New camera is in, looks like my old Canon 4.0 megapixel salty dog will be retired for a newer, greener 7.1 mpx warhorse.  Took a few test shots with it, I'm quite impressed.  This thing is so advanced that its got a facial-recognition system, I wouldn't be surprised if it can automatically seek out other parts of the body too.  Especially on women, you know what I'm thinking.  Oh yes you know.

Night mode at max ISO

portrait shot, with Dennis ready to crap his pants

Optical macro, with the family ankle-biter

Digital macro, laptop speakers superimposed

B&W, a view of my hopelessness spent in the school library

Another night shot, with steady-shot to stabilize any motion (at all of 0 mph)

"Its niiiiice...... I liiiike!"

I never met him, but he was our former XO's son that was ambushed and killed by snipers out in Iraq.  According to sources, his recon team was ambushed and were fighting down to their last bullets until another team pulled them out of the shitstorm.

http://www.philly.com/philly/news/homepage/20070504_A_sad_homecoming_for_fallen_Marine.html

He was killed on Sunday, April 29th, 2007.  And that was my 24th birthday too.  I was partying it up like an irresponsible madman while a Marine recon team lost their platoon commander.

Three guys from my shop were in the burial ceremony, Scotty and Randy were part of the 21 Gun Salute while Shawn was part of the six-man Honor Guard that carried the casket.  Since he just picked up E-5 (Cpls and Sgts on Honor Guard), I asked Shawn how it felt doing this guy's burial-- he paused for a second, and all he could say was,

"Dude was almost 200 lbs, heavy as shit man".

"Hahah, you serious?  Thats it?"  I asked.

"Yeah.  Can't wait to get the fuck out of the Corps," he added.

....

For more interesting reads than this, refer to my protected post.

I caught another Xanga user plagiarizing my material.  Since he seems like a mature enough guy, I will spare him the flaming verbal and consequential assault by giving him time to correct his undues.  I sent him an angry little message and he actually responded.  Although I am not impressed at his lack of originality nor his views on why he thinks its justified to copy others, at least he was polite enough to claim that he will correct himself-- at least I hope he got my message clear that he will or else.  If not, I will take this to the next level and post his link up on my page.

And for all of you who know me or have read any past entries of mine, or read any forum posts I have posted on ClubRSX.com, Motortrend.com, Acurazine.com, or even that stupid Scionlife.com........ you know what I'm capable of.  And I will not hesitate to use that ability of mine to electronically rip their testicles off.

Look, if anyone has to plagiarize any material (I'm sure any of you with college writing experience has done so already), at least be smart enough to reword the entire thing so it does not look so obvious.  And please please PLEASE don't be stupid and get caught.  I only caught this guy because I noticed someone through the anti-stalker module was masking their username but consistently came from the same IP address.  I was guilty of plagiarism at one time a while ago, and I learned my lesson.  Hopefully this silly stalker of mine can learn his too so he won't make the same mistake that I have made in the past.

I always hoped for a Xanga stalker was some hot female office receptionist bored to death at her job, religiously following my page word-by-word between answering calls-- and hopefully a sentence or two I have wrote could brighten up her day.  What I got was completely unexpected-- kind of in a Cable Guy way, except not that extreme.  Writing is a hobby of mine, this is how I can express myself (since I can't draw pictures for shit), which is through words-- and also a way to keep my friends around the world updated on how I'm doing, instead of individually emailing every single one of them.  If this stalker friend of mine shares the same reasons for writing as I do, I hope he understands that using my material as his own is not expressing himself, but someone else.

On a clear, final note-- this is for you, Stalker:

hahaha man... I love caturday.com.

Yesterday in Econ class, the girl sitting next to me noticed my new tattoo on the back side of my left upper arm where the tricep is.  Although getting tattoos while heavily intoxicated is a common practice among people in the military, I really don't remember getting myself a tattoo.  Upon closer inspection, I realized that someone drew several penises (plural, penii?) on my arm with a Sharpie.

Well at least it wasn't a tattoo, but it still bothers me that I didn't realize I had genitalia drawn all over the back of my arm for three days straight.  I want to say Kim did it, since I remember giving her a set of those keychain Sharpie markers.

In retaliation, Kim, I'm reposting that picture where you dropped the wine bottle all over you and your car at 7 in the morning while you were still hungover.  In that stupid bandana too.

Take that, evil chupacabra.

Like that TV show.  Except like I said earlier, I'm a bit of an old-timer.... not as if its a bad thing.  Age means better handling of alcohol now-- I didn't throw up until this morning.

Here are some interesting facts from when I first started drinking, which surprisingly all started as a young Marine PFC:

• 
  
  Age 19 I was in Pensacola, FL and got wasted at the Portside E-club.  The SDO on duty caught us as my buddies were dragging my unconscious body through the backdoor of the barracks, but after explaining that it was my bday (and confirming it with my wallet), he let us go.


