Columbia Pike Sunset

Just a little something to end the week with. Here are a couple of shots from my balcolny looking west down Columbia Pike in Arlington. 

Enjoy the view.

TMI Thursday: War and Poetry

Round about this time in 1991, I was somewhere in the Saudi desert and, according to the Wikipedia, the ground war to liberate Kuwait was into its second of four days by Feb. 26, 1991.

But just in case something had happened, our platoon sergeant, Sgt. Lambert, had seen to it everyone in the platoon would have at least one happy memory to take with them to the farm they'd just bought.

The night before the platoon rolled north through the breech to evict the evil invaders from Kuwait, Lumpy, as Sgt. Lambert was known for resemblance to the “Leave it to Beaver” character, walked around passing out handfuls of tissue to everyone in the platoon.

“Have fun boys, you never know if it's going to be your last time.”

The next morning one of the guys, I forget who now, commented to one of my buddies, “Bull” Morris, “Hey Bull, hope you don't mind, but I was thinking about your wife last night.”

You'd normally think these would be fightin' words, especially when everyone involved was carrying at least 400 rounds for an automatic rifle, but Bull was a pretty cool dude. His response? “Was she any good?”

So I know what you're thinking, “He promised us poetry in the title, and I ain't seen no damn poetry yet. Just a damn story about communal whacking.” Well, I promised you some war poetry, and here it is. Remember those two words: war and poetry. The first was written by my friend Puddin' and the other by my friend Rat. Yes, we all had nicknames. None of them were flattering, and all of them are cherished memories. Mine, in fact, is inscribed on a big glass mug.

The first poem, From Man To Shit, may be mildly disturbing. I found this out a year later when some damn Swabbie thought it was a suicidal cry for help, rather than one Marine's twisted and humorous tribute to a friend. The Navy has no sense of humor.

The second, Desert Storm “91”, is just plain offensive (remember, "war" and "poetry"). I didn't post this in a Navy space since even then I knew I'd have ended up spending days in sensitivity classes. Again, absolutely no sense of humor.

As amazed as I was to discover I still had the original copies of these monuments to Marine wartime creativity, I decided to provide a clear text version for anyone who can't quite read them.

From Man To Shit
If you slash my wrists
do I not bleed?

Will you curse me for
my deathly deed?

If you crush my spine
do I not scream?

This is the end
of my childhood dream.

I snuff out
the days last smoke.

I know my life's
become a joke.

Cross my path
I'll have no choice

In your death
I must rejoice.

- Puddin' Damnit!

Desert Storm “91”
Welcome to the Kuwaiti dump
Come aboard my little chump

The air is full of burning oil
Our bodies dingy from the soil

My penis is as hard as rock
I need a bitch to service cock

We haven't seen a beer in months
Or porno mags with dripping cunts

But someday soon it will all be over
And I will go home to kick Rover

And fuck my girl for hours on end
Until my penis starts to bend

- Rat “91”

Liquid Crystals by the Barrelful*

I did something last week I don’t normally do: I watched Charlie Rose.

I don’t know what compelled me to stop my clicking thumb but, for some reason known only to my thumb, it paused just long enough for me to hear a snippet of what Charlie and his guest were talking about.

The guest was Mark Andreessen, one of the founders of Netscape along with Jim Clark (he provided the coin). What Andreessen said was something along the lines of “The New York Times needs to kill its print edition.”

“Huh? What? You bastard! You shut the hell up! What do you mean ‘kill the print edition’ ”?

Yeah, that was the former reporter in me taking offense at any unbeliever (i.e., non journalist) who’d dare suggest newspapers are dead/dying and that the emperor isn’t wearing any clothes. So I decided to watch a little more of his heresy so I could be properly superior and mock him more effectively in this space.

You know what happened during the next 30 minutes? I was converted. Three years after leaving journalism proper I’ve now forsaken my chosen craft like Judas discovering he’s short on pocket change and Jonesing for hooker in the temple.

How did this happen? Within the last few months I know I’ve commented to someone something to the effect, “Newspapers will never die, people like reading an actual newspaper too much for them to go away.”

