. Whether the fact that he has managed to form a new delightful pile of love for us to caress from the tiny recesses of his body, or a new and shockingly red rash has developed or that it is simply cute, which by the way it is, My son has a cute booty. Not too much more to say about that, its a fact.
So tomorrow we elect a new president, Barack McCain. Oh man, how disappointing is that. Barack Obama is frighteningly inexperienced and manages to say nothing better than anyone has managed to say nothing- potentially in the history of man, with perhaps the notable exception of Tristi Mcneil, I went to college with her and man she talks a lot of nothing. John McCain on the other hand is likely to die without much notice, and so while he is experienced, a knowledgeable corpse is of little use.
So who am I voting for- Nader. I'm kidding a vote for Nader is like a vote for the mentally handicapped. I mean we like the fact that they have a special Olympics and we don't pay attention and a gold medalist is not a real Olympian, Nader is not a real candidate, but we humor him. I've seriously considered voting for the Libertarian candidate, but I I don't think thats going to happen.
No I am voting for John McCain, I will take the experienced corpse over the living idiot. There are some things that Barack Obama has said that he wants to do that are mind numbing. He wants to create a, I am not joking about this, an arm of the executive branch answerable to only the president that will investigate people who have dissenting opinion, and they will be armed and have power like that of the military. Look into history and find out about the brown-shirts.
There are a few other things but, goodness me. I don't know if her realizes how frightening that could be, not necessarily with him as pres, but somewhere down the line abuses will happen. well thats enough from me, no ones reading this- or if you are it will be after the commandant is elected.
PEACE OUT HOMBRE.

The Facts of Life

2008-10-27T22:11:00.005-05:00

Let me tell you something, starting off in the career of a Financial Adviser is not an easy thing. It takes a lot of work, and doesn't really pay a lot. I basically knock on doors over and over and over, then I call people and try to encourage them to invest with my company. It is a slow process that takes a lot of faith and confidence that the system works. So far I have had one big success, and I look forward to the next one. The big thing I think is to keep going and keep doing what it is that I am doing.
That being said I like the ability that I have to help people out, lots of folks say "Looks like you picked the wrong time to start in the business". I think thats very interesting, to me now is the best time to start. People don't need a financial adviser when you can randomly pick a stock and make sick cash, no they need a financial adviser when times are tough and the decisions are difficult. Its like going to the Dr. when you're healthy, yeah its probably a good idea but its hard to find time, but when you get cancer it may be a good idea to talk to the doc. People have lots of questions and I try to answer them as best as I can, hopefully these people will remember my good will and will eventually do some business with me :)
So there you go, a slightly longer post than my last one, its a hard knock life as a FA ( as we are called in the biz) but I will soon be making too much money to count, or at least $20, which is really not too much to count. Well, we won't worry about that for right now. Peace out and have a nice evening, morning afternoon or next year.

PAX

2008-10-27T22:11:00.001-05:00

I should be working right now.

2008-10-27T13:43:00.002-05:00

Hey, I ought to be working right now. I know this because it is true. So this post will be short. But I have not posted since I had a mere 23 days left of work in the active duty Army. I am not yet in the reserves, because the Army is stupid. So I am working for Edward Jones, Jacob can refer to himself in the third person, and Smokey is still alive, though she has lost some weight. Rebecca was working at a Children's mental place, now she is working at the VA- as of today that is. So there you go, I will not post a picture today, but another western has been released "Appaloosa", and I liked it. Hey, I gotta go.

-PAX

Victory in the last days

2008-04-09T10:17:00.002-05:00

I hope that title doesn't sound too Dooms-Day, because really its Happy-Days, no not the show the reality of days that full of happy, or happiness if you prefer. If I was keeping track, which of course I'm not, then I could tell you that I have 23 days left in the Army before my leave starts and that of those 23 days only 8 of those days are working days. However, as I said before I am not keeping track of that kind of stuff so I don't really know how many days I have left. I must say that leaving the Army is an exciting proposition. I no longer have to deal with insane bosses that have control of every aspect of my life. I will agree that there are most likely there are insane bosses outside of the military as well, however I think that there is a qualitative, if not quantitative, difference in the insane bosses here. It must be that the Army attracts people who like to be able to have a great deal of control with a fairly limited amount of oversight and a population that has little say, few rights, and less knowledge about their rights. I don't want to say that I have hated all the time I have spent in the Army. I would say that there have been some good times and some experiences that I would not trade. The Army has allowed me to be financially independent, has paid off my student loans, has gained me a Masters degree for free, has allowed me to purchase a house, two vehicles, have a baby (again for free), and do things that few people get to do. I feel blessed to have had this opportunity. That being said I am not re-enlisting. To be fair I am getting a commission. Let me explain a little the difference between an enlisted soldier and a Commissioned Officer. An enlisted person performs the menial labor to middle management of the Army. At its most basic level the enlisted soldier is the guy marching, shooting, fighting, dieing, and training every day to do what the Army does. The NCO (what I am currently) supervises and makes sure that the day to day tasks are completed and that the soldiers are able physically an mentally to do what they need to do. The NCO should be a self sacrificing individual who puts the needs of his soldiers above his own, who ensures that his soldiers are held to strict rules, but is fair in applying corrective actions. The Officer is the management and planning. They develop the goals the NCO's implement, they decide what the goals for the unit are and develop the standards of the unit. Officer's are the white collar workers, Enlisted are the blue collar workers.
As I said I am taking a commission, but its in the reserves. I like to think of the reserves as doing the Army as a hobby. Right now I do the Army as a job, but in the reserves I get to act like a soldier one weekend a month, couple weeks a year, you know like a hobby. But like with all hobbies, there is the possibility that I will have to it professionally for a time, 15 months or so. I talk a lot about the Army on this page a lot I guess. Mostly I think its because there is so much interesting culture that is specific to the Army, and the Military in general. As it so happens I now am leaving, and am very happy to being doing so. My last few weeks I get more time off to take care of the things I need to do and to set myself up for the next step in my life. I have been fortunate in the Army, more fortunate than most, and get to leave intact in body, mind, and soul. Thanks Uncle Sam, and thanks for stopping by.

C'est le vie

2008-04-08T08:43:00.002-05:00

That's life. I was thinking earlier about life, and what people do in life. When I started to define what it is in life that matters, and when I look back on my life the things that make me happy are the memories I have of events, of conversations, of places I have been and amazing things I have seen. I guess what that means to me is that I don't often look back on my life and smile with fond recollection that specific sitcom I saw three years ago and think how great it was to sit on my couch and watch it while slowly sipping my flavored soft drink.
The more I think about what counts in life the more I realize the value of activity. There is a certain immediate gratification in watching TV and being lazy. It allows you the comfort of inactivity. You say to yourself "I'm relaxing, and I need to relax because what I do is hard work and I need to not work hard all the time." That's okay I guess, I've seen some stirring movies and would consider some to be art and was glad for the time I spent watching them, but I have also seen Rush Hour 1 and 2.
I think about the time that I have wasted and feel a little bad, there have been so many opportunities in my life for a quality experience that I chose not to partake in or did not go out of my way to find. Then I think of people who do less than I do and it makes me feel bad for them, even worse I guess. I'm not trying to say I do everything great and that other people are huge retards wandering around being stupid (though there may be a certain element of truth to this). However people seem to consistently choose not to be involved in things of meaning and not to find experiences that will fulfill them in some deeper way. I don't expect that everyone ought to go rush off and see the Eiffel Tower, tour Europe, or see the Bridges of Madison County (the real things not the movie, though I understand the movie is good too (good job Clint)), but I am sure that there is some wilderness out nearby every ones house, or at least within a relatively short commute. Go to it and look around. Yes there will be bugs there, yes sometime you will sweat But if you live the entirety of your life with the sole purpose of avoiding sweat and bugs then you have had a sad existence. There is too much life to live and sweat, blood, tears, laughter, joy, sorrow, and pain all make up life. I don't think you need to go around being a masochist or anything but at least once I think we all ought to go on an adventure. Whether the adventure is alone, with friends, or with family I don't care but a life without some excitement, without some challenge or danger is not a life. In art, and in life, contrast is important. If there is not enough contrast you can't make out what it is your looking at. If you don't have the contrast of sorrow with joy you will never know how good joy feels. that's just my two cents, thanks for stopping by.

ARMY ARMY ARMY ARMY ARMY!

2008-04-05T04:15:00.002-05:00

I have talked about cadence in the past. The mysterious semi-singing form of communication that keeps soldiers a-truckin. I was once told a story that at a Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) school a guy was told to do cadence to march the platoon someplace. He responded "I don't know any cadence." They told him "make one up." So he said "A is for Army, R is for Army, M is for Army, Y is for Army." Followed by "ARMYARMYARMYARMYARMY!" At the top of his lungs as fast as possible. This story has nothing to do with why I am writing today.
It was 0300 and I was sleeping on my couch. You see on Thursday I had discovered my toe had become infected, it was black and horrible. I went in to the ER and the Dr. sliced it open and gave me some drugs and told me not to go to work the next day. I was also supposed to keep my foot up. That was why I was on my couch. So there I am sleeping peacefully on my couch when my phone begins to humm its gentle melody. So I answer the phone, as has become my habit. "SGT Crozier, you need to go to the AOD desk and report to the SDNCO ASAP, one of your buildings is unsecured. I tried to call your counterparts but they were unavailable so you will need to go in until they relieve you."
"What?"
"You need to get in ACU's and go to the AOD, now!"
"I'm on Percaset."
"Are you trying to pull a fast one on me? Because you're slip said you were off of duty for 24 hours and its been over 27 hours, so you should have no excuse not to be able to go into work."
So here I am. An AOD is like the Hospital's night watch. They mostly sit and answer phones. The SDNCO is the Staff Duty NCO. They wander around post and make sure all the buildings are locked. As it turns out, one building was not locked. So, because this building was unlocked I was asked to go and sit in it until someone came to lock. I didn't have a key, but I am a soldier with a damaged foot. Right now it is 0530, on a Saturday and it is raining outside in drought ridden North Carolina. It is times like these that I am glad that I only have 2 more weeks of work as an active duty United States soldier. Don't get me wrong, the Army has been good to me and I have been pretty good to the Army. However these are the times when I think how stupid some of the things we do are, and how petty people can be about things we have no control over.
The moral of the story: If you are in the Army and they have not issued you a phone, don't answer it when it rings.

