Not Another ______ Blog

They day I knew you were coming.

2007-03-13T23:06:00.000-06:00

Dear Son\Daughter

Let me describe to you one of the best days of my life.

It was the young Agent’s first swing shift, and the many pushups and miles run at the academy would surely pay off tonight. He was loaded down with all sorts of gear he prayed would never be necessary, and plenty that he hoped to use tonight. Among the former were his sidearm, rifle, ballistic vest, and assorted other weapons. These were accompanied by ridiculous quantities of spare ammunition. (Remember my child; the only time you can have too much ammunition is while swimming or on fire, and I didn’t plan on doing either of those things that night.) The latter included his run-bag full of equipment needed to survive in the field, his binoculars, three flashlights, spare batteries and most importantly, a large handful of flexible disposable handcuffs. He really wanted to use those tonight.The sun was not down yet as he left the vehicle. It quickly approached the mountains to the west.

West, West, West. Those mountains are west. Remember that! That means home is a quarter turn to the right, and Mexico a quarter turn to the left.

Most likely by the time he was finished working tonight, that sun would have worked its way all the was around the world and appear to the east. After a short walk the pushups came in handy. He found a nice cluster of cacti, placed his hands gently on the ground and silently lowered himself to his chosen hiding place by the trail.

They would be coming this way.

Thus began several hours of waiting, listening and contemplation. He knew that other agents were lying in wait barely fifty yards away, but for all the noise they made he may well have been the only man in the whole desert. By now the sun had gone down but the sky was not dark yet. He watched both the sky and the world around him grow grey and fuzzy and then black. The mountains to the west remained silhouetted against the sky with a hazy gray outline of light. There was a perfect breeze and a calm silence.

I can’t believe that they are paying me for this.

Above them was the most amazing starry sky the agent had ever seen. There was no moon to rob the stars of their brilliant dominance. The stars were so many and so bright that it was very difficult to pick out any constellations. He looked for Orion in the night sky. He found it with some effort. From there he found the star that he and his wife had picked out as their own more than four years ago. He was sure the star had an official name, though he didn't know what it was, and he didn't care. To him it would always be their star. That was more important than any name given to it by some astronomer he didn’t know.

It was her birthday, and he was glad that he had moved to swing shift today, as it gave him an opportunity to attend church with her and have a relaxing morning at home to unwrap presents. He thought back to that morning. The plan had been to sleep in as late as possible, because he would have to work late that night. But six thirty rolled around and he heard her try to crawl back into bed silently. He had stirred, kissed her, and murmured, “Happy Birthday.”
She had just come from the bathroom and was sitting cross-legged on the bed with an anxious expression on her face.

“I couldn’t wait,” she said with a wry grin. They had been waiting to perform a pregnancy test till that morning in the hopes of a bonus birthday surprise. The two minutes waiting for the test had seemed longer than the nearly four hours he was spending on the trail. But even seemingly eternal minutes eventually come to an end. They had endured the five months of the academy without seeing each other. They could wait two minutes for a simple test. They went to check the test together.

“The plus sign has got to be positive, right?” he had said.

The silence of the desert had nothing on the silence they had shared right then for the tiniest moment. And then, just as the silence of the desert would inevitably be shattered by his shouted commands as he made his first arrest that night, the stunned silence in their bedroom was blasted away by tears, laughter, and prayers of thanksgiving, as they found out for the first time that they would be parents. (We have loved you since far before you were born, and the news that you would finally be joining us was more wonderful than I can describe.)

She had enjoyed the rest of the presents she got for her birthday, but the great news pushed them all to the background. He had been totally still for nearly four hours. He had had a few curious visitors. A young cotton-tailed rabbit had approached him to have a sniff, and a skunk had passed by close enough to be smelt, but not seen. Your father mused that under different circumstances a meal would have been made of the young rabbit, but he was working.

HA!! They’re paying me to do this!

Radio Traffic: "We just jumped seven that came up the east trail. We will be transporting them out. There are five more at the bottom having dinner."

A half an hour of further reflection passed.

Radio Traffic: "Yeah. They just bedded down for the night. We can’t get down to them without waking them up. What do you guys want to do?"

After a brief conference, your dad and his two companions decided to descend the rocky western waterfall and approach the subjects under the direction of other agents on the ridge.

They set out in the stifling blackness with ease until the descent began in earnest. They carefully placed each foot on the solidest ground and smoothly glided with the grace and silence of jungle cats down the rocky slope (this should read, “half stumbled half rolled down the rocky embankment like drunken stampeding elephants).

Your father learned many things on that decent. First and foremost was that eye protection will be worn from now on while traversing cactus infested desert with no lights on. The blood flowing from his torn eyelid and dripping off his chin taught him this very effectively. Secondly, the Kevlar lining of his field gloves stops the spines of a Sahuaro cactus about as effectively as would gloves made of toilet paper.

They were still several hundred yards up the canyon from the impromptu campsite, and by some miracle they were not detected. Your dad led the group as he was the only one who had been down this ravine in the dark before (Not that this mattered much, as blackness in a canyon looks very similar to blackness out of a canyon). They continued, slowly and quietly, not knowing how close they were.

Radio Traffic: STOP STOP STOP!!!

They stopped. Radio Traffic: Agent in the lead (that was me). Directly to your right less than ten feet, they are still sleeping. Pop em’ when your ready.

He was so ready. The three spread out and he whispered urgently, “Now!”

The three agents failed to take into account how accurate the estimate of ten feet had been. His third quick step off the trail did not yield the familiar feel of rock and sand beneath his feet. Instead it felt a lot more like stepping on someone’s thigh and it elicited a surprised and groggy yelp of pain.

“Er..Um… Patrulla Fronteriza! No se Muevan!” he whispered excitedly to the five men sharing a blanket under a large mesquite tree. He then blinded them with his flashlight and cuffed them together in a line.

The walk out was more enjoyable, because your dad got to use one of his many flashlights and four of his disposable handcuffs. On the walk back he once again saw the star that reminded him of the most wonderful woman on earth (Your MOM!!!), and he also thought of you.

Come quickly my child. We don’t know your face or your name yet, but we already miss you.

Wow.

2007-03-12T12:14:00.000-06:00

I can't believe I have not posted since the new year. I will have a fun long post about my job and some other fun stuff later this week. I realize that no one will probably read this as I have been AWOL for so long, but I will send out an email.

In short, Things are great, Ajo is awesome. My job is spectacular. I am still a new guy, but I love the work. It is more fun than a person should be payed to do. I'll still take the pay check though.

I love everybody, and I should find time for at least one post a week from now on.

I have asisted in the capture of 101 illegals and 456.09 lbs. of MJ. Life rules.

Happy new year!!!

2007-01-01T12:26:00.000-07:00

I feel sad. I am most ashamed that I have not posted in about a month. But the month seemed to go by so fast. Procrastinating always makes time go by quicker. I'll find something to procrastinate this month too so it will go faster. But not posting. Things are going well and there have been some developments in training.

Firearms is over. :(

We will have a four hour familiarization with the M4A1 the last week. Further training and qualification will take place in the field. :)

I only have and month and a day left for training. Then I get to work for real. :)

I got to beat up a girl along with another PT instructor in our stacking drill. :) :)

Only 3 more real days of PT left till they spray us with concentrated extract of assorted peppers and try to beat the crap out of us and take our guns away. :) :(

Spanish has only a week and a half left. :(

Driving starts Tuesday!!!!! :) :) :)

If you haven't noticed, There are far more smileys than frowneys. I am really doing well. I still have the biggest frownie of them all, because Lisa is not here with me, but overall things are really picking up and the light at the end of the tunnel has some shapes that are becoming visible.

I will try to remember to post, but as I said I am getting pretty busy. I look forward to seeing Mommy and Lisa at graduation. I have been selected by my classmates to be the class speaker. This is an honor I am glad to accept.

Just one more thing. I don't believe that any of you are planning this, but just in case. I have to have my guests approved ahead of time, so if any of you are planning to come but have not told me you probably won't get past the guards. Just a heads up. I probably can't get any more tickets anyway.

Love all you guys...And happy new year!!!!!

BRRRRR!!!

2006-12-03T15:47:00.000-07:00

Yup...I'm in New Mexico...Yup...that's in the south...........Yup.....it's normally not super freezing in the south.....of the United States........nevertheless.......Plants like this should not be covered with this much snow. Nor should the fingers of young trainees who have to qualify with their pistols on Monday. But we still can't use gloves. I wouldn't really want to use them anyway. It would impede my movement too much to insure accuracy. Then again. They were numb enough last Thursday to drop my score 20 points. Wish me luck.

Lawrence!!!!!!

2006-11-26T16:57:00.000-07:00

We had a tough week. We lost a couple of good guys. One of whom was gonna go to my station. One had family issues and one knows that he can't take the Spanish. Both of them made their own decisions and I will not criticize them. It's tough to see them go though.

