EDPT Mastery
[11.17.06]

If you're not waiting, wondering how you smell since you haven't taken a shower in three days, in order to wait in line to purchase your PS3 today, consider yourself sane. And that was my PS3 launch date reference. The EDPT or Electronic Data Processing Test is a little known test given to those who seek very particular jobs in the US Military. With very little information given and very little of those who take it, the EDPT can be a challenge in your way of getting to place that special MOS or AFSC on your contract. For me, there was one job that I was hoping to sign up for and thus I took the EDPT. Afterwards, I didn't receive the 71 I needed but did get a 66 which made me eligible for another AFSC and I eventually placed that on my contract, more on that later.

There is some information on about.com with some personal anecdotes. However, nothing can really prepare you for the test as no matter what you study or practice for you will not even be able to finish. There is a 150 questions with only 90 minutes to finish. Thus, you have only 36 seconds to answer each question if you were to finish. Most questions couldn't be answered in two minutes. For instance, there was a particular question that resembled this, "An air craft bomber is flying 600 mph carrying 200 bombs. After 20 minutes of bombing, if the bomber can drop a bomb every 10 seconds, what is the distance on the ground between each bomb when they hit the ground?" (About 1.66667 miles from what I calculated.) With the clock ticking and your potential military career depending on it, the pressure is on as you try to answer questions such as this one. The test consists of pattern recognition problems, story problems, mathematical questions, and matching problems. At times, the pattern and matching problems become very far fetched to the point of ridiculousness. Certain questions made me even question if there truly was a correct answer. To do it again another strategy would need to be acted upon where the story problems were skipped until the end and the matching, pattern, and vocabulary problems were taken care of first. Also, given the last minute or so, I would begin filling the same letter bubbles until I finished.

When I received the booklets and papers I instantly noticed how old the materials were. The bubble or answer sheet was not in fact bubbles but rather rectangles of dots. The question booklet also was very worn and dated looking. It seems as though, they haven't updated the test very often. Making matters worse, the tester was not ready and didn't seem he knew what he was doing. On top of this, my ride (my recruiter) to even get to the test canceled last minute but fortunately I was able to secure a loner car. There was a few others there with me taking the test. Mostly they were joining the Air Force, such as myself. The test went by fast as I struggled to beat the clock and answer the questions. Not being allowed a calculator, I had to work out the math by hand on a sheet of scrap paper. After the test, I prayed all the way home from Chicago MEPS that I receive a 71 so that I could be potentially (there are no guarantees) a computer programmer in the Air Force. A few hours after I got back, they left a message that I did not get what I needed (a 71) for the particular AFSC I wanted. Oh well, wasn't meant to be or so that is what they say. I did qualify for the "hardest to qualify for AFSC in the Air Force." Ironically, this doesn't mean much nor will anyone care as it is also the hardest to book AFSC (from what I read, it is not really a AFSC). I did talk to one who received the job and it took him 1 year in the DEP to get it. The job is 9S100. Of course, I care not for what others say for it is still a feather in my cap. There may be yet another test for me to take while in the DEP. The D-Lab is a test that I have not heard much other than that it is needed for two particular linguist specialty codes. However, they pushed for these particular jobs, last year, and the class seats are full. However, if I do take the D-Lab expect another article.

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Fest of Air
[09.24.06]

Awhile back I was standing, sweating in my motorcycle jacket, listening to my recruiter during a DEP commander call. She went on talking about signing up to help her with the RFD Air Fest '06. Living an hour away from the airport and never volunteering for anything, I did the usual and forwent signing up. Next commander call, some airman out of potato loving Idaho was there taking the place of Sgt Green who was gone for some reason or another. He looked over the list of volunteers and noticed that I hadn't signed up for key chain handing out bitch work. After repeatedly getting my name wrong (along with the "racer dude" comment), he made me sign up. I chose Sunday knowing I had work on Saturday only I didn't know we had to come Saturday anyway for a ceremony. Great, for a guy who wasn't coming at all, I was coming both days.