Investing like a fool

2008-04-03T10:01:00.002-05:00

I don't want people to think that I'm some retard here who's just prattling around about money and whatnot. I have an MBA and I had a focus on finance. This means I'm a retard with a degree. That aside I think the idea of people investing in stocks unassisted is silly. Here is my problem; investing is a competitive venture, it is also (to a certain extent) a gamble. Of course the more diversified your portfolio the less risk you have by nature of the beast, but it is still a gamble. When I say it is a gamble I don't mean like roulette or blackjack, or even a slot machine, those are games that the house has a percentage on every time. No I'm talking poker, and professional poker at that.
The reason I say this is because there are people who invest for a living. That is there one and only job, they wake up and keep close tabs on the market and they make money. As a private investor you think "I can invest just as well as some wall-street jerk!" and you choose to enter the game. The problem, much like with a poker hustler, is that you can win. I say this is a problem because by getting a few good picks you think your smart stuff, in much the same way that any one can be dealt a winning hand and beat the pro you have beaten those wall-street jerks.
The problem becomes that in the long run you don't have the time to invest in keeping up with day traders because you have a job, or don't have the resources to get the information they have. So here you are trying to compete with the best and the brightest in their field because you have Internet access and a program that "tells you when to buy and sell". It's ridiculous.
What I say is get a professional, sure do your research make sure that your investment adviser isn't an idiot (much like you would want to make sure you have a competent doctor, attorney, or drug dealer). If you have a competent person working for you they will be able to do professionally what you do as a hobby, and in the end I think you will be happier with the end result. The reality is if you purchase stock on your own or with an adviser you will have to pay commission fee's, there is no way around it. So why not pay commission fee's to someone who is invested in helping yo to invest?

On finance

2008-04-01T14:43:00.002-05:00

Now that I've gotten that other terrible post out of the way I would like to wax economic for a moment. People are very concerned about the economy and about the value of the dollar and about all kinds of money things right now. Well I can tell you that its not all bad. In reality things are okay, no they are not as good as they were a little while ago, and yes some people are having trouble. However most people feel that they are doing okay financially, but think everyone else is having trouble. What that means is that most people are not being hurt by the current market conditions. That aside, this is an excellent opportunity for people who felt that the market was getting too expensive to invest. There is really a lot about the economics that I would like to talk about, but it would probably be too tedious to read. So I will talk for a moment about good ideas.
1: It is a good idea to save money. I know this seems silly to say, but when Americans spent more than they made last year it makes me wonder about whether people realize this. I like those feed the pig ads, because the pig smacks the guys hand when he tries to buy a TV (haha). but its true save some money. If you save $200 a month then that would save $2400 a year. At that rate you would (accounting for a certain level of investment) be a millionaire in about 40 or so years.
2: DON'T PUT IT ALL IN SAVING! I know it can be tempting to have a gigantic savings account with all this money straining the seams of your bank account, but don't. This is a mistake more people make than I had realized. Now I am not saying that people need to go nuts and buy every new stock that comes out, but if a person were to own 20 stocks (or one mutual fund account) they would have enough diversification to save them selves from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and be a reasonably wealthy person who could one day retire.
3: ride a bike. I'm starting to run out of advice here, but this seemed like a good idea. If you ride a bike more often you will be a strong person, and have more money not being spent on your 2003 four-door F-150 that drains $300 from your bank account every month...grrr.

Well there you go, I hope you have enjoyed this little tid-bit. This post isn't much better than the last one really...ugh.

April Fool's!

2008-04-01T14:34:00.003-05:00

This man is a Fool

In this post I will not fool you, or at the very least try not to fool you. Let me say that I will not knowingly fool anyone within the confines of this length of text. I think that it is nice to know that there will be one place you can look to today and realize that what you see is what you get, and that no trickery will be about. I would like to talk for a minute about what April Fool's day is. Or rather that I don't know what it is. Where did this festivity arise from? Why is is here? Why does that man look so stupid. For the sake of integrity, and so that I do not make it seem as though I am trying to fool anyone, I do not know who that man is, and I don't recall where I found the picture. What I can tell you is that it struck me so profoundly in its vivid colors and idiocy that I would have felt remiss if I did not capture it immediately. I am very bad at April Fools day pranks, I will say something like "your shoe is untied april fools." all one sentence without any pauses, and it is not funny. This is perhaps the least interesting post I feel I have written on this page. I think I will stop now before it gets any worse.

My hippie nature exposed

2008-03-29T23:42:00.002-05:00

<-----Delicious

I watched a movie not too long ago called "Into the Wild" its about a guy who said he was going to Harvard for medical school or something but instead bought a book on wild edibles, gave his life savings to charity, burnt the rest of his money, wandered around for a couple years and eventually died of potato in Alaska. That being said I bought a book on wild edibles last week because the idea that I can eat my lawn is too great to pass up on. For whatever reason the idea of going out someplace and simply attempting to live off of what is available immediately in the area is incredibly fascinating to me, perhaps when I get to have my midlife crisis I'll be like surviorman and go and "survive" someplace for a week or so. I like to think of it as extreme camping. But regardless of all that I like still the idea that I can go out and find things that could be edible and potentially delicious while camping, hiking, or just around the house (literally(I share my sisters affinity for parenthetical annotation)). Wildlife and nature I think are wonderful things, these are the things that make me feel like hunting is fun, and eating wild lettuce from my ward is neat. While hunting may seem somehow contradictory to enjoying nature I would argue that there is a certain amount of ethical responsibility that goes into the act of hunting, after all we are the ones who killed off the predators and if we expect there to be balance in nature it must be provided somewhere and that is our job to provide it, but that may be a discussion for another posting. I think this ties in to a lot of the personal beliefs I have politically as well. While I'm not convinced that global warming is a man-made event I don't have any problem with conservation of our wilderness and nature. an argument that says "Global warming doesn't exist, it doesn't exist so much that I will pollute MORE!" seems a little bizarre to me. I think that wisdom lies somewhere in between. While I do not believe that humans should attempt to subsist soly on wild edibles, it seems like a good idea to take a little from the earth around you. And the crazy part of me thinks its a good idea to be able to identify edible plants for when doomsday comes and I will be forced to grow my own crops. I think we all have a little crazy in us, what matters is learning to live with it and accepting that our craziness shapes our viewpoints and understanding how it does so.

How the west was won

2008-03-29T22:25:00.003-05:00

I have recently decided that there are few genres of movies that can be as impressive as the western when done well. I watched the movie 3:10 to Yuma tonight while doing my military duty at the front desk of a hospital telling people where a nearby gym is and realized there are many subtle layers to the movie. I think this is a fantastic story. Perhaps there is too much going on in there for me to go into, but ultimately the story is not really about the two main characters, it is about Dan's (Christian Bale's) son. In the end of the movie we see that good ultimately triumphs over evil, regardless of any other events simply by the actions of young Will. In the end good defeating evil, in one sense or another, is one of the defining elements of a western. Perhaps the other key element is redemption, and in some senses these two concepts are indistinguishably intertwined. The west, as portrayed in movies, was a place where the law had little sway and men where forced into extremes. Evil would be an easy choice and yet to see men make the right choice for the sake of it being the right thing to do and ultimately be vindicated for these choices. Unforgiven would be another great example. Clint Eastwood does a great job in this movie of showing how a man who had been wicked is struggling for redemption. It takes a while but he evolves into perhaps what he always should have been (had whiskey and wickedness not gotten the best of him earlier in life). Roger Ebert says that in the end good silences evil. I think that is a fantastic way of looking at this. While his character had done terrible things in the end he brought justice into a place where justice did not exist and evil was ultimately silenced by the deeds of a man who could not forgive himself, that- I believe- is why he is Unforgiven. There are a number of other great movies out there to use as an example, but I think these two do justice to my thoughts. Westerns, when not cast into the pot of stupid pointless action, are forced into an introspective light. The characters must have depth, because special effects have little room to hold sway. Dialogue becomes key and we see human nature at its most basic, simple people struggling to survive in an untamed land. Conversely, when a western is done poorly it hurts your brain to have to watch it (Badgirls would be an example, as well as the quick and the dead remake... ugh). But you must steel your resolve against these and be willing to witness scenes that are slow, yet relentless in their purpose. Well, that's enough philosophical waxing on movies for now!

Jacob laughs at strange things

2008-03-10T18:37:00.004-05:00

Jacob began making word happen this past week. He chose to say "Dadadadada" we took that to mean Daddy. Though he now has expanded to saying ada and dada and aaaaahdadadadaaaaah. He made a "Ga" sound the other day too. I have to say that Jacob is a cool kid. He laughs at lots of silly things. we wiggle a blanket and he laughs and laughs. As a side note to all of this Jacob is pretty gross. As is demonstrated by this picture to my right, your left (I'm in the computer) he is licking my foot. GROSS. I didn't raise this kid to go around licking people's feet, I hope this is not a trend towards later in life. The good news is he is a sweet little guy, which means we like him. I like my baby probably more than I like my dogs. Yes, that is a fact I think that Jacob is far superior to either of my dogs, especially Smokey. Rebecca and I have decided that we are keeping Smokey around just in case we run across a hard winter sometime in the future. We

anticipate that she will be delicious. I really dont have much else to say, Jacob is silly, Smokey is tasty ( I think) and I need to go to Wal-Mart (stupid Wal-Mart). Carrie probably wants me to go to some strange organic land of crunchy delight, whatever I live in Raeford NC, the geometric center of waste. Baah.