But do we really? After years and years of free newspapers on my desk every morning, and a subscription to the WaPo after I moved to Arlington, I haven’t gotten a paper at my door in more than a year. A big part of this is I just didn’t have time to read through the whole paper, and because some asshole neighbor of mine used to steal my WaPo at least once a week, but even that reinforces my recent conversion.

My asshole neighbor can’t steal my online paper. Well, he could steal my internet service, but he can’t keep me from reading my papers online. Yep, papers. I don’t just read the WaPo, along with it and the NYT my list of online papers also includes the Raleigh News and Observer, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Houston Chronicle, Beaumont Enterprise, San Francisco Chronicle, the Guardian as well as CNN, ESPN, MSNBC and the BBC.

So as much as I used to enjoy taking the Sports section with me during my Sunday constitutional, the truth is that’s really not a very comfortable place to read the paper. Your ass generally falls asleep within a couple of articles.

Then, right after Andreessen finished talking, I was buying a tour book for my niece who’s going to Spain this summer, and I started clicking around Amazon’s Kindle store.

Holy. Fucking! Crap!@!@!@! That thing is cool!!!

Now I don’t know if I’m ready to drop $350 on one of the new Kindles, but I’m damn tempted to do my part for the economy. Those things are sweet.

They are also the keen (a lamentation for the dead uttered in a loud wailing voice, or sometimes in a wordless cry – according to Webster’s, what a great word) of the newspaper industry. Instead of getting your online paper for free, you can get your WaPo and NYT delivered directly and wirelessly to your Kindle every morning ($9.99/month for the WaPo and $13.99 for the NYT). It’s still cheaper than what you’re paying for the print edition and I’m guessing more convenient since you can carry it with you everywhere.

Seriously, as soon as these things have half or even a quarter of the market penetration like the iPod, the physical manifestation of your favorite newspapers and magazines are done. Never to be seen again.

If you were a newspaper owner and could get rid of your entire production operation (printing) and distribution network (delivery drivers) and focus on putting that money in your pocket, why the hell wouldn’t you? It’s not like you’re going to pay your reporters or editors more (trust me on this), so why not just get rid of the paper version of your paper and send it off through the ether every morning at 4:45 a.m.?

The news business is a glorious one. A business filled with excitement, pride, sadness, public service and everlasting glory (for some). But, like all businesses, they have to change with the times. Why are newspapers still putting out words on paper – the same product they’ve been delivering for 400 years?

Computer and technology companies (and any company that wants to be really successful) reinvent themselves every 18 to 24 months or they’re history. As sad as it makes me to say this, I think it’s time for us to bury our Dead Tree Editions.

* There’s an old saying to describe the power of a newspaper: “Never pick a fight with people who buy their ink by the barrel.”

Two flags for our fathers

I was going to write a TMI today, until I got to the “This Day in History” section at the bottom of my online NYT. It sent my thoughts in another direction.

Does anyone recognize this picture shot by Lou Lowery:

What about this one by Bob Campbell:

No? I didn’t think so. These two pictures are not nearly as famous as this one, taken by Associated Press photographer Joe Rosenthal:

Yeah, I figured that one might be familiar. It was taken about a half second before Campbell's photo above it and from a slightly different angle.

As famous as Rosenthal’s photo of the flag going up on Mount Suribachi is, it is important to remember Rosenthal passed Lowery as Lowery was going down the mountain after taking his picture. This in no way lessens the historical impact of Rosenthal’s Pulitzer Prize-winning picture. It’s an amazing picture (and one of the most reproduced photographs in history) and is an icon of the Marine Corps.

“(T)he raising of that flag on Suribachi means a Marine Corps for the next five hundred years” – Secretary of the Navy James Forrestal, after witnessing the first flag raised on Mount Suribachi

Three of the Marines in Rosenthal’s picture – Franklin Sousley, Harlon Block, and Michael Strank – were killed in action on Iwo Jima. The other three men – Marines Rene Gagnon and Ira Hayes, and Navy corpsman (medic) John Bradley – survived the battle and returned home. In the picture they are, from left to right: Hayes, Sousley, Strank, Bradley, Gagnon and Block.