Friday night, getting off work, I had to ride up to the recruit office and grab my "packet" off of her door or bug the Marines office for it. It was late with the glow of red from the Chinese buffet next door and I was pretty sure I was screwed. However, the office was open but each branch had left (maybe they figure they're pretty safe, who would mess with a military office really?). The brown envelope packet was taped on the door with my name scrawled out on it. Inside was just a ticket. I was expecting some kind of official, yeah that's right I'm in the Air Force, badge.

Rainy, cloudy, suicidal type weather was the scene as I rode off on bike, no less, to the RFD Airport. Living in Rockford for awhile and never having gone to the annual air fest, I wasn't sure what to expect. Cops every where and more cones than a Dairy Queen with cars clogging the streets plagued my entry into the air fest. Every one I came up to, lifting my helmet visor, I told that I was here to volunteer for the Air Force tent. Of course, no one knew anything, and I not having a "VIP" pass (thanks Green), I had to pay for parking which is ironic in that the airport boasts free parking on normal days. "It's kind of unfair to charge you to park your bike. Oh well, did you bring a block of wood or something?" the "parking lot" attendant asked. They were charging to park in the mud basically and well a sport bike and mud do not make a great martini. Soaking wet, cold, and thinking I hope I never see that dude from Idaho during my military career again, they pulled some strings and allowed me to park in the VIP section (which is where I should have been and asked to park in the first time!). I still had to ride through the mud, however, to get to the VIP section. Picture smooth tires, wet grass and mud, people, and SUVs with four wheel drive flying by me as I struggled to stay upright as I made way to pavement. Parked the bike, took off my helmet, and walked on to the Air Force tent. My recruiter couldn't understand as to why I was disgruntled. Time passed and I got into the moment of sonic booms, special effects, and loud fly by F-16 passes. As the Thunder-birds approached the tent all of us recruits were brought away from the show to practice the ceremony. Standing in the front row center I was ever nervous to avoid screwing up. Of course I did, I raised my right hand at the wrong moment. "We're going to do this together, we don't leave anyone behind," said the instructing PR Thunder-bird, Gabe. Show time and we march out to the tarmac with the Thunder-bird jets behind us and a sea of people before us sitting under gray dreary skies. The Thunder-bird pilots come out like Tom Cruise onto the tarmac and begin the procession. We all stand at attention with our right hands raised and belt out the oath of enlistment (which I've already did at MEPS). They take pictures and the crowd claps as all of this is projected on a giant jumbo tron hung by a crane farther down the run way. Marching back into the crowd, dramatic music sooths through the loud speakers and people clap like we had just got off the shuttle as we pass back to the tent. At that moment, I tasted the first morsel of pride about joining which is something I had shrugged before and didn't relate to. Before this point, the military was just a vehicle to arrive at the future I wanted to be in. However, maybe it was the music or the golden framed aviator pilot glasses they were wearing, I was able to experience the pride that all who serve seem to exhibit throughout their life. They were apart of something bigger than themselves, they belonged to something great. Tired, cold, wet, and proud I rode back home feeling better about coming out better than I had coming in.

Sunday morning and the weather was worse than it had been the day before. Yet again, I rode on bike to my recruiters office this time to get brief on the day ahead. Luckily I was able to hitch a ride in the Air Force custom recruiting Yukon out to the tarmac. Bone piercing cold winds and wet pants, socks, and shoes made for a horrible first few hours of the air show. As the skies cleared up more visitors showed up to the Air Force tent. All day, as we warmed up like lizards in the sun, we passed out key chains, "thunder sticks", bags, books, and autographs (given by the Thunder-birds of course) to passers by. Most just enjoyed receiving free junk while some were actually interested in joining the "Force." Some justified taking pens, stealth shaped key chains, and elongated balloons of noise by claiming they collect them while others wanted some for their children at home. Getting to talk to Gabe again, I found out the Thunder-birds do the DEP swear-in ceremony every Saturday and that they are stationed in Las Vegas. Pretty good job if you can get it; how the Force justifies the Thunder-birds I don't know, I assume for pure recruiting public relations purposes. Fast forward and the day ended by a fellow trainee taking me back to my bike where I went to that next door Chinese buffet and enjoyed a hearty meal.

