Gainful Employment, Part Duh

 

Preface:

Lance (LIFE) is An Angry Man. An Angry White Man.

Now. That (above) is just for fun

What means this?

Nothing.

Just thought I’d say it.

Why?

“Dunno.”

Read On.

(Oh! And One Last THING: If you do not follow the links, well, do not come back to me crying: “Lance! I don’t get it!”–Please don’t force me to be an asshole–I really hate that.)

Oops! Working for Not-a-Livin’

I’ve been around the world (twice). Seen two white whales fuck. Seen the sun come up over many exotic venues. Been drunk at sunup looking at Kilimanjaro. Been sober at sunset watching Jews at the Wailing Wall, mostly wailing, them Jew (sic). Seen monkeys steal golf balls off the course at Subic Bay Naval Base. (A “gimme-drop” or a ‘mulligan’ in the local rule book) Heard the call-to-prayer while on my early a.m. runs in many Arab lands. Seen incomprehensible acts of bravery and also of coward-ness. Seen inspiring acts of kindness. Seen unbelievable acts of selfishness and cruelty. Seen some things that oh so briefly, made me want to believe in (a) God (those passed—quickly—trust me on this one folks).

Seen men die.

And seen men live.

Have made countless great friends. Friended them. Been friended. Been De-Friended.  Cannot say I can even know where any one of them are today, or if they are even still alive. Such has been my way in life… Suppose a selfish life (my take). Most who really know me would never say that. I have been called ‘Generous to a fault.’ I have also been called ‘conceited’ ‘arrogant’ ‘self-important’, ‘pompous’, ‘asshole’ et cetera, but one thing I have never been called is ‘cheap.’

I am proud of that.

In brief: “I have heard the chimes at midnight” with many good friends, however much I always seemed to cast them away, sorely by neglect. Friendship, I now know, requires tending, not unlike an aquarium or a garden. Next life… maybe.

I need not go on. Hell, most of us who attain some bit of longevity can attest to these experiences, or at least, reasonable facsimiles. Nothing unique about me here, but I have traveled a bit more than most and generally, I have taken some good mental notes.

Which kind of brings me to my point:

Jobs I Have Had: Weird Version (not in any particularly chronological order)

Walmart: I took a job at Walmart long after I had quit my regular job of almost ten years. My money had run out and I was living (by the good graces of my landlady—a friend–erstwhile lover) rent-free in Commerce, Amerika. Until she ran outta patience with me…

My intent was to attain gainful employment in Iraq, so I had quit my regular job, just SOOO certain, given my previous ‘Overseas War-Zone Experience’ that I would be beating the Head-Hunter’s offers away with a very large stick. Alas. No one seemed interested in hiring me to go to Iraq and risk my neck, (Even though I had made it abundantly clear in my cover letters that, ‘Beheading’ to me, is just a ‘scare word.’ No dice. No sale. No Job.

Strangest Aspect of working at Walmart:

Pajama Day. Yes Friends: on Pajama Day (Fridays as I do recall) a Walmart Associate could, if so desirous, wear pj’s work. Many did.

I did not.

UPS: I currently work (seasonal) for UPS. As far as I know, there are no pajama days, but there seem to be ‘incoherent days.’ I have been showing up for now two weeks and I am as clueless today as I was on day one. If I were kind, I’d call it ‘organized chaos.’ Most of you who read me know I am not really one to spout euphemisms. No. Just ‘chaos’ will do for now. And gee! I really do hope all y’all get your parcels on-time. I truly do. Merry Christmas

SFM (Sinai Field Mission)

Completely run by the US Department of State back in the Seventies…

Wow! I have written of the insanity that went on there. Hell! There is even a documentary film on it (completely bogus, but here is the link, if you do not believe me:

http://www.zipporah.com/films/30

Hay Hauling:

Yep. A more insane occupation cannot be imagined (in The Seventies) Drunks mostly all of us hay-haulers. Peanut comes immediately to mind

 Navy SEALs: What can I say?