No One Cares

2008-02-26T12:42:00.002-05:00

The Academy awards are an institution that no one cares about anymore. At one point it was something that was fun to watch, see which movie you loved so much during the past year had become the one that would win. People were excited to find out how well they fared in the Academy process. However, as the years have gone by people have become more and more aware that the Academy is stupid. No one cares what movies are being selected because no one has seen them. They come out in the last ten minutes of the year when people already have better things on their mind than watching a movie. The Oscars have become a festival of self-gratification. It's like turning on the TV to see a really great meeting at the Elk Lodge, why would I do that. Actually that may be more fun than the Oscars. To watch the Oscars is essentially to watch a bunch over horribly overpaid Hollywood "elites" getting to play dress-up and applaud each other for how great they look and for how well they are doing. The Oscars are a Richard Simmons work-out video where everyone is rich and beautiful, save for Peter Jackson and Michael Moore.
The thing is that the entire event is based on the fact that people in Hollywood really enjoy the fact that they make movies. Whats more is they really like watching their friends in movies too, then they get to party party party all night and slap each other on the back for being so good at being in a movie. "Did you see the movie I was in?", "Oh yes, it was good here you go have a statue!"In light of this realization no one watches the Oscars anymore. We wait until the next day to find out who won. Can you imagine people forgoing the Superbowl for the same reason. It's because the Superbowl is fun to watch and people are invested in it. No one even talks about the Oscars anymore. People used to love the movies. We talked about these great movies that were coming out and how they said or did something interesting. Hollywood thinks they have people figured out, so they make a movie, we don't care about it, and then they say "Hollywood is dying, maybe this new movie like the last one will save us!"
Hollywood is stupid. However, if I was offered the same money they are to do what they are doing I would take it and laugh at anyone who mocked me because I would be rich, and they (like me) would be poor. That's all I have to say about that.

From the ashes emerges a butterfly

2008-02-16T21:17:00.002-05:00

I'm pretty sure I messed up on the title, either its a cacoon and a phoenix or something. Any way here I am again typing on a thing that I haven't used in a while. There have been a number of changes to the Crozier family in that time. 1. Rebecca is not in the Army any more and 15. we now have a baby, his name is Jacques, or something. I will not list the other 13 changes, even though they are significant I dont feel like it. In other news I stopped writing that story I was doing. Mostly due to a lack of time. I still have a little note book of thoughts in which I pen concepts that may wander into the written page, but as yet this has not occurred. My sister made me look at her Blog again this past night after not having looked at such a thing in months and I decided I should send out my own blog in response. Not in response exactly, since I am not addressing anything that happens in her blog, but more just because. So its not a response at all. Hmm. I find the philosophy of we(blog)s to be fascinating. For whatever reason I find it fascinating that people think that what we have to say is so important that other people would want to read it. I have nothing important to say, and I take a long time to say it. So I will never be a very popular blogger, because people dont want to take fifteen minutes to read about my shoesize or whatever else it is that I happen to write about. On the brightside this gives me the opportunity to write something someplace, something I should probably do more often. It also provides me the opportunity to look at what I wrote in the past and roll my eyes at the nonsense that I thought passed for original thought. Well, at any rate here I am writing myself into the annuls of internet obscurity for the world to look at. When I run for public office this is going to be a real thorn in my side. However by that point if you dont have a we(blog) people wont even know what you stand for, not that people care now. Forward march.

I think I forgot

2006-09-27T09:23:00.000-05:00

To keep posting on this Dag-gone "Blog" business. In recent months rebecca and I have been a little busy. A number of transitions have occurred in our lives and at work. 1: Rebecca is no longer working inpatient Psych. (all hours of the night and day). Now she is doing outpatient psych (a set schedule and weekends off HOORAY). 2: I am now the acting secretary at the dept. of socialwork at Womack (the hospital), boo. I end up doing all kinds of boring repetative tasks that seem to have little to no impact on anything. However, for some mystery reason they must be done. Ugh, this was supposed to last a couple of weeks and we are about to start month number three. 3: we painted a little in our house, not a big change but WHATEVER I NEVER ASKED YOUR STUPID OPINION MAYBE YOU NEED TO CHILL OUT!

so there you have it. I don't have much else to say right now, but maybe I will update this tiny piece of internet faux-estate that I have. PEACE OUT DOODS AND DOODETTES.

I was...but it happ...I...okay

2006-06-23T12:06:00.000-05:00

Being raised in a religious family is rather difficult. Not because there are problems with the family itself. Quite the opposite really. If I was to put my families relative okay-ness on a scale of one to ten I would have to say we are pretty okay. The problem is that as a part of this family being religious and having a personal/public/private relationship with God is common. The real issue becomes when it gets difficult. My sister in her own (WE)blog today (or someday) said that as young adults we get comfortable with the church doing things for us and we get lazy. The same is true with family. In the family having that connection is easy and comfortable, everybody seems to do it. However outside of the family in our daily lives it is harder because other people are not helping us and making it easy and comfortable. Well that is how it seems to me at least. My wife and I don't see each other on weekends much. Before when we did have a Sunday off we made sure to go to church together but as time has gone by it has become much easier to just not. We don't know very many religious people out here and I, at least, have become comfortable doing my own thing. I still pray and talk with God but there is definitely

something that is astray. I say it is because I am far from a church and that my spouse and I don't have the time to blah blah blah... but that is a me making excuses to feel better. In reality if it was a real priority then I would make time for it. I make more time for things I like doing, but less for God... pretty silly really. Oh well there you have it.

In other news: I got a new computer the other day. The PX (post exchange(army walmart)) had a sony Vaio for sale there. Which is what I had. They had a computer I was looking at i 2 models. VGN270 and VGN170. Both were the same price both, on the display had the same specs. I randomly picked one and they were out. So I said I'll take the other (they look the same too). As it turns out it was the better of the two. It had twice the RAM and hard-drive in addition to a better processor...and magically this better computer was (as it turned out) $100 LESS than the worse computer they were out of. No one knows why. There you go. Laptop 1 gig memory 100GB hard drive, 1.83 GHZ processor 14.4" screen for about $1000. The military has its advantages.

In addition

2006-06-19T09:47:00.000-05:00

as an adendum to the previous post my wife and I have taken the time to fortify our house. This includes a number of intricate and deadly traps that will be set off upon entering the home and are activated upon leaving. We have also let our dogs loose while we are gone, hoping that they will kill the second wave that survives the initial onslaught we have set up. There are a number of advantages and disadvantages to this system. Most importantly our house is impenatrable, the key problem is that we have not been inside our house in days. By now our dogs may be starving and we are to scared by the death trap that is our home to go inside. All of our worldy belongings are safe, and we are permenantly camped out in our driveway, praying for someone to break in so we can follow behind. If we're lucky our dogs will recognize us and let us feed them before we are torn limb from limb, or that they will be so weak from hunger that they will not be able to put up a fight. All our hope lies in the foolish mistakes that dangerous criminals may make...

Something, something, and something

2006-06-19T07:41:00.000-05:00

I was on leave not long ago. As I have a habit of explaining military terms in mind-numbing minutae I will explain leave... even though everyone already knows what it is. We in the "Army" get thirty days of paid vacation. this is leave. <--- that was not technically a sentence. (Ir)regardless- I hate it when people say irregardless. Do they realize it means nothing? I hope so if you say regardless it means you are not giving regard to something if you irregard then you have chosen to ignore a fact, but if you chose to ignore something that you are not giving regard to then what does that mean... are you paying attention to it? are you ignoring the fact that it means nothing and therefor paying lots of attention to it? I don't get it.
Regardless... When we got back from leave some one broke into my house and stole my laptop computer. As a result of this I am updating this blog via smoke signals and morse code. It's a little complicated but I figured it was worth it for the two people that look at this thing on a monthly basis. If things go well I should be able to buy a new computer here in a little bit. I don't know what to get though!!!11!1!! I was too excited to continously hold down on the shift key. Well there you have it, peace out donny.

Shoes, Running, and Being Fat

2006-05-31T14:05:00.000-05:00

I said yesterday that I was going to be doing a APFT today (refer to yesterdays posting if you have memory problems). For the most part it went pretty well. As it turns out I maxed the Pushups (I did 78) I got a 70-ish on the situps (57) and I got a 65-ish on the run (15:50). The interesting thing is the weigh-in. The Army wants people to not be fat, understandably. It turns out that since last month I have lost three pounds, shrunk more than an inch and gained 3.7% body fat, also my neck is 1/2 an inch smaller. To say that the system of measuring health and fitness is flawed is similar to saying that my NCOIC has the occasional alcoholic beverage or that Jesus accidentally got stuck in some wood. You see somethings aren't just a little bit (for those of you who are currious Jesus really did get on the cross on purpose, so don't panic you can reference the Lord in analogies and still be a nice person... and my NCOIC is a drunk).

No one cares about what I have to say about the military though, sorry for boring you (no one is reading this and I know it) with needless details and rambling similies. On the other side of things my wifes parents dropped by the other day. I thought we were a little out of the way, but they got caught up in traffic on the way home from Kansas to Kansas and decided to go 20 hours out of there way to avoid the frustration of deer migrating at night. Everything has been going pretty well. We have found a new shoe store too. The Shoe Carnival. I feel weird going to a store that has the word Carnival in the title. for whatever reason Carny's have never been people that have inspired a lot of trust in me. So to go to a store that models itself as a Carnival is somewhat out of my comfort zone. On the bright side those Malasian kids do a heck of a job with their stitching. Well I think thats probably enough for today, prett soon I'm going to start offending people.

Fortune, Fitness, and Chinese Buffet's

2006-05-30T13:58:00.000-05:00

The other day my wife and I went to a Chinese buffet. The food was okay… it was after all a buffet (I don’t like buffets very much). What really got me was the fortune cookie. Everyone has their own particular brand of funny when it comes to fortune cookies “After...hehe…after you read it you should say ‘in bed’ heh. Get it? Then it’s funny because it’s a fortune, hehehe, in bed!” right well that stopped being funny years ago, but keep on doing it if you find it so terribly amusing. My fortune cookie was quite possibly the most eerie thing I have ever seen. It said “Pick another fortune cookie”. How often do you see a cookie refer to itself in the first person? Or at all?! Most of the time they seem to be pretty content being a carrier for a message, as opposed to being part of the message itself. I refused to get another, I will not have dough control my life.

