The isolation of the North Rim has created a home for unique plants and animals.  The shy kaibab squirrel, an example of evolutionary change through geographic isolation, is easily identified by its charcoal-gray body, distinct tufts of fur on the tips of its ears, and its pure white tail.  Its close relative, the Abert squirrel, inhabits the South Rim and other areas of the Southwest. -  “Grand Canyon: The Guide.”  National Park Service, 2005.    


1. Defeat

The 2004 elections left me feeling burned and bitter.  I was living in Ohio, and that made it even harder to bear.  I and a few other local volunteers had spent three long weeks canvassing my neighborhood on the west side of Dayton and making lists of probable Democratic voters.  On Election Day, we were up at six a.m. to mind the polls, check names off the lists, and bring the stragglers in.  With some out-of-state support from Indiana, we went down to the wire, pulling registered voters away from their TVs or their 40-ouncers to cast their ballots.  At the end of the day, we honestly thought we had won.  This was before we knew about the eight-hour lines at majority-Democratic polling places in Columbus, and before the unseen tide of Bush voters rolled in late, as if on cue.  Like many others, I still wonder how those extra millions, undetected in any pre-election surveys, managed to rise up and march like the children of the corn.

    I still don’t know if that election was fair and square.  Did Diebold Corporation (of Ohio) rig their machines?  Were the polling places deliberately designed to frustrate and deter Democratic voters?  Was gay marriage deliberately introduced as a “wedge” to mobilize Evangelicals and peel off some conservative Democrats?  All were possible, likely, probable or certain.  What the conspiracy theories didn’t explain, though, was how we managed to screw up what should have been a sure thing, and large numbers of mainstream American folks voted for George W. Bush in the midst of a foolish war, not because they believed that he was sent by Jesus to revive the Holy Crusades, but because they couldn’t cozy up to John Kerry, believe him, or believe in him.

    Several encounters from that time on the pavement stuck in my mind.  There was a white guy who lived down the street from me, who worked three jobs and was still struggling to support his family.  He was a registered Democrat who had a sixteen year-old daughter with one baby and another on the way.  However, he opposed abortion, and did not know who to vote for. He said, “I don't want my daughter getting a day-after pill without my knowing about it.” But then he said something else: “You know what I'd like to see?  I'd like to see a working-class guy running for President. How come we never see that?”

    Good question.

    On another block, two middle-aged black guys sat on their front porch, drinking beer out of plastic cups, smoking cigarettes, and bullshitting. One guy said, “Man, I ain't gonna vote for either one of them. They say John Kerry was in Vietnam. Shit, I was in Vietnam. They say he ran away or somethin' when he got shot at.” I responded, “Hey, John Kerry was in Vietnam getting shot at while George Bush was getting drunk in Alabama somewhere. What else do you need to know?”

    Then the other guy chimed in with another good one: “Can I ask you a question? How come John Kerry keeps talkin' about how he wants to help the middle class? Man, I'm poor.”

    I tried to explain that positioning oneself as a representative of the poor is not seen as a good way to win national elections in the United States, in part because the poor don't vote, and in part because many people who are actually poor consider themselves to be "middle class."  But these observations did not blunt the edge of his question: how come we can't get someone who represents and speaks to us?  This is not merely a problem, as the right-wing media likes to proclaim, of “liberal culture elitism.”  It is a problem of class, a disconnect between the circles of power and privilege to which most politicians (and those who fund them) belong, and the real worlds in which most Americans—in either “blue”or “red” states—actually live.  


2. Descent

Six months after the election, I sat in a wooden armchair on the deck of the Grand Canyon Lodge. This stately resort, maintained by the US Park Service since 1937, rests on the lip of America’s most dramatic natural wonder.  Traveling here was not my idea.  I had seen it a couple times before, when I was in my twenties, usually on the way to wandering somewhere else.  Now married with a young child, I had no burning desire to mingle with the pasty suburbanites in sneakers driving up in their air-conditioned SUVs, hopping out to videotape the view, then heading straight to the McDonald’s conveniently located a hundred yards away.  But the panorama of the Canyon, stretching out into the hazy distance, immediately overwhelms any attempt to describe, much less package or sell it.  T-shirts and post cards aside, the place really has to be experienced.  This is easier to do on the North Rim, where there is no McDonald’s.  Unlike the South Rim, which is located within convenient driving distance of Phoenix and Las Vegas, the North Rim is high in altitude and low in accessibility, and therefore has millions fewer visitors every year.