Worm Ranch: Worm Counter.

Yeah, I used to make a living… counting red-worms: Seventy-five cents a box. Good money. Dodge the alcoholic! (For that, I did not get paid extra—it was before OSHA doan cha know…?

Enuff!

More later.

Maybe

And don’t you know?

I am the reason God Made OK.

(Not really)

But…

I have a sense of the ludicrous.

THERE IS SOME RHYME AND REASON (YES ALL CAPS) THAT I LOVE KRIS:

HITS TOO CLOSE TO HOME)

DON’T IT?

Let The Buyer Beware

Daily Lenny

Yeah, I have pissed in a lot of sinks.

 Truly, I have.

Below: Me and Hala. Amman, Jordan

gomer-1-and-gomette-2

“I know this goddamn life too well.”

-Janis

Sinai Field Mission. Or The Story of How Lance Lost His Mind and Later Found it Ferreted Away in His Pocket

This Post is a Continuation of a Promise I made to Me (And to Y’all, Gentle Readers) to write about Sinai Field Mission. For brevity’s sake (The Soul of Wit), I am breaking it down into snippets. To catch the back story, actually the forward story, please go here:

“No Bare Feet Beyond This Point” (This is a ‘Re-Constructed Old Post.’ No Alcoholic Beverages Were Harmed, Nor Consumed While Operating The Requisite Heavy Machinery For The Successful Completion of This Project)

********************

Me and Boeing’s 747 partners: Wheels Down at Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv Israel late one afternoon, October 1977, just a couple of days before Halloween, found the Talmud. I mean tarmac. 

My final destination, however was not Judea; it  was The Sinai Desert, to live for eighteen months-plus on a mountain-top base camp, Dubbed ‘Caddo Mountain’, (In deference to the Texans who built it and ran it and to whom I would soon become a compadre) some shit-hole between the Gidi and Mitla Passes: Historically, the only two routes armies could pass from east to west or west to east across burning Sinai to thwack upon each other’s opponents’ heads.

I was 40 days leeward of twenty years and a little more than apprehensive. (These Two States, Egypt & Israel, were still technically, At War)

UNEF BUFFER Zone

I knew some of the history, but I couldn’t be bothered that day about ‘Ancient’ History (Yom Kippur War, Six-Day War, ‘Suez War’ of ‘56, Holocaust. Nope: I was here for ‘New History’, ‘My History’, ‘My Adventure’: A Dangerous Desolate Gig (my first). I had never been out of CONUS (Continental United States) before.

And I was stoked. A fresh-faced, bullet-proof Texan Kid newly escaped from Louisiana and cock-strong! Fuck did I care for Mid-East Politics? I am here! Step right up! Texas has arrived! “Step aside, Son!”

Gathering my luggage (my father’s old sea-bag left over from his USMC Korean War days) and a few other bags, laden with tennis shoes, workout gear, books and magazines… way too much superfluous shit, I scampered to find my liaison, struggling with all my kit.

Finding him, a tall, skinny, thin-haired, gaunt-faced, ‘Middle-East-Hardened’ Texan Veteran (four months here previous to me, I discovered later), man who spoke with an air of, ‘Oh, you’re the ‘New Kid’… Follow me’ he said laconically.

He looked an old thirty-five to me. (Later I found out he was twenty-nine, but we were all so young there. Back then.)

Ignoring his attitude, I tried very hard to ‘get into the groove.’ It was hellishly hot, even for an October—a Texas October. I had jet lag and fatigue like a pup that had been crated too long. Even though I was ‘stoked’, all I really wanted was a gallon of really cold orange juice, an air-conditioned hotel room, and a bed. The ‘plane ride’ from Dallas to Tel Aviv had robbed me of some (I thought) important part of my young life and my health. I was severely dehydrated, completely spent, and pretty much left wondering if I had made some horrible mistake.

But, I sucked it up.