I would do it again but probably differently like all things. The show was great with sights like the stealth bomber flying over whisper quiet or a daring wing walker performing stunts amongst the clouds. The jet propelled port-a-potty was interesting. Right now, after this experience, I'm considering making the Force a career but that feeling is fleeting as I write this, nevertheless, it was definitely a fest of air.

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Five O Freedom
[09.08.06]

Getting a motorcycle is one thing, however, getting the freedom to use it is another. No, not everyone you see riding a motorcycle actually has the license to use it. In fact, a lot probably do not. Most assume it is too much trouble and to some degree it is. DMV anything is usually to much trouble. Long lines, smelly people, and attendants from hell make the DMV a place to avoid. Nevertheless, I bit the bullet and sought out to obtain my class "M" license (that's "M" for motorcycle in case you're drunk, no problem).

To obtain a license you first have to have a permit, if only to take the road test that same day. The written portion is given on a touch screen computer. The questions are vague and counter intuitive (much different from the class "D" written test with overly obvious and commonsense answers). Thus, I failed the first time but asked to take it again right afterwords and passed only due to remembering the right answers from five minutes ago. Permit in hand, I was now aloud to drive during the day time with either a experienced licensed bike rider on the back or I was aloud to ride along side a experienced licensed bike rider. Did I? No, but I did feel better about riding to and from work. Getting pulled over with nothing looks pretty bad but a permit shows some caring on your part.

Two weeks go by and I finally get the chance to run around two inch tall cones and stop in a painted box. Many told me to take a riding course (MSF) or how hard the test is by them failing it five times. I was just worried about riding to the DMV alone to take the test (looks a bit suspicious). Imagine me failing it and riding off. However, I didn't fail but rather passed it on the first go around. The first parking lot test is to go around a left turn making sure not to hit the cones and stopping in the box. The seconded is the hardest with going around cones placed fairly close together (about four feet). It was this test that I botched. Going four miles an hour without putting your feet down around tiny cones barely placed far enough for the bike to fit in between is not the easiest challenge around. The third and four test are similar with seeing how fast you can stop. On the opposite side of the back lot you rev the engine and take off until you pass a series of measured lines seeing how soon you can come to a stop. The fourth is the same only you have to avoid a red line by either going to the left or right of it.

When the debacle was over, I rode over to the tester and asked the obvious question with him replying, "Hell yeah you passed." No drug could make me feel as good as I did at that point. Now I could ride anywhere anytime, rev my engine at the stop light, and swirve through traffic all the while under the watchful eye of the eager to bust five O.

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Anal Probe
[07.28.06]

Sounds fun right? Well at the MEPS (that's Military Entrance Processing Station) in Des Plaines (ala Chicago) probing is the name of the game. From probing your entire life history to yes, probing your behind (with eyes only of course), MEPS is a near twelve hour probing marathon for only the very dedicated and humiliatingly resistant.

