Refusing Deployments (or The Value of a White Man’s Promise)

When I was a kid, I remember watching an episode of Grace Under Fire, the old sitcom starring Brett Butler.  Her son, Quentin, had traded a brand new bike for a baseball mitt.  Understandably, Grace was angry.  She demanded that Quentin return the mitt and get his bike back.  When Quentin replied that he had shaken on the deal, Grace responded “Quentin, haven’t you seen enough cowboy and Indian movies to know that a white man’s handshake doesn’t mean anything?”

Apparently, broken promises are phenomena not exclusive to the U.S. Government’s treatment of Native Americans, or to politics in general.  The old maritime concept of “My Word Is My Bond,” where people took someone’s dealings that their word, without requiring written proof of contract, appears to be long dead.

This above statement, written into a Developmental Counseling Form by SPC Victor Agosto, of Charlie Company, 57th Expeditionary Signal Battalion, shows me just how far we’ve gone in devaluing the promises we make.  SPC Agosto’s unit received deployment orders to Afghanistan and Agosto decided he did not want to participate.  Were SPC Agosto a conscript, I might be able to relate.  However, since 1973, the United States military has been a force composed entirely of volunteers.  Were Operation ENDURING FREEDOM a new operation, I might be able to relate.  However, OEF kicked off on October 7, 2001.  Even Iraq, which history appears to be bearing out was conducted initially under faulty intelligence and questionable decision making, has been officially a hot war since March 20, 2003.

So, my issue here isn’t that there are soldiers who feel that these particular wars are unjust.  I’m pretty tired of deploying to Iraq.  I have been for quite some time.  It wasn’t the war that I enlisted to fight.  Still, on November 17th, 2001, when I stood along with several other recruits at the Harrisburg MEPS, I took an oath.  Within that oath lies the statement, “I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.”  At no point does a service member’s opinion come into play.  At. No. Point.

That’s good, no service member should obey an unlawful order.  Still, deployment orders are neither immoral or illegal.  As we are working with the lawfully elected governments of both Iraq and Afghanistan, there are no laws being broken.  Disagreeing with the war does not make it illegal or immoral.  I look at a mission statement from one of the divisions participating in Operation IRAQI FREEDOM and wonder what is illegal or immoral about a division which, “in participation with Iraqi security forces and the provincial government, secures the population, neutralizes insurgents and militia groups, and defeats terrorists and irreconcilable extremists, to establish sustainable security and set conditions for transition to tactical overwatch and Iraqi security self-reliance.”

There is the argument that our presence in both nations is the root cause of the insurgencies in both nations.  This is both simplistic and ignorant of the larger picture.  We are fighting two different wars in two different countries.  The insurgency in Iraq is ultimately about one thing: The Future of Islam.  For centuries, the Sunni sect has dominated the Shi’a sect of Islam.  It wasn’t until 1979, with the Iranian Revolution, that there was an Islamic nation run by Shi’a.  This did not empower the Shi’a throughout the rest of the Islamic world, due to the fact that the Arab-centric world of Islam could distance Iran because of their Persian heritage.  Iraq, on the other hand, is a nation whose majority are Arab Shi’a.  An Arabic Shi’a nation scares the hell out of the Sunni Islamic world.  The insurgency in Iraq, regardless of what the U.S. says about it, is ultimately played by proxy through Iraqi Sunni and Shi’a by the Saudis and the Iranians.  Our invasion may have given these two nations the chessboard with which to play out this game, but the ultimate goal of Operation IRAQI FREEDOM is to allow the nation of Iraq to function as a multi-ethnic democratic and secure republic, which runs counter to those who sponsor both sides of the insurgency.

The insurgency in Afghanistan isn’t just fought against the United States.  The Taliban were not created by the U.S., and if there is an ideology that is directly opposite to the American way of life, it would be theirs.  The ritual abuse of women, destruction of culture, and massacre of rival ethnic or religious groups stand as testimony to this.  And while they might not have the ability to bring this battle directly to the United States, they gave comfort and aid to those who did–al-Qa’ida.  Here are pictures of some of their handiwork:

When I told people I was enlisting in the Army, two to three weeks after September 11th, many of my friends asked “Why would you join the Army NOW?” as it was very apparent that we were going to war.  Anyone who joins the military, particularly the Army or the Marine Corps, while large portions of it are deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, should know full well that they are deploying.  If a service member hasn’t mentally prepared themselves for this inevitability, that is the fault of the service member, not the service that needs them.  If the recruiter told the service member that they will never deploy, the service member then learned a valuable life lesson about not taking everything a salesman tells them at face value.