On the upside we had shower remedials on Friday after hours. When the other classes were already going home and having chow, we got to go do exercises on the gravel road, after sprinting a half mile, and then be timed on how long it took to wash off the dirt and blood and get back into full uniform. When we failed to do it in 8 minutes we got to do it again. Luckily there were only 2 reps of this enjoyable Friday activity.

No wait...That wasn't the upside. Oh yeah! The upside was that one of our recently departed comrades had this guy for a roommate. This poor soul!The usual jokes were played on him, but in the end he was a welcome adopted member of our class, (though he has a class of his own) by virtue of his association with our recently departed friend. One of our favorite pastimes of late had been to call out his name loudly and obnoxiously as a class anytime we saw him on campus. This was at first met with chagrin as he felt singled out by all this attention. And the last thing anyone in a military style training camp wants...Is to stand out. You would think that since his connection to our class is no longer with us this foolishness would have ceased. And you would be so very very wrong. If anything our cat-calls have grown louder and more energetic, in remembrance of our fallen hero.

He has learned how to deal with it however, and now responds with little more than a wave and an indulgent murmur, "at ease 638."

The above picture was taken during one of these exchanges while we had thanksgiving dinner bar-B-Q as a class. Here is the alternative non-avian meat product we chose to grill. The turkey just wouldn't fit.

Simon Says

2006-11-19T14:51:00.000-07:00

Anybody remember what the punishment was for losing at Simon says? Cuz, I am pretty sure it wasn't extra push-ups.

We are to the portion of the academy where we have P.T. every day and the intensity is picking up. We are running longer and faster and we are spending more time in the mat-room moving our bodies up, down and side to side endlessly. Our instructor has many amusements. One of which is that he will wait until we are so tired by a particular exercise that we stop looking at him and he will alter the exercise to see who is not paying attention. This is amusing for those of us who have learned to watch him even while lying quivering and broken in a pool of our own sweat and drool. For those who have not...not so much.

One of his other favorite amusements is so similar to the aforementioned game of my youth that I would scarcely be able to avoid laughing...If my abs were working anymore that is. In the academy all orders are given with what is called a preparatory command followed by the command to "move." So when we are finished a set of push-ups and are holding the very painful pushup "rest" position, we anxiously wait the command to get "on your feet." But like in Simon Says, if you hear the preparatory command and execute it before the command to move, you are wrong. Unlike Simon says however, when you are wrong you are not excused from the game until the next round, which would indeed be a welcome punishment. Instead you incur the wrath of the pushup gods most sorely, and are most cordially invited to join in the P.T. festivities with increased vigor.

Picture a Mexican Austrian accent that bites off each word in a growl. And it goes something like this.

Instructor: Dowwwn!!

Trainees(screaming): Zero!!!

Instructor: Dowwwn!!

Trainees: One!!!

etc. etc. etc.

Instructor: Dowwwn!!

Trainees: Fifty!!!

Instructor: On your feet!!

shuffling of feet as foolish tired trainees get to their feet, accompanied by an undercurrent of grunts and groans from those trainees recognizing the ploy for what it is.

Instructor: Negative!! Negative!! That was a Preparatory Command only!! @$#*$%&*# How long have you been here!!

slapping sounds of semi-comatose trainees falling to the mat like freshly gutted fish to do their penalty push-ups .

Instructor: Down!!

etc. etc. etc.

Another recent amusement is to bring along various implements of torture for the run. Giant ropes, rubber M16's, and medicine balls. Medicine balls are my favorite. We run in two columns and pass them over our heads to the man behind us as we run. When the ball gets to the end of the column, the last man must sprint, screaming with the medicine ball over his head, to the front of the line and start the merriment all over again.

Being the newer, kinder and gentler patrol we have a gator (six wheeled mini truck with a stretcher in the back) following us in case one of us dies on the run. In "the old patrol" dead trainees were just left to rot in the sun as an example to future classes. Last week the gator mysteriously stopped running... At the furthest point from the end of the run. hmmmmm The instructor driving it looked at us and shook his head. "No gas," he stated simply. "Good thing we got all these bushy tailed trainees here with nothing else to do," he grinned.

A long and extremely profanity-ridden mile and a half later, the gator mysteriously roared to life again. "No gas?" a trainee asked.

"Not a drop," the instructor replied innocently. "Plenty of diesel though."

It really is a lot of fun. No sarcasm at all. I do truly enjoy the creativity they show in our workouts. It could be a lot worse and a lot less exciting. We are practicing with the electro-shock knives a lot more and practicing our strikes and submissions quite a bit as well. Hope everyone is well. Half way point is on Friday!!!!

An open letter of apology to Ashton Kutcher

2006-11-05T17:47:00.000-07:00

The Guardian.

I saw it. I liked it. I have apologies to offer. It has been my general opinion that Mr. Kutcher would have absolutely no ability to act his way out of a paper sack...If he were to ever find himself in a paper sack and acting were somehow the key to exiting the afore-mentioned sack. This Saturday I saw The Guardian. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

First and last impression is that this is very high budget recruiting tool for the U.S. Coast Guard. I would be curious to see it their recruiting numbers had been down preceding this films conception. I would not be surprised to find that recruiting was lacking and that it will certainly go up after this movie. It very effectively showed the U.S.C.G. flag and colors for an enormous bulk of the film. The end credits raise this not so subtle recruiting ad to all new heights as the rock and roll background music pounds in rhythm with the spinning rotors of rescue choppers and bouncing C.G. cutters. Gratuitous is the term, I believe.

The second aspect of this film that stood out was the gratuitous paramilitary training portrayal, which accounted for more than half of the movie's running time. I was particularly interested in this portion of the film because I am enrolled in a paramilitary training program right now. I am a member of a training class that has now lost 12 of our original fifty trainees to assorted real and imagined physical ailments. These have ranged from stress fractures and kidney failure, to delusions of rare diseases which cause toxin build up in seldom worked muscle tissue. I personally believe that at least 7 of our 12 losses were primarily "mental-weakness" related. (Translation: They wimped out and faked an injury) This is a result of the intentionally inflicted artificial stress that our instructors try to make a constant feature of training.

The best example of this is the opening scene. The opening credits roll as a large group of wide-eyed recruits roll up to waiting stone faced instructors. I exchanged significant knowing glances with the trainees who went to the movie with me. And when the first instructor boarded the bus and began yelling out his impossible expectation that the bus be empty and immaculate in 15 seconds; we burst out laughing, having heard those exact words just 7 weeks before when we had arrived at training, just as wide-eyed, in our own little bus.

I was not overly offended by the improbable twists and turns of the plot that forced the main characters into reliving past traumatic moments a little too conveniently. This is the stuff of Hollywood. I would have been more bothered if the wise old retired mentor (Kevin Costner) had not luckily been present to head a rescue mission, when his star pupil with whom he had shared his tears, beers and bar-fights, found himself trapped in a sinking ship. I could have done without the sub-plot concerning the divorce of Costner's character. IT IS POSSIBLE TO HAVE A TOUGH DANGEROUS CAREER TO WHICH ONE IS DEDICATED AND STILL BE A SWEET HUSBAND WHO CONSIDERS HIS FAMILY AS WELL AS THOSE HE BRAVELY SERVES PROFESSIONALLY. Some day someone will make a boring film where this is appropriately portrayed.

I have procrastinated the apologies long enough. Ashton, I apologize to you. I have always been baffled by your fame and popularity, and frankly I have been incredibly annoyed by every character you have ever portrayed in any film I have seen you in. Only now do I realize that this may have been a mark of your true acting prowess. Your character was supposed to annoy me, and you did your job so well that I began to associate those feelings of annoyance with you in general. Having now seen you play a role that was not heavily seasoned with inane exaggerations of your characterÂs unabashed idiocy, I see that you can in fact act your way out of a paper sack were that to become necessary. This is fortuitous because I will no longer be forced to kidnap you and imprison you in such a sack to prove my point. In short I am sorry Ashton. I misjudged you. While I will still avoid the vast majority of your inanely ignorant films, I truly enjoyed your performance in this film and hope to see you again in a film where "Dude!!!" does not constitute fully half of your characterÂs dialogue.

Vira

2006-10-29T18:06:00.001-07:00

It was cold. The sky was gray and the wind whipped in and out of the earthen berms that surrounded the young trainee. The 15 foot artificial hills surrounded him and his 22 classmates on the firing line. Behind them stood at least a dozen stern faced instructors wearing red. Their red rubber pistols had been replaced with brand new HK P2000's straight from the factory. The 6 magazines mounted at various points on their oversized "River" belts were fully loaded with live rounds for the first time.

The young men had been introduced to their issued weapons two days before. Their meeting was tense and formal, and had the air of reluctance common to junior-high school dances and blind dates. The trainees had been instructed for several hours on the various quirks of these new weapons. Some elements of the weapons function were common and familiar to Agent Trainee Young and some were new and exotic. The weapon was removed at one point and altered to better fit his larger than average grip, and he found that he liked the change after handling it further. The instruction came to a close and the trainees reluctantly relinquished their new-found companions.