The torture begins the night before when you check into the lavish Wyndham. Your room mate of course is the worst and does not allow you to get any sleep as he leaves in and out of your room with some chic and talks all night. So you stay up until around 3 am and get about a half hour of sleep. 3:30 in the morning and your headed down stairs for breakfast and to hop on the chartered bus. It is dark outside with a nice crisp and cool breeze as you wait for your chariot. Some 50 people cram on to two buses. Some are nervous, some are excited, some are too tired to remember their name. It's a short ride and you climb off the buss and enter this large brick building and travel up this flight of stairs. The walls are plastered with much military propaganda. A bald headed ego maniac greets you and the crowd in the hall as he states his name and gives direction of how to place your bag and you through the metal detector. You make it through fine but others screw up and get yelled at all the while turning a bright red. They snap your picture (later to be used for your DEP card) and you're off to your first test. The color, vision, and hearing test go by and so far you've been told you could be a pilot and that your new name is "numb nuts." It's only 6 am and you all pile into a room littered with tables and chairs. Many people come in to talk to you explaining what your going through. One talks of the anal probe procedures. Most chuckle during his orientation. Next is the interrogation with talks of going to maximum security prison and being thrown out with no pay if you lie about your information. You fill out the paper work while they test your blood pressure and give you a breathalyzer test. After the fear of God has been put into you it is time for the next three tests. Sitting on a bench, in line with a group of other guys, you wait to be examined below the belt. The nervousness in the air clogs your every orifice. It's your turn. The blood pressure rises and you start to sweat. The old low talking doctor asks you some questions, puts on a rubber glove, and tells you to drop your pants. Where's the flowers you ask your self as you unbutton. Grabbing the family jewels with his cold rubber hands, he asked you to cough, twice. You cough as quiet as you can as to not be heard out side the door. Before you can feel any better about the situation, he tells you turn around and "spread your butt." Thoughts of prison rape spread through your frontal lobe. "Pull your pants up," he says. That's it you ask as if you really wanted any more. The next test involves giving blood. You wait in line while someone comes up to you and asks, "Any one pass out yet?" You walk into the room and sit down in the chair. You spread out your arms while he makes small talk. "Make a tight fist," he instructs. Wham! He slams the needle into your arm and sucks out the red elixir of life. "Apply pressure," he says as he gives you a cotton ball. Feeling like he did it wrong as your arm feels numb and a bruise develops, you wait in pain to take the urine test. Your bladder grows ever weaker as you wait. Why it takes so long for the five guys that went before you to go you can't fathom. It's your turn, thank God! You stand in line facing the urinal but you have to stand back two feet. As you pull it out you suddenly can't go as you realize you're peeing in front of four other guys. Warm thoughts help and you fill it up. Holding it back in one hand, you raise your glass to get approval to finish it off. The ordeal isn't over as you wait in line to give the sample over to the doc. "So you're going into the Air Force huh? Are you going to fly kites all day long than?" the fat and bald headed jerk says. You ignore it and come to the realization that they have a drive through window in the bathroom. You give your sample over and can now wash your hands as you race out the door. Just as you cross the thresh hold some one tells you to go down the hall and walk into the room to your left. What could they want next you wonder. Went you approach the room you notice a victim standing outside of the door. You ask him if you're supposed to go in. He says no and so you wait outside. Just then, the same guy who drew blood comes up and tells you to go in. As you walk in you're faced with ten guys sitting on a bench that wraps around the room in just their underwear. You sit down naively thinking they'd let you keep your clothes on. "Get down to your underwear," he says. Another one walks in and makes you straighten up your clothes and shoes on the floor. More come in, as you did, with the same look on their face. One particular recruit walks in warning us all that he's a triple threat, "I'm fat, hairy, and wet...I mean white." The rooms breaks silence and laughs. All you can do is stare at the ceiling hoping not to look at the others in the room. For what seems like hours you wait for some one to walk in and check you height and weight. Finally he comes in! However, now you must get up in front of some 15 half naked guys and have your weight and height checked. You sit back down waiting for what's next. The next and final test is flexibility and for some reason you have to do it in your boxer briefs. After your stint of yoga like poses. You wait for your name to be called if only so you can put your clothes back on. While you stand there it hits you that this has been the most involved job application ever. It's down to two people and finally your name is called. You throw your clothes back on and dash out the door to head back to your branche's office. At this point it is only about 11 in the morning of 01100 as they say. Being up now for about five hours you get to eat again. Chips, pop, and sandwich later you head back to pick your jobs. Of course they have messed up on your paper work almost costing you two ranks! However, with that fixed and your jobs picked, you go through another scare tactic and get your finger prints scanned. Now you wait to be sworn in. Over the loud speaker comes a stern voice telling every one to make it to room 215 for the swear in process. After yet another rendition of how you'll be thrown in prison "where you'll hate your room mate but he'll love you and you will be breaking big rocks into little rocks and little rocks into dust," you walk into a official feeling room with a podium up front and a backdrop of an assortment of flags. The man has you practice your speech and of course you mess up laughing and he gives you the look of death and tells you to suck it up. At long last the commanding officer strolls in as you stand at attention. The reserve people go first and than you and your fellow full timers go next. Someone belts out to stand at ease and walk out the door you came in. The officer signs your contract papers and shakes your hand. A feeling of what did I do and there's no turning back now comes over. Tired, hungry, and wired you wait for you ride back home. However, like clock work, it is of course late. Your ride does eventually come though and you travel back home waiting to kiss the ground.