Not agreeing with a war is not, for someone who made a commitment, reason alone to refuse deployment.  And that, ultimately, is what bothers me about many of these “resisters.”  Their word is not bond.  They will make a promise, swear an oath, and when it becomes inconvienient for them, they look to get out of this commitment.  To me, this is no different than a man who woos a woman with words of love and abandons her when she becomes pregnant.  I may not agree with members of organizations like Iraq Veterans Against War, but if you saw out your contract and moved on, you have every right to protest.  You’ve fulfilled your duty.  Protest away.  If you are still in a commitment, honor that commitment.  Fulfill your duty and move on.  If you don’t, you aren’t showing courage, you showing a lack of honor.  That’s all there is to it.

What I Learned In Jumpmaster School.

I’m on the fifth day of, without a doubt, the most difficult Army course I’ve ever taken.  Jumpmaster School.  I’m exhausted and dehydrated.  My lips are chapped.  My hands are raw from the nylon webbing of the SF-10A Parachutes.  Becoming a Static Line Jumpmaster is difficult work.  I’m not 100% sure I’ll be able to pass the widowmaker test, the Jumpmaster Personnel Inspection (JMPI) test.  It’ll be close.
Anyway, as I review for my General Subject exam tomorrow, here are the things I’ve learned over the last week.

• The five block letters used to mark a Computer Assited Release Point (CARP) Drop Zone (DZ) are J, C, A, R, and S.  They don’t mean anything specific.
• The form to complete a DZ Survey is an Air Force Form 3823.
• Never mark a DZ with red smoke.
• Every DZ must have a DZ Survey before it can be jumped.
• A C-130 Hercules can put out a maximum of four door bundles.  Two in each door.
• Lines of Longitude are known as Meridians
• The DZ Marking system known as RAM stands for Raised Angle Markings
• A Tree is not considered an obstacle on the DZ until it is 35 feet tall
• A VS-17 marker panel is 2 x 6 feet
• DZ Surveys are good for five years
• DZs can be marked at night with the following items: White Omni-Directional Lights, Beanbag Lights, an Amber Rotating Beacon, A Whelan Light, An Air Traffic Control Gun, a Four Battery Maglite, Ground Flares, or Strobe Lights.
• The Block Letters used for marking a Random Approach DZ are H and L.
• The optimal drop speed for a CH-47 Chinook is 90 knots
• Smoke and Signal Mirrors can be used to mark daytime DZs
• VS-17 Panels can be used to mark CARP, Ground Marking Release System (GMRS), and Verbally Initiated Release System (VIRS) DZs
• The minimum size for a Block Letter is 11 feet by 11 feet
• When boarding a UH-1H Iroquois, jumpers should approach from a 45 degree angle.
• The maximum weight for a door bundle is 500 lbs.
• The maximum dimensions for a door bundle are 30″ wide by 48″ long by 66″ deep, including the parachute.
• The components for a Modified Anchor Line System in a UH-60 Black Hawk are Type XXVI Nylon, 8 D-Rings with Cotton Buffer, and 4 Connector Snaps with Safety Wire and Lanyard.
• When jumping a UH-60, the opening portion of the static line snap hook faces the front of the aircraft.
• To calculate the minimum length of a DZ for Rotary-Wing Aircraft, multiply the speed of the helicopter in meters/second by the number of seconds required to send out the load (1 second for each jumper, 3 for each door bundle), not counting the first thing out the door.
• The recommended minimum size of a Military Free Fall DZ is 50x100m
• Army Regulation 59-4 covers Parachute Malfunctions
• Medical personnel has priority over scenes of malfunctions which result in serious injury.
• Special Forces qualified Jumpmasters can survey DZs
• Geographic Coordinates are measured in Degrees, Minutes, and Seconds.
• The minimum size of a GMRS DZ is 275m x 275m
• Jumpers count to four when jumping Fixed-Wing Aircraft before checking to see if their canopy has deployed.  Rotary-Wing jumpers count to six.
• You cannot use both the Standard Overhead and Modified Anchor Line Systems in a UH-60.
• When marking a DZ with a VS-17 panel, use the side the contrasts the strongest with the DZ.
• The C-23B Sherpa can exit 12 combat-equipped or 16 Hollywood parachutists.
• The minimum rank of an Army Malfunctions Officer is E-5.
• The Primary Jumpmaster does not have to perform the aircraft safety inspections prior to jumping.  He can deligate it to other members of the JM team.