On an unrelated note I have an APFT tomorrow. The APFT is the Army Physical Fitness Test. It makes sure I’m not too slow, too weak, and not too fat. So far I have not failed. I have to run 2 miles in under 16 minutes, do more than 45 push-ups in 2 minutes and more than 50 sit-ups in two minutes. I can do the allotted push-ups and sit-ups in under a minute. The run however is where I tend to suck. Oh and the better you do the more “points” it is worth. Just passing is 180 points (each event is worth up to 100, but a minimum of 60 is required). I usually score somewhere in the mid 200 range. I come close to maxing the push-ups do okay on the sit-ups and pass my run panting and wheezing and just barely eking by. I can’t seem to bring myself to care all that much, so there you go! Well have a nice day on the internet.

On down to San Antone...

2006-05-22T09:40:00.000-05:00

So, for the past two weeks I was in San Antonio. The reason I was there was for Army training. To be specific I was learning some extra drug and alcohol training tips and tricks (on a side note I had the highest scores on both the written and oral tests). It was mostly something the enlisted folks go to, but some civilians are there too. During the day we would learn about the dangers of alcohol and in the evening almost everyone would get drunk. There were two exceptions myself (Justin) and a man named Stewart. Stewart is a Mormon Bishop and president of his ward in Hawaii, he was a pretty cool guy. Stewart and I were the designated drivers. What I would like to tell you about are the dangers of being a designated driver. I was sitting there minding my own business at this piano bar (here I will explain this concept- the idea is that there are two grand pianos on a stage and two guys playing on them taking requests from the audience and generally being silly, they were pretty good and knew lots of songs). All of a sudden all the drunk people decided to order Jaggier-bombs (a mix of Jaggiermeister and redbull) and one drunk man spilt his all over me (1). Later I was being shouted at by a drunk man to order a Shirley temple and a margarita was spilt on me (2) which caused someone’s vodka and something else to spill on me (3). Afterwards a full corona and a Shirley temple were spilt on me at the same time (4 and 5). At this point I decided (using my designated driver powers) that it was time to leave. I finally managed to round up everyone who came with me and eject them from the bar. It was about 1230 in the morning and then I got them back to the hotel, took a shower and went to sleep. The strangest thing was the next morning I woke up to find the strangest rash on my body were all the alcohol and been. Needless to say I was unhappy. There were two things that made it worthwhile 1) no one died in a car accident 2) everyone that was not me or Stewart had a terrible hangover which made my last day that much cheerier when I shouted good-bye to all the sleepy people after our last half-day of class. The lesson: don’t drink and drive and don’t be a designated driver just stay home and don’t drink (if you do go Shirley Temples are too sweet).

Bow-dit-dit-bu-dow-dow!

2006-05-02T14:03:00.000-05:00

That’s the sound ‘The Shield’ (a television show on FX) makes when it starts. On a different note (both figuratively and literally) I was walking towards the Hospital I work at today and I noticed (this was around 1400-ish(2:00 PM-ish)) that there were some bagpipes playing Amazing Grace somewhere off in the distance. I found it a little surreal for some reason. After all, how often do you hear someone playing bagpipes (outside of the Renaissance Faire) and playing Amazing Grace at that, maybe at a funeral, if you happen to know a Scotch/Irish policeman or fireman? Outside of those rather limited times it seems to be something of a rarity. I’ve been over to people’s homes and have heard them strum a little on the guitar, or casually play the piano but it is uncommon in the extreme for someone to nonchalantly play the bagpipes in your normal everyday life. I think it has something to do with the fact that you CANNOT play a bagpipe nonchalantly. I believe that it requires a person to be fully chalant (ßthis is not a word) in order to pull out a set of bagpipes and start playing. I don’t think that bagpipes are really good background music for conversations either. It’s like trying to have throbbing club music as a background piece. “Did you hear that so and so was doing…” “WHAT?!” they would reply. So it is with bagpipes. On the other hand they do have a certain ethereal quality that makes you enjoy them. I don’t know what to tell you, bagpipes are loud, cannot be played casually, but people love them.

Beer in North Carolina

2006-04-25T06:55:00.000-05:00

Rebecca and I have some friends who are really big beer fans. As a result of this they pay a lot of attention to what is going on in the world of Beer, believe me there is a whole world of it too. This next weekend there is a Beer Festival in Ralliegh NC that they are going too. Now, for Rebecca and I beer is not that big of a deal. Let me clear something up real quickk (for those who are currious) I have no problem with people drinking. In fact I occassionally have a drink. I do not believe there is some morae out there that tells people that to allow alcohol to enter your body is the essence of drinking in the devil. If that was the case then I could never have cough medecine. What I do believe is that excess is bad news. In anything, eating drinking, playing video games, or sleeping. all of these things when done in excess can take the place of God and that becomes an issue. The reason alcohol can be so dangerous is that it is easy for people to get pulled into its shadowy depths. So to recap real quick: 1) beer in NC, 2) drinking isn't that bad. Okay, so Rebecca and I are thinking that we might go, this is because we like these folks and we have been told it is a really friendly place (few alcoholics go becuase the beer glasses are too small) and they have good live music. For any more insights into the human psych, or about what drinks I like send me an e-mail at Dontemailme@shutup.com Thanks

Four miles...

2006-04-19T09:09:00.000-05:00

About two weeks and a half weeks ago I was doing a 6-mile trail run with my Company. A Company, for those unfamiliar with the Military, is a type of unit. Here is a quick breakdown. The Army is made of several "Armies" a unit of size measurement. The Continental US has two armies, east and west. There is also a Europe army, and a pacific army. From army it goes to Divisions (the 82nd Airborne division is an example). A division will have several thousand soldiers. Divisions are made of Brigades (usually four). A brigade is made of Battalions (usually four or five). A battalion is made of comapanies (at least four possibly as many as 8). Companies are made of Platoons (about four, each platoon has about 50-75 soldiers). Platoons are made of squads (always four) and have around 15-20 soldiers. There is a quick lesson for you. anyway, we were doing this six mile run and I twisted my knee. so for the past couple weeks I havge had some trouble running and was given a profile (military lingo) saying I should not run. Yesterday I was running with a friend who just got back from Iraq and we went about four miles. My knee hurt around mile 3, but I kept on trucking. Basically this is a long way of saying I run more than I should and I hurt my knee. also, below this is chapter two of my book.