    It was Ernie, my brother-in-law, who had insisted on this epic family outing.  An Italian-American from Brooklyn, he had traipsed the American interior while following the Grateful Dead on tour years earlier, and raved about the glories of the North Rim.  Now an accountant (he once appeared on the David Letterman Show, in a segment called “Those Crazy Tax Laws”), he had the foresight to reserve cabins a year in advance for an extended collection of cousins, in-laws and kids from Oklahoma, New Jersey and Puerto Rico.   So it was that we had staked out an entire hillside of cabins, well stocked with sandwiches and beer.  Sitting around the lodge for hours at a time, or playing poker on a folding table propped precariously on the slanted earth between the cabins was relaxing enough, but it was not quite the Grand Canyon Experience that all of us had in mind.  So Ernie and I decided to take the plunge and hike in, joined by Israel, our father-in-law, who in his mid-60s was still more fit than most men half his age.  

    We left the cabins at five-thirty in the morning and hit the trail by six.  Normally the heat would build steadily as the sun ascended, but we were blessed with intermittent cloud cover and the slightest touch of rain, and we reached our destination at the Roaring Springs, 2800 feet below the canyon’s edge, by nine a.m.  Along the way, we encountered folks of all ages, from all over the country and all over the globe.  All were friendly on the trail, bonded in the sanctity of that pilgrimage, to whatever extent they pursued it.  We spent about half an hour resting and cooling our feet in an oasis created by running water and the shade of trees clustered in the canyon’s recesses, then started back up.  To my own surprise, my muscles responded readily as I entered the rhythm of the arduous climb.  My feet seemed to unconsciously pick their way among the rocks and roots, and I watched the changing view emerge around each sharp switchback like a masterpiece being endlessly unveiled.  In those moments I felt as though things were fitting together, body and mind and world, and I was free from most of the usual daily anxiety that dogs so many of us pitiable modern creatures: houses, cars, bills, jobs, bosses, not to mention Bush, the unholy mess in Iraq, global warming and so on.

I recalled a story told to me years before by a weathered drifter in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  He was an alcoholic who claimed to carve beautiful sculptures out of pear trees when he wasn’t scrounging the gutters for change. One day, he had visited the Albuquerque Zoo after dropping acid with a friend, and a captive bald eagle looked them both in the eye and said, “You sons of bitches.  You mother f___ers.”  I clearly remembered him sitting across from me, in the homeless shelter where I worked in the summer of 1991, pale eyes staring from behind thick plastic-rimmed glasses, summarizing the meaning of this tale with one simple and elegant statement: “The universe is alive, man.”

After all, everything was tied together, and the canyon, which we always imagine as a symbol of division, actually converges at the bottom, where the water is.  But you have to go to the bottom to see that.  Somehow that man, who had bitten bottom so hard and so many times that the taste of cement and the taste of vodka, in all likelihood, were forever intertwined in his addled but prescient mind, had managed to cut through all the sediment that choked our communication and clouded our comprehension.  What else was it but lost awareness of this fundamental fact, that we all exist within a shared organic whole, that cut us off so tragically from that world, ourselves, each other?


3. Division

That evening we drove to a campground in the surrounding Kaibab National Forest to attend a cookout hosted by my wife’s uncle.  He, his wife and their granddaughter had driven their mobile home and parked it out in the forest free of charge, rather than staying in the crowded cabins with us.  A Baptist minister, originally from Oklahoma, he now resided in Texas when he wasn’t traveling the planet saving souls for Jesus.  If ever there was potential for a blue and red duel, this was it.  As a young, left-leaning professor, raised and educated in the industrial North, I imagined I must represent an almost perfect opposition to everything he stood for.  I might not be red, I thought, but I sure would be meat.  

The wind was whirling the sparks around the campfire where we gathered, in a clearing on a plateau surrounded by pine trees.  The minister uncle said that he had heard of a way to make coffee, cowboy style, which involved boiling water, coffee grounds and an egg together over an open fire.  We agreed to give it a try, and seated ourselves on folding chairs and tree stumps while the experiment proceeded.  Honestly, I don’t remember much of our conversation, but it was amicable enough.  There were no politics, just the tentative attempt at communication between people who did not really know that much about each either, in spite of the bonds of family.  