This is your tax dollars at work.

Channelling My Inner Lester Bangs

I got cut loose from class today early because of inclement weather.  So, I was watching the end of the My Chemical Romance Loaded special on Fuse, waiting for the Foo Fighters episode to come on.  I saw their HORRIBLE cover of Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row”.  It spawned this status message on my facebook:

Dennis Higgins would like to take every fan of My Chemical Romance’s song “Desolation Row” and smack them upside the head with a baseball bat that reads “Dead Boys” on one side and “The Dictators” on another. I’m sorry, MCR, the transition from Loser to Arena Glam to 1970s NYC… I’m not buying it. Go fuck yourselves.

To which my one MCR loving friend defended them and praised The Black Parade.  My response:

Okay, Jenny, I think that The Black Parade is actually a pretty rockin’ album. Great Arena Glam. My biggest problem with My Chemical Romance is how they appear to go on a trip to the Genre Store and pick up what they read about in some trendy magazine. They are, in my opinion, sell outs on the Weezer scale. Kids who weren’t cool and now are so …  Read Morethey are trying to stay cool. By not being cool. I could stomach it when it wasn’t one of my Genres, but now that they are trying to look and play like people who hung out in Max’s Kansas City circa 1978, yeah. No. Fuck them in their asses. It’s not just the bad cover, it’s the scene hopping without any credit or acknowledgment of history or, at the very least, a sense of irony.

Across the Universe (Helen Higgins Would Have Approved)

My mom would have loved this movie.  Without a doubt.  She was a huge Beatles fan who loved not only the music that they made, but also the message they communicated through it.  Maybe James Taylor came a close second (much to my chagrin), but the Beatles were definitely her favorite.  I’ve been hearing good things about Across the Universe for a while now, but I didn’t get a chance to see it until last night.  It made me feel emotions which I’ve been avoiding since she passed away three and a half years ago.  It’s ironic that the film shares the title with her favorite song, the song which her favorite local band, The Pocono Duo, learned just for her (and still will play in her honor).

This film is not a movie in any traditional sense.  I don’t even think it’s appropriate to call it a musical.  Across the Universe is an emotional journey through the 1960s, set to bright visuals and beautiful music.  Appropriately, the themes found in the movie are individuality, rebellion, and love–principles that my mother based her life upon.  She thought very highly of her youth and hated the commercialization of it that happened in the late 80s and early 90s.  Some time in the early 90s, I forget when, she had gone to East Stroudsburg University’s Spring Fest, a collection of live bands and campus organizations having a big ol’ party on the quad.  She and my father would go every year to hear live music.  Well, nearby were some of the nouveaux-hippies that sprung up around the time I was leaving high school.  Adopting the style and the music of the 1960s, with no regard to the context, these kids were chatting away, talking about how great the sixties were–great music and cool clothes–until my mom had had enough.  She told the kids, in no uncertain terms, that the 1960s were not all peace and love and good drugs.  She talked about her friends who were sent off to a war they couldn’t even vote for.  She talked about redneck cops beating hippies to death just for smoking dope.  When she was done telling these kids the ugly part of the 1960s, she stopped, looked at them and said, “You girls know why you’ll never be real hippies?  You’re wearing fucking underwear!”  That’s just the kind of woman she was.

Helen Higgins was always an individual.  She never let herself get bound by stereotypes.  Yeah, she was a hippy, but she supported the soldiers and loved the U.S. Flag.  She also encouraged her children to do so as well.  Chris and I owe a lot of our personalities to that woman.  She never would have been pleased if we became just another cookie cutter child doing what was expected of them by society.  The only road she wanted us going down was the one our hearts sent us down.  She’d tell you if she liked it or not (No NCO in the Army has come close to the ass chewing I got when I dropped out of Penn State in 1994), but if it was your decision and you stood by it, she’d stand by you.

