The Oregon: Year One - The Tale of Soup and Salad Strangeness

The cops left us alone at the Oregon. More often then we would’ve thought possible since we caused a ruckus there on a daily basis. Louisville cops are also well known for there irritatingly pointless traffic stops and other such antics due to the boredom brought on by working in a town where nothing happens. It was well known that the place to party on the weekends was the Oregon and still the most we got was the occasional stops to tell Dan and myself to stop laying in the road drunk because outside of the yard it’s public intoxication. However, as soon as they would leave back out in the road we would go. The same cops would even see us go back into the road to continue whatever philosophic questions we had been posing before we were so rudely interrupted. Still they never really bothered us.

TV Land was having another A-Team marathon and life was damn good at the Oregon when a rather plain car with rather plain men wearing rather plain clothes started parking in the Main Street Café’s Parking lot. We were hoping that this meant that the Café was getting more business because it was the most convenient place to stumble to during the day after a hard mornings drunk fest, and we were concerned that our patronage was driving away customers. So we didn’t think anything of the car or the men or the clothes at all. They were background. Plus A-Team was on and lets face it, there’s not much that can pull any of us away from the A-Team. So life went on as it always had in the Oregon. Two weeks go by and the men are still parked in the parking lot. Adam and I get to talking and it was agreed that they were watching us. No matter what kind of ruckus we made we really had nothing to hide from anyone aside from some under aged consumption. So having watched way to many episodes of the A-Team to let the man get the best of us we plotted to confront said men wearing said clothes in said car. Under the pretense of “getting lunch” at the Main Street Café Adam and I walked over towards the car. Adam stopped at the driver side window and I walked over to the passenger side. The men told us that they were plain clothed cops staking our place out because of the Soup and Salad sign that Adam had put up a few weeks ago. He acquired it from Subway where he was working back then. They explained to us that soup and salad was apparently street slang for “HEY WE SELL THE FUCK OUT OF SOME DRUGS AT THIS HOUSE!!! COME ONE COME ALL! WELCOME TO THE LOUISVILLE DRUG EMPORIUM!!” Adam and I looked at each other fairly amused because drugs are one of the few things that weren’t allowed in the house during parties. None of us wanted anything to do with them and here’s the five-o staking our joint out for drugs. We told them that we had know idea that that’s what it meant and explained that Adam was indeed employed at Subway and that just like my light up Western Union sign we just liked dressing our house up as punk/white trash as we could get it. The Jolly Roger flying from the television antenna should’ve clued them in that not your everyday drunken frat boys lived here. We told them that if they wanted to waste their time watching us that they were more then welcome to. That in fact they may actually be entertained if they would watch us on the weekends because that’s when the parties are. They thanked us for our time and drove off never to be heard of again.

A related story involving said soup and salad sign was the day we got a light rapping at our door. We opened it only to find a little old lady standing on our porch asking if we really served soup and salad here. We told the lady no but that we did indeed have a restaurant style corner booth in our dining area from the Main Street Café and that she was more then welcome to come in and hang out if she wanted. Well she passed on the invite and beat a hasty retreat. Hell I would’ve found something to make for her if she would’ve come in to sit down. Now I’m not too clear on the details but I think she may have come in and I had shown her the booth. Either way she left in a hurry but with one of those grandma smiles that left you warm and cozy inside. All in all a weird experience but then again it was at the Oregon. The house itself had it’s own life and sometimes strange things like that would pop up to remind us that it was the seventh roommate. An entity in and of itself.

That’s all for now. See you all a little further down the road.

Mike

Jedi Enlightenment and the Curse of Perpetual High School

So I’ve been contemplating the Jedi recently and comparing them to my friends and I in the Army. I have a new respect for their decision to remain celibate and their need to show passive restraint before they wield their full mastery of the Force. In the Army as with the Jedi order there are times of peace and times of war. In the peaceful times both do projects that are for the common good of the people and the Republic. In war the Jedi unleash their might against any enemy that threatens the peace. Well that’s really where the Army and the Jedi differ because politics get in the Army’s way to efficiently get the task done so that we can get back to our peaceful time once again. The Jedi remain celibate, at least during the Old Republics time, to keep their focus and so that their feelings for loved ones doesn't cloud their judgment. I believe that the Army would be much more efficient if it was still a “single mans” Army. Now don’t start crucifying me ladies I’m not saying women shouldn’t be in the military, that’s a whole other story in and of itself, I’m just saying that back in the day before women were allowed to join it was mostly career single soldiers. Our battles seemed to be a lot less hampered by indecision then it is today.