After a hot and hotter and even hotter bizarre drive (The Road signs looked so foreign to me, some form of hieroglyphic—never having seen Hebrew before—had not at that point read the Old Testament) from Ben Gurion Airport, through the busy streets of Tel Aviv (me resisting the urge to ask, “Hey! are we there yet?”) we arrived at the Mediterranean Sea and the Sheraton Hotel.

My ‘liaison’ deposited me at the front desk of the ‘New’ Sheraton Hotel on HaYarkon Street Tel Aviv, telling me in parting,

“The R&R Vehicle leaves at 0800hrs; meet here in the lobby. Don’t be late. Goodbye.”

“Thanks Asshole.”

I checked in, and got me that room, such as it was. It was more a closet than a room, but it was cool and clean, and there was that bed tucked away in the corner…

I hit it, and slept like the dead.

To be continued…

Shit Done Jumped Off (Again)–or–“Why do I have to keep writing about these things?”

Recent update:

Upon some not-so-sober refection and some feedback,

I just have to add,

THIS:

This post is, as said, stream of consciousness.

Not much more to say.

So, I just say,

This post is fucked up.

A journey into the nether.

The nether reaches

Of how my mind works.

Or does not work.

Don’t care.

Me.

I do not care.

Discovering that no one actually ‘reads’ my posts…

is

Somewhat ‘free’ing’

I like that.

Don’t read.

Do not watch my ‘added value’

It is all bullshit.

****

Author’s Note:

This is stream of consciousness

And gut-felt feeling.

Read at your own annoyance.

Thank you.

Drive Thru.

PPPS:

This Post is a fucking chocolate mess!

Fuck this Blog!

Texan Tales & Pyro-Glyphics!

Who wrote That?!

Some moron!

I am gonna delete this work from my life.

And mosey on down that mammary lane.

So….

Read fast!

And do NOT FORGET TO WATCH THE MADONNA “BAD GIRL” AT THE END!!!!!

***

***

As most of you know, who know me, think to know me, gracious enuff to read me, give-a-shit to try to know me, know this:

I have spent great portions of my life in places like Iraq, Sinai, Egypt, Israel, South-East Asia, Texas

(Some in Tennessee too, “But we don’t talk about that, do we Lance? Well, not overmuch”).

And…

 Afghanistan.

“Afghan-is-Sand”

He Went to Paris: I can smell the Darkness

It has been my Good, Great Fortune and Great Privilege to have known great, honorable, decent, brave people from all over the world.

(This is the unsaid benefit of travel—try it—you’ll hate it)

There’s no place like home…

***

My most recent ‘tour’ of ‘duty’ was in Helmand (Hell-Man!) Province, Afghanistan.

My heart is breaking for the Good People of Afghanistan.

In the Middle of the fucking East.

Sad?

Yep.

***

I used to think in terms of this below:

Employment opportunity for me?

Most Def.

“Put me in Coach.”

Opportunities for me to ‘fucking shine!’

To be somebody!

To be a fucking contender!

To do some good.

And to do some bad.

To suit, satiate, and feed my ego.

Or just for “Redemption Day”

Y’all know I am an atheist.

But however comma,,,,

Atheists are people too.

And we love our mothers just as much as ppl of faith love theirs.

We strive for redemption.

(Our definition somewhat diverges from the traditional ‘Christianne’ version, I must admit)

Nevertheless,

We do strive.

Butt…

I do not think like this any more

(nor any less)

But I am growing / glowing old.

I have lost ‘faith’ in my atheism ‘faith.’

(Anyone wanna explore how utterly fucked up and ill-founded, ill-conceived, ill-nourished, ill-pondered… that statement is???)

Good luck!

***

That once ‘Fire in my belly’ has turned peacefully to ember.

And to be honest, I am somewhat relieved.

And yet!

And YET!

Pissed off!

I do not want to pass that torch just yet.

Not ready!

My life has been one adventure followed hard upon the heels of the preceding.

To give that up…

Not in my Jeans, Genes, Frenetic, Foible, Stupid-beyond-repair, idiot mind.

Psychopath-ically Psycho Psyche

Not quite there yet.