Helen Higgins was always a rebel.  By rebel, I mean the scourge of bosses everywhere.  When she was working as a legal secretary, her battles with one of the partners were legendary.  Two stories stand out.  The first conversation went like this:

Helen: Hey, Marc, guess what day today is?

Marc: I don’t know, Helen, what day is today?

Helen:  Bastille Day.  Better lock your door.

The second went as so:

Helen:  Hey, Marc, guess what day today is?

Marc: I don’t know, Helen, what day is today? (Some people never learn)

Helen: The Ides of March.

Marc: Very funny, Helen.

(Marc walks down the hall)

Helen: I did not come to PRAISE Marc Wolfe…

This isn’t to say she had serious authority issues.  She just had trouble working for people she couldn’t respect.  When we lived in Korea, she was a secretary for a squadron of fighter pilots.  It was her favorite job ever.  She told me she could have filed about three sexual harassment complaints a day, but she wouldn’t have traded it for the world.  They were smart, dedicated to the mission, and had the backs of their employees.  One of the pilots told her that in the event the balloon went up (a legitimate concern in 1984 Korea), to get the both of us down to the tarmac and he’d get us to Japan before anything could happen to us.

Finally, Helen Higgins was a creature of love.  She wore her heart on her sleeve and certainly paid the price for it at times.  I could always tell the exact moment the tears would flow in a particularly sentimental part of a movie.  That’s one of the things that made watching Across the Universe (oh yeah, I was talking about that movie, wasn’t I?) so difficult.  I could totally see this movie through my mother’s reactions.  And at the end of the film, when Jude sings the final song of the movie, I could totally see the waterworks flowing.  I know, because they were starting to flow with me.

Yeah, the movie.  I almost forgot about it.  The journeys of Jude, Lucy, and Max take us through the wild and turbulent times of the 1960s.  The music fits perfectly, the visuals are stunning, and the feeling behind the film is one of hope and optimism.  And love.  I can’t say that if you watch Across the Universe, you’ll totally get who my mother was.  For those of us who knew here, though, you can certainly watch this movie and know full well that Helen Higgins would have approved.

Dread.

I’m in the Hotel Chelsea, surrounded by bottles of whiskey and loose papers, strewn with notes about things I don’t want to think about.  A hooker in the room next to me is being reminded by a less than grateful customer just what society thinks of her.  I’m not even sure what day it is, what time it is, or why I’m there.

I have been having trouble getting to sleep lately.  Just as my eyes are heavy and I should be drifting off, different images will pop in my head that wakes me right back up.  Part of me wonders where that imagery came from, why it’s there.  Part of me thinks I should just focus on the fact that I am the most sober I’ve been in more than 10 years, pretty successful and respected at work, an amazing girlfriend, and a bright future where I can actually pursue a dream.  I’m not sure.  I’m not sure that if I stare into the darkness, I won’t find some answers.  I’m not sure that if I stare into the darkness, I won’t find oblivion.

I wonder how I got into that room in Chelsea.  I wonder if that hooker knows that she isn’t less of a person than her customers.  I wonder what was on those sheets of paper that drove me to drink all of that whiskey.

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

The 1950 Brooklyn Dodgers, the 1994 East Plano high school football team, the 2007-08 Pittsburgh Penguins.  What do these teams have in common?  They all staged almost miraculous comebacks.  Almost, I say, because they didn’t quite take it all.  A loss on the last day of the season, a kick returned for a touchdown, and a Game 7 loss to the Red Wings all cost these teams a place in history.  It didn’t make the games any less compelling, though.  In fact, a lot of them were more exciting than some of the championship games I’ve seen my favorite teams win.  All you need to do is watch this video of that 1994 Texas football game to see some amazing plays and equally amazing heartbreak.