• 
  
  Age 20 I was at Jacksonville FL as a lance cooley at Jacksonville, FL, and got wasted in my own barracks room with the guys in my platoon.  My buddy Max thought he was superman (after having an entire fifth of Jack Daniels) and I told him to prove it to us that he could fly by jumping off the balcony..... and he actually did it.  Oh he flew all right, straight down.  A few broken ribs, thats all, I didn't feel that guilty.


• 
  
  Age 21 my friends took me out as my first legal drinking binge in Baltimore, where I resulted in waking up the next morning at this chick's house, whom I just met that night.  I was fully clothed though, she said I was way too wasted to even stay awake and function.  As retaliation, I ate everything in her fridge.  EVERYTHING (there wasn't much in there though, just bagels, American cheese, peanut butter, a stick of butter, and dill pickles which made me extremely sick).


• 
  
  Age 22 my friends took me to Towson, MD and we migrated to College Park, MD-- whatever happened that night was beyond me, nobody took pictures.  And they said I'd probably kill myself if I saw any of them.  I still don't know what the fuck that meant to this day, but I have a feeling it has something to do with fat chicks.


• 
  
  Age 23 I was waiting in line for the bathroom at Federal Hill (Baltimore), but the women's room was empty from where I stood..... which is usually vice versa.  For some reason at that time i thought it was a good idea to go into the women's room and throw chunks all over the place.  Then I decided to sit down in one of the stalls and take a huge dump, which resulted in screams from outside of my stall and them calling security.  To this day I'm still a wanted fugitive in that part of town.


• 
  
  Age 24, this year-- probably the safest and less crazy of all of them.  However I did drink enough alcohol to feed an entire platoon of Marines, and watching CJ almost crying as he picked up the tab for the seven of us that went to Red Maple was so worth it.

Notice a trend?  Alcohol does funny things to people?  You don't say.

Birthdays don't mean much to me anymore, since I get drunk almost every other weekend anyway.  Only difference is, I don't get to pay for shit and still get to go home with the fat chick too.  Except she was skinny (and quite lovely may I add) this time, but I lost her and all I got to go home with was a nasty headache.

I posted most of my photos on facebook here at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=17117&l=89a6f&id=643640530, but here are a few pictures.  I kind of apologize for the blurry pictures, my camera is so goddamn old and has been through two deployments that the flash hardly works anymore.  However, I might be the only person in the world that appreciates night shots, and that "warm" effect they look.

The rest of my pics are on my facebook page.

Shoutouts to Mark, Mark II, CJ, Kim, Kerry, and Jason for showing up.  I had a blast (as much as I can remember).

------------------------------------------

EDIT

Fuck me in the goatass, its monday afternoon and I'm STILL hungover.

This weekend is going to be my 3rd anniversary of my 21st birthday.  Or simply put, I'll be turning 21 again.  And as we all know, nothing good happens when you turn 21, especially if you have prior experience in turning 21.  Does that even make sense to you?  I mean, it does for me, I guess thats all it matters.

What the hell happened to my youth?  Oh yeah I remember now.  I was drunk.  REALLY drunk.

I'm staying in Baltimore, I'll be at Red Maple on Charles Street downtown, with possibilities of migrating to Canton or Fells Point.  Federal Hill is off-limits this time, I am a wanted fugitive in that part of town, ever since that time when I carpet-bombed the womens' bathroom (that's right, wimmins room) with my stomach contents and some other... contents, at Drifters.  Ask me later to explain this story, I still get a kick out of it myself.

Nothing too crazy this time, if you're in the area come out and join me for my annual drink-up.  "What's a drink up?"  Glad you asked, because its exactly what the fuck it sounds like.  We are going to get together and drink up.  And then we're gonna go home with fat bitches.

Yes, even the chicks will go home with fat bitches.

.....

I have two types of friends-- ones that get in trouble with me, and the ones doing damage control.  I am grateful for both of you'se, but I'm more partial to the troublemakers.  Like they say,

"A friend is someone who will bail you out of jail, but your best friend is the one sitting next to you saying 'dude that was fucking AWESOME.  Lets do it again!'" --Anonymous.

There was once a guy that sat with me in jail overnight after a crazy night gone south-- not once, but TWICE.  I don't remember who will always start shit, but what mattered was we always ended up together in jail laughing our asses off, or standing tall in front of the CO's office the next morning.  Those were the good old days, and I will most likely tell my kids, grandkids, and nephews on how Uncle Chris used to be during his early 20's as a swashbuckling young Marine, getting in trouble with his best friend Mike.  I probably won't tell them what ever happened to that crazy best friend of mine, but when they see me waking up in the middle of the night in cold sweat and yelling out his name to watch out for that incoming RPG...... well, they'll get the idea.