    My wife’s uncle talked, in a matter-of-fact way, about the life of a preacher, how it involved the constant possibility of having to move to the next position, how his profession was subdivided into the ranks of the big-money superstars, the wandering journeymen, and all those in between, doing time for the Lord in parishes large and small.  I realized then that it was not so different from the world of academia that I had recently entered, and which was then subjecting my family to our third interstate relocation in five years.  My issues with right-wing Christianity and my own “mother faith” of Roman Catholicism aside, I could recognize the link between those of us, on either side of the secular-sacred divide, who sought to reconcile the clash between calling and career, and to re-stock our daily mundane pursuits with the fire of faith, whether that be faith in ideas, or beauty, or human possibility, or in a God whose will you hope to know.

    In that conversation we also stumbled onto the potentially inflammatory topic of health care and medical insurance, and several of us, myself included, offered some measured opinions on this.  The minister paused, and then said something to this effect: “I believe that people who are ignorant about something should not speak on it, and therefore I’m going to keep my mouth shut.”  We all laughed, and let it go at that.  I had imagined that preachers, like professors, would love to hear themselves talk on any topic imaginable, but sometimes it was a relief to not pontificate.  It reminded me of a Spanish proverb that my wife and I once found in a fortune cookie, which we now keep it tacked to our refrigerator.  It says “En boca cerrada no entran moscas”: the closed mouth admits no flies.  Perhaps with such simple rules we might all be a little more peaceful.     

    We drove back to the cabins as the twilight descended, my body still exhausted and exhilarated from the morning’s hike, my belly now pleasantly full of burgers and potato salad.  At that moment, in the crowded car, I felt something like a surge of love for the world and all it contained, in spite of its conflicts and contradictions.  My reveries were interrupted, however, by a darting phantom that turned out to be all too solid.  A single deer brought our happy caravan to a halt on the gravel shoulder, its gasping, bleeding body kicking in the grass beside us.   The collision swiftly shoved us back into the dirty world of suffering and death, shattered headlights and insurance premiums.  However, as we reported the incident to a ranger, we were assured that the injured animal, dispatched by a plastic bullet, would provide needed food for the resident condors, still recovering from near extinction.  

 
4. Downtown

When you're alone, and life is making you lonely
You can always go
Downtown
When you've got worries, all the noise and hurry
Seems to help, I know
Downtown
                          -Petula Clark, “Downtown”
       
Just as abruptly, we journeyed from the majestic to the absurd.   It only takes one afternoon to drive from the tranquil North Rim to the hustling boomtown of Las Vegas.  Like the Canyon, people descend on the famous Las Vegas “Strip” from all over the world.  To see them as equivalent spectacles would be a monumental injustice to nature.  Yet Las Vegas still stands as an essentially human monument of a kind, the ultimate golden calf, perhaps, conveniently located just down the road from the vaults of heaven. 

    In spite of all its neon, noise and motion, however, Las Vegas is something of a dead place, oriented entirely around the clink of coins and the gratuitous display of excess.  In the air-conditioned casino hotels, a cup of coffee will set you back $2.75, a bottle of water in your room is $4.25, and local calls run a buck and a quarter. The swimming pool for our hotel was about a mile hike down a glistening underground hallway, lined like everything else with opportunities to spend.  Did I mention that it’s damn hot in Las Vegas?  They have not yet managed to air-condition the exterior of the Strip, but of course that just forces you back into the casinos, so why would they? After one day in this joint I felt like a tiger in the Siegfried and Roy show: Get me the hell out of here.

    Fortunately for me, some relief was found inside taxi cabs.  We had three rides, from three drivers, who hailed from three different continents, and each one taught me something.  On our way to the Strip from the airport, where we had dropped off the damaged rental car, Mohammed, an immigrant from Iraq, gestured at the artificial opulence all around him and summed it all up like this: “People come here to make money, but it is an illusion, a lie.  How do you think all this was built?  The house always wins.  The house always wins.”   

    Ishetu was from Ethiopia, “the only country in Africa that was never colonized.” He shuttled us from where the celebrated Monorail ends to the old downtown. It is celebrated, it turns out, precisely because no public funds were used to build it.  The Monorail costs $3.00 to ride in one direction (if you get off and get back on it costs you again) and it only takes you as far as the end of the Strip. You would think a city train would take you downtown, but even the “public” transportation in Las Vegas is a private cash machine for the Strip casinos, and they had no interest in subsidizing their low-rent competitors, who happen to reside downtown. 