The PPDD Slamazons' Hawaiian Punch (r.) versus Pueblo's Mad Dog 20/20

Well, you can add another match to this unfortunate list.  The Pikes Peak Derby Dames‘ Slamazons almost pulled off an amazing comeback on Saturday evening.  After the weather forced a cancellation by Las Vegas’s Sin City Rollergirls, the Pueblo Derby Devil Dollz were more than happy to make it up I-25 and give the crowd one hell of a bout.  For the majority of the bout, the Slamazons were the second best team.  I don’t have the stats handy, but the PDDD were holding a 20-30 point lead for a good part of the bout.  Then something clicked for the Slamazons.  It didn’t look like Pueblo let off the gas as much as the Dames from Colorado Springs just slammed it down.  Slowly and surely, the Slamazon Jammers were scoring grand slams.  Rattled, Pueblo started taking more penalties, and in many cases, it was their Jammer in the box, giving PPDD free reign to eat away at the lead.  They got as close as two with a little over a minute left in the bout, but it was not meant to be.  The final score: Pueblo 109, Slamazons 106.

PPDD All-Stars Kamilla Bloodspilla (l.) and De Ranged cheer on the Slamazons.

There is nothing like being present for a comeback.  Eddie Pope’s overtime goal against the LA Galaxy in the inaugural MLS Cup is still my greatest live sports experience.  The electricity at this last-minute match doesn’t compare, but it is (two days on) probably the second most exciting sporting event I’ve ever witnessed in person.  The crowd, which seemed larger than last month’s Four Corner Feud, was raucous.  The PPDD All-Stars were at rinkside, screaming encouragement to their league-mates.  It almost seemed possible.

It was that kind of bout.

There is a lot for the Slamazons to take from this.  When they turned it on, they were by far the better team.  The lead Pueblo built up was gradual.  The disintegration of that lead by Pikes Peak was rapid.  If the skaters from the Slamazons can maintain that over 60 minutes, cancel Christmas.  They could give a lot of travel teams a run for their money and make it a lot harder to figure out which PPDD girls make it onto the All Stars.  When they came out like gangbusters, Pueblo got nervous and started committing penalties, further helping the Slamazon cause.  The Pueblo Jammers, in an attempt to extend the lead, cut the track and fouled past Slamazons, earning trips to the box, which didn’t help matters. Look at the finals for the Four Corner Feud.  Sure, the Denver Roller Dolls were the better rested team, it was Pikes Peak’s time in the penalty box which cost them the bout.  In a sport that relies on heart as much as Roller Derby, the ability to get the opponent’s head off their game is crucial.

The Future of Roller Derby

Mama's Bad Derby Girls Junior Roller Derby

When I am unfortunate to go see the New Jersey Devils play a home match, one of the things that makes the trip to the Garden State worthwhile is the five minutes of midget hockey between periods.  At half-time of both bouts on Saturday, we got to see Mama’s Bad Derby Girls Junior Roller Derby.  I don’t know the age range of the participants–if I had to guess, I’d say between 8 and 16–but it was a great treat to see these young girls go.  You’d think that the bigger, older kids would just bowl over the young’ns, right?  Mama doesn’t play that.  The older girls were sportsmanlike and the younger girls played without fear.  Whether or not these girls pursue careers in roller derby, these girls showed that they will grow into strong, tough, and fearless women.  And that’s a-OK in my book.

An Expected Blowout

Pepper Slay's smile says it all.

When the team ranked 15th in the nation (according to Derby News Network’s March Power Rankings) takes on a team in its first year, you don’t expect it to end well.  The Slaughterhouse Derby Girls were originally supposed to play the Slamazons, but bravely stepped up to skate against the PPDD All-Stars when Sin City cancelled.  The resulting onslaught, a 246-73 win for PPDD, showed the difference in class.  Everyone took it in stride, and there appeared to be few hard feelings at the after-party.  The PPDD showed the athleticism and style that had many convinced they has the best raw talent at the Four Corner Feud and the Slaughterhouse girls showed they have some great players and, with a bit of seasoning, could become a player in arguably the most competitive state in the country for Roller Derby.

New Music Sucks. I have proof.

There was a point in time where I lived at shows.  Back in the mid nineties, I went to at least one and sometimes as many as four shows a week.  When I think about the bands I saw back then, I feel blessed.  One show had 88 Fingers Louie, Ignite, and Good Riddance on one bill.  (This was the infamous “If Good Riddance doesn’t want to give my daughter a t-shirt” show–ask me about it one day)  I got to see the short lived Texas is the Reason.  I knew New Found Glory sucked long before the rest of the nation.