“Put me in Coach! I’m ready to play!”

(My eternal, forever mantra)

Used to be.

Now…

Not sure I can muster the passion.

Vid Credit: allmydiscs

See the anger in her eyes?

The Sheryl Crow above vid.

Please tell me you watched it!

Gawd-dammit!

(Yeah. I see that too)

So many vids to accentuate my pointless point.

So little fucking time.

(Yes! Hell yes! Fuck yes!)

This post is chock-fucking full of profanity.

The One Thing, I can always hang on to

Always count upon

Always rely upon

Constant as the Northern Star (Polaris, which is ten degrees off-center and three  bubbles off plumb as wanna-be northern stars go…)

The one constant I can always embrace is this:

I am a sailor.

Ergo

I use profanity.

***

Back to the point of this post:

I am weep for Afghanistan

(The poor grammar is me firing for ‘effect’—deal—just deal with it)

Drive through.

Points well-taken.

Or not.

Fuck it!

I am NOT Happy.

And this is all that matters.

Ain’t it?

MY HAPPINESS

Not NUTHING ELSE Matters!

(Or does it?)

OR LACK THEREOF?

It is ALL ABOUT ME!!

Isn’t it???????????????????????????

“Hey! Lance! Go to fuck you!”

–Mama-San

mOST OF My TimME…..

iN AFGHANISTAN

WaS

WiTH Not-AfGHANisTAN.

It was with….

Expats.

Just pretending.

But…

I loved.

I LOVED

Afghanistan-is-Sand

Just like

Charlie

Wilson

I spent far too much

And far too little

Time

In

Afghanistan.

I honestly do not know what the fuck I am talking about.

But.

At least I showed up.

****

Lance Looks in the Mirror

First time in some years…

(Risky, Dangerous Enterprise? Yes?!)

Casually regards the visage staring back at him.

“Something’s missing,” he says.

Dons DEVO hat.

Yeah!

Hell yeah!

That’s the “Look!”

********

“Maternity Flight Suits????”

Joe? Really?

I never watched the movie, “G.I. Jane”

(Because it was a farce and insulted the Navy SEAL program), but… come on Man!”

“Maternity Flight Suits????”

***********

(Maybe it is time for me to give ‘G.I. Jane’ a second chance. Cannot possibly be worse than the garbage coming down the pike these days.)

*******

I died along the way.

But at least I showed up.

Twice

*************

This post is in desperate need of some

‘Joni’

To talk me down off that ledge

I have found me Precariously placed on…

(or is it ‘upon’?)

Which is the ‘proper’ word?

Ask me how many fucks I give.

I write; therefore I Yam!

Just call me ‘Popeye!’

************

Vid Cred: jmms429

Song credit: Who do you think?

Gainful Employment, Part Duh

 

Preface:

Lance (LIFE) is An Angry Man. An Angry White Man.

Now. That (above) is just for fun

What means this?

Nothing.

Just thought I’d say it.

Why?

“Dunno.”

Read On.

(Oh! And One Last THING: If you do not follow the links, well, do not come back to me crying: “Lance! I don’t get it!”–Please don’t force me to be an asshole–I really hate that.)

Oops! Working for Not-a-Livin’

I’ve been around the world (twice). Seen two white whales fuck. Seen the sun come up over many exotic venues. Been drunk at sunup looking at Kilimanjaro. Been sober at sunset watching Jews at the Wailing Wall, mostly wailing, them Jew (sic). Seen monkeys steal golf balls off the course at Subic Bay Naval Base. (A “gimme-drop” or a ‘mulligan’ in the local rule book) Heard the call-to-prayer while on my early a.m. runs in many Arab lands. Seen incomprehensible acts of bravery and also of coward-ness. Seen inspiring acts of kindness. Seen unbelievable acts of selfishness and cruelty. Seen some things that oh so briefly, made me want to believe in (a) God (those passed—quickly—trust me on this one folks).

Seen men die.

And seen men live.