MEPS is an experience like no other. Its sole purpose is to disqualify you from getting into the military. Some 40% of all who go in don't make it in. I however, did, and am in the delayed entry program or DEP. From what I hear, from sources other than my recruiter, I can back out of it in case I get cold feet. But I plan to stick it out and see what happens. Now, I'm just waiting to book one of the jobs I picked so that I can go back to MEPS (yay!) to ship out. Ah, what I won't do to make a buck.

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500 Kitties
[07.25.06]

With the cost of gas over three dollars now with no end in sight and with my consumption of gas for my place of employment Pizza Hut (with little reimbursement), it was time to do my part in kicking America's crack head like addiction of dead fossils. The bike is a 1990 Suzuki GS500E. Known for its light weight, superb handling, and enticing speed the GS twin is well suited for a beginners bike.

Searching tirelessly for hours on eBay for months I first came across a GS similar to mine early on in my search. However, I let it go for the logistics of getting a bike back home that was some 300 miles away didn't seem fathomable. Time went on and I kept looking for that perfect in budget sport bike that I wouldn't mind showing off on. As with all good events, I didn't expect to find the perfect bike some 10 miles away parked inside a cycle shop waiting for my arrival. After waiting to secure the funds, I talked him down 300 dollars arriving at a low low price of 1500 clams. I also got him to throw in a new back tire.

Since the purchase, I've been practicing now for about two weeks with only taking a fall twice in the first two days. Red Rox helmet and Icon jacket aside, I've definitely become a chic magnet. Now only to register the bike, get my license, and pay for the insurance.

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Top Gun
[07.19.06]

Top Gun or what I found out I made on the ASVAB, was the result, however, it was nothing like the movie. Nervous and tired from work I say a few prayers on my way to the local reserve out post at 01600 to take the test that will determine my military career. Men in uniform greet me at the door already knowing why I am there as they direct me to the test room. I take my ID out in anticipation while trying to calm the nerves. "ID sir," the test administrator belts out as I approach the door. Those that didn't have ID had to give their finger prints. The room was packed and the test was being given late. Some claimed the admin was a real bitch but she hadn't shown it yet. Flash backs of the high school cafeteria and my run in with the ACT passes before my mental eyes. A few more prayers and she passes out the pencils, booklets, and scratch paper. The girl next to me continues to stretch as if preparing for a marathon. First section, second section, third, fourth, fifth, and so on and so forth the test rolls on. Time passes as I continue to bubble in the answers. So far so good. The practice test I took becomes more and more hard than what I'm taking now. However, I'm weary of that which seems easy for in my experience a test that seemed easy almost always returns poor results. I keep this in mind as to not get too cocky. Hours pass and my bladder grows larger with the .69 cent extra large coke I drank right before the this Army ACT. Only a few questions perplex me as I go on to row after row of blank bubbles. As I answer each one I give a little thanks back to the chief up stairs. Finally the last section, assembly. This section consists of random shapes with specified dots where each should connect. You must choose out of four possible connections which is the correct assembly of the geometric shaped parts. I race through this last one, as I did the others, hoping to be one to put the pencil down before the time is called.

Silly test procedures aside, we walk out of the test room waiting for our QT scores. The others run out side to kiss the concrete while I make way for the latrine. Bladder empty, I walk out side to meet the others, still dressed in my work uniform. Standing quiet as I do, people come up to chit chat with me. I give in to small talk and strike up a conversation. Turns out this one is trying to join the Air Force as I am. Problems with his weight aside, he knows he is a shoe in. Apparently he once applied for the Marines back when he was eighteen but had second thoughts. He speaks of building decks for large homes but realizes this will never put him in a position to own the very homes he works on. I agree silently to my self. Most there, it seems, realize they're going "no where fast." Sun closes in the back drop, recruiters antsy, and testers tired the admin finally comes out with the preliminary scores. "We have three top guns tonight," she says in glee. She calls off the names in order of score from highest to lowest. When all of the envelopes are gone out of her hands I approach her looking for mine (I had just assumed I did bad and/or she lost mine). Turns out I was one of the "Top Guns" but she had said my name wrong (which happens a lot). Turns out being a top gun means you scored 90 or better on the ASVAB for your QT score. Five hours later, after walking in, I peel out of the parking lot ecstatic and very happy.