The two intervening days had passed painfully, but they found themselves finally on the line, waiting a few more excruciating seconds before the order would come to "prep for duty carry" and holster a loaded weapon for the first time.

But then...Anxiety. It had been more than six weeks since the young trainee had fired any weapon. He had been foolish enough to raise his hand when asked if he had prior small arms experience. The stone-faced instructors were watching him; particularly eager to humble him by pointing out the smallest of faults.

The order came, "Prep for duty carry!!"

His hands moved separately but in perfect concert, his left reaching down and across his waist to the waiting magazine in top pouch number one, and his right disengaging the retention strap on his holster and bringing the weapon to bear, outboarded and ready to receive it's first live load. The factory edges on the beveled mag-well accepted the charged magazine without incident. It slid home and clicked firmly into place. A quick tug confirmed that it wasn't going anywhere and the weapon was quickly inboarded to present the slide for a racking motion. With the confidence of an action that one has performed thousands of times, Agent Trainee Young sling-shotted the slide, chambering the first round and immediately presented to weapon down-range before slowly lowering it to the holster. It had to be done by feel. Not only because he would likely be blustered at interminably for having to look as he holstered, but because in the field he would always need to be focused on potential threats and not eye-balling his gear because he was unsure of himself. He removed, topped off, and replaced the magazine, thereby 'prepping' his weapon for duty carry.

The silence that followed the loading procedure was broken sharply by the report of a score of weapons on the other side of the left-most berm. Another, more advanced class had beaten them to the trigger that morning. The surprise at the sudden sound was quickly replaced by nostalgic calm as the smell of burnt powder reached his nostrils. This would be a good morning.

Adam didn't know his newfound friends name yet but she had her first round chambered and she was eager to please her new master. Finally the command came and the young trainee wrapped his freezing fingers around the machined polymer grip. His draw was flawless as he presented to the target; a man-shaped silhouette with concentric squares indicating center mass and the most potentially lethal shot area. He depressed the odd-feeling double-action trigger nearly to its break-point as he found his perfect sigh picture and focused as instructed on the front sight. Slowly he applied more pressure while holding the sights motionless on the center of the target.....Half pound by half pound...

Crack!!!!

It had surprised him, as it was supposed to. He did not want to jerk the weapon downward in anticipation of the recoil, and he had not. The recoil was manageable and he soon found his sights again. Beyond the sights he saw the object of this exercise... A .40 caliber hole dead in the center of the five point ring. As we all know, "the way to a man's heart...Is between the forth and fifth ribs." His bullet had found it's way to the target's heart, as the small polymer pistol had found it's way to his. They would get along just fine. The second round followed the first to within an inch. She would not embarrass him. He would have to return the favor.

One hundred and sixteen rounds later he knew all her quirks and sticking points. More importantly, he knew her name. She was his very favorite gun, and he would call her Vira. He barely heard the range-master's scanty praise of his impressive four inch group of one hundred and eighteen rounds all within the five point ring. The only thing occupying his mind was that they would soon be separated once again after such a wonderful first outing. He no longer felt the cold and would certainly catch himself daydreaming in class all day as the familiar smell of the GSR(gunshot residue) all over his hands wafted up to his nose as he sat at his desk.

They would be together again on Monday. He could wait that long, and so could she, to once again take up their deadly dance of cardboard destruction. "Until then, my Vira," he whispered in his mind, and he quickly stalked to the bus that would take him from the range.

Crackle

2006-10-22T16:51:00.000-06:00

It was inevitable.

There was no avoiding the welcome battle. The two young warriors were ready. They waited anxiously as the instructor toyed with them, withholding his permission to strike until he detected some hint that one of the combatants' attention was wandering. That moment did not come. They knew better.

Their garb was identical in cut and color, an effect of the strictly enforced identicality policy common to all martial training organizations in the world. The students' poise and equipment mirrored each other's precisely, but for one thing. One of the young men was armed and the other was not. Held firmly in the meaty grip of the more experienced fighter was a long straight knife, the color of blood. The young unarmed opponent eyed the weapon with taught anxiety clearly written across his face. They waited.

"STRIKE!!" Cried the instructor.

As if two titanic bodies, inexorably drawn together by their own gravitational masses, had been suddenly and totally released, by some even more incredible force that barely restrained them, they hurled themselves at one another. The younger and less experienced fighter desperately aimed a surprise knee strike to the inner thigh to his ape-like opponent, but he failed miserably. The ape anticipated this strike and turned his knee outward, simultaneously lessening the impact of the strike and throwing his fearful opponent off balance.

The thwarted young man did not even have time to wonder where the strike would come from. He did not even see the knife as it moved intently to his upper abdomen. The pain was incredible. It shot outward from the wicked weapon's point of contact and the young man doubled over in agony, no longer able to hold himself upright. He received no help from his training partner, who followed him to the ground driving the weapon ever deeper into his victims flesh. The wounded trainee hit the ground clutching his stomach and the arm of his attacker. Oddly, even louder than the young man's sudden expulsion of breath and subsequent collision with the ground, was the incessant malevolent crackle of electricity caused by the wicked implement with which he had been "stabbed."

"Recover, and reverse rolls!!!!" cried the instructor trying to hold back the tears of mirth that the twitching trainees had caused.

The merciless attacker disengaged the fire button on the training “Taser knife” and helped his partner to his feet. The panting and sore young man took the offered knife with resolve to repay his friend for his "instruction" in kind. They took their positions and waited. The recently armed trainee's look of anxiety had been replaced with a scowl that clearly spoke of the sweet revenge he would shortly claim...

STRIKE!!!!

I can!!!

2006-10-15T16:45:00.000-06:00

These are two wonderful words when used this way. As you know I am in the artesia FLETC facility training to be a Border Patrol Agent. It is a different way of life. Every minute of everyday is geared towards determining your ability. We study a lot, we work out a lot, we hydrate a lot, and we test A LOT! In every case the goal is to be able to stand up to the day's challenge and say I can.

The PT instructors spend their time pushing us to the point were we can no longer utter these words truthfully. This is discouraging for those of little faith and determination. People like me. My difficulty with physical training has always been that in order to progress, one must work until one fails...Constantly. Your workout does not cause significant progress unless you reach failure. I have always hated working out for this reason.

I believe this to be my greatest character flaw. I am a sore loser...At everything! I have gone out of my way to avoid losing at all costs for my whole life. While a strong and brave person would likely accomplish this by training harder and becoming more able, I frequently chose to avoid the contest in the first place. This is the way of a weak, stagnant and atrophying individual.

In PT I lose every day. We have lost 11 people of our original class of 50 to the med shed. While some of these had legitimate medical conditions, I believe most of them went to the med-shed or hospital to avoid that dreaded feeling of losing, the moment when they can't say, "I can!" Our class is officially notorious for our unusually high drop out rate and we have not even begun to lose people to grades in Spanish, law, firearms or driving yet.

I am helping a small group of trainees who are struggling with Spanish a lot. We meet on the weekends and we review the Spanish material that has been covered and I drill them on their weak points. I find where they can't say "I can" and I push them till they can. I can see the progress and it is very uplifting to me.

I reflect on Lehi's words to his son in 2 Nephi chapter 2. The whole purpose of this life is to perform work with opposition. Without this opposition, or when we avoid challenges, we remain weak, untested, undeveloped and vulnerable pawns for those who would manipulate us. We become those who are "acted upon."

I have 4 weeks down in a 20 week program. It's hard. I still have a lot of "I can't," but everyday there is a lot more "I can." I sure look forward to week 20. I will be able to leave this state of training and "probation." But I will not leave early, thinking to avoid all the "I can't" between now and then. Because all that "I can't" will add up to a lot more "I can" in the end. The analogy to life is obvious. We are here because we can't. If we work hard and meet our challenges head on, whenever we get out there won't be any challenge or problem we can't stare in the eye and state truthfully...

I can!!!!

Crossing Guards

2006-10-08T17:30:00.000-06:00

Here is an interesting memory that I do not recall remembering before.

When I was a young boy my older sisters or at least one of them, by virtue of higher grades, whiter teeth or least smelly pre-pubescent armpits was honored with the status of Midnapore Elementary School crossing guard. As I remember it this status accorded them a reflective vest or sash or something. I am unsure if I ever voiced my opinion of this honor to them or not. I do remember eye-rolls and snorts of derision being a part of my response when I learned of these extra-curricular activities. This reaction was certainly a result of jealousy on my part. Not until this week did I realize just how jealous I had been.

I was in my favorite part of PT on Thursday...That's right, the part near the end. We had finished the awful mat-room portion. We had run around three miles of our run. Never in my life would I have guessed that I would enjoy that portion of the workout. But I married a wonderful woman.