I'll drink one.... no scratch that, SEVERAL drinks for you Mike.  Wish you were still here with us bro.

I was at the gym the other day where there are TV's everywhere among the cardio section, I couldn't help but notice some people would stare at Crazy Cho-Boy's picture that they kept playing over and over on CNN, and then turn around and look at me.  Discreetly of course, but I can't help notice these things.  They pretend not to stare, but when I use my telekinetic powers, I can tell they're thinking 'OMG, don't look into his eyes.... he might put two in my chest and one between my eyes!  OMG!'

Ok I'm not a mind reader, but you just get that vibe sometimes.  I think sometimes overcoverage and ridiculous segues spawning from the main report ("Are Former Classmates of VT Shooter Still Safe?", or "Will More Copycats Threaten Everyone?") only makes things worse, and is what stops people from really moving on with their lives.  Dude, CNN... seriously.  Try and report on something that's more important, ok?  I think the families of the victimes will want to move on with some closure, not constantly reminded of the incident.

Would America now fear and discriminate against Asians?  Probably not.  Hopefully getting stared down at the gym is all thats going to be.  Lets hope that I won't have to be subject to a "random" search during immigrations at the airport next time, instead of Abdul Habib in front of me.  No offense, Habib.

I think I have a good idea on how Arabs and Indians felt when 9/11 hit.

....

Oh well.  Not that I'm offended or anything-- in fact I'm more amused on how your average American is generally quite gullible into religiously believing all kinds of stereotypes of minorities.  Maybe one day they'll think I'm one of those space-faring little green men that couldn't drive and crashed my vehicle in Roswell.

Ever since I was a child, I always loved the Navy Blue Angels.  For those who been living in a prehistoric cave, the Blue Angels are the US Navy's aerial acrobatic team that flies fighter jets to perform amazing maneuvers and beautifully-executed stunts in the air, performing all over the USA around 70 times a year at 34 different locations since the year 1946.  Like a sports team, I followed the Blue Angels like a rabid football fan when I was younger.

But when that aircraft crashed the other day, its as if a part of my childhood crashed in that very accident.

As a helicopter crew chief, I hear and experience more aircraft-related accidents than most people, and all these years of aircraft accidents have discouraged me from ever going back in the air again, but then something happened today.

.........

So I washing my car earlier on this bright sunny sunday afternoon, and all of a sudden I stopped and felt the need to look up in to the sky, maybe burning my corneas a bit.  Suddenly, I had this childish urge to stick my hand up in the air, and hold my middle three fingers together while my thumb and pinky are extended outboard-- resembling a plane.  Thoughts of my aircrew training, past flights, those Blue Angel airshows I always loved to watch, and memories of an age-old passion for flying suddenly caused my plane-hand to whirl around the air in a few acrobatic breaks and dives while my mouth silently mimics the sound of a jet engine with full afterburners clocking in.  My dad's looking at me like I've rolled off the deep end, and my brother aimed the water hose at me to wake me up to no avail.  I was still standing there with the childish grin and continued to maneuver my imaginary plane, fighting in an imaginary dogfight.  I remembered at that moment what being in the air was all about.  It was about a simple feeling that I always felt when I was airborne:  Freedom.

Imagine what birds must feel when they're flapping their wings.  Freedom.

I can keep trying to block out any excuses to ever fly again, but something as simple and wonderful as a bright sunny afternoon day will always remind me of my silly childhood dream.  What some people see as a big empty sky, or just a mode of transportation-- I see it as a vast frontier to fuel my pioneering spirit, and more importantly:  Freedom.  Some childhood dreams, as silly as they are, can be a driving force that motivates you to wake up and get out of bed in the morning.  Those childhood dreams are for a brief moment, lets me forget about who I am, and the reality of the things in the world that maliciously affects us.  Freedom.

And that childhood dream that I hold dear is to.... well, maybe become a pilot one day, and take control of the skies.  A helicopter pilot to bus people that are in need, or a hot-headed fighter jock like a real-life Maverick.  Hopefully I won't have to resort to becoming an emasculated flight attendant, but I just want to achieve the feeling that I always wanted to feel again.  Freedom.

As I continued to rinse my car off and wipe it down dry, I paused again, and looked up towards the skies... again.  Freedom awaits.

Never let go of your dreams.  Ever.

I realized that as much as I hate being in the Corps right now, I still have a sort of a fanatical loyalty to my junior Marines.  Most of this I learned from my Gunny, who was my first boss ever since I checked into my reserve unit five years ago.  He was loyal to his troops, always looking out for us, and wasn't afraid to speak his mind-- a common trait that we both shared.