Chapter 2

2006-04-19T09:07:00.000-05:00

The Monks at Antar
Garret clutched the soft pillow and turned fitfully in his warm, downy bed. The sound of birds could be heard through the window and a gentle, warm breeze caressed his cheek. Garret turned once more in his bed and then slowly, groggily came to his senses. He sat up wearily and wiped his sleep blurred eyes and took in what was around him.
At first he was very confused. He could not understand what had happened, he remembered helping his mother with some chores, and picking berries. Now, however, he was in a strange foreign room, sleeping on a soft bed that was not his, and wearing a clean, white, cotton shirt that was softly hung from his narrow shoulders.
Then he remembered what had happened. His parents were dead, and he was alone. With that realization he felt fat, wet tears welling up in his eyes. He rubbed his eyes vigorously and felt determined to be finished crying for now. At least until he knew where he was and what was going on, mostly he was unsure what to feel. He knew he was safe, but the loss of his parents so fresh that he could hardly bear to think about it.
With a ragged, tearful, breath he got out of bed and for the first time began to take in the details of where he was. The walls and ceiling were made from the same dull grey stone. The floors, however, where made from a tough blonde wood. As we walked about the room he could tell that this was an older building, the floors were weathered and the stones had been worn smooth by time. A small wooden chest sat at the foot of the bed. The walls, for the most part, were bare and it was clear that someone had taken great care to keep this place clean.
He walked over towards the window and caught his breath as he looked out. He had never seen anything like this. As he looked he could now see he was on the second floor of, what could best be described as, a castle of sorts. Not the fancy castles that fine lords and ladies live in, but the rough kinds that were used in war. He knew there was a better word for it, but he could not recall it now for the life of him. Stretched out below him was a flat green field that ran all the way over to the far walls. These walls must have been at least thirty feet tall, and were topped with battlements and ramparts. He leaned a little forward and he could feel himself tingling with anxiety as he saw how high up he was.
To his left he could see a well and another building. It was dotted with windows and must have been a kind of boarding house. To his right he could see a fenced in field where several horses and some cattle stood grazing. Several men could be seen below moving about. He could see now that something did not quite seem to make sense. None of these men looked like any soldier he had ever heard of. In fact the looked more like the monks he had seen when he went with his father into town to sell grain. Actually the more he thought about it the more he realized the looked exactly like the monks from the Antar Monastery. For some reason that made Garret feel a little more at ease. These men were known for their kindness and gentle dispositions.
Garret jumped a little as he heard the door creak open behind him. He quickly turned about and saw the door slowly crack open and a shaven head peek through and look over at the bed. When it was clear to whoever was looking that no one was in the bed, Garret spoke up.
“Hello?” Garret asked towards the errant head. Then it was the bald mans turn to jump at the sound of Garrets voice. He turned to see the young man standing by the window. Now that Garret had a chance to look at him more closely he could see that it was Brother Micah, the monk that had found him at the farm house. “Micah? Where am I? What happened at my house? What’s going on?” All these questions fired off in rapid succession as Garret hurried across the room to the smiling face of the monk. He could not explain it, but Garret felt a strange affinity for this man, who he thought of as his rescuer.
“Slow down, child, slow down!” Micah smiled reassuringly at the young boy as Garret rushed to greet him. “You have asked several questions, but I am afraid I can only faithfully answer some of them. But first I imagine you will want to change into some day clothes, and have some breakfast. And I’m afraid that you have me at something of a disadvantage my son, for we have not had the chance to hear your name.” Garret paused a moment to consider, and realized that they wouldn’t know because he had been resting since they had first picked him up.
“My name is Garret,” he said in a rather proud voice, it was all he had left. He had been named for his grandfather, a man he knew to have been a kind, honest, and brave man before he had passed away a few years ago. “And I would very much like something to eat, and some clothes to wear about, thank you sir.” As he said the last he bowed slightly, in what he hoped was a very polite manner.
“No need to bow, Garret, I am just a novice monk. And you called me Micah before so I see no harm in continuing that trend.” He grinned slightly as he talked and placed a loving hand on Garrets shoulder. He was finding the young man in front of him rather amusing. “There will be some fresh clothes over here; some of the people in town donated a few things that they thought would fit.” He showed Garret to the small wooden chest that lay at the foot of the bed Garret had been sleeping in. As Micah opened it Garret noticed a strange emblem on the front of it. The symbol looked to be golden cross, though broken down the middle, on a black field with a silver crescent moon behind it. He considered asking about it, but decided to wait until his other questions had been answered first.
Once the chest was open Garret removed a dark grey shirt and a simple tan pair of linen pants. A thin woven belt lay in the chest as well, so he used it to cinch the slightly too large pants around his waist. Once he was fully dressed Micah took him by the hand and showed to the way to the kitchen.
The rest of the building was much the same as the room he had slept in. The same light colored wood served a floor, and for the most part the walls were left bare except for the occasional wall sconce or worn tapestry. Some of the tapestries bore the same symbol that he had seen on the chest in his room. Garret was led down a long, winding staircase and led through a large hall. It may have once served as a gathering for court, but now looked as though it was for religious purposes.
“This Keep had belonged to the Templars, before the Great Wall was built. They abandoned it during the Goblin Wars, almost 60 years ago.” Micah said quietly as they walked through the huge room. “This room used to be great hall, where the Knight-Marshall of this Fort held council. Since we have moved in we decided it would better serve as a chapel, Sol willing.” As Micah invoked the name of the deity, Sol, he bowed his head in reverence. Garret stared with wide eyes, this used to be a Templar Fortress! What an amazing thought. Those great, powerful knights were well known all across Sacrimore, even as far north as Garret lived. His heart raced a little at the thought of those heroic men fighting back the hordes of monsters in this very place. He had imagined himself performing those same deeds in the clearing by the stream only a few days ago.
“You may have noticed their crest here in the main keep. It’s the same symbol that’s on the chest in your room.” Micah said as they left the great hall and turned down a long corridor. “The kitchen is right down here, it’s really much larger than we need, but we occasionally use all of it on holidays, for feeding the poor. Ah there’s that crest.” Micah said as he pointed out a large tapestry that carried the symbol Garret had been so curious about before. Garret began smiled again at the thought of the Templar’s being in this same place, decades before, but then a strange fit of melancholy came over him and he stared at his feet holding back tears.
“Here we are,” Micah said as he opened a large, heavy, dark wooden door. As the door opened Garret’s nose was filled immediately with the smell of hearty spices and the smoky scent of meat and eggs gently sizzling on the stove-tops. Inside was a huge kitchen. Copper pots hung shining from the ceiling and large pans lay on top of one of the ovens. Down the middle of the room ran a long tall counter, clearly it would have been used for some kind of food preparation. At the other side of the room several monks were busy at work putting together a large breakfast.
Garret could feel his mouth watering as he looked at the busy monks at the end of the room, his sudden depression vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. “Right over here, Garret.” Micah showed him through a door to another room. This room had a tall cathedral ceiling and was easily 30 meters in length. A long dark wooden table ran the length of the room. On each side there was an equally long bench that ran parallel to the table made of the same dark, rich wood. A hundred people could have easily fit on either side of the massive table. “Have a seat, Garret, This is where we take all of our meals.”
“Thank you.” Garret said in a hushed voice. He could feel his stomach churning with a sense of hunger as the food continued to be made ready. “How soon can I eat?” Garret asked, realizing after the words had left his mouth that he probably sounded very rude, though he was not sure if he cared at this point.
Micah chuckled and nodded. “Yes I imagine you would be very hungry. The rest of the Brothers will be here very shortly. Monks we may be, but I rarely see any of my brothers miss a meal.” Micah sat down and patted the wood on the bench next to him. “Have a seat, my child, they will be here soon and then we will eat.”
Garret sat down next to him and waited, albeit impatiently. Steadily, but far too slowly for Garrets personal taste, the rest of the monks made there way in to the great dining room. Eventually Garret recognized another of the men that had rescued him, Father Caldren. He was very easy to pick out from the other monks, being one of the few that did not have a shaved head. He had a very serious look, and nodded at Micah as he came in. Another man, this one also had a full head of hair, and also very old, sat at the head of the table. He looked as though he was waiting for something.
Once it seemed that all the monks who possibly could come had made it into the room the older man at the head of the table stood up and began to speak. “I’m sure all of us are aware that we have a guest with us this morning. And while he will have plenty of time to meet all of us, I would like Brother Micah to take a moment and introduce us to this young man.” With that the older man sat down. Garret blushed a little at the attention, and dropped his head to keep from meeting anyone’s gaze.
Micah stood up and cleared his throat before talking, “Thank you Father Ammon, This young brother here is Garret. As many of you know we found him at a burnt farm off the main road to Antar.” When Micah said that Garret could feel those tears from before beginning to work their way back up, but again held them back determined to be strong, the way his father would have been. “He will be staying in the far eastern room and the second floor.” After Micah had finished he sat down and bowed his head. Garret looked around the room and saw that the other monks were doing the same thing, eyes closed, heads bowed. Unsure of what to do, Garret followed suit. He kept his eyes closed for what seemed like an eternity. His stomach continued to growl in protest that none of the food it smelled was making its way into his mouth. He was sure it was highly inappropriate to make those noises, but was unsure what to do about it.
Eventually he felt a soft jab from Micah’s elbow. He looked up and could see that several of the Monks had started to serve out food. Garret turned to Micah and began to speak, but was cut off sharply by the stony looks he received from around the room. He decided it was best to eat in silence, and again dropped his head, trying to avoid the upsetting memories he kept having. The food that made its way around the room seemed to be about the best food that Garret thought he had ever eaten, although some of that may have been hunger speaking.
In time the meal ended and Garret was left sitting alone at the table while the monks busily gathered up the dishes around the table. The sounds of clanking dishes and splashing water could be heard emanating from the kitchen. Garret wanted to help them but was unsure what to do, since everything seemed to be working just fine with him sitting there. Alone he again his thoughts began to drift and his sorrow once again threatened to over take the young boy. Soon they seemed to finish and Micah came back over to him.
“Well, follow me Garret, Father Ammon and Father Caldren want to have a word with you. They are waiting for us outside in the garden.” Micah helped Garret to his feet before continuing to walk. For the first time Garret noticed that his ankle was no longer sore, he would have expected it to ache for several weeks.
“Micah, my I twisted my ankle when I was in the woods, but its not hurting anymore, how is that?” They continued walking as Micah turned his head to respond.
“We monks have some gifts from Sol; one of them is the gift of helping wounds to heal. When we got you back here we noticed your ankle was swollen, and we healed it for you.” The idea of someone magically healing something was almost too much for Garret to handle, he had heard of magic, but had never seen it, and had certainly never had it performed on him.
They set off once more, past the large table and through a set of large double doors that had huge iron bands running across them horizontally to reinforce them. It must have been a left over from when the Templars still lived here. It was a formidable structure and would have taken some work to force entry, not that the monks were worried about forced entry.
As they left through the double doors they came into a lush well manicured garden. The green grass spread all about them, and warm pleasant odors washed over him as they walked down the rough stone path. It seemed that it was mostly filled with various herbs and wild plants, but spread throughout were several flowers of a wide variety of colors; these were most likely the source of the sweet, mild odor. In the middle of the garden the two older monks sat on a low wooden bench next to a clear, clean pool. From the pool water trickled out through long wooden half-pipes and gently sprinkled water out into the various planter boxes that the sun hit and sent a myriad of colors sparkling brilliantly off each green leaf. When the older monks saw the pair walking towards them they stood, Father Ammon smiled in a very kind manner, while Father Caldren had a very serious look on his face and simply nodded to both of them.
“Garret, Brother Micah, please have a seat.” Father Ammon gestured towards the bench opposite the one he had been sitting on only moments before. Once he and Micah sat the older monks sat down as well pulling their robes out a little to keep them from bunching underneath them. “Garret, it’s a pleasure to meet you child. My name is Father Ammon, and my more somber comrade here,” he gestured towards the man who had helped Garret into the wagon some time ago “is Father Caldren. We are the head monks at this Monastery.” Garret nodded his understanding. “You are free to stay here as long as you need, and we are more than happy to have you. If you have any questions of us we would be more than happy to answer them for you.”
“Where exactly am I, sir? How long have I been here? What happened to my family?” Garret had spewed forth all those question in rapid fire. Father Ammon and Father Caldren looked at each other briefly before answering.
“I will tell you what I know, son.” Father Caldren began. “You are at the Monastery at Antar, just outside of Antar proper, I am sure you have been there before.” Garret nodded that he had. “We found you two days ago. We often leave to take the Ceremonial wine that we make here to some of the parishes in the area. On the way back from our last delivery we saw smoke in the sky, thick dark smoke, not the white smoke we expect from the farms in that area. We found you there at the farm; I assume that was your home.” Again Garret nodded, this time he dropped his head little, to keep from meeting anyone eyes as finally the tears won over and began a gentle trickle down his face. He squinted his eyes hard trying to stop the flow, and eventually wiped his cheeks and sniffed as nonchalantly as he could. Father Ammon paused, giving Garret time to collect himself
“There is no shame in crying, Garret. Anyone who claims to be a man must accept his feeling, or they will claim him, never be afraid of feeling sad.” He paused again letting Garret take in a few halting, tearful breaths before continuing. “We know that something terrible had happened there, but the details, I am afraid, only you know for certain.”
Father Caldren paused at this, waiting for some kind of response. When nothing happened he drew in breath to begin speaking but was preemptively cut off by Father Ammon.
“There will be plenty of time for these matters later; I can see that you are still very tired.” Father Ammon leveled a gaze at Micah and smiled. “Brother Micah would you be so kind as to show our guest here around the Monastery, Father Caldren and I will be in the Library if you have need of us. Coming, Father?” The last was said to Caldren who grudgingly stood and straightened his robes before following Father Ammon as he left the garden and headed back into the keep.
Once they were gone Micah and Garret stood and headed out of the garden. “I will give you a brief tour of the Monastery, and introduce you to some of our Brothers.” They walked through a large opening in the wall of the garden and headed to a more open area. Outside he could see that the entry way to the Monastery was on his right, it was a huge portcullis, though he doubted that it had been lowered in decades. In front of him now was the stable that he had seen from his window. A corral stretched from the stable where all the animals were grazing. Inside the simply fenced in corral he could see one of the monks brushing down the grey horse who had pulled the wagon that was at his house.
“Brother Jerran!” Micah called to the monk. He turned and waved before he set own the brush and began to head towards them. “This is Brother Jerran, the stable master here. I believe he used to be a soldier before he joined us.” Indeed Jerran was a large, broad shouldered, man. He reminded Garret of his father, in several ways. He had a thick neck and a ready smile as he walked up to them. The smell of the horse and sweat were on him, another thing that reminded him of his father. He could see the sweat had built up on his face, as the day began to warm up once again.
“Pleasure to meet ya, son!” Jerran said as he gave a hearty slap to Garrets shoulder. Garret winced a little, his shoulder stinging a little. “Oh, sorry little brother, I forget my own strength sometimes. If there’s anything that you need jus’ let me know and I’ll do what I can.” Garret smiled at the man, he was a friendly sort and Garret could tell he was going to like him. “And if yer lookin’ for somethin’ to do, I can always use a hand around here.” He again reached over the low fence once more to give one more pat to Garrets shoulder, though this one was gentler. “Oh, well. Back to work for me, I’ll see you around!” With that the burly monk strolled back over to the now grazing horse, picked up the brush, rolled up his sleeves once more, and continued to bush it out.
“He’s about the nicest monk here, doesn’t talk much about his past though. I think he worked with a mercenary company out of Vale. He’s seen some rough things too, I don’t envy him for that.” Micah was saying this to Garret as they walked away from the stables.
As they continued walking down the simple dirt path that cut its way across the short, well tended grass Garret saw two monks a little ways off that seemed to be arguing with one another. “Who are those two?” Garret asked pointing at the pair as they moved past.
“Them?” Micah laughed a little as he saw them argue. “Those two are Brothers Eric and Tomlon. They are the wine experts here, or should I say they claim to be experts. I’m sure they know plenty, but …well I’ll just leave it at that. It’s not polite for me to speak about the other Brothers that way. Apparently there used to be a vine that grew wild along the coast, which by the way you can see from the eastern side of the north wall, your rooms view is blocked by that building. Anyway, when the monks moved here they began to cultivate the vine and made it for ceremonies. As time went on people heard about it and began to request it from us. So we make several batches now, which are what we sell in town. We trade our wine for some of the other things we need here. Those two are always arguing about something, one says it has too much acidity, the other says that it’s too sweet. I don’t know enough about wine to even care. But it’s a very big deal to both of them.” Micah shook his head as Tomlon and Eric made there way to the other large building next to the keep.
“What’s that building over there?” Garret nodded towards where the two monks had just gone.
“Oh, that building has several functions. The basement, where those two went I’m guessing, is where we keep the wine. The first floor we use to house any some of the monks who did not want to live in the keep or wanted to be over here. And the second floor is our library.” As he talked they continued walking towards the building.
“You have a library?” Garret asked a little awe in his voice. The only book he had ever seen up close was the one his father used to make tally marks for the bushels of grain that he brought to market.
“Oh yes, is there any book in specific you would like to see?” Micah asked as they got closer. ‘I know a lot of boys you’re age are interested in histories, and stories about war. We have several books chronicling the Goblin Wars, as well as the wars between the city-States…” He trailed off when he noticed that Garret was starting to trail behind him, looking at his feet. “Is something wrong?”
Garret shrugged as he spoke “I don’t know how to read. I guess I’m probably too old to learn now too, aren’t I?” His voice caught a little as he talked, if would probably seem silly to men like these that someone didn’t know how to read. Micah laughed after Garret spoke, then covered his mouth and pretended to cough. He could see that Garret’s face was growing a deep red color and that he was staring once more at his feet, thinking he was being made fun of.
“I’m not laughing at you, my dear boy, I’m laughing at myself! Of course what boy your age knows how to read? To old, to old my foot! I was twice your age when I first learned numbers, or letters.” Garret looked up at him hopefully, feeling much better about his situation. Micah could see a little bit of the young boy he must have been before his parents were killed.
“How, er…where could I learn?” Garret asked a little sheepishly.
“I will teach you. And if there is anything that the monks here do that you would like to learn about, just ask them. No one here will refuse to teach you something you have a desire to learn. As a matter of fact, I’m sure Jerran would be more than happy to teach you to ride in exchange for helping him groom those horses.” Micah could tell that Garret was feeling better already. And Garret could feel his small heart racing a little at the thought of learning to really ride a horse; his father had always been upset when he tried to ride their mule back home. He once more pushed back his tears. He knew he would have time to cry again later.
“What will I give you, Brother Micah, what do you do?” Garret asked, wanting to feel like he was useful to someone again.
“Well, I work at the library most days with Father Elwin. I can always use a little help sorting out the books, and distinguishing where they go. So, in order for you to help me I have to teach you to read. Once you can do that we can start putting you to work.” Garret was smiling now, the first real smile he’d had since he had seen his parents killed.
“Micah,” Garret said, now a little more somberly. “I’m still very sad that my parents are gone. When does it stop?” He could feel his tears welling up again, and wanting desperately for that hole in his chest to close up, so he could be normal again.
“It may never go away altogether Garret. When my mother was killed I was down for months, before I joined the monks here. Look to Sol, Garret. That is where you will find help. It’s what helped me, and if I can I will help you find him too.” Garret nodded, oddly feeling a little better knowing that someone else had gotten through something similar before, even though it still felt like his chest was caving in.
The rest of the day went without much incident, Micah telling Garret about the scriptures, and Garret asking many rather insightful questions. Eventually the questions turned to the keep, and after the evening meal, which was held again in silence, Garret asked about the Templars.
“The Templars… Well, let me see. The Templars are men who have dedicated their lives to protecting the weak, defeating evil, and serving Sol. Every year they take applicants, in spring. They will take people from every walk of life, every class, and from every education. You see, not everyone can become a Templar. They are gifted warriors and, or at least I am told, they gain great power over their minds, and over nature. One must be not only spiritually gifted, but emotionally sound.
“It’s an odd thing, we like the Templars, serve Sol. We however have taken a vow of pacifism; we do not believe that it is right to bring harm to another man for any purpose. As a result Sol gives us many gifts: the power to heal, the power to cure disease, and many other talents. To the Templars he gives strength to defend those who are otherwise alone and helpless. I believe it to be a noble calling, though many of the monks disagree with me.” He could tell by looking at him that Garret was excited by this idea. And for the first time the entire day his thoughts were focused entirely away from his loss.
“Maybe if there had been Templars near by, my parents would still be alive. I bet a Templar could have stopped them.” Garret said the last with a fierce determination that surprised Micah, in reality it surprised Garret too, but he could feel a strange thought growing up inside of him.
“That may be Garret, but it is a hard life and few are accepted.” Micah said watching closely for Garrets reaction. Garret furrowed his brow, as though thinking about something very deeply. At last he kind of nodded as though truly making a decision.
“Maybe more people should try to be Templars then. If more people tried and more people made it, then there would be more Templars in the world to help people.” Garret seemed to grow more determined the more he spoke about it. “When could I go? How old do you have to be to try?” Garret almost seemed to plead with Micah, it was obvious that Garret needed to hear this, and needed to know that good could be as strong as evil.
“You have to be at least fourteen; they won’t take anyone too young, and no older than sixteen.” Micah could see steeliness in the boys’ eyes that let him know that this was no idle fancy. Something had sparked inside this young man, and inside he was unwilling to let this idea go. Micah decided then, that whatever this boy needed, he would help him, the world owed him that at least, Sol owed him a chance to right this wrong.
“There is nothing simple about becoming a Knight of Templar, Garret. But if you decide that this is what you want to do then we will talk in the morning. The trials are hard, and you must not only be physically strong, but you must be knowledgeable, wise, patient, and understand Sol’s desires and wishes.”
Garret turned to meet Micah’s gaze. “I would like to talk to you about it in the morning then.” Garret turned to go towards his bedroom. Garret steeled himself, and knew that if there had been someone strong to help his family it may have been different. Garret pushed aside those sad thoughts for now and was determined to be that strong person for someone else. Maybe he could stop something like this in the future. He would certainly find the fair faced, dark haired, sinister man and stop him from his evil once and for all.
Micah smiled and for the first time in years, he felt like he had something really important to do. Micah turned and walked to his room, excited for the next day. This was going to be a challenge he was all too familiar with. Micah could not let Garret fail. Micah knew he had been too weak, but would give Garret all the chances he never had.