    “Downtown,” Ishetu said,  “is a whole different world.”  About this he was correct.  Going downtown was sort of like journeying from the spanking new colony, full of occupying forces, to the abandoned one that has now been reclaimed by natives.  You will find casinos there, of course, the original Golden Nugget and a cluster of other, seedier spots, where the opening bets are smaller and the slots are looser, according to our cousin Tommy, who wanted to go there for that very reason. You will also see more of the cheap touristy crap of the Strip, with less of the pretension.  It was hot, sweaty, and dirty, but overall I preferred it.  Fremont Street, the main downtown attraction, is limited to pedestrians and boasts the world’s largest laser light show, projected on a massive overhead canopy.  There is also a giant glowing cowboy who appears to be advertising a store for western wear, but when you go inside it’s just another tourist junk shop.  That’s because the original store no longer exists, though the sign has been preserved in all its gaudy glory.  This sign, like most of the others on Fremont Street, is part of the “Neon Museum”, an elephant’s graveyard of yesterday’s glitz.  It seemed to express the other side of Vegas, the flip side to the false promise of easy money and fast fame, the refuge of the burned-out, busted, outmoded and rejected.  

    After one more night in our vacuum-sealed casino hotel, we escaped the Strip for good and returned downtown, finding our own refuge in a no-frills motor lodge where the rates didn’t triple on the weekends.  Our driver this time was Sergio, a portly native of the long slender land of Chile.  He told us that the size of the Las Vegas had increased ten-fold since he moved there, but business overall did not get any better, because the people who visited now were cheap tippers, focused solely on gambling and getting drunk, not displaying their largesse.  The cab filled with laughter as Sergio and my in-laws talked longingly of South America.  My mother-in-law began singing a song that she had learned from schoolchildren in Bolivia, while serving in the Peace Corps in the 1960s: “Yo quiero un mar, yo quiero un mar azul para Bolivia.”   I want a sea, a blue sea for Bolivia.  After three days in the sweltering desert, I could definitely sympathize with that desire.

    We had to settle for a little swimming pool, floating like a raft in a large parking lot behind the 24-hour bar at the motor lodge.  The pavement shimmered in the heat, but as we held our son aloft in the cool water, I felt that I was able to breathe again for the first time since leaving the North Rim.  Later, while sitting in the hotel bar, eating the food distributed gratis to patrons on Memorial Day and drinking dollar beers with my father-in-law, I saw that the attractive quality of downtown for me lay in its very real democracy.  There was no minimum bid here, no dress code, and no cover charge.


5. Declaration

In the wake of 2004, we were invited to imagine that there was some Grand impassable Canyon between those of us in the U.S. who drive four-wheelers, attend Baptist revivals, and watch NASCAR races, and those who listen to NPR, participate in pot lucks, and read Jane Austen novels.  The fact is, however, that such pop-sociology is a little too easy and ignores our underlying humanity and our shared struggles, as well our real social divides and our complexities as people.  I may drink cappuccinos and still be short on my rent.  You may drive a Ford F-150 and live behind a manicured hedge.  We may both be unsure of what to expect when the next round of layoffs is announced, when the ballooning utility bills shrink our check, and today’s tax breaks steal the bricks and steel for the cities and schools of tomorrow. 

    I don't agree with the fundamentalist conception of the Bible or America.  I don’t believe that Jesus wanted me to own a gun, though I do believe he would forgive me for whatever I might do with it.  Like many other Americans, I am equally skeptical of all those who use holy names and high concepts for power or political gain, of jihadists and theocrats who seem to scorn the liberal egalitarian society that I long for.  I don't understand why those who claim to be Believers or Patriots are not outraged by the deadly lust for the dollar, by corporate corruption and commercial dehumanization, by the worldwide growth in the populations of the poor and displaced, by the unnecessary wars that we fund, in distant lands, amid cultures that we don't try to comprehend.