In the end, though, Lowery worked for Leatherneck Magazine and Rosenthal for the AP and it was his picture that filled the front pages of American newspapers within days. Not only is history written by the winners, it’s often difficult to change the history that is written first.

(Speaking of history, if anyone’s interested, both flags now call the National Museum of the Marine Corps in Quantico home. They’re displayed on a rotating basis to protect them from the ravages of time.)

Facts about the Battle of Iwo Jima
Today is not the anniversary of the Suribachi flag raising – that comes next week on Feb. 24. But it was 64 years ago today when U.S. Marines first stormed the eerily quiet beaches of Iwo Jima. They didn’t stay that way for long and battle for the island raged for the next 35 days.

During those 35 days, 110,000 Americans (mostly Marines) battled more than 22,000 Japanese soldiers for control of the 8 square mile island. Arlington County, the smallest county in the United States, has an area of 26 square miles.

When the battle ended, 21,703 of the Japanese soldiers had been killed and 1,083 were captured. The 3rd, 4th and 5th Marine Divisions lost 6,821 killed and 19,189 wounded.

Music, play music

My nephew turned 11 last week, so in addition to the required card with a Jackson inside, I made him an additional offer: to increase his music collection. I told him if there was any music he wanted that I have I'd be happy burn it and send it along. And, since he said he only has "about 43 songs on my iPod" how could I pass up the chance to profoundly influence (read: corrupt) the musical tastes of the next generation of Dews?

Actually, when I was looking through his Touch at New Years, I was kinda impressed with some of the stuff he already had on there, namely The Stones. I was less than awed though, by the fact that virtually the next "artist" in the list was Taco and his "Putting on the Ritz." That song was fine in the 80s, but it's just wrong now.

He also kinda whispered into the phone, to show me how cool he is (and he is, he's gonna get all the girls in about a couple of years), "I already have two songs with the F-word in them."

So my question is this: do I expand on my 11-year-old nephew's collection of songs with "bad" words in them? I'm personally of the opinion there is no such thing. My sister, on the other hand, might not be so quick to agree.

He's asked for some AC/DC, Green Day, rap and, warming my heart to no end, some jazz to "help me mellow out." I can do all of this, but do I send him Union Underground, System of A Down and Marilyn Manson? (I've already decided to include Barenaked Ladies and Ben Folds.) Or, like with the set of miniature steel drums I so desperately wanted to send him for Christmas when he was 4 or 5, do I hold back? (This decision last was easy in retrospect, my sister would have someday, when I have children, repaid this debt with full interest and a little extra thrown in for good measure.)

It's not like I'm going to send him the Ghetto Boys (this'd be funny, but there are some lines even I won't cross), but what's wrong with a little Ice-T or Snoop?

Two bridges

One of the hardest things to do in D.C. I've found, is to get a parking space in West Potomac Park on a Saturday. Well, I did that this past weekend and, along with the parking space, I found a new favorite running route. 

Not that I like running, of course, but I found a course to run that makes the self-inflicted torture a bit more enjoyable. And yes, for those of you wondering, there will always be a "Declaration of Hatred" of running in each of these little updates. It's not as if I can actually like running, even if I like what it is doing to my body. 

I didn't run at all last week because of a nasty little biological invader in my body which sapped all of my energy and then gave me alternating fever and chills for the better part of three days. By the time Saturday morning rolled around I was finally feeling mostly human again and decided to banish the toxic guests from my body with some good old fashion exercise.

Well, anyway, back to the run. I started off in West Potomac Park on Ohio Drive, SW, (always thought this was called something like "West Potomac Drive" or something like that, but I guess not) heading down the Potomac toward the 14th Street Bridge. I went over the little bridge at the end and ran past the George Mason Memorial and then a quick glimpse of one of my favorites, the Jefferson, before making a right onto the 14th Street Bridge. 

I thought this part of the run would be pretty hard: all long and straight with cars and trucks whizzing past, but it wasn't so bad. Unlike a spring or summer Saturday, there were only a couple of other people on the bridge and I was able to keep a pretty good pace.