I struggle with PT a lot. I don't like getting yelled at. It hurts me...Right in the feelings. The feelings hurt worse than the arms, legs, groin, feet, hands, neck, head, ear-lobes, teeth and hair follicles. However, the instructors are the worst to those who fall behind on the run.
It is these times when I find myself up in the front of the formation along side the standard bearers and section leaders that I love my better third more than ever before. She reaches across hundreds of miles and shields me from the instructors' sharp feeling-rending insults and curses. How does she do this? She taught me to run. I credit her entirely for this (dare-I-say) blissful half hour of PT when I am working hard and hurting, but my feelings are just fine.

But what does this have to do with crossing guards? Friday, in PT the instructor stepped it up a bit towards the middle and again in the last third. My stalwart companions began to fall out and I worked my way to the third place in the formation. There were only about 5 or 6 of us in what could still be called a formation. We slowed and circled to allow the rest of the class to catch up, however briefly, and we continued on. When marching in formation the section leader or instructor will call for "road guards" to run forward and block the traffic. (Men marching or running in formation always have the right of way on base) Usually this job is done by the last rank, but when the formation is running the second rank takes this responsibility(cuz the back of the column is a half a mile behind). Friday because I was right up front, that was me. I sprinted forward with pride and stalwartly assumed the proper position. This means spreading my bulging(and slightly trembling) legs in a firm and ready stance, stretching one hand straight out in front of me, as if to hold back the inbound tons of steel and rubber by main force alone, and as a show of my invincibility, I fold my off hand calmly in the small of my back. I only need one hand to stop you puny mortal contraptions.

After the entire class, including those riding the med-shed gator, had passed I got to sprint again to regain my place at the front. I then realized...I like being a crossing guard. I was reeeaally really jealous of my sisters and their prestige. I coveted their position so much that I subconsciously chose a profession that is essentially just that of a glorified international crossing guard. Granted, there are some subtle differences. My stop sign says stop on both sides. I get to search passing students for drugs and weapons. My sisters got sweet sashes and vests. I get a camel back, a badge, a wonderful assortment of weapons, and this...Lisa prefers the pose with the smile. My instructors seem partial to the other one. Either way, It will look a lot more impressive with the real pistol instead of the red rubber training pistol you see there, and lets not forget the shiny gold badge that Lisa will pin on me in less than 4 months when I graduate.

Hullo Mudda. Hullo Fadda...

2006-10-01T17:08:00.000-06:00

Sorry for the slack posting everybody. But its not gonna get any better. I will never be able to access the internet during the week and whether or not I can do so on the weekend will depend on how much catch-up I have to do.

The Border Patrol Academy is reputed to be the toughest (intellectually and physically) law enforcement training academy in the nation. I have not been to any other training academy so I feel unqualified to categorically confirm that assertion. I will say that this is the hardest thing that I have ever done, and it doesn’t show signs of getting any easier any time soon.

Training is tough. I have two weeks down. 18 to go. That’s one tenth completed. I have survived “hell week.” This is not to be equated to the “hell week” that most military branches supply for their enlisted men. The major difference being that after we are dismissed for the day, Our time is our own and we need not worry about being awakened by Lee Ermy in the wee hours of the night, for random PT punishments.

PT is really hard. I prepared myself in some ways and in some ways I am way behind the curve. I have a wonderful wife who taught me to run and to not let up when It hurts. I manage to stay up on the runs with the group that is in formation with the instructor. There are about 10 of us out of 25 who do so. This makes me feel good at the end of PT.

I felt very confident going into the academy that I would not have a lot of trouble with the pushups and other mat-room exercises. My pushups are up to 35 when done along with basics sit-ups. I gravely underestimated the mat room. Our first days of PT have instructed me that my failure to more aggressively work my abs was a grave oversight. After breaking down my abs to the failure point and beyond, we did our first push-ups. I found myself looking down at the pool of my sweat beneath me in disbelief as I croaked the word “nine.” This was soon accompanied by uncontrollable shaking and the sickening wet slap of my knees involuntarily crashing to the wet mat.

Shameful…Truly shameful. At least that is what the PT instructor who took up semi-permanent residence in my inner ear for the next 5 minutes informed me. He did however use a greater preponderance of “colorful metaphors” in his critique of my performance.

Of our class of 50, 2 of our classmates could not handle so much color in their metaphors, and have resigned. The first day Group A(my group) lost another trainee to kidney failure and loss of consciousness on the run. Group B lost 4 to the “Med Shed” on day one, in addition to the one who quit. On day two of PT they lost a total of 8 to the “Med Shed,” and the hospital. So we are currently 47 of 50 and may be down to 41 this week if the hospital keeps it’s current hostages.

The last class graduated only 26 of it’s original 50. We hope to not lose any more, but we have not even begun to lose them to academics yet. Spanish will not be difficult for me, but we will lose some to it I am sure. Law will take some getting used to, but I am confident I will do well.

I love all you who read this. Have a good week folks. I will try to touch cyber-base again next week.

EOD

2006-09-18T17:15:00.000-06:00

Entrance on Duty date.

For the rest of my career I will remember this date. Not so much because I will be required to provide it throughout my career as an indication of my seniority, but because I wrote it roughly eleventy-billion times today... that is just roughly of course.

I sat in a hotel conference room for many hours, watching powerpoint presentations, videos, and speeches designed to impress upon me the gravity of my chosen occupation. Most of it was very well and professionally presented. I endured endless cracks about the horrible station I was going to. Let them laugh. I'll have hundreds more arrests and seizures and out-rank the vast majority of my class in very few years.

Here is how I hope I looked to my co-workers and supervisors that I met today.This is how I felt inside.

And thanks for the tie Daring. It felt powerful. And I have graduated so I can wear it now.

Never gonna sleep

2006-09-17T19:45:00.000-06:00

I have been up since 4:45 am.

I have been traveling . I have been sitting in terminals waiting for delayed flights for quite a few hours. I have read a few hundred pages of a favorite novel. These are all things that should make me tired.

Oddly I feel as though I have consumed huge amounts of caffeine. I am never ever gonna get to sleep tonight. I EOD(enter on duty) tomorro. I might just die. Here are some shots of my days adventure.
Here is my view of my new state from the hotel. Looks alot like Utah to me...but with palm trees.

An Ode to Montana

2006-09-09T13:26:00.000-06:00

Sorry for the sporadic posting. Having received The Call, I find myself with alot to do besides posting. However, It seems only fitting to post about the place that has been my home for the last 8 months.

Montana is a magical place full of wonderful people... and aminals.(not a typo)

Montana has great in-laws who put you up for indefinite periods of time while you are waiting for word on a job. These in-laws also provide employment and recreation.

Here are some pictures of the recreation.
Here are a couple pictures of Adam the Hod carrier.

Here are the guns he developed while hod-carrying...Got your tickets?

Speaking of guns. Sex sells everything in the rest of the country. Here it's guns. Here is a jewelry store that has antlers in the display case.I found it interesting that they would also display the expended cartridges used to kill the elk they belonged to. The only message I could glean from this display was, "Buy these sunglasses or you will be shot!"
One thing for which I am made fun of is my giddiness every time I see large wildlife close up. I grew up in Canada and spent some time in the outdoors but have never had the opportunity to see so much wild life so close on a daily basis as I have here. Here are some pretty visitors less than 20 yards from our house.

Our vehicle became evil in Montana.(don't worry. It repented soon thereafter...about a mile later I think)

Hotel bathrooms here are also evil. Here is a neighbor practicing his favorite pass-time, every time it gets muddy or snowy.

I became a Butterfly whisperer. So did Lisa. All told, it was a wonderful experience. We hope to return someday. All evil cars and bathrooms aside, Montana is a wonderful place. Papa and Grammy will have a great time here.

For My Kids. Keep it!!

2006-08-31T23:18:00.000-06:00

Contrary to what you may believe my children, I was once thought to be quite cool. What's more is I was once thought to be cool by children not unlike yourselves...Scary huh?

This week your mother and I were asked by a couple with five children to babysit. This was not your average babysitting gig. We were asked to stay overnight for three days and watch the children while staying in their home. We had a blast. We played and watched movies to our hearts content. On Saturday we took the kids to the broadwater athletic club and pool where they all tried to drown me.
I softened their wrath by acting as a human sled for the little ones who were too small/afraid to ride the big slide alone.

I played co-operative halo 2 on the X-box with a young man whose father sadly only enjoys destroying his son in the much less co-operative deathmatch mode. Your mother braided all of the little girls hair into her famous speed-braids. Guaranteed to make all little girls run faster.

On Saturday night when we left there were no tearful goodbyes just the promise of seeing each other tomorrow at church where the youngest tracked me down in the hallway to give me this...She held it out anxiously and simply stated, "keep it!" with a note of finality that would tolerate no arguments. As we left church the mother to these fine youngsters tracked us down to playfully berate us.

"You know you have ruined my children." she said "We hear no end of how cool Lisa and Adam are. We will never be as cool as you guys are. Thanks a lot."

So there you have it. We were cool. We have photographic proof. Ha!!!