    But I claim no purity for myself.  I don't wish to hide behind a sanctified or pre-ordained position.  I will only say, as I lift my cup or bottle or glass in the spirit of fellowship that I so often fail to find, that I prefer to cast my lot and find my place not in the shining city on the hill, but in the downtowns of the world: the back alleys and corner bars, the watering holes and trading posts, the card tables and campfires, the front porches and city parks, those cosmopolitan places where the walls of the canyon come down, where species mingle and people are brought face-to-face, to fight it out, or make peace, or simply acknowledge the right of each other to exist.

    The mid-term elections of 2006, which flipped both House and Senate to Democratic majorities, were a relief and a vindication.  Not because the “good guys” won—Democratic fat cats need their feet put to the fire too—but because it seemed to reaffirm the presence of a pragmatic center to American politics, populated by people who want to think of themselves not as mighty and righteous, but as good and fair; people who have limited patience for incompetence, ideological posturing and the constant litany of fear.  Of course, it took them a damn long time to figure it out, but finally they yanked the leash, showing they had not been brainwashed, but had indeed been sold a bill of goods.  They realized, perhaps, that there is a price to all of this arrogance and bluster, demonization and division. 

    Now, as the fall of 2008 fast approaches, we are tantalized with the promise of a political transformation, and the potential for more of the same.  Here we stand together on the canyon floor, after eight years of George W. Bush.  Perhaps, as we face the long climb out together, a movement built on appeals to our better natures, to our shared struggles, may yet prevail.   Our bitter splits with the world and each other may, we pray, be sidelined: for the sake of our common interests, our linked humanity, and our cherished, conflicted dream of democracy.

The Fed Govt came to Congress asking for a 700 BILLION DOLLARS to bail out their FAT CAT friends on WALL STREET. That's 700 BILLION DOLLARS of OUR money that they are going to GIVE to BILLIONAIRES who got too greedy for their own good.

 

You know what 700 BILLION DOLLARS is? You have to hit lotto every day since JESUS walk the earth to get that type of cash.

 

That's a over $2000 for every man, woman and child in the United States!

 

Think about what YOU could do with 2 grand.. The debt you can pay..The gifts you could buy. The Rent/mortgage you can pay for one month! Food on YOUR TABLE! That's GONE poof! that's 2 thousand of your MONEY they just gave to Gordon Gekko!

 

That's 700 BILLION DOLLARS of our own money that we could have in our pockets to spend on something say like...GAS!!!

 

That's 700 BILLION DOLLARS we could use to fix roads and build schools!

 

That's  700 BILLION DOLLARS of OUR MONEY!!!

 

The people who wanted to deregulate everything...These "FREE MARKET" solves everything people want 700 BILLION DOLLARS of our money to bail them out.. While when we have problems paying our bill Uncle Sam doesn't come in to bail us out with OUR MONEY

 

It was THEY who gave us this mess! Them and their FUCKED UP economic philosophy!

 

The SAME people who told us the Iraq war would pay for itself

 

Same people who said their was WMD

 

Same people who LOST 14 BILLION of our money in Iraq...I don't mean spent on weapons and stuff like that I mean LITERALLY MISSING..no one can account for it!

 

The SAME FUCKING PEOPLE!!

 

And now this SAME CREW wants us to give them ANOTHER 4 YEARS!!!Gives us a VP pick and their justify her foreign policy experience because she can see Russia from Alaska

 

Same people that said our economy was strong THE SAME DAY 25000 people lost their job which started one of the WORST collapse in Wall Street history!

 

The same FUCKING PEOPLE want us to give them 4 more years.

 

If we do that...then we DESERVE ALL THE BAD SHIT THAT WILL COME DOWN.

 

"Well McCain has experience." People its that "EXPERIENCE" is what got us in this mess in the first place!

 

Enough is enough.

"Why do men feel they need to justify death"-From the film The Patriot

I hate fallen comrade ceremonies.

Not because of ceremony itself. Its one of the most moving and tragically beautiful things you will ever want to see.

No, I hate them cause what they represent. Fallen brothers in Arms.

They had one today for 3 brothers who were killed in action recently. Date, unknown, but even if I did know it wouldnt tell you, out of respect for the families.

This was my second one I seen since I been in country and God willing it will be the last. We already had far too many this year, hell one is too many, but this year will be the worst for us here.