Here is the final scores for my ASVAB: QT (90), M (093), A (091), G (088), and E (096). With these scores, technically, no AFSC or Air Force job is closed to me. Need less to say I'm going to try to get the best possible job I can get. Nevertheless, most of all I would like to thank Military.com, usmilitary.about.com, and our Dad in heaven for helping me score such as I did. The test covers all material that is taught in high school. But having some college credits under my belt sure helped. For those that are studying, be sure to go over your mathematics (+-*/), algebra, electrical theory, vocabulary, reading comprehension, general shop information, biology, and auto mechanics.

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ASVAB Trial Run
[07.06.06]

Preparing for the ASVAB can be as easy as taking a practice version of it. What better way to know where you stand than to make a touch and go before the final landing. While many practice versions exist with your recruiter, library, and other outlets, I found the web and specifically Military.com to be the best trial run this side of the digital revolution. In fact, I found it to be harder than the real deal (more on this in a future article). Consisting of short tests (some 40 questions) and full length tests (some 200 questions), the practice tests are very good at pointing out your stupidity. For those not joining, take them just for fun as I find taking tests fun, weird I know. For short test #1 I received the following marks: Arithmetic Reasoning (80%), Word Knowledge (100%), Paragraph Comprehension (100%), and Mathematics Knowledge (80%). The short test deals with the bare minimums or what the armed services look at, in a pass/fail view, to see if you're smart enough to join. After taking the short test #2 I received: Arithmetic Reasoning (90%), Word Knowledge (70%), Paragraph Comprehension (90%), and Mathematics Knowledge (90%). As you notice, some areas went up while others went down. This points out a crucial fact: not all questions are similar across tests. The real test has some two or three different books you could get. Thus, do not spend time learning the specifics of one particular practice test but rather brush up or study up on general facts of any particular area. Finally, for the full length practice test I scored: General Science (68%), Arithmetic Reasoning (93.3%), Word Knowledge (100%), Paragraph Comprehension (100%), Mathematics Knowledge (92%), Auto & Shop Information (72%), Mechanical Comprehension (28%), and Electronics Information (60%). Notice the extra categories? These determine what jobs you'll be eligible for (of course not only the ASVAB scores are taken into account but other factors like phobias determine eligibility). These are the more important categories in my opinion.

To begin studying for the ASVAB, first determine what you want to do. Look up the available jobs in your particular branch to see what category they fall in. Your job falls under the electronics category? Than study hard on basic electronic principles such as OHMS, Volts, Watts, and E=I*R. The basic reading, writing, and arithmetic categories should be touched over but not concentrated on. Sure, these categories factor in to determining your AFQT score or how you did over all on the ASVAB but what matters is what jobs you can choose. From what I know, most nice jobs require a score over 60 in any particular area (Mechanics, Electronics, and General aptitude area). One thing to note though, is that if your job falls into the general category such skills as work knowledge factor in when determining that aptitude region score.

If it can be stressed any more: take a practice test and take many. It will help you determine what to study, it will reduce stress/nervousness/fear come test time, and it will train you to become a better (ASVAB) test taker. Also, for those that haven't googled it yet, ASVAB stands for Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery. Yeah, ASVAB is easier to spit out.

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21
[06.25.06]

Beginning the day at midnight, I proceeded to the nearest liquor store to purchase some coffee liquor and some vodka. White Russians were on the menu for the birthday kick off as there was cream (purchased earlier) , waiting to be mixed, in the fridge at home. Getting the eye as I crossed the threshold of blackouts and DUIs, I proceeded to the distilled potatoes and coffee beans. Asked for ID in excitement to bust me, I happily produced the treasure that is my drivers license. Confusion first prevailed in the old women at the counter as she scanned over the plastic document. However, after some time of explanations of clock cycle and time zone mechanics she rang up the booze and I was happily on my way. After the escapades of coffee beans, potatoes and milk, I slept awaiting the heaving pleasures of the day.