Near Misses and Air Conditioning

2006-04-14T07:28:00.000-05:00

So this last wekk my wife, who shall remain nameless (unless you know her name, in which case it is Rebecca) had a car "incident" it was not an accident, no collision occured, but there almost was and she still got whip-lash. I will explain the circumstances. Imagine you are at an intersection where you are on a small road turning left on to a five lane road (two lanes one way to lanes another and a tunring lane). To your left there is a hill, about 75 yards (225 feet) away. You check and see that it is clear to turn and proceed into the dangerous road. As you turn a lady in a small red "car" (Rebecca says sporty, but she also thinks her Jeep is sporty, take that how you will) approached at excessive velocity. When said woman sees you she slams on the brakes leaving a 35 foot tire mark on the ground. Due to the fast deceleration she swerves to the left towards the vehicle you are in. To keep from collidiing with her now you slam on your brakes to avoid the empty headed soul that wishes to ram her vehicle into yours. Fortunately no one was hurt, then the woman gives you a dirty look, because you (not her of course) almost caused an accident.
I have driven on that road, admittedly faster than I should have and have never, ever had an issue stopping when I see someone coming out of the same spot. I hvae gone as fast as 55 (in a 45) and decelerated safely and did not jar myself. I can only imagine how fast this sweet young strumpet must have been going, but my guess is faster than 80 (in a 45).
In other news we just paid 900 dollars to replace the evaporator coil in our Jeep becuase the AC was not working. Now that its replaced the car is nice and not cold. why? they forgot to recharge the coolant. So we took it back and low-and-behold there is a pinhole leak somewhere that will cause the coolant to slowly leak out of the Jeep. This will cost 350 dollars to fix. I will probably punch someone in the throat because of this. Any way I will catch you later

The Gun Show

2006-04-03T10:47:00.000-05:00

I went to a Gun show this past weekend. There were certainly a lot of guns that were there, also (to quote the ad) there was AMMO, AMMO, AMMO!! There are a number of reasons that I did not purchase 1) a gun and 2) AMMO, AMMo AMMO!!. One is that I do not have clearance with the county sheriff, who would have to make sure I'm not just bitter and want to shoot some (I may), the other is because they cost a lot of money. I mean serriously, why do I need to spend $650 on a .45? I get that they make big holes in things, and go BOOM very loudly...which I suppose is why I want one, but they also cost too many dollars. On a side note I got some money out of an ATM the other day and it charged me a $2 conveniance fee. I thought this was very odd as it was decidedly inconvenient for me to pay to get my own money. I kind of like this whole (we)blog thing I have going on here, I don't believe anyone actually reads it and it gives me something to do at work. and i dont have to worri about tiping, becuz no1 carz!! its a (we)blogg(G)!>!

wa-hey!