Family and the Army are like oil and water. There is no mixing the two no matter how hard you try it. I myself have been married two times. The first, while not directly the Army’s fault for its failure, ended after a year deployment to Iraq. That’s a whole other story itself too. As with the Jedi combat changes us too much and our spouses don’t get it when we get mad at them because they are upset at what we perceive as “stupid shit”. An example would be my wife getting all crazy upset because Wal-Mart has a long ass line in all one hundred checkout lanes. Traffic jams and bills and other things that most people deem important or crisis worthy have been turned moot to the soldier who has sent a year or two in combat. We are perceived as apathetic and insensitive to our significant others needs and feelings. It’s not that we don’t care that you burned dinner and for some reason you’re crying even though we’re still wolfing it down like it’s the best food we’ve ever eaten. It’s just that it IS the best food we’ve ever eaten. Made by the one we love in a safe environment where no one is trying to blow us up or shoot us. All of the issues that are important to us are life and death issues. After surviving a year or two in combat standing in a line doesn’t even come close to making us as upset as it will our loved ones. No one’s going to die and it just gives us more time to talk them. Jedi’s didn’t have these concerns because when they were done fighting they went back to a life of meditation and peacekeeping. Everyone thinks that Matrics Bullet Time stuff is the stuff of Hollywood special effects, but it’s a real concept and we all come home from combat living in bullet time. In this day and age everyone wants to move so fast and our spouses are running their selves ragged simply because they’ve gotten into the habit of doing that. When we show back up at home we are trying to enjoy everything around us. Everything that is taken for granted by all the “civilians” we are trying to take in. Our loved ones especially. We just want to be around you and take in all we have missed. We have a years worth of catching up to do and we don’t really want to spend that time running around like damn chickens with our neckpiece cut in twain. So what ends up happening is our spouse’s think that we don’t appreciate what they are trying to do for us. We get angry because we perceive such thoughts as unimportant because no one has died and we start to yell or in some cases worse because we’re still in attack mode. It’s hard to let go of the offensive when you’ve been on it over a year. It’s hard on both sides of the fence when it comes to the homecoming. The strong love will survive and the weak will fall. Which leads into the next topic.

The Army for some strange reason makes some people think that they are forever trapped in high school and that the way they acted in high school is a perfectly acceptable form of behavior. It’s not just the soldiers either; it somehow affects the spouses as well. That’s why the divorce rate in the Army is huge and part of the reason why it skyrockets after a deployment. Guys can’t keep their special friend in their pants and the girls sling theirs around like it’s going out of style, both soldier and spouse. You can just tell how bad it is by listening to the rumors that float around about certain people. Everyone wants to be in everybody else’s business. It’s either that or they are looking for a free spot on your back to jab a twelve inch blade. It’s amazing to see grown men and women acting like they are still sixteen years old.

As everyone knows I can’t wait to get out. September 7th 2007 will be my last day in this mans Army and it can’t come too soon. Worse comes to worse the Army has taught me that living like a bum isn’t so bad once you get used to it. I just have to do something that’s going to make me happy cause combat has taught me that life is even shorter then the civilians believe and that if you don’t live to be happy then you’re better off dead. Since I don’t really want to die I better start making myself happy. A wonderful wife, Stacie, and a pocket full of dreams are a recipe for happy living for this Jedi now at peace with himself. My unit’s been extended forty-five more days past our original year. I’m pretty upset about this because I have a beautiful wife I want desperately to get back to so I can soak up all that she is. Now, though, I have to wait a little longer and I have to make the best of that. When I do get home, finally, I’ll be bursting with music just waiting for me to pluck it from the ether. My wife won’t even recognize me I’ll be so happy to see her. Now it’s all a test of my patience. The Force is strong with this one.

That’s all for now everyone. I’ll see you all later on down the road.

Mike

Rude Awakening

There are many times in a professional drunks life when he or she will wake up to find that they are injured in some way, shape, or form. This is the story of one of those times for me. There are stories-a-plenty of times like that at the Oregon. This one, however, happened in Germany.