I went to a show this past weekend and there was no spark.

At first, I thought I had finally, after almost twenty years of punk rock, grown up and out of the scene.  It bugged me.  I hated the people who just used punk rock as a stepping stone.  The people who were at every show one year, never to return when they discovered college parties, raves, or weed.  Then, over the last few days, I thought about it a lot.  Usually, music was in the background.  And when music is in the background, I tend to drift back.  I drift back to a number of times and places.  Times when all we had was each other.  Places where we had to make do with little.  I guess it’s the crusty old punk in me–and I can imagine the older ones have even more to sigh about–that can bitch about how much better the music was, how harder we had it, whatever.  And to a certain degree, it’s true.

Looking at Spin‘s top albums of the last three years, you see a lot of TV on the Radio, some Lil’ Wayne, Against Me!, and the Arctic Monkeys.  Compare that to the top albums of the years leading up to my high school graduation (1991-3) and you see albums like Nirvana’s Nevermind, Arrested Development’s 3 Years, 5 Months, and 2 Days in the Life of…, Dre’s The Chronic, Liz Phair’s Exile in Guyville.  Take (in order) the most influential (I say influential, not neccessarily the best) rock album from the last 30 years, one of the most brilliantly original hip-hop albums of all time, arguably the most important hip-hop album of all time, and arguably the most emotionally raw and unabashedly sexual albums out there.  In 2008, the best hip-hop can provide is… Lil’ Wayne?  Really?  Whaaat?  Yay-yuh!  Oh-KAY!

So, Sunday, when I was at a show for the first time in over a year, I found myself bored.  There was no energy.  Yeah, kids were dancing and rocking out, but there wasn’t that sense of urgency.  When Lollapalooza hit in 1991, there was the first opportunity for a bunch of us misfits to gather in large groups and see the length and breadth of what we all listened to.  While there might have been a dozen of us at school, here we were surrounded by thousands.  It was awesome.  I remember going to shows to see bands I had only seen as patches on jackets, rocking out, and falling in love with one of the bands that opened for them.  Most of the kids today just show up for the bands they want to see and leave.  There was also a sense of history.  On Sunday, when Bayside ended their show with a cover of NOFX’s classic “Liza and Louise,” I felt like I was the only one singing along.  Maybe it was just our scene, but when the bands at Spanky’s used to cover songs from before our time, be it the Misfits, Murphy’s Law, whoever, we knew the words.  We knew the bands that made the bands we listened to.  What kids today know the Replacements, let alone Television?

I don’t have the exposure to the new stuff like I used to have, that’s for sure.  I still stay current, though.  Man Man?  Fucking brilliant.  (Okay, even if I hadn’t known the drummer since he was like 12, I’d still dig them)  Vampire Weekend?  Awesome.  Gnarls Barkley?  Probably the most talented outfit of the decade.  I don’t pay that much attention to the new stuff, though.  The rapid turnover in the music industry these days, where one-album wonders are the norm in the search for The Next Big Thing, means that we have a lot more in the way of Branded acts, as opposed to the steady growth of bands.  R.E.M. didn’t become superstars until their fifth album, ditto for U2.  Both bands are still putting out albums.  How many bands that are out today do you think will have thirty year longevity?  Green Day seems to be about it.  It’s hard to get interested when all of the music today is shake and bake.  And it’s hard to enjoy the show when everyone there has bought into it.

Special Edition: Letter to my Management Company

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am writing this in order to have a written record of the current situation regarding the stove in my apartment.  I am Dennis Higgins, tenant of the <<MY ADDRESS>> property.  I called yesterday, Thursday February 26th, 2009 at 2:29pm and spoke with T***.  I explained that while my pilot light was on, neither my oven nor my burners on my stove were working.  She said that it was too late in the day for someone to come by, but within 48 hours, someone would be by to fix my stove.  Fair enough.