Have made countless great friends. Friended them. Been friended. Been De-Friended.  Cannot say I can even know where any one of them are today, or if they are even still alive. Such has been my way in life… Suppose a selfish life (my take). Most who really know me would never say that. I have been called ‘Generous to a fault.’ I have also been called ‘conceited’ ‘arrogant’ ‘self-important’, ‘pompous’, ‘asshole’ et cetera, but one thing I have never been called is ‘cheap.’

I am proud of that.

In brief: “I have heard the chimes at midnight” with many good friends, however much I always seemed to cast them away, sorely by neglect. Friendship, I now know, requires tending, not unlike an aquarium or a garden. Next life… maybe.

I need not go on. Hell, most of us who attain some bit of longevity can attest to these experiences, or at least, reasonable facsimiles. Nothing unique about me here, but I have traveled a bit more than most and generally, I have taken some good mental notes.

Which kind of brings me to my point:

Jobs I Have Had: Weird Version (not in any particularly chronological order)

Walmart: I took a job at Walmart long after I had quit my regular job of almost ten years. My money had run out and I was living (by the good graces of my landlady—a friend–erstwhile lover) rent-free in Commerce, Amerika. Until she ran outta patience with me…

My intent was to attain gainful employment in Iraq, so I had quit my regular job, just SOOO certain, given my previous ‘Overseas War-Zone Experience’ that I would be beating the Head-Hunter’s offers away with a very large stick. Alas. No one seemed interested in hiring me to go to Iraq and risk my neck, (Even though I had made it abundantly clear in my cover letters that, ‘Beheading’ to me, is just a ‘scare word.’ No dice. No sale. No Job.

Strangest Aspect of working at Walmart:

Pajama Day. Yes Friends: on Pajama Day (Fridays as I do recall) a Walmart Associate could, if so desirous, wear pj’s work. Many did.

I did not.

UPS: I currently work (seasonal) for UPS. As far as I know, there are no pajama days, but there seem to be ‘incoherent days.’ I have been showing up for now two weeks and I am as clueless today as I was on day one. If I were kind, I’d call it ‘organized chaos.’ Most of you who read me know I am not really one to spout euphemisms. No. Just ‘chaos’ will do for now. And gee! I really do hope all y’all get your parcels on-time. I truly do. Merry Christmas

SFM (Sinai Field Mission)

Completely run by the US Department of State back in the Seventies…

Wow! I have written of the insanity that went on there. Hell! There is even a documentary film on it (completely bogus, but here is the link, if you do not believe me:

http://www.zipporah.com/films/30

Hay Hauling:

Yep. A more insane occupation cannot be imagined (in The Seventies) Drunks mostly all of us hay-haulers. Peanut comes immediately to mind

 Navy SEALs: What can I say?

Worm Ranch: Worm Counter.

Yeah, I used to make a living… counting red-worms: Seventy-five cents a box. Good money. Dodge the alcoholic! (For that, I did not get paid extra—it was before OSHA doan cha know…?

Enuff!

More later.

Maybe

And don’t you know?

I am the reason God Made OK.

(Not really)

But…

I have a sense of the ludicrous.

THERE IS SOME RHYME AND REASON (YES ALL CAPS) THAT I LOVE KRIS:

HITS TOO CLOSE TO HOME)

DON’T IT?

Let The Buyer Beware

Daily Lenny

Yeah, I have pissed in a lot of sinks.

 Truly, I have.

Below: Me and Hala. Amman, Jordan

gomer-1-and-gomette-2

“I know this goddamn life too well.”

-Janis

Sinai Field Mission. Or The Story of How Lance Lost His Mind and Later Found it Ferreted Away in His Pocket

This Post is a Continuation of a Promise I made to Me (And to Y’all, Gentle Readers) to write about Sinai Field Mission. For brevity’s sake (The Soul of Wit), I am breaking it down into snippets. To catch the back story, actually the forward story, please go here: No Bare Feet Beyond This Point.

And Here: TA

And Also Here:

My Mine Field

Continue reading