Back in 2004 I was still reeling from my super fast divorce and super fast move from Iraq to the States to Germany. I was in a world of confusion. I plunged into the closest bottle of booze I could get and stayed there for almost that whole year. Well the way my Army buddies and I usually handled our weekends was to do whatever we were doing special on Fridays and Saturday. Then on Sunday we’d slow down because we had to work Monday. Well this particular time I decided I wanted to just stay in and enjoy my drink in the comfort of my own room where I wouldn’t have to worry about getting back home. I could just drink myself into a coma. The restaurant on post gives you a free bottle of wine if you order twenty five bucks worth of food. I had two bottles of that “Winos Delight- Special Homeless Edition” wine in my fridge, a bottle of Raspberry Vodka, a bottle of Southern Comfort, and a case of New Castle Ale. I was good for the night. I settled in to watch a marathon of the first two seasons of Aqua Teen Hunger Force and drink myself sober.

You have to understand that most soldiers are raging drunks due to the suffocating amount of authority we are oppressed by everyday. We drink because it’s a release from the brainwashing that goes on all day everyday in our jobs. It’s not just the lower ranks either. I’ve seen all kinds of different ranked people blind stinking drunk since I’ve been in Germany. The increase in “real world” deployments only makes the urge to drink stronger. So here we are, soldiers all, just getting blitzed all the time cause that’s just what we do, and it's our only release. Guys, girls, young, old, it doesn’t matter.

So I finish the wine first. I destroy the SOCO. Then I kill the Vodka. I can drink Raspberry Vodka straight. It tastes like a girly drink to me but it has the same bite as regular vodka. When I’m about halfway through the case of ale my roommate chimes in with the idea to go downtown and run the gauntlet. Running the gauntlet is what I call bar hopping. In this case bar hopping in Friedberg Germany. Now even though I didn’t want to go out at all that night I was at the point where I’m very open to suggestion. So like a belligerent hypnosis experiment gone terribly wrong I grab my duster and a ball cap and I’m out the door. Five of us set out on our journey through the gauntlet. I hate hanging out at the Pool Hall because it’s a “Joe Bar” as we say. That just means that a lot of soldiers hang out there. Most soldiers are such idiots when sober that we even hate to drink with each other. Well the Pool Hall is the last stop on the list and I am done before I even get there. There is very little ventilation in the Pool Hall so the place fills up with smoke and it just hangs there choking you. So I step outside to get some fresh air. When I do I pass out standing up so down I go. My arms are uselessly limp at my sides so I end up curb stomping myself. The four guys I’m with throw me in a cab take me to the hospital and then back to my room.

When I woke up I had this huge bandage on my fucking chin. When I went to the mirror to see what had happened it looked like I had a goatee of blood and the worst stitch job I have ever seen. I must have woke up enough to put up a fight at the hospital because the stitches weren’t anything resembling straight. Long story short I ended up picking the stitches out probably too early and it scarred over pretty bad. I call it my Indiana Jones Scar and since I’m a big Indiana Jones fan I have grown to like the scar.

Till next time,
Mike


Interesting post script to that story is that I lost my duster, hat, and wallet that night. I got in trouble for losing my military ID and I don’t think I sobered up for two days. A year later the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) of the Army call me and tell me that they found my duster and wallet in the house of a guy they were investigating for one reason or another. So I got my coat back, which was the most important thing, and I got the wallet I had since high school. It has sentimental value. The ball cap’s gone for good but ball caps are a dime a dozen. Later.

Exodus

Well I’m not starting this “adult” blog because of peer pressure or because people have expressed an interest in what I have to say, but because I had a desire to leave a comment on a friends blog and to do that I had to go and open an account. It just wouldn’t be right to not use something once you have it right? Waste not, want not as the saying goes. So this is my exodus from the myspace blog realm and into the nerdtastic world that is blogger.com. As much of a nerd as I am it's probably overdue. I’m going to spin a few yarns about the U.S.S. Oregon and tell some of my stories from the military. I’ll try to be as interesting as possible but I can’t make any promises. If your reading this now then you will probably enjoy the stories I tell here. So I’ll be working on my first post and when it's done you'll know how I got my Indiana Jones scar on my chin. Good times.