But the two that I have seen were unique and beautiful. Makes you proud you wear the uniform.
The first one I saw was when I was in BAF (Bagraham Air Force base). We was doing training for some new equipment we were getting so we had to stay in BAF for awhile. As you guys know I cant stand FOBBITS and BAF along with Phoenix are the home of the FOBBITS. So, you can tell I was not happy being there, but the one thing BAF has that Phoenix doesn't have is a good PX. So when we wasn't in training we was at the PX getting fat or buying crap.

This one time while at BAF we heard over the PA sytem that a fallen Comrade cermeony was being held on the main road (Which was named after a fallen Joe) anyone who wasnt doing anything had to report to the road.
So me and my two buddies being that we literally had nothing to do went to the road and waited.

The road which was normally bustling with activity was dead quiet. I never heard that road so quiet before. No traffic went down the road. Both sides of the road were lined up with sailors, Airmans, Marines and soldiers. Civilian contractors and soldiers from other nations. It was an impressive sight. Then you saw a slow moving convoy of Humvees. You couldnt see what was on it but you knew. As the Humvees passed soldiers you could see them go to attention and salute. When the convoy got closer you saw it. The flag drapped coffin carrying one of our brothers home. I went to attention and saluted the guy who I never knew but also knew he would have had my back. Then I watched as it went down that lonely quiet road and my fellow brothers paying the same quiet respect. The Joe was going home. God speed. May your family find peace in thie time of mourning.

It was the first time I ever participated in something like that. And when I did it I hoped I would never have to see another. But its war and no matter how hard you can wish it. Probably wont happen.

About a month later tragedy would strike my company as you guys know when we lost the 2 guys I knew personally. While the Brigade and our company had cermonies, my team couldnt partcipate cause we were involved in the mop up operation that took place after our guys got hit. It does give me some satisifaction knowing that when I saw one of the guys who survived the ambush when I told him how hard we hit that place, it made him happy.

When we completed the operation back at our FOB I partcipated in the ceremony to lower our FOB flag to half staff. That was moving for me  cause they were doing it for my guys. Guys in my platoon and company. Gusy I joked with and broek bread with. Guys who I know wear the black memorial bracelet in honor of them.  Again I prayed I never have to see or do anything like that again. But again its war.

About a week later we heard about more joes getting killed and obviosuly somewhere in the country they were having simular cermonies. You just hate hearing about guys getting killed. You feel bad for their families. You worry about your own.  That constant reminder that death is always just one convoy away. So you try not to think about it. Like I told you cats before, we have our coping mechanism. They keep us sane.

Today ceremony was different then the one at BAF. BAF, while simplistic in its dignaty and beauty contrast with the one today. The plaza were the ceremony was done had all the flags there. The US flag was at Half mast. All the joes in formation surrounded the event. Even soldiers from Romania and I think France were there. 3 rifles were placed in the ground barrle down. On top of the rifles were the boots of our brothers. In front to the rifles were helmets and pictures of our fallen. Again like at BAF if you ddnt have anything to do you went. I could have avoided it. I'm not assign to Phoenix, just a transient on my way to another mission. But I went. Wanted to pay my respects to my borthers.

The brigade  commander spoke and he said some very nice and moving words about troops he most likely never knew but he said them as if he spoke with these cats every day. It was nice. Then the chaplain spoke. HE reminded us about why we are here and why their deaths were not in vain. And that the best way for us to honor their sacrafice was to help bring stability to this harsh land. Bring security to the people of Afghanistan. Bring peace. He then ended his words with Psalm 23. Which struck me cause, that the prayer I say everytime I roll out. As he was saying them I found myself mouthing the words, which was surprising cause I always read it from the laminated card my mom gave me with it on. I guess I memorized it better then I thought.

When they completed the remarks our bros were given a 21 gun salute. The Generals and Colonels walked up to the memorial. Rendered salute and marched off quietly. Then most of the joes who were there lined up and in 2 rows 4 men a peice. We marched to the memorial. Went to atention. Slowly saluted and then slowly marched off.

It's beauty is it dignaty..respect..honor.

The way we treat our fallen here makes me proud. While the country may not even know that we lost guys as they watch Dancing with the Stars or what ever crap reality show is on tv. We stop and pause. Even in war we have time to show the respect and honor our fallen deserve.

I wondere sometimes if this war is worth it.Does America care? I mean I know there are peopl back home who do. God bless em. But sometimes you wonder.  When I log on news websites and I see the lead stories is someting inane. Brad Pitt might brakeing up with Angelina Jolie...Who cares. I know some will say well that's just the media. But even the so called patriotic news network and media sites are just as bad. Log on one of them and you see something stupid...They are just as bad. They talk a better game is all.

