It seems I’ve gone back to being a nocturnal blogger, which is the only way I used to do it. It’s funny what you do differently… think, talk, write, depending on what time of day you do it. What time do you all blog?
So some of you may know about what are sometimes called Warblogs. (a name I don’t dig) I think a more accurate description would be soldier blogs, since they are -in fact- blogs written by soldiers. And if you’re familiar with the Communiqu?, you know that over the past year I’ve become fast friends with a soldier blogger, Chris Missick, stationed in Iraq. As I’m always telling people, despite different worldviews, Chris and I share important things in common: music and a love for blogging.
Well last week, in what came as a huge surprise to me, Chris Missick returned to the US, ending (i think) his tour of duty, and letting him be home with his fam in Calipornia. I was surprised because, though he said it would happen soon, in my mind it was always going to take longer than expected… like one of those things you try not to look forward to because the wait will make you grow restless.
Many of you might not read Chris, I’ve noted that bloggers are more likely to read writing they agree with. So if you agree with me too often, you might not wish to read someone who is patriotic, a Bush supporter, and an active participant in what is called “the war on terror.” But I decided long ago that I don’t read blogs solely for their politics, and since so many millions seem to agree with him, it might be interesting to walk in his shoes thru his blog.
Reading about his return home, I felt both relief and frustration. Relief to hear that my friend is home and safe… not to mention excited about the future. Frustration because I don’t agree with the idea that the American invasion of Iraq has made the world a safer place.
If you think about it, it’s basically a theory; many people believe their world is safer because the US forced Iraq to become a “democracy”. Many people also believe there is a bearded deity who lives in the sky and demands that people worship him. Again.. a theory that many believe. Neither holds much water with me.
My point was, prior to bitching about feeling safe or not, I’m glad to hear Chris is home and I look forward to his veteran blogging. Stories of him driving to the beach and getting the house that he has wanted.
Update on my macfund: I’m very excited… not only am I raising the necessary funds, but I’m feeling all warm and loved! Thanks to Green Catfish, Slykk, and a kind-caring mother.
Today’s Sounds: Accident Hash Podcast #8
Onward to business. I consider myself an Iberian blogger, because my heritage and my legal status is tied to Portugal and hence, the Iberian peninsula. And sometimes, amidst all the stupidity and debauchery, Spain and Portugal do some cool shit that I like watching. Which is exactly what happened this weekend.
25 years old is the bicyclemark! That’s invincible age! I can climb mountains, run marathons, rub my tummy and pat my head at the same time, .. what’s this arm pain? Doesn’t it know who I am? Doesn’t it know that without the inkernet and computers, I’m done for? Thank the golden calf there’s
While I go rough it in the lap of luxury, I’ve been watching Iraqi’s vote in make-shift booths with m16’s all around them. I keep forgetting who’s protecting who from who. Nothings says democracy like tanks in the streets and guns in your face. And man do my ears ring everytime they call it a historical day. Historical my ass… I remember when Saddam used to hold elections and you could only vote for him. This isn’t the same, but it isn’t that far off either. In both cases people will be treated as if they are threats to the government, arrested occasionally, and possibly tortured — since that’s an ok method to get your information.
I kept riding, looking back the entire time. But I couldn’t see him anymore.. I stopped in hopes that he would be running in my direction, shouting my name. But no dice. I slowly rode in the direction of home, now completely buried in memories of our conversations, the nights where I’d come to the restaurant to help his wife serve dinner, and then after closing they’d cook a special meal for me while Waldemar pulled out the guitar and starting testing new songs on me. One night we sat there til the sun came up, singing together. He even handed me the guitar as said,
I used to think,