A shower and a few quick errands, I enjoyed some sweetened cocoa bean cake. Best to get tradition out of the way. With sun down approaching, I was cruising away with Uncle at the helm to downtown shy town. Hoping to lighten the effects of the spirits, food at Carmines on Rush was stop number one. Champagne, caprese, and risotto later, it was on. Drink after drink after glorious drink in the finest bars such as Tavern on Rush and Bar Chicago on division street were graced with my presence. It being my birthday, I was entitled to free shots and bar schwag. Aviator glasses on at night, I went into one club (I believe Bar Chicago) for a quick look and drink. Music pounding your very core, alcoholic vomit on the floor, and tourists dancing like crazy I went up to the counter and ordered a Jager Bomb. At that moment two girls approached me and asked to dance. Slamming the drink down, Bump N Grind ensued as one of them asked to don the glasses. She looked good in them, I believe her name was Megan. Dashing out due to boredom, I was still in pursuit of the elixir of stupidity as I was still remembering too much. Megan is probably still dancing. At this moment, it was time for entertainment of the Gentleman's kind. Taxi cab trip later, I went to VIPs. After a Long island ice tea and a lap dance, it was time to slow it down and come to a crash. To wrap up the night we all played Jinga (surprisingly easier if drunk) until I finally crashed in the Congress Hotel.

The day after is rough but a state of euphoria sets in as I walk the streets of the Windy City taking in the sounds of traffic and calls for money. With some hangover food in me, I walked to Union Station to buy a ticket to Schaumburg to catch the show at Medieval Times. Getting there a little late, we rescheduled for next week (should be fun). As we still felt the spirit, we went to Bahama Breeze and had a few drinks there before we called it a night.

Day three and the final day to bring in the age of drunkenness. Earlier in the week I rented a room at the local Holiday Inn to host a hotel party. The room was great with a king sized bed, coffee table & sofa, and desk. It also had a fridge which was nice for the beer and other assorted beverages. Rounding up the friends, we all meet in the lounge downstairs. We're having drinks, scoping out the crowds, and playing pool when the bartender get suspicious and cards everyone in my crew totally putting a damper on the night. Some were under aged (a feeling I still related to not too long ago) and so we were all asked to leave. Whatever was the attitude as we all drove down the street to the next bar. Cash only and being cash poor with also a lack of females, this bar was disappointing to say the least. However, with an after party to the rescue, I stopped in the nearest gas station for some Coronas and headed on my way. It being 3 in the morning and with most drunk out of their minds, the night was slowly winding down. Thus, I returned to my hotel room and waited for the sunrise.

Overall, my birthday was great with even greater promises and hopes for the future on the horizon. However, most of all, I now have the awesome freedom to have a drink and to have some fun. No longer are the days of waiting in the parking-lot as I wait for the hookup to bring back my booze or the days of ordering a drink just waiting to be carded. More freedom and more responsibility. I can handle it, but first I need a drink.

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Peter Pan Syndrome
[06.16.06]