But I guess it is true, what I read on pro military website. "America is not at war. It's military is at war, America is at the mall"

I'm very short now. I can taste and see home. While I pray I do make it home. I also pray I never have to hear and see another one of these tragically beautiful ceremonies. Don't want to see any more bros coffins or boots on weapons.

I want us all to come back home.

Love you all,
Spanner Jaxs

Well its midnight here in Afghanistan.

8 years ago today bunch of thug religious extremists crashed two planes into the Twin Towers and killed almost 3000 innocent people. They also crashed a plan in the Pentagon killed many more there. Finally in Pennsylvania the Brave souls of Flight United 93 Won the first battle in the war on terror.

Despite the fear pimping you may hear today (Tomorrow depending on time zone). Today is a day of remembrance. To pray for our dead. To ask forgiveness and bless the survivors. And to pray for World peace. I got a few of these 9/11 prayers already..Some were great. Some were moving. Some were jingoistic crap that made me want to vomit.

So I made up my own:

God please forgive and bless the souls of all the innocents lost on the day.

Bless the brave firefighters and cops we lost.

Bless the families of the victims, May they find peace.

Bless the rescue workers we can never thank them enough.

Bless my city she proved she could take a punch.

Bless her citizens, yes they are that good.

Bless the president, may GOD have MERCY on his soul

Forgive those who used that tragic day for devious and political purposes, may you forgive them for they will find none in me.

Forgive me for not being able to forgive them.

Bless my soldiers we are here cause of that day

Bless my brother soldiers in Iraq. Protect them all.

Bless the people of Iraq. May they find forgivness in their hearts for what we have done. 

Bless my buddies. May they come home safe.

Bless my friends, the support they gave me I can never repay.

Bless my family. Your greatest gift to me.

Bless my daughter give her the strength to understand.

Bless my mom and dad. Thank you for them

God Bless America. Even with her blemishes she still is the last best hope for mankind.

And finally LORD..please...PLEASE bring peace to this troubled world.

Amen

Never forget.

It only comes around every four years.

 

The pomp

The majesty

The HATE!!

 

GOP productions in association with the Christian Right and Fox News presents....

 

 

HATE FEST 2008!!!!

 

That's right America its BACK!! Hate Fest!!!

 

Come here Republicans smears Democrats

 

Come here Republican Use God's name in vain!

 

COME HEAR ABOUT THE EVIL HOMOSEXUAL AGENDA!!! THEY WANT TO CONVERT YOUR CHILDREN AND MARRY THEN TO TRANSEXUALS!!!!

 

Come here Republicans hate half the country!

 

The fear mongering

The Lying

THE HATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Starring such past Hate Fest Stars as

 

Rudy 911ulini-Come see if he can say a sentence with out using 9/11...Never been done before but who knows America history may happen at this year Hate FEST!!

 

Mitt I was Once Liberal butt now I'm Conservative Romney-See if he can say with a straight face how Palin is more qualified then he to  be the VP!!!

 

DICK....DR. EVIL CHENEY-Come watch him scare the living shit out of everyone with his sneer of death! WARNING!!!!! HE HAS BEEN KNOW TO MELT THE FLESH OFF YOUR FACE SPECIAL GOGGLES MUST BE WORN THROUGH HIS PERFORMANCE!!! As Bonus: See who else can he shoot in the face

 

Special Guest star-Joe LIEberman-Come watch his impersonation of ZELL "Wish I could Challenge you to a duel MILLER...2004 HATE FEST STAR!!

 

George BUSH-THAT'S RIGHT GANG!! By popular Demand HE's BACK!!! Took a lot to get him from hiding but the MAN is back! Come see him tell America that Obama hates the troops the country and of course GOD!!!!

 

SEE the Incredible John "THE MAVERICK' McCAIN!!!!! VOTE FOR ME CAUSE I WAS A POW...and that I'm a Maverick while others voted 100% of the time with the President I went Maverick and only voted 95%!!! AM I GANGSTA or what...Did I also mention Iwas a POW???

 

And FINALLY THE ONE YOU BEEN WAITING FOR!! THE STAR OF HATE FEST!!! YOU READ ABOUT HER YOU SEEN HER ON TV AND NOW LIVE FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY!!