2006-03-31T09:08:00.000-05:00

So, here I am, yet again. I think I mentioned before that I am writing a story. I think I will post the first 'lil bit of it here. Its not done (by a long shot) but its around 75-ish double spaced pages. I'm not going to put all of that up becuase there is too much of it for anyone to want to actually read. But If I put it in small installments people may think "oh, this is shorter than it could be." as I have no idea of how to "use the internet" (or how to capitolize, reference start of sentence) I will simply 'cut and paste' this wordy garbage here....unless I ever learn how computers work. This is the first chapter

-Chapter One-
The Old Farm House
Garret pulled the long rope that ran down into the well. The sun was hot overhead and his small frame struggled to pull up the bucket of water. His forehead was beaded with sweat as he finally pulled it over the top of the stacked up stones. He poured its content into the tall wooden pail next to he roughly constructed well and wrapped both of his small arms around the pail as he picked it up. He turned and slowly ambled back towards the small farmhouse he called home.
He was a young boy, only eight years old; though he would tell you he was closer to nine than eight by now. Looking at Garret would not have caused anyone to take a second glance at him. He wore peasant clothes, roughly sewn together and often patched; he was no taller than any other boy of his age, and certainly no cleaner than anyone of his age would want to be. He wore his sandy blonde hair like most of the other boys he knew, a little long and cut as rarely as he could manage, which often involved trying to distract his mother from such business. All in all, Garret was a very normal boy.
The sun was shining brightly today. The clear blue sky was spotted by the puffy white clouds that people see in paintings. In the distance Garret could see the green rolling hills meet up with the perfect azure sky. In front of Garret stood the farm house that he had known for so long as home. It had a thickly thatched roof, and the sides were of built up stone with rough mortar holding it together.
It was just him, his mother, and father. Some other families lived a few miles off, and the city was just ten miles off. There was only one room inside, but it was all he had ever known. Nicer, even, that some of the other families that lived in the area. Just behind the house was the small barn that they used to store grain and keep their old mule in. It was a two story building, all wood, that his father had made only this past year. On the other side of the barn stood the old woods that Garret had always played in, they stood beckoning him from his duties. Garret knew, however that leaving would be much worse for him later than doing his chores now.
He looked across the fields and could see his father whipping the mule to keep moving as it dragged the plow behind. It had gotten unexpectedly warm very early this year, and now Garret’s father had to work twice as hard to get the fields seeded. Garret continued to move slowly, so as not to lose any water, the last thing he wanted to do was to make an extra trip to the well, especially when he was almost done with his chores for the day.
As he came up to the house he stopped by the large clay pot that they kept their water in and began to dump the contents of his pail into it. Garret shook the pail to ensure that no stray drops of water escaped the pot in front of him. Gently he placed the lid back on the pot and nodded, knowing that he had filled it as much was possible. He deposited the wooden pail next to the pot and moved towards the doorway of their home.
“Not so fast son,” the voice of Garrets mother sounded behind him in a rather serious tone. He winced as he heard her and knew that another chore had just been added to the continuously growing list. He turned to look at her as she spoke.
“There’s something I need you to go and do for me right now.” She was a rather pretty woman, though in very plain clothes. Her skin was tan and the wrinkles she had were from smiling too much, rather than from frowning and scowling like so many other adults did. Her hair was the same dark blondish hair that Garret had, though she wore hers long and pulled back. Her eyes, like his, were hazel. She always seemed to have a smile ready; even now she looked very sweet as she smiled down at him.
She held a small basket in her hands, which she was now offering to Garret. “I need you to take this basket and go into the woods. Do you remember those berries we saw the other day? Well, they’ve ripened now, so I need you to go and pick as many as you can and come back here. I expect to see you here and washed up before dark.” She beamed at him as she handed him the basket.
Garret took the basket with a grin on his face; this was not one of his usual chores. Both he and his mother knew it wouldn’t take that long to pick those berries. The bushes were over by the stream and he could spend most of the afternoon finding rocks ideal for skipping and perfecting his technique. He couldn’t think of anything that was much better than trekking through the woods, picking berries-several of which would be eaten before the got into the basket- and playing by the stream. He had half a mind to grab his fishing pole, but knew that would be pressing his already good fortune, and decided it was best left here. With a wide smile on his face he tore off towards those same beckoning woods, very pleased with himself
“Be careful on those rocks Garret,” his mother called after him, “and make sure you’re back here before dark!” The last was said as he was sprinting off into the woods behind there barn.
He was running through the woods now, darting over the fallen timbers and ducking through the thistles and low branches. It was a little over a mile to the stream, and Garret had practically worn a path back and forth from his house. All he could think about now was the adventures that would have when he got to the clearing. As he got closer he could hear the water trickling over the rocks and sped up so he could see the bushes that grew on the other side of the bank. He burst from the woods and looked over the clearing.
Garret continued on his path and splashed noisily to the other side of the stream, getting as wet as possible on the journey. This part of the stream that was in the clearing, the low rolling hills lifted over either side of it placing it in a neat little valley. It was an ideal setting for someone with a little imagination and some time on their hands. Garret had fought dozens of battles here, been the admiral of fleets and had even been knighted on a few occasions. This was his favorite spot to go to, when he had the chance. And while he was here he knew he should make the most of it.
He began to inspect the bushes and could clearly see that the berries had grown bright and plump since the last time he had been here. It was a good thing that his mother had spotted these when she had or any number of things could have gotten there before him, either the animals that stopped to drink at the cool water here, or one of the other boys from near-by farms.
His first order of business was to collect as many berries as he could, that way he knew he would plenty of time for playing afterwards. He began pulling berries off of the bush popping one in his mouth for every two that made it into the basket. He told himself it was to ensure that they were fully ripe, because who would want over or under ripe berries? Once he had collected as many as the basket could hold he took the cloth that sat in the basket and tied it off at the top, then set the entire thing in the clear, cool water. His mother had shown him this trick before, this way they would stay fresh while he went about his business.
The day was moving on and Garret had managed to keep himself quite well amused. He had gotten himself quite a collection of skipping rocks and had eaten far more berries than he had really intended too. He could tell by the sun that he had several hours still before it was even close to being dark. If he went home, there would always be more work to do. So he decided to find a comfortable patch of grass under the tall tree that bent over this part of the stream and to laid down for a while. Very soon, Garret felt himself nodding of to sleep.