The one thing about leadership that I learned from him was not only to stand up for what you believe is right for yourself or your junior Marines-- but most importantly, have giant balls of steel.  Not only do you need some massive cojones, but an equally large mouth to back up those figurative genitalia of yours-- it doesn't matter if you're a man or woman.

A leader cannot hide behind his title or rank and expect to be respected by anyone-- those that we call "rank pullers" that demand respect will never recieve any.  To gain respect, one has to EARN it, and the best way to earn so is to gain the trust of your own junior peers.  Never be afraid to stand up for their faults, or take the blame if one of them is in danger-- most likely they'll blame you anyway, just because you're his/her supervisor.  And when you think someone is out of line in the way they treat your juniors-- you go and tell them to go fuck themselves.  Thats right, even if the person you're confronting outranks you, don't let their rank or position ever scare you.

Historically, I always had problems with authority.... MAJOR problems.  I'm also the type that speaks my mind, and especially I'll call you out if you made a dick move or just plain dumb.  I always knew the military is not for me, but I stuck with my principles and never betrayed the trust of my junior Marines-- simply by watching their backs-- which mysteriously got me promoted to the rank that I hold now.  Trust me, I have NO IDEA how or why I pinned on my Sergeant stripes, but they sure come in handy sometimes.

Yes, I've gotten into my fair share of troubles, and even an NJP one time... but that's never stopped me from speaking out to what I believe was right.  In the time I've been in Corps, I have seen poor leadership, very poor leadership, and leaderhip that makes you wonder why nobody has repeatedly stabbed them with a rusty fork.  Then once in a while, if you're lucky, you get to see what GOOD leadership is like.  And in my interpretations, a good leader is always wathching the backs of his men, and will always stand up for them and whatever he believes is right.  A good leader isn't afraid ot speak his mind and ask questions-- those questions might save the lives of your people someday.  And most of all, a good leader is fearless (or stupid, however you want to view it).  He isn't afraid to walk up to that 1st Lieutenant that issued some ridiculous orders, call him out, and tell him he's full of shit and he'll get everyone killed.

Most of all--- never, EVER pull rank.  I would threaten to snap a junior Marine's neck than pull rank on him or her.  Your rank should be whats backing up your big mouth and bigger balls, but not used as an offensive tool.

But that's just my style of leadership that I learned from my own supervisor, and so far he has garnered the respect of many..... I'm only following in his footsteps.  Then again, I am disillusioned by the bull I've dealt with over the years, and quite frankly, I'm quite fed up with the Corps.

To any junior Marine/Sailor/Airman/Soldier that will one day become a leader, just remember:  don't take shit from no one, and set an example so your junior troops won't take shit from no one either.  Hopefully this little itty bit of knowlege could be useful to anyone who wishes to become someone to look up to.  Look, I'm not trying to be all self-righteous or anything, but believe me when I say I have enough common sense to differentiate between good, bad, and terrible leadership.  Thats my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I managed to piss off two Navy chiefs and get on the shitlist of the entire SACO office this drill weekend.  No, I didn't pop on a drug test, but I managed to get so wasted last night that my hangover (actually I may still have been legally drunk) this morning would cloud my judgement when doing things, especially in the presence of others that outrank me.  Long story short, when someone outranks me tells me or my junior Marines to do something incredibly stupid (and will usually pull rank as added stupidity), I tell them to go fuck themselves (very Navy thinking here).  Thus, I am hated by those that outrank me, idolized by those that work for me, and the worst headache of my boss when he has to do damage control.

In fact, I think I'm the reason that caused my boss to start drinking again.  Oh wait, I bought those shots for him.... almost forgot that part.  Yeah yeah, details details.

Basically saying, I think the lethal combination of cynisism, alcohol, not caring about the short year I have left in the Corps, and my general distaste of dumb people can cause me to do dumber actions that usually jeopardizes any diplomatic bearing that I once had at any given time.  I need to work on that.

......................

Back to my Chuck Norris stitch again, I have finally convinced myself that if I was as cool as Chuck, I would get more respect than a four-star General, and get more panties flying in my direction than some pansy like Justin Timberlake.  Hell, even some hulking beast of a man like Ray Lewis would bow like a Japanese department store lady in my sensational presence.

Then I told my buddes my recent revelation, get laughed at like a circus midget, and then get wasted.  Really, really wasted.  Oh wait, I forgot...... I was already wasted when I came up with this unearthing vision of glory.  In reality, not only am I a few hundred degrees of black-belt behind, but quite possibly, my Mom with arthritis can do a roundhouse-kick better than I could ever do in my life.  Worst of all, I can't grow a beard or any chest hair either.

But just remember-- Chuck Norris' tears can cure cancer.  Unfortunately, Chuck Norris never cries.