The Call

2006-08-23T23:25:00.000-06:00

I don't know how many of you have ever waited for over a year for a phone call. And how many of you have known that phone call would dictate fairly major aspects of your life for the coming years of your life?

Yesterday I finally got just such a call. Let me set the stage for you.

On a construction site in Big Sky Montana, a dashing and handsome young man is working hard carrying hod. It has been a frustrating morning. He has recently spent two hours performing a task he has performed several times in the past, on two fireplace faces. This is a basic task that has been exactly the same for the past three months on this job-site. His supervisor shows up and our hero gets to undo all that he has done amid belittling remarks that he "should not assume" that things need to be done. Hmmm. Well, our hero had not been told that a new strategy was to be implemented with regards to this task. All he had were prior instructions and an absent supervisor. Our hero chose the better part. But the first rule of hod-carrying is that the hod carrier is always wrong...sooo

Our dashing and tragically oppressed young hero resigns himself to some heavy work to work off some of his frustration. He hoists three ten-foot plank onto his shoulder, and moves deliberately, straining under the wait, to the next place the plank will be needed.

He feels a slight vibration in his hip. It is probably nothing, he thinks.

But then his phone starts to sing. It is a good song; an exciting song. "Fully Alive!!!" wails Lacey Mosely of Fly Leaf.

pause...

That is the song I have assigned to numbers with blocked caller identification...

The Department of Homeland security routinely blocks caller ID!!!

Quickly but gently the plank is set down on a nearby mound of dirt. His phone is opened almost violently, and he croaks..."Hello?!"

"Hi, This is Jill with the Department of Homeland Security, is this Adam?"

Jill...I think I'll name a daughter Jill.....

"yes," he almost whispers.

"How are you feeling today?"

Like I could Leap tall Mexicans with a single bound...

"really good... now." he answers with a little more of his typical manly baritone.

Jill goes on to offer Adam a final and official position as a Federal Law Enforcement Agent with the United States Border Patrol. One of the offers is at a station in Ajo Arizona. After some research into cost of living, housing availability, duty types, church times, and discussing these factors with the two most important people in his life, he calls back and accepts the Ajo Station.

Some interesting things about Ajo. Ajo is the Spanish word for "garlic." It is also the Japanese word for "stupid." However, given the extremely disproportionate ratio of Japanese to Spanish speaking residents in the area, I have reason to believe that Garlic was the original intended meaning...I have yet to hear any reports to the effect that the town stinks horribly(developing).

Ajo has about 4000 people, no hospitals, no movie theatre and no gun shops :(

Ajo has "no crime."

Ajo is extremely Border Patrol Friendly.

Ajo station has some of the more exciting patrol duty types. These include horse patrol, K-9 units, ATV patrol, drug-interdiction units, and ALOT of tracking duty. I can hardly wait.

But I can and must wait. I enter on duty on the 18th of September and will graduate from training on February 2nd.

I will continue to post as much as possible while in the academy but it will not be my top priority. Thanks everyone.

Country Music

2006-08-21T20:09:00.000-06:00

Country music...

How to define it? One might also ask why...Cuz it's late, and definitions are easy posts.

I grew up in western Canada. I was aware of country music's existence, but it was always too un-cool to explore. Vanilla Ice, 2 Unlimited, and Lenny Kravitz were all acceptable. But if it even sounded like country you could not listen to it.

But then, in 1994, I moved to Texas. Country music was no longer off limits for anyone wishing to one day be cool. It was even likely that a cool person would listen to, and even sing along with, country music!!![/shock and horror]

Thus I was exposed for the first time to the influences of country music. In Canada; being exposed to country music was like having a man in a trench coat, throw it open and expose his "country music" to you. It was forbidden and appalling, and you did your best to avoid people in trench coats.

In Texas, however, exposure to country music was more like inhaling spores from a nearby fungus plant. It was almost un-noticeable because of it's commonness and subtlety. Yes, country music is like a fungus. It grows on you whether you like it or not, and once it is there, good luck getting it off.

I type before you today, however unwillingly it may have come about, a changed man. A true convert to country music. I love it with my wholly infected soul. Good messages, sweet harmonies and charismatic artists are easily found. If I had the cure I would not take it, for I like my disease, and will likely do so for the rest of my life.

For My Kids. Choosing to be happy

2006-08-20T22:58:00.000-06:00

This post is not an announcement. I have come to realize that my children and grandchildren may not be overly excited to read 48 million posts about masonry and steak. I do however sometimes learn things about life. "For My Kids" is a post category that will contain words of what little wisdom I posses, should my progeny ever have the time to read this site.

A few months ago, your mother and I were called upon to speak in church. I was given my choice and therefore chose to speak on the importance of agency in our Heavenly Father's plan. I love that talk and you Young ones will, no doubt, be sick of it by the time you have the chance to read this site. Your mother however spoke on a specific choice that we have every day. She titled her talk, "We can choose to be happy."

You will surely know, having grown up in her house, that your mother has taken this message to heart in an awe-inspiring way. This weekend I was reminded of it again as we took a float trip that involved much disembarking to push our raft off of the rocks that were quite prevalent on the river this late in the season. With every skinned knee, twisted ankle, and bashed toe that were the inevitable results of this difficult float, Grandma and Grandpa Price, Aunt Kristy and your father were upheld and uplifted by the indominable spirit of your mother.

The lesson to be learned is this. When times are tough, we can choose to be happy. In our case, the best way to do that is find your Mom. She will always make everything better.

It was huge!!!!

2006-08-16T21:48:00.000-06:00

I ate at my favorite restaurant in Big Sky today. Yup, the one with the moose. I had such good plans to be such a good boy. I know the menu by heart and had decided hours earlier to eat a marinated chicken breast with a Cesar salad and a baked potato. I was going to be satisfied and not painfully full.

That was the plan and I was resolved to stick with it. All that planning and the resolutions were undone with one word. We sat down to eat and my plans were fully intact until the owner walked over and said the fateful word. That word was... Porterhouse.

It seams that there were three leftover 18 oz. Porterhouse steaks from an event the night before. They were being offered at a discounted price with all of my favorite sides. Two of my co-workers spoke for two of them. My resolve melted instantly and I spoke the fateful word...Porterhouse.

It was huge.

It was juicy.

It was huge.

It was perfectly cooked.

It was huge.

It was marinated and encrusted with a salt and pepper rub that was to die for.

And it was huge!!!

I loved every aspect of this steak. I especially loved the hugeness thereof, if you had not picked up on that yet. I am still full and will likely be this full in the morning. I anxiously await any steak that would contend for the position of my most favoritest. One thing I know for sure. It will have to be huge.

Why me? Wednesday - Wrong numbers...

2006-08-15T21:49:00.000-06:00

Kay..so. I have a number that is very similar to a hotel in Provo.

Every now and again the hotel has a promotion and for the next two weeks I will receive 1-2 calls everyday from people who abruptly hang up when I answer or wait for a second and then ask lamely..."Is this the Double Tree Hotel?"

To this I usually respond. "No Sir/ma'am. I am afraid you have the wrong number." However, this degree of civility is becoming more difficult to maintain.

This is my first experience waiting for a phone call that will decide some key aspects of the next several years of my life. So understandably when I receive a call from an out of state number I anxiously open the phone and try to keep my croaking, "Hello?" from sounding too eager.

I have received around a dozen phone calls from the above mentioned seekers of lodging in the last week since I received the letter. Frustration abounds.

I have a standardized response when I hear someone ask "why me?" I respond, "Because God is testing you to see if you will ask 'why me'....and you fail.

I recognize the test and have yet to shriek obscenities at the sweet little old ladies whose only sin was pressing a wrong button...but I am getting closer to asking "Why Me?!"

My Better Third. A woman with many names.

2006-08-14T21:13:00.000-06:00

It seems to me a great oversight that I have yet to post about the single most important part of my life. I am a very blessed to have to love of a beautiful woman named Lisa.

I did however grow up in a home where spouses were seldom called by their real names. Lisa thusly has many names that do not appear on her birth certificate. One of my favorites references the fact that she weighs less than half of what I do. Thus it would be inaccurate to call her my better half. Better third is much more in line with our true weight ratios as a couple. Amusing and technically correct as this term is, it's not much for endearment. For that I have others...

Among my favorites are, sweetie, honey, sweetie pie, honey pie, sweetie honey pie, honey sweetie pie, peety swoney pie, peetie pony swie, schmoop, schmoopsie poo, honey schmoopity sweatsiepoo, etc. etc. etc and so on and so forth, for ever and ever amen.

And still there are others, but I am sure that Blogger has some sort of bandwidth restriction I would be breaking if I listed them all. I can however share a picture of the moose with you. No that is not another nickname. I spend a lot of time away from home during the week and once a week we eat at a spectacular restaurant. This is the moose that we touched the nose of when we ate there on one of our romantic jaunts (read business trip). I touch it's nose each time we eat there and thus reestablish our cosmic link across time and space...or ...something...

In short, I like Lisa a lot.

Why me? Wednesday: No super-sleuths allowed!!