Ever since you're young, you dream of "growing up" to obtain rights, privileges, and respect. So you wait long years going through the motions that societal waves move you in until you reach the shore of adult hood. At first, it is pure joy for you have been drifting out there obeying commands all the while gazing into the sandy beaches of adult hood far off into the perspective distance. However, the comforting warm waters of the ocean begin to leave you for the hot and sweaty jungles that is being an adult. No more are you cared for, looked after, or worried over. No more organizations work to save you or sway public opinion over your well being. You hear "the children are our greatest resource" and feel lost for you are no longer any resource of greatness. Coming of age is about as anti-climatic as the worst climax of a intriguing plot line could be. After turning 18, I knew I still had resources at my disposal or excuses to pull because of my age alone. Considered an adult, yet, not having the rights of one became confusing and frustrating. However, after 18 you wish that time would slow down so you can still milk that child thing just a little longer for help and support in getting on your feet. Seeing others turn 21, I instantly saw a change in those around them who were older. Hearing words like "he's an adult now, he can take care of himself" and "he's a grown man, what can we do" I feared the age of 21 for that is the turning point in society's mind of a former child. Living with family is no longer acceptable and viewed as laziness. Dead end jobs with 40 hour work weeks are expected with no hope in sight. It is as if the older generation enjoys seeing you come of age for it takes the burden off of them. Yet, it is because of them that you are in the position that you are. Over time, generational mishaps and screw ups multiply into harder situations for the up and coming. Sure you can drink, smoke, and rent a car, however, getting a leg up is no longer for you're one of them. Yet, there is still a duality for if one dies under thirty they still consider them "just a kid." Also, names like buddy, kiddo, and honey are still rampant among the older. If you didn't get what you needed/should/could from your parents and are now breaking the thresh hold of apathy you're in for some turbulence. People no longer view mistakes as cute or benign. They no longer look at needing help as endearing or expected. Now you have entered the dog eat dog world that is this existence, and if you didn't grab all that you could from the cub-board that is childhood you shall be farley bare in your "young" adulthood. Of course some say the new 21 is 25 and I have witnessed this as I can't become a limo driver until I'm 26 or rent a car until I'm 25. More and more are "kids" living at home they say. Maybe it is because they are not yet adults still. Not everyone matures together nor is every one's situation the same. College being the most important investment in one's future today, many children are forced to ask for help from their parents for money, tuition, and food. For to not go to school is to dwell in a fruitless garden littered with trash of broken dreams. Turning 21 in four days is exciting while dreadful for I don't feel ready for the responsibilities that I soon face. Sure, I moved out of my parents house at age 19 but moved in with my Grandmother. I pay rent, food, car, insurance, gas, entertainment, clothes, etc and work two jobs but it is no where near what I should face being totally on my own. Being on the boat of higher education for awhile I became found of sailing the mind expanding seas but yet being forced off for lack of price of admission, I fear of missing the chance to get back on. With no parental help what-so-ever nor any kind of financial help any where else (even from the feds), there is little hope of getting a desperately needed education unless I join the military. Thus, I have chosen the high price tag to get what I want out of life. As 50 says, "get rich or die tryin'."

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Me in a Peanut Shell
[06.13.06]

For my first years of dabbling in this existence we call life I was born on a military base located near Clarksville Tennessee in the year of our lord 1985. Not being allowed to play with billion dollar equipment I decided to move to Rockford IL where I currently reside to this day. Well, actually the Rockford area. Loves Park, Machesney Park, Belvidere, and Rockton have been graced with my foot prints. To date I've attended two public school institutions by the name of Harlem and Belvidere where I graduated (3.2 Cumulative GPA, tooting my own horn, yes) in 2003 (well actually 2002 in December but for sakes of the government, had to take a constitution test) from the later. Of course, being the ever planing creature that I am, I forwent prom and that graduation ceremony to bring myself to Orlando Florida where I browsed the prospect of attending college at an institution aptly named Full Sail. However, because of parent fallout (or should I say missed placed responsibilities), I, like many poor souls, attended the hamster wheel that is community college. Rock Valley College to be exact for those planning to hunt me down for slaughter. Leaving the broken under construction nest that was home at age nineteen I went forth to finish my degree. However, as it stands currently, gas has ran (send money) out and I've broken down at mile marker 45 credits (with a 3.3 Cumulative [so far] GPA, yes horn again sorry). This for those who don't know (or don't care) is just 15 credits shy of at least an associates degree (hey something right). Thus, to not let long hours of calculus, American history, and the ever enlightening British lit be attended in vain I began searching for clever routes to stay in the emperor's new clothes parade that is American higher education. To date, the Air Force is looking real nice (that is if I don't want "would you like bread sticks or pop with that?" to be my legacy, 'course would be funny on my tombstone nonetheless). As a matter of fact, I should be going off to die anytime soon after my 21st birthday (6/21/85, yeah summer solstice oh and cash preferred but booze accepted). While in the service I hope to obtain a degree, stay alive, and master that cool matrix effect of dodging projectiles. Apparently, there are many positions available in the service such as photographer, computer programmer, and animal mother. The opportunities in technology and the development and maintenance of it particularly interests me and as such is what I will be shooting (pun, anyone?) for. There could be more to be said about me, but I thought the boring material would suffice.

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