November 06, 2004

in brief.

Ryan Adams voice is the exact cross between Axl Rose and Jackson Browne.

I think we rid the house of at least one mouse. I think I can smell is rotting. We think it likely exploded-to-death. It ate an entire Alka-Seltzer extreme cold and flu tablet that I left on the table. I imagine it is nothing but fizz and guts behind the sink. Imagine eating an alka-seltzer tab half the size of your body. Imagine that death.

I wanted to dig at this more, but cannot think of much by way of profundity or theorizing, but cannot scrape it together somehow, so i will just tell you what i saw: On my flight, there were eight boys, all friends, who had just finished some sort of basic training, Army innaguration, and they were being dispatched elsewhere.

They talked about the war and soldiering with the same casual aplomb that they surely use to talk about football plays or who is the hottest girl who works at the DQ. One of them talked about how he heard, from his recruiter, about the new boots - which will be awesome because they do not need polishing. "The suede ones?! I heard about them!" said one. "Naw, these ones are shorter, and they got those things in them... like Dr. Scholls things... gel insoles." he says. "You don't have to polish them at all?" asks another. "I mean, I guess you can polish them if you want to, but they stay polished on thier own," he bullshits them. Digression and speculation into what exactly happens if a commanding officer decides your self-polishing boots are not polished enough. "Just don't look your Sergeant in the eye, whatever you do," warns a boy with a freshly shaven head.

They all take turns trying to impress one another with varying inside scoops on rumoured deployment, class, action, protocol, changes in uniforms, whether soldiers can bring knives on planes, about how long it takes to get to Iraq by plane from certain bases, about whether or not you can bring CDs with you to where ever you deployed.
"Oh hell yeah you can, dude." says one.
"Good, cos I brought CDs, " he held up one before popping it in his discman: Sublime.
He kept his headphones on and started talking louder. He had a photo album, in which there were senior portraits of his friends, posed, stiffly on lawns and in letter jackets. Then pictures of a girl, very tan, in a bikini top and a towel. The pages with the photos of the hot girl, he held to his audience, and displayed it slowly, turning left to right, like a librarian at storytime.
His friends assured him that you could have racy photos of girls (as well as CDs) with you, even in combat. Then there was a silence and one said
"I'm just ready to War Up, man."
Another boy turns to him and says "Whattya mean war up ?"
"That's what the marines say. War Up . Thats why I signed up. To go War Up."

I cried. Right there. I couldn't not. I could not fathom what you have to believe in your heart, to desire, in order to desire to War Up.

Posted by Jessica at November 6, 2004 06:55 PM | TrackBack