Stateside.................

まず、最初は：
アイ　ミス　ユー　亜紀！！...that's between me and the addressee..
...and on to the body of the post:

I write this in the Denver International Airport. Apparently Cedar Rapids Airport is the only place in the country that offers free WiFi, so I can’t check my email or anything like that. Got some time to kill? Hell, I’ll write a blog post.

You, my one reader, may have noticed a little absence on my part. The reason is simple – unlike you, I have a job and “grown-up” responsibilities, and as such have certain things that I must tend to because, again, unlike you, I don’t live in my father’s basement on “disability”.

Just kidding about that stuff. I don’t judge you.

So yeah, I’m stateside right now, as there was a little get together with my platoon from the Marines. It was called “Samapalooza,” in honor of Mr Sam’s entry into UT. Sam has made numerous appearances on this blog and Adventurestan because he visited Japan for a week, was my roommate in the ‘stan, and is completely nuts. Coincidentally, this was the weekend of the OSU – UT game, and my reasons for not following sports were reaffirmed about 100 times over. To me, the only thing more beyond comprehension than covering your body in blue body paint and donning some strange headgear in support of your team is wrapping a pizza parlor tablecloth on your head and blowing yourself to smithereens.

That’s not entirely true, but I’m in the mood for hyperbole. Either way, I wonder if humans are hardwired for that sort of thing. Clearly I am different, likely hardwired to be an Emperor or something like that, to be the one rallied around and supported with fierce, warrior fervor.

I’d like to begin by complaining about stewardesses. I think that a country’s progress in Women’s Rights is easily measured by how the appearance of its stewardesses. I’ll let you munch on that one for a while and realize the brilliance of that statement. Anyway, someone needs to remind American stewardesses that they’re in the fucking service industry. Every shrill command issued from their aged, lined mouths seems to be punctuated with, “….OR I’LL HAVE A SKYMARSHALL COME BACK HERE AND SMOKE CHECK YOU.” And yes, I know about FAA regulations, but the plane’s not going to crash if someone’s seat is back, so stop flipping out about it. Traveling to and in third world nations really opened my eyes to flight regulations much in the same way that a child realizes that they won’t be struck by lightening if they say “shit” when no one’s around. Did you know that you can walk around on the plane when it’s screaming down the runway immediately after touching down and you won’t die? Did you know that you can smoke on planes? Did you know that Russian pilots and chain smoke while flying and most likely be half in the bag and still manage a pretty good landing? It’s amazing. Anyway, I’m tired of being berated and bullied by stewardesses. “Oh but they’re under so much stress.” Bullshit – they’re doing their job, and, as 46 year old women, are probably the least likely individuals to take action if some crazies hijack the plane. And if them spazzing out about a tray table being down is any indication of their stress tolerance levels, I’d hate to see them in a situation where a group of Asian men of unknown religious affiliation do something whacky on the flight. Hell, I feel a little bit of pressure in that area. I know if some asshole stood up and shouted, “I HAVE A BOMB IN MY SHOE! I BLOW YOU!” people would be looking at me to do something simply because I’m not morbidly obese and I’m not that old. Here’s an idea – knock $50 off of everyone’s plane ticket and start a tipping system on planes. There could be a little money slot on the seats and you would put in money based on their performance. That’d make em mind their shit. “Oh, do you think it’s funny to treat me like an idiot because I’ve been flying for the last 15 hours and can’t put together a coherent sentence? No tip for you.”

So, on to happier stuff. No one got arrested in the course of Samapalooza, and the people who came were pretty much an A-list from our “generation” in my platoon, meaning we were all in Hawaii pretty much the same time, and most of us had deployed with everyone else at least once. Hell, 5 of the 6 guys from my first team in Okinawa were there; an impressive showing. I feel bad for guys who really didn’t have an excuse not to come, because it was a really good time and they will be heckled. I’m looking forward to all the, “Durrp, I wish I could have made it but blahblahlameexcuseblahblah.” No one got arrested, though three people got pepper sprayed in the street. Seriously, I was a little worried about getting arrested or hospitalized, but I came through unscathed, which was amazing considering how absolutely insane 6^th Street was following the football game.. I didn’t even have any odd bruises. I think that getting horribly drunk on Friday after flying from Japan and throwing up all the next day was a good idea, because it kept me from drinking pretty much anything on Saturday night, making it pretty mellow. I’d like to thank Wojo for setting it up, even though he was being sour at Denny’s this morning, but I can’t really blame him because he was still intoxicated and hadn’t slept yet. Plus I don’t think I’ve ever spent time with Wojo without him renouncing his friendship with someone in our crew. It’s always going to happen, along with him getting kicked out of bars for doing things that are totally inappropriate.

So now it’s on to the parent’s house, where I expect I will meet up with Brando, and hopefully Travis and Eric at some point. The grandparents drove in from Colorado, which is an impressive feat considering they’re in their 80s. 80 is the new, um, 75 I hear..

Anyway, I have a plane to catch. More later…