2006-08-08T20:31:00.000-06:00

I love signs. They tell me good things that I should do. I went to Washington over the weekend with my family for a reunion. I had a birthday along the ride as well. I was surrounded by signs the whole time. Open your eyes anywhere you are all day and chances are there is a helpful sign somewhere to let you know where to go, what behavior is currently appropriate, and what creatures you can expect to cross the road etc. etc. etc. For example, this one clearly indicates a snake zone up ahead.
But sometimes, there are bad signs. I went to a national park in Washington and saw this.

Now imagine you are a Chinese private investigator who spoke no English whatsoever. What would you think this sign was prohibiting. That's right!! The picture looks nothing like any dog I have ever seen. It much more closely resembles some sort of stylized detective outline. The only thing missing is the magnifying glass poised intently before the clearly pictured "Sherlock Holmes" large-billed cap. Thanks to this sign, some Chinese detective is likely to leave the park, dejected, and believing the US parks department to be anti-sleuth!! Most likely he would leave, muttering some Chinese dialect's expression that means..."Why me!?"

A few good trowels

2006-08-07T19:20:00.000-06:00

Colonel Lowry: You want the trowel?!

Hod-Carrier First class Adam: I think I'm entitled to it.

Colonel Lowry: You want this trowel?!

Hod-Carrier First class Adam: I want the trowel!!!

Colonel Lowry: You can't handle the trowel!!! Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be covered in cultured stone! Who's gonna do it? You? You, Hod-Carrier Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for your calluses and you curse the Masons. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that laying stone while less physically difficult, is harder than hell!! And hod-carrying, while grotesque and detestable to you, is much easier!! You don't want the trowel because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. We use words like Mud, Rock, and Scaffolding. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent building something. You use them as a cussword. I have neither the time nor the inclination to lend my trowel to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the cultured stone that I install, and then questions the manner in which I install it! I would rather you just said, "Thank you," and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a shovel and carry a hod. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to!!!

Hod-Carrier First class Adam: Can I lay stone on this wall?

Colonel Lowry: you can do the job you’ve been hired to do.

Hod-Carrier First class Adam: Can I lay stone on that wall?!

Colonel Lowry: (shouting) You're dog-gone tootin’ right you can!!

[stunned silence]

Hod-Carrier First class Adam: Please the jobsite, I suggest the foreman be dismissed, so that we can move to an immediate article 39A session. The colonel has the right to not see the mess I am about to make…

And whiskers on kittens

2006-08-01T21:01:00.000-06:00

I am feeling grateful again today. These are a few of my favorite things.

Sung to the tune of Raindrops on roses:

Laying stone on pillars and temps below 60.
These things make my work day joyful and nifty.
receiving letters that promise me a wage.
These blow the top off my happiness gauge!

Playing rough games in the pool after working
Careful, cuz tough co-workers are there lurking.
If you're not careful they'll smash in your nose.
Then like a geyser it faithfully BLOWS!!

When the mud's stiff,
When my nose mocks,
When I miss my Dad,
I simply remember these great awesome things,
And I start to feel....So RAD!!!!

Getting off early to go see my "famly."
Long drives don't bug me, cuz I am so manly.
I'll be well rested, fresh from the hot tub.
These are a few of the things that I LUB!!

I am so happy to go see Seattle.
Famly's much more fun than Montana cattle.
When on vacation I feel like a king.
This is why I wrote a post I can SING!!!!

When the mud's stiff,
When my nose mocks,
When I miss my Mom,
I simply remember the wicked-sweet things,
And relize my life's....The BOMB!!!!

Dad was right. It is a rhyming blog. I had the mother of all bloody noses in the pool today during a rather energetic game of 500 alive with my co-workers. The kind of bloody nose that has covered your entire torso and is starting to stain your trunks by the time you can get to a towel. I love that. It has been a while since I've had enough fun to bleed that much.

I'll see the majority of my readership this weekend. I love you lots.

If David Eddings had watched me today

2006-07-31T21:13:00.000-06:00

It was dark and early, but that did nothing to dim Adam's elation. It was cold, but the fire in his heart could not be quenched. Adam had finished his novitiate study of the human mind, and after what he considered to be an excessively long period of examination, he had been accepted to one of the finest academies in the land. There he would learn the skills he would need to stem the flow of the not-so- secret Zemoch invasion.

He would need to travel more than 70 leagues this day to arrive at the designated spot. There he would serve the God of masonry for three full days, erecting various structures, of such curious and advanced design, that they could only come from the Gods. He had been obliged to leave his sweet Lisa, but not even this could dampen his spirit; for she loved him, and would be there when he returned.

He was intrigued by this chariot that had been provided for him by Preston, one of the younger Gods of masonry. It had small devices around the rein sphere. These devices told him that he would span nearly 25 leagues every hour. Though Adam saw the world whizzing by him at great speed he still had trouble believing that such a velocity was possible.

To his right slept a young Cherek warrior, his companion in today's sacrifice. He held the same fascination that all Chereks had for his newly acquired facial hair and he wore it with pride. Normally Adam would have done the same, but in preparation for his rapidly approaching training, during which facial hair was forbidden, he was well shaved.

Adam began to be disturbed. Despite his elation at his good fortune to be so favored by his nation, his wife and the Masonic God he currently served, it was still early, and with no friendly conversation from his young Cherek companion, he began to feel drowsy. He had taken long trips in carriages and chariots before. But this one was different. The wheels were not the wooden constructions that he was used to, conveying immediately to the backside of the driver the presence of each and every pebble and rut of the road. They were made of some curious concoction that resembled pitch but was tougher, yet soft enough to deaden the pounding of the road. The seat was of leather but so obviously filled with vast amounts of goose down as to be soft yet firm.

It was then that he discovered another wonderful yet terrifying feature of this strange chariot. Upon massaging certain oddly marked spots to the right of the reining circle, the many captive spirits would magically serenade him, their songs seemingly coming from nowhere and yet from all around him. These spirits had strange names, like Metalica, Evanescence, and Shinedown, but they provided exciting melodies with strong pulsating rhythmic tones, like musical lightning, that served to keep Adam awake and alert. In time he found that they repeated certain refrains and he was able to sing along.

He was not alone on this road. Many of these strange chariots roamed the grand causeway as well. One driver in particular felt the need to lower her velocity to a speed below 7 leagues per hour when the signs by the side of the road clearly indicated that 15 was a perfectly safe and respectable speed. As destiny would have it, these signs were also accompanied by signs prohibiting the passing of such individuals. Adam gritted his teeth, and growled a curse to Gee-em the God of little old ladies in Cadillacs.

He looked out the portal of the speeding chariot, and beheld deep, well vegetated canyons. Surely there would be some "Rebels" in those small valleys that needed to be hunted down, but that was another activity, and a totally different genre, and it was not to interfere with his sacrifice to the younger gods of Masonry this day.

And so, singing energetically along with the imprisoned souls of this, the strangest of chariots, Adam safely completed his journey of 70 leagues in less than 3 hours. He exited the chariot, firmly donned his protective gauntlets and armored helm to began this week’s sacrifice.

My relation to the daring one

2006-07-30T21:55:00.000-06:00

I am the little brother of one Daring Young Mom. Though the subject matter of our blogs may not reflect the shared upbringing, it is still true. I was wondering how I could prove my kinship to the discerning blogoshpere audience. Then it hit me. I have photographic proof!! No; not family pictures. We share a very strange power. These are three examples of my use of this power within the last month.

Ha!! Tike that Baymbridge Scholahs!!! I dare you all to refute my claim!!! ......oh and if there are any "Baymbridge Scholahs" who read this blog, lemme know.

1 Year Later

2006-07-26T21:58:00.000-06:00

Well. 11 months ago, I filled out my first application to the United States Border Patrol. Then I took a test covering Spanish and logical reasoning. I did well. I took and passed the physical and the physical fitness test. I received a tentative offer of employment. I hit a few snags with regards to some minor past injuries and my tentative offer was rescinded. I spent a few months and a bit of money convincing them that these past injuries were not a problem, and my tentative offer was re-extended. I then spent quite a few months waiting for the government to determine that I was suitable for the position and had not lied on any part of my application.

I just received my first confirmation that it is finished. I received my 60-day letter today. This letter tells me that my application process is finally finished and my previously received tentative offer of employment is no longer tentative. The duty stations on the southern border can now review my test grades and other qualifications and will bid on me if they want me. Within the next 60 days I will receive a call letting me know which stations have expressed an interest. I will choose and likely be in the academy in Artesia NM within a week or so after that.

The academy will be nearly 5 months long. I am so excited and nervous to get the call!

I appreciate all the help and encouragement that you all have given me and glad to have this blog so that I can share the news with you all really fast. Love you guys.

Why me? Wednesday - speechless

2006-07-25T20:59:00.000-06:00

I find myself in a spot of trouble on this, my second "why me? Wednesday."