After exiting the bridge I kept going, my legs a bit dead now, and went up and over the Boundary Channel Bridge and past the Navy-Marine Memorial, not to be confused with the Marine Corps War Memorial, in Lady Bird Johnson Park. As you can see from the view in the picture, which isn't mine, it's easy to understand why this little jaunte has become my favorite running course in and around the District. 

Well, it was just about here, maybe a little further on, where the legs ran out of gas and I had to stop running for a bit. Although I stopped running, I never stopped moving and kept up a brisk pace while walking. From here until I reached the Memorial Bridge, was a bit of stop and go. Perhaps it was because the trail on the Virginia side is just ever so slightly uphill or, more likely, it's because I still haven't figured out how and what I need to eat to keep the fires in the furnace burning brightly as I run. I'm still working on this and any suggestions on running and nutrition will be greatly welcome. 

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, heading for home. Two of my goals for this run on Saturday were to run all the way across both the 14th Street and Memorial bridges. I'm happy to say I accomplished this. I even managed to keep a pretty good pace and not look like a fat, pathetic out-of-shape old guy while I was running across the Memorial Bridge. At least I devoutly hope so. 

I finally finished up my run next to the Lincoln Memorial and near one of my most favoritest signs in the whole wide District of Columbia:

Actually, I finished running for the day on Saturday right at the end of that crosswalk and walked the rest of the way back to my car. After crossing Independence Avenue I thought about running a bit more of the way, but decided not to. Overall, out of the whole 3.1 mile distance, I figure I ran about 2.3 of the miles (I measured using the ruler tool on Google Earth). Not bad, but I hope to start stringing some of my fits and spurts together soon into some longer stretches.

I liked the length of this route and the fact that it's pretty flat, but not totally flat (hey, to me those little uphill sections are huge) and the views are definitely something that'll keep you entertained as you go into oxygen debt. I think I'll be doing this run again very soon. 

Snips and Snails…

How appropriate is it that Friday the 13th falls the day before Valentine’s Day? Of course, February 13 always comes the day before Valentine’s Day, but for some reason I’m intrigued by the coincidence of the two dates this year.

I’m wondering how many men are going to make decisions today or, rather, more likely fail to make decisions that will to lead to disasters tomorrow. It’s funny when it happens in the movies, not so funny when you’re personally involved.

In this life I have loved three very different and exceptionally beautiful women and, amazingly, been lucky enough to have them feel the same way about me. Just writing that sentence brought a smile to my face as memories flood back. I don’t know if three loves over the course of my adult life (so far) is a lot, but it feels about right. (Yes, for those of you asking, scientists are hard at work trying to figure out how three women could have fallen in love with the Foggy Dew. Seriously, this is Nobel-level work.)

The funny thing is for those three beautiful faces there are nothing but the vaguest memories of Valentine’s Days past. The only way I can explain it is when you love someone, February 14 isn’t sooo important because you demonstrate your love every day. Not just once a year in a big, over-the-top commercial way.

The memories I do have of Valentine’s Day are of those February 14ths when my reach exceeded my grasp. The ones that didn’t go … quite so well. Why is it a holiday dedicated in our minds to love is so often seared into our memories because of (generally male) screw-ups and forgetfulness?

We men are, at our essence very simple creatures. Barely evolved beyond single-celled organisms in some ways. You have to remember for us it’s not so much just having the thought count, but rather the actual physical act of engaging our brains beyond the necessary imperative drives of food, shelter and … and … Hey look! The game’s on!

In “The Break Up” Brook says, “I want you to want to do the dishes.” To which Gary gives the perfect, unfiltered guy response: “Why would I want to do the dishes?” (Note: I don’t mind doing the dishes, this is merely an example of typical guy thinking.)

Translated to today and tomorrow’s events it could also be written this way: Honey Bunny, “Oh, you don’t have to do anything special for Valentine’s Day. Just being with you is enough for me.” Dude, “OK.”

See? Simple. Literal. And then we wonder what we did to piss off the women we love.

This year I find myself quite single and, unless something extraordinary happens in the next 24 or so hours, February 14 will pass me by quietly. It’s a very slight disappointment personally because, no matter what I’ve written above, society-at-large demands coupling of us all. But I’ll deal with that.

I’m a guy.