On Friday, February 27th, 2009 at 2:06pm, I called back to see what the status was of my work order.  I spoke with J**, who did not appear to be aware of the issue, but assured me that she would call back with an update for me.  She called back that same day at 3:25pm, to inform me that the soonest that someone can come to check my stove was Monday.  I explained that I have no other means of cooking while my stove is down.  J** apologized and explained that because of the relative antiquity of my stove, there was only one specialist who could look at it and they can only come on Monday.  I grew frustrated with the situation, and J** said that I could hire someone to come out sooner at my own expense.  At that point, I admit that I took out some of my frustrations out on J**, interrupting her frequently, resulting in frequent statements that fixing my stove is out of her lane and that there was little she could do about it.  When I asked to talk with someone who can possibly expedite the matter, I was told that I could leave a voice mail for Je**, in Resident Relations.  I left a voice mail and waited about a half hour to let some of my frustration vent away and now I am writing this to underscore my concern about this situation.

I am currently on convalescent leave for eye surgery.  Outside of appointments with my surgeon, I am unable to leave my apartment until the middle of next week.  As a result, I am limited to what I can prepare within my apartment and what can be delivered.  With my stove inoperative, the choice remaining is far less healthy and far more expensive.  I do not appreciate the lack of urgency and care shown to my situation by <<MANAGEMENT COMPANY>>  While I understand that T*** and J** are not able to snap their fingers and fix my stove, they are the public face of <<MANAGEMENT COMPANY>>.  I apologize again for taking some of my frustration out on J**, but as I cannot speak with the Antique Stove Specialist who will no doubt enjoy his or her weekend and home-cooked meals while I eat nothing but pizza and chinese delivery, they were the only ones I could speak with and voice my concerns.

This apartment is nice and has a lot of potential.  The longer I stay here, the more I see things I can do with it to make it a truly enjoyable home.  When I am deployed to far off locations, I would like to have this place waiting for me when I come home from Iraq, Djibouti, New Jersey, whatever inhospitable place the Army deems fit to send me.  Unfortunately, if I can’t count on the management company to maintain it, I may have to break lease as soon as my next set of orders come down.  I don’t want to do that, but if certain patterns evolve, I may have no choice.

Thank you for listening (well, reading) my concerns.  I hope they are resolved quickly.

Very Respectfully,
Dennis Higgins

Popping My Roller Derby Cherry

You hear about Roller Derby a lot when you hang out with the punk/indie scene, but I had never gone. There was always something more pressing or a lack of money or something. This past weekend’s Four Corner Feud was initially going to be no different. I planned on spending Sunday on my couch, writing a blog about salary caps and playing Playstation. Thankfully, things did not go according to plan.

Kamilla Bloodspilla in the final against a Denver skater.

A little after noon, I got a call from Hugodwarf, who was working the FCF for Derby News Network as a cameraman. He could use some help and I could use something to do. Next thing I know, I’m having Flat Track Roller Derby explained to me while I watch the Denver Roller Dolls beat the girls from Duke City Derby 118-71 in the first of four bouts that day.

Pikes Peak's firebrand -- Psycho Babble.

Roller Derby, if you don’t know, sounds pretty innocuous when you look at the pure objective of the sport. A skater, designated as a Jammer, needs to break through a pack of four blockers and lap the whole field. Points are scored based upon how many skaters are passed. There’s more to it, but that’s the “In hockey, you put the puck in the net” explanation of Roller Derby. Take that and factor in that the ladies circling the track are some of the hardest-nosed and athletic dames who think Aussie Rules Football is for pussies, and you start to see the charm in Roller Derby.

The Championship Game of the Four Corner Feud

My favorite skaters to watch, though, were the hometown girls, the Pikes Peak Derby Dames, who beat the Rocky Mountain Roller Girls in an amazing 120-113 nailbiter.  Pikes Peak sold me because of an amazing combination of skill and theatrics.  When on the track, girls like Psycho Babble, Kamilla BloodSpilla and DeRanged skated with an agression and artistry that reminded me of some of my favorite hockey players.  Mark Messier could skate on you, score on you, and knock your fucking teeth out if you crossed him.  Those three girls are the same way.

Kamilla Bloodspilla, in the penalty box, thinks about what she has done and plots revenge.