* * * * *
Garret woke with a start. There was something very strange was in the air. Immediately he began to panic. It was well past when he should have left to go home, as it was already fairly dark, and he was not even ready to move. He hopped up from under the tree and picked up the basket that was still in the river. As he lifted it he began to cross the stream. He stared down at the water, and could barely see the rocks through the dark water; he normally was very deft at crossing them but now was left uncertain.
He knew any waiting was just going to make him more late and hurried to make it to the other side. The last thing he wanted were his parents mad after giving him the afternoon off. He had nearly crossed when his foot caught on one of the looser rocks and caused him to lose his balance. As he fell the basket slipped from his fingers and spilled half its contents into the dark cold stream. Once again Garret was soaked, but this time it was very different. Being wet in the middle of a hot day is a very different thing than finding oneself wet, alone, cold, and in the dark with half a basket of berries.
He swore under his breath some words his parents were probably unaware he even knew. He glanced back at the bush and shook his head. There was no time now to go back and pick more of them, he was already late, but he would rather show up with half a basket than to try and cross the stream twice more and risk losing everything. He got back to his feet and felt a sharp burning pain course up his leg. He knew right away that the fall had done more than simply gotten him wet. He took another step but his left ankle was feeling very sore and that same fiery burn surged up his leg when he put pressure on it.
This night was going from bad to worse, he thought to himself as he trudged along towards the woods, limping, wet, and shivering. Once he was in the woods he understood why his mother had always wanted him back earlier. It was much darker than it was out in the clearing, and growing darker by the second. He had never been aware quite how frightening these woods were at night, and now everything seemed to reach out and snag him as he moved past. As he plodded along he could tell it was going to take even longer than he had wanted to get back. Now he had to take his time and search out where the logs, branches, and thistles were in the path. During the day he knew were each one lay and had no trouble, it was very different in the dark. His heart was racing now; thinking not only of the fear of the unknown in these woods, but of what he knew was waiting for him back home.
As he meandered his way back to the farm house he began to notice again that something very strange was hanging in the air. It was thick, like smoke but different than any smoke that he had ever experienced. It had a dark oily smell to it that made his nose wrinkle up as it blew past, and there was something else, something nauseating that made his stomach churn as he got closer and closer to his home.
He was now very close to the farmhouse and the smell hung in his nose thick and putrid, his nose was burning from the thick odor. Garret was coughing, his hand drawn close to his mouth the other groping for support from near-by trees as he moved closer towards the edge of the woods. He looked over to where his house was and saw orange and yellow light dancing against the trees. His eyes strained to adjust to the new light in front of him and he squinted to see what was going on. Slowly, and as quietly as he could manage he was sneaking his way closer to the house. The smell in the flames was making him feel as though he would retch, but held it in as he limped closer.
He peered out at the farmhouse from behind a tree to see what happening. It was very plain now what was occurring; his house was a blazing effigy in the night sky. The shock of this realization caused Garret to stop breathing, and he stood stock still staring at what was in front of him now. Figures moved about the farm, in the fire he could barely make out a silhouette, but he knew that something sinister was going on. He looked across the field and could see that their small barn had been set ablaze too.
Then in the middle of the clearing he saw something, a figure whose features were lit up brilliantly. He had a pale face, and cold hard features, his black hair billowing in the wind behind him. Some might say that he was beautiful, but he was too evil for Garret to think of him as anything other than horrible. Something about that face froze Garret’s being to its very core. The figures whose features he could not make out seemed to shamble over to the lone man; it looked like they were carrying something.
The figures dropped the thing at the mans feet. As they shambled back away Garret struggled to see what was in front of him. The evil figure reached down to pick up this dark tangled mass, and as he lifted it Garret could now plainly make out what he was holding. His mother’s neck was being held tight in the evil man’s vice-like grip, her finger clawed at him trying to pry his hand off of her. Garret wanted to scream, to rush over and help her, to do something but his feet would not move and his mouth wouldn’t make any noise. The man smiled at her as she vainly struggled to get away. She turned her head briefly and in that second they caught each others eyes. She looked at him pleadingly hoping he would stay put. That moment seemed to stretch on for hours, every detail of her soot stained face and clear hazel eyes were burned into his brain. Then, only a moment later, their gaze broke.
It looked as though he was saying something to her, but Garret couldn’t hear anything over the crackling of the fire. The Man’s face turned into an ugly sneer and with a flick of his wrist he snapped her neck. He dumped her body on the ground, leaving her crumpled lifelessly on a patch of grass, not far from the field. Garret’s breathing came in hiccupping gasps as he stared at the scene that was unfolding in front of him.
Then, desperately his eyes searched for any sign of his father, where was he? Why hadn’t he done something to help his mom? It was then he saw those things again, a group of them was huddled together, and it looked as though they were tearing into something. He could hear the crack of bone and the sickening sound of flesh being rent by teeth. He turned his head before his eyes could fully adjust to what he had seen. He lurched his way back into the woods and began to vomit. Once, then twice, eventually he was finished but his body kept trying to push out of his system whatever it was that was making him see this.
Garret curled up on the ground and began to cry. This had to be a dream. He shook his head as if to rid himself of what he had seen. He knew that he was really just still under the shade tree by the stream and that when he woke up he would pick up his basket and head home and everything would be fine. He pinched himself to wake up, but he was still there. He pulled his knees up to his chest and began to sob as he rocked back and forth. His parents had never done anything to deserve this. Why had they come here? Why couldn’t they just leave his family alone?
Time passed and Garret could not manage to make himself move from his spot on the ground. He knew that if he moved they would find him, and he would suffer the same horrible fate his parents had. Eventually the fires died down and the night faded into pre-dawn light, and crept over the ruins that had once been Garrets home. He lay in the dark woods, no longer scared of what they held, nothing would compare to what he had just seen, and nothing as simple as the woods would scare him again. It grew lighter and the woods were once again brightening. Although the usual sounds that went with dawn were not there, there were no birds chirping and no small animals rushing about as was normal.
After some time there was the sound of voices. Then some footsteps as they came closer. Garret lay right where he had been all morning long, hoping not to be found, but daring not to move. He could hear something come to a stop and men began to move about.
“What happened here?” A somber voice said in the distance. The sounds of more movement could be heard now. The foot steps came ever closer, the sound of burned and brittle grass crunching under foot. Then Garret heard a gasp from behind him, and he knew that who ever it was saw the mangled remains that had once been his family, and he began to sob once more, but his face was dry, he had run out of tears during the night.
“What’s that noise?” A different voice spoke this time, more sorrowful than the last, “Do you hear that, I think someone is crying!” after he spoke footsteps could be heard all around. Whoever had stumbled onto the burnt out remains of an old farmhouse began to search about for the location of those soft, practically whispered, cries.
A figure in a long brown robe came into Garret’s view now, he was a small man, his head shaved and he wore sandals on his feet. He stooped down low to take a closer look at Garret. He had a gentle face, like his mothers had been, and worry was evident on his face. Garret could not tolerate the thought of his parents right now. He could feel his heart race as the robed man was looking at him, his eyes screwed up tight so that he wouldn’t have to look at the man, part of him hoping that he would be killed and they would send him on with the rest of his family.
Softly, and very gently, Garret was picked up and cradled in the arms of the robed man. “I’ve found him!” He called to the other men who cast about looking for where the sounds were coming from. “It’s alright lad, don’t worry we won’t hurt you. My name is Micah; we’ll get you on to safety.” When Micah picked him up the smell of oily smoke clung about the boys clothing and soot covered him from head to foot. As Micah held him, Garret began to softly whimper.
Now was the first time that Garret had a chance to fully see what had happened to his home. The blackened remains of his house stood about in a crumbled fashion. Nothing remained of the roof, it had been thatched and dried out and then packed tightly to keep out the weather. But if a flame took to it, it would certainly have lit up like tinder. The stone walls now were bent over as though they had grown lazy. He could see that the mortar had been burnt out of the walls, and only the stones remained loosely stacked up on each other.
Micah carried Garret over to a small wagon on the far side of the farmhouse. A lone grey horse pawed at the ground impatiently, the smell of smoke and death making it nervous. Garret could see now that the other men standing around him were dressed in the same fashion as Micah. All of them in long, rough, brown robes, their heads shaven save one, and with rope sandals on their feet. All of them wore worried looks on their faces as Micah came near them. Thoughtfully they looked over Garret, softly speaking to each other as they reached the wagon.
One of the men, the only one with hair, pulled a pack from the horse and removed a drab brown blanket, and placed it neatly in the back of the empty wagon. “Set him down over here,” the man said. He was older than any of the others, with wrinkles creasing his forehead and his once dark hair was now grey. Crows feet lining his eyes become more evident as he inspected him, while he reached out to take the boy from Micah.
“Do you have him Father Caldren?” Micah asked concern thick in his voice. Father Caldren nodded as he took the boy into his arms and placed him very gently on the blanket. The older man wrapped him up in the blanket before he closed the tail gate of the wagon gently, to not disturb the young man.
“He’ll be fine, Brother.” Caldren said as he latched the gate shut firmly. “Now don’t worry son,” he said brushing the soot stains left from tears out of Garrets eyes. “We’ll keep you safe son. Now go to sleep, you’ve had a rough night.” With that the older man turned and walked towards the horse, tapping it lightly with a stick to get it to move.
The wagon began to lurch forward, every bump in the ground clearly felt in the back. The swaying movement began to take effect on Garret. And though he willed himself to keep his eyes open, he was starting to feel safer. He did not know who these men were, but they had been kind. The reassurance the older man had given him and being given permission to sleep began to take its toll. His breathing became deep and slowly his eyes shut.
The wagon continued to sway and tumble down the rough dirt road. The half dozen men there were walking slowly with it. Garret did not know where he would be when he woke up, but he could only pray to Sol that it would be better than where he had come from. He woke up every now and again due to the occasional bump, but for the most part he slept the entire journey. Though his sleep was rife with nightmares, a few times he saw his mother’s smiling face and he felt happy.. This is the first chapter, though there is a prologue.

If you read all of this you need a new hobby.

They say that in the Army the chow is mighty fine...

2006-03-23T08:55:00.000-05:00

I've been in the Army now working on two years. for the most part I can't really find space to complain. I know that my wife has had solme issues that she has had to deal with and that it has caused a little difficulty for her, but for the most part its not too terrible. A friend of mine, same job as me, different unit, just back from Iraq the day before yesterday. He seems to be doing pretty well. No problems (after all he IS a Mental Health Super-Star (thats what they told us when we were in training (I didn't believe them then either))). I cannot bring myself to have any desire to stay in the military after my enlistment is up. When you break it down to dollars and cents I make pretty close to 25,000 a year...hmmm.... and I'm getting a Masters in Business Administration so it's possible, though hard to imagine (read as sarcasm (if you missed it the first time just read it again)), that I could make more money outside of the military.

In tha Army we have this stuff called "Cadence". Thats the stuff we march to in the movies. You that whole "Left right, left right, left...left..." and so forth. The idea is to get everyone moving at the same time and speed together. Well just left right left gets boring. so at some point people came up with little ditty's to get people "motivated". Motivation is the corner stone of the military. One of these is "they say that in the Army the buscuits are mighty fine, well one rolled off a table and killed a friend of mine....o lord I wanna go, but they won't let me go, ho-o-o-home".
My Favorite is "My girls a vegetable, she lives in a hospital, I would do anything to keep her alove, to keep her in smiles..." I like it because its stupid. The cadence goes on to tell about her terribel breath, bear-like hair, and that occassionally he jokes around with her by pulling the chord on life supprt. Anyway, the military is a unique organization to be part of. While I do not want to make a career out of it, I am glad I had this experience. Peace out Profiles

-as a side note a profile is something the military gives out to soldiers who are hurt or injured so they have an excuse to not do PT (physical Training). "Peace out Profiles" is a term from my training days that was said to the profiles, who could not march and run with us, as we left.

Here we go

2006-03-22T10:46:00.000-05:00

I don't know exactly what to say. I guess I accidentally started this because I was going to post on my sisters blog and I thought I had to make one of these things. As it turns out I'm not very bright and so now I have this page that I don't exactly know what to do with. You see in this hospital I work at we have what is known as a Code: Silver- which tells people who are in the know that there is Violence going on in the workplace. On the back of our ID badges they have a clever little code identification system. Code Silver was the first one to catch my eye, so that is what I named this black hole of reason that I call a "blog(g)". I am, and most always have been, rather cynical of the whole computer culture phenomenom. What I mean is that I hate things like wikipedia, myspace, and quite possibly blog(g)s. Mostly because they are new and popular, as if I of all people like poular things. However, I find myself hard-pressed not to do somehting with this mistake that is a web-page. So I may one day update this a second time. Lord only knows if I will ever do anything else with it. Who knows maybe I will use it as a format for "posting" (another term I hate, as I am sticking some kind of adhesive paper to the internet) this story/book I've been attempting to write. At any rate I've already typed more than anyone will read. I guess if you got this far you should probably get back to work, slacker.