I started this regular posting feature in the certainty that I would be able to find something each Wednesday to post about that warranted a rant.... On this day I find myself surrounded by a myriad of pleasant occurrences that don't allow me to find anything to whine about.

I spent this weekend doing the things I love doing most with the people I love the most.

I hunted rabbits with Mike.

I stayed with my sister and her husband in their awesome new house. Guys, I talked to my boss and he told me how to go about the little repair we want to do. Later in august I will come down to do it.

I took my final final of my bachelors degree. I am done. My sister and her husband lent me their hog so I could get there....

K...So they did lend me the hog, but it made me look more like a circus bear than a hell's angel.

It was soo sweet! I got together with an old mission companion and taught him to use his new pistol. He is the greatest guy. He saved me. He taught me how to be a missionary. He taught me how to be happy when things are tough. He taught me to love to teach. It looks like it payed off in a strange way, because he walked into the range with terrible mechanics, barely able to hit a 2 foot target at 5 yards, and after two hours he left with the confident ability to put most of a 15 round magazine within the ten ring at twice that distance. I shared my sport and I helped an old friend be better able to defend his new family. A win.

I got to spend lots of time with me sweetie. I got to spend a lot of time with 3 of my sisters. I get to see the other one and her husband within the month.

I have a great job. I even got to branch out and got to lay most of the stone on a new pillar like the ones described here.

I can't, for the life of me, find anything I feel upset enough about to rant about. This brings up an interesting idea. Could it be, that because I decided to be angry on Wednesday, I found things to be happy about instead. Maybe I should plan to be mad every day... But I need something to whine about.......OOOH!!...

I am so mad that I can't find anything to be mad about!!!! GRRRRR!!!!

If Tom Clancy had watched me on Friday

2006-07-24T19:34:00.000-06:00

Adam stepped from his armored transport into the blinding morning sun. He had traveled more than 13 hours to reach the site of today’s raid. Sleep had been hard to come by of late. He shifted his sidearm as he stretched his legs after the long journey. After so many years, his pistol had become a natural extension of his hip. It no longer seemed heavy. In fact on the rare occasion that he went unarmed there seemed to be an uncomfortable void where his good friend normally rode in the Milt Sparks holster inside his waist band.

Adam agreed with the late General Patton that the primary purpose of a pistol should be to allow a soldier to fight his way back to his rifle. With this in mind, though it required no fighting whatsoever, Adam made his way to the rear of the vehicle, and standing next to Michael, opened the weaponry compartment of the armored vehicle to retrieve his heavy weapons. This would be a punitive expedition. They knew they would need their long guns to inflict the most damage on the rebels that infested this barren stretch of wilderness.

Michael was Adam's mentor. He was Adam's senior, but only slightly. The deference that Adam showed him stemmed not from age difference, but from Michaels more lengthy training in such expeditions. He had first shown Adam the evil of their quarry. He had taught him of their reckless and uncaring use of biological weapons that damaged the local populace's food supply. These rebels had to be stopped.

Together they chose their weapons. They both chose the superior firepower of the twelve-gauge shotgun in lieu of the smaller rifles that they had brought along. Adam used a pump-action, preferring the deliberate movement it required to chamber a new round and the stability that this action gave his follow-up shots. Michael was trying a newly restored semi-automatic model that his father had used for years.

“That old thing is gonna jam on you. What are you gonna do if they try to take us in a rush?” Adam jibed.

“You know they always run. And it won’t jam. It was good enough to protect the local populace years ago and it is good enough today,” he responded.

Adam grunted. They finished loading their weapons and rechecked the bags and belts containing their spare ammo. They had seen the signs of extensive rebel activity in the area as they approached. Now to find them.

It was a slow morning. The sun rose inexorably into the sky. They wore only T-shirts and were already beginning to sweat. This fact promised a long and hot day.

They caught sight of the day’s first rebel quickly entering one of the region’s many small canyons. He ran quickly. Obviously they had been unsuccessful in their pursuit of stealth. They had been seen, and their prey was escaping. They had to move fast. Stealth was of no moment. Adam being the younger and more eager of the two, ran quickly into the gully after the rebel, while Michael stayed high to provide cover fire. It was an assumption of roles that they had taken so many times, that it was an automatic reaction. As always their training kicked in and took over as adrenaline triggered muscle-memory and previously-mastered tactical forms. The outcome was inevitable. The first kill of the day was shared by the stalwart hunters. The converging cones of destruction emanating from the two weapons made determination of responsibility impossible. Thus the kill was shared on the day’s score card. They always kept score.

The rest of the morning passed much the same way. They would scare a young rebel from his place of concealment and have to work hard and fast to contain him. The score card did not remain even for long. The younger man quickly showed his mentor that his teachings had not been ill-received, and pulled ahead in their little competition. It was before noon when water and ammunition were running low, and the growing heat of the day began to take it’s toll on the warriors. They returned to the armored vehicle and began the journey home.

They had not traveled far, when Michael stopped the transport with a sharp intake of breath.

“What?!,” Adam exclaimed.

“There…in the bushes,” he gestured.

Adam’s young eyes did not see what his teacher had seen at first but with time began to make out the form of a rebel in the bushes, poised and ready to attack their vehicle. General Patton’s advice on the proper use of a pistol flashed through his mind, but he knew there was no time to seek his long gun. The rebel could launch his attack at any second.

Adam rolled from the door of the car and came up in a half-crouch with his pistol ready; his sights already acquiring the target. As soon as he found his mark his ever-ready trigger finger moved confidently to its favorite place. The precision ground grooves of his skeletonized aluminum match-grade trigger bit smartly into the pad of his finger. But it was a comfortable, welcome and familiar pain; soon to be accompanied by the sharp blow to his hand and wrists as he executed the perfect final shot of the day, saving himself and his mentor from certain destruction……

I hope you all enjoyed this. I had almost as much fun writing this story as I did hunting the rabbits that were its inspiration. Please replace the word rebel with the word rabbit and remove any references to any mortal peril to Mike and I. This will give you a clearer picture of what happened on Friday, the first day of my vacation. The final score was Adam:15, Mike:5, Rabbits:0

As a side note to anyone who is disturbed by this practice of hunting rabbits.

Jack Rabbits in the Utah desert carry bovine malaria and many other diseases. This makes them dangerous to ranchers’ livelihood and makes them unsafe to eat. This fact inspired my refferences to biological weapons. Hunting them, therefore, is a public service to local ranchers and helps one keep in practice for the regulated Cotton-Tailed rabbit hunt that occurs in the winter. I can attest to the fact that coyotes eliminate all carcasses that are left behind by these practice hunts within 24 hours.

Dead blog already?!

2006-07-23T22:29:00.000-06:00

Sorry about the brief hiatus of posting. Over the weekend I went to Utah to visit family and to take my final final for my psychology degree. I could have answered every question wrong and still received a "B" in the class so it was not stressful. There was much fun had by all and I love my family. I have been driving, hunting, shooting, watching movies and occasionally sleeping since last Thursday. Thus I have not posted. Forgive me. I will post about my many weekend adventures throughout this week.

Later

The rich, the famous, and Adam all live in hotels.

2006-07-19T21:09:00.000-06:00

I have posted a little about my current job. I have however neglected to mention the wonderful perks that go along with my concrete boogers and sore knees. Three nights a week I get to stay in a luxurious hotel...FOR FREE!!

I can tell you do not believe me.

Good thing I have PHOTOGRAPHIC PROOF!

There is air conditioning.There is a helpful staff on hand 24 hours a day!!There is a spectacular continental breakfast...FREE. (yes those are waffle irons!!)
There is a window on the top floor where my cell phone works and I can call my sweetie. Just me and her...The occasional passing hotel guest... And the flies...Which apparently come here to die.
There is FREE ice which I can use to miraculously heal my knees and shoulders.
But most importantly, (Lisa should stop reading now to stave off waves of jealousy) there is the pool. It comes complete with hot tub, and 90 foot slide. The fat guy in the hot tub is only an occasional feature.
How could I, a humble hod-carrier rate such treatment? Apparently I must carry my imaginary hod very well....Or my boss just rules...It's a close call, but I think I know the answer.

Why me? Wednesday - The begingings of ranting regularity

2006-07-18T21:57:00.000-06:00

Well it's Wednesday and you know what that means...no wait...You don't. This is the first Wednesday of its kind, for this is the first "Why me? Wednesday" on Adam's blog.

I have noticed two very fun traditions on popular blogs that I have read. The first is the ever-entertaining rant of a frustrated blogger and the second is a theme post that happens on a regular basis. I have, in my own conniving way, concocted a plan to utilize both at the same time. I shall, unless the world changes drastically, find something to be frustrated or annoyed at and make it the topic of a post each Wednesday.

This week I have a personal issue to share/rant.

Concrete predictably expands and contracts in varying temperatures.