As Denver and Pikes Peak contested the final, we learned that you can only fuel the fire for so long.  Instrumental in the victory over Duke City, Psycho Babble and the rest of the Derby Dames could not stay out of the penalty box, giving Denver an advantage that proved impossible to overcome.  By the end of the first half, Psycho Babble, DeRanged, and Ecko Girl were sent to the locker room for penalty accumulation, and Psycho Babble was ejected for the remainder of the bout (the rest can return in the second half) for her defiant bra flash as she walked off.  Now, Brandi Chastain is celebrated for showing her bra, while Psycho Babble gets cited for Unsportsmanlike Conduct.  Just shows you that the boobs aren’t the issue, it’s the context.  Eventually, Denver routed Pikes Peak 182-64.

Psycho Babble debates the finer interpretations with the referee.

Now, Roller Derby isn’t going to be my newest obsession.  I do plan on going to a whole lot more of it, though.  I love the combination of skill and violence.  It’s a very technical game, but there is also a lot of room for heart, which I love.  It’s got a great DIY influence, with everyone involved probably putting more money into it than they get out.  The lack of money in it means that it remains a labor of love.  All of the girls who skate and the guys who ref or call the games love it and have fun with it.  It’s a good time and I’m glad Hugo called me.  Check it out sometimes.

In Defense of Oily, Strapping Spartans

My buddy Rick thinks 300 is gay porn.  His thoughts are that a movie celebrating all men muscular and oiled can be nothing else.  I’ve never actually watched gay porn, mind you, but I’d imagine that yes, Guys Who Love Guys would probably enjoy the eye candy.  I mean, fuck, they didn’t CGI those pecs and abs.  I’m jealous.  I’d love to have that physique.  However, Rick, I like girls and I like 300.  I suggest to him that the beefcake that so intimidates Señor Rick is not so much homosexual fantasy as a combination of stylization and a soldier’s ideal.

First, stylization.  300 was a comic book.  You would not see “normal” bodies in a comic book, so why should you see it in a comic book movie?  The Adam West portrayal of Batman is legendary for the laughingstock gut.  There is not a single character who is not exaggerated in some way.  Was Xerxes really 8 feet tall with a Darth Vader voice?  Most likely not.  Was every woman in the Ancient World possessed of a hot, slim body?  Most likely not.  Was every person with a deformity something that required seven hours of makeup a day to replicate?  Most likely not.  A film based upon a comic book needs to look like a comic book.  So, the Gym Jones-sculpted physiques are a necessity.

Second, a soldier’s ideal.  The 300 Spartans have long been held up as a testament to fitness, discipline, and tactics.  I don’t think I’ve been on a deployment when I haven’t seen at least one soldier reading Gates of Fire, one of the more popular books on the subject.  One of the things that makes a good soldier great is fitness.  There was a SEAL in my compound in Afghanistan who would rock one of those climbing machines at the highest difficulty for like forty-five minutes.  The dude was built like one of Zack Snyder’s Spartans.  Does admiring the man’s fitness make me a fan of The Cock?  Not so much.  It makes me understand that for 300 to stand against tens of thousands, you need to look more like Leonidas and less like Paul Blart: Mall Cop.

I don’t watch the movie because I like to look at the oily studs.  I watch the movie because it truly captures the warrior spirit.  300 illustrates the attributes that makes soldiers feel good about waging war.  No soldier wants to be in a worst-case scenario.  I wouldn’t want to have been a Spartan at the Hot Gates, nor would I have wanted to be a Ranger during the Battle of Mogadishu.  Those events, and through the movies made about them, show us how the best handle the worst.  They show us that you shouldn’t skimp on training or fitness or discipline.  If you do, you aren’t a hero, you’re a speed bump.  During the Battle of the Bulge, who remembers the units on the lines who fled when the Germans broke through?  Everyone remembers the Battered Bastards of Bastogne, though, the 101st Airborne Division, because their superior fitness, training, and excellence won the day.  300, like Black Hawk Down or Band of Brothers, serves to remind me that I can’t be complacent.

It’s about a lot more than the muscles, Rick.  It’s about the action, of which there is in abundance.  It’s about soldiers trusting themselves and the soldiers next to them, standing before an enemy and facing them with pride and valor.  It’s about heroic epics that don’t have the soft edges of the Braveheart or Gladiator.  While both of those movies ended as badly for the heroes as they did for Leonidas, the death of the Spartans was no tragedy.  Which is a lot more like what I face and have to deal with when I go to war.  It’s not a tragedy.  It’s just what we do.