 

SARAH "FAMILY VALUES" PALIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YES she was a Mayor of a town about size of St. Mark's place in Manhattan.

YES she was a member of a Party that wanted to secede Alaska from the Union

YES she cut funding for teen pregnancy education

YES she is the least qualified person EVER to be selected as a VP

 

BUT NONE OF THAT MATTERS CAUSE SHE STANDS FOR GUNS, GOD and BABIES!!!!!

 

SEE Sarah invoke Hillary "The Whiner" Clinton with a straight face!

Come see her get a standing Ovation when she mentions her unmarried pregnant teenage daughter!

 

Come see her eat MOOSE BURGERS!

And as an added extra bonus come see her SHOOT!!

 

ALL THIS AND  MORE AT HATE FEST 2008!!!!

 

And for the first 25000 kids Unborn baby Jesus fetus bobble head doll!!!

 

HURRY HURRY HURRY!! TICKETS ARE LIMITED!!!

This quote comes from Massachusetts Senator and WAR HERO John Kerry, when he was asked if the selection of Palin will draw Hillary Clinton fans to the Rethugs:

 

Well, with all due respect to Howard, you know, I have much more respect for the Clinton supporters than that sort of quick- blush take with — I mean, how stupid do they think the Clinton supporters are, for Heaven sakes?

Do they think Clinton supporters supported Hillary only because she was a woman. For Heaven sakes, they supported Hillary because of all the things she’s fought for, because she fights for health care, which John McCain doesn’t support; she fights for children and children’s health care, which John McCain voted against; she fights for a windfall profits tax on the oil company, which John McCain opposes.

I mean, for Heaven sakes, the people who supported Hillary Clinton are not going to be seduced just because John McCain has picked a woman. They’re going to look at what she supports.

The fact that she doesn’t even support the notion that climate change is manmade — she’s back there with the Flat Earth Caucus. And I don’t see how those women are going to be fooled into believing — I think it’s almost insulting to the Hillary supporters that they believe they would support somebody who is against almost everything that they believe in.-John Kerry

I hope so. I mean from the people who I know were Hillary fans the things they loved was:

1) Track record

2) What she fought for

3) Experience

4) She represented THEIR VALUES

And after speaking with them I believe it..I believe it was about the movement not her.

And for them...these...PUMAs  to switch side and support a candidates who is the polar opposite of that movement? Well then I lose all respect for them cause now your telling me it was about here gender. That would be like me voting for Clarence Thomas or Colin Powell cause they were black. 

For the record I've only voted for a black candidate twice in my life and his name was David Dinkins. And I never voted for Jesse Jackson nor Al Sharpton for President. Got more respect for my vote.

Hey all. The response to this email was great and thanks to everyone who offered us sympathies. I even had one dear friend offer to send the cook a cook book!! LOL

 

So anyway I just wanted to give you an update on what I saw today.

 

On our FOB we have 3 dogs. Count em 3 dogs! 2 of them wandered on to our FOB, the 3rd we rescued from our DC.

 

 

We take care of them, bathe them and when needed, give them medical attention. So to say they are spoiled is an understatement. . These dogs aren't stupid they know they have a good thing here

 

And like all dogs they eat, especially here in Afghanistan. Lets just say their isn't a lot of Chuck Wagon dog food floating around here. Dogs in Afghan will eat anything that isn't moving. They eat garbage, feces, dead rat..Whatever. Food is at a premium.

 

Our 3 dogs we feed them our leftovers and every single time we do the plate is empty. Usually between 3 dogs they polish off the plate within a half an hour.

 

So today I had a mission, just a brief down the road to the local base mission. A milk run. (That's been getting more stressful since the VBIED a while back..Mutha fuckers just don't know what get off to the side of the road means when they have a 9mm pointed at them...but I digress)

 

As we lined up the trucks I walked past the chow hall which is were the dog plate is...



Now this is the next day. Chow last night ended around 7pm. Their plate was filled around 730. My mission was at 9am the following day. We have 2 big dogs including a growing puppy (And if you know anything about puppies they eat!!!)

 

Here is what their plate looked like at 10:45am today when I took these pics after I got back:

Yes, even the dogs don't want boiled steak.

 

Poached Tartat Connoseour,
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