I understand how someone could not know this. I am even willing to accept that someone working in construction might not know this. I am skeptical that a job foreman can afford to be ignorant to this fundamental physical truth. But I simply refuse to accept the fact that a foreman would ignore the advice of a mason on site and insist that cultured stone veneer be extended to the concrete pad below. But this is apparently what happened three years ago to ruin my week. I am currently working in Big Sky, Montana on a group of condos, installing cultured stone on the fireplaces, exterior wall and pillar bases like this one.

I have decided not to name persons in my rants who are not already public figures, so in this case we will call the week-ruiner.....Richard.

To make an already long post shorter. He would not construct the neat little wood spacer that you see in the picture and insisted that we lay stone all the way to the concrete slab. Three years of expansion and contraction later we have some significant damage...Like this.
When a post like this is cleaned up so replacement stone can be installed it looks something like this. This one took me about 40 minutes to clean off.
All the posts that had been badly designed now fall to me. I get the distinct pleasure of removing the bottom course so the wood spacer can be inserted. All the damaged rock must also be removed. This takes between 30 and 80 minutes per pillar. Then I looked up and saw this.
There are 46 columns in this complex to be repaired. And if that were not enough, about half of the slabs have been re-poured and the cement now covers up to 1.5 inches of the stone which still has to be removed. This is the most difficult thing I have done in my whole life. It requires the stone to be pulverize on the wall without dislodging the stone above it or damaging the concrete.
So my first "Why me? Wednesday" is my third straight 10 hour day of this great fun. Thanks...Richard...Thanks a lot.

p.s. I still love my job and my employer/Father-in-law. Richard just ain't my favorite person this week.

A splendid actress playing a highly driven and slightly insensitive woman wears prada.

2006-07-17T22:52:00.000-06:00

Cody. This one is for you. This will be my first movie review.

I had the pleasure of going out with my wife and her sister to a movie last week. We saw a film entitled, "The Devil Wears Prada." I saw the trailers online and was excited to see Meryl Streep be truly mean and nasty. In this I was not disappointed.

Anne Hathaway plays a recent college graduate living in New York who is unable to find a job in her chosen field, which is writing. She finds a job almost by accident working for a tough and demanding Meryl Streep who is the editor in chief of "Runway" fashion magazine. Though it is not a writing position she feels correctly that it will open doors for her in the pursuit of her career.

On the subject of the technical aspects of film-making I am pretty rusty. I have forgotten most of my freshman year film class curriculum. I know that a movie will use light and angles and color to affect my mood and manipulate me into certain emotions. I choose to almost totally ignore this phenomenon unless it becomes painfully obvious to me that I am being deliberately manipulated. That did not seem to be the case in this film.

I loved the two female leads in this film. I adored Meryl in her role. The cold way in which she always dismissed her underlings says it all. She would look at her intimidated young victim with absolute disdain, having just given 37 impossible instructions, without allowing any time to take adequate notes, and say "that's all," in the loftiest of tones. It was priceless. I could just envision Meryl Streep sitting in a darkened room studying old television game show clips looking for inspiration. What she said was, "That's all." What she meant was, "You ARE the weakest link! GOODBYE!!"

Anne Hathaway also did a wonderful job. She was believable, although type cast in her role that involved being sweet yet terribly bewildered and unprepared for her new responsibility ala "Ella Enchanted," and "The Princess Diaries;" Though "The Devil Wears Prada" was undeniably more serious in nature.

My only real complaints have to do with the writing and story line. It seems to me that someone was very bitter following a period of employment within the fashion industry, and went on to write a book vilifying those who are dedicated to it. They seem to have been partially successful in hurting the industry.

The writer appears to give the role of moral compass to a boyfriend who lives with the main character, and works in a restaurant. His occupation is relevant because his underpaid job seemed to establish his superior morality in their relationship. This boyfriend is always there to criticize and belittle his girlfriend for "selling out," to the evil fashion industry, and not caring enough for him and their friends of yore, though he is unwilling to show his devotion by giving the girl a ring. grrr.

My impression of the situation was that, Anne's character was using a great opportunity to work in a difficult environment and get closer to her goal of becoming a writer, and Meryl's character was very typical of successful business women. She got where she was by working hard and being superior to those around her. Anne was doing what she needed to in order to advance her career.

Sadly, a woman like that is usually regarded as a bee with an itch about her, while the same qualities in a man are hailed as heroic, bold and strong. Though there is one small line in the film acknowledging this phenomenon, it is delivered by Anne while "falling to the dark side," and is therefore devoid of moral weight. The rest of the film propagates this unfair duality.

That said, I liked the film overall. It was fun. The acting was spectacular. It allowed me to re-examine my views of the world. I did not feel on the exact same moral page as the writers, but that is nothing new.

Worth a rental fee.

Hods and mocking noses

2006-07-16T20:31:00.000-06:00

In my inaugural post I made mention of my current occupation. I am a Hod- Carrier. A hod is a scoop device used long long ago to deliver masonry mortar to masons in the pursuing of their office. This tool has since fallen into obscurity and disuse. This does not prevent all masons from referring to their non-glorified go-fers as hod-carriers, regardless of whether or not they have ever seen a hod in their life. I have not ever seen one, but I apparently carry one on a regular basis nonetheless.

The chief duty of a Hod-carrier is to supply a mason with mortar (hereafter referred to as mud), brick, block, cultured stone, real stone, tools, tools, more tools, working and supply surfaces, scaffolding, a ready scapegoat, and a partridge in a pear tree. In return a hod carrier receives good pay, an increase in bicep size from a flabby 12 inches to a firm 16, and a nose that continually mocks him day in and day out.

Lemme splain. The most important duty of a hod-carrier is the providing of mud to the masons he is caring for. I am not a complete moron, but it took me nearly a month to understand what consistency my masons wanted their mud to be. There are a variety of tasks and applications that require mud. Brick, block, stucco coatings, and cultured stone all require different consistencies. Different masons prefer different consistencies within all of these applications, and ambient temperature changes affect how soon the mud will begin to firm up and become the wrong consistency. The result is the near impossibility of creating properly viscous and adhesive, yet manipulable (it's a word now) mud for each mason and application. My nose however seems to have no trouble with mixing the huge amount of mortar mix I inhale each day with precisely appropriate amounts of mucus to create rock hard and nearly inextricable cement creations within my nasal passages each day. Where did it learn to do that? Thus my nose mocks me, and I have no answer to its smugness. Suggestions would be appreciated.

Not another _____ post

2006-07-15T09:47:00.000-06:00

Hello blogging world! I have finally succumbed to enticing examples of my sisters and parents. I have decided to start a blog. Then I was faced with a significant dilemma. What would I name said blog. I decided that the name of my blog should reflect who I am and what is most important to me. But I am so many things.

Without further ado, I will relieve the fears of my parents and sisters that the title of my blog involves edited swearing. It does not. I have been participating in the Blog world as a spectator for five years now and have noticed that most blogs try to marry themselves to one topic. Sometimes they are successful and sometimes they are not. Either way, it seems obvious to me that the chosen topic of the blog does not wholly identify or define the blogger.

As I said, I am many different things

I have a family that I love very much. My sweet wife and I are very excited to expand our little family (no. Not an announcement), and hopefully do nearly as wonderful a job with it as our parents did. But this is not another family blog.

I love this country and what it stands for and what it will accomplish, but this is not another Patriotic blog.

I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I served a full-time mission for the church. I have a strong testimony of the truthfulness of the teachings of the church and of my Savior's love for me. But this is not another Mormon, Christian, or Missionary blog.

I speak fluent Spanish, having served the above-mentioned mission in Argentina, but this is not a Spanish as a Second Language, or Latin-American Facts blog.

I feel very strongly about many political issues, but this is not another Political blog.

I am in the final stages of the application process for the United States Border Patrol, and I anticipate a long and honorable career in federal law enforcement, but this is not another Border Patrol, Law Enforcement, or Immigration blog.

I have a bachelor’s degree in psychology and plan on a masters in something more specifically law enforcement related, but this is not another Psychology, or Higher Education blog.

I enjoy firearms. I enjoy hunting and target shooting. I gain an enormous amount of satisfaction from nailing a target and teaching others to do the same. I legally carry a concealed weapon, hoping sincerely to never need it, but valuing the safety of my family and those around me as worthy of the inconvenience and added accountability. But this is not another Gun, Self-Defense, or Packing blog.

I think I can be funny sometimes, but this is not another Humor blog.

I love computers. I built the computer I am typing on, but this is not another technology, hardware or software blog.

I am currently working for a mason as a Hod-carrier. It is an extremely physically hard and dirty job, but this is not another Hard Work Builds Character, or Masonry blog.

The list goes on and on, but I will spare your eyes and your exasperated sighs (did I mention I could rhyme?). I have so many things that are important to me, and have started this blog in dedication to all of them and to none of them. It is quite possible that some, all, or none of the above-mentioned aspects of who I am will be the topic of posts on this blog. I reserve the right to post what I will and will try to do so with regularity. I hope that my family, current friends, friends that I will make through this blog, and someday my children will know me better because of it.

My name is Adam and this is not another ______ blog.